#symbiote ford au

[raye-roye]

Very cursed AU that entered my head last night. Universe where Bill and Ford's relationship isn't as toxic, and they eventually have some kind of weird symbiotic relationship where they share a body. Less toxic for them, they're having a blast, but it still freaks everyone else the fuck out. Also he behaves more like a Steven Universe fusion than just two people in one body. Anyway thanks for coming to my Ted talk

[orangeoctopi7]

Who was that Mysterious Figure?

I hope it’s OK to count chapter 16 of my Spider Stan AU for week 1 of @stanuary .

AO3 Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/17607854/chapters/111035395

Ford didn’t even remember blacking out, but when he came to, he was no longer in his basement lab. He was in town, perched on the vertical wall of the church tower in town square. He looked down at his reflection in a dark stained glass window in awe. 

He was completely covered in a fine webbing of black and gold, completely unrecognizable. It wasn’t far from the sketch he’d made of the new suit he wanted to make for Stanley, but with a sort of pyramid motif instead of one of spiders. His suit had enormous, slanting yellow eyes, and a large yellow inverted triangle on his chest. Whatever it was made of, it was clearly more advanced than any earthly fabric. It moved with him as he moved, almost like another set of muscles had attached themselves to the outside of his skin. He ran a finger along his arm, and despite the fact that it covered his fingers as well, he could feel the texture. It was fibrous and wiry and shifting, like it was alive.

SPOT ON AS ALWAYS, SIXER! 

By now, Ford was used to hearing Bill’s voice in his head from time to time, but now it seemed amplified. Almost overwhelming.

SO, YOU READY TO TAKE THIS THING OUT ON A JOYRIDE, SEE HOW IT WORKS?

“Yes.” Ford spoke aloud, but it sounded strange. Like his own voice had been thrown into a blender with Bill’s. He cleared his throat, and even that sounded wrong. This was going to take some getting used to. “Wha-- hmm-- uh, what do I do?”

THAT’S THE BEAUTY OF THE SYMBIOTE! IT SHARES THE SAME PSYCHIC LINK I DO WITH YOU, SO IT’S COMPLETELY INTUITIVE, LIKE THE MINDSCAPE! JUST THINK IT, AND IT WILL DO IT!

“If that’s the case, then how did I get out here?” 

SINCE IT’S THE SAME PSYCHIC LINK I SHARE WITH YOU, I CAN TAKE CONTROL IF YOU’RE EVER KNOCKED OUT OR EVEN IF YOUR HUMAN BRAIN IS JUST TAKING TOO LONG. JUST THINK OF IT AS A LITTLE HELP FROM A FRIEND.

Ford’s heart swelled with gratitude. He remembered a time when he didn’t dare hope that Bill could reciprocate his feelings of friendship, but now, not only were they friends, they were working together as one, as a superhero, trusting each other more than perhaps anyone had ever trusted another.

SURE I TRUST YOU, BUDDY! IF I CAN TRUST YOU TO BUILD THE PORTAL FOR ME, THEN OF COURSE I CAN TRUST YOU WITH THE SYMBIOTE.

Ford’s thoughts were thrown off track. That hadn’t even been directed at Bill, not even fully formed in his own head, how had he--?

OH YEAH, AS LONG AS YOU’RE WEARING THE SYMBIOTE, I HAVE FULL ACCESS TO YOUR THOUGHTS. IT’S NICE, I DON’T EVEN HAVE TO GO AROUND OPENING DOORS LIKE WHEN I’M IN YOUR DREAMSCAPE! 

Ford panicked and tried to bury a number of embarrassing thoughts before Bill could “see” them. Which of course, just brought them to the forefront of his mind. 

AHAHAHA, WHAT’S THE MATTER, FORDSY? WORRIED I’LL THINK IT’S PATHETIC HOW DESPERATE YOU ARE FOR MY APPROVAL? DON’T WORRY! I’M FLATTERED YOU CARE SO MUCH! NO NEED TO BE EMBARRASSED! WELL, MAYBE IT IS A LITTLE EMBARRASSING. BUT IN A CUTE, ENDEARING WAY, YA KNOW?

Ford felt himself flushing under the symbiote mask. This just caused Bill to laugh some more. 

SEE THIS? THIS IS WHY WE’RE FRIENDS. NONE OF THE OTHER FLESH SACKS WHO I WORKED WITH BEFORE GOT MY SENSE OF HUMOR LIKE YOU DO, IQ! HOW LUCKY AM I THAT YOU’RE BOTH SMARTER AND A BETTER SPORT THAN ANYONE ELSE!

“Th-thanks…” Ford stammered, before quickly shutting his mouth. He still didn’t like how this different voice sounded. 

If you can see directly into my thoughts, why can’t I see directly into yours? He switched to a directed thought instead. 

WELL, I MEAN, YOU COULD. IF YOU’RE OK WITH YOUR BRAIN EXPLODING IMMEDIATELY AFTER I OPEN THE CONNECTION. I’M KEEPING THAT BLOCKED OFF FOR YOUR SAFETY. 

Oh.

YEAH OH. NOW ARE WE GONNA TAKE THIS BABY ON A JOY RIDE OR WHAT?

Bill must have been impatient because Ford felt the symbiote start to move his body without his direction. Not liking the sensation, he quickly jumped back into control and climbed to the very top of the church steeple and took in his surroundings. 

He had no web shooters, but he instinctively knew that the fibrous symbiote could stretch itself to behave in much the same way. This was so much easier than it had been riding along with Stan! It was completely instinctual, and the one time he slipped up and missed his mark for a web anchor, Bill took over and shot out another line directly from his back and caught him before he fell more than a couple of inches. Soon Ford had the hang of swinging webs not just from his hands, but from any part of his body. The symbiote seemed to be able to stretch itself infinitely. 

They were swinging over the police station when Ford spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. A hooded figure in dark red robes was darting away from the back door of the station, where the thugs who had attacked them just yesterday were being held. Ford was about to go after the hooded figure when Bill held him back. 

WHOA THERE SIXER! WE DON’T KNOW WHO OR WHAT THAT THING IS, BUT THIS IS THE PERFECT OPPORTUNITY TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR LITTLE MOBSTER PROBLEM. 

What? What do you mean?

DON’T FORGET THESE JERKS KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE. SOME OF THEM EVEN KNOW YOU LOOK JUST LIKE THE SPIDER MAN. IF THEY GO BACK TO THEIR BOSS WITH THAT INFORMATION, IT DOESN’T MATTER IF YOUR BROTHER LEAVES OR NOT. YOU’LL BE A TARGET.

They’re in jail, they won’t have the chance to pass anything along. 

OH, THEY’LL FIND A WAY TO PASS IT ALONG. DOESN’T YOUR DUMB JUSTICE SYSTEM GIVE THEM ONE PHONE CALL OR SOMETHING?

Oh, right, he’d forgotten about that. But I’ll have you. I’ll have the symbiote.

TRUE! STILL, THESE ARE BAD GUYS, RIGHT? THEY’VE BEEN HUNTING DOWN YOUR BROTHER FOR WHO KNOWS HOW MANY YEARS. THEY’RE THE REASON HE’S BEEN ON THE RUN AND HOMELESS. I THINK YOU’LL AGREE, THEY DON’T DESERVE ANY MERCY.

Ford found he did agree. Rage was burning through him like a fever, coming on suddenly. He easily tore the back door off its hinges, giving him easy access to the cell where the thugs were being held. The four survivors were lazing about with blank stares when he found them. They all screamed when he reached through the bars and grabbed one by the throat. The symbiote stretched out beyond the natural reach of his arm and slammed the man into the back wall. It was the one who’d held the knife to his throat earlier. 

“Wh-what!?” The thug choked out in a panic. “What is that thing!?”

His compatriots just cowered and whimpered in fear. 

“You’re going to stop hunting the Spider Man.” Ford growled in his strange new voice. 

“Wh-wh-what is that? Is that what you are? I’ve never seen anything like you before in my life!”

SEE FORDSY, THREATENING THEM ISN’T GONNA WORK BECAUSE THAT’S ALREADY WHAT THEIR BOSS DOES. THE ONLY WAY YOU’RE GONNA TAKE CARE OF THESE IDIOTS IS THE PERMANENT WAY. 

Bill took over again and his muse spoke through him in that same blended voice. “Oh-ho, you wish I was the second-rate hero who landed you in here! I’m Venom, and I’m not some sap who’s just gonna send you off to jail and hope you never bother anyone again. I’m your worst nightmare!” With that, more of the symbiote branched off from his arm and formed a long, sharp spear, aimed straight at the man’s head.

The rage seething inside Ford almost led him to let Bill follow through with the threat, but he balked at the last second. He’d never killed anyone, unless you counted those zombies, and he was pretty sure they became completely mindless after a few days. What’s more, something was wrong here. These guys were too scared for thugs who worked for the mob, and it wasn’t just fear in their eyes, it was confusion.

“Do you know where you are right now?” Ford took over and pulled the spike away, letting up from his choke hold on the man a bit.

The man and all his compatriots shook their heads.

“Does the name Gravity Falls mean anything to you?”

Again, they all shook their heads no. 

“Do any of you remember how you got here?”

More head shakes. 

“What’s the last thing any of you remember?”

That one they did have an answer for. Most of them answered that the last thing they remembered was a casino, while another said the last thing he remembered was a long drive from Portland. To where, he didn’t recall. None of them seemed to remember anything about the last 24 hours. And none of them could remember anything about a Spider Man. 

THEY COULD JUST BE FAKING IT SIXER, ARE YOU REALLY READY TO TAKE THAT CHANCE?

But as Ford looked into their eyes, he was certain they weren’t faking it.

NO OFFENSE IQ BUT YOU’RE NOT THE BEST AT SPOTTING LIARS.

I’m not about to kill them either way!

Bill didn’t respond immediately, but after a beat he laughed.

SURE, IT WOULDN’T BE VERY HEROIC TO KILL THEM LIKE THIS, WOULD IT? IF THEY DO END UP SENDING MORE MOOKS AFTER US, WE’LL TAKE CARE OF THEM THEN. 

Ford pulled the extended symbiote back to him, letting the thug he’d been harassing drop back to the floor. He was trying to think of something witty to say to the criminals as he left when he heard a familiar voice.

“Sweet Moses, what happened to the door?” The Spider Man was whispering, but with the symbiote’s enhancements, Ford could hear him all the way in the next room. He began to panic. What was he supposed to do? How was he going to explain this to Stanley?

OH, DEFINITELY DON’T TELL HIM. REMEMBER YOUR SCIENCE FAIR PROJECT? REMEMBER HOW JEALOUS HE CAN GET?

It apparently wasn’t up for debate, because Bill took over again and climbed up to the ceiling to sneak out the back door. Unfortunately, Stan was also on the ceiling. 

“What the h—” He was cut off when Bill whipped him in the face with a tendril of symbiote.

“Meet your replacement, Spider Man! I’m Venom! I look forward to outclassing you in the future!” And with that he scurried away.

That was more malicious than necessary.

OH PLEASE, YOU ACT LIKE YOU’VE NEVER DONE A LITTLE SIBLING RIBBING BEFORE!

I don’t think he’ll see it that way, especially since we’re apparently not going to tell him it’s me.

THAT’S WHAT MAKES IT SO GREAT! FINALLY, A SECRET YOU DON’T HAVE TO SHARE WITH YOUR TWIN!

Normally, Ford would argue that Bill’s existence was already a secret he didn’t have to share with his twin, plus over ten years spent apart, but he found himself agreeing with his muse. His usual arguments were shoved back to his subconscious faster than the embarrassing thoughts he’d been trying to purposefully bury earlier, before he even consciously noticed he’d been actively thinking of them. 

-line break-

Stan had just been going to try and interrogate the remaining four thugs to see how much they knew about Ford. Thankfully, he hadn’t been using his real name when he’d worked for Rico, so at least they couldn’t use that to connect them, but he couldn’t really do anything about the fact that they looked pretty much identical. How many of these jerks had just assumed Ford was him, and how many had worked out they were brothers? What could he possibly do to buy their silence? Maybe give them some of Ford’s science junk? Any criminal would be happy to have these web shooters, even if it took super strength to actually swing around on them without pulling your arms out of their sockets. But would that really be enough to keep them from going back to Rico with such juicy black mail?

