resurrecting my ass just to post about how cool it'd be to have a dead mans party fnaf animation/animatic like a clock that is perpetually 8 years late
Friendly reminder that this blog is pro-choice and if you don’t think everyone should have full control of their own body, then kindly unfollow me right now and go to hell
I had to shorten the camera scene a bit but you get the idea.
Also I am one of these people whose au idea involves killing Stan (and not letting him rest in peace either) so I can totally make this joke about the GF fandom and how all our au ideas involve Stan suffering immensely.
oH mY GOSH and you come yet again to swack me in the face with this stuff (don't stop, demented lil me can't get enough of it)
Stan is just like having a panic attack and remembering the worst times in his life and Ford is trying to hold him and trying to help him but Stan can't fathom that he deserves it so he tries to curl up and push Ford away most times
but then like there are other times where he just clings to his brother as though Ford is all that is keeping his heart beating, because in that moment, that's what it feels like
Stan is freaking out and he doesn't know what to do. Ford is also freaking out because Stan is freaking out and so now HE doesn't know what to do. They're both freaking out and nobody knows what to do.
The "I wanna go home" part broke my heart to pieces because that's all Stan's ever actually wanted--to GO HOME. He wants his family. his family is where his home is. But when his emotions are big and his mind is confused, he can't tell where home is.
Ford is desperate trying to get him to understand that he's home already, but Stan doesn't get it. He's too distressed and confused to understand.
I imagine most times Stan pushes Ford away (like in your fic *smirks*) but there are times where he clings to his brother like a lifeline. He'll be confused nad disoriented, maybe reliving one of his worst moments and he freaks when there's a hand reaching for him-
The hand has sic fingers. He holds onto it like he's lost at sea and that's what's keeping him afloat. Ford pulls him in for a grounding hug and Stan just grips the heck out of his shirt, full force because what if his brother leaves again? What if he's alone again? What if he's thrown away again?
It doesn't matter if Ford asks if he wants to talk about it because even if he did (which now a day's he finds himself wanting to) he CAN'T. All that comes out are repeated nonsense like a kid throwing some stupid tantrum-
"I wanna go home" and Ford says "Stanley, you are home" all perplexed and confused and heart broken but Ford doesn't get it.
Then, he says it enough times and he repeats it because that's all he really knows what to do. He is too stupid to even form full sentences apart from that it seems and, finally, Ford says
"I know"
It's quiet and hopeless but understanding. It doesn't push away the feeling he's so desperately confessing, it just embraces it. It embraces all his broken and sharp bits, smoothing it down and Stanley just keeps going
ANd Ford just keeps repeating and repeating and eventually he just says "I want to go home with you" or "I'm here to bring you home, Stanley" and Stan finally looks at him, his eyes scared, barely even daring to hope, barely daring to wonder, barely daring to understand what this means for him.
Ford just hugs Stan tight, every part of him, every tiny, broken, shattered piece, holds tight to every wound that was inflicted, even the ones made by him, hold HIS BROTHER in his arms.
I read this fic--I think it was...flipside AU? where Stan came and found Ford and they reconciled and didn't get tricked by Bill. Stan basically attempted suicide to scare Bill off since Bill was trying to use him as leverage to get Ford to build the portal. and then someone else made a PTSD fic for Ford
so like Stan had a pistol and he pointed it at his own head, yeah? And he pulled the trigger but the gun wasn't loaded so it just clicked. And so then Stan was like "heck I can do this all day" and pulled the trigger again. And he was gonna do it again like he literally couldn't have cared if he died, and Ford was freaking out tied to a chair and when stan let him free he just broke down like "how could you do this to me". In the fic that was based on it the memory from Ford's pov was smth along the lines of "there's a gun pointed at my baby brother's head and my baby brother's on the other end, my baby brother's on both ends of the gun and I can't do anything"
Stan is broken, and he's been broken for years. And though Ford doesn't know every detail of what happened, he's not going to hesitate to hold every bit of Stan. Not only does he know Stan would do this for him, but he also knows that Stan needs this, deserves this...and he LOVES Stanley. He wANTS to do this. To help his brother heal. To see his brother laugh.
