#I love drawing little Tate so much

[star-cloves]

As an apology for my last post, a quick comic of Fiddleford and Tate being happy :)

[themuseofbaroque]

astro obvs. & notes #1 - general

author’s note - this is for entertainment purposes only, none of this is fact. these are simply my own opinions!

- neptune 1H 🤝 pisces rising, noticing their eyes first. the water influence to these placements adds something that draws you in like a current, no pun intended. i used to work with a pisces rising, and she literally looked like a pretty fish (lmfao) big, shiny eyes. either of these placements can find it incredibly easy to appear sensual or seductive.

- speaking of water placements! i’ve also noticed pisces placements tend to take a lot of pictures around water. beaches, hot tubs, rivers.

- this can also be said for air signs (esp. libra) but with things they enjoy! i’m always seeing personal interest posts from libras, aquarians and geminis. music, video games, political causes, shows they’re watching, food, celebrities, etc. anything they like, they post. anything.

- i’ve never laughed harder than when i’m with people who have heavy gemini, capricorn, sagittarius and leo placements

- in my personal opinion and experience, capricorn risings are what people think scorpio rising is. i’ve only met one scorpio rising irl (that i know of) and she did not fit martian/plutonian ruling at all. celebrity examples ⬇️

kim hongjoong of ateez. the intimidation factor, the style, sex appeal, the interest in piercings/tattoos. he’s a capricorn rising, with his chart ruler, saturn, in the sign of aries so we see a lot of red/martian influence from him as well.

megan fox. she’s been a little fuckin weird ever since she dated mgk (that man makes me physically ill to look at much less read about) but! she had her bad bitch moments! being known primarily for her sex appeal + starring in jennifer’s body (a gothic treasure btw) i feel is very scorpio coded however she herself is a capricorn rising, with a sagittarius saturn in the 11h, more fire influence from her as well just like with hongjoong.

joan jett. THEE female guitarist of the 80s. her whole career was surrounded by sex, scandals, drugs, all the darker themes of rock n roll in general. she’s another fire ruled capricorn rising and a sagittarius saturn in the 11h like megan. her style and even her personality has an edge to it, much more fitting for scorpio/plutonian stereotypes rather the capricorn ones. imo.

- actors who’ve done major/recognizable roles in horror usually have a capricorn neptune. neptune is imagination and capricorn is ruled by the devil card in tarot. combine the two and you have quite literally = dark imagination. celebrity examples ⬇️

mia goth staring in the X series as the main face of the trilogy

bill skarsgard being the main face of the IT remake as pennywise

evan peters as tate langdon in AHS, he also played jeffery dahmer recently for netflix.

- capricorn actually shows up quite a bit in the horror genre, esp. gore and paranormal. both actors and writers.

- sagittarius too, oddly enough. a lot of well known faces of horror have major sagittarius placements/stelliums/jupiter dominance.

- underdeveloped cancer placements are more manipulative and two faced than geminis. i see so much gem slander on here, and don’t get me wrong, i love both cancer and gemini placements! however i’ve met and befriended quite a few of both, and cancers by far have been the common denominator in issues around them more than once. stirring the pot then turning around and playing the victim when people are frustrated, lying, playing both sides to better their own situation, and even playing people against each other. i’ve never seen such hateful behaviors from the geminis i know irl.

- aries men are much shyer compared to the women

- taurus women i’ve met irl get pregnant very easily. venus? good coochie? idk

- grand trines are some of the most beautiful people i’ve ever seen (a grand trine is when someone’s big 3, so sun/moon/rising, are in the same element but in all 3 different signs. ex: virgo sun, taurus moon, capricorn rising)

- queer individuals with pisces placements can pass as straight pretty easily if they wanted to. most of them are chameleons

- aries risings i’m so sorry for the household you had growing up. i see martian childhoods usually being the ones who dealt with screaming matches, toxic parents, poverty and underlying issues with siblings that last into adulthood

- i’m not surprised at all when libra placements tell me they’re in college for a general studies degree because they can’t figure out what they wanna do yet

- a lot of fan favorite female characters in video games are canonically cancers

- if you think your rising sign doesn’t suit you very well, try looking at whatever planet correlates with your gender identity. masculine: sun and mars, feminine: venus and moon. the houses and signs of these should help you out a little bit

- libra placements absolutely get favoritism at least once in their life, jobs/family dynamics especially

- sagittarius women usually have rough love lives, at least in the beginning. a lot of them try to save and help partners who don’t deserve it and they get hurt badly in the process. same goes with pisces women

- virgo venus is not that bad of a placement as stereotypes make it out to be. clean freaks? yes. perfectionists? usually, yes. loyal? yes. remember the small things? yes. romantic? no. at least not in a cheesy way. sensual? yes.

- lilith aspects to any of the big 3 is a bad bitch placement. honorable mention is venus/lilith aspects as well

- air signs like spicy food just as much as fire signs

- a lot of rappers have heavy mercurial placements (virgo and gemini) (3h and 6h)

- mc aspecting venus in anyway is usually the person who fools around with coworkers/may even cheat on a partner with someone they work with. most people with this placement have definitely had a partner at one point or another worried about someone they work with. may be the type to have a “work wife”/“work husband”

- 6h chiron is the person who’s life has been majorly impacted by their own or someone else’s health. disabilities, chronic illnesses, stds, limb amputation, skin grafts, etc.

- aries moon and mercury combo = bad potty mouth, cursing is an almost unbreakable habit

- speaking of aries! aries and aquarius placements together in any of these ➡️ moon, venus, mars, lilith, pluto ➡️ usually have a tendency to jump around from partner to partner very quickly, including falling back into exes. their thoughts and opinions on people and things change SO quickly that they usually are the kind of people who have rosters (unintentionally). they are upfront, they don’t lie or drag anyone along but they do seem to be restless when it comes to romance. even if they don’t physically date a lot, they may often THINK of it, their minds going a million miles a minute

- geminis do not get the rep they deserve for being freaks. not only does the sign traditionally rule the throat/lungs/hands/nervous system, (choking, breath play, hickies, hand fetish/fingering, blindfolding and sub/dom dynamics) but it’s also ruled by the lovers card in tarot 👁️👁️

- fixed signs 🤝 tattoos

- sagittarius/capricorn/pisces/libra placements usually have issues with religion/spirituality growing up. either they were forced into one as kids and they have an unhealthy relationship with their god now as an adult or they simply struggle to find something that feels true to them. this is just my experience but every single friend i’ve had who’s left the christian church, had an interest in paganism/buddhism, joined the satanic temple, grew up as strict catholics, etc, have had these placements. religion is a revolving door for them and it’s a common subject of struggle in their life

- women with pisces placements tend fall into unhealthy relationships very easily, especially if they’re heterosexual and dating men. they fall in love with the idea of love before the actual person presenting it. they are bossed around very easy and usually don’t like confrontation. honorable mentions for this as well: pisces stellium, cancer stellium/mercury/saturn, 7h saturn

- cheesy hallmark movies make me think of taurus/libra venus placements, 7h venus as well

- 5h cancer/moon/venus, cancer rising/moon dom, 5h/8h synastry aspects please be wary of accidental pregnancies! wrap it before you tap it cause y’all extra fertile 💀

- most well known streamers/youtubers have 10h stelliums, including their venus. a lot of them will end up dating another social media presence/someone who shares a platform/job with them

yay first post! pardon any spelling errors i’m proof reading this half asleep ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

[theostrophywife]

la petite mort.

pairing: regulus black x reader.

song inspiration: greedy by tate mcrae.

author's note: you guys, the wonka press tour is going to be the death of me. timothee looks so hot and therefore it gave me extra inspiration to finish this little piece.

Regulus Black was first and foremost a gentleman.

Before you started dating, Regulus was adamant about courting you properly. Your boyfriend was a bit old-fashioned that way, but you absolutely adored it. During your first date, Regulus took you out to the fanciest restaurant in town, opened the door for you, pulled out your chair, and didn’t even blink twice before sliding his card down when the check came. 

Ever since then, Regulus spoiled you rotten. Every day, he walked you to class, carried your bag and books, and even left sweet little notes for you to find throughout the day. In the eyes of the public, Regulus Black was the picture of the perfect gentleman, but in private, your boyfriend was anything but.

There was a dark side to Regulus. A side that you took great delight in awakening. Tonight, you were more determined than ever to push your boyfriend to his limits. 

It was a typical Friday night. You and Regulus were at his dorm for your weekly study date. Except you really weren’t in the mood to study. You were laying on your stomach on his bed, absentmindedly flipping through the potions manual in front of you. The assignment was to translate the text from French, but you hardly had more than a few sentences transcribed on your parchment. You were much too distracted at the moment. 

While the manual failed to capture your attention, Regulus did not. Your boyfriend was sitting across the room reading some obscure tome about dark magic. He leaned over the wooden desk, the sleeves of his shirt rolled just past his elbows, which gave you the perfect view of the veins on his forearms. His green and silver tie hung loosely around his neck, exposing the perfectly kissable column of his throat. 

Unaware of your ogling, Regulus twirled his wand between his fingers as his features pinched in concentration. Those angelic curls grazed his impossibly high cheekbones, drawing your attention to the smattering of freckles across his nose. As he read, Regulus mouthed the words silently, his lips curving around the vowels in the most delicious way. His green eyes burned intensely, illuminated by the warm glow of the lantern beside him. 

Abandoning your assignment, you dragged yourself off of the bed and sidled up behind him. Regulus melted into your touch as you massaged his shoulders. He looked up and the light hit his eyes just right, golden spears bursting through the rich green hues like a kaleidoscope. 

Regulus grabbed your chin and dragged your face down to his, planting a sweet kiss against your lips. You hummed against his mouth, eager to deepen the otherwise chaste kiss. You felt him smile at your enthusiasm before he gently tugged at your hair, forcing you to look at him once again. 

“Did you finish your translations, my love?’ 

You shook your head. “No, I think I need a study break.”

Regulus tutted. “Come show me what you’ve done so far and I’ll tell you if you’ve earned one.”

You pouted. It wasn’t very often that Regulus denied your request. Usually, he bent over backwards just to make you happy, so when he didn’t immediately grant you what you wanted, you couldn’t help but act like an absolute brat. Patience had never been your strong suit and Regulus knew that. 

Your boyfriend watched with an amused smirk as you retrieved your manual and parchment with a little frown on your face. You set the studying materials down on his desk and crossed your arms. 

“Where am I supposed to sit?”

Regulus patted his lap. “Right here is fine, darling.”

He almost chuckled at how quickly your mood brightened after that, but he didn’t want to give himself away. Regulus knew exactly what you wanted and he had every intention of making you work for it. You made yourself right at home on his lap, rubbing your arse against his crotch. He would’ve been embarrassed at how hard he already was underneath you, but Regulus had absolutely no shame when it came to his girl. 

“Why don’t you read what you have so far, mon amour?”

You began by reading the ingredients, which listed the main components of the potion. Those were easy enough to translate given that the terms were quite similar in each language. Regulus urged you to continue and you had no choice but to fumble through the instructions, which you had undoubtedly mucked up after getting distracted by him. 

“Faire chauffer à feu doux,” you said reluctantly.

Regulus shook his head. “Faire chauffer à feu fort,” he corrected in perfect French.

It was rather pathetic how hot and bothered you were over boiling instructions, but you couldn’t stop squirming at how attractive it was to hear your boyfriend speak the language of love. Regulus bid you to continue, which you did rather distractedly. 