This wasn’t his first time breaking into, or out of, a police station jail. Normally, he’d observe the security cameras, crawl up on a wall or ceiling in a blind spot, and then crawl up close enough to cover whichever ones were pointed at the window or door he wanted to enter through. Then he’d pick the lock and be in and out before anyone noticed the camera wasn’t working. 

Unfortunately, someone got here first who wasn’t nearly so careful. 

“Sweet Moses, what happened to the door?” It had been pulled off its hinges from the outside by something powerful. Maybe even more powerful than him. Stan gulped. So either Rico had already sent someone else, maybe even found someone else with super powers, or some cryptid had crawled out of the woods and decided the jail was a good place to get a midnight snack. 

Well, whatever it was, his spider-sense wasn’t going off, so it was long gone. For now, he’d just look for clues. Maybe Ford could help him figure out what it had been. 

His heart sank. Maybe not. He’d have to leave tomorrow to try and get these jerks off Ford’s tail.

He climbed up onto the ceiling to avoid any security cameras, and was about half way through the room when something else entered into the room from the direction of the cells, also climbing on the ceiling. 

Stan’s jaw dropped. It was almost solid black, with golden yellow webbing spreading across its surface, an inverted triangle of gold emblazoned across its chest like a shield, and huge glowing yellow eyes. If Stan had to guess what Ford’s crazy cryptid publications thought he looked like, this would be it. 

“What the h—” He didn’t even get the cuss fully formed in his mouth before a tentacle or something shot out of its arm and slapped him across the face like an offended mother. 

“Meet your replacement, Spider Man!” It spoke with no mouth, its voice somehow simultaneously gravely and whiney. “I’m Venom! I look forward to outclassing you in the future!” It scuttled away before he could respond, like a cockroach, human shaped, but inhuman movements. It gave him the willies. He wasn’t sure he wanted to follow after it.

So he didn’t. Whatever that cryptid was, and whatever it wanted with him, it didn’t really matter. He was going to be gone by this time tomorrow, and from what Ford said, most of the local weirdness didn’t leave Roadkill County. He had much bigger fish to fry. Hopefully whatever that was didn’t kill these jerks. Sure, these guys were ruining his life just when he was thinking things might finally go his way for a change, and they’d probably kill him if they thought they could get away with it, but if Stan stopped caring about human life when it was convenient, he wouldn’t be any better than Rico.

Thankfully, they were all still alive, but whatever that thing had been, it had obviously roughed them up. What’s more, none of them remembered a thing about him. They all huddled in the corner like a bunch of scared kittens as soon as he entered the room, and none of them recognized him, or even remembered the last 24 hours. What the heck was that thing, and what had it done to them?

-line break-

Everyone slept in the next morning, and everyone looked exhausted once they finally pulled themselves out of bed and to the kitchen for breakfast. 

“Is your insomnia acting up again?” Ford asked McGucket between guzzling cups of coffee. 

“Eh, not exactly.” Fiddleford’s gaze was glued to his own mug. “I, uh, had some calculations I had to work on late last night.”

Ford nodded. His friend had always triple checked their calculations instead of just double checking. 

“You?”

“Oh, well I was…” Ford felt the condensed ball of black and yellow goo in his pocket twitch. “I was studying the meteorite that saved us unexpectedly.”

Stan rolled into the kitchen with a loud groan. “Yeesh, what a night.” He yanked the coffee pot out of Ford’s hand without even asking. “I was packing until I thought things were probably quiet enough at the police station I could slip out there and interrogate Rico’s goons, see how much they know before I try and get him off you guys’s trail. Only when I get there, all their minds have been wiped by some weird black and yellow tentacle cryptid!”

Ford and McGucket both looked at him with surprise. 

“You think the cryptid wiped their minds?” Ford asked incredulously.

“No, Ford, I think some other random thing came along and wiped their minds before I found them with the cryptid.” Stan answered sarcastically. “Seriously, what else could it be? Unless you know some other kinda weird thing that can erase minds.”

The researcher glanced at his assistant, whose eyes were once again glued to his mug. “No creatures that I’m aware of, no, but that sound suspiciously like—” 

“Y’know, I reckon I saw that cryptid last night too.” Fiddleford interrupted him. 

“Really, when?” Ford asked, surprised. 

“Oh, eh, I was, er, on the porch, uh, emptyin’ out my spitoon right before I went to sleep late last night, thought I saw it up in the trees. Human shaped, black silhouette with a yellow triangle on its chest and big ol’ yellow eyes.”

“Yep, that’s the same one I saw.” Stan nodded. 

Ford frowned. He thought he’d been so careful not to be spotted when he came home last night!

“Well, it's not a cryptid I’m familiar with.” Ford said.

“Great, sounds like you’ll have something new and exciting to study instead of my dumb powers.” Stan said, finishing off his mug of coffee before slinging his duffle back over his arm. “Welp, better hit the road. I’ve already wasted enough daylight sleeping in so late today.”

Ford grabbed him roughly by the arm. “Stanley, wait! Surely the fact that their minds have been erased buys us some time?”

“Sure it does. That’s why I can’t waste it.”

“I can’t just let you leave and put yourself in danger to protect me! I’m not a helpless child anymore!”

Stan sighed, turning away from his brother. “Ford, we’ve been over this. Stop making it more difficult than it has to be.”

“No! I’m not letting you leave like this!” His grip on his brother’s arm tightened and he felt the symbiote crawl out of his pants pocket and slip under his shirt.

Stan turned back to his brother and grinned dangerously. “I’d really love to see you try and stop me, Sixer.”

“I’m more than capable of protecting myself!” Ford growled.

“Good, that means you don’t need me anymore!” Stan went to yank his arm out of his brother’s grip.

It didn’t budge.

Stan looked at his brother with eyes as big as saucers. He’d never seen Stanford so furious, not even when he’d confronted Stan about the broken spider habitat. The con man was about to ask his brother what the big deal was, when McGucket spoke up again. 

“Y’know, I do have an idea that might make this whole argument a moot point.” 

The brothers looked at him expectantly. 

“These folks couldn’t find any of us, if we moved our research to a secret bunker in the middle of the woods.”

Stan looked at the inventor incredulously. “You, uh, you just got one of those lying around, do ya?”

“No, but there’s plenty o’ tunnels and the like under this here valley, wouldn’t be too difficult to fit one out for our needs. I’d already been thinkin’ about buildin’ one, just in case the portal goes critical—”

Stan paled, “Is that likely?”

Fiddleford didn’t answer Stan’s question, but he did shoot a meaningful glance at Ford, “—so I’ve already got a location in mind and some basic schematics drafted. Shouldn’t take more’n a day or two to build with the proper help.”

Ford’s demeanor immediately brightened. “That’s perfect!”

Stan was more apprehensive. He’d already made peace with his decision. This was always going to happen sooner or later. Leaving while Ford still wanted and cared about him was honestly the highest note he could go out on.

Obviously sensing his brother’s hesitation, Ford yanked his duffle bag out of his hands. 

“You’re staying.” 

It wasn’t a suggestion or even a declaration. It was a demand. One with a far more aggressive edge to it than Stan was used to hearing in his brother’s voice. Not that Ford couldn’t be aggressive. Just not about this kind of thing. In the past it had only ever been when he was defending his scientific research, or his nerdy interests, or even the rare occasions when he would talk back to his bullies. 

Finally deciding that the argument was no longer worth the effort, Stan rolled his eyes and left the kitchen. “Guess I’ll go unpack then.”

Ford turned his intense gaze to Fiddleford. “What did you do with the memory gun?”

McGucket did a spit take in surprise. “I-I dismantled it days ago, I told ya!”

“Really? Then why do none of the criminals from yesterday remember the last 24 hours? Or the Spider Man, for that matter?”

“S-stanley could be mistaken. They could just be playin’ dumb to try and fool him!”

“And more tellingly, why did Stan assume their memories were erased by the cryptid? Why didn’t he even ask you about the possibility that your memory gun had been used?”

“B-because he knew I dismantled it!”

“Stanley isn’t that trusting, or stupid! Even if he was 100% certain that you’d dismantled it, he would have asked you if you thought anyone might have swiped the blueprints, or if you’d ever shared the designs with anyone outside of the three of us. Unless he somehow forgot about its existence altogether.”

Fiddleford’s face contorted into a guilt-stricken frown, clearly caught in his lie. “Stanford, I’m so sorry—”

“Where is it?” Again, it wasn’t a simple question or a suggestion. It was a demand. One with more fire behind it than even Ford’s thesis defense. 

“P-please, I need it! I-I’m not like you, I-I can’t live with this knowledge! Without it, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, it’s like every moment I’m just waitin’ for an alien invasion or— or some monster to come crashin’ out o’ the woods, o-or that th-thing you’re obsessed with to-to do somethin’!”

“I told you, that device is far too dangerous!”

“No more dangerous than your portal! I’m still running the simulations, but there is definitely a non-zero chance it’ll go critical.”

“They said there was a non-zero chance the first nuclear bomb tests would ignite the entire atmosphere.” Ford scoffed. “You’re a brilliant engineer, I know you’ll be able to find a way to mitigate the risk.” 

“Oh, so that’s it? My concerns are just unfounded hogwash, but I should throw away the only thing that makes it possible for me to sleep at night just cuz you’re worried about possible misuse?”

Ford fixed his friend with a dark glare. “My device can’t be used on the unsuspecting without their consent.”

“Oh, really Stanford?” McGucket put his hands on his hips. “You plannin’ on gettin’ a permission slip from Town Hall when it’s time to power up that portal? How about the State Legislature? The White House? The United Nations givin’ you the go ahead?”

Ford gripped his friend’s shoulder tightly and it was anything but calming. “Where. Is it?”

The sound of shattering glass broke them out of their intense staring contest. They turned to see Stan with the memory gun broken in his grasp, smaller bits of it littering the floor at his feet. 

“Super hearing, remember?” He grunted. “I remembered the thing as soon as Ford mentioned it.” He tossed the two largest pieces in the trash and grabbed a dustpan to sweep up the fragments on the floor. “All I had to do was dig around your room for a bit.” 

Fiddleford looked stricken, as broken as the memory gun sitting in the trash. “H-how could you?” He whispered.

“Look, I get it.” Stan said sympathetically. “I swear I do. But do ya really think I’m gonna trust you with that thing again after you used it on me against my will?” 

The inventor didn’t seem to be able to hear him. “How could you!?” He exploded. “How could you doom me to this— this madness!? To the eyes and the laughter—”

“Yeesh, dramatic much?” Stan rolled his eyes. 

That was the last straw, Fiddleford stormed out of the room, and they heard the front door slam open and shut as well, followed by the sound of the McGucket’s truck revving up and speeding away.

-line break-

Ivan was sitting by the side of the road anxiously wringing his hands. The carnival was packing up, and his coworkers were shooting him glares for not helping, but he'd agreed to meet someone here. Someone important.

He was surprised when the truck he was expecting came early. Fiddleford McGucket climbed out, shaking like a leaf. 

"Oh thank goodness you're still here!" The inventor hugged Ivan like a lifeline.

"Of course, sir, I told you I'd wait after what you showed me last night."

"The prototype was destroyed this morning. Have ya still got the upgraded version I left with you for safe keeping?"

Ivan nodded and pulled out the fancy wooden box McGucket had given him last night. The inventor breathed a sigh of relief and opened it up, revealing a new memory gun. His shaking stopped the moment he held it in his hands.

"It ain't safe to keep this here computermajig where I'm stayin' anymore. Can I trust you to keep it safe a while longer?"

"I'd be honored, sir!"

McGucket clapped the younger man on the back. "You, me, an' this here device is just the start of something big. I already got other folks in mind. We're gonna save this town. Welcome to the Society of the Blind Eye."

