#When it comes to most of the the Ford situations

[misteria247]

"There is no record of a Pacifica Northwest. I looked it up F, there's not even a birth certificate or even a death certificate."

He wasn't a stranger to words that would cut deep. Being the town crazy hick for 30 years made him used to the pain of words. But these words, these ones cut deeper than most. They cut straight into his heart, deep and fatal.

"Ford.....Ford please there's, there's gotta be some mistake.....there's just, there's no way..."

Fiddleford tried to speak, voice breaking and unable to even bring to being this horrifying reality. So close to his own back home but a nightmarish version of it. His friend only gave him a concerned, pitying expression. And wasn't that just the final nail in the coffin for Fiddleford H. Mcgucket.

'This isn't real. This is a trick, something that monster would create to hurt me. There's just no way....!'

He thought feeling that consuming panic, denial and rage building inside him. It had to be a joke, a joke where his daughter would come out. Smiling and mischievous and he'd scold her something fierce because this isn't funny. Pretending to not exist wasn't funny. Not to him. Never to him. And yet the lab remained the same, silent and damning and it made Fidds' jaw clench. He noticed Ford stiffen as a growling noise filled the air and Fiddleford realized that the noise was coming from none other than him. And not some furious, mother raccoon who was just itching to sink her fangs into someone's neck.

"Fiddleford, I'm....I'm so sorry I may not know this Paz, but I can see she's important to you. Just remain calm my friend."

Ford spoke, voice steady and non threatening. In an effort not to push the mechanic to possibly do something rash. Fiddleford meanwhile wasn't listening, lost in his head as he tried to make sense of this awful situation. Of trying to process that Pacifica Northwest-Mcgucket was just gone. That she didn't exist. And he was failing, miserably. Because the very thought of his sweet youngin not existing was just something he couldn't comprehend. For Fiddleford Mcgucket, there was no reality where Pacifica Northwest wasn't there with him. Whether it be as a stranger or as his own. It was like a hole was in his chest, oozing and bleeding out as he fought back his anger and frustration and grief. A grief that was threatening to consume him and drown him. A grief that he was barely keeping from letting out.

His daughter was gone. His Paz, with her smile and smart remarks and bright shining eyes was gone. The world seemed so much darker without her in it. Like the sun was taken and he was left to blindly continue on with his life.

'Why couldn't it have been him? Why her? Why his little girl? Hadn't he suffered enough for his sins?'

Apparently not if he was now without his shadow right beside him.

Fiddleford didn't even realize he'd started to collapse until Ford had grabbed him to keep him from hurting himself. Fidds thrashed against his friend's hold, a howl of sorrow and loss escaping him as he broke. Ford never let him go, even when he felt Fidds nails dig into his arms, he refused to let go. Holding onto his friend tightly as he screamed and swore and cursed and howled brokenly at the world and the unfairness of this dimension.

Fiddleford Mcgucket had officially been broken. And he didn't know if he could ever recover from this.

[tswwwit]

I know Bill's the big bad demon everyone is afraid of and he will protect his husband at all costs (when no one's looking), but I think it's also worth mentioning that Dipper, even being the dorky, squishy human that he is, also cares about his dumb demon hubby and wants to keep him safe, even if it annoys Bill, and really, he doesn't need protecting the way Dipper does. He isn't going to puff out his chest and get in someone's face like some macho man, but I think Dipper knee-jerk reaction when Bill's in "danger" isn't to just shrug because he's an all-powerful demon who can handle it. If a blast that could level a whole town was aimed at Bill's head (for him, this just means a bad hair day and a new body), Dipper's immediate impulse is to push him out of the way or defend him against whatever wants to kill his familiar. Because he's not thinking "Bill could literally end this match in .3 seconds." He's thinking "if you touch even one hair on that asshole's head, I'm going to knock yours clean off your shoulders." I don't know what the point even is in this post, just that Dipper is this nerdy, unassuming guy who ends up being viciously protective under the right conditions. Like I think Dipper pulls off the bloody and vengeful look SO well that Bill immediately melts and just lets him handle the situation, even though it's not really Dipper's fight to begin with. He's beating the guy to a pulp with zero reserve, and Bill's off to the side swooning and twirling his hair over his man for getting his hands dirty for him.

It's true! While Bill's not the type to enjoy being underestimated, he has to admit! Seeing his adorable husband all riled up on his behalf is a hell of a sight.

The thing is, Dipper's a good guy! He can't help but put himself in danger over others. Even when all reason and logic say that Bill would be absolutely fine if he got his head exploded or a shiv in his kidney, Dipper's instinct is to fully and immediately get in the way of that. To, in fact, be protective.

Mostly this is only evident when Dipper has to stand up to Ford. Yes, yes, Bill's a vile horrible monstrosity, but he didn't do that particular thing you're accusing him of. Watching him stand up to his uncle is a particular treat!

For bigger threats, though - Well. Bill's gonna be absolutely fine, no matter what happens, thank you very much. But he's definitely not opposed to seeing some guy who was about to literally stab him in the back get a few of his teeth knocked out.

[joicecubes]

im feeling especially unwell today about the fact that ford was canonically the one who was the most committed to helping stan get his memory back after weirdmaggedon. i’ve been thinking about it nonstop. that he’d fall asleep next to stan watching old videos of them as kids, that he’d recount as many memories he could think of, that he spent all that time apologizing too?

like as much as they were both in the wrong for everything that happened to drive a rift between them, i feel like this is when ford would finally be able to come back down to earth and realize how much he’s failed stan. because there’s a sizeable chunk of stan’s life, aside from the 30 years he was in the multiverse, that ford knows nothing about. and how does he explain that? how is he supposed to admit to a completely unknowing stan that the reason they were apart for so many years is because stan broke his science fair project? ruined his chances to go to that college, of course, but he made it alright regardless, didn’t he? and what did stan have to go through as a result? all ford knows is that hes been to prison in three different countries. that he once had to chew his way out of a trunk of a car. his life must’ve been so difficult, he was kicked out as a teenager after all, and ford had done nothing to reach out. held this pointless grudge for over a decade.

i just can’t imagine the sheer amount of guilt ford must be feeling. to be the one to recount these memories to stan, it would give him this kind of perspective that he never had before. ford runs from self-reflection. he doesn’t think about the ways he’s wronged the people he cares about because it scares him to come face-to-face with his failures. but now he’s forced to come to terms with the reality of their situation, and the reality is that stan didn’t deserve the harsh consequences of his mistake. the reality is that, no matter how responsible stan was for selfishly ruining ford’s dream, it was ford who so stubbornly kept the distance between them. he was right to be angry. but in turning his back on his brother, his best friend, the person most important to him in the world, ford has fundamentally failed him.

ugh. i need to write a fic about this

[mooooonnnzz]

holy shit world/insure made me sob. would you consider doing a part two ? i’m imagining stan and ford telling dipper and mable childhood stories with the reader. they’re vague about it, saying stuff like “they aren’t here anymore” so the twins just think read died. then reading coming back through the portal and they connect the dots. omfg i’m obsessed with this concept.

Word/Insured Part 2

Stanford Pines x Sibling!Reader/Stanley Pines x Sibling!Reader

☆ GUESS WHO FINISSHHHEDDDD!!!

☆ this'll have 2 parts so it's easier to digest, since it's lawnngg so if it abruptly ends, that's just me splitting it

☆ 4,5k words

☆ gender-neutral reader

☆ possible tw: drinking to cope, mentions of suicide, gagging and descriptive chewing? and just angst

☆ srry this lowk kinda took long to write both keyboard and mouse just died on me when i was writing this so i had to find an old keyboard oops

☆ if this does well, i'm considering on making hcs of reader adjusting back to their home dimensions and diving deep into the twins n their trauma !!

☆ that's all. i hope you all enjoy! :3

✶ Stan and Ford hadn’t talked to each other since your disappearance. The anger and hatred that Stan held onto was enough to deter him from even granting a glance at Ford who tirelessly tried to get Stan to talk to him. He’d begin the conversation with ideas he’s thought through the night prior, ideas that most likely secured a chance on bringing you back. But Stan wanted nothing to do with him. His head was shrouded with your screams, the way you yelled out for Stan instilled such a soul-crushing guilt on Stan; he wasn’t sure he’d properly function as a normal human being after this. Not to mention, you and Stan were two peas in a pod, spending 10 years together after the collapse of their family truly brought the pair together, closer than they’d ever thought they would be. And now Stan is going through the same grief he felt when he was kicked out of the house, Ford doing nothing but sparing a sorrowful glance to him as he shouted for his brother, anticipating Ford to do something; to clean his name and everything would go back to normal. But instead, he turned his back on him. The situations were massively different but the pain was eerily still the same. 

✶ Stan would spend majority of his nights clutching your belongings close to his chest. He didn’t care if it looked weird, those were the only things that he had left of you at the moment. Nights were spent crying himself to sleep, envisioning different scenarios where he had caught onto your wrist and pulled you back to the ground, where it was safe, where he was there to protect you. He couldn’t let his mind linger on the idea of you being stranded in another dimension, helpless and lost, not knowing what to do or where to go. The mere thought of it sends his heart crumbling down to his palms, all shredded and shattered beyond repair. He was your big brother, he was supposed to protect you. To keep you safe from harm's way, he betrayed that very promise by leading you to the place where you were taken away from him too soon. And that alone gutted him. Ford would hear Stan sobbing into the night and all he did was lay there in his bed, submitting himself to the torture to hear his brother’s wretched cries. Because, this was his fault. Stan wasn’t shy to tell him that almost every waking moment of the day when he has the chance. The guilt haunts him.

✶ Verbal arguments were pretty common between the pair. Stan mainly started them when he was pulled out of the haze he was in and roughly back to reality. A reality where you weren’t around anymore and that irked him, because who else was at fault other than his idiotic brother? “Do you ever wonder how more lively this house would have been if ya hadn’t pushed [Name] inside the portal?” His tone was harsh. They carried thick venom to them, his words permanently burning their way into Ford’s brain. “Not this again,” Ford’s heart quivered. He had just recollected himself from yesterday's fight and now Stan wants to barrel through another one? Ford avoided Stan’s glaring eye contact. “Stanley, I told you many times before. I’m sorry! I’m sorry for screwing up, I’m sorry for being the reason why [Name] isn’t here anymore.” Ford’s head tilted back, his eyes staring longingly at the ceiling. “You don’t know how much this eats at me, Stanley.” He blinks away the tears threatening to escape, his head lowering back down to meet Stan’s fiery stare. “But I beg of you, please. Don’t hate me for it. I can’t lose you again, not after losing [Name].” The look in Ford’s eyes was something Stan would never be able to forget, no matter how hard he tried. He looked so broken, so shattered, the shell of someone who once was a prodigy at everything he touched was now crushed to bits; pieces of him scattered, lost to time. Stanley’s anger faded into a mellow irritation. Shifting his hands awkwardly on his chest, his face softened ever so slightly. “Fine,” He grumbled, rushing past Ford, their shoulders roughly rocking against each other. Ford sniffed, wiping the tears off his face. This was a new development. A spark of hope flickered in Ford. 

✶ Alcohol and cigars were Stan’s life vest. He’d rob a few packs of beer and down them within two days. It wasn’t healthy, but at least it distracted him from everything that was happening, right? Stan was pretty much drunk every day, and if he wasn’t, he was out on the porch smoking cigars, hoping that one day Ford would find him dead on the floor with beer cans surrounding him, his last moments spent thinking about how much he missed you. Stan wasn’t an angry drunk much to Ford’s surprise, considering how he spent his times where he was sober yelling at Ford, rather he’d rot away on the couch or floor, silently crying to himself in a puddle of his own tears. Many times Ford would have to pick up Stan, rest him on the couch and try to sober him up. And it wasn’t an easy task to do, picking up Stan with his weak arms was a workout for Ford. “Why couldn’t I save them?” Stank drunkenly babbled out, his head swaying side to side. “Don’t move too much, Stanley. You’ll give yourself a headache.” Ford warned, propping his head up with a pillow. “If I wasn’t so slow, [Name] would still be here.” Stan hiccups, his eyes glistening with tears. No matter how many times Ford hears Stan painfully talking about you, it still hurts the same and even more. “It’s not your fault, Stan.” Ford said, pulling a blanket up to his chest. “It’s not yours either.” Stan’s hand patted Ford on his face, thinking that it was his head. When Stan pulled his hands away, tears were streaking down Ford’s cheek. Hearing Stan tell him that it wasn’t his fault healed a piece of him and that quickly triggered the waterworks. “There, there, brother.” Stan patted Ford’s back as he sobbed into his hands. “It’s not my fault,” He repeated in loud sobs. “It’s not your fault.” Stan echoes. 

✶ Ford handled his grief and stress by huddling himself in the lab, isolating himself from Stan’s drunken state and researching his work. Trying to find loopholes that he can tie them close with a workaround, with a quick fix that would bring you back. Cans of beer were discarded around his lab, just the same as upstairs. But he wasn’t downing beers like Stan, he chugged one or two to dull out the ache in his heart, to keep it from distracting him. He knew when to stop and limit himself. He wasn’t dependent on alcohol. Sleep was something Ford considered useless. That would only distract him from his work, from his progress. Stan walked into the lab, puffing a gray smoke of air out onto the air. Your absence has bestowed so much despair onto the pair and he hadn’t realized until this very moment. Walking over to Ford, he placed a hand on his back. He was messily sleeping on top of his work, glasses hanging off his face, mouth open, drool dribbling down to his arms and paper. His dark circles were so dark and he was unshaven, chin stubbly with hair. Has he been getting any sleep? He wouldn’t know because he’s always drinking the day away. Stan internally groaned at himself. Not only has been neglecting himself, he’s been neglecting his brother. Burning out the cigar, he grabbed a blanket from upstairs and draped it over Ford. “Sleep tight, Stanford.” He said, gingerly squeezing his arm. Stan sat right next to him, wanting to keep him company and dozed off. When morning came, Ford awoke to Stan’s head colliding with his chair. For that one morning, Stan’s snores were music to his ears. 

✶ “S-Stanley!” Ford’s body lunges up from the couch when he sees Stan briskly pass by him and into the kitchen. “I-I’ve done some research and I-I think I found a way to get [Name] back!” He stumbles over his words, the lack of sleep weighing heavily on his foggy brain. The only thing that is keeping him up as of now is coffee he had been taking in shots for the past few days. The way he moves is fidgety and erratically and Stan takes notice of that. Pouring a cup of coffee for himself in a mug, he leans his back against the counter. “You need sleep, Stanford.” He brings the rim of the mug to his lips, his eyes never leaving Ford’s trembling figure as he takes a big gulp from his coffee. Ford couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Stan spoke to him! It was measly four words, but that’s more than he has ever said in the past five months, that wasn’t angry nonsensical words that were being thrown at him or depressing drunken babbling. “No, there’s so much to be done.” Ford runs a hand through his unkempt hair. “You need to hear me out. We need to find the other two–” Stan shushes him. “I won’t talk to you until ya sleep, Stanford. Don’t you bother trying to back out from this.” He looks at Ford with a stern expression, almost the same one Mom wore whenever he warned Ford to not do anything stupid in the backyard with Stan. “B-But!” Stan doesn’t hear his weak objections, he’s already out of the kitchen before Ford can conjure a good enough excuse. With a groan, Ford trips over his own feet while he makes his way back to the couch. Pushing all his research and books off the couch and onto the floor, he topples over the couch. When his head crashes on the soft plush of his sofa, his body automatically shuts off, revealing how dangerously tired he was. His eyes fluttered close and it didn’t take long for him to crash out on the couch. Stan came in to check on Ford and was pleasantly pleased to see his twin at last getting the rest he deserved. 

