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art by J. C. Leyendecker (1910s to 1930s)

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human bill design ref sheet :3{

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I don’t think bro knows how weddings work….

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reblog if you need a hug

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Day 20 of Sirentober / Doctober

Hands / Journal

You can tell who never made a deal

Available as a print on my Etsy Shop

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bad youtube clickbait thumbnail that reads "I think I just had a therapy session with a DEMON???"

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alex hirsch was right that guy fucking sucks

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sock opera

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Idk what au im cooking.. but Im cooking..

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my isat x gravity falls crossover au is now up :3 enjoyyy

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Repost with chapter art :P

Too Weird To Love, Too Scared To Die

Chapter Two

(Chapter One here if you missed it >>>)

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“What. The fuck. Are you doing?” 

“Uh… making breakfast? Duh? What does it look like I’m doing? Aren’t really using that big brain of yours this morning, are ya, IQ?”

As memories of what he had done rushed back to him, Stanford stood there in the entryway, fists clenched and mouth opening and closing like a dead fish as his face turned red with fury upon resigning to the fact that this was, most likely, not a dream. Bill snapped his fingers and suddenly a gramophone nestled into the corner of the room sparked to life, a symphony of soft 1930s jazz hits cascading through the kitchen as the triangle hummed along. He unceremoniously poured the disgusting contents of the pan onto a plate before flicking his wrist to manifest a mug of black coffee (Ford’s favorite, he knew), delicately floating both dishes over to the table and snapping again to pull out a chair. “Sit,” the triangle said cheerfully, as though he were talking to a dog.

The scientist was filled with a burning hatred and fury like he’d never experienced before, unable to stop it from bubbling over like thoroughly shaken soda from an open can. On instinct alone he grabbed a knife from the block on the counter and hurled it at the triangle as hard as he could. The knife lodged itself into Bill’s exoskeleton, just to the right of his eye, only to immediately absorb itself into the surface of the creature’s face before disappearing into it entirely. The demon stood there for a moment, apathetically unfazed. He sighed, almost sounding disappointed.

 “And here I thought we could have a nice meal together.” 

Bill rolled his eye and snapped his fingers once more, an invisible force attaching itself to Ford and dragging him over to the table before pushing him down into the chair with a grunt from the scientist. Stanford seethed silently as he was forcibly glued to the seat, the hatred of a thousand suns burning behind his eyes as he glared at his former muse. His former sun and all its surrounding stars. “What is this place?” 

The demon floated over to the chair opposite Ford, plopping himself down only to realize he was far too short, only barely able to see over the table. He clapped his hands and summoned a booster seat beneath him, now eye level with his once devoted disciple that was currently glaring daggers at him.  “This, my big brained friend, is everything you’ve ever wanted!”

Ford blinked. “You’re insane.”

Bill blinked back. “...Stanford, we established this a while ago.”

The scientist’s face contorted in a harmony of anger and anguish. “You can’t possibly believe your little glorified prison will sway me into anything. You’ve already beaten me. You’ve taken everything from me. You won, Cipher. What more could you possibly want?” He spat. 

The demon scoffed, rolling his eye. “All I want is for my favorite little human to be happy!” He sing-songed, presumably in an attempt to keep things light hearted, yet he only really succeeded in being extremely unsettling. 

Stanford’s expression was blank as he felt bile rise in his throat and suddenly he found himself barking out a cruel, humorless laugh. “You can’t possibly be serious.” 

“Deathly,” Bill said, his exoskeleton flashing a blazing red and his voice distorting before he chuckled and went back to normal, as though nothing had happened. “I created this place for you based on all the information I collected from your ol’ noggin over the years! I thought of everything! I can give ya the grand tour after breakfast. Don’t you love it, Fordsy?” 

The triangle batted his absurdly long eyelashes, hopefully and eagerly waiting for Ford’s response, a reaction, anything, as though he expected something positive. As though he hadn’t just doomed his entire dimension, tortured and entrapped him and taken him away from his family. As though he hadn’t immediately ruined his life the second they met. The scientist’s reaction was not, surprise surprise, overwhelmingly positive. 

“I’d rather you have just killed me.” He seethed, expression twisting into one of disgust, snuffing out the hopeful, manic glint in Bill’s eye. 

