#but my god is ford so much more vulnerable without stan

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

tried my hand on stancest meta but tumblr ate up my draft that was a fullblown essay like the functioning app that it is, so i'm just going to post my twitter screenshots here lmao

[stupidlittlespirit]

Do you have a list of smut headcanons you have for Ford? Including what his… size and width is under the belt lmao

So, I don't really put much stock into dick sizes and stuff, I don't like to think about them too closely bc I think they're a bit gross LMAO.

but for general smut hcs?

oh boy do i........

I'd just say 'the right size for you' and let you do the imagining. i know it's big though on god i know it is

Here's an ask I already answered about this and it still stands, though I'll repeat myself here because it's fun.

These all apply to my fanon version of post portal!Ford because he's my favourite. They aren't really comprehensive nor are they exhaustive but hey ho:

I think we've all established as a group that praise is big for him. Any kind, provided it's genuine, gets him all warm and toasty inside. He's driven (compelled, really) to earn more of it and will go about doing so as 'subtly' as he can.... As subtle as a sledgehammer to the knee is, anyway. He fold for it immediately and he likes to hear and know that he's doing well and is liked, which makes him generous with the attention he gives. Likes to hear that he's smart/the best etc.

Virgin. Don't care what anyone says. That motherfucker is a virgin. Maybe he's held hands and kissed someone behind the bike sheds at school, but not much more. He's shy about it but he's an inquisitive, quick learner and he strives to do his best, so it makes for a nice combo once he does lose it.

Because he's new to all this, he wants to practise. He wants his partner to teach him. He'll still get overconfident and try to act like he knows what he's doing after one or two tries, but he ultimately enjoys getting to be taken along for the ride (heh).

It would take him time to get comfortable enough to pursue sexual and romantic contact. New forms and layers of trust have to be built and that kind of stuff takes time. Sex makes you vulnerable and he's not the kind of person that generally allows himself to be vulnerable, so I think he'd probably be quite nervous about it all. He'd feel very powerless and out of his depth so a partner would have to hold his hand through it (literally, too).

Adding onto that scary element, I think he'd be a switch with a preference for subbing and service, and being submissive requires a lot of trust. He's been taken advantage of over and over again, and he'd be frightened of it happening again. A partner would have to work hard to ease that fear.

Bi/pan. No one traverses inter-dimensionally and stays straight, whether you're fucking your way across the multiverse like Rick Sanchez or you're pure as untouched snow. He likes men, women, all the in-between genders, the interspecies aliens and fuck it, cryptids too.

Is romantically driven before anything else. Falls with feelings over physical attraction.

Cums quickly (virgin, duh) but knows that'll be the case, so spends more time performing on his partner before he gets his turn. He'll do literal experiments later on (with or without his partner) to up his resistance and delay himself.

He's also sixty-something, which means that once he's done, he's done. He can work on his refractory period and fuck it, maybe even find some/make some stuff that will help improve that for a special occasion, but he's still human. I get a good giggle when he's portrayed as a fuck machine (same with Stan) because trust me on this: old men are not! That!

I think he'd start out trying to be very efficient: like okay, I make you cum and then I cum and then that's it, until his partner reassures him that he doesn't have to do that at all and actually if he takes a breath, he'll enjoy it more.

Which then gives way to him taking that advice to heart and discovering long, drawn out, messy make out/ heavy petting sessions. The guy has a lot of time to make up for and he never got to do them in college so he’s going to enjoy them to their fullest now. These last for a while and then often lead into…..

Painfully drawn out, slow sex. Ford finds out that he is a thorough Love Maker, not a fucker. As I linked above, I think he could switch up styles and be adventurous with it, but he prefers taking his time and really bonding through the experience. He’ll get so involved with the sensations and the sights and the sounds that he’ll just forget that there’s technically an ‘end goal’ with sex and will drag things on for an age because he’s enjoying himself and the attention.

If it isn't obvious, I think he likes to take his time. He isn't on the run anymore and once he's reminded that he has the luxury of slowing down now, he'll stomp the breaks and use intimacy to really remind himself of that safety. Not a fan of quickies unless they're risky. Despite being shy, he likes the risk of being caught (by adults only, please, not anyone else) and I think he probably enjoys outdoor sex because he likes being outdoors! It's always the quiet ones....

Somewhat of a mommy/parental/authority kink.

Big fan of edging until he can't talk.

I think he's also a bit of a pervert. It mostly comes from a curious place, but he likes to check out the person he's into ("am I really into them or am I just imagining my attraction?...") and he definitely thinks about them in unholy ways in his private time. I'm drafting a fic where he makes a janky JOI programme on an old PC in the lab with Reader's voice because I think he's a little weirdo sometimes and he likes being bad because he thinks he's too smart to get caught for it. Spoiler: he is not.

Experimentation kink.

I think he's also very shy about it all. Like, really shy. Charmingly so. He definitely holds himself back initially because of noble reasons (his trauma, his age, lack of confidence etc) but even once he's got the go ahead he's still awkward with it. He'll have a brave moment every now and then, though.

