#look how tiny ford is

[compositecreature]

some old bill drawings i did 5+ years ago. One of them is a rejected tattoo concept lmaoooo

[shima-draws]

I'm rewatching GF since the whole world seems to be into it right now (thank you Alex and the Book of Bill) and AGHHH I FORGOR about the body swap episode when the twins find the secret room and Stan picks up Ford's glasses and later we see him sitting on the couch looking at them wistfully...

Shut up shut UP that's NOT okay

[pepperpixel]

Initial drawings of that old man… I literally, I haven’t finished reading the book of bill yet!!! I had to stop and take a break for a week to feverishly draw fanart of myself petting fords floofy hair and giving him attention and shit…!!!! The urge was too great….!! I’ve literally. I had a crush on this guy the instant he was first REVEALED in the show, but I did not have the artistic prowess to draw good looking old men back then… but I do now… thank god… thank fucking god

[iowntheworldandyou]

Gravity falls au where bill convinces ford to keep working on the portal after fiddleford leaves by telling him a half truth that he only lied because his dimension is dying and he and his friends are scared and need a way out. Ford is sympathetic and agrees to help house them in his dimension and bill is like ‘heh. Idiot is too naive.’

When the day comes the portal opens bill and his henchmaniacs are ready to cause havoc but ford is there with food and shock blankets and he starts enthusiastically greeting them and talking about sleeping arangements in his living room, asking if any of them have food restrictions ect. And everyone is so taken off guard they’re tucked into sleeping bags in fords living room eating a warm meal before they can resist

[flufflecat]

Don't lose your HEAD, fordsy! *canned laughter*

[krysmcscience]

At long last: either an alternate explanation for or continuation of my prior comic regarding how Bill was ABSOLUTELY naked in Ford's karaoke night drawing. (Because errors in art do not exist. Artists do not make mistakes. So if you see any in this comic, No You Do Not.)

I am so normal about these old dorks.

I'm not really clear on exactly when Bill started throwing his desperation book at Ford just like a needy ex do, but I find it extremely funny to imagine it happening literally the day of or after the makeshift funeral. Bill just gets this weird sense of 'Ford is taking steps to move on' and CANNOT FUCKING ABIDE.

I hope you enjoy all the goofy things I added to each page of Bill's sad spieling. (Everything SHOULD be readable so long as you view the full size, but I have added basically this whole little fanfic in the image descriptions, LMAO, which lays out all the little written notes and such.) Also don't ask how Bill managed to sneak that vampire pen in there. I have no idea, and honestly? I don't wanna know.

Oh, and a little bonus comic:

Of course Bill would take it as flirting. Because between the two of them, Bill is the bigger masochist By Far. :)

Also I have continued applying The Good Place logic to any of Bill's attempts to swear. Case in point, one last bonus image, this time with a motivational line from my slapdash Theraprism OC, EV-01:

Yes, its name is just 'love' backwards. No, I will not be taking any feedback on this. Yes, EV-01 was only ever assigned to Bill's case due to the Theraprism being desperate to make some progress in rehabilitating him. No, it did not work anywhere close to staff's expectations - Bill didn't even appreciate EV-01's matching fondness for bowties! (He claimed the fondness to be "cultural appropriation" and insisted he'd been traumatized by it.)

Anyway, if you like my stuff, reblogs are very much appreciated, and if you really really like it, perhaps consider my commissions or yeeting a teeny tiny tip my way? I am trying to recoup over 500 dollars in vet bills, ahaha... 🙃

In other news, I loved all the fun tags people added to the prior naked-karaoke comic (such as 'the hat and bow-tie stay ON during sex' and the classic '[insert keysmash here]', as well as the many amused/bewildered remarks about how I either made the bricks a piece of clothing or just straight up peeled Bill's skin off). However, I think my favorite thing by far was the several people losing their shit over the fact that I gave Bill toes. Like, excuse me? The magical talking triangle can have fingers but not toes??? Since when was that a rule????? 🤣 (Also the one person who reblogged with the cropped panel where Bill's fishnets pants are falling off to ask why Bill peed himself. Dude, I want to examine your brain...?)

Okie-dokie, I'm sick of looking at all of this stuff now and I'm off to go to work, after which I will either scribble some more goofy "Billford" comics or perhaps draw my lame human!Bill in Situations, idk yet. Maybe I'll even finally draw more than just a single other person's human!Bill...? Who knows, but I sure hope I can mix it up a little and not turn whatever I draw into a month-long fukken project. >:\

[inkskinned]

hello. you left a neon pink post-it with pgs 194-359 due 9/12 in the book, by the way. it is now May 23rd and the library's printer is running out of ink. it jammed and tore my passport application. one of the librarians dutifully blacked out all my information (front and back!) before proceeding to use every unmarred inch as scrap paper.

i think maybe our (plural, inclusive) lives are connected. all of them. i have been thinking a lot about borrowing. about how people move through the world in waves, filling in the same spaces. i have probably stood on the same subway platform as you. we held the same book. all of us stand in the same line at the grocery, at the gas station. how many feet have stood washing dishes in my kitchen?

i hope you are doing well. the pen you used was a nice red, maybe a glitter pen? you have loopy, curling handwriting. i sometimes wonder if it is true that you can tell a personality by the shape of our letters. i'm borrowing my brother's car. he's got scrangly engineer handwriting (you know the one). it's a yellow-orange ford mustang boss. when i got out of the building, some kids were posing with it for a selfie. i felt a little bird grow in me and had to pause and pretend to be busy with my phone to give them more time for their laughing.

i have a habit of asking people what's the last good book you read? the librarian's handwriting on the back of my smeared-and-chewed passport application says the glass house in small undercase. i usually go for fantasy/sci fi, but she was glowing when she suggested it. i found your post-it on page 26, so i really hope you didn't have to read up to 359 in that particular book. i hope you're like me and just have a weird "random piece of trash" "bookmark" that somehow makes it through like, 58 books.

i wish the concept of soul mates was bigger. i wish it was about how my soul and your soul are reading the same work. how i actually put down that book at the same time you did - page 26 was like, all exposition. i wish we were soul mates with every person on the same train. how magical to exist and borrow the same space together. i like the idea that somewhere, someone is using the shirts i donated. i like the idea that every time i see a nice view and say oh gosh look at the view, you (plural, inclusive) said that too.

the kids hollered when i beeped the car. oh dude you set off the alarm, oh shit is she - dude that's her car!! one was extremely polite. "i like your car, Miss. i'm sorry we touched it." i said i wasn't busy, finish up the pictures. i folded your post-it into a paper crane while i waited. i thought about how my brother's a kind person but his handwriting looks angry. i thought about how for an entire year i drove someone to work every day - and i didn't even think to ask for gas money. my handwriting is straight capital letters.

i thought about how i can make a paper crane because i was taught by someone who was taught by someone else.

the kids asked me to rev the engine and you know i did. the way they reacted? you would have thought i brought the sun from the sky and poured it into a waterglass. i went home smiling about it. i later gave your post it-turned-bird to a tiny child on the bus. she put it in her mouth immediately.

how easy, standing in your shadow, casting my own. how our hands pass over each other in the same minor folds. i wonder how many of the same books you and i have read. i wonder how many people have the same favorite six songs or have been in the same restaurant or have attended the same movie premier. the other day i mentioned the Book Mill from a small town in western massachusetts - a lot of people knew of it. i wonder if i've ever passed you - and didn't even notice it.

i hope whatever i leave behind makes you happy. i hope my hands only leave gentle prints. i hope you and i get the same feeling when the sun comes out. soulmates across all of it.

[leeloooonfire]

based on this post about Steve's internalized bi-phobia:

Steve has known for years.

And how could he not when Tommy's freckles come back tenfold each spring like a flower peaking it's head through the last layer of snow? Or when Matthew Carver's hair have a reddish brown tone that turns blond after they spent the last days before summer break practising outside and remind Steve of liquid gold? Or when he watches Star Wars and Harrison Ford, rugged and witty, comes into view and twists his stomach in knots? How could he not know?!

Steve knows he finds guys as attractive as girls, known for many, many years. But.

But he can't. Not when Tommy sneers at that boy in their literature class who likes flamboyant clothes and wants to be an actor on Broadway. Not when the people they meet in Indi who are like Robin and Eddie 'fully queer' and talk about people like Steve as if they're traitors and scams. Not when he reads the newspaper and is assaulted by Reagan and his folk preaching about the 'fag pandemic' or how his father nods in approval and mutters 'another sinner gone for good' when the news play on TV and they occasionally mention the crisis that kills people like Robin and Eddie and him.

Like him....

It doesn't matter how much he loves sleeping with his nose pressed against Eddie's collarbone or that he thinks he'd like to kiss Eddie and hold his hands and wake up beside him until they're old and wrinkly and complain about bad knees.

He is, but he cannot be a queer, half a fairy '50% like me, 50% like Eddie' as Robin jokes.

He will not be a bisexual, he can keep it inside, keep it hidden, buried deep inside him no matter how much it pains him. He can be the straight friend who goes to pride and bakes rainbow cakes and marries a woman even though his heart screams in an ear ringing cacophony, 'Eddie, Eddie Eddie Eddie!'

