#i'm sorry for all the book of bill posts
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starwalkeranon · 4 months ago
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I gotta say, one of my favorite parts about the book has to be the part where Stanford gives you an intervention for being a "Cipherholic" and recommends alternatives, like cataloging the wing patterns of various tree-bark-dwelling moths.
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randomfandomsgobrrrrrr · 1 month ago
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do you guys every think that maybe Bill never saw his parents faces?
I mean. It makes sense that he wouldn't be able to see them with his eye fixed on his front towards the stars. Do you think that maybe he only saw his mother face as she was burning alongside the world he lived in but never got to know?
Do you think he never saw them at all? Do you think that maybe. Just maybe he looks into the mirror and wonders if he even looks like them at all?
Maybe he had them described at one point or another and has vague ideas on what they looked like. Chances are that he wouldn't know what they looked like from the front like him. Maybe he wonders if he may have mixed up details over the years and has completely forgotten what they looked like as he slowly forgot details and desperately tried to replace them with something else theseus' ship style?
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arttsuka · 1 month ago
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angry bill cipher (aka red bill) making baby bill cry
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I got carried away...
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giulliadella · 10 days ago
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Speculative Biology of Euclydeans (and Bill Cipher) part 4
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Euclydean society and Bill Cipher's disability
Reading the first part is highly recommended before reading this one, since in that part I explained how Euclydia functions as a dimension.
This part is going to talk about disability, discrimination and eugenics of geometric shapes, so tw if you're sensitive to that.
Society
Euclydeans were intelligent, sapient organisms that lived in a complex society. From Bill directly, we find out that they had schools, jobs, families, social structure and developed medicine. This makes them seem very much like humans here on Earth.
We know that Bill had a family, his mother and father, however, we don't know whether those two were married. So I can't tell you whether the institution of marriage even existed in Euclydia. Bill never talks about marriage, so I'm inclined to believe that they didn't really have wedding vows, but rather, a pair would stay together because they loved each other and for their children.
However, Bill does talk about divorce. He sees his falling out with Stanford as divorcing, so it's pretty clear that Euclydean "marriage" consisted of a pair being together and deciding to spend their life together, but if they wanted to break up, that was called a divorce and they probably had disputes over who gets house and kids.
And when we're speaking of love, Bill claims that he can't see the difference between love and fear in humans. This is kind of true: both intense feelings of love and fear activate the sympathetic nervous system which causes the heart to beat faster, deepens and quickens the breathing and makes us all sweaty and flushed. Love in humans causes the same things to happen as fight or flight response and Bill is too dense to accept that there is a difference.
This, however, tells us that in Euclydeans, feelings of love do not activate their equivalent of fight or flight. Bill is a person very prone to angry outbursts at slightest provocation. But Ford can do a lot more to him than any other person before he gets angry. This means that love in Euclydeans is a soothing feeling. Love makes them feel calmer and safer. Hell, Stanford's mindscape was Bill's safe space. Now, of course, love in Euclydeans isn't all about calm - they also get excited. Excitement upon seeing the one you love, but expressed as happiness, with most likely slower heartbeat. Again, loved ones in Euclydeans are seen as a safe space, a little lighthouse in a stormy sea to hang onto.
Euclydeans also express love in a similar way to mammals: they bring gifts (Bill catching rats and arranging them to form Ford's name), they want attention from the other person and their affection, they share food and drinks and overall want to spend time and have fun with their companion.
But when it comes to anger, fear and joy I don't see any significant differences between humans and Euclydeans. Sadness is a tough one, because Bill expresses it by not expressing it. This man is in so much denial that he could flood the Nile. However, distress in Bill is more or less the same as in humans. He also gets drunk after break up and acts as a drunk person would. This tells me that sadness is expressed somewhat similarly in Euclydeans as in humans with maybe some tweaks here and there.
Bill is obsessed with The Great Gatsby, so much so that he dedicated a chunk of his book to literally citing the second chapter of it. This is a very concerning behavior (but, to be fair, most of his behaviors are). However, I believe that his obsession comes from a feeling of nostalgia and familiarity. When I look at Bill's attire I see a guy wearing a fancy hat and a bow tie which were a staple for evening dress of 1920s gentlemen. He also sports a cane, which they also wore. I can't remember much from The Great Gatsby and I'm too lazy to read it again, but it does take place in 1920s America. So, maybe the society Bill was born into resembled that time period.
If that was the case, the societal structures and certain expectations would have been rigid. Euclydia is very much based on Abbott's Flatland and, while that world is a critique of 1800s Britain, it depicts a very sad and bleak society where everyone has to fit in a role that was determined by their shape. In Flatland, Triangles were the lowest class, with isosceles being the lowest of the low and used as slaves and soldiers, while equilateral Triangles (like Bill) could rise in the society and perform the roles of merchants. Scalene Triangles were considered abominations and were killed as kids.
I don't think that Euclydia was exactly as Flatland. However, some Gravity Falls material point towards triangles being lower class citizens. I sadly don't have Journal 3, but I know about the page where Stanford goes to a second dimension and he talks about how Triangle people are low class citizens and Circle people are high class citizens. This is very similar to Flatland, but what about Bill?
Well, Bill was probably from a lower middle class family. Him wearing oversized shoes that were probably bought on sale or given by someone whose child had grown out of them, speaks about them being kinda poor. Bill was also bullied by his peers at school, but notably by rhombuses and trapezoids. These shapes were one class above him, because they had four sides. Better off kids bullying a poorer, disabled kid is a tale as old as time.
The eugenics policies in Euclydia were probably much less strict than in Flatland. However, if they were anything like laws controlling disabled people in 1920s USA, then Bill and his mother were probably forcibly sterilized because of his mutation.
2. Bill Cipher's disability
Bill was born with a disability - well, to be fair it was more akin to superpower - of being able to see into the "third dimension". Bill could see outside of Euclydean borders because he had his eye placed on the front of his face and not on the side, like other Euclydeans. This allowed him to see the stars of the surrounding universes. (please check part 1 of this analysis where you have detailed sketch of Euclydia in relation to other universes).
However, because of his mutation, even though he had much broader view of the universe, Bill was considered legally blind by his peers. Because his eye was on the front and he could move only sideways, Bill was seeing his home dimension only with his peripheral vision. He could make out basic shapes and colors, but not the details. He probably draws his parents as blue and red triangles because that's how he saw them. He could never see the details of their faces. He could, of course, recognize them by touch, smell and voice, but he could never see them as they could see him.
Bill also behaves a lot like a person with ADHD. Now, I have ADHD and I got that diagnosis when I was SEVENTEEN. My early school years were hell. If Bill does have ADHD, he was probably a problematic child at school and that just added more fuel for his bullies. The lack of control over his emotions and his special interest in stars were definitely a reason for him to get bullied, maybe even more than his disability. There were no schools for special needs children in 1920s USA, which doesn't mean that they didn't exist in Euclydia. But, since little Bill was from a poor family, he didn't get to go those schools if they existed.
Another quirk of his mutation in Euclydia meant that Bill had problems feeding himself. Since Euclydeans use their eye as a mouth, Bill had to eat sideways. Imagine if your mouth was on your back and you had to reach behind to feed. Bill was lucky that his eye was much bigger than other Euclydeans which made his mouth bigger as well. His parents also accommodated his needs - his mom was removing crust from his bread and he was also given his medicine in liquid form.
I made art to explain this more easily:
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So, with Bill being bullied and rejected by his society because of his disability (and likely neurodivergency), there was no wonder he wanted to somehow prove himself. Talking about stars and the existence of something outside of Euclydia was considered illegal, but why? Well... stick around for part 5, where I will explain how I believe Bill Cipher accidentally destroyed his entire dimension. It will be fun ;P
@ok1237 and @unoriginal-starwalker I hope you'll enjoy this =D
PS: I hid Dipper and Mabel in the art! Can you find them?
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cyanide-sippy-cup · 3 months ago
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So, Book of Bill, huh?
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brooklyn-the-great-nobody · 4 months ago
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Bill must teach him the way
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Watch Spamton try to tie a bow tie forever.
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genderqueerdykes · 9 months ago
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physically disabled schizophrenic homeless trans person about to lose hotel room
hello, i know i have other posts out right now, but i'm in a very terrifying situation right now and i am scared shitless. it is sunday, 2/25/2024. i got a call back from the government waitlist apartment that i've been approved for, and need to Uber over to their office tomorrow morning to sign paperwork to get moved in later this week. they said the absolute earliest they can move me into my unit is tuesday. my hotel stay runs out on tomorrow, monday morning at 11 am and i am currently waiting on my deposits from my art business to hit my account- they take several days to process, and aren't coming in fast enough. the rest of the money i had on my person went to paying for my hotel up until now and my storage unit bill.
i hate to make another post while i have others circulating, but if i do not get at least monday night paid for before 11 am on 2/26, i will be completely without housing right before i'm able to move into my new place. i don't have anywhere else to stay right now and i can't afford any setbacks with this apartment, as i've been working with them since october. i need to be able to afford my current hotel until they are able to move me in, and uber to and from the complex.
my hotel is currently $38/night:
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please note these are the only payment gateways that will get to me fast enough so i can book more nights in my hotel & afford an uber to and from my new apartment:
cash App: $glitterGraphix venmo: @ Equinoxian pay pal: glittergraphicnightmare@ gmail.com
thank you to everyone who has already helped- your contributions will be able to go toward getting us moved into our new place, buying necessities like appliances, transportation and more. thank you for all of your help. again, sorry for making another post but we are literally down to the wire and i'm anxious as all hell.
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writing-wh0re · 11 months ago
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AAAAH, I just saw you posting your prompts and your requests are open. I don’t know if you write them together or individually, but if you can (or if you can’t but you can write for one of them), could you do Fred and George with a Smutty prompt #3?
All writing will be #writing-wh0re-requests.
George Weasley x Reader x Fred Weasley
Word Count: 6,167 - I had so much fun writing this
Warnings: Smut18+, Unprotected Vaginal Intercourse, Female Performing Oral, Daddy Kink, Slight Choking Kink, Slight Slapping Kink (if you squint), Praise Kink, Slight Degration, Slight Breeding Kink, Spanking Kink. Slight cum kink. Use of pet names.
Basically its a very kinky smut and there's actually plot - look at me go.
A/n: Sorry I have been inactive, life am I right? But I'm getting a desk setup completed so I will be more fequent! I hope. I apologise for this being long, but I truly had so much fun writing this request. My love for the twins is reigniting. I will be fixing up my taglist as well / making a library blog for posts. I have written this smut differently to how I have in the past, let me know if you'd like a part 2!
Merry Christmas x
| | | |
Hogwarts was quiet the closer it got to Christmas, snow was gently falling and the gusts of wind were freezing. Most students went home for Christmas but this year was different for you. Your parents had decided to take a trip to get away from the wizarding world for a few months with no real timeline of coming back, it was something that shocked you but also didn’t surprise you. 
Fred and George had decided to not rush home right away, debating on whether or not to ask you to join them at the Weasley house for Christmas, not really sure of what your relationship was, if it was anything other than lust and desire. 
“You can’t sit alone in the common room for weeks, it’s Christmas.” George grumbled slouching down on the couch beside you.
“I’ll be fine, honestly, I have so many books I can read.” You gestured to the pile of books on the table that you had acquired from the library. “You two should head home, I’m almost certain your mum has made your favourite foods.” 
Fred smiles at the mention of his mum and her tradition of making something for everyone to enjoy. 
“You can come with us, we have a spare room and I’m sure mum would be overjoyed to finally meet our best friend.” 
Best friend
Although not untrue the word still seemed to pang your heart with disappointment. An on and off hook up to them doesn’t mean the same thing it does to you and that was something you were coming to terms with. 
Fred and George sensed the hesitation on you after Fred had dropped the best friend title, it was something they were yet to discuss with you, were you just best friends who fooled around? Or were you also wanting something more that you could all figure out together over time. 
“I don’t want to impose, you’ll have such a full house, isn’t Bill in the guest room this year?” 
George smirks, you do listen to every word they say. 
“What Freddie is saying is there will be a spare bed somewhere, we have two in our room and the couch downstairs, I’m sure something can be sorted.” 
“Mum already thinks you’re coming so hurry up and pack your things.” 
