#maybe ill even get a dentist

[mewdivorce]

this summer is gonna be the summer i get all my health problems dealt with

[milolunde]

If Fairy World oeprates on schooling and being tall enough for the job (ex. Cookie's Court; A New Wish) maybe Peri turned down dentistry because he was too short

[dnangelic]

i rlly shouldve done this earlier but i kinda wanna say(warn?) this blog is on semi-hiatus!! i have a lot to prepare for in late march now so my activity overall is kind of ehhh -wiggles hands- but i DO try to be punctual with my asks and answer anything/everything i receive in my inbox! feel free to send me whatever whenever u want, just expect me to be painfully slow on the thread front for a long while yet 💦

[torao-chan]

i worry that i come across as cold and distant a lot

but then, i've had my dad in my ear my entire life telling me 'you have to be business presentable always', 'nothing is ever of record', 'you should be distant but not closed off', 'approachable but never personable', 'give your opinion but never in a way that can be turned against you', 'have interests, but never be invested enough to let it become an obstacle or weapon against you' and really

i realise it's no surprise that i'm introverted, anxious, and often paranoid.

i'm proud i've gotten better at speaking my mind, being honest and passionate about the things i like.

i may still come across as cold, and distant, and social interactions may wear me out more than the normal person, so i have less of them, but... i've come a long way. and i'm proud of that, even if i'm not where i wish i was

[princessmyriad]

.

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

and still i wonder, why can’t i even...

HAPPY BDAY OLIVER here’s some art i made to go w/ this thing

[ii-zi]

My heads a little odd it's like it was filled w water and it had a marble or something and everything I disturbe the water with sound or movement the marble thing goes crazy

[howtofightwrite]

Most traditional boxing instructors will tell you that if the opponent is taller than you, has longer arms than you, or is heavier than you, you're fucked and you need to stay extremely aware and work really hard to compensate for all the advantage he has over you.

In a recent forensic survey, it was determined that most traditional boxing instructors who get into real world altercations die when they're shot in the head.

This is the problem with a lot of these kinds of arguments. No one practices traditional boxing. At least, no one does so publicly. How do I know this? Because traditionally boxers fought in the nude. Yeah, we're not seeing that, are we? Now, maybe they meant bare knuckle boxing, but really no one does that either, these days. Boxing without safety equipment is not a particularly good idea, for fairly obvious reasons.

The only reason the word, “traditional,” is in the ask is to lend their statement unearned credibility. It's an attempt to make their statement sound more authoritative, without offering any evidence to support the statement.

Who said that?

“Traditional people did.”

Okay, but, 'traditionally,' people cleaned shit off their ass with a stick. So, maybe appealing to Hellenic sports isn't the best gauge of how a fight will play out.

Also, I know I just said it, but, who are these authoritative sports guys? Because they're not named. We're simply told, “most,” of them agree. Which starts to sound a lot like “four out of five dentists agree.” Who are these instructors? What do they teach? Why are the currently in prison for indecent exposure? And how much did you pay them to get their uninformed opinion? Salient questions which may need to be answered, if the original question wasn't invalid on its face.

Why do I say it's invalid?

Because boxing isn't fighting.

Boxing is a sport.

Boxing has rules.

Kick your opponent in the groin, or shin, and you're punished.

Step on their foot, push them, and watch them tumble to the ground before you start stomping on them, and you'll be punished.

Throwing your opponent will be punished.

And of course, as mentioned at the top, pulling out a gun and expanding your opponent's mental horizons is extremely frowned upon.

These are all things that can happen in a real fight.

These are all things that do not benefit from increased height or reach.

There is one genuinely accurate statement. In a fight, you do need to be very aware of what's going on around you. Everything else is the product of someone who's been punched in the head repeatedly until the CTEs got them thinking that boxing is analogous to a real fight in any way. (And, statistically, will probably end their career sitting in a jail cell over an aggravated assault charge, because their emotional self-control was completely destroyed by those same head injuries.)

The rules that boxers need to follow are designed to (somewhat) protect the participants. It reduces the dangers of a boxer being killed in the ring. In an observation that I would hope to be self-evident, those rules don't exist in actual combat.

It's also amusing, because the original Asker had to go so far as to single out an ill-defined, “traditional” boxing, because no other martial art they checked gave them the soundbite they wanted.

And, of course, women box. Historically, you could say, “traditionally,” there were even boxing matches between men and women. It wasn't until the 1880s that women were excluded from competitive boxing in the UK. (I'm not sure of the exact date when women were banned from boxing in the US, though that prohibition lasted for less than a century, before the modern return of women to the sport.)

So, either these “traditional instructors” don't know the history of their own sport... which doesn't sound particularly “traditional” to me, or they're full of shit.

My advice to everyone would be, maybe, don't take the advice of a sports coach about how he's secretly an absolute badass in all the delusional fantasies he's cooked up about how he'd like to inflict violence on others because they wouldn't date him.

-Starke

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[peyton-warren]

Okay sorry last one!

Sy knows that you’ve been ignoring your health. (Brushing teeth, showering, eating properly, sleeping properly) but he’s been pleasing you every chance the two of you get.

Could be because you’re with him or you just have been busy, but you get a toothache and he takes you to the base dentist or a regular dentist. It’s something simple like just a stuck popcorn shell or something like that. Or maybe you pass out. Idk 🤷🏼‍♀️

He decides that if you want to cum again, you have to take better care of yourself. No grinding either. Every time you do, you suck him off while he teases you. Until you take better care of yourself. No orgasms

I might have taken this one a little off the track you set but we got back on it by the end. There is no smut there is a hell of suggestion at the end. I hope this is ok. And its a weeee bit longer than a drabble. Wrote this all by hand in the woods thanks for the prompt that resonated so much with me.

Characters: Gender Neutral reader, Captain Syverson Pairings: Sy x Reader Fandoms: Sandcastle, Henry Cavill characters Word count: 4111 Type: angst, suggestive Warning: 18+. Warnings: blood, Reader injured, discussion of domestic abuse, self depreciation, discussion of mental illness, daddy kink, potential eating disorder, tiny Daddy kink

Summary: Reader has to be taken to the hospital by their new-ish boyfriend Sy. Sy learns some things about his partner that has Reader worried about their future together.

Author's Note: I have no idea how a real ER works, nor proper medical procedures nor hospital policies.  I manipulated them for my own gain here.  Nor do I fully understand how blood sugars work or what the tests doctors use tell them about your eating habits.  Don't come after me if you know how they actually do work. Also thank you to @ellethespaceunicorn for the beta.

Ask Box: Open Masterlist

Banner by me with an assist by @ellethespaceunicorn Dividers by @cafekitsune

Dazed, you blinked your tired eyes open.  

“There they are,” Sy cooed softly, crouching next to you.  

You blinked again, trying

to focus.

He was next to you on his kitchen floor.  You stared up into the concerned blue eyes above you.

Oh right date night.  You two had been cooking dinner. 

“I didn't know you were afraid of blood,” he said with sincerity, no teasing or judgment in his tone.  

“I’m not,” you said defensively.  Then you realized the last thing you remembered was nicking your finger cutting up veggies and then nothing.  “What happened?” You asked.  

“You passed out,” he told you.  “I saw you waver out of the corner of my eye and caught you in time to keep you from hitting the deck,” he told you.  “How are you feeling?”

“Okay?”

“Just okay?  You think you can sit up?” He offered you a hand.  As you placed your palm in his, he carefully helped you into a sitting position, his other arm gently curving around your back, just in case.  “How’s that?” he asked, squeezing your hand.  

“Okay.  I think.”

“I don't like your uncertainty,” he admitted, softly, looking at you with a deeper concern.  “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No!” you shook your head vehemently, hating to cause him or anyone even a hit of inconvenience.  “I’m fine.”

“You are not fine, sweetheart,” he told you.  “You look like you have seen a ghost.  You're trembling and your palm hasn't stopped bleeding. We are going to the ER,” he insisted.  “Even if I have to hog tie you and throw you in the back of the truck.”

“Sy, I’m fine,” you tried again.  

Sy moved from you only briefly to grab a kitchen towel that read “Mama Tried,” and returned promptly to press it to your palm which you just now noticed is covered in blood.  “I didn’t think I cut it that bad,” you admitted.  You were unable to assess the damage before it was covered in flour sack material.  

“You jabbed it in there pretty good just before you went down.”  Sy pulled his phone from his pocket.  “Now are you willingly coming with me to the hospital? Or am I calling the squad?”

