Hey! I have a question. I was reading fanfiction on Dark Ford and had a wandering thought. It belongs to two au/fic: yours and Smells like teen spirit by CertifiedPissWizard. (as far as I remember, inspired by you). So what would have happened if Fords had accidentally hurt Stanley? It's hard enough to leave a scar. Could it have been hurt or burned? I imagine if it was with a teen Stan, it would be because of Ford's invention (which Ford accidentally touched him with?) (I want to make the Fords feel guilty))) have a good day!)
Well I can’t speak to Smells like teen spirit because it’s not my fic, but in TIAGICWAP last chapter Ford did accidentally hurt Stan, and it showed that he was horrified about doing so.
Harming Stan (physically) is one of the few things that does generate genuine guilt in Ford. It’s not an emotion he’s normally capable of feeling, but when Stan is involved, Ford is able to experience actual emotional responses he wouldn’t otherwise. This is all because of the soulbond.
If Ford accidentally hurt a different member of his family, he wouldn’t be happy because he doesn’t want to hurt them, but he wouldn’t really feel the guilt response about it. He would act out guilt and sympathy for them, as he’s learned that’s the appropriate emotional response to have, but he’s just acting. He doesn’t actually feel it. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel anything at all, he feels unhappy because he hurt them, but he experiences those emotions in a more muted sense.
But with Stan, because there’s the soulbond between them, Ford is able to feel genuine emotional responses to things when Stan is involved. Maybe not always to the extent other people do, but he’ll get a spark of guilt or compassion, etc. Only towards Stan.
This factor also plays a part in why Ford is so obsessive with Stan: because with Stan, Ford is able to feel emotions.
It’s not as though Ford doesn’t have emotions at all, but he doesn’t experience things the way other people do, and he’s always been aware of this. He knows he’s different from normal, even if he’s not sure exactly why that is (personality disorder). But feeling things, being able to actually feel deeper emotions when Stan sparks them in him, is exciting for him and, in a way, addicting.
Ford craves the emotions he can’t generate on his own. He craves the way Stan is able to spark emotion in him. He doesn’t understand all the emotions sometimes and finds them hard to identify or cope with, but he craves experiencing them. Stan brings him the ability to feel more and Ford loves him for that. That’s truly the other half of himself that he needs so desperately. Stan can never leave him, he couldn’t take that.
Anyway bit of an off tangent ramble.
If Ford ever hurt Stan enough to leave a mark he’d be so horrified. Might actually get to experience self hatred for once about it. It would be more guilt than he’s currently ever felt and he’d be a bit overwhelmed by it. Ford would rush to get Stan the best medical care possible and make sure that whatever it was, it doesn’t leave a permanent mark. Then Stan would have to deal with being treated like the most fragile, precious piece of glass for weeks after the fact.
Wanted to draw some Stan fluff and more details kept piling up. Anyway, the idea here was that Ford was nerding and telling Stan about whatever he's discovered or thought of. It also looks like he's telling him a story :D
A continuation <<<
Does Gift Ford still like Dungeons, Dungeons, & More Dungeons?
He does! Not as much as most other Ford’s seem to, but he does enjoy the game. He used to use the game as a way to play out all the things he didn’t allow himself to do, back when he was pretending to be normal in order to fit in with society. So his characters were always in the evil alignment, not following laws or any personal moral code and doing whatever they wanted in the game. It was Ford’s outlet to act how he truly felt through the characters.
He doesn’t really play the game anymore because now he gets to do whatever he wants forever, so his real life has become like the game for him :)
But he would still play it if his family or Bill (or another Ford) asked him to play!
С самого зарождения этого тренда я искал его версию с Гравити Фолз, но так и не нашел. Так что я решил взять на себя ответственность, и самому его нарисовать. И да, это моя первая анимация (если это можно так назвать), так что, надеюсь, вам понравится)
Ps: Если я не прав, и кто-то уже делал этот тренд с Гравити Фолз, буду рад ссылке)
The key to writing good fanfiction is to harbor a deeply humiliating desire, and the trick there is that even pretty basic and societally-accepted desires like “being held” and “being wanted” CAN and WILL be humiliating if they’re intense enough. Become so estranged from human connection that the idea of someone playing with your hair fills you with yearning so deep you feel like you’re going to throw up and you will write some banger fanfiction. It might have some other consequences too but idrk about that.
feeling guilty over not working on your fic is so silly if you think about like why are you stressing over the hobby you do in your free time for fun lol wip not whip
How would Ford react if Stan developed some kinda romantic feelings towards him, maybe mistake their bond as romantic idk his stockholm developed this kinda defence mechanism. Would Ford be angry? Disgusted? Or think he's just confused. Even so how would he stop Stan's attempts to show he's attracted? Would he lock him up or maybe as Bill to clean his mind lol
Not really the kind of hypothetical I’m interested in. I assume this is about TIAGICWAP AU? Just like the earlier billcaryn/billstan one, it’s hard for me to have much to say besides “Ford shuts it down and won’t allow it” because I’m not into any of the ships. But just like this other ask I’ve answered, Ford doesn’t get it.
