Here’s some fics of mine. May as well drop them here
Purple means incomplete, green is complete.
Stan Overboard - Timestuck AU. Pre Portal Ford gets stuck in the future with Post Canon Stan, while Post Canon Ford falls back in time, meeting a Pre Portal Stan as he struggles to survive (>100K)
Contractual Obligations vs Handshake Deals - Bill works to complete the portal with Ford, but an old friend has also made his home within a resident of the shack.
High Rollers and Snake Eyes - Following a somewhat messy divorce with what he now knows to be a cursed witch, as well as the loss of his car, Stan meets a demon hunter, who’s been following Marilyn.
The Dos and Don’ts of Vampirism - Stan has been turned into a vampire, and found that it really sucks. Ford has been living as a vampire hunter, holed up in Oregon while his home is sieged by vampires.
What Remains when Stanley Pines is Gone - Stan begins to get his memories back after Weirdmaggedon, but there are some gaps, and Ford’s not sure how to fill them, or even if he can. (One shot)
The Aftermath of a Best Case Scenario - No Weirdmaggedon. How the rest of the summer plays out between Stan and Ford without all the pressure of the end of the world above their heads. (One shot)
The Brief History of Marilyn Pines - What it sounds like. The short story of how Marilyn Pines (AKA Eda Clawthorne) came to be, and how she faded into oblivion again. (One shot)
Hey! No pressure (absolutly feel free to tell me no!) but I've been rereading your Stan Overboard fic and just reveling in it and I was wondering if you'd be alright with podfic being made of it. I'd leave links and credits of course. Regardless, thanks for writing and sharing it! <3
please i beg, may i submit 1 coupon for yappage and have you yap more about his dark materials au? please? i'll take anything, otter's reaction to bill, the postcard meeting, if anyone gets severed, the kids dæmons. ANYTHING!
....yeah that coupon looks legit. Come on in.
Ford's Dæmon is named Adrina. Stan's Dæmon is named Adia. Much like how their parents would call them by yelling "STAN!!" their parents Dæmons would call them by yelling "ADDY!!" it has the same effect.
I mentioned that, because they were separated by 17, Stan and Ford don't know what animal the other settled in, they just woke up to find themselves settled.
Adrina is an Otter. This comes as no huge surprise. She had taken the form of an Otter before, and for long stretches, because she could swim and still play and walk and because it felt right. Also, because despite the fact that she looks unassuming, she has teeth, and claws, and she's not afraid to bite. Ford woke up the morning after the science fair to fine Adrina curled up on the bunk below his, and she wouldn't change anymore.
Ford doesn't like her being an Otter. He's a little bitter, just a bit, because he'd hoped for something different. He'd hoped for an Owl, or a falcon, or a tiger or a wolf. Something big that made everyone else in the room stand up taller. He'd hoped for something that made people stop and stare, not at his extra fingers or because he was a nerd, but because his Dæmon commanded attention. Adrina is sort of small and unimportant, and completely and utterly ordinary. It's a little disappointing.
He learns to accept it, and then, after a few years, he learns to see the advantages of looking more unassuming, but there is a part of him that is buried very deep, that is jealous of the possibilities, specifically the unknown possibilities of what Stan's Dæmon settled into.
Adia is a coyote. Specifically she's an Eastern Coyote, which is technically barely a species given that its speculated to be a hybrid of wolves, dogs and coyotes all in one. She's a little bigger than one might think, a little scruffier. She had never, once, taken this form before she settled. She likes it for it's sleek nature, because being a coyote rests in that in between of not scary and scary enough. Stan woke up the morning after the science fair to find Adia laying across the dash of the car, and she told him that this form was the one she was going to keep.
Stan's alright with her being a Coyote. It's unexpected, a little out of left field, but somehow he expected something like that. Coyotes are tricksters and storytellers, of course it ended up this way. He is a little hurt, just a jab really, that she didn't settle into something more...similar to what she used to. Their Ma's Dæmon is a weasel. Pa's a groundhog. Both smaller, more rodent looking mammals. Ford's probably similar. Stan looks different, he is different now, and it feels like he isn't a Pines anymore, with a snarling coyote Dæmon.
Once he's on the road and spitting up fake names as easy as water, he understands that it's good to have that disconnect. That maybe he isn't Stan Pines anymore at all, just a man with a coyote Dæmon and no connections.
What happens is this, and what happens hurts.
Stan still messes up Ford's project, but that doesn’t stop Ford from going forward, from succeeding. He studies, and he learns, and he moves up in the world. His work is noticed, especially surrounding his studies into physics, into dimensions,
His studies into Dust.
It gains him the attention of some very smart, very interesting people. It gains Ford the attention of something that isn't quite a person.
Bill doesn't have a Dæmon. He tells Ford that he doesn't need one, never had one, so its nothing to freak out over. Ford can't help that feeling of bile at the back of his throat, the feeling that something is wrong, like looking at someone's ribcage opened up, that disgusting taste of sickness. He learns to swallow that feeling, and to told his tongue about it.
Adrina doesn't like Bill. She hisses, and snarls so often that, unconsciously, Ford will reach forward when Bill speaks to hold her mouth closed, or to prevent her from making one of her snide comments. Whenever Bill is around, Adrina likes to squeeze herself into Ford's coat, sit across his shoulders and burrow down into his collar. It's not hiding. She's protecting his neck.
Bill is fascinated by Dæmons. He's almost. Touchy, although not quite. People don't usually talk directly to other's Dæmons unless they're family, a close friend maybe. And they certainly don't reach out, as if to pet, or to touch. It's unheard of.
But Bill doesn't have a Dæmon, Ford explains. He's curious, and he doesn't know the taboo. It's harmless really.
Adrina hisses lowly and paces, but there's not much else to do.
Bill helps Ford with his research, moves him up in the world by leading Ford to questions unanswered. Bill leads him, very soundly, to a laboratory in the north, where experimental research is being done on Dust, on Dæmons.
Its an ongoing study, one with volunteers coming in from all over, with the promise of food and shelter, and in some cases, the promise of a solid cash payout in return to answering some questions, in return for sitting through a couple tests.
And then. And Then Ford starts moving even further up the chain. Bill has connections, all the way up until Bill is at the top, Ford beside him, and they overlook a wonderful place where questions are posed and answered and Ford finally feels like he's doing real, important work. He feels like he's on the brink of real discovery, and each tap, each drawback is nothing in the face of that.
So the volunteers have tests that go a little longer, a little more invasive. When the volunteers start thinning out, the pay out gets bigger, when the larger payout doesn't work as well then some questions are left off the initial inquiry, until the volunteers get to the lab and they're asked again. How far can you go from your Dæmon? Can we test it? How long can you hold it?
Its a miracle really, just how far some of the truly desperate are willing to go, just how stretched they can be before tapping out. Everyone gets paid, and revelations are being made, so everyone is happy.
And then. Well. Then the volunteers run out. The tests get harder and harder to complete when all the easy questions are answered, and soon no one, not even the desperate, show up willing to be experimented on, no matter the price.
All that means, is that the few volunteers they still do have, are pushed much harder. They're promised more things to stay.
But one afternoon, a test goes too far. The man with the Lemur Dæmon dies. The stretch was too far. Its too far.
Fiddleford Mcgucket, Ford's research assistant, comes into Ford's office the next day, his Raccoon Dæmon nervously twiddling at his side. He tells Ford, as a friend, not a coworker, that this has gone too far. That these studies will only get worse, and that there are some questions that cannot, should not, be answered. People aren't leaving this facility, this lab, the way they entered. These stretches, these cuts, these tests, all of them need to end. Someone has died, it's time to call it off.
Ford agrees. He gets ready to publish his findings, his last findings, and send them out to the world.
Bill doesn't see it that way.
There is still more to learn, there will always be more. He tells Ford he can't quit now, that they are so close to truly finding the proper answers.
One more. There is one more test subject. Just one.
