#Stan just agrees with Ford when he gets like this

[jellyskink]

Headcanon that one time after one of his disscociative ragers Stan tends to Ford's wounds and Ford who's still dizzy from the occurrence breaks down crying saying he "Just wants his muse to be proud of him"

At that Stan realizes two things

1 He himself went through those before

2 OH, god, their dad did a number on BOTH of them

3 Maybe, behind the blindness of rage, there's still something left of his twin's will

Even if Stan thinks this, which is plausible, he CANNOT say it. Ford projects a lot of the things he doesn't let himself feel about Bill onto his memory of Filbrick

Extra fun fact! When Ford's breakdowns involve a lot of screaming like this, he has trouble speaking the next day. Stan has learned to read a lot of Ford's wants and intentions, though, so it's less of a problem than you might think when they're together. Bill obviously isn't so kind, and likes to make Ford talk all day to make it worse. A favorite tactic of his is to ask Ford about something he's excited/passionate about, and watch him struggle to infodump about it

[niiwa-angel]

I can't stop thinking about how Stan Pines, a man who was kicked out of his home at a young age by his abusive father, turned his own home into such a safe space for not just the twins, but his employees and the kids friends as well.

First of all, we know Wendy frequently slacks off on her shifts, she has her roof top hideaway but she also reads magazines and flat out refuses to do certain tasks. Like when Stan asked her to put up a sign and she just said she couldn't reach it, or telling Stan "absolutely not" when he asked her and Soos to clean the bathrooms. Not only could Stan fire her, he could take away her magazines or stop her from going on the roof. We see that Stan is more observant than he lets on, you're telling me he didn't notice her dragging a cooler and a lawn chair up there? And she's either bringing her own pop and ice to fill that cooler or she's taking his.

And then there's Soos, who Stan cares about so much he got himself on the no-fly list trying to get his birthday removed from calendars, just because it made him upset. We know Soos cares about the Mystery Shack, he feels comfortable there, and he respects and adores Stan. Soos also volunteered to DJ for free at Stans summer party.

We also frequently see Soos and Wendy hanging out with the twins, so either they're slacking off during working hours or they're coming over after their shifts just to hang out. In an after credits scene, we see Mabel and Dipper turn Soos into a disco ball and they're clearly in the residential part of the shack. So either Soos buggered off during working hours to hang out with the twins or he's off shift just chilling. Either way, Stan is fine with him being in the actual house part of the shack.

Wendy also helps Mabel try and make Stan more 'desirable' to Lazy Susan, which I'll get into later, but she's not working and she also in the house part of the shack. We also see Soos and Wendy watching television with Stan, Mabel, and Dipper during the Summerween episode. They aren't on shift! They're just chilling. Wendy hits Stan in the face with a water balloon while working as a lifeguard. She's comfortable teasing him.

Soos tags along with Stan, Dipper, and Mabel when they break into the golf course after hours. He brings his shirts to cut Ws into. He doesn't have to be there, he just is. Wendy goes hunting with Mabel and her friends for unicorns. Mabel wins a pig at the fair and Stan lets her keep it, the pig needs food, who do you think is footing that bill?

Now let's talk about friends. Mabel often has Candy and Grenda over, we know she has loud sleepover with them. Do you think Mabel would bring her friends over if she wasn't comfortable in the house? Do you think Candy and Grenda would keep coming over if they didn't feel safe? Not to mention, they literally ambush Stan in the bathroom and give him a make over. Which he allows, we see him fight off the undead, punch bald eagles, and catch the twins when they fell from the nose of that monument. The man is strong, he could get three preteen girls off him if he wanted to, he was 100% playing along.

Candy and Grenda also invite themselves along on their road trip. And Stan lets them come!! Mr cheap stake agrees to feed and care for two extra kids who aren't his family.

Dipper sneaks around trying to see his tattoo, he feels safe enough with Stan to push those boundaries. He literally pulled the Memory Gun on Ford during the basement scene, if he wasn't comfortable with Stan, he wouldn't try to get that close to him. He calls Stan when he and Mabel are trapped in a haunted convenience store (he doesn't answer but still, he called him).

Now let's talk about Gideon, because I will stand by the Stan had some fondness for the kid. We know Stan has been annoyed with Gideon for a while, we know Gideon has been gunning for Stan for a while. And Stan just... Keeps letting this happen. He never involves the police, he plays along with Gideons attempts, even when Gideon is laughing uncontrollably, Stan just assured him that "you'll get me one day kid". Even when Gideon climbs in THROUGH THE WINDOW all Stan does is aggressively sweep at his feet. Correct me if I'm wrong, but Stan never gets rough with Gideon.

I'm just, I'm weeping over the knowledge that Stan Pines, who wasn't safe in his own home, made his home a safe place for kids as an adult.

[ckret2]

Hi! I don't remember if anyone asked this, but do you have any headcanons about Shermie Pines?

Sure, here's the big one.

I've decided to resolve the "if he's the baby then Mabel & Dipper are the product of two generations of 15-year-old parents; if he's older than Stan & Ford and maybe already out of the house then where is he and who's the baby?" problem the most ridiculous way possible:

He IS the baby, but he grew 20 years in 10 years.

I don't mean he's a 10-year-old that looks 20, i mean that for every year he existed, he experienced two years of life. Like at the start of September he entered 1st grade and at the end of next May he exited 2nd grade, and nobody knows how, he didn't jump up a grade during winter break or something, everyone around him clearly remembers him going through nine months of school and then summer break and then another nine months of school, his first and second grade teachers both remember teaching him for a whole school year, but it happened within one year.

Nobody else is affected; they all remember experiencing two years of life with Shermie, but they didn't age two years too. Just him. No one can explain it. It's the darnedest thing.

"But how did this happen." Time magic. "What caused it?" Magic. "Did he experience every year twice?" No just once; the year was twice as long for him. "Then how did he experience two school years instead of one double length school year?" Magic. "How does that even work???" I'm not an expert on time magic.

Caryn told Ford about it, but he was busy with more PhD programs than any human should ever endure and assumed it was some kind of hyperbolic lie to communicate how fast it feels like Shermie's growing, so she's going "this sounds like one of your strange anomalous things you study, isn't this one of those things you study?" and he's like "uh huh that's great mom."

Stan, of course, didn't hear any of this, so the first he learns of it is during a reluctant family reunion soon after he takes over Ford's life and Caryn's like "and over there's your brother Shermie and his wife, I don't know if you've seen him since your master's degree, try to talk to them won't you?" and Stan goes "Shermie?? Isn't he supposed to be twelve, why's he look like a MAN? Whaddaya mean wife??? Is she pregnant????" and Caryn went "😏 I KNEW you were never listening on the phone."

Shermie gradually stopped experiencing life on double time and slowed down to age normally around his mid twenties (well, mid twenties from his perspective; around 13 according to his birth certificate). Filbrick and Caryn sort of agreed that getting married must have helped him "settle down" and they don't really question it.

Ford gets to learn this several hours after he gets home when he finally gets a break long enough to put two and two together and goes "wait, SHERMIE'S grandkids?? But he's barely in his forties, how does he have 12-year-old grandkids" and Stan tells him and Ford goes "You mean Mom was telling the truth?!"

That fall while Shermie's yelling "WHADDAYA MEAN YOU SWITCHED PLACES AND FELL INTO A SPACE PORTAL" Ford's yelling back "CAN I CARBON DATE YOUR FACE"

[truefandemonium]

BILLSTILL BILLSTILL

This AU has consumed my mind

Please accept my humble offering to the Bill still community ( @jellynut I totally forgot to credit u I am so sorry)

a mind ensnared pt. 1

a billstill ficlet

(inspired by the AU by @jellynut)

…

“According to my research, and the readings I’m getting— she’ll be just off the coast— the Laptev Sea,” Ford said, adjusting the map in front of him before folding it and pointing in some random direction ahead of them. Stan tipped the wheel idly, raising his brows at his brother.

“Always thought Nessie would be in Scotland. Like the name. Not Norway.” Stan blinked as snow began to fall in soft flurries onto the boat, finding purchase in the tufts of greying hair poking out from the front of his beanie.

“Russia, Stanley,” Ford corrected in his trademark deadpan, judgemental eyes flicking over the rim of his glasses as he shifted his focus away from the roaring waves in the distance. “We’re headed for the coast of Russia.”

“Yeah, whatever, poindexter.” Stan didn’t exactly mean to say it. He could feel Ford tense every time the word slipped from his mouth. When they were kids— the nickname was friendly, affectionate. But after everything happened… everything with Bill…

You called?

Stan cleared his throat loudly, forcing himself to stare up at the falling flakes head on. “Heck of a storm, huh?”

Thank God— Ford laughed at that. “You mean the gust of cold wind that couldn’t constitute a squall? Yes, quite a storm,” the other man agreed.

Stan smiled. He missed this. His whole life: wasted, without his brother. But now, they could finally make up for that lost time.

Lost time. Boy have I heard that one before. But so have you, right Stanley?

Get out of my head. Stan didn’t notice his own knuckles whitening around the wheel. Get out of my head right now or I’ll—

You’ll what, Mystery Man? Yell at me? Hahahahahahahah—

Say, how much do you remember, Stan? Do you remember your favorite food? How about the shirt you wore everyday for a month while waiting for good ol’ Fordsy to come back from the abyss?

Stan sucked in a deep breath, risking shutting his eyes against the wind as the screaming in his head swelled. He can’t hurt you, Stan told himself, starting to sweat despite the cold.

But you remember the important things, don’t you? Like what Pine Tree gave you before he left for home. Or the secret Shooting Star confessed to you and you alone? Come on, tell me you remember that.

Stan opened his eyes and steeled himself. He wouldn’t let some stupid triangle ruin the rest of his life.

You gotta remember what makes you you, though, don’t you? The fact that you were the reason Ford spent half his life in nightmare dimensions. The reason his childhood was spent looking out for you.

No, no, it’s not true. Is it? Did I destroy Ford’s life? Since the beginning?

The reason he’s never been happy. Not even now—

Stan suddenly doubled over, a sharp pain in his skull causing a bright light to rip through his vision. The steering wheel cracked hard against his knuckles as he tried and failed to find purchase somewhere before collapsing.

“Stanley!” Ford was at his side in an instant, knees on the ground as he placed one steadying hand on Stan’s back, and pushed him to kneel with the other. “Stanley—?”

The two men sat in the snowy light of the moon, Stan wheezing, his vision blurred as sweat began to pool in his gloves and drip cooly down the sides of his face. The waters around them began to spin— or at least it felt that way. Despite the endless space beyond the boat, Stan felt the world closing in on him. All set to the sound of distant wicked laughter.

Ford felt cold to his bones, not from the wind or weather, but the look of sheer panic etched into his brother’s face. Stan had few moments of real fear that he let Ford get close enough to see. This… this was one of them.

Ford eased his hold on Stan and watched him slam his palms onto the deck, shaking hard enough to make his dentures clack together. Keeping one six-fingered hand on his brother’s back, Ford started to speak in a slow, soothing tone.

“Stanley, it’s alright, breathe, Stanley,” he muttered, watching Stan’s eyes flick wildly around, the fear clawing at him. He looked like a wounded animal… more specifically a rabbit.

Caught in a snare: the wire tightening with each sharp breath around his throat, Ford’s heart wrenched at the image. “Stanley.” Ford shifted to cup Stan’s jaw in his gloved hand, applying enough pressure to ease his glazy eyes upward.

