#i need fluff my guy

[prompts-by-anjali]

the character who breaks away

a character who is originally with a group of main characters, but finally decides to leave them because they aren't nice people

[anintrovertedechoe]

no thoughts just hugging mammon with everything you have and crying into the nape of his neck while he hugs you just as tight, just as hard, just as desperately, but also so gently because he’s afraid he’ll break you with how delicate you are right now.

no thoughts just slumping against him after crying out everything left in you and falling asleep while he still holds onto you and kisses the crown of your head because he knows you won’t notice.

no thoughts just his heart breaking because if he had his way he would take your pain onto himself in a heartbeat but he can’t and that’s what hurts the most.

no thoughts just mammon staying with you like that the whole night and checking your pulse occasionally and feeling relieved at it’s presence because it means you’re still here with him.

no thoughts just falling asleep with your first man and having him treat you like you’re the most precious thing in all of the three realms.

no thoughts; just mammon being your rock like he always is.

[iite-cool]

he can't be gentle. how could he possibly be something that was beaten out of him so cruelly at such a young age?

you don't get soft fingers dancing lightly along your hairline as you sleep on his lap, no, you get a large, calloused paw brushing back your hair so he can see your pretty, pretty features better cos it was annoying him. he can't hold your hand don't be daft he'll crack your smaller bones in half... is the reasoning that he hopes will convince himself to stop fucking thinking about playing with your pretty fingers and pressing soft kisses to them. he's not soft! he's a killing machine! he knows nothing but anger and rage and numbness. so what is this strange fuzzy sensation in the hollow hole in his chest that's bothering him? why does it feel good? why is it making him fucking smile?

when he curls his mass around your sleeping body, don't be mistaken. he doesn't want to feel the way you fit perfectly against him. he's just.. trying to swallow you whole. he's not trying to get closer to you no no he's actually attempting to steal your joy. it's not as if you lessen the, thus far, endless and overwhelming burden of his corporeal blight oh no he's just using you.

everytime he presses his mouth against you and doesn't suck your blood out, he reasons that he's practising self-control and instead forcing himself to leave featherlight kisses that make you giggle oh so sweetly even when he knows deep down that he'd pluck out every one of his own teeth if even one dared puncture your skin. simon's not a soft man. he's not a gentle man. he's killed countless with the very hands that you play with. he tells himself you mean nothing to him, that he could walk away and forget you whenever he felt like it but everytime he wishes that his fingers were softer so that they may be more pleasant upon your skin and everytime he wishes that his lips were less chapped so that you may kiss him more, he knows he's fighting a losing battle.

simon riley will become a soft and gentle man in your embrace and there's not one thing he can do to prevent it.

masterlist

pls comment i have so many thoughts about this man that need to be talked about xx

[dumplingsjinson]

List of “stuff that happened between us which will forever live in my mind rent free” prompts

“I’m happy that you’re happy.” (DEWLKLDEWDSWL,SDL, FUCKKK)

Character A repeatedly kissing Character B’s lips, both giggling softly when they pull away from each other. (YUMI’S CELLS SEASON 2 I’M THANKING YOU FOR THIS KSKSKS) 

“You’ll always be beautiful in my eyes no matter what,” Character B murmurs after Character A tells them how insecure they are over their body. (Him reassuring me when I was spilling my guts to him and everything was everything I didn’t know I needed until now ajskks 😭 And him saying he doesn't judge lksefnklewn)

“I’m scared you’ll leave me once you see everything,” Character A murmurs, face buried in Character B’s chest. “Why would you think that?” Character B questions, a frown heard in the tone of their voice without Character A needing to look up at them; as if they think it’s ludicrous that Character A would even think they’d leave them for something like that.  (NaHH THE WAY HE SOUNDED DISAPPOINTED WHEN I SAID THAT, for even thinking that he’d leave me for that, and then trying to comfort me after, I feel so bad for doubting him omg 😭😭😭)

“Touch yourself for me, yeah?” Character B murmurs into Character A’s ear; watches as a flustered looking Character A slowly does as they’re told. (HOLY FUCKING SHITBALLS HELLOOOOOOOOO- IT’S THE FACT THAT HE ADDED THE “FOR ME” PART THAT MADE ME BECOME SO FUCKING FLUSTERED even though I did suggest it when we met last week and he was like “only if you want to” sAURR LIKE… was this invitation on his mind for a whole week LMFAOO. AND WHEN HE KEPT TELLING ME “good girl” or “that’s my baby girl” WHILE I WAS- JWKCKAS AHHHHH)

“You’re doing such a good job. That’s my baby girl/boy.” 

Character B slowly undressing Character A, at the request of Character A, because Character A is too shy to undress themselves in front of them. (PLEASE THE WAY HE JUST SLOWLY AJFKAKFK HELPPPPPPPP EVERYTHING ABOUT IT WAS SO TENDER??? LIKE DAMN)

“I don’t like the way my calves look. They’re too bulky, you know?” Character A sighs. “Well, I think it’s fine,” Character B says. “How’s it fine?” Character A whines. Character B chuckles in an abashed manner, then says, “It makes them squishier, after all.” (And then he proceeded to say he doesn’t like how his own calves look just to make me feel better, god I fucking LOVE HIM)

Character A being extremely vulnerable with Character B, and Character B listening attentively and reassuring them as much as they can.

“I’m sorry for ruining the mood,” Character A murmurs, face buried on their chest, and Character B chuckles softly. “It’s fine, don’t apologise,” Character B murmurs, stroking their fingers through their hair. “I’m here for you after all. I’m here to listen.”

“You’re so pretty, you know?” Character B mumbles, brushing a strand of hair behind Character A’s ear. (Him saying that while I was being vulnerable melted my heart TT TT AND ALSOOO WHEN HE WAS SAYING THAT WHILE I WAS ON TOP OF HIM HHWHEWHH) 

Character B littering kisses on Character A’s bare chest and saying, “You’re so soft.” (I just.. need a MOMENT)

Sloppy kisses while dry humping. (I mean I enjoyed them, and what of it??) 

“I’ve seen everything. And I’ve tasted everything. Literally,” Character B says with a chuckle as they surface from the sheets and from between Character A’s thighs to snuggle with Character A, and Character A groans, hiding their face behind their hands in utter embarrassment. (Yep. He’s seen literally everything AND had a taste by now and I’m SO FUCKING LWKENFLKWEFNLKENWFW—)

“I’m so embarrassed,” Character A groans as Character B holds them to them. “Don’t be embarrassed,” Character B says with a chuckle. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s just you and me, after all.” 

