#gravity falls stuff

[shrewisweird]

memories.

[xolasdoesntknow]

Grunkle kings of New Jersey ⚠️🎱❓📝🌲

[sillysnuffy]

Lost motivation,.,. But here have some fiddlestan

Yeah don't know i have an artblock when i tried to draw a little comic smh

[justaghostysposts]

SLIGHT BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS

[tragicstarz]

Not the government

[jellobunnz]

[caninescreations]

aromantic pan ford: I am definitely straight- never ONCE have I considered what it would be like to date a boy. Don't ask me about women. biromantic ace stan: I am definitely straight- I have never in my LIFE thought about fuckin' a dude. Don't ask me about women.

[the-universal-sun]

Little Lee coping with being overstimulated from Halloween/trick or treat, please and thank you!!

(Sorry this is a bit late! I’ve been really busy these last couple of days! I think I’m going to make this one an attempt at a fic Drabble instead of head canon bullet points. I’m not sure this is 100% what you’re asking for, but please let me know!)

It was so loud. Everything-everybody-was so loud. And bright. Bright and Loud was all Stan could process. The people talking to him, the itchy feeling of the warm under shirt Sixer made him wear under his werewolf costume. It was all too much. He wanted the noise to stop, for people to stop talking at him and down to him and expecting an answer. An answer he can’t give because he can’t speak, not like this, not when he’s small and his tongue feels like it can’t move in his mouth. He can feel his breathing pick up, he starts rocking on his feet to calm himself but it’s not working right now.

He looks at his big brother, hoping Sixer can pick up on his need to leave and for everything to stop, but he’s talking to someone about something he can’t bring himself to hear. He doesn’t want to bother his brother, he doesn’t want to make him mad. He never gets mad at him, but he doesn’t want to push him, not right now and not right here. He can feel the tears prick at his eyes, his lip wobbling. But he can’t cry, not now! Not here! Not in front of all these strangers who’ll know and who’ll make fun of him and ruin this good thing he has! He likes feeling little. He has to leave now, to get away. He lets go of Ford’s hand and darts off, his muscle memory moving him around the bodies surrounding him and bringing him to a quiet area of trees, the houses around it are dark, so there’s no one here to trick-r-treat, to see him and talk to him and make more noise around him.

Stan lets himself collapse against the tree, hands blocking his ears, rocking back and forth, his breath hitching and heaving and sobs wracked his body, tears fogging up his glasses and getting the taste of salt in his mouth. He cries silently, a lesson he learned a long time ago, and waits for his big brother to find him. He needs his brother to take him home and comfort him, but he ran off and what if Ford’s mad? He broke two rules! He left Ford and he didn’t tell him that he felt too much at once! But he can deal with him mad because he’s all alone now and he’s scared and alone and wants to go home now! But he can’t go home because Ford isn’t here, and he’s not supposed to go anywhere without him when he’s little, but he did! He broke the rules!

Stan’s sobs get heavier, quiet wails leaving his throat as his thoughts start spiraling and spiraling. His breathing picking up to a pant as he starts clutching and pulling at his hair.

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“It’s so nice that you’re still trick-r-treating with your brother at your age! I can barely get my kids to eat dinner with each other, and they’re not even teenagers yet-“ Ford smiles through the mindless babble of the woman in front of him. He stopped paying attention a long time ago, but experience lends him the knowledge that walking off as someone’s speaking to you tends to sour their feelings towards you, and he can’t have that while he’s with Lee. The people of Gravity Falls love him, and they don’t question them on the rare occasion that he takes Stan out around town when he’s regressed, like now. They just assume they’re doing some brotherly bonding or that Stan’s like that sometimes because of the deal with Bill or the memory gun. He doesn’t care to expound upon their theories, he doesn’t want them to know the real reason. Sure the kids, Soos, and Melody were fine with Stan’s regressing, but they’re family, he doesn’t know nor trust the rabble of Gravity Falls, all that matters is that they like Stan and he’s going to ensure they keep liking him. So he has to behave.

He takes a glance over to his brother and furrows his brow, Lee looks overwhelmed. He can feel his hand clutching his own even more, and his eyes have this far off look, one he gets when he’s overstimulated and is trying to hide it. He turns away from the woman to check on Lee more thoroughly when he rips his hand away and runs down the street.

“Stanley! Stop, what are you doing!” Ford yells as he immediately drops into a sprint after Stan, briefly losing him in the crowd of people huddled on the sidewalks. He needs to find Stan and do it quickly, he doesn’t want him to have an attack out here, all alone and vulnerable. He must’ve been so scared and overwhelmed to have run away from him like that. Why didn’t he notice the signs sooner? Why didn’t Stan give him a sign and let him know? He would’ve left in a heartbeat!

“Stanley, Buddy! Come on out, it’s Sixer, you’re safe with me!” Ford calls out as he gets to a less populated area of the neighborhood, hoping the nicknames will draw him out. He can feel himself starting to panic now, he scared for Stan. He doesn’t care if people find out about his brother's regression, but he knows Stan cares too much about it. Plus, he could be hurt, or could really be lost, or that blasted Trickster could get to him! He needs to find Stan soon.

Ford stops for a moment to catch his breath, hunching over his knees and trying to collect his thoughts. He needs to be logical and rational about this. His thoughts pause, however, when he hears a faint sound. He quiets his own panting and stopping, trying his best to hear the sound again. And he does, it sounds…it sounds…it sounds like Stan! It sounds like Stan when he gets so upset, he can’t silence himself, the muffled moaning wails that come out of his throat always breaks his heart to hear, and it still breaks his heart now, but at least he can find Stan with the sounds! He darts to his right, where he heard the wailing, and sees a cluster of tree near the darkest part of the street, the houses are all empty with their lights out, giving the tree cluster darkness and privacy away from snooping eyes.

