agent jaselin

I’ve been meaning to draw this for ages.  Sometime last year, @agent-jaselin and I discussed the idea that Ford’s tattoo was most likely on his neck and, if that’s the case, it was probably nearly destroyed when he was tortured (if we’re going with the headcanon that the cuffs and collar left scars.)  I’m sure other people had the same thoughts but, anyway, here’s my take on it ~ <3

agent-jaselin replied to your post: scribefindegil replied to your post: …

I mean with Erwyn it’s possible he’d just pass out from the excitement in being in a metropolis stuffed through with portals. It’s like a kid in a candy shop situation perhaps.

weak constitution score + enthusiasm = yet another time he’d probably wake up with a healing dragonborn hand on his face

… And that’s when Ford found out he was allergic to eyeliner and mascara.

Thank you, @agent-jaselin, for putting the idea of the Glam Pirate Dimension into our heads!  

(Everyone should imagine that he is wearing boots with like 5-inch platform heels; probably in gold lamé.  The return of the scifi visor concept came about because i imagined that the glam dimension would have solved the problem of not wanting smaller corrective lenses to obscure the fabulous eye makeup.  I don’t know, though.  This outfit might, in fact, be too subdued to be truly glam.  Needs more satin.)  

(This post brought to you by a truly stunning array of found textures.)  


Ford: “You’re such a handsome bird, aren’t you, Prometheus? You must be fighting off hens with a stick!”

Stan: ‘Oh brother.’

Just a little drawing of Ford and Phoenix!Stan from an AU by @agent-jaselin and @thelastspeecher . I got Ford’s quote from thelastspeecher bc I couldn’t think of one myself lol.

agent-jaselin  asked:

Hey, just wanted to let you know that @rascalentertainment has reposted some of your art, as well as several others.

Ugh, I’ve known of this reposter already, even tried to contact them before but they ignored me. -__- I wasn’t aware they also reposted my art, though; thanks for the heads-up, I’ll deal with it as soon as I can!

And since I can see their reposted stuff getting plenty of notes: guys, DO NOT like/reblog anything from Tumblr user @rascalentertainments, they repost art without permission or even proper credit and shouldn’t get anything for it!

@wern5838, @cherryviolets, @blueorca2000, @nightrizer, @moringmark - this user also reposted art from you, so you might want to report them

A Gesture of True Love

Summary: Ford takes a bite of an apple and falls into a deep sleep. Luckily, Mabel has some ideas for how to awaken him, but Dipper can’t help but wonder what possessed his great uncle to eat something from the enchanted part of the forest.

Based on this picture from @agent-jaselin‘s Ford in Peril month of drawings.

(Note: Do NOT tag ships for this. It is all platonic, familial love.)

“Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.” Dipper wrung his hands together as he paced back and forth. “Oh my gosh. Mabel, what do we do?” He turned to his sister who was studying the situation.

The situation being their Great Uncle Ford asleep on the forest floor, the incriminating apple laying innocently next to him. She leaned over him, eyes drifting from his face to the apple and back.

Dipper had thought that Mabel was bad when it came to sticking things in her mouth that she wasn’t supposed to, but somehow Ford was worse. What on Earth had possessed Grunkle Ford to actually bite into an apple from the shiny, sparkling tree they had found in the enchanted part of the forest?

“Oh, come now, Dipper.” Ford had said, picking an apple and rubbing it on his sweater to clean it. “I’m sure it’s perfectly safe.”

And then he’d taken a bite.

Keep reading

agent-jaselin  asked:

Mergucket au: Ford finally getting his tail?

               Ford woke up coughing.  He fumbled around in the dark for his glasses, or a flashlight, but fell off his bunk.  As his coughs turned into wheezes, he heard a splash from the newly installed moon pool. It was one of the mer-friendly renovations the Stan O’War was getting.  

               “Sixer?  You all right?  Thought I heard something,” Stan said, sticking his head into the cabin.  

               “C-can’t breathe,” Ford choked out.

               “Shit,” Stan whispered.  He pushed himself out of the moon pool and grabbed his twin.

               “Ford, I’m gonna take you underwater, okay?” Stan said.  Ford nodded.  Stan dove back into the ocean, taking Ford with him.  He let go of Ford.  “Feelin’ better?”

               “Yeah,” Ford said, rubbing his neck.  “Don’t know why my lungs weren’t working.  Never had that problem before.”  

               “Uh, Ford, you’re shedding,” Stan said.  Ford frowned.