This is how his 20s go: loud and hurting and yearning and hiding and more noticeably being disgusted and ashamed of himself for simply being able to love men the way he can love women.

He's 29 when his wife, Becky, leaves him. It's not just Eddie and this shameful secret that weights heavy on their relationship, but the scars and all the other secrets he is unable to explain to her that drive Becky finally away - back to Boston. She leaves him alone in that tiny house they bought three years ago with their Saint Bernard puppy they lovingly named Bernadette.

He's 30 when he goes to a coffee meeting of the bisexual group meeting in Chicago, nearly turning the car multiple times, hands and knees sweaty with fear that they won't want him there. They do want him there, welcome him with open arms, and talk about things Steve knows all too well: 'When I fell in love with the first girl, I ran. I like men just fine, so I hid my crush. It's just easier, when your parents hate gays, when the world is shaming our community, when we're dying.' He finds a second home there, and learns - learns about queerness and bisexuality, about trans and gender non conforming people and physical attraction versus emotional attraction. He learns about his past and present and about his future, about their history and where they want to go, how they want to mold their world to fit people like them into it without the pain and the hiding.

Steve is 33 when he finally comes out to everyone dear to him. To the kids who aren't kids anymore and to Joyce and Hopper, and then his parents. this does not go well, but Steve doesn't want, doesn't need their validation anymore. He has his family, his friends, his support system who love him not regardless of his sexuality but because of it, love him because it's part of him. He comes out to Becky, too and that goes much better. they want to be friends, in the future. She's also met Gary who works the the NY Times and wants her to follow him into the big city. So Steve is looking forward how that goes, their tentative friendship.

He is 34 when Eddie comes back from his latest world tour and wants to take a break to rekindle with his uncle, to write new songs, to take a breather. It's only natural that Eddie moves into Steve's guest room and takes over his space on the couch where he cuddles Bernadette while Steve is in the kitchen and makes them grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner.

Its even more natural when their feet meet while watching a movie and they lean into each other in the kitchen, dawn barely there, while they wait for the coffee maker to finish.

Steve's 35 when Eddie finally kisses him and he kisses back. No hurt, no shame, no guilt gnawing on him, Steve finally allows himself to be with the person he truly wants - regardless of their gender.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Spicy chatting with Stan and Ford? Consider this ask my vote for that ❤️💙

(Love your writing, I've lurked for a while and finally remembered to follow)

sexting Stan and Ford headcanons

2 part of this

also thank you so much <3 im so glad to know you enjoy my writing !

tagging : @nekovmancer

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Stan Pines

✧ he tries. god, does he try. but his texts are a combination of filthy and absolutely unhinged, it’s straight to “doll im sittin' here thinkin’ 'bout how good you’d look bent over my desk.”

✧ typically sends a blurry pic of his bare chest, captioned, “betcha wanna get your hands on this masterpiece, huh?" and you’re just staring at the picture like. . . gosh, Stan, who took this? did he set a fucking timer? he looks hot though 

✧ so yeah Stanley sends you photos, usually unprompted and always blurry because he’s just an old man, dear, what did you except?? his clothes half-open, pants unzipped just enough to give you a peek of what’s underneath and next message is: “betcha wanna see the whole thing, huh? be a good girl and ask nice.”

✧ texts you in the middle of the day: “gonna bend you over the kitchen counter tonight babe. make you cum on my fingers before I even think about putting my cock in you. whaddaya think?”

✧ he loves it when you’re bold, you send him something like: “what if I sit on your face instead?” and he’s instantly typing back: “doll, don’t threaten me with a good time. ya know I’d keep ya there till your legs give out.”

✧ Stan worships your photos. you send him a quick pic of you in bed and he replies immediately: “FUCK look at you. LOOK at THAT body. im gonna make you regret sending me that when im back. you better be ready for this cock, doll, ‘cause im not holding back.”

✧ a huge tease tbh, he wants you to beg. “tell me what you want, sweetheart. you want me to spread those legs and eat you out until you’re shaking? or maybe you want this thick cock filling you up?“

✧ “you’re touching yourself right now, aren’t ya? cant stop thinkin bout me pounding into you, huh? go ahead, baby. lemme know how bad you want it.”

✧ he’s got no shame about jerking off while texting you, you say one dirty thing, and he’s already: “jesus fucking christ, you’re killin me here, doll. im so fuckin hard right now. If you were here, I’d have you on your knees, taking care of me like the good girl you are.”

✧ Stan’s aftercare starts in the texts. so after he’s talked you through your orgasm, his messages turn soft. “that’s my girl, bet you look real pretty all flushed and satisfied. get some rest, doll you’re gonna need it when I get home.”

✧ Stan LOVES it when you play hard to get. “cmon, baby, don’t leave me hangin’. I swear, I’ll make it worth your while when I get my hands on you again.” but when you finally cave and give him a little, just a little, taste of what you want, his reply is “yeah that’s better, let me see that pussy of yours. you know I can make you feel good. let me prove it.”

✧ as you have already understood, this man is shameless, and he knows he’s good at getting under your skin.

“been thinkin’ about that pretty little cunt of yours, doll. what’s it gonna take to get my face buried there tonight?

✧ if you send him something back, it’s over. he’s going to double down with something that makes your toes curl. “you don’t know how badly I wanna fuck that smart mouth of yours until you forget your own name.” 

✧ the man is a sucker for dirty talk. he loves it when you tease him back, but he’s the most eloquent in his replies

✧ “If I was there right now, you wouldn’t be able to get a single word out. id have you moanin’ so loud they’d hear you down the street. you like the sound of that?”

✧ “you know I could really go for you in that tiny skirt of yours right now. make you bend over and fuck you while you’re still wearin’ it.” damn

✧ he’s a man of action. his texts are short and right to the point. “im gonna make you scream my name tonight, sweetheart. better be ready.”

✧ sends you something filthy right out of the blue. "you’re really makin' it hard for me to concentrate on work, baby. every time I close my eyes, all I can think about is the way you looked last night, riding me till you couldn’t walk.”

✧ if you send him a picture, especially if you’re in lingerie or something that shows just the right amount of skin, he goes wild. “WOAH, sweetheart. you’re gonna make me LOSE IT. I wanna tear that off you and fuck you right here RIGHTJ NOW.” the author's spelling has been preserved.

✧ a lot messages like: “tell me, doll, what color are those panties you got on right now?“

✧ but the minute you call him on his antics in person, he’s all cocky smirks and “ya can’t blame me for wantin’ to spoil my favorite girl, can ya?”

bonus 

Stan: hey doll, you up?

You: it’s 1 AM Stan

Stan: exactly

Stan: perfect time to talk about what you’d look like on top of me 

You: …smooth 

Stan: c’mon don’t act all shy

Stan: you were thinkin’ it too. bet you’re wearin’ somethin’ cute right now, huh?

Stan: or nothin’. nothin’s good too! 👍👍👍

You: why are you always texting me at the most unholy hours?

Stan: unholy?? c’mon sweetheart i’m just here tryna spread a little late night joy

Stan: i was thinkin’ about you though

Stan: well. you. and about how that sweet little mouth of yours looked last night

You: oh my godd

Stan: what?! it’s the truth

Stan: bet you’d look even better right now

You: you’re horrible

Stan: and you’re fuckin’ gorgeous

Stan: now be a good girl and tell me what you’re wearin

You: literally in my pajamas Stan

Stan: cute

Stan: betcha look sweet all wrapped up in blankets… though you’d look sweeter wrapped around me instead

You: fuck

You: Stan! 

Stan: what? i’m just bein’ honest. you want me to lie? fine! i’m thinkin’ about taxes. there. happy?

You: oh, shut up old man 

Stan: nah i’d rather talk about how soft your thighs are. how they’d feel so good squeezin’ around my head. c’mon, sweetheart, gimme somethin’. don’t make me do all the heavy liftin’ here

You: only if you promise to return the favor

you smirk, biting your lip, already excited because god you love playing hard to get with this man. so you let the moment linger just long enough to make him squirm before snapping a photo, of course you were lying bout pajamas and Stan damn knew, he felt 

you send the picture: lacy panties of your favourite colour barely covering anything, paired with an oversized sleep shirt that’s slipping off your shoulder

Stan: holy fuckin shit

Stan: you’re gonna make an old man’s heart give out

You: what, you don’t like it? :(

Stan: don’t like it? baby i’m gonna FRAME this picture and hang it on my wall

Stan: better yet i’m gonna print it out and carry it around so i can show off what’s mine

You: wtf that’s absurd

Stan: no what’s absurd is how hard i am right now. fuck, baby, you’re gorgeous. every inch of ya

You: your turn, old man

You: prove it 

you don’t expect him to actually follow through, but then your phone buzzes

Stan: look at what you’re gonna get, babe. and it’s all yours

a photo. exactly what you imagined: poorly lit, shot from a slightly awkward angle, but still breathtaking and so damn hot. his cock is thick and heavy in his hand, flushed and glistening at the tip, veins are prominent, pulsing down the shaft, and his fingers, broad, calloused, strong, wrap around it like he’s ready to ruin you as he strokes himself 

your mouth goes dry, you blink at the screen, your lip caught between your teeth. hell, you’ve seen him before, touched him, tasted him, but this photo is something else entirely. your fingers twitch like they want to reach through the phone because you’d crawl through the damn screen if you could

your fingers hover over the keys, trying to think of something clever to say, but the words won’t come. thighs clenching instinctively as you just stare at the screen.

