#might be regression actually

[freakyandcool]

...

[adhdbisexualramblings]

I really like your Bill Regressor headcanons! Have you thought about a scenario where you describe the circumstances under which Ford was able to positively make him regress? I'd be curious to hear more about that!

Aaaaa thank you!! I’m glad people enjoyed them!

I have thought of that scenario, actually! And I will now give it to you in story form! It’s long so I’m putting it under the cut.

(The story takes place during The Book of Bill’s “drunk karaoke session” (spoilers by the way), meaning that there will be alcohol use and also regression while drunk (Bill has problems). As stated before, Bill’s regression is not typical. His regression is very subtle. I’m hoping I wrote it adequately. :) )

(I also got WAY too into the pre-regression part so apologies regarding that-)

(A quick note: I am aware the Bill and Ford are not great relationship-wise. This story isn’t saying that they are, only that they had good moments together. I’m writing this as a what-if scenario based on headcanons - do with that what you will.)

Title: What a Night

Another knight hops across the board to tear into a bishop with its newly acquired sharp teeth.

“Bill-!” The laugh in Ford’s voice couldn’t be clearer as the horse-shaped piece happily chews its opponent. “That’s not valid!”

“That’s a regular move in inter-dimensional chess! I think you’re just a sore loser.”

Bill swirls his glass and takes a sip himself before offering it to Ford, who takes it gratefully to drink a larger portion. The glass never empties.

“God, you mix a good drink.” He praises with a content sigh, slumping further into the comfortable velvet seat.

“They don’t call me the “universe’s best bartender” for nothin’, you know!” Bill blinks once and leans across the chessboard, knocking over a few pieces, “Wink!”

Stanford grins. He moves to grab a rook and jerks back when it snaps at his finger. He laughs joyously and retries.

“Well, I was Jersey’s best chess player for nearly a decade straight,” to the kids that would play against him, which weren’t many. Still, Ford boasts, “and I can’t assess your bartender thing - I don’t get out into the inter-dimensional bars too often, but you…your drink was…oh, boy,” he giggles, already feeling tipsy. Bill laughs loudly at that; it echoes through the Mindscape.

After many, many, chess rounds that ended in ties, the two companions are more wasted than ever.

“No, Bill, we’ve played We’ll Meet Again five times already.”

Bill pokes an accusatory finger at Ford, hogging their one microphone.

“Shhhut it, IQ. You - you just have terrible taste. ‘K?”

Ford huffs but lets the karaoke happen. He crosses his arms and waits on their couch while Bill slurs the lyrics, completely unaware of his  own volume level. Still, he seems to be enjoying himself. The music in the Mindscape stops. Bill droops in place as soon as it does, microphone dangling in his loose fingers. Singing his heart out to Vera Lynn each and every time probably wasn’t a great idea.

“…OK, I’m bored. Your turn.”

Ford catches the microphone tossed his way and grins widely. Bill replaces his spot on the couch, wiped out. He sighs deeply and adjusts his hat as Ford decides. All Bill needs is a little more pep, he’s sure of it. Hell, he’ll offer some to Fordsy, too. With a clunky wave of his hand, Bill’s “Myoclonic Jerk” appears in his hand. It wobbles in his lax grip before he grips it with both hands and chugs what would be the whole glass if the drink wasn’t infinite. A fuzzy feeling wraps around Bill instantly, and he’s too distracted to realize it’s more than the buzz of alcohol.

“Hey, Sixer!” He leans forward and holds up the glass double-handed like a trophy. Ford whips around from the handy little song selection screen. His eyes fall on the drink. He stumbles closer to the couch to take it.

“Hey, wo-oah, smaller sips.” Bill advises without much actual danger attached to it, clearly amused. He snaps his fingers, popping the drink out of existence after Ford’s share. Ford blinks at his empty hand in confusion, making Bill laugh again. It’s closer to a giggle this time. Ford gathers himself in time to glance at the selection screen.

“Oh, I picked som-something. C’mere.”