✶ Clinking his fork idly on the ceramic plate, Stan watched Ford make breakfast. Originally Stan was going to prepare breakfast, but Ford saw he was cooking and pushed him out of the kitchen, telling him that it was “his treat,” Stan couldn’t even utter a single word to him. He just wanted simple scrambled eggs and toast and now he’s left to fear for his life as Ford concocts a science experiment for his breakfast. “And for you breakfast, Stanley.” Ford swoops in, leaning forward as he shuffles the plate of food onto the table. “Scrambled eggs and buttered toast,” Ford smiles knowingly, placing his breakfast down. He had the same breakfast but the crust of his toast was cut off. “I don’t even know why I doubted you.” Stan scoops up the scrambled eggs with his fork and shoves it in his mouth with giddy excitement, a display of emotions Ford hadn’t seen in over 10 years. Who knew a simple breakfast would get him so happy? “Still being a baby about the crust?” He points to Ford’s crustless buttered toast with his fork, mouth muffled with food still being chewed in his mouth. Ford cringes at the sight of mashed up food in Stan’s mouth, suppressing a gag as he nods his head. “Chew your food before talking, Stanley! We’re not kids anymore.” He rasps out, his palm covering his mouth, his body shuddering with full body heaves. “Alright, alright!” With a loud gulp, he swallows his scrambled eggs. “Happy now?” Said Stan with a roll of his eyes. “Maybe not,” Using his other hand, Ford pushes the plate of eggs away. “Don’t want to eat anymore,” Stan shrugs, pouring the scrambled eggs on the plate. “More for me!” As Stan is chowing down on his eggs, Ford regains his composure. Though, he couldn’t watch Stan eat his eggs without the image of the yellow goopy food in his mouth so he averted his gaze to his hands. 

✶ “[Name] sure had grown up the last time I saw them.” This was Ford’s feeble attempt at sprouting a conversation with Stan, but he soon regretted what he said when he realized the fragility of the topic. Stan blinks, stunned. A beat passes and Ford’s ready to divert the conversation to another topic when Stan replies with a weird look on his face Ford can’t quite catch. “Well, yeah,” Stan looks off to the side. Ford lets out a breath of relief, Stan wasn’t upset at the mention of you. “They left with me when you and Dad kicked me out and we haven’t seen each other since then.” There’s a distant look in his eyes when he speaks, his words carrying a light anger to them ever so slightly. “How were th–” Stan shoots up, the chair skidding behind him. “Just because we’re all chummy now doesn’t mean you get to ask all about [Name].” The sudden shift in his emotions slapped Ford right in his face. “I’m sorry.” Ford whispers. Stan clicks his tongue, uttering to himself before shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry.” Stan rubs the sides of his head with his fingers. “Let’s not talk about them right now, okay? I don’t think I’m ready yet.” Stan pulls the chair to him and sits down. He rests his head on his fist, eyebrows pinched together with a long frown on his face. “I didn’t mean to blow up on ya like that.” Stan looks Ford in the eyes, and he could see the sincere sadness swimming in his eyes. “It’s okay, Stanley. Why don’t we talk about what you do for a living?” With that, they eased themselves into a comfortable conversation, with a few hiccups here and there, but in the end, the twins both had a soft smile adoring their faces.

✶ The repairing of the portal was a stepping stone that repaired Ford’s and Stan’s relationship. They weren’t going to lie and say that their relationship now was perfect, they still had their moments of anger and differences, but with a lot and a lot of patience, their bond was soon regaining its spark. “Whaddya think, poindexter?” Stan slapped a sloppily written plan on how to fix the portal in front of Ford. “What is this?” Ford looked at the piece of paper like it was garbage. “A plan to fix the portal, isn’t it obvious?” Stan snatched his paper back up, eyes speedily reading his work, doubting his work. “Stanley, that is unnecessary. I have the blueprints to fix the portal.” Discarding his plan, he slapped his hands enthusiastically, rubbing them together. “Alright! So where are they?” Ford sucks in a breath. “In the other journals.” Stan nodded his head slowly, as if that information was already obvious. “And where are the other journals?” Ford coughs into his fist, speedily saying; “I hid them.” Stan looks at him weirdly. “Can’t we just unhide them?” Ford rubs a hand up against his prickly cheek. “That’s the thing. I may or may not remember where I hid them.” Closing his eyes, he braced for the gust of angry yelling. “you WHAT?!” Stan’s hands flew to the side of his head. “How do you forget where you put them?!” Stan made a mental note to mark down how many times Ford screwed up, so far he has two. He has a long way to go before he could be anywhere near Stan’s record. “I was in a flurry of panic! I wasn’t thinking straight.” Stan groaned, smacking his face with his hand. “Was it at least in Gravity Falls?” Stan had his fingers crossed. “Yes, obviously.” A triumph “Yes!” leaves Stan. “Okay, let’s get digging then!” 

✶ Stan severely underestimated how truly difficult it would be finding one of the books in a forest that seemed like it stretched out for miles. Every turn looks the same and whenever he’d think he’s making progress, he’s right back where he started, at least he thinks he is. Frustrated, he bangs his head on a tree. The sound of metal clanging rang in his ears and shook through the tree. He groaned, holding his head with one hand as he curiously examined the possible metal tree. “Stanley!” Ford came running to Stan’s side, panting heavily. He wasn’t used to running for more than 5 seconds, and that was evidently proven with his flushed face and out of breath wheezes. “This tree is metal,” Stan notes, taking a few steps back, winding his leg back and hammering his shoe into the tree. The tree simply shook, the metal sound nowhere to be heard. “What?” Stan can feel his brain heating up, he couldn’t make any sense of this. The tree he kicked felt like a tree, not some metal contraption. It was only when he knocked his head—An idea springs to mind. Leaning his head back, he slammed his head on the tree. Shocked noises sputter out of Ford as he watches Stan rub the sore spot in his head. “There’s something here,” He gestures to the general area where he smashed his head in. “I can see that!” Ford walks up to the tree, knuckles gently knocking on the metal plate that was disguised as a tree. His hands move around the tree, searching for a way to open the plate. His fingers snag on an elevated piece of tree and with his fingertips, he swings it open, revealing a control panel. The memories of constructing this rush to his mind. “I remember now!” He flips a switch, his head turning over to where the large log rested. In front of it, a patch of grass was pulled back to unravel the hidden place where book three was. Ford eagerly snatched the book in his hands, showcasing it to Stan. “Great job, Stanford!” He claps Ford’s back. “So where’s the other one, you remember?” Unfortunately for the both of them, Ford doesn’t remember. He had seemed to bury most of his memories after meeting Bill Cipher, anything beyond that point was an empty mess for him.

✶ With the two books in hand, they managed to tinker and repair the damage to their best efforts. After each exhausting night in the lab, he’d attempt to pull the lever in hopes that whatever they did that day would work and to their utter disappointment, it never dislodge from its spot. “Man,” Stan wipes his forehead with his forearm, sweat glistening on his arm. “For a brainiac like you, I would’ve never imagined you being terrible at building this!” Stan barked with a laugh. Ford scoffed, his attention laser focused on fixing a part of the machine. “How did you manage to build the portal in the first place?” Stan wondered, the flashlight he was using to help Ford see what he was doing began to steer away. “Stanley,” Ford snapped. “The light!” Stan jolted up in surprise, the light quickly going back to Ford. “Sorry,” He sheepishly said. “But seriously, how did you build this?” He looked at Ford curiously. “I had an assistant.” Ford mumbled, a leak of oil dotting his clothes. He hissed, grabbing a tool off the ground to fix whatever started leaking. “Had? What happened?” Ford hummed happily. He had fixed the leak. Placing the tool back down to the floor, he directed his attention to Stan. “He quit.” Ford scratched his head, unintentionally smearing oil on his cheek with his hand. “Why?” Stan tossed him a piece of clean cloth, silently motioning to his cheek. Ford took it, wiping his cheek with the cloth. “He, uh,” If Ford told Stan that he went inside the portal momentarily and came out completely traumatized, Stan would go berserk on him knowing that you went inside the exact portal that mentally ruined Fiddleford. Ford did not want to go back to the arguing and suffocating silence so he lied. “He just thought what I was doing was unethical.” That wasn’t a complete and total lie, but it was far from the truth. Stan bought the lie fortunately for Ford. “Glad at least someone had the brain to call a quits!” 

✶ Before they knew it, they were tremendously low on money. Stan was the unfortunate one to discover this revelation. On a quick supply run, Stan had gone to the grocery store and stock up on some food. When the cashier rang up him, totaling his price to 30 dollars, Stan had pulled out a penny, paper clip and a wrapper. Mentally cursing Ford for spending all his money on unnecessary science stuff, he weakly smiled at the cashier. “Can you hold onto my groceries for a quick second?” The cashier nodded their, a big bright smile on their face. “Of course, stranger!” And right when Stan was going to snag the groceries bags in his hurried rush, a woman spoke from behind him. “Hey, that’s no stranger! That must be the mysterious science guy in the woods!” She points, gathering a crowd around Stan. “Ah, no. That’s my nerdy twin brother.” Stan says, causing the crowd to coo in interest. “There’s two of them?” Someone in the crowd asked. “He probably cloned himself just so he could do two things at once!” Someone else said. “That’s probably what happened. I’ve heard strange stories about that old shack.” Toby Determined spoke up. “Yeah! Mysterious lights and spooky experiments!” Daryl added. “Gosh, I’d pay anything to see what kind of shenanigans you get up in there!” Pa said. Susan perked up at that. “Oh, me too! Do you ever give tours?” 

✶ A sly smirked pulled to Stan’s face. He had the perfect idea. “Yes, I do give tours! Ten…no-no fifteen bucks a person!” The crowd erupts in cheers, waving their green bills around. “Is it possible we get to see the man of mystery himself?” Susan questions. “Hmm, I’m not sure.” Stan eluded them to think that there was no possible way to get to Ford to gauge their reactions. And what they gave him sent adrenaline rushing through his veins. “You know what?” The crowd lightens up with hope. “Fifty bucks if you all want to see the man of mystery himself!” Another boisterous cheer from the crowd. “And what did you say your name was, twin of mister mystery?” Stan smiled proudly. “Stanley, Stanley Pines.”

✶ The crowd bustles into the shack, ooo’s and aaa’a left their mouths in awe of the place. “Step right up folks to a world of,” he pauses for a moment thinking. “A world of enchantment!” He gestures to all the wild findings. Grabbing a dial box with two antennae, he showcases it to the crowd. “Behold! The um, nerdy science box.” Susan looked at it with interest. The device rumbled to life and zapped her in the eye, rendering it closed. “Ah, my eye!” She covers her closed eye, stumbling back. “Uh, I can assure you, that is no way permanent!” He offers an uneasy smile. “I paid sixty five dollars for this!?” With Susan’s comment, the whole crowd erupted in complaints. Quickly thinking, he grabs a skeleton and makes a half-assed joke where the last customers didn’t make it out alive. The crowd laughs at his horrible joke and Stan smiles. “What is with all this ruckus?” Ford walks in, irritation evident on his face. “Is that him?” Someone excitedly shrieks from the crowd. “Oh my god, it is! Take my money!” Wads of dollar bills get thrown at Stan who was making a great effort to make sure he caught all of them. “Stanley, what did you do!”

✶ After answering a few questions he was coaxed into, (they stroked his ego), he kicked them out, accidentally saying that they could return another time before closing the door, smacking himself in the head. “What was that?” Stan turned over to Ford,  buckets of money shoved inside into his shirt. “I got us money! And look how much we got!” He pulls a ten dollar bill from his stack in his shirt. “Stanford, this the best thing that’s ever happened to us so far.” Ford looks at him, unsure. “I’m not a fan of ripping people off,” Stan’s hands fall to his sides. “It’s their choice to throw money at me like a madman. Listen, if we get more money, we can stock up on good materials to fix the portal, like really good parts and we can finally bring [Name] back.” Ford stewed in his thoughts for a little more. He hated to admit, but Stan was right. With a little more money, they could be sailing straight to victory with a higher chance of your return. Ford let out a defeated sigh. “Fine, but I don’t want you to mess with my stuff, got it?” Stan beamed brightly. “I promise!” He broke that later on. 

✶ Gradually, the scary shed in the woods turned into a tourist spot people would frequent. Together, they advertised the shack by plastering various signs and posters all over the woods. They even went as far to tape advertisements onto people’s windows. Ford wanted to use actual beasts he had found in the woods to show to people, but in the end they all ran away, horrified for their lives. Ford was respectfully peeved because when he’d glance over to Stan, he had somehow had the crowd hanging on to every word that spilled out of his mouth. And when he’d show the crudely sewed animal he had made within five minutes before the tour started, they all gasped in delight, their money flying to him. “How do you do it?” Ford asks as Stan closes the door, reveling in the pool of money he had made. “I just say whatever comes to mind.” Stan shrugs. “But none of your stories make any sense logically! How did they believe in a half beaver half bat?” He gestures to the taxidermy animal. The beady eyes were slowly sliding off its face, leaving a trail of glue. “Hey, the people love to spend their money on things that are obviously fake, weirdly enough.” The door rattles with a knock. “Wanna take this next crowd? I gotta sort this money.” Against his will, not really, Ford opens the door and flashes an award winning smile he had learned from Stan. Cash was already being shoved in his face. At least he earns money for looking good. Ford attempted Stan’s whole shtick and to his very surprise it worked! It wasn’t as good as Stan’s performance, but it worked well enough that people were swarming him with cash. His bitterness from before was quickly washed over and he continued on his act. When the crowd dispersed, satisfied with their tour. Stan was there in the middle, clapping widely. “That was some good acting there, Ford!” Ford smiled, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m only doing this cause we need the money.” 

Taglist: @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @lovexsage, @teddycricketdream, @theilluminatidragonqueen, @raventeen @cedarmoonzz if you wanna be added to my taglist, dm me or comment! <3

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[elliesmainhoe]

need ellie to take care of me drunk desperately

i love your writing 😭

Rescue Remedy

e.williams x fem!reader

summary: you call Ellie to come and rescue you from a bar after having a few too many drinks

warnings: alcohol, cigarettes, mentions of hangovers, slurred speech, drunk crying, fluff.

just realized this is basically a self insert vent post of a very similar situation I've been in LMAO

WC 1K

DAY 4 OF SAPPHIC SUMMER

you were relieved when the familiar beaten up Ford focus pulled up beside you. you'd been sitting on the curb for almost 15 minutes- tear stained cheeks, smudged glitter and mascara as your body shook and jittered from both the cold Seattle night and the mixture of cigarette smoke and alcohol causing the most humbling case of hiccups you think you've ever had.

"Ells!" you whined, a new flood of tears streaming from your eyes at the sight of your night in shining armour- your girlfriend.

"c'mon sweet girl" she huffed, hair thrown up messily in the usual half up, half down style, clad in red and black checkered pyjama pants, black hoodie that was splattered with paint topped off with the obnoxious lime green crocks you'd gotten her for her one Christmas, of course decked out in charms shed collected over the past few months.

before you could even process it you were sitting in the passenger seat, leather seats sticking to your sweat glazed skin, and sobs turning to hiccups.

this had been the worst night out you'd had since your 21st. and as soon as the car revved and moved down the road, Ellie's hand pressed firmly on your bare thigh, the fabric of your dress not long enough to cover the majority of your thigh.

"what happened sweet girl?" oh and by that one question, it's like Ellie had opened a flood gate.

firstly, you got to the club of choice after having to walk almost a mile from where your designated driver had parked, accompanied by a couple of friends. after queuing on the curb for almost thirty minutes, you reached the front of the queue and then promptly realized you had left you purse. with your id. in the car. a mile away.

so after you'd trekked all the way to the car, retrieving your purse and id, getting back to the club, queuing for another 30 minutes, on your own this time- as your friends who had not forgotten their id decided to go in and leave you to sort your shit out.

let's just say you were already a little pissed off.

secondly, you got in the club and it stunk. not just of sweat and booze, but piss. fucking piss. and to top that all off you couldn't find your friends so- you did what any other sane person would do and ordered shots.

shots that were actually doubles, but of course you hadnt realized that until way too late.

which leads into the final stage of the night, your head being deep in a grimy toilet bowl, knees bruised from having to kneel on tiles that were not grouted properly and pieces of them shot out and cut at your skin.

and by that point you had gotten out your phone, which was now on 7% charge because you had offers to use your GPS and it drained all your battery, and was a blubbering mess on call with your girlfriend.

you would later have to retell the story again, as apparently according to Ellie- she couldn't understand a word you were saying, just nodding along in a desperate attempt to keep you awake long enough to get a glass of water and a slice of toast down you.

it must have been during your tangent when you'd gotten home, as when you finally finished your incoherent mumbling you were sitting on the beat up leather couch of yours and Ellie's apartment, a couch you'd hated as soon as you moved in, but Ellie had a weird attachment to so it stayed in it's place, the first thing you saw when you entered the home.

