#about him terrorizing ford

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

'this doesn't end with you. i walk around and i think if people only knew- that i wish they were cursed, that i wish them the worst, i really wish 'em the worst...but i'm doing my best. and i hope you forgive me, now that i've confessed, cause i'm tryin' to resist, my heart becoming a fist...forever. because you can't, you can't, you can't stop a bullet. i'm giving you my trigger but you better never pull it'

stop a bullet by black light burns

[beetlbi]

Gravity falls httyd au, is that anything? Transcript under the cut, more thoughts in the tags

Texts says “red” “very protective of Stan, messes with him a lot” “doing much better than in canon bc he isn’t alone + has someone to take care of”

[ckret2]

Now that its officially Thursday there's only one more day til Friday, the best day of the week, when I get to find out what new fun things Bill is gonna get put through >:]

I like how you say "put through." He has no choice in the matter. Things just happen TO him. That's gonna be extra true for the next few chapters.

And you know what else Thursday means!

Time for me to try to figure out wtf this week's illustration's gonna be.

[tazmiilly]

I've always found the end of Journal 3 a bit strange, but one of the specific things is ford throwing his journals into the bottomless pit. It's kinda cool as a concept, but it really doesn't make a whole lot of sense.

The bottomless pit basically makes it so the fate is unknown of whatever goes in. it could come back, it could end up somewhere else, or it could continue falling for eternity.

ford has attempted to hide his journals before, but they were all found. Gideon even dug up the 2nd one and used it to terrorize the town and even ford's own family.

so I don't think ford would be blind to these outcomes, its happened before why wouldn't it happen again? I think the thought of the journals falling through the pit and wounding up in the hands of someone more powerful than an 8 year old would be enough to keep him up at night. the forever uncertainty would kill him.

then I think, well maybe he would burn them with everything else?

however, I think it's important to remember how much these journals meant to him. despite the memories they carry now, they were once his sole confidant in six years of solitude.

even if ford felt any sort of connection to them now, he probably felt like he had to get rid of them.

he probably felt that his work was a burden to those he cared about. that he would have to make the sacrifice to part with them.

I think it would be a great dilemma for him. So I believe he gave them to someone. I think a lot of people would assume it would be Dipper, but to me what it comes down to is that it would have to be someone ford could fully trust.

it would be someone who could see the value in his work despite his mistakes. someone who could fully understand where his passion came from at the very start.

so i believe he gave them to fiddleford

I think fiddleford has had an interest in Ford's old journals ever since his memory started to recover. he remembers something new each time he reads them. fiddleford would be able to keep them safe, keeping ford's mind at ease knowing someone was keeping an eye on them.

and I think that would be enough for him

[mycartoonmonster]

With the context of the Book of Bill and the characterisation of Bill, I ended up finding that all the members of the Zodiac have a thing or two in common with Bill Cipher.

Six fingered hand-Stanford Pines

-Both have a genetic mutation which they got ostracized for but made them interested in the worlds beyond.

- Both are egocentric and smart.

-Both have a thirst for revenge to prove the people around them they were wrong about them.

-Both didn't mean to endanger their dimension (Ford wanted knowledge and Bill wanted to show them the stars)

-Animals aren't safe around them (Ford set a bird on fire by mistaking it as a Phoenix and Bill ripped out a deer's teeth in his debut and in the storyboards of Weirdmageddon P1 he uses a deer to forcibly kiss Ford's statue as if they were his Barbie and Ken)

-Both have a weird sense of humor

-Both are considered criminals in the multiverse (Theft in Ford's case and Manslaughther, Murder alongside other stuff like mass property destruction in Bill's case)

-Both project onto others they see as similar to themselves (Bill with Ford-and on a minor scale Pacifica-and Ford with Dipper)

-Both ended up getting tricked by a conman (Ford by Bill and Bill by Stanley)

-Both are authors! (The Journals and the Book Of Bill, which are essentially diaries that talked about what their lives were, a bit about themselves and the creatures they found through their life)

Crescent symbol/Fish-Stanley Pines

-Both are scammers

-Both share mannerisms, one of them being referring to Ford as Sixer(which led to people theorizing Stan was Bill's reincarnation)

-Bad relationship with their parents but seem closer with their mom (Bill's parents tried to make him blind to the 3rd dimension but it seems Bill genuinely loved his mama Scalene while Fildbrick didn't value Stan as much as Ford and Caryn was the only one worried about Stanley and was one of the 2 persons that assisted his fake funeral)

-Both were seen as a bad kid growing up (Bill by the people on his dimension due to his mutation and the habilities this granted him while Stan was seen as lesser than Ford due to the latter's gigantic IQ and his rebellious nature)

-Both made one mistake that heavily affected the course of their lives and can never return home because of it (Stan ruining Ford´s project and Bill setting his home ablaze)

-Both didn't mean to push Ford away from them nor put their families in any danger initially(Bill wanted Ford to continue with the portal and got sad after their fallout and Stan did what he did in a moment where he wasnt thinking rationally and it cost him 30 years of loneliness and guilt)

-Both went to jail on different occassions (Stan on Colombia and Bill after going on a rampage in the bar while drunk after the fallout with Ford and the Theraprism if you wanna add it)

-Both tend show only 1 eye to people as well as a cane (Bill only has 1-although he can shapeshift and have multiples as seen in his demon form- and he uses the cane mostly in Dreamscappers, a bit in Sock Opera and in the intro for Weirdmageddon while Stan uses a patch and an 8 ball cane for tourists during his mystery man persona)

-Both used their art to influence people (Stan with the Mystery Shack's attractions and Bill using animation and figurines which failed, unlike Stan's works, unless you count the Lil' Stanley comic)

-Both have used a red demon costume once (Bill in the book and Stan in a picture in Gideon Rises)

-Both wanted to set the journals on fire (with Bill actually doing it in Weirdmageddon Part 1)

-They find Dipper's disstress/fear and annoyance hilarious (Stan teasing him vs Bill terrorizing him)

Glasses-Fiddleford McGucket

-Both end up going insane after a traumatic event (The destruction of his home dimension in Bill's case and McGucket taking a peek into Bill eating his own exoskeleton after crossing the portal)

-The times they helped/aided people it ended bad for them (In McGucket's case, Dipper with his new voice and the Gideon Bot that ended up getting destroyed in the scuffle with Dipper and in Bill's case; Dipper became Bill's puppet and Gideon didn't get the Shack's signature hence he had to use dynamite as a plan B and Weirdmaggedon only lasted 4-5 days for the Henchmaniacs while in McGuckets case's Shacktron didn't survive against Bill as they didn't consider protecting the arms and legs the same way that the Shack was protected)

-Both played a part in the creation of secret societies (Fiddleford by creating The Societyvof the Blind Eye and Bill by the Ciphertologists and inderectly creating the Anti-Bill Cipher society by terrorizing 4 persons)

-Underneath all that insanity and very deep in that broken mind, there is one very smart broken guy.

-Both lost their families (At least Fiddleford could reconciliate with some of it but Bill doesn´t have the same chance anymore)

Bag of ice-Wendy Courdory

-Both are rebellious and dislike authority figures.

-They like to do what they want with no regard for rules

-Both abused their power on more than one occasion (Wendy by stealing snacks and throwing water balloons at the elderly when working at the pool and Bill throughout his deals and in Weirdmageddon)

-They've had guts to face powerfull creatures (Bill the Time Baby and Wendy stuff like the ShapeShifter, the Unicorns or the Eye Bats in Weirdmageddon)

-Both lost a mom when they were young.

Questioning Mark-Soos Ramírez

-Both are smarter than what they look like upon first sight.

-Both lack a dad (Bill's died while Soos's left him)

-They have a funny side to them (Bill more leaning to sadism though)

-Both had their eyes damaged by Mabel (Soos by getting attacked with glitter in Stan Is Not What He Seems and Bill by getting sprayed with graffiti paint in Weirdmageddon Part 3)

Stiched heart-Robbie Valentino

-Both had their relationships ruined by their own arrogance, negligence and dishonesty (Bill being an abusive partner while Robbie was immature).

-They did not take the fallout with their partner well (at least Robbie would never dare to do anything similar to what Bill did)

-They tried to pursue their partner after the break up but to no avail (Bill with threaths and later on with offers of power and Robbie by using music as seen in Gideon Rises and both actually using messanges-Bill wasting Ford's Post-it notes and Robbie sad emails and texts to Wendy)

-Both are good with music (Bill can play the piano and xylophone as seen in his apology video and Robbie can play the guitar and both can sing)

-Both insulted Soos or referred to him in condescending ways (Robbie called him Big Dude and Bill adressed him as "the fat one")

-Both had beef with a 12 year old and wanted to harm them (Robbie wanted to fist fight a child aka Dipper and Bill planned to commit suicide in Dipper's body, turn the mystery twins into corpses, disassamble their molecules and almost kills Mabel in the series finale)

'Both got turned to stone at one point in Weirdmageddon (Robbie when it started and Bill at the end of it)

One eyed Pentagram-Gideon Gleeful

-Having too much power that they acquired at a young age which heavily affected them and began their rise to villainy

-Both have a hatred towards Stanley Pines for meddling with their plans to obtain absolute power and ultimatetly ruining their plans which ended with them in prison.

-Both burnt a picture of the object of their affections; destroying the section with the rest of their family and leaving their faces untouched.

-Both planned to use Mabel and Dipper to get one of the original mystery twins to give them what they wanted

-Both left the Pines Twin they were interested on imprisoned during Weirdmageddon.

