#(my first time writing fidds RIP)

[nikxation]

Entry #00

Summary: Every good thing has to start somewhere, and sometimes the best, most unexpected outcomes start with nothing more than a nervous gift in a local diner.

Or: How I imagine WWTD began.

Word Count: 2441

Warnings: None

Additional Notes: Written for the 1-year anniversary of @fordanoia‘s RP blog @whatwouldteslado.

AO3 Link

“What… is it?” Ford turns the device in his hand, the hard, plastic outer case warm from the stifling summer heat (or, more likely, from being stored in Fiddleford’s pocket for hike from the house to the diner). Whatever kind of electronic it is, it’s remarkably small, able to fit comfortably in his palm. Boxy, but still rounded at the edges in an almost-ergonomic way. When he flips it, he realizes that the other side seems to have a small glass display, a small keyboard taking up the bottom half just below it, a circular dial of some sort between the two with four rectangular buttons lined up on its sides.

“I call it the Accelerated Logger: Experimental XML edition,” Fiddleford beams at him from across the table. “The ALEX device for short. I’m still fanoodling with the name though, since I reckon giving it a human name is a little creepy.” Ford flips it around a few times in his hands, getting a feel for the weight, pressing a few of the buttons on the keyboard, seeing if he can’t get the little glass screen to do something.

“But what exactly is it?” Ford repeats. “What does it do?”

“Oh right, right. It’s a new journal.” Ford glances back up, not sure whether or not he’s joking, since this device obviously isn’t a journal. The confusion must read on his face, because Fiddleford backtracks. “Well, sorta. It’s like a miniature computer that you only write entries in and— here let me show you.” Fiddleford takes the device back and holds down what seems to be a small button on the top of the device, one Ford hadn’t noticed. “So, this here’s the power button.” He sets the device down on the table between them as the screen flickers to life, the screen lit but dark. “It’s also the sleep button to shut off the screen when you’re not using it. Saves battery, but God willing, I don’t see you killing it any time soon. This high-powered interdimensional residual schism-based collision heap power cell’s got more energy than a kindergarten classroom the day after Halloween. But that’s besides the point.”

“It’s powered by interdimensi—”

“This here is your home screen,” Fiddleford continues on, unimpeded. “You can create a new entry by pressing this button here,” he presses one of the four buttons lined up just above the keyboard, the one on the left with the pencil on it, and a pop-up box appears on the screen with the prompt Type new entry here above it, “then you type in whatever you reckon to record. And then you can push this button," he pushes the next adjacent button, which has a pound (#) sign on it, and a smaller pop-up appears, “to add tags to the post. On the home screen, that same one lets you search through all your tags real fast, that way you can find specific entries without having to flip a bazillion pages crazier than a chicken with its head cut off when you need to find something. This one is the back button,” he presses the button to the left of the circle pad, and the tag pop-up disappears, “which will back you out of any screen until you get back to the home screen. But if you wanted to make a post, just type it in here” using the keypad, he quickly types in Test post 1, “and then press the center button,” he presses the button in the center of the circle, and the post disappears, replaced by a small box on the top of the screen that reads the same text he typed. “And there it is! You can also add titles to posts and stylize the text all fancy-like. And when you have loads of posts, you can scroll through them chronologically using the trackpad—"

“Fiddleford, this is very kind of you—”

“Oh! But this button here,” he presses the one unused button of the tray of four, and Ford’s not even sure his friend heard him, he’s so caught up in his excitement. “Well, by all means, it doesn’t do diddley-squat right now. But eventually, I want to make it to where we can each have a device and type messages to one another, sorta like instant messaging! And this button would take you to your inbox to see—"

He’s not sure how to say that, while the gift is nice, he just personally prefers his journal. There’s something about just writing with paper and pen that an electronic could never duplicate. But Fiddleford seems so excited over it, and he’s never been one for tact, that’s for sure. Maybe if he just…

“Look, Fiddleford, I really appreciate the thought—”

“And I know you still have Journal 3 to finish,” Fiddledord barrels right on, and for the first time, Ford notices the there’s a slight tapping sound coming from under the table. A shoe hitting the ground increasingly faster. “So if you wanna finish it out, I understand that. I just know you’ve always been a worry-wort about your book getting damaged by rain and all, so I figured this would help fix that. All the posts store in an empty pocket dimension, so there’s no chance of them getting destroyed or nothing. And even if the device gets damaged, I can make a new one and reconnect to the same dimension. And I also installed a camera so you can take pictures of anomalies instead of having to sketch them all the time and… And…”

Fiddleford trails off, though he’s still smiling and expectantly looking at Ford, as if waiting for a reaction.

His foot taps even faster under the table.

Five beats per second. Maybe six.

“What do ya think?” he asks.

It’ll be a while before I finish Journal 3. Maybe by then he’ll forget.

Ford sighs.

“I think it’s an amazing little piece of tech,” he says, picking it up and giving it an appreciative once over. “I’ll try it out after I’m finished with Journal 3. Thank you.” The tapping goes silent, and Fiddleford smiles.

“Well, I’m glad you like it!”

“Could you tell me more about this interdimensional power cell that you said powers it? It sounds intriguing.”

“Oh, it is!” Fiddleford says. “Obviously it’s based on the portal research, just on a much smaller, easier-to-stabilize scale. When I made the hole for the memory storage, I realized there was a dang near infinite amount of energy flowing from it, so I finoodled a way to back-harness it…”

~ ~ ~

Ford pours himself his sixth cup of coffee of the morning. Well, he hasn’t slept in… he can’t remember how many days, so thinking of it with respect to the morning can’t make much sense. Not in the colloquial sense. All he knows is that the sun started peeking through the snow-laden treetops over an hour ago, and he’s on his sixth cup of coffee since then.

It’s working well enough, he guesses.

He’s still awake, as far as he knows.

Not like he can really fall asleep now-a-days.

Can’t risk Bill…

He takes a sip from the mug, lukewarm black coffee even more bitter than the last cup, and yet somehow more familiar. Ever since the incident last week, this has become his norm, that bitter roasted taste a constant in the back of his throat.

He’s not sure how long he can keep this up.

Ideally, just long enough to get everything taken care of.

After that…

The Journal is sitting on the dining room counter, gold hand glinting at him in the morning light.

He doesn’t think he can trust a word in that thing anymore. Not after everything Bill has done. Not after learning what he now knows.

He’s not sure he can bring himself to open it again.

That’s ridiculous. It’s just a book.

Then why does the mere thought of it make him want to throw up?

He tops off his mug and heads back to the elevator, ready to continue his work. The portal has long since been shut down, but he swears he’s been hearing sounds coming from it. Which is concerning considering the nature of the machine and what lays on the other side. The room should be silent. Unsettlingly so. But when he’s down there, he swears he hears something.

Something like voices.

Which he knows is absurd.

He ignores them for the most part.

He has research to do. He needs to figure out how to keep Bill out. Either temporarily, or for good. And while initial attempts have been unsuccessful, he hopes knows he’s developed a plan of action that has a reasonable chance of success.

The elevator doors open, and he finds himself in the bottom floor of the basement.

He doesn’t know why he keeps insisting on bringing himself down here.

Maybe as penance?

Maybe out of some sense that he needs to guard it?

Maybe because he simultaneously enjoys and hates the way it makes his gut turn at the mere sight of it, something rotten and aching churning just below the surface.

Part of him… part of him wants to tear the damn thing apart. Some small voice in the back of his head says it’s the best idea, that it’s the only rational idea, that leaving it standing the next room over is dangerous and reckless, especially when it will never be turned on again. That it would be the ultimate way to rub Bill’s betrayal in his face.

But…

Because of course there’s a “but”, otherwise he would have torn it down already

But he can’t bring himself to do it. Not to something he spent months of his life on. Not to something that could still be the answer to all his questions. Not to what he knows is the single greatest piece of engineering this world has ever seen. Not when he’s scared of the aftermath the next time he falls asleep.

And so, he finds himself at a stalemate. Locked in a dilemma he can’t seem to reason his way out of. It leaves him staring through the safety test window, watching the monument as it stands proudly the next room over, fluorescent lights glaring off it.

It’s like some sick joke that he never even learned the punchline to. That there was never a punchline for to begin with. Something he had hoped would be beautiful and wound up causing nothing but pain and destruction.

It leaves something bitter in the back of his throat.

It’s almost familiar.

He takes another sip of the coffee. It’s cool now, the basement sapping every bit of warmth right out of the room, the winter ice settling deep into the dirt.

Maybe he likes that the cold helps keep him awake?

He sits down at the desk, aimlessly leafing through the pages strewn across it, hoping some spark of inspiration will flash across them and tell him what to do.

He moves a diagram to the side and uncovers something from what feels like eons ago.

The device Fiddleford gave him, before everything went bad, back when they went to Greasy’s Diner for breakfast from time to time and life wasn’t completely consumed by the portal.

Back when everything was still okay.

He picks it up off the desk, the device still fitting comfortably in his hand like he remembers it did, hard plastic cold against his palm.

The Accelerated Logistic—no, the Accelerated Log… Logging… Logger?

It was so long ago. He barely remembers…

He finds the button on the side and holds it down, the screen miraculously flickering to life moments later.

After I’m finished with Journal 3…

He knows he has a better time thinking through his problems when he can write them down.

Maybe this will be a good replacement for the journal.

Maybe.

He clicks on the button Fiddleford showed him all those months ago, but instead of the expected pop-up, he gets an error of some sort, asking for a “blog username”.

Why am I doing this? This is pointless.

You need to get your head on straight. Think through this all rationally. This will help.

It’s just another Journal!

What if I can’t fix this?

What if I can’t get him out?

A username.

Back in college, he remembers one physics professor introducing him to the work of Nikola Tesla, and there’s one story he always remembers in particular.

Tesla once built a great machine, an oscillator, meant to change the way electricity was produced and revolutionize the way steam engines operated. Tesla claimed that, during a certain experiment, the device began to vibrate at the resonant frequency of the building he was in, causing the whole building to shudder and quake, compromising the structural safety of the building and risking the lives of its occupants.

He took a sledgehammer to the device to end it.

Or so he claimed.

Ford wonders how true the story is, whether the machine really went unstable, whether Tesla was really able to simply destroy his work so easily.

He wonders what Tesla would do if he were in his own shoes, a literal demon tormenting him, his machine standing between him and the end of the world, or maybe all the answers he ever hoped for. A chance to be somebody and do something important.

Knowing something is the right thing to do, but just feeling deep down like it’s wrong. That there are other solutions.

A username?

He quickly types in the first thing that comes to mind:

whatwouldteslado

When he clicks enter, the pop-up disappears, and the screen is back to how he remembers.

Perhaps Fiddleford updated it while I wasn’t using it.

He shakes the thoughts off and starts typing, the click of the keys echoing through the room.

He’s not sure why… And he’s not sure how to describe it…

But as unfamiliar as it is, something about the device almost feels… promising. Like a new beginning. Some distant light at the end of an impossibly long tunnel.

It’s a good feeling to hold onto for now.

And so, he types.

~ ~ ~

Entry #01.

This is the first entry that will hopefully be of but only a small handful.

I am livid…. Among quite a number of other things, but I need to go about this in a rational manner.

I have recently come up with a rather simple solution to my main issue. Deploying it will not be easy, but I have already faced difficult challenges and I have no doubt that I can successfully carry this out on my own.

…

Post.

#pinesbrosfallswrites #wwtd #my writing #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #(my first time writing fidds RIP)

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Rewind Chapter 7 - Mistakes are Made

Oh jeez, I mean to post this days ago but I totally forgot! Whoops.

As you might have noticed, updates are coming pretty slow at the moment. This fic is getting hard to write, due to personal circumstances and shifting hyperfixations, but I will continue it once I’m able to get invested again. Until then, updates will probably be slow. Rest assured, this fic will be completed!

Hope you guys enjoy this chapter :)

_______________________________________________________________

After a few more necessary hours of sleep, which for Ford were deep and dreamless, the construction itself began in two different corners of the lab. On one side Fiddleford dove into making a working prototype of the gun, while on the other side Ford began cooking up ammunition.

Few things could kill a dream demon. Protective unicorn magic could halt one, and the right concoction of ingredients could harm one, but working together they might just be able to kill one. Therein lay the rub – how could the two be combined into a single shot? Luckily, Ford didn’t have his three PHDs for nothing, and he was nothing if not persistent.

:readmore:

By mid-morning he had worked out the necessary ratio of ingredients for the most effective attack power. By afternoon he had created the first prototype, and by late afternoon he had a dish full of them.

The final bullet design had a pill-like appearance, spherical in shape and filled to the brim with cloudy, iridescent magic. They made a glass-like tinkering noise as they dropped into their dish. Ford took a pair of tweezers and lifted one to the light, admiring its shine.

“That looks cool.” Stan said hesitantly from behind him – how long had Stan been being him? Ford yelped and fumbled, nearly dropping the capsule. “Sorry.”

“Don’t sneak up on me when I’m working!” Ford snapped. He hurriedly placed the ammunition back on its tray before it could get broken and turned to frown at his brother. Stan, for his part, looked suitably ashamed. “What are you doing down here anyway? I told you, you’re not allowed in the lab.”

