#I will not apologize for Beaker Ford

[ruingpetals]

It came to me like a dream

Okay so my fren sent me a silly screenshot of Ford and my hands slipped, now he exists-

And for funsies,

[darlingdaisyfarm]

So I've seen your hcs about Stan being a boob man (incredible, absolutely incredible btw) and I'm curious to know if you have any on Ford? He's so precious I feel like any part of his darling is enough to get him going but personally I think, if he had to choose, he'd have a deep, unfiltered love for thighs and tummy's but maybe that's just me!

Ford Pines is obsessed with you and your thighs and tummy ♡ headcanons

hey sweetheart!! thank you so much for this ask and for ur words<3 im glad u loved Stanley headcanons and im more than glad to write smth as that with Ford. i agree with u, im sure hes a thigh & tummy guy<3 oh god, scientists fear me for what i have discovered about this man

tags: nsfw, worshipping, thigh fucking, needy Ford, facesitting, oral sex, breeding kink, thigh riding, size kink if u squint, established relationship

also guys look at him, hes so silly awwww i wanna smash him against the wall

꩜⸝⸝ the first time Ford realizes he has a thing for thighs, he doesn’t even register it as a sexual thing. it starts with him resting his hand on your thigh while you sit together, and then he just. . . doesnt move it. well, he loves the warmth, the softness, so he presses his fingers into them and feels your muscles flex when you shift

꩜⸝⸝ he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. half the time, you have to be like, "Ford. honey. why are you gripping me like a stress ball?" and he just blinks, looks down at his hands, then turns bright red, coughing ”oh. um. force of habit?”

꩜⸝⸝ he gets so fucking distracted just absentmindedly rubbing your thighs. you’ll be talking about your day and he’s just kneading your flesh in his big ass hand, blushing madly when you say “Ford, are you even listening?”

“mm? yes, of course, sweetheart, i just, i was just appreciating how— hah—how incredibly soft you are?”

꩜⸝⸝ he will be in the middle of an experiment and just stop because he caught sight of you sitting on the couch, legs tucked under you, thighs pressing together. and damn, what a beautiful sight. now this man is staring, zero thoughts, mind blank until you tell him “Ford, honey, you're burning the beaker.”

“what? oh, oh— damn!” he is so mad at himself for getting distracted, but he's so in love with you!!

꩜⸝⸝ but when he realizes he has a thing for your thighs in a sexual way this man is obsessed. he will never be normal again

꩜⸝⸝ the first time you wrap your thighs around his head while he’s eating you out, he genuinely whimpers because he’s never known a pleasure like this. he moans into your pussy, grabbing handfuls of your thighs, because they're so soft and divine and for him this is pure paradise

꩜⸝⸝ his fav thing is feeling them tremble when he makes you cum. he’ll groan, squeezing your flesh, trying to keep you there forever. im sure that if you'll try to pull away, he'll growl and grip you tighter, burying himself between them like a desperate needy man. “mm-mm, no, darling, i’m not finished with you yet.”

꩜⸝⸝ Ford goes feral for thigh fucking. he didn’t even know it was a thing. you had to suggest it and he lost his fucking mind. the first time he tries it, he’s panting like an animal, gripping your thighs so tight. afterward he’s apologizing, stammering. so flustered. “i didn’t, i didn’t mean to grip that hard.” you laugh and pull him down for a kiss because he’s so damn cute when he’s embarrassed

꩜⸝⸝ hell yeah, im sure he would love your tummy in every single way possible. he loves running his big hands over it, feeling the way it tenses when you laugh, when you gasp, when you shudder under his touch. he loves pressing kisses to it, nuzzling into it, murmuring against your skin about how beautiful you are. he loves holding you from behind and resting his hands on your stomach, tracing slow circles while he kisses your neck

꩜⸝⸝ if you’re insecure about it, he will kiss every inch of you, worship you, whisper how perfect you are until you start to believe him. “never hide from me, my love”

꩜⸝⸝ Ford def loves when you wear crop tops, but will never admit it. obsessed with the little sliver of skin that peeks out

꩜⸝⸝ if you let him cum on your tummy, oh my god, he’ll watch with blown pupils, whispering how gorgeous you look covered in him and suddenly, he is so aware of the fact that he wants to see you full in other ways too. cum-dripping, stuffed-full, round with his seed

