Bill Cipher Fanart Smash Or Pass Tier List
I have never wanted to fuck the triangle. Change my mind.
This is a form to submit your Bill Cipher fanart to be ranked on a tier list YouTube video according to how fuckable I personally find it. The art quality itself will not be commented on, but these pieces might be subject to some light razzing, and some adult comments, so only submit if you are prepared for that. You can also choose to submit anonymously.
EDIT: Deadline is 11:59 pm PT on July 22
What is allowed:
Any Bill you want: triangle bill, humanized Bill, monster Bill, eldritch Bill, dapper British Bill
As long as it is adult Bill Cipher, it goes.
What is not allowed:
No underage characters
Art from underage artists
No uncensored frontal nudity
Also, no Bill-possessing-hotter characters. That's cheating.
LEGAL AGREEMENT:
BY SUMBITTING BILL CIPHER FAN ART TO THIS FORM, YOU CONSENT TO HAVE IT RANKED ACCORDING TO ITS HOTNESS IN A HANA HYPERFIXATES YOUTUBE VIDEO.
YOU AGREE THAT THE ART YOU ARE SUBMITTING WAS CREATED ENTIRELY BY YOU.
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you know, we talk a lot about characters and/or relationships (of all kinds) being 'doomed by the narrative' around here, and how haunting and gut-wrenching that can be, especially when it so often takes the form of death and destruction and tragedy.
and we should keep doing that, obviously. death and destruction and tragedy kick total ass.
however. can we please spare a thought for the clowns trapped in that same (burning) room?
after all, what is a comic relief character if not doomed by the narrative to always act like a buffoon despite any and all circumstances, all for the sake of relieving narrative tension?
how must it feel, to have everyone around you dropping dead, losing limbs, losing loved ones, and otherwise being on the receiving end of unending torment - and all you can do is stand there and prattle off another zinger at your allotted time?
and what if you lose a loved one yourself, o jester mine? what if - hear me out - you lose multiple loved ones? what if it never ends? what will you do then?
well, if you're lucky, you'll get to mourn for all five of the seconds you're allowed to before the size thirty shoes go back on and the narrative moves on to other, more plot-central characters.
if you're not - well. it's a good thing clown makeup is waterproof, isn't it?
anyway, shout out to all my comedy kings out there doomed to play perpetual funnyman to their more plot-central counterparts despite being in undeniably comparable pain. you may be doomed by the narrative, but you are beloved by me <3
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WHO UP LILYROSEKILLING THEMSELVES?!
if yes, i have (unedited, be nice to me) snippetty-snip ❤️
When she turns to look at them again, inevitable really, a sort of irresistible pull - she’s curious about them, fascinated for some reason, inexplicably drawn to them - they aren’t in the booth anymore. Instead, her eyes find them out on the dance floor, which has filled considerably in the couple of hours since she’s been here - she’s sure it must be after midnight by now, and the whole place is bustling. There’s still quite a bit of space on the dance floor though, despite all the people, and the two men aren’t using any of it; they exist entirely in each other’s personal space, hands everywhere, dancing, or grinding really, so close together that they almost look like one conjoined creature.
The blond has his hands in the jeans backpocket of the lanky one, who has his face buried in the blond’s neck, folded over him in a way that should look comical but is making Lily blush a little. It’s just - intimate, they’re entirely in their own world, clearly obsessed with each other, devoted, and Lily thinks that’s something that she would really quite like to experience for herself. Maybe James had been obsessed with her, the way he chased after her for years, but she thought that he had probably been more obsessed with the idea of her than who she actually was, not that she really allowed anyone to see who she actually was back then, but anyway these two, out on the dance floor, are obsessed with each other in a way that ran deeper than appearances and expectations.
They’re obsessed with each other down to the very marrow, cutting each other open and revelling in, revering, every drop of blood that spills, she thinks that they would probably let each other be messy and selfish and angry and cruel and awful and that they would look at the rot that lived inside the other, the knives, the imperfection, and still never let them go, still worship the ground they walked on. Lily didn’t actually know them, but looking at them - the blond one’s hands moving out of the jeans’ pockets and moving to slide under their waistband instead, the lanky one bringing a hand up and running it through the blond one’s hair, pulling his head back to lock their lips together - she’s sure that she’s right.
