#young ford pines

[candycatfalls]

hes a seduction master the likes of which humanity has never seen

[dandeleon]

FIDDLEFORD!!!!!! FRIDAY!!!!!!

[futurevprophet]

i've been motivated to share my ideas for a horror game about fiddleford working on the portal with ford. yea these are screenshots from my insta i didn't care to transcribe

edit/new idea: it would be funny if there was a memory game element

[matrixbearer2024]

Grammar Stanley! [Modernity AU] (Stan & Ford)

Ford can't help correct Stanley's grammar, unbeknownst to him that his brother does it deliberately for fun to be annoying.

Stanford never meant to turn into that person — the grammar nazi one who corrects others’ mid-conversation, unable to let a misstep in syntax slide. It wasn’t as though he went around marking up strangers’ sentences with mental red ink, but when it came to Stanley, his twin brother, the compulsion was automatic. It wasn’t about superiority, he told himself. It was about clarity. Consistency. Respect for language itself.

Stanley, of course, couldn’t care less about any of that.

“Hey, Ford, where’s them notes I lent ya?”

Stanley called from the kitchen, his voice echoing against the tile. He punctuated the question by cracking open a can of soda, the fizz drowning out the tail end of his sentence.

Stanford, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a philosophy book balanced on his knee, didn’t even look up.

“ Those notes, Stanley. And they’re on the desk where you left them.” A beat of silence. Then: “Huh?”

Stan finally leaned out of the kitchen, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“You mean them notes are on the desk?”

Stanford sighed, his patience thinning as he flipped a page in his book with more force than intended.

“No, those notes are on the desk. Not them. ‘Them’ is used as an object, not a modifier.”

Stan cocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well, them rules don’t really matter, do they? You knew what I meant.” “Yes, but—”

Stanford’s explanation died on his tongue as Stanley leaned casually against the doorframe, soda in hand and the smuggest look imaginable plastered across his face. There it was again— that glint in his brother’s eye that Ford had come to recognize all too well. This wasn’t a slip of the tongue. It was bait. And, as always, Ford had taken it.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

Stanford asked, narrowing his eyes.

Stan shrugged, taking a leisurely sip of his soda.

“Doin’ what?” “You know what. Mangling the English language just to get a rise out of me.”

Stanley gave an exaggerated gasp, placing a hand on his chest.

“ Me? Never. I’m just talkin’ how I talk, bro. Ain’t my fault if you’re too uptight to handle it.”

Stanford slammed his book shut.

“It’s not about being uptight, Stanley. It’s about… about decency! And respect for the structure of communication! You can’t just—” “Oh my God,” Stan interrupted, throwing his head back dramatically. “You hear yourself right now? You sound like one’a them boomer professors who lecture you for sneezin’ in class!” “I do not,” Stanford snapped, though the image made him falter. “Yeah, ya do,” Stan said, grinning. “Real serious, all ‘respect for communication’ this, ‘decency’ that. Who even talks like that?” “I do,” Stanford muttered, crossing his arms. “Exactly my point.”

Stanley strode into the living room, plopped down on the couch next to him, and propped his feet up on the coffee table with a loud thunk.

“You’re too easy, Sixer. It’s why I gotta mess with ya.”

Stanford groaned, covering his face with his hands.

“First of all, I’m not like our terror professors. Second of all, you don’t ‘gotta’ mess with me. You choose to. And it’s obnoxious.”

Stan shot him a cheeky grin, nudging him with his elbow.

“Nah, it’s hilarious. You should see your face when I say somethin’ like ‘ain’t.’ It’s like you’re watchin’ somebody drop a pizza upside down.” “That’s because it’s wrong, ” Stanford argued. “Language has rules for a reason, Stanley. Without them, everything falls apart.” “Oh no,” Stan deadpanned, widening his eyes mockingly. “Guess I better stop droppin’ my g’s before society collapses.”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You’re impossible.” “And you’re fun to annoy,” Stan said with a wink.  