-Both deep down craved adoration and attention.

-Both lead a gang of criminals but dont treat them with a much respect as the one Pines Twin they are pining on while hating the other twins for thinking they turned them away from them when in reality it was their actions that did.

-Both got punched in the face by a Pines Twin in a season Finale inside someone´s head (Gideon Bot's and Stanley's)

-Both seem to care about their appearance (Gideon worrying about his hair the most and Bill about his bowtie, given the scream he lets out when Dipper blasts him and him readjusting it a couple of times during Weirdmageddon)

-Both ended up in prison after acquiring a position of absolute power where they do art therapy

-Both are snappy dressers and use their charm to trick people

Llama-Pacifica Northwest

-Both had messy childhoods that turned them into who they are now.

-Both are pretty good liars and can trick people very easily (Bill with his deals and Pacifica in the Lost Legends comic)

-Both look down on people they see as inferior to them(Bill with humans and Pacifica with the working class, hillbillies and the Pines before the events of The mystery of the Northwest mansion and Weirdmageddon)

-Both see themselves as monsters that cause havoc no matter where they go or what they do (Pacifica in dreams and Bill due to what he did in his home)

-Both were forced by their parents to act in a certain way (Bill´s at least loved him and were good intentioned)

-Both are fighters (Pacifica by defying her parents wishes, facing against the ghost and the face stealer in Lost Legends and refusing Bill's deal in her dream and Bill could stand a fight with Shacktron which he ended up defeating and in his book its implied he can fight easily against demons or ghosts)

-Both have wore a crown (Pacifica in her debut episode and Bill in his portrait in the Penthouse suite of the Fearamid)

Shooting Star-Mabel Pines

-Both are agents of Chaos (Mabel being Chaotic Good/Neutral and Bill Chaotic Evil).

-Both enjoy partying and to have fun.

-Both have a wild imagination and a sense of style.

-Both like karaoke and have had a karaoke night with one of the original mystery twins

-Both have eaten stuff normal people shouldn't eat/gross things(Bill his exoskeleton and illegal punch and Mabel getting wasted with Smile Dip, a leaf, huge amounts of sugar that would end with her sick, Mabel juice and she once got hospitalized by eating sniff and scratch stickers)

-Both like makeovers (as seen in a part of the book of Bill where he talks about hiding the blood of his past)

-Both think highly of themselves (Bill's bottomless ego vs Mabel being secure about her talents, qualities and appearance)

-Both have social skills that made others attracted to them, mostly loners or freaks (Bill with his Henchmaniacs for their shared love of chaos and Ford with his smarts and cosmical knowledge and Mabel with Candy and Greta by being weirdos and not being as popular as Pacifica and her posse)

-Both adress Ford as "Fordsy"

-Both have rolled in the grass in Gravity Falls(Bill while possesing Ford during puppet hour and Mabel in Tourist Trapped)

-Both put their wants over other people's and/or their needs (Like in Sock Opera but even if Mabel is sometimes selfish at least apologizes and learns from her mistakes while Bill doesn't care who he hurts and would never apologize)

-Both use white out to exclude certain stuff they dont like from reading material to "fix it" or crayons/markers to cross them (Mabel with the dialog in the Comix Up story in Lost Legends or certain things such as her summer romances and in the Mabel´s guide to color with the picture and Bill with a section where part of The Great Gatsby is shown on his book where he mentions assigned reading or stuff like his exes and his former friend The Oracle/Seven eyes)

-Both became gods of destruction, first time by accident and the second with full intention(Mabel by accident with the rift and ending with MabelLand and Bill with the accidental destruction of his home and with Weirdmageddon)

-You could argue they're awfull when it comes to romance (Mabel's attempts always end in failure and Bill fumbled Ford so so hard)

Pine Tree-Dipper Mason Pines

-Both are good at decoding codes and solving mysteries and have good academic skills.

-Both didn't have many friends growing up and were picked on as kids (Bill for his mutation and Dipper for his birthmark)

-The times they wanted to prove themselves to others ended badly for them (Dipper caused a zombie apocalypse and Bill destroyed his dimension by accident)

-The names they use aren't their real names (Bill confirmed in an AMA years ago that Bill Cipher is just a name he picked so humans could converse with him without going bonkers upon first contact and Dipper's name is actually Mason but everyone refers to him as Dipper due to his birthmark)

-Has cloned himself (Bill's are a natural hability for him while Dipper made copies of himself via paper-rest in piece Tyrone)

-Both were adorable as babies.

-Both got obsessed with someone to the point of messing with their personal lifes (Dipper with Wendy during her relationship with Robbie and Bill with Ford and his relationship with McGucket)

-They changed hats at different points in their life; Dipper in Tourist Trapped changes from his green hat with a five point star to the classic blue pine tree while Bill sported a multicolor hat as a kid before changing into a tophat (if we take the theory that Bill's hat was originally his father's then both Dipper's and Bill's were owned by a family member before being passed on to them, Dipper's belonging to Stan)

I know this is probably just a coincidence (save the stuff with Ford as some were meant to highlight the bond these two had and establish parallels between the two, making them doomed soulmates and adding another layer of sadness over the toxic yaoi) but a fun one still.

Thanks for reading!

[starsifter]

Could u do some sleeping with ford headcanons? Not sexual ones like genuinely sleeping together in a bed :3

Ofc!

He constantly forgets to take his glasses and day clothes off before he sleeps, but on the rare occasion he does wear pjs it's usually just socks (yes he wears socks to bed) and boxers, maybe a nightshirt if he's feeling extra put-together

Adding onto my last post, sometimes when he mumbles in his sleep it isn't so sad or strange, sometimes he just says he loves you, or says something cute about you

He loves being the big spoon, but if you want him to he'll be the little spoon, he runs his hands along your chest/stomach when he sleeps, nothing sensual or sexual, it's just comforting

Since he's a light sleeper, if you have night terrors or nightmares he easily wakes up to comfort you whenever you need it. He doesn't mind being woken up if you need him either.

He's very warm to the touch, if you get cold during the night it's easy to snuggle up to him and get warm

He wakes up very ready to go on with his day, it doesn't take him any time at all to shake the sleep off, sometimes he just lays by you and watches you breathe while you sleep, you wake up with him laying next to you, staring, he says it's relaxing

Once he woke up from a horrible dream, he wouldn't give you the details but you'd never seen him so distressed by a dream, he held you tight and wouldn't let go for the longest time, eventually falling asleep with you in his arms

When you have plans for the morning, he'll wake you up very gently with kisses and a soft voice, he makes an extra effort not to startle you, especially if you have trouble sleeping already

If you have trouble falling asleep he stays awake with you until you do, he takes note of the things that help you calm down for bed and helps you establish a routine if you ask him to

[nowimjustastranger]

I don't know if this has already been asked before but has Stcmo Ford ever had to intervene in a world where Stanley took the journel(where that world's Ford wasn't sent through the portal) and planned for it to be the last thing he'd ever do before dying?

As he was trudging through the snow back to his car, Stan couldn't help but hear Ford's words play on an endless loop in his head, drowning out everything else. Stan had wanted so badly to shove the journal back at Ford after his brother had branded him, but he couldn't. Ford was right, he was always right.

So he kept the fucking diary and stormed out.

Ford didn't follow, so Stan must've said something about giving in to his brother's will before leaving, but he couldn't remember what had come out of his mouth. His head was swimming in a nauseating way as his shoulder screamed at him, his body shaking violently with every gust of wind.

He already knew that he wasn't going far. He just needed to get to the car, then he'd burn the stupid fucking journal and drive himself off the nearest cliff. He was tired. So very tired and hungry and cold. He had dropped everything just to come when his brother called, hoping against all hope that maybe they could finally talk.

He should know better than to entertain hope by now.

He didn't even realize someone was in front of him until he literally ran into them, stumbling back with a curse as he clutched his arm, a new burst of pain surging through his shoulder. He blinked the black spots out of his vision, squinting at the weirdo who was wearing a flashy all-black getup in the middle of a blizzard.

He would've noticed that something was off sooner if he hadn't been so worn down.

But, as it stood, he heard a sharp twang before a bolt was rushing past his ear from behind. Stan stiffened, adrenaline flooding his body when Ford yelled at him, ordering him to run to his car and get out of town as fast as he could.

He took a total of three stumbling steps toward his car before an arm was curling around his throat, getting him into a firm headlock. The stranger wasn't choking him though, so small mercies. Actually, it seemed like the guy was actively avoiding his brand, which was weird because why would that matter if he was gonna take Stan hostage anyway?

Stan tried to hold on to the journal, he really did, but the asshole pulled it away from his icy fingers with ease. Stan choked on what might've been a sob, devastated that he had failed the one task that he'd been given. How did he manage to keep fucking everything up so spectacularly?

He should've never been born.

"Stanley!" Ford shouted with no small amount of distress, clearly upset about his journal falling into the wrong hands on his front lawn. Stan couldn't look at him, couldn't bear to see the disappointment and anger that were surely coloring Ford's face right now.

"You can either have the journal or your brother." The stranger's voice carried over the howling wind, Stan's wide eyes darting to the book in the man's other hand with a sinking feeling in his gut. Stan already knew what Ford would pick, he had proved time and time again that he cared about his research more than he loved his brother.

"Let him go!" Ford seethed, the anger far more familiar to Stan, who finally braved a look at his brother. Ford was surprisingly close, only a few feet away with his crossbow loaded and aimed at the stranger. His expression was a mixture of terror and fury, his bloodshot eyes darting from Stan to the stranger several times.

