#and how there is stanley calling ON THE STREET.

[currently-becoming-potatoes]

List of words for the computer:

LONG POST- more under the cut

STANFORD- Pulls up a file on Stanford Pines, written by an unknown scientist. It discusses his extra finger and praises his intelligence, as well as calling him the “next evolution in the human species”.

BILL CIPHER- Takes you to the Wikipedia page for the Eye of Providence. Also took me to a Sesame Street video about a Jazzy Triangle and a Square. Not sure what prompted the change.

STANLEY PINES: Takes you to a list of EBay listings for brass knuckles.

FIDDLEFORD: Takes you to the music video for Cotton Eye Joe by Rednex.

SHERMIE: Nothing. I sure do wish we got some lore about Grandpa Pines.

GRAVITY FALLS: The text on the computer reads “never heard of it” and the red light on the bottom turns green.

ALEX HIRSCH: Leads to Google Images for “flannel”. Huh.

WEIRDMAGEDDON: Pulls up an article from the Gravity Falls Gossiper about how nothing happened at all and there was no apocalypse.

DISNEY: Screen reads “rat.gif censored for your protection”

SOOS: Leads to a page of writing from Soos himself, referencing many things (including Tad Strange being gay and madly in love with Woodpecker Guy. Love wins!!!)

DIPPER: Leads to a creepy yellow parchment with a message from Bill Cipher himself trying to trick Dipper into blinding himself by staring at the sun for 13 hours straight! Silly! (Also if you keep clicking on it, the page gets darker and blurrier until it implies we've gone blind)

MABEL: Causes stickers to appear on every available surface. Clicking it enough times leads to message “lab now fully Mabelized”.

WENDY: Leads to a note from Wendy that mentions a way to ward off evil triangles written in the bottom corner of the book.

GIDEON: Makes a web recording of Gideon scatting play. It ends with “I love you forever Mabel”. Please shut the fuck up you little creep.

TAD STRANGE: Plays a video of bread with smooth jazz in the background.

TOBY DETERMINED: Leads to a Google search for a restraining order. Holyyyyy shittttttt

WHO ARE YOU: “I could ask you the same question”

SEASON 3: “Season Two”. I guess that’s that lol

This was about all I could find. Please reblog with anything else you can discover! Thank you, fellow Gravity Falls enjoyers!

And make sure to give some love to all the wonderful folks down in the comments! Many of these answers and tips come from what they've found. I can't list everyone, unfortunately- I didn't expect this post to get popular- but, to everyone who's helped out, THANK YOU.

FURTHER EDITS:

BLIND EYE: Pulls up an optometrist’s eye exam. Each line reads “WKHBOOVHH”. Too lazy to translate atm.

PIÑATA: Bill Cipher getting beaten to death /hj

MASON: A note from Dipper listing several anagrams of Gravity Falls characters’ names. You can check in the comments for the answers.

AXOLOTL: “You ask alotl questions”. Thanks for the pun, Alex, but I’m kind of losing my mind rn

MYSTERY SHACK: Leads to a Google search for Confusion Hill, the real-life Mystery Shack!

MYSTERY: “?”

MONSTER: Leads to several YouTube videos for “There’s a Monster at the End of this Book.”

VALLIS CINERIS: Leads to an analog-horror-esque video of Baby Bill and his parents, who have been blotted out by static, and a voice repeating “WHY DID YOU DO IT” over and over again until you stop the video.

PORTAL: “Portal.exe has been deleted. I bet you could build a new one.”

GIFFANY: You need to put it in multiple times. Several warnings about breaching firewall, followed by a message from GIFFANY saying “SOOS! I still love you!” or smth like that, and then GIFFANY herself briefly appearing onscreen. Trying again after that summons her more. Also lets you download some ZIP files.

DORITO: Summons an image of a spinning Dorito, followed by the most cursed image of Bill Cipher I have ever seen.

GOD: A short video of an axolotl in a tank with a Bill Cipher statue plays. This is Alex’s axolotl, shown in the Book of Bill countdown.

REALITY: “Is an illusion”

FILBRICK: “I’m not impressed”

CARYN: “I knew you were gonna write that”

GLASS SHARD BEACH: Leads to an image of the New Jersey Hell Hole.

ANY CUSS WORD: Pulls up a paper reading “NOT S&P APPROVED. WASH YOUR MOUTH OUT WITH SOAP” with an image of soap below.

MATPAT: Leads to a video of MatPat next to a conspiracy board, holding the Book of Bill. He tells us we’re on our own.

BABBA: Plays an audio recording of Dipper singing BABBA. Not Disco Girl, a different song.

CRAZ: Leads to the Jem and the Holograms theme.

XYLER: See above.

AD ASTRA PER ASPERA: Shows us two new journal pages from Ford and Mabel, studying the Cipher statue. They’re definitely worth the read, I teared up looking at them.

ANSWER: “Question”

QUESTION: “Answer”

SEASON ONE: “Season -1: Antigravity Falls”

SEASON TWO: “Season 1” …maybe scratch what I said about Season 3. Or don’t. Things are starting to damage my brain.

CURSED (got from @slimslamflimflam decoding the candle! Thanks!): Shows two pages talking about the dangers of drawing triangles, with the bottom of the second page showing several drawings of Bill and the words “HE IS COMING, RUN”

THE UNIVERSE: “Hologram”

RIZZ: “Life privileges revoked. Now releasing poison gas.” This response is repeated if you type in SKIBIDI or FORTNITE.

BABY: Shows an ultrasound of a fetus Bill Cipher, captioned “Look at what’s growing inside you! See you in nine months, papa!”

JOURNAL 3: “The Journal for Me”

PACIFICA: Leads to a note from Pacifica calling Bill Cipher “ick” and telling us to follow her on social media under “Platinum Paz”

PLATINUM PAZ: Pulls up an image of Northwest Manor with the llama symbol overlaid and a “NW” logo beneath. There's also a short story beneath!

LOVE: Leads to an audiobook of “The Love Triangle”. Need to read later.

BLENDIN: “The time agent lost and presumed incompetent”. Uh…?

SCARY: Leads to another audiobook of a cheesy Goosebumps-esque horror novel written by Bill himself, apparently.

DIVORCE: Shows you the logo of the bar Bill went to after his fight with Ford… Billford bitter exes confirmed

ROBBIE: Leads to the cringiest messages ever. He’s such a failure I love him

CONSPIRACY: Leads to a video of a man losing his mind over the countdown counting up. I feel so seen. (I have been informed that his name is Charlie Day, he's an actor from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and that one meme, he had a quote on the back of the Book of Bill, thanks to everyone who explained that to me, I'm sorry, I'm uncultured)

RAT: “Thurburt’s number?”

BLANCHIN: Leads to a YouTube video on how to blanch vegetables.

TJ ECKLEBURG: “Never mention that name again.”

NOTHING: “Something”

SOMETHING: “Nothing”

BURNSIDE: “Burned inside.” Well… at least we know what happened…

WADDLES: Leads to the pig placement network!

THERAPRISM: Pulls up a sign from the theraprism regarding an emergency situation. The code reads "THE OLD ONE".

SHAPE: Pulls up an article on Plato, triangles, and Ancient Greece. This article is presumably written by Bill.

LLIB and BILL: THIS leads to the Sesame Street video every time.

WEIRD: Shows a video of a frightened Weird Al panicking about being trapped in a computer. Sorry, man...

CLONE: Pulls up an image of Paper Jam Dipper, a warning about not getting him too close to liquids, and an option to print.

TRIANGLE: ")" or "Tri harder."

THEYLLSEE: "Is seeing believing?"

DEER TEETH: "For you, kid!"

LIFE: "Life: 72% complete. Now loading: death."

DEATH: "Life's goth cousin."

PINES: "A good family tree."

OWL TROWEL: A slab of hieroglyphs, translating to an ancient ad for an owl trowel.

SCALENE: "Life form not found." EUCLID has the same outcome.

WELL WELL WELL BEING: Some assorted notes from Bill's Theraprism file. These include his greatest love and fear, his art therapy notes, and notes on his phobias. Three clicks is required to read them all.

BOO BERRY: Offers a poem on the meaning of life! Wow! I feel so enlightened!

LOVE YA BRO: Shows us a doodle from Stan of one of his and Ford's Sea Grunks adventures, and another code on the back. It translates to "Kings of New Jersey." I've been told it lets you download the code as a font.

SORRY: Reveals the repaired Backupsmore photo, with a note from Fiddleford about his and Ford's growing friendship. Fiddauthor fans, we are eating well tonight!

HORROR: Pulls up an image and report on The Always Garden, which is essentially a cheap Italian restaurant hidden in the backrooms.

HOLOGRAM: "Universe."

NAITSUAF: Pulls up a page that looks like it would be from the Book of Bill, in which Bill tries to convince us to sell us his soul. Clicking "ARE YOU READY?" pulls up a contract where we can sell our soul to Bill (with an alarming amount of coded fine print. Will need to translate later). You can print this document out, back out, or sign it right there on the web. Hitting "SIGN" causes the words "PLEASURE DOING BUSINESS WITH YOU!" to appear, and the document to close. In other words, I no longer have a soul.

IMSTILLONYOURMIND: Plays a recording of the ocean, with Stan faintly talking in the background. Poor Ford ain't quite over the divorce yet...

HOTXOLOTL: Pulls up a "MOST WANTED" doc on the henchmaniacs.

SEVENEYES: Pulls up a faded polaroid of The Oracle with text on the back that reads "LEAVE HIM. Escape to dimension *blurred out*. It's against the rules but it's the only reality where you'll be safe from him." The code at the bottom (once again decoded by the powerhouse that is @slimslamflimflam) reads "Set a course for Dimension: R34LITY." Is another Cipher Hunt in the makes? Only time will tell, hehehe.

JUST FIT IN: Plays an old commercial with a few moments of speech in the glitches at the end.

EVEN HIS LIES ARE LIES: Shows a transcript from a therapy session at the Theraprism. Bill discusses his relationship with Ford and cuts off the session when someone brings up his parents.

NOT A PHASE: Shows a Google search for "black hair dye stained an entire bathroom."

PAPER IS BOOK SKIN: Instantly downloads a page of fleshy pink paper with the word "ENJOY" written on it!

SHAVE YOUR GRANDMA: Pulls up a few more pages about the human life cycle.

LIES: Pulls up an image of "The Game of Lies" board game, with a long stretch of text from (I assume) Bill, ending with "LIE UNTIL YOU ARE NOT LYING ANYMORE." Someone has some issues...

SAY BAAAA: Pulls up a neat little rhyme about being Bill Cipher's obedient flock of sheep. The code at the end translates to "Black Sheep."

ONE EYED KING: Plays a video of a hypnotist's spiral, with Bill proclaiming "YOU WANT TO PLEDGE YOUR SOUL TO BILL CIPHER" in the background. There is also morse code that translates to "NAITSUAF", leading to a previous discovery- the soul contract.

TANTRUM: Pulls up a transcript of a spat between Bill and Time Baby.

TITANS BLOOD: "HOOT HOOT! Password please!"

CURSE WITTEBANE: Pulls up an image of a Bill Cipher ouija board.

FORDTRAMARINE: Pulls up several rejected files from Ford trying to convince us Fordtramarine exists.

SUCK IT MERLIN: Pulls up a tapestry of Bill riding a unicorn. The code at the top reads "DAY MARE VS NIGHTMARE."

HEY NERD: Plays a commercial advertising things such as a Bill Cipher calendar, the Scrubba-Bill, a severed hand, and the entire Cygnus-XIII galaxy. Half of the image can be found in the Book of Bill.

DESTRUCTION IS THE FORM OF CREATION: Pulls up a frantic page of notes from post-portal-shit Fiddleford. A sticky note at the bottom has a code that reads "Unreality."

RUBBERHOSE: Plays "The World is Small Ever After for All."

IRREGULAR: Shows us Bill's mugshot in color. The code below reads "No prison or attention span can hold him."

UNREALITY: Offers a guide by Bill on how to become immortal.

GUN: "Oh yes oh yes oh yes they both."

ABUELITA: Leads to a video on vacuuming the walls.

YES: "What's McGucket's favorite soda?"

NO: "Your loss..."

REPEATEDLY CLICKING STAN: This stuff deserves a section of its own, away from the OG Stan stuff. It takes you through several Ebay listings on various Stan-ish items until you get to a page written by Bill about Stan's secret shames. "Ex-wives" further confirms our theory on Stan and Eda's relationship, as well as revealing many other bits of lore. "Fears" is somewhat goofy to be honest. "Secret Shames" reveals that Stan is a fanfiction writer and that his mother is the only member of his family who truly loves him outside of Ford and the kids. "Unreported Crimes" is somewhat goofy as well. "Failed Products" basically confirms that Stan is that world's Alex. "Lowest Moments" is genuinely depressing, and "Darkest Thought". Well. I'm not spoiling it lol. And the bit on "How He Beat Me" causes Bill to get more and more frantic/angry the more you click it! Comedy GOLD!

DIPPY FRESH: Leads to a Reddit post of the Burger King Kids Club.

MEOW: Leads to a TikTok of a man playing the Gravity Falls theme on that cap keyboard.

HELP ME: Pulls up another video of Alex's axolotl and the tiny statue. Rip Bill ig :/

R34LITY: Pulls up several photos of the henchmaniacs in live-action, captioned "They found a new home."

JOURNAL 1: "The journal of fun."

JOURNAL 2: "The journal for you."

FBI: "Your webcam is on. We are watching."

BURNED INSIDE: Shows an image of a charred Oregon Parks badge and nametag on the ground.

HECTORING: Plays a silly little country song!

OROBOROUS: Pulls up two journal pages about Fiddleford buying Ford an axolotl to keep him company, and Bill subsequently telling Ford to get rid of him. There's also some code on the first page that reads "CHONKY BOY." Ford, you wonderful dork.

[sunsetchicane]

i love you, i'm sorry [QH43]

quinn hughes x fem!reader

word count: 2.9k

summary: two years after breaking things off with Quinn, you find yourself going to Game 1 of Round 2 of the Playoffs, completely unprepared to see the man you still harbour feelings for.

based off of: this is loosely based off of I Love You, I'm Sorry by Gracie Abrams

warnings: aggressive amounts of pining (like, probably annoying), two swear words, a few kisses, mentions of a breakup (so like, kinda angst? idk man), copious amounts of cheesiness, probably extremely inaccurate descriptions of the game, not great writing lol. let me know if i missed anything!

author's note: okay, i haven't written anything on here yet due to a horrendous case of writer's block and many hours of working. so, this is definitely not my best work, but it was a fun way to try move past my writing slump. i really do hope that anyone who reads this does enjoy! love, addi <3

Vancouver’s streets preserve memories well. You found that out when, even two years after things had fallen to pieces, you couldn’t go anywhere without seeing the two of you holding hands, sharing quiet laughs, and stealing kisses. You’d thought that after two years you would’ve been able to shake those memories off when they plagued your mind; but it was hard when he was plastered across banners and fans sported his jersey for half the year. 

He was making his name known throughout the NHL, and you couldn’t ignore the buzz around Quinn Hughes when the Canucks made it to the Stanley Cup Playoffs. 

After you and Quinn had broken things off, you had to find separate friend groups to belong in. The two of you had shared too many mutual friends. The group of ladies you did manage to find yourself among knew nothing about your past relationship with the captain of the Canucks. When the city was gearing up for the first round of the playoffs, even your friends couldn’t stop talking about the sport. 

You were standing outside, leaning against the railing on a BC ferry, returning from visiting family on the Island, when you received a call from your friend Lydia. You picked up without hesitation. 

“Hey, what’s up?” you asked. 

She immediately giggled, which honestly had you a little scared. “I have a surprise,” she said excitedly, the last word dragged out. 

You snorted. “Am I allowed to ask what it is?” 

“It’s a really big surprise, and you have to promise not to scream when I tell you,” she laughed, acting like a teenage girl again. It was one of the things you really did love about her – her ability to bring childlike joy with her wherever she went. 

“I promise not to scream, Lyd,” you assured her, hoping she was satisfied. 

She paused for dramatic effect, and you let her. You knew she was having fun with it. 

“We’re going to the first game of round 2 of the playoffs!” she squealed. 

Your phone nearly slipped through your fingers, almost lost to the sea. You stepped away from the railing, suddenly very glad there was no one on the deck with you. Your heart clenched in your chest. The last time you had been to a game was when you and Quinn had still been together. He wouldn’t even know you were in the crowd, but you would be painfully aware of him in the centre of the arena. 

“Okay, you’re even quieter than I thought you’d be,” Lydia commented, reminding you that there was someone on the other end of the line. 

You debated for a moment what to say. Would it best to just blurt out that you had dated Quinn Hughes and you were not exactly ready to go watch him play again? Definitely not. 

“Uh, yeah, I’m just surprised!” That wasn’t a lie. “How’d you get the tickets?” 

“My dad,” she said simply. “When I told him I wanted to go see the Canucks, he was suddenly the proudest parent in the world. You know how he is – once he gets an idea in his head, whether it’s planted there by me or not, he has to do it.” 

“Wow, that’s–that’s crazy!” you said stiffly, still unsure of how to act. 

“Yeah, and it gets better! We’re sitting right behind the Canucks’ bench!” 

You nearly choked on nothing. “What?” 

“I know, right? I don’t know how my dad managed it, but he did,” she told you, completely unaware of your stuttering heart. “Who knows, maybe we’ll catch some players’ eyes,” she joked, and you tried to force a laugh out with her. 

“Yeah, maybe.” What you didn’t add out loud was your brain screaming please no. 

After a few more minutes of chatting and you pretending to be completely sound of mind, Lydia said goodbye, telling you she would send the details soon. 

You pocketed your phone and leaned against the railing once more. You watched as the sun brushed the horizon, casting a beautiful pink against the clouds. Vancouver was getting close, and for obvious reasons, you were suddenly dreading it. You wanted to sit on the ferry until it returned to Vancouver Island. 

