#oh hey it's my boyfriend

[laurzzz]

Robo-Boyfriends AU (My Sona Version) - Effort

Woe word-less comic be upon ye! I think it's very fitting with my sona being mouthless LMAO. I haven't worked on RBAU in a short while so take this thingy before I continue to work on MO again :thumbsup::thumbsup:

Explanation/vent under the cut (it's VERY long, so know you've been warned)

I'm tired. I'm tired of pretending it doesn't affect me at all. I'm tired of not wanting to express genuine frustration on my blog. I've been trying my best to keep my blog and every other platform I have as a place of escape for myself. I want it to only be filled with mostly good and optimistic things. I already get enough crap and more in my private life, I don't want to see reminders of them in places where I want to escape. Which is why I've been pretending to not see the numbers, that I don't feel under appreciated, that I don't vent as much when I want to or when I do I'm quick to delete them.

I know that many artists online go through this and have expressed their frustration on this experience-- where they put in so much effort and time on their works and they barely get any feedback or interactions or when they do get feedback it's often on the works they don't even put that much effort in. I love RBAU and Cloud Nine.. they're my AUs that basically gained the most traction here but the time and effort I gave to making those comics and random pieces of gradient-themed drawings don't even compare to the rendered pieces or the animated works I've made for them.

As much as I appreciate the reblogs and comments on the posts that reached so many people, I often wonder why it's always the works that I didn't put my all into. It makes me feel discouraged... not in continuing to draw or make creative work, but to actually put in more effort. But if I'd do that--stop putting in more effort-- then I would only make myself even more miserable as I don't like stagnation. I hate stagnation. I hate getting bored of the things that mean so much to me. Sharing my art and improving on it means too much to me.

But it's weird because I tend to observe the interactions with other blogs. They look to put in so much effort and make such beautiful rendered pieces that I adore and yet they are appreciated as deserved. While there are artists who make "shitposts" (their words) who also gain so much traction and appreciation. This observation makes the voices in my brain start correlating the quality of my work to the interactions. If I'm being completely transparent, I get these thoughts a lot. But I also don't believe them. I don't want to believe them.

Before anyone starts saying "ohhh you shouldn't attach your appreciation of your work from external factors" etc etc-- I KNOW. I am FULLY aware. I'm completely aware and have rationalized this situation over and over. That this is just how the internet goes. That these are factors I don't have control over. That my work is gold and it doesn't have to be determined as such by numbers. That someday the people who appreciate my works will find me. I. Know.

Still, knowing these things doesn't make the feelings disappear. It's like I want to be mad, and cry at the same time but also understand that I just can't really do anything about this but let it be. It's as if the more I care about a project, the less likely people will. I don't want to pretend like I don't care about a project just for it to be appreciated. But I also don't want to feel as if I'm not getting as much appreciation or attention that I think my work deserves.

I've been experimenting with my works and how I post them here on Tumblr and on YT since last year. The ones that are shitposts are seriously what gets more attention AHAHAHA I am laughing with frustration. Look, I love making memes and poking fun with characters as much as the next viewer and artist but by god. I can't just keep churning out funny haha low substance stuff in exchange for interactions. That's not the kind of artist that I am. I like making things that has lore; that has depth to them. Like how I tend to make lore heavy AUs right after getting my silly, lighthearted works blow up just to remind myself that the relationship I have with my works will not grow if I keep chasing after the interactions, the numbers by prioritizing quantity over quality.

Or maybe people just don't like my ideas? I guess that's a possibility too. Maybe my ideas just don't resonate with people enough. It's not "consumable" enough. Or maybe they don't like my art/writing/animation style. Yet more factors that's out of my control. But I also get told that people like my art, my writings, my animations. And they mean so, so much to me. But it just doesn't add up sometimes, y'know? If people like my work and stick around because they like my art no matter the fandom then why don't I see it? Thoughts like these make me feel so ungrateful actually.

I'm sure there are many people who look up to me as an artist and think how "popular" I am. I've been told this so many times. And yet, I don't feel either of those as strongly. Hell, even as I type this long vent out, I feel like people will not even care. Or worse. Perhaps they may think I'm focusing on the wrong things or think I'm being insecure and jealous of other people's well-deserved appreciation from others.

For the record, I am not. I think every single (actual, not AI) artists put in so much effort and love to their own works most of the time and if they get appreciation for it then I'm sure as hell that they've been seeking for it too and now that they're getting it and it's there then they should bask in it and rejoice. They really should.

Sigh. This is getting far too long. I'll stop here. I hope my words and my thoughts came out clearly. I'm writing this out late at night. Don't worry, I'll still be putting in the effort I've been putting in lately. I'm still going to work on MO, and give my best to make Assassin Eclipse's design to be as on par with Assassins Sun and Moon. I'm still going to write and continue the lore in the fic. I'm still going to animate the lore-heavy Welcome Home animation I've been working on slowly day by day. I just wanted to let this all out. Venting it to my friends just seem to not be enough. I gotta express it where people can see it. I think this is just my last straw too. I've been holding out for so long and 2024 really hasn't been that kind to me lately that I just can't anymore.