Although I think he is predominantly a shy, submissive type in this kind of scenario, I do think he's prone to outbursts (the BPD brothers, helloooo), so every now and then if he's pissed off or excited or whatever, he might be inclined to toss his partner over a nearby surface and have at it. In this kind of scenario, he's probably a lot more demanding for the praise and stuff.

Anyway I'll shut up now :)

[rawkingbunny]

Bitter and Sick - Chapter Three

After tons of editing and rewrites, it’s finally done! I really hope you like this as much as i did writing it! There are tons of journal 3 references in here, so keep your eyes peeled! I always keep a copy next to me for fun. Also, I’m considering writing a Stan Spin-off, during his time in the 70s and 80s as a struggling businessman. 

–Rating: M

–Gravity Falls/Rick and Morty

~Diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, Stanford Pines is forced to reflect on past regrets and experiences that bring him back to one person. A narcissistic sociopath who saved his life~

~Chapter Three~

…

One Week Earlier

…

“Mr. Mystery, you’re full of surprises…”

Stan parted lips with his score, a devilish grin spread across his bold face. It was moments like these that the title had its perks, it wasn’t everyday a beautiful woman entered the gift shop with a purpose.

“Baby…the tour doesn’t end here…”

Coarse hands gripped her hips as his tongue explored her mouth, strong arms wrestling her to the desk. Neglected stacks of cash scattered across its surface, and a change counter that was a little too out of date fell carelessly to the floor. Neither seemed to mind, Stan already sliding his large hand beneath her silk blouse.

Quiet moans elicited from both parties, her hands making quick work of removing his jacket and tie. She began to struggle with the buttons on his shirt, leaving heated kisses across his chin.

Stan chuckled, loosening his belt with his free hand. “You’re about to be one lucky lady…”

His belt cracked like a whip as he dropped it to the floor, a low growl forming In his throat as her frail hands reached to unzip his pants.

Without warning, the door to the office swung open, both defensively attempting to cover themselves at the intrusion.

Stanford Pines took a step back in embarrassment, heat crossing his already pink nose. It’s not like it was the first time he’d caught his brother in such a compromising position, they did unfortunately share a bedroom in their youth.

“Pardon my intrusion…”, Ford choked, the sound almost close to the squeak of a small door mouse. He gripped the side of the door, averting his gaze as he started to shut it.

Stan adjusted his glasses in irritation, re-zipping his pants. “Wait…”.

The slight creak of the door stopped, Ford turning bloodshot eyes back to his brother. He avoided looking directly at the visitor, but noticed she’d started to gather her purse and coat in frustration. He was pretty sure he heard her mutter something about “Wasted time” and “Bus fare”, which made him feel a lot more confident in his choice to stay.

Stan reached for his jacket, sliding a few bills beneath the lining of her jeans. A loud smack echoed through the shop as he slapped her rear in amusement, a wide grin plastered on his face. She was in no way enjoying this, a look of pure hatred focused in Ford’s direction.

Ford stepped aside for her like a proper gentleman, a smirk gracing his exhausted features. “Don’t forget to come back now, “ he managed to say, receiving the middle finger in direct response.

The gift shop door slammed behind her as she made her way to the exit, leaving the two face to face in the office door away.

Stan was close enough to finally get a cold hard look at his brothers disheveled features, the heavy bags under Ford’s eyes brought him back to that December chill almost forty years ago.

“You’re not sleeping again…”

Ford bit his lip, he knew he was a mess. He’d just spent over an hour staring back at his own horrid reflection in the mirror. It had been weeks since he’d shaved, the thick stubble irritating his cheeks.

The stench of cold sweat was caught in Stan’s nose, and he guessed it had been days since Ford had even had a decent shower. He chose to ignore it, buttoning up the top few buttons of his shirt.

Ford was thankful, the blinding reflection of Stan’s medallion disappearing behind his collar. He opened his mouth to reply, raising a six fingered hand to push his glasses back into place.

“You’d be making friends with the coffee maker too, if you had my dreams…”

Stan closed the office door behind them as they reentered the gift shop, a normal quiet Monday leaving them both alone amongst the various trinkets and poorly handmade merchandise.

Ford followed him to the registers, picking up one of the ‘Mr Mystery’ bobble heads in mild curiosity. He grazed his thumb over the plastic, the cheap paint already seemed to be fading with age. There was time when he resented his brother for this ridiculous attraction he created, but he’d come to admire the intricate thought and detail that came with every new ridiculous oddity he invented.

Stan stopped at the register behind the narrow counter, and popped open the drawer with a quick turn of the brass key hung amongst the countless others that all seemed so familiar to the author.

Ford placed the bobble head back down on the shelf, turning back to his brother with a heavy mind. “Stanley?”

The larger man paused, a large finger slipping underneath a stack of twenty dollar bills. “Hmm?”