꩜⸝⸝ whenever these thoughts visit him he immediately buries his face in his hands because oh no, he's realising he got a breeding kink? but how, Ford how?? you're a man of science! a man of rational thought! (i want to mock him, affectionate)

꩜⸝⸝ Ford loves putting his hand on your lower belly when he's inside you. it’s his fav thing in the world. because that way he can feel himself moving inside you and that drives him absolutely insane, so of course he'll get all desperate and moan smth as “hah—ohh, sweetheart, i—i can feel it—can you? can you feel me inside you?” blabbering mess

꩜⸝⸝ he wants you to know just how deep he’s reaching. Ford wants to hear you whimper, see your eyes roll back, feel your thighs tighten around him. but if you grab his hand and make him press harder??? fuck. he groans so loud. he loses his rhythm. his thrusts get messy

꩜⸝⸝ his breeding kink activates. immediately. he moans about how perfectly you take him, how he wants to fill you up, how he wants to ruin you. “ohh, darling, if i—hah—if i came inside, you’d feel so full, you’d—hah—ohhh, i need to, please let me“ and if you do let him cum inside??? he can’t stop whimpering, can’t stop pressing his hand against your belly, like he wants to see his cum inside you. he will stay inside for as long as he can. he wants to keep it there. he wants to make sure it takes. and if it starts dripping out? he fucks it right back into you because “mm-mm, no, sweetheart, we can’t waste it—hah—just one more, i promise—“

꩜⸝⸝ he loves holding it when he fucks you from behind, loves digging his fingers into your softness. prefers to pull you against his chest while thrusting into you, holding your hips and stomach

꩜⸝⸝ Ford loves having you in his lap, loves the weight of you, the way your thighs press against him, the way you squirm and shift and make him lose all coherent thought

꩜⸝⸝ he’ll pretend he’s focused, but his hands will wander, gripping your body tighter, whispering, “love, can’t think when you’re this close.”

꩜⸝⸝ oh no, oh no please, dont grind against him. you hear me? DON'T GRIND AGAINST HIM BECAUSE THAT'LL TURN HIM INTO A MESS. he gets so stupid. he’ll grip your hips, hold you down, moaning desperately into your ear, getting so needy his dick is about to explode. he’ll beg for you to let him fuck you like that, right there, right then, too desperate to care about anything else. “please, please, sweetheart, just let me, just need to feel you, need to be inside you, please“

꩜⸝⸝ god, at this point im sure he loves you riding his thigh, especially when he's working or writing smth. Ford adores watching you grind against his leg with your soft thighs wrapped around his. “god, look at you, so stunning, riding me so well.” as his hands slip under your shirt, palms gliding over your soft stomach

꩜⸝⸝ “patience, my love, i’m going to enjoy every inch of you.”

꩜⸝⸝ sometimes, Ford gets so worked up, so overwhelmed that he just can’t wait to be inside you, that's why thigh fucking is his stress relief. he’ll slick himself up and slide between your thighs, groaning as the soft, plush heat of your skin envelops him. he’ll kiss you senseless while he does it, gripping your hips, pushing your thighs together tighter around his cock

꩜⸝⸝ he ruts against you like an animal, barely holding himself back, panting into your ear, so needy he can barely function

꩜⸝⸝ if he's cumming on your thighs, he definitely spreads it with his fingers. and obviously he gets horny again as he starts rubbing himself against you, because he needs more

꩜⸝⸝ im getting too deep but. . . if you let him lick it off???

꩜⸝⸝ and if you ride him??? he watches you with wide desperate needy eyes, pupils blown, mouth open, completely dumbfounded by how fucking good you feel and look. “mm—ohh—yes, my love, just like that! use me, take what you need“

꩜⸝⸝ if during thigh fucking, you playfully tease him with “wish this was inside me, don’t you?” ohhh, he’ll cum so fast it’s embarrassing. watching his seed spill over your thighs, dripping down, mixing with your slick, he’ll lose his brilliant mind

꩜⸝⸝ thigh highs are his weakness, if you wear them, he will drop whatever he’s holding. walk straight into a wall. stammer through an entire sentence

꩜⸝⸝ as for other body parts, i think Ford has a weakness for calves. loves running his hands up and down ur calves, squeezing, massaging, kissing his way down from your knees to your ankles

꩜⸝⸝ he’ll hold your legs up on his shoulders while hes making love to you, feeling the way your calves flex and tense with every thrust

꩜⸝⸝ and if you wear heels?? if you wear anything that accentuates your legs??

