#added mabel because i needed to | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mooooonnnzz · 3 months ago

Note

i would LOVEEE an older sibling reader x mable and dipper (platonic obv). maybe like 3 or 4 years older than them ? just reader trying to wrangle them and make sure they don’t get killed 😭 gender neutral reader if possible pls !! love your writing !! <3

By Your Side

Dipper Pines x Sibling!Reader/Mable Pines x Sibling!Reader

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ 3,2k words

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ my FIRST dipper and mable sibling fic/request GAHH i had sm fun writing this i love these two sm

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ reader is gender neutral + is constantly stressed 24/7

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ requests are open!

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ if you wanna be added to my taglist, comment or dm me!

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ i originally wasn't gonna post 2nite since i was working on another fic n i knew i wasnt gonna finish in time so i brewed this up quickly! eenjoooy :p

♫ Being Mable’s and Dipper’s older sibling comes with its perks, alongside some faults. Since you’re the oldest, you’re constantly looking out for danger they might accidentally fall in. Especially in Gravity Falls. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t partially relieved that you were leaving just because you didn’t need to fret over the thought of losing your siblings. But during your stay in Gravity Falls was a game of chase. You’re trailing after them like a hawk and they keep running away, adventure and mystery in their minds while you’re freaking out of the idea of a possible broken bone. Speeding through the woods in a golf cart, you’re following Mabel’s cries that echo throughout the woods. “This is insane.” You tell yourself, seeing a dip in the road you were following. “Dipper, hold onto something!” You warn, gripping onto the wheel as you dive down into the cave. The wheels bump and smash into rocks, rattling the golf cart as you drive through gravel and comically large stones. You see Mable trying to shake off the gnomes that were climbing up her body in an effort to push her down to the ground and tie her down. “My boyfriend turned out to be a bunch of gnomes!” She kicks on right in the stomach. He rolls up into the and lands to the ground, leaning on a tree he vomits rainbows on the floor. “Gnomes? Huh, I was way off…” Dipper mutters to himself, scanning through his journal.

♫ Your eyes read the page once he lands on the gnome page. “Weakness, UNKNOWN?” Your head bolts up to see Mable already tied to the floor, some gnomes standing on top of her while others are surrounding her. You approach the tiny gnome and confront him. He chortles awkwardly. “This is all just one big misunderstanding! She’s just marrying all one thousand of us and becoming our gnome queen for all of eternity.” He tells you cooly, as if this was something that normally happened here. “Isn’t that right, honey?” He looks over to Mable. “You guys are buttfaces!” A gnome next to her slapped her mouth shut. “Give us back our sister now, or else!” Dipper threatens with a shovel. The gnome goes on this whole rant on how he’s a powerful race and Dipper scoops him up with the shovel and throws him off to the side. Taking your chance, you kick all the gnomes away from Mable and rip the bindings off of her. Grabbing her hand, you pull her into the golf cart. “Seatbelt.” Dipper says as he buckles himself, looking at you and Mable’s seat belt to see if you were wearing them. You backed out of the cave and started speeding out of the woods.

♫ That soon sped to be a rapid chase of cat and mouse. The gnomes binded themselves together and formed a huge gnome that was now chasing you through the forest. A few gnomes flew out of their form and onto Dipper and Mable. Mable was fortunate enough to shake hers off, but Dipper was struggling with his. “Don’t worry, I got you Dipper!” She began throwing mean punches at the gnome and Dipper. The gnome flew off Dipper’s face, taking his hat with him. You glance over to see Dipper’s face all bruised up. “Dipper! Your face.” You screech, sharply turning. Mable teeters out of the car and you grab her quickly, pulling her in. “Dipper’s face is okay. Nothing like a little glitter won’t fix it!” Reaching into her pockets, she throws a puff of glitter. Some glitter gets into your eyes, obstructing your view. “Mable!” Dipper reaches for the wheel and begins steering the cart while you try ridding your eyes of the glitter. The gnomes rip a tree from the ground and launch it forward, it lands right in front of you, a few inches away. “Look out!” Mable warns. “Look out for what?” Your eyelids shakily open and Dipper turns the cart quickly, causing it to spin out of control and fall on its side. You crawl out of the cart and immediately cover Dipper and Mable. The gnome goes on a rant about how he's going to take Mable and force her to marry him. With convincing from Mable, you allow her to take the lead. Her smart thinking saved you and Dipper from the evil gnomes and you hugged it out which led to you scolding them, but in the end you made it out safe with the twins perfectly fine. Although, a tad bit of bruising from Dipper.

♫ “You shouldn’t worry so much about the twins, kid.” Stan offers a light pat to your shoulder, sipping his pitt cola. “I mean I have to, Grunkle Stan. Just yesterday Mable almost became queen to these gnomes! Like, unwillingly. And…!” You’re gesturing wildly as you speak, being extremely passionate about how they stupidly manage to find themselves in danger's palm every single time. Once you finish your wild rant, Grunkle Stan is staring at you with a troubled expression. “Are you sure you’re alright, kid?” His grip on your shoulder tightens and you realize how utterly ridiculous you sound explaining yesterday’s events to some senile old man who only believes what is shown to him on TV. You slide a hand down your face, a stressed out groan expelling from your throat. “Is this how Dipper feels when he tries to tell you his stupid scary experiences in the woods?” You watch as Grunkle Stan smiles, laughing heartily at what you said. “It runs in the family.” He said with a laugh, giving your shoulder a rough shake before walking off into the gift shop.

♫ Legend of the Gobblewonker seriously stressed you out. You were practically on your knees, begging to join Stan on his shabby boat rather than Soos “yacht” to catch a monster that doesn’t actually exist. Dipper was way too passionate about getting the photos he needed to win the prize money and shove it in everyone’s face that there are weird things going on here. And Mable just wanted her stupid human sized hamster ball. “We can go Gobblewanker hunting on Stan’s boat!” You try to reason as they both clicked their life vests on. “It’s actually Gobblewonker, [Name].” Dipper corrected you, stuffing a camera under his hat. “I like Gobblewanker better.” Mable laughs, throwing a bag of cameras over her shoulder. “What? So you guys are going to leave?” Dipper and Mable hop into Soos’s boat, and before they speed off, Soos yells; “Don’t worry, dude! I’ll keep them safe!” You gripped your hair in anger. “Guess it’s just you and me, kid.” Stan hunkered two fishing rods on his shoulder and stepped into his boat. He set everything up and looked at you with an expectant look. “Did they really abandon me like that?” You were still in shock. Your brain replaying the moment where Dipper and Mable were cheering in the back as Soos sailed off into the unknown. “You get used to it.” He shrugs.

♫ Spending half the day fishing with Grunkle Stan wasn’t too bad. He mostly distracted you for the most part, keeping you entertained with jokes and outrageous stories from the past. But when silence came and Grunkle Stan wasn’t talking your ear off, your mind wandered to all the scenarios that could be happening to Dipper and Mable while you’re sitting on a boat, surprisingly enjoying your time with your Grunkle Stan. “Grunkle Stan?” Your voice wavers with anxiety. “Yes?” He grunt frustratingly when a fish swims past his bait. “Could you be so nice to your poor old Grunkle and try reeling in a fish for me?” His head jerks to your discarded fishing rod that was propped up on the boat. “Yeah, sure?” You grab a fishing rod, attach the bait and cast your reel. “Back to what I was saying—“ “ —How’s school going for ya?” He shoots you a questioning look before looking back to where his bait was casted. “Uh,” Did he cut you off on purpose? “School is great.” You scramble for words to say. “It’s my senior year!” You tell him rather enthusiastically. “Senior year, really? I coulda sworn you were in fifth grade.” You gently nudge his arm with your shoulder. “Your grandpa's brain is failing you.” You chuckle, feeling something tug on your fishing rod. You gasp as it pulls you forward. “Grunkle Stan, what do I do?!” Stan forgets all about his fishing rod and tells you to reel it in and he shows you a quick reenacting montage of how you’re supposed to do it. Following exactly what he says, you pull out a really big fish. “What fish is that?” You pant out. You put all your strength and energy into getting that fish and it seems like it paid off. He tells you the type before complimenting you with a; “Good catch, kid!” Stan unhooks the fish from the rod and marvels at the large fish.

♫ Soos comes back with Dipper and Mable but their big boat is now just torn apart and very slowly sinking. You had to hold back a scream because there was no way that this is the condition Soos brings them back in. Dipper and Mable reconcile with Stan and before jumping in, they look at you. Mable bottom lip trembles and her eyes fill up with tears. Dipper has his head hung low, his cap covering his eyes and he’s sadly rubbing his hands together, almost akin to a fly…Their whole weird act made you forget the reason why you were upset in the first place. “What is this, what are you guys doing?” You look at Stan who’s as lost as you are. “We’re sorry, [Name]!” Mable lunges off the boat and into your arms, very dramatically and hugs your stomach tightly. “Sorry for what?” You laughed out, watching Dipper follow in suit. “For leaving you and Grunkle Stan behind.” He said, hugging your side and squishing his cheek into your shoulder. “Oh! I wasn’t expecting you goblins to actually apologize.” You ruffle Mable’s hair, gaining a peeved “Hey!” from her but she makes no effort to swat your hand away. “Dipper told me not to tell you but,” She rose up and stood on the seat of the boat, whispering in your ear how Dipper was on the brink of tears earlier but he didn’t want you to know that because it’ll ruin his tough man bravado.

♫ A laugh escapes you and Dipper is staring at you knowingly, his cheeks flushed red. “A stick went in my eye! That’s why I was crying!” He defended, his voice all squeaky from embarrassment. “Not you using Grunkle Stan’s excuse.” Stan moved from his spot from the mention of him. “Hey, don’t tell them that now.” He crosses his hands over his chest. “It’s not an excuse! I don’t cry and when I do, I have something in my eye.” The rest of the day was you bonding with everyone, fishing and taking photos with the last camera that survived their adventure. And speaking of their adventure, you properly scolded them for leaving you to the dust without any supervision. Soos interjected and said that he was good at taking care of them himself, and you weren’t going to lie, he did keep them in one piece, but you don’t like how he encourages their wild behavior. You soon realized that Stan was making a huge effort to make sure you weren’t constantly thinking about the twins, you had an inkling in your gut and it was nice to be proved right. Stan doesn't really tell you and the twins how much he cares and loves you but he sure tells you by his actions. The little self made hats he made for the fishing trip spoke the truth in your words.

♫ “[Name]! We’re going to a haunted convenience store with Wendy and her friends, just wanted to tell you! Okay, byyeee!” Mable scampered off into the hallway, leaving you in your bed stunned for a few minutes. Shaking your head, you sprung up from your bed and chased after Mable. You caught her wrist before she got the chance to leap outside and leave. “You’re what?” You need her to repeat what she said moments prior just so you can think about your next course of actions. “We’re going to a haunted convenience store.” She said so casually you thought you were mishearing the word haunted in her sentence. “Haunted convenience store?” You repeat slowly. “Yeah! You wanna come with?” Mable grins so widely at the thought of you tagging along. “Why don’t you and Dipper stay home and let the teens do their own things?” You suggest with a strained smile. It’s always something with these two… Mable frowned. “You don’t want to spend time with us?” She’s doing her sad puppy eyes and unluckily for you, her big sad eyes tug at your heartstrings a little too much for your liking. “We can do something else together, Mable.” You tell her in hopes that’ll convince her and change her mind but her display of utter dramatics doesn’t falter. She’s still looking at you with those eyes and that little pout to her lip. Screwing your eyes shut, you let out a defeated sigh. “Is there room for one more?” You dryly said. Mable cheers from the top of her lungs and pulls you along to where one of Wendy’s friends' van is parked.

♫ “Guys! Guys!” Mable jumped up and down. “Can [Name] join us?” She’s already pulling you into the backseat with Dipper who had his arms crossed around his chest moodily. “Of course!” Wendy smiled. “We love having you tag with, [Name].” Tambry said it with little no emotion that you doubted the validity of her words. “[Name], what are you doing here?” Dipper whispered, his tone having a bit of agitation to it. “I’m here because Mable told me you guys were going to a haunted convenience store.” You say as you buckle your seatbelt. “Mable!” Dipper threw his arms out in exasperation. “What? They had to know.” Mable stated as if it was obvious. “And thank you for telling me, Mable. Because if it wasn’t for you, someone would be doing things he shouldn’t be doing.” You send a look over to Dipper who clicked his tongue at you in annoyance. “Dipper is acting like this because he’s embarrassed you’re here with his GIRLFRI–” Dipper’s arm reaches over you and pops Mable in the mouth. “Girlfriend?” You pinch your brows in confusion. “Dipper has a girlfriend?” You give Mable a curious look. “No, not yet at least.” She says slyly as Dipper retracts his hand from Mable’s mouth in disgust. She definitely licked his palm. “Who?” Mable slaps her hands on the side of your face and directs it to where Wendy was sitting. You gasp, looking over to Dipper whose cheeks are flushed with a pink color. “No!” You dramatically yelled. “Do you guys have to be so loud!” Dipper complained, grabbing the sides of his hat and tugging it down to cover his red face. “You do know she’s older than you, Dipper?” You mention. Dipper grumbled, choosing to ignore what you said.

♫ Arriving at the convenient store, Dipper decides to show off to Wendy how cool he can actually be and unlocked the door from the inside. Entering the store, you carefully smacked Dipper in the head. He is trying so hard to appeal to her and it’s really embarrassing to watch. That was really the whole vibe the entire time you were there, you were making sure Mable wasn’t doing anything stupid and you were just watching Dipper try super hard for Wendy’s friends to like them. “Oh my gosh, smile dip!” Mable picked up a pack and held it up in the air. “I thought this stuff was banned in america!” She sat down on the floor, smiling gleefully at the pack of candy. “Maybe it was for a good reason?” Dipper got thrown a balloon full of cheese to the face. He laughed, running over to where the fight was happening to join in. You were going to ask if Mable was actually going to eat candy that has been sitting in this convenience store for who knows how long, but this is mable you’re talking about, of course she’d eat it. Ripping open the packet, she grabbed the candy stick and dipped it in the candied powder. She eyed the powdery stick for a second. In a quick swoosh, she dumped all the dip into her mouth. “Don’t eat too much of these, Mable.” You tell her. “I won’t!” Clouds of glitter poofed out of her mouth when she spoke. You couldn’t quite pinpoint where everything went wrong, but always in this town, something went wrong which led to a ball of events unraveling. Mable was floating up in the air, being used as a vessel from one of the ghosts that possessed the store that locked you and everyone else inside. “Hey, ghost!” Dipper pointed at the ghost. “Yes?” The ghost eerily turned over to Dipper. “I’ve got something to tell you.” The ghost lifted Dipper from the floor. “I’m not a teenager!” You turn over to Wendy. “Did he tell you that he was a teenager?” Wendy let out a shy laugh. “Yeah, he told me that Mable and him were thirteen. Technically teenagers.” You slapped a hand on your forehead, laughing with Wendy. “He’s ridiculous.”

♫ After recovering from your laughter, you turned your attention back to Dipper who adorned a horrendously cute lamb costume. Recognition washes over you at seeing getting into the lamby lamby dance position. “When Dipper was younger, he used to do this cute dance all the time in his little lamb costume he was obsessed with.” Wendy awe’s. Dipper dances and sings the lamby lamby dance. The ghosts, satisfied with Dipper’s performance, lift his curse. After grouping up, Wendy told a quick rundown of what happened while everyone was out, excluding the part where he had to sing in a lamb costume. Dipper was praised for being brave while on the way out to the car. “How’s your stomach feeling?” You look over your shoulder to see Mable who was lying limp on your back. “It huuurtsss…” She burped sparks of glitter. “Woah!” You laughed. “This is the last time I’m ever going to eat sweet stuff ever again…” You knew she was going to lay off the candy for like two days before rummaging in the fridge for icy pops. Taking Mable off your back, you placed her on the chair and buckled her seatbelt. She flopped against the window, groaning as she held her stomach. Dipper came climbing in a moment after, a pleased smile on his face. “What’s got you looking so happy with yourself?” Dipper’s smile grew. “Wendy wants to hang out with me!” He vibrated with excitement. “You really think you have a chance with her?” Dipper’s smile never wavered, too caught up in the high knowing his crush invited him to more potential hangouts. “Shh, no more talking.” Mable lazily slapped your arm. “You guys talking makes my stomach hurt.”

Taglist: @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @lovexsage, @teddycricketdream, @theilluminatidragonqueen, @raventeen@cedarmoonzz

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #dipper pines x reader #mable pines x reader #stanley pines x reader #dipper pines x sibling!reader #mable pines x sibling!reader

429 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 9 months ago

Text

Chapter 41 of human Bill Cipher being really sick of being the Mystery Shack's prisoner: after absolutely terrorizing Gideon for projecting used car ads into Bill's dreams, tries to blackmail Gideon into working for him again.

