#Ford needs a nap

[greenbunny7]

Do you have any Gravity Falls headcanons?

Yeeesssss tysm for the ask! 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

This got kinda long, so the headcanons are under the cut.

I'm just gonna go character by character.

Ford headcanons

Ford is aroace.

He definitely had a situationship with Bill, but it wasn't romantic or anything like that.

Also, he would never in a million years forgive Bill Cipher.

Ford is terrible with computers.

Ford needs a nap. My otp is literally Ford x sleep

Ford is a good brother. And I will not be hearing otherwise.

Stan headcanons

Bi bi bi! Also, non binary, yes beanie.

Stan didn't immediately get all their memories back at the end of weirdmageddon, just the ones from the summer.

Literally, Soos's dad.

Depression.

Stan is a good sibling. And I will not be hearing otherwise.

Dipper headcanons

Trans Dipper.

Dipper definitely gets that ghost hunting show when he grows up.

Fiddleford headcanons

Fidds got a one-sided crush on Ford (Ford is none the wiser about said crush).

Ford is like, "I'm so glad to no longer be traveling alone, cause now I have my bestist friend in the whole world with me."

Meanwhile, Fidds is internally screaming.

Thanks again for the ask, Anonymous. you know who you are. I mean, I don't. but you do, probably

[nightdrawsthings]

finished this a little over a week ago, someone get this man therapy (& his brother & communication skills)

[astro-b-o-y-d]

God, I’m gonna put Ford’s mental state through the wringer in this fic, aren’t I?

[suck-too-hard-on-your-jaskier]

Eepy old men deserve the soft sleeps

They deserve a soft moment

Don’t be fooled, this picture is VERY loud. They both have that Old Man Snore™️

[ckret2]

Chapter 49 of human Bill Cipher being such a miserable prisoner even the Pines are starting to feel bad for him: The Eclipse: Epilogue.

####

"The heck did you do to that poor woman?" Tate asked, staring out the window. Bill was sitting on the pier, legs dangling in the water, staring blankly into the depths. He was still muddy and trembling. "She looks more traumatized than when y'all left."

Ford couldn't meet Tate's gaze under the brim of his hat, but he could feel Tate raising a brow when he spotted Dipper pacing back and forth on the pier behind Bill, muttering furiously.

"We've had a very bad day," Ford said. 

"Uh-huh."

"Could I borrow your phone to call my brother?"

Outside, Dipper was oblivious to everything except the one line he'd managed to remember from the Axolotl, the words he'd picked out as they crossed the lake. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,'" Dipper murmured. He knew that much. It was a poem. It was a rhyme. He couldn't remember the rest. What did it mean? He murmured it over and over to himself as he walked, trying to remember the next line, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,' 'sixty degrees that come in threes'... breeze, freeze, ease, lease, knees—" He couldn't remember the rhyme.

Bill was considering grabbing Dipper by the ankle and dragging him off the pier just to shut him up when whatsisname, the younger McGucket came out of the shop. "Hello there? Miss Goldie?"

Human. Strange human. Human that Bill could get on his side. Be charming. He tried to remember how to be charming. He offered a feeble smile. "Yello?"

"I wanted to make sure you're all right," Tate said. "You look like you, uh... you've had a hard time."

Bill laughed ruefully. "Well, I've been dragged all over the mountain, I'm hungry, exhausted, and half-drowned, and I can barely walk—but I'm not currently dead. Allegedly. I'll take what I can get."

The corners of Tate's mouth twitched down in a concerned frown. "Is there anything you need? A..." He floundered for a moment, "A water, or...?"

"I've had enough water to last me a lifetime." He wondered idly whether he could claim he was too exhausted to make it all the way home—there was a sofa in the staff room, Tate would probably let the poor bedraggled "woman" take a nap, if Bill got that bit of distance between himself and the Pines maybe he could... maybe he could... do something with it? But he couldn't think of anything more definite than that and now Ford was coming back and the window of opportunity closed. He shrugged wearily. "Just need to get back to the shack. Thanks." He half heartedly used the lake water to wash the drying mud off his lower legs and knees.

"Stan will be here in about twenty minutes," Ford said, and tried to ignore the dirty look Tate gave him. 

"I'll be just inside if you need anything else," Tate said. "Watching." He headed inside—and then, indeed, stood at the shop window and watched.

Ford was never going to get on Tate's good side. He suspected Tate would be a little less sympathetic to the poor woman on the pier if he knew who he really was; but it certainly wouldn't make Tate like Ford any better for keeping him around.

"Nothing to do now but wait." Ford unloaded the rest of their supplies from the borrowed motor boat. He dropped Soos's Monster-Mon backpack beside Bill—it was heavy, Bill must have just shoved his clothes and bedsheet straight in without bothering to wring out the water—and the plastic bag of snacks Dipper had bought. "You ought to eat more while we wait." Ford nudged the snack bag.

Bill sneered at it. "I don't want that trash."

"What?" Ford examined the bag's contents. Jerky, chips, candy, cups of marshmallow cereal... "This is ninety percent of what you eat."

"Ninety percent of what I eat is what I can scavenge from the counters."

Ford looked through the bag again. Ah. Right. So it was. "If you want something else, you know you can ask us to..."

"Mac and cheese."

Maybe Ford had better stop talking. He sighed and glanced at Dipper to see how he was doing.

It didn't look like Dipper had even registered Ford's return, too busy pacing and muttering to himself. Ford frowned. "Dipper?"

"Axolotl," Bill explained. "He's obsessing over him. Didn't I tell you that meeting that thing would drive him insane?" He tilted his head toward Dipper. "Look at that, he's already mumbling to himself. Don't suppose you have his therapist's number, do you? I doubt that would save him, but it might slow the process—"

Ford shushed him.

Dipper had briefly tuned back into the conversation when he heard Bill say Axolotl; and now he grit his teeth and stubbornly tuned it back out. No. He was not going insane. Dipper would figure this out. If he just remembered the rest he'd be fine. He tried to go through all the potential rhymes alphabetically, "—bees, cease, d—deez?" That wasn't a word. "Fees, geese, he's..." and on and on, "seas, tees, uh... vees? Wheeze..."

"I've had enough of you trying to convince that boy he's about to go mad," Ford muttered to Bill. "What do you get out of saying that? Even if you do convince him he's insane, it won't make him start trusting anything else you say."

"I'm not lying," Bill said heatedly. "You ought to know that, you've been in the multiverse, you've seen plenty of maddening sights. You saw them before you even left the Nightmare Realm."

Ford hesitated before responding; was Bill trying to persuade Ford he was insane? But he could still remember those first few moments of terror in the Nightmare Realm: the creatures that had seemed to move and shift in impossible ways as they swam in and out of dimensions Ford couldn't see, the lights and colors that throbbed like an inverted migraine, Bill himself seemingly suspended a million light years away and a foot in front of Ford's face at the same time. Until Ford had latched onto his quest to destroy Bill and let that focus him, his mind had felt like an unraveling sock. "You were chief among those maddening sights."

"I was," Bill acknowledged neutrally.

"But I didn't go insane."

"Because you knew when to look away." He cast a sideways glance at Dipper, an implicit unlike him. "I know you used to read cosmic horror. Do you know why the narrator always goes mad just from looking at some giant beast? It's not because it's too ugly to take. It's because once you meet something, you try to understand it; but if you want to understand the reality something like that comes from," he rolled an eye up toward where the invisible Axolotl had hung in the sky, "you have to lose your understanding of your own reality. They're incompatible. Like the lunatics who escaped Plato's cave and came back ranting about nonsense like sunlight and colors."

It was a twisted interpretation of the cave allegory. Plato had meant it as a metaphor for education: that learning about the true nature of reality was enlightening, but alienated you from your peers.

Perhaps to Bill, enlightenment and insanity were the same thing.

Ford murmured, "Once your eyes have been too dazzled by the sunlight to see the dim shadows, you'll never be awed by a candle again."

"You have been there before."

Ford didn't answer.

"Once you've seen something like that, if you let yourself dwell on the significance of it all, you're doomed. Better to tell yourself it's unimportant and try to forget it ever happened."

Ford thought of Fiddleford.

Bill twisted around to snap tiredly at Dipper, "So stop staring at the sun before you go blind, moron."

"Shut up." Dipper had been trying to mentally drown out Bill's dire predictions by grasping for more rhymes—"disease, unease, Socrates"—but enough filtered through to make his stomach churn with nervousness. What if Bill was right? What if he never remembered what the Axolotl told him—what if he drove himself mad trying? What if this turned into a lifelong obsession—but he'd be fine and could let it go once he remembered—was that the trap? Was whatever it had told him impossible for a human to remember? Was it something so incomprehensible a human couldn't remember it without going crazy?

But he'd seen plenty of stuff last summer that was supposed to make humans go "insane." Bill had to be messing with him. He remembered the first line—surely that meant he could remember the rest—but was that part of the trap? "'Sixty degrees that come in threes'... come on, there's something else, I know it, what is it? 'Sixty degrees that come in threes'—"

Bill sighed irritably. "'Watches through the eyes in trees.'"

Dipper stopped pacing. He hadn't realized he'd raised his voice enough to be audible. "What?"

"What?" Bill said.

"What's the rest of it?"

"What rest of it? It's a couplet. That's all," Bill said. "Is that what he told you? He gets rhymey when he feels self-important, it's no big deal. Maybe you're lucky. Put it out of your head and you'll be fine."

Dipper turned the words over in his head. Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches through the eyes in trees... "That's not exactly right," he said slowly. "It was 'watches from within birch trees.'"

"Is that how he translated it? I've never heard it in English before. I got close, though, I knew it'd rhyme."

Ford echoed, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes.' Like a triangle?"

Dipper gave him a perplexed look. "What?"

"You're taking geometry next year, aren't you? The inner angles of polygons always have the same number of degrees; and a triangle has a hundred and eighty degrees. Three angles of sixty degrees forms... an equilateral triangle."

Dipper and Ford stared at Bill.

Bill gave them a tired, unreadable look. "What?" he said. "Don't look at me. I'm not the only equilateral triangle in the universe."

Well, now Dipper was sure there was more to the poem than just a couplet. "How many other equilateral triangles spy on people through birch trees?"