You sighed and rested your chin on your folded arms. You heard a faint buzzing sound above you, and lifted your eyes to the sky. A plane was coming to land at the Vancouver Airport. As it approached, you let yourself imagine it was Quinn flying back from Nashville, and you felt your heart tighten in your chest once more, because you were terrified to see him again, but also because you still missed him. Maybe you were scared to see him because you missed him. 

You dropped your forehead to your arms once more and groaned loudly, the ocean and the brightening city lights your only listening companions. 

When the morning of May 8th arrived, you found yourself unable to shake the anxiety that had made a home in your chest over the last few days. There was a tenseness in your shoulders that never left, and a squeezing at your heart that seemed relentless. 

The group chat you shared with your friends had been buzzing incessantly, the girls incredibly excited. Every now and then you made your fingers put a message out there that hopefully hid your anxieties from them. 

After much procrastination, you eventually made your way to your closet. After tugging on a simple pair of blue jeans, you reached towards the back of your closet. Your fingers closed around the unmistakable, thick material of the jersey. Taking a deep breath, you pulled it out. Your only Canucks jersey of course, had to be Quinn’s home jersey from two seasons ago. No one would know it was the jersey that he had pulled over his head before every home game. However, you knew. There was no C on the left side of the chest, and your mind was pulled back to the relationship you had shared.  

You often questioned why you and Quinn had even ended things. You missed him so much still, and you were plagued by the way you knew it had been the wrong choice. You had been growing apart as he was dealing with growing attention and expectations within his career, and a promotion at your own job had stolen your energy and attention. You had both been tired and short with one another, and eventually the tension built and had blown up in a terrible way. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force both the guilt and continued yearning out of your busy mind. 

When Lydia texted that she and the girls were on the way to your apartment, you reluctantly pulled the jersey over your head. The sleeves covered most of your hands, and the fabric fell past your hips and part way down your thighs. You pulled on a pair of shoes and left the safe space that was your apartment, locking the door behind you. 

Rogers Arena was packed and the energy in the building made you feel like you could start vibrating. You and your friends held hands so as not to get separated. You were glad when your friends made no comment on how tightly you squeezed their hands, or how sweaty your palms might have been. 

You were made significantly more nervous when you realised that Lydia had not been exaggerating about your seats. You were sitting right behind the bench. 

The arena was filling up steadily, and you sat there in between your friends, not speaking a single word. It had been a couple years since you had been here, and while you were very nervous, the familiarity came rushing back to you and it helped to slow your fast beating heart. 

If you closed your eyes, you could imagine Quinn smiling at you from the other side of the glass, and laughing when you blew him a kiss. 

You wrapped your arms gently around yourself, the once very stiff material of the jersey now very easily shifted and manipulated. You knew it didn’t smell like him anymore, but when you let yourself get lost in the feeling of his old jersey, it was like he was right there. You were wrapped in him still, and you doubted it would ever go away. 

You were shocked out of your own thoughts when your friends, along with the rest of the fans around you, started cheering. The Canucks and the Oilers were on the ice, starting to warm up. Your eyes searched the ice quickly, and gliding easily across the ice on the opposite side of rink, was the captain, the number 43 embroidered on his jersey, just like the one you adorned. 

Your own cheeks heated up when it really hit you that you were wearing his old jersey. You weren’t together anymore; what were you thinking? He could see you– what would he think when he saw you right behind his bench, wearing the jersey he had gifted you?

You suddenly wanted to throw up more than ever. He exchanged a few words with Elias, and laughed at something his buddy had said. Your heart ached in longing once more. You had missed his laugh so much. 

Quinn now had facial hair, something he hadn’t had when he was with you. His hair was longer, peeking out from beneath his helmet. He already seemed much more grown up. He looked like a captain, something who had become used to leading his team. Quinn had always been somewhat confident in his abilities as a hockey player, but it was easy to tell that he had really gotten used to his role on the team and had come into his own over the past two years. 

The girls grabbed your hands and walked into the aisle, just to get right up to the glass. Your face burned and you tried to hide behind some of your friends. You kept your heads down and your arms folded. 

Your friends held up hats and other paraphernalia that they desperately wanted signed by players. 

“Y/N!” One of your friends practically shouted. You suddenly noticed that they had all stopped cheering. You looked up to see them parted in front of you. 

Quinn was on the other side of the glass, looking right at you. 

Your friends shoved you up the glass, giggling and squealing. You nearly ran into the glass from the force of their shoves. Quinn laughed at you, his smile exactly how you remembered it. 

He pointed at the white Canucks towel in your hands and shouted, “toss it over!” The arena was so loud you were glad he had mouthed it clearly. You hesitated but threw the towel over. With one glove off and in the other hand, he caught it. He gestured to one of your friends to throw over the Sharpie she was holding. She did gladly, happy to be included. He caught it easily and started to write quickly on the white fabric. Your heart did flips while watching him, and your hands shook with nothing to hold onto. 

He finally capped the pen and threw both the towel and marker over the glass. You struggled to catch it, but thankfully, you managed to hold onto it. You held it flat before you. 

Meet me by my car after. Usual spot. Your breath stopped slightly when you saw a rushed heart drawn next to the words. You looked back up to see him putting his glove back on. He gave you a warm smile that set you on a fire from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. You took a deep breath and nodded to him. His smile widened slightly. Before he turned to skate away, you saw him mouth the words, “nice jersey.” You stuttered for a second, and he simply winked and turned. 

Your friends all screamed and crowded you, looking at the towel. 

“Usual spot? What the fuck is going on?” Lydia yelled over the noise, cackling. 

You just blushed and shook your head, returning to your seat with the towel gripped tightly in your hands. 

As the teams continued to warm up, you explained as quickly as you could that you and Quinn had once been together. Your friends, of course, were shocked but also very excited for you at the prospect of reuniting with him. You simply waved your hands in protest. 

“I don’t even know if he wants to get back together with me! He might just want to catch up or something… we’re cool now and I don’t want to mess anything up.” 

“Girl, please!” one of your friends shouted. “He drew a motherfucking heart and winked at you! Of course he wants you back.”

You all laughed and you embraced the next blush that warmed your cheeks. 

The players left the ice, and minutes later, the lights went dark. The deafening sound of nearly 19,000 people screaming almost broke your eardrums. Blue light filled the room, and you looked up to see what was playing on the large screens above you. 

You watched the intro video and let a nostalgic, giddy feeling overtake you. You couldn’t help but smile. 

The arena fell back into nearly full darkness. You heard the beginning of a familiar sound of twinkly guitar that dragged you right back to 2011. Goosebumps rose up along your skin all over your body. That was the last time the Canucks had made it to the Playoff finals, and you hoped dearly that they could get there again. The playing of Where The Streets Have No Name from their intro from 2011 made hope take hold of you.

You couldn’t help but raise your particularly special white rally towel in the air to wave alongside all of the other Canucks fans in the building. 

It had been surprisingly easy to get into the players’ parking garage. Despite it being two years since you had been in the building, you were recognized by several people, who let you walk wherever you wanted. 

Your friends had practically shoved you to go after the game, screaming after you to call them later. You had laughed and walked away, your steps lighter than they had been in a long while. 

You later found yourself standing by Quinn’s car. It was the same one he’d had when you had been together. Your hand brushed the shining hood of the car, and you could see yourself in the passenger seat, laughing at something he’d said as the two of you drove around downtown Vancouver. 

“Thank God you actually showed up.” 

You whipped around, seeing a freshly showered Quinn in sweatpants and a hoodie making his way towards you. 

You tugged on the hem of the jersey, your heart beating quicker and quicker with every step he took. 

He stopped in front of you, and when you looked up, you both spoke. 

“I love you.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head. “You-what?” 

He bit his bottom lip before repeating himself. “I love you. I know it’s been two years, but-” 

“I love you, too,” you said quickly, blood roaring in your ears. “And I am so, so sorry. I never should’ve-” 

It was his turn to cut you off. “Don’t apologise, please. It’s not your fault.”

“Can you… can you please accept my apology, at least?” 

He smiled softly. “I forgive you. I’m sorry, too.” 

“I forgive you, too,” you whispered softly, your heart swelling with affection as you looked at him. You felt an intense relief flood your body. Your shoulders finally relaxed for the first time in what felt like years. He reached out and wrapped you in a warm hug. You melted into it, returning the gesture. 

“I missed you. So much,” you mumbled into his hoodie. 

One of hands gently scratched the back of your neck like he used to do. “I missed you, too.” He pulled away just enough to lean down and kiss your lips softly. Nothing had ever felt so natural. His playoff beard scratched your face and you laughed at the sensation, pulling away. 

“Not used to the beard,” you admitted, smiling widely. 

He smiled, too. “Yeah, what do you think? Should I keep it around?” 

You shrugged, leaning back into him. “Well, you’re very handsome either way.” 

“You think?” 

“Mhm. Your hair also looks very good. I like it longer like this,” you told him, ruffling his brown hair. He swatted your hand away and kissed your cheek. 

“Noted.” He looked down at me again. “Should probably get you a new jersey.” 

“Hm, you think I need the big ole C on here, Captain?” 

He shook his head, blushing. “Don’t call me that.” 

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him, bringing his head down for you to kiss. “Couldn’t help myself.” You grabbed his hands. “Congratulations on the big win, by the way.” 

“I can’t believe you came. I thought I was hallucinating or something when I saw you,” he told you honestly. 

“Well, I’m glad I came,” you admitted, running a hand through his hair. 

“You have no idea how happy I am right now,” he said, smiling wider than you had seen all night. 

You laughed, feeling pure joy in your heart. “I think I might have an idea.” 

[almightyellie]

i'm not in love

in which angus always preferred being alone. at least, he used to.

pairing is angus tully x fem!reader

word count is 3.4k

author says don't look at me <3 not proofread bc it's me

you should watch out for college-aged angus, mostly just two besties who are so in love it makes them stupid

title song is i'm not in love // 10cc

angus tully answers his mother’s biweekly calls diligently. not because either of them truly want to speak to each other—it’s more perfunctory than anything. she calls and asks about school, and he tells her it’s good. then he asks about stanley, and she tells him about stanley’s job, and then she’ll ask angus about his job. he tells her it’s fine, and she offers him money that he’ll accept only if he’s in a particularly foul mood. after three years, they almost have it down to a perfect script. 

at least, he thought they did. 

“how’s y/n?”

the question catches him so off-guard that his sharp intake of breath makes him choke, but judy waits patiently for an answer. he mentioned you every once in a while. mostly, he likes that you’re an entirely separate part of his life from his mother and stanley. he’ll bring you up if she asks why he isn’t coming home on a holiday, or on the off-chance she asks about his weekend plans. yours is one of the only names he’s ever given her when he talks about school, and one of the only ones that seems to stick around longer than a few months at a time. “she’s…good,” he responds tentatively.

“what are you guys doing tonight?”

he stares at his phone in bemusement. “what is this?”

she sighs, and he can almost see that displeased look on her face. he had it memorized. “when are we going to meet her?”

“why do you want to meet her?” he asks. if he really thinks about it, it makes sense. you two had lived across from one another for three years, and you had fallen together in a way that almost felt predetermined. you are the longest standing person in his life post-high school, and his mother knows this.

he had always preferred being alone. even as a child, he had no interest in playing with the neighborhood kids in the middle of the street. he liked doing things by himself. he liked doing what he wanted without having to inform anyone else. when he had gone to college and found a semi-affordable apartment that he wouldn’t have to share, he had been elated. the cute girl across the hall had just been a plus. 

you two had always just worked. he holds everyone at arm's length, but it had never even occurred to him to shut you out. you two end up together most nights, watching movies or doing homework. it happens so easily that he hardly recognizes how strange it is. perpetual wallflower angus tully is attached.

“well, you two have been together for a while. if things are serious, i think it’s best that we meet her.”

angus blinks, shocked, before a nervous laugh bubbles up in his chest. it starts low, but the longer she waits in her own confused silence, the louder and more unruly his laughter becomes. he’s laughing—not because the idea is ridiculous, but because it’s so plausible that it takes him by surprise. he had spent the last two years trying to bury his feelings for you, and he had been so unsuccessful that even his mother had picked up on it.

“angus,” she snaps, and he giggles, even though it isn’t funny, even though his stomach twists and rolls in a way that makes him feel sick.

“i’m sorry,” he gasps, covering his eyes. “just…we—y/n and i aren’t together.”

there’s a long moment of silence where he catches his breath before his mom says, “angus, that’s not funny.”

“well, it is, if you think about it really hard,” he offers. she sighs, exasperated, and angus rubs his eyes. he can’t possibly explain to his mother what about this situation is truly amusing, because really, it isn’t funny. it’s not funny that he’s desperately in love with his best friend, and it’s not funny that she oscillates between entirely oblivious and seemingly aware. 

“you’re telling me you’ve been missing family holidays for a girl you aren’t dating?” 

he can tell she doesn’t believe him, and he doesn’t bother reminding her that they haven’t had a real family holiday in years. long before he started university, and long before he met you. besides, answering that question honestly is dangerous, and should he not handle this delicately, he’ll find himself on the wrong side of his mother’s wrath.

“uh…”

he’s fumbling, panicking, and it only gets worse when he hears his front door open. “angus?” you call, and his whole body cringes, his head falling to rest on the wall.

“angus,” judy warns.

“yeah,” he blurts, watching you round the corner. you smile, offering only a small wave as you drop your bag onto his kitchen table. “no, mom, obviously not. that would be ridiculous.”

as he feels her anxiety cease, his own skyrockets. he’s focused entirely on you; your back is turned toward him as you open his fridge, searching through the shelves for something to eat. if it were anyone else, he’d be irritated, but he almost loves it when you do it. loves that you feel comfortable enough in his home to make yourself feel at home, that he can take care of you in the smallest way. most nights, when he lies in bed and thinks of you, he finds himself thinking of the ways he could take care of you. the ways he could give you what he never had, the things that had been ripped from him. security. unconditional affection. peace. he’s barely listening when his mother sighs again. “you know, i don’t understand your humor sometimes.”

“i know,” he says. you kick the fridge closed, enough food in your hands to feed both of you. “hey, she actually just got here. can i let you go?”

“not until you answer my question.” her voice is clipped now, and angus winces. some nights she’s a little more forgiving with his distraction, a little more responsive to the things he says that she doesn’t necessarily understand. tonight, he’s more distracted than usual and less decipherable than ever. “when can we meet her?”

angus groans, and you smile over your shoulder. you know better than anyone how much he struggles with his mother. you’ve listened in on many of their phone calls, and patiently listened to him complain about them later. “i don’t know, mom.”

“how about easter?” she asks. angus turns to lean against the wall and watch you, and you lean against the counter, waiting for him to be done. he rolls his eyes, a silent cue that things are taking longer than he’d like. “stanley and i can drive up that saturday and take you guys out for a nice dinner. on us.”

reluctantly, only because he knows that she’ll blow a gasket if they don’t nail down plans on this phone call, and because he wants this to be over, he huffs. he pulls the receiver away slightly and asks, “you want to have dinner with my mom and stanley easter weekend?”

you blink owlishly. “what? why?”

“they want to meet you.”

“why?” you insist. he glares at you impatiently; knowing angus—more, knowing what you know about his mother—an answer is needed now, and explanation must come later. the idea of meeting his mom makes your stomach turn uncomfortably, but there he stands. even with a hard glare, you feel safe with him. you feel the need to do what he asks of you, and you know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t ask if he thought it would be something you couldn’t handle. “uh…i guess, yeah.”

he offers a grateful smile. “easter weekend sounds great, mom.”

they quickly finalize plans before hanging up, and the second the receiver is back on hook, he groans loudly, rubbing his eyes. you wait for him to speak, but he stands with his hands over his eyes, hiding from you. “angus.”

“she thinks you’re my girlfriend,” he blurts.

you really don’t mean to start laughing. “what?”

his lips turn up in a sheepish smile. “i guess they’ve thought we were together this entire time,” he chuckles. “and i panicked! she accused me missing holidays to spend time with you and i didn’t want to get in trouble—”

you clutch your stomach, doubled over in laughter. he doesn’t want to laugh—frankly, he’s a little hurt that you find the idea so laughable, but he had laughed, too. “you caved,” you gasp. “you caved and told a lie because you didn’t want to get in trouble with your mommy.”

“okay.” he rolls his eyes. “whatever. you’re part of this now, too.”

your giggles die down and you turn to take the food out of the microwave. “hey, i could back out. i could break up with you at any time.”

he scoffs, but doesn’t respond. often enough, when you’re doing exactly what you’re doing now, angus’ feelings become overwhelming. watching you move around his kitchen with the kind of natural domesticity makes him feel choked, buried under his overflowing affection.

the harder he fights his feelings, the worse they get. you’re his best friend—it’s not on purpose, either; you aren’t at all the kind of person he ever thought he would fall for. you were bitingly funny, of course, but you fought him constantly. he wouldn’t even say you were particularly nice for the first few months you two knew one another. you’re entirely out of left field, and he can’t even get a read on you half the time—not that he even really wants to. part of him thinks that knowing exactly what you think about him would be truly crushing.

“i guess a free meal could be nice,” you tease, stirring your dinner with a knowing smile.