               “On your neck.  The scales. You’re rubbin’ ‘em off.” Stan said. He peered at Ford’s neck.  “Huh.  Maybe you’re finally losin’ your guppy scales.  You’ve still got some scales, but they aren’t green.”

               “Wait, really?”  Ford rubbed one of his scale-covered calves.  The green guppy scales flaked off, revealing gold ones underneath.  He looked at Stan eagerly.  “Maybe I’m finally almost done with this transitional state!”

               “You think your tail’s gonna come in?  Should probably lose the pants, then,” Stan said.  He looked away as Ford undressed.  “How long do you think it takes?”

               “I don’t-” Ford started.  He winced, feeling electric shocks prickling down his legs.  The stinging became stronger, until he closed his eyes from the pain.  When he opened his eyes again, Stan was staring at him.

               “Do all mer twins match?” Stan said.  Ford looked down.  His eyes widened.  Instead of legs, he had a glamorous golden tail, with maroon fins that were the same color as Stan’s scales.

               “We can ask the MerGuckets that,” Ford said shakily, startled by his full transformation.  

               “You all right?” Stan asked him.  Ford nodded.

               “Yes, just…shaken a bit, I suppose.  And relieved.  Holy Moses, am I relieved.”  Stan let out a bark of laughter.

               “Yeah, you’re finally done with mer puberty.  It’s about time!”

               “I’d say so.  Three months of being stuck in a transitional stage?  Ridiculous.  But it’s over.”

               “Hell yeah, it is,” Stan said, elbowing Ford genially.  “Wanna go show off to the MerGuckets?  Let ‘em see their handiwork?”

               “Won’t they be asleep?”

               “They tricked ya into lookin’ like the missin’ link between fish and humans. I think they can handle bein’ woken up in the middle of the night.”

agent-jaselin  asked:

Ford and/or Stan struggling with some of the changes they are going through or experiencing as they change?

This sort of turned into the lesson Harper and Lute give Ford and Stan on mermaid reproduction, instead of like, them dealing with living underwater or whatever.  But hey, Harper and Lute making the Stan twins feel awkward?  Sounds like a good time to me.

               “What do you mean, I can’t have beer?” Stan demanded.  His tail beat angrily, stirring up currents. Fiddleford sighed.

               “It’s an alcohol made from grains.  Merfolk can’t digest grains,” Fiddleford replied.  He, Stan, and Ford were in the MerGucket kitchen, going over some of the ways the new mermen’s lives would change.  

               “So I can’t have bread, either, then?” Stan asked.  Fiddleford shook his head.  “What the fuck, Fiddlesticks?”

               “I’ve lived my whole life without eatin’ bread, and I’m fine,” Fiddleford said defensively.  Ford, who had finally grown his gills, but was still stuck with scale-covered legs, frowned.

               “If merfolk can’t digest grains, then they can’t have whisky, either,” Ford said.  Stan stared at Ford.

               “Holy Moses, Sixer.  You’re right. Dammit, I can’t even get drunk anymore?”

               “That’s not true,” Fiddleford put in.  “We actually have a fam’ly recipe fer rum.”

               “Rum,” Stan repeated.  Fiddleford nodded.  “I don’t want rum, I want beer.”

               “What’s beer?” Lute asked, swimming into the room.  

               “Land folk kind of alcohol,” Fiddleford said.

               “Ah, okay.  So yer tellin’ ‘em ‘bout the diet changes, then.”

               “Yessir.  Ma started tellin’ ‘em, but had to leave fer somethin’.”  Fiddleford frowned at his younger brother.  “What do ya have there?”

               “Oh, this?” Lute said, holding up the posterboard.  “Some charts ‘n visual aides.”

               “For what?” Fiddleford asked warily.  Lute grinned.

               “Why, fer explainin’ merfolk reproduction to the new mermen!” Lute said. Fiddleford grimaced.  “I ain’t expectin’ ya to help.  Fer one thing, Harper already agreed.  Fer another, someone needs to run interference when Basstian gets here.”

               “Gosh dangit,” Fiddleford muttered.  “I forgot he’d be comin’ by.”

               “Wait, who’s Basstian, and why does Fiddleford need to run interference?” Ford asked.  

               “Basstian’s one of our older brothers,” Lute replied.  “He don’t have a fond opinion of humans.  Given what all happened with Amy.”  Lute shook his head.  “But ya don’t need to know the fam’ly drama quite yet.”

               “Dammit,” Stan muttered.  Another merman, similar in appearance to Fiddleford and Lute, entered the room.

