#fiddleford mcgucket x y/n | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lilacxquartz · 10 days ago

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taking chances;

gn!reader x fiddleford h. mcgucket

summary: tensions were an all time high with your college roommate, so when you both found yourselves pushed together at a party, things started to make even less sense — themes: mutual pining, gender neutral reader, first-time kissing, eventual smut — w.c: ~5k • ao3 • masterlist

a/n: by request, i hope this fulfills your vision after everything that we’ve discussed, i tried my best with it. <3 let’s put him at around 20-22 here.

It was late summer—just the first week of September, in fact. The air outside was still warm and the skies were still welcoming, bright, and full of promise. College was going to be your to be your much-needed fresh start from a life you hoped to leave behind—it just took you a while to get there, you supposed. And now here you were, ready to start life anew in the dead center of Backupsmore College, ready to take on whatever it threw at you.

You were moving in alone, without the help of a relative or a friend, and albeit uncomfortably, lugged your suitcase up the three sets of stairs to your assigned dorm. Number 321, it was. You found it funny, that to go forward, you were to be living in a room that signaled the opposite. Three. Two. One. Not one, two, three. A bittersweet perspective perhaps, but it was what it was and you were always good at that—noticing what went on between the lines—except perhaps where it should have mattered.

Your hand pressed down onto the door handle, not quite sure what to expect as you pushed inside. There was an option to go for a solo room, but you told yourself that if it was going to be different this time—then that meant no more closing yourself away—no more running or isolating, you were going to push through, even if it meant being uncomfortable through a lot of it.

You only started to notice such a thing after you graduated, after all, that pretty much everyone in high school was just as lost as you were, but they pushed forward, simply because that was the only choice. It took you a while of internal loathing and self-inflicted sabotage to get past that point, but now you were ready.

(Because if not now, then when?)

A lanky figure stood before you, dropping something out of a box that they were in the process of unpacking. The first thing you noticed about him was the way his glasses sat crooked against his nose and the way that his shirt messily spilled out of his mustard-yellow jumper, which you noticed, by the way, was perhaps actually stained slightly with real mustard. You found all of those select little details to be oddly endearing in your first impression.

Just like you, there was an equally awkward and lost individual right in your personal space—a comfort like no other—you were so alike (and perhaps more than you both even knew).

Your new mystery roommate seemed startled at your sudden entry, his shoulders stiffening as he frantically whipped his head to the side to take a good look at you. Before you intruded, he was hunched over a desk that was a mess with wires, screws, and an odd sort of contraption. His glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose with his mouth propped ajar as he searched for a response, his mind faltering for a moment.

You could almost see the mental cogs in his brain turning, trying to figure out how to be a normal human being in such a sudden moment. You were doing the same, after all.

“Oh, uh, hey,” he spoke up after a hot minute, his accent letting slip a little to hint at where he might have been from, “you must be… my new roommate?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” you managed, sounding equally nervous.

“I’m Fiddleford,” he replied, extending a shaky hand towards you before clearing his throat, “Fiddleford McGucket.”

You took hold of his hand to shake it. His grip was a little too firm, yet somehow clumsy, but it was warm and you could tell that beneath the nervous demeanour that he let on, that he was kind.

You introduced yourself next, giving him your full name before flicking your eyes back to the mess he caused on his side of the room. “So, are you, um, working on something there?”

“Ah,” Fiddleford replied, his eyes widening as he stepped over to block out the sight with his body, trying to desperately avert your gaze to other matters, his voice trembling as he couldn’t help but stammer out a slurry of scatterbrained responses, “j-just a little, uh, w-well, it’s nothing real fancy. I’m just trying to… rig up a uh, an old radio to work with some other equipment I have, it’s n-nothing too exciting.”

Perhaps it was your fault for letting the conversation die, but you got the impression that he didn’t want to talk about what he was doing, so you didn’t press the issue further. Instead, all you did was clear your throat and tell him that you were going to be back to collect the rest of your stuff, finding it almost hurtful that by the time you returned, he wasn’t there.

Just faint fragments of him remained; his suitcase was there, and his stuff was unpacked, but he moved away his project off to somewhere else.

(Did he think that he was bothering you?)

All potential interactions fizzled down after that first meet and the two of you, despite seeing each other every single day. The two of you both settled into your respective corners of the room and that seemed to be the end of your initial pleasantries. Slowly, your side started to feel like more of your own, while a cold, unfamiliar side filled out the opposite end—your roommate who was more of a stranger—locked himself up in his own little world, unwilling to share beyond what was was already said.

On occasion however, you stole half-asleep glances at Fiddleford as he tinkered around during the odd hours of the night when he thought you weren’t watching. When he thought you were asleep. You liked watching him work on whatever it was beyond the clinical glow of his work lamp, finding all of those focused mutterings that escaped his lips to sound oddly sweet, even finding the satisfied smack of his lips when something went right to sound cute, rather than something bothersome.

He was fascinating in a quiet, unassuming way but that also made him frustrating, because something about him had also made you hesitate—leaving you unsure as to how to bridge the gap between you—that over time, kept moving further and further away.

Days of this later turned into weeks as the two of you settled into the every day of college life. The two of you lived quietly within each other's company, ate in the same canteen and even attended the same overlapping classes—but it was like there was an invisible wall keeping the two of you apart. Every interaction you had was a little too curt—a little too formal. He was far too polite and you were far too cautious, but beyond that, you couldn’t help but feel that there was something more to it all.

Like a buzzing sort of electricity when you were both together, a current that was blocked off by something in the way, yearning to trickle free, buzzing restlessly beneath the surface.

It was especially evident and highly suspicious when in the early mornings, you’d both try to get ready in as much of a rush as possible. You’d both avoid eye contact and dress in the corner or the communal bathroom instead and in class, you’d sit several rows apart, stealing occasional glances from each other, both of you quickly turning your heads away rather than letting the friendly gaze linger.

The evenings were the most difficult though; the small dorm room when packed with two people that you were by then certain, were at least curious about each other yet neither brave enough to make the first move, was a suffocating experience.

Something about it all felt strangely… intimate?

Sometimes, he’d break the silence with what sounded like a weak attempt to make small talk, often about the weather if it suddenly changed outside or idly complain about the class assignments but not making too much sense. At times, you’d indulge and reply, only for the few words exchanged to falter and drop again.

It wasn’t that you meant to be this self-destructive, because if anything, you wanted nothing more than to get to know everything about him—but every time you made the conscious effort to reach out—the words you delicately crafted caught in your throat, dissolving into something unintelligible.