It wasn’t just a habit. For Stanley, teasing his brother was practically a hobby. There was something endlessly entertaining about seeing his hyper-intelligent, hyper-serious twin flustered over the dumbest things. Ford could handle quantum physics, intricate biology and abstract philosophy, but throw a misplaced modifier his way, and he practically short-circuited. It was too good not to exploit.

The best part? Ford didn’t realize Stan was doing it on purpose. He thought it was just how Stan talked— and to be fair, it mostly was. But over the years, Stan had learned that leaning into his hometown accent and “creative” grammar choices drove Ford up the wall. So why not have a little fun with it?

Take their study sessions, for example.

“Yo, what’s that mean?”

Stan asked, pointing vaguely at a diagram in one of Ford’s textbooks.

Ford adjusted his glasses, peering at the page.

“It’s a model of subatomic particle interactions. That’s the Higgs boson, and this line represents—” “No, no,” Stan interrupted, waving a hand. “I meant the lil’ squiggly thing right there. What’s that mean?”

Ford blinked, a loading screen practically appeared on his face.

“Do you mean ‘what does that mean?’”

Stan gave him an innocent look.

“Ain’t that what I just said?” “No, you said— never mind.”

Ford sighed, realizing too late that he’d walked right into another trap.

Stan laughed, leaning back in his chair.

“You’re too easy, bro. Seriously.” “Or you’re too infuriating,” Ford muttered, flipping the page with a bit more force than necessary. “Yeah, yeah. You love me anyway.”

Ford didn’t dignify that with a response, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself.

The game escalated when other people were around. Stan had a knack for turning even the most mundane interactions into opportunities to poke at Ford’s persnickety nature.

“Stanley, would you mind grabbing me a bottle of water?”

Ford asked one afternoon as they studied at the library.

Stan glanced up from his phone, smirking.

“Oh, ya mean one’a them waters?” Ford froze. “A bottle of water,” he corrected through gritted teeth. “Yeah, yeah, them ones.”

Stan stood, strolling toward the vending machine with exaggerated nonchalance.

Fiddleford stifled a laugh from his seat next to his friend, and Ford sank lower in his seat, his cheeks burning.

“I don’t know why I put up with him,” he muttered, though the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his words.  

The truth was, as much as Stanford complained, he wouldn’t trade Stanley’s antics for anything. Yes, it was maddening. Yes, it made him want to throw a thesaurus at his brother’s head at least once a week. But it was also… fun, in its own weird way. Stanley had a way of keeping him grounded, reminding him not to take life— or himself— too seriously.

That didn’t mean Ford was going to stop correcting him, though. He had standards, after all.

“Hey, Sixer,” Stan called one evening as he lounged on the couch. “You got them chips we bought yesterday?”

Ford didn’t look up from his book.

“Those chips, Stanley. And yes, they’re in the kitchen.”

Stan smirked, that knack for mischief once again returning.

“Right, right. Them chips. Thanks.”

Ford sighed but didn’t bother responding this time. Some battles, he decided, just weren’t worth fighting.

Featuring the twins from @gfthe-fearsome-foursome! This fic can be found on Ao3 as well here!

[gfthe-fearsome-foursome]

Stan and Ford, how many times Filbrick was arrested?

"Don't know."

"Don't care."

"Next!"

[quillyq]

I did a one shot short story on A03, I think it's going to spin off into an AU, kinda working on something, but also trying to work on Lady Nepenthe, so we'll see:

[sunnylolli]

THE SCENARIO IF STANLEY DID HAVE THE COURAGE TO ASK FORD FOR HELP THAT TIME BEFORE HE GOES TO GRAVITY FALLS AND FORD IS SOMEHOW CONVINCED TO COME DOWN AND MAKE AMENDS????????????

[redbourkol]

I'm obsessed with the idea how their hands can interact with each other

[sticcmann]

This was this at first conception

[kik1draws]

hmhmmm what are they yapping about?