You knew your stubborn asshole of a boyfriend wasn't going to back down until you were properly checked out.  After a beat, a silence, just a split second before you were certain he was going to open his phone, you relented.   “Alright.”

He placed a hurried kiss to your forehead as he stuffed his phone back in his pocket.  “Good.  Now put your other hand over the towel and I’ll get you to the truck.”

You scoffed at this.  “You are not carrying me to the truck,” you said.  “I’ll get myself out there.  Just get me off the damn floor.”

Sy chucked.  “There’s my sweetheart.  Hold the towel tight,” he insisted just before standing behind you and hooking his hands under your arm and effortlessly lifting you to your feet.  His hand held your upper arm tight as he rounded you and looked intently at your face.  “You al’ite?”

“I’m fine, Sy,” you ground out, done with being fussed over.  

With a single nod, he placed that hand to your lower back and gently guided you to the door. “Easy and gently,” he reminded you.  

“I’ll ‘easy and gently’ you.” You continued to be unhappy with his instance of treating you with such tender care.  You still were not used to dating a decent human being, unsure if you even deserved it.  If he knew how  you really were, maybe he’d throw you away, like all the other partners you had had over the years.

Sy, oblivious of your inner conflict, got you settled into the passenger seat and buckled you in.  “All set, baby?” 

You only nodded, still applying pressure to your cut palm.  He gave you a soft smile and carefully closed your door.  Took him all of two seconds before he was in the driver's seat and starting the engine.  “Let’s get you patched up.”

The drive to the local hospital was over within 20 minutes and was accomplished in silence.  You tried to ignore the new throb in your palm that appeared.  Sy had stopped you once from peeling back the towel by laying his hand over yours.  “You don't wanna do that.”

“I wanna see.”

“No you don’t.  Firstly it'll start bleeding again once you release the pressure,” he used his Captain voice, you knew his military training had kicked in.  “Secondly, I don't need you passing out again when you see it.”

You all but huffed at him.  “I am NOT afraid of blood.”

“You may not be, but you aren't gonna like the looks of that.”

You relented and gave a dramatic sigh.  “Aye, aye, Captain,” you said dryly.

Once you arrived at the hospital, and got through the headache of checking in, the two of you settled in the waiting room. Sy took your injured hand and put it on his thigh, taking over putting pressure on the injury.  You sat in further silence until a nurse called your name, less than 30 minutes later.  Sy kissed your temple and let you take your own hand back.  You both stand and head for the nurse who eyes you 6’4” shadow with suspicion.   “Just them,” the nurse states in a no nonsense voice.

“It's ok,” you reassure her.  “He’s with me.”

“Is he your emergency contact and/or spouse?” she asks you, and your stomach dropped at the thought of going in without Sy.  

“No,” you say in a small voice. 

“But ma’am-”

“Do not,” she cut Sy off.  “Policy is policy.  I don't make it,” she sternly stated.

“You are just the enforcer,” Sy finished for her in a very knowing voice.  

“You got it,” she beamed at him. “Have a seat.  They'll be out as soon as they’re done.”

You gave him a soft smile over your shoulder and mouthed ‘Sorry.’  He kissed your forehead.  “You’re in good hands,” he tried to sound calm for you.  You nodded and followed the scrubbed nurse into the ER.  The door closed behind you with a soft click, signaling it locked.  The nurse led you to a room, flipping the plastic flags over the door to whatever she needs to as you step in.  

“Have a seat on the bed,” she said in a softer tone than she had with Sy.  As she halfway pulled the curtain closed, you settled with your back on the upright position of the gurney.  She clicked at the computer near the bed.  “Laceration on your non-dominant palm.  How did it happen?” she asked, nodding to your hand as she reached for gloves from the rack on the wall. 

“Slipped while cooking dinner,” you offered, leaving out the part where you passed out.  

She eyed you before placing a hand on your wrist.  “Let me take a look.”  

You relinquished the towel which you now realize had a significant amount of blood on it. “Oh geez, I hope he can get that out.”

The nurse’s eyes flit back to your face.  “Who is he?” she conversationally asked.  

“My boyfriend,” you said almost shyly.  This thing between you was still new and fresh, only a few months old.  You were still getting used to using the title for Sy.  

“You live together?” she asked as she put the makeshift bandage back down.  “Hold that again please.”   

You do as you are told.  “No, only been together a few months.” you affirmed.  

She nodded and stripped the gloves from her hands, dropping them into the biohazard trash before turning back to the computer “You are gonna need stitches,” she told you, “but first the doc has to come see you to confirm.”

“Yeah kinda figured that was why my army boyfriend brought me in.  If he coulda handled it himself we wouldn't be here,”  you guessed.  

The nurse pulled a wheelie stool over and sat down near your bedside and looked at you compassionately but no nonsense.  “He the reason you are here?” she asked.  

“Well yeah, he insisted-” 

She shook her head, interrupting you.  “No sweety,” she tried again.  Her name tag/badge read Joy you noticed.  “Are you safe with him?”

Your eyes widened at her meaning. “Yes!” you stumbled over the word, surprised someone would think you are not safe with Sy.  “Absolutely,” you insisted.  “He’d never hurt anyone he cared about much less me,” you defended him further.  

“You have to know how this looks,” the nurse stated.  And you finally put all the pieces together.  “Especially with him being active duty,” she pointed out.  You had heard the rumors that military men were statistically more likely to be the aggressor in domestic violence situations. 

“Not him,” you asserted, trying to think of another way to convince her she had it all wrong.  

Instead she reached out and squeezed your knee.  “It's ok.  I have to ask.  Just a couple more questions and then I'll go get the doctor.”  

You relaxed into the mattress.  “Okay.”

“Do you want your boyfriend back here with you?  I can continue to tell him its policy to keep him out in the waiting room.”

You almost started panicking again at the thoughts that anyone would think anything but the best of Sy.  “No, I want him here please, if I can.”

“Of course you can, especially if he will help you stay calm.” She took a deep breath, holding it for a beat and then releasing it, which you mirrored.  “Will his presence keep you at ease?” Her eyes stared at yours, watching your reaction closely.  

You took another deep breath and nodded.  “Yes please.”  

“Ok sweetie.  If you change your mind, tell me or the doctor you’d like to see ‘Dr. Strong’ and we will get security to remove him from here, okay?”

“I won’t need that,” you assured her.,  “But I’m glad you have that in place for other people to use.  “

She gave you a sad smile. “Unfortunately it's all too common of a situation for us.”  She put her hand on the door handle.  “What’s the boyfriend’s last name?”   

You gave it to her and she nodded.  “I'll go get him now and the Doctor will be with you as soon as he can.”

“Thank you.”

And she was gone.

And you were left alone with your thoughts for a few minutes.  You had never thought so much of as an ill thought about Sy outside of  how obnoxious his snoring was when he’s been drinking and now you felt like you hit the jackpot with Sy.  But also, it felt a bit early to be proclaiming declarations of love.  Sy didn’t seem like the type of man who would ever harm his partner but you had been fooled into thinking the best of others in your past and were proven ---

The door opened and saved you from continuing that thought.  Sy’s face appeared around the curtain with a concerned look as Nurse Joy peeked around him.  “Will be a bit til the doctor will be with you.  Keep holding that towel.”

Sy rounded the bed and sat on the stool the nurse abandoned.  “Thanks,” you said.  “For everything.”

“You are welcome.  Just doing my job.”

And she was gone again, the door closing behind her. “New friend?” Sy asked after that exchange.  

“Something like that,” you affirmed.  

“What’s the verdict?” he nodded towards your hand.  

“Needs stitches,” you stated nonchalantly.  

“And the passing out?” he prompted. 

 You hesitated.  “Oh, ummmm,”   

“You didn't mention that?” he surmised.

“No.”

“Of course not,” he sighed.

You stopped looking at your hands in your lap and flashed your eyes to him.  “What’s that mean?”

Sy just shook his head and laid his hand on your knees closest to him.  “I’ve just noticed you aren't very good at taking care of yourself is all.”  

You get defensive immediately, though this isn't the first time you have heard that from someone else who cared about you.  “I do just fine with that,” you asserted.   

“Then why didn't you mention that to the nurse?”

“Because that's not a big deal,” you attested. “Not as much as bleeding to death.”  You raised your injured hand to illustrate.  “I’m sorry about your towel.”

“I don't give one goddamn about a kitchen towel,” he stated but is interrupted by a knock on the door, drawing both of your attention.  Nurse Joy walked around the curtain with a man in a white coat.  

“Hello here’s Dr. Brock.” 

Sy’s hand squeezed your knee. 

“How are you today?” Dr. Brock asked.  