You: okay, not bad, old man

Stan: NOT BAD?!

Stan: sweetheart, you’re lyin’ through your teeth. i know you’re sittin’ there soakin’ through those little lace panties of yours

You: please, you think one dick pic is enough to faze me 

Stan: oh, is that right? big talk comin’ from someone who’s gonna be beggin’ for it by the end of this

You: you wish old man

Stan: nah I know. let me paint you a picture, sweetie

Stan: you, spread out under me, that pretty little pussy so wet i can hear it every time i slide in. your legs wrapped so tight around me like you’re scared i’m gonna pull away. and me, fillin’ you up so deep you can feel me in your fuckin’ throat

and there your smugness falters

You: oh god

You: Stan

Stan: what’s the matter? 

Stan: cat got your tongue? betcha you’re soaked right now, huh? sittin’ there with that pretty little pussy all wet, wishin’ i was there to fill ya up

Stan: admit it, baby. your fingers aren’t even enough. you’re mine. every inch of you belongs to me and i’m gonna remind you of that the second i get my hands on ya

You: you’re not winning this old man

Stan: heh sweetheart, i already HAVE

your fingers fumble on the keyboard as you type, cheeks burning

You: please come

Stan: there you go, now that’s my girl 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Ford Pines

✧ he starts out so awkward it’s painful. you’ll send him something suggestive, and he’ll reply with: “Oh. Well. That’s… intriguing.” Intriguing, Ford? seriously?

✧ as we all know, Ford overthinks everything! it takes him forever to hit send because he’s convinced he’ll say something wrong and he’s so fucking nervous

✧ but as soon as he feels comfortable, he’s sending you long, well thought out messages full of science-y talk about how he wants to make you feel, because of course he’s analyzing you in a way. “I’ve been reading up on the physiological responses of the body during… how should I put this?… intimate interactions. Your body would likely respond most positively to the—” and then he gets really filthy without realizing it

✧ but Ford, dear sweet Ford, doesn’t always realize just how much of an effect his words have on you. if he’ll start spouting off his deep thoughts, you’ll send him, “Ford, I swear to god, if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to need to change my sheets.

✧ absolutely loves when you tease him, but he also knows how to turn it back on you. “Good girl, now tell me exactly what you’d like me to do to you, in vivid detail. I’m taking notes.”

✧ "I’d have you on your knees, darling. Holding you by the hair while I take you deep, slow. You’d love every second of it, wouldn’t you?"

✧ Ford LOVES playing the “I’m going to ruin you slowly” card. It gets under your skin every time. “You won’t be able to think about anything else when I’m done with you. I’ll have you begging for more.”

✧ you’ll send him a flirty text and two minutes later, he’s sent back an entire paragraph detailing how he’d peel your clothes off and worship you from head to toe

✧ as I said, he’s so damn descriptive, I mean bro literally wrote 3 journals, it’s easy for him. “I’d kiss my way down your stomach, slow enough to make you squirm. My fingers would trace your thighs, spreading you open so I could take my time tasting you, savoring every—” you’re already screaming into your pillow

✧ surprisingly filthy when he gets really needy and horny. long messages about exactly what he wants to do to you or what he wants you to do to him

✧ Ford is a huge fan of getting into your mind before he even thinks about touching you. he wants to know what makes you tick, what gets you wet, what turns you on mentally first

✧ he tries to stay composed, but the second you tease him, his composure shatters. you send him a pic, maybe just a peek of your thighs and he’s breathless: “What are you doing to me, darling? Do you have any idea how hard I am right now? I can’t stop imagining those legs wrapped around me while I’m making love to you, God help me.”

✧ “i would love to feel the warmth of your skin beneath my fingers as I slowly undress you. I’ll start by trailing kisses down your neck, your chest, until I reach the sweet spot between your thighs. Would you let me do that, darling?”

✧ embarrassingly vocal about how much he needs you. you’ll get texts like:

“I can’t concentrate on anything. I keep thinking about how tight and wet you felt around me last night. We need to make love again.” and then, seconds later:

“Please tell me you’re touching yourself right now. I need to know you’re thinking about me while you do it.”

✧ “God, I’d give anything to have my cock inside you right now.”

✧ If you send him a spicy picture, he just about short-circuits. “You’re exquisite. I need to see more.”

✧ “You don’t even realize the effect you have on me, do you? I’d ruin you in the most wonderful ways, darling.” you’re a puddle in seconds.  

✧ Ford loves when you’re explicit with him. if you’ll text him something like: “I want your cock so deep I forget my own name,” you’ll get: “Careful what you wish for, darling. I’ll have you screaming it by the time I’m done with you.”

✧ If you ever send him something too really dirty, all your fantasies and wishes, expect him to stare at your text, blink for a second, then type back: “That’s... unexpected. But I’m very intrigued. You must have an incredible imagination.” 

✧ sometimes Ford gets real quiet after a particularly hot conversation, nervous even. “I shouldn’t have sent that… I’m sorry if I…”

“Ford, don’t you dare apologize. I love it.”

bonus

Ford: Are you still awake, darling?

You: what do you think?

Ford: Well, considering you’re answering me, I’d say yes. I must say, you’ve been a distraction all day, sweetheart. I just keep replaying the way your skin felt under my hands the last time we touched… the sounds you made when I kissed you, your thighs.

You: sounds like you’re the distracted one, Doctor Pines

Ford: You’re the most beautiful distraction imaginable. Entirely your fault.

you smirk at the screen as an idea strikes

You: how’s this for distracting?

you send the picture: legs spread wide, your pussy glistening under soft light with two fingers pressing yourself open just enough to expose everything. you know Ford’s obsessive attention to detail, the way he adores every curve and line of you. oh god he’ll lose his mind over this

but. . . 

Ford doesn’t reply immediately. one minute. two now. the anticipation builds and your stomach twists.

You: …

You: Ford?

You: oh my god, say something!

You: was it too much? too forward?

five agonising minutes later, your phone lights up.

Ford: Darling… You are beautiful. Utterly perfect. Forgive my silence, I needed a moment to… compose myself.

You: five minutes of silence isn’t exactly reassuring, Ford

Ford: I assure you, I was not silent in my head.

You: damn

You: thought I broke you there

Ford: You nearly did. It’s taking all my willpower to stay coherent.

You: old man ur making me blush

Ford: I’m sorry! I wouldn’t dream of embarrassing you, my dear. I’d rather make you tremble with pleasure.

You: you really like it that much?

Ford: I’m obsessed, love. Now, listen carefully. Take those fingers, sweetheart. Slowly. I want you to trace circles around your little clit, soft and teasing. No rushing.

and of course you obey

You: im so sensitive rn Ford

Ford: Good, honey. Yeah, nice and slow.

You: like this?

Ford: Exactly like that. Does it feel good, darling? Tell me.

You: so good im already so wet for you 

Ford: Good. Now, slide one of those fingers inside. Don’t go too deep yet. Just enough to feel it.

You: fuck, Ford 

You: feels amazin

Ford: That’s my girl. Now, add another. Stretch yourself out for me, darling. I want you to imagine it’s my fingers instead. Feel how I’d curl my fingers to touch you just right, all your sweet spots. Don’t stop until I tell you to.

You: :((

Ford: Sweetheart? What’s wrong?

You: it’s not the same

You: you’ve got six fingers, i can’t make it feel like you

Ford: Ah, my darling… that’s terribly unfair of me, isn’t it? You’re right. No one else can touch you the way I can. But I promise, when I’m there, I’ll make it up to you tenfold. For now, let’s keep going. I want you to use your fingers, sweetheart. Make yourself feel good for me, pleasure yourself. Please. Slide them deep and tell me how it feels.

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 20 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley gets the update he's been waiting for. You get something you weren't expecting. Neither of you can tell the other how you're feeling.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, romantic Bradley, 18+

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

You drove Bradley's Bronco back to his house, dragged yourself back inside, and climbed back in bed. You cried so hard when you watched him carry his duffle bag into the airport, you had painful hiccups for twenty minutes afterwards. Now you were emotionally drained and on the cusp of a headache, and this was only the first day.

With your cheek on Bradley's pillow, you pulled the covers over your head and took a few deep breaths. He didn't know much about his deployment, but the communication blackout was designed to keep you from learning anything. If something happened to him, it might be weeks before you heard about it. Your heart ached as you thought about how lonely he was going to feel after he made it a point to tell you how much he loved getting mail from your class last time.

You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, and you scrambled to get it out.

About to take off. I love you, Gorgeous. I'll let you know when I land.

Well, you had about six hours to kill until you would hear from him again, which felt bad enough. Then seven full weeks after that. You typed back to him with fresh tears in your eyes, and then you tried to sleep, but the hiccups came back. When you moved to the couch, it felt too cold. You were tempted to call Natasha, but if you couldn't even make it a handful of hours without Bradley, you didn't think she would be able to help you.

