Finally I Finished Painting The Figure...yaaay...it Took Me A Couple Of Days To Paint But It Was Difficult

Evidence in the Epistolary

read on ao3 Rating: Teen & Up Type: Multi-chapter Chapter: Quantumly Yours (1/9) Tags: Ford Pines/Reader; Strangers to Penpals; Strangers to Disgruntled Peers; Strangers to Vague Respect to Oh-No-They're-Hot; Gender Neutral Reader; No pronouns used (as any accurate descriptor); Inaccurate Technology for Sake of Plot; Additional Tags to be Added Summary: "The idea of thirty years' worth of mail is bothersome, and now it just feels like an overcast reminder of just how many bridges he has burned. But it feels obtusely preemptive to just be rid of them all on the spot. Maybe there are genuine pieces of correspondence in there. Peers. Professors. Professionals. People who wanted to engage in dialogue with him -- surely not all of them would be so egregiously casual in tone as the initial one. When he is alone again, Ford reaches down, pulls the letter from the bin, and rereads it." While taking a break, you ship yourself up to Gravity Falls for a few months, definitely for the fresh air and definitely not to coincidentally cross paths with your unintended penpal of the past few months. The universe grants your wish: you do meet him. Under perhaps the worst set of circumstances.

glad you’re feeling better!

would you be comfortable sharing a sneak peek of the next chapter 👀

if not I totally understand please prioritize your well being!

Listen, I don't have a chapter sneak peak for you BUT..... because I'm making you all wait so long for this next chapter and I feel bad, I'm gonna give you a small snack.

This is an unpublished thingy that I posted on a little discord server that I'm in and people liked it there so I figured you might enjoy it here. It is just a very short warm-up drabble that I did ages ago and never used again. It's a bit messy and stuff, but whatever. It's set during MtB but it isn't really anything to do with the series. Just a little snippet of life within it:

I Got It Bad (and that ain't good) Rating: NSFW (only slightly) Type: Drabble Tags: Kissing, implied sexual stuff. Very, very tiny inference to muses but meant in no certain way. No pronouns/body described. Word count: 1233

When he's feeling contemplative, Ford likes to play the piano.

He is, like so many other things he turns his attention to, wonderful at it. 

Ford likes jazz. He pretends he's a classical purist but you've found the record sleeves on the shelves near his desk, you’ve done a little snooping, and you know they rarely correspond to the vinyl inside. They're just for show. He plays it mainly in the evenings when he's treating himself to a glass of scotch; he'll listen to a particular artist (this week it's been an awful lot of Duke Ellington) and then recreate it on his own instrument. 

He'll start small. Just a slow, leisurely tinkling of the ivories as he finds his rhythm, and then he'll settle into his groove and flex yet another of his many skills as you listen from another room while you tidy up.

If you're especially lucky, he'll ask you to join him and give him feedback on it. 

He doesn't care about the feedback, of course, because he knows he's good and so does everyone else, and you're sure he's just using it as an opportunity to show off but you never mind. 

He has, in typical Ford fashion, always refuted your accusation: “I assure you, I certainly am not,” he'd said one evening with a knowing smile, as you'd watched from your seat beside him. “I merely know that you like jazz and I play because you listen,” and you'd felt such an intensely affectionate warmth bloom in your chest that you'd dropped the point immediately.

(And when he had added on a quiet: “Plus, I like the way you look at me when I do it,” and you'd made him hit a bum note when you’d leant up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then, well, who can blame you?) 

Your favourite thing to do, beyond simply enjoying the melodies, is to watch his hands and fingers as he works. 

He'd been a little apprehensive at first, once he had noticed, but you had been quick to reassure him that your interest was appreciative, if perhaps salacious, and not even close to judgemental. 

“Would you be uncomfortable if I took a video?” You ask one dark winter's evening, leaning against the piano’s top while you observe him. “Just for myself, I mean.” 

