#inspired by other works

[oatmealdaydreams]

The Well

Let me know if ya wanna be added on or taken off the general taglist! Finally got a damn hurt/comfort oneshot outta me for this fandom. Took me long enough.

Pairing: Sea Grunkles, gen

Warnings: Homelessness, Neglect of Health, Implied/Referenced Abuse, PTSD, Scars

Summary: It clicks in Ford’s mind what exactly Stan’s situation has been for the past ten years before he came to Gravity Falls. He is horrified at such a realization. Guilt and regret war in his mind as Stan notices the look on his brother’s face and tries to help.

Notes: Not really proud of how this turned out, but hope y'all like it! Title is from the song, The Well by The Crane Wives.

Inspired By Works: We're Still Here by Simplistic_Apricity on ao3! Go check it out, it's super good.

[Masterlist] | ao3 link

[fic under the cut]

Send me anywhere, take me out I’m the well that they’re gonna drag you down

~ “The Well”, The Crane Wives

=-=-=-=-=

There is something absolutely terrifying about having a sibling. 

Through everything they’ve been through—every mistake, every cussed-out argument, every heartfelt hand on the shoulder—Ford hasn’t given Stan nearly as much credit for his strength as he should. Not his physical strength, though he knows Stanley has a respectful amount of it. No, he means his mental strength. He doesn’t know what happened over the past ten years since they’d separated, and maybe he should’ve asked when Stanley first knocked on his door. After realizing that it was his brother, putting the crossbow down, checking his eyes—he should’ve at least had a good look at his drifter of a twin. It’s now, even with the threat of Bill hanging over his head like a dangling sword, that he’s starting to note Stan’s appearance. And he’s…well, this can’t be right, can it?

A greasy mullet that looks like it’s starting to thin out. Dirty, stained clothes. Scruffy face. Facial hair that’s barely there. Eyebags almost as bad as his own, hallowed and haunted. There’s a persistent reeking smell, wafting through the air. It makes Ford want to scrunch his nose up at how disgusting it is. His jacket looks worn, torn here and there, old with stitching that’s ready to pull apart at the seams. He…needs a shower. When was the last time he had a shower? Now that he’s asking questions, when was the last time he ate? Sure, he isn’t exactly skinny, but he walks around like it’s out of a survival habit instead of actually having the energy to do so. Ford can’t really judge in that regard, he knows, with how little energy he has himself. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Stanley should be fine. He’s supposed to be fine. He’s got more of a charm than Ford does when it comes to people. Ford kept telling himself that, when their Pa had thrown the dufflebag at his brother and sent him on his way with nothing but that and the car, that he’d be fine. Because Stan was resourceful and good with people, so he’d figure it out and everything. 

He never let himself think about how little his brother was given to start with, and how little he still seems to have. 

But now? Maybe Ford should’ve called him up instead of assuming Stan would be alright on his own. Instead of waiting for Stan to do it himself. Instead of refusing to swallow down his bitter pride, knowing in the back of his mind that Stan might’ve been living out of his car. He should’ve done a lot of things, but he can’t change what he’s done in the past. He can try to make up for his stupidity now. 

There are numerous hardly-healed scars and concerning marks on Stanley, he notes as he glances at his brother sitting on the couch. Purplish lines, keloids, jagged and long ones, ones that must’ve had a poorly done stitch job. There’s circular ones in certain places, and all Ford can think with horror in his inner-dialogue is when did he get shot? When did he get this many scars? Why are some of his teeth slightly off? Did he need dental surgery at one point? What happened to his brother?

His stomach twists and churns at the thought of Stanley hurt, bleeding, injured, and without someone to go to. He thought Stan could make easy friends like they did when they were kids. He’s always been good with people, even if his academic knowledge was hardly scraping by. But if his appearance and actions since he got here are anything to go by…

Oh.

Oh, god.

Ford feels close to vomiting the more he thinks about it. Everything clicks, and it’s horrible, why didn’t he just call him? He would’ve answered. He would’ve answered. His face must pale as he stares in widened horror at his realization because now Stanley is looking at him with furrowed eyebrows and concern.