He didn't look at the journal once.

"Is that your choice?" The stranger asked, the arm around Stan's neck slowly tightening, Stan's hands frantically prying at the dark fabric and flexing muscle with a pitiful wheeze that had Ford making an aborted movement toward him.

"Yes! Yes! I choose him!" Ford's voice cracked, face crumpling like he was about to burst into tears.

Stan grit his teeth and swung his elbow down to bury it into the man's kidney, the grip on his neck loosening just enough that Stan could twist and punch the asshole right in the chest, knocking the wind out of him.

Stan lunged for the journal, wrenching it from the man's grip as he kicked the bastard's knee, hearing the joint pop out of place. The guy grunted in pain as he went down, Stan scrambling toward his brother, who had lurched forward to meet him. Stan couldn't see what was happening, but he heard another bolt fire and then Ford was dropping the weapon to grab at Stan.

"He's gone! He's gone! He left!" Ford gasped as he dragged Stan to his feet, using his body as a crutch to keep Stan upright as the two of them unsteadily made their way back to the shack. Stan's legs gave out on him as soon as they were inside, Ford slamming and locking the door behind them with an urgency that bordered on manic.

"Ford..." Stan panted, slumped against the wall, and Ford was beside him in the blink of an eye.

"What? What is it? Did he hurt you?" Ford asked in rapid-fire, shaking hands fluttering over his body. Stan caught one, Ford flinching at how cold Stan's hand was.

"I... the journal... I got it back." Stan said breathlessly, weakly raising his other hand to offer it to Ford, who looked stunned as he stared at it. Maybe he didn't think Stan would bother to grab it? Just how little did Ford trust him?

It was Stan's turn to be speechless when Ford took the journal from him and carelessly set it aside before he was back to fussing over Stan, who was too busy blinking dumbly to stop Ford from accidentally touching the brand while searching for wounds.

Stan cried out, hunching on on himself as Ford profusely apologized, scurrying away after assuring Stan that he'd be back with his first aid kit. Stan kept his head down as he nodded, teeth grit against the pain. He was used to waiting. Waiting for the millions to miraculously come pouring in, waiting for Ford to reach out first, waiting for his next meal, waiting for rough hands to stop touching him.

Always waiting.

He heard Ford making a racket further in the house and decided that he could wait just a little longer.

[typing-catastrophe]

ford's terrible sleeping habits (stanford x reader)

💕 fluff

get that man to bed at a reasonable time i dare you

will overwork himself days on end until he literally collapses

falls asleep on his desk due to exhaustion and starts working again the moment he wakes up

drinks more coffee than water

does not know how it feels to not run on caffeine or adrenaline anymore

forgets what time and day it is because everything is a blur

no internal clock, has no idea how much time passed

will loose himself in hyperfocus

makeshift bed in his lab where he sometimes lays down, fully dressed and passes out cold

it needed quite some time for him to get used to a nighttime routine, changing into sleepwear and not wearing his boots to bed (he never did when sleeping in your regular bed, but it did feel strange to him)

funnily enough if you ever do get him to bed, he will not let you go

once he cuddles up to you, his arms around you, he will keep you there

loves being the big spoon and keeping you save in his arms

develops a sixth sense for when u roll away while asleep and automatically reaches out for you to pull you back in

loves when he cuddles into your side and you start running your hands through his hair

he does have frequent nightmares, a lot of them about bill and weirdmaggedon, about losing his family, about all the guilt he accumulated over the years - the falling out with stanley, his old pal fiddleford, the fight with his brother... the list goes on and on

you learned to read his behaviour after he wakes up from the night terrors and know when to leave him be for a while and when to comfort him

he is so infinitely grateful for you and promises to himself that if he ever screws up what he has with you, he will never forgive himself

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

[cosmicdahlias]

🌜ford x reader headcanons🌛

part 5

• you watched titanic and he spent the entire time telling you facts about the actual ship

• when he gets a phone he’s constantly sending you OLD memes, like “i can haz cheezburger” old

• when you’re on your cycle he’s busting out all the remedies. heating pads, herbal tea, ibuprofen, chocolate. you’re getting PAMPERED

• you make him feel young again

• loves taking romantic baths with you. goes the extra mile with candles, rose petals, bubbles, and wine

• genuinely can’t tell when you’re flirting unless you explicitly tell him

• knew he wanted to marry you from day one

• actually got very into planning your wedding, mabel helped him create a scrapbook/planner

•

this is all he hears when you try to explain streaming services to him

• the 30 years he spent in other dimensions left him with severe PTSD, you’re the one who convinces him to get a service dog. it’s a german shepherd named orion

• was the first to say “i love you”

• gets so wrapped up in his work that he sometimes forgets to eat unless you remind him

• does enjoy going out with you but prefers cuddling up with you at home watching a nature documentary or something

• if you’re an artist he’s very supportive and always shows off your art to just about anyone, he’ll be talking to the cashier at the grocery store and be like

“look what my partner made, aren’t they so talented?”

definitely has a handful of your pieces in his study

• when you told everyone you were dating mabel knitted you two matching sweaters

• smells like fresh pine and leather

• stan was the one who convinced him to tell you his feelings

• before you dated he knew you and dipper had gotten semi close over your shared interest of the journals. he would ask dipper questions about you, this always confused dipper who completely didn’t see how glaringly obvious it was that ford was into you

• insecure about his tummy and scars on his body, you love both of them

• you know that thing that dads do where they fall asleep literally 5 minutes after sitting down? yeah that’s ford when you cuddle with him on the couch

• when ford was considering proposing stan told him to do it for tax purposes

• very attentive to you when you’re sick. researches what you’ve come down with so he can best take care of you

• always reminds you to take your meds

• had a hard time enjoying watching jurassic park with you. constantly complained about how it was inaccurate.

“velociraptors and t-rexes didn’t exist in the jurassic era, it might as well be called cretaceous park! and they didn’t even live at the same time as the brachiosaur!”

• had night terrors for months after weirdmageddon. hearing your voice telling him that everything was okay and that bill was gone was a huge source of comfort.

[cravingpepsimax]

since he’s beginning to spread, here’s a rough timeline of events for the fujo bill au:

bill is defeated and is put in the theraprism

after who knows how long, bill begins coping with his spite and rage towards stan and ford by doing/making stuff that he thinks they’d hate.

he begins “shipping” stancest. bill doesn’t really GET the incest taboo, it seems pretty much entirely arbitrary to him, but he knows it exists and is something humans are REPULSED by. thus, he starts making stuff involving stan and ford dating each other. theraprism staff thinks it’s odd but him writing books about stan and ford kissing is significantly better than him writing books in an attempt to escape.

over time, bill starts getting actually invested. it may have started as pure spite, but he begins to remember things that, oh boy, sure do seem pretty incestuous, now that he thinks about it. at first, it’s funny — “HAHA, WOW, SIXER REALLY IS A FREAK, ISN’T HE?” — but then it becomes real.

since bill’s calming down and is no longer talking about wanting to murder the entire family 24/7, theraprism staff decides to move onto the next step in bill’s karma program: becoming pen pals with one of the people he used to terrorize. mabel’s a lot like bill, but not evil, so the theraprism staff choose her.

meanwhile, a 13 year old mabel gets a Crazy Paranormal Experience, in which she is told what’s going on. mabel agrees to be bill’s pen pal (he won’t be able to do any actual harm, and, worst-case scenario, it’d be funny to mess with him (note that, even though mabel’s 13, well over a year has passed for bill — time is merely a suggestion for beings as powerful as the theraprism staff)

bill HATES being made to do this stupid pen pal stuff. he can’t use it as a way out — the theraprism staff have been keeping a VERY CLOSE EYE ON HIM ever since the book, and it’s gonna be hard to trick mabel into doing ANYTHING for him. so, his first few letters are him insulting and trying to upset mabel, who doesn’t really seem to care at all.

eventually, in one of bill’s pieces of hate mail, he says some shit like “SIXER AND HIS BROTHER ARE REAL FREAKS, KID! WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY’RE DOING ON THE STAN O’ WAR II? I’LL GIVE YOU A HINT: THE ANSWER’S ‘EACH OTHER’!”

mabel promptly ignores the rest of the letter entirely, and makes a GIANT response excitedly going “oh my gosh, you noticed, too??”, and listing everything romantic she’s ever noticed about them.

bill responds, filling in some gaps here and there, telling her about some incestuous stuff from 30+ years ago, pointing out things she missed, pointing out things he missed (“WOW, THEY DID WHAT? TALK ABOUT NEEDING TO GET A ROOM, YEESH.”)

they become stancest gossip buddies from there. mabel fujopills him in other regards (bill never thought he’d watch a show called “ouran highschool host club”, much less at the request of a 13 year old who thinks the pair of twins kissing would be hot/cute, but hey, afterlife’s full of surprises, ain’t it?) but his main love is and always will be stancest

they eventually become close enough and the theraprism staff trusts them enough to get interdimensional phone call privileges. any time anything happens mabel calls him and goes “oh my gosh, you’ll NEVER guess what just happened!” and they gossip for like an hour

stan and ford are completely clueless as to what’s going on at all. i like to imagine they find out eventually but it takes awhile LMAO

[miltonthoughts]

Had a few headcanons/ideas about Ford taking care of child!reader as his own kid and then Stan having to take care of child!reader after the portal incident- here ya go!

Inspiration for this post was from this! And the timeline was from this post here!

-

Pre-Portal incident

• In 1974, Ford found you abandoned outside his cabin one night when you were a baby. He didn’t know who your parents were but was reluctant to take you in.

