#they’re just little triangle pyramid things that glow right

[hugsandchaos]

For those of you who want a rewrite of the LOZ cartoon, please think of the possibility: If Facade was a good guy. Here’s a short list of how I think this would play out.

1. He wasn’t lying when he said he was an adventurer, but unlike Link, he’s had many companions. Because of his experiences, he knows a thing or two about teamwork. This would lead him to help Link get used to the idea and learn how to be a team player. Along with Zelda, too, since she has her flaws in teamwork with Link too.

2. Facade knows sign language, so perhaps he’d engage in silent conversation with Link. It gives Link a sort of calmness knowing that he doesn’t have to have verbal communication with everyone around. Both he and Link are teaching Zelda together.

3. He went to talk with Link after the king mentioned Link was an adventurer as well. He’d had hoped for a very interesting story or two, but Link was troubled by something and the topic shifted to guarding the Triforce.

4. He still really appreciates keeping himself clean and presentable (come on, that’s like a key factor in him!), but not so much that he’d hesitate if someone’s life was in danger. He’s just going to fuss to himself later when he washes it, complaining about how rude monsters are. Think “Do you moblins have any idea how much that cape cost?! Now you’re in trouble!”

5. Incase you’re wondering, yes, he knows how to sew.

6. Secretly a bi disaster.

7. Not a big fan of his mother, who shows blatant favoritism for his brother.

8. Doesn’t have anything against his brother, who’s been doing what he could to include him as much as possible and support him.

I’m thinking of adding this to my AU, which is a little like a rewrite of the cartoon. Here’s a couple things about Link, and probably half of these are based on his past experiences.

1. Wielder of the Triforce of Courage, with the symbol on his right hand. When in face of a big threat, the symbol will glow green, and golden outline of two empty triangles arranged in a small pyramid will appear in more dire circumstances.

2. Selective mute. He lived most of his life being quiet, anyways. Zelda didn’t understand it at all at first and would get angry with him for not speaking at times, but she eventually realized what was going on and apologized.

3. Teaches King Harkanian and Zelda sign language.

4. Struggles to sleep without noise.

5. Sometimes has conversations with Cathrine, even though they clearly don’t speak the same language.

6. Knows the location of the—

7. Scared of what will happen if either side gets both Triforces.

8. I’m seriously debating giving him another form! The options I’ve thought of are good ol’ wolf, also known as the divine beast, a loft wing (since they’re symbols of the blessing from the goddess as a reference to how he was chosen to wield the Triforce of Courage), a dragon since they’re often symbols of courage, or just add some wacky, cryptid-like features to him. Definitely glowing eyes if it’s the last one, glowing eyes are a must!

9. Probably pan, but never stopped to think about it because he thought it was normal to find both a man and woman attractive. Besides, in the past, he was much more focused on the job.

10. Number one safe space is currently unknown.

11. Yes, he can cook. What, did you think he’d just do takeout everyday when he was in the forest or something? With what money? And from what restaurant?

That’s all I can think of for the characters for now, but don’t worry! More will come sooner or later! Now for some “general” headcanons.

1. The Triforce of Courage is green

2. When all three Triforces come together, they’ll turn golden

3. It may come as a surprise, but Hyrule and Arcadia, most of the world in fact, doesn’t know about the goddesses and simply think that the Triforces are simply extremely powerful and sentient objects, not symbols of the golden three.

4. Link knows, he’s just not going to say anything. Yet.

5. Ganon was never cursed, that’s his natural form.

6. Link was found by King Harkanian and offered a job after he saved him.

7. The characters look their age this time!

8. There are two kinds of Zoras, and Link has met them both.

9. Link has also met some Gorons.

10. No one really seems to know where exactly Link came from, or who his family is.

#lozlink #loz triforce #loz cartoon #loz link #loZ #legend of Zelda #legend of Zelda cartoon #legend of Zelda 1989 #headcanons #AU

[janamensch]

Look, sometimes you just have to summon a disgusting little flesh throne to deliver your evil little villain monologue, it’s okay

#critical role #critical role art #cr2 ep138 #cr lucien #lucien nonagon #critical role spoilers #I really feel like I should add some tags so people can avoid disgusting flesh stuff but I have no idea which tags that would be #teeth #tw teeth #flesh #tw flesh #anyway #Lucien is literally the only reason I’m still watching CR #I just want to see what happens to/with him #after that I’m out #but I had surprisingly a lot of fun drawing the disgusting chair #up until the colouring part because that was kind of disgusting #but the sketch and lines were very fun #also I have no idea what the Intuit charges look like #they’re just little triangle pyramid things that glow right? they are now! #my art

[charlietheepicwriter7]

High Priest, Pt. 2

From “The Many Akumatizations of Luka Couffaine.” 

The class was, for the most part, silent.

No one knew what to feel after yesterday, Juleka included. It was… Everything was fine, they were all hanging out, and then Lila mentioned that Marinette got out of trouble for bullying her, which was horrible, and… and…

Juleka didn’t know who pushed Marinette. She just knew that someone did. No one goes from backing away from a hoard of angry teenagers to crumpled at the bottom of concrete stairs by the Seine by yourself. And then Lila had said, 

“Wow, I can’t believe she’s faking being hurt. She has a lot of nerve after pushing me down the stairs. I didn’t make such a big deal out of it.”

And they all just left her.

But Marinette wasn’t faking. She’d seen it in Luka’s face when her parents had called him, saying that Marinette was in the hospital and that he needed to come, as her boyfriend (her boyfriend, Luka was her boyfriend, when Lila had told them Marinette had bullied her because of Marinette’s jealousy over how close she and Adrien were-). And now… 

And now…

The class was silent. 

Who was the guilty one, Juleka wondered. Not Lila, she had stood at the back of the group while they accosted Marinette. Not Adrien, who hadn’t gotten involved and hadn’t defended Marinette, a true neutral that wasn’t neutral at all. Not Chloe, who wasn’t even there and chatted away with Sabrina without a care in the world, unknowing or uncaring about their hospitalized friend. But Alya, but Nino, but Kim, but anyone… 

There was a murderer among them. 

A sharp trill of their phones went off, all of them at once. The akuma alert. Alya, who already had her phone out, was the first to shout. “There’s an akuma at Arc Hospital!”

Juleka paled. (“I’m going to Arc Hospital! Tell mom not to wait for me!”)

“Apparently it can transform the environment,” Alya gushed, like her best friend wasn’t in danger. No one noticed Adrien leaving with a rushed excuse about the bathroom - they were all used to his weak bladder by now. “That’s so cool! I’ve never seen an akuma do that before!”

“There might be a sentimonster along with it,” Nino pointed out. “Maybe on the hospital itself, and that’s why it transformed.”

“Oh, that makes more sense!” Alya replied, already packing up her bag. “I’m going to head to the sight; someone has to document the akuma!”

“I’ll go with you,” Nino said. 

The two were heading out the door, nothing too different, when Lila spoke up, shakily raising her hand. “C-Can I come too?” she asked. “It’s just… I’ve been so worried about Ladybug lately; akuma’s have been getting a lot stronger, so I just thought that I could be there for her, cheer her on?”

Alya looked nervous. “Well, actually-”

“That’s a great idea!” Rose gushed, like they didn’t have a friend in that specific hospital. “I’m sure Ladybug will defeat the akuma with her best friend by her side!”

“Yeah!”

“Hey, we should go too!”

“Ladybug will certainly feel empowered if an entire class cheers her on!”

“Sure. She’ll probably end up needing Queen Bee, if the akuma is that powerful.”

We shouldn’t do that, Juleka tried to say, only for the words to get stuck in her throat. Did they see that they were putting themselves in danger, potential hostages for the akuma? But no, they were blind. Lila led them like lemmings, encouraging them, saying “Yes, of course Ladybug would love that, we should all go!”

That’s how, despite her instincts, Juleka was forced into going to ground zero. At least she wasn’t the only one disliking the situation. Both Alya and Nino looked put out for some reason, and Chloe was just unhappy in general. 

The hospital had been transformed into a temple. “Aztec,” Rose whispered as they all stared up at the pyramid. “It looks… like those pictures from that research project Luka was doing.” Juleka nodded and suddenly had a horrible feeling about who exactly the akuma was. The stone looked rough, the mica a sandy-grey. Pictographs were carved into the stone, unlike any Juleka had ever seen, with each image growing more and more graphic in violence as the class climbed the pyramid together. They all… looked like people, she noticed.

The truly concerning factor, however, was the group of people that gathered at the bottom of the pyramid as the class trekked upward. But no one else set foot on the temple. They were utterly alone. 

There was only one entrance into the temple, a wide, gaping mouth of a door. Fire flickered inside the opening. Alya gave a shaky smile as she readied her camera. “Well, I guess we’re expected, right guys?” Her attempt at a joke fell flat as the class inched into the temple. 

The inside was covered in carvings, intricate and beautiful, painted and bright. Most of them depicted a beautiful dark-haired woman with a crescent moon on her forehead being worshiped. Was she the akuma? Some woman with a god-complex that turned the hospital into… this? Torches lined the walls, throwing dark shadows across the paintings. “They look like they’re moving,” Nathaniel whispered, enthralled as the class spread out, everyone looking around the interior. 

Alix frowned. “It doesn’t look very Aztec to me.”

At the center of the room was a glass altar. Or, more accurately, as Juleka approached it, a glass coffin. The frosted glass concealed the content’s identity at a distance, but up close, Juleka realized it was… “Marinette?”

That got everyone’s attention. Shocked gasps and exclamations filled the room. Alya pushed her way to the front. “What? No, it can’t be…”

Nino looked at the coffin nervously. “She can’t be akumatized, can she?”

“Of course not!” Alya spat back, coming to the defense of her comatose best friend. “She’s too strong to-”

Lila clung to Alya, cutting her off. “She was probably so upset that I revealed she was bullying me!” She wailed, the sound grating in the echoing expanse of the hall. “Oh, it’s all my fault that Marinette finally got akumatized!” For a moment, Juleka thought Lila sounded… vindicated? What?

“Cease your lies, Defiler of this hallowed place. -A strong, male, familiar voice boomed out, seemingly from nowhere-“Lest your accursed tongue wound the ears of our slumbering Goddess.”

From the shadows immerged a blue figure, dressed like a stereotypical Aztec priest. His skin, mostly his bare chest and face, was covered in black tattoos, like the line of triangles under his left eye and over his right. He wore a large, jeweled necklace that sparkled in the fire light, and feathers, dark blue and pink, trailed out of his short hair and down his back, past the linen skirt he wore to cover his modesty. 

It was obvious at first glance that the akuma was Luka. 

What was also obvious was the large, ceremonial knife in his hand. 

“Rejoice, heretics, non-believers, and renouncers of the faith,” the akuma said, looking down on their class with cold rage. “The day has come at last to join our Goddess in everlasting peace at her side. For I, the High Priest, have been given the sacred duty of awakening the Goddess of the Moon, the Melody of all Hearts, the Ever-Resting Queen… and it is with your blood that she will live again.”

Rose trembled at Juleka’s side. “Our… blood?” she whispered.

“Correct.” He could hear them, oh no, oh no… “Either through service or sacrifice, it matters little to me. Though my Goddess may wish for you to bleed through service, I care not so long as the blood is taken.”

“You…” Alya growled, then snapped, pointing at the High Priest. “Ladybug and Chat Noir will defeat you and save Marinette, you fiend. And if you think any of us are joining you, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“So, you have chosen death.” The room grew darker, the torches dimming. The High Priest’s eyes glowed neon blue. “Then may my Goddess have mercy on your fleeting soul…

“For I will have none.”

Taglist: @larasilvestris   @vixen-uchiha    

#lukanette #yandere luka couffaine #lila salt #class salt #ml salt #akuma luka #villain luka #original akuma #luka couffaine #the many akumatizations of luka couffaine #juleka couffaine #miraculous ladybug #mlb #miraculous fanfiction

[glrchmp]

        When he leaves the hotel it’s with a bitter taste on his tongue.