Ford tensed and rubbed the back of his head, “I need you to know…that I’m thankful”.

Stan released a rasped chuckle, “For what? Me stealing your fucking house…”

Ford’s mouth gaped open to speak, but he was cut off by his brother’s irritated expression as he shoved the cash back into the drawer.

“Stanley…I…”

“You what? Want me to pack my bags? Wanna kick the kids out to?”

“They’re happening again, Stanley…”

The room was silent, the two old men sharing puzzled expressions. Neither having the words to say to break the tension in the air.

Stan was the first to speak, memories flooding back from that terrifying night. The vulnerability of leaving his mind so open. A foggy remnant of a moment where his priorities were clear, and he was willing to sacrifice his own sanity for the children he’d come to care so much for.

“He can’t be alive…”

“I know, Stanley…”

“You don’t understand. I killed that fucker myself”.

…

Present Day

…

Smoke clouded the gentle breeze that filled the late summer air, dancing it’s way from the roof of the hospital. The quiet melody of seagulls loomed overhead, a sound he’d become accustomed to after spending the last year on open waters.

Stan Pines let out a haggard breath, a lit cigarette held between gritted teeth. An old habit, one that he always seemed to return to in times of stress. Sixer had his ways of dealing with his anxiety, and Stan had his own secrets. There was a reason why he kept a few bags of marijuana stashed in the safe, and may have taken a couple vicodin to numb more than just his body.

His hands shook violently as he grasped the butt of his cigarette, dropping his arm lazily to his side. He exhaled, pulling the corners of his beanie over his ears to protest the breeze.

It had been almost 48 hours since Ford has lost consciousness, and the wait was murder. Stan hadn’t left his side for the first 24, and Wendy had to persuade him to at least head back to the shack and get a shower and new clothes. And now here he was, having a mental breakdown on the roof of the hospital.

Aside from a bag of chips Wendy had snagged him from the vending machine, he hadn’t had a decent meal in almost 2 days. His stomach groaned at the thought, and he gripped it in irritation. It was flatter than he remembered, the time oversea with Ford had been healthy for not only his mind but his body as well.

Stan took another drag of his cigarette, his nerves steadying to a point of content, honey eyes surveying the horizon.

“Grunkle Stan!”

He turned abruptly, flicking his current emotional support to the ground in favor of a healthier one.

Mabel was staring back at him from the roof exit, her eyes swelled with tears, faced flushed and exhausted from crying. Her soft brown eyes quivered, making a mad dash to his broad open arms.

He knelt down to received her hug, running a large hand through her hair to ease the tension. She continued to cry salty tears into his chest. The strong smell of salt water was soothing and she inhaled it from his jacket, ignoring the also obvious smell of nicotine smoke.

“Hey, Sweetie…” he released a slight cough, hugging her tighter in response. He couldn’t find anything else to say to calm her tears, his own mind racing due to lack of sleep.

And it was at that moment that every little tightly boarded corner of his tough emotional exterior cracked, and the tears came. They started slow, and turned into gross sobs of distress. The stubble of his chin running past her forehead as he hugged her closer, nearly crushing her in the moment.

In shock, Mabel hugged his neck, his significantly longer silver hair passing through her tiny fingers.

“It’s ok…” she choked, fighting to reassure them both between her own sobs.

Stan’s body trembled, knowing he shouldn’t be here. He should be at Ford’s side, praying to a God he didn’t believe in that those six fingers would twitch back to life and laugh it off like it was some kind of sick joke.

They were both broken from their bond, the sound of the exit door sliding open raked through their ears. A panting Wendy stood there, face paler than usual.

“He’s awake!”

…

Darkness.

He recognized the void of his own mind, the calm and orderly emptiness. But the darkness was new.

Lifting himself from a seated position, Ford reached to ease another migraine, only to find that there was no pain. He breathed a sigh of relief, narrowing his eyes to attempt to see through the endless black.

Am I dead…

This was no surprise to him if it were true, he honestly deserved so much worse.

So this is how it all ends…

A light fog began to lift around him, brightening the darkness but limiting his peripheral vision. His body buckled in confusion, searching for anything he could hold on to, something corporeal other than his own body.

The darkness faded into a starry night sky, familiar constellations overcrowded by the infinite possibilities beyond. He reveled in that feeling, and felt at home.

He looked down at his hands, puzzled as he was once again dressed in his black coat and sweater, the cold heavy metal of his quantum destabilizer strapped to his back.

Was this all a dream? Did I never make it home?

The fog slowly lifted, the faint smell of gunfire and alienistic screams clouded his senses. He lifted a knife from his belt, a deep familiar laughter echoing through the air. He could hear and smell war, but what he saw was only space;cold, wide, and beautiful.

“You came back…”

Ford panicked as a cold hand touched his shoulder, turning to come face to face with a worn and beaten Rick. His eyes sunken with exhaustion, drained from alcohol withdrawal.

