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coffee-master · 2 months ago

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IDEAS FOR FICS PART 1 [FIDDLESTAN]

-> #Free ideas to use (to find more similar things for fics)

Fiddlestan idea, where Stanley and Fiddleford work together to fix the and bring Stanford back.

During this time they come closer to each other and while feeling like mess they both help each other fix some things.

They both are basically a walking mess with Trauma.

Stanley helps Fiddleford during his panic attacks and calms him down when needed. Stan gives him attention and always listenes about his problems (the divorce and difficul situation with his son. Stanley also helps Fids with quiting his addiction (the memorygun).

Fiddleford made Stan aware that he isn't a worse copy of Stanford. He tells him that he is loved and once Stan opens up to him. Fidds explains how fucked up Stan's whole situation was. Moreover he shows affection to such a touch-starved person that Stanley was at that moment.

Stan and Fiddleford get closer to each other during their bonding time, until they fall for each other and form a relationship.

[They smoke together, go out and Fidds even started teaching Stan playing banjo (with difficulties but still)]

For years they try to open the portal once again, but without the other journals this seems almost impossible. [Just a reminder that the whole portal thing was Bill's idea and he gave Stanford the project. In conclution very HARD TO DO]

And then years later Dipper and Mabel show up..!

Fiddleford and Stanley are in relationship for 30 years. They basically are the "old married couple" But historians will say that they are just 'roommates'.

Mabel basically can smell the romance from distance, while Dipper is ignorant/unaware until someone pointed out this to him.

Stanley & Fidds even have matching earings!

[Also Fidds likes to call Stan Darlin', Hun and Stan calls Fidds Cowboy eventually That's My Cowboy! When noone is around]

Fidds never went crazy or anything. He even repaired his relationship with son! Yes, he might have still got some brain damage from using the gun in the past. (So from time to time he can be forgetfull) But he is better now!

When Stanford comes back there is also a lot of mess. Ford punches Stan and Fidds is right behind him to help him. Stanford is mostly confused by everything that at first he doesn't even notice that Fiddleford and Stanley are in a relationship.(He's just as blind as Dipper)

There is some arguing and Fiddleford is pretty much pissed at Ford for being ungratefull.

Once he overheard Stanford "talk" to Stan that "at the end of this summer you give me back my identyti, my house and this all mystery shack is over"

And he confronted Ford immediately yelling at him that "the world doesn't go around him" And he had no idea how much sacrificed for him and how both of them suffered. (After that 'conversation' I think that Ford finally sensed that something was going on between Fidd and Stanley]

Shortly after Fidd "talked" with Ford, he immiediately went to Stanley, assuring him that everything is gonna be alright and they are both in this together. That he is NOT alone.

[I feel like everyone saw at least once that time of fiddlestan au in art or something BUT-]

LET'S FINALLY GET TO THE MAIN POINT!!!

In this au everything goes similar to the canon, so Weirdmagedon still happened. Everything happened in a similar way and in the end Stanley saved the town. (Pls no jokes)

Ford had to erase his memories, with the memory gun. The weapon that Fiddleford once created and almost ruined his life. And now it erased the mind of the man he loved.

Fidds after realised what happened he was devastated.

He was furious at Ford's action, even though it was the only way to save everyone.

He was heartbroken seeing the man he loves not recognising him. As if there was noone on the other side.

The guilt was eating him alive, knowing well that HE created the gun that took away his love of life.

And after learning that it was Stanley's plan to use the memory gun on himself and not Ford's.. Fiddleford was basically tearing up.

Seeing Stan's lack of reaction after waking up and seeing his 'loved ones' and not recognising them was heart-breaking. Stanley didn't seem to remember neither his nephews nor brother or even him.

When Stan looks at him. There is nothing.

It hurts to look at the man you love. You can't help, but see that he doesn't see you the same way or even recognise you. That there is nothing beside the lost gaze and lack of connection. No smiles, no love. Just confusion.

And even though the Stanley he once know was 'erased', Fiddleford takes a deep breath and with clear sadness in voice says:

"He was there for me when my mind was falling apart and now I'm gonna take care of him." And then hugs gently confused Stan.