꩜⸝⸝ try locking your legs around his waist, refusing to let him go. he'll cum immediately “hah—ohh, you—hah—keeping me here, are you? mm, clever little thing“

꩜⸝⸝ back to thighs: when he’s feeling needy, he’ll lie back, pull you on top of him and beg you to sit on his face because he wants to be suffocated between them until he can’t think anymore. he’ll grip them like they’re his lifeline, leaving six fingered marks on your skin, dragging you down against his mouth, moaning into your pussy like a man starved

꩜⸝⸝ i mean, he loves the way you grind down, chasing your own pleasure. literally loves being used

꩜⸝⸝ and yeah, i fully believe Ford may unintentionally (or intentionally) overstimulate his partner, so even when you'll finish, he won't let you go, gripping your thighs tighter, licking, lapping and sucking until you’re shaking and crying, pulling away because it’s too much and he’s still begging for more. “please, please, darling, don’t stop, i need to taste you, i need to make you cum again, please“

꩜⸝⸝ Ford prefers making love to you in positions that let him grab, squeeze and worship every inch of you

[prorevenge]

The wrath of the stoner art student.

So I think this would count as pro revenge because I planned it kinda. A bit long, sorry bout that first time really posting this anywhere. TL:DR at the end.

Things to note:

As the title says I'm an art student, I live with my parents while I'm on college to cut living expenses.

Couple of years ago my dad had a security system installed that came with two camera to set up. One pointed at the side door and drive way. One pointed at the street by the front door. So you can see the cars. It has an app we all installed on our phones that gives us alerts.

I also have this shed I asked my parents if I could use for most of my art as it gets messy. I would always clean up after myself but paint still stains the carpet and if I had to smell that tangerine floor cleaner one more time I was gonna barf. I fixed it up a bit, still looks crappy but it's mine. took about two weeks to set up.

We also have a problem of people going through cars....a lot...like ridiculously so. I have a crap ford tempo that I never kept anything important in so I didn't care.

The incident:

As I said I have an art shed and I'm a student of the visual communication program in my local college. My professor had given us our term assignment which was basic but fun. Pick a piece that was in the text book and either write a 10 page essay on it or do a recreation with a two page blurb of how you copied the techniques yada yada.

I was stoked because van Gogh was covered in there and I wanted to do a piece called "cafe terrace" it's a gorgeous piece. And I put a lot of time and effort into this thing...and smoked a lot of weed while doing it haha.

But one night my phone gives me am alert from the security system while I'm at a small party (get together? ) and I see a blurry image of the three teens running past my side door. I thinks odd but I wasn't home to check it out immediately.

When I get home from being driven by a friend from a party I get back to see my car door ajar and i roll my eyes because it's annoying but not new. But then I remember the alert on my phone and went to check around the house. Check the shed last because there's a lock on it, it'll be fine right? I live in canada who is gonna break into my shed ha..hahaha

When I get to my shed it's trashed. Lock on the ground. The material I hung up to over the ceiling was ripped and burned. All works of art I put on the walls were ripped down. My paint was everywhere and my pastels were stomped on. They even broke my fucking little shitty stool I nicknamed hermet.

But the worse was my term project was destroyed, cut apart and then repeatedly smashed.....with my mother fucking bong. My 9mm glass beaker bong that I got as a present. Two weeks before I had turn that fucking project in.

I was livid.

The revenge:

I was able to get a weeks extension as I emailed my professor and sent him photos including the security alert and contacted the police about the destruction of property (still can't get over them looking at my shattered bong and me just whipping out my green card to be safe)

Clean up was a couple days and I did manage to turn my project in on time without the extension by just not going to sleep. First one was better but hey.