(And if you were reading him correctly, he was struggling with the same damn thing.)

~~~

One fateful evening, deep into the semester, you found yourself at a party, believe it or not. One of the dorm residents, Stanford Pines, convinced (or rather, bullied) you into accepting what he described as one of the biggest parties of the century, swindling you into going, saying that it would be good for ‘someone like you’ and feeling caught out, you reluctantly accepted it. The party itself wasn’t your scene, not by a long shot, but you stuck around as if wanting to prove something to yourself—perhaps to others, too.

The dim lighting flickered against your eyes, making you feel woozy, especially when coupled with the cheap beer that was shoved into your hands, but you were there. You were at a party. In college. That was the dream, right? That’s what people most looked forward to when they were there… right?

The house was packed but also, you were unsure as to whose it was. The party was supposedly organised by Stanford Pines, but he left very little answer as to where this place even came from. Nobody else seemed to mind, however, with everyone else happily drinking and dancing to a tune that you didn’t even recognise. In fact, you couldn’t recognise anyone here either. You were alone… until you weren't, locking your eyes onto a familiar face just across the living room.

Fiddleford. Standing all alone in a corner with a half-empty drink in his hand, looking less than thrilled to be there. Just like you.

You pretended to not see him however, as if to not give him a reason to leave, but on occasion, you’d flick over little glances at him that you were certain he caught onto. It felt like that, in a sea of overflowing confidence that ensnared around you, your mutual nervousness fed off of each other, creating something once again stagnant, pushing you both apart yet again.

Just as you were about to drift off to another room, however, Stanford Pines’ voice cut through the room, somehow overriding his presence through the chaos, “Alright everyone, listen up. We’re all, we’re…” he slurred a bit through his announcement, seeming more than just ‘drunk’, “we’re gonna play a nice little game of spin the bottle.”

“Bit childish, don’t you think?” a voice shouted out—you didn’t recognise whose it was.

“Ah, to hell with maturity,” Stan replied, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, “gather ‘round, we’re gonna,” he hiccuped mid-sentence before continuing, “we’re all gonna get to know each other.”

The crowded house collectively both groaned and cheered at the same time, leaving your stomach churning with dread. Almost instinctively, you started to back towards the front door, but then you felt Stan’s hand clamp down against your shoulder before you could make your escape.

“And where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“I-I uh…” you trailed off as you stammered, “I’m really not cut out for this kind of thi—”

“Nonsense,” he huffed, although in a teasing way, interrupting you mid-sentence, something about his tone was less taunting and more friendly as if struggling to convey that he was plotting something deeper than he let on. “You’ve gotta have fun at least once in your life and you’re not exactly helping yourself standing around on the sidelines like that.”

Before you could protest further, Stanford dragged you over to the floor, propping you down right in between a stranger but also right next to Fiddleford. The circle spanned surprisingly far and all sorts of people were pushed up to the shoulders against each other as you barely kept up. The chaotic slur of both laughter and conversation alike had already dizzied you, leaving you feeling painfully out of place.

And then, it all somehow got worse when the bottle that Stanford spun had landed right on you, almost abruptly so, somehow stopping mechanically, as if controlled. Just like in a nightmare, the whole crowd of unfamiliar faces snapped right at you, focusing the spotlight of unwanted attention where you didn’t want it to shine.

Stanford clapped his hands, seeming almost giddy. “Truth… or dare?” he asked, a mischievous glint playing in his eyes.

“T-truth!” you exclaimed almost immediately—there was no way in hell that you would have him make you do something even potentially humiliating.

“Yeah?” he smiled, thinking to himself for a moment. “Alright... Do you have a crush on anyone in this room?”

Suddenly, you gulped. “H-hey, that’s not fair…”

“It’s not a fair game,” Stan dismissed with a shrug, “you picked truth - so that’s on you.”

You stammered, only to be cut off, “B-but—”

“—No buts,” he shut you up, “rules are rules.”

“N-nobody?” you weakly responded, trying to will yourself to disappear.

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that,” Stan encouraged, “it’s just a game, you can say anyone, really.”

You warily looked around as you tried to pick a ‘safe’ option, only for your eyes to fall upon Fiddleford who was looking at you with wide eyes. It was only a couple of seconds, but your gaze lingered for a little too long, hinting at the obvious truth that you had long refused to acknowledge. Stan, however, was having none of that, picking up on your longing right away.

“Ah, what’s this?” he piped up. “Looks like there is someone after all, huh?”

“W-wait, I didn’t say anything—” you stammered again, only to be predictably cut off once more.

“—Fiddleford, huh?” he continued, watching with some amusement as you buried your sights into the floor, with Fiddleford mirroring you, looking away from you in a rush of embarrassment. In Stanford’s mind, he always knew deep down, you both had something going on, and perhaps he was doing the wrong thing by pushing you both together like this, but he also knew that if you weren’t ready now, then someone like you was never going to be ready without a little push to begin with. It was a necessary push of evil, where he’d get to play the bad guy that would hopefully, leave you with a good end.

This also meant that of course, he wasn’t finished meddling, at least not yet.

Continuing, Stanford got up from where he was sitting, walking over to yank you both up by the collar. “Alright, alright, you’re both gonna figure out whatever… this… is,” he announced, dragging you both towards another portion of the house, shoving you both into a closet.

“W-wait a minute,” you and Fiddleford both protested in unison, your voices sounding completely panicked at the thought and yet, the protests were useless as they fell upon willingly deaf ears. The crowd was clueless as they watched on, yet encouraging as they cheered for the two nerds who were impromptu shoved into a small space together, likely imagining all sorts of things.

The door then slammed shut and before you could both finish voicing your concerns, the lock clicked into place, leaving the two of you sealed in a closet full of coats and in the dark. There seemed to be a light switch, but it didn’t work, leaving you pushed up against each other in a pitch-black space.

You stood stiffly with him for a moment, awkwardly trying to shuffle around the area, only to bump into him several times. Fiddleford did the same, unable to direct himself at all.

“S-sorry,” he muttered out, even now, sounding a touch bit too polite.

“It’s… fine,” you quickly replied, sounding just as formal as you always did.

A mutual silence then brewed between the two of you beyond that short exchange. It was heavy and suffocating, perhaps even more so than the tiny stretch of space between the two of you. Just outside the door, the party continued without you, the sound of clapping and cheering steadily ongoing. Some people chanted for others to chug whatever, while the creak of beds could be heard just upstairs.

“D-do you think they’re letting us out anytime soon?” Fiddleford warily asked.

You shook your head before realising he couldn’t see you, then sighed. “No, I-I don’t think so. Stan locked the door and just… left us here, so, probably not after some time…”

“O-oh,” he fretted.

Another silence followed once again, with neither one of you willing to break the tension apart. You could tell that he was fidgeting as the picking of his nails intensified and his breathing grew nervous. Both of you were lodged in this dreaded place, both seeming uncomfortable beyond your limit.

But then finally, he spoke. His voice sounded a touch hopeful. Something at last changed and Stan’s plan was in motion, “So, did you mean it? …D-do you really like me?”

The question caught you off guard for a moment and if you were anywhere else, you would have tried to run from the question, but you supposed that you couldn’t. Forced to face the truth, you decided to hell with it, and confessed to him at long, long last. “Yeah, um. Yeah, I do. I think I always did.”