And of course there'll be bad nights, relapses, hard times, arguements...there'll definitely be a few times where people fall overboard. But they always come back to each other and end up laughing, joking, and just existing together again.
ANd that's what Ford wants. He wants those moments with Stan. And he'd give anything to see him happy. Just like Stan would give anything--has given everything--for Ford.
Losing Stan in a permenant way made Ford realize how much Stan meant to him.
"..Let's go home, then" he says "Let's go home, you and I. I'm here to take you home" he scrambles to help his brother feel at ease.
For a long, breath holding moment, Stanley finally stops. The mantra he kept repeating was broken, no longer does he wail begging to go home in his own home, no longer does he struggle to breathe in between each phrase, still...he doesn't let up the hold he has on his brother's sweater and Stanford refuses to let go of Stanley all the same, especially when his brother asks, innocent and small and so heartbreakingly childlike-
"You promise?"
ALSOOOO YESSS BROOOOOO
I Just read that fic not long ago!! It was so SO good. The way Stanley just brushes it off like it's no big deal because it isn't a big deal??? That's just his life on the line??? He'd rather it be the spare Stan, the bad twin- he'd rather it be him than the brother he loves.
And the "there's a gun pointed at my baby brother's head ... my baby brother's on both ends of the gun and I can't do anything" goes fucking hard man. Love that
OH MY GOSH "you promise" OH MY GOSH JUST KILL ME WILL YOU AUGH
OW
and then Ford's just like "Yes Stanley." and he like idk gently holds the side of Stan's face and touches their foreheads together. Stan whimpers but just allows Ford to hold him there and then he starts to break again because oh gosh its SAFE and his brother is TOUCHING HIM GENTLY and like...just human physical contact is really powerful in terms of being gentle with somebody. It can make them feel so loved. and someone like stan who clearly desires physical attention--he's a big physical presence. He's always noogieing dipper and mabel and stuff--he's just THERE, yk? but he doesn't wanna push it. But Ford showing him gentle physical affection--exactly what he's wanted--in the midst of his confusion and pain--and just holding him and talking to him quietly, taking over his senses and distracting him from the pain until it fades...Stan can just close his eyes and feel safe in Ford's arms, but gosh that's terrifying because what if Ford throws him away again? What if he's not good enough, what if he messes up--
and those times he does mess up, he just starts panicking and sits in a corner, rocking back and forth apologizing haphazardly, begging to go home, and that's when Ford comes to him and tells him that he's okay. That Ford is his home. That they have home together and that Ford won't hurt him or leave him or throw him away again.
and that's all Stan has ever wanted. To be with Ford, to be by his side. He just wants his family--moreover he just wants his twin brother, his other half, and to feel safe with him.
I'm breaking my own heart but wE AINT STOPPIN BC THIS IS AWESOME and I'm using all this info and thoughts for my fic of the sea grunks!!!! :DDDDDDDDDDD (sequel to my current one--Old Habits Die Hard on Ao3 Tw for self-harm and suicide--shameless fic promotion)
the flag was adopted like. 2 years after ford isolated himself in the middle of the woods so.. i can already imagine fiddleford stopping by and seeing that when he walks in
Sending this back around because it's my dad's birthday Saturday and I'd like to be able to take him to the movies. He's been sick lately and tired of having to stay home all the time. So, I'm hoping to get a couple of commissions to help make that happen.
Inspired by both the pinterest reference and this crazy good Bord art by @awesomedawg :]
I am quite okay with how this turned out! Its definitely something different for me. work has been clapping my bootycheeks like tomorrow doesn't exist so i need as many fun colors as possible until my brain starts melting
This is not what I thought the afterlife would be like.
These were among Stan’s first thoughts when he came to in his new body.
Also not what I thought reincarnation was like.
Apparently the tow truck driver didn’t notice Stan helplessly spin his front wheels in the air when he woke up, trying to move his arms and legs only to discover that he had none.
You think the guy in that Kafka story had it bad? At least bugs still have things like a brain and a heart, Stan was fairly certain. I don’t. How the fuck am I even alive?