“I’m right here,” he whispered. Stan’s gaze flickered with something— recognition, but his heaving didn’t cease. Ford continued, “Breathe, Stanley. I’m here.”

“Bill—” Stan choked out, shaking his head hard, trying to recoil from his brother’s gentle touch.

It was like a blade between Ford’s ribs. The name sent a shudder through his spine and blood flashing behind his eyes. Still, he held firm.

“Stanley.” His voice shook as he pulled Stan into his arms, forcing him to still. “Bill is gone.”

Finally, Stan moved. All at once, he barreled forward, wrapping Ford in a tight hug as he sobbed, the heat of his tears soaking into the exposed hair curling around Ford’s neck.

“He’s gone,” Ford repeated. Part of him wanted to believe it.

Part of him knew, even if Bill was gone. The memories were one thing that would never fall away.

…

[year2000electronics]

HERE THEY ARE! here's what everyone would be in my own take on monster falls!! you can agree or disagree, it's just me having fun with it :]

my general lore for the au itself would be that the town of gravity falls is cursed, and if you stay there long enough, you get turned into a monster. most people have some reason not to leave before it's too late and the curse becomes permanent, other just give up and let it happen

monsters under the cut!

dipper: deertaur (unchanged from popular fan choice)

mabel: unicorn (unchanged from sorta-popular fan choice)

stan: gargoyle (unchanged from popular fan choice)

ford: mothman (chosen for being a cryptid, ford has mentioned moths multiple times, mothman being a "shadowy figure", stan being able to pass himself off as ford when you see them both in the dark

soos: fairy (chosen for the irony- he has canonically killed a fairy! and also that he calls everyone "dude" when fae usually take names, fae are usually tricksters but he winds up being very helpful around the shack)

wendy: ghost (chosen because she's related to archibald corduroy, the northwest mansion ghost, also that she's "non-commital" to her job and constantly vanishes from it, also ALSO that her first big episode was themed around ghosts!)

gideon: haunted doll/puppet (chosen because he has creepy doll vibes, and puppets are often associated with performance- think puppet shows, pinocchio, ventriloquist dummy- haunted dolls and living puppets also have a common theme of something childish getting a mean streak.) (also, bud would be a fox in this au as a reference to honest john)

pacifica: dragon (chosen for the northwests' miserly behavior, hoarding of treasure, and pacifica's fiery tongue)

mcgucket: robot (chosen for mcgucket's affinity for robotics, and also for the idea that once he starts using the memory gun, he starts corrupting/mass erasing his own technology and has to repair himself using junkyard scraps)

robbie: cherub (he dyes his wings black to seem like some sort of dark angel. chosen for his last name, his hoodie, and his parents' chipper demeanor. they're a family of morticians who choose to spread the love by burying couples next to each other)

"billy-bob cipher": a vessel bill specifically crafted to hunt the monsters in gravity falls. he went with the idea of a greasy redneck hunter, because that would be the form people would be least willing to argue with about carrying a bunch of guns and traps around.

[chillinglyadventurous]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Tags: Jealousy, Pining

I did NOT proofread this.

Once you met Stan’s twin brother, you were absolutely smitten. Stan had known immediately, of course. You told him not ten minutes after Stanford Pines, the real one, had sent the FBI agents away.

You pulled him aside as the twins gushed over Ford, “Why is he hot? Why do I want to marry him immediately?”

Stan shook his head at you, “I knew you were into older men, [Y/N], but I thought you only have eyes for me?”

The fake hurt in his voice was amusing as you crossed your arms over your chest. You kissed his cheek before turning your attention to his biceps, giving them a strong squeeze. You laughed when he flexed.

“A big, strong man like you,” you gushed, “ugh- men like you just can’t be tied down to one woman.”

“You got that right, hot stuff.”

You and Stan had always been flirty with each other, perhaps a bit inappropriate at times, but it was strictly platonic. He had even pulled you aside once, telling you you were a cute girl, but he didn’t have the same feelings. You had laughed in his face, of course. So presumptuous, so full of himself. “I’m out of your league, babe,” you punctuated your sentence with a wink, leaving him speechless. “You wouldn’t know how to handle me.”

Now, you were all about his brother. He was more your type anyways, older and more mysterious. Stan was an open book, always speaking his mind. You appreciated the honesty, but you weren’t Stan’s type either. He preferred a the exact opposite of you.

In some twist of fate, Ford had asked you to dinner. You knew it wasn’t what you thought. It couldn’t be a date. He was simply taking you to dinner to talk over his research. When he and Stan had gotten back from their sail around the world, he had promised to show you everything over a nice meal, to thank you for all your help before they had left.

You were still excited, though, so you had dressed up. It wasn’t anything fancy. It was more casual, a dress you had found in the back of your closet you just hadn’t had the chance to wear in a while. Mabel had offered to help you get ready, that’s why you stood in the middle of Stan’s TV room.

“How do I look?” You gave a little spin in the living room. You held out your hands as you turned. “Think he’ll like it?”

Stan growled at you. A wide, flirty grin covered his face, “I don’t know about that nerd, but I’d take it off you right now if you’d let me.”

“Stan!” You chastised, your head pointing toward the kids sitting at the table behind you.

Mabel looked from you to Stan and back. She looked confused, “Grunkle Stan, she looks beautiful! Don’t make her change.”

“Yeah, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper agreed. “I think [Y/N] looks very pretty.”

You laughed at their innocence, hoping it would never go away. They were sweet kids. You loved them. Maybe, if things worked out with Ford, you could be their great aunt. Graunt? Graunty? Grauntie? You’d work out the details later.

You smiled when Ford came around the corner. He hadn’t really dressed up like you had. He wore his normal garb, but the trench coat had been forgotten. You didn’t understand how he could wear a sweater in the middle of summer. You felt over dressed.

“You ready?” You beamed, taking the outstretched, brand new, Journal 4 in your hands. You were so eager to see what he had been up to.

His hand ghosted over your shoulder, afraid to touch down as you walked by him. Your nose was already buried in the pages. “Only if you are.”

A smack and your yelp broke your concentration. You looked back at Stan who had just smacked you on the rear. He gave you a wink, “Go get ‘em, tiger!”

You didn’t notice the scowl on Ford’s face. Specifically, you didn’t notice the angry glare Ford gave his twin brother. Stan knew how Ford felt about you, yet he was still doing this?

“Stanley,” Ford had confided one night aboard the Stan O’ War II, “I think I have feelings for [Y/N].”

Stan had barely looked down at him brother who was lying on the bunk beneath him. He gave a dismissive wave, “She’s a cute one. That’s for sure.”

Now, you were sitting at dinner. You barely noticed the waiter as you and Ford chatted about his and Stan’s run-in with a giant kraken that had almost sunk their ship. You laughed with him over the story, amazed how he used his magnet gun, carefully aimed at a distant lighthouse, to pull them to safety.

“That’s amazing!” Your hand touched his. Perhaps you had too much wine, “You’re amazing.” The buzz of your phone pulled you out of the spell Ford had put you under by just being himself. “Excuse me,” you whispered as you reached into your purse. You held up your phone so he could see Stan’s name.

U 2 get married yet?

Stan. You let out a breathy laugh, “You’re brother is the most annoying person I have ever met in my life.”

Maybe we would be if you’d leave me alone.

U know you love it when I bother you.

You noticed the change in Ford’s demeanor. “You okay?”

“Of course,” he muttered as he waved the waiter down for the check. He gave you a sad smile. “It’s getting late,” he sighed as he paid the bill.

You walked back to the Shack in silence. As always, Ford held open the door for you and you snuck inside only to find Stan waiting for you. He gave you a warm smile and patted the arm of his chair for you to sit. You sat down next him, his arm slung over your shoulders.

“You two have a good time?” You smiled, but Ford didn’t. His eyes were glued to Stan’s hand squeezing your bicep.

You shuffled away from your friend to sit on the floor instead, “We had a great time, didn’t we?” You glanced over at Ford who refused to look at you.

You didn’t understand. “Yes, of course,” his tone was dry as ever. “I have work I need to do.”

A pit formed in your stomach as he disappeared. You looked up at Stan with pleading eyes. He gave you a warm, comforting smile, “Don’t get so flustered, babe. That man catches mood swings better than he catches a ball.”

“Does he like me at all?” Your words were more confident than you had expected. You sighed, “One minute, we’re laughing and have a great time. The next, he’s all cold and distant. I don’t get it. Did do something?”

You had avoided Ford for a few days after that, never even getting the chance to thank him for such a nice meal. The two of you skirted around each other. Just as things felt normal in the few moments you shared, he grew cold as soon as Stan walked into the room.

You didn’t understand it. You thought they were getting along now, only ending their sailing trip for the kids to come back for the summer. They seemed fine most days. You didn’t understand what had suddenly changed.

“Hey,” you sighed “I brought your journal back.” Ford barely acknowledged your presence in his study. It upset you. “Did I do something to piss you off?”

Ford looked up at you, shocked by your words, “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I thought we had a nice time at dinner,” you crossed your arms over your chest, closing the book he was reading. You stared at him with an unblinking gaze. “Now, you’re acting like I don’t exist. When you do speak to me, you get all quiet when Stan shows up. What’s up with that?”

He breathed in a heavy inhale. His thumb and pointer finger gripped the bridge of his nose, “I can’t be around you and not think about you and-“

“What’s shakin’, bacon?” Stan smirked as he entered the room. The atmosphere in the study was tense. “Whoa, what’s going on here?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. Ford did the same. The two of you glared at Stan. “Just say it, Stanley,” Ford huffed. “Just say she’s already with you. I’m tired of waiting for you both to just spit it out.”

“What are you talking about?” Your eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not with anyone.”

Stan snickered from beside you. “Yeesh, I forgot to tell you guys something.” You and Ford turned to Stan expectantly, “So, [Y/N], you know that little crush on Sixer you told me about last year?” You blushed, trying to hide it behind a flare. Ford’s face relaxed, stare landing on you. Crush? “Well, Ford told me he’s got a thing for you too. I thought I told you.”

“No,” you spat, “you left that little detail out.”

Ford stood from his chair. “I thought you two were seeing each other. You’re always flirting.”

You shook your head, a small smile forming on your lips. Every ounce of anger you had towards Stan vanishing, “We’re just friends.” You could see the relief on Stanford’s face. His eyes sparkled from behind his glasses. “Maybe we should give dinner a second chance.”

[shhtickerbook]

CG! Stanley Pines Headcanons!

Inspired by @lttl3babybug ‘s Cg! Stanford hcs :)

��� Always happy to pull you onto his lap, often when he’s watching TV. He’ll involve you in what he was watching and explain things as they happen, making funny jokes and observations to make you laugh.

💰 Pets names such as “sweetie”, “pumpkin” and “kiddo”

💰 Involves you in his schemes, like letting you glue random appendages and horns to old taxidermy’s for new mystery shack attractions.

💰 Deathly protective, If somebody does anything to you or hurts your feelings he will hunt them down.

💰 Not really the best role model, if he catches you being naughty he’ll probably join you or at least help you cover it up before Ford finds out. (He is a CG that will lay down the rules)

💰 agrees to playing and games but ends up regretting it as it usually ends with him covered in makeup, glitter and a sore back. (From having to sit down on the ground to join a tea party)

💰 The only time he has would get serious and firm is if you were putting yourself in unsafe situations or being too reckless. It’s not much anger, it’s just the possibility of you being in danger scares him too much.

