#This isn’t very accurate but it was funny to me

[paranormaltheatrekid]

Starkid members typecasts

Jon Matteson - marketable plushie

Mariah Rose Faith - girl who loves her phone

Lauren Lopez - the most powerful woman you’ve ever seen or little boy

Dylan Saunders - dad

Joey Richter - nerdy protagonist or powerful villain

Curt Mega - Dumbass (affectionate)

Kim Whalen - powerful magic user or christian mother

Bryce Charles - The coolest person you’ve ever seen

Jeff Blim - CHAOS

[hanakihan]

listen I’ve been plagued by idea of Apothecary Diaries AU and Rook is MaoMao you need to see my vision—

[robotwrangler]

Thinking about when I had a dream that turned out to technically be a prophecy bc it perfectly predicted a large plot development in Warframe’s storyline that I hadn’t gotten even close to yet

[lanternlightss]

god i hate wriothesly so much (<- said through a barely contained smile.)

[loveinhawkins]

picturing Dustin watching at the trailer park, right after Eddie says, “Hey, Steve? Make him pay.”

And for some reason Dustin’s reminded of ‘84, of his conversation with Steve on the railroad tracks, it’s like before it’s gonna storm, you know? You can’t see it, but you can feel it, like this, uh... electricity, you know?—although he’s grown enough to suspect that Steve might not know everything in that regard.

And it’s not electricity he senses, not exactly, but it’s definitely a storm of some kind: something fragile. Something—someone—that’s very scared.

Dustin’s running before he’s even registered his decision. “Steve!”

Steve turns around, and he already looks like he’s about to ask a question—something practical, like whether Dustin’s forgotten something—and Dustin feels a twist of regret, that that’s where Steve’s mind goes; yeah, they’re all ready for battle, so it makes sense, but…

Feeling suddenly very young, Dustin barrels into Steve and hugs him.

He hears Steve’s surprised inhale, his hesitancy, before he returns the hug in full force.

For a little while, it’s like the world narrows down to only this. No ash in the air, no nightmarish red in the sky. Just the two of them.

Dustin’s about to pull away when he feels Steve’s chin dig into the top of his head. Hears him sniff, very quietly, like he’s trying to hide it; and that makes Dustin think of the tunnels, or afterwards, really, when Steve held onto him with shaking hands, kept saying, “We’re okay, we’re okay.”

So he just keeps hugging back.

Steve’s the one to let go; he’s smiling, but he looks a little sad too, forehead creased with worry.

“I need a ride tomorrow,” Dustin says.

Steve huffs. “Oh, yeah? Where to?”

Dustin taps his nose obnoxiously. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

It’s bullshit, of course; Dustin doesn’t need a ride anywhere.

Steve rolls his eyes, but some tightness in his jaw finally eases. “God, you’re such a dick.”

“Bright and early, Steve!” Dustin adds smugly. “Five am!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, waving him off, and for a moment it’s like they’re just in the school parking lot. He looks as if he’s about to say something else, then thinks better of it—glances back to where Robin and Nancy are waiting. He pulls Dustin in with one arm, a brief but tight hold. Nods, as if to himself. “Go on, scram.”

Dustin runs back to the trailer with a stitch in his side but a smile on his face. He knows it’s naive to think he can fix everything, but in this moment at least some part of the universe has been righted, even while in The Upside Down.

Eddie’s standing right where he left him, like he’s been frozen the whole time.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “is he, uh… is he okay?”

Dustin’s reminded that of course, Steve isn’t the only one who’s scared.

“Yeah, he will be,” he says, which he thinks is a more accurate answer than a simple yes or no.

It’s funny how life works, he muses while gathering supplies for the trailer defences. There’s no way he’d have thought even a week ago that Eddie would be sincerely asking him about Steve’s well-being. Whenever he happened to bring Steve up at Hellfire, Eddie would imitate him in a comedic falsetto, “Oh, Steve this, Steve that.”

For a minute, Eddie remains rooted to the spot, still staring in the direction of where Steve went—like he’d watched helplessly as Steve walked into the eye of a storm or something.

“You just gonna stand there and gawk?” Dustin says.

Eddie snorts. “So rude, Henderson.”

And it’s not like Dustin really knows, not when Steve and Eddie are still barely dancing around it themselves. Still, he can pick up on some things.

Like when they’ve finished setting up everything, waiting for the go-ahead for Eddie to start playing his guitar—to pass the time, they recount the high points of the day, keep it light. It’s a practice Eddie used to implement after campaigns.

And look, Dustin’s damn good at picking up on patterns. Like, he loves Steve, but he’s pretty sure the reality of him driving the hotwired RV doesn’t quite match up to how Eddie’s currently waxing lyrical about it.

He’s making it sound like it was something outta James Bond, Dustin thinks, when he’s sure Steve drove right into several trash cans.

Suddenly he knows exactly what he should do.

“Steve this, Steve that,” he sing-songs.

Eddie flushes; Dustin cackles.

“Fuck off,” Eddie says, but he’s smiling as Dustin keeps laughing, like he knows there’s nothing mean-spirited in it. He keeps going, Steve this, Steve that, talking right over Dustin’s teasing—somehow finding even more moments where Steve truly shines.

And Dustin doesn’t know everything, not even close, but at the very least, he knows that this feels right.

[blaithnne]

Wife you truly have a gift

So. As of this past week I am officially done with Semiology training, which means that, technically, I'm capacitated to take a patient's history, come up with basic diferential diagnoses and write down their evolution during their stay at a hospital. Do I believe that? Oh, hell no. But that does mean that this past year I've talked to a lot of patients and heard even more stories about them from my professors. And my mind is a machine that turns random knowledge into Hilda content, so... hyperspecific canva presentation under the cut. Enjoy

[aubeezz]

Hi, first I wanna say I LOVE YOU’RE ART! You are VERY inspiring and SO incredibly talented!