Anyway, the next post will be much lighter, I promise.

[datingclub1]

[feline-evil]

Master Miller time

[moeblob]

Anyway I was thinking about Chris a lot lately and I wanted to draw Brent today so why not draw both!

(Angel is Chris' daughter who is like. 6 or 7. And she very happily has announced she will marry Mr. Right when she grows up and Right is just like "yes exactly, see, Chris? One person loves me enough to marry me I love my future wife" and it drives Chris up a wall. Brent normally calls her Angel but sometimes he has to push the button.)

[veone]

🥡Sun Bleached™️

Act 1: Schism—Beginning--- Previous---Next

[frecklystars]

I fucking love Ryan Gosling in these Barbie interviews. Someone asked "hey what would Ken say in his bio on a dating app? what kind of person is he looking for?" and Ryan's like "uh... well before he even looks for a Type Of Person™, he's gotta be real up front that he's got no job... and no house... no real prospects of any sort, really, he just kinda sleeps on the beach, and -- you know what, he doesn't even have a phone? I... I don't know if he can even sign up for this app?" and Margot said "oh but he has abs. That should get him somewhere" and he said "no, no, I don't think he even has an email address, I don't think there's any way to contact him??"

and it's like three minutes of them talking about Ken not even having any pickup lines because his way of flirting isn't even flirting, it's him picking up something Barbie accidentally dropped (even though Barbie doesn't make mistakes) and saying "oh hey you dropped this 😳" and then offering it to Barbie and then when Barbie says thank you while making eye contact he's shaking and thinking "oh god what a perfect day Barbie looked at me" and then he'll ride that high the entire day. and the interviewer was like "but that isn't a pickup line" and Ryan said "no I don't... I don't think Ken does that, I think he just creates moments with Barbie and cherishes them" WHAT THE HELL SIR YOU'RE MAKING ME FALL FOR KEN EVEN MORE

[sprinklersart]

one day when I am 3% less worried about being cringe I will post my half baked justified fic where they stay together through college/prison and become surprising well adjusted despite you know being Who They Are and also maybe or maybe not committing at least 1 homicide together. Or something g to that effect.

[liverpool-enjoyer]

ooooh man oh man the Asexual Angst™️ is hitting HARD tonight 😭😭

[sigskk]

happy holidays :)

[ID: A reddish monochrome drawing of Sigma and Chuuya from Bungou Stray Dogs. They are standing side-by-side and looking into the camera.

Sigma is on the left and is noticeably taller than Chuuya. He's wearing a reindeer headband and is dressed in a light turtleneck sweater and a thick overcoat.

Chuuya is on the right and is wearing his hat with a holly leaf and berry decoration on it. He's dressed in his standard button-up and trench coat.

The background is a muted, dark red with lighter snowflakes drifting down. End ID.]

[tswwwit]

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

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

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

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

Which Dipper’s ignoring, for the moment.

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

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

He also might be a little jaded at this point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No explanation, then. Dipper rolls his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

Bill was just insane even before that.

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

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

Dipper rolls his own eyes. 

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

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

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

Instead, he’s making Dipper focus on him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But so far, Bill’s keeping his word. 

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

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

This is novel, and interesting - 

And very, very dangerous. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper narrows his eyes -

Then seizes the opportunity.

And the triangle. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, duh, that’s the point.”

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

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

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

And, maybe, kind of neat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper stares.

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

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

Say something. Probably.

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

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

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

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

Okay. This. Is a new one. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should stop touching it, what the hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Which might be why Bill complained about it.

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

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

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

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

“What, is this boring you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what.” Dipper says, flat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And - 

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

Dipper sits bolt upright in bed. Heart pounding.

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

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

What…?

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

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

Before either of them expected it, this time.

“Shit,” Dipper says. 

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

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

He almost -

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

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

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

He's never - but then Bill was -

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

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

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

He’s heard so many of them. 

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

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

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

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

God, he's an idiot.

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

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

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

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

And second, to come up with his own plan. 

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

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

Bill Cipher will never, ever know about this.

[angelt0rres]

lol

[datingclub1]

Play The Game With Me

[softquietsteadylove]

Helloooo!! ✨🖤

I thought about something for the Zombie AU.

After Thena dragged Gil to the hospital they (Ajak and Sersi maybe) discovered Gil had an infection or something and he's out like a light for a few weeks, recovering. Meanwhile Thena insist to sit by his side but Ajak(?) insists that she has to recover too. Thena is dehydrated, starving and weak. One day she collapses and after they took care of her, they tied her to a bed so she finally can recover.