💰 Story time is much more fun with Grunkle Stan, often when he’s presented with a picture book he will attempt to read it. But he finds them a bit boring and sickeningly sweet, so he’ll add his own twists to the plot and characters to make you laugh.

💰 Always sneaking you little treats and candy, and conveniently leaving your sugar rush fuelled chaos to somebody else. (Usually poor Ford)

💰 If you hand him a piece of artwork, a response usually something like. “Wow! This is terrible. I can sell this.”

💰 He can’t do it for too long with his back, but he loves hitching you up onto his hip around the house and carrying you up to bed.

💰 Creates the BEST blanket forts, setting them up around his armchair so you can watch movies and cuddle up with snacks.

💰 If you fall over or hurt yourself he’ll be right over with a hug and bandaids. Letting you pick which ones you want and congratulating you on how brave you are, his tough kid.

[alexthebordercollie]

it's nice to see mystery trio aus that aren't fiddlestan tbh. The amount of times I'll see one, think it looks interesting, and then it just turns into "wow Stan, you're so much nicer and cooler than your lame brother! Lets date!" And act like it's some kind of karma for Ford or something.

I definitely agree with your take that so often fiddlestan is just used as a way to express dislike of Ford, while ignoring any of Stan's canonical flaws

As a side note, since this is more of personal headcanon territory, but i think Stan would find Fiddleford too reminiscent of Ford when he was young to actually be interested.

Anyway, i always love to see Stan in his natural habitat (being a chaotic uncle)

I love the idea of the Mystery Trio. I think these three would play off each other really well. They're cute and funny together, but you don't need Fiddlestan. It feels like people treat it as a given that if offered the choice between Stan and Ford Fidds would choose Stan. Which is kind of shitty. (Low key it kind of reads to me like Ford is assumed the worse partner because he's autistic :/ even if people aren't consciously treating him that way.)

I think it's kind of presumptuous to assume Fidds would be into Stan anyway. Like physically attracted to him? Sure, obviously. If he finds Ford attractive odds are good Stan would also be nice to look at, but relationships aren't just physical attraction and it's obvious from the journals and BOB that Fidds had a very strong connection to Ford. If he's in love with an autistic nerd enough to throw his life away for him why would people assume Stans's wildly contrasting personality would somehow be more appealing?

I've actually had this comic kicking around in my mind for a while and this ask gave me a good excuse to draw it. (Though it took longer than expected)

While I don't think Fidds would ever choose Stan over Ford, I do think Ford would be a bit of a jealous and insecure partner. He's used to a lot of social rejection and struggles to maintain connections with people. Not to mention trust issues, especially after Bill who tried to sabotage his faith in Fiddleford in particular.

I wouldn't put it past Ford to get antsy seeing Fidds get along with his brother even if there's absolutely nothing going on there.

Also, I hadn't considered the suggestion that Stan might find Fidds nerdiness a turn-off because it reminds him too much of his brother, but yeah I could see it. Still, I'd buy Stan being interested in Fidds before I could really see the other way around happening. I think Stanley's tastes are bit broader but Fiddleford I imagine to have a bit more of a type. At least where romantic attraction is concerned. That said I don't think Fiddleford's actual tastes are really considered, I think he gets shipped with Stanley by people who want to see Stanley get that kind of overbearing love that Fidds showed to Ford. I do understand wanting to give him that kind of partner but Ford deserves love too, we don't need to be taking his healthy romantic option away from him and leave him with Bill. (His abuser.)

[gay-dorito-dust]

What about if Stanford got sick/hurt? How do you think he’d deal with that?

Ford is stubborn as they come when it comes to injury or illness.

He doesn’t want anyone to fret over him and will try to deal with it himself first and foremost almost all of the time regardless of how he’d promise to start letting others help him, old habits die hard unfortunately and Ford was no exception to this.

He didn’t want to raise suspicions in anyone and would act like nothing was actually wrong, when it was clear as day that there was indeed something wrong. Ford just didn’t like being a burden to you, nor his family.

You’d have to force that man to sit down and force him to let you take care of him with no room to complain when you had to catch him in your arms in due to the fact that he fainted while mid sentence. It scared you to death that something bad had happened, so for when to find that he had been hiding a cold or a injury, you were more or less upset with the fact that he didn’t say anything sooner and tried to do everything by himself yet again.

So when he came to, only to find himself laying on a bed, his bed, with you hovering over him with your arms crossed, unimpressed. ‘Darling what are you-‘

‘You fainted, right in my arms when you were telling me what goblins and gnomes hate each other,’ ford winced but you continued, ‘I thought we agreed to stop hiding things Stanford Pines.’ You finished as you called him by his full name to convey your upset over this.

‘My dear I-‘

‘Don’t use the excuse that you could handle it because you obviously couldn’t or else you wouldn’t have fainted in my arms.’ You cut him off as you reached out to hold his hand. ‘You scared me Ford, you really scared me back there.’ You admitted in a whisper as you tightened your grip on his hand.

‘I’m sorry my dear, I didn’t mean to scare you like that, I just didn’t want to bother you with my own things solely on the basis that we are partners and must share each others grievances.’ Ford said as he squeezed your hand in reassurance.

You smiled softly at him, knowing that you could never truly stay mad at Ford for long periods of time and kissed his forehead. ‘Well I want you to start sharing your grievances with me from now on,’ you tell him, ‘I want to help you sweetheart and I can’t do so if you keep yourself cooped up in the lab or close yourself off emotionally from the rest of us who are only trying to help.’ You finish as you go to leave Ford’s room.

‘Stay here while I go get your soup, if i see that you have taken a sock clad toe out of that bed, I’m revoking privileges.’ You warned him.

‘What privileges are you revoking my dear?’ Ford asked sheepishly.

‘Cuddling and late night campaigns of dungeons, dungeons and more dungeons.’ You told him simply as he visibly deflated as you went into the the kitchen to get his soup when you were joined by Stanley.

‘He fainted again didn’t he?’ Stanley asked.

‘Yep.’ You replied shortly.

‘What was it this time? Common cold, injured?’ Stan inquired as he helped you get a bowl for the soup intended for his stubborn brother.

‘Sleep deprivation caught up to him with a slight injury to his side, from what I don’t know.’ You told him as you thanked him for the bowl before ladling the soup into it. ‘Other than that I’m not surprised that he’s hidden it from us.’

‘Old habits die hard with my brother, there are going to be times where he won’t tell you anything in hopes of dealing with it himself, it’s all part of the lone complex he devolved while isolating himself from the rest of Gravity falls.’ Stanley said and you found yourself listening intently to it all.

‘He thinks he can do it all by himself but the moment he gets proven wrong, it makes him want to try and do it by himself even more to the point where he exhausts himself into gaining and or hurting himself further.’ Stanley continues as he leaves his back against the kitchen counter, sipping on a can of Pitt cola that seemingly magicked itself into his hand.

‘Has he always been like that?’ You asked.

Stanley chuckled. ‘Fuck no, when we were kids Ford would always come to me with whatever his big brain didn’t understand, but now after everything I’m not surprised to see that he’s become more recluse and hesitant to open up.’ Stanley saw your defeated expression and put a hand on your shoulder.

‘Don’t give up on him just yet, my smart ass brother still needs you to bring him back down to reality now and then.’ Was all he said before leaving the kitchen as you brought the soup back to Ford’s room, just to see that he had fallen asleep, not a sock clad toe out of bed too. You smiled softly as you place the soup at his bedside table and taking off his glasses before you began to ran your fingers through his hair.

‘My stubborn old fool, I love you so.’ You mused as you dedicated yourself to watching over Ford for the time being, just until he was feeling better again.

Which you did for the next couple of days, scolding him for trying to go monster hunting whilst on a cold when you spotted him trying to make a run for it out the window, not until he saw you stood there looking at him like a unimpressed parent.

Needless to say Ford went back into the really quick after that attempt.

Ford was restless and he was stubborn but you always made the best out of a shit situation by having you both cuddle in bed and have your one mini campaign of dungeons, dungeons and more dungeons to pass the time.

[lkfarrout]

The S.S. Cool Dude breaks my fucking heart. And confuses me.

Soos owns a boat. A boat he BUILT!! Or at least, did a lot of repairs on himself. Everything about this boat screams homemade. The different metal sheets on the hull, the red part that looks like the cab from a tractor, the random headlights on the top, the chain steering wheel. Soos is a handyman, so this makes sense.

But I have to know if Stan was involved in this. I feel like he had to be? It's too much of a coincidence.

If this is something Soos did on his own, without any ideas, input, or help from Stan, how did Stan feel about it? He certainly knew about it, even if he didn't say anything. Did he ever think, wow this kid is just like me? Did he want to help? Did he stay away because it reminded him of his brother and it hurt too much? Did he listen to Soos at work excitedly talk about the progress he was making on his boat and have to pretend not to care?

If this was a project that Stan and Soos did together, first awww!!! But second, what happened? If that's the case then the vibes are definitely off in the episode... Stan didn't ask Soos to come fishing with him and the kids? Didn't ask to use the boat they built together? Soos was just, also at the lake?

Plus, in the end, the S.S. Cool Dude is completely destroyed. For seemingly spending a long time buying parts, repairing the boat, and paying for a spot to dock it, Soos really doesn't seem upset about it getting destroyed. He's just excited to get in Stan's little boat and spend time with him.

Personally, I think this is probably what happened:

Young Soos heard Stan tell a few vague stories about fixing up a boat as a teenager and dreaming about going to sea, and maybe even hunting monsters.

Soos wants to spend more time with Stan, and make him proud, so he starts working on a boat himself. Stan helps for a while, things are going good. But something happens and Stan can't take it anymore. It hurts too much. It was supposed to be him and Ford. So, Stan quits. Says he's too busy or something. Soos continues to work on it, and spends time at the lake when he can.

Soos is at the lake on opening day, like the rest of the town, and spots Stan and the kids, talking about a monster hunt and offers up his boat, maybe hoping Stan would come along. The kids agree, but Stan stays behind. Oh well, maybe if he catches a monster Stan will be impressed?

We all know how the monster hunt ends, but that's not important. Soos doesn't care about the Gobblewonker, or that his boat is destroyed. The kids are with him now, and they want to spend time with Stan. And so does Soos. So, he gets to. He gets to fish with Stan on a boat, which is all he really wanted anyway.

[reareaotaku]

i LOVED the last (older) Dipper x reader headcanons, so cute!

would u have any other for him, but in a romantic way? or even...𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂, ones?🤨🤭

(also the reader is not that smart..or atleast not book smart like him...more like artsy??idk :P)

tf does freaky mean 😭

[It's my brother's 18th birthday!!]

🧢 You weren't as smart as everyone else. With that being said, what you lacked in intelligence you made up for in creativity. It was something that created the bond between you and Mabel as kids. She loved your stuff and was always impressed

🧢 Every summer after Weirdmageddon, when Dipper & Mabel return, Dipper slowly becomes closer to Mabel's friends, because not only are they like his friends, but they are also around a lot

🧢 Dipper especially liked to be around you, because whether he likes to admit it or not, he likes that his intelligence impresses you, especially since he's not too popular with girls, because he's a nerd/geek

🧢 When making his journals, he asks you to help him draw things. Your art reminds him of Ford's art. You're both incredible artist.

