#vibrant bios

[lilac-dreamxxz]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Summer⠀bios⠀.⠀❤︎

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀︵︵⠀ ⠀·　　 su𝐦𝐦er　　₊　⠀🌊

⠀⠀⠀　𓈒　　꒷　　🥭 mango 𝗌͟𝖾͟𝖺͟𝗌͟𝗈͟𝗇͟ 　 ׅ 　　﹒

⠀⠀⠀⠀🌺　　 ݃　 hot g𝑖rl sʋmmeɾ 　 ྀི　　𓈒

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀﹙ 𝓢﹚ trawberry 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹 . . . 🍓

⠀⠀ 𓏲𓏲⠀⠀.. ⠀👒 sun 𝒽𝒶𝓉𝓈 and flip flo͡ps 🩴ꜝꜝ ׂ

⠀⠀𓏸𓈒 ⠀ ʿ ⠀let's 𝒅𝒊𝒗𝒆 into the 𝒪cean 𓈒 🪸 ㅤᡣ𐭩

[nebulogia]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Té para do—s

[ehwina-hwa]

Tiny landscape painting (gouache) of a forest in the Uwak region :3

You will see the spiral-y pattern of the branches in the "trees" (more similar to fungi), this is to accomodate a species of insect-like critters that make hanging nests. These creatures are vital to the their life cycle, as its them who pollinate the 'tree's flowers and gets them to release their spores (the white dots seen in the painting). They are similar to dandelion heads; small, fluffy, and very light so they can be carried by the wind and eventually fall to the ground and grow another 'tree' to start the cycle all over again.

[lovereist]

ꔫ ִ ׄ ִ ܲ. ָ࣪ ִ ࣪ ֹׂ 𝆬 ֹ ᳝࣪ ִ ࣪. ݁་ ݁. ᳝࣪ ۫ ֪ ◜ ͡ 𝃜 𝓜𝐲 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔.

[ninzied]

a high school au

alex is a yapper. he yaps in math class. in bio. in ap us history with miss bankston (who only pretends not to love it he swears). he does not, however, yap during english third period. there's this boy with blue eyes who looked at him strangely when he said jane eyre was overrated.

alex hasn't spoken up since.

.

henry is shy. he knows that makes him come off a certain way to some people. it doesn't bother him. usually. he has his books, and bea, and pez.

"that alex is hysterical," pez says one day at lunch. what?

"oh, i know, what a riot. in maths the other day he—"

henry is confused. henry has literally never heard alex speak, except for that one time he made a devastating comment about jane eyre that had also given henry a lot to think about actually.

he hears alex laughing at the start of third period. henry feels speechless as he watches it happen.

he's spellbinding. he's beautiful.

he's clamming up the moment henry sits down.

oh, god. so it's him, then; it's henry. he's horrified to have had this sort of effect on someone, let alone someone as vibrant as alex. henry's shy, not cruel. and now he's feeling a bit wounded too.

he turns very purposely to look alex in the eye. brown eyes. very brown. framed by these obscenely long lashes as alex stares back, mouth open, not speaking. henry feels speechless all over again too, all from simply looking at alex.

oh.

*oh.*

now he thinks he's starting to get it.

"hi," henry blurts, before he can rush out of class and be sick in a bin in the hallway.

alex blinks. a shy smile forms. there are dimples. "hey," he says.

henry is blushing. he powers through. "so. err. what did you think about this week's reading?"

alex lights up. "ooh. so many things."

he pauses then, looking uncertain. "did you want to hear them?"

"please," says henry. "i'd like that very much."

.

alex is a yapper. he yaps through math, and bio, and every one of miss bankston's classes *obvi*ously. he yaps through english third period.

especially english third period.

the only time he doesn't yap is when he's too busy doing things like gazing at henry. sitting with henry on the bleachers, where the sun lights up his hair just right. nodding along to henry's passionate rants about poems.

watching henry eat something alex has brought them for lunch. eyeing the spot of sauce henry's missed.

"is there something on my face?" henry asks. "you keep staring."

"actually," says alex. he leans in.

they're both a little too busy to talk very much after that.

[sherbertday]

I had this sitting in my Wip folder for a solid year before actually getting back to it since I’m back in the convention scene. I know a lot of people were suggesting I use inspiration from some modern Mafia film posters, but I realized most of them were far too dark, which is a stark contrast to the bright, and vibrant colors of Golden Wind. So I took a less Hollywood direction for this one to mimic the visual cadence of Italian films from the 60s and 70s, particularly Giallo and crime film posters. You’ll often find a selection of bright colors and popping yellows (it’s literally in the name) in Giallo films which feels VERY JoJo-esque. The finished version doesn’t really reflect a poster style of the time Part 5 takes place, but I think I had the liberty of paying homage to something that goes hand in hand with Araki’s style.

I’ll post the rest of my poster works after this!

Anyway, this is now available on my INPRNT, which you can find in the link in my bio!

[bree-onne]

🎃⚰️ Nightmare B4 Christmas Pin Badges ⚰️🎄

New badge shape coming! Here’s series 1 for the complete pin badge collection of Nightmare pins :)

🎁 Nightmare Before Christmas collection

🎃 2’ x 1.5’ in pin badges

🎄 Glitter Vinyl

💀 Vibrant colors

These are just preorders for the first collection of this series

These are available in my link in bio OR in my preorder hi-lights!

Link in my bio :)

[communistkenobi]

I’ve watched the first three Mission Impossible movies now and it’s crazy how they’re all completely different films from one another lol. which probably has to do with the fact that they all had radically different directors (Brian de Palma, John Woo, JJ Abrahams), but the only real consistent through line is Tom Cruise. Because even within the ten year time-span between their releases, the series is already unrecognisable from itself

The first one is a 1990s genre-defining heist spy movie and its concerns are very much rooted in the fact that the CIA is now basically this massive institutional leftover of the Cold War with many hanging threads that need to be dealt with (one of the main McGuffins being a list of names of undercover CIA agents scattered throughout ‘Eastern Europe’). When I first watched it I thought it was pretty good but not like great, but after having watched two of its sequels and thought about it some more I’m a lot more positive on it. The imagery of that movie is unforgettable, the highlight being the completely silent scene where Tom Cruise hangs from a wire in an all-white room trying desperately not to touch the floor. It’s crazy that de Palma directed this and Carrie and Scarface, all films with scenes permanently lodged into the cultural consciousness. And like it is a distinctly ‘cool’ movie, but not in the insane rabid jarhead post-9/11 action movie cool way, like there isn’t this fascistic military masculinity grafted onto it, its way more sleek genius spy guy shit. Anyway this one is really good.

The second movie is pretty bad and often barely comprehensible, like the scene-to-scene editing is hard to follow and the pacing is horrible. The experience of watching it is like watching Face-Off (another John Woo movie), like same weird ass vibe and editing except in this case the movie is boring and bad. Some of the stunts are pretty cool but they can’t really rise above the film they take place in. It’s also not a spy movie, it’s just a bad action movie. I feel like MI2’s biggest crime is trivialising Tom Cruise, like he has no presence or command in that film at all, he’s literally just a random guy with long hair. It’s insane the immediate drop in quality. This one is about a bio-engineered virus that the villains want to use to start a pandemic, but the concern feels very far away and immaterial ? Idk I really didn’t like this one

And then the third one is also just as bizarre because it looks and sounds and is written exactly like a Michael Bay film, down to the same vibrant ugly orange-blue colour palette and quippy dialogue and saccharine ending. And it’s also not a spy movie either lmao!!!! Like god the jump in representation of US intelligence agencies from 1996 to 2006 is staggering, it’s moved from using fantastical spy gadgets to very real military hardware and technology, only keeping the spy-magic tech in MI3 (like 3D printing the villain’s face as a mask disguise) because it was already established in the first one. And the action scenes are straightforwardly action scenes, shootouts with military helicopters and dodging precision drone strikes. Tom Cruise does an insane amount of running in this movie and it looks sooooo good, like there are so many long-ass shots of him just fucking booking it at full speed and that dude’s running form was made to be captured on film. But MI3 is like so deeply entrenched in Bush era catch-the-terrorists stuff, though somewhat offset by having Philip Seymour Hoffman as the main villain instead of like Al-Qaeda (although the main anxiety has still firmly shifted from a post-Soviet ‘Eastern Europe’ to a scary generalised terrorist ‘Middle East’). But again it feels so incredibly different in tone and fixation and motivation than the first film. 9/11 really did permanently break the brains of every USAmerican. Anyway I can’t wait to watch the next one

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

✨ New Patreon Upload! ✨

Hey everyone! I’ve just uploaded a brand-new one-shot on my Patreon, (I present to you the long-awaited dad!Kylian fic) and you definitely don’t want to miss it!