Hugs and Love ✨🖤

She had carried Gil all the way here to the hospital. People came out to help them, carried him in for her. She didn't have the strength to go after him.

When she had first woken up, she had managed to find her way to Gil's side again. An infection, they said--a rusty little cut on his finger or something trivial that she should have known about sooner. Supposedly he would pull through just fine, but she couldn't be as sure as they were.

Then she had collapsed.

"Please," Thena gulped, her throat still dry as a bone, "please, just let me see him."

The doctor kept working around her, checking on this and that.

"Please," Thena rasped again, determined to get them to listen to her if her vocal cords bled dry. "I have to see Gil."

"What you have to do is rest."

Thena pried her eyes more open. It wasn't the shorter doctor who seemed to be in charge of this place. This one was taller, younger--she was obviously also a doctor, but maybe worked for the other one. "What's your name?"

The doctor glared at her, walking a little more into the light that was shining down on Thena (despite the rest they so clearly believed she needed). "You want names now?"

Thena shrugged.

The doctor put her chart of whatever down and looked at her. "Do you remember how you got here?"

"You mean," Thena lifted her wrist--as much as she could, of course, with her wrists and ankles restrained. "Here?"

"What do you remember?"

Thena sighed, swallowing again. She raised her brows as the doctor came forward with a bottle of water, tipping it up for her to take a few well controlled sips. "Thank you."

She capped it again, nodding in a silent promise to offer more when she had her answers.

Thena cleared her throat and tugged faintly at the restraints again. They had a fair amount of slack on them, so they couldn't have thought she was that dangerous. "I...I remember getting Gil here. He'd had a fever for a week already, and I knew I had to get him where people were."

"He was severely dehydrated when you got in, had one hell of a fever and needed antibiotics for an infection," the doctor listed off. "You're lucky I worked in pharmacology. We got him what he needed, you know. He'll pull through."

That didn't do her any goddamn good if she couldn't see him with her own eyes.

"You collapsed."

Thena looked at the doctor again, who looked pissed at her, if anything. She shrugged again, "being out there isn't easy. It's-"

"You gave all your water to him--your food too, I imagine," Doctor Sassy hypothesized (correctly). She looked at Thena again, "you were just as exhausted as he was. You're restrained because you kept getting up to go see him and I found you collapsed in the hallway."

She couldn't sleep. She had been trying, and Doctor Crabby was right, she was exhausted. But unconsciousness only lasted so long, and when she was awake, she couldn't think of anything but Gil's well-being.

"I often couldn't sleep," Thena began, staring up at the hospital ceiling while offering what she could to Doctor Pissy, "out on the road. Gil and I...we found each other by accident. But we could stick together. I got used to having him around."

Doctor Stink-Eye actually softened at that, maybe able to relate to some part of it. She tilted her head at her, coming a little closer, "you can't relax without him here."

Thena didn't exactly confirm it--seemed like damning information to give these people she didn't entirely trust. She tilted her head on her pillow as the doctor came into the light. She had gentle eyes. "We had only each other out there."

Doctor Doe-Eyes nodded, offering a sympathetic little twitch of her lips. She had beauty marks. "My husband is part of the team who goes out for perimeter checks and supply runs, here. I worry about him out there. I can't imagine what it's like."

If she had to hazard a guess, Thena had to assume it was the tall and gruff sounding one with the accent she remembered from when Gil was carried inside.

"We mean no harm, truly," she tried to get through to Thena, leaning further over the bed. "I know it seems excessive, but staying stationary, having this many people here...it's a big risk when we take in new people. Even if they're seeking help."

Thena supposed she might understand that. Outsiders all had the same instinct for survival that people living with a certain amount of security simply didn't have. Or it wasn't as sharpened, at least. And they would have to be wary of those using the hospital's good will as a weakness and way to infiltrate their populace. "That's why I'm tied up?"

Doctor Huffy frowned and gave one of the restraints a tug. "No, you're tied up because I couldn't trust you not to get up and walk back to your husband in this state."

"He's not," Thena started and then stopped, coughing again. Her throat was still raw from going so long without water, only to then scream at the top of her lungs for help.

"Okay, okay," Doctor Softie soothed, tilting up more water for her. "Either way, I couldn't have you wandering around unattended. Ajak frowns upon it, for good reason."

Ajak must have been the shorter doctor Thena remembered on the other side of her when she was dragged in after Gil.

Thena swallowed more precious water before looking at the doctor. more awake, more hydrated, her eyes were clearer--the doctor was around her age, maybe a little younger. "What's your name?"

"Sersi." It was a very lovely name, for a lovely woman. "And you're Thena."

She bristled.

But Sersi gave her a more smug look, tipping her chin up, "Gil has awoken, you know--a few times."

Thena felt her eyes widen, a manic energy rushing through her veins, "he...and you didn't tell-!"