You struggled through the next few sentences, pressing your thighs together every time Regulus corrected your pronunciation. “You have to roll your tongue, darling. Like this.” 

After Regulus demonstrated by rolling his tongue and sounding out the word flawlessly, your skin felt so hot that you were surprised you hadn’t burst into flames. As you stuttered over the next few sentences, you felt Regulus shuffle underneath you. He slowly unbuckled his belt and slid off his pants. You stopped mid-sentence when he lifted up your skirt. 

Regulus slapped your thigh so hard that the action made you jerk in his lap. “I didn’t say you could stop. Keep reading, love.”

“Trancher de la racine aux pointes—“ you stammered lamely through the words as his hands roamed underneath your skirt. 

You held your breath as he palmed you through the cotton fabric. Regulus smirked when he felt how wet and needy you were for him. He pulled your panties to the side, not bothering to take them off as he caressed your slit. Coating his index and middle fingers with your arousal, Regulus spread your wetness all along your folds. 

A pathetic little whimper escaped your lips. Regulus grabbed your chin and turned you towards him. “I told you to keep reading,” he growled. “Start that section over and don't stop or I’ll make you regret it. Do you understand, princess?”

With a nod, you continued to decipher the next section. Regulus hummed in approval as he lifted your hips. You gripped the parchment as your boyfriend positioned you over his length before thrusting his cock inside of you without warning. 

You bit your lip to keep your moan in. “What are you doing, Reg?” 

Regulus chuckled darkly. “You didn’t think I’d let you get away with acting like a spoiled fucking brat, did you?” You gasped as he sheathed himself in your warmth, filling you to the hilt and nearly making you squirm with pleasure. “You wanted my cock so I’m giving it to you, but I’m not moving until you finish your assignment.” 

The whine that escaped out of you made him smirk. “Now be a good girl so you can get your reward, yeah?” 

Your boyfriend stayed true to his word. Every time you translated a phrase correctly, Regulus rewarded you with a slow thrust. He grunted as he drove deeper into you, whispering praises of encouragement in your ear. 

“My smart girl,” Regulus declared proudly, littering kisses against your neck. “Keep going, baby. You want more, don’t you?” 

The growing need for him distracted you. When you pronounced a word wrong, Regulus pulled all the way out until only his tip teased along your folds. You whimpered at the loss, loathing the hollow and empty feeling it left you with. 

Regulus grabbed you by the throat. “Salé means savory, sucré is sweet. I’m disappointed. I know you know this, darling. Let’s refresh.” He pressed his lips against yours and you ached to kiss him, but you knew that he wouldn’t be pleased if you did so without permission. “Say it with me. Salé.” 

You swallowed thickly as he spoke the words against your mouth. The smooth way that the word rolled off of his tongue made you clench around him. Regulus smirked as you repeated the word, slightly stuttering while you struggled to stay still. 

“Salé.” 

“Does it turn you on when I speak French, mon amour?” You nodded silently, not trusting yourself with words at the moment. “I know it does, gorgeous girl. I can tell by the way your pretty little pussy is clenching around my cock. Poor thing, you must be aching to be fucked, aren’t you?” 

Tears pricked at your eyes. You wanted him so badly that it actually hurt. Regulus wiped the errant tear away with his thumb. “One more, darling. Surely you can manage.” He tilted your chin up and spoke the last word against your lips. “Sucré.”

“Sucré,” you repeated obediently.

“What does it mean?” 

“Sweet.” 

“Just like you, pretty girl.” Regulus kissed your cheek. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now you can have your study break.” 

You sighed in relief when Regulus finally kissed you. The chaste kiss from earlier was gone. Instead, he claimed your mouth with his tongue, leaving open mouthed kisses that had you tugging at his curls for more. He smiled as you grinded into him, making him grunt in pleasure as you lowered onto his length.

“So eager, aren’t we? Where do you want me, mon amour? Here or on the bed?”

“Neither,” you gasped into his mouth before glancing at the desk behind you. 

He chuckled when he realized what you meant. “Is this what you were thinking about, love? Couldn’t focus on your work because you were imagining me bending you over that desk?” 

You nodded. “Yes,” you breathed. “Please, Reg. I need you so bad.” 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty when you beg.” Regulus shifted and patted your thigh. “Come on, darling. Bend over for me. Let me fuck you on this desk until you cry.” 

Regulus watched with lust blown eyes as you bent over the wooden desk. He flipped your skirt up and palmed your ass, the cold bite of his rings sending shivers down your spine. You bit your lip as Regulus loosened his tie. He smirked as he slid it off his neck. 

“Put your arms behind your back, mon cœur.” 

You eagerly obeyed his command. Regulus pinned your wrists together and bound you with his tie. Pressing your cheek against the wood, he stripped you of your shirt and kissed along your spine. Regulus leaned over and slipped a hand underneath your lacy bra, squeezing your tits as he positioned himself behind you. His other hand guided his cock at your entrance. Regulus slipped in slowly, giving you inch after delicious inch. 

“Merde,” Regulus cursed. “You feel so fucking good, princess.” 

Once he started moving, you were reduced to a blubbering mess. Regulus was relentless as he fucked you from behind, his fingers digging into your hips while he drove in and out of you. The parchment and quills that were neatly laid out on his desk clattered to the ground with every slam of his hips. The desk rattled against the wall while he fucked you into oblivion. 

You pressed your cheek against the wood, the sound of your moans bouncing off the walls while you begged for more. “Baise-moi fort, Regulus.” 

Regulus hissed, thrusting into you with force just like you asked. The line between pain and pleasure blurred. Warm tears coated your cheeks as he pushed your body to the limit. Regulus pulled your hair and tugged him towards you for a sloppy kiss. Your legs shook underneath you as he slapped your ass. You could feel the imprint of his rings brand itself into your skin. He timed his thrusts with each smack, making you wetter and wetter by the second. 

He brushed your hair back, kissing your cheek. Regulus placed his hand on your stomach and pressed down just as he rutted into you. “Feel that, princess? This is what I think about all day. Burying myself so deep inside you that you can’t even form words.” You babbled in response, whatever words you were trying to form came out entirely incoherent. “Have I fucked you dumb, darling? You should know better than to ask me to fuck you harder. You know I have no control when it comes to you, Y/N.” 

You cried as he slammed into you. “S’too much, Reggie. I—I can’t take anymore—“

Regulus only laughed. “That’s too fucking bad, princess. You begged like a whore, so you get fucked like one too.” He licked a stripe against your neck before leaving love bites on every surface of your skin. 

There was nothing your boyfriend loved more than claiming your body like this. He smiled as you whimpered, knowing that you’d be marked and bruised for days to come. Though your cheeks were stained with tears, Regulus knew you could take more. Your body told him everything he needed to know. The way you fluttered around him indicated that you were close. He was definitely pushing your limit, but Regulus had a habit of coaxing you out of your comfort zone to provide the most mind-blowing orgasms that you’ve ever experienced. 

“Cum for me, mon amour.” 

White hot heat surged through your veins. You moaned his name while the orgasm crested like a wave, washing over your body like a biblical flood. For a second, it felt like your soul had left your body entirely. The phrase la petite mort flashed in your mind. The little death, the French called it. 

Just when you thought that the high was finally leveling out, Regulus picked you up and placed you on the desk. He untied your wrists before kneeling between your legs. Regulus smirked as he kissed along the inside of your thighs. Those pretty eyes flashed with mischief as he bit into your flesh. 

“Hang on, pretty girl. I’m not done with you yet.” 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as Regulus lapped up your arousal. He kissed and sucked at your wet cunt like they were hauling him off to Azkaban at any given moment. Your boyfriend grunted when you tugged at his luscious curls, utterly turned on by your roughness. When Regulus looked up at you through thick, dark lashes with his mouth dripping with your cum, you couldn’t help but shiver at the sight. 

You loved seeing Regulus like this. You loved knowing that only you could awaken this dark and dangerous side of him. 

“Oh god, Reg,” you keened, arching against his mouth. “Fuck, I love you.” 

Regulus hummed in approval, spelling out his initials against your folds. The curve of R.A.B. branded itself into your core in the most erotic way possible. The message was clear. You belonged to Regulus and Regulus alone. 

As he worked, Regulus pumped himself between his fingers. You could feel him edging towards release just as a second orgasm washed over you. Regulus looked up when you tugged at his hair. 

“Don’t cum yet, baby,” you said hoarsely. “Not until you’re inside me again.” 

“Mon dieu, you kill me when you say things like that.” Regulus hissed as he wrapped your legs around his waist. The groan that escaped his lips as he slipped inside of you again was downright vulgar. “My filthy fucking girl. I love being inside of you.”

You whimpered in response, bringing him closer as he pounded into you again and again. “I love when you fill me up, Reg. You’re the only one who can make me feel like this. You’re the only one who can fuck me like I need. Gods, you’re perfect.” 

“You feel so fucking good,” Regulus whispered against your lips. “Gods, I’m so close.”

“I know, Reggie. I know.” You kissed him, sighing as you canted your hips to match his rhythm. “I want to feel you cum inside of me, pretty boy.” 

Regulus grunted, his thrusts growing sloppy and desperate. Your words sent him over the edge and he came with a gasp, biting into your shoulder to keep himself from waking up the dungeons. You held him as the orgasm seized his body, whispering sweet nothings into his ear and following the praise with adoring kisses. 

Your heart warmed as he gazed lovingly up at you. He pulled out slowly, peppering kisses all over your face but never taking his eyes off of you. The way Regulus looked at you made you feel like you were the only girl in the world. 

“Reg?” you murmured. 

“Yes, my love?” 

“I think I like studying after all.” Regulus chuckled against your skin, his curls tickling your neck. “You’re excellent at inspiring motivation.” 

“Anything for you, mon amour. I was a goner the second you called me pretty boy.” 

“Is that so?” You teased, kissing the tip of his nose. “Well, you are, you know. You’re my pretty boy.” 

“Don’t say that unless you’re ready for another round.” 

“I’m always ready for you, Reggie. I can’t get enough.”

Regulus picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bed. “Je t'aime de tout mon cœur, my cheeky girl.”

“I love you too, Regulus Arcturus Black.” You smiled and kissed his temple. “With all my heart.”

[millenianthemums]

chapter 3 of my fic is up! i actually posted it a week ago, but was too tired to finish the art until now… i might not actually be able to draw for every single chapter, but i still wanna try. we’ll see.

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First chapter

Mabel had become best friends with Tate McGucket’s new dog in under a week. She knew she would eventually, but still, that was record time. And with all the old friends she’d been tirelessly catching up with in her first few days back in Gravity Falls, she was both proud and preemptively exhausted to have added a new friend to the list already.

It helped that Scout Cottonball McGucket was the absolute sweetest puppy she’d ever met (a puppy that was taller than her on two legs was a puppy nonetheless). She was one of those huge fluffy white dogs– a Great Pyranese, Dipper had said– and her heart was just as soft and sweet and cuddly as the rest of her. Hence “Cottonball”, the unauthorized middle name Mabel had secretly given her. The plan was to get it to stick so well that by the time Tate found out about it, it would be impossible to get rid of it.

So when she cycled by the lake and saw Tate out in the rain that afternoon, and managed to wrangle out of him that Scout was missing , of course she was going to help look. Total no-brainer. Her search-and-rescue strategy of biking along the treeline at a snail pace while whistling and calling Scout’s name wasn’t exactly sophisticated, but before long she caught a lucky break. She started hearing a weird noise through the rain, a distant but piercing screech. At first she assumed it was a red fox or maybe a mountain lion screaming its head off somewhere in the woods, and tried to steer clear of it. But then a series of powerful barks joined it– Scout’s beautiful voice!-- and Mabel’s self-preservation fled. No way was some wailing overgrown house cat gonna hurt her new friend on her watch!

