#bill cipher oneshot

[signedreality]

Bill cipher trying to seduce and woo this human while he holds them captive in his pyramid during weirdmageddon and he makes them his little pet that adores and Ford is just like "👁️👄👁️"

ᯓ       CAPTIVE

        bill cipher x reader

ଳ synopsis ; bill cipher trying to woo the human he has captive in his pyramid during the apocalypse!

ଳ warnings : petnames, tease, fliting, bill has no game (-1000 aura after these headcanons yes i just said aura sue me i'm tired), and ford being confused as balls.

ଳ missive ; i haven't written for gravity falls in a bit, and i thought airing this broadcast would be hilarious, so enjoy!

now airing ; you really got me - oingo boingo

༄.°       weirdmageddon was almost perfect.

༄.°       keyword, almost.

༄.°       bill, with his plan almost working as he tortures ford into giving him the key to leaving gravity falls, could only wish for one more thing. and that was to finally woo the human he had, oddly enough, been obsessed with since this whole thing started.

༄.°       just seeing the way you attempting to fight back with him enamored him all the more, and your stubborn ways amused him.

༄.°       he thought you would be head over heels for him in no time, yet to his avail, you seemed to not care at all.

"doll, guess what i got you!" his voice filled your room—the one that was decorated with everything you could've wished for—as you looked towards bill. "what..?"

your voice was laced with exhaustion as you stared at bill, and you watched him pull out a ring that had a large diamond on top. "i heard you fleshbags like these shiny rocks for some reason, so i got you one!"

"thank you, bill—you can leave it with the rest, alright?" you gestured to the pile of riches he had gifted you, and the demon happily floated over to the pile while plopping the ring on top of it all. "there we go!"

༄.°       bill mostly gifted you things as a way to get you to fall for him, and he doesn't really flirt because the last time didn't go that well.

"are you deer teeth? because i know i can pull you—" bill blinked at you a few times when you narrowed your eyes at him, and he let out a defeated sigh once you pointed to the door. "that sounded better in my head..."

and with that, he'd sadly float out of your room.

༄.°       no matter how many times you rejected him, though, he'd still continue to attempt to woo you.

༄.°       he'd offer you any planet you want once he gets ford to speak, or he'd even offer you the whole universe just so you'd say yes.

༄.°       and eventually, you did.

༄.°       it was more so because of two things. one, you wanted him to leave you be, and two, maybe you did adore the dorito a bit. he practically offered you anything, he was funny, and he could be sweet.

༄.°       but how would ford react to this?

"bill, do you remember where i—" you stopped in the middle of the room as you noted the human chained as bill turned to face you, and the demon perked up while waving.

"don't mind us! i'm just casually planning world domination while sixer is hanging out! isn't that right?"

bill looked over at the man before rushing over to you, and he floated around you until he grabbed your hand. he partially swung it back and forth while staring at you. "he's shy—now, what did you need?"

as bill left to go help you find whatever it was, ford narrowed his eyes at the scene as he fidgeted around in his chains, yet there was no luck in escaping.

nor was there any luck in escaping the sounds of bill giggling each time you even looked at him.

but the more ford thought about it, maybe you could come in hand with ending this whole apocalypse...all he had to do was escape first.

⤷ word count ; too lazy to count

© signedreality

🌊        reblogs + hearts + comments are appreciated !

listeners : @simpingoncarmensandiego @ari-hatake24 @heartfeltcherie

[tarot-readingz]

band-aids

Bill Cipher x Reader oneshot || fluff, hurt/comfort ⊹₊⟡⋆ warnings: self harm injuries/relapse in self harm, brief negative self-talk and low self-esteem ⊹₊⟡⋆ summary: Bill helps bandage up your wounds and provides some awkward comfort. 💭 i needed some comfort recently, and i thought i'd maybe share what i wrote in case anyone else needs it too . bill might be a bit 'ooc', but that doesn't matter here lol . and to whoever's reading, remember that you are loved, and you matter very much . please be gentle with yourself, and stay safe, friend <3

Rrrip.

The sound of another band-aid being opened fills the otherwise tense silence. That’s the third one, and you’ll probably need another. You watch as Bill carefully lines it up across your arm, making sure it doesn’t bubble up when you move, then presses down so it sticks. It’s… oddly sweet, almost unnervingly so. You’d never have thought he’d be capable of this much care; this tenderness.

Neither of you speak for what feels like hours in your small bathroom. You’ve just finished crying, and now a headache lingers. You’re not even sure what to say, anyway. Luckily, though, he beats you to it.

“What made you do this?”

…maybe not so lucky.

You chew on your lip, pointedly keeping your gaze away from his. How do you even answer that? It’s too much to begin explaining, you don’t know where to start, and with your thoughts currently moving at the speed of molasses, all you can do is sigh. “I just…” a pause, you try again. “I…”

God, the words just aren’t going to come out easily, are they?

Thankfully (but surprisingly), Bill says nothing— no teasing, no prodding— instead going still as he actually waits for you to answer. Why is he acting so… so…

Your face scrunches up in mild frustration, then falls into something more dismayed with another huff. “I just… spiralled. I was angry, and I felt that I deserved it. And… I wanted it, I guess.” It was much more complicated than that, but it’s a start.

He’s eerily quiet, and when it stretches on for too long, it feels like it’s suffocating you— you have to say something else. 

“I thought you’d be more amused. Don’t you find pain hilarious and all that?” It’s a weak attempt at banter, and you only muster a breath of a laugh, but he doesn’t joke back. Rather, his grip on your arm tightens slightly, and his gaze remains on the cuts now hidden away under the protective band-aids. He mutters something so softly and you almost miss what he says. “Not when it’s yours.”

His words make your chest do… something. It tightens and flutters at the same time. He doesn’t admit any vulnerability out loud, it’s always indirect. Implied. You’re touched, confused, and all-around emotional. You pray that you don’t start crying again. 

“If you start thinking like that again, you’ll tell me. Got it?” Bill breaks the silence again, and his tone leaves no room for argument, but underneath it…. He’s oddly affected by this, and you really didn’t think he would be, considering what kind of person (er, triangle?) he is. You’ve seen exactly what he’s like, evil and manipulative and uncaring towards others— and for whatever reason, he makes exceptions with you. Sometimes.

Mulling over his statement, you finally nod silently in agreement, but he still doesn’t move. “Promise me.”

Now that makes your insides twinge, and as much as you want to, you don’t dare to look up at him. There’s no way Bill would demand a promise. There’s no way he’d ask, or plead for something.

But that’s exactly what he’s doing.

You don’t know how to process it.

“…Okay.”

“Say it.”

“I— okay, I promise.”

Finally satisfied, he resumes covering the tiny stripes of lacerations with another band-aid, the ripping of the paper cuts sharply through the already fragile atmosphere. He repeats the same steps, using the same level of care that makes your heart ache. You don’t realize you’re crying until you watch his hand reach up to brush against your cheek, the contact making your breath hitch and your face to heat up. 

“Hey, stop that. You’ve done enough gross leaking for the night.” He sounds awkward and mildly annoyed, and you can’t help the laugh that slips out, nor the tired smile that forms on your face, and finally, you glance up. Bill’s gaze is already on you, and you swear you can feel him brighten a little bit at your reaction. “There you go, that’s better! Besides, you gotta keep yourself together for me. Can’t have my future puppet falling apart so soon, y’know.”

You shove him, but there’s no force behind it. His hand falls away from your cheek as he laughs, and you find yourself wishing it had stayed a little longer. “Oh shush, you know that’s not happening.”

“Not yet,”

“I will drop-kick you out the window.”

“Ha! Good luck trying while all of your motor functions are inverted!”

All the while, his other hand hasn’t moved from your arm, even when he’s done tending to your wounds.

[ckret2]

who wants a prism break?

So, the Theraprism! The Theraprism sucks, right?

This is like, a good day.

The Theraprism clearly sucks.

Have a one shot of Bill escaping Theraprism with the most desperate escape plan imaginable: reincarnation.

(Warning for, as you might expect, psychiatric hospital abuse.)

####

There are fates worse than death. Like boredom, for instance!

####

Everything was black and numb and silent and cold so so cold but no he could only call it cold if he felt cold and Bill didn't feel coldness there was just the absence of a feeling the absence of heat the absence of light the absence of sound the absence of touch the absence of air.

The absence of everything.

Bill had loved a void once—a micro black hole. Every time they touched it slowly killed him, spaghettified his limbs, drained his energy. His energy was so vast that she never claimed a drop of a drop of a drop of his reserves—but it still hurt like nothing else to be crushed and stretched and ripped and consumed by her event horizon. The pain was wonderful. Being shredded was ecstasy.

This void was the opposite of her. 

He couldn't even feel anything when he tried to scream—without air, he couldn't feel his vocal plates vibrate. He couldn't feel his hands, his face, his eye; he tried to bite himself just to feel something and he couldn't feel his mouth, he tried to rip open his wounds and couldn't find them; why couldn't he see his own light, why couldn't he see his blood, where had he gone, was he gone—

Reality returned like a light bulb being switched on.

The first thing he registered was a shrill sound on the verge of inaudibility; and then the pain in his eye, his sides, his wounds; and then the dull gray light, the hard floor under his knees, the antiseptic stench in the air conditioning.

He stopped screaming. The shrill sound stopped.

"Energetic as always, are we?"

Bill blinked blearily at the Orb of Healing Light hovering before him. He croaked, "I'll regurgitate you."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that." A glowing translucent clipboard manifested in front of the Orb. "Well, you've gone through this enough times to know the drill! Do you need a moment to recover, or—?"

"No no, I'm fine, I'm fine." Bill slumped forward, trembling hands on the floor, waiting for the vertigo to pass. "I'm fine. Do your thing." He'd rather get the post-Solitary Wellness Void reorientation interview over with.

"Perfect. What's your name?"

"I'm ol' Vinegar Pete."

"No clowning, please."

He sighed loudly. "Bill Cipher."

"Good. Where are you?"

He considered saying hell, but decided he'd used up all the clowning he could risk for one day. He didn't want to go back in. "The Theraprism. Ward 333."

"Very good. When are you?"

"I was gonna ask you," Bill groaned. "How long was I in the hole this time? A million years? Ten million?"

The Orb checked its notes. "Eight minutes."

"Wh—no, no I know that time moves slower out in reality than in the prism. I'm not asking how much time passed in reality, I'm asking how much time passed here."

"Eight minutes," the Orb repeated. "Outside the Theraprism, one third of one second passed."

Bill groaned again and flopped flat on the floor.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"Why are any of us here?" Bill asked the gray linoleum tiles. "Usually because some dumb beast tripped into the booby trap that sets off its reproductive process. How's your species work, you pop outta nebulas, right—?"

"I meant, coming out of the Solitary Wellness Void."

"Oh." Bill tried to remember what his infraction had been this time. "Because I failed to escape."

"Because you tried to escape."

If he'd succeeded, they never could have punished him. "Sure."

"Good, you seem oriented to your surroundings. Let's get you to the nurse and then back to your cell." The nurse? What did he need a nurse for?

He only realized then that he must have succeeded in reopening his wounds in the SWV: the never-quite-healed crack across his exoskeleton was wider, the edges chipped and bent. It hurt. His eye socket hurt too; he tasted blood. With the way his whole body usually ached after leaving the void, he hadn't even noticed.

Through the crack in his exoskeleton, his edges had frayed into fine golden threads. The sight of silvery blood on his hands made him nauseous; he hastily looked away and reminded himself it was only his own. 

####

As Bill wearily followed behind the Orb and two security guards followed behind him, he had to periodically turn to hover sideways to streamline himself. These days he was so weak that he could feel the air resistance pushing back against him when he floated; with his wound reopened, he felt like the air pressure could snap his exoskeleton along the crack and break him in half.

"You're not Emmy," Bill said. "You're, uh..."

"A-AOX4."

"Oxyyy," Bill said weakly. "Heyyy. S'been a while. Usually I get a personal welcome back from the void, why didn't Emmy show? Don't tell me it doesn't see me as a threat anymore!" He'd be offended if it didn't. D-SM5 was the closest thing he had to a nemesis these days. Even if he couldn't beat it, he wanted to think he still irritated the daylights out of it.

"Director SM5 couldn't make it. It's overseeing the preparations for Paingoreous's reincarnation."

"That's today? Good riddance." Paingoreous had started getting sanctimonious the past few hundred group therapy sessions—don't you have any compassion for your victims and it's possible to live a happy life without slaughtering all your enemies first and maybe I should ask for permission before I vivisect my friends' faces—passive, self-defeatist crap like that. Vivisecting your friends and seeing who complained was how you found out who your lame friends were! Now that the wet blanket was leaving, the rest of them could get back to spending their sessions reminiscing about the glory days and trying to set the donuts on fire when the therapist was distracted.

"Yes," A-AOX4 said pointedly, "it is good he gets to leave to go become a productive member of reality. We're all so happy that he's rehabilitated enough to earn a new chance at life." (Bill rolled his eye. A-AOX4 ignored it.) "Wouldn't you like a chance to rejoin reality, Bill?"