Ellie was kneeling in front of you, sitting between your thighs and facing you, holding up a large glass of water,

"sip baby" she spoke softly, to which you groaned.

"do- do- I haveeeeeee to?" you whined, batting your eyelashes in an attempt to distract your girlfriend "jus' wan' sleep"

"you can sleep after you drink that." after another groan you took a sip of the glass of water- admittedly, it was refreshing, however you still gagged to prove a point.

"good girl" she purred, standing up and kissing your forehead, moving over to the cabinet to grab a packet of pills.

"fuck off"

she laughs, moving back with a small white pill in the palm of her hand, to which you begrudgingly take after Ellie promises to take you to get ice cream the day after.

you felt your eyelids droop once more, you couldn't tell if it was sleep, or just your false eyelashes becoming suddenly very heavy, you whine "'m tired ells..."

"alright I hear you, c'mon baby" she sighs, leaving a half eaten piece of toast on the coffee table, one arm supporting your back and the other under your knees as she made her way to your bedroom, plopping you on the mattress and you sigh, already drifting to sleep before you screech at the feeling of something wet in your face.

"hey- hey" Ellie laughs, "I'm just taking off your makeup baby, just taking off your makeup", she smiles, dragging a cotton pad across your skin, taking off the creams and powders you had applied previously, smudged mascara coming off with it.

Ellie was thankful you'd taken off your clothes as soon as you stepped foot into the apartment saying something which she thinks was "dresses like these are modern day torture devices"- but with the way you slur your words when drunk she could never be sure, leaving you just in your underwear, making her job a whole lot easier.

trying to maneuver you, who had now dropped on the mattress like a deadweight, would've been a too strenuous task for 3am.

after discarding the used wipes and pulling your hair back into a very messy ponytail, Ellie scooted in beside you, the mattress sinking as you unconsciously snuggle in closer, head nuzzling into the girls neck, her hand going around to caress your back, soothing you into an easy sleep.

the hangover tomorrow was going to be horrible.

••••••••••••••

The third time I've tried to write this, I almost gave up 🥰

[marlshroom]

came to the fucked up realization after finishing gravity falls again last night the parallels of the dream bubble bill made for mabel and the literal state of delusion he keeps himself in.

in the book of bill on the page where bill cipher describes how he figured out a way to manipulate her into giving him the rift, it says:

"Summers ending, my guy. Ending to death, bro. She'd do anything to make it last just a day longer. Probably something RASH and OUT OF CHARACTER, even!"

as we know, mabel cannot handle the fact that she will be growing up. that the relationship with her brother is going to change. she is scared of high school.

bill then says "That was it. She'd never make a deal with me. But she'd make a deal with someone she believed could give her more time. The dream was done. I had her."

bill then creates the dream bubble for mabel, he makes every one of her dreams come true, a place where time is still and she can be a kid forever. a lie so great that she wont have to face the truth.

in journal 3 on one of the pages bill is writing in code, we see this:

[ID: "I ask you, why must[should] time only move forward? Why must cause preceded effect. Who voted on the law of physics."]

my friend helped me break down what bill means by this:

why can we only move forward in the 4th dimension of time. why does something have to make another thing happen, why must cause come before the effect. why cant you move backwards, in the other direction, change the decisions youve made.

how interpret this is bill asking why he is not able to back and stop what he did to his family. he says to ford that he tried and failed to undo the past.** why did him wanting people to acknowledge his advantages instead of suppress him lead to the destruction of his whole dimension?

**(i just want to point out that this is probably the time where bill is the MOST open to anybody, or at least the first. to his henchmaniacs he had been telling them that he liberated his dimension until the oracle discovered the truth. here, to ford, he got so much closer to telling the truth. he SHOWS ford the last atoms of his world. he says that it was destroyed by a monster, not that it was liberated! destroyed)

back to when bill says "I had her" about mabel, he had her cause he knew exactly what needed to happen to trap mabel in a delusion because it is exactly what he is doing to himself. creating a fake narrative of what happened to him, that he was vindicated in killing his whole dimension. only ever doing exactly what he wants because confronting the truth is too scary for him(good fucking lord). the morality page offers good insight into this too.

i am actually just going to quote the whole page and highlight the important part. it speaks for itself really

"THE POINT IS it's[morality] is a very flexible concept! But parents and presidents don't want you to know that, because then you might start asking other questions, like who put them in charge, anyway? So they cram your brain full of guilt and regrets for transgressing the laws that they just made up(the laws that they made to prevent the destruction of their dimension, regardless of if the law + the wrongful medication of a fucking baby triangle did any good to actually prevent it). Wouldn't it be nice if you could put all that baggage down? Quell the shame that follows you everywhere for a lifetime of crimes? MAKE THE SCREAMS FINALLY STOP? The good news is you CAN silence that annoying voice, and here's how!

DENIAL

Works 100% of the time in every situation. What you you mean there are people who disagree? I can confidently say there aren't!

RATIONALIZATION

If you can do it, you can justify it! "Truth" is open-source code and anyone can edit it anytime! Want to be like me? List 3 "evil" things and then 3 "reasons why they're actually good." You'll be rationalizing like Bill in no time!

DETACHMENT

Did you know 100% of your human cells die and are replaced every 7 years? That means that anything you did 7 years ago wasn't even you-it was some dead loser! You can't be held accountable for what a dead person did! What? You think this is just another form of rationalization? I DENY THAT!

THE BILL CIPHER DECISION METHOD!

Working over the eons, the voices in my head teamed up and worked out a foolproof method for making any decision in any situation.

DO WHATEVER I WANT."

ooooooooooooooooooh boy.

he is fully admitting here that he is living in a completely different really in order to justify doing whatever he wants. he gives mabel the tools to deny, to rationalize, to detach herself from the reality of it all. that time has to move forward. and he thinks it will work because it worked on himself.

but it doesn't work on mabel because she understands that she needs other people. shes vunerable, she lets people in, admits when shes wrong. and bill cant do that because it would destroy the fantasy he's created for himself.

[pix-writes]

For the NSFW requests; what kinks do Stan and Ford have? 👀

👀 I've got you, anon 😉

18+ under cut, minors DNI

Stanford:

Edging - likes to experiment with it to see how far he can go, what are the limits of his patience? He's working out his self control like he's stretching out a muscle. And with you as well, how far can you stand to be teased? Knows it's worth it for the intensity of the orgasm(s) when he finally gives you what you both want. Likes the sense of control he gets from it too!

Biting - likes when you bite into him when you get close/overstimulated/want to keep quiet, makes his feral side come out, wants to mark you too as he nips and nibbles at your skin, all over. A darker, protective (*cough* possessive*cough*) part of him enjoys seeing the hickeys and marks he leaves on your skin. Ford has a lot of scars and other unwanted traces on his body (laser tattoo removal can only do so much), so he feels so loved when you leave marks on him.

Temperature/nipple play - warm wax (and ice) on his body gives a contrast of overstimulating sensations that feels nice to him, have no idea of how or when/if he finds this out though, perhaps it's a way for him to feel light pain in a good way? Likes when you pay attention to his nipples too as they're sensitive.

Clothed sex/dry humping - (kind of goes with the kink below) actually really turned on by dry humping, gets incredibly flustered even though neither of you have taken anything off yet.

Tights - idk why it just seems right to me. Ford loves how the fabric feels and how it smooths over your skin. Maybe he's always been attracted to how they look on people in the past, but it's not until you are grinding against him fully clothed that it really awakens! The silky feeling of your tights on his cock, the thin layer between him and your heat has him staining them with his pre cum. (EDIT: tights aka pantyhose or stockings, I always forget Americans have a different name for them sorry)

Praise - will praise you a lot but he likes it back the other way, I hc Ford is a perfect switch, so whether he's taking the lead or not likes to know he's doing well, has been starved of affection for so long so praise helps him to know he's doing good.

Stanley:

Restraints - here's the thing, Stan's been put in cuffs enough times to hate it, but he's also quite adept at getting out of them (as long as it's a situation where he can of course), he figures that he wouldn't hate it as much if his pretty partner is the one to do it to him 😏 ya know? Though most of the time, it makes him feel a bit too helpless/claustrophobic, but he'll tie you up or put you in cuffs any time (he always has them nearby), gets him going because he gets to tease the hell out of you and you can't do anything about it! (I have a hunch that he's a teensy bit of a brat tamer) Spanking is another he likes too, in theory more than practice, because he may be game for a lot of things but doesn't want to hurt you, feels conflicted about it. Kind of loves it when you give him a firm slap to his behind, as long as he knows you're going to do it (he's hypervigilant), likes when you say nice things about his ass.

Primal play - doesn't know that it's called that but there's something in the playfulness of chasing each other around the house etc., that does it for him in a more serious way, likes to chase you more, though doesn't mind if he's the one on top or bottom, sometimes is nice when his partner is doing the work and he gets to lay back and enjoy the view.

Sir and begging- likes to be called sir (the fact that Alex said this on a stream is WILD, joking or not, and it's been burnt into my brain ever since!), never been really seen as a figure of respect and melts his brain a little to be treated reverently, likes when you beg it's basically praise for him for pleasuring you so well

Marking - likes to mark you but loves it even more if you leave some on him, he'll keep it there for others to see, he's a taken man now 🥴 - that's his expression after you've kissed him and left him with lipstick all over his face

Painted nails - doesn't have to be those fake nails really, he just likes to see them with some colour on them, thinks it's attractive, the way they look when you're placing your hands all over him and maybe scratching across his chest?

[urlocaldesertdweller]

His ego (Stanford x reader)

(I haven't seen nearly as many fics about Ford's ego and sense of superiority over others. That alone can create so many exciting situations between you and him. most likely he has a some sort of condition in the head involved with ego but i can remember the name of it 🫠)

You were a close friend of Stan living in the shack, coming for emotional support after the portal incident. Years would go by as you both helped rebuild both the shack and portal until one summer.

The summer the twins would come around, you'd tag along and take care of the twins. You'd hope that Stanford is on the level of friendliness to Stanley's. You're dead wrong.

The time he left the portal, you knew that this whole situation was stepping into intimate and personal family drama when Ford punched Stan. But even then, when things settled down, he looked at you weirdly, as though you were some interdimensional possum that managed to crawl and find its way into the shack uninvited.

He constantly interrupts you; from casual conversations to tense, dangerous situations, he always finds something to talk over you about. He'd say sorry, but the tone and looks he gave you said otherwise.

He also, no matter your age, will constantly dote on you mockingly in a way that you felt you couldn't do a thing by yourself. You could be older than him, but he would talk down to you like you were younger than the twins.

Ford will also never trust you in any way, from handling weapons to keeping information from the twins. He'd trust the 12-year-old twins more than you.

The list can go on and on from situations and times when you felt so unwanted from Ford. The twins hoped that the two of you could get along, but they could feel the tension between you, miles away. They stiffen, Mable brushes her fingers through her hair, and Dipper gets more sweaty than usual. In fact even Stan cant handle it and would straight up just bugde in between you or just leave the room.

All three would try their hardest to talk to him. Trying so hard to find out what about you bothers him so much. He would dodge the question or follow it up with an irritable response in a snappy tone.

"I just—something is very irritating about them! Stop asking me why I hate them; I have better things to do than think about them."

As for his exact reasons of hating you can go from somthing super small to something huge. Maybe he still held somewhat of a grudge against Stan and he is putting out on you. He could just see you as a less intelligent and important figure during these times.

Nevertheless you could only take so much from everything from him.

By the time you finally snap back itll be from a breaking point. Weather from Ford pushing your limits with same old belittlement, putting himself or others in danger because he couldn’t bare himself to trust you during a mission, or once again denying your opinion or take on some discussion.

You will yell and have to hold yourself back from slapping the fat ego out of him.

Ford would obviously be startled and stop whatever he was doing from trying to avoid you. Now you have his attention its time to go on a speech spree.

You say and rush out every single time Ford has treated your horribly, its been so many times you find yourself breathless and bending over your knees. Ford stays quite and youll see the mix of emotions on his face when you continue.

By the time you finish, you are red and or on the verge of crying from how shitty he made you feel. Either that or you fuming with rage from the disrespect.

You end off with a simple question of “Why me? What is so bad about me that you find every chance to belittle me?”

You don’t expect anything from him, you’d walk away needing to get some air after spilling your guts.

Ford still as stunned as ever takes a moment and a long one. He felt flustered from embarrassment from the confrontation, he’d also never admit that he loved a person to take action.

Both of you would take that day as a learning moment. For you, to never care about what some egotistical sliver fox thought about you. For him, to not only stop downplaying you and your skills but to allow you some respect from him.

In the near future you’d prove yourself in more ways than one quickly gaining not only Fords respect but his relationship. From realizing that you were actually smart to seeing how brave you are even in the most treacherous of missions.

The progress made between you two was remarkable. You two were unstoppable together and through anything, nothing could never not found and documented in your shared set of journals.

Easy to say you got way more than his respect and honor for you. From Ford going from some rude guy to a swooned man for you.

[gay-dorito-dust]

wahhhh reading that hurts me 😭 could you please write a part 2 where they all find out that it was bill who possessed reader?

Tag list: @babypeapoddd @i-am-tiredd @sly-thou-pookie @x-seyaa @sweetlumpkinseedlin @kawaii1369 @roo024 @lightmaren

Part 1 right here

‘What?’ Ford asked.

Bill cackled. ‘For someone as smart as you sixer, you sure are stupid as not to notice the obvious signs of whenever I’m possessing someone. I mean out of everyone you should know better.’

Ford clenches his jaw. All this time he had thought you had betrayed him when in actually you had been loyal to him and his family, up until he and his brother ostracised you even more then you already were for the past thirty years. He made you feel like shit, and he could tell that Stanley felt the same amount of guilt as he clenched his fists in silent anger; Ford then levels Bill with a glare. ‘You possessed y/n! My assistant!’ He roared at his once muse.

Bill only chuckles. ‘Correction!WAS your assistant Stanford! And pushed you through the portal whilst wearing the face is someone you cared for,’ Bill then gasps as he looked at the guilt ridden faces of the Pines Family and feeling the joy bubble up in his triangular body, the look of defeat and realisation was all too sweet, ‘Oh wait! Someone you once cared for before throwing them out like they were nothing to you, not once letting them the space to explain what had happened and how I tricked them into making a deal with me.’ He finished by pretending to wipe a tear from his one eye after cackling some more at the hilarity of the situation.

Humans loved to cause more problems within problems they didn’t fully handle properly as they stockpiled on top of each other, giving him the leeway to get what he wants without issue or confrontation from the pathetic family.

Possessing you during a brotherly squabble was perfect! Ford had cut all ties with him and decided to call upon his idiotic brother- as though that would’ve ever worked in any timeline- to help hide his work but when things didn’t go Ford’s way, they fought. You were trying to stop the fight and bill took advantage of that by claiming he could help you stop the fight, fat chance, he was going to make it worse and leave you to be his scapegoat! It was a brilliant plan to make up for multiple set backs thanks to Ford’s sudden realisation of his hermit tendencies, everything was out in place for the ultimate betrayal by the hands of Ford’s assistant; you!

Bill found that Tragedy was at its finest when the betrayal comes from someone you love and it did.

‘They didn’t-‘ Ford began.

‘Say anything?’ Bill interrupts, causing Ford and Stan to glare at him as the demon cackle as he got in close to their shared triangle shaped prison, staring them down with his one eye, unblinking. ‘You and your piece of shit brother over here didn’t even let them speak! Never less believe them when they were telling the truth!’ He roared, ‘and now you don’t know whether they’re even alive so that you can apologise to them!’

Mabel slams against the bars of hers and dippers prison. ‘they’re alive!’ She shouts and Bill now looks at her, amused.