“Rick…I didn't…”, he shook violently, looking for any kind of excuse to save himself. “I didn’t mean to leave you, but the portal-”

“FUCK THE PORTAL!”

Rick’s voice deepened, echoing throughout the vast emptiness. His eyes sagged, dried blood and various scars covering his face and arms. He was beaten and broken, a large gash sealed with a tourniquet over his shoulder.

Ford parted his lips to speak, but nothing came out. A painful reminder of his biggest mistake stood before him, and he was paralyzed.

“You left me here. Not a goodbye, not a fucking word. You left me to die…”

Ford backed away, ready for the blow. He welcomed it, he deserved more. All that wasted time spent traveling the multiverse, gaining his trust, he’d never meant for it to end this way.

“I’m sorry…”

Rick pulled his fist, no remorse or the slightest sign of retraction.

“YOU RUINED MY LIFE!”

You ruined my life…

He’d heard that before. The words digging like knives in his already fragile heart. But this time he didn’t argue, eyes rolling back into his skull as Rick’s punch landed across his heavy jaw. He stumbled to the ground, a sharp pain accompanying the oncoming migraine that he was so used to.

Ford seethed, adjusting his jaw as he struggled to look back up at his friend. His face paled at the view before him. Eyes a yellow field, slits like knives.

No. Not him…

A shrill laugh pierced Ford’s ears, horrified as Rick emitted that monstrous voice that was obviously not his own.

He attempted to crawl away, the world around him spinning and hazed. He slowly lost consciousness, the color yellow the last thing burned into his eidetic memory as the world went black.

Fear the beast with just one eye…

…

The sound of hushed voices reached his ears, his eyes still adjusting to the sunlight that filled the room.

“Ford you idiot!”

Ford assumed the voice was Stanley’s, and his theory was correct as he felt his brothers large arms pull him into a tight embrace. He could smell the faint stench of nicotine on his breath, and realized he must have been unconscious way too long for comfort.

Stan pulled away, reaching in his pocket for a pair of glasses, frames slightly cracked on the corner. Ford happily accepted them, grunting as vision returned.

Mabel and Dipper smiled back at him from the edge of the bed, Wendy eying him but chatting quietly on her phone.

“You scared us half to death!” Mabel squeaked, bright eyes locked on his. Her braces shined in the sun, the glare itching his tired eyes.

Ford leaned back, becoming self aware of the various drugs running through his system. His sweater was gone, his various scars and tattoos visible from the fabric of the fitted hospital gown. He wanted to run, feeling vulnerable and wide open to criticism, but he settled on the fact that he was surrounded by family and friends. The paranoia faded, and he gave in to the medication.

“Hey, you hungry…” Stan questioned, his body shifting on the edge of the bed.

As if on queue, Ford’s stomach groaned in reply. He was reminded that even before he’d lost consciousness that it had been almost 2 days since he’d had a decent meal. He nodded, the mattress lifting as Stan lead the kids to the exit.

“I’ll stay with him, “ Wendy assured to Stan, finishing her phone call and pocketing the device.

The door closed behind them, Ford a little more at ease now that he wasn’t the focus of numerous stares. The migraine was gone, replaced by the cold hard pinch of the metal plate at the base of his skull.

“Thank you…”

Wendy was surprised by his gratitude, shrugging it off. “I just got off the phone with Soos. I didn’t want to bother them on their honeymoon, but he’s glad you’re ok…”

Ford agreed, Soos and Melody deserved the time together. They’d been saving enough for the trip, and it would be a tragedy to have them head home from Hawaii so soon.

“You can thank me by answering a simple question…”

Ford tensed, adjusting himself so he could see her better. The throbbing pain may be gone, but the horror of his dreams still lingered.

Wendy crossed her legs, folding her arms over her chest. Her green eyes shined with curiosity.p “Who is Rick?”

“Pardon me?”

The room grew silent, both of them exchanging puzzled stares, neither willing to let this go. Wendy was the first to crack a response, brushing a strand of red behind her hair.

“Before you passed out…you called me, Rick? Does that name mean anything to you?”

Ford had no recollection of speaking his name, only the oncoming darkness. It was likely the lack of sleep was affecting his mental state, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d hallucinated.

“A friend. He was a friend…”

Wendy was intrigued, making her way to the edge of the bed. She took her time, carefully not to irritate his weak body by shaking the mattress.

“What was he like?”

Ford chuckled at the question, lifting a hand to run a finger over her cheek. He’d become quite fond of her over the two years since he’d been back, she was almost like a daughter to him. Although he’d never admit it, not willing to start a feud with her actual father.

“You would have hit it off…”

She leaned in, teasingly. “Spit it out old man…I want all the details…”

Ford blushed, some of those details he wasn’t entirely sure were appropriate. Some, he wasn’t even sure he even believed.

Wendy’s eyes widened in sudden realization, eyes traveling to his neck. He noticed her gaze shift, the blush on his cheeks reddening. She’d discovered his biggest regret, his neck tattoo.