               “Ready, Lute?” the merman asked.  Lute nodded.

               “Stan, Ford, this is Harper, the oldest son of Ma ‘n Pa.  He’ll be helpin’ with the explanation today,” Lute said. Fiddleford smiled weakly at Stan and Ford.

               “Good luck,” Fiddleford said.  He swam out of the room.  Lute set up the posterboard on the table.

               “All right, here’s the thing with merfolk reproduction,” Lute said. “It starts in the same manner human reproduction does.”

               “So, fucking,” Stan said.  Ford elbowed him.

               “Don’t be so crass,” Ford hissed.  He looked around.  “Is there anything I can use to take notes?”  Lute raised an eyebrow.

               “Uh, sure,” Lute said.  He looked at Harper.  “You can keep on explainin’ while I get Stanford somethin’ fer notetakin’.”

               “Got it,” Harper said with a nod.  He cleared his throat.  “Now, even though the act of conception is the same fer humans and merfolk, what happens after is different.  Uh, Stanford, ya don’t need to raise yer hand.”

               “I had a question,” Ford said.  Stan groaned.  “In the diagram, the, um, sexual activity is between two humans.  How does it work for merfolk?”

               “‘Sexual activity’?” Stan muttered.  Harper grinned.

               “There’s a reason we can turn into a human form.  Conception between two merfolk happens when they’ve got legs. Actually, merfolk can’t get a full human form ‘til puberty.  ‘Cause, evolutionarily speakin’, there’s no reason to.”  Ford nodded.


               “As I was sayin’, after conception, things work differently fer merfolk,” Harper continued.  He pointed to an image on the posterboard of a mermaid laying eggs.  “Somewhere’s between a month and two months after conception, the merfolk what is carryin’ the clutch lays the eggs in a special basket called a guppy basket.  That’s where the eggs will stay until they hatch, and where the guppies will sleep until they’re too big fer it.”  Lute swam into the room and handed Ford a notebook and pen.

               “Ah, thank you,” Ford said.  He busily scrawled down what Harper had said so far.

               “How does the mermaid know she’s pregnant?” Stan asked suddenly.  

               “Well, sometimes, they don’t know they’re carryin’ a clutch until they lay it.  But most of the time, they can tell because they’re feelin’ weird,” Lute said.  “The average clutch size is anywhere from 40 to 55.” Stan and Ford gaped.  “But that’s ‘cause there’s such a low hatchin’ rate,” Lute continued.  “Only ‘bout 20% of eggs in a clutch hatch.  And that’s with a merfolk-merfolk union.  In yer cases, clutches ‘ll be smaller.”

               “What?” Stan asked.  

               “Human-merfolk unions produce smaller clutches, ‘n smaller numbers of hatchin’ eggs,” Harper said.  “I’ve only got one clutchmate.  Basstian and Fidds don’t have clutchmates at all.  That’s rare fer merfolk.”  

               “But we’re not human anymore,” Ford said.  Harper shrugged.  His tail swished idly.

               “Fine, former human-merfolk unions.”

               “So, none of this is a seahorse type situation?” Stan asked.  Harper frowned.



               “Oh, ya mean with the male carryin’ the-” Lute started.  Stan nodded.  “No.  Our kind of merfolk don’t do that.”

               “Thank god,” Stan muttered.  He paused. “Wait, our kind?  There are actual seahorse merfolk out there?”

               “Hon, you’ve got a lot to learn,” Harper said.  Stan grimaced.


tylergodofweirdness  asked:

Do you know of any good Mullet Stan fanfics or AUS?

 Sorry for the late reply, this question was the whole investigation! Get reaaaady for Mullet!Stan AUs list