Head over now to check it out and show some love! 🙌

📖 Link in bio! ✨ Let me know your thoughts after reading! 💬

Happy Life

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — I give you....Dad!Kylian (with a bit of spice)

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Husband!Kylian Mbappé x Wife!you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 9.2k

Warnings! FLUFF, DAD!Kylian, their bond is so sweet, best dad ever, sweet husband Kylian, Angst (but only a little bit for the plot), reader is stressed, pregnant!reader, NSFW! SMUT (18+), oral sex (f receiving),

Preview

**********

Kaila sat cross-legged, her brow furrowed in concentration as she spread her own peanut butter onto a cracker. Kylian watched as she scooped up a small handful of strawberries and grapes, placing them precisely atop the creamy spread. A few stray seeds stuck to her fingers, leaving pink smudges on her cheek when she wiped them off. The sight sent a warm pang through his chest, and he smiled softly.

"This good, Papa," Kaila said, holding out her masterpiece for his inspection.

"It looks delicious," Kylian replied, accepting the proffered cracker and biting into it with exaggerated relish.

Kaila beamed at his praise, her face lighting up as she turned back to her work, the rest of their lunch spent in companionable quiet, munching on snacks and watching the clouds drift lazily overhead.

By the time they finally tumbled onto a blanket beneath the sprawling shade of an old oak tree, flushed with a light sheen of sweat, and their breaths came in happy, uneven bursts.

"Papa," Kaila began, her voice serious despite the crumbs dotting her lips as she munched on a cookie, "do you think flowers can be magic?"

Kylian paused, brushing a wayward crumb from her cheek with his thumb. “Magic? Absolutely,” he said with a soft smile, melting at his daughter's sweet innocence. “But only if you truly believe they are.”

Kaila’s brows knitted in concentration, her little fingers plucking at the grass until she found what she was looking for—a dandelion, its bright yellow petals vibrant in the sunlight. She held it up to him with a shy look on her face. “Then this is magic for you, Papa,” she said, her green eyes shining with sincerity.

Kylian felt his chest tighten, a warm, almost overwhelming swell of love washing over him. He took the flower carefully, as though it were the most precious thing in the world. “Merci, ma princesse,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll keep it safe forever.” And he tucked it behind his ear, winking at her with a grin that made her dissolve into giggles.

**********

-Bianca🌻

[cloudcountry]

Hey Кролик!!!! I saw you changed your bio, so I think I can still request? Maybe? Idk, tell me if I can't.

I read and reread the rules, so here is what I thought of: absolutely obliterating 707 with snowballs, the poor unsuspecting fool gets hit with way too many snowballs (that's what he gets for being mean to me >:] ) and falls to the ground getting buried for his sins >:))))

Then, he gets a little kiss as an apology because he's my little pookie bear <3

(Make sure to take your time! And eat and drink! I love you! Muah ❤️)

SUMMARY: you take saeyoung completely off guard with a snowball to the back of the head!

WARNINGS: spoilers for seven's route, contemplation of death. ITS FLUFF I PROMISE.

COMMENTS: ignore the fact that i picked the most summer cg ever for him ok HE LOOKED HAPPY. the seven kissers hiveminded you guys are so weird /aff (also abel!!! i love you too!!!!! RAHHHH)

TAGLIST: @haruhar-u since this was also your request <3

It almost seems like the rolling of the snowball in your hands is an absentminded movement, but it's very much intentional. Your eyes are training on the back of your boyfriend’s head—his bright red hair is a beacon in the bright white world around you. It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop (or, alternatively, Saeyoung’s giggles as he sculpts the little snow Elizabeth the Third next to the snow-you and snow-him.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t impressed at how quickly he whipped up snowpeople of everyone. Impressed, but not surprised. You think you even see Vanderwood a little ways back, isolated from everyone else, and you feel a stab of pity for the poor guy.

Working with Saeyoung can’t be easy, but he’s always been nice to you. Even up until the two of you ran away, you know deep down Vanderwood cared for Seven.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts, not wanting to get too caught up in the nitty-gritty of the situation when Saeyoung had it handled. You trusted him to protect the two of you, You know he can. You’re incredibly lucky for each and every day you get to spend at his side, even though you’re nearly always aware that each day could be your last.

But you chose this life when you chose him, and you would have it no other way.

And so, you show your love by winding up and throwing your perfectly crafted snowball as hard as you can at Saeyoung.

It hits him square in the back of the head, wetting his vibrant hair and sliding down until it hits the inside of his hood.

“Yikes!” he yelps, flailing his arms around his back as he springs away from snow-Elizabeth, “Enemy attack! God Seven is down!”

You laugh, already scooping up more snow and pelting him with your (much more sloppy) snowballs. Saeyoung makes a big show of gasping for air and pleading for mercy, occasionally playing dead and waiting for you to come over and poke him before smacking you with snow as well.

It doesn’t take long till the two of you are out of breath, your fingers ice cold but intertwined through your gloves.

“Want to head inside?” you murmur, kissing his snowflake-sprinkled brow, “We can have some of your very special hot chocolate.”

Saeyoung’s eyes light up and he gives you that big goofy grin you fell in love with.

“One thing first.” he whispers, the quiet of his voice exaggerated and theatrical.

And for a moment, you expect a snowball to the face, but he kisses you instead. It’s soft and sweet and tastes like an unholy combination of energy drink powder (which...now that you think about it, likely explains how quickly he crafted everyone out of snow.)

“Now we can go inside.” he laughs softly against your lips, scooping you up in his arms and carrying you inside, where you can be warm and comfortable with the one person you love most.

[denofimagination-blog]

We love painting the Sons of Medusa –

their vibrant green and stunning cloaks are the perfect

blend of elegance and menace. 💚🖤

What Chapter would you like to see in such exceptional

painting? Let us know in the comments! Want

something this unique for your models? Contact us ->

link in bio!

[dekus-fellow-crybaby]

Nightmare Fuel

Summary: After venturing into the woods and stumbling across a statue, Gravity Falls’ newest resident meets her worse nightmare...or maybe her scariest wet dream.

Requested by @fivvy

Warnings: NSFW. 18+ only. Minors DNI. DARK FIC! This fic contains darker themes such as manipulation, possession, violence, dub/con, and non/con! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! Aged-up Characters, Bill x reader, Bipper x reader, slight Dipper x reader? (There's some tension), porn with plot, slight MabelxPacifica, asshole!Dipper, mind sex, mind break?, sex pollen-like symptoms?, supernatural elements, horror-like elements, fingering, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, revenge sex, choking, asphyxiation, accidental voyeurism. Lmk if I forgot anything! LAST WARNING! DARK ELEMENTS! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK AND NO MINORS!! AGES IN BIOS!! Seriously guys, it’s kinda messed up and I will block minors!

Word Count: 7.9 k

Gravity Falls. The town just west of weird. And your new home. When you were younger your family used to drive through the small, eccentric town on the way to visit family in Portland. Your parents just loved the scenic route, and the great nature of Gravity Falls was about as scenic as it got. You never stayed in the town long, but the curious corner of the world always drew you in. The people you would meet during your occasional diner stops or the stories you would hear piqued your interest. It drove you towards a love of writing and reading, just searching for vibrant characters that might match the town's local color. Which is why you decide to take a year off college and live amongst the people that initially stirred your curiosity.

Stepping off the bus, the sunlight speckles through the trees, the warmth dusting your cheeks, and you are welcomed back to the town of Gravity Falls. The scent of pine trees and maple surround you as you walk towards the town square, a suitcase rolling behind you. Checking the address on the post-it note in your hands, you make your way to the house on the edge of the woods: the Mystery Shack. It was probably more of a gamble than you should have taken to respond to the rooming ad for a place called the Mystery Shack, but it was the only available housing in the small town, so you'd just have to take your chances.

Skipping the town tour, you make your way to the tourist trap, but you take note of the town as you go. Everything seems perfectly normal. but you hoped that wouldn't remain the case. You needed something interesting to write about, something to spark a flame of inspiration in your head. So far, nothing but your new place of residence seems out of the ordinary. You make it to the Mystery Shack, surprised by the number of cars parked out front. A number of people come in and out of the house, most being led around by a dude in a suit, eyepatch, and fez. Walking closer to what you can only assume to be a tour group, you listen in on the man rifting off facts about the obviously fake attractions.