“Fine outside of trying to filet my palm.  Wait,” you suddenly say.  “I only remember nicking my finger.  When did I slice my palm?” you looked at Sy, and felt the attention of the medical personnel in the room shift to look at him as well.  

“You grabbed for the counter as you passed out,” he simply stated.  

“There was no mention of passing out,” Joy stated, and you realize you had just ratted yourself out.  

“Did you hit your head?” the doctor asked, springing into action to examine your eyes.  

“I don't think so,” you sounded unsure. 

“No they didn’t,” Sy joined the conversation. “I caught them on the way down.”  

Doctor turned half his attention to the attentive boyfriend beside you as he applied gentle pressure around your head.  “Were they out cold?”

“Yes”

“For how long?”  

“At least 3 minutes but it felt like a lifetime,” Sy disclosed.  

Doctor Brock nodded as Joy typed on the computer.  “Let’s get them a CT scan, a CBC panel to start,” he spoke to the nurse who clicked the mouse.  “And a stitch kit for their hand.”  He gave that the briefest of looks and a nod.  “Looks like the bleeding has stopped.  We can take care of that while we wait for radiation to come get them.”

He turned back to you.  “Afraid we are going to keep you from dinner for a bit longer,” he told you.

“It's ok,” you whispered. 

It took another hour, but you found yourself stitched , bandaged, scanned and short a few vials of blood.  You and Sy sat in the room, talking about which fast food to grab on your way back to his place when Dr. Brock and your new favorite nurse returned.  “We have the results from your scan and your blood work,” he told you as he sat down in front of the computer.  Sy’s hand gently squeezed your uninjured hand while the doctor logged in and pulled up your chart.  “Ok,” he paused as he read.  “Your CT scan came back normal.  Nothing unusual in your brain.”

“That's good.”

He nodded as he continued to look at his results.  “There’s a few things in your blood work I’d like to talk to you about.  Your glucose was concerningly down.” 

 “We were in the process of making dinner,” Sy tried.  

“No it was more than just one missed meal,” the doctor told him.

You avoid looking at Sy out of guilt.  ”I may have missed a few meals today.”

“There's only three to miss,” Sy sounded upset, and your stomach flipped.  “How many did you miss?”

“All of them...?” you stated uncertain, again. 

“And the past few days?” the doctor asked.  

You shrugged and looked sheepishly at him.  “A few...”

“Your blood work says more than ‘a few’,” he said sternly but gently.  “And your urinalysis says you are severely dehydrated.” He looked at you.  “How much water do you have every day?”

“Water?” you lamely asked 

“Yes, plain water.  Maybe with some lemon or bubbles in it, but just water?”

“Not much.  I’m more of a coffee kind of girl,” you tried to tell him, aiming for a joke but it falling flat on your audience.

“I’m going to need you to up your intake of water by a lot.”

“For how long?”

“For always,” he looked at you.  “Human bodies need water to survive.” he glanced quickly at the screen before turning back to you.  “How has your depression and anxiety been lately?”  

Well shit.  You looked guiltily at Sy again before answering.  “It's been better.”

“On a scale of 1-5,  l one being the lowest you’ve been and 5 being the best feeling ever, where have you been lately?

Another sideways glance at Sy before answering.  “A 0.5?”

“I see,” the doctor said and typed a few things.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sy asked, sounding more than a little hurt.

The shrug you give him does nothing to remove the look from his face.  

“What can I do for them, Doc?” he asked, his eyes never leaving your face.

You opened your mouth to protest but Dr. Brock beat you to it. “That’s up to them as to what they need. But open communication is a good start.”  That was directed at you.  “And reassuring them they are worth taking care of themselves.”  That was directed at Sy.

“I can handle that,” your boyfriend stated.  

“Glad to hear it.  Nurse Joy will get you your instructions and get you checked out.  You can have your GP pull the stitches in 14 days.  And go over your mental health needs with them too, please.”

You just nodded.  

“Take care of each other.”  And he was gone out the door.  

The ride home was as silent as the ride to the ER but for different reasons.  You felt the anger rolling off Sy.  You were ashamed at having your mental health issues revealed to him in such a manner.  This relationship was still too new and now you were afraid he was going to ditch you and run for the hills.

“You can just drop me at my car in your driveway and I’ll head home,” you surmised you had fully ruined your date night if not your whole relationship.

“What?” Sy sounded confused.  “No.” He pulled his eyes from the road for a second to look at you.  If you weren't wrong, he looked hurt again.  “We are grabbing dinner and then we are gonna talk about what is going on in that beautiful head of yours.”

“Look if you wanna break up with me-”

“What kind of assholes have you dated, sweetheart?” he asked angrily and your mouth audibly snapped shut followed by a soft sniffle.  He DID think you were an idiot and he was going to ditch you tonight.  You knew it.  Trouble was he held you hostage until he returned you to your car.  And the sound of your next sniffle, Sy hit his blinker and pulled the truck into the first parking lot on his right,parking his truck across 4 spots before turning in his seat to look at you, his hand landing on your forearm. “Please talk to me,” he softly said.  “Whatever it is, I'm here.”

“You hate me,” you asserted.   “I’m a horrible person.  And now you know the truth about me.”

Sy’s hand flew up to the ceiling of the truck and flipped the light on and watched you wiped at your tears.  “Did I say any of that?” he asked. “Ever.”  

You shook your head.  “No but you probably are thinking about it now that you know.”

“Know what? That you have a mental illness that makes your life hard to navigate?”

“Yeah.” you sniffled. 

“For fuck’s sake, darlin’, do you know how many of my men have mental illnesses, both diagnosed and not?  And I trust them literally with my life,” Sy tried again, agitation just on the edge of his voice.  He took a breath and tried another time.  “Sweetness, whatever you have going on , I ain't lying when I tell you I’m here for you, for all of it.:”

“But-”

“No buts, gorgeous, you aren't getting rid of me that easily,” he insisted, giving you a small smile, which you did not return.  “Unless you want me to go.  I hope you don't.  You seemed like you were enjoying our evening tonight before your swan dive.” You smiled at that.  “But if you want out, let's talk about that and I’ll try to convince you to stay so I can fix whatever it is you don't like but I do not want out.  I make that call, not you,” he asserted gently.  

You sat in stunned silence for a moment.  All your standard cookie cutter responses to try to convince someone you were a horrible person died on your tongue, leaving you with nothing to say.  