I was still pissed tho. I kept thinking of ways on how to catch them or lure them in and scare the crap out of them. So...I left change (loonies and twoonies stuff they would go for) and fives in my cars console. Left my doors unlocked and at the front of the house. I turned on that camera (as it had been off for a while because it would go off a lot) And I kept a bat in the shed and the side door. No guarantee that's it'll be the same idiots but I keep hoping. A few people picked my car but it wasn't those turds so I waved it off.

A month later and a Few days after my finale exams I'm in the shed at 2am smoking, and sketching something when the alert goes off. It's the front camera and I see three familiar looking blurs ransacking my car. I grab the bat and before I set out I hear them coming towards my shed. I flick the string of lights off and I let them get closer before I jump out with a bat in hand.

One of them screams so loud before they book it and I run after them to scare them away. I'm bad a running and fully expect them to outpace me

But one of them cut across my front lawn and slipped on wet grass. He bifs it and I catch up to him and grab him by the back of his hoodie with the bat threatening him

"WERE YOU THE ONES WHO TRASHED MY SHED?!"

"I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I WON'T DO IT AGAIN"

"THE FUCKS YOUR NAME?"

"MATTHEW" his name was not Matthew

"GIMME YOUR FUCKING WALLET"

The dude throws it's and I let go of him to retrieve it and he runs off. whatever.

I pocketed my five plus what I'm assuming was another 40 bucks of stolen money. Took a look at his wallet and his high school id with his real name was there. Fbed his mom and told him what happened and emailed the school as well, mentioning I was a previous student there and that I was "devastated" that this how the school teaches children.

haha

The mom turned up at my door with another mom and a older dude and the three turdlings. They had to apologize to me in person.

Isn't that nice?

(also think my prof gave me a few more points than I deserved on the piece I submitted just because of what happened. Bless you soul Clint. That painting was shit but you gave me 82/100 anyway)

again sorry this was long

TL;DR: Punk kids go through my shed and trash it. Lure them back in a month later and chase them a baseball bat.

(source) (story by PretentiousBanana)

[rational-mastermind]

So I was watching Flubber with the family tonight at dinner and, of course, immediately “inventor” made me think of Fiddleford. But not in a Flubber!Au kinda way.

It made me visualize what it’d be like, Fiddleford’s silly inventions all over the house, the basement, the lab, the dorm. Doing the small things he needs like folding laundry or fixing meals. Ford having to step over wires and be careful of beaker and whatever’s blowing steam.

And then an idea struck me: what if they DIDN’T get along well at first?

What if at first in college, Fidds and Ford just couldn’t see eye-to-eye and Ford never thought he’d have more trouble living with someone else besides Stanley.

“Fiddleford! Your silly robot just spilled oil all over my thesis!”

“Ford would you turn out the light?? Some of us like to SLEEP at 2 in the morning!”

“Fiddleford WHY do you HAVE to play the banjo at 6:30?!”

“If your Leanin’ Tower of Books breaks my machine, I swear...”

“....It’s not going to work.” - “For the last time, I’m tellin’ ya it IS TOO.” - “Oh for frick’s sake, SPEAK. ENGLISH!” - “Look, as opposed to your lazy ass, I quintuple-check my equations and I can garuntee that it’ll WORK!” - “You mean how it worked last time?” - “All it needed was a minor adjustment....” - “You almost caught half the dorm on fire in case you forgot.” - “A MINOR ADJUSTMENT.”

Or even doing small petty things to get on each other’s skin like, Fidds pulls a book out of place and it all tumbles on Ford. “Oh thanks for lettin’ me borrow your copy. I lost mine.” Or Ford switching the labels on some chemical compound Fiddleford was using. “Oh, gee, I don’t know how that happened.”

And like, Fiddleford always gives Ford shit because Ford just reads and writes he doesn’t actually create anything like he would and it’s not until Ford actually BUILDS something that WORKS and Fidds just stops and looks at it. Looks at him. “....Wait, why in tarnation are you in Backupsmore??” And Ford sighs...and sits...and retells his tragic backstory. Then they bitch about siblings (which is tougher? Living with a twin or living with 4 brothers and 3 sisters?), trade stories (”One time Stan and I had this idea...” “One time I lost my glasses in the pig’s yard...”). Ford points out a few things that Fidds takes into consideration. Fidds reminds him to bathe once in a while. They blow up the school on more than one occasion and while it’s nice that SOMETHING exciting happens at Backupsmore for once, the principle is getting pretty sick of seeing Ford and Fidds in his office and listen to them apologize for the 11th time in the last two weeks. Friendship builds.