More than anything. He'd been in this crystallized brain's perpetual dreamscape for what felt like both a thousand years and a single day—time never passing, an eternal inescapable moment. He'd tried to break out, sneak out, or bargain his way out more times than he could count; sometimes he was locked in the SWV as punishment; and sometimes the staff gently stopped him, confiscated his supplies, and chastised him for the effort—and the reminder that he was as powerless as a child was worse than the void. He'd gone delirious from the boredom, hallucinating screams and burning faces as his mind struggled to stimulate itself (and he'd been medicated for it). He'd so despaired of escaping that he'd looked for a way to burn up the remains of his energy and vanish for good (and he'd been medicated for it). He ached with the need to see the stars again.

But not enough to sell his soul for it. If he took the staff's route—let them break him down, sandblast off his rough edges, erase everything that made him him, and finally physically transform him into some alien creature—then whatever left the Theraprism would no longer be Bill Cipher.

"What, and force you guys to find a new 'unique case'? I wouldn't do that to you! I know how much you love me," Bill said. "Besides, why would I go through all that just so I can reincarnate as a sentient snowflake, or Mi-Go antennae lice, or..."

"A butterfly," A-AOX4 cut in, an edge of impatience creeping into its tone. "Paingoreous has chosen to reincarnate as a butterfly. We all think that's a very productive way to channel his desire to digest his own skin."

"Unless it's one of those blood-drinking butterflies, lame." Bill scoffed. "Wait—hold on, you said butterfly? Like an Earth butterfly?"

They were, of course, not actually speaking an Earth language, but an interdimensional pidgin that borrowed words and grammar from dozens of worlds. When around the Orbs of Healing Light that held half the staff positions, Bill tended to speak a dialect of the pidgin that used flashes of light for 40% of its vocabulary. It was perfectly possible that the word Bill knew as "butterfly" was also used for some alien creature, but—

"Yes, an Earth butterfly. A Vanessa atalanta, to be precise."

Aw, boo. Not even a cool butterfly. "He's reincarnating on Earth?"

"Yes. Many of our patients reincarnate on Earth. As long as you're careful about which region and century you reincarnate into, it's at the top of our recommended list of Goldilocks zones."

There was another phrase that Bill recognized, but this time he was sure his definition was not A-AOX4's definition. "Whaaat do Goldilocks zones have to do with reincarnation."

"You didn't pay attention to the orientation session on our outpatient reincarnation program, did you."

"What! I didn't get an orientation session!" said Bill, who probably didn't remember any such session because he didn't pay attention to it.

"Well—we rank millions of planets and their dimensional parallels based on their potential to help patients reintegrate into reality. We do try to set our patients up for success," A-AOX4 said. "To qualify as a Goldilocks zone, a planet has to meet the Theraprism's rigorous list of criteria: its lifeforms, cultures, laws of physics, and position in interdimensional society must all be conducive to a patient's continued recovery. We want to ensure that our patients' new lives are neither so difficult as to retraumatize them, nor so easy as to let them coast by avoiding continued personal growth, but right in the middle, so that they're emotionally and spiritually challenged without being overwhelmed. The Goldilocks zone: a perfect compromise between two extremes."

"Yeah, sure, sounds great." Bill could feel his eye glazing over in disinterest. Fight it, Cipher.

"Do you miss Earth?"

Bill tilted to glance askance at A-AOX4, and was surprised to see it had turned to focus a spotlight on him. Oh—it thought it had finally found a carrot to dangle in front of him. That was a popular strategy here: they figured out what a patient wanted most, and then used it to coax them into good behavior and "rehabilitation"—better still if they could attach a sense of urgency to it. Don't you want to see your descendants again before the last of them dies out? Don't you want to see your homeworld before its sun swallows it? Don't you want to reconcile with your god before the heat death of your universe?

But Bill had no universe, no homeworld, no family; no lovers or friends or gods that hadn't betrayed him and left him to rot here; and he'd remained smugly steadfast in refusing to give D-SM5 and its minions anything else it could use to get under his chitin. He was proud that he was too broken for even the famed Theraprism to fix him.

A-AOX4 probably thought it had finally found an opening. It might be useful to let it keep thinking that.

"You kidding me? Earth? Pfff! I don't miss that overgrown asteroid one bit!" He waved off the suggestion, and winced when the gesture tugged wrong at his reopened wound. "But hey, you don't study a world for millions of years without finding a few things about it to like. The music's pretty good. And the movies and literature, though if you ask me, they peaked between the first two World Wars. I like trees, evolution did a great job with trees. And humans really went off with the architecture. The pyramids? 10 out of 10. And some of the locals aren't bad, I've got a few exes from Earth."

"Do you? How many exes?"

"Living? Just a hundred forty or fifty," Bill said dismissively. "Earthlings just have those pretty eyes, you know? I'm a sucker for a pretty eye! But outside of that, no, there's nothing on Earth for me."

"I see," A-AOX4 said lightly, and dropped the conversation.

Hook, line, and sinker.

####

The original definition of a "Goldilocks zone" came from astrobiology. The Goldilocks zone was the ring of space around a star in which an orbiting planet could support liquid water and thus water-based life: not too close to the star and too hot, not too far and too cold, but just right. Earth, for instance, orbited Sol in its Goldilocks zone.

It was from this definition that other, more metaphorical definitions of Goldilocks zones emerged. Such as the Theraprism's: a world that was neither too stressful nor too boring for a newly brainwashed—sorry, "cured"—patient. And apparently Earth was in that Goldilocks zone, too.

Which was very interesting to Bill—because in their search for a new home, the Henchmaniacs had come up with their own definition of a Goldilocks zone. For them, it was a dimension close enough to the Nightmare Realm with a thin enough barrier that they could easily punch through it, but not so close and so thin that puncturing the barrier would pop it like a balloon and cause the dimension to immediately prolapse into the Nightmare Realm—which was a problem they'd had before. More than once. They needed a dimension they could easily cut a hole into, but control it, so they could slowly pump the Nightmare Realm's contents in. A barrier neither too vulnerable nor too strong, but just right.

And wouldn't you know it—but Earth happened to be in that Goldilocks zone too. Right next to a point in the dimensional membrane so thin, the Nightmare Realm could almost stretch through and kiss it.

####

Since Bill Cipher was infamously known as the last survivor of a trillion-years-extinct species, and had until recently been capable of instantly repairing himself, there were no medical records on how his anatomy worked. It didn't help that at some point eons ago he'd somehow managed to graft a 3D exoskeleton to his 2D anatomy without breaking his own physics, meaning no one had seen his true body in recorded history. Bill knew how he worked, but refused to offer any hints. So the Theraprism staff had to guess at Bill's medical treatment.

But Bill was still made of energy, and even weakened he could eventually self-repair. So whenever his injury was exacerbated, the nurse tended to just patch up his exoskeleton to keep it stable enough to send him back to his room.

On top of his mysterious anatomy, the staff had no idea how to medicate his physiology. They knew he could be medicated—Bill's personal substance (ab)use experiments were notorious far outside the Nightmare Realm—but they had to treat him like a newly-discovered form of life in figuring out what affected him, how it affected him, and how much it took. He'd been on and off hundreds of drugs as they tried to chemically stabilize a mind for which they had no idea what baseline stability looked like. D-SM5 had told him that between the enormous doses needed to impact his energy-based physiology and the vast variety of drugs he'd been through, Bill's medication regimen was the most expensive in the Theraprism. He took some pride in that.

He had very few things to take pride in anymore. He clung to what meager victories he could.

If Bill got his way, he wouldn't be medicated at all. None of the substances they wanted him on were what he'd call recreational. (Although for a while he had gotten away with not telling the docs that one of his antipsychotics had given him a side-effect of kaleidoscopic hallucinations.) Plus there was the fact that he'd heard rumors that quite a few pharmaceutical execs were good pals with a certain director—not that Bill would name names, of course!—that's his motto, Don't Slander Maliciou5ly!

But when he resisted taking his meds, they could send in the guards to pin him down so a nurse could inject a sedative so strong he wouldn't remember anything that happened for the next few hours to months (hard to tell) until they started tapering it off... and although he'd rather die than admit it, after losing that fight five or six times, even he had to admit to himself it was a lot less scary to just take their rotten drugs. Better to go through his days with his mind dulled and hazy than blacked out altogether.

To retain what little pride he had left, he'd reached a compromise with his jailers.

When the nurse had finished attaching the reinforcing splints around Bill's injury, they grabbed a medication measurement cup, filled it halfway with syrupy eye drops, and double-checked Bill's chart as they dropped thirteen different pills (plus a fourteenth pill for a painkiller) in the cup.

As Bill redressed, he eyed the unappetizing cocktail of antidepressants, antipsychotics, mood stabilizers, and things he'd forgotten the purpose of but that probably weren't doing whatever the doctors hoped and definitely weren't doing anything Bill liked. "My straw?"

"Right, right." The nurse handed over one of the wide-diameter disposable white straws they kept on hand for patients who struggled to drink (or, in Bill's case, patients they struggled to get to drink).

Only a tiny fragment of Bill was actually locked up in the Theraprism—like pinching the glowing lure of an anglerfish in a trap while the rest of the fish thrashed outside—and because most of Bill's vast energy was elsewhere, he was nearly powerless. But he still had enough energy to heat up a finger, twist the straw around it, and hold it there until it had melted into a new shape.

The nurse sighed. "Do you have to do that every time? You ruin more straws than you get right."

Imperiously, Bill said, "Leave me to my whimsy." He tugged off the straw when it had cooled down to examine the corkscrew shape he'd made. The wall was a little flattened in one place, but he could pinch it back open. "See? It's perfect!" Cheerfully ignoring the nurse, he stuck the straw in his cup and slurped down his pills like tapioca balls. He tried not to remember what was in them.

A-AOX4 had left Bill with the nurse, but the two mall cops with medical kinks known as Bill's personal guards were still waiting nearby. The nurse's office was next door to the cafeteria—for ease of patients picking up their medications at meal times—in an anteroom that was connected to the rest of the ward by a set of locked double doors. A couple of guards were stationed near those doors at all times, and generally the guards assigned to Bill hung around with them while Bill was in the cafeteria or nurse's office. Bill floated up to them, regarding them with the disinterest of a king ignoring the servants he expected to open doors for him, and continued to ignore them as they escorted him back to his cell, one in front and one behind, while he sipped on his drugged cocktail.

The Dimensional Tyrant Ward was already one of the most heavily-guarded wards in the Theraprism; but to reach the maximum security cells, a patient had to pass several increasingly heavy security checkpoints with increasingly impenetrable security doors. The final door was warded against all magic, unhackable, unbreakable, and so airtight that even without his exoskeleton there was no gap Bill's 2D form could slide through. The doors to each cell—outfitted with tiny one-way mirror portholes, no latches or hinges on the inside—were a little less heavy duty, but packed with just as many failsafes. The Dimensional Tyrant Ward's max security hall had the most advanced security architecture of any psychiatric facility in the multiverse.

Bill had made a trillion year career of trying to break his way through a door nobody wanted him to go through. He could think of seven different ways to get through the doors. Sooner or later he'd find a way out of this place altogether.

A few of the doors had modifications: this one with a metal slab over the porthole to protect passersby from the occupant's petrifying gaze, that one with extra soundproofed padding coating the door. Bill was almost insulted his own door didn't warrant any special modifications.

His favorite door was The Beast's. A comfortingly yellow triangular sign on the door displayed a black symbol of a steak. Red signs above and below read "CAUTION! FEED UNSEASONED MEAT ONLY." "NO SUGAR ALLOWED." The Beast's heavy snuffing was audible through the door; his hot, sickly sweet breath seeped through the slot in the door that had been installed to deliver his food.

Bill's escorts automatically drifted to the far side of the hall to avoid The Beast. Bill, whose first medication was already starting to kick in, zigzagged lazily back and forth across the hall, heedless of how close he came to The Beast's cell.

Bill had never seen this door opened once in all his time incarcerated, and the dust settled on the additional chains and padlocks stretched across the door showed just how long it had been since the last incident. But some of the patients who'd been here longer than Bill still couldn't bring themselves to speak of the last time he'd escaped. Elder eldritch gods shuddered and gibbered nervously at the mention of his name. 

Bill tilted over to try to peer through the food slot at The Beast. A quivering, sickly blue eye stared back at him. Honestly, Bill thought The Beast was adorable.

Outside Bill's door, the guards waited for Bill to finish his medicine, hand over his cup and straw, and open his mouth and lift his eye out of the way so they could check and make sure he'd swallowed them.

And then he was left in his cell.

####

A perfect cube of uniform dull grey tiles supernaturally lit by a uniform dull grey glow, no light source, no shadows; in a max security room in the Maximum Security Wellness Center, patients weren't even trusted around light fixtures. The staff had removed everything Bill had used thus far to commit violence or attempt escape, plus a few more things as punishments for various infractions: journal, paint, pens, books, magazines, puppets (he missed those the most), even the furniture. He'd never earned the privilege of a TV or radio. By now, all he was permitted were black, red, yellow, and blue dry erase markers to draw on his walls—and the red and blue had gone dry; the "Be a TRY-angle!" poster they'd replaced whenever Bill left the room until he gave up and stopped tearing it down; and the clothes on his back. He'd gradually gotten himself banned from every extracurricular and recreational activity the Dimensional Tyrant Ward offered. Whenever he was fresh out of the SWV, when his restrictions were highest, his schedule consisted of mandatory individual therapy, mandatory group therapy, med checks, and the cafeteria.