I was wondering how you do your lineart and coloring? It’s so beautiful!

My lineart isn’t the cleanest and I rely on colouring to get me through

While I don’t have much energy to step by step explain every process of how I colour I mapped out the basics for you <:] by no means is my colouring the ‘proper’ way to do it, I just go with what fits my style

I prefer colouring with more intense/saturated colours because I think it makes my work pop! I’m sure there are more accurate ways online, but I appreciate you finding inspiration in my style regardless, so I hope this helps!

I use this brush for both lineart and colouring too

[tswwwit]

Here's the Finale of Cult AU! Part Five was here and that's got links to all the others.

Hope you all enjoy!

Good worshipers devote their whole heart to god.

The typical way to display devotion is through acts of service. Whether it’s speaking the words granted to them in dreams, following the commands of his interpreted mysteries, or keeping his altars clean - everyone has a role in the Great Plan. 

Dipper’s thing has always been the art of study. And he was good at it. 

Nobody really objected, at first. Following the knowledge of Cipher would surely bring him to the true path of righteousness

That didn’t pan out as expected. Or very well, for almost everyone involved.

But somehow, eventually, impossibly - it ended up with Dipper being here.

There’s an argument to be made that he doesn’t have to study Bill anymore. Nobody’s here to care, except for Bill, who doesn’t mind… pretty much anything Dipper does. At worst he’d be miffed about the lack of attention. 

But old habits die hard, and Dipper’s always been curious. 

The demon-god is right here in front of him. In the strange, oddly human flesh. How could Dipper not be interested?

Currently, Bill lounges in his armchair, staring off into the distance with a zoned-out expression on his face.

At first glance, everything seems normal. Bill could pass for a human-ish guy having a lazy weekend, relaxed and careless.

A second glance would show that the hand under his chin isn’t his own. The tattered remains of a sleeve and ragged, severed flesh dangle against the upholstery. Occasionally Bill clacks the jutting arm bones together like the world’s worst pair of tongs. 

Dipper has no idea where Bill got the limb. Could be a prize, maybe Bill made a ‘lend me a hand’ pun that went too far. Mostly, he wishes he’d throw the damn thing away. 

Bill wants to magpie a bunch of souvenirs from around the multiverse? Fine. But he should stick with things that aren’t biodegradable. 

Dipper makes a face, then another note in his journal. 

Dismemberment, not for ritual purposes. Just because Bill’s super weird. Probably thinks it’s ‘funny’.

If the cult scriptures were right about even one thing then… it wouldn’t be great. The ‘god’ they depicted wasn’t the best.

But if they had been the least bit accurate, then Dipper wouldn’t have to make up a Bill-Cipherpedia from scratch. 

Dipper flips to a half-completed page in his book - glances up at Bill, who’s still distracted, eye unfocused - and starts adding to his notes. 

The other mortals Bill's had were on the right track. Keeping a log of their adventures, interesting historical facts. Details on spells, written down in code that’s not too tough to crack. A ton of practical, sensible, logically organized advice. For someone who’s bound to be a demonic companion, he’s sure they’ll be invaluable. 

When it comes to dealing with Bill Cipher himself, Dipper’s journal is going to be the best.

He’s already filled fifty pages and it barely scratches the surface.

For one, Bill Cipher is not a god. Just a really super powerful demon who can pass for one on a good day. His ‘guidance’ should be taken with a heaping helping of salt, and his ‘path’ veers so far away from righteousness that it almost seems like Dipper was on the right track. 

Bill enjoys chaos. Violence, murder, and arson. Tricks and schemes. He starts bizarre and unpredictable bullshit all the freaking time. He loves things that by all stretch of sanity and reason shouldn’t be, and does it with aplomb. A total goddamn menace.

Dipper checks back on his subject - still calm and quiet. A rare sight. Important to capture.

Bill stares off into nothing, face nearly blank. His eye remains unfocused as it flicks around in short, rapid motions. If Dipper had to guess, he’s concentrating on one of his many external eyes. Pretty deeply, too; maybe going through several at a time. 

The expression, though, is odd. Because he’s not smiling. Not that Bill’s upset or anything, he’d be more active if he was, it’s just. 

Without that eternal grin, or his constant chatter, or that fast-paced energy, it makes him look. Kinda different. 

There’s no mask being worn here. No lies. No pretense remains, when he's this distracted.

It’s just. Bill.

“You’ve been quiet,” Bill says, out of the blue. 

Damn it. Dipper thought he wasn’t paying attention. Now Bill’s turned, waving at him with that detached arm instead of his own hand. 

He pretends to ignore him, ducking his head down and focusing on his journal. 

“Hey!” Bill again, more insistent, and slightly amused. “What’s so interesting, sapling?”

“Nothing,” Dipper lies. He traces another line on the paper, and frowns.

So much for capturing the moment. Bill totally ruined it by moving. 

Dipper glares at the half-finished sketch. He just can’t quite get the angles of Bill’s face right, or the shading of firelight on his skin. Yet another way that jerk is difficult to pin down. 

Bill lets out a low whistle. “Wow, that lie was terrible! We gotta get you back up to speed on deception before you try anything subtle. Should only take a few years.” He scrunches his face up in mock thought, tapping the severed arm’s finger on his chin. “So! I think you’re up to something!”

“And you’re not?” Dipper’s not an idiot. He knows this guy by now.