🧢 He's so impressed by your art. He wishes he could draw like you.

🧢 Definitely asks you to draw him 'as a joke'. He laughs it off, but if you agree to do it, he's flustered.

🧢 Has a huge crush on you. How could he not after spending more time with you than his own sister

🧢 Does not know how to tell you or act. He gets so flustered when realizing his crush and sometimes his voice cracks- It's so embarrassing to him

🧢 He is protective over you though. Like, if Pacifica ever says anything negative to you, he'll be snarky back to her for you. Will do whatever it takes to make her feel as bad as she made you feel

🧢 Mabel finds out about his crush and is upset at first but decides to help him when spying on you too.

🧢 You're surprised when Mabel invites you over, but then leaves you alone with her brother, saying something about Grunkle Stan... or something? Just sounded like an excuse to you

🧢 You don't mind because you and Dipper get along, but it feels weirdly... romantic?

🧢 Mabel finally decides to just ask you out for Dipper, frustrating him, because he had a whole plan to ask you out. Though, he's thrilled when you say yes

🧢 You both are perfect for each other, even though you aren't very similar. He likes you so much and would do anything for you, no matter what the cost-

[anyydidi]

WRITING THIS POST BECAUSE I'M SO SICK OF PEOPLE MISCHARACTERIZING FORD!!!!!!!!!

Before we begin, everyone is entitled to their opinion. If you really think Ford wouldn't truly care, you do you.

That being said, I feel like people who claim that Ford wouldn't do a single thing to bring Stan back if their places were switched do not understand his character at all.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think that he would open the portal. At least not right away. The one thing I agree with is that Ford wouldn't put the life of his brother above the whole planet like Stan did. He realizes the threat of the portal and Bill too much to do that.

But have people forgotten that Ford also loves his brother? Yeah, he was angry, bitter and resentful, but he wouldn't have just let Stan die in the multiverse. Especially since that would be entirely his fault he got stuck there in the first place.

For people thinking, "But Ford was too blinded by rage! He didn't care for Stan until after Weirdmaggedon!", have you seen the show? Have you read the journal? Through everything that happened, Ford kept a photo (tattered and worn, obviously taken out a lot) of him and his brother in his left, inner breast pocket which is the one closest to the heart. If that wasn't enough, for those who haven't read the journal, Ford kept reminiscing about and mentioning his brother before the portal incident. Even though those lines were often crossed out, it was obvious that at least unconsiously he had Stan in mind a lot. And at the end of the journal, it is written that he worked day and night, to the point of passing out, to bring Stan's memories (and essencially Stan himself) back. (Oh and have we forgotten about the absolutely shattered expression he had when he erased Stan's memories? You don't look like that for a person you don't deeply care about).

Still not enough to believe that Ford cared about Stan before Stan's sacrifice?

Let's talk about the fact that when Ford was at his lowest, that being paranoid, sleep deprived, tortured by Bill, drowned in guilt, and completely alone, he reached out to Stan? He says it himself, "I needed help, someone I could trust." After everything, he still trusted Stan to an extent and believed him to be his last hope. You don't give trust like that to people you truly hate.

Ford was self-absorbed and egocentric, but also hurt and betrayed. That feeling came from a misconception, but that doesn't make it any less valid. It is understandable that he acted towards Stan the way he did, with venom and bitterness. But we can be angry at people we love and still care for their well-being.

How I said earlier, I don't think Ford would really open the portal. He wouldn't risk the entire world for Stanley. But I do think he would do anything in his power to be able to bring Stan back safely. You cannot be telling me that he'd be able to live with the guilt and not do anything about it if he could. After all, in his head, it would be his fault. He got tricked by Bill, he built the portal, he made Stan come to him and showed him the portal and he wasn't able to let go of the journal and fought Stan for it. I'm convinced he'd still throw some blame at Stan for some of the fight to make himself feel better at first, but after some time he would just blame himself completely (the same way I think Stan did with the science fair incident). The guilt for all of that would eat him alive.

Let's not forget, Stanley worked for 30 years, basically half his life to bring Stanford home and I believe Ford would be willing to do the same. He would just go about it differently. He would either try to get rid of the threat of Bill and then be willing to upgrade the portal and turn it on again, or maybe try to find a completely different way to get Stan back from the multiverse, or in the end something entirely different, I'm not fully sure.

What I am sure of is that Ford wouldn't just let Stan be stranded in the multiverse without doing absolutely nothing. Maybe he wouldn't succeed, maybe Stan would actually have to find his own way back home because Stanford wouldn't be able to find a solution without risking their entire universe. But Ford would at least try, give it his all, because despite everything, he still loves his brother. Differently than Stan loves him, because Ford is a different person than Stan, but he still does.

So I beg you, people. Stop taking Ford's complex character from him. He can be a selfish, self-centered asshole, but he's not heartless.

[fangirlingpuggle]

hey in the ford-thinks-dipper-and-mabel-are-his-kids-with-bill au how does weirdmageddon happen? cause no way ford ONLY asks dipper to stay cause he thinks they're both his kids. like does he get a reality check an realize hey,they're leaving at the end of the summer, panics cause if he thinks the twins parents are implanted memories to explain why bill put them here then *where are they going back to*, tells them both to stay and then mabel runs off because shes already freaking out about needing to grow up and visiting gravity falls for the summer is great but living there full time, effectively moving out of her parents house forever is just. WAY too much WAY too fast and WAY too grown up for her? or if you already had an idea cause you had that post about weirdmageddon and the bubbles id love to hear that!! like for reals it would be SICK to see what you came up with

Hi there, I really like that idea. I think things are more chaotic cause Ford wants Stan to give him house and life back but also wants his kids here and Stan still sees kids as his only family (And still thinks Ford is being crazy 'Sixer you can't keep these kids here they aren't your')

I think maybe the kids overhear that Ford thinks they're his and Bills kids or at least Mabel does and her confusion as she hears For justify everything about Dipper birthmark, the fact all the weirdness since the twins came here, that they find this stuff so easily even found the journal right away, the fact they had never met Stan before and they were sent across the country to stay with him all summer how they're 'parents' hadn't contact checked in on them ect.

Mabel... is super confused is Grunkle ford right? Id he there dad? Is Bill there are other dad? Are they human? What are they? Are their parents not their parents? Is that why they're fighting and getting divorced because they were never in love and together it was all an illusion? We're her 'parents' even married or together or just two people Bill used for this illusion/scheme.

She's scared to go back, scared to stay, scared about wheat happens next even more so then before as she doesn't even know whats real anymore. When Bill comes disguised as Blendin it's not endless Summer he's saying he can use rift to show exactly what happened what they are what's true.

Mabel's bubble is kinda similar but she doesn't know what happening outside she just thinks she dreaming just asleep just a lucid dream. (And Bill is slowly leaking powers into her) Dipper is with Ford and Bill lets him run off (After all he knows he'll play hero and go 'save' Mabel) Dipper goes in Wendy doesn't she's knocked out and then 2 bubbles, Dipper thinking he's saving Mabel.

Bill is manipulating Ford and totally agreeing 'Yep our kids' and is trying to get Ford to agree so one happy family.

The thing is the kids are getting powers in bubbles and are able to connect though mindscape, realize they're both trapped and bust out Mabel explaining what she heard and Dipper is shocked.

They find Grunkle Stan and the others and start explaining... Stan is facepalming 'Oh god damn it you kids believe that now to??' HOW AM I THE ONLY RATIONAL ONE IN THIS FAMILY?

[ckret2]

Chapter 39 of human Bill Cipher is SURE he's about to escape being the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Ford's confronted with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he's a little bit too obsessed with Bill.

And meanwhile, Bill has found a way to reach his loyal cultists... if he can find somebody willing to help him make contact.

He thinks Ford is the perfect target.

Maybe, just maybe, the obsession goes both ways.

(warning for an incident of self-harm via burning, and depersonalization and/or dysphoria (depending on how you interpret it) re: Bill feeling even worse about his body than usual.)

####

Soos, Stan, and Ford had stayed up half the night trying to generate enough NowUSeeitNowUDontium to prevent it from vanishing the moment one of them lost (or gained) focus. They'd eventually given up and stayed the night in Northwest Manor. Soos had texted Melody around midnight, and she'd immediately replied (which alarmed Ford, but Soos assured him she was used to those hours) and agreed, with some trepidation, to spend the night by herself in the shack so that the kids wouldn't be alone all night with Bill. She'd texted a half hour later to report that the bathroom was a disaster, but the kids had reassured her it was just some werewolf thing, so, not a big deal.

Ford had thought getting to spend a night without Bill under the same roof would be a relief. Instead, he found his sleep was even worse. He kept worrying about what Bill might get up to so far away and out of sight, where Ford couldn't do anything to stop him. Surely, by nighttime, Bill had to have noticed that the only humans he'd seen all day were the kids? Would he consider Melody any kind of threat, no veteran to combating Gravity Falls' weirdness?

It figured that the dream demon would find a way to disrupt Ford's sleep when he wasn't even there.

####

Ford had given up on sleep around two in the morning and gone wandering until he stumbled across a den with walls covered in bookcases, massive windows overlooking the forest below, and a pair of richly upholstered armchairs turned to gaze out the windows. He drifted between the chairs to one of the windows. It was the kind of personal library he'd dreamed of accepting esteemed guests in, back when he'd fantasized about one day being rich and famous. He suspected the Northwests had never read a book in this room.

Ford had been staring out at the still night and the dark pines for several minutes when he heard the creak of a door and soft footsteps behind him. He whirled around, raising a weapon. "Back, you spectral fiend!"

"Whoa! Easy, Sixer!" Stan held up a hand defensively. "It's just me!" He lowered his hand. "Why are you holding up a dinner plate?"

"Er—sorry." Ford sheepishly tucked the silver dish under his arm again. "I'm sure I saw a ghost earlier. I thought it prudent to arm myself."

Stan muttered, "This place sure is creepy enough for it."

"Mm. It's built on more than its fair share of bones." Ford returned to gazing out the window, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm sorry today was a failure. When I'm staring right at an experiment on which the fate of the entire universe depends, it's hard not to think about it."

"Eh, I wasn't doing too hot either," Stan admitted, joining Ford at the window. "There's only so many times you can hear Soos whisper 'Think about the miniature particle accelerator' in your ears on a loop before you zone out and start thinking about fishing season."

Ford huffed. "Maybe we should have switched places."

"Yeah, probably. I retired from thinking about science after I got your dumb portal running, and once you get your head stuck on something you can't stop thinking about it."

Ford laughed wryly. "Unfortunately accurate."

There was a moment of silence; and then Stan said cautiously, "Speaking of you getting your head stuck on something..."

Ford didn't like that tone. "Hm?"

"I was, uh... doing some light reading..." He held up Ford's journal.

A jolt of anger and fear shot through Ford. "Give me—" He snatched the journal back.

It wasn't until it was in his hands that he registered the absurdity of his own action; for the past year, he'd given Stan free access to Journal 5. He'd used it to document their travels and discoveries as a reference for them both; he'd even asked Stan to contribute a couple of entries. Based on a prior precedent of seven months, Stan had every right to look at Journal 5. Revoking that access now was... Well, it didn't look good.