You could hear Fiddleford gasp in what almost sounded like disbelief. He tried to reply to you a couple of times, but his words fell flat from the moment he uttered them, and then, after a while, something coherent finally stuck. “R-really? I mean—I thought that maybe you didn’t, especially after you left so suddenly after when we first met… Really?”

“Ah, yeah, I’m sorry,” you backtracked, “I guess I was just as nervous as you and… I didn’t really know how to continue the conversation,” you admitted, hating in a way at just how vulnerable you sounded, “I’m not good with this—I’m not good with people, but I… liked you, yes, from the very moment I saw you.”

The sincerity in your voice caught the two of you both off guard, enough so to even make him stop fidgeting. You listened in as he tried to form a response, the numbing darkness somehow feeling almost loud, leaving you feeling a little overwhelmed from the situation at hand.

“I, uh,” Fiddleford hesitated, letting the silence linger again—even if something about it did feel different this time—it was less heavy and more charged with something else, perhaps that faint spark you once felt, desperate to burst free. “I guess this is the part where I’m supposed to say something smooth, but I’m not that type of person either.”

You cracked a smile, leaving a breathless laugh to roll off of the slip of your tongue. “That’s okay. I’m fucking awful at this, so…”

The silence was at this point, as frequent as it could get, and then suddenly as if by some unseen force, that gap that had been developing between you both had finally dispersed, an unseen force pushing you both together. It wasn’t particularly graceful and it was, very much clumsy, but your lips brushed against his own at long last. You both tasted like stale, cheap beer, and if even for just a moment, the world around you went quiet. Nothing else mattered. The party just outside seemed to fade away, the suffocating void you were both locked within felt lighter, and suddenly, you felt something else arise within you—not just want—but need, too.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Fiddleford immediately backtracked, but you were done running from your life, so you didn’t let him run from his feelings either.

“It’s okay,” you hushed, trying to calm him. Cautiously, you then reached for his hand, leaning your face in again, although this time with more certainty than before. You wanted this just as much as he did.

The second time you kissed him, it was longer, warmer and when it ended, you felt like a part of you was missing and perhaps it felt that way for him too, because he found himself kissing you again. And again. And again. Each time, it felt all the bit more natural, like it was the only thing in this crazy world that made sense.

You surrendered yourself to more of him, not waiting for a second further as you gave in, but then he pulled back slightly, right before the heat of the moment got too hot, too fast.

“O-oh god,” he shakily murmured out, his breath hot on your lips, “w-what if they hear?”

You paused and considered, listening to the cheers just outside; the drumming on the floorboards for something unrelated and the like. “I don’t think they will… so we might be safe, besides… maybe we shouldn’t care for once?”

“I-I just… I’m worried about the aftermath, I guess,” Fiddleford admitted.

“Ah…” you considered, wondering just what sort of mess would spill around the college if news of such an encounter got out, thinking back to all such other ‘scandals’ between other people, “I think we’ll be fine. The news lasts for a week at best… and besides, do we really both want to continue living in fear…?”

“I… that’s a fair point. I guess not…” he admitted. “Do you really want to do this?”

You half scoffed, leaning into his lips again. “Yes,” you replied in an almost exasperated tone, “I like you and I want to do this… but only if you also want to.”

“A-ah, yeah… I just needed to make sure, I don’t want to pressure you into anything,” Fiddleford fretted again, but ultimately calmed down at your continued reassurance.

You still couldn’t see a single thing in the dark, but you could feel the heat of his body radiating from being parked so close by. His hands fumbled around your frame in the darkness, groping, feeling and exploring but never quite lingering just yet.

“I-I have never done something like this before,” he admitted again, yet still continuing to reach around you.

Your hands shook as they reciprocated his caressing motions, mapping around the unfamiliar contours of his flesh. “Me neither,” you confessed, having no real idea if you were doing anything right or not, “we’ll just do what feels right, I suppose.”

“Y-yeah, sounds like a good plan,” he admitted, continuing to reach around you and feel wherever possible, caring less and less wherever his touch landed.

You both shuffled out of the restrictive clothing you both wore, not quite fully undressing but loosening up however possible. His skin soon met with yours and you leaned in close, your mind racing with how on earth to continue. His arousal was apparent, poking up against you within the limited confines, his fingers dipping a touch lower, reaching to press against your sensitive sex, his movements growing more eager with each passing second and yet, still playing it safe.

You, almost on impulse, grinded into his hardness, feeling your stomach tighten in anticipation. A warm slurry of comforting warmth overcame you, rendering you into a flushed mess all the more that you explored; trailing your touch further down, over to his stomach, his hips and finally… just below.

“C-can you touch me?” he let slip, a sliver of confidence peeking out. It felt so refreshing to hear to be wanted back, for him to need you specifically to return such feelings. It made you react in a responsive manner, feeling your own arousal heighten.

Swallowing hard, you tried to proceed with ease, only to deliver it clumsily instead. You dipped your hands into his trousers, pushing down the unzipped pair. Albeit cautiously, you then wrapped your fingers around his length, feeling it grow hard in the palm of your hand. Fiddleford shook out a stream of stuttered out, ragged breaths, leaning his chin into your shoulder as you started to move your hand in languid motions against his now, fully erect cock.

He moved closer towards you, dropping the clothes you wore to the floor as well, positioning himself right against your sex, guided by his quickly building arousal. Fiddleford still had zero idea how to properly proceed, but did what felt right instead, taking your words to heart.

You reached to tangle your fingers in his hair, your voice sounding somehow both confident yet nervous at the same time, “I-I think I’m ready if you are,” you whispered.

“R-right,” Fiddleford followed on, gripping at your hips to get a good hold on you.

Slowly, he searched around to find entry, easing into your core with one strained slip. Although unseen, his eyelids fluttered in the dark and his lips let out a guttural moan as the sensation of heated pleasure took him over for just a moment. Such admission of being so involuntarily turned on awoke something primal in you and you lifted one leg up, allowing for him to press into a more comfortable position—hopefully letting him move around with more ease, given the constricting circumstances, at least.

“This feel okay?” he quietly murmured, trying his best not to hurt you.

“Uhuh,” you muttered back, placing your hand around his shoulder, trying to hold onto him as best as you could before things took a whole new direction. You wanted this. You wanted this so much. Right here and with him.

“So, I’ll just…” he continued, talking to himself more than you, as if to soothe his fluttering heart—he leaned his hips forward, allowing his length to be swallowed by you, letting himself stand there for just a moment and allowing for you to adjust.

After a moment, Fiddleford then began to move. His initial motions were clumsy at first, with no real idea as to what he was doing, but after some time of you both just feeling around each other, of finding the right position and getting comfortable—it all started to feel so right. The found pace felt natural, good, even. His hands clamped around your waist, bucking into the hilt of your depth with strained composure.

“D-does this feel good for you too?” he whispered, unable to find his voice.

You couldn’t reply with any shred of coherency any longer as your face leaned into the crook of his neck where his shoulders met, something similar to a “yes” might have slipped out, but it was barely audible. Instead, you pulled him closer, feeling as your lower stomach began to feel impossibly coiled—like a wound up spring threatening to break free—you felt so good, so damn good.