Bill sighed. “I should’ve known you’d be difficult. You’re always so difficult now. What is with you lately? You used to be so obedient. Can we please go back to that?” He sighed, eye squeezed shut in frustration as he rubbed where his temples presumably would be. He waved a small, black-gloved hand and a bottle of red wine appeared on the table, along with a single wine glass. “You’re driving me to drink, Sixer. Are you proud of yourself?” He poured himself an entirely too generous amount.

“I’m not playing games with you. Where is my family?” Ford deadpanned.

“Yes you are! We never stopped playing. You just stopped making it fun. Y’know half the appeal of chess is the banter-” 

“Cipher.” 

“They’re fine, brainiac. Well- actually I dunno about that inferior double of yours. I had him disposed of since you never really seemed to like him anyway. But, I took the liberty of putting the objectively better of the two little ones in here with you! I’m sure Shooting Star is around here somewhere. I really gotta map this place out, it's getting ridiculous. What do you call her? Marble? Maple?”  

Ford gripped the armrests of the wooden chair in a six-fingered vice.

 “And Dipper?” He gritted out through clenched teeth. 

“Pinetree? Safe and sound, as promised… regrettably. I thought it’d be best if he didn’t interfere with all this, though. Real vibe killer, that one.”

“Where. Is. He.” He began to shake with rage.

“I told you already. Safe. Sound. Are you going deaf or something? I didn’t think you were that old-”

Fed up, the scientist slammed both hands onto the table, knocking the repulsive plate of marsupial viscera onto the tile floor with a clatter, anger practically oozing out of every pore. He futilely attempted to lunge at the demon yet he remained glued to his seat as Bill just sat there, looking only slightly disappointed before taking long, slow sip of his wine. 

“I just made that for you, y’know.” The demon sighed, voice pitched in irritation. 

“Take me to them. Now.” Stanford snarled, nearly frantic. He refused to humor the monster’s sick delusions, and if he had so much as laid a finger on the younger pines twins, no matter how powerless against him he was now Ford would find a way to make him pay for it. 

“Not with that attitude. What, don't take my word for it? I made a deal didn't I?”

Ford kicked the table. “Of course I don’t take your fucking word for it! You’re the universe’s most deceptive villain! Every word you’ve ever said to me was a lie!” 

Bill gave him a bitter look, almost one of offense. “Woah woah woah, not everything-” 

“Bullshit! You just can’t help yourself can you? Do you hear yourself!?” He ranted, venom spewing from his every word. “You’re sick. What are you really trying to accomplish here? What is all this really for, Cipher?”

Bill stood up on his seat, trying to make himself bigger. “I told you I-”

“I don’t care about your convoluted lies! Why am I here? I have nothing left to give you! Is this just some sick ploy for you to worm your way back into my head? For you to have someone to control? For you to feel special again? For you to play god? Newsflash, demon, you are not a god, and I will never, ever, be manipulated and seduced into worshiping you like one ever again. You’re a sadistic, one-eyed, freak, Cipher, and I was a naive fool to ever think any differently.”

Bill stood there in shock for a moment, pupil so narrowly slitted that it almost disappeared entirely into the white of his eye. The wine glass in his hand abruptly shattered. In an instant he flipped from astounded to furious, his body turning to a fiery red once more. His tiny fists balled up at his sides, shaking as he shrieked, “Okay, that’s it, bucko! Didn’t they ever teach you in kindergarten that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all?!”  

Just as Stanford was about to retort, the triangle threw up a pointer finger toward his face and suddenly he found himself unable to open his mouth at all. He immediately began to panic, hands coming up to claw at his face as though he could pry the magic seal off his lips with brute force. He fell to his knees as he was suddenly no longer stuck to his chair and it was ripped out from under him and slammed against the far wall with a loud bang. Suddenly, the tiles around him began to appear to turn almost liquid and red papered walls began to rise out of the floor on all sides. His insults and profanities were muffled as the walls rose higher and higher surrounding him until they met the ceiling, effectively trapping him in. Once he could no longer see Bill, the spell keeping him quiet was lifted and he gasped for breath. He stood up, frantically looking around for an exit point, but the pseudo-cage seemed to be effectively air tight. His ex-muse’s voice echoed and bounced off the narrow walls. 

“Say you’re sorry.”

Ford grimaced, head whipping around trying to pinpoint what direction the voice was coming from. He laughed dryly and joylessly. “You’re psychotic.” His eyes went wide as the ground shook beneath him, the walls of his confine suddenly moving closer together, enclosing the space even further. 

“Say. You’re. Sorry.” 

