Shipping Chart Thoughts

Random Doodles

Synopsis: Growing up is tough especially when you don't know that your a half to a duo.

Do You Ever just wonder what it would be like if Stan and Ford were separated at birth?

Woo new chapter is out now

Not the prettiest schematic but decided to put together the timeline for the pre-series events, for fanfic writers and other folks like me who were curious at what exactly was going on, since a lot of it is explained vaguely, even in journal 3 itself.

Comments below (additional added day after posting):

Schematic technical comments:

Time is not to scale

Red = events with unconfirmed dates within the last two (black) concrete dates given. Structured so that earlier events are listed earlier with a '-', going off the position within the journals (before/after other events)

The events that occur in 1983 all occur when it's clearly winter, so early in the year

F refers to Fiddleford, because it's easy and shorter.

Sources: Journal 3, Book of Bill and the GF fandom wiki timeline.

Length of time comments:

Ford is in GF for 8 years total (1975-1983).

Journal 3 begins after Ford has been there for six years, thus each Journal spans roughly 3 years.

Ford knows Bill for about 4 years (1979-1983) and 2 years of that (1981-1983) they work together closely

A date given for Ford's investigation into ghosts and the Northwests, something seemingly unimportant, I would theorize is likely due to that directly after the ghost investigations Ford is frustrated about his work, and Bill offers the portal schematics. This suggests sometime in the fall/winter of 1981 the portal is proposed.

The portal is worked on likely for just over a year (likely late 1981-january 1983)

Fiddleford only works on the portal for 6 months (August 1982-January 1983).

Directly after it is noted that Fiddleford is joining Ford and the pages on Fiddleford, is the visit to UFO and gremloblin event. This suggests that it is early in Fiddleford's stay that he makes and begins to use the memory gun. The entry about the memory gun occurs right before an entry on a carnival, which Ford chooses them to go to as a distraction for Fiddleford. The carnival includes mention of a human-Squash, suggesting potentially an early october time frame (at the carnival Fiddleford also speaks to the man who becomes Blind Ivan) . This suggests that perhaps the gremloblin event occurred early-mid September and memory gun event about a week or so after.

This means that Fiddleford for the majority of the time he works on the portal, for about 4 of the 6 months, is using the memory gun. And by the time he creates the Society of the Blind Eye, he's already been using it for about 5 months, and has potentially been keeping in touch with the man who becomes Blind Ivan during that time.

It's late into the building of the portal that Ford lets Bill possess him; considering it's after they visit the carnival, it suggests around October or later of 1982 that Ford lets Bill possess him, which is only at most 3.5 months of possession before the test.

It's suggested heavily that the night of the test Ford confronts Bill, which would mean as he witnesses the Society of the Blind Eye, that he's dealing with Bill's abuse for at least 4 weeks.

Based off of that one Teen!Stancest + Carla threesome comic where Stanford is fucking Stanley from behind and staring daggers at Carla.

Mystery Trio scenario. Stanford has always loved Stanley, even after the whole falling out bit. They had something when they were teens but it was nothing defined, nothing concrete. They reconnect and Stanford asks Stanley to come live with him and Fiddleford in Gravity Falls. He accepts. Stanford ends up learning all of the horrible things Stanley has endured and refocuses all of his grief and shame into overprotectiveness and slight possessive behavior. Stanford wants to rekindle what they once had but has no idea how to broach the topic back to Stanley, or if he even wants that at all.

What he is certain of is that he doesn't like the way Fiddleford eyes up his brother when they're out researching. It was fine back in college when Fiddleford would eye him, fool around with him, flirt and grope him. But Stanley, his twin, his other half, his baby brother? (When did I start referring to Stanley as my baby brother?) He didn't want anyone else to have him. No one could treat him the way he needed to be treated. He was special, he was unique, he was delicate, he was Stanford's!

Stanford would never harm Fiddleford, dear god no. That is his best friend and a damn good mechanic and scientist. He loves Fiddleford very much. He just wishes he could understand that Stanley was completely and utterly off limits. He didn't mind their friendship, in fact, he encouraged it. But those lingering touches, those cheeky lines, those fluttering eyes. Those needed to come to a stop. Immediately.

Fiddleford is openly attracted to both twins and one day over drinks, asks if they ever had a threesome before. Stanley tells them they have with a girl back in high school. Stanford tightens his grip on his beer bottle while Stan regals Fiddleford of the escapades. Afterwards, Fiddleford brings up the idea that if they ever wanted to have another, he'd be willing to be the third. After much deliberation, they agree. Stanford sees this as a way to finally reclaim the relationship he had with Stanley while also warning Fiddleford not to meddle with his Stanley.