But not before showing some unexpected sympathy for the plight of a child psychic on whose shoulders the family's financial future rests.

####

Dipper and Mabel were in the middle of a race on a roller coaster track when Bill wandered back downstairs. He sat on the couch armrest next to Mabel and precariously balanced as he crossed his legs. "So I've been thinking over this whole thing," Bill said. "I think I should apologize to Gideon."

"Work that out all by yourself?" Dipper glanced at the clock. "Wow. And it only took you half an hour."

Mabel finished a lap. While the roller coaster track slowly lifted her car to the top of the hill to start the next lap, she turned to give Bill an appraising look, ready to assess his work. "Apologize for what?"

"For terrorizing him! Is this a trick question?"

She nodded slowly—a little skeptical, but so far so good—but had to look away as she regained control of her car. "What's your angle?"

"I'm equilateral, work it out."

"Shut uuup, I'm serious."

"Why do I need to have an angle? Maybe I want to practice some of the apology lessons they're teaching on Color Critters! Aren't you the one who wanted me to be a decent person? You should be thrilled. You are thrilled."

"Bill."

"Okay fine, I want you to stop looking at me like I'm evil incarnate over a silly little prank letter." He nudged Mabel's head with his elbow. She smacked his arm away. "Isn't that the only reason anyone apologizes? To stop people from getting mad at them?" He lifted his eyepatch and squinted at the screen. "Goose in the left barrel."

Mabel swerved left. "Yes! Eat tail feathers, Dipper!"

"No no no no—!" His anguished groan mingled with angry honks. He tossed down his controller as Mabel sailed past his disabled car. "I'm not playing with Bill in the room."

Mabel laughed. "You're a sore loser!"

"I'll be out of your matted hair in a few minutes," Bill said. "You're cranky, go get a juice."

Dipper stomped from the room, grumbling. "Whatever, I'm getting a snack." He pointed at Bill, "Not because you told me to! I'm just hungry! It's got nothing to do with you!"

"Sure." Bill nudged Mabel again. "C'mon, let me use my training. Don't think I haven't noticed you're trying to mold me into a model citizen. Why bother if I never get a chance to act like one?"

Mabel looked at him thoughtfully. "You know what? Okay. I guess not wanting people to be mad at you is a good enough reason to apologize." She'd been hoping he'd land on genuine remorse, but she'd take what she could get.

"Great! Fisherman's out, Questiony's working, Sixer's gonna be in his cave til dinner, Dolores doesn't care—" Bill gestured toward the door, "so let's get the bracelets and get to the kid's house while the adults are distracted."

Mabel grimaced. "Oough. Right. We have to actually visit him."

"Unless you want me to mail an apology letter—"

"Definitely not." She sighed. "Well, if it's for the greater good... put on something other than a hoodie and let's go."

"You got it." Bill hopped off the couch and swung with one hand around the doorframe as he headed to the stairs.

####

Dipper tried to protest, but he'd missed his window to talk Mabel out of it; and so Bill and Mabel headed out, with Bill in a loose smiley face-covered Hawaiian shirt—Mabel approved of the friendly message—an undershirt, the leggings that looked like jeans, and his dress shoes. In other words, about as disarmingly unthreateningly un-Bill-like as he could get. He seemed to get bouncier and more energetic the longer they walked outside, until by the time they were turning onto Gideon's street he was cartwheeling up the sidewalk.

Bill waited for Mabel to open the gate in front of Gideon's house; but while Bill blithely passed through, Mabel lingered behind a few steps. Bill paused and glanced back. "Hey. All good, star girl?"

"Yeah." Mabel laughed nervously and caught up. "Just... haven't been to his house since before he got weird. Kinda gives me the willies now."

"Can't blame you. This is the guy who agreed to be my sheriff in exchange for custody of your bubble key."

Mabel cringed. "Did he really?"

"Oh yeah. Think he was planning to visit you in there until he wooed you? I never asked him. I didn't want the details."

"Ugh." Mabel shuddered.

Bill paused. "Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned that ten feet from his front door."

"It's... it's fine." She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "Greater good. Right?"

He didn't answer immediately, tapping a foot as he thought. "Listen. Once we're in there, do you want me to go somewhere private to talk with him? So you don't have to worry about him leering at you the whole time?"

"Would you?" Mabel's shoulders slumped as a little tension eased up, relief obvious on her face. "But how will I know if you've apologized properly?"

"That little tattle will tell you if I do an awful job." Bill laughed. "Come on! I don't need you grading me on a rubric! Gimme a chance to prove I can say 'I'm sorry' without my life coach telling me how to behave."

"Thanks, Bill." She gave him a quick hug.

"Sure, any time kid. I'm not about to let any creeps get to you on my watch." Bill stretched his arms out, fingers laced together. "Ready?" When Mabel nodded, Bill knocked on the door.

After a long moment, a worried-looking, gray-haired woman opened the door. "Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Gleeful!" Bill offered a partial bow. "We're here to visit Gideon, he should be expecting us. Would you let him know we're here?"

"Oh. Yes, of course." Her voice was a hushed murmur, as though she were talking to herself—or perpetually concerned about being overheard. She didn't raise her voice much as she called into the house, "Gideon? You have visitors."

Voice muffled, Gideon shouted from upstairs, "Who is it!"

Joy glanced over Bill and Mabel, but her gaze lingered on Mabel's face. "Oh. Aren't you that girl he...?"

"It's Mabel."

Joy said, "It's Mabel, and—"

Gideon let out an alarmed squawk. "Ohmygoodness. JUST A MINUUUTE! Where did I leave my cologne—"

Joy watched the ceiling nervously, listening to the subtle thuds.

Bill glanced her up and down, as though sizing up what he had to work with; and then he smiled brightly and said, "Well, I'm sure the little star's preparing a big entrance! Shall we wait inside?"

Joy started a little. "Oh—yes, of course. Please, come in." She pulled the door open wider and gestured to the sitting area.

Bill and Mabel took a seat on the couch. Bill crossed one ankle over his knee in a casual figure 4, and gestured to the armchair as though he were the host giving his guest permission to sit. Joy hesitated, but took the seat, sitting straight up without touching the back of the seat, feet together and hands laced over her knees.

"And how has Gideon been lately?" Bill asked. "We haven't had a chance to catch up since last summer!"

"Oh—I'm sure he's probably fine," Joy said, eyes darting around—to the clean carpet, to the framed pictures hanging straight on the wall, to the doorway into the kitchen.

"'Probably'?" Bill echoed.

"Well. He's really closer to his father, you see..."

"Nonsense." Bill lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I trust a woman's intuition on this sort of thing." He paused. "I'd wink here, but uh..." He gestured at his eye patch and shrugged with a helpless grin.

Joy curled her lips into her mouth and, for the first time since she'd opened the door, for a fraction of a second, nearly almost smiled. But it faded quickly; and when she spoke, her voice was low enough that Mabel had to lean halfway across the coffee table to hear her. (Bill didn't even move.) "You should probably know before you see him: he... has seemed a little bit cranky, recently."

"Oh?" Bill prompted.

(Mabel mumbled, "'Recently'?" and Bill nudged her.)

"Nothing like he was when he—" Joy faltered and quickly course corrected, "before his arrest. But, a bit. But then he's going through so much—reintegrating into life on the outside, trying to make friends at school..."

"Say, that's nice to hear! Has he made many?"

Joy hesitated. "He's always been... such a precocious child. It makes it hard for him to relate to other... And honestly, I think most of the children are jealous of his talents."

Bill nodded sympathetically. "I'm sure they are. Kids can be so cruel when they notice someone special. The nail that sticks out gets hammered down."

Joy nodded. "Yes—exactly. And he's so... sensitive."

Bill gave Mabel a warning glance. She pursed her lips tightly and puffed out her cheeks. Satisfied she wasn't about to weigh in on why Gideon wasn't making friends, Bill turned back to Joy. "Do you think that's what's been bothering him lately?"

"Well, yes, there's that."

Voice a tad lower, Bill prompted, "And...?"

Joy paused. She twisted her hands together. "And—I think he might be concerned about his father's business."

"Oh, the auto dealership?" Bill sat up a little. "I hope it hasn't been struggling lately?"

"It's... been a slow few months," Joy said. "It must be weighing on him—"

"He doesn't feel responsible, does he?"

Joy quickly shook her head. "Of course not. It isn't his fault. But he's just a little boy, there's not much he can do to help. Besides perform in a commercial, maybe—and he doesn't like that, we don't make him do that anymore—or..." She trailed off. "Well. Not knowing how to help or what to do... I can imagine he must feel... guilty." She stared down at her hands as she spoke.

Bill's gaze never wavered from her face. He nodded slowly. "I'm sure the business must be weighing on the whole family. It can't be easy for you, Joy—keeping a household running during such a difficult time." He gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll see what I can do to help you all."

Joy stared at his face, eyes shining. "I'm, sorry—did I catch your name?"

"Mr. Locke is fine, thanks. I was in business talks with your son before his incarceration."

Mabel leaned against Bill and whispered, "You mean he hired you to invade my grunkle's brain—"

Bill elbowed her.

Footsteps scurried down the stairs. "I'm coming!" Gideon rushed into the room, tugging his sleeves down his wrists, all gussied up and reeking of three separate hair products. "Hi Mabel my honey pie! What a pleasant surprise, what brings you by so s—" His gaze fixed on Bill, and his sweet smile twisted into fury. "You!"

Joy quickly stood up. "I should be—vacuuming the dining room." She hurried from the room, giving Gideon a wide berth as she went. The sound of vacuuming quickly filled the house.

Gideon never looked away from Bill. "Just what do you think y—"

Bill was on his feet and sweeping across the room before Gideon could get more out. "Hello again! I don't think we were properly introduced. The name's Goldie Locke." He blinked. "Wink."

Gideon grimaced. "You serious? Goldilocks? That's the best you could do?"

"I thought it was funny!"

Mabel scooted up onto the arm of the sofa, took a leap off, and landed next to Bill. "I came up with it!"

Gideon smiled uncomfortably. "Oh—sure, sure. Real cute."

"We came by so Goldie here," Mabel poked Bill's arm with both hands, "could give you a proper apology for his... 'prank.'" She got behind Bill and poked him in the back, directing him toward the stairs. "So you two go off somewhere private and do that! Go! Go on!"

"Wh— private?" Gideon leaned around Bill to give Mabel a pleading look. "M-Mabel, aren't you coming too?"

Mabel laughed nervously. "No, definitely not. I'm staying right here."

"But—but—"

"It's fine! If he tries any—" her voice dropped to a whisper, "—weird space demon magic—you can just scream. But he's basically harmless! I promise."

"But... I don't wanna be alone with..."

Bill put a hand on Gideon's back, turned him around, and practically dragged him toward the stairs. "And she doesn't want to be alone with you, and I'm going to respect her wishes."

Gideon hissed at Bill. He wasn't quite sure what to do when Bill hissed back. No one had ever done that before.

"You've got nothing to worry about," Bill said, giving Gideon a very worrying smile. "I just want an opportunity to show you the sincerity of my remorse. A little heart-to-heart! And anyway, you and I have a lot of catching up to do."

####

The moment Gideon's bedroom door shut, Bill said, in an exaggeratedly innocent golly-gee-whiz voice, "'Well, Mabel, the thing is, I was just cranky because I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in days, because Gideon's been broadcasting mind control dreams to the town multiple times a week! Yeah, you know how you've been waking up feeling hypnotically compelled to buy a car? Good ol' Gideon! But you're right, bullying isn't the solution! I should have just asked him to cast his brainwashing spell a little further from the Mystery Shack—'" Bill cut off with a laugh. "I take it you get the picture! Your flesh is as white as your hair! It's—it's creepy. Stop it."

Gideon was already on the far side of the room, holding a floating arm desk lamp toward Bill like a sword. Voice shaking, he asked, "How do you know about that spell? H-how are you even alive? And here like... like this?"

"Does it matter?" Bill meandered around the room, looking at Gideon's matching nightstands, his TV, the floppy teddy bear on his bed. "Here's the only important question: what's it worth to you for me not to spill the beans to your sweetheart?"

Gideon swallowed hard.

As Bill rounded the bed, Gideon backed away from him until his back was pressed against the wall between his vanity and his dresser. Bill leaned over to look under the bed and nudged a rolled-up tarp with his foot. It unrolled across the floor, revealing Gideon's magic circle. "Uh-huh."

"Please stop looking around my room."

"Relax, I just want to see what's changed! This is hardly the first time I've seen your room." He glanced down at the subtle depiction of his face woven into the pattern on Gideon's carpet. "I've had eyes in here since you were a baby."

He leaned over Gideon's bed, studying his knit zodiac blanket. "Although this eye is new. You went with red, white, and blue? How patriotic." He tugged at the blanket's edges, straightening it out. "Lots of pilling on the yarn, this thing's been very well loved. Does it still smell like Shooting Star, you cretin?"

"You keep your hands off of Mabel's blanket, you—!" Gideon swung his lamp toward Bill. It missed by a foot.

Bill didn't even flinch. "You're very lucky that you missed." For a moment, his voice was inhumanly low.

Gideon's blood ran cold. He clutched the lamp against his chest. "W-what do you want from me? I'm sorry I disturbed your sleep, all right? Is that what you want to hear?!"

"It's a good start!" Bill sat on Gideon's bed and made himself comfortable, propping himself up on his elbows, ankles crossed casually, resting in the center of his own zodiac. "Now, promise you'll stop advertising in people's dreams, and everything's forgiven!"

"I..." Gideon bit his lip.

Bill grinned a little wider. "What's the problem, kid? It's not like your daddy needs you running his advertising campaign! The family finances aren't resting on your shoulders!" He laughed.

Gideon just bit his lip harder.

"Oh wait. Maybe they are. Are they?"

He looked down at the tarp. "Mrrng."

Bill sat up, leaning forward until he caught Gideon's gaze again. "So sorry, Star Boy! I didn't realize how serious your situation is!" His wicked smile said otherwise. "Wow, that must be so hard for you—the family breadwinner, at such a young age. Knowing your family needs you to keep them afloat. And it's not like you can just go out and get a job! So what can you do, except... well, whatever it is you already know how to do? Putting on a good show, right?"

"It's not like that," Gideon snapped, ignoring the weight in the pit of his stomach. He looked down at his lamp weapon and tugged anxiously at one of his sleeves. "It—it's not as though we're broke! We just... might have to tighten our belts a little bit, that's all. It's normal, most businesses have their ups and downs."

"Of course. Just no big shopping trips for a while! Pity you're about to need a whole new wardrobe, though." Bill casually pushed himself off Gideon's bed, taking a step closer. "Hey, wanna know when your next growth spurt starts?"

Gideon shrank down. "No."

"It costs a lot to keep a growing kid clothed. And fed, and stocked with school supplies... If father asks for a little help, how can you refuse? If you don't, you could lose the business, lose your house, lose everything... all that, plus knowing it'd be your fault for not doing what you can? It's heartbreaking."

Bill leaned over Gideon, propping himself up with a hand on his dresser, trapping him in his shadow. Gideon cringed; but Bill asked, voice unexpectedly low and almost gentle, "You're so important. There's a helplessness that comes from wielding that kind of power, isn't there?"

The weight in Gideon's stomach grew heavier. Bill must have been watching his life ever since last fall; that was the only way he could have understood what Gideon was feeling so well. And yet—hearing someone else put it into words was a strange relief. He'd cut to the bleeding core of the issue. Gideon was the only one with the power to do anything, so he had to do something. It was a helplessness.

"Yeah." Gideon put his lamp back on his dresser, defeated. "Yeah, there is."

Bill crouched in front of Gideon, meeting him at eye level. "It just so happens that I'm sympathetic to your situation, kid. I get it." It was hard to read the mood in Bill's alien gaze; but for a moment, Gideon was sure he really did see a glimmer of sympathy in his slit pupil. "So how about this: I could help you out. Make some calls, pull some strings... give the family business a little boost," he said. "If you do me a couple small favors first."

Outraged, Gideon shouted, "You're blackmailing me into working for you again?! You—!" With a furious grunt, Gideon shoved Bill away from him.

To his surprise (and immediate horror), Bill lost balance, toppling onto his back with a yelp. But he just rolled onto his side and hopped back to his feet, laughing. "No no no! I'm blackmailing you into knocking off the annoying dream spell. That's all! Cut it out, or I'm telling Mabel. And—heck, how about the police while I'm at it?"

"You wouldn't—"

"I am pals with the sheriff and the mayor. Mind control happens to already be illegal in Gravity Falls, you can thank Quentin Trembley for that—such a forward thinker! I don't think there are any state-level laws yet, but I bet they'll wriiite ooone just for yoo-oou." The last sentence came out as a singsong taunt. "Anyway: drop the mind control. That's all I'm asking for. Okay?"