“I know, I know!” Stan’s shoulders were around his ears and creeping steadily higher with each second that passed. “Just – I thought you and Fidds would be hungry? You’ve been doing your science thing for ages and I made food, so…”

“Oh.” For the first time, Ford comprehended the tray in his brother’s hands. “Well, thank you. You’re still not supposed to be down here though.”

Stan stood on his tiptoes to lift the tray onto Ford’s workbench. The normally exuberant boy seemed unusually down, stepping back and rubbing his arm after placing down his load, and a twinge of guilt went through Ford. Okay, maybe a little more than a twinge. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Look – Stanley. I need to apologize for my behaviour earlier. I shouldn’t have gotten short with you.”

Stan shrugged and did not meet his eyes. Ford crouched to be at his brother’s level.

“I. Um, those dreams you told me about. Did you have any more last night?”

Stan stared at his feet and mumbled, “No.”

Ford took a deep breath, but before he could speak Fiddleford called out from across the lab.

“Stanford, I could use a hand over here!”

Ford straightened and hurried over to where his partner was soldering parts together. The gun was beginning to take shape on his workbench – maybe the size of a small hunting rifle but thicker, runes scratched into every inch of shiny metal and shimmering with Bill-proof magic. Fiddleford lifted his soldering mask to wipe his damp forehead.

“I already added yer magic wards and the last of that shiny hair stuff, an’ I gotta finish the magazine. Hold the thing steady for me, will ya? It’s delicate and we’re all outta unicorn hair to make another one, so for god’s sake be careful.”

“Of course.” Ford slipped on a pair of heat-proof gloves and steadied the rifle while Fiddleford lined up the parts. He made sure to avert his eyes from the glow of white-hot metal as his friend worked.

“Watcha doing?” Stanley called from across the lab.

“Attachin’ the last piece.” Fiddleford called back, not taking his eyes off the rifle. “Don’t get to close, or ya might get burned.”

“What bit is that?”

“It’s where the ammunition is stored.” Fiddleford explained.

“Oh! Like the shiny things Ford made?”

“Exactly.”

Once the soldering was complete Fiddleford lifted his mask to inspect the job, squinting through his glasses. He nodded to himself.

“Could use a bit a’ fine-tuning, but I’d call that almost done.”

Footsteps sounded as Stanley approached cautiously. Fiddleford grinned at the child, who stretched onto his tiptoes to see the project. “Whaddya think?”

Stan’s eyes lit up. “That looks so cool! This Bill guy isn’t gonna know what hit ‘im!” He looked between Ford and Fiddleford. “Whaddya do with it now?”

“We gotta make sure everythin’ runs smoothly before anything.” Fiddleford pulled off his soldering mask and wiped his sweaty brow. “Ford, would ya get the ammunition? Once this thing cools down I wanna make sure the dimensions are right.” He began pulling off his thick gloves.

“I can do that!” Stan scurried over to Ford’s workbench, ignoring Ford’s cry. He grabbed the dish of capsules and trotted back with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever playing fetch. Ford let out a hiss.

“Be careful with those!” He snatched them from his brother’s hands, heart racing. The ammunition seemed unharmed, but you could never be too careful, especially when there was a child around. Especially when there was Stanley around. He acted so thoughtlessly sometimes, that was the reason Ford hadn’t allowed him down here in the first place!

Stan looked sufficiently ashamed. “Sorry, Ford.”

Ford placed the bullets down very carefully next to the cooling rifle. “Why don’t you go upstairs? This is delicate work.”

“But you guys seem really busy. I can help!”

“No, Stan. This is very important work and you might break something.”

“No, but I’m good at stuff!” Stan protested. “I can carry stuff, and punch people, and get unicorn hair! I can be useful. You wanna move this to a bigger table? I can do it, see?” And to Ford’s horror he grabbed the gun off the table. Ford snatched for it, but Stan had already yelped as his bare hands came into contact with scorching metal and the rifle slipped from his grip.

Fiddleford dove to catch it. He crashed chest-first into the ground and only barely managed to snag it before it was dashed against the floor as well. The ammunition was not so lucky – the dish overturned in the scuffle and pellets skittered every which way, disappearing under surfaces and around shoes. Stan fumbled to try and collect them, but he was only making it worse, knocking them away in his panic.

“Sorry, sorry sorry sorry-”

“I said no!” Ford roughly grabbed his brother’s arm and yanked him away from the workspace, ignoring Stan’s yelp. “Every time, every time I think we’re past this you just have to go and mess everything up again! Are you not capable of doing what I say for once in your life and just leaving well enough alone? I told you not to touch anything! You could well have destroyed our one chance at getting rid of Cipher once and for all!”

“I’m sorry, okay?!” Stan whined and tried to pull away – dodging responsibility once again, just like always. Ford growled and held him in place.

“Now, Stanley, you– quit squirming! – you will sit down and be quiet and not touch anything else, is that understood?”

“Ford, leggo!” Stan squeaked.

“You are to stay away from Fiddleford and I while we work. I will not have you sabotaging me again, not like you did at the science fair-”

Stan punched him in the face.

It was a weak blow from a tiny fist – it barely hurt – but the shock at having his brother strike him made Ford freeze. Stan ripped from his grip and stumbled back with a whimper that sounded dangerously like a sob.

…oh.

Ford didn’t even have to look at his brother’s pale, tearstained face to realize that he had, perhaps, gone a little overboard.

“Stanley-” Ford couldn’t think of anything to say. What was there to say? Stan looked terrified, and Ford supposed he cut a rather intimidating figure to such a small person. He reached out but Stan jerked away violently from his hand.

Why wasn’t Stan getting mad at him in return? The Stan Ford knew would have yelled right back. Ford could handle anger, but he had no idea how to handle fear.

“Stan, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

He reached out again, helplessly. The instant his fingertips touched Stan’s shoulder the child recoiled, throwing his hands up as if to defend himself. But surely he knew Ford would never hurt him?

“No! No no no don’t touch me leave me alone! Go away! I hate you and I don’t ever wanna see you again go away!”

Ford flinched, and Stan took the opportunity to spin on his heel and bolt for the stairs. Ford froze, torn between chasing after him and staying to clean up the mess.

“Ford, a little help!” Fiddleford yelped, and Ford made up his mind. He whipped around and hurried to help his friend lift the rifle back onto his workbench. As he took the weight of the rifle Fiddleford snatched his hands back, wincing at the bright red burns that seared across his palms. “Ouch.”

Ford was careful to keep away from the hot section of metal as he lifted the gun back onto the table. When it was secure he was finally able to take a breath and turn to his friend.

“Fiddleford, are you alright?”

“Ah’m fine, just gotta get these in some water. Where’d Stanley go?”

“I – I don’t know.”

Fiddleford’s eyes widened. “If he goes outside the barrier-”

There were more words, but Ford had stopped processing them. He bolted for the stairs.

 Stan was such an idiot.

He hadn’t even stopped to put on shoes before running into the woods, and he already couldn’t feel his toes from the stinging cold. Well, who cared anyway? He just had to get away.

Stan’s numb foot caught on a root and sent him hurtling to the ground, grating his face and hands on frigid, snowy dirt. He let out a squeaking wheeze as the air left his squashed lungs, letting out little hitching coughs and sobs as he struggled to regain his breath.

Shut up shut up shut up, stop being such a wimp. He pushed himself up on shaky arms and sniffled, rubbing at his nose with a pathetic whimper.

Okay. So, everything was crashing down around him. That was fine. Everything was just fine. He still had – um.

What did he have?

There was something in his fist. Stan sniffed and uncurled his fingers to reveal a tiny shimmering pearl resting in his palm. He stared at it, blinking tears from his eyes.

“What the heck are you?”

Oh, wait. It was one of Ford’s bullet things. Stan’s grip tightened around it, that stupid little ball that was so important to his brother.

He placed it on the ground, climbed to his feet, and lifted a foot to stomp down on it.

And hesitated.

Because it was stupid, but Ford seemed to think these were so important, and Stan just couldn’t crush something that meant that much to his brother. He hiccupped and growled to himself.

He couldn’t do it.

Stan shoved it in his pocket and headed further into the woods.

 Stan wasn’t in the house.

A quick, desperate search revealed Ford’s home empty. Luckily a fresh layer of snow lay on the ground outside – a trail of footprints disappeared into the woods and he bolted after them, snatching his coat on his way out. Of all the places to go! The forest wasn’t safe, Ford had to get his brother back inside the barrier where Bill couldn’t reach them-

His foot slipped on wet snow.

Ford barely had time to flail before his legs slipped from under him and his head hit a tree trunk with a decisive clunk.

#gravity falls #rewind #chapter 7

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

@ash-grimmy asked me about how I would write a Gravity Falls/Wingfeather Saga, full AU this time, with Stan and Ford as King and Throne Warden of Anniera, respectively, and since I haven’t decided if I’ll actually write it or not, here’s what I came up with plot wise today:

First off, the only way I can think to do this would be an AU of the Fall of Anniera. Therefore I could be horrible and punny and call it, “Anniera Falls” which is both literally what happens and also playing off of “Gravity Falls”. I’m a horrible person and I know it. xD

Okay, so how the actual plot would go is this;

As the twins have gotten older, Ford has become jealous/resentful of the fact that Stan is the king and he’s Throne Warden, not because he wants to be king, but because having to always be there to look after Stan has kept him from doing things he wants to do. So one day Ford says, “Screw it” and decides Stan doesn’t actually need him (he’s always been able to take care of himself in a fight and everything is peaceful right now so Ford doesn’t need to be there to strategize) and runs off to become whatever a scientist is called in Aerwiar. He ends up in the Green Hollows trying to find out about the monsters called, “cloven” that have begun populating the Blackwood.

A few years pass. Anniera is attacked and destroyed. When Ford hears about this, he freaks out, but before he can really do anything the Hollows are attacked and he has to help there. By the time the war is over and he actually has time to try and figure out what happened to his kingdom and his brother... it seems like there’s not really a mystery to be had. I mean, everyone was killed, right?

Wrong. Some time after the fighting has stopped one of the survivors from Anniera, an old friend of Ford’s, Fiddleford, finds him. Fiddleford’s severely traumatized from everything that’s happened, but he’s been looking for Ford to tell him that Stan wasn’t killed, in fact Fidds saw Stan get captured by the Fangs. With this new information, Ford realizes that as Throne Warden he’s obligated to go try and save his brother. He starts off doing this begrudgingly. Like, yeah, great, his brother’s alive, but he is now in the most heavily fortified stronghold in the whole frickin’ world and how is Ford supposed to rescue him?! It’s terrible, but he kind of resents Stan for not dying and leaving him to mourn his homeland in peace. No, he’s got to cause more trouble for Ford.

Still, Stan is his brother, and deep down Ford does love him, so he goes to rescue him. Fiddleford goes with him for some reason (because I want him to stay in the story).

Uhhhh, that’s what I’ve got for plot I guess. 

Fates of some of the other Gravity Falls characters:

I’m not sure what happens to Ford and Stan’s other brother, Sherman, (he’s probably dead, sorry dude) but he’s their younger brother and he does exist in this AU because if I have him then that means I can have....

...Dipper and Mabel! In this version Stan and Ford aren’t their great uncles, just normal uncles, and they’re still quite smol, but they exist! They are rescued from Anniera by Soos and his wife Melody (because why not) and Wendy. Instead of going to Skree they go to hide with Wendy’s family in the Green Hollows (think about it, that seems like where they would be from, it’s logical xD). Soos and Melody plan to raise them as their own. At some point they all encounter Ford on his quest. (Maybe they go with him??? If I could figure out how to write them consistently??? They probably don’t take the kids, because Dipper and Mabel are tiny little mites, but)

Beyond that I have no idea. 

Ages! Because those are important!

Stan, Ford and Fiddleford are all in like, their early 30′s? So about the age they were when the whole Portal incident happened in GF canon.

Soos and Wendy are the same (ish) ages they are in the show, with Soos in his 20′s and Wendy as a teenager.

Sherman (rip) is probably in his late 20′s

Dipper and Mabel are probably somewhere between 3-5 years old (babies!!). They’re insanely cute.

Right, yep, that’s what I got, hope you enjoyed my outline. xD

#gravity falls #the wingfeather saga #stan pines #ford pines #alternate universe #my writing #my fanfics #anniera falls #pines family #subject to change without notice if I ever do write the thing #I had to get this out of my system somehow #xD

[thelastspeecher]

Angiewolf AU - Connecting

I did a choose your own fic-venture stream tonight, as my stream to celebrate my birthday two days late.  As a refresher, a choose your own fic-venture stream is what I call the streams where I have the chat help me write something, by providing options for what should happen next and asking the chat to vote on which option.  Tonight’s stream was to finish up a ficlet in the Angiewolf AU that follows this one, where Angie gets hurt by a bear trap lines with silver.  Enjoy.

              There was a loud thud from Angie’s room.  Fiddleford’s head shot up.

              “She’s awake,” Fiddleford said.

              “How do you know that?” Stan asked.  “She falls off her bed all the time.”