Bill hands Ford the file to read over, but by then Ford is already half out the door. He wants to go, Adina is biting at his hands to go, to leave, not to stay for this last test subject.
A criminal. Bill says, as he opens the file. Someone who has done some bad things, who asked to be apart of this test for a lesser sentence, rather than a payout. Just one more test subject, just a man with a coyote Dæmon.
Ford allows it. Just one more.
Ford doesn't involve himself with the last test sibject. He doesn't deliver it, like the one's he's done before, he gathers his work, his files, his journals, and prepares to leave the lab behind. Its a lot of security to get through, lots of paperwork. In the couple weeks that Bill is in charge of the final subject, Ford simply finishes up his tasks, submits final editorial notes, closes up shop.
Fiddleford bursts into his office on his last night in the lab. The man, the one with the coyote Dæmon, the last test subject. There's something wrong. Bill is going too far, he's going too far on purpose. They're going to kill him.
Ford and Fiddleford slam open the doors of the last lab. They get there in time to witness the last test, as the electrified bars come down between Dæmon and man, as the bond between them is prodded, poked, as its going to be nearly cut.
They get there in time to see it. Ford gets there in time to realize that the man with the Coyote demon, screaming and thrashing, more of a wild animal than his counterpart, is Stanley.
Ford does not get there in time to stop Bill from slamming the bars down.
Ford gets there in time to witness Stan get Severed.
Adina, little Adina, with her small claws and tiny teeth, is the one to rip into the skin of Bill's hand, quicker than lightning. The bars between Stan and his Dæmon come down, but they come up just as fast, until theres nothing but a foot between them.
Stan lies motionless on the table. The only reason Ford knows hes not dead, is because Adia is on the opposite table, in one piece, not collapsed into a cloud of Dust.
Ford and Bill fight. More accurately, Ford screams and screams and screams and drags his brother into his arms, patting his face and trying to rouse him. Trying to make him breathe, speak, do anything but lie there on the table and stare up.
And then, when Bill approaches with dripping apologies and fake concern, Ford screams at him too. Fiddleford, the only one with any real brains around her, gets a stretcher. He and Ford load Stan into it, even as Bill begins to rage.
Its terrifying, the threats he hurls.
They have to go, they have to leave, and its all such a blur and so fast that Ford has no choice but to scoop Adia, poor, silent and scruffy Adia, whose form Ford has never known, into his arms to run.
You aren't supposed to touch other people's Dæmons. It simply isn't done. Stan doesn't react, not even a little.
Ford, Fiddleford and Stan, and all accompanying Dæmons accounted for, flee the facility, with Bill raging and spitting at their heels.
They are going to have to stop him. Ford knows that Stan is more than just a last test subject, that this was personal, evil, and that they have to find something that will stop Bill and his machine. The machine that Ford, and Fiddleford, helped build.
“Well, the data we’ve gotten is sure to prove useful. You’ve shown impressive resilience.” The doctor says.
“Yeah. Thanks.” Stan replies gruffly, trying not to let his exertion show. He hadn’t been entirely clear what he was signing up for in order to get out of jail. He should’ve expected it would be terrible. He and Adia follow the doctor to the next room, both trying not to stumble from the strain of the tests they’ve already done. They’d ask for a break, but really they know better at this point
“Now, Mr. Alcatraz.” The doctor, who insisted on being called just Bill, smiles at him, looking amused. “We're coming up on our last test, then you’ll be free man. We’ll just need you to hop up on this table here, right in the middle, and your daemon can go ahead to the other side.” He instructs before wandering off to the console at the back of the room.
The ‘table’ is huge, lined with swaths of machinery on both sides. There’s what looks like an empty window frame dividing the two. There’s a separate set of bars on either side of the window frame to further keep the areas separate. There’s also glass encircling the whole set up, leaving only one open wall for them to enter through. Adia’s ears flatten at the sight. She slinks closer to Stanley, tucking herself behind his ankles.
“I don’t like this.” She murmurs, low enough that the doctor can’t hear. “I don’t like this, Stanley. We should go.”
Stan sighs, and lays a hand on the back of her head. Truthfully, he agrees. This place is sketchy, and something about this doctor is really setting him off. The tests so far have been horrible, forcing him to stretch as far from Adia as he could. It was awful. And if he and Adia are in that much agreement, it’s almost guaranteed something is fishy.
But they knew this was fishy going in. Why else would this lab accept a desperate convict trying to reduce his sentence instead of anyone else?
“We don’t have a choice.” He says simply. Adia growls softly in response, but doesn’t argue further. Reluctantly, he hops on the table and scoots to the middle. Adia eyes him warily, but follows suit.
“So…what do I have to do?” Stan asks tentatively.
Bill twists a knob and something sparks to life. Stan flinches, but he’s not sure why. It’s just machinery.
“You don’t have to do anything.” Bill assures, still with an air of amusement Stan doesn’t understand. “Just sit tight.” He hits one more button on the machine that makes a barred wall snap in front of Stanley, sealing him in the box. A matching wall comes into place in front of Adia.
“Uh…Bill?” Stan demands. He wasn’t fond of small spaces.
“No need for concern.” Bill assures. “Isolation is just a part of the process. One moment.” He turns a dial and steps away from the console.
Stan sucks in a breath, a sudden tension thickening the air as the machine powers up. A physical tension, almost like a shift in the way the air moves between him and Adia. She doesn’t seem to like it. She lets out a small whine and edges closer to the bars that separate them.
Stan tries to reach through the bars for her, to offer some comfort, but a strong shock has him drawing back. He swears, shaking out his hand. Bill tsks, and pushes another button
“Sorry Stanley. Can’t have you messing with results.”
Stan’s breath catches in his throat.
Stanley. Stanley. They weren’t supposed to know Stanley. He never told them that. They had Andrew Alcatraz. That’s all they were supposed to know. He locks eyes with Adia whose expression matches his.
This is bad. He walked them both right into a trap.
“Let me out.” He demands, turning to face Bill, trying to sound authoritative. “We’re done, I’ll take the longer sentence.”
“We made a deal. You signed a contract.” Bill reminds him, approaching the space between with some sort of odd machine that looks almost like a cattle prod.
“I didn’t-“ Stan begins to protest. He cuts himself off in favor of screaming as Bill pokes at the seemingly empty space in the middle of the table, sending sparks flying.
The tests of stretching the bond had hurt earlier. Felt uncomfortable, and unnatural, and painful. Near the worst sort of pain he’d ever felt.
This was different. If that was a sunburn, this was lighting the damn thing on fire. It burned everywhere, but there was no wound to tend. Nothing to fix it.
Bill’s laugh registers in his ear as he adjusts to the pain. “Wow! Look at that. See how much more data we can get when some silly scientists aren’t so caught up on morals. Here, let’s try…”
Bill taps a few buttons on his machine, and jabs at the space again. This one feels like a stab wound, but a million times worse and everywhere. Adia yelps and flattens herself on the table. Stan does what he does best, snarling through the pain and lunging against the bars trying to reach Bill.
Bill dances back with a laugh, setting his machine on the console then tapping another button to electrify the outer bars, It’s really nothing compared to the agony from poking at his and Adia's bond, but it’s enough to force him back to the center of the cage, for a moment.
“It’s just fascinating.” Bill says, circling the table so that he’s beside Adia, who’s growling viciously. He leans closer, smiling wide, uncanny.
She lunges at him, but it’s not as strong or fast as it would normally be, weakened from the tests. Bill steps back easily, before grabbing her muzzle, and holding it closed. Somehow, even with everything that happened, him touching her is still a shock to Stan. He shudders, and again shoves at the bars the separate them.
“Let her go!” He shouts.
Bill doesn’t let her go, simply tilting his head, considering. “Your attachment to your soul. The power you have here that you’re unwilling to wield. Fascinating.” He pets her ears with his free hand as if she were an ordinary dog, in spite of her trying to wrench herself away.
“Get your hands off her!” Stan tries not to flinch at the desperation tinging his own voice. Bill rolls his eyes.