"Lay off," Bill said crabbily. "I didn't have to tell you that line. Don't make me regret it." He planted his elbows on his knees, laced his hands together, pressed his forehead to them, and massaged his eyelids with his thumbs.

He tilted slightly to the right, keeping the weight of his head off his left arm.

####

"Nice shirt," Stan said, eyeing Ford's anger management t-shirt.

"If you like it, you can have it."

"What happened to your coat?"

"Somewhere at the bottom of the lake," Ford sighed.

"How...?"

"I'll fill you in later."

Bill's trembling was almost unnoticeable by the time Stan arrived. Or, at least, it was slight enough that he could stand and make the short walk from the pier to the car without an obvious struggle. 

He climbed into the back seat, slid across the bench, leaned against the door, wrapped his arms around his Monster-Mon backpack, fell asleep, and didn't wake up for the entire drive home.

Dipper and Ford fell silent when they noticed; and, sensing the heavy atmosphere, Stan followed suit.

####

The event organizers for Higher Dimensional Gate had arranged for the Magister Mentium's audience to surround him in a circle with as large a circumference as possible, so that as many shapes as possible could pack into the first few rows where they could see him. Even so, the crowd was much too large for everyone to be in the first few rows. Speakers had to be planted throughout the crowd so that they'd all be able to hear the Magister speak. Most of his audience couldn't see him.

But he, with his all-seeing eye, could see all of them.

The crowd extended back, row after row after row, in every direction like flecks of multicolor confetti filling the air all the way to the horizon. He'd never spoken to such a large crowd before. He didn't think he'd ever seen such a large crowd before.

Not all of them were his worshipers. He didn't have that many worshipers. The rest were drawn in by his boast—to be the first shape outside of legends to predict an eclipse, over six months ahead of schedule. They were here for a spectacle. He meant to give them one.

If he succeeded, all these spectators would become his worshipers, he was sure of it. If he didn't succeed, he lost everything. The whole nation knew about his bet. He'd be financially ruined. His worshipers would abandon him. There would be no fleeing to a new town and starting over; everyone everywhere knew who he was. His life would be over.

This would be only the third eclipse he could recall. There's no way to neatly map shape ages onto human ages. Different year lengths, different aging speeds, different mental and physical milestones. But approximately, compared to a human, he was scarcely over fifteen years old. 

But he wouldn't fail. He pushed all his fears aside. He didn't even want to think about them. He wouldn't, because he couldn't, because he could see what nobody else saw. He could see the eclipse's approach.

It was traveling across the vast empty gulf outside the world.

The only other third dimensional objects he'd ever seen were the sun—which looked to him like a circle—and the stars—which seemed to be mere points. He assumed all third dimensional objects were fundamentally just second dimensional objects, moving on a strange plane. He had no capacity to model a 3D object in his mind.

But the eclipse was a beast that twirled and gyrated around impossible axes, moving and rotating in ways his eye couldn't even comprehend. To him, it looked as though the living creature—he assumed it was a living creature, sometimes it manifested a couple of limbs or an eye—was constantly shapeshifting, its perimeter moving and altering. Its uncanny undulations had haunted his nightmares for months after he first watched it, so young he'd barely started school. It wasn't any less nightmarish now.

But as incomprehensible and terrifying as it was, he could see it, and nobody else here could, and that was all that mattered. He could watch it on the horizon and publicly announce that it would cross the sun in two weeks—and then in about three days—and then, to his humiliation, not tomorrow but today, guaranteed, as the creature sped up and threw off his estimate. His worshipers and bemused spectators had taken over the square to while away the time. They'd quickly gathered around him to wait after he'd declared it would arrive within the hour

That had been almost an hour and a half ago. The stupid thing had slowed down.

The triangle was terrified.

In every direction, shapes were staring at him. Waiting. His father was watching him—his stare seemed to grow heavier by the minute. He could see reporters in the crowd taking notes.

He had to fight not to pace, not to cringe, not to show any nerves in front of the hundreds of eyes.

Now. It had to be now. It was so close. Please don't let him be wrong. Every cord in his body quivered in terror as he grabbed his microphone and announced: "Lines, bis, tris—quads, quints, and more! My dear students and beloved believers, and my—" he cut off the urge to say something nastier, "—curious visitors, who I hope will join our quest for enlightenment. This is the moment you've been waiting for! The eclipse is upon us! In less than a minute, it will begin!" He had to keep his gaze forward as he spoke, looking at his audience. (His mother had always said the way his eye went white when he was looking at the third dimension unnerved people.) "Soon—you won't have to take all my claims about the third dimension on faith. You'll be able to see for yourself the effect of the third dimension on the plane."

The crowd murmured excitedly. He could see his father relax. He stared up-but-not-north, gnawing nervously on his eyelid until he caught himself. The beast above glowed a warm pink in the light of the nearby sun.

And the stupid thing. Slowed. Again.

He stared in disbelief.

"Sixty seconds," his father whispered, out of range of the microphone.

His stomach flopped. He was dead.

"One minute, fifteen seconds. What's going—?"

He held his microphone away and hissed, "The eclipse decided to zigzag."

"Eclipses can zigzag?"

"Shhh!" He'd already failed. He'd already shown everyone he was wrong. He could hear the murmurs. His eye hurt from staring at the sun and from straining for so long to turn so far upward-not-northward, go faster faster faster—

There! The snout of the eclipse was this close to kissing the perimeter of the sun. He cried triumphantly, "Now!"

The wretched beast did a loop-the-loop around the sun and missed it entirely.

The triangle felt the last strands of his fraying self-composure snap.

He howled in rage.

He could hear laughs from the crowd. They felt like daggers in his sides.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" He was bellowing into outer space as if he thought it might hear him, "Do your think this is a game?! Is this funny?! Are you trying to humiliate me in front of the whole world!" His father put a hand on his arm; the triangle shoved him away. "Get back here right now! You thick, brainless, blobby, pink, feeler-faced two-eyed freak of nature! GET BACK HERE and LOOK ME IN THE EYE!" He was a lunatic, everyone would know it, their leader raving in a direction no one could actually see about some big pink delusion, what did he care, no one would ever take him seriously again anyway—

And the thing in the sky.

Stopped.

And looped back.

And came closer, and closer, and bigger, and bigger—it just kept getting bigger, how far away had it been before, how large was it, how large was the sun?

He hardly noticed the crowd's gasp as the creature twirled between them and the sun—the light shone through its body, pink with blood—and then out of the way, and then in again, and out—until finally it was so close that its perimeter completely engulfed the sun. He'd taken a field trip to the planet's surface once—an enormous solid mass of stone and crystal. Until now, he'd never seen another solid objects so large. To his limited understanding of 3D objects, it looked as though there were no organs inside its perimeter—just a layer of solid, uninterrupted flesh. He didn't know how it could even move.

It stopped straight over him.

He was sure the two black circles embedded inside its body must be its eyes. His whole life he'd heard psychic powers—psychic powers like his own—described as having an "inner eye." But he'd thought the phrase was just a metaphor. An eye on the inside of a body instead of on its perimeter would be useless to most people. He'd never seen a creature with an eye literally on the inside of its body. But the eclipse had two.

And they were looking at him.

A giant ever-shapeshifting cosmic horror from outside of reality, staring through the veil separating the sane world from outerplanar space, and it was looking—at—him.

He was terrified.

He heard an alien voice in his head, vast and deep and slow as distant whale song:

"Hello there!" It was overjoyed. It was tickled pink. "I've never been spoken to by a shape on the wall before. I didn't know you could see off of it!"

Weakly, the triangle repeated, "'A shape on the'...?"

"Yes, this wall of yours." The eclipse gestured with its tail at—everything. A single sweep that took in an entire dimension. "I've probably commuted past this wall billions of times, and nothing's ever called to me before. I didn't know shadows could do that!"

"'Shadows'?" the triangle echoed again. That was all they were? An eclipse's shadows?

"I'm absolutely delighted," the eclipse said. "First contact from a lower-dimensional species! I've watched you for eons and never imagined. Isn't this exciting! How charming of you! Tell me who you are."

Him? "Me?"

"Of course. Who else?" It stared at him. Only him. A shapeshifting force of nature the size of a planet with two inner eyes, an eclipse that saw him as a shadow—and it was looking only at him.

Weakly, he said, "I'm... the Magister Mentium."

The eclipse thought that over. Its tone was a tad dubious and not terribly impressed (why should it be impressed? he was embarrassed at himself for giving his silly puffed-up title)—but it said, "Yes, I suppose that's true. I am the Axolotl. It's been a pleasure meeting you." It began to shapeshift again—its eyes slid sideways through its body, until one reached its perimeter and disappeared.

It dawned on the triangle, in its first immature understanding of third dimensional objects, that its eye had disappeared because the Axolotl was turning away. "Wait!" he cried. "Why..." Why answer him? Why focused on him so completely, if he was just a shadow? Why ask who he was like he mattered? He didn't even know how to put those questions to words in his own mind, much less out loud. "Why are you here so early?"

The Axolotl turned back to the triangle. "Oh! I had to go back for some documents I forgot at the office. Big case in the morning," it said. "You shadows know my schedule?"

"You... pass in front of the sun."

The Axolotl turned away, eyes disappearing and frills fluttering, to look at the sun. "So I do! How funny." It turned toward the triangle and gave him a strange, grotesque look that—by the tone of its psychic voice—he suspected was a smile. "I must get going. I'll be heading into the office a few hours late tomorrow, but perhaps I'll see you again then." And it turned away. It felt like it took forever for the enormous body to sail over-not-north-of the triangle—and pass, at last, out of the sun's path.

The triangle didn't look down-but-not-south until someone shook his side—his father. He lowered his dazed gaze to the crowd—the cheering, applauding crowd. Ma-gi-ster, Ma-gi-ster. A sea of multicolor confetti shapes that filled the air to the horizon.

Shadows.

His father shook him again—"Go on, say something. They're waiting"—and the triangle held up his mic as though he were in a dream. He tried to remember what he was supposed to say. "I was right," he said flatly. "Just like I always told you. I can see the third dimension. The realm of dreams—of colors, of light, and..." The lies left a sick taste in the back of his eye. He couldn't say them. Points of light in darkness and pink nightmares.