“No idea what you’re on about!” A flash of smile, and a wink. 

That’s a lie. Dipper can tell in the way Bill’s smile goes just so, and how he manages to pose even more louchely in the chair. 

He makes another note, ignoring Bill’s pointed stare. 

It’s not like Bill doesn’t know what he’s researching. Though he hasn’t directly commented on it, every once in a while he tries to offer up ‘interesting facts’, or go on some random story. Most of which are pure lies. 

Dipper doesn’t bother responding. Another thing to note for future humans - don’t encourage him. He’ll only take it further than you’d like.

Something shifts in his peripheral vision - Bill, sitting up straight. The corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk, and his eye glows a faint and eerie blue for a moment, before returning to gold. Looking smug. Too smug.

As Bill finally drops the severed arm, rubbing his hands together in sinister delight - Dipper stares suspiciously over his journal.

And there’s the other reason he’s recording all of this.

Bill really is up to something. 

The way he’s giggled to himself around the penthouse the last couple of days. Taking time to spy on something, or someone. That doesn’t take a mind-reader to figure out, just a pair of eyes.

“Speaking of things,” Bill says, a segue that has Dipper doing a double-take.. He leans over to grin at him, chin thankfully propped on his own fist. “Ever think about expanding your wardrobe?”

“Uh,” Dipper hesitates. “Like, literally? I don’t think I need the space-”

“I’m not talking storage. I’m talking fashion!” Bill springs up from the chair, arms wide “More than just jeans and flannel and the other grubby stuff you scrounged up. Something with style.”

“Uh,” Dipper repeats. He shuts his journal, plucking at his t-shirt. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

The derisive Bill look gives him speaks volumes. Dipper slouches in his seat. 

Yeah, okay, it’s not the most fashion-forward, but it’s not, like, weird. He could wear this basically anywhere and it’d be fine.

“One of the suits in said wardrobe should be good to start with. I know there’s a few tucked in the back,” Bill continues. He gives Dipper a long once-over as he stalks closer. “You can’t tell me you’ve never tried one of those on.”

“I haven’t, actually,” Dipper admits. Under Bill’s intent gaze, he shuffles back on the couch. “They’re not really my thing?”

“Yeah, figures.” Bill sighs, with a dramatic eye-roll. “Try one on this evening, then! We can get it adjusted if you’re a little…” He hovers a hand near Dipper’s head, palm flat, raising and lowering it. “That craphole you called a cult kinda stunted your growth.”

Warmth flushes Dipper’s face. He’s not short. Bill’s just stupid tall. “I don’t even know how to tie a tie.”

Bill’s eye and mouth both go wide, and Dipper knows he’s made a huge mistake.

“Oh, that I can do something about.” Bill claps once, and starts rubbing his hands together. The grin makes its triumphant return. “Right now.”

Which is how Dipper ends up standing in the middle of the living room, stuck in a stuffy dress shirt and jacket, as he tries, desperately, not to sweat.

“And finally,” Bill’s voice is low, above and just to the right of Dipper’s ear. Arms over his shoulders, and long fingers brushing his throat. “Nice and tight around your neck.”

Dipper stares forward. The words enter his ear and instantly evaporate into pink mist in his mind. “Okay.”

“Like this.” One swift tug cinches the tie around Dipper’s neck; not tight, not loose. A silken, obvious weight. “Got it?”

“Yeah.” Dipper’s voice is half an octave too high. Clearing his throat, he says. “Yeah, I got it.”

With another laugh, Bill pats him on the chest. In the mirror, Dipper can see the dangerous curve of his smile. He’s tall enough to peek over the top of his head, holding him by the shoulders with long elegant fingers. A picture of perfection, looming behind a scrawny nerd with a beet-red face. 

Though the suit does fit, despite Bill whining about needing adjustments. He’s just too picky. The real problem is the person inside looks deeply, hideously uncomfortable. 

God, Dipper wishes Bill wouldn’t be so close.  It’s too warm. Too - 

Dipper wipes at his forehead, then around his neck. 

Sometimes he wishes he knew less about Bill. Ignorance would be bliss. 

Bill’s eye narrows. He looks Dipper over thoughtfully, smirk slowly morphing into a frown. “The look’s decent enough but…” He waggles a hand, a so-so gesture. “Kinda missing something. Probably needs accessories.”

“Great,” Dipper says, still staring in the mirror. “You do that.”

He watches Bill depart, feels the touch leave his shoulders, and the coolness it leaves behind. He shuts his eyes and tries to ignore it.

Brushing off the suit doesn’t help. Neither does adjusting it. Taking it off in the middle of the living room is out of the question, not least because he doesn’t have anything to change back into. Bill vanished his other clothes the instant they came off. 

No matter what he does, Bill’s touch lingers.

Which is stupid, it’s not like - He breathes in, then out through his nose. 

All this learning, and for what? It’s only gotten him into trouble. He delved too deep, asked questions he shouldn’t. He spent too much time learning about Bill, a dangerous endeavor in its own right. 

Now there are facts hovering in the forefront of his brain, and he never could stop thinking. Even when it was a bad idea. 

Dipper rubs at his face, and undoes the tie. It’s uncomfortable and he should - yeah. Preoccupy himself with trying to redo it. He caught at least seventy percent of the instructions.

The silk slides under his fingers. The knot refuses to tie at first - and when it does, it’s lumpy and weird and awkward. 

Bill would know how to do this better. He knows everything. Dipper wishes Bill didn’t know that much, or at least about… things that aren’t sinful. 

He knows all about them, though.

Too much, maybe.