“Hey, buddy, you doin’ okay?” he whispers, as if talking to a defensive animal. 

Ford can’t remember how to form words. His mouth feels dry. Stan frowns at the lack of a response. Ford’s gaze darts to Stan as he stands, fighting down a flinch at the sudden, quick movement. 

“Ford, c’mon, what spookin’ ya, huh?” Stanley takes a step closer, careful, watching him for any reactions. 

Stanford swallows, and his throat is just as dry as his mouth. He almost wonders if he looks like a caged animal the way his eyes stay wide, darting, alert. 

Scared, his brain supplies, though he chooses to ignore it. Horrified at what you let happen to him. 

Maybe he deserves it, bitter pride bites back, a rabid feral dog. He ruined my life. 

He was supposed to be fine. He was supposed to be okay, something childlike chimes in. 

You’re supposed to be his big brother, a part of him that he doesn’t dare to name comments, and the other parts of his mind shut up for once. How can you boast about being fifteen minutes older, whine about a mistake from ten years ago and claim it’s all his fault, when you’re the one who’s supposed to protect him? He always protected you. Why can’t you do the same for him?

And it sticks to his brain. 

He always protected you. 

“Poindexter,” Stanley calls for him, hands on his shoulders. 

Ford can’t hide the slight flinch from sudden contact, but neither of them move for a moment. Stanford’s gaze flickers to look Stan straight in his eyes. It’s too much. He should look away, say something, anything, but he can’t bring himself to do a single thing. It feels a little too closely like when Bill takes control of his body, keeping him watching but unable to stop whatever that dream demon wants to do. Helpless. 

Ford finally musters the will to clear his throat. He doesn’t want to think about how similar this feels to Bill. He needs to focus. 

“Ford?” Stan calls again, quieter, gentle. 

“I didn’t know,” Ford’s voice is hardly above a lingering whisper. 

“What?”

“I didn’t know.”

“Pal, ya gotta explain whatcha mean.”

Ford swallows, and he finds it difficult, “You—I thought you’d be fine.”

Stan gives him a look of confusion, furrowing his eyebrows further. Tilting his head, he tries to reach for what Stanford could possibly be talking about. Thought he’d be fine? Claiming he didn’t know something? What in the fucking world—oh. 

Oh, shit.

Stanley glances away from his brother, face forced into cool neutrality. Watching the realization dawn on him causes a prickling anxiety to erupt in Ford’s chest. It’s a feeling he’s used to, however, with all that he’s gone through with Bill, and so he has plenty of practice operating while engulfed in such a thing. 

“You’re always so good with people, Stanley,” his voice chokes and chops and he’s really surprised he hasn’t cried yet. “Thought you’d figure it out.” 

Stan glances back at him, an almost distant look in his eyes, “...Figure it out?”

“Make friends like you did when—like you did.” 

Various emotions flicker and flash across Stanley’s eyes, none of them staying long enough to name properly, shifting around in the core of his pupils. The frightened look in Ford’s eyes persists, and perhaps that’s what keeps Stan from rolling his eyes at him and scoffing in his face. 

“Tch, really had that much faith in me, huh?” comes out quietly, mumbling, almost too vulnerable for either of them to handle. 

Ford doesn’t know how to respond to this, so he doesn’t. 

He just stares. 

“Look where it gotcha, Poindexter,” Stan tries to mutter aside, but Ford hears it anyway with a hitching breath. 

They just…stare at each other as a tense and uncomfortable silence bathes the room. Stan doesn’t have the energy to let go of Ford’s shoulders. Ford might vomit if Stan lets go of him. 

“Moses, okay, could ya just calm down? I turned out fine! I still got the car and everything. Even tried a few business ventures, heh,” Stan desperately tries making this more light-hearted, joking, wanting nothing to do with the kind of conversation this may turn into. 

“I would’ve answered,” is the reply he gets.

“And done what? Huh, Stanford? What the fuck would’ve you done?” anger, indignant and lingering, growls and snarls. 

Anger is a dog that barks and bites, hurt and feral and wanting the pain to stop. 