Bill floats up, finds himself unsteady, and conjures his cane to “help” him keep his balance despite the fact that the cane is no help at all. He stumbles some and giggles. Bill twirls the cane poorly, squinting at the screen.

“Disco Girl?”

Ford’s drunkenness doesn’t stop him from being self-conscious, it seems. He chuckles with a hesitant smile.

“It’s admittedly catchy.”

Bill crinkles his eye into a grin, bouncing a little.

“Hey, I’m stellar at keeping secrets, Fordsy!”

The song plays.

Saturday night is a night alright Time to groove till the morning light..

Bill knew of Ford’s guilty pleasure for the pop group, but the way he sang with such carefreeness for the entire three minutes had even the triangle surprised. Ford was similarly surprised and overjoyed when his companion also knew the lyrics.

At some point, Ford gets into the groove of the song and starts dancing along. Bill, also plenty giddy, follows suit.

Ford laughs between lyrics, a grin lighting up his features - the laugh booms around the Mindscape. It’s bright, hearty, and from the belly. Bill takes a moment to address the warm pit that laugh leaves in his body. He grins again and gets closer.

Their dancing stays separate for the most part, until Bill slings a hand around Ford’s shoulder and Ford grazes his hand long enough for Bill to feel it.

Bill freezes at the touch. Ford doesn’t, perfectly content. Slowly, Bill takes his hand away to stare at it with a wide eye. The part where Ford’s warm hand had touched his buzzes softly.

The fuzzy feeling from the alcohol and other factors increases. Bill blinks. An odd feeling wells up the longer he keeps thinking of the touch. He’s thinking so much that he doesn’t notice the song end.

“-Bill?” The voice calls.

The addressed demon blinks again - must’ve spaced out. He keeps his touched hand suspended and looks to Ford. The human stopped dancing a while ago and realized his companion had looked off.

Ford must have gotten concerned, Bill realizes. It makes Bill feel…nice.

He finds he wants something from Stanford. It’s not the portal or eternal servitude; Bill knows that’s not it. It ties to the fuzziness he’s been feeling. He decides to figure it out.

He grins and laughs, not fake in the slightest.

“Hah! Do that again!” Bill thrusts his hand to Stanford, the implication being clear as day in his mind, which is starting to feel even happier.

“…Do what?” Ford asks with an owlish blink. He looks down at Bill’s hand and looks to his own six-fingered one, gears turning. It finally clicks, “Hold your hand?”

Seeing nothing wrong with it and susceptible to suggestions, Ford fulfills the request and bring his hand to clasp it around Bill’s smaller one.

The warmth from Ford travels up Bill’s arm and only adds to the warmth in the rest of his body. Bill blinks silently again. Oh. Wow, that felt…comfortable?

Bill slips.

Without registering what he’s really doing, he leans into Ford and grips one of his fingers with his hand, moving to sit on his shoulder. Ford makes a little noise of confusion, to which Bill only giggles at. In a second, all the alcohol is figuratively flushed out of Bill’s system as his earlier excitement dies. Ford frowns.

“Bill? Are you alright?”

Bill gathers himself with a chuckle, “Pfft. Of course I am, Fordsy.” He lies.

Bill’s getting oddly sleepy. He was used to this tiredness, however; it went hand-in-hand with the fuzzy feeling. He squeezes Ford’s finger tighter, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Y’know what? It’s been a long night,” Bill starts, temping down the slight fog in his mind.

“…Has it?” Ford asks confusedly. Even intoxicated, he notices the behavior switch in his muse.

“O-oh, sure!” Bill finds that he’s unusually tired. It must’ve been the alcohol’s effect. He hopes his stammer isn’t noticeable, “I mean, this stuff’ll give ya a heck of a hangover.” He laughs falsely again, snapping his fingers.

Their couch immediately turns into a simple, cozy-looking, bed. Ford stares at it oddly.

Bill leaves Stanford’s shoulder but doesn’t let go of his hand. It gives him too much comfort.

“C’mon, kid. Let’s get you to bed.”

Without waiting for an answer, Bill physically pulls Ford toward the bed with impatience. Stanford stumbles at the sudden movement but follows anyway out of curiosity. He falls on the sheets, Bill falls after him.