She grazed her fingers over it, laughing at the adorable cartoon star that was still fresh on his skin. The lyrics ‘Hey now, I’m an All Star’ surrounding the smiling animated character.

“Was Rick responsible for this?”

Ford choked, pulling the covers close in embarrassment. He would kill for a comfort bag of jelly beans, not too keen on remembering the 30 years prior.

“Unfortunately…”

…

Ford downed another shot of whiskey, hand grazing over the rim of the glass. The crowds and over cranked pop music ringing in his ears.

This wasn’t his type of crowd, but the urge for a mind numbing scotch or whiskey was too good too pass up.

He was positive that the woman across the room was watching him with interest, but he avoided eye contact, much more interested in getting wasted than social interaction.

His thumb graced the creases of the old photograph, the tattered image of a young Stan and himself staring back at him.

Fifteen years…it had been fifteen years since he’d been running. Fifteen years of scrounging and fighting for food and shelter, of stealing and lying. The days just dragged on, and he would get just a little bit older.

“Pines!”

Ford flinched, the seat to his left quickly being taken. Silver hair with chestnut streaks came in to view, and he rolled his eyes as he realized who he was addressing.

“Rick..”

The name fell flat on his mouth, in a tone that sounded almost irritated. Ford was not ready for this interaction, and was definitely not in the mood for games.

“Two more for my partner here, and a couple for myself…” Rick shouted to the bartender, winking suggestively. She rolled her eyes in response, sending Ford a concerned look.

Ford nodded in approval, giving her a slight bit of comfort for his safety.

Rick turned in his chair to get a good look at him, eyes raking over his disheveled form.

“Damn. Even, when you’ve been through shit you still look fine…”

Ford downed the next shot as soon it was placed in reaching distance, wanting to just take the whole damn bottle and down it all at once. Rick was already intoxicated, his lack of proper judgement even more impaired than usual.

Rick grinned and leaned a little closer, his voice suggestive and near to a whisper.

“How drunk would you need to be to let me bend you over this counter right now?”

A heated blush crossed Ford’s cheeks and he choked, making his best attempt to retain a calm exterior. He formulated a blatant lie, downing the second shot whole.

“I prefer to have someone of the female persuasion in my bed…”

“Bullshit…”

It’s true, it was Bullshit, but he wasn’t about to admit it, especially to Rick. He’d have a field day with the news and never let it go.

Ford tucked the old photograph in his jacket, reaching for a shot only to realize he’d finished them. The bartendender was busy filling other drinks, leaving him without a security blanket.

Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me..

He untensed, the familiar tune passing through his throat in a gentle hum. It was a common practice to deal with his social anxiety, one he utilized more often than not. He may even have a walkman stashed in his bag, but he’d never tell a soul that one.

Rick’s unibrow rose, roaring with laughter. “Fuck me. You like this song?”

Ford rolled his eyes, raising an arm to the free bartender. He needed some stimulation, and he needed it now.

She was looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb…

“Sorry, sixer. You just don’t struuuuuurp–ike me as someone who would appreciate modern music…”

“Don’t pretend to know me…”

The empty glasses were replaced with two more, and he groaned in relief, downing both in seconds. The buzz was starting to take effect, and his body loosened, fingers tapped against the empty glass along with the song.

Didn’t make sense not to live for fun. Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb…

“How about a challenge?”, Rick grinned as he downed his last shot, arm leaning suggestively against the counter. The leather of his jacket creaked, his undershirt dipping and giving off a full view of his chest hair.

Ford swallowed, adams apple uncomfortably shifting in response. “Enlighten me…”

“30 shots…”, Rick burped, lifting his empty glass as a token. “Loser gets a tattoo, and the winner gets to design it…”

Fords ego increased, his already questionable judgement impaired by the alcohol. “I’ll take that bet…”

You’ll never know if you don’t go. You’ll never shine if you don’t glow…

He was positive he was the less intoxicated of the two, and his confidence grew as the bartender poured them their shots. Her expression still concerned for his health, the attention causing him to anxiously run a polydactyl hand through his chestnut hair.

Rick noticed the tension, mild jealousy forming. He made a note to get her fired later, slamming his first shot on the counter in excitement. “One…two…”

He cheated, downing the first glass before getting to ‘three’. He received a scowl from Ford in response, who was doing surprisingly well at catching up.

Hey now, you’re an all-star, get your game on, go play…

The tenth shot stung as it went down, Ford clenching his teeth at the burn. He hadn’t entirely taken into account how many shots he’d had prior, and this was starting to look foolish on his part. Rick on the other hand was on his fifteenth shot, not a shudder or sign of surrender.

“Give up yet, Fordsie?”

The older man seethed, downing his thirteenth shot in desperation, taking any chance he could to catch up. He could tell Rick was starting to take it easy on him, and the knife to his ego hurt more than the actual loss.

Even taking his time, Rick was already at his twenty-fifth, already scheming the results of his victory. He watched in amusement at Ford began to falter at twenty, nearly tossing it up as it went down his throat.