He spent the vast majority of his time in his cell, sitting curled up alone, day after night after day, barely moving, barely talking, barely eating, waiting for nothing at all.

####

The seamless door swung open and admitted an Orb of Healing Light.

Bill blinked blearily up at the Orb. It was hard to tell how slowly time passed here, but he was sure it couldn't have been more than a couple hours since he'd been returned to his cell: that was when his medications made his mind the foggiest. "Emmyyy. Where ya been? Didn't see you when I came out of the Solitary Dullness Void. Nice of you to, uh..." A second ago he'd had a clever quip about how D-SM5 had clearly dropped by because it missed Bill, but he'd forgotten how to word it.

"Well, I'm here now. I'm flattered you missed me, Mr. Cipher."

Bill blinked heavily. "You turned that around on me," he griped. "Not fair." Ugh, the room was spinning. He flopped on his back.

"A-AOX4 tells me you showed an interest earlier in our outpatient reincarnation program," D-SM5 said. "Since it looks like your schedule is light these days, I thought you might be interested in attending Paingoreous's reincarnation?"

It took him a moment to process the offer. "Really? That's something people can attend?" What was the catch?

"We usually only extend the offer to the departing patient's friends, and—exemplary patients. But... I thought you might benefit from watching the process for yourself. It may encourage you to take a little more interest in your future."

For it to push a possible lead so fast, it really was desperate to find some leverage they could use on Bill. It probably thought of this as a rare opportunity—a patient from Ward 333 wasn't ready for reincarnation every day.

"Wow. I sure am encouraged," Bill said. "You have no idea just how encouraged I am."

####

If an unambitious office building and a utilitarian hospital reluctantly got married out of a vague sense of heteronormative social obligation, had a depressed child, and the fae spirited it away to replace it with an even more depressed changeling child, the child's small intestines would look a lot like the Theraprism's interior hallways: it was windowless, it was labyrinthine, it was beige, and it was grey, and it didn't even care anymore. Monotonous commercial high-traffic carpet alternated with monotonous commercial high-traffic linoleum. The fluorescent lights buzzed just enough to be annoying, but not quite enough that you'd feel justified in snapping and screaming "I've had it!" as you swung a pleather-seated metal chair at the light fixture.

Even though Bill had been languishing in the Theraprism for hours and/or millennia (Bill couldn't tell; he couldn't feel the passage of time), he hardly knew his way around the Dimensional Tyrant Ward, much less the rest of the facility. As D-SM5 led Bill (and six guards) out of Ward 333 and into a lower security zone, he looked for any scant identifiable landmarks and tried to memorize which turns they took by coding the lefts and rights and ups and downs into a mnemonic word. The walk helped wake him from his medication stupor; but his mind never quite felt fully on.

Bill had only briefly glimpsed the Theraprism's reincarnation unit during intake, just one of many rooms he'd been whisked past as he was dragged to Ward 333 screaming and cursing the Axolotl's name. Entering the unit now, it looked like an occult sacrificial altar carved from marble that had been modeled after a 23rd century starship's teleportation platform, contained in a room that looked like a magic planetarium: glowing stars hovered around the dome of the ceiling. Against the back wall in pale pink marble was carved an impossibly long axolotl, swimming in a figure 8 so its vapid smile almost caught the tip of its ribbonlike tail. Bill glowered at it. Backstabber.

He, D-SM5, and the other observers who'd already arrived were in a connected observation room with an enormous, thick window and a sealed door. Next to the window was a large computer console encased in the same marble as the reincarnation altar. That probably controlled the process.

The audience consisted of three aliens who looked a little like Paingoreous might have with his face unpeeled, a few patients and staff Bill recognized, more he didn't, and Jessica with the shining spherical head and the thirteen fingers. Oh boy. If he'd known Jessica would be here he would have tried to polish. Bill straightened his bow tie and smoothed his rumpled orange jumpsuit.

Paingoreous himself was already in the next room, standing on the altar. At the sight of Bill, his exposed facial muscles twitched, as though trying to widen his eyes even though their eyelids were already long gone. "Bill? What are you doing here?"

D-SM5 answered before Bill could blurt out a witty retort. "I invited Mr. Cipher. I thought he would benefit from seeing what he can look forward to once he's improved. I hope you don't mind."

Paingoreous's face immediately smoothed out. "Yes—of course, director, if you say so. I remember how difficult it was in the early days. I'm happy to help my fellow patients in any way I can." Suck up. A dry note entered his voice, "Especially a more troubled patient."

Bill took one of the folding chairs lined up in front of the window and shot back, "I'm about to have one less trouble! Byyye!" (Did Jessica think that was funny? Sometimes she did. He snuck a sideways glance to see if she was laughing. Oh, right—she didn't have a face.)

Paingoreous didn't dignify him with a response. Too good for the likes of Bill, no doubt. Paingoreous wasn't obligated to answer anybody—except the staff, of course.

Bill had never met the real Paingoreous. By the time Bill was committed, the monotony, medication, and mandatory therapy were already well on their way to killing whoever Paing had once been. No way the offensively bland sap leaving now was the same one who'd come in with his face skinned and muscles pinned open.

A technician was already turning on the computer console, running through a whole list of checks as the machine booted up. A hum filled the room as the altar began to softly glow. To all appearances Bill was facing forward, slitted pupil aimed straight at Paingoreous; but his anatomy was built for watching things out of the corner of his eye and his real attention was focused on the reincarnation technician. "So how's reincarnation work in this dump?" Bill asked D-SM5. "I didn't get the orientation."

"Yes you did," D-SM5 said. "I was there."

"Oh yeah? Well, I don't remember seeing you."

D-SM5 sighed. "First, Paingoreous's memories of his current life must be erased, to give him the best fresh start possible and to comply with Earth's soul sanitization regulations."

"Seems like a big waste of time. His head's already empty enough."

One of the Paing-ish aliens a couple seats over shot Bill a dirty look. "That's my son in there."

"Not for much longer, he isn't."

"Be respectful," D-SM5 said warningly.

Bill ignored it. "So once you've scrubbed his brain clean, what then?"

"Then, we reincarnate him. We've already carefully selected his destination and species; except for special circumstances, we generally don't customize the patient's body further, as the program is already set up to divinely design the body most well-suited to the soul about to inhabit it."

"If these bodies are so perfect, why customize them at all?"

"We wouldn't want, say, a recovering pyromaniac to be reborn with pyrokinesis." (Bill felt unfairly targeted.) "Once his species and destination are entered into the program, off he'll go to start his new life as an egg."

"An egg?! Sheesh, wasn't going through childhood once bad enough? I assume his childhood was bad, anyway! Nobody with competent parents ends up like him."

The Paing-ish alien beside Bill bolted out of their seat and lurched aggressively toward Bill. (Ha. Too easy.) The next alien over tugged them back by the arm. Bill was sure he heard a whispered, "Careful, do you know who that..." 

D-SM5 said, "One more crack like that and you're going back to your cell."

"Fiiine. Why can't he skip straight to being a butterfly, though?" What he really wanted to find out was how to skip straight to adulthood.

"For starters, because spontaneous generation has been heavily restricted on Earth since the 15th century, and banned completely outside of special circumstances since the 19th century."

Spontaneous generation. The creation of fully formed life from unliving matter: maggots that emerged from flesh, geese that emerged from barnacles, snakes and crocodiles that wriggled out of the mud of the Nile. He'd always planned to legalize it again when he took over. So if the only reason the Theraprism couldn't do it was because it was banned, then they must have the technology for it, right?

Bill tuned D-SM5 out as it prattled on about the mental health benefits of restarting life and beginner's mind and boring therapeutic psychobabble, and ignored the flashing lights and divine music as Paingoreous's memory, personality, and identity were all wiped clean. He was only interested in what the reincarnation technician was doing. (Although when Bill briefly glanced at Paingoreous, his shape seemed somehow uncertain, as though his molecules had only just walked into the room and promptly forgotten what they'd come in for or who they were supposed to be. Ready to be reshaped into something else.)

The technician opened up the primary reincarnation program, checked a box confirming that the patient's previous incarnation had been erased, and began setting up the specifications for his next incarnation. Choosing the reincarnation world was easy enough: under the drop down menu, the "Goldilocks zone" worlds were sorted first. Earth was sixth on the list. Choosing a dimension was just as easy.

However, choosing the location and time period looked more complicated; rather than searching through a handy list of continents or geological epochs, the technician checked Paingoreous's patient file and typed a couple of long strings of numbers into the blanks for the coordinates and time. They didn't look like any date system or coordinate system Bill was familiar with. How the heck would he work with that?

And selecting the species, to Bill's horror, meant scrolling down a menu ordered by how frequently a species had been selected for reincarnation at this facility. That was insane! The Theraprism always discharged patients as unambitious species where one member was nearly incapable of making a meaningful impact on the local biosphere—anything useful like an octopus or a goat would be buried amongst the literal billions of species that had received zero reincarnations. Couldn't you just start typing the species's name to jump down to—? But no, the Theraprism's keyboard didn't have characters to type human loan words. The technician seemed to be scrolling manually.

That was fine! That was fine. Whatever Bill left as, he wouldn't be it for very long. He wasn't shopping for a makeover; just for an escape pod.

The technician located Vanessa atalanta (147 prior reincarnations) and kept moving, tabbing past a dizzying array of options—sex, size, coloration, visual clarity, caterpillar spine distribution, a whole list of health conditions and mutations the technician skipped—and every box she tabbed past automatically filled in with the word "DEFAULT". How many boxes could be filled in with defaults?

Bill leaned toward D-SM5. "So do you chuck these suckers out anywhere random on the planet or what?"

"Of course not," it said promptly. "What a thought! We take a deep interest in our discharged patients' well-being. We never leave where they spend their next lives at the whim of the computer's randomized decision." 

But they could leave it up to the computer. Still watching sideways as the technician scrolled past an "advanced settings" button without touching it (was that where the spontaneous generation option was hidden?), Bill asked, "Do youalways choose for the patient, or can the patient make requests?"

Dryly, D-SM5 said, "Unless you make some enormous progress, I doubt you'd get clearance to reincarnate anywhere near that town you terrorized, if that's what you're wondering."

"What! Who said I want to visit that crummy valley! All those mountains and trees? Ugh! No, do you know what kind of place I like? The Greater Cairo metropolitan area. Dry! Sandy! Flat!" said Bill, who detested flat landscapes with all his heart. "Covered in pyramids! Sometimes with my face on them! Plus there's the Nile! I love the Nile! I love being in the Nile! I'd spend all my time in the Nile if I could! I've had some loser ex-friends say that living your whole life in the Nile is an unhealthy coping mechanism to avoid addressing problems in your life, but if you ask me they're just jealous of how amazing my life is—"

"Ready for reincarnation," the technician said. "Proceed?"

D-SM5 left its seat, hovering closer to the glass to catch Paingoreous's attention. "Are you ready?"

"Sure," said Paingoreous, who clearly wasn't certain what he was claiming to be ready for.

"Proceed," D-SM5 said. Bill fell silent, paying close attention to how the technician began the reincarnation process.

She clicked a button that said "EXECUTE" (gruesome), clicked through a couple more confirmation screens, and then the faint background hum grew to a rumble and the magical stars glowed brighter. "Ten seconds," she said. "Nine... eight... seven..."

"Hey!" Bill shouted through the glass. "Friendly tip for Earth! Humans love when you fly into their eyeballs! You should do that!"

D-SM5 rounded on Bill, glowing furiously at him. (Maybe it was Bill's imagination, but he thought Jessica looked amused. Worth it.)

The soon-to-be caterpillar formerly known as Paingoreous stared in confusion at Bill. "Okay," he said—and then there was a bright flash of light.

He let out an awful wail of pure soul-rending agony.

When the light faded, he was gone.

The observation room had fallen perfectly silent.

"That's fine," D-SM5 said. "That's—that's normal."

####

Every once in a while, the Theraprism got something right. It was one of the few big government-sponsored "respectable" institutions that didn't make a fuss about how Bill ate. They just let him go to the cafeteria, strip down, unpeel his exoskeleton, and hang out with the photosynthesizers for half an hour or so in the corner under the grow lights. No gasps of horror or screams of outrage—not from the staff anyway; some of the patients took a bit to get used to it when they were new. It was a refreshing change.

On the other hand, even though they were willing to turn a couple lights high enough to melt most mortals' eyeballs when Bill was feeding, he never left feeling truly energized. The grow lights were designed for species with leaves and solar panels; they weren't designed to fuel up a god made of energy. A few bright lightbulbs didn't measure up to raw starlight.

He figured there wasn't any point in complaining. As much as he hated feeling like a gas tank trying to burn a dust mote for fuel, he knew that they knew that long before he even reached 1% of his usual power, he'd be strong enough to vaporize the Theraprism with the snap of a finger.

When he'd had his daily dose of light, he folded shut, redressed, and drifted over to the actual food for dessert. He grabbed a bottle of an allegedly "lemon" nigh-flavorless clear soda—this would do—and hovered toward the exit.

The cafeteria monitor stationed in the door elbowed her way in front of Bill. "Ahem."

"What?"

"You know the rules. No food outside the cafeteria."