She swerved toward the noise, yelling for Scout, and soon a shape barrelled toward her out of the darkness. She was only terrified for a split second, but then she saw its wagging tail and leapt off her bike to give the dog a massive hug. Scout jumped and wagged and danced around joyfully as Mabel scrubbed her hands all through her thick coat. “You’re okay!” she cheered as Scout nuzzled her face. “We were all so worried, young lady… aww, I can’t stay mad at you! Maybe just– oof–” she shoved Scout’s massive paws off her shoulders and tried to wipe the muddy pawprints off her sweater before they soaked into the wool. “Maybe just settle down a little– whoa! Hey! Oh, you’re such a silly–”

“YOU.”

She recognized the voice right away. Part of her brain had never stopped hearing it. Her head turned toward it against her will, and standing there in the woods, staring her down, was exactly what she was most afraid to see.

Bill Cipher. The triangle guy who almost killed the entire world last time she’d been here. The monster who tricked her into helping him almost tear her family apart. The thing that had almost scared her into not coming back this year, into abandoning this place and the people she loved so much, out of fear that she’d somehow mess it all up again. The single worst thing that had ever happened to her. He was standing right in front of her. The streaks of mud and bruising, bloody gashes all over his face (body? surface?) made him look like he’d just clawed his way straight out of Hell, and the look in his eye seemed to say that he’d done it just to tear her apart with his bare hands.

She was dreaming. She had to be dreaming. Please, please let her be dreaming. Let her wake up…

Then he started talking, and she realized something was off.

“YYYOUUU DIDTHIISSSS,” was all she could really make out. He was saying lots more stuff, but the words were blurring together, so clumsy and slurred that it didn’t even sound like language. He started trying to walk toward her– walk , like on the ground , which she’d never seen him do in his triangle form. And he was barely managing it. Every raindrop that hit him seemed to be weighing him down as he approached, oozing blood— weird silver blood with an eye-melting rainbow sheen— from countless gashes on his arms and legs, and even between the brick things on his body/face. The finger gun he was holding out seemed like it was supposed to be aiming at her, but his whole arm was shaking more than the leaves in the summer storm. He trailed off speaking— the only other thing she’d caught was “I WON’T”— and his eye locked on her face. His eye was bloodshot, pink, shiny and sticky, like a wad of chewed gum. It looked horribly painful. Everything about him looked painful.

As she stared, his pupil shrank to a tiny point. His eye turned bright red, and the redness spread out into his bricks— scales?— like a fire burning behind drywall. For a second she thought he was about to turn into that giant crimson nightmare pyramid he’d shapeshifted into last year, and she almost turned and ran as he let out a scream and started to run at her…

…and fell on his face.

Mabel and Scout stood there, staring in silence, as Bill Cipher laid face-down and motionless in the mud. The woods were still filled with the low roar of rain, but somehow Mabel felt a heavy silence crushing her lungs.

Once her heart had stopped beating so fast, she risked a step toward him. Scout made a soft rumble of warning, but let her approach. Bill gave absolutely no sign that he knew she was there as she drew closer, until she was standing right beside him, close enough to see the gold scales on his back heaving rhythmically up and down. Slow, labored breathing. Had she ever seen him breathe before? She didn’t think he even did that. At least not normally. But from the looks of it, this was hardly a normal day for him. He really did look awful. One of his arms was a bloody mess, leather skin all ragged and torn. He probably had Scout to thank for that. She gave the dog an affectionate scratch behind her ear.

But the torn-up arm was far from his only injury. And she didn’t know how to tell health from illness in… whatever he was… but she was pretty sure he was usually a much brighter shade of yellow than this. He looked drained of color.

After several seconds of nothing happening, she noticed a big, durable-looking stick lying at the base of a nearby tree. She retrieved it, and after a few deep breaths and a bit of hyping herself up– “if he was gonna jump up and grab you he could have done it by now” -- she held out the stick and gave him a slight but purposeful nudge.

Nothing. He just barely twitched enough to show he was still alive. He was totally out cold.

She was getting concerned. That was a new experience, feeling concern for Bill. He’d done so much terrible stuff, but still… was she watching a man die? Or a triangle, rather? Was she about to see a triangle die?

A voice in the distance cut through the rain. Mabel jumped back and held the stick like a baseball bat on reflex. Then she recognized it, just as Scout’s tail started wagging. It was Tate McGucket’s voice. “Mabel? Scout? Is that you out there?”

“It’s us! Hi!” Mabel chirped, then realized her mistake. Leading Tate toward Bill would almost definitely end with somebody dying. And whoever it ended up being, she just really didn’t want to see that. With a few more quick, anxious nudges, she managed to shove Bill most of the way under a nearby bush just as Tate’s flashlight beam swept through the trees to find them. Scout took off running toward it and Mabel quickly followed, snagging the handlebars of her bike along the way. She arrived in time to see Tate grinning and ruffling Scout’s furry face as she stood with her paws on his chest. He looked up to see Mabel and quickly shoved the dog off him. “I keep tellin’ you not to jump like that, girl!” he said sternly.

“She must’ve run off chasing something,” Mabel offered as casually as possible. “But she ran up as soon as she heard me! She’s a good puppy!”

“Wish she minded me half that well,” he grumbled, patting Scout on the head. “Good on you for findin’ her, Mabel. I really can’t thank you enough–”

“You don’t have to thank me!” Mabel said, shooing the thought away with her hands. “I’m always happy to help out a friend!” Scout gave a quiet, appreciative “boof” as she scratched her ear.

“Let me drive you back home, then,” Tate said. “You shouldn’t be biking in this rain anyway. ‘Specially once it gets dark.”

Mabel shot an involuntary glance at the bushes behind her. If she left now, she might not find this same spot again. And if she lost track of Bill, if she went home not knowing if he was still out there somewhere, or if he might follow her…

“...Well, the others aren’t expecting me back ‘til eight,” she said slowly. That was true; she’d been out cycling well past sunset most nights since she and Dipper arrived. Ever since she’d gotten really into biking in the fall, she’d been eager to try out the trails in Gravity Falls, and now she was getting as much use out of them as she could. The Grunkles were cool with it. They both figured a girl who’d helped fight off a paranormal apocalypse could handle herself in the dark woods for an hour or two. And they were right, she thought proudly. She’d gotten really fast on her bike in the past few months. She could probably outspeed a grizzly bear with ease. Those guys were way too big and bulky to pedal well.

“Plus, I think the rain’s supposed to let up soon,” she continued. “Would it be okay if I just hung around the bait shop for a little bit, and then biked home after?”

“Sure thing,” Tate said, looking grateful for something to offer. “I’ll tell the missus to put some tea on. Scout, heel.” He clicked his fingers, and Scout followed close beside him as he headed back to the house.

Mabel waited until his back was turned. Then she picked up the stick again and drove it hard into the ground, at the base of the bush that hid Bill. Backing up a bit, making sure it would stay upright, she nodded to herself. It would work well enough as a landmark.

“I’ll come back later,” she whispered under her breath as she trailed behind Tate and Scout. “If he’s gone, I’ll run home and tell Dipper and the Grunkles. And if he’s dead, then… problem solved. I think.”

And if this is all a trick? Some cynical part of her brain piped up. If he’s luring you back into some kind of trap, then what? You gonna fall for it like last time?

“No,” she whispered back through gritted teeth. “Not again.”

One hand wandered to the cupholder on her bike that held her grappling hook. Fingers resting on its handle, she followed the others out of the woods.

The sun had fully hidden behind the horizon by the time Mabel left. The rain had lightened to a gentle mist, barely noticeable really, and she hadn’t wanted to stay out too late. So once she’d finished her tea (augmented with all the spare sugar packets Mrs. McGucket had claimed to own), she’d said goodbye to Scout and her humans and set out for home. She sent a quick text to Dipper on the way out, letting him know she’d be a little bit late getting back. Just got sidetracked, sorry, nothing to worry about.

But there was something to worry about. She saw the stick loom out of the darkness as she cycled up. The rain had almost washed it out of the ground, leaving it standing crooked. The sharp, jutting angle reminded her of that picture Dipper showed her once of a nuclear waste dump or something, where they’d put some scary black spikes in a desert to try and scare people away. “This place is best shunned and left uninhabited”.

She shouldn’t be doing this. This was so stupid. It didn’t make any sense to get closer.

But she was already standing over the bush. She wrenched the stick out of the ground and gripped it like a sword. She held it at arm’s length and pushed aside the foliage, reaching back for the grappling hook in her pocket with her other hand.

The dim light glinted off something shiny and yellow. She drew back a step, instinctive, but the shape didn’t jump at her. It didn’t move at all. Bill Cipher was still exactly where she’d left him.

Did he actually die? She felt her chest tighten, which was stupid. It was good if he was dead. He was already supposed to be dead. She should be thrilled to think he might have died under that bush, all his threats left unfulfilled.

Did I just walk away while he was dying?

Her hand was shaking. She tried to draw the stick back, but it bumped against one of his arms as it went.

It twitched. The fist clenched and drew back in toward the body. Mabel almost bit through her tongue from flinching too hard, but there was no further movement.

He was alive. Barely.

Mabel’s chest was so tight, it felt like she couldn’t breathe. This was the worst case scenario. He wasn’t gone somewhere. He didn’t jump up and scare her and at least provide some clue about what was going on. And he wasn’t dead. But he probably would be in a few hours. And there was nobody in the world who would ever possibly help. Nobody who even could, except her.

This was so STUPID. You already helped him once, Mabel. Remember? You helped him almost kill your whole family. You really wanna go another round?

But thinking about just walking away made her feel sick. She’d never just walked away from something that was dying before. How many wasps had she fished out of pools in her life? How many times had her parents scolded her for bringing wounded squirrels and raccoons inside? Those were bad ideas too. “Trash the house and get stung” ideas. But the wasps and squirrels and raccoons all lived. If she hadn’t done that stupid thing, they would have died. Not helping had never even felt like an option.

“He already died once before,” she whispered to the angry voice in her head. “He might come back again, someplace else, and cause a bunch more problems we don’t even know about until it’s too late.” She popped open the little wicker trunk on the back of her bike and pulled out her emergency picnic blanket. “Maybe if I, like, put him somewhere secure. And keep a good close eye on him. And then when he wakes up, I can get some answers here.”

The angry voice wasn’t convinced by her rationalizations. It kept yelling about how stupid she was as she draped the blanket over Bill, then gingerly lifted him, using the blanket like gloves, too scared to touch him directly. He weighed practically nothing; about the same as a large picture frame. The voice kept berating her as she shoved him into the bike’s front basket– no way was she putting him in the trunk and pedaling all the way home with her back to him. The front basket was just big enough that, with the blanket over him, he looked like a misshapen, mostly unsuspicious lump. She biked along the side of the road, eyes flickering back and forth between the basket and the pavement ahead, for the whole ride home. The voice was still at it by the time she leaned her bike against the wall of the Mystery Shack, but the louder and meaner it got, the less inclined she felt to listen to its advice. She knew this was a dumb idea. But she’d come this far, and there were no other good options.

