#ford free fire

[best-character-named-x-poll]

have you done your daily click

[babycharmander]

(BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS)

I just finished reading The Book of Bill and I am kindof losing my mind over some of this stuff.

I had wondered if Alex Hirsch might make Bill sympathetic in some way and oh boy I was not expecting him to do it so successfully (and without cheapening Bill's character).

So, we learn that Bill was born into a 2D world... as a mutant who can see into the third dimension. He claims he was absolutely loved by all, but when talking about his powers, he mentions under Pyrokinesis:

"Cipher, Cipher, he's insane / Starting fires with his brain." The kids in grade school could be so cruel. But where are they now, huh? WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

So probably not quite as liked as he was letting on. To add to that, there's the silly straw page, which looks like silly nonsense until you decipher some of the codes:

"EYE DOCTOR OF A DIFFERENT KIND / WHO WANTS TO MAKE HIS PATIENTS BLIND" "THE DOCTOR SAYS / THREE SIPS A DAY / WILL MAKE THE VISIONS / GO AWAY"

I wasn't sure what this meant until I saw someone point out... he was seeing a third dimension that no one else could see. His parents probably took him to the eye doctor to try to "fix" him. Which, speaking of his eye doctor, the coded message in the section about human eyeballs says something interesting:

"MY OPTOMETRIST NEVER SAW IT COMING"

It could be a joke given beforehand he's talking about dissecting a human eye, but given the previous hints of medical abuse, I wouldn't put it past him that he tried to get revenge on his eye doctor.

Oh yeah and the whole thing about him setting his entire dimension on fire? Yeah it turns out it was entirely a mistake (he just wanted everyone to understand the third dimension he was seeing so they could be free of only two dimensions), he was so traumatized by it he blacks out when trying to recall it. He deeply, deeply regrets it, and...

"What? Your ENTIRE home dimension? destroyed? How? By what?" Bill looked distant, more distant than I'd ever seen him. "By a monster."

He sees himself as a monster.

And yet, he's not some innocent, misunderstood being. He still revels in causing pain and chaos. He's terrible in general, but becomes incredibly abusive toward Ford.

"YOU'RE MY PROPERTY. DON'T FORGET IT. The hillbilly abandoned you, your father won't want you returning without millions, you have no friends, and if you died out here in the snow, who would even miss you?"

Which... speaking of him and Ford...

Yes, yes, I know people ship them. But like, whether you see their relationship as romantic or platonic (I see it as the latter), there's some interesting parallels to be made here.

Both Bill and Ford are mutants who were mocked for their being different. (Bill was not physically a mutant, as far as we know, but more in the sense of him having vision stronger than that of everyone else in his dimension, and also having special powers. And he does describe himself as a mutant.) Both became social outcasts, separated from their families but still haunted by them (Ford seeing commercials of Stan on TV and running across old photos of him and his brother, Bill being haunted by his family in some form). Neither could return home for one reason or another. Both more powerful than their peers (Ford intellectually, Bill in terms of actual powers). Both of them isolated and alone. (Yes, Bill does have the Henchmaniacs, but they seem like shallow friends, and only really seem to follow him out of a desire to have a place to party.)

Ford was not aware of most of this, aside from knowing that Bill could not go home because his dimension was destroyed. But Bill absolutely saw himself in Ford. There was no other person he tried to use whom he felt a stronger connection to.

And he actually seems to care about Ford--he actually gave him a birthday present, and when Ford didn't like it, he decided to get drunk and party with him instead to make up for it.

And then when Ford realizes what Bill's plan actually is and refuses to go along with it, and fights back no matter what Bill does, Bill completely breaks down.

After living for trillions of years, he met someone who was like him, and that person rejected him.

He goes berserk, wreaking havoc, being caught by the dimensional authority that he's been taunting for most of his life.

And then after dying and being cast out of hell for being too annoying, he winds up faced with the Axolotl, who sends him to therapy, where he continues to break down further, sending out the book in a desperate attempt to find someone, anyone who will help him break loose and wreak havoc once again.

"You have no friends, and if you died ... who would even miss you?"

I don't know, Bill. Who would even miss you?

In short,

[ID: The front and back of one of Bill's Valentines cards. On the front is a black void with Bill Cipher lying down without his hat, gazing blankly upwards, with the text "I DON'T WANT TO DIE ALONE" above him. On the back is a simple white "TO/FROM" in red, with a red outline illustration of Bill spontaneously growing a mouth and eating a realistic, bloody heart. /end ID]

[anistarrose]

I'd like to propose a dark horse candidate for the most interesting line in The Book of Bill. And it's this near-unreadable, seemingly one-off joke from the "Skin" page:

[ID: tiny text reading: "Help! This is not Bill Cipher. My name is Grebley Hemberdreck of Zimtrex 5. I'm one of thousands of beings Bill has devoured over trillions of years whose souls are now trapped inside him. You have to free me! It's horrible in here. He just keeps playing the song "Good Vibrations" by Marky Mark on an endless loop. Please, please, this is not a joke! The Zimtrexians were once a proud and mighty people, but now our spirits long for release from this..." End ID.]

Okay, so Bill devours souls who then live out a horrible existence inside him. That's just some typical and expected Bill behavior, right? Nothing to be shocked by? Maybe not, but one thing jumps out at me... and of all things, it's the way that Bill keeps playing that Beach Boys parody (correction provided by @fexalted: no, not in fact a Smiley Smile parody, but a real song!) on loop.

Because in The Book of Bill, there's a recurring motif of characters playing music for a very specific reason: to repel an unwanted presence inside their head. This is what Elias Inkwell, and later Ford, did with the "It's A Small World" parody — they tried to keep Bill out of their brains. Or, metaphorically... to drown out his voice.

[ID: a Journal 3 page with a cassette taped inside. It's titled: "The World Is Small Ever After for Always." Ford writes: "If it's war you want, it's war you'll get! If you want to torture me? I'll torture you back!" End ID.]

That doesn't necessarily mean that Bill finds the voices of devoured souls to be troubling, let alone downright haunting, does it? Well... not quite on its own. But there's a "color" code on the page about TV static that says a lot:

[ID: a code consisting of colorful squares, translated to letters that spell out: "he never sleeps he never dreams but somehow still he hears their screams." End ID] (screenshot courtesy of @fexiled)

The context of the page implies these "screams" come to Bill especially when he listens to TV static, and the broader context of the book implies that these are the screams of his destroyed home dimension, Euclydia. Therefore, not necessarily those of the souls he devoured, from Zimtrex 5 and possibly other dimensions.

Except... do those two things really have to be mutually exclusive?

The beings that Bill devoured were accumulated over "trillions" of years, plural, according to Grebley. In Weirdmageddon 1, Bill claims to have resided in the Nightmare Realm for precisely "one trillion" years. So the "devouring" habit probably extends back even further than his time in the Nightmare Realm...

Enter @acetyzias, pointing out a very conspicuous word — and one of the only uncensored words — from Bill's description of destroying his home dimension:

[ID: the word "mandibles". End ID.]

Oh, and how does Bill describe the "monster" that destroyed his home to Ford, when Ford asks about revenge?

[ID: Journal excerpt reading: "Sixer, it would eat you alive." End ID.]

For a long time, Bill's destruction of his home has been associated with fire, even when the story's told by Bill himself. But through the way the book characterizes Bill's guilt — and characterizes how the consequences of what he's done remain lurking deep inside him — I think The Book of Bill lays out the hints for another motif: devouring.

And, well, when it comes to how Bill destroys things... it wouldn't be without precedent.

[ID: screenshot of Bill in Weirdmageddon 3, taking a bite out of the Earth. End ID.]

[lunartuness]

Spoilers for Book of Bill

Thoughts on Bill talking about Ford

I was not prepared for canon Billford in the year 2024 and yet here we are.

But seriously, I'm kinda surprised how much Bill actually liked and valued Ford? Obviously it's in a horrible, toxic, never come within the same continent as them kind of way but it's just, I always kind of figured their relationship (while obviously adoring from Ford's end due to Journal 3) was mainly just Bill humoring Ford long enough until he no longer needs him. Like, 'yeah, sure, of course you're special, I definitely believe in you' sort of nonsense.

But in Bill's book it's implied multiple times he had as close to a crush on Ford as he's probably capable of. I mean, the whole 'love cage' section is literally verbatim what he did to Ford (and just wait until they're mentally broken enough to confess their true feelings! Fear and love are basically the same thing!) And in the valentine's section he talks about leaving mice, which again, he did for Ford's birthday, and then when he wasn't happy about that, got him drunk enough to have a good time (implied kinda forcibly? since Ford declined beforehand). Then there's the fact he literally calls Fiddleford a third wheel (also coincidentally after we just learn Fiddleford spent hours on handmade gifts for Ford and forgot to get his wife anything).

And when Ford finally does catch on and things go bad? Bill tries first to talk with Ford through the zombies (to manipulate him, of course, but also Admit it, you'd miss me. I have missed you, and Bill actually smiles.) And then leaves little sticky notes asking nicely to talk. When he finally gets mad enough to escalate, he still does so in a very not-violent-for-Bill-way. Sure, killing Ford wouldn't help him but we know how messed up Bill can get. And yet what does he do? He leaves Ford's body to almost freeze, only to have a warm fire and a love song playing when he wakes up. He causes mild public disturbances and gives him an obnoxious tattoo. When he finally, finally snaps is when we start to see more of the Bill we got in the show when he tortures Ford a bit. But even that is mild?

Like, Bill rearranged a man's face for fun and takes joy in destroying the Nightmare Realm. But after threating Ford he leaves him unharmed. Very mentally scarred, yes, but safe and intact. He even gives him three days to get his life together. And then treats it like a messy breakup when Ford finally breaks free. Hell, it seems like he was more upset about losing Ford than losing the portal.

All this is to say that I think from Bill's point of view he was being genuinely kind to Ford. He gave him gifts, complimented him, and tried to work things out peacefully when Ford started pulling away (again, his very messed up version of peaceful, but the point still stands).

So when they do finally meet again? Bill still offers Ford a spot next to him. Again, I originally thought this was more playing into Ford's ego while taking a cheap shot at him (i.e. you'll fit in great with the freaks!), but by now it's obvious he wants Ford. He's petty and cruel and horribly abusive about it, but in his own twisted way he likes Ford. A lot. Enough to show mercy (or at least not be as violent as he could be) and to try and give him multiple chances to come back, no apology needed!

And the worst part is Bill knows this. Bill's trying to make this relationship work. He feels connected to Ford in a way he quite possibly hasn't felt with anyone else. And he knows its doomed to fail. In his mind he has to destroy everything he touches and everything he cares about. Any other connections he has are either superficial or dead to him (usually literally). This relationship will end the same way, it's just in Bill's nature. To him, that's all his relationships are capable of being.

All this just makes me sad and adds so much depth and I'm obsessed. There's just something about self-destructive and truly cruel characters having moments where they wish they weren't that way. Where they'll come the closest they ever can to apologizing for how they are.