“yeah, you’re so unused to those,” he bites, pushing himself off the wall. you beam.

it’s surprising, in a way, that you hadn’t met angus’ mom and stepfather already. he’s met your family a thousand times over; they take you both out to dinner every single time they visit you. they had sent him a birthday gift this year, for christ’s sake. but you could probably count the amount of time angus had seen his mother in the last three years on both hands. you were surprised enough that she even remembered your name.

you had spent your entire friendship with angus thinking about his mother. being angry with her. your best friend is caring, in his own stilted, modest way. he’s witty and so smart that it intimidates you, and he’s loyal. it tells you all you need to know that his relationship with his mother isn’t strong. 

he bumps you out of the way, and you let him. you watch him open the cupboard for plates to evenly split the leftover pasta, and your chest nearly heaves with confused affection. you see the way he looks at you when he’s not careful. with an unrestrained reverence, with a tenderness that can’t be forced. it had made you uncomfortable, at first. made you feel like you couldn’t be around him anymore. you had tried to pull away—for a day or two. 

the reality of the entire situation is that angus tully belongs in your life. you adore him too much to cut him out, and even if you didn’t, it kills you to think of him alone. he’s a lone wolf; it’s amazing enough that you two have connected the way that you have. if angus didn’t have you, he had a few friends from class. maybe two or three guys from work. but nothing as deep, nothing as serendipitous as your friendship. 

discomfort with his feelings had grown into a tentative acceptance once you realized he had no plans on acting on them, and after a few months, tentative acceptance had grown into…something else entirely. you aren’t sure exactly what it is. it isn’t like those juvenile, giddy crushes you had harbored in high school. angus doesn’t keep you up at night, nor does he make you lovesick. he puts you at ease. he makes you feel safe. he makes you feel like yourself.

you don’t want to confront the strange sense of peace that angus has offered you without even knowing. without even trying. you don’t want to change your friendship, or misattribute your feelings, so you ignore them. and you ignore the way he looks at you, and how he insists on making your favorite dinners, even though he complains about you eating his leftovers, and how he uses your spare key to lock your door every single time he leaves your apartment without fail. 

your knees bump together under the tiny table in his kitchen as you two eat dinner. you listen to him talk about his coworkers, lulled into relaxation by his deep voice; you always loved your dinnertime conversations. mostly, one of you just talked. you would talk about school and work and your classmates and your days; they aren’t even really conversations. it’s just an excuse to talk and an opportunity to listen. he doesn’t mind when you don’t respond, and neither of you care if the other person talks the entire time. it’s time spent together more than anything else. you think about how effortless it feels. how you could do this every night with intention, not under the guise of getting out of your apartment. you think about the dinner with his mom, and how you’ll both put on nice outfits to go out, and how you’ll come home together, and how you’ll dissect every detail of the dinner and the conversations for the entire night, if not for days afterwards.

you notice only a moment too late that you’ve zoned out, and angus kicks your shin gently. “you good?”

with a reassuring smile, you nod. “yeah. i’m just thinking about dinner with your mom.”

he’s bashful when he laughs quietly. “yeah…sorry. i know i kind of screwed you over.” you can tell that he truly does feel bad, but the longer you think about it, the less you dread it. you think you might actually like an excuse to acknowledge the way angus looks at you, for him to not have to hide it. 

“i don’t know…i’m kind of excited,” you admit, pushing food around your plate. angus looks at you from under his lashes, taking pause at your tone. you refuse to look at him, and it sends his heart into overdrive; he’s panicked, certainly, and so in love with you that it makes him nauseous. he isn’t entirely sure that he’ll survive a night of you pretending. of it all feeling so real.

he can feel a confession coming, bubbling up in his chest, and he swallows in panic. “she’s—she’ll like you, i think.”

with a slight smile, you push your plate away from you. “i’m not sure i’ll like her.”

which he loves about you, naturally. 

he clears his throat to bury the confession and stands; angus grabs both plates and turns his back to you to hide his flushed cheeks. shamelessly, since he can’t see you, you watch him, soothed simply by the way he moves. by how familiar he is. by how you can almost predict every move he makes. the words fall out before you’re even cognizant of them

“just so you know, i don’t mind your mom thinking i’m your girlfriend.”

the way he freezes makes your shoulders tense. you hadn’t meant to say that. it was true, but he didn’t need to know that. angus’ mind screeches to a full stop before it starts running ten times faster than before. what did that mean?

slowly—so slowly that you almost don’t notice—he sets the plates in the sink. you won’t get out of this. you know you won’t, because you know angus. once the door is open, he’ll take the opportunity to push it every single time. “why?” he asks, his voice a carefully constructed tone of ease. he plays it well; his nonchalance is almost perfectly natural. it nearly tricks you.

still kicking yourself, you shrug even though he can’t see you. instead, you start emptying your bag to distract yourself. textbooks and notebooks and pencils clatter against the table. “just…we could sell it, don’t you think?” it’s not even close to what he wants to hear, and you buckle down even though you know you won’t win this one. “we know everything about each other.”

he snorts, and it puts you at ease. not because you’re going to get out of this. you know something dangerous is going to come out of this conversation, but because it’s angus. it’s your best friend. and you know him, and you know the way he treats you is symptomatic of something much larger. it used to scare you, but it doesn’t now. not now that he washes your dishes, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows. you trust him. you know that any vulnerability you share will be returned to you tenfold.

“yeah, right. that just makes it convenient,” he says knowingly, head tilting. he watches you sort through your textbooks, hiding your anxiety while you busy yourself.

part of you hopes that he’ll just drop it. not because you don’t think things will work out, but because you love how things are between the two of you. the almosts, the what-ifs, the wondering is something you so love to savor. it’s still so easy between you two; all of those what-ifs still exist only in your minds, only in the silent space between you that neither of you are willing to acknowledge. there’s plausible deniability. there’s safety.

you smile shakily, glancing up at him. “i guess i mean…that we…work?”

he smiles back, comforting but still audacious. “and by that, you mean…”

with a groan, you fold your arms and bury your face in them. you know this leap can only be beneficial, but you’re struggling to let yourself admit anything. it’s more frustrating than the denial. 

angus stares at you, suddenly the emotionally constipated one, and his heart is pounding in his ears. he can feel it beating against his chest; he’s not brave enough to hope. it’s too scary for him to wonder if this is finally it, if you had been as keenly aware as he had assumed you to be. 

“just…i think there’s a reason my mom thinks we’re together. just so you know.” you groan louder, unmoved by his words, and he continues, “beyond the fact that we’re constantly together.”

you peek up at him, your chin still pressed against your forearms. he watches you, big brown eyes wide open with vulnerability. he’s waiting. you figure it’s as good of a segue as he’s going to give you. with a deep breath, ignoring the turning and rolling of your stomach, you say, “i feel like…things could be like that between us.”

he breaks into a smile so wide that you have to look away from him. “oh, is that what this is about?” he asks facetiously. 

you grunt, irritated. “don’t tease me.”

he laughs, uncrossing his arms. you don’t even want to look at him, humiliated. he hasn’t rejected you—in fact, you know he’s just keeping you on the line to tease you. it irritates you, but he seems giddy, even if he tries to act like he’s unaffected. he can’t keep that goofy smile off his face. it entirely gives him away. “hey,” he says, voice bright. “c’mere.”

“no,” you spit, annoyed. you know that the second you give in, everything will change. for the better, you think, but it will change. you hold on to the wondering for just a moment longer, but you can’t help yourself. he waits patiently at the counter, holding on to the ledge. you like the wondering, but you think you’re ready to find out if it’s as good as it seems it would be.

self-conscious, you cross the room to him. you stand only centimeters apart, and he grins at you, fingers gently stroking the hem of your collar. “you know, right?”

you don’t have to ask what he means. you know. maybe not the depths, but you know. the way he looks at you is enough to let you know. the way he takes care of you tells you what his words haven’t yet. they will. “you can’t hide from me, angus tully.”

he loves that about you, too. he’ll tell you all the specifics later. for now, he kisses you, a long arm around your waist, and you think that this is much better than the what-ifs.

[bagelzest]

ok I've been writing down every code I could find and what they do for thisisnotawebsitedotcom in my notes app so here's what I've found so far:

• tjeckleburg - NEVER MENTION THAT NAME AGAIN

• bill - eye of providence wiki page, then sesame street jazzy triangle meets a square square (same result with cipher)

• bill cipher - triangle wiki page

• weirdmageddon - gravity falls gossiper newspaper

• soos - letter from soos

• pinata - bill piñata gettin beat

• mabel - stickers on everything till 'LAB NOW FULLY MABELIZED'

• dipper - note from bill telling dipper to stare at the sun for 13 hours, enter multiple times for a retina burning sim

• mason - letter from dipper

• pines - A GOOD FAMILY TREE

• stan + stanley - brass knuckles ebay search, keep entering to get wheel of shame page

• ford + stanford + sixer- ford's polydactyly diagnosis + report

• pacifica - letter from pacifica

• wendy - note from wendy

• waddles - pigplacementnetwork.org

• gideon - sweat resistant bolo ties google search

• fiddleford - cotton eye joe mv

• dippy fresh - burger king kids club r/nostalgia

• axolotl - YOU ASK ALOTL QUESTIONS

• tad strange - bread slicing

• alex hirsch - flannel google search

• blendin - TIME AGENT LOST AND PRESUMED INCOMPETENT

• robbie - text chat between robbie and Thompson, pic of them being taken by bill

• gravity falls - NEVER HEARD OF IT

• mystery shack - confusion hill

• blind eye - eye test, colour code at bottom- euclmjiannrepttgccvisignnsupervisionn I think?? EDIT wtf was I on that is obviously not what it says

• reality - IS AN ILLUSION

• the universe - HOLLOGRAM

• deer teeth - FOR YOU, KID!

• fuck - I get told to wash my mouth out with soap :(((

• book of bill - HIDE IT UNDER SHIRT DURING PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE

• giffany - enter multiple times, computer tries to block, SOOS, I STILL LOVE YOU, giffany appears on screen, downloading file IM NEVER LEAVING! file has all her sprites, a doc called ILL ALWAYS BE WITH YOU SOOS which is text in the shape of giffany

• euclydia - DIMENSION NOT FOUND

• portal - PORTAL.EXE HAS BEEN DELETED. I BET YOU COULD BUILD ONE

• toby determined - google search restraining order

• journal 1 - THE JOURNAL OF FUN

• journal 2 - THE JOURNAL FOR YOU

• journal 3 - THE JOURNAL FOR ME

• babba + disco girl - recording of dipper singing and listening to babba

• gun - OH YES OH YES OH YES THEY BOTH

• abuelita - best vacuum for walls and ceilings yt vid

• weird - weird al trapped in the computer

• xyler + craz - jem and the holograms theme song yt vid

• triangle - TRI HARDER

• theraprism - blue sign - IN CASE OF [the old one] DO NOT USE ELEVATORS

• yes - WHAT'S MCGUCKETS FAVOURITE SODA? (I tried putting in pitt cola and variations and nothing worked)

• no - YOUR LOSS...

• vallis cineris - creepy vid of baby bill held by static parents with voice saying why did you do it

• disney - RAT.GIF CENSORED FOR YOUR PROTECTION

• love + marry me (don't worry about how I discovered that) - pic of the love triangle book, click it and it plays an audio audiobook of it

• death - LIFE'S GOTH COUSIN

• life - LIFE: 72% COMPLETE. NOW LOADING: DEATH

• blanchin - how to blanch vegetables yt vid

• divorce - o' sadleys logo (aka the bar bill was at after "losing sixer" oh my GODDD)

• season 1 - SEASON -1: ANTIGRAVITY FALLS

• season 2 - SEASON 1

• season 3 - SEASON 2

• help me + save me + god - vid of axolotl swimming infront of a little bill statue

• ad astra per aspera - 2 journal pages starring ford and mabel, pls read them it's so good

• trigonometry - bill's attempt to have plato build the portal

• cray cray - mental health wiki page

• who are you - I COULD ASK YOU THE SAME QUESTION

• lies - bill talking about lying and nerds

• morality - fun game!

• R34LITY - henchmaniacs polaroids

• ducktective - DUCKTECTIVE STARS IN "LOVE, QUACKTUALLY" COMING TO: "OI, ITS THE COCKNEY CHANNEL INNIT?" THIS FALL

• question - ANSWER

• answer - QUESTION

I'm editing this post when I find new ones, feel free to add any you find!! please look at the replies to this post because people have found more codes!!

EDIT I'm probably done with updating this list, these are just the ones I found after goofing around on the website for 4 hours. other people have definitely made lists of all the codes found so far so make sure to check them out !!

[noodles-doodles01]

Some Gravity Falls Stuff I Found

A lot of this could already be known, but I'm having fun and its a way to keep track. All is from thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com

So for computer passwords:

Dipper- a letter from Bill (his handwriting + he calls him Pine Tree) telling dipper to stare into the sun

Mabel- Places stickers all over the lab until the screen says "lab fully Mabelized"

Stanford/Sixer- Gives a Medical report on Ford's hand taken at 18, the report censors the mention of kidnapping him for cloning

Stanley- eBay for brass knuckles

MatPat- a video of MatPat saying "hello internet, this time, you're on your own"

Cipher/Bill Cipher- Eye of Providence Wiki

Bill- Sesame Street Video

Wendy- A letter from Wendy saying that she wrote a way to ward off evil triangles at the bottom right of the book (I have two ideas for what this could be), also a 👌 drawn in the bottom right corner upside down.

Blind Eye- A seeing eye test that repeats the letters WKHBOOVHH (anagram maybe?) with a colour code at the bottom (I'll include this later in this post)

Robbie- Shows messenger messages between Robbie and Thompson. Thompson seems to be getting real tired of the bullying (He wrote out "If you keep insulting me one of these days I-" and then highlights it as if he's about to delete it, followed by Yea :(). They discuss going to a site to see Bill, and later freak out about seeing him and knowing how they both die (Thompson gets mistaken for luggage and Robbie chokes on a mini skateboard). The end is this photo with Bill in the background:

Pacifica- A letter from Pacifica herself warning against Bill, saying that she dumped old Tapestries with triangles on it off a yacht with an unnamed friend. She seems to be super uncomfy about mentioning who the friend is (Dipper maybe?). She ends the letter saying that you should follow her on Platinum Paz

Platinum Paz: Details a story of Pacifica having a nightmare about blood being on her hands and everywhere. She then has a conversation with a statue of Nathaniel NW, who asks about her anger. She tells him everything was better before the Pines' came to town, and he says he will help her if she does something for him: go to the Pines' place and grab a small snowglobe that's new (the rift). He is about to shake her hand before she stops and wakes up. She then adds Dipper's number to her phone and sleeps well. Most likely what leads to the tapestries being thrown off a yacht.

Oneeyedking: a hypnosis tape where there is morse code in the background while Bill says "you want to sell your soul to Bill Cipher" three times. I didn't do this but the morse code gives a series of letters (explained below)

If you spam Stanley: you are a taken to something called “the Wheel of Shame” and it is Bill explaining that he knows all of Stan’s shames since he was in his head. They are listed as follows: Ex Wives, Fears, Secret Shames, Unreported Crimes, Stan’s Failed Products, Lowest Moments, Darkest Thought (pin all crimes on Soos), and How Stan Beat Me (He didn’t! I’M STILL HERE SUCKER)

Now for Codes:

When you click on the book of Bill, there is a letter from Ford to Dipper warning against the book. On the last page at the bottom right corner, this code is seen (this is what I thought Wendy might mean):

I tried all the existing codexes, but they didn't work. Until I typed MASON into the compuer (Dipper's acc name), which gives a sheet where Dipper talks about learning how to make codes. Ford's writing comes in at the end, and the words CRYPTOGRAM CODEX are capitalized at the end. When that was input into the computer, a folder file was downloaded and gave me multiple codes.

I used CypherFontA and flipped the message on the Vertical Axis and reversed the message to get: PER ASPERA AD ASTRA, which means "through suffering to the stars" in Latin

There is another hidden code on the candle, visible through the lightning, and it uses the Runes codex, translating to CURSED. When input into the computer, you get this "Just Say No" campaign poster against drawing triangles (RAD), the words Cool and Parties are both randomly capitalized in this speech bubble from Nancy Reagan (not applicable to the passwords tho)

Carved into the wall (visible when lightling strikes) on the left is the Latin phrase "VALLIS CINERIS", which translates to "valley of ashes", you get this image and a creepy voice that says "why did you do it?" (a reference to bill destroying his home dimension)

The morse code spells out NAITSUAF, and when input to the computer, gives an offer to sell your soul. At the bottom is a button that asks are you ready, when you click on it, it shows a contract that has the following code on it

This is also a codex given in the previously mentioned codex file, and it is the theraprism file. It states: "YOU ARE NOW TWENTY ONE GRAMS LIGHTER"

Below the theraprism is more CipherFontA code, which I have not fully completed but seems to list out the terms of the contract. However, I noticed these rectangles near the words and am wondering if it means to take the letter closest to it or if it is a period. I am too lazy to work it all out rn so feel free to lmk what that all says :)

When you sign the contract, it says "pleasure doing business with you" and the flame on the candle is now blue. When you mess with the toggle on the computer, you get a backwards audio message in the same creepy voice as the Vallis Cineris code. When reversed, the audio says: " Someone help, the murderer’s name is Bill”

The prism that sits beside the computer has a code with the following symbols: #?&&!, which reads out as SORRY (this code is in the Book of Bill). When you input that into the computer, you get an image of college Ford and McGucket :(

That’s all I have for now! Feel free to reblog with anything else you might have found! I know of a ton more but I didn’t include them since this post would NEVER end.

[wannabehockeygf]

Tough Love - Quinn Hughes

“I took a train to Boston and I wanted to cry,

He’s gone, I’m twenty-four, and it’s a Saturday night,

I ran and took his jacket with a rip in the side,

I hate when we fight. Sucks when we fight.”

***

part 1 // quinn hughes x gracie abrams fic trilogy

part 2

***

Summary: A business trip and a longer than expected playoff stint turn out to not mix well.

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: slight allusion to smut, alcohol

Notes:

- finally getting to write angst

- based tightly on the song, I love the song so much.

***

Business trips were a rarity for you, something that happened just often enough to remind you of how much you disliked them. Tonight, you found yourself weaving through the crowded streets of Montreal, the evening air crisp and biting as you made your way back to your hotel. You’d had one too many glasses of wine at the company dinner, and now the world around you seemed to tilt slightly with every step.