“Whatever for?” Ford responds without missing a beat of his metronome. 

He's going away soon. He and Stan set sail in two days time and it’s a long trip this time, which means for four months, four long, agonising months, you’ll be without him. It’s almost too much to bear and your heart feels like lead at the thought. 

“Because I’m going to miss you and I’d like to have something to remind me of you when I feel like shit,” you say. 

The corner of Ford’s mouth curls upward a fraction and he spares you a thinly veiled, heated glance, his cheeks turning pink. “I thought our plan was to give you plenty of reminders the night before….?” 

Your stomach flutters. 

“I’d like more than bruises, if you wouldn’t mind,” you say, biting down on a smile. 

Ford laughs under his breath and after a moment, says: “And it’s just for you? The video?” 

“Of course,” you reassure him. “I don’t have to, I just…. Your hands are my favourite part of you and I think about them, often.” 

Too often, some might say. 

Ford laughs again, a little louder this time. “Not my dashing good looks?” he teases. “Or my dazzling personality? You wound me, my dear.” 

You grin. “All of the above,” you say with a shrug. “But especially your hands.” 

“Is that so?” Ford says, taking one hand from the keys to pat the empty space beside him. “And what, pray tell, do you think about them?” 

You go where he asks, taking up a seat at his side obediently. “Lots of things.” 

“Such as….?” 

He’s fishing for compliments, you both know it, but does sound genuinely curious, too. 

“I think they’re the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen,” you say, giving him exactly what he wants. “And I think about how they fit in mine. I think about how they feel, how your thumb rubs over my knuckles when we hold hands and how your little finger does the same on the sides, you know, just because you can do that….”

“Anything else?” Ford asks, voice warm. 

You smile, eyes transfixed on the way his fingers tick across the ivory. “And…. I like to think about how you hold my thighs when you have your head between them. The way you hold onto my hips. How your fingers taste when you put them in my mouth.” 

Ford makes a soft sound, somewhere between a contented sigh and an aroused groan, and his hands falter momentarily before he restarts his playing. 

“Is that so?” he says, hoarse. 

“Mm,” you hum absentmindedly. Your head is full of those same thoughts right now, your mind’s eye blurred with the memories of Ford’s fingers climbing underneath your jeans and inching past your underwear. Of touching you so intimately that you have to press your thighs together slightly to sate the longing. 

Ford catches it. 

“You’re thinking about it right now,” he mutters, and his tone holds no question.

He’s stopped playing. His hands are frozen over the keys. 

“Aren’t you?” you answer, eyes still on them. 

Ford exhales slowly through his nose, shaky,  restrained. “I’m always thinking of you,” he says simply. 

You tear your eyes away to look up at him, only to find that his gaze is already on you. 

Ford’s eyes are molten, half-lidded and hot, and they flick down to your mouth and back up to your own. 

“You’re terrible,” he says, in such a way that it’s obvious he means it in the most complimentary context possible. “A terrible, terrible influence on an old man like me.” 

A smirk creeps onto your face. It’s always satisfying to see the effect you have on him. “I can leave, if you’d like me to. I have plenty to do and I-!” 

Ford pushes the stool back with one leg, your combined weights little more than a minor  inconvenience to him, and he hauls you into his lap before you can even finish the thought. 

You laugh, loud and bright, and fling your arms around his neck to hold on tightly to him and avoid sending you both to the floor in a heap. “Or not,” you concede. 

“Never,” agrees Ford, and then he’s kissing you. 

It’s slow and tender and white hot as always. 

You can feel his arousal press between your legs and it’s enough to make you smile against his mouth. 

“What a dirty old man you’ve become,” you say dramatically, nudging your nose against his. 

“I'm only what my muse makes of me,” Ford says raggedly. “And you are an awfully seductive force, you know….” 

“So I've been told,” you smile, one hand wandering below to palm him gently through his slacks. 