        The fight with Raihan still lingers at the forefront of his mind, but he can’t let it cloud his focus. He’s here for a reason, and no matter what anyone says he’s going to carry out his duties and get to the bottom of things like everyone is expecting him to. Like everyone always expects him to.

        It’s cold in Lacunosa; the weather anomalies certainly don’t help the temperature. Leon draws his coat tighter around himself, and a local is kind enough to offer him a knitted hat to wear that will cover his ears. Charizard lumbers after him as he walks, and once he gets pointed in the right direction to leave town and find his way to the Chasm the Pokémon lowers himself down so Leon can climb onto his back. Gloved hands settle on Charizard’s neck as he adjusts himself on top of the Pokémon, and with a bright, for-the-fans smile to the onlookers, he’s taking off.

Unova is a beautiful region, he just wishes he could properly appreciate it right now. Unfortunately, current circumstances won’t allow that. But he does allow himself to take in the sight of dark green trees they fly over. A few Pidove and Tranquill fly past them, likely to find shelter from the weather.

There is a mild drizzle of rain at first, but the closer to the Chasm they get the colder that rain gets, and soon it’s turning into snow. It falls so heavily that it’s getting harder and harder to see in front of them as they fly. Charizard lets out a few jets of flame, growling in frustration, and Leon is prepared to order him to descend before the sheets of snow suddenly seem to part for him.

He sees it. The pyramid, black as obsidian, gleaming in the glow of white snow and seemingly untouched by the weather. It rises high, high, high above the Chasm, threatens to pierce the heavens above. Even where they fly above the trees, Leon still has to crane his neck to look up at it, and even then he can’t see the top.

“Okay, come on, let’s land,” he says softly. Charizard nods and begins his descent downward, the cold air biting at Leon’s cheeks as it rushes past. He almost loses the knitted hat but keeps a firm hand on the top of his head to keep it from flying off. Charizard lands, and the snow under his feet mutes any sound. Leon slips off of the dragon’s back, grunting as he lands in the snow and it reaches halfway up his calves, nearly to the top of his boots. It crunches with each big step he takes, and he can hear Charizard let out a huff of amusement as he follows behind, flying just above the surface.

Show off.

The weather is cold, harsh, but Leon perseveres. He has to. The pyramid is right in front of him, he just has to walk straight ahead through some trees and hope he doesn’t somehow get lost like he always does. Charizard helps, at least, by finally moving to the front for Leon to follow. The closer they get to the pyramid, the more suffocating the air gets, the more dread pools deep in his belly.

And once he stands before it, he thinks he may have bitten off more than he can chew.

But he keeps going. There is an entrance. It’s just big enough for him and for Charizard to fit through, a jagged triangle carved crudely out of the side of the structure. He swallows thickly and digs through his bag, pulling out a flashlight. Charizard’s tail flame can only offer so much light, after all.

There is nothing decorating the halls of the pyramid, and there is little light besides that of his flashlight and Charizard’s tail. He shines it over the dark walls, looking for any signs of just what this place is, but he finds nothing. But the longer he walks, the more he swears he hears voices. Soft, whispering voices that prod at his mind and at his heart.

Long winters. Power. Strength.

Temptation.

Leon isn’t sure how long he walks, but he feels like he’s stuck in some sort of labyrinth. Not great for someone like him, who seems to struggle to tell the difference between east and west. Charizard is uneasy, and in turn that makes Leon uneasy. He chews on his bottom lip as they walk and he’s starting to feel colder and colder the longer they go on.

Until he takes a sharp right and is met with the sight of a faint red glow that only intensifies the closer he gets. He steps out from the corridor into the chamber which casts him in that red glow, and his eyes are fixed ahead on what appears to be an altar with an— unnerving statue lying atop it. But he doesn’t focus on the statue, no; all his attention is on the small, floating object there. A pyramid, just like the one he currently stands within.

He steps closer, but something catches the hood of his coat, nearly throwing him off balance. Leon turns his head quickly to see that Charizard has a hold on his hood with his teeth and is giving Leon a pointed look.

“It’s fine,” Leon insists. Charizard growls. “I promise! We’ll be out of here soon, bud. I just need to see what this is all about.”

The dragon huffs, but releases his trainer regardless. He stays put near the entrance of the chamber as Leon walks further in, squinting in the red light. The pyramid, it… he swears it talks to him, but he can’t figure out just what it’s saying. All instincts tell him to run, but it just draws him in further, further, wrapping around his mind. He stands before the altar now, staring down at the pyramid that beckons him.

Despite his mind telling him no, he reaches out and takes hold of it.

Maybe it will have answers as to what is going on now. That’s the excuse he gives as he turns it in his hands to get a better look at it… and then places it in the safety of his bag. Leon considers taking pictures of the chamber, but when he pulls his phone out it refuses to cooperate with him, no matter how hard Rotom tries, almost like something here doesn’t want him to take photos, to reveal the inside of this great, unfathomable structure.

Charizard groans softly when Leon returns to his side. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

The pyramid seems to weigh nothing where it sits in his bag, but Leon finds that now, oddly enough, he doesn’t struggle to find his way outside. In no time they’re standing in the snow again, and Charizard is lowering himself down for Leon to climb on.

With one last look at the giant structure, Leon then climbs on and lets Charizard take off.

The flight back is easier than the flight to the Chasm. Charizard lands in front of the hotel and Leon hops off, shaking snow from the hat, his hair, and his coat. He’s so cold, he could really go for a hot bath, or shower, or something, and then he’ll see if he can figure out just what this thing he took from the pyramid is.

Even when he sits in the bath, he swears he hears something calling to him. When he orders room service and watches the television as he eats, he swears he hears something calling to him.

The rest of the evening is spent with him sitting in the hotel bed, the pyramid in his hands. It’s sleek, free of any blemishes, and cold to the touch. Leon worries he might accidentally slice his hands on the edges, but something tells him that the pyramid isn’t going to hurt him.

Famous last words, right? He thinks.

When he brings it back to Galar… he had been considering taking it to scientists to look over, to see what they had to say about it, but the longer he holds it the more he finds he doesn’t want anyone else putting their hands on it.

Leon swallows and places it back in his bag. He throws a glance at his phone again and, against his better judgment, picks it up and opens his messages. Raihan will be asleep now, most likely, what with the timezone differences. Still, Leon wants to… reach out. They have a lot to talk about, don’t they? If Raihan will ever want to talk to him again, that is.

To [My darling💘✨]: I’m going to sleep now. Heading back to Galar tomorrow sometime To [My darling💘✨]: Have to talk some things over with the board of directors, so I’ll be in Wyndon a bit longer. Then I’ll come home.

Is he allowed to call it home right now?

To [My darling💘✨]: We can talk when I’m back. I know we have to. To [My darling💘✨]: Just know that I love you more than anything, and I’m so sorry for making you worry. To [My darling💘✨]: Good night, Rai.

He sighs and places his phone on the charger. The Rotom is already fast asleep. Charizard is also snoring beside him. Leon throws a glance at his bag on the floor, then lies back down with a heavy sigh. He reaches over and shuts the lamp at the bedside off, pulls the blankets over him, and closes his eyes.

As he drifts off to sleep, he hears a voice.

                                                       HELLO, LEON.

                                   IT’S SO GOOD TO FINALLY MEET YOU.

#event: interference. #lets GOOOOO #1.6k words baby

[orangeoctopi7]

A Minor Inconvenience

@stanuary Week 3 is dreams, so I dusted off a little ficlet I stated on my mission and never finished. I think it fits with the theme.

Inspired by this comic: http://tateratots.tumblr.com/post/144146684592/so-what-if-stan-gains-some-of-bills-powers-and-it

It had been a long time since they’d started their journey. They didn’t think there was anything to worry about anymore. They’d left the nightmare that was the end of last summer behind. They both still had actual nightmares, of course, but that was nothing new, really. Sure, some of Stan’s were a little too real, a little too different from the rest, but he shrugged it off. What was ‘normal’ to a dream, anyway? So they sailed along, going about their business, until the fact that something was up became undeniable.

The night had started off normally enough, with the twin brothers playing a game of Egyptian Rat Slap. Stan, deciding that a stinging red welt on the back of the loser’s hand wasn’t prize enough, proposed a wager.

“Loser does the winner’s chores for a week.” He said.

Ford contemplated the offer for a moment.

“Including dish duty?” The old scientist asked.

“Well yeah, what other chores are there? You’ve got nerd gadgets rigged up to do everything else on this boat.”

“Not everything. There’s still cleaning and maintaining said gadgets, not to mention the bathroom and--”

“Hey we can go over the details and junk later, have we got a deal or not?”

“Alright, it’s a deal.”  Ford said, extending his arm to shake on it.

“Deal!” Stan agreed, extending his own hand. Only something was wrong. It was enshrouded in blue flames.

Ford jerked back with a yelp, while Stan just stared in bewilderment as the flames died away.

“What the heck was that?” Stan wondered, looking to his brother for an answer as he often did when they ran into paranormal shenanigans on their voyage. Only Ford wasn’t standing there taking notes with an excited grin as he usually did. He was backed up against the wall, watching his brother cautiously.

“Uh, Ford, you ok?”

“Stanley?” Ford asked warily, unsure of who he was really talking to.

This was lost on Stan. “Uh, I’m good. Didn’t get burned somehow.”

Ford moved so he was between Stan and the exit and pulled out his penlight. “Come here.” he demanded curtly.

It took Stan a few seconds to realize what his brother was getting at, but he sighed in exasperation the moment it dawned on him. “Seriously? I’m not--” But it looked as though Ford would check by force if necessary. Stan stepped over, his hands in the air placatingly, and let Ford shine the light in his eyes, searching for the tell-tale yellow. But the scientist couldn’t find anything; Stan’s eyes were their usual earthy brown color.

“There, you feel better now?” Stan asked, rubbing his eyes.

“This doesn’t make any sense…” Ford murmured to himself, then noticed his brother’s discomfort. “Stan, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’d better be, I’ve got a headache now.”

Ford still looked troubled.

“Hey, don’t worry.” Stan comforted his brother, “Bill’s gone, we killed him, remember?”

“Yes, I remember, but you shouldn’t! I’m glad that you recovered, yes, more than I’ve been about anything, but if your memories weren’t completely erased, how can we be sure Bill was? What else could explain what just happened?”

“I dunno, something else?” Stan shrugged. “There’s gotta be other things that make blue fire, right?”

Ford looked ready to launch into a lengthy explanation of exactly how many other things make blue fire and why none of them fit this situation.

“I just don’t want you to fall into that same crazed paranoia I found you in before… you know….”

Ford shifted his gaze, ashamed, “I’ll never let that happen again.”

“Neither will I.” Stan promised him.

“Then will you let me do one more thing to ease my suspicions?”

Stan groaned. “It doesn’t involve getting hooked up to some of your science junk, does it?”

“No, in fact it involves you going to bed early.” Ford assured him.

“I like the sound of that.”

**Linebreak** 

Stan was usually the first to fall asleep and the last to wake up on top of being a frequent napper. Yet he had a hard time falling asleep on demand. Ford watching him didn’t help.

“Could you find something else to do while I’m trying to fall asleep?” The old con man asked irritably, “I can’t relax with you here.”

“I’m usually here when you sleep.” Ford pointed out.

“Yeah, in the other hammock, not staring me down like some hungry owl!”

“Well I’m not leaving you alone until I figure out what caused that phenomenon earlier!”

“Y’mean my hand catching fire.”

Ford sighed and pulled out a large textbook.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Stan gasped, trying to call his brother’s bluff.

“Transition State Theory made a breakthrough in the early 30’s when three independent researchers, Eyring, Polanyi, and Evans, each derived the same equation based on the assumption that activated components are in quasi-equilibrium with the reactants, and thus can be described with a classical thermodynamic treatment.”

