#not me kinda projecting on ford

[one-strugling-bean]

The Billford equivalent of visiting your loved one's grave is Ford going to see Bill's statue at least once every time he and Stan stop by Gravity Falls

He puts it as a necessary evil because "someone needs to check on the enchantments he cast around the area"

Everyone sees that for the half-excuse it is.

Those enchantments were made and reforced by Ford - not even a demigod would be able to disrupt them - but no one calls him out on it because he's always very cagey and serious those days. He's usually gone most of the day, too.

Then one time, a few years into this, Mabel offers to go with him. Ford, surprinsingly, accepts.

They wear matching witch hats just like they did the last time they came together. The duo checks the traps in record time (they're all ok), and Mabel decorates the statue with more of her motivational stickers and glitter glue. Once they have both finished, Ford offers to go back home, but Mabel asks them to sit down instead.

Very reluctantly, Ford eventually lets slip that there's a part of him that does miss Bill - his dark sense of humor, the witty banter they shared, his intellect and challenging riddles, how perfectly they could understand each other - and that's why he can't help but go back to visit the statue. But he also hates himself for it, because it's like even after death Bill still has control over Ford's mind.

The sit on the grass, a few meters away from the statue, and Mabel finally prods him about the situation.

And Mabel, in all her 16-year-old wisdom, just tells him something like "you can hate someone and still love them care about them"

And that lowkey hits Ford like a truck.

After that, Ford slowly starts coping with his mixed feelings about Bill better. Starting with the tough task of accepting them for what they are.

He slowly becomes less cagey whenever someone mentions his portal-building era. He stops saying he's "going to check the enchantments around the clearing" and opts for simply "gonna go see Bill's statue later".

And one night, he finally has a very open, honest, emotional conversation with Stanley about his relationship with Bill. The good and the bad. Stanley is a good brother the whole time and doesn't judge him for it, and it helps Ford a lot.

(then Bill comes back from the Theraprism on probation and all that progress goes down the drain cause they fall in love again haha-)

[flame-cat]

relistening to the gravity falls commentary and hearing alex call grunkle stan a "deep well of sadness" really hit dif after the book of bill

[imwritingthefout]

A mask of my own face

I love this photo it’s so silly :>

Summary:

reader is worried about ford and his recent... outbursts. they decide to check on him, but find him at the wrong time, or rather, they don't find him, but someone else in his body.

basically: reader gets fucked by bill cipher in ford's body and kinda likes it.

(the title is the song by lemon demon bc it fits)

Warnings: non con elements/ dubious consent, rough smut, p in v sex, some fluff at the end, a little angst but it’s fine in the end

also crossposted on ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ford was acting… different. More distant than usual, more…. Off-putting.

He always had a sort of off-kiltered charm in the way he interacted with you, always flipping between being overly confident in himself, and tripping over his own words at the sight of you. Like something in his brain didn’t compute that you were together, that you were his. You got used to this after a few months of dating the researcher, and it evened out for a bit… but now it seems he’s reverted back to his old ways, from before you started dating.

One second he would be holding you tight, saying how much he loved you and wanted you by his side for the rest of his life, but then the next he would push you away to go ‘meditate’ in his lab. He would stay there for hours, only coming up for more coffee. (and strangely enough, to shove forks into his hands when he thought you weren’t looking)

You decided that enough was enough when one evening you realised you hadn't seen him all day. He must've gotten up before you to go to his lab, and hadn’t come up since then.

You went on a search for him all around the house, hoping he wasn't in that god-forsaken lab, but it seems god wasn’t on your side.

When you found him, you saw him sitting hunched over at his desk, writing something down aggressively. You tried to gently touch his shoulder, but the movement caused him to jump so high up from his chair he almost hit the ceiling. You, of course, were startled by the sudden movement and took a step back from him.

He slowly turned to you and his face…. His eyes…. Something about them was wrong. Maybe it was the lack of sleep on his part or your worrying, but you could swear his eyes looked… off. They were slightly different than you remembered, but you decided to brush it off for the time being, more focused on talking some sense into your boyfriend.

“Hey ford? Can i… talk to you?” you said gently, trying not to frighten him again. He shook his head a bit, as if trying to shake off some grub from his face and turned to you with an annoyed look. “Not now, honey . Can’t you see I'm working?” He said the pet name with a mocking voice, as if he was making fun of you for thinking you’re more important than his work.

“I know you are, but you're starting to worry me… when was the last time you ate? Or drank water? Or even went to the bathroom?” you tried to push back the uncomfortable feeling threatening to overtake your words, your voice slightly shaking when you asked him the questions. 

“It doesn’t matter . All that matters is finishing this page” and with that he went back to his desk, sitting down and ignoring you as if you didn’t exist.

Now you were starting to get angry. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? Your health is important! If you don't take care of yourself then you won’t live to see your progress come to fruition!” you put your hand on his shoulder again, more firmly this time. “I made you dinner. Now you’re going to come with me, eat dinner, drink some water and go to sleep. Do you understand?” you turned him around in his chair to look at you. He seemed to flip through several emotions before deciding on one. You didn't quite know what it was, but he was smiling, so you thought he might have finally come to his senses and decided to take a break.

You were only half right.

“You know what? You’re right, toots. I'll take a break, but only if i can take you too” he brought you onto his lap in one swift, strong motion and put his lips against your neck. The sudden movement made a chill run up your spine. You didn’t know if you were more turned on or worried, but ultimately decided that maybe this’ll help ground him and bring the ford you loved back.

You wrapped your hands around his neck and kissed him passionately. It took a moment for him to register what was happening until he kissed you back, hungrily kissing you and suddenly biting at your tongue. It wasn’t something you were used to, and it definitely surprised you, but it wasn’t unwelcomed.

You pulled away a little and he went back to attacking your neck with his lips and teeth, leaving various marks that made your breath hitch. His calloused hands started exploring your body as if it was his first time, awkwardly angling his fingers to touch every part of you from your ankles to your shoulders, and finally down to your breasts.

“God you’re mine now, aren’t you?” The question confused you, since you’ve been dating for a while now, but you decided to go along with it. Maybe it was a new kink of his “yes i’m all yours” you punctuate your point by gently scraping your nails down his chest and onto the waistband of his pants. He groaned at the feeling of your nails on him, his chest puffing up to meet your touch. You chuckle at his desperation. “So needy… you’ve missed me, haven't you?” you tease him lightly, but it didn’t affect him like it usually does. Instead he seems… unfazed “sure i have” he then picks you up and moves you so you’re lying chest down on his desk, and he’s behind you, pushing your middle down so your ass is up in the air for him.

He stands up and you can hear him opening his belt buckle behind you. He seems to be struggling, so you try to turn to him and help him, but he only pushes you down more. “Stupid.. Human… clothes… ugh” you hear him mumbling, but you can’t say anything when you suddenly feel his cold hands under your shirt, feeling you up. You moan under his touch, then hiss as he pinches your waist in an unpleasant way. 

“Hey-ah!” you try to scold him, but are interrupted by the feeling of cold air hitting your sensitive area. Ford has pulled down your pants and underwear, and is now angleing himself behind you. You moan as you feel him push himself against you, his chest flat against your back. It takes him a second to push himself inside you, but when he does, he fills you up immediately. 

You groan at the sharp pain mixed with the pleasure of having him inside you after so long without him. Before you register what's happening, he starts thrusting into you wildly, with no rhythm or consistency. You try your best not to moan, but it's hard when you feel him pushing into you in such a harsh way. 

He holds your hips firmly, trying to stop your squirming. “Come on- ah~ do the thing” you hear him grunting behind you. It feels so good, but the statement still confuses you through the fog of pleasure. What does he mean by ‘the thing’? Your train of thought is stopped when his hand travels to your throat, choking you a little. The sudden feeling of lightheadedness makes you even hornier. This doesn’t feel like something ford would do, but damn it turns you on.

His thrusts start to even out, he doesn't slow down but now they have more of a rhythm. With each one the desk starts to creak under you. It’s straight up animalistic the way he pounds into you, holding onto you like you’re his toy, only used for his pleasure. You feel him twitching inside you, getting close to his release. You clench around him the way you know he likes, and suddenly he cums inside of you. You feel the pleasure inside you come to a peak as he continues to thrust at the same pace, even though he just came. 

The pleasure quickly turns into overstimulation as he continues at his rough pace, not letting you go until he finishes inside you again. Your moans turn into screams as you can't even form a coherent thought. At this point you almost reach a second orgasm, but when he suddenly pulls out at you, you’re forced to come down from your high. You whine at the loss and turn around to see him with his hands up in shock, looking down at you guiltily. 

“What's wrong ford?” you look up at him with lustful eyes, wanting him to continue. 

“I.. uh- nothing is wrong! I'm sorry!” What is he apologising for? “It’s alright, but can you please continue?” now you were frustrated, hoping he would get the hint and continue fucking you. 

“Ye-yeah sure.. Of curse” he gently put his hands on your hips, almost hesitating before feeling you up. He gently runs his hand down your stomach and lands on your thigh, stabilising you before slowly entering you. You moan at the sudden change in him. “What has gotten into you- ah!” you moan as he softly circles your clit with his fingers while he starts thrusting into you. You put your hands around his neck and he buries his head in your chest. You hear him mumbling something but you can’t understand it. 

He starts pushing in and out of you gently, and the stark contrast from just a second ago makes you confused. What is with him today? You try to dwell on it, but when he starts kissing your chest, fondling your breast with his mouth, your thought process is cut short. 

Thanks to his expert fingers on your clit and his even thrusting, you go over the edge. You moan his name as you pull him up to kiss him. It all feels like too much as he stops moving, focusing on kissing you. He pulls out shortly after, taking his time now.

“Does this mean you’re gonna take a break? I think dinner is getting cold” you say softly, kissing his cheek.

“What? Oh yeah- yeah- of course honey” when he says the pet name this time, it feels genuine, like it just rolls off his tongue naturally. You look at him, and find his familiar eyes looking back into yours- slightly confused but loving and caring. This is your ford. The one you fell in love with.

You try to pull yourself off the desk but your legs start wobbling, so ford takes you by the waist and guides you up the stairs. “I’m sorry” he apologises once again, but you reach up to stroke his cheek “it’s alright, i kind of… liked it”

You see a flicker of something dangerous in his eye before it switches to looking terrified, then concerned. “Well.. I'm glad you liked it, but I don't know what came over me. I’m still sorry if i hurt you, my dear” you thought he might be hiding something from you, but that was a discussion for another day. For now, you got your old ford back, and that’s all that matters.

“It’s.. alright. Just give me a warning next time. Jeez” you laugh a little, and you see he starts to relax against you. 

“Yeah.. i’ll try” he seems to be lost in thought, but as you enter the kitchen and he sees the dinner you made him, he suddenly loses his train of thought and looks at you like you just brought him the moon. 

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you so much! I'm starving!” he picks you up and kisses you, slightly wincing as he feels his muscles tense up after not being in use for who knows how long. He lets go of you and you both go to eat. You’ll have to talk to him sometime soon about your worries, but you stop yourself when you see the look he gives you; full of love and adoration, like you’re the sun to his earth. You decide to confront him another day. You wouldn’t want to ruin a perfect dinner, would you?

[ckret2]

Chapter 54 of everybody being really eager to kill their prisoner human Bill Cipher for good: the gang's trying a new way to create fuel for the one weapon guaranteed to destroy Bill.

It goes so great.

As Ford drove to Northwest Manor, Dipper skimmed through the introduction to Flatworld, where Edward Bishop Bishop was pretending that his book had been dictated to him by a sentient square; but he couldn't focus on it. He sighed, shut the book, and stared out the passenger window at the passing trees.

"Something on your mind?" Ford asked.

"I'm thinking about the Axolotl's poem again. The one about Bill."

"Ah. Still trying to remember the rest?"

"Kinda. Mabel and I are working on it together," Dipper said. "But it's not that. I've just been wondering... what if the poem is... you know, part of a prophecy about Bill or something? Mabel remembered another line of the poem—'A different form, a different time.' What if the Axolotl was telling us why Bill's back as a human? Maybe we need him here—to, to use his powers to fight off a bigger threat or something. Do you think that's possible?" He held back another question: what happens if we kill him before then?

Ford frowned thoughtfully. "I've been thinking about the Axolotl as well," he said. "About the worlds I visited that called it a god of criminals, tyrants, and luck. That sounds to me like the exact kind of being that would be Bill's ally. And it's odd how resistant Bill was to telling us anything about the Axolotl, when it simply passed over town for a few seconds and then moved on. Why the secrecy? How does Bill think it benefits him for us not to know about it?" Ford shook his head. "I think you're on to something, Dipper—I think whatever the Axolotl told you is important. The question is: important for whom?"

Dipper's stomach turned. The Axolotl had radiated such kindness; it was hard for Dipper to believe it could be up to anything evil with Bill. But then��Dipper clutched at Flatworld with the damning biography on the back—but then, how many people had Bill himself fooled with the benevolent teacher act?

Dipper understood now why "Don't Trust Bill" had so quickly turned into "Trust No One." Even when you knew that there was only one real enemy—even when you knew that most people out there were still reasonably honest and friendly—you could never tell just how far Bill's shadow stretched. "I guess that's true. We can't really know."

"We can't know yet. But it is worth trying to figure out," Ford said. "I wish I could tell you where to start looking for answers. For now... we'll just have to consider anything possible."

Ford was right. But all the same, every time Dipper paranoidly asked himself What if Grunkle Ford is right, what if the Axolotl really is on Bill's side, a second, even more paranoid, even more worried voice asked, But what if he isn't?

####

When they arrived, Fiddleford was already in his lab, hard at work on the miniature particle accelerator they'd come to see him about.

"The paradox what was powering it started yowling" Fiddleford said. "So obviously it ain't a paradox no more."

Ford grimaced. "That does lay to rest whether the cat is alive or dead."

"Sure does," Fiddleford said, sighing. "So I let the cat outside and I'm rebuilding the whole contraption to run on a more robust paradox. I hope you've got better news for me, Stanford."

"We hope so too. I think Dipper might have the solution to our fuel generation problem."

They briefly explained Dipper's unfortunate puppet incident last summer—Fiddleford had to take a break in the middle to grab a cup of coffee, "To steady my nerves,"—its ongoing effects on his sleep, and the new developments of the last few days, culminating in Dipper learning how to project his soul out of his body—

—which, Ford now realized, he probably should have expected Fiddleford to take poorly.

"Sweet sasparilla!" Fiddleford kicked over his chair while jumping onto the nearest table. "You're dead?!"

"What?" Dipper said. "No, I—"

"You're like a ghost possessing a zombie!"

Dipper thought that over. "Whoa..."

But, even though Fiddleford thought the whole affair went against the rightful order of the world, he agreed that it was a sound idea and worth trying. "It's lucky that my tater tot and I hunted out all the ghosts in this place during our spring cleaning," he said, opening a cabinet. He retrieved what looked like a pair of vacuums redesigned to be worn like backpacks with an assortment of random electronics dangling from wires. He held up a set of goggles and headphones hanging off one of the vacuums. "I invented these doohickeys that'll let you see and hear ghosts! They'll let us keep in contact with Dipper while he's out of his body." He set the vacuums on a table near the miniature particle accelerator and said, "First, though—Stanford, I need you to help me rebuild this machine."

"Of course." Ford turned away from the vacuum he'd been inspecting to look at the miniature particle accelerator.

Dipper said, "Wait, there are other ghosts in this mansion?"

"Yep!"

"I hunted one at the Northwests' big party last year," Dipper said. "How many more ghosts are in here?"

"We've caught, oh... thirty or forty so far."

"Seriously? That's amazing." Dipper was already thinking about the amazing Ghost Harassers episode this place could have been. Maybe even a miniseries.

"Aw, it weren't that hard. If you leave the TV on, they like to flock around it to watch. All you've gotta do is hide in the corner until a whole big bunch of 'em are gathered 'round—and then ya get them!"

"Oh," Dipper said. "Huh. I just tricked one into getting trapped in a silver mirror."

"Well, that's right impressive too. I never woulda thunk of that," Fiddleford said. "Me and Tate have been sucking them into cooling pouches in these here vacuums and then sticking the pouches in a chest freezer down in the dungeon! Maybe I oughta line the freezer with silver."

"This place has a dungeon?" Dipper asked.

Before Fiddleford could respond, Ford asked, "Which parts are we replacing?" He was inspecting the miniature particle accelerator.

"All of them!"

Ford gave Fiddleford a surprised look. "All of them?"

"Yep! Every last one!"

"Is the design changing that much?"

"Nope! It's staying exactly the same!"

"Then... why can't we just use the same machine we already have?"

"We will be using the same machine!" Fiddleford smiled mischievously. "Or will we?"

"Ah! I see! The particle accelerator of Theseus," Ford said. "Very clever."

"And kinder on the local stray cats, I reckon."

Dipper offered his assistance, but the work involved too much welding and buzzsawing for him to try untrained, so he was directed to sit a safe distance away with the first aid kit. At least it gave him a chance to read some more. He had to shove aside a couple flashlights and the glue grenade to reach where the slim book had slid to the bottom of his backpack during their walk from the car.

He skimmed over some of the worldbuilding looking for the story before he realized the story was the wordbuilding and looped back. It was a lot bleaker than he expected, even after Mabel's warning. Rigid class system, oppressive government, all kinds of horrifying shape prejudices... Frustrating dream visits to the ignorant line people in the first dimension who didn't believe in the second dimension, and to the self-absorbed King Zero in the point-sized zeroth dimension who thought a whole universe was contained inside him... A just as frustrating visit from a sphere who simply couldn't explain the third dimension in a way the square protagonist could understand, which was even more annoying since the square had just seen how the first dimension couldn't comprehend the second for the same reasons, so why couldn't he accept the possibility of a third dimension he couldn't imagine? Dipper got that it was supposed to be a metaphor to help three-dimensional readers understand that not being able to visualize a fourth dimension didn't mean it was impossible; but still. Come on, man. Don't be stupid.

