#I am SO bad at writing fluff

[sorryiwasasleep]

Antonio’s Vest

I posted about this AGES ago, but it was in a reblog, so I’m giving this theory it’s own post. SO Antonio’s non-gift ceremony outfit is this. Adorable of course.

And throughout the entire movie, excluding his white suit for his birthday, that is all that he wears. This pic is from before his ceremony, but even after his outfit doesn’t change. Unlike everyone else in the family, Antonio doesn’t have a motif signaling his gift in his clothing design, just the warm colors signifying his side of the family. Which, of course this makes sense-- he can’t have a motif for his gift on his clothes when he doesn’t have one yet.

BUT!

In all of the promotional photos released by Disney, as well as toys and other merchandise, have an addition to Antonio’s outfit. This vest.

The only hint of a vest as being apart of his outfit in the movie and thus canon comes in the door carving, where he IS wearing a vest. This vest has animal designs, a clear signal to his gift. 

Now, of course this entire thing is probably that Disney designed him a vest and created the promotional work with the fact that the audience knew going into the movie what Antonio’s gift was (almost all of the trailers include something of either the gift ceremony or him actively talking to the animals). So there was no risk in them giving him a gift motif design like the rest of the family for their purposes of things like merch and promo. BUT! With that came the issue that, in canon they could not possibly justify giving him the animal designed vest unless they wanted to actively spoil the movie experience for those watching it. So they just... didn’t put the vest in the movie, but left it everywhere else.

All pictures above: promotional or merchandise

In the movie pictures: below

All of this to say, I have a headcanon that’s canon compliant as to Antonio getting his vest! 

So, I hc the ‘gift motif clothes’ are the presents that the kids parents give their kids for their birthday once they have been gifted. Alma had it done for the triplets and once Isabela got her gift, Julieta carried it on. (I don’t know how clothing design works, but I assume they’d have to like have it done by professionals which leads to a separate hc I have about why gift-less and therefore technically motif-less Mirabel picks up sewing and embroidery but that’s neither here nor there just thought I’d disclaim and apologize if you do know how clothing works and I’m just saying nonsense). 

After Casita fell and the gifts were gone, Pepa had no reason to get him a special ‘gift motif accessory’ and didn’t want to reopen that wound of him having a gift for like a day only to lose it. Once the gifts come back, on his door carving (and the front door carving) he has this vest. So designs on a vest it is! (as opposed to say a ruana/poncho like Camilo and Bruno). And a late birthday present for Antonio once the gifts return!

[ilyhaitanii]

secrets, sex, cigarettes ft. ran haitani

nsfw. mentions of ran killing a man, nipple play, overstimulating, ran is very sappy towards the end, a bit angsty (srry this is kinda bad i just word vomited)

the sun has been set for hours now, the moon and night sky replacing the daylight. for hours ran has stood by the balcony, dragging a cigarette from his lips. in and out, huff and puff. he feels the cigar burning his lungs fron the inside out, yet that feeling is better than feeling numb.

he’s killed a man, again. nothing too uncommon with him anymore, but a part of him still can’t let go of the sheer disgust that controls his body after he does it. he knows exactly what to do, how to stage a death, how to hide bodies, etc. it’s all a second nature to him, yet he always finds himself back in your shared bedroom with a cig between his fingers.

your arms loop around his waist, dragging your nails up his chest. you sigh as you press your cheek to his toned back. for a moment, ran wants to tell you all the horrible things he does, how many men he kills, how he tortures them. yet, he wants you to keep the angelic, perfect image of him in your mind. perhaps it’s his ego, his need for people to adore him, so the words never escape his lips.

“what’s wrong, baby?” you say in that sweet toned voice of yours. ran evidently relaxes, smushing the cigar into the tray. ran feels your hands rubbing up and down his torso, tracing the lines of his tattoos. he feels your nails satisfyingly scratch at his skin.

he leans back, pressing his back towards your front. his head tilts back with a smile on his face. he feels your hands dragging lower and he quickly grabs them, turning to pin you against the railing.

“hi honey. ya need somethin’ from me?” his low, sickly sweet voice rings through your ears, sending goosebumps down your spine. his hands rest on your hips, nose rubbing into your neck. he leaves small kisses on your ears, trailing them down to the curve of your shoulder.

ran smells of smoke and bourbon. he’s not a heavy drinker like rindou— ran doesn’t enjoy bitter tastes and would rather indulge in the sweeter things in life. his cologne mixed with the heavy smell of tobacco makes you realize how horrible his mood truly is.

ran tends to hide his bad moods from you. he’ll drown himself in cigarettes and alcohol to cool himself off before he faces you. he can’t bare to ever upset you. it would truly break his heart. you tangle your fingers into his hair, racking them down his back. with your nails scratching his skin, ran breaks out into a shiver. he loves that feeling. he loves your hands on him.

“i just missed you,” you tend to try and drown him in your presence rather than things that can shorten his life span— his time with you. ran does find you taste a lot sweeter than the bourbon or cigarettes he nurses in his hands as he leans down to kiss you. he can taste the fresh mangos on your tongue. you’re such a thief, those were his.

“i miss you too, dolly.” he says, slightly smirking as he watches you melt into his body. your fingers trace down his torso and chest, watching his eyes follow your hands. they brush against the buckle of his pants and ran cocks an eyebrow at you.

“ya need something from me?” he proceeds to kiss your flushed cheeks, further teasing you. he’s so mean. you shake your head, giggling into the crook of his neck. you’re so cute.

“yeah i do,” you reply, smiling against his skin.

“and what would that be?” his hands lock with yours, resting on your sides.

“you in bed. it’s late,” you whisper in his ear, tugging at his lobe. “i’d like my husband to warm it up for me. the bed is so cold without him.”

“really?” every time you express how much you want ran, he’s always shocked. his voice slightly waivers at the end, thinking this was all a dream, all some sick joke his brain was playing on him. you smile up at ran, cupping his face in your hands.

“please come to bed, ran. i want you,” your arms loop around his neck as you take a step back, pulling him with you. his lips smash onto yours, hauling your legs around his waist. ran walks you into your bedroom, abandoning the balcony. he lays you onto the bed, keeping himself slotted between your legs.

ran does not stop kissing you. his hands grip at the hem of your nightdress, lifting it above your head. the pink and black lace of your underwear catches his attention. your face flushes at his uncharacteristic forwardness. ran lifts your ankles up to his lips, kissing down your calves. his eyes are closed during the whole ordeal allowing himself to melt into the expanse of your soft skin.

ran’s fingers toy with the pretty bow on the center of your panties. he smiles at you as he dips down, kissing you once more. he deftly pulls off your bra, fingers tweaking with your nipples. your jaw hangs open, soft gasps pushing ran to do even more. his lips lock around your nipples, his tongue swirling around the bud. you squirm in his hold, the cold sir from the balcony causing your body to shiver.

ran doesn’t neglect the other bud though as his fingers tug and twist at it. he grinds himself against your clothes cunt, moaning against your skin. his mouth pulls off your body with a pop. his hands run up the sides of your body, slightly tickling you. ran kneels between your legs with his hands parting your thighs. he watches at the stain on your panties grows bigger the longer his thumb rubs at your clit through the cloth.

“she’s so wet for me, isn’t she honey?” ran kisses the outline of your clit, making your hips squirm. he shushes you, his thumbs rubbing at your hips. “don’t run away from it. it’ll feel so good,” he finally slides the lacy underwear down your legs, watching your slick stick to it. he coos at the sight, making you cover your face. you turn onto your stomach, raising your hips against ran’s bulge.

he smiles, rubbing your hips with his thumbs, rubbing his free hand up and down your spine. he unbuckles his belt, freeing himself from his underwear. it slaps against his torso, the angry red tip leaking. he lines himself up with your hole. you whine against the pillow, begging for him to hurry.

“shh, be patient, my love.” he kisses the middle of your spine, before pushing himself all the way in. you instantly tighten around him, mewling into the sheets. he doesn’t bother to pull out again and simply grinds himself against your most sensitive spot.

your hips twitch in his hold, pulling yourself higher onto the bed. ran slams you back towards him, hips flush against yours.

“uh, uh. stay still,” he immediately pulls out, leaving the thick tip inside. he then slams back in, keeping this rhythm. you grab at the sheets, drooling into the sheets. your hand reaches behind you to grab at ran’s.

“please, it’s too mu- oh my god!” ran’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling your back to his chest. he continues to thrust into your as your head rolls onto his shoulder. “fuck, ran. this is too much. i can’t,” you sob and whine.

you feel yourself getting closer to the edge, eyes rolling back into your head. ran fuck you so good to the point you can’t think. ran reached forward to rub your clit. that pushes you over the edge so hard. you cum around his dick, silently screaming.

ran is so much rougher than usual. a mix of his frustrations, and drunken daze makes him like this. sure, the two of you will definitely talk about this later, but you enjoy it to the fullest. “you can take it, baby. take it, pretty girl.” his hands tug at your hair as he continues to rut against you. you continue to moan and squeal.

“fuck, baby. you’re so fucking cute. squealing and squirming around me, huh?” ran watches your hand grab at the sheets again. he groans into your ears, panting and heaving. he feels your cunt tighten around him again and he knows you’re so close to cumming.

you’re horribly sensitive, twitching and sobbing. but, ran keeps fucking you, turning you onto your back. his hands grab at your waist, his cock thrusting in and out. your arms loop around his neck, scratching at his shoulders and back.

“ran, please!” you repeat his name like you’re hypnotized, tears rolling down your cheeks. ran gently kisses your tears away. it’s a complete 180 from his previous behavior, but it’s warmly welcomed. “ran,” you whine his name. as he continues fucking into you, he says your name back.

“ran, i love you. i love you so much,” your fingers tug at his hair as you cum one last time before ran is spilling his seed into you. you feel warm and full, brain fuzzy. you cling onto ran as he calms himself down from his high. his lips find your again, thumb rubbing at your tears.

“i love you,” ran mumbles in between kisses. “i love you. i love you. i love you.” he keeps repeating this over and over. his hips buck up into you, making you squeal again. “one more time, baby. i love you, please, one more time?”

ran watches you nod your head. he kisses you like he’s crazy, hands in your hair, pulling your body closer to his. ran wants to stay here with you forever. he never wants to leave the comfort of your apartment, your arms, your shared bed. he never wants to leave you. ran wants to do better, he wants to quit. but ran realizes if he were to tell you the truth, would his paradise come crashing down? he couldn’t live with that. so for now, ran haitani will keep his lips sealed. only allowing words of adoration towards you escape them. he’ll keep this secret til either he dies or you find out.

© ilyhaitanii - please do not repost, translate, or plagarize any of my content, and do not repost it to any other platforms

[etherealyoungk]

thoughts about mingyu when you're on your period

this is like the perfect time for me to answer this rn bc i am suffering atm

this man is spoiling you and taking care of you on your period. also would kinda be slightly confused about you being moody and a little snappy to him but will understand and still shower you with love nonetheless.

you're in cramping and in pain? he's getting you a hot water bottle and reheating it for you as many times. "but baby this is still hot", he says when you ask him to heat it again. "it's not hot enough", you say, looking at him, buried under all the blankets. "but..it's still hot", he says, loooking at you confused. "it's not hot enough gyu", you complain and he just nods and comes back a few mintutes later. will also joke about why you're using a hot water bottle when he's right here, saying he'll be your personal heater and just be ready to cuddle and hold you.

craving something? this man is ready to whip up a 5-star course for you. but when you go to the kitchen and find out you don't have any more peanut butter you go back to find mingyu and tell him rather disappointed about the lack of peanut butter in the house. he offers to go buy some but you don't want him to leave and he's confused because you want peanut butter...but you also don't want him to go buy it. so he decides to make you some and it's worth all the praise he gets for it, seeing you happily eat it with a smile.

it's cold so you're wearing his hoodie and you find him sitting in his room doing some work and just pout at him wanting some cuddles. he says he'll come in 5 minutes, he just needs to finish this up and you're curled up in bed, scrolling through your phone and 5 minutes have turned into 30 minutes and you're getting a little moody and grumpy now. after what seems like an eternity mingyu finally enters the room and smiles while you're just glaring at him, ignoring his presence as you look into your phone. "i thought someone said five minutes", you tell, looking at him as the bed dips as he sits down, looking down. "i know, im sorry babe, i got caught up", he tells. "well i don't need cuddles anymore so you can go continue what you were doing", you tell, grumpy, crossing your arms and giving him an annoyed look. he understands you're a little sensitive and moody now. "come on, i know you can't resist my cuddles hm?", he prompts but you just look at him and shake your head. "i don't need them now", you tell again. "but i want cuddles, you'll give me some cuddles?", he asks. you look at him and finally give in. "fine...only because you want it", you tell and he chuckles, quickly but gently pulling you closer, placing a soft kiss to your forehead. "you're so stubborn", he mumbles. "and you're an idiot", you add, still not ready to give in but you were very happy right now because you really did want mingyu's cuddles.

if you're struggling to sleep because of the pain and cramps, he'll rub gentle circles on your back. is more than ready to make you a cup of hot chocolate at 2am in the night and will shush you if you apologize.

[tswwwit]

Here's the second part of Cult Reincarnation Dipper!

The first part is over Here if you missed it.

Hope you enjoy!

“Here we are!” Bill says brightly. He nods approvingly at the room, then glances back at Dipper. “Glad you didn’t take off running during the trip.”

How Dipper could have managed that, he isn’t sure. The instant they appeared in this place, Bill took hold of Dipper’s wrist and hasn’t let go even once. 

The nightmare realm is exactly as advertised. Dipper’s been pulled through mazelike corridors, up and down impossible hallways, over insane physic-defying structures - and past things with too many teeth and eyes. 

He thinks he’s been holding up pretty well, all things considered. 

Being dragged by a nightmare god into his realm of dreams for unknown reasons wasn’t exactly on his bucket list. Without any helpful explanations, or even unhelpful ones, he’s stayed calm and followed along.  Remaining obedient, keeping quiet, and waiting in hopes of Bill either giving up, or giving him any indication of where the hell they are and what the fuck he’s doing.

Now they’ve arrived, and the destination… isn’t exactly encouraging.

Dipper looks over the gleaming instruments hung on the walls. The needles and scalpels and hooks. He drops his gaze towards the white paper on the chair, at the poorly hidden restraints.

A place of insanity and terror, owned by a king of nightmares, dragging along a vulnerable human with a badly injured arm. Of course he’d end up in a house of medical horrors. It’s too thematically appropriate.

So yeah. Dipper’s been holding on fine. Only his legs have decided they’ve had enough for the day, and given up. 

His robes puddle around him as he hits the floor. The tile’s very cold and sterile under his legs, and his arm trembles in Bill’s unwavering grip.  

“Hey! What gives?” Bill tugs on Dipper’s wrist again. Thankfully not hard enough to haul him to his feet. 

Dipper shakes his head. The floor’s fine. He’ll stay right here, thank you very much. Trying to retrieve his wrist doesn’t work, but he makes a good show of it.

“Nice try,” Bill says, dryly. “But there’s no escaping! Now get on up and have a seat already.” 

For the first time, his grip loosens. Dipper yanks his arm towards his chest, attempts to stumble to his feet. His legs fail to cooperate, sliding out in front of him like he’s putting up a tantrum rather than an escape attempt.

With a quick snort, Bill ducks down and tucks his hands under Dipper’s arms. A moment later he lifts Dipper bodily into the air, and appraises him with a smile.

Dipper kicks out in surprise, struggling for purchase - then lets his legs dangle in the air, limp. Flailing around isn’t going to help. Odds are it’d make things worse. 

If there was ever a mistake Dipper shouldn’t make, it would be accidentally whacking a god in the groin. 

Bill bounces him in his grip a couple times, with a pleased smile, and seemingly zero effort. The human form he’s wearing isn’t bulky; he’s just stronger than he appears. Dipper should have guessed as much. He’s in the demon realm, brought here - kidnapped by -  an eldritch, too-powerful being. Any resistance he puts up is as much of a shield as tissue paper. 

With a nod, Bill turns a full ninety degrees, and drops him directly into the chair. The leather of the seat creaks underneath Dipper as he hits it, and he instantly straightens up, back rigid.

“There we are.” Bill smirks with satisfaction. He points directly at Dipper’s face with a sudden frown. As it comes closer, Dipper leans as far back as he can manage.  “Now stay. Put.”

The tone is very firm, and, well. Obedience is the name of the game, when it comes to a ‘god’.  

Dipper simply nods. Bill beams again, then retreats to start pulling drawers open, rustling through them and muttering to himself. 

Whatever he’s up to, Dipper doesn’t care to guess. From what he can tell, the entire room is made for easy cleaning, and the objects don’t lend him any comfort. Tons of gleaming instruments hang on hooks and boards, pale metal against white walls.  The soaked sleeve of his robe is leaving little dots on the seat and armrests. Every spot of red stands out so brightly in this sterile white environment.

Dipper clutches his arm to his chest again. Not budging. Just as he was told. There’s a thin prickle of sweat building on his skin. 

A sound catches his attention, and he glances up at Bill, who’s wearing a big, bright grin. He’s holding something glass in one hand, and a glint of metal in the other.

Dipper keeps trying to maintain pressure on his wound. Bill’s approaching without even a hint of hesitation - without being able to talk, he simply shakes his head again and again. He’s fine, this is great, they can go anywhere else, just don’t - 

“What?” Bill cocks his head to the side, and grins again. “Easy, I don’t bite! Much.”

He has very sharp teeth, Dipper notices. With how human that form is, he hadn’t paid much attention to the details. 

The white of his smile has fangs. 

“Yeesh, tense much?” Bill raises an eyebrow, carelessly dropping a metal box in Dipper’s lap. The other one shows the glass to be a corked bottle - small, round and filled with greenish liquid. Bill starts shaking it rapidly, beckoning with his free hand. ”Gimme that arm, already.”

When Dipper doesn’t move, Bill slowly pries his arm away from his chest. He pushes it down onto the armrest - and before Dipper can react, the makeshift bandage of his robes is ripped off at the elbow, leaving him bare. 

Dipper watches the blood trickling down over the seat with a nauseating flip in his stomach. He can look away - does, quickly - but worse, he’s oddly embarrassed. Everything in here was so pristine before he started leaking on things.

“Eh, could be worse.” Bill chimes in over Dipper’s thoughts. A brief glance shows he’s evaluating the wound; he waggles a hand in a so-so gesture. “Decent blood flow, but damage-wise? You’ll be wielding a knife yourself in no time!”

God, what a weird thing to say. Dipper half-shrugs in response. 

He hopes Bill’s right, though. Not the knife-wielding, but that it’s not too bad. It certainly feels bad, but Dipper doesn’t have enough experience to tell how, or if, he’ll recover. He’s never seen a sacrifice, with a person, that called for that much blood. Especially one that got so… enthusiastic.  

Or perhaps there was, and Dipper just looked away, like he always does. He’s never had the stomach for this sort of thing. Hell, he still doesn’t; as Bill gets settled, Dipper turns and starts counting all the knives on the walls. 

Yep. There’s definitely a lot of them. So many, and none of them are in Bill’s hand at the moment. He tries to focus on that as well. The box in Dipper’s lap is too small to contain anything but the tiniest of the scalpels, too. Another good sign, if he’s feeling optimistic.

There’s the sound of something uncorking. Then, liquid dripping down Dipper’s arm and over his wrist, a bright, sparking sting - he grits his teeth, ready for the pain to build, and feels - 

Nothing?

Dipper blinks. He’s lost count of the knives, but he does get an excellent view of the empty bottle sailing across the room, and shattering on the opposite wall. Quickly followed by the cork, with a spitting sound; Bill probably pulled it out with his teeth. 

There’s a vague prod. Dipper cringes on reflex, shoulders tensing. The next one feels firmer, and not in a great place, but. 

It doesn’t hurt at all. 

Well, no. It does, a little. If Dipper clenches his arm and makes a fist, he can feel a kind of sting  - and hear Bill mutter under his breath. So he probably shouldn’t do that. But other than that faint ache, the pain is gone, leaving a chill semi-numbness in its place. 

Beside him, Bill makes a satisfied sound. He flips open the box in Dipper’s lap, pulls something out - then starts doing something weird to his arm. 

Dipper feels a pinch, then a tugging sensation. He sucks in a breath.

“Hold still, already.” Bill’s grip tightens, holding him in place. Dipper can tell because when moves his fingers again, he can just about tickle the underside of his arm. “Hey! What’d I just say!”

Dipper stops moving. Obedient, definitely. Totally not questioning what the hell is happening to his flesh, or worried at all. He only flinches a bit at the repeated pinch-tug-pinch, running a line down his arm. 

With the numbness, it’s easy to focus on breathing in, and out, in a steady rhythm. Passing time, until Bill’s done with his gruesome work.

“There we go.” Bill stands up, wiping his hands clean on a bright white cloth. He offers Dipper another easy grin. “Not too shabby, am I right?”

Dipper hesitates, but. He’s going to have to face the damage at some point. Might as well be now, while he’s still numb and lightheaded. 

First, he sees Bill, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Then the arm itself, looking pale and small, with a long, thin line of stitches running up the wound. 

No mutations, no mutilations. Just clean, closed skin.

Wow, that was a big cut. It didn’t really hit him until he saw it sewn up. 

Dipper’s no expert on medical anything, but it must be decent work; Bill looks pleased with himself, for one, and the stitches themselves are neatly placed in even lines. Weirder still - it hasn’t been tinkered with, or experimented on at all.

Bill not-too-gently pats his wrist again, before wrapping Dipper’s entire forearm in bright white gauze. He hums to himself as he works. Just as he snips off the bandage with a pair of scissors, he pauses. 

“Hm, kinda missing something,” Bill mutters, almost to himself. Then his expression brightens, and he snaps his fingers. “Aha!”

Dipper winces at the full-palm slap on his wrist. Ow. Even numbed, that stung. 

“There! All patched up.” Bill says. He sets his fists on his hips, looking triumphant. “What’d’ya think, kid?”

Dipper looks down, and stares. He’s not really sure how he’s supposed to react.

Instead of taping the bandages in place, Bill’s smacked on a sticker. One of Bill himself, triangular-formed, and giving a disproportionately big thumbs-up. 

“Ahem.” Bill clears his throat.

When Dipper checks, that seemingly eternal grin has popped right back into place. Expectant. Almost prompting. 

Come to think of it - it’s the exact same one Dipper saw after the ritual, not that long ago.

The one that he still doesn’t know how to answer. 

Dipper pulls his arm up, holding it close. He touches the bandages carefully, tracing down the line of his wound. All his fingers still work. All his skin seems to have stayed in place. Even the numbness has lingered well past the actual procedure. 

Bill Cipher himself, lord of chaos and nightmares, had a hold of a wounded piece of mortal meat. And as far as Dipper can tell, nothing’s missing, nothing’s mangled, and it doesn’t even hurt. 

Of all the things Dipper imagined about meeting Bill Cipher - and he can imagine a lot more things than the average guy - 

This would never have made the list. 

Bill hasn’t said anything. For a while now. Enough time has passed that the silence has grown awkward, because really Dipper should have done something by now, damn it. There has to be - 

“Oh, right!” Bill breaks the silence with a snap of his fingers. His eye rolls; he even smacks himself on the side of the head in a ‘dang, can’t believe I forgot’ gesture. “Major bloodloss! No human brain works great when it’s improperly irrigated.” 

Which… is true, sure. Dipper does feel pretty woozy, but more likely Bill’s referring to not getting a response. 

That’s one thing he can fix, sort of. Dipper tries another smile. Hesitant, but not forced. 

Bill just raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah, you’re cute. Don’t think flaunting it gets you anywhere.”

Dipper lets his smile drop. 

Okay, what? That was not what he was going for, and - and it doesn’t make sense, anyway. Bill must have meant something else, because he’s not cute. Kind of a condescending thing to call a guy who’s just showing he’s grateful.

Even though he should know better, Dipper flashes an irritated glance at this idiot god’s face.  He folds his arms, letting out a huff.

And Bill lunges in with startling speed. 

Dipper jerks back in the chair only for Bill to follow, face inches away, sharp teeth bared in a wide smile. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, and his single eye narrows. 

With rising tension, Dipper notes that said eye is actually glowing. There’s intent there, focused and strange - and even worse, the slow stir of magic building between them.

This is what he gets, isn’t it. For being a huge goddamned idiot, and insolent, and why did he do that of all-

“Boop.” Bill taps Dipper’s nose, and stands back up. As if to add insult to incoherence, he also pinches Dipper’s cheek. “Now! Upsy-daisy, kid! We gotta get you settled in!”

Dipper remains seated, even as Bill claps his hands and gestures for him to rise. At one point he even leans over and taps his thighs, in a deeply condescending beckon. If it wouldn’t be suicidally insane, Dipper would flip him off for that. 

How is Dipper not dead yet. How is he not insane yet. This doesn’t make sense. 

Nothing here makes sense. 

But then, maybe Dipper should have expected that. Nightmare logic aside, he’s dizzy and tired, and it’s hard to keep figure out what’s insane demon-god stuff, what he’s simply lost track of.

Waiting for too long has had its consequences, of course. For the second time in an hour, Dipper gets hauled up by a too-strong monster. This time, he’s set on his feet pretty shortly, instead of being swung around like some kind of carnival prize.

Dipper hits the ground as Bill drops him, and stumbles. The world spins around him, and he nearly drops to the floor again until he braces himself on the closest solid-looking object.

The object moves under his arm. Above him, he hears loud, pleased laughter. “Aw, getting touchy, are we?”

Dipper stares at his arm, braced against a firm chest - then up at Bill’s wide grin. Then down again, where he’s wrinkling Bill’s shirt.

Shit. Wrong choice. Bad choice - but there wasn’t much of a choice! If Dipper didn’t want to fall on his ass, he had to grab something.

“I know, I know. I’m too tempting to resist.” Bill says, sounding eminently amused. Almost… teasing? He takes Dipper by the shoulder, turning him around towards the door. “Let’s get outta here.”

Wherever ‘here’ is. Wherever they’re going is even more worrying.

Still, Bill doesn’t seem mad about the invasion of his personal space. Or anything else, weirdly enough. Maybe Dipper’s misinterpreting the signs; he wouldn’t be the first worshiper to do so. 

Mystery is part and parcel of Bill Cipher, one of his core essences. No part of him is uncomplicated or simple, because he loves making things difficult. There’s supposed to be puzzles, layered over each other in complex ways to obscure the truth. Every time Bill talks to one of the devout, it requires careful interpretation - 

But there are too many possibilities, and Dipper’s too disoriented to keep up with any double-talk.  

Bill opens the door into another black-red brick corridor. It looks like it could go anywhere, and everything about it screams ominous.

In a particularly stupid move - though one born of self-preservation - Dipper shoves himself into Bill’s grasp. He grips the shirt, hip bumping against the god, and Bill makes a quiet sound of surprise.

For a heartstopping moment, Dipper knows he’s fucked up.

Then the arm comes around him, and pulls him in tight. Squeezing his shoulder, then dropping around his waist, hand loosely holding his hip.

“Good choice, sapling! Your fleshy human vestibular sense is for shit, and I didn’t patch you up just to watch you break your skull on the ground.”  Bill chucks Dipper under the chin with a knuckle and winks. “If I wanted a corpse, I could get those anywhere.”

Which… makes a terrifying kind of sense.

Bill’s right, of course. He’s an immensely powerful god-creature, who can reach in between worlds, given the opportunity. He commands dreams, and people, and an all-consuming amount of magic. 

If he wanted a corpse, he could have one in moments. And if he wanted it to be Dipper’s, all he really had to do was… nothing.

As Bill pulls him into the hallway, Dipper checks his wrist again. He flexes his fingers, and sticks close to his ‘god’. 

His arm’s a little achy, as the numbness begins to fade. The gauze is tight enough to feel comforting rather than constraining, clean and wrapped with obvious care. Even with the slight pain, it feels like he’s going to heal up just fine.

And though it’s incredibly stupid, the super cheesy sticker does kind of make him feel better. 

Obviously Bill likes Dipper’s blood. He said as much during the summon; that it’s ‘very nice’. Likely it’s the reason Dipper was kidnapped in the first place. 

But instead of juicing him like an orange, Bill took pains to keep all of it inside.

“As long as we’re stopping you from kicking the bucket,” Bill snaps his fingers. A small, squarish carton appears, and he holds it in front of Dipper. “You might wanna drink this.”

Dipper grimaces at… whatever this is. He can’t read the language, but it’s decorated with a smiling thing that could be either a heart, or a severely mutated fruit.

He glances up at Bill again, but no explanation is forthcoming. He merely waggles the carton around again, nearly shoving it into Dipper’s chest.

Welp. A ‘god’ has ordered him to consume something. Obedience, right, still a virtue. Hell, even if Bill wanted Dipper to swallow liquid mercury, he wouldn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

Poison isn’t very likely, though. Bill doesn’t want a dead body around, and he’s put in way too much effort to reverse course now. 

Bill raises an eyebrow, tapping the drink invitingly against his chest. At this point Dipper suspects the lack of explaining is intentional.

Fine, whatever. If he’s going to insist… 

Dipper still gives it a skeptical look, but he takes it from Bill’s hand. Not accepting a god’s gift is probably rude. Offending him isn’t any more helpful than dehydration.

And though all the advice about dealing with supernatural beings says, ‘don’t consume what they give you’, Bill does have a point. Humans are full of liquid. Dipper lost a decent portion of his own. Filling it back up isn’t the worst idea in the universe.

The top twists open, though Dipper doesn’t dare glance at the contents. He’ll just shut his eyes and chug. 

He takes several long, deep drinks, tilting his head back. At first to help himself swallow - then more, and eagerly, because holy shit, he’s so thirsty. He didn’t realize until he started, but he really, really needed this. 

With the portion of his tongue he has left, he tastes a faint sweetness, like strawberries.

“Top up your tank, kid.” Bill gives Dipper another nudge, almost playful. “Humans are basically half-fluid. To go at it like that, you musta been practically mummified!”

Weird phrasing seems to be a thing for Bill. Better get used to it. 

Since he’s not looking at him, Dipper rolls his eyes and makes a face. Just a quick, two-second expression. 

Beside him, Bill’s grin inches up a tiny bit. He starts whistling a cheerful tune as he leads them onward.

It’s an indeterminate amount of time before they stop - Bill, fresh and cheerful, Dipper, wondering how much longer he has to be on his feet - but eventually Bill whips around a corner, facing a brown wooden door in the middle of one of the black slate walls.

Great. Another mystery room, and by the look on Bill’s face - one he’s been eager to get to. 

By this point Dipper’s pretty sure Bill’s not about to execute or exsanguinate him At least 90% sure; it’s hard to tell when dealing with a being of pure chaos. 

But he still slows his steps as Bill sets his hand on the knob, leaning back into that guiding arm on his waist. Unpredictability has always unnerved him. 

Bill turns towards Dipper with a brilliant smile. “I’ve been looking forward to this.” He says, almost conspiratorially. He nudges Dipper forward as he opens the door. “Welcome home, sapling!”

With a gust of warm air and a light that leaves Dipper blinking, the door opens.

And with a proud smile, Bill Cipher leads him into the single most luxurious looking room he’s ever seen in his life. 

Dipper stares. Maybe gawks a little, but he shuts his mouth quickly.

No matter where he looks, everything oozes rich, sumptuous leisure. 

There’s paintings, and tapestries, a soft thick black carpet. A huge, soft-looking couch near a fireplace, odds and ends of scattered jewels and technical looking objects on the walls. There’s even a portrait of Bill himself, in his regular form, with a foot upon the world. Large double doors lead to another room, and though the partly open crack Dipper thinks he spots a bed.

On the second glance around, Dipper catches on. That subtle gleam, that catches his eye, seemingly everywhere - is freakin’ gold. Not just the occasional pierce of decoration, either; it’s subtly woven into parts of all the decor, thin lines on furniture and doors and even some in the carpet. 

Bill’s room so far beyond the dark, stoic asceticism of the compound. Miles away. Lightyears.

Why the hell did they have a shitty stone cavern to worship in, if their god lives like this?

No, that’s easily answered -the priest always was a dick.

Dipper’s not thrilled about what Bill did to the guy back at the ritual, but he’s far from upset.

Beside him, Bill’s silent. For once he’s not shuffling Dipper along anywhere. No prompting, no pushing, no force of any kind - 

But definitely expectant. 

Without Bill saying anything, Dipper can feel his arm tense up with anticipation, awaiting a reaction. Probably something flattering to Bill’s ego, or worshipful of his presence.

Truth be told, Dipper might have even given one. Despite all his reservations about the chaos god beside him, it is impressive.

But he can’t say anything. There’s nothing to write down a worshipful chant on. He’s tired and hurt and he’s been walking what feels like all day. Finding focus is hard.

Dipper scrunches his face up, rubbing at his eyes. Things went all blurry for a second, and he has kind of a headache. 

What does he do, another smile? But Bill said that was ‘flaunting’. and maybe that’s not great. Another expression, maybe. Some kind of gesture. Body language has a lot of options and… he’s run out of ideas for that. Maybe his brain really is working with too-little fluid.

“Hmm…” Bill rubs his chin, glancing at Dipper - then staring out into the room again. His eye narrows. 

Shit, right, this was meant to impress. Dipper, fumbling the devout test for like, the millionth time in his life. Only right now, when it truly matters, he’s too messed up to manage even if he tried. 

Before Bill can get too mad, Dipper hunches over. Looking contrite might stave off the worst of it. He can make himself look small.

There’s a long beat of silence. Then Bill claps him on the shoulder. “No worries, kid. This ain’t my first time with a human wandering in with mortal wounds and a poor sense of grandeur! You can tell me how great I am later.” 

The rush of relief Dipper feels is immediately ruined by Bill dragging him forward again. So much for a true reprieve; infinite being of pure energy means never stopping for a second of rest, apparently.

“I got just the thing for a squishy little nervous wreck like you,” Bill says, striding forward confidently towards one of the walls, and a door Dipper’s 90% sure wasn’t there even three seconds ago. “We’ll stash you here until you’re more settled down!”

The door opens, and Dipper’s led into a small, dark place. He can make out vague, squarish shapes in the dim light. Thankfully none of them look too imposing. 

Another snap, and the room lights up. 

For the second time in about as many minutes, Dipper’s totally thrown.

“Kitchen’s through there, bathroom’s thataway,” Bill says, gesturing in the respective directions. He gives Dipper’s shoulder a squeeze, jerking his thumb behind himself. “I’ll be back out this way if you get bored!”

The words run though Dipper’s brain, but he’s not truly focusing on them. The room he’s in has most of his attention. No matter how he looks at it, though, he can’t see any traps. It just looks…

Comfy?

The light reveals a smaller room than the living one, and one that’s far less dramatic. None of the tchotkes lying around. Basically zero ostentation. There’s a wardrobe and a bed, a dark blue carpet rather than the black. A desk, some papers, and an absurdly large and obsessively organized looking bookshelf. The two doors Bill mentioned lie closed, on two different walls.

Dipper’s not sure what he was expecting, but. The simpler decoration, the small but cozy setup - none of which fits Bill’s taste, that’s clear even on a glance. This isn’t meant for the god himself. 

Now there’s a question he’s never considered before: Does Bill Cipher ever have guests in his realm? 

The answer must be ‘yes’, strange as it seems. Nothing in here is Bill’s vibe, but it might fit a human that he needed to stash somewhere.

Beside him, he hears a low hum. Bill’s hand runs down Dipper’s shoulder, onto his back. It strokes down, then up again - then pushes him forward. “Enjoy!”

Dipper stumbles a couple steps before catching the footboard of the bed. He leans against it, blinking rapidly.

“Now, I got a quick errand to run, so take your time getting comfy. Cram some calories in, wash your crevices, take a nap. Whatever human stuff needs doing.” Bill looks up from checking his watch, then gives him a wink, backing out of the room with double finger guns pointed. “See ya soon!”

The door closes behind him without even a touch on the knob. The room goes quiet. 

Dipper cocks his head to one side. Bill’s absence is just as palpable as his presence. That powerful thrum of magic trails into the distance as he heads off, fading in Dipper’s senses, like a too-loud stereo speaker in an obnoxious, demonic car.

After a moment, he shucks off his robe - with the sleeve torn off, it’s weird and uncomfortable. That leaves him in just soft pants and his undershirt, but thankfully with considerable privacy.

As long as he’s here, Dipper does a quick inspection of the room. The bed’s bigger than any one he’s ever seen, minus the one that’s presumably Bill’s. The wardrobe contains a baffling array of flannel shirts, in that they’re almost all identical and oddly… worn? He shuts the doors with a shrug. Hardly the most intimidating find. 

A thorough overview reveals no traps, no knives. The sharpest thing in the room is the pens. The worst thing that could happen to Dipper here is a papercut. Or maybe stubbing his toe on the heavy furniture. 

It’s been a few minutes. Dipper glances at the door Bill retreated through. Still closed.

He hears no sound from the other room, either. He strains to feel some magic returning, a bloom in his limited senses, but it’s calm and quiet. 

Whatever Bill’s up to, he’s long gone.

Leaving Dipper totally unsupervised.

Dipper instantly darts for the opposite door, opening it fast enough that it nearly unbalances him. It swings opens easily, totally unlocked, and he braces himself as he stares - 

Into a kitchen. 

A big one, at that. Lots of cabinets, a fridge, a stove, knives hanging on the wall in what looks like a rather ominous manner, until Dipper remembers that’s where knives are supposed to be. Though maybe not so many of them.

Also, totally not an exit. 

Fine, whatever. They couldn’t all be exits, and there’s another to try.

Dipper rushes over to the second door, yanking it open to reveal… exactly what Bill said, again. 

He lingers this time, leaning on the knob. Rubbing at his eyes briefly, in case that ruins the illusion Bill’s cast. It doesn’t have any effect.

It’s - this is way too straightforward. It has to be some type of trick.

Pretty weird for it to be so clean, then.

Any bathroom Bill has should be blood-splattered, or filled with bubbling acid - but this one only smells faintly of bleach. It’s lined with black and white tiling, with a shower that looks overly complicated and a bathtub that could fit several people inside. At least there’s no knives in this room - though Dipper does see a safety razor, resting on the sink. Right next to the cup holding the blue toothbrush.

He slams the second door closed, and takes a deep breath.

Maybe he’s disoriented. Maybe Bill turned everything around when he left, like every other corridor in this chaotic place, and maybe if Dipper yanks opens the third door -the one he came through - it’ll cleave between the realms, back into the ritual room, where -  

Dipper leans on the doorframe, slowing down his breathing. He shuts his eyes, lips drawing into a thin line.

Or it could just be. Literally the exact same one he came in through. 

Standing in the doorway of Bill Cipher’s personal quarters, Dipper frowns at the fireplace. And at the painting over it. Especially at the even more grandiose door that presumably leads to the god’s master bedroom. It’s beautiful, alright, Dipper can’t argue with that - but also ostentatious, and reeking of smug power.

It’s very quiet inside, too. No motion, no magic.

After a bit of hesitation, he leans his head in, checking both ways. 

No Bill around, at all. 

He must have actually taken off, instead of lying in wait, ready to surprise… The person he  told exactly where he could be found. Which isn't much of an ambush, come to think of it.

Dipper lets his arms drop to his sides, then winces and rubs the bandage on his recently stitched one. 

When he came into this place, he had a lot of expectations. All of them were backed up by years of knowledge about Bill Cipher. His likes and dislikes, unpredictability, and his bizarre proclivities.

So far, Dipper’s seen… not a safe place, by a long shot. But way less dangerous than what he thought he’d face.

In fact, aside from the trip to get here and parts of the medical experience, this has been way too normal. 

Bill Cipher is a being veiled in mystery, or, depending on your viewpoint, mischief. Never totally meaning what he says, rarely acting like you’d think. Even in the most stodgy of ceremonies, the priest had to leave room for the fact that Bill’s not very… conventional. The research Dipper did on his own had similar things to say. Between sermon and study, that alone has been a constant.

Dipper taps his foot on the floor. The carpet remains soft and nonthreatening. The fireplace crackles warmly, and does not consume the room in a terrifying blaze.

What is he supposed to make of all this?

The priest claimed that only he could interpret the subtle signs of Bill’s true meaning, and what actions to take. He was dead wrong about that. Courtesy of the god he claimed to understand, for that matter. 

The rest of the congregation can’t offer any insight, either; they’re back in the compound - but frankly? Dipper wouldn’t trust them to interpret a microwave timer, much less their god.

According to scripture, it takes ages of experience, along with deep personal knowledge, to even begin to understand Bill’s motives. One young human like Dipper would never stand a chance.

But if he’s here anyway…

Dipper traces his fingers along the wall, making his way quietly, cautiously, into the room. 

Why not get started? It’s not like he has anything else to do. 

Having something to study will help pass the time, as long as he’s here. And with this wealth of information in front of him, who could resist?

As he walks into the place, he doesn’t burst into flame, or turn inside out, or get tossed into an eternal void of constant screaming. So, it’s probably okay. 

He takes a deep breath, and lets it out. It only shakes a little. 

Besides, navigating around an immortal being of eternal knowledge can’t be that different from sneaking around the compound. All evidence so far is that Bill’s actually friendlier about it.

One thing’s pretty certain - he’s not likely to obliterate a guy he’s just spent several hours getting ‘settled’. If anything, he’s sorta intimated that Dipper’s a ‘guest’. Bill’s likely not magically bound to the rules of hospitality, but violating them is pretty universally gauche.

The thought makes Dipper’s shoulders drop. He pats the wall a couple times, then checks his wrist. The bright yellow triangle stays still, overly-large hand still giving a thumbs-up.

Dipper rolls his eyes. Okay. There’s one fact learned - Bill Cipher’s capable of being kind of a dork.

This could actually be pretty intriguing. Useful, perhaps. In the heart of Bill’s home, with all of his stuff lying around - like that pile of books near the couch, or that pile of dishes he saw in the sink, or the fact that he even has a guest room, what the hell is with that - 

Dipper can get firsthand information. No more dilapidated scrolls, or censored books, or scrounging around outside to find objective sources. 

Bill Cipher, as far as Dipper can tell, actually lives here. In these exact rooms. 

He can try and hide the truth as much as he likes, or lie to Dipper’s face, but he can’t hide his living room. Hanging out in your own place is the most authentic anyone can be, god or not. 

With that in mind, Dipper gets to the investigation.

Without context, it’s hard to discern what most of the objects around mean. Whether they’re regularly used, or just for display. Until Dipper sees Bill actually interacting with the stuff he has, he’ll just file that information away for later.

About three circuits of the living room, Dipper catches sight of the portrait above the fireplace again. The one with Bill himself, crowned and stepping on the world. Scepter in hand, his single eye beholding - 

Ah, right. The eye thing. 

Dipper backs up, very slowly. As a parting gesture, he throws a little wave at the portrait, and another ‘cute’ smile.

Then he darts right the hell back into his room, and pulls the door along with him. He lets his head drop back against the wood, and closes his eyes.

Shit. Shit. Of course he wasn’t roaming around freely. There was oversight. 

Hopefully Bill’s busy enough to not have cared about a couple minutes of ‘wandering’. As far as he knows, that was, uh… Dipper got lost, right. That sounds believable. Maybe he was even looking for Bill himself. 

But snooping? No, definitely not. Why would anyone do that.

Welp. That’s about that, then. Three doors, three results, and zero exits. 

Sure, it’s possible that Bill’s room does have a way out, but between the odds of being caught, and the odds of getting lost in the twisting, recursive corridors if he did manage to find it -

Yeah, Dipper’s going to pass. 

He saw the other ‘guests’ around this realm, and they didn’t look like the types to leave blood on the inside. 

On the upside he’s survived the night. Morning. Whatever time of day it is. 

Bill wants Dipper alive, which is strange and confusing and more than a little concerning- but it’s also a huge weight off his shoulders.

Dipper turns to pull the door fully closed behind him, then hesitates. 

After debating for a bit, he settles on leaving the door slightly ajar. Hearing when Bill comes back seems like a good idea, while keeping him out doesn’t. 

But if Bill were to, say, see a door semi-open and shut it himself, then hey. Kinda his fault for not paying attention. No blame on any humans here.

Ugh, Dipper’s losing focus again; he shakes his head to clear it. His legs feel sluggish too, after the long journey and the.. ‘Getting lost’. They stumble as he takes another step. 

After such a long day. After getting hurt, and dragged around, and everything else that’s happened, he’s just so tired. 

Just like during the sacrifice, he has to focus on the real priority - and right now? It’s not the immortal, insane demon god. 

With a weary sigh, Dipper looks for a place to sit down. 

Even pulling the chair out from the desk seems like an ordeal. And while the bed’s far too large for just one person, it's here and empty. Presumably Dipper’s meant to use it, anyway.

And when he takes a seat, it doesn’t leap up to bite him. It doesn’t release any poisoned spikes when he tests the mattress with a quick press of the palm, or snap closed around him when rolls on top of the sheets. The blankets are smooth, without a hint of scratchiness.

Dipper breathes in, and lets it out slowly. He rubs a hand on the top blanket, patting it once or twice, before letting his eyes shut.

It’s just. So, so soft. 

Weirdly springy too, compared to his old cot. A mixture of sink and bounce, so that Dipper almost feels like he’ll get absorbed into it like jello, or get thrown out of it if he moves the wrong way. 

Shifting his weight, Dipper frowns as he tucks the pillow under his head. How could anyone sleep on something like this? It’s totally impossible.

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

Dipper wakes up with a damp pillow under his cheek, a slight headache in his temples, and a sore and aching wrist. 

He rolls onto his side with a groan, moving to a drier section of pillow. 

Great, he drooled in his sleep again. Super gross. Another reason that not having a tongue sucks.

It’s warm in the room, though, and quiet. His head hurts, so he needs some water. And his wrist hurts, too. Which isn’t surprising after being sliced open. 

What’s more surprising is that he actually managed to get some rest afterwards. The whole compound is full of people celebrating or arguing after a ritual goes down. Usually there’s some of both, but right now it’s so quiet that he could swear nobody’s -

With a snort, Dipper jerks his head up off the pillow. He props himself up on his elbow, rubbing at his eyes.

Shit, of course. He’s not in the compound anymore. 

Nobody is around, because he’s been taken away by their literal goddamned god, and stowed in this too-big, too-normal room in this alien place. Without other worshipers, who would… probably make things worse, if he’s being honest.

Dipper stuck here, fending for himself. He’s been subjected to… minor medical attention. And a nice bed, and a drink. Not to mention having his first uninterrupted nap in ages. 

Thinking about it, it’s kinda hard to see a downside. 

One will make itself known eventually. Dipper’s not so naive as to think this is altruism, not from Bill Cipher.

As he sits up, the blankets fall off him and pool into his lap, heavy and soft. For a moment, he’s tempted to pull them back up and curl into the nice, warm bed, under the gentle covers.

But that’s probably not the best idea, considering. 

God, he can’t believe he just fell asleep like that. In the house of a nightmare demon, Dipper just went and dropped off like a total, vulnerable moron.

And shit, it’s dark in here. 

He doesn’t remember turning off the lights. Or where the lightswitch is, for that matter. He can sort-of make out the furniture around him, some kind of ambient illumination, perhaps. A bit of light also shines out from the closed door leading to Bill’s room. 

Somewhere in there, he hears footsteps, and then silence. The feel of that powerful magic, leaking in like the light under the doorframe.

Dipper fiddles with the edge of the blanket. Some kind of quilt, he guesses, one that’s faintly frayed at the edges. It’s very soft. 

At minimum, he’s been in Bill’s house for several hours. His best guess puts it between half to all of a day, depending on how long he slept. 

Despite all Dipper’s learned about the god’s unavoidable wrath, and his infinite, changeable whims -

It hasn’t been too bad. So far.

Dipper rubs his fingers together, leg jogging under the sheets. Eventually he realizes he’s pulling threads out of the quilt, and hisses through his teeth. 

At some point, the other shoe will drop. Bill Cipher is capricious, his favor doubly so.

And nothing ever works out in Dipper’s favor, not even once. 

But maybe, if he works at it now - he might be able to make some headway. Hiding away in the bedroom won’t help with that.

Getting up out of the bed is an effort, but his legs feel steady on the floor and his vision is clear. Dipper takes a deep, calming breath. He turns the knob, and peeks out into the room 

“Hey hey! Look who’s back in the waking world. In a way.” Bill waves at him with a bright grin. Great, Dipper got spotted basically instantly. “Get over here! I need ya to check this out.”

There it is. His first order. 

Dipper shuts his eyes, and walks into the room. He swallows, and drops into the fist form of ritual bow, knees thumping on the carpet. 

This absolutely sucks. The one minor upside is that there is a carpet; Dipper’s not going to ruin his knees if he has to do this ten times a day.

Hanging around a god, he’ll be lucky if he spends any time not bowing and scraping and generally genuflecting. Though the idea makes him burn inside, he grits his teeth. 

He can cope. He’s been through worse. If nothing else, Bill’s more interesting than the daily grind back at the compound. Albeit in a semi-terrifying way.

“Huh.” Bill says. Dipper mentally checks his posture, but no, it’s perfect. Wait - he forgot to press his hands together, right. 

“Huh.” Bill says, this time sounding… 

Not very thrilled. 

Freezing in place, Dipper runs through his options. In a better world, he’d be able to start doing some chant or whatever, but that’s off the table. A quick peek at Bill shows that he’s not impressed, so. Read that right. 

Also not very good. What else is there, though, what can he - 

A long, heavy sigh interrupts his thoughts. Bill’s started rubbing at the bridge of his nose. 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. A totally devout kinda guy.” Bill’s voice is very dry. He taps one impatient finger on the table. “Really feeling all the religious passion, here.”

The clear sarcasm makes Dipper wince. God, of course Bill isn’t fooled. Seeing into the hearts and minds of men as he does, one small human is transparent as hell. He knows exactly what Dipper thinks of him, doesn’t he.

Shit, he’s likely seen everything. 

“But sure, if you’re so devoted, you should get up already.” Bill’s tone lightens, and he gives a quick beckoning gesture. That eternal smile bounces back into place. “C’mon, kid. You can’t scrape your nose on the carpet and check out what I asked you to.”

Dipper scrambles to his feet, brushing nonexistent dirt off his pants. It’s a decent excuse not to meet the god’s eye.

He shuffles slowly forward until he stands next to the god. Logically that should make him nervous. He should be sweating and terrified - 

But damn it, Dipper really hates genuflecting, and Bill’s total lack of interest is actually, maybe, kind of cool of him.

For a bright moment Dipper thinks there might not be any of that sort of thing,  until a robe flops to the ground in front of him. 

Ah. A not-very-subtle hint, there. Dipper takes a breath to steady himself - 

Then a second robe right on top of the one on the ground. And a third. A fourth follows that nearly hits a cabinet on the wall, and Dipper decides he probably missed the mark. 

Bill’s not making a point. He’s just messy.

“Jeez, with this many robes, you’d think they could make a few of ‘em fashionable.” Bill lets out a low whistle. When Dipper glances over, he’s rifling through those cardboard boxes with a frown. “Accessorize! Embroider! Stain ‘em with ichor! This crap is just boring.”

All their robes were pretty identical, but that was the point. To lose one’s individuality, and become a perfect servant for the god. Bill doesn’t sound as appreciative as he should be. 

And where the hell did he get all of these, anyway? 

The boxes on the table are dilapidated, reused cardboard. None of it matches the style or the reality of this… apartment? House? Something? 

Bill chucks yet another robe over his shoulder with a snort. “And don’t get me started on the shape. Or the color!” He sticks his tongue out, letting a final robe dangle from his fingers like he’s holding a dead rat. “I woulda picked something way cooler.”

Whatever his definition of ‘cooler’ is, Dipper doesn’t want to know. Bill catches his skeptical look and Dipper quickly tamps it down.

That single golden eye blinks, then he beckons Dipper closer with a grin. “Get over here, sapling. I gotta know if we’re dealing with the full inventory or not.”

There goes Bill, again. Talking about something without giving Dipper any context for it whatsoever. Likely that’s a sign of things to come. 

All the books about Bill Cipher say he’s ‘cryptic’. Now Dipper’s wondering if that was supposed to be a euphemism for ‘annoying’. 

Dipper squeezes his hands tight at his sides. Not the kind of thing he should be thinking. Instead, he nods, and checks the boxes as requested. 

His god continues messing with the contents, plucking out this and that. Another robe, discarded easily. He sets aside a small ritual set of candles, a setting for ritual offerings. All very distinct. They could have come from Dipper’s own congregation, they’re so familiar. 

Wait - but they are. 

He remembers Bill asking them to pack up stuff, distantly. He didn’t think about what it was for, other than, like, another weird god request. 

But these aren’t just anyone’s things. 

No, he recognizes that robe, with the chewed-on sleeve, and that set of trinkets. Hell, all of said robes have similar wear and tear, the same, slightly oversized look. 

Dipper glances at the boxes, then back to Bill. Though he can’t speak to ask the question, it must be obvious in his face.

“Yep! This is your stuff, Pine Tree.” Bill points a finger gun, giving Dipper a wink. “I asked those imbeciles back in your cult to grab it for ya. Since you’re staying here with me, and all.”

Dipper’s mouth works, but no sound comes out; he shuts it quickly. Bill, uncaring, flicks a finger at a candle and watches it light with a smirk. 

He just- Said it.

Bill Cipher himself called his religion a ‘cult’. 

He actually admitted it. Under any other circumstances that would be absolute blasphemy, but the ‘god’ himself just casually tossed out that the entire stupid religion is kinda full of it and he isn’t even bothered by it. 

Dipper wants to sit down, but there's no chair nearby. He braces himself on the table instead.

“Don’t get it wrong, I’m still the biggest, baddest being you’ll ever meet! But your group of losers pretended to speak for me.” Bill continues. Something about Dipper’s shock seems to have caught his attention. He throws his arms in the air in disgust. A carelessly held candelabra goes flying. “When I wanna give orders, I handle that crap myself.”

Dipper nods again, kind of numbly.

Yeah, that - that actually tracks. The gap between the Bill he was told about, and the Bill that is, is too vast to be ignored. 

Obviously Bill’s weird, it’s part of his basic makeup - but if anything, he matches up more with the Bill that Dipper read about in forbidden texts, instead of the one heard at every sermon. And that…

Honestly, it feels pretty good. Being right. Or right-adjacent; Dipper’s not naive enough to think he has the whole picture yet. Still, being more correct than anyone else? Makes Dipper almost smile. 

It’ll get clearer. There’s time, he’s not dead yet. 

And who the hell knows what else Dipper’s going to learn, while he’s staying in Bill’s home. The only thing he can predict is that half the things will come totally out of left field.

A nudge on his side catches his attention again. “So! Does this cover everything, or do I gotta nightmare some guys into coughing up the rest?” Bill twirls a thin candle between his fingers idly, and raises an eyebrow. “Anything you wanna keep, or stuff you wanna obliterate?”

The startled look on Dipper’s face must surprise him, because Bill blinks a few times. “What? It’s your crap, sapling.” He offers a half-bow, and a wink. “Your gracious host here, at your service.”

Wow, uh, that - Dipper has to turn away for a moment. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling oddly -

Damn it, getting distracted is bad. He has to shape up. Bill might decide he’ll be less gracious if Dipper doesn’t freakin’ focus, now’s not the time to look incompetent. 

He offers Bill a shrug, and a noncommittal wave, then tilts the closest box towards himself.

If he’s going to figure out what to do with his things, he might as well check what’s shown up. A part of Dipper’s surprised that there’s this much of it. 

Actually... there's that miniature altar that ‘disappeared’, and a pair of shoes that walked off by themselves. A scattering of little baubles, mostly bare-bones ritual stuff that everyone got handed out. Even though Dipper’s seemed to roll down a grate or get flushed somehow. 

Guess Bill’s order really got people motivated to find his things. There’s stuff here that hasn’t made an appearance in ages.

Nearby, Bill’s put on his expectant look again. Dipper’s getting used to it. 

Whatever Bill’s looking for, he hasn’t bothered to explain it in the slightest. Much like every other interaction with the guy. It must be pretty good though, because there’s a tinge of eagerness to his expression.

Dipper turns away to poke at the items on the table.

He almost feels bad that he doesn’t know what Bill’s looking for. Even though there’s no logical reason he should. Mind-reading is Bill’s thing, not his followers’. 

Well, whatever. Bill can put that face on all he likes. Unless he has a few helpful hints on hand, he’s just gonna have to wait.

As for the possessions - A quick evaluation of the first box of stuff reveals… mostly things he doesn’t care about either way. On the other hand, he’s never had this many things before, and it would feel weird to just. Dispose of them this easily. 

But then again… 

He never has liked the robes.

Tentatively, Dipper points at the cloth on the floor, then cuts a finger over his throat. 

Bill made his opinion on them clear, so. If he agrees. Maybe Dipper actually won’t need them during his stay in this -  

A sudden burst of blue flame startles him; Dipper jumps in place, going tense.

Noted - be careful about inviting Bill to destruction, because he does not hesitate.

“Great!” Bill claps his hands together, rubbing them vigorously. “Half done - now let’s wrap this up and move onto something more fun.”

Patience must not be Bill’s strong suit, because he turns the boxes upside down, dumping everything out on the table. A few broad swipes spread it over the wood, a careless tumble of what’s, honestly, mostly junk.

Some of it was clearly just tossed in to make the box more full; the top layer is all stuff from the ritual room. As for the stuff that is his, well. How much of it could he actually need? There’s candles, a bunch of knickknacks that he didn’t even like when he was still in the, well. Cult. There’s a thick worn notebook, and his journal with its slightly tattered cover and the bookmark still in place -

Shit. Shit, shit shit. 

Dipper’s heart leaps into his throat. He glances at Bill, then back to the table. 

How did they find that, it was under the loose rock in the corner. Did they know all this time that he had this. Did they not care, or was it truly hidden and only discovered later. How the hell did it survive all the way here? 

However it got here - that’s. All his notes, all his research. All his thoughts, lying there for Bill to -

Wait. Bill.  Hasn’t noticed, yet. 

He’s picked up a tiny brass necklace. His eye narrows as it dangles from his fingers. Not surprising; it is a pretty awful portrayal. The angles are anything but even. 

And while he’s distracted, Dipper makes a grab for the books. 

He times it right; as Bill tosses the necklace away and into the fireplace, he slides both books across the table, tucking them into his pants and under his shirt. 

Not the first time he’s hidden contraband - and probably not the last. A quick check on Bill shows a totally nonchalant demon, slightly bored with the junk in front of him. Either he truly didn’t notice - or doesn’t care about what Dipper pulled. Either one’s a win. 

Dipper feels tension seep out of his shoulders, and he shuts his eyes.

Compared to the god of fury and torture Dipper was taught about, the true god is relatively even-tempered. So far. 

But he already knows how bad it gets, when something terrible is spoken about his god. There’s no way Bill would like reading what Dipper wrote about him. 

“Aha!” Bill exclaims, and yanks his latest prize out of the pile, holding it in the air. “Knew there had to be something good in here.”

Dipper takes one look at whatever’s got Bill so enamored -  and makes a face.

Oh no. He forgot about…. that. 

“Maybe being ‘devout’ isn’t your style, but there might be a better term.” Bill’s sharp teeth are white in his smile. He flicks one of the ragged felt arms, squeezing the yellow ‘torso’. “How’s ‘obsessed’ fit ya?”

The stupid awful Bill Cipher plushie dangles limply in his grip. As Bill gives it another squeeze, some more of the stuffing puffs out. Worn as it already is, with one of the legs missing and the pupil in the eye worn away, it makes the entire thing look twice as pathetic.

Dipper staunchly resists the urge to hide under the table. It’s too late anyway. He’s not escaping this now.

Who the hell decided to pack that? It’s ugly and stupid and juvenile. If Dipper had been able to choose what he brought along, he would have deliberately left it behind. Maybe burned it, so nobody else would know he still had one.

As it stands, he’s torn between being glad it’s here - and totally goddamned humiliated.

He makes a quick grab for it, but Bill dodges him with a grin. 

“Ah ah ah! Nice try.” He waggles it again, beaming bright. “I knew it! You’re super interested in me, aren’t you? Was this little guy your favorite? Didja cuddle up with him in bed every night?”

Asshole probably saw all of that happen, and now he’s taunting. Dipper grits his teeth, hands clenching by his sides. 

Damn it, it’s not Dipper’s fault there weren’t a lot of soft things in the cult. Who cares if he had something that made his life suck a little less? Especially one that flatters Bill himself. If anything Bill should be pleased, knowing he got some devotion from this less-than-pious human-  but instead he’s being an ass about it.

“I’m right, of course.” Bill says, with smug certainty. “Ol’ mini-me here got oodles of affection, didn’t he?” He rubs his chin thoughtfully, backing up as Dipper turns around the table corner in pursuit. “Now let’s see…”

Dipper sucks in a breath, watching Bill bring it to his face. His teeth bared in a sharp smile, mouth slightly open. 

Bill shuts his eye, and puffs a breath over the plush. For a second Dipper thinks it’s about to be consumed in fire, he stumbles forward in protest. 

But though it’s blue all over, it doesn’t burn. As he watches, the hole in the side closes over, stuffing concealed. Some of the minor stains come out, the stitching of the bricks turns black and pristine. The second leg dangles beside the other, the eye is full and renewed and only maybe blinks.

Dipper stops his chase, pausing with his hand on the table. 

That plush hasn’t looked anywhere near that good since he was little. Bill acted like it was nothing to him. Bill thought it was funny. He could have turned it into nothing, just for kicks - and it’s. 

Every time he thinks he knows what Bill Cipher is up to, his expectations get turned upside down and shaken for loose change. Dipper doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

Bill looks over his work with pride, picking up one of the arms to shake it. “Nice to meet ya, Bill! I’m the real, better Bill.” He pauses, then nods solemnly, as if it responded. “Yeah, I am the greatest. Glad you noticed!”

And in a stunningly unsurprising turn of events, Bill’s also going to be obnoxious about this. 

Bill brings the plushie right up to Dipper’s face, pitching his voice higher. “Oooh, Pine Tree, I’m so glad to see ya! You’re my favorite human.” He lifts the felt arms in a floppy invitation for a hug. “I love you sooooo much!”

Dipper feels his lips draw into a thin line, while Bill’s mouth arches up in a grin. 

“What’s that?” Bill cups his ear as if to hear better. “You want a kiss?” Dipper shakes his head, but not before Bill starts mashing the stupid plush against his cheeks. He tries fending it off, but Bill’s quick enough to find every gap in his defenses. Also, he’s making exaggerated kissy sounds. “Mwah mwah mwah!”

Dipper snatches the stupid plush from Bill’s stupid hand, then turns right on his heel and storms back to the guest room. 

Behind him, he hears Bill cackling with laughter.

He knew he was in for some kind of trial. A type of torment. What he’s faced so far hasn’t been terrible. Or much at all, compared to when he was back with the congregation. 

This god isn’t quite the creature of eternal nightmares and torment that he was always told about. Instead he has other motives, ones too strange and subtle to interpret. Dipper should be thankful.

A glance backward shows said god slumped on the couch, cackling to himself with one hand on his forehead. 

But Bill sure thinks he’s fucking hilarious.

Dipper slams the door shut, as loud as he can. It doesn’t quite block out the continuing laughter. He slumps against the door, letting out a long, tired sigh.

Great. He doesn’t know what else he expected.

Bill Cipher’s a total asshole.

[ruershrimo]

f. megumi x reader | one moment longer

under the light of the moon, he looks more beautiful than anything.

spiky black hair shining like stunning silver, eyelashes weaved of the silkiest threads one’s genes could offer, green eyes shimmering, scrutinised by the moon’s glow. if there was a painting to describe the epitome of beauty he would be its subject.

the collar of that tidy black uniform you can nuzzle your face into, the hyaline scent of detergent and a freshly cleaned room, the rhythm of his breaths, faint and light, as lithe, warm hands rest on your back the same way puzzle pieces stay connected.

“i love you,” you hear. it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

you aren’t a jujutsu sorcerer yourself, so maybe you wouldn’t know enough. still, you know some people say that the world of sorcery is one devoid of hope and humanity; you know the general sentiment among them is that this has always been a sisyphean task, that it was born from the resistance of impermanent lives against an evil which would last for all eternity.

yet how can they let their worlds be entrenched in such darkness and lovelessness?

love and good are everywhere, you think, no matter how much loss there is to endure. you’ve felt so yourself.

you see it when you sip from teacups in cafes where the saucers come with biscuits on the side and your ears notice the shutter of his camera and you gaze at the mellow grin resting on his face. you hear it when he sends you whatever tune he’s been listening to for the past few days, sent with a text saying, “thought you might like this”. you taste it when he presses his lips to yours and kisses him back out of joy in a bold defiance of this world’s sorrows. love and good is everywhere in the mundanity of life and it’s minuscule, quiet moments.

“i love you,” he whispers again, voice as soft as a gentle breeze in an autumn-touched street, but with enough conviction to make the mightiest of rulers fall, you’re sure. you shut your eyes slowly as his feet move languidly in tandem with yours.

“you do?” you ask, “i love you too, megumi.”

one day the world he resides in will take him away from you. one day you’ll be left alone with no one to hold you under the moonlight while it spills into their wooden-tiled dorm room, one day you won’t have anyone to dance with you despite the chills outside.

but today is not that day. tonight is not the night you’ll be screeching and crying as you hear news of his death from a cellphone call. it’s not the night when you’ll be shaking and collapsing over his mangled corpse, if there even is one left.

you want a future together. you want for him to stay even after he leaves graduates, for years and years and years of his life. but even you know that with the life he’s living, with the kind of life where any night is one when he may die, you just wish that it can last for a while longer. if not two years, then maybe two months. if not two months, then maybe two weeks. or perhaps…

…just one moment longer. one moment longer with fushiguro megumi.

I don’t even write for jjk haha, I was just simping at 3 am (I want to sleep. I’ve to wake up before 9 tomorrow. someone pry my phone away from me.) I’m also doing this to cope because gege is cruel. someone help this is probably so bad I didn’t even do any formatting or anything bro that picture isn’t even one of the moon

[cerise-on-top]

Hello love! Hope you are well!

So I’ve had this cute idea for a while with AleRudy poly! Where Alejandro and their s/o spoil Rudy for a day, like make him dinner,, whatever you think lolz and then end it by both Ale and s/o spooning him?? I think it would be adorable!!

Hey there! I don't think I made this as fluffy as I could have, and for that I am truly sorry! But I tried!

Spoiling Rodolfo

I feel like he’d be surprised at first. Don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t doubt the love you and Alejandro have for him one bit, but he never would have thought you’d go out of your way to spoil him this much. First you bring him breakfast in bed, essentially waking him with a kiss to each side. It was all there, French toast, eggs, orange juice. He didn’t have to lift a finger. Naturally, as he got out of bed, he’d try to make it up to you by cleaning up after himself, only for you and Alejandro to stop him from doing so, forcing him back onto the bed once again. Rodolfo would grow suspicious. Did he miss an important date? Did the both of you miss an important date? It wasn’t like it was his birthday either, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember something that you did where you had to make it up to him either. For the time being, he’d simply accept his fate. Eventually, he would get up to check up on you. And then there was the barrage of gifts. They were lovely, naturally, but what did he do to deserve them? Again, he would grow even more suspicious. From the beautiful flowers to the small stickers you stuck on him, he wouldn’t know what to do. However, he wouldn’t say something immediately. Maybe he can think of why you’re being especially nice to him himself. Were you about to get into a lot of trouble? Were you just trying to get on his good side?

Of course, Alejandro made the suggestion of going out together, spending the time outside to do whatever it is he wanted. And then came the idea of having a picnic, since it was nice and warm outside. As you went to pay for all the items, with Rodolfo already taking out his wallet, you almost tackled him to get him to put it away. Alejandro paid, even though he shouldn’t have. You were three people, and with the amount of snacks you bought it didn’t come cheap either. From a massage to a heartfelt poem from you, it all started to seem like a little too much. Again, Rodolfo doesn’t doubt the love you feel for him, but it seems a bit off. However, you wouldn’t give him a satisfying answer either when asked about it. Were you going to break up with him after all this time? Making your last day together as beautiful as possible so he had something to cry over? He hoped not, but it didn’t seem impossible with how nice you were being towards him. A kiss to the cheek, you even gave him a plushie of a small cat, claiming its silliness reminded you of him. Why on Earth would you do all of this? Why go to these lengths?

Even around dinnertime, when you wouldn’t let him help out, he almost felt a bit sad. Sure, it was nice to not have to lift a single finger for a day, but why? He loved helping out, you both knew that. He was very much an active man at home, doing what he could to keep everything clean and in order. He didn’t mind cooking for you either, pouring his heart and soul into every meal for you. Rodolfo adored doing something for you, so he wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of it all. The meal was delicious, but he felt almost sad as he was unable to help you out at least even a little bit. You watched his favorite movie with him, you took pictures of him with his silly cat plushie, hell, you would have likely spoon fed him as well on that day. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. What have the both of you been up to? He would ask you again regarding it all when you were spooning him, trapping him on either side. It would take the most embarrassing nicknames that you only use on him to calm his nerves. Something along the lines of “Hush, Rudy-Poody, can’t we show our love and appreciation for you for once? You always make us feel good, so it was time to return the favor.” and “Mi esposo, you need to have more trust in us. Sometimes we just wanna see you smile as well. Cheer up, we just wanted to spoil just once in this life.”

He’d sort of cringe at the nickname you gave him, but it was the reassurance he needed since you only ever used it when you were being especially sappy. You didn’t get in trouble again, you were simply a bunch of lovesick fools. He’d give you a kiss on the nose and a smile. However, he would also try to turn around as Alejandro was spooning him, only for the colonel to not budge in the slightest, saying that Rodolfo shouldn’t be tossing and turning like this. No kissy for Alejandro it seemed. Rodolfo was this close to just wrestling him down for that kissy. Although he can’t really get used to the feeling of being spoiled, he will accept it for just that day. He will pay the both of you back in his style, though. You will also be spoiled. He couldn’t wait to team up with one of you to spoil the third one. All three of you will have had a day like this at some point.

[bruisedboys]

steve backing up and he puts his hand behind the passenger seat headrest. no other thoughts in my brain. just that.

right!!! just steve driving in general makes me dizzy. him doing your seatbelt for you. him putting his keys between his teeth when his hands are full. him driving one handed just so he can touch you at all times. he constantly has his hand on your thigh or holding one of your hands. also!! his car smells exactly how you’d imagine — his musky cologne, the pine air freshener hanging from the mirror, even hints of your perfume. you’re secretly proud you’ve left such a mark on his car, and steve loves getting that whiff of your perfume when you’re not there.

whenever he does the hand on headrest thing you can’t stop staring. he just looks so hot, his big hand gripping the headrest behind you and his arm stretched across the gap between your seats. his neck craning as he looks out the back window, jawline prominent. his t-shirt stretching and slipping down his shoulder to expose his freckle-covered collarbone. you’ve been caught staring plenty of times. dustin loves to tease you for it. steve threatens to kick him out of the car and have him walk the rest of the way.

[clover-46]

the writers on here making the miguel fics need to remember his fangs inject paralytic venom hes not a real vampire it was just a joke in the movie 😭

oh but i still want him to bite me don’t get me wrong idgaf if they have venom 🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️

[kimsohn]

hi hi !! can i request a karina imagine/drabble with a short girlfriend who she loves to tease a lot, with the quotes:

“you're really adorable, you know?”

“you're so obsessed with me, love”

home . karina x fem!reader (no specific pronouns) about . 620 words, fluff warnings . reader is shorter than karina!

it's been a whole three weeks since you've seen karina, and you're starting to go nuts without her.

being in the middle of comeback season means you see karina lesser than often. she comes home at ungodly times, and you're lucky if you can even feel her weight dip into the mattress as she passes out. but even if you wanted to make her schedule a little bit easier by giving her a nice massage or helping her wake up in the morning, she's gone before you can even open your eyes.

it's not her fault, and you know that. your texts are littered with apologies, ones she's probably sent in breaks of long hour practices and recordings, and the mere thought that she cares enough to send a message of her missing you in her hectic schedule is enough to warm your heart. she doesn't know that in reality, those words are enough for you.

it's why you're so hellbent on making a nice, home-cooked meal for her when she comes back from practice today. she's being let off early, and you'll finally be able to spend time together, time that's been missed these past few days. she deserves it more than anyone.

the only problem with this is, to put it simply, you're a little too short to reach the ingredients you need. the items you use daily are scattered between the lower shelves where you can obtain them easily, but karina is the one that likes to experiment with less common ingredients on the nights you both stay at home together. she's always teasing you for not being able to reach things you need, but it's okay since she's usually there to get them for you.

unfortunately, that isn't the case today, and the only thing you can do is stack two stools upon each other in order to grab the romano cheese at the top of the drawer. fettuccine alfredo has never been this physically challenging, but you think it'll be worth it when karina lights up at the taste.

"aww, my baby is so tiny. you're really adorable, you know?"

the voice startles you, and suddenly you feel the two stools toppling under you as you fall off the edge. luckily, it's not too high of a distance and the kitchen mat is plush enough to cushion your fall, but the impact is still painful enough to make you groan.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry are you okay?" you hear as you're lifted up, familiar hands feeling your waist to see if you've bruised yourself heavily.

"karina? why are you home early?"

you have to tilt your head up to see her concerned eyes, and even in her worried state, she manages to look beautiful.

"we finished recording early and i wanted to surprise you. but enough about me, are you hurt? do you need an ice pack? why were you even on two stools?"

"i'm fine, just a little sore. and i was trying to get the romano cheese at the top of the drawer since you like fettuccine alfredo."

the concerned look on her face shifts into one of amusement.

"you're so obsessed with me, love."

"hey!" you protest, hitting her shoulder, "i just wanted to be nice and make you dinner since you've been working hard."

"and you could've made any meal. but my little midget girlfriend decided to make my favorite pasta as a reward, huh?"

she tucks you into a hug, not even letting you respond as you're squished against her chest. her fingers find the tips of your hair to play with, and you breathe in the familiar scent of her warmth.

and finally, you feel at home.

[maximotts]

I’m thinking so hard about cowgirl!Wanda setting up a cozy hammock spot for you out back…

She’d have to be careful with it since you’re always so nosy, ordering the hammock, its posts, and other decorations to the farm office instead of home, keeping all the plants in the greenhouse and making sure you don’t stick your head in there, etc.

When time finally comes to put her plan into motion, she gets Nat and Agatha to keep you busy all day with strict instructions not to bring you back until dusk. It breaks her heart to drop you off at Nat’s cabin when you’re so pouty about it, wanting her to hang out with you as she typically did whenever she took a day off, but Wanda knew it’d all pay off.

And the poor thing works hard all day, pulling up grass and tilling dirt to lay stepping stones, stick the hammock in place, plant your favorite flowers.. Wanda even made the last minute decision to build some wood framework around two sides of the nook so she could wind those blue and white fairy lights she saw you admiring whenever you went into town.

By the time you get home, Wanda’s putting the finishing touches on, placing fluffy outdoor pillows and some new blankets in the hammock and the large glider chair she’d bought as an added place to sit. She hears you calling out for her from inside the house so Wanda rushes to greet you and you giggle at her dirt smudged denim cut offs, the old shirt she only wore around the house somehow even more grungy now. “Where have you been? You were supposed be taking a day off-“

“Don’t lecture me about resting until you see what I’ve been doing!” Wanda laughs, closing the distance between you two so she could turn you in her arms and cover your eyes with her hand, “Walk with me, bunny. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

The next time you open your eyes you’re greeted with the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen. “Wanda, what..”

“I wanted to give you your own special place,” Wanda stepped around to face you, fiddling with her hands as she pointed out all the details and features of your new custom space. “Thought it might be nice since you were kind enough to move in with me.. felt a little bad I’ve got all my shit everywhere and you didn’t have much. But if you don’t like it o-or if you want something inside I can-“

You shut her up with a kiss, passionate and insistent, crashing into her hard enough to make her stumble back a step. Pulling away, you hold her face in your hands, thumbs brushing away the small flecks of dirt she’d gotten on her cheeks during the day. “You sweet, sweet girl… Come try out this hammock with me.”

Laying under the stars, snuggled deep into Wanda’s arms under your new quilt as the two of you gently swayed back and forth, you’re sure you’re going to burst with all the love hammering through your body. "So you like it?"

Wanda feels you nod against her chest, gently squeezing her arm in reassurance, "I love it.. love you more though." It's true, as much as you adore this spot, you know it means so much that she made it, that she thought of your needs and took so much time to create something special in an effort to make you feel welcome in your new home. As if your girlfriend didn't already keep you happy and secure everyday.

And you’re just about to ask Wanda a question about the constellation you spotted when you hear a soft snore from above so you resign yourself to closing your eyes too; Wanda’s long day and your overwhelming emotions tuckered you both out.

[concreteburialplot]

Anything Else?

Summary: Headcanons of Nicholas taking care of sick reader

A/N: I’m really fucking sick & i can’t stop thinking about it, so here we are.

Disclaimer: I’ve never really written headcanons in a structured way like this so idk sorry if they suck lol also i wrote so much who’s surprised

Other work masterlists: virality // intertwined 

- Nick can tell when you’re getting sick before you do - maybe it’s a little extra sniffle in the morning or an extra subtle rasp in your voice before you take your first sip of coffee - but he knows

- He pretends to believe you, in your firm stance that you’re fine, but secretly tries to locate any medicine that may be needed

- You don’t even need to speak the next day for him to know he was was right - just the way your shivering body clung on to his warm one the next morning was enough

- He silences all your alarms and screens all your calls so that you can rest.

- Even if he’s got errands to run, sketches to draw, or plans with the boys, he cancels all of them for you - he doesn’t let you know that though

- The only time he does leave your side is to pick some mystery supplies & more medicine

- He stumbles through the door carrying a million grocery bags & quickly but clumsily kicks the front door closed to make sure the cats don’t escape

- He feels guilty for taking so long but the depleted half smile on your face when he brings you some gifts eases his worry

- He hands you a stuffie he found at the store that looks like one of your cats, your favorite flavor gatorade, and of course a giant bottle of water

- “Now I gotta go do something in the kitchen, but can I get you anything else first?” He insists

- He goes into the kitchen just to turn right back around to you

- “I forgot! I got this little bell at the store, if you need anything, just ring it okay?”

- You shake your head & cough, “You’re ridiculous.”

- He places a kiss on your burning hot forehead, “The only thing ridiculous around here is how you haven’t taken your meds yet.” And waves a strict finger at you

- You don’t realize that you dozed off until you sense each of your cats nuzzling into your sides then cooing when Nick enters with a breakfast-in-bed tray & a giant bowl of soup

- “It’s a family recipe, I grew up eating it when I got sick.” He shifts back & forth on his heels like he’s anxious. “I’ve never made it for anyone before … and I didn’t let it boil long enough, so if it’s not good I’m so-“

- You shush him and thank him with a big smile

- The soup is warm, savory and comforting - exactly what you needed. Even in your sickly state, you give him a little food-happy dance with a closed-eyed smile

- He beams at your response and you can tell how much he loves feeling needed

- “Anything else I can get you my love, before I go clean up?”

- You tell him you’d love not to eat alone, so that he brings a bowl of soup for himself and you spend the rest of the night watching your comfort show with your boyfriend and your cats 💕

[boyfhee]

help y tf was i not following u 😀 also hi lin gimme a niki hcs rn or forever be bald

mf and i was thinking why my hair fall increased should've known it was you . anw enjoy ur 'ki hcs 😒😒😒😒

ft · nrk

content : established relationship, bullet points

warnings : none that i noticed ( my fluff writing abilities have disappeared )

riki is the type of bf who eats your snacks, for two reasons, of course. first, he's hungry, and second, it gives him more opportunities to buy your favourite snacks and surprise you ( even though it's an old trick now ) sure, it's annoying at first but at some point, it isn't even surprising to see food disappearing from your refrigerator and shelves. you know it's going to be back by the evening, and in more amount.

has a habit of stealing your blanket while sleeping. never sleeps on his side of the bed, he has to turn to your side and hug you to sleep even in peak summers. no, you don't get to have your blanket back and complain. if you push him away, he'll roll back over to you, and in the morning, find him teasing you about how you can't even stay away from him even in sleep, how you're so in love that you always end up on his side of the bed.

riki likes to try new things with you, and even if they're not new, he'd like it if you try things that he likes, be it food, games, songs, dance, shows, just whatever. it makes him feel closer to you, makes him feel like with everything common between the two of you, the distance between you both is vanishing. he simply likes the idea of you enjoying the same things as him, to see you happy doing things that make him happy. it's one of the reasons why he's been excited to have you meet his friends and family. just the idea of you, who is very important to him, meet other people who are important to him as well. just makes him feel reassured, tells him that you're here to stay.

i think he has a habit of whispering in your ear. it doesn't matter if you're in public or by yourself. he will lean down and whisper in your ears if he could— and it's not a secret. his words are mostly about the usual things he notices are you, random compliments, a joke and you both would laugh about in your own little world.

likes to make things for you ! please, i cannot stress how riki-like this is. whether it's a sketch, a short lyric, matching bracelets, food, whatever— he likes to give you gifts and nothing is better than hand-crafting something and pouring every ounce of love he has into it. there's a mini showcase of all the gifts he has ever made for you, ranging from pots he made and painted himself, to the photo frame he made on your first birthday after getting together with him.

remembers every little thing about you, good or bad, embarrassing or not. you'd be surprised to know the things he remembers. sometimes, they're about stuff you'd have forgotten yourself. he'd be like, "i remember you wanted to buy this for so long," and he's referring to a conversation you had months ago. he's so observant, he notices every single thing do you, your preferences, the dress you like the most, your favourite chapstick, the perfume you're wearing. he knows you so well that if it came to a point where in some world, riki hasn't seen you, he would still know it's you.

good morning, good night, hello, good bye and hourly i love you kisses are must or he would be found unconscious on the living room floor.

[brisquad-unit-4402]

Congrants on the 100 followers 4402!!! You deserve much more for your amazing writing<3

For the event, can i request 28. princess carry with ikey? If im not wrong, he already said he likes being carried like a princess!!

So maybe after a day out w him he starts complaining about how his feet hurt from wearing heels for such a long time and reader just starts carrying him like the princess he is

thank you for the compliment, i appreciate it!

kyaaaa… does anyone else’s heart lurch and jump and do a sick dance move when they think about being swept off their feet and carried like a princess or is it just me… i’m doing research, like, totally…!

tags: established relationship, fluff, gender neutral reader

#100 followers for 4402 - 28. princess carry

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You hold Ike’s hand within your own as the ocean waves lap along the shore. It’s a peaceful beach, with sloping sands and sprouted grass right where you stand, dividing the sand and the stable dirt under your feet. “I discovered it a while ago. It’s hard to find, so people don’t usually visit here, even though it’s so calm. It’s for just the two of us.”

“It is. I love it,” Ike says. He looks contented, but his eyes drift to his shoes. “It’s just that, when you said we were going to the beach, I thought you meant the side with the boardwalk.”

“Oh. Right.” You forgot. Ike usually wears boots with a high heel. Stilettos and sand are sworn enemies.

“Um, don’t worry! I’ll figure something out.”

“But how? You’ll sink.”

“Yeah… You have a point, I guess.” He sours. “My feet kind of hurt from all the walking, too.”

“They do?”

“It’s fine. I’ll manage.”

“But I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“It’s not the first time, and definitely won’t be the last. I’m used to it. It’s not that bad after so long, but still, the sand is going to be a problem – aah!”

Ike’s thought gets cut off as you squat, swing your arm under his legs, and gather him all up in a bundle. In his surprise, he grabbed the first thing his hands landed on – your shoulder – and your hands support him as you hold him gingerly.

He sputters, so small in your arms. “R-Reader! What are you – did you seriously just –“

“You said it yourself, the sand’s a problem, right?”

You readjust. Ike clings to your neck as he bounces once in your grasp, and shoves his head along your shoulder and out of sight. “How can you even carry me?”

You step forward to where the beach starts with a playful grin. “I’m much stronger than I look.”

Your shoes meet the doughy sand at a lower level than the grass. A short breath frosts down the scruff of your neck while you jump down and Ike buries himself closer to you. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his ears glow red between the gold earrings.

“Look at me, princess?”

Ike shoots up at the pet name, and sure enough, the rest of his face glows in the same blush all the way down to his neck. He doesn’t even want to fight how that name runs straight through his veins and into his heart. He’s too set in your arms to resist.

He melts like a sigh as you hold him higher. Ike tastes like ocean against your lips.

The sticky, salty air glues his mouth to yours for a blink longer than intended. “Let me treat you like royalty,” you murmur.

Ike nods, transfixed.

For Ike, you are eternal. Your face is every reflection off the bubbling sea and every sparkle shed by the sun. To be held like this is enough. The kiss is enough. You are enough. The minutes pass but the world is stuck in a selfish pause, and he replays all your love on loop.

For you, he is loyal and love, and you know he is too precious to last another moment like this. The second goes by. You let it go.

So you hoot and holler, the quiet broken, and he squeaks in response as you run along the shore. “Incoming, please make way for Your Royal Highness, the lovely Princess Ike!”

Your princess cracks into songbird chirps and a red-faced smile. “What are you doing, there’s no one around!”

“Sorry, can’t hear you, too busy spreading the good word of my beloved princess.” You stop to stare at the ocean. The seafoam rises and falls flat against itself, and rustles out the music of the waves as the whitewater dies out on the wet sand. “YO, OCEAN, YOU’RE NOTHING COMPARED TO MY IKEY!”

You spin around, and his earrings swing with the motion. Ike squeals. The sea breeze picks up a spray of water that flicks against your faces, but his laughter is high-pitched and uncontrollable, and persists even when the saltwater gets in his mouth.

Bubbly like the ocean backdrop, but he’s far more breathtaking than the beach could ever be. Especially at this angle, where his eyes can barely stay open because he’s smiling so wide, and the tousled ends of his hair matches the bottle-blue waves behind him, and he is so close that his giggles breathe life back at you. Your hands are flush along his back where they belong. The sandy grasp treasures the tide.

[monocaelia]

a spoonful of sugar.

even when you feel like your body is caving in on itself, they're always there to lift you from the darkness. aka; they take care of you when you're sick.

feat. childe. diluc. scaramouche.

genre : fluff and comfort .

note : guess who covid finally caught up to. :) i've been feeling awful about the whole ordeal so this is a little comfort fic to me from me, teehee.

❀ CHILDE

today was the day childe finally came home from work and boy was he excited about it. not only would he be home with his family for a while and get to spend time with those that he loves and maybe go fishing with his father and help his mother with meals while the kids get ready for dinner and bed, but he would also get to see you again.

granted, he got to see you more often than his family members as you travel around teyvat as often as he does, but nothing beats getting to your house and being enveloped by one of your warm and loving embraces as you both take in each other's presence as if it would be your last.

what he wasn't prepared to see when he walked through your door was your huddled body shaking underneath a blanket, sniffling and coughing while you curled in on yourself to maintain whatever heat your body let out.

your name slips from childe's lips as he drops his bags off at your bedroom door. his heart warms at your noise of surprise, but it crumbles again when you peek your head out from the blanket.

of course, you looked sickly; nose and cheeks red from irritation and your eyes barely even open. you were a mess, with your pajamas still draping your body and your hair messier than when you just wake up, almost as if you didn't even brush your hair for the day.

"oh... childe, i wasn't expecting you home so soon. if i had known, i would have-"

"you're not doing anything right now," childe scolds, marching over to your bedridden body and pushing you back underneath the blankets. despite your protests, childe presses a finger to your lips and a kiss to the top of your head. "don't you dare move a finger on this bed or i'm going to be very upset, sweetheart."

and with that your lover leaves the room. you hear a number of clutters from the kitchen and soon a warm, comforting smell surrounds your room and nearly lulls you to sleep. if it weren't for the gentle knock and the familiar head of messy, curly ginger hair peeking from the door, you sure would have.

in his hands was a delicious soup, one that he remembered you loved and you could nearly cry at the mere thought that he recalled something so trivial about you.

"oh... 'jax you didn't need to do all of this. i'm not that sick," you gently try to persuade him, but your lover shushes you.

"i didn't need to, but i wanted to," he replies simply, a loving smile growing on his lips and his dimples poking through. "i wanted to and i love you."

oh, that did it.

you tried pushing back the tears that welled up in the corner of your eyes as to not embarrass yourself in front of childe, but to no avail. one, two, three tears drip from your face and you try to wipe at every one.

"love? are you okay? should i have not made you soup? did you want anything else?" your lover panics, setting aside the soup to comfort your shaking body. his thumbs, calloused from years of fighting and training in the fatui and moreso, gently wipe away the tears that push through your eyes and its at this moment that you feel his love for you again and again.

"no... i just..." you begin, taking a deep breath to collect your thoughts, "you're too good for me. i'm sorry for making you worry about me, 'jax."

he doesn't respond immediately, instead only silently wiping away your tears and pushing away the hair that got in between him and your face. as much as you loved his deep, ocean eyes, you couldn't bring yourself to stare into them at the moment in fear of humiliating yourself even more in front of him.

childe calls your name, gently like the waves that lap calmly against the shores of morepesok, and that's when you finally meet his gaze.

"don't apologize for something like that. i love you, and you're someone important to me; of course i'm going to worry for you and care for you," he presses a kiss to your head once more. "you're someone i want in my life forever. so please, let me love you."

❀ DILUC

you're pitiful; shivering underneath the blanket of your bed and pulling the sheets far above your head. every now and then he could hear your soft sniffles and dry coughing disrupt the otherwise silence in the room.

if he could, diluc would take the illness that chose to curse you at this very moment and suffer in your place. but what he could he do against the common cold.

his knuckle gently raps against the door, signaling his arrival to your room and his heart aches when your body freezes underneath your thick blanket. slow, heavy steps make their way towards the pile on your bed and he carefully places the tray of food on your nightstand.

diluc calls your name; you don't reply.

he calls your name again, fingers lightly tugging against the blanket that hides you from the outside world and your fingers quickly tighten their grip and a shout of protest leaves your lips.

"dearest," diluc whispers, his words enveloping you in the warmest way possible, "you have to eat your dinner."

your body curls away from his touch and his brows furrow. he hates to see you like this.

"i-i'll eat it in a bit..." your hoarse voice answers from underneath the blanket. as sickly as you sound, diluc could feel his shoulders drop in relief at hearing you speak again.

"why not eat it now when it's warm, love?" his fingers caress what he thinks is your head from underneath the blanket. "i've missed seeing you. don't you miss me, too?"

there's a pause of silence as you ponder what to do next before your head slowly peeks out from underneath the blanket.

your eyes are swollen, tinted a light shade of pink along with your nose from excessive wiping. your hair is a mess, sticking out in places where it shouldn't be, and the bags underneath your eyes are darker than they normally are. you must have lost a fair amount of sleep because of your illness.

"i'm sorry i look so scary right now," your words are congested and hoarse, but your voice is still your voice.

diluc's heart melts at your apology and his rough fingers brush a strand of hair away from your face. even if you had the burden of carrying the world on your shoulders and had the physical repercussions to show it, he would still think you were the most ethereal being he had ever laid eyes on.

"nonsense, you're beautiful. how could i ever think of you as any less?"

his lips gently press against your forehead, a silent 'i love you' shared between the two of you before helping you up to eat your dinner.

❀ SCARAMOUCHE

"you look awful."

scaramouche is sitting a few feet away from your bedside, staring at you in disgust at your messy hair and runny nose. you had suggested he leave you alone for today as you've gotten severely ill, but what scaramouche wants, scaramouche does so here he is, calling you ugly in your own home.

"thanks," you retort in your congested voice, "you sure make me feel extra loved."

the wanderer rolls his eyes at you before moving to finally sit at your bedside. he made sure not to sit too close though, probably so that he wouldn't catch your germs.

not that he could ever get sick, but whatever.

"you know, i thought you promised to be nicer," you comment, attempting to sit up to be a little bit polite towards your unwanted guest, even if he didn't deserve it, but your head spins as soon as you move.

surprisingly, you feel sharp fingers push you back down on your bed and you're staring at the ceiling again.

"i am. i'm visiting you while you're sick, isn't that being nice?" scaramouche states it as if it was obvious. "when no one wants to see you and risk getting sick, isn't this me being nice so you're not alone."

in his own... weird and convoluted way, scaramouche was right. although it's not what you would deem as nice, this was nice even for someone like him.

"oh right, they told me to make sure you take this," scaramouche says, pulling out a green vial from archons knows where. you feel your throat close up at the sight of the medicine and the familiar, bitter taste of it nearly makes you gag at the mere sight. he brings it towards you and you instinctively pull away from him.

"oh?" the wander watches in amusement as you make every attempt to move away from the vial. "what is this? the fearsome warrior who has slain their enemies with no remorse is scared of a little bit of medicine?"

your hand shoves the arm holding the vial away, although weak from your current illness. "as if. just... leave it here and i'll eat it later. i promise."

your heart drops to your stomach when the grin grows on scaramouche's face. "no, i was ordered to make sure you ate it all. i need to bring this bottle back empty, you see."

he was having too much fun with this. your eyes widen in both fear and surprise when he leans towards your bedridden body, arms barricading you and trapping you on top of the mattress. if you weren't stuck with an illness, overpowering him and switching the sides wouldn't be an issue.

but your body was frail from your fever.

"you're such a liar."

"me? a liar? nonsense. that was the old me, not the new me, promise."

and yet the devious glint in his eye and the way too toothy grin that continued to grow on his face revealed the truth to you. he was messing with you, and you would be damned if you let him win this round while you were recovering.

"now you can do this the easy way or the hard way. which will it be?"

oh boy... this was going to be a long night.

[onlyhuis]

screams and cries

[buzzzy-bee]

High School! Leon S. Kennedy Headcanons

This is an accumulation of some headcanas of Leon Kennedy headcanons I've made over the past 6-ish months some are xreader some are what I personally think Highschool! Leon would do! (AN):This is my first time actually posting headcanons anywhere other than friends to read on discord so enjoy! ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃

ೃ⁀➷Leon Kennedy in high school definitely played in some sort of sport my personal opinion is that he played 2 sports during different seasons he played baseball and volleyball (for some reason I cannot for the life of me see him playing football or basketball).

ೃ⁀➷We all know Leon is a through and through rock enjoyer but I feel like he also listens to country-rock and the occasional Taylor Swift song.

ೃ⁀➷Leon probably wore glasses in high school and especially during sports practice but during games he wore contacts and switch permanently to them when he got into the police academy.

ೃ⁀➷Late night date with High school Leon probably involves going to the nearby park at 11pm on a Friday night and climbing to the top of the play area and sitting on the monkey bars and star gazing will holding hands simply enjoying each other's presence

ೃ⁀➷I think Leon really excelled in his academics everything but history I ended up being his first period class every year and he couldn't bring himself to care enough especially when he was up super late after practice finishing up (He had barely started it) his homework

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃

That's all I have for now, I don't wanna put all of them out at the same time and not have anymore content, reblogs, and likes a greatly appreciated! have a great Day, Night or Afternoon ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