Tag: Anonymous

The problem with Hank is pretty simple. That as much as he hates it he has internalized the idea that he’s “the normal one”. The issue being he’s normal for a PINES! He is still a supernatural mob boss, who can talk to the embodiment of Portland and had a demonic uncle at his beck and call. That’s why he has such a hard time understanding how intimidating he can be. He might not be when standing next to the rest of the family but he forgets he’s not next to the others in Porland.

Everything is relative, especially with relatives like these.

Some descendant or reincarnation of Hank in a post apocalypse reset world. “Um… I seem to have accidently become the Emperor” “How do you accidentally become Emperor!!!!” “It was surprisingly easy. I was helping out a bunk of fairies who where down on their luck and it kind of snowballed from there”. Something never change and somewhere Alcor’s laughing his ass off cause he had nothing to do with this.

Oh the irony! Oh the cosmic consistency! 

Imagine r!Hank in denial about being the Emperor, too. “I don’t actually rule anything, I just give advice sometimes and make suggestions, but others have as much input as I do, and they don’t have to do what I say!”

I’ve seen that future generations find Alcors accent odd because it’s old and not one anyone has anymore. As someone who has an odd accent myself I can tell you people generally do one of the following upon meeting me. Wait till I mention where I was born and go “Oh that why, I didn’t want to ask”, it like the first question they ask me even before my name sometimes or guess (poorly they never guess right, thank you Hollywood) I imagine Alcor deals with similar issues.

Alcor’s old-timey accent is a wonderful thing to contemplate.

Legend tells of lost hikers in the forests around Gravity Falls stumbling across a grove filled various fruit trees and vines. They say the fruit from this grove will sustains these hikers till they’re rescued. The truth is Dipper has been planting the fruit from each Henry recantation he meets as a memorial.

On a practical level, the grove is even more obviously magical, because any hikers who know their gardening really well (as well as any botanist/gardening/farming friends they describe it to) would probably know that certain plants don’t play well in this particular soil or these conditions or what have you (I’m quite certain that a prickly pear r!Henry was once discussed, for instance) but there it is, blooming away.

On an emotional level,

image

The reason why Imamu and his sister (forgot her name, sorry) were the first post-God!cor reincarnations is because the souls wanted to just spend so much time together, and no one wanted to disrupt their happiness at finally being able to be equals and truly with each other again. Maybe fic open season for all their shenanigans?

No worries about forgetting! I wrote it just once in a fic and it’s been a really long time. It’s Furaha. I should probably write a few more with them, if only I can come up with ideas.

Also, that’s an adorable headcanon. To be fair another part of it was that there was a sort of recovery span for the Alcor/Dipper soul of the duo after tearing his power away and rendering himself a reincarnating human soul again, but I think we can get behind them taking some extra time just to hang out together. They deserve it.

recently I saw some picture’s of what biblical angels look like and a suspect that as little as their mention this is more like what TAU angles are multiple Wing Faces and not even a little human looking kind of terrifying if you think about it

Angels can vary in appearance as much as demons can!

Though most Angels find it worthwhile spending more time and energy into altering their form to look as benevolent as possible to garner favor from humans. It’s not an inherent talent though, so some Angels aren’t too good at it, or have trouble keeping up appearances for a variety of reasons (low energy, magical storms, afflictions, little transforming talent, etc).

It is the next universe and alcor’s first reincarnation walks out of there house to see gompers standing there and he has the thought how is this goat still alive and has no idea why.

How is this goat still alive?

Imamu stopped in his tracks and his thoughts alike, examining the situation.

The goat was an ugly thing, wall-eyed and scruffy, with a particularly evil smell that hung about it like a cloak. He’d never liked it, though not for any specific reason; it simply unsettled him. He had vague memories of thinking, as a child, that it was watching him, even when it had its back turned. Even when it was on the other side of the village. Even when he’d spent half a year doing his damned best to stay out of its sight.

He’d asked the gods about it once, but they’d told him not to worry.

It was just Gompers, they’d said. He’s just like that. You get used to it.

They never did give him a satisfactory explanation as to exactly what a ‘Gompers’ really was.

He’d thought he’d finally settled it, just last night. He wasn’t a child anymore. He had no reason to be afraid of a common goat. So when he picked the Gompers as the sacrifice for the Feast of the Suns, he thought that would be the end of that – a final burial of that childish notion, a chance to step forward and move on with his life.

He gave the order. His sister had protested – the strange goat was her favorite – but he was the Soul of their people, and if he allowed the implication that the gods demanded it, then…well. It was done.

He saw it done.

And now he saw the goat – the very same goat he’d killed only last night – standing outside his home, chewing a tuft of coarse grass and staring in two directions at once yet giving the impression of focused attention nonetheless.

He stood. He stared.

He took a step.

The goat didn’t move, aside from continuing to chew, and chew, and chew.

He edged past, then set a brisk pace, determined to go about his business. Determined not to look back, even as he felt the stare of the goat following him.

How is it still alive?

There was no answer, only the words of a memory, echoing with fathomless truth that he now recognized as guidance.

Don’t worry about it.