On the other hand, at least now Dipper had a framework to understand the concept of higher dimensions and probably a leg up on next year's geometry. Would high school geometry cover four-dimensional space?

After a couple of hours of work and a break for lunch, the miniature particle accelerator was rebuilt and ready for another attempt to generate fuel. Fiddleford pulled on one of his ghost vacuums like a backpack, put on the set of connected headphones and goggles, and settled his glasses on over the goggles. "Y'all ready?"

"Ready," Ford said. He was seated at the accelerator's monitors, holding the jug that would contain any NowUSeeitNowUDontium they generated, and wearing the other vacuum—with the goggles over his glasses, and he was a bit worried about how Fiddleford had positioned his.

"Ready," Dipper said, a tad less certainly. What if he couldn't do it today? What if he'd never actually been able to do it last night and the whole thing really had been a dream?

But Fiddleford flipped the accelerator's power on, stepped back, and said, "All right! Do your thing!"

"Okay." Dipper stared straight at the machine, and—eugh—thought about degloving his body from his soul, peeling out of his skin fingers first.

This was only the second time he'd left his body deliberately. He'd observed in the past that the mindscape was strangely gray and still compared to the real world—but he'd never realized just how stark and swift the change was, like all the color and warmth had been abruptly sucked from reality. He shivered.

Ford inhaled sharply. Fiddleford stumbled back against the nearest table and yelped, "Flipping flapjacks!"

"You can both still see me?" Dipper said. "Can you hear me, too?"

"Loud and clear," Ford said.

"Like the voices of the dead." Fiddleford shuddered. "Welp, let's get this over with. I don't like all this ghost business. It ain't natural."

Ford gave him an amused look. "Since when have you ever been concerned about what's 'natural'? Didn't the engineering club vote you 'most likely to build a robot that flies in the face of God'?"

"You hush! There's nothing unnatural about iron, electromagnetism, and flamethrowers."

Dipper studied his body's face, its eyes pointed blankly toward the particle accelerator. "Well, I'm looking at the experiment, but I'm definitely not thinking about it. I think that's half of the paradox?"

"That's right," Fiddleford said. "Now, you just—float yerself on over to the other side of the accelerator, and think about it without looking at it."

"Right." Dipper positioned himself directly across the accelerator from his body, shut his eyes, and tried to think experimental thoughts. He didn't know much about Dontium besides what Ford had written about it in Journal 3—that it was inert when you were looking at it and radioactive when you weren't—so, if the miniature particle accelerator generated any, would he get blasted with radiation? Or was his body staring at the accelerator enough to keep it inert? But no—it was supposed to fill up the jug Ford was holding, right? Ford was observing it. Dipper tried to imagine what must be happening inside the accelerator; how did it work, would particles spontaneously generate in the tubes? Maybe they circled around until they fell into the hose to the jug...

He heard Ford gasp. "Fiddleford, look at this— Don't listen to me Dipper, just keep—keep thinking whatever you were thinking!"

"Is it working?"

"It was! Don't let us distract you."

Dipper tried to ignore the sound of Fiddleford running over to Ford, and started humming to drown out their hushed conversation. That was good, right? It meant the experiment was working. Keep thinking about that—experiment. Experiment. Expeeeriment. ... He wondered if trying to do the experiment by putting himself and Tyrone on either side of the accelerator would have worked, or if it had to be Dipper's soul and his body—

"Hot diggety!" Fiddleford shouted. "We've reached critical mass!"

"What does that mean, is it bad?" Dipper opened one eye a crack, trying to squint enough that he couldn't see the particle accelerator. "Is it gonna explode?"

Ford explained, "It means we've generated enough Dontium that it can sustain its own existence. Now, even if you get distracted, what we've already generated will remain. It can only go up from here."

"Wow," Dipper said. "That only took, what, a couple of minutes?"

"Less than that! During our last attempt, we tried for hours without reaching critical mass," Ford said. "Your idea was right on the money. Excellent work, Dipper."

Dipper grinned. After all that anxiety, it was almost a letdown how easy it was, but the coolness factor made up for it. He could just imagine the conversations the first week of high school: What did I do over summer break? Oh, nothing much. Just synthesized a new element. To fuel a weapon custom-designed to kill an immortal chaos god. And did I mention I was a ghost at the time? It didn't quite top last summer's adventures, but...

Then something went wrong.

There was a noise halfway between the electric buzz of a tesla coil and the rip of Velcro being torn apart. A stench like burning hair filled the air. A line of shifting colorful light began worming its way out of the center of the particle accelerator and up into the air.

"Oh no. Ohhh no!" Fiddleford grabbed his head. "The micro-rips! The threadbare fabric of reality! Our experiment put too much of a strain on it! We tore straight through!" One foot bounced agitatedly, "Ohhh, I knew I shoulda run some calculations before substituting in Dipper for you and Stanley."

Dipper gasped as the line of light began to agonizingly stretch open wider. Reality began seeping over its edges and dripping through into the kaleidoscopic miasma beyond. It developed a second horizontal rip across its middle as reality stretched beyond endurance in multiple directions. "What—is that?" He was afraid he knew.

"A dimensional rift," Fiddleford said.

"The Nightmare Realm," said Ford.

The last frayed thread holding reality together snapped apart, and the rift tore open wide, fully exposing the Earth to the roaring roiling chaos beyond. 

They screamed.

"Hello?" A giant set of dentures with stubby arms and legs leaned through the rift. "Oh hey! Aren't you the guys that killed Bill?"

They screamed again.

"Is screaming how humans say hi?" the monster asked. "I'm Teeth. Aaah!" He turned toward Ford. "Hey! Fingers! Lookin' less electrocuted than the last time I saw you—"

Ford socked Teeth in the incisor, knocking him back through the rift. "Back, you! You and your 'friends' are not welcome in this dimension!"

"Ow. What the heck, man."

Fiddleford shouted, "Don't stop observing the Dontium!" He bounded across the room on all four to scoop up the milk jug and stare at it. 

Ford nearly toppled through the rift, and had to grab onto the miniature particle accelerator as the heaviest nearby object to anchor himself. The rift sucked on reality like a vacuum, and the longer it was open the more powerful it grew.

Over the roar of the rift, Dipper yelled "What do we do?!"

"We have to seal it! Before it sucks all of Gravity Falls into the Nightmare Realm!"

"How?!"

Last summer, the instant Bill had no longer been around to maintain the dimensional rift, it had also sucked reality into it, starting with everything that properly belonged in the Nightmare Realm; but then it had also quickly sealed itself back shut. On the other hand, this rift was just opening wider and wider. Maybe it wasn't like the rift Bill had used to enter Gravity Falls, then? Maybe it was structured more like the wormholes that had been left behind after Weirdmageddon—

"I've got it!" Ford picked up Dipper's body—trying not to shudder at how lifeless it felt—and unzipped his backpack. "Is the alien adhesive grenade still in here?"

"It should be! Let me see." Dipper floated over to peer into his backpack.

The rift was already strong enough to drag at Ford's clothing. The lightest objects in the room lifted into the air and were sucked through. Papers. Pencils. Coffee mugs. Dipper's soul.

He screamed. "GRUNKLE FORD!"

"Dipper!" Ford grabbed for Dipper's ankle, but his hand passed right through. Ford's blood ran cold as Dipper tumbled head over heels into the Nightmare Realm.

"Look at that," Teeth said, watching Dipper soar by. "Dinner delivery."

There was no difference between the mindscape and reality in the Nightmare Realm, if Ford followed Dipper  through he'd be able to get a grip on Dipper there. But how would he carry Dipper back to Earth without him melting through Ford's grasp the moment they were through the rift? Didn't matter, grab Dipper first, then figure it out—

Fiddleford shoved the jug of Dontium in Ford's hands as he ran past. "Watch over this!"

"What—!"

Fiddleford jumped into the Nightmare Realm, the end of a long extension cord tied around his waist. He stretched out the hose of his ghost vacuum and flipped a switch, and with a yelp Dipper's soul was sucked inside. Ford gasped in relief.

Trying to keep as much of his attention on the potentially-radioactive jug as possible, Ford reeled Fiddleford back in, shoved the jug in his hands, and dug into Dipper's backpack again until he found the alien adhesive grenade. He pulled the pin and chucked it through the rift. "Duck!"

He shielded Dipper's body and Fiddleford shielded the Dontium jug as the grenade exploded. Even so, the force of it blew aside everything within ten feet of the rift and sent both of them sprawling. When Ford glanced back over his shoulder, the adhesive had gummed up the opening of the rift like a popped glowing magenta bubblegum bubble; and as he watched, it sucked the opening shut. In a few seconds the air was still and quiet, and the only sign the rift had ever existed was an immense, jagged vertical line in the air around which the light refracted wrong.

Fiddleford gingerly got back to his knees, then pulled off his glasses and pushed up his goggles. One of the lenses had been crushed, and the glasses' frame was bent beyond repair.

Ford heaved a long, heavy sigh. "A bit too familiar, wasn't it?"

Fiddleford blinked at him. "Wasn't what?"

"The—reeling you in from the Nightmare Realm?" Ford said. At Fiddleford's blank look, Ford said, "The portal test?"

"Oh." Fiddleford scratched his head. "I... still don't remember it too clearly."

"Ah. Yes. Of course." Ford's stomach churned with guilt as he looked away from Fiddleford. Over thirty years late was too late to apologize, wasn't it? (Over the past year he'd wondered, again and again; and again and again he'd decided that it was.) "Thank you for saving—" He gasped, "Dipper!"

"Oh, right!" Fiddleford took off his vacuum, dropped it on the floor, and unzipped its bag. The ghosts of a Northwest in a buckskin coat and a confused-looking hippie escaped into the air. "Hey," Fiddleford barked. "You get back here!" He raised the vacuum's hose and flipped its switch. He caught the hippie, but as soon as she was sucked in she flew out the unzipped bag and off to freedom again. Fiddleford lowered the hose and shook a fist at the retreating spirits. "I'll get you ectoplasmic varmints, just you wait!"

Ford knelt on the floor and held the bag open wider. Dipper floated out, arms crossed tight and shivering. "So... so cold... and dark... and really, really dusty."

"Let's get you back where you belong."

Ford held up Dipper's body as he lay back down in it. He could see the moment color flooded back into Dipper's cheeks and his eyes focused again. Dipper groaned.

Ford said, "You're never doing that again."

"I am never doing that again," Dipper said.

"We can't do that again," Fiddleford said. "The fabric of reality in this town is too unstable to handle another paradoxical physics experiment that powerful! We'd rip open another rift to the Nightmare Realm!"

"And we just tossed away all of our remaining alien adhesive," Ford sighed. It left Gravity Falls vulnerable if any more rips formed. Sometime soon he'd have to go back to the alien crash site and see if there was any more adhesive he could scrounge up; but even if he did, they couldn't risk wasting more of it like this.

"But did we get what we needed?" Dipper asked.

Fiddleford held up the milk jug of Dontium and shook it. It had a strange shifting color, wavering between cyan and orange depending on the lighting. "Looks like we got about three-fourths of a gallon," Fiddleford said.

"It's only enough to fully power one shot," Ford said. "But... one shot is all it'll take to destroy Bill." His stomach flipped nervously as he said it. He'd been anxious every other time he'd prepared to kill Bill, but that had always been because he'd been preparing to battle for the fate of the universe with a godlike monster who could easily kill him or worse. For the first time, he was preparing to execute a defenseless prisoner, and he didn't know whether it would make the universe any safer.

For half the summer he'd hoped Bill was harmless. Now he wished he had proof that Bill wasn't, so that he could lay his conscience to rest.

Dipper looked as uncomfortable as Ford felt; but when he caught Ford's gaze, he hardened his expression and nodded. Ford nodded back.

"WOOHOO!" Fiddleford leaped his full height straight up, making Ford and Dipper start. "We done it! YAHOO!" He waved his hat around ecstatically, doing a little jig in place. "YIPPEE! HIP HIP HURRrr—hey, how come you fellers ain't celebrating?"

Ford didn't know how to explain without making Fiddleford worry he was at risk of falling under Bill's spell again. "We'll celebrate when he's dead."

####

"Who was at the door?" 8 Ball shouted. When he didn't get a response, he paused his game. "Teeth?"

Teeth waddled into the game room. His face was completely plastered shut with some kind of glowing purple glue.

Pyronica cracked up and Paci-Fire chuckled darkly. 8 Ball sighed, "What'd you get into, you idiot?"

Teeth waved his hands emphatically.

"All right, okay." 8 Ball stood and stretched. "Does anyone have the number of that lamp guy Bill used to hook up with?"

Half an hour later, having lured over Lava Lamp Guy with the false promise of ping pong pool and illicit liquids, they cornered him in a bathroom, with Zanthar sitting in the tub restraining him while Paci-Fire struggled to hold his face still.

"Please!" Lava Lamp Guy screamed. "Let me go! I'll do anything you want! My neurologist said I can't take much more of this!"

"Cease your complaints," Paci-Fire said, as 8 Ball took off Lava Lamp Guy's bowler. "You shall not dissuade us. We do this because we have no choice in the matter."

"Why not?!"

"Because none of us feel like making the trip to a dimension with a drugstore."

8 Ball stuck a soup ladle into the open top of Lava Lamp Guy's head and fished around until he got a scoop of the red goo floating around in the thinner orange liquid. Lava Lamp Guy howled in agony. Zanthar heaved a weary sigh.

8 Ball carried the ladle over to where Teeth was sitting on the toilet lid kicking his feet. "Here you go, bud."

Teeth clapped his hands, grabbed an oversized toothbrush, and held it out for 8 Ball to pour the goop on. He scrubbed his teeth until the goop dissolved the adhesive. "Whew!" He stretched his jaw a few times, then jumped to his feet. "Thanks! I was worried I was gonna miss karaoke night." He looked in the sink mirror to scrub off the remaining scraps of adhesive.

8 Ball put Lava Lamp Guy's hat back on. Lava Lamp Guy groaned, "I think I forgot my third husband."

"You've only been married twice," Hectorgon lied.

"Oh." Confused, Lava Lamp Guy said, "Alright."

Teeth muttered, "Blech, divorce memories." He grabbed a bottle of mouthwash to clear out the taste.

"So what happened?" Kryptos asked. He was hovering in the doorway beside Pyronica.

"I'unno. I think the Dimension 46ers were messing around with their portal or something? They opened up a portal here."

"What? Uh-uh," Pyronica said. "It had to be some other dimension. We just invaded them, why would they open the portal again?"

"No no, that sounds like humans to me," Kryptos said. "If one of them pushes a button and immediately dies, the guy standing next to him will go, 'I wonder if it does that every time.' I've seen them do it."

"It was definitely them, I saw that local contractor Bill recruited for the portal who went nuts. Fingers or whoever."

8 Ball groaned. "You mean the guy that invaded the Quadrangle and tried to kill everybody?"

"Yeah. That guy. He told me I wasn't welcome on Earth and chucked a glue bomb in my face. I was like, well alright, buddy, I'm not the one who opened up a portal in your house, you could have just stayed home instead of ruining my day," Teeth said. "I didn't really say that to him. I thought it."

"So now the humans are invading us." Pyronica threw her hands in the air. "Great! This is just terrific! Bill teaches them how to make their own portals, they follow us home, and now we're about to have a pest problem that knows how to use tools! How long is it until this whole place is crawling with humans?! I'm going househunting, how many rooms should I look for? 8 Ball?"

"I'm in."

"Teeth?"

Teeth sighed, but said, "Yeah. The neighborhood's going downhill. Especially if we're gonna have a pest problem."

"Big Z?"

Zanthar gave a thumbs up.

Pyronica looked at Paci-Fire. He averted his gaze. Pyronica said, "Paci?"

Sullenly, he said, "We should ask Keyhole's opinion as well."

She laughed in disbelief. Nobody cared about Keyhole's opinion, he went with whatever everyone else went with. Appealing to Keyhole was just a delaying tactic. "Fine, sure. We'll get Keyhole's opinion."

"I'm not going," Hectorgon said, crossing his arms.

Relieved, Kryptos said, "Yeah. Me neither."

"You don't have to," Pyronica snapped. "You two and Morph can wait for Bill to come back from the dead as long as you want. But the rest of us are leaving."

Kryptos tilted toward the hall, gesturing for Hectorgon to follow him away from the others. "How long do you think we can hold this place without the outerplanars?" The Quadrangle was all that remained of Bill's turf. Without Bill's energy boosting them, none of the shapes were particularly powerful. They'd always depended upon the other Henchmaniacs to guard Bill's stronghold, the heavy-hitters like Zanthar and Pyronica. Even Bill preferred to let them fight his battles when he could; Bill's energy was much vaster, but less renewable.

Hectorgon grimaced uncertainly. "We've gotta think of something fast."

####

Dipper stared at the jug in his lap, ensuring it didn't turn radioactive before they got home. Bill practically seemed to have a radar for Ford—and on top of that, could see through walls—but as far as he cared Dipper may as well have not even existed; so they'd decided that Ford would go in the main door to ensure Bill's attention was turned away while Dipper went through the gift shop and took the elevator down to Ford's study. Ford had told Dipper where to find a lead locker that would keep the Dontium contained until Ford could use it to refuel the Quantum Destabilizer; all he had to do was put it in and stare through the crack until he'd slammed the door shut.

And once they'd decided on that, the drive home had fallen deathly silent.