Stan didn't immediately say anything. Ford supposed his own actions said enough. He tucked the journal under his arm with the silver dish.

Stan cleared his throat. "I think we're a little past the 'superhero nemesis' thing."

"It's not a problem," Ford said tersely.

"Not a prob—? Ford, you're letting him consume your life."

"He's consumed all our lives. The kids haven't been able to invite anyone over, Melody all but runs to her car after work, you ended up in a showdown with fae nobility—"

"It was just the tooth fairy!"

"Do you know how important a fairy has to be to claim dominion over all teeth?"

"Forget about the fairy!" Stan waved off the whole fairy topic with one hand. "Look, I'm not the one who's dedicated half a journal to talking about him!"

"You don't keep a journal, Stanley—"

"That's not the point!"

"—I'm just saying, if you did keep a journal, I think he'd have come up on more than a few pages—"

"But like this?" Stan gestured toward Ford's journal. "This is turning into an obsession. And not one of your normal obsessions."

The back of Ford's neck heated up. He wanted to argue that he had to obsess over Bill if he hoped to find a way to kill him—but Stan already knew that Ford had passed off that project to Fiddleford weeks ago. "How can I be 'obsessed' with somebody I barely even see? I'm avoiding Bill like my life depends on it! I talk to him less than Mrs. Ramirez does!"

"And you're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private!" Stan gestured again, angrily, at Ford's journal. (Ford defensively tucked it further under his arm.) "You're acting like a stalker, Sixer. Not that I care about him, but, I'm starting to worry about your head."

"A st—?! I'm a scientist, he's a scientific curiosity! I'm documenting him! I document plenty of things!"

"Not like this, you don't."

"There's a lot to document!"

"Including spending a whole page trying to figure out—how to draw his—?!" Stan gestured furiously toward his boxers.

Ford pointed at him severely. "You were just as curious as I was to find out how a giant eyeball and a sentient triangle make that work, don't pretend you weren't."

Stan grimaced. "Okay, fine, I'll give you that one. But writing a full entry about his posture?"

"He's not only an alien being in a human body but a two-dimensional creature in a three-dimensional body, how he moves and gestures could tell us about how an utterly unfamiliar species perceived space! Nearly all his gestures adhere to an invisible coronal plane, that betrays worlds of information about his original anatomy. Do you know that elbow thing he does when he walks—"

"Ford. You're using your great-niece to get drawings of his childhood bedroom."

Ford raised a finger. "That's—" Ford lowered his finger. Ford sat in a nearby armchair, put his chin in his hands, and stared into space. "What am I doing."

Stan patted his shoulder.

Ford slid his journal and the dish out from under his arm and settled them in his lap. He stared at the cover, then thumbed through the pages. It was obvious when they'd returned to Gravity Falls; the drawings of Atlanteans, were-rats, shorelines, and boats immediately gave way to page after page of staring slit-pupiled eyes.

"It's just... Bill is an ancient being, many times older than our universe, and the last surviving specimen of his own bizarre species. As both an anomaly and a source of esoteric knowledge, he's an invaluable subject of study. He's going to die soon, and he should die, but... between now and then, I don't want to pass up the last ever opportunity to study him."

Stan sank down into the chair opposite Ford. "You're listening to yourself, right?" He didn't sound angry anymore, just worried. "This is a guy who tried to kill us. He isn't a 'specimen' you can add to your collection of weird stuff, you know that, right?"

"I know, I know." That was exactly why it was so important—why it seemed so important—to capture Bill in words and pictures before it was too late. (It was funny, Ford thought, how Stan's very first conversation with Bill had been a murder, and yet he was the one who talked about Bill like he was just some guy; while Ford had spent so many years obsessively trying to find out who Bill was that he'd almost forgotten he was a person instead of a terrible idea.)

"When execution day comes and you think you haven't dug up enough of his history, what'll you do? Give him a stay of execution until he's dictated his memoirs to you?"

"No," Ford said immediately. "No, of course not. I'm just taking advantage of the opportunity to learn what I can, while I can. It's no different from your 'shopping trip' at the mall—"

"Hey!" Stan pointed a finger at Ford. "Watch it! That was strictly business! It's not like I'm attached to the guy—"

"I didn't mean anything by it! I just meant—as long as we're stuck with Bill, make him useful, and—and to heck with him after that. Right?" Like Stan had said about the scratch cards: why throw away free money just because of the source? "He'd do the same to us."

Stan hesitated. "And you're sure that when the time comes, you'll be ready to pull the trigger?"

"I know I will. It won't be the first time. I'm just glad that this time I'll be able to aim at his own head."

"Hm." Stan didn't look convinced.

Ford sighed. "But, if I think I'll waver—I'll hand you the gun."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I promise."

But he knew he didn't need to.

####

Soos drove the tired gang home just past dawn, early enough for him to open the Mystery Shack on schedule.

"Soon as we get home, I'm going back to sleep," Stan muttered crankily. Ford—eyes shut, leaning against the window—nodded in agreement. Stan yawned, "And there'd better not be any nasty surprises at the shack."

####

Bill sat sleeping in his attic window seat, knees to his chest, leaning against the window, ear pressed to the glass.

Outside, Stan wailed, "My car!"

Bill's eyes snapped open. He smiled.

He ran to the kids' room, knocked on the door—"Hey, the bigger Pines are back!"—and bolted for the stairs.

####

Soos got the door open at the exact same time Bill stumbled off the stairs and collided with the living room doorframe. Bill grabbed the doorframe just long enough to steady himself, and then bounded over to the door, shoved Soos and Ford aside, and leaned out onto the porch. "HIYA, STAN!"

Stan whipped around to face Bill. "YOU!" He gestured furiously at the wizard graffiti on his car. "WHAT did you DO to my CAR!"

"Do you like it?"

Stan let out an inarticulate scream of rage.

"Oh, you love it!"

"You massacred it! I've had this car forty-five years! I've done things in this car I can't say! And it's never, never been so—so—violated!"

Grinning ear to ear, Bill said, "What do you think of the girl wizard?"

"The what?!" Stan circled the car. He screamed again.

"Uh-huh?"

"Why does she have a beard!"

"Go on," Bill said gleefully, "tell me what you think! I want the full review!"

"This," Stan said, "is the most ugly, hideous, terrible—"

Bill glanced back at a sound on the stairs. "Oh, hey Mabel! Get over here!" He gestured proudly as Mabel joined him in the doorway. "And here's the artistic mastermind herself!"

Stan choked on his words. "—b... beautiful, stunning, museum-worthy work of art I've ever seen."

Mabel beamed. "It's not finished yet, we ran out of some colors! I was going to add a dragon on the hood!"

Stan's face went white. "No no, it's... perfect the way it is. Don't—don't change a thing."

"Really? You're sure? I don't mind!"

"Really." Looking slightly nauseous, Stan said, "I love it just like this, pumpkin."

Mabel squealed and ran outside to give him a big hug.

Bill was fighting back silent laughter so hard he almost fell down.

####

"...And I still haven't found any sign of the Nightwigglers," Dipper said, sighing dejectedly and dropping his journal on the counter next to the cash register. "So, I dunno, maybe I should give up on this one and move on."

Wendy was sitting back with her feet kicked up on the counter, but she straightened a bit to look at Dipper's journal. She skimmed the news article he'd paperclipped to one page. "Oh, I heard about this," she said. "The cops talked to me about the first burglary. I was in the thrift shop that day."

"Oh, yeah?" Dipper pointed at the picture next to the article. "Did you see anything like this?"

Wendy's eyes widened. "No—but I think one of my brothers did."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah, he was talking about it a couple nights ago. He said it was like an armless white thing wearing pants that went up to its face. We all thought he got spooked by a deer butt or something and made up the whole story. Then dad said we should drop it and told us we should stay in at night."

"That's when they come out! At night!" Dipper laughed excitedly. "Do you think your dad knows something?"

"Pfff, not if he can help it." Wendy pulled her feet off the counter and checked the clock. "I could show you the start of the trail my brother was on. It's like ten minutes by bike and the next big tour bus isn't getting here for half an hour, wanna sneak out?"

"Are you serious?! Of course!"

"Just promise you won't tell Gus if we find something. We've been making fun of him for days and I don't want to  admit he was right." Wendy laughed. "Let me grab somebody to cover."

"I'll get my bike!" Dipper was already headed out the door. "I've been looking for a lead for days! I dug through half the dumpsters in town searching for their nests..." The door swung shut behind him.

Wendy ducked into the living room. "Hey Goldie."

"Yello?" He was sitting cross legged on the couch watching TV.

"I've gotta do something with Dipper, do you mind covering for a little bit? Just twenty, thirty minutes."

His gaze flickered to the TV, then back to Wendy's face. "Sure! Anything for you, cool girl."

Wendy had a brief, eerie sense of déjà vu. She shook it off. "I'm not interrupting anything good, am I?" She nodded at the TV.

"Naaah, it's one of those terrible specials about pyramid conspiracies." He shook a cider can, "I'm taking a sip every time they mention Fishmasons or 'ancient dinosaur-worshiping civilization.'"

"Dude. You'll be wasted before the first commercial break."

"Really, you're saving me from myself." He set the can on the TV and followed Wendy into the gift shop. (As he did, Bill checked to see if he had anything on under his hoodie. No? The Pines didn't want him to be seen in public in his hoodie; they thought it would make him "too obvious." He rolled up the sleeves to hide some of the brick pattern and surreptitiously tucked the hood and the bow tie drawstrings into the collar.)

As she headed out the door, Wendy repeated, "Just twenty minutes! Thirty tops. I'll get back before the next tour bus, promise."

"No problem!" He waved her off.

"I owe you one!"

Bill made a note of that.

He looked around the gift shop—any readily-obvious mischief he could get up to? He grabbed an 8-ball cane and took it to the counter. And then he took the stool behind the register, propped his chin in his hand, gazed toward the living room, and resumed watching TV through the wall and backwards. He didn't miss hearing the conspiracy talk—he was sure it was actively making him stupider—but credit where credit was due; they made those CGI pyramid models really hot.

A cutaway of one pyramid showed its internal tunnels and chambers. Bill bit his lower lip. Oh yeah. That's what he came here for.

Several minutes went by. The door opened and a lone tourist crept in, a middle-aged woman with a sun-damaged tan. Bill straightened up and switched his eye patch over to hide his bleeding eye. "Heya! Next tour's in..." He checked the clock, how long until the next bus? "About fifteen minutes."

The woman nodded and quietly started circling the gift shop.

Bill glanced toward the living room, decided he'd better not start damaging his other eye too, mentally cursed the tourist, and pulled out one of Wendy's magazines to read. "Let me know if you need anything."

The tourist spent several minutes making a slow circuit of the room, and then crept up to the cash register. Bill looked up with a smile, didn't see any souvenirs in her hands, and asked, "Can I help you?"

Hesitantly, the woman said, "The sun sets a deep blood red."

Bill's eye flew wide open, his heart leaped into his throat, and his breath hitched. His gaze roved over her exposed skin until he spied a tattoo on her right arm: four triangles stacked atop each other, starting with an equilateral and each getting shorter and more obtuse as they descended, until they'd reduced completely and a single horizontal line underlined all four triangles. This wasn't quite the happiest he'd ever been to see the symbol of a devastatingly self-destructive high-control cult, but it was close. "Oh! Oh, this is—" He rubbed his temples, squeezing his eye shut. "I know this. I rhymed 'red' with 'pyramid.' Why do I give everyone a different code. 'But rises gold over the pyramid'—something like that, right?" Bill gave the woman a pleading look. "I'm close enough that you can tell I know what you're talking about!"