FFW EEJB HBAZE A GIVL WM LA DGEPFE HBSF AJTDP USGGDW WKEJQBA UGJL. XZVV WZ A’Y NDTCZVU CL EYXX EEL IMAZE LAI JGAVAARW MS TWBNJAJ ZBQ ZVGNWMB GY SLBFCYTR HHWJMGMAZE KBBVZ, HBSF RZBRX KCODP QLBPC LC MGYC VTQROS.

[marypsue]

Symbiote Ford AU portal shenanigans! Bet you all thought you'd seen the last of this particular piece of self-indulgence. :)

I'm also on AO3 as MaryPSue!

...

The first warning anyone has of the intruder is when it steps into the middle of the war room.

Instantly, everyone’s on their feet, weapons drawn. Anyone who can get through the multiple levels of hologram diversions and security failsafes without triggering a single alarm is a big enough threat that a few laser knives and percussion guns aren’t going to do much, but if there’s one thing that every soul in the resistance movement shares, it’s a complete unwillingness to go down without a fight. 

The intruder stops, in the doorway, and stands still for a moment. Jhen notices with the clarity that comes with pure, undiluted panic that it’s small, under six feet, with no obvious spines or claws under the hooded cloak it’s wrapped in. Of course, that doesn’t mean anything - there are plenty of vicious weapons that can be easily hidden on someone’s person, especially under something like a cloak - but somehow she’d expected one of Bill Cipher’s assassins to look...scarier. 

The intruder raises two arms, slowly, the cloak falling aside, and Jhen catches herself lowering her blaster. She whips it back up again, training the humanoid figure of the intruder (only four limbs? Really?) in its sights, but it’s strange. The sense of danger, the heart-pounding terror when she’d first noticed the intruder, is fading fast, replaced by a sense of...familiarity?

The intruder grasps the hood of its cloak, and slowly, carefully, lowers it. The face it reveals is unfamiliar - a pale pink-orange, with a fluff of something brownish on top and two glass squares sitting in front of what Jhen assumes must be the eyes - but it isn’t the face that catches Jhen’s eye.

No, what Jhen notices first are the gently-wafting pink frills on either side of that unfamiliar face. 

She isn’t the only one. Across the table, Zarek shoots her a warning look. “We don’t know that that’s -” he starts, but Jhen ignores him, holstering her blaster and loping across the floor towards her friend.

The host startles backwards at Jhen’s rapid approach, but she gets no fear from his response, only a natural apprehension at something so much bigger than him moving towards him at high speeds. “Rahn! You made it back!”

Rahn lets out a squeaking noise when Jhen scoops his new host up into a six-armed hug, but it quickly turns into a laugh. He brushes his shoulders off when she plants him back on his feet so she can stare, accustom herself to the sight of his new host. “You’re so tiny.”

“Maybe it’s you who’s huge,” Rahn teases back, and Jhen barks out a laugh. 

“You haven’t changed one bit,” she says, reaching out to tap that funny protuberance in the middle of his new face with one fingertip.

The golden pulse of joy and relief that Jhen’s been getting from her friend suddenly sours. He reaches up with one hand, adjusting the glass plates in front of his face, an automatic nervous gesture that seems familiar and natural to him and yet, one that Jhen doesn’t recognise.

“Unfortunately, you’re wrong on that count,” Rahn says, and then holds out one of those absurd, tiny arms. Jhen has her blaster half-drawn before she realises it’s not holding a weapon. He’s just extended a hand to her with nothing in it. She blinks at it. “It’s...very nice to meet you...again? My name is Ford. Stanford Pines.”

...

Rahn - or "Ford", he's very patient about it but it's impossible to miss how it upsets him if someone uses his old name - has some issues adjusting for size and general body shape (no hard carapace? or venomous fangs? or prehensile tail? Jhen is a little surprised anything like "Ford" managed to survive long enough in the wild to evolve sentience). Otherwise, though, he slots right back into the group as though Rahn had never left.

A few of the more...physical jokes have to be cut from everyone's repertoire, of course, but apart from that, it's the same sense of humour behind that squishy pink exterior. He's got a few new dietary restrictions (although "Ford"'s stomach is surprisingly resilient for something that's otherwise so vulnerable, and it quickly becomes one of his favourite jokes to see if he can eat something everyone else considers inedible, which leads to no fewer than six medbay visits before Alta tells him to knock it off), but still goes back for seconds of most of his favourite foods. And, perhaps most importantly (to Zarek, at least), he remembers everything about their efforts so far to stop Bill Cipher, and is not only willing but able and determined to pick up where Rahn left off. 

The quantum destabiliser slowly starts taking shape again, under "Ford"'s guidance. Even though Zarek won't let anyone abandon the contingency plans they'd put into place when they'd thought they'd lost Rahn for good, for the first time since she'd seen her friend go down in a burst of blue flame, Jhen feels like they might actually have a chance.

...

Jhen finds R- Ford (she’s getting used to the name, but it still feels strange to call her old friend something new) up on the observation dock, leaning his elbows against the railing and looking down at something in his hands, oblivious to the magnificent starfield visible through the clear dome. She’s still learning human ‘facial expressions’, but she knows she hasn’t read this one wrong.

Jhen notices the fronds draped against the sides of Ford’s neck don’t perk up at her approach. He must really be lost in thought. She makes sure to clear her throat as she walks up behind him. “I thought you might be hungry. Stuffed bonnok leaf?”

Ford jumps at the sound of Jhen’s voice, nearly dropping the thing in his hands over the railing. There’s a heartstopping moment where he scrambles for it, and Jhen has to grab him by the belt to keep him from toppling over and falling the length of the station.

Finally, though, one of his funny many-appendaged hands closes around the little rectangle of worn paper, and Jhen hauls him back over the railing. She only catches a glimpse of the paper before Ford stuffs it hurriedly back into his pocket. 

“Thank you,” he says, a little breathlessly, straightening up and adjusting his ‘glasses’. “I - yes. I was hungry.” He takes the stuffed bonnok leaf that Jhen offers, leaning back against the railing before he peels back the foil and takes a bite. His gaze turns skyward, and he munches thoughtfully through the stuffing, fronds waving agitatedly.

“What’s the matter?” Jhen asks, and Ford freezes, both face and fronds, before relaxing against the railing with a sigh.

“You’re getting very good at parsing human emotions,” he says, ruefully.

Jhen ‘grins’, one of those ‘facial expressions’ that she’s picked up from him, curling back her lips to reveal all her teeth. “You’ve never been able to hide how you’re feeling from me. Remember the time that -”

The feeling that bubbles off of Ford is like a blast of winter air. Jhen stops mid-sentence.

“I remember,” Ford says sharply. “But that wasn’t me.”

“What?” Jhen asks. Even as the word comes out of her mouth, she knows she’s made a mistake.

“You’re remembering Rahn,” Ford says, looking down at his bonnok leaf. He’s drawn back the icy anger, but now his thoughts and his emotions are all locked down, carefully controlling what he projects. Jhen can’t get a read on him at all. “I remember him too, but - he’s gone, Jhen.” The way he struggles to form the sounds of her name with his flat face, more than anything else, drives the truth like a frozen nail into her heart. “This isn’t like a molt, isn’t just a matter of switching bodies like shedding an old skin. He’s gone.”

It's said with a sort of heavy finality, and the way that Ford turns back to stargazing tells Jhen quite clearly that the conversation is over. She leans back against the railing herself, unwrapping her own bonnok leaf and downing it in two bites.

"Is that why you're upset?" she ventures, once she's crumpled the foil wrapper from her bonnok leaf into a ball and eaten that too. "Because you miss being Rahn? Or -"

"Because I miss being Ford," Jhen's friend says, the words clipped and angry. He scrubs a hand through the funny tuft of 'hair' that tops off his head, letting out a sigh, and his shoulders slump. "I understand that, for you, it feels like your friend came back from the dead. And I don't mean to single you out, it's not you, it's everyone. But - you all remember Rahn, and I do too, but none of you know anything about me as Ford. And no one has cared to find out."

Jhen carefully doesn't tell him that she doesn't understand what he means. He'll be getting it loud and clear from her thoughts, he doesn't need her to be rude enough to repeat it out loud like she doesn't know how it will make him feel to hear it. Rahn had always hated -

"You can't keep assuming things about me based on what you knew about Rahn," Ford interrupts, half-turning to meet Jhen's eyes. 

"But they're always right," Jhen argues, before she can stop herself, and Ford pinches the bridge of his 'nose' between two of the six (six! who even needs that many fingers? Jhen gets along just fine with half that number) appendages on one of his hands.

"They're always right because I'm remembering -" He stops, takes a deep breath in, and lowers his hand from his face. "Today, until about twenty minutes ago, I was convinced that I was hatched from a nursery on Theta-144."

"But you were -" Jhen starts, and Ford throws his arms in the air, bringing his hands down to tug at his hair.

"No! Rahn was!" He stares at her, a little wild, and when he speaks Jhen gets the feeling that he's repeating the words as much for his own benefit as for hers. "Stanford Pines was born in Glass Shard Beach in New Jersey on Earth in nineteen...nineteen fifty-something, not hatched!"

Jhen feels like she ought to say something, but she's not sure what.

Ford shakes his head, letting his arms and his fronds droop. "Never mind. I'm not certain it even matters." He turns around, to lean out over the railing again, his head tilted up to look at the stars. "And it's not as though I'll ever see home again," he says, and Jhen knows he isn't talking to her. "Maybe it's better this way."

Most days, the observation deck buzzes softly with echoes of the activity taking place through all the levels of the station. Right now, though, it seems very, very silent.

Jhen clears her throat, uncomfortably.

"What's a New Jersey?" she asks.

[seiya234]

that darn @marypsue keeps making au’s that i want to write fics of. she’s a jerk

----

“Grunkle Ford?”

Ford looked up from the innards of this ‘Roomba’ that he was fixing for the grandmother of the odd gopher manbaby (Soos, use his name now) to see his niece come careening in.

“Yes, how can I help you?”

Mabel beamed at him.

“How do you know that you’re still you?”

“Err…. Say again dear girl?”

Mabel gently pushed aside some of the tools and gears and other metal bits that were spread out on his desk, then less gently jumped up to sit on it, failing to ask permission to do so.

“Okay so Sir Frillby of Cutietown-“

Ford opened his mouth to once again remind Mabel that the symbiote did not have a name or even a personality or separate identity, remembered the last fifteen times he tried to explain that and failed, and closed his mouth again.

“-how do you know he hasn’t absorbed your memories and you’re basically a recreation of yourself that thinks its you?”

“I… I hadn’t thought of that exactly.”

“Oooooh, how do you know where you end and Sir Frillby begins?”

“It doesn’t quite work like-“

“Grunkle Ford-“ Suddenly Mabel was standing up on the desk, the better to look dead into his eyes.

“Yes?” Ford asked weakly.

“Does Sir Frillby have to po-“

 “Mabel!”

The sound of his grandnephew upstairs was the sweetest thing Ford had heard all week.

“Coming Dipper!!” Mabel smiled sweetly at Ford again. “Can I come down and ask you more questions later?”

Ford had his doubts he could survive the next round of questioning.

[roseverdict]

GF x Venom (Movie) AU (beta edition)

so the gf server has come up with a venom au, and while i was writing in between calls at work, the au went in a different direction from what i was thinking. it's still EXCELLENT and i'll prolly write some of that at some point but HERE'S THE SNIPPET I WROTE TODAY >:D

disclaimer: my venom knowledge consists of

what i've picked up from tumblr

what i've learned since we all collectively went feral over symbiote gravity falls

what's stuck with me after watching the movie for the first time last night at 12 AM

so any inconsistencies in venom lore can be blamed on that sodhaodnskdjskd

have fun figuring out who the symbiotes are!!!

〜

(setting: stan still came when he got the postcard, but bill made his move between "ford sending the postcard" and "stan arriving in gravity falls." instead of ford's cabin in the woods, ford has an Entire Laboratory at this point out in the woods (separate from his house- no ABW here!!!) and THAT'S where things go south. stan showed up at ford's house and, when nobody was home for days at a time, he decided to try and explore the town. however, doing that takes Money, and Money is something he does not have, hence signing up for symbiosis.)