As the Mystery Shack appeared through the trees, Dipper asked, "We're doing the right thing, right?" His voice was quiet. "I hate him, but—we owe him our lives. And there's that prophecy..."

"Lives can't be owed," Ford said. "Yesterday he may have saved us, but tomorrow he would still destroy our world in a heartbeat. We can be grateful to be alive—but we can't let that stop us."

"So, we're doing the right thing?"

Ford was silent for much longer than Dipper would have liked. "I hope so."

####

(We're moving toward some important stuff!! Hope y'all enjoyed and I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this week's chapter!)

[starsifter]

PLS CAN YOU WRITE A FORD X READER BUT THE READER GOT GLASSES FOR THE FIRST TIME AND IS KINDA INSECURE (I AM NOT PROJECTING AT ALL HAHAHAHAHAHA?)

Awwwww I love this request. I also wear glasses, but, like Ford I've been wearing them since I was a little kid. Okie okie enough about me sksk. (tumblr keeps butchering the formatting of this so I give up trying to fix it 😭)

You definitely swap glasses a bunch, he likes to "see through your eyes"

He's been wearing glasses for a long time and he assures you that after a while you'll forget they're even there

He makes sure you keep your glasses in their case at night, and always has a bunch of those glasses cleaning cloths lying around

He randomly snatches your glasses off your face to clean them sometimes

When you kiss your glasses clink together, he finds this funny at first, then he finds it annoying. He takes off his glasses before he kisses you now.

You used to tease him for the way his glasses fogged up when it got hot and he stepped outside, or when they got fogged up from other things, so now he teases you back for revenge.

He thinks you look good with glasses, better even

You can finally convince him to replace his cracked glasses, reluctantly

He has glasses adjusting kits lying around, and he adjusts your glasses for you if you ask him too

Gifs Source

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Okay now that I've reblogged that one post...

Holy shit

Like, please understand me. This is how I already interpreted these relationships after reading Journal 3 but like

Wow Ford really was in a weird kinda complicated gay situationship with Bill and Fiddleford, huh? When he's all alone on Christmas in tbob he's all like "Oh yeah haha of course...of course. You have. Yeah. You have a wife, F. How could I expect you not to leave. I am totally not secretly hoping you'll turn around and come back to me, or that you'll even bring your family back here if you have to so I can see you. I'd retreat to my dreams but I haven't seen my muse in weeks and I miss him so badly. I'm so alone"

He and Fiddleford aren't even dating but it's hard not to get the light impression that this situationship is such that Ford kinda treats Bill like his comfort triangle from his head and dreams and Fiddleford like his comfort best friend in his lab. Like he's sad on Christmas that his boyfriends left him alone, you know? Of course it's definitely more complicated than just that, but they are dear companions to him

Or when Bill finally comes back and Ford is pissed

"You return now? After all of that, after me missing you so badly, almost dying, wondering if I'd dreamed it all up. You return now like it was no biggie? Did you ever mean the things you said? Did you not find some other scientist or some other big brain to talk up? Have you found someone else? Another partner?"

And then Bill, dodging the question was like "Funny you think I'm cheating on you as if you haven't been spending all that time with F. The side bitch. The third wheel. You've even considered telling him everything, even though you know he has second thoughts. Heh. A little birdie told me he dreams of shutting down the project even."

Leading Ford to be like "Aw hell how could I accuse my muse of such a terrible thing when I haven't been a saint. He's right! F has been much less motivated lately and I've just gotten so paranoid from the isolation. I'm so sorry for my baseless accusations."

I don't even have a lot to say I just love these three. Fiddleford put up with a lot of shit from Ford while also dealing with his own problems and trying to help him regardless, while Stanford saw him as a comfort and a good friend but ultimately someone who was of lesser mind than he and couldn't see things through his eyes, while Bill was in Stanford's corner actively making him worse and contributing to his isolation (trying to get him to drop Fiddleford and actively feeding his paranoia), while Stanford was seeing both relationships of his with stars in his eyes and rose tinted glasses because he refused to do some introspection

There's so much stuff that journal 3 and tbob added to the equation that's just bad/shitty all around. Can't believe Ford went through a double divorce/breakup despite not having ever been married (or, at least, despite not even officially dating them sorta)

The entire situation in the past is just tragic and hilarious and concerning all at once and that's what I like the portal trio for tbh

[identifying-cars-in-posts]

A long overdue update:

Hi everyone. Long time no see. I literally have not opened Tumblr since the last time I posted here. Hope everyone is doing ok. Figured I owed y’all an apology and explanation for kinda just vanishing.

First, I did in fact get a car! It’s a 2015 Nissan Versa Note. I don’t particularly like it but a friend gave me a deal on it that I couldn’t turn down. Once my life stabilizes I’m probably going to sell it and buy an old truck, maybe a 70s Ford. I’d love a little sports car or a land yacht but rear wheel drive is a bit impractical for brutal New England winters, and the Jeep really put me in Old American Truck Mode. But yes I have a car now!

Second, unfortunately this is an official notice of hiatus. When I last posted saying I was taking some time off it was because I had just had an incredibly stressful move and did not have the energy to keep this blog up. I figured I’d take some time to get settled in, relax, and then pick this back up after a week or two, but the last month has been really rough - the short version is one of the people I was living with turned out to be a pretty horrendous human being who managed to get everybody living in the house essentially kicked out via sheer drama. Within a month and a half. It’s a long story but tl:dr if you quite literally slander a property manager with heavy unfounded accusations of horrible crimes, they’ll probably bail from the whole situation. And since they’re gone the landlord has to hand ownership of everything over to a company that’s forcing everyone still here to vacate. I’m now fighting to not have to live in aforementioned Nissan Versa through the aforementioned brutal New England winter. On top of that, I’m a retail manager so we’re going into our busiest most stressful season, so that’s been an extra level of exhaustion.

So what does that mean for this blog? Well, as I said, I’m officially going on indefinite hiatus, as are the projects I was working on in relation, including the reference website. I’m really sorry, I’m just way too stressed and dealing with way too much. If I could, I would just hand off administrative power to someone else, but this is a sideblog so I can’t hand off login credentials without also giving access to my main/personal account. It’s my biggest regret of this account, but when I started it I never expected it to blow up the way it did back in September - I had no reason to expect to need it to be its own entirely separate blog. I love what I was doing here and I thought that it might even be a nice distraction from everything going on, but the upkeep required with this blog is just more than I can deal with right now. I hope that things settle down soon and that I can genuinely come back here and enjoy what I was doing, but I just need literally anything to level out in my real life and to not be in 100% survival mode, because at the moment I literally do not have the energy to pour into this.

Anyway. Sorry for the long post, I’m not good at not being overly verbose. I’m really sorry for kind of abandoning this project, and I hope I can get back to it relatively soon, it just might be a while.

In the mean time, I hope those of y’all who I turned onto cars as a potential hobby find some other good outlets! I highly recommend Donut Media’s series “Up to Speed” on YouTube, as well as the channels Regular Car Reviews, Doug DeMuro, Garbage Time, and Aging Wheels. All great YouTube channels that are both informative and very approachable and fun.

Godspeed and much love. Hope to see y’all soon

- Identifying Cars in Posts admin ❤️

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

mullet stan, calling ford and actually talking for the first time: h-hey, ford, i uh- look, i know you’re probably still mad at me and i completely get it, i do, i won’t bother you again after this if you never want to hear from me again, but i just wanted to wish you a happy birthday. y’know, we both turn 25 today, seemed like a good milestone to give you a call

ford: huh. oh. happy birthday, stan

stan: …what’s that noise?

ford: what noise

stan: the scratching sound in the background?

ford: oh, uh. i’m filling in the entirety of my chalkboard right now. with chalk

stan: why?

ford: hngh don’t know

stan: …i, uh. i kinda thought you’d be more mad at me

ford: i have come to accept that the future is simply not an option for me and i would have failed either way

stan: what, no, don’t say that <:[

ford: stanley, i bought an entire chalkboard for my scientific projects and i’m sitting on the floor using all of my chalk to scribble the entire surface in. my hands are paper white. i’m probably going to suffocate and die after this

stan: that doesn’t mean you’re a failure

ford: i’m doing it because i’m a failure, not the other way around. anyway, how are you

stan: hiding from a gang that wants the rest of my teeth

ford: i have an attic in my house in the middle of the woods you can hide in

stan: is. is that an invitation

ford: yeah

stan: …what state are you in?

ford: oregon

stan: i should be able to afford enough gas to get there…what’s the address?

ford: 618 gopher road, gravity falls

stan: i’ll be there in a week maybe

ford: okay, i’ll. try to make the house livable until then

stan: (hangs up)

ford: …

ford: …what did he mean, ‘the rest of his teeth’

[the-east-art]

Wait are u still doing the shifter Stan thing? Because if so...I have just one question. Why didn't Ford get powers too? Is Stan just like... a changeling? Or is the reason WHY or WHAT stan is just not appealing and therefor has no answer? Because as a fellow writer...honey I respect that.

Hell yeah I’m still doing the shifter Stan thing :3 I’m having fun with it. And to take everyone behind the curtain, mostly that second thing. I’ve played with a couple ideas on why only Stan can shift but I’m not really satisfied with any of them, and coming out and making a decision would restrain me from having as much fun I think. When I write stuff for this AU I always kinda feel like I’m approaching it from Stan’s perspective (or maybe I just write Stan using myself) in that he doesn’t really care, so the narrative of the au doesn’t really care.

To be fair I do think Ford and Dipper drive themselves crazy trying to figure out why Stan is the way he is.

There’s a couple different aspects of the au where I don’t feel very solid one way or the other, so I just leave it vague so people can project their own preference onto it. That might change, but right now I feel good leaving it up to everyone. Uh, I will say I dont think he’s a Changeling, mostly because I can’t see Filbrick - who didn’t want a kid in the first place - just being chill with the kid doubling mysteriously over night.

[foodtruckery]

Okay noncon thoughts about ford forcing himself onto fem!stan after the science fair incident, it isn't more so intentional but in an act of rage, it's rough and merciless, with hard thrusts. Fem! Stan initially attempts to fights it off at first but later just gives in it as it would be useless and she technically "deserves this" or whatever lie she makes up to comfort herself in the moment

Cue the post nut clarity hits and stanford is either a) deeply disgusted/horrified at himself and regrets it immensely, after all, no matter what- that's still his little sister or b) literally does not regret it at all and is finally glad he could be open about his desire for fem!stan

(Please ignore or delete this ask, if you aren't comfortable with noncon aaaa, I'm so sorry if this was unwanted)

hello anon! not uncomfortable with noncon, so no worries there, but i appreciate you checking! but! lol i will say that i do tend to be picky about the noncon stuff i consume and enjoy, and it's usually one of those things that has to be "right situation at the right time." and in typical me fashion, i uh. managed to talk my way into it! putting the rest of this rambling below a cut for anyone who is sensitive to this topic! <3

all of THAT being said, if we're looking at a scenario where we do get ford who kinda loses it, seeing red and wanting to put stan in her place, i think it's a lot more interesting if it's NOT the first time these feelings are out in the open. let's say, instead, that they've already crossed that line with each other. so at first, it isn't anything usual even. getting ford annoyed and riled up enough to want to be rougher than normal, pull out a little more of that possessive streak of his -- that's something stan's gotten good at. so that's what this must be, right? they're gonna fight about it and then they're gonna fuck about it, and then they're gonna get over it.

except ford is a lot angrier than usual. angrier than when she sneaks back in after curfew with with a new hickey and won't tell him who gave it to her, angrier than when she disappears halfway through a saturday shift in the shop and makes ford finish restocking by himself, angrier than the time ford had to come and pick her up from a bar she'd snuck into but got too drunk to make it home by herself -- angrier than she's ever actually seen him, maybe.

that's probably fine tho, right? she likes it when ford wants to manhandle her a bit, and when he gets worked up enough to growl the kinda lewd shit against her neck that's just a sexy cover for the fact that he gets jealous or worried. but he isn't saying anything now, actually, and it's kinda weird, the silence. they've stopped arguing and his hands are in all the places she usually likes, but the anxious anger from the fight isn't dissipating into lust and want like it usually does. ford isn't grinding his knuckles against her clit through her clothes and chewing on her ear in the way that that usually redirects all that energy into something to better spend it on. he's gripping too hard, being too pushy, and none of it actually feels good like it should. when she actually loses buttons off her goddamn shirt for how hard he tries to yank it open, she snaps at him, "jesus christ, stanford, at least try to be careful, will ya?"

and she's not at all prepared for how actually fucking angry and, worse, how cold he sounds when he responds. "like how you were careful with my project? shut the fuck up."

and suddenly this isn't about fucking it out, and it's not about letting off a little steam. and when when she goes to shove him, ford is. a lot heavier than she'd realized, actually. he doesn't rock easily back like she ususally does when she pushes him, and his grip is hard enough to bruise when he shoves her down. and it hadn't ever really occurred to stan before then that ford just...let her push him around when they were scuffling. that his time being forced into boxing lessons by their pa actually meant something on her scrawny nerd brother.

suddenly ford is threatening.

and suddenly she's afraid of him.

and stan is used to that feeling of fight or flight surging through her. usually through a her fist into some loser's face. but she's not at all used to feeling that way with ford. especially not like this, underneath him. and he's suddenly heavy and huge in ways that had always been nice and good. but they're not anymore, and it's the first time stan has ever felt the rush of fight or flight and just....frozen instead.

he doesn't even take her panties off, just yanks them to the side. and she knows she's liked that before, found it really hot even, but now all she can feel is how hard the material is cutting into her hips and thighs and how wet she isn't. and some of the fight does kick in, finally, when he pulls his dick out and she realizes, holy shit, she doesn't want this to happen. but he's already got her at a fucked up angle, crushed down against the mattress, out of reach of anything on the nightstand, the width of him pressing her thighs too far apart to get enough leverage to knee him as hard as she tries to.

that just makes him angrier, anyway, and she yelps when he grabs her by the thigh so hard she knows she's going to have six finger shaped bruises for days afterwards.

"shut up!" he hisses again, squeezing the already sore spots on her leg hard enough that she flinches and tries to jerk away, but the mattress doesn't give her any leeway -- it just dips and reshapes to support her exactly where she's at. "if anyone comes up here, i'll tell them you came on to me to try and make up for what you did. it is the least you could fucking do, after all."

and he's....right? she thinks? ford's the golden child, the eldest son, and she's always been too loud, too stupid, too shamelss, too fat, too her. they'd believe him. and maybe....maybe she does, too? this is how they've been handling all their fights, lately. most of them fights that she starts on purpose to get goad ford into fucking her. so....so maybe that is on her? for setting the precedent?

it all hurts, but maybe she deserves that, too.

there's a shitty little sketch of a sailboat on one of the wood slats holding ford's bed up above hers. it almost looks like it's the one moving.

after, ford climbs off of her, and the sailboat stops moving. she hears him cleaning himself up and getting changed, and she flinches when he climbs the ladder to his bed. but she doesn't peel herself off the sheets until she recognizes the slow, even cadence of his breaths from overhead that suggest he's fallen asleep.

it's probably the quietest she's ever moved around their room. usually, she doesn't care if ford hears her shuffling around. usually, she's hoping he'll notice.

now, she's careful not to make any noise at all. it's dark, which she appreciates when she's stripping out of her ruined shirt and stretched panties, but it means she doesn't know what she's grabbing to throw on instead. she doesn't really care as long as she's dressed again as quickly as possible, but she is grateful to find a sweater and jeans to pull on. nothing else she grabs out of the dresser gets a second glance, though. clothes just get pushed as quickly and as quietly as she can manage into the bottom of her bookbag, and she doesn't risk making additional noise by closing the drawers back up.

ford's bed squeaks, just once, when he shifts in his sleep, and stan nearly throws up on the carpet, gripping her bag so tightly it makes her hands hurt. the door is only a few steps away, but it feels like it takes forever to get there. the soft clicking of the handle have her heart in her throat, but ford doesn't move again, and the hall is silent when she slips out of his room. her shoes and her keys are downstairs, which is good, they'll be easy to grab. she wants desperately to shower. she wants to use all the hot water their ancient water heater can provide and then some. but she thinks that even if she could get it to spit out boiling water, it wouldn't be enough. she also thinks that if she goes into the hall bathroom now and closes the door, that she's going to fall apart, and she can't do that. not yet. instead, she sneaks downstairs the way she always has, skipping the creaky fourth step, dodging the table of tibetan singing bowls Ma uses for "ambiance." she doesn't even lace her shoes, just shoves her feet into the sneakers and grips her keys in a clenched fist to keep them from jangling. she feels the metal teeth digging into her palm and clenches harder. she doesn't breathe until she's behind the locked door of the El Diablo and three, going on four, five, six blocks up the street. she'll find a parking lot to pull into later, when she's out of town and can't keep the wheel straight anymore. she'll lose it there. she'll cry until she has to stumble out of the car and throw up, and she'll bloody her knuckles punching asphalt.

but for now she keeps a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel and drives and refuses to look when she passes the beach.

[misteria247]

So like Ford as a character to me as least, makes me feel hella mixed. Cuz like on one hand he's kinda of a jerk, is really rude and cruel to his little brother after the accident, and he sometimes completely disregards people's feelings cuz he's caught up in his own issues. And it frustrates me so much cuz like I completely understand where Stan comes from by doing your best only to pushed away. But on the other hand I also completely get and understand Ford.