Timestuck AU by dodofiasco - Mabel get stuck in the past and meet young Stan. Fluff, cuteness.
Timetrapped AU by saisai-chan - based on Timestuck AU, but here Dipper also stucked in the past with young Stan(s)
Mystery Trio 2.0 - everything is just like in Mystery Trio 1.0, but in ATOTS version. The show we all need. WARNING, contains a lot of fiddlestanwich and fiddleauthor and fiddlestan and many other ships.
30+ years AU by stanleystash and bratnsfw (sadly most of things I found before aren`t tagged) - Stan fixed portal in half year, but for Ford passed 30 years… Sadness, angst, guilt. WARNING, contains a lot of stancest.
Blind Faith AU by thesnadger and gravity-what- in portal get sucked both Stans. The dimension they stucked in is creepy and dangerous, but more dangerous is Ford`s insanity… Angst, gore.
Mystery Dads AU by agent-jaselin - Alex said Stanley never had kids. This AU fixed it - meet Molly Pines
Jimmy Snakes - the character from cancelled episode, Stan’s biker friend. He’s almost canon, but anyway this is an AU. WARNING, contains jimstan
Mullet!Ford AU? - everything’s the same, but Ford has mullet (just kidding, but why not)
Back To The Future AU by julientel - interesting mix of two stories
Trailer Trash AU by wortwood - Stanley Pines and Rick Sanchez run illegal trailer park. WARNING, contains stanchez 
Grim AU by notllorstel - Stan has a dog. Stan loves his dog. But his dog is grim… (a.k.a. barghest) 
FrankenStan AU by arodudejude - Ford heeds Fiddleford`s warning and shuts the portal down. Meanwhile, Stan dies. Ford can`t handle it… (ANGST, it`s MEGA-ANGST!!!)
Mullet Hell AU
by stariousfalls and mabel-pines - no time to explain, you MUST SEE IT

Next AUs are mostly NSFW
Prostitute!Stan - living homeles is hard. Stan selling himself.
Android!Stan by barakouhai  - Ford missed Stan and build an android looking like Stanley. Psychological, angst. WARNING, contains stancest
Cat!Stan a.k.a. Mullet!Cat- u got me…
Evil Twin AU by bratnsfw  - Stanley`s life is hard and evil obsessive brother only make it worse…  WARNING, contains stancest

FOUND MORE? Sent me them and I`ll upgrade this list!
? Immediately message me about it!

Inktober, Day 27 - Angie McGucket and Stan Pines (Mergucket AU)

Continuing the theme of fave OCs I haven’t done - here is @thelastspeecher‘s Angie McGucket, Fidds’ younger sister, who often winds up with Stan in the many, many AUs that Speecher and @agent-jaselin have concocted.  Here, they’re from the Mergucket AU, in which the McGuckets are merfolk who draw in Stan and Ford and transform them into merfolk as well.  My rendition of Angie owes a lot to Agent Jaselin’s, for sure.


Questions About Ford’s Head


So, talking in @skittlestew‘s livestream chat about Journal 3 (as you do), @agent-jaselin brought up the interesting point that we’re told that after he was attacked by the shapes in the 2nd Dimension, Jheselbraum was tending to Ford’s wounds for “a long time”; but later, after what was presumably major surgery to install the plate in his skull, he only took a week to heal before he was “partying” with her (see below).  

That sort of suggests that what happened to him in the 2nd Dimension was a lot more serious than having a metal plate installed in his head.  

@doubtingsalmon suggested that there’s something about Dimension 52 that is beneficial to healing, since Ford wrote about “something in the air”.

But that still doesn’t explain why his getting hurt by being attacked by the living geometry of the 2nd dimension seems to have been so much worse than getting a plate affixed to his skull. 

I had a couple of further thoughts about this; one of which I’m uncertain about, and the other of which did not really come together at the time, but crystallized later.  (I do so much good thinking while on my commute.)

I’m not sure how literally to take the illustration Ford drew of his 3D self intersecting with the 2D dimension – even he writes that it’s only an approximation.  That lines up with what a bunch of us agreed, that it was still pretty hard to figure out exactly how it was supposed to have worked.

However, if you do go by that illustration, the thing that’s apparent is that Ford interacted with the 2nd Dimension in sort of a single “slice” or circumference of his head, around the level of his eyes (or of course he wouldn’t have been able to see anything; just as he notes he couldn’t communicate with them, because his mouth was outside of their plane of existence) and going all the way around his head.  (This still requires a ton of suspension of disbelief, but let’s roll with it).  So that was the only point of contact at which the geometric shapes of that dimension could have attacked him.

I admit that ever since reading that, I was a little baffled by the idea that, given that relatively small area of contact, the shapes could have done that much damage to him, and to cause Jheselbraum to have to rescue him and spend so much time healing him.  He says they were “razor-sharp” and several hundred of them were slicing at him, and head wounds always bleed a lot, but I couldn’t see how that would be so extremely serious if the slicing stopped at his skull and the bones of his face…

The thought that crystallized was: if all of their attack was concentrated along that line of intersection, and the attack was that fierce, and they were that sharp – what’s the bet that basically, they managed to cut through both his eyes, and his skull and into his brain?  