Ford groans, low and deep, and tilts his head back. “I'll make a deal with you,” he says quietly. “I swore off them a long time ago but just for you, just this once: if you keep doing that, I'll let you take footage of any fucking thing you like….” 

You grin. 

“Deal.” 

Sketch

I'm obsessed with the idea how their hands can interact with each other

CURSE THE WORLD,

CURSE THIS TOWN,

CURSE THE FATE THAT BROUGHT ME HERE!

w h a t   h a v e   I   d o n e   ?

HII GUESS WHO JUST SPENT THE LAST HALF HOUR SOBBING BECAUSE I FINISHED WATCHING GRAVITY FALLS, AGAIN

Time to consume all Billgord and fan-made content I come across 👁👁👁👁

Me trying to explain my newest hyperfixation to my normal, neurotypical friends

Bill Cipher with no powers just means he should have 10 guns

Simple Bill vs Land Orca from TBOB

Nightmare Realm! Bill Cipher X Reader Headcanons

I don't see a lot of reader-insert writing for what Bill was like before the events of gravity falls. I think he'd be wandering the Nightmare realm for a long while, trying to understand how it works.

You remember the day you met Bill. You two are peas in a pod, joined at the hip since then, thick as thieves- sometimes literally! It's rough out here, in the Nightmare Realm.

It was a slow development, eons of keeping each other company and one day, his attitude towards you changed. It happens after you express a desire to leave the realm, to find broader skies and diverse dimensions. He's right there with you, already thinking of a ticket out of here!

You sometimes catch the way his eyes widen with something close to love, yet closer to obsession when he sees you fight your way out of a sticky situation. It was an intensity that would make the devil blush.

He'll give ya anything you want. A puppy? Sure! He'll make it rain puppies. They'll have an extra set of eyes or limbs, but that's close enough right?

Flowers? He actually paid attention this time and MADE you ones you like- plucked straight from the mindscape of the world's best florists. They're just as cute, fragile, and breakable as you! So what if they screamed and sprouted eyes?

Bill would never admit that he grows softer by the day with how you look at him, marvel at his powers and being with those wide, sparkling eyes of yours.

When you aren't looking, Bill makes sure to check on those flowers. With a snap of his fingers, he'd force life into them, making sure they never wilt.

In a world full of opportunistic and truly desperate dregs of what used to be people, he made sure to keep your light alive. The nightmare realm feared Bill, he'd keep you were safe.

He makes a ukulele from the hair of whoever wronged you- stringed intricately to it WHILE their streaming head is still attached to the instrument! It makes for interesting back-up vocals. He'd sing you a happy, whimsical little serenade he heard on Earth once. 

He's make sure to zip up the mouths of anyone who talked badly of you- literally! Sometimes you come across those random people around the nightmare realm, still unable to run their mouths.

He stopped a comet for you, just so you can cross the asteroid belt towards your favorite interdimexican joint. 

And if the line was long, he'd get rid of whoever's ahead of you with a snap- they'd turn into silly string or balloons. 

Of course, he'd turn them back to normal at your behest. He listens to you! Sometimes.

Bill is much more sappy than you give him credit for. He will deny it till his dying breath. It just looks… different than what mortals would call romance.

He painted the black canvas of the void with stars, comets, suns and moons for your amusement. He loves making them dance and spell out your name. Really extra, but Bill's all for big displays of affection!

He’ll poke fun at how dumb and easily amused you are, but if you see past his scathing banter, you'll see how his eye softens and gazes at you with an other-worldly fondness. Closer to obsession, really- but tom-ay-to, to-mah-to.

He'll never admit it, but he absolutely melts when you call him yours. Some other nicknames that would make him feel like putty would be Sweetheart, honey, light of my never-ending-all-consuming-void.

But of course, he won't say no if you started calling him by his REAL name. The one that would scramble your mind, melt your ears off your face, and vaporize you into nothing but atomic dust.