              “It wasn’t muffled by blankets.  When she falls off her bed while she’s asleep, she usually brings a blanket down with her.”  Stan stared at Fiddleford.  “My bedroom was right next to hers, growin’ up, okay?”  Fiddleford got up from the table.  “I’m goin’ to go check on her.”

              “I can come with,” Stan said, standing.  Ford finished writing something in his journal and closed it.

              “I as well.  It’s important to track Angie’s healing process.  Her species status will likely affect how she heals.”

              “So we’re all going,” Stan said.  Ford stood.

              “It appears that way, yes.”  The three of them left the kitchen and made their way to Angie’s room.  Fiddleford hesitantly opened the door.  He let out a small yelp.

              “Banjey!”  Fiddleford rushed inside.  He knelt next to Angie.  She had propped herself up against the bed but seemed too weak to do much more.

              “Fidds?” Angie whispered.  “What- what happened?”

              “You got caught in a bear trap,” Fiddleford said.  Angie frowned.

              “But I- I feel bad all over, not just where the bear trap got me.”

              “It was lined with silver,” Ford said.  Angie looked over at the door, where Ford and Stan were still standing. “You’re experiencing some poisoning symptoms, including respiratory distress, low blood pressure, and anemia.” Angie squinted at him.  “I took samples.”

              “That explains the band-aids on my arms,” she mumbled.  She tried to stand.  She let out a cry of pain and collapsed.  Stan started to move.  Ford held him back.

              “Fiddleford can handle it,” Ford said quietly.  “Angie’s weak and ill.  A familiar face will help to keep her calm.”

              “We’ll get ya some crutches, okay?” Fiddleford said.  He helped Angie back onto the bed.  “It’ll be difficult fer ya to walk around with that big wound on yer leg.”

              “Yeah,” Angie mumbled.  She looked back at Stan and Ford.  “Fidds, why do I have an audience when I ain’t clothed?”

              “You’ve got a robe on,” Fiddleford said.

              “Yeah, but nothin’ underneath.”

              “Fiddlesticks wouldn’t let anyone dress you,” Stan said.

              “But since yer up now, you can dress yourself,” Fiddleford said.  He walked over to the dresser.  “What do ya want to wear?”

              “Pajamas.”

              “Smart,” Stan said, nodding.  “That way you don’t need underwear.”  Angie managed a weak smile.

              “Stanley, don’t say that sort of thing,” Fiddleford scolded.  

              “I didn’t mind,” Angie said.  “I like Stan’s sense of humor.”  Stan grinned at her.  Fiddleford let out a loud huff.  Angie sighed. “Yes, Fidds?” she asked. Fiddleford turned his back to the dresser to frown at Stan.  He crossed his arms.

              “I just don’t think it’s right of Stanley to be flirtin’ with ya when yer in a delicate state.”

              “C’mon, Fiddlesticks, I’m not exactly telling her to bend ov-” Stan started. Ford elbowed him roughly. Fiddleford’s mouth tightened into a thin, disapproving line.  “Uh, I mean-”

              “I know exactly what ya mean, Stanley Pines,” Fiddleford snapped. Angie began to drum her fingers on the bed, her facial expression carefully neutral as she watched Fiddleford berate Stan.  “You’ve been all over Angie since ya first found her in the woods!  I don’t even want to think about how many times you’ve seen her…” His face twisted like the next word was sour.  “…naked.”

              “She’s a werewolf, nudity is to be expected to some degree,” Ford said. Fiddleford eyed him.  “And to be fair, every time I’ve seen Stan interacting with Angie while she wasn’t wearing clothes, he’s been very, ah, demure.”

              “What about the times ya haven’t seen?” Fiddleford demanded.  Angie’s face flushed bright red.  “It’s improper fer someone to-”

              “Everyone just leave me alone!” Angie burst out.  Fiddleford took an instinctive step backwards.  Stan and Ford stared at her.  Ford adjusted his glasses.

              “Your eyes are glowing, Angie, you must be rather upset,” he remarked. Angie let out a low growl.

              “Gee, I wonder what would make ya think that?” she rumbled, her voice guttural.

              “I just told you.  Your eyes are glowing like they do when your more feral-”

              “Rhetorical question, Poindexter,” Stan said quietly.  Ford turned pink.

              “Oh.  Right.”

              “Banjey, is-” Fiddleford started, stepping closer to her.  Angie’s hands clenched around fistfuls of the patterned comforter.

              “Leave me be!” she barked.  “Let me have a few minutes to myself to get dressed without an audience of bickerin’ men who keep talkin’ ‘bout me like I’m not here!”  There was a soft rip as the comforter tore.  “Or maybe they realize I’m here, they just don’t care fer my opinion. Not sure which one’s worse.” Fiddleford’s shoulders slumped.

              “Yer right, Banjey, I’m sorry.  We’ll leave ya to get dressed,” he said quietly.  Angie watched him exit the room and close the door.  Fiddleford slumped against the closed door.  “I didn’t mean to upset her like that.”

              “She’s under stress, and you were slightly overbearing,” Ford said.  Stan scoffed.

              “‘Slightly’?” he asked.  Fiddleford bristled.  “Anyways, we shouldn’t be having this conversation out here, Angie can-”  Something hit the door.

              “Go away!” Angie shouted.

              “-hear us,” Stan finished.  “Well, I don’t wanna piss off a werewolf, so I’m gonna go have a sandwich.”

              “Lunch sounds like a good idea,” Ford agreed.  Fiddleford sighed.

              “I should prob’ly make somethin’ fer Angie.”  Another thing, much heavier than the previous one, hit the door.

              “I can hear ya talkin’ out there! Leave!”

----- 

              After fifteen minutes had passed, Fiddleford finally stood up from his seat at the kitchen table.

              “I should check on her.”

              “Uh, no,” Stan said.  Fiddleford glared at him.  “Dude, she was pissed at you.  If you show up trying to rescue her or whatever, she’ll just get even more pissed.”  Fiddleford slowly sat back down.

              “…Yer right,” he said softly.

              “You’re remarkably good at predicting how Angie will react to things,” Ford remarked.  Stan shrugged.

              “Eh, it’s how I’d react if some toothpick guy showed up tryin’ to be my knight in shining armor right after I told him to fuck off.  Not exactly rocket science.”

              “Still.  You and Angie seem to have a connection of sorts.”  Ford tapped his chin with his pen.  “Perhaps when you found her, she imprinted on you.”

              “You mean, like ducks?” Stan asked.  Ford tilted his head.

              “In a way, I suppose.”

              “If you’ve got this ‘connection’ with her, maybe you should check on her,” Fiddleford said bitterly.  Stan looked at Fiddleford.

              “I’m not the one who said that, Ford did.  Your argument’s with him.”  Stan stood. “But yeah, I’ll go check.  It’s been a while and we haven’t heard a peep from her.” As he exited the kitchen, he could hear Ford trying to make his case.

              “Fiddleford, I wasn’t trying to imply anything between Stan and Angie-”

              “Ya said they had a connection, Stanford,” Fiddleford replied.  “I don’t consider myself overprotective, but…”  Thankfully, Stan finally got far enough away that he couldn’t hear the conversation anymore.  He let out a small sigh.

              “Not overprotective?  That’s news to me,” he muttered to himself.  He stopped in the hallway.  Angie was sitting on the floor, slumped against the wall, deathly pale.  “Need some help?” Stan asked cheerfully.  Angie looked away.  “You, uh, you didn’t hear anything that we were talking about in the kitchen, did you?”

              “No.”  Angie frowned.  “My ears feel like they’re full of cotton right now.  My hearin’s back to human until I’m better, I think.”  She sighed heavily.  “Why?  What was said about me this time?”

              “Nothin’ really.  Just Fiddlesticks being overprotective.”  Stan sat next to her on the floor.  Angie’s head lolled to one side.  “I’m gonna ask again, ‘cause you never answered me.  Need some help?”

              “No,” Angie said firmly.  Her eyes welled up with tears.

              “You sure about that?”

              “…No,” Angie said in a small voice.  She rubbed her eyes.  “Maybe- maybe I should-”  She huffed impatiently.  “I just wanted to make it to the kitchen.  But I- I realized that if I tried to go much further without some form of assistance or break that I’d risk hurtin’ myself more.”

              “Yeah, continuing to use a bad leg is gonna make it worse.  I know from experience.”

              “Heh.”  Angie’s brow furrowed.  “What experience?”

              “Oh, uh…”  Stan rubbed the back of his neck.  “I did boxing when I was younger.”  Angie looked at him, intrigued.  “I was shitty at first, but I got pretty good by high school.”

              “Maybe you should show me sometime,” Angie said.  She winked at him.  Stan grinned.

              “For you?  Yeah, I’ll put on a private show,” he replied.  Angie chuckled.  She held her hands out.

              “Care to help me up?  I could use some food.”

              “You got it.”  Stan stood and took the offered hands, pulling Angie up.  He then slouched slightly so she could drape her arm across his shoulder for support.  During the process, Angie’s face passed close by Stan’s.  He felt himself flush as her hair brushed his face.  “Ready?”

              “As I’ll ever be.”  Angie’s voice was tight with pain.  Stan looked at her in concern.  She forced a smile.  “Yer not goin’ to make me go back to bed, are ya?”

              “Nah.  I’m not the kinda person to stop someone from getting a snack.”

#this was fun thank you everyone who helped me write it~ #I'm so happy to get this finished up #and it turned out pretty cute if I do say so myself #Angiewolf AU #Stangie #Angie McGucket #Fiddleford McGucket #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #my writing #ficlet #speecher speaks

[siodymph]

Fiddlefest: Portal Fidds

Oh my goodness, I wanted to do this fan-month so badly but was up to my ears in school work, but now that that nightmare's over I plan to write for all the prompts each week I missed out on.

And since I felt about about missing out for the majority of this month I'm also opening requests until the 31st! Anything and everything Fiddleford! (non NSFW) I'm also will do ships if you like!

In the meantime I hope you like this first story! You can read it under the cut or over on my AO3!

Despite there being infinite realities, more numerous and vast than the human mind could ever hope to fully grasp, it seemed like Stanford Pines had an abnormally high probability of stumbling into this dimension.

The first time it happened Fiddleford had been utterly shocked. Who could have ever predicted that one of the first outer-dimensional beings he’d ever meet would be an alternate version of his own husband? It had been surprising, but very fascinating. When Fiddleford looked at him, he saw so much of his own Stanford in the man. Yet he also had these differences in his voice, the way he held himself, slight enough to nearly be missed and yet uncanny enough to fill Fiddleford’s mind with confusion. He did his best to help the wandering Stanford, healed him up, gave him some proper tools and weapons before he journeyed back out into the multiverse. And he considered the moment to be yet another strange yet exciting story he could now share about an unlikely, once-in-a-lifetime moment.

That was until it happened again. And again. It was like clockwork now, as soon as one Stanford left a few months later another would tumble through a dimensional tear. It was baffling, but over time it had become just another oddity that grew mundane the long Fiddleford worked here in Gravity Falls.

And while each one was clearly none other than Stanford Filbrick Pines, each one had their own unique quirks and variances. He found as he met more and more Stanfords he could begin to categorize them. There were badass action heroes, (or at least ones who tried to be bamf’s though they were still the nerdy man Fiddleford knew and loved under all the scars and leather get-up), the wide-eyed dorks who never seemed to lose their fascination with the world around them, the haunted ones who seemed obsessed with their faults and bill’s betrayal, Fiddleford had probably spent a good two years now, cataloguing every Stanford who came through. It was curious to observe in a person, how just one small change could make them entirely different Stanfords.

His Stanford never admit it, but he always knew the man wished he could meet his alternates. Talk to them face to face. But they both knew that it was far too dangerous. It was thought that seeing oneself could tear one’s mind to pieces, or tear apart reality entirely. And while it was not yet proven, Stanford and Fiddleford had no plans to find out the truth. So to ensure the safety of their dimension only Fiddleford communicated with the Stanfords.

While Fiddleford housed and helped each Stanford that came through he and his own Stanford began to piece together possible theories by looking over their own research as well as the stories of every Stanford who was willing to share.

Stanford thought it may possibly a connection between Stanfords. He pointed out how their existence seemed to constantly be pulled in and out of realities until they were back in the world they originally belonged to, or at least where their original tear formed. Perhaps due to their worlds being so similar the Stanford’s felt drawn to their world as a possible replacement for their old on and tried to unwillingly place them here.

Fiddleford agreed with some points as Stanford, though he felt it had less to do with their entire dimension and more to do with the portal they constructed together. That after they put their portal online, that’s what began acting as a false homing beacon for these Stanfords. Nearly every single Stanfords he talked to all admitted that Fiddleford’s portal was the only one they’d seen in stable condition and was properly protected from Bill. Granted the fact that he could only get the viewpoints of Stanfords banished out into the multiverse did skew Fiddleford’s information, but until he found a way to communicate with other Stanfords who never left their dimension this was the only information he had access to.

And from the information he’d gathered there was clearly a pattern. What he could do about it, Fiddleford still wasn’t sure. But he did know that if he and Stanford could clearly solve this strange problem, they just might discover more about how the universe and reality truly work.