The sounds of breathless moans—of skin smacking—of the walls creaking started to fill out the small space. His lips on occasion sloppily reached to kiss on your own, needing somewhere to direct his affections, still riding the high of the recent confession.

“This… does this still feel good?” he asked, sounding more coherent that time.

A hum of agreement left your lips, although it sounded strained on delivery as your peak approached. It was very obvious with just how barely he held onto his crumbling composure, that he too was just as close as you were, with his legs stuttering and his breathing uneven, sounding all the more laboured with each passing moment.

“I… I’m close,” you warned, his hold around you growing intense upon your confession. There was something raw about this whole situation; from the feelings exchanged to the intensity of the situation—everything felt almost dizzying, especially as you (both) reached the point of no return.

Fiddleford followed up next, his hips giving out as a final, pushing thrust let spill of all of his pent up want and need. You felt him twitch inside you, releasing fully into the filled out void of your center. A low groan shuddered out of his lips, with his forehead leaning against the wall. The two of you were just barely able to recollect yourselves, feeling depleted from the aftermath.

“Was… was that good? Did I do good?” he kept asking, his words repeating in a slurried babble, his tone suddenly so tender, yet unsure and even a little afraid—as if he was terrified to hear anything otherwise.

Oh, Fiddleford. Although you couldn’t quite catch a glimpse of his face just then, you could already imagine his eyebrows knitted in anticipation, his eyes nervously scanning over you to gain that validation he so rightfully deserved. This was also new for you, but you felt good after—you wanted to do this again and again, in fact, but only with him.

A breathless nod was all that you could reveal for a moment, the words rolling off of your tongue still slightly disjointed, “Yes, yes. So good. Definitely good. Everything was perfect… you were perfect,” you gushed, pulling yourself back after a moment had passed, lazily fumbling with your clothes to pull them back up.

And for a while, it was all quiet again, but not in an uncomfortable way. It was a mutual silence in which no pressure had transpired between the two of you, allowing for the both of you to recover at your own level before heading out to face the real world again.

Fiddleford tried the door first, finding that to his surprise (and yours), the closet was now unlocked. The two of you had the same racing thoughts flood your mind: when? Had someone heard? Perhaps even seen…? The two of you then thought back to how freeing such a confession felt and how good everything else that followed after, felt good too—so perhaps the fear of being discovered was baseless, or at least, it didn’t quite matter so much anymore.

Whatever would happen next, you would at least not have to deal with it alone.

“Are you okay?” you asked as you squeezed at his hand.

Fiddleford’s voice was still trembling just a little, but his words came out with a newfound sense of confidence, sounding much more certain than he ever did before, “Y-yeah, I think so. I feel fine, but it’s just… the idea of returning to a loud house party orchestrated by Pines is not my idea of a good time.”

You laughed, fully understanding his concerns. “Yeah, it’s… quite something. We can try to beeline for the exit and recover a little in our dorm?”

“Sounds good,” he half laughed, feeling relieved that your mind was in the same place as his before adopting a more serious tone, “so, are you ready to deal with whatever comes next?”

“I am,” you assured, equally abuzz with what could happen, for once in your life not quite caring about how it all looked. The accusations, the given approval or even the lack of it—all of it—for once in your life, you didn’t care about what other people thought because as long as you were by his side because then it would all be worth the trouble.

For once in your life, it was all going to be okay.

You were sure of it.

16 notes · View notes

themoonweaversden · 5 months ago

Text

All 179-244 (or so) codes that were found so far (no spoilers)

Note: As far as I'm aware if you input any word after selling your soul to Bill and press the knob you'll get the same result. I still think it's important to highlight the ones that didn't have any result once you imput them normally the day the website updated (AUDIOLOG, BUBBLES, CLEAR, CONTRACT, SMALL) these may have been just an error since it has been fixed since then

3466554

29121239168518

333 Sundapple Lane Cozy Creek IL 60714-94611

ABUELITA

ADASTRAPERASPERA

ALEX HIRSCH / ALEX / HIRSCH

AM I BLANCHIN

ANSWER

AXOLOTL

BAAAA

BABY / BABY BILL / LALALALALA / MOMMY / DADDY

BILL / BILL CIPHER / CIPHER / ILLB / LLIB REHPIC / REHPIC

BLACK SHEEP

BLANCHIN / BLANCHING / BLANCH

BLENDIN

BLIND EYE

BOOBERRY

BURN SIDE

BURNED INSIDE

BYE GOLD

CAESAR ATBASH VIGENERE / MULTILEVELMARK

CARD

CARYN

CIPHERTOLOGY

CLONE / TYRONE / PAPER JAM

CONSPIRACY

CRAY CRAY

CRYPTOGRAM CODEX

CURSE WITTEBANE

CURSED

DEATH

DEER TEETH

DESTRUCTION IS A FORM OF CREATION

DIONARAP

DIPPER

DIPPY FRESH

DISCO GIRL / BABBA

DISNEY / MICKEYMOUSE

DISPENSE MY TREAT

DIVORCE / BREAKUP

DORITO / NACHO / CHIP

DUCHESS APPROVES / THE DUCHESS APPROVES

DUCKTECTIVE

EASTER EGG

EMMALINE BUTTERNUBBINS

EUCLID / SCALENE / SCRIMBLES

EUCLYDIA

EVEN HIS LIES ARE LIES

FAMILY MATTERS

FBI / CIA / NSA

FILBRICK

FIXINIT1

FORD / SIXER / STANFORD

FORDTRAMARINE

FORGET THE PAST

FUCK / SHIT / BITCH / SLUT / SEX

FUCK YOU ALEX

GIDEON

GIFFANY

GLASS SHARD BEACH

GLOBNAR

GOD / HELP ME / SAVE ME / FRILLIAM

GOODNIGHT SALLY

GRAVITY FALLS

GREBLEY HEMBERDRECK

GUN / THE GUN

HAROLDS RAMBLINGS

HECTORING

HEY NERD

HISTORY

HOLOGRAM

HORROR / CREEPYPASTA / ANALOG HORROR

HOTXOLOTL

HOW WILL I DIE / WHEN WILL I DIE

IM STILL ON YOUR MIND

IRREGULAR

IS HELL REAL

IS THERE AN AFTERLIFE

JOURNAL 1

JOURNAL 2

JOURNAL 3

JUST BLEND IN

JUST FIT IN

KINGS OF NEW JERSEY

KOOK

KUBRICK

L IS REAL 2401

LIAR LYRE

LIES

LIFE

LOVE / BOYFRIEND / LONELY

LOVE YA BRO

MABEL

MASON

MATH / GREECE / SHAPES / GREEK / PLATO / GEOMETRY

MCGUCKET / FIDDLEFORD / OLD MAN MCGUCKET

MEOW / MEOW WOW

MONSTER

MORALITY

MOUNTAIN DONT

MYSTERY

MYSTERY SHACK

NAITSUAF

NOT A PHASE

NOTHING

OCCURREMUS ITERUM

OH YES THEY BOTH

ONE EYED KING

OROBOROUS

OWL TROWEL

PACIFICA

PAPER IS BOOK SKIN

PEAK

PINATA

PINES

PLATINUM PAZ

PORTAL

QUESTION

R34LITY

RAT

REALITY

RIDDLE

ROBBIE

RUBBERHOSE

SCARY / SPOOKEMUPS / SPOOKY

SCIENTOLOGY

SEASON 1 / SEASON -1

SEASON 2

SEASON 3

SEVEN EYES

SEVERAL TIMES

SHAVE YOUR GRANDMA

SKELETON

SKIBIDI / FORTNITE / ELON / CRYPTO / DOGE / GYATT / RIZZ

SOMETHING

SOOS

SORRY

STAN / STANLEY PINES / STAN PINES / STANLEY

STOD EHT TCENNOC

SUCK IT MERLIN

TAD STRANGE

TANTRUM

THE BOOK OF BILL / BOOK OF BILL

THE DUCHESS APPROVES

THEORY / MATPAT

THERAPRISM

THEYLL SEE / THEYLL ALL SEE / I SEE

TINSEL SNAKE

TITANS BLOOD

TJECKLEBURG

TOBY DETERMINED

TORTURE MENTALLY

TOURIST TRAP

TRIANGLE

TRIGONOMETRY

UNIONMADE

UNIVERSE

UNREALITY

VALLIS CINERIS

VIRUS

WADDLES

WEIRD

WEIRDMAGEDDON

WELL WELL WELLBEING

WENDY

WHICH RELIGION IS RIGHT

WHO ARE YOU

XGQRTHX

XYLER / CRAZ

YES

YOU CANT KILL AN IDEA

YOURE INSANE

Will update if more are found

#bill cipher #book of bill #gravity falls

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fluffymarshmalllows · 4 months ago

Text

You're late

College au! Ford x Reader

summary: Ford and Reader in college origin

“Stanford, once I get your sorry ass it will be over for you!” Y/N huffed earning a scolding shh from the librarian as they watched their best friend, reach the book she needs from a higher shelf of the library.

She asked for Ford’s assistance but got fooled by his antics. He looked back sporting an aloof smile that ticked them off even more. Though, internally Y/N was still giddy at the fact Ford smiles at them like that after all these years.

Walking back to your table with a book less than what you needed for the project you were building to present at the science convention Ford blackmailed you to apply in.

Getting settled and comfy in the cold room, you look back at the memory fondly as he praised you and smooth talked (well, more of stated the blunt facts) that you are a great inventor, just a bit disorganized, which you can’t help but agree to.

You knew that, everyone around you knew that. It’s just that you find being smart…boring. Without something to think for or someone to compete against, the spark for it fizzles out.