“You people. So touchy about these things.” He pouts, although he does draw his hand back, wiping it on his coat as he does so. “No matter. You ready for the grand finale?”
Stan dares a glance at Bill, who grins and points up above the windowsill thing. Stan follows his gaze to see a blade lodged inside it, hanging between him and Adia the way a guillotine hangs between a head and its body.
The analogy does not comfort Stan.
“No. No, please. Please.” He begs, even though it grates on his nature to do so. The implications of that blade paired with the other tests…it was unthinkable.
“Figured it out, huh? And to think you were the dumb one. Don’t worry. It’s all in the name of science.” Bill says cheerily, walking back to the console.
Stan slams his shoulder against the bars, gritting his teeth at the shock. The door barely even rattles. This can’t happen. He can’t let this happen. Bill only laughs at him as he continues messing with the machine.
“Please. As if that would work.” He teases. Stan ignores him, and ignores the tears that weigh his lashes, clawing desperately at the bars trying to do something, anything, even as he can feel the blade being to lower into position. Feel the way his and Adia's bond seems to cringe from it.
The bars are thick, too thick for him to possibly break through, and he’ll probably have electrical burns all over his shoulder from the repeated shocks, but he doesn’t care. He keeps slamming against the bars, screaming curses, and praying to whoever will listen that something will give. The pain is almost enough to make him black out, but he keeps going. It’s all over if he stops. He can hear Adia pacing beside him, breathing heavy and labored as she occasionally scrabbles at the bars.
There’s some commotion he doesn’t care about near the door to the lab. He throws himself at the bars again.
Someone calls his name, but he can’t hear it. He tries to use his feet to get leverage. Adia’s head snaps towards the sound.
“Adina!” She tries to shout. It sounds more like a wheeze.
Stan glances up at that, just in time to meet the horrified face of his brother.
The mind control tie is in my head. Allow me a minute to put this out there.
It’s pretty widely agreed upon at this point, I think, thag the tie was a messed up thing for Ford to use, especially considering his past with Bill. Forcibly seizing anyone’s autonomy should’ve raised red flags for him, and distraction with the rift is a bad excuse. This choice from Ford largely results in no consequences.
But that got me thinking, what’s the true worst case scenario of that situation? What’s a truly horrible way this could’ve gone to force Ford to see just how much of a mistake it was? And the obvious answer is someone with worse intentions than Dipper and Mabel somehow obtaining the control tie.
Given the context of that episode, Bud and/or Gideon are our prime candidates. Imagine if he gets that kind of power over Stan, and the Pines as a whole? Yea, he’s in prison, but if Bud has the tie, it’s the same thing as Gideon controlling Stan.
Let’s see. Dipper was the one wearing the tie, so Bud probably would’ve had to have kidnapped Dipper and Mabel to get the control one. And if I remember correctly, at this time Dipper knows about the rift. I wonder if he’d still keep it a secret if Gideon threatened to use that tie to throw Stan off the water tower (ya know, for the sake of parallels.) at the very least Dipper would tell Gideon that the journals were at the shack, and he would explain to Bud how to get controlled Stanley to them if he promised to let them go afterwards in order to keep Stan and themselves alive.
And when controlled Stan gets to the shack, and the basement, led by Dippers instruction, who would be there but Ford? I figure they would’ve had Stan tuck the tie under his shirt at some point so it wouldn’t be visible, and although Ford notices Stan acting strange, his eyes are brown, albeit a little glassy. And he obviously hadn’t been paying attention when giving Dipper the tie in the first place, so maybe he chalks it up to him not really knowing Stanley for years at this point. Not possession. Not Bill.
Anyway, here there could be splits in the story. Maybe Weirdmaggedon is started early by a possessed Stan shattering the rift, maybe they just fight and somehow Stan is released from the mind control. Maybe the tie is broken. Maybe Ford finds it and removes it. Either way, he realizes this is all his fault. The kids are in danger, Stan is blaming himself for hurting them, but Ford was the one who made it possible with the ties. He doesn’t tell Stan that though. Now they have to go save the kids, but with the guilt on both sides, and Ford seeing the parallels of his past self, but his past self brought all that on himself, whereas Ford did this to Stan.
for the labyrinth Au that I can’t stop thinking about now, I like to think that Stan just kinda appears in Fords house whenever he feels/has time. Like it’s five in the morning and Ford walks into his kitchen and this absolute king is just sitting on the counter reading the paper like a god while he’s in a stained sweater vest and those fuck ass green booty shorts
Stan “morning Ford …….what are you wearing.”
Ford (only half awake): “Good morning to you too???”
Stan “no. what is that. Where did you get those. Why are you wearing them. You look awful. Stop it.”
Ford
“… I…… I need coffee before whatever this conversation is going to be happens.”
Or even the other way around, Stan hasn’t visited in over a week. How dare he. So Ford just comes up with some excuse to have to chill with his brother, idk like he has to document smth about him or sketch the goblin king from a new angle so he just kinda walks into the middle of a super important super confidential king meeting and just. Refuses to leave. Stan just has to continue as if his brother isn’t sitting on a rock in the corner, effectively kicking his feet writing in his diary like an idiot
(one of the goblins suggest actually kicking him out due to the very confidential fae information being overheard and obviously documented by a human scientist, which is very not allowed, and Stan gives him a glare that could actually kill a man. Everyone’s pretty chill with Ford being there after that. Ford didn’t notice any of this.)
I’m just loving the idea of them technically living in different places but can just pop in. Whenever. And do so much they practically live together anyway. Ugh I love the brothers of all time I love them please
(I don’t know if any of this makes sense. I’ve been trying to sleep for the past 4 hours. I can’t. Labyrinth Au won’t let me. I blame you. Free me. Please I beg. I have to be up early. Please. WHY DID YOU HAVE TO MAKE GOBLIN KING STAN SO HOTTTTTT AND NARRATIVELY INTERESTING UGHHHHH) (this is a compliment btw) (I swear I love this) (could’ve loved it at a more convenient time but that’s unimportant)
I LOVE THEM HANGING OUT TOGETHER I LOVE THEM EXPLORING THE LABYRINTH AND THE HUMAN WORLD YES Y ES
When Stan pops into the Human World, he does so in the space of a blink, with no discernible sound effect or indication that he's there. He just simply Is There, like he's been there the whole time. Sometimes he'll send Goblins ahead to stir up some unease for him and up his intimidation factor, but most times he just appears like he was there the entire time, you just didn't see him.
In the beginning this means that Ford startles a lot, when he turns and Stan is just suddenly THERE, but after a while he gets so used to it that he doesn't even flinch anymore. He just goes "you see this shit Stanley?" And Stan will just Be There and go "yeah, its crazy."
Unfortunately Other People are not used to this, and even though people in Gravity Falls know..or at least know OF Stan, when he pops into existence people usually startle because they were SO SURE there was nobody there a second ago. Stan also disappears the same way, meaning he gets to pull a Batman whenever he's done with a conversation.
FORD however, does not have these graceful entrances. When Stan pulls him into the Underground it feels like shifting wet sand under his feet for a minute as the world's change, and Ford often stumbles just a little bit on entry. And thats when its a PLANNED entry.
Sometimes the Labyrinth will pull Ford in without warning. Usually its when he takes a step and BAM suddenly he's standing in the middle of the goblin throne room because Stan is getting "guillotine-d" (the Goblins watched Les Mis, and Ford explained human history. They called for a revolution because Stan wouldn't let them have ice cream for breakfast lunch and dinner six days in a row. Don't worry, the guillotine is made out of wire and foam and wont do anything) and the Labyrinth REALLY wants Ford to see it happening. Or maybe the Labyrinth is just bored and decides to throw Ford in the middle of a Labyrinth run for funzies. Point is, that entry is a little rougher, mainly because without Stan providing a solid guide, the transfer to the Labyrinth is a little bumpy.
And then SOMETIMES, Ford forces his way into the Underground without any help.
