#It would probably have been when Ford was in another dimension | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ckret2 · 7 months ago

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Chapter 56 of human Bill Cipher probably not about to be the Mystery Shack's prisoner much longer:

Bill and Mabel wrap up their impromptu lesson on the second dimension, while Ford and Dipper wrap up their final preparations for Bill's execution.

Dipper peeked in through the door to the gift shop. When no one acknowledged him, he cautiously meandered across the living room toward Ford, straight between Bill and Mabel without either of them glancing at him; they were too caught up in Bill answering Mabel's question about how to see through walls with the fourth dimension.

When Dipper was nearly out of the room, Bill suddenly focused on him. "Hey stinky, what have you been up to?"

Dipper jumped. "What?"

Mabel laughed. "Yeah! You smell like burning hair."

"You smell like nightmares," Bill corrected.

Ford muttered a curse under his breath. Ford hadn't noticed a smell, but Dipper's soul had fallen into the Nightmare Realm—did its distinctive scent still cling to him? Would Bill realize what it meant? If he did—

Dipper swallowed hard. "I... was... having a nightmare?"

Bill considered that. "Ask a stupid question..." He shrugged and turned back to the grid he'd been adding notes to.

Dipper sighed in relief. He joined Ford in the entryway to watch the lesson in bafflement. Under his breath, he murmured, "Has this been going on a while?"

"At least the last fifteen minutes." That was how long Ford had been watching. He'd learned a couple things about higher dimensional physics even he hadn't known.

"Wait," Mabel said, "Bill, I get it! You don't look through walls, you look over them!"

Bill's face split into a wide grin. "Explain it!"

"It's like, if I was floating above the second dimension, I could just see over all the walls! But Flatworlders don't even know what 'above' is, so they'd think I was looking through the walls somehow! So there's got to be some kind of fourth dimensional place 'above' the third dimension, right?!"

"On the money, star girl! Give yourself another sticker!"

"YES!" She'd run out of facial real estate for stickers, so she slapped it on her headband.

Bill beamed proudly at her. "How come your brother's the one with the straight A's, huh? You could blow him out of the water if you wanted."

Mabel's smile immediately disappeared.

Dipper hissed between his teeth. "Oooh." Under his breath, he said, "Mabel hates people saying things like that. I should go rescue her." He crept back into the room. "Hey! Bill!"

Mabel turned toward Dipper. Bill only glanced askance at him. Flatly, he asked, "What."

"Uh..." Dipper skimmed the papers coating the room for anything that he could talk about, and focused on the ringed planet behind the TV. He pointed at it. "Is... that Flatworld?"

Bill shrugged apathetically. "Sure, you can call it that."

"Why are all the countries off the planet?"

"Do you think we lived underground?"

Mabel perked up. "Dipper! The shapes live in outer space! In between their home planet and the planet's rings! They only use the planet for vacations and underground science buildings and stuff."

Dipper asked, "Underground science buildings?"

Bill sighed and turned away from the grid, giving Dipper a look that said I'll give you my attention, but I won't like it. "Research facilities. Like wave pools, particle accelerators, and solar farms. Gigantic equipment like that is more stable anchored in bedrock."

(Ford remembered, suddenly, over thirty years ago, Bill telling him that he ought to dig out a subterranean cavern for the interdimensional portal. "A big machine like this," he'd said, "you want that anchored on all sides by solid rock. It'll be a lot more stable that way." Ford had never dreamed that was a trillion-year-old cultural artifact from a dead civilization.)

Still studying the map, Dipper asked, "How do you tell where your country's borders are if you're just floating in empty space?"

"How do you?"

"We use... rivers, and..."

"And sometimes you just make them up. It's not that complicated."

"Were they all as oppressive as the country in Flatworld?"

Bill gave Dipper a withering look. "This isn't a politics class, kid."

(Ford cast a dubious look at the blood-red letters reading "ANTI-MONARCHIST ANARCHISM".)

Dipper scowled, crossed his arms, and looked over the map again. "But, wait—if you were floating in outer space, and you could just... float up and down between your planet's surface and the ring, then why isn't there anything further out than that? What was stopping you from floating all the way to that moon?" He gave Bill a challenging look, as though he'd uncovered a logical fallacy that undermined the whole map.

Bill rolled his open eye. "This is what you get for coming late to class." He pointed his crayon at his star student. "Shooting Star?"

"They did float all the way to the moon!"

Dipper's shoulders dropped. "Oh."

"It was a big extreme sports bragging rights thing," Mabel said. "Like climbing Mount Everest! Except first you have to get through the rings without dying! And it'd take like thirty years to fly there and thirty years to get back!"

"Approximating the human years," Bill said.

"So they couldn't go until they invented cars, because they're fast enough to get through the rings without getting hit and it only takes a year to drive to the moon, but that means you still have to carry enough supplies for two years, and—"

"Hold on," Dipper said. "Cars?"

"Yeah!"

"But there's no ground! They're flying around in the air! They don't have wheels, do they? What makes a car different from a rocket ship?"

"Um..." Mabel looked to Bill for help.

Bill said, "Firepower." He drew a rocket sailing up toward the moon at an angle, its fiery trail cutting through the planet's rings. After a thoughtful pause, Bill added, "I know a guy that used to work at an observatory on the far side of the moon."

Dipper said, "So what happened to your world?"

And there was that hesitance, that guarded look Ford had remembered seeing whenever Bill got too close to teaching Ford enough for him to recognize the danger to his dimension. He turned away from the kids, busying himself with refining the shape of the moon. "Do the math. I'm over a trillion years old! Stars burn out, universes go cold. Your planet will barely last twelve billion years. That's the way planets go."

"Well, if you're so powerful, why didn't you just—I dunno—keep it alive?"

The crayon snapped in Bill's hand.

Mabel gave her brother an irritated look—"Dipper, don't be mean,"—but it turned to a worried look when Bill rounded sharply on them both.

Bill snapped, "Who says I didn't, smart aleck?"

"Wh—I—"

"It is alive, thanks for asking. I made sure of that."

"Then where is it—?"

"Do you think I let you sit in here so you could ask stupid questions?" Bill planted a fist on his hip and pointed toward the door. "All you've done is derail the lesson and bring up stuff we covered three hours ago. Scram, kid."

"What—? But..." Dipper looked to Mabel for help.

Mabel shrugged. Dipper sighed, got up, and trudged out of the living room to join Ford in the entryway, giving him a forlorn look as he did.

Ford muttered, "I used to get kicked out of classes for challenging the teacher, too."

Dipper snorted. "Did he ever kick you out of class?"

Ford thought. "No—but why would he? He needed me to think I was his star student."

Although one time Bill had woken Ford up at two in the morning in the middle of a dream during the portal's construction, because Ford had forgotten some measurements he'd taken in the basement and he hadn't left his notes somewhere one of Bill's eyes could see them. And then, once Ford had retrieved his notes, the irritation of being woken had prevented him from falling back asleep and returning to his Muse.

They'd laughed about it the next night.

"Do you think his world does still exist?" Dipper asked.

Ford shook his head. "The Oracle said he destroyed his dimension himself in his pursuit of power. I trust her more than him."

They stood outside watching as Mabel asked Bill if there was any way for a normal human to see into the fourth dimension without busting their eyeballs. Bill started illustrating a way to grind glass to refract light from several minutes in the future, before abandoning it halfway completed to start explaining to Mabel how regular three-dimensional refraction worked. Ford recognized the unfinished illustration. Bill had included it in his miniature grimoire, too.

Voice low, Ford murmured, "You can't tell your sister we're ready."

Dipper nodded. "She'll be heartbroken."

Ford remembered having the exact same thought that morning. He squeezed Dipper's shoulder. "I suppose I won't be going with her to that concert in Portland tomorrow."

####

"... and that," Bill concluded, "is why the Time Giants banned sixth-dimensional tourism. But by then the damage was done—which is why there's only one survivor left."

Laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, Mabel said, "I'll never see balloons the same way again."

"Nobody ever does." Bill clicked shut his marker and dropped it on Mabel's chest. "So that covers the last fifty billion years of local politics! Did that answer your question?"

Mabel paused. "I don't remember my question."

"Good. I don't either." Bill sat on the floor beside Mabel and crossed his legs. "Anyway, you owe me fifty grand. All the info I gave you today is worth at least a year of college classes on this planet."

"Pssh, yeah right!" She paused. She sat up. "Wait. Really?"

"I might've skipped a few names and dates and formulas—but sure! We covered all the important stuff!" Smugly, he said, "So, still think I think you're dumb?"

Mabel stared at him, and then around the room at all the papers coating the walls, covered in Bill's handwriting. "You did all this just to prove I'm smart?"

"You proved you're smart. I got a captive audience for the afternoon. Quid pro quo!" Bill grinned. "I wasn't kidding earlier! You've got twice the brains of any of the other morons you'll share a classroom with. I'm surprised it's your brother on the honor roll instead of you."

Mabel's smile faded. Oh. "Yeah," she grumbled, pulling her knees to her chest. "You and everyone else." This wasn't much better than Bill thinking she was stupid: now he had expectations for her.

She'd heard it a million times, any time she did anything intelligent. You're so smart too, why aren't your grades better? Why don't you make grades like your brother?

Because Mabel liked art, music, motion, and stories (and usually not even the stories they read in English class); and Dipper liked—or at least was good at—math, science, and history. Because Mabel's brain fuzzed over with TV static when she tried to read a textbook, and the static got louder the more she was forced to reread it to "study"; whereas Dipper could read a chapter once, retain everything that mattered, and then skim it a second time right before a test to remind himself of the important names and dates. Because Mabel's bulb was just as bright as Dipper's, but hers had faulty wiring, making it flicker on and off outside her control; and she could only get it to glow steadily for things her brain was interested in; and she couldn't choose what her brain was interested in; and school wasn't on that list.

But how did she explain that when her parents were disappointed in her C+ test because Dipper came home with an A? When they told her she just needed to apply herself, how did she explain she was already applying herself five times harder than Dipper and still trailing behind him when the whole family knew she had just as much brains as him? It might have been easier if she actually was stupid. At least then they'd know she was doing her best. But she wasn't doing her best.

She got it from everyone. From her parents, day in and day out; from aunts, uncles, and grandparents; from teachers she'd taken by surprise with a particularly passionate essay; sometimes even from friends. Why aren't you making A's like your brother? So why shouldn't she hear it even from Bill Cipher.

Bill leaned back in surprise when Mabel curled in on herself. "What? I'm calling you smart, kid. Most humans like that."

Mabel shook her head, pouting at the floor. "Forget it. It just—it doesn't matter what my stupid grades are, all right?"

He stared at her in bafflement for a moment; and then said, with a tone of growing horror, "Oh. Ohhh. I sound like your dad."

She hated how much he knew about their home lives. She never knew when he was going to reveal he'd combed through one of her most shameful memories. "Just forget it," she repeated. "I just don't make grades like Dipper, okay?"

"Kid, I didn't mean it like that. I..." Bill floundered for a moment. It was weird to see him struggling for words. He leaned forward, cheek in hand, putting himself eye level with Mabel. "You know—I don't think I'm fond of your brother."

That dragged a small laugh out of Mabel. "Really? You hide it so well."

"I know! I'm a real gentleman," he said. "So when I say 'hey, why aren't you getting A's,' I'm not saying you should be more like him, ugh. I just want to watch the alpha twin trounce that little nerd."

She laughed louder. "Bill! Be nice, that's my brother!"

"And you have my eternal sympathy."

"Bill!" She punched his arm. "I don't want to compete with him, though. Even if I try a zillion times harder, I'll never get grades as good as his." She sighed loudly. But Bill was watching her, full attention on her face, expectant, so she continued: "I don't want to be a slightly worse Dipper, I just... want to be a really good Mabel! And—and maybe a really good Mabel is just okay at school. It's fine if I just... graduate with C's and go to some boring local college to get a boring degree for a boring job... while Dipper goes to some... big, fancy stupid technical college... or..." She trailed off, chin in her hands, staring at the carpet.

"Or while he gets private tutoring from some genius with too many PhDs?" Bill said wryly.

Mabel didn't answer, trying to swallow around the lump in her throat. "I know he wouldn't have actually left me behind."

Bill grimaced, sucking in a breath between his teeth. "Yeeeah, no, he would have," he said. "Sorry, kid. If it weren't for Weirdmageddon, he'd have taken the apprenticeship."

Mabel's stomach flipped. "Oh."

"So, you're welcome," Bill said.

Mabel socked him again, more seriously.

Bill just laughed. "Hey—if it helps, he woulda been worse off for it! He made the right choice sticking with you."

"Really?"

"Would I lie to you?" He paused. "Poor choice of words. I'm not lying to you. He'll be better off suffering through a middle-upper-class Californian high school beside you than he ever woulda been hiding in the woods catching gnomes in butterfly nets."

She nodded. That was some comfort. Even if, in another life, apparently Dipper would've ditched her.

Bill gave her one of those long, piercing looks he sometimes did; and then he nudged her. "Hey. Don't worry about school—that's your parents talking, not you. And don't worry about what your brother does. Let him bust his butt at a big stupid technical college! Flunk every class and draw flowers on the SAT bubble sheet! You'll have plenty of your own things going on, and your dumb grades won't matter for any of them—"

Mabel flung her arms around Bill. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Hey. You're gonna be fine, kid." He leaned his head on Mabel's, one shut eye pressed to the crown of her head. "I—know it's hard. But you'll be fine."

She didn't know how he could know it was hard. He already knew everything, it wasn't like he ever had to worry about grades. But—the fact that he cared (that he cared) meant a lot. "Thank you."

"Buuut, if you ever decide you do want to be an honor roll kid, call me up! I can give you some advice."

Warily, Mabel asked, "Study tips?"

"No way! What a waste of time!" Bill rolled his eyes. "But I can teach you how to cheat."

####

After Ford told Stan and Soos the news about the Dontium, he headed downstairs to fuel up his Quantum Destabilizer. It had been waiting on a worktable in his study for weeks, the corded power adaptor Fiddleford had made plugged in where it usually took fuel, its empty fuel tank laying nearby.

Fiddleford had said the adaptor he'd invented only gave the destabilizer enough power to act like a common laser—not enough to completely destroy matter and energy. It was insufficient for the job at hand. Ford unplugged the power adaptor, carefully coiled it up, and slid it into a storage pocket in the destabilizer's carrying case.

He picked up the fuel tank, retrieved the milk jug of NowUSeeitNowUDontium, and poured it into the tank, eyes never wavering from the jug until every drop had been poured inside and the tank re-sealed. He triple checked the destabilizer's safety before he plugged in the fuel tank. Then he put the destabilizer in the carrying case as well, and shut and latched it.

As he headed toward the door, Ford spied Flatworld laying on his desk—Dipper must have left it downstairs. He picked it up... and then sat down, studying the cover. It showed a square with arms and legs peering through a telescope.

How much did the book really matter? The kids must have cracked open something in Bill's psyche by reading this book, with how talkative he'd been today—Ford suspected he'd learned more about Bill's world in less than thirty seconds of staring at the crayon drawings in the living room than he had in all the years he'd known him. He itched again to start recording revelations in his journal.

Would Bill have been this forthright years ago, if Ford had remembered more about the book then and asked about it? Or was Bill only willing to share so much because the Pines already knew the truth about his cruel intentions and he had nothing more to hide? No, that couldn't be it—just a year ago, long after he'd revealed his plans, Bill had been willing to guardedly confess to Ford that he'd "liberated" his dimension, but nothing more. The only descriptor he'd given of it was "flat." He hadn't even shown Ford an accurate illustration of his home world.

Then was it because he'd died since then—a ghost desperate to share his life story before he dissipated completely? Or was it just because Mabel had asked?

If Bill had been honest when he'd said he wanted to be Ford's friend... then, Ford supposed, it was possible Bill was also sincere in caring for Mabel. No, Ford was sure that was sincere. How many times had he seen Bill lost in thought, staring at the friendship bracelet she'd given him?

Ford idly flipped through Flatworld, choosing a passage at random to read, wondering how much he'd remember.

SQUARE. Most illustrious Sir, I can observe plainly that you are a Circle, though I know not by what magical means you have found an ingress into my dreams. Would your Lordship deign to satisfy the curiosity of one who wishes to know the identity of his esteemed Visitor?

SPHERE. Your question is more difficult than you may realize. To begin with, I am not a Circle, but rather a Sphere, the definition of which I shall explain to you in due time; and you, my humble pupil, if you exercise the full extent of your intellectual and rhetorical capacity, I hope shall be the Square who changes Flatworld.

SQUARE. Your Lordship both honors and confuses me. I shall strive to be worthy of your high estimation, but I am naught but a mere Quadrilateral and know not how I could contain the potential to achieve such a feat.

SPHERE. I see I have gotten ahead of myself. I shall explain the purpose of my visit. I hope to find in you—as being a man of sense and an accomplished mathematician—a fit prophet to receive the Gospel of Higher and Lower Dimensions, which I am allowed to preach to only one brilliant mind in a century.

SQUARE. Pardon me, my Lord, if I am speaking blasphemously in my ignorance; but would not a messenger from beyond this Plain who delivers Gospels to Prophets be better described as an Angel?

SPHERE. You may refer to me as an "Angel" if you so wish, as my nature is not so different from the creature you call such. However, I have come not to offer a revelation of the truth of the Higher Dimensions, but to bless you with the inspiration to discover the truth for yourself. In this manner, I am less like unto an Angel than I am to a Muse—

Ford threw the book on the floor.

####

When Ford headed back upstairs, he resolved to tear down all Bill's crayon drawings and throw them away, lest he give into the temptation to waste the rest of Journal 5's pages meticulously cataloguing them.

But when he reached the living room, the walls were bare, with no sign the papers had ever been there aside from some stray crayon marks and a little extra damage to the wallpaper where the tape had peeled up, and a faint smell of smoke.

Ford followed the smell into the kitchen. There was a cast iron skillet on the dark stove, embers and the last few strands of smoke trailing up from it. Bill was sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, staring out into the night, nursing what looked like the second cider can of the night.

"What's all this?" Ford asked.

Without turning around, Bill said smugly, "I knew you'd be back to try to get those papers."

"Wh—? I was coming to throw them away."

"In the middle of the night?" Bill scoffed. "Please."

Ford frowned at the skillet. Well. Temptation removed, just like he'd wanted. Although a petty part of him was miffed that now Bill thought he'd been coming to rummage through his detritus for secrets about his home world, rather than seeing Ford confidently throw it in the trash. "How did you get the stove on?"

"Oh, is it on?" Bill asked innocently.

Ford double checked. It was not, and the knobs to operate it were still removed. But it radiated heat as though it had been; Bill hadn't just dropped the papers in the skillet and ignited them there. (Which would have been an entirely new concern.) Ford checked the cabinet where they kept the stove knobs—all still there. If he asked Bill how he'd achieved that, he'd probably just profess ignorance.

Fine, Ford had plenty of other questions he wanted to ask. "How long have you been able to levitate objects?"