(Also Bill literally wanted Ford to get a tattoo saying 'If lost return to Bill' like we cannot just ignore that oh my god)

[qqueenofhades]

How do we balance the tentative joy of hearing about the indictment with the overwhelming and crushing knowledge that not a goddamn thing is going to come of this and ultimately nothing will change?

Because

um

reasons.

(actually i feel like if the skies split open and shithead goes to jail it'll just leave a giant sucking void for desantis to slime his way into the party's graces and he'll charge full speed ahead into nuking this country from the inside)

Okay, look. Everyone reacts differently, we've all been through a fuckload of trauma, and all that, but I just... really don't get the pre-emptive "don't get your hopes up, nothing will happen and nothing will change." I know that people do it as a defense mechanism, but we spent months hearing that Trump would win the 2020 election. (He lost it.) Then we heard that all his lawsuits to overturn might actually work. (They didn't.) Then we heard that he wouldn't be impeached after January 6. (He was.) Then we heard that he wouldn't be indicted, and well, today, he was. This is unprecedented in the history of America. Over 250+ years, and a current or former president had never been indicted for anything. Not even goddamn Nixon was formally charged, and Biden definitely isn't gonna pardon Trump the same way Ford did with Tricky Dick. And now that someone has finally bit the bullet and gone first, there are a whole cascade of other indictments lined up and waiting to be finished.

We don't know what will happen, but something will. Trump will be arrested and arraigned, and yet again: this has never happened before. Just throwing up our hands and going "well guess nothing's gonna happen and he'll get off scot free!" is NOT the energy we want to be bringing here. It's time to push forward, make sure that the Manhattan DA, and everyone else with pending charges against him, hold that motherfucker's greasy orange feet to the fire and make him FRY. As for DeSantis, as I have written about before, he's not smart, he's not a good candidate, and his ideas are not by any means universally popular. Fascists thrive on making you feel disempowered and hopeless, so it's no use to fight them since they'll just win anyway, and all the terrible events of the last few years have made it an appealing idea, but... c'mon now.

Everyone insisted for months that Trump would never be charged with anything. But almost 60% of the country thinks that the criminal cases against him are permanently disqualifying, and this is before any major cascades. This whole "if you dare to arrest Trump, he'll win in a landslide in 2024!" psy-op is just that: a psy-op. A trick. A bluff. They're shit scared that the Big Mac God King is finally on the brink of an actual downfall and facing consequences for his actions for the first time in his fucking miserable life, and they're trying to freak us out of doing it, because they have nothing left. So I say: get him. Run him over. Then back up the truck and run him over again.

[bell4donn4]

Getaway truck | a western road trip with Luke Castellan

Tags: established relationship,Luke and reader are basically the mom and dad of chb, reader’s godly parent is not specified.

Author’s note: tbh I’ve been lowkey obsessed w western Americana and road trips. I wanted this to be longer but whatever

The humid wind coming from the rolled down window gently messed up your hair.

You sat quietly on the passenger seat of the washed out green truck you and Luke rented. It must have been a Ford 1967, or some other kind of vintage model.

You couldn’t tell, and honestly, you didn’t bother to anyways, too busy looking out of the window admiring the desertic surroundings; sipping on your coca-cola.

<<you smudged your lipstick>> he glanced at you, taking his eyes off the road to send you a lopsided smile. One of his big and rough hands rested on your bare thigh, exposed by your jeans shorts.

It was mid summer, almost autumn time, yet the western country side never failed to drain you out with its scorching weather.

<<did I?>> you pulled down the visor, inspecting yourself in the small mirror; but you could tell he was right by the red stain on the metal can.

<<oh yeah, I did>>

Luke laughed lowly while he took a turn to the left, hand strong and firm on the steering wheel. You admired him in silence, a sort of pride filling your ego as you looked at your boyfriend.

That day, he wore a white linen shirt, which he (purposely) left unbuttoned on the chest, making his Hermes dog-tag visible. A pair of sunglass used to sit in the bridge of his nose, but were now long forgotten on the dashboard. It felt weird to see him without the bright orange shirt.

This little getaway from camp was going more than lovely. Finally free from all the responsibilities you both had to take on. You couldn’t even imagine how the camp must have looked like in that moment, with both of the two head counsolers gone.

<<do you think they set the cabins on fire?>>

<<for how long have we been away?>> Luke said

<< half a day?>> you nodded

<<yeah then, the woods are probably already burning as well. Along with the cabins and all>>

he hummed in approval at his own answer, earning a giggle from you.

He caressed your thigh with his thumb.

<<im joking, I’m sure the kids will be alright>>

<<you sound like an old dad>>

He shrugged his shoulders, grinning; but just as it started, the conversation slowly died down.

In the background of your comfortable silence, a low melody coming from the radio filled your ear.

With Luke, you didn’t need to talk. No many words need to be spoken with a man like him. You have been together enough to understand each other in silence. Plus— that should’ve been a sort of vacation from the chaos of camp.

So you preferred not to add anything else, simply allowing the worries to occupy the back of your mind.

You turned the music up as Molly Parton started playing.

You enjoyed the song, humming along the robotic notes coming from the radio.

Fortunately, by the time you arrived at your destination— a lake far far away from the one you had to see everyday— the worries were all gone. Replaced by that fuzzy feeling that only being with Luke could give you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Called to Duty 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, abandonment, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Summary: You struggle to move on from the biggest mistake of your life but find it hard to forget among the whispers of a small town.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You rub your lower back as you enter the bakery. You focus on the simple task; just a loaf of bread. You have a weak spot for the sourdough there. Just thinking about it, you could salivate.

You wait behind another customer. You think she works at the bank but you’ve never been very good with faces, even in a small town like Hammer Ford. Others don’t seem to have that issue as your name easily rolls off their tongues. The whispers are getting louder now that you can’t hide as easily.

The bank clerk sidles along the counter and glances over her shoulder as you shuffle forward. She sends you a judgmental look but you reserve any of the same. Everyone knows she’s sneaking around with the manager down at her branch.

You tug your shirt down as it threatens to ride further up your stomach. Everything’s too tight these days. Everything’s uncomfortable. Your fingers linger on the hem, touching the taught flesh beneath. Four months now.

“Hi,” you greet the woman behind the till, “can I get a loaf of the sourdough. I’ll take the day old for the discount if you got it.”

She smiles brightly and repeats your order, asking if there’s anything else. You say no. You budgeted for the bread, even a tea would put you too close to the line. She grabs you a loaf and she keys in the day-old discount.

You pay as she slips the wrapped loaf into a paper bag. Before you can turn away, she stops you, “have a cookie,” she points to the plate of shortbread beside the small specials sign. “They’re not moving.”

“I can’t,” you argue.

“You’re doing me a favour. I don’t like to throw them away,” she insists.

You smile sheepishly and take a cookie, hugging the bag above your stomach as you turn and nibble on the cookie. You cross to the door, juggling your armload as you open it, and leaving without a look back. You hear your name again before the door closes.

Who’s the father…

That’s the big question. You’re not married, not dating, so who could it be? The same question got you kicked out of your mother’s house. The pharmacy let you the dingy bachelor above as you spend your days working a till at the front.

You won’t say it, even to dispel the murmurs. You know it wouldn’t solve anything, only add fuel to the fire. ‘She should’ve known better. The golden prince of Hammer Ford is a known playboy. Why wouldn’t she be safe? Why wouldn’t she be responsible?’ They wouldn’t ask the same of him.

As you turn onto the street, your arm hits someone else and you drop the cookie. It cracks on the pavement and you look down, leaning forward to see the ruins. You deflate. Oh well, it was free, after all.

“Sorry,” a voice draws your attention from the spoiled shortbread. You look up at the man. You know him, you think. Again, you’re no good with faces.

He runs his hand over his shaved head then drags it around his beard, “I’ll get you another.”

“No, you don’t have to,” you wave him off, “I should go…”

“Miss, it’s the right thing to do,” he insists.

“Really, it’s okay,” you assure him, “I should’ve looked where I was going.”

“Me too,” he agrees. 

You tilt your head and push a shoulder up, “well, have a good one.”

You turn to cross the road, looking both ways. As you step down from the curb, the man does the same. Why can’t you remember his name? You swear you ran into him before. Down at The Horn with… him.

He walks parallel to you as you cross the street. You stop and look at him, confused.

“Just seeing you across, miss.”

“Uh, thanks, that’s very nice but you don’t have to do that,” you chuckle nervously.

“I know. Just what I’m trained to do.”

You remember, he’s a soldier. Yeah, Thor mentioned that. Just thinking his name stings.

“Right, well, thanks, I appreciate that,” you put your hand on your stomach and haul the bag higher, turning toward the pharmacy just a shop down.

You hear him follow you again. It makes you nervous. Is he going to the pharmacy? It could be a coincidence, it’s a small town. Still, it’s very odd.

You go to the door just past the store entrance and take out your key. He comes right up and watches you, looming strangely at your shoulder. You hold onto your key and face him.

“You’re pregnant,” he says as if you don’t know.

“Uh, yeah,” you nearly laugh, “I am.”

“Shouldn’t be carrying all that,” he says.

“Just bread,” you answer.

“That father should be getting you bread,” he argues.

You’re put off by his demeanour. He speaks as if he’s giving orders to the world around him. You guess that’s just his nature.

“He won’t be doing that,” you shake your head. “I’m fine, really.”

“You don’t remember me,” he adds, “I remember you. You were dancing and drinking.” He looks again at your stomach. You put your hand over it defensively.

“I wasn’t like this then.”

“You weren’t,” he frowns then points to your finger, “no ring?”

This is awkward. Where everyone else in Hammer Ford is happy to whisper behind their hands, he’s interrogating you in the street. You shake your head and look down.

“Must not be a real man who did that,” he comments, “I’m Sy, just to remind you.”

“Sy,” you sniff, “right, I–”

He says your name first, “I remember.” He taps his temple, “I won’t forget.”

You swallow and the bag crinkles against your chest, “I’m… gonna go, uh, Sy, my feet hurt.”

“Be safe,” he commands.

“Thanks,” you utter awkwardly and stick your key in the slot. He stands staunchly as he is and as you pull the door open, he reaches to open it all the way and holds it, “got it.”

You keep the fragile smile on your lips and bow inside. He lets it close slowly and you pause to make sure he’s on the other side. You twist the lock into place and recoil. That was very weird.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Dude seriously nobody talks enough about Stan’s route and it’s literally my favorite. Especially the cliff part and the art for that is so UGGHHH I wish the moment wasn’t interrupted 💔

RIGHT! I mean I enjoy Ford's route but come on. Stan's is just amazing.

He fixes your car for free { even though we all know he could have made some excuse and pushed it off on someone else }

He makes you a hat! WITH YOUR NAME ON IT

Get's all bashful when you take Mabel and Dipper out for breakfast and you help Mabel for Gompers and Waddles wedding 😩.

Build's you a camp fire and gives you his jacket.

