>X3

A sigh of frustration left you as you respawned on your bed, eye twitching in annoyance. August had ambushed you when you least expected, and slit your neck, killing you instantly. Well, at least you had keep inventory on. After dying so many times within the first 3 days, you had turned it on.

While you could have easily uninstalled the three, a part of you had grown attached to them. You were never alone, and you certainly couldn't get rid of Lenny - even though he was rather… well, weird, but oddly sentimental.

Knocker, well, he was an asshole, but something about him caught your eye, just like August had, just like Lenny. All three of them captivated you. But you were at your limit with their shenanigans, you needed someone to help - someone to bring balance to this headache you created.

So, you installed a new mod called "Verity", a helper that could assist you with day to day things and keep you company. Maybe that would help with your situation, right?

Closing the UI for the menu, you watched as not even 5 seconds later, a box spawned at your feet. You blinked in surprise, eyes widening a little. You were expecting the AI to spawn immediately, not for a box to come.

"Hello? Anyone there?" A voice sounded from the box. "Can someone let me out? Helloooo?" You tilted your head, and slowly, you crouched down, pressing your hand against the box. The moment you touched it, the box suddenly lifted into the air.

"What the…" You muttered, eyes locked on as the top opened up before it imploded in a puff of smoke, and what looked like a yellow ball falling from the puff. You reacted quickly, catching the ball in both hands before he could hit the ground.

He looked up at you with wide eyes, clearly not expecting you to have caught him - no one ever did. It felt…nice, not to have fallen on the ground for once.

"Hello, I'm Verity! Your personal helper friend! Ask me anything, I know everything!" Verity greeted with a warm, welcoming smile, his black eyes gleaming with interest as he took you in.

Your world was certainly different - he could feel different entities in here, watching him with either interest or jealousy. If he had his human form, he'd puff his chest in pride.

"Hello, Verity," you greeted with a warm smile of your own. "You're definitely going to be a great deal of help in this world." Slowly, you stood back up to your full height, looking down at his cute form.

"Since you know everything… where's the best place to farm bones and bone meal?" You asked him with a tilt of your head. Subconsciously, Verity followed suit. Bone meal? Usually players would immediately ask for diamonds, or even where netherite was. Yet instead, you wanted bones.

"There's an excellent location to build a skeleton farm just 400 blocks away from here! Coordinates are 400, 89, and-" He could not even finish his sentence when your hands suddenly disappeared, nothing to catch him as he landed on the soft grass.

He bounced once, then twice with a grunt, a frown forming on his lips. What on Earth made you do that? Just as he opened his mouth to talk, he heard you yell. Not in fear or anger, but pure annoyance.

"Lenny! Put me down, you spider!" You yelled, tossed over the shoulder of a tall, lean figure, spider fuzz all over it's body. His eight eyes glared at Verity, mandibles twitching in pure, unrelenting jealousy.

"Mhineee," he hissed, and turned on his heel to disappear. A massive cloud of black smoke erupted from where he stood. "Wait!" Verity yelled, eyebrows furrowing. He could feel his anger boiling - damn it, it looked like he had competition…

Verity contemplated on locating you and taking you from that creature, Lenny, as you called him, angry you were already taken away from him. He was just about to teleport himself over to wherever he took you when you appeared right in front of him.

You brushed the dirt and soot off your clothes, eyebrows furrowed. "Ugh, sorry, Verity," you apologized. "I didn't expect Lenny to get so angry that quickly." You gently picked him up from the ground, brushing the grass off of his form.

"It's alright, no harm done!" He reassured you, but internally he was seething. "I'm assuming he's the one the bone meal is for?" He asked as you began to walk through the grassy plains.

You gave a nod of your head, a sigh leaving your lips. "Yeah, I keep running out of poppies to give him… I'm trying to keep his mood up, but it's like every hour it drops back to the negatives." With your free hand, you pinched the bridge of your nose. "And I can't keep having him breaking my doors down when he's angry..."

Verity furrowed his eyebrows at this. You were certainly in an interesting situation, one he never thought he'd encounter. Not only did you have more than 1 horror mod installed, you potentially had 2 obsessed beings. He knew he was obsessed with players, his handlers, but knowing he potentially had competition? It stirred his emotions up.

"Well, in that case, I'll do my best to help you!" He spoke enthusiastically, pleased to know that despite these mods recking havoc, you'd need him. Knowing that he was needed made him smile a little wider.

After a few more minutes of walking, you stopped in your tracks. Your house still seemed intact - the planks weren't burn, the logs were not disturbed, no cobwebs, and no hooded figure lurking around. It was almost as if Knocker decided not to mess with you. But you knew him all too well.

You pulled your sword from your inventory and made your way towards the door, angling the sword to attack anyone who tried to ambush you. Verity watched with curiosity, eyebrows furrowing just slightly with fascination. It seemed you already were accustomed to ambushes, that's good to know.

Slowly pushing the door open, you looked around for any signs of him, any signs of them, but you found nothing. Everything was spotless. "Huh... Guess they decided not to mess with me today," you commented aloud, making your way towards the chest by the furnaces.

You placed Verity down on top of one and put your sword back into its slot. "They always ambush you?" He asked, tilting his little body just a little like a curious puppy. You gave a nod of your head, crouching down to open up your chest. "Yeah, especially Knocker... He always likes ambushing me when I least expect it." You pushed open the lip of the chest, and froze, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. Your stack of bread, it was already gone. You made that this morning! "Ugh! Knocker! You stupid fat ass, I just made that stack of bread!" You yelled out to the air, yanking your sword out once again.

Just like clockwork, you turned around and swung your sword, watching as the diamond blade came in contact with an axe. The Knocker stood before you, his signature smile plastered on his face, black ooze dripping from his lips. "Looks like someone finally learned how to predict my attacks," he taunted in a singsong tone.

You gritted your teeth in frustration, pulling your sword back and brandishing it threateningly. "I am not in the mood for your damn games, just go away!" You demanded. He seemed to not listen, when does he ever really, and turned his gaze behind you, staring right at Verity.