A look of relief washed over her face. "You know him." Voice low, she asked, "Is it safe to talk?"

Knew him? He was him. But he couldn't claim that without proving it—what would convince her?—telling her something that only he knew?—great, but what? Her face was vaguely familiar—he thought he might've given her a visionary dream once—but he had so many little worshipers and they were so unimportant, most of them blurred together.

So all he could do was say, "It's not safe. Everyone here is an enemy."

She nodded sharply. "Where can we meet?"

Bill paused. "We can't. I'm... trapped."

Her brows creased with worry. "They're keeping you prisoner?"

"Afraid so."

"I could get the police—"

"Everyone," Bill repeated, "is an enemy."

She paused, processing that. Bill's gaze flickered to the clock. Wendy said twenty minutes, thirty tops. She'd been gone twenty-two minutes. "Someone's coming any minute."

"Right." The cultist grabbed Wendy's magazine, tore a corner off a page, and grabbed a pen.

"How did you find me?" Bill asked. Of all the tourist traps in all the tiny towns in all the world, how had she come in hereand walked right up to him? 

"We were told a devotee was here," she said. "Someone sent the address and phone number to the Bahamian art studio."

Bill's mind spun. How? Who the heck would know to do that? The only person who knew he was here who'd come anywhere close to any of Bill's other worshipers was...

Ford? No. Did he?

The cultist shoved the paper in his hand and turned to leave.

Bill grabbed her arm. "Stay out of Gravity Falls," he commanded. "But stay close. Don't go back to Death Valley." Between the sun damage and the tattoo, she had to be one of his Death Valley girls. She looked like their usual prey: disaffected middle class white woman, probably had a dead end job and a mediocre husband and a useless degree from a liberal arts college. Maybe being able to guess where she came from would impress her.

It did. She stopped and turned back and looked at him in amazement—and then looked at him, staring hard at his eye. "You're... hosting him, aren't you?" Her voice fell to a whisper. "No. Are you...?"

"You got me." He smiled wryly—behold him, electric god bound in flesh, how low he's fallen, but at least he still has his good humor, doesn't he? "I always said you had great intuition." (It was a safe bet. He usually told the ladies that they had great intuition. Most of them ate that up, and the ones that didn't were often a little too savvy to sucker.)

It worked. She inhaled sharply. "You are," she breathed. "I knew you'd be a woman. Oh, Mary's a fool." She said this like she'd just won some years-old argument Bill had missed.

Mary, as in Mary-whom-Bill-had-put-in-charge-of-the-Death-Valley-compound Mary? Ha. She was getting on in years; maybe Bill could start a schism, that sounded fun. He opened his mouth to say something about Mary having great leadership but waning clarity of vision—

—when the cultist leaned across the counter, grabbed his collar, and pulled him into a kiss.

Okay. All right. She was one of those cultists. Got it. Got it got it got it. Wow. Definitely a "mediocre husband" convert, those were easy to seduce away with a little warmth and affection—nothing obvious, but get them infatuated with the idea of an unattainable incorporeal ideal lover and they'd chase him to the ends of the earth. Maybe a lesbian in denial that Bill had decided to push further into denial, if her assumption about Bill's gender was anything to go by. He tried to remember what he'd told this one.

He leaned into the kiss.

He'd done this before—in dreams, in puppets—he didn't prefer humans, but he could handle them well enough and earthlings had such pretty eyes. And this body he was stuck in made such insistent demands; a surge of human hormones washed over his brain so powerfully it made him dizzy. She broke the kiss to murmur, "Cipher, my lord—" and he took the opportunity to kiss her eyelid and lie, "I knew if anyone could find me, it would be you." He wished he remembered her name. She tugged his face back down to her lips. She was so eager. Cipher, my lord. Oh, it felt good to be revered again—

The door opened. "Um?"

If Bill had had one ounce of his power, he would have killed Wendy on the spot.

Instead, he seized his cultist's hands, ripped them off his hoodie, and shoved her away. "Whoa, lady! What do you think this is, a kissing booth?!" He laughed angrily. "We don't offer that kind of service here! Either get out, or—or buy a souvenir already!" He pointed at Wendy. "From her. Not from me."

Shocked, the cultist turned toward where Bill was pointing; and then turned back, understanding in her eyes.

Wendy raised her hands defensively, grimacing. "Yeah, no, I'm not serving you either. Just... get outta here."

The cultist met Bill's gaze for just a moment, then walked quickly out the door without a word.

Bill shouted after her, "And do not come back!" and quietly mourned as, for the second time in as many weeks, he had to watch helplessly as he sent away his only hope of getting any action/rescue.

"I am so, so sorry," Wendy said. "I leave for like ten minutes and you get one of the nightmare customers."

How Bill loved nightmares. "Twenty-five minutes, but who's counting."

"Psh, shut up." Wendy reclaimed her post behind the counter. "I think she's been here before, she looks kinda familiar. You okay?"

Bill hoped nobody else in town would recognize her. "I think I'll live after some mouthwash. Terrible breath." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Hey, remember when you said you owe me one? You really owe me."

####

All his cultist had written for him was a phone number. Bill slid his stolen journal from its window hiding spot and copied the number down in two-tone dots and dashes. Plaintext transcriptions were usually tricky, given the vast difference between the language Bill wrote in and the languages humans used—but numbers, at least, were easy. Everyone had numbers.

And then he stared at the scrap of paper, reading the numbers over and over, until he was sure he'd memorized them, just in case he ever lost the journal.

And then he ate the paper.

And then he stacked the two cushions of his makeshift bed on top of each other, planted his face in them, and screamed.

Cipher, my lord. It had felt so, so, so good to be revered again.

His organs twisted with touch-hunger and loneliness.

####

Out in the Bahamas, along the southwest edge of the Bermuda Triangle, were two nut job hermits from Miami. Bill had convinced them that the only way they could purge their sins and purify their souls was by sculpting and selling golden avatars of God into which they could pour their guilt, and they had to keep doing it until they no longer felt guilty (and they would never not feel guilty; they needed so much therapy that Bill had ensured they'd never get). And then he'd convinced them that God's true face was an Eye of Providence in a top hat and bow tie.

Over the years he'd lost a little control over those two—in their desperation to be free of sin, they'd also started sculpting avatars to as many gods as they could find and selling them en masse to afford more art supplies—but hey, as long as his face was still mixed in with the rest, fine. Honestly, he was surprised those nuts weren't dead yet.

Somebody in this house had sent his location to them. And in a moment of what Bill imagined was stunning mental clarity, they had passed on that information to the single least dysfunctional pocket of Bill's top cult in the continental United States. Maybe when Bill was back at full power, he'd drop by the hermits' dreams to tell them they'd finally achieved absolution and could rest. Their decades of out-of-control scrupulosity would probably prevent them from believing him, but hey, he could say he'd tried. He washed his hands of all responsibility over them and their mental illnesses that he'd knowingly deliberately exacerbated for his own benefit. Not his problem.

But the question he came back to, over and over, was who had talked to them.

Bill needed to reach his Death Valley cultist. He needed a phone. Every phone in this house was well-guarded. No one would let him touch one... except, perhaps, whoever had sent the SOS on his behalf.

The only person who made sense was Stanford. Bill didn't think he'd ever told Ford about the nutty sculptors; but in the eighties he had given him the mailing addresses of some niche art dealers who would sell tapestries and statues of an obscure one-eyed god to collectors who could appreciate what they were looking at. Maybe Ford had gotten back in contact with them? Maybe he'd told them where Bill was, and they'd passed the information to the Bahamas?

Maybe Ford's feelings weren't quite so cold toward Bill as he'd been pretending.

Bill liked that idea a lot.

Maybe Bill's birthday gift had swung Ford back around to the side of reason—reminded him just how good he'd had it under a muse and mentor willing to teach him anything his nerdy little heart desired. Or maybe he'd always wanted to come back, and had just needed Bill to say it first.

He probably only pretended he hated Bill because they were surrounded by enemies—everyone in the house thought Ford was looking for a way to destroy Bill, what would happen if they knew the truth?

But the truth was there. Bill could almost seize it in his hands. All those moments where they almost talked like they were friends again, before Ford had to stop himself and leave. That one beautiful little word: jealous. And of course, there was the whole thing with the glass pyramid and the "Mysteries" that Ford had passed on—

—to Mabel.

There was another possibility.

As much as Bill would love if it was Ford, Mabel was the only person in the house who acted like she actually wanted Bill alive. Whatever "Mysteries" Ford was teaching her had something to do with Bill, the pyramid made that obvious. Maybe his lessons included the contact information of everyone else Ford knew who knew Bill? Maybe she'd taken it upon herself to call for help?

It was thin. And it was still dependent upon Ford harboring a secret loyalty to Bill that he was passing on to his great-niece. But that was where things stood: Ford was the only person in the house who definitely knew how to reach Bill's followers, but Mabel was the only person in the house who definitely might want to.

And he had to make completely sure of which one of them it was before he asked for a favor.

####

Ford had missed dinner again.

Fiddleford had sent Ford home with a pile of math. All the calculations he'd done to get the miniature particle accelerator to produce Dontium. By his reckoning, that there jar should've filled with Dontium faster than greased lightning; he just plumb can't understand why it trickled in like cold molasses. (His words.) He'd asked Ford to check his work, see if he'd missed something.

Ford was more than happy to help. It was a much-needed intellectual challenge that didn't involve Bill's underhanded birthday gift. Something that would let him feel like he was making progress. And it was comfortingly familiar. He and Fiddleford had spent weeks checking and re-checking each other's math in the lead up to the portal test, before they knew what a horror they were building.

As soon as Ford had gotten home, he'd put Fiddleford's papers in his underground study before going back to bed. Bill had already admitted he could glimpse the future, although Ford wasn't sure how far; and Ford was growing convinced that Bill's ability to perceive "higher dimensions" let him see through walls like they weren't there. He'd begun keeping Journal 5 and other sensitive materials down in his study at all times, hoping that the distance and layers of dirt and rock would keep Bill from peering in.

And when he'd dragged himself out of bed around noon—an embarrassingly late hour to get up, but he had been awake most of the night—he'd grabbed a quick breakfast/lunch, brewed a pot of coffee to take with him, and gone below to get to work.

He'd only worked seven or eight hours with a couple of reluctant breaks in the middle before his head began pounding too hard for him to ignore. He'd been neglecting his exercise regimen the past few weeks, and his back and neck were letting him know. In his thirties, he'd been able to work fourteen hours days and still want to keep going—and that was even before he'd handed his body over to Bill so he could keep working around the clock. He wasn't as young as he used to be.

He dragged himself upstairs after sunset, when the last ambient light from the sky still faintly glowed through the windows. He could make something quick and simple for dinner, go to bed early, and get up early to continue working. He pushed through the door to the dark living room—

"Hello!"

"Gah!" Ford jumped. "You. What are you doing here?"

Bill was leaning next to the door, a dim silhouette with his elbow on the wall and cheek in his hand. Even in the dark, Ford was sure he could see Bill's wicked grin at his reaction. "I happen to live here."

