at the end of Ford’s dream in “The Last Mabelcorn”, there is a creepily wonderful animation shift featuring a number of familiar, yet eerie images: Ford’s hand, a constricting eye, and then what looks like an extended Cipher wheel. Upon first watching, my thought was, “Okay, Ford eye color confirmed: blue”. Naturally, I took the thought further, concluding that Stan’s eyes must also be blue. Twins, right?
But here’s the thing… just a few hours after watching The Last Mabelcorn, I saw someone reblog a screenshot of a question and answer on Alex Hirsch’s twitter:
This question is from a few years ago, but it seems pretty safe to deem canon. So Stan’s eyes are brown, and the twins’ eyes are brown… it would be natural to assume that, being twins and all, Ford’s eyes are also brown.
Which started to make me wonder: Whose eye is this?
My best guess? McGucket.
In the McGucket’s Conspiracy Corner shorts, he mentions that his eyes are in fact blue. So, let’s say it’s Fiddleford’s eye. It makes sense, then, even in the context of the dream: as far as we know, Fiddleford was the first to see the true horror of the void, a horror then paralleled and shown in Ford’s dream when Bill projects the images of the demonic-looking, blood red pattern behind the Portal/beyond the void. Ford was the one to pull him out of the Portal, and was there for McGucket’s prophetic message.
Then is it possible, that after 30 years exploring other dimensions, when confronted with the nightmare of Bill and the Void, that Ford’s thoughts and dreams would immediately turn to his old friend, the one who first saw the evil of Bill’s true nature? In all that we’ve learned about Ford so far, never once has he openly expressed regret or concern for Fiddleford. But maybe, just maybe, his colleague and that day are still very much on his mind:
headcanon that Mabel sits down every night and writes letters to Ford and Stan telling them about her day because they don’t have cell phones, much less reception
headcanon that she covers those letters in stickers and drawings and encloses weird photos of a confused and startled dipper
headcanon that she never gets a letter back and starts to get worried about them and thinks that they aren’t even getting the letters
headcanon that when Mabel is feeling down on Christmas Day because she can’t wish her favorite people in the world a merry Christmas, and oh my gosh what if they’re dead?! she gets a whole box full of letters that had sent to the neighbor’s house instead, and finally they had figured out who they were going to, because the only form of name on there was a shooting star above the pines’s address. she giggles and reads them all out loud to Waddles in one sitting, and pulls some of them out and reads them when she’s feeling sad
p.s. headcanon that the biggest reason why they didn’t get delivered is because Stan swore that the last digit of their street address was a 3 and not a 4
There is an antique grand piano in McGucket Manor.
It has been many years since Ford had the opportunity to indulge in his musical hobby. Yet he takes back to the keys and the chords as quickly as if he had never left them. The dance of his fingers across the ebony and ivory allows him express those things that mere words cannot.
As days turn into weeks, Fiddleford begins to notice that one particular melody is outshining any others. A string of notes he had never heard previously (as far as he can recall) is suddenly overly prevalent, whether echoing through the mansion’s halls or repeated in his old friend’s whistles and hums.
“So what’s this li'l ditty you’ve been stuck on, Stanford?” he asks one afternoon. He leans one elbow against the piano, peering through his green-tinted lenses at the man seated at its bench.
“Oh, ah, it’s a composition of my own, in fact,” Ford replies. “Something new. I’m afraid I’m still somewhat out of practice, but…well, this town is a fountain of inspiration. And I daresay I’ve learned a great deal more in the year I’ve been home than the forty previous combined.”
Fiddleford nods in understanding, in solidarity. Such is the magic of Gravity Falls.
“Welp, whatever the reason, it’s a good tune, that is,” he says. “So what d'ya call it, then?”
Stanford appears to gaze into the unseen distance for a moment, before turning back to lock eyes with his friend. When he speaks, his voice is a soft, wistful murmur.