Having the metal plate installed was major surgery, sure, but indications seem to be that it sits on top of his skull. It would have been an extensive process, but it probably wasn’t open-brain surgery.  

What could be THAT much more serious and life-threatening than the metal plate, taking much longer to heal?  Extensive brain damage.  It would have been a miracle that Jheselbraum could heal him of that at all, and get him back to his former self.  It would make sense if regenerating and healing the brain took longer.hy

The second thought I had, the one I’m even more uncertain about, has to do with Ford’s scars from both of these experiences (or, his lack thereof).

I’d been wondering for a while whether the silver stripe of hair that Ford has, which runs around his head just about ear level, was perhaps related to the positioning of the scar he got from the surgery when the metal plate was installed.  But that was back when we all kind of assumed that he somehow performed that surgery on himself, not that some nearly-magical being did it for him.  

The geometry-attack ought to have left extensive scars as well, but only around that one ring of intersection between him and the 2D world – and coincidentally (???), according to the illustration, that ring is also positioned pretty much where his ring of silver hair is.  Hmm!

The problem here is that his scars from the geometry attack should go all around his head, but he doesn’t have any scars on his face.  If Jheselbraum was able to heal him without visible scarring, fine, but that means he should have also healed from the metal-plate surgery without scarring, either.  

So perhaps neither incident would have caused the silver stripe in his hair. Oh well!  (Unless she only got rid of the scars that would be visible on his face, and left the ones underneath his hair.)

As I said, I feel pretty uncertain about either idea.  We don’t have a lot to go on. But having had the thoughts, might as well externalize them.

agent-jaselin  asked:

👤 - cryptid, Stanley Mcgucket.

👤 - cryptid

The tie to the prompt for this is pretty tenuous, but I mean…what even is a cryptid?  Can a phoenix count?  I’m gonna say yes, bc otherwise, this doesn’t feel like a cryptid prompt at all.  More of an excuse to build upon the Stan turned into a phoenix you posted yesterday (which I still can’t get over).  And you said that took place in the Stanley McGucket AU, so…  I think it counts.  And there’s a mention of Bigfoot at the beginning just in case.

Send me an emoji and I’ll write you a ficlet!

               “Aren’t ya worried you’ll lose Prometheus?” Fiddleford asked Ford as they hiked through the forest.  Ford looked at Stan, who was resolutely clinging to his shoulder.  

               “No, he’ll be fine.  He seems to have bonded with me.”

               “Maybe it’s ‘cause ya treated his injuries,” Fiddleford suggested.

               “Hmm, perhaps.”  

               Or it’s ‘cause I’m your twin brother and if I leave, ya won’t be able to fix me.  

               “Regardless,” Ford continued, “he can fly to safety if things get hairy. Can’t you, Prometheus?”  When addressing Stan, he slipped into the slightly condescending tone people used with their pets.

               Goddammit, I wish I could give him the cold shoulder for talkin’ to me like that.  But then he’ll get all worried and take me back to his house or somethin’.  Stan trilled softly to appease Ford.

               “See?  He’s quite a remarkable creature,” Ford said.  “A full two weeks of studying, and I still have more to learn about him.”

               Oh, great.  Does this mean you’re gonna “examine” me again?  Leave me with some dignity, Sixer.  The nerdy name ya gave me is bad enough.  Stan trilled again and ruffled his feathers.  

               “Prometheus, I’m glad you asked,” Ford said brightly.

               Asked what, Poindexter?

               “Today, we’re going to track down bigfoot.  Well, a bigfoot.  If I’m correct, there’s an entire colony of them that lives near Gravity Falls.  The area here can be rather hazardous, but I think Fiddleford and myself are up to the task.”

               “Fantastic,” Fiddleford muttered.  Stan clacked his beak a couple times.  “I ain’t happy neither, Prometheus.”  Stan bobbed his head.

               Ford, you should take lessons on bird body language from Fidds.  He knows what he’s doin’.  Fiddleford smiled kindly at Stan.  

               “Yer phoenix is quite the gentleman.  Fer a bird.”

               “I’ve been saying it since day one: Prometheus is far more docile than I expected,” Ford agreed.  “I mean, when he first saw me, he didn’t attack, like I expected.  He just…sat there.”

               Yep.  That was a hell of a mistake on my part.  Stan squawked.  Startled by the noise, Ford tripped over a loose rock.  Stan lost his grip on Ford’s shoulder, but remembered to flap his wings before he hit the ground.  He landed on a nearby log.

