#ford struggles with paranoia all the time

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

stan stocking up for the apocalypse and warning people about it and then never bringing it up again is incredibly intriguing to me

[lkfarrout]

Why Stan Had to Get His Memory Back

For many of the episodes of Gravity Falls, there is a pattern where the physical supernatural beast or conflict being dealt with matches directly to some internal conflict that the character has. 

Examples:

In Double Dipper, Dipper wants to dance with Wendy but is getting in his own way with his overthinking and his list. This is shown physically by clones of himself turning on him.

In Carpet Diem, both twins are struggling to see from the other’s perspective and be more courteous with how they share a living space. They are physically forced to switch bodies to learn more about the other’s experiences. 

In Scary-oke, Dipper struggles to trust Stan and feels that Stan’s goal to protect him from the supernatural is unfair and unnecessary. Dipper then summons a bunch of zombies to prove a point. Him and Mabel must then rely heavily on Stan’s help to escape the zombies, and team up with him to finally defeat them.

Most character development in the more stand-alone episodes follows this format, but it’s harder to catch with the series-spanning character arcs like Stanley’s.

But before we get into that, one more less-obvious example:

Fiddleford’s internal conflict while working with Ford is that he had many traumatizing experiences that were causing him to suffer. But instead of having time and loving people around him to help him work through it, he had Ford continuously pushing him to work harder and finish the portal. This required him to suppress his feelings and pretend that those bad experiences did not exist. 

This is physically manifest by his creation of the memory gun. Which, in my opinion, does not completely erase memories in the way that Fiddleford intended and believed that it did. Instead, it only suppresses them. The memory gun takes whatever is written on it out of the person’s conscious mind and pushes it deep into their subconscious mind. Fiddleford still suffered the effects of his trauma - the fear, the paranoia - he only forgot the cause. And it drove him to insanity.

But when Dipper and Mabel help him remember, and when Ford finally apologizes for all that he did, Fiddleford is able to bring those feelings back to the surface and begin to work through them while surrounded by people that care about him. Ford explains in the journal that all of this helped Fiddleford begin to slowly return to his old self again. 

So, knowing that the memory gun only suppresses memories, let’s finally talk about Stanley:

When Bill first entered Stan’s mind while he was sleeping, he was inside of Stan’s subconscious mind, which contained all of his old memories and feelings and experiences. But when Bill enters Stan’s mind when he’s awake, he’s in his conscious mind - what Stan was currently thinking about at that moment. Which was, essentially, himself and Bill. His focus was entirely on himself defeating Bill. If, in order to be a hero, Stan’s conscious sense of self had to physically be erased along with Bill, what internal conflict of Stan’s does this represent?

Stan’s whole life he felt like a screw-up. Like a bad guy that would never be worth anything. That’s who he felt Stanley Pines was. So, in order to be a hero for his family, he felt that everything he used to be had to go away. He had to repress all of his past mistakes and screw-ups in order for his family to see him as a hero. He could not be both a hero and Stanley Pines because Stanley Pines was not a hero. 

Once Bill is gone, Stanley is a hero, but he isn’t Stanley Pines anymore. Until Mabel and the rest of the family start to talk about how wonderful he used to be. How the old Stanley wasn’t a screw up. How everything that he used to be was wonderful and good and they loved him for it - all of it. Once Stan accepted that he could be both a hero and be himself and be all of his past and be loved for it and not have to suppress it - it all came back. It came back because he realized he’s loved and accepted by others and he could finally accept himself. 

That’s why Stan had to get his memory back.

[oatmealdaydreams]

Random Headcanons No One Asked For :)

I have many Thoughts.

Ford speaks many alien languages from his time dimension-hopping and will forget human words sometimes. so he uses the alien word for things and no one knows wtf he's talking about

Stan being on the road for 10 years & Ford dimension-hopping for about 30 years has parallels that I can't articulate right now

Stan gives Mabel boxing lessons after she uses her Mabel Power on him (aka: puppy-dog eyes)

Mabel & Ford share a love for scrapbooking/journaling, so Mabel gives him some tips about better glue and the use of fun stickers

Dipper and Stan play card games together, including poker and slap jack

Family Game Night is one of the most chaotic nights of the week and Monopoly was banned after "The Incident"

Ford is allergic to strawberries and fucking hates bananas (because I say so)

While sailing together on the Stan O' War II, Ford and Stan find out about each other's scars and where they're from. Protective Sibling Bonding ensues.

Stan makes an off-hand comment about an attractive guy and that's how he comes out to Ford

All four Pines have different mental struggles after Weirdmageddon & the whole Bill Cipher situations, so they try their best to be there for each other because they understand a bit better than anyone else

Sometimes Ford & Dipper get really horrifying nightmares relating to Bill-Possession and stay up talking in the middle of the night

Ford still struggles with paranoia and paranoid episodes (as does Dipper, depending) but he's growing and learning how to trust again & always has his family to support him

Stan likes to visit the Mystery Shack sometimes to check in on Soos and Wendy

Ford and Fiddleford work on rebuilding their friendship, sharing sea adventure stories and how life is living with Tate

Fiddleford and Tate work on rebuilding their father/son bond, which often includes fishing together at the lake

Ford, now in his 60s, discovers he's asexual and has this moment of peaceful realization. helps him feel more like himself as he recovers from everything he's been through with Bill

Stan sometimes worries that a piece of Bill is leftover in his mind, but is often reassured by his family that Bill is truly gone and can't hurt them anymore

Stan struggles through memory relapses and amnesia episodes, but Ford & family are always there to help him through it (the memories always come back in the end)

Stan and Ford finally catch up with Shermie after so long of no seeing him & it's an emotional reunion (and a bit of a surprise to Shermie to see both of his younger brothers alive)

at some point during highschool, Dipper has an "oh shit" moment when they realize they like using they/them pronouns

And many more things! This is long enough, lmao.

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

Things I Can't Stop Thinking About Since the Gravity Falls Renaissance; An Overly Long Compilation

• It's mostly a joke-y cartoon thing but holy shit Dipper wakes up screaming kind of a lot??? How long has he been doing that for?? How long will he *be* doing it for??

• Stan had to basically teach himself advanced physics and complex multidimensional theories. He had the advantage of the portal mostly being built and having a bunch of the notes post-Bill, but still!! He had to learn how to operate the damn thing! I highly doubt Ford wrote about the portal in the same accessible manner he wrote about cryptids, especially as he spiraled into paranoia. The machinations of the portal weren't meant to be shared with the layperson, it just wouldn't be practical information for most people to have.

(also notable that he went through the whole process of learning how to operate the portal not only through pages and pages of dense code, but with the background of a 1970s highschool education and literally nothing else that would be relevant. Ford works really hard, but this is also stuff that comes to him very naturally. Designing a functioning portal wasn't the hard part. The hard part was getting the idea for the portal in the first place and knowing what to do with it. This shit is so ridiculously advanced and Stan is not an academic mind by any means. No wonder it took 30 years, he had to keep up a fake life and fund his project while grinding away at advanced quantum physics interdimensional whatever science wizard nonsense. I think about those 30 years a lot.)

• It doesn't really get addressed, but I think about Wendy being "super stressed out, like, all the time!" A lot. God, can you imagine living in the same house as Manly Dan? Let alone being the only girl there? Especially depending on when their mom left/died, she probably felt incredibly alone for a lot of her teen years. And given the Apocalypse Training it doesn't seem like Manly Dan is the most stable parent either.

• Stan, Ford, and Wendy could probably bond over having shitty holidays (and subsequently being forced into having awesome holidays when Mabel found out.) Filbrick took Stan and Ford to get free cinder block samples for Hanukkah, and the Corduroys did apocalypse training every year instead of Christmas.

• Pacifica still hears the voice of the Lumberjack ghost in her nightmares, but it's implied on the website that the Lumberfolk spirits have actually declared her under their protection since the events of Northwest Mansion Mystery. That means one of two things: that the ghost in her dreams is just her own guilt-ridden brain, or that the ghost has been appearing in her dreams to try and help her. I think about both options frequently.

• Stan struggles a lot of the time with physical activity, but that's mostly to do with age. He's actually really goddamn strong (beating down the zombies, punching a pterodactyl in the face, grabbing Ford and hoisting him up off the ground no problem, scaling scaffolding and holding the twins up by a rope one-handed). This makes the fact that Wendy beat him in an arm wrestling contest three times in a row way funnier.

• The way the Stans were almost definitely completely willing to beat a random guys ass so that Waddles could get on that bus. Stanford "Your math is no match for my gun you idiot!" Pines implicitly threatened to shoot a stranger with a Weird Sci-Fi Firearm for his great-niece. Stanley is even more direct. There is no confusing what brass knuckles will to to you. I also absolutely believe that they were not bluffing. One of them would've stolen the bus if the guy had mysteriously fallen unconscious due to unforseen circumstances.

• According to Soos, Tad Strange is crushing hard on Woodpecker Guy. Is this general town knowledge? Does everybody know that the Woodpecker marriage is on the rocks? How does one divorce a woodpecker? Alternatively, how does one get divorced *by* a woodpecker? Does Tad have a chance? Is this a small town scandal? Mr. Hirsch inquiring minds want to know. Has Toby Determined written a gossip column on this drama yet. Get your head in the game, Toby

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

What happens when Ford eventually returns? I mean, Dipper and Mabel will have to get used to a whole ‘new’ Ford, and Bill is a chaos-god again, so meeting him in his real form will be interesting, will Bill just hang around?

To summarise: It isn’t great, for anybody.

In the case of Ford, it’s like he’s just woken up from sleep. In his mind, it’s like no time has passed at all, but instead 30 years has, and he has to come to terms with that. His paranoia is intense, and to make matters worse, he doesn’t just feel like a stranger in his own home, but a stranger in his own body. He honestly spends a lot of time around Stan, despite his lingering anger, as Stan is the only person who doesn’t look at him strangely, or make him feel like he’s the one who stole this body, that he’s the one who doesn’t belong. Stan’s familiar. He’s safe. Everything else is just… wrong.

He’s generally quite unsure around the twins, which is a mutual feeling.

Mabel wants him to feel welcome, she really does, but she’s struggling to cope with the feelings of confusion and betrayal, and though she does her best to put on a smile and get to know him, he always seems very far away. Meanwhile, Dipper thought he knew the Author for the longest time, but apparently, it was all a lie, and he’s hurt, they both are, but Dipper honestly handles it worse. He’s fixated enough on Bill’s pages in the journal to know he’s dangerous, that he did something bad to their real Grunkle Ford, and he’s relentless in finding out what.

It feels like walking on eggshells at all times. Their new Great Uncle Ford is jumpy, and he’s always looking at them like they’re going to attack him. He’s only ever really at ease when Stan is around. Speaking of Stan, he doesn’t blame his brother for being so on edge, nor is annoyed at Ford constantly trying to argue with Stan and prove Bill has manipulated him too, because to Ford, it’s the only possible explanation as to why Stan would protect him. And Stan gets that. Even now, he will never forget the anger he felt at seeing Ford’s body, how damaged it was, and how Bill laughed about it. But, unfortunately, he’s spent 30 years with Bill, 30 years Ford had taken from him, and that leaves everything painfully complicated.

Speaking of Bill, I haven’t decided exactly how he’s going to be present, either he’s completely back to hanging around the mindscape, or he’s latched onto Ford still somehow, either way, he hangs around.

I have a particular vision in mind of him entering the twins dreams sometimes, especially if they’re having a nightmare, and he and Mabel end up having a conversation one night.

I may make a full, coloured comic for it honestly, because it’s very clear in my mind, and Mabel asking Bill to lie to her for her own comfort… yeah.

(If anyone’s seen Buffy, it’s kind of based off the ‘Lie to me’ scene)

(One final note: I think DD&MD will still be the key to getting Ford to open up, but it’s something the whole family gets involved with, even Stan and Mabel, though they admit the game isn’t really for them, just to make him feel more comfortable around them, and break the tension a bit more. Dipper kind of figures out he likes it in the similar fashion of Ford seeing his die!)

[foodtruckery]

I'm back again even though I just sent an ask I'm too eager to dump more idea on you lmfao

But its occured to me weve all been talking about stan going into heat but we havent really touched on the idea of ford going into a rut 👀 either it happens when he gets back out of the portal and it's some good hate fucking with his so angry and delirious that he cant tell if hes trying to bitch stan or just own him and then once hes got him knotted hes expecting that heat in his gut to fade but instead it's just burning hotter, his hips are twitching still and when stan squirms (just trying to adjust more than struggle because damn hes in his 60s and getting knotted on a basement floor is probably terrible for his back) ford cant help but clamp his teeth into stans throat, instinct telling him to keep stan pinned. His rut doesn't care that stan is an alpha (as far as he knows lol) and honestly ford himself barely cares at this point. Hes back in his home dimension. Hes back in his /home/ hes got stan under him as hes always wanted as he always should have had him because ford /deserves/ this. It's a sticky long mess with ford possessiveness really rearing its head through the rut

OR maybe the paranoia and the stress and the torture from bill all culminate into it because it's like bill is threatening his territory, and then stan shows up and the focus of most of his fantasies is there and /fighting him/ and he just loses it. Stan has to work him through it that first round because it's probably really fucking clear that ford is out of his mind in more ways than one. Hes so weak and exhausted and freaking the fuck out that stan just gets fed up and pins him down and rides a knot out of him (and then ofc bill would ruin things enough that stan has to scramble to get ford in his lucid moments to help explain how to keep bill out of his head and keep them both safe) stan would have SO much on his plate in that time though hed absolutely compartmentalize. Not even allow himself to really focus that hes actually fucking his brother right now (and then hopes that ford was just a little too out of it during the rut to remember that stan was just a liiiittle bit too wet for it to have just been lube)

OR if we want to go even FURTHER back (I'm holding onto your arm and dragging you along we ain't got time to dawdle in this ask I guess) maybe ford uses his rut as his excuse to get close to stan as teenagers. Playing up how uncomfortable it is and pressing up against stan. He doesnt have the guts to ask to fuck him but stan isnt pushing him away so hell take what he can get. Crawling down into stans bed, pretending he just wants to be close to him, claiming his smell helps (which I'm sure it does but maybe a little more than ford is admitting to either of them) then scootching closer and closer until hes pressed up against stan a slow grind turning into desperate dry humping in their bunk bed and telling stan how good he feels how much he needs this you're so good to me Stanley you're so /soft/

(And ofc stan is just doing this because fords in distress right now. Ford needs this. That's all. Him popping a boner is just a natural side effect and he is NOT analyzing this any further)

-🐶

breaking my answering order because you got me fucked up with this one, 🐶, omfg. this is incomplete and might never actually be cleaned up and completed but oh well!