So, the day comes, and they the boys find themselves in a very similar position as they used for Carla. Stanley fucking into Fiddleford, Fiddleford on his back looking up, Stanford behind and fucking into Stanley. Fiddleford is having a great time. He feels both of them rocket into him and soon he finds himself finishing. Soon he feels Stanley following, but Ford keeps going. In his haze, he watches Stanford rail into Stanley, who in turn is still into Fiddleford. Stanford looks different, methodical, possessive, angry. He's fucking Stanley with a punishing speed, one making him cross his eyes. Fiddleford is watching between his own overstimulation and bewilderment. He can't look away, especially not with how Stanford refuses to let go of his eyesight, boring into him. Finally Stanford cums, holding Stanley close. They all pass out in bed together shortly afterwards.

Fiddleford wakes up in the night. He's naked and content. Next to him, Stanley is laying on his side, with Stanford wrapping around from behind. They're snoring in unison. He leaves them be to grab some water and something to eat in the kitchen. He cant help but think back to way Stanford fucked into Stanley, how Stanford stared at him. It was honestly a bit scary. He's down there longer than he thought he was because half way up the stairs, he hears something coming from his room. He tip toes and peeks inside, an awful, dreadful feeling dancing around his skin. Like a stranger trespassing into someone else's home.

Stanley i still on his side, whimpering softly as Stanford is whispering in his ear and leaving kisses around the side of his head. Stanford has one of Stanley's leg raises, softly pushing into him. Stanford has it placed on his own hip, while is hand is rubbing Stanley's cock. Stanley looks half asleep, moaning softly with each thrust. He's particularly noisy when Stanford sucks a hickey on his neck in a spot where Stanley can't hide it. Stanford's other hand was cradling the side of Stanley's head with his bicep, the bicep that Stanley feel asleep on. Those fingers are raking through his hair, keeping him lulled. Fiddleford watches as Stanley finally turns his head and slots his mouth with Stanford's. He feels like an awful intruder, that this is more than just some taboo sex act, more than a silly request from some horned up country boy about being shared between twins. Fiddleford leaves before he can watch them finish. He waits it out downstairs until he knows there's no more noises from the room.

Fiddleford tiptoes back into bed, now slightly warmer than he left it. Stanley has turned around, wrapped around Stanford's body, face tucked contently between Stanford's neck and the pillow. Stanford has a protective hold of him, one hand on his back and another in his hair. Fiddleford almost jumps out of his skin when Stanford addresses him.

"F."

"Y-Yeah, Stanford?"

"Don't ever make another move on Stanley again."

Fiddleford didn't need to hear the unsaid, "or else..." He nodded his head and shut his eyes.

"Goodnight, F."

"Night, Stanford."

So yeah anyway, Mystery Trio with possessive and overprotective Stanford over Stanley. Fiddleford being traumatized that his boss/best friend. It's a good time around. Especially when Stanford becomes more overtly affectionate with Stanley in the house, keeping just one eye out on Fiddleford.

It’s okay if he get’s a girlfriend, because you can comfort him when they inevitably break up

SORRY FOE THE DUMP IM CATCHING UP ITS BEEN A HOT MINUTE

Original source: my mates playing with their dollies

I remember that day when we arrived at the beach—it was already too late. Everyone had left, leaving behind only the remnants of fireworks scattered across the sand. Colorful confetti, soaked by the sea, made the advertising print on them nearly illegible. Among shards of broken colored glass and seaweed, you found an already opened condom wrapper in the muck and excitedly pointed it out to me, while I felt nothing but disgust.

At the time, I didn’t love this filthy backyard excuse for a scenic spot. I hated how dull, backward, and utterly empty it was. I especially despised how other small-town residents saw it as some romantic haven, drawing teenagers who wandered the damp sand like pilgrims. They’d come meticulously dressed, as if convinced their destined love would emerge from the sea, birthed into the arms of a lonely soul like a newborn from its mother’s amniotic fluid. But this was the 1970s—the moon was already covered in steel machines. Even Venus ought to emerge from a delivery room by now. The beach was no place for romantic miracles.

You nudged me and told me to take off my shoes. I didn’t. You burst into laughter and, with no regard for the risk of being cut by glass, walked barefoot onto the damp sand. I watched your feet, but you didn’t step on anything—not glass, not anything else. You kept walking into the sea, farther and farther, fading into the growing darkness. Soon, I could barely make out your figure in the vast, dark ocean. Then you stopped, raised your arms, and shouted toward the opposite shore, your voice swallowed at the edges by the white noise of the waves. You sounded happy.