Gideon had circled around Bill to his bed, where he pulled off his zodiac blanket and bundled it against his chest. He wasn't sure which sounded worse. Prison probably should, but the thought of giving Mabel a fresh reason to hate him... He looked down at the blanket, and heaved a shaky sigh. "Okay."

"So? We're agreed? No more dream advertisements?"

"No more dream advertisements. You win."

"Great!" Bill beamed at Gideon. "But then, completely separately, if you want help saving the family business... well, offer's on the table! In fact, I'd happily offer to help without asking anything in return—"

"—you should, it's mostly your fault—"

"—except that, with my own situation being like it is, what with the limited access to my usual resources... I need you to help me help you." He spread his hands apologetically. "Nothing I can do about it."

Gideon pressed his lips together, looking down at his zodiac blanket. A fold in the fabric displayed part of the ripped heart. Gideon plucked out the blanket until he could glimpse the top of the shooting star.

He swallowed hard. "No. Absolutely not."

Bill blinked. "'Scuse me?"

"I can't accept your help," Gideon said. "I lead a support group of ex-cons—the very same ones I stupidly led into battle for you—and what would they say if they heard I was working for you again?"

The indulgent smile on Bill's face vanished. Rage flashed in his eye. "What would they say if they learned you're the first among them to reoffend?" He pointed at Gideon's magic circle. "Wouldn't they be disappointed. Aren't they your followers these days?"

Gideon squirmed under Bill's glare, backing away until he bumped into one of his nightstands. "F... 'followers'?"

"Your devotees—now that your Tent of Telepathy audience has abandoned you." The new smile that twisted across Bill's face now was hard and cruel, and his eye fixed like a prison searchlight on Gideon made Bill seem much closer than he was. "Isn't being worshiped sublime, Star Boy? That unconditional love? A worshiper will always be more reliable than some girl's fickle heart. But even the most 'unconditional' love always comes with fine print. How far are you willing to go to remain worthy of their love?"

Bill pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and waved it in the air. "We both know you'll help your daddy's business. The only question is if you'll do it your way, or mine." He placed the paper on Gideon's dresser and tapped it with his finger. "My way doesn't even involve breaking the law."

Gideon shook his head. "I won't..."

"I'll leave it with you anyway."

Bill strolled around the bed. "Well! I think we're finished here, how about you?" He stopped in front of the door.

He turned back. "Gideon, you're gonna have to get the door, I can't..."

"What?" Gideon asked. "Y'can't what?"

Bill huffed. "I'm sort of under this curse? So. If you could just—"

Gideon burst out laughing in disbelief. "The Amnesia Limina curse? You can't open doors?! Are you kidding me!"

"I can still ruin the rest of your embarrassingly short mortal life, you twit. Just—just get over here—"

Still laughing, Gideon crossed the room and got the door.

"Yeah. Thanks. Great."

As they came downstairs, Mabel hopped off the sofa. "Sooo? How'd the apology go?"

"Great!" Bill got in front before Gideon had a chance to speak. "I think we really understand each other better. Isn't that right, Gideon?"

Gideon grumped, "I think it's the worst 'apology' I've ever heard."

Bill gave him a dirty look powerful enough to kill a skittish horse; but he flinched under the weight of Mabel's disappointed frown. He laughed nervously, "Okay, so I still need some practice with my delivery! Human tones are finicky." He stared at Gideon. "But you accept the overall content of it, right?"

Bill was giving Gideon the creepiest smile he'd ever seen. But Mabel, on the other hand, was giving him this hopeful look—like she wanted this to go well so badly, and only Gideon could make or ruin her day. There's a helplessness that comes with wielding that kind of power.

In the world Gideon had been raised in, if someone who has transgressed against you apologizes, you don't have the right to withhold their forgiveness—it makes you as bad as the transgressor. The only way he could refuse was if he told Mabel he hadn't even gotten any apology; but there was no way to say that without admitting what they'd really discussed. "Yeah," Gideon muttered at his shoes. "I s'pose I accept it."

"Yes!" Mabel pumped a fist in the air so enthusiastically she lifted a few inches off the floor. "Great work! Happy face stickers for everybody!" She smacked a sticker on Bill's shirt and Gideon's lapel.

They tugged out their clothes to inspect their stickers. Bill's had a giant yellow smiley face over the words "Good job!" Gideon's had a smiling whale surrounded by the words "WHALE DONE". They were both disproportionately elated by their prizes.

"So can we go now?" Mabel whispered, "I feel like Mr. Gleeful's new clown painting is staring at me."

"Just one second. I should have a word with the missus of the house." Bill waved back at the kids as he trotted from the room. "Be right back!"

Mabel eyed Gideon warily.

Gideon smiled winningly. "So, Mabel. As long as you're already over here, would you like to stay for dinner—?"

"Nuh-uh." She turned and headed for the door. "Goodbye forever!"

"Aw."

Bill followed the sound of vacuuming through the kitchen into the dining room, and rapped on the doorframe. "Knock knock."

Joy flinched and spun around. "Oh." She turned off her vacuum. "Yes, Mr. Locke?"

"Just wanted to thank you for your hospitality before we leave!"

"Oh—yes, of course. You're welcome."

He lowered his voice, "And I also wanted to tell you not to worry about a thing. I'm sure everything will turn out fine for your family—and for you." He flashed her a winning smile.

She hesitantly nodded. "Thank you."

####

As they walked to the gate around the Gleeful property, Mabel said, "You weren't just all talk with Gideon's mom, were you? You actually are planning to help her."

Bill gave her a surprised look. "Something like that. How'd you know?"

"You told her to call you Mister. That means you mean business!"

A crooked smile stretched across his face. "Hey! No fair, you know too much. You're figuring out all my secrets."

Out on the sidewalk, Bill did a cartwheel, attempted to turn it into a handstand, and fell on the sidewalk. He brushed off a scraped elbow with a grumble and got back up. Well, it matched his burn on the other side.

"4 out of 10."

"I didn't ask."

Mabel snickered. "You know—your conversation with Gideon might not have gone perfectly. But you realized you did something wrong, you apologized for it, and you're gonna do better." She patted his arm. "I'm really proud of you, Bill. That's some serious growth."

"Really?"

"Really."

He beamed. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had been proud of him. (Granted, he didn't generally tolerate relationships in which somebody felt like they had enough superiority over him to feel "pride" toward his actions. Generally "awe" or "admiration" were more common.) He was basking in the praise. He was over the moon. He was euphoric. He was the best person to ever exist.

The fact that the praise was horribly misplaced didn't faze him in the least.

####

Gideon had spent the past minute picking peas out of his pot pie and scooting them to the edge of his plate.

Bud cleared his throat. "Son, you really ought to eat your vegetables. And they'll taste better mixed in with the rest of your food than all by themselves."

"I don't want my peas."

"But they're good for you! Don't you want to grow up big and strong—?"

Gideon flinched. He pounded the table. "I said I don't WANT my peas!"

"All right, okay, that's fine! Just thought I'd suggest it."

Gideon grumpily scooped up a forkful of chicken, carrots, and corn, eyed the carrots skeptically, and took a bite. It was fine. "So, father. How was work?"

Bud sighed. "Oh, it would've made more sense just to close for the day. At least then I wouldn't be wasting money on air conditioning the office."

"Oh." Gideon stabbed at a lone piece of corn with his fork. "Maybe we oughta... stop with the nighttime ads. It doesn't sound like they're helping."

"Ahh, you might be right."

Gideon heaved a sigh of relief.

"I just don't know what else to try." Bud shook his head. "I've tried newspaper ads, TV ads, radio ads, billboards, fliers, sales, cutting brake lines..." He settled his hand near Gideon's spot at the table. "Son, you know I know you're doing the best you can to help our family, and it means more to me than I can say. But, if there's anything else you can think of...?"

Gideon tried to avoid his father's gaze—and instead, spotted his mother. She usually kept to herself during dinner, wholly focused on her own plate when she wasn't setting out dishes or cleaning them up. But tonight, she was looking right at Gideon. Like she expected something out of him, too.

He shrank into his seat. "Well. I've got one other idea I could try."

####

Gideon shut the door to his room—and, just to be safe, stuck his chair under the doorknob. Then he gingerly picked up the paper on the dresser and unfolded it.

The same tall, thin handwriting as on the letter he'd received—but even more cramped, cramming as much text on one torn-out book page as possible. A terse paragraph of instructions, a phone number, a numbered list of questions, a prepared statement.

Gideon got his mobile phone and a notebook, set up to take notes at his vanity, took a deep breath, let it out, and dialed the number. As the phone rang, he looked at himself in the mirror and muttered, "Heaven help me if I'm facilitating the start of Armageddon."

Then someone picked up, and he held the phone up to his ear. "Hello? Oh, right, er—" He read off the paper Bill had given him, "'But rises gold over the pyramid.' ... Yes. Mhm, I'm calling on behalf of... of Bill Cipher. ... My name's not important, I'm just the messenger—oh, oh you recognize my voice! Haha!" He mopped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. "A-always nice to meet a fan! Yeah, we know each other. Small world. N... no, he didn't give me my... I was—was psychic before I met him, actually. Sorry, I didn't catch your name—who'm I speaking to?"

Gideon looked at Bill's list of questions, wrote a 1. in his notebook, and beside it wrote "Sue Blime." One question down. "I have a message to pass on."

####

He pushed harder.

Her skin fractured and peeled off, strand after strand. It filled the spaces between his fingertips, wrapped up his arms. He could shut his eye but he still saw it through his eyelid, still felt it tickling at the corners of his mouth. He let out an angry, hysterical, broken laugh.

And then he laughed louder, and louder—higher, shriller, echoing all the way to the distant stars. "What am I doing?" He opened his eye and looked at his hands, tangled with gold threads and soaked in blood. He laughed again, gleeful. "What am I doing! None of this is real! This is a dream! We're in my dreamscape. None of this matters! I control all of you!"

Bill controlled all of them.

He effortlessly peeled his arm off the plane of his dimension into the third, still tangled in gore, and spun his finger. The golden shreds of skin let go of his hand, rotating around his hand in a loose tornado. Cackling again, he rose up into space, looping like a paper airplane on a breeze, telekinetically twirling the countless golden shreds with him like he was doing a ribbon dance. And wasn't it beautiful? He was changing their color—yellow green blue violet red orange yellow—he was melting them down to floating drops of liquid gold, he was making them vanish into thin air. There was no blood on his hands. There never had been. He had never killed. His mother did not exist.

He glanced toward the stars. "Am I gonna have any meddling from you? Want to sell me any cars tonight?"

The stars didn't answer. Good. He didn't want his show interrupted by a commercial break.

"I control you," Bill announced to the crowd of assembled worshipers below, numb and thoughtless and unmoving while the god of this dream had no use for them to live. "You answer to me!" He jabbed his thumb against his golden face—not the internal organs exposed to the third dimension the rest of the shapes had, but the exoskeleton he wouldn't start wearing until centuries after this memory. "The only life you have is in my head! All of you, all of you have been burned away for a trillion years!" He paused, then flashed two finger guns at a red hexagon in the crowd. "All except you, Hect. Always great to see a long-time fan!"

In the field of frozen shapes, Bill's memory of Hectorgon hesitantly waved.

"But..." Beneath Bill, still as aghast as he'd been so many eons ago, still playing his part to move this dream along, his father said, "But... what are we going to tell your followers?"

"Ugh, you're such a downer. Give it a rest, you old square!" Bill did something no prisoner of the second dimension had ever been capable of doing: he snapped his fingers. His father silently dissolved into origami butterflies and fluttered into space. "You barely even liked her."

He floated back down to the plane, lacing his fingers together to stretch his arms in front of him. "I don't need you," he muttered. "I've got this handled. I've always been the one who had this handled. Now let's end this dream the right way."

Time to sucker his suckers.

He swooped through the open doors to speak to his assembled worshipers as effortlessly as though he'd been doing this a trillion years: "My beautiful, loving believers! I have wonderful news. Your high priestess—my mother—has passed on; but, you should be celebrating! Because she hasn't abandoned us! Her spirit's just ascended—not up, but out of our dimension and into the third, where the spirits of all departed shapes live on! Her spirit's formed a bridge from there to me, and through me to you! She's revealed the true nature of the third dimension—a sublime realm of color and life—and I'll reveal it to you, too!"

The black starry void of the third dimension above Bill mutated as he spoke; now, it was raucous colors, beams of light, and glittery gold. Faraway neon-colored shapes danced deliriously through nebulas and clouds.

"I'll teach you the secrets passed down to us from the enlightened third-dimensional spirits; I'll show you how to see it all for yourself... and if you follow me, if you devote yourself entirely to my teachings, if you trust me blindly—blindly, for I can see what others can't—then I'll guide you INTO the third dimension! I will be your teacher, your divine guide, your muse! So tell me: do you trust me?"

The worshipers cheered.

"Do you worship me?!"

The worshipers screamed.

"Do you love me!"

The worshipers howled, mad with love for Bill, ripping each other apart in a spontaneous outpouring of zealotry.

Bill's shrieking laughter rose up above the roar of his imaginary crowd.

####

For the first time since his death, Bill woke fully rested. Dawn streamed in through the attic window, shining golden on the cloud of curly hair dangling in front of his eyes. And wasn't it beautiful? He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothed it back, and pushed it into the right shape.

He checked to make sure no humans were coming for a while, slid Journal 4 out of its hiding place, and flipped to the page where he'd stuck his "Good Job!" sticker. He'd used his stolen half-dried marker to blacken the sides of the yellow smiley face, turning it from a circle into a triangle, draining the last of its ink in the process. He wasted four pages with every detail he could recollect from this dream, going on and on about how easy it had been to assert his rightful control, how effortless to control time and space. If he ever found the human who wrote that lucid dreaming guide, he was giving 'em a planet.

At the end, he wrote in English, "You'll regret turning me down as your teacher, Stanford. You can't even imagine how many people would have committed murder to get that kind of attention. But I gave it to you."

He tried to remember how that sermon had really gone.

What did he need to remember the truth for? It must have gone something like that. He wouldn't still be here if it hadn't, would he?

####

(Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, I'd appreciate a comment!! Next week we kick off with more of Bill's history—and then start ramping up for the biggest, longest plot arc so far.)

#bill cipher #(for the art)#human bill cipher #gideon gleeful #(for the chapter)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #(I'm disappointed i didn't get to draw Bill menacing Gideon; but i only had time for one illustration and i picked Lots Of Colors.)#(plus it's nice every once in a while to get a reminder of what Bill actually looks like)

544 notes · View notes

typing-catastrophe · 2 months ago

Note

I have been so cooked for this man lately that I need to talk about him— I genuinely think that with a ADHD/autism/AuDHD partner Ford takes notes on your stims and quirks, even before any serious relationship. Just little things like “waves hands when excited :)” and “prefers baggy sweaters” just like a little way of understanding you better 🥺💖

yesss definitely! as an AuDHDer who stims a lot myself, this is everything!! jfskhfshsk

--------------------------------------------------

"Aaaahhhhh oh myy-" the rest of what you were saying was incomprehensible because the words slurred together in an excited squeal. A gleeful expression upon your face, you waved and shook your hands in front of your body, then pressed them over your mouth, to stifle another squeal.

Ford smiled to himself as he watched you from the other side of the room, where he propped his notebook open to scribble something down.

"Heeyyyyy Grunkle Ford, watcha got there?" Mabel's voice rang out right beside him.

He snapped the book shut and whipped his head around.

"Mabel!"

"Waves hands when excited." she cited what she had just read, "Were you talking about-"

"No, I was certainly not!" Ford said, while his cheeks started to turn a deep red colour.

"Are you suuuure? Because to me it looks like you diiiid." she said, a cheeky grin on her face and dragging some of the vowels.

"You are mistaken, dear child. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." he excused himself and stood up, holding the notebook close to him.

Without letting her get another word in, he moved past her and made his way into his study.

There, he propped open the notebook to the page he'd just added a new note onto.

- likes to hum when no one is around - seems to prefer more loose fitting clothes. possibly because the don't restrict movement as much - will subconsciously play and fidget with any jewellery they're wearing - sorts and eats their food in a particular order - would rather not eat at all than something not appealing - skin irritating clothing causes great discomfort. remove tags!! - wants to talk but holds back. encouraging them has positive effect - avoids eye contact but will look at faces when the person isn't looking at them - do not touch without warning and do not force contact! expressed great discomfort to me after being forced to physical contact by someone else - repeating phrases and noises (quite endearing) - easily startled by sudden and loud noises, as well as irritated by high pitched ones, almost too quite to hear - shows behaviours similar to felines. has stated that they would be delighted to posses the ability to purr (he would be delighted too)

Ford smiled as he looked up and leaned back. He really hoped Mabel hadn't seen too much, otherwise she might figure out how interested in you he really was. And we wasn't sure if he was ready for that.