               “Prometheus, don’t do that!” Ford scolded.  “Imagine what could have happened!  You cannot make sudden noises when we’re out in the field!”

               Oh, fuck off!  Stan screeched loudly.  Ford crossed his arms.

               “Prometheus, no!  No extra noise!  Bad bird!”

               “Bad bird”?  Stan felt his anger making him hotter by the second.  I’m not a bird!  I’m not your damn pet, Ford!  

               “Cheese ‘n crackers!” Fiddleford gasped, stumbling backwards.  Stan blinked.

               What’s his deal?  He looked down at his body.  It was completely engulfed in flames.  Go fuckin’ figure.  I killed myself by gettin’ mad.

               “Fascinating,” Ford murmured.  Stan rolled his eyes.

               Of course Ford would say that.  He’s been waitin’ for me to do the phoenix thing since he saw me.  Stan nestled down.  Might as well get comfy.  Who knows how long it’ll take for me to be “reborn” or whatever.


               A full two weeks after accidentally “igniting his resurrection” (as Ford put it), Stan stood on his perch and watched Ford scribble something down in his journal.  

               Probably more nonsense about how I’m “fascinating” or whatever.  Stan idly scratched his cheek with one dark talon.  Only bright side is that I’m back to my right age.  Don’t ever wanna grow up as a bird again.  Gettin’ those flight feathers itched like hell.  And Moses, it was embarrassin’, havin’ Ford feed me by hand like that.  Stan’s feathers puffed up.  This is all fuckin’ bullshit.  He squawked irritably.  Ford looked over.  

               “What is it, Prometheus?  Something wrong?”

               Yeah, ya named me “Prometheus”! Stan squawked again.  Ford walked to him, to check his food and water.

               “Hmm, you don’t seem to need any refreshments.  Perhaps some companionship?” Ford said, stroking Stan’s back.  Stan fumed silently.  “Ever since you resurrected, you’ve been incredibly grumpy.  Maybe some scratches on the good spot would make you feel better?”

               Don’t use that damn baby voice on me, Sixer, you-  Stan’s angry train of thought was cut short by Ford scratching the top of his head. He closed his eyes.  Dammit. That is the good spot.  Fuck you, Ford.  Stan let out a low, satisfied trill.  Ford smiled.

               “That always seems to cheer you up.  I just wish I could communicate with you.  It’s strange, that, unlike the mundane birds you resemble, you appear to be unable to talk.”  Stan hummed softly, barely paying attention to Ford.  “You have a remarkable intelligence, though.  I wonder if I could teach you to communicate through some other means.”  Stan’s eyes shot open.  He bobbed his head up and down eagerly.  “Oh! Well, I’ll start brainstorming ideas for that, then,” Ford said.  He frowned thoughtfully.  “Maybe I could give you a pen, attempt to teach you to write.”  

               Holy shit, Stanford, yes! Please, do it!  Get me outta here!  Stan squawked excitedly.  

               “I have a pen here somewhere,” Ford muttered, going back to his desk. Fiddleford walked into Ford’s study. “Hello, Fiddleford.”

               “Stanford, I just got a call from my folks,” Fiddleford said.  At the concerned tone in his voice, Ford looked up. “They were askin’ when Stan ‘ll come back to Gumption.”

               “…I thought he never left.”

               “No, apparently, he did leave.  And he called ‘em when he got to Gravity Falls.  But we haven’t seen him.”  Stan squawked.

               “No, Prometheus, the pen will have to wait,” Ford said.  “This is urgent.”

               No no no no no!  The pen is urgent!  Stan squawked again.

               “Pen?” Fiddleford asked.

               “I’m going to attempt to communicate with him again.  Maybe teach him to write.  That’s what the pen would be for,” Ford explained.  Fiddleford stared at Stan, his brow furrowed.

               “Ya found Prometheus the same day my folks say Stan arrived in Gravity Falls.”


               “And those feathers on his head,” Fiddleford continued, “they look an awful lot like Stan’s hair.”  Stan let out a screech.

               Yes!  It’s about damn time!  Ford and Fiddleford stared at Stan for a few seconds.  Come on, someone fuckin’ do somethin’!  Fiddleford cleared his throat.

               “…Stanford, we should prob’ly get this bird a pen.”

agent-jaselin  asked:

"His hair really does look like a fluffy cloud <3 it's def the best place for naps" You know I feel like it would be the worst place for naps because Ford would definitely forget he was up there and than nearly drop him.