It would start to get better. It would have to. When your winter break ended, you'd be back in your classroom with your students. You could dive into your lesson plans for the new year. You could focus on teaching. You could do this. Because if you found out the hard way that you couldn't, then you had no business being with Bradley.

--------------------------

Bradley was given a tiny room in the barracks on base in Norfolk, and he spent the entire night talking to you on the phone. Literally six hours straight before he passed out, sound asleep, hanging halfway off the bed with his phone connected to the charger. One of the last things he remembered you saying was, "As soon as you know if it's San Diego or Norfolk, let me know. I love you."

The following morning, he was so exhausted, he was practically dizzy as he met with his commanding officer, Admiral Walker, for this new special deployment. Even his arm felt heavy as he saluted Walker in his office. It was barely seven o'clock which equated to four in the morning in San Diego, and he knew it would take him a few days to get caught back up on sleep at this point. But every second of talking to you was worth it.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw. Welcome back to the Atlantic Fleet," Walker told him, gesturing to the empty chair in the office. 

"Thank you, Sir," he replied, even though he was far less than thrilled to be back in Virginia at all. The prospect of a change of station could not have come at a worse time when he spent the flight from California looking at engagement rings on his phone.

As Bradley sat down, the older man said, "We never wanted to lose you to the Pacific in the first place, so I'm sure you can understand why you'll be staying on the east coast after your seven weeks on the Gerald R. Ford is complete."

His heart sank to his feet, and he felt like he was going to throw up. "Sir?" Bradley asked. "That's it? There's no chance of me returning to North Island?"

When the response he got was a raised eyebrow, Bradley pressed his lips into a line. This man wasn't going to give a shit that he owned a house in Coronado or that he was in love with the most beautiful woman in the world who happened to work in Mira Mesa. Something told him that keeping his mouth shut was the better option right now, even though he felt like punching a hole in the wall and flipping the desk.

Walker shuffled some papers on his desk. "Plans still need to be finalized, but it is our goal, and the goal of the US Navy, to change your station to Norfolk."

The words echoed in Bradley's mind. He couldn't decide if he should tell you about this yet. It wasn't like he had signed paperwork in his hand. Until he did, as far as he was concerned, he was going back to Top Gun and the love of his life. He knew you were stressed and concerned enough as it was, and he didn't want you to have to dwell on this unless it was finalized. 

"Once aboard the carrier, mission details will become available to you and the other aviators," Walker informed him. "I have a folder with your bunk assignment and some more information that you can take with you right now. You'll have access to your phone for about another hour, but as soon as you report to the carrier, it will need to be shut down and locked up. Are we clear, Lieutenant?"

Before Bradley could even respond, there was a sharp knock at the door. Walker heaved a weary sigh as his gaze left Bradley's face, and he barked, "Come in."

Of all the faces he knew from North Island, Bradley wasn't exactly sure if it was a friendly one, but when the door opened, Admiral Simpson came strolling inside in his service khakis. He couldn't fathom why his meeting was being interrupted by Cyclone, but he sat quietly with the folder in his hands. 

"Admiral Walker," Beau Cyclone greeted, voice as stern as ever. "You never returned my calls, and red eye flights the week of Christmas are not something I find endearing."

Walker stood behind his desk with all of his accolades hanging on the wall behind him, and Bradley jumped to his feet as well. "Admiral Simpson," Walker replied, voice dripping with disdain. "There was no need for you to fly out in person to release your pilot to my fleet."

Bradley could hear Cyclone's knuckles crack as he watched his eye twitch. He was somehow caught in the middle of this, but it looked like the Top Gun admiral was in no mood to be outmaneuvered and lose a member of his team. Bradley silently goaded him on while he stood there completely still.

"I'm not releasing anyone to you. That's not how this works," Cyclone barked. "If you can't manage your fleet, you don't get to poach from mine."

The admirals seemed to be in a competition to see whose face could get redder. "Admiral Simpson, I'm sure you'll find my rank alone is reason enough for-"

"You do not outrank me," Cyclone interrupted, voice loud but calm. Then he turned toward Bradley with his jaw clenched and said, "Lieutenant Bradshaw. You are dismissed. Please board the USS Gerald R. Ford on time for your deployment."

"Yes, Sir," he replied, saluting both men before walking back out into the hallway on slightly unsteady legs. He paused, hoping to hear some more of their conversation or an outright blow up that would give him a clue as to what the fuck was going on, but instead he walked the rest of the way to the barracks to collect his duffle and head to the docks. 

With his phone in his hand once again and his bag slung over his shoulder, Bradley called you. He knew it was early and he'd be waking you up, but time was tight now. And your voice was the only thing that would keep him sane at the moment. 

"Bradley," you sighed a second later, and he pressed his phone tighter to his ear. 

"Baby, I miss you so much," he promised, heart aching. He swallowed hard and decided not to bring up anything that was going on since he didn't have a completely clear understanding of it himself. "I'm about to board the carrier."

He could hear you crying, and he wanted to kick himself. "Just come back safely. That's all I want. As long as you're safe, that's all that matters to me, okay?"

He was having a hard time keeping his own tears at bay. "Me, too. We'll figure out the rest of it later, Gorgeous. Take care of yourself. Write in the journal. And don't forget to check the mail."

"I love you, Bradley!"

"I love you so much."

As soon as he ended the call and turned off his phone, he had to walk through a small building for security screening. It was there that his bag and phone were taken from him. When he exited the other side, his duffle was handed back to him, but his phone was not.

"Sorry, Lieutenant," the petty officer told him with a shrug when he glared. "I'll tag it for you and return it when you get back to Norfolk. At least it's not a long deployment."

Bradley couldn't even argue with that. It wasn't that long in the grand scheme of things. He'd been overseas for a full twelve months at a time when he was younger. This should have felt like nothing, but he knew it would feel like the worst one. He hefted his bag higher on his shoulder and started to head for the bunk that would be his for the duration. There was no sense in standing on deck when there was nobody who would be looking for him to see him off.

He made it down two hallways before a loud voice echoed off the walls around him. "Lieutenant Bradshaw." When he turned, Admiral Simpson was heading his way, face so red it was almost purple. Bradley's heart sank.

"Yes, sir?"

The other man pulled his composure together, sighing like an angry bull. "While you will be under the command of Admiral Walker for this deployment, you will fly directly back to San Diego when you return to port in Norfolk. You'll be presented with the paperwork today."

Bradley's jaw dropped open. "I'm returning to the Pacific Fleet, Sir?"

He got one firm nod in response. "I told you last week that I would do what I could to retain you."

This was honestly the best case scenario, and Bradley could feel some of his tension melt away. "You weren't kidding," he mumbled before clearing his throat. "Thank you, Sir. Being in San Diego is important to me."

"Fly safely, Lieutenant. See you in seven weeks," Cyclone barked before turning on his heel and walking toward the ramp back down to the dock.

Bradley pumped his fist in the air. "Fuck, yeah," he whispered, spinning on the spot. He would get to go back to the station he preferred in North Island as well as his friends, but most importantly, he would get to return to you. There would be no stress of packing and moving and hoping you were still willing to come with him. He could stay in Coronado.

When he slid his hand into his pocket to get his phone out to call you back, he froze. "God damn it."

------------------------------

If waiting for emails and letters was bad before, this was torture. The early days of getting to know Bradley through written notes left you with constant butterflies in your tummy, but now it felt like you were walking around with a lead weight instead. You constantly caught yourself reaching for your phone to text him before setting it back down in frustration. 

You hadn't heard from him since before he stepped onto the aircraft carrier, and that was four days ago. Today was New Year's Eve, and at least you had the wine bar with Natasha to look forward to. While you got dressed and ready to go, you couldn't help but put in just the bare minimum amount of effort. What was the point when your boyfriend wasn't even here to give you kisses along your neck and call you Gorgeous? You pouted at your reflection in the bathroom mirror and put the cap on your lip gloss before even using it.

"You look nice," Nat said as you climbed in the front seat of her car. You turned to look at her with one eyebrow raised.

"I'm wearing Bradley's old sweatshirt with a pair of leggings that are starting to get a hole in the crotch."

She started cackling as she pulled away from the curb. "Well, you still look nice."

"Thanks," you said softly, watching the houses go by. 

As Nat turned toward the highway to head up to Oceanside, she asked, "How are you making out?"

You pressed your lips together for a few seconds, trying to make sure you weren't going to cry. "I'm just having a hard time being off from work while he's gone. It's... harder than I thought it would be. I can't wait to return to my classroom in a few days."

"I'm sure that will make it easier," she agreed. "You'll be so busy, time will start to fly by. Oh, I forgot to ask if you got any interesting mail at Bradley's house since he left?"

You shook your head. "I barely remember to check the mailbox most days. Why?"

"Don't worry about it," she replied smoothly. "You'll be back to work in a few days, but in the meantime, we've got merlot and chardonnay to keep your mind occupied."

"Sounds like you're talking about two hot French men," you said with a laugh.

"I could be! You don't even know!"

Now both of you were laughing. And you were still laughing when you actually did order a glass of merlot and a glass of chardonnay. You and Nat enjoyed some wine flights and cheese platters, and she regaled you with stories about Bradley from flight school.