His eyes turned black, his smile widening even more as he tilted his head. "What's this? Another mod?" He rasped, taking a step forward. Verity furrowed his brows, his eyes darkening. He was about to shift into his humanoid form when you stepped in front of him, pointing the blade directly at Knocker's chest. "Stay away from him." You growled.

Your tone made him stop in his tracks, staring at you with unreadable eyes. You've never spoken to him like that before, never had gotten so protective of something. It made the corner of his lip twitch in irritation. "Oh?" He rasped, droplets of blood slowly mixing with the black ooze. You felt a shiver roll down your spine. Shit, you pissed him off.

"What makes that thing so special, huh?" The Knocker stepped closer, and closer, his gloves tightening around the handle of his axe, the leather creaking. "It's just another mod - surely it can handle a hit or two." His eyes were crazed with jealousy, with madness, with nothing but the urge to kill.

"[name]", Verity began, sensing the tension in the air. He could see your arm trembling, clearly startled by what was happening. "I can handle myself; you don't need to put yourself in harm's way," he tried to reason with you. But your attention was solely on the one standing in front of you.

"Knocker, last warning - get out," You demanded, a bead of sweat rolling down your temple. You were ready to defend Verity, even if it meant getting hurt. You didn't want him to die within the first day of being in this world.

In a blink of an eye, The Knocker lunged towards you, axe raised up above his head. You brought your sword up, blocking the blade with your own, but you were a fraction too late. Your blade only deflected it, causing his blade to slide from yours, and slash down right across your chest.

You cried out in pain, the burning sensation spreading from the wound outwards. He kicked you back, watching as you crashed against the chest. You gripped your chest, blood spreading across your shirt and staining the fabric, droplets hitting the ground beneath you. You gasped out in pain, already at half a heart. Shit, when did he get so strong!?

Just as he raised the axe above his head, a puff of smoke exploded beside you, and a hand grasped the Knocker's wrist, stopping him in his tracks. Verity stood between you and the Knocker, now in his humanoid form. He was taller than the Knocker, nearly the same height as August. He was built toned, strong in every sense of the word, his gloved hand tightening around his wrist.

"Do not hurt them again," Verity growled, his eyes darkened, white pupils visible. He was mad, no, furious. You got hurt protecting him, and no one has ever done that. No one has ever tried protecting him from anything, except you. You put yourself in harms way, got hurt and nearly killed to ensure he wouldn't get so much of a scratch.

His obsession and fascination with you flared even higher.

The Knocker gritted his teeth, lips curling into an amused, cruel smirk. He raised his free hand in mock surrender, taking one single step back. "So, you're not helpless after all, huh?" He asked in a cocky tone, head tilting to the side. Verity only continued to glare down at him, slowly releasing his grip on the axe.

The Knocker took another step back, the crazed look still in his eye. "Don't think you can keep them for long," he rasped, his eyes showing no fear. "You won't be able to protect them all the time; I will get them." His threat echoed through the empty kitchen, but it rang deep in Verity's mind. His eyes darkened further, and he moved quickly, fist bawled up, he raised it and threw a punch towards the psychotic man. His fist never connected, for the being disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

Glaring at where he once stood, Verity quickly turned his attention back to you, his gaze softening. "Are you okay?" He asked, turning on his heel to walk back towards you. He knelt down before you, reaching a hand to move your own out of the way. You winced in pain, gazing up at him with eyes filled with fascination. "I... didn't know you could turn human," you muttered.

His eyes met yours, and his lips curled into the softest of smiles. "It's not a form I always want to use, but I couldn't just watch as you protected me," he spoke softly, and slowly, his gaze moved back down towards your wound. "I have to dress your wound; can you stand and walk on your own?" He asked softly.

You gave a firm nod of your head and raised your hand up to grasp the chest behind you. Using it as leverage, you attempted to push yourself off the floor, trying desperately to ignore the pain that flared with every micromovement you made. But just as you almost rose up, the pain reached a new peak.

You cried out, your arm slipping from the surface of the chest, but you never fell back to the floor. Verity was able to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest. He ignored the blood staining his own yellow shirt, instead focusing on helping you get up.

"Hold onto me," he ordered. You wrapped your arm around his shoulder, the other holding onto the arm around your waist. Slowly, he rose up to his height, making sure to keep a firm arm around you. You hissed in pain, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, eyebrows furrowed tightly. It burned, pulsating with your own heartbeat.

Once fully stood, Verity wordlessly picked you up in his arms, adjusting his arms so that you were comfortable. You were in too much pain to protest, instead leaning into him. He quickly began to walk towards your bedroom, not needing directions. He knew everything about you - how you built your house, where you stored everything, which room had what.

He glanced down at you as he neared the room, looking at your pained expression. He would make the Knocker pay for hurting you, would make him pay for stealing your bread, your food. A cruel smile etched onto his lips. He would protect you from all three of them, regardless of if the other two were friendly or not.

Knocker was always watching, always there even when you thought he wasn't. The first time he saw you self-harming, the first time he caught you self-harming, he didn't stop you. Instead, he only watched and wondered why you allowed yourself to suffer alone when he was there, always there.

He wanted to desperately reveal himself from the shadows but chose not to. He didn't want to scare you off. One day when you both were out in the desert searching for a temple. You had decided to dress differently, in long sleeves and jeans, unfit for the desert's harsh sun.

Knocker glances at your arms then forwards, trying to not put too much attention on the little secret he knows about. The healing scars felt itchy. You did your best to refrain from scratching, but the sweat made the open ones burn. It was an unpleasant feeling being sweaty, sand in your shoes, and the sun beaming right on your face.

“You should've dressed properly,” he says, tucking his hands in his hoodie. You scoff and point at his outfit. “Yeah, you're one to talk. Look at you!”

“I'm cold-blooded. I can handle it, sweetie,” he smirks. You roll your eyes and continue treading through the heavy sand. After a while, you began to lose your balance, swaying from side to side as you tried to fight your body. Knocker watches you struggle. He enjoyed watching you struggle when it was his doing, but this? This was different, and he didn't enjoy the feelings it stirred within him.

“K—Knocker,” your face pales and your eyes roll back, “Shit!” Knocker quickly catches you and carries you to the nearest shelter he could find.