‘How can you be so sure shooting star? For all you know they could be dead, cursing your grunkles names as they die with an unsatisfying end.’ Bill mocked her as she falters in her resolve, he was right, how could she be certain that you were alive when Gravity Falls was literally on fire and demons from another dimension were running amok? She couldn’t and that’s what upset her the most.

‘Because we know our great aunt/uncle better than you bill and we know they’re alive!’ Dipper pips up this time as he laid a reassuring hand on his sister’s shoulder, smiling at her as she smiled back at him in thanks for having her back. Bill looks at the twins, hating their optimism and hope that you were okay and decided to destroy this by reaching into thin air and producing a realistic illusion of your unmoving body before them.

‘Are you so sure now pine tree? They don’t look very much alive to me!’ Bill exclaims as Mabel, Dipper, Stan and Ford could only look up the body that Bill claimed was yours in disbelief and shock. This couldn’t be how it ended, could it? They still had to apologise to you after all for everything and make it up to you however you wished!

‘No, no this is some foul trick of yours bill!’ Ford screamed as he threw himself against the bars, forcing himself not to cry at the sight of your body while seething with rage and a need to avenge your supposed death. ‘You sick son of a bitch!’ Stanley joined in as he felt even more useless than ever, he felt the most guilt out of everyone as his eyes seemed to refused to move from your supposed body. You couldn’t be dead, he refused to believe such bullshit lies, you were still alive and fighting with the rest of them! He knew it, deep down in his heart he knew it to be true!

‘No.’ Mabel cried as she tried to reach out to you as Dipper held her while silently crying himself, vowing to take down bill now more than ever as he tugged his hat down to cover his eyes. You were the most encouraging person he’s ever met and now you were gone, you asked him and Mabel to trust you when contemplating to stay with Stan, and they did believe and they never regretted doing so because you were right! You were always right and yet in the end you died thinking they hated you more than anything; which wasn’t true! Far from it and now…now they can’t make it up to you, they had lost their chance.

Bill had won over the pines family once again.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Hi! First let me just say I love all of your writing, it’s so amazing and you capture the characters perfectly! I was wondering if I could rq a little headcanon/story/whatever about pre portal (and pre Bill) Ford and Reader who are exploring the mysteries of Gravity falls together. They come back after a rough encounter with a monster, cue patching up each others wounds that leads into love confession and first kiss! 🤭 Totally up to you whether to end it there or go further. Thank you!

A/n: 👏👏Ford is such a cutie and this would have been a whole lot better if tumblr didn't delete half of it.

It wasn't supposed to get this out of hand, some town's folk mentioned of seeing something in the woods. Curious you and Ford decided to look for said creature. You never in your life would have thought was a bunch of gnomes trying to find someone to marry, though it became worse when the leader picked you to be his bride.

Something that Ford wasn't to keen about, then one messy battle later you and the man limped back towards his little house.

Wincing, Ford gritted his teeth as you applied alcohol to his cheek to clean the cuts as he held one hand holding his side. "I am sorry for dragging you in on this...I should have realized it was a bunch of nomes harassing people."

Biting back a snort, you shook your head as you gave him a teasing grin. "It's fine Ford...I mean at least someone find's me desirable."

Parting his lips, Ford grasped your hand as he gave it a squeeze. A hiss escaping his lips, his extra finger giving you some comfort in this situation. "Don't say that!"

He did his best to not sutter out a protest, cheeks now a deep red. "Y-You're wonderful, smart." He paused giving you a shy smile. "And I like you." His voice weak as his free hand fixed his glasses.

Eye's going wide after Ford's confession, your body relaxed as you gave his hand a squeeze resting your head against his. You felt warmth creep up your neck as you tried to ignore your heart pounding in your chest. "I...I like you too Ford."

"You do?! I."

You never got the chance to answer Ford as his lips pressed against yours. It was far from perfect, nothing like in the book's you read about but you still enjoyed it because it was with Ford.

It was with the one you cared most about.

Breaking the kiss, Ford took a deep breath in as he rested his head against your own. "I would like to do more...once I recover because I think one of those Gnomes broke my ribs." He hissed in pain as you helped him stand.

Letting out a soft laugh, you placed a kiss to his sleep as you helped him to the couch. "I would like that, get some rest okay." Leaning in you placed a kiss to his then another one against his lips. "And thank you for saving me Ford."

"Anything for you."

[kcthelazyartist]

Fiddauthor may be canon, let’s discuss

At first glance this relationship appears to be completely fanon, but when you dig into it there's actually a lot more to Stanford and Fiddleford’s relationship than meets the eye.

This is a compilation of evidence [And slight analysis] so if I have missed anything or if anything is wrong, please let me know.

Warning: Long post ahead

Setting

-As @ratsbanes mentions during Stanford and Fiddleford’s college years the aids crisis was going on, during this time there was a lot of misinformation and fear mongering as it was falsely thought that only queer men could be affected. This event is very significant in queer history and needs to be considered when looking at their relationship.

-Fiddleford came from a hog farm in Tennessee, a deeply religious state, and as he is told to be superstitious, crossing himself when walking over graves, it can be assumed he too is religious

Religions in the same circle as Christianity tend to hold homophobic views as was common during this time

This creates religious guilt for queer people

-Queer politics were becoming a hot topic and most of society was homophobic during this period, there is a chance it was still illegal to be queer whilst they were in college, depending on where they were

This led to a lot of violence against queer people and a very real fear of being outed as it could have dire consequences

There was even programs in the military dedicated to having ‘gay spies’ to act queer and attract gay men in the military so they could be punished or discharged

There was also the Vietnam war going on, causing political unrest and many protests, america being very unstable during this period

-Lavender marriages [Marriages between heterosexuals and homosexuals, often to conceal the latters sexuality] were still common

-Putting this altogether into Fiddleford’s character it could create a very real feeling of religious guilt and fear of being outed that could of led to him entering a lavender marriage instead of staying with Stanford. Fiddleford would have had to worry about violence against himself and his family’s view of him, which he would likely worry about as he has shown signs of anxiety [But this may just be because of trauma]

It appears Fiddleford and his wife got married quickly when he left college which makes it all the more suspicious, whilst it could be they were high school sweethearts or an out of wedlock situation, it is more likely it's his fear of being outed that led to such a quick decision. [I will talk for about him and Emma-May later]

-Stanford was also in a position not to pursue anything as it can be assumed Filbrick was not the best father due to him throwing a 17-year old Stanley onto the street with almost nothing, leaving him to the wolves after refusing to hear his side of the story, and not coming to Stanley’s funeral. Filbrick instead views Stanford as something to make him money with his talents which is why he's so angry at Stanley for ruining their chances.

This would put stress on Stanford as to not disappoint his father and be the perfect child and it can be assumed that Flibrick was homophobic as many were back then.

Deep bond

-They are close enough Stanford has a measuring system for Fiddleford’s restless legs, knee bounce per second, AKA KBPS

-Stanford knows Fiddleford’s favourite can of beans, and stocks them in the bunker

-Stanford calls Fiddleford his ‘friend’, ‘assistant’, ‘partner’, and ‘buddy’, putting him on the same level as himself, not putting him down until Bill manipulates him.

-Fiddleford could tell that something was wrong with Stanford, even the slightest movement when meditating clued him in as shown in one of the flashbacks.

This itself is further evidence of their bond as Stanford trusts him enough to let him into the worship room and meditates around him, which leaves Ford vulnerable to attacks

Even parallel Fiddleford knows this isn't his own, though that can be explained through an age difference.

-Fiddleford loves his banjos, having multiple collections of them such as the one in the Gideon Bot blueprint, but he uses them as a weapon to protect others, willing to break his most prized possession to help others. He does this twice for Stanford, once during Weirdmageddon and another time to save him directly from Krampus.

During this Krampus attack Fidds had just gotten back when he saved Stanford who was about to basically be murdered, all whilst Bill was nowhere to be found

-Fiddleford only really violates Stanford’s boundaries and trust after the memory gun and neglect of his mental health have come into the picture, he does this when he steals the book to create a thesis to try and help Ford, and when he used the memory gun on him [More on this later]

-Alex Hirsch refers to them as the kind of friends with the same kind of interests and humour

-After 30 years away there is a thought shown on the mind reading machine that just says ‘I’m sorry Fiddleford’, completely unprompted

-The ‘Sorry’ photo in general

-When they first met Ford saved Fiddleford from dropping out due to embarrassment

He stayed up 9 hours with a stranger to help him prove a theory

-Ford takes notice of Fiddleford’s reaction to the cubics cube and takes joy in messing with him, knowing he wont get angry at him

-Both recognize each other at weirdmageddon despite how long they have spent apart [Ford may have seen him in Dipper’s part of the journal, but Fidds, with brain damage, had no reason to recognize him]

-Despite disliking Fiddleford’s tobacco chewing habit Ford allows him to continue with it

-Fiddleford can read Stanley, who has similar mannerisms to Ford, like a book

This is after he has lost his memories, such as when he calls out Stan’s suspicious laughter

-When Fiddleford first arrives at Fords house he mentions being ‘overcome with emotion’ and is overjoyed to see him, going out of his way to buy him banjo strings and microchips

Despite having Bill he is very lonely and is very happy to see Fiddleford again, saying ‘the past few days have been the most energising I’ve had since I first came to this town!’

-Ford originally doesn't tell Fiddleford of Bill because he doesn't want Fiddleford to think he's insane or badly of him, as he knows his friend is superstitious

-Ford teaches Fiddleford to meditate to help with his anxiety

-Fiddleford chastises Ford for staying up too late and not getting enough sleep, to which Stanford is comfortable enough with him to make a retort

-Ford appears to look for Fiddleford after coming to his senses and is immediately remorseful

-Ford keeps comparing parallel Fiddleford to his own, showing how much he misses him

Obsessions

-Ford has an obsession with Bill and Work, worshipping both like gods

Despite this he takes time from work or Bill to spend with Fiddleford instead;

After the gremloblin incident Ford takes Fiddleford to a fair, he throws a christmas party for Fiddleford and when the shapeshifter attacks and ties up Fiddleford he immediately shuts all work he was doing with the shapeshifter down despite his obsession of learning about creatures [This could be because he nearly got his hands on the journals but he appears to have tried to get them before and this event was the catalyst]

-Fiddleford appears to be obsessed with Stanford and later the memory gun due to it

Fiddleford leaves his family very quickly to join someone he hasn't seen in over 6 years, which is the first sign, then he stays after being traumatised and put in near death situations.

This devotion is made obvious when he stays to help with the portal even after his thesis and ideas have been blown off and his safety ignored, only leaving after seeing the horrors beyond the portal. This leads into the memory gun.

Fiddleford creates this as a way to cope and be able to stay alongside Stanford and help him, because he starts using the memory gun instead of leaving this toxic situation after seeing the gremloblin he becomes addicted

The memory gun is symbolism for addiction and self-harm when it comes to Fiddleford, he is aware it might be doing damage later on but he cant stop using it, its implied he even used it after noticing he wasn't wearing a piece of clothing right, which may have been a side effect of the memory gun.

Unlike Stanford Fiddleford does not have anyone to help him realise how obsessed he is or stop him, so he only continues to spiral, making his anxiety and self-harm worse [His hair pulling is also self-harm, though less obvious]

His obsession with Stanford is what led to this sadly.

His obsessions lead to him stealing the book to create a thesis to try and help Ford, and using the memory gun on Stanford [He uses it on him for both unknown reasons and to stop him from remembering construction workers, as well as maybe witnessing him in the red cape using the gun on himself or others. Even then you have to remember Fiddleford had been using it on himself and was not in the right state of mind due to Ford’s neglect, as Fiddleford was repeatedly shown to be kind and have a big heart but as his mental state declined so did his morals] This is sad as it shows that Fiddleford knows its bad but is already showing signs of addiction when he first makes it.

This ultimately ends up with him breaking his own mind to a point where it scares and hurts BILL CIPHER, hurts him in a way he doesnt think is hilarious

Bill Cipher

-Both Bill and Fiddleford are obsessed with Stanford, though they go about it differently

Bill’s obsession destroys Stanford, Stanford’s obsession destroys Fiddleford and Fiddleford’s obsession destroys himself

Bill manipulates and guilt trips Ford into getting what he wants, often using flattery or a twisted form of it, feeding into Fords insecurities

Meanwhile at first Fiddleford is just doing whatever he can to help Stanford, only hurting him after the gremloblin incident that destroys his psyche

-Before Bill came along Ford admired Fiddleford for his ‘brilliant mind’, heart and trustworthiness, but Bill manipulated him into thinking lesser of those qualities of his, even then during the portal incident he calls Fiddleford ‘buddy’.

-Bill repeatedly tries to get rid of anything Fiddleford gets Ford

-Bill and Fiddleford have some similarities

For Stanford’s birthday Bill possessed a bunch of rats and used them to spell out his name [This is interesting due to both Ford and Bill having a tendency to mix up both love and fear, Ford not reacting properly to monsters when he should fear them but instead being fascinated], he then insists on taking Ford out for a drink, when Ford was not the most willing to [Contrasting to him willingly and even suggesting getting drunk with Fiddleford on Christmas after he saved him, drinking eggnog, despite not celebrating Christmas]

Meanwhile Fiddleford handmakes two gifts for Christmas for Ford, despite knowing Ford doesn't celebrate, which makes Ford very happy and makes him want to spend time with Fiddleford [Did Bill have this gift giving tradition beforehand or did he see a memory or dream of Fiddleford’s gift giving tendencies and copy it like he did with Ford’s love language of experiences? Or are they just that similar?]

Both are obsessed with Stanford; Bill using manipulation, flattery and guilt tripping to get what he wants from him, feeding into Ford’s insecurities and ego. Meanwhile Fiddleford is devoted to helping Stanford achieve his goals instead of his own like Bill is. Even when he uses the memory gun it's to help Stanford so he can continue working and so the construction workers can help the portal be built quicker.

Emma-May

-Emma-May and Fiddleford’s relationship appears to already be rocky when Ford calls him

Fiddleford is seen working out of the cluttered garage, instead of a building, this might show he isn't making much money which could cause strain as she would need to work more to help provide for her son

He is isolated from her in the garage and is seen playing his banjo in the garage instead of with his family around, he also appears to have made himself at home in the garage instead of inside his house

This could be seen as a mancave, which was often used by men who didn't love their wives and ‘needed time away from them’, this could be explained through Fiddleford just being neurodivergent though as he shows signs of being on the spectrum- and not every man with a mancave dislikes their wives

She was also rather quick to get divorced for the time when her husband is away getting money for them.

-There is also signs he might not have any romantic interest in Emma-May or women in general, and if he does it is far less than the feelings he has towards Stanford

He rather quickly leaves his wife to go after Stanford

He makes Stanford TWO Christmas gifts [One of which required 5 prototypes], but forgot to even buy her one [This could be because of the memory gun but as its not mentioned that he forgot to get his son anything it can be assumed he remembered his- and we know he loves Tate]

He makes a continued effort to get his son [and somewhat Stanford] back, the gobblewonker is implied to not be the only way he has tried to get Tate back as Tate seems very done with him, and Stanford and him reconnect as he easily forgives him despite everything. Yet he only seems to have tried to get his wife back once with the pterodactyl, the same amount of effort he gave his friend when he didn't come to his retirement party. In the end he isn't even shown trying to reconnect with her even in a friend or co-parent way after he’s regained his sanity.

The robot and raccoon wife can be explained through the same reason; Heteronormativity. In this context it could be seen as Fiddleford wanting to have a nuclear family and be ‘normal’ [AKA, not queer] or feeling pressured to, which might be why he married and had a child so young, seemingly right out of college. Raccoon wife and the robot could be seen as him trying to be ‘normal’ and disliking that its been taken from him, trying to get some semblance of his old life back.