The middle of June was usually pretty warm, but once the sun dipped below the horizon, it got colder. You shivered, pulling your coat tighter around you, feeling the chill seep through the fabric. The streets were unfamiliar, the language foreign, and the soft hum of conversations in French made you feel more isolated than ever. You couldn’t understand a word of it, and the half-drunk haze you were in didn’t help. The idea of calling your boyfriend for some comfort flitted through your mind, but you quickly dismissed it. It was already ten, and you knew he had a big game tomorrow—the first Stanley cup final game of his career. He’d be in Boston by now, probably already asleep, and you didn’t want to wake him.

But just as you were trying to reassure yourself that you’d be fine, your phone buzzed in your pocket. His name lit up the screen, and without thinking, you answered the FaceTime call.

The screen flickered to life, and you found yourself staring at him—Quinn. His face was usually a comforting sight, but tonight, something was different. You didn’t immediately notice the tension in his expression, the way his brows were drawn together in concern, or how his lips were pressed into a tight line. Instead, with a drunken giggle, you greeted him with a cheerful, “Bonjour!”

Your voice echoed in the cold air, and you could almost feel the disapproving glares of the locals as you cheerfully butchered their language. But all of that faded as you looked back at the screen, finally registering the way he looked at you. The furrow in his brow deepened, and his eyes scanned your face, taking in the telltale signs of your tipsy state. His lips parted as if he was about to say something, but for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words.

Oh.

The realization hit you all at once. You weren’t sure if it was the cold, the wine, or just the fact that you were far from home, but suddenly, you felt incredibly vulnerable. You decide to probe him at first, just a little.

“Hey, Quinny, what’s up? Shouldn’t you be asleep?” You try to keep your tone light, your smile easy, but there’s a nervous edge to your words. His eyes are too intense, too knowing, and you feel like he can see right through you—like he knows exactly how many glasses of wine you’ve had, how lost you feel, how you’re trying so hard to pretend everything’s fine.

Quinn shifts slightly, and the screen wobbles as he props his phone against something. He’s sitting on the edge of a bed, shoulders bare, the dim hotel room light casting shadows across his face. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all directions, and you can’t help but think how he’s always been so beautiful to you, even when he’s unguarded like this. Especially when he’s unguarded like this.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says finally, his voice a low, quiet rumble that vibrates through you even from miles away. There’s a hint of something there—something heavy and raw—that makes your stomach twist. “I just... needed to see you.”

You blink, the words hanging in the air between you. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes you’re not used to seeing, a nakedness that makes your heart ache. You open your mouth to say something, to ask him what’s wrong, but the words get stuck in your throat.

Quinn’s eyes flicker away for a second, as if he’s embarrassed, and he runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in a way that makes you realize how tense he is. “It’s stupid,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I just... I don’t know, I’m nervous about tomorrow. More than I should be.”

It’s such a simple admission, but it hits you like a punch to the gut. You know Quinn, know how fiercely he guards his emotions, how he hides his fears behind that confident smirk and those sharp, playful eyes. For him to admit he’s scared... it’s huge.

“Hey,” you say softly, your voice catching in your throat as you take a step closer to the hotel’s entrance, away from the cold that seems to seep into your bones. “It’s not stupid. It’s a big game, I get it. But you’re going to be amazing, Quinny. You always are.”

He shakes his head again, and you can see the frustration tightening his jaw, the way his hand clenches into a fist. “It’s not just that,” he says, voice thick. “It’s... everything. The pressure, the expectations. It feels like everyone’s counting on me, and I just—fuck, I don’t know if I can do it.”

Your heart aches for him, and you wish you could reach through the screen and pull him into your arms, hold him close and tell him it’s all going to be okay. But you’re here, and he’s there, and there’s three hundred miles between you. So, you do the only thing you can—you try to make him laugh. “I’ve seen you play, Hughes. You’re practically a wizard on the ice. Remember that time you deked out three guys and scored from behind the net? If you can do that, you can handle a little playoff game.”

He lets out a short, humorless laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, they darken, a shadow passing over them that makes your chest tighten. “It’s not just a ‘little playoff game,’” he mutters. “It’s the fucking cup final. If I screw this up...”

“Hey,” you cut him off, your voice firm, “you’re not going to screw up. You’re one of the best players out there, Quinn. You’ve worked your ass off for this. You deserve to be here.”

He’s silent for a moment, staring at you through the screen, and you can see the battle waging behind his eyes—the fear, the doubt, the desperate need for reassurance. “I just... I wish you were here,” he says finally, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this without you.”

The words knock the breath out of you, and for a moment, you can’t speak. You want to tell him you’ll get on a plane, that you’ll be there in the box with the other girlfriends, cheering him on like you always do. But you can’t. You have your own commitments, your own life to live. And besides, your company would kill you if you just up and left in the middle of this trip.

“I... I can’t, Quinny,” you say softly, hating the way the words taste in your mouth, bitter and wrong. “I’m in Montreal. I can’t just leave.”

His face falls, and you can see the hurt in his eyes, the way his shoulders slump forward as if he’s been punched. “Right,” he says, his voice flat. “Of course. I get it.”

“Quinn, it’s not that I don’t want to be there,” you say quickly, trying to make him understand. “I do, more than anything. But I can’t just drop everything and go. You know that, and even if I could, I can’t afford to fly to Boston.”

There’s a pause, and you see the way his jaw tightens, the frustration simmering beneath the surface. “What if I paid for it?” he blurts out, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ll buy the ticket, the hotel—everything. Just come, please.”

Your heart lurches at the desperation in his voice, but you shake your head, even though you know he can’t see it. “Quinn, no. I can’t let you do that. I’m not going to let you spend your money on me like that. It’s... it’s not right.”

“Not right?” he echoes, his voice rising with disbelief. “What’s not right about it? I have the money, it’s not a big deal. I just need you here with me, okay? I need you.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence between you is heavy, oppressive, filled with all the things you want to say but can’t. Your fingers tremble slightly as you grip your phone, and you force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions churning inside you.

“I know you have your own stuff going on,” Quinn finally continues, his voice low and rough, like he's trying to keep it from cracking. “I’m not trying to guilt you into anything. I just—” He breaks off, running a hand over his face, and when he looks back at you, his eyes are dark, shadowed with a pain you don’t often see there. “I just really fucking need you right now.”

The words cut through you like a knife, sharp and searing, leaving a trail of guilt and regret in their wake. You’ve never heard him sound like this before—so raw, so vulnerable. It’s terrifying and heartbreaking all at once, and you wish more than anything that you could just reach through the screen and hold him, tell him that everything’s going to be okay. But you can’t. You’re here, and he’s there, and the distance between you feels like an insurmountable chasm.

“I know,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. “I wish I could be there. You have no idea how much I wish that. But I—”

“But you can’t,” he cuts in, his voice sharper now, edged with frustration. “I get it. You’ve got your own shit to deal with. I’m just... I’m just being selfish, right?”

You wince at the bitterness in his tone, the way it twists his words into something ugly and jagged. “That’s not what I meant,” you say, struggling to keep your voice steady, even as your heart pounds in your chest. “I want to be there for you, I do. But I can’t just leave in the middle of this trip. You know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he mutters, looking away, his gaze drifting to the side as if he can’t bear to look at you anymore. “I’m just supposed to suck it up and deal with it, right? Like I always do.”

The words hit you like a slap, and you can feel the sting of tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “That’s not fair, Quinn,” you say, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt. “I’ve always been there for you when I could. But this... this is different. I can’t just drop everything and come running every time you need me. That’s not how this works.”

He flinches at your words, and you can see the flash of pain in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens as if he’s trying to hold back whatever it is he really wants to say. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says, his voice cold, distant. “I guess I’m just asking too much, huh?”

“Quinn, that’s not—”

“No, it’s fine,” he interrupts, his tone clipped and final. “Forget I said anything. I’ll be fine. I always am, right?”

The bitterness in his voice is like a punch to the gut, and you feel your breath hitch, your chest tightening with a pain that’s almost physical. You’ve never fought like this before—never had a conversation that felt so raw, so full of things left unsaid. You want to reach out, to bridge the gap between you, but you don’t know how. You’re standing on opposite sides of a canyon, and every word you say seems to push you both further apart.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry I can’t be there. I wish I could. But I can’t.”

He doesn’t respond right away, just stares at you with those intense, stormy eyes, his expression unreadable. The silence stretches on, thick and suffocating, and you feel like you’re drowning in it, like you can’t breathe.

“Yeah,” he says at last, his voice flat and emotionless. “I guess I’ll see you when I get back to Vancouver, then.”

And just like that, he hangs up, the screen going dark in an instant. You’re left standing there on the cold streets of Montreal, your heart pounding in your chest, tears streaming down your face. The chill bites into your skin, and you feel more alone than ever.

You stare at the blank screen, your mind reeling, trying to process everything that just happened. The conversation plays over and over in your head, each word echoing like a gunshot, each look and gesture seared into your memory. You feel a thousand different emotions at once—anger, sadness, guilt, regret—all tangled together in a messy, painful knot.

How did it come to this? How did you go from comforting each other to tearing each other apart? You don’t know, and that’s the worst part. All you know is that you’re here, and he’s there, and the distance between you has never felt so vast, so unbridgeable.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. The tears keep coming, hot and relentless, and you feel like you’re going to break apart right there on the street. You want to scream, to shout, to do something—anything—to make this pain go away. But you can’t. All you can do is stand there, shivering in the cold, your heart aching with a pain that’s too big, too raw, to put into words.

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know how to fix this. All you know is that you miss him. God, you miss him so much it hurts. And you don’t know how you’re supposed to go on without him.

***

It started raining by the time you got onto the train, dingy carry-on suitcase in hand. The ticket was a little pricey, especially to go all the way to Boston, and you’re pretty sure the attendant upcharged you since you couldn’t speak French, but it still ended up way less than a flight.

You tried calling Quinn again, to let him know you were coming and that you completely ditched your business trip for him, but he ignored you. You assume he went back to sleep and he’ll see your texts in the morning, at which you’ll already be in Boston.

Your eyelids feel heavy as you just about drift to sleep, but are rudely awakened by a smooth, feminine voice. “Je n'aime pas votre veste. Pourquoi t'infliges-tu cela?”

Eyes snapping open, you look up to see a young-ish woman with short, dark hair and multiple piercings. You cock your head slightly, and part your lips to speak, to tell her you didn’t understand a word she just said. “I’m sorry, I don’t—“

“Ugh, Touristes,” she interrupts, sitting down in the seat in front of you with no clear intention. She flicks a piece of hair out of her face before speaking again, in an accent at that. “Canucks? Why? They make the playoffs like, once every ten years.” She adds on, gesturing to your jacket which is sporting a rip in the side.

You blink at the woman, still disoriented from the sudden wake-up call. Her words cut through the fog of sleep and confusion like a knife, and you find yourself staring at her, trying to piece together what she just said. Canucks. Of course. You glance down at your jacket, the familiar blue and white logo now feeling like a heavy weight on your chest.

“Um,” you start, your voice coming out hoarse, still thick with sleep. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

She waves a hand dismissively, a small smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Canucks fans. You lot are always apologizing. It’s a shame you had to pick such a tragic team. Cursed, really.” Her accent is thick, the Quebeçois lilt giving her words an almost melodic quality, even as they cut through you.

You should be annoyed—maybe even a little offended—but instead, you just feel tired. So, so tired. The weight of the night’s events, the argument with Quinn, the cold streets of Montreal, and now this stranger's sharp commentary... it’s all too much. You lean back in your seat, running a hand over your face, trying to shake off the lingering remnants of sleep.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice flat, devoid of any real emotion. “I guess I’m just a sucker for punishment.”

She raises an eyebrow, her gaze sharp and curious. “Punishment? That’s an interesting way to put it, especially since they made the final. You with someone on the team?”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You glance at her, taking in her sharp features, the piercings glinting under the harsh train lights, the dark hair framing her face in a way that makes her look both intimidating and oddly approachable.

“Yeah,” you say finally, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I am.”

Her gaze softens, just a fraction, and she leans back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, that explains the jacket. And the bags under your eyes. You look like you’ve been through hell.”

You let out a humorless laugh, the sound bitter and hollow even to your own ears. “You could say that.”

The woman tilts her head slightly, studying you with a look that feels too knowing, too perceptive. “Let me guess. He called you, all nervous and shit, asking you to come to his game, and you said no because you’ve got your own life to live. And now you’re on a train to Boston in the middle of the night because you feel guilty as hell.”

You stare at her, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. How could she know that? How could a complete stranger read you so easily, see right through all the layers of anger and hurt and guilt you’ve been carrying with you?

“How did you—”

She shrugs, cutting you off. “Happened to me once. Well, more than once, actually. You’re not the first girl to hop on a train because her boyfriend’s in his feelings, and you won’t be the last.”

The train rumbles along the tracks, the rhythmic clatter almost drowning out the voice in your head—the one that’s been relentlessly replaying your conversation with Quinn. You can still see the hurt in his eyes, the way his voice trembled with something so raw it made your chest ache. It’s like a heavy weight pressing down on you, suffocating, and you can’t shake it no matter how hard you try.

I should have stayed on the phone longer, you think, the regret gnawing at you. I should have told him I was coming. Why didn’t I just drop everything right then?

But the truth is, you know why. You’re scared too—scared of what this trip means, scared of what it’s doing to you both. Scared that maybe, just maybe, the distance between you isn’t just physical.

“Men,” the woman mutters again, drawing your attention back to her. Her gaze is still locked on you, and there’s something in her eyes that’s almost... sympathetic. “They’re a pain in the ass, but you already know that.”

You nod, unsure of what to say. You can feel the tears starting to gather again, blurring your vision, but you blink them back furiously. No crying, not here. Not in front of a stranger.

The woman seems to sense your struggle because she leans forward, her voice dropping to a softer, almost conspiratorial tone. “Look, I get it. You love him, right?”

You swallow hard and nod again, unable to find your voice.

She sighs, shaking her head. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You love him, so you do things like this—ditch your work, jump on a train in the middle of the night, all because you can’t stand the thought of him being upset.”

You wince, feeling the truth of her words hit home. She’s right, you think bitterly. I’m an idiot.

“But here’s the thing,” she continues, her voice taking on a hard edge. “If he really cares about you, he shouldn’t be asking you to make sacrifices like this. He shouldn’t make you feel guilty for having your own life.”

You open your mouth to protest, but she holds up a hand, stopping you. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m not saying you shouldn’t be there for him. But it’s a two-way street. If he’s worth it, he’ll understand that sometimes you can’t just drop everything for him. And if he doesn’t... well, can he even make you come, sweetheart?”

You stare at the woman, her words hanging in the air between you, heavy and sharp. Her bluntness catches you off guard, leaving you fumbling for a response. But before you can say anything, she raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

"Well, can he?" she presses, her voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and challenge.

Your mind flashes back to the last time you and Quinn were together. You’d just gotten back to his apartment after one of his games, his hair still damp from the shower, and his eyes dark with that post-game intensity you’ve come to know so well. You remember how his hands felt on your skin, rough and desperate, how his breath hitched when you whispered his name, the way he pulled you closer like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you.

Your cheeks heat up at the memory, and you find yourself squirming in your seat, your gaze dropping to the floor as the images play out in your mind. The way his lips felt against your neck, the low growl that rumbled through his chest when you wrapped your legs around him, the way he whispered filthy, desperate things in your ear as he moved against you...

But then the doubt creeps in. The argument you just had, the way he hung up on you, the miles between you right now. Can he really make you come, in every sense of the word? Or are you just convincing yourself that he’s worth all this pain?

The woman’s smirk grows as she watches the flush creep up your neck, and she lets out a low chuckle. “Thought so,” she says, her voice softer now, almost sympathetic. “But here’s the thing, sweetheart: It’s not just about that. Yeah, the sex is important, but what really matters is if he makes you feel wanted, if he’s there for you even when you’re not in the same room.”

You let out a long breath, the weight of her words settling on your shoulders. She’s right. The chemistry you have with Quinn is undeniable, but is that enough? Is it enough to carry you through the hard times, the nights like tonight when you’re three hundred miles apart, and the only thing connecting you is a shaky FaceTime call?

“I don’t know,” you admit quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know if it’s enough.”

The woman leans back in her seat, crossing her legs and giving you a long, appraising look. “You remind me of myself a few years ago,” she says after a moment, her tone a little softer. “I was in a relationship like that—crazy about the guy, but always questioning if it was enough. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t. He left, just like the ones before him. But you know what? I survived. Hell, I thrived.”

You raise an eyebrow, skepticism creeping into your expression. “So, what are you saying? That I should just give up on him?”

She shakes her head, her earrings jingling with the motion. “No, no. I’m not telling you to dump the guy. I’m just saying, don’t lose yourself in him. Make sure he’s giving as much as he’s taking. And for God’s sake, make sure he’s actually good for you. Sometimes, we fall for the wrong ones, and it takes a while to figure that out.”

You frown, turning her words over in your mind. It’s not what you want to hear, but deep down, you know there’s truth in it. You’ve always been there for Quinn, but has he really been there for you in the same way? And if not, what does that say about your relationship?

“I don’t know if I can just... stop caring,” you say, your voice wavering. “He means so much to me.”

The woman’s expression softens, and she reaches across the aisle to gently touch your hand. “You don’t have to stop caring, sweetheart. Just make sure you’re caring about yourself, too. Love isn’t about losing who you are; it’s about finding someone who makes you better, who pushes you to be the best version of yourself.”

You nod, trying to absorb her words, but your mind keeps circling back to Quinn—to the way he looked on that FaceTime call, all raw and vulnerable, the way he admitted how much he needed you. He’s not perfect, but he’s yours. And maybe, just maybe, that’s worth fighting for.

The woman leans back, sensing your inner turmoil, and her smirk returns, but it’s gentler this time. “But hey, if he can make you come like that... maybe he’s worth a little more thought, huh?”

You can’t help but laugh at that, a soft, breathy sound that feels like a release of some of the tension that’s been building inside you. “Yeah, maybe,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips.