“Alright…Alright…Fuuuuuuuuuuck. Just call it already”, the younger man groaned, downing his twenty-eighth.  

Rick downed his last two, unable to watch the agony his friend was going through. Shaking a head at the sick and defeated drunk Ford, lifting him to his feet.

Ford didn’t complain when he noticed Rick paid for their drinks. He didn’t complain as he watched him pull out the portal device from his jacket. He was too drunk to complain as he pulled him through the emerald light. And you’d think he was high as a kite at how amused he was at the change of scenery.

“Welcome to Earth Dimension 62-48 Ceeeeeee…” Rick burped, spreading his arms as if it was a world of his own creation. Which wouldn’t be too far from the truth.

His introduction was cut short by the sound of Ford chucking onto the cold hard ground, no longer able to hold back. He’d taken it too far this time, his pride getting the best of him.

Rick waited for him to finish, offering an arm to lead him to a nearby tent. He muttered along the way about the science of holding your alcohol, and how he recognized that Ford was drinking on an empty stomach; which obviously dwindled his chances.

Ford sobered enough to walk for himself as they reached the tent, a market area coming into view before him. He shared a brief glance at Rick, attempting to avoid the street salesman and traders calling them their way. A Garblovian started shouting obscenities as they passed, and Ford was tempted to fish out his translator. Rick’s flip of the middle finger was more than enough of a retaliation to quiet him, both men diving under a tattered curtain in nearby tattoo parlor.

Ford’s lip curled in uncertainty, Rick dragging him to the front desk. The shop owner at the desk was nothing like he’d seen before, an average pig  with octopus tentacles for arms. Despite the sunglasses and tough exterior, it seemed elated to see Rick. It’s cheeks curving into a fat smile that could weaken even the strongest of men.

“‘Sup, Tony! How you doin’ you son of biiiitch…”, Rick readied his fist, winking in invitation.

Tony received the fist bump with a tentacled one of his own, beady eyes darting between the two under the frames of his sunglasses.

“Who’s your friend?”

“This is Ford. Lost a bet, the fuckin’ lightwieght. Can you fit him in?”

Tony chuckled as if it wasn’t the first time this had happened, hopping off his stool to lead them to the backroom.

Ford lifted the curtain. The parlor was rather large, countless sketches littering the walls. The faded wooden countertops were covered in supplies and chemicals, several ink pens with different sizes and tips caught his attention.

Rick motioned to Ford to remove his shirt, to which he protested at first. After a few moments of grumbling, he discarded his jacket and sweater, feeling exposed. He caught a thirsty stare from Rick, his numerous scars and rugged chest hair attracting his attention.

Tony led Ford to the large reclining chair in the center, wiping his tentacles on a nearby rag before reclining him back in the chair to get a better look at his flesh. He glanced at a small sketch that Rick has somehow managed to finish, keeping it out of range of Ford in amusement.

“I’m going to regret this…” The older man uttered out loud, the needle pinching his neck without warning. For his first tattoo it wasn’t as painful as he expected, to be honest it was almost therapeutic.

The next hour was a culmination of Rick running his mouth about his portal gun, how it functioned and the science behind it. Every intricate detail was music to Ford’s ears. Rick’s passion for his work was inspiring, and for a moment…he admitted to himself that there was more to this man than he was lead to believe.

The minutes passed by, reaching over an hour with Rick leaning against the wall impatiently. Tony lifted the pen, passing a mirror to Ford so he could admire the work.

Ford braced himself, turning his large chin to have a better view.

A small yellow star grinned back at him, the cartoonish features amusing him in his drunken state. The lyrics ‘Hey Now, I’m an All Star’ cradled around the character.

“So, scale of 1 to 10. Is it my best work?” Rick burped.

“I love it…”

And all that glitters is gold. Only shooting stars break the mold…

Previous Chapter

[allieinarden]

An anonymous asker wanted me to comment on a certain analysis of Dipper and Mabel’s relationship, encountered elsewhere on the Internet, which interpreted their bond as a destructive and unhealthy one. Anon shared the original analysis with me in full, but was kind enough to provide me with a point-by-point summation of the poster’s arguments, each of which I will address herein.

A) Mabel may learn lessons, but she easily forgets them later on and doesn’t actually tangibly change as a person and doesn’t actually learn anything as her behaviour is still roughly the same.

Mabel’s a more static character than her brother, I grant you that. Dipper’s the protagonist, and as such the character whose growth is the series focus; he’s an avatar of creator Alex Hirsch himself, so there’s a lot of gentle self-deprecation in the way he’s written. But I tend to think that, in terms of story, it makes sense for Mabel to maintain a certain childishness, because that part of her comes to a head during the Weirdmageddon arc, when she has to choose between eternal childhood and the hard reality of growing older.