• Ford soon realized that he enjoyed taking care of you, as it made him feel less lonely and more loved. He felt even happier when you started to speak and try to communicate with him, even though most of your words were just baby talk. He was proud of you, though.

• A few years passed, and you were now 8 years old. Ford couldn't have been prouder. He was happy to call you his child, especially when you referred to him as a dad. You didn't have to, after all, he had told you that he wasn't your biological father, but you didn't care and simply loved him.

• He will tell you stories of his adventures while searching for anomalies, and you'll be amazed by his tales of capturing and documenting them. He even shows you his journals so you can see the visuals of the anomalies.

• Your favorite activity to do with him was eating jelly beans with a side of popcorn and watching sci-fi movies. It's comforting for you and Ford as a family bonding time.

• He calls you his "jelly bean" too, which makes you a little embarrassed but you don’t mind it at all.

During paranoia period

• Ford started to get more paranoid and a bit unhinged that you couldn’t understand at the time, you were a kid after all. He will reassure you that he was fine but you can tell something was off with your dad.

• One night, you had a night terror. Ford immediately came to your side when you wouldn't stop screaming and thrashing your limbs aggressively. You don't remember what you dreamed about, but Ford seems to know, and he didn't look pleased.

• You started to feel more lonely after Ford had started to hang in his basement. You weren’t allowed down there so you had to wait for hours for him to come up. You miss him a lot.

Portal incident

• One day, a man who looked like your dad arrived, except he had a mullet and a rougher appearance. It turned out that he was your dad's twin brother! You were briefly introduced to your uncle before Ford told you to stay put upstairs while he and his brother, Stan, went down to the basement. You frowned at that.

• Oh, but you couldn’t help yourself! You had to know what your dad was doing, more so after you heard a lot of yelling between the two adults.

• As you got down into the basement, all you saw was your dad ascending towards a glowing blue light. You froze, you didn’t know what to do before screaming and running after him. Stan looks behind him towards you before the portal closes and gets wrecked in the process.

• You passed out due to the overwhelming sensation after the portal closed. Soon, you woke up on the couch and heard a commotion in the kitchen. At first, you thought it was your dad, but as you peeked out, it was your uncle Stan, and he looked wrecked.

• It was a difficult situation for Stan to explain to you why your father wasn't here at the moment. You couldn't comprehend why your dad had left you behind.

• Stan soon starts to realize that you don’t exactly remember how your dad exactly "left". Your memories were too fuzzy when remembering about the portal. Believing it was a dream or another night terror you had again.

Teen years period

• The year was 1987, and you were now 13 years old. Your uncle, Stan, had raised you since you were 8 years old. Your memories about the incident were still fuzzy to you, especially more when you tried to remember about your dad, Ford. It's almost like he didn’t exist in the first place.

• Uncle Stan tried his best to take care of you, though his parenting methods were questionable. Still, he had a good heart and tried teaching you the hardest he could.

• He taught you some boxing lessons too so you’ll be able to defend yourself after you've been picked on by a few bullies in town. You appreciated your Uncle Stan wanting the best for you.

• You did once accidentally called Stan, dad one time. He didn’t let it up and embarrassed you about it for a whole month. Didn’t mean it made him cry a little.

• Whenever you question Stan about Ford, he’s reluctant to give you answers. Sometimes, he would change the topic when the question was too much to bare to answer. You didn’t want him to get upset so you dropped the subject entirely.

• Your favorite activity to do with him was making new fuzzy creatures for the mystery shack he hosted during the days. It was fun and made you laugh when Stan would give voices for your creations you made.

-

That’s all I got! I will make a part 2 when the reader is an adult and their reaction towards when ford comes back too!!

[hamsternella]

hi!!! I have a request if you want too ofc!!! I’ve always thought of a reader who used to be in a relationship with ford before him being sucked up in the portal..and finding out that he was back?? It would be heavy angst with supreme fluff I think, I love how you write Ford in your other posts 👀

I'm sorry for my delay; I had a couple of problems BUT HERE IT IS. I hope you like it.

He's back

cw: stanford pines x reader, angst, fluff

It was déjà vu. Flashing lights, burned out outlets and the bustle of the masses. Communal fear; the terror of shadows devouring the streets as the gloom spread down every avenue—it had been a danger to set foot outside, but you risked it. One hand clinging to the edge of your robe, and the other holding a flashlight that barely worked without flickering; but with its mark referring to its recent departure from the factory, it was now the only thing that could keep your head attached to the last ounce of sanity.

You had not traveled back in time. You were still in the same Gravity Falls. Cars were ascending into the sky, darkness was taking over the town, and the stars were shining brighter than ever. Your own body had begun to rise; the lantern ended up somewhere unknown as you had to clutch both hands to the nearest lamppost, avoiding biting your tongue as you returned to the ground with the sting of cement against the skin of your legs.

You missed the exact moment when you had begun to cry—it was of no great importance. You tried to stand up, you tried to take deep breaths, and you tried to search for God between prayers; but nothing seemed to quell the urge to gouge your eyes out with your fingers. You were in denial about discovering what lay beyond the darkness when the light bathed Gravity Falls. You felt sick.

Your heart felt like it was about to burst in your chest; the nerves swirled in your stomach like an uncomfortable tingle. The world was spinning, and you didn't know if it was your head or if the event would repeat itself. Three times. Three times it would be. Now it was only two.

Two times.

How many more years?

Could it be?

?̸҇̿͑͆̇͗̐̏̎͗̚̚ɯ̵҇͂͑͐̽͐̊̀̈́ı̷̒͡��̷̣̍́̌͊̌̓̈͐́͋̃͌̇̆͋͊̋̈́̎̚͠ɥ҈̄́̀̌̄͆̌̏́͐̍̅̆͞ ǝ̴̉͂͆̾͌͗͂̇̄͋͠q̵̍͋̈̀̉́̆̍̽̿̓̄̆͊̚̚͞ ʇ̵̐̅̓͐͗͂̐͒̌̐̽̆̕ı̷̴̣̉͊̃͆̉̐̇̽͛̎͐̓̃̽̏̓̋̋͗̔̾̀͌̕͞ p҈̌̿̃̅̐͐͂̚͞ן̵̛͊̓̋͊̓̀͒̈́̈n҈҇̾̔̄̈̋͗̽̚ơ̵͐̄̂̽̊̑́͂̚̚Ɔ̸̿̒͐̆̉̈́̈̄̍̋̕

Getting to the Mystery Shack was less complicated than you had imagined. The wooden signs —now scattered in the mud; hanging from the trees, among their branches— were helpful in reaching the shack. You barely reacted when a government special forces car (what were they supposed to be doing in Gravity Falls?) honked its horn, forcing you to jump to the side of the road. After it followed a whole line of armored vehicles. You didn't know what to think—there was nothing to do about it.

There was nothing you could do. Why were you there?

It had been difficult for you to return home to put on your shoes. Now they were ruined: muddy and the laces were wet with dirty water. You knew your socks were soaked through, and possibly your robe was the only thing halfway presentable. And for what? Who were you thinking of surprising? Stanley Pines, perhaps? The man you hadn't seen for a little over thirty years; or maybe his workers, who were the only people able to orbit around him. You had never gone to see him after ʇ̵̛̅̀̓ǘ̴̋́͛̃͝ǝ҉҇̏̂̉p҉̔̋͞ı҉̛̓̋̑̚ɔ̸̛̍̏̚ɔ̵̽̃͑́͠ɐ҉̓̍̚͠ ǝ҈͑̽̆͝ɥ̸̇̿͗͗͝ʇ҉҇̐̎̅ that day.

You lost the order of your thoughts —too confused on their own— as soon as the dome of trees was behind you. The sun rising behind the cabin blinded you for an instant, and too tired, perhaps even surrendered to the possibility of turning around and going back the way you came, you still tried to shield your eyes from the light. It was an instant. You let out a sigh caught in your chest, gathered your breath, and through silent tears you thought you heard a distant whisper.

Then it was a murmur.

Then it was a scream.

Then there were several. And they were all your name.

The tears, once small pearls hanging from your eyes, were now a torrent of bitterness and confusion twisting your gesture. They seemed to be born from a fresh wound in your heart; and it deepened as your arm fell limp to the side of your body, leaving you at the mercy of a blurred figure beyond what your imagination could trace. It was like a black blob, too big to be ɹ̴̊̑̃̅͝ǝ҉̈̊͛͡ɥ̵̛̐̿̊d̴͋́̕ı҈̿̍́͝Ɔ̶͑̆͒̌͞—but too small to be a black hole. Still, the way it approached and dominated your field of vision, eating away at the stability of your heart and the rhythm of your breathing, made it feel like one. Maybe this was the end of you. Maybe he was back.

You tried to swallow the rest of your tears, preparing both —weak— fists in front of you. Ready to fight. You mustered up the courage you needed, closing your eyes with the thought that if you avoided looking at him, possibly your death would be quicker. Maybe there would be mercy. Maybe the cut in your stomach wouldn't hurt, and when your organs fell out of your body you wouldn't have to see red bathing your feet. Nor were you going to see the world fade away; and you hoped much less was yellow covering your vision. Metallic taste, smell of meat and viscosity of guts and viscera. All the senses in an expression of his love for human carnage.

And the pain was going to be the least of it.

The impact came with the sound of hurried footsteps, and the scratchy texture of fabric that made you frown. The warmth of an embrace enveloped your body, and the fussy sensation of a breath on your neck made you bristle from head to toe. You opened your eyes a little at a time; gray and white invading your vision. Gray hair. There was a lot of gray hair. There was also the smell of gunpowder, dirt, dust and dampness—perhaps another musk you didn't recognize. And yet you cried again.

