#fiddleford mcgucket fanfic

[saint-transfag]

Afterimage: a Fiddlestan fanfiction

"I know I'm not as good as him."

A month after opening the Murder Hut, Stan is no closer to finding any clues as to how to get Ford back—until one literally jumps him.

Rating: E (not until much later chapters, nor central to plot) No archive warnings apply

Chapter 1

After reading Ford’s journal front-to-back for weeks now, it wasn’t really as if Stan ought to have been surprised when he saw the… thing? Creature? “Anomaly”? Weird little guy? Whatever it was.

And, after the colorful history of his entire adult life, he shouldn’t have been surprised when he got jumped. His body wasn’t, at least—long-trained reflexes had his assailants on the ground before they could drag Stan off to God-knows-wherever anyone would want to drag Stan off to in Buttfuck Nowhere, Oregon.

But seriously, getting jumped here? He hadn’t been expecting it. Nobody had caught up to him here yet. He knew that the faked death might not convince every person who wanted a pound of his flesh (and not in the fun way), but had still thought that between it and the literally-not-on-any-maps seclusion of this sleepy little town, he’d reached a rare place of relative safety.

Aside from, y’know, giant zombie bats or whatever, tree giants that ate cars. Shit like that.

Of course Ford would have been living here.

But, apparently, Stan now had to add “cloaked weirdos sneaking up behind you” to the list of exceptions to that safety. Seriously, what the fuck? The dude sprawling underneath him looked like some cultist out of a cheap comic book from his youth.

Stan went to lift their hoods—might as well have a better idea of what he was dealing with, especially if he saw these people around town or something later. 

The first person was nondescript enough, nobody Stan was familiar with, but the second person—

Stan tensed. 

He’d been all through Ford’s basement laboratory; had utterly ransacked it by now, searching desperately for some small clues as to the portal’s origins, reconstruction, and use.

And now, one was knocked flat on his ass unconscious beneath Stan.

The the very 70s facial hair was gone, replaced by a haggard sense of age beyond what a decade alone should have dealt to his looks—but the rest of the face was the same, right down to the tiny round glasses.

“Try to forget,” the ripped photo in the drawer had said.

Who forget who, Stan had wondered at the time; it hadn’t been in Ford’s handwriting, though. 

Stan needed answers, and he needed them yesterday. And here before him was the first hope in hell of getting any that he’d had since the journal he'd already read cover-to-cover at least 20 times.

But how to get them from this guy?

Fiddleford H…—H…? …fuck—Fiddleford McGucket woke with a start, in about his second-least-favorite way to wake up. He started to shake as he thrashed against his bindings—how did the damned thing get at him—before he realized that he wasn’t in the bunker, and that these bindings weren't as extensive as before—and that he couldn’t quite remember what it was that he was even scared of in the first place, nor the bunker.

But he was still tied up, in the forest, at night, so he started thrashing harder.

“Don’t wear yourself out,” came an unfamiliar, gravelly voice from the shadows. Through them, Fiddleford could make out the silhouette of the man he’d been unsuccessful at restraining—at helping, he immediately corrected himself.

Clearly, the experience of not only seeing the eerie creature, but also of being unable to have the Society’s help in soothing his mind from the frightful experience had set this man on edge, and he’d lashed out in confused retaliation. Nevermind—he would feel better as soon as Fiddleford could, well, escort him back to the Society’s base, and they could calm his agitated nerves.

Getting an impression of the man’s bulk and the way he moved with the well-honed grace of a predator-prey, Fiddleford wasn’t sure how he was going to manage that on his own. Upon reflection, maybe it had been a bit foolish thinking that just he and a single colleague alone could usher this man back to their base of operations.

Fiddleford squirmed and jerked around, regardless of what the stranger said, as he tried to come up with a plan. He’d just have to use some manner of persuasion—somehow—but the silhouetted figure sighed, cutting off Fiddleford’s thoughts.

“Listen, those bindings aren’t comin’ undone ’til I cut you loose, you’ll just give yourself rope burn.”

The stranger shifted closer, and a beam of bright moonlight struck his face.

Fiddleford gasped, then gagged, then choked a little.

“Ah fuck—” he heard the unfamiliar voice mutter, and a meaty fist was pounded to Fiddleford’s back as he coughed.

“Y—you,” Fiddleford gasped. “Th—wh—who—”

His face worked furiously as his mind scrambled through half-shredded fragments of memory.

Then it clicked, hitting him in the gut like a freight train as broken recollections pieced themselves back together again.

“Stanford?!” he started, staring up at his former friend, wild-eyed—then, looking him over, he registered the slight incongruities of the heavy man’s features, and blanched.

Five fingers.

The voice hadn’t been right, either.

Memories of the shapeshifter came crashing back to him, and his heart raced like a hunted rabbit as he searched for a way out. He found none. 

Fiddleford flopped frantically like a hooked fish, senseless with terror. 

He would have fallen flat on his face and probably broken something had it not been for strong, broad hands catching his pathetically panicking form.

“Woah, uh, hey there—” an awkward rumble came from Not-Stanford, as thick arms loosely encircled Fiddleford.

There was a hesitant gentleness now to this creature's voice and gestures that Fiddleford couldn't reconcile. The shapeshifter was masterful at visual deception, but he couldn’t imagine it capable of being startled into tenderness, nor imitating such a reaction so well.

And not so masterful this time with the visual deception either—so then, what…?

Fiddleford shook violently in Stanford-Not-Stanford’s hovering grasp as he searched the doppelgänger’s face. The trickles of memories knitting themselves back together had become floods, and he remembered Actual-Stanford rambling enthusiastically about the traits of certain shapeshifting anomalies: those who could become lookalikes, but usually missed some key features. 