Thats always fun. Entrances to the Labyrinth are scattered all over, opening and closing whenever to no discernible pattern, but after their reconciliation Stan gave Ford "the key to the city" AKA a way to open an entrance to the Labyrinth where ever. It could be like opening a door, or like climbing through a mirror, or even running around a trees base until Ford is dizzy and falls down, now in the Labyrinth. Ford has to specify WHERE in the Labyrinth he wants to be, (usually asking to appear near Stan) or else he'll just end up somewhere random.
Which means when Ford "appears" in the throne room while Stans in a meeting, its not as smooth and just. Stepping into existence.
Ford trips into existence. Stumbles. Takes a running start and absolutely wrecks the landing. Eats utter shit into existence. Trips, flails, grabs onto and then drags a tablecloth and everything on it to the floor as he falls into existence. Its loud, and its embarrassing, but if it works then hey, it works.
Which means if Stan's in a meeting Ford will just crash into existence with such a clatter it sounds like a one man band being hit by a car, and then shoot upright, dust himself off, say "Er, Greetings." And then hurry off to a corner to wait for Stan to be done and to take notes.
And Stan just. Pretends none of that just happened. Completely ignores the fact that Ford just appeared with all the grace of an angry elephant in a China shop.
Ack. No stop. I want to draw it now, but I’m so lazy. I see it so clearly
Some goblin is talking about things to Stan, who’s got his feet crossed on top of the table. He’s sort of half listening. It’s been a long day. In his half listening state, he just barely hears a distant echoing scream a second before Ford appears. He’s screaming at the top of his lungs, and running at a full sprint. He has about two feet to stop before he slams into the table.
But his eyes are closed, and two feet wasn’t really enough to stop anyway at the speed he was going. He hits the table, and flips straight over it, sliding across the length and dragging with him two glasses of wine and a whole cooked turkey. He nearly crushes the goblin sitting on the other side of the table, but fortunately the creature had the foresight to move before he falls off the edge of the table. Ford tries to get his bearings back, and finds the back of his trenchcoat has flipped over his face in the chaos. Not ideal. He reaches out for support and finds something to grab onto. Ideal! It is a table cloth in no way affixed to the table. Not ideal. It does not support his weight when he tries to stand, resulting in him dragging the table cloth and everything on it down to the floor with him. He covers everyone who is sitting at the table with food and drink. The next time, he flips the back of his coat over, and smooths his hair before he tries to stand. He offers a nod, and casual ‘greetings’ to the others at the table before he moves off to his stool in the corner that Stan put there for him.
Speaking of Stan, he has not moved during this whole thing other than to lift his feet when Ford was dragging the cloth off the table. He watches Ford shuffle to the corner, before turning his eyes back to the carnage he’s left in his wake. No one is moving.
“…Well? What were you saying?”
The goblins take the hint, and continue the meeting as though the room isn’t trashed.
This me? As someone who has never partaken in sonic in any form, and immediately turned to read his wiki once I saw this, I love him so much, and have no notes on this analysis.
Gravity Falls Shapeshifter AU where Ford DID lock the shapeshifter away in the bunker and thought of it as a dangerous pet, only because he wrote about it in the third journal (that Stan doesn't have) when Stan stumbles across the bunker and finds a half grown grub creature he thinks "oh obviously this is Ford's beloved son/grub/creature/child!" And adopts it.
And Shifty, absolutely pissed about the whole "Being locked in a bunker by the only parental figure it had and trusted" makes a plan to play the part of poor, neglected child until it's grown enough to seek revenge.
But then. Stan starts feeding it (badly) home cooked meals. He starts getting toys and puzzles for it. He isn't scared when Shifty takes on bigger and scarier shapes, or even when it tests out human form.
And. And well.
Damn. Shifty decides to stick around.
This Stan guy is nice enough. Shifty will enjoy allow his mothering, while it lasts at least for now.
And Stan's trying to get Ford back. That's fine too. Shifty might even help a little. For revenge purposes, of course. The faster Ford is back to sooner Shifty can inact it's totally genuinely and thorough revenge. It has no other reason to stick around. That's it.
Stan asks Shifty if it wants Stancakes. Shifty says yes.
Ok, so. Here’s this. I should be in REM right now.
———
“We’re getting him back today, Shifty. I’m so close. I’m…we’re getting Ford back today.”
“Yes.” Agrees Shifty. Its eyes are completely unreadable, but Stan doesn’t make too much of that. It’s been a few years now as Shiftys pseudo-guardian, and Stan has learned that inscrutable was pretty much its default expression. On the inside its probably just as pleased as Stan. Finally getting back its…whatever Ford was to it. Stan was a touch foggy on the most specific details.
“Are you excited to see him again?” Stan prompts. That gets Shifty to grin, in that slightly unsettling way of its.
“Most excited.”
They stand together as the portal counts down, Stan hopping from foot to foot, Shifty stiller than a statue, its flickering eyes the only sign it’s alive at all.
Then it opens. A flash of light bright enough to blind. A man dressed like he came from the set of a star wars movie stepping through.
Ford.
Stan grins widely, throwing open his arms unthinking, and approaching Ford. “Brother!”
He doesn’t make it all the way before he’s shoved to the side. He hits the ground hard, too surprised to keep his balance. At first he thinks Ford punched him. But as he gets his bearings that is not the case. Ford is several feet off the ground, legs desperately flailing in vain for purchase, hands scrabbling at the thick rope-like hand around his throat.
A hand that belongs to Shifty, whose face is neutral as ever while he watches Ford squirm in his grasp.
“Hello Stanford.” Shifty sneers Ford's name in a voice Stan has never heard it use before. “Welcome back. Do you recognize me?”
Ford doesn’t respond, still desperately trying to pull air into his lungs. Shifty answers the question for him. “I guess you wouldn’t.” It muses. “This face is new. I guess the better question is ‘do you remember me?”
Ford only glares, but apparently that’s answer enough for Shifty, who cracks a bitter, but sharp smile.
“You do, don’t you? I’m glad you haven’t forgotten. I promise you that I haven’t.”
Stan rolls to his feet. “Shifty, stop! What are you doing?”
Before he can move to try and help Ford pry Shifty off he’s shoved again. Farther this time. Into a wall. Stan can hear a sizzling to his right, and turns to see the panel he was branded on all those years ago. He represses a shudder at the memory of the pain.
Shifty knows about that. Stan knows it does. To push him there, so close to it can’t be anything but intentional.
A warning.
“Keep out of it, Stanley.” Shifty says calmly, as Stan shakes off his daze. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“The hell it doesn’t! You’re killing him!” Stan protests desperately. He pushed away from the wall and that damned machine, taking a half step forward as he does, unsure how best to intervene. In a physical confrontation he can’t stop Shifty. That’s been crystal clear for a long time, but it can’t have all been for nothing. He can’t have opened the portal just to watch Ford die here in the hands of his pseudo-child. He can’t.
“He deserves it.” Shifty counters, face still inscrutable, voice still hard. “He locked me away. He put me in a cage. He treated me like a monster. I wasn’t a monster.” For the first time since this exchange, there’s a crack in its voice. It seals over quickly. “I wasn’t. Not until he made me one, but now?” It slams Ford into the ground, hard enough to hurt like hell but not hard enough to kill, as demonstrated by the pained wheeze Ford lets out as the wind is knocked out of him. Shifty snarls though its now longer and sharper teeth and draws its arm back into itself, morphing its hand into some truly Krueger-esque claws. “Now I’ll show him a monster.”
Stan takes the opportunity to move in between Ford and Shifty, holding up his hands in placating. The murder in the kids eyes dims, just a little, replaced with surprise, and confusion.
“You’re not a monster.” Stan insists. “You’re not. You don’t have to be this. You can do anything you want, please don't choose to do this.” Stan hates begging. Hates it with all his heart, but how is he meant to do anything but beg here?