You clung to the body of a dead man; to the memory of a missing person. You wrapped your arms around the body of the man you had forgotten the color of his eyes or the sound of his voice. But there he was: crying like you, maybe worse, and with the clumsiness of a baby coming into the world—coming home. You dug your nails into his back, your gaze lost in the sun hanging in the firmament and the morning breeze freezing the wounds on your legs. Old, tired legs.

How the years go by.

You felt joy with those hands caressing your hair. You wanted to close your eyes again, but you feared losing the moment in another nostalgic and painful dream. You feared losing him. Losing—

"Ford," voice broken, tired. The voice of someone in fear, "I thought you were... I thought for a moment, Ford, that maybe... maybe you were..."

You thought you heard him mutter a 'no' so faint that it ended as a windblown sigh. Instead, Ford shook his head, beginning to push his body away from yours. You held on tightly, wrapping your arms around his neck. It was your turn to shake your head.

"Your eyes—I don't want to see them," you said. "I don't want to see your eyes, Ford."

"But I need to see yours," he replied softly. "I missed them... I missed you."

He was crying again.

"I missed you so much," he continued. "You don't know how much I have... This has been torture—without you, without your voice."

His voice was barely a plea that made your heart bristle.

"So let me see them; I need to know this is real."

"I don't want to find out you're not my Ford," you said. "What if you are him? What if you're playing with me?"

"He's not here," he shook his head. His hands began to stroke your back. "He can't hurt you, dear. Not here. Not with me here..."

"You left me," you interrupted him. "You left me, Ford. You went through the portal and left me. I've forgotten the color of your eyes—I can only remember the yellow; the long pupil, the smile... I don't know what I'm going to do if it's not you."

"But it's me. It's only me."

You let his hands pull your body away from his, and with the fear of one who searches in the gloom for a monster, you guided your eyes to his. You found a look full of tenderness and longing; a wrinkled face, tired and wet with tears. You couldn't control the impulse to bring one of your hands to his cheek, tracing the path of a fresh tear until it was lost beneath your palm; his face resting squarely against it, making him close his eyes with pleasure at the caress.

"It's only you," you whispered. You saw him nod, and then you released the sigh you had been holding in your chest. "It's finally you... I've been waiting for you all these years, Ford. Although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't waiting for something like... you know."

"I understand," he replied softly. "He's lied to me and terrorized me too; in places you couldn't possibly imagine, telling me horrendous things... Telling me that he had—he had killed you, God."

You smiled ruefully, holding his gaze when he opened his eyes.

"But then I saw you standing here," he continued, "and I thought maybe I might be delirious. I kept dreaming of you; of tracing you in drawings, in my head, everywhere... I didn't want to forget you. I didn't want you to turn to dust."

"I had forgotten your gaze," you replied. "I had forgotten your eyes—their color, their shape. All I could think of was the yellow glowing in the dark, and the pupils..." You swallowed your words, too overcome by the feeling of bitterness in your chest to continue. It took you a moment to catch your breath. "To see them again, after all these years, Ford... They are so beautiful. You are so, so... I don't know. I've just missed you so much. I think you get an idea of how much I do," you laughed through your tears, next to him.

Silence enveloped you both, barely interrupted by the murmur of wind and birds. The breeze swirled the earth and leaves, wrapping your feet with a shiver to your neck, where Ford's hands were now resting. You brought yours over his, drawing them to your lips for a kiss. You traced scars with caresses; you covered the roughness with the softness of your affection, and listened intently to his breathing quicken. You thought you could hear his heart beat out of control under your charm.

In an instant his hands cradled your cheeks; his fingers rested softly on your skin, brushing your earlobes, tickling you. You closed your eyes, drowning in the darkness, guided by the light pressure of a warmth foreign to your body. You rested your arms on his shoulders, barely catching his breath on your face as you sensed the awkwardness of shy lips seeking yours between kisses along your skin. On your forehead as a blessing, on your eyelids to drink away your anguish, on your nose to lighten your own nerves, and then on your lips; perhaps to savor the thousands of words you didn't know—those that might come to Ford's aid in understanding how much you needed him these thirty years, and how much you were going to keep longing for him now that you had felt his warmth again.

You let his body collide with yours, and barely interfered with the wildness of his own need for you. You didn't stop his arms when they wrapped around you awkwardly; nor did you utter a complaint when the kiss deepened with a pair of choked whimpers that died in your mouth. You let yourself be drowned by a show of affection too abrupt, too old—needed and almost forgotten. You savored Ford with the rage of an affair stuck in the past, and with the pent-up love of years of not having seen him. Of having believed him dead.

As the air thinned you parted. You still held him in your embrace, searching with your misty eyes for his. But there he was: flushed, visibly embarrassed, but there he was. Ford was still there. Still alive—back at home, with you.

"Don't look at me so intensely after such a disastrous kiss," he suddenly muttered.

"Do you feel embarrassed?" you asked under a chuckle. "And what do you call a disastrous kiss?"

"A kiss I practiced in my sleep and could never put into practice... until now."

This time you had to let out the laugh you'd been hiding. Ford covered his face, red as a tomato. He tried to explain himself but found it impossible; all his words choked, too garbled.

"It's like you're that boy who had barely made it to Gravity Falls," you tried to articulate. "Too many dreams. You've always been one to dream a lot."

"I could meet you in those dreams," he whispered. "You've always lived in my mind, along with them."

It was your turn to blush. Ford chuckled.

"What an old rascal you are when you want to be," you added.

"But it's true!"

You went along with his laughter, losing yourself in the way he looked at you. The sweet way he still loved you.

"Don't ever leave again," you said after a long while. "Don't ever leave me here again, Ford."

"I'd have to be dead to let you go, my dear."

"Or have your memory wiped," you added.

"Oh, that would be impossible. I have a special plate attached to prevent that kind of accident," he explained. "You know—other dimensions and that sort of thing."

"Sure, love," you laughed.

Ford brought one of his hands to his head, rapping gently with his knuckles to rattle the metal. You gasped.

"That's... Let's see," you throat cleared, "I deserve an explanation. Too many kisses but not enough answers, Ford."

"I know, I know," he smiled. "I promise to explain everything. But first a bath... and another hug."

"Another hug," you nodded, laughing softly. "You better never let go of me again."

"Never again."

[starry-sparky]

I’m currently rewatching Gravity Falls and decided to revisit Journal 3 (all because of Book of Bill ofc, tho I don’t have it yet. Hoping to get it soon tho)

I’ve mostly been skimming Journal 3, saving a full read through for once I’ve finished the show but I wanted to share some observations

1. Ford’s ego is insane, in Journal 3 Ford talks about how Fiddleford keeps reminding him to get some rest (side note: god Fiddleford was so into Ford) and would remind Ford of what happened to Icarus. Ford’s response to this is “He didn’t flap hard enough”, showing exactly how big Ford’s ego is and how he’s taking the wrong lesson from the Icarus tale. It is insane that THAT is Ford’s takeaway

2. In the new GTLive video today, MatPat talked about how Ollie (his son) made a connection between the Oracle in Journal 3 being a possible ex of Bill. (It’s so cute hearing how Ollie has his own theories) I do actually agree with this too based on how she’s described by Ford in Journal 3. Quote from Journal 3: “She [The Oracle] spoke of him [Bill] without anger, but with a calm, steely, clinical resolve to see his reign of terror end.” This to me shows she has a history with Bill, speaking in such a clinical manner may be her just trying to put whatever they had behind her. She’s focused on the now, on bringing him down. It might even be possible that Bill used her somehow, much like he used Ford. Also on the same page, Ford says that The Oracle and him “…spent the entire night partying and drinking…” and I hope they were just talking about their shared toxic ex

[jellyskink]

Every little thing that Ford did, that most would find unusual or concerning, Stan couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his head. Every time, Ford would immediately sit on the floor instead of the couch when they watched movies. Every time Stan would wake up to a loud crash in the middle of the night only to see his brother panicking over A broken lamp or 3. Every time he had to hold his hair up while his brother threw up because he ate to fast or to much. He knew his brother was deeply traumatized, but he didn't know how deep or how most of it was caused. Part of him didn't want to know, but he wanted be there for his brother so he always asked Every time they spoke to see if Ford was willing to talk about it. Spoiler he never did, besides trying to justify it by claiming oh his muse did it cause he did something bad, he rarely elaborated any Further despite the constant begging. But at the end of the day if Ford wanted to share then he would. 

With another mouth to feed, (well one that Stan wanted to make sure had a fully nutritious meal 3 times a day. Instead of Stan's usual coffee in the morning, sandwich at lunch and a TV dinner for Dinner.) Stan ran out of food quickly so a stop at the grocery store was a must. He got up early, so the stores would be pretty empty, and grabbed his brother and headed out for the store. 

Ford was a bit nervous to be going. His concerns were rooted in fear of a crowded store. Stan assured him, it will be okay. It's pretty dead in the morning, and if it made him feel any better Ford could pick out any snack he wants. That got him excited, for the rest of the way there Ford contemplated on whether he should get some jelly beans, or a pack of cheddar moths, maybe Stan could let him get bubble gum icecream! Stan Could only chuckle at that level of excitement. 