They’d discovered, like, six new secret rooms since Grunkle Ford first made it back home. Some of them even he had forgotten about. There was one in the basement that she and Dipper had taken to calling “Gay Baby Jail”, because they’d started a habit of banishing defeated board game opponents down there. Also because it was small, cramped, almost empty, and only had one tiny, high window into the backyard, which for some reason had bars on it.

For all these reasons, it was the perfect habitat for Bill. There was a bathroom in the back, and they’d spruced the room up with a beanbag chair and one of those empty wooden chests from the gift shop, just to tie the room together. He’d be fine in there. Probably.

It was easy to sneak in the back door and down to the basement. Dipper, Stan and Ford were all chatting in the kitchen, working on dinner. It smelled like something was on fire, but she still really wished she was in there with them. This was to keep them safe, she reminded herself as she eased open the door to Gay Baby Jail.

She turned the blanket bundle upside down and dumped Bill out onto the beanbag chair. He was still out cold, lying there in a pile of noodly limbs, but at least he was still breathing. She dropped the blanket on top of him and backed away.

Looking him over, she frowned. A small bite wound on his arm was still oozing silver blood. It would ruin the beanbag chair pretty soon. She sighed and started digging through her pockets.

Gingerly, with as few fingers as possible, she pressed a sky blue band-aid over the wound. “You didn’t earn that,” she whispered. “That’s for practical reasons only.”

With one last look around the room, she jabbed a finger at him. “I’ll be back,” she said, practicing her Interrogation Voice. “And when you wake up, I want answers, Geometry Boy.”

Bill stayed asleep. Mabel shut the door, locked it, tested the lock. It held strong.

She took a deep breath and straightened up, switching from Serious Mode back to Mabel Mode. Then she snuck back outside, knocked on the front door, and joined her family for dinner.

[ilikethisacompletelynormalamount]

Andrew Scott, Vogue: April 2024.

by Zing Tsjeng, Photos by Annie Leibovitz

Ripley, in other words, is the hero of the tale. “That’s why he fascinates so many,” says Scott. “There’s been so many iterations of him. I think it’s because people root for him.” Actors like Alain Delon and Dennis Hopper have tried the role; Matt Damon played him as an obsequious, lower-class naïf; John Malkovich, as a slimy, camp killer. Scott’s Ripley is different; a watchful loner escaping rodent-infested poverty, more at home among art than he is around people. Musician and actor Johnny Flynn plays his first victim—the monied Dickie Greenleaf—and Dakota Fanning is Dickie’s suspicious ex-girlfriend. “I find Tom quite vulnerable,” Scott tells me. “I don’t think he’s necessarily lonely, but I certainly think he’s solitary…. He seems to me by his nature that he just can’t fit in. He’s trying to survive.”

In Ripley, Zaillian extracts maximum Hitchcockian dread from every creaky footstep. But most sinister of all is Scott’s face, which exhibits a sharklike steeliness throughout. It’s a performance that exudes queasy force. Is Ripley a scammer, a psychopath, or both? “There’s so many things lurking beneath him that I’ve been very reluctant to diagnose him with anything. I never thought of him as a sociopath or murderous,” Scott declares. “It’s up to everybody else to characterize him or call him whatever they want.”

As we weave through tourists near the Tower of London, barely anybody notices Scott, save for a faint glimmer of recognition among mainly young women. He seems to draw reassurance from it. “I don’t like to think about it too much, if I’m honest,” he muses of fame. “I find it a little bit, er, frightening.” He is known but not blockbuster-recognizable, although he is in the upcoming Back in Action with Cameron Diaz and Jamie Foxx. What stunts did he do? “I can’t give that away, I’m afraid, or somebody from Netflix will come and shoot me in the head.”

What’s been on Scott’s mind the most hasn’t been acting at all, in fact, but art. As a 17-year-old, he was offered his first movie role on the same day he was given a scholarship to study painting. He chose acting, but has recently been thinking about Oliver Burkeman’s philosophical self-help tract from 2021, Four Thousand Weeks, which makes the case for focusing on the five things you truly want to accomplish. “For me at the moment, it’s like, What do you want to do? What do you want to say?”

He scrolls through his phone to show me his work. There’s a watercolor of a couple arguing in a restaurant in rich reds and greens, line drawings of friends and people on the beach, and two self-portraits. “It’s a bit weird,” he acknowledges of his depiction of himself, all bulbous forehead and Pan-like tufts of hair. His brisk, nervy lines are reminiscent of Egon Schiele or Francis Bacon, who turns out to be one of his favorite painters. “Well, God, I’ll take that,” he mutters at the comparison. He would like someday to go to art school. “I don’t ever regret it,” he says of acting. “But I suppose you just get to a stage where you think, What else? That’s one of the big painful things in life for me, where you can’t quite live all the lives.” As he gets older, he feels the tug toward revisiting old working relationships, including with Waller-Bridge: “We’ve definitely got things cooking,” he smiles. “I’d love to work with her again. She’s just a singular, wonderful person.” For her part, Waller-Bridge says: “I’d love to see him do a fully unhinged slapstick comedy character. Someone who is outraged at everything, all of the time.”

As we round the pavement and the Tate Modern looms back into sight, he recalls a poster he received in 2017—a monstrously large graphic that detailed every week in a human life span. “It’s your entire life if you live to 80—you have to fill in all the bits that you’ve already lived,” he remembers in awe, “a visually terrifying gift.” What did he do with it? “I didn’t hold on to it for too long.” Easy come, easy go: We finally finish our loop around the Thames and, as Scott disappears back into the throng, anonymous just the way he likes it, it occurs to me that the actor has many lives to live yet. ■

[doughguts-art]

OFFtober Day 9 - "Fangames/AU" So many fangames I love, so little time! I decided to doodle up some characters I particularly enjoy from just a handful of the fangames I've played. Wish I could draw everyone tho

Tate and Cinnamon Glaze from RISE The villain and the hero! I like how they both are wearing their ties weird. Tate is wearing a t-shirt and just has the tie directly around his neck. Cracks me up!

Buttons and Doux from ONE The living toy and it's owner! I find it so funny that Buttons often tanks more enemy attacks since it's the second party member, and RPGmaker is just like that. In my head it's because Buttons would do anything to protect Doux in Zacharie's absence ;0;

Puppeteer and Seneca from UNKNOWN The hero and the villain! I just adore these two's designs, they're classic. The design is the only thing I like about Seneca tho, diabolical little thing XD

Daren and Danny from START The scarred twins, I love them so much. They deserve to be happy, and I get all teary-eyed when I think about Daren specifically. I like that they both use knives as their weapons, so I included one in the drawing that Daren's holding.

Pilot and Navigator from CONFINIUM These two,, lord do I adore them. CONFINIUM is such a gorgeous game, and the care put into Pilot and Nav's designs and dynamic is obvious. I enjoy these sillies and this game so much.

Anthony and The Mechanic from ALIVE Just obsessed with the creativity involved in making these two characters. Mechanic is so fun to draw, and I really enjoy Anthony's story. I wanna give the shy guy a big hug.

[cinnamorwll]

𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜… ᕱᕱ

ᡣ𐭩 hiii <3 my name is Anthony but you can call me tony!! i'm new to this lovely landscape called tumblr

ᡣ𐭩 my birthday is on the second day of the year every year! and i'm excited to finally turn 17 and have an edward cullen cake

ᡣ𐭩 i'm a boy but i swear i have thoughts!! like why Wi-Fi never works well when i need it most

ᡣ𐭩 i'm a native portuguese speaker and i also speak italian, english and i try to learn spanish but the only thing i do is watch soy luna with subtitles

ᡣ𐭩 i love listening to music, reading, drawing, autumn, vintage stuff, poetry, fashion, self-care, pinterest, video essays, cartoons, hot chocolate, and writing my stories that i plan to turn into films in the future

ᡣ𐭩 music: boygenius, wallows, the smiths, inhaler, blur, cocteau twins, jeff buckley, hozier, ruel, lizzy mcalpine, taylor swift, lana del rey, ethel cain, laufey, reneé rapp, gracie abrams, clairo, madison beer + plenty more!

ᡣ𐭩 actresses: audrey hepburn, shelley duvall, brigitte bardot, sharon tate, brittany murphy, dakota fanning, elle fanning, taylor russell, saoirse ronan & clara bow

ᡣ𐭩 movies: the secret garden, little women, a series of unfortunate events, dead poets society, mysterious skin, coraline, the lovely bones, lady bird, the secret of moonacre, the virgin suicides, uptown girls, matilda, aquamarine, the parent trap & studio ghibli movies!

ᡣ𐭩 tv shows: modern family, gilmore girls, gossip girl, the baby-sitters club, the vampire diaries, the office, brooklyn 99, tslocg, sex and the city, anne with an E, once upon a time, skins, the 100, over the garden wall, hilda & summer camp island!!

ᡣ𐭩 fav colors: preacher’s daughter brown, midnight rain navy blue & dark red ultraviolence (these colors are real, i didn’t make them up)

ᡣ𐭩 here i intend to post collages, “whispers”, things related to films, literature and some of the thoughts that keep me awake at night, like the fact that maybe i’m a lost poem by clarice lispector or a deer transformed into a human

ᡣ𐭩 this is supposed to be a safe place for anyone of any ethnicity, gender identity, etc. but if you’re racist, zionist, homophobic, religious intolerant or practice any other type of prejudice, please leave

ᡣ𐭩 feel free to follow me on my socials and i promise to follow you back!! (except if you're the type of person who doesn't return books that were lent to you)

⋆.˚ pinterest ˚.⋆ ⋆.˚ letterboxd ˚.⋆ ⋆.˚ instagram ˚.⋆

ᡣ𐭩 thank you so much for reading, you can tell that i can talk a lot but i'm also a great listener! so please comment something so we can be mutuals and feel comfortable to DM me <3

[the-universal-sun]

my headcanon is fiddleford being the best caretaker for ford pre-portal incident and for stan post-portal (in my mind they are both regressors). fidds is so very oldest sibling energy to me, and i just know he would make sandwiches with crusts cut off and set up coloring pages or word searches.

- @lavenderslittlespace 💌

(Let’s say this is an alternative universe where Fiddleford doesn’t completely forget everything and Ford comes back sooner than 30 years)

Fiddleford is a father, not the most present, but a father nonetheless. I also like to hc him as an older brother to several siblings, so he knows how to look and after children of several different ages. I figure pre-falling out with Ford, Fidds started caring for him slightly in college, but it went into a caregiver/little relationship during their research. In college it was small things of reminding Ford to eat and sleep, to give himself a couple of hours of rest a day. When they began to work with each other, it started off the same as in college, but Ford seemed different this time, his ramblings seemed more childish, and instead of about advanced mathematics, they were about inane things such as Whales and Boating facts. He followed Fidds around everywhere he went, and seemed less inclined to argue, but more inclined to whine and pout, acting almost like Tate did. Fidds decided that he didn’t really mind taking care of Ford in this way, he was mighty cute, and it fulfilled those fatherly and brotherly instincts of his. It was an adjustment period-mostly for Ford-but they worked through it.

Fidds helped Ford destress and calm down when the work and research made him anxious and run himself ragged. I don’t think Ford would be as open with Fidds as he is with Stan when little, Stan’s his twin, his other half, they get each other like no other. But Fidds is his (second) best friend, he still loves him, so he lets himself let go around him, lets himself drift into that fuzzy headspace where he has no worries and no deadlines. And he trusts that Fidds won’t hurt him and won’t let anyone else hurt him, he trusts him to take care of him. He can trust that Fidds isn’t being mean when he calls Ford “Bookworm” or “Bubs”, and that he’s not tricking him when he brings Ford space themed coloring books with glittery crayons that Ford talked about to get the sparkle of the stars just right. He doesn’t call him a “know it all” when he talks about the books he read. Fidds even got Ford a stuffed Owl he named “Owlbert”. He can be free to draw and talk until his hearts content with his Fidds.