Ah. So this was how Bill wanted to play. The scientist brandished his fists and banged on the wall defiantly. “Over my dead body!” The cage got smaller.

“Say it!”

Stanford was quickly realizing he may be running out of options here. Hypothetically if the situation were different, he would honestly and truthfully rather die via pancaking between four rapidly encroaching walls than even think of apologizing to Bill Cipher. However, the kids were somewhere. Alone. At the end of the world. And if he died now, there’s no telling what could happen to them, assuming it hadn’t happened already. The walls began to push back against his braced arms and the demon kept screaming, voice shrill and headache inducing. 

“Say it! Say it say it say it say it-”

“...I’m sorry.”

And everything stopped. 

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⚠️ PLAY TO WIN ⚠️

A big thanks to the wonderful @mushroomstairs for coding & lettering the instruction panels! Here are some closeups and the the pinball design flats-

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Too Weird To Love, Too Scared To Die

Chapter Two

(Chapter One here if you missed it >>>)

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“What. The fuck. Are you doing?” 

“Uh… making breakfast? Duh? What does it look like I’m doing? Aren’t really using that big brain of yours this morning, are ya, IQ?”

As memories of what he had done rushed back to him, Stanford stood there in the entryway, fists clenched and mouth opening and closing like a dead fish as his face turned red with fury upon resigning to the fact that this was, most likely, not a dream. Bill snapped his fingers and suddenly a gramophone nestled into the corner of the room sparked to life, a symphony of soft 1930s jazz hits cascading through the kitchen as the triangle hummed along. He unceremoniously poured the disgusting contents of the pan onto a plate before flicking his wrist to manifest a mug of black coffee (Ford’s favorite, he knew), delicately floating both dishes over to the table and snapping again to pull out a chair. “Sit,” the triangle said cheerfully, as though he were talking to a dog.

The scientist was filled with a burning hatred and fury like he’d never experienced before, unable to stop it from bubbling over like thoroughly shaken soda from an open can. On instinct alone he grabbed a knife from the block on the counter and hurled it at the triangle as hard as he could. The knife lodged itself into Bill’s exoskeleton, just to the right of his eye, only to immediately absorb itself into the surface of the creature’s face before disappearing into it entirely. The demon stood there for a moment, apathetically unfazed. He sighed, almost sounding disappointed.

 “And here I thought we could have a nice meal together.” 

Bill rolled his eye and snapped his fingers once more, an invisible force attaching itself to Ford and dragging him over to the table before pushing him down into the chair with a grunt from the scientist. Stanford seethed silently as he was forcibly glued to the seat, the hatred of a thousand suns burning behind his eyes as he glared at his former muse. His former sun and all its surrounding stars. “What is this place?” 

The demon floated over to the chair opposite Ford, plopping himself down only to realize he was far too short, only barely able to see over the table. He clapped his hands and summoned a booster seat beneath him, now eye level with his once devoted disciple that was currently glaring daggers at him.  “This, my big brained friend, is everything you’ve ever wanted!”

Ford blinked. “You’re insane.”

Bill blinked back. “...Stanford, we established this a while ago.”

The scientist’s face contorted in a harmony of anger and anguish. “You can’t possibly believe your little glorified prison will sway me into anything. You’ve already beaten me. You’ve taken everything from me. You won, Cipher. What more could you possibly want?” He spat. 

The demon scoffed, rolling his eye. “All I want is for my favorite little human to be happy!” He sing-songed, presumably in an attempt to keep things light hearted, yet he only really succeeded in being extremely unsettling. 

Stanford’s expression was blank as he felt bile rise in his throat and suddenly he found himself barking out a cruel, humorless laugh. “You can’t possibly be serious.” 

“Deathly,” Bill said, his exoskeleton flashing a blazing red and his voice distorting before he chuckled and went back to normal, as though nothing had happened. “I created this place for you based on all the information I collected from your ol’ noggin over the years! I thought of everything! I can give ya the grand tour after breakfast. Don’t you love it, Fordsy?” 

The triangle batted his absurdly long eyelashes, hopefully and eagerly waiting for Ford’s response, a reaction, anything, as though he expected something positive. As though he hadn’t just doomed his entire dimension, tortured and entrapped him and taken him away from his family. As though he hadn’t immediately ruined his life the second they met. The scientist’s reaction was not, surprise surprise, overwhelmingly positive. 

“I’d rather you have just killed me.” He seethed, expression twisting into one of disgust, snuffing out the hopeful, manic glint in Bill’s eye. 