Inside the store Ford followed Stan around as he picked out the groceries, occasionally He would ask  Ford for his opinion on certain items, Stan knew Ford didn't care what Stan picked he ate every thing, Stan once saw him eat a raw egg whole, shell and all saying he liked the crunch and the taste of blood from where the shells sliced his mouth. But still he wanted Ford's opinion. He wanted Ford to have some control of his life one cereal flavor at a time. Stan turned around, about to ask if he wanted Unlucky Leprechaun, or Cocoa-O's, when he noticed his brother Was gone. He dropped both boxes on the floor and started to run through the store to find him. 

Fortunately he found him the next aisle over, Stan figured he must have gotten excited to see the Calcium-Bones on the end cap displaying a big sale sign. “Great” he huffed, he found himself in the pet aisle. And even more “great” is that  he found Ford looking at big display of new chew toys. The new chew toys “Celebrating” the 25th anniversary of Weirdmageddon. Fuck. 

“Hey Ford whatcha got there?” 

“Look Stanley. Isn't this great! They have my muse here, and look here's me! Oh and here's Pyronica she's great oh and Teeth he's not great, oh and Eight-ball, and…” 

“Hey that's great, buddy.” he said softly, Keep calm Stan keep calm don't get mad focus on breathing. I don't think he realizes that they are  chew toys, meant to be destroyed by some sick owner's dog to terrorize. 

“Stanley, is it alright If I get these instead of my treat? Please, just look at My Muse isn't he wonderful.” Ford just looked so happy, he couldn't say no, but he had too for Ford's own good, now how to soften the blow? 

“Wow Ford, I would love too but you know money is pretty tight right now and with the twins birthday coming up I don't think now would be the best time, but I promise I'll sell something big soon and the next time where here you can pick one up. How's that sound?” Yeah that will give me plenty of time to break in and burn them all to a crisp.

“Oh. Stanley, I'm sorry… I feel terrible. Here you are trying to get the essentials. I didn't realize money was this tight. I swear I'll do what I can to help pull my weight. I think I saw a flyer for a dog show in town for tomorrow, the prize is 500 dollars. You can sign me up. This time, I'll win, I have been getting better at the tunnels, and I learned that if I dislocate my shoulders, I can squeeze through.  That and since that show off Calamari is’t here, so I'll finally be the top pet around here.” 

“Ford I'm not signing you up for a dog show, and you pull your weight just fine you send me all of that weirdness crap, and I am the man people come to, to buy it! My finances are none of your concern.” 

“Okay…”

“Great, let's get going before the store gets more crowded.” 

“You can start to check out. I'll be there in a minute. I just want to say goodbye.” 

“Alright just a few more minutes” 

Honestly the fact Ford didn't have a breakdown when stan said no was amazing in its own right. But Stan couldn't help shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. When they returned home Ford shut him self in the guest room. Stan figured it was because he need to charge his socal battery. It was around lunch when Stan checked in on Ford. This surprise there was talking behind the door. He carefully cracked open the door and peaked Inside. Ford was on the floor playing with the dog toys from earlier.

“Ford! If you don't stop talking about your stupid moth collection, I'm going to give you wings and pin you up to the wall for decoration.” Ford said in a high pitch voice his raspy voice could manage. Ford held the yellow triangle toy  above the ground so it could “float” around the mini version of himself.

“I'm sorry, My Muse. I'll stop  talking about the moths. Did you want to hear about how my appointment went? Dr. Oleander said…” 

“Why the hell would I want to hear about that. Be a good boy and shut up.”

“I’m sorry my muse, I'll be quiet. I'll be a good…” 

“I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP! Do you want me to rip out your vocal cords again?”  Ford then took the mini Ford and slammed it on the floor and the loud squeak that came from it Stan knew he had to step in. 

“Hey Ford, I'm going to make lunch. Did you want chicken nug…. Whatcha got there?” Stan said as if he didn't spend the last few minutes watching Ford. “Are those the “toys” from earlier. Stanford, did you take them?” 

Ford sunk lower to the floor, tears stared to fall, “I'm sorry.  I'm sorry. Stan I….I just really wanted them I…I just took these two, I swear, and I…. I gave them a squirrel I found as a trade. Please, I'm so sorry.” 

“Stanford it's okay…  Just breath i ain't mad about the stealing. Trust me i’ve been known to shoplift a thing or two in my day (or this morning, foods getting way to expensive) I'm just surprised That's all I thought we agreed that I'll buy them for you later that's all.” 

“I know I just miss my muse so much. And playing with These help a bit.” 

Hummm, that gave Stan an idea if Ford wouldn't listen to him about Cipher being a jerk wad. Maybe he would listen to the toys

“Well is it ok if I played with you?” 

“Really?!” 

“Yeah sure just gimme one.” 

Ford gave Stan Mini Ford, and Stan looked over the toy for a dog toy it was pretty well made, and the Desiner even got all the bows and triangles right.  “Hello my names Stanford, and I love jellybeans, moths, and doing research to help protect the world.” 

Ford chuckled “Stanley! Fine.” He gave his Mini Muse a little hug and then went to play with Stan “Hiya smart guy! It looks like you could use a friend. you're in luck. I'm looking for a new pal. And i want to be buddies with the smart guy who was able to figure out who summoned me. Put er there, the names Bill Cipher.” 

Wait what? That caught Stan off guard Ford never called Bill by his Actual name in favor of calling him his Muse. Sure he Would replace the word God with the word Bill but he would never invoke his full name like that especially when Ford was playing so calmly. Let's see where this is going. Stan took the doll and attempted to shake bills hand. “Hi Bill, do you like research. I'm in this town to do science stuff. Can you help me?” 

“Sure pal! I'll help, and in exchange, you can help me with a little project i've been working on.” 

“Uh… Shure. What's the project”  Is Ford retelling a memory? He hates talking about the past but why is he reliving them now with the toys? What if he went against the script how would Ford react? 

“Oh just a simple Trans-universal Poly-dimensional meta vortex. Should be a piece of cake with your smarts and my guidance.” 

“No thank you ” 

Ford looked at Stanley and glared into his eyes “that's not how it happened. Play this right.” He switched back to his Attempted Bill voice “you sure about that.” 

“ OK fine I'll build your portal.” 

“Fantastic!” 

They played like that for a bit but Ford grew annoyed at how Stan was playing, so Stan asked if Ford could show him how to play. So now Ford was back to playing two roles well three, his research partner, (played by a discarded sock and was also controlled by Ford) mini Ford built the portal mini bill gave positive guidance. If this is what happened all those years ago then what happened? He didn't have to wait long for the answer something went wrong his research partner saw sorting he shouldn't have. And when mini Ford started to express concerns about the portal Bill grew nastier. Stan saw the Horrors of what his brother went Through through The dolls. And he saw the real Ford just talk about it as if he was just narrating a story.

Stan had enough when his brother was going into graphic detail of being chained up, starved, dehydrated, whipped, cut, sleep deprived, and thay were still only on year two of this torture. Stan did the math once and he estimated ford went through this for five years. 

“Hey Ford, I didn't realize. The time we've been playing here for 2 hours, i have an important meeting I have to go to.” Please stop this Ford. I don't think I can handle one more second of this. Is this why you never tell people what happened. Do you just bottle everything up so you don't scare people with what you've been through.  Cause obviously you do remember. 

“WHATS WRONG STAN2” wait Ford's bill impression  couldn't have improved that much in 5 seconds stan looked at Fords eyes and to his dismay they were yellow. WHATS'S WRONG YOUR NOT LIKING THE SHOW?” 

“Can it let him go. I'm not in the mood for your BS.” 

“AWW SO SENSITIVE ANYWAY FORDSY HASN'T BEEN SLEEPING WELL SO MY MESSAGES HAVEN'T BEEN GOING THROUGH. TELL THIS SAD SACK VACATION IS OVER AND HE HAS 72 HOURS TO BE AT THE FEARAMID OR ELSE.” 

“Fuck you, if you weren't in my brother right now. I would punch you into the next dimension.” 

“I WOULD LOVE TO SEE YOU TRY. JUST TELL HIM OR ELSE THOSE LITTLE SCEENS HE WAS DOING WILL HAPPEN AGAIN FOR HIM RUNNING AWAY YOU GOT THAT?” 

That got Stan to quiet down he knew that was a promise and not a threat “Alright Fine”

“SEE AND PEOPLE CALL YOU THE DUMB CLONE HAVE FUN AND REMEMBER 72 HOURS” before Cipher left Fords body he threw mini Ford against the wall  where it landed on the guest bed. 

“Huh…” Ford said while waking up from his possession. He looked around him and started to panic slightly. He caught stans eyes “Stanley do you see mini me? He should be here.” 

“Oh, yeah I think he's over here.” Stan picked him up from the bed. “he uh… was tired I put him down for a nap.” 

“Oh Stan your heart is in the right place, but you're just being silly. Mini Ford doesn't sleep on a bed. He sleeps on the floor on a dog bed. Hehe.” 

Stan sighed “Hey Ford, do you remember what we were just playing?” 

“Sorry can't say I recall I didn't know you were in this room until I woke up. Why did something happen”

Stan's heart dropped “eh it was nothing but Bi…. I mean your muse...” 

“My Muse was here! Does he miss me, I miss him. What did he say.” 

“Yeah he… uh misses you too and wants you back home in 3 days.” 

“Oh this is wonderful! I need to pack right away thank you so much for taking care of me while I'm here.” 

“Hey any time. I'm going to see if there's a bus to the bubble that's leaving no later then tomorrow morning. Not going to lie it hurts to see you go.” 

“Aw Stanley thank you so much your the best brother in the world. But don't worry about me My Muse takes such great care of me! But I'll be sad to leave you too.” 