Until Bill gets into his head and Fiddleford briefly goes into the Portal, and leaves, Ford doesn’t regress again without him. And then everything happens in canon, Ford goes through the Portal and then there’s Stan. All alone, without his brother, his better half.

Stan does okay for the first year, he’s focused on supporting himself, paying off Ford’s mortgage and student loans, working through the night in the portal. But the second year happens and Stan starts feeling downtrodden and hopeless and he misses Ford so much that he just sobs and sobs until he finds himself feeling fuzzy and smaller sometimes. Those times he just drags around a coat of Ford’s, puts on a familiar show, he really likes Popeye, and colors. They mostly end up scribbles of color, but he still finds the act relaxing.

A few months of doing…whatever it is he’s doing that calms him down, Fidds comes into the picture. He comes to the cabin to stop Ford after a flash memory of the portal. He finds not Ford, but a sad man that looks like him, but with too few fingers and eyes too weathered. He’s confused, thinking Shifty must’ve broken out of the bunker or something happened with the portal, but Stan calms him down enough to explain that no he’s not a shape shifter and yes he’s human, he’s Stanley Pines, twin brother to Stanford Pines. That was a doozy to explain because Ford never talked about his family, not much beyond his father’s expectations of him. And when Stan explains that Ford went through the portal, Fidds’ remaining anger at Ford is put on the back burner for now because his Bookworm is out there and alone and probably scared. And he’s scared because he can’t work in the portal, not after everything, but the portal needs to work to get Ford back. Stan gets him to agree to work on the equations in the attic, as far away from the basement as possible, and only during the day.

Fidds does agree after a few weeks on needling to help out in the lab in the occasion, he has the engineering degrees after all, not Stan. But that time spent with Stan leads to a few revelations for Fidds. And the first one is that he’s a lot like Ford, in more ways than just their looks. He ends up having to remind Stanley to eat, sleep, to take a break just like with Ford. He notices that Stanley goes all fuzzy in the eyes sometimes, like Ford does-did-he sometimes catches him scribbling on a page while wrapped in Ford’s trench coat, chewing at the edges of his shirt.

But Stan’s a bit different than Ford was, his interests are simpler, not that Stan is simple or anything but he just as a whole seems…younger in mind. He doesn’t talk as much as Ford did, he doesn’t really talk at all, and he still seems to guarded. Towards Fidds and towards himself. Slowly, over the months, as Fidds shows his dedications towards Stan and his health and well being, Stan slowly begins to lower his guard, to let himself enjoy it whenever he feels little, and to let himself trust Fidds to take care of him, that he won’t hurt him like everybody else has. And he doesn’t. No matter how many messes he makes or how irritating he thinks he is (he isn’t), Fidds doesn’t yell, scream, hit, or otherwise at him. He uses soft touches, soft voices, and soothing hums. Stan likes it, he likes that he can trust Fidds, likes how he gets called “Lil’ Captain” and “Pumpkin”, and he likes how he’s encouraged to let himself go and feel like this.

And Fidds likes it too. He’s not using Stan as a replacement for Stanford, they both have their special place in his life and in his heart, and nothing can change that. When they get Ford back, Stanley will still be his little Captain, and if Ford will have him, he’ll welcome his Bookworm back into their little family happily.

[ibuks]

❕ hi so i made grown-up/older designs of some. ig lesser talked about gravity falls characters LOL

oh yeah the two new cool rockers in the falls… toby has finally become who he was always destined to be: BODACIOUS T.! and gideon.. hes having fun. hes kinda growing out of the dyeing his hair white phase but he still cant fully let go

i think it was obvious mermando would turn out to be the buff merman rapunzel, meanwhile lazy susan rediscovered her love for cats!! the earrings are from the flashback of her and the pearl necklace from the stan date scene… also mabel gave her cute socks

i felt like these two were def important to show as well. although i also just really love fidds and wanted to draw him LOL<3 he often gets visits from friends and family in his new big mansion. hell yeah robot arm. and tate is having fun spreading his sea and ocean knowledge

the unspoken ship that nobody mentions but we all can see… your honour i love them and muscular tyler goes kinda hard. btw mind his shorts

i know theres sometimes discourse about whether their relationship is really healthy bc mabel highkey forced them yada yada but i think bc theyre so made for each other that they probably ended up actually falling in love. I mean tambry valentino sounds so cool hello??

i had to include them!!! 😭😭 theres not much i could think of because i think theyd just continue their lives like normal over the years and have lots of fun. they are already perfect

dude i made soos so cute. melody fully moved to gravity falls and abuelita lives with them of course. she has lots of fun with the two twins when the couple is at work. oh soos youre such a great……family guy

🍂 i really love all of GF’s characters and felt the need to give some of them their own little future designs because theres so many gorgeous ones of mabel and dipper etc and so little of the others!! (no shade there i just love these characters 🫰（╹◡╹）)

[alexthebordercollie]

Soooo I made thing. I will probably redraw this in the cannon style in the future. As for my own personal style for drawing GF stuff, I'm still fleshing it out. But I have another AU now. My Hand of God AU has Ford committing to Bill and spending years trapped in a very abusive relationship, also the apocalypse so that's fun. This one's the complete opposite direction. Ford and Fidds accidentally come into possession of a pair of twins, these boys end up being the motivation it took for Ford to cut things off with Bill and do whatever it takes to keep him from ever getting out.

(I've yet to flesh out exactly how these two were born but the boys were created through anomalous means.)

On the left is Nik (Nikola) An adrenalin junkie who loves adventure and is an absolute menace to society as is the Pines tradition. On the right is Newt (Newton), a pastel-loving soft boy who will cry if you tell him pink is a girl color and gets overly attached to every weird critter Ford brings home.

Nick is missing a pinkie because Bill cut it off while possessing Ford when he was a baby as a threat. Trying to scare Ford into compliance by threatening to kill the boys. Ford did some very unsafe brain surgery on himself to make it impossible for him to ever sleep again. Cutting off Bill's ability to control him for the most part.

Portal is gone, still living in Gravity Falls though, and keeping an eye out for anyone Bill might try to manipulate. Fidds and his wife are divorced. Emma has primary custody but Tate stays with them in GF during the summers where he often bullies Nik and Newt. But Nik and Newt don't tell their dads about it because they know how much Fidds loves his other son and they don't want to make things complicated for him. Tate is just taking out his frustration over his parents failed marriage on his half-siblings. Fidds takes the twins with him when he visits Tate and the rest of his family in California for Christmas. Ford stays behind because Emma hates him and he doesn't want to deal with her family.

Ford and Fidds aren't married both cause it's not legal yet but also tbh not sure they ever would regardless just cause Ford is pretty disinterested in those sorts of formalities. Whatever it is they have going for them right now works for him.

Heavy thoughts below the cut.

TBH I made myself sad thinking about autistic people and our relationships. The way we love isn't always obvious to NT people and it can sometimes feel like you're not good enough for anyone because loving people in the way you're expected to is such a struggle.

Sometimes I see people frame Ford^2 as this completely unrequited thing and it reminds me of the experience of loving people very intensely but feeling unable to prove it because it's so difficult to live up to the standards most people have in relationships.

I like Fiddlestan as a ship it's cute and a fun idea and I get the appeal but there's a little nagging thought in the back of my head that it kind of implies Ford's neurotypical brother is better. More capable of real love. That Ford was never good enough. Not to say Fiddleford didn't deserve better but the idea that these two couldn't have worked makes me kind of depressed for kind of personal reasons so I wanted to make up a universe where they do.

Not to say there isn't plenty of material of Ford and Fidds reconnecting as old men and making it work but the fact they lost so much of their lives to bad decisions is still sad.

[babygorewhore]

Giving spirit.

Tate Langdon blurb.

18plus only! Fem reader. Smut. Period sex. Extremely little plot. Not proofread because I just needed to get out how horny I am for Tate.

You decide to give Tate a Christmas present. Tate wants to show you how much you mean to him. Extended version of my period sex with him.

You knew Tate normally hated Christmas. It was just another reminder of his eternal existence in the Murder house. You weren’t a ghost like him. Tate refused to ever hurt you. You were made of glass to him. His little Doll. But you weren’t, you often reminded him over text as you browsed the mall for perfect gifts for him.

You selected a variety of things, different band shirts, CDs and finally a sketch book with several pens and markers. Tate had taken to drawing lately and you wanted to support his healthy coping mechanism.

When you came back to the Murder house, you were immediately greeted by Tate and he pulled you in close.

His arms tight around you, cheek rested against your head and you felt his heartbeat. “Hi to you too,” you laughed and returned the embrace.

You pulled back. His brown eyes searched yours for any sign of trouble. “You were gone forever.” You shook your head at him, cupping the back of his head and toyed with his curls.

“I was not. Besides, I had to get the perfect gifts for you.” You teased.

“Baby, I told you I don’t need-“ You pressed a finger against his lips, feigning frustration. Tate quickly took in the digit past his lips, holding your wrist and he sucked.

You squealed, pulling back and ignoring the flutter in your core. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs before other ghosts annoy us.”

You both settled in the bedroom, sitting across each other on the bed. Tate was mostly silent as you laid out your purchases across the blanket. Grinning, you looked up to meet his brown eyes. They were glassy and he toyed with the sleeve of his sweater.

“Nobody’s ever given me a gift before, baby. But-they’re perfect.” Tate held up the CDS, before rising from his place and putting them in the stereo.

He removed his shirt, exposing his slender figure but strong muscles flexed as you swallowed. He looked back at you, “What? I have to try on the shirt. To make sure it fits.” He said with a smirk.

Two could play at this game, you thought. You stood too, picking up his discarded sweater and putting it on. “We can play dress up.” You said, raising your eyebrows.

Tate’s smirk grew and his eyes darkened as he took you in. Standing close enough to touch shoes. He twirled his finger, signaling you to spin around. “Mmm. You look so perfect, princess.” You ducked your head down, bashful but Tate lifted your chin up to meet his stare.

You pulsed between your legs as Tate caught your lips. His soft mouth warm against yours, his tongue darted out and set itself inside. Your hands flew to his head, gripping his hair and his were secure around your hips. You could feel him hardening against your pelvis. Reminding you of an uncomfortable reality.

“Wait,” You pulled back dreadfully. “I-I’m on my period. I thought I’d be done but I’m not yet.”

Tate leaned in again, kissing you harder. “That doesn’t bother me, is this okay?” You moaned, managing a low yes as he guided you on the bed.

You landed on your back and Tate hovered over you as he pulled down your skirt and underwear with the pad attached. “Fuck. I need you, I love you so much.” He licked a stripe up your neck before sucking your pulse point, peppering open mouth kisses on your collarbone. You starting grinding against his knee that was inbetween your legs. Your skin growing hotter as Tate’s long fingers settled above your pussy. “I don’t even need to spit,” He paused and looked down at you. “On your cunt.” Before he spat in your mouth.

His pointer and middle finger circled your clit, enough pressure to make your back arch, your head pressing against the bed. You whined as he teased your entrance, before settling again in the center. His callused fingertips adding more sensitivity. “I’m-I’m sorry-for getting blood on you.” You gasped.