She grins, satisfied with your reaction, and settles back into her seat. “Look, relationships are messy, and they’re hard, and sometimes they don’t make a damn bit of sense. But if he’s worth it, you’ll figure it out. Just don’t lose sight of yourself along the way.”

The train rumbles beneath you, the rhythmic clacking of the tracks providing a steady, comforting background noise as you mull over her words. The exhaustion you felt earlier is still there, but it’s less suffocating now, the weight of your doubts a little lighter.

You glance over at the woman, her eyes now closed, arms folded across her chest as she settles in for what’s left of the journey. There’s a quiet strength in her that you admire, a resilience born of experience and heartbreak, and you wonder if someday you’ll be able to look back with the same clarity, the same sense of peace.

For now, all you can do is keep moving forward, one step at a time. You still have hours to go before you reach Boston, before you can see Quinn and try to bridge the gap that’s grown between you. But for the first time tonight, you feel a small spark of hope, a tiny flame of determination that maybe, just maybe, things will be okay.

And with that thought, you close your eyes, letting the gentle sway of the train lull you into a fitful sleep, Quinn’s face still lingering in your mind, his voice echoing in your ears.

You’ll figure this out. You have to.

[cucumber-icepop]

Website spoilers under the cut! Every password I could think to try, being updated as I go

If you input the password "Cipher" it takes you to the Wikipedia page for Triangles, and if you put in "Bill" it takes you to a Youtube video of a Sesame Street song about triangles!

"Billcipher" takes you to the Wikipedia page for the eye of providence

"Ford" takes you to a page written by scientists(?) discussing his hands.

"Euclydia" brings up the text "DIMENSION NOT FOUND" :(

"Alex" takes you to the Google search page for flannel. Cool

"Pines" brings up the text "A GOOD FAMILY TREE"

"Stan" brings up an Ebay page for brass knuckles. (This happens with "Stanley" too!)

"Blanchin" brings up a Youtube video on how to "blanch" vegtables.

"Dipper" brings up a slip of paper written by Bill telling him that he needs to stare directly into the sun to crack some of the codes in the book.

"Mabel" puts star stickers all over the webpage!

"McGucket" brings up the Cotton Eye Joe song on Youtube.

"Soos" brings up a few pages written by Soos about what it's like being the new Mr. Mystery. There's pudding on the page

"Pinata" (a code suggested in Soos' letter) pulls up a video of a Bill pinata being beaten, Alex is voicing him in the video. Get him!!!!

"Baby" pulls up a Bill ultrasound????????????

"Blindeye" pulls up an image WITH CODES!!!!!!!! LET'S GOOOOO

"Prism" doesn't work, but corrupts the prism on the screen.

"Gideon" pulls up audio of Gideon singing.

"Pacifica" brings up a letter written by Pacifica (and Mabel!!)

"Season 1" brings up text about "Season -1" of "Antigravity Falls"

"Season 2" brings up "Season 1", and "Season 3" brings up "Season 2". There is no easter bunny there is no tooth fairy

"Divorce" brings up the O'Sadley's logo (the beer Bill drinks) and a zip file???????? The zip file is just the png of the logo

"Wendy" pulls up a page where Wendy tricks the viewer.

"Robbie" brings up a chatlog between him and Thompson, they summon Bill

"Reality" brings up the text "IS AN ILLUSION"

"Universe" brings up the text "HOLOGRAM"

"Rat" brings up text saying "THURBURTS' NUMBER?"

"Weird" brings up A VIDEO OF WEIRD AL?????

"Gravityfalls" brings up text saying "NEVER HEARD OF IT"

"Waddles" brings up a website called "Pig Placement Network". It's a pig adoption website!

"Death" brings up text saying "LIFE'S GOTH COUSIN"

"Life" brings up text saying "LIFE: 72% COMPLETE. NOW LOADING: DEATH"

"Axolotl" brings up text reading "YOU ASK ALOTL QUESTIONS"

"Fuck" brings up a picture reading: NOT S&P APPROVED! WASH YOUR MOUTH OUT WITH SOAP" and a picture of soap lmaooooo. This also happens if you type in "Shit"

"Thebookofbill" pulls up text reading "HIDE IT UNDER SHIRT DURING PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE" ??????

"Mason" (I can't believe it took me this long to try that) brings up a page written by Dipper where he writes some anagrams. Ford has written something about a Cryptogram Codex on the bottom of the page.

"Cryptogram Codex" causes another zip file to be instantly downloaded. It contains different fonts for some of the codes used in TBoB!

"Theraprism" brings up this image

Very cool

"Love" brings up an image of Bill's stupid romance novel

"Journal3" pulls up text reading "THE JOURNAL FOR ME"

"Journal2" pulls up text reading "THE JOURNAL FOR YOU"

"Journal1" brings up text reading "THE JOURNAL OF FUN". Journal is looking less and less like a word to me

"Sorry" brings up the full picture of Ford and McGucket in college. What if I cried

"God" pulls up a video of a Bill statue in an aquarium with an Axolotl

"Lies" brings up a long page written by Bill, where he talks about lying and reality. It ends with a short video of flickering text reading "LIE UNTIL YOU AREN'T LYING ANYMORE".

"Scalene" and "Euclid" both bring up text saying "LIFE FORM NOT FOUND" I'm in shambles

I'm going to end the post here, I've been doing this for an hour, and the people running the main codes Google doc already have most of the results down. Aohurz av hufvul dov ylhkz aopz, zahf dlpyk, huk kypur dhaly!

[simpstantruther]

Hungry Heart ch. 2 | (Mullet) Stanley Pines x Reader

Summary: Stan needs to go to Oregon. You need to get to California. Stan has a car. You have a cunt. (Can I make it any more obvious~)

(TW: Dated Language and ideas of sex and consent)

Tags: 80s Americana Roadtrip Partners-in-Crime Stan x Reader fic. Smut. You can fix him, but you're worse.

Preview:

Lee watches you with amusement over his coffee. He looks different when he’s well lit. Older. More worn. Especially with his hair slicked out of his face, so you can see how deep the bags under his eyes are. You prefer it messy.

He's a good time. Funny, but stupid. You didn’t know it was possible to fit a sausage link up one’s nose. It shouldn’t be, it was fucking gross. You stick your tongue out in playful disgust when he eats it anyways. He laughs like a boy.

Read on AO3.

The street light buzzing is so loud you can’t hear yourself think.

You can feel it between your shoulder blades, tense as the dry night air hits the sweat pooling down your back. The light casts a dark shadow beneath your feet as you stroll through the middle of the street trying to keep your feet on the faded yellow divider lines. You don’t. 

You’re still in Dallas. You think. 

You had a bed to sleep in tonight. Or maybe a couch, with the guy passed out across the covers like he did. You had already cleared out his pockets, peeked through a few drawers. 

You found a tiny gun. Fit right in the palm of your hand. Like it was left in that drawer just for you.

Then the poor fucker’s wife came home. 

When you heard the shotgun cock into place, you started running and didn’t stop, pockets considerably heavier. In the chaos, you forgot you nabbed the gun.

You’re glad you nabbed the gun. 

Now you don’t know where you are. As if you ever really knew anymore. Back streets like this all kind of blended together, no matter where in the U.S. you were dragging your sorry ass around. 

Empty dirt lot with a single bench, a sun shade and a bus stop to the left. Shit-hole liquor store, piss stained parking lot to the right. Food. Shelter. Pisser.  All one could ever need.

If only you had actual cash instead of valuables you needed to pawn.

You have a small gun now.

Stupid looking little revolver. Three in the chamber. Poor fucker couldn’t be assed to fill the thing? No wonder his wife wanted to kill him.

Your stomach growls. It wants to kill you.

Do you have it in you to stick up a place just to get something to eat?

You stop. 

Under the brilliant neon Open sign of the liquor store, in bright yellow, peeled-paint glory stands a pay phone. Handset intact. You suppress a cry of joy. You would fall to your knees in praise if you didn’t think you’d catch a disease on the rusted bolts holding it to the cracked concrete. One of the bolts is loose. It wants to leave too.

You feel in the change slot for a spare quarter, sticking your tongue out through the side of your mouth. Your fingertips brush against the ridged edge.

Holy shit.

If you’re not careful, you’ll use all your luck up in one night.

The miraculous quarter slips into the slot. You wait for the dial tone to buzz into your ear, white-knuckle-gripping the handset. 

Shit.

Who the fuck are you supposed to call in Dallas? A taxi? They don’t take gold chains. A shelter? They’re all closed. Did you want to get robbed?

You still couldn’t get to one even if you wanted to.

You hit the return button. Clink. At least you can pocket the quarter. 

As you slip it into your rear pocket, you feel the fuzzy, frayed edge of a business card. Why would you keep a business—

The Loveshack it says.

Why did you have a business card for The Loveshack? What even is The Loveshack?

You don’t know what possesses you, but you sniff the card. It smells unholy. Like beer, and sweat, and man-stink and— you need to sniff it again.

Why are you thinking of a mullet? 

It smells so familiar. Why does it smell familiar? And you feel like gagging, you hate tequila. 

Oh.

You slip the coin into the slot again, bouncing your heel as you wait for the other line to pick up.

“Front desk.” Crackles through the shitty speaker in the handset.

“Hi! G-Good evening—” Your old hostess voice possesses you. High and clipped and waiting to be reprimanded. An old reflex. You haven’t had a regular job in at least a year. You remember no greasy, stinking manager is breathing down your neck to sound pretty when you pick up the phone, so it returns to it’s deep natural state. 

“Hello?” The voice on the speaker croaks again.

“Patch me through to a room, please?”

“Which room?”

Shit. Which fucking room? You turn the card over. Nothing written anywhere. You don’t even remember the guy’s name. Maybe he didn’t know how to write. Honestly, all you remember is Bruce Springsteen and a mullet and thinking that his beefy hands might fit nice around your—

“Hello? Miss? Which room?”

“Uhhhh— don’t remember. He’s a guy, you know?” Of course they know, are you stupid? “Tall, big shoulders, shitty mullet—“ You motion to the top of your head as if the operator can see you.

“Patching you through.” 

The line goes quiet. You’re too anxious to bounce your heel anymore so you stand frozen, hunched over the pay phone box.

You hear heavy breathing on the line. Then a woman’s name, in a vaguely familiar, gruff Jersey accent.

“Who?” You question, confused.

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” 

Oh. You gave him a fake name, you remember.

“It’s Lee.”

“I know! Lee!” You draw out his name overly-affectionately. “How the hell are ya?”

“You called.” 

“I did!” 

“...I didn’t think you would call.”

“I said I would call, didn’t I?” You shrug your shoulders, tucking the phone beneath your chin and leaning back against the phone box. 

You hear him scoff. “I don’t think you did.”

He’s probably right, it doesn’t sound like you to promise something like that.

“ 'S fine. I wanted you to call. I’m glad you did.”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s quiet on the line too, drowned out by the white noise. The plastic static of the handset against your ear makes you shiver even though it’s pushing 85.

“Look, Lee… I’m sorry to call you like this, but I’m in a bit of a bad way—“

“What’s wrong?” He asks quickly. His concern is cute. He doesn’t know you. If he knew you he’d know something’s always wrong. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” You aren’t. There’s a pit growing in your stomach because you remember the last time you said those words to a semi-concerned party over the phone. About a year ago. You weren’t fine then, either. “You don’t have a car by chance, do ya? Or maybe just cab fare?”

“Where are you?” 

“Uh—“ You look around. The sign on the liquor store is missing letters. It's in a language you don't recognize. You aren't as worldly as you think.

“I got wheels. I’ll pick you up right now, sweetheart. Where are you?”

You silently cheer. You crane your neck and narrow your eyes to read a street sign, murmuring it into the receiver. You cross your fingers, bite your lip raw, and pray he heard you right. You can barely understand him through the crackling line.

“Give me twenty minutes, toots. An hour, tops. Don’t go nowhere.”

“I’ll be here!” You have nowhere else to go.

The line goes dead.

The hook is broken. You leave the handset on top of the box, swallow back your false cheerfulness and sit on the curb.

The street light buzzes above you, a spotlight on your failed state. You cannot hear yourself think. You are grateful.

You don’t have a watch. Giant, tacky bracelets hide your wrists well enough. So who knows how long it’s been once cars start pulling over and hollering at you to hop in. 

Cutting your jeans into daisy dukes seemed like a good idea once you got south of Memphis and the nights regularly cracked 90. It felt less so now, while rough concrete and gravel dug into your seat, sticking to your skin from sweat. 

You ready an empty glass bottle, aiming to launch it at the dark red convertible that slows beside you next.

“Easy there, sweetheart. Watch where you throw that thing. Can’t afford to replace the window again.”

You stand up so you can see past the half-rolled window.

“Lee?” You peer inside. 

It is Lee. He greets you with a wide smile, sliding out his door and moving in to hug you until he sees you flinch back. He blinks and freezes before nodding his head to himself and crossing behind the car. 

“After you, Angelface.” He cracks open the passenger door for you.

“What a gentleman.” You wheedle for him, grateful for the cushioned seat. You keep your eyes on him as he slams your door shut and gets back inside. A bit of caution was healthy. You shouldn’t trust him. He definitely shouldn’t trust you.

The front seat is clean. Vaguely. There’s a couple full trash bags sitting in the back seat. And a few beat up boxes of some bright blue towel thing, dye seeping everywhere it touches, and other assorted brand new junk headed straight for a landfill. It was like he raided the world’s shittiest truck load of useless crap. Why was he lugging around all this stuff?

It still reeks like cheap cigarettes. But at least it didn’t smell like tequila. You crack open your window anyways. 

“Where to?” Lee asks, smiling nervously as he shifts the car into gear, hand staying on the shifter knob between you. 

God, his arms. He’s punishing the thread around the sleeves, rolling them up like that. He put on a clean shirt for the occasion. And gas-station cologne. How sweet.

He shaved, too. You’re a little disappointed, though his jaw is nothing to be ashamed of. You wanna run your hand over his skin, mourn his five o’clock shadow. For the love of god, the man has dimples. Is he Catholic? Would he smack you if you use the lord’s name in vain? You kind of hope he does. Maybe you'll let him borrow one of the rings you 'found'.

You know you look like shit. You can see the outline of your tangled, frizzed hair in the dark in passenger side mirror. You’re never teasing your hair again.

If you pass by a street light, you know you’ll see the rest of yourself in the dirty yellow glow, looking haunting as ever. You angle the mirror away. No need for another reason to bum yourself out before your— whatever this is— with Lee.

You sigh and relax back into the seat, closing your eyes with relief as the rough road jostles you. Almost rocks you to sleep, right there in the passenger seat. 

He says your fake name again as you’re drifting off. 

“Sorry.” You yawn and smack your lips.

He waits for your answer. He can't go nowhere, after all.

You sigh.

“I’m gonna be honest, Lee. I got no idea where to go.”

He nods as he drives with his eyes forward. You already caught him glancing down at your chest after a particularly bad pot hole. He was on his best behavior now. You get to study his silhouette.

“Ain’t you stayin’ anywhere?”

“Nah. Got kicked out of my room this morning. Had a place lined up, but it fell through.” 

You hope he doesn’t ask more. He doesn’t. Good man.

Your stomach grumbles and you hunch over, desperate to subdue the sound. You were used to that by now.

“How about we get you somethin’ to eat, huh? That sound alright?”

“You sure?” You look up at him, your hand cradling your empty stomach.

“Hell yeah. Been dyin’ to take you out since you first glared at me. Dressed up for the occasion—thanks for noticin’.”

“Is that so?” You huff out a laugh. “Color me flattered. You clean up nice. But you’re full of it. I wasn’t glarin’ at nothin’.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Cos I liked it, you know. I thought you were makin’ eyes at me. I like when pretty girls make eyes at me.”

“You’re blind, bud.”

“Nahhh. ” He grins wider. “You like me. Think I’m handsome.” 

You neither confirm nor deny, but you smile as he turns away. You see him blinking and narrowing his eyes at the road signs as he drives. He’s probably blinder than you are. Maybe he regrets telling you to call him, now with your mess close enough to see.

“Pretty girls must be in short supply if you’re settling for me.” You mutter under your breath and lay back again. If he heard you, he doesn’t reply.

He pulls into a 24-hour diner. 

It’s like he read your mind. You could kill a breakfast combo right now. And however many coffees you can drink before they kick you out for not paying, unless Lee is more liquid than he looks.

You doubt it.

You spin around on your plastic-y little dinner stool, your busted heels hanging off your toes as you kick your feet around. The coffee is good . You would have preferred a booth for privacy, but this is fun too. 

Lee watches you with amusement over his coffee. He looks different when he’s well lit. Older. More worn. Especially with his hair slicked out of his face, so you can see how deep the bags under his eyes are. You prefer it messy.

He's a good time. Funny, but stupid. You didn’t know it was possible to fit a sausage link up one’s nose. It shouldn’t be, it was fucking gross. You stick your tongue out in playful disgust when he eats it anyways. He laughs like a boy.

He’s got nice teeth. Mom would be happy, if that kind of thing mattered now. You wonder if he’s Catholic. You don’t think you are anymore.

He makes you laugh ugly. It makes your cheeks hurt, the kind where you have to massage them for a while after. It feels good to laugh ugly.

He doesn’t ask about anything that matters. You like that.

You both check out the same waitress. You ask her for sugar free sugar, the real kind (whatever that means), and you both watch as she stands on a stool to look at the top shelf, her teeny uniform not covering much of anything. She’s probably eighteen. Doesn’t know any better.

Now you’ve been on both sides. It’s a rite of passage.

He tells you you’re prettier than her, but you pretend not to hear, flicking a folded up napkin towards the trash can behind the counter. Daddy always said you were a pretty girl. You used to hear that a lot more often. You’d believe Lee if it were a couple days ago, when you were within twelve hours of a hot shower. 

The napkin misses the trash can. You meet his eyes. He smirks.

You have an unspoken agreement with Lee.

You chew your soggy, jellied toast silently and without alarm while he pockets another customer’s tip.