She’s also probably jealous, and projecting, and delusional.
And drunk.
It’s the last of these factors that makes her think fuck it, maybe she doesn’t need to try and forget about them, maybe she can down her drink, leave the guy who’s name she still can’t remember at the bar, and head out onto the dancefloor.
More than the alcohol, she’s also promised herself that she’s going to try new things and do what she wants without waiting for permission from some impossible higher power, and what she wants right now is to slide herself in between these two men and hope that they’ll decide to worship the ground that she walks on too.
It’s something visceral, the way she wants them, something she doesn’t think she’s ever fully felt about a person, or people, before, that kind of instinctive hungering that makes her want to dig her fingernails into their skin and never let go, makes her want to become a part of their conjoined creature, to make a monstrosity - a freak, Petunia would say, but Lily likes the sound of it this time, because she is feeling a little freaky, and maybe there’s nothing wrong with that.
She isn’t entirely sure how she manages it, what with the way they’re plastered against each other, with the way they’re dancing and kissing and clinging to each other, there shouldn’t be room for anything between the two of them. Maybe they see her coming and separate slightly, or maybe she forces them apart and works her way in herself, but either way she ends up standing between the two of them, the lanky one behind her and the blond in front of her. The top two buttons of the blond’s shirt are now undone and it’s making her feel a little weak in the knees as one set of hands settles on her hips and another wraps around her waist. He smiles at her, bright, white teeth, and his eyes, level with hers as she stands in her heels, are a piercing blue, that same curiosity mixed with something a little more feral.
“We were hoping you’d come over,” he says, and if the three of them weren’t pressed together so tightly she thinks she might have fallen over then, because that’s an entirely unfair thing to say to her. As it is, the lanky one is draping himself over her in the same way that he had been draping himself over the blond earlier and really, if they felt her sway a little in their arms she was sure she could just pretend she was dancing.
It’s a little overwhelming, how immediately connected she feels to them, in the way those blue eyes are staring into hers, and in the way there are hands holding her like she’s something precious, a treasure, and in the way there’s a chin resting on her shoulder now; the two men welcoming her into their dynamic like she was made to fit there, in between them. She thinks she could get addicted to it, obsessed with it, very easily - it might even have happened already.
She leans back against the chest of the lanky one, turning her head to try and get his face in her line of vision. His eyes are a greenish sort of hazel, glinting with that same intensity that seems to exist in everything these two do, and she smiles at him as he moves his head to look at her better.
“I kinda wanna kiss your boyfriend, if you don’t mind,” she says, smile turning into a grin, once again thinking fuck it and turning back to face the blond one before the lanky one can reply, lifting her hands to tangle them in his hair, mussing it up more, pulling his face to hers and pressing their lips together.
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Erasermight AU where Shouta and Hizashi live together because Hizashi is worried that if no one is there to look after Shouta he’ll forget to eat or something and die (he’s not wrong). Shouta thinks it’s dumb but if his best friend wants to live together, well, it makes rent cheaper.
Hizashi is going out of town so he asks Toshinori to cat sit for him. Toshi agrees bc of course he would and Hizashi makes sure he’s okay with staying at the apartment to look after the cat. He gives Toshinori extensive instructions on how to care for the cat, named something stupid like “Lazy Boy” or “Beanie Baby” and Toshinori is actually excited to do his best.
He shows up at the apartment with a key and lets himself in and Shouta is just standing in the kitchen drinking coffee. “What are you doing here?” Shouta asks. Toshinori explains that he agreed to look after Mic’s cat. Shouta tells him they don’t have a cat. Toshinori asks who [insert stupid cat name] is then and Shouta recognizes it as one of the stupid nicknames Hizashi calls him.
(Toshi ends up staying because after everything Mic said about what the “cat” needed, he’s now really worried Shouta might die if someone isn’t there]
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