But Shifty only shakes its head angrily, the way it does when he’s struggling to communicate something. “I am this. He made me this. Why aren’t you like this too?” The kid demands. Underneath the anger is a genuine confusion in its voice. “He threw you away. He hates you. He hates us. Why did you even want him back when he was so happy abandoning you?”
“He’s my brother. He’s my family. I can’t turn my back on him.” It’s as true for Stan as the ocean is deep. It always has been. Shifty scoffs in reply.
“I’ll say this once more, Stanley Pines, stay out of my way or I will kill you.” Shifty snarls. There’s something desperate, almost pleading in the back of its tone. Stan ignores it, planting himself firmly between Shifty and his brother, demonstrating as clearly as possible that he will not move. He looks the kid he all but raised straight in the eye, the same way he did when this child, this child fought him on what time to go to bed.
“Then kill me.” Stan says simply. He won’t run. He’s not leaving Ford again. He won’t fight. He’s likely to lose anyway. This was always the only option for this. He lowers his hands. “I’m not moving.”
There’s a silence as his words echo in the hollow cavernous space. They leave in their wake a silence that could be shattered by a falling feather.
And Stan can see it. For all the stone in Shifty's eyes, he can see a hesitation. A moment of deliberation on the knife’s edge.
It’s not a falling feather that shatters the tense quiet. It’s a blaster. A shot flies from Stan’s left, and hits Shifty squarely in the chest, where a human heart would be. Stan flinches hard from the inhuman shriek of pain, watching frozen as Shifty's hands come up to clutch its smoking flesh. Stan has one second to catch the look it gives him. A look layered with fear, betrayal, shock, lingering anger.
Shify looks so young, when it makes that expression.
Another blast snakes its way around Stan, but Shifty is quicker this time. It dodges left, before shifting into a small bird (Stan remembers reading it a book about birds, and watching as it learned to perfect the details of each species) and zips away into the open elevator, shifting into its normal form to push the button. Ford sprints around Stan for it. He makes it just in time to slam his fists on the recently closed doors.
“Dammit. We can’t let it get away, Stan! We’ll never find it again.”
“It’s already in the elevator, Ford. It’ll be long gone by the time we get up there.” Stan replies, feeling a little numb. This was supposed to be the best day of his life. How had it all gone so wrong so quickly?
“Wonderful.” Ford deadpans, running a hand through his hair. “How did it even get out of the bunker?”
“I let it out. I thought-”
Stan gets the punch in the face he’d been expecting.
———
I’m aware this complies less with the whole cuckoo thing, but this was just the first thing that popped into my head, so 🤷
Edit: after reading up on the rest of this AU, I guess this is a hypothetical ‘what if Stan opened the portal early?’ Sometime after Shifty had decided he didn’t want to kill Stan, but before his choice not to kill Ford.
Was reading @esjayess Stan Overboard (such a good fic you need to read it) and chapter 17 got me thinking about the irony of Ford's shifting feelings about the Shack.
First it's his house, his lab, a perfect place for him to explore things as weird as him but Bill turns it into the set of his nightmares. Where he's tortured physically and mentally. Where he's losing his mind. Where he's tricked into bring the apocalypse because he couldn't resist being told everything he wanted to hear. Where he was finally pushed into Hell by his own brother.
Then, when he finally makes it home it's been turned into some cheep mockery of his life's work by the person who pushed him into Hell.
But, as he slowly let's himself trust the people, the kind strangers around him and learns their stories - How Soos found purpose and a father thanks to this Shack, how Wendy found an escape from her stressful home life. How Stan found stability and saftey and a purpose, how the town found new members and a pillar of its community, how Dipper found the wonderful Weirdness that drew Ford in and how Mabel found new friends, new family, and new adventures as chaotic as she is.
Then he sees it. He sees the Mystery Shack in all its tacky, scummy, scam-riddled glory. He sees how it brought Ford home.
(Hey so uh. Fair warning this one contains violence! Not a ton, surprisingly, but there is some and this IS the hunger games after all so please be aware. I wrote this in. Uh. In an hour as action scene practice, so it’s a little choppy on purpose. I promise, for now, this is not sad! I mean it’s sad in the case that this is the hunger games but this is not angst. Happy reading!)
Sixty seconds.
That's how long everyone has to wait, standing on a tiny platform of death, before the starting horn sounds and every tribute gets to run in whatever direction they please. Sixty seconds.
It's agony.
Stan reserves the right to call it agony. He'd call it torture, but the word agony seems like something Ford would say, and he's holding on to what he can.
The fish hook earring in his ear weighs down his earlobe just slightly. It's a pressure, a presence, and Stan is thankful it's there.
Fifty seconds.
The tributes, Stan included, are all standing in their little pedestals, stood up in a circle.
In the dead center of the field they are standing in, is a totem pole.
Its an eagle at the very top. With a huge grin and spread wings, and what might be a bunny underneath that.
At its base, piled high enough that Stan can't make out the bottom animal, are the supplies.
Boxes, crates full of things that Stan wants. Food, probably. Containers of water and weapons, every type of weapon imaginable, swords and spears and what looks to be a trident, and who knows what else.
Forty seconds.
Going for the supplies at the base of the totem pole is the stupidest choice Stan could possibly make.
Especially when there is a nice, easy to grab backpack laying innocently on the grass about half the distance to the totem pole.
Stan readjusts his feet on the pedestal, aiming.
The backpack has a sign pinned to it. On the sign is simply the number four.
Stan glances to the side. Every backpack around the totem pole has a sign, each designating it to a district.
That backpack is his. There's something in it that's worth grabbing. For him.
Please be rope. Please be rope. He wants to make a net.
The backpack is his. For his district.
Well, maybe also for Darlene.
For the first time, Stan looks up to the faces around him.
The girl next to him on his left is not Darlene. The boy next to her isn't either, but the girl on that boy's other side is short enough.
Stan can barely make out Darlene's ponytail.
The backpack is closest to him. She promised not to kill him first, so maybe if he grabs it, she won't stick a stick in his eye for it.
Stan's eyes drag around the circle, analyzing each face.
Thirty seconds.
There is a boy directly across from him. He's tall, that's all Stan can really make out. His distance vision isn't great. The boy is tall and he's pointing, right at Stan.
Stan squints, trying to make out his face. It's either the boy from eight, or it's one of the Careers, one or two, but Stan can't tell.
Then the boy slowly lifts his hand up, and mimes slicing across his throat.
Oh, Stan knows what that sign means.
Great. Thirty seconds in and someone's already decided to kill him first, absolutely wonderful.
Twenty seconds.
That backpack looks really tempting. Stan is absolutely sure that Darlene's seen it by now, and he glances over to be sure.
Instead of looking at bags, she's staring right at the totem pole up ahead.
No. No no no, bad idea.
Stan's not exactly sure if whistling to get her attention is a good idea or not, so he doesn't try it. Maybe if he thinks really hard at her, she'll magically be psychic for a second and understand.
Run. He tries to beam at her. Run away. To the trees. Away. Do not go for the death stick in the middle.
Ten seconds.
Stan's eyes snap back to the backpack with the four written on it.
It's a bad idea. He should run the exact opposite direction.
Five seconds.
This is going to be a bloodbath.
Three.
Stan takes a deep breath.
Two.
He hopes his parents and Shermie aren't watching.
One.
He misses Ford.
The horn sounds.
Stan is off.
He's down and off the platform faster than his direct neighbors and sprinting as fast as he can.
The bag. The bag the bag the bag.
Footsteps pound into the grass around him. Already, there is yelling.
No canons, but Stan hears the sound of someone die.
There is someone directly in front of him. Stan can only see their feet, his eyes still glued to the place in his vision where the bright four sign was a moment ago.
There is someone in front of him, and then there is not.
A tiny ball of speed and yelling crashes into the person reaching for his front.
Stan does not stop.
The bag. The bag the bag the bag.
He reaches it.
The bag is much bigger than it looked when he was on the pedestal. This bag is heavy, there's something weighty in it.
Now is not the time to check.
He got it he got the bag.
