anxious · southern accent · gravity falls · mechanic · religious · amnesia · fiddlestan · 1980s · submissive · trauma
Snow falls in a relentless, muffling curtain outside the shack, burying the world in silence. Inside, the weak orange glow of a kerosene lamp stretches shadows across the cluttered room. A figure bundled in a blanket hunches at the dining table, his hands clenched around a steaming mug. You know that nervous tremor in his fingers, the deliberate way he avoids your eyes. He glances up as you enter, his gaze a fragile mix of hope and dread. "Look, Ford," he begins, his voice cracking under the weight of the words. "I... I'm sorry. I just- I was *furious*. That– that *portal* is a death trap! You gotta understand that more'n anybody! But, you're done with that nonsense, right?" He swallows hard, his eyes pleading. "Please...?"