"You mean like this?" Bill lifted his empty cider can, tapped it twice with his index finger, and left it suspended in midair.

"Yes, like that."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I can't do that," Bill said.

Ford sighed in frustration. "Was it the eclipse? You said you were—what was it, 'better at floating' than us? Did it... unlock something? Or have you always been able to do this?"

"This is what I used to like about you, Stanford. You're so curious. You come up with the most interesting connections between things. Sometimes connections I'd never thought of! And you keep—asking—questions. Even when nobody answers you." He finished his second can, used both hands to crush it, and left it floating in the air next to the first. "You used to be such a good student."

You used to be such a good teacher, he wanted to shoot back—but that was a lie. Bill had never been a good teacher, he'd just pretended to be one.

He'd been a good teacher to Mabel today.

Why isn't he always a good teacher? Why had he chosen to be a poor facsimile when he could have chosen to be the real deal? Why hadn't he been better? Why hadn't he been better? Why did they always seem to have these conversations in the middle of the night?

"Why are you..." Ford spread his hands helplessly, gesturing at all of Bill, everything he'd ever done—golden god of infinite wisdom, poisoned by lies and cruelty, trapped in a slowly rotting body. "Why are you like this."

Ford wasn't expecting Bill to get out of his seat and round on him so fast. He didn't even see the blow coming before Bill punched him.

Ford seized Bill's wrist and only barely caught himself before he broke it.

Bill didn't even acknowledge Ford's grip. "I'm so sick of you." His voice was hard as iron. "If you ever ask me that again, I'll burn down this shack with all of us inside."

Ford stared at Bill. He let go of his wrist.

Bill silently swept around Ford and out of the kitchen.

"I'm sorry."

Bill's footsteps fell silent. After a moment, he muttered, "Might've overreacted."

Something about the grudging not-apology hit Ford harder than a proper apology ever would have. He remained standing in the kitchen until long after Bill had gone upstairs.

The cans had fallen at some point during Bill's departure. Ford knelt to pick them up. Experimentally, he tapped one twice, and let it go.

It fell to the floor again.

It occurred to him that, depending on what happened tomorrow, those might have been the last words he'd ever say to Bill.

####

Bill shuffled to his sleep spot under the attic window, flopped unsteadily onto the cushions, pulled Journal 4 from its hiding spot, and carefully stuck the gold star Mabel had given him earlier that day to one of its pages.

And then he filled half a page with all the things he should have screamed at Ford.

####

Mabel came into the bedroom, shut the door—it had been patched earlier that day by Soos—and flopped face up on her bed. Staring at the ceiling, she said, "Dipper I know everything now."

Dipper was already under the covers, eyes shut. "About what?"

"Bill."

"What shape was his dad?"

Mabel paused. "I know almost everything about Bill."

"Pfff."

"But I do know his mom was some kind of supermodel or something! He says that's where he got his good looks. I don't know if he's actually good-looking by Flatworld standards, or if he just has really high self-esteem, but if his mom was a model I guess he could have inherited whatever Flatworlders think is good-looking—"

"How do you know he's not lying?"

"Why would he lie about that? I'll never meet his mom."

"To make his family sound cool?"

Uncertainly, Mabel said, "I guess." After a pause, she loud-whispered, "Did you read Flatworld?"

Dipper figured he wasn't getting to sleep any time soon. He pushed his covers down and sat up. "Yeah."

"It was really messed up, huh?"

Dipper thought about it. "I... guess it was, yeah." He hadn't thought about it much earlier—he'd been trying to wrap his head around the math and visualize the fourth dimension, and then his quick tour of the Nightmare Realm had pushed it from his mind completely; but... "The author's really obsessed with dead baby shapes, huh."

"You remember those old 70s cartoons with singing numbers we watched in class to try to teach us multiplication?" Mabel asked. "I was expecting it to be like that but for old timey people. Not about shapes getting executed for having short sides."

"Or squares getting locked in insane asylums for heresy if they tried to say the third dimension existed."

"Or major sexism against lines."

"Yeah, what was that about? Did they really think lines went around stabbing everyone to death just because they're pointy and they could?"

"I don't know, maybe lines really did do that. If I kept being told to shut up because my head was too skinny to hold a brain, I'd stab my husband too."

"I guess that makes sense." Light through the attic's triangular window illuminated the room a deep gray-blue; but as Dipper watched, the room darkened as a cloud covered the moon. It was probably going to rain tomorrow. "And... this is where Bill grew up?"

"Yeah," Mabel said quietly. "Some details are different from the book, he said so. Like he told me colors weren't illegal and peace-cries were just a dumb etiquette thing. But..."

"What about the executions? Or—or triangles being treated like servants by everyone else?"

"I don't know. He didn't want to answer questions like that. He talked about stuff like dance clubs and gardening in space, but he got super mad when I tried to ask about the serious stuff."

"Maybe he got his power as part of some... triangle uprising? And then he went crazy and decided to destroy everything?" Dipper was thinking, again, about the Axolotl's half-remembered prophecy. That maybe Bill was here to help them against some threat even worse than him.

"I can see why he destroyed his dimension," Mabel said.

Dipper winced, "Okay, but—sure, it was bad, but that doesn't mean his entire dimension deserved to die."

"No, of course not," Mabel said quickly. "But like I get it. If all that was going on."

"If it was. Just... how much is different from the book, and how much is true?"

"I don't know."

The room fell silent again.

"Welp," Mabel said brightly, "I've got the rest of summer to get the whole story out of him! Goodnight, Dipper!"

Dipper's stomach flipped with guilt. "Yeah." The rest of summer. Mabel left for Portland in the morning. "Goodnight."

He lay down, pulled his sheet back up, and stared at the ceiling.

Friday, 11:00 p.m.

####

(Next week's chapter is exactly what you think it is. But before we get there, I'm looking forward to hearing what y'all think about this week!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle ford #stanford pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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fangirlwriting-stories · 4 months ago

Text

What's Almost Familiar

Summary: “It’s not quite that simple,” Ford says, turning to look back at his drink. “If the portal is turned back on, it could give Bill a path through to whatever world it’s turned on in. It’s not as easy as turning it on and you get to go home. It’s the needs of the many versus the needs of the few. He has to keep the world safe from Bill. I can understand why he has to leave you here.”

He winces a little as soon as he says the last part, and braces himself. He expects a glare, or for Stan to snap at him, or anything similar. Something that shows he doesn’t understand the sacrifice part of all this. But instead, Stan laughs, a strange mix of fond and sad, and takes another swig of his beer.

“God, Poindexter,” he says. “You’ve been out here almost thirty years and you still haven’t learned a damn thing, have you?”

Author's Note: No of course I didn't read the Book of Bill lately like everyone else what are you talking about

I also blame this post with all the amazing inspiring art btw

...

In retrospect, Ford probably shouldn’t have run when the fashion police from the last dimension had started chasing him. But while he doesn’t know anything about how to look fashionable, he does know that based on the suits and dresses of that dimension, he wouldn’t stand a chance in court. He hadn’t even known someone could wear that much glitter.

He hadn’t even meant to go to the stupid dimension in the first place. He’d been aiming for the one over, but his dimension-hopping gun had been buggy for weeks now, and the parts still aren’t ready to fix it. The dimension he was aiming for was supposed to give him an opportunity for a short rest, somewhere he could stay just long enough until the jerry-rigged screen on his gun would go off and tell him the parts are ready.

But surprise surprise, the malfunctioning gun still has a tendency to malfunction, and he’d wound up in a dimension that took his proclivity for comfort personally.

He hadn’t really had a dimension in mind when he fired up the gun again, just somewhere he could hide for a bit, but unfortunately the fashion police followed him right through the portal, meaning Ford is still running, with them hot on his heels and shouting about the tears in his coat.

Okay, okay, he can do this. He’s been on the run enough times to figure this out. He needs to lose them, find a place to hide, and get his dimension gun working long enough to find a place they can’t follow him.

Ford looks ahead and sees a corner to his left, and dives around it. What meets him is a straightway of crumbling abandoned buildings. Well, he’s hidden in worse places. But as he starts running down the street, aiming for another alleyway to duck down in a hope of losing the officers behind him, someone sprints out of an alley on his other side, and runs headfirst into him, knocking them both to the ground.

“Hey, watch where you’re going you knucklehead!” Ford snaps, but when he turns to glare at the person as he tries to pull himself to his feet, he’s met with… himself?

No, that’s impossible. If this was an alternate version of himself, both of them and the entire dimension would now be starting to fade from existence. But it sure looks like him, which only leaves the option of—

Ford’s eyes widen. “Stanley?”

Stanley stares back at him, looking equally as stunned as Ford feels, but before either of them can say anything, from behind Stan comes “You won’t get away with it this time!” and Stan whirls back to look towards it.

“Uh, we should probably get out of here,” he says. He stands and pulls Ford to his feet, and starts pushing them both back the way Ford came.

“Uh, no,” Ford says, pushing back. “Bad idea.”

Before Stan can ask why, the fashion police run around the corner, and Stan looks at them. His expression turns baffled, which is fair, Ford hasn’t encountered cops who wear that much perfume before tonight either.

“Get back here, you filthy criminal!” one of them yells. “The detective themed party was last week!”

“O-kay, we’re running now,” Stan says. He grabs Ford’s hand and pulls them both down the street, away from both sets of cops.

“Buy me some time,” Ford says, yanking out his dimension gun. “If I can get this damn thing to work I can get us out of here!”

Stan turns over his shoulder, and there’s the sound of a gun of some kind going off, which is strange, because he hadn’t thought Stan had one. But judging by the pained cry and the “No, not blood on my suit!”, Stan definitely hit the fashion police with something. Another cry comes from behind them, and Ford manages to get the gun settled on one dimension.

He hits the button on his gun, and a portal opens in front of them both. He grabs Stanley’s arm and pulls them both through it, then points the gun over his shoulder and zaps the portal closed.

They’re in a dimension that’s clearly experienced an apocalypse recently, just a flat, gray, dead expanse of land. And while whatever happened is bound to be depressing if they take the time to figure it out, for now the both of them just use it as an excuse to stop and catch their breath. Ford leans forward and puts his hands on his knees, and lets out a large sigh of relief.

After a moment of heavy breathing, Stanley laughs. “Well, that’s the last time I ever bring that much fake money into a casino,” he says.

“I’m not even going to ask,” Ford mutters.

Then realization strikes him, and he stands back up. “Wait, Stanley,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” Stan asks incredulously. “You weren’t supposed to jump in after me, Poindexter. What the hell were you thinking?”

“After you?” Ford asks, baffled. “You mean you…” he pauses as the obvious option occurs to him. It seems to occur to Stan at the same time.

“We’re… not from the same place, are we?” Stan asks, his face falling ever so slightly, despite the way he was just yelling at Ford about coming in after him.

“It seems not,” Ford says, giving a sympathetic smile. “But hey, thanks for the save back there. How did you do that, anyway?”

Stan shrugs, and hoists up his right arm. Now that they’re not running from the cops, it’s easier to see that the arm looks suspiciously metal, which is confirmed a second later, when Stan points it firmly away from both of them and turns all of the fingers into what look like miniature guns.

For a second, all Ford can do is stare at it.

“Lost the real one a decade and a half ago,” Stan says. “Figured if I was gonna get an upgrade it might as be an upgrade, y’know?”

Ford swallows, still looking at his arm. “Six fingers?” he asks quietly.

Stan’s eyes widen slightly and he immediately hides the arm behind his back. “Yeah well uh, you know, the guy who made it doesn’t get too many humans and wasn’t super sure what he was doing. Plus uh, more bullets.”

Ford raises an eyebrow. “Why not get seven fingers, then?”

Stan sighs, and drops his arm back to his side, then rubs the back of his neck with his other one. “Don’t make a thing of it.”

“Never,” Ford says, smiling a little despite himself. And despite the fact that he really can’t afford to waste time finding parts for his quantum destabilizer, he can’t help the next thing that comes out of his mouth.

“Hey,” he says. “I know a good human bar a couple dimensions over. I can probably get this thing working long enough to get us there,” he says, lifting up his dimension gun. “Do you want to get a drink?”

Stan grins.

…

This version of Stan who got sucked into the portal is everything Ford would have thought to expect from a version of Stan who got sucked into the portal. He’s loud and brash and boastful, with plenty of tricks he can pull off with his prosthetic arm and plenty of stories about space heists he’s pulled off. Ford is fairly certain they’re not all true, but he wants to hear every one anyway.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed Stanley. His feelings about his actual brother from his own dimension are so tangled up with betrayal and anger and a million other things that it’s hard to even know what he’d do if he saw him. But in talking to a version of Stanley that carries none of the emotional baggage, Ford almost feels like he’s eighteen again, before everything went so horribly wrong between them.

“Listen, I’m telling you, that one was the law’s fault,” Stan says, setting his mug of beer down. “Laws shouldn’t be stupid if they don’t want to be broken.”

“I don’t think that’s quite how that works,” Ford says, though the large smile on his face is definitely giving away how little he’s bothered by it.

“Hey, I wasn’t the only one running from the cops tonight,” Stan points out with a bright grin. “Guess I’m not the only criminal in the family anymore.”

“Laws broken in the name of science and survival don’t count,” Ford says, picking up his own beer and taking a drink.

“Great, so that means I can write off everything I did in the ten years after dad kicked me out, good to know,” Stan asks, sounding amused.

Ford startles a little, surprised at the casual way that Stan says that. He doesn’t often think about what life was like for Stan during those ten years, but if he’s talking about writing off broken laws, Ford really doubts he means it in the name of science.

Either way, Stan seems totally content to move on, instead grinning back at Ford. “And what was tonight, survival or science?” he asks.

Ford wrinkles his nose. “Fashion.”

Stan laughs, loud and delighted in the way Ford hasn’t heard in decades.

“I’m sorry, didn’t you say something about bringing fake money into a casino?” Ford says, shoving Stan in the shoulder rather than acknowledging the ache in his chest.

“Yeah, but you expect that of me. Next time you want to break the law, put some actual malice behind it. It’s way more fun.”

Ford just rolls his eyes and takes another drink of his beer. “Please, I bet I could outshine you with multiverse law-breaking stories.”

“I’m sorry, have you been listening to all my space heists?”

“And how many run-ins have you had with monsters and dream demons? Have you ever even met Bill Cipher?”

“Bill Cipher? What is he, like a secret code nerd you lost a boxing match to?”

“Oh, now I know that wasn’t a dig at my boxing skills.”

“Well, if the glove fits.”

“I’ve been traveling the multiverse and fighting monsters for almost thirty years, my boxing skills are a little better than they were in high school.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Ford glares over at Stan. “Are you trying to get me to start a brawl in the middle of a bar?”

Stan just takes another drink of his beer, though Ford can see the smile behind it. He can’t help but smile back a little as he shakes his head and takes a drink from his own mug.

Stan sets his drink down after another second, and turns to face Ford again. And while Ford is expecting another joke or the start to a story to try and one-up all of Ford’s options, instead Stan surprises him.

“So uh, your portal incident,” he says. Ford turns and faces him. He wasn’t expecting Stan to go there. But then Stan says, “where’d you end up after going through? Because like, if we didn’t run into each other until now, but everything else seems mostly the same, does that mean we started in different places?”

Ford gives an “ah” of understanding.

“Well, I ended up in the nightmare realm with Bill,” Ford says. “Had to run for my life pretty fast, but I made it out. I mean, obviously. Where were you?”

“A giant empty void of some kind,” Stan says. He rubs the back of his neck and gives a sour smile. “Thought Ford was mocking me.”

Ford narrows his eyes in confusion. “Huh?”

“Oh, my Ford, obviously,” Stan says with a wave of his hand, as if that clears it up. “Not you.”

“No, I— what do you mean, you thought he was mocking you?”

“Well, after he shoved me in,” Stan says, and something about the way he says it makes Ford’s chest go cold.

“But… why would that mean he was mocking you?” he asks, hoping he’s misunderstanding. “It was an accident, wasn’t it?”

Stan turns and gives him a confused look. “What? No. What are you talking about?”

“Well, I wouldn’t— you’re not saying he shoved you in on purpose, are you?”

“Hey,” Stan holds up his hands. “Different worlds, different Fords. It doesn’t say anything about you.”

Ford tries not to let his obvious discomfort show. “I suppose,” he says. But still, he can’t imagine any scenario where he’d shove Stanley into the portal on purpose. He might have been angry at Stan, but he never wanted him in danger. And shoving him through the portal would have guaranteed that. He shut it down because it was dangerous, and he didn’t want anything like what happened to Fiddleford to happen to anyone else.

“You’re really bothered by that, huh,” Stan says after a second, because he’s far too similar to the brother Ford knows, which means he can read him like an open book.

“I just don’t understand,” Ford admits, shaking his head. “I mean, you are so similar to how I remember my version of Stanley. Why would I be so different?”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, he was actin’ different too,” Stan says. “My brother, I mean. Real weird.”

Ford looks curiously back at Stan. “Weird how?”

“Like, real giggly and manic. At one point I kicked him hard into the wall and he just started laughing. He said something about how hilarious it was. Honestly, I think he was on something.”

Ford can’t breathe. His mind is starting to paint him a horrifying picture.

“He— Stanley,” he says. “Did he fall unconscious at any point that you were down there?”

Stan looks at him in confusion. “How’d you know that?”

Ford runs a hand through his hair. “That— god. Stanley, that wasn’t your brother.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That— remember when I mentioned Bill Cipher?”

“The secret code nerd?” Stan asks, smirking.

“He’s not a secret code nerd, he’s a demon,” Ford says, turning to face Stan directly, trying to get across the importance of what he’s saying, because if Stanley meant it when he said he never met Bill, that means he’s spent the whole time here thinking his brother pushed him through the portal on purpose, and Ford can’t let that go on.

“Stanley, he’s a demon that I met, and that your brother must have met too. I suppose I can’t say that things went exactly the same, but from what you said…” he takes a breath and folds his hands together. He doesn’t make a habit of telling people his history with Bill, but this is important.

“I met him when I was young and idealistic and stupid,” he says plainly. “And before I realized how malicious and dangerous he was, I made a deal with him, and let him possess me whenever he wanted. He can’t anymore,” Ford knocks on the metal plate in his head. “But back then, he could anytime that I fell asleep. And that whole thing, about pain being hilarious? He said that all the time. He probably thought that you were too dangerous to him, or that you’d get in the way, so when your brother fell unconscious, he… well. I can’t imagine why he’d lead with the fact that it wasn’t your brother in control anymore.”

Stan looks at him for a long moment after he finishes, and to Ford’s surprise, he can’t read his face. Finally, Stan just says, “Huh.” He turns and takes a drink of his beer.

Ford blinks at him. “Huh?” he repeats.

Stan looks back at him. “Do you want me to say something else?”

“Something— do you believe me?” Ford asks, a little incredulous.

“I mean, I’ve seen enough crazy shit out here that it can’t exactly be off the table,” Stan says. “You also have no reason to lie to me, so… yeah, sure.” He shrugs.