“You play dirty.” Stan grumbled through a yawn.

“This is not always true, as has been shown in semiconductors and insulators where the initial excited state may exceed the energy of the saddle point. However, where Potential Energy Surfaces are concerned, the equation is viable, and is thus derived. Consider the reaction…” Before Ford had finished the first step, Stan was asleep.

Ford put his book down and quickly pulled out candles for the spell. Once they were all lit, he recited the incantation to enter into the dreamscape.

The old researcher didn’t know exactly what he expected to find in his brother’s mind. He’d heard Mabel, Dipper, and Soos recount how they entered Stan’s mind to chase Bill earlier last summer, but he hadn’t expected to see the same thing tonight. Minds were transient, constantly changing as personal experiences added to the mental landscape. Stan had been through enough in the few months since then to completely change the face of him mindscape many times over.

Still, whatever Ford had or hadn’t expected, it wasn’t this.

He stood on the deck of a ship, at once like their own and yet infinitely bigger and grander. It sailed on a dark, foreboding sea, and a large fishing net was currently dropped over the side, trawling for what, Ford could only guess. Strewn about the deck were many treasure chests of all shapes and sizes. Stray thoughts flew about like seagulls overhead.

I’m gonna get him for that book trick. Ford heard one call. He couldn’t help by smirk.

Don’t get so smug, Poindexter, you’re on my turf now! Another thought sounded overhead.

Ford’s smirk switched to a look of surprise. Stan’s mindscape seemed to be aware of his presence. He decided to try a little experiment and walked over to the net to examine it.

“I wonder what this does?” He said aloud. Immediately a pulley started to bring it up from the depths. A few small chests were tangled inside. Ford reached up and pulled the net over the deck, emptying the catch out at his feet. He picked up the smallest chest and, unable to resist his curiosity, opened it.

The inside was like a tiny window into another time and place. He saw a slightly younger Stan and a much younger Soos.

“Who the heck’s that brat tearing up my dirt parking lot with his mountain bike?” Stan asked.

“Oh, that’s my cousin Reggie.” Soos replied.

“Would you care if I shot rock-salt at him?”

Ford closed the lid and put the chest down. “So they’re memories.”

You coulda just asked, genius.

And

Gotta tell Soos I remembered his bratty cousin’s name.

Called out from the seagulls above.

“I must say, Stan, I’m impressed by how aware you are of everything here.” Ford complimented him.

The seagulls cawed out stray thoughts proudly, mostly falsely modest acceptance of the praise.

“You know why I’m here. Can you help me find Bill, or whatever caused that phenomenon earlier?”

The gulls’ cawing became more nervous.

No Bill here!

I have no idea what’s going on!

Just dreams, nothing to worry about.

It’s probably nothing.

I don’t want him to worry.

Ford’s expression hardened. “What dreams?”

Then he saw it, out of the corner of his eye, a little wedge of yellow no larger than a cornchip, wiggling out from the confines of the net he’d just pulled up and scrambling across the deck. Ford sprang into action and pounced on it just as it reached the corner of the cabin.

“You!” He cried angrily, trapping the tiny triangle beneath his sizable hand, “I knew it had to be you!”

Then another, slender, black, inhuman hand grabbed onto the tiny triangle and plucked it from his grasp.

“I’LL TAKE THAT, SIXER.” Bill said.

To say Bill looked worse for wear was an understatement. The triangle was missing several of the bricks from his pyramid-esque form. Ford watched the piece he had caught scurry up and take its place at the apex.

Oh how the mighty have fallen. He couldn’t help but think.

“I WAS WONDERING WHEN YOU’D FIGURE OUT I WAS STILL HERE.” Bill said.

“How did you survive the memory erasure!?” Ford demanded, cutting straight to the chase.

Bill laughed sardonically. “AHAHAHAHAHAHA! SURVIVE? I WAS SHATTERED INTO PIECES, AND THEN EVERY PIECE BURNED UNTIL NOT EVEN ASHES REMAINED!!” The triangle yelled, suddenly glowing an intense blue. “LUCKILY I KNOW A GUY IN THE DEATH BUSINESS, SO I ASKED FOR A FAVOR. AND BOY, IT IS JUST LIKE XOLOTL TO CHEAP OUT ON ME AND ONLY RESTORE ME TO THIS PITIFUL STATE.”

“I don’t care what sort of state you’re in, get out of my brother’s mind now, or I’ll--”

“OR YOU’LL WHAT, IQ?” Bill mocked. “YOU ALREADY DESTROYED YOUR LAST WEAPON AGAINST ME!”

But Ford recalled Stan’s story about his confrontation with Bill, and one of the last things Stan remembered doing.

“I don’t need a weapon.” The scientist said defiantly, dealing a powerful straight-armed punch to the dream-demon. Bill shattered again into dozens of tiny bricks. The seagulls above cawed excitedly and dove down onto the deck, pecking at the little pieces as they scattered.

“SHATTER ME ALL YOU WANT!” Bill’s voice echoed from every piece. “I’LL JUST PULL MYSELF BACK TOGETHER LIKE I DID BEFORE!”

The screaming was silenced as the gulls scooped up the pieces and dropped them back over the side, into the dark water of the ocean.

Ford watched the gold flecks disappear beneath the waves and into the abyss. Bill’s last cry still left an unsettling lump in his gut. If the demon had come back before, what was to stop him from doing it again? What permanent solution could there be?

**Linebreak**

Ford awoke first. He was back on his feet in an instant, shaking his brother awake.

“Uhg… I just had the weirdest dream. You were up on deck fightin’ Bill, and there were seagulls everywhere… and Soos’s cousin was there for some reason?”

Ford looked at his brother like a doctor about to give an awful diagnosis.

“It wasn’t a dream, was it?”

“Well, technically it was a dream, but it was real.”

Stan thought he’d feel better if he had just found out he had a terminal illness.

“So… that thing… really is still in my head?”

Ford nodded grimly.

“What’re we gonna do?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Was all Ford could reply. He plopped down on the hammock next to Stan, and they both sat in silence for a few moments. “What’ll we tell the kids?” Stanford finally asked his own question.

“I don’t think we should tell ‘em, not yet anyway.” Stan replied.

“They have a right to know, Stan. They’re just as involved with this as we are.”

“I don’t want ‘em to worry about it, especially if we don’t have all the facts yet.”

“They might be able to help us. They’ve done well handling Bill on their own in the past.”

“They’re just kids, Stanford!” Stan yelled, “They shouldn’t have to handle Bill at all! They should be free to enjoy being young while they still can!”

“Well, ideally, yes, but we’re not dealing with ideal circumstances here!” Ford argued. “This goes beyond our family; if Bill could return we’ll have the whole multiverse to consider!”

“Well you don’t know that it’s that bad yet, genius!” Stan shot back, “It’s been months, and this is the first time anything has happened. For all we know he could just be a minor inconvenience! And until we do find out just how bad it is, I don’t want to worry the kids about it!”

Ford couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “A minor inconvenience!? This is Bill Cipher we’re talking about! The extradimensional being who nearly brought time and space to an end! Master of the Nightmare Realm, feared throughout the multiverse!”

“Yeah, and now he’s a pathetic pile of poo that can’t even pull himself together without my mind pulling him apart again!”

“This time, yes, but how can we know he won’t pull himself together again? What will he be capable of if he gets more of himself together?”

“This time and every time he’s tried it so far!”

“What!?” Ford asked in shock. “What do you mean every time? This has happened before!?”

Stan’s face fell, as though he’d just said something he wasn’t supposed to. “I… ok I’m not really sure, but… maybe?”

“Maybe isn’t good enough, Stanley!” Ford shouted, “Not where Bill’s involved! What if he does something to hurt you?”

Stan sighed in frustration, “I’ve had these kinda dreams before, ok?”

Ford’s anger abated just a bit. He’d heard something about dreams in Stan’s mindscape.

“You’ve been having dreams about Bill?”

“I didn’t know it was him until just now.” Stan explained. “I’d just have dreams where there were pieces of gold, or corn chip crumbs, or LEGOs scattered all over the deck, and they’d start gathering themselves up. But they never got far before seagulls or crabs or gnomes or something threw them back into the sea. I never really figured out what it meant until you were there and started fighting him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I told you, I didn’t know it was Bill. I didn’t know it was important… and I didn’t want you to worry.”

Ford’s first instinct was to be mad. Stan had been withholding important information and now his worst nightmare was becoming a reality. But he had learned over the past few months that his first reactions of anger never led to anything good. He had to stop and look at things from Stan’s perspective. His brother really hadn’t known, and certainly hadn’t meant any harm.

“Can you tell me any time you have this dream again?” Ford asked.

“Of course I will, what do you take me for?”

A hysterical little laugh bubbled it’s way out of Ford unbidden. “I-I’m sorry. Sorry. I don’t mean to be so… difficult about this. I know it can’t be easy for you either. That demon’s in your head after all. It’s just… Stanley, this terrifies me!”

To be perfectly honest, it terrified Stan too. But he knew he had to be strong for Ford’s sake right now. Couldn’t have them both breaking down. And what’s more, now that he knew little bits of Bill were floating around in his mind, he couldn’t show any weakness.

“Yeah, of course it does. I’d be more worried if it didn’t.” Stan agreed, “But we’re gonna get through this together, ok? I got him under control for now, right? We just need to make sure it stays that way and find some way to get him out.”

Ford nodded. It sounded so simple and logical when Stan put it like that. He could work with simple and logical.

“In that case, we’ve got a lot of research to do!”

#Stanuary 2019 #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #Bill Cipher #Fanfiction #This jerk #sea hobos canon #My Writing

[rum-and-shattered-dreams]

Heroism is Subjective - Chapter 2: The Deal

AO3 link See part one for full summary and notes Summary:   An infuriated Bill interrogates Ford about why there's a barrier trapping him in Gravity Falls. Ford's hopes sink as he discovers Bill has gained physical form and desperation pushes him toward making a deal with the demon. Warnings:   Restraints. Torture? Kind of? I guess? Maybe more like threats? Notes:  This is going to open up some questions. They'll all be answered in later chapters ;). Also, again, this angst-fest was conceived before the finale aired so I had no idea what really caused the barrier around town or if Ford would actually know what it was.Special thanks to @themadcapmathematician for letting me ramble about this and for helping me with the prelude.

August 2012 - Weirdmageddon

Slam!  The door to the fearamid's penthouse suite rattled against its frame in the aftermath of Bill's tantrum.  The demon's body burned fiery red, his fingers leaving a darkened, smoking blotch on the door's chestnut finish.  He massaged his closed eye with one hand, his gilded Stanford trophy clutched in the other as he floated toward a black marble fireplace, his form fading back to yellow in the flame's flickering glow.  Above the fireplace hung a portrait of himself housed in an ornate, gilded frame.  He floated before it, opened his eye, and stared at the regal representation of himself.  "This is just a minor setback," he assured himself, "No problem.  I got this.  I just need some time to think this through."

He set his trophy on a plush carpet depicting himself as a single eye at the center of a golden triangle and effortlessly shrank fifty feet in size.  As his stature decreased, so did the room surrounding him, the walls, furniture, doors, and even his portrait shrinking to accommodate his dimensions.  The only item unaffected was the statue of his former pawn, now standing about two feet taller than him.  Too bad, Bill thought.  I'd really rather make you into actual chess piece.  But I suppose it's for the best that I don't alter you too much... yet.  Seems I still need you in the life-sized game.

He poured a thick purple liquid suspending specks of glimmering light into a martini glass and swirled it about as he muttered to the golden statue standing beside him, "We're trapped in this backwoods hick town.  My human minions betrayed me and helped your dumb family escape...  Ha!  It's cute that they're still trying to stop me.  But You know what?  I have things under control.  It won't be long before I have that ungrateful widdle piglet, Gideon, captured.  As for your family, I'm sure they and their idiot friends will eventually come to me.  Probably to try to save you!"  He tipped the golden figure back and forth with one hand, "But right now, I think we need to talk."