Your mouth falls open at Fred’s revelation, your eyes flick to George who smirks. 
“Go on, we leave in fifteen minutes.”
“I feel like there wasn’t much of a choice in this matter.” 
The twins chuckle as you pack your things up and run up to your dorm, searching your room for a bag to pack things into you. 
You quickly rush out of your dorm, running into the twins as you look up at them. Their eyes wander your face, a blush creeping up your neck. 
You look down at the floor, before George places his hand under your chin.
“Everything okay baby?”
Baby. 
You weren't quite sure how a simple nickname could make your stomach flip and your body tingle, but it did, especially coming for George and Fred. 
“Uh, um.” Your mind is foggy, unsure what you were originally rushing for. The twins smirk, sharing a quick look before your face lights up, having remembered what you wanted to ask. 
“How long are we gone for?”
“We will be coming back the week before term starts.”
“But we can come back earlier if you’d like.” 
“So three weeks?”
The twins nod as you spin and walk back into your dorm, them following behind you. You walk back and forth from your closet to your bed, where the twins have decided to lounge while you pack. Finding outfits is easy, finding lingerie works out to be a little harder under the gaze of the men on your bed. 
You quickly open your dresser draw, looking over the various colours of lace and matching sets. Quickly you grab a hand full and shove it into your bag, closing your dresser and zipping the bag closed. 
“Darling, you dropped something.” George whispers, moving past you and bending down to pick up your dark red G-string, blush creeps up your face, your stomach filling with butterflies as George passes the material to Fred who simply places it in your bag and rezips it. 
Your mind continues to rush, a million thoughts racing through your brain as the twins share a smirk before grabbing your bag from the bed. 
“C’mon love.” Fred holds your bag as he walks out of your dorm, George follows closely behind his eyes looking you up and down, sending a swift wink your way before holding his hand out, an invitation to take his. Which you do, almost embarrassingly fast. 
George squeezes your hand and pulls you along with him to follow Fred. 
| | | | 
After a few days at the Weasley home, you started to feel settled and a part of the family. Harry had joined the household on the same day as you, making you feel not so alone in the imposing feeling. No one was surprised to see you, they were excited to have another friend along for the celebration. Molly had made you feel so at home, hugging you when you first arrived, a feeling of warmth and comfort washing over you within her embrace. 
Over the past few days, Molly had shown you how to bake a few of her signature recipes, she had even gone as far as asking what your favourite food was, setting herself a goal of creating it for you come Christmas Eve. 
Being one day out from Christmas, Molly didn’t want to be disturbed in the kitchen, she needed her space and stated that everyone should go outside to play a friendly game of Quidditch, she emphasised the word ‘friendly’ mainly at the twins. 
So you sat on your broom beside Harry, waiting for everyone who was playing to fly into the air. 
“Have you played before?” Harry asks curiously, not knowing much about you, himself being two years younger. 
“Yeah, but I'm definitely not a pro.” You laugh as Harry smiles, looking out at the Weasley family. 
“I think they’re going to kick our ass.” 
“Oh without a doubt.” 
You and Harry share a smile, your eyes wandering to the golden ball, clearly not the shiny golden snitch but definitely close. The quaffle and bludgers fly through the air with a woosh sound, everyone going into game mode. You and Harry nod at each other, both taking the role of seekers before rushing into the air in search of the ‘snitch’. 
Within a matter of seconds the twins are behind you, chasing after you. You fly past the duo, diving down behind Harry who seems to have his eye on the golden ball. You quickly look over your shoulder, the twins hot on your ass. You notice the golden ball dancing between the twins. A smirk dances across your lips as you fly up higher just outside of the quidditch pitch, pulling up on your broom as the twins fly past you. They stop and look back at you as you flash them your bare tits. Both of them go wide eyed as you hold the golden ball between your hands, pulling your sweater back down. 
“Later losers” 
You turn your broom around, wiggling your ass as you dive down to the grass. 
“We won!” You scream, Ginny, Bill and Ron rush down to you, pulling you into a hug and cheering for your team as the rest of the players come to the ground. 
You make brief eye contact with the twins, a darkness in their eyes but clapping for your victory nonetheless. 
“Lunch is ready! C’mon darlings before the storm comes.” Molly gestures for everyone to come inside as you opt to help clean the game up, the twins staying behind with you. 
You bend down to pick up the spare brooms, your ass brushing against George’s crotch, your eyes locking onto Fred and sending him a wink. 
Fred stands in front of you, shielding you from the view of the house, George holding your hips, pulling you against his chest. Fred caresses your cheek, his head shaking. 
“Do that one more time and we’ll fuck you right here in front of everyone.” 
Your breathing hitches, your eyes never leaving Fred as he hooks one finger into the collar of your sweater, looking down at your bare tits. George slips one hand up into your sweater, groping your boob as you whimper, a shiver runs over your body at his cold finger tips. The fear of getting caught creeps up, a slight wetness running to your core. Fred tilts your head to look up at him, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip, your lips parting slightly. 
The twins smirk pulling away from you like nothing happened and begin grabbing the game equipment. 
They walk towards the home, not once turning back to look at you. Thunder rumbles through the sky as you quickly rush inside, not wanting to be left out in the oncoming storm. 
“There you are sweet girl, would you prefer peach or lemon tea?” Molly asks sweetly, smiling at you before worry washes over her. Molly places her hands on your cheeks and a slight frown on her face. 
“Y/n, honey you look flushed, are you okay?”
You heart hammers in your chest, those fucking twins. 
“I’m okay Molly, the wind just gets to me sometimes.” You smile, reassuring her as she pulls you into a warm embrace. You make eye contact with the twins, smug smirks on their face. 
“You tell me if you need anything, now, lemon or peach?” 
You nod at Molly, deciding on lemon tea before squeezing in between Fred and George at the table, conveniently the only spot left. You spin the pasta around the fork, thankful for a warm meal. Your body tenses slightly, feeling both Fred and George place a hand on your thighs. Both of them grab and squeeze the flesh, involuntarily rocking your hips at their touch. You quickly catch yourself, continuing to eat while the twins trace shapes and grip your skin. 
| | | | 
Not much continued to happen yesterday and today had mainly been taken up by Ginny and Molly asking for help with wrapping gifts, a cheeky idea coming into your mind as you pocketed a bit of red ribbon. 
Tonight was the big Christmas Eve feast, Mr Weasley had finished work early and everyone was told, multiple times, that dinner would be served at 7pm, not a minute over. Molly hadn’t made lunch today, wanting everyone to wait with anticipation for her multitude of amazing dishes, a favourite created for everyone in the home, including yourself and Harry. You had simply asked for baked honey carrots, which judging by the smell of honey filling the home, Molly had delivered. 
“Thank you girls, go get comfy while I finish up dinner.” Molly smiled, kissing Ginny’s head before ushering us away from the table so she could set it accordingly. 
“I’m going for a quick shower.” Ginny states rushing up the stairs in front of you. You duck into the twins room, looking over George’s messy bed and Fred’s mattress on the floor, thankful that you could share a room with them but lucky enough to score Fred’s bed. 
“Mum loves you.” I jump slightly at George's words not noticing him behind me. I smile, falling backwards on Fred’s bed. 
“I love her, she feels like home when she hugs you.” I whisper as George hums in agreement. 
Fred walks into the room, his hair dripping and a towel around his waist. I sit up slightly, resting on my elbows, my eyes shamelessly dragging over his toned body. 
“My eyes are here baby.” 
That fucking nickname.
“Oh I’m well aware.” I whisper, looking over at George quickly. “Remind me, do you look like that?” 
George smirks, pulling his shirt over his head, his body just as toned as Fred’s. 
I bite my lip, looking between the two shirtless twins. 
“Noted.” 
Fred locks the door behind him, resting against it. George stands from his bed, nodding at his brother before pulling me closer to the edge by my ankles.
“We’re sick of this game love.” 
“We know you want us.”
“Fuck, we want you.”
“That shit you pulled during the game.”
“Dangerous.”
“Slutty.”
“Showing off what’s ours to the whole family.” 
My breath hitches at their words, looking up at both of them towering over me on the bed. 
“I’m yours?”
The twins smirk, George leans down, his thumb brushing against my lip. 
“Should we remind you?”
“It’s been a long time, baby.”
“We forget what you feel like.”
“Sound like.” 
They emphasise their words by groping at your body. Your body tingles, wetness pooling between your thighs. 
Fred feels your pocket, pulling out the red ribbon with a smile. George smirks, tilting his head at me. 
“Are you our Christmas gift?” 
You open and close your mouth, simply nodding as they chuckle. 
“Don’t be shy, baby.”
“Yes.” You whisper, watching their every move. 
George smiles, leaning down and pulling you up from the bed, your chest against his, your back against Fred’s. 
“How lucky are we Freddie.” 
“Extremely.” Fred whispers, his hands gripping your ass. 
George leans down to your lips, his lips hovering over mine, your breath mixing as my eyes flick from his to his lips. 
“Please.” You whimper. 
George closes the distance between you, your lips moulding against each other. Fred kisses along your neck and shoulder, sucking on your weak spot as you moan into George’s mouth, allowing for his tongue to twirl with yours. 
“Be quiet baby.” George whispers as Fred captures your lips, his kiss just as soft as George, savouring every swipe of your tongue against each other. George’s hands slip under your sweater, a groan falling from his lips at your lack of bra, twisting your nipples. 
“Fuck daddy.” You whisper, both of the twins stopping briefly, as George grabs your hair pulling your face to him. 
“Say that again.”
“Daddy.” You whimper, your lips pouting, Fred moans, his hands spanking your ass.
“We’re going to ruin you.” 
Before anything more can happen you hear Molly shout up the stairs, letting you know dinner is served. 
“Fuck.” The three of you say in unison, the boys pull away from your body. Fred rushes around the room for clothing as George puts his sweater back on. 
George smirks at you, tapping your ass and nodding towards your hair. 
“Might want to fix that baby.”
“Don’t want everyone to know you’re our little slut.” Fred winks, both of them slipping out of the room, their footsteps bouncing down the stairs. 
Your fingers brush against your lips, a slight tingle against the flesh from their kisses. A smirk forming on your face, thankful for the last few minutes, a step in the direction you crave. 
After you fix your hair,you quickly bounce down the stairs, thankful you're not the last one as Harry and Ron rush in behind you.  
“Sit, sit dear.” Molly gestures to the space across from the twins, next to Ginny and Harry. You quickly sit as Molly places the last dish on the table. The house smells amazing, a mix of spices and hints of firewood from the stove. 
“Merry Christmas, I love all of you.” Molly smiles, kissing Arthur. “Including you two.” Molly gestures to Harry and yourself as you knock his shoulder, smiling at him. “Please, eat.” 
No one waits for Molly to say it twice, everyone serving themselves. George serves you a pile of honey carrots and Fred places a few roasted potatoes on your plate before continuing to serve themselves. A soft smile falls on your lips, the simple domestic gesture filling your heart, maybe this could work. 
Everyone is quiet while enjoying Molly’s food, the sound of knives and forks clicking together. You catch Molly’s eye as she enjoys watching her family sharing dinner together, only having this occur a few times within the year. Molly catches your eye and winks at you, scrunching her nose and smiling at you before taking a sip out of her wine glass. You smile back at Molly, a warmth washing over you at the small interaction. Your eyes flick to the twins in front of you, both of them almost finished with their meal. A cheeky thought pops into your mind as you shuffle on your seat slightly, dragging your foot up George’s leg. His eyes lock onto yours, he nudges Fred inconspicuously to get his attention before sitting back in his chair, his legs spreading wider as his older brother looks down at the chair quickly. You press your foot into George’s crotch softly noticing his body tense as Fred shakes his head, grabbing his cup and tipping the liquid into his mouth. You drop your foot from George and move it to Fred, not wanting him to feel left out. Fred grabs his napkin, wiping his mouth as he looks over at George and nods. A wordless conversation shared between the two as George smirks. 
“So Y/n and Harry, what subjects are you looking forward to most next year?” Molly asks, butterflies flip in your stomach, feeling like Molly caught you. You quickly drop your foot from Fred causing him to chuckle slightly, George takes a sip from his glass hiding his smirk at your reaction. 
