#THIS THING IS ALMOST AS LONG AS MY BED

[nebuladreamz]

A little different than last year's, but here we are again. To say that this past year hasn't been absolutely wild would be a lie, cause HOLY SHIT MAN

This year's birthday is. A little different for me, but you already have the silly comic to show that so I won't make like a broken record oops

But, despite the changes and hills that life's decided I should climb or throw at, it hasn't changed the fact that I'm so genuinely fucking thankful to the people that I've known since joining this fandom. I'm not even kidding when I say that being here has actually changed my life for the better. I know I said something similar last year, but this time, hoo boy it sure turned up the AMP and test how far I could go.

So, to everyone, both new and old; thank you for being here :D

@garbagechocolate @darkxsoulzyx @smoljeanius @bunmuffin @skizabaa

@tuzesdays @sleepykas @fernzwing @kandidandi @starsketchez

@just-a-drawing-bean @notdysfunk @ilsole @amberluvsbugs @cloudyvoid

@nomsthecat @alfinefalf @nosleepygay @theblog-with-thestuff

@cacaocheri

(Edit: ty kibbits for informing me of the. Fuck ass tagging system)

AND TAGGING OTHERS BECAUSE. POINTS. BONKS WITH HEAD. GETTING TO EITHER INTERACT OR TALK OR WHATEVER IS ALWAYS A DELIGHT

@ohno-the-sun @kibbits @ink-yy @saltyfryz @kaprisvn

@hierba-picante @sunny-sophies-garden @cookiiemancer @sneeblbop @justaduckarts

@pepethehumanz @crystalmagpie447 @woolysstuff @mocha-illustrates @duhsty1

@sanchensky @pillowspace @victarin @witherfide

[I DEFINITELY GOT SONAS WRONG AND THESE AREN'T ALL THE SILLY PEOPLE I KNOW BUT IM SITTING HERE AT 2:30 IN THE MORNING JUST KNOW YOU'RE THERE IN SPIRIT HANDING YOU ALL POPTARTS WAUGH]

[ghosttotheparty]

with every beat of my heart

also on ao3 cw: grief, death of a parent, past child abuse, panic attack

Steve isn't in bed when Eddie wakes up.

That's what wakes him up in the first place. The lack of Steve's warmth, the way the mattress isn't dipping under his weight and dragging Eddie closer to him the way it usually does. It's still dark when Eddie blinks his eyes open, and he slides a hand out over the mattress, feeling the blankets that have been tossed back and set over Eddie's body. It's cold. Eddie pushes himself up, listening closely for the creaky floorboards in the hallway of their apartment, for any indication that Steve just went to the bathroom, went for some water or painkillers, but the apartment is silent.

Eddie sits up, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. His whole body aches the way it always does when he wakes up, but he pushes himself to his feet anyway, untangling from the blankets in the dark and tossing them back to the bed.

He creeps down the hall, squinting in the dark until he looks around the corner to see the kitchen light shining under the crooked door.

"Stevie?" he says weakly, his voice rough as he pushes the door open.

Steve is sitting at the dining table, his arms crossed on it in front of him. He's staring at the tablecloth like it's speaking to him, and he doesn't look up until Eddie says his name again. He blinks, his eyes raising up to look at Eddie blankly.

"Hey," he says, like it's perfectly normal for him to be here at two in the morning.

"What's going on?" Eddie asks, blinking his eyes in the bright light of the kitchen. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Steve breathes. "Fine."

"Steve." He goes to stand next to Steve so Steve is looking up at him, and he pushes a hand through Steve's tangled hair. It's longer now, unkempt and beautiful. Steve blinks up at him, exhaling. "What happened? You have a nightmare?"

"No," Steve says softly. "My mom called."

Eddie blinks, fully awake. She's not supposed to have their number. Steve went zero contact with his parents when they moved out of Hawkins.

"How did she..."

"Joyce gave it to her."

Eddie blinks again. Joyce knows all about Steve's parents. She wouldn't do that without a good fucking reason.

"What did she have to say?" Eddie asks softly, pulling a chair over and sitting down in front of Steve. The chairs are mismatched. All of them are. From garage sales and second-hand stores.

Steve stares at him for another few moments, his eyes almost empty. Absent. A pit grows in Eddie's stomach. Steve isn't even moving. He's usually fidgeting with something, tapping his fingers, bouncing his knee, rubbing the fabric of his shirt, rocking back and forth. Especially when Eddie made it very clear when they moved in together that it was all fine. None of it is annoying, or childish, or weird. Eddie waits while Steve stares at him, wanting to reach out and touch him, to hold his hand or his cheek, but the pit in Eddie's stomach says that's not what Steve needs right now.

"My dad's dead," Steve says finally, blinking. His eyes clear up a little bit, finally looking at Eddie instead of through him.

Eddie blinks, straightening.

"Oh."

He doesn't know what to say.

He doesn't know what there is he could say.

"He had a heart attack last night," Steve continues, possibly picking up on Eddie's speechlessness. "He didn't make it." He cracks an odd smile, tilting his head, but it fades just as quickly as it appeared. "Guess all that anger finally caught up with him."

Eddie feels sick. Like he has a fever. Too hot, almost shivering.

"How do you feel?" he asks softly.

"Mom's having a hard time," Steve says, like he's ignoring the question, but Eddie knows it just didn't register. He's not really hearing Eddie right now. "She was crying on the phone, I-- I didn't really know what to say? I said he's in a better place, but that feels so shallow, I mean--"

"Baby," Eddie interrupts. Steve shuts up, looking at him with wide eyes like he's in trouble, so Eddie finally reaches a hand out, holding it open and waiting. Steve looks at his hand like it's foreign for a moment before he slides his hand into it. He's shaking. "How do you feel?" Eddie asks again, slower.

"I..." Steve takes a deep breath, blinking at their hands, at the bands around their ring fingers they bought the day they left Hawkins. Not legal wedding rings, but neither of them has ever really cared about the law. "I don't know."

"Do you wanna go through it or around it?" Eddie asks gently. It's the same question they ask each other whenever they have nightmares or flashbacks or just generally hard days. Always a quicker way to other questions.Do you wanna tell me about it or go back to sleep? Do you wanna describe what happened or watch a movie? Do you wanna talk about it or have sex? Do you wanna cry for a while or go for a drive? But they always go through it eventually, even if they go around it first.

"I don't know," Steve breathes, his eyes suddenly glistening as he stares through the floor. "I don't know, I don't-- I don't know."

"You want me to decide?"

Steve looks into his eyes, looking scared and small and desperate. He nods. Eddie squeezes his hand and takes a deep breath.

"Let's go through it," he says softly, listening to the way Steve's voice stutters in his throat. Eddie nods encouragingly, squeezing again. "'S okay, I'm right here," he murmurs. "We'll go through it together, okay?"

"Okay," Steve says.

"Tell me what you're feeling."

Steve takes another breath.

"...Confused."

"Why?"

Steve licks his lips, looking at their hands, and his face hardens after a moment as he bites his lip, and his lip quivers, and Eddie can tell that he's aching to go around it instead. But Steve looks up into Eddie's eyes, and Eddie gives him a nod. You got it. Whatever it is you're feeling, it's okay. And Steve goes through it.

"That man," he says slowly. "Was a piece... of fucking shit."

Eddie almost smiles. He nods.

"He..." Steve takes a deep breath. Eddie squeezes his hand. "He made me fucking miserable. Every fucking day." His voice is firm, unwavering. "He made my life a living hell. And I don't..." He shakes his head like he's speechless, like he's in disbelief, and then his eyebrows furrow as his eyes fill with tears, but he squeezes them shut so the tears all fall down his cheeks, and he steadies himself. "I used to--" His voice breaks, and he chokes on it, pausing to swallow. "I used to lay in bed at night," he says, his voice softer. "And... And wish he'd fucking die. I would wish he'd have a heart attack, or-- or get in a car accident, or be at the wrong place at the wrong time, and it's so fucking shitty, but I--" He cuts off with a scoff, his expression lightening. "Every birthday wish, every eleven-eleven, every goddamn ladybug that landed on me in the summertime. I wished he'd die. I wished he'd be one of those shitty dads that just up and left his family for no good reason."

Eddie listens intently, his eyes burning, holding Steve's hand tightly.

"The only time I ever prayed," Steve says quietly, "to a god I never even believed in, it was to ask God to make my dad fuck off the face of the earth." He laughs again, dryly, weakly, shaking his head. "And now..." He swallows again. "Now, fucking what?" He looks up again, at Eddie, but he's looking through him again. Eddie nods anyway, listening. "Now I turn twenty-four, and I'm long fucking gone and he just... Now he dies." His lip is quivering, his eyes gleaming with tears. "That's not fair," he whispers.

Eddie shakes his head in agreement, because it's not fucking fair. It's not fucking fair that Steve lived in that goddamn house in fear for his whole life, his whole childhood, surviving instead of living, and only now, when he has a home, is it safe to go back.

"And that's--" Steve chokes. "That's cruel, and shitty of me to say, but I-- I don't care."

"'S not shitty, Steve," Eddie says, squeezing his hand.

"It is," Steve argues weakly. "But I don't care. He... He hurt me. For years," he says, and he's crying now, tears falling down his face that Eddie wipes away with every ounce of care he can. "And now he's dead, and I never got to tell him to his face how much he hurt me. Or how much he scared me, and I never got to tell him that I'm not scared of him anymore. Because he--" He swallows, blinking tears out of his eyes, emphasizing with a movement of the hand that Eddie isn't holding, like he doesn't want to let go of Eddie's. "Because he was nothing," Steve chokes, "but a fucking coward that put his hands on a child, and that really wasn't fair."

Eddie nods, pride glowing in his chest because Steve is getting it. He's getting everything that Eddie's tried to tell him for years, every time he's woken up from nightmares about coming home late to find his father waiting to interrogate him, about breaking a glass dish as a child because the counters were too high.

"But he-- I'm so angry," Steve says, the last word breaking on its way out, too breathy and soft. "Because why now?" A tear falls from Eddie's eye, and even in his anger and confusion, Steve wipes it away gently, almost mindlessly. "I'm twenty fucking four, and he-- he dies now. Why not-- Why not when I was eight? Or-- Or twelve? Or fifteen? Why not when I needed it to happen? Why not when I prayed for it to happen? It's not fucking fair."

"No," Eddie chokes. "'S not fair, Stevie."

"I'm so angry," Steve says, crying, gasping for breath, his hand trembling as it grips Eddie's. "I'm so angry, Eddie, I don't-- It's like there's no space in me for anything else."

Eddie lifts his hand and kisses it softly, because he can't find any words right now.

"Is this grief?" Steve wonders out loud, his eyes wandering to the floor, tracing the tiles desperately like they'll lead to an answer. "Do you have to love someone to grieve them?"

Eddie's chest aches. He wants to go around it. He doesn't want to go through it anymore.

"Because I have never loved him," Steve says almost thoughtfully, passionately. "But I..." He's still looking at the floor, and a part of Eddie wonders if Steve remembers that he's even here. If he's even still speaking to Eddie, or if he's just thinking out loud. "But if something happened to you," Steve says, answering Eddie's silent question, "or-- or Robbie, or Dustin, or..." He shakes his head, shrugging weakly. "I would be... on the floor. Screaming-- I-- I don't think I could handle it, I would be so... so angry." He looks up into Eddie's eyes. "At the fucking universe, at God, at everything that could possibly be responsible for it, but with him," Steve says. His head tilts forward, and his eyes widen. "I'm angry at him. It's like he died out of fucking spite. Like he knew, like he fucking waited. And that's not fair."

He's quiet for a moment before,

"Is it my fault?"

Eddie blinks a tear out of his eye, squeezing his hand tightly.

"Did he die because I left?" Steve asks. "Was it too much for him? Did he..."

"Steve," Eddie says firmly, prompting Steve to look into his eyes, and Eddie leans forward, speaking slowly, deliberately, firmly, leaving no room for argument. "This is not your fault. Nothing he ever did to you was your fault. You understand me?"

Steve's lip quivers, and tears spill from his eyes.

"I'm so angry, Eddie," he whispers brokenly, and Eddie nods.

"I know, honey," he says, and he stands, pulling at Steve's shoulders until Steve wraps his arms around Eddie's hips tightly, burying his face in Eddie's belly. Eddie pushes his fingers into his hair, tugging it firmly the way he likes, and he looks up at the cracked paint on the ceiling when Steve's shoulders shake as he cries. "You haven't done anything wrong," he says gently, his voice wavering. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"I'm so angry," Steve sobs into his shirt, and Eddie can barely understand him. He nods even though Steve can't see him, pulling his hair again, sliding a hand down to his upper back firmly. "I'm so angry."

"You can be angry," Eddie says softly.

The sun is rising by the time Steve stops crying. Eddie is tired from standing, but he'd stay here for days for him. Steve leaves his face buried in Eddie's belly for a little while as he catches his breath, and Eddie combs through his hair softly, holding him, loving him. When Steve finally pulls away, his eyes are wide.

"My heart," he says breathlessly. Eddie's stomach falls, and he lowers himself to kneel on the floor in front of Steve. "'S beating too-- 'S beating too fast."

"You're okay," Eddie says softly, taking Steve's hand. It's shaking almost violently, and Eddie holds it tightly. "You're okay."

"Heart attack," Steve says, his chest rising and falling quickly, his eyes flicking back and forth between Eddie's. "I'm--"

"You're not having a heart attack," Eddie says calmly, leaning close to look into his eyes, squeezing his hand before he holds it to his own chest. "You're having a panic attack. You're okay."

"Eddie, I'm-- I'm gonna die," Steve chokes, his voice slurred with panic, his words muddled together. Eddie blinks tears back, staying calm for him, and he shakes his head.

"You're not dying, my love," he says slowly. He reaches a hand up and pushes his fingers into Steve's hair, pulling it gently. "Take a deep breath for me."

Steve tries, but he's hyperventilating, his eyes wide and crying, looking desperately at Eddie, who nods, taking a deep breath himself, exaggerating the rise and fall of his chest, holding Steve's hand to it.

"You're okay," Eddie says. "Your heart is okay."

"'M angry," Steve says weakly, breathlessly.

"You can be angry," Eddie says calmly. "Your heart is okay, even if you're angry." He takes another breath, and Steve follows along, even though his breath catches and stutters and he gasps as Eddie is still exhaling. "You're not your father, Steve," Eddie says softly. "You're nothing like him."

"Eddie," Steve whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut, pressing his hand against Eddie's chest harder, his other hand gripping Eddie's forearm. "Please."

"I'm right here, baby," Eddie murmurs. "Take a deep breath for me."

Steve tries again.

"There you go," Eddie whispers. "You're okay."

"'M okay," Steve mumbles weakly.

"That's right, Stevie, you're okay. Deep breath, all the way in, all the way out."

Steve tries again.

And again.

And again.

Steve falls against Eddie when he finally gets a clear breath, like the exhale deflates him, and Eddie wraps his arms around him tightly. He's trembling, like he's freezing.

"I love you so much," Eddie murmurs in his ear. "You did so good, baby."

Steve whimpers. He's crying again. Eddie combs through his hair and keeps murmuring to him softly.

When he stops crying, Eddie carefully shifts to hold his head between his hands, and he presses kisses across his face, even though his skin is covered with tears, and his nose is running. He kisses over his forehead, and the bridge of his nose, and his cheeks, and his eyelids, and his lips, and his chin, and across his jaw and down his neck, all the while whispering to him.

I love you so much, Stevie. You did such a good job. You're okay, sweetheart.

When Steve opens his eyes, there's a soft sort of absence in them that only gets there after particularly bad nightmares. (The ones where Eddie doesn't make it.) Eddie lowers back to the floor, looking up into his eyes, and he runs his thumbs over his cheeks softly. Steve squeezes his wrist weakly, exhausted.

Eddie gets him a glass of water and stands next to him as he sips it slowly, running his hands through his hair, closing his eyes when Steve leans against him. It takes a while for Steve to finish it, but Eddie waits patiently, knowing the glass is heavy in his hand, knowing Steve wants to disappear right now. When he finishes the water, Eddie sits back in the chair in front of him, holding both his hands tightly. Steve is slouching over, looking at their hands. Eddie squeezes.

"Stevie," he whispers.

"Yeah," Steve breathes.

"Look at me for a minute."

Steve's eyes raise to his. They're glassy, shining brightly, and Eddie's chest hurts.

"It's okay to be angry," he says softly, intentionally and carefully. "And it's okay to cry. And there's nothing wrong with anything you're feeling. You understand me?"

"I don't wanna be angry," Steve says weakly, his voice small. "'M tired of being angry. I don't wanna turn into him."

"Steve," Eddie whispers. "You are nothing like him." He reaches a hand to Steve's chest and holds it there. "You have... the purest heart out of anyone I know," he says gently. "You would never do any of the things he did to you."

"I know," Steve breathes, but he doesn't seem to believe him.

"Do you trust me?" Eddie asks. Steve nods without hesitation. "Will you believe what I tell you?"

Steve stares into his eyes, now clutching Eddie's hand in both of his.

"...Okay."

"You have a beautiful soul," Eddie whispers. "And I trust you," he adds, raising his eyebrows, watching Steve's lips curve into the smallest smile Eddie's ever seen. The morning sunlight is shining on him now. He looks like an angel, his messy hair glowing in a golden halo. "You are a good, good man," Eddie says softly. "And I will remind you as many times as you need, I will remind you with every fucking beat of my heart, that you are a good man."

Steve's lip quivers again, and he closes his eyes like he's absorbing the words. A tear slides down his cheek. Eddie wipes it away tenderly.

"I love you so fucking much, Stevie."

"I love you too," Steve gasps, taking a hiccuping breath, but he exhales smoothly, blowing the air out so it blows Eddie's hair.

"Let's go to bed," Eddie murmurs.

"Okay."

Eddie leads him down the creaky hallway, holding his hand, after pouring him more water to drink. Steve gets in bed while Eddie pulls the curtains together more to block the sunlight, and then he crawls into bed too, already holding his arms out for Steve to lie in. He closes his eyes, pressing his face into Steve's hair, running his fingers through it when he feels him crying again.

He doesn't drift off until he knows Steve is asleep, when Steve is heavy against him, relaxed and breathing evenly, slowly.

Instead of going to the funeral, which his mother calls about the next week, Steve stays home with Eddie and watches a movie. Steve starts to cry halfway through it, wracked by guilt and fear and anger, and Eddie just wraps an arm around him silently, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Steve smiles the next day, light on his feet and bright in a way Eddie's never seen, and through all the years Eddie's known Steve, he's known about his father, but he realises after the funeral is done with that he never really knew the extent of it. Because after the funeral is done, Steve never has to worry about anything to do with his father again. And his eyes shine brightly, and Eddie thinks there might be a whole galaxy behind him that Eddie still hasn't explored.

Steve still gets angry sometimes, but that's okay. Because his father's face is fading from his memory, and his mother never calls him again. And Eddie reminds him as often as he can that he loves him, that he trusts him, that he's pure and beautiful and has a heart of gold. That he's okay, that he's good.

After his father dies, Steve never dreams about him again.

[octoooo]

Got some Bnuyus in Minecraft, one black & one brown, guess what I named them

AND THEN GUESS WHAT HAPPENED

They actually have 8 kids but I didn’t take a more recent photo

,,then guess what I did

Also a lil difference between my two Rabitos

[marclef]

THE EYHM COLLECTION GROWS!!!! managed to make some space without having to move too much so they can all be together!!

(i made the smaller ones into stickers bc i'm running out of picture frames!! hope that's ok!)

THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE WHO'S GIFTED THESE TO ME THOUGH!!! I'M CALLING ALL OF YOU OUT HERE BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!! ❤❤❤❤❤

*sharp inhale* @eskariolis-con-salsa @oddpizza @woobab @the-little-knight @moon9931 @misdreavusplush @noodletime @witch-tower-au !!!!!!!

hope you all have a good holiday season!! love you all! *MWAH*

[forcebookish]

i need a new strategy for like, cleaning my room and doing yoga and reading and leaving the house. the adhd has reached mythic levels of bad. i have the thought, "i should do X," and then i won't move. i make a to-do list and i won't do anything on it. i queue up a yoga practice and i won't do it. i stare at my room and get stressed out about how cluttered it is. i write 3000 words of notes for a fic i don't even know if i'm going to write. i think and i think and i think about my OCs and they won't let me write them. i spend hours looking at stuff i can't buy. i take like an hour to write this.

[faaun]

ok let's catch up quickly

[legolasghosty]

what about #55, maybe for willex :)

Yeah. Um. Hi anon. If you ever see this, please know I am so deeply sorry for how long this took. Life has been a little... *gestures aimlessly at the half packed apartment around me* But Um. Here? I'm so sorry.

Alex groans and sits up. He's been trying to fall asleep for nearly 3 hours now and it refuses to come. He got so desperate that he literally tried counting imaginary sheep. No dice, even after like 231 of the stupid fluff balls. Alex swings his legs over the edge of the bed, shivering when his toes brush the cold linoleum floor, and gathers his focus enough to stay an inch above it. Might as well get a snack if sleep refuses to take him.

He doesn't bother being quiet, Reggie could sleep through a hurricane. Which is good, considering how loud that dog of his snores. But when he opens his bedroom door, the light over the stove is on. And there's someone staring into his fridge. Someone that is definitely not his roommate.

"What the heck!" Alex yelps, stepping back until his heel hits the wall and he stumbles.

The person inspecting his leftover pasta collection bolts upright, turning to stare at him. Alex catches a flash of long, dark hair and high cheekbones and his heartbeat starts racing for a second reason.

"Willie?" he asks, blinking.

"'lex?" Willie slurs, eyes a little unfocused. "'t's like three in the morning, what are you doing in my kitchen?"

"In your-Willie what are you doing in my kitchen!?" Alex demands, confused. Maybe he did fall asleep and this is some kind of crazy dream where his hot next-door neighbor is in his apartment.

"What do you mean?" Willie mumbles. Alex notices his knuckles whitening where they're gripping the fridge door.

"Willie are you okay?" he asks hesitantly.

Willie sort of nods. "Thick as a fiddle," he says slowly.

Alex shakes his head and takes a step closer. "That's not reassuring. What happened?"

"Sam and Jeff were mad at each other," Willie replies, shrugging and glancing back at the fridge.

"Who?" Alex questions.

"Classmates," Willie clarifies. "Think I stopped the fight."

Alex winces at the word 'fight'. He doesn't actually know Willie all that well, what with freezing up every time they bump into each other in the laundry room or something, but they seem like the sort of person to get in the middle of a fight. Physically.

"You should sit down," Alex suggests, approaching slowly. "Did you get hit in the head?"

"Sitting is good," Willie mumbles, closing the fridge to look around the dark common area.

Alex blinks and suddenly Willie is on the other side of the room, tripping over an ottoman and crashing down onto his couch. "Woah, Willie, be careful!" he yelps, dashing over.

"'m fine," Willie slurs, rolling over and pulling themselves onto the couch properly "Just a little dizzy."

"Okay no more teleporting for you tonight," Alex decides. "Did you get hit or hexed?"

"Hexed? I think?" Willie offers, brow furrowing. "Don't really remember."

Alex groans. It is way too late to be dealing with this, and of course the healing center won't open till the morning.

"Sorry, didn't mean to come into your place," Willie sighs. "I can leave?"

"Absolutely not," Alex argues immediately. "No way am I leaving you alone like this. Besides, your roommate is a jerk who probably wouldn't enjoy being woken up by you falling on your way to bed."

Willie winces and nods. "You sure?"

"Of course."

Alex drops down onto the end of the couch, beside Willie's feet. He tries to remember what his healing class said about hexes. The darkness seems much more frightening with Willie collapsed and dizzy beside him, even though the light over the oven is still on.

Sure, they might not actually be close, but they're probably not acquaintances anymore either. Alex has never been entirely sure where the line is between 'someone you know' and 'friend'. And if the way his heart rate picks up every time Willie's toes brush his thigh is any indication, he's not sure 'friend' is exactly what he wishes they were anyways. Either way, he cares about Willie and Willie is hurt.

"I think it's a confusion hex," Willie mentions a minute later. Alex glances over, raising his eyebrows in question. "Sam's the one out of them that's good with hexes," they explain, "and confusion ones are his main thing. So that's probably what I got hit with."

Alex nods slowly and pulls out his phone. Thank the stars for the internet. The symptoms he's getting seem to mostly line up with what Willie has been doing and saying since he scared the living daylights (nightlights?) out of Alex ten minutes ago.

"Okay, according to the WaM-HO," Alex reads aloud, "confusion hexes will generally wear off on their own. How long this takes depends on the strength of the caster, lasting anywhere from an hour to two weeks on average."

Willie groans. "I would really like to be able to see straight sooner than next month?"

Alex resists the urge to place a hand on his ankle and squeeze to offer comfort. They're not that close. "Sounds like there's meds and countercharms that can speed things up," he says, skimming the rest of the page. "And I'm guessing your friend isn't a fully trained hexer so I doubt it would last the full two weeks."

"Classmate," Willie corrects. "Not my friend."

Alex frowns and turns off his phone to give Willie his full attention. "Then why were you out with them in the first place?" he asks. Maybe it's too personal a question, but it's 3 in the morning and this whole situation is just a mess so Alex can't bring himself to care that much.

"We had a late exam and a bunch of the guys were going out after to unwind," Willie begins, head drooping to rest against the back of the couch. "I haven't really had a ton of luck making friends in classes so I guess I figured it was a good idea when they asked me."

"Sorry," Alex answers when Willie doesn't continue. "Though if it makes you feel any better, they don't sound like great people to be friends with anyways."

"Yeah, dodged a bullet on that one I guess." Then Willie smirks, setting something aflutter in Alex's stomach. "Just didn't dodge the hex."

Alex lets out a startled chuckle. "Too soon, man," he declares.

"My injury, my jokes," Willie retorts, poking Alex with their foot.

Alex rolls his eyes. "Well rest is probably your best bet on that unmissed hex," he comments, climbing to his feet. "Come on, you can use my bed," he adds, offering Willie a hand up.

"Dude, I'm not taking your bed," Willie protests. "I'll be fine on the couch."

"That couch is barely wide enough for your shoulders," Alex points out. "You falling and cracking your head open isn't going to help anything. I'll sleep out here."

"It's your bed though," Willie responds. "You need to sleep too."

Alex shrugs. "It'll be fine, not like I was doing so hot on that before you got here either."

Willie grabs Alex's hand suddenly, pulling himself up. "Okay then we'll just share."

Alex fights to keep his balance, both from Willie's unexpected weight and from the suggestion. "It's a twin, there's no way we'll both fit," he argues.

"Too bad," Willie says, keeping his hand wrapped around Alex's as he heads for his room.

"Willie hang on," Alex tries as he's pulled along. Darn how standing on air doesn't give him much traction to resist. His cheeks are already heating up at just the thought of sharing his tiny bed with his very attractive (and sweet and funny and thoughtful and-) neighbor, no way is he going to survive it actually happening without a heart attack.

"It'll be fine," Willie says, entering the bedroom.

He finally drops Alex's hand and turns around to sit on the messed up blankets of Alex's bed. Alex can barely make out his face in the dim light from the kitchen, but something seems to soften.

"Look, if it really makes you uncomfortable, we don't have to," Willie adds gently. "But like... if you just don't want to because you think it's going to make me feel weird, it won't."

Alex isn't sure where all the air in his lungs has gotten to. It's definitely not his brain though, because he finds himself nodding. "I'll get the light," he says, ducking out again to hit the switch over the stove.

When he returns to his room and his eyes adjust to the darkness, he can just make out Willie lying down in his bed, fumbling with the blankets. Then a hand reaching out towards him. Alex will blame his exhausted brain for it in the morning, but he takes it and settles down beside his neighbor.

It takes them a minute to figure out how to both comfortably fit on the narrow bed. By the time Willie's breathing evens out, they're laying half on top of Alex, their hands still linked. Alex is sure his heart is hammering too fast for him to doze off, but the next thing he knows is the siren that is Reggie's alarm going off around 8 am.

He isn't sure what to make of the fact that he feels more rested than he has in weeks.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[milo-is-rambling]

I can’t even imagine living without anxiety. Like. How. What?

[tswwwit]

Could we get a taste of that new work you started…👀

Heck, have the whole thing! This is for that AU of an AU where Ford captured Bill/Bill was his familiar, and Dipper freed him, like an idiot. Here's the first fic and here's some needed backstory.

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

Dipper leans over to let his fingers trail through the water. It’s oddly warm to the touch. Bill’s voice carries, weird and echoing, over the river and through the empty city.

Which Dipper’s ignoring, for the moment.

Not like he’s missing much; he can't understand the lyrics anyway. Bill’s demonic singing continues over his inattention. 

This dream is distinctly… not a good one. On the surface, at least; Dipper’s not terrified, but only because of his company.

He also might be a little jaded at this point.

Truth be told, he’s visited a lot of dreams at this point. They’re Bill’s go-to meetup spots. Though Dipper hasn’t really been the biggest fan, so far, he’s never been in any danger. That he knows of. Bill’s made sure of that.

Bringing Dipper to a dream that lacks his idea of 'pizazz', or gore, or immediately evident monsters is a new tactic - but at least it’s not a bad one.

It’s eerie, for sure. The silence beyond Bill’s yodeling adds an extra layer of ‘creepy’ - but the boat is nice, the company’s familiar. Even the water’s warm against the tips of his fingers, leaving clean, bright lines in the river -

Dipper yanks his arm back with a start, and he shakes the water off rapidly. Some of the red drops leave spots on his shirt and pants.. 

The broken surface of the water bleeds bright red. Like wounded flesh.

Dipper grimaces. He’d back up, but there’s no space in the gondola.

And - as a bonus - it looks like it’s attracting more glimpses of half-formed shadows. Of course. Dipper can only catch them out of the corners of his eye - dim, too-lanky shapes he never fully sees through the fog in the alleyways - but maybe it’s best to ignore those, too.

Still not a bad dream, necessarily. Things could be way worse.

But like everything to do with Bill, it’s unnerving. With a side of ‘constantly feeling you're being watched’. 

“Ahem,” Said triangle clears a nonexistent throat. Bill thumps the stick on the bottom of the river, the one he’s been using to guide them along the city canals. “Hello! Listen up, sapling, I’m serenading here.” 

Dipper shuffles around until he finds a shaky seat back in the gondola. Bill doesn’t bother. He doesn’t have to worry about balance, with his floating in midair thing. 

“This is… interesting.” Dipper says. Bill brightens up, lower eyelid rising. So that’s a start - but he’s not sure how to follow it. He tucks his arms around his legs instead. “Why are we-”

“Vide stellas quae tremunt!” Bill continues his song without any notice of the question. Dipper tries waving at him, but he’s already closed his eye.. “Amoris et spei!”

No explanation, then. Dipper rolls his eyes.

God forbid Bill not have attention on him for ten seconds.

“I sense,” Bill says, tapping under his eye thoughtfully. “That you might not be appreciating this, kid.” Said eye rolls in its golden socket. “Why am I not surprised!”

At Dipper’s shrug, Bill grumbles something under his breath, and pushes the gondola along. Silent, for a moment.

Dipper shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Absent the music, this place is extremely eerie. There’s a light fog on the canals, and he doesn’t dare look into the alleys.

In a way, he understands why Bill’s like this. Needing company. Demanding attention. Being demanding is part and parcel of his demonic nature, and he was also stuck in a prison for thirty freakin’ years. That alone would make someone deranged. 

Bill was just insane even before that.

Thankfully, irrepressible as always, Bill starts humming some other tune. Dipper’s glad he started again; he must be in a better mood. Bill’s huge eye narrows slightly in contemplation.

Then he lets out a low, self-satisfied cackle, and rubs two hands together. A third arm keeps steering the boat.

Dipper rolls his own eyes. 

Yeah, this is definitely going to pan out like Bill expects. Because everything Bill’s done has worked out great for him.

Bill said he had plans for Dipper, but he’s taking his sweet time getting to them. It barely seems like there is one, most nights.

Whatever he’s after, it might work better if he focused on his goal.

Instead, he’s making Dipper focus on him.

Every time they’ve met up - and it’s been months - Bill’s clearly making some kind of effort. He’s hinted at a deeper truth, dozens of times. He taunts, and he talks, and even teaches on a whim. His methods are obscure and bizarre, they seem out of place - but Dipper gets the sense that Bill genuinely thinks it’s important. 

He must really be distracted by his ego, because so far? His ‘plan’ doesn't seem all that sinister. It’s like he’s barely started it, or it’s genuinely not-terrible - which is why Dipper willingly joins Bill in his dreams. 

Okay. That, plus a certain amount of sheer, idiotic curiosity. Dipper’s not perfect. 

But he knows Bill’s trying to show him something. 

Maybe if Dipper got it - whatever ‘it’ is -  then he’d be able to thwart the plan. But until he finally gets it, or it comes to fruition or… Until something really evil happens, he guesses, then they’re just going to keep… 

Meeting up? Hanging out? Dipper’s not sure which phrase fits right. 

Judging by how it’s gone so far, that ‘until’ might be a while. 

So long as Bill’s just reveling in attention, though - there’s no reason to stop him screwing himself over. Freedom seems like a big deal to him, and if the last few months are any indication? He’s been enjoying it immensely.

Feeding Bill’s ego a little can’t hurt, and it’s. Not bad, really.

Dipper just. Doesn’t have a lot of people to talk with who aren’t family, and Bill’s always up for a conversation. Even if it mostly devolves into bickering about stupid things, and Bill’s awful, awful jokes -  Dipper’s finding he doesn’t mind that much. Bill’s quick-witted, weirdly charming for a person who’s a shape, and his magical knowledge has a depth that’s breathtaking. Even if it comes in an annoying golden package.

Whatever works, works, though. As long as Bill’s eager to hang out, then Dipper might as well indulge him.

After all, Bill could be up to worse things than bothering Dipper. And when it comes right down to it - he’s kind of fun. In an insane, demonic way. 

Dipper’s still cautious. He’d be an idiot not to be. 

But so far, Bill’s keeping his word. 

Come to think of it, the plan must be one of the reasons Bill’s still here, in this dream. He’s making sure this isn’t a nightmare, while he tries to convey his… something. Possibly in a manner that won’t completely chase Dipper off. But if he can figure it out, before Bill manages to be super evil - 

Dipper tucks his arms around himself tighter in the chill of the fog. He shakes his head to clear it. 

This is novel, and interesting - 

And very, very dangerous. 

He’s got to stay wary. Reminding himself that Bill is absolutely insane.

“What, you chilly or something?” Bill sets fists on his angles. He was humming for a while, but now he looks curious. He even floats in a bit, while the stick keeps steering the gondola without a pilot. “This is what you get for having a crappy endothermic system.”

“Shut up.” Dipper tucks his legs together too. The temperature, if anything, seems to have dropped by a few more degrees. “Didn’t you make this dream? Can’t you control the-”

“Ahem. Unlike some amateurs, I know how to set the atmosphere.” Bill shuts his eye, somehow managing to look self-assured without a face. He wags a chiding finger at Dipper, floating close enough to flick his nose. “You wanna keep your empty nightmares on refrigerator settings. Fits the whole ‘eternally preserved’ theme.”

“And how does singing bad opera fit the ‘theme’?“ Dipper smacks Bill on the side. Dumb move, it only hurts his fingers - though Bill's not cold, like the air. It makes him pause. “...Hey. That wasn’t in Italian.”

“When in Rome, speak as the Romans do! And they were chatting in Latin before your forebears had forebears.” Bill shrugs, nonchalant. “It's the source of Romance languages!”

A minor detail. One Bill’s using to avoid the question - and he only resorts to being a pedant when he’s caught. 

Dipper narrows his eyes -

Then seizes the opportunity.

And the triangle. 

As Bill thuds against Dipper's chest, he wraps his arms around him tight. Bill flails a bit, muttering something impossibly muffled against Dipper's chest. How does that happen, he doesn't even have a mouth. Dipper decides to ignore the impossible, yet again. Squeezing Bill a little harder, like he could crumple him like tinfoil. Knowing that he won't.

Man Bill’s warm; radiating off him like a personal, annoying space heater. Dipper can already feel the sensation returning to his fingers, gripped tight on Bill's edges.

And frowns. “Wait. I thought this was supposed to be nightmare Venice, not Rome.”

“Cripes, what a pedant.” Bill groans, the hypocrite. Dipper can’t see his eye - he’s rotated it around to face forward - but he’s sure he’s rolling it as well. He floats lower in Dipper’s lap, and one raised finger jabs the soft underside of Dipper’s jaw. “I bet you’re a real hit at parties. I couldn’t take you anywhere!”

Bullshit, Bill’s arrogant enough to take anyone anywhere, and be smug about it. 

And if he’s trying to pretend he’s not in a good mood, maybe he should stop glowing so bright.

Dipper squeezes him a little tighter. Bill’s been caught, he can’t escape - and while he hasn’t totally settled down, he’s letting his legs dangle over Dipper’s and only kicked him once. It was barely a tap.

“I get it. You’ve never spent much time in Italy.” And Dipper smiles. This’ll get to him. “Bill Cipher claims to be the dream demon extraordinaire - but he never managed to bother a Pope.”

The sharp, indignant noise Bill makes is so, so sweet. Dipper jostles the top hat with his cheek, just to bug him more, and listens to the ensuing weird burble with a grin.

In the end, Dipper gets a thoroughly informative rant about the intricacies of both Italy and Rome and parts of an empire that he’s pretty sure never existed. Bill’s alight with indignance - and amusement. Possibly at his own bullshit.

Dipper really, really wishes he had a notebook with him. 

Talking with Bill is always fascinating, and infuriating. Half of this has to be bullshit. Some of it might be true. Dipper… should really check out more history books. Maybe then he’d have more chances to call out Bill’s bullshit, with facts. For the moment, questioning him on every aspect pokes enough holes to help sort out the fiction.

It’s an easy conversation, and a long one. Bickering with Bill takes ages, makes Dipper struggle for words, he’s usually a little annoyed - and it’s oddly pleasant. In that Dipper doesn’t have to be pleasant. Or even nice. Bill absorbs it all with infinite confidence, and shoots back with pointed ripostes. 

“-And that’s why garum was crappy, and ya shouldn’t miss it.” Bill finishes. He pats Dipper’s arm twice, and, reluctantly, is released. He floats up above the gondola as it drifts, slowly towards a dock. “But I think we’re getting off topic.”

“How? We-” Always argue, Dipper was about to say. That was before he stood up; now he’s thinking better of it. “Shit.”

He tries to balance as the gondola shakes; some of the blood-water laps over the sides. Crap, arguing with Bill is one thing, but he didn’t want to literally rock the boat. 

Bill floats up further, watching the sloshing - and starts laughing. 

Dipper glares, but the stupid tiny canoelike thing is shaking under him, he grips the sides. Since they’re next to the dock, he smacks a palm on it. It steadies things, barely.

“Pfft, loser.” Bill’s lower eyelid is raised in amusement. He watches Dipper struggle for another moment - then laughs harder, before holding out a hand. “C’mon already!” 

Dipper takes the offer, absurdly grateful. Bill’s hand is very warm, like the rest of him.The black void of the not-flesh is a strange non-texture under his palm, steadying him before he falls. Dipper fumbles for a moment before holding onto it tight. Even though the boat is about to capsize, Bill’s got him. 

Bill brightens up and squeezes his hand back. Not hard, surprisingly, maybe a little teasingly, and it makes something flip around inside Dipper’s chest.

Bill hauls Dipper bodily up onto the dock, with surprising strength and a cackling laugh. Dipper feels a quick slap just above his hip as he briefly stumbles. 

Crap, that was fast. He almost backpedaled into the canal again from sheer surprise - but his grip on Bill means he only lent back for a moment.

Bill, the asshole, thinks it was amazingly funny. He’s leaning forward, another sixty degree angle in the air.

Dipper flips him off, heart racing fast. He wonders how Bill managed - but, right. He’s a demon, of course. Physics don’t matter. Those weird, noodlelike arms defy them on the daily.

One of said arms prods Dipper in the stomach. “Man, kid, talk about clumsy!” Bill’s still chuckling. His surface flickers with amusement, eyelid raised in a smile. “I shoulda let you go for a dunk!” Then a thoughtful rub under the single, narrowed eye. “Though I do like you less dissolved. At the moment.”

Dipper narrows his eyes. His valiant attempt to crush Bill’s hand in his own fails at the complete lack of bones inside.

Bill’s insane and weird and clever. He’s the strangest being Dipper’s ever met - but whatever his motives are? It’s - so far - been fine.

Dipper’s not dunked. Or dissolved. Hell, if anything, he should always be more terrified. With what Bill does. With what Bill is.

Best of all, that wasn’t a handshake. Even though Bill’s still holding on, it’s not in the right position for one. Interlaced fingers don’t count, he’s sure.

Dipper struggles at the touch, and gets his hand back, eventually. He wipes it on his pants, trying to shake off the thought.

It definitely wasn’t a shake, because they didn’t make a deal. If they had, Bill would be gloating about it. Dipper can put that single heartstopping moment behind him.

He’s still thinking about it as Bill leads him through the city. The conversation is mostly Bill rambling, their usual light bickering. 

Dipper may be wandering around a nightmare, but with his palm flat on the warm surface of Bill’s back, at least he knows nothing else is going to freak him out. Bill would get huffy about not being the center of attention.

“So whatd’ya think of the main dream? Took the blueprint off a guy with agoraphobia.” Bill tugs one one of the passing door handles - which doesn’t move. When Dipper looks closer, it’s literally painted on. “No indoors, anywhere!”

“It’s kind of…” Dipper thinks about it. Nearly silent streets, cold and misty. Even if Bill wasn’t here, it’d be… “Empty.”

“Uh, duh, that’s the point.”

“No, I mean,” Dipper scrunches his face up, trying to think of - he isn’t much for horror movies, but exposure to Bill has shown him enough. “There’s no ominous signs of who was here, either. Like, I’d think there would be… half-eaten meals on the cafe tables, or, like.” He snaps his fingers, trying to think of remnants - “A single, empty child’s shoe.”

"Oh, very nice! I like how you think, sapling.” Bill taps Dipper’s temple, twice, before patting his cheek. Dipper leans away before he can pinch it.  “Even if it’s not your thing, you always got something going on in that bonebox, don’tcha?”

Dipper just shrugs. He can’t not think. A dream demon liking what he does think is… morally questionable. 

And, maybe, kind of neat.

“We don’t see enough of each other these days. A few hours at a time is nothing.” Bill continues, waving over the scenery. “Not that I’m not a fan of you letting me whisk ya off  in your dreams - but what about reality?”

“Nope.” Dipper drops his arm, folding both of them over his chest. “Not happening.”

Freeing Bill was…. Arguably morally gray. Dipper doesn’t regret it, but Bill is an asshole, and Ford was convincing. The main advantage of Bill’s freedom came with their deal, Bill was in a terrible position to bargain.

The second best part is not having Bill on Earth anymore. He’s still dangerous, but not immediately so. 

To reality. No so much for people hanging out with him. 

“C’mon, kid. We’d have way more time together when you aren’t conked out!” Bill sidles closer. One thin arm wraps a couple times around Dipper’s waist, while the other waves broadly over the scenery. “A full Europe trip, just for two.” A brief pause. “Not that you’d get this kinda quality in your mundane version of that continent, but whatever.”

“If you say so.” Dipper hedges, that sound extremely subjective. Bill blinks at him with genuine surprise; it makes Dipper fidget for a second “I haven’t been out of Gravity Falls in-” Hell. When was the last time he went back to Piedmont. Or anywhere else. “...It’s been a while.”

Bill takes another second to stare. Then sighs. His enormous eye rolls around and around in its socket, in yet another exaggeration. 

“Well, think about it, kid. One of these days, we’ll get to it. Me and you, on Earth!” Bill prods him firmly in the chest, eyelid raised in a smile. “We could take a long stroll through the streets, check out a couple cafes, crush a couple local governments- Then teleport over to a boulangerie for pastries! It’d be a great time!”

Insisting on reality. Again. Dipper holds back a sigh. 

Letting Bill into the world - even with the compromises Dipper managed, is a horrible idea. 

But right now Bill’s off in his own little world - literally, in a way - and that concept isn’t one he’s going to accept. Not the tactic to take to argue against it.

“I guess it’s a nice thought. Or fantasy, anyway.” Dipper pats Bill twice on the edge. “You’d stand out a little too much.”

Even Dipper needed a couple weeks before he got used to Bill. He’s a giant demonic triangle made of maybe-gold. Bill Cipher, in reality, would send pretty much everyone screaming, or reeling in horrified awe. 

Probably, Bill would love that. Right up until it meant no cafe service.

“Yeah, yeah, most humans have no taste. Doesn’t mean it’d ruin the occasion!” Bill wags a chiding finger. His arm slips from its loop around Dipper so he can rest a fist on his edge. “What’d’ya think shapeshifting’s for?”

“For wha-” Dipper starts - then jerking back, as Bill’s form changes. 

Dipper turns his head away, shielding his eyes against the bright light. And grimacing.

This demonic drama queen. The light isn't typical for his changes, he’s doing it for show. Whatever Bill’s turning into, he hopes this shape won’t have too many limbs, or infinite teeth - or  worse, pick him up again - 

Trying to smack Bill is always an option, though. Especially when he’s trying to be dramatic. Dipper lands the punch easily, operating on muscle memory -

Into something warm. And firm - but much softer than gold.

Bill starts chuckling. There’s a slow, rhythmic motion under Dipper’s knuckles.

Already, it’s far from the worst Dipper’s had to deal with. Bill’s not on fire, or scaled, and there’s no huge tongues licking out between his tiers. He’s not even slimy this time, though certainly more…. organic. 

Dipper opens his mouth to tell Bill off, blinking rapidly - 

“So! What’d’ya think, sapling?” Bill’s grin is wide and white and close. Too close, his sudden surge in makes Dipper lean back on instinct. “Ya like the look?”

Dipper stares.

“Eh?” Bill prompts again. Now he’s wiggling his eyebrows.When he doesn’t get a response - he sticks out a tongue - a pink, human tongue, Dipper watches it flick back in. “Where’s the insult?”

Right. New shape. Bill… wants feedback, something to stroke his immense ego. Dipper should….  

Say something. Probably.

He looks again at that face. A human face. Bill’s standing there, intimidating; he has eyebrows and a nose and white teeth in a wide smile on this - Dipper looks down, then slowly up again - human form, leaning over him.

“Um,” Dipper says, eloquently. He does another once over, lacking for words, until he meets that single golden eye. And swallows, once. “...Hi.”

“Not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” Bill continues.  He adjusts the collar of his shirt, smoothing back his hair - then digging a finger into his fleshy cheek, and twisting it. “I think it’s a pretty accurate translation!”

Dipper nods. He opens his hand by fractions, until his palm rests flat on Bill’s chest, then thinks better and grips the shirt instead.

Okay. This. Is a new one. 

Bill’s face - he has a face - is all angles, with a pleased, smug, too-wide grin. He thankfully still has only one eye, otherwise Dipper wouldn’t know where to stare - and he's very much up in Dipper’s personal space. Warmth still radiates off him, just like before.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bill says dryly. He grasps Dipper's side, just near his hip. His hand is bigger now, and - and Dipper shakes his head to clear it.  “So! You and me, strolling through the city-”

Bill rambles on, per usual. The familiarity is steadying. Dipper squinches his eyes shut - then blinks, but nope. The scenery hasn’t changed.

This is. Normal. For Bill. Because this is Bill, showing off again. They can move on. 

Will move on, because Bill’s looking like he wants to continue their walk. Dipper should. Follow him. That’s the right thing to do.

The first step is turning away. Easily done, if he stops gripping Bill’s shirt so tight. Forcing himself to loosen his hold works - but now he’s touching Bill’s chest again, and that isn’t great. Though it’s very solid, like Bill - because it is Bill, in a different shape, he needs to remember that. The shirt is soft, though when he strokes it. Maybe silk? Dipper -

Should stop touching it, what the hell.

Bill keeps rambling, arm warm against Dipper’s back. Dipper nods out of habit, stepping forward as Bill leads them on through the city.

Dipper forces his arms to his sides, holding them rigidly in place. He’s keeping them to himself. Thankfully, Bill doesn’t seem to notice anything odd about that.

Not that anything is, but. It might make things weird if he did think that.

Which means Dipper can relax, if only a bit. Demonic self-absorption has some benefits after all. 

This is only another strange shape Bill’s taken. He’s turned into way weirder ones, for way longer - and for dumber reasons. Whatever prank he’s pulling is - Anyway, it’s only lasted maybe two minutes, it won’t be much longer. If that’s even how long it’s been. 

Come to think of it, how long has Dipper been asleep? Dream time and real time never entirely track, and from this perspective they’ve been hanging out for a few hours. Longer than their typical meetup, since either Bill has ‘business’, or Dipper wakes up. Usually the latter. Eight hours real time is more like two or three in the dream realm - 

…Which might be why Bill complained about it.

Bill keeps commenting on the city. Gesturing around. Possibly describing how conquerable it is, as he guides Dipper along on the midnight nightmare stroll, 

Dipper isn’t sure what, exactly, the current topic is. He isn’t paying much attention. 

He rubs at his forehead. He doesn’t feel much more centered, even with Bill’s arm around his waist again. Still warm, and somehow more solid. Certainly broader.

It also pulls him in and around, until he’s confronted - again - with Bill. His golden eye alight, looking him over skeptically.

“What, is this boring you?”

“I- what? No.” Dipper says. He nearly touches that chest again, and then the arm - but the biceps aren't any better. Technically speaking. He clenches his hands into fists, holding them to his own chest. “...Okay, maybe a little.”

Compared to some random nightmare city, recent developments are much more distracting. 

“Yeesh, tough crowd.” Bill tuts, pulling Dipper in until their sides squish together; Dipper still doesn’t know where to put his hands, he tucks them over his stomach. “See, this is why we gotta get more hangout time!”

Bill’s other arm waves over the dream, and a space in it parts, folding up the rest of the scenery. Like opening a curtain, the city is shoved away to two sides, pleating like in a skirt. 

The space opens into a void full of not-quite-stars.

Dipper leans in closer, and feels Bill’s arm tighten. 

There’s a myriad of images floating in blackness. Things floating through space that’s not space, with a huge pyramid, black and ominous, somewhere in the distance. 

The real heart of the nightmare realm Bill comes from, he’s seen glimpses before - 

The one Ford told him never, ever, ever to take a single step into. 

“You have a point, sapling. And I’ve had it with the tours of these run-of-the mill mental meanderings.” Bill never stops talking. He’s almost proud of it. “Now that I’ve cleared the squatters out, you should come crash at my place!”

Dipper yelps as he’s hauled up - damn it, he should have expected that - and braces himself on Bill’s shoulders. He nearly falls, Bill’s grip shifting, until he clamps his legs around Bill tight.

Not that he would fall - Bill wouldn’t let him - and he’s always been inhumanly, unfairly strong. The arm under his butt and the hand on his back would stop Dipper from escaping, even if he wanted to drop to the cold cobblestone ground.

“Cut it out.” Dipper kicks out from sheer indignance, anyway. Damn it, he knew he should have seen this coming -  and Bill nearly stumbles to keep him in place. “What are you playing at?”

He’s done with this prank. With having to look at that face, with its. Everything. With Bill hauling him around like he’s a pet, damn it, he made that clear long ago, when Bill was still imprisoned. 

Now he wants to bring him to the center of a mess of insanity and nightmares, what the hell is with that.

Maybe Bill can actually drive people insane. Because part of Dipper - the part that keeps saying ‘okay’ to their meetups has already started a horrible, insidious whisper. 

Telling him everything else has been okay. Wondering if it would really be that bad. 

“You clearly don’t care for the the terror atmosphere, kid. I’m fine with ditching it for the moment.” Bill jostles him in place, grinning wider at Dipper’s glare. “I got options! We can set up something else.”

“Like what.” Dipper says, flat. 

“Look. Bribing you, Pine Tree? It's hard,” Bill says, with some chagrin.. “I’ve already given you power - not that you’re using it - and you got the pleasure of my company. You’ve even got some of the secrets of the universe on hand, but you keep dodging chances to hang!” His eye narrows. “What’re you really into?”

“I-” Dipper hesitates. Without a retort prepared, he’s not sure what to say.

“Name it and I’m there, kid. You did me a major favor, we’ve been walking out for a while -  and I’ve been nothing but a gentleman when it comes to us.” He puts a strange emphasis on the word, one eyebrow raised.  “What’s not to like?”

A lot of things, honestly. None of which Dipper can say.

Demon, for one. Dangerous, definitely. Insane, absolutely - and through all of that. Dipper has kept meeting up with Bill, even though he could use any of the dozen wards Ford has tried to foist upon him. 

Bill’s hand is stroking his back, there’s an arm underneath him and it’s weird and - 

God, Dipper wishes Bill wasn’t still in this shape, it’s throwing him off. For a prank, it’s weirdly well constructed, there’s no uncanny valley. Now his mind is racing

Actually, didn’t Bill say it was a translation? 

Like. If Bill was a human, this would be how he looked. Still all angles, in a way. Unnaturally strong, oddly fascinating, and with amusement evident in the sharpness of his smile.

“Good! You’re thinking about it. Lemme know what’s cooking in there.” Bill’s grin is white and wild, a dangerous shape on his face. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

A smile that, now that Dipper looks at it, isn’t all that sharp. If he tugs the corner of the lips with his thumb, Bill makes a face, sticking out his tongue -

With a start, Dipper realizes he’s been staring at Bill’s mouth.

Bill snickers, but doesn’t respond. A slow smile, with his single eye half-lidded, and close enough that Dipper can feel the breath on his face. Dipper’s heart is going triple-time, and Bill’s very very close. 

At some point Dipper wet his lips, involuntarily. He watches as Bill’s eye glimmers, then slowly shuts.

And - 

The blare of the alarm cuts through things like a knife. 

Dipper sits bolt upright in bed. Heart pounding.

For a full ten seconds, he flails at the sheets blindly, surprised - until he remembers where he is, and lets his arms drop.

He stares around his room with out seeing it. Still bleary, blinking slow.

What…?

Dipper sits there for another long moment. The sun isn’t even up, why did he set his alarm so early. He knows why he did it but. Now it seems ridiculous.  

He wanted to make it less than eight hours. To make it cut off before Bill was expecting it. 

Before either of them expected it, this time.

“Shit,” Dipper says. 

He fumbles around for the cup on the bedside table. His mouth is dry, and he needs something to center himself, but he only manages to knock it over.

The memory of the dream - a lucid, very real event - is stuck in the forefront of his brain. Dipper can’t shake it. All of the Bill-dreams have been vivid, but this one is even more so. 

He almost -

Dipper rolls over, sheets tangling around his legs, with the memory searing bright in the forefront of his mind.

Even when he pulls the cool pillow against his face, it doesn't help it feel any less hot.

That thing keeps running through his head, no matter what he does. The memory's too vivid to be anything less than real. How close he was. The warmth. How Bills eye fluttered shut, along with the vivid picture of his mouth, lips slightly parted.

He's never - but then Bill was -

Dipper hugs the pillow tighter, letting it absorb him in its comforting softness. Even the tips of his ears must be red by now.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

He should have listened to Ford. He should have taken those warnings to heart.

He’s heard so many of them. 

Don’t talk to demons. Don’t get involved with their magic, don’t make any deals, don’t interact at all except to eliminate them.

And do not, under any circumstances, speak too long to Bill Cipher. 

Ford's smart. He knows how to handle almost every situation, and he's cautious enough to come up with almost every eventuality.

Dipper never had a warning against wanting to kiss an evil triangle. He swears a little more into the pillow, tense and frustrated.

God, he's an idiot.

Bill’s weird. He’s insane. He’s all about every aspect of twisting a mind into absurd shapes - hell, he is a shape. Not a human. Not good.

And not into anyone, as far as Dipper can tell. On the very rare moments the topic has come up, Bill’s been disparaging at best - and even if he was, it would still be a terrible idea. 

Dipper pulls the pillow tighter around him. He thunks his head-and-pillow combo against the mattress, embarrassment writhing in his chest.

He’s going to get up in a moment. First, to make some coffee - a lot of coffee - 

And second, to come up with his own plan. 

Bill knows about everything, or at least he claims to. He definitely likes it when people are crazy, but odds are? He won’t appreciate this kind of madness.

But with any luck - and some careful work, on Dipper’s part -

Bill Cipher will never, ever know about this.

[soppingwetguywife]

you know what boggles my mind about these takes on guillermo and his great big betrayal this season? it's the fact that some people have managed to so thoroughly divorce this arc from what happened last season as if the two don't correlate. as if the fact that nandor betrayed guillermo first and in one of the worst ways he could think of has nothing to do with where they are now

okay so there are Four of these and they're all SO correct so im gonna put all of them and my thoughts under the cut (yeah i know nobody comes to my blog for Hot WWDITS Takes (or.... for anything) but this whole situation has me pressed okay) thank you so much anon i NEED to talk about this

"and i don't mean that in the way that some have meant it in a guillermo is doing this for revenge type of way but just that freddie was his last straw but instead of leaving like he would have before he decided to stay on his own terms. he decided that for once fuck what nandor wants, he'll do what he wants instead. guillermo literally started of season 4 saying he was looking out for number one and then he didn't for MONTHS but sure he's a monster for following up on his promise to himself" "and freddie isn't just some isolated incident that doesn't have any context. take this from guillermo's pov, he spent weeks (maybe months? unclear on timeline here) preparing a wedding, being asked to do impossible shit but somehow coming through and his reward was that one moment of nandor admitting he cares for him by calling him his best man (we know he meant best friend so did memo i'm sure) and then nandor had to take that away." "'cause just so we're clear best friends don't fuck your boyfriend. there might have been some extra steps there but ultimately that is what nandor did and he didn't think to stop for a second why he was doing it, if it would hurt guillermo, just nothing. so guillermo i think was back to square one, nothing has changed nandor can be kind for one second and do something so blindingly selfish and cruel the next and this fandom really expected him to lie down and take it"

THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I MEAN!!! YOU GET IT ANON!

so, i must start with this. every season, almost always, continues in a sort of vacuum. not so much that there's no continuity, because there usually is! so let's just follow guillermo, because there's a point i want to make here.

S1- guillermo learns he is a slayer. S2- guillermo reveals he has spent the past summer killing vampires to keep the house safe, which leads into the finale; guillermo goes and rescues the vampires from the theatre in a Beautiful display of murder. S3- guillermo is trapped in a cage, because of that Beautiful display of murder, which leads into the finale; guillermo agrees to go away with nandor on a world trip and eventual turning (this goes wrong, which leads to) S4- guillermo finally returns from being stuck in england, a year AFTER the end of s3, which leads into the finale; guillermo goes to derek to be turned.

NOW. let's assess where the VAMPIRES start and finish throughout the seasons.

and the answer to that is; exactly where they fucking started. because s4 was right. nothing changes. colin robinson dies and is reborn and grows and in the end, he's exactly where he started. nadja grows and learns and tries to forge an identity for herself, and then she fails, and she's exactly where she started. laszlo... okay, laszlo's just along for the ride. and he LIKES where he started. nandor started as a neurotic, cool-hearted washed-up-warlord who tries to be strong, passionate, the leader that everyone looks up to. he doesn't seem to notice nobody looks up to him except guillermo, because duh, why would he notice guillermo? and every season, we're right back to where we started. we see them grow closer, and then we see them ripped apart! and every new season, we're back to joking at his expense. the only notable difference this season is that nandor sort of HAS grown more tolerant of him, a building through-line that we have only seen through guillermo, the only character that changes enough for a bond to be formed rather than assumed (ie; the foot locker, the self-help book, the being insanely jealous that laszlo is spending his time with him) (as opposed to his friendship with the vampires, one that has always been sort of assumed except for with colin robinson, something that s5e6 pretty thoroughly shattered)

this season, we are seeing the inevitability of five seasons and nearly fourteen years of guillermo assuring himself that he would get what he wanted, that he hadn't given up his family and his job and his emotions and the parts of his brain that are... well, human, for nothing. he has been promised and promised and promised that this is the time, this is when the time is right, just TRUST in the inevitability of change in a house full of people that never change and never want to. he has been growing and changing every season, growing stronger, more confident, more capable, unlike the vampires.

but because guillermo is the butt of the joke, because he HAS to be, right? because he has to always be the one that suffers (learning his bloodline kills the very thing he loves, being LOCKED UP for PROTECTING the very thing he loves, being locked in a COFFIN just when he was going to get it, and FINALLY being turned only to be turned wrong and in the most horrible, ugly way???? (well, for him, for me it was a visual treat, love me a man covered in blood)) it turns out that there's this cute little rule! one that we've never seen before (though there is some hinting toward this, i suppose, in the case of celeste, right? she never poached, only took unattached familiars. did she know? we'll never find out, i don't think!) and now the thing he loves (person he loves the most) will be his end, because of course it is, right? and of course he definitely deserves it, right? because he's the butt of the joke, the silly little human who dared to make his OWN life better rather than waiting for a day that was so clearly never gonna come unless he held them at stakepoint or he did.... exactly what he did.

nandor is the deciding factor. and from what we've seen of him for the past five seasons, he's gonna bluster and threaten and probably challenge him to a fight to the death or something stupid like that, but it's not like he has any real bite anymore anyway? but he's NEVER gonna let this go, i don't think, which is INSANE considering how much guillermo has been letting slide for YEARS in terms of his behavior.

if nandor wanted to do it himself, he should have considered 'why the hell would guillermo EVER be late to the one thing he's been telling me for years that he always wanted?'

instead we see in s4e1 that he BLAMES guillermo for leaving him, and refuses to hear anything to the contrary. and again in s5e5, he blames guillermo for not being there for them, and refuses to hear anything to the contrary. to him, the human will always be at fault, and he will always be their better, and it is going to take guillermo not BEING a human anymore to shake that out of him.

from there, it's all up to him, really! (we have to also account for the classic wwdits 'yeah they're all just idiots, they'll be totally fine with it and they'll be back to being besties by s6e2' because i have little faith in any sort of emotional continuity after every season's constant stunting of everyone's Almost-Emotional-Growth)

i genuinely do not know if this made any sense. but i wanted to talk about how the way we've watched guillermo grow and take responsibility for himself makes it so clear that he SHOULDN'T just sit down and take it, even though he seems very much like he's more than willing to. i'm not gonna touch the whole virginity and slut-shaming metaphors, because i do NOT feel qualified to discuss them, and better people have done it (though i do think a lot of them are biased toward nandor rather than guillermo) but i just think that in the lines of continuity, this was EXPECTED, and it being treated like a season-long punchline isn't particularly fair to guillermo! which is the point of the show, and the counter-point of this rant!

guillermo deserves better, he got it, and now they just have to let him HAVE it.

[criscura]

I wish I wasn't so exhausted and I could make more art.... I even planned out a whole prompt-a-day month for Saigenos/Genosai, TWICE, but the first time no one seemed like they could participate when I asked about it, and the second time I friggin lost the damned plan. I could remake it a third time, but I just....I don't know.

I've been really struggling to get along for a while, and I think if it didn't hit it off--or even if I just got really productive and it seemed like I was reaching crickets--I'd be so incredibly discouraged that it would bring me down even further. It usually takes my stuff a few months to a year to get reach, and that really doesn't do anything for me when I need the support immediately.

It's not that I don't have a billion ideas for so many different things, but my battery has been taking longer and longer to charge up and it's been running out faster and faster, and it's been like this for....a year?? Ish?? Maybe longer, I don't know.

I wish I could just stop needing so much fucking time to bounce back.....

[dullahandyke]

Just got out of the shower I feel like a wet seal (this is a good thing) ran out of water so I had to rush at the end but it was fun ^_^ anywho plans for the day

Call bank to inquire about lodging coins

Study for driving test (particularly signs)

Research politicians to vote for in the local + European elections (ie find out where everyone stands on Palestine)

Fiiiinally get around to replying to notifs, achieve this by setting 10 minute blocks where I muster up the words and courage to reply to people and then spending 20 minutes or so tidying my room while listening to um actually

[facesblind]

idk what is happening honestly so tired so eepy let boys run the errands with teddybeardog and i have some regrets ( tm )

[hua-fei-hua]

it's definitely extremely funny that after i start writing a smut For Real (not clickbait) i proceed to receive. a fucking nosebleed. like this is anime.

[orcelito]

I officially finished my 4th iwatex game, and am somehow already halfway through my 5th

I have 96 hours logged. I started playing this game only 10 days ago.

Heck.