For now he would be very much content continuing to dreamily gaze over at you and notice all the little things, so he could understand you better.

Maybe one day he could work up the courage to ask you out.

-------------------------------------------------- thank you for reading <3 reblogs are appreciated

244 notes · View notes

mallleus · 3 months ago

Text

Ford with a Hispanic wife/husband/spouse

in this HC, I see (reader) as his assistant and partner.

speaks your language with you

You bring him food when he's down in the lab/study

there are at least 2 handmade lace tablecloths he uses in his study

Calls you " Mi Alma"

Finds it absolutely bonkers you eyeball all your recipes, he needs to see it written and to follow it to a T

^ This inspires you to make your own family recipe book which he uses and makes his own when it's his turn to cook ( Yes Mabel added her own recipes too)

Several San Marcos(The warmest Tiger) blankets around the house because he falls asleep wherever. He always wakes up so warm.

He listens to you but sometimes when he keeps insisting the research is too important to leave alone you bring out The Chanqleta

Caldo de Pollo victim #4

because of the portal incident, you faked being married to Stan.

^ Ford Punched him twice " That for stealing MY WIFE/HUSBAND/SPOUSE!"

Favorite food is his wife's/husband's/spouse's food

Dipper loves speaking with you because you're smart like him and DON'T make fun of him unlike SOME PEOPLE

Because I like this idea, I like the idea of (reader) just knowing how to use a gun, which scares everyone.

the night he came back through the portal, you just traced his palm, his fingers, and his face.

makes him cookies with jelly beans or smth

#gravity falls #ford pines #stanford pines #stanford pines x reader #mabel pines #stanley pines #dipper pines #yall can tell I prefer Stan right

263 notes · View notes

wittymumbledon · 8 days ago

Text

With how much gravity falls stuff I’ve been working on lately it’s taken me a while to get around to finishing this (long enough for me to nearly finish reading over the first “season” for the third time in a row) but here it is!! A double-page spread dedicated to @ckret2’s golden-haired menace, because I wanted NEEDED to show my appreciation for this fucking amazing AU ✨

Figuring out how to translate Goldie into my style was really fun--I tried to stay true to the original, but kinda subconsciously also added elements from my own Bill which I think is neat (namely the angular smile and triangular brows). I dunno why I gave him That One Curl (TM) but once I noticed it I tried to carry it through all the pics--the hair as a whole was really fun, especially messing around with the textures when it was--well, say, messy.

I redrew some of my fav frames/story moments (plus a couple extras: the cleaning one is inspired by when i was cleaning irl, and realized that Goldie made me feel a lot less dysphoric about wearing leggings and tank tops 'round the house. Thus - in tribute to the irony - Bill gets my leggings fdfhjdfhdf)

but that barely even scratches the surface of just the pure, gloriously hilarious chaos that this beast has to offer-- not to mention the simple fact that it is just. REALLY well written: the attention to details from the books, the comics, and the show itself; the way each character is visibly flawed in some way, be it with their morals, or their actions, or the soundness of their morals; the way each chapter healthily mixes random show-like chaos with genuinely useful info that later BEAUTIFULLY Chekov Gun's itself right back into the culmination of each saga -- it all feels so aware and true to canon and so, so, SO beautifully ALIVE. Dare I say it is one of my absolute favourite fanworks that I've ever read.

Speaking of which - if you’ll excuse me - I have some chapters to catch up on. Like I said - I’ve specifically held off reading the latest ones so that i’d finish the fanart faster and so that i’d have an excuse to make more. looking at you - bill’s abomikini /hj

If you've made it through my lil essay there I appreciate it so much <3

Bonus: I wove a lil bracelet inspired by the one Mabel made for Bill✨

Didn’t have the right colours of embroidery thread on hand so I used yarn instead, but that actually ended up working perfectly with the beads I had (just plain ol' blue ones, cause I wasn’t sure if using nazar beads would have been culturally insensitive or not - nor did I have any nazar beads that I could have used in the first place - but hey! these ones are nice and shiny and the colour works well imo)

90 notes · View notes

tiredandoptimistic · 3 months ago

Text

Buckle up, it's Mabel Pines hours.

I keep thinking about her choice at the end of Dipper and Mabel vs the Future, when she takes "Blendin" up on his offer of creating a time bubble. I know there's been a million words typed about this, but she really had nothing waiting for her back home.

I know the show tends to act like Mabel was the popular one while Dipper was the outcast (like in the Valentine's flashback), but I genuinely can't believe that Mabel was 100% accepted for her freak self in middle school. Yes, she's bright and bubbly, but she's also deeply strange and borders on disturbing in a lot of ways (to be clear, I mean this as a compliment, but most seventh graders probably wouldn't appreciate her grappling hook and Mabel Juice). Maybe people liked her on some level, maybe she was social, but she didn't have friends like Candy and Grenda in California. Think about it, she never mentions anybody specific back home; almost like there isn't anybody she actually feels close to on a deep level.

She was probably okay like that for a long time. She didn't need friends who understood all of her quirks, because she had her brother for that. Dipper might be pretty different from Mabel on the surface, but in every way that mattered he was there for her 100%. Nevertheless, I think there was a lot of loneliness building within Mabel for a long time, whether or not she was aware of it. She may have thought she had everything a person needs, until she got to Gravity Falls and experienced for the first time what it was like to be genuinely accepted on every level; that moment of "oh this is what friendship is supposed to be like," the realization that all those previous dynamics provided company but not companionship.

So then, it's the end of the summer, and Mabel has to give up that safe space and go back to the real world. It sucks, but at least she's got Dipper to go through it with her. No matter what, she's always got her twin as her anchor, to keep her steady in any situation. Except; this time, he's not coming along. He gets to choose to stay in the adventure while she has to return to reality; he chose the part of him that's a scientist over the part that's Mabel's brother.

Now, Mabel's left with the prospect of returning to a life that's seeming evermore unfulfilling since she's finally got to experience a place that embraces her for all that she is. She's gone through a whole summer of the most incredible adventures, and has to go to a place without a single person who'll even believe her stories. Adding on to all that, we know from The Book of Bill that Dipper and Mabel's parents have been fighting. That's a rough as hell thing to deal with as a kid, but having a sibling like Dipper would have taken so much of the pressure off. Family is supposed to be the most stable thing in a kid's life, but now Mabel's parents have thrown their whole family dynamic into doubt, and she doesn't even have her brother to rely on as a point of consistency. It'll just be her, alone, unsure of what will happen next.

This isn't even touching on Stan and Ford, and how Mabel is literally living with an example of the worst that can happen when twins drift apart. Maybe once upon a time she could have had faith that even living in different states wouldn't weaken her bond with Dipper, but now she's seen how Ford prioritizing his science over his sibling lead to the two of them basically hating each other for over forty years (vast oversimplification, and I do completely get Ford's decision to go with West Coast Tech over treasure hunting with Stan, but it was undeniably the inciting incident in the complete implosion of their relationship). If Stan and Ford used to be just as close as Dipper and Mabel, then maybe a bit of separation is all it'll take for them to end up like their grunkles.

All this to say that I really, really get why Mabel was so desperate for anything that could make summer last a little longer. She'd just spend a day being beaten over the head with the fact that growing up is gonna suck (no more friends, no more brother, no more Gravity Falls; just high school hell), and she's lost the person who could have kept her steady through the transitional phase. Also, she was twelve. Middle schoolers are not known for their objective decision making.

I know we all love Mabel for what a weirdo she is, but it's important to remember that the world is not kind to weird little girls. We've literally seen it play out within the fandom. She needs someplace safe from the judgements and cruelty; and while summer can't last forever, she deserves to at least keep her brother by her side.

#i may be projecting onto mabel like crazy here #but believe it or not this doesn't even scratch the surface of my incredibly intense personal feelings about her #mabel pines i wish they hadn't made me hate you but i'm here for you now #mabel pines #dipper pines #stan pines #ford pines #gravity falls #the book of bill #my analysis

142 notes · View notes

lovemesomeagnst · 14 days ago

Note

What’s team red like in your au? I’m really curious about their dynamic :3

I actually have doodles and stuff planned for this tehe 🤭

So basically,

Dan is their engineer since he can help build stuff like how Ivy is the team’s mechanic

Carla is a getaway driver!!

Alex, which is Shermie’s son in this au, is their residential hacker. (Shermie does not know this.)

They’re still called Team Red because well the El Diablo is red and Stan wears red HAHA also their home base in Gravity Falls is like a secluded area. Basically like the Mystery Shack but with a few changes?

(I would have added soos, Wendy or Mabel and dipper but the timelines don’t match up unfortunately!!)

Alex bugged his way into Stan’s alliance when Stan was seeking quick refuge with Shermie’s family. It was super funny because Stan was busy plotting out his plans to thwart VILE and also not get caught by them in the middle of the night when Alex just questioned him about it.

Basically Alex: Heya uncle that looks hard, need any help?

And the next thing Stan knew he had a nephew on his side with impressive hacking skills to help him with his tasks. In return he teaches Alex some of his minor skills (how to steal and not get caught HELPP)

With Shermie and the rest of the fam not knowing I like to imagine family dinner with Shermie inviting Ford and it’s just Ford ranting about catching the super thief while Alex is off to the side like 👀.

Carla McCorkle and Stan ran into each other shortly after Stan left Shermie’s place and they had a talk and reconciled. After that they discussed further and Carla stubbornly inputted herself into Stan’s plans cause she was curious what he was planning to do. Also since she was concerned over what she’s observed from him when they were having a chat. As someone who had known Stan from his teen years, she’s someone who can understand him well and they became super close friends afterwards! She also smacks sense into him when needed!

‘Boyish’ Dan had been busy looking for a job and he came across Stan and Carla while they were stopping by Gravity Falls. He’s still young in this, maybe a teen? So Stan wasn’t so sure about having him on their team but since Alex was already in it he figured it wouldn’t be that bad. Dan impressed them all with his strength and skills to build stuff and after a whole discussion and a week of staying at Gravity Falls, the team decided to set up base there. Dan helped build their small shack (before it expands over time) and Stan was fine in letting him in the group. As normal Corduroy traits, Dan becomes a loyal and awesome asset to the team.

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four

90 notes · View notes

ladybracknellssherry · 11 months ago

Text

Good Omens Deep Dive Ahead! **I have edited and added to this several times now, but "ma point" has stayed the same. Probably every single reblog has a different version of this. It has turned into an absolute BEAST. You might be able to watch both seasons faster than read this at this point 😂😭

---------------------- Okay so I am rewatching S2 right now and golly. I've just noticed something. I'm sure it has already been noticed by plenty of other people so feel free to let me know, link me to some metas, please.

A lot of us have painstakingly analyzed every single frame, statue, clock tick, facial expression, and breath of the final 15. Good. Now we're going to look at the scene in S2E4/The Hitchhiker/1941 when Aziraphale and Crowley are in the bookshop doing their little pre-magic show warm-up roleplay foreplay bit. They're being surveilled by a bunch of half-witted nazi zombie spies. Aziraphale is trying to impress Crowley with his * m a g i c * Crowley is trying really hard to support his Angel.

The Blocking!

Keep in mind the camera angles are not quite the same between these scenes, the dimensions look a bit off because the lighting is completely different and therefore camera settings are different, and some of the furniture has moved a little bit in 90 years (but not much because Aziraphale)

1941 Crowley positions himself approximately / very nearly exactly in the same spot in the bookshop where present-day Crowley stops in the final 15 of S2E6 when Aziraphale says "Crowley, come back." The spot where shortly thereafter Crowley says the awful words that make us cry.

gif by stars-bean

gif by yellenabelova

1941 Azirphale with his little coins is standing in or very nearly in his same relative spot as in that scene, when present-day Aziraphale says "I need you," and "I don't think you understand what I'm offering you." And where shortly thereafter he says the awful words that make us cry.

gif by wearecrowley

gif by mabellous

Then Aziraphale gets a touch insecure when Crowley suggests they go to the magic shop because it is "for professional conjurors," and Crowley responds with his "My Nefertiti Fooling Fellow" line of support and encouragement and believing in Aziraphale. And in that moment Crowley stands and walks towards Aziraphale. And they are mere inches away from one another either fully in or very nearly exactly where they stood or rather will stand during the kiss. I'm not gonna post a kiss gif we have all seen it ten bajillion times and I do not need to cry tonight it is a Wednesday.

gif by gigew

gif by ajcrowleys

(I’m getting ahead of myself for a second but seriously, c’mon, just look at this fluff muffin's genuine smile above and tell me if it looks anything like that strained nightmare on his face in the gif below.)

gif by dykefaggotry

BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE. And take from this what you will. That happy little 1941 West End Girl with his vanished farthing basking in the glow of what he now knows is his Demon's adoration. Rotate our duo 180° around the bookshop and Az is now primed to move into the position where he gives his frantic The Metatron's not so bad of a dude and Heaven are the Good Guys and Crowley is one of the Bad Guys nonsense ridiculousness that totally walks back on Aziraphale's entire character growth over 2 seasons. Could it possibly visually represent that our favorite little white-winged stim-city cinnamon roll found himself in the final 15 in a situation at a complete 180° from that moment in 1941 when he was so happy and being genuinely sincerely himself and he was about to do something that he really actually genuinely wanted so badly to do and it was GOOD and it was RIGHT. Crowley's confession is obviously such a wildcard. At this point in 1941 Crowley is supporting and encouraging and working with Aziraphale and in the final 15 he is doing exactly not that.

And even more. In both the 1941 scene and the final 15, Crowley has just entered, respectively, a church and Heaven to save Aziraphale in the middle of the blitz/a demon army almost war battle. A massive atmospheric difference is that 1941 happens at night and the final 15 happens in the morning. We'll work on figuring out what that might represent.

And then we have some seriously upsetting parallel Angel/Demon on the shoulder blocking/framing moments.

gif by i-seeaspaceshipinthe-sky

gif by inhonoredglory

and

gif by inhonoredglory

And several more of such occur between the two scenes but I simply cannot.

And here's the part where I ramble and try to make sense of this in terms of the theories and fail miserably.

Get up, stretch your legs, have a glass of water, and take several deep breaths in.....and out..... You good? Let's go.

I've said it many times before and I stand by it that Aziraphale was lying through his teeth to Crowley in the final 15. Not because he wanted to lie to Crowley to convince him to come or to try to push him away - but because he was putting on a show for the Metatron. I think that just like the nazi zombies in 1941, the Metatron in S2E6 was absolutely watching Az's every move in the bookshop. And Az knew it. The first few times I watched it I thought Aziraphale's nervous glances to his left during his weird speech and the divorce were just nervous glances. Then I noticed that after he turned to face the other direction, his nervous glances went in the same direction, to his right side now, all the while to the window. It's alarming the frequency, several times a minute (but you were already acutely aware of the window glances you ineffably clever little shits.) I believe the whole final scene between our babies was an attempt at a sleight of hand by Aziraphale to subversively communicate with Crowley without letting on to the Metatron. How fitting that the parallel scene in 1941 revolved around supporting one another and planning and rehearsing for a performance that required for them to trust each other implicitly. And while I believe the act is for the Metatron, he is acting at Crowley - but expected him to catch on and act with him using coded language, movements, expressions, etc. that he expected/hoped Crowley would be able to read. However, both Crowley and Aziraphale in the final 15 were very clearly genuinely distraught for their own reasons. Crowley is about to finally verbally profess his love - and Aziraphale, I quite think, is terrified about his conversation with the Metatron and what's about to happen and is trying to come up with a tactic on the spot. It seems very likely to me that the intensity of their respective emotions in this moment absolutely doomed their communication.

How this all fits in with the leading theories.

I don't buy into the coffee theory. I think that was a metaphor or an allusion or symbolic of a very real "either accept my offer (which is not something you even want because everyone knows Aziraphale doesn't drink coffee) or suffer some dire consequences." I can't imagine Aziraphale would have ever thought the Metatron's offer was genuine and given out of merit. Surely he knew that he was in trouble. He'd thwarted the apocalypse, quit his job, stopped hiding that his person is a Demon, set off alarm bells in heaven twice in one week, blew up his halo and almost started a war, and hid an archangel on the lam. “You’re honest.” Bbgygrl bold face lied to the archangels for a week and the Metatron knows and Az knows he knows.

I'm not really for the body swap theory. Not really at all.

I’m not really for Angel!Crowley’s memory was wiped. How then would he remember the passwords? Crowley’s personality is very “that bitch” so I think all of his no-idea-who-tf-you-are interactions is just him being catty.