One day when yet another dimensional tear formed, all flashing colors of hot pink and crimson red, Fiddleford prepared yet again for another encounter with a Stanford. Most were friendly, even happy to see him, at the least they had been civil, but a small handful had been delirious and violent so Fiddleford could never be too careful. Tranquilizer at the ready, he watched from a safe distance as the Stanford was thrown through the tear and fell to the ground. And behind him the tear healed back over and disappeared, like it never even happened.

Groaning, the figure pushed themselves off the ground and looked around at their new surroundings, no doubt lost or preparing for the worst. They were wearing hood, scarf and dark goggles so Fiddleford couldn’t see their face. But what he clearly saw was just how skinny the Stanford was. Never had Fiddleford seen a Stanford that thin and frail looking. Poor dear was looked starving. Fiddleford had plans to get the traveler on a healthy diet as soon as he introduced himself.

As the Stanford began pushing up their goggles to see better Fiddleford began to approach him. Relaxing his posture and making sure his voice was calm.

“Hello stranger, you just came to-” All at once his breath stopped short in his throat as the stranger pulled off his goggles and… he saw himself.

Fiddleford hurried to cover his eyes while he heard the other man yelp and do the same but he already knew it was too late. He just single-handedly destroyed the world. How could he have been so stupid! Cocky enough to think this pattern of Stanfords would just go on forever! And now look at what his assumptions cost! He felt frozen. Reality itself might be unraveling and it was all his fault. Oh god, what happened now? He might have cried if he wasn’t so panicked. His eyes were still covered but who knew what he’d see if he opened them again. If there would even be anything to see.

He waited, silence seeming to stretch time… but nothing happened.

Tentatively, he pulled his hands down from his eyes and slowly let his eyes open. Hoping beyond hope that he and Stanford had been wrong.

He was still in the laboratory, in a safe room they had set off for any arriving Stanfords. And still sitting on the ground was another Fiddleford. He was young, real young. Hair still golden brown, and Fiddleford knew he started greying as soon as he hit 29. He was looking up at Fiddleford with an equal amount of shock as Fiddleford was certain mirrored his face at the moment.

Then seeming to come back to life the younger Fidds pushed himself off the ground and started dusting himself off.

“Well, guess that’s one way to disprove a theory. Man, do I really get that grey?” He said, talking to himself like it was an inside joke before looking up to Fiddleford and realizing he was still there and could clearly hear him. “Oh no I’m sorry! That was awfully rude of me. Picked up a bad habit of blurting out whatever I think. And sorry to give ya, such a scare. I heard that if you ever saw yourself, it could rip apart time and space.”

Fiddleford tried to will himself to calm back down, as he spoke he could still feel his heart fluttering. “I- I’ve heard similar… But in this case I guess it’s much better to be wrong than right.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He said, looking around the lab shyly. “Nice place you got here… me? Um, would you mind telling me where I am, exactly?”

Oh! Trying to get back his composure Fiddleford started saying the lines he all but knew by heart, keeping his voice steady and calm, but still friendly. After the first several Stanfords he thought it would be smart to keep similar introductions with each one as to maintain some sort of control with all the different Stanfords who came through for. And while this wasn’t a Stanford he was still an alien lifeform from another dimension. “Of course, you are currently in Dimension C-524 and are in the McGucket Pines laboratory, in Gravity Falls Oregon. Planet Earth. Also it’s the summer of 2002 if that’s any use to you.”

“Thanks for that, cover’s about everything I wanted to know really.” He said before awkwardly extending his hand. “I’m Fiddleford. Not sure what my home dimension is, but it’s a pleasure to meet you. Sorry, felt weird not introducing myself, even though we’re kinda the same person.”

Fiddleford to the hand and shook it. “Oh not at all, don’t worry about that! And if you ask me, all the Fords I deal with are a sign, even though we might look the same I believe we’re our own people. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well!”

The Fiddleford perked up when he mentioned that. “Wait, what do you mean by other Fords?”

“I think we have a lot to discuss, we ca do it over some lunch? My treat. I can show you around too if you like.” While Fiddleford realized the younger man actually shared his beanpole body type, he still looked sickly thin.

“Well I ain’t one to turn down sincere southern hospitality!” Fidds said with a small chuckle.

Arm in arm Fiddleford guided his alternate self out of the room and into the halls of his impressive facility. Pointing out his favorite projects here and there and answering any questions Fidds had about the area. And when he was sure he wasn’t looking, Fiddleford pulled out his phone and texted his husband.

Sugar, you can come out of the safe room. Also I just disproved two of our theories the ones where only Stanfords dimension hopping and the whole seeing-yourself-causes-the end-times concept.

Please come to the cafeteria as soon as you can, I think you’ll want to meet our most recent guest.

#Fiddlefest #Marchgucket #fiddleford appreciation month #week one #portal fidds

[danvssomethingorother]

The Third Wheel

Index: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

A03

The final part of my series for @fiddlestanfiction summer event. I’m just posting the final four chapters here but if you want them broke up, check out my A03 link.

Thanks @acidicgumdrops for editing! And a huge thank you to everyone who reads this!

—

Part 5

(Campfire, fireflies, suspicious)  

The next morning, they once more found themselves in Stan’s car heading out to the Rodriquez farm, Ford having assured them both countless times as they lay awake late into the night that it would work out this time with a little planning beforehand. Fidds curled into himself as much as he could so as not to touch either twin, not wanting to be accused of anything again. Fidds hadn’t been very surprised to find Stan fast asleep in the chair across from the bed the next morning. 

Just as Stan shouldn’t be surprised that Fidds had chosen to sit in the back seat. He’d lain awake most of the night thinking about how he just wanted to leave the hotel room, his head ducked under the covers and his fingers tugging gently at his hair, the anger and frustration that just radiated off Stan physically and mentally distressing him. As he lay there, listening to Stan snipe and snarl at Ford’s plans and Ford take the bait each time arguing loudly and calling Stan names that Stan returned, Fidds realized he just wanted to go away. Far away from both twins and maybe not come back.  

The rustling of sheets and the bathroom door being slammed shut startled him enough to rip out a large chunk of the hair he had previously been gripping to try and drown out the brothers. He buried his head into the bedding, trying to make his frustrated sob inaudible as the tears began quickly trickling down his face.  

He might have broken down completely after the awful day and nerve wracking night if it wasn’t for a familiar six fingers resting gently on top of his head. It brought him back to a time this action would have been the only thing that grounded him after a particularly hard day back in college. When he used to rest his head on Ford’s knee, and Ford would place his hand on the top of his head, softly messaging his scalp like he was doing now to help him unwind.

He felt a deep self-hatred bubbling in the pit of his stomach the next morning when he realized that that action had been the only thing to calm him enough to sleep through the night. His knee bounced restlessly in the back seat and his finger twitched on his lap as he felt Stan’s accusing stare hitting him from the rear view mirror as they began their long drive.  

Fidds glanced over at the page Ford was writing in and noticed an odd equation he was scratching quickly into the top, their eyes met as he glanced up from his book. Ford seemed taken aback a second noticing his friend watching him, but smiled towards him reassuringly and Fidds did his best to return the gesture.

“Is something troubling you today? Your KBPS is off the charts this morning.”

It took Fidds a moment to realize what he meant by that and then he slowly pressed down on his bouncing knees in embarrassment. He didn’t know how to respond to that so he didn’t, instead averting his eyes far away from Ford. He pressed his hands harder against his knees, feeling like he was being so rude to Ford who was only expressing concern for his well-being, but he felt uncomfortable discussing anything with him right now.

“If you’re worried about things going badly this time, you shouldn’t. I have a gut feeling that things will turn out better this time, Fidds, trust me. Once we get to the farm, we can make a trap for the creature and lie low until tonight when we strike.”

He gave Ford a halfhearted smile, hoping he was right about that.  

—

The rest of the ride was silent and uneventful, the only sound being the static Stan’s radio picked up and the scratching of Ford’s pen, his mind miles away from the car as he plotted their next moves. Fidds kept his eyes glued out the window, thoughts zooming in his head a mile a minute, each worry toppling over the last becoming an incoherent white noise.

They arrived at the farm a little past noon, Fidds’s first genuine smile of the day coming from Maria offering them quite the feast in gratitude for them returning after the dismal first trip to the ranch. It was a very strange to have Ford being more polite and talkative than Stan during their lunch. Ford was in such a good mood about his plan being a success, he was more than willing to shoot the breeze with their host.  

After their meal, Maria showed Fidds and Ford to a private area (the guest bedroom) to finish preparations on their plan before they got to work on initiating it. Fidds felt sickened by his relief that his boyfriend chose to sit in the living room with their host and watch a Spanish soap opera.  

Ford sat at the desk and Fidds leaned over the back of the chair, watching him scribble the last few details before handing it off to Fidds to make any last minute corrections. Being in familiar territory once more helped calm Fidds’s nerves significantly. His mind going back to the world of science and numbers felt like a breath of fresh air compared to the emotional turmoil with no solution in sight that was his current relationship.  

Ford turned his seat over to Fidds and Fidds shed away any thoughts about his problems with Stan entirely, talking a mile a minute about how to fix Ford’s calculations on the trap he wished to set up, trying to find creative but logical solutions to their limited supplies.

Ford almost took the book away from Fidds after he made a few corrections but Fidds swatted his hand away, reminding him they had time before his monster would arrive and he wasn’t starting building until these designs were up to his approval, not Ford’s. Ford shook his head and rolled his eyes before pulling out another book from his jacket and collapsing on the bed to pass the time while Fidds worked, needlessly making remarks under his breath.

During his third and final revision, Ford broke his concentration from the task at hand and back into the reality he didn’t quite want to be a part of at the moment.

“What is going on between you and my brother?”

Fidds didn’t answer at first, making his final corrections before setting his pencil down, unable to bring himself to look at Ford.

“It’s…. complicated.”  

It must have been bad if Ford, who was usually oblivious to the world around him, noticed their crumbling relationship.  

“You seem really upset today,” Ford began, but whatever he was going to say trailed off with a sigh. He awkwardly ran his fingers through his hair, not quite knowing what else to say. Emotions were not his forte, nor were they something he was used to dealing with so openly.

Fidds said nothing and let the silence consume their dying conversation. His finger began twisting and tugging at a strand of hair that slipped into his line of sight, knee bumping against the desk.  

Fidds didn’t have the heart to say this was all Ford’s fault. If he hadn’t come with them, Fidds and Stan would likely be relaxing on a beach somewhere together without a care in the world. Maybe, even, Stan wouldn’t be so angry at him right now.  

A tear slid down his face as the unvoiced frustrations began to come out. His shaking hand slipped, yanking out a tuft of hair just as the first sob escaped his throat. Ford gently rested his hand on his shoulder and began running his fingers through his hair, a frown settling firmly on his face.

“I think it would be best if, after the capture of the chupacabra, we head home. I don’t know what’s going on, but it might be best to settle it in a more familiar place.”  

Fidds buried his head in his hands and silently agreed with Ford; this entire get away was a mess and he just wanted to go home.

—

The rest of the afternoon was spent plotting and constructing the trap. Despite the different environment, it felt more casual than anything else that had happened on this trip. It fell into a soothing normality that helped Fidds ward off his anxiety.

The normal routine of working on a project together even helped Stan get out of the miserable funk he had been.  

By lunch, he was able to smile at Fidds’s terrible pun that had Ford cracking up, and by the time dinner rolled around it was as if the fight never happened. Maybe they were all too wrapped up in the familiar environment of work to remember the fight they were having, or maybe (Fidds hoped) it was forgotten for good.  

Fidds shoved the bad events deep within his mind, hoping to never have to deal with them again as he settled next to Stan on the patio in front of the warm hand-crafted stone fire pit. Stan offered him a beer that he gratefully accepted. A smile crept across his face as Stan rested his arm around his shoulder and they drank their beers together in the comfortable silence, watching the fire burn.

Just the two of them at long last, their problems buried down deep behind both of their insecurities. Unlikely to be brought up again, just the way Fidds wanted it to be. ‘Let it be a forgotten memory, never to be spoken of,’ he decided, resting his head on Stan’s shoulder.  

Neither mentioned Ford’s absence as they watched the sun sink down on the horizon, which again was fine with Fidds. If it meant no confrontation, all the better. A part of him hoped Ford didn’t return and they didn’t go through with their plan, maybe they could spend their last week on this beautiful little ranch. Make real farm hands out of the Pines men, teach them the ropes like his father had taught him many years ago on a pig farm similar to this little home. Maybe letting their little week on a ranch convince Ford that having farm animals around their home would be useful and not a waste of time.

It was only hopeful thinking.

The sun sank at last and it was time for them to go through with their plan, but Fidds didn’t rise up from Stan and Stan made no attempt to move. Both just stared at the fire roaring in front of them, not raising their heads when Ford slammed the back door shut behind them.

When Fidds rose his head after a few seconds, he immediately noticed something off about Ford. Something not quite right about the way his fingers kept twitching and the smug smile he didn’t see often, especially not before dangerous encounters like this, that was resting on his face.