Bill Cipher has, in fact, kissed men. While being a man, or man-shaped being, and there's nothing wrong with that. Objectively speaking, it's morally neutral. And religiously speaking, it's practically approved, once you toss away all the bullshit some assholes drilled into your head, ages ago.

So Bill likes men. And that's not bad, or wrong. Plenty of normal, regular humans do that, and they shouldn't feel guilty about it either.

Dipper glares, and the man in the mirror glares right back at him. A short, scarred, semi-wreck of a person. Barely kept together by stitches and willpower, and god he looks so… small. He’d never qualify. 

Maybe it’d be better if those things were sinful, because then Dipper could keep everything bottled up tight, knowing there’d be terrible repercussions. Pushing it back so deep that even the most thorough mind-probe would never find his crimes.

Anyway, it’s stupid. Dipper’s just some random former-cultist who Bill’s reforming into a barely presentable companion. Interesting guys are taller, and cooler; they go on adventures and fight monsters. Guys who don’t panic when their god looks at them too sharply, or hide under any beds. 

He sticks his tongue out, looking at the small pink mark. One that wouldn’t be there anymore if Bill hadn’t intervened. One arguably shouldn’t be there at all. 

Plus, Bill’s Bill. There’s probably a million billion reasons that getting involved with him is a bad idea, so really, it’s for the best. 

Clearing his throat, Dipper tries retying the tie again. It’s almost a distraction.

By the time Bill returns, Dipper’s found his resolve, and he’s not thinking of anything weird. If only because the damn tie won’t turn out right. One of his fingers is stuck in the knot. 

“Ha! Wow, that’s almost impressive!” Bill says. With one quick yank, he frees the the unfortunate digit. “Where’d your little mortal mind wander this time?”

“Where’d you go?” Dipper snaps. He shakes his arm to get some feeling back in his index finger.

A question for a question. Sadly, Bill doesn’t take the bait this time.

“Just picking up a few things! You musta really drifted off to screw up like that, though.” Bill says, sounding amused. He reaches up to ruffle Dipper’s hair. “Every time I think you can’t get cuter, here you are tying yourself up for me.”

“Sh- damn it.” Dipper shuts his eyes. He scoots away from the hand in his hair, and tries to straighten it out. 

He has to keep a better eye on himself. Having a tongue again has made him too careless. If anyone knows better than to say whatever comes to mind, it’s him. The consequences loom too large.

Or… well, he could say anything. Maybe. Sort of. Here, at least. 

But it’s one thing to want Bill to shut up, and another to order it. Spending the massive leeway he has on a minor annoyance is just dumb. 

“Hold still,” Bill says. Tone light, but serious enough that Dipper goes still. 

Bill examines him for a long moment, circling around with his eye narrowed. Then he snaps his fingers. An idea has struck him. “Alright! How ‘bout this?”

Something cold and heavy drops around Dipper’s shoulders; another thump hands directly on his head. He staggers under the sudden weight, twisting the heavy circle off his head and flinging it away. “What the fuck.”

“What?” Bill says, with calculated innocence, as a triangular crown-thing rolls across the carpet. “Too much?”

“It’s heavy.” Dipper says, lifting the other weight - what is this, a doily for his shoulders? All interwoven gold, laced with intricate designs. It’s bright and gaudy and - He chucks the thing with a frown. “Okay, even I know this clashes with the suit.”

Bill blows a raspberry, looking annoyed. But he’s not arguing, which always means Dipper’s right. He even vanishes the jewelry with a snap. “More understated, then.”

Whatever’s happening, there’s no way it’s gonna deescalate. As Bill paces, Dipper turns slowly to keep an eye on him, watching for sudden movements. 

This isn’t just some game of dressup. Dipper’s escaped those before. This attention has too much focus, and too little fun. 

No, Bill’s preparing for something. Involving Dipper. 

Maybe it’s another demon event? But Bill hasn’t dragged him to one since the first debacle, and he didn’t need to get decked out for that. If they’re going somewhere, it would probably be demon-related, or -

“Aha!” 

Uh oh. Bill has an idea. 

“You gotta have something of mine. Over the top won’t do for now, so obviously-” He wheels around, back facing Dipper. A swirl of magic stirs in manifestation. “We gotta go subtle.” 

When he turns back, it’s with a flash of silver. One palm outspread with two small, golden studs rolling around. 

The other pinches a bright, sharp needle, flashing in the light.

“Alright, turn your head.” Bill says. Then, at Dipper’s obvious alarm - a sigh. “Aw, come on! Tons of humans have their ears pierced! Two little jabs,” A quick, pointed demonstration has Dipper backpedaling. “And bam! New decoration holes!”

Dipper gives that the skeptical look it deserves. Bill’s smile somehow gets even brighter, eyebrows wiggling. 

No way, no how. He is so done with having any sharp things jabbed into his anywhere.

Problem being, Bill has a plan in mind. One he’s prepped over long hours, and he’s far too clever. Any protest will be met with cajoling and convincing, and somehow, inevitably, wrangle him into doing something dumb that hurts. There’s no point in arguing.. 

So Dipper simply… doesn’t.

“Okay.” He says. Keeping his tone quiet, he ducks his head until his chin nearly hits his chest. “If you. Think I should.”

“You should think it’s cool!” Bill’s voice is still cheerful. Totally upbeat. Anyone less knowledgeable might miss the hint of tension. “Just a coupla pokes and it’s over. Then you get to wear great stuff that looks like me!”

Dipper nods. He does it very slowly, deliberately silent. 

There’s a soft noise. Not quite annoyance, but not frustration either. A few footsteps tap on carpet, coming closer before they abruptly stop. 