"I'm s— You'll all have to excuse me," he said, his voice childish and small. "I can't—I've had a... a... profound... spiritual experience. I must meditate on the revelations I've received." The words felt like woo-woo mumbo-jumbo. "The next eclipse will be a few months after the new year." It seemed important, for some reason, to pass that information on. Wasn't that what he always said he did? Share the wisdom of third dimensional spirits with his followers? "I... have to go now."

His father took his elbow. "This is your moment," he whispered. "Come on, son—you don't want to lose your chance to speak directly to them, do you?"

He shoved the microphone in his father's side. "You speak to them."

"But—"

"I can't," he said. "I can't."

He cut through the crowd as fast as it would part for him—if they were any slower, he'd have started stabbing his way through—haunted the whole way by their applause.

####

And that was it.

From the Axolotl's perspective, he had just had a brief pleasant exchange with a precocious tadpole in a sidewalk puddle.

From the triangle's perspective, he might as well have been standing on the boat deck watching as Cthulhu rose from his millennia of dead slumber at the bottom of the ocean, turned to the fragile vessel bobbing on the waves, and said, "Good morning! Glorious weather we're having, isn't it?"

And from the perspective of the Higher Dimensional Gate, their Magister Mentium had predicted an eclipse, been rightfully insulted when it didn't come the exact second he ordered it, and furiously summoned down an eclipse darker and swifter and longer than any in recorded history.

Up until then, he had been seen as, at best, an oracle. A prophet. A messenger to share the secrets of the third dimension, but that was all he could do. But now, he had commanded forces in an unseen dimension, creating an eclipse months before it was natural. He had made it flicker on and off like he had his finger on the sun's light switch. News reports and the most unimpeachable scientific authorities reported that the eclipse had centered on the location of the Higher Dimensional Gate rally, narrowed down to an inexplicably small radius around that point, and then remained unchanged for several long minutes, long enough for anyone in its shadow to grow fatigued from the missing sunshine. Nothing like that had ever happened before. It defied every known fact about the science of eclipses.

People around the gathering—even people who had known nothing about the Higher Dimensional Gate rally—reported that during the eclipse, they'd become inexplicably disoriented, unable to tell compass directions, and had felt themselves fall toward the darkness—as if gravity's pull had suddenly moved from the south to the epicenter of the eclipse. Public building inspections confirmed that somehow the entire town had shifted, ever so slightly, closer to the epicenter. Closer to the Magister.

Never mind prophecy; as far as the Magister's rapidly-increasing followers were concerned, he might have been a god.

It was the greatest triumph a baby cult leader could ask for.

He barely noticed.

####

For days, he could hardly sleep, speak, or think. He kept losing track of conversations to stare into space. Now, it awed his followers when his eye turned an empty white—he must have been communing with something in a higher dimension.

He didn't argue. It was better than letting them know he was losing his mind.

He spent his time alone locked in his room, pacing back and forth, trying not to look up-but-not-north and failing. Dwelling on the significance of it all. Feeling like he'd never figure it out.

He used to love cosmic horror stories, back when he had time to read. They followed a reliable pattern: the hero travels farther than any rational shape ever should, meets something big, and goes mad from the realization.

And what was it that the hero always realized? That he was a dust fleck in the firmament. That he was insignificant. That he didn't matter. That there were things out there he'd never seen before and would never truly understand, and that they cared not for mere shadows on the wall like him, and that in the grand scheme of the cosmos he was nothing. That he was utterly unimportant.

In moments of what felt like lucidity in between the shivering horror, the triangle  wryly acknowledged that it was no surprise he'd ended up in a cosmic horror story. He could see into another dimension. In the stories he'd read, that made it all but inevitable.

But all the authors had gotten the maddening revelation wrong. He could have handled knowing he was nothing. It almost would have been a relief. 

True horror was knowing he mattered.

He'd spent the majority of his young life selling the idea that he was oh-so-important, as part of a big con to trick gullible idiots into liking him and flinging cash at his rotten undeserving family—and he'd only been able to do it because when the guilt got to him, when his conscience asked what would become of the shapes forking over their life savings on false promises of divine secrets, he could look out into bleak black space and tell himself that nothing really mattered, nothing was important, nothing he'd ever do would really make a difference, and the people he manipulated didn't matter any more than he did. He meant everything to his worshipers, and nothing to the universe. He could do anything and it didn't matter.

For a moment, a vast mind-melting shape-shifting incomprehensible eldritch god had focused its full attention on him—of all the universe, of all the dimensions beyond the known universe, it had looked at him and only him—a mere shadow on the wall, and yet in that moment, it found him interesting. It found him worthy of notice. He had screamed into the cold uncaring void, and the void had cared. For a moment, he'd held cosmic importance. He mattered. His actions mattered.

He'd felt it see him as important, but why? What was so important about him? There had to have been something significant he'd done, something he showed it, something in what he said. He replayed their conversation in his mind over and over and over and over, trying to remember what he'd done that proved he mattered.

He didn't know what it was. He couldn't find it. All he could remember was just... being.

The writers were wrong. Cosmic horror wasn't when an elder god's eyes slid past you without noticing you existed. It was when the elder god gazed down at you at your lowest and bleakest, during your most petty and selfish act of mass swindling, from a dimension where not even slamming the door and shutting your eye could shield you from its gaze—and it decided you were worth caring about. Cosmic horror was when you encountered a colossal alien that planted the incomprehensibly alien idea in your head that you had an inherent worth just because you existed. Cosmic horror was when a force of nature asked the name of a shadow on the wall.

If it was true... if it all mattered... then what was he doing? How could he? What had he done?

####

He was lucky—he was lucky that his parents had raised him to think so clearly about issues like morality and money and easy marks. His only saving grace was that he was too rational to seriously entertain the Axolotl's mad ideas.

And yet, his mind boiled with mad regret. It blazed with insane guilt. The heat of it could burn him out. It was months before he could continue his public sermons without feeling sick—and even once he did, he could still feel the delusion that what he did mattered, festering in his mind.

It would fester for the next trillion years.

####

(And that concludes this plot arc! I hope y'all enjoyed it!! I'd love to hear what y'all thought of the whole thing—especially now that we've looped back to the original eclipse. 😁)

[gay-dorito-dust]

Imagine just cuddling up to Stan/ Ford (or both if you wanna I know I do) on a rainy day.

The town of Gravity falls is quiet for once on all fronts both normal and paranormal as it seems as though the rain have drove all into search of shelter and warmth, meanwhile your safely snug against the side of your beloved.

For Stanley this is all he needs, all he really wanted in life and with you cuddled to his side, half asleep while blearily blinking at the illuminating television he wouldn’t complain one bit when this was where he was always meant to be. And he was okay with it after everything you’ve been through, you both deserved a much needed break from the weirdness that Gravity falls homed.

While for Ford, who has a hard time relaxing and sitting still after constantly being on the move during his time in the multiverse, had needed some time getting use to peace and quiet; but with you cuddled up to his side it came all the more the more natural to him as the pitter patter of rain calmed his overworked mind.

It didn’t take long for him to succumb to sleep as he kept a firm grasp on you, withholding you close to his chest out of a need to make sure you’d still be with him as he wakes, though for now he’ll enjoy a short power nap with you. (He then proceeds to asleep for hours and doesn’t wake up until the next day)

[lttl3babybug]

how do you feel about ford as a caregiver?

Very strongly. I feel very strongly about him. So you can have some headcanons.

Cg!Stanford Pines Headcanons

🪬 Veryyyy protective of you (mainly cause he knows abt all the weird going’s on in Gravity Falls)

🪬Keeps you in his lap while updating his journal on new things he finds

🪬Occasionally he’ll let you add a few little notes on your opinions about the creatures to the page, you get your own special glittery gel pen Mabel let him have

🪬Keeps an extra paci on him just incase!

🪬He’s always prepared for you to randomly regress

🪬Ford is really good at coaxing you into regressing without you even realising till he’s slipped the soother into your mouth and calling you a handful of gushy pet names

🪬Likes rules, he has a set list of rules that he doesn’t like to make exceptions on

🪬Although there will be things he’s okay with bending the rules on

🪬Nap time is not one of them, he prefers for you to stick to the nap schedule because that way you’re not cranky

🪬Bedtime he’s willing to bend the rules on because he knows no matter how hard you try to stay up with him you’ll end up asleep in his lap either way

🪬Other than that he’s a very much no nonsense cg

🪬He loves to play make believe with you

🪬He’s very good at acting like a damsel in distress if that’s what you need

🪬Quite fond of tea parties, not so fond of getting up off the floor afterwards because his old man joints do NOT appreciate it

🪬Will let you apply makeup to him, does not mean he will enjoy the whole process

🪬If you’ve had a bad day he likes to get you to regress before you sleep specifically so you can go to sleep without having to worry about your day

🪬Snacks! Snacks galore

🪬Will cut up a hundred and one apples for you if you want that many

🪬Healthy snacks are what he’d prefer for you to have but if you outright refuse it he won’t give it to you and he’ll compromise

🪬If you’re a baby regressor he is very happy to bottle feed you. Seeing you all snuggled up in his arms with a bottle in your mouth has him melting.

[finnbin]

AWWWWW THIS IS SO CUTE IM SCREAMING LOOK AT THOSE GUYS SLEEP, HELL YEAH SNORE YOUR HEARTS OUT ‼️‼️

Post Revival, Sleep

[nowimjustastranger]

Feral ford? Just any feral ford stuff?

Or Ford finding out that Stanley no longer has a kidney, his hearing is bad and he no longer has natural teeth so he uses his sci-fi magic mojo

to make Stanley’s body regrow new ones. He’s doing this because he’s worried about Stanleys health (that Stanley will die first because of his health problems which Ford cannot accept) and because he feels guilty for not being able to protect Stanley from getting those in the first place.

And it’s not noticeable at first. Stanley is like think “huh, I feel off, oh well Imma just gonna ignore it” but he knows Ford is hiding something because Ford is all like

“Take it easy Stanley, there’s no anomalies or Cryptids around for miles. We are just going to have a relaxing month, while you recover”

And Stanley of course raises an eyebrow

Ford refuses to budge though. Yeah but Stanley eventually finds out because his natural teeth start growing in, he’s able to breath a lot easier and his hearing has never been better.

It’s my bread and butter!

If you have any slots left of course.