“Ugh, my head,” you mutter as you slowly sit up, “You had a heat stroke.” You jump. Knocker stood in the shadows in the corner of what you realized was a desert temple.

“You took us to a temple?” you ask, not upset but happy he was able to find what you were looking for. He hums and nods. “It was the closest and the coolest.” You felt colder than usual. Looking down, you realized your shirt was gone and your scars were now on display.

“No, no knocker, I—”

“Shh, come here.” He sits next to you on the cold floor and opens his arms. You lean into him and hug him tightly. You blink once, twice, until hot tears stream down your face. Knocker rocks you side to side. You remain there for a while, feeling the coolness radiating off of his skin. His cold lips find their way to your neck, his favorite spot, then to your cheek, soon finding your tears. He kisses them away before finding your lips.

“Look.” The knocker pulls away, then raises his hoodie, revealing his scars on his torso. “I got these through fighting monsters and these,” he pulls down his hoodie and rolls up his sleeves. “These I got from humans.” He shows off the scars and burns he received from that fateful day he was sacrificed.

“All scars tell a battle, and some fight silent ones. That doesn't mean it was a battle lost, but rather one still worth fighting.” He runs a cold finger gently down your fresh red scars. They weren't as angry as they were when he first took off your shirt, but still not healed enough to be subjected to such conditions. Knocker raises your arm and gently places a kiss on the healed ones, mindful of the new ones.

“Talk to me, my love. Don't push me away. I'll always find a way in either way.” He takes your hand and places it on his cheek. You nod. For once you find someone who doesn't see you as broken or damaged or something to be fixed or coddled but rather as someone who needed a push.

This wasn't going to deter him in any way. He knew you better than you knew yourself and already made a checklist in his head of things to watch out for, your urges, triggers, “I can see your thoughts, knocker.” You nudged him playfully. You weren't mad. You were honestly glad he was concerned. It meant he truly did care. Knocker shook his head and pulled you down onto the cold sandstone. Moonlight streams in through the skyline. You sigh, and the knocker pulls you closer like he was scared you'd leave.

“I'll always be here for you.”

How you first meet Bill.. that’s really up to you.

But, let me try to come up with an idea for this:

You’re new to Gravity Falls, and barely have any idea of anything within the area. I like the idea you could possibly have some sort of job, like nursing, or maybe even a gardener of some kind. Whatever it is- you moved from your hometown to become self-reliant, to become an independent individual although your parents fretted over you. Not just because their child was growing so fast, no, it’s because they thought that with you being the soft-natured person you are- those around you would take advantage of you. But, you promised to call them or text them if anything went wrong, or if you didn’t feel safe. And if you couldn’t contact them under any circumstances, the police if the situation was dire or the nearby neighbors to try and get someone known of your situation.

Honestly, you thought that they were being overdramatic about this, but you eventually felt bad for seeing them that way and promised them, writing down in your journal to make sure you wouldn’t forget their words or their plans.

The house you got was decently large and you didn’t have to pay a luxurious amount in order to buy it, or to keep the utilities running each month.

I’m definitely gonna note here that you were introverted to everyone, and kept to yourself until an old stranger by the nickname of ‘Stan’ bumping into you, resulting in you constantly apologizing, helping him pick up anything he dropped before returning it back to him.

With that out of the way..

He might’ve entered your dream on accident and thought: “Why not have some fun with this?”

To sum up the nightmare you were put through: you were bawling your eyes out the moment you jolted awake.

And he watched.

He was confused, then amused.

It wasn’t even THAT bad.. in comparison to others that he’s created.

But you were still crying over it!

He found that part.. weird.

Is it just because you’re human? Or is it something else?

So, as any insane person would do, he stalks watches you, surveying everything you do for quite some time, and learns your habits and mannerisms. And in short, you have more than just a modicum of decorum than nearly everyone here: Hell, you’ve apologized to a chair you bumped into in your own home, managed to save someones life after constant tests and treatments (if you’re a nurse), took all of a mean costumers comments as they yelled at you (where you cried about it the moment you got home), but the part that confuses him the most is how tender you are with everyone you meet or know.

That leads me to another thing Bill learns about you: you’re a down bad people pleaser. No matter how stressful, or how rude the other person is, you’ll constantly always be there for them and love them. Gentle hugs, sweet reaffirmations, letting them cry themselves dry on your shoulder.

..he doesn’t know how to describe the feeling after witnessing this happen over and over again.

Because this hasn’t happened before.

He has NEVER seen this kind of personality and behavior EVER. He has become accustomed to the brutal tenderness of the world around him, and he has become one of the most powerful deities in the entire UNIVERSE! Why is he caring so much about some random, UGLY, UNDERSERVING MORTAL!? He remembers what happened with Stanford, and he WON’T have a repeat of that.

His loyalty lies with Stanford. No-one else. Not you, not YOU!

You’re NOT Stanford.

You don’t deserve this much attention from him.

..but..

He can’t stop.

Eventually begins the first stage of his upcoming obsession: denial.

Bill DESPERATELY tries to get rid of you from his thoughts.

But it doesn’t work.

It never has! No matter what he does, and it’s starting to seriously irritate him!!

Why you? You’re a pesky, little good for nothing human! You’re NOTHING like Stanford!

…

But perhaps, that’s just the reason why he’s so obsessed with you.

He hates the idea, but maybe it’s the kindness. Maybe it’s the gentle-nature, the humility.

Maybe he wants the chance to rip that away from you.

He ends up.. leaving you alone, finding himself in different dimensions to collect his thoughts.

But he realizes he misses you misses the familiarity of watching you.

Which leads us to the next stage: Intrusion.

Bill tells himself it’s “just curiosity.” That’s all!

A harmless follow-up after weeks of ignoring you.

He’s not visiting your dreams again because he misses that teary, terrified expression.

He’s not listening to your heartbeat slow down as you sleep, or lingering when you mumble in your dreams.

He’s definitely not memorizing how your voice cracks when you talk to yourself. Nope, not at all. He’s just.. gonna make fun of it later. (He never does.)