Ford looks at him for another minute. “I’ll admit, I was expecting a bigger reaction,” he says.

“I mean, it doesn’t change that much,” Stan says. “I’m still here, aren’t I? Come on, we both know how smart you are. If my brother wanted me back he’s had thirty years to do something about it. Even if he wasn’t responsible for the first part, it’s on him now. It’s fine. I made my peace with it a long time ago.”

Oh. Ford gets it now. Stan wants something he can’t have.

“It’s not quite that simple,” Ford says, turning to look back at his drink. “If the portal is turned back on, it could give Bill a path through to whatever world it’s turned on in. It’s not as easy as turning it on and you get to go home. It’s the needs of the many versus the needs of the few. He has to keep the world safe from Bill. I can understand why he has to leave you here.”

“God, Poindexter,” he says. “You’ve been out here almost thirty years and you still haven’t learned a damn thing, have you?”

“I— what? I’ve learned plenty,” Ford says, feeling a little offended. “I’ve learned so much about the multiverse, and about Bill, and—”

“About yourself, knucklehead,” Stan says, smirking at him. “Have you just been passing through from one place to another for thirty years?”

“I— there aren’t a ton of other options,” Ford says. “I can’t stay in a parallel Earth, I could run into a version of myself. There’s too many dimensions that can’t sustain a life form like me, and I still have Bill to worry about. It’s not like I can just leave him to do whatever he wants.”

“Sure you can,” Stan says. “Someone else will take care of him.”

“Someone else will what? Stanley—”

“It’s not all on you, Ford,” Stan says, looking back at him. “If there’s a version of me here, there have to be other versions of you. Let one of them take that risk.”

“I can’t just count on that! What if that’s what we all think?”

Stan snorts, like that’s somehow funny.

“Stanley—”

“And then what?” Stan cuts him off, turning and raising an eyebrow at him. “After you defeat Bill. What do you do then?”

“I— there’s bound to be something else that—”

“What stuff do you do because you want to, Ford? What out here makes you happy?”

“Well— discovering new dimensions and how they work,” Ford says. “Their laws of physics, their food and cultures, their—”

“You got any friends?”

“What does that matter?”

“How much of the stuff you learned was pure observation? Did you go up and talk to anyone, ask them questions about how things work?”

“Right, because everyone in every dimension speaks English.”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you’ve been here almost thirty years and you’ve never gotten your hands on a dimensional translator?”

“I— I have, but that’s not—”

“Ford, listen. We have to live here, right? I’m never going home, and it doesn’t sound like you think you are either.”

“I’m not,” Ford says. “What’s your point?”

“So this is all we got,” Stan says. “You’re never going home, so you have to do something else.”

“Obviously, what are you getting at?”

Stan grins at him. “You want to come check out my place?”

Ford stares at him. “You have a house?”

“Of sorts.” Stan pulls out a small box that looks vaguely like a treasure chest. “I’ve got a dimensional lock on her.”

“I…” Ford says, and trails off, not quite sure what to say.

Stan smiles at him, and then waves over at the bartender. “Thanks for the drinks!” he calls. He slams a couple bills down on the counter and turns back to Ford.

“Are those bills real?”

“Shh. Let’s go.” Stan hits a button on his dimensional lock, and the world bends and twists around them, pulling them back to whatever Stan’s put the other lock on. When they stop, Ford looks around, and—

“Why am I not surprised?” he asks, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, she’s a beauty, ain’t she?” Stan says, grinning at him. “Welcome to the Stan-O-War II.”

They’re standing on a houseboat in what looks like a fairly typical human ocean, if you ignore the fact that a stretch of it rises into the air and twists upside down into the sky not too far up ahead.

They’re sailing right towards the lift into the air, but Stan seems completely unphased by this. He walks up a set of stairs to a steering wheel, and pulls a lever on the side. The entire boat starts glowing gold, and as they reach the shift in gravity, the boat turns into it with no issue, and Ford doesn’t feel his own center of gravity shift at all.

“You would not believe how much I had to steal to get that part working,” Stan says.

“Stanley—”

“Alright, I lied. I worked odd jobs until I could afford it. Easier that way. There’s so many police checks on these kinds of dohickeys, it’s ridiculous.”

The boat sails with the curve until they’re upside down, and Ford can look around him to see stars and planets around them, though not any that he recognizes.

“Remarkable,” he breathes, because he can’t help but be a little blown away by it.

Stanley walks back down the steps and over to stand next to Ford, smiling at the stars around them too.

“I picked this dimension as a home base,” Stan says. “I think you can guess why.”

Ford just nods.

Stan walks forward and leans over the side of the boat to look down at the water. After a second, Ford joins him. From the— sea? sky?— below, fish leap up and eat the stars out of the air. As soon as they land back in the water, one of the stars still in the air splits in half, and the number of stars in the sky remains unchanged.

“Some of the planets,” Stan says, pointing at one with his finger and following it as the bot sails past it. “Can support life. So when the fish eat the stars, the stars split so nothing on the planet dies. The brief moments of darkness are the planet’s solar eclipses.”

“Planet-wide solar eclipses?” Ford asks, amazed. “Is the star gone for too short of a time to make a difference in the temperature?”

“Nah. The folks on the planet just evolved to get used to it.”

“How do you know?” Ford asks, looking back at him.

“I shrunk myself down and went to ask ‘em. Had to time it right, though. I’m sure not evolved to survive an eldritch fish eating the sun.”

“Stanley, that’s… incredibly dangerous,” Ford says. But for a moment, he can’t help but feel impossibly jealous.

“Worth it though. I’m apparently well known to everyone on pretty much every planet. They kind of view me as a god. Hell of an ego boost that was.”

“Oh lord,” Ford mutters. “I don’t want to think about that.”

Stan laughs. He turns and leans back against the side of the boat, then gazes up at the sea, back on the… well, Earth, of sorts, now above them.

“When I said I made my peace with it,” Stan says, without looking at Ford, “I meant it. I know my brother. I know how his head works. I know he’s probably doin’ alright without me, and I’m okay with that. Way I see it, my two options were either let everything fester and grow into an angry, bitter old man, or let it go.” Stan spreads his hands. “I like where the second option has let me end up.”

Ford looks at Stan, and finds he doesn’t know what to say. It’s an unusual feeling. He’s not sure he likes it.

It looks like they’ll be sailing along the sky for a while, judging by what’s ahead of them, so Ford leans back next to Stan and looks at the sky below them and the sea above them.

“But…” Ford says finally, because he has to say something. “What’s your goal, here? What are you trying to do?”

Stan turns to him, raises an eyebrow. “Goal?”

“What do you want to do, with your life?” Ford asks. “It— it can’t just be— this.”

Stan smiles, just a little. “And why not?”

“Well— because…” Ford trails off, lost.

Neither of them say much for a while.

Finally, Ford’s dimension gun beeps at him. He glances down at the screen and lets out a sigh of relief.

“My parts to fix my gun are ready,” he says to Stan. “I’ve gotta get going. But… thanks, I guess. It was nice to meet you, and have a drink, and…” he looks around, and his words are stolen for another moment. Eventually, he just finishes “…this.”

Stan gives him a long look, then just nods.

Ford moves the gun’s settings carefully, and when he fires it, it shows him the right dimension.

It’s just as he’s about to step through that Stan speaks again.

“You could come with me, you know,” he says. “We could hunt for treasure and adventure, like we always said we would. Even if we’re not technically the ones we said it to.”

This, Ford has been expecting, and he responds instantly and with ease. “I can’t,” he says, turning to give Stan one last look. “I have to try and defeat Bill. I have to save the world.”

But rather than get angry, or sad, or doing anything that makes sense, Stan just sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “You always do, huh.” He turns and starts back up the stairs towards the wheel, and Ford watches him go. Stan gives no argument, doesn’t keep trying to convince Ford to come.

Ford doesn’t know what to say. It’s the third time it’s happened, and that’s enough that he’s decided, he’s not a fan. He would say it’s foolish to expect to know how a Stan from an alternate dimension would act, but so much about this version of his brother has been familiar enough to make Ford’s chest ache. And yet, when it comes to the big things, the set-in-stone things, like the Stan-O-War, and Bill, and getting shoved into the multiverse for thirty years by someone Stan freely admits he thought put him here on purpose; when it comes to the conversations that Ford should absolutely know the path of, Stan reacts in the complete opposite way he expects, and it leaves Ford feeling lost and unsteady.

“I…” he says, reaching for something normal. He fails. “I don’t understand.”

Stan turns to face him. There is so much sudden warmth and love in his gaze that it takes Ford’s breath away.

“That’s okay, Sixer,” Stan says. “Just go try and save the world. Come find me if you fail, okay? I’ll still be here.”

Ford doesn’t know what to say to that either. After a second, he just turns and walks through to the other dimension, to get the parts he needs.

He turns one last time and watches Stan as the portal between them closes. Stan smiles as it does, and then he’s gone. He leaves Ford with a lump in his throat, an ache in his chest, and the feeling that he’s missed something important.

#gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #reverse portal au #plus the ford from canon #my fic

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temmtamm · 4 months ago

Note

couldddd you POSSIBLY!.!!.!!! do a gravity falls yandere platonic ford which any age with a son!reader? Maybe around the age of 14 or younger. IF NOT THATS COMPLETELY FINE!

or if not that maybe a platonic yandere teen ford and stan with a younger brother?

Hii pookie!!

Friendly reminder once again, I do not do gender specific asks/headcanons!! Check my Gravity Falls ‘Asks Open’ post if anyone has any confusion on what I will/wont do!

As for a parental Ford…let’s see..

Well, at least in my opinion, Ford probably wouldn’t take that care of a child. He can barely take care of himself, let alone a kid.

But, if we are talking after the portal and everything, then I think that might be different.

Once again, Ford doesn’t have much of any parental bones in his body, but he does display more care and affection for the twins than I think he would’ve before the portal. I feel like he had matured and grown a lot through all the dimensions he had been in, and was able to recognize how poorly he was raised.

So, let’s say your home life wasn’t as great either, whether it be something as simple as your father being emotionally constipated, or your family just fights more than ‘normal’ ones, Ford WILL draw parallels to your home and his.

And Ford, after all he has learned, doesn’t want another person to wind up like him; craving validation and praise from others, to the point where he—I mean, you, seek it out from dangerous sources.

So…Ford starts hanging around you more.

He’s very…subtle with it. He knows kids, especially teenagers don’t care for adults getting all up in their business, so he tried to take it slow.

He didn’t expect how closed off you were, however. Your walls were completely up…So, he had to take some extra measures to get some details out of you.

Y’know the fun fact about all the weirdness in Grvaity Falls?? It means that there’s a lot of bugs that can repeat what it hears—So, it wasn’t that hard to sneak one of these copyroaches into your home and listen in on it repeating all that was heard in the home.

All the nasty fights, all the lonesome crying, all the times you’d gush to yourself or your friends on call about your special interests.

Don’t worry, he’s a good dad, he’ll let you keep SOME privacy…Just, a very, very, VERRYY small portion of it.

Slowly, you two start to bond more and more with him becoming more of a father figure to you with how he seems to always know what’s troubling you and the answers you need to hear in that moment…Not to mention, with him not being great with emotions, he tried to win your love with acts of service, such as making you dinner, saving the shoes you like on his DVR, and letting you spend the night at the shack when your parents fight.

Soon, he started to notice you staying at the shack more and more.

And more and more…He couldn’t help but grow discontent with the way your family treats you.

As said before, it doesn’t matter how small the issue is, if Ford had it his way, not a foul word should be spoken in your vicinity. Haven’t they already done enough damage to this child?? Do they want you to grow up in a broken home?!

In fact…He doesn’t think they’re fit to be parents. Not even in the slightest!!

He would be so much better…He’d actually take care of you, and he is smarter than any school they have been putting you in for that matter—All those kids are just so cruel to you, even if you don’t know it yet.

That…actually gives him an idea.

“So…anything happen at school today, champ?” Ford mumbled in his usual low, raspy voice as he scrubbed at the dishes in the sink, his apron still tied around his waist from cooking.

“Uh…Ford?” He didn’t even bat an eye or look up at you as you started to feel queasy, pushing the bowl of soup away from you at the dinner table. “I think the vegetables in this went bad…I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Ford just let out a good, hearty laugh. “Don’t be silly, I made it with all fresh ingredients. Have a look for yourself. Only the best for you.”

You could feel your stomach start to churn and growl, with the sight that greeted you when you looked down at your bowl not making you feel any better.

Was that an…eye?!

…

It’s the same shade as your mother’s.

“O-Oh god..” You bit down on your lip, bile starting to creep up in the back of your throat at the sight…and that’s when the melatonin had started to kick in, making your vision grow spotty. It was hard for Ford to find a dosage of that where it was not only over the required limit for a young teen, but also able to be hidden in food. He did it though. Better that than rat poison for his little baby.

“Aww, oh no? Are you having a stomach bug?? Don’t worry, I’ll make it all better.”

That’s the sick part. He genuinely believes it’s better locked in the shack for you. Why wouldn’t it be?? He’ll spoil you with all the care and love a child deserves, not to mention he will be sure to intellectually stimulate your brain as well.

You’ll see. He’ll be the perfect father for you.

#fanfic #yandere #yandere x reader #platonic #platonic yandere #familial love #gravity falls #fanfiction #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls stanford #gravity falls stanley #gravity falls bill #yandere gravity falls #gravity falls fandom #gravity falls fanfiction #yandere ford pines #temmtamm

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the-universal-sun · 1 month ago

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Part two of the fic about Lee going little after Ford pushed him, please?? ❤️

Okay! So a couple of you wanted a part 2 to the drabble about Stan regressing after being burned, and I am more than happy to oblige! Sorry it took so long for this, personal stuff, you know? I’m also going to bounce between Ford and Stan’s POV!

(there are mentions pain medication and sedatives being used on Stanley for his burn, but don’t worry, it’s not super nefarious (it’s ford) and it’s only a quick sentence or two that starts around

“Come on, Stanley, drink your juice.” and ends at “back of his refrigerator”)

Stanford looked down at his brother, sleeping soundly on the couch with his raggedy looking stuffed bear clenched tightly in his arms. Stanley was acting…odd last night. After he was…branded for lack of a better term, his mental state seemed to almost dissolve? No that’s not right, he didn’t act unhinged or crazy, just younger? Stanford details his brother on his Journal page, sketching out the soft lines that make up his sleeping face; the worn Teddy Bear. Could the symbol have caused this phenomena? He didn’t know exactly what the symbol meant-an oversight on his part-just that Bill had told him to put it there. Was that just another one of his tricks and treacheries? Did Bill know this would happen and purposefully tell Ford to put that there so he’d burn his brother, leaving a permanent reminder of this encounter engraved on his skin? Ford has to set aside his Journal before he rips a hole in the page with his pen. He sits there, barely rested after locking himself up in the specialized cage he made, it was his first time using it. He had made it with padding on the walls, no sharp edges, and can only be opened via retinal scan; Bill can’t get out and can’t hurt him too badly, not with his hands wrapped up with excess padding. He wasn’t well rested but it was enough for some of the brain fog to dissipate, he can finally think.

He’s thought a lot in the last couple of hours; how he could apologize to Stanley for the burn and his words-looking back they’d been so cruel, so much like Bill how he could find a way to at least keep Bill from this dimension, and most recently, what happened with Stanley. He doesn’t think the burn had anything to do with his mental state-at least not the symbol. He already had that ragged looking stuffed toy with him in his knapsack. And Ford, upon looking through Stanley’s meager belongings, found a worn but seemingly well-loved large patchwork quilt-neither the bear or the blanket were things he can ever remember Stanley having back in Glass Shard before he was kicked out left. So he must have gotten them somewhere between that time and now, and judging by the looks of the comfort items, they were acquired a while ago, probably when Stanley was still in his teens. Which… that thought brought forward unpleasant feelings about how young they both were in Ford that he’d rather not think about right now. ‘

Is Stanley used to this phenomena? Has it happened before? Could it be psychological? I wish I knew where F left his psychology books, somewhere in my living room I think…’ Ford’s pulled out of his thoughts, pulling his hands down from tugging on his hair, by movement on the couch beside him. Stanley seems to be waking up, the light of the sun hitting directly in his eyes. Hopefully Ford can get some answers from him about what happened last night. He watches as his brother stirs from his sleep, one hand reaching up to rub at his eyes, Stanley was never much of an easy riser, always wanting to stay asleep and bundled in his warm blankets. Ford gets a look at Stanley’s eyes, just to make sure they weren’t yellow with slitted pupils; a sign of possession. They were his regular eyes, the iris color matching Ford’s own, but the look in his eyes was the same as last night, when he acted off. When he acted like a child. Perhaps…perhaps the issue is more psychological than magic or anomaly-induced, in which case, Ford’s going to have to deal with this with a light hand, he doesn’t want to mess up Stanley’s mind as well as his body. He still cares for his brother, even if he’s mad at him. He’ll try his best to help Stanley, even if that means that, for now, he has to treat him with near literal kids gloves.

Ford does his best approximation of a gentle smile as he can muster, he doesn’t think it turns out well though-he can feel the corner of his mouth slightly twitching and his eyes are probably entirely too wide with his ever present dark circles on display. Something must work, because Stanley, sleep now rubbed out of his eyes, is giving him a small smile back.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Stan snuffles into Poindexter as the sun wakes him up. He wanted to stay in his blanket of warmth, he hasn’t been this warm in so long. But he remembers where he is, at Ford’s house, and Ford has never wanted to sleep in, and he wants to spend time with Ford, so he gets up anyway. He rubs the sleep and eye crusties away, squinting against the light burning his eyes. He goes to look for his brother and finds him on a chair next to the couch Stan slept in, giving him a weird smile. He looked…Stan didn’t know how he looked. Crazy? Like a mad scientist? He doesn’t seem like he’s mad at Stan or wants to hurt him, so he smiles back, clutching Poindexter to his chest and wrapping the blankie further around him. Ford’s house-Sixer;s house?- is warmer than his car, but Stan gets cold easily, so while he can, he’ll bundle up. It’s not his nice and big blankie with all the cool patterns some granny in New York gave him, but Ford’s sweater and blanket will do for now.

“Stanley, can you tell me how you’re feeling? Do you feel any different from last night? Physically and mentally? Do you know who I am?” Ford lists off too many questions for Stan to think through at once this early in the morning. And Stan can’t answer him anyways, not in the ways he wanted. He closes his eyes tightly, trying to find the ability to speak in him, bunching up Poindexter to his face and rocking slightly, feeling a tiny distressed. When the idea hits him. He holds up Poindexter and points between him and Ford like he did last night, trying to form the word in his mouth.

“The bear? Stanley I am not-Yes! We went over this last night, the bear and I have the same glasses!” Ford isn’t getting it! He’s supposed to be the smart one! Stan guesses he’ll have to try his best to speak, even if he’s not happy about it.