“I don’t know! Something, maybe, I’d have at least talked to you!”

“And what would you’ve said? Because I sure as hell never got a call from you!”

“You’d call me if you needed to, I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t think, huh? Jeez, thought ya were the smart one.”

“I had no reason to believe you wouldn’t! I didn’t need to worry unless you said anything!”

“So, what, expect me to fuck up your life more?”

“I-no! That isn’t—”

“Well, guess what, Poindexter? I did call you!”

“You—wait, what?”

Emotions flicker around as they argue, fear of what might’ve happened to Stanley turns into defensive anger at being mocked and then into blatant confusion because his brother actually called him and he didn’t know. 

“Turns out Pa was right when he called me a pussy,” Stan continues as if it’s fine, which, hey, it isn’t. “Couldn’t even say nothin’ when ya answered.”

“You…that was you? You called me?” 

“What, ya goin’ deaf, Poindexter? Barely even thirty.”

“No, I–ugh!” Ford squeezes his eyes shut in frustrated and self-targeted disappointment. 

Stanley called him. He called him, but felt as though he couldn’t say anything to him. Why didn’t he? Surely, he knew he’d pick up and talk to him? Especially if it meant Stan was in trouble! He would’ve…he…what would he have done? He’d been working with Bill, with Fiddleford, building the portal. He had his stupid project, all of his research and work…what would he have said? Truthfully? That he was busy? Would he have really left his research for Stan?

A flash of his science fair project, the humiliation, the crushing weight of disappointment, the anger, the hurt. 

…He would’ve been more worried that Stanley would break his important equipment like he’d done to his work in the past. He would’ve barked out a slew of excuses why he couldn’t come to him. He would’ve hung up. Despite how much he’d missed his brother—though he refused to admit it for so long—he’d push him away. Reason that it’s for the best. 

Bill could’ve gotten to him. 

He could’ve…but Stan…

Fuck.

“You’re not a coward, Stan,” Ford tries. 

Stan snorts at him. “No, I mean it. Genuinely. You…you have so many scars,” they ignore the way Stanford’s voice cracks near the end. 

Stanley shifts in place, the movement felt by Ford through his shoulders. 

Fuck, how can he do this? He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He can’t articulate it properly. Scientific research and flowery language, yes. He could regale his findings on the cryptids and anomalies of Gravity Falls for hours and hours to anything who’d listen. But this? Emotions, people? What he actually felt? He rather have his teeth pulled. 

Actually, no, that was very painful to wake up to. 

Stan’s gaze softens the slightest bit, and then they’re back to this weird tense, awkward, emotion-driven silence that neither of them know how to navigate. Fuck, why is this is so hard? 

Ford does the only thing he knows will bring his point across. 

Stan stumbles backwards a little as his brother rushes forward and hugs him. He freezes, surprised by the fact that he’s hugging him. What are they, kids? But then Ford wraps his arms around him, squeezes, moves a hand to hold the back of his neck, and Stan just can’t anymore. He can’t deal with all the bouncing emotions that ping-pong everywhere. He can’t deal with this. Stan breaks, teary eyes he’ll pass off as dust, and hesitantly lightly wraps his arms around Ford in return. Ford squeezes again, and Stan tightens his hold on him. He grips the back of Ford’s jacket in an attempt to keep it together. 

He fails, and little droplets of tears drip onto Ford’s shoulder. If Ford notices, he doesn’t comment on it. He just holds him. He holds his brother. 

And maybe…maybe he can protect Stan this time. 

It’s his turn to keep him safe.

Taglist: @lost-in-thought-20 @thegoldenduckie @not-sure-what-im-feeling

[thunderpot]

Macbeth moshang,

[stars-obsession-pit]

If anyone saw this for a moment earlier when i accidentally hit post, no you didn’t

The Ultimate Enemy ends a bit differently. Though Danny does still overcome his evil future self, Dan leaves him with a few parting gifts for his trouble.

Danny is thrown into another universe, and his obsession is distorted. Where it once was Protection, now all it is is Violence. One last-ditch attempt by Dan to make Danny into a monster like him.