"And here we have the rock that looks like a face, dudes," the tour guide said.

"But is it a rock or is it a face?"

"No, dude, it's a rock that looks like a face," the tour guide sighs as if he got this question often. "It's-it's not an actual face." This only sparks more controversy for the guide, so you peacefully excuse yourself from the group, bypass the entrance for the indoor Mystery Museum, and trudge around to the backdoor. You're pleased to find no tourists there. From the window, you notice a few people filing around the room and you hope they were the actual residents of the house/tourist attraction. Knocking on the door, you are almost immediately met by a bubbly brunette answering with a brooding blond watching intently behind her.

"Uh, hi, I'm—"

"Are you our new roomie?!" She beams, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she ushers you in before you even give your answer. Once you’re in the room, you take in each of the girls' features. The brunette smiles at you excitedly, a pair of perfectly straight teeth flashing between glossy pink lips. Her curly hair tumbles down her back, the front of her bangs are held back by a dark pink headband which matches a pair of leggings she wore beneath a white tee with a multicolored shooting star on the front. The blond behind her has straight hair, straight-cut bangs brushing over her long, mascara-covered lashes, a light purple dusting of eyeshadow matching a purple jersey shirt with a white diamond on the front over a pair of black leggings along with a pair of big, white hooped earrings.

"Yeah, yes, hi," you breathed out, apprehension and shock in your tone as you’re pulled in. "Are you Mabel?"

"Actually...I'm your new roommate!" She squeals before deadpanning with a, “But yeah, my name is Mabel.” You can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.

"Well, it's really nice to meet you, Mabel," you say genuinely, a sigh of relief passing your lips along with a giggle.

"This is Pacifica, my gf and our other roommate," Mabel introduces. The blond nods her head, not saying a word as Mabel does all the talking. "And my brother also lives here but he's kinda...busy right now. He's sorry he couldn't be here for the greeting party though!" You brush that off. "How about we give you the tour and then we can get to know each other."

She grabs one of your two bags as she leads you to your room: a dark space with a slanted ceiling, a stained-glass window in the far-left corner which offers a muted colored light, a furnace in the far right, a bed at the center of the left wall, and a closet to the left of the bed. It’s perfect for a shut-in writer such as yourself. Mabel tells you that the room used to belong to her Grunkle Stan who was travelling the seas with his brother, her Great Uncle Ford.

Dropping the bags onto the bed, the three of you made the rounds of the house. Mabel and Pacifica share the attic, Mabel saying she has sentimental attachment to the space. While walking through their home, Pacifica tells you how she had grown up as a rich only child. Her parents had fallen on a bit of "hard times" after her dad made a bad investment in some bonds and they had to sell their mansion to the town kook, Old Man McGucket, and, yes, that is how he prefers to be called. After living with her parents until she was legally able to leave, her now living with Mabel and her brother in the Mystery Shack was not only convenient but is also like a middle finger to her oppressive parents. You learn all of this before you even make it to the living room. You really like how talkative Mabel is. Her extrovert personality counteracts your quiet tendencies.

Coming to Mabel's twin brother's room—who you found out is named Mason but is nicknamed Dipper—it’s a mess. Dirty laundry, papers, and books all scattered over every surface. You barely notice the shape of the bed or couch underneath the piles of clothing and maps. The only thing that seems to be somewhat in order was the bookshelf. It’s stacked to the brim with books except for the top shelf, where only three books rest, all with their covers facing out. Each one is a deep blue, a drawing of a silver Pinetree overlayed with a golden Big Dipper constellation and underneath is printed golden numbers 1, 2, 3. They look like journals, though you had no idea what information could be handwritten there. You gather that he’s either a brainiac or a maniac, and neither tend to have very clean tendencies. But you aren’t one to judge, knowing you could get the same way in the midst of an inspired breakthrough. Your muse could work in mysterious and very annoying ways: ergo the entire reason for moving to Gravity Falls.

"Yeah, my brother tends to be a bit...hazardous when he gets in the work zone," Mabel explains sheepishly. "If it's not his room, it’s the basement that's a mess. Or both. Mostly both."

You’ve stayed relatively quiet the entirety of the tour but your curiosity itches at you brain, prompting an inquisitive, "What does your brother do?"

"Science research...of sorts," she answers through thin lips.

"Of sort?" Your brows scrunch together at the vague implication.

"Yeah, I'm not entirely sure the specifics of his work, just that he has a few Ph.D.'s," she shrugs, a nervous laugh bubbling in her throat, as if it wasn't a great feat to have multiple Ph.D.'s before the ripe age of twenty-four.

"Wow, that's...really impressive," you breath, not knowing exactly how to respond to her nonchalance over the subject.

"Yeah, proud of my bro-bro, just wish he would wash his clothes," she chuckles, faking(?) a grimace and pulling a laugh out of you and Pacifica.

The rest of the tour went on like this, sharing stories and taking cracks at one another, giving you an idea of the nature of the relationship between your new housemates. Mabel went on and on about how much the house means to them, and how much their great uncles mean to them as well. It’s really sweet, and you believe that you’ve found yourself some interesting characters to write about.

Mabel is really nice and, while Pacifica had a very hard exterior, you can see her softer side in the moments when she lets herself slip out of that tough exterior to laugh for Mabel. They both help you unpack quickly, even brightening up the space with a lamp Mabel had decorated herself—crystals hot glued to the base, refracting a cascade of rainbows around the room. You feel so welcomed already.

An ear-shattering bang shakes the house, dust drizzling from the ceiling and effectively startling you awake.

"Fuck!" A voice screams. You follow it with a heart-pounding urgency, leading you to the gift shop where smoke billows into the room. The vending machine swings open, and you startle, a small squeak leaping out of your throat. A figure emerge from the smoke, coughing and waving his arms with a cap in one hand to clear out the black cloud surrounding him. When the smog clears enough for you to get a good look at the man, the first thing you saw was the mop of curly brown hair, much like Mabel's, that is powdered with soot and debris. His pale skin is marred by the caking of dirt over his exposed arms and cheeks, yet the dark circles underneath his eyes were still prominent despite only being illuminated by the moonlight seeping in through glass windows. The dark grayish-green tee with a black question mark on the front was also frosted in a layer of powder. The red flannel tied around his waist seems relatively unscathed until he uses the material to wipe what is still on his face. His arms lifted to rub off the grime, showcasing the ink markings on his forearms. You can’t help but stare at him and the opened vending machine entrance, mouth hanging open at the scene. You wonder if you’re dreaming.

"Trying to catch flies, sunshine?" His deep voice rattles. You know he’s speaking to you despite him refusing to look your way.

"Excuse me?"

"No?" He smugly questions, the sarcasm dripping from his voice that is riddled with sleep deprivation and husky from his dust-coated throat. He finally looks over at you, allowing you to meet his chocolate brown eyes. "Then you should close your mouth." You wrinkle your nose at the snark of his tone. Before you can reply, the girls come down from the attic.

"Nice going, Dipstick, what did you blow up this time?" The blonde grumbles. You make a mental note to never wake the girl from her beauty sleep lest you receive the same venomous tone.

"None of your business, Pacifica," he sighs.

"I don't know why you're in such a piss mood when you were the one to wake everyone up at three in the morning, moron," she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest and rolling her eyes so far back into her head that you’re sure she caught a glimpse of her brain.

"I know that you, more than anyone, need your precious beauty sleep, Pacifica, but my lab is not any of your concern," Dipper snaps back.

"Shut up, Dipshit."

"Buy my silence then, rich bitch."

The tangible tension in the room surrounds the house residents as Pacifica's eye twitch and her nostrils flare. Pacifica, not wanting to put up with his attitude any longer at three in the morning, mumbles a quiet, "Whatever," and turns on her heel, heading back upstairs. You can’t help but admire the great restraint on her part.

"Mason, go to sleep," Mabel utters firmly, tiredly, pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance as she speaks. "You're a dick when you haven't slept in a few days." He knows better than to talk back to Mabel when she calls him out like that, especially so when there is a significant lack of a nickname.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he groans, his hand dragging down his face, smearing black back onto the skin he'd just half-heartedly cleaned off.

"And you will apologize tomorrow." It’s not a question from Mabel, the no-nonsense tone leaving little room for debate.

"Yeah, I will," he mutters, followed by a nearly silent, "When Waddles learns to fly."