“Hey, Fiddlesticks! Ya got everything ready?”

There was something odd about Ford’s speech, Fiddleford noticed. The way he said each word, and that tone was foreign to his usual proper, light tone.  

“Yes, it’s all ready Stanford. We’ll start whenever you’re ready.”

There was an arrogance about his next words Fidds didn’t really like and he knew made Stan’s blood boil once more, scratching the scab off an old wound and making it bleed.  

“That’s good, Fiddlesticks, let’s hope there are no mistakes this time around. We only have so much time, so get off your lazy butts and let’s get to work!”

Stan’s mouth was beginning to shape into a snarl, but Fidds cut off whatever he was going to say by taking charge of the situation and drawing his boyfriend’s attention away from his brother’s strange behavior.

“Stanley, why don’t you go wait by the barn like we planned and get ready to draw that critter out with Marco; he should be here shortly to assist you. Me and Stanford are gonna be by the machine. Make sure ya—“

“I know what I’m doin’ Fidds,” he cut him off already, sinking back into his foul mood and disheartening Fidds once more as they set off in their opposite directions.  

Marco arrived back from the store right as the sun finally set, wishing a brief good luck to Fidds and Ford as he ran towards the barn, leaving the two by the crane-like machine that they had built mainly from garbage. Fidds feared it may be unstable, but that had never stopped him or Stanford from working on things in the past. Their college years were chalk full of questionable things one could make out of garbage, them constantly testing the boundaries of how far they could risk their lives just to outdo everyone else in the classroom.

Fidds bent over by the control center of the make-shift crane, no taller than the hen house, poised to drop the net down on the creature the second it ran under it. The net was made of thick chains with metal stakes attached to the end of them that would sink into the ground, pinning the little monster there so they could tranquilize it without a hitch.

That was the plan, anyway, but the machine had been made in a limited amount of time without any tests and mainly out of garbage, so it was really only with luck that this would work at all.  

Not far from them, Stan and Marco stood in front of the pen that housed the bait.  

Their plan was already ruined when they heard a commotion from the barn.

“I thought ya closed off all the holes in the barn, Marco?” Stan groaned, looking behind him at barn.

“I swear to you, Stan, I spent the last couple of days fixing the holes around the barn so it couldn’t go back in there.”

They would later find evidence that their little nuisance was living up on the rafters, hidden from sight in a nest it slept in during the day that Marco had assumed to be a bird’s nest. The lack of planning and foresight just made their job that much harder than it really needed to be.

Stan and Marco ran off towards the barn, filling Fidds with an unease he couldn’t explain as he realized he was alone with Ford. His knees quaked so hard it was hard for him to keep standing by the controls, which he tried to focus on to keep his mind off his growing anxiety.

A sense of déjà vu hit him as the goats flew out of the barn, running in terror. He clung to the rickety control panel to keep from being knocked over by the panicked animals.

Unbeknownst to him, Stan had pushed Marco out of the way of the large cow in the barn who was frantic and attacking anything in its way to get out of there while the creature latched onto a goat beside it. Marco and Stan were hauled up inside the barn, Marco returning his favor to Stan by looking after him till help arrived.

Ford was growing annoyed beside him and shoved him harder against the control panel, pushing a syringe against his chest and demanding he not mess up their plan while he went to find Stan.

In an astounding stroke of luck, Fidds caught the silhouette of the creature amidst the dirt clouds and hit the switch while it stood up on its hind legs, sniffing the air trying to get a bearing on its next move.

Without hesitation, Fidds powered the machine and watched, awe struck, as the machine constructed of only garbage actually worked. The net slammed down hard against the critter, knocking it to the ground as it began thrashing against its prison.

Fidds let out a few more shaky laughs, surprised it worked at all, before tightly holding the syringe and running over to the trapped creature.

Fidds fingers were shaking as he tried to hold the creature down on his own, even through the metal netting the creature managed to sink its teeth down into his arm, making Fidds yell out in pain and drop his needle. He struggled, crying out for help that didn’t come in the chaos surrounding him. Stanley still unconscious and Ford nowhere to be seen amidst the clouds of dirt and darkness.  

Small though the claws were, they were like finely sharpened barb wire, leaving long crimson lines across his arms the more he struggled. The syringe was now a good foot out of reach from where he sat struggling to get his arm free from the beast’s grip.

Black dots were beginning to form around his vision, everything spinning around him as he slumped into himself, his knees quaking as he feared the worst.

Giving into those sinking feelings, he nearly missed the lack of pressure on his arm and the creature’s cry of pain.

Most would assume when he looked up to see Stanford standing above him, stomping his foot into the creature making it let go of him, he would be relieved and filled with nothing short of joy. That, however, was far from what he was feeling at that moment.  

Warning bells were blaring inside him looking up at Stanford’s grin, it was inhuman and predatory and his eyes seemed to glow. A sea of fireflies lit up around him, illuminating that smile in the dark, shivers cascading down Fidds’s spine.

He shut his eyes trying to control his now erratic breathing, telling himself over and over again he was safe now that Stanford was back, he had nothing to fear being around Ford. He kept squeezing them tighter shut, even going as far as childishly covering his eyes with his numb shaking hands hearing the thuds of Ford’s feet smashing down on to the creature screeching out in pain.

Fidds eyes finally snapped open when the loud yelps stopped and he still heard the familiar thud of his boot meeting the ugly little creature’s flesh.  

Ford’s boot was positioned to strike the creature once more with his boot when Fidds finally spoke up, his squeaked out ‘stop’ was nearly inaudable to his own ears, so he repeated himself louder, crying out enough for his plea to echo over the frenzied farm animals.  

Their eyes met, Ford’s tense and threatening, Fidds’s teary and terrified. Ford lowered his foot and smiled at him as he gave the creature one last kick.

“Its had enough, Stanford, let’s just lock it up and be done with it,” he managed out becoming bold and moving between Ford and the creature, blocking any new blows in case whatever had gotten into Ford wasn’t over.

It was hard standing up right with his legs quivering the way they were, his breath shook with every word, but he stood his ground on this one. He may not like that creature and wanted it far away from him when this was said and done, but he didn’t want to be a part of needless cruelty either.  

Ford stared him down and a smile began to stretch across his face, daring Fidds to go and he foolishly accepted the invitation

“Yer not yerself, Stanford…please…let’s just go, ya got what ya wanted.”

Fidds tensed as Ford stepped closer towards him, a smug grin taking over his face. Ford’s hand raised and Fidds braced himself for some kind of strike, squeezing his eyes closed and turning his head away.

It never happened, though. He slowly opened his eyes and saw Ford snickering at his reaction.  

“Whatever ya say, Fiddlesticks. Let’s grab the little monster and get out of here.”  

Ford put his hands on Fidds shoulders and went to move him out of the way to get to the creature, but Fidds wouldn’t move and shook his head firmly.

“I-I can get him, Stanford,” he gasped out and Ford raised his eyebrow at his defiance, “He’s scared of you…”

“That arm of yours is pretty messed up, bean pole.” Ford shook his head at him and shrugged, grin still ever present on his face. “But hey! If ya wanna get yourself hurt some more, be my guest.”

Fidds almost let his guard down, even despite Ford’s insincere concern, and may have just gone back to pretending that the cruelty was in some way necessary. That Ford was only thinking of his safety.

If not for what happened next.  

“What’s the matter, Fiddlesticks? You sure are acting funny…”

Fidds began shaking as his hand pressed against his forehead and his hands travelled down his face, thumbs brushing against his jaw line.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were afraid of me.” Fidds tried to lie to them both and shake his head, but Ford held it still, gripping both sides of his face firmly and making Fidds look him in the eyes.

“That’s good, ya should be.”

A chill traveled down Fidds’s spine and he began to tremble as Ford’s hands moved further down, stopping at his neck and wrapping themselves around it. Ford pressed his thumbs hard into his windpipe, cutting off his air supply and making everything blur around him. Fiddleford’s hands instantly went to the ones gripping his throat, desperately tugging to loosen the hold.

Ford let go a second later, a smile still wide across his lips at Fiddleford’s terror as he fell to the ground, breathing hard and clinging to his throat, tears prickling against his eyes once more.  

“Yer useful to me now, Fiddlesticks. If yer smart, you’d do whatever you could to stay useful.”

With that, he turned around and left Fidds there, calling for him to meet him back at the house with the creature.  

—

The creature didn’t move to harm Fidds when his shaking hands had moved to pick it up. It seemed to be done fighting at this point, or maybe it just preferred the notion of being with Fidds than Ford. He carried it back to the house without any fuss or complaints.

Ford was seemingly back to normal when he met him at the door, explaining to him how he had just helped Marco put Stan to bed and that he was doing fine for now, oblivious to what had just happened. Fidds wanted to keep it that way so he kept his mouth shut.

When Ford went to take the creature from Fidds, its aggressiveness was revived and it started snapping at Ford’s fingers, forcing them to drug it while they fixed it up. Fidds practically begged Ford, to his confusion, to let him do most of the work, almost fearing Ford would change on him again and cause more harm to the already injured creature.

At each touch from Ford, Fiddleford began to shake and twitch, which Ford interpreted as his bad nerves being in these kinds of situations.

Fiddleford was a shaking mess while Ford patched him up, talking calmly to him and asking him to try to breathe to control his anxiety so he could tend to his wounds properly. When he proudly announced he was finished, Fidds practically jumped up, taking the creature with him to the spare bedroom. He stammered out a good night to Ford, which he returned with confusion.

—

The family had allowed them to spend the night in their home while they recuperated, and the trio decided to head back to the hotel in the morning.

Stan was still out of commission from his blow to the head so he was in the only spare bed, Fiddleford not daring stray far from his side at the desk, and the injured little critter was in his kennel next to the desk. Ford had been in there to check on both the creature and his brother moments ago before calling it a night to go sleep on the couch. Ford noticed how distant Fidds was acting towards him, even commenting on it, and it was eating Fidds up that he could be this rude to his friend, but he was still reeling from the shock of Ford’s sudden change earlier that evening.

Finally alone in his room, he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and took large heavy gulps of air, sputtering and choking as he tried to calm his nerves.

The moans of pain from the creature next to him had become nothing short of back ground noise as he tried put himself back together before Stan came to, wanting nothing more than to bury this entire event deep down enough to never think about it again and just go back to life as normal.  

His compassionate nature finally kicked in after a while, and he set his attention fully drugging the critter to hopefully take its pain away.

In its vulnerable state, it no longer looked like something to be feared. It was nothing more than a hairless raccoon, Fiddleford thought, and he’d always been fond of raccoons. He’d even made homes for the homeless creatures throughout their research facility, much to the annoyance of Ford and Stan.

Staring at the creature currently curled in the far corner moaning in pain and fear, a sense of pity flooded through Fiddleford and he, for the first time this entire evening, opened the kennel door. The creature’s tiny little claws were doing himself more damage, running against the muzzle they had placed on it. Fiddleford had earlier felt the muzzle was a safety precaution, but seeing the creature now in its injured state fully covered in bandages and already in a cage, he thought it was overkill.  

His fingers flexed, shook, and faltered several times as he reached his hand into the back of the kennel and unlatched the muzzle. He began shaking again, fearing he made a mistake when the creature stretched its neck forward, but he couldn’t help the smile when he felt it lick his arm. He patted its head gently and smiled a little brighter, seeing that it didn’t try to attack him like it had Stanford earlier.  

Fiddleford pulled his arm out of the cage and locked it up like nothing had happened, pleased that the animal had stopped its pained moans.

He crept over to the bed and tucked himself in next to Stan. As he reached over to shut off the lights and go to sleep after this long hellish day, he noticed that the scars on his left arm where the critter had clawed him earlier were completely healed, vanished like they had never happened.

He sat up, staring in astonishment at his newly healed wounds. Lost in his own world, he nearly missed Stan returning to a state of consciousness.

Fiddleford jumped when a hand touched his back and a raspy voice called out, “Hey, how’d it all go?”

“Stanley!” he gasped, the well wishes, threats of him ever scaring him like that again, and the thorough report on his health he planned out got lost in a hiccupped sob.

Stan just pulled him him down to the bed, where they both fell asleep, tangled tightly against each other.

Part 6

(Lake, Trouble, laughter)

This marked the last peaceful night Fiddleford would have next to Stan.

Fidds didn’t sleep with the twins the following nights; three in a row he spent down on the floor next the creature he pitied.  

He couldn’t explain to himself why the first night, he just couldn’t sleep next to Ford with the fear that he would lash out at him again. He didn’t even want to confront these fears. Didn’t want to admit them to Stan and create more conflict.

He used the critter as an excuse when Stan wanted to go out and stretch his legs the next day, after they got back to the hotel room and Stan was cleared healthy and Ford had agreed to go along. It had been an excuse, again, to avoid the conflict. Pretend for another moment longer that it didn’t exist.

The first day he didn’t even pay much attention to the critter, laying on the bed watching a show he couldn’t understand, staring at a menu for room service and flipping through his Spanish-to-English guide trying to decide on what to eat for lunch that day.  

The scratching from the cage was starting to test his patience as it hit his nerves just right, making it hard for him to concentrate on his task. He kept taking glances over at the cage, giving up almost entirely on his futile task as he snapped his dictionary shut.  