"When he was twenty-two, he probably weighed a hundred and twenty pounds," she said with a smirk. "He was such a nerd, too. God, it was so bad." You were trying to stifle your laughter as she added, "Once he really started working out and grew the mustache, he thought he was hot shit. He's still a fucking nerd."

"He kind of is," you agreed through your giggles.

"But he's a good one," she promised. "Wears his heart on his sleeve too often, but I don't think he has to worry about you breaking it."

You ran your hand along the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "Never."

Once the two of you were filled with cheese and sober enough to get back in the car, you paid for your adventure with the gift card Bradley gave you, only to find out it had five hundred dollars on it.

"Natasha! We need to come back like four more times," you said as you signed the slip.

"I don't see any issue with that," she muttered, leaving cash for a tip. "I think I'll write Bradley an email and thank him for funding girls' day so he can read it when he gets back to Norfolk."

"I think he'd like that."

You started thinking about the journal sitting on the nightstand in his bedroom. Every night before you fell asleep, you'd been pouring your heart and thoughts out into the thing, but even the mention of the word Norfolk had you fretting again. You managed to keep up the conversation with Bradley's best friend as she drove you back to Coronado, but perhaps you should keep most of your things packed after you moved your stuff to his house. What if you had to move to Virginia when the school year ended?

"Thanks for driving," you told her when she pulled up to Bradley's driveway to let you out.

"Anytime," she said, waving you off. "We'll go back up again soon." When you leaned in to give her a hug, she told you, "Don't forget to check the mail."

"Okay."

You weren't sure exactly what her deal was since Bradley couldn't send you anything, but if she wanted you to, then you would. You already promised your boyfriend you'd keep an eye on anything unusual that arrived, so as you walked up to the front door, you took a peek inside the mailbox. Empty. Just like the house. You curled up on the couch with the journal and started to write your daily entry.

I heard from a very reliable source (Natasha) that you were and still are a nerd. I'm going to need to see some pre-stache photos of you when you get home. Your best friend is a wealth of information when you get some wine in her, and I had a great time with her today. 

But I miss you. So much. Sometimes it knocks the breath out of my lungs. Your house is too cold and quiet without you here, hogging the couch and eating snacks. I'm looking forward to school starting up in a few days. It'll be a little less lonely when I have eighteen kids telling me what they got for holiday gifts. Of course I'll have to tell them they won't get a visit from their favorite aviator for a while. We'll just be nineteen sad pen pals.

---------------------------

On January second, you were working on your lesson plans while wearing Bradley's gym shorts and eating potato chips. Tomorrow you'd get back into a routine with work, but first you were going to allow yourself one last day of being kind of pitiful. You bit off more than you could chew with Bradley, and now you were paying the price. 

You sporadically started crying at random times throughout the day, and it was only made worse by the overwhelming feeling of being alone. If you could barely make it a week without hearing from him, how were you going to make random deployments with no communication your lifestyle? Why did you even think you could?

While you were crunching your way through some potato chips, you heard something thump on the front porch. The sound made you jump on the couch, and you set your snack down on the table and crept to the front door. When you peeked outside, there was nobody there, but when you cracked the door open, you saw a box. A fairly large box. Addressed to you.

"Oh my god," you gasped. It was from Bradley. According to the date stamped next to your name, he somehow sent a box from the post office in San Diego last week. "Oh my god!"

You grabbed it and kicked the door shut, almost tripping on your way back to the coffee table. When you tried to claw at the tape, you almost broke your nails. "Scissors," you shouted, running for the kitchen drawer by the sink where your boyfriend kept a random assortment of junk. Then you walked quickly back to the couch and started to cut into the box.

Natasha had to be behind the arrival of the box, but you couldn't fathom what could possibly be inside. If Bradley wanted you to have something, he could have simply given it to you before he left. Your heart was pounding as you set the scissors down and looked inside.

"Bradley," you gasped, tears filling your eyes as those familiar butterflies zoomed and swooped around in your belly. You'd been so upset about missing out on his letters, he sent you a whole box of them. There were dozens of envelopes and little treats filling the box nearly to the top, but a neon orange envelope with OPEN ME FIRST written on it caught your eye. You pulled it out of the box and tore into it.

Hey, Gorgeous,

I'm thinking about you right now. Guaranteed. It doesn't matter when you get this box or when you read this note, I'm thinking about how much I love you. And if I'm asleep, I'm dreaming about us eating Thai food on the beach in front of a sunset that is nowhere near as beautiful as you.

I hope you realize there was no way you weren't going to get some letters from me while I'm deployed. I would never let that happen. Somehow, you fell in love with me this way in the first place, and more than anything, I want you to feel as loved as I do. So I filled this box with little notes and long, rambling love letters and things I thought you might like. When you read the individual envelopes, you'll know what to do.

Please fill that journal up for me. I can't wait to read it in seven weeks. I'm missing you like crazy, and I selfishly hope you're missing me just as much. I love you.

Yours Truly,

Bradley

With shaking hands, you set the note down on the orange envelope and swiped at your tears. You never dreamed you would meet a man this romantic, but somehow you did, and he became your boyfriend. "Oh, Bradley," you whispered, picking up a stack of envelopes and reading what was written on each one.

Open me when you've had a bad day

Open me when you really want some coffee

Open me when you need a laugh

Open me when you're in bed

Open me when you need a girls' night

Open me with your class

You flopped down onto the couch and kicked your feet in the air. "Bradley!" you shrieked, voice breaking as you started to cry. You hugged the letters to your chest and let the warm feeling of being loved wash over you and fill your heart. He was unbelievable. He was perfect. He was everything you wanted. And somehow you loved him a little more and missed him a little less with this box on the coffee table.

------------------------------

He's so romantic. He's taking care of Gorgeous from afar! He's coming home to San Diego, but she doesn't even know it! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @daggerspare-standingby

PART 21

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[gay-dorito-dust]

I saw the Dad! Stanley, could you make the Dad! Stanford one? Like how his reaction come back after 30 years saw Reader already become responsible adult

-🐈‍⬛

Ford kept a picture of you -his life’s greatest achievement- in his pocket at all times during his time in the multiverse, reminding him of who he had waiting for him back home when he felt as though he was at his limit.

Being a father was never on the docket but the moment you entered his life he dedicated himself to raising you as best as he could, even going so far as to do extensive amounts of research in preparation for any and every vital moment of your life.

You had became a pivotal part of his life and made everything he did even more important for he was doing it for you and the future you’d live in. He wanted you to grow up prepared for anything and everything life would throw at you, along with how to handle yourself for the inevitable day where he couldn’t be with you anymore. (He hates it as much as you did)

He commemorates everything you did and dedicated parts of his journals to you and your growth or things that you did that made him laugh. (You wore his coat once and Ford was fighting the demons within him known as cuteness aggression because of how it swamped your tiny form.)

An excerpt:

‘They look at me like I’m something and I’m worried that one day they’ll grow up and not view me as such when they see what I’ve done when they slept soundly in their crib, but all I do, I do for them.’

However this desire to watch you grow and be apart of your important developmental stages would be cut short when he fell into the portal when you were just 8 years old.

His last words before the portal closed entirely to Stanley were: ‘no! Y/n! I haven’t done everything I’ve wanted to do with them yet! Go trick or treating with them on Summerween! Go Fishing! Watch them grow up! Stanley, don’t leave them alone, they really hate being alone!’

And raise you Stanley did as he would try his hardest to keep your memory of Stanford alive and well, thinking it was the best he could do after accidentally taking his brother from you. He’d even make a whole album for when Ford comes back from the day he fell into the portal.

Stanley didn’t miss a single moment to capture you doing something adorable (dressed up as a paranormal detective for the summerween he took you out on) or similar to Ford himself (becoming curious about about the mystery of Gravity falls after an incident with a bunny demon and even making a series of journals yourself)

Stanley made sure to capture every little thing he could from you helping him run the shack, to you making your first friends, your little experiments on how much food Soos could stuff in his face without getting full. Which was fun until he always threw up.

You were so much like Ford it hurt Stanley to look at you sometimes because all he could see was his brother in you that he had to look away sometimes, and he knew that Ford would be so fucking proud of the person you grew up to be but also knew that he would hate himself for not being there for it all.

So when the day came when Ford finally retired home, his first words as he stepped out of the portal were; ‘where’s y/n?’

Dipper, Mabel, Soos and Stanley could only watch as you, a full grown adult of 38, stepped forward with tears in your eyes when meeting face to face with the man who raised you before his brother took over, reaching out to him whispering ‘dad?’

Ford was shocked to say the least when he looked over at this adult calling him dad, only for his brain to work fast and connect the dots as he pulls out the picture of you as a child from his coat pocket and made the connection that you and the smiling child in the picture he held close to his heart were one in the same.

You were now all grown up and he wasn’t there to see it happen with his own eyes, something that broke his heart into a million pieces knowing that he never got the chance to see it himself! The coat that hung off of your frame was his, he could clearly tell but it didn’t swamp your form like it use to, it suited you and the makeshift journal Ford saw you had clutched in your hand and knew you were his child in more ways then one.

You had his curiosity and his need to understand the unknown to great but sometimes dangerous depths, god he missed you so fucking much, his sweet child and his sweet child you’ll always will be in his eyes as he watched as you quickly walked towards him and hugged his frozen form tightly as you wept in his shoulder.