He's the oldest out of them, there's unspoken pressure there from his parents and the adults around him. He's been bullied for his extra fingers and intelligence and the only friend he has besides Fiddleford later in life is his brother Stan. All Ford's life he's been out of place and then he finally gets a chance to make a space for himself, to distance himself from all this insanity. Only for it to be pulled out from under him. Like that's frustrating and devastating, especially when you've finally got some positive reception and attention because of it. It makes sense that he lashes out and when you're hurt, you do things you normally wouldn't do. Especially in a household where you've got Fillbrick as a dad, you're also bound to start believing things that you're told, especially when you want your parents approval.

And add in the toxic relationship with Bill who keeps reaffirming everything Ford's been told about Stan and helping him hold onto the grudge to a point where Ford unknowingly cut off all contact with people who actually love him and it all really makes sense in the long run.

Like what Ford did wasn't right, but Stan not telling Ford about his project also wasn't right. But as an eldest child myself I completely get Ford's reaction and his take on the situation while also feeling for Stan's own reaction on everything cuz I get that attachment and importance of family all too well. It's because of this stuff that makes both Ford and Stan's character growth so much more satisfying because they've learned to let go and heal with each other rather than tear one another down.

Idk man I love Ford but like I also want to affectionately noggie him till he begs for mercy does that make sense-?

[justcallmeremus]

The current Ford hate on TT is insane to me.

“He didn’t care about Stan!”

I’m sorry what? This is the same Ford that, in the ripped out pages from the journal in Book Of Bill, stated “Stanley could have made her laugh” when he was referring to the waitress and him having a poor interaction. Meaning he had fond thoughts of his brother even during a time when he wasn’t talking to him.

Another direct quote is referring to the telephone booth scene

“‘HEY BROTHER, IT’S SIXER. I’M GOING TO TAKE A SWIM IN THE FROZEN LAKE TOMORROW, AND I MIGHT NOT COME BACK, SO IF YOU DON’T HEAR FROM ME, I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT IT’S BECAUSE I NEVER LOVED YOU. BUH-BYEEEEE’

My heart was in my throat until I heard the dial tone…”

Ford was in a state of anxiety from the idea of the last thing Stan potentially ever hearing from him was that he [Ford] never loved him [Stan]. That shows he cares for his brother I do not care what you say. Even in a spat such as theirs Ford showed in small ways that he did care for Stan.

“Oh but during the portal scene(s) he was mean to Stan!!!”

“If Stan was sucked into the portal we know Ford wouldn’t have helped”

In the first scene where Stan and Ford are at the portal arguing Ford is in an extreme state of paranoia due to the lack of sleep and stress Bill has put on his body.

The second one Ford has just returned from what we can only imagine as a traumatic experience, fighting for his life in another dimension, oh right yes the dimension that very portal leads to and that Ford was trying to make sure couldn’t link the two worlds.

If they had swapped places and Ford didn’t know the extent of what was on the other side, because remember Fiddleford was the only one who had seen the other side before this moment, I bet Ford would’ve done anything to get Stan back, and then when Stan returned, if he knew that the portal linked the two dimensions at this point, Stan would probably be upset too! Wondering why his smart brother would risk total destruction on this town just to get him back!

“He didn’t thank Stan for everything he did to get Ford back!!!”

Yes, of course he should be grateful that his brother brought him home but also if Stan managed to get the portal running then Ford knows that Stan read his journals and also knows those dangers and once again he’s disregarded the consequences of his actions in Ford’s eyes.

“Erm why didn’t he use his grant money to help the fam…kinda selfish!!!”

Do you not know how grant money works? You can’t just use it for whatever you want! You have to use it in relation to your studies! He built himself a lab with his grant money to do research, like he’s supposed to. If he hadn’t used it as intended guess what! He’d have to pay it back!!! Out of pocket!

“Making Dipper his apprentice was kinda weird like what about school…”

There’s schools in Gravity Falls??? Like did you forget there were other people his age going to school in the area?? Also, Dipper expressed interest in the things Ford spent his life studying.

Dipper read the journal like it was his whole world and Ford basically had found someone to relay and teach all the things he learned to, which would allow Dipper to learn far more than he could anywhere else, especially if this is a field of study Dipper would like to pursue!!

I’d like to add that Stan also never apologized for ruining Ford’s project, even if it was an accident generally you apologize for things you do accidentally if it impacted someone you love so greatly. Instead he said how they could just travel instead of Ford going off to school, completely disregarding how that made his brother feel.

If there was an apology. If there was an explanation. Ford most likely would have forgiven Stan much sooner.

“I just don’t like Ford”

And that’s fine! You’re allowed to not like a character! No one is forcing you to like him, but when you’re saying you don’t like him and these are your defenses? Your argument and reasonings fall flat.

I love both Stan and Ford deeply and do not view one as better over the other, but the way the fandom holds Ford way more accountable than Stan is insane to me. The way Stan can repeatedly put people in danger and/or do things without thinking about the consequences is a valid thing to critique just like any of Ford’s actions.

Oookay long rant over.

TLDR; Stop blaming Ford for everything, picking and choosing what parts of canon about him you use for arguments, hold Stan more accountable.

[pinesfamilyguidetotheweird]

If there was one thing I disagreed with Hana (or fordtato) is what year Gravity Falls takes place. They say 2013, but I thought 2012.

My only source was the calendar Stan held in 'Summerween'

And then, when you take account of when the science fair project took place (likely in the Stans' final year in high school) and the years that followed (Stan being homeless for 10 years, Ford being in the portal for the next 30), so 40 years since the incident, the year of the science fair was likely 1972.

This was further proven when, in Journal 3, Ford's timeline had him coming to Gravity Falls in 1975, which falls perfectly with Ford gaining his first PhD in three years (PhDs usually take 6, depending on the program).

In Journal 3, in the first entry, Ford said it had been six years since he arrived in Gravity Falls. This again falls perfectly into the timeline I thought.

1975 + 6 = 1981

So, if the June 8th entry was in 1981, then the January 17th entry would be in 1982.

Take all of this into account and Gravity Falls takes place in 2012.

And I thought that was it...

Until I decided to look at one more clue to the timeline.

The calendar in Carpet Diem.

First off, it has five days in a week instead of seven and it bothers me.

Second, I don't think I've registered the month. Just the year.

July of 1982...

In Journal 3 (both in-universe and out), the first entry was in June and the last dated entry before Ford was sucked into the portal was in January, likely in 1983 when keeping mind of the Carpet Diem calendar.

While evidence for 2012 being the year makes it more likely, this slight difference was enough to make a wrinkle that started to make cracks...

However, I just thought about this...Who says the calendar was still being used by Ford? What if it was Stan? I don't remember when he boarded up Ford's room, but I do remember a source saying that Stan kinda moped in this room for months (I don't remember if it was a post or fic; someone feel free to correct me). Now, it's kinda unknown when the brothers reunited before Ford went into the portal, I estimated it to be in March at the latest.

This is purely speculative on my part though. I'm sure that, in spirit, you can pick when it takes place (since that's what Alex was kinda going for, as he wanted to invoke the 90s feel into the show.)

I just like the details.

I am curious about the significance of July 4th being circled. Who was this relevant to, Stan or Ford? And why?

[astro-b-o-y-d]

Triangulum - Chapter 6 - Strife of the Party

(Content warning; contains blood, gun violence and other potentially-upsetting themes. Reader discretion is advised)

— — — — — — —

Calling the walk to the bunker uncomfortable would be the understatement of the—Century? Millennia? Googolplex? Going off previous experiences that might rival it, Bill could vaguely recall a memory about five-thousand years back where he had dared Keyhole to ask Pyronica out on a date, despite them both knowing about 8-Ball's insatiable crush on her. A dare that Keyhole had responded to with a hesitant “I dunno, Boss, that seems kinda dangerous…” before reluctantly attempting it anyway.

Regardless of the exaggerated length of time—or any hypothetical superior understatements that might’ve left Keyhole with burn marks around his keyspot and Bill a giggling mess of schadenfreude—it was still an uncomfortable walk. Not only was Bill once again bound by unicorn-hair rope, but he didn’t even have the luxury of being tied to a chair this time. He simply dangled in Ford’s grasp like some kind of cheap luggage bag as the two of them trekked deeper through the woods towards their destination.

Bill tensed against the binds that restrained him. Speaking of which—

The bunker had been one of Ford’s more interesting projects, brought on by Bill’s own half-truth of a Dimension of Weirdness that lay parallel to the current one. His so-called assistant—Bill thought with as much metaphorical venom as he could muster—had suggested the idea, as a means of keeping themselves safe from any strange beings from said parallel dimension, while also granting them the ability to study such beings at a safe distance.

Clearly it had all been for naught; there was no way some half-baked hole in the ground and a few dozen gallons of liquid nitrogen would be enough to restrain anything that might’ve poured out of the Nightmare Realm—whether it was one of the lesser creatures, any of the Henchmaniacs, or even Bill himself.

Although the idea of someone like Zanthar being squeezed into one of those tubes was humorous enough to get an internal chuckle out of Bill. He sure would’ve at least let them try, if for no other reason than giving the big guy some enrichment—

“We’re here.”

Ford’s words pried Bill from his thoughts as the two of them came to a stop before a tall oak tree. To the uninitiated, it would appear to be an ordinary tree without any special characteristics to differentiate it from the rest of the surrounding forest.

To those who knew better—

“So tell me, Poindexter—” Bill began, his gaze traveling up and down the trunk. “How do you plan on reaching the lever with me in your hand?”

Ford didn’t respond, a hand pressed to his chin as he also stared at the tree in studious thought. After a few seconds passed without any answer, Bill let out a cackle. “Haha, you didn’t even think of that, did you?”

Despite Ford’s expression souring further from the mockery, he kept his attention fixed solely in front of him as he silently contemplated his options—

“Grunkle Ford!”

—until the sound of another voice spun him around, just in time to see Mabel stepping out from between a pair of trees. “Woah, you got here fast!” she said, breathing heavily as she slowed to a stop before them. “I mean, I guess you built the bunker, so it makes sense that you know all the best shortcuts to get here super quick—”

“Oh heeeeey, Shooting Star!” Bill interrupted cheerfully. “Thought you were busy prepping for the big party tonight?”

Upon being addressed by Bill, Mabel’s initial excitement vanished in an instant—a twisted glare in his direction taking its place. “Wendy and Dipper are prepping for it in my place!” she insisted, arms folded squarely across her chest. “And it’s gonna be so cool and awesome and amazing and you’re not invited!”

“Color me wounded,” Bill said with playful sarcasm. “Also wow, you really left Pine Tree to take care of party preparations? That’s like dropping a blobfish in the Sahara and expecting it to do anything else but shrivel up and die!” He tilted his head with a grin. “But hey, watching him flop around helplessly in the scorching desert sand would probably be twice as funny! Haha!”

Much like he had done with Bill’s previous tauntings, Ford kept his gaze fixed on what was in front of him—or in this instance; who—with the only reply he could muster up for a few minutes being several blinks of sheer confusion. “Mabel,” he finally managed to vocalize. “What are you doing here?”

Despite the ire she had directed at Bill, her smile was genuine as she turned back to Ford. “Oh! I’m here to help you get into the bunker!” she explained, tilting her own head to one side to peer around him towards the waiting tree. “I figured you’d need an extra hand to reach the lever, so you could keep yours on Bill!”

“He~ey, just what we were talking about!” Bill piped up, flashing his teeth at Ford. “Wow, can’t believe she thought about that before you did! You must feel pretty dumb right now, huh?”

Mabel shook a finger at him. “You shut up, it’s an easy mistake to make! And…and since I did think of it, that just means he actually has someone to help him do it!”

Ford continued to stare at her in wordless bewilderment, his emotions darting in as many different directions as his thoughts. Anger and irritation towards Bill’s…well, general existence, concern over Mabel interacting with him—terrible idea all around, he had to put a stop to it as soon as possible—

“Anyway yeah, like I said: I’m here to help you get into the bunker!” Mabel’s voice continued through Ford’s internal struggles. “Or just generally help you in any way I can, since Dipper, Wendy and I also thought you could use someone else to keep an eye on Bill while you work on all the techy-tech stuff in the security room.”

She gave a casual shrug. “I mean, it’ll be hard to keep an eye on him AND dismantle all the dangerous walls that wanna squish you at the same time, right?”

“Hey now, that’s a good point!” Bill said. “I didn’t even think of that second one, which probably means Sixer didn’t either~!”

He shifted his gaze back towards Ford with a delighted little wriggle against his restraints. “And I know I wouldn’t mind the company~! I’ll bet she’d be a lot more talkative than you were last night!"

“Nuh-uh!” Mabel insisted. “If you think I’m gonna talk to you or listen to anything you say, you’ve got another thing coming, you…you—”

A huff as she crinkled her brow. “Well, I could say the word I wanna say, but I don’t want to overuse it! But the point is you’re a massive jerk and a dummy and I’m not gonna listen to you or talk to you!”

While she stuck her tongue out in Bill’s direction—to which he responded with a sarcastic “That’ll show me.”—Ford’s grip on the rope tightened. Okay, enough thinking; he had to speak up. “Mabel, I appreciate you wanting to help me, but this isn’t a game,” he said, tone rigid. “Dealing with Bill is—”

Ford’s voice hitched in his throat as he forced himself to not make eye contact with the bundle in his fist, one whose wicked grin was assuredly widening further by the second. “—I think it would best for the best if you returned to the Shack.”

At Ford’s answer, Mabel’s tongue slid back into her mouth with a quick little ‘thwip’. “I know it’s not a game,” she insisted. “That’s why I want to help! Having someone around to help you will make things so much easier!”

“Psh, do you realize who you’re talkin’ to, kid?” Bill asked. “Pretty sure you’ve gotten several up-close-and-personal looks at the last guy who tried to help him! Haha, pretty sure that hillbilly jerk regretted getting his memory back when he remembered why he tried to get rid of it in the first place!”

He tilted his head. “Oh, no—wait, forgot about your pathetic brother and all the ‘help’ he provided last year! Sorry, he’s just soooo unmemorable that his presence always slips my mind—”

As Bill droned on—followed by a passionate scolding from Mabel in return—Ford forced his attention from them and back towards the waiting lever near the top of the tree.

As much as he hated to admit it, Bill had been right about him not thinking ahead and planning out a way to reach the lever once they’d arrived at the bunker. How could something that important have slipped his mind? He was lucky that Mabel had shown up when she did, otherwise he would’ve had to come up with another solution.

But that brought him to the main question—would it be wise to accept her help at all?

The last thing he needed was for her, or anyone else in the household to interact with Bill too closely. But she had raised an excellent point—if he let her take care of reaching the lever, then he would be able to keep a hand on Bill. She wouldn’t have to go near him or interact with him, which veered him closer to the side of approval.

Plus, Mabel was a strong girl for her age. A thought that sparked a warmth in Ford’s chest, one comforting enough to alleviate his concerns for a brief, few seconds. She was a Pines, after all—strength was practically baked into their DNA. And such strength, such heart, it was near identical to—

“Hey, you know, if the cat’s outta the bag on that bunker plan, I might have somethin’ that—”

“ No , Stanley.”

His shoulders tensed as a familiar Stanley-shaped cloud of guilt began to overtake his thoughts, one with an even-more-familiar Bill-shaped cloud baring its fangs closely behind. Fangs as menacing as the teeth that the real Bill continued to flash up at him with threatening delight. “You’ve gone awfully quiet there, Sixer. Got something you’d like to share with the class?”

“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel added with a look of concern.

With an exhale to banish such thoughts for the time being, Ford looked back at her again. Mabel was offering assistance, assistance that he—unfortunately—required. There was still the issue of her second request to address, but overall the pros seemed to outweigh the cons when it came to accepting her help for at least getting him into the bunker.

Help that she might’ve not had to offer at all if he had simply taken up Stanley’s earlier offer instead but—

“Alright, Mabel,” he finally said aloud, interrupting his own thoughts before they could fully take shape. “If you can get me into the bunker, it would be very appreciated.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bill chimed in with flat look, one that quickly morphed back into a look of amusement. “And notice how he didn’t actually confirm if you could come down to the bunker with us~! Guess he doesn’t appreciate you that strongly, Shooting Star!”

Mabel glared at him, before casting a hesitant look to Ford. “Do I have to go back after I’m done? I mean, don’t you still need someone to keep an eye on Bill after that?”

“We can discuss any further involvement on your end once the bunker’s open,” Ford said with a firm tone.

“Translation: he’s already decided that the answer is ‘no’, but he doesn’t want you to keep asking,” Bill piped up.

His remark earned another glare before Mabel turned back to Ford. “You promise we can talk about it afterwards?”

After a brief moment of hesitation—one too short for either of them to comment on—Ford finally responded with a nod of his head and a reassuring: “I promise we’ll talk about it. But in return, you have to respect whatever decision I make in the end. Is that fair?”

Mabel’s features scrunched with consideration, before her smile returned. “Alright, well, I guess that’s better than nothing,” she said, before snapping a glare at Bill. “And don’t you say anything else, or I will use that word I wanna use against you!”

Bill rolled his eyes. “I add an addendum to my earlier statement; color me wounded and threatened.”

An exaggerated huff was her reply as she turned to face the tree, tilting her head upwards. “Alright, the lever was that one branch waaaaay up there, right?” she asked, keeping her gaze lifted as she approached the trunk.

“That’s it,” Ford confirmed. “Do you think you can reach it without issue?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t help but notice that in all of Shooting Star’s braggadocio-ing, she has yet to mention how she actually plans to get to the lever in the first place,” Bill pointed out, followed by a wink in her direction. “Of course knowing her, I’ll bet she’s got some brilliant idea up her brightly-colored sleeves. Am I right~?”

Mabel crossed her arms with a sour look, but it was only a moment later that her features brightened again. “Actually, yeah, I do! Literally!”