Remembers that you wanted to know how to fight and want to dance then builds a spot to teach you and takes you dancing { he actually pushes the date up so you can }

Don't get me started on that dance scene 😩

[billcipher-rpblog]

ooc: A not at all comprehensive timeline of everything that has happened in the past like week or so. you’re so welcome - @butterfly-eye 🦋

SUNDAY, 25/8/2024

Bill meets a pre-betrayal Ford (perspective-scientist)

Bill bullies a high school student over a failed test

People begin to question Bill and Ford’s relationship and also Bill’s emotional stability. Bill denies that they were together, but admits Ford “MATTERED TO [him] A LITTLE.”.

The Bill Cipher hug arc begins.

Wendy prank calls the Therapism

Bill explains that one of the reasons he refuses to recover because he will be reincarnated as a new being without his memories.

MONDAY, 26/8/2024

Hug anon ramps up the pressure. They will hug this triangle.

Ronishappy makes a deal with Bill: if he makes a portal for Bill, he can eat Bill’s hat.

The hat is yucky but a deal is a deal. Ron explodes the portal he made.

Anons continue torturing Bill with reminders of his existentially horrifying backstory.

Bill writes poetry. He doesn’t share it but he does write it.

If Bill was a crustacean, he would simply Not Be One.

17ghostsinatrenchcoat makes Bill a new, ford-free header.

Ron gets a portal for Bill, but can’t break the glass :(

Bill Gets The Hug.

TUESDAY, 27/8/2024

A Ford (ford-between-dimensions) tries to get past Ford to shut down the portal he made.

Bill tries to keep denying that he was in a relationship with Ford at any point.

Past-Ford ducks out of the whole ordeal. Bill says he wants “a Ford who won’t leave [him]”

Ford and Bill keep fighting on main

Ron tries to get Bill to forgive him :(

Bill’s mother is there???

After a little needling, Bill admits that he and Ford were together and that Ford dumped him.

Ford shows up to the Therapism. Bill tries to ask Ford to break him out. They argue.

Karaoke Night is brought up.

Bill continues to be tormented about his childhood.

WEDNESDAY, 28/8/2024

Ron tries to make another portal for Bill! Unfortunately, Minecraft Nether portals do not work for real interdimensional travel.

Bill still loves Sixer. It is not mutual.

Someone snitches on Bill to the Axolotl.

Bill gets bullied by a lesser deity (kanonswifesfwblog)

Ron makes another new portal.

Fox anon is also working on a portal. I don’t remember when this started.

Mod learns how to do yellow text

Bill is bullied by therapy.

Ron finishes his new portal!

Ron’s new portal lights on fire.

Bill and Ford have another post-marital dispute because Ford accidentally called the “One Sixer Please” thing sweet.

Ron gets trapped in the bucket dimension and the portal is lost. Ford helps him get home.

THURSDAY, 29/8/2024

Dipper and Bill fight. mixter-therapy-deity tries to mediate.

Ron returns home safe and traumatized.

Bill slips up and says he doesn’t care about Ron’s feelings and was just using him. Ron is vexed.

Bill apologizes and ‘promises’ to care more about Ron. I think he and Ford adopted a child together despite being divorced.

Fox anon finishes their portal but turns it off at the last second.

17ghostsinatrenchcoat creates a rift and activates it.

Bill says something not-mean to Ron.

Bill fucked the old man.

Will Cipher shows up and Bill has an Issue with it.

Bill is freeeeee! He starts breaking out all the other Bills too.

Ron gives his triangle dad some presents :3

Bill stalls with starting Weirdmageddon 2.0

Ford and Bill have the single most childish argument they ever have /vpos and Bill starts?? flirting??

FRIDAY, 30/8/2024

We found Waldo (ask-lumpy-waldo)

Mod discovers that yellow text doesnt work

The Billford flirting turns back into arguing.

Fish Anon wants them to just kiss already (literally)

Karaoke Night.

Bill threatens the Anons.

mixter-therapy-deity learns of Bill’s escape

Bill emotionally manipulates Past-Ford into solving the formula for the barrier around Gravity Falls.

The Collector doesn’t know what’s going on but they’re scared.

Bill may or may not be the biological father of Phineas Flynn.

Bill’s mental health is once again called into question.

Ron is helping Ford escape the Nightmare Realm, to Bill’s chagrin.

Fresh Sans is here

Bill gets bullied by a moth (moonstone-chaos)

Bill is bullied by a teenage girl.

Bill is ghosted by his ex.

The Therapy Deity promises to recapture Bill.

The Collector tries to teach Bill about compassion. Results pending.

(Mod) HELP THIS IS AMAZING?? This is actually so funny, I laughed irl a lot so many times while reading this-

Uh yeah to those confused anons who aren't crusty iPad kids who check tumblr every 5 seconds like me, feel free to use this guide to catch up (I might put in updates too, we'll see how this goes)

[southern-god1]

Beer And Thunder: Thor and The Southern Avengers

Out of the clear blue Florida sky, there was a massive bolt of lightning, followed by an earsplitting crack of thunder that boomed for miles. The bolt of blueish lighting was immense, and persisted for a few moments, unlike regular lightning. The literal bolt from the blue shook the ground and left a deep crater, as though something had slammed into the Earth at high speed and with great force. From the smoking crater came a large hand, gripping the lip of the crater and hauling someone up. 

The figure stepping from the crater was a huge man. No, not a man; a god. Standing at 6 foot 3 inches, he stood tall and strong, and would have loomed over many a mortal. He wore a suit of armored plate that weighed as much as an Abrams main battle tank, yet he barely felt it. His armor covered his chest, leaving his massive biceps free, ready to swing the immense hammer in his right hand. His long blonde hair fell down over his bright blue eyes, and he swept it away. Thor, Son of Odin, frowned in confusion. This was…definitely not Midgard. Or, not the Midgard he remembered. Where was the snow? The “big” and “strong” Viking warriors -small to him, like all mortals- come to offer him tribute and mead? The small mortals bowing before the mighty God of Thunder? And why was it so hot?!? It was hot and humid, like the fires of Muspelheim! In the far distance, he saw strange clusters of steel and glass, rising into the horizon. Ah, mortals! He begin to swing his hammer, before slingshotting himself far into the distance.

It was a fine day in Jacksonville, Florida. There was going to be a Gators game later that day and people were getting ready for tailgates; buying beers, brats, and Yankees to worship them as they enjoyed the game. Huge trucks drove through the streets, blaring both the AC from the vents and bro country from the speakers. That changed abruptly when something came slamming into the pavement, leaving a small indentation where it landed. A huge Ford slammed on the breaks, narrowly avoiding toppling into the hole, front wheels hanging into the hole. Baffled passersby got close, only to see a tall and muscular figure with long blonde hair standing in the hole, climbing out. He was tall, very muscular, and was already sweaty from the heat as he rose and took a look around, surveying the mortals. 

“Ah, mortals! I have found you, at last. I am Thor, Son of Odin, God of Thunder, Lord of Asgard, and this land is mine to claim!”

Thor looked around, confused when they did not kneel before him in stunned worship. These mortals were quite tall, some even taller than him. They must be giants? Their words had a strange accent as they whispered.

“Who is he?”

“One of the Avengers?”

“Claim? This is Florida, not California!”

Thor had no idea of where he had landed; one of northern Florida’s biggest cities and the birthplace of Tim Tebow, Jacksonville was full of Southern men who did not take kindly to the idea of being “claimed”. He knew it was hot, and he was sweaty. 

“Mortals! Bow before-“

Before he could finish his sentence, a booming voice cut through the crowd.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Thor turned to see a trio of men, each standing at least 7 feet tall, looming over even the Mighty Thor. One of them was a tall and thin -relatively, he was still quite muscular- figure with a scruffy beard, wearing an armored jumpsuit in grey and dark red. His hair and beard was dark brown, and a pair of intense green eyes peered at Thor as he hefted a heavy shield; it was clearly very sturdy, strong, and bore a red, white, and blue emblem Thor did not recognize. It was pointed at one end, enabling it to be used offensively and defensively. 

The man next to him was not a man at all, at least Thor didn’t think so. Its flesh was shining in the Florida sun as though made of metal, and was red and blue. A central sphere glowed, as did the creature’s eyes. The only way Thor knew it was alive was that it spoke. 

“Getting impressive energy readouts Cap.”

The first man nodded curtly. The third figure loomed over even his comrades; he was a bulky behemoth of a man, huge and beefy, with muscles that made even Thor look small. This impressed and confused Thor. He wore a tight-fitting shirt that hugged his arms, and a pair of mesh-like pants that did little to conceal his beefy ass. It was a mix of red and grey and blue and orange, an odd mix that managed to work surprisingly well. He said nothing, but his blue eyes roved over Thor. He folded his arms over his pecs and smirked, satisfied that he was bigger. The first man spoke again.

“Again, who the fuck are you?”

Thor hefted his hammer.

“I am Thor, Son of Odin, God of Thunder, Lord of Asgard! And yes, I am quite impressive, metallic imp. Who are you? It is clear that you are the lords of this land, aye? You must be related to Frost Giants! But this land is not yours; Midgard rightfully belongs to me. Do you intend to deny my righteous claim as Lord of the Nine Realms?”

The first man almost laughed.

“I’m Captain Confederate, and you seem to be lost; this ain't a damn renn fair…and is that a goddamn hammer?”

The metal man spoke to Cap, evidently the team lead.

“Uh, Cap; Thor was the Norse god of thunder, lightning, fertility, and trees. I think that’s Mjolnir, his hammer.” 

Thor brightened.

“So you have heard of me. Good, the mortals still worship me!”

The third man unfolded his arms and strode forward.

“Thor, huh? God of Thunder? I’m Tim fucking Tebow, but you can call me Stonewall. Yer lookin pretty puny for a god, and you sure as hell ain't from here, so you ain't a god. Put down your toy before I have to break it.”

Thor grew irritated and indignant. 

“You dare challenge my might, ogre? I shall claim this land for Asgard, and you shall kneel before your rightful Lord. Now, feel the wrath of the Mighty Thor!”

Thor aimed Mjolnir at Stonewall, and there was a huge blast of lightning, arcing from the mighty hammer and into the humungous football players beefy chest. To Thor’s astonishment, the hulking brute was knocked back maybe half a step, but was otherwise unharmed when the smoke cleared. Stonewall glared at Thor.

“That tickled. Now I get to break you.”

Taking two steps forward, Stonewall swung his huge fist at Thor, hitting him right in the chest and sending him flying into a wall. Thor was dazzled, but stood from the wall and charged forth. Just as this occurred, the tall Texan, Captain Confederate, took a running leap, vaulting up a truck and leaping from the roof, coming down as fast and hard as surely as a shell on Fort Sumter, his shield with the battle flag slamming down hard into Thor. The shield itself weighed several hundred pounds, and there were several hundred pounds of Texan muscle behind it as well, propelling the pointing shield down onto his head, a single tiny drop of divine blood falling from his forehead as he was propelled backwards by the impact. Thor roared and emitted a mighty blast of lightning all around him, throwing Captain Confederate back, though he swiftly converted the tumble into a deft roll backwards, already kneeling and using his shield for cover as he fired on Thor with his custom 1911. The bullets compacted into tiny metal discs upon impact with Thor’s massive muscles, completely useless. Cap frowned, concerned by this, as Iron Rebel hovered overhead, blasting Thor with his energy weapons.

