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i get it

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high-key obsessed with this XY museum concept art that shows a guy just casually holding a Mew

even better is the in-game blurb that goes with the painting, which is both great worldbuilding and also very funny:

A Man and Mew: They say a man of power at the time forced the artist to add the Mythical Pokémon Mew to spread the word of how great he was.

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12 years later, welcome back, a show about a nerdy boy and an active girl running into mysteries and occult

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I love them

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sometimes family is you, your dead dad's long distance boyfriend, a magic orphan girl you saved from the mob, a store clerk, some guy you saved who turned into your yaoi best friend after you killed his dad, a crazy chick who tried to murder you, and said crazy chick's chill boyfriend/keeper

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Bill's Postcard

6/6 mvvw

Oh gosh wat have I done....

Meanwhile in Theraprism...

Meanwhile in Gravity Falls...

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watching people fight over how canon the book of bill is while completely mischaracterising bill is such a strange experience

yes he’s a liar. yes he’s a manipulator. yes he is so distant from any semblance of humanity that he is literally incapable of regret, empathy or remorse, or at least admitting to himself that he feels it.

but he’s also TERRIBLE at it. he’s a total loser. he’s objectively bad at the one task he’s spent lifetimes on. throughout history he attempts to sweet talk many, many different figures into building his portal and it rarely goes down well. multiple civilisations are aware of his existence and the sole reason we know this is because they hated him and invented their own ways of keeping him out. he has been consistently rejected by humanity at every turn, only coming close to completing his goal when he literally possessed a dead man and formed a cult.

ford is the only person who really, truly fell for the act. not just that, but bill didn’t even have to pretend to physically be someone else to get him hooked. ford took him as he was.

all this to say, bill is absolutely a grifter who will say anything to get what he wants, which means a lot of BOB is just sweet talk, carrot and stick, he’s just saying what the reader wants to hear. but that’s not the important bit.

bill is a liar but he wraps the truth up in layers of misdirection, doublespeak and lies. a monster really did destroy his homeworld. him and ford really were going to change the world. he even addresses this in the book, he lies until it becomes the truth. a lot of bill’s characterisation is shown in the gaps between his lies, it’s all in the fault lines, in a similar way to stan. he’s a very meta character, but ultimately he’s still a character and he still behaves in ways that are designed to convey meanings to the audience.

of course he’s lying in the book of bill, but he’s also telling the truth, in addition to bits of info from other sources that he is unable to edit like the theraprism section. it’s fun to have a character who lies a lot, but it would be a pointless exercise to have an entire book be non-canon and false, especially when we get much more interesting character work from the parts where he runs out of lies and his only options are desperate truths.

anyway. people wanting to enjoy canon info in a canon book isn’t just them “being easily manipulated” or stupid, and you aren’t a better fan for not believing it

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A Lifetime Served in a Little Cup

pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3 / pt.4

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bill, babygirl, the red flags get outta there

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i once considered him the center of my life, the sun in my galaxy

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is this anything

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WIP Wednesday

“I can’t believe you fucked that old man.”

Bill’s head snaps up so quickly from where it was inside of the air duct that he smacks it on the metal internals. When he reappears cursing and rubbing at his head, there’s dust bunnies in his hair and clinging to his eyelashes.

“You can’t believe I what?”

“You fucked that old man,” Red repeats, feet up on the counter as she lazily reads something called “Lumberjack Layabouts Weekly.”

“I—“ And Bill lets out a grunt as he comes down from the ladder to slam his hands on the counter and lean into her space. The action does little to phase her other than make her look up.

“Neither of those things are right!”

Red takes a second to turn the page of her magazine, but doesn’t look away from Bill.

“That’s not what I heard.”

Bill’s eyes roll back into his skull for a second. He thinks of what he was told to do both by the therapium and Question Mark’s fiancée: deep breaths in and deep breaths out, count to ten, don’t visualize throttling them no matter how fucking annoying these fleshbags are.

“First of all, I’m older than him,” he begins, like that’s the important part.