“Jesus, are you gonna calm down or what?” Stan pants, acutely aware of the strain across his shoulders and thighs and the ache in his knees.

Pinned to the ground underneath him, Ford growls wordlessly and tries to twist a wrist free. Well, that answers that question. 

Stan huffs in annoyance and shoves Ford’s wrists along the ground to a spot above his head, hopefully to reduce any leverage he might have. He has questions and a lot of them, but they’re apparently going to have to wait until Ford is capable of using his words again.

“You know, Sixer,” he says, aiming for conversational but coming out a little too winded for that. It’s fine, Ford isn’t gonna be able to tell. “If this weren’t so damn annoying, it might be funny. Y’know, you of all people basically speechless.”

Ford snarls and bucks his hips, and Stan hisses out a curse. 

“I’m workin’ on it, all right?!” he snaps, grinding back down in retaliation, though it only makes Ford rumble under him again. 

“I swear to god, Stanford, this better not be what you asked me to come up here for,” he gripes, squeezing his hands around Ford’s wrists as he works his hips in small, tight circles, trying to relax enough for the next step. It fucking reeks of alpha pheromones in here, and courtesy of his latest drug cocktail, that just has him even more on edge. Probably for the best that one of them is keeping their head on right now.

Ford jerks his hips again, demanding, and Stan grits his teeth when they almost get his stupid fucking knot in him that time. They might be done with this part already if he’d had a chance to loosen up first, or if he could reach down and help himself out. But no!

Shit had gone from weird to weirder from the second he showed up on Ford’s doorstep. Something was clearly going on, and something was clearly wrong, but he’d barely gotten Ford to put the honest-to-god crossbow down before his brother had started spiraling in an equally aggressive but notably different direction. 

He’s trying not to think too much about it, but Stan doesn’t actually know what he’s gonna do if Ford doesn’t settle down a little once they’re locked in together.

“You know, this would be a hell of a lot easier if you would just let me—nngh!” Stan chokes and curls over Ford when a particularly sharp snap of his hips finally gets his knot inside. “F-Fucking ow.”

When Ford doesn’t immediately growl at him, Stan forces himself to sit up a little again, wincing as he settles more fully onto Ford’s scrawny ass hips. The bite of Ford’s zipper against his ass isn’t great, and the fact that he’s got one pant leg still caught around his own shoe from how fast he’d had to shuck them off is also less than comfortable, but heyyy. They did it. 

“Now are you gonna calm the fuck down for a minute?” he says, watching Ford’s expression slowly soften into bleary confusion. 

“…S-Stanley…?” he croaks, and Stan can’t help but wince. He doesn’t even have any water nearby for him. 

“Yeah, that’s me.”

Ford glances around at the mess their tussling has made of his living room (is this a living room?) before looking back at Stan. And Stan sees the moment Ford gets up to speed. More panic, like from the porch, seeps into his expression as he realizes exactly what position they’re in.

“Wh-What happened? What did he— what did he do?!”

“Whoa, hey! Shh, Ford, it’s okay,” Stan insists, leaning down to clumsily press his forehead against Ford’s, bearing more of his weight down to keep him still. “You’re okay. You, uh, went into rut when I got here and…look, you were freaking out, and I was just trying to help. But you’re all right.”

Ford makes a whining noise that sounds horribly out of place given the situation. It’s too high, too shrill, to be coming from an alpha in rut, and it twinges at something in Stan that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. 

“Y-You can’t be here, Stanley,” Ford says, insistent and frantic, and squirming underneath him until Stan’s breath hitches.

“Stop! Stop moving around like that,” he snaps, his own cock twitching as he presses this thighs harder on either side of Ford’s hips to try and hold him in place. “I can’t go anywhere, Poindexter. Not for like twenty more minutes or some shit. And then you’re gonna go out of your fucking head again.”

The look Ford gives him as that sinks in is so horrified that Stan suddenly feels sick. How badly had he fucked up here? He thought— 

Well when they were younger, before he left, and Ford would crawl into his bunk and pant for some kind of help against his shoulder and grind against his hip in the dark, and he’d assumed that was still— shit. 

Shit.

He’d just been trying to help. 

“I…Stanford, f-fuck, I’m sorry,” he stammers, leaning back and letting go of Ford’s wrists. A cold feeling settles into his gut and churns there when Ford doesn’t immediately move his hands. “I— Maybe we can time it good, and I can get some distance before you go under again? Once it goes down, I mean. I—“

A hand touches his cheek and startles Stan out of his babbling. Ford’s flushed expression has drawn down into something grim and determined. And it’s obviously taking an effort but his voice is mostly steady when he speaks up again.

“Stanley. It isn’t safe for you here. You have to leave as soon as you can. Do you understand me?”

“…No,” Stan says bluntly, frowning. “The fuck are you talking about? Because of— because of this?” he asks waving between them.

He’s even more confused when Ford shakes his head. 

“No! Well. Partially, but not—“ Ford growls, low and angry and Stan can fucking feel it where they’re still tied together. “I’m not going to have time to explain it, Stanley. I shouldn’t have asked you to come. You have to leave. Immediately.”

“…Are you fucking kidding me?” Stan demands, swatting the hand off his face and leaning back as far as he’s able when Ford sits up, biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood to keep from gasping at the way it grinds Ford’s knot inside of him. 

For his part, Ford looks dizzy when he sits up, and Stan thinks he might fall back over, but he manages to keep himself upright.

“Stanley—“

“Are you seriously so freaked out about this that you’re sayin you shouldn’t have reached out in the first place?!”

Ford’s nostrils flare, and despite the heavy bags under his eyes, his pupils are dilating again, his scent spiking with renewed aggression. God dammit, they can’t afford for him to get worked up again this fast, especially not when Stan’s lost his leverage.

“No!” Ford barks, sweat beading at his temples and eyes flicking down between them. “But it isn’t safe here, and I can’t keep him from hurting you like this!”

“Him? Ford, who the fuck are you talking about?” Stan asks, grabbing him by the wrist when a hand starts reaching blindly for his thigh. “Is somebody else in your creepy house?!”

Ford’s eyes are going a little hazy again, and the suggestion of “someone else” being nearby makes him growl menacingly, which isn’t helpful in the slightest. 

Stan grabs him by the other wrist before he thinks to use it and pushes Ford down onto his back again. He goes easily, thank god. “You gotta give me something to work with here, Ford!”

“Bill,” Ford snarls, and Stan looks over his shoulder like he expects to see someone has walked in on them. Who the fuck is Bill?

“Something helpful, dammit,” he says, breath stuttering when Ford rolls his hips like he can’t help himself. He probably can’t. 

“M-My pupils,” Ford manages to get out, his voice gone gravel and unsteady in his throat, like it’s hard to make the shape of words. “They’ll change. Th-That’s Bill.”

Stan honestly has no idea what the fuck that’s supposed to mean. 

But a moment later Ford tries to roll them, and he has to turn his focus to bracing himself and keeping him down. Whatever the fuck is going on, he was right to not let himself get trapped under a rutting alpha. Especially not with Ford dealing with…whatever the fuck this is in the moments that are supposed to be lucid.

When Ford strains to try snapping at his arm or shoulder, Stan presses down and circles his hips again to grind more pointedly against Ford’s knot. The friction and the spike of Stan’s own arousal are enough to at least distract him for the moment, so Stan focuses on that as best he can while keeping an ear out for whoever this Bill character is.

[gravity-falls-au-tournament]

The AUs in the running!

With the submission now closed, the time for the Tournament to begin is fast approaching! With that in mind it is time to reveal the AUs in the running:

Drifting stars AU by @the-subpar-ghost

During the events of not what he seems, Mabel ends up falling into the portal instead of Ford coming through it, and Mabel ends up stuck with Ford in the multiverse. The two of them travel the multiverse and get into many a shenanigan trying to find a way home. In most versions Stan and Dipper also work to bring their twins home

One of us AU by @ashidaii

During the events of Weirdmaggedon, Ford accepts Bill's offer to join him and is transformed into a demon. In some versions it is with the intent to betray Bill later while struggling with Demonic Corruption, in others it is genuine.

Reunion falls AU by @sailorleo (Now @hellspawnmotel)

Not long after Mabel and Dipper were born the two were separated, with Dipper being sent to live with Stan and Mabel remaining with their parents. After finding out about her twin years later, Mabel travels to Gravity falls to meet him.

Timestuck AU by @dodofiasco

In which one of the Pines twins (or both, in which case usually they get separated but sometimes they are together) end up stuck 30 years in past due to the time tape and meet the younger version of one (or both) of the Stan twins.The most Popular version of this AU has Mabel travelling with a younger Stan.

Blind Faith au by @gravity-what and @thesnadger

During the events of the Portal incident in the 1980s, Both Stan and Ford fall through the Portal. Due to McGucket being driven mad by what he saw when he entered the portal, Ford fears the same could happen to Stan and thus blindfolds him to prevent him from Seeing whatever lurks in the mysterious and insidious dimension where they have ended up, and the two travel to escape. However, while Ford cannot see fully due to losing his glasses, what little he can see is starting to take its toll. This mounting paranoia and fear eventually reaches a Boling point and leads to Ford attempting to blind Stan to keep him safe from the horrors (In some versions he succeeds, in others he only manages to do so for one eye) Eventually the two manage to leave this dimension and they begin travelling the multiverse.

Monster falls AU by various

The discovery of a magical stream results in the characters of gravity falls being transformed into various monsters. Dipper is turned it a Cervitaur(Deer centaur) Mabel is turned into a Mermaid or a Unicorn centaur, Stan is turned into a gargoyle, Ford is turned into a Greek sphynx, And the list goes on.

Mystery trio AU by various

Based on a popular theory prior to the release of Not what he seems and a tale of tale of two stans. The story of the Mystery trio au has many different variations, but the general premise is that in sometime in the past before the portal incident, Stan and Ford make and the two of them plus Fiddleford work together to help with Ford's research in Gravity falls, getting into all kinds of trouble.

Beauty and Beast AU by @artsycrapfromsai

A Familial love take on the Disney movie of the same name, in the Beauty and the Beast au the pines twins end up living in the castle of the Stan twins, who were cursed years ago by bill, with Ford being transformed into a Book and Stan into a beast

Reverse portal AU by @busket

During the events of the portal incident, Stan is the one to fall in the portal instead of Ford. Ford then spends the next 30 battling with himself over whether he should risk the universe and try and bring Stan back, Meanwhile Stan travels the multiverse, probably getting banned from numerous dimensions.

Relativity falls AU by Doidles and Gargunk

An age swap au where the stan twins are twelve years old and staying in gravity falls with their Grauntie Mabel, who is secretly working to bring back her brother.

Transcendence AU by Zoey Chu(Now @transcendence-au)

Due to a long series of events, Dipper gains Bill's powers, becoming known as "Alcor". Meanwhile in an event known as the "Transcendence" gravity falls weirdness spreads to the rest of the world.

One and a half stans AU by @disappeareddraws

After the events of a tale of two stans, Stan ends up being reverted back to a kid through some means or the other.

Ghost stan AU by @gryphsdeadbones

Some point after a tale of two stans, Stan dies and becomes a ghost, eventually becoming a category 10 ghost.

Never human AU by @notllorstel

Stanley pines was stillborn, replaced by a changeling at birth. In some versions Dipper is also a Fae and the story deals with the aftermath of these revelations

Pirate AU by @gobblewanker

During the 18th century, Orphan stowaways Mabel and Dipper find themselves on the mystery, A pirate ship manned by its notorious captain Stanley pines, who is fueled by a desire for revenge against the man who killed his brother.

Summer job AU by Various

After the events of Steven universe future, Steven gets a job working at the mystery shack (sometimes post-series sometimes pre-series)

Round one will start on the 10th of August Aest and the brackets will be up on the 9th. See you all soon!

[thechillsquid]

Blind Eyes- Fiddlesticks

Fiddleford McGucket is an absolute vibing lad in this au, and like that’s kinda the main difference between him and canon. Rather than get consumed by his paranoia and fear, he’s been forced to face it head on to help someone he cares about.

And like, mans got the weirdest fucking support system out of this situation, like he ends up with not 1. but 2. conmen bfs. Which is ironic in the sense that the people most adapt at telling lies and hiding who they really are to not only the rest of the world but themselves are the ones that come to be Fidds biggest sources of truth. Like absolutely wild. Espically when Bill fucking terrified him for so long before Fidds decided that he was done being used by people.

Then there’s Stan, like at first, Fidds could not figure the guy out and I’d imagine it would have been hella frustrating for both of them trying to work on this portal together. But they’re also just inherently lonely people and it makes sense that eventually they’d figure it’s better to be lonely together than at each others throats.

I think that’s probably what shifted the relationship with Bill now that I think of it. Because while Stan and Fidds were still figuring each other out and this new dynamic, Bill was more able to pick away at both of their insecurities and vulnerabilities. But as the two men got closer and became genuine friends, Bill’s words kinda went to the back burner.

Like, if Fidds had to choose one liars words over the other, everytime he’d choose Stan’s. Even after the 30 years and the time to get used to each other, Stan is a major source of support Fidds can go to.

Bill may have changed during the time building the portal, but it doesn’t mean the triangle knows how to comfort someone. Demon boi may know the right things to say to poke about at someone’s ego or manipulate them to his cause, but he’s struggling with genuineness. The summer spent with the kids actually does a lot for Bill in that regard, cause faced with these two curious yet fragile and growing beings, it’s like a slap to the face. And Bill needed that, cause sure, he may have been around when Soos and Wendy entered the picture, and he may have had fun teaching them some questionable things like how to make a pipebomb or how to hide a body, he never really saw them as more than ‘those kids that show up sometimes.’

The twins being there 24/7 means he’s got to face a lot more things about himself than he realizes. And Fidds gets to watch this all go down.

Speaking of which, I’ve been having fun coming up with different nicknames for McGucket. Espically figuring who uses what name for him.