He shovels scrambled eggs into his mouth and doesn’t mention anything as your fingers slip into the lady beside you’s pocket book. 

God bless 24-hour diners.

Combined, you probably have enough to pay for your food. You’re still a little short, not that the waitress would notice until you left, if she could count at all. But why leave it to chance? 

You both stand up at the same time, offering compliments to the chef, the lovely waitress—

“Where do you think you two are going?” A grimy hand wraps around your arm. It’s the cook. Or else he just smells like bacon grease. You feel less satisfied with how the food sits in your stomach, suddenly. “You ain’t paid yet.”

“Alright, keep your paws to yourself, pal—“ Lee knots his hand in the cook’s greasy shirt. Meaty fucking hand. God, the size of those fingers.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey—“ You hold your hands up in surrender. “We’re cool. No need to freak out. We’re cool, aren’t we?” 

“Still gotta pay for your fuckin’ food.” 

You have a small gun now. Your fingers itch to hold it again, to squeeze the grip made for your small hand.

You glance at the laminated menu another customer ducks their head behind. Quickly you stand beside Lee, pressing your chest against his side with your hand on his sternum. He’s warm. Solid, beneath the softness. It’s nice when he’s not damp with beer sweat. You try not to think about it. 

“Are you serious ? You—you think Mr. Denny pays at his own restaurants?” You motion to Lee with your hand. 

The cook balks at both of you, and Lee puffs out his chest. You try not to laugh.

“Bullshit you’re Mr. Denny. He’s gotta be like eighty or something.”

“J-Junior! Mr. Denny junior, obviously!” You take Lee’s jaw between your thumb and forefinger and aim his face at the cook. You’re suddenly grateful Lee combed his hair back. And that he knows when to keep his mouth shut. “See this? Spitting image!”

The cook glances at a blown up photograph hanging on the wall. White hair, beady eyes, the kind of jaw that recedes back into a neck. About the only thing similar to Lee was that they were both human. Maybe. 

Damn. You almost made it, too.

A giggle bubbles out of Lee’s throat as he catches sight of the photograph and the cook’s face goes red, burn-calloused hand reaching for Lee’s throat. A busboy with a tray full of dishes passes by at the wrong moment and you swing your hand up and knock the entire tray back against the cook. 

You leave behind a calamity of broken porcelain and gasps in your wake as you pull Lee by his hand out of the diner. He throws down a few chairs on his way to muddle the path to follow you both as you run. 

Even in busted heels, you’re faster than Lee. 

His huffing, red face would be entertaining if he wasn’t the one with the keys. 

“Drive, drive, drive!” You hollar, grin plastered to your cheeks as you smoosh your face and hands against the passenger window, watching in amusement as the cook and the waitress scramble outside and look around for you.

Lee’s braying laugh fills your ears as his car pulls out of the parking lot. You’re laughing too, content with wherever he sees fit to take you. You feel safe. You shouldn’t, but you do.

You have a small gun now.

Previous chapter.

Next chapter.

[billthedrake]

HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS (PART TWO)

I pulled up at Coach Stanley's house around 2:30. I had on a parka, which I bundled tight over my T-shirt as I walked up his yard. It was cold out and overcast, the kind of whether where you expect it to snow any minute.

Ed was standing out on his front porch to greet me and was apparently thinking the same thing. "Think we're getting a white Christmas, Russ?" he asked as he watched me walk up his driveway. Coach's place was at the end of a dead end street and while not 100 percent private, maybe he didn't have to worry what it would look like having a former student coming over on Christmas day.

"Can't remember the last one we had, Coach," I said as I stepped up to the patio and wiped my feet on the mat. I was enjoying how friendly and conversational the dynamic was between us. This could have been awkward as hell, but it was like this man was committed to make me feel comfortable.

I paused at the door and saw a smirk on his face and with it, a look of clear lust. He wanted to kiss me, and I wanted to kiss him right then and there, but instead he ushered me inside.

He was more dressed up than last I saw him, more in that button-down and khakis look I remember from the classroom. And that gold chain glinting from beneath the collar. He was hot as hell.

"Come in," he offered.

The inside was nice and warm, and I quickly took off my coat. I felt my heart pound. We hadn't made any real specific plans but I'd talked to him quickly and said I was free that afternoon and evening, if he was interested in spending some time together again. He was, barely concealing his excitement.

I could see his chest rise and fall some as he watched me set down my coat on a chair. "Good to see you, Russ," he said. "Thanks for calling."

I shot him a grin. I'm not 100 percent confident with guys, but something about Ed Stanley's bull-in-the-china-shop shyness made me feel like the more experienced one. "I'll admit I've been thinking about you a lot the last few days," I said.

The made him smirk and step up to me. In an I'm-gonna-kiss-you kind of move. "Is that right? I'm glad." His hands reached out and rested on my waist, almost pulling himself toward me as much as pulling me toward him. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christm..." I started until his lips cut me off. There was that soft tongue again, smoothly teasing and parting my lips, then touching my own. His mouth tasted a little bit of toothpaste and mouthwash and I could smell his aftershave. Heat emanated off his body, too, and I realized I was still a little cold from outside.

Maybe that's why I pressed into his embrace more. Or maybe I was just horny. Either way, Ed Stanley felt good, real good next to me.

Coach S had almost a dreamy expression on his masculine face when he broke the kiss. Almost lazily he reached up and ran his fingers along my torso, feeling up the leaner muscle beneath my long-sleeve T. "You know I like to take things slow, right, Russ?"

I reached down and rearranged the boner in my jeans. "Man you're killing me here, Coach," I teased, and Coach laughed.

"You didn't let me finish," he said, and I could see a playful smile as he reached down to adjust his own hardon. He walked over to the couch and patted me to sit down next to him. It felt cozier and homier now that the tree was up and fully lit. Or maybe it was the holiday spirit.

I sat down and Coach extended his arm for me to scoot closer. Even if I was taller, it felt nice to have his strong forearm draped over my shoulder. He gave me a peck and I felt the soft bristle of his beard before he pulled back.

"I was gonna say..." His blue eyes seemed deeper and almost darker in closer close up, the tree's twinkling lights and the dim outdoor illumination giving a dark sea look to them. He seemed almost nervous now. "I don't know what you're into, Russ, but I'd love to fuck you."

My heart pounded. "I'd like that Ed," I said. Then, "I wasn't sure what your deal was."

He smirked and ran his free hand along the front of my chest again. I loved his touch. "The deal is.... I have a very attractive man with me, and I've been thinking a lot how I wish I'd gone the next step with you on Saturday."

My voice cracked. "I've been thinking about that, too."

Ed's voice got huskier. "That would be an amazing gift, Russ," he said. I felt him pull me toward him and we were kissing once more.

I tried to match his skill, or at least his approach, with making out. And I ran my own fingers along his button-down shirt, feeling his hard body beneath it. This guy was such a crazy hunk, he could bed just about anybody, I figured. I was the right man at the right time.

We got deeper into the kiss. Not too fast, but definitely going past that soft, slow phase. I undid one of Coach's shirt buttons and slipped my hands into the opening, feeling up the soft fur and warm bulk beneath. Stanley let me feel him up before finally pulling back and undoing the rest of the buttons.

I greedily watched then even more greedily ran my fingers along his exposed chest. He let out a deep, mellow giggle "You like?"

I nodded. "Yeah, totally." I looked up into his handsome face. Coach S was always an authority figure for me but wasn't THAT much older than me. He still had some of that youthfulness ot his looks. "I think maybe it's a little bit of a fetish for me, actually."

"What?" he asked. "The chest?"

I ran my hand up to touch his nipples. Ed had amazing nipples. "Yeah, I'm a chest guy. But the open shirt thing, too. I don't know if I even realized it, but it pushes my buttons."

He gave me an encouraging look and said softly. "I'm glad, Russ." His tone got deeper and softer. "I like turning you on."

I laughed, unable to stop feeling him up. "You have no idea."

He didn't say anything, but instead reached down and started undoing his belt, then unbuttoning his khakis. I decided I liked seeing the horny side of Ed Stanley.

He reached in and hauled out his hard dick. Firm, meaty, not too big. He leaned back now in the sofa, his arms spread and the shift flaps pulled apart. His prick stood up into a full rigid position. His eyes were intense even if he was silent now.

I leaned over and started taking him into my mouth. I felt better at this now, since the angle was better than last time. I focused on the first few inches, up and down, slowly but surely, before working more of him deeper into my throat.

The second I went deep I heard Ed let out a soft deep grunt and felt his fingers run through my hair. "Oh man, Russ. Fuck... that's so beautiful."

I knew he was watching me blow him, and that just encouraged me to do my best. I worked him for another half minute and could feel his excitement. As I pulled off some and slowed my sucking, I could taste the salty precum.

"You getting close?" I asked, pulling all the way off.

He looked down and nodded, a puppy dog expression on his handsome bearded face. "Fraid so, bud."

I smiled, happy I'd given him that pleasure. If he hadn't mentioned fucking, I would have happily blown him to completion. But now, I kissed along his taut abdomen and up his furry chest. His fingers resumed stroking my hair as I did, until I made my way up to kiss him once more, leading Ed to wrap his palm around the nape of my neck to hold me steady as our tongues wrestled.

"Damn," he whispered when I finally pulled back.

"Yeah," I agreed. "You know, you're the best kisser I've ever met."

He cocked a grin. "There been a lot, Russ?"

"My share," I replied. "Nothing crazy."

He seemed to respect my answer. "You have experience bottoming?"

"With a couple of boyfriends, yeah," I answered. I now leaned back, as much to relieve the tightness in my crotch by spreading my legs as anything. I blushed now. "I don't know how to bring this up tactfully," I said. "But I usually do some preparation before I do."

Ed smirked. "I may have some supplies in the master bathroom for just that."

"You may, huh?" I laughed. This was a man of surprises.

He shrugged. "Call me an optimist."

"OK, Mr. Optimist," I said.

"God, you're so sexy, Russ," Ed said and scooted back toward me for a kiss. We made out again, and Coach S guided me back down to the sofa. I liked that he wasn't rushing it. It had actually been nine months or so since I'd bottomed, and I felt a little out of practice. Holding on to Ed's thick, fit body and being beneath him was getting me turned on and more assured.

By now his shirt was untucked and I was able to run my hands all over his strong back as he humped into me. Still in his khakis, me still clothed. This guy was unlike anyone I'd been with.

Finally he pulled off with a lusty look. "All right, bud... you feel up for getting ready?"

"Yeah," I said.

I watched him raise his body off the couch, his khakis still open and his dick still rock hard and sticking out. He offered a hand to help me up.

"Stuff's under the sink and there's a bath towel on the shelf. Make yourself at home," he offered.

In all of my mental holiday bingo cards, I never had being in Coach Stanley's bathroom cleaning myself out to be one of the options. But here I was.

I showered off and took one last look in the mirror. Maybe like a lot of gay guys my age, I was able to be both conceited about my youthful looks and deep-down insecure about my body. But Stanley seemed into it, so I took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.

I'd lost my hardon and the urgency of my sexual excitement, but the sight in front of me had my cock filling out quickly. Ed Stanley was lying back on his bed with a fully hard prick, naked except for his open dress shirt and that gold chain.

"Whoa!" I said, my dick bouncing up to rigidity with each step toward the bed.

"I decided to keep the shirt on. You seemed to like it."

"Hell yes," I said, climbing up on the bed and positioning my naked body above his half reclined one. "You must think I'm silly," I said.

He laughed. "I'm pretty naive in some things, but teachers have a pretty good idea when students have the hots for them."

I settled against his furry body and felt his strong hands land on my ass. "Did you have the hots for me, too?" I asked. It was a question that had been in the back of my mind since Saturday.

"Truth?" he asked. "I always that you were incredibly cute, but no I never had the hots for you. Not till I ran into you..."

Our mouths met. Any hesitation I had about giving my ass to Coach Stanley was way out the window. I was turned on like mad, but more than that I just wanted to give him this.

It was my turn to hump into him as he held me and matched the ferocity of my kiss. For a man with the smooth moves, he seemed happy to switch gears. Before long, I felt his fingers work deeper into my crack and play with my still shower-damp hole.

"Hmmph," I muttered into our kiss. When I broke, I actually laughed.

"What?" he asked, with a cheeky grin.

I shook my head. "I guess I'm getting my head around you being aggressive in bed."

"Too much?" he asked. "We don't gotta, Russ." I could see a real lust in his blue eyes but to his credit he was giving me an out.

"Nah, not too much," I replied.

"Good," he growled and with a surprise move, he used his superior strength to maneuver and flip up over, so I was on my back and he was above me. And just as quickly his lips were attacking my neck, licking and kissing. Stanley was a sensual lover, very different from the men I'd been with before. My dick was rock hard and dripping against his stomach fur as his mouth sought mine out one more time.

"Fuck!" he muttered, breaking the kiss and already kissing his way down my body. Down my sternum, over my six pack and then licking my cock. "You got a big dick, Russ," he muttered.

I felt so outmanned by this stud, so it felt nice to be bringing something to the table. Not that dick size mattered much for me, but Ed seemed into my prick as he pulled it up and examined it before licking its length again.

"Tell me if you get close," he said, then began swallowing.

I knew Coach S hadn't had any dick sucking practice in the last few days, but this BJ was a lot better than the prior one. Maybe he was just less nervous and more into it. My quick trigger wasn't kicking in, but after a minute I had to tap his shoulder. "Coach...."

He spit my out and started tonguing my balls. Normally I don't crave that sensation, but I loved the sweet torture of it now, the way his oral attention kept me rock hard and dripping while prolonging the pleasure.

And when he put his hands beneath my hamstrings, I got the idea. I pulled my legs up and back for him.

Some men are hesitant to rim, but Ed wasn't one of them. He dove in, licking me and teasing my ring. I was surprised by that combination of eagerness and soft tongue. And the soft scruff of his beard tickled my cheeks in the best way possible.

"Oh fuck..." I hissed.

He pulled back, shooting his blue eyes up to look at my face. "You like this, bud."

"Please don't stop," I laughed, pulling my thighs back further and hiking my ass up back toward his face. Maybe it looked slutty, but I didn't care. Coach Stanley was that good at eating ass.

He got a cocky look on his face then dove back in.

I got a few more minutes of that royal treatment, then Ed methodically set up to prep me with his fingers. He'd set out some lube, and I watched his intent face as he slid one finger inside me, his eyes darting back and forth between my hole and my facial reactions.

"You feel amazing, Russ," he said. "You're pretty tight."

"Yeah," I admitted. "Just give me a little time and I'll be good." I wasn't an expert but I'd bottomed enough to know it was like riding a bicycle. And with a top as hot as Coach Stanley I wasn't gonna have a hard time getting into this.

"You got it, bud."

His eyes were locked on my face when the third finger slipped in. I expected my hole to resist or my guts to clench tight. But it felt amazing.

"So, bud...." Ed said in soft, low voice. "I generally play safe."

"OK," I muttered. Maybe because he was a teacher and authority figure, I wasn't surprised by his caution. "I'm on PreP... if that matters."

I could see his chest rise and fall between the open flaps of his shirt. "It does," he said. He pulled his fingers out and set out to slick down his thick boner. Ed dizzled some on my boner. He set down the lube and looked back at me. "I'd love to fuck you raw," he hissed. It was SO wild to hear Coach S talk so lewdly, so directly. "I've never done that."

My voice was cracking I was so horny. "You're missing out, Coach. It's amazing." My eyes met his, and I got off seeing his prick jerk some.

He leaned forward and kissed me. Not a Coach Stanley kiss but a hard, sloppy kiss. I held onto him and did my best to return it, even as I let him take the lead with his plunging tongue.

Already he was reaching down to guide his prick into place. I realized then he was real wet from lube, like a crazy of amount of slickness to his prick that kept me from clenching my defenses shut. Not that I wanted to, but Ed was already pushing in.

I grunted into his mouth.

He was breathing heavy as he pulled back and looked at me. "Sorry, man... I just..."

"It's OK," I said, gamely. After all I wanted this more than anything. My fantasy served to me on a silver platter. "It always stings a little going in."

He nodded. Like he wanted to learn how my sexual responses were wired.

"Trust me, I want this, too, Coach," I said, reaching up to feel his chest. "I want your cock."

He slid just a little more into me, like a half inch more. It felt good. But the real thing that changed for me was seeing Ed Stanley above me, hunky as hell. Furry chest, rounded pecs, gold chain, button down shirt undone. I was transported back to my high school JO sessions, only this was better than I could have ever imagined.

My guts flowered open and Ed's dick sunk in. The sensation felt good for him, and was a real turn on. His lips curled into a smile.

"Yeah, Russ.... oh fuck."

He gave me a second but quickly realized I didn't need more. Then, his arms steadying himself above me, Coach S started fucking me. Nice steady pumps as I wrapped my legs around his waist and touched any part of him that I could.

"Fuck me, Coach," I hissed. Then corrected, "Ed..." Honestly I didn't know if the ex-teacher/ex-student thing bothered the man in a moment like this. I didn't want to spook him, even if I was tapping into that forbidden fantasy with every single stroke of the man's thick cock.

"Russ fucking McAdams," he hissed, his fucking getting more urgent. Not hard or fast, but with more power in his hips and glutes as he worked my hole.

I was SO hard right then. It was tempting to stroke my cock but I didn't want to blast off right away. I looked up into the man's eyes, his handsome face, and asked, "Barebacking what you expected, Ed?"

He nodded. "Uh uh. And more. I think I like this too much." His breath was catching some, and I could tell he was focusing on not cumming quickly.

"You gonna cum in my ass?" I growled. Even if the physical sensations of raw sex were night and day different for the top more than for the bottom, the idea of being bred by Ed Stanley was really getting to me just then.

"Oh buddy... fuck...." He slowed his thrusts some and looked down on me. "You wanna stroke off while I do you?" He seemed surprised I wasn't already.

I cocked my grin. "I'm pretty sure the second I start I'm gonna cum. Why don't you go for it, and tell me when you're close."

