If I Were A Cryptid In Gravity Falls, I Would Fetishise The Concept Of Getting Vivisected By That Handsome

mindscape talks

Doodle page for my OC, Birch! Yet again I wrote a reader-insert fic that turned into an OC LMAO *wheezes*

They are a shapeshifter, but one of the plot points of my fic The Theraprist is that they make a Euclidean form for themselves 👀💜

Bill is LOCKED IN !!!

I can never leave Tumblr because after years of sporadic therapy utterly failed to even approach the core of my problem some random tumblr user was like “I processed my trauma by writing a 10,000 word work of filthy fanfic erotica” and I was like “fuck it I’ve tried everything else” and now I’m 17 chapters and 20,000 words deep into an unpublishable work of obscenity and after careful literary analysis with one of the Beloved Mutuals I have come to some Terrible Revelations about my childhood and may now continue the process of Healing. Where else am I supposed to get this kind of experience. Who does this. Why are we like this. I’m never leaving. I love y’all.

Well angry, well sitting, he needs to rest finally

Poetry [Stanford Pines x Reader]

Stanford Pines was poetry living in a mortal man's body. It was unfair.

His calloused fingers were often stained with ink, wrist resting under a thick red sleeve that often brushed against the surface of a weathered journal. If you squint, you'd see the yellowed fibers clinging to the cotton of his cuffs.

It's astounding how something as simple as his reading habits could undo you.

He sat cross legged on a worn armchair, book deftly resting over one six fingered hand. His other hand rested languidly on the arm rest, tapping a slow little tune on the wooden end of it. You wondered how warm his hands would be against your smaller ones.

Occasionally, he'd tug at a stray, greying strand of hair. But no matter how much he ran his fingers through his head, it would endearingly fall over his forehead. Waiting to be tamed.

His glasses fogged at the corners, sitting crooked over narrowed eyes.

Oh, his eyes.

Coffee freshly brewed, pure and aromatic.

The color of a leather bound journal, well loved and written to completion.

Honey, dripping and shining under the light of the sun. Why did he choose to sit next to a stained glass window like some- some picturesque figure? A perfect painting, unmoving as he read. His chest rose and fell gently, sometimes, a small mumble escaped him.

You can't do this.

You can't focus with this infuriatingly attractive man in your vicinity.

With a huff, you closed your spiral notebook. Shaking your head as your packed your things.

"Oh, do you need a break?", Ford asked, fixing those earthy brown eyes on you.

No, not really.

"Yes, it's about time for lunch, Ford." You sighed.

"Well, I'll join you then."

Your cheeks flush, and you turn so fast that you don't catch the way his face mirrored yours. You miss the way he gaped like a goldfish, stumbling his words as he tried to think of something to say to you. To keep you from leaving his space and to secure his place in your side.

But there was no need for that.

You'd let Stanford Pines sit at your table and talk your ear off about anything and everything. Despite the way you can't make eye contact without turning red.

He hopes that one day, you'd catch his gaze and see that your admiration was reflected in his.

Coffee and Conclusions [Stanford Pines x Reader] FLUFF

Tags: Fluff, Young!Stanford Pines, Pre-Portal incident, just Ford being a sleep deprived nerd

When you went to check on Ford, the laboratory down stairs was in a state of disarray- even more so than usual.

Papers filled with hurriedly scribbled scientific notations, equations, graphs, and triangles(?) Littered the floors. All sorts of machinery bits laid scattered from an unpturned basket of them. And Ford? He was paced around wildly, six fingers clutching a crumple stack of papers while mumbling to himself.

You called his name, and he stopped his pacing to shoot you a grin that could rival the sun in it's brilliance.

"Ah, Starling, there you are! What time is it? Did you get the parts I asked you to fetch for me?"

"I did, but, Stanford, what is all this?"

You strode closer to the chaos, the eye of the storm- Stanford Pines who gratefully took the box of parts you fetched from town.

"I am close to cracking the code- well, one of them. I can feel it! I'm drawing close to an astounding conclusion!"

"And probably a heart attack." You drawled, eying the empty cups of coffee stacked high on his work table.

"So long as it comes after the portal test run!" Ford joked.