With a grin, she reached inside her sweater sleeves and pulled out the rolls of streamers she’d stashed there earlier. “Ba-boom! Three rolls of Pink Mab-urple!”

Both Ford and Bill stared at her—varying levels of confusion present in their features—until their silence was broken by a cackle from Bill. “Haha, wow, she’s actually lost it!” he said, then corrected himself with a condescending look: “Oh, I mean—yes, Shooting Star! Please feel free to use paper-thin streamers to try and scale a tree! By the way, when you fall, be sure to aim for the nearest sharp rock you can find as a landing zone!”

“I’m not gonna use them by themselves!” Mabel insisted, and began to unravel them in her hand. “I’m gonna use them at the same time by braiding them together, ‘cause they’re stronger that way!”

“Braiding rope together does in fact increase its strength and durability,” Ford mused thoughtfully. “I suppose the same could possibly be applied to something as flimsy as paper streamers, if you use enough of them. Where did you learn that, Mabel?”

“Oh, I’ve been braiding hair since I was, like, five,” she said proudly, hands working away at weaving the streamers together. “Sometimes it was a braid train, sometimes I was just bored in class and messing with my hair for fun, sometimes it was with a braiding kit I got one year for my birthday…”

“Seventh one, right?” Bill guessed. “Gift from one of the girls in your class—said she got it for you in the hopes of ‘helping you fix that rat’s nest you call hair?’” 

He rolled his eyes. “Pretty rude of her to say when Mommy Dearest was paying out of house and home to take her to the fanciest salon in town every month to get her pretty blonde hair curled and rebleached.”

“I knew she wasn’t a natural blonde!” Mabel said with a look of vindication—

—one that vanished in an instant as she cast a nasty look towards Bill, before promptly turning her attention back to the streamers in her hand. And after a few moments, she finally held up her efforts for Ford to see; a decently-length braid of the streamers combined. “Ta-da! Streamer braid!”

She gave both ends a firm tug, to confirm that the braid would hold. “With this, I can get up the tree and to the lever!”

“How quaint,” Bill taunted. “Now why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and give it a go? Just remember; aim zone, sharp rock!”

“Go ahead, Mabel,” Ford said in a more encouraging tone. “Just be careful, alright?”

With a nod to Ford—and another irritated raspberry at Bill—Mabel approached the tree and looked up towards the waiting lever. It wasn’t too high—probably about halfway up the tree’s actual length—and a fall from that height wouldn’t cause much more harm than a few bruises. Maybe even less if she aimed for one of the nearby bushes—and not towards any rocks, Bill!

Despite all that, Mabel couldn’t pretend she wasn’t a teensy bit nervous.

Taking great care to focus more on how smug she could be to Bill about her success and less on the task itself, she wrapped the braided streamers around the tree and began her ascent up with slow, careful steps up the side. 

It was a struggle at some points, supporting her own body weight against the force of gravity. But hauling a heavy pig around for almost a year seemed to have paid off in Mabel’s favor, for it wasn’t long before she was in reaching distance of the lever. Despite how close she was, however, she kept her hands firmly on the ends of the braided streamers. She couldn’t exactly let go of them, otherwise she’d just fall back to the ground. Not a huge issue if she aimed for a bush, but she was pretty sure that Wendy had pushed the lever up with her axe last year. And how was she supposed to push the lever up if she couldn’t—

Oh, wait!

She shifted herself to cast a look back down at Ford—

—nope, bad idea! Way too high and she was suddenly remembering the brief period of time last year when she had a fear of heights!

She snapped her gaze upwards again with a deep, shuddery breath. Alright, this was fine—she could just talk to him without looking down! “Grunkle Ford?” she called, keeping her attention focused squarely on the branches above. “Does the lever only work if you push it up?”

“No, it should activate the stairs regardless of whether you push or pull it,” Ford called in return. “The lever was specifically designed in such a way that we would be able to either trigger the mechanism from the ground with a well-aimed shot of a crossbow, or simply climb up and pull it if we happened to leave said crossbow back at the house.”

“‘We’, he says,” Bill piped up. “And yet I have no memory of being included in that conversation.”

“I wasn’t talking about you.”

While they continued to bicker—or rather, Bill replied with some annoying remark while Ford fell silent again—Mabel turned back to the lever with a look of determination. Her initial theory confirmed, she bent her knees and launched herself upwards, grasping hold of the lever with one hand while the braided streamers fluttered off with the wind.

Sure enough, the weight of her body was enough to pull the lever completely downwards, and a rumbling noise suddenly echoed throughout the wood as the tree began to follow suit and descend down into the earth.

Luckily for Mabel, it eventually descended far enough for her to drop back to the ground without issue or injury, and both her and Ford—still clutching Bill tightly—stepped back in time for the tree to reveal the stairwell down to the bunker’s entrance. “Good work, Mabel,” Ford said with a proud grin in her direction.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re all so impressed,” Bill said sarcastically, before he batted his eyelashes at her. “Now hows’about you scurry on back to the shack while ol' Fordsy and I spent some more quality time together~?”

Ignoring him completely, Mabel cast a hopeful look to Ford. “Since I did such a good job, can I stay to help you with Bill?”

“That’s right, Sixer, you did promise her you’d talk about it after she was done,” Bill reminded him. “Don’t tell me you were actually trying to trick her into doing your dirty work and planned on sending her back to the shack with her tail between her legs this whole time!”

Ford had barely processed Mabel’s sharp reply of “Stop pressuring him!” before the concerns from before engulfed his mind once again, thoughts once again dancing around wildly as he attempted to figure out the best course of action.

He had promised Mabel, and he had no intention of breaking that promise. But Bill’s constant poking and prodding about the issue had raised a completely new concern in Ford’s head—was Bill deliberately trying to get him to turn down Mabel’s request?

Bill was a master at manipulation, and one of the many tools at his disposal in that regard was his ability to isolate someone. To convince them in any way he could to cut off any outside help, whether it be a lab partner, a family member, or anyone else who might potentially help them poke holes in his plans.

Maybe Bill was either trying to torment Mabel to the point of making her give up and return to the Shack, or annoy Ford to the point of sending her back himself—in the hopes of being trapped down in the bunker alone. 

Or perhaps the opposite was true and he was actually attempting reverse psychology—pushing hard in one direction to the point where it looked suspicious, forcing them to veer in the opposite direction. Another cherished tool to one skilled in the art of manipulation.

But why? Either way, what was his goal?

The answer to the former theory was obvious; Ford would have to keep Bill in the first room while he deactivated the security system. And with no one to keep an eye on him during the long stretches of time while he worked, Bill would be granted a large window of opportunity to escape his binds. A task that would probably be easy to accomplish for someone with Bill’s omniscience—Ford could vaguely recall one of Bill’s older stories about assisting Harry Houdini during his golden days.

As for the latter—with how little Ford had budged on giving him information throughout the past day, perhaps he was turning his efforts to someone more willing to talk. And while Ford loved and cherished Mabel dearly, even her mere presence here had already revealed more to Bill than he needed to know.

Sure, Bill’s jabs towards her could simply be chalked up to his usual Bill behavior. Perhaps he was simply bored and desperate to stir up trouble with the only method available to him at the moment; his words. 

But naturally, such observation was simply that—observation. And Ford could observe and theorize all he wanted, but he wouldn’t get anywhere unless he addressed the concern that had hoped to ignore in favor of focusing on the task at hand. The major concern that had loomed over his thoughts since the second they had found that strange, cackling child between the birch trees the previous evening.

What was Bill planning now that he was back?

The obvious answer was another attempt at Weirdmageddon, with ‘revenge on Ford and his family’ following closely behind. Outside of that, Ford had mostly focused his efforts into finding some way to get Bill out of their hair first rather than coming up with any clear answers. If he had succeeded in getting rid of Bill, finding those answers would no longer be necessary.

But his failed attempts across the past day and current interactions Mabel had unfortunately brought Ford to an inevitable conclusion—he had fallen right into a trap by not considering further possibilities sooner and was now forced to make a choice with two concerning, unpredictable outcomes.

Granted, such outcomes could always have minor and otherwise harmless results. But at the same time, he was dealing with Bill Cipher. A master of making fire-and-eyeball-spitting mountains out of molehills, whether they be literal mountains or metaphorical ones in the form of a person’s mind.

Regardless of his choice here, there was a good chance that he would not favor the outcome while Bill could twist it to his own advantage—

“Uh, hello? Earth to Ford? Thought you were gonna have a talk with her?”

Bill’s voice and the shrill laugh that followed pulled Ford back to the conversation, just as he continued with: “Like I said before, I’m all for the idea of letting her stick around.” He raised an eyebrow at Mabel. “But the real question is; are you willing to miss that big party of yours, Shooting Star?”

“I’ll miss a hundred parties if it means helping Grunkle Ford stop you!” Mabel said, shaking a fist at him before turning to Ford. “I’ll miss a hundred parties if it means helping you stop him!”

“Let me help you put that pointy jerk twenty feet back under the ground, and make it stick this time!”

His grip on the rope tensed as Stanley’s words washed over him once again. Whether or not this was truly a trap on Bill’s end was still uncertain. Perhaps Bill actually wanted him to let Mabel stick around and keep watch. Or perhaps he wanted Mabel to return to the Shack, and hoped his taunting would be effective enough to push Ford to that decision.

Regardless of whatever choice Bill actually wanted Ford to make, Ford knew which one he was going to make.

“I did promise we would talk about it,” he finally said aloud, mostly to Mabel. “I am impressed with how you managed to reach the lever all on your own. That was very impressive.”

Mabel waved him away with a humble smile. “Psh, I don’t deserve all the credit,” she said, once again holding up the rolls of streamers in her hands. “Pink Mab-urple did all the hard work! Although I guess it was named after me, so maybe I deserve MOST of the credit—”

“Regardless of how grateful I am, I still think it’d be best if you went back to the Shack. I can handle everything else from here.”

The words escaped Ford’s mouth as he spun back to face the entrance of the bunker.

“Wh—but Grunkle Ford!”

He could hear the sad faltering in her tone, one that gripped his heart tight. He was grateful he had turned around, he knew she’d have more of a chance to sway his answer if he had kept looking at her. “I said we could talk,” he continued, keeping his eyes forward. “And you agreed to respect my decision.”

“But—”

“I’ve given you my answer, Mabel,” he said, more firmly this time. “Please listen to me.”

Even with his back to her, he could clearly visualize the heartbreak in Mabel’s expression. Heartbreak so similar to the way Stanley had looked at him earlier when he had turned him down as well. Heartbreak he could—he would—apologize for later.

But for now…

Without another word, he disappeared into the depths of the bunker stairwell, leaving Mabel to stare at the tree alone.

— — — — — — —

The wooden steps creaked beneath Ford’s feet as the duo descended further underground, the sliver of light from the entrance eventually fading into darkness behind them.

At any other point, it would’ve been a great opportunity for Bill to crack a joke at Ford’s expense. In his current situation, however, one major concern had been lingering at the back of his mind throughout the entire trek to the bunker, interrupted by both their arrival and Mabel's sudden appearance.

In a matter of hours, he’d be stuck in one of the cryogenic tubes with no way out.

Put on ice, left to rot—and unable to play Birdbrain’s dumb game.

“You mean you haven’t figured out what’s happening yet?”

His brow furrowed as his thoughts drifted back to Tangy, and their visit in the Mindscape during Ford’s little fairy dust stunt. Oh, buddy, was he gonna need some time to sit and unpack all of that!

First of all, that sneaky jerk was clearly keeping tabs on his progress from wherever they were now. And much like invading someone's personal space, omniscience was only fun when he was the one behind the metaphorical screen. 

Bill Cipher wasn’t supposed to be the one to be on guard from an unseen entity behind the scenes. He was supposed to be the one to bring panic to others! To strike paranoia into their hearts and send chills down their spines. To make them glance worriedly over their shoulders—out of fear of being watched—as they trudged through the dark woods alone.

Barring that, Tangy had started to tell him something about his current vessel before Ford’s transfer spell had cut the conversation short. Something about his wrist?

He gave his arms a light tug against the rope that kept them bound at his sides. Welp—not like he could investigate that further at the moment, but it was definitely good to keep in mind.

In the meantime, he had to keep his focus on the matter at hand—getting out of Ford’s grasp before he was reduced to nothing more than a fleshy popsicle. 

A goal that would’ve been far easier to accomplish if Ford had actually let Shooting Star keep watch over him.

As tempting as it was to be left alone for hours on end—maybe with the occasional check-in from Ford at most—Mabel serving herself up on a silver platter had just been too good an opportunity for Bill to resist.

And it had taken all of his self-control to bite back his anger at Ford’s decision to actually send her back to the Shack. Come on, he had practically giftwrapped that bit of bait for Ford and had had the gall to go and turn it down?!

Granted, even he knew it was a stretch to outright ask Mabel to free him—heck, the only way he had gotten anything out of her last year had literally been through someone else. But that motor-mouth of hers was a liar’s goldmine; a treasure trove of information to exploit. It was one of her best qualities if Bill had to come up with a list—maybe second only to her overwhelming love of fun and her high levels of selfishness that resembled his own.

Even if she had no desire to cut his ropes herself, there would’ve still been plenty of ways for Bill to guide her hand towards the goal anyway.

But nope, Ford had to go and ruin that for him. Yeesh, either he was losing his touch or the old man was getting too wise to his tricks. Probably the latter.

He winced as the faint light of the overnight room finally came into view, shortly before Ford reached the bottom of the staircase and stepped inside. He lingered in the doorway for a moment—sadly Bill was clutched in Ford’s left hand, making it impossible to get a subtle glimpse at his expression and gauge his thoughts—before he continued onwards towards the old, dilapidated mattress near the wall.

So Sixer planned on leaving him there, huh? Alright, fine, Bill could work with that—no, wait, he was heading for the weapons locker first.

The possibility of torture crossed Bill’s mind for a fleeting moment; he definitely wouldn’t put it above Ford, and would—admittedly—almost respect him for resorting to such levels of cruel revenge. But the thought was dashed almost as quickly as it had appeared when Ford reached for another rope instead.

Nope, he was once again going for the excessive rope route. Ugh, just when Bill thought Ford had completely sunk to the bottom of the disappointment hole, he had pulled out a metaphorical shovel and was determined to dig lower.

Rope in hand, Ford moved to the mattress and let Bill’s body drop to it with a light thump—his free arm immediately wrapping around his legs before Bill had time to react, while the other hand quickly tied the rope around them. It was pointless to struggle, but that didn’t stop Bill from attempting it anyway until his legs were properly bound in place. And once Ford was satisfied, he rose to full height again and moved back to the weapons cabinet.

Oh, maybe this time he would fetch a weapon of sorts—wrong again, he was simply setting a moonstone on the shelf before slamming the cabinet door shut and moving to the opposite side of the room with a vial of mercury in hand.

At this rate, Sixer would hit the other side of the disappointment Earth with how deep he kept digging.

While Bill slouched unhappily against his restraints, Ford finished placing all the necessary ingredients before heading towards the large, red button near the door to the stairwell. And after a press—one that cause the entire main room to rumble as the above-ground entryway likely ascended back into place over their heads—he crossed the room to the tunnel entrance without so much as a look back at Bill.

“So you’re just gonna tie me up and leave me here for hours on end while you play mechanic in the next room, huh?” Bill asked aloud. “Better hope I don’t yell at the worst moment possible and scare you! One wrong step and it’s kersplats-ville!”

His remark did give Ford some pause, but after a moment, he climbed into the tunnel and pulled the latch shut behind him. Leaving Bill to lean back against the wall in a silent huff as his eyes scanned his dimly-lit surroundings.

Well, if he only had a few, precious hours to come up with an escape plan, then he needed to cherish every second of it and start brainstorming. Sure, maybe he didn’t have an easily-exploitable chump on hand to help in his endeavors.

But if the events of the last day had taught him anything, it was that no matter how dire the situation and no matter how hard Sixer tried to fight against it—lady luck always had a hand at the ready for Bill Cipher.

That, and maybe he could bust out a few of those tricks he’d taught ol’ Erik back in the day.

— — — — — — —

Despite Ford’s insistence to return home, Mabel remained where she stood for a few seconds longer. And after those few seconds of staring down at the darkened entryway where her great-uncle had gone, she turned away, took a couple of steps towards the direction of the shack—

—before she changed course for a nearby stump.

Hey, Ford had told her to go back to the shack—he hadn’t specified when she should go back. Not that she wanted to go back anyway, especially after Ford hadn’t actually kept up his end of the deal! Okay, yes, they’d kinda-sorta talked about it like he’d promised. But that wasn’t the same thing as talk-talking about it! Just because she still wanted to help him didn’t mean she couldn’t be a little annoyed about that!

After seating herself upon it with a stubborn harrumph, she fished her phone out of her pocket and flipped it open. Once her screen brightened, she brought up her list of text messages, gaze bouncing between the two most recent conversations.

The first was Dev—with a series of new texts he had sent while Mabel had been occupied with cleanup and decoration planning:

[ET Cutie <3: Hey, Mabel! Sorry I had to dash so quick for breakfast, hope you guys are having fun!] [ET Cutie <3: Also hope your Great-Uncle Stanford’s also not too busy with his work stuff to hang out!] [ET Cutie <3: I don’t care if he’s one of the most influential scientists in the field of supernatural and paranormal study, I’ll fight him for not spending time with the spe-] [ET Cutie <3: -cialest, prettiest, most amazing girl in the world!] [ET Cutie <3: Sorry, ran out of room in my first text.] [ET Cutie <3: …Please don’t actually make me fight him, you know I can’t fight.] [ET Cutie <3: …Please don’t actually make me fight him, you know I can’t fight.] [ET Cutie <3: Shoot, why did that send twice?] [ET Cutie <3: Whatever, you get my point. Love you! <3 <3 <3]

Mabel’s mouth curled into a smile—albeit one not entirely happy—as she hugged her phone to her cheek, before moving her attention down to the next group of texts. This one had been between her Dipper, their most recent exchange about two days old:

[Bro-Bro: Mom says we’re gonna be leaving for Gravity Falls around seven, so we’ve gotta go to bed early tonight in order to catch our bus.] Dipper had messaged to kickstart the conversation.