He watches you tidy your home, hum to yourself, apologize to plants for pruning them too much; and every time, there’s that quiet ache in his chest. Something alien. Something he hates.

“You’re so disgustingly human,” he mutters under his breath.

But the words don’t sound convincing anymore. I mean, you can’t even hear them..

You leave out tea for the “house spirits” one night after a rough shift.

You don’t know that the liquid ripples when he appears— unseen, just beyond your perception.

Bill stares at the cup. For the first time in eons, he hesitates before touching it.

…Then downs it anyway.

“Terrible brew, kid. You should stick to crying. You’re better at that.”

He says it to no one. To you. To himself.

And this leads to the third stage of his obsession: Fascination.

He starts mimicking your mannerisms unconsciously. A tilt of the head when confused. A sigh before speaking. A hum under his breath when lost in thought.

When he realizes this, he snaps. Throws a chair across the void.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?! I DON’T HUM!”

Every time you smile at someone else, his energy spikes, causing lights to flicker a bit.

Somewhere, an unlucky couple’s dream melts into static because Bill’s jealous— though he won’t admit it.

He starts slipping into your dreams uninvited, reshaping them.

Sometimes it’s harmless— walking through some odd dream garden with you, watching you laugh.

Other nights, it’s darker— your flowers bleeding, your reflection whispering something in a language that is very clearly not human.

He tests you.

Small things: objects moving in your room, whispers in your ear, seeing this.. symbol out of the corner of your eye.

He wants to see you scared. He wants to see you need him.

Though, as one of your friends from your hometown come to visit you while some of these… odd events happen, they mention:

“Dude, you seriously should like.. get a priest or something! Your place might be haunted!” They yelped, grabbing at your shoulder as you simply laugh.

“Relax. It doesn’t really bother me, I got used to it. The house is pretty old, and I have to get some renovations done anyways..” you shrug while smiling lightly at your friend.

“I don’t really believe anything is haunting this place. But… if something is haunting my house, I just hope they’re.. okay. I don’t want any conflicts.”

For the first time, he’s floating there, too stunned to even think properly.

This leads to the fourth stage: Attachment.

He stops visiting others’ dreams altogether.

He used to play chaos with every mind in Gravity Falls— now it’s just you.

Always you.

You talk to yourself while journaling, and he hangs on every word.

He knows your fears, your habits, your routines.

He’s memorized the entire rhythm of your life.

When you cry, he whispers cruel little comforts that you can’t even hear (yet.)

“Pathetic. Cry more. Makes your voice sound sweet.”

You start to feel watched.

Every time you close your eyes, the air hums faintly with golden static.

The line between reality and dreams blurs.

He begins manifesting small signs:

A faint smell of burning ozone when he’s nearby.

Symbols carved into your mirror in condensation.

Bill tells himself it’s control. It’s just manipulation.

But the truth is, he feels something dangerously close to affection.

He hates it.

He hates you for making him feel it.

And he hates himself even more for not being able to stop.

Then, there’s stage five: Possession.

He begins speaking to you in your waking hours.

At first, it’s whispers — things you can easily dismiss as stress.

Then full sentences. Then laughter in your head when you drop a cup or trip over your own feet.

The first time you ask if there’s someone there aloud, his grin widens across the dreamscape.

“Finally! I was starting to think you were ignoring me. That’s rude, y’know.”

You freeze in place, shaking your head.

“Please— leave me alone-“

He stays quiet for a moment before he just laughs!; a sound that makes the walls shake.

“Leave you alone? Oh, sweetheart, I tried. Trust me. You’re the one who stuck.”

Small parts of your world begin to glitch when he’s near.

Lights flicker in odd colors. Clocks stop at 3:33. Reflections don’t quite match your movements.

When you’re hurt or frightened, he appears without invitation — his voice sharp, almost protective.

“Who did this to you?”

He sounds too calm. Too still.

Somewhere, a stranger’s car engine explodes for no reason the next day.

You notice dreams bleeding into reality.

Your garden blooms in colors that don’t exist.

Shadows twist into triangles when you’re sad.

He starts calling you things like kid, my little mortal, my project, but sometimes he lets something else slip.

“Mine.”

You heard it once, trembling.

He never repeats it aloud again after.

Closer to the end, it leads to our sixth stage: Dependence.

He stops toying with other mortals entirely.

He only watches you.

Even chaos loses its thrill when you’re not there to see it.

He makes excuses to keep you dreaming longer.

“You need rest, don’t you? That mortal body of yours is so fragile. Besides!! Sleeping is so much better than having to drag your meatsack around all day!”

He keeps your mind half-asleep, half-awake, so he can linger in both worlds.

And eventually, you start confiding in him.

Maybe it’s because no one else listens. Maybe it’s because he does.

And he loves it — the sound of your voice, the trust in your tone.

“I’m not your friend,” he reminds you.

“You’re too sensitive.”

But he always shows up when you call for help.

Even when you whisper so softly you think no one could hear.

Eventually, as you start working more and communicate with your neighbors to keep yourself occupied- away from Bill; you start to forget about sleeping.

And he grows erratic.

The town’s atmosphere changes — Gravity Falls’ weather turns hostile, lightning flashing in the shape of an eye.

“Why aren’t you sleeping? You know I hate being ignored!”

You don’t respond to that.

Instead, you keep forgetting to sleep on purpose, continuing to try and keep yourself sane with helping others. Keep working..

And so, he takes a different approach.

You find golden notes left in your house:

“You looked sad today.”

“You should eat more.”

“Don’t talk to them again.”

“I’m watching. Always watching.”

He calls it “care.”

You call it something else.

Stage seven: Unison.

The line between dream and reality finally disappears.

You can’t tell when you’re awake anymore. He likes it that way.

He starts appearing in mirrors, in puddles, in the faint reflection of your eyes.

“You’re seeing things, huh? Good. Means you’re paying attention to me!”

He begins to change when you resist, even in the smallest ways.

His charm fractures, revealing the raw god underneath.

The one that’s ancient, angry, lonely.

“You’re not supposed to matter to me!” he screams once, voice echoing through every surface.

The house bends under his fury. The world trembles. You cover your ears.

“…I’m sorry.” Is all you can murmur, your voice soft and barely audible.