"Probably not gonna take me long, Russ," he said. Then I felt it. Gone were the gentle thrusts. This one was hard and deep, surprisingly deep given Ed's cock size. Then another, perfectly timed.

"This OK, bud?" he asked.

"God yes," I answered. I was in the zone now. Stanley had gotten me into the zone.

For the next minute I got fucked by a real stud. Ed's meaty ex-jock body clenching rhythmically above me. His prick hitting my internal spot with steady repeated force. His muscles clenching, his shirt tails flapping, his gold chain dangling.

"I'm so close," he gritted through his teeth.

I wrapped my hand around my dick. I was gonna get there with Coach S. "Do it, Ed. Breed my ass."

"Oh FUCK!" he cried. Not orgasming yet but his hips working faster as he got closer. My hand was a blur on my cock and I could feel the rumble in my balls. I opened my eyes wide to take him all in. My dream man, fucking me hard, his face now starting scrunch up as he came.

"Coach!" I let out as my prick fired all over my body, from my neck to my abs. I just shot it all out and enjoyed the orgasm of a lifetime. Only as I came down from the intensity of that high, I hoped my lifetime would have a lot more like this ahead.

Ed's hips were slowing to a halt, and I could tell he was riding the aftershocks of a deep cum. "Whoo buddy," he breathed out. "That was something else." He leaned forward and gave a soft kiss. Not too long since I think he intuited that I was gonna cramp up bent back in this position.

We uncoupled and Ed rested up in a kneeling position on the mattress. Shirt still on and open wide, his prick still rigid and coated with lots of lube and cum. His chest still rising and falling. "Thank you so much, Russ... that was incredible."

"For me, too," I said as I stretched out my legs. "OK if I rinse off?" I asked. I didn't want to kill the afterglow, but sometimes after a hard cum I have to piss. And maybe a part of me felt self-conscious for getting into bottoming so much with Coach S.

He nodded. "Like I said, Russ..." Make yourself at home.

I went to piss and take a quick shower. I was back out in about five minutes. Ed had pulled on some sweatpants but still had that button down shirt on, open to reveal his hairy chest. I don't know if it was for my benefit, but it was a great sight. He was standing at the window, the blinds now open.

He looked at me, with almost kid-like excitement. "It's snowing."

I walked over, towel around my waist. Indeed, white flakes were coming down, hard.

"Whoa," I said.

He clasped his hand on my bare shoulder. "You got your white Christmas, buddy," he said, his eyes taking in the snow.

"Yeah," I said. I turned to look at him and saw his eyes were no longer on the snow. They were on me.

"You gotta rush off, Russ?"

I shook my head. "I'm good," I said. "If you don't mind the company."

"The opposite," he said. "Listen... I have some stuff for a holiday dinner, if you want some."

That surprised me. "You cooked a holiday meal?"

"Store bought," he assured me. "But I've worked up an appetite."

"I'm pretty hungry, too," I admitted. Brunch had now been many hours ago.

We kissed, and I saw the return of soft, gentle Ed Stanley. Until I felt his strong hand fiddle with my towel and undo it.

I was hard again, but maybe not ready for a second round. "You horny again?" I asked as I pulled back.

His blue eyes twinkled. "Nah. Just like playing with my Christmas present," he laughed. He gave my ass a light slap. "Come on, let's get something to eat."

[leclsrc]

prolonged eye contact with charles please! ++ an "almost kissed" type trope

intertwined – cl16

All seems lost after you fail to kiss the cute guy at George's party. Key word: seems.

auds here... i love uuu guys sorry bit mia i'm a bit sick but love u all always working on other reqs as we speak promise! title from this

There are still traces of orange in the purple sky when George introduces you to his good friend, Charles.

The party had somewhat simmered down, lunch leftovers being reheated for dinner in case anybody was staying that long. Faces here were unfamiliar, smiling and flushed with alcohol, topics like London and cars and taxes making conversation glide easy. But you’d still been quiet, your companion having left you to talk about something or other, leaving you backed into a far corner of the room examining pages of books and listening to the music.

So it’s George, one of the two hosts at this party, who asks if you’re doing alright and oh, didn’t you mention you liked piano, well this is Charles and he plays proper well, he does.

“Do you play for a living?” You ask, both of you walking to the house’s garden area. You lean against the wall there, sizing him up.

“No, I”—he tries to find the right wording—“piano is a hobby. I drive. Cars.” He’s a tad tall, with long fluffy hair and eyes that look a little tired, despite the deep green of them.

“Oh? Thanks for the clarification.” You reply curtly. “Almost thought you were going to say you drive a lorry.” 

He chuckles. “That’s how I know George.”

“What, lorry driving?” You both laugh, and it’s easy. It’s all easy. You tell him you own a gallery in Chelsea, you tell him your heels hurt so much it’s a wonder you paid so much money for them, he laughs, he asks some more. It’s so easy, in fact, that eventually George has to come in and dispel the conversation himself, and it’s only then that you realize the whole indoors area has been emptied; Carmen smiles sheepishly, holding a stack of dirtied bowls. 

He walks you to your car, which is parked far away from the house. You complain about the shit parking configuration in Stanley Gardens and he agrees even if he’s never here too long, or too often. The heels are a proper impediment to your walking, and you have to stop a few times, much to your chagrin.

At the third lamppost you stop at to adjust your ankle, just a few steps from your car, he offers to carry your shoes for you.

“Is it socially acceptable?” You stare at your feet and then at him, hiding a smile. “Walking barefoot in London?”

“Your car’s just there”—he points to your Lexus—“and it’s nearing midnight, I don’t think anyone will mind. If they do, run like hell, yes?” You laugh, easing yourself out of the shoes. The asphalt is cold and you’re already thinking of washing the dirt off, but it’s so much more comfortable.

Charles carries your coat and shoes, opens the door for you when you unlock it. You’re halfway inside, eyes meeting his from where he stands behind the door, smiling shyly. “Thanks. Did you—are you parked far? I can…”

“I could use the walk,” he says, smiling.

“Okay,” you whisper. He hands you your coat and shoes, and you lean closer to take them from him. You’re divided only by the car now, eyes stuck on the other’s. He leans closer, his breath ghosting over your lips. Closer, a bit closer—and then your phone rings, loud in the quiet evening.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, it’s—I have a boyfriend.” It leaves your mouth in a garbled, shameful utterance, and your face warms.

He shuts his eyes, stopping just shy of your face. “Right. Okay.”

—

“Did you guys even date?” Your friend Mila asks, amused.

“Christ, no. I don’t even know why I called Tom my boyfriend—plus, that whole thing ended like two months ago.” You make a right on the next street, eyes squinting as you find a place to park in the crowded street. 

“Right. ‘Cause you met that Charles guy at Carmen’s party.”

“Yeah, the one you left me alone at?” You click your tongue, laughing. “Well, yeah. But I didn’t even get his number at the time, and it—it seemed like a dead end thing.”

“He walked you to your car, held your shoes and the door, almost kissed you—that’s the most romantic guys ever get these days, isn’t it?”

“Sure. But that was two months ago.”

You snag a spot right in front of your gallery and turn off the car, unbuckling your seatmate and climbing out. You hope the conversation has died with the car ride—you really don’t wish to rehash a fling lost to bad timing. Unfortunately for you, Mila is already launching into the topic when you cross onto the sidewalk and greet your staff inside.

She pushes the glass entrance open. “Who’s to say fate won’t let it happen again?”

“Let what happen?” Your assistant, Greg, who is almost if not just as nosy as Mila, pipes up. Lucky you.

“Nothing, Greg. Back to work,” you say, at the same time Mila says: “She almost banged a race driver.”

“Mila!” You swat her arm, and she smiles, but eventually leaves it alone, spending an hour dicking around before leaving to go to her own office. 

The day descends into usual work: calls from clients, from art collectors, from regulars, from Sotheby’s or Tate. Visits are scattered throughout the afternoon, Greg taking the time to tour them around and offer what pieces are for sale; you’re content taking calls and emails, doing most of the behind-the-scenes work. “Potential buyer,” Greg announces, popping his head into your office door. “I’ll leave it to you.”

These types of customers are always entrusted to you, for the nitty gritty questions and negotiations. You nod, raking a hand through your hair and walking into the wide area of the gallery; there’s a man turned to a Cezanne piece, stance stoic and stature tall.

“That’s a lovely one,” you say as an introduction.

The man turns. He is also Charles. You genuinely think your heart skips a beat; his eyes widen in brief surprise before relaxing, and so do yours.

He asks if he’s right, if you’re you, the one at George’s party in Notting Hill a few months ago. You confirm his statement with a polite smile. A handshake is exchanged, a price discussed, conversation about where it goes made. You migrate to your office to maybe seal the deal, though by then the conversation has quickly grown casual.

“Had I known this was your gallery, I would’ve tried to avoid it,” he confesses. “I don’t want your boyfriend getting jealous.”

Your face is warm when you cough. “Right, uh—no boyfriend.”

You refuse to watch his smile, but you feel his eyes on you as you rifle through paperwork.

You continue with the business portion of the conversation anyway. “I’ll be in touch, see if we can level a price within the next month. But in the meantime keep this and… my card.” You slip a few documents into his hand, noticing the way his grip seems to linger, and he stands to signal his departure.

“I’ll get going,” he says, smiling. “Merci. For your number.”

You open the door for him, in a flirty repeat of the last time you saw each other. He exits, then turns, eyes boring into yours. “I’ll see you,” you say, seeking his affirmation, his accented English telling you what you want to hear.

“You will.” And he’s so near you again, his cologne is all you can smell. He bends down, eyes meeting your lips. “Soon.” Then, in a second of cologne and a smile, he’s leaving you unkissed, like you did him two months ago, holding your card in-between two hands as he drives into the orange sky, left still with traces of purple.

[kiivg]

Big fan of how you draw Geoff's face. He's so soft

.Thank you so much!!!!! Honestly I tried to make him a little softer than he is so I could make Jonathan a bit pointier 🩷❤️. Then ofc, I like to think he's a little soft all over, like I get war rationing and all that hoohah, but he's canonically massive for a man in 1919 (like Jonathan too) and I feel like being the big cheese of Priwen gets him a few treats here and there. Whether he gets them legally idk probably not, but still!!!! I mean maybe there's a leech in a bakery at night and leech blood will spoil a lot of food, so the owner won't miss a few cakey type things if Priwen decides to have a little nibble here and there.

.Oh! Also also, I briefly read a thing, before I lost it to the tab god 😞🙏 that said Geoffrey is actually the hero in Vampyr, he's basically the guy who holds the mantel and fights against things he's outmatched by. He's the mortal man taking down immortals because they're straight up murdering people all over the place, and he's not doing it for recognition, like 99% of people think he's some criminal war lord inciting meaningless violence, but he's saving them, even if they despise him for it. It's a nice thing to think over considering Jonathan is desperately trying to do the same thing, even though he has the capability of becoming The Worst but he's practically heralded by those he saves... Kind of..... Some people are just rude lbh.

.Like can you imagine Geoffrey saving Louise in the sewers, or Kimura from that weirdo astrological vampire, can you imagine the flip side of having Geoffrey thanked in the streets for his help? Having people proclaim that Priwen is good? Can you imagine Geoffrey heralded as the saviour of London and his men celebrated for their actions? I mean he'd probably hate it on account of every leech this side of the Thames knowing exactly what he looks like and who he is and it'd be a huge target on his back, but still. ✨️ Geoffry McCullum ✨️.

.Also, in other news, in my brain, I can't help but imagine Mark Stanley when I think of Geoffrey and he's got a bit of a chubby face, like idk if anyone else can see that but ykno, at least I'm not faceclaiming Jensen Ankles like literally everyone does with every single man smh 🙄. Tbh, also in my mind, I call pronounce Geoffrey and J-OH-ffrey as opposed to J-EH-ffrey, and I know that's wrong but 🤷 whatever.

[ophiespeaks]

i am, once again, crawling back to gravity falls. i’ve stayed out of the loop so i could explore thisisnotawebsitedotcom by myself, and here are some of my authentic discoveries: (I don’t know if any of these are even new, knowing the fandom you probably figured all of these out the day it dropped tbh)

-“SOOS” gives a document of how he and his gf are doing running the mystery shack, including a goat train that runs through the forest (i love them)

-“TADSTRANGE” gives an erotic bread montage, because why not

-“PINATA” gives an irl video narrated by bill of a little girl beating the shit out of a bill cipher pinata

-“EVENHISLIESARELIES” i was spoonfed this one but bill is astronomically down bad for ford and it’s literally canon??? “because winning made him feel special. and good god, did he want to feel special” bill cipher your gay is showing.

-“WADDLES” leads to a pig adoption website

-“SEASONTHREE” says season 2, “SEASONTWO” says season 1, and “SEASONONE” says season -1: anti-gravity falls.

-“PACIFICA” tells us that the northwests still keep tapestries of bill, perhaps they could/would have something to do with his return??? pacifica and a “friend” destroyed everything with bill’s triangle symbol on it though, she’s a real one.

-“PLATINUMPAZ” is a code you’re given discreetly upon entering the aforementioned “PACIFICA.” This document is written like fan fiction, but obviously it’s canon, and details pacifica’s experience following northwest mansion mystery. It’s a longer document but essentially pacifica SIKES bill cipher like the girlboss she is when he tries to make a dream deal with her.

-“PINES” just says “a good family tree” lmao

-“SIXER” case file on Ford’s hand, written by (?) someone in the us government, apparently even as far back as when the Stans were 18, the government was working on cloning, so there’s that. Also, Ford is a finger donor!

-“BLINDEYE” gives one of those eye doctor letter tests, VERY blurry. if there’s a code here my blind ass hasn’t been able to decipher it. EDIT: it’s not blurry when you first try it!!! if you click on it it becomes blurry and i no longer know what the letters are.

-“MATPAT” and “GAMETHEORY” matthew patrick i am in your walls. it’s a video of beloved internet dad, Matpat from the Theory channels, saying we’re on our own for this one. Mathew if you don’t make a retirement special when this is all over, spoon-feeding me the answers i will do something illegal. Also, one of the notes on his board seems to read “abigail northwest,” but it’s not a code you can enter, so i’m not sure what it means.

-“GRAVITYFALLS” says ‘never heard of it’, alex hirsch when i catch you alex hirsch

-“MABEL” adds stickers and stars to the screen, eventually saying ‘lab now fully mabelized’ they stay there forever even if you relog the website.

-“DIPPER” tells pine tree to stare at the page for thirteen hours. spamming it changes the note, telling dipper he’s getting closer, but eventually the whole thing blacks out.

-“STANFORD” and “FORD” brings up the same page as “SIXER”, they are one and the same after all.

-“MCGUCKET” and “FIDDLEFORD” link to Cotton Eyed Joe by Rednex

-“STANLEY” and “STAN” links to ebay listings of brass knuckles

-“BILL” links to a sesame street video from 1969, jazzy triangle meets a square square. BillFord canon??? meanwhile, “CIPHER” and “BILLCIPHER”leads to the wikipedia page for the Eye of Providence, or the eye that watches the work of mankind.

-“GIDEON” leads to a google search of sweat-resistant bolo ties

-“LOVE” opens a book called ‘the love triangle”, tapping on it starts an audiobook of the first page of this book, detailing the narrator falling in love with bill cipher in a romantic period-piece. 10/10, but too short. give me the whole book.

-“GOD” links to a video of an Axolotl swimming in front of a submerged bill cipher statue. upon entering “GOD” again, the video does not play, some of the other videos behave in the same way such as “MATPAT.”

-“BLENDIN” responds with ‘time agent lost and presumed incompetent’

-“WEIRD” plays a video of Weird Al Yankovic yelling about how he’s trapped inside of the computer, and he calls for bill to help him. imagine my shock and horror coming across this the vanilla way, by just trying codes until something happens.

-“WEIRDMAGEDDON” is a newspaper clipping that shows nothing happened yesterday, soos got his head stuck in a honey pot and promptly said ‘and i’d do it again.”

-“TOBYDETERMINED” leads to a google search of ‘restraining order’

-“ROBBIE” pulls up AIM messages between him and thomson, detailing their experience ghost hunting for bill because robbie thinks bill will have to grant them three wishes. included is a great drawing in camcorder style of them running away from an eldritch-looking bill. included, but seemingly not sent, are messages in the text box, and it seems we’re reading from thompson’s perspective. it vaguely alludes that bill may be operating inside of thompson??? erm what the sigma?

-“SKIBIDI” “RIZZ” “FORTNITE” and “GYATT” revokes ur life privileges, but “SIGMA” does nothing.

-“QUESTION” responds with ‘answer’ and vice versa.

-“SCIENTOLOGY” responds with ‘suppressive person detected,” don’t ask why i tried scientology, i was going through science-themed inputs and it came to me like a vision.

-“ALEX” and “ALEXHIRSCH” link to a google search of ‘flannel.’ alex hirsch is lumberjack???

-“JOURNAL 3” responds with ‘the journal for me.’

-“JOURNAL 2” responds with ‘the journal for you’

-“JOURNAL 1” responds with “the journal of fun”

-“SEX” “FUCK” “SHIT” and other curses gives a pop-up that says “not S&P approved, wash your mouth out with soap.”

-“WHOAREYOU” responds with ‘i could ask you the same question’

-“REALITY” responds with ‘is an illusion’

-“FBI” and “CIA” responds with ‘your webcam is on. we are watching.’

-“HOLOGRAM” responds with ‘universe’ and vice versa.

-“SCARY” gives a R.L Stine goosebumps knockoff called The Book Of Bill, with the tagline ‘can you survive the tri-strangler?’ and it seems like it should be an audiobook like the “LOVE” entry, but i can’t hear any audio.

-“THEBOOKOFBILL” responds with ‘hide it under shirt during pledge of allegiance’ ???WHAT???

-“MASON” brings up a note about anagrams, assuredly written in-part by Dipper. idk if mason is even canon i always just assumed it was tbh.