With a wave of his hand, the gold lifted like steam from Ford's form, swirling and dissipating and fading out of existence altogether.

"I'll die before I join you!" Ford shouted, his hand rushing to his side to draw his blaster, fumbling for a moment before drawing a gun-shaped contraption with what looked like a light bulb stuffed into the end of the barrel.  The memory gun.  In his blind panic, he aimed it at the demon anyway and fired.  It wasn't like it mattered.  He already knew his blaster was of no use.  Worst case scenario, it would do nothing, just like every other weapon he and countless others before him had used in an attempt to erase the demon from existence.  Though his movements were swift, he wasn't surprised when he had to dive to the floor as the blue beam bounced off its target and streaked back toward him.

Bill laughed, a gut rattling, high-pitched and chilled chortle, and retorted, "Yeah yeah, so you said."  With a twitch of a single finger, the memory gun cracked and crumbled leaving little more than a pile of dust beneath his hands.  

Ford berated himself, cursing under his breath, for even entertaining the notion that any weapon aside from his quantum destabilizer might magically be the key to destroying the demon and living to tell the tale, for hesitating yet again to do what he knew he had to.  He lifted himself to his feet and took a step back, his eyes focused on the demon with a gaze of pure contempt and his hand reaching toward his side for-

Bill moved a single finger and Ford felt himself jerked backwards by a sudden searing pain encircling his neck, the sound of chain links rattling entirely too close to his ears.  He barely noticed Bill's hand move as again he tried to lift his own to claw at the burning ring around his neck.  Before his fingers could so much as brush against the glowing blue collar, his arms were forced down and back, wrists bound in matching rings of pain, chains clattering as he struggled against their pull, his heart feeling as if it had jumped to his throat, its triple-time beat strangled in the collar's grasp.  

"Human reactions are infinitely amusing!" Bill laughed, wrapping an arm across the brickwork of his middle, rolling in mid-air, the liquid in his glass defying gravity as much as he did.  "I know your mind, Stanford.  You hate that your instinct still makes you try even though you know nothing you're carrying can make a dent in me, don't you?"

Ford opened his mouth to comment, fully intending a flashy retort of how can you be so sure?  but as Bill rolled over, his eyes widened.  He hadn't noticed.  How could he have missed it?!  Bill's formerly flat, triangular silhouette had evolved an extra dimension.  The white hot rush surging through his muscles evaporated, leaving them weak and shaken, as the demon's pyramid shape settled into an upright position.

"I see you've noticed my new look.  I'm a little insulted that it took you this long.  But I should have expected it.  You've always been a little dense when it comes to noticing the obvious," he said, digging a finger into the tip of Ford's nose and flicking it.  

"You-"

"Yes, very good, Stanford.  I got a swanky new physical form!  Do you like it?"  Bill turned like a model on a runway, tipping his glass and posing as if cameras flashed around him.  Yet, every bit of the demon's flaunting and teasing was lost on his audience.  In a seemingly stubborn gesture, Ford's head hung low, not a single reaction parting his lips nor twitching so much as a finger.  Bill's fists clenched, nearly breaking the glass's stem, his demeanor fuming.  How dare he ignore me! Ford honestly didn't notice Bill's taunts.  How could he have?  His mind was too busy splitting apart in far too many fragments of panic and pain, fear and frustration.  Damn.  DAMN IT!  It will never work now unless...  The kids...  Oh no...  THE KIDS...!  Stanley...!  Pure terror numbed his limbs as he wondered where they were or if they were hurt.  He stared blankly at the carpet beneath his boots, the muddied toes blurring as reality wavered and waned around him, his turmoil hidden to his captor under the unintentional mask of defiance.  He can't kill them.  Not yet...  He still needs them alive.  They have to still be alive...  Wait...  Why am I still alive?  Why hasn't he...?

Bill's eye narrowed in annoyance at his pawn's unwillingness to cooperate.  A hint of red flickered across his body as he lifted a hand to retaliate, blue flames sparking around his fingers.

"What do you want from me, Bill?"  Ford muttered, halting the demon's tantrum.  

His color softened back to its usual yellow glow while his mind sorted his priorities back into place. His hand lowered as he stared at the glittering purple ripples in his glass.  "Look," he said, tipping the glass toward his prisoner, "we made a great team before.  I could set you free from all this," he continued, pointing at the chains, "and we can do it again.  Just imagine!  You and me, buddies again with the bonus of total domination over this dimension!"  A flourish of black fingers produced an image of Ford among the stars, looming over the galaxy.

Ford stared at the image, his mouth agape and his eyes widened in horror.  "Is that really what you think I want?"  He spat.  His eyes clenched shut, his head nestled between stiff shoulders, and turned away from the far too lifelike hologram of his own face twisted by a sadistic smile.  As thoughts settled into coherency in his mind, his shoulders relaxed and a light grin lifted the corners of his lips.  His eyes opened and he faced the demon with a look of exasperated disappointment and sighed, "Of course that's what you think.  It's all you understand.  You say you want a world free of rules but what you really want is one which adheres solely to yours!  What you really want are obedient minions who do your bidding without question, who will create a place where no one can defy you or your whims!  You could never understand what it is I want...  What I've always wanted.  I couldn't even understand it until mere days ago."

The disconcerting hologram faded and Ford could clearly see his captor tapping a finger below his eye, mocking the human motion of tapping one's chin in thought.  "Maybe I don't," he said in a drawl dripping with the upward inflection of a yet unspoken threat, "but I think I have enough of an idea of it to make you tell me what I need to know."

"So you do want something from me, then," he said with a huff, "I should have guessed that's the only reason I'm still alive."  His heart pounded as he struggled against the burning of his wrists and neck.  Still alive.  Yes I'm still alive.  I haven't failed yet.  I hope.  I hope these cuffs aren't damaging the- no.  They can't be.  If nothing else has caused damage, there's no reason to believe this will.  I just...  need to play along for a bit.  See what it is he needs...  "Get on with it then," he huffed, "What is it you need?  You already know my answer.  You already know I'll die before-"

"Yeah, yeah," he interrupted, rolling his eye and waving his hand, "I know you will.  But what about them?" With a swirl of his hand, he conjured an image of the kids and Stanley, wrestling on the floor of the Mystery Shack.  He lifted his drink to his eye, a part in its center opening with a grotesque slurp before he poured the contents of his glass between lips formed from his eyelids.  In a blink, his eye reappeared and he slammed the glass to the floor with his demand, "Now tell me!  Why can't I leave this intelligence forsaken town?!" "I don't know.  Why can't you?" Ford answered, feeling a little like Bill had started in the middle of a conversation, expecting him to understand what he was talking about.

"You know very well!"

"No!  Actually, I don't!  What are you talking about?" panic clawed at the edges of his voice as he watched the scene within Bill's hologram.  

"There's a barrier!"

"A barrier?"  The tenseness of his shoulders sagged as he replied with questions of his own, "Around Gravity Falls?  Fascinating..." his voice inflected upwards, his thoughts searching for the implications and possible causes of such a phenomenon.

"Don't play dumb with me, Fordsy!  You know all about this!"

"No.  I don't.  For once I honestly don't." his words surged forth while his mind raced. Did the kids find more unicorn hair?  Did Stanley figure out what to do?   He thought about the condition of his basement facility upon his return.  Books stacked upon books explaining physics, codes, and oddities in layman's terms.  Stanley had clearly spent years studying them alongside his journals. Between him and the kids, they must have done this to contain the threat!  Remarkable!

"You...  You know something.  I know that look.  You've got it figured out.  Tell me or I'll destroy them!"  Bill demanded, pointing to the image of Ford's family.

"You'll do nothing of the sorts," Ford said with a shrug, quelling his internal panic with rational thought.

"What?!" his yellow glow surged to firey red.

"I know you need them alive."

"Aren't you supposed to be a genius?  You already know why I don't need you anymore.  Turns out you have more in common with your new best friend than you thought," he manipulated the image with a wiggle of his fingers, bringing up a scene from the Mystery Shack's basement;  Dipper, rolling the dice during their week long game of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons.  Ford's heart sank.

"I thought pine tree told you that I possessed him earlier this summer."

Ford swallowed the lump in his throat.

"In fact, my minions were supposed to have rid me of his pesky existence already but I suppose it's a good thing they failed.  I see it in your eyes.  You're scared for him."

"Leave him out of this...  Please.  I don't know anything."

"Remember I know you better than anyone.  I lived in your mind.  I know you know something!"  Dipper's joyful image flickered.  Ford's eyes slammed shut at the horror which replaced it.

"Human emotions are such ridiculous things, aren't they?  Illogical and demanding, it seems.  But hey, it's apparently a pretty useful little quirk for me.  Ha, that makes me think...  For you humans, there are far worse things than death, aren't there?" He pondered for a moment and swished his hand through the horror story he'd created, replacing it with yet another image;  Stan watching TV from his chair.  Mabel sat on the arm, so engrossed in the flickering glow that she didn't notice her chip bag spilling across Stan's lap, and Dipper perched on the dinosaur skull beside, leaning forward in anticipation.

Before the image could shift to whatever terrors Bill had in mind, Ford surrendered through gritted teeth, "Alright!  Stop!  I'll make a deal. I'll tell you what I think caused the barrier but you leave my family alone!"

"Fine," Bill agreed.  With a dismissive waggle of one finger, the cuffs binding Ford's hands dissipated like vapor.  He held out one hand,  his nasally high pitch suggesting, "Shake on it?"

With his head down and heart pounding, Ford clarified his terms, "You leave my family alone.  You assure me they will be safe and protected.  And you release me."  He extended his hand.  Buy time.  Just buy some time and there might still be a chance...

"Agreed to your family but It would be pretty dumb of me to let you go before finding out if what you're about to tell me is actually useful.  So no.  I won't be releasing you.  But I will promise that my henchmaniacs and I will leave your family alone.  Agreed?"

"Fine," Ford spat, cursing internally at the limitations of the deal.  I'll just have to find a way to escape, in that case...  He lifted his head, squared his shoulders and held out his hand.  

Blue flames engulfed their handshake, sealing the deal.  With some residual reluctance, he explained his theory; that someone must have used unicorn hair, mercury, and moon stones to create the barrier around the town.  He'd barely finished speaking when Bill floated out of the room, calling to his henchmaniacs for their aid in finding a way to lower the barrier.  

Ford collapsed to his knees, exhausted but brimming with dread as he reached for his left sweater cuff.  He closed his eyes for a moment as if sending a silent prayer out to any god who might listen, opened his eyes and tugged his sleeve halfway up his arm.  He released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, relief washing over him at the sight of rings of tattoos unmarred by the burning cuffs surrounding his wrists moments ago.  Not a single burn, cut, or flaw appeared in the iridescent sepia symbols.  "Thank every god from every dimension in existence," he breathed.  Now I just need to find a way to get out of here and get back to the kids and the others. He may have gained physical form but I'm not giving up yet.  Not when there might still be a way.  

He leaned back, the chain attached to his collar stretching to its limit, barely allowing him to sit cross-legged on the floor.  He raked his fingers through his hair, shame burning his cheeks in the aftermath of surrender,  yet, he allowed himself a shred of pride in his good fortune that Bill had only asked the cause of the barrier, not how to break it.  It will buy some time.  But how much?

#gravity falls fanfiction #stanford pines #stanley pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #gravity falls #bill cipher #ford pines #stan pines #grunkle ford #grunkle stan #heroism is subjective fic #mo's writing and such #alternate ending #major character death #mo's art and such

[dubsdeedubs]

A Diverging in the Wood [2/3]

hi sorry

Summary: Events shift.  History rearranges.  Another horror beyond human comprehension joins the fray during Weirdmageddon. 

Good thing they're on the side of humanity.