‘Dad.’ You said. ‘I’m all grown up.’

Ford chuckled weakly as he too found himself unable to keep the tears at bay, ‘I can see that sweetie pie,’ he said as he held you tightly against him. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to see it.’ He adds knowing that this will be one of his life regrets until the day he died, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use this time to catch up with you and learn all about you all over again.

‘It’s okay.’ You reassured him, clinging onto him as though he’d disappeared again. ‘It’ll give me an excuse to talk your ear off about all my expeditions, my theories and my thoughts on everything that’s been going off here.’

‘They really are cut from the very same cloth as you.’ Stanley told Stanford as he watched you tuck Dipper and Mabel into bed that night. ‘They’re smart and even graduated from a prestigious college at the top of their class, they were even valedictorian just like you back in highschool, but they came back to gravity falls because they wanted to dedicated themselves to helping me in getting you back.’ He adds as Stanford looks at his twin with tears in his eyes.

‘And I wasn’t there to watch them walk across that stage…’ he mutters and Stanley pulls out a photo that he had taken during your graduation ceremony and gave it to Ford who could only smile weakly as he took you in. You had blossomed so much when he was away and it broke Ford even more when he realised that he knew little to nothing about you now.

‘I’m such a terrible father.’ He tells Stanley who grips him by the shoulders and looks him dead in the eye.

‘Hey! You are not a terrible father, they love you so much that they stay up late at night trying to decipher you work in hopes of finding a lead so that they could have their father back in their life. So don’t you dare say that about yourself when they’ve nothing but miss their father for the past 30 years!’ Stanley scolded him just as you walked into the hallway after bidding dipper and Mabel goodnight.

You heard them but decided not to speak up about it, after all today had been quite emotionally exhausting and all you wanted to do was sleep. ‘I’m going to bed, good night dad, good night uncle Stan.’

‘Hold it you.’ Stanley said as he walked over to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, pulling away as he smiled at you. ‘Night pipsqueak.’ You smiled back before looking over at Ford, wanting to go to him and Stan could see the conflict in your eyes and pushed you towards his twin before retreating to his room.

‘So I was thinking that we could go monster hunting…you know like father and child. I’ve been trying to track down this dragon like creature that’s said to live on the highest mountain of gravity falls since its conception.’ You said awkwardly as Ford smiled at you and placed a hand on your shoulder.

‘I’d be glad too sweetheart, you don’t have to ask me to spend time with you because I’ll always want to spend time with my child.’ He replied and you couldn’t help but smile widely as you hugged him tightly again. Needless to say you and Ford made up for lost time in quick succession as you both ran away from being burnt alive by the massive dragon that was originally thought to be a myth.

[ckret2]

please more evil ford please i stare with my puppy eyes for this i am obbsessed

Yeah all right, I've been working on some art. (For context, we're talking about this Evil Ford.)

Evil Ford is Evil as in "cheerfully works with Bill even after learning his full plot" and "is totally ready to conquer and/or destroy the world." But other than the shocking lack of basic ethics and the supervillain objective he's mostly the same guy—which means he still cares about his family. He's hoping to get them to join in on the world conquest plan.

Forty-odd years ago he went off to college promising someday he'd be a big shot scientist who changes the world and he'd make his family a fortune. If taking over reality doesn't qualify he doesn't know what does. The family can join him and his buddy Bill and rule the universe together. Pines Pines Pines Pines!

Unfortunately for him, the rest of the family still has normal moral compasses. And also they've met Bill.

Bill can't currently possess Ford due to Reasons; but even though he can't get in the driver's seat he still has permission to ride shotgun at any time. Ford talks to him pretty regularly. He HAS been caught doing this. Stan thinks he's just gone a little nutty from thirty years of isolation.

Naturally, since he was always on Bill's side, Ford's perception of events during Weirdmageddon is a bit different:

I finally made an official Evil Ford New Costume Character Design, check out his exciting totally different brand new look:

I decided that, since Ford is still basically the same person aside from his terrible life goals, he'd probably have the same fashion sense. And so... nothing changes except two tiny details lmao.

But he DOES have tattoos:

I traced a canon character model and took off its top to get a base to slap tattoos on, and then went dang... they gave him a big head and arms. He looks goofy. Anyway,

His forearms have less incriminating tattoos—just a birch tree and a sunrise. (The sunrise looks like the Journal 3 "The Muse Has Spoken" page.) The red text is the "triangulum entangulum" ritual; if anyone asks he'll go "it's uhh an ancient Sumerian poem about how great science is." It's not until he's topless that it's like "oh so he's a CULTIST cultist." The one exception is an unconcealed Eye of Providence on his right palm—but it's in an ink that's only visible in certain lighting. It's there so at any time he can point his hand at something and go "Bill are you seeing this BS?"

Of course, he still has the "hey now, you're an all star" neck tattoo. I didn't have room to draw it.

As you can see, he's made being Bill's right hand man a core part of his personality. Rather than spending 30 years scrabbling around the multiverse desperately searching for a way to destroy Bill, he spent 30 years chilling in the Quadrangle of Qonfusion as Bill's specialest favoritest Henchmaniac, and only scrabbling around the multiverse occasionally for fun & profit.

Here's a photo Bill & Ford took at a Nightmare Realm house party like fifteen years ago, three minutes before Bill started an argument and set the house on fire.

Most people have their wild party years in college, Ford has his in his 40s.

[fangirlingpuggle]

So gravity falls AU/fic prompt where the twins actually are Bill and Ford's kids. Like an experiment started during a certain karaoke night and pushed away lost among stuff after break-up and during Ford's paranoia era (Neither remember they even started the experiment they were both so drunk)

So after Ford is lost in the portal Stan is looking through his lab years later, 12 years before show starts he knocks down the experiment it actives and Stan is staring at 2 tiny little shapes with big eyes, one a pink star the other a blue pine tree with an odd little birth mark on it's top.

Stan is freaking the fuck out at 2 little shapes who are crying and sound like baby's, he finds an old sticky note and recognizes Ford's handwriting... Ford's drunk handwriting... and is like Sixer what did you do oh fuck I'm an uncle now.

Cue Stan raising his little demon niece and nephew, reading all the parenting books but NONE OF THESE TELL YOU WHAT TO DO IF THEY'RE DEMONS OR FLOATING.

The twins living their lives trying to learn powers, only staying in shack or lab as can't really go out, they have gone out a few times with Stan while hiding in his coat. They know all about their dad (The human one at least) stuck in the portal.

Soos knows about them of course he's been working at the shack since he was a kid, he loves both the little demon dudes and is the best big cousin/brother

It's only that summer when they're 12 that the twins have figured out how to turn in human forms for as long as they want. So Stan tells everyone his niece and nephew are coming to live with him, he's going to enroll them in school after summer.

The twins are so exited to finally go out and explore gravity falls and meet people, Mabel is so excited for friends. Dipper really wants to learn about the mystery and all the weird stuff and maybe learn more about his and Mabel's powers they think they could do more but have no idea what they could do.

They have a rule with Stan, no demon powers (As long as you don't get caught and it can't be traced back to us)

Ford returning and suddenly facing his brother...and his son and daughter.

[wokecipher]

Billy Pines AU

Say hi to an AU I started drawing right after the book came out, it's funny to see it show my art journey of learning to draw Bill Cipher over time.

(above being something I made yesterday vs the first time ever drawing for this idea)

This is an alternate universe of Gravity Falls, where during the collapse of Weirdmageddon, the Universe makes a teensy tiny mistake...

When Weirdmageddon was thwarted, the sudden release of chaotic energy accidentally flung a younger version of a familiar face right into Gravity Falls. This younger Bill Cipher stumbles around looking for his parents, lost and alone, until stumbling upon the statue of his "future" self.

He stays by the statue until he's found by Mabel Pines, who immediately panics and kicks him, not realizing that this tinier version of Cipher isn't the same as his counterpart.

(more doodles and huge infodump below! I plan on turning this all into a comic at some point, so, SPOILERS!! if I decide to do that, that is :P)

After the initial panic, Mabel ends up calming and realizing that this sobbing smushy version of Bill may... not be Bill. At the least, not in a way she's familiar with. She ends up retrieving Grunkle Ford who takes Billy away to study him, paranoid Bill somehow returned yet again.

Billy is frantic and confused, being in an entirely new reality is incredibly overwhelming and scary. He's also lonely and worrying, being away from his caregivers is intensely stressful and he is unable to go to them for help, comfort, or advice. Stanford is sadly not very nice at all to Billy, and sees him as a ruse by Bill to trick everyone into helping him... somehow.

Stanford and Stanley are both heavily against Billy and want him destroyed, Dipper wants him gone as well... but Mabel doesn't feel the same.

After awhile, Mabel becomes increasingly anxious over the scenario. She's worried that Billy isn't an actual threat, and starts wanting to help and understand him. Mabel is also feeling slightly guilty from kicking the kid. Meanwhile Dipper is frustrated and scared of Bill's potential return and fights against Mabel's various theories about Billy. One of Mabel's leading theories is that Billy is actually Bill's child, who just happened to show up at around the same time. She notes how young and confused he seems as evidence, alongside the obvious resemblance to Bill Cipher. Dipper thinks this is insane.