“P-Poinde-x-ter.” Stan tries to slowly say the word so he doesn’t mess it up. He doesn’t know what he’d do if Ford made fun of him for how he spoke when he was feeling all fuzzy in his head. He points between Ford and Poindexter while saying the word. Ford better get it this time, because Stan’s tongue is feeling really thick in his mouth now-and his body hurts too.

“Poindexter? Stanley, I-” Ford stops and just stares at Stan, making him fidget nervously. Was Ford made he named his Teddy after him? It was one of the few comfort items Stan had, he cuddled him even when he wasn’t feeling all fuzzy headed like now. It reminded Stan of hugging Ford.

“Did you name the bear after me?” Stanley nodded shyly, hiding his face in Poindexter’s back, scared of Ford’s reaction. It’s been so long since they’ve seen each other that he COULD get mad at Stan for naming his Teddy after him, kicking him out into the cold again, to be alone and scared and to never see Ford again-

“I see. That’s…that was sweet of you, Stanley, thank you. A-are you okay? Are you in any pain?” Ford’s voice was softer than it was before, when he was asking all those questions. Stan wonders why. He lifts his face up from his stuffy and looks at his brother, his Sixer, and sees his face. It looked softer than when he was smiling before, he was sitting on the edge of the bed too. Stan didn’t even feel the bed move, and he had gotten really good at that after all these years. Ford must have had some sort of ninja training to be so sneaky when moving. The thought of Ford being a ninja makes him giggle, his shoulder moving with his laughs makes him wince, though. He points to his shoulder, the one that hurt. Now that he’s focusing on it, it hurts really bad, like really REALLY badly. So bad he wants to cry, but he can’t cry because then Ford will think he’s a big stupid baby. And Stan’s NOT a big dumb-

“I thought that would be the case. I never got to give you any pain medication,” Stan cringes at the thought of medicine, “and I doubt I have anything truly strong enough to numb the pain of a burn to that extent. I do have a mild sedative that I could give you, it would make you loopy for the duration until it wears off, but I…I doubt that would be a problem with how you’re acting now.” Stan doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with how he’s acting, Ford’s just a Fuddy Duddy sometimes, like right now. He pouts at Ford from behind Poindexter where he’d hidden his face again, his brother looked like he had this thinking cap on and working at full capacity, holding his chin in his hands and thinking with his eyes closed. Stan can’t help it, while Ford’s not looking, he sticks his tongue out at him.

“Are you still afraid of needles? If you are-” Just the thought of needles or any sharp object of any kind has Stan clutching Poindexter and hiding under the blanket, body shivering. He HATES needles and anything involving the doctor’s office. Distantly, his mind knows there’s other reasons he hates needles, but he can’t bring himself to think of them right now, not when Ford wants to jab him with a big giant needle! He whimpers as his shoulder moves, making it hurt even more than before. His face hurts too. So does his whole body. He just wants to go back to sleep, but he knows he can’t, not with the pain and not with Ford here, who probably wouldn’t even let him go back to sleep.

“Relax, Stanley! No needles, I promise, I’ll find another way to give you the sedative, so please just relax. I need to look at your shoulder and change your bandages, can I do that? Please? Let me take care of you, at least for this.” Ford taking care of Stan? He hasn’t thought about that at all, he thought he was hated by his brother, but if Ford put him in a cozy sweater, let him sleep in his house, and says he wants to take care of Stan, then it must mean that Ford still loves him, right? Stan sits up, blanket still draped over his head and eyes Ford, his hands are up and his eyes still look soft, but they look tight at the edges, like he’s stressed about something. Stan’s gotten good at reading faces. Is he upset because of Stan’s burn? That’s stressing him out too, he doesn’t like pain, not one bit. He nods his head and moves to get off the couch, blanket still wrapped around him and his Teddy still in hand, and Ford moves off it, too, standing in front of Stan. He grabs Ford’s hand before he starts to walk forward, making Ford just stop and stare super intensely at Stan, and Stan stares back. Are they having a staring contest? He doesn’t know if he’ll win or not, he’s still pretty tired and his eyes still burn, but Ford has some BIG dark circles under his eyes, so who knows? They don’t seem to be having a staring contest, his brother looking away and starting to walk forward, gripping Stan’s hand very tightly.

They end up in the bathroom again, with Stan’s shirt off and his brother fixing up the ouchie on his shoulder. He bites his lips, and then Poindexter’s ear (He’s sure his friend wouldn’t mind if it helps with not crying out) because his ouchie hurts worse than last night, and the pain is making his head go even fuzzier, fuzzy like last night, which is the bad way because when it gets even fuzzier then he really is just a big baby. But…but Ford said he’d take care of him, so is it really bad, right now at least? He doesn’t think so, it’d be real nice to be taken care of when his head gets so fuzzy he can barely think. It’s probably for the best that it happens with his big brother here, because he blinked and suddenly he’s at a table, not in the bathroom anymore, and he has a new sweater on. He still has Poindexter and Ford’s blankie in his arms, though, so he doesn’t panic as much as he thought he would, especially not with Ford sitting next to him at the table. He just lets his mind go into that nice, super fuzzy feeling.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Ford’s getting worried about Stanley. While he was redressing his burn in the bathroom, Stanley’s mental state seemed to worsen, reverting back to the glaze eyed and clingy person he was yesterday, except it seems that this Stanley seems more…stuck in his head? Ford doesn’t know and he’s internally panicking because he cannot tell if this is indicative of some head injury Stanley had gotten-unlikely as his pupils contracted all the way and his head had no bumps, cuts, bruises, or scars-or if this was something to do with his inner psyche, a concept Ford has scoffed at and derided but is in sorely need of a deeper understanding of it now. It does seem like Stanley can understand him, if not slowly, which is good because that means that he still has his cognitive abilities about him, but he can’t find any reason as to why his brother would be acting like a child. It doesn’t seem like Ford’s done anything wrong beyond mentioning needles-driving Stan to hide pitifully under the blanket he still has clutched in his hands. It’s fine, he’s fine. He’s Stanford Pines, he can take care of his brother, he’s capable and in control enough to do that.

“Come on, Stanley, drink your juice. It’s-um- peach juice? Maybe?” Ford had taken the sedative from his first aid kit and emptied a dose from the needle into a cup of some juice he found in the back of his refrigerator. The label was mostly rubbed off, he can’t tell what the flavor is but it smells like peach so it might be. He can’t remember getting it, but the best buy date printed on the side has it listed for still being good for a week, so he’s sure it’s fine to let Stanley drink it! He holds the cup steady when it appears that his brother was going to just lap at it from the table, which would just end in an all out sticky mess that he doesn’t have the energy to deal with. It’s a bit tricky trying to get Stan to go up the stairs after that, the juice working fast and making his legs quake and look close to giving out, but he makes it to the room eventually, gently depositing Stanley on the couch and looking around for his Journal to write down his observations. He left it here when he tended to Stanley’s wound. He finds it and opens it to the bookmarked page, a rough sketch of a sleeping Stanley greeting him. Hmm, now that he was looking at it, Stanley did seem almost…cute…in a way. The look of peace on his face with the way he was clutching the bear-Poindexter, Stanley had called it (Ford is going to ignore the feelings it stirs in his chest and the ache it brings to his stomach, imagining a young teenage Stanley holding the bear tight and calling it Poindexter like-). He pulls the ear of that bear from Stanley’s mouth, the sedative mixed with all of the tension in his brother’s body must be having a toll on him, he can barely keep his eyes open. But he still has such a tight grip on the bear and the blanket, luckily Ford was able to take the quilt from Stanley’s bag while he was in the kitchen, and he tucks it tight around his brother, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips as a small sigh is released from his brother’s at the feeling of such an obviously loved item surrounding him.

Ford’s about to get up and head down to the basement to find a way to stop Bill the portal when he feels a hand tightly grip his own-it’s Stanley, of course. The first time he had done it, Ford could only bring himself to look at his brother, his eyes not seeing the almost 30 year old man, but the younger, gapped tooth version who insisted they hold hands on the pier so as not to get lost. It stirred feelings long pushed down inside of him-taking care of Stanley in this way has been doing that, bringing these feelings he pushed down up the the surface. He looks at the hand gripping his vest, then looks at Stanley’s face, his eyes, hazy as they are, seemed downtrodden and he let out a whine. He did this last night, didn’t he? Holding on to Ford and silently begging for him to stay. And who was he to deny Stanley, really? He knows he wouldn’t be able to concentrate much down in his labs, not with Stanley up here like this. All alone and in a very vulnerable state of mind. No, he’d better stay now, too, to keep watch over Stanley, who knows what kind of side effects the sedative could have, either? He settles down on the bed, sitting next to Stanley, just brushing his hair back with one hand and writing down the events of the morning in his Journal with the other, his mind feeling a bit more peaceful now than it had in a while. He’ll talk to Stanley about this later, hopefully he’s feeling better. Hopefully he may let Ford take care of him like this again. Ford doesn’t dwell on those thoughts for long, slowly sketching out another image of Stanley in his Journal, for his own safekeeping, this time.

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azelmaandeponine · 4 months ago

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I don't understand people who claim Ford doesn't care about Stan or Mabel.

Like, yeah he and Stan are fighting but Ford has every right to be mad at that Stan stole his identity and turned his home into Mystery Museum that makes his work seem like bs.

I say as a Stan lover.

Also he doesn't know that Stan doesn't have anywhere else to go and that he didn't have anything going for him before their fight.

He's mad at his brother but he's not heartless.

Also he's been in another dimension for thirty years. I'm sure anyone would he mad in his shoes.

And, keeping in mind they were born in the fifties? And grew up in a time where things Filbrick did weren't acknowledged as abuse? He probably doesn't even realize that their dad did more than discipline him and Stan yet.

As for Mabel...

Did they not see how he practically melted when he found out he was a grunkle?

Did they not see how he pulled a gun on a bus driver just so she could keep her pig? Like I understand not knowing the comic where he went to find Mabel exists but ignoring those two things? And ignoring how absolutely gutted he was when he found out Stan didn't remember him or the kids after Bill was erased from his mind?

This man loves his family. He's just somewhat emotionally inebt like Stan (because they were born in the fifties and abuse can mess up your emotional state and how you show them).

Glad to see someone defending Ford without dismissing Stan's feelings.

Yeah, like???

Though it really just comes down to victim blaming, a lack of compassion for abuse victims, hating imperfect abuse victims, and hating autistic-coded characters.

And yeah, Ford had every right to be pissed, like??? If one of my siblings stole my identity and turned my life's work (which also happened to be my Special Interest) into a joke/freak show I'd be super mad, too!

That's not even getting into the fact that the portal was gonna destroy the world! Of course Ford was mad Stan fired it up! I'm not mad Stan did, of course, most people in Stan's position would. But most people in Ford's position would be mad about it. Ford's not """ungrateful""" for being mad about that.

And him being mad at Stan doesn't mean he doesn't love Stan. You can feel more than one emotion at once.

And yeah. Ford's autistic coding (already having low empathy and low emotional intelligence) coupled with Filbrick's abuse? Yeah. It's not surprising he's not super emotionally adept. And he canonically has terrible social skills.

Low empathy and low emotional intelligence are not moral failings.

Ford literally loves Mabel with all his heart. His first words upon meeting her were "I like this kid, she's weird'.

And yes, he was devastated upon having to erase Stan's mind and over Stan's memory loss!

He also tried to help Stan win the election. Yes, his methods of doing so were...not morally correct, but that's kind of par for the course for this show.

Ford loves his family!

You're welcome! I'll always defend Ford (cause this fandom has a serious problem with victim blaming), but Stan's feelings are also valid.

#anon #answers #stan twins #ford pines #stanford pines #grunkle ford #stan pines #stanley pines #grunkle stan #abuse tw #filthy ford apologist squad #ford defense squad #ford protection squad #gravity falls #victim blaming #fandom ableism #autistic coded character

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squatch-and-stretch · 2 months ago

Text

(Un)happy Reunion

Ford Pines & Stan Pines & Fiddleford McGucket | 13,626 words | Mystery Trio Through the Multiverse AU

Fiddleford reunites with Stanford and meets Stanley after 6 months alone in a post-apocalyptic city in some other dimension.

Chapter 1

see notes for future chapters!

If Fiddleford had to describe this world he’s spent the past 6 months in in a single word, he’d probably choose terrible. Other descriptors such as strange, horrible, post-apocalyptic, and dangerous also come to mind. Lately, though, he’s been putting a lot of thought into the word lonely.

There were intelligent species here, once. It’s clear in the almost-familiar design of this destroyed city, in the tattered books written in a language Fiddleford can’t make any sense of, in every little item he comes across. He even has an idea of what they looked like— he’s seen their art, their pictures, their mangled bodies— and Fiddleford has to wonder if Bill understood the cruel irony of sending him to a world that was once inhabited by pig people.

He wonders, sometimes, if he could have found a way to communicate with them, if any of them were left. Would his throat have been able to form the words of their language, or theirs his? Would they have tried to help him? Just being around another living creature that didn’t try to kill him on sight would be pretty nice right now.

Unfortunately, that’s never been what this planet has in store for him, and when he hears something move nearby, he knows it’s a threat.

It must be in the next alleyway, and it’s fairly big— most of the monsters Bill left here are. Fiddleford goes still, staring in the direction of the alleyway and listening for any other sign of movement. It’s quiet for a moment, until Fiddleford hears a loud crash and what sounds like hushed murmuring. So many things have sounded like human voices lately that he doesn’t put any stock into it, just dips into the nearest alleyway in an attempt to escape whatever is making that noise before it even knows he’s here.

It’s an attempt that fails immediately, as he crashes into a pile of shredded metal like an idiot. It slices through the worn fabric of his pants, but as far as he can tell it doesn’t reach skin. It does, however, make a very loud noise, and the not-voices go quiet.

“Son of a gun,” he allows himself to hiss, and he takes off down the alleyway without any further regard to the sound he’s making.

Something steps out in front of him, blocking his way. It’s taller than the previous inhabitants of this planet, but smaller than most of the monsters he’s encountered. It’s built a lot like a person, and not a particularly imposing one at that, so Fiddleford doesn’t slow his roll for a moment. He fishes a knife out of the tattered pocket of his lab coat, and slams his shoulder into the beast.

It cries out, still sounding a heck of a lot like a person as it hits the ground, breaking Fiddleford’s fall. He presses the knife to what should be its throat, and is almost surprised to find smooth, human-looking skin beneath his blade. It’s a familiar shade, even, and Fiddleford can’t help but let his eyes wander further up to its face—

“Stanford?” Fiddleford spits, downright baffled to see his big brown eyes looking up at him.

Stanford opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Fiddleford is being hauled off of him. Something has grabbed the back of his scarf and pulled it tight, tight enough that Fiddleford gags against the construction, tight enough that he’s reminded of Bill’s hand around him, crushing the breath from his lungs, and suddenly he’s being slammed against the brick wall of the alleyway and crushed between Bill’s uncaring fingers and—

“Stanley!”

That’s Stanford’s voice, he’d recognize it anywhere, but how is he here?

“Who the fuck—“

A voice, closer than Stanford’s, unfamiliar but definitely not Bill. It’s a person that’s holding him, and even if he’s struggling to breathe against the arm pressed to his throat, he can deal with a person.

Fiddleford kicks out, slamming his knee between the legs of his assailant.

“Son of a—!” he shouts, but he lets go of Fiddleford to stumble back.

“Stop! Stanley, this is Fiddleford! He’s the reason we’re here!” Stanford says, inserting himself between the two of them. “Well, he’s the reason I wanted to be here. You’re the reason you’re here and we don’t know how to get back.”

Yep, that insufferable holier-than-thou tone is definitely Stanford.

“I’m the reason you’re here?” Fiddleford chokes, rubbing his throat as he tries to regain his bearings. “It’s your fault I’m here!”

“I know that!” Stanford says, turning to Fiddleford.

Stanford looks about the same as he left him, beyond the dark circles under his eyes. Fiddleford knows the same can’t be said about himself.

“Listen, Fiddleford, I—“

“Save it, Stanford,” Fiddleford snaps, shaking his head as he turns towards the other man in the alleyway. “You must be Stanley?”

When Fiddleford first heard about Stanford’s twin, he imagined a carbon copy of his then-roommate. Stanley is not that. They’re nearly identical in the shapes of their faces, the texture and shade of their hair, the slope and color of their eyes, but the similarities end there. Put simply, Stanley looks like shit, with long, tangled hair, an unshaven face, and dark circles to rival Stanford’s, all wrapped up in a ratty jacket over an even rattier shirt. Even the way he holds himself is worrying, the way he’s hunched in on himself like a coiled spring, turned to the side like he’s keeping something just out of sight, eyes weary, teeth grit.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Stanley grumbles, and he draws himself even tighter. Even in conversation he’s locked on the defensive, and with the brief glimpse of an interaction between him and Stanford, Fiddleford can’t say he blames him.

“Nice ta meet ya, Stanley. I’d offer to shake your hand, but mine seems to be missin’,” Fiddleford greets. “Well, not missin’ exactly, I know where it is, but it ain’t doin’ me much good inside the stomach of some rottin’ monster.”

“Your arm!” Stanford exclaims belatedly.

He grabs for Fiddleford’s shoulder, but Fiddleford quickly smacks his hand away, a shudder running through his body at the phantom sensation of someone grabbing at what remains of his arm. He steps away, eyeing Ford wearily, almost expecting him to try again.

He doesn’t. He brings his hand back, tucking it to his chest for just a moment, hurt in his eyes. After a moment, he clears his throat, straightens up, and tucks his hands behind his back.

“I take it that’s a new development?” Stanley says, watching Fiddleford carefully. The matching scrutinizing gazes of both twins sets Fiddleford even further on edge.

“I would never have allowed such grievous injury to come to him under my care!” Stanford huffs, glaring at Stanley.

Fiddleford barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

“And who’s god-forsaken vanity project brought me here, Stanford?”

“Easy, Fiddlesticks,” Stanley cuts in before Stanford can respond. “None of us are happy to be here, but he—“

Fiddleford raises his hand. “Shut yer yap.”

“Okay, rude—“

“I mean it, don’t ya hear that?” Fiddleford hisses. It’s barely audible, not like Stanford and Stanley’s rustling in a nearby alleyway. Something is moving through the main streets.

“I don’t hear shit, except some hillbilly interrupting me wh—“

“I hear it,” Stanford says, and Stanley throws his arms up in frustration.

Click-click, drag, click-click, click-click. Three functional limbs, one dragging along, moving at a gradual, unhurried pace. The time between each step suggests a step length of perhaps a meter. It’s large, too large for Fiddleford to deal with without his arm, but likely small enough to fit into this alleyway. Stanley seems pretty tough, and Stanford had somehow held his own for 6 years in Gravity Falls despite its many dangers, but he wasn’t about to trust either of them in a fight against whatever unknown beast was approaching.

“It’s coming from—“ Stanford whispers, and despite the low volume, Fiddleford cringes at the sound.

