As stated in my description, this is an age regression and ageplay-focused blog. This blog does NOT contain underage. I mostly enjoy writing x Reader fic, but fics with the focus on a single or character, or character x character may also be present.
This blog will contain dark (such as yandere, as the 'forced' in the blog title implies) and sexual themes. I personally have no issue combining age regression with NSFW, and will do this on here. This does not mean everything I write will be either of these things, though. But if this is something that bothers you, I wouldn't recommend following me! Still, I will tag everything to the best of my ability. Please let me know if you need something else tagged.
I made this blog for myself more than anyone else, to make the things I personally want to see. Asks are welcome and encouraged, but I won't be taking any requests! This doesn't mean that you can't share ideas, though. I would love to read them!
I have a main blog where I also post dark content. (Gore, noncon, incest, etc.). Again, if this makes you uncomfortable, I would recommend not following.
Hello! Just got to your blog and liking it so far!
And I have a question, can I DM you? I'm... currently writing something (of forced agere relation) and I would personally love to talk with somebody about this, because... I'm closeted about my liking of forced agere and that stuff...
So... yeah-
Yeah, feel free to message me! I changed my DM settings. Do be warned that I'm not on social media a whole lot and am in a more 'uncommon' timezone, so responses might take a little while! But I'm always happy to chat :3
I personally really like the idea of Bill x Reader x Ford. This one kinda ties into my previous post, but it’s not required reading. I suppose this would be an AU where Ford accepted Bill’s offer during Weirdmaggedon, or something else went wrong resulting in Bill staying in power :)
Contents: forced age regression, yandere, implied mental manipulation
Whereas Bill is far from the best caretaker (though he tries, in his own way), Ford takes care to create a semblance of structure in your life. He doesn’t have tons of practical experience with children or little ones such as you, but he makes up for it with dedication. He takes to caring for you as if it were a newly discovered, fascinating field of study. In other words… He reads many, many books, and tries all kinds of things to figure out what you like best.
Ford is not entirely fond of the kind of dynamic you have with Bill. It's not because he doesn't want to be referred to with parental terms, that's simply a matter of preference, but that he insists on you being friends above anything else. Considering the dynamics at play here, Ford cannot help but view it…
"As simply pedagogically irresponsible, Bill."
The triangle in question rolls his eye.
"Oh, boohoo! Fancy McFancypants over here knows what’s up!” Bill glances at you from the corner of his eye. Seeing you crack a smile while you’re sketching away with your crayons, he’s encouraged. “You read one book on how to raise a kid, and now you wanna tell me what to do? Get lost. Kid, c'mon, prove him wrong-- I'm your favourite, right?"
You look up from your latest piece of art. You are drawing all three of you, in fact. You're usually deaf to their arguments, it's such a constant that you've grown used to the noise and stopped viewing it as a threat. (Your daddy calls it 'bickering'; Billy, when daddy isn't listening, calls it 'flirting'. That makes you giggle.)
But you don't like getting involved in it yourself! So you firmly shake your head, and drop the pacifier attached to your necklace to speak.
"No favourites… I love you both," you say with the confidence only someone as little as you could have. Billy's eyelid flutters, and your daddy smiles.
To put it simply, Bill is the ‘fun, rule-breaking parent’ and Ford is… A little less that. One should not take Bill Cipher as the benchmark of taking good care of a human, though.
Ford will make sure your meals are more varied than the endless stream of candy that Bill feeds you, and get you tucked in for sleep at regular times, too. Compared to Bill, who enjoys playing games with you and ‘roughhousing’, Ford prefers calmer activities. He’s definitely up for the occasional board game, but, most of the time, he’ll read to you, make drawings upon requests (or give you lessons!), or toy around with science experiments safe for someone who gets the urge to put anything that looks interesting inside their mouth.
He might’ve taken you for an adventure or two outside, but… The world hasn’t been the same since Bill got his hands all over it. He may be technically immortal now. You decidedly are not, as far as he knows. Either way, he doubts that Bill would let you out of this room to begin with. He doesn’t have to ask to be able to know that. If there is any reason he would keep someone locked up the way he does with you, it must be because you have some form of special connection to him. Ford does not believe he would risk that.
Really, Ford isn’t stupid or blind. It’s not that he’s going along with all of this because he is ignorant of Bill’s manipulation of your mental state. Bill can call it a ‘nudge in the right direction’ all he wants. He’s keeping you regressed. But everything has changed. He has changed, and Ford doesn’t know if he made the right decision. He fears he hasn’t. (Somewhere out there, in an alternate universe, a Stanford must live who made a difference decision. Ford hopes he’s happy.)
Spending time in this little contained room, with something dependent on him and eager to be looked after by him, who doesn’t know better and never will… It’s not good, it’s the very definition of selfish, but it’s comforting to him. Grounding, in a sense. With an eternity of time left ahead of him and the foundations of his previous life all but crumbled, he has something steady to return to. It doesn’t matter how much he rationalizes it. It’s twisted and fucked up, plain and simple.