(this scene: stan's volunteered for symbiosis. maybe he's unaware that the whole symbiosis thing is ford's idea (and by ford's i mean bord's)? and bord isn't there to oversee his attempt at symbiosis so this means stan doesn't see ford('s body) standing there and go HEY WHAT THE F U C K)

〜

Stan swallowed as the door locked behind him. "Hey, uh…This is safe, right?"

The speakers crackled.

"That's what we're here to find out." One of the scientists replied.

That…was not encouraging.

Stan didn't say so out loud, however. Part of the reason was because if he started chickening out, he was worried they'd tell him to just leave.

The other part was because he was too busy staring at the roiling, bubbling mass in the center of the room.

Navy blue and a magenta so deep it was purple tumbled over each other as the whatever-it-was approached him.

Stan's blood froze.

He couldn't move.

He couldn't look away.

He couldn't run.

He couldn't do anything.

The mass of blue and purple rolled up against his ratty boots, then began climbing up and up his pant leg until finally reaching his chest.

Stan managed a high-pitched, hysterical chuckle, staring at the thing with wide eyes. "Uh, hello."

And then-

-his nerves lit on fire.

Stan couldn't hold back a scream as he stumbled back against the glass, but the pain was already subsiding.

The thing had vanished.

Somehow, Stan knew it wasn't gone.

STAN.

Stan screamed again and stumbled back. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

〜

The next thing Stan knew, he tumbled to the ground as if he'd just been tossed in a prison cell. He cracked a bleary eye open and glanced behind him, but the probably-not-actually-glass door had already sealed itself.

Just perfect.

Stan groaned and rolled onto his back. This was what he got for not reading the fine print.

There was an overwhelming urge to get to his feet, so that's what he did.

He blinked. What the-?

His feet led him in pacing circles around the tiny room.

Normally, he would've done rounds through his latest prison cell anyway, looking for any weaknesses he could exploit to escape. It was what he'd done every other time he'd been jailed, and he'd had no intention of stopping just because it was a science prison.

The fact that his feet had started moving without any input from him, however, snapped him back to full awareness in a blink.

His stomach rumbled.

He had to get out of here.

Heavy footsteps came down the hall outside, and Stan threw himself into the far corner, hiding his face from the window…though he wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe he was still half-asleep and figured he could pretend to be a basket case until he escaped?

Stan didn't know, but he just rolled with it anyway, even as his heartbeat sped up against his will.

"…reckon this can't be sustainable." Someone said. "Even you've gotta agree-!"

"Are you questioning me?" A guttural voice growled.

The first person squeaked. "O'-o' course not! I just figured, maybe having the…the volunteers…dropping like flies might not be effic-EEP!"

"Unless you want to be a volunteer, I suggest you keep your mouth shut," the other hissed. "You know what happened last time one of you 'raised concerns' over this."

"Mm-hmm! Mm-hmm!" The first speaker managed, clearly terrified out of his mind.

"Good. I'm off to check the other subjects. You just make sure Forrester is settling in." The deeper voice said, seemingly cheerfully.

The heavy footsteps stomped away, and Stan chanced a look at the door.

One of the scientists stood there, pale as a ghost. He lifted his glasses and pinched the bridge of his incredibly-long nose before turning to look into Stan's cell.

And then he froze.

He glanced off to the side, most likely looking at the man he'd just been speaking with.

He looked back at Stan, a horrified recognition in his eyes.

Before Stan could wonder what it meant, however, the scientist hurriedly tapped something into the side of the wall next to the door, then scurried off.

A screen on Stan's side of the wall flickered on, and he cautiously crept up to it to read.

'Wait for half an hour. The lights will dim and the door will open. Get out. Get help. We're all in grave danger. -F'

Stan's eyes widened, and a split second later, a second rush of understanding shot through him.

The scientist was…going to try to bust him out?

None of it made any sense- how had seeing Stan's face brought this on? What sort of danger were they all in? What had happened 'last time'?- but Stan still settled in to wait.

If worst came to worst, he could always just try breaking out on his own. He could handle one more escape.

He shouldn't have to.

But he could if he needed to.

Time crawled by more and more slowly the longer Stan waited. He counted the number of tiles in the floor, he traced imaginary pictures in the frosted glass of the door, and he reread F's message over and over again. It was almost like being a kid again, wanting to ask "Are we there yet?" every five minutes.

And then the humming of the lights went quiet, and the tiny room grew dim, and the door rose up into the ceiling.

F came through.

He decided he liked F.

Stan slunk up beside the door and listened carefully.

There were panicked sounds down the halls, but none of them seemed to be coming closer.

...he'd take it!

Stan darted out into the hall and sprinted as fast as his out-of-shape, probably-feverish body could take him, passing the rest of the cells at lightning speed.

That was his first (well, second, really, if he counted whatever had happened before he passed out) clue that something was off.

He ignored it for the time being.

He raced past the labs, distantly noticing the opened containment unit that'd held the whatever-it-was that they'd made melt into him.

NOT WHAT. WHO.

Stan flinched at the childish voices, whipping around to try and locate them, only to find himself alone in the hall.

NOT ALONE.

"...I'm losing my mind." Stan decided, turning to run even faster.

EXCUSE YOU?

"Ignoring that!"

Stan burst from the main labs at top speed, mere moments before an alarm began blaring. "SPECIMEN HDMP2 HAS ESCAPED! SPECIMEN HDMP2 HAS ESCAPED!"

"Shit." Stan hissed, leaping down a staircase and barrelling around to the next. "If this lab has a lockdown procedure, I'm screwed!"

DON'T BE SO SURE.

"Wait, what-?!"

But Stan's hand shot off to the side of its own accord, grabbing onto the handrail and yanking him over the edge as he screamed.

He plummeted down the stairwell, dropping all the way to the bottom of the building in just a few moments and landing without injuring himself at all.

That...should not have been possible.

From above, the deep voice from before roared, "THERE HE IS!"

Stan decided to focus on escaping first, then he would try to figure out the how and why his escape was even possible.

GOOD PLAN.

He sprinted for the doors and went to push them open, but they flew off their hinges instead, crash-landing a few feet away.

He gulped. "Don't like that!"

"GET BACK HERE!" shrieked the voice, heavy footsteps charging closer.

Stan glanced over his shoulder, only intending to see whether he had time to run or if he needed to dive out of the way-

-and.

He.

Froze.

Ford was chasing him down, but his hair was in disarray and his bared teeth were too sharp and his eyes had no pupils and his voice was two octaves too deep, because never ONCE had Ma told him about his twin's voice changing so drastically.

The voices Stan was convinced were hallucinations went deathly-quiet, then...

wait, you're like us?

Right. Hallucinating. Escaping. That was a thing.

Stan swallowed, then ran out the door, his heartbeat pounding louder in his ears than his feet on the pavement.

He needed to get away from this place.

He needed to get to his car.

He needed to get out of town.

He needed to run, run, run away as fast as he could.

Ford, or whatever Ford had become, skidded to a halt at the entryway, unable or unwilling to leave the premises, and he howled in rage.

Stan bit back a curse.

He needed to figure out what the hell had happened to his brother.

But first, he needed to eat something.

[hrodvitnon]

Titan:Symbiotes and their hosts, doesn’t have to be the ones I say it could be any, I didn’t create the idea

Goji with Serizawa

Vivienne with Rodan: only if she doesn’t share Goji with Serizawa

Mothra with Ilene Chen

Battra with Ling Chen

Kong with Jia or Ilene Andrews

Goji Jr with Maddie

Ghidorah with Ren until San breaks away from his brothers

San with Maia

Caesar with that Princess character

Barb with Sam or Ford Brody

Dagon, not a fucking clue

And for the rest of the Titans, I don’t know

Funnily enough, there was an ask or two in which symbiote!Mothra bonded with Ling and much flirting with Vivi ensued... I should do more Symbiote AU stuff.

[breezy-cheezy]

Psychonauts Daemon AU

The concept of daemons is borrowed from the His Dark Materials series. A daemon is a person’s soul manifested outside of their body in a tangible, physical form, which permanently settles into the form of the animal that most resembles them in character as the individual matures. Human and daemon are not separate beings, but two halves of one mental coin, which means that they each know everything the other does, thinks, and senses. Dæmons are almost always the opposite gender of their human counterparts, and have a distinct personality compared to their humans to a certain degree, as human and daemon represent different aspects of the same whole.

(Shout out to @x-i-l-verify​ who was and is very helpful in planning this au, and much of this post’s format is inspired by her own daemon aus.)

RAZPUTIN AQUATO + LUMISTEA (CARRION CROW)

(Since Raz is only ten years old in Psychonauts, he’s rather young and not necessarily settled yet. This is just me guessing what form his soul might settle as, the way he’s going now.) 

Carrion crows can be solitary nesters, but they also form monogamous pair bonds and mate for life. They may end up forming family groups with their young, and during the winter they will join mixed species flocks of birds, showing a flexible social structure. Carrion crows are highly intelligent birds and have proven to be very quick learners. They have many innovative ways of solving problems and obtaining food, such as dropping shelled nuts on the road so cars can run over the hard food and open it for the crows to eat. These crows will make their nests out of anything available and have a very wide diet, including but not limited to carrion, bugs, human scraps, nuts, and berries. They will also steal food from birds of prey and foxes when given the chance. Carrion crows will confront large birds of prey and any other birds that might invade their territory, even joining in mobs with their neighbors to help fight off offenders. These bold birds will go anywhere there’s food, being wary but not especially fearful of humans. Carrion crows can be very playful and will often do things like slide down snowy hills for fun. They also have a strange obsession with fire and often bring burning materials back to their nests, when most other animals would avoid fire entirely. 

Raz is persevering, confident, and supportive. Lumistea is Raz’s problem-solving, practical, adaptable side. Both sides are quite playful.

Name Analysis:

Lumistea is an amalgamation of the Romanian words for “bright” (luminos) and “star” (stea).

LILI ZANOTTO + DEMETRIO (MAHOGANY GLIDER)

(Same deal as Raz. Lili is still too young to really settle, but this is my guess as to what form her soul might take based on how her personality is currently developing.)

Pairs of mahogany gliders are monogamous, and each pair will aggressively attack other gliders that invade their territory. Despite being socially monogamous, pairs tend to forage alone and sleep in separate dens. Foraging alone makes the species less conspicuous to predators like owls, so their independence is mostly in defense against predators on their part.  Mahogany glider pairs defend their territory by each patrolling borders separately. This patrol is called a “foraging loop”, because it allows them more coverage, as well as allowing them to identify new food sources in their territory. The species is omnivorous and will change its diet seasonally in order to get the most nutrients out of available food rather than sticking with just one type of food. A pair has 6-13 dens within their territory so that they don’t have to always return to the same den when they make their foraging loop. Despite being rather quiet, these gliders have a high metabolism and are very active and mobile. They often prefer more open habitats so they can make longer glides from the tops of tall trees, which suits their larger body size.

Lili is defensive, proactive, and stubborn, while Demetrio shows her more anxious, quiet, and sentimental side.

Name Analysis:

Demetrio is the Italian, Portuguese and Spanish form of Latin Demetrius, which means "loves the earth" or "follower of Demeter." Demeter was the goddess of corn, grain, and the harvest. It was believed that Demeter made the crops grow each year.

SASHA NEIN + ATHENE (GHARIAL)

Gharials are solitary, specialized hunters; they employ a 'watch and wait' style to eat fish almost exclusively, and are therefore dependent on good fish supplies. They only leave the water to bask and nest, and they tend to revisit the same basking spots. Gharials are polygamous and spend a great deal of their time alone. When they do come together to bask and nest communally, it’s mainly incidental with little social bonding. Gharials will tolerate other gharials in their immediate vicinity when basking, and nesting females will tolerate fellow nesting females. They are only really territorial during the breeding season. While not involved in any sort of young-rearing process, males will readily allow hatchlings (not necessarily their own) to climb and sit on top of them. On the other hand, gharial females are very dedicated mothers. After digging several 'trial' nests in the sand, they’ll lay their eggs and guard the nest through about 70 days of incubation. They’ll help to excavate  newly hatched young, then 'escort' their young to the nearest body of water. Female gharials will stay near their young and protect them for a period of several weeks to several months. During this time the hatchlings usually stay together in groups near the female.  