"What! This isn't food, it's a soda. Beverages aren't food, everyone knows that." The monitor didn't budge. Bill tried whining. "C'mooon, I got injured in the void today. Look at this!" He gestured demonstratively at his splints. "Look how much pain I'm in!"

The Solitary Wellness Void made this cafeteria monitor uncomfortable. She'd never said so directly, but she tended to turn a blind eye when patients who'd just come out of the SWV were more aggressive than usual or tried to sneak extra desserts. One time when Bill had come out of a week in the SWV, she'd wordlessly slipped him a couple of packets of low-sodium fear sauce, a condiment usually distributed exclusively to the obligate phobophages in the ward. "Besides, it's my birthday! I'm a birthday triangle! You wouldn't deny a birthday triangle a soda, right?"

"Is it really your birthday?"

"Heck if I know. It could be. I don't know it isn't."

She was trying not to smile. "Fine. Just one time. Don't let anyone catch you with it and finish it before you're back in your cell."

"You got it, toots." Bill glided past her.

He slipped from the cafeteria into the nurse's office before his guards could catch sight of his illicit drink. "Hey, bartender! I'm here for my nightcap."

The nurse prepared Bill's evening battery of drugs. He bent his straw into a fun zigzag—honestly it was really more of a sad N shape—slurped down half the eyedrops, and opened his soda to refill his cup.

The nurse looked over at the hiss of the cap opening. "Hey! Hey—"

"It's just soda!" Bill protested. "The cafeteria monitor said it was fine! Besides, what's a little soda gonna do? Nullify all seven of my antipsychotics before I reach my cell?" (Bill had overheard the nurse grumbling to a colleague about the amount of antipsychotics he was on. They thought it was utterly excessive, considering that they'd had no evidence the drugs were doing anything but making him more erratic—which was something, because Bill had seen patients near drooling catatonia from their meds without any of the nurses questioning their current dosage. Conversely, the docs thought Bill's odd biology meant they needed to give him more if they wanted any hope of impacting him.) "Come on. It's not even caffeinated!"

The nurse took the soda bottle to check the ingredient list, then relented. "Fine. I suppose it won't do any harm."

"You're a peach." Bill topped off his cup, poured the rest of the soda over his eye, crushed the bottle, and consumed it too.

"The plastic probably isn't good for you, though."

"I like the way it melts in the back of my throat."

As he drank his medicated soda and got escorted back to his cell, he lazily drifted back and forth in the hall as far as the guards would let him go, dawdling more than usual—he knew they hated it when he dawdled, but they knew he hated spending one second more in his cell than necessary and grudgingly put up with a little lollygagging to keep the peace. But their tolerance ran out in the max security hall as Bill slowed down even further near The Beast's cell. The guard behind Bill pushed him. "Hurry up." 

"Hey!" Bill wobbled off path and stumbled into the wall, spilling some of his drink. "What's your problem!"

"You stopped moving."

"I did not! I'm just taking my time! Enjoying the weather out here."

"Well, take less time."

"Ugh, fine. Didn't realize you had plans I'm keeping you from." Bill rolled his eye and kept moving.

"Hold it!"

Bill froze. He turned around. The guard was pointing at a streak of clear fluid that had spilled from Bill's cup and rolled down the door. His bones frosted over.

"You dropped a pill," the guard said.

Bill's gaze focused on the circular soap-green tablet on the floor. "Are you kidding?! Aren't the other twelve enough?"

"No exceptions, Cipher."

"You don't expect me to eat it off the floor!"

"Do you want to go all the way back to the nurse's office for another?"

Bill groaned in frustration. "Fine!" He snatched it up, wiped it off on the guard's sleeve, and popped it in his mouth. The guard raised a fist; Bill bared his fangs; and after a tense moment, the guard backed down first. The Theraprism had taken nearly every other power from Bill, but it couldn't take his teeth—and though he knew the guards would win any fight, Bill could make it hurt.

They returned him to his room; Bill handed over his cup; they checked to make sure his cup was empty, inspected his mouth, and locked him in.

He hoped they wouldn't notice that half his pills had stuck in the zig-zag bend of the opaque white straw.

He hoped they wouldn't notice The Beast's tongue thrusting through his food slot to lap up the spilled soda that was running down his door and over the bright red "NO SUGAR ALLOWED" sign.

His entire plan hinged on it.

####

Bill was drawing on the wall with his scant art supplies when he felt reality ripple around him, like the wave in a still pool when someone new quietly slides into the water. He looked up from his work. It was happening.

There were several thuds; then a crash; and then the peal of a prison alarm piercing the air. The alarm melted into shrill dolphin-like laughter, and then the frenetic staccato of a hyper speed dance song that threatened to fracture Bill's internal organs. He shuddered as the sound tore at his wound like freezing ice crystals expanding a crack in a boulder.

But he rose into the air and turned to face the door, ready.

Just in time for the door to vanish. The Theraprism melted away like mist in the sunlight—and oh, the sunlight was glorious. The wide open sky pulsed maddening colors so vivid that the faraway rainbows looked monotone in comparison; the land consisted of rolling hills of candy-coated tongues and stomachs and muscles, the paws of enormous buried corpses thrusting up into the sky, the crevasses between burial mounds running with artificially-flavored saliva. It was Bill's kind of place. He wished he had time to hang around.

Before him, orange fur matted with a fine dust of powdery sugar, wild eyes contracted to pinpricks, stood The Beast.

"You did it, you beautiful monster!" Bill shrieked with laughter. "I knew you'd come through!"

The Beast rumbled, "Em deerf evah uoy."

"You're welcome! You can return the favor later! Me, I have somewhere to be." While The Beast was asserting his personal reality on top of the Theraprism's idea of reality, none of the Theraprism's walls or doors existed. Bill wasn't sure exactly how far The Beast's radius of influence extended, except that it was at least far enough to get him out of the maximum security hall—but he had to move now, before the guards rallied to sedate The Beast. Bill slipped a finger into the band of his ankle bracelet and found that under the influence of The Beast's physics, the stiff plastic stretched like a warm rubber band. He tugged it off and tossed it aside. "Seeya, pal!"

But The Beast held up a paw, blocking Bill before he could zip off. "Noob ym tpecca," The Beast said. "Hself ym emusnoc."

"Oooh. Woww." Bill looked at The Beast's candy paw. "Oh, man. Generous offer! You have no idea how tempting it is to take a taste, but I've really gotta get somewhere, and I've gotta be at least sober enough to pull that off..."

"Emusnoc," The Beast insisted. "Hsur ragus eht fo ssendam gnilims citatsce eht ni em nioj. Rehtegot srorroh letsap dna serusaelp kcis hcus wonk lliw ew. Evarg lufituaeb ym ni em htiw tor."

Bill stared again at the paw. The tip of his tongue slipped out beneath his eye to lick hungrily at his waterline. When was the last time he'd been on something that felt good? "Oh, what the heck!" He took The Beast's paw. "I can do this buzzed! How much damage can one little lick do, anyway?"

####

The guard heaved open the maximum security hall's door. The floor was covered in tacky pools of neon candy and removed ankle monitors. "It's just like we feared," the guard shouted into a walkie-talkie, glancing quickly through each cell door's window. "Every single max security patient escaped under The Beast's reality-altering field."

The guard stopped at the sight of neon yellow and orange, peering through the window at the triangle flopped flat on the ground and surrounded by powdery pink sugar.

"Well," the guard said, "all of them except Cipher."

Through the walkie-talkie, D-SM5 tiredly said, "He licked the paw, didn't he."

"Looks like it, boss."

D-SM5 groaned. "All right! Positive thinking! That's the second biggest threat in the ward already accounted for! Silver lining to Mr. Cipher's substance use issues. Assist in securing the others."

####

The good news was that The Beast seemed happy to frolic randomly around the Theraprism rather than head toward the exit, forcing the other escapees to follow along to remain under his reality-altering protection rather than get stranded in small rooms and locked-down halls. The bad news was that his meandering route let him pick up more and more revelers. After an hour, only a third of the max security patients had been re-captured and dragged back to their cells, and twice as many medium security patients had joined the riot. 

A-AOX4 was on hand in the maximum security hall to supervise as the guards brought in super-powered escapees. Most of them came back loopy on either The Beast's toxins or on the sedative that had been injected to keep them calm. A-AOX4 was checking them for awareness of their surroundings—name, where are you, when are you, why are you here—as each one was locked back in their cell.

And each time it passed by Bill's cell, it glanced in, concerned.

Bill had been almost pleasant when he'd come out of the Solitary Wellness Void—maybe after all those sessions in isolation he was finally ready to be more of a team player. And D-SM5 had said that he'd been unusually well-behaved and attentive during the reincarnation. A-AOX4 had hoped their most surly patient was finally opening up. It would be a shame if this incident with The Beast resulted in his new progress backsliding.

Plus, it took a heavy dose of anything to impact Bill at all, much less knock him out cold. He'd already had to go to the nurse earlier today; what if he needed medical attention?

So after locking up the latest subdued prisoner, A-AOX4 said to one of the guards, "Take over monitoring incoming patients. I'm checking on Cipher."

It unlocked the door and hovered into the room. "Cipher?"

No response. He was plastered flat to the floor.

"Bill?" It floated lower to check his condition. 

He was paper.

Paper meticulously colored in with yellow marker and folded into a triangle; scraps of paper colored black, carefully torn into hand and feet shapes, and shoved in the sleeves and pants of his prison uniform.

A-AOX4 lifted up the paper. On the other side was Bill's "Be a TRY-angle!" poster. He'd written across it, "IS THIS TRYING HARD ENOUGH FOR YOU?"

It turned toward the door—and discovered Bill had filled the wall with a drawing of himself making an obscene gesture, with a word bubble that read, "GIVE MY REGARDS TO THE AX! And tell Jessica I said bye xoxo"

It zoomed out into the hallway and grabbed its walkie-talkie. "Director SM5! Cipher's escaped his cell! He left a decoy! He's not with The Beast, we don't know where he is!"

There was a moment of dead air. And then the director growled, "I think I have an idea."

####

Trying to keep his giggles as quiet as possible, Bill looped through the Theraprism's halls, drifting between The Beast's rolling fields of hard candy corpses and the Theraprism's rigid monotone halls. What had he been worried about! Getting hopped up on astralplanar sugar before escaping his cell had been a great idea! It gave him instant shortcuts through half the walls! And he could handle a little buzz like this! He was totally in control of his actions and knew exactly what he—

How long had he been flying the wrong direction? He turned around. Wow was he high, he could barely focus on anything but all the colors. He wondered if The Beast's toxins had any weird interactions with his meds.

He was lucky The Beast had decided to dawdle around the Dimensional Tyrants Ward: here at the far end of the Theraprism, there were no signs of crisis beyond the sealed doors indicating the facility was under lockdown—and once he was outside a high security ward, there were plenty of cracks, gaps, and vents that Bill was thin enough to slide through. He hadn't even seen a guard since he'd left his cell. By the time he reached the reincarnation room, The Beast's landscape was fading out and the sugar crash headache was fading in, but the facility was still on lockdown and no one seemed to be looking for Bill. He slipped beneath the locked door and powered up the console to the reincarnation machine.

He skipped straight to the reincarnation program and checked the box that said, yes, the patient's brain had been washed. He paused when a warning pop-up blocked the screen. The technician hadn't gotten a pop-up. He had to read over the two-sentence warning three times before he understood what he was looking at. The soul sanitization routine hadn't been run recently, was he sure the patient's memory was erased—ugh, yes. He irritably clicked the confirmation and hoped that would be the last of it.

Bill quickly selected Earth and dimension 46'\; he tabbed past the coordinates and date, and they both automatically filled in "DEFAULT." D-SM5 had said the computer would make a "random" decision if you didn't plug in a time and place, but the staff didn't know Earth like Bill did. If he left the time and place up to the whims of fate, then something as weird as a trillion-year-old alien chaos god escaping a criminal insane asylum to spontaneously generate as a fully grown mortal would be sucked straight into the weirdest place and time on Earth. Gravity Falls: August, 2012. Weirdmageddon. He was willing to bet his life on it.

He was betting his life on it.

After that, with any luck, he'd be able to shed his new body like any other puppet and return to his castle in the sky. If for some reason he couldn't get out of it, he'd only need to pull a couple of magic tricks outside a normal mortal's capabilities to catch his past self's attention, find a way to prove his identity—heck, with any luck, they'd be seeing through each other's eyes and that would instantly confirm it—warn his past self about the Pines' treachery, prevent his own death, save Weirdmageddon, restructure the universe in his image, and rule his new party paradise as god-king for all eternity. Easy.

He scrolled down the list of available creatures, looking for something that would be easy to reach the Fearamid and prove his intelligence with—something with vocal cords that could speak eye-bat would be useful, it'd save him a lot of trouble if he could just shout at his sentinels in their own language and startle them into listening—but, to his surprise, the first useful species he found was humans, down amongst the species that had received a single-digit number of reincarnations from the Theraprism. Really, humans? They allowed that?

Over the blaring alarm, a voice made an announcement. He completely tuned it out—and only realized a moment after it ended that he'd heard his own name. They knew he'd escaped.

Bill didn't have time to search for anything better. He selected humanity.