Ford slowly approaches the trees, hearing the wailing get louder and louder the closer her gets. He spots Stan on the ground, furiously rocking back and forth, a self soothing habit he’s had since they were in elementary school. He slowly approaches him, not wanting to spook him and make him run off again.

“Hey, Lee? It’s alright, it’s just me, it’s Sixer. I’m here and everything’s going to be fine. Shhhhh, it’s okay, we are going to go home, get cleaned up, and I think an early bedtime is in order. Does that sound alright?” Ford likes the phrase every “command” he gives as a suggestion, something he learned early on in caring for Stan. Commands remind him too much of their father and of his decade of the streets, where he had no control over his life. Making anything that could come across as a demand a suggestion gives Stan the freedom to choose, to not remember those bad times.

If Stan heard him, he doesn’t give any indication. Rocking back and forth and whimpering, his hands almost tearing at his hair. Ford slowly gets down onto his knees beside Stan, reaching out with his hand and trying to set it on his brother’s shoulder. Stan whimpers and flinches away, an act that breaks Ford’s heart. He stops his hand from moving further, “shh-ing” Stan and talking in a soft and low voice, trying to calm him down.

“Lee, are you okay? Are you hurt? Or was everything just a bit too much, hmm? It’s okay, Bubs, you can tell me.” Ford questions slowly, trying to get Stan to focus on his voice rather than his thoughts. He figured Stan got overstimulated, but it wouldn’t hurt to check and make sure he wasn’t physically injured.

“…m’ so..ee” was the faint response he got from his brother. Stan was sorry? For what!? Stan had nothing to be sorry about, nothing at all!

“For what? I can’t think of a single reason for you to apologize, my Little Lee.” Ford reaches his hand out again, and Stan lets him rest it on the back of his head, hand sliding down to smooth his hair down and clutch his head.

“…I w-ran away…n’ I did’n say I was feew-feeling b-bad…” Stan’s panting as calmed down, but he’s still crying and hiccuping with each word. There’s a couple reasons his brother doesn’t speak very much when he’s little. He’s said he find it hard to move his tongue, he doesn’t feel the need to speak that often, and that when he does speak, he will flub his words, which Stan thinks makes him sounds too much like a baby. Ford disagrees of course, he thinks Stan sounds adorable when he speaks like that, but he understands the lack of need/want to speak at times, and he’d never force him. But he will revel in everytime he does speak. Except this time, of course, when his little brother is so panicked and overwhelmed he has to formulate words around a heavy tongue and heavier vocal cords.

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“Oh, Lee. I’m not mad that you ran away, or that you didn’t tell me you were feeling unwell. In fact, I’m sorry.”

Stan looked over at Ford at those words, why was he sorry? He didn’t break the rules, Stan did. Stan should be getting punished. His breathing slowed down with his thoughts, and his brother must’ve known what they were from his face.

“I’m your caregiver, Stanley. I’m supposed to look after you, to make sure you’re doing okay, especially in times like this, where you can easily get overstimulated. So yes, I’m sorry, Stanley, I’ve been remiss in my duties, my responsibility, to keep you safe. I’m so sorry.” Ford looked so sad, the look on his face made Stan’s chest ache even worse. Ford shouldn’t look like that! Ford shouldn’t be sorry! Stan should’ve let him know everything was becoming too much! It’s his fault, so why is his big brother sorry!? He doesn’t understand!

Stan leaned into Ford and vigorously shook his head, signaling his disapproval towards Ford’s apology and pointing at himself instead. Telling him that Stan should apologize.

“Oh, dear one, you can’t think this is your fault? Oh please don’t give me that look, I know you have trouble using your words, and I should’ve predicted that you’d get overwhelmed and kept a better eye on yo-!” Stan interrupts Ford by clapping his hands over his mouth and shaking his head again. Trying to Will himself to speak, but his tongue kept failing him, frustrated tears gathering in his eyes instead of scared ones.

Ford wraps his arms around Stan and pulls him into his lap, settling himself further on the ground, and rocking his back and forth as he gently pats his back. He slowly reaches up with one hand and wraps it around Stan’s wrist, removing his hand from his mouth so that he may speak.

“How about this, we both could have done better, and we’re both sorry, and we will work on our communication together so that we can avoid a situation like this again, is that good?” Stanley could continue to argue that he was wrong, but his Sixer’s rocking was better than his own, and now that he’s calmed down some, he’s feeling really sleepy.

He nods slowly as he reaches up and rubs at his eyes, feeling his brother laugh underneath him. He settles further on Ford’s lap, nuzzling his head into the crook on his brothers neck, letting out a deep sigh. Mind slowly drifting off with his brothers gentle rocking and soothing pats in his back. His mind barely picking up words as he drift further into sleep, arms clenched around Ford’s neck.

“I’ll take that as an agreement, my sleepy Little Lee. It’s alright, I can carry you to the car, you can go to sleep. Shhhhh-sh-sh-shhhh.” Stan starts to snore just a little, his eyes feeling too heavy to open, his head weighed down too much to nod. Instead, he puts two fingers down to form his favorite sign and gently taps his hand and Ford’s head in a well practiced rhythm of “tap…tap…tap…”

“And I love you too, my precious little brother.” Was Ford’s answer, Stan too deep into the throes and sleep to acknowledge it, but a small smile forming in his face anyways.