[A/N:  I Honestly don’t know how to explain the context to this and it’s been literally half a year since I’ve posted anything for it, but.  Canon Divergence AU for this fic which is just sleeping, I promise.  Features eldritch abomination Stan - it makes sense in context. Kind of.]

[AO3]

To Stanford's complete lack of surprise, hell was freezing cold.

Though a revolutionary discovery to be sure, he had doubts it would stand up to any reputable academic committee. The main issue was, his current location was more accurately described as "Ford Pines' Personal Pyramidal Hell" than the classic Judeo-Christian equivalent. Specifically, traits of demons present were more "horns and cloven feet" than "sixty-degree angles."

Unfortunately, that fact narrowed down the field of concerned individuals significantly. To two, actually - him and his fellow captive, the rather perturbed looking child (?) dancing frantically in a cage hanging from the ceiling. 

Not Ford's oddest roommate experience, but it did make top five.

It was just one of those days. Weeks? Months? Extra-temporal periods of existence?

The worst part about the death of linear time, Ford thought to himself sadly, was the language involved.

He hung there in his chains for a moment that could have been a minute or a year, or anything in between. Not that it would have mattered. There was the occasional squeaking and click-clack of tap-dancing from above, but nothing here changed or grew or learned. This was his personal hell, after all.

Then on a day that could have been any other, a massive black hand reached through the opening to the chamber.

A moment afterwards, the rest of Bill Cipher followed through, folding out like a model ship in a bottle. His single large eye stared Ford down with evident glee.

"Heya, Fordsy!" He chirped. "How's it hanging?"

Bill snapped his finger, and a deafening rimshot echoed throughout the room. Stanford stared back at him blankly, his tongue limp and leaden in his mouth.

The demon let out an exaggerated sigh. "Tough audience, huh? Man, I miss the good ol' days. Just you, me, a meddling research assistant to drive insane, and a world-ending interdimensional portal to build.

You would've laughed at my jokes then," he said sulkily. "Heck, you would've done anything I told ya to do. Anything for your blessed muse - right, Sixer?"

Ford made no reply. There was a dull metallic taste in his mouth, his mind felt dazed and woolen, and there was something inexplicably funny about - well, everything. Who had come up with the interior design scheme for the Fearamid, anyways? Was being a fan of neon rainbow highlights another black mark on the long list of Bill Cipher's sins?

Somewhere on the fringes of Ford's awareness, Bill Cipher narrowed his eye in realization. He poked Ford with one smooth, black finger. The old man shifted slackly in his chains. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me I messed up on rewiring a few synapses or 7,283! How am I supposed to torture answers out of you if ya get to duck out of the consequences?" His glare turned thoughtful. "...Don't suppose you have anything to share about the barrier around this hick town now?"

Ford might not have been in his right mind, not anything close to it, but he knew there was only one way he could respond to that.

"No," he muttered hoarsely. His throat felt sore and his voice came out in a rasp, like he had been using it a lot recently. "Not to you."

"Oh, what a pity!" Bill said, his cheerful tone making it clear that to him, it was anything but. He snapped his fingers with obvious relish, the sound echoing sharply across the otherwise empty chamber.

Sensation rushed into his numb limbs, bringing with it the burning chafe of chains and a bone-deep exhaustion that washed over him with all the force of an ocean wave. He could hear a dim ringing sound in his ears now, and Ford swallowed down a sudden burst of nausea. His entire body felt like one unholy amalgation of bruise and electrical burn.

The briefest of moments later, so came logical thought. Bill was here, in front of him, for the first time in... a while. Their last meeting had ended especially - brutally, which explained Ford's previous - condition.

The most logical reason for the demon's long absence was that, at that point, Bill must have realized that torture by itself was pointless.

Which meant.

Bill would not have returned if he did not have new information, new bargaining pieces, new -

The list of reasons with which Ford could be convinced to bargain at all was short. Specifically, it was limited to three people. The thought of any of them in the clutches of the malicious, capricious chaos god before him chilled him to the core.

There was nothing funny about his situation now, not anymore.

"Why are you here, Cipher?" Ford asked with forced calm, every bit of restraint he could muster used to keep the dueling emotions of fear and fury from his face. "What do you have planned? You know that I -"

Bill let out a shriek of laughter. "You wound me, Sixer! Why can't I just have a nice conversation with an old friend?" The creature leaned closer, eye shining. "Geez, does everything have to have an ulterior motive with you?"

"There is no conversation I want to have with you, Cipher," Ford said shakily, voice barely a whisper. "Do not mock either of our intelligences by pretending I was anything close to a friend to you."

"Eh, friend, unwitting pawn…" Bill waved a large, spidery hand with calculated nonchalance. "Po-tay-toh, po-tah-toh. Don't be so sensitive, pal!"

"You have held me captive, kept me in chains, have tortured me to the brink of death -"

"Brink of? ...Ooh." The triangle winced exaggeratedly. "Oh right. I never told you!

"...W-what?" Ford asked hesitantly, before logic chased him down, pushed him to the ground, and poured a cold bucket of regret over his head and down his shirt. "No, actually, I don't ="

"Yea-ah, about that last part - tell ya what, Fordsy." Bill batted his eyelashes. "I've decided to turn over a, hah, new leaf. Call it making up for having you wait for so long!"

"I said I don't -"

"It's honesty hour here in the Fearamid, folks!" The triangle flung his hands up and out, practically beaming despite a lack of a mouth or real facial features. Glowing confetti burst from the air and scattered all over the landscape.

Then just as suddenly, he was close - too close, his solid black pupil inches away from Ford's flinching face.

"Oh, don't pretend like you're not INTERESTED, Sixer! You've always been a real smartypants, but I KNOW you've got mysteries ya can't figure out. So, HOW ABOUT IT? A little secret to start with, just to give omnipotence a test run?"

There was no doubt for Stanford that - whatever Bill was building up to - was not something he wanted to know. His tongue had already gone instinctively to the roof of his mouth, ready to form the harsh consonant sound of the 'no' that he wanted to, had to say.

But there was a dangerous glint in the demon's single eye, one that made it clear that his question was no question at all.

He sighed. There was a time and a place for everything, and 'enraging a chaos god' was no exception. He still had no idea where or how Dipper and Mabel were. (Or Stanley.) His pride was not worth the safety of his family.

"Fine," Ford said blandly, determinedly keeping all emotion from his face. He refused to give Bill the pleasure of watching him squirm. "A little... secret."

Even without a mouth, Bill gave off the distinct impression of a smirk.

"Weeeell," he drawled, spinning his cane casually. With no apparent process of transformation, he was suddenly dozens of times smaller than before, around the size he maintained in Ford's memories of past dreams. "So. I, uh, miiiiight have taken it a bit too far a time or two with these things."

Electricity sparked around Bill's raised hand in demonstration. Ford flinched back instinctively.

"Y'know. Used a little too much juice, sizzled an organ that shouldn't have been sizzled. Beginner's mistake."

Bill shrugged nonchalantly and stretched out his thin arms in placation. "Hey, but I fixed ya back up, didn't I? Even made a few tweaks, free of charge!"

Ford stared at him silently, expression slack with slow dawning horror.

"What's with the long face? Focus on the big picture here for once," the demon said crossly. "You're alive! C'mon, no thanks for your favorite muse?"

No, this had to be another trick. Gods knew how many of those Bill Cipher had up his metaphorical sleeves. He was trying to - unnerve him, shake him, get him into that precarious mental place where he might actually be thrown off enough to make the mistake Bill had been waiting for all this time.

And the worst part was, it was working.

Already, his thoughts were going places where they shouldn't. Was resurrection even something Bill was capable of? How did that interfere with existing processes for death and life, if they even existed?

And yet... it would make a great deal of sense. Not only did Bill have little to no concept of human limits in regards to survival, Ford highly doubted he cared - not if he had a way of circumventing his mistakes. And, given that most of his own memory consisted of pain and occasional flashes of blue light, there were more than enough gaps in it to draw... damning conclusions.

But… if Bill was telling the truth, what did that mean for him?

Was he just a copy of a copy, ad nauseam, of an original, deceased Stanford Pines? Or was he just a reanimation, not much different from a simple -

Bill was looking at him now through a single half-lidded eye, both hands resting on the handle of his cane, his stare uncomfortably knowing. "Well, Sixer? You, of all people, should know how much I hate it when people make me wait."

As if struck, Ford straightened his back suddenly - and heard, disproportionately loud to his ringing ears, the familiar crackle of aged paper.

Like breaking through a trance, he held one trembling hand to pat the general location of his heart, and there it was - that slightest resistance pressing reassuringly against his chest. It was still there. Despite the decades, despite whatever had happened to him in his current captivity, it was there. He blinked rapidly, trying to dissipate the burning at his eyes.

And just like that, his previous concerns were wiped from his mind.

Ford let out a breath. Of course. He had been being ridiculous.

Bill would not have known about the tattered photograph he kept hidden under his clothing, strapped to his chest - nor would he have understood the significance of it.

Therefore, if Ford really had been remade in a way that departed from who he was before, into something Bill wanted him to be... then the picture would not have the same effect on him. It certainly wouldn't have this effect on him.

"I'm disappointed, Cipher." Ford's voice sounded distant to his own ears. "That bit of information is a waste of omnipotence. But then again, perhaps I shouldn't be so surprised - you also made the decision to tear down the walls between dimensions, effectively end an entire universe, and for what? To have a party?"

Bill bristled, visibly affected by his gibe. "I'll have ya know, Sixer, we've got more time punch here than any other point in existence. This ain't just a party, bucko! It's the party!"

"You're right," Ford said hoarsely. "I am an idiot, Bill."

His captor turned slowly, single eye open in pleasant surprise and baited anticipation -

"But not because I trusted you." He wet his dry mouth. "I'm an idiot because I thought you were ever worth worshipping."

The triangle demon was quiet for a long, long moment.

Regardless of exactly how long it went in linear terms, it was definitely enough time for Ford to review his words and mentally curse himself for mouthing off. There was nothing Bill could do to him that he hadn't done previously. But with his family's survival in the balance, it was an extremely stupid move of him to push an already erratic, capricious creature into -

"Well," said Bill slowly, "well, WELL."

There was a note of deep anticipation in his voice, obvious even as the volume of it climbed to deafening levels. "GOOD OL' SIXER, HUH? I knew there was a reason I liked you more than the other fleshbags. Always jumping the GUN. And here I thought you'd APPRECIATE the build-up! BUT HEY, I SURE DON'T WANNA KEEP YA WAITING!"

He snapped his fingers and the chains holding Ford up disappeared suddenly from around his limbs. There was a heart-stopping second or two of freefall as the world around him blurred and reformed -

- then he landed, inexplicably enough, on what looked to be an oversized therapy chair that - he noticed blearily - matched the neon color scheme of the Fearamid.

Ford lunged forwards on an instinctive attempt at escape before bands of eerily glowing blue substance shot out from the handles and wrapped themselves around his wrists, holding him tightly in place.

"LEMME TAKE A WILD GUESS, SIXER! All ya wanna know about now is how that squishy little family of yours is doing." Bill sat on a stool next to the chair, squinting at a little notepad and pencil he held in his hands. After a moment of deliberation, he burnt them both in blue flame. "BOOORING! WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE GUY I USED TO KNOW, HUH?"

"You did."

Bill ignored him. "I can't even interest you in the solution to the Hodge Conjecture? What about the Computational Theory of Mind? You're KILLING me here, FORDSY!"

"Either tell me what happened to my family, or -"

"Or?" The triangle asked in anticipation, leaning forward. "OR? Tell me, Fordsy, what exactly is it that you wanna do to me? Got another dimensional gun hidden up your sleeves? A muicide detonator strapped to your left ankle?"

"Or bring back the chains," Ford spat. "I'm tired of your games, Cipher. I know what you want from me, and no amount of sidestepping will make me forget it."

Bill leaned back again. If Ford didn't know better, he would have said he looked disappointed. "Oh, don't give yourself a heart attack, Sixer - that doesn't come for a few more decades! 'Sides, honesty hour's still on, and what with me killing linear time, you've still got…" He checked a watch-less wrist. "...eternity!"