Love language

-Someone on tumblr pointed out both Ford and Fiddleford’s love languages [I cannot find their post…]

-Ford’s love language is experiences

He invited Fiddleford to help him with portal in the first place

After the gremloblin incident Ford takes Fiddleford to a fair

The duo go hiking together to the spaceship

And the biggest one is the Christmas incident, he wants to spend time with Fiddleford after he gave him gifts but is unable to at the time and Bill tries to cheer him up with another experience… Only for Ford to be attacked by Krampus and saved by Fiddleford, he then decorates the portal room for a holiday he doesn't even celebrate and builds snowmen that resemble each other with him.

-Fiddleford’s love language is gift giving

He gives him a homemade snow globe [Which Ford accidentally breaks thanks to Bill]

He handmakes six-fingered gloves that required 5 prototypes [They later give Ford comfort]

He buys him a squash that looks like a face because it reminds him of Ford [Of which Ford wrote an entire page about before throwing out]

He gifts him an axolotl because it reminded him of his sideburns [Bill later manipulates him into getting rid of it after a lot of struggle from Ford]

Downright Suspicious

-When Fiddleford is called by Stanford he very quickly leaves his wife and son behind to travel to Gravity Falls and live alone with him in the woods without anyone living nearby for miles, somewhere nobody can see them work… Or interact

-Fiddleford designed the bunker with only one bed, one small bed for him and Ford to share

Several people have mentioned that they would have to be practically on top of eachother to fit on said bed

Fiddleford would not be aware that Stanford doesn't sleep, meaning they were planning on sleeping in the same bed together. This is furthered by the supplies for years into the future and having both of their belongings littered throughout the space, such as the shmez dispenser.

Stanford in the journal mentions losing Fiddleford’s shmez dispenser, this implies either he was moving stuff around or they were sharing it. And Fiddleford does not like people messing with his stuff, as shown with the cubics cube.

-In journal 3 at the end when Ford goes to see Fiddleford they sit by a furnace and Fiddleford plays on his banjo, Ford says he can practically see ‘the age lift off his face’.

A common thing in romance stories is thinking back on when the duo was younger together, this mimics that plot device.

-Ford draws Fiddleford more than once in journal 3

He usually only draws people once in the journal, but Fiddleford and his family get drawn more than once. This may mean he considers him as close as family

He also draws him from behind, obscuring his face as if Fiddleford doesnt know he is drawing him or if he feels guilty about doing so [Another common romance plot; drawing your crush without them knowing]

-Ford says Fiddleford has one of the biggest hearts he's ever seen, and says he used to hold him so dear

-Bill hates polyamory and calls Fiddleford a ‘third wheel’

Despite the Ford’s knowing each other longer

-Ford lets Fiddleford hug him during weirdmageddon and reciprocates despite disliking touch and only really being shown giving side hugs

Whether this is because he isnt used to Fiddleford full on hugging him or wasn't expecting to be forgiven and trusted so easily is up to debate, as the position leaves the back vulnerable to attack, showing how much Fiddleford trusts him.

They also shown in the ‘sorry’ photo in a side hug, hanging onto each other

-When Fiddleford brings up marriage Ford immediately shifts to him being thankful that Fiddleford is helping him.

-They stargazed together, one again a common romantic plot point

-In journal three there is a quote from when talking about the bunker's security system, ‘Sometimes I think how fortunate I am to be friends with F… because if this room is any indication, it would be terrifying to be his enemy’. This format is suspicious as the wording can make it seem joking, or make it seem like he is making an excuse for thinking this- and why would he feel weird for thinking this if there wasn't some sort of romantic undertones between them.

-In a livestream [‘Alex & Dana Charity Draw-A-Thon’ on TheMysteryofGF on youtube, at 45:48] When asked whether McGucket loves Ford, Alex says yes before expanding on that and calling them friends

At first I thought this was a way to get around Disney’s censors but later he confirms the deputy’s relationship

Story Importance

-Fiddleford is the only reason why Bill was able to be defeated

It took Ford around 30 years to build something able to destroy Bill, and it was a parallel Fiddleford that got him the final component to finish it, just looking at the weapon and knowing what it needed. Then the weapon that actually killed him was the memory gun, something that took Fiddleford under a year to create. [Maybe even in a couple of days whilst he wasn't in his right mind due to the gremloblin]

This combined with him and Ford's bond means Fiddleford is a real threat to Bill, as he keeps Ford grounded in reality and is smart enough to know something is wrong about what they are doing with the portal before anything happens, he even warns Ford, which makes him even more of a threat.

Bill attempts to manipulate Ford into distancing himself and thinking lowly of Fiddleford, and it works, for a period of time. It really shows how strong their bond is because while he is angry at Fiddleford leaving the event planted the seeds of doubt in his brain. Instead of continuing to trust Bill when he starts hearing things after years of being manipulated [Bill would even injure him! And Ford did not react like a person not being abused typically would in that situation], he realises Fiddleford was right and confronts Bill who likely realised that he could no longer manipulate him, as if he thought he could continue he would have, it would have been easier to reach his goal that way.

Fiddleford leaving is what caused Stanford to unravel as Fiddleford was the only one grounding him.

Stanford brushing off Fiddleford’s thesis and fears was the turning point as the ring the witch gave him turned black after this altercation

-Stanford has presumably been carrying the guilt of how he treated fiddleford for 30 years, this likely contributed to Stanford pushing others away and acting how he did towards his brother and family after leaving the portal, as he didn't have that someone that helped him trust others anymore, he's been alone for 30 years.

-Fiddleford was Ford’s first ever real friend outside his family

When he met Fiddleford he helped prove his theory and they finished it together and put both their names on it, this is important to the story as the reason Ford doesn't accept his thesis is because he is paranoid of somebody else stealing his theory. [Parallel Fiddleford and Ford even share a company together]

Furthering the previous point Ford was considering telling Fiddleford of his muse before finding out Fiddleford had created a thesis for him, a thesis where Fiddleford only credited Ford and based it off his work. Ford instead of taking this as Fiddleford wanting to help instead took it the wrong way due to his paranoia

Fiddleford didn't even notice Ford’s polydactyl when they first met and seems completely unbothered by it, basically brushing over it. Bill on the other hand makes a big deal of it, basically saying its why he can become one of Bill’s ‘freaks’, something he was called as a child.

Bill acts as if he is the only one to understand Ford and as if he is Ford’s first and only friend to manipulate him, despite Fiddleford understanding him so well he can tell something is wrong from the smallest movement when Mabel couldn't tell something was wrong with Dipper. 

It takes Bill a long time to drive the duo apart and change Ford’s views of Fiddleford into ‘he wouldnt understand’ as he knows Fiddleford could ruin his plans [Bill had been with Ford since the 2nd journal and had time to manipulate him before Fiddleford arrived, even with this considered his view of his friend is still positive once he sees him again. He may say he has no choice but to ask for help before seeing Fiddleford, yet he is very very happy upon Fiddleford arriving- this hints that Bill has already started manipulating his views]

Ford wants to be famous and Bill feeds into his ego on this, knowing Ford wants to prove himself. Fiddleford can't seem to understand this as he already sees Ford as normal, but he wants him to be happy, which is why he helps because if money makes him happy so be it. Fiddleford does not question it and reserves judgement.

-Thank you to @jellied-beans in the comments for pointing out something I missed! That being without Fiddleford they would not have been able to get in and rescue Ford and all the other civilians.

Jellied-beans points out that Stan did not want to go through with the plan to rescue Ford, but it was Fiddleford who took the lead despite only recently regaining and reliving the trauma Ford had put him through, and even after he and Ford's last interaction was cruel.

Fiddleford is also the only reason the Shack-A-Tron became a thing, as it was his engineering and planning that saw it become a reality. Without him it would have taken much longer to rescue Ford and everyone else

This situation also goes to prove Fiddleford does in fact have a big heart and is empathetic as he not only rescues the man whos hurt him and easily forgives him, but Stan mentions that he led a bunch refugees to the shack with him.

End note; I attempted to keep in any points I have found and tried not to leave any information out, as well as leaving in anything nuanced [Such as the Christmas gift situation maybe being caused by the memory gun]. I find this important as I’ve seen people arguing against the ship and calling it generally toxic, whilst leaving out crucial details such as Bill's manipulation, as well as people calling Fiddleford a bad person due to the whole memory gun thing and completely ignoring why he did it.

[As a side note Fiddauthor definitely toxic during the Bill era, but overall it's not, and unlike Billford they are able to mend their relationship as its built on understanding and genuine feelings, as shown by the parallel world where they were able to trust each other and repair their relationship]

I have not read the Book of Bill yet so this might be updated later, any BoB content on this is just what I have seen circulating around.

[misteria247]

*vibrating in place*

Okay so, thanks to the lovely mutual @localcanadiancreature62 I've been been thinking about similarities between the four pine twins. Mainly Dipper and Stanley, and fam I think that maybe Dipper takes after Stanley a lot more than he does Ford. Let me explain.

Dipper's main motivations is protecting Mabel. While he loves the mystery and gaining knowledge, at the end of the day Mabel's the most important thing to him. Dipper gives up a lot for his older sister, so much so that when he's possessed by Bill and Bill mockingly asks who'd give everything up for their dumb sibling Mabel without hesitation replies-

"Dipper would."

And who else do we know who gives up everything for their sibling?

Stanley.

Stanley spent 30 years giving up his life, his identity, his remaining family, literally everything just to bring back Ford. Because Ford's more important than anything else. Just as Mabel is to Dipper.

Dipper also has an uncanny knack for spotting con artists. This kid is always suspicious of free offers and deals too good to be true. Examples of this are the first episode when Stan offers the twins something from the shop. And Mabel is quick to jump on board with it, not questioning a thing while Dipper immediately is like-

"What's the catch?"

Or during the Gideon Glee arch, when Gideon was doing his thing at the tent and his advertisements. Dipper wasn't buying it, and at several points outright scoffed at things that were clearly a scam. He's even more critical of it because his Gruncle Stan isn't Gideon's biggest fan and Dipper surprisingly takes Stan's words to heart. Which we see in the episodes like Dipper trying to be a man and Stanley praises him for standing up for what he believed in. And Dipper's attitude immediately brightened at it. Or the moment when Bill offered a deal to Dipper in exchange for a puppet. Dipper was incredibly hesitant and even asked a few times if that's all Bill wanted. Who else is like this?

Stan is.

Stanley is critical of anything that seems off. Always questioning if there's a catch or if something else is going on. He's not easily bought, and neither is Dipper.

And finally Dipper and Stanley believe that family is the most important thing.

Dipper when he's offered the apprenticeship from Ford his first reaction after excitement is-

"What about Mabel?"

Because Mabel is one of the most important things to Dipper. In fact this scene reminds me of the scene when Ford and his parents are in the office about his scholarship and while everyone else is focused on that, Stan and Ford's mom is the only one to ask-

"What about Stanley?"

Anyways, Dipper's biggest thing is family. This kid gets into dangerous situations to protect Mabel, Ford and Stan with everything he has. And is more than willing to die for them if it comes down to it. And Stanley is the exact same way. Just like Dipper, Stan will fight tooth and nail for his brother and nibbings till the very end.

In short I think Dipper takes more after Stanley than we realized. It's all there in the finer details and it makes me feral just thinking about it.

[marsupials-of-mars]

Was thinking about @ckret2 's bill when i wrote this, but it applies to bill more generally. I think the main thing people pick up on, maybe subconsciously, about their bill that makes him feel so accurate is that he feels.

A lot of people (and most people are guilty of this including me whether they mean to or not) tend to write him as a tragic immortal? In the sense that he's been beaten down by time and learned never to care about people, and has lost the ability to care.

And the first part of that is true!

He HAS learned never to care about people! In the tbob love page, he says its stupid to tie yourself to a mortal in a way where your happiness depends on them. He's LEARNED this. But he has NOT lost the ability to care. And he DOES care despite knowing he shouldn't.

He interacts with people genuinely, he legitimately enjoys the company of "lesser" mortal species, he has fun, he thinks about people when they're gone, he's taken lovers, he speaks in phrases hes picked up from past earth decades because he likes how they sound (ya dig?).

And some people are frustrated when he's written suave and unfeeling for this reason, because he is a goofball. But the thing is, he DOES act, in a way, suave and unfeeling when it comes to situations like Ford and Dipper. He plays up his "immortal deity" persona, constantly reminding them of all the knowledge he knows, PROVING his value to them.

But he gets mad! He falls in love! He jokes around because its fun! He gets stupid and reckless when he's upset! He burns bridges when he doesnt get his way! These are all insANELY short-sighted things for a trillion-year-old to care about!

This is why he can relate to people, and why he acts like a kid sometimes. I firmly believe that he stopped aging the day he destroyed his dimension (which is basically canon i think) not only physically but mentally. He legitimately cannot mature, cannot gain wisdom no matter how much he tries.

He has a lot of INTELLIGENCE and KNOWLEGE, but its like giving a child the library of alexandria and infinite time to explore. Sure theyll probably learn some things out of boredom or curiosity, but theres no curriculum. They COULD read it all, but why would they? That's boring and dumb and they want to climb the shelves and make book forts instead.

Now, more specifically about ckret2's Goldie:

He describes himself as a consumate extrovert. He hangs out with mabel and watches tv and goes to the Rainbow club. And while he does these things, he isnt thinking "this is so below me, why should i care about any of this?" He's just trying to have fun, and is knowingly fulfilling his social needs. He believes he and ford WERE friends.

And the most important part of this that im always thinking about is Bill claiming that being friends, enjoying peoples company, loving, playing, and all that is not mutually exclusive with being an all powerful god of destruction to be worshipped by all.

Which makes sense! Because he is INTELLIGENT and he knows that he's more powerful than these people, and he SHOULD be a being that demands their worship, and he needs to find something that lasts, and makes sense in the wake of INFINITY. But he also has the mind of a mortal, and he thinks the same way he always has. And with both of these insights, the ONLY thing that MAKES SENSE is to have his cake and eat it too. Focus on the big picture while also enjoying the present, SIMULTANEOUSLY.

Manipulating ford to his own end that leads him closer to his forever plan, while also bringing him to karaoke and falling in love. Securing his rule and reputation over the nightmare realm, being feared throughout the multiverse, having his fingers in as many pies as possible-- while partying with his henchmaniacs, drinking out of solo cups and flashing the cops.

Its the only thing that stops him from going crazy. If you have a mortal mind thats built to love and lose and feel and party and wisecrack, and you relinguish it to the horrifying prospect of timelessness, if you're always looking at the existential...you are not going to last a trillion years.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

₊˚ʚ Rain in the woods (Ford Pines x fem!reader) ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

part 2 | part 1

author note: hey friends, so im sorry for taking so long, i wanted to post it this Saturday but i got lots of work, it's not proofread so I'm so so so sorry for any mistakes, i promise ill fix them a bit later!

also im working on some pre portal stan x reader x ford fic and it's filled with what we love the most - glass and angst (smut included!!), i know i always say it, but im so excited to share it with you guys <3

nsfw, minors dni

Stanford Pines — the enigmatic genius who’s always just beyond your reach, a mind so vast, it feels like trying to grasp the stars. You should be focused, but your gaze keeps flicking back to him. You’re utterly captivated, heart racing, mind spinning.

And then it happens. One moment, you're holding the mug, your fingers curled around it and the next it slips. No! The mug tumbles from your grasp, its ceramic form hitting the floor with a sharp, brutal crack that echoes through the room. You watch in helpless horror as it shatters into a thousand pieces, each fragment piercing the silence like a blade through your chest.

Your heart skips, thundering in your ears, and your face goes hot with embarrassment, an awful flush spreading across your skin as you turn your wide, panicked eyes toward Ford. His gaze meets yours, a mix of surprise and concern, but it’s his calm that gets you. 

“Oh shit—” your voice cracks and you curse yourself silently, mortified. Of course, you would screw up right now, in front of him. Stanford fucking Pines, the man whose brilliance makes your own thoughts feel clumsy, an intellectual giant, and here you are, tripping over a damn mug. The pieces of it seem to scatter in slow motion, like a dream you can’t wake up from. You’re so stupid. You feel so stupid.

“I’m sorry— I'm so sorry,” you ramble, desperate to somehow undo the mess, your hands trembling at your sides. You want to sink into the floor, disappear, fade away. How could you be this careless?