Never mind the fact that the jump off that bridge should’ve killed him. He was pretty sure it did. He didn’t really expect to wake up again after that, except maybe in front of the pearly gates.
Or hell, more realistically. Wasn’t suicide supposed to be a sin, or something? A really bad one?
Maybe that’s what all this was, some weird cosmic punishment.
Not that Stan was particularly worried about receiving some kind of cosmic punishment when he made his decision, because he didn’t really believe there was an afterlife, or a God at all, for that matter.
But now, having spent days staring at the back of a tow truck, Stan was certain that not only did God exist, but that he was a real sadistic bastard with a sick sense of humor.
Stan had somehow become his own car, and now he’s being towed to wherever his estranged twin brother lives. He’s about to be Ford’s car.
Because of course that’s how things would play out. He said that he wanted Ford to have the car, and amazingly someone actually respected the final requests that Stan left in that suicide note, but of course there had to be this bizarre monkey’s paw sort of twist to it.
About a week ago, Stan used the last of his spare change to call Ford one last time, and he’d actually worked up the nerve to say something instead of hanging up after three seconds of silence. Stan didn’t have high hopes that his attempts at reconciliation would go over well, but he had to try, he had to extend the olive branch one more time just in case there was any hope that he still had something left to live for.
But Ford’s words to him that night had not been so kind. That settles it, then, Stan thought at the time. I officially have nothing left to live for. I’ve got no future, I’m banned in half the country, I’m never gonna make those millions, Sixer apparently still hates my guts, and I’m so goddamn sick of living in my car.
Again, it feels like there’s a monkey’s paw twist here.
It took days of driving and quite a few pit stops before Stan arrived at his destination. He wasn’t sure where he expected that Ford would be living these days, but it wasn’t a log cabin in the middle of the woods in bum-fuck Oregon.
Gravity Falls, that’s what this tiny-ass town is called. Apparently it’s so small and unimportant that they don’t even put it on maps—much to the chagrin of the tow truck driver, who had a hell of a time finding the place.
The tow truck driver unhitched Stan in Ford’s driveway (if you could even call it a driveway. It was mostly just dirt) and Stan watched the driver approach Ford’s front door with clipboard in hand, probably so Ford could sign for delivery or something.
Stan thought about driving off right then and there. He was finally unhitched from that stupid tow, he had all four wheels on the ground, he could just drive off and start a weird new life. But for some reason he felt compelled to stay, at least for a bit longer. Stan kept his attention focused on Ford’s front door as the truck driver knocked.
Stan didn’t have a great view from where he stood (don’t ask him how he can see at all without eyes. He doesn’t even know), but he could see Ford answer the door. And he swore Ford actually looked… upset? About what?
About me being dead?
The truck driver, his business concluded, got back in his vehicle and drove away, probably glad to be done with this assignment.
Ford, meanwhile, stood almost motionless in his front door, fidgeting with the set of keys he’d just been given, seemingly deep in thought. Once the tow truck was gone, Stan watched Ford descend the steps on his front porch and walk towards the Stanleymobile.
Once Ford got closer to him, Stan was able to see that not only was Ford clearly distraught, but he actually looked like he’d recently been crying, and was possibly about to start doing so again.
Were Stan a more emotionally intelligent person, he might’ve been able to make sense of the complicated whirlwind of feelings going through his head at that moment. But it was easier to just be angry, so he was angry.
Oh, so now you give a fuck about me?! Now you care?! Stan really wished he could speak. He wished he could do anything other than keep his rage bottled up in his strange new body. It would’ve been nice of you to say that when I was still alive! I called you, I said I wanted us to be brothers again, and you acted like you still hated me, you asshole!
Ford placed a hand on the car’s hood, completely unaware of his brother’s silent rage. “Oh, Stanley…”
Don’t you “oh, Stanley” me!! Stan had to restrain himself from revving his engine in anger. You weren’t supposed to care if I live or die! I wouldn’t have gone through with it if I knew you actually still gave a damn!