Ford licked his stinging lips. There was no question that he had to play along. Especially with Bill dangling his family's fates in front of him like this. There was no doubt that there was something unsaid - something that the triangle was positively raring to share.

He thought through his words for a long time.

"Are they hurt?" Ford asked at last, still wary, unwilling to even consider the other alternative. Dipper had the Journals with him, though in hindsight, giving those books to him was a decision Ford deeply regretted - it was the equivalent of a bright red target on his back. And Mabel had been outside when Weirdmageddon had began, lost somewhere in the woods (and there was another burst of guilt there, because he shouldn't have done… that. Why did he possibly think it would have ended well? This was the second time he had made the exact same mistake.) "Are they… safe?"

"Oh," Bill said dismissively, "Pine Tree and Shooting Star are just fine. From a certain point of view! But they're alive and breathing and doing everything you humans do… just a whole lot less of it."

Ford jerked forward, a movement aborted by the thick bands of cosmic material holding him down. The triangle waved a placating hand. "I'm kidding, Sixer! Geez, talk about not bein' able to take a joke! They're both holed up in that Shack of theirs, and I have to say… real good job on the unicorn hair barrier. Very…" His voice darkened. "Clever. But you always were, weren't you, Fordsy?"

Realization dawned. "...You can't see inside the Shack at all, can you?"

"Never tried!" Bill exclaimed, and Ford knew he wasn't imagining the fact that the dream demon had responded a little too quickly. "Bunch of dinged up humans, huddled up and marinating in their own fluids like time sardines in a can… can I say booo-ring?"

Despite his best efforts, Ford sagged in relief. For all his age and near-omnipotent knowledge, Bill was at his core a childish being. His family was safe, hidden away in the Shack. Maybe powerless, unable to fight back at all against the extradimensional creatures rampaging through the town… but alive and uninjured - because if they were otherwise, Bill would certainly have mentioned it.

"Hey, what's with the hurry?" Ford blinked in slow confusion. "Aren't ya forgetting someone, Sixer?"

Bill shrugged. "Actually, can't say I'm surprised! I mean, you sure have had a lot of experience forgetting about him in the past -"

Ah. Ford frowned. "My brother is safe in the Shack," he said coldly. "Try another one, Cipher."

No, there had been no forgetting involved. Just the simple fact that the kids had been in direct danger and therefore, had been at the foreground of Ford's panic. Stanley, on the other hand, had been inside the Shack the last Ford remembered, and at any rate, could not have gotten far enough from shelter in the few minutes before the start of Weirdmageddon to be in any real danger.

And... while his brother made indubitably unwise decisions, he doubted that even Stan would casually venture out into the post-apocalyptic wasteland.

(...without reason. Which meant, unless the kids had not made it to the Shack immediately and Stanley had noticed their disappearance. Or unless... no, it was stupid - but then, this was Stanley - his brother had gone outside to look for him -)

"Sounding a bit too sure there," Bill remarked, leaning back and swinging his black cane in one fluid motion. "But you've been doing some assuming over there, haven't ya? And... we both know what that does - don't we, Fordsy?"

He wants me to ask him, Ford thought distantly. He wants me to ask him about Stanley.

There was an obvious answer to the question of 'why' - his brother had been captured, or injured, or. But he also understood - as much as anyone could, really - the spiteful polygon of overgrown immaturity before him, enough to know that there was something more here. Bill wanted to enjoy this game, and he was drawing it this long to make up for -

"Well?"

Ford, on the other hand, was sick of playing games. "Cut to the chase, Cipher. What did you do to my brother?" He demanded, rising as much as he count against the binds holding him down to the cartoonishly oversized therapy chair.

"What an accu-sation! I haven't done anything, Sixer." Ford flinched, despite himself. "...For once. Nah, Fordsy, the question you should be asking is, what has your brother done to himself?"

"I don't understand," he said carefully.

"Oh come on - you're smarter than this!" Bill bemoaned, sounding almost disappointed. "You spent ten years in this dump of a supernatural hot spot, you know what kind of things are lurking about in its corners. You knew what you were getting into - oh, don't give me that look, I saw your cute little handwritten guide on fae technical wording." Ford flushed red. "Stan-o, however…"

His tone turned contemplative. "All that knucklehead had was one of your little cryptid diaries and good ol' fashioned desperation. And we both know how dangerous that is in Gravity Falls - don't we, Fordsy? How many things out here would be all too willing to take advantage?"

"My brother isn't an idiot," Ford said flatly. "He wouldn't have fallen for the tricks of - creatures like you. He's better than that."

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure - you know what they say about birds and feathers! Tell me, Fordsy - how has your brother been, since you've made it back? Does it feel like coming back home? Or… "

Bill prodded at Ford's chin with his cane, a thoughtful look in his single eye. "Is he different? Not how you remembered him? A - stranger?"

"It's been thirty years," he said dully, leaning his face back and away as much as he could. "People change. He changed. I changed."

"Oh, is that all it is?" Bill exclaimed in mock-surprise. "Or is that just what you're tellin' yourself?"

Ford was quiet.

"C'mon, Six Fingers. I know all about your habit of lying to yourself, but this is ri-di-culous. Before this summer, you haven't talked to - heck, seen - your brother for forty years. And that hour of beating the crud outta each other doesn't count! What's the difference to you between Stanley Pines and some guy off the street, huh?"

Ford refused to meet his eye. "You wouldn't understand," he muttered raspily. The demon went still. "You've never had a fami -"

"I don't NEED to understand!" Bill said loudly - shrieked, really, his one eye wide, as if he was shocked at his own vehemence.

"...No, y'know what, Stanford? I think you're the one who doesn't understand. In fact, I think there are plenty of things you don't understand. ...Good thing I'm here to get you up to speed."

The triangle's physical size hadn't changed - at least, not by Ford's own reckoning - but now, he loomed, his single unblinking pupil narrowed into a nearly imperceptible slit.

"Don'tcha know? Your real brother hasn't been around for a very, very long time, Fordsy."

"...What?" It sounded lame and ridiculous the moment it left his mouth, but there were no words that could be used for the current stunned confusion of Ford's mind. "I don't -"

Bill sighed once, for obvious effect. "Lemme tell ya about an old - pal of mine. Seems a bit overdue for an introduction, considering what they've been up to for the past -"

Then, just then, there was a deafening crunch.

The entire Fearamid shook in a massive jolt of movement. Several chunks of glowing extraterrestial building material cracked off and fell haphazardly from the ceiling, and Bill went abruptly quiet as he dodged to the side to avoid a hit to the eye.

Distantly, Ford heard the sound of demonic screeching and - human shouting?

Bill blinked once, slowly and disbelieving. Then, he swelled, growing twice - thrice - a dozen times his original size, bright crimson red and glowing like a supernova, his eye a glaring gold on black.

"WHAT IS IT N̮͍̠̠͓̻̝͖̬̗̅̄̂̽̀̂̓͊̍͠O̴̪̬̪̬͍͈̐̂̎̌̍̒̿͜W̶̭̹̝̟̱̑͆̉͑̿̇͋̕ͅ?" he demanded to no one in particular, bass voice loud enough to vibrate the leather under Ford's fingers.

The pseudo-therapy chair dissolved like mist, but a massive and inhuman black hand grabbed Stanford from mid-air before he could even mentally register the lack of physical reinforcement underneath his body.

He flinched. Around the two of them, the world distorted and reshaped itself into a room he had long mentally associated with the crackling of pain through his limbs and the odor of burnt cloth (and hair, and flesh, and -)

The walls had holes in them now, brutish and irregular, and through them Ford could just barely catch the occasional blur of fast-moving color beyond them. Color, and something he simply could not make out for the life of him.

Bill hummed in thought, vibrating like a naked wire. "...Huh. Would ya look at that?"

"P-please." Ford hadn't realized it was him who had spoken before his mouth was already open and he was babbling again, words rolling down his tongue and spilling out despite himself because who else in this damn town would storm the stronghold of a chaos god? Who else but - "Bill, please, don't do anything to them -"

"Looks like Truth or Dare's gonna have to wait a few," the demon said, tone light as a feather. Dimly, Ford realized he could see himself in Bill's huge dilated pupil. His reflection's mouth was open in a silent scream. "I've got a rebellion to crush into bonemeal! And who knows… Maybe I can find myself a Shooting Star or a Pine Tree, and then you can finally start making some Independent Decisions - starting with, choosing which one of 'em gets to take your place!"

His fists landed uselessly on the smooth black surface of Bill's cartoonishly simple hand as Ford struggled in his grasp, screaming and shouting and shaking, barely registering the telltale movement of air across his face that meant Bill was moving elsewhere.

Then, somewhere on the fringes of his awareness, he registered the clink of metal - then, the loosening of his bonds as Bill deposited (dumped, really) him onto a hard surface.

Within seconds, Ford had flipped onto his feet. He immediately lunged at the bars that held him back, his six-fingered hands futilely clawing at the huge unblinking eye staring at him in amusement, just a few inches away from his fingertips.

"Calm down, Fordsy," Bill admonished with a sigh, voice loud over a stream of obscenities that had never before been uttered on the surface of this particular version of Earth. "That heart attack creeping on isn't supposed to happen till you're 92, remember? So why don'tcha sit back, make a new friend, and I'll bring your family right back to ya - just like you wanted!"

"If you hurt them," he said hoarsely, "if you touch a single hair on their heads - I don't care what I have to do, what I need to bargain with -"

Bill shrieked with ear-splitting laughter. "Birds and feathers, Stanford!" He exclaimed cryptically, and - unfolded, for lack of a better word, his single eye bursting into flame and a dozen legs emerging from his now pyramidal frame. By the time Ford could react, Bill had already clambered through and out of one of the larger cracks like some oversized demonic arachnid.

He stared forward for a moment, one hand still loosely holding the metal bars of the hanging cage, adrenaline draining as quickly as it had came and leaving behind aches and strains in its wake. Ford felt sick, nauseous, a burning sensation somewhere in his throat that felt nothing like 500 volts of electricity yet hurt just as much.

There was nothing he could do but wait, wait for the world to end because he would not watch those children suffer for his mistakes.

It was… quiet now, without Bill's deafening voice and his own screaming in his ears. Just him and his thoughts, the latter of which were so deafening that he would not be surprised if they had somehow crossed into physical reality.

...As well as, he realized slowly and dimly and with more than a little confusion, the sound of expert tapdancing.

The sound of expert tapdancing, coming from… approximately two feet behind him?

Ford turned around. After a brief moment of quiet confusion, he looked down.

The dancing figure - short, squat, and inexplicably clad in a sailor suit - let out a terrified squeal.  

#gf #gravity falls #my fic #atns #stanford pines #bill cipher #a thousand natural shocks

[canaliculi]

Take me somewhere nice (4/?)

Gravity Falls

Bill/Ford

M: slow loving romance between two best buds

Bill edges Ford towards the creation of the portal.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

I can see the beauty in the mess

“You should’ve SEEN this ‘pyramid,’ IQ – talk about YUCK! It was like the guy had never even HEARD of an EQUILATERAL triangle, let ALONE spoke to one NIGHTLY basis! And- HEY!” Dark fingers snap just before his face, close enough that the tip of Ford’s nose is flicked during the action. Ford himself snaps out of his daze and jerks his head back. “ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?”

The truth is unpalatable; no, Ford has not been listening. The man flushes and shifts in his seat, clears his throat while his mind races for excuses, for answers, for anything other than the high pitched, blank whine that sounds eerily like the heart monitor of a patient flat-lining. He shakes his head and the sound is cleared, but Bill is still hovering in front of him, arms crossed over his front, eye scrunched with annoyance.