Stan- Fiddlestick, fiddleshit (used when the kids aren’t around), fiddlefuck (also used when the kids aren’t around), Fidds, Banjo

Bill- Specs, Glasses, Fiddleford (yeah the weirdo uses his full name), Fidds

The kids- Grunkle McGucket, Fidds, Grunkle Fidds (they tried asking him if he went by Ford at all and unknowingly nearly caused three grown idiots to have a break down in the kitchen), Mabel also probably rhymes shit or comes up with different stuff on the fly depending on the situation

About everyone else- McGucket (that’s what most people call him), Old Man McGucket (mostly used when differentiating/clarifying between Fiddleford and Tate), Fiddleford (Gideon mostly does this, Fidds can’t stand the brat and has helped Stan on some of his stupid revenge plots just for this reason), The Shack’s lunatic (in the early days when Fidds was still very unstable and working with Stan initially, lots of people that subsquentially started visiting the shack for the mad scientist appeal thought Fidds was crazy; most people don’t use this nickname anymore cause he’s cleaned up his act though sometimes the teenagers will whisper about it), Bill’s boyfriend (self explanatory), Stan’s boyfriend (While their relationship is more aligned with a queerplatonic relationship, neither mind this), McBucket (he got his head stuck in a bucket once while in town, the nickname haunts him), Fiddlefreak (used in the early days, sometimes the teenagers use it when he’s been seen doing weird shit), etc.

He’s just a silly guy doing silly shit, and has a causal continual record

[pinesfamilyguidetotheweird]

Gravity Falls Thoughts: Ford and Trauma™ (Part 01; because I know I'm turning this into a multi-part series)

So...when you start to think about it, Ford has been through a lot. Because of Gravity Falls' nature as a 2-season Disney cartoon, I feel that we've only scratched the surface of all the crap this man went through.

And thanks to the fandom...good Lord in Heaven, all the flippin' Trauma!!! Sweet Moses...

I mean, other than Bill Cipher and Weirdmageddon, Ford has a level of trauma that not a lot of people have.

Of course, Ford isn't the only one with Trauma™. Really, all four of the Pines are traumatized in some way. I mostly want to focus on Ford for now.

Now, most of the trauma Ford is given is fan speculation/interpretation. The thing is though, is that these traumas would make sense if Gravity Falls was given a more serious direction. (sort of like Steven Universe, a show that is more emotionally driven)

Okay...first things first, nutrition.

In a previous post I've made (I think it was about the Feral Ford headcanon; which I may or may not go into further detail in this series), I said something along the lines of how Ford wouldn't be all that bothered by weird looking food or could even stomach strange food combinations.

While a part of me still thinks this, another one thinks of something else thanks to reading a lot of fanfics of his essentially living off of nutrient pills.

This is from Ford having to be constantly on the move to avoid Bill's reach during his travels. I'd imagine it's a rare occurrence for him to be able to sit down and have a decent meal, either at an establishment or even hunting for food. Not only that, but you have to remember that a lot of the places he went to probably don't have food suitable for humans.

So, Ford has probably taken to nutrient pills so that way he's always on the go, among other foods he's able to preserve and carry.

The thing is, living on mostly nutrient pills could only take you so far before it could be more of a bad boon. Nutrient pills wouldn't exactly give you the appropriate amount of calories a human adult male needs. Especially if they are constantly in danger.

This can lead to some malnutrition.

Yes. I took time to research this so we can properly make Ford's life more like hell.

Signs/Symptoms of Malnutrition (according to NHS)

(Other than the main concern of weight loss and BMI being low)

reduced appetite

lack of interest in food and drink

feeling tired all the time

feeling weaker

getting ill often and taking a long time to recover

wounds taking a long time to heal

poor concentration

feeling cold most of the time

...feeling cold most of the time...

"feeling cold most of the time"

...And who wears a turtleneck sweater/trench coat combo during the summer?

And, lastly, Low mood, sadness and depression.

Furthermore, it would seem that Ford would have developed a low tolerance to actual food (other than bland, mushy stuff) and is probably incapable of eating a whole meal without throwing up.

It's a struggle to be sure, especially if Ford already has a history to forget meals, even as a child (may or may not be projecting here as someone who forgets to eat)...not to mention the months of paranoia due to Bill prior to being sucked into the Portal.

I'm honestly imagining a scene in which Abuelita (bless her soul) tries to feed Ford when she sees how skinny he is...or at least what she perceives as skinny. And no one (no one) can say no to Abuelita Ramirez. And it's Mexican food. There is absolutely nothing bland about it. And Ford does his best to eat it...only to scurry into the bathroom after three bites. He didn't mean to be rude. It was honestly very delicious. Ford's body just couldn't handle it at the moment.

At least Abuelita is understanding of the situation and becomes Stan's right hand woman on his quest to help Ford with his eating habits.

...Great, another idea for an upcoming fic...I had a title in mind but I feel like I should call it *Trauma* Ford Edition.

[creative-jackalope]

*chanting* Ford Pines ! Ford Pines ! Ford Pines !

(for the headcanon game LOL)

HI THIS WAS SENT TO ME A REALLY LONG TIME AGO AND I FORGOT TO POST THE RESPONSE,,, This has been in my drafts for like a year I think oopsie. Aaaaaaaaaaaanyway--

---

[Send a character’s name to receive four different headcanons!]

OH BOY do I have many a thought about this man. Picking just four is tough and these are going to be so long so I’ll place them under a read-more.

Heads up - significant Gravity Falls spoilers!

Headcanon 1 - Canon-Compliant:

This is a relatively common headcanon already, I think, but Ford is absolutely covered in scars from his time in the Multiverse. He also already had some from his years in Gravity Falls. If you can name an injury, Ford's probably experienced it at some point - bitten, stung, broken bones, shot, stabbed, fallen from a height, poisoned, burned, he's seen it all. (Thankfully he's managed to keep himself away from fatal or debilitating harm, but there's still time! :D His common sense and self-preservation instincts leave something to be desired and his hero complex never quite went away.) He isn't too fussed about others seeing the scars, usually, but he tends to be evasive if asked about them - he prefers not to think about his time in the Multiverse in too much detail.

Headcanon 2 - Hilarious: 

Ford is resolutely convinced that, throughout his time working with Fiddleford, he did an astounding job at hiding Bill and their partnership. He is 100% certain that Fiddleford couldn't ever have known, not in the least! It does, however, turn out that Ford is a terrible liar and has about as much subtlety as a fork in the garbage disposal. That's not even counting the moments (that Ford is unaware of) when Bill would talk directly to Fiddleford, making no pretenses but never telling Fiddleford exactly who he is other than a 'friend' looking after Ford and helping build the portal. At one point Bill even tried to directly tell Ford that Fiddleford knew, hoping they'd get to stop the charade - Ford just laughed and brushed it off, saying, "Don't be ridiculous, he doesn't suspect a thing!" Bill didn't care enough to push the topic.

Headcanon 3 - Painful:

[CW: Substance misuse, life-threatening physical illness, mental illness, paranoia] Being possessed repeatedly by Bill had serious effects on Ford’s body which neither of them expected. Towards the end of their partnership, his body essentially began to treat Bill like a parasite - his immune system began attacking his nervous system. This caused swelling in his brain, accompanied by fever, hallucinations, chronic headaches and light sensitivity, and just in general an awful time all around for him. After the betrayal, it didn’t matter if Cipher was actually tormenting him or not; hallucinations of him were enough to fuel Ford’s paranoia, and depriving himself of sleep to 'protect' himself from these hallucinations did extremely little to help. The one saving grace is that Ford began to self-medicate with steroids in an attempt to keep himself awake and alert for longer periods, which had the (accidental, on his part) side-effect of slowing/reducing the swelling and suppressing his immune system's attack on his body - and likely saved his life by keeping him going until he finally ended up in a hospital. He has long-lasting damage from this, though thankfully things have improved with time, and he has learned to live with and work around the lingering symptoms. He's still not certain how much of the torment in those years was actually Bill, and how much of it was his own paranoia and illness... If he's honest with himself, he'd rather not know.

Headcanon 4 - Canon Is Dead:

Stanford Pines likes poetry and I will die on this hill. I know this directly contradicts Journal 3 (”I never understood poetry, to be honest") but, in my eyes, Ford loves self-expression through written and visual mediums. He is a man who has always struggled with expressing things like emotions verbally, which is part of the reason he ends up using his Journals more as a diary than as a record of research methods and discoveries, and so art as an expression of things you can’t otherwise put words to fascinates him. The written word, in general, is something he loves - whether fiction or non-fiction, poetry or prose. Poetry in particular is something that helps him with recognising his own emotions and understanding them. As such, I explain the Journal 3 comment either as “-plugs ears- he didn’t say that” or “he’s being deliberately snarky because he knows what the Hand Witch is implying and he doesn’t like it or want to admit/acknowledge it”.

...

Now I’m. Stretching the rules a bit lmao.

Here are some in-depth extras that are important ones to me, but don’t particularly fit the above categories.

Bonus Headcanon 5 -  Trauma, coping mechanisms, and the importance of social support after so much isolation:

[CW: Discussion of PTSD symptoms] Basically implied in canon already, he has some pretty serious PTSD as a result of his years spent paranoid and alone in the Multiverse, and suffers from frequent nightmares as well as occasional flashbacks, amongst other things. One of his biggest coping mechanisms for the related anxiety is being armed so he can defend himself at a moment’s notice. At first after returning, Ford never went without his weapon belt, not even at the Shack, and all it took was an errant floorboard creak for his hand to fly to his gun. After a long while, he steadily got used to the idea that he was home, and he was safe, and started to forgo the belt more and more whilst in what he felt were safe places (ie. in the Shack or on the Stan O’ War II). Despite that, he still feels the need to be armed for reassurance whenever he goes out, even if it’s just to the town - and there are days where he will, without explanation, carry a weapon in his safe places too, something that Stan tactfully doesn’t mention. However, later on those same days Stan will usually a spot a new anomaly and insist they need to stay home so he can tell Ford about it, then spend all evening spinning a grand tale of how terrifying and fantastical it was in great detail, until Ford either is listening with complete awe or is terribly unamused and poking holes in the blatantly fabricated story - either way, the gun often ends up on the table, forgotten.

Bonus Headcanon 6 - Probably the most important one to me and plays a massive part in how I characterise Ford as a whole - I apologise for how LONG this one is but I have so so so many thoughts about it:

Ford is autistic and was diagnosed as a child, in the 60s. He grew up masking a lot of the more “obvious” traits, like repressing many of his body stims, because of bullying and family pressure - he was already “weird” and this just made him stand out more, so he tried to hide it. Big traits he had as a child that carried over to adulthood were his bluntness, difficulty in relating to others, sensitivity to sensory input (noise and texture were the main ones), and how he would focus intensely on particular topics that interested him. Behind-the-scenes he also received a lot of support from Stan (who I headcanon as ADHD and autistic, though his traits present very differently to Ford’s and he was never assessed or diagnosed, instead just treated as a ‘problem child’), and as such, began to struggle a lot more than he thought he would once Stan was no longer in his life and couldn’t secretly help him through things. As an adult, since he started living alone and had embraced his polydactly and made it his, Ford steadily started unmasking and just let himself exist in all his “weird” glory; including being more vocal about his own limits and needs, both personal and social. He stims a lot with DD&MD dice (which he is an avid collector of) as well as whatever little desk toys he can find (especially physics-based ones), and also has several hand-based stims like tapping or rubbing his fingers. One of his anxious stims, picked up during the nights where he was trying to keep himself awake, is tapping his thumb against his fingers sequentially and counting along “one, two, three, four, five”. Counting is general is an action he finds very soothing when he’s stressed or anxious. Finally, one thing that has never, ever changed about him is that once he gets focused on something he Will Not Stop - he’ll forgo food, sleep, and anything else because he simply forgets he needs it once he gets into the zone, and he’s terrible at reading the signals from his body informing him he is hungry or tired. Having others around, like Fiddleford and Stanley, to prompt him to look after himself is something he benefits from heavily.

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

id like to make a self indulgent fic series thats just violently applying various different aspects of identity to everyone

fic all about ford experimenting with it/its pronouns

fic about ford struggling with mental illness and stan helping him with it because he himself has experience with it

fic about mabel hyperfixation adventures

dipper vs manliness except explicitly transgender

fic about ford struggling with paranoia and hallucinations

fic about stan being forced to take a self-care day via nurse mabel

pines family bonding over nightmares. bonus: ford and stan give mabel and dipper some tips for dealing with insomnia (good tips? theyre definitely trying)

pines family trans story time

ford trying (and probably failing) to explain multiverse genders to everyone

stan decking someone because they didnt want to respect ford’s aromantic non-interest

stan and ford just doing echolalia for long periods of time

mabel’s guide to pride: a series of three mabel’s guides where its just her sitting down with the stan twins and explaining various genders/pronouns, sexualities, and romantic orientations to them

ford trying to explain to stan the eternal struggle that is “do this specific thing or unknown horrors will kill you because the horrors are also neurodivergent i guess”

mabel and ford bonding over shared sensory and skin picking issues

soos, wendy, and fiddleford building dangerous things together because they found an overlap in hyperfixations

the stan twins being so used to each other spacing out and having to either snap the other out of it or just take over whatever they were doing at the time that theyre both confused when it happens during an event at mystery shack and everyone is concerned about it

mabel convinces ford to go into the forest with her and do a survey about the various anomalies’ identities. he has to go with because hes the only one with a translator (and more of the anomalies already know him which makes it easier)

mabel asking stan to help her figure out a chosen name

mabel using waddles to dispel negative thoughts and going on a mission to figure out if waddles could be a good therapy pig for all of the members of the pines family

embodiment of depression takes on the form of ford and uses what he personally believes to be the worst aspects of himself to try and hunt down the pines family, starting with ford himself. the other members of the pines family help him fight back the anomaly enough that he manages to take the thing down (✨metaphors✨)

mabel helps ford create creatures and lore for his next DD&MD campaign (another fic about hyperfixations)

the stan twins go looking for weird stuff to research and encounter a venomous anomaly. stan tries to keep ford grounded in reality while simultaneously having to deal with the various other effects of the venom (it prompted, but was not the sole cause of, ford’s struggling to stay grounded)

dipper being the only one to not be able to taste water, featuring mabel introducing the stan twins to the wonders of flavored water powder

[fiddleturnips]

Something's Wrong

(In the Recovery period. Bill is long gone, but there are after effects. )

Fiddleford sat bolt upright in bed. It was still pitch black, and the mountains were nearly silent, too late into the night for the moon to shine anywhere near their window. Emma-Mae stirred and groused at the sudden loss of most of her blanket.

"Fiddlebow?"

"Something's wrong," he said. He was stock-still, listening.

Emma-Mae patted at him, then gave him a comforting hug, barely conscious. "Go back to sleep," she mumbled.

But he wasn't having a panic attack. There had been no nightmare, either. He was lucid as the dawn.

Fiddleford tucked his wife in and she dropped back to sleep with no complaints. Then he slipped out of bed and into the hall.

He was just wearing shorts and nothing else, a testament to how far he'd come since he was afraid to go to bed without too-tight blue jeans and a spraybottle of something volatile. The heat and his wife's skin had overcome him, so now he was near naked as he blindly followed the hallway wall - not far; a mere few meters, and there it was. He turned the handle carefully, in case Ford was asleep. He tapped very quietly on the door as it swung open:

"Stanford?"

