I guess it's about time I made a pinned post. Just some general info and fandom specific stuff I think people should know. Under the cut cause it's kinda long
General
This is a sideblog for Gravity Falls. My main is @tedret, though I'm more active here
I'm slowly figuring name stuff out right now, so thera-prism or tedret and any nicknames you can make from them are fine for now
I don't really care about pronouns as long as they're not the gendered ones, so they/them, it/its, and any neos are fine
(btw, relating to those two, if you ever talk about me, PLEASE let me know. Tag me, send an ask, etc. I don't care, I just wanna know, I'm curious)
Oh while im on the topic, mutuals, followers, anyone who wants to, please interact. Send asks, tag me, etc
I'm not a native english speaker, so some of my sentences are probably gonna be weirdly worded or structured
I'm aroace, agender, probably also aplatonic and loveless. Very tentatively alterhuman
I draw! I try to put image descriptions in alt text on all my art, but if you notice anything wrong with it (missing, typos, just not a good description), please let me know so i can fix it. Also, if you want to request I draw something, feel free to. Only Gravity Falls related stuff on this blog, though
Fandom
I am very very normal about the Theraprism. Don't look at my posts. Or my url
Masterpost for Survival. Or, how to give up (without truly doing so)
This blog is pretty focused on Bill, though i reblog a bunch of other stuff too (strictly Gravity Falls ofc)
I'm a shameless projector, so i headcanon bill as also being aroace. I'm not interested in shipping at all, really
This is all for now. I'll probably edit this more when something comes to mind
Survival. Or, how to give up (without truly doing so)
Masterpost
Chapter 5: New home
Warnings: dissociation (written by someone who has never experienced it), small mention of past suicidality
Well, at least a month gap is better than a three month gap? I've had this ready to go for about a week, haven't really had the motivation to post until now
*
Bill
Bill looked at Stanley Pines, gesturing with a loose hand, yammering on about something Bill couldn't quite hear fully but still remembered, and thought there was some kind of emotion he should be feeling. Anger, maybe.
Maybe the anger was there, somewhere, behind the fog that had settled around his mind and body, but if it was he couldn't feel it from here.
"...Kitchen, living room, bathroom..."
He couldn't feel much from here. He should be glad; he could vaguely recall that the first time they placed him in this body hadn't gone well in the feeling department.
Physically, he meant. Apparently, possessing a body and actually living in one were entirely different experiences, who knew?
"...Else...ask me or Ford... with you..."
Add on that the only time in the last trillion years he had his own body without a consciousness or the body's prior experience in the way was during Weirdmageddon –where he'd had full control of his experience of it...
Well, he thought he might understand what it's like being born, now.
"...Your room... ours... don't try anything..."
Yeah, screaming and crying little things, forcibly removed from their warm, dark cocoons, Bill got it now. He didn't hate the entire concept of them any less, but he got it.
"–Kid, are you even listening?"
Stanley catches Bill's wandering mind and eye with a heavy hand on his shoulder and a face looking down into his own.
Something in him recoiled, something else stood still. He just twitched once, full body.
It was enough for Stanley to take his hand back, so Bill begrudgingly nodded and answered the question.
"The only rooms available to me are the living room, bathroom, kitchen, and my room. Anything else I have to have permission and supervision. Your room is next to mine so you'll know if I try anything," he parroted back. (He was guessing, sure, but it sounded reasonable enough.)
His voice came out wrong. It was all too human. There was something else, but that had been wrong for too long to be worth acknowledging. Bill blinked, and he was alone in his new room.
Losing small chunks of time wasn't uncommon, especially recently, but the abruptness sometimes took him off guard. He didn't even remember if Stanley said anything after that.
He closed the door, and suddenly a headache came over him.
Bill walked to the bed and sat down, one hand in the roots of his hair.
His eyes unfocused hard and he blinked rapidly, trying to make them work again.
His throat –his voice– felt stuck somehow.
His body went even more numb, his muscles twitched and spasmed without his input.
And then–
Bill
Bill straightened up jerkily, looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time, and walked to the window on drunken steps to look outside.
"Shit." His voice was strained, more breath than sound. His hand touched his throat haltingly.
The dual sensation of skin-on-skin was repulsive.