You fix him a glare and he smiles abashedly.

"By next week, we should be able to initiate test runs and optimization checks for the portal!"

"Incredible," you whispered.

Your eyes drifted to the triangular structure that towered over the two of you. It was dim in the lab, but in less than a week, it would be lit up with otherworldly light, buzzing with energy- if what Ford was saying was true.

"This could be the answer to all our problems!" Ford beamed, fist balled up in the air triumpanthly.

A hand gently yet firmly snaked around your shoulders, you were pressed against Ford's chest. You're screaming internally as you caught the scent of fresh pine, coffee, and ink on him.

"That's great, but are you alright?" 

Now that you were closer to him, you noticed Ford's unruly appreance. His chocolate brown hair was tousled and sticking up in places, as if someone took a vacuum, tried- and failed- to tame it. There was a coffee stain on the untucked hem of his button-up, revealing a bit of the soft skin hiding underneath. There were even more ink stains on the cuffs of his sleeves. His eyes were blown wide with delight, a contrast to the dark shadows forming under them.

His smile was easy and wide as he looked at you, eagerly waiting for any sign of your approval. You swear you saw goddamn sparkles in his eyes just now.

Somehow, his haggard appearance made your heart quicken. Damn this fool for not taking care of himself and somehow manages to STILL be attractive!

"Oh noooo, you've drank to much coffee," you groaned, stepping back from him.

A part of you mourned the warmth of his body, but it was getting hard to think being that close to him. Besides, you needed to set him straight- he's running on fumes!

"Oh yes! Yes I have, but that's besides the point, my dear. I needed to chase a certain equation that's been puzzling me and Fidds for a while now. I simply can't sleep, not when the solution's at the tip of my tongue!"

His words were hurried, you barely registered them as the sound of his velvety smooth voice called you "My Dear".

Your cheeks flush and you sighed, running a hand through your warm face.

"Stanford Pines, you need to sleep, it's been two days!"

"Sleep? Perish the thought! I need at least 34 more hours, if we're being generous, to figure out a way to stabilize the anti-gravity compression cogs of the portal-"

Ford was about to launch into another rant when he ran into you with his pacing. He wasn't the most coordinated and self-aware whenever he was sleep deprived. So your face bumped his chest, making you stumble back.

"Oh! Sorry, starling, I am feeling... a little  indisposed right now."

The nickname made you melt. But that wouldn't do, you needed to put your foot down and make him rest.

You quirk a brow as Ford chuckled wearily, clearing his throat and stepping back. When he wasn't busy talking your ear off, you can see the lines of sleepiness painting his face.

And here it comes, the wave of exhaustion- the crash that often followed days and nights of drinking coffee like water. Ford yawned, a hand covered his mouth. You sighed, shaking your head fondly at your friend.

"Man, you were always like this. Even in college. Come up, you fool. Rest up, new ideas will come when you wake."

Without waiting for his usual protests, you grabbed your hand. It was always effective in silencing him. You grinned at him over your shoulder before dragging him up the stairs.

Stanford was always weak to when you held his hand- especially in college. It seems that trait survived years after graduation. Six fingers curled gently against your small hand as he finally surrendered to your nagging.

"I have jelly beans waiting for you upstairs, IF, you promise to eat something filling."

Ford beamed, the apples of his cheeks turning pink at your promise and touch.

the trauma compelled him to correct stanley's grammar

idk man but something about Stanley "taught himself extremely advance physics/math/probably many other things while running a relatively successful business" Pines and Stanford "is wanted in almost every dimension with a judicial system of some kind" Pines is sooo fucking funny to me

THIS IS SO TRAGICALLY BEAUTIFUL

Please can you write something with Bill? 🥺 I would really like him in your writing style

✮⋆˙ twinkle twinkle little star (Bill Cipher x reader)

author note: hii, so this is my first time writing Bill Cipher (if we’re not counting smut LOL), so if he feels a little OOC, I’m so sorry in advance :((

“You’ve got no idea how small you are. A little ant, crawling on the rim of a soda can, thinking the universe stops where the metal curves. But you’re lucky, babe. You’ve got me to show you the truth.”