There was the sound he had heard, that nobody else would ever have heard. It was barely a sound at all, really. Stanford was shaking, his breath was fast and ragged, and he was sobbing in that muffled way of his that most others would never have the chance to notice. But Fiddleford had spent months becoming perfectly attuned to every tiny nonverbal tic that Stanford had, his only ward against well-earned paranoia. Fiddleford knew.

He decided to save Ford the struggle and indignity of speaking up and just walked in, leaving the door open, and sat on the edge of his bed. There was a hint of light in this room from some gadget Ford had been working on. It hit Ford's face just right, so Fiddleford could see the mask of tears that coated him.

"C'mon."

Ford didn't pull away when Fiddleford took his shoulders and guided him close. He folded his arms close to his chest. Unlike Fiddleford, Stanford wore cotton pajamas to bed. Fiddleford rubbed his hands along the back and sussed gently.

"Fiddleford?"

"I'm here."

"Did I ever do it without him?"

Right to the damn point. "Never woulda dreamed of it. Not in your temperament."

"But I thought..." he took a breath. "I dreamed something."

"What did you dream?" Fiddleford rested his head against Stanford's, glad that his own face was invisible.

This shared trauma of theirs, it hit them different. But, as Fiddleford recovered and Stanford did not, he often thought about the ways in which they were the same.

Stanford sobbed again, and his teeth chartered. "I dreamed I was tired of being out of control."

Fiddleford changed the angle of his body to hold himself closer to Stanford, both to make them more comfortable and because he'd been afraid it was something like that, and even doing better Fiddleford didn't like to think too hard about it. He wanted Stanford to talk more than he himself wanted to forget, though, so he pressed his nose into Stanford's hair and pressed further.

"Tell me about it."

"I- I-" Stanford struggled to get the words out, then swallowed them back altogether and went quiet again. Crying too hard to speak but too quiet to hear. Something about it all broke Fiddleford's heart - what had made the man like this? Who woke up from a nightmare unable to breathe and put top priority on not being heard?

Fiddleford wasn't as patient as Stanford was, or his wife, or even Stanley. He was an active man, never still for a moment, jittering and pacing and tidying and fixing things. He'd never mastered that art that Ford had perfected, the one of sitting and just doing nothing while you waited for what happened next. It had made Ford a better scientist, and, at times, a better friend.

"Stanford, you can tell me."

Ford shook his head hard, and finally clutched Fiddleford back. "I can't."

"If you don't want to, I won't force you. But it'll be good for you."

Stanford let out a tiny, muffled cry. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't." Good lord, did he have to sound so bored? Did Stanford notice?

"In the dream I," his fingers curled at Fiddleford's ribs in a way Fiddleford did not like, but it was tolerable enough. "Fidds..."

"That's me." Oh, he coulda kicked himself.

"In the dream I enjoyed it."

"An' now you're awake, and it was the worst nightmare you've ever had."

Stanford didn't respond, but his breathing began to slow. "But... M-my subconscious..."

"Your subconscious knows you'd be a lot happier if you were the villain in that scenario, and it's sick of being the tortured hero in the dungeon."

"I don't even, why would I..."

"Why would you voluntarily do something you don't like doing just to hurt someone you do like?"

Stanford took a deep breath, and ever so slightly, his body relaxed. "I couldn't."

"You aren't your dreams, Stanford. You're your own self."

"I'm nobody," he whispered, and oh if that wasn't just a thing and a half to say.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that. You're an accomplished scientist."

They sat in Stanford's bed in the near-darkness, illuminated only by a power indicator from that thingamajig on Stanford's desk.

"I'm sorry for waking you," Stanford said at last.

Fiddleford smiled privately, since Ford couldn't see his face. "No trouble at all."

"....Thank you for coming. It was unnecessary."

"I'm not gonna leave you to deal with that by yourself."

"Are you going back to bed?"

"In a bit. Now I'm up, I'm gonna grab some water."

"Do you want company?"

Fiddleford couldn't care less, but had the sneaking suspicion that Stanford wanted company, so he said:

"Wouldn't mind it."

[alexthebordercollie]

Thank you T^T I think Ford shows lots of little signs of just how much he loves and cares for Fidds in his entries, but because he shows his affection in less direct ways people miss it. Ford gets extremely hyperfocused and has tunnel vision when it comes to his projects. As a result, it's easy for him to miss the stuff going on with people around him. He doesn't usually think to get gifts for people do a lot of the standard friendly and or romantic gestures you expect people to do to show they care. But he does care!

He pays attention to Fiddleford more than he does most people in his life. Noticing little details like the Rubix cube or mentally measuring how fast his knee is bouncing. Doing things like taking time off work to try and teach Fidds coping tools or taking him out to the carnival, that shit is his love language. It's Ford setting aside his obsessions to focus on someone else's needs. (And mind you also consider that like the person above stated sharing his hyperixations and going on adventures is one of the ways Ford shows affection for people so him dropping that for someone else's wellbeing has even more weight to it.)

I'm going to go on my little Ford is autistic rant again. I'm sorry, but so much of how I interpret his character is through this lens. As an autistic person, it can be very hard to notice things outside of your present hyperfixation. It can be really hard to pull yourself away to focus on something you don't enjoy or find interesting and it can be very easy not to notice the emotional needs of people around you. Altogether this can make autistic people come across as selfish or uncaring but there's a difference between not caring and simply struggling to function the way you're expected to.

It can hurt so much to love people with all your heart and be told that you don't because they can't see it. Because the way you express love doesn't match the social norms. Because a lot of social norms are not things that come instinctively to you or are easy to forget because to you they feel like arbitrary social rituals.

Whether you interpret Ford's feelings for Fidds as platonic or romantic either way I think it's pretty blind to say he doesn't care about him. He shows his love in lots of small ways from the ways he writes about him, going out of his way to make Fidds comfortable, dropping what he's doing to try and support him, (even going to a carnival he admits he finds dumb and annoying but he goes anyway cause he wants to make Fidds happy) paying close attention to Fidds mannerisms in a way he doesn't seem to for most people.

Ford loved this man. Exactly in what fashion is ambiguous but he did love him. Bill was the one trying to drive a wedge between them at every opportunity. He was the one feeding Ford's paranoia and undermining Fidds affection, disrespecting his gifts. Bill does all of this because he knows Ford cares about this person and that makes Fiddleford a threat to Bill's control. He needs Ford to be isolated and can't risk him listening to anyone else.

Shipping rants below the cut if you care about my feelings on that.

If you want my opinion on whether Ford's feelings were strictly platonic or not, tbh I'm not sure Ford knows the difference. I get the feeling that if the relationship took a romantic turn he'd be good with that, but he'd also be equally happy with just staying friends. I don't think he's strictly aroace but I do think he would struggle to meaningfully distinguish romantic love and deep friendship if you asked him to and that sex is probably completely optional to him. Fun with the right person, but not something he actively craves or would pursue or initiate on his own.

At the same time, I imagine Ford is dense as a brick wall and no amount of romantic/sexual hinting would get through the layers of autism. If Fidds wanted the relationship to go that direction he would have had to say as much outright in unambiguous language cause Ford was not going to get it otherwise or feel a strong compulsion to change the dynamic they already had since what they already had would have worked just fine for him in perpetuity.

I do think Fidds wanted something more than just being friends. He strikes me as a romantic type. But he's a closeted gay man who's married and probably struggling with some level of shame around his sexuality given he was raised in the rural south. No matter how much he wanted that kind of relationship with Ford I don't think he had it in him to actually cheat on Emma.

That and he might have hoped that Ford would make a move so that he personally wouldn't have to hold himself as accountable for whatever happened next but Ford was never going to make the first move cause that's just not how he operates.

I also think the concept of Fiddlestan makes for really good potential for a messy, sweet, and compelling story. It's not a bad ship, but sometimes it does leave a slightly sour taste in my mouth. It occasionally leaves me feeling like the takeaway is that Ford's autism makes him a bad romantic partner and Fidds would have been better off with his neurotypical brother. I know that's not something people ever mean to imply but as an autistic person myself who was once told by my own mother that I would hurt anyone who ever tried to love me because I'm "too cold" like, it hits kind of close to home for me. I don't know, if I was Ford and I came back to find my QPR "best friend" sleeping with my brother I would feel replaced and maybe even like I'm undeserving of love because I'm just too different.

"Ford treated Fiddleford so bad!!" As if him treating Fidds like shit wasn't directly a product of being constantly gaslighted and abused by Bill.

I'm genuinely getting tired of people flaming Ford, but in a serious tone. Like people are acting like he's a toxic selfish man that used to put Fidd down... and... no he never did???

Ford ADMIRED Fiddleford, he TRUSTED his friend for what he described as "the project of his life" and Ford, being the most prideful man in the world, decided to ask for help because he knew how CAPABLE Fiddleford was.

When Fiddleford arrived Ford let him know how thankful he was that he was there with him, the man even took a bath and made sure to make him feel like he was at home. Ford even remembered his favorite bean brand?

When Fidd got traumatized by the gremoblin, Ford TRIED to help with what he knew. He tried to help him meditate, took days off for him, decided that they could go out and have some good time. Be mindful that this might've been the total OPPOSITE of what Bill wanted, and he still did for his friend sanity. Bill would make Ford work like CRAZY.

Also, for him it wasn't "putting him in danger!!" For him it was sharing adventures with his friend! Just like hi did with *cofcofSTANLEYcofcof*. That's love language all around.

Fiddleford could abandon the project anytime, but he didn't because he liked being there. And Ford is NOT the guilty one for Fidds creatinf the gun :/ it's nor his fault that fidd interpreted "using his creativity" in that way. Ford NEVER approved that gun.

Also, Ford noticed that RUBIK THING, HE APPREACITE HIM SO MUCH HE KNEW HIS HABITS. AND GOT CONCERNED RIGHT AHEAD.

"B-but he free Frilliam!" The portal was close, did you all READ how much gaslighted Ford was at that point? He didn't free it because "ugh i don't care about this shitty axolotl" but because Bill started to freak out and yell at him to get rid of it. Ford wrote "A friend" with a heart in the title??? Wdym he didn't appreciate it aaaagh

If Stanley took the diaries (i don't like this universe because...stanley:() he WOULD have looked for Fiddleford, they'd have made the Institute of Oddology, he'd have shared his success... with the man that helped him the most.

TBOB SPOILERS AHEAD

He got sad when Fiddleford told him he was gonna get back home to spent time with his family, he PLANNED holidays with him. Even if he DIDN'T like holidays.

He took a day off just to make him happy after his atrocious christmas party, he USED RESOURCES that as you know ford is the most practical mam in the world JUST to decorate the portal as a tree and make Fiddleford happy.

And that atuff of "h-he doesn't appreaciated Fiddleford gifts!" IS SO DUMB OMG, he wore the gloves in the snow and was incredibly thankful about them. When BILL that dumbass triangle pretty much LACERATED his hands, he used Fiddleford gloves as a way to hide those scars, and in a sense, probably to comfort himself because he was ALONE.

I think that was the reason of Fiddleford fast forgiveness, not only because he's a sweet heart, but because after fighting with Bill i think he noticed how BIG was the monster torturing his "partner".

And after all of this i'm not trying to excuse Ford treating him poorly and not listening to him in time

BUT FORD IS NOT A PERFECT VICTIM

Even if i believe he wasn't "the" (at least only) reason of Fiddleford becoming crazy, i know it could have been better for him and he could have avoided so much trauma. But can we please stop seeing Ford as a selfish, evil mad scientist and start seing him as a victim... of a terribly abusive relationship that checks in for all types of domestic abuse... please!!! Ford is not a perfect VICTIM Can we blame Bill!!!

All this rant is because there's certain ship... which i kinda like, but i just HATE HATE HATE the interpretation and how much they put Ford as a villian on it omg

Edit: fixed the use of word narcissism, since it might've been ableist! Replaced with words that actually relate to what i intended to say, instead of referencing a personality disorder

[1engele]

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 6. high

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[warnings: SMUT (it's female receiving oral), weed]

"i think of you in colors that don't exist." — Watching Sal shift repeatedly in his seat and squirm uncomfortably the entire way home is almost comical. You watch him shorten the distance between his thighs and then spread them over and over again as he drives, smiling to yourself.

"Doing okay over there?" You ask, a giggly lilt to your voice as you sit still in your spot.

The feeling between your legs is still buzzing and the engine rumbling your seat beneath you is a bit.. overstimulating.. but you're decent.

"Hmm," he hums in response, squinting your way. "Stop baiting at me," he teases.

When you pull into the parking lot at Addison's Apartments, the both of you remain seated for a silent moment, after Sal pulls the keys from the ignition. The high from moments ago has dulled down, and you're left to soak in what exactly had happened.

Except you don't. You don't even think about what had happened—you barely meet Sal's eyes, nervously grin and reach for the passenger door handle. "Alright, see you tomorrow, let me know what your dad says, text me, goodnight!"

Before the blue-haired boy even has a chance, you've opened the car door, hopped out, and gently shut it behind you. You weren't looking for him to catch up to you, either—so you ran like mad into the apartment complex and took the stairwell instead of waiting for the junky elevator.

When you'd gotten home, you were light on your feet and tiptoed through the living room towards your bedroom. You'd took note of Sal's earlier tactic (taking his shoes off before he entered the apartment) and mirrored it.

When you'd finally gotten to your room, you collapsed onto your bed, comforter beneath your back, and stared up at the ceiling.

Your mind was blank. You couldn't even mentally conjure the words to describe what had just happened.

As you ran the earlier events through your subconscious, you remembered the feeling of his teeth and mouth on the flesh of your neck—and how he'd sucked on it until it hurt. You jumped from your bed, ran (lightly) to your bathroom, turned the light on, and peered into the mirror.

You pushed your hair from your neck—which was stuck to your skin from sweat—and gasped in horror at what you saw.

Sure, they weren't fully formed and hadn't reached their full potential, but those were hickeys. Blood red, slightly purple, forming hickeys. And, from what you remember.. you'd attacked his neck worse than he had to you.

The boy was practically translucently pale. You burned with shame at yourself because of the purgatory you'd subjected him to. He'd have to hide them for a week.

You closed your mouth after hanging your jaw open for 30 minutes and breathed out slowly. Despite the nightmare they'd be to hide.. it was almost nice to see on you. Something of him was left behind. At least you had something to remind you that what had played out tonight occurred and hadn't been a dream, or something.

You pressed your fingers on the marks and winced. They were sore.

After a shower—a cold, icy shower—you retreated into bed. You were so exhausted, you didn't dream.