"Well, he already did," she argues, leaving you absolutely confused. "I'll see if I can't get her to apologize for the ‘dipshit’ comment but yours was worse so you have to make the first move."

"I know the drill, Mabel." She nods at his compliance, turning to you.

"I'm sorry that this is your first impression of my brother," she says sheepishly, though her tone scolds him still.

"This is the Ph.D. guy?" You choke out the inquiry softly towards Mabel, shock clear in your tone. She shrugs, nods, then goes off to find Pacifica.

"You must be the new roommate," he smiles then, though it’s more condescending than friendly. Despite that, he still holds out his hand for you to shake. "Nice to meet you. Stay out of my lab."

"Noted," you scoffs, taking his hand as if in a daze.

"Nice pjs," he smirks, instantly turning your cheeks red as you remember what you wore to bed. Nothing more than a thin T-shirt that barely covers your backside. You snatch your hand back from his hold. "Oh, and welcome to Gravity Falls."

Looking around, you take in the black-and-white space surrounding you. The trees still, despite the breeze grazing your skin; the birds hover in the air, wings wide spread; the wildlife turn their heads towards you yet don't move an inch otherwise. It’s like walking into a vintage photograph. Your mind wanders as your feet carry you deeper into the forest, following the gentle stream. The only color illuminating the monochrome forest is yourself and the image of a floating yellow-

"Mabel! I've said it once, I've said it a million times! I don't want any Mabel juice!" The sound of Pacifica's shrieking voice stirs you out of sleep, pulling you from the odd dream.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you walk into the den full of commotion. "What the hell is Mabel juice?" You ask sleepily, mid-yawn. You’re met with coos about how adorable the action was from Mabel, to which you blush and sheepishly wave off, already getting the sense that Mabel found cuteness in almost anything.

"Mabel juice!" Mabel announces proudly and far too loudly for so early in the morning. "A beverage of my own invention!" She shows off, presenting the drink in question that looked like a hot pink choking hazard. "Want some?"

"Hmm," you hum in thought at her hopeful intent. "Thank you, Mabel, but I think I'll stick with coffee. I do appreciate the offer though." She just shrugs, still beaming, and pours herself a glass. The sweet smell of pancakes wafts around the room as you sit at the kitchen table. "Something smells good."

"It's my ultra-chocolate-chip pancakes with sprinkles!" Mabel announces, sliding a plate over to Pacifica with a nicely decorated array of rainbow colors over a cloud of whipped cream in the shape of the Smiledip puppy.

"Wow, is this what breakfast is always like here?" You wonder aloud, Pacifica shrugs, hesitates in thought, and then nods.

"How many pancakes, Sunshine?" Mabel hums, the nickname falling easily from her lips. She obviously makes attachments very quickly.

"One, please," you say politely. Mabel is quick to oblige, whipping up similar masterpieces that look like a kitten judge, complete with chocolate syrup whiskers, a powdered sugar powdered wig, and a bacon gavel. "Mabel, this is really incredible." You can’t even remember the last time you had a hot breakfast. Or any breakfast for that matter. You didn't exactly practice a habit of self-care while taking your college courses...or any basic needs really like a regular eating schedule or exercise.

"Why thank you, Cutie-Patootie." You would respond if your mouth wasn't currently stuffed with the bacon gavel. "Sleep well?"

"For the most part." You nod slowly before your mind drifts back to the three a.m. incident. "Can I ask you something though?"

"Shoot."

"Is your brother always like that?" Pacifica snorts derivatively beside you, as if laughing at her own inside joke echoing in her head.

"Well, if you mean pushing the reasonable boundaries of his own health to finish his current hyper fixation…then yes," Mabel sighs, offering a sad smile. "But the bitchiness, no. He’s usually sweet, just sassy. But he tends to slip into bitchy mode when he hasn't gotten enough sleep…which now that I think about it is whenever he’s on the edge of a breakthrough…So to answer your question: yes."

"Hmm, that seems so stupid, though," you hum around a mouthful of the sugar drowned pancake bite.

"Pardon?" The voice comes from behind you, startling you with a bite of pastry cat judge halfway in your mouth. You would have choked if you'd taken a bigger bite. Turning your head, syrup almost dripping off your pouting bottom lip, you see Dipper. He obviously showered which was quite the improvement from last night. Now that his face is clean you can take notice of his features. You remember the big brown eyes but now, without the smudges of grease and grime on his forehead, you notice the pair of bushy eyebrows and fluffy curls that rest above those chocolate orbs. It looks like he hasn't shaved in a while, a shadow of scruff shading his chin. Instead of the question mark tee from last night, he’s wearing a dark blue sweater with the words "Disco Girl" in bubbled sky-blue font that reminds you of a 70s aesthetic mood board which he accompanies with a pair of grey sweats. You think it an odd outfit choice for the moody man in front of you, the juxtaposition boggling your mind. He cocks his head and raises a bushy brow in question when you take your time to answer.

"I mean, it just doesn't seem very productive," you shrug when you finally shallow the breakfast bite that was stuffing your mouth, the hypocrisy dripping off your words as much as the syrup. "When you don't get enough sleep your neuroreceptors lose their sensitivity to serotonin and norepinephrine which leads to impaired cognitive function. I thought you were supposed to be a genius or something." You mumble the last part while sipping on your cup of coffee. Pacifica snorts out of laugh, Mabel has to slap her hand over her mouth to cover the traitorous smile, and Dipper stares at you with his nose wrinkled and his brows drawn together, taking in your words and frowning at the implication.

"I'm going back to bed," he announces, immediately turning on his heel. “Save me a pancake gnome, Mabel!”

"Are you a science buff too, Sunshine?" Mabel asks once Dipper has turned the corner. Peering past the wall, you check to make sure he was really gone.

"Nope," you popped the 'p'. "I got that off a tv show. I just wanted to stump him." All three of you erupt in laughter.

"Okay, I’ve decided to like you," Pacifica giggles, leaning back in her chair and giving you an approving once over. "On a trail basis, of course. We’ll see how it goes."

"Honored," you chuckle.

"So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day?" Mabel asks. She turns the stove off, carrying over a plate with a llama pancake for Pacifica and her own her has a pancake shaped like a dolphin…with muscular arms instead of fins?

"Well, I wanted to check out the town a bit," you answer with a mouthful of the syrupy breakfast. "Maybe walk around the forest a bit…Any good landmarks to check out?”

"Want a tour guide?"

"Yeah, that’d be great, Mabel," you answer gratefully.

The three of you make a day of exploring the town. Mabel and Pacifica show off every aspect and share all the quirky attributes of the small town. Considering the size of the town, the tour doesn't take long. The last stop is Greasy's Diner where Pacifica works. The three of you eat lunch before Pacifica clocks into work. Mabel offers to walk with you back to the Mystery Shack before she goes back out to the craft shop for more knitting supplies. You politely decline, saying that you can find your way back on your own. You part ways and you take your own time strolling back to the house, taking the long way through the mysterious woods you've been itching to explore.

After living with the trio for a few weeks, you caught on to a few things. Mabel is a being of pure chaos, but she makes it work. She channels most of her energy into her creativity, her job consisting of running an Etsy shop selling knitted sweaters. Pacifica is actually a very chill person. She was rather reserved, and you'd catch her people watching often, especially when Mabel's friends Candy and Grenda would come over. She would often observe them with a small smile playing on her glossy lips. She seemed like the perfect balance for Mabel's wildness. And Dipper hates your guts. You're not sure why, but you frequently found him glaring at you. You're not sure what you did, but the guy always has an evil eye for you. Especially when you get back from your daily walks through the woods.

That's another thing about your time in Gravity Falls that seems odd to you. You're not sure why, but you're drawn to the wilderness. It's as if something in the forest was calling out to you.