While Ford was in the guest room packing Stan bought a ticket back to the bubble for Ford. he Didn't want him to go. It had been so nice waking up in the morning knowing he's safe and that he had proper food, and was loved and taken care of. And not that fake crap Cipher gives him.  While still  on Boogle Stan thought of an idea "come on come on you have to have a number listed…. Bingo. “ the website of one Dr. Irene Oleander was displayed on the monitor. This was the Doc that Ford talked about surely would know if something like this happened to Ford before. He scrolled down to a phone number and jotted it down on some scrap paper maybe she had some information on his brother he'll have to give her a call in the morning.

Hey, angst anon here, and I have brought you more angst. Anyway, enjoy this play based therapy sessions where Ford just zones out and narrates things he has no idea hes doing that to begin with and i did leave the ending open incase I wanted to do a second part of an awkward phone call between Stan and the doc I think that might be fun

Awwww, this is so cute!! It's also the closest thing my boy is getting to therapy for a while 💔

(This isn't the first time Ford has lit something on fire inside Stan's condo)

[urfavoritemistake]

fiddleford mcgucket and things that go bump in the night

i understand why people like to explore scenarios in art/fic where fiddleford is aware of bill and has face-offs with him while he's in ford's body, or he works with stanley to try and get ford back post-portal incident, but to me personally? nothing beats the canon scenario where he is left entirely in the dark. because it's so horrifying.

you know the principle of horror that the monster is much scarier when it stays in the shadows than when it's revealed, usually towards the end of a story, because until then, it's left to the depths of your imagination to fill in the blanks? fiddleford chooses to not investigate those shadows, and even further enshrouds what he fears in darkness, because he's too scared of what he might uncover. he's the child who refuses to check for the monster under the bed and instead stays awake all night under the covers frozen in terror. that's the appeal of his character to me.

canonically, he doesn't know bill or stan exist. because ford refused to even trust his best friend with the knowledge of his muse, or anything about his past, even the fact that he has a twin. he actively hides childhood photos of him and stan from fiddleford. presumably, in college he kept all their conversations strictly to their interests and passions.

can you blame fiddleford for becoming infatuated with the guy? a talented, bright, yet mysterious individual. he probably longed to slowly break down those walls and gain his trust, learn more about this man who has made an effort to be unknowable. happily offered up stories of his own life back in tennessee, his family and aspirations, and prayed one day ford would do a little of the same. but he respected him too much to pry.

and then, when they reunite, he slowly notices his dear friend acts a little Off sometimes. unnatural. but how well does he really know him anyway? surely he speculates about the life ford is hiding from him, people he may be talking to, mental afflictions he may have, but he can't pin down anything due to how left in the dark he is, and his own fear of asking too many questions and overstepping boundaries. so he can only suspect. ultimately all he knows is there is some sort of evil afoot, and the machine him and ford are building will bring it about. all he has to go off of is his calculations and a vague dread.

until he starts making the choice to forget, which may be a little easier since there's already so much he knows he doesn't know. what's the harm in losing a bit more, especially stuff that is causing him pain?

and so he starts to lose his mind in turn, and he can feel it as it's happening. he knows he can't trust his deteriorating memories. but he can't stop because of the mechanisms of addiction.

and maybe one day, before everything is entirely gone, he's made aware that stanford pines, his ex-friend, has converted his lab into a tourist attraction. not one fiddleford can afford to attend with his increasing reliance on dumpster diving and beggaring to get by, mind you. but perhaps he gets a glance at the proprietor, this man claiming to be stanford pines, and feels that old sense of wrongness in his gut.

he's pretty sure that's ford's face, but something's off about it. and his hands. something's wrong with his hands. didn't ford have something with his hands? fiddleford didn't notice it at first in college until ford pointed it out because he's mighty insecure about it, but he's forgotten what it was. but honestly, how much of his own fragmented memories can he even trust?

he feels a shiver down his spine. perhaps it's best to forget about stanford pines altogether.

[squatch-and-stretch]

Do You Remember?

Fiddleford McGucket/Ford Pines | 2,916 words | Memory Lapse, Hurt/Comfort

An old man wakes up in an unknown room with a handsome stranger and no memory of who he is.

Fic under the cut.

He wakes up tucked into a comfortable bed with a pounding headache and a pervasive sense that something is wrong. When he opens his eyes and sees the opulent room around him, that feeling only intensifies. He can’t quite recall where he’s supposed to be, but it’s certainly nowhere quite so fancy-shmancy. He’s not quite sure who he is, but he’s not the fancy-shmancy sort.

He should probably know who he is, right? That seems sensible. He should figure that out.

He sits up, shrugging off a thick duvet. His head swims, vision spotting for a moment before it clears. The air is a little cold, but it’s tolerable. He’s wearing a large sweatshirt, and as he looks down at his hands, he realizes he’s old. His fingers, blurry even at this distance, are nearly skeletal, swollen around the joints, skin pale and paper-thin, spotted with a hundred small scars and age spots. He pushes the sleeve up, admiring the body he seems to occupy. There’s a thick scar along one arm, and as he runs his fingers over it, he feels something strange beneath the skin. He checks it against his other arm, and yes, there’s something wrong with that one that isn’t wrong with the other.

Or maybe it’s the other way around…? No, he’s fairly certain the unscarred arm is the normal one.

He runs a hand down his face curiously. There’s only a few stubborn wisps of hair still on his head, but he’s got a pretty impressive beard underneath one heck of a big nose.

He rolls his sleeves back down. The room is a little cold. The window across the room is cracked just slightly, letting in chilly morning air. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, but when it does, it’ll shine right through that window. He usually wakes up before it does.

So he’s an early riser, and his room is on the east side of whatever building he’s in. He’s old and he broke his arm at one point. He’s also pretty darn sure he’s a he, now that he thinks about it, and that’s something.

“Fiddleford?” a voice says gently, accompanied by a light knock on the doorframe.

He— Fiddleford, is he Fiddleford? What a ridiculous name— freezes like a deer in headlights. Without waiting for a response, the person at the door opens it.

He’s tall, somewhere around 60, and very handsome. Fiddleford— yes, that’s him, he’s Fiddleford— does not recognize this man, but a strange flurry of emotion is stirred at the sight of him.

Anger, betrayal, terror, concern, affection, all at once, suffocating in their strength. It’s all so confusing, but he focuses on the fear. It’s not the most powerful, but it is the most understandable reaction to having a stranger in his (his? is it Fiddleford’s?) bedroom. He does not know this man and he does not know why he’s evoking such a powerful emotional response from him and he does not know where he is and why this man is here.

“Who’re you?” Fiddleford demands shakily, and there’s a southern twang to his voice that this stranger does not possess. He draws the blankets back up to his chest like a shield, backing himself up against the headboard. “Where am I?”

The man, who had moved to enter the room, freezes. The gentle expression on his face gives way to confusion, then alarm, then concern.

“Fiddleford, it’s me, Stanford,” he says, stepping closer. Fiddleford flinches, pressing himself tighter against the headboard. The name sends a shiver down his spine.

“I… I don’t reckon I know you,” Fiddleford says, nearly a whine. Does his voice really sound like that? It’s terrible.

“No, I don’t suppose you would, at the moment,” ‘Stanford’ says, soft and heartbroken, “but please, believe me when I say that I mean you no harm.”

“I… I dunno that I do,” Fiddleford mumbles, watching him like a hawk.

Standing there looking like a wet dog, this man does not cut a particularly intimidating figure. There’s a bulk to his shoulders and chest that implies strength, but he’s hunched over, hands fluttering awkwardly. They’re big hands, wide, with one more finger than Fiddleford’s. His own hands tingle, a phantom sensation of warm, thick fingers between his own. He clenches his hand into a fist to squash the feeling.

“If you really don’t wanna hurt me none, how ‘bout you stay over there and answer my questions?” Fiddleford says sharply. As sharply as he can with his voice shaking, anyway.

“Of course,” Stanford agrees, keeping his hands in view as he steps out of the doorway.

His eyes flick towards the open door, looking away from Fiddleford for the first time since he’s entered. He looks like he wants to close the door, but he doesn’t.

The door opens out into a long hallway, and even if he can’t see the entrance from where he’s sitting, he knows it’s that way.

He glances at Stanford. Stanford stares back, brows furrowed, eyes wide.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Stanford asks, gesturing with one hand toward a cushioned wooden rocking chair in one corner, the wall behind it lined with bookshelves. A well-loved quilt is thrown over the back of it, and a banjo leans against it.

Part of Fiddleford prickles possessively. He doesn’t recognize anything in this room, not really, but they’re his. He doesn’t have much, what he does have he needs to protect.

But that doesn’t make much sense, does it? Isn’t this his fancy house?

No, it can’t be. Whoever he is, he doesn’t belong in a place like this. This must be Stanford’s house. He doesn’t know why or when or how, but Stanford must have dragged him here himself.

What does he want from him? He’s a frail and confused old man. If he has— had— any skills, he doesn’t remember them now.

He was smart once, wasn’t he? Was he? He certainly isn’t now, not when he’s taking advice from the small, scared animal burrowed in his chest.

It’s telling him to run.

The man, Stanford, he said something, didn’t he?

“Huh?” Fiddleford breathes.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Stanford repeats, patiently.

“… go ahead,” Fiddleford allows. “Careful with that there banjo.”

Don’t provoke him! the scared animal squeals, but Stanford just smiles at him. The concern— fake, he’s tricking you!— remains in his eyes, but there’s a soft, kind curl to his lips. He looks fond.