What felt like moments later—you knew better to say it was, though, because there was early morning light shining through your blinds—you were jostled awake by a cold hand on your shoulder. You groaned, turning to the person and squinting.

"Mom?" You slurred tiredly, taking in Michelle's dim silhouette looming over you. You almost couldn't tell who she was at first before you'd rationalized that the only person who'd be shaking you awake in this ungodly hour would be your mother. Also, you could tell by the work uniform she wore. "Wha'?"

And although you were half-awake, your mind was rational enough to remind you to pull the covers up and conceal the bruises on your neck, which you knew had probably worsened.

"The school called," her words are like a bite. You expected this, but hearing her confrontation is sort of scary. "Not only did you receive detention yesterday, but you skipped it. You're lucky you weren't suspended—I had to lie and blame family emergency for your disappearance."

You didn't say anything, staring up at her and into her eyes.

"I can't believe you. You'll still be attending detention—they've rescheduled it for today. If you pull a stunt like this again, you'll pay the price, got it?"

You couldn't remember the last time she'd scolded you. It's not like you did much to warrant it. You never had someone before recently to play hooky with—or to cheat answers off of in class. You never had friends before.

"Okay," you reply, breaking away from her eyes and looking anywhere else. Eventually, her dark gaze rips from your face and she leaves the room.

You watch your bedroom door that she'd closed behind her—listen to the muffled shuffling and jangling of keys in the living room, and when she finally shuts the front door, you breathe out a sigh of relief and roll over onto your back.

And you smile. Because it's funny. Because she has no idea what you did with a boy last night.

You reach beneath the covers and fish for your flip phone (which you'd started sleeping on, a habit spawned from paranoia) and open it. You know it's early, but you slept before receiving any texts, so maybe...

There's nothing. He hadn't messaged you.

Eventually, you roll back over and give yourself another hour or two of sleep. It's too early to start getting ready.

When you woke up again, you got ready—threw on a black halter top, along with an a-lined, purpley-blue plaid skirt. Slid your feet into over-the-knee black socks and rolled them up your legs and to just below your thighs. Topped it off with a chunky black shoe.

After that, you spent a moderate amount of time on your hair and a little on your face.

You made it a point to wear flavored lip gloss. For no particular reason.

The hickeys were still a bit visible, so you topped off your outfit with an oversized denim jacket. You didn't think that much about it. Whether or not that was a mistake would be decided later. There wasn't much you could do—you didn't own all of the makeup necessary to cover them.

You meet with Sal in the lobby first. You approach him before he's noticed that you're even there—standing with his eyes on his feet, kicking the ground and toeing at nothing.

"Hi," you breathed, unsure of yourself.

His head raises. When he meets your eyes, the light fixture over you flickers. "I can see them," Sal says, stepping closer to you and inclining his head to examine your jawline and below.

The actual is a bit abrupt—you're momentarily started. That is until you've processed what he'd said.

"Yeah," you agree, shrugging. He looks back up at your eyes, his gaze widening. "I can't do anything about it."

He laces a hand through his hair and genuinely looks panicked. That's when you decide to examine him—and his neck.

"Holy shit, Sal," you breathe, a laugh of pure disbelief slipping off of your tongue. "You look like someone choked you."

Sal groans. "Yeah, pretty sure you used teeth."

"What're you going to do about that?" You choose to disregard his prior statement.

"I have an easy way out. I'll claim Travis did it yesterday. Super suspicious because I wasn't bruised this way at the time.. but-"

You meet his eyes with a deadpanned expression. Internally, though—it's almost humorous.. the fact that neither of you are even questioning what you'd done together. But you knew that would bite you in the ass. You'd only done what you'd done once—maybe it shouldn't happen again.

"I don't know, Sal." You press your lips together, smooth the gloss around. You taste artificial cherry flavoring on your tongue. "They look like hickeys."

"No one is going to believe I've been given hickeys, Y/N."

"They'll believe it whenever they see we've got a matching set!" You exclaim, meeting his gaze warily. You struggle a bit. Before, it felt so easy to make eye contact with him—but now you could barely lock eyes without looking away.

"Matching set?"

You jerk, breaking your staring contest with the floor and sliding your eyes upward. Larry was a few feet away, speedily approaching as his long legs closed the distance. Quickly, you split your hair in the back—separating it into two sections and placing one on either side of your face.

You watched Sal mess with his in the corner of your eye.

Nervousness made your heart drop what felt like ten stories when Sal spoke in reply. "Hey, Larry," he says. "Is Ashley driving again?"

"Uh, yeah," He replied, running lanky fingers through his lengthy brown hair. "'Was thinking we could all do something after school."

You hold your breath.

"Oh," Sal takes a moment to swallow thickly. "Y/N and I are doing detention—so we can't."

Larry's dark brows draw downward, casting a shadow over his deep eyes. He glances over at you, examines your face, and then locks eyes with Sal like he had been moments before. "Again? Didn't you guys do that yesterday?"

You decide to give your response this time. "Must've been a misunderstanding. We did go to it yesterday—we just, um.. have to do it again. Today."

Before he can further question the situation, you all hear the beeping of a car horn outside of the complex. It sounds familiar—it's Ashley's car. You all step outside.

Looking at the pale silver Ford Fiesta leaves you with mixed feelings. It's nice to look at—but now it just reminds you of the fact Larry tried to get into an altercation with Sal inside of it.

This time, Todd is in the back seat by himself. It's almost comical. You raise an eyebrow and look towards Ashley in the driver's seat. She rolls her window down and acknowledges you with striking green eyes.

"Shotgun?"

You almost feel bad for leaving Sal in the backseat, knowing he's probably on edge with those marks on his neck. But you can't help yourself as you run around to the other side of the vehicle and climb into the passenger seat beside Ashley.

"It smells great in here, Ash. I forgot to tell you that last time," you smile as you breathe in the familiar strawberry scent.

"Thank you!" She grins. "Yeah, I really like these car fresheners."

The guys get into the back seat—Sal's in the middle, having climbed in first, to Todd's left, and Larry entering last.

Once the doors are shut and all hands and feet are inside of the car, Ashley shifts gears and gets going. She looks to you, then throws a look over her shoulder toward Sal. "How was detention, troublemakers?"

Your eyebrows furrow, about of stupidity washing over you. Even having discussed this with Larry and Sal only moments ago, you've completely forgotten that they thought you'd attended detention.

"Huh-"

"It was great," Sal cuts in. "We sat for hours and did nothing. A lot of fun."

You come to realization quickly, and look up to meet Sal's eyes in the rearview mirror. He's shaking his head in lighthearted disappointment—a glint of amusement in his blue gaze.

"Yeah," your laugh trails off. "Sal couldn't sit still. It was funny."

You smirk deviously. That was an obvious reference to last night, on the way back to the apartments.

He meets your eyes once again in the mirror in front of you. "Don't bait at me," he warns, but you hear his grin. That's what he'd said when you'd laughed at him last night.

You smirked, shifting in your seat. You smelled cigarette smoke and guessed Larry was smoking again. It doesn't smell regular, though—smells a bit grassy.

"You're fogging up the car, Larry! It'll be your fault if we crash!" Ashley confirms your suspicions as she yells over the sound of rushing wind. He's rolled down the window—it fails to eliminate the smell but clears your line of sight.

"Sorry," he grins around a cigarette. It was nice to see him in a better mood.

"Have any of you decided on the plans for after school?" Todd speaks up for the first time day, absentmindedly fiddling with his flip phone. It's not any of your business, but you wonder who he's texting. Every time you see him, he's playing with his phone.

Larry laughs, pulling the cigarette away from his lips. "No. Thought Sal or Y/N would have some ideas, but they can't even go. They've got detention again."

Ashley looks toward you, awaiting your confirmation.

"We always had detention again. It was a miscommunication.." you trailed off, telling a lie. They didn't know that, though.

You watch Sal fiddle with his rings in the rearview mirror. "It's my fault, really."

You're not sure exactly what he means. He could be talking about the reason you'd even been given detention (attempting to share quiz answers) or maybe he was talking about the fact you'd even ditched detention—because he'd proposed it.

You disliked how easy he was to blame himself. You'd agreed to it.

And it wasn't something you found yourself regretting—not only had you received the pleasure of grinding Sal into oblivion in the driver's seat, but you'd came while you were at it.

Something you did regret, though... was doing that while you were so unsure of yourself—and what exactly it was that he wanted from you.

Not only that, but what did you want from him?

What was this?

"No, not really," you replied, after momentarily zoning out. "I agreed to it—to you... um- giving me those answers, Sal."

You hear his rings clack, keeping your eyes on the road, and on the broken white lines in the middle of the asphalt that pass beneath the car. You assume he's pressed his hands together harshly. "Yeah, well, it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't proposed it."

This conversation wasn't really about test answers, was it?

You hear the crackle of a cigarette. No one else seems to assume anything about the conversation—just two people who refuse to blame the other person.

"The only thing I care about is the fact that you have to deal with the repercussions, Sal. I wouldn't care if it was just me having to do detention."

That shuts him up. He doesn't say anything after that.

"It's okay." You say, one last time.

After that (thank god) Ashley reaches towards the radio and turns to a channel. Heavy metal plays through the speakers—not too loud, though—and although it's a bit unsettling considering your mood, the distraction is welcome.

As soon as you've stepped out of the car in the school's parking lot, you regret the fact you hadn't worn a heavier jacket. The denim jacket is oversized, yes—but it's lightweight and breathable and you can feel the autumn wind fluttering against your skin.

Goosebumps rise on your arms. You involuntarily shiver.

You, Todd, Larry, Sal, and Ashley begin the walk inside of the school. You still smell smoke, and a glance to your left confirms that Larry is still smoking that cigarette.

"A teacher will see," you warn lightly.

"Eh, it'll be alright." He looks at you inquisitively and raises it toward you. When you meet his eyes, they're bloodshot. Your lips part in surprise.

"Are you... high?" Your gaze flickers to the cigarette again. Turns out, it's a joint. Larry is smoking weed. Figures.

He doesn't answer the question. It's not like he has to. Instead, he raises it toward you again, quirking an eyebrow questioningly.

You swallow the thick saliva that had begun to pool in your mouth and look toward the rest of the gang as they continue on.

"Why are you looking over there?" Larry calls you back from your reverie. You look up to meet his blown pupils again. "You don't need anyone's permission. If you want to smoke it, smoke it."

You bit your lip, raising a hand. Your digits twitched as you reached to pluck it from him. As you took the blunt away from his grip, and your fingers brushed, his eyebrows twitched upward.

Nervously, you inhale like you'd done with the cigarette. You don't feel it enter your lungs until you've ripped it away from your lips. You don't want this to go like the first time you'd ever smoked, so you hold it in. Those few moments feel like forever—but eventually, you cough, and allow yourself that relief.

You don't feel high, per se. You've only just smoked it, but it was a big draw, and you're already feeling the effects of lightheadedness.

Your head spins as you absentmindedly drag from it again. You don't realize how long you've been inhaling until lanky fingers have grabbed the blunt from you and pulled it away.

You blink slowly, looking up to Larry in confusion.

"Holy shit," his red eyes widen, before laughing comically. You find yourself giggling as well, experiencing a high that wasn't from weed—but from the rush of trying something forbidden and new.

"You're going to be so fucking high," he laughs again, passing a hand through his hair and looking down to the blunt. "It's... gone."

You can't even remember how long you'd been smoking that shit. How long had you been walking? How far back had Ashley parked?

Conveniently, as he examines the used-up joint, you pass by a green trash bin. He opens the lid and throws the useless blunt inside of it.

A few moments pass as you step onto the concrete leading up to the school. You vaguely feel Larry's large hand gripping your shoulder to steady you. Even though you felt a bit woozy, you remember to keep your hair in place, covering the hickeys Sal had left on your skin.

When you've stepped into the halls, the amount of people walking all around and bumping into you feels a bit overstimulating.

You hoist your bag tighter over your shoulder and follow after your friends. You feel Larry's arm bump into yours every so often, reminding you of his presence.

When you reach your locker, you put your books away, arranging them accordingly, etc. Once you've shut the locker door, hard enough for the cage to rattle—you sort of.. just- stand there. It feels like your consciousness is somewhere completely different, and yet all of this noise feels like too much.

Your heart is beating way too fast and it hurt to stand up straight.

It didn't feel bad—but you'd certainly rather snort salt and pepper than have to function an entire school day like this. You felt way too floaty, like everything was swaying—you honestly couldn't deter up from down.

You don't know where the rest of the gang is, and you're too high to care. You wander down the hall, and continue like that, even when the bell rings and everyone steadily begins to file off and into their respective classes.

Desperate to be alone, and sitting down somewhere, you find a door. It looks like the door handle is growing dust, and there are no signs or labeling on the wood. So you turn the handle and try your luck.

Of course, it's locked. Why else would a school keep an unused room unlocked?

You dig into the denim compartments of your large denim jacket, blinking away the blear in your eyes as you search between the seams at the pit of your pockets. Eventually, you find a stray bobby-pin. Breathing out a sigh of relief, you stick it into the keyhole and wiggle and force it accordingly.

There were multiple reasons you knew how to do this. Your mother used to accidentally lock you out of your previous flats. It wasn't a hobby you'd picked up—it was something you were required to learn. At least, so you wouldn't have to sleep in the hallway at night.

The door eventually gives. When you've entered, you find yourself in a storage room. It makes sense. All of the junk was stored here.

Still high as shit, and becoming a bit nauseous, you close the door behind you. That shuts out any light, and you feel a chill roll over your skin. You couldn't see shit.

You make haste as you reach into your pocket again and rip your flip phone out. You pop it open, and soon enough, your eyebrows raise in surprise. The messages are a bit unclear, but they're visible once you focus.

Sal :) Missed Call (2)

Sal :) where r you?

Sal :) i'm looking for you. class is about to start

Sal :) larry's gone too. you're with him?

Before you type out a reply, you use the phone's light to search the room for a light source of some kind. Eventually, you find a shaded lamp. You feel around for a cord, and once you've found it, you pull a bit. Thankfully, it's already plugged in.. somewhere.

You return your fingers to the lamp itself and turn it on. Soft yellow light fills the dusty room, and you sigh in relief.

You try to disregard the floating dust particles, and sink to the ground, pressing your back against a wide, wooden desk. As you adjust on the floor, the cold tile momentarily presses against your bare thighs. You breathe in sharply, allowing yourself a moment before going to reply to Sal.

You are you in class?

Sal :) No

Sal :) where are you?

You i'm not with Larry. m alone. DK where he is

Sal :) sure he's skipped to smoke. where are you

You allowed yourself to look around the dimly lit room before replying. You swore you felt the dust sticking to your skin, and the skirt hugging your lower half felt too tight.