Bill lets out a low hiss, then mutters something before finishing his approach. Just a little more, then. 

When he’s within arm’s reach, Dipper looks up. 

He meets Bill’s eye, keeping his own wide. Blinking a few times to moisten them, and wearing the biggest, bravest face. The look of a man ready to do as he’s told even though he’s so, so afraid. 

And for the kicker, Dipper makes his lower lip quiver. Just a tad. 

Striking the balance between ‘tremble’ and ‘deliberately twitch’ is hard; he hopes it lands. Keeping up this stupid expression is hard. 

Bill’s eye twitches, he takes a sharp breath. Lip curling up in a near-sneer, reaching out - 

And with a sound of disgust, he throws the needle directly into the wall. It quivers in place while he groans in disappointment.

“Ugh! Whatever.” Bill stalks away, throwing his arms in the air. “Keep your stupid ears intact.” He  folds his arms over his chest, tapping a bicep with one annoyed finger. “You’re missing out, you know!”

Dipper’s shoulders drop; he loosens his tie again with a relieved sigh. Over by the couch, Bill huffs and puffs and stomps around. He blows out a bunch of words about a certain mortal being a ‘killjoy’, and ‘fashion backward’, and so on and so forth. 

But there’s no real venom in his tone. Only frustration, with a hint of fine whine.

All of that, and Dipper stands where he was. Untouched. No poking or prodding and absolutely no punishment forthcoming. No terrible consequences. 

Incredibly, and impossibly - the ‘sad face’ gambit works. Part of Dipper knew it would, just. The idea that any human emotion could derail Bill Cipher’s plans seemed pretty improbable.

He really can get away with anything, if he plays it right. Being ‘special’ kind of rules. 

For a while, Dipper wasn’t certain about that adjective. He still isn’t, not entirely. Overthinking has led him to stranger places, and growing up among the faithful didn’t help. They made a whole religion from reading into things that weren’t actually there. 

But Bill patched up his wound. Showed him around, gave him a place to live. Worked for weeks to find a way to restore his tongue, an impossible, incredible gift. Add on the dinners, the attention, the conversation and the hanging out. The warm touch so often present-

Bill, in his own, bizarre, insane, and purposefully obscured way - kinda, maybe, cares about what Dipper wants. 

It’s only sometimes. Not always. It’s not perfect or complete. 

But the idea is too weird for Dipper to come up with on his own, and there’s like, a billion tons of evidence.

He watches Bill tap his shoe on the floor, an annoyed but thoughtful beat. Already coming up with some other scheme, now that he’s been temporarily thwarted. 

Special. A strange conceit. It’s a dispensation to do whatever he desires. Whatever limit there is, he hasn’t found the edges yet.

Under any other circumstances, he’d be thrilled.

Except that makes two facts that Dipper knows, and they go all too well together.

As Bill sulks, off in the corner of the room, Dipper stuffs his hands in his pockets and resolutely does not walk forward.

Touching Bill, especially to reassure his already too-bloated ego, is simply a bad move. Even if he’s always making exceptions for this one useless human.

Even if he has had certain... past proclivities.

Dipper clenches his hands into fists, glaring down at the carpet. Biting his tongue both literally and metaphorically.

Said proclivities don't include people like him.

Bill likes people who are cool and smart and strong. Dipper's only special because... it's probably the birthmark. Something magical, that doesn’t actually mean anything. Acting on his stupid impulses is a terrible, horrible idea. A lesson he should have learned by now. 

Testing a few limits is fine. Pushing them is another, and that’s never, ever worked out in Dipper’s favor, not even once. Even when he thought it was an exception, or had a good reason. 

Getting caught taking too big a step means getting taught not to do it. As firmly as needed.

He can’t risk that. Not with Bill. Not with all he’s done and given him and… everything.

Anyway, it’s probably fine. It’s okay. Insanity is practically normal here, and Dipper absolutely knows how to keep his damn mouth shut.

All he has to do is stop thinking about it. Keep his hands at his sides, and his eyes off Bill’s face, and his everything and just. Stop. Don’t push it. No matter what Bill does, or how close he gets. He can manage that, at least. 

He has to, before Bill figures him out. 

Bill must really be distracted, too, because he’s not making some quick remark at Dipper’s tense posture, or the look on his face. 

“We gotta find you a ‘fit, kid. Don’t get me wrong, this is cute and all -” Bill says, waving over Dipper. Glaring at him gets a smirk in return. “Just not quite what ya want for… certain activities.”

“Any chance you’re going to tell me what those ‘activities’ are?” Dipper knows the lack of an answer already - but he might as well try.

“Eh, you’ll see! Gotta figure out what kinda symbols I can leave on ya, since I know you’re not a robes kinda guy anymore.” Bill pauses when he sees the look on Dipper’s face and snorts. “Don’t worry, sapling. I’ll get this sorted well before your surprise is ready!”

And he winks. 

Dipper stares back at him. The lingering bits of daydream drop away as it’s rudely shoved aside by other, more insidious thoughts.

Symbols. ‘Surprise’.

Robes.

Short and stupid and scared he might be, but the one thing Dipper’s never been is a fool. 

As Bill starts pacing again, he forces a ‘cute’ smile on his face. 

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” Got to delay him. Convince him to delay. Now that he’s caught Bill’s attention, he throws in extra spice by walking in and patting his bicep. “Take your time, okay?”

“Easy, Pine Tree, I got this!” Bill’s chest puffs out the instant Dipper touches his arm. Now muscles flex under Dipper’s palm as Bill pats the back of his hand. “I think we can go with the suit once I getcha the rest of the stuff.”