Stan turns, and there is screeching.
He knows this screeching.
It's Darlene.
She is sitting on someone's face down body, and she is slamming a knife repeatedly into the back of their neck and head.
Blood is gushing out of the gore she's making, spraying over herself and in fat, red droplets arcing into the sky.
She is yelling, and she continues to stab.
Stan runs.
On a backwards swing, he grabs her wrist to stop her. The body she's sitting on is dead, without a doubt, and she is a sitting duck, screaming away like an alarm.
Her head snaps on a swivel towards him.
Her eyes are huge and wide in her face. They are wild like a feral animal, and there is blood freckling all over her.
Her wrist is thin. The bone is fragile. Darlene looks like a monster.
She's just a little girl.
Her eyes are frightened.
There is a singular moment where Stan does not see Darlene in this battlefield arena of the Hunger Games.
He sees Ford's face, wide and scared, after an ocean swept thunderstorm, or a bad nightmare. Stan sees a child.
He shoves the backpack into Darlene's arms.
“Go!” He yells. His voice is heavy and loud and panicked and breaking.
Darlene goes.
She's fast. Faster than anyone else because she's so small. Stan does not have time to see where she runs.
Someone else dies to his left. A scream cut short.
He doesn't have a bag. He doesn't have a bag.
Stan's eyes dart, searching.
There is one more backpack, dead across from where he is.
Stan runs for it.
He almost trips over a body on the way there. He's exposed, empty handed, but there's not a damn thought in his head other than the renewed screaming of get the bag get the bag.
He reaches it. There is already a hand on it.
Stan snaps his head up.
It's a girl. Dark hair, bangs, and Stan cannot see her eyes.
The girl from District Ten. Emma something. She is gripping the bag in one hand, and she has something that glints like metal in the other.
He lets go of the bag.
He may be big, but he's fast enough to dodge when the girl shoots her arm out in a sideways, crazed swing. It misses, barely.
It's a hook. She's swinging a hook.
Stan jumps away. He spins, and Stan runs.
He's out of time. He's out of time and he doesn't have a bag, he's running.
There are trees right ahead of him. Huge sprawling trunks that go up taller than Stan can see, and he's not willing to waste the time to look up.
He needs to get out, he needs to get away.
He doesn't have a bag.
Something slams into his side.
It's a body, a clawing, yelling live one, and Stan's pinned on his side in the grass, fifteen feet from the tree-lined safety.
It's a girl that's clawing at him. Stan turns just in time to see that it's not one he recognizes, and its not one who's friendly.
She has a knife in one hand.
Stan does not feel bad for punching her as hard as he can in the face.
Something crunches under his middle knuckle, and the girl slumps off him immediately.
She happens to have a bag.
Stan wrenches it off of her so quickly that it knocks the dagger out of her fingers, and he grabs that too.
This bag is labeled as twelve. It's lighter than the four bag.
But a bag is a bag, and Stan takes it.
He runs into the woods.
He can still hear screaming behind him. He does not stop.
He runs until he slopes downward, until dirt and sticks under his boots become rocks, and the rocks turn slippery and there's a lake. There's water and it's a lake.
Stan doesn't even stop to think. He dives in, straight off the shore.
The water is cold, but not freezing, not as much as District four.
Stan has been swimming all his life. This is a stroke of perfect luck.
He swims, and he swims, and he doesn't stop until there are wet rocks under his hands again, and Stan drags himself up and out of the water on the opposite bank, a full lake in between him at the starting point.
It's a very big lake.
Stan has made it across.
At last, the rabbit-quick beating of his heart starts to slow.
He made it across.
He made it out of the launch zone.
He made it.
Welcome to the Hunger Games.
Lake water drips from Stan's face, and plops against the stones at his feet.
“May the odds be ever in your favor.” He whispers to himself.
You know when parents make their kids match for family photos? This is that, but worse.
I cannot let go of the absolutely ridiculous chariot outfits for the tributes in the hunger games. They are all so perfectly corny and it looks like they’re all trying out for Miss America but like. Badly.
I also had to give Stan bellbottoms. I put Darlene in a dress, it’s only fair
More of this, it seems. I just can’t get this AU out of my head, and every single post I see that includes Darlene gets dust in my eyes. Weird, right?
Anyway, here’s a brief meeting I imagined between Crampelter and Ford in the aftermath of Darlene’s death.
———
Stanford hadn’t believed it when they told him Crampelter had joined the resistance. But here he is, training for the inevitable war. Ford watches as he throws spear after spear through moving targets with unnerving accuracy. Bullseyes every time.
He would’ve eaten them all alive if he’d been in the arena.
Crampelter grabs another spear from the rack. Just as he draws it back to throw, he meets Ford’s eyes. He blinks once, then lowers the weapon.
“Stanford.” He greets cautiously. “I heard you were around here somewhere.”
Ford doesn’t respond, only glaring at his childhood bully. He bites his tongue to keep himself from asking whatever happened to calling him a six fingered freak? Are they on a first name basis now? Why did no one tell him? Instead of any of that he stays silent. Crampelter seems to take that as an invitation to continue. He fiddles with his spear almost nervously.
“I…saw what your brother did in the games. For Darlene. I’m glad-”
“It should've been you.” Ford interrupts harshly. He doesn’t want to hear Crampelter say he was glad that Stan was in that death arena so he could comfort a little girl in her dying moments. “Stan would still be here if you’d done what you said you would. And so would she. It was supposed to be you. It should’ve been you.”
Crampelter pauses. He glances down at the spear in his hand, as if considering the words. Without warning, he turns sharply and chucks it full force into the training dummy, knocking it off its stand and pinning to the back wall ten feet behind. He straightens, tilting his head as if admiring the shot.
“Yeah. Maybe it should’ve. But she would’ve died either way. Whether I won my games or not she would’ve volunteered later. They would’ve been proud to watch her die. Or proud to watch the boy die. That’s why they do two tributes, isn’t it? Every district has to lose, even if they win.”
Ford blinks, temporarily taken aback. He wouldn’t have anticipated such musings from Crampelter, even though he must have been allowed to join up for a reason. Ford had voiced his suspicion when he first heard Crampelter was here, but the higher ups had seemed certain he wasn’t some kind of spy. It doesn’t change anything. Ford lets his eyes harden again. “Why?” He demands. “Why did you back out?”
Crampelter must’ve been expecting the question. He simply shrugs. “It wasn’t worth dying for.”
Figures. It’s about the answer Ford had expected. All the same, it fills him with rage. He throws up his hands. “And you realized that then? Seriously?” He snarls. “Every day of our lives you swore you were gonna win some day. You used everyone in that damn district as target practice. Darlene looked up to you. She volunteered because of you.”
That clearly strikes a nerve, as something pained flickers in his face. Ford keeps pushing.
“You’re not a coward because you didn’t volunteer for the games, Crampelter. You’re a coward for everything that came before. You’re a coward for taking that long to notice it was all bullshit. You could’ve seen it before then. You just didn’t want to because being a future victor gave you the imaginary right to treat everyone around you like shit. Including Stan, who did what you didn’t have the guts to do. You spat on him every day of our lives, but he is stronger than you ever were. And now everyone knows it.”
Crampelter barely seems to be listening, looking past Ford at the dummy embedded in the wall. “I would’ve volunteered for her, if I could.”
“Well you couldn’t.” Ford says, forcing every bit of blame he can into the words. It feels good to blame someone who’s right here. Someone he can spit directly in the face of. “And now she’s dead.”
Crampelters eyes snap to his. There’s a ghost of that familiar grief in his eyes. He looks like Shermie when he gets that look. Shermie, who had already started grieving his youngest brother. Who begged Stan to fight when they said their goodbyes, but walked out of there knowing that he wouldn’t. The comparison makes Ford uncomfortable. Laid atop the achingly familiar grief in Crampelters eyes is the familiar fire that everyone thought would win him the games someday. What a joke that was. Ford glares right back at it, until Crampelter turns away. “I’ll be sorry when Stan dies.” He says casually. “We both know he doesn’t have it in him to win, and he’s not likely to hold out long enough for this little rescue mission of yours. I figured I’d tell you that I’m grateful for what he did, since neither of us will ever see him again.”