“Defence against the dark arts, I’m sure I don’t have to explain why.” Harry states, causing a small chuckle to fill the air. 
“And Y/n?” Molly smiles. 
“Potions, I’m excited to create a few remedies for different conditions but also to help these two-” You quickly gesture to Fred and George who go wide eyed, you know Molly and Arthur don’t know about their ‘jokes’ yet but why not keep them on their toes. “With passing the subject. You know they don’t stir their cauldrons, they just expect it to work when you throw things into it.” 
Molly and Arthur chuckle, a smug smirk on your face at the panic you just gave the twins. 
“Oh that explains why their grades for positions are so high, we have you to thank.” Arthur chuckles as you nod, smiling at him. Little does he know, you have them to thank for your grades. 
You pick up your glass, taking a sip of the cinnamon eggnog, freshly made as Molly questions her kids about what they’re most looking forward to. You only half listen, your mind occupied by the pair of redheads in front of you, your mind filled with ideas on what you want to do to them and them to you. Thankfully for such a great break. 
| | | | 
The night flew by, Molly handed out one gift to her kids, including yourself and Harry. Molly stated it was something to wear for Christmas day breakfast and to not fuss over opening one present early. She asked everyone to open them at the sametime, to which you did and found yourself with a handmade sweater with your first initial on the front, everyone had one. You held the fabric close to yourself, knowing you would hold onto this for the rest of your life. 
Fred and George hadn’t spoken to you since dinner, opting to hangout with their brothers and Harry while you and Ginny gossiped on the couch. Ginny was confiding in you about her crush on Harry and how Dean had been sending her letters since he left for break. You hadn’t noticed when the room dwindled down to just yourself, Ginny and Harry. Upon noticing and remembering what Ginny had said, you excused yourself, leaving the two of them alone which caused Ginny’s cheeks to heat with a rosy blush. 
You quickly went up the staircase, noticing how much quieter the house was the further you climbed. You slip into the twins room, hearing soft snores, noticing Fred’s asleep on the spare mattress on the floor. You look to George’s bed and see it's empty. You can hear the faint running of water, a small idea popping into your head. You walk over to the bathroom, your hand resting on the handle, hoping to god it’s George. You contemplate this gamble for a few seconds, bouncing on your heels slightly before the devil on your shoulder simply says ‘fuck it’ and you turn the handle to the bathroom. 
“Hey, knock-” George pulls the shower curtain across, cutting himself off when he sees you leaning against the now closed bathroom door. A smirk forms on his face as pulls the shower curtain open a little for you, simply waiting. The steam flows outside of the curtain, the mirror foggy and walls wet. You quickly slip out of your clothes, untying your hair and letting it fall. A shiver runs over your body in the damp air and you hurry into the shower, wanting the warm water to cascade over your body. 
George has his head tipped under the shower, leaving his body open to your eyes. You drink in his figure, his toned chest and arms, his semi hard cock and strong legs. The water streams down his skin, small sprinkles covering your body. Wetness slips past your folds, your heart beat picking up, this almost feels wrong without his counterpart. But you know they will talk and you know Fred will be jealous. 
George faces you, dragging his hand down his face to wipe away the water, his eyes linger on your body, his tongue dragging along his bottom lip. 
“What’s Freddie going to say?” 
The mention of his name has butterflies erupting in your stomach. 
“Why don’t you tell him and find out.” 
George smirks at your response, stepping closer to you and pushing you against the side shower wall, the cold tiles resting against your skin as a hiss leaves your lips.
“You’re a cock hungry whore, aren’t you baby?”
Your lips part at his words, simply nodding and leaning up to capture his lips. George pulls away from you tutting as he holds your chin between his fingers. 
“You answer daddy when he asks a question.” 
“Only for you daddy.” 
George chuckles, tilting your face up to his. Small droplets of water fall from his hair and onto your skin. 
“Liar.” He whispers, licking along your bottom lip and taking it between his teeth and pulling the flesh. “You’re a slut for Freddie, and fuck it makes me hard, but tonight you’re mine.” 
You nod your head, a whispered ‘Yes Daddy’ slipping from your lips, your eyes staring into his. His lips lock with yours, his wet hand moving from your chin and tangling in your hair, pulling on the strands. A moan falls into your kiss, your tongues swirling against each other, his free hand holding your hip, pulling your dry body against his. 
“You’ve gotta be quiet baby.” George whispers, his lips kissing down your neck, tongue tracing a line to your boobs. You softly whimper as he takes your nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing against the hardened bud. He pulls from your breast with a pop, alternating to the other side, your fingers tracing through his hair, pulling when he bites your nipple. The warm shower water sprinkling your body, the steam filling your lungs as your gasp.
“You’re so beautiful and these tits.” George whispers, grabbing your boobs in his large hands and jiggling the flesh. He sucks on the skin of your cleavage, leaving a red and purple hickey on each one, definitely something to rile up Fred. 
George presses against you, your boobs slip against his wet chest. His lips brush against your ear as you feel his hard cock against you skin. 
“This is all for you.” 
Your moan in response, causing George to place a hand over your mouth. Tutting at you as he shakes his head. He drags his fingertips up and down your thighs, softly tapping against your folds before slipping one finger past. He sucks in a breath at your wetness, pressing his fingers against your clit and looking into your eyes. 
“You’re so good for me, so wet and warm.” 
You nod against his hand that’s still pressed against your lips. His finger starts to swirl around your clit in small circles. Your eyes roll back, a moan vibrating against his hand. 
“I’ve missed this pussy baby.” 
He picks up the pace of his finger on your clit, your legs tense at the feeling of pleasure flowing through you at his actions. George pulls his finger from your clit, placing the digit against his tongue and rubbing it side to side, before his lips encase it. 
“So sweet.” 
If he wasn’t covering your mouth, it would be open in shock. 
“Please.” You beg, whispering against his hand, it is barely audible, he wouldn’t have noticed if he didn’t feel your lips move against his skin. 
“Are you begging for me to fuck you against the wall baby?”
His words cause more wetness to flow between your legs. He moves his hand from your lips allowing for you to answer. 
“Please daddy, I’ve missed your cock.” 
George smirks, placing his hand under your right knee and lifting your leg up, his other hand resting under your left arm. 
“I bet you’d say the same fucking thing to Freddie.” 
It’s your time to smirk at his words, nodding softly before you reach down and wrap your hand around his hard cock, tip red and beading with precum. 
“I would, because I’m a whore for you and a slut for him.” You whisper, slowly pumping your hand up and down his dick. George bites his lip, looking down at your hand. You place his cock against your folds, the tip brushes your wet clit causing him to hiss at the contact. You guide him lower to your entrance, angling your hips to allow for him to slide into your velvet walls. 
Both of you sigh in unison at the contact. George keeps his hips still, his lips capturing yours, savouring in the feeling of your walls around his cock. You rock your hips up slightly, a silent beg for movement as he smiles against your lips, pulling his cock from your pussy before plunging deep inside of you. Your nails dig into his shoulder as he finds his rhythm, his cock slips in and out of you, your wetness growing the deeper he thrusts inside of you. His lips are resting against your ear, his low whispered moans and groans echoing in your head. 
“So tight and wet for me.”
“Such a good girl for daddy.” 
Hearing him refer to himself as Daddy has your pussy tightening around him, his praise sending tingles through your body. 
The water of the shower continues to run, it ever so slightly sprinkling you both with droplets. The steam continues to fill the room, the water pressure dropping from being on for so long. 
“Touch your clit for me baby, I’m close and want you to cum first.” 
You slip your hand between your bodies, a moan falling from your lips as you circle your clit, the wetness causing it to slip against your finger. You add another, two now circling your clit and fast to help you reach your high. 
“Look at you, such a whore.” 
You whimper at his words, your pussy tightening causing George to hiss, tilting his head back, his wet hair sticking to his skin as he continues to rock in and out of you. 
“D-don’t stop.” 
Your legs tense, your fingers rubbing your clit faster and George’s lips fall to your neck, kissing the skin and whispering for you to cum. 
“Cover my cock baby.”
Your heart beat picks up, your breath hitching and your eyes squeezing shut as you cum. Your legs tingle and untense; George’s cock continues to slide in and out of you, his pace picking up as he moans in your ear. His mouth falls to your shoulder and bits skin to muffle his moan as his cum spurts, warmth pooling inside of you. 
George pulls away from you, watching his cock pull in and out, covered in a mix of cum. He gently places your leg down, slipping out of your pussy with a hiss. 
“C’mere.” George whispers, pulling you to his chest and kissing your hair. He spins you around, softly placing the warm running water against your cold back, his fingers tracing in your hair. He places a kiss on your forehead, his hands now holding your hips. 
“Let’s get you ready for bed.” 
| | | | 
You wake up in the morning, a dull ache in your legs from last night. The memory of last night floods your mind, you lift your shirt looking at your boobs beautifully covered in hickeys. 
“I hear you had fun last night.” 
You look over at Fred leaning against the doorway. Your face fills with blush, your eyes quickly flicking to George’s bed as you hear Fred chuckle. 
“George is out with everyone else, mum insisted they hand deliver Christmas cards to the neighbours.” Fred states, closing the door and moving closer to the bed. “And I insisted on letting you rest because you were up late last night and had to make sure you didn’t wake up alone.” 
“Freddie.”
“Nuh-uh, what’s my name baby girl.” 
Your stomach fills with butterflies, watching the eldest twin sit on the bed beside you, his fingers caressing your face. 
“Daddy.”
Fred nods, his hand tilting your chin up, before settling around your throat. Bending down to your lips and whispering against them. 
“That’s better, I bet you called George daddy and I bet you fucking loved it.” 
“I did.” 
You want Fred to be rough, you want him to compete against his brother, you want to be filled with his cum. 
“I hear you’re a slut for me, is that correct?” 
His hand tightens around your throat before releasing softly, dragging his hand down your body and resting it on your boob. 
“Yes daddy, whatever you want me to be.” 
Fred smirks, chuckling at your response. 
“So submissive for me, you wanted to make me jealous didn't you baby?”
He grips your breast, pinching your nipple and dragging his hand down your body, cupping your pussy through your thin pyjama pants.
“You want me to fuck you better than George.”
“Please.” You whimper, your hips rocking up against his hand. 
Fred slaps your pussy through your pants as your hips stop. 
“He was right, you’re a slut for me.” 
You simply nod in response. Fred leans down, his lips ghosting yours. 
“Get on your knees and show me what you want.” 
Within a second he’s pulled away for you, leaning back on the bed and resting against his elbows. You scramble off the bed, falling to your knees in front of him, the wooden floor hard and cold. 
You loop your fingers into Fred’s pants, tugging them down his body along with his underwear. His cock springs free, hitting against his lower stomach. Your mind floods with comparison to George, the thickness and length comparable, a vein running from the base to the tip. You run your tongue along the vein, flattening your tongue against the head of his cock before slipping it past your lips. 
“Fuck.” Fred moans, falling back on the bed, his hands dragging down his face. 
You wrap your hand around the base of his dick, meeting your lips half way, your tongue flicking side to side around his cock. Fred’s fingers lace in your hair, assisting you with bobbing your head up and down, his hips thrusting into your throat. Your eyes water, a few gags filling the air and drool leaking from your mouth. 
“Such a messy baby.” 
Your eyes roll back, moaning around his cock. 
“You didn’t- fuck- suck George’s dick, did you baby.” You shake your head, popping his cock from your lips. 
“Just for you daddy.”
“Mm, just what I wanted to hear.” Fred grabs your face between his hands, kissing your lips sloppily, his tongue rubbing against yours. Your lips are puffy and glistening with spit, his teeth pull at your bottom lip pulling away from you. 
“On the bed baby, ass up for daddy.”
Within an instant you’re standing in front of him, stripping your clothes. Fred stops you before you can lay across the bed, noticing the hickies covering your boobs. 
“Cocky fucker.” Fred groans, spanking your ass in encouragement to get on the bed. 
You lay with your ass in the air, feeling Fred kiss down your back. He reaches your ass, spanking the plump skin, soothing it with a soft kiss to your cheek. His teeth graze the skin, biting and sucking, leaving his mark on your ass. You squeak as he spanks you, his cock dragging up and down your slit, bumping against your clit, your moans filling the air. 