At another beat of silence, Sy grabbed his phone from the center console.  “Do you want pizza or tacos for dinner?”

~~~~~~~~~

Once you were safely at his house with your dinner, Sy left you at the kitchen table as he took an exuberant Aika outside to potty and chase a ball around for a few minutes.  By the time he returned, you had set the table and were in the process of cleaning up the mess you had left on his floor, on his counter, your blood mixed with food that had been left out too long.  

Sy dramatically sighed when he found you trying to one handedly clean everything up.  “Will you stop before you hurt yourself further?”  You looked at him sheepishly.  “But thank you,” he tried instead.  “Thank you for setting the table.”  He took your good hand and escorted you to the table set with two plates, two glasses of water and the only candle you could find in his house and you were fairly certain it was a gift from his mom or sister.  He pulled your chair out for you and you rolled your eyes as you sat down, but you sat down.  “Good baby,” he mumbled into the crown of your head.  “One slice or two?” he asked, chivalrously opening the box for you to see the options available as if you weren’t in the truck when he ordered your usual pizza.  

“You are a dork,” you informed him. 

“Yes, but I am your dork,” he told you, pulling two pieces to put on your plate.  “Since you didn’t eat at all today, you get two.  And you have to eat them all, even the crusts.  And drink all your water too,” he informed you. 

You made a face at him but nodded, agreeing to those terms.  “Okay, Daddy,” you teasingly mutter as you pull a stringy bit of cheese and pop it in your mouth.  

Sy growled low in his throat, a noise you only heard when you did something he liked in the bedroom and you felt your belly heat at finding a new kind of his and one you didn't object to.  You smirked at him as he sat down, your focus now on his darkening eyes. “You wanna play with Daddy, little one?” he menacingly asked you.  You nodded enthusiastically, your ravenous hunger shifting from the pizza to the man in front of you.  

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes, Daddy.” you started to rise from the table to move towards him.  

“Sit your pretty ass down,” he commanded without raising his voice.  You felt yourself grow hotter at his tone, immediately and unthinkingly settling back into your spot.  “You will eat everything on your plate, or you will not leave this table, am I clear?”   Normally you would balk at such a statement but now you just nodded.   “I need words, little one.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good baby,” he commended.  “You will also drink everything in your glass, do you understand?”  You lost focus, you wondered if this is the tone he took with his men and if so did any of them get turned on as you were right now.  “Hello, pretty baby?” Sy’s voice broke through your wandering thoughts.  

“Yes Daddy, I mean Sir.  I mean Daddy,” you stuttered, unsure what title to use, both seeming fitting at this moment. 

“I see that attention is a problem for you.  So let me try a different approach,” he asserted.  “If you have everything on your plate, drink all the water I give you and take your daily meds if you haven't yet,” he raised a questioning eyebrow at you, knowing you usually packed your medications with you when you came over for date night.  “You can cum tonight.  If you don’t do those things, all you’ll get to do is help me cum, am I clear?”

You swallowed loudly, knowing he was not at all joking in her terms.  “Yes, Daddy.”  And you took a big bite of cooling pizza.

“Good baby.”

General Tag List: @ellethespaceunicorn @littleone65, @mysweetlittledesire, @jvanilly, @identity2212,

@avengersfan25, @foxyjwls007 @gummydummy19 , @cynic-spirit , @rosecentury

HC Tag LIst: @m07belzen, @used-to-be-bourbonwithice, @hawklin, @geralts-yenn @summersong69,

@sillyrabbit81 @mistressmkay

Syverson tag list: @mrsevans90 @wunder-blunder

Please let me know if you want to be added to (or removed from) any of them. AND Just cuz I think you'll be interested in seeing it I am gonna tag @deandoesthingstome

[ckret2]

Chapter 37 of human Bill is this close to wriggling out of the Mystery Shack, featuring: Bill getting alone with Wendy and chatting about teen stuff.

Meanwhile, downstairs,

Bill meandered through the house, munching on a jelly, hot sauce, jalapeño, and sprinkles sandwich. 

Everyone was out, the Mystery Shack was closed for the day... Bill was pretty sure this was the first time he'd ever been completely alone in the house since his capture.

What sort of mischief could he get up to?

He headed upstairs to change out of his wet clothes; nice not to have to do it in the tiny curtained bathroom for the sake of the nudity-fearing easily-scandalized humans. He hated to peel off his hoodie—even though it didn't quite make him feel like himself, it at least did a terrific job of hiding how unlike himself he was—but if it wasn't dried out by the time the older humans got home, they might confiscate it to launder it, and then it would be even longer until he got it back.

The things he had to worry about these days were so pathetic.

To go with his makeshift bed, Bill had recently been generously granted a makeshift dresser: an ancient apple crate into which he could shove his ill-gotten clothing. His entire wardrobe combined barely filled half of it. He mourned for some of the garments he and Stan hadn't managed to smuggle out. Galaxy camo. Puking kangaroo jacket. Rainbow cheetah-tiger print leggings. When he took over this place again, he was making himself a full set of dining chairs with real human legs, and then he was putting those leggings on all the chair legs. 

He pulled on a tank top and fresh leggings, spread his wet clothing out to dry, and went looking for trouble.

This was a perfect opportunity to get Soos's electric piano out of the floor room; knowing a piano was right there was driving Bill crazy, but he didn't want the humans to overhear him playing and didn't want to lower himself to asking for headphones.

Or he could have a solo dance party. His body ached to dance. He played music with Mabel from time to time, but they had to keep the volume down to levels nobody else would complain about, and he wasn't about to risk dancing when his jailers could yell at him for it. He was pretty sure the boombox was in the kids' bedroom; but after the damage Dr. Illing left on the door, Bill might be able to get in if he could figure out how to get through it. The dentist had managed to get through with the same curse, after all, hadn't he?

Although that gave Bill another thought.

A couple of interesting things had happened on the night the dentist had broken in.

First: Stan had shoved Bill, back first, through the door from the living room into the gift shop. Bill didn't know how Stan did this. All he knew was that the door was closed, Bill was shoved, and somehow the door... permitted him through, and then he was on the other side. He didn't understand it. But it happened.

And second: Stan told the dentist that that door was load bearing, and then had told Bill he'd only said that to keep the dentist from touching it or else he might accidentally figure out a way through, even when he didn't know how it opened.

What did this mean? Bill wasn't quite sure. It was all pretty mysterious. But, it sounded like... it was possible to get through the door... without... opening it?

It didn't make sense to him. But maybe it didn't need to make sense. Maybe it was good that it didn't make sense—because the curse prevented doors from making sense to him, so maybe the only way around them was embracing a solution that seemed like nonsense. Maybe if he recreated the conditions he'd experienced when he was pushed... and if he focused not on the door, not on opening it, but on just... trying to walk into the next room, completely ignoring the existence of the door... perhaps something would happen?

He eyed the door thoughtfully, chewing his jelly-jalapeño sandwich. It was worth trying. He wondered whether tripping on the step was a necessary part of whatever process had gotten him through the door, or if it was optional. He decided he'd try it without the tripping and only put it back in if that didn't work.

He turned his back to the door, shut his eyes, and walked backwards.

There might be some validity to this method. There were some places that could only be accessed by walking backwards. Some fairy domains, for instance. The hidden fairy court outside Portland. He flinched when his back hit the door; he told himself to ignore the door—don't think about the door—and keep walking. He wasn't trying to open the door, he told himself—he wasn't trying to do anything with the door—he was merely trying to walk to the next room. The door didn't matter to him.

And somehow, he kept moving.

The door simply let him through.

He didn't stop walking until he felt a rug under him and knew he must have made it into the gift shop. He opened his eyes and stared in amazement at the door, gently swinging closed again in his wake. What happened there? It was magic. It had to be magic. Were doors even real? Were they just illusions that looked and felt like solid walls until you tried to pass through them? Was that what the curse had forced him forget—did doors not really exist?

He laughed in confusion. "What...?"

"Oh hey, how'd you get in here?"

Bill nearly jumped out of his shoes. He whipped around to face the voice. Wendy was standing under the curtain into the museum.

Right. Yes. An explanation. How did he get in here. "I genuinely and honestly do not know!"

Wendy nodded. "Okay."

"What are you doing here? I thought the shack was closed."

"Hanging out with the baby dragons," Wendy said. "Sometimes when the shack's closed and I need a break from the house, I kinda... use my key to let myself in and hang out with the displays?"

Bill nodded slowly. "All right." He hadn't kept a close eye on the Corduroys once Raina was gone, but he had some ideas why Wendy would want to get away.

"Please don't tell Soos I snuck in?" Wendy asked. "I don't think he'd mind that much, but—still. It's a... It's not a work thing. I don't want my boss to know."

"Don't tell Soos I snuck in?" Bill countered.

Wendy pursed her lips. "All right, that's fair."