“I know,” Fiddleford snips quietly, “follow me.”

Fiddleford doesn’t bother to check if either of them listened— Stanford reacts well to confidence, and with any luck, Stanley would as well— before he’s slinking out of the alleyway, carefully watching his step this time.

“Come on, dumbass,” Stanley hisses, and Fiddleford spares them a glance. Both have moved to follow, but Stanford is hesitating, looking behind him even as Stanley grabs his arm and pulls him along behind him.

“I just want a look—“ Stanford mumbles, shaking Stanley’s hand off.

“This ain’t Gravity Falls, Stanford, an’ I won’t hesitate to leave you ‘n’ your brother for mincemeat if you don’t hurry yer asses up!”

Stanford immediately turns towards Fiddleford, eyes wide, mouth parted in shock. Fiddleford glares at him, lets him truly believe he means it (Fiddleford knows he wouldn’t leave Stanford or his brother, damn him) before he turns back around and continues on the way. This time, Stanford and Stanley follow without any further prompting, though Fiddleford hears what sounds like an amused snort from Stanley at Stanford’s sudden obedience.

#fiddleford mcgucket #stanford pines #stanley pines #gravity falls #silver scribe (writing tag)#gonna fully cross post fics here ? but you’re missing out on my entire novellas worth of authors notes

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avans-j · 4 months ago

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With the resurgence of gravity falls I finally watched it for the first time, and something that struck me and that I’ve been thinking about a lot, is how Ford is just so…… normal?? When he comes back through the portal??? 😭 he acts like he was only gone for a moment, like he went on vacation or something.

Like I understand that it’s a kids show and they didn’t have time to delve into this much, but I like to think about what Ford would have realistically been like upon his return. I mean, the guy was stuck in another dimension for 30 years… there’s no way he didn’t go a little crazy during that time.

I mean first of all, Fiddleford only caught a glimpse of what was on the other side, and it drove him to insanity. Ford actually went all the way through!! And was stuck there!! For 30 years!! Granted he knew about Bill and who’s to say Bill didn’t show or tell him about other worlds during their time working together, so Ford was probably more accustomed to weird and paranormal things than Fidds, but also we have no idea what happened on the other side during those 30 years. And where did he end up? I think it’s safe to assume the first place Ford landed was the nightmare realm, where he would have seen horrifying creatures beyond comprehension. That must have been a little traumatizing, even to a scientist right?

Then you also have to consider what was going through Ford’s head in the moment right after getting sucked through the portal. He probably had to quickly come to terms with the realization that he was never going home. At that time, the only people that knew about the portal were him, Fidds, and Stan. He was stuck on the other side unable to do anything. Fidds was actively going insane and probably never wanted to see the portal again. And Stanley? We know that Stan had enough care and determination to never stop trying to fix the portal, but to Ford his brother was a clutz and not the sharpest tool in the shed, plus they had just had a massive argument. Ford most likely had no hope that Stan could ever fix the portal, or even want to for that matter. He must have felt overwhelming dread, knowing that in a matter of seconds he had lost his entire world, his entire life, and would never go back home again.

So what was he doing on the other side for 30 years? In my mind there are two options. He either immediately went into survival mode, and spent the rest of his life exploring other dimensions and trying not to die. OR he started looking for a way home, either through a new route or trying to build another portal. Clearly that didn’t work because he was stuck there for 30 years. But imagine him trying hopelessly, over and over again, to find a way home. Constantly thinking about the life he lost, getting more and more discouraged every time an attempt didn’t work. After 10-15 years of that you would start to lose it a little.

And then, can we talk about how he returned home?? From what we saw of the portal and other machines under the shack, it was scanning each dimension until it found the one where Ford was located, then upon reactivating it opened a portal there. And Ford immediately came through, which says to me that it must have opened directly in front of or next to him. Can you imagine the confusion, after 30 years of either straight survival mode or trying desperately to get home, one random day a vaguely familiar portal just happens to open next to you?? You step through and just like that, you’re home? That abrupt change must have messed with Ford’s head. He probably wouldn’t think that it was real for a long time. He wouldn’t have recognized his brother, he wouldn’t have believed that he was actually home. It would take a long time to readjust.

But in the show Ford is just so normal, picking right back up where they left off and punching Stan. I feel like realistically, he would have been terrified, paranoid that it was a trick, not trusting anyone. He would have been quick to lash out for a long time, impossible to calm down, and he would definitely have some screws loose. Anyways I just like the idea of insane Ford.

Thanks for listening to my Ted Talk :]

#gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #fiddleford mcgucket #bill cipher #the book of bill

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arcane-rush · 3 months ago

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I thought of a new Gravity falls Au. (I have like 15, I'll probably share them all on here) Also this is gonna be really long. (By the way anyone has full permission to draw this if they want, I don't mind).

But the new one is, because everyone names their au's, what I'm going to call the Adoption au/Emotional support au (I can't decide on a name, so it's going to be referred to as both till I decide). It's pretty much if Bill, after he accidentally destroyed his home dimension, was adopted by the Axolotl. I assume he'd still be pretty young when he destroyed his home dimension, so the Axolotl adopted him when he was a child. He would grow up in an actual loving environment, so he's not that bad. He's still a mischievous little bastard, but he's not as cruel. He's an annoyance to pretty much everyone, has practically no friends, and is just generally shitty. He's not evil, just frustrating and annoying. He still wants the portal, but he wants it to explore Earth (and annoy the shit out of even more people). The Axolotl, despite being his parental figure, and a god, isn't intervening because they know Bill will get better on his own eventually, and it's best for them to stay out of it.

And then there's Ford. How went through the exact same shit he did in the cannon, but he became anxious and has PTSD from the shit his dad put him through instead of being egotistical. He takes a long time to warm up to someone, and Stan betraying him/ being kicked out really just made it worse. So when he met Bill, he was shy as fuck and it took about two years or so for him to fully trust him. But he immediately agrees to the portal, because he's a curious little guy. When he does trust him, he opens up about his past and Bill gets pissed off. His birth parents were amazing and he misses them a lot, and the Axolotl is an amazing parental figure (he's just being a rebellious little shit right now). In his mind, because he's not a psychopath and has common sense, parents should be supportive not abusive. He wants to kill Ford's parents, but he sees that would just make things worse so he doesn't.

And the portal incident went pretty much the same but for different reasons. Bill was being his little bastard self and went too far, and Ford saw it as him betraying him, cause of his trauma. Ford still went into the portal for 30 years, and didn't go to the oracle, but after 5 to 10 years he gave Bill another chance. Bill had been literally groveling and begging for forgiveness. So they spent the best 20-25 years bonding again, and fell in love, obviously. And Bill made up with the Axolotl and apologized to them. So when they got back, the problem wasn't that Bill was in gravity falls, it was that some guys from Bill's past were trying to get into Gravity Falls. Again, Bill was a little shit before Ford so they hate him.

When they got back, Ford apologized to Fiddleford, even though his life was not nearly as ruined in the cannon, and they made up. Dipper was so confused because the journal said Bill sucked, so he was surprised when he found out Bill was just going through a rebellious teen phase. After that, they get along great, Bill tells Dipper stories about his past and time with Ford, and Dipper listens and writes all down. Mabel absolutely loves spending time with Bill and being little chaos gremlins together. The second Bill shows Mabel his human form, Mabel gives him a makeover. Stan and Ford make up immediately, cause they actually communicate with each other. Stan doesn't like Bill that much at first, mostly because he married Ford without him knowing. Also because he read the journals and saw that Ford seemed really hurt by Bill's "betrayal". But then he warms up to him and they commit tax evasion together, and stuff. He constantly gives Bill shit for almost fumbling Ford though. He will never let Bill forget it.

They're a pretty happy family together, and the twins end up asking their parents to stay in Gravity Falls, and they were completely fine with it cause that made custody better. On the one condition that they write to them at least once a month, and they agree. And just to make it cannon compliant, sometime during the show, Dipper and Mabel died, but Bill prays to the Axolotl to resurrect them, and they come back to life. Their appearances are a bit different, Dipper's birthmark turned pastel pink, and Mabel's had hot pink ombre at the tips of her hair. (Cause the Axolotl is pink, and so are they now)

That's all I have so far. If you want to draw this, make fics about it, or send me suggestions for fics / short writings / sketches you want me to write about this au, works, you have my full permission.

#billford #ford pines #gravity falls #stanford pines #gravity falls au #bill cipher #stanley pines #stan pines #pines twins #dipper pines #mabel pines #fiddleford mcgucket

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cheemscakecat · 9 months ago

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Y’know, I don’t usually talk about ships I dislike, but this is one I haven’t seen criticized.

So the Gravity Falls fandom is riddled with bad ships, ranging from “Ah yes, let’s ship the victim with the demon that abused them” to “Incest between 12 year old twins is so great”.

Which would explain why all the effort of criticizing ships is going to those infamous ones and not any others that might be less ugly by comparison.

Heck, that note to Mabel in journal 3, saying Bill would have thrown Dipper’s body off the water tower was probably the creator’s way of saying “Stop shipping Dipper with the demon Dorito.” She’s terrified of that thing from trying to get Stan over his fear of heights, and Bill ended the letter by asking if she wanted to join Dipper at the bottom.

StanChez is the lesser evil ship I’m talking about specifically. But keep in mind, I’m a Gravity Falls fan, not a Rick and Morty fan, so my knowledge of that show is from video essays and osmosis.

It’s not on the same level of awful as saying Ford and Bill should be a couple after watching the man get chained and electrocuted.

Or well drawn incest between the two main characters, who are based on the show creator and his sister.

But StanChez is toxic. And I’d like to explain why on Stan Pines’ behalf, because he deserves better. And I also don’t think they’d get along for more than a few days.

Reason 1: Rick is a different level of Criminal

People seem to gravitate towards this ship because Stan and Rick are both criminals and bad influences on those around them, but it’s more surface level than you’d think.

The most we know about Stan’s kill count is that he killed a llama and Bill. And in his words “that llama had it coming”. Other than that, his main crimes are swindling and conning, with tax evasion through false identities.

But if a state full of angry people goes after him, his response is to run away and start a new fake identity. Not attack the people he conned or the police. And even though his bad products gave people rashes, they never crossed over into something truly heinous.

youtube

He also tries to befriend other criminals and attacks them out of self defense, and not intent to kill. Stan knows how to fight, but his intention is very rarely to kill, and that’s a healthier mindset to have.

Rick is in the habit of ruining versions of earth with his experiments, and then running off to take his own place in another dimension instead of staying to try and help. That’s not running away from a minor con like Stan, that’s leaving billions of people to die, over and over again.

Rick is also in the habit of killing people who are an inconvenience to him, whether they pose a real threat or not. He’s so used to killing on sight that he doesn’t bat an eye at making Morty take someone’s life.

Stan is a different kind of bad influence than Rick that isn’t as heinous. Not by a long shot. Dipper and Mabel may have to go on a character arc where they stop swindling people, but they’ve never been taught to kill or maim. They’ve never watched Stan murder people and ignore their distress when he does it. Or been forced to bury a body.

Dipper and Mabel may become worse because of Stan, but it’s nothing so serious that they’ll never recover. But Morty? Morty is in a very toxic situation where he’s been traumatized and started to go numb inside.

Reason 2: Stan’s self esteem

Stan has a lot more in common with Morty than you’d think. He was always “the dumb twin” and “the screw up”. Sure, his Ma tried to negate his father’s terrible words, but one of his parents still made him feel hated and useless.

For goodness sakes, it was Filbrick kicking him out as a high schooler, telling him to come back when he made a fortune, that set him on the path of greed!

It’s also Filbrick’s terrible parenting that made Stan try to be tough with Dipper and favor Mabel, the way Ford was favored.

Stan’s self esteem is much lower than it looks on the surface, and prolonged exposure to Rick would only make it worse.

You see, Rick doesn’t explain what dimension they’re going to, what to look out for, and what’s safe before bringing Morty on an “adventure”. They’ll get there, Morty will start asking because he doesn’t know, and Rick will drunkenly call him an idiot and barely explain. But Morty is supposed to be the stupid one for it.

Rick also favors Summer, Morty’s sister over him. Even though he’s been dragged along on these traumatic adventures much longer.

Say what you will about Stan being a bad influence, but at least we know he does it out of generational trauma and still cares about Dipper. Instead of being harsher on him for no reason, Stan sees it as teaching him to be tougher by making him do chores.

Rick is just playing favorites. And he’s also well known for talking down to Morty’s dad Jerry for being stupid. To the point fans only recently started to see through it and respect Jerry as an embarrassing but happy normal person.

If Stan started hanging around Rick, he’d be talked down to and compared to his smarter twin once again, but this time by the “smartest man in the multiverse”. He doesn’t need another toxic influence to stomp on his self worth.

Reason 3: Think of the children

Stan never replaced anybody. Yes, he had the wax Stan, but he wasn’t calling it Ford. My theory is he was practicing what he’d do with Ford once he brought him back, and the wax funeral was him remembering that Ford might have died.

Stan is known for letting the kids go off on their own, but he also tried to convince them that the supernatural wasn’t real to protect them.

And when he saw they were in danger, he fought the undead to protect them. Most of the time, he just doesn’t see that they’re in danger because they’re off on their own.

He cares about Dipper and Mabel and Soos and Wendy. Heck, he even gave Gideon a pep talk in the shrink ray episode. Do you honestly think he’d be okay with cloning one of them if they died? Or worse, stealing some other Stan’s family in another dimension?

He was looking for his Ford, not a random one from some other timeline. If Dipper was thrown off the water tower, or Mabel snapped away by Bill, Stan wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. And he wouldn’t be able to replace them. The same goes for Ford, Soos, and Wendy.

So imagine him finding the Morty cloning facilities at Rick’s Citadel. And Rick trying to gaslight him into thinking it’s better to leave the evil Ricks to clone and kill as many Morty’s as they want, because it keeps them distracted. Or finding out about Rick replacing himself in other dimensions without telling the family?

Y’all remember that Dipper asked Ford how he knew Bill, and he said:

“I’ve encountered many dark beings in my time, Dipper.”

I bet the reason why Ford was erased with other memory tubes is because he found out about the cloning and got angry with Rick. Because despite his issues with Stan, he still remembers the little boy getting mistreated by his father.

Needless to say, Stanley wouldn’t be approving of all this either, once he knew Rick was a monster. But if Rick wouldn’t listen to “the smart” twin and erased the interaction, he’s way less likely to listen to poor Stan. Because he’s well used to talking down to people when they confront him or disagree with him. And if he’d do it to his own family, he’d sure as heck do it to Stanley.

So yeah, those are my reasons why StanChez is a bad idea/doesn't work. This isn’t going to become a series or anything, I just thought it was worth explaining.

#Gravity falls #shipping critique #weird ships #character analysis #Stanley Pines #This is NOT a Stancest post. Or a pro-StanChez post #Youtube

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jeanystillbeany · 4 months ago

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BillFord Fic

I haven’t gotten invited to ao3 yet so I’ll just post it here anyway. It doesn’t have a name so I’ll just post a teaser or whatever. Idfk. It’s a billford fic ig. As soon as I get ao3 I’ll post it on there. I do have more written. I’m just taking the first part for a test drive. Let me know ur thoughts! (Literally anything- name suggestions scene suggestions, if i should post it on ao3, explanations etc.)

Entry 167: Series 6

Out of all the curiosities I’ve studied in my travels, this has to be one of the most shocking enigmas yet. This timeline had the bottom story of the shack left with two gaping holes at the top. In fact, it’s as though the shack grew legs and walked away. Which is completely bizarre- even for a weirdness magnet such as Gravity Falls, Oregon. The countless timelines I’ve visited so far were nowhere near this level of insanity. This level of… intrigument. The state of the timeline has this enrapturing effect on me.

Recently the timelines I’ve been traveling through have had a different variable. Two in fact. As it turns out, me and my brother have a great-grandniece and nephew. Dipper and Mabel. While I’ve been careful to not interact with any timelines I’ve found myself caught up in (especially after that incident with the Time Police), I still somehow find myself growing attached to the two. For the past few months I’ve been observing them through the different timelines I’ve traveled to. There has also been the reoccurring pattern of their other ‘Gruncle’ re-emerging from the same portal I find myself appearing from every few days. I’ve been waiting… counting down the days til it’s my turn. And yet, I still don’t understand why I continue to keep that false hope in my pocket. The multiverse is infinite. The chances of me ever finding my home universe is nearly pointless. While I could always take the place of another Stanford… The Time Police would be on my case in a second. I also understand that the multiverse I was sent to wasn’t the same one as the other Stanfords. While I’m dealing with infinites of my brother, they were dealing with beasts beyond basic human comprehension… and yet I’d much rather that than to be cursed knowing I’d never get home. To see Dipper and Mabel fail… over and over… with myself unable to assist… sometimes I thought it was driving me mad.

I’ve certainly spent more time reciting the last few entries than I should’ve. So I shall continue with the present. The shambles of my lab have made for an adequate shelter. (Save for the 2 overgrown hairless mole rats I’ve needed to fight off for my rations). The sky appears to be a blood red, many of the familiar surrounding trees were reduced to brambles, probably by some larger species I’d like to take the time to investigate at a later hour. This area has been intensely modified compared to the other Gravity Falls I’ve been in. I have a hunch this is due to the large vortex that ripped through the dimension. (That was in fact sarcasm my dear reader). So far I’ve studied and dissected one of those overgrown Eye-Bats that can turn a person to stone just by looking at them. From memory; I will promise they were much smaller and could not turn one to stone in my own timeline. Why would anyone feel the need to weirdify these anomalies? Some sort of apocalypse has settled over this world. Whether or not it was always like this is unknown. I’m leaning towards the latter though. I shortly ran out of things to do after examining my last two specimens and I itched for more information on these preternatural creatures.

Ford sat in what was left of his desk chair and kicked his feet up. He would kill for a mug of coffee right now.

Ford ran a hand through his hair. Since the portal incident, he’s grown it out. He’s grateful he didn’t cut it when he could. It more than likely would’ve exaggerated the up and coming gray hair. Though… he shouldn’t exactly care how he looks because he’s not supposed to be seen in other timelines according to the Time Police. In the end, he still does get a fond satisfaction of knowing he’s at least well kept. And mistakes happen. He continues to have the same clothing pattern of turtle necks- though he only ever wears them underneath his long coat. It proved to be very useful when traveling timelines. The amount of pockets he had to keep so many samples in almost seemed like cheating. He also always had his bag with him. Most of his pockets aren’t big enough for his journal, and he’s filled up a couple while he was traveling timelines. His love of pockets also extended to his lower half making sure to have maximum pockets on his cargo pants. He even bothered with a hidden one in his shoe for an emergency lock pick. If that wasn’t enough, his obsession with Sci-Fi led to him wanting to live it to its full extent, so naturally he put knives in both heels of his boots as well.