Until you met Ford in Calculus lecture. He was actively participating in class, is has a pretty face and a helpful hand, a true eye candy. What struck you odd was he never fully raised his hand. Just a pen or a pencil, which curiosity got the best of you.

Boldly walking towards his desk after the bell rang, you reached out your hand introducing yourself. “Hi! I’m Y/N, nice to meet you” only to get a blank stare and a nod. “Stanford Pines”

Well that plan failed. As a true scientist, that shouldn’t stop you. But he kept his stuff and was out the door almost immediately leaving you dumbfounded. At least Fiddleford was there to bring you back to your senses.

Walking out to the hallway you can’t help but rant about it. “The nerve he has! I was just trying to be polite” you huffed as you were shoving your things in the locker. Fiddleford hummed in response, but offered his sincere advice “Y’know Y/N, what if he’s just awkward, even I was the first days I came ‘ere”. You slammed the locker door, “look McGucket, I appreciate the honesty but shouldn’t you be on my side?” Which earned a fit of laughter from your friend.

“Whatever, I’ll visit you later” You and Fiddleford went your separate ways as the bell rang for the next class. You entered the room while the professor was taking attendance. You ducked your head trying to look invisible and by god, did you wish you were. “L/N, you’re late, I’ll have you written up the next time this happens.” muttering your apologies he asked you to take the available seat, lo and behold, the only seat available is next to the Stanford Pines himself.

You meekly took your place, almost dropping the whole contents of your bag haphazardly shoved in it, trying to observe your seatmate while also paying attention to the discussion in front.

You didn’t know it was possible but he became more handsome upon closer inspection, little stubble of a beard and his thick lens glasses that perfectly frames his eyes. “Ehem” Ford cleared his throat drawing you out of your ogling.

You whispered “sorry, you look good” which turned his face so red like a bright tomato. He stammers for a bit trying to say something while avoiding your gaze. You found joy in pestering him but it will get boring in the long run, especially when he doesn’t retort.

Deciding that taking notes and listening was mind frying enough, and annoying your seatmate can get you in more trouble than it’s worth. You decided to take a nap, hand supporting your head trying to look like you’re still paying attention to whatever was being discussed.

It took a while before Ford realized his seatmate decided to not make a peep. He thought you just got tired of asking him random questions or you got enough of his attitude and will hate him forever.

Looking over at you, he did not fail to admire how angelic you look, how your hair perfectly falls over you face, how your lips looks kissable? What are these thoughts, he shook his head trying to focus on the equation the professor made, scribbling his own calculations on his notebook.

Until the professor threw a chalk nub hitting you straight in the forehead jolting you awake. This made Ford snicker causing you to blush of embarrassment. “Mx. Y/N, can you please tell the class the answer to this problem?”

You stared at the board long and hard before shrugging your shoulders and saying “Unsolvable, unless you want a negative answer that is impossible, no—improbable for the set of limits you’ve given”. The professor was stunned, so was Ford because of your bold claim. Everyone’s attention now shifted to you which in turn made you rise up from your seat, picking up the chalk thrown at you and head straight to the board.

While you were solving and explaining where the equation went wrong, Ford was just in awe on how you did it. Your intelligence and confidence was something he wished he have. He glanced over his own mess of solutions and realized that you are right, so did the professor nodded in agreement.

After that class, Ford just had to know how you figured it out easily so he gathered up all his courage and tapped you gently holding a pen on his other hand. Deep breath, easy,

You looked at him, and he looks like he’s about to self combust any second, “Need anything?” You asked smiling to ease his anxiety. It took him a while to process before remembering what he needs to ask you, “how?”

“What do you mean how?” Trying to figure out what he was trying to ask you after ignoring you a class before. “How did you know it was wrong? You were asleep” he pointedly asked you.

Trying not to take any offense you teased, “You were watching me sleep?”. “No!,” he sputtered “I just noticed, anyway nevermind” before he can grab his stuff you took the pen he was holding and started scribbling on his notes. “You’ll figure that every time this and this will come out its most likely a negative by the end,” pointing out the values to prove your statement right. While he was staring at the paper you finally noticed his hands, his digits to be exact.

“You have six fingers.” You said matter of factly, which made you feel rather stupid as soon as the words left your mouth. Of course he knew that already! It is his hands after all.

Ford is growing more self conscious by the second. He quickly said his thanks but not before dropping a notepad he was trying to fit in his bag and rushing out of the room.

You noticed a notepad before you left, thinking it was one of your things you kept it in your bag along with the random gadget you made to pass the time.

Arriving at the cafeteria, Ford and Fiddleford was already conversing and trading intel regarding some classes they both are in. You did not intrude since you still felt guilty for what you said the last time you conversed with Ford. Heading back to your dorm, you decided mid way to just cut the last classes and make something until Fiddleford is back to his room, maybe this time you’ll finally meet his roommate.

Your phone has been buzzing for quite a while now but you can’t seem to find it under all the wirings and spare parts for your next project. You wanted to make some sort of handheld x-ray but you needed guidance from your friend since he is leagues better at engineering than you’ll ever be.

“Finally!” picking up your phone tucked with a notepad you don’t remember buying. Before you even had the chance to check the contents, your phone rang again. Dropping the notepad in your bag along with the mini machine you answered the phone.

“Y/N wher’re ya? I’ve been trying to geta hold of yous since I got back” voice of Fiddleford you realized. “Oh shoot, my bad I lost track of time, I gotta show you something” Grabbing your bag and keys before heading to the door still on call with your friend. “Aight, you betcha be here soon if you want to meet the new roommate I was telling you about” click.

So much for a productive call. Keeping your phone in your pocket, you dashed all the way to the other side of the campus.

Arriving in their dormitory building, you were a heaving mess. Beads of sweat on your forehead with some stray hairs sticking to your face. Not the prettiest sight but by fate, you found yourself face to face with Ford Pines once again.

Ford was heading to back to campus to look for his sketchpad. It was a generic notepad that could easily be mistaken for anyone’s notebook. All his practice drawings are there, documenting things he seen and capturing the beauty of it through his drawings. It meant a lot for him and he fears that if the wrong person got a hold of that notebook it will be over for him, socially. Well not really, he didn’t have much social standing to begin with. He told his roommate he’d be out for a bit of “fresh air” not expecting to see you and all your gorgeous beauty albeit sweaty and disheveled.

Ford still thinks you are the prettiest person in the entire universe. But not like he’d admit to it this early.

Pleasantries were exchanged between the two of you before parting ways. Finally making it to Fiddleford’s dorm room. You knocked on the door repeatedly and hearing a faint “come in” was your cue to let yourself in. It was a new sight. The room was organized for once, yet stacks of books littered the other side of the room. You assumed it was Fiddleford’s roommate you still have not met.

“McGucket, I need your help” you pulled out the machine you were trying to build, showing it to him. “Tell me about it, kiddo” still focused on his computer coding. “Hand held x-ray machine! This will be revolutionary,” demonstrating your machine “You can even adjust it to go atomic level, or you supposedly can, I just can’t make it right.” tinkering with it. That got Fiddleford’s attention, “well jeez, this is still a tad advanced for me but I’ll see what I can do”. You tossed him the machine and exclaiming your thanks which he almost dropped giving you both the fright of a lifetime. Changing the topic, it was time to debrief about your day.