The Alabama billionaire hovered in his armored suit, blasting Thor with his repulsors, but was confused. They didn’t seem to be having much impact. His AI, Jaxon, chimed to life. 

“Sir, energy levels rising in the target.”

“Explain.”

Colin replied as he kept blasting Thor, pumping up the energy in the blasts, hoping they might prove more effective.

Thor grinned below, and locked eyes with him.

“Energy levels increasing dramatically s-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Thor emitted a burst of lightning directly at him, thunder rumbling through the cloudless Jacksonville sky. The suit was of course, fully insulated, but the sheer power behind the blast shut down his armor, and he dropped like a rock, slamming into the ground and attempting to reactivate his systems, cursing loudly as he did so. 

The clang of Iron Rebel against the ground drew Cap’s gaze, and he rushed to his aid, still firing with one hand at Thor. Stonewall gave his partners a quick glance, and, almost sensing that Colin was ok despite having fallen from the sky, strode towards Thor. The bulky footballer walked forward casually, as though walking out to the middle of Gators stadium for the coin toss. He reeled back to punch Thor again, casually ignoring another blast of lighting as he drew closer. Thor, frustrated that nothing seemed to be hurting the Florida football colossus, hefted a nearby truck that had been abandoned, and hurled it at Stonewall. That caught his attention, eyes widening as it came hurtling towards him. Tim put out his arms, and, to Thor’s astonishment, he caught the truck and simply set it down, gingerly, as though he wanted to avoid breaking a fellow Southerners property. He continued to stride towards Thor, steps leaving small divots in the asphalt as he grew himself slightly bigger with casual ease, gaining two more feet in a few strides, looming over Thor. The thunder god hurled Mjolnir at Tebow’s head, which actually seemed to have an impact; the force behind the throw seemed to hurt, knocking his head back on his neck as though he had just received a strong punch to the face. His casual grin was now an irritated frown. 

Thor held out his hand for Mjolnir, waiting for it to come back to him. It came racing back to him, but then, at the last second, the red and grey figure of Iron Rebel rocketed past, snatching Mjolnir from the sky. Iron Rebel was surprised by how easy it had been to chart the hammers course and arrange an intercept pattern. His systems had rebooted and he was eager to do something, so upon seeing him hurl his mighty hammer, he decided he could at the very least take away Thor’s weapon. The hammer strained, exerting force, trying to return to Thor, but Colin’s armor -and his muscles under it- was strong enough to keep it firmly held in his gauntlet. Thor was about to fry the iron pest when Tim Tebow slammed into him with all the force of fifteen freight trains, propelling him backward. His legs, which had driven even other Southern Gods back with their sheer driving force on the gridiron, pumped, combat cleats tearing into the asphalt, muscled arms pushing Thor back, and then pinning him. Thor fell onto his back, and felt an impossibly heavy weight on his chest; Stonewall’s huge combat cleat, pinning him to the ground as if he was a magnet stuck to it. He struggled, but couldn’t move. 

“Unhand me, ogre!”

Captain Confederate strode forth, glaring down at Thor, and placed his shield against his throat, the pointed tip like a guillotine blade. 

“I should kill you right now for what you’ve done. Challenging us, hurting my friends, causing so much damage. For challenging our honor…”

He pressed the tip into Thor’s neck, a tiny pinprick of blood oozing forth. He did not press it further, thinking. Stonewall spoke up.

“Thanks for that. First real fight I’ve had in ages. That hammer a yers packs a punch.”

Speaking of the hammer, Iron Rebel strode up, still holding Mjolnir, effortlessly keeping it from Thor’s hands.

“Please just cut his head off Jensen. I’m going to have to completely redesign the suit now.”

Thor let out an indignant roar, struggling anew against the combat cleat. Stonewall frowned.

“Naw, that’d be a waste. He’s big, strong, hot, just needs a haircut to get rid of that damn hippy hair and a Rebel Brew to become a real God. Let’s Southernize ‘im.”

Colin was alarmed by the idea.

“WHAT? No! I am NOT being partners with a walking Tesla coil! You saw what he did!”

Jensen paused, seeming to consider this. 

“You recovered. Tim’s right.”

He pulled the shield back, resting it beside him, as he reached into a small pouch on his belt. Between his fingers rested a small metal vial, marked “SS-004 CONCENTRATE.” A heavily concentrated form of Southernizing agent, he kept a few vials on his person if he ever ran across someone worthy of ascension during a field op. He opened the vial’s lid.

“I heard ya like beer? Get ready for the best beer of your life. Yer about to become one of us.”

As Thor continued to protest, he leaned down and poured the vial right down his throat. The god spluttered, almost gagging on the substance. 

Thor continued to protest the mortals when the scruffy one with a heavy shield poured something right down his throat. He spluttered as it splashed down, the intense taste of hops too much even for him. Almost immediately, a strange heat washed over him. Then, his eyes almost rolled back in his head from the sudden explosion of power blasting through his body. The warmth washed over every inch of his body, every atom suffused with energy and power. His biceps and triceps, already impressive, began to grow before the eyes of the Southerners. Thor’s muscles, be it in his boulder biceps, thunder thighs, princely pecs, or elsewhere, grew hundreds of times denser and stronger in moments, flooded with strength, strong as white titanium. His muscles and sinews stretched, bones popping as they expanded. Sweat covered his body anew, glistening in the hot Southern sun as he kept growing. His cock would be an impressive eight inches when completely soft, balls churning with superior seed as his DNA was augmented and remade into a hybrid of Southern strength and Norse divinity. 

As if being diverted from one part of him to another, Thor’s long blonde locks receded back, becoming a much more conservative cut, as a beard grew out, thicker and mightier. His feet strained against his boots, growing several sizes in moments, stinking and sweaty. Thors mind began to change. He felt a haziness wash over him, clouding his memories. No longer had he been entirely Asgardian. No, his father had had some fling with a mortal from the South, and he was the result. A mighty hybrid, raised to take over when his father passed. He felt an immensely strong attachment to the South, having visited it and fallen in love, and now he fought alongside the Southern Avengers when he was not expanding the Asgardian Empire, which he ruled as God-Emperor. Thor looked around, wondering why he was on his back. His armor had expanded to accommodate his new size, but now bore motifs of miniature battle flags alongside norse runes, his dual heritages reflected in his armor and his accent when he spoke. Standing up, he opened his mouth to speak, but something else came out. 

“BBBBBUUUUUUURRRRPPPP!”

The thundering beer-heavy shockwave of his burp shook the ground under his feet, and shattered windows already weakened by their fight. He flexed his immense white biceps, soaked in sweat, and proudly proclaimed.

“I am Thor - Son of Dixie!”

He smirked as he flexed, feeling absolutely at home in the Jacksonville sun. The others watched him in awe, and Thor was puzzled. 

“What’s wrong my friends?”

Jensen spoke first, improvising quickly. He was pleasantly surprised by the results of the vial. Perhaps because Thor was a god to begin with, the results were especially impressive, making him into a very literal Southern God.

“Nothin Thor. That was just…a damn good burp.”

“Of course it was! What has happened here?”

Tebow spoke up now, clapping Thor on the back; he was delighted by the new stud, his muscles rivaling his own beefy muscles. 

“Oh, we took down some terrorists. Made a real mess, but nobody got hurt. Ya did good today Thor. Now, let’s help em fix things up, then we all go out for some dinner?”

Thor nodded enthusiastically, and began effortlessly hefting vehicles that had been turned over. 

Two Days Later:

The ground shook as the Yankees prayed, invoking their precious God, imploring him to save them, to deliver them from evil, to watch over them in their hour of need. The ground shaking was itself not unusual; Southerners frequently made the ground shake for one reason or another; walking, burping, farting, rumbling by in their huge trucks. But now the stained glass windows shook dangerously, quaking in their frames as if the saints themselves feared what was coming. They prayed harder. Then, a huge hand ripped apart the church steeple, massive fingers ripping apart the roof and steeple, sending beams falling down into the church and onto the terrified parishioners. The hand pulled away and the remains of the roof and steeple were casually tossed over the titan’s shoulder as if it were merely a beer can. A huge face bent down to peer at the puny Yankees; it was huge, filling the sky, a scruffy dirty blonde beard taking up a lot of the view, each hair easily three times the size of the largest man north of the Mason-Dixon. They didn’t recognize him, but that, again, wasn’t unusual. Southerners came and went, sowing havoc in their wake as surely as ozone follows lightning. He smirked down at the tiny Yankees, and chuckled, voice shaking the ground when he spoke.

“HELLO YANTS! ARE YOU PRAYING TO YOUR RIGHTFUL SOUTHERN GODS?”

The accent was not one they recognized; it was kinda Southern, but there was something else. This was confusing. He peered closer, and his huge lips pursed into an irritated frown. 

“ANSWER ME, KNAVES.”

Knaves? What sort of person called someone a knave?

The terrified father seemed to regain some small measure of faith and stood, trembling but still standing.

“N-no, we are worshipping the one true God-“

He was cut off by an amused guwaff from the titanic stud looming over them.

“GOD? THERE IS NOT ONE GOD, PUNY BUGS, BUT AN ENTIRE RACE OF THEM LIKE ME. BOW BEFORE THE MIGHTY THOR, GOD OF THUNDER, PATHETIC YANTS, AND PERHAPS I SHALL TAKE YOU AS MY PLAYTHINGS.”

The terrified Yankees stared up in horror at the colossus. Since when did the so-called gods have dominions? Some were already on their knees, knocked down by falling debris, the quakes from his footfalls or the beer-scented wind from his booming voice. Others, however, refused to kneel, secure in their faith, albeit still alarmed. Thor titan waited for a few moments, before opening his mouth to speak again, only for a hurricane-force burp to rumble forth from his mega stomach. There was an ominous rumble and then when his lips parted, hell burst forth into the sanctuary. 

The beer-and-protien-scented shockwave of gas and heat obliterated all the remaining stained glass windows as if purging the land of false idols in an act of masculine potency and southern rage, leaving not a trace remaining. The doors flew off their hinges, one door slamming into and through the store across the street, the other door reducing a passing Yankee to a bloody smear on the sidewalk. The walls bulged and strained, bulging out in crazy angles in some places, completely destroyed in some places. The inhabitants fared worst of all. 

The sheer heat of Thor’s massive burp seared them, their screams utterly inaudible as they were cooked to a crisp, burned and charred in a few mercifully quick seconds before death supervened. They had literally been fried by the heat, skin forming a crust-like texture of flash-hardened burns. 

A low whistle came from beside Thor. Stonewall towered beside him, having been watching beside Thor as he exercised his power.

“DAMN! YOU COOKED EM!”

Thor grinned with pride.

“DIDN’T KNOW I COULD DO THAT! I WONDER…”

He trailed off and grabbed one of the petrified Yankee bodies, still kneeling in terrified supplication, and tossed it into his gaping maw.

“NOT BAD! CRISPY AND WARM.”