Sasha is dedicated, calculating, and patient while Athene embodies his more protective, straight-forward, and picky side.

Name Analysis:

Athene is a variation of Greek myth name, Athena, which is the name of the goddess of wisdom. Plato fancifully derived her name from a-theo-noa, meaning "mind of God". Her Roman name is Minerva, which means "intellect".

MILLA VODELLO + TADEO (EGYPTIAN PLOVER)

The Egyptian plover is one of the tamest of birds, having been reported living happily alongside villagers and fishermen. It unearths worms, mollusks, insects and their larvae by probing with its bill in damp sand or by digging into the surface with both feet. This friendly, social bird can be found near desert river water in pairs, small groups, or large flocks, but almost never alone. They only seem territorial during breeding season, having no qualms about chasing off other invading plovers or birds of prey if it meant protecting their babies. The plover’s eggs are not incubated, but are buried in warm desert sand. To keep the sand from becoming too hot, the parents take turns sitting on the eggs with water-soaked bellies to cool them and keep the babies from burning to death. The chicks may even drink water from the adult's belly feathers after hatching. The Egyptian plover is sometimes referred to as the crocodile bird for its symbiotic relationship with crocodiles. According to Herodotus, the crocodiles lie on the shore with their mouths open and a bird called "trochilus" flies into the crocodiles' mouths so as to feed on decaying meat lodged between the crocodiles' teeth. There is no photographic evidence of this occurrence, but plovers have been observed to be remarkably bold in the presence of crocodiles and may run across their backs from time to time.

Milla is bubbly, compassionate and optimistic, while Tadeo represents her more enduring, protective, resourceful side.

Name Analysis:

Tadeo is the Spanish form of Latin Thaddaeus, meaning "courageous” or “large-hearted."

MORCEAU OLEANDER + JARONA (EASTERN CHIPMUNK)

Eastern chipmunks can be found in many places; they are tolerant of human habitation, sometimes burrowing under buildings when given the chance. They are omnivores with a wide diet of seeds, nuts, fruits, insects, worms, eggs, and mushrooms. They spend most of their time foraging for food on the ground, but they will also climb trees to obtain food. These chipmunks are solitary, polygamous animals; females are commonly left to raise their offspring on their own, while males leave to mate with more females. They’re great planners, constructing burrows with numerous entrances and exits, complicated tunnels, and chambers for storage and nesting. Each chipmunk will fiercely defend their territories from intruders. Their aggression is typically more vocal than violent, but fights will break out when other chipmunks ignore the territorial warning calls of the resident chipmunk. They conceal their burrow entrances with leaves and rocks in order to further avoid predatory attention. A chipmunk usually stays in its small home range its entire life, only venturing further during breeding season or when food is scarce. Despite being such solitary animals, chipmunks are also very vocal. They use a wide variety of chips, trills, and calls to defend their territories and to alert other chipmunks of predators in the area.

Oleander is blunt, passionate and highly assertive, while Jarona embodies his planning, ambitious and insecure side.

Name Analysis:

Jarona is the anglicized form of Hebrew Yarona, meaning "to shout and sing."

FORD CRULLER + FRITZI (ZEBRA LONGWING)

(Ford’s daemon is rather unstable due to his fractured psyche. When he moves away from the giant psitanium deposit and adopts one of his many different identities, his daemon tends to flicker and become a little fuzzy, like a photo out of focus. It kind of freaks people out.)

Zebra longwings will forage and roost alone, but are also likely to be found in both large and small groups. They roost communally at night in groups of up to 60 adults. This occurs nightly and they return to the same roost each time. In their groups they display a group-startle response, where all the gathered butterflies will react together in response to a disturbance, which deters predators. Zebra longwings usually live in a very stable, tropical environments, and they do not hibernate. Non-hibernating butterfly species live longer and have higher fitness than hibernating butterflies. Zebra longwings are a migratory species, but unlike most butterflies, they do not display wanderlust, nor are they known to migrate at particular times of the year. They do, however, migrate in order to locate resources and establish the most efficient paths to reach these resources. This species is surprisingly territorial, but it's mostly observed in males who guard their potential mates. Longwings are unusual in feeding on pollen as well as on nectar; the pollen enabling them to synthesize toxic substances in their bodies. They use their bright colors and contrasting wing patterns to warn others of their toxicity, asserting themselves as poisonous and unpalatable to any potential predators. 

Ford is good-natured, intuitive and cooperative, while Fritzi shows his more assertive, analytical, efficient side.

Name Analysis:

Fritzi is a pet form of German name Friederike, meaning "peaceful ruler."

~ . ~ . ~ . ~

SOURCES:

http://www.daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24702

http://www.daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24456

http://www.daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24590

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Egyptian_plover

http://what-when-how.com/birds/egyptian-plover-birds/

http://www.daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24671

http://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24271

[roandthetransformers]

TFP 15 Day Challenge: Day 5

Day 5: Let’s face it, we’d all like to experience the TF universe for realsies. Mostly. Anyways, ever have an OC or self-insert? Share them here! C R E A T I V I T Y !

Oh, I have so many OCs for TFP. I’ll try to be brief in my bragging about them. 

Rea Palmer: My first TFP OC, and the one for the story I’m co-writing with my sister. She is from a TFP Shattered Glass where she allies with the Decepticons and becomes Starscream’s adopted little sister. She is my lil rockstar, as I call it, and I have an rp blog for her I need to get on again sooner or later. 

Rowena/Cassandra: A self-insert for 2 stories likely never to be published, they both are the idea of a girl from our world dropped in TFP to change things. Rowena was dropped with the Autobots just as Darkness Rising started and tells the bots the truth about being from an alt universe, while Cassandra was dropped on the Nemesis and convinces Megatron she was a seer who was trying to help him win the war (Cassandra being an alias she takes to do so).

Coppertone: First Autobot OC, she was orphaned early in the war and raised by a squad of Autobots, her main caretakers being the squad commander and their medic. She is the niece of Takedown, and emulates her aunt’s fighting style using duel-pistols. Her alt mode is a Ford Mustang. Copper also falls into a Romeo & Julliet situation with N-Sync. Has a fanfic where she’s an MC, is a minor character in my Bayverse fic, and has an rp blog too. 

N-Sync, Bandit & Riser: Decepticon OCs, N-Sync is the sister of Soundwave, and Bandit and Riser are her symbiotes. N-Sync’s alt mode is a Reaper drone like Soundwave. Bandit and Riser, when not docked, look like a ferret and monkey, and their alt modes are a go cart and small plane. Is a very infamous Decepticons spy and infiltrator, but she follows her spark and leaves the Decepticons when she falls in love with Coppertone. Is the other MC of Coppertone’s fic, and is also a minor character in Bayverse.

Takedown: Coppertone’s aunt, she’s a neutral pirate who hates the war because it killed her brother ad sister in law (Coppertone’s parents) and she thought Coppertone was dead for vorns. She has a ship called the Ion Slice that she uses to pirate in. Is a minor character in Coppertone and N-Sync’s story

Roselight: My OC daughter for June and Optimus, Roselight is a sweetheart. She appears in three fics; my main June/OP fanfic as a newspark, a royalty AU as a sparkling, and another fic as the equivalent of a fourteen year old. 

Volatile: OC daughter for Bulkhead, she mainly acts as backstory for him in Rea’s fic. For that, Bulkhead thinks she was killed or kidnapped by Breakdown, when in truth, she was rescued by Breakdown and raised by the Stunticons, and later a neutral family. She is like a cybertronian version of Miko, and the fics where the two meet, they’re thick as thieves. 

[marypsue]

Another ficlet for the Symbiote Ford AU!

...

"Ford?”

Stan’s irritated. Bordering on furious? Strange. Ford casts his mind back, tries to think of anything he might have done to inspire such anger, but nothing comes to mind. He’s stayed in the basement, dismantling the portal and containing the rift. He’s kept away from the children. He’s done nothing to provoke Stanley’s wrath. 

“Ford? Dammit, are you down here?”

There’s a curious bitter edge to Stan’s anger, a curdling swirl of worry that swells with every second Ford doesn’t answer. That’s strange. What could Stanley have to be worried about?

“Ford, you better not have started up that damn portal and gone back through, or I swear I’m gonna hunt you down and bring you back just so I can punch you right in your smug face!”

Ah. Now that, Ford can understand, though Stan’s anger is still largely irrational. Why would he be concerned about Ford spending his time in the basement when that was what he’d practically told Ford to do? If anything, Stanley should be pleased. Grateful. 

“Come on, you big dumb genius, you gotta eat sometime.” Stan’s voice grows softer, his worry growing stronger the longer Ford doesn’t respond. “Ford?”

Ford tries to remember the last time he’d eaten. It wasn’t that long ago, surely? He’s running low on nutrient pills, but he hadn’t run out yet. That can’t be the reason why he feels so heavy, so weak, so...strange...

Oh. Well, that makes sense.

“Stan,” he croaks, and swallows hard, his throat rasping. “Stan?”

There’s a crash and a metallic clatter from the control room. Ford hopes that Stan hasn’t ruined anything irreplaceable. 

Ford blinks, and then Stan is kneeling in front of him, putting himself down at eye level with Ford. Ford tries to remember when he’d sat down on the floor, and can’t. At least he’d had the foresight to lean himself against a wall.

“Ford?” Stan’s asking, and he’s practically alight, great spikes of fear and little prickles of irritation and self-blame and fury, at Ford, at himself, at the symbiote - “What’s going on? What’s wrong with you?”

Ford blinks again, tries to gather his scattered thoughts. “I...miscalculated.”

“No shit, you miscalculated! What’d you do to yourself, you big - you stupid - you -” Stan gives up, throwing his hands up. His thoughts are like a lighthouse beam. Ford can practically feel himself leaning in towards them.

Wait. He is leaning in towards them, his fronds straining in Stan’s direction. Stan’s giving him a very concerned look. 

“Symbiote,” Ford manages. Yes, that’s a coherent English word. Well done, Ford. He gives himself a mental pat on the back. “Feeds on...brainwaves.”

Stan sucks in a breath. Strangely enough, his fear practically melts an instant after it spikes, burned away by blind fury. 

“Not eatin’...my brain,” Ford interrupts, before Stan can do or say something stupid. 

“Oh yeah? Then what the hell is it doing?”

Ford shuts his eyes, breathes. He can feel himself slowly pulling back together, with Stan here, but it’s still not nearly enough. 

“Thought it could subsist...on my brainwaves alone,” he says, slowly, hoping furiously that Stan doesn’t interrupt. He’s in no state to push anyone to do anything, and if Stan doesn’t listen and takes this the wrong way - “But I...still need...to eat.”

“So, what? You forgot you had to take care of yourself? Hate ta break it to ya, Sixer, but you can’t blame that one on the symbiote -”

“We both...need outside sustenance, Stanley,” Ford snaps. It’s a bad idea, takes too much out of him. He flops back against the wall.

Stan’s mind is whirling, but Ford can’t focus enough to process the jumble of thoughts and feelings bombarding him. He shuts his eyes again, and just lets the flood of thought wash over him.

“Right,” Stan says, finally, and pushes himself to his feet. Ford winces in sympathy at the random body aches that assault his twin. 

And then Stan walks away. Taking his brainwaves with him.

It’s so quiet in the basement. 

Ford isn’t sure how much time passes. He considers getting up, making his way up to the main floor and society and people, but just as quickly discards the idea. Even if Stanley weren’t hellbent on keeping Ford away from the children, Ford isn’t sure he’d even make it as far as the elevator. His legs are water, his arms lead. All he wants to do is sleep.

When Stan returns, it’s with a clatter and a clamour, stomping through the basement like a parade of elephants. Ford screws his eyes shut, but Stan just plops himself down beside Ford on the floor, his shoulder pressed against Ford’s. 

“Okay,” he mutters, and there’s a flutter of pages, and then Ford’s head is full of equations. 