The time stop theory seems the most intriguing, I'm listening, but not yet sold. How prominently the ticking of the clock can be heard at all times in the bookshop feels important. I find myself flummoxed by the "missing minutes" / "continuity error" with that prominent clock in a show where the attention to detail is, “as you might say, a miracle,” that is propelling whole droves of human beings to the brink of discorporation. Here's an excellent breakdown of the timeline/examination of the clock in S2 by thesherrinfordfacility

I am, at this current moment in time, in the camp that believes Az likely attempted to convince Crowley to stop time so that he could explain the situation to him. To explain the threat - either implied, inferred, or direct - from the Metatron. To try to formulate a plan together. Check out this analysis from ineffableigh and take another look at Aziraphale babbling out his Heaven propaganda. Apparently the lip-reading theory that Az was mouthing about "time" has been debunked, but I stand by what looks like Aziraphale making the "time-out" hand gesture. And that damned clock loudly ticking its heart out all season must be important. Mustn't it??

Still, I'm not entirely convinced that any time stopping actually happened, not sure when it would have happened. Crowley was so emotional in a way we have never seen him. I think its highly possible that in the heat of that moment he wasn't catching Aziraphale's signals. I think that Crowley after the talk with Maggie and Nina was so caught up in saying what he was really thinking that it used up any possible bandwidth for LISTENING. But damn those tells seem like they would be/should be giant flashing neon warning signs to Crowley.

I mean, come on, the "C"lues in Aziraphale's ramble that he is spinning a wild-ass tale with coded language that would only make sense to Crowley are pretty obvious to me. If Az was really trying to convince Crowley to do something the last thing he would say is that it would be "nice(r)." And there is no way that at that point Aziraphale could have truly still considered Crowley to be a part of Hell and therefore one of the "bad guys." Seriously? 2 whole seasons and thousands of years spent learning about shades of grey and watching the Demon, who he loves, prove in a million little ways that he loves him back, watching that Demon do the right thing over and over, and TEACHING him, the Angel, the right thing. “Nothing lasts forever.” ?? My son is talking about his BOOKS. He is talking about THEM. They are IMMORTAL. They know what Eternity means. THEY last forever. If Aziraphale wanted to convince Crowley to come back and be an Angel, he would not have used that phrase/reasoning in his argument knowing full well that when Angel!Crowley became aware that his creation would be intentionally shut down, from Aziraphale's own mouth, mind, that was the triggering event that eventually led to Crowley's fall. Further, it would never have occurred to Aziraphale to try to use hurtful language to attempt to push Crowley away at this point because it has already been proven that that doesn’t work. S1E3 “I don’t even like you! “You do!” I think his erraticism in this scene was being totally caught off guard by Crowley's confession and trying to reconcile how to process and handle that while also trying to stick to his tactic of trying to get Crowley to read him. Az is brilliant, but Crowley is the one who usually can problem solve on his feet.

Az is clever enough to discern that he wasn't being offered the position in Heaven by the Metatron - Az was being forced back to Heaven. He wouldn't be happy or excited to make a difference in Heaven because he thought it was "the side of truth, of light, of good." No. There was no longer any freedom from Heaven, no safety for Aziraphale, which meant there was no longer any safety for Crowley. And if there was one motivator for Aziraphale above all other things it would be to keep Crowley safe. He had no choice but to go back to Heaven, so its not a matter of we can make a difference. It is a matter of we have to.

While I believe all of his word horror batshit disaster monologue was a bunch of old tosh, once present-day Aziraphale turns around from that 180° position to follow Crowley, into that final configuration matching that of 1941, he starts losing it. I think he's realizing that he failed in his attempt to get Crowley to understand. He did not expect to have to keep up this act so long. Crowley is walking away. It has all gone so wrong. He is cracking and the honest words start flooding past the lies. "Work with me!" (come on, catch up, please!) "We can be together"...(reluctantly, barely even trying anymore "...angels." And then it just breaks. "I need you!" "You don't understand!" While that would seem to be the case for Az, it really, at least on the surface, does not seem to have applied for Crowley.

The parallels between the final 15 and 1941 suggest to me, at least on the surface, an inverse. In 1941 we saw joy and excitement and wonder and cooperation and communication and trust. Furfur came to take Crowley back to Hell after catching our beloveds working together. And Aziraphale, the world's not best magician, performed a magic trick that may well have saved their existences, and "got it right the time that mattered." The final 15 is, again, on the surface and ostensibly, an abject disharmony. The Metatron came to take Aziraphale back to Heaven, and made a serious effort (no, not that kind, kids) to point out how very much the Ineffables "partnership" is "irregular" and implying, I'm sure, that they would only be permitted to be together as Angels in Heaven (which is a load of steaming celestial garbage.) (We're going to see more of the Az/Metatron conversation in S3, I just know it, there is some seriously important information missing.) But, as far as we were shown, at least on the surface, all of their getting to know one another and trusting one another and being able to read one another - failed to serve them the time that mattered.

And yet. Crowley still lingered in the end and stood so poised and stoic next to the Bentley watching Az step into the Hellevator...It kind of gave a feel that maybe Crowley figured something out. Maybe he had a cool down after storming out and realized something felt very off about that conversation. Maybe he just braced himself and remembered to trust Aziraphale. Maybe as he stormed out he saw the Metatron staring daggers into the bookshop window and it clicked. Maybe in Az's furtive glance back that very last time he once again mouthed "trust me." Some version of Az's message must have finally gotten through to Crowley. Somewhere along the way. It had to have. I can't believe it didn't. All season we were shown Crowley specifically can read Aziraphale. "You have three reasons for calling me" / "tone of voice," the "trust me" lip-reading at the 1941 magic show / Crowley has seen first hand how Az acts when he lies to Heaven in the Job mini-sode. And really. Crowley knows the second coming is on the agenda after his trip to Heaven. These two put the force of their entire existence into thwarting the Apocalypse once. Would he truly believe Aziraphale would want to help bring about the second coming? Sounds unlikely.

So, perhaps, the final 15 isn't in its entirety opposed to 1941. Maybe it's just a few symbolic nods. 1941 Crowley said the magic act they need to perform together needs to be "bigger" more "dramatic." Is there something bigger and more dramatic happening? Are they performing together? Did Crowley catch on? Did they stop time? Or is there a trick, like the photo swap, so surreptitious that it's almost invisible? Perhaps there is just a metaphor in there. Maybe now Crowley has to be the one to catch the metaphorical bullet and Az has to be the one to figuratively shoot? (That's terrifying.)

And then there's still the matter of that damned clock!

Also, let's face it, Alpha Centauri was never a plan. "They'll be shutting this all down in 6000 years.” “All.” As in "the universe.” As in Alpha Centauri included. They were going to have to take some sort of action eventually. I don't think Crowley ever wanted to go. He just wanted Aziraphale to say yes. Yeah, ouch.

Last point I promise is this video from @sendarya

youtube

Here, Nightingale Sang in its entirety is lined up with the 13 seconds in which it played in the Bentley and it ends exactly at the final frames of Crowley and Aziraphale. Some have speculated that Crowley had Nightingale queued up to play on the pair's way to breakfast at the Ritz. But that doesn't make sense. Wouldn't one have a song start at the beginning? AND Crowley had yet to have his chat with Maggie and Nina. I'm not so sure that the Crowley we know would have gotten it into his head/summoned up the confidence on his own to ready THAT song. Maybe the often tone-deaf Bentley was trying to comfort Crowley by playing Nightingale? But what I think is that when Aziraphale glanced back, he made the tiniest of little Angel nudge waves to convince the Bentley to play that song. From this vantage point, Michael Aziraphale's creepy smile in the final frame conveys an entirely different sentiment. It makes him look certain. It makes him look like an Angel with a plan. If I'm right in this part, I think that would have been exactly what was needed to finally get his message, intentions, and feelings across to Crowley in a way he could understand.

Come at me hive mind!

Also still new to tumblr and think I royally fudged it on adding those gifs so I'll work on that.

#good omens #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziracrow #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #good omens 2 #a.z. fell #a.z fell and co #good omens analysis #good omens theories #good omens theory #good omens meta #good omens final 15 #good omens 1941

401 notes · View notes

crystalandrose · 3 months ago

Text

So my idea for my version of evil ford is that his timeline splits at the science fair incident. This ford was paranoid enough to know stanley would somehow fuck up his chance, so he fixes the machine and takes the toffee peanut bag as evidence (maybe he also pulls security footage). So ford makes it into his college and stan gets punished (but not kicked out). Stanley runs away of his own volition due to the anger at ford leaving him behind and also ratting him out to their parents. Stan partly wants to prove hes just as good as his brother and also wants to prove it to himself.

This means Ford never met Fiddleford in college. Instead, after getting a lot more grant money than from Backupsmore, he goes to Gravity Falls and works alone. Eventually, after he makes the deal with bill, he realizes he doesnt have enough experience making computer things (sourcing parts and such) to do this alone (even if bill is helping him). So he puts an ad for a research assistant good with computers. Perhaps some of this extra grant money went towards pay, and Fiddleford took the opportunity. But having no real connection to Fiddleford, Ford is more up to use him as a tool to get what he wants. So when Bill says his use is up and its time to get rid of him, Ford obliges.

Maybe since he went to this fancy college he had an easier time making connections or doing schooling quicker. So this extra time means he spends more time in partnership with bill and the connections make it easier for him to make side money he can also funnel into the portal project.

This Ford also learns more about Bill's backstory because he connects more to Bill (disconnect from family, not feeling recognized, wanting a home with people that get him/etc). So this guy is more sympathetic and knows more about Bill's desires (create a nightmare realm). Maybe Ford rationalizes it as a good thing or thinks he can talk Bill out of some destruction, or maybe at this point he wants some revenge on the world himself. So hes still on board with the portal when Bill reveals its actual purpose.

However, maybe Stanley needs another place to sleep on the couch at and sees his brother in some headline or mentioned as an inventor for some product. Or his brother needs a test dummy that can speak for the portal so he calls him. Or maybe Ford wants to potentially say his last goodbyes before he goes into what he knows is potentially the end of earth.

Fight still happens, Ford wants Stanley to thank him for money hes sent the family, for not completely ostracizing him from the family after what he did, offering him a place to stay, idk. Ford fights him, Bill possesses Ford at some point as another try to prevent Ford from getting sucked into the portal. This freaks Stan out and he pushes him. Ford, holding journal 3 (which does not have pages ripped out), chucks it at stans head (not to help him but to literally hurt him). Stan is like "wtf did i just do" and shuts the portal down, reads through the journals and thinks Ford is unwillingly possessed by a demon and spends his days trying to get him back.

Ford and Bill are now stuck in the portal, going through dimensions trying to get back to Earth in order to reopen the portal and finish what they started. I think Stan is fully anti-cipher-ified, planning on killing bill as soon as he shows up again in order to save his brother. Im thinking this Dipper and Mabel got killed by zombies or something. So when Ford does get back, stan is there super unhinged and angry and somehow eventually kills bill, leaving no statue behind. Evil ford is like "wtf" and devastated, but keeps looking for a way to bring him back. Maybe this Bill, having not gained sympathy from the axolotl, decides hes not worth rehabilitation and so hes actually dead in this reality.

(Then "canon" bill opens up a reality rift and evil ford comes through, hoorah)

#gravity falls au #evil!ford #evil ford au #bill cipher #headcanon #does this count as fanfiction at this point

76 notes · View notes

fangirlingpuggle · 2 months ago

Note

Billford kids au

Does the anti- weirdness dome work on Mabel and dipper. ( The unicorn hair magic)

If not I bet Bill it going crazy.

If so, then oh no a new plan must be made to keep Bill away.

I think Ford would use spell with unicorn hair but also they're blood, so because of that Dipper and Mabel can get in, until he added the blood thing they couldn't get in.

Ford: All done now we're safe

Mabel/Dipper running to field: OW

Ford:... ah... yeah should have seen that coming come on Stanley we need more Unicorn hair and some blood

Stan:Wait Unicorn blood or our blood?

Ford: Yes

113 notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 2 months ago

Note

Can you write about the reader being either Ford or stans controversially young spouse? Like they're close to their 20s instead of their 60s

Ooh to be their controversially younger spouse what a dream I wish I could live lmao 🤣

Before you became Ford’s spouse, the man would always use the age gap between you two as the sole reason as to why you shouldn’t be together romantically, he’s sweating bullets and loosing sleep over it because it’s just so glaringly obvious to him that you shouldn’t.

However this was all just a cover up for the fact that he did indeed feel things for you in a romantic sense. You were great with Dipper and Mabel, encouraging their passions and even getting involved in them should they need someone to be dazzle in gems or go out into the woods to look for the supernatural.

You even got along with Stan, which was only an added bonus for Ford but still he kept reminding himself that he was far, far too old for you that he might as well have been old enough to be your father/ grandfather! Wasn’t that enough to disturb you?

He knew some people held a liking towards older people but believed it was more for their wisdom and life experience, not the romantic kind.

Apparently it wasn’t because Ford accidentally over heard a conversation between you and Wendy regarding his age;

Wendy: isn’t he too old for you?

You: negative, I love older men. Especially older men who are smart, a little socially awkward and plays dungeons, dungeons and more dungeons.

Wendy: …respect dude.

Needles to say after hearing that Ford’s face became as red as cherries and his worries regarding how you felt towards the age difference seemed to have dwindled slightly, but still he worried that others would view you as weird for being with a man more then twice your own age.

Sure there wasn’t many…worthy candidates to date in Gravity falls but surely he couldn’t be the only one worth your gaze? Mabel must’ve at least tried to set you up on more then one occasion, but according to her you just never seemed to jell with the people she set you up with, saying that you had a distant look in your eyes as though you could be anyone else then at the date.

When Mabel confronted you about it one day, you told her that you liked men a little older then you, Mabel then asked why but you only ruffled her hair and told her that she might see the vision one day. Ford was now being presented with more proof that you would be more then content with dating him, it was undeniable and he even indirectly heard it from your own mouth, so what else could he possibly be held back by?

Fear and rejection from society if they ever were to see you both in a romantic setting?

Then again you both lived in gravity Falls and there were things far weirder than an 20 year old dating a 60 -pushing 70- year old man. And thus began Ford’s new hypothesis; how to win over a 20 year old’s heart.

After you stated dating, you beating the other ladies and men off with a stick because that sexy silver fox was yours! FINALLY! It was your turn to have a sexy older man in your bed!

Other then that you loved being with Ford as no two days were the same, you could be going out with him to look for supernatural as a date, thankfully surviving when Ford got a little distracted by spouting facts on what was trying to kill you both and ending up sat on the porch of the mystery shack and laughing together afterwards.

Or be in his lab and watching him work while admiring how handsome he looked with greying hair and an aging face, but Ford would see it otherwise and become a little insecure and reserved.

‘Don’t you think it weird?’ He’d ask you one day.

‘About us?’ You didn’t have to hear him respond when you knew that Ford was still a little uncertain with your age difference still after seemingly accepting it. You sigh and walked over to him and sat on his lap, making him blush and his eyes widen as you hold his face between your hands.

‘Ford, sweetie I don’t care about what they think, I’m just glad that I got to be with you after pinning for so long. I understand this is new for you but all I ask is that you trust me,’ you kissed his nose softly, ‘and trust in our relationship, there’s nothing weird about it unless you make it weird.’ You add with a smile as Ford rested his head against you, his hands now resting comfortably on your waist.

‘You’re right my sweet,’ Ford said, ‘I’m just worried that you might find someone close to your age more appealing then some old man.’ You couldn’t help but chuckle as you leant further into him.

‘Who could I ever find more appealing than you mr sixer?’ You asked rhetorically, ‘you’re more than perfect the way you are and I’m the lucky bastard who gets to call you mine, so everyone else can stay jealous for all I care knowing I have the most perfect man ever.’ You add as you kissed his lips this time and smiling when Ford reciprocated it with his sweeter, soft kiss.

You probably have moments where you recall something Ford wouldn’t understand and Ford would reference something that was older than you, it’s funny regardless of how you looked at it.

Ford’s body still has aches and pains despite keeping himself healthier than Stanley and so you would help him during these times and coddle him lovingly, while reminding him that he needed to take it easy on himself once in a while.

Ford apologises for it but you only shut him up and remind him that he has nothing to apologise for.

You didn’t treat each other differently because of your ages, if anything you made Ford feel young again and Ford gifted you advice and made you feel just that little bit smarter, which boosted your confidence in yourself. It was a beautiful relationship that was pure and sweet it could give anyone cavities.

Stanley didn’t give a shit you were dating his brother, he knew you liked men above a certain age when you kept eye fucking Ford whenever he walked past you, or how Ford would look at you longingly when you weren’t looking . He saw this shit coming from a mile away as it wasn’t exactly subtle on either end and may have made a bet with Wendy about how soon you’d come to him to announce you were dating his brother.

Stanley won the bet much to Wendy’s dismay.

You saw Ford shirtless once and went apeshit much to his surprise because weren’t people your age into six packs and hairless upper bodies?