Your mind wanders as your feet carry you deeper into the forest. Your surroundings blur and blend into the verdant brush or golden glow of the setting sun. You don't even realize how long you've been traveling until your limbs begin to ache and nothing around you is familiar anymore. You hear and see nothing resembling that of a human touch, only the steady thrum of the natural world you've stepped into. The final rays of the evening sun light your path as you venture further, a meager attempt to find your way back to civilization. However, you curiously find yourself stumbling upon a mossy mass of stone, and time seems to slow down the moment you do. The trees still, despite the breeze grazing your skin; the birds hover in the air, wings widespread; the wildlife turn their heads towards you yet don't move an inch otherwise. Coming closer, you see a scrawny statue arm reach out to you welcomingly. Your eyes travel over the attached body, the monument shaped like a personified pyramid. You tiptoe around the monolith, studying the odd artwork. A breeze sweeps over you, a shiver working its way down your spine. There's a sudden subtle tickle at the back of your brain and a slight paranoia settles across your skin. Your eyes find the granite gaze of the one-eyed creature, and goose bumps bloom over your flesh. You don't understand it, but you feel a simultaneous urge to flee as well as an overwhelming draw towards the inanimate figure. The contradiction creates a harsh turmoil within you, and you feel frozen, granting your surroundings the perfect opportunity to whisper advice into the wind. You can almost hear an audible "Run!" from the wood, but you can't bring yourself to follow the orders. Instead, your hand hesitantly reaches out to the outstretched hand, your fingers gingerly grasping the stone and wrapping your digits around the stony hand. However, just as your palm settles against the carved rock, fingers grip your wrist and yank you away, pulling you back into a hard chest. And suddenly, time is back on track. You're ripped from your daze as you're spun around to meet a pair of frantic chestnut eyes.

"What did you do?" he screams, shaking you by the shoulders. His face goes pale, deathly so, and the new ghostly shade causes the dusting of freckles over his nose and cheeks to drain along with his rosy completion. You unconsciously frown at that realization.

"What?" you mutter in a trance, your mind rousing slowly from the mental fog.

"What did you do?" he repeats in a panic, the desperation in his voice snapping you out of your stupor.

"Nothing!" you squeak out in defense.

"You don't touch this!" he wails in your face. "Don't ever touch this!"

"I won't!" you cry out, hands pushing at his shoulders and clawing at his fingers gripping painfully at your arms. His eyes are searching, scanning your face and person manically. Looking for what, you don't know. But he stares into your eyes as if expecting something new. Well, new to you, at least. You get the feeling that whatever he thinks he'll find swimming in your irises is something that he is plenty familiar with. When he seems satisfied enough, he pushes you away softly. Instead, he turns to gaze at the granite figure once more. A shaky hand cards through his curly bangs, showing off the constellation of freckles that were previously hidden. The movement nearly nudges his hat off his head, letting it rest haphazardly on his head. After a moment, it seems as though he settles the argument that has been playing out in his head. He grabs your bicep and starts dragging you back to the house, ignoring your protests.

When you make it back to the Mystery Shack, Dipper drags you through the attraction side of the house, stopping in front of a vending machine. He punches in a code before pushing you through the entrance that reveals itself. You're welcomed into a dark, dusty hallway lit only by a gas lantern. You then ride down in a creaking elevator, watching the numbers change through broken display glass. Once the metal elevator gate opens up again, another room is unveiled, and you soon realize that it's the basement laboratory, the one that he specifically, in no uncertain terms, told you to stay out of. You believe it was the first sentence he said to you, actually.

This room is by far more well-kept than his bedroom, but it also seems more lived in. There are contraptions, books, papers, and writing utensils scattered over every surface, but it at least seems like there is controlled chaos.

He maneuvers you to sit on an uncomfortable wooden stool in front of a wall of monitors and computer keyboards. You don't know why you've let him direct you so easily thus far, but you might be more afraid of what would happen if you resisted. He seemed so shaken, unstable even after you touched the statue.

You nearly jump out of your skin as you feel cold metal atop your scalp. You whip around to see Dipper attempting to fit a rusty colander with tubes sticking out of it over your head. You jump up finally, drawing a line in the sand.

"What the hell is going on?" You screech, a heaviness weighing on you as the fog is finally gone and you begin to understand the possible gravity of the situation.

"Relax," he sighs. "It's a cranium scanner. It's harmless. It's just meant to scan your thoughts."

You scoff. "Why do you need to do that? Why should I believe that's what you say it is? Why were you so freaked out about that statue? Why were you even there? Were you following me? You need to work on your communication because you just drag me down here and try to hook up some terrifying machine to me without my permission and without explaining and this is freaking me the fuck out!"

His jaw ticks with every word that quickly leaves your lips. Silently, he lifts the device to his head and fits it on his scalp. The moment he does the monitor comes to life. Green words dance across the screen and mumbles buzz from the speakers. You see and hear phrases like "Fuck, this girl is annoying...I need to run these tests...We have to hurry...gotta make sure he's not back...keep everyone safe, have to keep everyone safe...Man, I'm starving...When was the last time I did laundry?...Nah, that's a waste of time...Disco girllll, coming throughhhh, that girl is youuu...Shit, now that I look at her she's kinda cut—" He rips the machine off his head and clears his throat before shrugging his shoulders and waving his hands as if to say "I told you so" in a single motion. "See? Harmless. Now put this on."

You shake your head. "I still need an explanation."

He sighs out in frustration, taking the stool for himself as he runs a trembling hand over his exhausted features. "Look, this town...it's not normal, okay? There are things here...things that can't be explained...including that statue." You stare at him tentatively, noticing the way his fingers fidget together and his brow shines with sweat. "Just...do this and we will never speak of this again." You watch him for a moment, trying to gauge whether the knot in your stomach is intuition or just nerves over his odd behavior. You don't think you can trust him...but you feel like he needs this...whatever it is. And you hope that it'll calm his erratic behavior. Plus, you're a little amazed by the mindreading device, and you kind of want to know if it's accurate or not. You cautiously step forward, nodding minutely. He rises from the seat and allows you to take it. You do, wiggling around a bit to get comfortable on the incredibly irritating wood panels.

"Can I at least get a better chair?" you grumble.

He actually chuckles, a breath of relief leaving his lips as he nods. He drags an old, velvet-upholstered chair that sits next to a chess table. He smacks the cushion and allows a layer of dust previously caked on the fabric to fly into the air. You can live with it more than the splintering stool. You settle into the seat and allow Dipper to place the appliance on your head.

First comes the shock as all your thoughts are displayed on the monitor at a mile a minute, including the thoughts of your shock. Next comes the processing as you watch Dipper take a seat and start scribbling notes as he observes the monitors. You watch as every one of your thoughts is displayed and you begin to feel exposed as every one of your anxieties are advertised. Taking a deep breath, you let your eyes flutter close, trying your best to relax.

The next moment you open your eyes again something feels off. You scrunch your brow as you look around the room, trying to figure out what's different. Looking over to Dipper, you notice that he's stopped writing. Instead, he sits staring up at the screen. You miss how the screen no longer projects your every thought and only produces static. Your skin bubbles with pins and needles, a sudden chill filling your bones as Dipper remains unmoving with his chin resting on his intertwined fingers. You can't see his face and that alone unnerves you as the silence persists.

You hesitate to speak. "Dipper?"

His hands separate, palms placed flat on the keyboard top. Other than his arms moving, nothing else does. The anxiety is slowly pressing into your chest as you patiently wait for his next action or word. You're beginning to think you should run.

"Y'know," he starts. His voice sounds different, higher pitched, and echoing slightly. "The human mind is such a delicate thing...so fragile and easy to manipulate." He stands then but still doesn't face you. When he turns towards you slowly, his features backlit by the sinister green glow of the monitor, his movements are casual, and he leans back against the desktop with his arms crossed. You can see his eyes. They're different from the chocolate chip orbs that you saw before. Now his pupils consume the entirety of his irises, and it seems as if they're slanted like cat eyes. They almost glow yellow. They nearly remind you of...

He laughs suddenly, wobbily stalking towards you as he shakes his head mockingly. His voice morphs as he continues to make the maniacal sound. It becomes high and pitchy, echoing a shrill, unsettling quality in the sinister cackle that makes your stomach drop. "I mean, look at you! Look at how easy it was to lead you to this moment. You didn't even fight it!" Your hair stands on end at his words and your limbs tremble as you're reminded that you were worried that this would happen. Is it possible to tell yourself 'told you so'? "You just followed me through the woods. I didn't even have to trick you into taking my hand, you curious little thing!" You flinch as Dipper cages you between him and the seat, his face inches from yours as his eyes study you.

"What are you talking about?" You squeak out, your voice finally working once again. Now that he's so close, you know exactly where you've seen such odd eyes before. The statue in the woods.

"Ahh, there it is," he giggles. A hand comes up and grips your chin between his thumb and index. He shakes your head from side to side while pouting at you derisively. "Figure it out?"

"What—how?"