Bill sighed. “I should’ve known you’d be difficult. You’re always so difficult now. What is with you lately? You used to be so obedient. Can we please go back to that?” He sighed, eye squeezed shut in frustration as he rubbed where his temples presumably would be. He waved a small, black-gloved hand and a bottle of red wine appeared on the table, along with a single wine glass. “You’re driving me to drink, Sixer. Are you proud of yourself?” He poured himself an entirely too generous amount.

“I’m not playing games with you. Where is my family?” Ford deadpanned.

“Yes you are! We never stopped playing. You just stopped making it fun. Y’know half the appeal of chess is the banter-” 

“Cipher.” 

“They’re fine, brainiac. Well- actually I dunno about that inferior double of yours. I had him disposed of since you never really seemed to like him anyway. But, I took the liberty of putting the objectively better of the two little ones in here with you! I’m sure Shooting Star is around here somewhere. I really gotta map this place out, it's getting ridiculous. What do you call her? Marble? Maple?”  

Ford gripped the armrests of the wooden chair in a six-fingered vice.

 “And Dipper?” He gritted out through clenched teeth. 

“Pinetree? Safe and sound, as promised… regrettably. I thought it’d be best if he didn’t interfere with all this, though. Real vibe killer, that one.”

“Where. Is. He.” He began to shake with rage.

“I told you already. Safe. Sound. Are you going deaf or something? I didn’t think you were that old-”

Fed up, the scientist slammed both hands onto the table, knocking the repulsive plate of marsupial viscera onto the tile floor with a clatter, anger practically oozing out of every pore. He futilely attempted to lunge at the demon yet he remained glued to his seat as Bill just sat there, looking only slightly disappointed before taking long, slow sip of his wine. 

“I just made that for you, y’know.” The demon sighed, voice pitched in irritation. 

“Take me to them. Now.” Stanford snarled, nearly frantic. He refused to humor the monster’s sick delusions, and if he had so much as laid a finger on the younger pines twins, no matter how powerless against him he was now Ford would find a way to make him pay for it. 

“Not with that attitude. What, don't take my word for it? I made a deal didn't I?”

Ford kicked the table. “Of course I don’t take your fucking word for it! You’re the universe’s most deceptive villain! Every word you’ve ever said to me was a lie!” 

Bill gave him a bitter look, almost one of offense. “Woah woah woah, not everything-” 

“Bullshit! You just can’t help yourself can you? Do you hear yourself!?” He ranted, venom spewing from his every word. “You’re sick. What are you really trying to accomplish here? What is all this really for, Cipher?”

Bill stood up on his seat, trying to make himself bigger. “I told you I-”

“I don’t care about your convoluted lies! Why am I here? I have nothing left to give you! Is this just some sick ploy for you to worm your way back into my head? For you to have someone to control? For you to feel special again? For you to play god? Newsflash, demon, you are not a god, and I will never, ever, be manipulated and seduced into worshiping you like one ever again. You’re a sadistic, one-eyed, freak, Cipher, and I was a naive fool to ever think any differently.”

Bill stood there in shock for a moment, pupil so narrowly slitted that it almost disappeared entirely into the white of his eye. The wine glass in his hand abruptly shattered. In an instant he flipped from astounded to furious, his body turning to a fiery red once more. His tiny fists balled up at his sides, shaking as he shrieked, “Okay, that’s it, bucko! Didn’t they ever teach you in kindergarten that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all?!”  

Just as Stanford was about to retort, the triangle threw up a pointer finger toward his face and suddenly he found himself unable to open his mouth at all. He immediately began to panic, hands coming up to claw at his face as though he could pry the magic seal off his lips with brute force. He fell to his knees as he was suddenly no longer stuck to his chair and it was ripped out from under him and slammed against the far wall with a loud bang. Suddenly, the tiles around him began to appear to turn almost liquid and red papered walls began to rise out of the floor on all sides. His insults and profanities were muffled as the walls rose higher and higher surrounding him until they met the ceiling, effectively trapping him in. Once he could no longer see Bill, the spell keeping him quiet was lifted and he gasped for breath. He stood up, frantically looking around for an exit point, but the pseudo-cage seemed to be effectively air tight. His ex-muse’s voice echoed and bounced off the narrow walls. 

“Say you’re sorry.”