-“LIFE” responds with ‘life:72% complete. now loading death.’

-“DEATH” responds with ‘life’s goth cousin’

-“DADDY” “BABY” and “MOMMY” (listen i was trying anything that came to mind) responds with a pop-up of a baby-bill cipher in an ultrasound, and a message that says ‘congrats! guess what’s growing inside you right now? see you in nine months, papa!’ NEW SEASON IN NINE MONTHS CONFIRMED???? (/j) also— mpreg is gravity falls canon???

———

if i was alex hirsch, these are inputs i would add because i was SHOCKED they WEREN’T there:

-“4 8 15 16 23 42” inputting that into an old-style computer should yield some kind of easter egg. LOST was too big of a cultural phenomena for it to not be a secret code here.

-“CANDY” and “GRENDA.” alex you thought of skibidi but not MABELS ONLY TWO FRIENDS???

-“TWINS” seriously this is like the main thing that keeps repeating, even just linking to a wiki page would be rewarding.

-typing in cryptids should link to pages for them, at least. imagine my shock when i typed in “BIGFOOT” to no avail.

-“SEEYOUNEXTSUMMER” should’ve been an easy one tbh

-“PINETREE” “SHOOTINGSTAR” etc. could just link to the same thing as entering their respective names, like “DIPPER” and “MABEL” respectively.

-“HINT” should do something, even if it just tells you no.

-“?” having no results is bonkers

-“SANSUNDERTALE” would be really funny i think

-“THETRUTH” should respond with ‘is out there’

[birdiely]

Something Uniquely Human

The first chapter of the Bill Cipher redemption fic is here boysss. (There's no billford in this fic btw sorry, gamers.)

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Smoke covered the horizon and the sky had faded into a deep red. Buildings empty, and the nearby forest devoid of all life. Rubble was scattered throughout the streets. Where there was usually the hustle and bustle of the day, the chirping of birds, and the humming of small bugs, only silence remained.

Stanford walked slowly, cautiously, throughout the abandoned town. He looked behind himself quickly, the overwhelming feeling of being watched taking over him. When there's nothing, he continued on. His breath was shallow and strained. He could hear his heartbeat in his chest. A deep, agonizing feeling swirled around in his stomach, begging him to run away, to hide and close his eyes. And yet he continued his slow descent down the road.

Something broke behind him, a small crack traveled to his ears, making him spin around. His breath caught in his throat; nothing was there. The buildings, the road, the trees lining the horizon line–it was all gone. He found himself completely alone in a vacuum. Frantically, he whipped his head around, scanning the area desperate to find any discernible features. He looked down, he was standing on the only piece of grass for miles stretching on into eternity. The darkness around him threatened to swallow him whole. He was small and vulnerable in the great vastness of nothing. Fear was gripping him so hard he felt as though he would dissolve into a pile of ash at any second.

He looked out to a sea of stars. He could feel each one staring him down, judging him. Myriads and myriads of eyes all fall on him. An all too familiar laugh rang out and bounced around his head. He felt so sick; it was unbearable.

The ground beneath him crumbled and gave way. He fell, disappearing into the void. No one can hear him. No one is there to help him. He woke up.

—---------------------------------------

The smell of salt and fish filled the air. The sound of waves rising and falling had become so normal it faded into the background and eventually was tuned out.

Ford shot up with a gasp, hitting his head on the low roof above him and falling back down. He took a moment to breathe before sitting up with a groan in the small space under the deck of the Stan o’ War II. He swung his legs off of the bed and rubbed his hands over his face. He's always had chronic nightmares; ever since he shook hands the eldritch horror he was naive enough to call his friend. But the past few days had been different. They were getting worse, more vivid and surreal. The fear of his nightmare had followed him into the waking world. The nausea did too, so he forced himself out of bed and up to the main deck to eat and hopefully settle his stomach.

A familiar sight calmed his nerves, at least a little. Stanley sat laid back in a fold-out camping chair, cigarette in one hand, fishing pole in the other. He losely held onto the handle, more so holding it between his thighs. Ford walked passed him, sluggishly making his way to a small mini fridge, digging through it like a raccoon through a trash can, before crashing harshly in a chair of his own.

“You look like you're in a good mood,” Stan said, puffing out a cloud of smoke as he spoke. Ford turned his head towards him with a deep, tired, scowl etched onto his features. Stan turned his head too, not fully seeing him out of the corner of his eyes. He snorted in amusement when their eyes met and had to quickly turn away to choke down the laughter. Ford's face softened with a quiet, humored nose exhale.

“When do you think we'll get there?” Ford asked. Stan took another puff and answered, “We'll meet the port by 3…ish?” Ford hummed in response, looking out into the ocean. Still after all this time he finds himself completely mesmerized. “How many of those have you had?” He gestured to the cigarette. Stan lifted an empty pack and waved it in his face with a grin and a snicker. “Just today!?” “Hey, I gotta get it all in now y'know?” Stan put his hands up in mock defense.

They had been slowly making their way back to Gravity Falls for a few days now. Soos generously offered up the shack for them to stay in during their visit, and they were both over the moon to hear that Dipper and Mabel were coming back to visit as well. And yet Ford couldn't shake this gut wrenching feeling. As each day passed and as they grew closer and closer, he found himself more and more anxious. Today was the day they made it, and he was drowning in dread. He tried his best to logic his way through his fears but that didn't stop the nightmares from getting any worse.

Around evening they made it to the sleepy little town they had called home for so many years. Ford was terrified that by the time they got there there wouldn't even be a Gravity Falls left, his heart expected fire and terror and death. He was relieved when instead he was met with smiling faces and warm embraces. The sky was clear and blue, the familiar scent of pine and grass filled his senses, and the distant sounds of woodpeckers mirrored the distant calls of seabirds he had grown so used to. Yet, somehow, something still felt wrong.

When they finally walked the winding path to the Mystery Shack, Stanley smiled on seeing Soos’ face light up with their arrival. He wore a suit and a couple of shiny, silver rings. He ran towards the twins with his arms outstretched and almost tackled Stan to the ground with the force of his hug. Stan laughed it off and patted his back in return. When it was Ford's turn he grunted as all the air was squeezed out of his lungs.

“Oh dude, it's like, so good to see you two bros! It's been since forever!” “Yeah, feels good to be back,” said Stan, and they both followed Soos into the house. Melody was carrying a box from one of the back rooms. She stopped for a second when the three of them walked in. “Oh hey, look who it is! So good to see you guys,” she greeted. They exchanged a few words, but truthfully Ford wasn't paying close attention. The aching feeling in his chest only seemed to get worse now that they were physically in the shack. Soos led them to the spare bedroom, he had kept it clean and mostly empty apart from two twin sized beds and a dresser with nothing in it, just in case they ever visited. Stan and Ford thanked him for his generosity, and they spent a while unpacking and making the room feel like their own.

That night was uncomfortable to say the least. Ford lay staring at the ceiling of a room he hadn't been in in years, let alone slept in. The room was cold, there was a loud box fan rattling and struggling to stay on filling the small space with noise. Stan was in the bed next to his. Ford didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to shut his eyes and see horrors beyond human comprehension, and he didn't want to open them back up in another nightmare. To some extent he felt like a child, trying to stay up all night to avoid a bad dream, wanting to hide under his covers from the monster under his bed.

Stan must have noticed how lost in thought he was because he whispered in the dark room, “Hey, what're you thinking about, Sixer?” That snapped Ford out of it briefly, and he turned to his brother with a surprised expression, like he was shocked anyone could perceive him. “Hm? Oh, nothing. It's fine.” He answered. Stan scoffed, “Yeah, right. You look completely fine right now.” Ford didn't appreciate the sarcasm, he rolled his eyes. “Come on, tell me what's on your mind. ‘Share with the class,’ like Mabel says.” Ford smiled fondly before his face scrunched back into a grimace as his mind began to fill back up with what if's. “I'm just worried, I suppose.” “‘Bout what?”

Ford paused to think. What was he really afraid of? The world spontaneously bursting into flames? The earth opening up beneath his feet? His arch enemy coming back from the dead? He threw all of those thoughts away from him, writing them off as fantastical and impossible. Or at least highly improbable. “I don't know,” he sighed. “It's probably nothing and I'm just being paranoid again.” He chuckled humorlessly, but Stan nodded his head in understanding and suddenly he felt so much less alone. “It's just….a lot–being back here, being in this house.” “Yeah, I get you. But hey,” he reached over the space between them to lightly tap Ford's arm. “Try not to think about it too hard. By tomorrow everything will be fine.” Ford nodded his head and Stan rolled over to sleep.

Ford didn't get much sleep that night. He stared upwards, mind unable to put itself to rest. Stan on the other hand snored loudly next to him. The noise drowned out everything else, but Ford had grown used to that long ago.

—---------------------------------------

The next morning was better. Soos had made a big breakfast, laying out six plates on the table. The kitchen was bright and cheery, the morning sun lit up the room with a gentle orange and the open window let in the melodies of songbirds.

A light conversation was passed around the table. It was stopped abruptly at the sound of two knocks at the door. And then two more. And then the knocking turned into a rhythmic song. Everyone's eyes lit up hearing it; of course they knew who was on the other side, no one else would knock to the tune of Taking Over Midnight by &ndra. Soos swung open the front door excitedly, and the Stans followed close behind him to welcome the bright-eyed teens. Soos lifted Dipper and Mabel off the ground in a lung-collapsing hug. When they got through the door the two of them nearly knocked Stan to the ground with another round of tight hugs. They were almost his height now, although Mabel had a good two inches on Dipper, and Stan ruffled their hair affectionately.

The breakfast was filled with cheery conversation and fond laughter. The teens watched in amazement as Stan waved his arms around retelling their sailing stories. Ford smiled and rolled his eyes hearing how he was embellishing.

“And Poindexter here would've died! Lucky for him he had the world's best brother to save his skin.” Stan smugly wrapped his arm around Ford as he told the story. Ford chuckled and slapped his hand away. “That is not what happened.” “Right, like you would know? You were busy being all smoochy with that siren.” He made mocking kissing sounds at Ford and cupped his hands together. “Get a load of this guy.” Stan pointed his thumb towards his brother, cupping a hand over that side of his mouth as if he wasn't sitting right next to him. Ford opened his mouth to retort but his sentence was cut short by Mabel slamming both her hands on the table. “Shut up! You're telling me you met a real life mermaid?!” “Well, technically no.” Ford chimed in. “Mermaids are a purely fictional half-fish person derived from Greek mythology. What we encountered was a siren, who are almost completely fish and only appear human as a lure for exhausted sailormen.” Mabel slumped back down in her chair, slightly disappointed.

“That sounds incredible,” said Dipper. “I can't believe you guys got to go on so many cool adventures while we've been stuck at highschool” “Hey, I think just being around that kid who tried to backflip into a bunch of cactuses was adventure enough.” Mabel elbowed Dipper as she spoke. “Cacti.” Dipper corrected. “That's what I said?”

They gathered their plates when they were done eating, taking their conversation with them as they washed dishes. The rest of the day went just as well. The teens took a while unpacking and setting up the attic. Mabel spent extra time making the small space look “aesthetic.” They spent a large part of the day just catching up in the living room. It felt nice; to be in the house everyone had suffered so much in 5 years ago, and instead be huddled up around the TV laughing and telling stories. For just a moment it made Ford feel calm, he felt like while he was here with the people he loved so much nothing else but them mattered. No one could hurt him.

But as day came to a close, as pinks and purples painted the sky, something just didn't feel right. Soos and Melody were in the kitchen making dinner, humming and dancing in between stirs of the pot. The pair of twins, meanwhile, had started a movie trilogy. However, by halfway through movie one it was clear the internet had absolutely no sense of what a good movie was, and they took to mocking it for entertainment instead. Ford laughed with the antics of his brother and Mabel for a while, but kept catching glimpses of an increasingly antsy Dipper out of the corner of his eyes that worried him. Eventually, shortly after they had started the second movie, it seems Dipper couldn't take it anymore. He stood, and tapped Ford discreetly as he left the room. Ford waited a second before following him so as to not look suspicious. When he did stand up Stan reached for him and snapped for his attention. “Grab me a soda on your way back, will ya?” “Sure,” he answered, brushing him off in his mind, and continued toward Dipper in the hallway.

“Grunkle Ford, can I talk to you about something?” “Of course, son. What's on your mind?” “Well, I…” he thought about it for a second and rocked on his heels awkwardly. “Nevermind actually, it's nothing, I'm sorry I bothered you.” “Dipper,” Ford put his hand on the boy's shoulder, “Is something wrong?” “Yeah, kinda. It's just that ever since we left home I've been having these awful nightmares. And now that we're physically here…But that's stupid.” Dipper kept his eyes anywhere but Ford's. Ford's previously soft and understanding expression hardened into one more serious. “That's not stupid, my boy,” He squeezed his shoulder and sighed. “They're just night terrors, Dipper. There's nothing here to be afraid of.” He wondered who he was really trying to convince, Dipper or himself. “I know,” He admitted with a look of defeat. A moment went by as Dipper carefully chose his next words. “I know you're probably right but lately I've been so worried that-” He trailed off. “Grunkle Ford I have to make sure it's still there–the statue–I just have to. Will you come with me?” He looked up at the older, young eyes full of grief and desperation. In too many ways he looked just like Ford. “Of course.” Ford replied. Truthfully he needed to see it too. He hoped that seeing the statue–now probably covered in moss and bird poop–would put both of them at ease.

“We'll be back,” Ford said and he strode through the living room with Dipper trailing close behind him towards the front door. Stan waved at him half heartedly, paying too close attention to the movie to even process what was being said. The door to the Mystery Shack creaked open and shut. A wave of thick summer air hit them both and wrapped around them like a sweater. The walk out to the forest was filled with awkward small talk and light banter. Ford secretly hoped that if he kept talking the eeriness of their destination wouldn't consume him. He wondered if Dipper felt the same way.

The forest was lush and small animals filled the air with song and trills. To anyone else but the Pines family it would've been calming and serene. After an agonizingly long walk, they finally arrived at the small clearing where the statue lay.

They stopped in their tracks, and all conversation was forgotten. Ford's heart sunk to his stomach, and his stomach threatened to vomit it back up and onto the grass. A beating so loud it rang in his ears drowned out any outside noise and engulfed his thoughts. His face drained of all color and his hands felt numb.

Where there was once the ominous statue of a being long since dead, a reminder that the world would never again be blighted by the evil that lurks beyond this world, there was now a body lying curled up in the grass. A lanky, tan man with mostly blonde hair apart from his dark roots lay motionless in front of them. Remnants of stone peppered the area around him. “Dipper. Get back in the house.” Ford couldn't take his eyes off the scene. “But-” “Now!” Dipper tried to protest but was quickly shut down. He ran the opposite direction back towards the Shack.

Ford's mind raced a mile a minute and any explanation to what was happening just raised more questions than it answered. He had no idea how long he had been staring, but it must have been a while because soon his concentration was broken by the sound of Stanley shouting his name behind him. He broke out of his trance and looked over to Stan with a horrified face. “Stanford what's wrong? Dipper said something happened,” He was holding a crowbar and had it raised like a bat. Ford's mouth opened but no words came out. He continued to stare at the figure in utter disbelief, and Stan followed his gaze. Stan dropped his weapon slightly, “Oh sugar honey iced tea.”

[ch3rryb0mbee]

Okay hear me out what if- hear me out the castlevania vampires were college professors?

Example would be like Olrox being a World History teacher

Gloating about killing a Belmont after literally watching the city of Boston become a thing. Only to talk about settlers and fact check his students.

“Do you know how bad these guys smelled? We asked them to brush their teeth and they declared a war. Dramatic much? Anyway back to me killing a Belmont-“

Or another example is Dracula as an English teacher or working for a film class. Trying to fit in and be hip to reach his students. Having a red hello kitty Stanley full of blood while introducing himself like:

“Alright class I’m professor Vlad Tepes but the streets call me Papa Drac, Chaos’ Chosen, Vamp Daddy. Any way today we’re watching the 1922 silent film, Nosferatu. No I didn’t have a bald era y/n put your hand down.”

Before sitting down and starting a movie while sipping from his Stanley.

[coolerhope]

More ideas for my daemon swap au (Stanley's daemon falls into the portal with Ford while Ford's daemon stays behind)

* daemons are from a series called His Dark Materials and are basically the physical manifestation of a human soul that could take the shape of any animal (and probably cryptids/monsters too)

Ford's daemon is a male horned owl named Pollux (Unfortunately, having a male daemon made Ford even more of an outlier). Stanley's daemon is a red fox named Castor.

I'm torn between the ideas of Filbrick naming the twins while Caryn named their daemons and Filbrick naming both but the daemons names where so uncreative/sucked ass that Ford and Stan renamed them.

Bill slowly drove a wedge between Ford and Pollux so his daemon isn't involved in the portal building process that much.

After the fallout with Bill, Stanford locks Pollux away due to his paranoia of it's yellow eyes (and so Bill and himself can't hurt him)

Ford was experimenting with his daemon bond before and was able to quickly recover from being separated from his daemon after falling through the portal. Stanley was not so lucky.

Having to survive on the streets for 10 years + some traumatic experiences causes Castor to shift to some sort of fox/coyote hybrid (there's a stigma against hybrid daemons since it seems to only happen to those that are mentally ill so Stanley tries his best to hide it. Fiddleford's hybrid daemon is a lot more obvious)

It took Stanley a while to notice the change which Castor loves to bring up and rub in his face.

When they go through the portal, Castor teaches Ford how to survive while on the run. Ford is also very protective of her.

Pollux tried to dissuade Stanley from trying to rebuild the portal but gives up at some point and teaches Stanley astrophysics and other things he needs to know so he can rebuild the portal.

Pollux is Stan's only evidence that Ford is still alive.

Both twins treat the others daemons better than their own (that's self-hatred for you)

When they're alone, Pollux calls him Stanley so he can hear his own name (it helps Stan a lot)