You don’t know what you’re apologizing for.

Then, silence.

A hand — or something like it — brushes your cheek.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs.

“You’ll make me… do something I can’t undo.”

Dreams turn endless.

Time stops meaning anything.

You see him every night, and every morning, and sometimes in between — in the spaces that aren’t real but still feel like home.

You try to tell yourself this isn’t love.

He tells you not to lie.

“Call it what you want, kid — obsession, madness, devotion — it’s all the same to me.”

And maybe, you almost believe him.

Which he takes advantage of.

Just like everyone around you has.

Final stage, stage eight: Merging.

You’ve stopped counting the days.

You’ve stopped going outside to greet your neighbors.

The calendar by your bed still says the same date as it did a month ago, and the clock refuses to move past midnight.

Every window looks out into the same dusky forest, the same shimmering gold haze. You don’t know whether it’s real light or Bill’s doing.

When you speak (rather rarely in your own home), your voice echoes twice.

Once in your throat, once in your mind—his laughter overlapping yours, his words finishing your sentences.

He’s everywhere. The air hums with him, the house breathes with him.

“You’ve gotten used to me,” he says, tone half-teasing, half-devout.

“You flinch less now when I touch your thoughts.”

His presence presses behind your eyes like warm static.

The dreams no longer start or end. They just spill into the real world, becoming apart of your everyday life.

He’s affectionate in a way that terrifies you.

He calls you his “bright little mortal,” “my fragile miracle,” “the reason entropy doesn’t bore me anymore.”

Every word sounds like a curse wrapped in love. Every smile promises something you can’t refuse without breaking both of you.

You try to fight back once. You write wards, salt the doors, use crystals, use cleansing scents, pray to anything that will listen.

But it never works.

“Cute,” he says, voice vibrating through your ribs.

“You think you can shut me out. You can’t even breathe without me in your lungs anymore.”

The nightmares he gives you now aren’t meant to scare. They’re seduction.

A ballroom of golden fire where he takes your hand, guiding you through a waltz that bends space itself. His form is different from his normal one, it’s.. human-ish. Though, there’s horns, no pupils… he is remarkably attractive, much to your dismay.

Though, you have seen some of his less pleasant forms..

He showed you a small percentage of just a few of the different shapes he could take, after all.

And after that dance, he guides you to a mirror that shows you as something different; half his color, half your own.

“See? You’re evolving,” he whispers.

“You’re starting to understand. We’d be beautiful together!!”

The night he finally reaches through, he attempts to grasp you.

You feel a hand touch your chest and press against your heart.

“Let me in,” he croons.

“Let me fit.”

You should run, scream, something. But there’s warmth flooding through your veins, and it’s not just your blood anymore.

The world outside ceases to exist.

For a moment, you are both suspended in nothing—two consciousnesses twisting together like threads of light.

You feel his memories flood you: the birth of universes, the death of stars, eons of laughter, loneliness, and power.

And he feels you: the softness, the apology, the small human ache of wanting to be loved.

He gasps—actually gasps—as if the concept of tenderness burns him.

“You’re… beautiful,” he says like it’s a revelation, like it’s a sin.

You realize what he’s doing: he’s merging your essence with his, turning your consciousness into one.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, voice shaking with something that sounds almost human.

“You won’t die. You’ll just—stop being separate. Isn’t that better?”

Your mind begins to dissolve at the edges. His laughter, his voice, his hunger—all of it becomes you.

You try to remember your name, your parents’ faces, your home…

But it’s all starting to fade.

And in the final moment; when he feels your resistance fade, when you whisper his name one last time-

..he hesitates.

The demon who conquered galaxies, who devoured countless souls, hesitates because he knows that if he finishes this, he’ll never hear your voice again—only his own reflected back forever.

For one fleeting heartbeat, everything feels as if it just… stops.

You feel him tremble. Then he laughs softly, almost bitterly.

“Guess I really did it, huh? Fell for a mortal. How… revolting.”

His energy retreats, leaving his mark behind. A single glowing symbol seared over your heart.

“…Don’t forget me, kid,” he whispers as he fades.

“I’ll be back. You’re already too much a part of me to erase.”

The lights finally turn back on, normal and brighter than before. The house is silent. The air still tastes faintly of ozone and sugar.

You wake up alone, and you wonder:

..why?

Was that just some, what? Brutal tenderness from a being you could barely comprehend!?

And you lay there in bed, eyes dimmed before you roll onto your side.

To hell with it all.

To hell with Bill Cipher.

you’re here again, in the empty yard, on the playground where you used to play until it got dark and someone called you home. there’s no one around now. the swing creaks barely and you sit on one of them, letting your toes brush the ground, clenching your fingers tight around the chains, and you swing.

back and forth, higher and higher, and every time it feels like you’re just a little closer to the sky.

the sky, it’s the only thing that hasn’t changed. everything else left because you grew up. people came and went, switched places. but the sky is still there, still silent, dark blue, scattered with stars, each burning in its own light. you still remember them though, the eagle, the swan, andromeda, cassiopeia.

you once dreamed of being an astronomer.

and even now, grown, you still can’t stop loving the stars. every swing lifts you closer, and you want to reach out to touch them.

well. . . at least something in this world stays in place.

though, except for the stars, there was one more constant in your life.

a triangle. a ridiculous, talking, floating triangle with a single eye and too many opinions for someone who didn’t technically have a mouth.

Bill Cipher. the thing that defied all laws of nature, laughed at gravity, and travelled through your thoughts like a parasite and a friend.

you’d be brushing your teeth in the morning, bleary-eyed and half-alive, and there it’d be, a sticky note slapped to the mirror, “YOU DROOLED. DISGUSTING. NEVER CHANGE.”

and when you were about to leave the house, keys in one hand, bag over your shoulder, there was another one waiting on the door, “REMEMBER: IF YOU DIE TODAY, I CALL DIBS ON YOUR BONES.”

even when you’d get in the shower, it'd be stuck on the sink: “HUMAN HYGIENE FASCINATES ME. DO YOU SCRUB YOUR ORGANS TOO?”

and yeah, they were weird. a little unhinged. sometimes kind of funny. and you started looking forward to them more than you’d admit.

he used to appear more, though. materializing out of nowhere, talking your ear off about planetary alignments and obscure constellations. you remembered those nights clearly. you’d point at the stars, and he’d name ones you’d never heard of, from galaxies that didn’t even have a number in human astronomy yet. he spoke of civilizations erased by time, of things older than your own galaxy.

you used to sit on your porch with him and talk about the absurdity of human civilization. he was smart, frighteningly so. and he never dumbed things down for you. he talked like you were capable of understanding, and sometimes you did, sometimes you didn’t, but you loved that about him

and when you asked, quietly, where he was from, his eye would narrow.

