The thing about Cottagecore is that is a fetishized aesthetic of country life, divorced from labor and idealized by a primarily urban audience with a backward looking ethos of tradition. They are not prepared for the stresses of a rural life: farming; harvesting; tapping pumpkins to ensure none of them have been replaced with flesh; losing out on income by having to use one of your pigs in a blood sacrifice to paint protective sigils over your doors and windows; checking cracks and chimneys for the flesh-vines of the Pumpkin Lord; having to decide, before the Growth is complete, whether that's really your tradwife or an amassment of vines, leaves, and blood in the shape of your tradwife; ignoring their desperate pleas that "I'm me! No! No!" as you burn them alive, realizing too late you picked wrong; and the exploitative corporate nature of commercial farming in 2024. All seen through a deeply colonial lens, of course
Dipper and Robbie end up separated and alone during Bill’s siege on Gravity Falls, with no one but each other to rely on.
What starts as a begrudging team-up turns into a two-man band, gaining them popularity from Bill’s henchmen and the other monsters infesting their town.
After a few years of post-apocalyptic touring, they use their collective influence to storm Bill’s Fearamid and perform a sick-ass concert, and then defeating him by smashing a guitar over his fucking head.