He reached down and grabbed more, as Stonewall just laughed, thunderous laughter shaking the ground. This had been quite a fun way to see Thor in action, allowing Tim to gauge how he was acclimating to his powers. Evidently he was adapting quite well. He knew it had been a good idea to Southernize the colossal Nordic hunk, and this casual display of power and dominance seemed to confirm it. He smiled and patted his friend on the back. 

“WANNA GO FIND SOME DUMB PROTESTERS TO STOMP ON, MAKE SOME YANTS BOW DOWN?”

Thor grinned. 

“OF COURSE! MAYBE I CAN FRY SOME MORE!”

With that, the two stomped off, Cap joining them, having been busy stomping out a minor disturbance under his boots. The trio of titans stomped off to find more Yants to have fun with, knowing that they would tremble at the sight of the newest member of the Southern Avengers: Thor, Son of Dixie.

-

How Thor joined the ranks of the Southern Avengers! Hope y'all liked it! Lemme know that ya think; comment, send me a message, or via an ask -anon or otherwise-.

[reverse-runaways-au]

Random Reverse Runaways au headcanons

In no particular order! Mostly focused on the pre-runaway days, in Reverse Falls. A lot of characters aren't mentioned because this got long and I can't fit everything in. Feel free to send in an ask if you're curious about something/someone in particular.

The Gleeful twins were both homeschooled. Meanwhile, Gideon and Pacifica went to local public schools, same with Owen.

There wasn't a weirdmaggeon in the Reverse Falls timeline. Instead there was a failed attempt by Will Cipher to escape Reverend Ford. It went badly for everyone.

Gideon and Pacifica were supposed to go home after the summer ended. The Reverend made sure that didn't happen. Letting the troublemakers out of sight was not an option until he was sure they were no longer a problem. And then he forgot about them until they were one again.

Owen wasn't in town that first summer. He arrived a few years later. He could've gone back home to his father. But his father wasn't a great guy...

Dipper/Mason and Mabel were both bullies to the other kids growing up. Mabel was a mean girl and Mason just scared the shit out of everyone off stage. They had a grudge against the Pines siblings. Still do. But now it runs deeper than ever.

It goes both ways. The Pines siblings are resentful and aware of everything the Gleeful family has done and are capable of, to others and to them.

Gideon and Pacifica both have issues with food and food scarcity. Owen often had them over for dinner. His mom didn't mind. She worked so much, she barely noticed, but she seemed to like them when she was around

The Reverend is Southern Gothic as hell, a scam artist fire and brimstone preacher and miracle worker in a long dark coat. The whole of Reverse Falls is under his spell. Now that Dipper and Mabel are adults he's anxious about continuing to expand the family. Mabel hasn't found the right man (or woman, she adds sometimes). Dipper, on the other hand...

Speaking of Southern, Owen is actually from Alabama. Rough place to be an openly trans kid in 2012. He's still got a bit of an accent even now that he's an adult. Most of what he cooks is from his home region.

Nobody saw Will for a long time after the failed escape attempt. Even Dipper and Mabel never saw any sign of the guy. But sometimes, you could hear muffled screaming coming from their manor...

Yes, btw, Dipper still goes by Dipper. Only the Reverend calls him Mason.

After getting stuck in Reverse Falls, Pacifica and Gideon did seem to learn their lesson, for about a year or two. But one day, they watched the Mystery Tent from a distance

"We need to do something."

"Yeah... But what can we do?"

Cause problems on purpose, apparently.

[chillybarba]

Broken Banjo

Chapter Two: To Be Undeniably Frank

Ao3 | Wattpad

Welcome to the Broken Banjo AU, where Stanford and Fiddleford end up trapped beyond the portal together.

>> 4.3k words

>> fiddleford & stanford // fiddleford x stanford

>> slow burn, alternate universe, pov ford pines, hurt/comfort, young stanford & young fiddleford, alternate portal incident, the nightmare realm, psychological trauma

Throughout the night, the dim light of the fire continued to glow, casting long shadows across the gray walls, flickering with each purple spark and crackle. Stanford sat motionless much of the night, his back resting against the cavern’s rough surface. He was lost in his mind, lost in worry, lost in exhaustion and fear. He hardly noticed the refugees – as he’d decided to call them – moving around occasionally and chattering, their indistinct murmurs blending into a rhythmic drone that very well could have lulled him into a trance. But he may have already been in one with how spaced out he was, trapped with only his thoughts to soothe him as much as hurt him.  

His gaze drifted down to Fiddleford then, who lay slumped against him, his face pale and etched with lines of pain and fatigue. It was like he’d aged overnight and Stanford felt that familiar tug of guilt. The vial he had given him had done its work, stabilizing him, but the deeper wounds – the ones Stanford couldn’t see – remained. Fiddleford’s breathing was steady though, his body relaxed into a much-needed sleep, but it didn’t matter. Stanford could still feel his tension even while he dozed, as if it had already rewritten his brain and tore into his heart. He had to look away before he broke. In an attempt to distract himself, Stanford’s eyes trailed to the other supplies he’d been given, and he glanced over them again. He picked up the device he’d never seen before, turning it over in his hands, admiring the handiwork briefly. On the back were words written in Bill’s commonly used cipher and for once Stanford felt glad that he’d learned the language. Taking a moment to read it, he squinted as it became English in his head: dimensional translator. Stanford then realized that what was etched onto the front of the device was its model number. He also understood that they’d gotten extremely lucky. From what he knew, plus some additional context clues, having a dimensional translator meant that he would be able to understand most, if not all, languages across dimensions. 

Stanford also realized then that it meant he would most likely be able to understand the aliens that had given him it. Examining the translator, he figured out how to turn it on, before attaching it to his wrist in the fashion of a watch. It beeped a few times, presumably calibrating itself, and suddenly every word around him that he couldn’t understand was translated into English in his head. He had been granted an all-access pass to communicating with the refugees they were stuck with, given free access to limitless knowledge that no human in his dimension had ever known, had ever even begun to imagine. 

Oh, he had so many questions already, and yet most of them would have to remain unanswered. There were other, more important, very obvious things at hand he had to attend to first. Before anything else came getting them home alive and Stanford sighed at the reminder of that fact. He didn’t want to have to get home, he wanted to be home without all the other attachments and requirements of attaining “home” first. Fingers running along the translator, he stared with tired eyes at it, wondering what could have been different. An alternate world where he didn’t make the foolish decision of creating an interdimensional portal and ruining all that was once so good. Maybe that was why he couldn’t have that reality – because it was so good. Too good for someone like him. 

It had hardly been a day since they’d become trapped in the Nightmare Realm and Stanford was already spiraling, becoming increasingly paranoid. No matter how hard he tried to shove it down the way he always would, he felt it bubble back up inside him, and the internal conflict was getting overwhelming to where it wasn’t bothering just Stanford anymore. The refugees would send looks his way – although he was too lost in his own head to notice most of them – as if they could feel his tension in the air. When he did realize the full extent of their insistent, repeated stares, he looked back at them with eyes one would most likely describe as “filled with despair.”

A tall, thin figure approached him cautiously then, their skin a muted shade of blue, the three eyes on their face reflecting the dimmed purple flames. Stanford could hardly register their presence until they were close enough to where their shadow hung over him. His eyes forced themselves to blink and Stanford glanced up at them, but they hesitated. Though, they gained the courage, speaking in a language that would have been incomprehensible to him only hours ago. But with the translator’s assistance, the words filtered into his mind, clear as day. (He would be sure to mark down his findings about it later.)

“Are you... in need of something?” the alien asked, their voice gentle, tinged with curiosity and perhaps a bit of concern. For themselves or for Stanford, he wasn’t sure. 

Stanford blinked again, the fog in his mind lifting enough to focus on the being in front of him. It took him a moment to respond as he fully processed what was said, his voice coming out rougher than he’d expected. “I – no, I’m alright. Just... thinking.”

The alien tilted their head, studying him with an intensity that made Stanford feel exposed, a feeling he hated. Vulnerability was not among his list of things he enjoyed or even tolerated. People always seemed to think he had it nonetheless. “Your thoughts feel heavy. It is not unusual to see such sorrow in the eyes of those who come to this realm, but you are different. You have been sorrowful since long before coming here.”

Stanford sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He wasn’t expecting to get a therapy session from an alien refugee on an asteroid, but he hadn’t expected much of what happened that day. “It’s... been a long day. A long series of days – or rather, it feels that way, at least. I am trying to find a way to get us home, how to… undo a mistake I made.”

Slowly the alien nodded, seeming to hold some understanding of the weight of his words even while not having a clear understanding of their situation. They glanced down towards Fiddleford, who still lay asleep beside him, then back at Stanford. “Most who come here don’t make it home,” they admitted honestly, and Stanford ignored the words even if they were truthful. He refused to accept being stuck there, if not for himself, for Fiddleford. “The journey to this realm is never easy, and the journey through this realm is even harder. Many who come here carry regrets. Some find solace in sharing their burdens with others…” they trailed off, words trying to nudge him towards the idea of talking about how he felt, and he wanted, just slightly, to scoff.

“I’ll find solace when I can get out of this damn dimension and get home,” Stanford gritted, sounding harsher than he anticipated, but he was exhausted thinking about everything and nothing all at once. His head fell by a hint of shame, groaning softly to himself. “I’m sorry for that. It’s been a lot in a short span of time.” He’d had to apologize too much lately (even if he had to or should). 

“Would there be anything we could do to assist you and your partner?” The refugee responded with a tilt of their head, three eyes blinking slightly out of sync, unsettling Stanford a bit as he witnessed it. But he cleared his throat and pretended to be unbothered. He’d seen much worse throughout his times in Gravity Falls.

Besides that, an offer of help wasn’t something he had expected. They were all trapped there, that was, so what would they possibly be able to do for him that they hadn’t done for themselves? Their situations all came down to the same basic fact: they were stuck in a lawless realm. If they were there, and if he was there, if they were both there, then there wasn’t much more to understand or assist in. He was frustrated, and he didn’t know what to do when someone was just trying to help him. It reminded him of a friend.

“Information. Any information.” What was important and what was not important was something to be decided by Stanford, so he needed to know everything he could. Even the things one might deem to be trivial or insignificant could “make or break” a situation, so to speak. That was a key element in science and experimentation, so it was only natural the same law applied to all other concepts if you thought about it. 

There was a moment of pause, and Stanford realized it wasn’t just one alien fixating their gaze on him. All the other refugees, without his notice, had ended up looking right at him, and he shifted somewhat uncomfortably. Then, the three-eyed alien gave a mild smile. It did little to soothe his nerves.

“Very well,” they said.

Stanford straightened, forcing himself to focus on the conversation – though that was more difficult than anticipated given his complete enervation. “Let’s start with the basics. How long have you been here? What do you know about the rift and the Nightmare Realm? Any patterns you’ve noticed, any safe zones, any possible ways out, anything at all.”

The alien’s expression grew thoughtful as they considered his questions. “Time... is a difficult concept here. We’ve lost track of the cycles – days, nights, they blur together, as they already have for you. But it has been... many rotations since we first arrived. We’ve learned to survive by staying together, by avoiding the more unstable areas of this place.”