“No one’s home baby, be loud for me.” 
Fred slides deep inside of you, the angle allows for him to brush against your g-spot a moan pulling from your throat. 
“Fuck, I should just stay inside of you, that would drive you crazy, wouldn’t it baby?” 
“Yes daddy, please fuck me.” 
“Mm, what would George say?”
“Fuck, please, fuck me.” 
You push your hips back against his cock, a low groan falling from his lips. 
“Fuck yourself on my cock baby.” Fred encourages, your hips rock back and forth on his cock, wiggling them against him. You pull forward just far enough to leave the tip inside of you before pushing back allowing for him to slip deep inside of you. This causes Fred to grip your hips, starting his own rhythm and thrusting in and out of you. 
“This is exactly what you wanted, isn't it baby?”
You nod against the comforter, your hands gripping the material. 
Fred spanks your ass, his fingers looping your hair around his palm and pulling you up. 
“Answer me.”
“Yes daddy, wanted you to fuck me.” 
“Wanted me to fuck you better than George.” 
You moan at his words, his pace picking up. Both of your moans and heavy breathing fill the air, his grip still tight on your hair. Fred uses his grip to pull you up against his chest, his arm wrapping across your boobs as he bounces you on his cock. 
His lips fall to your ear, using his free hand to rub your clit. 
“Fuck, Freddie.”
Fred chuckles against your ear, his warm breath fanning your neck.
“Scream my name louder baby, I want George to hear.” He pinches your clit, your body jumping in response before he rubs fast circles around the bundle of nerves. You rest your head against his shoulder, lips parted with moans pouring from them. Your pussy tightens around his cock as his dick twitches. 
“You can cum for me baby, I’ve got you.” 
Fred’s grip on your body tightens, his hips rocking into you faster. 
“Daddy, so good.”
He kisses the side of your head, his pace picking up on your clit. He feels you clamp around his cock and your body tense. Your toes curl and your body shivers, cumming around Fred.
“Good girl, good fucking girl.” Fred whispers, the sound of your wetness filling the air as he continues to pound into you. He pushes your torso back onto the bed, holding your ass in his hands and chasing his high. Fred curses and you feel his load shoot inside of you, a few more thrusts and Fred gingerly pulls out of you. 
“Look at you baby.” He whispers, softly caressing your skin. 
You gently roll over onto your back, attempting to catch your breath as Fred rushes around for clothing before disappearing. You hear the front door to the Weasley’s home open close and a chatter fill the air. You heart rate picks up slightly, your body aching and mind blissed out to cover yourself. 
Fred reappears in the bedroom with a warm towel between his hands. Within a moment later George is sliding through the door. His eyes darkening when they land on you, legs spread and pussy dripping with his brother's cum. The twins share a look as Fred throws the towel to George who stalks over to you. 
“Such a pretty baby, our little cum slut.” George whispers, his eyes fixated on your pussy. A gasp falls from your lips at the feeling of George slipping his fingers inside of you. George pulls his fingers from you, a mix of cum sticking to his flesh. You grab George’s wrist, pulling his hand to your mouth, dragging your tongue up his fingers, sucking the mix of cum, your moan vibrating around his fingers. Your eyes lock with the younger twin, a smile present on both of their faces. 
“We’re so lucky Freddie.”
| | | |
Let me know if you'd like a part 2 with both of them.
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ckret2 · 4 months ago
Text
Chapter 62* of the first day of the rest of human Bill Cipher's life—he's back in the Mystery Shack but whether or not he's a prisoner anymore is up in the air, he's proven he knows how to escape, and the Pines have proven they don't want to execute him anymore. For now. How's he gonna celebrate?
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With back pain! That's what you get from half a week of running around in the woods ignoring all your body's pain signals.
But at least it can't get worse.
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This chapter is book compatible but book spoiler free! The fic won't remain spoiler free, but while I figure out how to incorporate the new info in the fic, we're proceeding with pre-written chapters unaltered.
[*you may notice chapter 61 is missing! This plot was done sooner, so I'll be posting chapter 61 sometime after 64. It's not chronological so you're not missing anything!]
####
Soos was awakened by Melody as she thrashed and sucked in a gasp like a scream. Groggily, Soos said, "Babe? You okay?"
She rolled over, grabbing for his arms with trembling hands. "Soos—"
"I've got you." He half sat up with a sleepy groan and pulled Melody into his embrace. She pressed her face into his chest with a sigh. As he stroked her hair, her breathing slowly steadied out again.
"M'good," Melody said. "Sorry I woke you."
"Don't worry about it, babe. Always happy to cuddle." He yawned. "Sleep paralysis again?"
"Yeah," Melody sighed.
For as long as Melody could remember, she'd had sleep paralysis nightmares: nights where she'd wake up and find she was unable to move any part of her body but her eyes, and a monster escaped from her worst dreams was lurking in the room. Shadowy figures with glowing eyes, twisted demonic representations of her least favorite teachers, hunched hags with claws extending out of tattered robes—for three years, it had looked like a werewolf-mummy from an old horror movie that terrified her as a child—filling the doorway, or silhouetted in the window, or standing perfectly straight in the corner with neck tilted sideways as though it were broken, or staring hungrily down at her from the ceiling with bulging eyes, or crawling up from the foot of the bed and over her body to grab her throat.
The first time she spent the night with Soos, she'd warned him about her sleep paralysis; but for the past year, she'd never had a nightmare while sleeping in the Mystery Shack. She'd even been completely free of them for several months—something subconsciously reassuring about having her fiancé next to her, probably—until their unwelcome house guest moved in and she'd gone back to sleeping at her aunt's house in town.
And now she was even having them in the shack.
"This is the third time in less than a month," Soos asked. "Same one as usual?"
"Mhm."
"I couldn't protect you this time," Soos said mournfully. "I have failed you as your knight in shining armor... Maybe I need shining armor. Do you think they make like, shiny silver spandex pajamas?"
Melody laughed. "Soos, you goofball." She hugged him tighter. "It's fine. I always get sleep paralysis more when I'm stressed. And the situation in the shack's been... well..."
"Yeah," Soos sighed. "I know." She didn't need to tell him what part of "the situation" was stressing her out.
For the past year, ever since Weirdmageddon—which she'd been just unlucky enough to catch live on a weekend trip to visit Soos—her sleep paralysis demon had looked like Bill Cipher.
She'd told Soos this last fall, and in a panic he'd told her that Bill was a dream-invading demon; and for a moment they'd feared this meant Bill had found a way back. But no—according to Soos, Bill was a real chatterbox, and he was always doing something if he invaded your dreams. The thing Melody saw acted like any of her other nightmares: creepy. Standing on too-long legs at the end of the bed; giving off sickly yellow light she could see through her eyelids; staring at her with one bloodshot eye; crawling onto her chest with claws like gnarled black branches. It was just an unlucky coincidence that the real Bill had been a dream demon, and just an unlucky coincidence that being petrified by an eye-bat felt so much like sleep paralysis.
Ironically, now she had confirmation that her nightmares didn't mean Bill was back—because, when Bill did come back, her nightmares hadn't changed.
"My subconscious just hasn't caught up to the fact that you guys finally executed him," Melody said, getting comfortable to go back to sleep. "The good news is, the real Bill's gone and we never need to worry about that again."
"Oh," Soos said. "Um. By the way. The craziest thing happened at like one in the morning."
####
Bill was creeping upstairs to bed when he heard Melody shout, "He's WHAT?!"
He had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from bursting out giggling.
####
Bill was getting better at using his other eyes in his sleep, even when he hadn't chemically connected himself to them. His range wasn't very far yet. From inside the shack, all he could feel was his hoodie, his new necklace, a handful of drawings Mabel had done, and four blankets of his zodiac wheel: two in the kids' room, one in Soos's, and one in the dark.
Around eight in the morning, Mabel was still sleeping comfortably and Dipper was staring at the ceiling worrying; all was right with the world. He only glanced into Soos's room long enough to overhear Melody, "—I'm not mad at you, I'm just mad about the whole situation. I mean, I'll adjust, but still—" before moving on, uninterested in listening to a cutesy couple reassuring each other.
The fourth blanket was in some tight dark container—leather?—but he could hear a muffled voice: "If Bill's staying here on a long term basis, we need to renegotiate... almost everything about his captivity." That was Ford. It was gratifying to know that even when Bill was asleep, the whole household was thinking about him.
"Yeah, you're right," Stan sighed. "We can't just let him keep sleeping on a couple of cushions. We haven't been able to use that couch all summer." There was the sound of a zipper and the lid over the zodiac blanket swung up, revealing Stan standing above.
Ford said, "And trying to get him to sleep in the living room is a lost cause. He says he needs to sleep in a room where he can see the stars."
A guilty look crossed Stan's face. "Right. That's probably it." He pushed the zodiac blanket aside, pulled out a t-shirt, and shut the suitcase again. "We could get—I don't know—an inflatable mattress or something..."
"There's an unused mattress in the basement, isn't there? Maybe we could haul it up." (It wasn't a terribly comfortable mattress. But Bill supposed they only wanted to give him the bare minimum so they could get their precious couch cushions back.)
"I'll ask Soos about it," Stan said. "Well, let's get this over with."
That was Bill's cue to wake up. He'd like to look alert when they came for him. Negotiations ought to go in his favor; he could still threaten suicide if their terms felt too restrictive—or even just threaten to escape, he could do that now if he didn't like their terms!—but they couldn't threaten to kill him anymore. He wondered if he could get phone privileges...
He opened his eyes. He was laying on his left side, the window at his back. He tried to push himself upright.
Sharp pain exploded in the left side of his back. He gasped, collapsing on his side. The pain clawed over his left shoulder, inside his arm, up his neck, across to his right shoulder blade, down nearly to his hips. His entire body tensed around the pain.
He let out a weak, wheezy laugh. (He could feel his ribcage contracting as he exhaled.) That was truly exquisite pain.
All right. He shouldn't be surprised by this. He'd spent four of the last five days tromping through forests and mountains and three of the last five nights getting next to no sleep, including two nights in a thin sleeping bag. The last couple of days, he'd hiked all over creation carrying two fully-loaded backpacks, in a body that had gotten next to no exercise for the past month and probably hadn't been designed for hiking in the first place. And on top of all that, first he'd thought the Axolotl was coming to arrest him and then that the Pines were going to kill him—and human bodies handled emotional stress very poorly. Not to mention whatever the heck had happened when three-fourths of his body had simply stopped working for an hour.
He'd ached for days. He'd simply kept pushing himself through it all, because this stupid weak human body didn't get the luxury of rest when Bill's life and death were on the line. 
Apparently, that was all the pushing it could take. Now he felt like someone had shoved a knife in his back and twisted the muscles up around the blade like twirling a forkful of spaghetti. (Oh, that sounded delicious. One more brilliant idea to implement when he restarted Weirdmageddon: spinal muscle spaghetti. Freshly grated parmesan, maybe a little pesto.)
It was difficult even to breathe—that little motion was enough to make his back muscles squeal in pain. He had to carefully move his hips and right arm in tiny motions to let him roll onto his back while roiling up his pained muscles as little as possible; and then he just as carefully rolled onto his right side, his back to the room. The human body was such a fascinatingly complex interconnected thing, crisscrossed with puppet strings that all tugged each other; no matter what part of his body he moved, somehow it managed to yank on something in his upper left back. He curled his left arm against his chest and squeezed his elbow with his right arm, trying to find a way to tense the rest of his body that reduced the tension on his back.
He heard the door to Mabel and Dipper's room open. For lack of a better plan, he shut his eyes and tried to look natural as they passed him on the way to the stairs. Like heck was he about to let the kids know he was in pain, much less ask them for help. He doubted he was severely injured—he combed through his knowledge of human anatomy—probably just a muscle spasm. It would reduce in a few hours; and then he could make his way downstairs and figure out how to convince someone to get him an ice pack out of the freezer without betraying that anything was wrong. For now, he just had to lay down, try to find a position that didn't stab into his revolting muscles, and wait...
Downstairs, Stan bellowed, "Hey, demon! Get down here!"
Right. What were the odds Bill could make it downstairs and fake that he wasn't in agonizing pain in front of the Pines family? Could he suppress those winces convincingly? He tried to sit up.