Normally he’d care that there were some contaminated combat boots being rubbed all over his desk. But now? He thought he might as well embrace the end of the world. He loved his family to death, but if any of them saw him in a timeline other than his origin the whole universe would collapse in on itself, and they would be the ones dead. Ford could always scramble back to his portal and go to the next timeline. According to the Time Police that is. Though there have been many instances where he has intervened in his earlier days with no consequence.

The man mindlessly fiddled with his gun on the inside pocket of his coat. He wanted to study more. Maybe the giant gash in the sky was the root of his greatest mystery! He unhooked his heels from the edge of his desk and swung them around towards the bunker hatch. He pushed himself off from the armrests of the chair. Stanford climbed up the ladder and popped his head out of the bunker. He supposed the first step would be to find a lookout point. If he was lucky he might be able to stay in one place long enough to do a quick sketch of this timeline’s situation. The first place Stanford’s mind drifted was his abandoned UFO- though it was identified and no longer flying, so he dubbed it the alien spacecraftt. It gave a perfect view of the entire town and was rather close to his current position. Ford gave a once over of everything in his satchel. He plucked out his journal in order to sift through the small bit of food, water and any other trinkets he had before neatly replacing it and went on his way.

As Ford traveled he kept a hand on his gun. Aside from the terrors the scientist was getting antsy to encounter, he was the only other sound he heard. His boots trudged along the ground -making distinct squishing sounds- as though he were walking in his own wet socks. The ground beneath him was unnaturally wet causing the uncomfortable feeling. There was the occasional shuffle as he adjusted his jacket to the odd temperatures. Ford made a mental note to journal about the seemingly miniature air masses that drastically changed the temperatures in as little as every few feet he walked. The long coat was currently adjusted to be draped over his shoulders, as Ford found this to be a happy medium and made a constant grip on his gun easier.

A rumble struck the ground just as Ford’s own foot hit the earth. The man felt a jitter course through him, crawling up his spine.

“Another weirdness wave!” The man exclaimed with much more enthusiasm than anyone else trapped in this hell bubble ever would. He licked the first two of his fingers and raised them up in the air, turning them at different angles until he found the direction that gave his moistened fingers the most chill. After finding the wind direction he quickly hid behind a tree and scrambled through his bag. His six-fingered hand reemerged with a sort of hand made device. It was made from old lab parts created during his first few days in this timeline. It allowed him to calculate the intensity of the weirdness wave and further study its properties. He carefully placed the machine away from the cover of the tree and braced himself for things to get weird.

The wave passed over Stanford relatively easily and he observed no mutations to himself. Stanford went to pick up his wave reader when-

“Oh. How peculiar… Shit.” The man’s handmade invention had grown to compete with the surrounding forest’s pine trees. For a moment the Author thought that he would be unable to run. For a moment the Author believed he was frozen in time. For a moment he saw himself as a child. For a moment he saw his brother. For a moment he saw the twins.

Stanford found the right gears that made the joints in his legs move. This was no longer his invention. It had grown six legs of its own. The calculator screen that was once used as a makeshift reader display was its mouth and the antenna was its tongue. Ford was tempted to take a picture, though he doubted such would be worth his life. He raced through the forest. It was almost as if its size grew due to this oddity apocalypse. The scientist didn’t have a chance. Every time he heaved himself over a log, the creature could bash itself right through it after him. He needed to think of something… he’d kill to meet his niece and nephew.

The Author took out his loaded gun as he ran through the brambles. He took a sharp turn, causing the monster to slide in an effort to regain its balance. Ford began to aim as the creature was tipped onto its side. It landed with a loud thump, causing multiple mutated birds to fly away startled. Stanford lowered his gun and stood stunned in front of his creation, as its legs flailed about, damaging the surrounding shrubbery.

“Intriguing!” Ford quickly snapped a picture. As much as he’d like to inspect the helpless thing more, he deemed it safer to continue with his original task. He would’ve stayed longer if one of the monster’s legs didn’t reach out and claw at his coat, tearing it down its side. A bit closer and the scientist would’ve been seriously injured. He jumped back and continued with his task of sketching this new timeline. He also made a mental note to log his encounter in the journal when he was in the clear.

He finally made it to the spacecraft. Ford would definitely consider using this as a hideout in this world. Contrary to Ford’s belief, the state of this timeline was only in Gravity Falls. He remembers studying the Natural Law of Weirdness Magnetism as a younger man, but he never believed it could affect anything to this extent. Ford sat down atop the spacecraft. He snapped a picture of the surrounding scene.

Entry 167 B. Series 6

There seemed to be a large barrier encasing Gravity Falls. More than likely the Natural Law of Weirdness Magnetism. I’ve studied the topic before and have come up with a simple equation to break it. The scene before me is both exhilarating and dread ensuing. To even think about the situations my brother and the kids have gone through haunts me. I want nothing more than to be able to talk with them. Even if it’s not my universe. I want to hear their stories and watch them grow up… I wish for my own universe. I’ve traveled the timelines for much too long. I’ve watched them. But I want to see them. To meet my Mabel, my Dipper, my Stanley. I want to meet my family. But where would I even start? The time police?

I looked off to the sunless horizon and noticed a large pink orb sitting dead center of the train tracks with Mabel’s zodiac on it. My breathing sputtered. Just what were these kids into this timeline? I decided it’d be best to head back to the lab. I’d like to be there when the portal reopens.

Maybe… maybe I can try one more time. My sentence is already high enough as it is with the Time Police… I want to help my niece and nephew… no matter what universe they’re in. There has to be a reason the Time Police aren’t on my tail by now… especially after that monster was created. I’ll spend the night at the lab again and work on relocating to the spacecraft tomorrow. Then I’ll find my brother.

Ford replaced his bookmark into his journal and brushed himself off. He stood up on the roof of the dead spaceship and gave one last glance at the world he found himself in before beginning the few hour trek to where the Mystery Shack once stood. Stanford was nearly to his hideout. About where he left the wave reading monster. There was one problem that had unnerved the Author for more than one reason. A question that bubbled out of his mouth as soon as he seen the large clearing in the trees where the monster had been discarded.

“Where is it?” His question was shortly answered as a screech was heard not too far behind him.

“Fuck! Are you Serious?!” The scientist grumbled and quickened his pace. It was following him. Either it had extremely sensitive hearing or it was tracking him by scent. Whatever the case was, his hands itched to jot it down in his journal. He didn’t have much time for that as he found himself being chased by the beast once again. Ford continued to race to the lab and attempted to slide into the underground space. The mechanical creature’s claw lurched out and nicked his back, sending him flying forward and creating another large hole in the roof. He landed ungraciously on the floor of his lab with a groan. As a last resort Ford turned over on his back and began shooting wildly through the crack. The mechanical anomaly screeched as it was shot at, retreating immediately. Ford felt the back of his coat begin to soak and his vision blur. The tips of his finger began to numb as his arm fell to the ground.

With one last screech, a fourth hole was punctured into the top of the lab, right over the portal, leaving Ford’s escape in shambles. He would’ve screamed, or yelped with his hand held out dramatically as any Author such as himself would, but that was the last sight seen before he passed out completely.

“Do you think it’s dead?”

“I say we eat it”

“Dudes. Is it just me? Or does it kinda look like Mr. Pines.”

“Soos. It has SIX FINGERS! SIX! It had to be some sort of clone… or- or… imposter.” Pages began to flip in the background of the following commotion. Quiet muttering was also heard following each turn of paper- though it was mostly blocked out by the pounding in Ford’s head.

“Mr. Pines… do you… know anything about this?” Ford was becoming conscious enough to pick out voices. This seemed to be the only female among the group.

“Stanford…?” This was a new voice. Much older than the others. It wavered as it said his name- effectively snapping him out of the painful slumber he was in.

Ford started with a groan and his eyes squinted shut, adjusting to the abnormal light- even for the living world. In this universe that is.

“Dudes. It’s waking up.” Ford mumbled and rubbed his head. Thankfully the wound on his back didn’t go that deep into his back. Though the semi-dried blood latching the fabric of his coat to himself was very uncomfortable.

“Sixer!” Stanford opened his eyes just in time to see the back of a tacky red hat by the side of his head. Arms enveloped his shoulders partially helping Ford keep himself up.

“Stanley…” The scientist just barely breathed out.

“STANLEY?!” Ford couldn’t be bothered to look up from his brother’s shoulder at the other’s exclaimation

“Is anyone else confused right now? Cause I’m confused.” Soos commented. Stanley sighed before releasing his disoriented brother.

“Kids, Soos, I want you to meet… the author of the journals.” Stan was hesitant to let go of his brother, as though if he let go of his brother’s shoulder he’d disappear back into the fabrics of existence. Dipper did an excited squeal and almost ran up to properly greet his practical obsession, but Wendy put a calm hand on his shoulder to stop him from ruining the two brothers' moment. She decided she needed more context with her boss’ secret twin before Dipper butted in.

“Stanley. I need- I need to tell you something.” Stanford’s voice wavered with guilt. As multiple scenarios ran through his head. More than likely this wasn’t his universe. He doesn’t know what happened to his own timeline, or this one… though it’s not like he can continue traveling timelines with the portal busted. Ford opened his mouth to speak- but no sound came out as a thought surfaced to his head.

‘…what if this is my timeline? What if the portal busted for a reason? Maybe… I can stay a while. They need my help…’

“Yeah?” Stanley asked- a small smile almost suppressed on his face.

“…I missed you.” Ford sighed out. He pulled Stan back into him. The other man slapped his back playfully with a goofy grin. Ford winced and let out a small yelp.

“Oh… forgot about that. Welp. I smiled too little in the past 3 weeks to smile this much now. Let’s get back to the shack.” As if on queue, an ominous roar shook the ground under them.

“Agreed.” Wendy said.

“Yup, yup, yup, let’s go!” Soos hauled Dipper over his shoulder and sprinted out of the Lab and everyone else followed. Ford found himself lingering for a moment- his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the remains of his portal. It’s gone. It’s all gone.

“Hey, bro. Let’s get out of here, ‘k?” Stanley put his hand on Ford’s shoulder, offering a hopefully comforting smile.

“We have a lot to talk about Stanley…” Similar to any other earth tremble, the earth shook following the signs of a beast approaching.

“Yeah, yeah. Can we do that later?” Stanley tugged his brother along by the back of his coat leading him out of the lab. Stanford followed behind- occasionally wincing from the pulling on his jacket.

#bill cipher #stanford pines #stanley pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #gravityfalls #gravity falls stanford #gravity falls bill #fanfic #gravity falls fanfiction #billford fic #this is my first time doing this I feel like ford after coming back through the portal #the book of bill #I still need to read the book of bill lol #billford #weirdmageddon #gravity falls weirdmageddon #gravity falls wendy

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prettyinpwn · 5 months ago

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Hello, hello!

I just wanna know more of your headcanons about Jheselbraum, I really like her (even she doesn't appear so much)

And, more specifically, what relationship do you think she have with the Axolotl? Personally, I think she have a totally devotation for Axolotl and will do everything for him.

Yay, I'd love to share my Jheselbraum headcanons! Thank you for asking. :D I'll split them into "likely, based on other factors/evidence" and "fanfic level headcanons without evidence". I'll put them under a cut since I've got a lot.

Evidence based/likely headcanons:

We know for sure she is a former Henchmaniac and knew Bill personally, and The Book of Bill's scratched out text by her entry seems like it might imply she helped discover/pass along the the portal technology to Bill (that he then used to try to manipulate humans into building). I'm not 100% sure she invented it, but she's definitely a smart cookie for being able to understand it, at the very least. Plus, you know, knowing how to do cranial surgery on Ford to implant the metal plate probably takes a lot of skill and smarts, too. So I feel like she is very scientific minded, intelligent, and analytical due to these factors. She's like an alien Ford, perhaps why they got along so well when they met; Ford - being at his IQ level - might have felt like he'd finally found someone he could relate to, as genius level people tend to feel alienated. Especially if he found out she was behind the portal tech; his respect level for her would go waaaaay up. Like most people would go blank faced at Ford's jokes (like that one in The Book of Bill he tries to say to the waitress and she's just weirded out), but Jheselbraum gets him. Also, you know, extra eyes, extra fingers, isolated, both have a negative history with Bill... they might have a lot in common. Which is why I feel like JheselFord is an underrated very positive ship, but oh well.

She had a major falling out with Bill and will do anything to mess with his plans and help anyone who he tries to deceive, hence her title "unswerving". I think their falling out was likely over the portal design, where she wanted it used for good, whereas Bill was like, "Hey, let's destroy a dimension with this.", and Jheselbraum realized then she'd been used, just like Bill used everyone else he's ever known. So she tried to escape him and he probably pulled the same tactics on her he pulled on Ford. I feel like that's why she wanted to help Ford those thirty years he was gone, and why she helps the other Henchmaniacs escape Bill after the events of the show (and they end up in, go figure, reality).

So because Jhes knows that reality exists - as that's where she sent the Henchmaniacs - I feel like she has a very, very vast knowledge on the Multiverse and how it works. I think this is a combination of her intelligence plus her connection to the Axolotl.

I'm pretty sure though that she's religiously devoted to the Axolotl, too, given the way she has his depiction all over her mountain shrine/temple that Ford visits in Dimension 52 (also, Ford literally calls it a shrine, which implies a holy place). So she's sort of like a mix between a scientist and a monk/oracle of sorts. There are a lot of Greek allusions in Ford's story (comparing himself to Icarus, calling Bill his "muse" like how Homer calls upon muses in The Odyssey to inspire him to write, Odysseus himself was lost away from home for twenty years sort of like Ford's thirty years, etc), and so I almost think she functions like the Oracle of Delphi did, but instead of Apollo, she's an Oracle for the Axolotl. She speaks of the future and speaks for the Axolotl to mortals, and the Axolotl is described as the "opposite of Bill", so that means just another reason to oppose Bill if her god does.

Because the god she serves is the "opposite of Bill", well... to figure out what that means, let's establish what Bill represents: chaos, holding onto the past, nightmares, fire, lightning, disorder, etc. So the Axolotl I'd think represents order and balance, water (also because amphibian yanno), dreams, light, etc, those kinds of things. I also would argue healing, given that Jheselbraum knows how to heal Ford and perform surgery, and axolotls are well-known for their regenerative properties. Jhes' depiction in Journal 3 shows lots of bubbles behind her, so I picture a lot of water elements in her shrine's design. Like a dreamy, watery, light influenced place with Axolotl banners everywhere.

As for her personality based on all of the above, definitely intelligent, quiet, serious, but warm hearted and caring. She's like a nurse mixed with a scientist mixed with a monk.

Okay, now for my fanfic level headcanons with little to no evidence:

The fact that Ford ran into people that said 'praise the Axolotl' out in the Multiverse, that the Axolotl has an oracle like Jheselbraum who lives in a shrine, and his general power level, yeah... the Axolotl is like the Gravity Falls version of a god. So I'd like to think there's probably a Multiverse-wide religion around the Axolotl as a being that represents balance and dreams and healing and light. I think the Multiverse can be a very dark and chaotic place, hence why beings might want to believe in a deity that helps keep chaos at bay. Tying this in with the themes of Gravity Falls, I don't think the setting lends itself so much to evil vs. good struggles, but more chaos vs. order, which is represented en masse by the Axolotl (order and balance) vs. entities like Bill (chaos).

Oh boy, we're gettin' real fanfiction-ey here, but goddammit, I want there to be a whole order of servants to the Axolotl, and Jheselbraum being just one. How badass would that be? My headcanon is there are multiple servants. Some are just followers that create temples/shrines like clergyfolk across the Multiverse, and some are chosen actual servants, like a font for the Axolotl's power. I think Jheselbraum is a chosen servant, leading me to my next headcanon...

Bill tended to pick Henchmaniacs by their inability to fit in with their societies, and this is also why he targeted Ford, so extend that logic to Jheselbraum, well... she probably didn't fit in with her society. Either they tended to not like her scientific aptitude, or the opposite; overly scientific and didn't appreciate her ability to see the future. So she likely was an outcast. That means her race is either highly scientific or highly spiritual, and Jheselbraum (at least at her current age) represents what her culture couldn't achieve: a personality that balances the two. For some reason, I want to think she's the last of her race, but I'm not sure why. Maybe some sort of accident she didn't mean to cause, or maybe Bill orchestrated some chaos and it forced her to join him, and then later she realized he was part of the reason? I can just picture it now, her all pissed finding out he caused the destruction of her race, and Bill just shrugging and being like, "Those guys were backwards anyways, you didn't need them! I did you a favor, Jhes! I liberated you, just like I liberated myself from my own dimension." /cue holding a real bad grudge against Bill

I think Jheselbraum didn't find the Axolotl until after she left Bill, though. Maybe desperate to get away from him, she went to an Axolotl temple and he chose her as a servant there, much to her surprise. And since then, like you said, she's been utterly devoted to him for keeping her safe from Bill and giving her power to help others avoid him. And Bill won't touch her with a ten foot pole now, because Big Frilly doesn't like when you mess with his servants. Also, Bill's probably jealous she found a way to process her trauma and leave him behind; like family was Ford's cure for his trauma, faith was Jheselbraum's cure. Bill... hasn't found one, obviously. And it'd be a very, VERY cold day in hell before Bill bowed down to Big Frilly. That's probably another reason Bill hates the Axolotl: he "took" one of his Henchmaniacs and Bill is pissed that Jheselbraum is devoted to his enemy now.

I think she gets her visions of the future from dreams, due to the Axolotl's (at least, my headcanoned) connection to dreams. She's like an Edgar Cayce. Although there ain't no stinkin' way she doesn't also have a Tarot deck (or the Multiverse equivalent). Sure, I'm biased because I'm a huge Tarot nut, but I doubt she goes anywhere without a deck. And maybe she has an addiction to collecting them, totally not speaking from my own experience. I picture that while Ford was healing at her shrine, she often would mindlessly shuffle her decks, and the sound probably soothed him because his mother was a Tarot reader, so it reminded him of his childhood.

She drinks alien teas. Don't ask me why.

Apparently... she's green? For years we all headcanoned her as like... purple, blue, or white and pink like the Axolotl, but TBOB showed her as very earth-toned in her whole palette. Because of this, I tend to picture her species/culture as either mountain dwelling (hence why her shrine is on a mountaintop) or from a very verdant biome, like swamp, jungle, or forests in general.

I feel like she's very well-known throughout the Multiverse as like a folk hero or legend. Like not many people have found her or seen her or know her true name, but they do know of a famous Oracle of the Axolotl. I'm not saying she's like... a saint-level revered figure, but she's someone to try to find if you need help.

I feel like, as an extension of being a servant to a god of light and dreams, that also means a devotion to creativity, so I picture her as musical and artistic as well. Maybe playing an instrument from her home dimension (I picture a plucked instrument for some reason, going with the Greek/oracle theme let's just say it's a blend of a lyre and something else), as well as weaving tapestries (hence all the Axolotl banners in her shrine). This also extends to a focus on healing, hence how she helped Ford.