…He supposes he can understand why Bill finds him so amusing, even now.
A little whimper snaps him from the spiral of his thoughts. Your bottle is empty. He should get youa refill, then pull you back on his lap.
Based on @/spitdrunken’s reincarnation post! If you haven’t/don’t want to read it, it’s about Bill having known befriended when he was a child, killed you in the disaster. Now you have reincarnated as a human, with some vague memories of your past.
Content: Age regression, obsessive behaviour, implied mental manipulation
Bill tries to avoid thinking about it, but he’s already seen the light leave your eyes once before. (And it had been his fault! You had been so excited, and then—) But dwelling on the past is for suckers. And Bill is no sucker, he has reality in the palm of his hand! Either way, you’re here now, you’re together again! He has the chance to make it all better, to make it all right.
He hasn’t cared about anyone’s opinion of him in a trillion years. You, however, such a clear reminder of his past, of the child he was, he almost wants to crystallize. You still believe that Bill is your imaginary childhood friend somehow given physical form. You don’t need to know everything else he has been up to! It’s fine. It’s totally fine. It’s better for you, this way. And if you’re the most at peace with having your brain slowed down a little, having you all regressed all the time, it only makes the most sense to walk that path.
The Fearamid is a maze of twisting hallways, dead-end corridors and hidden passages. Among the incomprehensible architecture, there is a big, padded room with a locked room where you’re allowed to stay. Whenever Bill isn’t around, you doze off into the dream of a special world created from your own imagination, where all of your favourite things in the world come together! In there, you’re a little kid, having one adventure after another. Bill had spent most of his time around you when younger and grows almost nostalgic thinking about how wonder-eyed you’d been all the way back then.
Your room is full of pillows and stuffed toys and other decorations, all plucked straight from your brain. If there’s anything that’s true, it’s that Bill will always know you better than anyone else. When he’s around you, the noise in his brain seems too quiet down, just a little. He’s not the best caretaker. What he wants more than anything is for you to like him, to love him! So your diet is horribly imbalanced (it’s mostly candy), and instead of cleaning any of your clothes, for example, he’ll just make the old ones disappear and make new ones. He likes to play luck-based (board) games with you, because then it’s not entirely certain he’ll win! It seems there nothing he can’t do— Because that’s the truth! He can make all of your dreams come true, if you just stay right here.
Sometimes, he’ll try to recreate some small scenes of what he remembers. It isn’t much. After a trillion years, most of his recollections have faded away. But he has painted the ceiling of your room to reflect the starry night sky, and he likes to play hide and seek with you. He’ll toss you in the air and catch you again. For some reason, he can even enjoy listening to you babble endlessly about meaningless things.
He tries not to be overjoyed when you cling to him, when you ask him not to leave, when you need him. He likes you the most when you’re being clingy. It’s how you convince him to do the silliest things. He’ll shrink himself down so you can hug him to your chest, or swaddle himself in blankets so his ‘pointy edges’ can’t poke you in your sides while you cuddle.
You see a side of Bill that no one else ever will, but that doesn’t mean his intentions are entirely selfless. Whether this is a form of penance for having snuffed out your life, the desire for someone’s undivided, uncomplicated almost-worshipping attention, or a need to be loved and wanted… Even Bill doesn’t know. He convinces himself there’s some kind of long-con here, but there’s not. Perhaps it’s a little bit of all three.
You were a little kid, when you’d first met him. But so was he. It had been a time before time, when many things did not yet exist, and even more were simply incomprehensible.
Other kids always talked about Bill and his ‘weird’ eye. You didn’t really get it. Your mom told you to be nice to Bill, but you didn’t really know him. When you asked the other kids why he or his eye was weird, none of them knew what to say. And if they did, they all gave a different answer. You guessed their parents just told them he was weird. Maybe you were weird, too, then. You never really knew what to say or how to approach anyone, and it’d only become a problem when your parents asked you if you had any friends. That was the moment you had realised that you didn’t.
You didn’t really know why you picked Bill, back then. You didn’t care about him either way. But you did liked his shoes. They were big, a cool colour, and they were squeaky when he moved. What was there not to like? That morning, you had asked your dad what you should ask when you wanted to play together with someone. He had said that, after school, you should get someone’s parents’ permission if you want to play after school.
“Bill’s mom, can Bill play?” You’d ask who you would later get to know as miss Scalene.
“I don’t know!” She responded, in that slow, sweet tone people who spend a lot of time around young children naturally begin to emulate. “I think you should Billy ask that.”
“Oh. I thought his name was Bill! I’m sorry.” You called out, swaying a little from side to side.
“It’s Bill,” he’d said. His voice was higher than you had expected. “But mom calls me Billy.”
“Oh,” you started again. “Can I call you that too?” You asked.
“…Mm.” Billy had hummed. “Okay. I guess.” Even when he’d said the affirmative, he hadn’t sounded entirely convinced. He was hesitant to appear from next to his mom.
“So. Do you wanna play, Billy?” He glowed a little brighter.
He was quiet for a moment. You think his mom squeezed his hand. “Sure. But what?”
You didn’t really have much experience playing with other kids, either. But you weren’t about to tell your new friend Billy that! You’d offered to play hide and seek together, to which he’d agreed. After just a little bit of time together, talking and playing came a lot more easily.
You would play hide and seek together quite a lot. That was the first time you really came face-to-face with Billy’s mischievous side. He had advantages over you that you simply could not imagine. With his eye, that could see ‘every’ which way, was always able to spot you long before you bumped into him. Yours were always just fixed in a single direction, bumping into other shapes was normal and expected. Billy never did that. He could suddenly appear behind you, and you had no idea how he did it. If you ever found him, it was because he could no longer contain his laughter, or because of the squeaking of his shoes.
For a while, this went fine. But you grew sick of losing all the time. You’d eventually stopped, swayed violently from side to side (a sight of great displeasure amongst your two dimensional race) and cried big, fat tears. Your purple glow diminished to a flickering.
“It’s not fair!” You mumbled out, and crossed your arms in front of your chest. “You always win, and I never, ever do. You’re cheating.”
“I’m not cheating!” He exclaimed a little too loudly, and you cried even harder. “It’s my eye,” he said and pointed at it. “It’s not my fault I can see things you can’t. I’m not cheating.”
“…It’s still cheating if you’re not doing it on purpose,” you mumbled huffily. Not to mention, he had been way too happy beating you over and over and over again! You sniffle and loosen your arms. “Did you know people call your eye weird? Why is it like that?”
“Yes. Duh. I know people say that… And I dunno. Mom says it’ll be alright when I’m older.” You were too young to know to recognize or maneuverer around a touchy subject. “…Do you think it’s weird?”
“I don’t know yet,” you responded. “What else can you see? And do?”
Billy told you about the stars. Whereas his parents had tolerated his talks about the stars, had found his enthusiasm for something they couldn’t see endearing and worrying in equal measure, you were fascinated by them. Perhaps exactly because you couldn’t see them, your interest had expanded. Bill and you would exchange drawings. He’d draw the stars for you, while you would show him what the world looked like to you, or other things. Sometimes, you drew the two of you together, too.
Afterwards, the two of you had become inseparable. And, years later, when Billy’s parents had lost all hope in the possibility that his eye would change, when people started to fear him, you’d stuck by his side like glue. He had told you of his plan to show everyone the stars, and you’d practically vibrated with excitement. You had counted down the hours.
And, like the rest of them, you had ended up smashed. Into. Pieces, scattered into nothing but the finest of dust, leaving behind a pile of static, writhing blood. Maybe, unlike the rest, you had felt a sliver of happiness when you died. Maybe you’d even gotten to see it.
--
In another life, many, many, many years in the future, you had been a human. In this life, you were born with the same fascination for the stars, and granted the opportunity to study them to your heart’s content. Maybe the Axolotl had taken mercy on your soul, or something along those lines. You had a good life. A comfortable one. A life that was much, much happier than the one you had lived a trillion years ago.
But you had a childhood imaginary friend. Perhaps a part of your traumatic past life had lodged itself so deeply in your soul that not even reincarnation had washed away all memories of it. You had a childhood imaginary friend named Billy, who was a floating little triangle with a big, glossy eye and cool shoes. As you grew older, he’d slipped from your mind, and the only remnant of his existence were some drawings you’d kept of him in a forgotten drawer in your room.
When you had doodled him again once, many years later, the shape was in line enough with his current appearance to allow him a portal of view into your life. He hadn’t been able to explain what it was that drew himself to you. Why he started to infiltrate your dreams, merely to watch from a distance. The design of your mindscape, the big, starry expanse spanning out above it, had felt familiar to him. The desire to watch you go about your day and do the boring, mundane things that every meatbag does every single day. But when he finally decided to show himself in one of your dreams, it had all clicked into place.
“Billy!” You’d exclaimed happily. “Huh… I haven’t thought about you in forever. It’s been a really long time.” It was something in your eyes and the way you’d said it, that had jolted him back all that time. He’d almost forgotten about you. Forgotten your name, and what you’d looked like. Only vague memories of happiness had remained in contrast with the sight of your corpse. “But you look a bit different from what I remember. Well, a dream’s a dream, right?”
“Y…Yeah, well, ahahaha!” It wasn’t often that Bill was thrown off-balance, and it’d made him a little sick. His mind jumped between destroying you from the inside out then and there, and cradling you into a little pocket dimension he could fit in the palm of his hand for the rest of his eternity. “You’ve changed, too, kid. Like you said, a lot of time has passed. So! What are you up to now, huh?”
Bill knew from the moment he set his eye upon you, that he’d have a soft spot for you. It was dangerous. You weren’t like those others, who he could grow amused with for a little bit, toy around with and, eventually, discard without a second thought. No. The two of you went waaaay back, and he’d already seen you die once before.