He rambles on, about ‘symbolism’ and ‘making an impact’. Dipper lets the words wash over him without paying them mind. They’re not important. He needs space and time to think about all the rest of this horrible debacle. 

No time to ask any more questions. Or be here, while Bill sorts his own part out. The picture’s crystal clear. 

“I should go and… do a thing.”

“Sure, sure,” Bill says, waving him off absentmindedly. Already there’s a tangle of ties in his hand; he glares at them like he’s wrangling a bunch of snakes.

Dipper’s room isn’t far. He makes it there easily, and doesn’t even slam the door behind himself. 

With his back against the solid wood, and the demon far behind him, Dipper grits his teeth. “Shit.”

A trip, Bill says. Something ‘fitting’ Bill says. Suggesting gold depictions of himself and flattering attire and the awful goddamn robes. Part of a presentation.

Damn it, he knew this plot was in the works. He just didn’t think it’d come so soon. 

Bill’s bringing him back there. Back to earth, and to everyone back at - 

The stupid tie is too tight. Dipper pulls it off and over his head, swearing as he throws it aside. Whatever. Bill’s going to replace it, anyway. 

Dipper lived in that conclave for… well, as long as he can remember. His parent’s aren’t part of it, either they left or died or - hell, maybe they were sacrificed. He doesn’t know and nobody ever answered when he asked. 

Two decades of chanting and conforming and absolute idiocy. A lifetime of never knowing what was going on, yet always knowing too much. Years and years of the same halls and the same people and the same place. 

The conformity, of course, was by design. When he was in the cult, everyone was supposed to meld into their molds. Everyone else did, taking their places, following the strict scripture. And even with everything pushing him into place, Dipper still stood out like a sore to be picked at until it bled. 

Just him. Set apart, somehow, even in identical clothing. Belonging to, but never with.

He thought he was done with that place, damn it.

He still can picture the walls of his room, and the dust on stone. The musty concrete and rickety furniture of the aboveground buildings. He can smell the candle wax, even now, cloying and - 

Swearing, Dipper slaps a palm over the candle on his desk, snuffing it out even as it stings his palm. 

Deep breaths. Calming, careful ones. Eyes open so he can see his hands on the wood of the desk, and feel the lacquer curl up under his fingernails.

Not having to think about where he came from took a weight off he didn’t realize he was carrying. Going back is - 

This has just thrown him off a bit, that’s all. Too many memories. A little bit of shoving and he can shut that mental door again.

If only he’d had more time to prepare, this wouldn’t be so bad. Didn’t Bill suggest it only, like, a couple weeks ago? A week, maybe? Time’s hard to keep track of, and the idea felt so distant. Like they’d never get around to it.

Now time is limited. As is Bill’s patience. Maybe he could keep him waffling about one tie color or another, that’d last a good few hours. 

Only once he’s done, they’re still going to go. 

Getting revenge. Everything he dreamed of, curled up in bed and aching and full of helpless anger, finally possible with the power he’s been granted. Bill Cipher by his side should only be a bonus.

Except now there’s pressure because it’s not a dream, and not just Dipper yelling at everyone with his newfound tongue. 

Bill Cipher is gonna be there and if Dipper knows anything about the guy - 

It’s that he’s going to want to make it a whole damn show. 

He’ll want to pick the place apart. Including very last dramatic twist and turn Bill finds entertaining -

And Dipper has to participate. 

Before anything else, he has to find his other notes. Why didn’t he get a folder or something? All the papers are scattered over the desk, piles sitting unsorted in the drawers. He kneels beside the left hand drawer and tries to figure out where the hell he put those spells. 

On paper, scribbled spells remain half-finished. A few concepts he didn’t even get to That stage on, suggestions with question marks at the end. A quick little sketch of the priest with the knife in his chest and Xs for eyes.

Dipper really should have prepared for ‘vengeance’ better. Especially since he knew it was coming. 

It’s just…

Clutching the papers in his hands, Dipper tries to think of what to do - then winces, smoothing the papers back out on the desk. 

Part of him thought maybe they could forget to do this for, y’know. Maybe another two decades or so. About as much time as Dipper spent in the stupid cult himself. That’d be equal. Practically equilateral, even.

Is it too much to ask to stay here? Where things are chaotic as hell, but actively don’t suck?

Maybe it is. Bill would think that’s too boring.

That’s what Dipper gets for hoping, he guesses. The clock ran out when he wasn’t paying attention. Now he has to muddle through and hope it doesn’t go sideways. Like everything else. 

Judging by the sounds from the living room, Bill’s stopped pacing in thought. The eerie silence is broken by cackling laughter. 

Dipper has maybe ten minutes, give or take a few. 

He shuffles the scraps of spells around the desk, discarding this one and that. Most of these aren’t feasible, either too complicated or not even revenge-related. That might not matter if Bill takes over everything. Pretty likely he will, too, since that’s his whole deal.

And the things he can imagine Bill doing are… 

Maybe he won’t go that far. They’re all terrible idiots and cruel and… and just stupid - but he won’t be that annoyed, surely. 

Good thing, too. Dipper learned all about Bill’s wrath, even before he met the guy. Without him being really pissed, though…. That doesn’t leave much cover. Dipper’s going to have to be careful not to draw his attention, lest Bill notice that he’s…

Shit, who is he kidding. Bill will take the lead, but Dipper will have to participate, somehow. He’s already dressed up for the occasion. 

Damn it, what does Bill want from him? 

Dipper can’t do stuff that’s too complicated. Power is easy enough to come by, but finesse is another. Even then, he’d still need a concept to work with, and Dipper’ss not sure he can manage, without anger pushing him on. Some of the old ideas that seemed so perfect back in the day just make him feel sick.