But then Ford takes a step forward, and everything inside you freezes. His eyes are soft, so much softer than you expected, softer than anyone else’s gaze ever could be. He’s not angry, not even irritated. Instead, he’s. . . calm. “Hey, it’s alright,” he says, a chuckle escaping him, as though the whole situation is laughable, as though you’re not standing there, mortified in front of him. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve dealt with worse. Trust me.”

For one second, everything really seems to slow down as his words sinks into you like a balm. You believe him. It’s impossible to not. He’s seen everything and here you are, worrying over a broken mug.

“Im really sorry,” you stammer again, caught off guard by the softness in his tone, the tenderness in his gaze. What did you expect? That he’d scold you, dismiss you? But no. He’s calm, like this minor catastrophe is nothing. As if nothing could rattle him, as if you, standing there like a fool, didn’t matter at all.

Stanford laughs. “You know, after all I’ve been through, interdimensional beasts, curses, that damn triangle demon, a shattered mug would be nothing. So don’t apologize.” his eyes meet yours. “Im not made of glass. It takes more than a broken cup to rattle me.”

And then his voice lowers with that quiet authority. “Sit down,” he commands softly. “I’ll handle this. Don’t want you getting hurt.”

You can’t help it. His voice sounds so low, commanding, yet laced with something so tender it makes your skin tingle. The words come easy from his lips, but when they’re aimed at you, they tear through you. They make you feel like you’re something precious, something to be cared for, protected. But more than that, a part of you craves to be held by him, right now, right in this moment. To be pressed back into the cushions of the sofa, feeling the strength of his arms, making you feel like you’re the only one in his world.

You’re not just obeying his words, you’re aching to obey. 

That’s why without thinking, you sink into the soft cushions. And shit, there he is — bending down, his bare chest covered with scars still glistening from the rain, droplets make you ache. They fucking shimmer on his skin, taunting you, daring you to touch him, taste him, make him yours. Every inch of him is fucking perfect. God, how are you even supposed to think straight when he looks like that? Your body is screaming for him, for his touch, for everything. 

You try to look away. You can’t. His broad shoulders, his strong fucking arms, his hard chest. It’s too much. He’s a fucking masterpiece and all you want is for him to paint you in ways you can’t even process yet. Your body betrays you, again, that warmth spreading low in your belly, growing. You cross your legs, trying to hide the desperate need that’s already pooling between them. Fuck, how are you supposed to calm this down? It only gets worse.

He’s everything you’ve ever wanted and it’s all laid out in front of you, impossible to ignore. His every movement is so natural, so fucking sexy, it makes your pulse race. You just know he can make you feel things you didn’t even know your body was capable of.

You’re trying to calm yourself, really, you are. 

You cross and uncross your legs again, desperate to release some of the tension building between your thighs, but it only makes it worse. Fuck, why is this so hard? Every thought you have is consumed with him, with what he could do to you, what he should do to you. And the more you try to control it, the more your body betrays you.

You need to touch yourself, but you’re stuck, just waiting, consumed by the need for him.

And then, the thoughts take over completely.

You’re delusional to the point where you feel his hands on your legs, parting them, spreading you wide. You imagine him on his knees, lowering his head, his lips tracing the inside of your thighs, so fucking gentle, so goddamn slow, as he watches you with those eyes, sharp, hungry, possessive. And then, he presses his tongue to your clit, licks you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, making you whine for him.

You bite down on your lip, trying to hold it back, but it’s impossible. You need him. You want him between your legs, fucking you so deep you can’t think straight, making you beg for it. Fuck, what would he say? “That’s it, baby. . . just like that… good girl, taking what I give you. . .” the words seeping into your skin like a drug you can’t quit.

You bite down hard on your lip, desperate to keep quiet, but your body is louder than you’ll ever be. Fuck, your body’s soaking through, your pussy throbbing for his touch, and all you can do is stare at him, mesmerised. His body is a goddamn work of art, and you want to trace every inch of it, feel it on top of you, pushing inside you, taking you.

It’s so fucking embarrassing, but you can’t stop it. Your body’s so ready for him, for his hands, for his cock. You can almost taste him, can almost feel his cock sliding inside you, filling you so nice.

Fuck, any writer of erotic novels would envy your imagination. The thought of him getting rough with you, pushing you down into the cushions, fucking you into the sofa until you can’t think, can’t breathe. “You’re mine now, sweetheart. Mine to fuck whenever I want. You belong to me.”

The thought of him pounding into you, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer, makes you want to lose your mind. You just want to hear him growl your name as he fucks you like you’re the only thing that matters.

And you know you’ll let him. Let him claim you, take you apart, until you’re nothing but a mess of pleasure, a good girl begging for more.

“Hey,” Ford’s voice drags you back into reality, unwantedly. Your heart stutters in your chest as you blink, trying to focus on anything other than the way your body’s still burning, aching for him. He’s looking at you, brows furrowed, the concern on his face so fucking intense it almost makes you want to tell him everything you’re feeling, right here, right now. But you can’t. God, you can’t. Not when the way he looks at you like that.

“Are you alright? You don’t look too well.” his voice is full of worry, but there’s that edge of guilt creeping in as he mutters, “I really should’ve checked the forecast before dragging you out in this mess. . . feels like a bit of a fool for that.” his fingers are rubbing the back of his neck in that shy way he does, that little sign of guilt that makes your stomach clench in a way that’s too much to handle.

But it’s his fucking proximity that’s driving you wild. He’s so close now, standing there shirtless, looking like some goddamn wet dream come to life. You can’t focus on anything but his body, the way the rainwater trails down his skin, glistening so beautifully. Fucking fuck. 

“No, Ford, im absolutely okay, I swear—”

“Hold still,” Ford commands and that’s when you feel his hand so damn warm against your forehead, sending a shockwave of need straight through you. His touch is too fucking soft and yet it feels like it’s scorching you. Or maybe it’s just the fact that you’re so goddamn horny your body’s reacting to the smallest contact.

You try to calm yourself, try to act normal, but it’s too fucking hard. You force a weak smile. “I told you, I— I’m fine,” you answer, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. It’s all you can do to not let the truth slip. You want to scream it, how much you need him, how much you ache for him right now, but you don’t. Not yet. Never probably.

Ford’s brows knit tighter together and his eyes lock onto yours. He’s not fooled, not for a second. “You’re lying. Don’t try to brush it off. If you’re not feeling well, you need to tell me.”

The urge to confess everything is unbearable. You want to tell him you’re not sick, you’re just fucking drenched in need, that’s all! Aching for him to pull you into his arms, to kiss you until you can’t breathe. But instead, you do the only thing you can do: you force a nervous laugh, a weak attempt to play it off.

“No, I swear I’m fine! I could go on a thousand more anomaly hunts with you!” the words spill out with a little too much enthusiasm, a little too much frenzy and you pray to whatever god is listening that it’s enough to get him off your case.

Ford’s eyes narrow and he crosses his arms, still towering over you, still so close

Man, just step back or I'll pounce on you and eat you.

“Cold rain can do a lot more damage than you think. You could’ve caught something serious, and ignoring it won’t help. Do you have any idea how quickly a fever can develop if you’re already run down?”

Oh no, his voice shifts into that familiar, lecturing tone, the kind that makes you want to both roll your eyes and lean in closer to hear more. 

When he says something about cold exposure affecting the immune system, you should be paying attention. You try to focus on his words, but it’s hard when he’s standing there — half naked, with his chest on full display, his messy hair slightly wet from the rain. God, he's just so fucking handsome. The serious, worried look in his eyes makes you weak and you can’t help but sink a little deeper into the sofa.

Just as Ford’s lecture hits a peak, the door swings open with a loud bang and Stanley Pines strolls in, halting mid-step as his eyes zero in on the scene before him. Ford, half-naked, standing too close for comfort, and you, perched on the sofa with that nervous smile plastered across your face.

Stan’s grin stretches wide, clearly loving the situation as he leans casually against the doorway. His eyes flick between you and Ford, then he gives Ford an exaggerated once-over, raising an eyebrow at his lack of turtleneck. “Well, ain’t this cozy,” he drawls sarcastically, giving a smirk that only widens when he spots Ford’s obvious discomfort. “Ya know, Sixer, when I said ‘show the girl a good time,’ I didn’t mean literally strip down to do it.”

Ford’s eyes snap toward his brother, his mouth twitching in a way that’s almost a grimace. His posture straightens, arms crossing defensively as he glares at Stan. “Stanley, really? Must you always reduce everything to your level? She dropped a mug and I was helping her avoid a mess. You wouldn’t understand, but maybe try acting your age for once.”

“Hey, all I’m sayin’ is, if ya plan on gettin' cozy, maybe take it to a couch that ain’t mine.” Stanley’s gaze slides over to you, flashing a wink. “But if you’re lookin' for company, darlin’, I’m more than happy to—“

Before you can let the awkwardness spread more, you spring into the conversation, desperate to steer it somewhere less humiliating. “Stan, actually, Ford was just helping me to—” you force a friendly smile, trying to make light of the situation.

Stan laughs like he’s heard it all before. “Sure thing, toots. But between you and me. . . you’re doin’ a hell of a job of keepin’ my brother here on his toes. Haven’t seen him all riled up like this since. . . well, ever.” your heart thump so loudly in your chest, you’re sure everyone can hear it.

Ford’s jaw clenches so tight, you can practically hear his teeth grinding, but he doesn’t look away from Stan. The vein in his neck starts to twitch.God, it’s almost painful how much he wants to just end this conversation, end this moment, and pull you somewhere private, somewhere safe, where he can have you all to himself, but he doesn’t. “Stan, enough. We have an anomaly to inspect. Something I’d actually prefer not to delay any longer.”

Stan lets out a low whistle, clearly enjoying every second of Ford’s discomfort. “Yeah, yeah. Go on, Sixer, run off to your little projects. Just don’t forget there’s a real world out here, alright?” he gives you a quick nod, still smirking. “and you, don’t let him lock you in his lab too long, sweetheart.”

***

Grumpy Ford. The kind of irritated, scowling Ford you never realized you’d find so irresistibly enticing. That brooding frustration, that laser-sharp focus, you can’t help but imagine all that intensity turned on you, directed into every inch of your body.

God, if he just shoved you back onto that workbench right now, you’d let him. You wouldn’t care if his precious equipment went crashing to the floor, wouldn’t even flinch at the thought of papers and tools scattering everywhere. All you want is him, his body pinning you down, hands gripping you like you’re the anomaly he’s desperate to dissect, figure out, devour. 

Holy shit, you want him to push you up against that wall, pin you down until you’re writhing underneath him, his body grinding against yours, every bit of that frustration poured right into you.

Slick heat building between your thighs as you watch him, the way he moves around his lab, muttering in frustration as he punches numbers into some device, brows knitted in that fierce focus. And all you can do is want his hands on your hips, his mouth on your neck, his cock driving into you like you’re all he’s thinking about.

“The rain seems to have masked the anomaly’s energy signature. I suspect it might be due to ionization in the— are you even listening?”

His voice snaps you back, he’s tearing right through your flimsy attempts at focus with that intense gaze of his, as if seeing everything you’re thinking. You offer him a small, sheepish smile. “Of course I am! Gravity, paranormal. . . s-signatures, right?” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your eyes keep drifting over his body, your ache throbbing inside, thighs pressing together as he stands there, so close you could reach out, slip your fingers through the fabric of his clothes, feel the warmth of his skin.

Ford lets out a soft, exasperated sigh. “Honestly, you’re as distractible as Stan.” 

He turns away, but your eyes don’t leave him. Instead, you let your gaze slide over the room, until something catches your eye. A strange, helmet-like device bristling with wires and so, without thinking, you ask, “Hey, what’s that thing?”

Ford’s gaze follows yours, his expression changes as he considers whether to answer. “That’s a thought-reading device. Designed to access certain mental frequencies,” he explains, stepping closer to it and closer to you. “It can pick up surface thoughts. . . theoretically, anyway. I was working on it before I. . . uhm, it’s meant to strengthen and protect someone’s mental processes. Block out. . . certain entities from gaining access to their mind.”

A mind-protective device. Of course, he’d build something like that. It’s so him, his beautiful mix of intellect, caution, that underlying fear of what he’s seen, what he’s had to fight.

“So, it could let me peek into that brilliant mind of yours?” it’s a playful a tease, mostly. But inside you just ache to know, to wonder, to feel his thoughts. Would he think about you. even once, in the same filthy, breathless way you think about him?

Stanford grins. “In theory, yes, but it’s hardly necessary. My mind is. . . complex, too complicated for most people to understand."

And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, Ford lifts the machine, his grin is bigger. “Why don’t you try it on?”

Your heart slams against your chest and panic sears through you, cutting under your carefully held composure. Oh god. No. No, no, no. Every filthy thought, every desperate image of him, of those long, deft fingers tracing down your skin, of his mouth, his hands, of him pinning you down and splitting you open on his cock, of moaning his name until you can’t breathe. All of it, laid bare, displayed for him to see? 

You choke down the crazy urge to run, instead forcing yourself to laugh. “Why, Professor Pines, are you doubting my integrity?” you counter, flashing him a daring smirk, praying it’s enough to distract him from the heat that’s burning its way up your cheeks.

Ford chuckles in response. “Integrity?” he repeats, his tone mocking. “No. But curiosity? Oh, absolutely. I think it would be enlightening to see what actually goes on behind that amused little expression of yours.”

“There’s nothing interesting in my mind,” but your words barely sound convincing to you, let alone to him.

Ford tilts his head, arching his brow in that all-too-familiar, skeptical way that makes you want to simultaneously squirm and melt. “Oh really? You know, most people would be thrilled to test out new technology. But you. . . you’re avoiding it like it’s some kind of torture device.”

“Oh, yeah, you know,” a poor attempt at casual. “I just. . . don’t wanna risk, you know, brain cells or something.” you resist the urge to roll your eyes. God, please just buy it. . . 

Ford’s laughter rumbles and by the look on his face, you know he doesn’t quite believe you. But, mercifully, he lets it slide. “Alright, alright,” he relents. “I’ll spare you. This time.”

***

The rest of the evening is a haze of Ford’s intense meticulous rambling as you both sit tucked away in the quiet of his lab, soft lamp light casting warm shadows that stretch over the various gadgets, books, and uncharted maps sprawled out on every available surface, his domain, the world he’s always losing himself in.

He’s explaining again, his words so precise about the anomaly you saw earlier today. His voice rises with each detail, the way the rain altered it, how it vanished before either of you could even think to grab it. You should be focused, but his beautiful voice turns into a lullaby. Your eyelids grow heavy, your body sinking deeper into the chair. 

And Ford notices.

The way your head tilts too far, your eyes fluttering closed just a little too long. He’s not as lost in his thoughts as he likes to think. His gaze sharpens, flicking to you with that careful, assessing precision he’s always had. He sees that quiet exhaustion in the way your posture slumps, the way your breath catches unevenly as your body fights against the pull of sleep.

His voice softens. “You’re exhausted,” he murmurs. “Of course you are. . . It’s too late. Go, get some rest. This. . . all of this will still be here tomorrow.”

A sigh tries to escape your chest before you can stop it. You want to protest, to stay longer, to pass just little bit more time with him. But the way he looks at you makes the words die before they can leave your lips. There's something unspoken in his eyes, a quiet concern mixed with that stubborn, unyielding sense of responsibility.

You try to stifle a yawn, your hand reaches out, fingers brushing the fabric of his sleeve, as if the touch might change his mind. “Maybe. . . maybe just a bit longer?” however even your own voice sounds tired.

His answer is gentle but final. “No. You need to sleep. I’ll be here, as always.”

You don’t argue. When you step away, you catch one last glimpse of him, standing amidst the piles of notebooks, the soft light casting shadows along the lines of his face, catching the silver in his hair in a way that’s so painfully beautiful so you let yourself stay a little longer before you close the door.

***

The silence that reigns in the room after you leave feels like a huge, endless void that stretches to all corners of the laboratory and suffocates in its stillness. Ford exhales slowly, a sigh caught between frustration and something deeper he can’t quite name. His gaze lingers on the door, where you disappeared through just moments ago, soft sound of your footsteps still echoing in his mind. God, he’s such a fool, he thinks, fingers pressing to the bridge of his nose, rubbing at the ache that’s been building inside him ever since you spoke those soft words, just a little longer.