If not feel free to ignore this 🥸🫵 (pls)

Lee should’ve known that Ford was up to something the moment he found the man in his sub-basement lab at some god-awful hour, clearly in a manic state due to lack of sleep. He had been standing at one of his workstations, vials of unknown colorful fluids scattered across the cluttered surface as he scrutinized the tube of shimmering iridescent liquid that he held in his hand, the other deftly scribbling notes into his journal without even having to look down.

Thankfully, it had been easy to coax Ford to come up for breakfast, the man obediently setting the vial aside in favor of trailing after Lee after he laced their fingers together and started to head for the elevator. Ford leaned against Lee heavily on the ride up, eyelids drooping and movements sluggish as he mechanically shoveled his omelet into his mouth moments later. And Lee would find the situation more amusing if Ford wasn’t two seconds from falling out of his chair.

Lee shared a worried look with Fiddleford, who shrugged helplessly to indicate that he had no idea what Ford had been up to in that lab of his either. Lee frowned down at his plate at the disquieting realization that Ford was shutting himself away, poking at his own loaded omelet until Ford sloppily nudged him, his worn face expressing nothing but concern as he pointedly glanced between Lee and the food in a wordless question.

Lee had choked down the damn omelet.

Ford slept for almost fourteen hours straight once he laid down, and Lee would know because he was in their shared room –there were only two bedrooms in the shack and one of them was Fiddleford’s– for all thirteen hours and thirty-nine minutes that Ford spent asleep. Ford was a restless sleeper, tossing and turning as nightmares and memories plagued him.

But Ford had assured Lee that having him nearby made it better, which is why Lee never strayed far from Ford when he was getting some much-needed shut eye. Honestly, Lee had learned to take at least one nap while Ford was conked out, which screwed up his sleeping schedule but it was undeniably worth it since he could actually spend time with Ford once he woke up.

Anyway, when Ford had stirred later that night he looked recharged and ready for whatever the universe had to throw at him. Lee was sitting up and rubbing his eyes with a huge yawn as Ford puttered around the room, exchanging his colorful pajamas for his usual all-black attire. Lee had just gotten to pulling his covers back by the time Ford was dressed, striding over to where Lee sat to lean down for a nuzzle.

Ford suggested that they watch a movie, offering to fix some hot chocolate and snacks for Lee when he agreed that a lazy night spent cuddled together on the couch sounded amazing. Ford had seemed riddled with a mix of excitement and nerves as they relocated to the living room, but Lee hadn’t pressed the man about why he was acting so shifty because he honestly wasn’t sure of what to make of Ford’s behavior.

He really should’ve known better.

Lee had drained the mug of hot chocolate without even thinking about the unpleasant aftertaste, but he had written it off as Ford’s ability to make even the simplest of recipes taste questionable at best and downright toxic at worst. And all things considered, the hot chocolate ranked super low on the gross scale, it was just a little bitter.

It wasn’t until daybreak that Lee started to feel… not so great. He was smoking a cigar on the front porch when his gums began to ache, Lee forced to take out his partial dentures to relieve the pressure. It was a fleeting respite from the throbbing pain, which only seemed to worsen. Then, something came loose, Lee’s stomach dropping as he raised a hand to spit a tooth into his waiting palm.

He doesn't remember yelling for Ford, but he must have because the man was at his side in an instant, speaking in rapid-fire that Lee couldn’t seem to hear over the static buzzing in his ears. It wasn’t until Ford took Lee’s face in his hands that everything came rushing back, Ford’s calm and steady voice explaining something about the tooth in his hand having a cavity and that’s why it was replaced.

Lee blinked, unable to process the implications of Ford’s words since the ache in his tender gums increased sharply, his muddled thoughts grinding to a halt. He cupped a hand over his mouth as more bloodied teeth fell out, his mind reduced to a whirlwind of panic and horror as he helplessly waited for whatever was happening to end.

He could feel Ford’s warmth pressed flush against his side, an arm stretched across the front of his body to act as a support as well as function as a makeshift hug. Meanwhile, Ford’s other hand gently carded through Lee’s hair, brushing the wayward strands out of his face. Lee’s uncomprehending mind latched onto the sensation, using it to anchor him to the present.

Lee actually blacked out when pain tore through his side, boots uselessly scrabbling against the porch as his body convulsed. Resurfacing into consciousness to the sound of Ford berating himself about not testing the serum more thoroughly, which made a lot of things rapidly click into place. Incredulous anger swelled and Lee blindly grabbed a fistful of Ford’s stupid t-shirt before throwing a sloppy punch that Ford made no effort to dodge.

“What… the fuck… Ford!” Lee panted, his whole body feeling weirdly warm and tingly. Blood dribbled from Ford’s nose, but he didn’t even seem to care. Ford’s hands jerked up to cradle Lee’s face, his expression shattered, and the anger subsided all at once. Lee was left to flounder in the face of Ford’s guilt and terror, his brother practically climbing on top of him as his hands roamed over Lee’s body.

“Hey, what– Am I dyin’ or somethin’?” Lee haltingly asked, catching one of Ford’s wrists when he tried to shove it under Lee’s rucked up shirt, his exposed midriff flexing as the chilly morning air caressed his feverish skin. Ford made one of those animal noises of his, something between a whine and a snarl. Which, as far as Lee could tell, translated to Ford being both irritated and distressed by his perfectly reasonable question.

“No.” Ford answered tersely, his voice closer to a growl than an actual word. Regardless, Lee was able to discern that Ford wasn’t panicking because he had slipped him something that could kill him. It had fucking hurt –hands down the worst pain he had experienced outside of that one time that he got his kidney taken– but he had survived whatever the hell that was.

Which brought his thoughts back to the so-called ‘serum’ that Ford had mentioned earlier.

“What the fuck did you put in my hot chocolate?” Lee demanded, holding Ford’s wild gaze until the man’s previously tense posture shifted into more of a defensive hunch. Now Ford looked more like a kicked puppy than an injured animal about to lash out, which was just unfair because how the hell was Lee supposed to stay mad at him when he was cowering?

“It… it was supposed to help.” Ford said with effort, speaking through grit teeth as that damn spark of self-loathing flared to life in his dark eyes. Lee sighed and reached up to take Ford’s earlobe in two fingers and gently tug, redirecting his attention. When they made eye contact, Lee’s arms wound around Ford’s neck to drag him down into a hug that knocked the wind out of both of them as Ford’s entire body weight landed on top of him.

“Help how?” Lee coughed once he had regained the ability to breathe, lungs rattling with his first proper inhale. Lee immediately tilted his head in a wordless invitation that Ford eagerly took him up on, scraping his three-day stubble against Lee’s bared throat.

“So many wounds… so much pain…” Ford mumbled distractedly, nuzzling his way up to Lee’s jaw, his brows furrowing at the drying blood that stained Lee’s mouth. Ford slowly sat back on his haunches, Lee following him up, the two of them sitting on the bloodied porch. There were teeth and several questionable fluids scattered about, the sight making Lee’s stomach roll.

“You… fixed me?” Lee asked, his brows drawing together. He felt the nearly overwhelming need to strip down and examine himself in front of the full length mirror in their room wash over him, but he settled for a perfunctory pat down to try and figure out what exactly the serum had repaired. He was floored to discover that his scars were gone, the constant tightness notably absent. His eyesight was better too, the eye contacts that he’d taken to wearing since highschool missing.

“The serum regenerated what was damaged or missing.” Ford confirmed with a stilted nod, timidly scooting closer. Lee instinctively accommodated Ford’s need for closeness by spreading his legs wider, which was more or less unspoken permission to crowd into Lee’s personal space. Ford was only too happy to plaster himself to Lee’s front, the man’s arms closing around his waist as he sat down properly.

“A heads-up woulda been nice, Ace.” Lee huffed, propping his chin on Ford’s shoulder as he melted into the embrace. Ford was having a similar reaction to their proximity, relaxing more and more with every deep breath. Ford mumbled something along the lines of never giving Lee anything without his knowledge or consent again, and Lee didn’t doubt that he’d be fully briefed on the effects and potential drawbacks as well. Ford was nothing if not thorough, after all.

“I’m not cleanin’ this shit up either.” Lee warned, wrinkling his nose as his eyes wandered to the mess on the porch. It looked like a fucking crime scene; or maybe the aftermath of a torture session. Either way, Lee wasn’t gonna spend the day trying to get his blood out of the wood.

“I’ll handle it.” Ford assured, giving Lee’s jaw one last tender nuzzle before he pulled away, smoothly rising to his feet before helping Lee up. Lee grimaced at the state he was in, drying blood covering nearly the entirety of his front and hands. A shower and a change of clothes was definitely on his to-do list, along with burning what he was currently wearing because there was no way the blood was coming out.

“We’re talkin’ about this after I get washed up.” Lee stated, wiping his hands off on a relatively clean patch of his jeans before looking at Ford expectantly, the man obediently nodding.

“It won’t happen again.” Ford promised, opening the front door for Lee so he wouldn’t smear blood everywhere, his hand lingering on Lee’s back as he followed. Lee turned on the staircase, his eyes searching Ford’s expression for a few moments before he smiled.

“I know.”

[fluffymarshmalllows]

In every universe, I'll look for you

fanfic about Reader getting sucked in the portal first, Ford follows.

Another restless night for you and your husband in the basement. Coffee staining the journals as he scribbles more blurbs about this “Bill” person he keeps calling his muse. You didn’t want to feel jealous but ever since that absurdly long late night walk Ford took months ago, he’s been nose deep into every physics book and theoretical researches to prove something, anything. Every time you beg him to rest, he refuses making you a bit annoyed, blame it on the sleep deprivation and lack of quality time.

“Please, Fordsy, you really need some rest. We’ve been working on this project for weeks now” you muttered, half-asleep at this point. But words fell on deaf ears as your husband just waved you off with some empty promises of he’ll be with you to bed soon.

Too tired to argue, you kissed him on the cheek which caused his face to get dusted pink for a bit, but still very much focused on his calculations. A sight you will never get tired of. You also waved to Fiddleford who was roped in this whole project bidding farewell.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” he says without looking up as you climb the squeaky staircase. You reminded them both to get some rest while internally praying to whoever God that will listen that you get your doting husband back sooner than later.

Not even hours later, loud metal clashes and bangs from the basement jerked you awake. You shot up and dashed straight to Ford worried that something might’ve happened. Did he get injured? A part fell on him? Was he trashing the place? Shaking your head ridding of those thoughts. Running towards the basement fueled with adrenaline and a power nap is not ideal but the situation called for it.