Everything’s a muddle. Dipper has basically nothing that’s not stomach-churning doodles or a half-scrap of experimental spellcraft. This one he doesn’t think he can pull off, and one that…. He was angry when he wrote that. Thinking about the stump of his tongue after a bad dream, one that wasn’t Bill’s fault. 

Actually…

The framework of this other spell isn’t bad. A curse, of sorts. One that’s dumb, and kind of silly - but it might have something to it.

Time to get to work. 

Dipper loses himself in the equations, lines of text and runes, coming together neatly in thin little columns. 

He’s good at this. He knows he is. As one of the few magic users in the cult, Dipper found brief moments of respite when he got to do this. Nobody would bother him. Not when he was the best. And what he made could never be used on him. It was calm. Quiet. So, so safe. 

And the process of solving a problem, seeing the result full and complete in front of him, has always been very satisfying. 

The door slams open. Dipper nearly stabs his thumb with the pen, swearing in surprise. 

Shit. Fuck. He’s out of time, he has, like. One completed curse idea, and it’s the dumbest one he had in store. 

Why didn’t he prepare for this.

“Found it!” Bill exclaims, waving a hideously gaudy golden tie in the air.  “Ready or not, here we go!”

And what can Dipper say to that.

“No need to fret, sapling. They all know we’re coming already!” Bill waves off the worries in a way that’s probably meant to be reassuring. “There are people who’ve dreamt of this moment.”

It doesn’t take a genius to know why that would be. Or where they’re going, if Dipper didn’t know already. An anvil would drop more lightly than that hint.

He gets up from his chair. Lets Bill put the new tie on him, and adjust his shirt. Looking just over Bill’s shoulder and a bit to his left. 

All the while, Bill goes on and on about thinking about this for ages’ and ‘way easier to mess with ‘believers’’ and ‘no time like the solstice, am I right?’

Okay. That’s that. This is what Bill wants to do, so they’re doing it. It can’t take very long, either; At worst it’s a few hours and Dipper can turn his head away from any messy parts. 

Dipper nods whenever it sounds like something important was said. Bill’s wearing his typical yellow, he notices. Dressed about as sharply and cleanly as Dipper’s seen, like he’s just gotten back from the dry cleaners.

They’re going. Actually going. 

No more delays, no clever excuses. Heading to Earth and that one particular set of caverns. 

No escape. 

What will it be like, after all this time? The priest is gone. That has to have changed things. Has someone taken his place, or are they arguing about who’s in charge? Is Bill leading everything, now that he’s paying attention? He could if he put in some effort, but how would that change things? If he’s even bothered at all.  

Of course, if Bill’s been messing with the cultists - and he’s admitted as much - then one thing’s certain. They’ll be very worked up. Practically in a state of fervor.

Dipper’s only seen that a few times in his life, it���s pretty rare. The one event where everyone really got hyped up was …

He rubs at his mouth with the back of his hand.

The sound of a creaking doorknob catches his attention. At some point they entered the living room; Dipper startles a bit as Bill pulls him to the door out of the penthouse, wide open in front of them.

“First things first - back to your crapsack planet.” Bill reaches in for a cheek pinch, then looks surprised when Dipper doesn’t dodge. He tilts his head, shrugging that off. “You’ll be doing the honors, of course.”

“Yes, my lord.” Dipper says on automatic. He catches the look on Bill’s face and grimaces. “I mean, yeah. Sure.”

There’s a long moment where Bill simply. Looks at him. His gaze feels like it could penetrate into Dipper’s brain, reading down to his deepest thoughts - 

And shit, that can’t happen. Too much pushing and Bill could learn that he’s -

“So what do I do?” Dipper interrupts before Bill can delve too deep. He pastes a smile on his face, and hopes it comes across as sincere. “Is it like - a spell, or  an artifact, or a gesture, or-”

“Ha!” Bill claps his shoulder, grinning again. Distracted. Good. “Nah, it’s easier than that! Here-” And he takes Dipper’s hands in his, elegant fingers tracing along them. “Lemme show you.”

And it is easy. Surprisingly so. 

One nudge of magic against magic, and Dipper sees what to do. Lit up by Bill’s power, pouring down his arms and into his chest. Like a switch he can flip, except inside. He’d never noticed it before.

“Oh.” He looks up at Bill, eyes wide. Shit, of course, he’s got the birthmark. He can do that, and it’s -. “Wow.”

Bill grins back at him. “Whatd’ya say, kid? We gonna get going or what?”

If only ‘or what’ was an option. 

Dipper nods, once. Concentrates, hard. And -

The transition is, for lack of a better term, wibbly. Dipper suddenly empathizes with a sheet of laminated paper, except when *he* shakes the sound is only internal. He clings to Bill’s arms as the room around them shifts.  Light stings his eyes; he has to squint and shade them. 

“See? No big deal!” Bill says, with deep approval. “Even got pretty close to the goal!”

They’re in… 

He can see a tree nearby, kind of sparse. A footpath, and grass, and - there are a lot of buildings, not too far away. But they don’t look like anything like the ones in the compound. Too large, too complicated. 

It looks like they’re in… a grassy clearing? A park, maybe? Some bit of green amongst the bustle of a goddamn city. 

This is… Not where he thought they’d end up. 

He reels on Bill, and the shock must be evident on his face because he’s smirking. “Wait, this isn’t…”

“Isn’t what?” Bill says, raising an eyebrow. “I know you’re an amateur, kid. I might not do the transfer, but I can jog your elbow on the steering.”