And immediately fell to his side again with a gasp. In spite of his breathtakingly self-destructive willpower, he physically couldn't force himself to sit upright. Why not! What was the point?! He didn't mind the pain half as much as his body did, and he thought he should be the one in control here!
Stan hollered, "BILL!"
His voice cracked, "Later!" Ugh. Good thing he'd gotten in his dramatic return last night. He suspected that was the last time he'd look cool for a while.
####
Soos was just emerging from the bedroom when he heard Stan shouting, "I said get down here, Cipher!"
There was a long pause before the reply came from upstairs: "Can't!"
"I WASN'T ASKING!"
"ME NEITHER."
Something was up. Bill always talked a little too hard—not always loud, but hard—as though he were trying to carry on a regular conversation over a strong wind; but Soos thought something about his voice seemed even more forced today. Almost strained.
Soos heard Stan and Ford talking quietly as they headed up the stairs—"...sounds off, do you think he's injured?" "I can't imagine how, if he'd been up this morning we would have heard him banging around..."—and he followed them up.
At the top of the stairs, Stan demanded, "Well? What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing's wrong with me." Bill was curled up on his usual cushion bed. He didn't even turn to look at them. "Just—let me sleep in. Am I not allowed to sleep in? It's not like I have a job." Now that he wasn't straining to shout, his voice sounded even more pained—barely more than a tight whisper.
"All right, fine. Nothing's wrong with you," Ford said. "Then what's wrong with your body?"
Bill chuckled weakly in defeat. "Back's in too much agony to do its job, so I'm giving it the day off."
"Oh, dude," Soos said sympathetically. "Back pain is the worst. One time, I messed up my back after carrying a bunch of boxes between the museum and the attic? Yeah, it was pretty bad for like, a day. I was kinda crying, because it hurt, but also because I had to miss work, and I felt awful about it—but then I remembered the Mystery Shack was closed that day, and I wasn't missing work. So I went to sleep."
Stan and Ford stared expectantly at Soos.
"That's it, that's my whole anecdote."
"Riveting," Bill said flatly. "Did you invite everyone up here to stare at me?" With great difficulty, he pulled his bedsheet up over his head, leaving only a pile of golden curls visible. "Anyway. I'd love to come downstairs—really, I'm famished—buuut my back won't cooperate, and I can't tell you how furious I am about laying on the ground like an idiot at the feet of three of my captors, so if. you. all. would. leave. Please." The "please" came out sounding like the final word of a hex.
Soos winced. Oh, yeah, he supposed being stuck on the floor in front of a bunch of guys you didn't like was pretty embarrassing. He looked toward the stairs and shifted his feet, waiting for the Stans to make a move that direction.
But instead they huddled up to discuss. Stan muttered, "Think he's faking?"
"Why would he?" Soos asked.
Ford murmured, "Soos is right—unless he's that desperate to sleep in, I can't think of a reason he'd lie. He had some... muscular issues after the eclipse—and who knows what he's been up to the last couple of days..." Ford raised his voice, "This isn't the same thing as after the eclipse—?"
"No, just garden variety human back pain," Bill said quickly. "I assume it's garden variety. I've never had back pain before."
"Can you tell what muscles it is?"
"Ugh." Bill let out a shaky sigh. "Pain's... generalized, but... top suspect is the latissimus dorsi. Next guess is the erector spinae group."
"What," Stan said.
Ford nodded like he knew what Bill was talking about. Which he probably did, Soos figured. Doctor and all. "Probably not a severe injury, then. It likely just needs rest—"
Irritably, Bill snapped, "Like I said."
"Great," Stan said. "Then I don't care anymore." He headed downstairs. "Lemme know when the demon can walk again."
Soos and Ford exchanged an awkward look, silently debating whether to follow suite. Ford turned to Bill and cleared his throat. "What do you want for breakfast."
Bill groaned and muttered, "Probably can't use utensils. Whatever, just—bacon and toast and the strongest painkillers in the house."
"All right." Ford headed downstairs.
That struck Soos as inadequate. Trailing after Ford, he said, "Dude, Bill's in so much pain he can't even sit up. Shouldn't we offer to call a doctor or something?"
Ford said, "Knowing Bill, he'd rather die."
Soos considered that. "I'm gonna offer it anyway." He backtracked enough to get his head above the attic floor. "Hey Bill, do you want us to call a doctor or something?"
"I'd rather die."
"Haha, okay! Welp, glad I checked."
But as he headed down to the kitchen, something about the situation still bothered Soos.
Ford was already laying out bacon in a frying pan. "Soos, could you get the painkillers?" he asked. "We should probably give him individual pills rather than the whole bottle. When he got his hands on the cold medicine, he used it to get crossfaded with cider and to drug a wild animal."
Soos winced. Ouch, was that the cold medicine he'd given Bill? (He wondered when Ford had learned the phrase "crossfaded.") 
"Hey... didn't Bill say he was famished?" Soos asked. "Is it kinda weird he's just asking for bacon and toast?"
It took Ford a long moment to answer. He didn't look up from the bacon. "I... suppose he's too proud to ask for anything more complicated."
"Why wait for him to ask, then? Just make him some more stuff anyway?"
Ford shook his head. "He'd be insulted."
Ford had been right about Bill's reactions so far, but— "Okay, fine. Then I'll bring it upstairs and insult him. He'll be insulted and fed. What do you think he'll eat?"
Ford glanced at Soos. Soos thought the look was grateful.
####
Apparently, Bill's age looked a little bit different to everybody. Soos had first found out when Abuelita mentioned that Bill looked like one of those ladies she saw at bingo night who were clearly 60-something, but had had a little too much work done—makeup, facial injections, hair dye. The sort who never really looked younger, but rather just gave off the impression that they were terrified of looking older.
So Soos had asked Mabel, and she said that Bill looked like he was in his mid-20s—about Soos's age, maybe a little older. He'd asked Dipper, and Dipper said he had no idea—to him, Bill never really looked quite convincingly human, more like an alien wearing a human rubber mask—but if he had to take a guess at the age the rubber mask was supposed to portray... like, middle-age-ish? Parent-middle-age-ish? Maybe 40-something? 40-something. Melody had had a hard time as well, but eventually settled on early 30s—the age you imagined a snotty Silicon Valley startup CEO would be.
Which was all very fascinating to Soos.
Because to him, Bill looked eighteen. Exactly eighteen.
At 23, Soos was just reaching the age where 18-year-olds stopped looking like peers and started looking like babies. Eighteen was "you know this is what an adult looks like, but it takes you by surprise almost every time" age. Eighteen was "you wouldn't be surprised to see this face behind a counter working as a barista, but you'd be a little alarmed if you overheard them talking about paying rent" age. Eighteen was "they can be all alone in the world making their own decisions and it's technically okay, but if they are, then someone failed them" age.
To him, Bill looked like somebody who'd been flung callously out into the world before his time—unprepared, overwhelmed, and alone.
Soos knew Bill was older than the whole universe or whatever. He knew that Bill was the guy who'd tried to take over the Earth. But he wasn't that guy now. Look at him. He shouldn't have been worried about imprisonment or world domination or getting executed. He should have been making pocket change working at the mall food court over summer break and playing Dancy Pants Revolution at the arcade with other recent high school grads and making puppy eyes at all the small business owners in town until somebody offered him a minimum-wage full-time job and sneaking into the movie theater on Saturday mornings.
Soos was finding it more and more impossible to see Bill as the enemy, much less as some incomprehensible alien. He had cousins who looked like Bill. Slap a pair of sunglasses over his freaky eyes and try to ignore that his body proportions were just a bit unnatural, and he could blend right into a Ramirez family portrait. Just another post-high-school pre-college kid in the middle of the transition from skinny teen to fat adult that most Ramirez women went through by 30. His neon yellow hair would fit right in beside Reggie's little sister's current neon red dye job.
From the moment Bill temporally poofed into the Mystery Shack on June 1 with a Pony Heist bedsheet toga and an ineffective vengeance plot, he'd been going through the physical and emotional wringer. Soos got it, of course Bill was having a bad time, he was a prisoner because he was a danger to the whole universe. And being human for the first time was probably tough. One time Soos was stuck in a pig's body and that was rough, and it was only for one day and at least Soos had still been a mammal. It was probably inevitable that Bill was having a bad time.
But it bothered Soos, seeing somebody in his house who was so miserable. And it bothered him that no one else seemed very bothered.
He loved the Pines family—he'd reverse-adopted Stan as his dad and he'd give his life for any one of them—but part of him had to wonder whether they'd be more bothered by witnessing the hell Bill was going through if he looked like he could be part of their family.
####
"Hey dawg!" Soos hefted up the tray as he entered the attic. "Breakfast!"
Bill was still buried under his bedsheet. "Stanford couldn't be bothered to come up himself?"
"I wanted to bring it!"
Bill grumbled something inaudible. He'd made no secret of the fact that he disdained Soos, although Soos had no idea why. When a human looked down on Soos, he had a couple guesses; but he didn't know what an alien could judge him for. Was it the British dog man nightmare? Was Bill insulted by Soos's 10th grade geometry grades?
But Bill didn't protest, so Soos scooted around his makeshift bed to set the tray down on the floor in front of him. "Uh... feel better, dude. Hey, you know—if sleeping on the floor is hurting your back, the fold-out sofa in the living room is still totally available. Just, in case you wanna—"
"Not interested," Bill said. "Buzz off, Questiony."
"Okay." He'd offered.
Soos was almost back to the stairs when Bill said, "What is all this stuff?"
"It's breakfast!" The tray included bacon, a toasted sandwich, a drink with one of those straw that bent in the middle so Bill didn't have to sit up all the way up to drink it, a pre-opened chip bag, and a pre-opened pill bottle. (Soos had elected to ignore Ford's advice that they mete out painkillers one pill at a time. If they gave Bill individual pills, he'd have to ask for more when they wore off, and Soos suspected he'd rather choose to suffer.)
"I didn't ask for this."
"Well, I thought you might want some other stuff."
"I don't."
Surprise! Bill was insulted. Soos didn't understand how he could be insulted by some extra food for breakfast—he's still gotten his bacon and toast—but all right, fine, Soos had been warned. "Oh, okay. Just don't eat anything you don't want."
Bill grunted in response.
As Soos started down the stairs, Bill said, "Hey, Questiony. If Mabel asks where I am, just tell her I woke up for breakfast then decided to sleep in."
Aww, he didn't want her to worry. "What about if Dipper asks?"
"Tell him to mind his own business."
"Heh. You got it, dude." Soos headed back to the kitchen—still bothered.
####
Yesterday, Soos and Melody had made plans to take advantage of the Mystery Shack being closed for the day to make breakfast together, the way they used to during the off season. But today, Melody had said that, now that Bill was alive again, she wasn't comfortable eating in the shack, and she'd gone to her aunt's house. She'd said she wasn't mad at Soos, and he believed her—he'd played no part in Bill's continued survival—but still. It kinda felt like she was mad at Soos.
So Soos was eating brunch by himself in the kitchen when Bill gingerly eased himself downstairs—leaning to one side, wincing in pain, one eye squeezed shut, and supporting himself on his broken umbrella; but, mobile again. He ducked into the living room where Stan and Ford were watching TV and, from what Soos had overheard, planning what to do with the rest of their summer. "Okay, I'm here," Bill said. "Negotiations?"
"Hey—no weapons," Stan said. "Hand over the umbrella."
"What! You let me keep it last night."
"Yeah, when it was raining and we were tired. I don't see any rain inside the house."
"Hey, Mr. Pines?" Soos leaned out of the kitchen. "Bill was just using the umbrella to walk? Maybe we could let him keep this one?"
Bill shot Soos a dirty look, face flushed. (What was that for!)
Stan paused, and turned to Ford for a verdict. Ford pressed his lips together, looked away, and muttered, "Well, if he's using it for legitimate purposes."
Bill stared at Ford, brows raised in amazement. "Wait, wait—I'm allowed to have it now?"
"Yes?" Ford said. "I mean—If you're using it to walk, why wouldn't you be?"