You never should’ve made that deal and you knew it.  

You should've known better than to trust him.

“Love” wasn’t the word for it.

At first, it felt. . .  flattering. Who wouldn’t be seduced by the idea of being special in the eyes of something so vast, so incomprehensible? But Bill wasn’t the type to love, not in the way you understood it. 

He didn’t love you, not the way humans did. Bill Cipher didn’t do love. You were his curiosity, obsession, a bright, burning light in his endless void. 

He called you his little star, but very soon it turned into his pretty, breakable toy. And you hated how the words made your skin prickle, how his attention felt like sunlight filtered through glass, so beautiful and searing, but dangerous if you stayed too long.

He never asked you to love him. That would imply some sort of equality, wouldn’t it? Something mutual, balanced, tender. No, Bill Cipher wasn’t a man or a demon. . . or a whatever he was, who traded in such mortal trivialities. Love? What even was that, anyway? A chemical spill in the brain? A pathetic excuse for self-destruction? Hilarious!

Instead of your love, Bill demanded your existence. Every breath, every thought, every fleeting moment of fear or fury or fascination, it all belonged to him, as surely as the stars belonged to the sky. And wasn’t that the whole point? To take something so ordinary, so inconsequential and remake it in his image?

Bill didn’t love you. He consumed you. 

He didn’t care about your happiness or well-being, but he cared about your essence and your potential. 

The stars were his obsession, and now you were too.

When he first spoke to you about the them, he said, “you humans love to romanticize the heavens, don’t you? Gazing up with your sad little eyes, dreaming of escape, like you’re anything more than dust stuck in a whirlpool. But you, sweetheart, you could be a star if you wanted.” 

And it sounded too tempting.

***

With fear and trepidation, you realised that you would like him to appear more often in your life. You felt lonely and empty without that singular eye which was so damn alive in ways human ones could never be. When Bill Cipher looked at you it felt as if the fabric of the universe peeled back, and for the first time, someone truly saw you.

“You’re different,” he whispered once and his voice sounded like molten gold. “They’re all rats in a maze, but you’ve got potential. You could shine, dear.”  and you believed him.

Maybe that’s why, when he first tore the sky apart and dragged you into a void of glittering stars, you didn’t scream.

Because Bill doesn’t show you space, he shoves you into it. 

It was fucked up, all of it. 

The way he could snap his fingers and peel the world apart like wallpaper, exposing the writhing void beneath it. Bill doesn’t do anything halfway. One moment you’re standing on Earth, listening to him wax poetic about infinity; the next, you’re drowning in the universe itself. 

“Look what I can do. Look what I’ve seen. And now, you get to see it too!” Bill said excitedly meanwhile all you could do was only stare, slack-jawed, as galaxies spun like pinwheels with their light painting you in hues of silver and violet.  

Bill’s laugh cuts through the silence like static on a dying radio. “Beautiful, isn’t it, dear? A front-row seat to the cosmic symphony! And guess what? You’re the lucky guest of honor!”

“Fuck,” you whispered in awe, not even daring to blink.

Bill laughed at you again. “Exactly, baby! Fuck! That’s the kind of reaction I’m talking about! Do you get it now? While all these other ants were busy bumping into walls, I saw this. This!”

His eye spun toward you, unblinking, watching you from head to toe. He watched you both worshipful and utterly unhinged because for him you were part of those infinite constellations he adored, he watched you like you were the only thing that mattered in a universe of infinite distractions.

“You could be one too. A star.” Cipher spoke.

You didn’t ask what he meant back then, only laughed. “Stars burn out, Bill.”  

“Yeah, but they make one hell of a show first.” 

But how sad that stars didn’t just shine, they exploded.

***

It wasn’t all chaos and destruction, not at first. There were soft and tender nights, when the storm of his mind calmed just enough to let the starlight through.

Bill Cipher didn’t have lips to kiss, but he had power and he wielded it for you when he felt like it.

One of the clearest proofs of his power was that night by the lake.

You remember it, the night the moons danced just for you. 