So, here they both were. Not exactly what Bill was planning for the day; but, it meant he could have a little uninterrupted conversation with Wendy without his jailers knowing. It was an invaluable opportunity. Bill would have to use all of his cunning to spin this situation to his advantage. He had to choose his next words extremely carefully.

Bill said, "Hey, as long as we're here, wanna chill on the roof or something?"

Wendy considered that. She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."

Nailed it. Wendy was such a pushover.

####

Wendy led the way up the ladder. "Guess you need me to open the lids for you, huh?"

Bill laughed "'Lids'?"

"Shut up, you know what I mean. The—" Wendy gestured at the trap doors leading to the roof. "The roof lids."

"Yeah, I'd really appreciate if you'd get the roof lids."

Bill was slower to climb up. He'd never used a ladder in this body before; and as he climbed over worn mossy shingles he could faintly see three places where he would lose his footing and fall, and he had to creep carefully around them to avoid those futures. But then, at last, he was on the roof hangout spot.

"What the heck is that stink?" Wendy asked. "It smells like an outhouse crawled up here to die."

"You remember that giant eye-bat Soos had to chase off—?"

"Oh, yeah. He closed the shack and gave me the day off while you guys were dealing with it. I didn't know the repellant smelled this bad."

The only other time Bill had ever been up here was when he was haunting Dipper's dream, and of course that hadn't been the actual roof. It was a much cheerier spot than it had seemed in a midnight dream. Feel that breeze. Look at that sunlight.

And, for the first time in nearly a month, Bill was outdoors without any kind of cuff to restrict his movement.

Granted, he was also thirty feet off the ground, in a body that was controlled by gravity, with no way to climb down. But still.

"Dude, you look like you're worshipping the sun," Wendy said.

Bill was standing at the edge of the roof, facing the sun, arms outstretched, head tipped back. He supposed he did. "We're distant cousins. Inside I'm a hundred billion trillion suns."

Wendy laughed. "Listen to you. You sound like—some kind of hippie or something." Wendy took a seat on the pool chair. "You're still grounded or whatever, right? That's crazy for a full adult."

Bill laughed wryly. "Yeah. You can't imagine." For lack of another chair, he sat and leaned back against the slope of the roof. "It's condescending as all get out, and I hate it. But, hey." He shrugged. "It could be worse. I mean, they haven't tried to kill me yet."

Wendy laughed. "'Yet'."

"Yet. So I guess I can put up with it until..." Until what? "Until I... figure out somewhere else to go."

"Ugh, I hear that," Wendy said. "I'm dying to get out of this dumb town, it's so claustrophobic—and I've only been stuck here half as long as you. But I'm, like, sixteen, I can't just leave." She sat up, gesturing off into the distance. "But as soon as I finish high school, I'm taking off for Portland."

She settled back on the chair. "What about you? Where are you going when you get out of here."

"All over the planet!" He laughed. "I'm not kidding, I'm going everywhere. I've waited an eternity to see the world in person—rather than just seeing it vicariously through images and what people I meet remember about it."

"Oh yeah, I get that," Wendy said. "My mom had a postcard of Death Valley that's objectively super boring—it's just this desert with a wall of rock in the distance—but as a kid, I was fascinated by it anyway? This little glimpse into another world? It doesn't seem like a real place, so flat without any trees. I'm used to this." She gestured out at the mountains cradling Gravity Falls. "I wanna see places like that, it's just so different."

"Bet you'd fit in around there. I hear there's some tough gals living near Death Valley." And most of them prayed to golden triangular statues.

Bill stared at the sky a moment, willing a small cloud not to block his sunlight. It ignored his commands and its edge brushed over the sun's perimeter. "I'm not a big fan of flat places," he said thoughtfully. "Honestly—sure, I complain, but I really do like this stupid hick town. I like mountains and trees and weirdos."

"We've got a lotta weirdos."

"Highest volume of weirdos per capita in the United States. Gun to my head, if I had to choose any one place in the universe to be stuck... it actually might be right here." At least if he'd had the option of choosing captivity without the pending threat of execution. "But—if I had to choose between this one place and the entire rest of the universe? I'd choose the universe."

"Yeah, wow, that's deep." Wendy nodded. "Can't relate though. I flipping hate this place."

Bill cackled. "Oh, go on, tell me how you really feel!"

"I'm serious!" She got to her feet, staring off toward the idea of Portland in the distance. "I'm getting a job and starting college in Portland and leaving! I'm never cleaning up after my dad and brothers again! And they'll just have to deal with it."

"What if your friends stay here?" Bill asked. "Are any of them as eager to escape?"

"Eh. I figure everyone kinda loses touch with their high school friends and just makes new friends in college. Right?"

"Wow! Cold." He was a little impressed.

Wendy was silent for a moment, contemplating the horizon. "Honestly, I kinda feel like I'm... outgrowing them. Or—maybe not yet, but I will by the time I graduate. You know?"

"I get that! It's hard to be the coolest kid in the crew. No one can live up to your amazing example, but you've gotta put up with them anyway."

"Pfff. Shut up, man."

"But hey—listen, I've been where you are. I've gone through this. When I left school, I never spoke to a single kid I used to know ever again. I didn't want to. I don't regret it."

"I keep half forgetting that you're out of college and everything. No offense, but you look like, fifteen."

"Eh. Everyone thinks I look younger than I am."

Wendy sat again on the end of the pool chair. "What was the place you grew up like?"

Bill considered the question for a moment. "Flat."

Wendy laughed. "No wonder you like mountains. Grass is always greener, huh?"

"Sure." The sun was completely covered now. Bill already felt colder.

####

"Come in, come in," Fiddleford said, holding open the door and waving his guests in. "Welcome to my workshop!"

The Northwest Manor had an enormous formal dining room with warm brown marble tiles, festooned in rich red velvet curtains, overlooked by the taxidermy head of an elephant that Preston used to boast his grandfather had personally hunted (with the help of some hired locals, who'd taken care of tedious unimportant details like "setting up the camp" and "finding the elephant" and "shooting the gun").

Fiddleford had decided the marble floor made this the least flammable room in the house, tore down the curtains, named the elephant Johnny, shoved the long dining table against one wall to serve as a lab table, and hauled over all his makeshift engineering equipment from the junkyard in Tate's pickup. Now, the original purpose of the room was all but invisible beneath what was unmistakably a redneck mad scientist's laboratory. An oil drum in the corner could be brewing anything from moonshine to rocket fuel. Fiddleford's raccoon wife peered down at the visitors from atop a rumbling machine made from three cars' chassis.

"Sit, sit!" Fiddleford swept grease-smeared papers and half-finished doohickeys off four former dining chairs, and dragged the chairs around a three-legged folding table. Stan, Ford, and Soos took seats. Ford leaned over to see whether anything was propping up the legless corner, and only found an abandoned paper wasp nest on the bottom of the table.

Fiddleford crouched barefoot on his seat. "Thank you all for coming."

"So what's all this about?" Stan asked. "All Ford could say is you might be on the verge of a breakthrough on the Bill gun."

"Am I ever!" Fiddleford smacked the table excitedly. All three guests grabbed it to keep it from tipping over. "I've been cogitatin' up a way to remake its fuel!"

"And you've found a way?" Ford asked.

"Why, you bet I have maybe!"

Stan said, "You're still working on the fuel? Is that the only thing we're missing? Last year I stole a bunch of nuclear waste to power the portal, is that not an option?"

"Unfortunately, no," Ford said. "The Quantum Destabilizer can only be fueled by a paradoxical element that's inert when observed but radioactive when unobserved—but it doesn't exist in this universe. It's called NowUSeeitNowUDontium."

Stan grimaced. "I can guess who named it."

"It's clever," Soos said. "Very evocative."

Stan asked, "So, we're here to help make an element? Just so you know, I flunked chemistry, but I didn't do half bad at a community college course on auto mechanics." Stan looked around at the cobbled-together machinery filling the room. "Just in case that's relevant here."

Fiddleford waved off Stan's offer. "Naw, Soos can handle the equipment just fine."

Soos saluted. "You've got it!"

"I need you two for something else." Fiddleford hopped out of his chair, grabbed Stan and Ford's arms, and tugged them from their seats. "This way! Bring your chairs!" Soos quickly followed them, bringing his chair too.

As they crossed the room, Ford asked Stan, "You took a community college course on auto mechanics?"

"Eh. Thought it might help me figure out how your dumb portal works."

Ford smiled crookedly. "Did it?"

"Not one bit!"

Fiddleford led them to a machine that looked like a combination between a trash can, a lawnmower engine, and a rollercoaster-like maze of old lead pipes. He pulled the cord to start the engine, and the whole contraption rumbled ominously. "This is my miniature particle accelerator!"

"What's it do?" Stan asked.

"It accelerates miniature particles!" Fiddleford pointed halfway across the room at several CRT computer screens welded atop a sideways filing cabinet atop a sideways refrigerator. Wires spilled out of the cabinet drawers. "Soos can monitor the whole thing from over yonder."

"Aw, sweet." Soos put his chair in front of the monitors and sat. "Check it out, dudes, I'm like a nineties hacker!" He pulled a keyboard and an old video game joystick out of the fridge and pretended to type lightning fast. "Boom. I'm in."