“Of course,” Stanford agrees, gently repositioning the banjo so it’s leaning against the wall instead of the chair. “Now what did you want to ask me?”

Fiddleford watches him. He’s leaning forward, templing his hands, and his eyes do not leave Fiddleford.

“Well, uh…” Fiddleford glances around. “First things first, just what is that?”

Fiddleford points away from the door. Stanford, that gullible son of a gun, falls for it, following his finger to frown at the bookcase.

Go, go, go, hurry, he’ll hurt you if he catches you, the scared animal says, and Fiddleford agrees.

He scrambles out of bed, and his balance tilts, vision going dark for a moment. He comes back to himself on his hands and knees, and he doesn’t know how long he was out but he needs to get out. Stanford isn’t blocking the way to the door yet, so Fiddleford scampers on four legs towards the opening.

“Fiddleford!” Stanford gasps, and he steps in front of him, hands extended.

He can’t stop himself before he’s crashing into Stanford’s legs, and a heavy hand lands on his shoulder. He doesn’t think, just reacts, and he twists his head to bite at Stanford’s wrist. His teeth— of which he has very few, he’s realizing— catch on the sleeve of his sweater. Stanford doesn’t back off though, he just secures him with his other hand.

“No!” Fiddleford yelps. “No, no, lemme go!”

“Fiddleford, please,” Stanford nearly begs, but his firm grip doesn’t falter, “I don’t want to do this but we’re on the second floor, you’ll hurt yourself on the stairs!”

“No! No no no, stop!” Fiddleford sobs. He hears the words, but he doesn’t register them. “Lemme go, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Something familiar scratches at the back of his head. Yellow eyes, skin so pale it was nearly transparent, large clawed hands, men in uniform and scowling townsfolk.

A crowded room that always smelled like coffee and tobacco and damp, a couch beneath a stained glass window, caves and campfires and constellations.

His head throbs painfully, and the thoughts leave his head as quickly as they came. Stanford’s grip shifts, tightens, and Fiddleford struggles until he feels his wide palm on the back of his head, pulling his head into the crook of his neck.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m sorry,” Stanford says. His neck is right there. Even through his sweater, he could hurt him. The scared animal demands that he do so, but he knows this man. He doesn’t know why, but he does, and his tired old body aches.

“Stanford…” he whines, and the name tastes familiar in his mouth. He buries his nose in his shoulder as he goes limp against the larger man. He smells like sweat and coffee. “What… what’s goin’ on?”

He sighs. Fiddleford can feel it against the top of his head.

“You’re having a memory lapse. It’s a side effect of a device you invented,” he explains, stroking the thin hairs clinging stubbornly to the back of his head. “I have yet to help you through one, but I have plenty of experience with my brother’s. I… I could get him, if you’d prefer.”

“Brother…” Fiddleford echoes. He knows the meaning of the word, understands its importance to this man in particular, but he doesn’t know why.

“Stanley, my twin brother. He was… affected by the same device, so he has direct personal experiences with its consequences,” Stanford elaborates, voice strained. “Besides, your relationship with him is less… complicated than our own. It may be best—“

“No!” Fiddleford fists his hands into the back of Stanford’s sweater. “Please, I don’t…”

I don’t want you to leave, I don’t want to see anyone else, I don’t want to bother anyone, I don’t… Fiddleford doesn’t know what he means, but Stanford hushes him with a gentle noise and lets it go.

“Let’s get you off the floor, m— Fiddleford,” Stanford says.

What had he been about to say? Fiddleford has bigger concerns, but the curiosity claws at him.

“Mm-hm,” Fiddleford agrees, and for some reason, instead of moving away to stand up, his body curls closer to Stanford’s.

Stanford takes this in stride, carefully repositioning Fiddleford in his arms. With an ease that’s a bit irritating given his apparent age, he stands up with Fiddleford held against him. His stomach swoops with nausea, and he squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face further into Stanford’s neck as he lets out a soft whine.

Stanford replies with a soothing, wordless noise from deep in his throat. Carefully, he sits down on the bed and releases Fiddleford, keeping himself between him and the door. Fiddleford wiggles out of his lap, but stays close beside him, shoulder to shoulder. He still doesn’t know this man, doesn’t know if he can trust him, but his body seems to think he should. Or maybe he’s just that lonely, so lonely that he’ll seek comfort in some home invader or kidnapper that possibly gave him brain damage.

“So,” Stanford began, clearing his throat, “what is the last thing you remember?”

Fiddleford tried to think back, but everything beyond this morning was a blur. Thinking about any of it too hard sent a painful pulse through his already aching brain.

“Um… well, I reckon I remember wakin’ up this mornin’.”

“You… you don’t remember anything?” Stanford says, voice tight. Fiddleford looks down at his lap, twisting his hands together anxiously as he nods.

“Okay… okay. I don’t— this has never happened with Stanley, but that’s fine! That’s… that’s fine.”

“Your name is Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, and you were born the second of five siblings on a hog farm in Eastern Tennessee. You have an older sister, two younger sisters, and a younger brother, as well as countless cousins, I swear you changed the number every time we talked.”

“I didn’t change the number just for the heck of it, my aunts and uncles just kept havin’ kids,” Fiddleford argues. “That’s what happens when you’ve got seven uncles and nine aunts of varying ages.”

“You remember?” Stanford says, delighted.

Fiddleford blinks.

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“Fantastic! It’s working then! What else do you remember?”

“My siblings, we used to be real close, loved ‘em to death and I reckon I still do, but after I got married—“ Fiddleford stops, heart stuttering in his chest. All the comfort his mind had tricked him into taking in the other man drains away in an instant, and he scrambles away from him. He hits his back hard on the headboard. “My wife! Emma-May, where’s my wife!? My son!?”

“They’re okay! They’re fine, I promise I haven’t done anything to harm them!” Stanford holds his hands up placatingly, but his expression falters slightly. “At least, not directly, and not in the last thirty years…”

“Then where are they? What are you talking about!?”

“Emma-May still lives in California, I believe, but…” Stanford sighs, “the two of you got divorced approximately thirty-one years ago.”

“… oh,” Fiddleford says. It really isn’t a surprise. Emma-May, the poor darling, was bound to catch onto him eventually.

… catch onto him? About what? What was he hiding from her? He looks at the man sitting in bed with him and knows that he is related.

“Why? What happened?”

Stanford winces.

“It’s not really my place to say, but… I took you from them. We met in college, do you remember?”

“… the McGucket/Pines Hologram Conjecture Theory,” Fiddleford says. He remembers it, remembers the heat on his face from embarrassment and tears, remembers the taste of coffee and cola, the equations scribbled on paper and sticky notes and windows, the weight of this man’s arm around his shoulder, their wide grins. He remembers the excitement, the joy, the affection. At some point, he had loved this man.

So that’s what it was.

“Exactly right!” Ford agrees, and his smile now is so much more restrained, but twice as affectionate. “After we graduated…”

“You moved to Oregon, I went back to Tennessee. Reconnected with Emma-May, and we got married, but…” Fiddleford frowns. He knows Emma-May, knew that he loved her in some sort of way, but… but he didn’t do it right. Always too reserved, too awkward, too distant. He couldn’t love her how he was supposed to.

“I called you up to Oregon, to Gravity Falls, to work on a project.”

“A polydimensional meta-vortex,” Fiddleford agrees, heart twisting at the words, “and I did it. I left them both, easy as that.”

Ford remains silent for a long moment, watching Fiddleford with palpable guilt.

“I don’t think it was easy. You visited when you could,” Ford says eventually, and his hand flutters as if he wants to reach out to comfort him, before it falls in his lap.

“It wasn’t enough,” Fiddleford sighs. “I left her, and she made sure it stayed that way.”

Ford nods, ashamed.

“And we did it, didn’t we? We made… we made the vortex,” Fiddleford continues, voice shaking. He remembers breathless terror, even if he can’t quite recall what made him feel that way, can’t recall what he saw beyond a single massive eye. “That’s why I’m like this.”

“Yes,” Ford agrees, voice thick. For all his bulk, he looks like a scolded child. How was he ever afraid of this darling man? “Though you were its inventor, I was the one to drive you to create the memory gun.”

“None of that, darlin’,” Fiddleford soothes, and even though his head throbs with every thought and memory that flows through it, reaching out to him is easy as breathing. He takes Ford’s hand, threading their fingers together. Ford flinches, but Fiddleford holds tight, squeezes his hand gently. “I made it, I decided to use it on myself, I got addicted to it. Now you aren’t one to take credit for other people’s work, are ya?”

Ford smiles, even as his eyes remain pained.

“We’ve done this before,” Fiddleford muses.

“We’ve been doing it a lot, ever since I came back to you,” Ford agrees. “I still struggle to believe I’ve earned your forgiveness.”

“Ain’t something you really had to earn, hun,” Fiddleford soothes, and he wiggles closer to Ford now that he knows who he is, now that he knows that his body’s instincts to trust him were right. “I had enough of being angry and scared, and I certainly had enough of forgettin’.”

Things still don’t make a whole lot of sense, and his head hurts like no tomorrow, but he knows he’s safe here, with this man in this house. Ford pulls him closer and presses a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

“Are you alright, my love?” Ford asks, soft and sweet.

“Hurts,” he says vaguely, curling into the man.

“I know,” he soothes. “I should get you some water and painkillers.”

He tenses as if to move away, but Fiddleford shakes his head, burying it in his chest.

“Later,” he mumbles. “Just stay with me?”

“Of course.”