muffinzrcool
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Bill hates Ford. Ford hates Bill. But after finding a solution to their pent up anger, they just can’t seem to keep their hands off each other.
Bookmarked by muffinzrcool
01 Sep 2026
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Stanford Pines and Fiddleford McGucket, both geniuses in their respective fields, decide it’s about time they unveil just a microscopic portion of their work to the outside world. Leading them to a certain prestigious college neither thought they’d ever be stepping foot in.
A machine designed to chew up rich nerds and spit them out into the cold hard streets of reality? The forces at play have decided this would make as good a party venue as any.(A Great Gatsby-esque AU, with all the messy love triangles you’d come to expect. Don’t worry, you need no prior knowledge of the book. But the idea that Stanford was forced into a brief but lavish lifestyle by a demon of pure excess while Stanley was broke and homeless has taken a hold of me.)
DISCLAIMER: This is set at peak Bill manipulation times. Many of the thoughts running through Ford’s head are not what I believe about his character. We are all riding the ego-coaster together, so watch your head! -
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Ford finds himself alone for the first time with Bill's statue.
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Bookmarked by muffinzrcool
03 Aug 2026
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Stanford, a genius everywhere but the bedroom, stared across Bill, eyes wide with equal parts nervousness and curiosity. He looked like a lost puppy. “So, how - how does uh, this, work, typically?” He spoke quietly, gesturing between the three of them to punctuate his words, and leaning away to clear his throat afterwards.
As Bill opened his mouth to supply a confident answer, he was shoved forwards, tumbling into Ford's crotch with an indignant squeak as his nose became intimately acquainted with the large tent in Ford's pants. “Like this,” Fiddleford grumbled, an uncharacteristic coldness in his tone. “He's got plenty of holes, ‘n we just gotta pick and choose.”
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Nasty Billfiddlesford spitroast. Bill is the roast
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“You're…pathetic.”
Bill's skin crawled. The room lit red. Without a second thought, he gathered up what was left behind his eye and spit. A thick static loogie hit Ford’s cheek, sizzling like a pinch of flower in an oil vat.
He could almost feel the bonfire warmth of real fury roar back to life where Ford stood. He basked for a heartbeat before Ford twisted the knife in the wall, catching strands of pride and relief like spun pasta around his blade. He leaned in, breathing fire through his teeth.
“I have pinned dead moths more challenging than you. You are a fucking insect to me. Act like it.”
Bill let himself whimper. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes . Bill didn't play stupid games, and he only won prizes he wanted. That meant he wanted this. He'd earned it.
OR: "I went to The Theraprism and all I got was this stupid sexual complex"