“Uhhh….” So far so smooth. Ford sighs. “No, Bill. I wasn’t. I’m-”

A frustrated sound from Bill cuts him off, his muse throwing his arms in the air. “What is WRONG with you lately, huh? You’ve been doing this whole SPACE-OUT-and-IGNORE-my-MUSE thing a LOT!” The glowing triangle begins to circle around him, inspecting him.

“I-I’ve just been distracted,” Ford says, voice croaking and heart pounding in his chest. Pounding so hard it might crack his ribcage, but his more immediate fear is the idea that he has finally pushed his luck too far; his muse is going to abandon him here and now. Bill is seeing how unworthy Ford is to be his chosen with every loop around him – can probably see it written in his disheveled hair and the bags beneath his eyes, in the hunched slope of his neck as he slouches forward.

“‘Distracted,’ he says,” Bill echoes with an eye roll. He comes to a stop in front of him, and then smooth black fingers touch the tip of Ford’s chin and guide him to straighten and look upwards again. Ford follows, though his eyes remain downcast and lost in the hidden arms of shimmering constellations. “WELL! I can BELIEVE that! But what’s that GOOPY little BRAIN of yours all WRAPPED UP around?”

Ford’s eyes flick up, looking at his muse almost guiltily. You is the only answer to Bill’s question, and Ford’s mouth feels dry even to think about saying it aloud. His dreams – his personal dreams, the ones he doesn’t share with anyone – have been plagued, utterly dominated by thoughts of his muse. The first - kneeling with a trapped tongue, mouths sliding together while damp fingers tangle in his hair to drag him close - seems to have sprung some spigot within him, unleashed a torrent of suppressed longing that bleeds into his every waking thought, that make him almost fearful to sleep at night.

His worst fear is that these idle fantasies will begin to bleed into this place, the mindscape he openly shares with his muse. Bill is still staring at him, no longer glaring but eye wide and blank, pupil shivering back and forth in tiny and precise twitches. It’s an odd expression, and it takes Ford a moment to realize that the muse’s strange mannerisms are because Ford has placed his hands on Bill’s back plane, and his fingers are already running along the shallow, even crevices between each brick, like he’s done this a thousand times.

Well, in a way he has – in his own mind.

Letting out the most dignified yelp of surprise he can muster, Ford spasms in his armchair, hands moving to fly off the triangle’s warm surface. They’re only an inch away from the glowing gold before a pair of smaller hands are pressing them back down, sharp pin-prick claws scratching puffy red lines across his skin. Bill has four arms now, identical in every detail save for one – his newest set is on backwards, the matte black color of them making it look like an optical illusion, the way they bend the wrong way to hold Ford’s hands flat.

“Bill! I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“You SURE know your way around an ANGLE, huh?” Bill says, his expression softening, eyelid drooping. Ford can hear his own thought process grind to a halt.

“W-What?” Every muscle in Ford’s body is tense and bunched, trembling in minute waves. Any movement might break this moment, cause the avalanche of disappointment he knows is coming to tumble. Bill lets out a chuckle and the claws of one dark hand trace delicately down the side of his face.

“Fordsy, have you been holding out on me?”

“I-I don’t know what you mean, Bill.” His whole face feels hot, the tips of his ears burning. Panic is still thrashing in his gut like a wild animal, and he wants to curl in a ball and hide himself away from the all seeing eye, but he stares, wide-eyed and dumb, because this isn’t what he was expecting. He was expecting Bill to laugh at him, to mock him, to throw him out and wish him well in his endeavors, because he was never coming back.

Instead Bill meets his gaze, and the pads of small, soft fingers trace over his lips. Ford shudders.

“Is there something I don’t know?” Bill asks, and he’s so close the small synapse between them feels alive and sparking with heated potential. “Something you’re keeping from me, smart guy?”

Those fingers follow the dip of his bottom lip and then the bow of his upper, slow, again and again, and each pass sends delicate tingles through his body, to the tips of his feet, to his fingers, to his stomach that feels fluttering. Ford presses his hands harder against Bill.

“I have been keeping something from you,” he admits, surprised and embarrassed when his voice comes out a throaty whisper. The words on his tongue make him dizzy – or maybe it’s just the feeling of his lips brushing back along the warm skin of the black fingers still hovering over them. “Bill, I-”

Can’t stop thinking about you. His eyes creak open and Ford’s waking urge is to throw his pillow across the room in frustration.

Another dream.

Bill radiates heat. In most circumstances it’s a pleasant sensation, an almost buzzing warmth that settles on his head or shoulder and sends little prickles shivering out from their point of contact like cracks spreading across an otherwise unblemished plane of glass. In other circumstances it feels smothering, hangs wet and heavy across him while making him aware of the awkwardness of his own limbs, the sudden dryness of his mouth.

“You’ve been quiet lately, Sixer.” And mouths open in the sky and lick at him. “Primitive notion of fiat currency for your thoughts?”

“I’m dreaming,” Ford says, and it comes out stern until a tongue has parted the bottom button of his shirt and is lapping, wet and warm, directly up his flesh. When his hands rush to pull it away, mouths bite at his wrists and forearms to keep him still.

“Yup!” Bill’s drinking tea. “Is that a problem?”

“It’s getting to be-”

“Tired? Redundant? Clichéd?” Bill stretches out his arm, and with a casual twist of his wrist, is pouring his tea over Ford’s head. The man scrunches up his face as thin rivulets of the liquid dribble down his forehead.

“All of the above?” His arms are still held captive, teeth applying a pressure that stays shy of breaking but Ford can swear he feels a tension behind them, a bear trap quivering in readiness to snap.

“Well whose fault is that? Not MINE!” Bill lets go of the teacup, but it remains in its tilted position, still spilling out a tea that had been glossy brown but now, when Ford catches glimpses of it, looks like a dark night sky thick with clustered stars.

“I know whose fault it is,” he says. He laments, more like; this is crumbling around him in a way he’s never been equipped to deal with in the first place.

“How about we try a THOUGHT EXPERIMENT?” Ford’s getting absolutely drenched and the mouths are chewing at his sleeves, gnawing on him. Two dark hands land on either side of his face, and their fingers crook to press at the line of his jaw, at its hinge, at the far end of his cheek bones. “What would I do if I were here?”

Ford licks his lips, catching tea that tastes biting cold and seems to lash him with electricity. Fat globules of the tea hang in the air around them, suspended on invisible strings. Black speckled with shining things, they seem to bracket Bill as though they were under the pull of some cosmic sway, tiny fluctuating universes floating in lazy tandem. He swallows, and squirms under the wriggling ministration of mouths across his body.

“You would leave.”

“BZZZT!” A huge red X replaces Bill’s pupil. The brash light refracts off the bubbles of tea around them, reflecting in a kaleidoscopic and garish array. “Try again, IQ, and this time actually, you know, TRY!”

“You would be disgusted. Disappointed.”

“BZZZT!” Red X.

“You would mock me.”

“That hurts, Sixer.”

Ford scoffs. “You’re not real.”

“And YOU’RE projecting!” Bill brushes Ford’s wet bangs away from his face. “But you’re right – I would mock you. A little.” And then drifts closer. “But that’s not all I’d do.” And then drifts closer. And then-

Another dream.

Or by now, perhaps they should be classified as nightmares. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Ford berates himself as pathetic as he drags himself to a sitting position. His body is slick enough with sweat that he feels a chill when he tosses his sheets off. It's driving him crazy; these dreams haunt him on a near nightly basis, leaving him aching in the morning and desperate to expunge this obsession from himself. As if he could debride himself from the inside out and flush out whatever strange element has built up inside him, has turned his muse into an object of fantasy.

It doesn’t help that his current research has been utterly fruitless. So far his efforts have turned up, to be precise: zip, nada, and nothing. If there is some common source to the weirdness of Gravity Falls, he’s been unable to find it – and Bill has remained relentless and vague on the matter.

”No LUCK in the SPACE SHIP, huh Fordsy?” The triangle had appeared while Ford, still unshowered and exhausted, lay flopped in his arm chair, a practical treasure trove of scientific wonderments wrenched from the bowels of the ship at his side.

“I found a cryogenics lab,” was his mumbled reply. Bill’s eye widened and he zoomed down to the pile, flickering back and forth over top of it to view it from all angles.

“So you did!” Ford cracked open his eyes and Bill was floating in front of him. Ford was barely able to spare a thought on how anything could look so excited just floating in the air. “Wanna know how it WORKS?”

Even with all his muscles tight and tender, his stomach hollow from the unplanned extension to his trip, a burning in his eyes that begged him to sleep for the next day or two, Ford perked up. Fatigue whittled at his bones, disappointment laid across him like a heavy living thing, but he sat up just a bit straighter.

“Would you tell me?”

“Well, under NORMAL circumstances I WOULDN’T; but FOR YOU I can make an exception or two!” His cane materialized in his hand, and he mimed tapping Ford on the forehead with it. “Now UP! And grab that WHRILIGIG down there – hey, don’t look at me like THAT, I didn’t name it!”

And every avenue Ford has followed since has yielded the same results. His muse has turned up, frequent as an unpredictable sun, and most nights Ford can even hold himself together enough that nothing seems amiss. Even with this issue he’s been dealing with, being around Bill is, easy. Fun. Exciting. Interesting. He never feels more alive than when he wakes from one of their meandering conversations, like all the synapses in his brain are firing at once, like the possibilities before him truly are endless, like he could just reach out and grasp his wildest ambitions.

If, sometimes, he flinches away from one of Bill’s casually, overly-friendly touches, well, that’s not the worst thing in the universe (except for the way Bill stares at him afterwards, looking like he was snared somewhere between suspicion and wonderment). Or if he sometimes finds himself without words, or his mind wandering, or his dreams constantly revolving around one particular being. It’s manageable, Ford tells himself.

Manageable.

Somehow, this has all gotten tied together with his search for this leaky faucet of strange-ity. Logically he knows that figuring out the puzzle Bill has set so graciously before him won’t end the purgatory he’s designed for himself – in his moments of clarity, he is even able to admit that solving it and earning his muse’s praise could, in fact, only worsen whatever illness has taken hold of him. But try as he might, he can’t shake the association, so even as he sketches new findings, new mysteries and weirdness, a desperation has been settling deep into his core.

Ford has felt himself winding tighter and tighter over the recent weeks, pulled taut both by his work and his private obsession (scoff here, because obsession is hardly the right word for it), and his only form of release somehow, inexplicably, is the very same entity that has caused both of his other sources of stress. Maddening, at times. But as much as it galls him to admit it, science is filled with many more losses than wins, and both serve as opportunities.

However, in the scheme of the past month and a half, Ford is in slightly better spirits today, even accounting for the ceaseless dreaming. Because today, he has come up with a new place to search.

The cavern looms before him, a pitch black hole in the bright daylight, looking darker still by the bone white trees that flank its sides. It may have been ominous if not for the fact that Ford already knows precisely what was inside. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Nothing terrible has ever dwelled within this cave. He places his hand on the rough bark of one of those slim trees, and he traces his fingers along the rough and gnarled whirls disrupting its surface.

The trees are interlocked in his mind with Bill, with the confusing rush of their first meeting, and all the rushes that came to follow it. His fingers pause. The bark is coarse beneath his fingertips, and cool to the touch. Not like Bill at all, who is smooth heat and sharp, keen edges. Being here alone is enough to cause his heart to quicken ever so slightly, to inspire the tickling sensation along the back of his neck that he knows is only his own mind’s doing; Bill isn’t around to be watching him, and Ford tries not to give a name to the sinking feeling that admission inspires in him.

He pulls his hand away from the tree and ventures closer to the cave, lighting the lantern he’d bought solely for this purpose. Daylight can only illuminate so much within the cavern – a short few feet before the shadows begin to creep further and further in – and Bill’s section of the hollow is far beyond that point. Ford marches in fearlessly. It must have been months since he last visited this place but the pathway to Bill’s carving is entrenched in his mind. He’s always been gifted with navigation.

And it helps that the cavern is a single path, winding arduously down into the ground but never splintering or branching out.