“You don’t look it.”

“That’s because I take good care of myself.” Which is only partially true.

When the Axolotl and the entire therapism decided Bill’s methods of rehabilitation weren’t working, they’d sent him here. To hell.

…to earth.

Stripped of his powers, they’d shoved him into a meat suit that was an “appropriate approximation of his natural form” (Bill resents that statement entirely, but the appearance has grow on him). The dark skin and golden eyes are quite a contrast coupled with the golden hair offset by strays strands of grey or white hair. Melody has helped him figure out how to wash and maintain it, which is far more maintenance than he was expecting after watching Ford for years barely do anything more than occasionally wash it and wake up. Bill’s currently picking dust bunnies out of an individual lock, throwing them into the trashcan by the counter (like hell is he sweeping up in this damned place more than he has to).

He has it on good authority that this is a desirable fleshbag form, both from the open way that people compliment him and the way people stared. …he’s getting used to the staring and has stopped threatening to flay people alive who let their eyes linger too long.

Question Mark calls it progress; Bill calls it not wanting to see that haunted, barely contained disappointment on Melody’s face again. She is simultaneously the kindest and cruelest person he’s met on this plane. In spite of literally everyone’s reservations about Bill being on the same plane as the rest of these humans, she’d been willing to hear him out, offer him accommodations here at the Mystery Shack, and even provide a job if he could behave.

She also detailed to him with a sunshiney smile and no insignificant amount of knife waving that if Bill started anything, anything looking like world domination under her roof, not even the Axolotl would be able to save him.

If nothing else, she’s done more than a little to earn his respect and compliance than anyone else in this entire reality.

So, he’d gotten used to people staring and it doesn’t bother him.

At least, until one particular person started staring.

“Second of all, I didn’t—“ And he looks around, makes sure no hide or hair of thirteen year-old menace can be seen before he continues, “—fuck Sixer.”

Red closes the magazine entirely and shifts to take her feet off the counter and lean on it with her arms folded—this is what she’d wanted to hear.

“I heard Stan caught you two in the bathroom.”

Bill clears his throat and starts back up the ladder to avoid having to look at Red even as he feels something warm in his face.

“Stan doesn’t know what he saw.”

Red lets out a raucous laugh that makes Bill wince and wrinkle his nose as he sticks his head back in the vent to continue clearing it out.

“I heard that you two also got into a fistfight at dinner before that. Weird foreplay, but I can respect it.”

Everyone, mostly Question Mark and Shooting Star, have insisted on family dinners since both sets of Pines twins returned to Gravity Falls. And, somehow, Bill gets lumped into that because he sleeps in the Shack (specifically, the sofa in the living room because everywhere else is off-limits). It’s been three weeks and most everything has been simpatico, Shooting Star was the fastest to warm up after her initial talk too of “unspeakable horrors” she’ll unleash on him if he steps a toe out of line. The fact that he’s powerless seems to make her willing to humor him.

…also something about him looking like a wet rat? And it was a good thing? Bill didn’t ask. Or, rather, he had asked and she brushed him off and because he knew Stanley will flay him alive if he lays a finger on either niece or nephew, he let it go.

Pine Tree has been a lot more hesitant in his behavior, sure, but he’s recently started being in the same room with Bill and musing aloud in ways that Bill knows are directed at him without talking to him. Pine Tree will state something stupid about the state of the town and when Bill corrects him, he’ll scribble it down, go silent, then rinse and repeat.

Stan has been… well, they were avoiding each other without problem. The closest they get to a conversation is when they’re both sitting in the living room after everyone else has gone to bed and before Stan goes to his bed and Bill passes out on the sofa. Their talk is a roundabout back and forth about complaining about what’s on the television and saying there’s “never anything good on”. Occasionally Bill will liken something on the screen to something he’s seen on television in other dimensions, Stan will grunted, and then they go back to silence.

They’ve also worked out a system where they’re allies in their silent agreement to watch The Duchess Approves as long as no one else finds out about it.

…and then there’s Ford.