He looked over the bed to see the creature scratching against the floor of its cage, and Fiddleford looked on with pity, feeling just as trapped as it at this moment. Maybe letting it out would do it some good. Taking the muzzle off gained enough trust from it to let it touch him this morning and allow him to treat his injuries, so maybe letting him sit on the chair to be more comfortable while it healed would convince it not to hurt him in the future.  

Fiddleford scooted the chair away from the table, dragging it next to the bed and putting a pillow on it. He just stared at his work for a few minutes, regaining his lost nerves before turning towards the cage.

He opened the cage and let the creature have a chance to prepare himself for visitors like he had learned to do the previous evening and morning. If you gave him time to react, he wouldn’t lunge at the hand to grab him in fear (it had left some deep cuts in Stanford’s hands).

His fingers inched slowly into the cage and gently touched the creature. He ran his fingers across its coarse skin and crooned sweet nothings towards it, waiting a second for the critter to react. He took a deep breath and put his hand carefully on the creature, avoiding any of its injuries.  

It thrashed once when he accidentally hit a sore spot. He instantly put it back down and waited a few minutes before attempting to pick him up again, calmly explaining to him what he was doing the entire time and apologizing profusely in soft, whispered coos.  

He actually found himself smiling as the critter licked his fingers, giving permission for him to pick it up once more.

He had meant to put him down on his spot in the chair but instead found himself setting him on the bed next to him. The creature was now propped up on pillows right next to Fidds before he placed a blanket on him.

Surprising himself, he found himself scratching the creature’s ear, pretending the injured little thing was one of his beloved raccoons, letting it nibble at some of his snacks he had beside the bed. He laughed softly as it voraciously ate the treats he had collected from souvenir stores all over town. It growled slightly when Fidds tried to take back the treat.

“Ya remind me of my son Tate in some ways, little fella. He loved his sweets, too, my little tater tot,” Fiddleford become sullen after admitting that, and smiled at the creature licking his hand clean of the honey, “I haven’t seen him in over a year. I’m sure ya would have gotten along, though, maybe I can finally convince his ma that I won’t let nothing bad happen to him…”

“She don’t trust the Stan twins, though, and didn’t like me sticking up for them and allowing them to be around our boy. I know she only wants what’s best for our son…”

He let himself trail off after that, just resting his hand on the injured animal’s head and letting those thoughts fall on the way side once more, not planning to touch them again. All they did was cause him pain, and it was a fruitless endeavor trying to see his son again. The last he saw him was when Stan convinced him to visit the child without his wife’s permission after school. Stan encouraged him to be strong and stupid. It was a nice memory of the three of them seeing Star Wars together and taking Tate for burgers and ice cream, but once his ex found out he had allowed their boy to be around someone she considered dangerous (Stan’s arrest warrant was plastered all over the mail room she worked in, something to do with fraud and illegal llama herding) she’d threatened to have them both arrested. They ended up making a deal with her: so as long as she kept her mouth shut about Stan’s warrant, he wasn’t allowed near their child.

Fiddleford just buried it all deep down again, scratching his new found friend’s ear and making him croon in joy.

“Someday I want to try my hand at making something that’ll take away all the bad thoughts in my head and make everything easier, but I made a promise to the Stans a while back to not accidentally damage my own brain…”

Fidds let his thoughts and words cut off, staring blankly at the TV smiling as the creature licked his finger once more, bringing his attention back to it.

“I figure you and I will be together for a while, so hows about I give you a proper name? I know Ford’s dead set on just givin’ ya a number so we don’t get too attached to ya, but I can’t be hanging around somethin’ I can’t address properly.”

He ran his fingers across its skin, making it purr in pleasure, absentmindedly staring at the TV while he thought, and a grin stretched across his face as he saw the critter watching the show just as attentively.

“Ya like Carlos? I think he’s quite attractive myself, but don’t tell Stanley I said that…”

The creature licked his fingers again and he chuckled.

“I’d say Carlos is a fine name for ya as well.”

—

It was getting late and there was no sign of the twins, and Fiddleford was becoming anxious. He feared that Ford might have changed again and done something to Stanley, leaving him all alone.  

He let Carlos stay on the bed with him throughout the night, watching him sleep and concentrating only on his wheezy snores. He found himself dozing off sometime into the night, only to be woken by shouting. He picked up Carlos who yapped in pain, snapping at Fidds for grabbing him so abruptly.  

He placed a gentle kiss down on the creature as if it were his child throwing a tantrum, and put him back in his cage, shutting it tight and putting a blanket over it to keep it slightly hidden. He hurried to the door and looked out the large window beside it, unable to see anything, but opening the window helped him make out the voices better.

“—You’re drunk!”

“Stop dodging the damn question! What did ya do?!”

Fiddleford had heard enough. Instantly, he was out the door and running down the stairs towards the parking lot.  

He arrived just in time to see the first punch being thrown by Stan, hitting Ford square in the face. Fidds opened his mouth to yell at his boyfriend, but no noise came as he watched Ford strike back.  

Something stopped him from getting in the middle of their fight, some fear growing and clawing inside him.  

Just as soon as their fight began it was over, Stan throwing in one last punch before getting up and grabbing Fidds’s arm.

“We’re leaving, find your own damn ride home if you want to hide shit.”

He practically dragged Fidds, a large lump settling firmly in the smaller man’s throat, preventing him from giving any sort of protest towards Stan’s rough treatment as they both staggered up the stairs. Stan smelt like he had been baptized in liquor and gotten his new attitude from that spiritual awakening.  

“Fidds, get yer stuff. We’re leaving NOW,” he grunted out as he entered the room. Fiddleford continued to stand there, watching his boyfriend throw their clothes in their suitcases, even taking most of Ford’s cloths due to his lack of attention. He continued watching as Stan left most of their belongings scattered around the room, merely kicking at the mess instead of making any attempt to pack it up.

“Stanley…” he began, watching him throw their suitcases out the door, hearing them thud hard against the concrete.

“Why are you and Ford fighting?”

Fidds didn’t know why he was asking, he already knew the answer, but if he kept burying it further maybe it would eventually go away and leave the three be.

Stan stopped his rampage around the room to look Fidds in the eye firmly before sighing and sitting down on the bed.

“He hurt ya the other night and that’s why you’ve been acting weird, ain’t it? That’s where that bruise on yer neck came from?”

Fidds said nothing, sitting down next to Stan and sighing softly.

“That ain’t what happened,” he lied, looking over at the kennel, “Stanford got a little too protective of me and hurt that creature really badly, and it scared me. I haven’t seen him so violent before. I guess I felt so bad that it was my fault poor Carlos got so badly hurt, I took it upon myself to take care of the little guy.”

A chuckle escaped Stan’s lips, “You named it?”

“I couldn’t keep calling him ‘that critter’, Stanley.”

Stan began laughing, throwing his arm around Fiddleford’s shoulder and kissing him on the cheek, “Yer not covering anything up are ya? Nothin’ bad happened?”

Fidds could have told Stan everything then and there, maybe the three of them could have found out what was wrong with Ford that made him change the way he did, but Fidds never wanted to think about those things again.

He wanted to move on without confronting the bad feelings and just forget, so he lied.

“Nothing happened, Stanley, please stop jumping to conclusions…”

Stan said nothing, gently rubbing his smaller boyfriend’s shoulder. He decided to hold back his own feelings, letting his own insecurities and fears slip behind a mask and simply acting like nothing was wrong, as Fidds was doing right now. He felt like an ass for jumping to conclusions, but it had felt good to punch his brother, so he likely wouldn’t apologize and Ford would hold a grudge to be brought up later.

Fiddleford smiled, though, for the first time feeling a false resolve. One day this would all be confronted, but for now he just wanted to be happy along with his boyfriend and best friend, dealing with his problems later.

Ford soon after came into the room. Fiddleford nudged Stan’s shoulder and made him apologize for starting the fight.

Someone, Fidds couldn’t recall later who suggested it, said they should spend the rest of the evening at the beach not too far from there to make up for lost time fighting and chasing monsters, so they cleaned up the mess Stan had made and packed a few towels before leaving. Fidds even talked the others into bringing Carlos along with them to get out of the cramped hotel for a little while.

The first genuinely happy memory of the trip was forged on the beachfront that night for Fidds to carry with him over the years.

The waves washed the conflicting feelings and fears clean from all of their consciousness as they sat together all through the night. Ford pointed out star constellations, marking them in his journal and almost forgetting they existed, making him feel so small in this world he confessed. The comment made Stan smile, pulling Fidds closer towards him and scratching behind Carlos’s ear, letting the creature lick his bruised knuckles.

The waves pulled in and scraped against the trio’s now bare feet, everything between them as clean and repaired as Stan’s knuckles.

Part 7

(Honey, seashells, chocolate)

Stan sat at the table watching in amusement as his boyfriend set all the day’s souvenirs out in front of creature’s kennel, reminding him more of an over excited five-year-old setting up for show-and-tell than the grown man he was.  

It was nice seeing him smile again. Things began slipping back into a normal routine for the three, all the drama stored away for now to be brought up when they returned home, if it was brought up at all.

For now, they were going to spend their last evening in their hotel room. Ford was already packed and ready to leave in the morning, buzzing with excitement over the research he wished to conduct on Fiddleford’s new pet (and would likely be just as much Ford’s pet, seeing the excitement on his face when Carlos had licked his finger).

Ford was on the floor besides Fidds, sketching him and his pet enthusiastically. The animal didn’t like being confined in its cage but it had been agreed he shouldn’t be moved often with his injuries.

Stan watched them interact, the pang of jealousy still somewhere in him but it was overshadowed with a pride that the people he loved most were content in front of him, slowly pulling the animal from its cage, checking its injury and giving him his bottle fed pureed raw meat. Ford and Fidds had spent days creating just the right blend of meats to give the creature they were both growing fond of the proper nutrition it needed.

It was an interesting few days going to the local butcher shop and ordering raw meat from the man at the counter, who always gave them odd looks about their choice in food and how Ford was always writing in his journal when he came in to see him. Stan had overheard him calling his brother some choice words to another customer, who wanted to know what his deal was watching him reach over the counter himself and weigh the food he wanted on his own to get better results on his choice.  

For once Ford was the one who declared they should turn in early, ready to go home after their stressful trip and Fiddleford couldn’t agree more.

Fidds turned to Stan and kissed him on the cheek, asking if he would join them. Stan instantly shut the TV off, grateful to turn in and be one step closer to returning home and having their own bed that they didn’t need to share with Ford.

—

Stan rose late in the middle of the night after the groggy revelation that the blob he was snuggling into was far too big to be his lover. His face contorted in disgust when he realized the ear he had just kissed had been his brother’s. He flung the cover off and let his brother have the bed to himself, watching his silhouette roll into the middle of bed, seemingly proud of the victory he wasn’t aware enough to celebrate.  

He had his mind on going out to his car and smoking, maybe getting some well needed rest there if he wasn’t going to get it here, when his eye caught the shadowy lump of his boyfriend curled next to Carlos’s kennel fast asleep. He sat on the floor next to him, resting his hand on his quaking shoulders before moving his hand up more running his fingers through his hair.

As his eyes adjusted more to the darkness, he noticed Fiddleford’s fingers lying at the foot of the kennel and the injured creature had moved himself as close to his only source of comfort as close as he could, claws resting on the tip Fidds’s fingers as he slept.

Stan took pity on this sorry sight and, not caring about ‘Dr. Ford’s’ orders, cracked the cage open to lift the already thrashing creature out. He took the nips at his fingers with stride, understanding the creature’s panic, which slowly disappeared as he was laid next to the man who took care of him. He gently helped the little monster curl comfortably against his boyfriend before getting up and stealing the comforter from Ford, letting him lay in the chill if he was going to hog the bed.  

He wrapped the blanket snuggly around them before tucking it around himself, wrapping his arms snuggly around his boyfriend and securely shielding him from any of the chill that snuck under the comforter.

He kissed his neck and whispered he loved him before rejoining him in a peaceful slumber.

Part 8

(Popsicles, sea, refreshing)  

Red sticky goop slid down Stan’s arm the longer he neglected his popsicle in favor of watching the sun sink into the ocean, vibrant colors bleeding into the water, making it shimmer and shine. Reminding Stan how beautiful the world could be when not grimmed down by all the ugliness.

He grimaced in disgust as ‘Carlos’ began licking at his arm. The second its snake like tongue touched his popsicle, he dropped it on its head and watched with a sneer as the creature sucked on the stick, red ooze slobbering down its mouth, its razor teeth turning the stick into mulch as it ground it all in its wide open mouth.

Fiddleford merely giggled at Stan’s disgust, cooing at the creature on his lap to slow down, no need to choke.

Stan wrapped his arm tightly around his boyfriend, snuggling him closer to him on the hood of the car, Ford’s loud snores echoing from the back seat after a long final day at the beach. Plenty of souvenirs, sea shells and photos (which both Stan twins would likely want to burn later on down the line) were stacked on the back seat floor. Some had toppled over on the sleeping Ford, who was too tired to notice.  