Fiddleford pointed at the trash can. "And in here I've recreated the environmental conditions of the Dontium's native paradox universe."

"Amazing," Ford said, crouching down to inspect the pipes. "How did you do that?"

"I stuck a cat in a box and stuck the box in the trash can."

"I see."

Stan eyed the trash can, vibrating like mad from the lawnmower engine. "Is, uh, the cat alive?"

"Maybe!"

"Should... should we check?"

"Stanley, please," Ford said. "The cat-in-a-box thought experiment is a very unstable paradox. It's only good for a few days at most before breaking down; we can't risk disrupting the delicate conditions inside the box."

Stan blinked, baffled. "All right. Sure." He shrugged. "I was never much of a cat guy, anyway."

"Sitcher chairs either side of the accelerator, here," Fiddleford said. "Now! Dontium's properties change dependin' on whether it's observed or not. To synthesize it, it needs to be observed, and not. You followin' so far?"

"Yes," Ford said. "No," said Stan.

"Perfect!" Fiddleford clapped his hands on their shoulders. "You're doing stupendous so far. Now, in the paradox universe, I reckon one fella could just doublethink his way into producin' Dontium. But we've got to do it with two brains that are as near to identical as possible. Which is why I need you two! Twin brains are as close as we're gonna get if we don't wanna wait to grow a couple clones."

Stan gave Fiddleford a skeptical frown.

Fiddleford turned to Ford. "I need you lookin' right at the particle accelerator, at all times, to keep it under observation—but not think about it! The longer you can do that, the more the potential energy of the thoughts you're not thinkin'll build up, and since you know more about Dontium than Stanley does, you can generate more potential energy faster."

Stan's skeptical frown deepened.

Fiddleford went on, "And Stan, I need you to not look at the accelerator at all costs, but don't stop thinkin' about it once. You 'n' Ford's thoughts and non-thoughts will work like the plus 'n' minus poles on a magnet; it'll attract the mental energy outta Ford, into the accelerator between you two, and jump start the matter synthesizin' process." Fiddleford pointed at a hose snaking across the floor to the fridge. "And that'll pump the fresh Dontium into an old milk jug in the fridge! Soos'll keep an eye on it so it don't turn radioactive."

Soos fished around in the fridge until he found the jug, with the hose duct taped to the opening. A gas gauge removed from a car was attached to the jug. "Efficient," Soos said. "Sorry—you said so it doesn't turn radio-what?"

"Don't worry, you'll do terrific!"

"Heh, okay!"

If Stan's skeptical frown got any deeper, he'd pull a muscle. He looked to Ford for backup.

Ford was stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, I see. It's all scientifically sound."

Stan threw up his hands in defeat. "Okay. Fine. So all I have to do is look away from the particle-whatever while thinking about it while Ford looks at it without thinking about it? That's it?"

"That's it," Fiddleford said. "But! If you start or stop thinkin' about Dontium before we've got a critical mass in the jug, it'll all vanishify, and we'll have to start over!"

"Eh." Stan shrugged. "How hard can it be to keep thinking about your weird science project while I'm sitting right next to it?"

Ford considered the challenge of deliberately trying to not think about something while he was staring straight at it, and frowned. "I'm... going to need a distraction."

####

Dipper had circled half of Main Street, digging through the businesses' dumpsters in search of a sleeping nest of Fremont Nightwigglers, before it occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, Bill had lied to him about where they nested. And now he was sweaty, bruised, and stunk to high heaven.

Well, great.

He dragged himself home, braced for Bill to mock him for falling for such an obvious lie and Mabel to tease him for smelling so bad.

But when he reached the shack, there was no sign of them.

Waddles was still contentedly wallowing in the mud around Stan's (really bizarrely painted) car. That wasn't necessarily weird; over the school year Mabel had gotten used to Waddles letting himself in and out of the yard by the back door flap, and now she was convinced that he'd grown big enough that the local wildlife had more to fear from him than he did from them. But even so, if Mabel and Bill had gone inside, it was weird that she'd leave Waddles outside unless she was coming back out. Dipper patted Waddles as he passed—Waddles curiously sniffed at his clothes—and headed into the house.

"Hello? Mabel?" Dipper called. "I'm back."

There was no response.

"Mabel?" After a pause, Dipper tried, less certainly, "Bill?"

And still silence. All the lights were out. The shack was deathly still.

The hairs on the back of Dipper's arms stood up. "Mabel?! Mabel!"

He ran to the office and called Mabel's cell phone, only to hear the credits theme from Believe In Yourself—her latest ringtone—playing down the hall. He ran to the living room. Mabel had left her phone on the table next to the chess board.

Maybe Dipper could believe Mabel had gone out without taking her phone. And he could just barely believe she might take Bill away from the shack, although even for her Dipper found that a stretch. But even at her most naive and absent-minded, he couldn't believe that she'd do both. She wouldn't go out alone with Bill Cipher without a way to call for help.

Which left only one other option. Something had gone terribly wrong.

"MABEL!" He tore through the house, opening every door, checking every room twice, every corner and cranny where Bill might be skulking or Mabel might be tied up. He took the elevator down to Ford's study—nothing—and then down to the basement, in case Bill was trying to repeat his stunt from the first day of summer break.

Nothing.

Where had Bill taken her?

####

"... and Tambry and Robbie have been insufferable all year," Wendy went on, capping off her list of recent grievances with all her friends. "First they break up in the first week of school, then we all hang out over Labor Day weekend and by the end of it they're making heart eyes at each other again, they said it was just the stress of a new school year that made them fight? But then they started fighting again and broke up a month later, then after Thanksgiving we find out they're back together, then right before school lets out they break up again, then suddenly they make up for Christmas and spend the rest of winter break glued to each other, then break up again..." She flung her hands out in exasperation. "And then just—kept doing that! They've been back together since school got out and they seem fine, but I'm just waiting for the next I-don't-know-what-I-saw-in-him text from Tambry..."

"Spring break?"

"What?"

"Did they get back together over spring break?"

"Yeah, we barely even saw them. How'd you know?"

"I have an instinct for these things," Bill said airily. That was one heck of a Summer Love potion overdose. Sometimes a large dose could linger through the next summer vacation or two in weakened form—but to be strong enough to hit every vacation in between, including the single day Monday holidays? Wow. Shooting Star really went to town on those two.

"If they break up again, I'm gonna start spraying them with water whenever they look at each other," Wendy said. "This is their last chance. I am not putting up with their drama anymore."

"I'll give 'em until the end of August," Bill said.

Wendy looked at him suspiciously.

"Let me know how close I get!"

"Maybe we should set up a betting pool," Wendy muttered. "Will you still be in the shack in August?"

Bill huffed. "I hope not." He just hoped he'd be leaving as a triangle rather than as a corpse.

"Man—all this talking about being stuck in town and the guys acting stupid is making me restless." Wendy stood, stretched, and pulled out her phone. "Sorry for dumping all my emotional junk on you. You sorta give off these... worldly, mentor-y vibes?"

Bill's chest puffed up. "Please," he said magnanimously, "feel free to talk to me about anything. I'm always happy to lend an ear." After all, who knew what might end up useful?

"I think I'm gonna see if the gang wants to hang." (And here Bill thought she'd outgrown them. But of course, without them, who else would she hang out with? It wasn't that bad, being the coolest kid in a pack of nobodies. Good for the ego. Better than being alone.) Wendy nodded toward the ground. "You wanna sneak out and come with?"

It was tempting. It was so tempting. But he had no idea when Stan and Ford would be back—or where in town they were right now—and if they found out he'd managed to get out of the shack, he'd probably be locked in the cellar until his execution day. He couldn't be stupid. He could only afford to risk it if he was making an escape... and if he tried to escape now, where would he go? Where could he go? With no ID, no money, no phone, nothing but the clothes on his back and a wretched body?

His best odds of getting back to the Nightmare Realm were in the basement of this very building; Kryptos wouldn't answer his calls; and he didn't have any way to reach any of his human followers from here. He wasn't even sure how to look them up. He could list off the dreams, life histories, and phobias of a dozen of his most devout worshipers; but did he know any of their phone numbers?

"Nah," Bill said. "Can't risk it." He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to live with this much fear. (He told himself he wasn't afraid.) "But, thanks for the offer. Maybe the jailers will lighten up and figure out it's not the end of the world if I go outside for a couple of hours, then we can talk."

Wendy shook her head, giving him a worried look. "Dude, the way you keep talking, I'm pretty sure this whole thing is this close to being illegal. Are you sure you're—you know—okay here?"

Oh, he loved that. She'd known the Mystery Shack household for years, and yet she was almost ready to take his side against them. He'd love to say he wasn't okay, please get him out of here—

But then what? Then she'd confront the Pines, and the Pines would tell her who he was... He held back a sigh. "Sure I'm okay! Hey—if I was in any real trouble, don't you think I'd have said something to Darryl at Rainbow Club by now? Come on."