“I don’t fucking care about that. I just need you.” He smashed his lips against yours in a searing kiss. Marking you.

He finally slide his fingers into you, curling them upward. Blood giving him extra slick and you bucked your hips wildly. His knuckles kissed your clit and you felt like you were going to explode. “Fuck me,” It was too quiet for him to hear. You cupped his face. “Tate, please fuck me. I want-I want you to cum in me.”

He didn’t hesitate for a second, his aggression disappearing and morphing into desperation. Tate practically threw off his jeans and boxers, lining his heavy, pre cum leaking cock against your pussy.

You almost screamed when he pressed into you, skin slapping against each other as he fucked you deep. You inhaled sharply as he pulled out, his dick coated in a light layer of blood and wetness before slamming back in. You clawed at his back, still covered by his shirt that you were too fucked to pull off.

Your stomach tightened, your pussy clenching around him as he thrusted so hard that headboard slammed against the wall. “Baby-I’m gonna-“

Tate hovered over your mouth, his own whimpers and moans filling the air as rock music played. “Cum. God, please. I need you to cum around me.”

Immediately after, you stilled and your eyes rolled back. You came hard, sweat dripped down your forehead into your hair. Your mouth was open before your eyes squeezed shut.

Warm cum spilled inside you as Tate’s thrust grew sloppy. His head in the crook of your neck as he slowed to a stop. Your legs were still around his hips. He got up, quickly grabbing a towel and cleaning himself up. Then you. You felt light, fucked senseless and slightly sore. Tate must have known the discomfort as he helped change into comfortable clothes.

Tate adjusted you on the mattress, laying behind you. He covered you both with the blanket, his hands soothing you as he kissed the back of your neck. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah, baby. You didn’t have to do all this. I’m okay. I’m just-“

“Fucked out?” He chuckled and you elbowed him. “You were so thoughtful to me…and I love being with you. I love you more than anything.”

You tightened your hold on his arms and allowed yourself to enjoy this moment.

Tagging moots. @xxhellfirebunnyxx @scene-and-dandylover @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @elaine-in-the-membrane @icannot3 @slvt4jamesmarch @reidsbtch @taintandviolent @lithium80sblog @alittlesil

Technically this could be considered a short fic. But I don’t do short fics lol. So I call it a blurb.

[fiapartridge]

Can I get Quinn Hughes prompt ⭐️ to the song Grave by Tate McRae?

quinn hughes x reader

summary: you could never be what quinn wanted, so you decided to be nothing at all.

fia’s notes 💌: suuuper angsty but i love this song and i love tate mcrae!! quinn’s an asshole in this tho so.. sorry!

You were tired. You were tired of waiting for Quinn to come back home, hoping that he would be there before you fell asleep. You were tired of arguing and straining your voice only to get distant nods and unfilled promises. You were just tired—of everything. Because as much as you try, and try, and try, you could never make him want you the way you wanted to be wanted.

So you downed shots and wore a skimpy red dress and let your friends drag you halfway across town without a single care in the world. Because if he could do that, then you could too.

Four shots in, your phone buzzed in your purse as you rolled your eyes at the notification. There were 30 texts and 9 missed phone calls from Quinn. You wanted to shout at him and kiss him and walk out of his life all at once. You wanted to tell him that you were done being a second choice; that boyfriends were made to love you and protect you and be there for you, but he wasn’t that in the slightest. 

And the one time you decide to choose something for yourself, the one time you decide to go out instead of holing yourself in his apartment, missing another hangout with your friends, or skipping on your sister’s invites to have dinner because you had this hope—this false hope—that he would be there if you just waited, but you were done with waiting. You were done with Quinn Hughes.

Which made you almost want to laugh when you saw him barrelling through the entrance of the bar, fury lacing his veins and an angry expression that made you chuckle to yourself. He was so ridiculous. What right did he have to stomp in here and ruin your night? He has been nothing but a ghost to you these past couple of months, and for the last week, you swallowed your pride and you took it because you were just so tired. 

But you were awake now and you weren’t going to make that mistake again.

Quinn’s hand gripped yours, dragging you towards the exit. “I called you all fucking night. I was worried sick about you,” he chided, though his anger faltered for a moment when he realized you weren’t walking with him. 

Your feet were planted in place as you ripped your hand away from him. “You were worried sick about me?” you scoffed. He always had this way of talking that made you think he meant it. But you were delusional little you anymore. “Do you know how fucking draining it is to be with you?”

He tongue swiped his bottom lip as he held out his hand for you. “Don’t start this shit here, Y/N. We’re going.”

To Quinn’s surprise, you laughed. You laughed right in his face because— you were always just a thing to him. You held no value other than being someone that’s there for him no matter what he did. You weren't in a relationship, and he wasn’t your boyfriend, and you weren’t his love. No, you were something to rely on even when he didn’t deserve it. You were an object that did what it was told. 

That was all you ever were to him.

“Admit it, Quinn, you only want me when you know you can’t have me. You didn’t care where I was, or how I was doing, or any of that. Admit it, Quinn!” you argued, shoving him lightly. 

“Don’t say that,” he shook his head, taking a hold of your wrist as you stepped back, tears lining your eyes. “Come on, Y/N. You’re causing a scene, we’re going home.”

You swung your arms out wide. “No! No, I’m tired of being your little puppet, because it’s the truth isn’t it?” you shook your head, your voice drawing down to a whisper as you slowly walked closer to him. “You are so pathetic, you know that? I waited every single night for you, and you never came. You gave me nothing. And I’ve been trying and trying to figure out what I did wrong, but it wasn’t me, was it, Quinn?”

He didn’t respond, too busy trying to keep his head held high with all of the wandering gazes as you pelted bullet after bullet at him. Quinn, above all, had a reputation to uphold, and this was eating him alive.

You chuckled as you watched him eye the spectators in the bar. Even when you were screaming at him and ripping your lungs out, trying to get every single emotion and every single feeling you’ve been dealing with for the past three months out, he still couldn’t pay attention to you.

“You are the problem, Quinn. In every single aspect of your life, it is you. And I hope I never have to see you again.”

[my-own-walker]

Hiya!!!! I was wondering if you do peter maximoff smut? 😅😅😅 If you do, I have a request-but if you don't maybe you could make it like Tate or Kyle? <3

I was wondering if you could do something like Peter (if you can) like using his vibrations and going down on the reader(fem!) while making her read her smutty diary entries about him after he read what was in it? :) THANK YOU BESTIE MWAHHH

I Warned You

note: forgive me if this sucks. my emotions have been all over the past few days and i burned the FUCK out of my hand last night.

warnings: sm*t, oral f receiving, peter being a slut, etc

+++

It was a rather oppressive day, heat-wise. One of those sticky hot, thighs chafing, greasy bangs days. The sun shined down in a hazy way on the neighborhood I lived in. As I sat there in my denim shorts and big t-shirt, I reminisced on the days of summer as a child. How I'd spend them with my best friend, Peter.

He was the first person I met when I moved here. I was two, to be fair, so I don't remember much of it all. He's always been a permanent fixture in my life. Someone who was just...always there.

He lived next door. Just like a cliche movie. We would ride bikes and draw on the ground with sidewalk chalk together. He was my second-grade boyfriend. He decided to ‘ask me out’ on the last day of school. He learned in school how to say 'I love you,' in sign language just before he asked to hold my hand on the playground on that day in June. He signed it any chance he could. When his mom drove us home in her minivan that day, he held up the sign. Our little secret.

That summer was pure childhood bliss. Innocence. We really didn't 'break up,' per se. When we entered the third grade that September it was just mutual that we had crushes on other kids. We still stayed friends. I'd hang out at his house after school every day until my parents got home. When the weather was warm, I'd sit outside on my porch waiting for him after dinner. Then, like clockwork, we'd find something to do.

As we got older our activities changed. He taught me how to skateboard. I taught him how to trespass on the baseball fields that were tucked down a back street in our neighborhood. We'd swing on this old tire swing over the stream that ran through our backyards.

In our sophomore year of high school, he bought an old car with dreams to fix it up. A 1965 Ford Mustang. It was rusty, beat up, and had no engine. The windshield was shattered and the inside wasn't upholstered. The only working part of it was its radio. When I walked out of my front door on the day he brought it home, he slapped it on its hood, proudly declaring, 'I'm gonna take you to prom in this thing, baby!' We sat in the old thing all afternoon listening to the radio.

I had known about his abilities the whole time. I never got into foot races with him as a kid for that reason. He would beat me every time. Peter had it under control, for the most part, but only when he wanted to. He started getting brazen with it as a teenager. He'd take me on these wild adventures where he'd steal things. The first time it was just some candy from a convenience store. By the time he got that damned car, he was stealing entire carburetors. These trips took all of 2 minutes. Just the two of us speeding off to create havoc.

Somewhere along the way I fell in love with him. Or maybe it wasn't even that. I can't remember a time when I didn't love him. It changed, though. I started to feel things toward him I'd never felt before. When he'd hold my head to prevent me from getting whiplash as we were making our hasty escapes from his escapades, I'd find chills would run up my spine.

Our beautiful little romance blossomed once he finally got his Mustang up and running. Not that he needed it, really. He was leagues faster than any car. He just wanted to be able to transport more things. And his new girlfriend. We started dating in junior year. He had just gotten his license and took me on a ride one night. We parked down a backstreet in our town and our lips finally met. At long last, his fast fingers were allowed to explore my body in a way I had never allowed him to before. It was wonderful, awkward, and hungry. Everything a teenage love affair should be.

He ended up taking me to the prom in that car, just as he'd promised. He looked so smart in his little tux. We spent that entire summer simply enraptured with each other. Our hangouts transformed from outdoor antics to being tangled in my bed, fan on max speed, windows open to hear the mourning doves sing outside. I can still smell the fresh summer air and the smell of him combining to make something all-encompassing and intoxicating.

It was the next summer on this very hot day. Peter and I had been dating for a year. He was away, hanging out with his friends or something. I was home alone. I sat there on my porch, diary resting lazily on my lap, staring off at the hanging 'FOR SALE,' sign on my yard in front of me . I switched between twirling my pen in my hands and chewing the end of it, deep in thought.

It was always the deal in my house. As soon as I graduated, as the youngest kid in my family, we'd move away again. My parents weren't happy with the town. They knew I had made my life there, but a deal was a deal. I couldn't imagine a life without Peter.

When the sign went up on my front lawn, I began a diary. I was never a writer. I was horrible at keeping up with writing entries in a tiny book. But knowing my life was about to change, I began scratching down every small detail about my life. My time in this house. My childhood. My life with Peter. It was a passion project. I wanted to document everything so I'd never forget.

Peter interrupted my deep inner turmoil. Well, not exactly him. His loud-ass car pulled up, parking in the driveway next door. He stepped out of the car singing, keys jingling in his hands. Like clockwork, his head turned to see if I was on my porch. Our routine since we were kids. In a flash, he was sitting next to me.

'Hey pretty,' he breathed, kissing me gently on my cheek.

'Hey Peter,' I smiled, looking up at him. Whenever he was near me I couldn't help but get wrapped up in him. Swept away in his deep brown eyes and sea of silver hair. There was a palpable feeling between the two of us. Dancing around the topic of me moving away, even though the signs were all around us, literally. It was a tension that colored every moment of our time together, yet we tried in earnest to ignore it.

'Whatcha got there?' he asked, half-taunting, as he usually did.

'Oh, haha,' I blushed, clapping the book shut and tucking the pen inside. 'It's nothing, just a planner.'