And then Fidds is invited to live in Gravity Falls with Ford.

“Fiddleford!” - “What? Ford?? It’s...7:30.. Did you sleep at all?” - “Fiddleford your laundry robot was in my room again.” - “...so you broke it?” - “I thought it was a paranormal creature! It incinerated my lab coat with that laser you installed in it!” - “You still broke it..” - “Why the hell you think it’s necessary to attach a laser to everything is beyond me.” - “Cause the last thing I want is some nut job like you breakin’ it, doggonnit!”

I dunno.. It’s just really friggin’ funny to me to think about this. XD

[atlaswriting]

I watch with curiosity as Abrams hands delicately pick up a poetry book. Moving over the leather with such care, as if at any moment the book would disappear from his grasp, “Do you like that book?” I ask, choking back the intense desire to snatch it and show him each of my favorite poems. “My mother got me one of the first prints for my birthday, the author signed it.” There’s a look in his eyes I can’t place—dejection, maybe, and I begin to wonder if the feelings he has toward the book aren’t good, “I’m hoping to find one of her readings one day and going there—I hear she’s like no other, in person,” he places the book back on the shelf and turns toward me.

“So are you from Vermont? I’m from Boston, not that I expect you to care though you didn’t have a lot of questions so I could be wrong.”

I open my mouth to say something: you’re right, I don’t care. Or maybe: actually, I love Boston. Though their sports fans are a-holes. But the words die in my throat because the dizziness clenches my chest and I can’t control my body as it starts toward the floor.

Abram catches me, his reflexes quick but his words are a blur. They spin around me as he shoves food toward my mouth. The horror rises in my throat as I try to push it away—I want to argue: those bars are calorie dense and would take hours in the gym before I reach my deficit again.

Eventually, I stop struggling because it was all in vein, anyway so I allow two bites to pass my lips and nothing more. The Gatorade that follows is sweet and full of everything I try to keep my body clear of.

“By the way, they were buy one get one free,” he says and I snort.

I struggle from his grasp and allow myself to sit on the floor, trying to push away how many shoes have walked on it each day. An apology bubbles in my throat as I watch Abram sit on the floor.

“You can leave,” I tell him, running my hand through my hair. I hardly have the energy to rub my eyes, my body showing, not for the first time, how shaky my foundation really is. Haunted houses have nothing on me. ( see: ghost girl, always more than willing to exorcise her own demons rather than facing them. ) “That’s the end of the tour. The boy dormitories are on the east side of the building, girls are on the west—I’m sure they told you we’re not allowed in each others, else you want to be suspended,” I find myself rolling my eyes, “But they’ve never actually enforced that.”

“Actually, I’m fine here,” he says, resting his arms on his bent knees, “Is there a nurse you want me to bring you to?”

I try to laugh, imagining my mother’s face if I went to the nurse for hunger pains, “No.  I mean, yes, there’s a nurse but no I don’t want to go. Like I said, I just haven’t eaten much but I’ll be better once I do.”

Finding myself wanting to apologize once more, I choose instead to take another bite of the Cliff bar and hand it back to him, before the desire to finish it becomes overwhelming. “I’m from Los Angeles. I was born there, but I moved between there and New York my entire life. I’d say here is my home, though,” I admit, sadly. Unsure why the truth comes out so easily—I think it must be those eyes, so captivating and blue. They were an ocean I was willing to drown in, “I spend more time here than in either of those places.”

I’m slow to stand when I finally decide to, my legs shaking more than a fawn’s on her first day alive, “Thank you,” I tell him. “You didn’t have to—I just—thank you,” my mouth won’t form around the words ‘I’m sorry’ but I offer a shrug in its place.

♡ ♡ ♡

Today was the worst day.

I want to crawl out of my skin. Find a home that’s less like a prison.

Days like this I really hate myself.

Kai: I wish you saw what I saw.  You’re beautiful. Stunning. No other girl I’ve ever seen compares to you.