He tabbed past dozens of features he could choose from for his body—default default default default—who cared what the body peed out of, he wasn't keeping the thing long enough to fill its bladder! He clicked open the advanced settings—there, spontaneous generation! He hoped this thing wouldn't drop him on the sidewalk as a baby, but usually when a human suddenly popped into existence, it was an adult sculpted from clay or something, right? He'd be fine! He checked the box for spontaneous generation.

He got another error message. He groaned. He wasn't sober enough for this.

Something about spontaneous generation being banned on Earth after 1859, is he willing to assume the liability if the patient generates after—yeah sure whatever, he clicked yes. Another pop-up prompted him for the digital signature of the person assuming liability. He typed in D-SM5's name.

As soon as he clicked enter, another error message popped up. "What!!"

He flinched at the sound of a muffled pneumatic hiss. Outside, somebody had unlocked the doors to this hallway. The alarm was still blaring; the Theraprism wasn't coming off lockdown. That meant whoever had unlocked the hall was coming for him.

"Focusss." He skimmed the new warning. Something about humans being on a list of species for which spontaneous generation was restricted—what loser had written a law about that! Who cared if a fully-formed, brand-new human popped out of thin air in the middle of town! What about Bill's wants?! He checked another box YES HE'S SURE HE WANTS TO SPONTANEOUSLY GENERATE A HUMAN YOU MONSTER and pounded enter.

Another pop-up. It wanted to know on which god's authority the spontaneous generation had been authorized.

Bill froze. Why did it need to know. Would it check? A machine that could reincarnate a soul was probably also a machine that could shoot off a prayer. Or was Bill supposed to have some kind of divine authorization code? Which gods were even allowed to authorize that kind of thing? He didn't know which stupid legislative body had made this stupid law or what their stupid definition of a god was! Gods weren't even real, they were just stupid, arrogant, stuck-up jerks who were powerful enough to trick people into thinking they were important! Like Bill! What name were they looking for?!

He heard voices in the hallway. He darted over to the door, slid his fingers through the seams around the doorframe to crush the latching mechanism so it couldn't be opened, and darted back. That wouldn't hold them long; he knew from experience that the guards could bust down the doors in these low security wings without much difficulty.

"Bill Cipher!" That was D-SM5. It had come personally? In any other circumstance, he'd be flattered. "Open up immediately!"

"Has that ever worked?" A god, a god, a god... his eye caught on the bas relief at the back of the next room. If there was any god this place would accept orders from... The guards were ramming the door; the bending metal groaned. He typed "THE AXOLOTL" and hit enter.

The button grayed out but the pop-up didn't go away. The screen froze. "What." Bill tried clicking again. The cursor turned into one of those little spinning balls that meant the computer was quietly having a stroke. "No no no no—"

D-SM5 hollered, "You know what the consequences will be if you don't—"

"I'm not listeniiing to yooou!"

"You're only going to hurt yourse—"

Dropping his voice to a demonic boom to drown out the director, Bill recited, "'I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby's house I was one of the few guests who had actually been invited! People were not—" There was a shriek of tearing metal, and then a bright glow behind Bill as D-SM5 peered through the gap in the door. Bill started talking faster, "'Were not invited they went there they got into automobiles which bore them out to Long Island and somehow—'"

The pop-up disappeared. The cursor returned to normal. The box next to spontaneous generation was checked. Bill stared for a split second, then quickly closed out the advanced settings, scrolled to the bottom of the page, and hit "EXECUTE."

Someone blasted the door out of its frame; based on the blinding glow that accompanied the blast, Bill suspected that wasn't one of the guards, but D-SM5 itself. He frantically clicked through the next two confirmations, flung a couple of folding chairs toward D-SM5 and its thugs, and dove beneath the door to the next room. Ten seconds.

"Cancel the reincarnation!" D-SM5 snapped.

A guard ran to the console. (What if they saw where Bill had gone? They could probably guess the planet, but would the computer keep records of his destination, what his new body looked like—) "I don't see a cancel! I don't think—"

"Then get him off the altar!"

Five seconds. Please spawn as an adult and not a baby, please spawn as an adult and not a baby, please— Bill hadn't broken the door between the observation room and the altar; the guards easily unlocked it. "No no no—!"

"Don't let him esc—!"

Three seconds. An impossibly bright light shone down on Bill. He reflexively peeled open his exoskeleton to accept it. LIGHT—oh, he felt even more alive than the time he'd stolen a bottle of stimulants from the nurse station, ground them up, and snorted them off Mrs. Mirrorcube's back. His eye widened, taking in as much free energy as he could—and then he focused his gaze through the window on the console, focusing the infinite light into a laser powerful enough to instantly melt through the window and explode the computer. The guards fell back, trying to shield their tender mortal flesh from the fury of Bill's fire. Enjoy the blisters.

D-SM5 bellowed, "Bill Cipher, you mo—!"

"CATCH ME IF YOU CAN, SUCKA!" He could feel his body ripping apart, cracking open at the wound. It hurt, but not the hurt of dying; it was the euphoric hurt of spaghettification, of being infinitely sucked beyond a beautiful event horizon. Bill's triumphant cackle filled the air—

—and then the room was silent and dark, and Bill was gone.

####

(If you're new here: I posted this as a one shot because I think we could all use a little Bill escaping from Theraprism, yeah? However it's ALSO part of my ongoing Bill-stuck-in-a-human-body fic I'm currently editing for TBOB compatibility. So, if you enjoyed this and want to see where post-reincarnation Bill goes, check out the fic!! And if you DON'T want to read the rest of the fic, I hope you enjoyed the one shot and I'd love to hear your thoughts.

If you do check out the main fic be forewarned it's only 100% TBOB compatible up to chapter 6. After that it is, bizarrely, 98% TBOB compatible, because somehow I accidentally wrote a fic that lines up with the book so well that I'm legit worried people could use TBOB to work out fic spoilers. But I still need to edit the remaining 2%.

If you're NOT new here: hey gang this is the new chapter 6!!! I finished editing this chapter about fifteen minutes before post time so it's not as polished as my usual chapters, but I hope it didn't read that way. Anyway, I look forward to hearing what y'all think!)

[apollowhoo]

could you pleasee do a gravity falls one shot?

so basically Bill Cipher meets the youngest Pines member but they're like 3-4 years old. And basically Bill doesn't know how to react, he's all confused but also in awe. Make it fluff and i know it's going to be hard to write this as canon Bill Cipher so you can ignore if you want <33

Bill Cipher x Child!Reader (PLATONIC)

The forest surroundcing the Mystery Shack was quiet. Somewhere between dimensions, floating lazily, was Bill Cipher, his single eye half-lidded with boredom. His typical schemes to cause chaos were on hold, and for once, he was simply… existing.

That’s when he heard it—a soft giggle, light as a feather. Bill’s eye snapped open, immediately. There, standing among the wildflowers, was a small figure with messy hair, chubby cheeks, and a bright, curious gaze.

The youngest member of the Pines family.

His eye narrows slightly. A little kid, no older than three or four, was staring right up at him. Her tiny hands gripping a stuffed animal that seemed to be some kind of hybrid between a cat and a duck—perfectly nonsensical, just the way Bill liked things.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Bill floated closer, his voice carrying its usual sarcasm. “A little ankle-biter out all alone? Shouldn’t you be with your oh-so-boring family?”

The girl tilted her head, eyes wide and sparkling with the kind of innocence Bill found really weird. She didn't seemed scared. She suddenly reaches out, poking Bill with a tiny finger in pure curiosity.

Bill’s eye widened a little in surprise. Most people who encountered him would either scream, run, or try to strike some ridiculous bargain. But this little human? She just poked him like he was some new toy.

“Hey, hey! Hands off the merchandise!” Bill exclaimed. He wondered, why wasn’t she afraid? Why wasn’t she running? And why, in all his chaotic glory, did he find this child so… interesting?

The child giggled again, a bubbly sound that seemed to echo in Bill’s mind. She pointed at him with her free hand, her other continuing to clutching her stuffed toy close.

“Triangle!” she declared proudly, their voice high-pitched and filled with wonder.

Bill let out a bark of laughter, genuinely amused. “Oh, you’re a smart one, aren’t you? That’s right, kiddo. I’m a triangle, the best triangle you’ll ever meet. Got any other shapes in that little brain of yours?”

The kid smiled. They started babbling, half-formed words about god know what, pointing excitedly as if expecting Bill to just understand them. The demon was used to others feeling fear, but this… this innocent curiosity was something else.

“Alright, kid, slow down,” Bill said. “You think I can just whip up stars and moons like a party trick? You’re talking to Bill Cipher, not some street magician.”

For the first time in… well, forever, Bill felt utterly out of his element. He could outsmart the smartest, scare the toughest, and twist anyone around his finger, but this kid? She just saw him entertainig.

Bill hovered beside them, his eye following them every move. He had cought a small, harmless ball of light, flickering in and out of existence.

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy it while it lasts, kid,” Bill mumbled, though there was no more venom in his voice.

The girl just grinned, leaning her head against his triangular form as if he were just another friend, not a demon with a penchant for chaos. Bill let her, floating there quietly as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

For once, he wasn’t planning anything. No schemes, no deals, no manipulation. Just a strange, peaceful moment with a little human who saw him not as a threat .

And for reasons Bill couldn’t quite fathom, he didn’t mind it one bit.

[triannel]

Unexpected Movie Night

Bill Cipher x Reader | Oneshot

Warnings: Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Bill Cipher, Unhealthy Attachment to Reader

Today just wasn't the same as the million other days he's had. Stinging feelings has suddenly started to rise inside of him and it is unbearable. However, just as always, he does what he's always done to cope when these feelings resurface, he forces himself to resume acting like nothing's happening, trying to ignore the sudden weight on his unregulated emotions and already diminishing mental state.

Frustrated he tries everything to drown out these feelings, he just can't deal with this right now. Wine, partying, loud music, activities that will either excite or overwhelm him, he's tried it all today, and not even a single one helped. Least to say he's growing quite desperate for an escape...

So as his last attempt for the day, he hesitantly teleports to a place he considers comfortable. In a drunken and dizzy state, he leaves the party.

"HellOO yOu..." Startled, you look to your side and see a drunken triangle overlord, holding the forbidden drink on his right hand as he floated unsteadily in the air.

"Bill?" Furrowing your eyebrows, you slowly approach him, the awful stench of alcohol making you slightly gag.

"Yeah, IT'S Me! BILLYYY!" He responded, swinging his arms slightly in delight.

Raising his arm, he drinks a mouth...eye..ful? amount of alcohol before losing balance once more, this time nearly falling flat to the ground.

Quickly though, you manage to catch him right before he could hit the cold hard floor.

"Okay...I think that's enough drinking for you today..." You spoke, concerned for his well being.

Slowly, you held a part of the bottle and surprisingly, you successfully take the drink from his hand and place it on a nearby table.

Right after you placed the bottle down, you then felt fuzzy hands on your cheeks. He soon forced you to look down at him for a second before pulling your head even lower so that one of your eyes can nearly meet his. "I just wanted TO see YOU todayyy yknoww..." He mutters under his breath, as he continues to hold you close.

Flustered, you chuckle nervously, "What's gotten into you today..?" You question silently.

As if on cue, he releases his hold and let's himself deflate on your arms like a balloon. You've never seen him like this before. Vulnerable and intoxicated, his body seemed to be made out of rubber at the moment, his expression looked so tired and troubled. What was he doing the whole day? Did he actually not plan to teleport here? Well, drunk people do say and do things that are true to their nature...so perhaps it wasn't a mistake.

You can tell him to go back to his place, but looking back at him now, maybe it's for the best you keep him here instead. Placing Bill down the sofa, you then hand him some water. "Here, you should probably stay here for tonight.." you comment, sitting down beside him.

"WHOA there toots! Don't cha think you're moving too fast? Take me to dinner first wIll ya?" He spoke, while drinking water.

You chuckle slightly, "Well, if you want, I can call your henc-".

"Upupup shhhhhh," he suddenly interrupts you, placing his finger to your lips.

"Can't take back your word noww." He spoke, clasping his hands together in a cute manner as he leans closer to you.

You laugh and nod your head, "Ok ok, well if you say so."

Opening your TV, you both start to watch some sort of film, all the while as you try to keep him hydrated to help lessen the hangover he might get in the morning.

When you both did start to watch, he never really kept a distance between you. Once he leaned on you, he seemed to only want to get closer than ever as his sitting position slowly transitioned to him using your thighs as his pillow.

Throughout your unplanned marathon with him, he also did gradually become less energetic, his expression taking on a much more serene look the longer he was with you. Maybe you're delusional, but you swore you could have catched him gazing at you multiple times.

As a few hours seemed to have gone by in a flash, the clock suddenly striked 12.

Hearing something beep out loud, you supposed it's time to put this triangle to bed. Well, you could just leave him here by the sofa to sleep, but deciding to be a good host, you decided to let him sleep on your bed, accepting the sofa as your bed for tonight instead.

"Well, it's getting late so we should hit the hay hm?" You spoke, pointing at your watch.

"Nooo," He responded as he closed his eye in weak defiance.

Soon though, to his dismay, you stand up, letting him fall on his side.

"Come on, get up." You spoke in a lighthearted manner.