“Fuck, I wanna feel you against me,” Character A murmurs. (I said that, sir, yes I did. And what aBOUT IT—)

Character B kissing Character A on the cheek during one of those self-service photo booth sessions, which catches Character A off-guard. (AND WHEN I UPLOAD THE PIC- jk) 

Character B pressing kisses against Character A’s forehead while they’re fucking. (We weren’t technically fucking, but it was close lmfao) 

Character A clenching Character’s A’s head between their thighs as Character B eats them out, fingers going in and out of them sporadically. (The finger AND TONGUE COMBO PLEASEEE) 

Character A repeatedly apologising for dumping their feelings and vulnerabilities on Character B every time they see each other and Character B telling them it’s fine and that they’ll always be here to listen to them. (Please, I love this man so much) 

Character B slapping Character A’s ass while they’re using their phone, ass high up in the air. “What was that for?!” Character A whines, turning to glare at Character B. “That’s revenge for you doing that to me,” Character B says with a triumphant grin. (Yes we are at tHAT level of comfort with each other and YES I like slapping his ass. And don’t ask me why I was looking at my phone while in that position, it’s difficult to explain-)

Character B calling Character A cute and adorable while they’re messing around, because apparently Character A will always be adorable to them no matter what they do. 

Character B showering Character A with compliments and praises which flusters Character A every single goddamn time, and Character A telling Character B to shut up every time they compliment them because they don’t know how to take compliments. 

“God, I’m so wet/hard.” “And I don’t see a problem with that?” “Uhhh, no, there’s no problem but it is your fault that this is happening.” (FUCKING TEASE- IOEWFEKLKEWN) 

“Tell me when you want me to stop, okay?” Character B murmurs, glancing up at Character A from between their thighs, and something about that sight will forever remain etched in Character A’s mind. 

“As I’ve always said, we have all the time in the world, and I want you to be comfortable.” (HE IS AN ANGEL, PLSSS) 

“I’m happy you got out of your comfort zone,” Character B murmurs, cuddling Character A close to their chest. (ThE SWEETEST BOYFRIEND I’M TELLING YOU) 

Character B covering Character A with a blanket, knowing that they’re still feeling a little self-conscious over having their body exposed like this. (And him draping the blanket over us both as he cuddled close to me welkfnekwn I’m fiNISHED) 

Character B taking their time with Character A, going at a pace that Character A’s comfortable with. (He was so attentive the whole time TT TT)

Character B brushing Character A’s hair behind their ears to unhide their face; just so they could take a better look at them. (It’s even more EWLFKNEWFKN when he does it while we’re messing around, because I’m covering my face with my hair on purpose because I’m self-conscious as fuck, while he wants to see my face lmfaooo) 

[yuwuta]

WHEREVER YOU WANNA GO, THAT’S FINE WITH ME — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO 

cw mentioned/talks about death but not like… in a serious way 😭 this whole thing is very unserious and stupid it’s just a thought i couldn’t get out of my head, megumi being… megumi, f2l but what’s new, also inspired by some clip from a tv show i’ve seen on tt but idk the name of it, if you do pls let me know

you ask megumi you make one of those marriage pacts with you—that if neither of you are married by thirty-five, you two will get married to each other—and he just hums for a moment before asking, “do you think i’ll be better suited for marriage at thirty-five?”

“what? n—i don’t know? maybe? it just seems like an appropriate age to get married if you’re not already, that’s all,” you explain.

more humming. he blinks, “i don’t think i’ll be all that different at thirty-five.”

“well, that’s concerning,” you joke, “you’re supposed to change—grow a little bit as a person and all that, megumi. even you are capable of it.”

“i won’t want anything different out of a marriage at thirty-five than i would right now,” he corrects you, then turns to you, and with all seriousness demands, “so, state your stipulations. what do you want from me, let’s figure out of this is gonna work now.” 

you scoff, and cross your arms. “what do i want from you? that’s not how a marriage works.” 

“that’s how this friendship already works.” 

you say, megumi does; he pushes it than he should have, you say to stop, and eventually he does, and the cycle continues. he’s always stubborn, and sacrificing himself beyond necessity, and you’re always pulling his ear for it. 

“okay. fine,” you settle, straightening your posture, “i want a house. three bedrooms, so nobara and yuuji don’t have to bicker about sharing when they stay over.” 

megumi considers it, then counters with, “four. gojo needs a bedroom, too. one floor, i don’t like stairs.” 

“where the fuck are we going to find a one-level four-bedroom house? i don’t want to live in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.” 

“we’ll find one,” he shrugs, doesn’t flinch when he promises: “or i’ll have one made for us. next: vacations.” 

“twice per year. somewhere tropical, and somewhere metropolitan.” 

“i don’t like the beach.” 

“then you don’t have to go on the beach.” 

“you’re responsible for me if i burn.” 

“i’m responsible for you either way, i’m your wife,” you taunt, “pets, next. i want dogs. two. maybe three. and a bunny.” 

“no bunnies, they’re too much work.”

“but i want a bunny, megumi.” 

“you won’t have time for a bunny,” he rolls his eyes, “and you’re gonna get pissed when it chews up the expensive couch you’re gonna make me buy, and takes a shit in the expensive fruit bowl you’re gonna con gojo out of. no bunnies.” 

you pout and frown, but megumi doesn’t budge: “no bunnies.” 

you sigh, “no bunnies, but i want the dogs.” 

“i didn’t say no to the dogs. unless you want a golden, then i’m not raising that.” 

“why not? we already have yuuji.” 

“exactly, we already have yuuji.” 

“fine. i want a king sized bed. the really big, oversized ones you get in america.” 

“done. children?” 

“you want children?”

megumi shrugs, but you swear there’s a dust of pink on his cheeks, “maybe. maybe not. if i did, no more than two.” 

and suddenly you can’t help but feel heat in your own face, hot with the image of two tiny megumis running around. 

“that’s fine with me. maybe kids, but no more than two,” you cough, “i want one of those heated driveways for the house.”

“i’ll have it built. i’ll clean and do laundry and take out the trash if you cook.”

“what about days i don’t cook?”

“then i’ll do that, too,” megumi nods, “anything else?”