Dipper himself doesn’t change much during the series; he learns various smaller lessons to the effect of “just let things happen and don’t try to rush them,” but, until the finale, fails to fully imbibe the larger lesson about growing up. The events of Weirdmageddon give us Dipper at his best; he sheds the pervasive need to be seen as an adult that has characterized him from the beginning and in so doing appears at his most mature. He becomes a realist. He stops getting in his own way. At the same time, Mabel relinquishes her selfishness, the world which revolves around her, and her unwillingness to move forward, even granting Dipper the freedom to stay with Ford if he so chooses. They each grow in a far more definite way than they did over the course of the series proper, in which their character flaws were excellent plot fodder. (It’s also worth noting that in the show, as in real life, maturation is a process; we tend to revert to type, and it’s rare that one definitive “lesson” alters our tendencies. We have to learn again and again.)

B) The review ... points out that Dipper has been told the entire summer and probably his entire life that his sister is better than him, meaning his relationship with this sister, no matter how stable it might seem superficially, is actually unstable and based on one of the siblings having a lower-sense of self-worth than the other, at least subconsciously.

I don’t see any evidence that he’s received this kind of treatment, then or now. Stan is tougher on Dipper than on Mabel because he thinks the nervous, noodle-armed Dipper could use the toughening up in a way that his more energetic twin doesn’t. Wendy tells Dipper in “Sock Opera” that he should roll with Mabel’s weirdness because it makes life worth living–but note that it’s Mabel who learns a lesson in “Sock Opera,” in a deliberate reversal of various Season 1 episodes (“Time-Traveler’s Pig,” “The Deep End”) in which Dipper takes the fall. The episode starts with that message rather than ending on it because this time it’s going to be subverted; Mabel is the one who will need to compromise.

Dipper’s under no illusions that his sister is perfect; he complains about her plenty, her behavior often gets on his nerves (as his does on hers) and he asserts himself whenever it’s necessary. But he loves her–loves her, in fact, in the fullest agape sense.

The fact he values his sister’s life over his own can be used as evidence to support this, as this dovetails right into him thinking he is inferior to her, and is an unhealthy thing for him. And his motivation isn’t that he wants to save as many of his friends as possible, but rather that we wants to live long enough to find Mabel, further supporting the theory. Basically, he is his sister’s “emotional slave” as said in the analysis I quoted above.

Dipper’s willingness to put his life on the line for his sister is no evidence of an unhealthy relationship or of an inferiority complex; it’s a testament to his love for her that shows his character in its noblest light. His feeling is one that anyone with a beloved family member, be it brother, sister, parent, or child, is likely to relate to. It’s not an indication that he devalues his own life, but rather that he values her life more. There’s nothing passive or suicidal in Dipper: he has dreams, ambitions, goals for his future (if anything, his flaw is to dwell in the future too much and forget to be twelve). Like Ford before him, he harbors a hope that the things that make him different are signs of a higher destiny, one he would like to get to as quickly as possible. It’s because he values his future highly that the risk he takes for Mabel carries the weight it does. (By contrast, Mabel fears the future so much that she’s willing to throw her life away and idle indefinitely in the prison bubble; for her the heroic action is not a decision to risk her life but a decision to embrace it.)

In fact, however, Dipper does want to save as many of his friends as possible; when Weirdmageddon hits, his first move is to follow Ford into an incredibly dangerous attempt to take out Bill Cipher, cutting off the apocalypse at its source. When that falls through, it’s completely natural that he should try his hardest to find Mabel; she’s his sister, she’s been missing since the whole thing started, he has reason to fear that she might not even be alive. Worse still, the last conversation they had was a fight. With Ford down for the count, his only other “surviving” relative in Gravity Falls at this point is Stan, an adult well-capable of caring for himself.

What’s more, the revelation that Bill has locked Mabel in his prison bubble comes with the idea that rescuing Mabel is in fact the best thing Dipper can do for Gravity Falls; after observing the twins in action all summer, Wendy sees their teamwork as a sufficiently potent force to topple even Bill. She throws in her lot with Dipper because she cares about Mabel, yes, but also because she firmly believes that reuniting the twins is the key to undoing the apocalypse.

C) This right here has to do with the ask you answered last time. The person above who wrote the analysis points out that, even though both Dipper and Mabel have desires that are equally selfish and mean everything to them, Dipper still has to sacrifice more of his desires than Mabel has to as a whole. He also points out how it seems that Mabel might be a bit spoiled, as she can afford to forget the lessons she has learned while Dipper cannot do that, putting her in a privileged position.