"I guess," Wendy said; and then pressed, "You're sure, though?"

He'd worried her too much. Oh, this would be great if he were in any position to try to escape. As it was, though... how did he walk this back? 

Come up with a story. Something believable.

Bill sighed heavily. "Okay, listen. Here's the thing. Thirty years ago, I... had a miscommunication with Ford—you've heard about part of that mess—and before I could straighten things out with him, everything with the portal happened, and it festered thirty years before we met again. He's gotten paranoid! That's what all this is really about: his paranoia. So yeah, sure, he's taking this waaay too far." He rolled his eyes. "Buuut, if I want to get his trust back, I have to play along with the crazy rules he thinks will keep him safe. And I do want his trust back. I like having him as a friend." And that was true. It was true, wasn't it? Sure, it was now. He decided it was.

Wendy nodded slowly. "Hey," she said. "Quick question. Have you ever heard of Stockholm syndrome."

Bill laughed. "Oh, come on! I don't like him that much."

And now that Bill had laid the groundwork, if he decided later that he could make use of Wendy's help, all he'd have to do was say Ford had finally tipped over the edge and he needed help escaping. Maybe that would even slow Wendy down from believing the Pines if they tried to tell her who he really was.

They headed back down into the gift shop, Wendy taking the lead and Bill trying his best not to fall down the ladder.

Bill tensed at the ghostly sight of Dipper trailing through the gift shop, in and out of the museum, and through the vending machine; but a second glance confirmed he was seeing an afterimage, not a premonition. Dipper wouldn't be back upstairs for a few minutes. What a narrow miss; he couldn't imagine how much trouble he'd be in if Dipper had noticed the roof lids left open. 

"Oh, cool, Nate replied. Got at least one person to hang out with." Wendy stuffed her phone back in her pocket. "Hey—if you ever need a break from the craziness around here, you know how to reach me." She paused. "By walking backwards through the employee door, I guess."

"Ha! I'll keep that in mind." And maybe it would be useful someday.

Wendy waved as she headed out the gift shop exit. Bill returned the wave as he—thinking not about the door, thinking only about the living room and about walking straight into it as though nothing were in his way—backed through the doorway and into the next room.

He was getting good at this. No door would ever hold him again.

He meandered upstairs to check on his drying clothes, and found someone had left the bathroom door open. Had Dipper done that? He'd probably needed a shower after Bill had sent him digging through every dumpster in town. Ha. Well, good; Bill needed a quick shower too, lest the lingering stench of eye-bat repellant give away that he'd been outside while the jailers were gone.

He crept around the ajar door, peeled off his clothes, and climbed in the shower.

####

Dipper's foot bounced anxiously the whole elevator ride back up to the gift shop.

Not here. Bill and Mabel were clearly gone. Bill must have overpowered her while they were outside (and Dipper wasn't there to protect Mabel), and then—what—carried her off somewhere? Where else might Bill go?

Dipper ran outside—without noticing the breeze stirring the curtain that hid the roof ladder.

He circled the shack searching for any sign of where they might have gone; and then he grabbed his bike and pedaled frantically into the woods.

####

(Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, I'd appreciate a comment! Next chapter is The Stupidest Chapter You've Ever Read. This is a boast.)

[lady-harrowhark]

If anyone remembers/still cares about my bizarro jaw bone spur debacle from this summer, I have an update for you! I'm fine now, this is all past tense, but probably don't read this if you don't want to hear about dental/bone stuff.

So to recap, earlier this summer I felt some irritation in my mouth and when I checked it out in the mirror, there was a tiny little off-white shard of something sticking out of my gums on the inside of my lower molars. I figured it was a little piece of food that poked me, but when I touched it, it 1) was hard and sharp, 2) would not move, and 3) hurt so bad that it about knocked the wind out of me. Even in the moment I knew this sounded dramatic and highly improbable, but I was immediately Very Sure that it was a little shard of bone.

By the next morning it was so swollen that I couldn't see if it was still there, and after four or five days I ended up calling around and found a dentist who could get me in to take a look because my usual dentist at the student health center didn't have any immediate openings. By that point I was taking Tylenol + ibuprofen around the clock as well as using Orajel numbing gel and icing it, but nothing was touching the pain. Also, the side of my face and down into my neck was starting to swell, and sleeping and eating was extremely difficult due to the pain.

The dentist I ended up seeing was very friendly and pleasant but ultimately pretty dismissive. Nothing showed up on an X-ray but he could see a spot of "hyper-irritation" where I'd had the little shard, and he said it was possible that a "bone spur" worked its way out through my gums. Usually that only happens after oral surgery or an injury, but I'd also had a dental cleaning a few weeks prior that was weirdly aggressive and left that part of my gums bleeding and sore for several days, so it was possible that was enough to dislodge something left over from when I had my wisdom teeth removed years and years ago. Or maybe it was just a little cut. He then told me to alternate the Tylenol and ibuprofen instead of taking them simultaneously and to call back in two weeks if it wasn't better or if it started getting hard to eat or sleep. I reiterated that it already was hard to eat and sleep, and asked if I was understanding him correctly that he wanted me to take LESS pain medication. He paused, and then said to call back in one week if it wasn't better.

So obviously I went out to my car and cried. I have a very skewed pain tolerance from a lifetime of chronic illness experiences and I'm a very smiley and friendly person in general, so I do acknowledge that I don't usually LOOK like I'm in pain, especially to someone who's only just met me. But for me, the fact that I even made an appointment for it is a giveaway that this is like, off the charts levels of pain. I called my dad since he's a doctor and he was able to prescribe some antibiotics for me just in case, and walked me through how to adjust the ibuprofen dose to be the equivalent of prescription strength. I'd decided that if it wasn't any better by the next day, I was going to urgent care. Thankfully it was a smidge better, and over the next maybe two or three weeks it mostly went away, although for while I could still feel sort of a divot on my gum where the bone spur had been.

ANYWAY yesterday I had my regular dentist's visit, the first time I'd been in since then. I told the hygienist about it, and she seemed kind of alarmed, especially because she could also still feel the little spot on my gum. The dentist ALSO seemed pretty shocked and could feel where it was as well.

So here's the update: I apparently have a little bit of extra bone built up around my back lower molars, which is unusual but not unheard of, and mine is very very mild in comparison to what you see when you Google "mandibular tori" - mine is really just that it's slightly rounded or mildly bowed right below my molars rather than going straight down to the bottom of my mouth as is typical, minor enough that no dentists have ever mentioned it to me. I never even realized that wasn't what everyone's were like until this spring when a massage therapist I saw for TMJ stuff mentioned that she noticed it. So in general that's not any sort of issue for me, EXCEPT that the dentist yesterday said that the gum tissue can be pretty thin where it has to stretch over the extra bone, which can also be kind of pointy or sharp.

Given that plus the fact that I hadn't had any sort of recent injury or surgery in the area like you would expect for a bone spur, she said it was more likely that I somehow scraped or cut the gum right down to the bone.

It wasn't a bone spur. That was my literal, actual jaw bone showing through my gums.

[looney-mooney]

Spoilers for the finale of Fairly Oddparents: A New Wish under the cut cuz I need to RANT about this okay???

Just watched the season finale of FOP a new wish and uhhh. Why does it Suck??? Like for real, WHY does it SUCK???

I’m. They did my boy Peri DIRTY, first of all. Seriously, WHY was there SO MUCH gross-out humor with him? SECOND of all, they didn’t even BRING UP the fact that if Peri dies, so does Irep. Like, that wasn’t even a THING that was MENTIONED. THIRD of all, they really just DID NOT flesh out the character interactions to the same level that we’ve been getting throughout the rest of the show? Like, at ALL???

Also, I’m. Okay. Dev and Irep’s interactions in Irep’s introduction episode were SO FUN, but in this special their chemistry is fucking NOTHING. Why does Irep get along better with Dale Dimmadome??? It would be so, SO MUCH MORE FUN if Irep hated Dale’s fucking GUTS. If he saw Vicky in him. I was excited for this special SPECIALLY BECAUSE Dev and Irep were so much fun to watch the first time around, but this one just FLOPPED.

FOURTH OF ALL, DEV DOESN’T GET TO REMEMBER ANYTHING? WHAT??? BUT HE WAS THE MOST INTERESTING PART OF THE SERIES??? WHAT’S PERI GONNA DO NOW, BE A DENTIST??? I THOUGHT HE CARED ABOUT HIS KID! LIKE FOR REAL!!! THE MOMENT WHEN HE SAID HE CARED ABOUT DEV WAS THE ONLY REAL GOOD MOMENT IN THE ENTIRE FINALE, AND THEY BASICALLY JUST THREW IT AWAY WITH THE ENDGAME!!!

God. Like, I get Dev did something wrong. The narrative wants to punish him, he’ll probably find out somehow later down the line because they can’t just throw him away like that. I GET IT. But like. Okay. Okay.

Here’s how I would fix this.

It’s so fucking easy to do, too. Have Dev wish fairy world back to normal, so that Peri doesn’t die from magical backup. It doesn’t make sense for Wanda to have to be the one to do it, because she’s only not had access to magic for like a DAY, ON TOP OF having granted a BUTTLOAD of wishes JUST THAT MORNING, vs Peri who hasn’t been granting wishes for Dev for a WHILE, Who is VISIBLY DYING THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE EPISODE BECAUSE DEV DOESN’T MAKE WISHES.