Bill hated water, loathed its constraints, its rules, but he was levitating beside you anyway, watching as you waded deeper. You floated on your back, staring up at the night sky, feeling the silence, enjoying it. His eye gleamed in the darkness, lighting you up, taking you in like a masterpiece he didn’t know how to ruin just yet, but there was unusual softness in his voice when he snapped his fingers. 

And the moons, now two of them, impossibly large, swelled and glowed with light. And then the lake shimmered, the ripples reflected the radiance until it looked as though you were swimming through liquid silver, no. . . melted pearls in their beauty.

And it took your breath away.

“You like it?” he asked in a casual tone. “I can make it brighter, if you want. Or darker. Or gone.” 

And as if reading your mind, Bill snapped his fingers once more and the two moons shone even brighter.

“Better now, right? It’s for you, sweetie,” he said, leaning on his cane. “The moon, the stars. . . hell, the universe.”

You hated how beautiful it was. How much it felt like it was for you. But back then, you felt loved. Or at least, something close enough to it.  

***

Bill was everywhere. In your mind, in your shadow, in the air you breathed.

But love with Bill was never meant to be gentle, it meant to be a trap. A game played in his favor, in which you were destined to lose. It started small, quiet, too quiet to notice and react, his words cutting deeper, his charm was imbued with a poison. He didn’t just want you near; he wanted to own you, to reshape you in his image, to pull you apart until there was nothing left but the star he claimed to see in you.

He didn’t just want your attention, he demanded it, craved it with a desperation that was feral. And when you tried to push back, tried to claim even the smallest piece of yourself, he didn’t take it well.

One night, after you’d dared to argue with him, to tell him no, he burned with a rage that lit up the sky. His form glowed red, large, his voice so loud and low that made the ground tremble beneath your feet.

“You think you can defy me? You think you can just walk away? Newsflash, sweetheart: you’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And you’re not going anywhere.”

He grew restless. Obsession turned to cruelty. When he spoke, it was no longer about the stars you could see, but the ones he wanted you to become. His anger was cosmic, vast and unrelenting, and it terrified you.

“You’re wasting yourself here,” he snarled one day, his triangular form flashing red again as he hovered above you. “These people, this place, they’re nothing. I could make you mor—”  

“W-what are you even talking about, Bill?” you spat, though your voice trembled. “I’m human, Bill. I can’t—”  

“Bullshit! You can. You just won’t. And that’s what makes you pathetic. You think you can leave me? Do you even know what I’ve done for you? What I’ve shown you?”

You stared at him, trembling, but still defiant. “You’ve shown me a prison with a prettier view.”

And Cipher only laughed. “Prison? Sweetheart, I’ve given you the fucking stars! You’d be nothing without me. Nothing.” if he had a mouth, it’d be that disgusting crazy wide grin.

You wanted to run. But how do you run from someone who can rewrite the very ground beneath your feet?

***

You remember the terror of Weirdmageddon because you were at the center of it all. Not by choice, never by choice, but because that’s what he wanted. And what Bill Cipher wanted, he took.

But when it was over, when the Pines family managed the impossible, when Bill was defeated, erased from Stanley’s mind, when they unraveled Bill’s madness, tore him apart, and your world snapped back into place, the silence felt. . . deafening. 

You didn’t see Bill fall, not directly, but you felt it, you knew it was over, the sudden, aching silence where his presence used to be.  

The world felt smaller without him, quieter, duller. And you hated yourself for noticing.

You should’ve been relieved.

But instead, you stood in the ashes of his world, staring up at a sky, at the empty space where his chaos had once burned so brightly.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t laugh. 

And you remembered the stars. But Bill taught you that stars were always meant to burn out.

You remembered the way his voice softened when he talked about them, how excited and happy he sounded, the way he’d show you galaxies as if they were flowers he’d plucked just for you. You remembered the way he watched you, like you were the only thing in all of creation that mattered.

Even now, after his fall, you hope he remembers the galaxies. . . or if he’s just another forgotten star, lost to the void.

And you wondered if, somewhere, in some forgotten corner of the universe, he remembered and saw stars too.

LOOK HOW HE’S FUCKING SITTING……….LOOK HOW HE’S GOT HIS HAND HOVERING OVER FORD