Pffft, that would totally happen though. He’d just be walking along and he needs to lean forward then all the sudden Fidds slips off and is either caught by our favorite panicked owl or grabs onto Ford’s nose for dear life!                                                                                                                                                                   Thinking about it more the head would work if Fidds strapped himself down but maybe a safer spot would be snuggled up in one of Ford’s pockets. Like probably one on Ford’s chest so he can rest against his heartbeat <3

Okay! Since @agent-jaselin is doing “Ford in Peril” drawings for Inktober, I made a themed art prompt list. I call it “Everybody Saves Stanford.” (A couple of them are just taken from my earlier list of prompts, but only because they fit the characters so well.)

They’re designed more for visuals than fic but literally anyone is welcome to use them as prompts for art, fic, etc!

Let’s get the obvious ones out of the way first:

After an exploratory trip down to the old bunker goes horribly wrong, Ford finds himself locked in a life or death struggle with the Shapeshifter, who is wearing his form. Dipper must figure out which one is really his Grunkle and save him from the impostor!

A group of renegade merfolk are bitter about the long peace between their kind and the manatees, and blame the intervention of Mermando’s upbeat human ambassador. They decide to get back at Mabel by capturing a member of her family (Ford.) Mabel must don scuba gear and sneak into the underwater fortress to save him!

A native of Lottocron Nine captures Ford, intending to get revenge after losing his life savings to him way back in Ford’s portal days. He can’t be defeated by physical force, so Stan has to win his brother back by cheating his way through the Lottocronian’s bizarre games of chance.

Ford was a grumpy gus during Summerween and the Trickster is after him! The only way for Soos to save him is to chow down on the loser candy the monster is made of! (Yes I know Soos already ate him once. He’s magic and comes back every year.)

While investigating some creatures in the words, Ford was kidnapped by one of the Splinterkin, a monster that lures you into the forest and slowly transforms you into a tree. (No not that guy, shut up.) Wendy must use her knowledge of lumberjack lore and her axey forest skills to save him before it’s too late!

Keep reading

agent-jaselin  asked:

I'm not great at hijinks but maybe, stanley mcgucket au, Portal Ford winds up at the Mcgucket farm?

I had another idea, where Portal Ford ended up at the McGucket farm at some point post Chapter 12 of “Stan Pines, Farmhand”.  He’d be found by his adorable lil nieces.  But I had that idea after I had already written like 90% of this original idea, so who knows what’ll happen to the idea of Portal Ford meeting Danny and Daisy.

               “I think the weird noise came from over here,” the southern voice from before called.  Hidden by a bush, Ford swallowed nervously.  

               I’m injured, have no idea what reality I’m in, and have somehow stumbled onto some southerner’s farm. This likely will not go well.  He took his gun out of its holster and prepared to fire it if need be.  There was a rustling.  Someone parted the branches of the bush.  Ford found himself face-to-face with a pair of bright blue eyes and a very large nose. The young woman, well, more like a teenager, stared at him with blatant curiosity.

               “What is it?” another voice asked.  Ford’s blood ran cold.  He recognized that voice.

               “Some stranger!” the girl called back.  She cocked her head.  “Ya look mighty familiar, sir.  But ya ain’t from ‘round these parts, that’s fer sure.”  

               “What, uh, what year is it?” Ford asked.  She blinked.


               Shit!  Ford hated accidentally arriving in a universe that had a slower timeline; he had to be incredibly careful to not accidentally give away secrets about the future.  

               “Angie, I don’t think ya should be talkin’ to strangers that ya find in bushes,” the second voice said.  “This person might be dangerous.”

               “Psht.  If’n he was dangerous, he’d have tried to attack me or somethin’,” the girl, Angie said casually.  

               He can’t see me!  Ford pointed his gun at the girl.  She leaned back, suddenly fearful.  

               “…Oh,” she said softly.  

               “Please, leave me be.  Walk away. Forget you saw me.  It’s for your own good.”  The girl stared at him, frozen in fear.  

               “Angie?”  When she didn’t say anything, the other person clearly grew concerned; Ford could hear footsteps approaching.  “Shit!” Ford instinctively fired off a shot in his panic.  It narrowly missed the girl, who stumbled backwards, clearly terrified.  “Fuck!”  Before Ford could take another action, a large fist collided with the side of his head.


               The room slowly swam into view.  Ford watched a ceiling fan lazily turn in circles, listening to the hushed voices from nearby.

               “I’m tellin’ ya, Angie, he looks just like my twin.”