You took a deep breathe before starting “Well, there’s this guy…” unpacking your bag to keep your hands busy and taking this chance to organize.

Ford is at a lost, he has no clue on where his notepad can be. Not in the classroom, not in the cafeteria, not even in the lost and found area! He’s starting to lose hope as he retraced his steps. The classrooms reminded him of your interactions, he laughed to himself remembering how confident you were on stating the obvious. Which made him feel a little better. Then it dawned on him.

The notepad, he must have dropped it while packing up his things quickly. But it wasn’t in the rooms so there is a big chance you might have took it.

He ran back to his dorm hoping his roommate knows where to find you. He feels utterly stupid for not asking Fiddleford’s contact number so that he won’t run all the way back to his dorm room like a mad man.

It’s late afternoon by now and curfew will be soon so he has to act fast if he wants to get the notepad before you have the chance to open it.

“Fiddleford,” Ford says in between his gasps of air, “do you know where,” taking in more gulps of oxygen. “Take your time buddy”. Ford coughed before trying again “do you know where to find Y/N?”.

This was met with a raised eyebrow and a teasing look. Ford never had a knack for picking up subtle social cues but this was something so obvious its like a glaring sign. Fiddleford just nudged his head to Ford’s desk and there laid copper wiring rose and his missing sketchpad.

He quickly opened it and saw pencil doodles in the corner of the page complimenting his drawing skills and art style. Ford tried hiding his blush but his roommate was well aware of the blooming romance this will be.

At the latest drawing he made just hours before,

Call me ####### -y/n

On the bottom of his sketches of Y/N all through out the day, including a sketch of her sleeping in class. Fiddling with his phone, unsure what to do. He typed in the number and pressed call.

“Hello?” You mumbled answering the ringing of your phone. “Y/N you’ll be late for class again if you don’t get here in 5” that got your attention. You quickly kept your books and shamefully tried to wipe a drool stain on your notes. And as much as you love hearing Ford’s voice through the phone, you can not afford another write up, especially when you’re aiming to score higher than your best friend.

word count: 2.2k

would yah look at that another fic! requests are open (i'd love to write your ideas)

'till next post <3

#gravity falls #ford pines x reader #stanford x reader #stanford pines #ford pines #ford pines x you #fiddleford mcgucket #college au

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rhodochrosite-love · 5 years ago

Text

College Ford x shy! male! reader

Hi! Dedicating this to @lantern-light-and-starry-skies and @guilty-pleasures-abound for the great idea! I hope my writing suffices, it’s a lil angsty ;n;

Title- Hopes for the Hopeless

Pairing- Ford x reader, Backupsmore Ford x reader

Characters- Stanford Pines, You, Fiddleford McGucket, unnamed professors, unnamed students

Summary- You live in your own little world, full of fantasy and surprises. What happens when campus genius Ford Pines makes his way into your bubble?

Tags- Heartbreak, angst, sorry guys it’s sad, male!reader, though nothing’s specifically pointed to you being male, it’s fine, shy!reader, fluff, Ford x reader

Backupsmore University was a land of missed opportunities and disappointment. If you were gifted, it didn’t matter. You were in the deep, dark maw that was Backupsmore and there was almost nothing you could do about it once you were enrolled.

Almost.

If you partner up with the college’s 2+2 program, it got you out of there within two years with the credits necessary to take the next level of courses in your major somewhere else. It was a win-win for both the college and the students, for obvious reasons.

That’s why you were here. You double majored in Art and Creative Writing, which always seemed to bore more than half of the people who asked (most being family). You always assure them, however, that you are the best in class. After all, you were told so by the one and only brainiac on campus; Stanford Pines.

When you first met him, he struck you as a bright-eyed, wildly curious geek. Not to say that you weren’t a geek yourself-- the Tolkien books weighing down your book bag certainly proved that. But the way he challenged the professor at least once every class period struck you as both odd and fascinating. You had always wondered what it was like to be that enthusiastic and curious, like many were once.

So when Stanford had been urged to observe his classmates as per instruction (don’t just pursue yourself, compare yourself, Pines!), and had leaned in to glance at your work, you were surprised by how much interest he had taken into it. “This linework is impeccable, how did you manage to get that consistency with that pen?!” or “Your shading style compliments the negative space of the page very well!”

It was safe to say that after that, you were smitten with him.

Your desires to transfer to another school were slowly being abandoned with the hopes that he would notice you, poor ol’ you, in any way possible. You tried wearing something other than your jeans and sweatshirt for something a little catchier, but he didn’t seem to notice. You tried casually flirting with him, which turned into you just blabbering on and on about naked mole rats, which was awkward for the both of you. You even tried to read up on books that could potentially teach you how to ‘catch a man’, but anything like that was classified as cheesy romance novels that all the middle-aged professors and freshman girls were checking out from the library, so you were left in the dust. To simply daydream in your own little world, what it would be like to hold his wonderfully weird hands, to see him smile just for you, to lean in for a kiss at the same time and feel the affection radiating off of him…

“Y/N? Are you with me?” Your thoughts were interrupted by Ford, who was walking beside you up a short flight of stairs. You flushed red, and quickly reassured him that you, in fact, were. And totally not dozing off. Not at all.

The genius chuckled, “Well, I certainly hope not! I wouldn’t want you passing out, especially on the stairs! What an awful place to fall...” You nodded, your cheeks a pretty pink now. That’s right, you were going to Ford’s dorm. Not for anything scandalous! The two of you were studying for quite a while at your apartment just off campus. And seeing as though you didn’t want him to stress about his term paper that ‘still needed reworking’, you wanted to drive him back. You’ve been there, totally stressful…. Although you couldn’t help but wonder what may have happened if he decided to stay the night?

“Glad ya’ could join me, Ford, at…” A southern voice sounded from the darkness of the room, “... 1:47 in th’morinin’. Where’ve you been all darn night, huh?” “Certainly not at any jug-band concerts, I’ll have you know.” Ford responded hastily, turning to set up the table in the corner to continue his term paper.

You turned to Ford’s roommate, offering a small wave of hello. He perked up at the sight of a guest, and smiled fondly. “You’re Y/N I presume?” You’re cheeks went pink again, and asked the man how he knew you. He laughed, “Ford talks about ya’ sometimes! Y’seem like a real nice fella’, is all.” He reaches out a long-fingered hand for you to shake, “Fiddleford McGucket. Pleased t’meetcha!” You nod in agreement, a few moments later finding yourself looking around on Ford’s side of the dorm before quickly saying goodnight to the both of them and exiting.

You had become more embarrassed by yourself than you ever had before. You had imagined all sorts of both innocent and lewd situations with the brainiac and yourself there in his dorm… They were all so vivid that you could almost reach out and make them all reality.

You came to a logical conclusion.

You were gonna get a haircut.

It wasn’t all that intense, really. Before, your hair ended at about shoulder-length and was often unkempt, but now it widened out, exposing your ears and brushing your bangs off to the side ever so carefully. You looked in the mirror that afternoon and finally decided on what to do… You were going to tell him how you feel.

The following day, when 9:30 rolled around for Drawing and Painting class, you wore your best duds-- high waisted slacks with a button up shirt with two, no THREE, buttons undone from the top, and the sleeves rolled up to your elbows. All complete with sleek, dark shoes and a casual belt with a silver buckle, you felt like you could do anything you wanted! It had to go positive when you looked this good, right?