Ford grimaced, head whipping around trying to pinpoint what direction the voice was coming from. He laughed dryly and joylessly. “You’re psychotic.” His eyes went wide as the ground shook beneath him, the walls of his confine suddenly moving closer together, enclosing the space even further. 

“Say. You’re. Sorry.” 

Ah. So this was how Bill wanted to play. The scientist brandished his fists and banged on the wall defiantly. “Over my dead body!” The cage got smaller.

“Say it!”

Stanford was quickly realizing he may be running out of options here. Hypothetically if the situation were different, he would honestly and truthfully rather die via pancaking between four rapidly encroaching walls than even think of apologizing to Bill Cipher. However, the kids were somewhere. Alone. At the end of the world. And if he died now, there’s no telling what could happen to them, assuming it hadn’t happened already. The walls began to push back against his braced arms and the demon kept screaming, voice shrill and headache inducing. 

“Say it! Say it say it say it say it-”

“...I’m sorry.”

And everything stopped. 

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Chapter 2 is up!! Yippee!! I’ll be posting the tumblr version on here soon :)

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I’m illustrating this now purely for sillies <3

Too Weird to Love, Too Scared to Die.

Chapter One

(This was just a silly goofy idea that my partner convinced me to get out of my brain and onto the internet. This takes place in an alternate Weirdmageddon Finale scenario. Btw I hardly ever write and this is my first fic like ever so PLEASE BE NICE TO ME and let me know if y'all like it. Ty <3)

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“I’ll give it to you!” Stanford Pines’ voice echoed from the cage and through the cavernous hall of the fearamid. The world seemed to stop as Stanford’s once beloved Muse-turned-monster’s gigantic eye turned from the two children in his grasp he was about to send to meet their maker a moment ago and onto him. Bill’s gaze was as blinding as the sun. 

“I’ll give you the equation, Cipher! Just… don’t hurt my family… please.” 

Bill stared while Dipper and Mabel’s terrified expressions drilled themselves into Ford’s mind during the stillness. Just as Dipper opened his mouth, seemingly to protest against Ford’s decision, Bill’s shrill, inhuman laughter enveloped their senses; the sound loud enough to rattle one’s skull and make one’s ears bleed should they stand too close. 

“Oh, Sixer! I just knew you’d come around~!” The demon cackled smugly, depositing the young twins on a high up support beam, safe for the time being yet out of their uncles’ reach. The grotesque, gargantuan form of arms and teeth and tongues the triangle had reverted to when angered began to shrink back down to size, the red fading back to yellow as he looked down at Ford with as much sick satisfaction a creature without a proper face could possibly express.

“I’m so happy you’ve finally, finally come to your senses!” 

Stanford looked over his shoulder to glance at his brother, expecting to read contempt, maybe anger at Ford for not thinking of something fast enough; but when their eyes met he only saw fear and uncertainty. He couldn’t bear it, so he averted his gaze. He yelped as his body was lifted off the obsidian palace floor as Bill effortlessly levitated him out of his confinement.

 “I’ve gotta say, IQ,  you really had me going there! I thought you were actually gonna make me kill one of the brats!” He gently dropped Stanford in front of his now much less threatening form, straightening out his bowtie as his little heels collided with the ground with a small click, making himself level with Ford as though foolishly trying to perpetuate the illusion that they were equals here. The laughable notion of respect. 

Ford grimaced, six fingernails digging into each of his palms as he steeled himself, remaining woefully silent. Bill was clearly annoyed that Ford refused to play into his verbal sparring, the demon’s expression souring. 

“Aw c’mon, Fordsie. Don’t be like that. Cheer up! Soon I’ll be free, and I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted!” 

Ford’s eyes darted up to the two children clinging onto each other at least 30 feet above him before he looked back to Bill, his expression flat. “You could never give me anything I would truly want.” 

The triangle looked almost hurt for a moment before he laughed again, regaining his composure.

“And why’s that?” 

Stanford stared at him. “You’re selfish,” He said, his voice tainted with the shadow of disdain. “You couldn’t emotionally fulfill another person if you tried. You’re a monster.”

The demon’s eye twitched, his gaze suddenly distant as his yellow glow seemed to dim. Above them, Dipper squeezed Mabel’s hand in a vice grip, scared that Ford had just signed his own death certificate. Instead, Bill just snapped back to normal in an instant, giggling again. “We’ll see about that. But for now..” He extended a dainty black arm, his hand suddenly engulfed in blue flame awaiting Ford’s palm to complete their deal. 