He groans once more in dissapproval, refusing to get off the couch for a moment before gravity forces him to fall. When he did fall to his side, he then fell to his front, but most of his body did not land on the sofa, so he then slowly started to slide off the sofa. Fortunately though, you catch him once more before he hit the floor.

So, with a triangular demon between your arms, you head to your bedroom and tucked him beneath the sheets.

Pulling up the bedsheets, to his annoyance, you start bidding him goodnight, "Well, I think my work here is done," however, once you do start to leave, his mind instantly ignited. 'Please...don't leave me.'

Suddenly, you felt him grab your wrist. "Hm?" You hum in confusion. A few seconds pass and he didn't respond as all he did was gaze up at you in silence.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" You ask in a gentle tone, trying to gently pry him open for the truth to spill out.

Nothing, he didn't respond, however he did slightly tighten his grip. A few seconds pass and no one spoke. The serene look on his face now mangled to a slightly panicked state. Almost as if to convince you to stay.

Letting out a sigh, you smile back at him once more as you hoped you deciphered his body language correctly.

Stepping back to your bed, you finally broke the silence, "Alright... Scoot over there and make room for us to fit."

Pulling the bed sheets up once more, you let the warmth between both of you embrace your being. Letting him snuggle close, you watch him return to a serene state before deciding to let yourself rest as well. He'll probably regret this in the morning.

[thematpatcu]

So uh,,, just gonna let this go here,,,

Off Night

BillxFordxFiddleford

Silly eepy time fic I made in a cold sweat trust

“Specs really is tired tonight, huh? Must be tiring being worked down to the bone.” This again. Bill had already gone through this whole conversation 30 minutes ago, and Ford thought he had dropped the issue by now.

‘He’s fine, Bill, he’s probably just having an off day.’ It happens to the best of us, and if anybody can pull through this, it’s him and Fiddleford. They’re not like everybody else, they can achieve anything they put their minds to, as long as they’re willing to put in the hours.

“Off night.” For a moment, Bill sounded cross, but he quickly returned to his usual cheery demeanor. “It’s almost midnight, Sixer. Don’t tell me you’re losing track of time again.”

‘We’ve worked longer.’

Right as he heard Bill sigh, Fiddleford spoke up. “Stanford..?”

“Hm? Yes, Partner?”

He was avoiding eye contact with him. “‘S been a long night, and I oughta get home soon-“

“But we’re so close to hitting the next big break on the portal!” Stanford shot him a desperate look, “Please, Fidds, just five more minutes…”

Fiddleford fidgeted with his hands, a wobbly smile appearing across his face, “Right, I know, but, portal’ll be there tomorrow, won’t it? Plus, I gave ya five more minutes…” He shrunk in on himself, mumbling now, “thirty minutes ago…”

‘Can’t believe you’re making me do this, IQ.’

“Do what?” Before Fiddleford could ask why he just asked that, Stanford slumped against the desk, rising back up with yellow eyes.

“Alright, Mr Inventor, I’ve heard ya loud and clear!” He stood tall, hands at his hips, grinning unnaturally wide at the hillbilly.

“Bill..?”

“The one and only! So, ol’ Sixer won’t let ya sleep, huh?” He cocked his head to the side, his smile turning more cocky.

Fiddleford looked down, to his left and right, anywhere that wasn’t Bill’s face. “Oh, it ain’t like that..”

“I can tell when you’re lyingggg, smart guyyyy!” He crowded into Fidd’s personal space, looming over him like he always did.

“If Stanford wants us to stay up… I will. ‘S what you do when ya care fer someone.” He was doing that whole starry-eyed look again. Bill was starting to notice it on the hillbilly more and more.

It was disgusting. He hated it. “You’re going to bed whether I have to make you or not.”

Fiddleford crossed his arms, turning to face him in his chair head on. He stared Bill in the eyes, a determined (if tired) look on his face. “Make me, then.” Bill hated that look, the inventor had used it on him before and it made Stanford’s stupid body get all warm and jumpy every time.

His voice was low when he found it, “Careful what you wish for, Specs.” Bill lunged at Fiddleford, but missed, allowing him time to slip away and run off into another room of the house. “YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CANT HIDE!” He knew he wouldn’t go easy if he had egged him on, but the face Bill makes because of it is worth it every time, even if he’s very certain he’s going to die now. His hiding spot is good, sure, but the dropped pots and pans might have given him away.

Bill is close, he can tell. He can feel his presence looming closer. Bill slows his pace, tutting in front of him like a disappointed teacher. “I really expected better from you, Banjo.”

Fidd sighed, standing up, walking into the room, lit up by the moonlight shining through the window. One of the only ones that didn’t have Bill in it. Though, Fidd supposed, it’s got Bill in it right now. His eyes are in the reflection. “Ya really just want me to go to bed that badly?”

“Yep!” Bill took his hand, (er, more so his wrist,) dragging Fiddleford to his and Stanford’s shared room. He brought Fidd to the edge of the bed, slapping his back so hard he fell forward onto it. “Golly, ya fell real easy! Ahahaha! Just like how ya fell for Ford.”

“What was that last part?” Fidd looked at Bill, red as a cherry, but he was already gone. Stanford fell on top of him, completely knocked out cold. He tried to move the bigger man off of him as gently as he could, Stanford hitting the bed with a loud thud. He immediately started snoring.

Fiddleford chuckled to himself, got under the blankets, and fell asleep.

[thedarkcircuswritings]

Bill x GN Reader where Axolotl choose reader to be Bills Counselor when Reader doesn't even know or how they will do that since they are also a Human

(PS: Bill slowly started falling in love with them without even realizing it and was oblivious to why his body act so strange around Reader but when he did realized it he immediately denies it/push it down/denies it but fails miserably)

Bill thought he'd rather cry than fall for anybody, especially if it was a counselor from the Theraprism he's now trapped in. Hell, not even an official counselor, it was proclaimed by that Axolotl! This was stupid, and just another step until he could break out and try and get revenge on the stupid Pine Family. He didn't want to be trapped here longer than he needed to... Yet why couldn't he keep his eye off of you? He could examine any wrinkle in your clothes, the slight zigzags of your hair, the number of teeth in your smile. Every detail about you was painfully captivating. He was just sharpening his observation skills for when he'd get his revenge, surely... He didn't ever want to admit that he could actually like you. What kind of dream demon is in love with a human? It was ridiculous, it had to be! Just let Bill stay around for a few moments more...

[zpiderwebs]

A/N: it's literally 4am..HUZAHHH I wanted to write this soo badd mmnngghhfff..also, this is the first actual time I write in..a very long time that has to do with my own idea...sorry if it's not good </3

△△△△△△△△△△△△△△△△

𖦹[△"Who are you..?"△]𖦹

[In control! Bill Cipher (Ford) x GN! reader]

Summary: [Basically Bill in Ford's body. That's all. Reader witnesses it all and Bill is very...icky about his Sixer.]

Warnings?: Just kinda angsty and lots of swearing coming from reader and Bill just being a complete dick and doesn't care about hurting reader's feelings...guh..apologies in advance!

(;´∀｀). Enjoy!!

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

Four goddamn months.

It's been four dreadfully long months since you've last had a decent conversation with him. He hardly pays attention, hardly even needs you down in the basement, and now his fucking home is full of..triangles. You thought it was another one of his little silly quirks..but no. "Meditating" sessions have turned into hours. Hours of him being locked down in the basement, refusing you to even take a peek down at the portal. What the hell were you even needed for anymore? Did he just need your damn help on the calculations and mathematic brain and that's all???

God, it all bothered you so much.

You felt like you were wasting so much time just sitting on your ass all day, not even having any type of interaction besides with yourself when your half asleep and mumbling whatever crosses your mind.

Ford. Ford was a great and smart man when you became friends through Fiddleford back at Backupsmore. But now, after he dragged you all the way to a small town called Gravity Falls that was nowhere near where you last lived...you've never felt so isolated and alone. The one man you once considered to be a great friend and a smart guy..turned out to be just a mess.

He barely eats anymore. Barely sleeps or even takes care of himself. Only ever coming up for more bitter coffee and heading back to the basement without a word to say, brushing pass you. He worries the hell out of you...and your not sure how long you could keep going at this, allowing him to destroy himself mentally and physically.

Well, you have hit your limit.

It was a late night. You had woken up to a loud sound coming from the basement. You didn't realize you had fallen asleep reading a book on the couch. You quickly sat up and walked towards the basement door. Reaching for the doorknob, it didn't stop when you slightly turned it.

It was unlocked.

Sucking in air through clenched teeth, you gripped the doorknob even tighter. You knew you shouldn't, but you needed to make sure your only friend at the moment was okay. Slowly, turning the cold knob, you pulled the door towards you. Once it was open, you heard Ford talking to himself and..laughing? That was..new.

You began to descend the stairs, slowly making your way down. Barely a few steps down, you heard another crash that was followed by another laugh.

"What the fuck..?" You quietly mumbled to yourself. Once you reached the ground, you quickly scanned the area and saw Ford hunched over his desk, writing something into his journal. You walked over, making sure not to startle him with your new presence.

"Ford? You..alright?" You called out. Suddenly Ford's body jumped as he dropped the pen he was writing with. He quickly flung his head to look at you with...weird eyes.

His eyes looked odd. Was the lack of sleep finally catching up to him? Then, a wide smile appeared on his face as his eyes stayed glued to yours. Creepy. That stare sent shivers down your spine as you swallowed hard and bit the inside of your cheek.

"Hey, toots. Didn't think you'd come down here." Ford chuckled, awkwardly standing up as he quickly made his way over. You took a step back.

'Toots'? Since when the hell did he start using nicknames like that?

"Uh, well, you were making a lot of noise and...I just wanted to check up on you. First..time you fucking speak to me in..months practically. What's up with that?" You rubbed the back of your neck, awkwardly looking away. Fuck, you sounded desperate...and you were.

Ford took some time to answer, like if he wasn't actually expecting you to keep a conversation going, hoping you'd just day 'Oh, okay' and scram.

"Oh well..I dunno. Too busy." Ford shrugged. Oh, that answer pissed you off.

"Busy? With what? Seriously, Ford. What possibly could you be doing down here, just hunching over your damn desk and writing in your journal. The least you could do is eat something. All you live off of is coffee? Don't you understand how bad that is?" You huffed. You haven't felt this..angry in years. The last person you wanted to upset you was Ford.

"Why does that concern you so much? Your so concerned over him that you can't even think straight, toots." Ford chuckled, his...weary yellow eyes looking into yours as he took a step closer.

You huffed. His way of speaking sounded off. "It concerns me because you can get yourself killed this way, Ford. How am I supposed to know if you do drop dead when your always locked down here? I wouldn't even know if you hardly speak to me anymore in the first place!"

Ford groaned and rolled his eyes. "God, you humans and your dumb relationships and emotions. Boring! Your all so clingy, depending on attention and empathy from others. It's pathetic."

You raised a brow. Ouch? What the hell was he talking about now? "Ford, seriously, just talk normal. And..I wanted to ask you, what's up with all this stupid triangle worship stuff and..all this 'meditation'? Your really worrying me."

Ford only sighed before pinching his nose and looking at you dead in the eyes. "Alright listen, toots. And listen good because I'm not repeating myself. I'm not Ford. I'm Bill. I'm his biggest and only muse. He doesn't need you or anybody anymore. He has me and that's all he needs. You were nothing but a pure tool for him to use until he didn't need it anymore, and that'd be..now! So, you've been doing nothing this whole time while me and little ol Sixer have been having a blast." Ford..or..now Bill that was in Ford's body, chuckled.

You were..dumbfounded. What..? "H-huh? Okay, Ford, is this some sick joke?"

Bill chuckled and made his way closer to you, causing you to back up..only for your back to hit the wall.

"Oh, no I'm not joking, toots. I'm in control of Sixer right now. And right now, I'm telling you to leave. He doesn't need you anymore. He doesn't need anyone. Your just a waste of space and a mere tool he used and doesn't need anymore. Back into the tool box!" Bill laughed.

As he continued to laugh at his own words, your mind was trying to comprehend what the fuck was going on. "Who are you...? What are you...?" You murmured out. Bill only chuckled against.

"I'm Bill Cipher. I'm this man's muse."

"What do you want with Ford? Were...you the reason we started building that dumb fucking portal!?" You snapped but suddenly a six fingered hand was slapped onto your mouth.

"Now, let's not disrespect my work or insult it with that dirty mouth, toots. Watch your words. It's simple, really. Ford is what I've been looking for, and I'm what he's been needing. He doesn't need a pestering worthless being like you around him. Your always nagging, begging for attention like some lost puppy. It's pathetic, really. Don't you have anything else to do in your sad life?" Bill's smirk widened, letting out a laugh.

"Of course you don't. You've been thrown under the bus and now your trying to crawl your way out, but that's not possible. He doesn't want or need you anymore, face it. He used you for what he needed. For that smart little brain of yours and that's all. He didn't actually care for your friendship, he was just playing along."

You felt a lump build up in your throat. That's not true..or is it..? Well..he is in Ford's mind. Is that what Ford really thought of you and only needed you for..? You pulled away from the hand before speaking up.

"That's not true-!"