Carlos’s scaly head nuzzled against Stan’s hand and he began absent mindedly stroking down the side of his ears, being mindful enough to not touch any of its nasty fresh scars, making it coo in satisfaction curling tighter on Fiddleford’s lap.

In an hour they would be heading home, Stan would have to tuck the little evil beast away just right so border patrol didn’t find the little demon Fidds had taken upon himself to see healed back to health.

For now, though, he just wanted to enjoy the sunset and the company sitting next to him. Basking in the breezy weather cooling their bright red skin.

He reached over the side of the car and pulled out a beer, taking a long refreshing drink. This was a close to paradise as this trip was going to get, so he might as well enjoy it.  

#Fiddlestan #fiddleford mcgucket #stanly pines #stanford pines #mystery trio #old man Mcgucket #grunkle ford #grunkle stan #Gravity Falls #dan's fics

[nikxation]

Gravity Falls Fic Rec List

In honor of Fanfiction Writer Appreciation Day, I’ve decided to compile a list of some of my favorite fanfics I’ve encountered thus far in the fandom! Please note that this list is not all-encompassing, and that even if you don’t see your fic here, if I have liked/kudoed/commented/reblogged your fic, that means I love it. Keeping this list a moderate length is already going to be difficult enough because holy cats this fandom has a lot of amazing writers!

Before the Bridges Burn by @endae

Summary: Canon Divergence from DAMvtF and the entirety of Weirdmageddon. Rather than being stopped by Ford and being encaged in front of Blendin, Dipper finds Mabel in the forest trapped inside her Dreamscape. He makes a deal with Bill to rescue Mabel, but with the risk of losing his life if he doesn't make it within the time restriction of Bill's game.

Why you should read it: Okay, so, Endae has this absolutely beautiful and heart-breaking way with words that really whacks you in the face with the Feels Stick from the get-go, and if you haven’t read anything by her yet, then you’re missing out. The angst is real, folks. Don’t take my word on it. Just go read it for yourself. Seriously. Currently the sequel is a WIP.

Fisherman’s Knot by @scribefindegil

Summary: Happy endings are messy, and the Arctic winter is more difficult than either Stan or Ford want to admit.

Why you should read it: Okay this is literally a fandom classic, and if you haven’t heard of it thus far, you must be new like I was. This fic is a gem. So much hurt and quite a few serious themes that you should make sure you’re ready for before you start. Also... tissues. Be sure to have tissues on hand... The fic is technically not finished, but where it leaves off is super satisfying and honestly works as an ending, so don’t worry, you don’t end on any horrifying cliffhangers.

Raising Stakes by @marypsue

Summary: 1982. A postcard from his estranged twin brother summons Stanley Pines halfway across the country to Gravity Falls, Oregon, where something sinister is brewing. Ford may have bitten off more than he can chew this time, but Stan's never been one to lie down and give up. And this time, he's got a new bag of tricks to try...

Why you should read it: Two words... Vampire AU! It’s super well-done, it has heart and jokes while also being appropriately sinister at certain points. Also, I love the interpretation of vampires and how they work. Beyond this fic itself, Mary is just a superb writer and really cranks out some amazing fics and AUs.

Lighthouse Keeper AU by @impishnature

Summary:  A beast lurks in the waters. Stan loses Ford to the waves, the lighthouse his only point of contact and hope of ever getting him back. …He used to love the sea, now it’s taken everything from him.

Why you should read it: Okay... This is another one where, if you haven’t read it, you must live under a rock. Super cool AU where the show takes place centered around a lighthouse instead of the Portal. Bill is creepy af, Ford’s means of being trapped are super rad and also super terrifying, and Stan is just such a good boy I love him so much. Imp also writes beautifully and has this amazing grasp of imagery and storytelling that is really astounding and paints these gorgeous pictures of what’s happening. Her stories will just have you completely enraptured, so go check out her stuff.

Some Sunny Day by @anistarrose

Summary: Time isn’t linear, Stan has a catchy piano tune stuck in his head, and blue flames threaten to consume the peace that the Pines family has found. Based off the Same Coin Theory.

Why you should read it: I’m going to be completely honest here: I’ve only read the first chapter of this so far. I know, I know, bad Nikki. But look, okay, the first chapter is super good, Rose’s Stan Twins are amazing and so in-character that is hurts, and Same Coin theory is just so cool to explore and play with. But Nikki, how can you rec something you’ve barely read? I can because I just know, alright. Rose writes really well, and even the first chapter had me completely invested (even if I haven’t had time to read the rest). So I’ll rec what I want, thank you very much. Currently a WIP.

1 Step Forward, 20 Years Back by @infriga

Summary: A Tale of Two Stans AU: Instead of fighting over the journal Stan tries to leave, but Ford isn't willing to let him go that easily. During the argument Stan comes into contact with a strange magical substance, and when he wakes up later he finds he's a bit smaller than he remembers. Now not only does Ford have to worry about Bill taking over the world, he also has to figure out how to turn his brother back to normal.

Why you should read this: This is another one that is a huge fandom hit, and for good reason. It’s got humor and imagination. Infriga’s writing is super nice and flows perfectly. Their grasp of the characters is spot-on, and they explore some really neat concepts and ideas in the fic. Really, just and all-around amazing fic that you should definitely read if you haven’t yet. (They also illustrate every chapter, and their art is spectacular).

by the skin of your teeth by @apathetic-revenant

Summary: In which Ford's attempt to survive entirely on caffeine and paranoia suffers some pitfalls, and things happen differently in 1982.

Why you should read it: This was literally the first fic I read for this fandom, and I still love it to this day. Ford’s a goddamn mess, Stan is the real MVP for taking all this BS and craziness in stride, and Fidds saves the day. Some rather dark themes interspersed with some comforting humor (lookin @ you, end of Ch2/beginning of Ch3). Plus, I am always in the mood for the boys figuring their problems out and bonding again. Good good stuff.

Cast Away (part 2) by @fordanoia

Summary: What happens when Stanley is the one to fall through the portal instead.

Why you should read it: Two chapters of absolute stress. Both of the boys are bad-ass in their own ways, and Stan gets some unexpected help (from something that canon really would have benefited from expanding upon). Really, an all-around awesome two-shot. Noia gets into the boys’ heads so well and writes them amazingly. Just... such a great read.

An Outreached Hand by @dubsdeedubs

Summary: On a cold winter's day in 1982, Stan Pines shows up at his brother's door with two cats tucked in his jacket and no heartbeat in his chest. (A sort-of Ghost Trick AU, but requires no previous knowledge of that to read.)

Why you should read it: Super neat concept. Really, this fic is so cool. Dubs’s writing is spectacular, and they instill this sense of mystery and foreboding into this story so seamlessly with little hits of humor here and there. Really, I can’t put into words how awesome this fic is. Just go check it out. Currently a WIP.

30 Seconds Later by @invisibletinkerer

Summary:  Stanford falls through the portal in 1982, but is pulled back almost immediately. Stanley, meanwhile, struggles for 30 years to bring his brother back. Neither is reunited with the brother they expect.

Why you should read it: Hooooo boy. This fic is about as angsty and painful as you would expect from reading the summary. It’s super well-written and the idea is so unique and honestly heart-breaking when you consider the implications. It just presents some new and interesting challenges for the gang to overcome and is a solid, interesting fic so far. Currently a WIP.

Okay I know I’m missing some, but these are some major highlights in my book and this post is starting to get ridiculously long RIP.

To everyone that writes, thank you for doing what you do. You all are amazing and loved and appreciated. The world would truly be a sad place without so many of amazing writers in it. Keep doing what you’re doing, and may the gods of inspiration rain every beautiful idea down on you, and may your fingers fly swiftly across the keys to compose beautiful tales each and every day. <3

#fanfiction #gravity falls fanfiction #fic rec #holy crap i need to stop before this list gets longer #if you think i missed someone feel free to reblog and add on!!! #LOVE YOU ALL #happy fanfic writer appreciation day!!!!!

[thelastspeecher]

I accidentally sat down and wrote something in the Werepire Stangie AU, which is honestly just evidence that the hamsters running my brain get inspired about whatever they want and don’t give a shit about what I want to write.  Here it is.  Vampire Stan and his werewolf girlfriend.  And Fiddleford.

              Fiddleford frowned at the selection of candy bars.

              There’s never anything molasses-flavored in gas stations ‘round here.  I should just expect that from now on, so I can stop bein’ disappointed when I don’t find what I’m lookin’ for.  The bell on the door jingled as someone entered.  Fiddleford moved closer to the candy bars so that the person who had just come in could walk past him.  The song playing in the background changed.  Fiddleford allowed himself a small smile.  The reason he came here to fill up his truck was because the owners always had the radio turned to the good country station.

              “…comin’ home to a place he’d never been before.”  Fiddleford glanced at the person who had walked by him earlier. She was mumbling along to the song currently playing over the radio.

              She’s got good taste. Fiddleford looked back at the candy bars.  His heart did an abrupt somersault.  He whipped his head around to stare at the young woman.  No.  It can’t be.  She was wearing clothes that he would never have pictured her in – ripped jeans, a loose-fitting T-shirt, grimy red hoodie, and clunky boots – and her hair was long enough now to tie back in a messy ponytail.  But he’d recognize her anywhere.

              “Angie?” Fiddleford croaked.  Angie looked up at him.

              “Yes?” she asked.  Fiddleford stared.  Angie frowned.  “Hang on, how do you know my name?”

              “I- Angie, it’s me.”  Fiddleford approached her cautiously.  Angie grabbed a bag of beef jerky, like she was preparing to use it in self-defense. “Fiddleford.”

              “I- I’m sorry, but I don’t know you,” Angie said.  She held the bag of beef jerky to her chest.  “Please, don’t-”

              “It’s me, Fiddleford.  Yer big brother,” Fiddleford said.  Angie watched him anxiously.  Something flickered in her eyes.  Not full recognition, but maybe a hint of familiarity.  “You’ve been missin’ fer six months.  What- what are you doin’ here?”

              “Gettin’ food.”

              “But- where did ya go?”

              “Please, leave me alone,” Angie said, her voice quivering.  “I mean it, I don’t know who you are.”  Desperate, Fiddleford took a hold of her shoulders.

              “Banjolina, you have to believe me.  I’m yer brother!  We’ve been lookin’ fer ya fer months!”  Angie’s eyes were wide with fear.  “Come back with me, to my house.  We’ll get ya a shower and change of clothes.  You can call Ma ‘n Pa, let ‘em know yer safe.”  Angie trembled.

              “Please, let me go,” she whispered.  The door to the gas station opened again.

              “Ang, what’s the hold-up?” a voice called.  “Hey!”  A freezing cold hand grabbed Fiddleford by the shoulder and pulled him away from Angie. “Leave my girl alone, bud.”  Fiddleford looked up at his attacker.  He gaped.

              “Stanford?”  The man let go of him like he was a red-hot poker.  “No.  Not Stanford. His brother.”  The man’s already pale skin grew paler.  “Yer Stanley, right?” Fiddleford said.  Stanley chewed his lip.  His teeth seemed sharper than average.

              “Who’s askin’?” he finally said.

              “The name’s Fiddleford McGucket.  I- I work with Stanford, on his research.”

              “McGucket.”  Stanley looked over at Angie, who was still clutching her bag of beef jerky desperately. “Shit.”

              “He says- he says he’s my brother,” Angie stammered.  Stanley ran a hand through his hair.

              “You two look a lot alike.  I think- well, what do you think, Ang?  You’re good at sniffing out liars.”

              Since when?  Angie’s as gullible as the day is long.  Fiddleford swallowed nervously.  Oh, no. Stanford said his twin was in with some bad folks.  Is Stanley the reason Angie went missin’?  Angie straightened her back.  She looked directly at Fiddleford.

              “Say it again,” she instructed.

              “I’m your brother,” Fiddleford said dutifully.  Angie’s eyes widened.

              “He’s tellin’ the truth.”

              “Dammit.”  Stanley looked away.  “Great. Just great.”

              “Do you really not remember me?” Fiddleford asked Angie.  She shook her head.

              “She’s got amnesia,” Stanley grunted.  “She’s had it since I picked her up in Missouri.  When I met her, all she remembered was her name.” Fiddleford’s heart plummeted to his feet.

              “Amnesia?”

              “Yes,” Angie said softly.

              “Oh, Lord.  Angie, that’s-”

              “We should get going,” Stanley interrupted.  “Before Stanford shows up, too.”  Angie didn’t move.  “Ang?”

              “He’s my brother,” Angie said.  She met Stanley’s eyes.  “I don’t want to leave without answers.”  Stanley scowled.

              “Ford and I didn’t part on good terms.”

              “He’s not home right now,” Fiddleford interjected.  “He’s- he’s out of town fer the day.”  Angie gestured at Fiddleford.

              “See?  Ya won’t run into yer brother.  But I ran into mine, and I- I don’t remember him, but he- Stanley, I want to know more about myself.”  Her plea was successful.  Stanley’s hard gaze softened the slightest bit.