His nails were too trimmed to dig them in, so he switched to the second knuckles. That was more like it.
The pain was sharper than Bill was used to from humans, but that's all the better; more effective in quieting his mind's confused chaos.
(It had been called both a grounding technique and unhealthy coping mechanism, especially when he dug claws into his own wound, but he doesn't care. Trying to destroy his environment or hurt most of his fellow patients or doctors, both physically and with words, felt far too pathetic to attempt after the first few times, so; next best thing.)
Wait, the rest of his brain caught up to what one part had thought, human–?
Bill brought the hand out from under his chin to look at it. Soft and fleshy, hard bones in the center. Pale, sun tanned, small but bigger than his own were supposed to be.
He looked down from his hand to the rest of his body. The first thing that caught his attention was the text on the white shirt his current body was wearing.
He pulled the shirt back to look at it better.
"Theraprism," it read, the side profile of an octagonal crystal in place of the 'A.'
They sent him here?
"Fuck,"he whispered, "fuck, fuck, fuck."
Don't get him wrong, sometimes he would've killed himself to get out of there, but–
He dug his knuckles into the underside of his jaw, but his hand soon wandered up to tug at his hair sharply.
He loathed to admit it, but he can't fight the Pines like this. They somehow beat him when he was the most powerful he'd ever been, and he's shit at fighting as a human.
("Somehow." He knew how; they had tricked him and then almost destroyed him with that hillbilly's gun. Bill's painful brush with oblivion was a popular topic, so it was still quite fresh in his mind. Even if he would prefer to forget it.)
He turned his back to the window fully and looked around again. A seemingly freshly made bed, a small nightstand, a bigger dresser, and the closed door but not much else, aside from the ugly wallpaper.
He turned back to the window and tried to open it, but it was locked.
He walked to the door and tried that. It opened and he peeked at the hallway, then slowly closed it.
So the Pines knew he's here, had prepared for it apparently, and haven't killed him or fully locked him in this room. Why? Why was he here, anyway?
Maybe he didn't have to be here.
Bill walked to the bed and laid down.
He focused on leaving his body behind, floating up from it a glowing triangle into the mindscape, but he only returned to his mind.
*
But I'm not plural, and so would very much like to be told if I fucked something up about how I portrayed it here.
Wooo, Bill POV! Yeah, he's plural. I think he's been plural for most of his life, but before the Theraprism dug up his trauma and made it worse (unintentionally, but still), the amnesia barriers and distinction between alters were much lower.
Lineart not even done yet (still need to do cutlery and whatever Bill's eating. The artist had nothing on the plate so I'm gonna be fully deciding that, just like I did with the engravings) and I'm already contemplating colour because of course I am
Not tagging the sketch artist in these because I want the result to be a surprise.(I don't think they follow me) I'll reblog their sketch again but my final of it when I'n done.
Heres a thing about the Russian translation of Journal 3 that ive been thinking about ever since I noticed it.
In there, Ford calls Bill his "genius", not his muse. You might think thats a weird change, but actually it shows an interesting phenomenon about the Russian language, and also that russian Bill is genderqueer and Ford is a gender conservative.
"I was contacted by a "genius". To be precise, he called himself a "muse", but since it's a "he", i call him "genius".
When I noticed that they added a whole new line to the page to explain the inaccuracy to the original english I found it very humorous; couldn't they just leave it the same?
But actually, as a kid who watched gravity falls in russian, when I learned Ford called Bill his muse originally, I found that humorous. See, heres the interesting thing: in russian, the word "muse" (муза) is a very female word. It's constructed with a female word ending, and is used almost exclusively to refer to women. So hearing a (supposedly) male character being referred to as a 💗🌺♀️muse♀️🌺💗 was very perplexing. And russian Ford apperantly thought so too, because he couldn't let Bill keep his genderqueer title, and that makes him quite conservative at that. Pretty weird for a supernatural anomaly researcher to be ignorant to different ways to look at gender, isn't it?
At the same time, making Ford so firm in this regard (to make more sense to russian audiences) accidentally makes Bill a gender fuckery creature, who's completly fine with using "opposite" gender terms to refer to himself. Russian Bill was confirmed not cis before english Bill came even close, checkmate liberals!