The two end up getting into an argument over the theory, leading to Mabel running out on Dipper because she's very upset over everything. It'd sorta go

Mabel would sort of start it, defensive, "He's just a baby, you guys can't do this to him without knowing it's Bill first!"

Dipper is frustrated "This is obviously a trick, Mabel! Bill is trying to trick us into... whatever this is!!" He'd probably waves his hands around, not sure what to do with himself.

Mabel is upset too, she wanted to defend the defenseless, "But what if he's not? What if he's just Bill's kid??"

"You'd take that chance?!" Dipper is very much done with this.

"... :(" Mabel doesn't really have a response. Because Mabel wants to say "YES!" but also she hates Bill too, and doesn't want him to hurt the people she cares about because of her again. So she'd probably get upset and just leave because this is VERY morally conflicting for her.

Later, Mabel decides to sneak into wherever Ford's lab is, and starts attempting to communicate with Billy. She draws and lets him draw too, but she does her best to be cautious. Mabel doesn't want to make a mistake and accidentally trust Bill again, she feels enough guilt for "starting Weirdmageddon" the first time (regardless of if its really her fault, regardless of how many times others reassure her).

(To note, Bill Cipher is still very much around, and very stuck in the Theraprism! I'd like to think he, at some point, found out about this "impostor" version of himself as a child through some doodle either Billy or Mabel made. He was probably flabbergasted and furious.)

Ford would eventually conclude this is probably not some evil plot by Bill, at least if it is, it's very convoluted and doesn't make too much sense for him to actually believe it.

Mabel eventually takes Billy home with her and Dipper because Ford can't handle being around Billy without acting very disturbed, and she can't in good conscious abandon the literal child. It also helps that she seems to be the only person Billy trusts at all.

Ford only allowed this with frequent visits and check ins.

To make this VERY long plot summary a bit shorter, what happens after this is general shenanigans a la the OG Gravity Falls show (minus the Bill Cipher drama, just fun hijinks and adventures)(there's still huge drama when it's discovered that Billy IS just Bill as a kid though, that sure won't end up deeply traumatic for any reason)!

But eventually, people grow up, people die, and Billy is left with an extinct world and alone, similar to his predecessor.

I don't think he'd turn out okay what so ever given he was ripped away from his home reality, got stuck in a place where he's hated by everyone, and raised by a family that was deeply traumatized by an alternative version of him so he's always eternally guilty for things he literally never did. Also, constantly not being able to interact with society, participate in things like school and being with people like him his age... yeah this kid isn't growing up stable I'm sorry.

Don't worry! After millions or billions of years, he ends up in the... exact same place as his counterpart. Good job Billy! Get better soon. Bill hates his ass so much.

That's all byyyyeee!

[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun•\

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

Exactly what it says on the tin. Established ghoap, bringing in fem!reader roommate. Poor writing. Reader has had any identifying features removed, but she owns a Ford Fiesta. Take that as you will. Just testing to see if there is interest in a lighthearted fun sexy fic like this. 🩶

*

“Remember. You’re desperate,” you muttered to yourself looking at your reflection in the rearview mirror of your tiny Ford Fiesta. The ink might as well still be fresh on the ad your roommate printed off for you (the perfect symbol of her guilt for moving back in with her boyfriend and forcing you to find a new apartment and new roommates in the first place).

The ad reads as thus: WANTED: ANY GENDER WELCOME to fill the second bedroom in a 2b/2ba 1290sq ft apartment. DOWNTOWN. In-building laundry. Utilities and rent split EVENLY amongst 3. NO FASCISTS, NO HOMOPHOBES.

It was the most promising ad you had seen after days of scouring the internet in your every spare moment (usually reserved for those moments when you were on break during shifts, feet and back aching, hating your life OR at the end of a long day when the post-sunset depression hit with all the force of a typhoon). Any two people who were against fascism and homophobia were alright in your book. As for the finer details—well. You were desperate. You were going to have to overlook any skeletons in their closets, as long as those skeletons weren’t literal.

I’m texting about the apartment downtown. Is this the right number?

Yeah, you’ve got it. Nice to text ya. You’re interested?

Very. Is there somewhere we could meet to discuss the details?

We don’t mind showing the apartment. Got a few others coming to see it as well. You cursed up a storm reading over that particular text, so much so that your roommate’s boyfriend knocked angrily on the thin walls separating your bedrooms. Scowling, you knocked back—a little too angry to be mistaken for conciliatory. You blamed that bastard for your troubles in the first place.

I’ll see it ASAP, if that’s okay.

Go-getter. How soon can you be here?

Which is how you found yourself in the parking lot of the building, hastily combing hairs back into place, hoping for some semblance of presentability. If only there was a way to hide the desperation in your eyes…

The apartment complex itself is everything you could have hoped for. It even has an indoor pool, which is a step up from the facilities offered at your own apartment. The rent is a little higher than what you were pulling at your old place, but you think you can manage it if you cut back on excess frivolities. And any joy. (Joy costs)

There’s a doorman even—an honest to god doorman! He instructs you on the way to the elevators, and you take them up to the top floor, feeling your ears pop from the change in altitude. By the time you’re standing in front of their door, your knees are knocking together, terrified of who you might be meeting. Even more terrified that they might not like you, that they might say no—

—and the door opens, shattering any expectation you have. The man standing there is undoubtedly, ungodly, unseemly, obscenely hot. His head nearly brushes the frame of the door, blond hair wild and mussed, like he’s just had the fuck of his life. He’s thick, too, muscles on muscles along his corded forearms, bared by the dark tee that stretches across his chest.

He is pale and dark eyed and frowning down at you so sternly that you are convinced you have knocked on the wrong door. God help you. It’s all an honest mistake—but then his gravelly, softly-accented voice says: “You’re here about the apartment?”

Your heart nearly stops. This is the person who owns the apartment? How could you be expected to live alongside this behemoth? Just as you are about to tuck tail and run, a hand grips the man’s shoulder and gently tugs him aside and another specimen—two of them! two!—appears. This one has his hair cropped in a Mohawk, his eyes a deep drown-worthy blue. A few inches shorter, he is just as impressive shape. He beams at you.

“Well!” he says, leaning on the door frame in a way that fetchingly shows off the cut muscles of his arm and chest. His voice is accented too, something rougher, different than the taller man’s. “You aren’t what I was expecting. Unless yer just a wee fascist.”

You blink. You had been thinking the very same. Your hackles rise on instinct, bristling in preemptive outrage. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’ve had a type answering the ad,” the other man says dryly. “Johnny doesn’t mean nothing. Come in—if you’re still interested in the apartment.”

It crosses your mind that this is perhaps foolish: entering an apartment of strange men, regardless of how you had left the address with your roommate and specified a time to check in with her. But you’re desperate. So you slip in after them, Johnny making ample room for you to move past him in the doorway.

When you do, you smell his shower gel, something woodsy. You say a prayer that you aren’t drooling.

Your eyes roam over the open-concept apartment. The living room and kitchen are combined, larger than you might have imagined. It is homier, too, for a place where two men live: there are pictures along the walls, potted plants in the corners and on the desk, and an easel overlooking the balcony in the corner, an oil half-rendering of the view outside.

It is tidy. It smells nice. It is owned by two of the hottest men you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing.

“I want it,” you blurt out.

Johnny laughs. “Sure ya do. Let us show you everything and then we’ll talk.”

You barely manage to contain your impatience as they lead you room to room. The guest room is empty, except for some boxes that Johnny hastily promises can be moved. The closets have no skeletons (you check). You would have your own bathroom. The more you see, the more convinced you are that this would be an ideal apartment regardless of who was offering it to you, but the frequent banter between the two men (Johnny and Simon you find out) is so entertaining and inviting that it’s hard not to feel like they want you—to be their third. Roommate that is.

After every nook and cranny of the apartment has been seen, they seat themselves on the loveseat and you on the adjacent armchair, your fingers interlaced like a businesswoman about to make the deal of her lifetime.

“I still want the room,” you admit. Johnny smiles, an expression that you sense comes easily to his face. His smile falls a little when you continue: “I just have one question. Why the vacancy?”

Simon takes a measured breath. The silence grows thick as they share a glance, communicating silently in a way that only two who have known each other—who have been through things with each other—can. At length, he says: “We’re ex-military. Disabled.”

That explained the cane Johnny had been using to move around the apartment.

“The benefits were excellent until recently, when we saw a generous…cut to our monthly pay.”

You frown. “That’s terrible. Why would they do that?”

Johnny gives a breathless little laugh. His hand comes down slowly to rest on Simon’s knee. You stare, unsure what you are seeing. “Well, it happens…when you get married.”

-

“That explains a lot,” your roommate says when you spill every little detail after driving home. By the time you arrive, her insufferable boyfriend is gone for the night (thank God) so it is just the two of you, like the good old days. “Namely why two men in a two bedroom apartment are looking for a roommate.”

“I didn’t even think of it,” you groan, palming at your eyes. “Am I homophobic?”