Leyendecker study✍️

[candycatfalls]

saw this and immediately knew what I had to do

[mr-jack-letterman]

God mullet Stan is my favorite creature.

(click for better quality)

I love time stuck turned mystery trio, I think it might be my favorite Au pairing.

Sorta implied Fiddlestan? Idk JANSJ

Mabel drools in her sleep the same way Stan does lmao.

Not me out here checking the Wikipedia E-commerce timeline just for one joke NSNNSNDD.

eBay didn't exist until 1995 😭😭😭

Based on this drawing from a charity stream I believe ↓

[wavesofyears]

Fiddlestan with Ford thirdwheeling because I felt like it.

[matrixbearer2024]

First Time Meeting You [Modernity AU] (Bill/Ford)

Ford had never been interested in making friends or having a social life; frankly, he considered it a waste of time. He preferred to spend his energy studying, honing his existing skills, or learning new ones. That was until he befriended an odd blond a year his senior. Who could have guessed what started from a simple statistics lecture?

Stanford had never been a fan of morning classes. He wasn’t, and likely never would be, a morning person. Nighttime had always been his domain— when his mind, unburdened by the constraints of the day, could race freely with endless ideas. While others eagerly surrendered to sleep, slipping into dreams, Ford found the concept frustratingly unproductive. Sleep, in his eyes, was an inconvenience—a waste of precious time better spent sharpening his skills or learning something new. Yet it was the one thing he consistently procrastinated, a necessity he begrudgingly tolerated, often delaying it until his body had no choice but to give in.

Even when he managed to fall asleep, waking up was another ordeal entirely. The relentless blare of his phone’s alarm tearing through the fragile silence of dawn was a cruel adversary, the high-pitched repetitive tone dragging him from the comforting cocoon of his warm blankets and soft pillows. It felt like peeling his body from quicksand— his limbs heavier than lead and his thoughts scattered, as if someone had tossed his brain into a blender and hit "purée." Mornings were battles he rarely won, and caffeine, in ludicrous amounts, was his weapon of choice. It kept him sharp, alert— perhaps a little jittery and eccentric— but to him, the trade-off was worth it.

Maybe he simply enjoyed being busy, or perhaps his restless mind refused to allow him peace. People had told him to lighten up before, but the truth was, he didn’t know how. The concept felt as foreign to him as sleep was.

“Stanford, could you solve this question for us?”

The voice of his professor cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to reality. Blinking, Ford lifted his head from the notebook where he’d been furiously scribbling notes. His eyes flicked to the board, scanning the problem. ANOVA— analysis of variance. The topic seemed almost elementary to him, despite its complexities. He’d encountered such material before and had long since surpassed it in his studies. Solving these equations felt like second nature, though he knew his obsession with discovery fueled his excitement for the new and unknown. 

He loved innovation more than life itself.

Without a word or moment of hesitation, Ford rose and approached the board; mind already calculating and crunching numbers. His movements were automatic, driven by habit rather than thought. He accepted the marker offered to him and began writing, the squeak of the pen against the whiteboard punctuating the silence. Numbers and formulas buzzed alight in his mind; he didn’t need a calculator for something so basic. Years of practice had honed his ability to process these calculations faster than most computers. Solving this question should have been child’s play.

Then, unexpectedly, his mind blanked.

It was just an addition— two numbers, albeit with an absurd number of decimals— but suddenly, he couldn’t make sense of it. The numbers swirled, uncooperative, refusing to align. His grip tightened on the marker as frustration crept in, his brain scrambling to recalibrate. Why now? Why here? The professor’s gentle voice broke through his haze, gently nudging him along, but the damage to his pride had already been done.

Though he managed to complete most of the problem, the professor eventually stepped in, praising his efforts. Ford handed back the marker, feeling the sting of failure. He knew the expectations weren’t high— this was an introductory lecture, after all— but he had wanted to impress both the professor and his peers. Instead, he’d frozen mere steps away from success.

He walked back to his seat feeling deflated, the missed opportunity gnawing at him.