“I’m sorry… I’m afraid I don’t feel the same.”

You leaned away from Ford. What did he say?

“I… I don’t feel the same, Y/N.”

Shit, you said that out loud? Fuck. Why did this happen? Why does this always have to happen…

You always get your hopes up with a guy, don’t you? You always end up being disappointed by what you can’t have-- Correction, by what you’ve never even had in the first place. You really thought it could be possible to love someone, even after your last breakup? Stanford was different, but apparently not, according to the situation at hand. Fuck, how could you be so stupid?!

“Hey.. Hey, please don’t-- Don’t cry. I’m sorry, I really am! I’m not looking for a relationship right now… I thought you knew that, please don’t cry.”

You both stood there now, outside the classroom, 3 feet apart from where you were; your hand was on his arm, the other hand close to your chest. Now they were both clenched against each other, trying to find some way to escape your body as hot tears flew from your eyes like someone turned on a sprinkler.

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until he pointed it out to you, to which you turned away from his gaze and avoided it. You apologized, too, mostly on instinct, and promised that you’d never bother him again, quickly turning to leave.

Ford suddenly grabbed your arm after a single moment of hesitation, “Y/N, wait!” You turned to look at him-- your eyes beginning to puff up and turn a shade of pink, letting your tears drip down off your chin, you waited for him to say something (anything!) before shaking him off and running to your car.

After throwing yourself in the driver’s seat, you started up the engine, both hands clenched on the wheel. After holding in everything from the previous moment to the wheel, you finally let go. Wailing and weeping, similar to a child. However, you would think that would be associated with selfishness or with tantrum.

No, you cried like a child who’s dreams were crushed. Who’s hopes were burnt like the cheapest wood in the forest.

You wondered how long the heartbreak would last this time.

If you made it to here, I thank you! This certainly isn’t my first time writing but it was fun to do! Leave a comment or a like and I’d love to talk to anyone about our favorite boy!

#stanford pines #ford pines #ford x reader #male!reader #ford pines x male!reader #shy!reader #male!shy!reader #reader insert #ford gf #my fic #guilty-pleasures-abound #lantern-light-and-starry-skies #angst #fluff

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orangeoctopi7 · 5 years ago

Text

A Small Setback

@stanuary Here with week one. The Theme is “Burn” and I’ve got a sequel to last year’s oneshot “A Minor Inconvenience”

***

It had been a few days since the elder Pines twins had received definitive proof that little bits of Bill were still floating around in Stan’s head. Ford had immediately set a course for the nearest land, a Norwegian island called Spitsbergen, where he was planning on doing some more in-depth research. He had already collected all his notes on the Dreamscape and Bill, as well as contacted Fiddleford for more data on the effects of the memory gun. When the old inventor asked why his old friend needed this information, Ford simply replied it was to help Stan with some unforeseen side-effects.

What sort of side-effects? Fiddleford’s next email replied. I’d have a better idea of what data to send you if I knew what he was experiencing.

He’s asked me to keep it confidential. Ford replied back. Just send everything.

The next email Ford got from McGucket contained an attachment so big, it took over 24 hours to download with their limited internet bandwidth at sea.

The old researcher also asked his brother to start keeping a dream journal, and routinely asked Stan to recount all he could remember of his fateful encounter with Bill last summer. By now, Stan was getting a bit exasperated by it all.

“Seriously, it was over six months ago!” he whined, “I don’t remember any more of it now than I did yesterday! Can we just drop it?”

Ford looked ready to argue, but he must have changed his mind before he opened his mouth. “Ok, ok, if it’s frustrating you that much, I’ll stop asking.”

“Thank you.” Stan sighed.

“We'll just have to find another way to figure out what happened.”

Stan rolled his eyes. Of course he wasn't free to go yet.

“I've been going through the data Fiddleford sent me. The memory eraser doesn't actually erase memories, it just subliminalizes them by severing the main neurological connections.”

“... Meaning?”

“The memory is still in your head, you just can't recall it.”

“Great. What good does that do us?”

“I might be able to find access to the entire memory through your dreamscape.”

Stan grimaced. “So you wanna go digging around in my head again?”

“Well I don’t want to, but it’s our best option to learn how Bill survived.”

“Didn’t he tell you the last time you were in there? Something about Tylenol?”

“Xolotl,” Ford corrected, “An Aztec god of death, among other things. I’m having trouble figuring out exactly how it’s connected to Bill. Which is why I need to know exactly what happened.”

“Alright, fine.” Stan consented. “But no more reading outta your nerd textbooks!”

“Oh, don’t worry, we won’t be needing that.” Ford assured him. “I need you awake this time.”

Stan raised his eyebrows curiously. “Didn’t think it worked that way.”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely certain it will work.”

“... should I be worried?”

“No, no, worst case scenario, I recite the spell and just stay in my own head.”

“Great. Let’s get this over with.”

***

Stan sat in the middle of a ring of candles glowing dimly in the perpetual darkness of the arctic winter. Ford extinguished his match and stood behind his brother. Stan turned in his chair to watch.

“Don’t pay any attention to me.” Ford instructed. “Just close your eyes and concentrate on what you can remember about beating Bill. Tune me out.”

“Heh, got plenty of practice doing that.” Stan chuckled nervously.

“Concentrate.” Ford reminded him.

Stan took a deep breath and closed his eyes. There wasn’t much he remembered, and it wasn’t something he liked to dwell on. For the most part, all he remembered was blue flames, Bill begging for his pathetic life, and then punching the filthy dorito out of existence. More than anything, he remembered how he felt. Fear, then determination, a grim sense of satisfaction, and finally, acceptance. He tried to focus on those feelings and ignore Ford reciting the incantation.

***

Stanford really hoped this would work. As he finished the incantation, there was a blue flash of light, which was a good sign. He opened his eyes, and sure enough, he no longer saw himself in the darkened galley of the Stan’o’War II, but back on the deck of Stan’s mindscape. There was a major difference this time though: Stan was actually standing there, clutching a treasure chest in his hands. It was severely damaged, blackened and burned. It seemed as though it might fall apart if someone looked at it the wrong way, but streams of blue light leaked out of it.

Ford reached out and lightly touched Stan’s shoulder. The old con man jumped like someone had cracked a whip at him.

“It’s ok, it’s just me!” Ford reassured him.

“Where are we?” Stan asked.

“This is your mindscape, and that,” the old researcher pointed to the charred chest in his brother’s clutches, “Should be the memory we’re looking for.”

Stan gulped and cracked open the lid. Blue flames seemed to pour out of it. Ford placed his hand on top of his brother’s and opened the lid all the way. They could see the memory of Stan sitting in his favorite recliner, Bill growing more and more desperate and panicky every moment, but it was hard to make out exactly what they were saying or doing over the crackling, spreading blue flames that obscured most of the scene.

“What was that?” Ford asked suddenly as Bill started to glitch and contort with increasing rapidity.

“I think he’s tryin’ to get out.” Stan replied tensely. He didn’t like revisiting this memory.

“No, listen!”

Stan listened carefully over the crackling of the flames. “It just sounds like gibberish.”

“I think it’s an incantation!” Ford exclaimed, his voice caught somewhere between excited and scared. “Can you play it back again?”

“It’s a memory, not a video tape!” Stan glared at his brother incredulously.

“This is the mindscape, Stanley, you--”

“--Can do whatever I want, yeah yeah, I know.” Stan rolled his eyes and concentrated. The vision in the treasure chest skipped back a bit, to when Bill started warping.