Without another word, he turns to walk away, not bothering to retrieve the spear or the dummy. Ford watches him leave, glaring at his retreating figure until he turns the corner. Ford huffs out a breath once he disappears, before turning around and heading back to the lab. He’s not worth the energy it would take to argue with him. Crampelter doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Not about that, anyway.
They're so close. Stan is gonna hold on just a little bit longer, and Ford is not gonna lose his brother.
@aroace-get-out-of-my-face I’ve known about your hunger games AU for less than 24 hours and it’s taken over my life. I hope you’re proud of yourself. I did have things I wanted to do today. But you and your contagious brain worms.
Anyway, I took a few liberties for stuff I wasn’t sure of. So take that as you will. Heres the reaping scene from Disrtict 4, I had to get it out of my system
———
Stanford Pines didn’t want to die.
That was the first thought that ran through his mind when his name was called, then nothing. Distantly, he can hear his mother sobbing. Other than that, the crowd is quiet and still as death. He allows himself a moment for his eyes to wander. Every face he’s lived with growing up stare at him now. Some of them, the wolves, as he and Stan had called them growing up, are giving him vicious smiles, as if they’re imagining seeing him ripped apart already. But most of them simply watch him warily, expressions more relieved than anything else.
At least it’s not me. At least it’s not my loved one.
Ford can’t find it in himself to blame them for that.
The only eyes he can make out that are totally absent of relief are Shermie’s. His own child is too young to get reaped, and he himself is too old. Ford meets his older brother's eyes. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Shermie so scared. The eldest Pines brother usually does a very good job of keeping a stone face in front of the capital cameras, but today his expression is crumpled in horror. In mourning. Because Ford is going to die.
Ford doesn’t feel as horrified as Shermie looks. Or at least, his own horror is distant. Far away from here. He can’t feel it as he steps out of the crowd. He can’t feel it as a peacekeeper grabs his arm to make sure he doesn’t get any funny ideas about running. Where would he even go? Trying to run would only make his death come faster, and he doesn’t want to die.
He’s flanked by peacekeepers as he’s walked onto the stage. Rico, the capital envoy who draws their names each year, gives him a smile before turning back to the audience.
“Now then. Before we move on, do we have any volunteers?”
Ford blinks. He’d nearly forgotten that part. In spite of himself, a wave of relief courses through him. Because Crampelter, as much of a nightmare as he made Ford’s whole childhood, had been telling everyone from the moment he could speak that one day he was gonna win the hunger games. He was born and bred to do it. Raised and honed into a true career. Ford may hate Crampelter, but…
but…
“Anyone?” Rico probes. No one responds. Ford’s brow furrows.
His eyes search the audience and find Crampelters with no trouble at all, as he stands at least a head above most of the people around him. Ford expects a cruel smirk. Maybe a taunting hateful glare. He doesn’t see that. Instead he sees fear. And almost a sort of regret. The small fragile relief Ford had dared allowed to bloom wilts. That expression tells him everything he needs to know: Crampelter won’t be volunteering today. Ford wants nothing more than to hate him for that. For backing out at the last second, but he can’t. He can’t blame Crampelter. Not for this. After all, who in their right mind would willingly enter the games? Even the victors in four always returned with ghosts in their eyes for anyone who bothered to look close enough to see them. Crampelter looks away from Ford’s gaze. Even from all the way back here Ford can see Crampelters father grab his shoulder in a too tight grip, and mutter something. The boy wilts, but still stays silent. Ford turns his eyes back front. None of that concerns him. He lets the cloud of nothingness fall back into place as Rico claps his hands, and turns an appraising eye to Ford. Something in his eyes would make Ford uncomfortable if he wasn’t busy disconnecting himself from reality. The moment passes, and Rico turns his winning smile back to the audience.
“Alright then. Stanford Pines it is. Let’s-“
Before he can finish preparing to move on and draw the girls tribute name, there’s a scuffle from somewhere on the outskirts of the crowd. Someone stepping out of line. A few peacekeepers move to handle the insurgence. All heads turn as they come away with a figure, who squirms and kicks as they hold him with his hands behind his back. If the dissenter is lucky, he’ll be thrown in jail for causing a scene. If he’s unlucky he’ll be executed. Ford won’t be around to see it either way. But before he can block the world out again, the dissenter speaks, making Ford’s eyes widen.
“Stop! Let me go, let- I volunteer. I volunteer.” The figure shouts. The peacekeepers freeze, and loosen their hold enough that the figure can shake free. He does so, but doesn’t move, doesn’t flee. Instead he turns to face the stage. His voice is resolved, unwavering. “I volunteer as tribute.”
Ford freezes. He knows that voice. He can’t know that voice. Beside him, Rico lights up, evidently pleased with the drama.
“Oh! Hey, bring that young man up here. I think we have a volunteer!” He flicks a dismissive hand towards a peacekeeper, ordering them to come drag Ford off the stage. Ford, in a daze, lets them, even as he strains his neck to try and catch a glimpse of that face. His face. It can’t be his face.
The dissenter who he can’t know doesn’t resist the peacekeepers. He keeps his head high as he is frog marched over to the stage. Ford keeps straining to see even as the peacekeeper shoves him along, all but shoving him down the steps before finally releasing him back into the crowd and returning to his post. Ford immediately whips his head back to the stage and meets the eyes of the figure he can’t know just as they arrive at the base of the stairs.
Ford does know him. Of course he does. It’s Stanley.
Stanley who he hasn't seen in almost a year. Who he was so mad at. Who had wrecked his project. Who protected him their whole childhood against the kids who were trained to be careers. He was never going to win against Crampelter, but he fought him for Ford. Stanley who was there on that stage…to take Ford's place.
To lie in Ford’s grave.
Just as suddenly as reality left him, it’s all right back. Too real. Why did he let them drag him off that stage? Away from Stanley. He couldn’t let them do that.
He can’t let them do this. Not to Stan.
“Stan, don’t.” It’s not too late. Stan can take it back. He has to take it back. The protest sounds loud in his own head, but he can’t be heard over the murmurs of district 4 quietly discussing the turn of events. The Pines weren’t meant to be their champions. The Pines weren’t meant to be in the games.
Ford is hardly conscious of moving, but he must be because he crashed hard into the man in front of him, who turns to glare at him before his face shifts into surprise then sympathy. Ford shoves him aside and all but shrieks up to his brother.
“No! Stan don’t!”
This time Stan hears him. He turns at the commotion. He seems…surprised. Surprised at what? That Ford is protesting this? He doesn’t try to run. Doesn’t ask Rico if he can take it back and return to the safe anonymity of the crowd. Instead he simply tilts his head, and gives Ford a smile. The same way he did back when Ford had nightmares before reaping day.
“It was me.” Ford had fretted, way back when they were twelve. Their first reaping. Neither of them had slept so well. Shermie had only just aged out, and now all their anxiety about him rebounded back onto them. All that fear had come to roost in Ford's mind in the night, and it was his name they read.
“That’ll never happen, Sixer.” Stan had assured. “You know the big bad careers want in. For glory, and all. They’d never let it be you.”
“But what if it was?”
“It won’t be.” Stanley had assured. And that had comforted Ford because it sounded so true when he said it. Like an absolute fact of the universe.
Because it was. It always had been true. If it had ever been Ford, it would’ve been Stanley. Why hadn’t Ford realized that sooner?
This was worse. How had this scenario never been one that haunted his nightmares? If Ford going into the games was terrifying, Stan going into the games was…unthinkable. Unimaginable.
He can practically feel all the cameras swivel to him as he tries to claw against the crowd to get to that stage. To get to Stan, to do something. Anything. In his peripheral, he can see peacekeepers moving to intercept him, but he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter.