"Hmm, maybe not," he chuckles. He taps a finger into your temple slowly, but the gentle touch feels far more frightening to you, as if it's the calm right before the raging storm. "And here I thought you were a smart girl." His voice has morphed once again, two voices bleeding into one. You hear Dipper's voice being overtaken by that discordant tone that he laughed at you with. His eyes drag down your body then, a darkness seeming to seep into those unsettling ellipse pupils. "It's always odd to look through two eyes. Everything seems so much more...third dimensional. Much more graphic. For instance," his hand cups your throat, the touch so gentle and soft, but there was an obvious threat there, "if I squeeze, I'd be able to see your skin turn red and maybe even blue if I cut off your air for long enough." He absently chuckles, as if lost in the image of what he's imagining. He leans in closer, running his nose along your jaw. "I'd be able to see your veins popping out. Maybe I'd feel your windpipe crushing too." His eyes drift up to yours, as if only now remembering that you're there. He offers a smile that could possibly resemble something sweet, but it only turned your stomach. "Don't worry, Sunshine," he whispers, gently pecking your cheek, "that's not what I want."

"What do you want then?" you ask, your voice surprisingly harsh despite how your insides knot up and your throat feels as if it's closing up.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he pulls his gaze away from your temptingly delicate throat.

"Just saying hi to an old friend," he answers, releasing his hold on your neck and placing his hands on either side of your head. As he leans into you it's as if you're witnessing a real-life glitch as the man in front of you shifts from Dipper to a lanky, tan blonde. Wild locks peek out from a tiny top hat atop his head and sweep over his bangs that cover one of his eyes. He'd look like a normal person if he weren't wearing such a predatory grin that reminds you more of a monster instead of a man, the ethereal yellow glow that radiates off his skin, or the cracks at the edges of his face with a galaxy peeking through the unnatural jagged breaks of flesh. But just as quickly as the image of the new man appeared, it was replaced by Dipper once again. He wiggles his fingers in a small wave. "Isn't that right, Pine Tree?" He stares into your eyes but it's as if he's looking through you, instead. He's not talking to you.

Suddenly, his fingers clamp over the nape of your neck, the painful pressure causing your muscles to tense and you're at his mercy. He uses this to throw you towards the dusty couch along the wall. Now that you're out of his immediate vicinity you try to get up and run but he moves like lightning and he's over you in an instant.

"Sorry, Sunshine," he says as he swings a leg over yours, locking your body in place as it's trapped between his thighs. The image of his body continuously glitches from Dipper to the person you saw before. Your arms thrash as you squirm and kick and try to get away, but he pays no mind to your struggle, capturing your wrists easily in his grasp. His fingers dig into your skin as he grips your jaw painfully. "It's nothing personal. Well, not towards you, at least." He laughs as if he said something so funny, an inside joke only for him. "Actually, I should be thanking you. You freed me, your pretty little mind is going to be my new home. And in light of that, I think you deserve a little treat, huh?" Despite your struggle, the man easily held you down with a hand wrapped around your wrists. His other hand smooths down your sides, goosebumps raising in the wake of his touch. His fingers dig into your cheeks as he presses an open-mouthed kiss against your lips, his tongue slipping in and scavenging your mouth. And the taste of his tongue rubbing against yours is…intoxicating.

It’s like the sweetest of ambrosia seeping into your tastebuds. You feel like you should be fighting more, struggling harder against the man's advances. You feel the way your veins fill with ice at the realization of what he is planning to do. But your mind feels foggy, your movements sluggish and out of your control; the same way you felt while walking in the woods. Your mind is only consumed by the taste of his lips and how it fills your every being. You need more. Your skin feels hot, burning but in the best ways possible. The feeling slowly begins to thaw the ice in your bloodstream as his touch lights your nerves. You vaguely hear the light chuckle in his voice as your lids flutter halfway and you focus on the featherlike trail his fingertips left over your skin.

You open your mouth, but no words leave your lips, and that shrill laugh rings out again.

"See?" he coos, a mixture of Dipper and the other high-pitched voice resonating through the small room. "So easy." His hand releases your wrists, but your limbs stay in place, unmoving even with their newfound freedom. His thumbs knead into your sides as they slip underneath your shirt, slowly rolling the fabric up your body. "Bet Pinetree is squirming in his seat right now. Better give him a show, huh, Sunshine?" Despite every alarm bell in the back of your mind going off, you find yourself agreeing with the strange entity, knowing nothing but the need for more, more, more. His lips curl up into a sinister smirk as he watches the confusion etch into your brows but you do nothing to stop him.

His shirt is ripped over his head in an instant, displaying Dipper’s pale skin and the curly brown hair of his happy trail before his image shift into a mirage of the other man. Golden brick-like tattoo lines and crack of glowing galaxies along his body mar the perfectly tan skin of the unfamiliar man. And the glitches stop, you notice. He is no longer Dipper. He is only the fabricated personified image of the statue in the woods.

Dark fingers the look like they were dipped in ink and absorbed up to his elbows drag over your frame, cutting away each scrap of clothing covering your body. They fall away so smoothly, as if they were merely delicates drapes just waiting for a breeze to brush them away in a gentle sigh. You want to move your hands and cover yourself but you can’t bring your limbs to listen. They belong to him now. All of you belongs to him now. And the smirk on his face tells you he knows that.

"Wish I had a real body to truly enjoy this, y'know?" He murmurs, gaze hungrily roving over you. He unhurriedly brings himself to lay on the couch chest down between your legs, the dark tendrils of his hands curling below your hips as his head nuzzles into the side of one of your plush thighs. His hair is soft, you notice. Softer than any earthly object. And you are choosing to focus all of your attention on that fact rather than the hungrily look he gives you. "But taste is more of a mental construct, isn’t it? I don’t need a real tongue to thoroughly enjoy a meal." It’s the only warning you receive before a devilish tongue is ravishing your inner walls. Despite his initial nonchalance, he moves quickly to pick you apart with only one muscle. Your eyes flutter shut at the pleasure but just as q uickly, a fist closes around your throat and your eyelids fly open once again. "Eyes on me." And you listen, keeping your eyes on the golden iris trained in you as your jaw drops open in a silent scream while he brings you to completion under his skilled tongue. You don’t make a sound until his hand claps down in your thigh, signaling the need for an audible response to your climax. You oblige, letting a high-pitched moan escape your lips. He looks satisfied enough as he comes off of you with a wolffish grin.

You keep your eyes trained on him as he leans over you once again, as if you are incapable of closing them again. You’re not entirely sure if that inability is because of your own will or because of his command. Either way, you watch as the man hovers over you, causing you to jerk when his cock surprisingly taps your sensitive entrance. You look down then, watching the angry red, mushroom head sliding between your folds. Your body seems conflicted, trying both to get away from the friction and seeking to catch the bulbous tip on your weeping opening. You realize that he’s teasing you, however. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that he won’t do anything until you beg for it. He wants you to beg for it.

You listen to his sinister chuckle, the maddening sound bouncing inside your head…or are you both already inside your head…?

"Oh, you figured it out, Sunshine!" He chuckles in that echoing voice of his. "Now you know what I want, so do it." Your mouth opens without your permission but no words escape. "Oh, c’mon, Sunshine. I know you want it too��just give in."

"Please," the word is barely audible as it escapes your lips, but he hears it, perking up at the sound.

"Please what?"

"Please…please fuck me!" You can’t keep the whine out of your voice as you finally plead for what this has all been building up to. You don’t know this man—Creature? Ethereal being?—or what kind of spell he put on you. All you know is that you need it. Everything will be better once you feel his cock pummeling in and out of you. And that’s exactly what he does, plunging into you the second the last syllable leaves your lips.

The stretch is painful and you aren’t sure if the scream you release is because of the pain of his dick tearing through you or the pleasurable drag you feel on your inner walls. It’s like you want to scream, cry, push him out, but you can’t. You can only take it, take it, take it, just as he orders you to while he snaps his hips into you. You realize that you are crying, but again, you have no idea if the tears are from the wonderful stimulation or the searing shame of this moment. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if Dipper knows. You ask yourself what he thinks of you in this moment and if you even care when you’re being speared on a fat cock.

Again that demented laughter rings in your ears, reminding you of the demon you’ve officially sold your soul to that’s treating your body like his personal property. Maybe that’s his now too, along with your sanity. You can’t seem to say much besides moans and whines and pleas for something you’re not sure you want.