Nope, not you, you loved his tummy and body hair that you clung to his side and spent the afternoon kissing his scars and embarrassing tattoos he kept covered in turtlenecks while whispering reassurance that reminded him that you were attraction to him was more then surface level. Ford would return the favour when you had episodes of insecurity would remains you of such by comparing your every insecurity to something beautiful.

Acne? Constellations/ clusters of stars

Stretch marks? Lighting strikes

You’ve got a tummy and thick thighs? Didn’t you know that they(thick thighs) saved lives?!

Needless to say that you came out with a newfound love for yourself afterwards.

You constantly held his hand and kissed each finger to show that you didn’t care about anything but him and his wellbeing, it warmed Ford’s heart as he found to love himself a little more with your help, and in doing so he was able to show you love by kissing your cheek in greeting or making you breakfast in bed or draping his coat over your shoulders when he saw that you were cold.

It was sweet and innocent but still it was enough to have you smiling and feel loved, which is all Ford ever wanted you to feel while with him.

Ford’s love was chivalrous, stubborn and awkward, but you wouldn’t want it any other way as you wanted Ford just the way he was and thrived when you saw his eyes gleam with excitement as he makes a discovery, leading him to grasp your face and kiss you on the lips while holding you close to his chest as he explained what he had done; all the while you stared at him with awe and love because he was really attractive when he was talking about things he was passionate about.

Ford would then catch himself and apologise for rambling but you would kiss him on the cheek and ask him to continue, to which Ford happily obliged, now aware that you were staring at him as though he had hung the stars in the sky.

Ford would find himself looking at you in a similar fashion when you were going on about what you and Mabel did in town, and Ford couldn’t help but hone in on your smile, shining eyes and hand gestures that told him that you enjoyed the hijinks that had happened while wearing the sweater that Mabel made you the entire time.

You’d catch him staring intently at you and suddenly you’re flustered and playing with the sleeves of your bright and vibrant sweater. ‘It’s kinda corny isn’t it?’ You’d ask as Ford chuckles, reaching out to hold your hand reassuringly in his.

‘No, not at all my sweet, I in fact find your adventures with my niece and nephew endearing and sweet. So please continue to tell me how you drop kicked a gnome into Mabel’s leaf blower.’ Ford said and within seconds you were back to being bright and talkative about your adventures of fighting off gnomes, barf fairies and pulling Mabel away from fae traps.

You both were each others listeners and would remember anything and everything said because you actually liked to hear where the other got up to when apart from one another.

Bonus; you definitely have a spot in his journal where he goes in depth of your relationship before ending it with: ‘they’re someone I don’t think I could envision a future without, for they make me young again while loving me regardless of our differences in age and much more. Thank you for loving me y/n, even when I don’t think it’s deserved.’

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls #ford pines x you #ford pines imagines #ford pines imagine #ford pines x reader #stanford pines x you #stanford pines imagines #stanford pines imagine #stanford pines x reader

792 notes · View notes

absolute-hooligan · 1 month ago

Text

hi yes hello @void-dude's silly stan and square man adventures has me knawing on the walls, and i've written a silly (probably a little ooc) human(ish) tad fic in a fixation induced fuge state lmao. it's not beta'd, and only lightly edited (so far), so it's all a little subject to change, but hey! it's here! and it'll probably get more added to it tbh

i hope it brings y'all a little bit of joy :)

(ao3 link for anyone who wants to read it there: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59529469)

“T… tad… Tad! Grunkle Tad wake up!”

Wha… why’s everything sound like it’s underwater? Who was… wazat Mabel? Hehe, I like Mabel, real wildcard she is. Sounds kinda worried though…? Wait- MABEL?!

Tad shot upright, nearly bashing his head into Ford’s on the way. He looked around frantically for Mabel - who sounded pretty distraught while he was… why was he passed out? Not important- the kid he was looking for had just thrown herself into his arms.

“Mabes, sweetie, are you okay?” Tad asked, one hand coming to rest on her back, and the other reaching to cradle her face in a palm.

The poor girl was sniffling, eyes still watery from tearing up - her tears must’ve stopped before any could fall. “Grunkle Tad, we thought you died!”

Tad almost wants to laugh - death? Him? Don’t be ridiculous! - but the sincerity in her eyes stops him. Suddenly, Ford - who he’d forgotten was next to him the whole time - cleared his throat, gaining the attention of both him and Mabel.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright, Tad,” the man said, the genuine nature of it coming through his gaze more than tone. “And that you’re um… adjusting well.”

Tad quirked his brow at that- wait… wait that’s not right. That- two of them just moved. And wait a minute, his hands- holy carbuncle he has HUMAN HANDS-

Uh oh.

The last thing he heard before everything went fuzzy was Ford shouting his name.

By the second… okay, third time Tad had recovered from his fainting spell, he’d been relatively caught up with the situation:

Ford and Mabel - and himself, of course - went on a little mini adventure to collect some things in the secret bunker. Ford also apparently wanted to make sure that the shapeshifter was still frozen, and make sure that it wouldn’t ever be not frozen again. Mabel insisted she tag along - she’d defeated it before, after all - and with a wildly impressive “puppy dog eyes” maneuver, she got her way.

Tad, well, he came along for moral support - and backup, if things got real dire.

Long story very, very short, Tad found and touched something he shouldn’t have, and now he was stuck as a human for a few days. What was he going to do while he was trapped like this? Well, the only thing he ever found worth doing, messing with Stanley Pines.

As they were leaving the bunker, Tad made sure to clue Mabel in on the scheme - she was more than happy to help. Ford took little convincing - something about needing to be honest about the situation first and foremost - before Mabel’s eyes worked their magic a second time. It also probably helped that messing with one’s sibling was written into a brother's blood m, genius or no.

With the plan set, the three excitedly made their way back to the Shack, ready to prank the pants off of Grunkle Stan (Mabel’s words, not mine).

•••

It was a dry spell at the Shack, and everyone minus Soos was bored because of it. Dipper was frantically writing something in his own journal - a gift from Ford - and muttering to himself. Boring. Wendy was out today, her old man was taking her and her brothers camping again. Again, boring. And Soos? Eh, Soos was around somewhere, Soos-ing the place up as per usual.

Boring.

“We’re back!” Mabel shouted, smiling wide as can be as she flung the door open.

Stan, Dipper, and Ford cringed as the door slammed against the wall. “Ya don’t say…”

“What did you guys get?” Dipper said, hopping down from the barrel he’d been sitting on. “And where’s Great Uncle Tad?”

“Nothing important, Dipper,” Ford said, closing the door behind himself after Mabel skipped in. “Just some notes I thought I’d lost long ago.”

“And Grunkle Tad’s taking a nature walk!” Mabel grinned, “Said the bunker was too cramped, so he needs some outside time!”

Stan chose to ignore the pang of hurt that explanation brought. Instead, he tossed out a half hearted, “Hah! Wuss.”

If any of the other Pines present heard, they ignored him. Mabel was already debriefing about their adventure to a diligently writing Dipper, and Ford was shuffling through his coat pockets to find whatever he’d gone out for in the first place.

Domestic? Yes. Boring… also a little bit, yes.

Stan sighed, leaning an arm on the desk to prop up his chin, and his free hand coming up to drum against the well worn wood.

A few minutes - seconds? Who knows, he’s not countin! - pass before Stan hears the bell above the door chime. Snapping out of his staring spell, he quickly puts on the Mister Mystery act.

“Welcome, dear customer, to the Mystery Shack!” he’s all smiles and customer service before he even looks at who just walked in. “What can I do for you- Holy Moses…

If Stan had any brain function right now, he’d be embarrassed by how he’d whispered out the unplanned part of his spiel. But right now? Every neuron in his brain was either shut down or rapidly firing, because a beautiful man had just walked in. That’s beautiful with a capital B, folks!

The guy was tall - maybe a good three inches taller than him - broad shouldered, and judging by his face, was probably in his late fifties. His skin reminded Stan of the sand back in Jersey, with a squarish face and nose that he could tell fit the man without hearing him speak. And that hair- talk about a silver fox! The guy was rocking a relatively laid back pompadour, a couple of strands that refused to stay back dangling over his face. If Stan squinted, he could swear there were thin streaks of blue broken up into the gray, but maybe it was just the light? And call him crazy, but the dude hasn’t opened his left eye at all since he walked in.

Ah shit- how long has he been staring?

“Mystery Shack, eh? Seems like a scam, if ya ask me,” the man chuckled to himself - it sounded eerily familiar. “You run this joint?”

Stan - sensing a challenge - squared his shoulders back, hands now perched on his cane. “Maybe, who’s askin’?”

The guy smirked - and Stan was briefly distracted by how good it looked. “Just a curious tourist,” he drawled, leaning forward and placing his relatively large hands on the table. “Vagabond passing through, y’know?”

Stan swallowed, and prayed the guy didn’t see or hear it.

“Cat got your tongue, boss man?” the man tilted his head in question, but the amusement in his eye didn’t wane.

Stan was quick to wave his hand dismissively - knowing damn well he’d been caught. “As if! You just uh… remind me of someone, that’s all.”

Guy’s voice is almost too close. But it’s not him, it can’t be. There’s literally no way it could be!

The guy lifted one hand up, taking one finger to tilt Stan’s chin up to coax their eyes to meet. He smiled slowly, “Do I sound like your husband?”

What? What?

The guy- no, fucking Tad’s hand dropped back to the counter, a well suppressed fit of laughter now freely flowing.

“Yes! Oh man, I got you, got you!” he turned on his heels to grin at Mabel, who was bouncing on her heels. “Nice plan, Mabes!”

She preened at the praise before settling her hands on her hips, and nodding to herself. “My work here is done.”

Stan - absolutely fucking dumbfounded - just looked between Tad, and every other person in the room, but mainly Ford.

“What the fuck did you do to him?” Stan asked, not quite angry, but definitely not calm.

Ford immediately held his hands up, “I didn’t do anything! He did this to himself!”

Stan’s gaze flicked back to Tad, who smiled sheepishly in response. He sighed, long and weary, before straightening up, and taking a steadying breath.

“I’m gonna need everyone-” Stan jabbed a finger towards Tad, “not you- to get out of this room in about five seconds. One…”

Ford quickly ushered the children away, Mabel throwing double thumbs up, and Dipper sputtering syllables that desperately wanted to be questions. Once Stan heard the door to the actual house shut, he sighed again.

“Turn the sign on the door, wouldja?” he asked. “Blinds too, if ya don’t mind.”

Tad - suddenly losing any and all upper hand he might’ve had in this situation - did just that. What was he supposed to do? He… he didn’t know. But holy dungarees was this human heart thing hammering-

“Oi, square eye,” Stan said, much softer than he had any right to. “C’mere, I wanna get a good look at ya.”

Tad silently obliged, making his way over and around the desk Stan stood behind. He stood there, waiting for his next order - Stan simply leant his cane against the wall, and set his fez down on the desk.

His eyes ran over Tad appraisingly, and sweet grilled cheese, did all human bodies feel like this when someone looked at them? His hands were trembling at his sides, and he almost cringed at how his breath hitched when Stan met his eyes.

“You come up with this yourself?”

“Huh?”

“The body,” Stan said, “Threads too.”

“Oh! I uh- yeah, yeah I did,” Tad chuckled nervously. “Not too shabby for a first timer, eh?”

Tad saw something flash in Stan’s eye at the phrasing, but the human laughed all the same. “It looks nice. You look nice.”

He was dying. Stanley Pines was going to kill him with compliments and Tad couldn’t be happier about it.

“I was hoping you’d like it,” Tad admitted. “Made sure I looked more your dating range.”

Stan snorted at that. “I’d call that a low blow if you weren’t right.”

The two fell silent again, Stan looking over Tad while the other squirmed from the attention.

Stan wasn’t lying when he said Tad looked nice - his internal dialogue earlier made that very clear - but gosh, knowing it was Tad made it so much better. It’s like he’d modeled himself off the guys Stan privately appreciated in passing when he was young. There were clearly parts inspired by Dean or Presley, but it was all buried under the fact that this body was so uniquely Tad.

“I like to think I got the clothes pretty spot on,” Tad said, more to break the silence than anything else. “Tried to get as close to “random sleazy schmuck” as I could.”

A slightly unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, and some khakis? Yep, that’s about right… wait-

“Are you makin’ fun of me?” Stan asked, holding back a laugh at the scandalized sound Tad made.

“What? No- I would never!” Tad huffed, his tone sarcastic as all get. “I’d never copy an outfit you’ve worn before, call it slutty to your face, then deny I ever said it.”

“Ya just did, bud.”

Tad’s face took on a confused look, “Did what?”

The two stared at each other for about three seconds before cackling in chorus. Tad was - as he tended to be - less raucous than the human, letting him appreciate the genuine laughter he could bring out of Stan.

Sweet sarsaparilla, I’m so fucking gone for this man…

As their laughter peters out, Stan mimics the chin move Tad did minutes ago, only now he’s gently coaxing him to lean down. Tad oblibliges, pointedly ignoring that damn human heart trying to escape his rib cage - it’s not his fault they were nearly nose to nose!

Stan’s eyes dart to Tad’s mouth for a split second before flicking back to the other’s eye.

Suddenly, and without warning, Stanley Pines kisses Tad Strange’s cheek.

Tad feels his entire body lock up, and it’s suddenly too hot, but he also feels like if he looked at an ice cube it would melt instantly, but that has nothing to do with the fact he can’t move-

“Thought so,” Stan chuckles. “You blush blue like this.”

Tad just blinks, his jaw - metaphorically, of course - on the floor. He’s left bluescreening as Stan leaves the desk to rejoin the rest of his family. Tad follows the movement, still speechless.

The man stops in the doorway, turning his head to look over his shoulder.

“Gonna get Greasy’s for dinner,” he said casually, “Wanna come with?”

“I uh… yeah- yeah! Yeah, sounds fun!”

As embarrassing as his inability to speak was, the snort Stan gave in response to it almost made it okay.

“Then get your ass over here, big guy.”

#gravity falls #shapes and pines au #tad strange #stadley

51 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 20 of Human Bill is the Mystery Shack's (secret) prisoner (title tbd), featuring: at last, Wendy discovering the "house guest." And Stan discovering Wendy discovered the house guest. And Bill and Stan having the funniest argument imaginable.

Also featuring: Ford letting Fiddleford in on the secret and asking for his help getting rid of Bill for good.

####

"Hey dudes," Soos said, leaning into the living room. Bill and Mabel looked up from Mabel's phone. "Me and Melody and Ford are heading out for anime night. If you've got an emergency, call me; and if you don't have an emergency, uh... don't. Cuz we're gonna be anime-ing hard."

"Anime night?" Bill repeated. "Why's Stanford going to anime night?"

Soos blinked. "Is... that a trick question?" he asked. "Hey—aren't you not allowed to use phones?"

"He's not using it," Mabel said. "I'm using it. He's just watching a video over my shoulder. I've got him secured for our safety!" Bill demonstratively held up his bloody sock-wrapped hands.

"Oh. Smart thinking," Soos said. He nodded and left.

Bill looked back at the phone, left eye shut and right eye squinted, then pointed at the screen and murmured, "Oh, there—037, 037 is a big winner." Mabel nodded and wrote down "Beach 037" on a piece of paper where she'd been listing scratch card serial numbers.

Soos came back. "Hey," he said, "Bill. Why are your hands bloody."

"Because my eye's bleeding." As he said so, a bright red drop of blood rolled out of his right eye like a tear. He wiped it off his cheek with one hand, adding another stain to the sock.

"Oh. Okay," Soos said. "Why's your eye bleeding."

Mabel helpfully answered, "Because it's hard for him to see into a higher dimension from here."

"Hey." Bill nudged her with an elbow. "That was for your ears. But yes, if you have to know. Human eyeballs are—limited. It causes some some light cranial hemorrhaging." He squinted at the video again. Another bloody tear rolled down his cheek.

Soos stood uncomfortably in the doorway. "Looks... kinda painful."

"Excruciatingly," Bill said casually. Mabel mouthed he's fine at Soos.

Soos said, "Do you... want a headache pill? Or an eyepatch or something?"

"Oh." Bill looked up at Soos in surprise. "Is that an option?"

Soos shrugged. "Yeah?"

"Huh." Bill was momentarily silent, processing this revelation about the medical care options he was permitted. Finally, he said, "No to the pill—I think I'm getting a migraine aura, and I don't want to stop the little white spots before they develop into full hallucinations! I'd hate to miss that light show, you know?"

Soos nodded, as though he did know. He did not, in fact, know.

"But I could use an eyepatch," Bill said.

"You got it. Be right back."

Soos retrieved an unopened costume eyepatch from the spares for his Mr. Mystery outfit, brought it downstairs, and handed it over to Bill's socked hand. "Do you uh—need help getting that on?"

"I'll do it when we're done with the phone," Bill said, and returned to watching the video.

Mabel poked his side. "What do we say?"

"Thanks," Bill said without looking up, followed by, "062." Mabel dutifully copied the number down.