[Mabel: Is that code for ‘Time to leave Dev’s and come home?’] She had asked in return.

[Bro-Bro: You know it is.]

[Mabel: No prob, I was about to head out anyway!]

The conversation had been paused for a minute or two before she had sent her next text:

[Mabel: Actually, they also wanted to walk me home and talk to you about something.] [Mabel: One of your nerd club-type somethings.]

[Bro-Bro: It’s probably about their plans to try and snap some sky whale pics while they’re down at the coast.] [Bro-Bro: They mentioned wanting to borrow my camera last week.]

[Mabel: Or maybe they wanna just say goodbye to both of us at the same time before we’re gone for three months.]

[Bro-Bro: Either or!]

The thread had ended there, likely due to Mabel having tucked her phone into her pocket at the time to head home, hand-in-hand with Dev as she’d promised. Another smile tugged at her lips again—one that was unable to truly mask the wistfulness that was starting to overtake her features—as she typed out a new message:

[Mabel: Hey, Bro-Bro! So some good news!] [Mabel: I managed to get Grunkle Ford into the bunker, and he actually seemed pretty happy about it!!] [Mabel: Plus I did it by using streamers to scale a tree, which I think is a-PRETTY cool, if I do say so myself!!] [Mabel: Speaking of which, please send me pics of the Shack covered in streamers once you’re done!! I wanna see that beautiful mess of color that looks like a rainbow just died on the roof!!!!]

Before she could type out another reply, her phone buzzed as a text from Dipper came through:

[Bro-Bro: Morbid, but yeah, sure, I’ll send you some pics once we’re done.] [Bro-Bro: Does this mean Ford let you stay and help with Bill?]

[Mabel: Yeah, see…that’s the bad news.] [Mabel: He let me open up the bunker, but he didn’t let me go down with him.] [Mabel: I even pulled out the ‘he can’t watch Bill if he’s busy with the security room’ card and everything!]

[Bro-Bro: Aw man...] [Bro-Bro: So what’re you going to do then? Come back to the shack?]

[Mabel: I dunno, I still don’t want to leave him here all by himself.] [Mabel: Plus TECHNICALLY, he told me to return to the shack.] [Mabel: He never said I had to go back to the shack NOW!!! >:)]

There was a beat or two before Dipper’s next text:

[Bro-Bro: …You’re gonna sit outside the bunker and wait for him, aren’t you?]

[Mabel: Yeh-huh!] [Mabel: Now THAT’S a loophole dodge!]

[Bro-Bro: Cool, cool, so we should just go ahead and do the streamers for you then?]

[Mabel: You have my full permission! Again, dead rainbows! Morbid and horrible, but it gets my point across!] [Mabel: And I’ll let you know if anything changes out here.]

[Bro-Bro: Alright, keep me posted.]

[Mabel: Only if YOU keep me pic…ed. Send me pics is what I mean.]

[Bro-Bro: …I mean, I already said I would, didn’t I?]

[Mabel: Yeah, but I couldn’t resist the pun!]

Mabel lowered her phone to her lap again, but it was at least half a minute before Dipper sent another reply and she raised it again to investigate:

[Bro-Bro: Wendy also said to let us know if you need anything else.] [Bro-Bro: She knows sitting out in the middle of the woods without something to do can get SUPER boring.] [Bro-Bro: Plus the food situation’s kinda nonexistent unless you’re willing to kill something.]

Barely ten seconds had passed before another pair of additional texts followed:

[Bro-Bro: And while I know you are…just PLEASE let us bring you some chips or a sandwich or something.] [Bro-Bro: We can do that, Mabel. We can bring you actual food.]

Mabel’s laugh echoed through the woods as she typed:

[Mabel: No need to worry there! I got my Sneaking-Snacks-Into-A-Movie-Theater outfit on!] [Mabel: Complete with twelve hidden pockets full of snacks AND my licorice hair tie!] [Mabel: I’m set for HOURS!]

She lowered her phone again to reach up for one end of said hair tie, giving it some slack so she could pull it towards her mouth. The tip had barely passed her teeth when another text came through:

[Bro-Bro: PLEASE tell me you’re not going to chew on it again.] [Bro-Bro: Mabel, your hair is going to get SO gross!]

Keeping the end in her mouth, she mashed out a reply:

[Mabel: It’s fine! I’ve got extras in one of my pockets, so I’ll just eat this one and replace it with a new one instead of sticking it back in my hair!] [Mabel: Problem solved.]

[Bro-Bro: Alright, but if you want something other than pocket snacks and hair-flavored licorice ropes, let us know, alright?]

[Mabel: You got it, Bro-bro!]

With that, she let her phone rest on her lap again, her smile from before all but gone as she looked towards the bunker entrance again.

The tree was still half-submerged—and from her spot, she could just barely make out the top step of the staircase that lead down into the earth.

Hmm.

After tucking her phone back into her pocket and pulling more of the licorice rope into her mouth, Mabel stood up and hurried back towards the tree to peer down into the stairwell again. As she’d expected the door was still wide open, leading down into the waiting darkness.

And leading down to a jerky triangle and a Dr. Grunkle in need of assistance.

She nibbled on the end further with a thoughtful look. Once again, Ford had told her that she should go back to the Shack but he hadn’t specified when she should go back.

Nor had he said that she wasn’t allowed to go down into the bunker at all. Or—as a completely random, hypothetical example—sit in the stairwell and wait for him to be done with his work while doubling as a guard for the exit, in case Bill tried to make another escape.

…Hypothetically, of course!

The rumbling from before started again, causing her to take a few wobbly steps back from the edge while her gaze snapped up to the tree. Sure enough, it was shaking with a loud, creaking sound, a likely indicator that it would shortly be rising back to full height.

Her attention fell back to the doorway and staircase, the latter of which was beginning to retract back into the earth from the bottom upwards, while the doorway began to lower at a much slower speed than when it had originally opened.

Slow enough for someone to perform a pretty cool action stunt and dive inside just before it closed, if they moved quickly enough!

Shoving the end of the licorice further into her mouth with a look of determination, Mabel bounded down the remaining steps that had yet to retract and leapt down the rest of the way into the pit when she reached the last one. Keeping her momentum going, she barreled towards the waiting doorway that was lowering more and more by the second.  

And just before it could slam completely shut, she rushed though with all her might and landed hard against the concrete platform inside. Leaving the door to lock in place behind her, taking the last bit of light from the outside with it and leaving her completely shrouded in darkness.

While the room continued to rumble around her—the tree likely rising back into place outside—Mabel pulled herself to her feet with a sneeze from the kicked-up dust, causing the licorice to fall back against her hair and stick in place. With a grimace, she reached up to remove it completely and tossed the uneaten part to the floor before reaching into her pocket for a fresh one.

As she wrapped it in place around her hair and the rumbling around her finally stopped, she cast a look down the stairs towards the waiting bunker below.

The waiting bunker, aforementioned great-uncle in need of assistance, and that jerky—

—aw, heck with it—dumbass triangle.

She chuckled to herself as she silently creeped further down the steps, hand slipping back into her pocket to retrieve her phone. Mmm, no that still didn’t feel right. Oh well, she could always try again later!

— — — — — — —

“‘Change of plans, Bro-Bro, I’m gonna get a closer look at the situation.’”

“What does that mean? New roll.”

From his side of the roof platform, Dipper reached into the nearby bag of streamers for a fresh roll. “I dunno,” he said, tossing it at her. “Probably that she’s going to—oh, no wait, she sent a pic.”

He held up his phone for Wendy to see, and she peered closely at the screen. “Looks like a whole lotta nothing…”

“According to her, it’s the bunker stairwell,” Dipper explained, pulling his phone back to type out a reply. “Guess she raced inside before it could close, so now she’s gonna spend the whole day in there waiting for Ford.”

“Wow, she’s actually in it for the long haul, huh?” Wendy said. “I know the two of you have grown a bit since last year, but spending an entire day waiting for Dr. Pines out in some dusty old bunker seems more like a you thing, doesn’t it? Unless I’ve missed something across the past nine months or whatever…” 

She arched her arm back and swung it forward again, keeping a tight grip on the end of the streamer as the rest went sailing over the roof to the other side. “Oh, niiiiice,” she said proudly as she let her end gently flutter down to the tiles in front of them. “Bet that one flew clear into the woods—new roll.”

On request, Dipper tossed a new roll of streamers over to her before setting his phone down. “No, you didn’t miss anything,” he said. “It’s kinda weird to me too. But like she said earlier, one of her big things this summer was to spend more time with Ford. So I guess that counts as quality time, in the Mabel-est definition of the word.”

He shrugged to punctuate his sentence while Wendy unfurled the roll and repeated her previous action of tossing it over to the side of the roof. “Still…can’t believe she’s really going to miss out on a party like this,” she said.

“You don’t know if she will,” Dipper pointed out. “Ford could finish dismantling the security room, deal with Bill, and come back with Mabel before the party even dreams of starting.”

“Pretty optimistic theory for a guy who doesn’t believe a house can be lifted away by balloons,” Wendy said. “New roll.”

“Once again, never said I didn’t believe it could happen,” Dipper reminded her as he tossed her a roll. “I just said it’s gotta prove itself first!”

With a laugh, Wendy started unfurling the roll before taking aim at the chimney. “Hey, maybe we should try that will Bill instead? Tie a bunch of balloons to him until he flies up and out of our lives forever?”

“I mean, there are actual balloons designed to carry people,” Dipper pointed out. “But I guess with how small he is now, the right number of party balloons could probably get the job done.”

His words trailed off with a lingering discomfort, one he feebly attempted to mask by reaching for the tree-bearing journal he had set beside him on the platform. An action that gave Wendy pause mid-throw—the end of the streamer slipping from her hand and causing the entire thing to miss the chimney completely and sail onwards over the top of the house. “So, uh, you wanna talk about all that mess?” she asked. “Mainly the whole ‘him looking like you’ thing?”

“Not in the slightest,” Dipper said, flipping to the page he’d been working on. “With Stan and Ford being how they are, and Mabel being how she is, someone’s gotta keep a clear head about all this Bill stuff.”

“Mabel being how she is?” Wendy questioned.

“I mean, you saw how she was acting earlier,” Dipper explained. “All stressed out about Bill and Ford and Stan. Plus she’s been acting kinda weird about Bill in general, even before we got back to town.”

He lightly tapped the edge of the pencil against the page. “Did you know she hasn’t even told Dev about what happened? Like not just about Bill coming back, but about Weirdmageddon in general? She even asked me not to say anything about it, and like…that’s fair, I don’t feel like getting into that mess with him either.”

Another shrug. “But I dunno, it feels like there’s more there than just her being worried about Mayor Tyler’s Never Mind All That Act.”

“Psh, if that’s all she’s worried about, she shouldn’t be,” Wendy assured him. “It took all of two weeks for Tyler to give up trying to keep that act in effect before people started planning out Bill costumes and decorations for Halloween.”

Her smile felt into a look of annoyance. “He does get really uppity about is people getting too close to the statue, though. So naturally a lot of my classmates started daring each other to sneak off and go shake its hand.”

“Did you do that?”

Her smile returned. “Kinda wanted to, but after the convenience store thing last year, I wasn’t in the mood to test my luck with ghosts. And with Bill actually being back now, I stand further by that choice.”

Dipper let out a weak laugh. “Well, like I said, I feel like there’s more to Mabel acting how she is than that,” he continued. “Which circles back to the whole ‘With her, Ford and Stan acting how they are, somebody’s gotta keep a clear head about this Bill stuff’ thing.”

He began to scribble something down in the journal as he spoke further: “Plus hey, it’s not the first time he’s piloted around a body that looks like me. Like I was telling Stan and Ford earlier, I don’t think he’s gonna top what happened last year—”

“Last year? What happened last year?”

The two of them exchanged a look. “Oh, did we not tell you about that?” Dipper asked. “Yeah, he possessed my body last year on the day of Mabel’s big puppet show. Stuck forks in my arms, poured soda in my eyes, said a bunch of creepy, ominous things as me—”

“Ugh, seriously? That was him?” Wendy asked with a grimace. “No wonder you were acting so weird that day! I thought something was screwy when you started cackling wildly to yourself in the car, but I also kinda figured you were just super sleep-deprived.”

“Yeah, it was a whole thing,” Dipper said, waving her away. “But the point is, I’m no stranger to him looking like me. It’s weird, but…I’ll be fine.”

The scribbling stopped for a moment, his trembling hand around the pencil a clear contradiction to his words. One that Wendy met with an unconvinced look before she moved her gaze towards the bag of streamers.

After a moment in thought, she cast him another grin and flicked her thumb towards the large sign that read MYSTERY [S]HACK. “Hey, you wanna see who can get a streamer inside the A on the sign first?”

She winked at him. “We can always pretend it’s Bill’s big, stupid eye and that the streamers are…I dunno, something that’ll really hurt if it gets caught in a big, stupid eye?”

A small smile of his own tugged at the corners of Dipper’s mouth, before he set his journal aside again and pulled himself to his feet. “I mean, I guess if he was still the size of a building, streamers would probably be enough to cause some serious irritation to that fucker’s cornea.”

“Heyyyy, nice f-bomb drop,” Wendy said encouragingly. “How’d it feel?”

“Honestly, solid six-out-of-ten,” Dipper added as he followed suit. “Felt good, but kinda unnatural putting it right next to the word ‘cornea’."

“Eh, you’ve got all summer to smooth it out. TWO rolls!”

— — — — — — —

Every twist of a wrench or disconnecting of a wire helped to keep Ford grounded as he toiled away at the intricate mechanisms behind the security room.

He’d stated it plenty of times in the past, but Fiddleford had really outdone himself with the bunker’s construction. Such brilliant craftsmanship had always been the man’s forte when it came to inventing; it was one of the reasons Ford had sought his help in the portal’s creation.

His grip on the wrench in his hand tightened as he twisted it a bit too hard, resulting in the current screw he’d been unscrewing to fall out of its socket and to the floor with a light clatter.

With a sigh, he reached down to pick it up before rotating the small metal object over in his hand. Yes, Fiddleford back then had possessed such a brilliant mind, one with so much hope and potential.

“Haha, pretty sure that hillbilly jerk regretted getting his memory back when he remembered why he tried to get rid of it in the first place!”

And what had Ford done to repay him for all that help? 

Insulted him, belittled him, disregarded his warnings about Bill, and left him to burn countless holes into that brilliant mind. All with the same gun that he had used to burn a hole in Stanley’s mind.

Frowning lower, he stuffed the screw into the jacket pocket where he’d stored the others and moved on to the next one. If it wasn’t Fiddleford coming under fire as a result of his actions, it was Stanley. And if it wasn’t Stanley, it was—

“I think I’m gonna kill one of ‘em, just for the heck of it!”

The threatening memory echoed through Ford’s mind, stilling him out of sheer instinct as his gaze moved to the tunnel. Mabel’s surprise appearance had admittedly been such a bright beacon of relief after the past day’s agonies, and his appreciation for her help had been genuine.

But any concerns he might’ve had regarding Fiddleford or Stanley were increased tenfold when applied to the kids. 

As he’d initially stated before, Mabel was strong. Strong as Stanley, strong as those Pines genetics coursing through her body. But she was also Mabel. Spirited, bright, wonderful Mabel, who wore such a vulnerable heart on her brightly-colored sweater sleeves. 

A heart that Bill was desperate to plunge a knife into just as soon as the opportunity was at his fingertips.

With another sigh, he once again pocketed the removed screw and moved to the next one. No, it was for the best that he’d turned down Mabel’s help. What if he’d actually agreed to her offer and she somehow got hurt while attempting to guard Bill, like so many others who had helped him in the past?

Sure, he had waxed several pages of poetic retrospective in his old journal about how important it had been to seek help from others, but at what cost? The compromisation of his loved ones’ well-beings? Was it truly worth extending a hand in his time of need if it meant any one of them would be caught in the crossfire again? Especially since he still had no idea what kind of tricks Bill had tucked up his sleeve this time around. 

Clatter clatter, went another screw to the floor.

Nor did he have a clue as to whether or not his current plan to restrain Bill would actually succeed.

Clatter clatter.

And what if his current plan did succeed but he failed to come up with anything better? What if his family had to spend the rest of their days with a ticking time bomb hidden down here, with only a thin layer of liquid nitrogen to keep the danger at bay?

Clatter clatter. Clatter clatter.

Not to mention, there was still Bill’s current appearance to take into account. Why did he look so much like Dipper? Had the resemblance been intentional, or had he been telling the truth the previous day when he claimed to not be aware? Did it actually matter in the long run, or was it just a random happenstance?

Clatter clatter. Clatter clatter. Clatter clatter.

Question after question, theory after theory, concern after concern piling on to of him and dragging him further down—

BANG!

The end of the wrench was slammed hard against the wall, and Ford exhaled as much stress with the impact as he could possibly release. 

He had to stop spiraling, to remain focused on the task at hand. Whether his current plan was a temporary solution or not, it would still keep Bill out of the way long enough for him to think of something more permanent. As far as he could tell—and as much as he had deduced as much earlier with his fairy dust stunt—Bill had no actual means of leaving his current body.

Regardless of how powerful Bill was, he couldn’t do anything while trapped inside a weak, human body, one with no clear immunity to being flash-frozen.