              “Okay,” he conceded.  Angie beamed. Fiddleford’s heart melted at her megawatt smile.  Judging by the expression on Stanley’s face, he felt the same way.  A small grin teased the corners of Stanley’s mouth. “I could use a shower, anyways.”

              “I didn’t-” Fiddleford started.

              “Stock up on my favorite type of shampoo?  Don’t worry.  I’ll use whatever crap Ford’s got.”  Stan jerked a thumb in the direction of the door.  “I’ll take Angie, and we’ll follow you to you and Ford’s place.  Sound good?”  Fiddleford nodded.  “Let’s get going, Fiddlesticks.”

              “It’s Fiddleford.”

              “Same difference,” Stanley said with a shrug.  He strolled out of the gas station.  Angie rushed after him, sending a small smile at Fiddleford as she passed. Fiddleford blinked.

              She didn’t pay for that beef jerky.

----- 

              Fiddleford parked his truck.  He took a deep breath.

              Okay, Fiddleford.  Don’t expect much.  She doesn’t remember anything. He frowned. Unless she’s fakin’ it to keep Stanley from hurtin’ her.  Just ‘cause he claims everything is consensual don’t mean it is.  He could’ve kidnapped Angie and come up with the amnesia stuff to keep the police off his back.

              “This isn’t helpful,” Fiddleford muttered to himself.  “Just focus on gettin’ Angie a shower, some clean clothes, and a proper meal.  Go from there.”  Resolute, he opened the door and got out.  He was immediately tackled.

              “Fidds!”  Angie wrapped her thin, warm arms around him.  She gave off more body heat than he remembered; she was like a hot water bottle. “Fidds, I- I ‘member!”

              “You do?” Fiddleford asked.  Angie nodded. She broke off the hug.  Excitement sparkled in her blue eyes.

              “Yes!  It started comin’ back to me in the car,” she enthused.  “I guess I just needed someone to remind me.”  Tears sprang to Fiddleford’s eyes.

              “Oh, Banjey, I missed ya so much.”  He enveloped her in a hug.  “We were so worried when ya just up and vanished.”

              “I- I s’ppose ya would be.  How’s everyone?”

              “Doin’ fine.  But they’ll be doin’ a lot better once we let ‘em know yer safe and sound.”

              “You can thank Stan fer that.”  Angie wriggled out of Fiddleford’s embrace.  She looked over at Stanley.  “He took care of me when I didn’t know anything ‘bout myself aside from my name.”  Stanley – Stan – nodded silently at Fiddleford.  He was leaning against his car, clearly uncomfortable.

              “He didn’t take advantage of ya?” Fiddleford whispered.  Angie shook her head.  “Are ya sure?”

              “Yes.”

              “Okay.”  Fiddleford nodded at Stan.  “Thank you fer takin’ care of my sister.”  Stan shrugged.

              “No big deal.  Can’t really turn away an amnesiac, especially one as cute as her.”

              “Cute?” Fiddleford muttered.  He grimaced, remembering how Stan had referred to Angie as his girl.  “Oh, no.  Angie, are ya in a relationship with him?”

              “I go missin’ fer six months and that’s one of the first questions ya ask me?” Angie said.  She crossed her arms.  “That shouldn’t be yer top priority, Fidds.”

              “Yer right.  Yer right.” Fiddleford ran a hand through his hair. “Well, let’s head on in.”  Angie nodded.  She followed Fiddleford up the steps to the house and inside.  Stan, however, hovered by the threshold anxiously. Fiddleford frowned at him.  “Come in, Stan.  Yer allowed.”  Relief broke across Stan’s face.  He stepped inside.  “Yer an odd duck.”

              “It’s called being polite, Fiddlesticks.”

              “Sure.  And refusin’ to call me by my proper name is polite?”

              “When your real name is ‘Fiddleford’?” Stan shot back.  “Yeah, it’s polite to call you somethin’ else.”

              “Stan, please don’t aggravate him,” Angie said.  Stan sighed.  He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

              “Fine,” he muttered.  Standing between the two of them, Fiddleford felt caught in the middle of a temperature war. Angie was radiating enough heat that she seemed borderline feverish, while Stan was so cold that heat seemed to vanish near him.

              What in the world is goin’ on? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think there was somethin’ supernatural about ‘em.  Fiddleford looked at Angie.  She smiled sweetly.  No.  That’s foolish.  She does seem really warm, though.  Fiddleford put the back of his hand against Angie’s forehead.

              “Hey, what’s that for?” Angie asked.

              “Just worried ya might have a fever, is all.  After all, I can feel how warm you are from here.”

              “I’m fine, Fidds,” Angie said reassuringly.  Her stomach rumbled.  “Aside from bein’ hungry.”

              “Hungry like the wolf,” Stan deadpanned.  Angie shot him a warning look.  He grinned toothily in response.

              “I’ll whip somethin’ up fer ya, then,” Fiddleford said.  He tried to shake off the nagging feeling that something was wrong.  “We’ve got some leftovers from last night.  Sausage and potatoes sound good?”

              “Perfect,” Angie chirped.

              “How ‘bout you, Stan?  All right with sausage and potatoes?”

              “Nah, I’m fine,” Stan said.  “I had somethin’ earlier.  Should keep me happy for a while.”

              “Okay.”  Fiddleford smiled at Angie.  “Come on into the kitchen.  We can have a chat while the food is cookin’.”  He winked. “Guess that stolen beef jerky didn’t fill ya up.”  Angie deflated slightly.

              “You saw.”

              “Yeah.”  Fiddleford ruffled Angie’s hair.  “But it’s better ‘n the last time I broke the law, so I’ll let it slide.”

              “Wait, you broke the law?” Angie asked.

              “Yep.  I don’t know if ya heard much news while ya were…wherever ya are, but it was in the papers. One of my robots destroyed downtown.”

              “Fidds!” Angie said, shocked.  She let out a bark of laughter.  “I s’ppose it could’ve been worse, though, with how yer robots are.”

              “Yeah.”  The feeling came back.  Something wasn’t quite right.  Fiddleford forced his smile, trying to ignore it.  “It could’ve been worse.”

#me: BRAIN WRITE THINGS FOR SCHOOL OR PROMPTS #brain hamsters: lol no here's something else #me: ....great. #Fidds is on high alert so he notices all the vampire stuff about Stan #but he's so relieved to see Angie that he mostly dismisses any werewolf things #when she laughs tho that makes Fidds a bit unsure bc that's not how she used to laugh #Werepire Stangie AU #Stangie #Fiddleford McGucket #Angie McGucket #Stanley Pines #ficlet #my writing #speecher speaks

[thelastspeecher]

MerStans!

I’ve been meaning to write some stuff with the MerGucket AU @agent-jaselin and I came up with for a bit, since mer!AUs are some of my favorites.  This art finally put me over the edge, and I wrote an origin story of sorts!  I’ll probably write more for this AU, since it’s a fun one.  There’s some good potential with Ford’s awkward transitional stage between merfolk and human, as well as the Stans adjusting to life ~under the sea~.

               “So anyways, it was me up against this kraken,” Stan started.  He scratched his leg absentmindedly.

               “What did you do?” the tourist asked eagerly.  Stan chuckled.

               “Took it down.  A good old left hook’s the secret weakness of most monsters.”  The itching on his leg got worse.  He continued to scratch it.  “Except mermaids.  They’re something completely different.”

               “Uh, Stan, are you all right?” Ford asked, taking a seat at the bar next to Stan.

               “Yeah, I’m fine.  Just telling this nice man how to defend himself at sea.”  Stan winked at the tourist.  “If he ever convinces that wife of his to let him go, am I right?”  The tourist laughed.  Ford frowned at Stan.

               “Seriously, Stan, you’re scratching your leg so hard I’m surprised you haven’t torn off skin.”  Stan waved a hand airily.

               “Just bug bites or a rash or something, probably.  I’ll be fi- ouch!”

               “Told you you’d rip off your skin,” Ford said under his breath.  He ordered a beer from the bartender.  “Stop scratching!”

               “Fine,” Stan groaned.  He coughed. “Yeesh, why is it so hard to breathe in here all of a sudden?”

               “Maybe your cigars are catching up to you?” Ford suggested.  Stan shook his head.

               “That can’t be it.”  Stan wheezed. Ford looked at him, concerned.  

               “What’s going on with you today?”

               “Beats me,” Stan muttered, reduced to breathing shallowly.  He looked down at his leg, to see if he could find where he had hurt himself.  His eyes widened.  “Fuck.”

               “What?” Ford asked.  Stan drummed his fingers on the counter nervously.  He looked around.  The tourist was gone, probably scared off by Stan’s obsessive scratching.  They were basically alone.  Stan leaned closer to Ford.

               “I didn’t rip off skin, I ripped off a scale,” Stan hissed in Ford’s ear. Ford blinked.

               “What?”  Ford looked down at Stan’s legs.  They were partially covered by dark maroon scales.  “Oh, no.”  Stan wheezed again.  “Gills?”

               “Probably.  Gotta avoid taking deep breaths.”

               “Or you could, you know, go to the ocean.”

               “I’ll be fine.  So long as I stay hydrated,” Stan said.  He took a long drink from his beer.

               “And beer is the way to go,” Ford said flatly.  Stan shrugged.  Ford reached out and grabbed Stan’s hand.  “You’re getting webbing between your fingers.”

               “What?  Aw, shit,” Stan said.  Ford moved some of Stan’s long hair to the side, exposing his ears.

               “Ears are turning webbed, too.”

               “Goddammit.”  Stan downed the rest of his beer and wheezed one more time.

               “Go to the fucking ocean!” Ford said.  

               “I’m going, I’m going,” Stan said, waving a webbed hand at him.  “Eh, actually, I think I have time for another beer.”

               “Stanley, at this rate, you’ll have a full tail before you get out the door,” Ford hissed.  “As it is, you’ll have to run to the beach to get there on time.”  Stan took off his shirt.

               “I’m already on my way,” Stan said, throwing his shirt at Ford.  Ford sighed.

               “I didn’t tell you to disrobe in the bar.”

               “Saving my pants for the pier, Sixer,” Stan said, shaking off his boots. Ford shook his head.

               “Just get out of here, already.”

----- 

               Half an hour later, after paying the rather extensive bill Ford and Stan had built up, Ford walked onto the pier.  It was beginning to grow dark, and as such, Ford was alone.  He took a seat and dangled his feet in the water (after taking off his boots, of course).

               “Stan?” Ford called hesitantly.  Ripples formed on the water.  Stan slowly surfaced.  “Feeling better?” Ford asked.  Stan sighed.

               “Nope.  Mostly like shit.”

               “What happened at the bar?”

               “Remember that weird plant thing we used to breathe underwater?” Stan asked. Ford nodded.  “Apparently it turns you into a mermaid after you’ve used it a lot. Or something like that.  I dunno, one of those MerGucket guys explained it to me.”

               “No, that’s right,” a voice said.  Stan and Ford looked over.  Fiddleford walked down the pier toward them.  He took a seat next to Ford.  “I…prob’ly should’ve told y’all that,” Fiddleford said, subdued.  

               “Wait, what?” Ford said.  “I ate that plant.  Am I going to-”

               “Eventually, yes,” Fiddleford said.  “Half the time, it hits you all at once, like Stan.  But it doesn’t look like that’s how it’ll go for you.  The rest of the time, well…”  Fiddleford trailed off.

               “Fidds, what happens the rest of the time?” Ford asked.  

               “The change goes slowly.  You grow scales, and fins, and gills, and everything else, but only gradually.  It can take upwards of nine months to make the full transformation.”

               “Good God,” Ford said in a low tone.  “And that’s going to happen to me?”

               “Yes,” Fiddleford confirmed.

               “Ha!  Least I didn’t get the slow one,” Stan said.  He frowned.  “Kinda wish I had a chance to set my human life in order before it happened, though.”

               “You can go on land still,” Fiddleford said.  “Ya just can’t live on it.”

               “So I can still fake my death in some sort of Viking funeral style sailing accident?” Stan asked.  Fiddleford winced.

               “I mean, I can’t stop ya, but I’d like to discourage ya from settin’ the boat ablaze.  Ford still needs to live on it fer a bit.  ‘Til his gills come in.”  Ford groaned loudly.  “Stanford, bein’ a merfolk ain’t a bad thing,” Fiddleford said.  He smiled.  “It’s actually quite wonderful.”

               “Uh-huh.  And I’m supposed to believe the merperson that got me into this mess in the first place?” Ford snapped.  Fiddleford crossed his arms.

               “Hey, it was my parents who decided to offer ya the plant, not me. And we didn’t make ya take it. You two chose to do that on yer own.”

               “You still tricked us!” Ford said.  “You weren’t completely honest with us!  There was zero transparency.  All you said was that the plant would enable us to breathe underwater.”

               “And as a merfolk, you’ll be able to,” Fiddleford said.  Ford stared at his friend.

               “That’s a damn dirty trick,” Stan said.

               “I warned ya not to trust merfolk.  Merfolk lie, cheat, trick and seduce their way through life,” Fiddleford said.  He smiled weakly.  “Welcome to the club.”

#Gravity Falls AU #MerGucket AU #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #Fiddleford McGucket #ficlet #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks