THAT’S TUMBLR SEXYMAN 2025 RIGHT THERE. MY UNHINGED PRINCESS MY SHAYLA MY MAN MY BABY..... This Man

couples therapy)? I doubt it, Teresa doesn't get paid enough to put up with these two HAHHA

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

ooh baby baby

They took Bill's makeup away in Theraprism.

Canonically Bill wears mascara and eyeliner. He states that the Acient Egyptians were copying his makeup style and the Anti-Cipher Society describes him as a triangle with a very feminin eye. But in Theraprism we see him without his long lashes. Slaying isn't allowed in Theraprism.

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.

Shipping fictional characters isn’t representative of your moral values. It’s representative of your particular psychic damage and the themes and motifs that haunt you. Hope this helps.

Besties 💅✨️💕

“JUST FIT IN”

This is based on the colour code that appears when you type in “just fit in” in “this is not a website dot com”

Read the pictures from the bottom up to the tune of “rockabye baby” to cry a little harder yayyy

Am I normal about this???? No??? Will I ever be normal about this ???? No??????

Something about how Ford's favorite color is still a color that he could only see thanks to Bill.

Something about how Fordtramarine, assuming he can still see it, is an ever-present reminder of the ways Bill genuinely did enrich his life before the portal incident.

Or maybe something about how, even if he can't see it anymore thanks to no longer being under Bill's influence, he continues to push aside ordinary colors in pursuit of one he'll never see again, one inextricably bound to the being who simultaneously ruined and saved his life.

if I were a cryptid in Gravity Falls, I would fetishise the concept of getting vivisected by that handsome scientist guy who- (remembers you can’t say things like that) I mean, I drank the recommended daily amount of water today