However, Danny’s human mind is still intact. So despite feeling the perpetual urge from his ghost half, he can keep it in check. Somewhat.

But not entirely.

So he becomes a Rogue. He doesn’t like it, but what else can he do? He needs to do something.

Of course, he does his best to minimize real harm, to focus his attacks on those that deserve it - the polluting factories, the corrupt businessmen, and all others that exploit people. He tries to eke out as much nourishment for his core as he can from the engagements, especially the fights against the heroes that come to stop him.

But it’s not enough. He still knows he’s causing harm and hates every second of it, even as his obsession sings at being fed.

The heroes notice. How could they not? A powerful, young, villain who clearly doesn’t want to be doing what they’re doing but seemingly can’t stop? There must be something else going on. Some force pushing him to do this.

And they’re going to save him from it.

[corrodedparadox]

I’m starting a collection

[gatoburr0]

Hehe hiii samurai shiver Hii um!!

Also yes I designed the tattoos from scratch and I still gotta do the one on her back 😪

[ellydrawsstuff]

Season 2 predictions

[soosoosoup]

Chord Striker Au by @thatbennybee

[abstractfrog]

THE GLORIA SCOTT - part 2, and a follow up to my comic for the first half of this scene! thanks sm to @crashingmeteorz for allowing me to source validation for my whimsical cosmic approach to this moment <3

[hellspawnmotel]

a black spot on the sun

[anbaisai]

Hear me out- Jamimayu

alright bet

(Jamil: "...Couldn't you have picked a different image?")

Bonus Ace:

[abd-illustrates]

Are you gonna make the playlists for the heartless characters public? Or has that already happened and I just missed it

AH I haven't shared my character-specific Heartless playlists as some of the songs on them were SUCH specific picks that they risk being highly spoilery lol 😅

(For funsies tho I'm gonna put some of my non-spoilery-est top tracks for each character under the cut! 🎶)

HEARTLESS: Heartbeat – The Midnight

ALCHEMY: Transform – Julianne Hough (this was the very first track on Alchemy's playlist it is SO them)

FLINT: Change Your Heart Or Die – The Midnight

EIRA: In The Cold – Vincent Lima

DOPPEL+GLASS: Call Them Brothers – Regina Spektor (And "Still Here" from Treasure Planet, but especially the Alex Ubego version)

RIVER: Machine Learning – Janani K. Jha

CREED: Hunting Witches – Kyle Stibbs

LORELEI: Siren Song – Lambia (Also: Ado’s version of Unravel 😩👌)

DIANA: Hell’s Comin’ With Me – (the Chloe Breez cover in particular)

LANCE: Blood Upon The Snow – Hozier (Most of his playlist is the kind of metal and high energy tunes you might expect for him, so this one's a fun outlier :3c )

BANDY: HARLEQUIN! – Vana

DOCK: Eye For An Eye – 8 Graves

[crippledasinfuckyou]

sometimes a healthy relationship isn't 50/50 because it can't be, and that's okay.

disabled people who cannot take on an equal portion of the work in a relationship deserve to be loved too, if that's what they want. and as long as their partner is getting the support they need, and is happy to take on that work, then what's the issue? it's nobodys business but your own the way that works in your relationship.

if you or your partner are disabled, and you can't split the work in the relationship 50/50, that's okay. you're not abusive, or a baby, or unloveable because of that. I promise

[wasyago]

the brainrot won

[frenchphobe]

griddlehark modern pen pal au where they don’t know each other but are assigned as pen pals for those pen pal projects you get in middle school and it just turns into them sending each other hate mail and somehow they just keep going for several years, even though they dont rly have to

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[uncanny-tranny]

Periodic reminder that unless a person specifically and clearly tells you it is okay to tell others they are trans or queer, you should err on the side of caution and assume they do not want you to tell people (especially random people!) about their transness or queerness.

You have no idea, generally, why somebody doesn't talk openly about their trans or queer status, and you have no idea, truly, how somebody might react to that information. The most progressive person out there is still capable of harbouring incredibly negative thoughts about somebody's queer status.