Just kidding. He won't tell you what it is. Depending on whether or not you're mortal, he'd never risk your well-being like that.

Much.

He will always praise you. For your ups and downs, for your wrongs and rights. He's right there with you, no matter what.

But, he'll get an extra kick out of seeing displays of power from you. Y'know, putting people in their place, defending him from opportunistic bounty hunters. Maybe burning a town or two in his honor, if you lack morals like that! That is H-O-T!

He loves you and his admiration burns. For Bill, love is something close to giving up your entire existence towards each other- in all forms, for all of time.

He will share pieces of himself with you, but give him an inch and he'll take a mile.

He's afraid of vulnerability. Love is a weakness, he's burned himself so many times with mortals and cosmic beings alike.

So, he'll expect you to give yourself fully to him... But he'll be hesitant to do the same. 

You and him against the world, forever and in death.

There are nights where he'll warp the nightmare realm into your own personal playground. 

He'll make music play out of nowhere, cheerful little tunes he heard in the mindscape of Earth's greatest artists. With a twinkle of his eye, he'll slip his hands over yours and guide you through steps. He teaches you new dances you've never seen before.

You'll dance the night away as he a chorus of screams and wearing flames surrounded you. Your very own, blue and warm spotlight shines over your perfect features. Bill can't possibly take his eyes off you! Whether or not your afraid or elated at the chaos he brewed, he absolutely ADORES you!

Love is acceptance and submission. No matter what, no matter the cost. So he won't understand why you disapprove of certain things he's done. He understands morality- but that's a meat-bag concept! You two are beyond that!

It would shock him to find you won't go with his Weirdmageddon idea.

His pranks turn harmful, well, even for you. Turning coffee to decaf was his worst idea before, but that quickly turned into making arsenic taste like blue raspberry so everyone in Gravity Falls wouldn't be able to tell the difference between that and Kewl-Aid.

Over time, his whimsical, funny little ideas turn into plans. Things that made you laugh out of the sheer absurdity of his ideas, becomes a twisted reality.

He expected you to be with him for all of eternity, no matter what.

So why? Why were you pulling away?

He just doesn't understand. Deep down, he does. But he refuses to acknowledge that.

The sweet gestures and love bombing come back tenfold. Until it becomes unbearable.

He nearly burns you in his attempt to show you a sun so bright and so powerful. He thought you'd love terrifying displays of power as much as he does. 

At some point, if he thinks you're pulling away, he'll try to cut you a deal.

He knows you from the inside out. He knows what makes you tick. What you need and want.

If you refuse him time and time again, he gets a little upset. But deep down, he likes the chase. He admires individuality, it is chaos and creative balanced- it makes you YOU. Not just some sad sack he had control over, in a world full of puppets.

Deep down, he doesn't want to take that individuality away from you by shackling you to his whims.

But Gods don't love the way mortal men do.

They consume and devour. Overpower everything until nothing is left and they can rebuild it all in their image. They do what they do best, cast dominion over everything they see and rule.

He whisks you away to the edge of the Nightmare realm, near a void no one comes back from. 

A pair of his slender black arms wrap around your waist tightly, almost suffocatingly. Another pair of them sprouts to lovingly cradle your neck and turn your gaze towards him. 

He holds you over the edge of this void, vast and endless. You drown in the twisted obsession building in his eye. He takes in your terrified, confused expression, and whispers promises of a future with him. Your form shakes, your feet swinging desperately for purchase.

"It's you and me against the world, I will never let you go."

All of this fear and hurt, just to prove his point. That you need him, and he needs you. If there was one thing Bill had been good at his entire existence, it was sowing fear deep into the minds of everyone he met.

It's up to you, whether or not you'll give in to that fear.

God, proof-reading this just makes me realize how in deep I am. Did you see the little secret notes between the lines? <3 Thanks for reading!

I’m just leaving this here… for the fandom to devour.

I got this idea at 3am.

No, I won't elaborate further