Another refugee, shorter and stockier with a single, large eye in the center of their forehead, stepped closer to join the conversation. Their voice was lower, more gravelly, but the translator rendered it clear in Stanford’s mind. “There are wormholes, but they are unpredictable. They do not follow the rules of space or time as you know them. Sometimes, they can take you deeper into the Nightmare Realm, but sometimes it can spit you out into another dimension. But always, it can change you.”

Stanford’s brow furrowed. “Change you? How?”

The single-eyed alien exchanged a glance with their three-eyed companion. “Physically, mentally... These wormholes twist things. Some of us have lost memories, others have gained... abilities. But not all changes are beneficial. They will try to mold you into something that belongs so that you may be one of them.”

Stanford nodded slowly, absorbing the information. “And what about escape? Have any of you found a way out, a stable portal back to your home dimension?”

The aliens exchanged another look and Stanford’s heart sank slightly. He wasn’t sure if it was dread or hope that caused it, but it was unpleasant all the same. “Some have left,” the stocky alien started, their voice quieter then, almost somber, “but we don’t know where they ended up. These wormholes are not consistent; they are just as likely to send you to a hostile world as they are to return you to your own. Besides that, some simply disappear. There are infinite dimensions you must remember. Wormholes can only bring you to a random one. A way through wormholes directly to where you are looking to go… hasn’t been discovered as far as we know.”

Stanford swallowed hard. Disappearing into the unknown was a terrifying prospect, but staying where he was, in this twisted dimension, wasn’t any better. “So, there’s no clear path out,” he spoke slowly, more to himself than to them. “Just a gamble then, a… leap of faith, to say.”

The three-eyed alien nodded. “That is the nature of these wormholes. It’s why so many remain, trying to find a way that’s... safer, and better. But the longer we search, the more we understand that those things are luxuries this realm doesn’t offer. No one gets what they want or what they need here.”

Stanford clenched his fists, frustration bubbling up inside him. It wasn’t fair – none of it was. He had dragged Fiddleford into this mess and now there was no clear way out. But he couldn’t let himself be overwhelmed by the severity of their situation any further than he already had. There had to be something they could do, some way to tilt the odds in their favor, even if it was against all odds. Then, a thought came to him: if Bill could freely travel between dimensions, even by a power few had access to, that meant anyone could with the right materials and understanding…

After a moment of deliberation (and calming down), Stanford decided he was as satisfied as he would be. “Thank you, you’ve all been very helpful. I believe I have an idea of what I’m going to do now, so really, I do mean it.” 

Stanford’s words hung in the air, garnering no reply, so he said nothing else either. The refugees had only exchanged glances amongst one another, their expressions reflecting the grim reality they all faced. It was probable that they no longer wanted to talk much about their inevitable fates. He didn’t blame them since he didn’t much want to anymore either, just the same as them. They moved away and went back to sitting around the fire, and it was much quieter than before. 

But something shifted in the air besides them. It was a subtle change that Stanford may have overlooked had he not been so attuned to Fiddleford’s presence, given that he was pressed right against him. The steady rhythm of his breathing had altered, grown uneven, strained. Stanford turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing with concern as he watched Fiddleford’s face twitch with unrest and upset. His brows furrowed, and his fingers curled into the fabric of Stanford’s coat, gripping tightly as though he were holding on for dear life.

Fiddleford’s body tensed before beginning to tremble, but his grip on Stanford only tightened. A low, distressed murmur escaped his lips, too quiet to make out. But it was enough to make Stanford concerned. He leaned closer, placing a reassuring hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder, hoping to anchor him, to pull him back from whatever dream had taken hold of him. In the little time they’d been there, Stanford had – more than once – had to force himself to dredge up emotions that he never wanted to. He had quickly learned though that without them, he would hurt Fiddleford more than help him, and he had done more than enough of that for one lifetime. Logic and science alone wouldn’t be enough to help them anymore. 

“Fiddleford,” he spoke with as much softness as he could, trying not to disturb Fiddleford any more, “Fiddleford, wake up. You’re dreaming.” Stanford understood nightmares and he understood fear. After all, he experienced both of them most nights. Nightmares of things he had never seen before and never wished to see again. Thinking of it, he sighed, and shook Fiddleford awake with care. He would have wanted the same done to him if he was in that situation.

Fiddleford did not awaken with care though, which Stanford should have expected. He watched as Fiddleford shot up, covering his mouth to prevent himself from yelling out, visibly horrified. His whole body shook with every deep, yet quick, breath he began to take, gasping for air, and Stanford moved his hand down from Fiddleford’s shoulder to his back. And he remained silent as Fiddleford started to ramble about what he’d dreamt, stumbling over almost every word as he did. 

“Stanford... I-I saw...” Fiddleford’s voice was raw and shaking as he spoke, the words barely more than a whisper, “I saw somethin’ horrible... somethin’ that... that wasn’t right. It was like a twisted version of home, it all was wrong and warped. I couldn’t find you, and- and there was somethin’ chasin’ me, somethin’ I couldn’t escape no matter how hard I tried.” His accent had become far more prominent in his fear, as if reverting back to his roots, to who he used to be. Stanford thought back to times where it had happened in the past, such as when he’d been spooked by the flying eyeballs that had appeared in the kitchen one morning, and he had to shoo them out for him. It was that same terror of things out of his control and beyond simple understanding. 

His hand kept steady on Fiddleford’s back, offering what comfort he could. “It was just a dream, F,” Stanford said with care, trying to keep his voice calm, even resorting to the nickname he would use for him in his journals. “I am still here and we are safe right now.”

Fiddleford’s breathing began to even out somewhat, but the tremors in his body remained. He looked up at Stanford, his eyes wide and haunted. A look Stanford knew too well himself – what it was like to feel powerless, to be trapped in a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. “It felt so real,” Fiddleford whispered. “I thought... I thought I’d lost you, Stanford. And that thing... it was right behind me, like it was gonna take me, too...”

Stanford nodded as he listened, following Fiddleford’s slow and deep breaths to keep his own feelings in check at the same time. The last thing Fiddleford needed was to see his fear mirrored in Stanford’s eyes, or for him to be told what he didn’t want to hear, something Stanford had a tendency to do. “You didn’t lose me,” he said firmly with a shake of his head. “You’re not going to lose me. We will make it out of this. It’s just like another nightmare. It’s all… temporary. You know I’ll do everything I am able to in order to get us home, don’t you?”

Fiddleford nodded slowly, but the fear lingered in his gaze, like a shadow that refused to vanish even in the light of the sun. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Stanford,” he admitted, having calmed down a bit. “I’m not… like you, y’know? Was always that you were the adventurous one, and I… I like to stay in the lab, stay busy makin’ things.”

Stanford’s chest tightened at the admission, and he hesitated a moment, before shaking his head again. “You’re stronger than you think, Fiddleford. You’ve been through so much already, and you are still here. That’s more than most people could say in our situation,” he spoke honestly after so many months and years of little white lies sprinkled throughout his sentences. “I’m not, ah… all that brave myself. We’re both in an unfamiliar situation in an unfamiliar place. There’s no handbook, no guide, and we certainly haven’t learned any lessons in life that could help us here and I… I am afraid.” 

Fiddleford looked down, his hands trembling slightly as he clenched them into fists, nodding in response. “I...I’m scared too, Stanford. I’m scared of what’s out there, of what might happen to us. But… I’m not alone, and I know I very well could be right now… You didn’t have to come after me, but- but you did,” he paused, then looked up to Stanford again, managing a smile. “Thank ya, Stanford… Truly.”

The words came unexpectedly to Stanford. He thought Fiddleford would be, and would stay, furious at him, and he wouldn’t have blamed him if that were the case, either. It was easy to return the smile after that thought, and he moved his hand from his back. Stanford’s mind told him that even though he had gone after Fiddleford, it was his fault they’d gotten into this mess in the first place. He wanted to build the portal; he wanted to start it up, he wanted to test it. But he pushed the thoughts away for now, didn’t let them consume him, just for one moment of peace. 

“Of course, Fiddleford… I told you that I would always come after you and that I wouldn’t let you leave. That isn’t going to change anytime soon… or ever, for that matter,” Stanford let out a soft chuckle then, and to his surprise, Fiddleford managed to as well. For that brief moment, things didn’t feel so uncertain. They felt rather manageable instead. He just hoped it would last long enough to tell Fiddleford his plan and put it into action. So, he decided to change to the topic while it was still in his head.

“While you were asleep, I did, in fact, manage to sort out my thoughts. I spoke with the refugees after they gave me a dimensional translator,” Stanford paused to take it off of his wrist, holding it out to Fiddleford so he could examine it as he seemed very intrigued when Stanford said the words. He then laughed as Fiddleford took it from him with amaze. “I’ll show you how it works. Firstly, though, it’s important we talk about getting home. After speaking with the refugees, I believe I’ve learned enough to formulate a plan that should be the first step to returning.” 

Fiddleford lowered the dimensional translator, eyes meeting Stanford’s instead, but Stanford looked away from it. He had never been the best at eye contact, so he went on with his explanation while staring off at something, but at least he knew that Fiddleford was paying full attention to him. 

“From what I’ve gathered and understood, the only proven way out of the Nightmare Realm, or any dimension, that is, is through wormholes, similar to the one that brought us here in the first place. That is, the portal threw us into a wormhole leading directly to this dimension,” he explained, leaving out the more unfavorable parts (such as the dangers they could have). “But wormholes have no set destination, differing from the portal we built. There are… infinite dimensions, within them being our home dimension, of course.”

“Wait, wait… if there’re infinite dimensions, and wormholes don’t have no one clear exit, then we’re still trapped here, ain’t we…?” Fiddleford became nervous quickly and Stanford could see it in the creases of his eyes, but he knew there wasn’t much he could do to console him. After all, he was right in a way: that they were still trapped there as his idea wasn’t a surefire solution to their situation. In an attempt of comfort, he put a hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder, looking up to truly meet his eyes for the first time. 

“Fiddleford. We’ll get home, listen to me. I told you that I have an idea, just… please, let me explain,” his voice was firm, and Fiddleford looked almost defeated but stayed quiet, so Stanford continued. “In science, there is the fact that facts exist and the fact that facts have built up its reputation. Things start in theories, but these theories can be proven. With the technology and knowledge of infinite dimensions, there is the possibility of infinite solutions. My theory is that if Bill can travel freely between dimensions, without limits, anyone can with the right materials and understanding of how… In some dimensions, my theory must be possible. We just have to find the place to prove and understand it. Someone out there must know more about Bill.”  

Once Stanford finished, he broke eye contact with Fiddleford, who then proceeded to look down as well, staring at the ground. Even though Stanford had tried to reassure him, he knew that it wasn’t what he wanted to hear, no matter if it was the truth or not. He stared at Fiddleford for a moment as he remained silent, frowning at how utterly lost he looked then. Stanford had ruined him and he knew it.