Ford manages to pry his eyes open, glances over to see - Stan, sitting with his back against the wall, and what looks like one of Ford’s old theoretical physics textbooks open in his lap, his lips moving silently as he works through a series of proofs. Ford can feel the moment that comprehension clicks, a little burst of bright energy that, for just a moment, makes him feel like he’s just downed several shots of espresso. 

“Stan?” Ford asks, and Stan glances up from the page, his eyes narrowing.

“What? I hadda learn my way around this stuff to get your stupid portal up and working.”

“I - I didn’t realise -”

Stan grunts, but there’s a little ember of pride that glows in the depths of his thoughts as he turns back to the book. “Yeah, big surprise there. Just sit back, smart guy, and let’s get some, uh, brainwaves in you.” He darts a glance over at Ford, a glance he doesn’t think Ford sees, a little worried and a little fond. 

Ford tips his head back against the wall, pretending he didn’t see, and lets himself soak in the deluge of Stan's thoughts.

...

It’s quiet, being alone in his own head.

After nearly twenty years, Ford isn’t used to it. Isn’t good at it, anymore. That is, if he ever was. 

It’s just too quiet. He keeps expecting - something. Something other than the echoes of his own thoughts, rattling around the inside of his skull.

(something like cruel, nasal laughter)

The basement is quiet and isolated enough on its own that it makes the silence and emptiness in Ford’s head seem almost normal. And, of course, he no longer has to concern himself with getting enough social interaction to keep the symbiote fat and happy. He no longer has to concern himself with any of the symbiote’s needs or wants.

(all he has to do now is pick through the wreckage of his mind, his self, and try to sort out what actually belongs to him)

“Ford?”

Ford’s hands involuntary tighten on the edge of the desk, and he takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly before he turns to face Stanley. Stan’s expression is unreadable, but that means nothing. Most people’s expressions are largely unreadable, now. Ford’s trying to relearn what they all mean without the certain knowledge of the emotions behind them. 

He does better some days than others.

Today, it seems, is not one of the better days. Stan might be angry at him, or that might be pity. Ford decides it’s most likely too risky to try to assume. 

“Did you need something?” he asks, and Stan’s face shifts. Anger, then. Very well. Ford can deal with anger. 

“Were you planning on just moping around down here for the rest of the summer?” Stan demands, jabbing a finger into Ford’s chest. “The kids are going home tomorrow, and you’re not even going to come up and say goodbye?”

Ford looks down at Stan’s finger. It’s easier than meeting his eyes. 

“So now I assume you consider it safe for the children to interact with me?” he says, as coldly as he can manage. Stan rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, poindexter, I thought we got over this.”

“It was part of me, Stanley. For the last two decades! I beg your pardon if I haven’t just ‘gotten over this’!”

“That’s not -” Stan presses a hand to his forehead, huffing out a breath. “Look. Just come upstairs, okay? We’ll talk -”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk.”

Stan sucks in a breath, turns to look a little to his left and off into the middle distance. In the past, when he’s done this, he’s been counting slowly to ten in his head. Ford has no reason to believe he isn’t doing so now. 

“Maybe I don’t care what you want,” Stan says, finally. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure looks like what you want is to be left down here until you rot -”

“Maybe I do!”

Ford instantly regrets the outburst. He draws in a breath of his own, turning his back on Stan to avoid facing him. “I’ve braced the seams between the lower walls and the foundation, they should hold -”

“Ford,” Stan says, and that soft voice means pity, and Ford shrugs off the hand Stan rests carefully on his shoulder.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Stanley. You saved the world.” It takes a great deal of effort, but Ford manages to keep his voice steady as he adds, “You saved me. I owe you -”

“Did I?”

Ford looks up from his desk, but doesn’t turn around. He can feel his knuckles going white where he grips the edge of the desk, but he can’t seem to unclench his fingers from it.

“Ford, I don’t know what else I can do for you,” Stan says, and maybe that overripe-fruit too-easily-bruised softness in his voice isn’t pity. Maybe it’s hurt. Maybe it would be easier to tell if Ford could see his face. 

Ford doesn’t turn around.

“You can leave me alone,” he says, finally. 

“Dammit, Ford, look at me!” Stan shouts, slamming a hand against one of the arrays of computer towers that surround Ford’s desk. Ford flinches at the sudden noise. He wouldn’t have flinched if he’d known Stan’s mental state, if he’d known what Stan was about to do. He wouldn’t have shown Stan this moment of weakness. Useless. “I taught myself quantum physics to get you back, okay? I punched a nightmare from another dimension right in the face! When - when’s it gonna be enough for you?”

It’s the crack in Stan’s voice that finally gets Ford to turn. Stan’s scowling, but his shoulders are shaking. Unreadable. 

“I - this has nothing to do with you,” Ford says, and Stan hits the side of the computer tower again, hard, with the side of his fist. It makes an ungodly noise, and a few of the lights blink off. Ford hopes Stan hasn’t damaged anything too irreplaceable. 

“Nothing to do with -”

“It’s me,” Ford interrupts, shortly, before Stan can explode any further. “Everything that’s happened - the portal, Fiddleford, the rift, Weirdmageddon - it’s all because of me.” It takes conscious effort to draw in a breath. The very air feels charged, like the moment before a lightning strike. “It was all because I couldn’t bear to be alone. I understand that now.”

Stan shakes his head. If Ford had to put a name to his expression now, he’d pick ‘disbelief’. 

“No, listen,” Ford says, before Stan can tear off on some furious tangent that has nothing to do with the problem at hand. “I summoned Bill because I found my research at a standstill, yes, but that wasn’t why I let him share my body and mind. And I called on Fiddleford for engineering assistance, but that wasn’t why I asked him to move into the Shack with me. I wanted to protect my mind and my dimension from Bill, but...” 

He reaches up, tugs at the collar of his turtleneck. It can be as restrictive as it is comforting, and right now, it seems to be the former. “It was my fatal flaw. I spent the last thirty years chasing something, some imagined missing other half of myself, when I should have just - I should have known better. I should have learned.”

Stan’s voice is very soft, but very dangerous. “Shoulda learned what?”

Ford draws in a deep breath. “How to be alone.” He clasps his hands behind his back, forces himself to raise his chin, square his shoulders, feign confidence even though it feels as though he’s crumbling. “That I was meant to be alone.”

“Horseshit.”

Ford blinks. That’s not the response he’d expected. “I beg your pardon?”

Stan rests his fist against the computer tower, clenches and unclenches his fingers. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Ford’s. “I said, that’s a steaming load of horseshit, and I think you know it.”

“Stanley, don’t be ridiculous -”

“I’m not the one bein’ ridiculous here, Sixer.”

Ford glares. Stan matches his glare eye for eye.

In the end, it’s Stan who breaks first. His eyes drop towards his shoes, and when he looks back up, the intensity of his glare has softened, the anger muted. Ford doesn’t trust his judgement when it comes to faces, and this one is no different. It makes him uneasy. Can someone be angry with you and still care about you?

“You’ve never been alone,” Stan says. Ford can almost hear the you idiot tacked onto the end. “Not since before we were born. What made you think you shoulda been any good at it?”

“Well, the world ending when I wasn’t, for one thing,” Ford cracks, and Stan’s lips press together. Ford thinks he’s trying to hold back a laugh. Ford hopes he’s trying to hold back a laugh.

Stan huffs out a breath, at last, and Ford thinks he sees a trace of a smile in his expression.

“Come upstairs,” Stan says. “It sounds like what you need is a super-deluxe hot chocolate sundae with extra sprinkles. And you’re in luck, ‘cause I know just the girl who’d be delighted to make it for you.”

Ford considers refusing, for a moment. Considers the possibility of a (very short) future of living down here, away from the sun, on nutrient pills and recycled water. 

Considers Mabel’s idea of hot chocolate.

“All right,” he says, at last. “I’ll come up. Just to say goodbye to the children, you understand.”

“Oh, sure,” Stan says. “Sure. You want a maraschino cherry on that sundae?”

Ford considers, for a moment.

“Yes,” he says, at last. “I think I do.”

[marypsue]

Wrote a ficlet for the Symbiote Ford AU that I proposed a little while ago because I have no self-control. Warning for body horror and parasitism (well, mutualism, technically, but that’s not the term people usually block).

...

At first, Ford doesn't recognise the room he wakes up in. 

He flares his fronds, testing the space around him without having to get out of the very soft and comfortable bed he's found himself in, but there's nothing but the low-level chatter of small minds. Insects, or maybe rodents, busy in the walls and the corners. No other sapient thoughts. He's alone.

Wait. Fronds? He doesn't have - 

A throb of pain pulses through Ford's head, starting at the base of his skull, and his memories fracture. He remembers the oracle, Jheselbraum, remembers her taking him in.

He remembers the vat.

...

“You - you can really make it so that Bill can’t access my mind anymore?”

The seven-eyed oracle smiles, enigmatically. “I can’t. But I can introduce you to someone who can.”

He follows her down a twisting corridor, out into a smaller chamber that contains a large, soft, comfortable-looking bed, a desk covered in weird detritus that makes his heart clench with nostalgia, and, stretching from the floor almost to the ceiling, a clear glass vat.

Inside the vat, suspended, floats a pale, pink, eyeless, wormlike thing. It’s about as long as his torso and as thick around as his wrist. Its long, segmented tail is lined on either side with evenly-spaced spines, and at the very top of its tail, protruding from the rough oblong of featureless flesh that might, in another creature, have been a head, is a vicious-looking spike nearly three inches long. On either side of the oblong, three pale pink fronds wave gently in whatever viscous liquid the creature hangs suspended in.

As he steps up to the vat, the fronds flick towards him.

There’s a new mind in front of him, whirling, tangled, practically spitting sparks. The tenor of it tastes a little like the last mind he bonded with. Perhaps younger, less experienced, but simmering with the same determination and boiling with intellect. They will make a good match, and he projects as much in the mind’s direction.

He steps back, reeling. “Did that thing just -”

Jheselbraum is beaming. “Oh, good! If he reached out to you, that’s an excellent sign.”

He steps up to the vat again, reaching out to press a six-fingered hand against the glass. The worm-creature’s fronds flick towards him again, and again, his brain is bathed in that feeling of - warmth. Trust. “What is...he?”

“A Solovmachian. They’re symbiotic lifeforms that feed on brainwaves.” Jheselbraum clasps her hands in front of her, watching him carefully. “They need a host to be able to live outside of this kind of suspension. But as a result of how they process their diet, most compatible hosts become very strongly psychic.”

He presses his other hand against the glass as well. “And you think I should become his...host.”

“The psychic abilities you’d gain would be enough to keep Bill at bay. And this Solovmachian was previously bonded to a freedom fighter who dedicated his life to destroying Bill Cipher. The knowledge you could share -”

He doesn’t wait for the oracle to finish speaking. “I’ll do it.”

...

Ford pushes himself up to sit on the bed, running a hand through his hair. There’s a dull ache running all the way up his spine, and a muffled throb at the base of his skull, but he feels well-rested and -fed in a way he hasn’t in - years. Probably since before he fell through the portal. He owes Jheselbraum a debt of gratitude.

He gives his fronds another, experimental flick, scanning the room around him one more time even though he can see now that there’s no one else there. It’s strange, mostly because it isn’t strange - he has six brand new, inhuman appendages, attached to an equally brand new sixth sense, and yet, they feel as easy and natural to use as the fingers on his hands. He couldn’t begin to explain to anyone else how they work. They simply do.

Ford pushes himself to his feet, and then has to sit back down again immediately, head spinning. His balance is shot, and he hopes it’s not permanent. His head feels muffled, fuzzy, as though the inside of his skull has been lined in felt. Even remembering how quickly the bond had resolved and the host body had recovered its equilibrium last time isn’t particularly reassuring when the room won’t stop whirling around him.

“Shared memories,” Ford says, aloud, and tries not to be startled at the sound of his own voice. “Right.”

He shuts his eyes and rests his head in his hands until the spinning slows.

...

He’s lying facedown on something like a narrow, padded table, naked from the waist up, his face pressed into the cushioned ring affixed to one end of the table and his arms dangling over the sides. Trying to breathe normally. Trying not to think too hard about what he’s about to do.