Suddenly-- the hand slapped against against your mouth, shutting you up. "Yes it is! Just accept it already! Your worthless. All you'll ever be good for is to be used and thrown aside. Ford never gave a single shit about you. Your nothing." Bill frowned, speaking through gritted teeth as he glared.

"Now...you can leave his sight, leave him alone. He doesn't need you anymore."

Bill then let you go. You didn't say a word as he walked back towards the desk and sat back down. You wanted to bash something into his head..but that'd mean hurting Ford's body in the process too. His words had already stabbed way too deep into you.

Fuck, you felt like crying...it hurt. It all hurt. Was that really what Ford thought about you? All he ever needed you for? You felt your eyes sting.

You simply wobbled upstairs without another word. You laid awake, starring at the ceiling until you felt hot tears stream down the sides of your face. Everything hurt.

The next morning, you left without word. You thought about leaving a small note or even a letter..but if Ford never said those things and Bill was just lying, he knew where to find you and tell you the truth or write...

But it hurt that 30 years later,

he never wrote to you.

-----

[plexiglasssheets]

Human. [Pine-ing pt2]

Can be read as stand alone but is a second part to This Cross posted on ao3

================================

"Bill, Could you be human?"

  Ford blustered out, his face growing hot at what he said. Him and Bill were having there usual discussions in his mind scape while his body rested somewhere in his house. Their conversation had veered to Bills existence as a demon. His ability to be physical but also here, whatever the astral projection ghost even were. But there was his question, somewhat self indulgent in a way. Obvious if he wanted to he could. This was Bill we're talking about. Bill chuckled, not in a cruel way, amused.

"Oh Fordsy I could, but not in a way you'd think"

He pondered for a moment, "Do you have a set form or do you get to choose how you look. I do apologize if this is too, personal? I just can't help my curiosities."

"Not at all sixer, its well- how bout I show you. Easier and you get a show."

His ghost floated away from the usual mental coffee table they sat at. His body folding out like paper origami to make a human shape. Rapidly becoming more life like. The yellow hue paling to a humanish tone. Sharp features, if Ford had to put a face to him. The eyes and nose were reminiscent of that of Nikola Tesla. Though picking up on facial features were tough. It was like his face were blurred despite being so close. Wiping his glasses to make sure a finger print wasn't block view. But the blur follow Bill's face as he moved.

"Pretty nice model don't ya think Fordsy?"

He leaned on his shoulder about an inch or so taller. His voice too had a less echoy and ethereal sound. Much more human. It had a slight twang to it almost. His mind was stuttering a response.

"Oh don't get all flustered, I know I look great and all. But this is what we're working toward. That portal is the only thing keeping this from becoming real boney flesh!"

"Boney flesh?" He half laughed, out of all the words he'd describe skin, boney would not be his top pick.

"Been a while since I've been in a body, you can't blame me!" He put his hands up in mock defense, sauntering to sit across Ford again.

"You've had a body before?" He asked rather intrigued.

"Operated might be a better word. A deal or two of knowledge in exchange for a vessel goes a long way. Speaking of," He threw his astral tea cup to the side it disappearing. He leaned on the table.

"I've been thinking, you been working hard, you understand the plan. How would a deal, partnership even, to help this portal go faster? You work and I help you in you head here and there, and then while your mortal self takes a rest I man the ship and write some calculations. And so on."

Ford thought for a second, why would he ever turn down such an offer.

"Bill I see that as an excellent idea, just think of how much more we could get done!" The prospect of not only being able to help him faster but that he thought ford was worthy enough to do *This* was boggling.

"Sounds like a deal," he out reached a hand sealing it.

He burst awake, in his body abruptly. Usually his after his meetings he woke slowly. But he felt different, more fluid. Then he heard him.

"How bout a test run?" His voice was sitting next to him.

"Sounds great-" he felt his mouth go numb partially or rather the lack of feeling it. Similar to when his wisdom teeth were taken out. He could feel just faintly, and some parts felt overly sensitive.

"Are you? Are you also here?" He still *felt* like himself mentally, he prayed he didn't do something to mess it up.

"Think of me as a co-pilot right now," his left arm waved at himself. It was beyond describing having a sensation so familiar disappear. To see your own body move without it being you.

"Incredible," he murmured reaching out to his own hand. Bill slapped his hand away and shook his finger.

"Nuh uh," he scolded "you take a rest and I'll show you how much I can get done in a body."

Ford took the figurative step back and felt his body become detached. His mind slipped into a deep sleep. His body working hard as his muse wrote calculations he could only dream of making in that time.

[signedreality]

Could you write bill cipher x reader who gives him offerings? like bodies of his enemies, animals or people to possess? what would his reaction be?

I just love your writting 💕 have a nice day!

ᯓ       OFFERINGS

        bill cipher x reader

ଳ synopsis ; how would bill cipher react if you brought him offerings?

ଳ warnings : petnames, romance, profanity, mentions of death, corpses, possesion, and bill being silly.

ଳ missive ; thank you for your sweet words, and i hope you enjoy this broadcast!

now airing ; puppet boy - devo

༄.°       bill wouldn't pay mind to it at first.

༄.°       of course, flesh puppets would want to give him offerings. he's practically their new overlord during his takeover, so they're offering things for peace and mercy.

༄.°       but when he notices that it's just you gifting him offerings, he's amused as hell about it.

"a puppet just for me, doll?" bill's taunting voice rang out as he sat upon his throne, and he couldn't help but find your expression of pride enticing as you showed him what you brought.

nightmares around him gazed in envy as you had tied up a remaining survivor in rope, and you did it all so bill could have a body to possess. a body to trick the other survivors into coming out so he could turn them into statues.

the triangle stood up from his throne as he took steps towards you, and with each step he shrunk so he was closer to your size.

"i'm flattered you'd give me such a thing! i know i'm amazing, but you're making me feel like i own the whole universe already!"

he let out a laugh before eyeing the person you had captured, and he could only be more amused as they squirmed around for mercy. the demon could only crack his knuckles before letting his gaze flicker to meet yours.

"this is going to be fun..."

༄.°       this led bill to declare you as his 'favourite fleshbag'.

༄.°       he'd keep you by his side during his forever party so no nightmares would attempt to hurt you, and if he caught any of them staring, he'd give them the same treatment he did time baby.

༄.°       despite this, he goes on about how he doesn't really care for you. you're just a pawn in his game. he uses you to lure in survivors and tell him about the pines plans.

༄.°       or just capture the pines and he'll stick with you until the end of time, even if he believes it's an illusion. he would love nothing more than to see stan's dead body in front of him.

༄.°       yet, the more you offer him things and look at him as if he's the whole entire world to you, this dorito-looking man finds himself liking your company more.

༄.°       you're psychotic, just like him. that alone intrigues him.

༄.°       he would start gifting you things back, though they wouldn't necessarily be offerings. he'd just give you deer teeth or if you wanted something, he'd send nightmares to go find it.

༄.°       or he'd just snap it into existence. the only reason he makes demons go out to find whatever it is you want is because he wants you to himself.

༄.°       if you wanted, he'd make you your own bubble.

༄.°       it would be one with whatever you wanted, and you had free access to leave and enter it.

༄.°       one day, though, you decided to bring him dead carcasses of animals.

༄.°       he doesn't know why, but he found the whole thing funny. this would get you a pat on the head.

༄.°       a note with the whole possession thing with him as well, it seems like a fun idea that he could make adjustments to the body he was possessing.

༄.°       he could change how tall someone was, or what they looked like, and whenever he was done possessing them, they'd return to normal.

༄.°       so, just to satisfy you, he'd let you explain to him how you think he would look as a human.

༄.°       though, he would morph himself into that 'canon bill' look just to get your reaction, and he was shocked when you said you liked it. but of course, you liked it. bill is an artist and anything he makes is amazing.

༄.°       a reason as to why he would morph himself to look like what you thought he would look like is one, because he's bored and just wants to see what you think, and two, he wants to tease you.

"this is how you think i would look!?"

bill stared at the mirror in disgust as you only laughed beside him, and his yellow eyes darted to stare at you in disbelief. "i looked better when i was bald..."

"aren't you always bald?" your question only got him to hold up his cane, and he poked you in the side with it as you swatted away the stick.

bill stood in front of the mirror as he leaned against his black cane, and he raised his free hand to tug on the bowtie that was wrapped around his neck. it partially came undone due to his touch, to which bill just rolled his eyes before blowing a piece of hair out of his face.

"at least you have lips now, bill! and i didn't make your hat a thousand feet tall like you did."

"hey," bill shot you a frown, "my top hat was a masterpiece. you made this small pitiful excuse of a top hat rest on my beautiful head."

though, before you could respond to his words, bill softly hummed. "and i bet you enjoy the fact i have lips now, huh?"

he reached out to grasp your hand, and he raised it to his lips before pressing your skin against them in a kiss. "but hey, who wouldn't want a kiss from me? at least i know you have good taste in nightmares, sweetheart."

you froze in his touch while bill let go of your hand, and he hummed to himself before spinning around his cane. "i'll catch you later, doll! it's about time i give the other fleshbags the best view of their lives before i end them!"

bill stopped in his tracks before eyeing you for a moment, and he tilted his head before using his cane to push you closer to him. "there we go! i knew i was missing something..."

༄.°       just like it was listed, he likes teasing you.

༄.°       you're the most entertaining thing he has at the moment, and from that alone, you'll be sticking around with him for a while.

༄.°       eventually, you won't even need to give him offerings. if you do continue to give him offerings, he'll be flattered, but if you do stop, he won't notice because he's too busy keeping you by his side.

⤷ word count ; 1,125

© signedreality

🌊        reblogs + hearts + comments are appreciated !

listeners : @simpingoncarmensandiego @ari-hatake24 @heartfeltcherie

[pgt13]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Gravity Falls Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Bill Cipher/Ford Pines Characters: Bill Cipher, Stan Pines, Ford Pines, Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines Additional Tags: Drama & Romance, Triangle Bill Cipher, Humor Summary:

Atrapado en la pricion del Teraprisma, Bill lo apuesta todo en una jugada final.

[theskyabvthesea]

i am taking oneshot requests!

i cannot stop thinking about my sillies (billford) and want to write all of your ideas down :) i cannot contribute with artwork so let me give you my writing!!

requirements

✧ send me request via my inbox or direct message (open to everyone ♡)

✧ please allow me a few days to complete your request with the potential of writer’s block :(

✧ i will maybe, possibly write smut under specific circumstances but that’s not my speciality (you can send it to the counsel, me, for approval)

✧ by sending me prompts you are giving me consent to post your idea that i’ve written on ao3 and wattpad

✧ and that’s it! yay!

✧ examples of my work can be found on my ao3 and wattpad

[billdipisjustanothership]

Memories of Tomorrow

One shot

Summary: Dipper Pines wakes up every morning as if it were the same day after an accident. His sister visits him whenever she can. But a young blond man never fails to appear in the park, seen from the brunette's window, every morning.

_______

The long days of November was what he remembered when he woke up in the hospital every morning, with bandages around his head and his gaze lost somewhere. Those were days when, engrossed, he couldn't take his eyes off an abandoned park which could be seen from the window.

The light blinded him, but he hardly noticed it, because every morning a young man appeared in that park, and not a moment did he wait to return his gaze to the young man in the hospital.

"But that is not possible," he thought, because it was very far away, and hidden among branches. And yet, if I can see him, the blond can too, he reminded himself.

Every morning was a new encounter with that dark-eyed man. And in the afternoon, a bittersweet farewell with her sister. The next day, what he lived couldn't be remembered.

Today he was 25 years old. They were both 25 years old.

"Dipdop! Happy Birthday brother!" exclaimed the oldest twin, carrying a gift wrapped in navy blue paper. His favorite color, the brother noted. He smiled at her affectionately.

"Good morning, Mabel, and happy birthday to you too. I'm sorry I couldn't buy you anything.” He apologized, although somewhat confused, as he believed he was still in the middle of November. His sister just laughed, as happy as he remembered her.

"Afternoon, it is afternoon." She corrected him, as she always did "And don't worry about it." She paused for a long time, thinking deeply about something "Hey, Dipper..." Mabel shifted uncomfortably from side to side, not knowing how to start this conversation. The doctors warned her that it was better not to tell him this, because the next day he would ask for them and every day she would give him the same answer, with the same reaction. Neither of them would resist it.

"Whatever it is, Mabel, you know you can tell me." The brown-haired man assured her when he saw her like this "By the way, I haven't heard from Stan and Ford in a while. How are they doing?"

"Oh... This is... what I wanted to tell you, Dipper," she began uncertainly. She looked him in the eye, conveying a great and unusual seriousness "S-something happened."

Immediately, upon hearing those words, the youngest of the twins tensed, sensing where that conversation was going "Go on, please?" asked the latter, seeing that the other went silent.

"They... died. Yesterday. It was natural, in their beds. They died together, and in peace." She finally admitted.

"Oh." Dipper didn't know what else to say. And to avoid spending more time in that sad discomfort, he turned his attention outside, remembering vaguely seeing the young blond man that morning. Except that no one was there. And the park was free of the typical dry leaves of autumn.

"Mabel... what month are we in?" He caught the other's attention.

"W-well, in the summer, of course, silly." She giggled nervously.