Soos headed out to his pickup, where Melody and Ford were waiting. "Sorry for the delay, guys," he said, sliding into the driver's seat. "Bill's eyeball is bleeding from trying to look at a higher dimension, so I had to get him an eyepatch."

In the back seat, Ford frowned and pulled his journal from inside his coat and flipped open to the most recent page. "Which eye?"

"Uh..." Soos held up a hand and turned it as he mentally rotated Bill to figure out which side his bloody eye would be on if it were on Soos's body. "Right. His right."

"Did he happen to mention which dimension he was trying to see?"

"Nuh-uh. He probably won't say either, he was kinda annoyed Mabel told me that much."

Mabel might know, then. Ford could ask her. Probably tomorrow—late tomorrow, after the party.

Melody asked, "He's not gonna need a doctor, is he?"

Soos started the truck. "He seemed really casual about the whole thing, so, I don't think so?"

"That's a relief," Ford muttered.

They started the drive to the former Northwest Manor.

####

When Fiddleford answered the front door and saw Ford, he smiled so wide it made Ford smile too. "Stanford! It's been a month of Sundays since I saw you last!"

"Fiddleford." Ford reached out to take Fiddleford's hand—and got tugged into a one-armed hug. He recovered from his surprise enough to return it. "It's good to see you. You're looking well." Which was to say: still looking aged before his time and running around barefoot and shirtless in his overalls; but a little less sunburned, a little more bathed, and merely "scrawny" rather than "emaciated." Ford figured if the man wanted to run around shirtless in his own lavish 150-year-old mansion, that was his own business.

"Just like we promised," Melody said, "one Ford dragged to your doorstep."

"Yes!" Soos pumped a fist in the air. "Operation Ford-Ford Reunion: completed! We uh—we didn't actually drag him, though. He was excited to come."

"He oughta be," Fiddleford said. "This'll be just like old times! Back in college, this man showed me all sortsa Japanese movies about big monsters and robots clobberin' each other. It was my first taste of international cinema!" He scratched his beard. "I wonder if that had any kinda impact on me?"

Melody and Soos looked at Ford with new respect. Soos said, "I didn't realize you were such a man of culture."

"All right, enough jibber-jabberin' on my porch!" Fiddleford waved Soos and Melody in. "You youngins go on ahead. Us old timers have to catch up. Tate's in the kitchen rustlin' up some vittles."

"Sweet, movie snacks," Soos said. He turned to Melody. "Wanna take the hidden service tunnel the Northwests used to hide the less pretty servants?"

"Pffft! Is that even a question?"

Soos tapped a foot twice on a square of Venetian parquet flooring just left of the door. A section of floor beneath them dropped down to form a slide, and Soos and Melody plummeted into the dark, squealing and laughing. The floor swung back up.

Fiddleford said, "I sure hope I fixed that tunnel to go to the pantry 'stead of the secret dungeon. Anywho!" He ambled his bow-legged way into the manor, gesturing for Ford to follow him. "We'll take the scenic route."

Ford looked around as he followed Fiddleford. He'd never been allowed in the front way before—the last time he'd visited the Northwest Manor back in the eighties, he'd been told to come in through a side door. It had been a very long walk. The front door opened directly into a great hall large enough to serve as a ballroom, with a staircase at the far end that led up to a fireplace and then forked left and right. A whale statue hung from the ceiling and still seemed dwarfed by the vast room. Ford had taken classes in lecture halls smaller than this. "I'm surprised you're still answering your own door. With all you made selling your inventions, I'd have expected you to hire a butler by now."

"I built me one a few months back," Fiddleford said, "but it kept trying to murder the feller what brings my mail. So I locked it in the coat room until I can figure out what went wrong."

There was a violent thud and scraping against a door near the entrance.

"Don't worry about that. It's reinforced," Fiddleford said. "Now, how long have you been back in town—a couple weeks?"

"Nearly." Had it really been less than two weeks? Somehow that felt both too long and too short. He'd accomplished so little with two weeks at his disposal. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long to come by. I wanted to as soon as I was back in town. You must think me a terrible friend—"

"Nonsense," Fiddleford said firmly. "I knew you'd come when you could—and here you are, ain'tcha? I reckoned you must've been busy with something."

"Yes," Ford agreed, with a bitter laugh. "More busy than you can imagine."

"Well, there you go! Nothin' to beat yourself up over."

Ford slowed, dropping a few steps behind Fiddleford, feet heavy, feeling like a physical pressure was keeping him from walking forward; and then he stopped. "I'm sorry to say, but that's part of the reason I'm here." He stared at the gap between his boots and Fiddleford's feet, the beautiful hardwood floor and the thin layer of dirt that had settled on it. "Of course, I wanted to visit you too, but... I need your help, Fiddleford."

He'd meant to wait until after the show to bring this up, let Fiddleford enjoy his evening without anxiety—hadn't he learned with Mabel not to try to mix business and socialization?—but now that Ford was here, the bad news threatened to bubble out of him with every breath. He wouldn't be able to enjoy his evening with his dread of the coming conversation weighing down on him. (What right did he have to enjoy the evening, when he knew he was once again about to make his mistakes Fiddleford's problem?)

But, Ford hadn't had the self-control to keep it to himself for just another few hours—he must have been too tired—excuses, excuses—and now Fiddleford was giving him that look he got when he was fully focused on a conversation, eyes wide and surprised-looking, as if opening them further would let him absorb more of the information he was receiving. "Of course, Stanford. What sort of help?"

Of course, he said. Of course, like Ford didn't have a history of asking for help that ruined people's lives. Either Fiddleford was charitable enough to assume Ford wouldn't inflict the kind of monstrous horrors on him he had thirty years ago, or selfless enough to offer anyway.

Ford swallowed hard. "It's heavy," he warned. "I don't want to ruin the show. Would you rather wait until afterward to discuss it...?" Although Ford doubted Fiddleford would stand for that.

Sure enough, Fiddleford waved off the idea with his bandaged arm. "Don't be silly. Now that you've brought it up, it's gonna give me the heebity-jeebies until I know what's wrong! Anyway, how heavy could it be?" He laughed wryly. "Can't possibly be as bad as that triangle feller, can it?"

Ford didn't know what expression had appeared on his face, but the effect on Fiddleford was instantaneous. His smile vanished; his lined face went as white as his beard. "Is it as bad?"

Ford winced. "Let me explain—"

"It's him." Fiddleford didn't phrase it as a question. "No. It can't— You're lyin'! You're lyin'!" He backed away from Ford as if he was the threat, tripped and tumbled to the floor, and scampered backward on his hands and feet.

And here was the screaming. Age had not dulled Fiddleford's hair-trigger panic response. Ford had hoped to explain it to him gently, ease him into the bad news before revealing who it was, but if all he could do now was damage control... Ford knelt down like he was trying to coax over a frightened cat. "Fiddleford, please—"

One of Fiddleford's legs spasmed, bouncing like a rabbit thumping its foot in warning of predators. "Not him! The beast— The beast with just one—"

"Two eyes," Ford corrected.

And the unexpectedness of the correction momentarily cut straight through Fiddleford's panic. His wild eyes focused on Ford in bafflement. "Say wha?"

"He has two eyes now," Ford said. "And he's powerless and imprisoned. He survived—but he's not a threat." It was a slight exaggeration, but Ford's first priority was calming Fiddleford down. He could introduce nuance once Fiddleford wasn't panicking.

"He's—He's not a—He's—"

"Deep breath," Ford said.

Fiddleford sucked in a deep breath, held it just long enough that Ford was starting to worry, and let it out in a long, deep gush. "Whoo!" He smacked his head with his palm, and then another couple times for good measure. "Sorry 'bout that. Just—got a little excited. Let me catch my..." He took another couple of deep breaths.

Ford waited patiently. "You're better at dealing with alarming news than you used to be." Maybe that wasn't the best praise, considering that Ford had usually been the one delivering the alarming news.

"I'm not sure I am. I think I just get it all out of my system faster." Fiddleford took one last deep breath, and said, "All right. Explain this to me."

Ford gave Fiddleford the rundown on the last two weeks—Bill's arrival, his capture, the stalemate as they realized that neither side could risk Bill's death without knowing what would happen. He explained everything they knew or suspected about Bill's current powers or lack thereof, and how they were containing and neutralizing him further.

He even pulled out his current journal to show Fiddleford Bill's appearance: a few days ago, Ford had gotten a drawing of Bill in the living room watching TV, huddled up against the armrest of the sofa as if he wanted to stay as close to the doorway as possible, one eye squeezed shut, the other glazed with disinterest, the corners of his mouth curled down despondently. Ford had done the quick rough sketch while watching Bill from the kitchen, then retreated to his room to flesh out the details. There was no way Ford was neglecting to properly document the unwelcome phenomenon occurring in his house, but there was doubly no way Ford was giving Bill's ego the pleasure of knowing he was drawing him again.

Fiddleford cocked a brow. "Bill's a woman?"

"I'm not sure whatever force humanized him was too picky about the sex," Ford said. "For that matter, I'm not sure he's picky about his sex. It's never come up." What kind of genders did Bill's species have? Did they have genders? Ford should ask. (Ford should not ask. He took that idea, stuffed it in a bag, and threw it in a lake.)

"Huh." Fiddleford gave Ford a skeptical look. "Y'all're letting him watch TV?"

"He's threatened to kill himself if he gets too bored," Ford said tiredly. "He knows if we were to completely lock him up, he'd be as good as dead, since we could just keep him there until we find a guaranteed way to kill him. He says he'd sooner die by his own hand in that circumstance, and he's mad enough I think he'd make good on it. So, to maintain the current stalemate, we've agreed on some... limited privileges."

"Including television."

"Honestly? Moving the TV out of the living room just so he couldn't watch it didn't seem worth the trouble. We use that TV too."

Fiddleford grunted; but he offered the journal back to Ford. He offered it held open, and his gaze didn't break from Bill's face until Ford shut it and put it back into his jacket pocket. "So," Fiddleford said. "You said you need help?"

"Yes. At the moment, we're safe from Bill. All we have to do is find a way to destroy both his body and whatever's inside it, whether it's a human soul or an energy being—and use it before he learns we have it and does something drastic."

Fiddleford pressed his lips together, so thin they disappeared behind his whiskers. "Stanford, I want to help any way I can, but none of my killer robots or deadly lasermajigs are designed for incineratin' space demons. I don't rightly know if I can help."

"But you've already helped. You—" Ford hesitated. "You might want to brace yourself for another shock."

Fiddleford wrapped his arms around his chest and laced his hands together behind his back. "Ready!"

"While I was exploring other dimensions, I found a parallel Earth where you—where we..." Ford swallowed his guilt. "Where... things turned out better. Your parallel self helped me perfect my weapon to destroy Bill."

"A parallel..." Fiddleford's gaze briefly went wall-eyed as he processed the implications of the second life-altering revelation of the hour; but he quickly shook himself out of it. "Well, shucks, then this oughta be easy as pie! If I can do it, then so can I! So tell me about this weapon."

Soos appeared at the top of one of the stairs at the end of the great hall. "Hey, dudes! What's the hold up? We're ready to roll!"

"We'll be right there," Ford called, then turned back to Fiddleford. "Perhaps I should show you the blueprints after the show."

They headed for the stairs. Fiddleford gave Ford a cheeky grin. "Stanford Pines, shilly-shallying around watching cartoons when there's work to be done? Now, my memory ain't what it used to be, but that don't sound like the Stanford I recall."

"I've learned the hard way that a strict diet, exercise regimen, and regular meditation alone can't save a human from burning himself out." The image of Bill's eye and Cheshire Cat smile peering out from beneath a dark towel flashed through Ford's mind. He pushed the memory aside. "Now more than ever, I need to make time for a little play." Goodness knows he hadn't made any time in the last couple of weeks, unless that emotionally fraught trip to Portland counted. "Besides, I—don't want to ruin your evening with my problem."

Fiddleford reached up to put a hand on Ford's shoulder. "That sonova cosine ain't your problem; he's ours. All of ours."

"Thank you, Fiddleford." It was exactly what he needed to hear.

At the top of the stairs, Fiddleford hopped in the air, kicked his heels together, and shouted, "Now let's go watch some giant robots commit atrocities against God! YEEHAW!" He tore off down a corridor with Ford chasing close behind.

####

Stan had given Wendy a copy of the Mystery Shack's keys a year ago, back when the only secrets in the shack had been hidden beneath the vending machine. She still had them, and she could still let herself in at any time; she'd just needed an excuse to minimize how much trouble she'd get in if she was caught.

"Sorry, I forgot my ice cream was here and I just came to pick it up" was a much lower offense than "I was sneaking in specifically to find out the thing you were trying to keep me from finding out."

Staking out the shack from the woods was boring work—she would've liked to bring a friend along, but then she really couldn't use the "I was just swinging by to grab my food" excuse—but she could pass the time whittling until she lost light, and after that she had like a billion scary story podcasts to go through.

Friday night was anime night. Around seven, Soos's truck pulled out, with Melody and Ford on board. That was right—she'd seen Ford talking to Soos about joining in on anime night. One less person she had to look out for. Half past ten, the last light in the shack turned out.

Wendy went in.

She automatically avoided the creakiest floor boards as she let herself in the front door, and then crept into the kitchen. She closed her eyes as she groped around in the freezer for the sorbet she'd left behind so that the light couldn't disrupt her night vision. There. Excuse retrieved. If anyone caught her now, she could wave her dessert in their face and pull the dumb teen routine.

Now what?

All she knew about the shack's latest secret was that it had ripped up Soos's coat, it might be psychic, and it was possibly locked up and shouting mad about it. That didn't give her a lot to go on. The kitchen didn't look much different. Less clutter out on the counters and shelves than usual, but that wasn't evidence of paranormal activity. Maybe Abuelita had gone on a cleaning spree.

She'd start with safer locations and move out from there. If she was caught, where would she get in the least trouble for snooping?

Sorry guys, I just came by to get my sorbet; and then I really needed to use the bathroom, so I thought it wouldn't be a big deal if...

She crept out of the kitchen.

Wendy wasn't risking waking anyone by turning on lights; but by the glow of her phone's screen and the living room fish tank, she could see that Abuelita's sofa was missing its cushions. No signs of anything else weird though. She crept down the dark hall, phone pressed to her chest to hide the glow until she'd passed the guest room and Abuelita's room.

Her heart leaped into her throat when she tried to grasp the downstairs toilet's doorknob, but only brushed fabric instead. She held up her phone. They'd replaced the door with a curtain? That was weird, but...

She pulled the curtain aside.

Something sat cross-legged on the closed toilet. One blood-dripping yellow eye stared up at Wendy.

Wendy screamed.

"Hello to you too," the thing said. "Come in?"

Wendy punched it in the eye and bolted.

She heard it stumble-thud out of the bathroom, call, "Wait, wait—Wendy!" and then laugh, and then mutter, "ow, ow, ow."

Wendy slowed halfway to the exit as what she'd just seen fully registered. That was a human person. Whom she'd socked in the face.

Wendy about-faced. "Oh, man, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" She came back and flipped on the bathroom light to check for damage.

The stranger was a heavyset brown-skinned woman with a mass of loose golden curls hanging to her shoulder blades, wearing a baggy yellow hoodie and knee-length skirt—and something about her was familiar, but Wendy couldn't put her finger on what. The stranger shrugged, grinning, and said, "It's not the worst thing to happen to that eyeball today!" She moved an eyepatch over from her left eye to cover the bloody eye Wendy had socked—and that was why Wendy had only seen the one eye in the dark. The eyepatch.

Wow, smooth move, Wendy, punching somebody for having a painful-looking eye condition. She winced. "Sorry. Do you... wanna ice that?" She awkwardly held out her sorbet.

The stranger looked at the pint thoughtfully. "Can I eat it instead?"

"Um. No?" Wendy pulled it back. "Hey—did you call me Wendy? How'd you know my name?"

The stranger shrugged. "What, you work here, don't you? I see you all the time."

So they had met before? Wendy studied the stranger's face, trying to remember where—and then her eyes widened. "Wait—hold on, Toga Lady? No way!"

"Wh—yeah, that's me!" She laughed. "I can't get over how many people recognize me because of that."

"Yeah, everyone in town knows you." She flipped open her phone to show Toga Lady a meme Tambry sent a couple days ago: the picture Wendy had taken of her in the gift shop that spread all over town, currently captioned, "When you're meeting Plato but still wanna look kawaii."

Toga Lady cracked up. "Hey, I love that! Send that to Sh—Mabel, I wanna save that."

"Sure." Did Toga Lady not have a phone? Or maybe just didn't want to hand her number out to a stranger who punched her in the dark. "So... what are you doing here? Are you visiting the Pines?" Wendy vaguely remembered Toga Lady asking about the Pines a few months ago. "Who are you?"