And as for the vessel’s appearance…

His gaze shifted over to the tunnel again for a brief second, before he lifted his wrench again and moved on to the next screw.

No, it didn’t matter who Bill looked like or what he had planned. Once this was over, none of it wouldn’t matter.

Once this was over, Ford could breathe again. The kids would be safe again. Stanley would be safe again, everyone would be safe again.

Clatter clatter…

He just had to stay focused for a little bit longer…

— — — — — — —

The morning gradually shifted into afternoon, late afternoon, and eventually the bright, blue sky faded to the deep pinks and oranges of sunset.

“Good evening, Gravity Falls! This is Shandra Jimenez reporting to you live from the Mystery Shack, where we’re only a short while away from the biggest party of the year!”

And with the end of day came the beginning of the party, along with nearly everyone from town.

Behind Shandra and her broadcast, Lazy Susan came ambling up the pathway with a fresh pie in each hand and a delighted wink to the cameraman filming everyone’s arrival. A wink that unfortunately made her drop one of the pies as she reached up to manually wink her bad eye for dramatic effect—

—only for a small gnome to grab it just before it hit the ground, and hurry back towards a suspiciously-lumpy guest in a trench coat.

From further up the driveway, Manly Dan came charging towards the Shack with the Manotaur herd—all of whom were carrying large kegs of meat beneath their bulging, muscular arms. Behind them trailed a group of various other residents of recognizable nature. And perched above the party atop the old MYSTERY [S]HACK sign were the flocks of Eyebats and Woodpeckers from the previous day, all settled comfortably to watch the festivities below. The irises of the eyebats shifted about as they eyed each new guest come up the driveway, while one of the woodpeckers—the petrified Woodpeckerpecker from the day before still settled on its back—pecked curiously at the streamers that now decorated the roof.

And that was only a small percentage of the guests who soon crowded the grounds of the Shack. A crowd that Dipper peered out over from his spot atop the porch railing, pencil and journal clutched tightly in hand. “Let’s see, gnomes are here,” he mused, the scribbled words following his speech. “Lazy Susan…Shandra and her cameraman whose name I don’t know…”

He cast a smile to his left. “Wow, Soos, you and Melody really invited everyone, huh?”

From beside him on the porch itself, Soos let out a laugh. “Right? I mean, I guess we kinda overdid it with the invitations. But we couldn’t help it, dude! Everyone was just that excited to see the Pines family again!”

“As they should be,” Wendy added from his right. “You guys are, like, heroes and stuff.”

Dipper smiled wide at this remark, but his expression slowly sank as he turned his attention towards both the boat and the forest itself at the edge of the yard. “Ugh, if only I wasn’t the only member of the family actually at the party for us…”

The sound of the door opening behind them turned all heads to Melody, who had just stepped out onto the porch with a tall stack of paper plates in hand. “Is Mr. Pines still out on the boat?” she asked, kicking the door shut behind her. “He’s been out there all day! Has he even eaten anything?”

“I brought him some food and a change of clothes earlier,” Soos assured her. “But he just grabbed both from my hands and slammed the door shut behind him. Didn’t even give me a chance to see whatever big, secret project he was working on!”

“Secret project?” Wendy asked.

“I dunno if that’s actually what he’s doing,” Soos explained with a shrug. “But y’know…spending all your time somewhere isolated for hours on end, and not telling anyone what you’re doing? Seems kinda secret project-y to me.”

“Speaking of projects, although this one’s not really secret,” Melody said. “Could you help me carry these to the table, Soos?”

“Oh yeah, no problem!” Soos said, and rushed to assist her. “Although if we want it to be a secret project, you could always ask me in a secret language next time! Like maybe write it out in the alien goblin from Housebound!”

“Not a bad idea,” Melody agreed. “Although you said the name of the franchise out loud, and now anyone who heard you—” She tilted her head towards Wendy and Dipper with a smile. “—would be able to turn to the source material for ways to decipher our code.”

Soos slapped a hand to his forehead. “Aww, you’re so right, babe! Didn’t even think of that!” he said, then looked back at the teens as well. “Hey dudes, don’t even think about looking up Housebound and the well-crafted, original language the creator made for it!”

“Not my ballpark, Soos,” Dipper assured him.

“I will immediately forget the name of the show once this conversation ends,” Wendy added.

“It’s actually an online comic,” Soos corrected. “Although it’s more of an experience than a—”

“Soos?”

“Haha, right, plate time.”

Both Soos and Melody let out a laugh as they divided the stack of plates between them two of them and made their way towards the tables in the yard. Leaving Wendy and Dipper free to turn their attention back towards the edge of the property. “So, what do you think the old man’s been up to all day?” Wendy asked.

“Not sure,” Dipper replied. “Wonder if he’s even aware that the party’s started. I doubt the boat’s soundproof, so he can probably hear everyone outside.”

With a chuckle, Wendy leaned closer and gave him a light nudge with her elbow. “Yeah, unless he pulled his whole ‘switch off my hearing aids’ stunt to try and ignore ‘em. Again.”

Her amusement was only met with a light knock of wood to skull as Dipper sadly propped himself against the nearest support beam, causing her to raise an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, dude?”

“Ugh, I dunno,” Dipper said. “I wanted to be excited for tonight, but that Stan thing’s just kinda reminding me how he’s still out there on the boat with no sign of stopping—”

After straightening himself out again, he moved his journal and pencil to one hand so he could pull out his phone. “And how I haven’t gotten any new messages from Mabel in a while. Which probably means her and Ford are still stuck at the bunker, also with no signs of stopping…”

He sighed. “It’s just kinda hard to really get into the spirit of a party for our family when a whole three-quarters of us aren’t even here, you know?”

With a frown, Wendy propped her arms further over the porch railing. “Hey, come on, what happened to the optimistic attitude from earlier?“ she asked. “The one that said maybe they’d get back in time?”

She gave his arm another nudge, this time with her fist. “And the one that managed to get a whole roll of streamers stuck up in the letter A?”

A smile teased the corners of Dipper’s mouth, but disappeared before it could fully form. “I dunno, earlier we still had hours until the party started,” he explained. “And now it’s here and—as far as we know—nothing’s happened and Bill’s still around. “

He cast a look out at the crowd of party-goers again. “But I guess you’ve got a point: the impending stress of the guy who tried to destroy our entire dimension isn’t anything that can’t be dealt with through the old-fashioned method of pencil to paper as I take attendance of everyone arriving,” Dipper assured her. “Well, that and—”

He snapped a few, quick pictures of the scene with his phone. “Pictures for Mabel,” he explained to Wendy, readjusting the items in his hands so that the journal was situated back on his outstretched legs. “One that doubles as a reference for a later sketch, since I promised I’d add some to my journal for Dev to look at once we're back home! I’ve already started w—WOAH!”

With neither hand available to balance out his weight and his legs kicked out in front of him, Dipper wobbled atop the railing for a split second before his entire body tumbled backwards. Wendy moved to try and catch him, but her efforts only resulted in her snagging his journal out of mid-air—leaving its writer to fall to the wooden porch with a hard thud.

Despite the fall leaving him flat on his back, Dipper stared up at her with an embarrassed smile. “Nice catch...”

“Maybe limit things to pics now and journal later?” Wendy suggested, half of the journal clutched in one hand as she reached to help him up with the other. “Or maybe don’t do it while you’re sitting on a railing?”

“Heh, good call,” Dipper said, pulling himself to his feet before holding out his own free hand. “Maybe I’ll save it for the couch that we just have sitting out here, for some reason.”

She held out the journal for him to take back, although the page that she had accidentally opened to while haphazardly grabbing it gave her pause. A pause that made her pull the book back from him and hold up to her face to investigate further.

“Wh—hey, Wendy, come on,” Dipper said, reaching for it with more urgency. “Give it to me!”

Despite his insistence, she continued to stare for a few seconds before turning it for him to see: “Hey, Dip, what’s this?”

It was a recent page, one he had written earlier in the day. The beginning paragraph implied that he had been writing it while they had decorated the roof, but the main part she was addressing was a picture scribbled down beneath his words.

Not a picture of the decorated rooftop or any small pieces of streamers taped to the inside of the book, but an eerie sketch of Bill in his current vessel.

Dipper stared, his body language shrinking a bit. “You know, just…keeping track of what’s happened since we got here…”

She raised an eyebrow and flipped through the next few pages, most of which revealed more uncomfortable feelings about the events of the past day. “You sure you don’t wanna, like…talk about this stuff with someone?”

“Positive,” Dipper said, quickly snatching the journal back from her hands. “Like I said earlier, I’m fine and it wouldn’t be the first time I had to deal with Bill looking exactly like me. Or someone else in general looking like me!”

He flipped to a new page. “We’ve already covered all the puppet show stuff, but that wasn’t the only time! There was also the Dippy Fresh thing, and all those paper clones I made at Stan’s party to try and dance with you—”

“...Yeah, don’t think we covered that last one, dude.”

The journal was snapped shut again as a look of horrified realization overtook Dipper’s features. Before he could come up with any sort of believable explanation, however—

“Dipper! Wendy!”

The two of them looked over to see Tyler waving at them from across the yard as he hurried towards the porch. An action that made Wendy wince in disgust as she turned back to Dipper. “Okay, so listen: I know you’re having a time dealing with all this Bill stuff and family stuff—just stuff,” she said. “But—”

“You wanna get away from Mayor Tyler for reasons you don’t wanna talk about?” Dipper guessed. “And you want me to keep him distracted?”

“You do that and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that last thing you said, nor will I question you about it later,” she assured him. “And I’ll also drop the Bill stuff that you clearly don’t want to talk about either.”

“Deal.”

After an exchanged thumbs-up and their trademark ‘zip-the-lip’ sign, she leapt over the far railing and onto the other side, disappearing out of sight just as Tyler came strolling up the steps. “Good evening, Dipper~!” he said with a laugh. “Do you know where Wendy went?”

“Not a clue,” Dipper said loyally. “Why, did you need to talk to her?”

“Oh, I just wanted to say hi,” Tyler said in his usual-cheery tone, before his features sank. “It’s so rare for us to cross paths these days, except when old Danny Man sends her with one of the Manotaurs on an errand to my office~!”

“Is that right?” Dipper said, casting a glance back towards the direction where Wendy had gone. “Well, uh—I mean, she never said she was leaving, so maybe you’ll catch her around the party at some point.”

“Oh, very true~!” Tyler said, the delight in his expression returning. “Maybe she’s just gone off to shoot the breeze with the rest of your family?” 

He pressed a hand to his chin. “Come to think of it, though I haven’t really seen either of those handsome great-uncles of yours since I got here!” he said with a wink. “I know one of them’s spent the past few decades doing some fancy footwork around all those other dimensions or something, so don’t try and tell me he’s afraid of an old-fashioned Gravity Falls shindig!”

“Uh…”

While he’d anticipated that the topic of his other family members would be brought up in conversation—especially at a party about them—Dipper hadn’t had a chance to come up with a proper excuse about their absence—

“Hey, Mayor Tyler!”

Both Tyler and Dipper turned to see Soos approaching from the direction of the tables. “Glad you could make it!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world~!” he said delightedly. “Dipper and I were just talking about Stan and that brother of his, and how I’ve yet to see either of them here!”

Soos opened his mouth to reply, but upon seeing the silent desperation in Dipper’s features, he instead hurried up the porch steps to drape an arm around Tyler’s shoulders. “Oh, Mr. Pines? Uh, yeah—he’s not here at the moment,” he said quickly. “He’s working on some, uh…big, fancy surprise for the party! And Dr. Pines is helping him out with it~!”

Dipper’s eyes widened as he pulled Soos away from Tyler for a hushed conversation: “Soos, what are you doing?” he whispered. “Not only is Ford not doing that, but he’s not even letting Stan help him!”

“Uh, I don’t know, dude!” Soos whispered back. “You weren’t saying anything, I panicked!”

“Yeah, well, now he’s going to expect a big surprise from them later!” Dipper pointed out. “Are we don’t even know if Ford’s going to make it back in time for the party!”

“Woo-hoo, the way you two are whispering, it must be quite the surprise!” Tyler said brightly. “Either that or something’s gone terribly wrong, and you’re about to make an excuse so you can leave and go take care of it~!”

He let out a giddy chuckle. “Haha, I’m just kidding! But either way, I just wanted to pop by and say hello, give my howdy-dos and all that! Can’t wait for this night to really start kicking off~!”

“Haha, right,” Dipper said with a nervous chuckle. “But uh, speaking of leaving, I actually do have to go find Mabel about something—”

“Oh, Mabel!” Tyler said happily. “That’s another face I’ve yet to see! Heh, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say all you Pineses are hiding from your own welcome-back party!”

“Psh, yeah, that’d be silly!” Dipper said, before hurrying to the porch steps. “I’ll be back!”

With that, he hurried down the steps and rushed off into the crowd, leaving Tyler alone with Soos on the porch. He shot Soos a wide grin of his own, accompanied by a thumbs up. “Great party so far! Can’t wait to see more of it!”

“Aw, thanks, Mayor Tyler!” Soos said. “Uh, we’re not like…breaking any noise rules or anything so far, are we? Not bein’ too loud or too…I dunno, party-ful?”

With an amused chuckle, Tyler reached over to pat his shoulder. “Soos, I’m the Mayor of the town, at a party to celebrate some of the most important people in town! I’d be more upset if anyone tried to come to me to complain about the noise! Heck, I'd probably have them arrested for being a giant party pooper!”

He pressed a hand to his mouth with a giggle before turning back to the crowd. “Oh, but you didn’t hear that from me~!”

With a wave, he disappeared amongst the partygoers and left Soos standing by the porch with a content smile. “Good to know!”

— — — — — — —

It was only once the last few screws had been pocketed that Ford allowed himself to lean back against the wall with an exhale of relief. It had taken almost an entire day’s effort, but he’d successfully deactivated the parts of the room that would activate the security system.

And just for good measure—

With the toe of his boot, he gingerly pressed one of the buttons on the floor and waited. When it was clear that the walls weren’t going to crush him into a fine paste, he let out another breath and finished gathering up his tools.

The difficult part was over for now. All he needed to do was get Bill to the other side of the bunker, and it’d all be over.

— — — — — — —

Okay, so maybe the tricks he had tossed Houdini’s way were easier said than done.

In his usual form, such escape attempts would’ve been mere child’s play for Bill. Just a snap of his fingers and the ropes would’ve turned into something like snakes, overcooked spaghetti noodles, or even something as simple as a pile of hair. Hey, not all of his tricks had to go the extra mile in terms of wackiness; sometimes all you needed was a pile of hair from an unknown—probably unwilling—participant.

In a powerless vessel he was still inexperienced in piloting, however—he was left with nothing more than several wasted hours of failed attempts to wriggle free of his rope binds.

Yeesh, maybe he should add ‘rope’ to the list of things he had plans to snap out of existence once he was out of this stupid vessel and back in his own body. Right behind ‘ears’ and potentially above ‘ruddy shelducks’, depending on whether or not Birdbrain was actually just stringing him along further.

He gave up on his most recent attempt to free his limbs and slumped against the wall with an irritated sigh, while the creeping realization that had plagued him throughout the day began to overtake him once him again. It was only a matter of time before Ford finished deactivating the security room.

Once he got him to the main chamber, escape would be near impossible by that point. At this point he had to cut his losses with the uncut ropes and come up with another idea, or at least a way to get Ford to postpone his little ice queen stunt.

Well, when all else failed, there was always his usual method to fall back on; his words. 

No matter how hard Ford had tried to hide it, Bill had done a pretty successful job at getting under his skin. Sure, while it had been Stanley’s fist to leave what was likely a visible shiner around his right eye, Bill had a feeling that Ford would’ve gladly swung that fist in his place. And while it hadn't been a fist, Ford had sure been happy enough to wave his precious little gun around every time Bill so much as breathed at him wrong.

Point was, even someone with only one functional eye could tell that Ford’s patience was paper-thin by this point.

Such anger could be useful to Bill to some degree if he could find the perfect way to take hold of it and steer it in the right direction. But his silver tongue would only get him so far if he didn’t know the right thing to say. Just the right thing that would allow him to further burrow himself under Ford’s skin like a parasite.

Maybe he needed to approach the topic in another sense. Alright, what did he need Ford to do right now? Keep him out of the cryogenic tubes? It was a start, but he also needed a way to—

A faint creak in the staircase corridor drew his attention to the darkened doorway, a spark of hopeful curiosity flickering in his eyes. While his attention had been mostly drawn to trying to free himself, he hadn’t missed the occasional sound of light footsteps or the faint crinkle of a wrapper in the darkness that waited just outside of the room.

Once was a happenstance, twice a coincidence that could probably be chalked up to rats or mole men—

But three times pointed to the idea that little Shooting Star had disobeyed her beloved Great-Uncle’s orders and had spent the whole day lingering around in the bunker stairwell.

Okay, enough with the party tricks—time to shift courses back to his original plan.

“If you’re trying to go unnoticed,” he called, “I’d recommend gluing giraffes to your shoes! Did you know those suckers are actually pretty quiet? Haha, maybe you can go the extra route and use horse glue to get the job done! Because they're...they both anima-you get it!”

Sure enough, a sharp gasp could be heard from just beyond the doorway, followed by the slapping sound of a hand to skin. “Wo~ow, you’re really bad at this,” Bill called again with a laugh. “Come on, Shooting Star, you might as well show yourself if you’re not going to be sneaky.”

The silence lingered for a few seconds, and Bill rolled his eyes. “Okay, well, you can’t just not make any sounds now,” he said. “You know I know you’re there. You can try all you want to trick me, but we both know who’s superior in that line of work—”

“You’re superior in the line of work of being a jerkface!” a voice finally muttered from the stairwell.