You got there as quick as you can and witnessed a rather vulgar argument between your husband and Fiddleford leading to the latter walking out and bumping your shoulder muttering unpleasant words towards Ford.

Peering out from the basement stairs, on the other side of their makeshift divider was a big glowing construction whirring with power. “Oh my god” those were the only things that you could mutter in that moment. The machine was… working. It was finally working. After months of sleepless nights, exhausted arguing, they finally made it work giving you hope that things will soon get back to normal, or as much as it used to be.

Ford felt your presence and looked at you like a mad-man, eyes crazed with no sign of sanity. It made you question if the man standing ahead of you was really the guy you married. “It finally worked! The math finally made sense. Do you understand, Y/N?! This is our key to figuring out all these anomalies.” You took a step back your back against the door while he tries to coax you in joining him. “No, Ford, this doesn’t look safe”.

Ford turned his back to you, staring at his creation. “Fiddleford said the same thing” he mused, “but please, beloved, I won’t let you be in any danger”. His reassuring voice was enough to put you in some ease as you walked to him extending his hand.

He held you by your waist supporting your trenbling body, guiding you to admire their creation. Observing some sparks of electricty dancing across the ground and bouncing off the walls. Ford was explaining to you how it works, how he plans to use it, what they should do next and all that but one look at your alarmed face gave him all the hint he needed to keep quiet and let you process all this.

He was so enamored by this portal he built, you both did not realize the glass dividing the area was slowly cracking. Only took some more volts of current to run by it to shatter and allow the portal to suck you in.

It happened so fast. Ford tried grabbing you but the force was too much, pulling you in within seconds. You managed to maneuver yourself to grab on the portals frame. Using all your strength pulling your body out to ask for help one last time before you were completely lost somewhere some time in space.

“Ford, help me!” The last words his lover spoke before getting lost in the oblivion haunts him in his every waking hour. He tried consulting Bill about this, how to get you back, but Bill was adamant about the situation, believing that Y/N was just a hurdle to their masterplan. He spent too many lonely nights missing you and regretting what he has done, it was driving him imsane. This lead to him calling quits with Bill which ultimately made the polygon mad.

Alas, he struck the courage to contact his twin after years. This was not an easy decision for him but to set up his grand scheme of finding you in the vast universe, he had to have his brother fit the missing link.

Ford explained everything to Stan, or as much as his twin needed to know but things did not go exactly as planned. He was planning to portal jump, sure, but not get sucked into it accidentally. He found it somewhat humorous that he ended up the same way his lover left, through the portal—asking for help.

Journal log no. 176? 177. Two years, 18 dimensions, 3 timelines. I saw them again. Different hairstyle but with that same aloof smile. Happy in this dimension with me, alternate universe me. I still live to regret that day. It also appears that she is also being tracked by the space-time continueom agencies (noted from the encounter at the do-over dimension). Just what in the world did my Y/N get to?…

Journal log no. 320+. It has been almost 10 home years if I calculated it correctly. Still no sign of my Y/N in this timeline. From the dwellers of this dimension, it appears that the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron has laid low on the investigation of their whereabouts. It has become harder tracking them down, maybe they learned new tricks. Best to take a note of this…

Journal log __ . I have lost track of days in this dimension. Some part of this dimension are mirrors that behaves like looking glasses. Upon my first arrival, a mirror reflected Y/N staring back at me. As I am writing this, I am still formulating probable hypothesis that could explain their reflection on mine. Seeing them again after so long makes me yearn for them more. If only I h

A zipping sound ripped from a distance away from Ford as he's trying to journal his discoveries.

“Time to go” quickly packing all his materials shoving it in his makeshift bag careful not to drop any while going on another leap. He looked back at those men? Aliens? Whoever those guys are they are pretty hot on his trail. Getting too close for his own comfort. And too many close calls with them than Ford will admit.

“Get him!” The smallest tentacle humanoid man commanded or something similar of the sort, it’s another universe language he has yet to decode. Learning the tongues became much more difficult since he accidentally stumbled on a rebellion matched with a bounty picture of your face displayed in every available surface they can stick it on to. Knowing you, whatever you did there most likely called for it or he hopes so, anyway.

Muttering some curses he took his grand leap and entered another dimension. Not once did he look back.

This time it looked like another parallel timeline of his home universe. Ford walked around pin pointing important anomalies, most of them minor like an extra toe on a cat or a bird with butterfly wings. He slumped down under a tree near the opening of the forest to draw these creatures. Pulling out his journal, he realized something in this dimension feels right, for the first time in a long time, he felt like he belong. Another minor anomaly in a dimension filled with other anomalies. It made him feel normal, but not complete. Ford sniffled his tears back overwhelmed by the feeling of missing you. He never stopped looking for you. Eyes scanning every place hoping to see you again, waiting for him, happy with him.

Coast is clear and the sun was slowly setting. It lulled Ford to take a nap. Closing his eyes trying to remember what you look like. It’s been years since he last saw you. In every universe and timeline you were in, they did not look like you, his Y/N. Something was always off, but one thing remained constant— you were always happy together with him. Ford chuckled bitterly. Only in the universe he lived in was he alone. It was unfair, but he did this to himself. He regrets all the time he spent with Bill than his own spouse. His only lover, to think that fame and knowledge blinded him to put you in danger.

A soft thud was heard from the tree he was resting on, followed by a feeling of being watched made chills ran down his spine. Ford became hyper-aware looking, searching, for anything. Standing up quickly, he was ready to dash for it but for unknown reason he stood his ground. His feet felt glued to the ground, waiting for whatever it was to emerge from the trees’ shadows. The now dark forest was eerie and he could not risk getting hurt in another dimension. A pitter patter of steps from the forest heading his way made him draw his gun aiming at the darkness. His fingers at the trigger, steady.

“Fordsy?”

His breath hitched. Hands trembled. A figured appeared out of the dense forest. Face to face with the gun he was ready to fire. His heartbeat was so loud it was almost all he can hear. Seeing you, still perfect after so many years. With gray hairs and past your prime, yet you still had the same effect on him. Decades or more has passed but the feelings remained the same.

Both of you did not dare to take a step. You feared that this is all in your head, a fragment of your imagination that you did not want to go away. The air was still, and the silence deafening. You can’t take it much longer and you run up to him. Ford took you in with open arms.

He hugged you tight, not willing to let go. Never again will he let you go. All those years of longing and you’re finally back in his arms. He stared at your eyes, filled with the love and adoration like the days you were married and living with each other. You took a step back and slapped him. Hard.

“How dare you!” You angrily muttered to him. Voice tight but not so loud to disturb the silence. “This?! This is what you were trying to make?” Shoving a pointed finger to his shoulder blade. Ford was hurt, but he knew he deserved that anger. “We were always together! In every dimension I went to, even in our past, did you know how much it hurt seeing us together? Knowing that every version of me is happy and loved while I am trying to go back home to a husband who’s cheating on me with a guy!” Y/N rambled exasperated. Your cheeks felt wet, not realizing the tears already started falling. All those years of resentment and anger to your husband resurfaced. “And you know what the worst part is?” You sniffled trying to sound brave “I still love you! And at times I feel like a fool for doing so.”

Ford was confused with what to feel to say the least. He felt sad you had to endure being lonely, longer than he had been. Joy? That you still love him despite his wrong doings. Humour as he realized that you thought Bill as a mistress. That made him crack a small smile which you noticed. You turned around calling him a jerk while wiping your tears muttering cusses.

“Dearest” he tried calling out to you. “You know you’re the only one I love right?” He cooed, still not getting over the fact that he had someone else. He reached out to you gently, wrapping his arms around you. His chest at your back as you felt his breathing on your neck. “Y/N, please face me, it’s been so long since I’ve seen your beauty.” Ford purred. What else can you do but look at him again, you reached your hand to the cheek you hit and soothed it for a bit. “I’m sorry for hitting you” you muttered looking at his eyes. “It was deserved” he replied sheepishly avoiding your gaze. The tension was as thick as the dense forest behind you and you can’t take it anymore.

You pulled him down by grabbing the collar of his coat to give him a kiss. A bit stunned Ford was but he warmed up to it. Breathing a sigh of relief, finally in the arms of his Y/N, with no plans of letting her go.

They trudged into the woods, conversing on what they witnessed and all the universe they jumped, comparing notes and journals. You proudly showed him yours as you stated “I was just copying you but it became a scrapbook of some sort”. Inside were trinkets from dimensions folded into the paper with drawings and detailed descriptions of things you saw. Ford was more of interested with the folded wanted poster between those pages. He took it out and observed it closely. “Yeah, I became part of their council for a while,” you said which earned a questioning eyebrow raise from your husband. You raised your hands in protest “Well, I didn’t know that fruits were their money! I was hungry”. This made him laugh and it sounded like music to your ears. Mr. All seriousness laughing with you again, everything felt perfect.

Until the familiar space ripping nearby brought you both back to reality. Whipping your heads towards that sound, Ford exclaimed “I’m getting too old for this”. Grabbing your hand he lead you the forest clearing and pulled out his dimension jumper and you followed suit.

“We are now easily trackable since we are together so we need to be extra cautious” Ford explained as you both explore the city-esque universe you landed in. “Do you think we’d ever go back home?” You asked, stopping in your tracks. Ford turned to you “I trust Stan. It might take a while to be honest.” You nodded in respond, still not giving yourself false hope. “But I’m with you Y/N, and anywhere is better when you’re by my side.” His voice was so sincere you can’t help but believe him. You held him interlocking your digits together. His six fingers perfectly hugging your hand as you both jumped into another dimension unprepared but together.

word count: 2.5k words

woop woop first published fic! should i make a part 2?

[scuderiasundays]

chili’s angels

summary: carlos can’t say no to his little girls, leaving him with some explaining to do on media day + a little insta au at the end 🌶️

words: 806

a/n: this one was in my drafts for a while but i brought it out for @thatsdemko and all the dad! carlos girlies out there. i know there are a lot of you! tagging @vamossainz55, @sainzcaleruega, @monzabee, and @diorleclerc just because. feedback is much appreciated as always. hugs and kisses 🫶🏼

When Y/N found out she was pregnant with twin girls, Carlos was over the moon. He had been raised by a vivacious mother and alongside two sisters, who despite driving him mad as a child, had become his closest confidantes. Carlos stopped wearing the Tom Ford cologne you once loved when it started to trigger your nausea. He rushed to a nearby drive-through at midnight solely to satisfy your craving for fries and a milkshake. And when your shoelaces needed tying, he was always there to help.