I think Ford would have struggled at first with her being an Oracle. He's Mr. Science, and his mother was a fortune teller, and although we never really hear his opinion on Caryn selling readings, Stan at least called her a "pathological liar". That, and when the fortune teller in Gravity Falls read his cards, Ford was adamant that they were a lie (yeah, because he was in that picture and didn't like it cough). So he has to wrestle with this person who understands him and his scientific brain and things like the portal, yet is something he - as a scientist - thinks is complete bunk. And then she just keeps knowing things she shouldn't and Ford just grumps and mutters as Jheselbraum is laughing away. She's like a puzzle he can't figure out. "How is she both so religious and scientific? How can she understand things like the portal if she believes in things so illogical, like Tarot readings and an amphibian god?" /Ford mad but also so damn curious he can't stop thinking about it.

As for what she looks like, I always liked this depiction of her form:

Credit to uberbee for the art. Horse-bug legs for the win.

So like this, but... teal-ish green with yellow eyes, and I think her robes probably are longer to the floor. I'm also not sure she has the frills like the Axolotl, given that my headcanon is that her species is terrestrial and not aquatic, but hey, maybe if there are a lot of swamps or bodies of water on her home world/dimension, they adapted to watery conditions?

So... yeah. Those are my gazillion headcanons about Jheselbraum (and the Axolotl, to an extent). Now I want to create a Jhes/Axolotl themed Tarot deck, man.

#gravity falls #jheselbraum #jheselbraum the unswerving #some slight Ford headcanons too #the axolotl #the book of bill #the book of bill spoilers

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ckret2 · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 20 of Human Bill is the Mystery Shack's (secret) prisoner (title tbd), featuring: at last, Wendy discovering the "house guest." And Stan discovering Wendy discovered the house guest. And Bill and Stan having the funniest argument imaginable.

Also featuring: Ford letting Fiddleford in on the secret and asking for his help getting rid of Bill for good.

####

"Hey dudes," Soos said, leaning into the living room. Bill and Mabel looked up from Mabel's phone. "Me and Melody and Ford are heading out for anime night. If you've got an emergency, call me; and if you don't have an emergency, uh... don't. Cuz we're gonna be anime-ing hard."

"Anime night?" Bill repeated. "Why's Stanford going to anime night?"

Soos blinked. "Is... that a trick question?" he asked. "Hey—aren't you not allowed to use phones?"

"He's not using it," Mabel said. "I'm using it. He's just watching a video over my shoulder. I've got him secured for our safety!" Bill demonstratively held up his bloody sock-wrapped hands.

"Oh. Smart thinking," Soos said. He nodded and left.

Bill looked back at the phone, left eye shut and right eye squinted, then pointed at the screen and murmured, "Oh, there—037, 037 is a big winner." Mabel nodded and wrote down "Beach 037" on a piece of paper where she'd been listing scratch card serial numbers.

Soos came back. "Hey," he said, "Bill. Why are your hands bloody."

"Because my eye's bleeding." As he said so, a bright red drop of blood rolled out of his right eye like a tear. He wiped it off his cheek with one hand, adding another stain to the sock.

"Oh. Okay," Soos said. "Why's your eye bleeding."

Mabel helpfully answered, "Because it's hard for him to see into a higher dimension from here."

"Hey." Bill nudged her with an elbow. "That was for your ears. But yes, if you have to know. Human eyeballs are—limited. It causes some some light cranial hemorrhaging." He squinted at the video again. Another bloody tear rolled down his cheek.

Soos stood uncomfortably in the doorway. "Looks... kinda painful."

"Excruciatingly," Bill said casually. Mabel mouthed he's fine at Soos.

Soos said, "Do you... want a headache pill? Or an eyepatch or something?"

"Oh." Bill looked up at Soos in surprise. "Is that an option?"

Soos shrugged. "Yeah?"

"Huh." Bill was momentarily silent, processing this revelation about the medical care options he was permitted. Finally, he said, "No to the pill—I think I'm getting a migraine aura, and I don't want to stop the little white spots before they develop into full hallucinations! I'd hate to miss that light show, you know?"

Soos nodded, as though he did know. He did not, in fact, know.

"But I could use an eyepatch," Bill said.

"You got it. Be right back."

Soos retrieved an unopened costume eyepatch from the spares for his Mr. Mystery outfit, brought it downstairs, and handed it over to Bill's socked hand. "Do you uh—need help getting that on?"

"I'll do it when we're done with the phone," Bill said, and returned to watching the video.

Mabel poked his side. "What do we say?"

"Thanks," Bill said without looking up, followed by, "062." Mabel dutifully copied the number down.

Soos headed out to his pickup, where Melody and Ford were waiting. "Sorry for the delay, guys," he said, sliding into the driver's seat. "Bill's eyeball is bleeding from trying to look at a higher dimension, so I had to get him an eyepatch."

In the back seat, Ford frowned and pulled his journal from inside his coat and flipped open to the most recent page. "Which eye?"

"Uh..." Soos held up a hand and turned it as he mentally rotated Bill to figure out which side his bloody eye would be on if it were on Soos's body. "Right. His right."

"Did he happen to mention which dimension he was trying to see?"

"Nuh-uh. He probably won't say either, he was kinda annoyed Mabel told me that much."

Mabel might know, then. Ford could ask her. Probably tomorrow—late tomorrow, after the party.

Melody asked, "He's not gonna need a doctor, is he?"

Soos started the truck. "He seemed really casual about the whole thing, so, I don't think so?"

"That's a relief," Ford muttered.

They started the drive to the former Northwest Manor.

####

When Fiddleford answered the front door and saw Ford, he smiled so wide it made Ford smile too. "Stanford! It's been a month of Sundays since I saw you last!"

"Fiddleford." Ford reached out to take Fiddleford's hand—and got tugged into a one-armed hug. He recovered from his surprise enough to return it. "It's good to see you. You're looking well." Which was to say: still looking aged before his time and running around barefoot and shirtless in his overalls; but a little less sunburned, a little more bathed, and merely "scrawny" rather than "emaciated." Ford figured if the man wanted to run around shirtless in his own lavish 150-year-old mansion, that was his own business.

"Just like we promised," Melody said, "one Ford dragged to your doorstep."

"Yes!" Soos pumped a fist in the air. "Operation Ford-Ford Reunion: completed! We uh—we didn't actually drag him, though. He was excited to come."

"He oughta be," Fiddleford said. "This'll be just like old times! Back in college, this man showed me all sortsa Japanese movies about big monsters and robots clobberin' each other. It was my first taste of international cinema!" He scratched his beard. "I wonder if that had any kinda impact on me?"

Melody and Soos looked at Ford with new respect. Soos said, "I didn't realize you were such a man of culture."

"All right, enough jibber-jabberin' on my porch!" Fiddleford waved Soos and Melody in. "You youngins go on ahead. Us old timers have to catch up. Tate's in the kitchen rustlin' up some vittles."

"Sweet, movie snacks," Soos said. He turned to Melody. "Wanna take the hidden service tunnel the Northwests used to hide the less pretty servants?"

"Pffft! Is that even a question?"

Soos tapped a foot twice on a square of Venetian parquet flooring just left of the door. A section of floor beneath them dropped down to form a slide, and Soos and Melody plummeted into the dark, squealing and laughing. The floor swung back up.

Fiddleford said, "I sure hope I fixed that tunnel to go to the pantry 'stead of the secret dungeon. Anywho!" He ambled his bow-legged way into the manor, gesturing for Ford to follow him. "We'll take the scenic route."

Ford looked around as he followed Fiddleford. He'd never been allowed in the front way before—the last time he'd visited the Northwest Manor back in the eighties, he'd been told to come in through a side door. It had been a very long walk. The front door opened directly into a great hall large enough to serve as a ballroom, with a staircase at the far end that led up to a fireplace and then forked left and right. A whale statue hung from the ceiling and still seemed dwarfed by the vast room. Ford had taken classes in lecture halls smaller than this. "I'm surprised you're still answering your own door. With all you made selling your inventions, I'd have expected you to hire a butler by now."

"I built me one a few months back," Fiddleford said, "but it kept trying to murder the feller what brings my mail. So I locked it in the coat room until I can figure out what went wrong."

There was a violent thud and scraping against a door near the entrance.

"Don't worry about that. It's reinforced," Fiddleford said. "Now, how long have you been back in town—a couple weeks?"

"Nearly." Had it really been less than two weeks? Somehow that felt both too long and too short. He'd accomplished so little with two weeks at his disposal. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long to come by. I wanted to as soon as I was back in town. You must think me a terrible friend—"

"Nonsense," Fiddleford said firmly. "I knew you'd come when you could—and here you are, ain'tcha? I reckoned you must've been busy with something."

"Yes," Ford agreed, with a bitter laugh. "More busy than you can imagine."

"Well, there you go! Nothin' to beat yourself up over."

Ford slowed, dropping a few steps behind Fiddleford, feet heavy, feeling like a physical pressure was keeping him from walking forward; and then he stopped. "I'm sorry to say, but that's part of the reason I'm here." He stared at the gap between his boots and Fiddleford's feet, the beautiful hardwood floor and the thin layer of dirt that had settled on it. "Of course, I wanted to visit you too, but... I need your help, Fiddleford."

He'd meant to wait until after the show to bring this up, let Fiddleford enjoy his evening without anxiety—hadn't he learned with Mabel not to try to mix business and socialization?—but now that Ford was here, the bad news threatened to bubble out of him with every breath. He wouldn't be able to enjoy his evening with his dread of the coming conversation weighing down on him. (What right did he have to enjoy the evening, when he knew he was once again about to make his mistakes Fiddleford's problem?)

But, Ford hadn't had the self-control to keep it to himself for just another few hours—he must have been too tired—excuses, excuses—and now Fiddleford was giving him that look he got when he was fully focused on a conversation, eyes wide and surprised-looking, as if opening them further would let him absorb more of the information he was receiving. "Of course, Stanford. What sort of help?"

Of course, he said. Of course, like Ford didn't have a history of asking for help that ruined people's lives. Either Fiddleford was charitable enough to assume Ford wouldn't inflict the kind of monstrous horrors on him he had thirty years ago, or selfless enough to offer anyway.

Ford swallowed hard. "It's heavy," he warned. "I don't want to ruin the show. Would you rather wait until afterward to discuss it...?" Although Ford doubted Fiddleford would stand for that.

Sure enough, Fiddleford waved off the idea with his bandaged arm. "Don't be silly. Now that you've brought it up, it's gonna give me the heebity-jeebies until I know what's wrong! Anyway, how heavy could it be?" He laughed wryly. "Can't possibly be as bad as that triangle feller, can it?"

Ford didn't know what expression had appeared on his face, but the effect on Fiddleford was instantaneous. His smile vanished; his lined face went as white as his beard. "Is it as bad?"

Ford winced. "Let me explain—"

"It's him." Fiddleford didn't phrase it as a question. "No. It can't— You're lyin'! You're lyin'!" He backed away from Ford as if he was the threat, tripped and tumbled to the floor, and scampered backward on his hands and feet.

And here was the screaming. Age had not dulled Fiddleford's hair-trigger panic response. Ford had hoped to explain it to him gently, ease him into the bad news before revealing who it was, but if all he could do now was damage control... Ford knelt down like he was trying to coax over a frightened cat. "Fiddleford, please—"

One of Fiddleford's legs spasmed, bouncing like a rabbit thumping its foot in warning of predators. "Not him! The beast— The beast with just one—"

"Two eyes," Ford corrected.

And the unexpectedness of the correction momentarily cut straight through Fiddleford's panic. His wild eyes focused on Ford in bafflement. "Say wha?"

"He has two eyes now," Ford said. "And he's powerless and imprisoned. He survived—but he's not a threat." It was a slight exaggeration, but Ford's first priority was calming Fiddleford down. He could introduce nuance once Fiddleford wasn't panicking.

"He's—He's not a—He's—"

"Deep breath," Ford said.

Fiddleford sucked in a deep breath, held it just long enough that Ford was starting to worry, and let it out in a long, deep gush. "Whoo!" He smacked his head with his palm, and then another couple times for good measure. "Sorry 'bout that. Just—got a little excited. Let me catch my..." He took another couple of deep breaths.

Ford waited patiently. "You're better at dealing with alarming news than you used to be." Maybe that wasn't the best praise, considering that Ford had usually been the one delivering the alarming news.

"I'm not sure I am. I think I just get it all out of my system faster." Fiddleford took one last deep breath, and said, "All right. Explain this to me."

Ford gave Fiddleford the rundown on the last two weeks—Bill's arrival, his capture, the stalemate as they realized that neither side could risk Bill's death without knowing what would happen. He explained everything they knew or suspected about Bill's current powers or lack thereof, and how they were containing and neutralizing him further.

He even pulled out his current journal to show Fiddleford Bill's appearance: a few days ago, Ford had gotten a drawing of Bill in the living room watching TV, huddled up against the armrest of the sofa as if he wanted to stay as close to the doorway as possible, one eye squeezed shut, the other glazed with disinterest, the corners of his mouth curled down despondently. Ford had done the quick rough sketch while watching Bill from the kitchen, then retreated to his room to flesh out the details. There was no way Ford was neglecting to properly document the unwelcome phenomenon occurring in his house, but there was doubly no way Ford was giving Bill's ego the pleasure of knowing he was drawing him again.

Fiddleford cocked a brow. "Bill's a woman?"

"I'm not sure whatever force humanized him was too picky about the sex," Ford said. "For that matter, I'm not sure he's picky about his sex. It's never come up." What kind of genders did Bill's species have? Did they have genders? Ford should ask. (Ford should not ask. He took that idea, stuffed it in a bag, and threw it in a lake.)

"Huh." Fiddleford gave Ford a skeptical look. "Y'all're letting him watch TV?"

"He's threatened to kill himself if he gets too bored," Ford said tiredly. "He knows if we were to completely lock him up, he'd be as good as dead, since we could just keep him there until we find a guaranteed way to kill him. He says he'd sooner die by his own hand in that circumstance, and he's mad enough I think he'd make good on it. So, to maintain the current stalemate, we've agreed on some... limited privileges."

"Including television."

"Honestly? Moving the TV out of the living room just so he couldn't watch it didn't seem worth the trouble. We use that TV too."

Fiddleford grunted; but he offered the journal back to Ford. He offered it held open, and his gaze didn't break from Bill's face until Ford shut it and put it back into his jacket pocket. "So," Fiddleford said. "You said you need help?"

"Yes. At the moment, we're safe from Bill. All we have to do is find a way to destroy both his body and whatever's inside it, whether it's a human soul or an energy being—and use it before he learns we have it and does something drastic."

Fiddleford pressed his lips together, so thin they disappeared behind his whiskers. "Stanford, I want to help any way I can, but none of my killer robots or deadly lasermajigs are designed for incineratin' space demons. I don't rightly know if I can help."

"But you've already helped. You—" Ford hesitated. "You might want to brace yourself for another shock."

Fiddleford wrapped his arms around his chest and laced his hands together behind his back. "Ready!"

"While I was exploring other dimensions, I found a parallel Earth where you—where we..." Ford swallowed his guilt. "Where... things turned out better. Your parallel self helped me perfect my weapon to destroy Bill."

"A parallel..." Fiddleford's gaze briefly went wall-eyed as he processed the implications of the second life-altering revelation of the hour; but he quickly shook himself out of it. "Well, shucks, then this oughta be easy as pie! If I can do it, then so can I! So tell me about this weapon."

Soos appeared at the top of one of the stairs at the end of the great hall. "Hey, dudes! What's the hold up? We're ready to roll!"

"We'll be right there," Ford called, then turned back to Fiddleford. "Perhaps I should show you the blueprints after the show."

They headed for the stairs. Fiddleford gave Ford a cheeky grin. "Stanford Pines, shilly-shallying around watching cartoons when there's work to be done? Now, my memory ain't what it used to be, but that don't sound like the Stanford I recall."

"I've learned the hard way that a strict diet, exercise regimen, and regular meditation alone can't save a human from burning himself out." The image of Bill's eye and Cheshire Cat smile peering out from beneath a dark towel flashed through Ford's mind. He pushed the memory aside. "Now more than ever, I need to make time for a little play." Goodness knows he hadn't made any time in the last couple of weeks, unless that emotionally fraught trip to Portland counted. "Besides, I—don't want to ruin your evening with my problem."

Fiddleford reached up to put a hand on Ford's shoulder. "That sonova cosine ain't your problem; he's ours. All of ours."

"Thank you, Fiddleford." It was exactly what he needed to hear.

At the top of the stairs, Fiddleford hopped in the air, kicked his heels together, and shouted, "Now let's go watch some giant robots commit atrocities against God! YEEHAW!" He tore off down a corridor with Ford chasing close behind.

####

Stan had given Wendy a copy of the Mystery Shack's keys a year ago, back when the only secrets in the shack had been hidden beneath the vending machine. She still had them, and she could still let herself in at any time; she'd just needed an excuse to minimize how much trouble she'd get in if she was caught.

"Sorry, I forgot my ice cream was here and I just came to pick it up" was a much lower offense than "I was sneaking in specifically to find out the thing you were trying to keep me from finding out."

Staking out the shack from the woods was boring work—she would've liked to bring a friend along, but then she really couldn't use the "I was just swinging by to grab my food" excuse—but she could pass the time whittling until she lost light, and after that she had like a billion scary story podcasts to go through.

Friday night was anime night. Around seven, Soos's truck pulled out, with Melody and Ford on board. That was right—she'd seen Ford talking to Soos about joining in on anime night. One less person she had to look out for. Half past ten, the last light in the shack turned out.

Wendy went in.

She automatically avoided the creakiest floor boards as she let herself in the front door, and then crept into the kitchen. She closed her eyes as she groped around in the freezer for the sorbet she'd left behind so that the light couldn't disrupt her night vision. There. Excuse retrieved. If anyone caught her now, she could wave her dessert in their face and pull the dumb teen routine.

Now what?

All she knew about the shack's latest secret was that it had ripped up Soos's coat, it might be psychic, and it was possibly locked up and shouting mad about it. That didn't give her a lot to go on. The kitchen didn't look much different. Less clutter out on the counters and shelves than usual, but that wasn't evidence of paranormal activity. Maybe Abuelita had gone on a cleaning spree.

She'd start with safer locations and move out from there. If she was caught, where would she get in the least trouble for snooping?

Sorry guys, I just came by to get my sorbet; and then I really needed to use the bathroom, so I thought it wouldn't be a big deal if...

She crept out of the kitchen.

Wendy wasn't risking waking anyone by turning on lights; but by the glow of her phone's screen and the living room fish tank, she could see that Abuelita's sofa was missing its cushions. No signs of anything else weird though. She crept down the dark hall, phone pressed to her chest to hide the glow until she'd passed the guest room and Abuelita's room.

Her heart leaped into her throat when she tried to grasp the downstairs toilet's doorknob, but only brushed fabric instead. She held up her phone. They'd replaced the door with a curtain? That was weird, but...

She pulled the curtain aside.

Something sat cross-legged on the closed toilet. One blood-dripping yellow eye stared up at Wendy.