“yes. if i die first, you can remarry, but you visit my grave at least twice a year, and bring peonies. and that picture of me from prom where i look really good.” 

“no.” 

you stop. you blink. “what do you mean ‘no?’ you wouldn’t visit my grave?—kinda cruel considering i birthed your up-to-two future children and raised your dogs.” 

“i won’t remarry. and i don’t want you to if i die first,” he corrects you, again, “and there’s no dying first and leaving me behind, i’m going with you.”

he doesn’t leave room for debate in his declarations: won’t, don’t; not wouldn’t, shouldn’t, couldn’t—you have to pinch yourself to stop chasing the rabbit of temptation running through your mind. 

“i don’t… think you get to decide that,” you chuckle. 

“of course i do,” megumi grins, uncrosses his legs and leans over. he reaches a hand to the back of your head and pushes it forward until your foreheads meet gently; and as if the affection wasn’t shocking enough, he continues, “where you go, i go. that’s marriage, right?” 

he widens his smile a bit, before letting you go, leaning back into his seat again with crossed arms like nothing happened, and you’re left staring, blinking, breathing shallowly like prey that narrowly escaped being caught.

you don’t speak, so megumi does, “i have one more thing.” 

and slowly, you unthaw enough to let out a questioning hum. megumi tilts his head before telling you, “i want your last name.” 

“what? you—you would change your name?” you stutter, “but fushiguro is so pretty! and it’s your mom’s name, so few people get their mother’s names.” 

“yeah. this way, our up-to-two children get their mother’s names, too.” 

“i—okay… yeah, i guess they do,” you gape, then pout, “wait, what if i wanted to be mrs. fushiguro?” 

“tough luck,” he grins, “you get everything else.” 

you get me, instead, is what’s left unsaid. 

“okay, fine. sounds like a deal to me.” 

“great. we can’t have a spring wedding because gojo and toji will sneeze obnoxiously loudly, and we can’t have a summer wedding because the anniversary will conflict with our tropical vacation, and nobara will kill us if it’s too close to her birthday,” he says, standing up from the couch to head to the kitchen, “so i’ll see you at the courthouse in september.” 

you nod reflexively, sinking back into the couch with a satisfied smile. it’s a while before your brain processes his words, and when it finally does, you spring up in a fluster, “september? megumi, i said when when we’re thirty-five and if neither of us are already married! megumi? megumi fushiguro, come back here!” 

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

dk why but im thinkin about shoto w a sweet tooth who follows you and hangs around the kitchen waiting for the cookies you made to finish baking while staring at the oven like a kid, soooooo.. (shoto might be a bit ooc, slight super small pinch of angst but super fluffy as usual ! gn reader, mentions of food, lemme know if i missed sum else ! <3)

"sho.." shoto hums in response, eyes fixed on the oven.

"the cookies aren't gonna bake faster if you stare at 'em."

you hold back a giggle when he slowly turns to look up at you from where he's crouched down on the floor. his eyes that were practically pasted to the oven widening the slightest bit like he'd been caught doing something bad. he blinks at you, then swiftly looks away.

"i'm just checking to make sure they don't burn." he explains. you don't know if you've seen him blink more than four times the entire time you've been staring at him staring at the chocolate chip marshmallow cookies you made together. (together meaning with him watching you most of the time and occasionally mixing. as much as you love your boyfriend, he should absolutely not be trusted around food.)

"that's what we have the timer for." you quip, leaning against the kitchen cupboard and crossing your arm with a smirk.

he looks up at you, then fixes the kitchen timer sitting on the stove with a little frown that you recognize as a pout, you huff out a light laugh at his cute expression. from his miniscule facial expressions you can see he's a little embarrassed at the fact you'd outsmarted him. he turns to look at the cookies again.

"i can see when they're done baking better from here. faster than the timer can."

"oh yeah ?"

he nods "very clearly."

you snort. after looking at him for a while longer you sigh to get his attention. it works immediately and he looks up at you, eyes occasionaly trailing back to the oven towards the cookies as he waits to hear what you want.

you wordlessly spread your arms out, batting your eyelashes at him. he blinks, then a small smile grows on his handsome face in realization. he slowly walks over to you before pulling you into a comfortable hug, he huffs out a chuckle when you squeeze his waist.

shoto buries his head into your shoulder, right into the crook of your neck, and breathes you in. he’s had a habit of doing that often—if not every time you hug—and you don’t really know why he does, but you definitely don’t mind.

"you could've just told me that you wanted to try the cookies first." you tease, giggling when he huffs against your shoulder. he turns his head to speak against your neck.

"that wasn't my intention." he mumbles weakly, nosing at your neck when you scoff out a laugh.

"right. that's why you were practically glued to the oven mere seconds ago."

"i did no such thing."

"don't lie !" you reprimand, tugging at his hair lightly in joking punishment "you're not getting any cookies if you do." you hear him huff and feel a slight smirk growing against you.

"i..may have been surveying them rather closely—"

"very closely."

"—but it was simply to check." he finishes, ignoring your comment. shoto noses at your shoulder and sighs "i felt like even though you wanted to make the cookies together, i was barely able to help you with anything.." he trails off. your eyebrows furrow, and you try pull shoto out of the nest he's made for himself inside your shoulder, but shoto could be extremely stubborn when he wanted to be. his arms tighten around your waist and he his hair tickles against your cheek when he tries to shove his head inside your shoulder somehow.

you sigh, giving up your attempts to get him to look at you and simply settle on running your fingers through his hair, soothing him as he sighs contently. "sho, you helped me out lots. you always took over for me when i didn't feel like mixing anymore and helped me out with those big strong arms of yours." you feel him smile against you and your smile grows mirroring his.

" but i really wanted to help you out more, i know i'm not really good at this.." he mutters sadly, a frown grows on his face and you feel the corners of your mouth turn down as well.

"but you're real good at a lot of other things ! i'm not great at everything either." you reason, absentmindeldly twirling a strand of his hair around your finger "but i could teach you some tips and tricks, if you want."

he looks up at you at that, the smile growing on his face makes your heart race. "really ? i might be a little hard to manage." he jests, running his hands up and down your sides. his eyes brighten the more he looks at you and you're 100% sure you mirror his expression when you throw him a smug smirk.

"don't you underestimate me, mr todoroki ! you're nothing compared to what i've dealt with before."

"oh ?" he hums, lifting a brow. you nod and his smiles grows " and what, if i may ask, have you dealt with before ?" he challenges.

"that is classified information that i cannot disclose. you're just gonna have to trust me." you shoot back and press your finger to his lips, snickering when his eyes widen a fraction before he looks down at you playfully. he takes hold of your hand and presses a kiss to each of your fingertips, making fireworks go off inside your stomach.

"well then," he presses a final lingering kiss to the back of your hand with a run of his thumb against your skin. his eyes glow with mischief when he looks at you.

"i'm in your care."

[awakenedevildays]

「take-out and matches」 Art Donaldson x F!reader

you can read the other parts here!

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

currently thinking of Art watching his latest match on tv to see the mistakes he has done and how he can improve: he is sitting with his bare back comfortably resting against the cushion of the couch, arms crossed against his chest and legs slightly spread and if it wasn't for his eyes fixed on the TV, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips forming a thin line you wouldn't have never guessed he was so focused.

You are watching him from the door of the living room with his shirt on and slighlty disheveled hair tucked behind your ears, your lips curled into a smile while the fingers of your right hand unconsciously go to play with the engagement ring on the left one. Your eyes follow your own movements for a few seconds before hearing a soft rustle against the fabric of the couch that brings you to look at your fiancé again, he is still looking the tv but his lips are shaped into a small smile and his arms are uncrossed, one tapping against his thigh repeatedly and the other is laid out on the cushions for you to take. You swiftly pad towards him and take his left hand in yours, letting him help you climb on his lap like it's the hardest thing you have to do; he kisses your hand before letting you unwrap yours from his to let you hug his neck with both arms, your head falling in between them and against his throat while he caress your thighs with both hands, your chests pressed together and your legs on both sides of him. 

You both stay silent for a few minutes, the tennis ball being hit over and over and the claps of the people on the tv were the only sounds you could hear along with the gentle breathing of Art under you. 

“You did great today” you mumble against his throat before kissing it. 

“Only because you were there” he replies, his hands moving in up and down motions on your legs “didn’t feel like losing in front of you” you smile and lean back to look at him. 

“You would have been great even then” he finally tears away his eyes from the tv and looks at you, eyes softening seeing your messy hair and droopy eyes caused by the two hours nap you two had.

“I think you're slightly biased” he teases and, while you reach behind you to take the remote from the table in front of the couch, his hands wraps around your middle to prevent you from falling.

You pause the match “I’m just honest, the fact that I’m your fiancée doesn’t have anything to do with my opinion about your game” you turn back to him and comb his blond hair with your fingers. 

“Sure it doesn’t” he sarcastically mumbles while his head drops against your chest in a relaxed way, his arms squeezing around you even tighter making your back arch and chest press more against his face. 

“What do you want to eat? I was thinking we could stay here and order takeaway” your fingers massage the nape of his neck and head. 

“Hamburger sounds nice” he mutters sleepily and you chuckle. 

“You'll have to keep this from your nutritionist” a groan came out of his mouth and a mumbled ‘let’s not talk about my job anymore’ vibrates in your chest. 

“I'll have to find a way to burn the calories quickly though, any idea?" He playfully bites your neck, you shudder taking his face between your hands “i might have a few...” and start to kiss all his face except his lips while he sits there with his eyes semi-closed, his head nuzzles the palm of your left hand. 

“You’re so pretty” he whispers “i really want to kiss you right now” goosebumps takes all over your body and your heart misses a beat, he knows what effect this phrase has on you… it was the same one he said your first date. 

For a moment you went back to 7 years before in your college days: when you were pressed between the passenger door of his car and his body after a walk on the beach, his jacket wrapped around your shoulders and your high-heels in one of his hands while the other had your fingers tangled together, and he whispered the same phrase that made your heart jump and goosebumps rise in the same way it did now. 

“Please do” and he does. 

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

[chaosandmarigolds]

(office style interview)

reader, bargaining into the room: oh my god the shit I’m about to tell you

interviewer, was on their lunch break:

reader: you know that girly game on like-what’s it called- Roblox? Dress to impress or somethin?

reader: I just found Kyle and Johnny playing it together.

(cut scene to Kyle and Johnny laying in in the common space, laptops on laps as they sit facing each other)

Johnny; THEME WAS FUCKIN MAFIA M-A-F-I-A NOT HIGHSCHOOL DROPOUT

Kyle, with popcorn: I’m disappointed in this generation- OH HEY I WON

(cut back)

Interviewer: do you play it? Would you? reader: I mean, if I could convince ghosty I would.

[answer2jeff]

SHARING SPACE — Carmen Berzatto.

synopsis: just a blurb, how you ended up moving in with Carmen :)

warnings: established relationship, reader is implied female (but little use of specific pronouns), fluffy headcanons, some smutty implications, some smutty implications but still fluff, mentions of alcohol and smoking, blurb is set once they're rebranding The Beef into The Bear.

i need more Carmen fluff this man is my whole life. btw this is super short but i'm sooooo burnt out :'(

It started with you "accidentally" falling asleep in his bed from the night before, panicking and hurrying to put your clothes in the morning before he had to rush to work. You weren't technically dating, but you were too close for comfort to be considered something as shallow as "friends with benefits." It was more than that.

But then things seemed to slow down. It turned into spending an extra ten minutes enveloped in each others arms. You shared, "good mornings" between sickly sweet kisses, his hands feeling up and down your torso while your fingers entangled in his hair. Carmen whispered about how much he didn't want to leave—as much as both of you knew he had to.

"You're gonna be late, Carmy." You'd groan, cupping his clean-shaven face and planting small kisses on his cheeks. Carmen let out a sigh of disappointment, realizing his short moment of bliss would be over the second he thought about leaving.

"I'm gonna clean up, 'kay?" He'd mumble, kissing your sweet lips one last time. His pupils dilated at the sight of you in his sheets, something he wish he didn't have to cherish from how little free time he seemed to have.

"Mhm."

Once he'd hop in the shower, you'd get yourself dressed before pouring him a warm cup of coffee, occasionally placing any dirty dishes stranded in the kitchen in the sink as an act of courtesy. You'd check the time, 7:00am,

As much as it pained you to leave without a proper goodbye, you worried that Carmen needed space- that he didn't have time to pepper kisses along your cheeks before he left.

"Bye Carmy!" You'd call out, but not quite loud enough for him to hear from the bathroom.

He wished you would've stayed just a little longer.

Eventually, you caught on. At one point, you swore you saw Carmen popping his head back into his bedroom to see if you were still there as you were already halfway out the door. From that point on, you started leaving little notes next to his coffee, littered with "I'm so proud of you," and sweet comments like, "break a leg Bear," and sometimes even an "I'll see you soon."

Then it turned into spending all weekend, every weekend, in his apartment—even though you'd been stopping by the restaurant between closing hours, and spending a good hour or two with him every other day of the week.

It just wasn't enough.

You started bringing a share-sized blanket and bottles of your favorite drinks whenever you came over, which was practically 4-5 times a week by that point.That blanket ended up rotating between your apartment and his, until it finally resided on the couch.

Wrapping himself in that blanket whenever you weren't around, reminded him that there was something else to think about; that there was someone else who needed him just as much as he did them.

You started leaving little things like your hoop earrings on the kitchen counter, or your puffer jacket on his coatrack, wondering if they'd still be there by next weekend; wondering if Carmen would ever have the heart to give them back to you. (Spoiler alert, he kept everything you ever "forgot"' in the exact same spot. Having a piece of you in his home at all times seemed to make up for your absence during the week, even if it just made him miss you more.)

Then you started packing extra clothes with you that you'd stuff into an empty drawer in Carmen's dresser. You brought your travel-sized, makeup bag with you, which you just ended up leaving in his bathroom. Along with your meds, and your skin care, and practically everything else you couldn't live without.

...

"You should just move in at this point." Carmen let out a breathy laugh as he watched you do your makeup, his eyes meeting yours in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. Not even 20 minutes ago, he saw you pick out an entire outfit from the spare clothes you brought, not even realizing that you left a pair of black shoes that went with everything, right in his shoe rack.

"I practically live here now," you paused to put on some mascara, your mouth gaping open as you tried to concentrate, "but my lease is up on the 23rd." You joked, twisting the cap on your mascara back on and tossing it into your makeup bag.

"I mean—would you want to? Live here? With—with me?" He physically turned to look at you, your reflection not giving him enough clarity. He needed to see you, whether you said yes or no. You felt your stomach turn, and the question seemed unreal.

"I— yeah, I guess. Only if you want me to, but that'd be pretty... cool." You turned your head to face him, gazing into his desperate eyes. He needed to be able to call this apartment "ours," not just "his."

This apartment felt more like a home than you than anywhere else you resided in Chicago. You made your commute to work from this apartment, you ate and showered and slept in this apartment, bits and pieces of you were tossed all around this apartment, you brought home every new piece of clothing and jewelry back to this apartment.

Carmen literally made you keep a spare key in your wallet, advising you to come over whenever you needed something—even if he wasn't home. He trusted you with his space,

He took it upon himself to buy you a toothbrush, the shampoo and conditioner you raved about after he complimented your hair, and extra pads/tampons/menstrual cups (since he wasn't sure what you used,) just for when his bathroom would be occupied by you. He cleaned out the hidden cabinet behind the mirror above the sink, making sure you had a place for all of your things. He moved all of his cologne, deodorant, lotion, etc in the cabinet underneath it.

All he ever wanted was to make sure you felt safe.

[artchixs]

he runs to her. holds her. feels her go cold.

[mikareo]

⌗ SEASONS OF LOVE ₊ ˖ ་. a 呪術廻戦 miniseries

⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ꒰ . . a heart divided, a dilemma indeed ! ꒱

⊹ ⠀⠀ it's impossible to tell your best friend you love him...you just need a little bit of help! there's no one who knows gojo better than geto, and he's more than happy to aid the clueless girl who he's always found quite cute. to fall for both of them isn't a crime; just don't break too many hearts in the process...

contains; gojo satoru x fem reader, geto suguru x fem reader, university (year 2) au, fluff, angst, kissing, swearing, best friends to lovers, friends to lovers, love triangle author's note; both stories weave together, but can read either or! a series of short fics from each boy's perspective of their love story with reader! will contain 8 parts total.

“ ࣭⸰ ★ SERIAL ROMANTIC ᯇ gojo satoru x fem reader ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀“ ࣭⸰ ★ HOPELESS ROMANTIC ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ᯇ geto suguru x fem reader

01 ) ⠀ remember when we first met? ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀it's not a hot-girl summer ⠀ ( 02 03 ) ⠀ lost confessions, missed connections ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ leaves are falling, and he is too ⠀ ( 04 05 ) ⠀ hey siri? how do you say 'i love you'? ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ can he thaw a frozen heart? ⠀ ( 06 07 ) ⠀ ...by the roses of the spring ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ happiness is a butterfly ⠀ ( 08

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀private message me or send an inbox ask to be added to a taglist,, do the same to be removed. ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀will be updating periodically between fics ! ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀thank you for your support ily guys <3

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

[miffmuff]

Hey i think i can draw wings now, at least better than I used to anyway.

[starrynightsxo]

"Having a heart is terrible, but you need one anyway."

- Cardan Greenbriar, How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories

[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.

[sunsetsandsunshine]

Heyyy, hope your doing well.

Is it ok if I request switch!april switch!mikey and lee!donnie.April is spending time with mIkey while painting a mural somewhere... and they get into a tickle fight in which donnie gets dragged in.. If that's cool with you :D

~ 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚛𝚝 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 ~

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘!!! 𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏! 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚔𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚎 😌🫶🏾…𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚎. 𝙴𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙲𝙸𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚜 👏🏾💗💖💓💘˚*•✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟸,𝟷𝟺𝟺

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 🐢💜 

𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜: 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 👩🏾‍🦱💚 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝! 𝚂𝚘, 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛.

𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙶𝙶𝚂𝚂𝚂: @shut-up-jo @itzsana-kiddingmenow @aceofspades-doodles

@ziipzeepzop-eez @someone1348 @rice-cake-teen10

@savemeafruitjuice @cedarrthefluffylee @mistyandsnow @tmntstayheadforever

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙲𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚑𝚎𝚑𝚎𝚑 >:]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝙵𝙸𝙲 𝚁𝙴𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚂𝚃 𝙻𝙴𝚃𝚂 𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾‼️˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“Pfft…Mikey you actually suck at this…” April said, stifling a giggle as she glided a paintbrush up and down her little brother’s shell. 

The smaller teen shrieked at the sudden contact, his giggles bouncing off his room’s walls, “R-Riri plehehease…!” The youngest giggled, squirming slightly as he dug his feet into the carpet. 

“Just say a word!” The elder said, “Literally any word that reminds you of this feeling!” 

“Ihihi daha— squeak dohon’t knohohow!!” The younger squealed out as he kicked his legs from underneath his elder sibling, “Ahaprihil plehease juhuhust stahahap!”

“I can’t 'stahahap' unless you tell me, bro! How does this paintbrush against your shell feeeeeel?” The girl emphasized as she swirled her paintbrush where Mikey’s shell met his plastron. 

“I cahahan’t— squeak pfftahahah!!!” The orange banded turtle cried as he arched his back, kicking his legs desperately from underneath his older sibling. 

“Just say a single word, little brother. Aren’t you the one who wanted to help me with my art project~?” The green cladded teenager asked smugly.

Michelangelo blushed, hugging a nearby pillow to his face as his muffled laughs echoed around the room, “I-I dihid buhuhut Ihi dihihindn’t know ihit would be soho tihiHICKLY—?! NAHAHEEEK!!! SqueakAHAPRIL NAHAT squeak THEHEHERE!!!” The light scarlet eyed mutant squawked as his sister started to gently scratch at his lower shell with her nails. 

The human raised an innocent brow, her fingernails dancing across the other, “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just tracing your shell to help you think!” 

“PLEHEASE PLEHEASE squeak REEREEHEE!!!” The paint loving turtle squealed, banging his fists in the floor, “OKAHAY OKAHAHAY!! F-FLUHUHUTTERY! IHIT FEEHEELS FLUTTERY!!” He laughed, letting out a sigh of relief as his sister got off of him, writing down the word he basically just screamed. 

“Fluttery…I like it!” The elder mused, going back and tracing the other’s shell with the brush. 

“M-Myhy gaHAHAD squeal Ihi hahate yohou…” The youngest murmured as he buried his face into the pillow more.

April held back an amused laugh, scritching her nails along the mutant’s upper shell, “Hate is a strong word, little buddy. But to refresh your memory, I’m doing a poetry art project so I need you to come up with a few…artsy word’s for me. And besides~: you’re in a mood…so you shouldn’t really be complaining all that much. I get my project done and you get tickled…it’s a win-win!”

Mikey huffed begrudgingly, blushing as his sibling basically just called him out…

The box turtle was a kind soul! A very kind soul in fact! 

So when his dear big sister texted that she needed help with her art project, Michelangelo was more than thrilled to lend a hand.

That was until he was told that April’s class was working on collages…and were given a single word to get inspired by and base their art piece off of how it made them and the people around them feel…

…And you want to know what his sister’s word was…?

Laughter.

“Your soho meeheean…” The youngest groaned loudly through his giggles. 

“I’m not being mean if you like iiiit~!” The elder giggled, causing the box turtle’s blush to deepen, “NO!NOHO TEHEHEEASING!” The younger one squawked, “PRIHILLIE WEEHEE HAD AHA DEEHEEAL!” 

“Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” She said as she scribbled her youngest brother’s hips, “Y'know…I think I can add a couple more words to the list...”

“Whahat ohOTHER wohords?” Mikey asked. 

“Cute, adorable, sweet, lovable—” April listed.

“SHUHUT UHUP SHUHAHA— squeal SHUHUT. IHIT.” The scarlet eyed teen said, kicking his legs more now from underneath the other.

“But you are~!”

“NAHAH— squeak GOHAHA AHA— squeak AWAHAY!!” 

“But I can’t~! I need more words for my collage!” 

“THEHEN THIHINK OHOHOF SOHOME YOHOURSELF YOHOU FOUR EYED MOHOTHER— squeak FUHUHUCKER!!!”

The elder snickered as she lightly traced the sides of her little brother’s ribs, “Woowww…cursing me out…calling me names…it’s almost like you want me to go here…”

The orange banded teen let out a tiny but mighty scream at the new sensation at the back of his ribs, trying to get off of the floor, but alas, was stopped as April sat on the back of his lower shell once again, “YOHOU— SQUEAL!! AHAHAPRIL WEEHEE SQUEAK CAHAN TAHAHALK SQUEAK ABOHOUT THIS SQUEAK PLEHEASE!!” 

“I’m hearing lots of words not having to do with my collage~!” The girl in glasses said in a sing-song voice as she pinched up and down his ribs. “NAHAH— squeak squeal GAHAHAD WHYHYHY?!” The youngest cackled. 

“Because you legit asked me to?” The elder grinned evilly as she started to slowly count every single one of her little brother’s ribs now, “Duh~!”

“E-EEEHEEP! PLAHAHEASE NAHAT THAT NAHAT THAHAT NAHAT THAHAHAT!!!” Michelangelo screamed, hugging his middles as tears of mirth appeared in his eyes. 

“Not what~?”

“OKAHAY! SQUEAL OKAHAHAY!! YOHOHOU SQUEAL CAHAN PUHUT SQUEAK MEHERRY, JOHOHOLLY, FUHUNNY, LIHIHIVELY AHAND SWEEHEET NOHOHOW PLAHAHEASE!!!” The box turtle absolutely squealed. 

“There we go~! See? It wasn’t that hard.” April smirked, patting the other’s shoulder as she got up and added the five words on her paper. “Ihi feeheel lihihike I juhust gohohot bahahack frohom aha war…” Michelangelo groaned as he wiped his eyes to clear the happy tears streaming down his face.

“Oh, you’re fine.” April said as she rolled his eyes fondly, writing down the words Mikey said on the clipboard. The youngest stretched him arms, getting up and peering over the older’s shoulder, “Buhut anywahay’s, hohow mahahany mohore words do yohou need?”

“Five.” The elder said casually.

“FIVE?!” Michelangelo repeated in complete and utter awe, “How many words do yohou freaking neeheed?!”

“Five.” The older repeated, “The number in total was originally supposed to be ten but Mrs. Anderson said if I add one more to the required word count I’d get extra credit.”

“…Why do you always have to pick extra credit?” The orange cladded mutant whined, flopping on his bed as he looked at the ceiling.

“Because why not?” The elder huffed, “Now come��over here! I need five more words on how laughter makes you…feel.” She said dramatically, putting a hand over her forehead for a theatrical effect. 

“Yeah, yeah...“ The light scarlet eyed teen uninterestingly said, “But you come over here; I don’t feel like lying on my carpet anymore.”

“Pfft— okay, your majesty.” The glasses wielding human snickered, sitting next to her brother on his bed. And without warning, the smaller teenager wrapped her in a hug from behind with one hand while the other slipped under her shirt and scribbled all over her bare stomach.  

“AUUGH! Y-YOU’RE HAHAHANDS ARE F-FUHUCKING FREEZING!!!” April seethed before bursting out into loud and contagious cackles, “AHHAHA— squeak! WAHAIT! WHAHAT THEHEHE FAHACK!?” She squealed. 

“Aww~! Look at you giggling up a storm~!” The smaller teen smiled, “Your laugh is beyond adorbs, Riri.” 

“STAHAP IHIT! YOHOHOU PEICE AHAHOF— squeal! NOHOH!” The older cried, kicking her legs in an attempt to escape which only caused the youngest to tickle harder. 

The human girl threw her head back; completely lost in her own squeals and shrieks. “Soooooo~! About those words~!” The youngest teased. 

“NAHAHAHAA— YOHOU LIHITTLE BRAHAHAT!!” The green cladded girl shouted. 

“I don’t think 'brat' or 'little' goes with the word 'laughter', Prillie...” Mikey giggled.

Oho revenge was sweet…

…So so sweet.

“YOHOU— hic! STAHAHAP IHIHIT NOHOHOW!!!” The girl in green giggly threatened. 

“No can do, big sis!” The youngest said as innocently as he could, “I need you to tell me how laughing makes you feel~! What do you feel right now~?”

“NO YOHOU— hic GAHAHAH! STAHAP IT— squeak!” April howled, “FIHINE! FLUHUHUTTERY! IHI FEEHEEL FLUHUTTERY!!” 

“I already said that.” The orange themed turtle hummed, getting his hand out of the other’s shirt and squeezing her thigh mercilessly.  

“MIHIHI— hic FAHAHACK— hic! O-OKAHAHAY!! GIHIGGLY?!”

“Four more woooords~?”

“NOOOHOHOH! DUHUHUDE YOHOUHAH— squeal!”

“I can’t stop unless you give me four more words~! Come on, big sis~! Just four more words~!” Michelangelo taunted, using both of his hands to knead the other’s hips. “GYAHAH!!! M-MYHYHY GAHASH!! FIHIHINE! JOHOY?!” The girl offered as she kicked and thrashed.

The younger teen nodded, “Three more~!”

“REEHEELAHAHAXED?!” 

“Two more~!” 

April let out a loud squeal, getting out of the hug as she lightly hit the other on the upside of his head, “Ahand trihiumphant.” She huffed, writing down the four words she said. 

The light scarlet eyed mutant rolled his eyes, looking over her shoulder once more, “How do you feel 'triumphant' when you’re laughing??? That doesn’t even make any sense…”

“Yohou dohon’t mahahake ahany sense.” The girl with glasses retorted as she stuck her tongue out at her little brother; which the little brother in question gladly copied.

Then suddenly and abruptly, Donnie walked into the bedroom, leaning on the doorframe as he knocked on the wall, “Hello, Michael and Prillie. I’ve come to inform you two that Raph has obtained us some rice and peas and jerk chicken for dinner.”

April and Mikey turned their attention to the softshell as he leaned on the doorway, “…Where did Raphie get the food from?” The box turtle asked suspiciously. 

“Oh…well, he and Leo made it.” Donatello grimaced, shrinking slightly as he saw his younger brother’s face start to form in anger, “They cleaned up after themselves— I promise. I supervised.” The light golden eyed mutant assured.

The light scarlet eyed teen rolled his eyes, going over towards his door, “I’ll be the judge of that.” He huffed, going to march towards the door but was halted by April as she gave him the clipboard. “Oh Dee~? Before we go eat, do you mind answering a quick question for me?” The eldest asked innocently.

“Uhm…okay?” The purple banded teenager said as he fully walked into the room, closing the door, “What’s the question?” 

“How does laughing make you…feel?” April asked.

The softshell blinked once in confusion, “…What?”

“How does laughing make you…feel?” Mikey repeated.

“I…don’t understand the question.” Donnie chuckled in amusement, “How does it make me…feel…?” He repeated to himself as he scratched his head, “I…feel joy when I laugh, I suppose.” 

“Anything else?” The girl in glasses emphasized, sneakingly inching her way to her brother as he was deep in thought. “Erm…lively? I do feel quite alive and quite joyous when laughter occurs.” 

“Anything eeeelse?” The chocolate brown eyed teenager drawed out as she scribbled her nails alongside the taller’s sides. Donnie let out a short squeal, flinching back as he hugged his middles.

The one day he left his battleshell in his room…

“Ahahapril doohoo. nahahat.” The taller teen warned, backing away as his sister inched towards him. “Whaaaat~?” She said casually, “I’m just helping.” 

“Tickling meehee ihihis not hehelping meehee thihink ohof ahan answer!” The light golden eyed teen said as if it was obvious, riskily sprinting to the door as his younger brother effortlessly caught him; the two boys basically fighting to the death as Mikey effortlessly pinned the older turtle to the ground, tickling his underarms.

“HEHEH— hic STAHAHA! YOHOU L-LIHIHITTLE SHIHAT!! LEHET MEEHEE GOHOH!!!” The tech loving turtle shouted, squirming from underneath the other.

“Nu-uh! I suffered so now you have to suffer.” The box turtle smiled. 

“AHA— hic! WHAHAT— PFFTAH! DOHOES THAHAHAT EEHEEVEN hic MEAN?!” The taller turtle inquired through his chorus of cackles. 

“Thought of a word to describe how you’re feeling yet, Don?” The eldest asked as she sat next to her two brother’s, grinning like the Cheshire cat. 

“IHIHI’M hic GOHOING hic TOOHOO KIHICK YOHOU GUHUHUYS' ASSES!!!”

“Language, young man!” The box turtle scolded, gently flipping Donnie on his plastron as he scribbled his fingers lightly against his shell. Donatello frantically kicked his legs, banging his fists on the ground as he screeched in laughter.

“GAHAHAD NAHAHAH— hic! PLAHAHEASE!!! WHYHY?!” He wheezed, tears of mirth blurring his vision as he shut his eyes tight. “I-IHIHI FEEHEEL REEHEELAXED!!!”

“Already have that one.” Michelangelo commented. 

“GIHIHI— hic! GIHIHIGGLY! I FEEHEEL GIHIHIGGLY!”