Like the cleft chin, Fiddleford remembered. 

No glasses either, and the hair was much too long for the time that had passed. 

In his wild panic, Fiddleford had even examined the hands for signs of stumps where sixth digits used to be, but nothing. 

There was only one explanation that Fiddleford was drawing, and it was not a good one.

Why then the genuine concern on this shapeshifter’s face? 

Cautiously, the creature lowered Fiddleford’s back to rest against a tree, propping him into a more comfortable sitting position.

“Look, I’m sorry about the restraints—sort of; to be fair, you did jump me.”

“You’re not Stanford,” he spat at it.

“I’m not Stanford,” the creature agreed.

Read the full fic on ao3

[vamp-bxtch]

Been bulldozing (writing) a slow burn Fidds, Ford, & reader polycule fic on ao3...

Any of y'all want the link??

[sincerlyus]

Fiddlesix + Different AU's!! (☆▽☆)

Close Ups:

Relativity Falls designs: @hoodedjelly

Monster Falls!Fiddleford design: @synthsays

The Reverse Falls designs are mine (that's why they're shit /jk)

Creo q se dan cuenta q no tuve una etapa furry xq no me salio muy bien el MF!Ford lol

[dannnyghost]

Drew one of my favorite scenes in O Brother god they make me cry

And various other doodles

[midos]

Fiddauthor or Billford?

First post of comic - Next

[derpwithit]

*taps mic* So erm...any fiddlestan enjoyers out there tonight?

Im ashamed to say that this ship has utterly taken over my life, I just want them to be happy and GOD THEYRE SO TRAGIC UWFIBJNKFQNC

[tired-demonspawn]

chapter 13! wow, hope you guys handled that 48 hour period well! :D

hope nothing too crazy happens which might be hinted at in that silly lil picture i drew!

full clean sketch that i saved cuz i thought the whole pose looked really cool, but the crop was more dramatic, so i cropped it, whatever. it's under the cut is my point

[modrzewek]

fanart for @van-goghs-cypress's fanfic "Bury me six feet in snow"

I really love the idea of the action taking place 1-2 years after Stan came to Gravity Falls, when Fiddleford is suffering the consequences of using the memory gun

Both of these men are fuckin disasters and I am so here for it.. anyway not gonna admit how emotional it has made me, I'll just say that it's great so far

[mangoharchives]

“The all-too-familiar shame” Fiddlestan fanfic

Sharing one of my most recent drawings for my fiddlestan fanfic “The all-too-familiar shame” by ManGohArchives on ao3. I’m really happy with the result, this drawing is based on chapter 21, in which Fiddleford and Stanley explore the alien ship in Gravity falls.

In case you would like to give the fic a shot, here’s the link!

[yourlowkeyidiot3]

How being a Fiddauthor fans feels like because finding Fiddauthor content that is actually about them without somehow involving Billford/Fiddlestan is extremely rare

[stupidvillainousposts]

Idea: Dipper and Mabel visit Gravity Falls for the summer following Weirdmageddon and start arguing about something or other, then knock over a weird device by accident that makes Stan, Ford, and McGucket return to their early/mid thirties

Long story short, the Chaos Trio need to make a device to turn themselves back to normal but keep getting distracted by the greatest weapon of all: Love. Basically everybody starts noticing that Stan and Fidds are crushing on each other... Everyone except Stan and Fidds

Ford, accusingly: You're romantically interested in my brother.

Fidds: What?! I- No- What could possibly make you think that?!

Ford, whilst glaring at Fidds: Stanley, how long did you say it takes the earth to revolve around the sun?

Stan: Oh, come on! This, again, Pointdexter??? The answer is obviously 12 hours! Why else would we only get sunlight for half a day every day?

Ford, sarcastically: Yes, obviously.

Fidds: *Smitten but Denying It* Y'know, his logic is fairly sound-

Ford, absolutely pissed: HIS LOGIC ISN'T SOUND AT ALL!

[saint-transfag]

Afterimage: a Fiddlestan fanfiction

"I know I'm not as good as him."

A month after opening the Murder Hut, Stan is no closer to finding any clues as to how to get Ford back—until one literally jumps him.

A post-Fiddauthor Fiddlestan fic exploring the ways that trauma does and doesn't change us, aftermath equations, the ways we heal together, and loss.

Rating: E (not until much later chapters, nor central to plot) No archive warnings apply

Read the ongoing fanfiction on ao3 - updates weekly-ish, usually around Fridays.

[honeysucklethornsandalligtrhorns]

you guys

fiddleford moved to palo alto after college. he met his 'best friend', stanford, at college.

guess what famous university is coincidentally located in palo alto.

fucking guess.

[wafflewarriors]

The Stanishing Act

A Gravity Falls AU

Part 3

(Also posted on my tiktok, wwwafflewarrior.)

(I BARELY managed to collage all this together into 10 pictures. It's 35 slides total 😭. I kind of got sidetracked from posting this... It's just extremely time consuming.)

[nerdylittlebugcreature]

idea for the Timestuck au for gravity falls

if this takes place after bills possession of dipper, he would likely have the fork scars (poor dip)

so, it would be real interesting to get a scene of Fiddleford fussing over dipper and being incredibly worried about the scars

if dipper actually explains how he got them and ford hears, that would be wild in his mind

the guy he considered his muse possessed this child, stabbed forks in his arms and nearly killed him? That would be a rollercoaster in his mind

[a-wirty-opponent]