“I feel like I’m asking way too much of you,” you spoke. He smiled and gently caressed your growing belly. "Never, mi amor. Taking care of you and our girls is my purpose now," he said tenderly. "You're an amazing mom already, and I can't wait to see our daughters grow up with the same strength and love that you have."

You had held off on naming the twins because you strongly felt you owed it to your daughters to meet them and get an actual feel for their energies. Together, you spent an evening brainstorming a list of potential names, Carlos voicing a particular preference for their names starting with the same letter. Labor proved to be more challenging than anyone had ever prepared you for, leaving you drained once it was over. Carlos cradled the newborns in his arms, softly uttering their names, "Melina" and "Mila," while his gaze shifted from one little face to the other.

Flash forward, and your twin daughters thought the world of their dad. You loved getting to see Carlos in a new light, your love for him only growing as you watched him interact with your girls. "Can we go outside and play? Please!" Melina and Mila were like the Energizer Bunny times two on the rare weekends when Carlos was home. Although he rarely said no to them, they were both feeling under the weather, so he shook his head. "How about we stay inside and do some drawing?" he suggested.

"Can we paint your nails? Mamá always lets us," the girls asked, their eyes widening as they edged closer to him. Carlos paused for a moment, thinking, what harm could it do? Eventually, he nodded in agreement. The girls knew exactly where their mother kept her nail polish kit and eagerly fetched the equipment. "We have Barbie pink and Ferrari red, just like our cars," Melina said, holding up the bottles with her pudgy fingers. "Mama wears the red one when we watch you drive on TV," Mila chimed in. He assumed Melina was referring to the little toy LaFerraris he had bought the girls on their birthday. He loved watching the girls as they raced in their garden, a tangible sign they had inherited his passion for cars.

"What's that thing you always say, Papá? For the Ferrari?" Mila looked up at her dad with chocolate brown eyes. "Forza Ferrari, mija," Carlos replied. Before he could even pick a color, Melina grabbed his hand and started painting his thumbnail bright red. The girls both had a hard time staying within the lines, so Carlos took it upon himself to clean up the edges. After they were done, he was instructed to place each hand under the UV lamp. He couldn’t help but wonder if the nail polish would come off easily later, but he soon noticed the excitement of being nail artists had worn the twins out. He picked them up and gently laid them down for a nap.

As Carlos boarded his flight to Hungary, he realized that his red manicure was not coming off without a fight. He absentmindedly picked at his nails, silently wishing his wife had been there to offer him the mini nail file she always carried. With media day approaching, he knew that people would definitely pick up on his vibrant nails.

"Nice nails, Carlos. Whose handiwork is this?" Natalie, a familiar face, pointed at his hands with a smile. Carlos chuckled and replied, "Oh, this masterpiece? My twin daughters painted them. I just don’t know how to say no to those two." He shrugged, shaking his head.

"Well, here they are to say hello.” The TV presenter had organized a surprise Zoom call with Y/N and Carlos' daughters, who had been nicknamed "Chili’s Angels" by his fans.

"Buenos días, mis hijas. I hope you're feeling better," he greeted them, waving at the camera. Melina proudly held up her mom's hand, showcasing her red nails. "Look! You and Mamá match now!" she exclaimed. Carlos winked at his wife, grateful for the little moment of connection despite the distance.

"Forza Ferrari, Papá!" Mila squealed, waving goodbye. “They really are my angels, all three of them,” he thought, setting off a mental countdown of days until he was back in their arms again.

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liked by yourusername, landonorris, and 57,575 others

carlossainz55: life is sweeter with my angels. hope i’m making you proud 🫶🏼

yourusername: we’re so lucky to have you! you just had to choose THAT photo of mila scarfing down her pizza? clearly my genes 🍕🤤

fan1: chili’s angels merch when? i swear i will buy it ALL

landonorris: ask melly and milly who their favorite uncle is and i’ll let you by at the start on sunday!

carlossainz55: “come over, uncle lando! we can paint your nails orange.” - melina & mila sainz

anasainzvdec: the most adorable nieces an aunt could wish for ❤️

scuderiaferrari: when mila said “forza ferrari” in an interview this morning! who’s cutting the damn onions?

fan2: carlos and @yourusername are starting them off young 🥹

[greenbunny7]

[Stan] When's the last time you slept?

[Ford] Uh... a few days ago, I think.

[Stan] A few- how many?!

[Ford] Uh... *starts counting on fingers* I need more fingers...

[Stan] What you need is sleep!

[littlebearbun]

Sleepy-time T(ouching)

Stanford Pines x Reader

(Like sleepy-time tea? Get it? I'll see myself out. I hate writing titles.)

Summary: Stanford Pines is a brilliant scientist. He's also a liar. He said he would be in bed hours ago! Whatever is a determined lover like yourself to do about that?

AN: This is the longest fic I've written to date and it's not even for the Pines twin I simp for the most. Stanford just has a certain....Listen I think he would beg real nice and I wanna make him feel loved ok

Included: Oral sex with Ford under his desk. Hand/finger kink. Begging. Sub!Stanford Pines.

“Stanford Filbrick Pines, you told me you were coming to bed!” you called from the doorway to his lab, arms crossed and impatience lacing your tone. The machinery of his lab beeped and chirped sporadically. Some of them printed what looked like receipts of information for him to collect later. 

“It’s barely been a few minutes since you asked me to, darling,” Ford murmured. He didn’t even look up from his journal (if you remembered right, this was #5.) His shoulders were hunched, the sleeves of his red turtleneck rolled up to his elbows (God, you found his forearms of all things attractive. You really were in love), and his tan trenchcoat lay forgotten over a nearby chair. The six fingers of his left hand tapped rhythmically as he read over his notes. 

“It’s been three hours!” you responded with a roll of your eyes that he didn’t see. When he did look up, you saw exactly what you had seen hours ago-Ford’s eyes were ringed with dark circles, his eyes themselves were bleary and borderline unfocused, and his hair was mussed. He must have been running his hands through it. If it was frustration or contemplation, though, you couldn’t say. 

“Three hours?” he repeated, softer, and blinked for longer than necessary. It was probably one of his micro-naps, even though you didn’t really believe him that those were a thing. 

“Yes,” you said, and walked over to him. He watched as you approached, his eyes warm even through his obvious exhaustion. 

“I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t realize that I lost track of time. I’m so close, it feels like there’s just one or two more breakthroughs I need to make-”

“Stanford,” you interrupted, voice more of a coo of his name. “You haven't slept in, like, two days.” You reached out for him, cupping his face first, stroking your thumbs over his cheekbones. His shoulders loosened immediately. Even through your annoyance that he hadn’t come to bed, you couldn’t help the burst of affection for this man that melted into your hand as soon as you touched him. You didn’t say anything more for the moment, running your fingertips under his big brown eyes, over the bridge of his nose, across his brow, and lastly, over the seam of his mouth. 

By this point, Ford was already sufficiently in your power. His lips parted and he started to say something, stopped, and kissed your fingertip instead. You pressed it between his lips and gave him a sweet look. You did not miss the small shudder that went through him as you hooked your thumb behind his teeth and pressed. 

“Oh, honey,” you murmured, saccharine, and removed your hands from him. “Why don’t you let me take care of you, huh?” 

“I-” he started, but you took hold of the back of his rolling chair with your free hand and pulled it back just enough to fit between him and the desk. He cut himself off, then, watching you with narrowed eyes and a slight pink tint to his face. Carefully, to avoid his ire, you stacked all of his papers as orderly as you could and moved them to the side. You dropped his pens back into their glass with a clink and closed the box that held his other supplies for scientific notes and his lovely artistic journaling. You knew Ford liked organization, and he was looking at you like you’d hung the moon as you moved everything about his desk with such care. Once the desk was clear, you hopped up onto it, spreading your legs so Ford and the chair could fit between them. You pulled him forward by his turtleneck, kissing him properly this time. 

If Stanford Pines wouldn’t come to bed, you’d have to get him to follow another way.

As soon as your lips met, Ford let out a sigh that curled in your stomach and warmed. He tilted his head up, his nose bumping against yours (Ford had always been a rather clumsy kisser, but what he lacked in skill he made up for in enthusiasm. It’s not like you minded either way.) You kissed him quick at first, pulling away too soon for both of your sakes. He tried to follow your mouth, eyes half lidded and mouth half open. You dodged him, and instead your lips followed the path of your fingers from earlier. You kissed under each of his eyes, then at the crows feet at their corners, his nose, each of his brows, and then both of his cheeks. 

“Darling,” Ford said, long suffering but a bit breathless already. You giggled, moving like you were about to kiss him again, but then you dipped to kiss his chin, then his jaw, dragging your lips across his stubble. It tingled. 

“Love,” Ford tried again, and you laughed again against his skin. 

“Yes?” you teased. “Do you need something, handsome?” 

Ford gave you a look that you were sure he thought said ‘you know exactly what I want’, but to you it just looked a little petulant and needy. You grinned at him. 

“Ask me,” you said, straightening his glasses for him as if they wouldn’t be askew again in a few moments. “What do you need?”

“.....For you to let me work,” he mumbled, but his gaze was squarely focused on your mouth. You tsked.

“Well, what I need is for you to sleep, Stanford.” you said. “So try again.” 

Ford looked pained for a moment, clearly unsure if he wanted to give in to your game or hold out in the hopes you would actually let him work. 

You wouldn’t agree to the latter, obviously, and he knew you better than that.

“Kiss me,” he finally said, the words barely audible over the machinery of his lab. You cupped a hand to your ear, leaning forward. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you asked, and Ford scoffed. Still, he was smiling, just a slight quirk of his lips, and his eyes were crinkled at the edges. He could not hold a poker face for the life of him. You loved that. 

“Kiss me,” he said, louder. “Please.” 

“I suppose,” you said, but your immediate kiss betrayed your excitement. Ford had come such a long way in asking for what he wanted, it was hard not to give it to him. 