As he settled back down, he noticed his seatmate peering over his notes. The man looked pale— almost unnervingly so— with dual-toned yellow and black hair that stuck up haphazardly. Most of it was tied into a loose ponytail, though a few strands jutted out wildly, as if styling his hair had been an afterthought. His rumpled appearance suggested he had rolled out of bed moments before class. But then again, it was a seven a.m. lecture— who had the energy to care about appearances at this hour? 

His disheveled appearance together with that air of disinterest made him stand out even in a room full of groggy students. Ford doubted he was taking the lecture seriously; the guy didn’t even have a bag. Did he even have his own notes?

“You’ve already looked into Chi-squares? That’s pretty advanced,” the blond said casually, breaking Ford’s train of thought.

Stanford nearly brushed him off, burying himself back in his notes, but the man spoke again before he could.

“By the way, the significance value is represented by the Greek letter alpha, not ‘a.’ You might mix that up later.”

Ford froze, his pen hovering mid-air. Embarrassment surged through him as he realized the blond was right. It was a small distinction but an important one. Flipping through his notes, he realized he’d been making the same mistake for weeks. How had he missed that?

“R-right. Thanks,” he muttered, his voice tinged with awkwardness.

The blond grinned.

“You’re Stanford, right? I’m Bill. What’s your course?”

Stanford hesitated. Talking during lectures wasn’t something he was accustomed to, but Bill’s question was quiet enough not to disrupt anyone.

“Cell and molecular biology,” he replied. “You?” “Software engineering,” Bill said with a shrug. “Didn’t peg you for a science student, though.”

Ford quirked a brow. What a peculiar thing to say.

“Really? Why not?”

Bill gestured lazily toward Ford’s yellow tie and overall appearance.

“I dunno. You look too good for a science student. I thought you were doing law.”

That earned a soft chuckle from Ford, though he couldn’t tell if the comment was a compliment or a dig. Bill seemed amused by his reaction, yawning and stretching in his seat. The blond’s laid-back demeanor stood in stark contrast to Ford’s intensity, and for the first time, Stanford wondered if he might have been too quick to judge.

“You’re pretty intense, you know,” Bill added, smirking. “Seriously, hit the library after this. Those desks aren’t the most comfortable, but they’re cold and quiet. Great for catching up on sleep.”

Ford frowned. He knew his screwed up sleep cycle wasn’t doing him any favors, but he didn’t think it was that evident.

“Do I really look that sleep-deprived?”

Bill laughed, low and tired.

“Oh, absolutely.”

Stanford wasn’t sure whether to feel offended or amused, but the conversation flowed surprisingly well from there. The lecture faded into background noise as the two continued their quiet back-and-forth. By the time the class ended, Ford was almost startled to realize how much time had passed. He’d barely touched his notes, yet he didn’t mind. It wasn’t often he enjoyed such casual conversation.

When the bell rang, he packed his things slowly, stealing glances at Bill as the blond stretched languidly. They’d likely see each other again— statistics was a general course after all, open to students across disciplines.

“I, uh�� if you don’t mind, could we exchange contact info? I enjoyed talking to you.” He blurted out, surprising even himself.

Bill shot him a lopsided smile.

“Sure thing, Fordsy. What socials do you use?”

Ford blinked at the nickname, unsure whether he liked or hated it. But as he left the lecture hall with Bill’s contact information saved in his phone, he found himself oddly optimistic. For once, a morning class hadn’t been completely intolerable.

Not when he came walking out of it with a new friend.

Featuring two of the four idiots from @gfthe-fearsome-foursome! This fic can be found on Ao3 as well here!

[gfthe-fearsome-foursome]

Alright spill the tea: who has a crush on who 👀👀

"Uh..."

"Can we change the subject?"

"...??"

"I plead the fifth!"

ooc: I know you guys are looking for the dynamics in this AU so have these, should be pretty self-explanatory XD

[gampooo]

Eng

Rus

Pt2>>Pt1