'A planner? Y/L/N, when have you ever been the type to schedule things?' he scoffed. 'Gimme that.' He lunged for the diary. I curled my body up tight into a ball, the book nestled safely between my lap and chest. My arms secured it even further.

'Peter! Stop it! I gotta get my shit together,' I whined. 'Like, plan out packing!'

'Packing for what?' he asked sarcastically, still trying in vain to pry the diary from my grasp. In his desperation, he attempted the only trick he had left to get me to let go. He started tickling my sides. It was a surefire way to piss me off, but also to get me to let go. The diary clattered to the ground as I stood up quickly to get away from his hands tickling me at light speed. He paused for a moment to grab the diary off the ground.

'Hey, thanks!' he exclaimed, taking off in a flash inside my house, leaving only the wind behind to prove he was there.

I clamored inside behind him, calling after him as I stumbled up the stairs. He was already laying on my bed, on his side, reading my diary entries when I got to my room.

‘DON’T read those!’ I panted in vain. ‘They’re so bad!’

‘Oh, these little stories?’ he smirked, looking up only with his eyes. ‘I think they’re pretty good.’

My cheeks burned hot. I stepped into the room and slammed the door shut. He held the book up closer to his face and squinted. ‘Peter, please, I’m warning you,’ I pleaded.

‘His tongue slid into me. All of my insides felt warm and tingly…’ he read out.

‘OH MY GOD NO!’ I rushed over to him, trying to pry my diary out of his hands. I was on the bed on my knees doing what I could to get my embarrassing writing back. He and his super speed, though, had other plans. I gave up after minutes of trying, tired of grabbing at a person that wasn’t even there by the time my hands reached him. He stopped his motion and was right back where he started on my bed.

‘I think I got what I needed,’ he smirked. ‘Let me review the highlights with you…’

He moved quickly, without using his super speed, to lay me down my my back. I didn’t object. He was always gentle with me, careful not to use his speed unless I asked him to. Peter hated anything that took a long time, but with me he always had patience. Well, unless it was taking my clothes off.

Peter worked quickly to get every inch of fabric off my body. His smooth hands rubbed all over my skin as he kissed me passionately. He stopped to pick up the diary that had been discarded to the side on my bed.

‘Let’s see…’ he muttered, pinning my shoulder down with one hand, his legs straddling my lap. ‘He spread my legs slowly…okay I can do that.’

The diary was once again dropped so he could part my thighs. His hot breath hovered over my weeping cunt.

‘Right, right, then the tongue part,’ he reminded himself. He kissed all along the insides of my thighs, eventually making contact with my middle. My toes curled and my breath hitched. I was ready for what he was about to do. He slipped his tongue into me and my eyes rolled back. He flicked his tongue over my clit, making me yelp out.

He separated himself from me to grab my diary again.

‘You’re gonna have to read this next part, Y/N, I’m a little preoccupied here,’ he instructed. He passed the book into my shaking hands. I didn’t even have the energy to protest. I just wanted to feel his warmth within me again. His mouth reconnected with my pussy.

‘H-his abilities came in handy when giving me head,’ I panted. ‘He can do this thing- thi- this thing where he vibrates.’ I could only choke out so much in my pleasure.

I felt him take a few deep breaths before beginning to vibrate at sonic speed. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The first time he did it, I thought I would just about die. He pulled away for a moment.

‘Keep reading,’ he breathed. I whimpered, shaking hands once again opening the diary. He reconnected with my middle again and I let out a loud moan.

‘He kn-knows how to make m-me purr like a kitten. There’s n-nothing like it,’ I sputtered out.

I didn’t have much left in me. He, acting as my own personal vibrator, brought me to my limit. I came with a loud yelp, laughing immediately after. Peter stopped vibrating and laid on top of me, his face meeting mine.

‘You are SUCH a dick, Maximoff,’ I giggled.

‘I thought it was sexy, how you write about me and all,’ Peter shrugged. He peppered kisses all over my face and neck as we both caught our breath. For a fleeting moment, nothing in the world mattered. All we cared about was each other. For a moment, I wasn’t moving away. It was us and us only. ‘You’re a million miles away, beautiful. What’s wrong?’

Snapping out of my trance, I planted a kiss on his lips. ‘Nothing at all, Peter. Just really ready for round two,’ I smirked.

+++

I really enjoyed this one. Thank you so much for this request! I promise I’ll write more this week. It’s been cray cray on my end.

[marchsfreakshow]

The Locket With A Masquerade {Tate Langdon x Reader}

You own a locket, you weren't sure who originally owned it until Tate helped you find who was in the picture.

Fluffy, and a bit short. 💜

First Tate fic, so I apologize in advance if it sounds ooc, but I love this idea.

Your perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

"What are you fiddling with?" Tate asked. He turned around so we were facing each other after cuddling for a bit. Then he gently held my locket. It was a simple oval shape and had a fuzzy picture or drawing in it.

"Not sure." I got it when I was 10, and got it adjusted as I aged, so it never accidentally choked me. He stared at it for a bit, sort of in awe at the actual locket itself. "It is a pretty necklace I'll admit."

"It looks beautiful on you."

"Shut up." I gently pushed him away out of embarrassment, and looked away from him, out the window instead. He just smiled and moved towards me more. The window was foggy and it was difficult to see out of but, it was nice anyway.

"Do you know who is on the locket?" Tate asked, wrapping his fingers around it again. We faced each other again, and at this point, I was practically on top of him, not that either of us minded. But I shook my head and wrapped my arms around his neck, snuggling into him.

"Let's look."

"nah.."

"Why not? It could be fun."

"Sleepy."

"Come on, let's go have a look." I begrudgingly rolled off him, and grabbed my small laptop, opening it up, and letting it turn on. The rain was turning into a storm, so I lightly groaned.

"A storm usually means the wifi is gonna go nuts." Rolling my eyes, I checked the wifi, and it seemed to be okay, so I clicked on Internet Explorer, staring blankly at it. "Where do we start?" I mentioned, turning over to look at Tate, who was in his little world.

"Helloooo? Mr Langdon sir?" He shook his head, reached behind my neck and took the locket off. Then he opened it and studied the picture.

"A woman." Tate started. Very helpful. "From...the 20's? I think?"

"Very helpful Tate. Millions of women lived through the 1920's." Despite my negativity, I searched for a registry and looked for women who lived in California in the 20's. "Is there anything else you can see? I know the picture is very blurry."

"...look up Rudolph Valentino."

"Valentino? Uh, okay." As I looked him up in the registery, I saw no clues. "Why?"

"The Woman in Black! The one who always visited Valentino's grave. Have you never heard of her?"

I shook my head, then laughed at the prospect of constantly visiting someone's grave. "Apparently not." But I decided to search for her anyway.

A few minutes of silent searching went by. "Elizabeth Johnson. Born 1902, death year unmarked." I muttered, running my finger along the information it gave me. "A background actor on the set of The Sheik and worked with Valentino."

"Do you think this is her?"

"There aren't any photos of her to reference." But I shrugged my shoulders and carried on deep-diving the internet for a few minutes as Tate cuddled himself up next to me, resting his cute head of blonde hair on my stomach. As I read an article about Valentino, I kissed Tate's head, so he knew I appreciated him. "Is this her?" I asked soon enough, bringing up a picture of a woman standing next to Valentio and the other actors. Blonde hair, crimped up, the famously thin eyebrows from the '20s, and wonderful, red lips. Her eyes had something. A light we both liked to look at.

Tate then looked at the fuzzy picture, and the face structure was as similar as we could make out. We both switched between the picture in the locket and the photo in the Google search. "I think so." He smiled, closing the locket and putting it back around my neck. "You're so much more beautiful than her."

"She's gorgeous, I couldn't compare to her. I do wonder how she died though. And when."

"...No you're much prettier." Tate grinned, closing the laptop and putting it on the floor right by us.

"Shut up." I chuckled quietly, kissing Tate and bringing him close. Elizabeth looked wonderful, in the picture, and in the locket. I started to wonder about my connection to her if I had one at all. My mum never spoke to me about my family or our history. Or if she just put a random picture of a 1920s actor in the locket to make it seem like I was interesting.

Tate didn't seem to mind at all. He didn't seem to hear any negativity I said about myself at all. But I stared at him while he lay on my chest, sleeping. It felt cheesy to think that he was like Rudolph Valentino, but, not an actor. He slept peacefully, but I decided to place the locket around his neck. It made him, and I thought it fitted him.

"I love you, Tate," I whispered to him.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶

Tag requests: @strangerthings420

[littleoneamanda]

GF: Fiddleford Hadron Mcgucket

Alright, I think I'll just continue drawing in the original style. It's actually pretty fun xD The only difference is colored lines and maybe background. Hope you like it!

And here we go again to my thoughts on the book of bill, thisisnotawebsitedotcom and my thoughts on Fiddleford as a character. Or in this one is more like a summary of what information we have about him. Welcome to my second essay on 2D characters xD (SPOILERS)

Oh boy, where do I begin with this one? xD

Fiddleford, probably (imo) one of the most tragic character in this show. Going from once a brilliant inventor to a deranged hillbilly living at the dump. His life ruined by trauma, his fear of bad memories, and by his own invention.

College

Fidds is the first Mcgucket in the family to go to college. His first day starts off pretty rocky. The school's mascot "THE BMU B-", shoved him into a locker, got his mustache caught in a pencil sharperner (???) and getting laughed out by a whole class for trying to prove the universe was a giant hologram. While sitting in his room in tears, his room mate barge in the room. Confidently declared that his theory was plausible and was ready to not sleep until they have proved it accurate. Not only did they cracked it, but Fidds did something else that he thought was impossible: He made a friend, Stanford Pines.

This is pretty much (currently) the information we have about them in college. I really wish there were more. It seems both of them became friends very fast. Both being nerdy and outcasts for different things. Ford with his sixth finger and Fidds coming from a hog farm ( I relate so hard with Fidds on the farm background you have no idea I love it) However, while Ford is more of a socially awkward introvert, Fidds seems to be a little bit more extroverted.

After college

Fiddleford moved to Palo Alto, California. Around this time he met his wife Emma-May and they had their son Tate.  He starts up his own computer buisness "Fiddleford Computermajigs". It's unclear how the relationship between Fidds and his wife were, but the fact that he doesn't seem to hesitate to leave them behind to help an old college friend he haven't talked to in 6 years is a little weird. Six years is how long Ford had been in Gravity Falls before he contacted Fidds. (Source: Journal 3). Sure, if the whole project was a positive thing, it could be have been their big break in science and fame. But Fiddleford had a life in California. He had a family, but how good was the marriage? Maybe Fidds didn't get any other friends after college. So when Ford called for help, he didn't seem to hesitate to say yes and join him.

"Success! He has agreed to join me! With his assistance, I am confident we can complete the machine. He has already made several suggestions over the phone that I intend to incorporate into my revised designs."

-Stanford, Journal 3

Gravity Falls, Fiddleford is now Stanfords assistant/partner.

Some things Fiddleford brought with him: A vase/pot when he chews tobacco, a photo of his family, the banjo, floppy disks , two laptops which one of them is special designed for Fords extra finger. The other one is Fidds which has Fords name as password. And a Cubic's Cube that Ford scrambles when Fidds is not looking. Fidds solves it without a problem tho.

When seeing the blueprints for the portal for the first time, he asked Ford if he had any help with these plans because of complex they are. Ford describes Fidds as a suspicious man (pretty ironic knowing how Ford will become later).