Ford’s tear-streaked face was a bit of a surreal sight. Pines men don’t cry. Stan hadn’t seen Ford cry since they were children. So to think that the death of his brother—the brother that he turned his back on!—would be enough to bring him to tears…
Stan felt like he was about to spontaneously combust.
Ford lifted his head up a bit, enough to peer through the car’s windshield, and Stan noticed his eyes narrow slightly. Apparently their decade apart didn’t change the fact that Stan could still read Ford like a book. Even the subtle changes in his facial expression were enough to make Stan realize, Ford was thinking. Stan could practically see the gears turn in his head as Ford made observations, and then came to conclusions based on those observations.
Ford was noticing all the clutter inside the car.
Stan, at that moment, really wished that he’d splurged on those legally dubious tinted windows when he had the chance.
You didn’t have to be a genius like Ford to figure out that Stan had been living in his car. And, sure, Stan knew that Ford would’ve eventually figured that out when he left the car to him in his makeshift will, but he didn’t think he’d be around to watch Ford come to that conclusion, to see the look of pity on his face…
Fuck tinted windows, Stan wished he could turn invisible.
Ford looked back down at the keys in his hands and continued to fidget with them. Actually, not just fidgeting, it looked like he was getting ready to use them. Sure enough, Stan then saw Ford approach the driver’s side door with key in hand.
Ford was about to open the car up and root through all of Stan’s trash, learning just what a pathetic life he’d been living for the past decade.
Pines men are also prideful, and Stan didn’t think his pride could take that.
Stan felt the key as it was inserted. He felt his doors unlock.
Stan panicked.
His engine roared to life. And with a screech of his tires, he rocketed forward.
Ford leapt back in surprise, losing his balance and falling backwards into the dirt.
Stan came to a hard stop again just a few car-lengths forward. He could still see Ford propping himself up in the dirt, staring at the car with his mouth agape and glasses askew.
Stan realized at that moment, he probably could’ve just re-locked the doors.
He also realized he didn’t have a plan, as he froze momentarily without a clue what to do next. Maybe I should just run, he thought. Running seemed natural enough. He’d been running pretty much nonstop since he was kicked out of the house at 17. Apparently being a car (a reality that Stan was still absolutely boggled by) wasn’t going to change that.
He turned, kicking up dirt in Ford’s driveway (or the dirt-way, whatever. Stan still felt like it didn’t count as a driveway) as he made a beeline for the open road. He still didn’t have a plan. He just knew that he wanted to be anywhere other than here.
“Wait, stop!” Ford yelled as he scrambled to his feet. But Stan ignored him as he accelerated onto Gopher Road.
Fuck it, maybe I’ll travel the country, for fun this time. Stan thought as he began to picture what the next chapter in his bizarre new life might be like. Maybe I’ll go sightseeing in all the states I was banned from. They can’t ban a car, right?
The thought of existing as a carefree automobile became increasingly enticing, and Stan thought it might actually be a not-terrible existence if he could figure out a way to keep his gas tank full—but something made him hesitate, and that something was the sight of a sprinting, panting nerd in his rear-view mirror.
Amazing. Ford was actually trying to run after a self-driving car that did not know or care what this road’s speed limit was.
Before he even realized he was doing it, Stan started to slow down.
Against his better judgment, he soon came to a stop.
Stan stood still for a moment, watching as Ford put his hands on his knees, no longer able to stand upright as he gasped for breath.
Stan didn’t know why he did what he did next. He made a three-point-turn on that quiet rural road, and then slowly drove back in the direction that he came from, stopping just in front of Ford.
For a moment, the only sounds were the quiet hum of Stan’s engine, Ford’s labored breathing, and the distant chirping of birds in the woods.
That is, until Ford tried to speak.
“How…? I… And you…” Ford gasped between breaths, gesturing wildly as if that would somehow help articulate the thoughts he was trying to get out. Eventually, Stan watched Ford steady himself, take a deep breath, stand up straight, and say a full sentence:
Fun fact: every time his star is destroyed he has to reapply to the Walk Of Fame people to have the star reinstated. The fee for that was raised in 2020 to $50,000 per incident.
blakekathryn
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