"Why wouldn't I—?!" Bill laughed in disbelief. "'No weapons, Bill!' 'No weapons, Bill!' Ev-ry sin-gle time! No canes, no umbrellas, no brooms, no baseball bats, no GOLF CLUBS, no STICKS, no CURTAIN RODS—"
"Oh come on!" Stan spread his hands defensively. "Some of those can obviously be used as weapons—!"
"I wouldn't have needed a baseball bat if you hadn't already taken my cane!"
"You tried to brain Soos with a cane on your first day."
Bill shot another dirty look at Soos.
Soos said apologetically, "That did objectively happen."
Bill rolled his open eye and glowered at Stan again. "What, so because of that I'm not allowed to walk?"
"I," Stan said. "That." He turned to Ford again for help.
Ford said, "If we'd known you needed a cane—"
"I fall down the stairs twice a day!"
"Well," Ford said.
"You use me falling to tell when I'm up in the morning!"
"Ah."
"Did it not occur to you! That this was a problem! That I was trying to solve!"
"I see your point."
Why didn't he just say something, Soos wondered; followed by, what, the guy who refused to explain why he was stuck laying on the floor until we dragged it out of him?
"Well, you've got an umbrella now," Stan said. "Happy?"
"Elated," Bill said sourly. He perched on the armrest of the sofa, visibly wincing as he crossed his legs and found the right position to balance himself. (Soos noted that, since Stan and Ford were already occupying both armchairs and the sofa's seat cushions were in the attic, Bill didn't have any cushioned place to sit. With back pain, no less.) "Let's get this over with."
The crux of the negotiations was that, when Bill and the Pines had initially agreed on the terms of his imprisonment, they'd only been meant to be sufficient enough to last until either the Pines figured out how to kill him or Bill figured out how to escape. Now that both had happened and it looked like Bill would be staying here longer than planned, they supposed they needed something more sustainable.
Bill requested door rights back. Stan and Ford nixed that immediately; they didn't trust him with that kind of freedom.
"Fine, then at least let me go outside. I want fresh air, blue skies, and a social life! I'm an extrovert, I'm losing even more of my mind in here."
Stan and Ford exchanged a look. "Yeah," Stan said grudgingly. "He's more or less in solitary in here. Even for him, that's harsh." (A ghost of a triumphant smirk flickered across Bill's face and disappeared.)
Ford considered that with an unconvinced grimace; but he said, "I suppose... you can make occasional trips outside the shack for... mental health purposes. Under adequate supervision."
"Finally," Bill sighed. "So what's 'adequate' supervision?"
That was where negotiations broke down. Stan and Ford did not think that Mabel alone was adequate supervision for the villainous Bill Cipher, and Wendy was just barely sufficient for Rainbow Club nights but he couldn't be trusted alone with her outside that; Bill, on the other hand, objected strenuously to the suggestion that he could only go outside with somebody who hated and/or distrusted him—which described everyone in the shack except Wendy and Mabel—because that would just make going outside miserable.
They couldn't agree on what kinds of things Bill would be allowed to do, either. They didn't like the idea of him hanging out with Rainbow Club members outside of club meetings, or going with Abuelita to bingo, or visiting a bar in town—all of those would give him too many opportunities to manipulate people with minimal oversight.
"Okay," Bill said irritably, "so are there any social activities I am allowed to participate in! Since it sounds like socialization itself is off limits—!"
Soos decided to make himself scarce before things got any more heated. Maybe he'd go upstairs to retrieve the tray from breakfast.
####
The bacon and drink had been consumed; the bendy straw had been tied in a double loop; the pill bottle was alarmingly light; the sandwich had been picked at, before Bill elected to eat the toast around it and leave the filling behind on the plate; and the potato chip bag had been flung across the room, crushed chips left in its wake, in some sort of protest against receiving unasked-for food. Okay. So Bill was really insulted, then.
Eh, Soos should probably clean up here anyway. He took pride in keeping the Mystery Shack clean, but he hadn't had a chance to thoroughly clean the attic since Bill and the kids moved in for the summer. And it looked like the projectile potato chips weren't the only junk food trash that had accumulated. He saw empty chip bags, candy wrappers, peanut butter jars, jerky packets, cider cans... a lot of cider cans...
He went downstairs, got a broom, a trash bag, and a vacuum, and got to work.
As Soos worked his way across the floor sucking up potato chips, he quietly sang to himself, "Am I cleanin'? Girl, I'm cleanin'. I vacuum in the attic. 'Are you cleanin'?' Yeah, I'm cleanin'. I vacuum in the..." He picked up the couch cushions to vacuum under them—he still wondered why Bill preferred to sleep on the cushions rather than the sofa bed downstairs. Maybe he got scared of the dark and liked to sleep by a window? That would make sense. Since Bill used to glow when he was a triangle, he probably wasn't used to the dark. Or maybe he just thought the attic was cooler than the living room.
Soos almost set the cushions back on the ground, noticed bloodstains on one, and froze. He'd seen Bill with a lot of little injuries, but had he seen any cuts that big? The blood didn't look fresh. They'd at least been here long enough for Bill to hide them on the underside of the cushion. Soos looked around wildly for any clues about how or why or when, uneasily decided that since they were dry and Bill wasn't dead he didn't need to worry about it, and pulled out the upholstery attachment to give the stain a halfhearted vacuuming before putting the cushions back in place. What the heck was happening in this attic?
Soos scooped up the mostly yellow and black clothes sitting at the foot of the cushion-bed—they were outside Bill's cardboard box "dresser," he figured that meant they were dirty—wrapped them in Bill's Pony Heist sheet, and tossed the bundle toward the staircase. They flew down to the landing without hitting the stairs. "Yes! Three points! No net!" Soos pumped his fist.
He cleaned the window seat's cushion with the upholstery attachment, picked it up to clean underneath—and the cushion was really heavy on one side. He felt that side of the cushion; there was something hard and brick-ish inside. He caught a flash of white along one edge. The cushion's stuffing was coming out of a tear in the seam. Soos reached inside.
His jaw dropped. "No way. How did he...?"
Soos had pulled out two stubby crayons and the long-lost Journal 4.
####
(If you got this far thank you for taking a break from the fandom-wide riots over the book in order to read my fic. (I'm assuming there's fandom-wide riots, I'm queuing this Monday night so that I don't have to worry about it for the rest of the week.) Anyway, I'd love to hear what y'all think about our first Soos-focused plot arc!
And as promised, now that the book's out, I'll be getting to work crossposting the fic to Ao3 soon-ish. I don't know when yet, since I'm writing to y'all from the past, but soon.)
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messenger-of-babel · 25 days ago
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Summary: When complications arise on his mission, all he has is one phone call back to you. (Death Island! Leon x reader)
Word Count: 2.1K
Notes: It really does end here, huh? 🥹 This is the last post for this month. We have officially finished Angstober 2024. Thank you to everyone who liked, commented, reblogged, followed, and sent me things to my inbox. It's going to be weird not writing for you all every day, but you'll still see me around. I'm going to take a small break and write in the background, get through requests and stuff. I'm moving house and graduating at the same time so I might not post a whole lot till I'm settled again, but then you can count on me for more than angst!
General warnings for language use, spoilers for Death Island if you haven't seen it (you should it's quite funny), and a mildly OOC Leon but we can all be saps sometimes. Warping the events of the movie to my own benefit.
Enjoy our last post of this month, sweethearts~
RiRi xx
━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
"You wanna make a call?" Chris grunts, looking down at him. Leon looks up at him, vision blurry and pain radiating through his body. His neck stings from where the microdrone bit him, and he can no longer feel anything from his thighs down, just a numb tingle. He has to consciously remind himself to breathe, in through the nose and out through the mouth.
"You got- you got a way?" he rasps back, eyes scrunching in confusion. Chris nods, the bigger man bucking slightly against the cell wall he's leaning against.
"Left- left pocket." he grits out. "Claire got the signal through before we got bit. It's only strong enough for one call, then Dylan's framework will probably patch it."
Leon sighs, head hitting the rusted bars of Alcatraz. This had been another run of the mill mission, find the missing scientist selling government secrets, pack him up and ship him back to the government to be trialled at court. In the true fashion of his 'run of the mill missions', nothing went according to that plan and veered off into a clusterfuck as usual. The BSAA had been involved chasing their own leads, and he had run into Jill in the sewers running from zombies. the plague that seemed to follow him like a shadow ever since he left Raccoon as a young and very traumatised cop.
He was supposed to get in and out, wrap it up so he could come home to you like he promised. As he sat there writhing, he wondered what the look on your face would be if he wasn't able to make it to the cruise that you had both planned. You had lobbied both him and the DSO for a holiday, and after many angry letters and snatching the phone out of his hand to yell at his supervisor, you had succeeded in getting him two months off. Without hesitation you had booked the both of you on a cruise, shushing him every time he had tried to protest.
If he was being honest, just sleeping at home would have been enough. He could barely remember the last time that he had sat down or stopped for a moment. The days that he was at the office or on a mission blurred together so often that he was beginning to forget what colour you had both decided to paint the kitchen, making him falter when coworkers made small talk with him in the staff room. Which side of the bed you preferred to sleep on, what bills needed to be paid first, whether the spare bedroom was being turned into an office or a workshop or not. It was when his forgetfulness led him to forget what month it was and being blindsided to your own anniversary that he finally snapped out of it.
You had been sitting on the porch steps dressed in your finery, watery eyes looking up at him as he pulled into the driveway, your knees pulled to your chest. He had jumped from the car like you were shot, the realisation of what he had done thrumming hard in his chest. "I'm so sorry" he had murmured into your hair, holding you tight. "I am so so sorry."
You had just sniffled in response and eventually gave him a weak hug back, and he clung to that like a lifeline. He swore that he would never fuck up like that again, and he intended to keep that promise.
So, he had relented to the cruise vacation, telling himself that he would be able to relax and unwind on the seas and out of service of work. They could call another agent for once, he wanted to focus on nothing but the smile you wore as you got to carry out the couple things he felt he had denied you your entire relationship. Getting to use the swim up bar, taking photos together, dressing in matching clothes for the cheesy cruise quiz nights. If that was what you wanted, that is what he was going to give you. Besides, it gave him a chance to relish in you again.
You, who had cancelled the wedding of your dreams to get married at the courthouse with him when he got called away suddenly and you weren't sure if you would see him again. You had been married within hours with the rings he had picked and you in the finest you could find on such short notice. He had thought you looked stunning, even if the lighting was the harsh LED of the courthouse and not candles like you had wanted.
You, who had put up with months of him being gone, not knowing if he was dead or alive. Who had to stay up late tracking the news for crumbs of his whereabouts, only able to make guesses to where he might have been assigned. Every death, every bioterrorist attack overseas carrying the possibility that Leon's body was among those being pulled from the carnage.
You, who he was calling right now with the jacked cell phone from Chris's pocket, dial tone droning on.
Leon had been stung last, used as nothing more than an example to show off the latest weapon in the bioterror market. Yet he was losing feeling fast, much faster than Chris or even Claire struggling in the other cell. It was like his atoms were screaming at him, writhing in him at a molecular level. Breathing felt like it was through a damp cloth, lungs having to work twice as hard to suck oxygen into his lungs. His eyelids were struggling to stay awake and fight off the black curtains that floated in the corners. he could see the way that the others looked at him, with pity and with concern. As soon as he had caught the eye of Chris, saw the flicker of fear cross the usually confident man's face, he knew that he was reacting worse than all of them.
So here he was, heart in his throat as he prepared to tell you the words he hadn't been expecting to say when he left that morning. When the line doesn't pick up he curses, waiting for the tone. He wasn’t going to waste his chance.
"Hi! If I haven't picked up, I can't come to the phone right now. If you leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Please wait for the beep, thank you!"
He smiles to himself at the chipper tone of your voice, sounding heaven sent even through the phone. When he hears the tone he takes a deep breath, as big as he can and puts a fake smile on his face. He hopes that it makes his tone come out just a little sweeter for you, even though he knows that you'll be worried regardless.
"Hey, Sweetheart." he starts, voice raspy. "I'm sorry to be calling you like this. I just wanted to call to hear your voice. I-I missed you. I know you didn’t pick up, so you're probably busy. Now don't call me back immediately, I... won’t be able to pick up for a while. I just...damnit I wanted to just hear you." He grits out, head falling against the bars as he loses strength in his neck. He catches eyes with Chris, the older man's eyes misting over as he looks down at him before he turns his head away, the most privacy he can give him in the situation.