THEN, when HAZEL gets to make her rule free wish, have her wish Dev gets to keep Peri anyway. Have her wish for ALL the people who saved Fairyworld to get to remember forever, Dev included, even though he was the one who -

Wait. WAIT. YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD BE SO MUCH MORE FUN???

If Anti-Cosmo and Dale took over the takeover and overthrew their sons. Like, not even maliciously, just in a “we know better than you” sort of way. But then Irep started having Peri’s magical backup affect HIM, too, and Anti-Cosmo dismissed it, thinking the takeover was more important.

Dev’s still mad at Peri, but he DOES care about Irep, so he agrees to reverse the damage so he can make a wish, which would save Peri and therefore also Irep. I would also like it if Peri’s magical backup manifested in more,,, visually subtle ways. Fainting spells, occasional vomiting, loopiness, confetti coming out of orifices, the OCCASIONAL bloating, but treated more like a chronic illness than. Whatever the fuck they actually did in the show. This would set the stakes higher by making it easier for the audience to actually take the danger to Peri’s life seriously. Instead of, you know. Treating Peri dying like a JOKE.

Then Dev would have to work together with Irep, Peri, Hazel, Cosmo and Wanda (maybe even Anti-Wanda, too, since I don’t think she wants her son to die, though I think if she does join it’d be at the last minute) to fix everything. And Hazel could still recruit her friends, but it would have a much tighter focus on this new core squad, and a lot more focus on character-oriented espionage than “rule of cool”ing it. Maybe even have a nod to the fact that Dev and Winn were friends once, too? (Can I get some nuance, can I PLEASE get some nuance???)

I don’t think we actually need to involve earth that much, either. Don’t replace fairies with anti-fairies, just take away fairy magic, introduce the “not using magic is life-threatening to fairies” aspect, with Peri as our main example, and that’s a really good threat on its own.

Then the ENDGAME leading to season 2 could be “Peri and Irep are BOTH Dev’s fairy godparents now, but now Irep has to follow Da Rules the same way any legitimate fairy godparent would. Dev still doesn’t think of himself as being friends with Hazel right now, but he’s happy to lord over the fact that he has two fairies now over her. The show now has room to play in a space where there are limits to the power of the antagonists, and the protagonists only get to be happy because they were able to break da rules in the first place, and now we have to live with that.” A pleasant symmetry that lays down the groundwork for some Actual Narrative Themes, instead of… whatever mess that was.

I mean, god, I’m not even sure I want them to have a season 2. Like. Jesus, the version of this show and its characters that I built up in my head was so much better than the actual show itself turned out to be. And there’s something really sad in that, you know? Like, I loved this show, and I thought it was building up to something really fun and interesting. But it just. God. It fumbled the landing of this first season so hard.

I’m probably still gonna make, like, an illustrated video essay about my version of this finale like a dude bro posting their fanfic to YouTube and calling it a rewrite, but oh my GOD it was BAD and I thought it was gonna be SO GOOD and it WASN’T and AGHHHHHH. I wanna FIX IT.

(What this whole thing really taught me though, is that I should really be focusing more on making my own stuff. I can’t control how a big studio treats the story I want to see, but I CAN control how I write my OWN stories. I’m gonna let the disappointment fuel me to do better)

Ahem. Anyway, thank you for letting me rant, I really fucking needed it after that.

[mainfaggot]

I hope she fails to get into med school and i hope her boyfriend breaks up with her

In my bio lab rn my partner is so fucking annoying she is clearly projecting onto me

[marsipaniscool]

How would you think the pillarmen would react if they had to get wisdom teeth removed. Like, their on that anesthesia and everything lol

HIIIII FRIEND this is so so fun omg!! it’s been a long time since i’ve been under local anaesthetic BUT ill do my best

Kars is a DEMON at the dentist. his teeth are perfect ofc but he can’t stand someone poking around in his mouth. honestly think the only person he would maybe let do it is esidisi but i could see this man gassing himself up and doing his own extraction with some dusty ass mirror😭. honestly think he’s super cuddly when he’s inebriated, holding his fellow pillar men close and cooing over them and how happy they’ll all be once he gets the Aja. also very demanding as always, wants a sip of water and a cold press constantly.

Esidisi is already an emotional nightmare when he’s stone cold sober, but add laughing gas into the mix?? hooo boy. he’s cycling from being so excited about everything he’s yelling, to crying from emotional stimulation, to laughing while crying because Kars’ hair is so beautiful and he’s never seen anything like it. also would be an awful patient when it comes to recovery, homeboy would NOT care about dry sockets😭

Wamuu would be one of those patients who lose fine motor skills when under. poor baby is just trying to pull the blanket up over his chest and smacks himself in the face with both hands. his hair is a mess and he’s just laying there zoned tf out on a bed that’s probably way too small for him, even if it was made by Kars. poor wham is MASSIVE. Kars would probably want to keep his teeth tho, and wham would oblige.

Santana would HAVE to be put completely under. this ankle biting mf would snap anyone’s hand or finger clean off and then absorb it like nothing. when he comes back around though, he’s super slow to come to his senses and, like Wham, really doesn’t have any fine motor control. he’s the reason hospitals give out “fall risk” bracelets after anaesthetic. yeah he fell on a table and absorbed the medical tools. someone please help the speedwagon foundation😭

[littleshopofhorrors-confessions]

au where everything's the same except Orin and Seymore are swapped

Oh man I have so many ideas for this, ill try to keep it short.

So Orin is still a tough guy greaser, but to maintain his image he's a slacker when he's working at the flower shop, hiding his passion for horticulture in the basement where he has a special interest in violent carnivorous plants and exotic species, but he's got a heart of gold and has to drop his aloof attitude when he realizes the girl he loves is in danger. And Seymour could make such a terrifying Orin because he would be so sweet and meek most of the time and Orin wouldn't even know anything is wrong until he overhears their conversation in "Get It" and suddenly everything comes together and all Audrey's actions (and her injuries) suddenly make sense. Maybe "Dentist!" would be kind of the same, or it could be centered on Seymour suspiciously denying any claims that he likes to hurt his patients.

Maybe instead of Seymour being addicted to the gas and Orin just growing exotic plants, Orin gets high on poisonous plants. Maybe instead of Orin staying sadistic and making violent plants, or Seymour taking that sadistic trait, Seymour has a love for strange and exotic dental procedures, which somehow sounds more terrifying to me than a dentist who likes to see people in pain. Like he gives people extra teeth or dog teeth or some higher level body horror stuff which ill be quiet about for now, but maybe his version of "Dentist!" would elaborate. I think the combination of traits you could give them is just SO interesting, and we're not even talking about introducing other characters. The possibilities are endless !!!

[agoraphobe]

i wish it wasnt so hard to talk about hygiene indifference and other self-neglect issues that accompany mental illness. its a very common symptom of a lot of mental disorders like major depression and schizophrenia. there have been so many times ive wanted to vent about my own personal hygiene issues or reach out for help but have been too ashamed and embarrassed. i dont mean just missing a shower every few days, or "rotting" in bed on the weekends or after work either. i mean like when it gets so bad you have to rely on body wipes and dry shampoo for weeks or months because getting out of bed -> into the shower -> washing yourself -> then changing into new clothes (if you even have clean laundry) feels like a tremendous, burdensome task. or like when its getting to the point where it greatly affects your physical health, like your teeth rotting, or your muscles wasting from being so sedentary, or developing rashes and infections, or having your hair fall out or needing to cut it because its so matted. you dread leaving the house because of it. no matter how much you need to go, you avoid doctor and dentist appointments because you dont have the energy to go, yes, but mostly youre ashamed of your inability to take care of yourself. it makes you feel like a lazy, disgusting failure of a human being on top of everything else youre dealing with. regardless of how much deodorant and body spray you use in an attempt to mask it, you know you smell, and its fucking humiliating. you know your hair is a greasy, unkempt mess and your skin is broken out and dirty; you know you look horrible. you know your health is at risk. your environment is most likely just as filthy. you can feel how unclean and unhealthy you are. but no matter how much you hate it, no matter how ashamed you are, no matter how much you desperately want to be a normal, functioning person, it still feels too difficult to do anything about it, which is an indignity in itself. maybe you feel stuck, maybe you dont even know where to start. maybe youve taken steps to take better care of yourself before but couldnt keep the momentum going and gave up. youre overwhelmed. sometimes it feels like youre just slowly letting yourself rot until you die, literally. there is so much shame and embarrassment in all of it. its an unavoidable, physical manifestation of anhedonia. and unfortunately theres so much stigma attached.