As a beautifully-written response to my original post points out, Dipper’s and Mabel’s sacrifices add up evenly. But I think it’s also worth pointing out that Dipper, while experiencing temporary pain, doesn’t lose much from his sacrifices on the whole; where it counts (when, for instance, the journal is on the line), Mabel takes the hit. Several of Dipper’s wants over the course of Season 1 had to do with his crush on Wendy, a doomed affair regardless of what he did. In “The Time-Traveler’s Pig,” for instance, he went back in time and took away Robbie’s opportunity to ask Wendy out, childishly attempting to spare himself the pain of seeing them together. Not only would this hardly have prevented Robbie from asking her out in the future, it left the root difficulty unaltered–namely that, given the chance to go out with a boy her own age, Wendy would do it. Dipper blames circumstances and timing because it’s less painful than acknowledging that Wendy wants to date someone else. (That Wendy has her freedom is a lesson Dipper is slow to learn; he grasps it in “Boyz Crazy,” around the time Mabel is learning a similar lesson about the clueless boy band she’s hiding in the Shack.) It’s an impulsive, band-aid solution and one that can hardly help Dipper in the long run, whereas Mabel will be deeply affected by the loss of her pig, a complication Dipper caused himself when his denial made him meddle with the timeline. His sacrifice on this occasion is simply a decision to let things unfold as they did to begin with. He watches the girl he likes go out with another person and suffers some pain because of it; that’s part of growing up.

Mabel is a little spoiled, but there’s no evidence that she can “afford” to forget what she’s learned in a way that Dipper can’t; she suffers for her flaws as he does, particularly when her need for control lands her in the prison bubble.

D) Mabel seems to depend on the positivity of others to make her feel she is doing the right thing, instead of learning it objectively and maturely like other characters.

That’s a character flaw, and it’s addressed head-on in “The Last Mabelcorn”–Mabel is overly-reliant on outside affirmation and reassurance. She has a very real anxious streak and wants (as seen in “The Love God”) to make the people around her happy; she’d do well to learn that it’s impossible to please everyone, but so would a lot of preteens.

E) Mabel is responsible for opening the portal in the end which causes Weirdmageddon. People should have confronted her about this, at least mildly and without anger, but nobody did. And Dipper should have been angry with Mabel about this, but he somehow wasn’t. The theory says this is because Dipper had an emotional attachment to Mabel that was destructive & unhealthy for both of them, which is why he didn’t confront her and continued caring for her more than himself.

In fact, Dipper never found out (onscreen, at least) about Mabel’s encounter with Blendin Blandin and the subsequent opening of the portal. But even if he had, I don’t tend to think that he would have been angry, nor that he should have been.

Mabel didn’t knowingly cause the apocalypse. In an incredibly vulnerable moment, when she was at her absolute lowest, she was tricked by Bill Cipher, who had taken hold of someone she trusted. She was completely unaware of the significance of the rift–she had never seen it before, and Ford had forbidden Dipper from telling her anything about it. She had not been warned about Bill’s endgame and was unconscious of any impending apocalypse save the immediate vision of her world crumbling before her eyes. As far as she could see, she was trading a worthless item of Dipper’s for something she desperately wanted: security. What’s familiar about this? It’s exactly the situation Dipper found himself in during “Sock Opera.”  He was so desperate to fight time, so frightened of losing everything, so powerless against the clock (“Tick-tock, kid!”) that when Bill seemed to be asking him for one of Mabel’s sock puppets in exchange for what he wanted, he took the bait, inadvertently handing over something far more valuable. No one confronted Dipper about this because no one needed to; the events of the episode were lesson enough.

Should Mabel have been smarter about the whole thing? Perhaps. But keep in mind that Dipper, in a similar situation, knew he was talking to Bill. He made the deal in the full knowledge that he was shaking the hand of a fundamentally untrustworthy creature. Mabel believed that she was speaking to a friend. I don’t see any reason why Dipper should have been angry at Mabel for being tricked by a force which had not only tricked him also, but which had even played their great-uncle Ford, a highly intelligent adult and the person he admires most, for a sucker--particularly considering that Mabel acted out of a desperate fear of losing him.

The reviewer also points out how it would have been much better if Dipper and Mabel had developed by “finding their own hobbies, clubs, and friend groups while still living together and staying just close enough to remain best loving friends but not be dependent on each other to be mentally and emotionally stable” instead of the way their relationship existed in the show.

According to Alex Hirsch, the twins are in fact more independent under ordinary circumstances, when they’re at home; the unfamiliarity of a new situation pulls them closer together. But even in Gravity Falls, the two are consistently depicted as living distinct and individual lives, with their own separate hobbies and groups of friends. Mabel finds “her people” in young eccentrics Candy and Grenda, while Dipper gravitates toward the more advanced high-school social dynamic of Wendy and her crew. Mabel loves boy bands, stuffed animals and the 80s; Dipper’s steeped in paranormal research, mystery novels and fantasy RPGs. Their lives and interests intersect and conflict, but never overwhelm each other; in the end there’s room for Dipper’s ballpoint pens and Mabel’s crayons under the same pointed attic roof.

Dipper and Mabel won’t live with each other forever. They’ll grow up like any brother and sister, go to college, have lives of their own, get jobs, spouses, kids. But that’s exactly why the time they have is so important. They’re not ready to be adults yet. They still have a lot of growing up to do, and it’s right and natural for them to be able to rely on each other, to draw strength from each other, to support each other through this particularly turbulent phase of their lives, just as they’ve always done.