You shakily breathed in, and then breathed out. You repeated this process, shaky fingers gripping the phone tightly.

You bobby-pinned my way into some storage room i'm sitting on the floor so high rn lol

Sal :) i know where that is. coming rn . it's at the end of a hall, right?

Sal :) what did you smoke?

You blinked slowly, wiggling your thighs back and forth.

You you're correct.

You smoked weed

Before you could comprehend what was even happening, the door directly in front of you had opened. You blinked as white light constricted your pupils before they returned to their expanded state as the silhouette closed the door. While he did that, you reached up to the desk, slid a drawer open, and placed your phone inside of it.

You could've just put it in your pocket. You didn't know why you didn't.

He sunk to the floor in front of you, sitting criss-cross applesauce. His shoes were a breath from yours as you hugged your bare knees tightly. Your lazy eyes followed his movements as he clasped his hands around his ankles. He seemed to be watching your eyes—because when you looked up to make eye contact, he'd already been looking.

"Can barely tell what your eye color is," Sal says nervously. "Your pupils are blown."

"Is' just the dark," you chide softly. "I'm fine. My heart's just beating really fast."

"How much did you smoke?" He asks, his blue eyes—ever vibrant, even in this dingy lighting—searching your face. "Larry gave it to you, right? Jesus.."

You genuinely think about it. It seems you think about it too hard because the room began to rotate.

Maybe that wasn't just the high. You'd fallen onto your side. Luckily, you'd been sitting already—so it was a gentle collide with the cold tile. It felt nice against your cheek. You closed your eyes and watched the floating colors and shapes that look like nerves flash across the backs of your eyelids.

You fully press your side against the floor snuggling into it like it's the softest blanket you've ever slept with.

"Hot," you breathe. "Get this jacket off."

Soon enough, you feel purposeful hands sliding the denim off of your arms. It takes effort to get it off of the arm beneath you, but Sal manages. He balls the jacket up and slides it beneath your head. When your cheek meets the cool denim, you feel at total peace.

"Better," you open your eyes. He's watching your face. You can tell he's concerned, but there's something in his gaze—a look that tells you that he knows he's got this handled. He was confident in himself to take care of you.

He's probably experienced this before.

You roll onto your back, holding your eyes open to look up at the ceiling. Your eyelashes ghost your eyebrows as your imagination forms clouds in the shapes of the floating things you see.

Your skirt rides up your thighs a bit. You don't pay attention to it until you feel Sal's ring-clad fingers gently fixing it for you. You look at his face and smile.

"We need to do it again," you mumble. You don't feel the sickness of the high anymore—only complete clarity.

"Do what?" He asks, curiosity lilting his words.

"What we did in the car."

After those words roll off of your tongue, all that meets you is the intaking of breath. It's so quiet in this storage room that you can hear him licking his lips. You hear shuffling, the clacking of rings, and your breath—and for a moment, you believe he won't say anything back to you.

"I," he starts, swallowing hard. "You.. when do you.."

"How about now?"

You grin, meeting his eyes. He blinks a few times.

"Y/N, I-" he cuts himself off with a breathy laugh. You don't know if he feels nervous—or he just genuinely cannot believe this is happening. You wouldn't blame him, because you can't process it, either.

It's the weed boosting your confidence like this.

Then and again, you'd been confident with him during your first sexual encounter. Maybe the high just amplified that.

"As much as I'd like to," he starts, voice tight, "I don't know how well walking around the rest of the day having... uh— would go. I know it'll happen. We've got detention to sit in, too."

You pouted sadly but accepted it. He didn't want to, and that was fine.

"But, I, um.." his eyes flickered across your face. "I could go down on you."

The words surprised you so much you jerked upward and into an upright position. Your shock had also made you a dumbass, it seemed, as well—because you smacked your head straight into the wooden drawer you'd left open, which you'd put your phone in not even a few minutes ago.

"Ow," you winced, hand reaching up to rub the sore spot.

"Holy shit," Sal says, now closer to you. He closed the drawer (something you should have done way earlier) and blinked down at you. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," you breathed, meeting his gaze. "You'd.."

His eyes shifted to the left momentarily. "Yeah. If you don't want me to, that's fine. Your decision. I mean, I have no experience, besides things I've heard before."

You felt a bit giggly all of sudden. Your forehead was pulsing but it was fine. "I can always teach you. I mean, I've never had someone go down on me but I know what feels good."

Sal's demeanor seems a bit nervous as he glances around the storage room. "You want this to happen in here?"

You let out an abrupt laugh, holding your upper body weight on your elbows and arms. "Yes."

He chuckles along with you. "Alright."

Once again, you thank whatever intuition it is you have for swaying you into choosing to wear a skirt again today. You feel Sal's eyes burning holes into your skin as you grip the hem of your skirt and pull the material of your skirt higher on your thighs until it's bunched up at your hips.

His eyes—which, moments ago, were so blue and clear—had now grown a bit darker and looked as though a shadow had been cast over their pretty sheen.

"Did you lock the door when you came in?" You breathed, the ache between your thighs painful as he stares you down.

"I don't think it locks from the inside. We'll have to make it quick."

You're heart's never beat this fast before. And it keeps crashing against your ribs when he slides his fingers up your legs. He pulls your knees away from each other, and shifts so he's a bit farther between your legs.

You watch him slide every silver ring off of his digits, collecting them in a palm and sliding them onto the wooden surface of the desk beside him.

Your blood pumps in your ears so loud you feel like your brain is going to explode. That is, until you feel the pressure of the pads of his fingers right between your thighs, over the fabric that separated his fingertips from the burning heat there. Every other sense diminishes as your entire body focuses on what you'd just felt.

You instinctively gasped, never having been touched so intimately before.

You can tell he's shocked, barely having to glance at his face. You know he's nervous, but you don't believe he has reason to be.

"You're.."

"Wet?" You finish the sentence for him shyly, feeling completely dirty about insinuating something like that out loud. "The fabric is thin, but.."

"I haven't even done anything," he murmurs.

"Yes, you have," you reply, giggling quietly through your chest. "You're torturing me. Get on with it."

His hands shake as he reaches his hands behind his head and unclasps the buckles that hold the prosthetic onto his face. Before you can even take him in, he's turned the lamp above you off.

It's completely dark in the room.

"Can I.."

You know what he means when his hands brush the sides of your thighs. "Yes," you reply, instantly.

Sal hesitates. "Are you sure?"

You smile to yourself. "I am. Are you?"

"Absolutely," he mumbles, hooking his thumbs around the lace of your underwear and pulling it down your legs. You can't hear your heart anymore, thank god—you can only feel it. It beats unmercifully against your ribs as he daintily finishes sliding the fabric off of your body.

Sal barely moves after that. You guess he's put your panties in his pocket.

Before you know it, he's flattened the tip of his middle finger on the place between your legs. You shakily sigh as he barely dips a finger into the place your dampness had collected. He then slides his digit upward, spreading the wetness up and through your slit.

You know what he's doing—preparing you for what's to come—but you can't help it when his touch ghosts your clit. It takes a lot of self-control not to clamp your thighs around his hand—so you hold yourself back with a whine.

Sal stops when you make the sound, but his touch remains. "There?" He asks lowly—like now you're more at risk at being caught. There's no way, though. When you'd picked the lock, the doorknob seemed like it hadn't been used in forever.

"Yes," you whisper, barely lifting your hips to press into his hand. He uses more fingers this time—passing them through your wetness again. Eventually, he makes it back to that bundle of nerves, and gently circles it. You feel your gut tumble as he presses on it just eight.

"God, please," you sigh, settling on your back and raising a hand to grip at your hair. "Sal, I want-"

"Okay," he murmurs. You hear shuffling, feel him move. You know he's lower when his hair tickles the flesh between your thighs.

His breath fans over the apex of your thighs. You'd expect breath of this proximity to be hot—but it's cold and feels minty. It makes sense. That's how he smells—and whenever you'd kissed him last night, that's how he'd tasted.

What broke you from your musing was the feeling of his warm tongue flat on your sex. You throw your head back, dropping your jaw. You'd been waiting this whole time for that feeling—and now you'd gotten it.

Your skull feels like it's rattling (you had just thrown your head back and into the hard flooring) but you disregard that and focus on everything else.

"F-fuck," you stutter, as he rolls his tongue up and over your clit. You knew his memory was basically photographic—but you didn't realize he'd be able to find that spot every time.

He flicks his tongue over your clit in a way he hadn't been like he was experimenting. And it worked because you'd cried out and reached between your thighs to grip his blue hair.

He pulls away from your sex, exhales cool air onto the junction of your thighs and pants. "Gonna need to be quiet," he reminds you, his voice thick.

"I'm sorry," you swallow, before feeling him duck back down.

You shiver in anticipation as his mouth closes over the slope of your inner thigh, sucking onto your skin. You whine as he nibbles your flesh, barely closing his teeth over it before pulling away and returning to what he'd left.

Your spine arches off of the painfully hard floor as he closes his lips over your cunt again, flattening his tongue again and rolls it upward and back into his mouth.

It's not like he has a technique—he's just reacting to your reactions.

Your eyes are watery and fill with tears as you close them too tightly. Your fingers interlace with his hair, gripping close to his scalp and pulling just a bit. He hums in acknowledgment against your clit, and you feel that coil that had been steadily tightening in your gut began to tighten excruciatingly.

"Close," you breathe. "Please. Gonna cum."

Surely enough, he smiles into you, passes his tongue through your slit one last time before flicking it over your clit, and with purpose. He feels your legs spasm against his shoulders, so he flattens his tongue over the bundle of nerves.

That's when that coil in the deepest pit of your stomach unraveled.

"I'm coming," you whined. The feeling stuttered, you felt like you were teetering off of a cliff before it finally crashed over your body and through you harder than anything you've ever felt before.

He rode you through your orgasm—and it was hard not to clamp your thighs around his head.

"Fuck," your legs twitched as you came down, sighing as he pulled away from your sex. He panted, taking in the air quickly, before reaching up and turning the lamp on.

You met his eyes, pressing your thighs together as they shook.

"Oh my god," you exhaled, allowing yourself to soak in your shock. You watched him lick his lips before passing the back of his hand over them.

Sal seemed a bit lost for words himself. "Was that- um.."

You sat up—hiking your skirt back down with one hand while catching him by the nape of the neck with the other. You captured his mouth with yours, kissing him with fervor and want and appreciation. It took less than a second for him to reciprocate.

You didn't care if you could taste yourself on his tongue—it didn't matter much. It wasn't even bad, thank god.

After passing your tongue over his lip, you pulled away, eyes wide with shock. "I should.."

"I know what you're going to say," he cut you off, reaching into his back pocket with a smile. He hands you his underwear, and you close it in your fist. "And I'm alright. We've spent way too much time in here, anyway."

Your knee accidentally nudges between his thighs. Of course, he's hard. He was a teenage boy and he'd just made a girl come in a dingy old classroom at school during class. You felt bad.

"Another time." It's not a question. You're promising it to him.

"I.. okay." He murmurs, nervous in a way he hadn't been when he'd been eating you out moments before.

You watch him slide his rings back on, buckle his prosthetic back onto his face—and pretend not to notice how he adjusts himself as he stands up. You slide your denim jacket back on, slide your panties up your legs, and move to stand. You nearly fall back down when your legs spasm.

"Are you okay?" He asks, concern dripping off of his low voice.

"Fine. A little shaky," you breathe, gripping his arms and rising to your feet. You let go of him a few beats later and move toward the door. You forget your phone, but Sal grabs it for you and slides it into your pocket.

And as the both of you go to leave, you think about how the rest of the day will play out.

[fizzyxcustard]

Fear and Loathing (11)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

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Fandom: seaQuest DSV/2032

Summary: (Part 2 of The Right Thing - this will be a chaptered fic) Captain Hudson knows that you and Lucas are more than just friends, and after changing your shift rotations to make sure you’re not on duty together, you take things into your own hands and request a transfer from seaQuest. Before your transfer can be processed, officers and crew begin showing signs of extreme anxiety, anger and paranoia. Some are worse affected than others, you being one of them. Can you fight for not only your relationship with Lucas but your state of mind?

Pairings: Ensign Lucas Wolenczak x FemLieutenant!Reader, Commander Jonathan Ford x Lieutenant Lonnie Henderson (only slight)

Warnings: Language, violence, insecurity, angst, paranoia, anxiety, mental instability, very mild sexual references/smut mention, age difference/gap.

Comments: If you wish to be added to my seaQuest tag list, which will be separate from all my other tags, let me know, and I will only tag you in these if you specifically request to be tagged. Asks and seaQuest related requests are now being taken!

Captain Hudson requested a meeting with you only two days after your discussion with Commander Ford. Hudson had called you, his voice full of question and accusation, which put you on edge. But you, of course, agreed to meet with him to discuss your extended leave request which Commander Ford must have filed quickly whilst on his leave. The fact that they were still working whilst on shore leave surprised you. But that was what they got paid the bug bucks for, after all.

The meeting took place in a small, discreet restaurant that had very few occupants, as you had met early, just upon opening time. The two of you requested a back table so you could discuss official business without being overheard.

You nervously glugged from a pint glass of Coke as Captain Hudson began to speak to you, his eyes dark. In all the time that you had known him, Hudson had always proved to be a man who you were unable to second guess. His stern, stubborn, and sometimes quite overbearing attitude, made him such a difficult man to read. Captain Bridger was a more open personality, with a friendlier approach. And so you had found him easier to interact with. Hudson still made you nervous, but that did not mean you respected him any the less. In fact, Hudson had always seemed to defend you and show appreciation towards you.

“I received your request from Commander Ford for extended leave, and I need to discuss the reasons why. I hate the idea of losing you for such a period, and if you need help, then I’m willing to look into it. We can arrange therapy if you feel that’s what you need.” Hudson cupped his hands together and sighed loudly, then looked you directly in the eye. “I have a feeling you’re thinking of leaving. And before you say anything, can I be frank?”

“Of course, Sir,” you replied.

“You’re one of the best officers I’ve ever had the fortune and pleasure of working with, and losing you is the last thing I want to see.” As Hudson spoke, you could see the sadness in his face. “I read your psych evaluation that was put together by Doctor Smith two years ago, and I know you’ve struggled since you came aboard, but you’ve been a true soldier and braved it. I cannot commend you enough.”

“Thank you, Captain. And, yes, I will admit that leaving was something that had crossed my mind. I think I’ve lost myself somewhere along the way in this whole mess, and I just don’t know what to do anymore. If I take time away then that means from Lucas, too. I can’t let him influence my decision.”