Gift Ford lacks the disgust reaction, but he’d be incredibly confused and wouldn’t understand why Stan would be acting that way. He’d rebuff those kinds of feelings from Stan, but I don’t think he’d really get overly angry about it, mostly just annoyed if Stan kept trying. Ford wouldn’t really know what to do about the situation though, so he’d likely ask Bill for advice on how to make his brother stop and go back to how things were before.
A terrified cry had Ford scrambling to his bedroom, bashing his shoulder into the doorframe in his hurry to get to his brother.
Stan was screaming, thrashing amongst the blankets, face creased with fear and tears.
“Stanley!” Ford called, rushing to his side and shaking him. “Stanley, wake up! You’re dreaming, wake up.”
Stan startled awake with a gasp, reflexively flinching away from Ford as he sought to gather his wits. Ford watched the fog of sleepy confusion leave his eyes, replaced by devastation when Stan remembered his current circumstances. The tears only increased as his brother accept that his nightmare hadn’t just been a nightmare.
Ford knew exactly what Stan had been dreaming about. It was the same one almost every night. The incident had plagued Stan’s sleep since it happened, causing the silence of every night to be filled with Stan’s screams.
Stan’s breaths came in short, sharp gasps as he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. His whole body trembled, panic creeping up on him. Ford was used to this too; the aftermath of the nightmares was always rocky. He reached out for his brother, carefully untangling him from the blankets and bringing Stan into his arms.
Ford had learned that Stan calmed down faster with movement, so he stood with Stan held to his chest and began to pace. It wasn’t so difficult anymore, to hold Stan like this. Stan had lost weight after the incident, and Ford had had weeks of practice lifting and carrying Stan around.
It was the least he could do, since it was his fault Stan was in this situation.
The incident still plagued Ford too.
“Some brother you turned out to be. You care more about your dumb mysteries than your family.”
Ford tensed as Stan marched towards him with a fierce scowl.
“Well, then you can have ‘em!”
Stan tried to shove the journal into Ford’s chest, but Ford, having been expecting another punch, dodged.
The journal thudded to the floor as Stan tripped forward, and began to float into the air.
“Whoa, whoa, hey. What’s going on?” Stan cried out in surprise.
Ford felt frozen in alarm as he watched his brother begin to get sucked in by the portal’s pull.
Stan’s surprise melted into outright terror as he flailed in the air. “Stanford!” he called, fear ringing in his voice. “Ford, help me!”
Ford winced as the memory played in his mind’s eye like it had just happened. He was ashamed of how long it had taken him to do something. He’d just stood there like an idiot until it was almost too late. If only he’d moved to help sooner, maybe Stan would still have—
“Ford, help! Do something! Please!”
Ford shook free of the horrified stupor that had overtaken him. Stan had managed to grab onto a stray cable and was holding on for dear life, but his grip was slowly slipping as he got steadily pulled backwards.
The emergency shutoff. Ford needed to activate the emergency shutoff.
He ran for it, but fell to the ground as he stumbled over something. Ford pushed himself up on shaking arms, glaring at the journal he’d just tripped over. He kicked the thing out of the way carelessly, racing for the portal’s emergency controls.
“FORD!” Stan screamed. “HELP ME!”
Ford had never heard his brother sound so afraid in his life. The desperation and panic in his tone sent shivers up Ford’s spine. He looked back and felt his stomach drop.
Stan was already entering the portal, the glowing blue having swallowed up his feet even as he tried to pull himself free with the cable.
Ford had to hurry! Stan wasn’t going to be able to hold on much longer!
He scrambled for the controls, sweaty, trembling hands reaching for the emergency shutoff. But just as he slammed down on it, Stan lost his grip.
Ford could only watch in abject horror as Stan got sucked in up to his thighs by the portal’s momentum, even as the machine shut off, the portal’s entrance snapping closed.
Right on Stan’s legs.
Ford continued to pace, swaying Stan gently as his brother hyperventilated in his arms, head resting on Ford’s shoulder as he sobbed. Ford tried his best to soothe him, murmuring reassurances into his long, tangled hair. But guilt ate away at him; the same guilt he’d been feeling since that day.
It was all his fault.
In the aftermath, the room was dead silent. Ford slumped against the controls, his tired, lagging brain trying to catch up to everything that had just happened. At least they were safe, he told himself. At least Bill hadn’t managed to get through.