They haven’t been in the same room as each other outside of dinner even remotely. Bill doesn’t look at him, Ford doesn’t acknowledge him, and it’s fine.

It’s fine.

It doesn’t bother him even a little that Ford won’t even look at him, won’t talk to him. Doesn’t bother him that when Bill does talk, he rolls his eyes. It doesn’t bother him either that Ford gets up every time Bill enters the room even for a moment. It’s not like he cares about the asshole or wants to see him. It’s fine for Bill.

Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine.

And because it is so fine, he’s not sure what exactly caused him to get mouthy with Sixer the night before.

Ford had made some inane comment and Bill couldn’t help but correct him. Over a trillion years in the multiverse, he knows when he’s right about something.

Ford bit back.

And Bill argued against.

It’d devolved into a petty back-and-forth, both of them digging their claws in places it shouldn’t go without caring for the carnage it spread.

It ended when Bill called Ford “my shining star” like this was just a philosophical disagreement thirty-one years prior.

He shouldn’t have done that.

The next thing Bill knew, he and Ford were rolling on the ground, fists flying and snarling at one another. Ford caught him in the nose, Bill punched him in the mouth, both of them scratching and pulling hair like a pair of animals.

It took Stanley and Soos both to pull them apart, both of them still swinging until they were forced to calm down.

After that, Bill had left his unfinished dinner to sit on the roof and wait out everyone else’s dinner. It was only because the blood wouldn’t stop flowing from his nose while the blood on his knuckles had dried uncomfortably to the point he kept accidentally ripping it when he flexed his hand that convinced him to go downstairs.

He’s still figuring out this whole human thing and, yeah, he was fumbling with the tape and his nose was dripping all over everything and he was fighting not to get it on the stupid sweater he got from Shooting Star and—

That’s how Ford found him.

There were no words as he crowded into the small bathroom with him, took off his gloves, and started to doctor Bill.

Neither of them say that there’s something familiar about this, them being together while cleaning up blood and puss and setting bones, usually injuries inflicted on Ford by Bill. There’s probably something funny about the idea of it being the other way around now.

They’re both too tired or embarrassed to say anything for awhile, but then Ford makes an innocuous statement that raises Bill’s hackles and there goes the peace. Then they’re shoving and pushing into a wall, Bill effectively having Ford cornered against it, chest-to-chest, spitting in each other’s faces, and then—

Then they were decidedly not fighting.

“Yeah, well, Fordsy is a know-it-all prick who doesn’t actually know everything,” Bill defends. “He started the fight.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Red replies in a singsong voice.

“And who’s telling you this?!”

“Don’t worry about it.” Red goes quiet for a moment, but he knows she’s still staring at him. “Did you two really make out though?”

Bill is quiet, can’t quite find the words he wants to say about this. Was his tongue in Ford’s mouth? Yes. Were Ford’s hands in his hair? Also yes. Did Stan walk in while Bill’s hand was halfway down the front of Ford’s pants? Regrettably.

“It was a… heat of the moment thing.”

“Wow. I mean, I knew you two were something back then, but I figured you two had, you know, moved past that.”

Bill doesn’t respond for awhile, leaning back to sweep the dust into the garbage bag he’s holding.

“So did I.”

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Stanford pines is a crazy character cause what do you mean he made a whole ass room in his house dedicated to helping him have gayer thoughts

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"One fell first the other fell harder" - denial edition

commission info here

Transcription of the chalkboard writing under cut

WEIRMAGEDDON PLAN

1) Get a naive idiot

2) He builds a portal

3) Develop feelings

3) Bring forth henchies

4) PARTY!!!

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Can you imagine being 12 years old and sent to live with your criminal great uncle for the summer because your parents are divorcing and you learn not only that the paranormal is real, your great uncle faked his death and took on the identity of his estranged twin brother who is trapped in another dimension and you didn’t know existed, and there’s an all powerful demon targeting your family specifically, but also your estranged great uncle has almost definitely fucked the triangle demon in a messy situationship

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Posting this before I sleep goodnight folks