Hudson smirked a little. “Mr. Wolenczak does tend to have that power of persuasion merely by looking at you with those puppy eyes of his. But I think he’s grown up enough now to realise that you aren’t sewn together.”

***

Captain Hudson agreed your leave, albeit grudgingly. Six weeks was agreed so you could go home to your family and consider your future. Lucas’ reaction was exactly what you had imagined: disbelief, sadness and the cold shoulder for the first couple of hours.

“I don’t want to be without you for six weeks!” Lucas exclaimed.

You sighed. “What about what I want? Everything I do is for someone else; I never do anything for myself. Please, Lucas, just try and see this from my perspective. I know it’ll be hard being apart, but we can call each other. It’s not like you’re on your own – you’ve got Tony and Dagwood.”

“Tony and Dagwood are hardly you, are they?” Lucas replied sarcastically.

On your return to seaQuest, while the sub remained at dock, you went back to your quarters to collect belongings. The corridors were quiet, with only the faintest hum from the aqua tunnels. This had been your home for just over two years now; you had laughed, cried and shouted. All manner of emotions had been experienced while aboard. In short, you had become fond of the place.

There was already a suitcase of belongings at your hotel, so this visit to your quarters would only be for essentials, such as your passport, military documentation and any other things you would need once you had had a good root through.

You looked up at your uniform which was neatly pressed and hung on a coat hanger and placed on the back of your door. Your rank and name were stitched on the left side of the chest. It made you think back to the day you were given your uniform. Excitement and apprehension had surged up your spine, and then getting your own room. Such a step up from the ship you were on previously where you had had to bunk with an annoying snob of a woman who thought she was better than you and called herself ‘one of the men’, which just meant that she went drinking with them often, and then found herself lying next to them the next morning after blacking out from alcohol. Last you had heard she had been transferred to desk duties within the UEO offices at New Cape Quest due to numerous disciplinary offences.

Your conscientious attitude seemed to have been the root of mockery through many of your teen and early adult years. Rules were there to be followed, not broken because you can’t be bothered to toe the line. And this was the real world now, not school.

***

On your first day back home with your parents, they prepared you a full roast meal and dessert. The very house you had grown up in would be your temporary home now for six weeks until you flew back to Florida to board seaQuest. You looked at your parents and still felt saddened by the extra grey hairs that they both now sported. More wrinkles were apparent in your mother’s neck and the creases in your father’s brow had grown deeper. A lot could happen in ten years, as you had found out. You were now an aunt to two more nieces. Your maternal grandmother had passed away, your eldest sister had divorced her husband. All of this had been explained to you through various communication over the last six months, but now it was all so real.

After dinner and your mother led you up to the guest room, your old room, which still had some of your posters on the walls, images of actors you had followed in your teen years and musicians who had kept you company with their songs when you were at your lowest points in life.

You hugged her tight, smelling her familiar perfume that she had worn for years. And in that moment is was as though time had spun back and you had never left home. You were back to being a teenager who clung to your parents because you felt so distant from the world, misunderstood by all your peers.

“I love you,” you whispered to your mother.

As you both pulled from the embrace, you saw a tear slide down your mother’s face. “I never gave up hope that you were alive,” she said. “I knew in my heart that you were alive. I could still feel you.”

That evening and you lay awake in bed, with a hot mug of herbal tea on the bedside table. Next to you were some of your old journals which you had found in a box on top of the wardrobe. Each one was marked on the cover with the year. 2005. 2007. 2010. 2013. 2014. It was now 2033. You should have been in your fourth decade now; maybe a mother, married. Those ten years had been snatched away; 2022 to 2032, erased. No matter where you were and you felt out of place and out of time. A wanderer. A seeker.

There was a chime from your tablet computer which was on the desk just across from your bed. It was an email. So simple and to the point. I love and miss you.

***

Lucas lay in bed every night, imagining you sleeping beside him. He’d taken your patchwork quilt and had it draped over him. Piccolo would be snoring on the bunk beneath him, and all he could do was lie awake, thinking of you and looking at the photos of you both that he had taped to the pipes above his bed. What if you decided to leave seaQuest? Should he go with you? Something told him that you would persuade him to stay and that you’d be apart.

One morning, just over a week since you had gone on leave, Lucas was in the mess hall early. Normally Lucas would get into the mess hall for about twenty minutes prior to duty and then make it just on time, by the skin of his teeth, to sit down and begin his hours. Today was different.

“You’re early!” Freddie exclaimed, sitting down at the table next to Lucas’. She began to peel a kiwi and took a sip of black coffee. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Lucas sighed.

Freddie wasn’t at all persuaded by his words and pulled her seat over closer to him. “You miss her, don’t you?”

“So much,” Lucas replied, sighing even louder this time. “And I kinda feel like this is the end somehow. There’s a bad feeling sitting in my stomach, and I can’t seem to move it.”

“Have you spoken to her recently?”

“We spoke last night. And…I just….I can’t stop feeling like she’s not telling me something. I know how much she needs this time to herself, but it’s like she’s purposefully keeping me out. Maybe I love her more than she loves me…”

“No, Lucas, I don’t think it’s because she loves you any less,” Freddie said. “I think maybe because she’s older, she somehow feels that she doesn’t want to put her worries on your shoulders. If anything, she might be trying to protect you.”

Lucas’ eyes grew wide in frustration. “But I don’t want her to protect me. I want to be there for her!”

Lonnie Henderson walked into the room as Lucas’ negative emotions burst, and she gave a quick smile, grabbed her breakfast and then head over to where Lucas was sitting. She didn’t even have to ask what the topic of conversation was about, or why Lucas had been distant the last week.

“Good morning,” Lonnie said, choosing not to ask what was happening. The last thing she wanted to do was cause any more tension. So she remained quiet and ate her oatmeal. However, she could see the sadness on Lucas’ face and she noticed Freddie keep glancing over.

During the shift, Lonnie kept an eye on Lucas. He was still in charge of the Cullen project, but all trails of the man and his accomplices had grown cold. Defragmentation and trailing through files was a regular occurrence for Lucas. Each morning he loaded his desktop computer in his quarters to begin scouring files. Nothing…as of yet.

That evening, Lonnie took it upon herself to call you. She sat in her quarters, dressed in an old T-shirt and plaid pyjamas bottoms, waiting for you to answer.

“Hello,” you said upon answering, sounding shocked upon receiving a call from Lonnie.

“Hey. How are you? Thought I’d check in with you.”

“I’m good, thank you. Enjoying being with my family. This is the first time I’ve seen them in person since we lost the ten years. How are things there?”

“It’s kinda boring at the moment. I…ummm, wanted to talk to you about Lucas.”

“Oh, okay,” you replied, a little concerned. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah, but he misses you,” Lonnie began. “A lot. And, um, I overheard him talking with Freddie at breakfast this morning. He was really upset. I only caught little bits of the conversation. He seems to think you’re shutting him out. Lucas has a big heart, you know that. And all he wants is to help you and be there for you. We all know that he wears his heart on his sleeve. I’m talking to you as a friend here, and I’m not trying to pry into your relationship.”

“I know that, Lonnie, and I thank you so much for your kindness. But some of this needs to be sorted out on my own. I can’t pull Lucas into everything with me…”

“He doesn’t see it that way. He wants to go through everything with you. All he’s ever wanted is to feel needed and important. His father never wanted him, and I can’t even think of the last time he mentioned his mother. You’re the one who is the closest to him, and he needs to feel valued and trusted. Just…please, talk to him.”

“Shore leave was hard because I knew if I requested this leave then he would want to come with me. Maybe I’ve been on my own for too long and got used to working things out by myself.”

***

Just after your call with Lonnie, you called Lucas. Only this time, you were on camera with each other. As your call connected, you saw a huge smile on Lucas’ face and he leaned forward towards the screen. “Hey,” he said softly.

“I miss you,” you told him. At night and you felt cold, despite being wrapped in thick blankets. It was because you missed Lucas’ warmth. You missed his arms tight around you, and you missed putting your head on his chest where you’d listen to his heartbeat.

“And I miss you.”

Both of you laughed, grimaced, told stories of your week, and even sang, until you noticed that you had been on the call for nearly four hours. “You need to sleep,” you said softly, yawning. “It’s late, and you’ve got to be awake for shift tomorrow morning.”

Lucas smiled sleepily. “I love you.”

You couldn’t help but lower your head and smile, hiding a blush. The last four hours had thrown you back to your more care free days, when you had first come upon seaQuest. Your friendship with Lucas had been almost instantaneous. So alike, yet that age difference had been the one thing keeping you apart, until now.

You rested easier that night, feeling a weight lift. That distance had been bridged, by putting down old memories to let you come back together. For the first time in quite a few weeks, you drifted to sleep within a few minutes. In your mind, you dreamed of dancing down the corridors of seaQuest, your body twirling to a beautiful piece of piano music. Had you heard that music before? Or maybe you had created it from your own subconscious.

Upon waking, you smiled to yourself. Bright sun was filling the room and the faint scent of freshly mown grass wafted through your open window. However, as you leaned over to check your tablet, you felt shivers of fear race up your spine. An SOS was flashing. You must have been dead to the world and not heard any kind of alert sound. The SOS had been sent out by L. Wolenczak.

[fingergunsbidean]

A Journey in Bisexuality

Word Count: 4.3k Pairings: Dean/Castiel (main), Dean/OMC, Dean/Lee, Dean/Garth Warnings: Underage feelings for Harrison Ford, internalized homophobia, mentions of homophobia but no homophobic actions are done towards Dean, drunken kissing, NSFW elements but no smut, alcoholism implied, and mentions of John Winchester’s A+ parenting, but no actual interactions with him. Summary: A character study of Dean and his journey with discovering and accepting his bisexuality.

Note: I was NEVER actually planning on posting this. I’m NOT a fic writer lol. I actually wrote this as a self paragraph in a 1x1 ten months ago, but I thought we could all use some Dean going to therapy and healing after that finale, so here we are. 

Dean is fourteen when he starts looking at Harrison Ford differently. It’s not just him, it’s all his favorites, but right now it’s all about Harrison Ford. 

His dad is on a hunt in the next town over, leaving Sam and Dean in some cheap motel. For once, he’s not itching to join him, because the local cable is having an all day Harrison Ford marathon, starting with Star Wars and ending with Indiana Jones.

He’s always admired the guy. He’s good looking, knows how to handle a gun, wears an awesome hat, and always wins the hot girl in the end. 

The thing is that Dean always wanted to be him, and as he watches Indi somersault out of the way of an oncoming boulder, he still does, but there’s something more there tonight that he hasn’t noticed in the past.

His cheeks feel flushed and there’s heat tickling underneath his skin. At first, he thinks he’s getting a fever or something and moves over to the other bed, just in case he’s contagious. 

The space does nothing to help Dean though, and his pink cheeks grow bright red when Indiana kisses Willie in Temple of Doom. As the music swells, and he lowly says the words “primitive sexual practices,” Dean finds that he’s picturing himself in Willie’s place, with Harrison Ford looming over him and dipping down to kiss him deeply.

The realization of what he’s doing crashes into him, leaving him a little sick to his stomach as he snatches the remote and turns the TV off abruptly. He swallows roughly to chase away the sick feeling and gives Sam a feigned apologetic look. 

“I–uh–think I’m gettin’ sick or something. I’m going to bed,” He says. But hours after the lights are turned off and he’s buried under the covers, he’s still wide awake.

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

Dean is seventeen, and this is the longest they’ve stayed in one place since he watched their house in Lawrence disappear from the backseat in the Impala. 

When their dad took on a pretty big case in Florida, he left the Sam and Dean with Bobby, and then…just kind of left them there. It’s been three months. At first he was pissed. He’s old enough to go on hunts with his dad. He’s been on plenty, while Sam was safely hidden away in a motel.

“You gotta watch over Sammy,” John said, like he always does when Dean asks to go.

It felt like a shitty excuse at the time, but now he can’t imagine being away from his little brother this long, and while he’ll never admit it, he’s glad he left them with Bobby.

For the first time, Dean actually knows the names of the other kids in his class. He has decent grades, and he’s even considering trying out for the baseball team. 

Sammy seems happy too. Dean has seen the poor kid get ripped away from school after school, trying to keep his sobs quiet in the backseat as their dad drove away from yet another town. He hates himself for thinking of it, but when he sees how settled Sam is at Bobby’s, he hopes their dad doesn’t come back.

And maybe he’s happy too, and he tries not to feel guilty, but it’s not like his dad will ever know. Whenever he shows up for them, Dean will follow with a “yes, sir,” like he always does. 

Until then, he just lets himself be a normal seventeen year old for once. He even found a group of friends and everything, a few guys from his gym class. There’s Matt, Jordan, and Aaron with the too blue eyes, or at least that’s what he calls him in his head. As if he’d ever have the nerve to call him that aloud.

Thoughts about boys creep up on him like itch, dull at first but the more he ignores it the more insistent it becomes. When he first noticed these…feelings, he told himself, “It’s a celebrity crush, it’s fine. Everyone gets those.” But then it grew into, “It’s just some stranger in a diner, it’s fine. You’ll never see him again,” and now it’s, “It’s just your good looking friend, it’s fine.”

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.

It’s not fine, but Dean pushes it down and pretends it’s not there. Besides, he hasn’t stopped noticing girls. If anything, he’s notices them more. As long as that’s the case, there’s no reason to act on these feelings or even acknowledge them. 

His dad doesn’t want a whole lot from him. He wants him to protect Sam and be a good hunter, but Dean sure as hell knows what he doesn’t want for him, and that’s being with another guy like that, especially when he’s still attracted to girls. He’s seen the way his dad looks at gay guys, heard the comments he makes under his breath, and there’s no way that’s the kind of life he wants for his sons.

So, every time Aaron gives him the kind of smile that makes his chest warm or he finds himself staring too long, he reminds himself of all the reasons why this can’t be a thing. And just because Dean is thinking things he shouldn’t be, doesn’t mean Aaron is too.

He needs that reminder right now as the four of them are packed together in a crowded movie theater, seeing Scream. At some point, Aaron scooted closer to Dean’s side, pressing their shoulders together. 

The screams from the crowd sound like a dull roar in his ears when Aaron’s pinky brushes against his, and he holds his breath as he slowly tangles them together, until they’re practically holding pinkies. 

He should rip his hand away, he even stiffens as he prepares himself to, but then his shoulders sag as he leans further into the touch. He doesn’t want to pull away. His eyes burn as he stares fixedly at the screen with how badly he doesn’t want to pull away.