Then a horrendous, anguished scream broke the silence, making all the hair on Ford’s arms rise. The sound was like that of a wounded animal, but there wasn’t—
Stanley!
Ford raced to where Stan was still lying where he’d fallen, and when his eyes registered the sight before him he gagged.
Stan’s legs were gone. What little was left of them was covered in mottled, gruesome burns. The heat and energy from the portal had acted like a hot iron, cauterizing the wounds left behind. Which, Ford thought to himself hysterically, meant at least Stan wasn’t going to bleed out.
But Stan’s cries of agony rang in his ears. His brother writhed in pain on the floor, unable to get up. And Ford realized there was no way he could treat this on his own.
“Hospital!” he yelled in panic. “Oh, Moses, we need to get you to a hospital!”
Ford sighed as Stan’s sobbing began to calm down, his brother coming back to himself. Ford’s arms were a little tired by this point, but he didn’t complain. Not when Stan so obviously needed the comfort, clinging to Ford like a lifeline and sniffling into his shoulder.
“Sorry,” Stan mumbled, ashamed.
“It’s okay,” Ford whispered to him. “It’s not your fault. It’s alright.”
Nothing was alright, but it could have been worse. Ford clutched his brother to him, thankful that he at least still had a brother to hold. Stan could have easily been gone, disappeared into the portal forever. Ford could have lost him entirely.
At least now he had the chance to make up for what he’d done. He’d take care of Stan for the rest of their lives if need be. He’d never turn him away again. What if Stan got hurt worse by something outside? Ford wouldn’t allow that. Stan had been hurt enough.
OH MY GOD, You can't keep doing this!!!!!! JBSFJADFSJVDFSHJ
Stanley had often joked, half-heartedly whilst drowning his sorrows with a cheap bottle of whatever he could get his hands on, that he'd give an arm and a leg to reunite with his family. To make it all up to Ford and finally get the happy ending he often dreamed of when he lay in the back seat of his car staring at the grimy board overhead.
In his better moments since the 'incident', Stan found it funny how close his prediction really was, although if you asked him, he got the short end of the stick. Other than losing the better part of his height, officially making him the smallest brother, he'd been experiencing the weirdest feeling in his legs. They weren't always painful, but altogether very uncomfortable, especially when Ford caught on.
He'd made a joke about having ghost legs now, after Ford went on one of his frequent 'mother hen' rants and explained everything he'd researched about phantom sensations and what to expect. Stan was still proud of the small snort he'd managed to wrestle out of his brother, the first in far too long for his liking.
Ford hadn't found it as amusing when he'd discovered Stan sprawled out on the floor one morning after he'd forgotten he no longer had anything to catch him. In his defence, he'd still been half-asleep, and with all the pain meds he was on, it was almost like nothing had happened until he'd swung himself up and promptly fallen flat on his face.
That was another thing Stan had noticed in the few short weeks he'd been recovering in the cabin. Ford was always around. At first, he believed it was out of some lingering guilt, as if he hadn't been swamped in apologies since waking up in the hospital, but that didn't explain the constant lingering, the small glances Stan would catch out of the corner of his eye whenever Ford thought he wasn't looking, as if he'd completely fall apart if he wasn't within sight.
The worst part was something in him couldn't help but preen under all the attention, after so long being ignored and brushed off, even before he was kicked out, Stan never knew how much he'd missed it all. When Ford insisted on carrying him everywhere, he'd just sigh and let it happen, no matter how much he'd healed thanks to the hospital and the weird tinctures Ford had him on. (Stan wasn't an idiot; he knew the wheelchair they'd been sent home with was still there, gathering dust in Ford's storage cupboard).
The only thing Stan had left to wonder was how long it would all last. Sure, they'd been getting closer again, especially after Ford had finally explained everything, and Stan still had a long way to go until he recovered as much as he could, but what then? How long would it take for Ford to grow tired of him? When the bill came through?
He shuddered at the thought, the idea of him surviving the way he was before, two legs down and a few more answered calls. He couldn't fathom it, so Stan did what he did best, grinned and bared it, all whilst hoping he could stay another day, preparing what little he could in the few moments of privacy by shovelling loose clothes and cash into a bag stuffed under the bed just in case.
Watching for any signs of his impending departure.
...
It took a few days to notice it, with all the physiotherapy and medications to keep track of, but when he did, Stan knew it was the first crack in the glass. Ford had been making a lot of calls to his research partner; apparently, they'd only just made up after this 'Fiddleford' had left the project, and whilst Stan didn't like the guy on the principle that he'd left Ford to deal with their mess alone, he respected Ford's choice. (No, he wasn't jealous Ford had made another friend whilst he was away).