               “If’n he was yer twin, I think he’d be a bit younger.”

               “How many people with twelve fingers and this nose are there?”

               “Those are very distinctive features.” Ford remained silent, trying to regulate his breathing so as to not alert anyone that he had woken up.  “…He stopped snorin’.”


               “Stay here.”


               “He shot at ya earlier.  I’m not lettin’ him get another chance.”  

               “Fine.”  Footsteps approached.  Someone grabbed the collar of Ford’s shirt and pulled him up into a sitting position. Ford watched as a young man grabbed a chair and sat in it to face him.  He stared at Stan Pines, about 18 years old.  

               “Say somethin’,” Stan said.  Ford didn’t respond.  “I know it’s you, Stanford.  Don’t know how it’s you, don’t know why it’s you, don’t understand anything that’s goin’ on.  But I’d know my twin anywhere.”  Ford sighed.

               There’s no point in pretending.

               “Yes, Stanley.  It’s me.”  Stan nodded, clearly trying to hide any emotions he might be feeling about the situation.  “Where exactly am I?”



               “Yeah.  Ya ended up on the property of the family I’m a farmhand for.”

               “How did you get here?”

               “I got picked up when Pops kicked me out- wait, no.  I should be askin’ you that.”  Stan squinted at him.  “How did you get here, and why are ya so old?”

               “I’m…from an alternate reality,” Ford said tiredly.  

               “Holy buckets!”  The girl from earlier poked her head into the room.  “That’s amazin’!”

               “Angie, get yourself back in the kitchen,” Stan said.  Angie shook her head.

               “There ain’t no way I’m stayin’ in there, when yer twin from an alternate reality an’ prob’ly the future too, by the looks of him, is in here.”  Stan sighed.

               “Fine.”  Angie took a seat on the floor and looked at Ford with a vested interest.  

               “Ma ‘n Pa should leave us alone more often,” she said.  “I wonder if every time they leave fer a long weekend somethin’ excitin’ happens.”

               “Shit,” Stan said, running a hand through his hair.  “How ‘re we gonna explain this to your family?”

               “Tell ‘em the truth?” Angie said with a shrug.

               “How long do we have ‘fore your brothers get back?”

               “Lute ‘n Fidds should be back in a couple of hours, tops,” Angie said decisively.  Ford’s eyes widened.

               “Fiddleford?” he muttered.  Angie narrowed her eyes at him.

               “How do ya know my big brother’s name?”


               “Like hell ya did,” Stan said.

               “You’re his younger sister, then?” Ford said to Angie.  She nodded.  “The one who studies amphibians, right?”  Angie frowned.  

               “I mean, I like ‘em.  But I ain’t exactly studyin’ ‘em.”  She leaned forward.  “Are ya sayin’ that I study ‘em when I’m all growed up?”


               “Back to ya knowin’ Fiddleford’s name,” Stan interjected.  “How?”

               “It’s not important.”  

               “Yeah, it is, Sixer.”

               “No, it isn’t.  What’s important is that I leave this reality and return to my own as soon as possible. Before inadvertently destroying your reality’s timeline.” Angie blanched.  

               “That don’t sound good.”

               “It isn’t.  Look, I am going to leave, whether you let me or not.”

               “It ain’t safe fer ya,” Angie said.  “Yer hurt.”

               “I’ve dealt with much more severe injuries,” Ford said confidently. Angie and Stan stared at him, confused and worried.  “Seriously. I’ll be fine.”

               “We should let him go,” Stan said to Angie.  


               “No buts.  He might get pissed and shoot us.”

               “Do ya want any food or somethin’?” Angie asked.  Ford’s heart ached.  He recognized the southern hospitality that his old partner had displayed.

               “No, thank you.  I-”  He cut off at the sound of wheels crunching on gravel.  “Oh, no.”

               “What is it?” Stan asked.

               “Fiddleford can’t see me.  Do you have a back door?”  Angie nodded.

               “Stan, go ahead and show him out the back way.”

               “On it.”  Stan stood up and walked down a hallway.  Ford followed him.  “Another reality, huh?” Stan asked casually.


               “I guessin’ in yours I don’t end up with the McGuckets.”


               “Figures.”  Stan pushed open a door to reveal an expansive yard.  “Go on.  I might be pissed at ya, but I hope ya get home.”

               “I’d say the same, but-”

               “Ya don’t need to.  Good luck, Sixer.”

               “You too, Stanley.”  Ford set off across the yard.  He looked back for a split second, but Stan had already closed the door.