“Let’s get this show on the road. Eh, Sixer?” 

Ford looked down at the floor below him, too ashamed to meet his family’s gaze as he pressed what was, for all intents and purposes, the big red button for the apocalypse. At least they’ll be safe. He held his breath and grasped Bill’s hand, memories of thirty years ago flashing through his mind as soon as they made contact. The demon’s eye widened maniacally as he cackled, his grasp tightening around Ford’s polydactyl hand as the world around him froze. His surroundings turning to black and white and sensation melting away. In a low, gentle voice Stanford hadn’t heard since he worshiped a god rather than feared a beast, Bill spoke. “You’ll see, Fordsy.” 

And suddenly Ford’s vision went dark. 

…

Stanford woke with a start and quickly shot up, having just woken from the most terrible nightmare. He caught his breath, running a hand through the graying hair that had plastered itself to his forehead with sweat, blinking blindly. His glasses must’ve fallen off the couch as he slept. Only, even for as blind as he was, he could very quickly gather that he was in… a bed. Not his bed. That was odd. He frantically groped around for his glasses, finding them neatly folded on a nightstand beside him. He pushed them up his nose with an index finger and -much to his dismay- confirmed that this was not his room, and this was not the Mystery Shack. 

Ford looked down at himself, noting the red satin pajama set he was dressed in that were also very much not his. Despite how soft the sheets were, he quickly threw them off as though they’d burned him. He stood up carefully, the hardwood floor cold against his bare feet. Taking in his surroundings, he first noticed the room had no windows or interior lamps, and yet was perfectly illuminated in warm, comforting light. Everything about the decor style was so very pointedly… him. The dark oak furniture, the golden constellation map on the wall, the chess set on the desk, the detailed antique globe in the far corner. It was all extremely reminiscent of everything he had wanted to do with his basement study back home, had he had the time. This greatly unsettled him. 

He approached the bedroom door with caution, stopping in his tracks with a hand hovering over the doorknob as he heard the sound of dishes clattering distantly somewhere else in the house. Ford gulped before turning the knob excruciatingly slowly, the door cracking open with a soft creak. Nothing jumped out at him and he wasn’t immediately incinerated, so he continued on, gently pushing it all the way open to reveal… an exceedingly normal hallway. 

The walls were adorned with refined red wallpaper and ornate picture frames, the pictures inside so familiar and yet so violently wrong. Nausea bubbled in his stomach as he stared at the family photographs he had gladly kept hung up throughout the walls of the shack, except now half the family had seemingly vanished, or rather been purposely eliminated from the photos. The only two people present in any of them were himself and Mabel, leaving eerily empty spaces where his brother and grand-nephew should have been. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the image of his grand-niece, her colorful braces on display as she smiled happily with her arms wrapped around nothing but dead air. 

Ford jumped, suddenly ripped away from his horror once more as the loud crash of pans echoed from what seemed to be a lower floor, followed by a soft string of curses in at least five different alien languages, two of which he didn’t recognize. He tiptoed further down the hallway, his right hand itching to wrap itself around the grip of his gun. He distantly wondered what had been done with it, as well as his coat. He’d miss that coat. Ford mentally cursed himself for not simply improvising a weapon sooner in case whatever was downstairs tried to attack, yet he couldn’t stop himself from inching further and further into the house and toward the noise. Damn his curiosity. 

He rounded a corner and was met with a grand staircase leading downward, taking a breath and quietly descending with his back pressed against the wall in an attempt to not risk being seen. Upon reaching the bottom, Stanford froze in place, hearing something sizzling in the next room over, accompanied by the unmistakable stench of burning roadkill. He slowly peeked around the corner, his jaw dropping at the sight before him. 

He peered into what was, he had to admit, a very nice kitchen, complete with stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops. In the middle of said kitchen, holding a pan full of what looked to be a mutilated opossum over the stove, was Bill Cipher in a frilly pink apron. Said apron had the words ‘Kiss the Triangle’ printed across the front in a loopy cursive font, a heart in place of the dot over the ’i’. 

Sensing his presence, the triangular demon turned to look at him cheerfully, eye upturned in a makeshift smile. “Heya, smart guy! I was wondering when you’d wake up, sleepyhead! You’re just in time for breakfast!”

Ford prayed to every god he knew of, earthen, alien or otherwise, that he’d wake up soon.

(Thank you for reading, let me know if you want a chapter two!)