They stay like that for the rest of the movie, sneaking glances at each other, but keeping the touch to just their shoulders and pinkies. When the credits roll, Dean finally pulls away, stretching as he stands to try and come off as casual as possible. 

They toss their popcorn in the trash and talk about the movie as they head out of the theater. Matt and Jordan give them a quick pat on the shoulders before heading off, and before Dean can go searching for Bobby’s truck in the parking lot, Aaron grabs his elbow to keep him from leaving.

“Dean?” His blue eyes flicker from Dean’s face to the ground nervously, “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime. Like without Matt and Jordan.”

Dean feels his throat close as he struggles to get air in his lungs, worried that his popcorn might come back up. He doesn’t know why he’s acting like this. There’s nothing wrong with hanging out just the two of them, but from the way Aaron’s blushing he has a feeling it’s more than that.

“You mean like…” He trails off, unsure if he can even say it, but Aaron beats him to it.

“Like a date, yeah. I don’t know if you–if you’re–well, I thought I’d try, at least,” He gives a nervous look as he braves meeting Dean’s gaze.

His first instinct is to be furious, to fly off the handle at him for even daring to assume that Dean isn’t anything but straight, to tell him he doesn’t swing that way and storm off, maybe even get a punch in, but he’s frozen. 

Despite all his promises to himself that he wouldn’t ever acknowledge this thing that follows him around, he starts entertaining the idea of letting himself have this. His dad is on the other side of the country, he’ll never find out. Nobody has to know if they keep it to themselves. He can just try it this once to get it out of his system and then stick to girls.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean chokes out before he even fully gives himself permission to, and he knows he needs to leave now before he chickens out, “I gotta go. Uh–I’ll call you.” Aaron lets out a huge, relieved breath before giving Dean one of those grins that make his insides squirm with delight, and he smiles back, giving him a playful wink before walking away.

He spends the drive back to Bobby’s going between panic and excitement, planning out potential date ideas but also rehearsing ways to turn Aaron down. As he pulls into the Salvage yard and sees the Impala, he realizes it’s all for nothing and feels strangely numb. It’s time for the next hunt, and he knows with absolute certainty that he’ll never see Aaron again. It’s for the best, he tells himself. 

Who was he fucking kidding anyway?

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

Dean is twenty-one and drunk on the beach. His vision is a little fuzzy, and when he looks up at the sheer amount of stars in the pitch black sky, he feels dizzy, causing him to stumble into the body beside him.

“Watch it, brother. You don’t wanna eat sand,” A husky voice laughs as he grips Dean’s shoulders with strong hands to steady him.

Lee can’t fill the hole that Sam left when he went off to Stanford, but having him around helps him feel a little less like he’s suffocating. John swung by Texhoma in hopes to recruit his old buddy for a hunt, but got his son instead. Dean and John were glad for the turn of events for different reasons. His dad admired how strong of a fighter Lee was, his training precise enough for John’s Marine standards.

Dean just admired him, in general. He’s having a hell of a time ignoring it when his dad is always there. Maybe, it’s just his paranoia talking, but it feels like he’s watching Dean too closely, noting how he acts around Lee. Which is what inspires their first escape from John Winchester in a slew of rowdy drunken activities. 

After he caught them wasted in a middle of a hunt, they started being more discreet about it, so while John was dead asleep in his motel room, the two of them snuck off to a bar and then stumbled their way to the closest beach.

Lee’s hands on his shoulders make him feel both grounded but also like he’s teetering over the edge of a cliff. The moon illuminates his face from where it’s hovering near Dean’s, his blue eyes boring into his. 

In his drunken state, he forgets what they were talking about, or if they were even talking at all, and all those walls he’s been building around himself for the past decade feel flimsy, like the slightest nudge will knock them all down.

Dean’s gaze flickers wildly over his face before landing on a piece of hair that fell over his eyes. “You have sand in your hair,” He drunkenly giggles and lifts a hand to pull the sand out before tucking the errant hair behind Lee’s ear. Instead of dropping his hand like he planned to, he cups his friends cheek instead, his thumb absently brushing over his soft skin.

“Dean,” Lee breathes, low and rough, and it sends a tingle down his spine.

“Hey,” He answers, because it feels like the right the thing to say in the moment, or maybe he just doesn’t know what the hell to say when they’re standing this close and he wants nothing more than to just close the remaining distance, give into this want that’s been burning in his chest for years.

Something like recognition shows in Lee’s eyes before he clasps the back of Dean’s neck and draws him down to seal their lips together in a tentative kiss. It’s more gentle and hesitant than his actual first kiss, but it makes his entire body practically sing. 

He hears a desperate noise over the sound of the waves, and he thinks it might’ve come for him, but he doesn’t care. He can beat himself up for that later, but for now, he sighs against Lee’s lips and deepens the kiss, letting himself have this.

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

Lee is the longest relationship he’s ever had, which is pretty sad, considering it lasts for about a month. But in that month, they find creative ways to sneak around his dad and even get caught up in some kind of wild orgy with triplets. 

It all crashes and burns when a case in Arizona goes horribly, horribly wrong, and Lee can’t just move past it. He quits hunting and leaves Dean to go back home, giving him one last lingering kiss before he drives away.

With hardly anything more than a dismissive grunt, John leaves shortly after, deciding Dean is finally old enough to hunt on his own, and that they’ll cover more ground to find whatever killed mom if they split up. The fact that his dad trusts him to do this on his own should be enough to fill him with pride, but it feels more like punishment, and for the first time in his life, he’s completely alone.

A week after Lee and his dad left, he’s sitting in the parked Impala, dialing Sam’s number.

“Heya, Sammy,” He greets his brother, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant and cheerful as possible. 

They talk about Sam’s homework and friends, and Dean tells him about some interesting hunts, leaving out the most recent one. He doesn’t tell him about dad leaving, but Lee is on the tip of his tongue. Part of him wants to tell Sam–to get this weight off his shoulders, for one more person to know, so it doesn’t feel like some big fever dream.

“Sam,” He starts, his tone suddenly serious. “I’m…” He stops. He’s what? He’s not gay, but he obviously ain’t straight either. But who says he has to label himself right this second though? He can just tell him about Lee. “I…” He tries again, but the words just don’t come.

That time he agreed to go on a date with Aaron, he told himself it’d be a one time thing to get it out of his system, and while this wasn’t Aaron, that’s what Lee can be. A one time thing. Something that Sam doesn’t need to know about.

“I gotta go. Take care of yourself, okay?”

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

Dean is thirty and fucking grateful for it. It’s 2009, and not 2014. He still has time to fix this. When he whips around and sees Cas standing there on the empty street, there’s a look on his face that Dean can only describe as tenderness, and that makes him believe he really can fix this.

“That’s pretty nice timing, Cas,” Dean breathes shakily, overwhelmed by the sheer relief that this Cas is his Cas, not the version he left in 2014.

“We had an appointment,” Cas replies, and there’s so much warmth in his gravely voice that Dean wants to chase it and hold it close to his chest. 

He feels his face do something that’s probably too open and too fond, but he doesn’t do anything to mask it. Instead, he firmly rests a hand on the angel’s shoulder and looks him straight in the eye before saying, “Don’t ever change.”

Dean wouldn’t say Cas has much variety in his facial expressions, so the hint of a smile he gets in return feels huge. It reaches his eyes more than his lips, and something about that makes it more genuine. 

This isn’t the first time Dean felt something after prolonged eye contact with the guy, far from it, but it’s usually a shock of heat or desire–this is something else entirely. He just wants to find more ways to earn looks like this, which seems impossible with the apocalypse around the corner, but he wants to try.

It’s been nearly a decade since he told himself he wouldn’t let himself act on feelings for another man, but shit has changed. His dad is dead, and that’s not enough to erase the shame that still washes over him any time he accidentally checks out another dude, but John Winchester is not an excuse anymore. 

The world is ending, isn’t this the best time to say fuck it and try?

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

Dean is thirty-two, and he’s very naked, and very sticky. He curses himself under his breath for not taking the time to clean up before passing out, but he must’ve worn himself out. 

For a second he forgets where he is or who he was with the night before, but when he cracks an eye open, he sees peeling yellow wallpaper from the ugly ass motel room he’s been staying in. He blindly reaches a hand out behind him and makes contact with an equally naked and sticky body.

“Hey, watch the hand,” A very familiar voice laughs from behind him, causing Dean to whip around in surprise, wincing at the soreness that follows.

“Garth?” He asks wearily.

“Yeah, who else? We didn’t even drink last night, don’t pull the forgotten one night stand act with me, Dean Winchester,” Garth chastises him gently, propping himself up on his elbow as he smiles down at him.

Dean blinks a few times to try and wake himself up, and when he’s feeling a little less disoriented, the night before comes back to him–and, oh yeah, he remembers it. Who would’ve thought a little guy like Garth could be such a firecracker in bed? Maybe, he somehow sensed that about him, and that’s why he was so eager to find out.

In the short time he’s known Garth, he wouldn’t say he’s had many dirty thoughts about him. He didn’t have many thoughts about anyone these days, not since Cas…Dean quickly ends that train of thought there. The nightmares are enough. 

The thing with Garth just kind of happened, between the goodbye hugs, and the comments about how good he smells, the little smiles he keeps sending Dean’s way, he figured why the hell not?

He wasn’t disappointed with his choice either. Garth was surprisingly strong and confident, which are all things Dean likes in his partners. He just wouldn’t usually go for someone he sees so often–makes things awkward.

“I remember,” He gives a quiet laugh before clearing his throat awkwardly, looking from Garth’s bare chest to the sheets. “Look, Garth, I–uh–I’m not really looking for a relationship or anything,” He begins, and it feels so overused and rehearsed. 

He hates having this talk, which is why he usually sticks to waitresses or women, and the occasional man that he won’t ever see again. He doesn’t want to shoot Garth down, but after Cas–he just thought things would be different by now. He thought they would be different now, but that hope died when he pulled Cas’s soaking trench coat out of the water.

He doesn’t know what he kind of response he expects, but it’s definitely not for him to throw his head back with a loud laugh. “Oh, Dean, I should’ve known you’d be this funny the morning after. Look at you, trying to give me the it’s not you, it’s me talk. We’re fine, buddy. Just two guys looking for a night of fun,” He shakes his head and gives Dean’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Dean feels his entire body sag in relief, and now that, that awkwardness is out of the way, he feels his body react to Garth’s close proximity, the memory of the night before has him ready to go all over again. 

Resting a hand on the hunter’s naked hip, he leans in until their noses brush, “In that case, round two?” He asks, his voice practically a quiet purr.

“Round two,” Garth agrees before pulling him in for a heated kiss.

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

“I don’t know. I guess that was the first time I did something like that without feeling guilty after. I didn’t really even think about the fact that he was a dude that time,” Dean recounts, picking at a stray thread on his jeans.

He’s forty-one and the world is still turning. Chuck is gone, Jack and Eileen are back, Cas is human, Sam is okay, and everything should be fine. But it turns out that peace on earth doesn’t erase decades worth of repression and trauma.

It took storming out of a few therapist’s office before he found the right one. Dr. Williams, or Charlotte, is pretty nice, so far. She listens to all his stories that would sound absolutely insane to an outsider, and hardly bats an eye. 

Usually, they talk about Hell or Michael, but somehow the subject shifted to his history with men today, starting with him telling her about the ring he got Cas for Christmas. The one he almost didn’t give him–the ring that isn’t an engagement ring despite the looks Sam keeps giving him, but hopefully isn’t just a friendship ring either.

“And how do you feel now? With Castiel? Do you still feel ashamed of your feelings or sexuality?” She asks calmly as she looks up at him over her notebook.

Dean grimaces at that word–sexuality. He’s had so many years to accept the fact that he isn’t straight, that he likes men too, that he more than likes a particular man specifically. 

Still, he can’t get himself to say the actual word, not even in his own head. His old man has been dead for thirteen years, and it still feels like he’s looming over his shoulder whenever he even considers it. 

Sometimes, he wishes he told him when he accidentally wished him back into existence, but he’s glad he didn’t. Of all the people who deserve to hear it first, it’s not his dad. The fact that he even thinks that, tells him these sessions are doing something.

“Sometimes…yeah,” Dean mutters and nervously licks his lower lip, “I know my family won’t care. Hell, they probably already know, but I don’t know. I just can’t shake it, I guess.”

“You don’t have to come out,” Charlotte tells him, and her voice isn’t too gentle like some of the other Therapist’s were, but it’s not too matter-of-fact either, which is why he likes her so much. 

“Not with an official statement, at least. You should do what you’re comfortable with. Like, next time you watch Star Wars, instead of keeping all those thoughts about Harrison Ford to yourself, say them aloud.”

Dean merely raises a brow in response, he’s pretty sure nobody wants to hear what he has to say about Harrison Ford. He’s come up with way too many jerking off fantasies to that guy. Most of his thoughts are something along the lines of, “I’d sell my soul to fuck Harrison Ford.”

Charlotte seems to catch on quick and lets out an amused snort, “The safe for work version.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure there is a safe for work version,” Dean points out and waggles his brows suggestively before dropping the act and sagging a little in his seat, his face going blank in thought.

“I know that uh–that being bisexual is okay,” He stammers out and rubs the back of his neck as it prickles with nerves, “Which is what I am, I mean, bisexual. I’m just trying to believe that it is.” 

It’s the first time he actually said it, and it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as he thought it would be. He still feels sick with anxiety, and like he wants to drink an entire bottle of whiskey when he gets home, but the fact that he did it at all lifts a huge weight from his shoulders.

Charlotte gives him an impressed nod and jots down a few notes, “Well, that’s a good start.”

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

After his session, he comes home and gives some flimsy excuse about his whereabouts before pouring himself a drink. Cas isn’t in the kitchen or his room, but it doesn’t take Dean long to track him down. 

The new human spends a lot of time in the same spot these days. Shrugging on a coat, he brings his glass outside and walks to the little area Cas so carefully turned into his garden.

Dean doesn’t announce his presence, just watches from a safe distance as Cas mutters quietly to his plants. The sun occasionally glints off the silver ring on his middle finger, and it brings a fond smile to his lips. 

After everything they’ve been through, after losing him so many times, Dean can’t believe he’s really here. It’s not perfect, Cas is struggling with his new humanity, and the distance between them hasn’t been fixed, but it’s still good.

And Dean loves him.

“I’m in love with Cas,” He mentally tells himself, another thing that he’s known for ages but has been too damn scared to actually put into words. It’s just as nerve-wracking as his confession to Charlotte earlier, but it still brings him peace.

He doesn’t know when he’ll tell Cas, or if he ever will, but right now he’s okay just telling himself. He’s okay just standing here and watching him garden. It’s more than he thought he’d ever have.