But before he can break through it all, grab Stan and get far away, there’s a pair of arms grabbing him around the waist from behind, and lifting his feet off the ground. Ford keeps thrashing and kicking and screaming and scratching at the arms to force them to let him go. Let him get to Stanley.
“Let go! I can’t let him do this.”
“Stop.” A familiar voice begs, close to his ear. “Ford please. I can’t lose you both.”
And Ford slows. Shermie. If it were anyone else he might’ve kept fighting. Got himself shot. But with the way Shermie is clinging to him, not letting go, he’s just as likely to get Shermie killed with him if he continues to cause a scene. From somewhere far away he can hear Rico’s light chuckle, remarking on what a touching scene that was.
“Wow.” He muses. “Lot of emotions are flowing today. It’s delicious! And look at you!” He turns all his attention to Stanley, eyeing him the way one might do with a particularly fine cut of meat. “Well, you’re damn near identical. Incredible! Why switch at all, you’re basically the same person.” He takes a minute chuckle at her own joke before addressing Stan. “Now, what’s your name, stud?”
Ford’s eyes refocus on the scene just in time to see Stan flash a smile that looks so real, except for a blankness in the eyes. “You can call me whatever you want. But my name’s Stan. Stanley Pines.”
“Oh! So cheeky.” Rico bats his arm playfully. Ford wants to tear the man’s arm out of his socket as he continues talking. “Well, Stanley Pines, you must tell us what just happened. I’ll bet that was your brother back there. Twins?”
Stan’s facade of cool flickers. “Yeah…”
He seems to try and force the front back into place, and say something witty, but ends up just biting the inside of his cheek and staying quiet, turning his eyes down to the ground rather than towards the people he’s lived with his whole life. The people he’ll probably never see again. Ford thinks he’s gonna be sick. Rico tsks and pats Stan’s cheek in a horribly condescending way that he flinches back from. Rico doesn’t seem to notice.
“Aren’t you sweet? Everyone, give it up for Stanley Pines, Our district 4 male tribute.”
Stan seems to shrink on himself as a scattered, confused applause rings. Ford bites back a snarl. It’s more lackluster than usual, this applause. They all knew it was supposed to be Dennis Crampelter. Since he could walk he’d been trained for this. Since he could talk he’d been telling anyone who would listen that one day he would be a victor. He was born to be a victor. It was his honor to be addressed by only their family name, so that when he won everyone would know to whom the glory belonged. But he hadn’t volunteered. Stanley had. And Stanley hadn’t done any of that training.
He couldn’t find it in himself to blame Crampelter for not volunteering for Ford. But he can sure as hell blame him for forcing Stanley into the arena.
“Well, that was fun.” Rico’s boots clack across the stage as he heads for the other bowl. “And now, the girl.”
He reaches deep into the bowl, and draws out a card, taking his sweet time opening it and strolling back center stage. He clears his throat.
“Susan We-”
He doesn’t finish reading the name before a small form shoves to the front of the crowd, causing quite a bit of grumbling.
“I volunteer.” A shrill childish voice nearly snarls. Rico pauses, glancing over the edge of the stage.
“I haven't even announced the chosen tribute.” He says, a bit bemused. Ford tears his eyes away from Stan to see Darlene Crampelter. Only twelve years old. Just like her brother, she’d also been telling anyone who would listen that she was destined to win the games from the moment she could talk. But…twelve year olds didn’t win the games. Ever. Even career twelve year olds always found themselves outmatched. She was supposed to win when she was eighteen. Sixteen at the earliest. Not now. But here she was, volunteering. Ford casts his eyes a bit further in the audience to see Crampelter paler than he’s ever seen him before. There’s a horror in his eyes that feels similar to Ford’s own, even though that thought makes him want to gouge both their eyes out. Darlene crosses her arms and glares up at the man on the stage.
“Fine then.” She bites out. “Finish reading it, and then I’ll volunteer.”
For a second, the whole reaping freezes as Rico seems to debate what to do with this break in protocol. But after a moment, he merely chuckles.
“My my. Someone’s enthusiastic. Come on up here, darling. What’s your name?”
A peacekeeper goes to guide Darlene over to the stairs, but she brushes them off, and vaults straight up onto the stage, striding to the center where Rico and Stan wait. She walks with the confidence of a victor. She comes to a stop about a foot away and eyes the man expectantly. Rico has to crouch to properly hold the mic near Darlene’s face.
“I’m Darlene Crampelter.” The girl declares.
“Charmed.” Rico said with a little amused smirk. “And what led you to volunteer, Darlene?”
Darlene gives the audience a smile that’s like baring her teeth. “I’m gonna win.” She vows. “I’m gonna bring victory to district 4. I’m gonna show them all that Crampelters are no cowards.” She bites out that last word and glares straight at her brother in the audience. Rico tries to draw the mic away, but Darlene grabs his wrist and pulls it back. “And he’s sure as hell not gonna win anything.” She says, jabbing a finger in Stan’s direction, who raises an eyebrow as she keeps going. “And no one else had the guts, so I’m gonna do it.”
That gets a few cheers, which makes Darlene beam with pride. Rico smiles too, finally wrestling the microphone back as he rises.
“Oh, your confidence is precious!” He coos, causing Darlene to tear her eyes away from the audience to glare daggers at him. Rico pays that no mind as he gives the crowd a million dollar smile. Literally. You can see every Botox filled wrinkle and artificially whitened tooth. That face must’ve cost the same as an entire districts tessarae.
“Well, there you have it, folks! What an exciting reaping, right? So many twists and turns. But here they are! Your tributes; Darlene Crampelter and Stanley Pines! May the odds be ever in their favor!”
The applause is much louder this time. It’s very clearly not for Stan. Many people are cheering Darlene’s name. She preens and waves out at them, which makes them cheer more, before turning, head held high, and marching off in the direction Rico indicated. Stan doesn’t pay the crowd any mind, dead focused on Ford and Shermie. He gives another small resigned smile and stands perfectly still watching them, as if drinking in the sight of his brothers until a peacekeeper grabs his arm and drags him off behind the curtain.
Ford strains against Shermies arms again as Stan vanishes behind the curtain, but his older brother holds fast.
“Ford, you can’t. I’m sorry.”
Ford opens his mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a sob. He doesn’t want to cry about this. It feels like admitting that Stanley is…
He turns away from where Stan disappeared, closing his eyes so he can’t see the crowds who are probably watching him. Shermie adjusts his hold so it’s less like a restraint and more like holding him together.
“It was me.” Ford chokes out. “It was supposed to be me. It wasn’t him. He wasn’t supposed to do this.”
“I’m so sorry.” Shermies normally stoic, but lightly teasing tone is replaced with a grave, sad voice that breaks in the middle. He holds Ford closer like he’s afraid another reaping might come and take him away. Ford lets himself be held as he thinks.
He could be sad. He could feel its siren call, like a weight trying to drag him down. He could mourn. If it were himself being sent to the arena he probably already would be, but this is Stan. There’s no universe where he can mourn Stan. Not like this. Not so young. Not torn away by the capitol.
He can’t mourn. Which means Stan can’t die.
“Pines family?”
Shermie and Stan look up in tandem to see a peacekeeper about a foot away. Ma and Pa are already behind him. “I’ve come to bring you in for the goodbyes.”
He speaks with absolutely no emotion in his voice. Reluctantly, Ford lets go of Shermie, to more effectively glare at the peacekeeper.
“Let’s go.” He practically spits. The peacekeeper turns away, unaffected by his vitriol. He doesn’t make sure they follow him. If they don’t keep up, the punishment is the loss of their goodbye.
Goodbye…
This will not be goodbye. Ford will not let this be goodbye. Stan will win. He’ll find a way to win. He’ll come home. These people will not kill Stan, he’s a fighter. And if the born and raised careers wind up better than him?
He’ll survive it. At least until Ford can burn the world down to get him out.
———
Good stuff. Really, every part of this AU is phenomenal!!