“delicate topic,” he’d say, too quickly.

Bill already knew everything about you. your fears, your dreams, your favorite songs, the names you gave the stars as a child. and it felt unfair how much of you he had, while you had so little of him.

he told you once that you were weird. and then, like it was some kind of comfort, “but don’t sweat it, sweetie. everyone in this freakshow town is weird.”

so maybe he’s appearing less because of that mysterious scientist he kept mumbling about. you heard the rumors, too. people talked, said the guy had six fingers. said he was here for the anomalies. you didn't really care.

and suddenly, Bill Cipher wasn’t visiting your dreams quite so often.

and you miss him.

you hate how much you miss him. how empty the silence gets when he’s not zigzagging through your kitchen talking about 4th-dimensions. how your mornings feel like sleepwalking without his notes. how dumb and pathetic it sounds even to you, that the one presence you long for most is a floating triangle with a god complex. but what could you say?

you kept swinging. the stars watched in silence. and you, in return, kept watching them.

forward, backward. the chains creaked softly with every rise. you closed your eyes at some point just to create the illusion of flying.

you were mid-swing, when it came again. that melody. it came from nowhere and everywhere, pressing behind your ears, vibrating somewhere between your teeth and your spine.

you smiled.

of course.

“ah. there you are,” you murmured, already looking around without needing to move. you knew better. Bill could materialize out of a crack in the ground or a coffee mug if he wanted.

but tonight, that demon was feeling poetic, apparently.

the moon blinked and one giant sharp pupil eye opened, and from that glowing socket rolled out a triangle. yellow. laughing. too bright to stare at directly. you squinted, shielding your face with one hand.

“aaaand guess who’s back, baby! enjoyin’ your little emo moment, i see? what’s this, swing therapy? should i book you a session with my imaginary assistant?“

“could you, maybe, not enter through celestial bodies? you nearly burned my retinas.”

“what’s the point of making an entrance if it doesn’t cause mild visual trauma?” he shrugged, floating backwards into a lazy spin. “so. what’s the occasion? out here all alone like a tragic indie film protagonist. spooky swingset, lonely stare. classic.”

you sighed, dry. “just. . . thinking.”

“uh-oh.” Bill floated closer. “dangerous hobby, humans thinking! leads to wars and taxes.”

you let out a breathy laugh despite yourself. “i guess i’m just feeling nostalgic. you ever get that?”

he burstee into laughter immediately. “nostalgia! adorable! you meatbags are the only species that cry over the passage of time, like it didn’t warn you in advance. TICK TOCK, SWEETHEART! y’all live like, what, seventy years on average? that’s not life, that’s a limited-time free trial.”

“wow. thanks. totally made me feel better.”

“you're always welcome, cutie!” his voice dipped in mockery. “sooo, whatcha doing? starin’ at the sky again? tryna hypnotize the stars into making your life less depressing?”

“yep, i just like looking at them. makes me feel like i’m not stuck here. like everything’s bigger than this town. bigger than me. i don’t know.”

“ugh.” he made a gagging sound and morphed briefly into a glittering puddle before reforming. “you and your stargazing. seriously. you’re one constellation away from joining a cult.”

you tilted your head at him.

“what? you don’t like stars anymore?”

Bill fell silent for a moment. his eye narrowed slightly. but then his usual teasing voice returned.

“hate to break it to ya, but your species is stuck on that rock for another ten thousand years at best. moon was a fluke. you guys’ll be lucky if you make it past microwaving leftovers without starting nuclear winter. you’ll never reach those twinkly bastards up there. not really.”

you blinked. your throat tightened unexpectedly from a wonderful support he provides. “you really think that?”

“babe, i know that. you all stare up at the sky and make up stories about it because you can’t deal with how small you are. here’s a fact: you’re not meant to touch the stars. you’re meant to burn under them.”

“you’re kind of a dick,” you said quietly.

“no, you’re just too sentimental and blind.”

you laughed. “well, i like pretending we could go further. beyond the moon and past saturn. doesn’t mean i don’t know it’s impossible, Bill.”

not like you were expecting anything serious in return, so you received that: “hm, tragic. and here i thought i was the monster in this story.”

you looked up again, to the stars.

“you still might be.” that made Bill shut his mouth, he was quiet, for once. meanwhile, you looked down at your shoes. “anyways, ou didn’t always sound so cynical about it.”

“i’ve always sounded cynical about it,” Bill corrected. “you just had stars in your ears.”

you bit your cheek, forcing a smile. “they’re pretty,” you bit your lip and kicked a pebble. there was a question curdling in your throat. it’d been sitting there a while, sharp and annoying, like a grain of sand in your eye.

you didn’t wanna ask. but you had to.

“where were you? why’d you disappear? i didn’t even get a nightmare. not a single one.”

Bill hovered and froze for five agonising seconds, but then laughed with that horrible, spine tingling laugh you loved hated.

“oh sweetie, you jealous?” he cooed, leaning forward. “missed me that much?”

you narrowed your eyes. “that’s not an answer.”

“oh, someone’s clingy! but no, i just found a new toy to play with, that’s all!”

“a new toy?” your voice cracked with disbelief. “what do you even mean by that?” your brows furrowed

“sheesh, sweetheart, relax! you’re still my favorite toy! the others squeal too fast.”

you huffed. “you’re such an ass.”