Wendy screamed.

"Hello to you too," the thing said. "Come in?"

Wendy punched it in the eye and bolted.

She heard it stumble-thud out of the bathroom, call, "Wait, wait—Wendy!" and then laugh, and then mutter, "ow, ow, ow."

Wendy slowed halfway to the exit as what she'd just seen fully registered. That was a human person. Whom she'd socked in the face.

Wendy about-faced. "Oh, man, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" She came back and flipped on the bathroom light to check for damage.

The stranger was a heavyset brown-skinned woman with a mass of loose golden curls hanging to her shoulder blades, wearing a baggy yellow hoodie and knee-length skirt—and something about her was familiar, but Wendy couldn't put her finger on what. The stranger shrugged, grinning, and said, "It's not the worst thing to happen to that eyeball today!" She moved an eyepatch over from her left eye to cover the bloody eye Wendy had socked—and that was why Wendy had only seen the one eye in the dark. The eyepatch.

Wow, smooth move, Wendy, punching somebody for having a painful-looking eye condition. She winced. "Sorry. Do you... wanna ice that?" She awkwardly held out her sorbet.

The stranger looked at the pint thoughtfully. "Can I eat it instead?"

"Um. No?" Wendy pulled it back. "Hey—did you call me Wendy? How'd you know my name?"

The stranger shrugged. "What, you work here, don't you? I see you all the time."

So they had met before? Wendy studied the stranger's face, trying to remember where—and then her eyes widened. "Wait—hold on, Toga Lady? No way!"

"Wh—yeah, that's me!" She laughed. "I can't get over how many people recognize me because of that."

"Yeah, everyone in town knows you." She flipped open her phone to show Toga Lady a meme Tambry sent a couple days ago: the picture Wendy had taken of her in the gift shop that spread all over town, currently captioned, "When you're meeting Plato but still wanna look kawaii."

Toga Lady cracked up. "Hey, I love that! Send that to Sh—Mabel, I wanna save that."

"Sure." Did Toga Lady not have a phone? Or maybe just didn't want to hand her number out to a stranger who punched her in the dark. "So... what are you doing here? Are you visiting the Pines?" Wendy vaguely remembered Toga Lady asking about the Pines a few months ago. "Who are you?"

"The name's Goldie," the stranger said. "And I'm... just staying here for a bit. As a house guest." (And, Bill realized, if Wendy asked him any more than that, he was in trouble. He and the Pines had very briefly arranged his cover story: if and when somebody noticed him, he was Goldie Locke and he was staying as a guest. But why was he staying as a guest, where had he come from, how long would he be here... they'd never gotten that far. He'd better think up some boring cover story the Pines wouldn't object to—maybe claim to be one of Abuelita's distant relatives, staying with family between jobs...)

Wendy said, "So, hold on. Are you the big mysterious supernatural phenomenon the Pines have been trying not to talk about?"

Goldie blinked. And then a brilliant, gleeful smile stretched across her face. "Wow, you're a smart one! How did you guess?"

####

To Fiddleford's evident despair, Soos had made good on his threat to put a moratorium on mecha anime. Instead, he played a few episodes of a period drama about a former samurai, desperate to retire from the sword, who kept running into civilians with inconvenient problems that could only be solved with a two-foot steel blade.

In the 1920s, the Northwests had added a private movie palace to their manor so they wouldn't have to watch picture shows with the common folks; and it hadn't take Soos much work to rig up a new projector to play from his laptop. The Northwests had outfitted the theater with armchairs, loveseats, and coffee tables, which had conveyed with the manor. Once the show was over and the snacks were cleared aside, one of the coffee tables made a perfect space for Ford to spread out his blueprints and research notes. While Soos, Melody, and Tate discussed the likelihood that unemployed samurai really used their swords to rescue stuck cats by chopping down tree branches, Ford explained the quantum destabilizer to Fiddleford.

It was a death ray designed to obliterate whatever it hit—whether matter, energy, both, neither, or other. If it hit a human, they'd be crushed into nothing. If it hit something as powerful as Bill, he'd be fatally collapsed into a miniature black hole, taking anything under his influence with him, and then he'd disappear. Not even ashes would be left behind. No matter what Bill was now, this could kill him.

The problem was the fuel, which Ford had obtained from another Fiddleford, who in turn had obtained it in a paradox dimension: an element that was inert when observed and highly radioactive when concealed. Parallel Fiddleford had named it NowUSeeitNowUDontium. But Ford had used up the last of his fuel on a wild shot during Weirdmageddon. And—short of rebuilding that accursed portal and venturing back out into the multiverse—Ford didn't know how to get more.

"Your parallel self helped me make all the modifications to my destabilizer to let it run on Dontium," Ford said. "You know your own mind better than anyone else. Perhaps if you see your parallel self's design modifications, you might be able to deduce the necessary properties of the substance used to fuel it, and we could... find a way to synthesize an artificial substitute, maybe?"

Fiddleford frowned worriedly at the blueprints. "Frankly, I don't know that I do know my own mind," he said. "But... I'll take a look-see at this, see what I can make of it."

"That's all I ask. Thank you, Fiddleford."

"What'll we do if I can't work it out, though?"

He'd already wondered that himself. Making an element was harder than finding one. There was a reason the gold miners outlasted the alchemists. "We'll find another way. Maybe adapt the destabilizer to another fuel source. I initially designed it for portability in anticipation of a fight with a highly mobile, flying opponent. Now that it'll be used for the execution of a captive, portability is less important. Perhaps it could be modified to plug into an external fuel source?"

"It'd have to be ginormous," Fiddleford said dubiously. "What about that infernal-lookin' summoning circle you had us try? Is that still an option?"

"I've considered it, but... there are four members of the zodiac who still don't know Bill's alive—and they're all children. I never learned exactly what the zodiac does, much less whether it would have any effect on Bill as a human, so I don't want to get them involved just to discover that solution doesn't work. The destabilizer will work."

"If'n we can fuel it."

Ford sighed. "We'll call the zodiac 'plan B.'"

####

On the way out, Ford stopped in the door and said, "Oh, Fiddleford—I nearly forgot." He took out a folded paper he'd stowed in his journal's cover and handed it to Fiddleford, grinning.

It was a hand-made card, with a cover that featured a cake and puffy stickers that read, "PARTY!" Inside was a crayon drawing of Stan and Ford holding hands and smiling next to the words, "Come to our 62nd birthday party!!! Saturday, June 15, 1:00 PM, at the Mystery Shack!!! DON'T BE LATE!!!!!"

Wryly, Fiddleford asked, "Did you make this yourself?"

"Mabel helped," Ford admitted. "I almost forgot our birthday entirely until she brought it up this morning."

"Did you? Now I don't feel so bad that I'd plumb forgot myself. Tomorrow—whoo-ee." A hint of anxiety entered his eyes. "Will the party attendees be including...?"

"We're having our party outside. Our 'houseguest' 'Goldie' is not allowed outside."

Fiddleford immediately relaxed. "Then I'll be there, don't you worry! With gifts, too!"

"Then we'll see you tomorrow." As Ford followed Soos down the long driveway toward his truck, he mused to himself that he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a birthday party. He didn't think he'd ever invited somebody outside his family to a birthday party and thought they would actually come. Felt good.

Ford was halfway to the truck when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Tate. Had they ever spoken one-on-one before? "Tate? What can I do—"

Tate took a step too close, and Ford's back immediately went stiff. "Don't think I didn't see those blueprints you were showing my Dad," Tate said. "Now, you listen here, Dr. Pines." He said "doctor" like it was an insult. "Thirty years ago I lost my father thanks to you and your stupid science project, and I just got him back. I ain't keen on losing him again. Is that clear?"

Oh. "I—yes. Perfectly clear. I don't want any trouble. I'm asking for his help to prevent trouble, actually."

Tate drawled, "Oh, yeah? That so? You usually need futuristic laser bazookas to prevent trouble?"

How good a look had Tate gotten at the blueprints? He'd been on the other side of the room. "Tate... listen." Ford took a deep breath. "You've got every reason to distrust me. Thirty years ago, I was so wrapped up in my own problems that I turned my back on your father when he needed help the most—and you, your mother, and he all suffered greatly for it. But whatever happens, I won't turn my back on him again. I promise."

Tate considered that in sullen silence. "Fine," he said. "See you don't. But I've got my eye on you."

He turned back toward the manor, paused, and faced Ford again. "When I came to Gravity Falls, the first place I went was the last address Dad wrote from. The man who answered the door said he never knew no McGucket and he'd never stayed there. I called him a dirty liar, and he chased me off his property with a hammer." He pointed at Ford. "You... You were gone by then, weren'tcha? That was your brother."

Ford's stomach dropped. "That's right. That... Stanley didn't know anything. We were estranged the whole time I knew your father. I didn't even call Fiddleford by name in my journals."

"All these years he told me he never knew my father, I thought he was just too big a coward to own up to what he'd done. When all along I was resentin' an innocent man, while you were..." He trailed off; then set his jaw firmly, squared his shoulders, and said, "Welp. You take responsibility like a man. I hope you act like one, too."

Ford shrugged helplessly. "I've been trying to."

Tate nodded once. "Good to finally meet the real you, Dr. Pines," he said coolly. Then he turned back toward the manor and walked away.

####

Stan was sure he'd heard a scream.

He stared at the ceiling. It was too late for people to be screaming. He didn't wanna get up. He couldn't hear anything now; but then, his hearing aids were out. Which meant the scream must have been really loud.

Grumbling, he sat up, put in his hearing aids, put in his teeth, put on his glasses, put on his slippers, dragged himself upright, and shuffled to the door.

The moment he stepped out, he could hear Bill's voice, chattering from some dark corner of the shack: "I was actually one of Stanford's research assistants! Haha! Yeah, during the earliest portal tests, I got sucked into the psychic plane between reality and dreams—ever heard of the 'mindscape'?—and everyone assumed it killed me! I've actually been haunting the shack like a ghost for the last three decades! It sure is great to be alive again!"

Stan's first thought, still half asleep, was, I don't remember Ford telling me about that part. And his second thought was, Wait. Who's Bill talking to?

Then he heard Wendy's laugh and his blood ran cold. "Aw man, that's insane! What'd you eat? Is there food in the mindscape?"

"I didn't need to eat, sleep, or age! Convenient, huh? Now I look thirty years too young!"

"How'd you keep from getting crazy bored without anyone to talk to?"

"I watched TV over Stanley's shoulder and eavesdropped on tourists' marital problems! I saw you all summer—"

Stan followed their voices to the living room and fumbled on the light switch. Wendy started and cringed back into the armchair she'd claimed, squinting in the bright light. Bill, who'd been standing in the dark like a creep, didn't flinch—but he slowly stood a little straighter.

"What the heck's going on in here?" Stan snapped.

"Hey, Mr. Pines," Wendy said weakly. "Sorry—I forgot my ice cream when I left," she held up a pint, "so I came back for it and... um..."

"I spooked her in the dark and she socked me!" Bill laughed.

Stan moved between Wendy and Bill. "She's got the right idea." As Stan moved further into the room, Bill circled him to get closer to the doorway.

"But—I mean, is Goldie all you were keeping secret?" Wendy asked. "I worked here all last summer. I know what this place is like! You know I can handle learning that some woman's been stuck in a parallel plane—right?"

Before Stan had a chance to say anything, Bill piped up again: "They're all just worried about the thirty-year-old missing person case they could have helped solve! But hey, I don't mind. I'm sure the only reason they didn't try to find me was because Ford thought I was dead and Stan didn't know about me." Bill looked straight in Stan's eyes. "Isn't that right?"

Oh, Bill had them all over a barrel now.

A good two-man con was a lot like good improv theater, in that neither actor could contradict the other one's story; once one of them introduced a detail, the other one had to agree "yes, and—" and roll with it. No matter how stupid or insane your partner's contribution, if you start arguing about your story in front of your mark, they'll know you're lying—and there goes your mark.

Stan knew that. Bill knew Stan knew that.

And Bill had gotten to Wendy first. Now, unless Stan wanted to completely spill the triangular beans to Wendy, he had no choice but to play along and "yes, and" Bill's stupid story about being Ford's assistant.

Fine. But no way was Stan playing along on Bill's terms.

Stan scoffed loudly. "Or maybe the reason my brother didn't try to find you is because you're a no-good lying creep who"—(what do nerds hate each other for?)—"tried to steal his research!"

From the corner of his eye, Stan could see Wendy's eyebrows shoot up and her mouth open slightly. Yeah, good. Yes-and that, Cipher.

Stan expected anger. There wasn't anger. The ghost of a smile flickered across Bill's face before he got his expression under control. There was a spark of light in his eye, like something sleeping in him had activated.

In the split second between Bill's lips parting and the first syllable emerging, Stan realized—a moment too late—that he'd made a terrible mistake. Bill wasn't just a con artist. He was one of those guys. The guys who got into crime because they couldn't get into theater. The divas. The attention hogs. The guys who enjoyed lying for the thrill of it.

And Stan had just given him an opportunity for drama.

"Steal it?" Bill snapped. "Steal it?" He raised a hand and pointed a thumb at himself, elbow jutted out to the side, chest puffed up, making himself bigger. "I am his research! Over half the stuff he put in his journals comes from material I dug up for him! By his third journal, he was practically my ghostwriter! But do you think I was gonna get a co-author credit?"

"Oh, that's a load of bull—slander," Stan snapped. "I am not letting you talk about my brother like that! He did all the hard work while you, what—" what fit the story they were inventing, "—picked up books for him at the library like a good little undergrad—?"

"Hey!" Bill turned sideways to jab a finger at Stan, like a fencer making his profile narrower before driving his sabre home. "Post grad! I was working on my dissertation! And I didn't just 'pick them up'; I found the books he needed, usually because I'd already read them and he hadn't!"

"Oh, you read a few books! Oooh, I'm so impressed! But you're not the one who wrote about them, sister!"

"HA! The hundreds of pages of notes I gave him say otherwise! So what if I wanted to publish first while he was hoarding the fruits of my labor in his basement, it was my right—!"

Stan bellowed, "That kind of talk is why you got dismissed from your dissertation program for plagiarism!"

All righteous indignation, Bill raised his voice to match, "The plagiarism charges were unproven! I dropped out on my own terms!"

"Oh SUUURE, because you wanted to see the WOOORLD! And how much of the world did you see hiding in a podunk logging town doing my brother's primary research for him, huh?!"

"HA!" Voice nearly a shriek, finger raised to the heavens in triumph, Bill crowed, "SO YOU ADMIT I DID ALL THE PRIMARY RESEARCH—!"

Ford said, "What the devil is going on here?"

Stan and Bill fell silent. Ford stood in the entryway, looking one part irate and two parts bewildered. The front door was still open, Soos and Melody peering around Ford.

Ford could doom them. Stan knew how to improv like a con artist, Bill knew how to improv like a con artist, but did Ford? Ever since they'd been kids, he'd always been just a little slower with a lie. If Stan had a chance to ease him into the backstory they'd concocted without requiring him to improvise himself—hey, we were just explaining to Wendy how 'Goldie' used to be your research assistant until 'she' got eaten by a portal test—

"STANFORD," Bill snapped. Stan almost jumped out of his skin. Oh no. Bill glared at Ford, pointed at Stan, and said, "Tell Stanley the plagiarism charges were unfounded, I was unfairly accused!"

Stan held his breath.

Ford stared at Bill, and then stared at Stan—Stan could almost see the gears turning in his head—and then stared at Wendy, and then stared at Bill again. And then he snarled, "After you tried to beat me to publication, you two-faced liar?"

"HA!" Stan pointed at Bill's face, laughing too hard to speak. "HAAA!" He pounded on the TV, half hysterical with mirth, and had to lean on it as he wheezed for breath. Ford—what a dark horse, Stan could kiss his cheek—Ford was maintaining the most stoic poker face Stan had ever seen.

Bill was violently biting his lip, red in the face, brows drawn tight together, trembling all over. It took Stan a moment to realize Bill wasn't angry. He was battling hard to look furious—playing the part of the loser of the argument—when the creep was actually fighting not to laugh.

Bill made eye contact with Stan, very nearly lost it, and turned his back toward Wendy so she couldn't see his face. He gestured vaguely toward Stan and Ford and croaked, "You see what I have to put up with?"

"I dunno, man." Grinning, Wendy said, "Not to make light of the whole 'stuck haunting the shack for thirty years' thing, but it kiiinda sounds like you had it coming."

Mission accomplished. And let that teach Bill a lesson about trying to out-lie Stan Pines.

Soos waved a hand. "Hey, uh, what's going on—?"

Now that was a disaster waiting to happen. "I'll catch you up." Stan zoomed around Ford, scooped his arms around Soos's and Melody's shoulders, and hustled them out of the room.

####

"You're sure you want to bike home alone this late?" Ford was walking Wendy back to where she said she'd left her bike, just outside the clearing the Mystery Shack made in the forest. "I could give you a ride."

"Thanks, Mr. Pines, but I'm fine. This whole part of the forest is basically my backyard."

"If you insist." He supposed the Corduroy cabin wasn't that far off—the local kids probably ventured further on a regular basis. They just didn't usually drop by the Mystery Shack at this hour. "What were you doing visiting the shack, anyway?"

"I came back to get my ice cream," Wendy said, holding up her sorbet pint demonstratively. "Which... is probably completely melted by now." She shrugged, popped off the lid and drank it.

She came by this late for ice cream? Ford had his doubts. But then, if he'd been a sixteen-year-old with a summer job in a house keeping a supernatural secret, would he have done any differently? (He was just glad she hadn't worked out who their "guest" really was. He'd have to thank Stan later for his quick thinking with a cover story.)

Wendy picked up her bike and hit her helmet against a tree to dislodge any bugs that might have crawled in. "Hey, uh—please don't tell my dad I was over here, okay? I kinda didn't mention that I was going out."

Wendy was Boyish Dan's kid, wasn't she? How different they were. The Dan that Ford knew hadn't been much older than Wendy, but he'd regarded these woods with a respect that bordered on fear. He'd never be wandering around this late at night. "I can't imagine why I'd need to bring it up." Ford had snuck out for dumber reasons as a kid.

"Thanks, Mr. Pines." She put on her helmet and got on her bike. "I'll see you in the morning!"

"The morning? The party isn't until one, is it?"

"Yeah, but I'm running an errand with Mabel." Wendy waved as she left. In the dark, her arm blended in with the trees.

Ford hadn't heard Mabel mention any errands. What was she doing that she needed Wendy's help for?

Ford waited until he couldn't hear Wendy's bike anymore; and then headed back into the shack.

####

(Y'all have no idea how long I've been waiting to post that argument. If you enjoyed this chapter, please let me know what you thought! I need comments to survive. Like tinkerbell. Thanks!!)

#wendy corduroy #grunkle stan #(for the art)#bill cipher #human bill cipher #(for the overall fic)#gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(with thanks to astro-b-o-y-d for the headcanon that McGucket hosts anime nights)

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