“Already said that one too~!“ 

Donatello wheezed once more, his heels digging into the carpet and his legs flinging around like crazy, “HAHAPPY! I FEEHEEHEEL HAPPY!!! NOW STOHAP STAHAHOP STOHOHOP!!” He cried, letting out a contented sigh as his little brother stopped the assault. 

“I hic cohohome here…toohoo deliver hic news…ahahand thihis is hohow I’m hic being repahaid….” Donnie grumbled through his giggles, huffing and puffing under his breath as Mikey hugged him. 

“And that makes eleven words!” The girl with glasses grinned, writing down the last word on her paper. “Thanks for your help, you too.” 

“Ahanythihing fohor you, Ihi guess.” The softshell said as he rolled his eyes, getting up as his younger brother was still clinged to him, “So…are we going to go eat or…?” The box turtle asked as he hugged his older brother’s arm.

“Yeah, yeah…” April giggled as she clinged to Donnie’s other arm as all three of them walked to the kitchen, linking arms. 

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[glossyblue]

Birthday or new beginning

glossyblue: a new part for birthday boy🫶🏻🩶 hope you enjoy, feedback is very appreciated.💌

summary: You and Jude almost broke up and because of the situation you were in, you didn't say anything to anyone at the moment and you had to go to his birthday party and pretend that nothing happened.

pairing: jude bellingham × reader

now playing: Heat Waves by Glass Animals

⋆

As you walk into Jude's elaborate birthday party, you can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia mixed with a twinge of sadness. You and Jude had been inseparable just a few months ago, a couple that everyone envied. Now, as you stand there clutching a hastily wrapped gift, you can't help but feel out of place. You scan the room, noticing the familiar faces of Jude's friends and teammates. You see his smile light up as he greets them, a smile that once was reserved just for you. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself before you approach him.

'Happy birthday, Jude,' you manage to say, handing him the gift. He looks surprised to see you, but quickly masks it with a smile. 'Thanks, you didn't have to bring anything,' he says, his fingers brushing against yours as he takes the gift. You swallow hard, remembering the way those fingers used to intertwine with yours. 'I wanted to,' you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. He nods, and you stand there awkwardly for a moment before he excuses himself to greet more guests.

You spend the rest of the evening pretending to have a good time, laughing at jokes you don't find funny and making small talk with people you barely know.

Clara said with a mocking and meaningful expression: 'Are you okay? Do you have a problem with Jude?' You were shocked and didn't know what to answer, you said very quietly 'No... we don't have a problem... everything is fine', you could hardly stop your voice from shaking. Clara laughed as if she knew exactly what happened between you 'But he said something else about you last night when he was drunk,' she said with a grin. At that moment, you felt that your heart stopped beating and you were trying to breathe, all the questions were in your mind: Where was Jude last night? Was he drunk in front of Clara? What did Jude say about you? Did he get into a relationship while you just broke up? And ...You were confused, Suddenly a hand wrapped around your neck, jobe! He smiled at you and turned to face the rest of the girls 'Hey girls, it's nothing, you don't have to worry about my brother and his girlfriend, who can pass up such a beautiful woman?' He winked at you. With his help, you could get out of that suffocating situation.

All the while, you can't help but steal glances at Jude, who seems to be enjoying himself thoroughly with his friends. As the night wears on and the party begins to wind down, you find yourself standing outside alone, looking up at the night sky.

You hear footsteps behind you and turn to see Jude standing there. 'I didn't think you'd come,' he says, his voice barely audible over the sound of the music still playing inside. 'I didn't think I would either,' you reply, suddenly feeling vulnerable. He looks at you, his eyes searching yours, and for a moment you think he might lean in to kiss you. But then he takes a step back, breaking the spell. 'I'm glad you did,' he says, his voice soft. 'I've missed you.' You stand there, not knowing what to say.

You took a deep breath! You didn't know whether to ask him a question or not! But you should have asked him tonight 'Jude, I want to...ask you something...' Jude looked into your eyes and said with a small smile: 'Sure.' You are very calm and while trying to hold back your anger: 'Clara' you tried to make yourself to look at the view in front of you so that you could talk more easily. Very quickly, without thinking, you said: 'Clara said something that last night when you were drunk, you talk about me, I want to ask what you said?What were you doing in front of Clara last night? were you drunk? Are you in a relationship with her? your girlfriend? Did you forget me so quickly? 'You cleared your throat and continued: 'Ok, I agree, everything in our relationship was not as it should be, but because of our beautiful moments, couldn't you remember me more? Am I worthless to you? Do you like her?' You were trying to get fresh air into your throat because of the pain and fast talking. Jude laughed very quietly! While holding your shoulders and lifting your chin and forcing you to look at him, he said, 'Breathe first, babe.' And then he was slowly trying to caress your shoulders While trying to speak in the calmest and most impressive way, he said: 'Well, look at me and listen, I love you more than anything, yes, it's true, our relationship didn't go well, but that doesn't mean that I don't love you. I like you, we may not be able to do anything for each other, but you are so lovely , you are an important and beautiful part of my past, do you understand?' Jude said while putting his hand on your tear-soaked cheek: 'You know, I told you until the last moment that I love you, you know that I love you wherever you are, even if you leave me, your love is my only support, wherever you are. I want your love.' With Jude's words, your tears became more and more. He was talking, trying to wipe away your tears. While smiling at you and his eyes were wet, he said: 'I just thought... considering our relationship and my situation... you need a better person than me and a better life... something that I can't give you..I just wanted you to be okay, but about your questions, baby, I was with Clara, but not the way you think you can ask Job, we had a party last night and I was drunk but I just called your name or I asked God to be by your side. With the sound of Jobe, you turned back . While he was laughing and looking at you from the side, he said: 'He is telling the truth, he was shouting your name all last night... he even grabbed my collar and wanted me to bring him to you, he wanted to sleep with you' and he winked and left. Jude yelled as he walked up to Jobe: 'Hey Jobe Bellingham, wait... boy...' And you were laughing at the same time while your cheeks were wet. Jude regretted following Job and turned to you:' he is crazy' You laughed and said, 'At least he has more courage than his older brother to tell the truth.' Jude raised his eyebrows and said: 'What? Who said whatever was in his heart now? Was it me or him? ' You hit his arm and said: 'If I hadn't cried, you wouldn't have started saying anything.' And you went to the rest of the party , Jude laughed and came behind you.