What he'd accidentally overheard, however, had sent his heart plummeting in his chest, knowing the day he'd be forced to leave was soon coming after Ford assured his friend there was still room at the cabin if he wanted to return. He knew there was only one spare room besides Ford's, the room Stan was currently occupying, and although it twisted his heart painfully, he would be a fool not to see how much he'd been recovering thanks to all Ford's generosity.
So he made up his mind, waiting until the cover of night when he knew Ford would pass out to grab the duffel and army crawl down the stairs. With some effort and a good amount of caution, Stan managed to reach the closet, set himself up in the shoddy hospital wheelchair, and grabbed his keys.
It was only after he'd managed to drag himself, the chair and the bag down the porch steps in the snow and collapse everything into the backseats that he realised how impossible his new reality would truly be. With the engine purring and his hands set on the worn leather steering wheel, he only needed to bring the car into reverse and get out of dodge, or so he'd thought if he hadn't forgotten the most difficult hurdle.
How was he meant to accelerate?
Before he could even begin to puzzle out his dilemma, Ford burst from the house in a manic flurry, locking eyes as he stormed over to the car, leaving Stan to bury himself in the seat, suddenly uncertain under his brother's incredulous fury.
The door was yanked open with a force that made Stan wince, windows wobbling dangerously under the brunt of the hinge's recoil, keys snatched from the ignition and thrown into the snow before he could protest, only withering further as Ford caught his breath, obviously gearing up for one of his famous scoldings.
"WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"
Stan shrank at the volume, silently cursing himself for his cowardice as he refused to meet Ford's eye, mumbling into his oversized jacket. "Listen, Ford, I didn't mean- I was going to leave a note-"
"A NOTE?! Stanley Caryn Pines. You know damn well that's not what I meant. Why? Just why?"
Stan couldn't think of anything, silenced in the sheer terror underlying Ford's words, barely squeaking out a sharp "Hey!" before he was pulled from the seat, spluttering as the cold air hit him in the face.
"You know what, save it until we get you inside, Moses Lee. It's far too early for you to be out like this. Are you trying to set back your recovery? Not to mention all the bacteria in the snow. What were you thinking?" Ford emphasised his point by slamming the car's door behind him, trudging back through the snow.
"I get it, you're mad, but I was just trying to-" Stan tried to say, jostled in Ford's arms as they pushed through the front door towards the living room.
"Hurt yourself? Get yourself killed?" Ford demanded, setting Stan into the plush couch cushions before sitting down with an exasperated huff. "That was insanity, Stanley. What was your plan if I hadn't come downstairs and heard the engine? I just can't believe you!"
"Alright! Alright. I know it was dumb, but I didn't have anything else, ok? With your buddy coming back and everything, I thought I'd make it easy on you." Stan bit back, finding his voice even with the familiar welling held back between blinks, keeping his voice even and sharp despite how desperately it begged to waver.
"What are you talking about? What does Fiddleford have to do with this?" Ford's voice softened, losing its bite as Stan teared up, harshly dragging a sleeve to cover up the slip, instead settling a hand against Stan's arm.
"I know. I know this wasn't going to last forever, but dammit, Ford, I couldn't take it if you told me to get out, so I- If it was my choice. Fuck, I don't know. I thought I could make it all work." Ford's face dropped as Stan brushed away another stray tear, barely holding back from how he trembled, taking in a shuddering breath.
"Lee, I'm not sure where you got that idea, but I'm not kicking you out. Fiddleford may stay in the attic if he decides to come back, but I promise you, your home is here, your room is yours now. To be honest, I don't think I could let you leave even if you wanted to, not now when you're like this. It would be suicide."
"You mean it?" Stan asked, frozen in disbelief despite the hope and relief flooding through him.
"Lee, you're staying until you've healed, until we figure out all your mobility needs. Forever if I have any say in it." Stan snorts at that, shoving Ford's shoulder even as he lets his brother wrap a warm hand around his shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah, alright. You'd better go get my keys, though, I'm not losing them cause your mother-hen instincts kicked in."
"Ah, that may be a problem. I wasn't really looking when I threw them. B-but I can look for them in the morning! You can even watch me." Ford quickly suggested, cringing as Stan's brow cocked up, unimpressed.
"This better not be your way of trying to hide them from me; I'm holding you to it. You hear me?"
This absolutely possessed me and I couldn't stop until I finished it. I didn't do one last year unlike previous years, but this is another They Might Be Giants lyric comic about Stanley Pines, the guy of all time! The song is Unpronounceable. I recommend listening while you read :)
This ended up being, more than anything else, a love letter to Gravity Falls' prop and setting designs?? I started this because this guy is my fave, and ended it with hand pain LMAO
Other TMBG GF lyric comics were Old Pine Box and End of the Rope.
I'm not on social media much these days (as you can tell from my year+ long hiatus from my art blog) so idk if I'll post more soon, but I hope you enjoy! ^^
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