“There she is,” Bill said smugly. “Lemme guess, you’ve been here since ol’ Sixer turned down your offer to help? That’s a long time to wait, isn’t it?”

“I’m not talking to you!” Mabel insisted with a vocal ‘harrumph’. “I’m just gonna sit and wait for Grunkle Ford to freeze you! And…and then we’re gonna go back to the party together and he’s never gonna have to deal with you ever again!”

“Thought you said you weren’t talking to me.”

“I’m not!” she said, then after a pause. “...Starting now!”

Bill rolled his eyes again with amusement. Just as he’d initially predicted, Mabel was such an open book when it came to spilling more information than she should. Which would work very well in his favor if he could keep her talking. “Guess we’ll both have to keep sitting in complete and utter silence then,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “Surprised you of all people managed to do so for the past few hours, actually. If memory serves, you’re quite the little chatterbox of the family, aren’t you?”

“I’m not listening to you,” Mabel insisted. “And just because you can’t see me, I’ll at least tell you that I’m keeping my eyes on my phone! Which I’m told is very rude to do when you’re talking to someone else!”

“Ah, so we are talking,” Bill said with a grin.

“No, we’re not! You’re talking while I’m ignoring you!”

“If you say so,” Bill said. “So…you’ve got a cellphone now? Bit of an upgrade from last year, huh? Who’ve you been texting on it for this whole time? Your dweeby brother?”

He tilted his head in thought. “Or perhaps the latest boy in your long line of romantic interests? Did you write and produce a whole rock opera to ask this one out, too?”

“No! He asked me out first—”

Another sound of a gasp, followed by the slap of a hand to skin. “Uh, I mean—”

“Ah, so there is another boy in the picture, hmm~?” Bill taunted.

“Uh, no—I mean, he’s not a boy all the time, but—! No, I—”

With a frustrated groan, Mabel stepped fully into the bunker room. “Ugh, why are you such a jerkface?!” she asked irritably, glaring at him. “Why do you have to always stick your nose in places where it doesn’t belong, huh?!

“Well, for fun mostly,” Bill said with a nonchalant smile. “Not to mention it’s just so easy to get the answers I want outta people.” 

The smile widened into something more sinister, once again revealing far too much of his gums. “Especially when they’re just sooooo willing to give them~!”

Mabel simply scoffed and folded her arms across her chest. “Ugh, you’re the worst!” she said, then added as an afterthought. “And stop smiling like that! It’s just as bad as when you did it last year!”

Bill’s smile faltered for just a moment out of curiosity. A remark about his vessel’s appearance? Oh, he could physically feel the lightbulb going off in his head at the idea, which doubled as a blaring alarm in his head that practically screamed at him to probe further. “Smile like what?” he asked with another wide grin. “This~?”

Mabel turned away from him with a shudder. “Ugh, stop it! Stop making him smile like that!”

Her hands were slapped over her mouth in an instant—likely the culprit of the slapping skin noises from before—and Bill’s eyebrows shot far up his forehead. Him, she says? So his vessel ran male, did it?

A stereotypical choice on Birdbrain’s part—they must’ve been from a universe with a similar gender binary as humans if they’d taken a look at someone with the name Bill and just stuck him into a male body.

Not that he was complaining—it was all the same shade of gender to him. Still, get a little creative with it, Birdbrain!

Now the real question was; what did his male vessel look like? Did he dare risk another attempt to prod for more information? After all, she was initially the one to pick up on the fact that he didn’t know what he looked like back at the shack. Luckily he’d been able to play it off in such a way that left everyone’s brains nice and scrambled—but he could only get away with the trick so many times before they started growing more suspicious about what he did and didn’t actually know.

Lies were like the seasoning of a conversation—you use just the right amount and you’ve crafted something beautiful and delicious. Use too little and the dish is under-flavored and dull; too many and you end up with a mouthful of garlic powder every time you take a bite of your macaroni.

Hmm, his metaphors weren’t quite as clever today. He’d put a pin in that one for later.

In any case, he needed to tread carefully with what he said next. But on the flip side, so did Shooting Star. She had dropped two hints already and was aware of her blunders, anything further and she might as well hold up a mirror for him—

Hang on.

A mirror…

“Stop making him smile like that!”

“It’s just as bad as when you did it last year!”

His vessel’s height. Ford’s cryptic observations during his examination. The discomfort Pine Tree had experienced at breakfast upon seeing him—heck, the discomfort that all of the Pines had felt whenever they looked at him. 

Discomfort that was so clear in Mabel’s own expression now, as she stared at him with a mix of hatred, fear, and something else he couldn’t quite pinpoint—much like the looks he couldn’t quite decipher. Heh, de-cipher.

Puns aside, if his vessel looked like someone she had never seen before, such an expression should’ve only contained that original hatred and fear. There would be no sign of contradiction behind her eyes, a clear desperation to hate the being before her but one could never truly come to form so long as that being was him.

It was strange, familiar. As if she were staring at somebody who wasn’t actually him, but—

“You…don’t know what you look like?”

Oh.

Oh.

…Oh, that tacky orange idiot had a real sense of humor, huh?! Thought they were SO FUNNY to have— “—plopped me down in a body like this—!”

“You really didn’t know?”

…Wait, had he been saying that out loud?

His gaze snapped back to Mabel, hands now lowered from her mouth as she stared at him curiously. 

Well, shoot.

Before he could drum up a further remark or think up an excuse to explain away his outburst, a loud clanging of metal echoed through the tunnel on the other side of the hatch. Loud clanging that sent Mabel rushing back towards the safety of the dark staircase, just in time for the hatch to swing open and reveal Ford.

Despite letting his gaze follow Mabel towards the staircase, Bill snapped his gaze back to Ford as he climbed out into the room. “Oh, is it finally time to put me on ice?”

As he’d initially expected, Ford didn’t reply to his remark. Instead, he simply turned to stare at Bill for a moment with that same violent, piercing glare that Bill had grown used to receiving across the past twenty-four hours.

Such a strong wall of malice, so desperate to mask all that fear behind his eyes. Fear just as strong as it had been the first time Bill’s eyes had met his the day before. 

Fear, malice, confusion—

Originally Bill had chalked it up to Ford’s uncertainty about how he’d made his grand return from the brink of death. And while that was definitely still a possibility, the information that Shooting Star had unwillingly provided him with about his appearance added another interesting layer to all of those feelings.

If Bill’s theory was correct, then Ford was being forced to stare down at a vessel that resembled his own great-nephew. 

A thought that brought an experimental grin to Bill’s face. Well, if he really wanted to test said theory out for himself… “Come on, Fordsy, didn’t anyone teach you that it’s rude to stare at someone?”

The grin widened to once again reveal as much of his teeth as possible. “Although I guess I’m quite the looker, aren’t I?”

Despite his best attempt to remain composed, Bill didn’t miss the way Ford’s eyes widened the tiniest amount before he grabbed Bill in one hand and turned back to the tunnel entrance before crawling inside.

The sensation of being awkwardly dragged through a small tunnel by his back was even more uncomfortable than being carried like a suitcase through the woods, but even such discomfort couldn’t wipe the grin off of Bill’s face. Sure, he still had no actual means of freeing himself, and still faced the looming threat of being flash-frozen. But as he’d initially suspected, Mabel had provided more than enough information he could use to his advantage—information that Ford had all but confirmed.

Was he still furious about the fact that his vessel apparently resembled some anxiety-riddled twerp who couldn’t tell a goat man from a coat man (a man made of coats)? Sure, but none of that was important at the moment.

What was important was the appearance itself, and how he could tie it back to the information he already had on hand.

His thoughts drifted back to his original remarks after he’d awakened to the end of Ford’s gun. How that violence in Ford’s eyes had only ignited further at even just a mere offhanded remark about Stan.

And not just the violence in his eyes, but the violence in Stan’s eyes, body language, everything. The threats, his hair-trigger temper, the fact that both of them couldn’t go an entire conversation without fighting—

A common occurrence for the two of them, but there was definitely more to it than their usual brand of bickering from the previous year. 

The aforementioned discomfort in both Dipper and Mabel’s expressions at the sight of him, with the added contradicting emotions behind both Mabel and Ford's eyes—

And of course, the recently-received news about his vessel’s appearance.

Stir all that together, and he had a beautiful stew of manipulation that he could force down Ford’s throat, long enough to distract him while he found a way to free himself. 

Still, the latter was absolutely key to confirm before everything else. While Mabel’s words combined with Ford’s faltering expression had been pretty strong evidence, he still needed to make sure he was right before he tried anything.

Not that he had any doubts—he was always right. But hey, using Ford’s family as leverage had worked the year before!

Up until the betrayal, at least.

His expression twisted into that wicked grin as they finally stepped out of the tunnel. And he was always happy to provide Ford with more reminders when it came to who he thought he could get away with betraying.

“You must feel so proud of yourself, Sixer,” he said aloud, as he was dragged across the dark, deactivated buttons of the security room floor. “The whole town’s off having a party, and here you are. Stuck down in some worn-out bunker as you prepare to disappoint me yet again.”

He felt the fist at his back tighten. “Stop talking.”

“Aw, but I’m gonna be flash-frozen in a couple of minutes,” Bill pointed out. “This’ll be the last time we get to talk in a while, won’t it?”

His grin widened as they reached the main lab. “Well, I say a while because let’s be real, you’re never gonna be able to get rid of me! I mean, your zapped your brother’s mind to kingdom come and I’m still here. If that wasn’t enough to get rid of me, what makes you think anything will be good enough?”

“I said stop.”

Ooh, he was getting steamed. Good, good, just what Bill needed. He just had to push him a little bit more, just a little further— “So, what’re you gonna do once I’m gone, Fordsy? Spend more of your time poring through one piece of research after another, trying desperately to find a solution that isn’t just locking me inside someone else’s head and pulling the trigger?”

His voice grew low, serious. “...And what happens if that’s the only option you have? Ooh, what if you’ve gotta trap me in one of the kids’ heads this time around? I know I already said that wouldn’t fool me again, but I’d LOVE to watch their feeble little minds burn to ash—”

“I said STOP!”

The clanging of metal echoed through the bunker as the back of Bill’s body was slammed against the control panel—one of Ford’s hands keeping him in place while the other was wrapped tightly around his gun, with the tip of the barrel pressed against Bill’s temple. “If you don’t stop running that damn mouth of yours—”

“You’ll what, Stanford?” Bill asked, expression neutral. “Put a bullet in my brain? I think we already know by now that you’re not going to do that.”

His mouth spread into a grin—that awful, delighted grin with too many teeth. “And I think we already know why you’re not going to do that, don’t we? Not while I look like this, right?”

He could feel Ford’s grip on the gun tremble, despite the tip being pressed further against his temple. “What, Ford?” Bill continued. “Can’t bear to aim a gun at another family member? Especially not your little paranormal protege?”

Even the dim light of the lab couldn’t mask how pale Ford’s expression grew at such a remark, a reaction that only twitched Bill’s smile wider. Oh, buddy—he got him. “Did you really think I didn’t know?” he continued. “You really thought I’d just be walking around with a body like this for funsies? Come now, Fordsy, you know me better than that and I know you better than that. So let’s not waste our time with this and just skip to the part where you put the gun down.”

Despite Ford desperately trying to keep the gun in place, Bill could feel the barrel trembling against his temple—

—before the tip was pulled away completely as Ford lowered the gun and turned from him in defeat.

Bill’s smirk only widened further as he gave a triumphant little wiggle against the control panel at his back. A movement that came with a light tug of the ropes as they snagged on something behind him—perhaps a switch or a dent in the worn metal casing.

Would it be sharp enough to fully cut through them? From this angle, he couldn’t tell for sure. Was he going to try anyway as he took another Ford victory lap?

As if anyone needed to ask. Why stop now while he had the upper hand?

“Hey, come on, don’t look so down,” he said, taking care to hide his movements as he tried to saw through the ropes. “Gotta hand it to you, IQ, it takes a lot of guts for someone to point a gun at a family member twice.”

He let out a cackle. “Guess the end result here would be waaaay more gruesome than whatever happened to Goldfish, though! I mean, trading a metaphorical hole in the head for a physical one? Yeesh, the cleanup alone would be a nightmare!”

Another cackle escaped him, one that slowly faded into a dry, deadpan laugh. “But I guess it wouldn’t be that difficult for you, would it? After all, you are the expert in destroying those who are just trying to help you, aren’t you~?”

He paused his attempts to free himself and slumped back against the control panel with a groan. “Aww, see—now look what you made me do!” he griped. “I went and did the one thing I said was super lazy last night; repeating a joke within the same millennia! I swear, Sixer, sometimes you bring out the worst in me—”

BANG!

The bloodcurdling sound of a gunshot echoed through the bunker as a bullet met the spot right between Bill’s eyes. 

As quick as it had happened, the few seconds that followed were an eternity. An eternity of pain, pain that only blossomed in strength with each passing second.

And despite the smile that remained on his face, there was nothing but genuine shock in Bill’s slitted pupil, as it shakily moved from the barrel of the gun to Ford’s hand, then up to Ford’s face—

Before eventually falling against its will to the control panel beneath him—deep red from somewhere he could no longer process slowly trickling down into the spaces between the buttons and paneling.

Another second passed. Then another. And another.

And Bill died.

[simsor-talks]

Ok so I'm a huge Ford stan (haha get it, because his na--) and I love this little meow meow and I love to see all the content that everyone is cooking after The Book of Bill. However.

I'm Not a big Billford fan 😭 and I'm not making this post to say I hate the Billford content on my dash. I'm making this post to say that I love all the Billford content on my dash. And now there are a few other things that I've been thinking about: a) I'm actually a Fiddauthor shipper, b) I'm practicing my improvising/storytelling skills, c) I like the Billford content even though I don't ship it, d) I love me some good angst. I don't know how much sense it makes but it's not supposed to be a serious post anyway. So here's what I've been thinking:

Chronologically, Fiddleford and Stanford met at Backupsmore and became friends, (and they were roommates :0), right. Fidds gives massive bi/pan energy and we all agree that Ford is gay (though i headcannon him as aroace when in different context. He's cool either way), but given that Ford is an oblivious mf, he never realised that Fidds had a thing for him. Fidds on the other hand was fully aware the feeling wasn't reciprocated so he never made any move. Then they parted ways, Ford went to Gravity Falls, and Fidds kinda got over his crush and started his business and a family. But then Ford called him and guess what. He didn't get over his crush. While they worked together, Ford kinda-sorta started reciprocating? But then Bill happened. And he happened big, making Ford practically fall for him (let's be honest, by manipulating and using him but still), to a point where Ford wouldn't do anything without him. And Fidds obviously got jealous af, because Ford kept praising Bill and calling him his assistant and his muse, but he didn't say anything because he trusted Ford and that he knows what he's doing. I honestly think it was a Sam/Frodo +Gollum kinda thing? Where Bill started telling Ford that nobody really is trustworthy, and especially not Fidds, for working so closely to the project. But still they tested it, and the incident happened, Fidds fell into the portal and well. He decided to quit working on it, to forget everything about it, and we know what happened to him next. Ford then realized, that what Bill wants is dangerous, and that he's been lying to him and using him and he shuts down the portal, stops sleeping and then the Stan situation happened and this time he fell into the portal. Welp. Now, he's been travelling through the dimensions for 30 years, ofc he had time to think about his whole life a bit. I mean not that he'd admit to doing something wrong, but maybe he realized some things, maybe got to know his feelings a bit closer, you know. I mean, Bill was Going Through it in the meantime, actually mourning after the divorce, and alright, billford is canon, but Bill is still a little bitch and he's still a literal demon and he fucking ruined everyone's lives. Literally. Then Stan got Ford back, they lived their domestic fluff for a while (I mean Ford was sitting in the basement all the time but anyway) and he definitely heard that Fiddleford is still there somewhere. And honestly I think he was too scared to talk to him earlier, and maybe also too proud, because he would have to admit to being wrong lol. But I think after the Weirdmageddon, after defeating Ford's evil ex and after getting Stan's memories back, Ford and Fidds did some catching up, definitely explained some stuff and then there was old men yuri and they lived happily ever after, even with Ford on a boat with Stan in the middle of nowhere

Thank you for coming to my ted talk, these characters are constantly consuming my brain

Read it if you want basically the summary of Ford's backstory 😭

[hotlikewasabi521]

What kind of cars the gang would have

Ashlyn winds up with a jeep. 100%. Though, she doesn’t exactly drive all that often. She tends to carpool with the others, seeing as it’s kinda illegal to drive with earplugs or muffs

Aiden absolutely has a truck or something with four wheel drive that he can take off road. I also feel like he’s been introduced to mud bogging since coming to Georgia so I wouldn’t be too surprised if he had a second car or even a buggy for that. Honestly leaning towards a Ford Bronco car wise though.

Ben something more practical, definitely some sort of sedan. He’d want something with pretty decent safety ratings especially if he’d be driving around with his sister. I can see him having a Toyota Camry.

Logan. Another sedan, though something on the smaller side, for sure. Maybe a Corolla? though I think him having a scooter would be likely as well. they’re fairly cheap plus I kinda can’t unsee it.

Taylor. You can’t convince me that she doesn’t wind up with an older truck or car that she’s personally fixing up. If it’s not her everyday car then it’s def a passion project. But for the most part she would have the oldie and let Tyler have a car of his own.

Tyler stumped me a little I was caught between a smaller truck or even a sedan or suv but I think he’d go for a truck. Something on the smaller side though, he doesn’t seem like the sort who would have a big luxury truck or anything like that. At most Taylor has given it a makeover under the hood, though nothing overly loud.