"I just wanted to call to let you know that I love you...and I miss you." he begins again. With his eyes closed the words come easier, the image of you flitting into his mind's eye. You look at him in his spectral vision with a smile, encouraging him to go on. He feels his chest ease, like he's actually talking to you, and the both of you are the only ones in the room. "I know you're going to worry. I know this doesn't sound good-" he grits his teeth against another hot flash of pain. "And... it’s not." he finishes. "I want to tell you…that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't think I'm gonna make it home tonight, baby. I... I might not make it back from this." he tries to chuckle, but the sound is dry, and the effort hurts his chest. "Things got bad here, and it's not looking good. I think- I think it ends here, honey. If I don't make it just...just, please look after yourself."
He takes a shaky breath, and the silence of everyone around him is deafening. The scene is oddly private and uncomfortable for the others in the vicinity, while the usually ever-energetic man known as Leon delivers his verbal will. "I know you won’t want to go, but go on that cruise. You worked hard for it, and you were so excited. I wanted to go swimming with you, fall asleep by the pool and pretend it was the honeymoon I owe you. So, I want you to still go on it. Even if I don't come back...I'll ask the big man above to let me hang around long enough to do it with you, even if you won't be able to see me. I made a promise remember? No more missing big things." he whispers into the phone.
His throat is beginning to hurt, like speaking around a sharp lump every time he formed a word. "And the house is yours, it should go into your name. The car, everything, you'll have it all. I just...I just wish it could have been different, you know?" he says into the receiver, that has begun to waver by his cheek. "But it is what it is, and I guess it finally caught up to me. I'm sorry I was such a shitty husband." he says, a light tremor in his voice. "I wish I had come home to you more, not left the bed cold. I wish I could have made you more dinners and more breakfasts in bed, just to show you how much I loved you. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. I never told it to you enough, or managed to even put into actions just how much you mean to me, but I do. You mean everything, sweetheart." he chokes into the phone, a small smile on his face. "I love you more than anything, so...so don't think anything else, okay? This isn't your fault. It never was. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, you hear me? So you pick yourself up when I'm gone," he gasps out, hand beginning to waver. "You put yourself back in that saddle, and you show the world just how strong you are. Show them the person I fell in love with." he says with a smile, before breaking into a fit of painful coughs.
"Don't stay up, sweetheart. Get to bed early. I miss you, more than you'll ever know." he coughs out into the receiver before his body can't hold him up anymore and he slides down the bars until his cheek is pressing into the concrete, hand falling to his side and phone clattering against the stone. He can hear the tone end, and the automated whoosh sound as the voicemail sends. With bleary eyes he can make out the turned head of Claire, looking down at him with wobbling lips and tear-filled eyes.
"Look after 'em, hey?" he rasps out, pain in his chest stabbing as the black curtains begin to slide across his vision. Claire nods, and he can hear Chris grunt in the background. Leon falls into an unconsciousness shortly after, the smiling image of you the last thing he holds close to him as the blackness swallows him completely. As his body stills, a small smile is frozen on his face, the arrogant half tilted smirk he so loved to give you.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
Typing away at your computer, you work till your eyes go square from the computer screen. You wipe a hand over your face as you review the spreadsheet that you're working on, leaning back to take a sip of your coffee. Your music blasts in your headphones, and for a quick break you pull up the checklist you've made for your upcoming holiday.
You're so engrossed in your work that you're unaware as your phone screen glows to life beside you, message popping across your notification bar.
You have (1) new voicemails.
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trianglesimpfordpines · 2 months ago
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the book of bill all but spells out that ford's "ego" is a front he uses to overcompensate for a fucked-up smorgasbord of self-esteem issues and insecurities and people will still post shit like "ford is so inhumanly selfish he totally didn't even care about the apocalypse plot, he was only upset about bill's betrayal because it meant he wasn't as special and perfect as he thought"
but anyway to make a larger point here the problem with the interpretation that ford is just a horrible person is that it actually causes a lot of his actions to not make any sense.
like, why is he thinking "i'm sorry fiddleford" when he hasn't seen or heard from fiddleford in three decades? why does he invite stan to play d&d&md with him? in lost legends, why did he try so hard to help stan prove his innocence? in college, why did he immediately stand up for fiddleford, who was at this time a stranger to him? why did he try to make friends in gravity falls at first? why did he try to protect those kids from the krampus? why did he rage against the northwest family after finding out what they did?
multiple different interpretations of a story can be valid but like, the franchise canon has repeatedly shown that ford will be kind and principled in situations where he stands to gain absolutely nothing from it. if he really is so deeply selfish and egocentric that he would willingly and knowingly bring about an apocalypse just so he can be "special," WHY would he do that?
every "ford is a bad person" argument absolutely falls apart under scrutiny because of the sheer amount of cherry-picking and mental gymnastics you have to do to reach that conclusion.
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hollowed-theory-hall · 10 months ago
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The Weasleys Aren't Great Parents...
I know a lot here love to talk about how the Weasleys were so good to take Harry in and all that... But the truth is, the parenting skills of Molly and Arthur Weasley are questionable at best.
I'm not saying they don't love their kids and Harry — they do, and they do so honestly. I'm just here to say they aren't actually a good example of parenting.
Like, when fans talk about the Weasleys what I usually see is either treating them like they are a perfect example of a family or unfair bashing. So, while I definitely believe that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley love their kids, this post showcases where their parenting skills are lacking...
So, the Weasleys, to Harry, seem like the perfect example of a happy, loving family. Now, I'm not saying there isn't love there, but the family dynamics we see aren't great, to put it lightly. Harry just has no reference for anything better.
Children Running Away
The first thing I want to mention here is that all Weasley children leave the Burrow and their parents the first chance they get.
Bill goes to work for Gringotts in Egypt.
Charlie goes to tame dragons in Romania.
Percy, well, Percy is a whole can of worms right there. But once his parents shun him for being more successful than his father in the ministry, he doesn't look back.
Fred and George leave Hogwarts in the middle of their seventh year and move out of home then, before their even done with school.
I don't think that's normal. This is what we see in houses where there is mistreatment of children, so they don't want to stay any moment longer than necessary. Because all of this, what all of them did, was running away from home.
Each of these Weasleys was seventeen — maybe eighteen when he chose to leave (sometimes the country). This is running away, even if they still talk to their parents, they did rub away from living under the same roof.
This already suggests to me something unhealthy is going on there.
favoritism
Any child psychologist would tell you one of the worst things a parent could do is pick favorites amongst their children. All children, favored or not, suffer from it.
And Mr. And Mrs. Weasley.... well, they showcase favoritism constantly, here is an example from Order of the Phoenix:
“Get him red and gold to match his badge,” said George, smirking. “Match his what?” said Mrs. Weasley absently, rolling up a pair of maroon socks and placing them on Ron’s pile. “His badge,” said Fred, with the air of getting the worst over quickly. “His lovely shiny new prefect’s badge.” Fred’s words took a moment to penetrate Mrs. Weasley’s preoccupation about pajamas. “His . . . but . . . Ron, you’re not. . . ?” Ron held up his badge. Mrs. Weasley let out a shriek just like Hermione’s. “I don’t believe it! I don’t believe it! Oh, Ron, how wonderful! A prefect! That’s everyone in the family!” “What are Fred and I, next-door neighbors?” said George indignantly, as his mother pushed him aside and flung her arms around her youngest son.
(Order of the Pheonix, page 163)
Molly is so glad to have prefects in the family, that she actually ignores the fact Fred and George aren't prefects and are her kids. George actually calls her out on it, except she isn't actually listening to him l. No, she pushes him aside. This treatment is insane, and I don't blame them for up and leaving the moment they turned seventeen.
This favoritism is seen more, this is from Chamber of Secrets:
“Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to —” All three of Mrs. Weasley’s sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them. “Beds empty! No note! Car gone — could have crashed — out of my mind with worry — did you care? — never, as long as I’ve lived — you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy —” “Perfect Percy,” muttered Fred. “YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY’S BOOK!” yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred’s chest. “You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job —” It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, who backed away. “I’m very pleased to see you, Harry, dear,” she said. “Come in and have some breakfast.”
(Chamber of Secrets, page 38)
Prefect Percy is better than Fred and George and they should learn from him and be more like him, according to Mrs. Weasley. This sort of comparison between children is really harmful to their development and is frowned upon by most. Definitely by me.
Not to mention how Harry is definitely a favorite of hers, so much so he does not get shouted at for the same crime, but get's food. That is honestly the bare minimum she can do for him considering...
Harry's Abuse
The Weasleys are aware of Harry's abuse. They are made aware of it time and time again, and with all their love for Harry — they do nothing more than give him food when he asks. I don't think I need to explain why this is terrible.
“I don’t blame you, dear,” she assured Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate. “Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we’d come and get you ourselves if you hadn’t written back to Ron by Friday. But really” (she was now adding three fried eggs to his plate), “flying an illegal car halfway across the country — anyone could have seen you —” She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background. “It was cloudy, Mum!” said Fred. “You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!” Mrs. Weasley snapped.“They were starving him, Mum!” said George. “And you!” said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for him.
(Chamber of Secrets, page 39)
George here outright tells her Harry was being starved — this goes ignored. When Harry writes to her to send him food, she sends it, but doesn't ask him why he isn't being fed:
She had no idea that Harry was not following the diet at all. The moment he had got wind of the fact that he was expected to survive the summer on carrot sticks, Harry had sent Hedwig to his friends with pleas for help … Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had obliged with a sack full of his own homemade rock cakes. (Harry hadn’t touched these; he had had too much experience of Hagrid’s cooking.) Mrs. Weasley, however, had sent the family owl, Errol, with an enormous fruitcake and assorted meat pies.
(Goblet of Fire, page 28)
No, she sent him food but didn't bother doing anything to help a child out of a clearly abusive situation. Not even asking why he isn't getting enough food.
Arthur Weasley isn't any better. He knows just as much as Molly and even met Harry's pleasant relatives:
“Harry said good-bye to you,” he said. “Didn’t you hear him?” “It doesn’t matter,” Harry muttered to Mr. Weasley. “Honestly, I don’t care.” Mr. Weasley did not remove his hand from Harry’s shoulder. “You aren’t going to see your nephew till next summer,” he said to Uncle Vernon in mild indignation. “Surely you’re going to say good-bye?”
(Goblet of Fire, page 48)
He acts as if the Dursleys are normal. As if a child saying their caretakers wouldn't care he wasn't there isn't cause for alarm. No, Arthur Weasley just thought it impolite and odd, but not enough to actually do something to help Harry. Just annoy Uncle Vernon.
Blaming Kids For Things Not Their Fault
“You?” she said, catching her teacup as it scampered happily away across the desk on four sturdy little willow-patterned legs and replacing it in front of her. “Why should I be worried about you?” “When Mum’s next letter finally gets through Umbridge’s screening process,” said Ron bitterly, now holding his cup up while its frail legs tried feebly to support its weight, “I’m going to be in deep trouble. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s sent a Howler again.” “But —” “It’ll be my fault Fred and George left, you wait,” said Ron darkly. “She’ll say I should’ve stopped them leaving, I should’ve grabbed the ends of their brooms and hung on or something. . . . Yeah, it’ll be all my fault. . . .”
(Order of the Pheonix, page 679)
After Fred and George leave Hogwarts, Ron tells Hermione she should worry about him because he would suffer their mother's ire. He speaks about it as if it's a regular occurrence. Like he regularly gets blamed for Feed and George's mishaps when the twins aren't there.
This is incredibly unfair to Ron, Fred, and George. There is no reason Ron should fear his parent's response for something he had no control over.
Conclusions
As I stated above, I don't think Arthur and Molly Weasley are abusive or neglectful or that they don't love their kids. They are far from perfect, loving, and dotting parents I see them sometimes portrayed as. Neither are they as awful as I sometimes see them. Like many characters in this series, they are more complex than that.
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gin-juice-tonic · 4 months ago
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Hello. It's me again. I'm sure you've realized by now what this type of introduction to a post is leading into. I'm going to bring up another page in the bill book. This entry is going to be less about "proving" anything, but rather it's just something I'd like to discuss. (Also just a warning, this one ends up a bit long due to how many photos are included!)