“Just hold still,” Jheselbraum says, from somewhere behind him. “And try to relax. It’ll hurt less.”

He takes a deep breath in, and lets it out slowly, relaxing his shoulders. A wave of calm washes over him, and he recognises it as the same kind of feeling the - symbiote - had projected at him earlier. He tries to relax, to let it calm him, but the knot of dread at the pit of his stomach still winds and unwinds.

In that warm, reassuring voice, Jheselbraum says, “Now, this might pinch a bit,” and he shuts his eyes. 

The symbiote is cold as Jheselbraum drapes it along his spine, cold and a little slick with whatever the vat had been filled with. He can’t help the shiver, or the ones that follow as the symbiote’s spines skitter over his bare back, sliding its wormlike body upwards towards his skull. Seeking a place to - attach.

Another wave of calm, of reassurance, bathes his brain, and he settles into it, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing. There’s a sharp pinch at the small of his back, which quickly resolves into an ache, and he struggles to keep breathing deeply and evenly. Not to think about the thing’s spines sinking into his flesh, digging into his vertebrae, working themselves into the delicate and irreplaceable bundle of nerves that controls all of his motor functions - 

There’s another pinch, and another ache, a little higher up his spine, and then another, a little higher yet. He tries to keep focused on his breathing, not to worry about whether the numbness crawling up his back is a sign that he’s going to be paralysed. Not to think about the three-inch spike lying, waiting, pressed against the nape of his neck. It’s too late to turn back now.

He barely feels the pinch between his shoulders, the ones that climb his neck, as anything other than pressure. The feeling of calm is all around him, now, an ocean of stillness and easy tranquility in which he finds himself drifting. Any pain he might have felt, any fear, seems insignificant next to its immensity. He wonders, briefly, if Jheselbraum has drugged him somehow. 

He’s expecting a sudden, sharp stab to the base of his skull. And there is one, only...not nearly as hard or as swift or as painful as he’d expected. Instead, there’s a quick piercing pain like a needle sinking into skin, and then that dull aching pressure that must be the spike working its way into his brain, into the one thing he has left, into the very heart of what makes him who he is...

For just an instant, he’s seized by an abrupt, frantic terror of what’s happening to him, of what he’s stupidly chosen to do, to trust, has he learned nothing, when this turns out to be another trick he will never be able to escape, this is the end - 

And then the symbiote’s fleshy body settles flush against the back of his neck, and the final two spines slip neatly under his skin, anchoring themselves in the vertebra at the base of his skull. 

He opens his eyes.

He can see, again. Can hear and smell and taste and Jheselbraum’s worry is fading into excitement and the world is loud and bright and overwhelming after so long in the dark and the silence of the vat and the walls around him are alight somehow with dull sparks of consciousness and he’s not dead even though he remembers dying remembers the last host dying under him remembers - 

It’s somewhere about here that his poor, abused mind, trying to protect itself from the deluge of information flooding it, shuts down.

...

When Ford opens his eyes again, the first thing they land on is a glass of water sitting on the cluttered desk across the room. He braves the few steps over to the desk, leans heavily against it as he grabs the glass. There are two purple pills sitting beside the glass, as well, and he swallows them both, chasing them with a long gulp of water. The throbbing at the base of his skull eases, just slightly. 

There’s nothing like a mirror in the room, but the glass wall and dim liquid of the now-empty vat gives it a passably reflective surface. Ford’s image is distorted by the curvature of the glass, of course, but he can make out his own face. On either side of it, three pale pink fronds flare, a little like the frills on each side of an axolotl’s head. The highest two are just about level with the base of his skull, peeking out from behind his ears; the lowest about level with his chin. 

Ford raises a hand, gingerly reaches up to touch one and immediately snatches his hand away. Apparently they’re still very sensitive to touch. Thankfully, that should fade before long.

He turns his head, watching parts of his face balloon and shrink in the funhouse mirror of the vat’s glass wall. His new appendages are still attached to the oblong lump of flesh that served the symbiote as a head, anchored at the back of his neck. The symbiote’s body is still visible, stretching down along his spine and disappearing into the light robe that Jheselbraum must have given him. The skin around where each of its spines went in looks puckered, like it’s already starting to heal.

The sight of something latched onto his spine like this should, Ford knows, be strange, horrifying, viscerally upsetting. Somehow it isn’t. 

No wonder it still aches, though.

He knows Jheselbraum’s coming before she reaches the door, hurries over and pulls it open for her before she can knock. She beams, and crosses the room to the desk. Ford follows, pushes aside a jar of what look like human ears and a sheaf of notes to clear a space for her to set down the tray she’s carrying. Whatever’s on it smells amazing, and suddenly Ford feels like he hasn’t eaten for a month. 

“You’re up and on your feet,” Jheselbraum says, impressed, and Ford knows she hadn’t expected him to be walking around for another day or two at least. "The bonding’s going well, then?”

“I’m still a little dizzy,” Ford admits.

“That’s only to be expected,” Jheselbraum reassures him, with an understanding smile. “Come, sit down and have something to eat. When you’re finished, I need to talk with you about Bill Cipher.”

[marypsue]

More stuff from the Symbiote Ford AU! This time, it's an AToTS retelling. Ish.

I’m also on AO3, as MaryPSue!

...

The portal swirls away into nothingness, taking the last of the blue light with it, and the basement lab goes dark.

Stanley stands frozen in place where he'd stopped when Ford had unwound his scarf, torn somewhere between fear and despair. He keeps oscillating between a desire to throw himself between Ford and the awestruck and confused children in the corner, and the vague hope that Ford - or the thing he thinks is impersonating Ford - hasn't noticed them yet. The cycle is only broken by a flash of worry about the - 

Ford pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, unable to believe what he's hearing from Stan. "Government agents, Stanley? It's not bad enough that you restarted the portal, you had to end up on the government's radar while doing it?"

Stan snaps back, automatically defensive. "Hey, I'm not the super-genius who decided to build the stupid portal in the first...place..." His anger tips to confusion, and he eyes the fronds flared on either side of Ford's head suspiciously. "...Ford?"

"Yes, it's me," Ford says, but before he can explain any further, the girl - Mabel, without a hint of fear in her, what a curious and remarkable child - is interrupting. 

"Whoa, what? Stanley? Grunkle Stan, what -"

"You took my name," Ford says, before Stan can decide how he wants to put the thought into words. "Oh, and my house. And you turned it into a what?"

"Tourist trap," Stan mutters, crossing his arms and looking away from Ford's face, deliberately avoiding eye contact. As if Ford can’t see perfectly clearly at the very surface of his thoughts just what kind of a farce he’s made of Ford’s home and research. And he has the audacity to be - proud of this - this mockery of a museum he’s created!

“What on earth possessed you -” Ford cuts his own sentence short, waving a hand as though he can brush the sense of - of violation away like something tangible. “Never mind. It can wait. We need to deal with the government first.”

He starts across the room towards the elevator - or where the elevator should be, if Stanley hasn’t ruined that too - but once more, Mabel interrupts.

“Okay, nobody’s going anywhere until somebody tells us what the heck is going on! Grunkle Stan, why is your brother-guy saying this is his house? And -”

Ford sighs, and presses a hand to his temple. He has to unwind his scarf a little further to give his fronds room to move, to be able to match the patterns of Mabel's brainwaves. She’s truly a remarkable child, he’s never encountered a wavelength quite like hers. 

Once he’s synchronized brainwaves with Mabel, though, it only takes a thought to dump the whole sordid story directly into her mind.

Mabel’s eyes go glassy, and then her knees collapse under her. Her twin catches her before she hits the concrete floor, torn between concern for his now-unconscious sister and fury at Ford. “Mabel! What’d you do to her?”

“I may have overestimated her mental capacity,” Ford admits, and the glare Dipper fixes on him is pure poison, any trace of hero worship boiling away almost instantly. “Not like that. I attempted a psychic transference and overloaded her brain. She’ll be fine once she’s had some time to process.”

“You did what,” Stanley growls.

“I transferred my knowledge of our history directly to her mind,” Ford says. “We don’t have time to sit around down here telling stories for thirty minutes with half the US government breathing down our necks.” He pauses, considering. “It is still the US government, correct? We haven’t been absorbed by the Soviets?”

Stan’s got more than a few choice words for Ford, words Ford is fairly sure you’re not supposed to use in front of children in this dimension, but he bites them back. Ford has to admit he’s astonished Stan even has the maturity to do that. 

“Yeah, we got a lot of catching up to do,” Stan says, with his mouth, anyway. “But I guess we probably should do something about the jerks trampling all over my lawn first.”

Ford doesn’t snap, “Your lawn?” It takes a surprising amount of self-control.

“I’ll handle it,” he says, bushing past Stan as he strides towards the elevator.

...

The lawn is, as Stan had said, swarming with black-clad government agents. They’ve set up a perimeter outside, and have apparently secured each room in the house. The two stationed in what had been Ford’s office-cum-laboratory, but now appears to be some kind of gift shop, start when Ford steps out from behind the basement door, but Ford adjusts their expectations with a wave of his fronds and a thought. They go back to their patrol, satisfied that nothing is out of the ordinary.

Ford walks out of the gift shop and down the stairs onto the lawn, broadcasting authority and rightness until anyone who might have questioned his presence is completely convinced that he’s meant to be there, that there’s nothing strange about him, that challenging him would be above their pay grade. It’s a handy little trick that he’s relied on time and time again during his travels. Of course, it’s easier when the crowd isn’t actively pursuing a hostile fugitive with his face, but still.

The man the others are looking to as the person in charge is deep in a discussion with what appears to be his number two (and possibly his boyfriend?) when Ford walks up. He glances up, and Ford shifts his focus from keeping the crowd’s expectations under control to a full-scale assault on this man’s memories. He tears through them like he’s upending a metaphorical trunk onto an equally metaphorical floor and sifting through the contents, unraveling each strand of logical connection and certainty he finds and obliterating any information too damning. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, and the man in charge of the government agents blinks in confusion. “What authority do you have to search and seize my client’s property? And hold him against his will?” He prods at the memory of Stan in custody, like a sore tooth, and the government agent winces, almost imperceptibly. “You never even formally arrested my client, and I can see why. Your evidence is circumstantial at the very best, and your primary grounds for suspicion are - oh, I don’t believe this. An entirely unrelated incident, which you clearly must have hallucinated, because everyone knows zombies are fictional.”

The man, utterly blindsided by Ford’s psychic assault, blinks several times and presses a hand to his forehead, looking down at his shiny black shoes to break eye contact. “There was...a doomsday device...?”

“Oh, really. Did you find it during your unlawful search and seizure of my client’s property?” Ford crosses his arms over his chest, tapping one foot against the gravel. “You should be grateful my client is giving you an opportunity to clear off of his property. If it were up to me, this suit would already be before the courts.”

The man Ford’s speaking to seems properly bamboozled, but his partner peers suspiciously at Ford. He starts to speak, and Ford shifts his attentions, giving the second agent’s memories the same thorough scouring as the first. The man shuts his mouth, confused and chastened. He offers no resistance when Ford takes the device he’s holding - a tablet computer, fascinating - and swipes through its contents, until he’s satisfied that it holds nothing truly incriminating.

Both of the agents are blinking, now, trying to repair the mental connections Ford had broken. Ford gives the whole yard another blast of authority, just for good measure. He’d better get them all out of here, give them something else to focus on to mitigate the risk of their reforming those connections. “Well? What are you waiting for, a kiss on the cheek?”

Both agents give themselves a short shake, like they’ve just woken from a nightmare. The one Ford had first spoken to recovers first, giving his enormous walrus moustache a nervous stroke. “Uh - yes,” he says, uncertain about everything except that he absolutely, one hundred per cent does not want to be sued. “Right! Men, pack up. We’re moving out,” he shouts, the command carrying over the lawn. Ford steamrolls the few inklings of resistance from the lower-ranking agents, and the swarm of black-clad government guys begin to tear down the perimeter and pack their gear back up.