Sersi leaned away just enough, given the restraints. She pursed her lips, "it was never for very long, and he was still nearly delirious with fever."

Thena eyed the woman. Sersi may not have been out in the world like she was, but she obviously wasn't naive in any way. "So, why tell me?"

"I know your name because that's all he could say," Sersi raised her brows at her. "He would wake for a few minutes at a time, and yet we wouldn't even know his name was Gil if you hadn't said it. All he could get out was 'Thena', and 'where is Thena?', and 'I need to get back to her'. It's rather sweet, actually."

Thena laid (collapsed) against the pillow again, blinking as her tears collected in her eyelashes like morning dew on leaves. She could hear his voice in her head now, the sweet, gentle giant. She certainly wouldn't let anything stop her from trying to find him. Well, nothing but some leather restraints, that was to say.

"Nearly threw Kingo across the room in his hysteria," Sersi continued to mumble. "We had to use a sedative on him."

Thena squirmed. "He's not really a fighter--truly. He just...forgets how strong he really is sometimes. He didn't mean any harm."

Sersi smiled at her, maybe amused by her apologising for Gil's actions. "Ajak wants you separated, and for good reason."

Thena waited eagerly for the metaphorical 'but' to follow.

"But I might be able to convince her to let me move you into his room," Sersi didn't so much as promise but postulated. But she had to admit that the self-assured smirk on her face suited Doctor Snippy. "If you think you can behave."

Thena nodded eagerly, all but forgetting about her bound limbs, "anything."

Doctor Sersi nodded, getting ready to leave Thena for the rest of her nightly duties. She picked up the water bottle for one last offering, "can you tell me...?"

Thena merely waited. She had promised anything in exchange for seeing Gil again, as much as this didn't seem to be part of those conditions.

"He's not your husband," she concluded, even though Thena never actually verbalised her denial of it. "So then...what are you? If I may--I mean, what is he to you?"

Thena looked at Sersi. She could just tell her that this didn't seem like pertinent information for her to have, as their doctor. But she sighed, "everything. Gil is absolutely everything to me."

Sersi offered solemnity, tipping up the water for her, "I suppose you have no choice out-"

"No." Thena was almost as surprised as Sersi when she cut her off in the middle of speaking. But she continued, "it's not just that. He...Gil is good. Everything about him is right when the rest of the world is wrong. He's the best thing left in it, now, and I...I just want to protect that."

"I was an auditor, Sersi," she professed, the words all but spilling out of her like a broken water line. She sounded like Gil. "I worked a boring office job, had no life outside of it, didn't think of calling a single person when everything happened. I never did anything to put any good out into the world. But I can keep Gil in it."

Either she was astonished by Thena's speech, or she heard ones just like it all the time; either way, Sersi smiled. "Just a little longer, Thena. I promise, I'll do everything in my power to help you see him again."

Thena laid back, looking up at the ceiling again. Waiting was easier said than done, but she didn't have much of a choice in the matter either. She did feel remotely better, having a potential ally in Doctor Sersi. She closed her eyes, hoping that next time she opened them, that she could see Gil.

[shrimp1y]

Jujutsu Kaisen exists in my OC's universe like jennifer lawrence exist in the JJK verse

[invinciblerodent]

apparently act 3 is when I need to push through the desire to start playing a new character, because now that I'm there with Iona too, I'm struck by an intense urge to play this pretty asshole

particularly struck by the thought of how fucked his whole situation must be under that armor

like, being born to druids but with no magic of his own, growing up, he never really needed to learn practical skills like dressing a wound, or anything of the sort (what's the point if your mom can just wave vaguely in your direction and whatever issue you have is gone). But when he left and found himself on his own.... given how stubborn he is, he probably learned all his battle- and survival skills by pure trial and error.

I imagine he has a number of weird and wonky, poorly stitched and awkwardly healed old scars, all over his body. Boken many bones, gotten into weird accidents, and has gotten many a bad infection before, too- really, it's a borderline miracle that he still has not only all his limbs, but all his fingers and toes too.

No wonder that he has 16 con to his (currently) 17 dex and his 8 int; without being preternaturally healthy and hardy, he'd easily be a decade dead. nah, this boy is just rawdogging life, smashing his head against walls and hoping that they'll break before his skull does.

i've played him for only like an hour, and I simultaneously hate and love this asshole cockroach of a man so much already

[frecklystars]

god im so excited for the Barbie movie today. I might be a bit tense while seeing my triggers on screen but honestly I’ve been doing so so so well handling my ptsd the last few weeks and I'm very proud of myself!!!!!

there’s a few triggers I’ve been actively working on reclaiming and I KNOW I’m going to be okay watching the movie bc I am not letting anybody take this from me. I know I’m gonna wanna see it more than once. I even bought myself a cute pink skirt for it ;w;