As I have said before. I had many many thoughts, and I am liable to talk about them until they're all talked out. I want to focus on a single page again (Or I guess, a single double page).
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Sorry for the kinda small image here, but don't worry. I'll point out the part I want to talk about.
What I find strange about these pages in particular, aside from the fact that it starts to become written like some sort of noir novel and that Bill has chosen to speak like a femme-fatale, is the new idea it suggests to us:
Bill at some point told Ford he was from another dimension.
I say "at some point" because Ford doesn't react to the idea like this is new information here. Why do I find that strange? Well, for one thing, there's never anything that would indicate Ford knew this pre-portal.
To start, we know that Bill introduces himself to Ford as "a Muse"
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Notice the way Ford speaks about him. "From a higher plane, divine, otherworldly". He makes some guesses on the second page (spirit, alien, dream, etc), but nothing to indicate they've discussed the whole other-dimension thing yet. Of course, this is still early, so let's skip further ahead.
Here's where we start talking about other dimensions.
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Bill has told his "weirdness dimension" lie to Ford, but there's no implication that he himself is from this dimension. And not to mention, this dimension hasn't been destroyed, so naturally it cannot be the one he talks about in the Bill Book pages.
Regardless, Bill is still being referred to as a divine thing, unknowable and even possibly not real. Safe to say he isn't inter-dimensional yet, so let's continue.
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(this section has been edited from its original wording)
Here Fiddleford and his idiosyncrasies enter the fray, and Ford debates telling him. Fiddleford is aware they're building a portal to another dimension, so it would not be that far of a stretch in that vein for Ford to also explain that Bill himself is from one. But Ford's attitude toward the situation veers towards the less scientific. Ford still considers Bill to be something divine, and is worried Fiddleford would think black magic is happening.
Worrying that Fiddleford would think he's gone mad is one thing, but the emphasis on black magic and fiddlefords superstitions strike me as odd.
I understand there are likely several varying reasons why Ford wouldn't want to tell Fiddleford about Bill, even if Ford DID know he was from a different dimension, however:
If Ford had something to suggest Bill's essence was more scientific in nature, I.E. him being from another dimension himself, I think he would've put that into consideration in that when deciding whether to reveal him to Fiddleford, or at the very least would've given up the emphasis on his superstitious nature.
I'm not trying to say he would've actually fully revealed it to Fiddleford if this were the case, but I think the thought process around the concept of doing so would be different.
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We're closing in on the portal test now. Ford refers to him here as a "non corporeal entity". He is non corporeal so long as he exists only in the astral plane... but is that what Ford is talking about? Or does he believe Bill has only ever existed in the mindscape? Does he know yet? I don't think this page actually includes much of an answer, I just figured it should be included.
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The next-next page does have Ford cheekily refer to him as "imaginary" though...
Fairly soon after this, the portal incident and the betrayal happens. Could it be possible that somewhere within these pages, Bill spilt his home dimension backstory? I'm still inclined to think not.
These questions have no definitive answer, but I am led to wonder:
1) Bill's whole dynamic with Ford is that of a "Muse" inspiring intelligent minds throughout history, wouldn't the reveal of him being from another dimension call this dynamic into question?
2) If Bill is something from another dimension, wouldn't asking Ford to build a portal to a dimension totally-not-at-all-related-to-him become suspicious? Would Ford not question his motives at that point?
(A later edit: As has been pointed out in the reblogs, some of what I have discussed thus far fails to take into account the mental state Ford could be in due to Bill's abuse/manipulations. Expecting perfect logic and reasoning from him like the two questions above are asking for may not be fair. I am leaving them in this post so the aforementioned reblogs continue to make sense, but again, how his prolonged abuse factors into his logic and decision-making should be taken into consideration.)
.
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I have just a few more post-portal pages to show to continue my long winded discussion with as well.
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The pages about Exwhylia read a bit weirdly, admittedly. The first page Ford states he thought this was Bill's birthplace, the second page he states he believes Bill came from somewhere similar but was mysteriously destroyed.
If Ford thought this 2-D dimension had been reduced to an atom before he got there, how could he have planned to go? And I should hardly call being destroyed by a monster a "mysterious" method of destroying. Whatever the explanation for the way these are written is, I don't think they read like Bill has ever spoken to Ford about his home dimension.
Additionally, he mentions his "quest to defeat Bill" is what led him here, which I feel implies he learned of this place after being portaled.
I wish I had a good closer for this mini-essay, but the questions I asked above the Exwhylia section were originally supposed to be it. I don't believe Bill had told Ford about his dimension. That's the end of the sentence.
MAJOR ADDENDUM:
I can't believe I missed this (I can believe it) but.. In the book of Bill, Ford refers to Bill as "extradimensional" after their very first meeting!
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Pinpointing the answer to my timeline question supposedly to this exact moment. In my opinion, if you combine this with everything I've mentioned above, no part of this idea from the book of bill makes any sense at all. You might remember at the beginning of this post, Ford guesses at what type of creature Bill is... two years after this last page here was supposed to have been written.
Additionally, if he had known there was an "extradimensional" creature in gravity falls at this point in time, I should hardly think it would've taken him two whole years after that to think of the idea that the Falls' weirdness may come from out of our dimension! (Not to mention in J3 he tells us the idea was told to him directly from Bill. Two years elapsed between these conversations? Knowing Ford, not likely. Again, even if Bill somehow did avoid telling him that whole time, I think Ford very well could've figured it out on his own by then.)
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itsmealaiahh · 4 months ago
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"My pretty little secret"
A tom kaulitz x fem!reader one shot
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TW: embarrassment, fluff, tom being completely smitten for you, nothing too major!
Request by anon: hey! I could ask for a "2010 Tom Kaulitz x reader" in which some paparazzi have published photos of Tom and the reader (not famous and a little younger if you can) in magazines. in the photos you can see the two holding hands and kissing each other while Tom smiles. a few days later, in an interview, they ask the band and Tom about this mysterious girl… and you can continue, Ty!🫶🏻
Rating: under 15 dni as usual :)
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Tom had had the night of his life with you. He had met you in the club he was partying in, and immediately took a liking to you. You were easygoing, sweet, funny, and most of all, it seemed you truly enjoyed his company. It didn't seem to matter to you that he was a big, famous rockstar, you were just looking for a good time.
A couple of days later, the band was at an interview, and the host was asking them the usual things, when they were performing again, where they were performing, nothing too out of the ordinary. Until, the host's attention turned to tom, and he didn't know what for.
"So tom" The host started, meeting his gaze intensely. "Are you dating anyone?" He questioned, and tom let out a simple chuckle. "Not at the moment, no" But when pictures of you and him popped up onto the screen behind the band, he mentally cursed. "It seems like you are" He laughed back, and bill looked over at tom to see his face bright red, with what looked like to be pure embarrassment.
A few others were shown, you and him having drinks, him dancing with you, and they even managed to capture a few kisses you both had shared. "So, who is this mystery girl?" He asked tom, leaning in a little bit. "We met a few days ago at a club, and she caught my attention. That's all" He said simply, laying back on the couch, content with his answer.
The host shrugged and went back to asking more questions, if anyone else in the band was dating someone, to try and get drama to arise, but the rest of them said no. Thankfully, after a few more questions and bland answers, they were done, and the host thanked them for their time, shaking each of their hands and they walked backstage. "You didn't tell me you met a girl!" Bill laughed, smiling widely. "Was she nice?"
"She was probably the sweetest girl I've met" Tom grinned and bill grabbed his arm, shaking him back and forth. "You gonna call her, or do you not have her number?" "I do, but are you sure I should call her? It might be creepy, and maybe she was just looking for someone to hang out with" Tom said, a hint of anxiousness in his tone.
"Well, it'd still be nice to talk, maybe she wants more" Bill shrugged as he walked out of the studio, going into the tour bus. Tom nodded, getting out his phone and dialing your number.
"Hello?"
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WHEW HOLY SHIT sorry for not posting a fic for so long, this week has been insane
Thank you all for being so supportive and helping me these past few days, I love you all 💗
If I'm up to it though, this might become a series, or even a book, and that's why I ended it on a cliffhanger, but I hope you enjoy! Sorry if it's short
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fishymom-art · 16 days ago
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HI!! i just binged the whole of your apostle au and safe to say im OBBESSED. i love the way you portrayed their dynamic, and kept ford as a complex charcater rather than hes evil on all accounts. amazinf hsit man!! i have a question, how are things post weirdmaggedon (town and family wise), does ford try to do something like the book of bill? and what is the billford status post wierdmaggedon.....
first of all, thamk you, i'm glad you like it ^^
second of all, here you! (I had to cut out a drawing where Stanley and Fiddleford are flirting with each other, I'm very sorry)
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(i was thinking about bill trying to break ford out, but i think that would've been a bit too out of character)
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artsymeeshee · 2 months ago
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Hello! I just found your laundry list of art last week, and I have to say…I LOVE IT! Love the instinct comics, Ford being cool never ceases to make me giggle, and I loved the autumn drawing. I’ll admit, that one had me in tears…made be believe in the what-if’s of my own family. What they…could be like someday. Or what I wish they were. Thanks for the tears, they were much needed.
 Anyway! This is what I came to message you about! Although,…I am extremely sorry for the late message. I tend to check back into tumblr at…weird hours of the night. Heck, it’s almost the next day as I type this. I seriously need to sleep more. So! I had a few thoughts on Stan and Ford relationship, and I wanted to hear your thoughts on it. Just a disclaimer, I’m kinda basing this off my actual life as I find these characters mirror personal events very closely! I am also a writer and soon to be author! Might post some archive of our own content about these two soon. Also, and this is the most important, I have NOT read book of Bill yet. So plz…no spoilers. Anyway, long introduction aside, let’s begin!
In my personal head cannon of these two, which I don’t imagine is “too” different than how anyone else could see them, Stan and Ford have an extremely awkward and emotional conversation after Weirdmagedon. Why? B/c they’re both, to some degree, emotionally numb. In my opinion, why wouldn’t they? They haven’t spoken to each other in 40 years, properly, and they have repressed a ton of their emotions since then. It’s hard to bring that back up. (Speaking off of experience) I’d say even harder for Ford. Stan, thanks to the twins, has learned to loosen the locks on his heart while Ford kept running away from those emotions to defeat Bill. Just like his ambitions, that was the main priority, and everything else later. To me, this would explain why Ford never bothered to talk to Stan properly since coming back during the show. He wouldn’t know how to. If they were to talk, and this is where the writer in me comes out, I’d write Ford as the one that needs it most. He’s been traveling dimension for decades, running from the past that held him back…but he has no anchor now. Stan becomes that anchor, paralleling what he wasn’t when Ford was lost. And Ford…he just breaks. Like, completely breaks. And Stan is there with him, breaking like he is, but still there for him brother. Finally back after all those years apart. And as someone who has been on the side of neglect from one’s own brother…nothing would be me happier if we went to connect. Just like Stanley and Ford. And eventually, soon to be sailing on the seas to connect even more.
Phew…that was a lot. Sorry for the rambling. Told you I had some ideas! So, what do you think? Do you see Ford acting like this? If not…why? Genuinely, I’d like to know. Anyway, thanks for taking your time to read this. Again, sorry for the ramblings. Oh! One more thing, I know you aren’t taking art request right now, but would you be open to take them in the future? Say in 2 months time? Anyway, bye!
Well first off, thank you! I appreciate it! :D
And to answer your headcanon, I agree on it. Stan is definitely more open to talking, especially thanks to the kids. I mean there's still moments where it's hard and awkward for sure. And Ford would for sure have a harder time opening up, especially with the constant guilt and mistakes that replay over and over. And there's always that lingering feeling of "well, Stan has to hate me for what I've done" and it's always so surprising when Stan tells him differently and he never once hated Ford. Sure, was angry but never hated him. He had too much self-hatred to feel that way with Ford. And as many times as it needs to be said or repeated, it really makes all the difference when they tell each other how much they love and care for each other. As Alex said, "they're both so damaged, they desperately need each other."
As for the requests thing, most likely not. Only because I'm entering the busiest time of year for my work so it's gonna be a miracle if I even have enough energy or motivation for drawing if I'm not completely burnt out.
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