Ford let out an irritated huff. "Whatever you're up to, I don't have time to deal with it. Find someone else to bother." He pushed past Bill and headed toward the kitchen.

It would have been too much to expect Bill not to follow him, wouldn't it? "Aw, c'mon, don't be like that! Would it kill you to act like you're happy to see me?"

"Probably."

Bill's laugh made Ford's shoulders raise up around his ears. Maybe that was the source of his neck pain.

Bill shadowed him into the kitchen and leaned on the table, watching while Ford rummaged through the fridge. "But seriously, Sixer—who are you trying to impress by giving me the cold shoulder? I'm the only one here. You could afford to treat me like a person for two minutes." When Ford slammed the fridge door, Bill smacked it with the tip of an 8-ball cane. "Hey, have my food privileges been revoked? Give me a turn."

How long had Bill had a weapon? Ford snatched the cane from him, but opened the fridge and left it. "I don't consider you a person. I consider you an incalculably destructive force of pure, brutal chaos." He cracked three eggs in a skillet and opened a cabinet for one of the stove knobs they kept stored where Bill couldn't reach them.

"Flattering!" Bill started pulling out his usual nauseating array of condiments: today was sauerkraut, maraschino cherries, mustard, ranch dressing, and barbecue sauce. (Why did he eat like that? Did his species usually subsist on a mostly liquid diet? Was it the flavors—?) "Hey, make me mac 'n' cheese, wouldja?"

"No."

"Fine. Leave the burner on when you're done, I'll make it myself."

"You're not allowed to use the stove."

"Then how about I sit here drinking mustard while you enjoy a hot meal." Bill waved three eggs at Ford. "At least make me eggs too. Zero extra effort on your part. I'll even crack them for you if you want."

Ford gave Bill a dark look; but he supposed, as one of the people who had agreed that Bill wasn't allowed to cook, he was in no position to complain about Bill begging him to cook on his behalf. He snatched the eggs out of Bill's hand. "How do you want them."

"I haven't eaten enough chicken eggs to have a preference. Whatever you'll complain least about doing."

Poorly scrambled eggs it was. Ford shut the fridge and returned to the stove.

Bill sat on the table and crossed his legs in lotus position while he waited. "But really, what do you get out of pretending you can't stand me! We both know it's an act."

Ford gave him a tired, sour look. "Even for you, you sound delusional."

"I know you don't really hate me."

"I could write an entire dissertation and earn another Ph.D. on the topic of how much I hate you."

Ford hated how excited Bill looked by that. "Would you?"

"No! Why would I waste that much time thinking about you?"

"It seems to me like you're already doing that."

The hair on the back of Ford's neck prickled. Surely Bill just meant Ford's research into how to kill him; but his mind flashed to the miniature grimoire he'd spent all his time poring over—the blueprints of Bill's childhood home—the face he'd absent-mindedly drawn in his journal in the middle of the night and quickly scribbled out. Could Bill still see through that face? Had Ford remembered to blind Bill's eye on the blueprints? What about the eyes drawn in his human faces? Did Bill know about Ford's other studies? What did it matter—nothing Ford was doing was wrong. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Bill's smile slowly widened. "Sure you don't. You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. You might as well lean into it."

You're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private. "I am not..." Wasn't he? You're acting like a stalker, Sixer.

"Oh, Fordsy, come on." Bill uncrossed his legs, slid off the table, and was across the room faster than Ford had expected. Ford instinctively took a step back and bumped into the oven; Bill reached past him to lean a hand against the edge of the stove, inches from touching him. "You're not hiding it half as well as you think you are. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He smirked up at Ford, exposed eye wide and eager, utterly fascinated with him. "And bringing Mabel in on it? I'll have to admit, that surprised me. Can't say I disapprove, though."

Ford couldn't tell if the heat on the back of his neck was from Bill's accusations or the stove. "I beg your pardon?" What was he talking about—their conversation in Portland? The blueprints of Bill's home? (Using his great-niece to spy on Bill, lord, what was Ford doing?)

"Quit messing around! The Mysteries, Stanford. You think I don't know I'm the star of that show?" He poked the center of Ford's chest, "There's no way you joined a cult, you're not enough of a team player! What'd you do? Invent your own cult of one? Mixed a little of what I taught you, a little of whatever you learned out in the multiverse? I know you were asking around about me." Bill chuckled. "You want to keep your little rituals private, fine—I think it's cute, really—just tell me one thing I've been dying to know: how much have you told the kid?"

Ford stared at Bill.

Then he laughed in his face. "You really bought that?"

Bill's smile immediately vanished. "What?"

Ford shoved Bill's hands away. "There are no 'Mysteries.' It was a joke."

Bill stepped back, staring at Ford, brows furrowed. "A...? No," he said. "She's got that glass pyramid—"

"She wanted it because it was pretty," Ford said. "I gave her one since I was throwing them all out."

"That's the stupidest story I've ever heard. Then why would she have brought up the Mysteries!"

"Because," Ford said, "I told her, if you asked about the pyramid, she should make up something to confuse you."

Bill's mouth was open, but no words came out. His face had rapidly turned red. Several emotions flashed across his face in quick succession, from shock to confusion to humiliation to a rage so deep it almost looked like disgust. For a moment, from how Bill's fingers were curling like claws, Ford was sure Bill was about to attack him.

But then he clenched his jaw, backed off, leaned on the table, jammed his fists down against the tabletop, and glared at the floor.

Ford turned back to the stove, grinning to himself. Some of the eggs had burned slightly. Those were Bill's now. "What's the matter? Did you forget that humans can lie?"

Bill didn't reply.

"I'm surprised you didn't expect it. I seem to remember we got you with an impressive whopper last year—"

"Shut up."

"Now you don't want to talk?"

"Now you do?"

Good point; he didn't. If he'd finally rendered Bill speechless, he should enjoy it while he could.

He'd have to thank Mabel later for inventing the Mysteries. Sometimes that girl could be genius.

Ford turned off the burner, put the stove knob away, and dumped the eggs onto two plates. He didn't even bother to keep track of which plate had the burned eggs.

He shot a quick, exasperated look at Bill—he'd sat on top of the table again—and dropped a plate next to him. "Here." He grabbed a bag of bread and looked around for the toaster.

Behind him, voice trembling but low and dangerous, Bill said, "Don't look at me like that."

Ford glanced back warily. "Like what?"

Bill violently shoved off the table. There was an awful squeal of sliding furniture. Before Ford could react, Bill was in his face, grabbing him by his turtleneck, dragging him in, forcing him to look up at Bill.

Ford's peripheral vision was filled with gold. They were so close their noses nearly touched.

"Like you don't remember who I am!" Bill stared down with wide-eyed seething rage. "Your muse!" His voice cracked, "Your god!"

Ford stared up at Bill, speechless.

Then he looked down.

Bill was standing on a chair to make himself taller than Ford.

Ford ripped Bill's hands off his sweater. "You were never, ever my god."

Bill stumbled off the chair, catching himself hard on the edge of the table to keep from falling completely. "That's not true!" He heaved himself back onto his feet with a wince. "You worshiped me—"

"I admired you!" Ford jabbed a finger at Bill's chest. "I respected you! I—I even idolized you, but I never worshiped you!"

Bill jabbed a finger back, "You're splitting hairs! You practically turned your study into a temple to me—tapestries, rugs, statues—"

"Because you said it would help me reach you!"

"And it did! That's what shrines are for, genius!"

"It wasn't a shrine! Not to me."

"You're kidding me! All the money you dropped on that gold-plated statue and you expect me to believe that wasn't an act of worship—"

"Do not. Remind me. How much. That stupid statue cost."

"If you didn't build a shrine for worship then what in the world did you build it for!"

"Friendship!" Ford took a shaky breath in. "I thought... I honestly thought you—you—were my best friend." The air in the room trembled with heat. They were standing too close to each other. Ford refused to be the one to back up.

"I was," Bill said. "I still could be if you'd stop being a moron."

Ford laughed in disbelief. "Which is it, were you my god or my friend?!"

"They're not mutually exclusive—!"

"You can't keep your story straight for THIRTY SECONDS!"

"Don't you call me a LIAR, after EVERYTHING I taught you—!"

"In all the years I've known you I don't think you've told me the truth ONCE—!"

Stan flipped on the lights.

They froze and stared at him. They had their hands around each other's throats. Bill had a foot planted on Ford's stomach like he was trying to get a foothold to climb him. They were both covered in egg.

Stan said, "Could you do this in the morning?"

Ford said, "Sure."

Bill said, "He started it."

"I st—?! You started all of this thirty years ago—"

"Guys," Stan said tiredly.

With some effort, Ford unpeeled his hands from Bill's neck.

To his surprise, Bill voluntarily let go as well. Ford snatched up what was left of his plate of eggs, took the loaf of bread—he had lighters, he could toast it downstairs—and left the kitchen, turning the light off as he went.

Stan was waiting out in the entryway. "Heading to bed?"

"No." Ford shoveled a forkful of eggs in his mouth. "Going to be up late." He was too angry to sleep. He could eat, take a painkiller for his headache, and keep working.

"More research?"

"No. Calculations."

Stan's shoulders slumped; but all he said was, "Suit yourself. Don't stay up too late."

Ford glanced back once into the kitchen. Bill wasn't moving. He sat slumped in a chair, elbows on his knees. He'd pulled on his hood. Its eye stared at Ford.

Ford wasn't about to pity Bill over a performative display of angst. He'd fallen for that already.

He returned to his study and mathematics.

####

Bill stared at his plate of eggs. He mechanically pushed them around on the plate until they formed a perfect equilateral triangle. He scooped out an empty white eye in the middle.

He stood, snatched up the plate, and smashed it on the floor.

They thought he was stupid. They thought he couldn't use a stove if it didn't have knobs, as if he was a child! The humans made it easy for themselves to think of him as a child when they treated him like one, "baby-proof the doors" and "no sharp objects" and "don't talk to strangers." He could show them.

He grabbed the stem where one of the knobs had been removed, and twisted. He heard the hiss of gas under the burner. Everyone was asleep. He could fill the house with gas. It would only take a little push to make a spark and set the entire shack ablaze. In the dark room, he could see the first glimpse of future flames flickering yellow-orange in the periphery of his foresight. No one would survive. Who's your god now, smart guy? He'd rise like a phoenix from his own corpse and he'd tear this town apart.

Where was Mabel?

Was she home tonight?

Bill turned off the gas.

He pushed up his sleeve and pressed the fleshy part of his forearm onto the still-hot burner. The pain burned away his jumbled anger so he could think clearly.

Who cared how the nutty sculptors had gotten Bill's address? He was making good progress on lucid dreaming; maybe he'd astral projected across the country to call for help and forgotten it when he woke up. He'd probably saved himself without even remembering it. It didn't matter. The important thing was that they'd received the message; and now, Bill had friends on the outside. Friends who were on his side.

If he could ever contact them again.

Bill would find a way. He didn't need Ford's help. "Never worshiped you." Ha.

He needed fresh air. Even if it wasn't safe to escape yet, he needed to breathe. He carried himself backward through doorway into the gift shop, pulled aside the curtain hiding the ladder to the roof—

The trap door was shut. He stared up in despair.

He shot a glare toward the vending machine, and angrily crossed back into the living room.

The air was so stuffy inside the shack. "Never worshiped you." Liar. If it wasn't worship then what was it?