This kiss wasn’t quick, wasn’t meant to tease anymore. You put your hands on his shoulders for balance as you leaned in and kissed him. You felt one of his broad hands splay across your thigh and the other cupped your cheek. His thumb stroked over your cheekbone in an almost mechanical but comforting movement. 

Ford, for his part, kissed you with no less enthusiasm than earlier, but this time you allowed it. His tongue parted your lips and licked into your mouth, behind your teeth, across the roof of your mouth. You sighed into it and Ford let out a soft little moan. He’d always been so touch starved, so perfectly easy. You nipped at his tongue. One of your hands followed his shoulder up to his neck and you played with the baby hairs at the base of his skull. Everything in you wanted to pull them, so you did, delighting in the groan that escaped your lover. His hand left your thigh and played with the hem of your shirt, slipping beneath it to spread his fingers against your stomach.

“Darling,” he gasped out, his lips kiss swollen and pupils blown. You bit your lower lip, smiling, hopelessly in love. 

In lieu of responding, you mirrored your earlier movement, pressing a thumb between Ford’s lips. He accepted it immediately, eyes fluttering shut as he licked and sucked at your finger. A muffled groan escaped him.

“Yessss?” you asked, hoping that he would get the hint from earlier and ask for more when-

Footsteps on the stairs. Ford paled. You squeaked, yanking your finger from his mouth. He looked momentarily bereft, but quickly tried to school his expression into neutrality. 

You didn’t know why it was the first instinct you had-You could have hidden behind one of the many machines in the lab, or simply pretended you were both only talking (though the blush on both of your faces would have betrayed you.) It wasn’t like everyone in the house didn’t already know that you and Ford were involved, but-

You slid to your knees, hiding under the desk.

Ford stared at you, incredulous, one bushy eyebrow raised, and you put a finger to your lips. You grabbed him by his knees and pulled the chair back in, effectively hiding you from view. Ford kept his legs spread to make room for you under the desk, but he was clearly tense. One of his boots tapped a nervous rhythm on the floor.

“Just find out what they want and we can get back to it,” you whisper, winking at him. 

“But-” Ford was cut off by Stanley opening the door, and you shrunk more under the desk. If Stanley found out about this, neither of you would ever hear the end of it. While that was better than Dipper or Mabel interrupting, the repercussions would certainly last longer and would show up over every meal, every conversation with Ford's smarmy younger brother. 

“Stanley,” Ford said, waving a hand at his twin. His voice was surprisingly level. 

“Hey, Pointdexter!” Stanley replied in that rasp of his. It seemed deeper than normal-maybe he was out smoking a cigar on the back porch recently. 

“What can I do for you?” Stanford asked, impatience coloring his tone, but Stanley was used to that. Ford got that way when he was deep in a project or a train of thought.

Stanley answered him, but to be honest, you had stopped paying attention because when you looked ahead towards Ford’s hips…Well. You knew he was easy but God. 

He already had a hard on. You could see the outline of it through his pants. From the little bit you had done to him. 

You bit back a smirk. How you loved this man. You put a hand on his knee, rubbing it with your thumb, and it probably would have been comforting if you didn't know he was so keyed up already. You rest your cheek on his opposite thigh, against his black pants, and the contact made him stutter. 

“S-Sorry, Stanley,” he said, waving it off, voice a bit clipped. “Just a bit tired. Nothing to worry about.” His other hand slipped under the desk and six fingers spread in your hair and pulled slightly in warning. 

You did not heed it. If anything, it spurred you on.

You grabbed his wrist, gently tugging, and Ford released your hair. Knowing him, he was worried he had hurt you. Far from it, you just had more devious plans in mind. 

Ford's hands had always been beautiful. You had thought so when you first met him, when you shook his hand and Mabel quipped something about how it was a “full finger friendlier than normal!” Ford had laughed then, shaking his head in that fond way you had later grown to recognize, and apologized for the strangeness of his handshake. Even then, when you'd barely known him, it had taken you aback. Why apologize for something so lovely?

As you'd grown closer, gotten together, his hands had only held more fascination for you. Those lingering touches on your shoulder or your elbow as he passed you in the hall, the first time you'd kissed and he had cupped your face with six fingers instead of five. It felt all the more encompassing. 

Even when you both had graduated to more…strenuous activities, even when you had fawned over his hands and begged for more of his fingers, he had paused. Apologized. Looked momentarily so far away. You had to fix that. 

You had been delighted to learn that you could quiet Ford’s insecurities about his hands when you took them in your mouth. 

So you did. You pulled Stanford's hand to your mouth and kissed each fingertip. Above you, his breath hitched, but he did not pull his hand away. Greedy. 

Good.  

You started with his pinky. You licked from the knuckle closest to his palm to his fingertip and then sucked on the end of it, pressed the length of your tongue across it. The short gray hairs on the back of his fingers tickled your lips. You gave him a moment to bask in the warmth of your mouth and then you moved to the next finger, then the next, when you took his two middle fingers into your mouth. 

Ford’s hips jerked up involuntarily. His feet planted flat on the floor and he lifted out of the chair for just a moment. You grinned around his fingers, dragging your teeth and tongue lightly across them, playing with them like you would his cock. His fingers twitched and flexed in your mouth, then pressed so far back you gagged. 

Ford yanked his hand away from you and you bit out a whine. He clasped both of his hands together on his lap, knuckles white, fingers slick with saliva, and you barely kept in a giggle.

Stanley said something about a specific tool that he was sure Ford had and he needed to borrow. You caught bits and pieces, so focused on your task of torturing the scientist you loved.

You leaned forward more, scooting forwards on the floor as close as you could get with the wheels of the chair in the way. You touched his hands and he recoiled, probably nervous about you continuing and him making a noise he could not hide from Stanley. With his hands ‘safely’ above the desk, your prize was revealed to you. 

You pressed a kiss to the bulge in his pants. You licked up the clothed length of him, the fabric rough against your tongue, but you knew that the light touch would drive Ford up a wall. 

You wished you could see his face.

You undid the button of his pants and took his zipper in your teeth as you heard Stanley's slippers slap against the floor and recede to the back of the lab. Stanford loudly mentioned “the red toolbox in the cabinet to the left” and then leaned forward to hiss

“What do you think you're doing?”

“I should think that's obvious,” you whispered after unzipping him. You grinned at him, all promise, your fingers hooked in the waistband of his boxers. “Ask me to stop. You know the safeword.”

Stanford's mouth hung open for a moment and them snapped closed with an audible click of his teeth. You could almost see the gears turning in his head. His jaw set and his cheeks colored. He took a deep, steadying breath through his nose. 

He did not ask you to stop. He did, however, level you with a look that spoke of payback and devotion all at once, then straightened back up to address Stanley. One of his hands found it's way into your hair again and his fingers combed through your hair until he got a hold in it. 

“Did you find it?” He asked, and you pulled the waistband of his underwear down to free his cock. It twitched a bit in the cooler air of the lab. Ford wasn't especially thick, but he was longer than average, with well groomed short gray curls at the base of him. You licked your lips and used the hand not still on his knee to smear precum across the head. 

Ford stiffened but didn’t make any noise. 

What a good boy. 

You leaned forward, licking the pre you spread from the tip of him, and then started at the base. You flattened your tongue against him, dragging it up his length and then off of him again. Your saliva cooled against his skin as you stared for a moment, gleeful. His fingers tightened in your hair. 

“Found it!” You heard Stanley shout from the back of the lab. He tripped over a box in his exclamation, stumbling and knocking some gadgets from their place. You could see Ford’s displeasure in your mind’s eye, so you took that moment to take him fully into your mouth. 

Ford made a sound like he had been punched, a low exhale of air layered with a groan. He bent over the desk slightly and his hips jerked up to meet your mouth. You took him deeper. He was warm against your tongue, hard and twitching. Your thumb kept soothing motions against his knee. 

“Hey, Sixer, you ok there?” Stanley asked, and Ford straightened. 

“Fine, fine, Stanley. Like I said, just tired. I'll be heading to bed soon,” Ford said, voice a bit strained.

Happiness bubbled in you at his admission, warring with arousal. 

“If you say so,” Stanley said. You pictured one of his bushy gray eyebrows climbed up into his hairline. “Thanks for the screwdriver-Mine doesn't have the bits anymore. I'll bring it back.” 

You hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder on him, taking him deeper until you wanted to gag. You just wanted to feel him shake.

“No rush,” Ford said, which should have tipped Stanley off that something was wrong immediately. Ford always wanted his things back as soon as possible. “I know where you live, after a-ah-all.” 

Stanley chuckled, blessedly ignoring Ford’s slip, and his footsteps receeded back upstairs. The metal door to the lab shut with hopeful finality. 

“Fuck,” Ford gasped, and wheeled his chair back out of your reach. You whined at the loss and wiped your mouth with the back of your own hand. 

Stanford stumbled to his feet, pants barely hanging off his thighs, and moved towards the door. He flipped the heavy metal lock and looked back at you with the expression of a man starved. “I want to see you,” he said, and sat back in the chair with his legs spread. You raised an eyebrow at him and did not move from under the desk. “Please,” he added. “Please let me see you.”

Well. You wouldn't say no when he asked so nicely. 

“You're learning,” you teased as you slid forward on your knees to rest between his legs. “See what rewards you get when you're good?”

“Yes, I-Mnn,” Ford broke into a moan as you took him back in your mouth. You giggled, and the vibrations made him gasp. You looked up at him as you sucked, base to tip. His ears and his cheeks were a perfect shade of red. 

“Try again,” you said, smirking.

“I…I see,” he said, and rest a hand on your head almost reverently. “W-What I get when I'm g-aaah…!” 

You didn't let him finish. He looked too delicious, sounded too wrecked. Your sweet, sweet man. 

“Be a good boy,” you whispered as you stroked him. “Be good for me and cum.”

“S-Shit, I…I…” He actually whimpered. “Please, tell me…tell me I'm…” he trailed off, whether by embarrassment or pleasure you weren't sure. Either way. 

You kissed the tip of him again, tenderly, gazing up at him with all the love you had. Still, you needed him to say it. “Tell you you're what?” You ask, and run your fingertips lightly up the underside of his cock. He cursed, ears fully scarlet now, and gave you a molten look. 