It’s unsurprisingly comfortable. Ford had been low on energy, but hadn’t realized how tired he had truly been until now. Not bothering to take anything off, he sprawls out over the blanket.

Bill, meanwhile, lightly kicks his feet off the edge of the bed, sitting near Ford’s stomach. His feet don’t even reach the bottom. Bill stares at them swinging with attention and an oddly childish look in his eye. He giggles quietly before noticing that Stanford has already lain down.

Bill moves to hold Ford’s hand again and crawls closer to quietly lay next to him. Ford’s coat is made of fabric that Bill just found out is really comfortable. He snuggles closer to his side, making sure that the human’s sleep in the Mindscape won’t take him back to the waking world before Bill wants him to. He’ll let Fordsy wake up when he’s sober again. That sounded much better.

Ford doesn’t let go of Bill’s tiny hand - maybe he’s too tired to notice. Bill sighs quietly and flutters his eye closed.

In one movement, the karaoke in the Mindscape starts playing a slow lullaby on low volume and the blankets suddenly cover both Ford and Bill comfortably.

Bill turns his eye into a mouth and shoves his thumb inside, sucking on it soothingly. He squeezes a sleeping Ford’s finger tighter as he himself dozes off.

[eugene-da-potato]

Thinking about possible fanfic/au idea, where Paper after the end of second season decides to leave Hotel for a while to develop his own self-identity outside of his life with OJ, and OJ, living without Paper for the first time in almost a decade, realises how codependent with him he actually became and how much of his mental state were tied to Paper being by his side. Both of them learn to live without one another and find their own separated support systems and when Paper eventually comes back (because, still, all of his friends live here, duh) we're both self-sufficient but still appreaciate each other's positive traits and now are able to form functioning healthy relationships...

Yeah I think about them a lot

[little-pup-pip]

Hi there! If you've already done this moodboard and I missed it in the list don't hesitate to ignore this but I have a request if you're willing! Could you possibly do a masculine royalty/prince themed moodboard? A paci included but no gems or charms (if you can!). Thank you thank you thank you for reading and for your time! I appreciate it :3

Here you go!!

[sensitiveheartless]

Thoughts on the hc that Dazai has a glass eye?

I'm just imagining Dazai getting injured on a case on his blind side, and Kunikida berates him and drags him to Yosano.

And Yosano is like "Really, again? How did it happen this time?" And Kunikida says "Idiot wasn't paying attention."

Dazai "No I was, its just my blind side."

And they both freak out because why? How? Huh? But his eye looks fine?

Yosano: Well, I can schedule an appointment and we can see if we can get you surgery or something-

Dazai: Oh its unsalvagable, I'm blind on that side.

Kunikida: Why does your eye look fine then??? (He thinks Dazai is fucking with him)

Dazai just smiles, reaches up and pull the glass eye out. Kunikida screams.

- Goblin anon

Oh my gosh alsksjdjfjf honestly I think this hc is great just for that potential moment of screaming confusion on Kunikida’s part, Dazai absolutely would do that XD

I guess in general I haven’t thought much about the implications of Dazai bandaging that eye! I know I’ve definitely seen fics and stuff where his vision is off in that eye in one way or another (@feralrookie wrote a fantastic soulmate AU where Dazai’s soulmark is on that eye and it gutted me in the best way). I think it’s really fun to see where different people go with it :0

I do think it’s interesting that he swaps which eye he bandages in the Beast universe…that feels like it has Implications but I’m not sure what they are, I’m not very skilled at analysis lol —Although, slightly related, I do love the moment in the Dark Era where Oda pulls those bandages off as he dies, because it seems like a visual representation of how much Dazai was hindering himself in the mafia (seriously, if there isn’t anything wrong with that eye, that means the dude was shooting guns without precise depth perception seemingly just for the heck of it) and then Oda pulls them off as he tells him to go live in the light and just aaaaaaaaaaaaa I am never not going to be emotional about the dark era ;;

…anyway this got off topic, basically all this to say I think that I think it’s cool how many different interpretations of it there are, and you could definitely do a lot with the glass eye headcanon alskjdjdjd

[anomalymon]

Imaginary Caretaker: An imaginary friend that's experienced when regressed that takes care of the regressor. For example, an imaginary friend who reminds a regressor to eat or clean, or who plays with the regressor.