"The name's Goldie," the stranger said. "And I'm... just staying here for a bit. As a house guest." (And, Bill realized, if Wendy asked him any more than that, he was in trouble. He and the Pines had very briefly arranged his cover story: if and when somebody noticed him, he was Goldie Locke and he was staying as a guest. But why was he staying as a guest, where had he come from, how long would he be here... they'd never gotten that far. He'd better think up some boring cover story the Pines wouldn't object to—maybe claim to be one of Abuelita's distant relatives, staying with family between jobs...)

Wendy said, "So, hold on. Are you the big mysterious supernatural phenomenon the Pines have been trying not to talk about?"

Goldie blinked. And then a brilliant, gleeful smile stretched across her face. "Wow, you're a smart one! How did you guess?"

####

To Fiddleford's evident despair, Soos had made good on his threat to put a moratorium on mecha anime. Instead, he played a few episodes of a period drama about a former samurai, desperate to retire from the sword, who kept running into civilians with inconvenient problems that could only be solved with a two-foot steel blade.

In the 1920s, the Northwests had added a private movie palace to their manor so they wouldn't have to watch picture shows with the common folks; and it hadn't take Soos much work to rig up a new projector to play from his laptop. The Northwests had outfitted the theater with armchairs, loveseats, and coffee tables, which had conveyed with the manor. Once the show was over and the snacks were cleared aside, one of the coffee tables made a perfect space for Ford to spread out his blueprints and research notes. While Soos, Melody, and Tate discussed the likelihood that unemployed samurai really used their swords to rescue stuck cats by chopping down tree branches, Ford explained the quantum destabilizer to Fiddleford.

It was a death ray designed to obliterate whatever it hit—whether matter, energy, both, neither, or other. If it hit a human, they'd be crushed into nothing. If it hit something as powerful as Bill, he'd be fatally collapsed into a miniature black hole, taking anything under his influence with him, and then he'd disappear. Not even ashes would be left behind. No matter what Bill was now, this could kill him.

The problem was the fuel, which Ford had obtained from another Fiddleford, who in turn had obtained it in a paradox dimension: an element that was inert when observed and highly radioactive when concealed. Parallel Fiddleford had named it NowUSeeitNowUDontium. But Ford had used up the last of his fuel on a wild shot during Weirdmageddon. And—short of rebuilding that accursed portal and venturing back out into the multiverse—Ford didn't know how to get more.

"Your parallel self helped me make all the modifications to my destabilizer to let it run on Dontium," Ford said. "You know your own mind better than anyone else. Perhaps if you see your parallel self's design modifications, you might be able to deduce the necessary properties of the substance used to fuel it, and we could... find a way to synthesize an artificial substitute, maybe?"

Fiddleford frowned worriedly at the blueprints. "Frankly, I don't know that I do know my own mind," he said. "But... I'll take a look-see at this, see what I can make of it."

"That's all I ask. Thank you, Fiddleford."

"What'll we do if I can't work it out, though?"

He'd already wondered that himself. Making an element was harder than finding one. There was a reason the gold miners outlasted the alchemists. "We'll find another way. Maybe adapt the destabilizer to another fuel source. I initially designed it for portability in anticipation of a fight with a highly mobile, flying opponent. Now that it'll be used for the execution of a captive, portability is less important. Perhaps it could be modified to plug into an external fuel source?"

"It'd have to be ginormous," Fiddleford said dubiously. "What about that infernal-lookin' summoning circle you had us try? Is that still an option?"

"I've considered it, but... there are four members of the zodiac who still don't know Bill's alive—and they're all children. I never learned exactly what the zodiac does, much less whether it would have any effect on Bill as a human, so I don't want to get them involved just to discover that solution doesn't work. The destabilizer will work."

"If'n we can fuel it."

Ford sighed. "We'll call the zodiac 'plan B.'"

####

On the way out, Ford stopped in the door and said, "Oh, Fiddleford—I nearly forgot." He took out a folded paper he'd stowed in his journal's cover and handed it to Fiddleford, grinning.

It was a hand-made card, with a cover that featured a cake and puffy stickers that read, "PARTY!" Inside was a crayon drawing of Stan and Ford holding hands and smiling next to the words, "Come to our 62nd birthday party!!! Saturday, June 15, 1:00 PM, at the Mystery Shack!!! DON'T BE LATE!!!!!"

Wryly, Fiddleford asked, "Did you make this yourself?"

"Mabel helped," Ford admitted. "I almost forgot our birthday entirely until she brought it up this morning."

"Did you? Now I don't feel so bad that I'd plumb forgot myself. Tomorrow—whoo-ee." A hint of anxiety entered his eyes. "Will the party attendees be including...?"

"We're having our party outside. Our 'houseguest' 'Goldie' is not allowed outside."

Fiddleford immediately relaxed. "Then I'll be there, don't you worry! With gifts, too!"

"Then we'll see you tomorrow." As Ford followed Soos down the long driveway toward his truck, he mused to himself that he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a birthday party. He didn't think he'd ever invited somebody outside his family to a birthday party and thought they would actually come. Felt good.

Ford was halfway to the truck when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Tate. Had they ever spoken one-on-one before? "Tate? What can I do—"

Tate took a step too close, and Ford's back immediately went stiff. "Don't think I didn't see those blueprints you were showing my Dad," Tate said. "Now, you listen here, Dr. Pines." He said "doctor" like it was an insult. "Thirty years ago I lost my father thanks to you and your stupid science project, and I just got him back. I ain't keen on losing him again. Is that clear?"

Oh. "I—yes. Perfectly clear. I don't want any trouble. I'm asking for his help to prevent trouble, actually."

Tate drawled, "Oh, yeah? That so? You usually need futuristic laser bazookas to prevent trouble?"

How good a look had Tate gotten at the blueprints? He'd been on the other side of the room. "Tate... listen." Ford took a deep breath. "You've got every reason to distrust me. Thirty years ago, I was so wrapped up in my own problems that I turned my back on your father when he needed help the most—and you, your mother, and he all suffered greatly for it. But whatever happens, I won't turn my back on him again. I promise."

Tate considered that in sullen silence. "Fine," he said. "See you don't. But I've got my eye on you."

He turned back toward the manor, paused, and faced Ford again. "When I came to Gravity Falls, the first place I went was the last address Dad wrote from. The man who answered the door said he never knew no McGucket and he'd never stayed there. I called him a dirty liar, and he chased me off his property with a hammer." He pointed at Ford. "You... You were gone by then, weren'tcha? That was your brother."

Ford's stomach dropped. "That's right. That... Stanley didn't know anything. We were estranged the whole time I knew your father. I didn't even call Fiddleford by name in my journals."

"All these years he told me he never knew my father, I thought he was just too big a coward to own up to what he'd done. When all along I was resentin' an innocent man, while you were..." He trailed off; then set his jaw firmly, squared his shoulders, and said, "Welp. You take responsibility like a man. I hope you act like one, too."

Ford shrugged helplessly. "I've been trying to."

Tate nodded once. "Good to finally meet the real you, Dr. Pines," he said coolly. Then he turned back toward the manor and walked away.

####

Stan was sure he'd heard a scream.

He stared at the ceiling. It was too late for people to be screaming. He didn't wanna get up. He couldn't hear anything now; but then, his hearing aids were out. Which meant the scream must have been really loud.

Grumbling, he sat up, put in his hearing aids, put in his teeth, put on his glasses, put on his slippers, dragged himself upright, and shuffled to the door.

The moment he stepped out, he could hear Bill's voice, chattering from some dark corner of the shack: "I was actually one of Stanford's research assistants! Haha! Yeah, during the earliest portal tests, I got sucked into the psychic plane between reality and dreams—ever heard of the 'mindscape'?—and everyone assumed it killed me! I've actually been haunting the shack like a ghost for the last three decades! It sure is great to be alive again!"

Stan's first thought, still half asleep, was, I don't remember Ford telling me about that part. And his second thought was, Wait. Who's Bill talking to?

Then he heard Wendy's laugh and his blood ran cold. "Aw man, that's insane! What'd you eat? Is there food in the mindscape?"

"I didn't need to eat, sleep, or age! Convenient, huh? Now I look thirty years too young!"

"How'd you keep from getting crazy bored without anyone to talk to?"

"I watched TV over Stanley's shoulder and eavesdropped on tourists' marital problems! I saw you all summer—"

Stan followed their voices to the living room and fumbled on the light switch. Wendy started and cringed back into the armchair she'd claimed, squinting in the bright light. Bill, who'd been standing in the dark like a creep, didn't flinch—but he slowly stood a little straighter.

"What the heck's going on in here?" Stan snapped.

"Hey, Mr. Pines," Wendy said weakly. "Sorry—I forgot my ice cream when I left," she held up a pint, "so I came back for it and... um..."

"I spooked her in the dark and she socked me!" Bill laughed.

Stan moved between Wendy and Bill. "She's got the right idea." As Stan moved further into the room, Bill circled him to get closer to the doorway.

"But—I mean, is Goldie all you were keeping secret?" Wendy asked. "I worked here all last summer. I know what this place is like! You know I can handle learning that some woman's been stuck in a parallel plane—right?"

Before Stan had a chance to say anything, Bill piped up again: "They're all just worried about the thirty-year-old missing person case they could have helped solve! But hey, I don't mind. I'm sure the only reason they didn't try to find me was because Ford thought I was dead and Stan didn't know about me." Bill looked straight in Stan's eyes. "Isn't that right?"

Oh, Bill had them all over a barrel now.

A good two-man con was a lot like good improv theater, in that neither actor could contradict the other one's story; once one of them introduced a detail, the other one had to agree "yes, and—" and roll with it. No matter how stupid or insane your partner's contribution, if you start arguing about your story in front of your mark, they'll know you're lying—and there goes your mark.

Stan knew that. Bill knew Stan knew that.

And Bill had gotten to Wendy first. Now, unless Stan wanted to completely spill the triangular beans to Wendy, he had no choice but to play along and "yes, and" Bill's stupid story about being Ford's assistant.

Fine. But no way was Stan playing along on Bill's terms.

Stan scoffed loudly. "Or maybe the reason my brother didn't try to find you is because you're a no-good lying creep who"—(what do nerds hate each other for?)—"tried to steal his research!"

From the corner of his eye, Stan could see Wendy's eyebrows shoot up and her mouth open slightly. Yeah, good. Yes-and that, Cipher.

Stan expected anger. There wasn't anger. The ghost of a smile flickered across Bill's face before he got his expression under control. There was a spark of light in his eye, like something sleeping in him had activated.

In the split second between Bill's lips parting and the first syllable emerging, Stan realized—a moment too late—that he'd made a terrible mistake. Bill wasn't just a con artist. He was one of those guys. The guys who got into crime because they couldn't get into theater. The divas. The attention hogs. The guys who enjoyed lying for the thrill of it.

And Stan had just given him an opportunity for drama.

"Steal it?" Bill snapped. "Steal it?" He raised a hand and pointed a thumb at himself, elbow jutted out to the side, chest puffed up, making himself bigger. "I am his research! Over half the stuff he put in his journals comes from material I dug up for him! By his third journal, he was practically my ghostwriter! But do you think I was gonna get a co-author credit?"

"Oh, that's a load of bull—slander," Stan snapped. "I am not letting you talk about my brother like that! He did all the hard work while you, what—" what fit the story they were inventing, "—picked up books for him at the library like a good little undergrad—?"

"Hey!" Bill turned sideways to jab a finger at Stan, like a fencer making his profile narrower before driving his sabre home. "Post grad! I was working on my dissertation! And I didn't just 'pick them up'; I found the books he needed, usually because I'd already read them and he hadn't!"

"Oh, you read a few books! Oooh, I'm so impressed! But you're not the one who wrote about them, sister!"

"HA! The hundreds of pages of notes I gave him say otherwise! So what if I wanted to publish first while he was hoarding the fruits of my labor in his basement, it was my right—!"

Stan bellowed, "That kind of talk is why you got dismissed from your dissertation program for plagiarism!"

All righteous indignation, Bill raised his voice to match, "The plagiarism charges were unproven! I dropped out on my own terms!"

"Oh SUUURE, because you wanted to see the WOOORLD! And how much of the world did you see hiding in a podunk logging town doing my brother's primary research for him, huh?!"

"HA!" Voice nearly a shriek, finger raised to the heavens in triumph, Bill crowed, "SO YOU ADMIT I DID ALL THE PRIMARY RESEARCH—!"

Ford said, "What the devil is going on here?"

Stan and Bill fell silent. Ford stood in the entryway, looking one part irate and two parts bewildered. The front door was still open, Soos and Melody peering around Ford.

Ford could doom them. Stan knew how to improv like a con artist, Bill knew how to improv like a con artist, but did Ford? Ever since they'd been kids, he'd always been just a little slower with a lie. If Stan had a chance to ease him into the backstory they'd concocted without requiring him to improvise himself—hey, we were just explaining to Wendy how 'Goldie' used to be your research assistant until 'she' got eaten by a portal test—

"STANFORD," Bill snapped. Stan almost jumped out of his skin. Oh no. Bill glared at Ford, pointed at Stan, and said, "Tell Stanley the plagiarism charges were unfounded, I was unfairly accused!"

Stan held his breath.

Ford stared at Bill, and then stared at Stan—Stan could almost see the gears turning in his head—and then stared at Wendy, and then stared at Bill again. And then he snarled, "After you tried to beat me to publication, you two-faced liar?"

"HA!" Stan pointed at Bill's face, laughing too hard to speak. "HAAA!" He pounded on the TV, half hysterical with mirth, and had to lean on it as he wheezed for breath. Ford—what a dark horse, Stan could kiss his cheek—Ford was maintaining the most stoic poker face Stan had ever seen.

Bill was violently biting his lip, red in the face, brows drawn tight together, trembling all over. It took Stan a moment to realize Bill wasn't angry. He was battling hard to look furious—playing the part of the loser of the argument—when the creep was actually fighting not to laugh.

Bill made eye contact with Stan, very nearly lost it, and turned his back toward Wendy so she couldn't see his face. He gestured vaguely toward Stan and Ford and croaked, "You see what I have to put up with?"

"I dunno, man." Grinning, Wendy said, "Not to make light of the whole 'stuck haunting the shack for thirty years' thing, but it kiiinda sounds like you had it coming."

Mission accomplished. And let that teach Bill a lesson about trying to out-lie Stan Pines.

Soos waved a hand. "Hey, uh, what's going on—?"

Now that was a disaster waiting to happen. "I'll catch you up." Stan zoomed around Ford, scooped his arms around Soos's and Melody's shoulders, and hustled them out of the room.

####

"You're sure you want to bike home alone this late?" Ford was walking Wendy back to where she said she'd left her bike, just outside the clearing the Mystery Shack made in the forest. "I could give you a ride."

"Thanks, Mr. Pines, but I'm fine. This whole part of the forest is basically my backyard."

"If you insist." He supposed the Corduroy cabin wasn't that far off—the local kids probably ventured further on a regular basis. They just didn't usually drop by the Mystery Shack at this hour. "What were you doing visiting the shack, anyway?"

"I came back to get my ice cream," Wendy said, holding up her sorbet pint demonstratively. "Which... is probably completely melted by now." She shrugged, popped off the lid and drank it.

She came by this late for ice cream? Ford had his doubts. But then, if he'd been a sixteen-year-old with a summer job in a house keeping a supernatural secret, would he have done any differently? (He was just glad she hadn't worked out who their "guest" really was. He'd have to thank Stan later for his quick thinking with a cover story.)

Wendy picked up her bike and hit her helmet against a tree to dislodge any bugs that might have crawled in. "Hey, uh—please don't tell my dad I was over here, okay? I kinda didn't mention that I was going out."

Wendy was Boyish Dan's kid, wasn't she? How different they were. The Dan that Ford knew hadn't been much older than Wendy, but he'd regarded these woods with a respect that bordered on fear. He'd never be wandering around this late at night. "I can't imagine why I'd need to bring it up." Ford had snuck out for dumber reasons as a kid.

"Thanks, Mr. Pines." She put on her helmet and got on her bike. "I'll see you in the morning!"

"The morning? The party isn't until one, is it?"

"Yeah, but I'm running an errand with Mabel." Wendy waved as she left. In the dark, her arm blended in with the trees.

Ford hadn't heard Mabel mention any errands. What was she doing that she needed Wendy's help for?

Ford waited until he couldn't hear Wendy's bike anymore; and then headed back into the shack.

####

(Y'all have no idea how long I've been waiting to post that argument. If you enjoyed this chapter, please let me know what you thought! I need comments to survive. Like tinkerbell. Thanks!!)

#wendy corduroy #grunkle stan #(for the art)#bill cipher #human bill cipher #(for the overall fic)#gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(with thanks to astro-b-o-y-d for the headcanon that McGucket hosts anime nights)

403 notes · View notes