He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t ignore it. The way you leaned in, hanging onto his every word, as if he were something more than he really was, something beyond the man who hides behind his work, behind his mind. The weight of your trust presses on him and with it comes the unbearable pressure of knowing he doesn’t deserve it.

And God, he tries to keep himself restrained. He tells himself that this is madness, that you’re too young, that every second he spends watching you, wanting you, is a betrayal of everything he’s tried to build.

But you’re gone now and his lab feels emptier than ever. Even as he reaches for his journal, his thoughts are still tangled with you, with the way you looked at him, the way your sleepy eyes followed his every move, the way you seemed to hang on to every word, every breath he took. Did you even realise what you were doing to him?

And as he opens his journal, he knows there will be no more notes on anomalies tonight. No theories, nothing but the restless, fevered words he can never, ever say aloud. Ford knows that if these thoughts ever slipped past his lips, they’d destroy you. You’d never look at him the same again. And he can’t lose you. He couldn’t bear to watch that disgust fill your eyes, that revulsion as you saw him for what he truly is: a man with a heart full of shame, but aching for you all the same.

He writes with a fever, the words coming too quickly for him to even think them through. He’s confessing things he’ll never have the courage to say to you. The way you make him ache, how wrong it feels, how unnatural it is to want you this way. You’re so young, so vibrant, so full of life. How could someone like him, an old man, a man of logic and reason, ever think he could want someone like you?

And yet, it’s all he can think about. It’s all he does think about.

God help him, he wants you.

Stanford’s hand trembles as he writes fast.

“The way she seems to lean closer with every word I speak, as if I’m some kind of god to her. I can’t breathe when she’s near, but I can’t stand being away from her either.”

He’s sickened by it, disgusted by the way his hands ache for you, by how his thoughts run into places he can’t control. But even so, he thinks, I can’t stop. I can’t stop wanting you.

“If only she knew what I was dreaming about, how I want to erase all layers of distance between us. I want to melt into her, touch every inch of her skin, as if she was made to belong to me, only to me.“

Ford can’t let you know how deeply he feels, how far he’s fallen for someone like you, someone so out of reach, someone who might never look at him the way he looks at you. Because if he did, if he let those words slip from his lips it would ruin you. It would break you.

And he can’t do that.

Not to you.

So, he writes. He writes because it’s the only way he can make sense of the mess inside of him. The only way he can be close to you without breaking everything.

“God, if she knew, she'd never see me as anything but the perverted old man I am.”

“God help me. . . I want her breathless. I want her shaking, clinging to me as I bury myself inside her, feeling every inch of her wrap around me like she was made for this. I want her to be mine. The years between us be damned—”

One sentence, scribbled with shaking hands: “if she knew how much I want to make her come on my cock while explaining the fundamental laws of interdimensional, she’d never look at me same way again”

“I want her shaking, spent, marked by me, by the man twice her age who should know better but can’t help himself.”

“I picture teaching her how to harness interdimensional energy, but my mind twists it, images shifting until it’s my body pressed to hers, whispering “concentrate sweetheart,” while I trust into her from behind. Her breath would stutter as I correct her technique with my hands on her hips.”

“I shouldnt crave her, not with the years that separates us like an unyielding chasm. Yet when she laughs, carefree and obvious, I imagine making her cry my name, hands guiding her hips as I thrust inside up into her, showing her exactly what an older man can do. Showing her why age doesn’t matter when she’s trembling and breathless beneath me.”

“She's got no idea, does she? I want her bent over my desk, books and notes scattered beneath her, while I thrust into her like some animal in heat, filling her over and over until there's nothing left of her but soft, pleading sounds and the way her body pulls me back in with every move. I’d guide her, make her feel exactly what it means to be touched by a man who’s twice her age and twice as obsessed.”

Meanwhile, now, alone in your room, you’re haunted by the memory of your lovely scientist, pulsing between your legs, leaving a needy ache that’s impossible to ignore. Just thinking about him, the strong lines of his hands, those six fingers that could make you see stars. . . it all sends a jolt straight through your body and suddenly, you’re melting, undone, utterly helpless to this craving for him.

You let yourself fall back into your bed, eyes closed, his presence wrapping around you like a ghost you can’t shake off. You can’t even catch a steady breath now, the dampness pooling between your thighs, every inch of you begging to be touched — not by yourself, no. You need him, his skilled, explorative touch, those six clever fingers. The memory of every stolen glance, every careful brush of his hand, it all coils up inside, a slow, delicious torment, and now it’s throbbing there, heavy with need.

You drag your fingers down the length of your body, tracing where his hands might go as you imagine him, his fingers slipping lower, finding that sweet, drenched ache and grazing it with a delicate touch that he’d know so damn well. 'Fuck,' you’d gasp, his name like a prayer on your lips as his six fingers roam, rough and relentless, pressing right against that needy opening, filling you up until you’re nothing but breathless whimpers and cries for more.

“God, sweetheart,” you hear his voice, “I’ve wanted this for so damn long. Do you feel that? How hard you make me?” and then he’d press his cock between your legs, hot veins throbbing against your entrance, and you can feel his breath on your neck as he tells you what a beautiful mess you’ve become for him.

Your fingertips brush over your clit as you imagine his hand there, gentle but insistent, exploring you with that scientist's curiosity, his six fingers pressing slow, circling that sensitive bud, coaxing soft gasps from your lips. “Let me feel you. Take it slow, sweetheart. Let me make you mine.” but even as you touch yourself now, imagining his fingers in place of yours, it’s still not enough

You arch from own hand, fingers gliding through the wetness now slick and ready, you press a little harder on your clit, circling it faster, imagining the way his hands would dig into your skin, his strong arms wrapped around you as he thrusts into you, “take it all, darling. Every inch of me.”

And by some lucky chance, Ford stands outside your door, his pulse slamming hard against his ribs, a wreck of a man just clinging to sanity. The sound of you — all gasping, breathy moans slipping through the thin wood, whispering his name in that desperate little voice — he can’t help himself as his hand flies up to the doorframe, his fingers digging in so hard they’re going white, knuckles taut, trying to keep himself together. 

But the universe is laughing at him, at his pathetic attempt at control, at the sheer uselessness of his restraint, because fuck, every gasp you make sinks its teeth into him.

Something hot runs through him, then it sinks low, thickening in his chest, then spreads down between his legs. His cock twitches, rock-hard and aching, straining against the fabric, pressing hard, begging for the attention he keeps denying it. He shouldn’t be here — hell, he should be miles away by now, somewhere that isn’t two inches from falling apart at the sound of you! But he’s not. He’s a goddamn mess, held hostage to the way you’re sighing his name.

“Fuck, sweetheart. . .” he’s going insane out here.

Ford knows how you look right now, imagined it thousands of times, laid out on your bed with those soft thighs parted, hands trailing down, fingertips grazing over warm, damp skin, teasing yourself open, getting yourself wet just for him. Fuck, he thinks, I shouldn’t be this fucking desperate.

Ford lets his hand slip down, pressing hard against the hardness straining in his trousers, feeling himself throb against his own palm. There’s no relief, just that painful, growing ache that has him grinding his teeth, biting back the low, broken sound that wants to rip free from his throat. He’s a man undone, ruined just by the thought of you, the image of you with your legs open, your body calling out for him like he’s the only one you need.

“Jesus, fuck. . .” his free hand reaches down, trembling as he slides it beneath his waistband, wrapping around the throbbing heat of his cock, feeling himself swell, hard and pulsing against his palm. It’s wrong, so wrong to be here, touching himself to the sound of your little whimpers, but fuck if he can stop.

The sounds coming from your room grow louder and it’s too much for him. He’s already so fucking close as he imagines himself on top of you, sinking inside you, feeling your cunt wrapped tight and hot around him, your body arching, your hands clawing at his back, those delicate fingers pulling him close, begging him not to stop. 

Ford’s back collides with the lab door as he stumbles in, chest heaving, adrenaline of hearing his name on your lips. He locks the door behind him.

Fumbling hands tug at his belt, fingers clumsy, impatient, tearing at the fabric as it’s the only thing standing between him and relief. Finally, the belt slides free, and he wraps a shaky hand around his cock, swallowing down a low hiss as the raw heat of his own skin meets his grip. 

He strokes himself roughly and desperately, letting his thumb graze the sensitive tip with a ragged groan that he’s helpless to contain. His mind runs further, and he pictures you, perfect and pliant, sinking to your knees before him with eyes so innocent, with lips parting as you take him into your mouth. As you let him fuck your throat.

A shiver runs through him and he leans his head back, sighing, groaning and grunting louder as he loses himself in the fantasy. God, if you only knew. If you could see him like that, a desperate moaning and trembling mess with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock. 

“Ahh— ffuck,” hell, just how much he wants to hear you make those sounds too, moan for him, he wants to feel you beneath him, warm and soft, clinging to him, legs tangled around his waist as he sinks into you. His strokes become faster. Ford imagines pressing you down onto the lab table, your dripping pussy welcoming him as he thrusts deeper, deeper, deeper, deeper until there’s no part of you he hasn’t claimed. His breath hitches, hips bucking into his hand as he imagines the way your walls would tighten around him, clenching, pulling him in. 

He’s shaking now, barely able to hold himself together, his free hand clutches at the edge of the workbench, knuckles white, as he lets himself sink fully into the fantasy. You’d look so damn perfect spread out for him. Ford’s hand moves faster, tighter, fueled by the image of you writhing beneath him, helpless, pleading, so sweet and open, absolutely his, his beautiful girl, sweetest thing. 

The pressure building until he can’t take it anymore. His hips jerk, a loud needy moan spilling from his lips as he cums, his body shuddering with release. For a few long, breathless seconds, everything fades: his mind, his shame, everything but the overwhelming, blinding wave of pleasure.

***

The morning breaks, a new day arriving, one that promises to be spent with Ford close by— and, isn’t that something to look forward to?

When you meet Stanford, the first thing you hear is, “Did you not learn anything from last time?“

You bite your lip to keep from laughing, but before you can protest, Ford is stepping closer, his coat swishing around him as he moves. The wool of his scarf unravels with practiced ease, and in a smooth motion, it’s over your shoulders, the warmth of it spreads around your neck. You want to say something, but all you can focus on is the way Ford’s thumb traces the edge of the scarf, his touch so delicate it feels too intimate for something so simple.

This shouldn’t feel like it does, you think, but your body screaming what your mind refuses to admit.

“There,” Ford says, stepping back. “You’ll thank me later.”

“I thought you checked the forecast this time,” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t today supposed to be sunny?”

Ford crosses his arms with a smile. “Yes, well. . . One can never be too cautious. After all, last time—“

“—last time, I nearly froze my ass off,” you finish, the laughter bubbling up between you and Ford shoots you a look that’s equal parts exasperated and fond, like he’s about to scold you but can’t help himself.

“I wasn’t going to put it quite so crudely,” he says, but that reluctant chuckle escapes him before he can hide it.

When the sun climbs higher, the forest around you changes in hues of gold, the leaves thinning just enough to let the light filter through in soft rays. You walk side by side, close enough to hear the rhythmic crunch of your footsteps in the fallen leaves and Ford’s murmured observations, but it’s all you can do not to lose yourself in him. His words float past, about terrain, weather, anomalies and predictions, but your mind doesn’t follow, not when your eyes keep straying to him.

You can’t help but wonder if there’s any room left for you in his head, if he ever thinks about anything other than those damned anomalies. A piece of you wants to shake him, to pull him from his thoughts, to remind him that life is more than equations and mathematics. But, god, there’s something so cute about him when he’s like this, so fully consumed by his world, and you can’t look away.

“You’re thinking about something,” Stanford starts, pulling you out of your trance. “Is it the anomaly, or. . .?”

“Just wondering what it is we’re actually tracking. I mean, last time it disappeared before we could even get a good look, so. . . what’s the plan if it shows up again?”

Ford’s face lights up with approval at your question. “It’s an elusive creature, no doubt,” and again, his voice slips into that familiar lecture tone, one you’ve learned to love despite yourself. “But this time, I have a better understanding of its behaviour. The rain threw it off last time, but if my theory is correct, today’s dry weather should keep it on course! And if we can corner it near the ravine, there’s a chance we might get a clear reading on its—”

“Ford,” you interrupt, he stops talking, his brow lifting slightly. “I mean, yes— corner it near the ravine,” you repeat. Wait, what did you just say? 

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Ford asks, smiling at you. “If you’re still tired from yesterday, I can handle this on my own.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, crossing your arms as you look at him defiantly. "Oh, please. I said I could do this a thousand times over with you and still keep up,” you challenge.

He laughs again and his laughter is so damn cute. “That, I don’t doubt.”

Time pass and as you walk beside Ford, your mind drifts, you're not really thinking about the anomaly or the hunt anymore. No, your thoughts are elsewhere. Again. Somewhere they shouldn’t be, but there they are. You can’t help but notice the way the sun highlights the strands of silver in Ford's hair, the curve of his shoulders as he walks, his posture so effortlessly confident and strong. And you think about how much you liked the way his body looked in the rain yesterday, when the wetness clung to his clothes and made every line stand out even more. 

You sigh inwardly, watching him from the corner of your eye. The weather, as perfect as it is, only makes you feel a bit wistful. Why did it have to be sunny today? You had been hoping for more rain. The kind of rain that soaked him through and made his clothes cling to his skin, the droplets tracing the curves of his chest. That was a sight you’d never forget. But today sun is too bright, too cheerful.

The soft breeze brushes your hair against your face, and you snap out of your thoughts just as you see the clearing ahead. Ford slows his pace, his gaze scanning the area with his usual calculated precision. And just as yesterday, air here feels different, as if charged. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, the unease settling in. This is it, the spot where the anomaly was last seen. But, of course, there's nothing. The clearing is quiet, calm, completely empty.

Ford steps forward, looking around with a frown, muttering something under his breath. You stand there for a moment, waiting, listening to the wind rustle through the branches and the distant call of a bird. But there's nothing. 

“Where is it?” you ask and Ford turns to you, his expression calm but with that familiar hint of worry in his eyes, the kind that usually only surfaces when he’s feeling frustrated. 

“Don’t worry,” he says, though his voice sounds more like he’s trying to reassure himself than you. He straightens up, adjusting his glasses. “The anomaly will show itself. We’ve got all day to catch it.” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

All day with Ford? 

Your heart skips a beat and you have to fight to keep your expression neutral. What could be better than spending the entire day with him, just the two of you in this quiet, secluded place? No distractions, just you and Ford, and the anomaly that might never show up.

It takes a little more time while you and Ford are waiting for the anomaly to appear and so, a dialogue ensues.

“I’ve seen some more strange things. In all my years of research, there have been anomalies of all shapes and sizes. Creatures from dimensions we can’t even begin to understand. Some are harmless, just curious things that wander around, never meaning to cause harm. Others. . . Others are far more dangerous. I've seen creatures that could tear through steel without breaking a sweat. Their behavior is— well, unpredictable.”

“What about the really dangerous ones?”

“There's one anomaly, one creature that I’ve encountered that still haunts me, to this day.” he looks away for a moment, as if weighing the decision to tell you more. “a beast unlike any other. Its skin is like iron, nearly impenetrable. And its mind is relentless. It doesn’t think like us. It doesn’t have the ability to reason, only the ability to kill and survive.”

Wow, you already can see it in your mind — a massive, hulking creature, covered in jagged, metallic plates, its eyes wild with an animalistic hunger.

“And you’ve seen it?”

Ford nods slowly. “Yes, once. And it wasn’t an experience I care to repeat.” and then he calls you by your name. “Listen, if we encounter anything dangerous, you stay behind me. Don’t try to be a hero, don’t try to ‘help out.’ I’ve trained for this. I know these creatures; I know their instincts and behaviours. You. . . you don’t. It’s crucial that you follow my lead.”

“I’m not helpless, you know,” you mumble, folding your arms. “I can handle myself.”