I belive that it would take more time for them to bring Stan's memories back. (But that's up to you how you want it)

I imagine that there would be a lot more trouble with gaining back memory for Stan. Like maybe very slowly.

Their first attempts would be unsuccessfully. No improvement. Staley doesn't remmeber anything about his live. Fotos are blank for him. He even misstooks his photo with children, thinking that on the picture is Ford and not him.

"I'm sorry, I- I really don't remmeber any of this.." Stanley said, while holding the photo album.

Everyone would be devastated. Soos, Ford, twins and Fiddleford.

But suprisingly, Fiddleford would be the one who would 'seem' to be the calmest of all of them at least on the surface. He spends a lot of time with Stanley, not necessary trying to restor Stan's memory, but geniuently spend some pleasant time together.

But deeply inside Fidds is actually really strugling. Just instead of thinking about the pain, he tries to focus on helping Stanley. He had a first hand experience with memory issues and he doesn't want Stan to suffer the same.

He also tries make Stanley feel as comfortable as possible in the New situation, while trying to bond.

They drink coffee, they watch tv, they talk. Maybe not necessary about his past.. (Stanley feels pressured, every time someone tries to recall his memories without any results) So with Fidds, he feels more relaxed.

Stanley generally feels around Fiddleford most comfortable. (He doesn't feel any obligation) And he genuelly likes him and EVEN MORE he starts to like him to the point that he's questioning himself.

Stanley: I think, I might have a crush on Fidds..?

Mabel geniuently touched that even after loosing memories the true love still remained around around them, but also jealous due to the fact that he still doesn't recall her : ...

Mabel: He's literally your husband.

Stanley: He is?? I mean- But I don't even know him..?

[Sometimes someone needs to remind Stanley that he's married to Fidds. He forgets it often, since it sounds so unrealistic for him]

Also, when Stan starts 'crushing' on Fidds, Fiddleford is very aware of it.

He immiediately catches up on simple signals like

- Random nervousness

- Playing with hands

- Unnecesarry jokes at wrong time

Just the same behaviour as from 30 years ago, when Stanley started catching feelings for him. [It makes him happy to see this once again]

Fiddleford pretends that he doesn't know. He doesn't want Stan to freak out or something.

And it goes like this..

They spend some time. Twins still try to regain Stan's memory in any way possible. Ford feels helpless. And during this time they are rebuiling the mystery shack.. (because they need a place to sleep, am I right?)

Until one day..

Fiddleford was sitting outside, taking a break from repairing the shack. All of this still seamed unrealistic for him.

He was alone.

He needed to be alone.

He felt as everything was falling apart with him all together.. He just needed some time alone. If he was about to have a breakdown, he didn't want to anyone see it.

Not Ford, not kids and especially not Stanley.

He just needed to f̸̯̞̤̻̬̯̣͙͉̿̑̾͌ͅo̶̧̅r̵̫̹̟̱̖̺̝̐̾͌̄͋̈́͜͠ḡ̴̹̰̘̫͍͇̜͜ę̵̞̯̗̺̗͙̈́͑̀̓̓̆͠t̸̡̛̞̭̪͖̬̱̮͋́̋͝ chill a little-

Then as the man sighed, he saw in the corner of his eye his lying banjo. He hadn't played in a while.. It was his firt though.

So without overthinking, the man took his instrument and started playing some random nutes. After all music always calmed him down a little.

Before he could even notice, nutes turned into melody, into songs he once used to play often during this summer and not only..

It was like this until a familiar face arrived.

"Huh, I like this melody." Stanley said with a small smile, looking directly at his instrument.

Fiddleford looked at his partner, slightly confused and shocked by his arrival. Something made him stop playing, as he realised that what he was playing they both used to love.

They used to play it regulary.

So there was no suprise, that Fiddleford hoped that maybe just maybe would be some kind of recognision. Unfortunately as soon as he met Stan's clueless eyes, he knew the answer.

"Really?" But instead of shoving his dissapointment, Fidds just asked him kindly.

"It's nice." He said as he sat next to the man with a banjo. "Keep going." Stanley encouraged him and how was he supposed to say no?