When you came back, you said, disappointed, that you hadn’t expected everyone else to leave so early. You strained your eyes toward the other side but saw nothing—not even the lights of New York. Because it’s already four in the morning, I said, swallowing the second half of my sentence. We were late because I wouldn’t leave the house until I finished an assignment I was deeply invested in at the time. You never interrupted my studies.

We leaned against the car, watching sparks crawl along the fuses of the fireworks you’d set up, and you cracked open a can of beer. I declined when you offered me one, immediately regretting it. The fuse took far too long to ignite the firework. I had nothing to do but look around and again caught sight of the torn condom wrapper. Not long ago, someone had made love here, I thought. Then you moved.

We were standing so close that I could feel your body heat in the gaps between the sea breeze. Someone had made love here, right on this beach, and now we stood on the very same sand where they had.

The firework exploded—yellow and orange. You shouted in excitement, but I was lost in thoughts of what happens when people make love. They take off their clothes. They touch each other. They whisper sweet words. Smoke rolled up from the firework casing as I turned to look at your face, bathed in orange-red light. Then, with a jolt of horror, I realized that lovers also kiss on this beach.

As the yellow sparks faded, they turned the color of calcium chloride. The purple ones, I thought, must be from strontium salts and copper chloride. These burning metal salts streaked through the air, their brilliant colors dyeing the smoke that trailed behind them. I tilted my head and lowered my gaze, pretending to examine the firework casing but really sneaking glances at your face from the corner of my eye, trying to study the shape of human lips.

Kissing. I thought about the word. I didn’t know how to French kiss, but at that moment, I knew nothing could stop me from leaning forward and pressing my lips to yours. A chill ran down my spine.

I asked myself why I would think such a thing, but a more terrifying voice asked why I wouldn’t. Maybe it was a kind of high-place phenomenon, like wondering whether touching the firework would hurt. I wanted to know what it felt like to jump from a great height, to drink sulfuric acid, to press a blade hard enough to slice my finger open, to walk into the sea and let myself be submerged. I wanted to know what would happen if I kissed you. It was all just idle thoughts, but in that moment, I felt dizzy, hyperaware of every part of my body as though I might forget to breathe if I didn’t focus.

I started to feel trapped inside my own small body. I thought I saw you glance at me, and I was terrified you might know. I was even more terrified that you didn’t, because that would mean we weren’t close enough.

I wondered what excuses I could use if I did it, and that thought pained me because I wanted to be honest with you. Sitting beside you on that New Year’s night, watching the fireworks turn purple, all I could think about was how intensely I felt that if I didn’t kiss you at that moment I might die,I would never have another chance. Summoning all my courage, I finally turned to look at you, overwhelmed by thoughts and realizing I might start vomiting if I didn’t speak. Just then, you turned to look at me too. In your eyes, I saw the reflection of the fireworks.

You said, “After we finish the fireworks, can we go to my friend’s house and watch a movie? There’ll be a bunch of people—it’ll be fun.”

I said, “Sure.”

We finished setting off all the fireworks we had. It was fun. We even tried to use the fireworks to light the surface of the sea. On the way back, we saw other people—they had just gone elsewhere to hang out. You stroked the steering wheel, musing about how great the car’s engine was, and that was the first time in my life I felt shame.

Comic I made for the @fiddlefordmcgucketzine! Pretty old but I hope people enjoy this nevertheless! rip quality.

had an urge so. stancest-inspired stimboard :).

gif sources: one two three four five six seven eight nine.

We know that Ford is incredibly guilty about Stan's death, cause he's the one who pulled the trigger, but what about Mabel?

She's the one who gave Bill the rift. And true she didn't know what it was, and true she was just a kid. No one blames her for what happened... no one, except herself

If she just hadn't needed that little bit more summer, if she wasn't so scared of growing up, Stan would still be here

Stan was the only one who tried to cheer her up that day. And what had he gotten for his troubles? He had to sacrifice himself at the end of the world just to save her and Dipper

Sometimes, she wonders if escaping Mabel land was the right call. True, she had Dipper to face everything together with, but neither of them knew how to face this. At least in Mabel land, she couldn't be used as leverage. At least when she was in Mabel land Stan was still alive

Mabel's a very forgiving person by nature. She would have forgiven Ford eventually anyway, but a part of her knows that the reason she forgave Ford so easily is because she blames herself, for all of it.