"Oh, I really wish you could see her face right now, Pinetree," he giggles, as if talking to himself. "You’d fucking love it. I know I do." He chuckles then, like he made an inside joke before his hand curls around your throat and makes sure your eyes are on him solely. And he speaks but not to you, to something he’s looking at through you. "But I really wish I could see your face right now. You getting off on this, Little Dipper? I bet you are. Freaks like you and me, we gotta enjoy these little moments when we get them." His grip tightens on your throat then and the panic sets in again. Whatever it was that lulled you into a false state of complacency is gone. You feel the oxygen struggling to fill your lungs as his hips snap faster in and out of you, his lanky fingers bullying your button as you’re starting to swim in asphyxiation.

There’s a twinkle in his eye that was never there before as he watches you struggle. You realize that his sadistic demon is getting off more on torturing you than he has this entire time. The smile that spreads across his face is one you know will haunt your very being. And you hate yourself as his digits circling your clit brings you to release just as your vision blackens at the edges. You barely register the warmth flooding your insides as you’re finally allowed to close your eyes.

You wake again with a start, your body shooting up in the chair again, the odd helmet once again gracing your crown. Your eyes land on Dipper whose back is turned to you and you wander if the nightmare is only restarting again. But when he turns around, you see the dark dusting of color on his cheeks and know that this isn’t the demon you just dealt with. But if the boner in his jeans is anything to go by, you do know that he watched the whole thing.

Dipper clears his throat, awkwardly shifting as he faces you, his hands fruitlessly hovering over his crotch and his eyes refusing to meet yours. "Umm," he squeaks. "I think we need to talk."

[nebulogia]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀spring love 日44 ❤︎

[clairdelunelove]

sunset boulevard

itadori yuuji x f!reader

genre: fluff! (blind date! one shot)

warnings: none, 2.6k words

synopsis: you don't do blind dates; too much risk with little reward. but your friends assure you that this time it'll be different. and when the epitome of 'the boy next door' starts talking to you at the amusement park– you think they're right.

a.n. haha, not my brainrot about itadori being so bad that I had to write this. and nu, I've never been on a blind date before but imma write about it :3

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you created it on a whim. encouraged by your friends’ prodding and teasing about your love life- or lack thereof- so your fingers clicked on the newly downloaded app. meant to be just for fun. a silly topic for your girls’ night. “just for the plot,” you told them with a knowing shake of your head when they all impishly giggled. a generic dating app where most people on there had an ulterior motive and would do anything to achieve it. but you weren’t willing to accept that, promising yourself to keep boundaries. the limit that you’re willing to bargain on is a public date. emphasis on the ‘public’ part because your friends are already scheming. whispers about a netflix and chill type of date. but you sign into the app, choosing a couple pictures of yourself that are adequate enough to catch some attention, and write a creative bio. it’s impressionable. modest. wholesome. definitely not the route that your friends desired for you to engage in. “done,” you state matter-of-factly. a beat of silence passes. the realization that you’re actually agreeing to this sets in. much to your chagrin, your friends end up snatching your phone from your hands and adding their own spin to your profile. editing your pictures to the ones that they have on their phones. “we’ll set you up with someone good for you,” your friend reassures with a good-natured pat on your back. “real good,” your other friend slyly drawls and bursts out laughing with the others. you don’t know whether your stomach twists from nervousness or anticipation from their ruse. 

-

ten minutes until your date is deemed late. twisting your wrist, you glance at your watch again just to confirm your suspicion and huff. you’d arrived half an hour earlier than the time your friends texted you. your motto was that it was better to be incredibly early than late, especially since you had no idea what your date looked like. but the fear of being deserted causes you to shift on your feet as you sidestep out of the way for a group of teenagers to pass. wouldn’t be the first time you’d get stood up. glancing upward, you double-check that you’re standing underneath the carnival’s main attraction– the ferris wheel. its bright, illuminated colors jump out at you, almost mockingly, as if to highlight the gloomy frown plastered on your face.

“waiting for someone too?”

the voice snaps you out of your daze and you’re left peering up at the person that seemingly appeared out of thin air. he’s attractive– the kind of appeal that leaves you breathless from his inquisitive eyes and easy grin. a slender hand is carded in his hair as he patiently awaits for your response.

“yeah,” you croak before hastily clearing your throat, “I am.”

it shocks you that he’s even conversing with you. clad in a yellow hoodie and denim jeans, he’s the epitome of 'the boy next door.' could probably win the role for starring in the newest coming of age movie that’s bound to gain revenue just from his visage. he’s adorned in vibrant colors that contrast your pastel-toned clothes and you self-consciously pull at your shirt. 

“wanna check out that game right there? promise it’ll be quick!” 

from the corner of your eye, you recognize that he’s angled towards you as the question leaves his lips. gosh, is he talking to you? almost like he’s inviting you to spend some time with him in the meantime.

dumbfounded, your mouth drops open as you point to yourself, “me? you’re talking to me?” 

“of course!” he replies enthusiastically like it’s second nature for him to hang out with strangers, “might as well take advantage of the time, right?” 

he adjusts his backpack by slinging the dark strap over his shoulder and turns to walk in the direction of the nearby carnival booths that have games lined up for customers. you note that he attempts to blend in with the crowd but his upbeat attitude is too perceivable. has a glimmer in his eyes that attracts the ogling of bystanders. luminescent signs light up the path to the section dedicated to the midway. wooden signs promising ‘fun’ and ‘a winner every time’ written in bubbly font. it’s enticing. it’s fun– an experience that you’ve lacked recently. and before you can argue that you’re waiting for someone, the blushy haired male ushers you to follow with a wave of his hand. 

“c’mon!” 

you’re lightly jogging after him, short strides compared to his long ones, and manage to catch up to him with an exasperated breath. he’s fit; not the type where his physique screams ‘gym rat’ but rather that he’s the epitome of good health.

catching sight of you beside him, he gleefully chuckles, “knew you’d be up for some fun! I’m–”

he breaks off to gawk at a booth that grabs his attention and instantly treads through the crowd to line up for it. the game has the typical objective of knocking over a pyramid of milk bottles. you stare at it expectantly, knowing that this midway game is usually fixed; bottles stacked on the bottom are filled with sand or lead that weigh in a couple extra pounds and the given ball is unusually light. he’s buzzing with excitement, though. hastily patting his pocket, he pulls out his wallet and whips out enough money to buy a turn. 

“I’m itadori yuuji, by the way,” he finally continues his belated introduction while pushing the money into the midway worker’s hands. 

“yuuji,” you repeat and savor the name on your lips, “these games are usually rigged, ya know.” 

"are they?”

he doesn’t seem bothered by the carnival’s dirty tactic, however. merely chirps a word of gratitude when the worker tosses him the singular ball and deftly explains the rules of the game. the customary one chance to knock over all three milk bottles and you knowingly press your lips together. 

yet, your eyes comically widen as he begins to strip his hoodie off and hands it to you, “can you hold this for a second? thanks!” 

straight away, the movement coaxes onlookers to turn their attention to the both of you. steely gazes focused on the cuts of muscle on yuuji’s arm as he rolled his shoulder to stretch. you’re no exception. in fact, you take back what you earlier assumed about his physique. baffled by how his baggy clothes managed to cover his impressive build, you hurriedly turn your chin to hide the warmth that spreads across your cheeks and neatly tuck his hoodie under your arm. his physique is essentially out of a magazine— broad, beefy shoulders that taper off into a small waist.

your lips move before you can stop them. “you got this!” 

an expression of shock paints his face due to your encouragement before he flashes you a lopsided grin; boyish before he concentrates. there’s a gleam in his eyes as he retracts his arm like he’s winding up to pitch in a baseball game. then, he lobs— no, hurls— it straight at the tower of milk bottles. the ball whizzes through the air and the targets come crashing down from the sheer power of his throw. it’s startling. dazed, you’re left wondering if the stranger you just met is secretly superhuman. 

“we have a winner!” the midway worker roars to the enthusiastic crowd.

“yes!” 

yuuji pumps his fist in the air as the worker and a couple people in the crowd come to congratulate him. he’s all smiles now. there’s a big, toothy grin plastered on his face when the worker hands him his prize; a large teddy bear that has a red bow on its chest and the sheer size of it has him grasping onto it with both hands. 

“look!” he exclaims and gently shakes the stuffed toy in his grasp, “do you like it?” 

you can’t help but giggle at the exhilaration behind his gaze, “it’s cute!”

he’s clearly pleased by your reaction, swiping a finger over his nose before bursting out into laughter and your heart fills. his habits are so endearing and wholesome that it’s heartwarming. abruptly, the teddy bear is pushed into your chest and yuuji's knuckles brush against yours from the maneuver. the stuffed bear’s big, beady eyes stare at you as yuuji deliberately turns to shrug on his hoodie again. 