If you experience more than one of the above listed, please pick which one you have the most often.

Despite age being used in the question, any regressor can respond to the poll, and so can system littles or those with similar experiences!

This is for a panel we're doing so reblogs for a variety of responses are appreciated! It's specifically about fiction-adjacent experiences, hence why the results are the way they are. Feel free to talk about your experiences in the replies, all responses will be anonymized in the panel itself!

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

i think i also just don’t think that like… 9/11 happening in the same country as you…. is the same as being kidnapped and drugged and brutally electroshocked and otherwise meant to suffer extreme physical pain and kept awake for 36 hours at a time for weeks on end. like those are both bad but they are different. imo.

[thisisvoided]

okay but like genuinely. like for a moment im gonna be completely genuine here. rid15 is legitimately so fucking amazing.

its hilarious, it canNOT take itself seriously 90% of the time, just like. EVERYTHING that is going on all at the same time. like everything is so. its. i cant even explain it. its batshit insane, its beautiful, it gets weirdly serious in a good way at points you dont expect, its just fucking BIZARRE sometimes and like. i love it so fucking much.

like, the rivalry-turned-friendship between denny and fixit??? that wolf guy and his gang of furries/scalies???? that fuckin. porcupine guy who drugs people with his quills and its a random drug each time?????? the time grimlock befriends a monk guy who makes bread and teaches him the art of patience or whatever the fuck through breadmaking???????? like what the fuck is this show on. what is happening. its perfect.

EDIT: the monk guy taught grimlock patience through pretzel making

[awkwardsilences]

"very demure, very cutesy, very mindful".... can we please just stop with this shit? PLEAAASE

[dream-sans-mogai]

This will probably get looks from performative and ultimately harmful non-transfems despite my being transfem but-

Some y'alls only interaction with feminist history and theories, radical feminism regardless of its intersectionality and really any feminism deeper and louder and meaner than blatant choice feminism like the barbie movie and whatever TF taylor swift thinks shes got going on is through your occasional and short interactions with terfs and it shows. You call vagina art terfy and it fucking isnt. Its feminist art. Your brainrot is making you a fucking mra. The fact y'all think talking about the man vs bear situation is about/started/ran by terfs (and encouraged some really questionable other transfems shitting on it despite it clearly just being about women's safety and yes all men, not transphobia.), everything from questioning wether certain groups belong in our community to thinking a word is a slur or having a lesbian icon (I have sources don't test me) or not to not liking a certain band has been called "terf rhetoric". I'm all for us Transmascs talking about how terfs affect us cause they absolutely do and their harm to the transmasc community can not be understated but like.... Y'all are not allowed to call Jack shit terf rhetoric anymore. Like nothing. You don't know what it means, you litterally call transmedicalism and sysmedicalism terf rhetoric. Do you mean exclusionist? Say exclusionist. Terfs are not the end all be all hate group. They have a very specific complex mindset that affects so many people in specific ways. Someone hating Neopronouns is not fucking terf rhetoric. It's nbphobia. Holy fuck. Learn what words mean.

(intersectional trans radfems exist, radical feminism isn't terfs and swerfs and historical radfems would laugh in their faces for their idiocy)

[the-pickle-jar]

im tired man

[tomeebear]

in dire need of expanding my artistic knowledge/interest, burdened w/ overwhelming laziness

[all-of-your-mercy]

[sweetvalentinescandy]

im so disappointed in my art lately . im not a beginner artist, but i feel like everything i do looks like i am . i feel like it would only be acceptable for a beginner . i havent made any progress since i was 11 . today is not a good day

[kakusu-shipping]

Guess who's finally trying to understand Self Ship Moodboards

[lovelaceisntdead]

I want to read a book!!!!