“Please,” he started, and you're so so proud of him already. “Tell me I'm…” He trailed off, clearly fighting with himself. His pride, his self sabotage, his need to cum. The latter won out. He couldn't look at you. “...good. Please tell me I'm good.” His voice got a bit watery at the end and your expression softened. You pretended not to notice the tear that escaped and rolled down his cheek.

“Oh, my sweet, precious Ford. Of course you're good. So, so good.” And you took him back into your mouth, deep enough you could feel him in your throat, and swallowed around him. 

Stanford let out a filthy moan of your name as he came. His whole body curled over you, his thighs tensed and shook under your hands, and you watched his jaw go slack as he gasped and moaned through it. His hand tightened in your hair to the point of pain. You moaned around him and swallowed. You squirmed a bit where you sat, so unbelievably turned on by this man, and kept him in the warmth of your mouth. You sucked on his softening cock again, experimentally, and he gasped out a 

“Please…!”

He didn't pull you off of him and you didn't volunteer the movement, instead licking at his length with him still in your mouth. You dug your nails into his thighs through his slacks as he squirmed and looked up at him in rapt adoration as you shallowly bobbed your head.

Making him cum again was easy. He was already so sensitive, so shaky and pliant, begging out a chorus of pleasepleaseplease. All it took was a few more licks and a moan you let out around him. This orgasm was weaker, which was fine, because the whiney moan he let out was heaven. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and he squeezed them shut, unable to watch you any longer. His head fell back, resting against the back of the chair as he tried to remember his own name. You kept him in your mouth until he came down from it, keeping your head still this time, and he gently pulled you off by the hair. 

“You are…magnificent,” he whispered, ever the wordsmith. He cupped your face, memorizing your swollen lips, your hazy eyes, the flush of your cheeks, and you laughed. His head lolled a bit, the lack of sleep and the pleasure you'd given him stirring into the perfect cocktail to get him to bed. 

“I could say the same about you,” you counter, and you press a kiss to his fully soft length just to hear him gasp. You tucked him gingerly back into his pants, zipped and buttoned them, and stood, smoothing out his hair and fixing his crooked glasses. You kissed his forehead. “Now come on, my good boy. It's bed time.” 

“What about you?” He asked softly as you pulled him to his feet by one of his perfect hands. He looked towards your hips, suggestion in his tone and tired eyes, but then he swayed a bit. You pressed yourself to his side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. 

“What about me?” You asked, smiling up at him. No matter how much you wanted him, some things were more important. “Like I said earlier. All I needed was for you to come to bed.”

[murmaiderii]

Stan and Ford with an SO with POTS headcanons

Self indulgent headcanons cuz I’m feeling too POTSy to go buy vodka

Ford

Had never heard of POTS before you tell him you have it since it wasn’t well known in the 80s. Is one of the leading experts on it by the end of the day.

Formulates his own special, low calorie, highly effective electrolyte mix for you in your favorite flavors. Makes sure to have a glass of it ready for you when you wake up every morning.

Always carries extra water when you go out together, even though you always bring your own.

Enlists Fiddleford to help him make the world’s most accurate heart monitor watch. It comes out ugly and you refuse to wear it most of the time, so he starts over from scratch and makes a prettier one. You stop wearing that one too when it starts loudly beeping every time your heart rate goes over 130 bpm.

Can always tell when you’re having a presyncope before you can. Will find you a place to rest before you get too dizzy. If you’re out in the forest and sitting in the grass, he’ll have you use his lap as a pillow and stroke your hair while your heart calms down. You never faint when you’re with him since he’s so fast to notice when something is wrong.

Creates a personalized exercise regimen for you to help manage your symptoms. You hate it, but since he does it with you, you put up with it. You just like spending time with your man.

Kind of feels like you’re dating your own doctor with how he manages your treatment. You might even convince him to do some doctor/patient roleplay with you. The taboo is kind of a turn on for you.

Stan

Doesn’t understand it at all. Just lets you tell him what the symptoms are and goes from there.

He can relate to being tired all the time. You often take naps together, even though it fucks up your sleep schedule. He always holds you close during naps.

Wakes up whenever you wake up randomly in the night. If your heart starts racing in bed, he’ll chat about inane shit with you as a distraction until the racing stops.

Wants to kidnap a team of the world’s best cardiologists and neurologists to try to find a cure. You have to hold him back when he tries to go out to enact this plan.

Doesn’t know what electrolytes are best, so he just grabs a whole bunch of different ones when he goes shopping.

The first time you feel faint while you’re out with him, he lifts you up and carries you to the nearest bench. You tell him it draws too much attention when he carries you in public and you don’t need people to know you’re not feeling well. Will switch to pulling your arm over his shoulder and holding your waist as he helps you walk to the nearest seat.

If you faint in public, he’ll ask Mabel to create a distraction so people don’t stare at you. Makes sure you aren’t hurt and helps you to your feet when you’re ready to stand.

Frequently buys you salted chocolates as gifts.

Makes sure you get a lot of workouts in the bedroom since you hate traditional exercise ❤️

[typing-catastrophe]

frequent headaches (stanford pines x reader)

💕fluff

has observed you often enough to notice when you start getting them and will 'initiate countermeasures' aka will make sure you drink water, get some fresh air, take a break from what you're doing and give you pain relievers

"i don't need them-" yes you do. he will give you a lecture about how they aren't as effective anymore when it is already bad

you actually have to take them as soon as you notice that you will get a headache, so it can actually help you. if you take them when it is already really bad isn't going to do much; you will need double the amount for half the relief

(see this post)

if you let him, he will also document which meds (and measure in general) seem to work best for you

forehead kisses <3

will try to figure out the source (stress, medical problems, tight neck/shoulder muscles etc.)

if you go to the doctors and they can't find any reason, he will take it up onto himself to do brain scans and whatnot to get to the bottom of them

sometimes trivial things like taking out a too tight hair tie or putting on sunglasses will already help make it a bit better

soothingly caresses your forehead with his fingertips

pets your head and massages your scalp if it helps you

if you decide to lay down, he will darken the room for you, make sure it stays quiet and frequently checks up on you

lays down to nap with you, if you ask him

then it is time for cuddles, small kisses pressed to your head and ford combing his hand through your hair, lulling you to sleep

-------------------------------------------------- thank you for reading <3 comments & reblogs are appreciated

a/n: hi! i just wanna note that while i do indeed get relatively frequent headaches, i do not get migraines! so this is not about migraines! please keep that in mind requested by a lovely returning anon <3

[sixerstanley]

I feel like Stans sleep schedule should be talked about more. During the 30 years of fixing the portal, he was busy running the shack during the day, and worked on the portal at night, so when did he sleep? Naps during the day? After work for a bit? Early morning for an hour or so before he had to get up for work again? Has he gone days without sleep before? Do you think he has a hard time sleeping some of the time after he finally didn't need to get up and fix the portal anymore? What do you think Fords reaction would be?

NO NO BECAUSE THIS IS SOOOOO TRUE

god it would be so juicy if like. one night ford goes to sleep, and maybe its like. 11pm or so?? and stan is just watching tv or something. they don't say anything to each other, ford is still in his bitchy ass phase so he just gets some work done and goes to sleep.

but then he wakes up at 4am or so and like, idk, maybe he's thirsty and goes up to get some water. but then he hears the tv is still on

he rolls his eyes, thinking about how stan is wasting electricity in his house falling asleep to the tv like that. He grumbles in annoyance and goes to the living room and...

stan is awake.

in the exact same spot he was in before.

i don't think theyd talk about it right away. Ford definitely wouldn't. and he tries to convince himself he's not concerned (he is concerned)

honestly i dont think he'd take that one night at face value though. i think he'd probably, for the next few nights, set an alarm for himself in the middle of the night and check to see if stan's awake

9 times out of 10, he is.

moving forward i think ford would probably ask about it, in his own way. not sure how--probably dickish in however he says it--but i don't think stan actually explains why.

Why would he? Ford would probably say how stupid he was to risk his health in order to save him, or some shit like that. As if he wouldn't do anything for Ford.

As if he wouldn't die for him, if he had to.

and the dancing around the issue just makes ford more aggravated, more angry. they definitely have a fight about it that i don't think is ever resolved until post weird.

OOH WAIT. while stan is still getting his memories back he kinda notices that he...doesn't sleep often? Like, every time he tries, he has this uneasy feeling like he's wasting time? so he asks ford about it...

BETTER YET. what if in that fight it WAS brought up?? stan finally told him it was because he was working on the portal. And ford, whose first reaction tends to be anger when something upsets him, talks down to him.

"Ya wanna know why? You really wanna know why, Poindexter?" Stan asks, taking a swig of his soda and wishing it was something else entirely.

Ford just glares at him icily. "I wouldn't be asking if I--"

"The portal."

Ford blinks at him. "What about the portal?" he mutters, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

"I worked my ass day and night. I ran the shop in the mornin' to pay bills--the bills you never paid, by the way--and at night I was down here, bustin' my ass trying to get that stupid fuckin' machine to work," Stan starts, staring directly at Ford. "I read mountains of textbooks just tryin' to understand one ounce of it if it meant I could get you back."

Irritation bubbles up inside his body as Ford just stares at him, expression indistinguishable. Stan sighs, letting it go. "Dontcha get it? Sleep was a luxury in those days--I couldn't lose any free time i had to shit like that. I needed to get you back--that was the priority." He shrugs. "I guess my body just got used to it."

Ford stares at him for a long moment. Stan forces himself to look away.

Finally, he hears in a low, cold tone:

"I didn't ask you to do that."

Stan doesn't know why he thinks anything is going to change any time soon. He had this grand old idea that maybe, just maybe, Ford would be willing to be brotherly with him one day. That maybe, he could treat him like he actually cared.

That maybe, one day in the distant future, he would smile at him and finally say thank you, Stanley.

He doesn't know why he still bothers trying.

"All of your self-destructive behaviors are your own fault," Ford spits at him. "I didn't ask you to rebuild the portal. I didn't ask you to save me. You didn't have to save me."

And instead of being angry at this point, he's just fucking tired.

"No," Stan says, before glancing back up at Ford, his voice quiet but firm. "No, I didn't."

And he walks out of the room without another word.

SO ANYWAYS. post weird, stan notices he just...doesn't like to sleep?? and he asks ford about it and ford's face just turns white as a ghost.

ill that here for now bc i didn't expect to write anything HAHA those are my thoughts!!