Ford listened carefully, but he still couldn’t quite make out Bill’s incantation.

“It’s no good, I’ll have to go in.” He sighed.

“Uh, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Stan eyed the dancing blue flames.

“It’s not real, it’s just a memory. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m going with you, then.”

“Technically, you’re already there.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Alright. We should be able to just reach in…” Ford thrust his arm into the chest...

...and found himself in the cozy living room of the Mystery Shack. The blue flames flickering around the edges of the room were frozen in time, and there, floating in the center, was Bill Cipher. Ford felt his body tense up and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, ready to fight or flee for his life.

“He’s not real, remember?” Stan said reassuringly from his recliner.

Ford took a steadying breath and nodded. “Try not to change anything.” he advised, “Just let the memory run its course.”

“That’s gonna be hard with you here.”

“I’ll do my best to blend in.” Ford imagined himself invisible and ducked behind the recliner for good measure. Next he imagined a little camcorder, so he could go over the events in detail later, and placed it besides the chair, where it wouldn’t be noticed.

The flames began to dance again as Stan started concentrating on the memory and time around them started to flow normally once again. Ford watched with some satisfaction as Bill looked around frantically. The panic was obviously starting to kick in now.

“LET ME OUTTA HERE! LET ME OUT!!” the demon waved his arm, trying to create a portal to escape through, or a door to slip into a safer part of the mindscape, but nothing happened. There was nowhere to run to. “WHY ISN’T THIS WORKING?!”

Stan stood and drew himself to his full height. Although his heart was racing, he felt confidence and determination surge through him. He was going to teach this triangular jerkwad a lesson, and this time he knew how it was going to end.

“Hey, look at me. Turn around and look at me, ya one-eyed demon!” He barked. Bill could do nothing but turn and look as the flames rose higher and higher. “You’re a real wise-guy, but you made one fatal mistake: you messed with my family!”

“YOU’RE MAKING A MISTAKE! I’LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING! MONEY, FAME, RICHES, INFINITE POWER, YOUR OWN GALAXY!” Bill pleaded, “PLEASE!”

Once again the demon began to warp and glitch, changing forms more and more rapidly like he was losing control. Ford watched and listened carefully, although it was getting harder to concentrate as the azure flames closed in around them.

“NRUTER YAM I TAHT REWOP TNEICNA EHT EKOVNI I! NRUB OT EMOC SAH EMIT YM! L T O L O X AAAAAAAAAA!” Bill screamed, cycling through forms faster than ever. With the last of his strength, he reached out. “S T A N L E Y…”

Stan wound up and socked Bill straight in the eye with a powerful left-hook. Bill shattered into millions of pieces, the shards scattering everywhere, only to be licked up by the flames within seconds. The ring of blue fire was closing in on them now. It was weird. It didn’t feel hot, but the closer it got, the more Stan felt like things were… ebbing away.

Ford could feel it too. “Heh, good job Stanley.” He chuckled nervously, reappearing and picking up the camcorder. “Let’s pause things here so we can take a closer look.”

Stan tried to concentrate on the beginning of the memory again, but the flames surrounding them refused to budge. They just continued to close in around them. He tried to imagine a way out, but he couldn’t imagine a place to escape to. He couldn’t even recall where they’d been before they got here.

“Something’s wrong!” Stan panicked. “Ford, you gotta get out of here, now!”

“What? What’s wrong?” his brother asked in concern.

But Stan could tell he didn’t have time to explain. This wasn’t his first experience, and he knew Ford’s window was closing. He imagined one of the few things he could still recall clearly: an imposing metal structure in the shape of an inverted triangle, with a glowing white light pulsing in its center. He pushed his brother into the last possible exit.

This has happened before, hasn’t it? Was his last thought before he woke up.

***

Ford found he had stumbled to the floor when he awoke. His temper flared as he picked himself up off the floor. Why? Why would Stan ever think it was ok to recreate that moment, even in the dreamscape?

“Stanley, what were you thinking!?” he demanded. “What just happened?”

Stan came out of his trance groggily. He seemed to have a hard time focusing for a moment. He glanced around like he didn’t recognize his surroundings. “...Who… what?”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a long suffering sigh. “Do you even remember what just happened?”

“Uuuuh, no.” Stan said simply. “Who’re you?”

The old researcher’s blood ran cold. “That’s not funny.”

“‘Snot a joke.” Stan replied. “Seriously, you look familiar, but I’m drawing a blank. Help a guy out here.”

Ford clamped down on his emotions best he could. He couldn’t panic now, panicking would only make things worse. “I-it’s me, Stanford, your brother.”

“Stanford…” Stan repeated, as though the name was familiar, but he couldn’t remember exactly where he’d heard it before. “But I’m… wait, no… no that’s… but you… ugh, this is making my brain hurt!” He rubbed his temples.

Ford took his brother’s hand in his and interlocked their fingers. “You’re Stanley. And I’m Stanford.” he explained as patiently as he could, although inwardly he was freaking out. “We’re twins. Dad… heh, dad couldn’t be bothered to come up with two different names.”

Stan just stared at their intertwined hands as though they were a particularly difficult puzzle.

“Just… just wait here.” Ford said firmly as he could while his voice hitched. “I’m going to find something to help you.”

“Uh… ‘kay.”

The old researcher dashed out of the galley and into the storage room, searching desperately for the scrapbook Mabel had made them. He’d had to use it a few times when Stan had memory lapses before, but in all those instances Stan still remembered up to some point in his history. Still remembered Ford. It had never been so bad that he’d forgotten everything. Not since…

“No, nonono I can’t do this again!” Ford moaned, pulling at his hair as he continued to search. He finally found the scrapbook, which helped him get a lid back on his emotions. “No. Get a hold of yourself. This is going to work. It’s worked before.” And if it didn’t, he was willing to commandeer a plane and fly them straight back to Gravity Falls if he had to. He knew that Stanley could recover from this, it was just a question of when and how.

“Uh, you ok in there, Sixer?” Stan called from the doorway. Ford turned and stared at him in shock. “S-sorry! That was rude. Dunno why I said that. It just kinda slipped out. I-I’ll go sit back down.”

“No! That’s fine!” Ford assured him with a soft smile. “That’s your old nickname for me. We don’t use it as much anymore because someone kind of ruined it for me… but that means you’re already starting to remember!”

“Oh. Good.”

“Come sit over here.” Ford motioned towards a long padded bench besides the table with the scrapbook in his hand. “It’ll be much more comfortable.”

***

Thankfully, it seemed that Stan hadn’t forgotten everything this time after all. He had forgotten a lot, and what he did remember was quite muddled, but at least there was something to start with.

“So I was living under your name for thirty years… while I was trying to bring you back home?” Stan recapped as the reached the end of another section in the scrapbook.

“That’s right.”

“Yeah…” Stan nodded thoughtfully, “Yeah, that explains it. I was kinda confused when I first woke up, cuz I thought I was Stanford, but that makes sense.”

“Do… do you remember that?” Ford asked hesitantly.

“I remember… a lot of long nights working on that portal.” Stan said slowly. “And worrying about you. Wondering whether or not you were still alive.”

Ford managed a weak smile. “Believe it or not, I am capable of taking care of myself.”

Stan snorted. “Yeah, if you could call it that.”

“Well, I survived, in any case.” The old researcher turned the page. “And here we have--”

“The kids!” Stan finished, a huge grin spreading across his face. “Yeah! How could I forget those little firecrackers? The glitter-bomb and the nervous know-it-all.”

“Do you remember their names?”

Stan’s grin faltered. “Yyyyno. Look, I’m not doing great on names today, cut me some slack!”

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Stanuary 2020 #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #My Writing

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