The man Ford had first spoken to, the one in charge, nods once at the sight before turning back to Ford. “Please pass on our...apologies...to your client,” he says, and even though he means it more to cover his own ass than because he actually feels any regret, at least Ford’s story has convinced him. He’s picked up the narrative Ford had fed him - that Stan has been wrongly accused, and they’ve botched the arrest - which means there’s a much, much smaller likelihood of his brain reconstructing the memories and conclusions that Ford took. Excellent. The government shouldn’t be bothering them any longer.

Ford just nods, suddenly too tired to speak, and watches as the two agents bundle into a large black vehicle marked with an eagle-and-magnifying-glass insignia. He feels himself sway as the vehicle trundles away, but forces himself to stand upright. The government agents can’t be allowed to sense weakness from him, and, selfishly, he doesn’t want Stan to see how exhausted pulling this little stunt has left him. 

“Whoa! Grunkle Ford, that was amazing!” a voice pipes up from behind him, and Ford turns, carefully, to see Mabel sprinting across the lawn towards him. Dipper follows a little more cautiously in her wake. Seeing Mabel awake and unharmed seems to have worn the sharp edges off of Dipper’s suspicion, but he’s still wary as he approaches Ford, watching him with distrust as Mabel skids to a halt beside him, and maintaining a safe distance. Unlike Mabel, who practically slams into Ford’s side, sticking out her tongue at the retreating government guys.

“How did you do that?” Dipper asks, and Stan, coming up behind him, echoes the question.

“Yeah, I’d really like to know the answer to that one too, poindexter.” The question itself is innocuous, but Stan’s intent is clearly hostile. He still doesn’t quite trust that Ford is still Ford, though - oh, how insulting, he thinks that no alien brainworm could be this much of a jerk.

“It’s a symbiotic lifeform,” Ford explains, briefly, gesturing to his fronds. “Not a parasite, Stanley. Feeds on brainwaves. It means I can read - and manipulate - the thoughts and memories of anything with a brain.” He frowns. “That made the Jellyfish Dimension a little more difficult to navigate through than I expected, I’ll admit.”

Dipper cocks his head to one side, peering at the waving movement of Ford’s fronds, his curiosity warring with his distrust. Mabel, on the other hand, has thrown caution to the wind if she ever had it. “Ooh, can I touch it?”

“I’d...rather you didn’t,” Ford says, taking in the glare Stan’s fixed on him. 

“Yeah. C’mon, you two gremlins, let’s head back inside. Think we left Soos passed out in the basement,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on Ford. Ford thinks that he wouldn’t even need to be able to read Stan’s mind to know what Stan’s thinking.

You stay the hell away from these kids. I don’t want you hurting them again/don’t want your sci-fi weirdness rubbing off on them/don’t want you -

“Um, uh, Mr. Author?” Dipper asks. “Your nose is bleeding.”

Ford reaches up, swipes a hand under his nose. “So it is. Thank you, m’boy.”

Stan’s jaw shifts, like he’s biting his tongue. “Move it or lose it, kid. My brother can take care of himself.” He shoots one last, pointed glare in Ford’s direction, and then turns and starts to usher the kids towards the house.

[marypsue]

for the symbyote Ford au, (idk if I spelled that right) how would the whole ending of Weirdmageddon go down?

Well, I don’t know about the whole ending, but I do have this:

…

Ford comes to.

He doesn’t open his eyes, not right away. He’s lying on something warm and unpleasantly fleshy, there’s a faint smell of something bitter burning and the occasional distant shriek, and his head is full of static.

Ford doesn’t have to open his eyes to know that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes, doesn’t want to have to face what Bill has done to this world. But every time he tries to scan the room, the static in his head only grows worse, rising to a sharp mosquito whine that razors through his thoughts and makes him wince.

“WELL WELL WELL! LOOK WHO DECIDED TO JOIN US!”

Ford grinds his back teeth together, but it’s too late. Bill Cipher knows he’s awake. There’s no use in pretending anymore.

He opens his eyes and pushes himself up, and immediately discovers why the surface he’s been lying on is so unpleasantly fleshy. It’s because it’s flesh. Living, very humanlike flesh. In the shape of a sofa.

An eye blinks open in the cushion where his head had just been, rolling to meet Ford’s horrified stare. Ford doesn’t manage to bite back the yelp as he jerks upright and stumbles off the couch.

Bill’s laughter is loud and cackling and grates across Ford’s ears like a saw. Ford gives himself the briefest of shakes, rallying his wits and squaring his shoulders as he turns to face Bill. He may have already made a fool of himself, but that’s no reason to allow Bill to see that he’s gotten under Ford’s skin. Whatever torture he has in mind, so long as he doesn’t get the reaction he seeks out of Ford, he’ll grow bored of it eventually.

Ford just has to hope that ‘eventually’ comes sooner rather than later.

Bill swoops in to settle on the sofa next to where Ford is standing, his single eye staring, heavy-lidded, over his martini glass at Ford, and the static filling Ford’s head grows louder and shriller. So that’s one mystery solved. Ford considers, briefly, pulling up the collar of his coat to cover his fronds and maybe keep Bill’s interference out of his head, but decides against it. Better not to show any weakness in front of Bill.

“What do you want, Cipher?” Ford demands, his voice slipping into a growl near the end of the sentence. Bill just blinks, once, slowly, lazily. Mockingly? Of course. This is Bill Cipher, after all. “Where are we? What is this?”

“OH, FORDSY, I’M HURT! DO I HAVE TO WANT SOMETHING FROM YOU TO MAKE SOME TIME TO HANG OUT WITH MY BEST FRIEND?” The words land like a crossbow bolt. Ford can’t hide the flinch. Bill’s stare doesn’t waver.

“You were never my friend,” Ford grinds out. “You got your apocalypse, Bill. What more could you possibly want from me?”

Bill finally breaks eye contact with Ford, looking into his martini glass as he swirls it gently back and forth. “OH, NOTHING MUCH! JUST ONE LITTLE EQUATION! YOU WON’T EVEN MISS IT!”

There’s something wrong here. What Bill asks for is never what Bill really wants. Despite the shriek and buzz of static, Ford takes another step towards Bill. “And what’s the catch?”

Bill blinks, in a parody of innocence. “CATCH? WHY, SIXER! IT’S LIKE YOU DON’T EVEN TRUST ME!”

“I don’t,” Ford says, proud of how level his voice stays. “I’m not giving you anything, Bill. You destroyed my universe! You’ll destroy every universe! I’ve devoted myself to stopping you. What makes you think that I’d ever give you anything, ever again?”

Bill doesn’t say anything. The corners of his single eye just turn, very slowly, up into a smile.

Ford takes a step back as Bill starts to rise, up off the couch, his glow flashing brighter and brighter with his growing laughter. Ford tries to back away further, but finds himself pulled up short, by glowing blue chains locked firmly around his wrists, his ankles - and his neck. He tugs at the restraints, trying to free himself, but only succeeds in crushing one of his fronds against the back of his neck. He nearly drops to his knees, eyes watering with the pain.

Bill’s laughter abruptly cuts off, and Ford finds himself staring up into one enormous eye. Bill hovers above him, huge and distorted and all too painfully real. His single eye is bright with maniacal glee.

“BECAUSE,” he booms, in a voice so deep it sets Ford’s joints rattling against each other and makes the teeth buzz in the back of his mouth, “YOU DON’T HAVE A CHOICE.”

For an instant, it’s like Bill’s body goes grey and hard - almost like stone - and a glowing yellow outline of Bill phases through it, reaching out for Ford. The static in Ford’s head shrieks, a piercing crescendo that whites out his vision for a split second. And then there’s a deep throbbing pain in the base of his skull the likes of which he hasn’t felt since he bonded with the symbiote all those years ago, and Bill is drawing back, shrinking in size even as he goes molten red with fury.

“WHAT!?” Bill thunders, in a voice that makes Ford’s ears ring. And even though he knows he shouldn’t provoke Bill, that the best way out of this is through, Ford can’t help but grin.

“You can’t get into my head anymore, Cipher,” he says, giving his fronds a flare for effect. “Not unless I invite you in, and - I may have been dumb enough to fall for your tricks once, but that won’t happen a second time.”

For a moment, Bill is so incandescently angry that Ford can feel the heat pouring off of his triangular face, can see the dark red (bloody, his mind traitorously supplies) walls of his luxurious prison wavering through the heat haze rising off of Bill.

Then Bill composes himself, running a hand over his topmost point like he’s running a hand through his hair, rolling his eye away from Ford as he cools back down to a glowing yellow.

“WELL,” Bill says, and Ford doesn’t like the look he gives the portrait of himself bedecked in furs and jewels and a golden crown, one foot planted triumphantly on the globe, that hangs over the fireplace. “WELL, WELL, WELL, WELL, WELL. LOOKS LIKE SOMEBODY’S BEEN MEDDLING AGAIN!”

He spins back to face Ford just as Ford takes one cautious step backwards, and Ford freezes. Bill doesn’t have much of a face to speak of, but Ford still doesn’t like the look on it.

“YOUR FRIENDS ARE AWFUL SMART, FORDSY!” Bill says, and he’s positively beaming with malicious glee. Ford tries to swallow the lump that rises in his throat, but it’s no use. Bill has an idea, and Ford knows, already, that he’s not going to like it. “GIVING YOU SOMETHING THAT COULD KEEP ME OUT OF YOUR HEAD! BUT, SEE, THEY FORGOT SOMETHING IMPORTANT!”

Bill darts forward, faster than Ford can really see. One moment he’s hovering over the couch, and the next, his pupil is pressed nearly against Ford’s nose. The entirety of Ford’s vision is filled with white, laced with fine veins. The static in his head is grating, whining, overpowering any thought he might have had of how to trick Bill, how to get out of this situation, how to protect what remains of his world. There’s nothing but static, and pain, and the sinking dread in the pit of his stomach.

“MAYBE I CAN’T TOUCH YOUR MIND,” Bill says, cheerfully. “BUT NOW THAT I’VE GOT A PHYSICAL FORM AND COMPLETE DOMINATION OVER YOUR WORLD?“

He snaps his fingers.

The static filling Ford’s head…vanishes.

Ford has just enough time to realise what that means.

He looks up in horror, just as Bill points a finger and fires a bolt of blue light. The symbiote, hovering in midair beside him, is blasted into pieces when the light hits it. Bill raises his finger and thumb to his eye, which morphs into a mouth, and he blows on his finger like he’s blowing smoke away from the barrel of a gun.

For the first time in almost twenty years, it’s dreadfully silent in Ford’s head.

Bill grins with that nightmare of a mouth, before it shifts back into an eye. “JUST LIKE OLD TIMES, HUH, FORDSY?” he says.

This time, when he slips out of his physical form and into Ford’s mind, there’s nothing to stop him.

[marypsue]

AU where Stan gets Ford out of the portal...but it isn’t just Ford who comes back. Somewhere on the other side, Ford agreed to play ‘host’ to some kind of psychic alien symbiote in exchange for near-complete protection against Bill, and when Stan brought him back, he brought the symbiote back with him.

[marypsue]

@pomrania said:

An edit I did after reading your Symbiote Ford story, and before I realized that I have no idea how to a) draw axolotl fronds or b) draw in the Gravity Falls style.

I love it, thank you for this gift. :D

[marypsue]

a-million-chromatic-dreams replied to your post: AU where Stan gets Ford out of the portal…but it...

Oooh, very very interesting! Would this be a similar sort of symbiote scenario to (if you’re familiar with Star Trek: Deep Space 9, that is) Jadzia Dax? A sort of, both entities were separate entities but sort of combine as one “new” entity with their own personality and with the memories of both?

I don’t actually know DS9 at all (TOS girl, here!), but that sounds cool as heck! I actually realised halfway through dreaming up this AU that I was thinking of a Bruce Coville book that I read (once, a very long time ago) which featured a psychic symbiote of this nature which linked minds with its host and could share its knowledge and abilities, though they stayed (mostly) distinct individuals. (Though I imagine, with any long-term sharing of headspace, you get some spillover...)

[marypsue]

me: wow, it's cool that that ficlet for the symbiote Ford AU I wrote was so well-received and so many people wanted more fic for it, but I have a lot of WIPs and a novel in progress and I don't think - 

me: *immediately has two more ideas for complete scenes for the AU*