“thanks!” he responded quickly, but noticing your face expression, he finally gave you an answer. “been busy. got tangled in a little puzzle box of a man. thinks he’s clever,”

he spun his cane around once, then tossed it into oblivion. “you’d hate him, he stinks.”

you didn’t say anything because you weren't in the mood, all what left your mouth was a deep tired sigh until—

“BOO!”

“FUCK!” you yelped, stumbling backwards as he popped into existence inches from your face.

“no need to cry, sweetheart. i’d never replace my favorite weirdo.”

you glared, the corners of your lips turned down in annoyance as you swatted your hand through him like mist. but then something above caught your eye. a tear in the dark.

a shooting star.

“Bill, look!”

you sprang off the swing, raising your arm, pointing your finger skyward like a little kid, excited. “there! did you see that?!”

Bill floated beside you, unamused, already knowing what's coming next. “agh. here we go again. . .”

you clasped your hands together and whispered under your breath, closing your eyes. Bill watched you make a wish without blinking.

if he had a mouth, he might’ve smiled. thankfully, he didn’t. because demons like him didn’t do that. they didn’t melt over dumb human eyes or the belief that the universe gave a shit about your whispered little dreams.

“why do you always get quiet when we talk about stars?” you asked suddenly, not looking at him. “you never talk about them like you do other things. didn’t you ever want to touch them, too?” you turned to face him finally, staring into his single eye. “didn’t you ever wish the same?”

“they’re empty,” Bill finally said after another silence. “cold rocks. radiation. broken bones and screaming voids. you think there’s what? some magic up there? there’s just more nothing.”

“then let me see it,” you whispered with hope in your voice. “show me. let me see the stars closer.”

he blinked, surprised at your words, as if you’d just asked to die. “you’re not serious.”

“i am.”

his eye tightened at that response, annoyed at your stubborness. “you won’t like what’s out there.”

you stepped back. “fine! then i’ll get to them without your help! i don't need you.”

and before he could respond, you ran, your feet carried you right through the dark into the trees, the swings creaked behind you. Bill didn’t follow, at least not physically. but a hundred golden eyes peeled open in the trees around, watching you as you kept running.

you reached a tree, tall one, crooked. and you climbed, feeling branches biting at your skin. your feet slipped on damp bark and you cursed under your breath but kept going. cuts bloomed along your arms, your legs, but it didn’t matter.

your hands were scraped and knuckles raw, twigs tugged your hair and the bark flaked beneath your fingers, but you didn’t stop.

you didn’t care that your legs were shaking or that your breath was burning in your throat, you didn’t even notice the thing behind you. the long black limb slithering up the tree’s spine, shadowed darker than night, waiting. Bill’s little safety net. of course he’d never admit it.

he was watching you.

through a dozen borrowed eyes, clinging to pine. he watched your foot slip and you gasped as you almost fell. and the tendril twitched, ready.

“you absolute idiot,” Bill muttered to no one. “you picked the tallest tree in the goddamn forest.”

but you were too high on spite. too high on that breathless wild hunger to prove him wrong.

and when you were there, at the top, the branch dipped beneath your weight but didn’t break. you sat, dizzy from the wind and the way the dark sky opened up in front of you like a mouth.

holy shit. you couldn’t even think.

the stars weren’t just above anymore, they were everywhere. on your skin. in your eyelashes. crawling into your blood.

you tipped your head back and laughed breathlessly, nearly crying. raised your arm toward the dark hoping it might reach back.

“see?” you called out. “i did it! i’m here. i got closer.”

at this time, Bill was right beside you, floating and glowing in the night. he didn’t say anything for a second, until “that’s it? that’s the grand finale? you climbed a tree. congratulations. you’re a squirrel with emotional problems.”

you grinned, not even offended. “i’m still closer to them than i was ten minutes ago.”

“yeah,” he drawled. “and thankfully, that’s your limit.”

“why thankfully?” your face dropped. Bill didn’t answer so you asked again, louder this time. “what does that even mean? why are you always like this about it? what’s there, Bill? what are you hiding? what’s up there that you won’t tell me? talk to me, what did you see? what are you hiding?”

Bill froze and his form wavered. suddenly, a crimson hue ran along its edges.

“you wanna know what’s up there?” he barked aggressively. “NOTHING!” his tone and words made you flinch, but that wasn't the end of his speech. “fire! death! you’ll burn before you even reach the edge of that velvet sky you worship so bad. what are you trying to prove, huh? that you’re special? some saintly sky-gazing freak who’s above the rest of the mud-crawling masses?”

you blinked, startled. and hating yourself for your own reaction, because your body and voice trembled treacherously, you felt anger.

“yes,” you answered. “yes, Bill. i think i’m fucking special. because i fucking try! because i look! i don’t just let everything rot around me and laugh at it from the sidelines like a fucking coward!”

and that’s when your foot slipped, it happened too fast. bark tore under you and your body tipped backward, air was gone and you were falling like a shooting star, metor, until something caught you, the thing wrapped tight around you, too cold for your skin, winding around your waist, your arms, your ribs. a single black tendril, pulled you from the fall, yanking you from death.

Bill had caught you. and he immediately knew that somewhere, in another timeline, he didn’t.

but in this one, he placed you gently on the ground and his all seeing eye watched you intensely. good. not a scratch more on you.

although he didn’t float down to check more. Bill stayed at the top of the tree, watching the sky.

you looked up at him. heart still punching inside your chest.

“you just saved my life.” you whispered in disbelief, knowing full well that he wouldn't hear.

it was just silence, and that fucking tendril, still curled tight around your body like a belt. you hated this, but more than all you hated how still he was, as if he was trying to look unreadable on purpose, like he hadn’t just snapped at you five seconds ago. you felt like you were a curious child who touched the wrong lever on the wrong machine and now had to sit in time out.

you squirmed and tugged, making the the tendril tighten. you knew Bill controlled them, and if it wasn't letting go, it meant he wasn't letting go.