Ford still isn’t sure what he’s looking for - you’ll know it when you see it, smart guy was the helpful answer Bill had finally been coerced into providing him, and that was only after Ford had spent almost a week camping and mapping out the geographical center of the woods. Also, you maaay be taking things a touch too literally, but what do I know? Oh that’s right – everything! I know everything!

The darkness crowds around him, pressing in almost like a physical force, threatening to swallow the tiny flare of light he holds aloft. It is utterly still inside in the cave and the air smells stiff and stale, a room whose door has stayed locked for too long. There are no sounds aside from his own muffled footsteps, not even accompanied by the hollow backtalk of an echo. It’s hard to keep track of time down here, but it’s either a lifetime or a minute later that the tunnel widens out into the yawning dead end wherein lies the effigy that changed his life.

He walks over to it first, the crude rendition of his muse scrawled across the red clay earth and surrounded by prostrate forms. Bill Cipher. Did he go by that even then, or does his name change to remain a pun in every language? Knowing his sense of humor, the answer is probably the latter. Ford’s stomach twists a bit – does he not even know his muse’s true name?

Ford reaches his hand out, but stops short of the mural, fingertips hovering just shy of the ancient markings. Even if he never intends on leading anyone else here, even if he has already documented these paintings in detail, he can’t deny the historical significance of this place in regards to the aboriginals that once inhabited the strange woods of Gravity Falls. Even if some part of him wants to see the yellow outline surrounding Bill’s form smeared across his fingers, even if some part of him wants to smudge a thick black line across the shakily written incantation that roused Bill from ancient memory.

Sighing, Ford drops his arm to his dangle limp at his side, and then drops to the ground in a heavy plop. He shuffles around so his back is pressed against the stone wall, well below the inscriptions. He sets the lantern on the loose dirt floor and the enormity of what he is doing and searching for crashes in like a clumsy bird of prey. What is he even doing down here, what is he looking for? Disgruntled, Ford kicks a booted foot against the ground, sending up a spray of old dirt and a fine cloud of dust to hang in the torchlight.

His mind wanders as he stares off into the dark. Dark that reminds him of the pitch black of Bill’s limbs, a shade so thick and absorbing that Ford could believe all light, every color could be lost within its depths. Which reminds him of those selfsame limbs splintering and bending at too many angles, to clutch at him and to envelope him, to move in rippling mirages and rest at the small of his back or tangle in his hair. Reminds him of thin black fingers clasped around his hand, warm and silkily smooth, yanking him off the ground or pulling him free from riotous waters. He remembers see you real soon and an outsider’s perspective and from his own yearnings, why don’t you do something and his chest burns and aches in the empty cavern.

He thumps the back of his head against the rock wall behind him and hears ringing in his mind but that’s not all I’d do. His fingers clench in the dirt and gather up fistfuls of grainy earth in each hand. It shifts between his fingers like sand and he lifts one hand and watches a small, steady stream of it flow out from his clenched fist. What am I doing here? he wonders, and then out of the corner of his eye, he spots a golden glint amongst the plain brown backdrop.

At first he is content to write it off as a trick of his mind, as the light from his lantern bouncing odd off a rock with sharp and crisp edges. But Ford focuses on it, and staring, the glint doesn’t fade out or diminish in any way. He leaves the lantern where it rests and shifts forwards, until he is running a hand across smooth and forgotten gold. Again and again, he cards his fingers through dirt and over the strange projection. It doesn’t scatter into the foggy fragments of dreams and slowly Ford becomes more and more excited.

It’s hard to make out what this tip of it represents, but Ford digs with bare hands in the raw earth, carving deep gouges into the cavern’s floor. Without knowing the full shape of the object, there is no way of saying where or how to dig, but Ford presses on, heedless of the grime accumulating under his fingernails, almost frenzied by the fervor he brings to his actions.

His mind races with the possibilities – what could it be? This must be something - Bill said he would know it when he saw it, didn’t he? Slowly he excavates, revealing flames, perhaps? A hand, grasping a scroll, a dull and finely cut gem, and arms leading to a familiar sloping side that brings him to an abrupt halt. Ford leans back, loose mounds of dirt packed together in careless piles all around him.

A statue of Bill. Well, perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised, considering the apparent nature of the cave, but why would it be buried here? Why have they warned so heavily against summoning Bill? Ford could admit that his muse was strange but Bill has as yet displayed nothing except the most gentlemanly manner. And a surprising sense of humor to boot.

“Whatcha UP TO, IQ?” Ford jolts, startled out of his thoughts by his muse’s piercing voice and impeccable timing. Bill’s projection dips down and Ford watches his small black fingers phase through one of the piles he’s made. “Digging in the DIRT! A little OLD FASHIONED, don’t you think?”

“Bill!” Ford brushes his hands against his jeans. It hadn’t really bothered him before, but Ford notices now, of all times, how sweaty he has gotten, how much dirt is really covering his hands and clothes, is probably strewn throughout his hair or swiped across his face. “I, uh, yes. I was digging.”

Bill bursts into laughter. “You guys have SHOVELS now, right? Or did I DREAM UP that little bit of human INGENUITY! Cause if SO, BOY do I have a SURPRISE for you! It might LITERALLY blow your mind!”

“I know what shovels are, Bill,” Ford deadpans, which only causes Bill to launch into another fit of laughter. He adjusts his glasses, feeling silly.

“Awww, hey, come on Sixer, don’t get all WEIRD on me,” Bill says. His muse floats closer, and even without touch Ford can feel the phantom sensations of his warm hands across his skin. “Or better YET – DO! I like weird!”

I like weird. It isn’t a phrase that Ford would have expected to find comforting, but something eases in his chest. Of course, Bill is only saying this because he doesn’t know how weird Ford is.

“So, you decided to spend some time scooping up DIRT in the dark, huh?” Bill continues, drifting away to survey the underground chamber. He comes to a pause before his own mural. “Nice ARTWORK down here!”

“I was looking for the epicenter of weirdness,” Ford says. Bill’s bricks reverse as he flips back around, his expression oddly blank.

“And? Did you FIND it?”

Ford sighs. “No. There’s- no.” A large part of him wants to admit that he has no idea what he’s doing, what he’s looking for – that he’s exhausted every angle he can think of, that this was the last idea he’d been able to come up with. Ford clenches his jaw tight and says nothing.

“Huh. Too bad!” Bill’s projection drops to sit on his shoulder and Ford straightens his posture. “And what made you wanna look around in a PLACE like THIS?”

“You, Bill, to be honest,” Ford says. “You might be the single strangest creature I’ve yet to encounter in these woods. It seemed to make sense that the highest concentration of weirdness would serve as the catalyst for the rest.”

“Hmmm.” Out of the corner of his eye, Ford can make out Bill scrunching up in his eye in thought. Then Bill hops off his shoulder, expanding slightly in size as he moves to hover before him again. “Not a bad THOUGHT there, Fordsy – not bad at all!”

“Yes, well, obviously not a correct thought, either.”

“Well I’M suitably impressed – you’re MUCH closer than you THINK, Sixer!” Ford’s immediate answer is to scoff, but then Bill’s words seem to process and he freezes, staring wide-eyed at his muse.

“I-I’m close?”

“Yup! You’re CERTAINLY on the right TRACK, just not looking at it from the right VIEWPOINT yet!”

It feels like his brain might overclock itself – he was right! Maybe he hasn’t slotted it all together correctly yet, but he has the pieces, at last. Something about this place, maybe the incantations? Some kind of carryover from the ancient rituals practiced here so long ago?

“Aww, there’s the brainiac I KNOW and LOVE!” They both pause. “Uh, you know what I mean! No more DOOM and GLOOM, right?”

“Was I that obvious?” His heart is hammering in his chest, and Ford hopes that that, at least, isn’t obvious.

“I can read you like a geometry text book, Sixer!” Ford tries not to panic as Bill drifts just a few inches closer. “Not that I NEED to – I mean, it’s not like you’re KEEPING anything from me!” Bill fixes him with an apprising stare and Ford might be a statue with how ramrod straight he sits.

“N-No! I mean, yes, I- no, I’m not keeping anything-” The words get caught in his throat when Bill comes even nearer, and Ford swears he can feel the heat Bill gives off in the mindscape cascading over his face. He swallows and manages to clear the lump. “From you.”

Bill stays where he is, so close. Ford digs his hands in the dirt, remembering his dreams, Bill’s shocked expression, his fingernails scraping lightly over shallow interstices. He almost, almost expects Bill to call him out on his bluff. Obvious. His breathing seems to have stuttered as well, holding his breath deep in his chest like a pregnant pause, awaiting disaster. And then Bill just shrugs and moves away again.

“That’s what I thought!”

All the air rushes out of him in one heavy sigh, tension draining so suddenly that he resembles a wooden puppet with its strings cut for a moment as he recovers, shoulders slumping and limbs limp while his heart still thumpthumpthumpthumpthumps a quick staccato beat below his ribs. When he looks up again, Bill is hovering over his hand-dug hole with his back plane to him.

“So THIS is what you were so invested in digging up, huh?” His glowing form drops a little lower to the ground. “Well I can’t say I BLAME you – humans sure don’t show devotion like they USED TO!”

“Devotion?” The word sticks to his insides like thick sap.

“Yeah, they SOMEHOW got it into their MAMMALIAN, JELLY-BASED BRAINS that I was some kind of GOD! Seemed like it would be RUDE to correct them!” Bill settles lightly on the floor and makes a movement as though he was kicking a tiny spray of dirt back into its proper place, but of course nothing in Ford’s dimension moves. “It WAS kind of cute, anyway.”

“Why did they bury it here?” Ford asks. Bill levitates back into the air and shrugs.

“Oh, you know how HUMANS are as well I do, Fordsy; once you OUTLIVE your USEFULNESS, they THROW YOU AWAY like yesterday’s bad news!” Bill doesn’t sound too upset by the topic, but unbidden, Ford is thinking of his father and classmates. Of Stan. “ESPECIALLY when you’re WEIRD!”

“I like weird,” Ford echoes, and he glances at Bill a moment before dropping his gaze to the still half buried sculpture. “That is to say, you like weird – so do I.”

“I KNOW you do, no worries over here!” Bill is in his face in an instant, a weird tingling, prickling sensation across his scalp as Bill mimics ruffling his hair. “You and me til the END, right pal?”

Ford grins up at him. “That’s right.” Whatever that end may be.

“Hey, how about a little REWARD for getting so close to cracking my PUZZLE! One last HINT!” Bill circles around him.

“Oh – right now?”

“Nah, just the next time you’re in the MINDSCAPE – no hurry! Until then, REMEMBER: the FABRIC of REALITY is only as THIN as you BELIEVE it is!” Bill tips his hat and with a bright flare of light that leaves spots swimming across Ford’s vision, he is gone.

Even awake, their meetings have a surrealistic edge to them, fuzzy at all the corners and as Ford sits alone in the cool, dark cave he almost has a moment to wonder if any of it had ever been real at all. He waits a moment or two, and then once he is sure Bill is gone for good for the day, Ford shuffles back over to the statue and continues digging.

When he finally leaves the cavern, the sky is a smeared painting of pinks and golds, the rich colors seeping down from among the clouds to cast their hue dully against the bone white trees. When he gets back to his cabin, he’s almost panting with exertion, arms aching from having carried solid gold through the woods. When he collapses boneless on his couch, it is only for a minute of rest, and then he is running a wet cloth across the statue, over and over again, until its pristine form is clean and gleaming once more and he can see shimmery reflections glistening in the gem’s facets.

When he goes to sleep, the statue sits on his desk across from him and glimmers in the dark.

When he wakes in the morning and rushes over to his journal, he doesn’t notice how its pupil seems to track his every move. And when Ford, overwhelmed, writes one frantic, jubilant sentence, he doesn’t hear the howling laughter echoing just behind his ear.

The muse has spoken!

#f!tag: GF #status!tag: WIP