During his time in Gravity falls we learn early that Fidds seems to have some trouble handeling his anxiety. Especially after some of the things they encountered. His knee starts bouncing when he's agitated or he starts pulling out his hair. Being Fords assistant turned out to be adventurous and scary at the same time. Reading Journal 3 you kinda wonder why he even stayed for so long with Ford. There was times he really got traumatized. It is now where the we get into the speculations and the hints of Fidds having a bit of stronger feelings for Ford than just a friend.

The gifts. Already in Journal 3, he gives Ford a special designed laptop with extra keys for his extra finger. He buys a pumpkin at the fair because it reminded him of Ford.

"He pulled it out of a barrel of "reject gourds" because he said it reminded him of me! (Suppose I did inherit my dad's nose.)

-Stanford, Journal 3

From the thisisnotawebsitedotcom, if you type in Oroborous, you will get two pages of when Fidds gave Ford an axolotl that Ford named it Frilliam.

"F said it's frills reminded him of my sideburns and he thought it could keep me company the next time he's out."

-Stanford, thisisnotawebsitedotcom, Code: Oroborous

I'm still pretty traumatized after Frilliam...that damn dorito asshole demon. Also...Ford drew a heart over the "i" in friend instead of the dot??

In the TBOB, Fiddleford gives Stanford a snow globe that HE MADE. And not only that! He gives Ford knitted a pair of six-fingered gloves that HE has KNITTED.

Fiddleford flies back home to visit his family for the holidays, but the reunion have not been exactly happy. Fidds and his wife had got in a massive fight when she realized he'd forgotten to buy her a Christmas Present...man. Look. I mean...I honestly do not know what to say to that. My guy gave gifts that he had made to his bestfriend that he might have some certain feelings for and just happen to forget he had a wife...that's normal right? xD

Let's talk a little bit about Ford cause I forgot to mention some other things as well. In journal 3, Ford talks in a certain way. It's more sterile and stiff. Keeping distance from emotions pretty much. Especially before the 30 years on the other side of the portal. In TBOB+ the pages from the website, these pages are more personal. Which is a whole new view of Ford that we didn't see before. This time we get to see what Fidds and Ford did when they weren't focused on the project. When they had a winter break from it. When Fidds tells Ford he's leaving to visit his family, you can kinda read between the lines that Ford seems very sad about that. His fear of being alone again. On that page, there are some blue stains which some believe are tears... :(

"Sixer was a lot better at science than he was at making friends, and he tended to rip out journal pages that had anything to do with his issues with others..."

-Bill, TBOB

After the massive fight between Fidds and his wife, he decides to return to Gravity Falls as soon as possible. When he reurns, he sees Ford being in trouble and saves him from the Krampus by hitting him with his banjo. They embraced. Fidds explains why he's back and Ford asks him if there is anything he could do to cheer him up. But Fidds feel pretty defeated by everything that has happen.

That night, Ford calls Fidds to come down to the lab for a portal update.

"I'll admit that it wasn't the most efficient use of our electricity, but the smile on his face proved I'd made the right choice."

-Stanford, TBOB

Ford later tells that it was time to drink nog until they didn't remember what a Krampus was. And they spent the rest of the night building snowmen and reminiscing about old times.

This is wholesome asf. Also, Ford said himself he's not really a drinker, but after that kareoke drunk thing, I wonder if he kinda wanted have a similar experience? Perhaps a stretch, but interesting in my opinion.

But all good things comes to an end. In Fiddlefords case, in a very tragic way. After some traumatic encounters (especially after the  Gremloblin), he invents the memory gun. He uses the gun multiple times on himself during his time with Ford. He have even used it on Ford at one point when Ford tries to talk him out of ever using it.

The night before the testing of the portal, Fiddleford expresses his concerns to Ford about the portal. He tries to talk him into publish his research as a thesis instead of the portal. Ford who has been ver manipulated at this point to believe Fiddleford has ill intentions, refused. And the next day...the portal incident that makes Fidds mental state go so south. Seeing the Nightmare realm and  predicting apocalyptic catastrophe that was about to be the consequences of the portal.

Now here is a interesting thing about the portal scene (this could be a stretch once again). Something i did notice while rewatching s2. When Ford tells the story about the portal, it seems pretty cut and clear of what happen. Fidds get dragged into the portal, traumatized, warns Ford, stands up and leaves. And Ford calls Stan. Which makes it look like everything happened in a very short time period. But when Ford talks about the portal incident again with Dipper, Ford has different clothes, sitting down and have Fidds in his lap. Now this could just be a mistake or something they choose for more dramatic effect. But seeing the difference how Ford talks in Journal 3 and TBOB, it is a interesting choice for that scene. Like, when he has the white shirt and black tie, there is a more serious tone and stiffnes. When he has his blue shirt and brown sweater vest he is more personal. In TBOB, it takes like around 2 days before he finally decides to contact Stan. He decides to do that after he found the 5 failed knitted prototypes for the perfect 6-fingered gloves and the ripped photo. When he realized he had lost Fiddleford.

Fiddleford's mental health keept getting worse. After quitting the project, he found himself still very haunted by everything he has seen. He started to use the memory gun even more and created an organization, The Blind Eye Society. Hoping this would help other people in the town to forget bad memories. Ford found this out and suspected Fidds to be behind it. Unfortunaly, Fidds started to use it as soon as he had seen something scary. The more he used it, the more he started to lose his mind and forgetting words. 618 days. It took around 1 year, 8 months, 1 week and 6 days. That is not really a long time. He used it so frequently, and knowing he had some trouble handling his anxiety from the start…this hurts. His body aged so fast during this time as well. And he's suppose to be around the same age as Ford, around or in his 30s.

Fiddleford before the portal: a very smart, brilliant inventor, sensitive and a very kind person.

After the portal: An old deranged hillbilly who lived at the dump with no memory of his past, but still haunted by what he saw in the portal.

He does starts to regain his memories in S2: Society of the Blind Eye. Finding out after 30 years who he really was.

"After all these years I finally know who I am. Maybe I messed up in the past, but now that I've seen what happened, I can begin to put myself together again."

-Fiddleford, S2, "Society of the Blind Eye"

When Ford and Fidds reunite in Weirdmaggedon, he forgives Ford for everything that led up to this. After Weirdmaggedon, Ford visits Fiddleford. Fidds was overjoyed to see Ford and they spent hours talking. Ford is feeling guilty for the things leading to Fidds causing losing his memories, but Fidds dismisses his attempts to apologize.

"Not only is this man's mind superior to mine, but he has one of the biggest hearts I've ever seen."

"Before I left, Fiddleford insisted that I listen to him play the banjo. I could have sworn that as he joyfully played, i could see the age lift off his face, and see the the Fiddleford who had been my friend so many years ago."

-Stanford. Journal 3

I swear a tear dropped from my eye while writing this quote. And I have an idea for a drawing for just that one.

And that's where I wanna leave this. A happy ending after all :)

I'm very sorry again if there are any grammar errors in this one. I have to go back and forth on the sources a lot here. The show, books, website and the wiki just to try understand the timeline and if there were any details missed. I did not intend for this one to be as long (maybe even longer) about Stanford. But I kinda wanted to put Fiddlefords story together and give some of my thoughts on it as well. Fiddlefords story is so sad in so many ways. He and Ford, Best friends and room mates in college. Both of them having no other friends than each other. He sacrifices a lot when he leaves his family to help Ford in Gravity Falls, Returns to Ford when the family reunion goes south. The fact that he could have done anything else, but he decides to go back to Ford. Maybe because he felt he didn't feel welcome there anymore and only has Ford left. Tate is probably the one I mostly feel sorry for in this situation. His father coming home for the Holidays and then leaves again to not come back. Fidds trying and wanting to help Ford, but get his concerns about a real danger ignored. Then Fidds trauma and fear of remembering bad things takes over so much he invents a memory gun that becomes his addiction. Ruined by his own invention.

Now, I'm someone who has NEVER done shipping art or not really expressing any thoughts about it. I'm pretty careful with that honestly and I have been with Ford and Fidds as well. But this time feel so different from the other times of speculations of what happend between them. It feels like it's right there. Especially with Fiddleford reading TBOB what he did for Stanford. Or maybe I'm just another person hoping a little bit too much xD It's just...the possibility of them having some kind of stronger feelings is there. Again, Especially when it's from Fiddleford. Stanford is kinda bit harder to read when it comes to his feelings. Kinda what I said before, he talks in two different tones. Probably depends on who he trusts to talk to.

Alright, That's all folks! I promise I won't do a essay like this for the other drawings xD But I just needed it to get out of my system. And I haven't really seen a post like this that sums up the information we have atm. So I wanted to contribute xD

Thanks for reading!

Next up is actually going to be a GF video🍃

[m4rs-ex3]

im sending you the same list of headcanons i sent tate a few days ago but I'm facing my anxiety and coming off anon just for you mars you're welcome 😅

So here are your Rayllum head canons on a silver platter 😘:

Sometimes when Rayla’s brain is being mean to her and the ✨trauma✨ is hitting her especially hard or when she’s sad, she reverts to her old mentalities of making herself seem small and hiding her feelings and sometimes she ends up sitting with her knees against her chest in a corner of their bedroom. And Callum finds her like that and doesn’t even question, he just sits down next to her in wordless support until she’s ready to talk or is feeling a bit better. 

Anytime Rayla wears a dress and Callum will just be gasping, fumbling for words, speechless and stammering and blushing the whole time and its the funniest thing 🤭

On their wedding day they danced to the same song Harrow and Sarai did. 

HAND HOLDING. ALL THE TIME. Reaching for each others hands, when they’re happy, sad, anxious, scared, excited, ALL THE TIME. 

And they play with each others fingers. Just absentmindedly but they do. 

There’s a scar on Rayla’s shoulder and Callum loves to kiss it. Just gently whenever he can, he’ll give it a little kiss. 

Sometimes Ez does something thats so much like their mom (or dad) that after he’s gone (so he doesn’t see) Callum will just burst into tears. And Rayla will pull him into her tiny frame and let him cry against her shoulder and kiss his head until he’s calmed down a little. 

In the middle of the night when one of them has had a nightmare and the other person has moved to the other side of the bed, they’ll also move to that side. So in the morning, both of them are cuddling on one side of the bed. 

They will both rant/complain to the other. Like one of them will be pacing back and forth just ranting and the other will be sitting on the bed or wherever totally invested in the rant. 

three words. MORE STAR-GAZING DATES.

if there's anything else, i'll send it to you 😘

why thank you

i like imagining him walking into the room, seeing her, leaving without a word, coming back with blankets, pillows, and snacks and just curling up next to her to read, all with a completely blank expression

unfortunately she can't wear them that often because the amount of walls callum walks into becomes dangerous

that's beautiful but also i haven't been able to stop thinking about the potential for a parallel between rayllum and tiadrin + lain dancing in the meadow

literally. it's absolutely disgusting /pos

them absent-mindedly observing each other's fingers out of fascination is just so ASDFSAEFJGASHOKJ

i've mentioned this personal hc before but i just know that she has like hundreds of tiny scars and he has memorized ALLLLL of them. he could draw up a map

correct. sad

eventually they get like a big ass california king-sized bed and yet they still sleep like it's a twin

one of em will be talking about how they want to skin some asshole alive and the other will be dreamily gazing at them like "you are so hot 💖"

well yes. they both end up with an encyclopedic knowledge of constellations and everyone else is just like "why do you know that" (to rayla, anyway)

thank you for your service 🫡