"No. No, no, no." He denied, with his hands on his head, the youngest "That's not what I asked you. And why do you look... older? His brown eyes were on her, as if judging her

"I-I..." she couldn't do it. The doctors warned her. Maybe it was better not to answer him truthfully. And on her pale lips a trembling smile was drawn "I'm just tired Dipdip. And, you are right, it's not summer. I was kidding you.” She laughed.

"Oh?" Remembering the gift, he asked, half joking, and relieved "And this? Is it also part of this joke, Mabel?"

"You caught me, brobro! It's a sweater made by me! It's... just a gift to make you feel better today." So sweet of her, thought Dipper.

"Thank you!" He was happy to receive something from his sister. She really was the best. The older twin sighed wearily.

"I... I have to go now, bro bro. Today I'm going to... visit Uncle Stan and Uncle Ford." she lied with some difficulty.

"Ah..." he lowered his gaze, disappointed at this short visit "Tell them I love them for me, Mabel."

"Sure. I'll come see you tomorrow, Dipper." She said her goodbye, unable to continue in her brother's company any longer.

The very next day...

Dipper Pines opened his eyes as he noticed the light escaping from the window, the curtains aside. Positioning himself on that hospital bed, the brown-haired man noticed something yellow (oh, so different from this white room) out of the corner of his eye. It was a sheet of paper, folded in half. Curiously, Dipper opened it and read its contents:

~

«Pine tree, Dipper, Mason, whatever you prefer to call yourself,

I am writing to inform you of the death of your beloved uncles, Stanley and Stanford, something that Shooting Star will certainly not tell you about again. Surely you will wonder why I tell you this, or if it is some kind of joke. And no, it's not a joke. I'm not that kind of Demon HAHAHA!

Getting to the point, I will tell you something else that no one has ever said to you, well, except from the first day. Yesterday, you turned 25, and it's been 5 years since that drunk (dead and in hell, I assure you) hit you when you left the University.

I am that man that you always see out of the window, and if you do not believe me, look outside and there you will see me. But before, I warn you that you will not remember any of this in the morning. Why? Because you have amnesia. You can only remember from 20 years down. So I ask you (order, let's be honest) to hide this under your pillow. And ask your sister for a diary so that you can write down what happens every morning. That way you will always remember the next thing that happens in your life. And for you to always remember me, Pine tree.

See you this morning,

B. C. ».

~

"What...!?" Exclaimed the young man. "T-This can't be true. No... I..." He grabbed his head, noticing a slight pang of pain in his temple. "What's going on?" Then he remembered a part of the letter that spoke about a man.

And he looked out of the window.

"Impossible." He whispered, amazed. If Mabel is really going to visit him today, she either isn't going to tell him about this, or she's going to think he's crazy. And he isn't crazy. The letter must have been a joke from that man, surely. Or maybe from Mabel. Dipper gulped, meeting the blonde's dark gaze.

[triannel]

Okay angst...I wanna try and request one with Bill...

Where Bill is doing his absolute best to save Human Female Reader from dying after one of Bill's Manipulated Human puppet came in and took reader out thinking that Reader is the root of Bill's Imprisonment in Theraprism

(PS: He successeded but now his more wary and more Protective and more clingy to reader)

Well...I think I got even more spoiled of TBOB lol. Not really sure how his power works right after being imprisoned so things might not make sense...

There You Are

Bill Cipher x Reader | Oneshot | Angst/Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of Blood, Injuries, Bill Cipher lol, Unhealthy Attachment to Reader, Possession, Near Death Experience

---√-------√-------√-------√-------√----

Heaving in distress, you held your stomach tightly, trying to stop yourself from bleeding out. Taking in deep breaths, you slowly descended to the ground as the puppet stood in front of you.

Slowly but surely, your consciousness was slipping away. The utter terror in your mind becoming blurry as you began to black out. You didn't even know what you did to deserve this. However, before your body accepted it's fate, your eyes managed to catch a glimpse of someone else quickly approaching.

----√----√----√

Once Bill found out what happened, he quickly took over another worshippers body. From head to toe, all he could feel at that moment was absolute terror. He could not even feel anger towards the person who did this to you. All he cared about at the moment was you.

He can't afford to lose you. No, he just can't. You're his better half, his love, the one person he managed to care about in a trillion years, the only person he'll consider his equal remember? You can't leave him now...

Doing all he can, he rips off some of his clothes or anything that he can use to wrap your wound. He doesn't exactly know how to drive so, quickly he'd force someone to drive both of you to the hospital.

Holding a knife out, he holds you close behind the driver's seat.

"Whoa man. I don't want any trouble..." The driver spoke in a panicked state, seeing the bloody mess you both are in.

"DRIVE TO THE HOSPITAL NOW!!" He shouts loudly from behind, pointing the knife to the drivers neck.

"Okay! Okay.." The driver mutters under his breath.

"AND SPEED IT UP WILL YA!?" Bill shouts once more, slightly making the edge of the knife touch the drivers neck for a second.

The driver complied and stepped on the gas pedal, making the car speed up greatly.

(Bills POV)

Flashing by the pastures of the town, Bills gaze landed on your unconscious body. A pang of... guilt? No, a pang of extreme worry, he guessed, was all he could feel right now. Although there might be a tinge of anger in between for that stupid meatsack...

You really got him more messed up huh? All this commotion just for you. He hasn't been able to feel this way in an incredibly long time, he's never gone out of his way to actually do something like this, so please, for what's left of his sanity deep inside, please be okay.

Fixing your position, a few strands of your hair then manages to cover your face. After placing it back behind your ears, he held your chin for moment as he felt a slight twinge of discomfort seeing you so lifeless.

Once you both got to the hospital, he pushed through the doors and demanded a doctor to treat you right away, almost triggering security guards to lunge at him, but fortunately, they saw your critical state and directed a team to take care of both of you.

"THIS ISN'T MY BLOOD, JUST GO AND HELP HER!" Bill spoke, pushing a few nurses off him.

----√---√---√---√---

He was restless the whole time. Walking back and forth his mind managed to make him feel even worse as he thought about the great possibility of losing you.

What if you lost too much blood? What if something wrong happened while the healthcare workers are treating you? What if you actually died right after they took you? What if-

Shaking his head, he forces himself to calm down, taking deep breaths as he fiddled anxiously while he continued to stand near the door separating him and you. 'Relax! It's okay...it's not a big deal...' He thought, quickly trying to make peace of the worst possible thing that could happen.

Looking down at his hands, he held his fingers together, touching your dried blood on his palm. Standing quietly, he continued to wait, strangely taking comfort on the only thing he could associate to you.

Sooner or later, a few people managed to farce him to go clean up and take a shower as this was a hospital after all. The blood staining his clothes was not at all welcome. Begrudgingly, he did end up complying. He would never have done so, but he knew he had to if he wanted to see you.

Quickly stealing clothes from somewhere, he went back to his post as soon as he got cleaned.

...

After a few more hours, his mind could not let him rest at all. Sitting impatiently outside, waiting for someone to let him see you again.

Finally, after a long wait, a nurse approached him, "Hello...Mr..?"

"Cipher." He spoke in a passive but eerily empty tone, it seems he couldn't hold out his charm right now as his worries managed to eat him up when he was waiting.

"Ms. Cipher is now stabilized" the nurse spoke, assuming both of you are together, "You can now go inside."

Quick on his feet, his quirky smile appeared once more as he saw you. You were not awake yet, but it was enough for him to feel relieved.

(End POV)

After Bill entered the room, he absolutely refused to go out right after. Not until...

Fluttering open, like a butterfly starting to spread it's wings to soar through the air, you opened your eyes slightly to see... him. Blinking even more, you woke up feeling groggy.

He held your chin up to him, his smile seeming genuinely joyful to see you.

"There you are..." He mumbled under his breath.

"Good morning sleeping beauty!" he spoke, the window behind him showing the dark night sky, "You had quite the hit there..."

"Good evening to you too?" You spoke, still trying to register where you are.

"Aww don't you recognize your old pal?" He made a triangle shape with his hands, before bending down near you and placing his eye in the middle of the shape to make his thin pupil more noticable.

Rasing your eyebrows, you slowly start to become more active as a smile sprouted on your face, "Bill!"

Standing straight, he fixed himself slightly,

"Yep, the one and only!"

Slowly looking around, your mind registers the hospital room you're now in. Hearing the heart rate monitor, you quickly get reminded by the wound on your stomach.

Thinking about it, you mind quickly connected the dots, "Then that would mean-"

"Yeah, yeah, it's not a big deal toots!" He spoke, adjusting his outfit once more.

"Still though, thank you." You spoke, continuing to smile up at him.

"Well, when you get out, remember to pay me back okay?" He spoke, in a joking manner, before giving you a wink.

You chuckle at his remark, nodding your head slightly.

----√----√----√----

Right after that day, the same person who slit your stomach came by to apologize to you. You soon found out how you even got wrapped into this mess. The person did end up paying all your hospital bills though but right after that, you never saw that person again.

Night after night, you'd always get visited by Bill Cipher himself. Maybe as an apology or some sort of penance, he'd always manage to make your dreams relaxing and more amazing. If you mention it, he'd flat out ignore you and make your dream even more amazing to distract you.

Although he doesn't talk about it, you do notice his clinginess level reach even higher than before. He'd subtly sneak tiny compliments here and there, he's always near you in your dreams, he'd frequently try to visit you in real life by possessing the same person he used in the hospital.

You're also not entirely sure if it's his doing, however, you found yourself to be quite lucky a bunch of times. When you're about to get hurt, you or something else often manages to stop anything from hurting you. Perhaps it's just luck, however something tells you it's most likely not.

[oneshlut]

MASTERLIST

Find all of my works here! All oneshots, headcanons, and imagines. Again, subject to change. Mostly headcanons here!

NO LONGER TAKING REQUESTS!!! Sorry!

The Lorax

The Onceler -

The Greedler -

Villainous

Dr. Flug -

Overjoyed [Headcanons]

Locked [Headcanons]

The Doctor Is Out [Headcanons]

Homemade Affection [Headcanons]

Bag of Bones [Headcanons]

Somehow Alive [Headcanons]

Two of Hearts [Headcanons]

Demencia -

Ghoul -

Sonic

Sonic (platonic) -

Tails (platonic) -

Knuckles -

Shadow -

Rouge -

Blaze -

Silver -

Metal -

Tangled

Varian -

Explosive Heartbeat [Headcanons]

Angel [Headcanons]

Eugene -

Lance -

Cassandra -

Five Nights at Freddy's

Monty -

Sun (platonic) -

Your Best Friend [Headcanons]

Moon (platonic) -

Your Best Friend [Headcanons]

Eclipse (platonic) -

Your Best Friend [Headcanons]

Glamrock Freddy (platonic) -

Michael Afton -

Phone Guy -

Henry Emily -

Vanessa -

Mike Schmidt (movie) -

Vanessa Afton (movie) -

MLP

Twilight Sparkle -

Rarity -

Pinkie Pie -

Fluttershy -

Calm [Headcanons]

Applejack -

Celestia -

Luna -

Cadance -

Chrysalis -

All Characters/Main 6 (platonic) -

Adventure Time

Simon Petrikov -

Prince Bubblegum -

Marshall Lee -

Marceline -

The Amazing Digital Circus

Caine (platonic) -

Pomni -

Ragatha -

Jax -

Input Feelings [Headcanons]

Down The Rabbit Hole [Oneshot]

Overly Warm Welcome [Imagine]

Lovingly Hated [Headcanons]

Jax (platonic) -

Turning.. Something [Headcanons]

Zooble -

Kinger -

Gangle (platonic) -

All Characters (platonic) -

Another New Home [Headcanons]

Gravity Falls

Stanford/Ford -

Bill Cipher -

Hazbin Hotel

Alastor -

Sir Pentious -

Angel Dust -

Tom Trench -

Husk -

Lucifer -

Niffty (platonic) -

Vox -

Rosie (platonic) -

Steven Universe

Pearl -

Amethyst -

Steven (Future) -

Connie (Future) -

Spinel -

Trolls

Velvet -

Veneer-

Your Valentine [Headcanons]

Dialtown

Oliver Swift -

Randy Jade -

Ticket Jerry -

Curie -

Pierre -

Roger -

Tango -

Etc.

Seymour Krelborn -

J.D. -

Selever -

King Dice -

N -

Rouxls Kaard -

John Doe -

[thedarkcircuswritings]

Bill x Reader where Bill reacts to Reader having a very bad day and is just...burnout, stress and quiet

Bill now is trying to cheer them up but barely has any idea on how to do it since he never really done this before

(PS: Can it be just Bill's POV?)

Bill, admittedly, rarely ever saw you so down in the dumps like this before. Because of it, he barely could do any of his normal teasing or chaos without feeling, dare he say it... bad for you. His magic was his first idea to try and get you to feel better, using it to create crazy, creepy, and silly things. He even changed his voice around to try and make jokes! Bill's attempts were lackluster and awkward at best, but at least they were something? He thought they were helping you, after all. His eye stays on your expression, even as he makes silly sounds and screeches. A positive reaction is all he needs. A smile, a scoff, a giggle, any will do! This demon isn't exactly the picky type! Just pretty pretty please laugh for him! Does he have to make a deal for you to be happy?? What else was he meant to do?? Why were emotions so difficult sometimes?