But Ford only smirks, oh how cute you are. “And if you ever find yourself lost between dimensions, the key is to stay calm. Panicking is a surefire way to make yourself vulnerable. Reality in those places doesn’t play by the same rules. Your mind can trick you, distort what you’re seeing” 

You stare at him, a mixture of awe and confusion washing over you. “Well, thanks, Ford, for the guide on how to travel through dimensions and fight the monsters that live in them.”

“Years of experience. Sometimes the hard way. But you don’t need to worry about that, alright? Just stick close, keep your wits about you, and we’ll make it out just fine.” he smiles.

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter, your gaze dropping to the forest floor. “You’re. . . you’re Stanford Pines. You’re used to dealing with this kind of thing. Me? I’d probably end up wandering off into some other dimension if I so much as blink wrong.”

He chuckles softly, and you feel his hand gently rest on your shoulder. “That’s why I’m here. To make sure you don’t.”

You open your mouth to respond, but then— crack. A twig snaps somewhere in the trees to your left. The sound is sharp, distinct, echoing through the quiet forest.

Your heart skips a beat and you instinctively grip Ford’s arm, eyes widening. He tenses, immediately going on alert as his gaze darts toward the source of the noise. “Stay behind me.”

You swallow, nodding as you press yourself close to him. Ford moves slowly, keeping himself between you and the sound, his shoulders squared, every muscle tense and ready.

Another rustle, this time from the other side. You bite your lip, feeling the cold prickling sensation of fear clawing up your spine. This doesn’t sound like a bunny, not in the slightest.

The sounds grow louder, surrounding you both. Ford’s posture tightens, his gaze focused and determined, while you hover close behind him, whatever lurks in the shadows isn’t friendly, and Ford, as always, stands ready to protect you at any cost.

Suddenly, Ford raises a hand, signaling for you to stay still. One. . . two. . . three—

A small, furry creature darts out of the bushes, a pudgy raccoon, more plump and inquisitive than fearsome. It scampers out, blinking innocently at you both and you feel sigh with a relief.

You slip out from behind Ford, who’s still standing rigidly, eyeing the raccoon with disbelief. “Well, would you look at that,” you say, glancing up at him with a slight grin. “Our terrifying forest intruder was just looking for a snack, huh?”

“Don’t get too close,” Stanford warns, still frowning. “These things are rarely alone.”

You laugh softly, crouching down and letting the raccoon sniff at your hand. “Oh, come on, Ford. You really think this little guy is hiding—”

The words die in your throat as you catch the look on his face, his eyes wide with sudden horror, mouth open as he shouts, “behind you!” and you whip around just in time to see something that makes your heart freeze, a hulking mass with matted fur and claws like daggers, looming in the shadows. Its eyes flash like yellow lanterns and a rank smell hits you, earthy and rotten all at once. You barely manage a step back before it lets out a furious roar, its maw wide enough to fit a head and then some. The sound is so loud it rattles through you and a splatter of spit flies from its jaws, landing on your clothes. You go stock-still.

“Th-that’s. . .” you stammer, but Ford’s voice interrupts you, calm and steady despite the chaos.

“Stay calm. It’s eyesight’s weak, but sound-sensitive. Just— slowly step back.”

You barely have time to take in his words before the beast’s head snaps toward you again, snarling with an intensity that shakes the trees. Immediately, Ford pulls out his gun, aiming directly at the creature, he fires off a round that echoes through the forest, hitting the beast and it lets out a howl of pain that sends birds scattering from the treetops. But it’s still very much alive, and now it looks angry, furiously angry. The monster's gaze is fixed on Ford with a vengeful glare, and he rushes towards him with a blood-curdling growl.

Ford stands firm, taking careful aim as he readies to fire again. But just as he steadies his grip, a branch underfoot shifts, making him stumble. The gun slips from his hand, landing somewhere in the tangle of roots and leaves and suddenly, he’s weaponless, the monster mere feet away.

Panic flares in your chest as you see the creature, claws poised, ready to strike. Ford scrambles back, but it’s too close, and something snaps inside you. Without thinking, you dart forward, adrenaline flooding through you and you grab a thick branch from the ground. With a yell that’s as much out of fear as it is determination, you swing it at the creature with everything you have, landing a blow that momentarily distracts it from Ford.

But that monster retaliates, slashing out in a blind fury and suddenly you feel the sting of claws raking across your leg. Pain flares sharp and hot, but you grit your teeth, ignoring it, keeping yourself steady enough to stay upright.

Ford seizes the moment, his eyes flashing with a mix of fury and fear as he snatches his gun from the ground, turning back to the creature. His voice is hoarse but resolute, “what are you doing?” he shouts irritably, calling your name again. “I told you to listen to me!”

With a final, controlled shot, he fires, the bullet hitting its mark. The monster lets out an agonized cry, staggering back before it turns and lumbers off into the dense woods, its snarl fading into the distance.

The adrenaline ebbs, leaving you and Ford alone in the sudden silence. His gaze finds yours, mad and worried all at once, his hand reaching out to steady you as your breathing finally starts to slow.

Ford’s face twists with frustration, jaw clenched tight and when he speaks, his voice is seething with barely controlled anger. “What the hell were you thinking?” he snaps. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed, charging in like that! I told you to stay back!”

You swallow, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks, not out of embarrassment or fear, but because, god, he’s hot when he’s angry, with that fire in his eyes and his tone like a damn storm. You force yourself to stay upright, despite the dull ache pulsing in your leg. “Ford, it’s fine. I just wanted to—”

But he’s already looking at you, really looking, his gaze flicking from your face to the way you’re leaning on your uninjured leg. “You’re hurt,” his tone dips from anger to something softer and worried. “Damn it, I should’ve never brought you out here. I’m such an idiot—“

“No, Ford, it’s just a little—” you try to brush him off, waving your hand dismissively, but as you shift your weight, a sharp bolt of pain shoots through your leg. You bite back a wince, forcing a smile. “Just a scratch, really.”

“Don’t even think about hiding this from me,” Ford turns annoyed and dead serious again, he steps closer as he assesses you, and there’s something really fierce in the way he insists, “Let me take a look. Now.”

For a moment, you think about arguing. But the pain flares again and you realise there's no winning against that look in his eyes. With a sigh, you give in, nodding reluctantly as you show him your new wound, from where the blood has already soaked into the fabric, turning it dark red.

Ford’s face changes instantly. “Damn it,” his hand hovers uncertainly like he wants to reach out, to touch, but doesn’t quite know where to begin. “This is— this isn’t just a scratch.”

His fingers finally settle gently around your calf, supporting you, his touch unexpectedly gentle as he examines the wound. You can feel his pulse under his fingertips, it’s obvious he’s anxious, and for a second, he doesn’t look like the Ford who always has the answers.

“This was my fault, I shouldn’t have— damn it, I should’ve kept you safe.”

***

The journey back to the shack feels agonizingly silent. Ford has one arm around your waist, nearly carrying you as you limp along, every step makes the wound throb in your leg. The sting, the ache, it’s all mingling with a sick sense of regret. You feel it settling in your chest. The whole day had been a disaster. You both went out to catch that anomaly, that one lead he was so excited about. . . and instead, you ended up facing something brutal. The monster had nearly killed you both.

Ford hasn’t spoken a word since the forest and with each passing second, it gnaws at you more. The thought appears in your mind, he must regret it. Bringing you along, letting you be there, yeah. . . he’s mad and not in the way you find hot. He’s distant, still supporting you, guiding you with a firm hand, but it’s as though he’s somewhere else entirely.

When you finally make it to the Shack, you find it blessedly empty. No Stan’s loud jokes or questions to break the heavy silence between you. Ford helps you to walk, still wordless and the whole way, you’re trying to find something to say. Some excuse, some apology, but every time you look over at him, you just see that grim look and you stop yourself.

Inside, he lets you sit on the couch. You clear your throat, forcing yourself to speak, to try to lift that heavy cloud around you. “Ford, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for things to go that way. I didn’t mean to—”

But Ford cuts you off. “No, don’t apologize. It’s my fault. I should never have let you come along, I put you in danger.”

That serious tone. . . You nod, saying nothing more and after a beat of silence, you get up slowly, mumbling something about heading to your room. Ford doesn’t stop you, and he watches you go, still worried as fuck, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s rooted there, expression tight as he watches you limp down the hall.

When you get to your room, you close the door softly behind you, but the pain in your leg has started pulsing heavier, sharper, demanding your attention. You look down and finally decide, you’re going to check it, even if just to prove to yourself that Ford’s look wasn’t warranted, that maybe you’re not as bad as he seemed to think.

You settle on the edge of your bed, carefully and slowly taking your pants off, but as you pull the fabric, the sight that greets you isn’t reassuring in the slightest. The cut on your thigh is deep, seeping a fresh, dark line of blood that’s begun to smear against your skin. “Fuck. . .” you curse, tilting your head to get a better look, your fingers hovering over the edges of the wound. Just as you’re mentally preparing to find the first aid kit, a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

“No, please, just— let me help still. I won’t be calm until I—”

In the midst of your concentration, you hear the faintest creak of the door, and before you can even react, it opens. 

You barely have a moment to react, still sitting on the edge of your bed, the bloody gash on full display as Ford steps inside, eyes widening as he looks at you. He freezes and for a moment, you both just stare at each other in silence. You’re sitting there in your panties and a t-shirt, and you don’t know if to be happy or not, realising how exposed you must look. Ford’s gaze flickers to your bare legs, to the wound on your inner thigh.

You cross your legs in shock and embarrassment. “Ford, what—” you start, but he quickly raises a hand, cutting you off.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to—“ Ford approaches, he kneels beside the bed, looking up into your eyes. “I— I can’t just leave you like this,” he pleads. “Please. . . let me help.”

“Ford—“

Ford’s hands hover over your leg. “You need to stop the bleeding, disinfect it, make sure it doesn’t get infected. It’s going to hurt, but, I can help. I’ll be gentle. Just let me. . . please.”

His eyes search yours, a quiet desperation in them that seems to say more than just his words ever could. Ford may be brilliant when it comes to the unknown, but in moments like this, when it’s you that’s hurt, he’s lost, even if he tries to sounds smart. He doesn’t want to mess this up, doesn’t want to fail you.

Slowly, you nod, the vulnerability in his gaze too much for you to ignore.

“Alright,” you whisper. “but be careful, okay?”

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

Offering an NPD perspective on Ford Pines, because I feel the most common discussions surrounding his narcissistic traits tends to go in two ways — from what I’ve personally seen — and that’s defending him, and denying the mere possibility he may have NPD because it’s seen as a negative, or using NPD as a way to villainise him, and thus demonise NPD. Or, the alternative, this part of his character is completely overlooked.

That isn’t to say I haven’t seen some wonderful analyses on Ford and NPD, rather, I find it surprisingly lacking when his character might be some of the best representation of my own experience struggling with narcissism (alongside Bill).

I believe a lot of it stems from the misconception and stigma around NPD, and the fact Ford goes again common, typically incorrect, ideas, such as showing genuine care for other people, and accepting his failures and where he went wrong in the end, trying to repair his relationship with Stan, and realising that he doesn’t need to be recognised worldwide, as he’s found happiness with his family instead. All of these do not correlate with the media idea of a narcissist, but the fact is, narcissists are no different from any other disorder or mental health issue. We come in all different forms, and the idea we are inherently abusive or evil is such a widespread misconception that it becomes difficult getting help or support.

And that’s why I find Ford so important.

This alone, to me, describes in simple words how it feels to deal with NPD, and though you could argue Bill is projecting here, I think the point is they’re so similar, the lines blur. Both struggle with this same mentality, but Ford is able to reach out, and accept help, and Bill lets himself sink deeper and deeper into his own lies. Also, I’d argue it isn’t Bill projecting, because we sees evidence of this behaviour in Ford in the show and the journal.

He’s someone who believes himself destined for greatness, and won’t accept the bare minimum, such as when Fiddleford suggests he publish his research as is — No, he can’t have that. He has to be the one to uncover this grand theory. He has to have his name cemented amongst the greats. He believes himself to be special, different and more capable than other people, and yet he longs for the company of others all the same. He lives off of validation and praise, and strives for it, his own ego clashing against his lack of self-worth. Bill’s manipulations work on him because Ford eats up this sort of validation — it’s like one big high. It’s confirmation he is special. He is meant for greater things. He was right.

Ford notably struggles with empathy, which is likely both related to his autism, and also his narcissism. Other people simply don’t make sense to him. It takes effort for him to be able to understand people where they’re at, and he is willing to put in that effort notably, taking note of Fiddleford’s habits for example.

He also does struggle with manipulation and being deeply self-centred. A great example being Dipper’s apprenticeship. Ford is very subtly manipulating the situation here, and he doesn’t even notice, which is, in my own experience, common with NPD. He’s also unable to see Dipper and Mabel as, well, Dipper and Mabel, rather putting his own issues with Stan onto them, especially Dipper. He sees Dipper as a younger version of himself, and is trying to point him in that direction, never thinking whether it’s actually right for Dipper, or whether it’s for himself.

I could probably go on, like how he tends to have a black and white view of people, with his opinions on them easily flicking between extremes as a method of coping, or how he panics at the idea of his life’s work being destroyed, despite knowing the dangers.

Whether you agree he has NPD or not, Ford definitely has a lot of narcissistic traits, and yet, despite that, despite every mistake he’s made, everyone he’s pushed away, he gets a second chance. He gets to be loved and understood. He finds happiness. He gets to recover.

It’s very rare that characters with so many narcissistic traits get endings like that!

Ford is not a bad person because he’s a narcissist, he’s just a person, one who’s fucked up, and who’s still learning, and still healing, and that’s why he works. That’s why he’s such a comfort.

On a final note, If you are someone who’s going to argue vehemently against this idea, I kindly ask you simply scroll by!

[oatmealdaydreams]

Random Headcanons No One Asked For :)

I have many Thoughts.

Ford speaks many alien languages from his time dimension-hopping and will forget human words sometimes. so he uses the alien word for things and no one knows wtf he's talking about

Stan being on the road for 10 years & Ford dimension-hopping for about 30 years has parallels that I can't articulate right now

Stan gives Mabel boxing lessons after she uses her Mabel Power on him (aka: puppy-dog eyes)

Mabel & Ford share a love for scrapbooking/journaling, so Mabel gives him some tips about better glue and the use of fun stickers

Dipper and Stan play card games together, including poker and slap jack

Family Game Night is one of the most chaotic nights of the week and Monopoly was banned after "The Incident"

Ford is allergic to strawberries and fucking hates bananas (because I say so)

While sailing together on the Stan O' War II, Ford and Stan find out about each other's scars and where they're from. Protective Sibling Bonding ensues.

Stan makes an off-hand comment about an attractive guy and that's how he comes out to Ford

All four Pines have different mental struggles after Weirdmageddon & the whole Bill Cipher situations, so they try their best to be there for each other because they understand a bit better than anyone else

Sometimes Ford & Dipper get really horrifying nightmares relating to Bill-Possession and stay up talking in the middle of the night

Ford still struggles with paranoia and paranoid episodes (as does Dipper, depending) but he's growing and learning how to trust again & always has his family to support him

Stan likes to visit the Mystery Shack sometimes to check in on Soos and Wendy

Ford and Fiddleford work on rebuilding their friendship, sharing sea adventure stories and how life is living with Tate

Fiddleford and Tate work on rebuilding their father/son bond, which often includes fishing together at the lake

Ford, now in his 60s, discovers he's asexual and has this moment of peaceful realization. helps him feel more like himself as he recovers from everything he's been through with Bill

Stan sometimes worries that a piece of Bill is leftover in his mind, but is often reassured by his family that Bill is truly gone and can't hurt them anymore

Stan struggles through memory relapses and amnesia episodes, but Ford & family are always there to help him through it (the memories always come back in the end)

Stan and Ford finally catch up with Shermie after so long of no seeing him & it's an emotional reunion (and a bit of a surprise to Shermie to see both of his younger brothers alive)

at some point during highschool, Dipper has an "oh shit" moment when they realize they like using they/them pronouns

And many more things! This is long enough, lmao.