“I’m sorry, Fiddleford. I know I’ve already said it and that it has no real positive effect on anything. But I… do hope you know that I mean it. I can’t change what has already happened, but if I could, I would have never called you to help me with that portal. I would have never built it at all, that is,” Stanford hesitated, then repeated himself quieter, ashamed, “I am sorry.” 

With hands cupped together in his lap, Fiddleford nodded, and Stanford sighed in return. His hand removed itself from his shoulder, resting on the ground instead. He expected Fiddleford to say nothing, so he was shocked when he did actually speak to him, and without malice. 

“I know you’re sorry, Stanford. I don’t blame ya, okay? I am upset, but I don’t blame ya, not at all. I don’t know much of what you and that uh, Bill, got up to, but I know he tricked you,” Stanford tried to argue to defend his intelligence, but Fiddleford gave him a look, and he shut himself up in seconds. Somehow though, it made Fiddleford smile. “Even geniuses can be tricked. I’m sure in a different world he woulda tricked me too.” 

It shouldn’t have – he was awful, it had to be true – but the words made Stanford feel a little less alone, and a little less awful, and he couldn’t help himself smiling too.

“Thank you, Fiddleford. For always,” Stanford anticipated.

“Of course ya knew what I was gonna say! You always do, still could have at least let me say it! I really would’ve said ‘always’ if ya had let me…” He sighed with a hint of dramatization and Stanford began to laugh, joined in soon after by Fiddleford. Perhaps things would be working out in their favor sooner rather than later.

The refugees took a glance at them as they laughed, and seemed to smile as the two got on okay. Safe to say, they didn’t mind the added noise at all. 

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[gentlelass]

Hey there.

I know this isn't mainly a social platform of writing, and if you don't care for reading my long-ass bullshit, you're free to scroll. But I was very eager to post here a summary of my Oc, Marjorie's Ford life since her birth to when she first joined the Marigold Gang, at least for that couple of people who will care enough to bother reading, since I've always left you in the dark about most of her past up until now. I will make a storyboard with actual drawings to make it more interesting to the eye at some point, but it'll take long, so for now, enjoy what I have to offer.

The recurring year is 1894, and yet another baby girl is born under the prosperous (not for too much longer) Kingdom of Italy. But not just any child, falling short of aristocracy in terms of wealth: daughter to the Opera singer Caterina Casiraghi (Ford) and the handsome but opportunist American notary who snatched the Italian beauty as soon as he saw her, Christian C. Ford. Second to nobody in her own home but her older brother, Malcom Ford, Marjorie was still spoiled and pampered from all sides, and for a while, they were happy. 

But of course it was too good to be true, and soon enough Christian's misdeeds came biting back to him, after a life time of biting more than he could chew: the notary and most of his official possessions burnt to ashes in a fire, and although the cause was officially concluded to be an accident, his family knew in their hearts it was nothing but arson: between what remained of the man's belongings, in fact, the wife found multiple letters of a minatory nature coming from some unspecified shady client of the man's, that he had evidently proceeded to ignore. The widow, left on her own with a man to bury and two children to raise,  had no choice but to roll up her sleeves, and the broken family spent the next six years of their lives incessantly hopping from place to place, partially for the matron's role she played in different courts across all Europe as a requested and appreciated soprano, partially to avoid meeting the same early end as the late father and husband may his killers spot them if they stop in a single place too long.

Such circumstances weren't the most normal for the youths to grow up in, and the siblings came out as... not any normal really: while the weight of responsibility hung on the eldest's shoulders, stuck in the role of the "man of the house" and becoming gloomier with each day, the younger could only long to receive that much attention. Daughter unsuitable of inheriting anything, too young to get married to another rich man, and with a voice too small to follow her mother's footsteps into the world of Opera, she soon veered towards theater, her frame, just as small as her voice, nimble and agile, her movements graceful, her scenic presence lovely as she had learnt to emulate from her mother. Still feeling the psychological pressure that was truly only inside her own head from being both female and the younger child, where she couldn't follow her mother's footsteps she instead followed her late father's, soon adopting less-than-savory methods to get ahead in her career, eliminating the competition before it even got the chance to become such.

All prestigious careers however have as much of a raise as they are doomed to have a fall, and in 1914, when the Great War officially broke out, the entertainment business collapsed, specially fields as frivolous as dancing and singing, and the next thing which dropped at dizzingly fast speeds was... the Ford Family's bank account.

The Ford widow, ever the loyal mother and wife, used the last funds she had to send her children to their fatherland America like many other immigrants of the time to seek luck and a better life, and we all can imagine what happened to her, next.

The sole survivors of the Ford Family, at this point aged respectively 21 and 23, were soon separated yet again, however: not any more than a few weeks after they had successfully disembarked in Mexico, in fact, the Italian government spotted them, demanding that Malcom  came immediately back to motherland to fight in the army along all other male, able-bodied Italian citizens of age. The boy, after a lifetime of accepting responsibilities, had it drilled into his very subconscious by this point to always answer the call of duty without question, and so he did one last time, taking leave from his sister and all the money they had left. He wrote his sister letters and send her more money for some time, directing them to Mexico City where he had left her. After a while however he stopped receiving answers from her altogether, an no sibling ever heard from the other ever since.

This is because Marjorie after some months of permanence in Mexico, working some gigs here and there, plus the money she was receiving from her brother, finally saw an opportunity to build a new life all for herself, where she would be the sun, the star of the scene, rather than a mere moon in the backlight of not one, but TWO suns in her case, both mother and brother. Having been a nomad all her life Marjorie never learnt to truly form bonds and emotional attachments to people, always knowing she'd lose them as soon as she had to move yet again; hence the loss of her mother and the betrayal she inflicted on her brother never weighted much on her mind, or so she tells herself. She traveled all the way up to Missouri, where she soon started working as a maid at a certain Maribel Hotel, where a "kind", if sorta odd fella by the name of Asa Sweet welcomed her in his den in exchange of a mere few favors which would cost Marjorie nothing but a constant smell of bleach on her person, due a variety of reasons, and the sanity she had already long lost anyways.

Opportunist sociopath born out of heritage, of circumstances and most importantly of the intrusive thoughts of inferiority inside her own head nobody ever bothered teaching her the strength to fend off, the rest is history.

[princesspastel8]

Chapter 14: Escape

Third POV

Alcor holds his hands out, white slick gloves appearing onto them. A long demon like tail growls from the tail bone, bat like wings growing from his back. Alcor snaps his neck, cracking his knuckles.

"Now let's go greet the pines family." He chuckles darkly, melting the metal door down.

The demon slowly walks up the stairs, leaving a trail of yellow flames behind him. Once he makes it to the back of the vending machine, he touches it lightly. The machine crumbles loudly, morphing into a tiny metal box.

"Mable, get back! It's dangerous!" Alcor hears Stan shout from the living room.

"Go into my lab and get more weapons! Make sure not to talk to Dipper!" Ford orders.

"Sir yes sir grunkles!" Mable said, rushing into the kitchen. She freezes, eyes clouding with fear at the sight of alcor.

A wicked, amusing smile forms on his lips. "Ah, so you're lively Mable I kept hearing in this boy's head, huh? You don't look like much. Heh, to think they favored you...." he said, frowning.

"Wh-wh...what are you?!" She forces out, her body trembling and voice cracking.

"Oh, Satan, your voice is so loud. And the look in your eyes is disgusting. Where's that joy? That care free spirit I keep hearing so much about? Huh?!" Alcor shout, taking slow menacing steps towards her.

"St-st-stay back!" Mable shouts, pulling out a ray gun from behind her back. With shaking hands, she aims for his head, firing the shot.

Alcor eyes widen. He quickly moves out of the way, his smile returning. "Oh shit! You almost got me there, little brat. And what aim....that aim could cause issues for Bill and Dipper." He ponders. "Now, how do I fix this...issue? Any ideas, little brat?"

Mable answers with another shot, this time aimed at his stomach.

Alcor chuckles, a hole forming in his stomach before the blast could hit him. He looks down at it with a pout. "Oh dear....you're no fun. I guess I'll have to come up with all the ideas." He shrugs.

He points his finger at Mable, slowly lifting her body off of the ground. Mable gasps, feeling pressure tighten around her neck. Alcor balls his fist, causing her body to remain still and stiff.

"Let's take a trip to see those old grunkles of yours, shall we?" He laughs, walking out of the kitchen, a floating Mable next to him as he continues to leave a trail of yellow flames behind him.

Alcor walks into the living room with a heavy sigh. The former mystery twins are nowhere to be seen. His ear twitches, picking up a loud banging sound coming from outside. Alcor goes to investigate, raising an eyebrow at the scene before him.

There stands the grunkles, trying to get Bill's minions away from the shield that's protecting the shack. They all punch, kick, and blast at the shield, not leaving a single scratch. Alcor claps his hands in a slow, mockingly manner.

"Wow! What a show! You pesky little useless minions can't even break a simple shield? Haha! And on top of that, two old humans are kicking your asses! I can't - this is too much!" He shouts, bending over from laughter.

Ford and Stan quickly aim their weapons at the unknown powerful force. Before they can fire, Alcor raises his index finger in the air.

"Ah ah ah!" He chuckles, waving his finger from side to side. "You wouldn't want to harm a demon in glasses, would you?" He jokes, a pair of big black glasses appearing over his eyes.

Stan and Ford do not look amused, instead annoyed with their fingers set ready on the trigger. Alcor rolls his eyes, Mable now in front of him.

"Jeez, tough crowd. How about....if either one of you fires at me, her heart will be at your feet. Understood?" Alcor smiles, it stretching from ear to ear.

Their eyes widen, shock and fear taking over their being. "Who the hell are you?! Another one of Bill's puppets?!" Stan shouts in distress.

"Drop those toys of yours, and I might answer." Alcor fires back with a boring yawn.

Ford stares at the creature, analyzing its appearance. His mouth hangs open in disbelief. "N-no... you can't be....AXOLOTL banished you to the Milky Way billions of years ago!"

Alcor looks at Ford with interest and mischief. "My my...someone's been doing their research...you knowing who and what I am could be a issue...sigh! So many issues!" He pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. He then shrugs, waving his hand in the air, causing the weapons to fly out of the grunkles' hands. "Good thing I know.....a few ways to deal with these issues."

Yellow colored chains shoot out from the palm of his hand, wrapping around Stan and Ford tightly. The two fall to the ground with a loud 'tud'. Alcor forces Mable onto her knees, her head facing up at him. He lowers himself slightly, placing a hand over Mabel's cheek.

"Shhhhhhh. Why do you humans cry? Is it out of fear? Anger? Frustration? For whatever reason, to me, crying is annoying." He said darkly, a eerie sound lacing his voice. He glances at the grunkles, a sinister idea popping into his head.

"You know... it's been soooooooo long since I had a taste of human flesh! And why waste this delicious meal for a disappointing soul? Hope you two enjoy this...lesson on how to butcher a human. Live torture is the best torture, after all." He hums.

Alcor quickly plunges his gloved thumb into Mabel's right eye, scoping it out perfectly. The sounds of her agonizingly screams and blood pouring from her eye socket, egging him on. A simple white plate appears next to her head. He places the eye on the clean plate, his other hand forcing Mabel's mouth to stay open.