“No, just desperate and wishful,” she teases. She has no idea how accurate she is. It’s been years—literal years since you’ve been with anyone of substance. In the meantime, you’d been happy to settle for your fingers and your toys, but there was the occasional itch that only a cock could scratch in you. Figuratively. “This is a good thing though. The last thing you need is getting tangled up with your new roommates. That’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Instead I’ll be in the middle of their marital bliss. Or lack of, depending on the day,” you suggest dryly. But you aren’t even sure how much you believe your own words. Simon and Johnny said they had been together for nearly ten years, and more than their words, you had seen them with your own eyes—the way they gravitated to each other, the way their eyes were never far from each other. The way they roasted each other so good-naturedly. They seemed like a couple who were past their seven year itch, who had grown older and comfortable with each other. They seemed like they had their shit together.

Did it make you terrible that you still wanted to be pinned between them like a bug in a science project?

“Then tell them no,” she says, sitting on the edge of your bed. You see the guilt in her eyes, and it makes you just a little vindicated. Which makes you feel terrible. “You’ll find something. I promise. You could always stay with us until you do—“

“God no. No offense.”

“None taken. I think.”

You sigh. You nudge her with your foot. “Alright, out, I need to think.”

But it takes such little thought when Johnny (affectionately added to your phone) messages not ten minutes later.

I don’t want to rush ya, but another person asked to see the apartment. Should I show them?

No way, you text. That room is mine.

[mooooonnnzz]

This is kind of cringe but can you write a fic or make a headcanon list of Stan/Fords daughter getting a partner and how the dads would react? I love your work btw it's great!

2010 Toyota Corolla

Stan + Ford HC's of their teen getting a partner!

⟡ 1,5k words

⟡ gender neutral reader!

⟡ guys i think im going through a writers block can u tell

⟡ i was doing so good too omg

⟡ i couldnt figure out a title so i used a song i was listening to ths is a song i swear

⟡ cute lil simple hc of of the oldmen!!

⟡ if u wanna be added to my taglist dm or comment!

⟡ i might like take a two day break from writing to get it working again ngl

Stan

♡ Stan is extremely protective of you. He never shunned the idea away of you having a partner, but he never really encouraged it. He told you that it was “a waste of time,” that finding a partner at such a young age isn’t really necessary until you’re older. You didn’t bother protesting against him because at the time you hadn’t found your person yet. But when you did, you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t nervous to tell Stan about it. You knew he wasn’t going to be overly mad, but he was going to be slightly against it knowing his views on you having a partner.  “Dad?” You nervously fidgeted with your fingers. “Yes, pumpkin?” You inhale, mustering up all the courage to tell Stan. “I have something to tell you…” You draw out. Stan’s face lightly drops, already having a feeling of what this “something” is. Pausing his TV show, he loudly gulped. “I’m dating someone!” You blurt out. Stan stares at you for the longest time, the gears in his head turning as he processes what you said. “You? Dating?” He sits up from the couch. “I need a moment…” 

♡ After he recovers from the initial shock, he’s bombarding you with questions, such as; “Who are they?” “Do I know them?” “Are they smart?” And so on. You had no problem answering his questions and he had no issue giving you questions with how rapidly he shot them at you. Whenever you answered his questions, you could see the wrinkles in his forehead deepen the more you open up about your partner. This was definitely going to take some time for him to get used to. “Thank you for at least telling me, pumpkin.” He says after finishing up the whole Q&A.

♡ Meeting your partner was a must before he’d allow you to hang out by yourselves. When they came over to the shack, Stan had this whole gruff persona. He didn’t show much emotion and when he did, it was to show his distaste for what your partner said. “How long have you known [Name] for?” He interrogated, flashing a bright light to their face. “For a year now, sir.” They responded, shielding their eyes from the shining light. “Sir? I like that.” He mumbles to himself, scribbling +1 point on a notepad. When he turned over to you, he gave you a big thumbs up and a crooked smile. You couldn’t tell if it was going well. “Why do you want to date them?” Stan raised a brow, tapping the pencil on his chin. “Because I fell in love with them, sir.” Stan let out a loud “hmm,” and scribbled down, ‘very straight to the point’ on the note. After the interrogation was over, he ripped the note and gave it to your partner. “This is your score.” He said. “I guess you did good.” 

♡ He pulled your partner into a room and had a serious “talk” about something you didn’t have a clue about. But when they came out of the room with a horrified look on his face while Stan was proudly smiling to himself, you had a tiny idea of what he said. They turn around to Stan and Stan twiddles his fingers, his other hand sliding across this neck threateningly. “Dad!” You smacked his arm. 

♡ Even after Stan approved of your partner, he still wasn’t fully swayed by them. Whenever they’d be over, Stan would send death glares behind their back when they weren’t looking. But you would always catch them and when you did, Stan would sheepishly smile at you and make a heart gesture and point at your partner. He only ever came around them when Stan noticed them staring at one of the monster tourist attractions. “Whaddya lookin’ at, kid?” They began explaining how interested they were in the craft of making these grotesque monsters and Stan was more than happy to tell them the process. “Glue and staples come in handy, kid. I’ll tell you.” 

♡ It wasn’t after that, you’d find your partner and Stan creating all kinds of monsters while cackling and talking. Stan saw you walk in and his face brightened up. “Pumpkin, look at what they made! It is disgusting.” He pointed a glue covered hand to the little ugly statue of a half chipmunk and fish. “Oh? Isn’t this something…” You poke at the monstrosity. “Isn’t it amazing?” Stan laughs, impressed with your partner's handiwork. “Oh, yeah. This is amazing.” You plainly said. “I’m going to leave you two be…” Conversation erupted between the two while you walked away with a big smile to your face. 

♡ “I like that kid.” Stan says, a pleased look on his face. “Oh, I can tell, Dad.” You roll your eyes playfully. “Hey! They’re a great person. Perfect fit for my little [Name].” His fingers reached out to pinch your cheeks. “Oh, stop!” You push his hands away. “I’m just messin’ with ya, pumpkin.” Anything will and can make this old man laugh. “You might as well steal them from me.” Stan’s perked up. “Really?” He overplayed his excitement. You send him a dirty look while he barks out in laughter. “You’re gross.” 

Ford

♡ He never really thought of you ever dating anyone. Romantic partners didn’t exist to him considering how terribly alone he is. The only thing he ever said about you dating was; “Uh, yeah?” and carried on with his work and that was a good enough answer for you. Ford found out about your partner when he walked in on you and your partner cuddling on the couch. “[Name],” He clears his throat awkwardly, pointing at your partner. “Who is this?” You introduce your partner to Ford and he’s genuinely speechless. “Since when?” He whispers to you after pulling you aside in the kitchen. “Since like, last week?” Ford’s jaw falls open. “And you never thought to tell me?” You shrugged. “I asked you and you said you were okay with it.” You tell him. “When?!” 

♡ He would be so awkward around your significant other. “So…What is your name?” He’s tugging at his turtleneck, silently dying from how silent this whole exchange is. It takes him a lot of time to warm up to them, a lot of hangouts with the three of you together so he could be comfortable with them. He also uses this as an advantage and studies how they treat you and what they should improve on to make you happier. At the end of the hangouts, he’d slip in a note in their pocket. “If you want to stay with my child, you need to read the note.” He didn’t mean for it to sound menacing, but it was unfortunately received like that. “[Name], I think your dad hates me.” 

♡ Like Stan, there’s an interrogation but it’s not as serious as Stan’s. Ford would have called them over and told them to sit down. He begins asking questions and writing down their answers. “What are you hoping to do with [Name]?” Your partner blushed. “To marry them hopefully.” Ford nodded his head. ‘Disgustingly cheesy.’ He wrote it down in big words. “If I ever wanted to conduct experiments on you, would you allow me?” You jump in at the mention of that. “Okay! I think they’ve answered enough questions, Dad!” 

♡ He deep cleans the areas where you and your partner hugged, kissed and cuddled in. “Dad, what are you doing?” He has a mask and a plastic protective layer of armor around him. “I’m cleaning all the gross teenage bacteria!” You had to walk out after that.  “Is this something you’re seriously going to keep up?” Even though Ford is the smartest man alive, he has trouble understanding the true nature behind relationships. “Yes, Dad. This isn’t a one time thing and we’re over. It’s a relationship.” 

♡ Oddly enough, they bonded over their shared interest in researching the wonders of Gravity Falls. You’d often find them outside, Ford kneeled down to the ground, inspecting something while your partner has a notepad in hand, printing down whatever Ford is telling him to write. “Hey, what are you–” “SHHHH!” You looked at them with a confused look. “We need to be utter and total silence.” Ford held out a finger while he whispered notes for them to write. “Why though?” Ford pointed at a sleeping little fairy that was blanketed in a leaf. “Leave the fairy alone!” Ford opened his mouth to argue back, but his nose twitched and before he could react he sneezed, blowing the little fairy away. A silent tiny scream could be heard. “That was awesome, Mr. Pines!” Your partner held a hand out for Ford to high five but Ford was too sad to high five them back. 

♡ “Final opinions on them?” You ask. “They aren’t too bad. They could be a good research partner.” You smile. “Just don’t take them from me.” You say, nudging him gently. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Taglist: @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @lovexsage, @teddycricketdream, @theilluminatidragonqueen, @raventeen @cedarmoonzz, @katharine3000