Bill took himself upstairs. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. He lay on his makeshift bed curled up around himself, arms wrapped tight across his stomach, his burn pressed hard against a layer of knit yarn, thighs pulled up against his arms. It was a wholly alien position. It felt unnatural and bizarre. This body had curled like this of its own volition. It seemed like the only thing that briefly smothered the ache of emptiness and the hormonal inferno screaming loneliness through every vein. The loneliness wasn't his. He wasn't lonely. This body was. 

Cipher, my lord.

He hated this body.

He ached to be revered again.

####

It was two in the morning. Ford sat at his desk, pages and pages of math scattered before him, glasses off, hand rubbing his eyes.

He didn't want to be checking a mountain of math like a human calculator. He wanted to be studying strange magic and researching new anomalies. He wanted to be digging through Bill's grimoire.

He wanted to be awed again.

####

(I've been waiting to write/draw Bill screaming his grief over not being worshiped since literally April. I hope y'all enjoyed! This is one of my favorite chapters so far, I'd love to hear what y'all think!!)

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Howdy! Jdjdjfh I hope you're still taking Gravity Falls Stan/Ford requests--

What if the reader and Ford/Stan (separate) were married, but the reader suffered a traumatic head injury in a car accident? This injury causes them to be unable to retain memories for more than a day. Every morning, they wake up next to this mysterious, handsome man who has to explain to them that they are married—and have been for years. The reader can't help but feel guilty about this situation. :( We need some lovey-dovey comfort

Sorry if this is long or complicated kfhfkfh thank you for your time!!

Have a good day/night :)) 💗 love your writing so much

you’ll always remember | Stanley Pines x reader

tags: sfw, memory loss, established relationship

a/n: hi, lovely anon! thank you for sending this in and for your sweet words!💗 this little piece focuses on Stan for now. but don’t worry, i’ve got something equally heartfelt coming for Ford too, ill post it a lil bit later

thank you for trusting me with your emotions and have a beautiful day/night, darling!

Ford version

you open your eyes and the next thing you feel is headache, your head feels. . . way too heavy, but sadly, not from oversleeping or the nice kind from sleeping in. it’s different type of pain. 

you rub your eyes, feeling lost and blink around the room, with fear realising you don’t understand where you are. your messy thoughts are interrupted by the bed creaking when you sit up and your heart does this awful little jump when you see him.

this man.  

this. . . mysterious man with a broad chest, an old tank top clinging to it. there’s golden chain around his neck, glinting against the soft peppered hairs of his chest. 

and you. . . you don’t know him.  

your stomach twists immediately. the room doesn’t look familiar, either, nothing does. these stacks of magazines, mugs, a nightstand that’s barely holding itself together. you hear a faint sound of birds outside, but even that won’t calm your mind 

“mornin’, sweetheart, sleep okay?”  

your heart lurches, panic curling up your throat. you try to get up from bed, but everything feels too heavy and weird, your body barely listens to you, your limbs hurt

you freeze, looking a bit scared, but more than all confused. “who— who are you?” 

Stanley sighs, nodding at your words, agreeing with you. it’s not the first time he’s heard it. you can tell from the way his face falls, his smile disappearing, but then he covers it up with a gentle grin

“right. uh, this part,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. “okay, so. you don’t remember me. look, baby, my name’s Stan. Stanley Pines. i’m your husband.”

your what?

“yeah, i know. sounds like a bad joke, but it’s true. you’ve got, uh. . .” he avoids your wide-eyed stare. “you’ve got a thing. memory stuff. from the accident. doc says you won’t remember much past a day. it’s been like this for a while now, heh.”

his tone doesn’t sound all that happy, because for Stanley it’s just as hard as it is for you. he explains it like it physically pains him to spell all this shocking nonsense out for you.

“i know this ain’t fair to you. shit, it ain’t fair to either of us. but i’m here. i’ll always be here, ‘kay? even if you wake up every day thinkin’ i’m some creep who wandered in off the street.” 

you just look at him, unable to understand what he’s talking about after the word “husband”. husband. . . gosh, feels like your brain just started to hurt more. your mind scrambles, clawing at the edges of something it can’t reach, no matter how hard you try.

“don’t— don’t look so freaked out, kid,” Stan says quickly, seeing your panic. “here, look—”  

he reaches for something on the nightstand, hoping each time that it will work. Its an old picture frame, a little bit worn, but when he holds it out with a hopeful look, you see yourself in it. laughing. leaning into him. his arm’s slung around your shoulder as he grins, his fez perched crookedly on his head. 

“that’s us,” Stan says softly, watching your reaction. “took that on our anniversary, up at lookout point. you love that spot, always goin’ on about the view. even dragged me up there at sunrise once.” he chuckles, but his eyes are watching you carefully, he’s waiting you to give some reaction, please just. . . please. he waits to see that beautiful smile of yours he always loved so much and you want to smile. you want to remember. 

but there’s nothing.  

corners of your mouth lowers and your chest tightens, guilt bubbling up inside. “i. . .” wait, what was his name again? damn. “don’t remember that. i don’t remember you.”

Stan’s smile wobbles for half a second before he catches it. “yeah, i figured. but that’s okay. s’not your fault, sugar.”  

you hate that. you hate how kind he is about it, how patient, but at the same time how broken his voice sounds.

Stanley sighs, rubbing at his face, trying to scrub away years of exhaustion. then he looks at you again.

with hope in his eyes.

“here, how about this?” he says suddenly, brightening. he pulls open the nightstand drawer and takes out another photo, this one of you, him and some. . . kids? it’s twins, a boy and girl in some funny looking sweater, both with brown hair, all of you standing by the lake. you’re holding up a huge fish, grinning from ear to ear, and Stan’s standing behind you with his hands on your shoulders looking so damn proud of his lovely little human.

“this was last summer,” Stan tells you, tapping the glass with his thumb. “we went fishin’. you caught that sucker all by yourself. wouldn’t stop braggin’ for weeks.”

a faint smile appears on your lips. 

“still got the tackle box you picked out, too,” Stan adds with a laugh. “you said the one i had was too ‘junkyard chic.’ you’ve got a sharp tongue on ya, y’know that?”  

your fingers tremble as you reach to take photo from his hands. you look at it, look at that person who looks like you, with a smile’s brighter than the sun and these eyes. . . sparkling, as if you’ve just heard the funniest joke in the world.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, staring down at your hands. tears spilling down your cheeks. “i- i don’t know how you do this. every day. i can’t- i can’t even remember, Stan.”

the first time you said his name. 

“hey, hey.” his hand comes up, hovering over your shoulder, rubbing it slightly to calm you. he’s not sure if it’s okay to touch you yet, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but you look up and he’s already leaning closer. “don’t you dare apologize for this, sweetheart. you didn’t ask for it. none of this is your fault, y’hear me?”  

you nod weakly, but he isn’t done.  

“you’re still you. still the same stubborn, beautiful, funny, smart, pain-in-the-ass i fell for, okay? you’re stuck with me, like it or not. you take all the time you need, honeybun. i’m not goin’ anywhere.”

you nod, still doubting, lowering your eyes to that photo again. 

“now, how about we get some breakfast? you always say my stancakes are the best damn thing in oregon.” Stan smiles at you because you’re his whole world. and even though the pieces don’t always fit in your mind, Stanley still loves you with this kind of affection that’s lived a thousand lifetimes and he knows, somewhere deep in your mind, you love him too. he just gotta try a bit harder.

when you meet his eyes, for the first time, you feel something painfully familiar deep inside of you. as if he’s the one you’d always reach for in a sea of faces. and you laugh softly

“i say that, huh?” 

“every time,” noticing that little change in your voice, Stan grins and winks at you. “c’mon, let me prove it to ya, baby.”

even though your head’s a mess and your heart feels like it’s been put through a blender, you want to believe him. you take his hand, noticing a ring around his finger and only now you realise you are wearing one too

….

“but what if i never remember?” you ask as you trace the edges of his beautiful face with trembling fingers, trying to commit it to memory.

he just smiles and wraps his big hands around your waist.

“then i’ll just remind ya every day. as long as it takes.”

[thicctails]

what do euclid and scalene think of stan and ford in your au? also your au is cool

That's a great question!

Short answer: Stan is their blatant favorite, and they're not really sure how to feel about their son's ex situationship but they're not overly fond of him.

Long answer:

At first, the two of them weren't quite sure of what to think of Stan. The twins were being sent to stay with him for the summer so their parents could scream at each other without having to worry about also feeding their children, but neither of them really knew too much about the man, aside from the fact that he'd been a brilliant researcher and lived in the middle of the woods.

Quickly, they discovered that, while he wasn't the most attentive guardian ever, he cared a great deal about the twins, and would show it in his own way, like keeping Mabel stocked up on yarn, or always making sure Dipper's cuts were cleaned. They decide that they like Stan, though Euclid does occasionally pull small, harmless pranks on him. It's been a while since he's gotten the chance to joke around, after all.

The portal incident almost makes them lose faith in him completely, they're terrified of something causing this dimension to burn, and they urge Mabel to shut the device down. The two of them worsen their injuries when they try and pull themselves into the third dimension when Mabel lets go of the button and floats towards the portal, but neither of them get fully out of the 2D plane by the time the portal fully activates. This leaves them very exposed and vulnerable to the figure that comes out of the portal.

Ford comes out of the portal angry and scared, having just gotten into a fight with a strangely panicked Bill. He's bleeding from a set of gouged claw wounds on his arm from where the demon tried to make him hold still, and he had to tear himself away when he saw the open portal. The sight that greets him is one that seems like a twisted nightmare brought to life, with his brother close to what looks like some strange, bootleg versions of Bill. Stan looks ecstatic to see him, but he's still kneeling near the... Things and oh God there are children down here-

Needless to say, Ford doesn't hesitate to raise his quantum destabilizer and bark at his twin to get himself and the children the hell away from the horrifying, half 2D/half 3D monsters that are lying on his basement floor.

To his dismay (but not surprise) Stan ignores him. Actually, he goes beyond ignoring him and actively puts himself in the line of fire. The children are quick to follow, with the young boy shoving the girl behind him as she asks Stan who he is.

A gopher man that Ford hadn't previously noticed faints when Stan tells them.

Apparently, those children are Ford's grand niece and nephew, and the primary colors from hell are their... Friends? Guardians? They certainly seem to be very protective of the children, because the second Ford approaches them, they bristle and make a sound that reminds Ford of tv static. Their resemblance to Bill is uncanny, and he wants to ask them about him, but he decides to hold off on it when the red one's remaining eye turns into a whirring mouth of teeth.

Euclid and Scalene do their best to keep the twins well away from Ford, fully agreeing with Stan that the man is dangerous. The conman is now firmly set in their good graces now that he saved their lives, and once their everything stops hurting and they learn that Ford plans to evict Stan at the end of the summer, they go out of their way to make things hard for Ford. Trying to use any technology? Nope, Euclid has decided that it will not be working today. Try to write in your journal? Scalene has taken the letters and arranged them into an image of a middle finger.

Unfortunately, Dipper still looks at Ford like he hung the stars and actively ignores the Cipher's warnings not to engage with him, Mabel still is trying to find a way to measure him so she can knit him a "Get Along" sweater, and Stan, despite his anger, still wants to reconnect with his brother.

Their favorite humans are obsessed with this scruffy owl man and it drives them nuts.