So he played. Just to see more smile on his face. Just to act as if this was normal. As they used to do.

After a while he noticed, how the other man started staring at his instrument. Fidds saw the curiousity in his eyes, and how paid attention to his movement.

Then he paused to Stans shock.

"Wanna try?" He offered with a gentel smile.

"Try?" Stan sounded suprised. "Nah, I'm gonna break this little thing." He said unsurely. "These hands are pretty clumsy recently." He joked.

"Break it? Such nonsense." Fidd chuckled with a smile and placed the banjo in Stanleys hands. "The least could happen is for one of the string to break. Don't worry."

Despite his first protest in the end Stan looked at the instrument and took it in his hands gently.

Then the man ran his hand over the instrument and all the strings rang.

"Nice." He commented. "How do you start?" Stanley asked and it took Ford a second to realise what he was asking for.

"You start with this one." He answered shortly, pointing at one of the strings. "You know.. you won't be able to play the same song at first try, it takes-"

Fiddleford was interrupted, as Stan started playing. To his suprise it wasn't any kind of weird noises by pulling random strings. No, nothing like that.

It didn't even seem as his first try, when they were young and Fiddleford started teaching Stan playing on banjo.

It was the same melody he played just a second ago.

And it wasn't just a mare try.

He did it perfectly. Just as if he knew this song.

As if he knew how to play it.

As if he remembered it.

And it didn't seem as if he was putting in this any kind of effort.

Stanley just played.

And he seemed so happy and relaxed, until he finished and the realisation hit him hard.

"How.. how did you do this?" Fidds asked first.

"I.." Stan started just as confused as he was. "I don't know." He admited trufully. "My hands were just moving on its own." He tried to explain, but seemed just as lost as him. "I didn't- I didn't think what I was doing. It just happened." He finished, looking directly at Fiddleford very confused, as if looking for the answer.

Fidds confused as him, tried not to give himself unrealistic hopes.

When it came to Amnesia it rarely affected motor skills, according to the researches. Just like walking or ridding a bike. So that would explain this 'phenomen'.

He did it instinctively.

"I teached you this one." In the end Fidds decided to be trufully. "We played it lots of times, until you didn't need the sheet music."

"Oh." Stanley said clearly dissapointment.

For a moment Fiddleford was afraid, that mentioning the past would made Stan uncomfortable, or make silent.

But fortunatelly Stanley fast showed that it didn't bothered him this time.

"Was I a good student?" Stan asked instead with a smirk. "Seems pretty easy for me." Then he added with cockyness, which made Fidds only chuckle.

"The worst one." He couldn't help himself, but taste his patience a little.

"Watch it Cowboy." The man said with smirk, so full of himself as he played a few random, but melodic notes on banjo.

And just then-

"Wait- What did you just call me?" Fiddleford asked rapidly, hoping that he didn't overheard wrong.

Stan looked at him again, taking a pause, as if trying to recall what he said.

"A Cowboy." He said slowly, realising he didn't know why he choosed this kind of words.

"Stanley, I've never mentioned that I am a Cowboy, nor that I'm a fan of them.." Fidds said immiediately and once he saw the expression on his partner's face , he knew. "Stanley." He said so hopefully and full of love. "You.."

He wanted to say You remember

He wanted to reach him..

"I-" The man in fornt of him sounded so confused, but also so hopefull at the same time.

But then rapidly grabbed his head, with a hiss.

"I- think I'm gonna have a headache-" He added painfully.

At once Fiddleford moved to him, taking him gently by his back.

"Shh.. Take it slowly, dear." Fidds said gently to calm him down.

Even though inside he bursting with excitement Stan's healt was his piority number one.

And then Stanley started regaining his memories back!!!! :D

This idea is free to use. If you want you can write a fic about it or just do anything.

Hopefully you enjoyed this idea!!!

[More Fiddlestan ideas]: Part 2(in progress)

[MasterPost]

#Free ideas to use #trashpost #gravity falls #part 1 #fiddlestan #stanley pines #fiddleford x stanley #gravity falls fiddleford #free ideas to use #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #fiddleford x stan

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saint-transfag · 6 days ago

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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.

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