“it’s for you!” 

his confession is a little muffled as he extends his arms through his sleeves and it occurs to you that he’s whirled away from you for a reason. a dust of pink washes over his cheeks and he runs a sheepish hand through his tousled hair. 

“I won it for you,” he reiterates, almost bashful, “I mean, you did come and spend some time with me when you were probably busy but–” 

it’s a stark contrast from the confident and affable guise that he’s shown you. a peek into his personality that you’ve yet to appreciate. he kicks at a stray pebble on the pavement while his hands are shoved into his pockets. the way his blushy hair is a similar shade to the tips of his ears causes you to inwardly melt.

your thoughts go haywire but a demure smile stretches across your glossy lips, “thank you, yuuji. I love it.” 

he clears his throat, murmurs a comment about how it’s not a huge deal, and faces you. yuuji blinks— once, twice, and his gaze softens. then, he utters a compliment that goes straight to your heart. 

“you look cute like that.” 

it’s straightforward, candid but you still ask, “like what?”

“happy.” 

you let him tug you to the next midway booth. 

-

“aw, come on!” 

yuuji’s droning is followed by the teasing nudge he gives you. the touch draws out a yelp from you and the sound immediately reduces him into a laughing fit. for now, the both of you agreed to do a little sightseeing before the amusement park closed for the day. it was already evening; the sky was a cascade of apricot and vermilion. a beautiful vision to match the day. spending time with yuuji was like being in a trance. time seemed to slip quicker when he was with you. 

naturally, your fingers reach to pinch his cheek due to his antics. 

“ow!” he cries and childishly rubs at the inflicted area, “not my fault I’m good at every game here.” 

although the blushy haired male is telling the truth, you can’t help but pout at his words because yes– he was basically a professional at every game in the midway. you’ve tried your hand at a couple booths. yuuji insisted on paying for anything you touched and fondly watched. however, he was soon tagged in whenever you were unsuccessful and he managed to turn the game’s odds around. evident in the countless plushies that’s tucked in his strong arms. all of them were for you, of course. he just plucked them out of your grasp when you briefly mentioned how your arms were getting tired from carrying them around. 

“you’re in denial!” he singsongs and grins wider when he hears you huff in exasperation. 

“I am not in denial!” 

“you are!” 

“well, you’ve spent a lot on these games,” you pause to lower your voice, “and on me. you haven’t even known me for that long.” 

unsurprisingly, he recognizes the concern laced on your words and stops walking. his brows furrowed. the teasing grin is wiped from his face and is replaced with a tender gaze. forever wise and dependable. he leans down, hooks a finger under your chin, and murmurs his reasoning. 

“honestly,” his voice trails off in remembrance, “I barely have any time to do fun stuff like this so I'm taking advantage of it.” 

the sentiment is supposed to be understandable, one that many individuals’ share in life. yet, you can’t help but assume that his words weigh heavier than the average person’s. it stabs at your heart to know that such a kind soul is no stranger to heartache.

“besides,” he interrupts your train of thought and gleefully grins, “I get to win a pretty girl some prizes. sounds like a win to me.”  

with an affectionate compliment, yuuji cleverly brings back the light-hearted mood from earlier. he’s skilled at this– redirecting your focus through an optimistic point of view. one of his traits that you’re smitten with. fondly patting your head, he takes a step back and rises to his full height. he’s still gauging your expression, though. his eyes are like liquid honey from this proximity and you’re in awe. truth be told, you might never meet another person quite like him.

you can’t help but poke fun, “are you saying that you usually pick up girls at the amusement park, yuuji?” 

“me? nah,” then he murmurs, a tinge of guilt coating his words, “I was actually supposed to go on a blind date here.”

the remark leaves his lips in a single, rushed breath like it’s been bothering him the entire time. he’s quiet. his arms tighten around the stuffed animals in his grasp and he tilts his head in contemplation. he’s internally battling himself. why did he have to open his mouth? is he ruining this and digging his own grave? frown deepening, he vaguely wonders if he should’ve brought it up in the first place. perhaps you would think of him differently and then– 

from this angle you get a glimpse of his throat bobbing before he quickly adds, “but I liked this better.” 

what the blushy haired male isn’t expecting, though, is how your face breaks into astonishment, “wait. a blind date? I’m supposed to be on a blind date too!” 

you couldn’t believe your luck.

“you’re (y/n)?” 

willingly nodding at his inquiry, yuuji sputters in disbelief and shifts the prizes under one arm so he can put a hand on your shoulder, “this is crazy! like, crazy in a good way but still– crazy! who would’ve thought, right?” 

long arms blindly reaching for you, he wraps you into a hug that has your face squished into the hard expanse of his chest. he’s laughing wildly– a genuine sound that brings an emotion that knocks the wind out of you because he’s truly thrilled that you are his blind date. your fingers grip the back of his hoodie, allowing yourself to be engulfed in his warmth. 

“and here I was dreading the blind date that kugisaki and fushiguro set up for me,” he thoughtlessly mumbles in your hair while retelling his own version of how his friends forced encouraged him to go.

pulling away, albeit unhurriedly, the both of you exchanged phone numbers and promises of keeping in touch were whispered into the evening air. 

“you can text me whenever you want,” yuuji tucks his phone back into his pocket while sheepishly grinning, “even if you don’t have a reason to.” 

cheekily texting him a greeting, for the fun of it, you grin when his phone dings at the notification, “I will.” 

puffs of warm air swirl and intermingle into one. his eyes twinkled in the streetlights’ rays of light. it was romantic– sickeningly so that you wondered if you were dreaming.

-

yuuji ended up lending you his hoodie, chuckling when the bright, oversized garment swaddled you. he even walked you back to your place and waited in the chill until he heard the door’s lock click into place. there’s a bounce in your step when you waltz into your bedroom. 

with all the stuffed animals neatly lined up on your bed, you instantly snap a picture of you and yuuji’s winnings. your fingers swiftly dropped the photo in your friends’ group chat before sending it to yuuji. and your lips curl into a smile when his text bubbles immediately appear on the screen. memorabilia of your first– successful– blind date with someone that was too good to be true. 

[sakrafka]

I love your art so much. It feels so full and vibrant, alive if that makes sense :)

I was wondering if you sell tattoo tickets or would be open to tattoo commissions?

I sell tattoo tickets in my online shop yes, feel free to check it out (you can find all my links in my bio)! I don't take tattoo comms currently because I have too much work, but sometimes I make one-time-claim pre-made designs (it means only one person can buy them)!

[tylermileslockett]

HEPHAESTUS

  “Sing, clear-voiced Muse, of Hephaestus famed for inventions. With bright-eyed Athena he taught men glorious crafts throughout the world, —men who before used to dwell in caves in the mountains like wild beasts. But now that they have learned crafts through Hephaestus the famed worker, easily they live a peaceful life in their own houses the whole year round.”  (-Homeric Hymn, translated by H.G. Evelyn white)

HEPHAESTUS, (huh-FAY-stus) is the God of weapon smithing, craftsmanship, and fire. Born with a lame leg, and described as ugly, he presents a much humbler appearance than his more majestic siblings. But he shines in the ingenuity department, crafting marvelous weapons, tools, and traps with his sacred objects; his golden hammer and tongs. I took an artist’s liberty; portraying him with vibrant red hair and beard to reflect his connection with fire, while his skin is pale purple from long hours within his cave forge.

The many golden, forged objects within the image appear in a variety of myths. Let’s begin with the item he hammers; the armor of Achilles. In the Iliad, Achilles pleads with his Nereid mother, Thetis, for new armor. We can see her in the pool in the lower right, waiting for the armor as she sits upon a hippocampusi.  Looking to the background, the throne was made for Hera as a trick, trapping her in the seat. The female figure above is Pandora, the first woman, made upon Zeus’ orders. Beside her are the winged helmet and sandals of Hermes. Above is the chariot of apollo. And at the very top is the golden net which trapped Hephaestus’ wife, Aphrodite, in bed with her elicit lover, Ares. 

Although Hephaestus doesn’t terrorize mortals like some of his more vengeful siblings, one scandalous myth has him chasing Athena in lust, and ejaculating on her thigh when the rape attempt fails. When Athena wipes the seed onto the earth, a son, Erichthonious, is born and later becomes an early king of Athens.

Want to own my Illustrated Greek myth book jam packed with over 130 illustrations like this? Support my book kickstarter "Lockett Illustrated: Greek Gods and Heroes" coming in early 2024. check my bio LINKTREE