He tightens his grip, smiling wickedly at the sobbing human. He forces his hand down her throat, gripping her tongue. He pulls it out swiftly, laughing at the sounds of her choking on her blood. He places the tongue on the plate, pushing her body to the ground.

"Eh, that's enough for now. This will do." Alcor hums, salt and pepper shakers floating next to the plate as well as a fork and a knife. He sprinkles the seasonings onto his meal, grabbing the fork and knife afterward.

The grunkles can do nothing but watch in horror while Bill's minions watch in shock & amusement. "The tongue of a liar and an eye of a deceiver....this should be good!" He licks his lips while cutting into the eye.

He picks up the piece with his fork, taking a slow bite. He sighs is  satisfaction, "Wow! For a foul human, you sure do produce some goodies!" He geeks, eating more of his meal.

Mable whimpers, slowly losing consciousness from the pain. "You monster! I'll stop you!" Ford shouts with determination.

"Yeah! What poindexter said! You'll pay for hurting our great niece!" Stan shouts, struggling against the yellow chains.

A napkin appears in alcor hands once he finishes his meal. He wipes his mouth clean, the other objects disappearing. "Oh really? And with what?"

The grunkles notices the burning shack, coated in yellow flames. Alcor laughs, walking towards Ford. "You really think you know everything? You know what I am, where I'm from yet...I don't think you know how to kill me. Do you?" He questions, his demeanor changing as he places a hand on Ford's shoulder.

Ford cowards back, swallowed by fear and helplessness. Alcor chuckles darkly, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. "Yeah, I thought so. Hope you enjoy jewelry, you old brainiac." He said as Ford's body quickly turns to a gold colored stone.

Once Ford is turned to stone, Alcor shrinks him, tying a string around Ford's small neck. Alcor then places his newly made necklace around his neck. He turns his attention to Stanley, surprised at how collected the old hag appears to me.

"Hm....no fear....I'm sensing so much pride from you. So much so that it's disgusting....you could be an issue too..." Alcor sneers.

He places his hands onto Stan's head, chanting incantations. Stanley's eyes slowly roll to the back of his skull, his eyes crying tears of blood. His body begins convulsing, a sign that the spell is working. Alcor pulls back, smirking at Stan's motionless body.

He smiles at his work, taking mental images and storing them into his memories. He hasn't had this much fun in millenia. He looks at his fellow demons on the other side of the shield. "Ah yes, Bill sent you to get his poor little pinetree back. How romantic!" He mocks in disgust.

He places his hand on the shield, watching it slowly melt into yellow colored magma. He laughs at the demons expression. "It wasn't that hard! You demons must be seriously weak if you couldn't break down that simple human-made shield! Bill has honestly lost his taste in 'friends'." He declares with air quotation marks.

"H-how do we know your Dipper?!" The female creature questions with a stutter.

Alcor rolls his eyes, clearing his throat with a cough. "Oh Bill~, I'll do anything for you! Just use me like one of your broken toys!" He mimics in Dipper's voice, making everyone laugh except for Pacifier.

Alcor notices and frowns, waving his index finger up, causing the demon to float. "Aw.. someone didn't appreciate my little joke! Now, why is that?" He smiles, but his tone conveys differently.

Pacifier quickly regrets his choices. "N-no reason! I just didn't hear you is all." He lies.

Alcor frowns, his hand now a fist. He places pressure onto the demons throat. "These petty and disappointing lies are really....really annoying to me. Lesson one! Never ever lie to me." He voiced, waving his hand in the direction of Bill's castle sending pacifier flying.

"Wow....nice shot." The demon with an eight ball for an eye said.

"Thank you. So to prevent any more misunderstandings, let's have a little lesson while on the way to dear old Bill's Palace of horror! Sounds fun?"

Everyone quickly agrees. Alcor smiles, clasping his hands together while slightly floating off the ground. "Good! Now on we go!"

[ckret2]

This design is so good!!! Would love to know more about Mabel’s interactions with Bill!

(Footnotes: "wtf is that purple thing Bill's wearing?" The first thing he could find. "Mabel has an earring?" Yeah that's how I've decided to show she's 13. Also her braces are a slightly different color because I got to choose new rubber bands colors whenever I went to the orthodontist. "What's the joke with Xanthe?" It's an Ancient Greek name that means golden/yellow. "Is this why Bill's fake name around outsiders is 'Goldie'?" Yes. It's short for Goldilocks.)

They get along like a house on fire. They get along so well it makes everyone else kind of nervous. They get along so well the others suspect Bill's faking it to manipulate Mabel.

In truth, they actually do get along like that. If the inside of Stan's mind looks like a black-and-white Escher painting and the inside of Ford's mind looks like a somber Kubrick movie and the inside of Dipper's mind looks a lot like reality, then the inside of Mabel's mind looks like a collaboration between Hieronymus Bosch and Lisa Frank—and wouldn't you know, the inside of Bill's looks a lot alike. Neon DayGlo chaotic colorful anarchy.

They're similar enough that if everyone in the shack takes a random guess at what it is Bill wants, Mabel's guess is usually closest to the mark—and because of that, he gravitates more toward her, which gives her more practice making sense of him, which quickly turns her into the household Bill expert.

Add to that, when Bill's not being creepy, Mabel's the most willing to help him with not-bad not-evil things. And as the local arts & crafts specialist she's the most qualified to help with his acute self-image issues. It sounds fun!!!

Bill won't talk about (or acknowledge) his feelings unless he's hit an explosive boil-over point; but inwardly, privately, he's raw and lonely and desperately grateful for someone who's on the same wavelength as him and who's willing, in a tiny way, to help fix his body.

He's also too alien to recognize (or care) that Mabel's efforts are straight up ridiculous.

For all their unexpected and frightening similarities, the main difference between Bill and Mabel is that Mabel's idea of a good time ends when real harm to other people begins—but that only applies when she notices the harm. Bill only half comprehends that she has limits at all, and when he does understand, he assumes her limits are like his: they're driven by fear of external consequences rather than an internal moral compass.

He thinks with enough time he could free her from those fears. She doesn't mind recklessly shooting a fireworks rocket if she doesn't notice the broken bones and bloody noses it leaves behind; so the next step is to teach her to notice them without fearing she'll get in trouble for it; and from there he'll teach her to enjoy the bones snapping as much as she enjoys the rocket exploding, just like he does. She's got a whole world of bright, colorful, sparkly mayhem to enjoy once she stops worrying about the consequences!

But until he can teach her to appreciate a cherry bomb, he can deign to appreciate a glitter bomb. They're both overstimulatory assaults on the senses, and that's great.

Mabel, meanwhile, is convinced she's well on the way to reforming Bill into a Fun Big Sister/Brother.

(Starting from this post, I'm gonna put all my human Bill AU posts under the tag #bill goldilocks cipher. Easy to remember—but you can bet nobody else is using that tag.)

[a-lonely-dunedain]

65 + 70 for mini fellowship (or whatever combo of them you desire)

oooh “what’s left/remnants” + “false promises” that's a good combo! I suppose there's two mini fellowships in the game now lol, but I'm going with the Before the Shadow one! (from this ask game. so far the only ask I got from it so do feel free to feed the askbox!)

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The two of them watch as Boromir departs, and a little longer still, even after he disappeared beyond a bend in the road. The two brothers stand alone, just as they had begun this journey, all that remains of their little group.

Neither of them had expected it to dissolve so quickly, and especially not with betrayal at the root. Tossdir regrets that those Rohirric folk songs Egfrith taught them around the fire will likely always leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He finds he is more saddened than angered by that realization.

After a while Meneldir sighs heavily, “Well Tossdir, unless you too wish to leave me, I think we should return to Herne-”

Tossdir laughs despite his mood “Me? Leave? Have you forgotten who you are talking to?” He elbows Meneldir’s arm “I’m afraid you will not be rid of me that easily.”

Meneldir breathes a humorless laugh “Hah, suppose you’re right. I wish the same could have been said of our other companions...” they turn to walk the long road back to Herne

“I had hoped it might be easier to face the scorn of the Dúnedain with more friends at my side.” Meneldir’s shoulder hang “But Boromir is gone and Egfrith was no friend at all, in the end.”

“She might have slain us in our sleep, but did not.” Tossdir quietly reminds him.

“Aye, perhaps a foe with some fragments of a conscious left, but a servant of the Enemy all the same.” he remarks sadly

“You’re right, she was, but those fragments might have been enough. If only we could have caught up to her! Maybe she could have been reasoned with...” Meneldir is silent. He guesses that if they had caught up to her, Boromir’s sword would have done the talking long before Tossdir would get the chance. And Meneldir would not have tried to stop him.

“...Sometimes I think you put a little too much faith in people’s willingness to change.” he finally says “One cannot be so easily talked off such dark a path. Especially not with a Wizard involved.”

“I never said it would have been easy,” Tossdir says quietly “but I wish we could have tried, that’s all.”

There is silence for a long time as they walk, the sound of their footfall only ever joined by an occasional lonely birdsong, but that too eventually leaves them as they sky turns to dusk.

“I wish you could have tried too,” Meneldir finally breaks their silence “Perhaps you would have had better luck than myself or Boromir. I... don’t think I meant what I said earlier, about you having too much faith in people. Maybe that faith in and of itself could have done something.” he flashes a halfhearted smile “I mean, it worked on me, after all. I think anyone else should have given up on me a long time ago...”

Tossdir’s expression brightens, then falls again. “Somehow, being told that I’m right only fills me with deeper regret. We will never know now, as she has fled beyond our reach...”

Meneldir gives a resigned sigh “That is why it’s probably best not to dwell on wishes and what ifs. Right now, we should focus on finding Narndir. After all this, I will be doubly glad to see him again.”

The next day, they find Narndir, and bury what is left of him.

Meneldir does not speak for a long time after that, not until they come to Sarn Ford, and to Halbarad’s scorn. Meneldir did not speak to defend himself, but Tossdir bristled at the captain’s remarks. Though there was little time to dwell upon bruised feelings, once they learn of the true horror that befell Sarn Ford mere days ago.

They help gather Rangers at Caranost, and following the rumor of some new terror awakened by the Nine, come to Amon Firn, to Tyrn Gorthad, and then to Dol Ernil.

In the end they succeeded in finding the Grey Fear. Or rather, it succeeded in finding them.

Even when Tossdir was overtaken by it and used as the Grey Fear’s new vessel, Meneldir did not waiver in his defiance of it, and tirelessly hunted it down in desperate hope of saving his brother.

It cost Meneldir his life, but Tossdir was saved, and Grey Fear was at last banished from these lands evermore.

As he breathes his last, Meneldir remembers a promise he made to Tossdir some time ago, he promised that he would not leave him, that for a long as Tossdir lacked the sense to abandon him and go home, they would remain together.

Even as his spirit slips free from his body, he wills himself to remain at his little brother's side. Unseen, unheard and unfelt, but present all the same.

This promise, despite everything, will not prove false.