That isn’t true. You’ve seen one picture of me. From how many years ago? I look like an ogre now.

Kai: So send another one. I’ll do the same.

Kai: We don’t lie to each other—right?

Right.

You’re my North Star, Kai.

Kai: You’re my home.

♡ ♡ ♡

It’s Abram’s first hockey game and for some reason I find myself glued to a seat. Since I started here, I’ve refused to attend a game. The smell of the ice brought back memories I’d rather forget and sticks slapping pucks was a different sort of horror.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” Sophie asks, snapping a piece of gum. She’s more interested in posting pictures on her Instagram story than the game itself.

I’ve forgotten how much I used to love hockey: the yelling, the fighting, hip-checking.

The team from New York is dominating the scoreboards—but I haven’t seen this much dirty playing since Andrew Shaw decided to bite someone during the cup play offs a few years ago.

“We’re supporting our school,” I chastise her like a child.

“Why haven’t we done it before?” She follows my gaze toward Abram on the bench, he’s not seen a minute of ice team and I can’t help but suffocate the need to yell at the coach. The feeling in my chest made me nauseous, “Gross, are you into Salvation Army over there?”

My jaw flexes under my skin and I glance at her, “He has a name.”

“Are we using it now?”

“God, Sophie, you’re like a bag of rocks sometimes.”

Finally the coach puts Abram in and I can’t hold onto the annoyance I’m holding in my chest for her because my eyes are glued to him. At the edge of my seat I watch as Abram takes a hard check into the boards—I’m standing and yelling before I can even help myself. Embarrassed, I sink back into my seat, more skin than bones.

He makes a short-handed goal—then two more before the final buzzer sounds.

My chest swells as the teams go into overtime and we win.

I pull out my phone.

I’ve forgotten how much I love hockey.

I wish I didn’t.

I text Kai and slip my phone into my pocket.

♡ ♡ ♡

“I saw you at the game last night,” Abram teases. We’d been paired up in science and I’m trying to focus on the task at hand, measuring each beaker carefully, but he keeps talking and his voice is sharp enough to sink beneath my skin, “My own personal cheerleader, eh?”

My cheeks are on fire and slowly it spreads down my neck, over my arms and through my chest. I feel like a forest caught in a blaze, afraid that all parts of me were going to be burnt.

“I was bored, actually,” I say absently, “I wasn’t there for you,” I taste the lie as I say it, the words are weighty and sour, “Besides, Jason was looking good, don’t you think?”

I reach into my bag, my hands surpassing the bottle of pills and opting for a small bag of almonds. My stomach gurgles in protest and despite my body being unwilling to bring a few to my mouth; I drop them in, keeping careful eye on the teacher who would flip his shit if he saw food.

Abram shrugs, “I guess if you like the smell of Tom Ford and poor life decisions.”

“How did you know? That’s my Amortentia.” I laugh through the joke, and I can see him smile.

“Wait—wait, wait a second,” he places a beaker down, a hand on his chest as his jaw falls, weightless, “You can read—and you like Harry Potter?” I know it’s a joke, but the irritation creeps in slow like a poison.

My brows crease and I glare at him, slamming my own glass beaker on the heavy-topped science table, nearly breaking the glass, “Are you trying to insinuate I’m illiterate?” I slip the goggles out of my hair, “Oh, what, do you assume I’m stupid because I’m well off?”

“Merde,” the curse leaves my lips and I slip out of the white lab coat that hung like a reaper’s robe on my shoulders, the anger spills like fire out of my bones, a dam that’s been cracked one too many times breaks and rushes over me. I know it’s uncalled for, the black hot anger that takes the place of blood, but I can’t stop myself. Lack of sleep and hunger are as lethal as a bomb.

Fury knows not the capabilities of a teenage girl.

“You’re an asshole, Abram Kempe,” I say as I pick up my bag, despite the teacher’s protest I head toward the door, “but what am I to expect from a charity case?” I say loud enough for the entire class to hear, “You’re like a stray dog, untrained and unwelcome.”

I really hate this jerk at school.

I text Kai once I can breathe again. Guilt seeping dangerously close to my heart. She beats, but barely, struggling to make a sound that’s human.

I wish you were here. I wish I could see you.

I need you more than anyone else right now.