“seriously?” you snapped, still breathless. “what now, punishment? gonna strangle me with your magic spaghetti thing now? teach me a lesson or whatever?” you wrestled with the slick thing coiled around your waist.

nothing. and that nothing made you exhale in annoyance. worse was that he wasn't speaking. you would've rather he yelled again, mocked you again, burned you with words. . . at least that meant he cared.

it was embarrassment you felt. or maybe just confusion. whatever that emotion was, you couldn't understand it. because you didn’t fight like this, not with him. it wasn’t like that between you two, even your worst disagreements had spark, play, jokes. meanwhile, this felt like a wall had slammed down between you and he was standing behind it with his arms crossed, eye closed, pretending you weren’t pounding your fists on it.

“you want me to apologize? is that it, triangle guy?” you asked louder, tired. “fine! here. im sorry, okay? im sorry i tried to understand you, sorry i wanted to see what you saw. sorry i cared. now let me go.”

Bill looked down, as if you’d finally reminded him you existed. his shape turned back to gold, he tilted in the air slightly, observing you from a new angle.

your stomach flipped, because you still didn’t know what the end of a friendship with a demon looked like. you assumed, at best, it ended with your blood on a rock.

he floated down a little.

his voice, when it came, was softer than you expected.

“you said you wanted to be closer.”

and your heart jumped, because yes. yes, you had. and you meant it. you weren’t just saying things to hurt him. you wanted this. you wanted him, wanted to understand what he saw when he talked about the stars. you wanted to be part of that world, even if it was dangerous or made no sense.

“i did. i do.”

Bill stared at you a moment longer and saw a human who reached for impossible things, despite being made of bone and flesh.

he saw in you the thing he hated about himself. curiosity, untempered. wonder, unstoppable. the desire to know, even when the knowing came with teeth. and he hated how you’d burn yourself just to see what lived behind the clouds. hated how he adored you for it.

Bill didn't like emotions, but fuck, you stirred up all the ones he thought he'd buried in whatever remained of his dark soul.

because you were the only creature he'd ever met who looked at the sky the way Bill used to. you were the first one to get that close. and you didn’t even die.

finally, Bill let the tendril slide away from you, melting into nothing.

and then his form grew, literally expanded upward in impossible geometry. limbs stretching until they threatened the shape of the forest, until everything around him felt small. and you felt small.

your head fell back to keep him in view and fuck, your knees wobbled as you staggered back.

“holy fuck,” you breathed in awe. “you are so dramatic.”

you think you just developed megalophobia.

but still, your feet didn’t move.

his hand, now the size of a huge car, unfurled from his side. he brought it low, slow, like the offering of a god.

“step on.” his voice sounded through trees and came from all directions. that's how huge he grew.

you stepped into it and his hand lifted you slowly.

Bill knew, you were the only thing he could show the stars to without it killing you.

and the air tore through your lungs like lightning. you gasped and clutched at his finger for balance, every inch of you burning with euphoria while trees became moss, rivers became threads of silver. gravity falls, your town, your whole life, was now the size of a postcard.

and you were laughing. you didn’t even realize you were until tears blurred your vision.

“oh fuck, Bill,” you gasped, dizzy. “this is— this is insane! i’m gonna die up here.”

“not unless i drop you.”

“don’t you fucking dare.” you grinned so hard it hurt. you clung to one of his fingers, half-laughing, half-crying. still not realising fully what even happened, being held by something you thought hated you five minutes ago.

“see? this is what i meant,” you said in excitement looking down at gravity falls. “down there, they live their lives without even looking up. they don’t know. dont even look up!”

“then why are looking down?” Bill questioned calmly. “didnt you want to be closer?”

and you turned to look, not down, not anymore. up. and for the first time, the stars weren’t distant and unreachable. stars weren’t a ceiling. they were around you, they swallowed you, clustered like diamonds, glowing.

“thats cassiopeia,” you whispered. “and andromeda, and— that’s perseus right? oh my god. i can see saturn! Bill, i can see saturn!”

Bill didn’t answer, because he wasn’t looking at the sky. his eye watched you, unblinking, drinking in the reflection of the stars in your eyes like a creature starved for beauty. the stars were in your eyes, not just above your head. and Bill had never seen anything like it. a creature with galaxies instead of pupils.

“you have a beautiful iris,” he said suddenly.

“what? iris?”

“part of the eye, controls light. yours looks like it could hold galaxies. i like it.”

your cheeks flushed. “oh uh, always thought my eyes were boring, heh.” inside though, you panicked because a triangle just called you pretty and that forced your heart to beat stupid.

Bill's voice sounded offended. “you’d be wrong.”

you laughed nervously, gripping his finger tighter, feeling your pulse in your ears. the cold air stung your face, but you didn’t care.

you looked away quickly to hide yourself from his all seeing eye. “hey. . . can we, can we get closer?”

Bill's eye narrowed, glinting. “oh?” he purred and his usual cockiness returned to his voice. “what kind of ‘closer’ are you asking for, sweetie?”

your face went completely hot and your heart screamed. you tried to hide it, giving him a blank expression, “to the stars, Bill. closer to the stars.”

he groaned. “i swear i should drop you.”

and you giggled as his eye lingered on you, wide. “i don’t get it though,” you muttered, gripping his finger tighter as the cold stung your cheeks. “you tell me not to look up, you say there’s nothing out here. but you live here. you literally float through it like it’s your playground. so what, i’m not allowed to want it too?”

“ohh, back to our lovely term, you think you’re special?” he asked, voice flat.

you flinched at the sharpness. “yeah,” oh, how stubborn you were. “i mean, i already answered that question, Bill, i think maybe i am, so what?”

Bill was silent again. longer, this time. until you almost regretted speaking. then, “that’s cute.”

you frowned because you waited something else in response, but yeah Bill was still Bill. “oh fuck off.”

“i mean it. it’s adorable the way you reach for shit that’d melt your brain in two seconds. how you think being ‘different’ makes you immune to the burn. i remember that.” he looked to the sky too. “that hunger. that stupid obsession with wanting to matter. to see something no one else does. to believe there’s something waiting out here if you’re just brave enough.” then he let out an amused laugh, “you’re wrong. but i like that you believe it.”

you didn’t know whether to feel insulted, supported or understood. “so what now? you gonna let me fall back down?”

Bill laughed at how offended and naive your voice sounded, “nah.” a tendril, cold one and weirdly gentle, slid from the air and rested against the top of your head, petted you like you were some kind of little puppy.