Interesting, but. This isn’t the place he was expecting, not by a long shot. “I just thought-”

“Thought what?” Bill asks, almost teasingly. The look he’s wearing says that he knows Dipper’s caught onto his plan, but that being cryptic is way more fun than fessing up. He claps Dipper on the back. “No point in starting things off on an empty stomach. We’re doing brunch first.”

With that said, he takes Dipper’s hand in his own, and yanks him forward into the bustling streets. 

Dipper follows in a daze. There’s a city outside of the compound, an hour or two away - but he’d never seen it. Only heard about it in whispered rumors. That it was terrible and filthy and full of sin, a place too dangerous to even think about. 

He grips Bill’s hand tighter, dawdling behind him as he takes in the view. 

He never thought it would look like this. 

The buildings are so tall. The roads are so busy, and the *people* - Dipper’s never seen this many people before, walking the sidewalks and hanging at bus stops, milling in and out of buildings. The sound of the cars is practically deafening but nobody else seems to react. 

Even the Fearamid isn’t this busy unless there’s a party going on. Everything’s noise and light and not-so-great smells of pure, busy humanity. There’s so many people around that even Dipper could disappear into that huge mass of bodies.

Clutching Bill’s arm still seems like the best option, though. Just so he doesn’t wander off and leave Dipper standing alone in the streets.

“Boy, that craphole cult was real repressive, wasn’t it?” Bill sounds deeply amused. He pats Dipper’s hand, leading him into some restaurant. Dipper’s never been in a restaurant, how do they do this-  “Later on we gotta bring you to an actual metropolis. Culture shock’s a cute look on you!”

Hold on, Dipper’s not shocked. Just. A little thrown, that’s all. 

Bill did have a point, though. Brunch is excellent.

The spread is almost better than Bill’s place, though mostly because it’s thematically consistent. Dipper stares wide eyed at the crowd, listening to their conversations and stuffing his face with french toast. Bill, meanwhile, downs several glasses of something orange and fizzy. 

Before too long - Bill keeping the conversation flowing, Dipper almost certainly acting like he’s some…. Country hick or something, with all the staring he’s doing - Bill gets up, and pats him on the shoulder.

Dipper glances down at an empty plate. Frowning faintly. They’ve only been here, like, an hour, maybe two. There’s more to the city, he’s sure; he hasn’t seen even a single percent of what he wants to - 

But fine. Bill says go, then Dipper’s gotta get up and follow.  

They head out on the busy streets. Bill seems totally in place here, even though he should stand out like a sore thumb - or maybe he does, because a lot of people are backing away from him as he strides down the sidewalk..

The garage is another surprise, and the third is when a nervous old man hands Bill the keys to a bright red car without a top on it. Something out of date, even to Dipper’s inexperienced eyes. Possibly from the last time he was on Earth, which would make it - Dipper doesn’t even know how old.

Either way, there’s no time. Before he can ask too many questions or even think too much, they’re driving at a high speed down the highway. 

Already on the move. Just like Bill; he doesn’t stay still often, he has too much energy. Kind of a shame really. Dipper could have spent a lot longer in town than just brunch. 

Dipper watches the buildings go by, chin resting in his hand. Sure, that was. A Lot. But he’s used to dealing with things that are A Lot by now.

And it was… Beautiful. Messy and complicated and beautiful.

Why does Bill want to change reality? It already has plenty of chaos. Even if it’s not Bill’s type, or not enough for him - so what?  He has the Fearamid for that. A multidimensional pyramid larger than three of those huge skyscrapers put together, packed with thousands of demons who all obey his whims. 

All his power, and all the chaos he could possibly conjure. Bill has plenty of everything he wants, and Dipper got, like, three hours of seeing the place. Fascinating, busy stuff that Bill would bulldoze over on the slightest whim, before he could - 

It’s not fair. 

Bill drives on blithely, as Dipper hunches over in his seat. He must not be reading Dipper’s mind, because he isn’t reacting to the incredibly heretical thoughts bubbling up.

Like how it isn’t fair that Bill has fucking everything. All the power and the knowledge and the immortality. The sheer confidence to see what he wants, and take it. 

Even with everything going for him, Bill’s still not satisfied. Nothing will ever be enough, including his own bed of chaos and destruction, he has to take and want and consume. He always wants more. 

Dipper grips the seatbelt. It cuts into his palms; he holds on tighter. 

Earth isn’t Bill’s, and it has to stay that way. He doesn’t need this place. Ruining stuff for a tiny bit fun is just… evil.

Somebody should stop him. 

A light touch on Dipper’s arm has him flinching. It’s just Bill, though. Taking Dipper by the wrist and prying until the deathgrip on the seatbelt relaxes. He laces his fingers through Dipper’s, whistling a cheerful tune.

Dipper relaxes a fraction. He sits back in his seat, and gives Bill’s hand a squeeze.

Not like, stop-stop him, though. More like… whack him with a broom, or rolled-up newspaper until he stops goddamn sniffing around someone else’s stuff. 

Good thing he can’t actually take over Earth, then. Whatever keeps Bill in line, Dipper hopes it sticks to him like glue.

Then Bill laughs, and Dipper jolts against the seatbelt, gripping the car for dear life as they screech around a corner. On the straightaway they slow down a tad; The trees are less a blur. Dipper can make out each individual one again. 

His heart still beats fast, a rapid rabbiting pace. 

They’re close. He can tell. Something in the air, the scent of it. That one large tree in the distance, and it’s not like Bill’s going to turn around for him. They’re too deep in at this point, heading back to -

There it is.

He can see the buildings, low and almost ramshackle compared to the town. The heavy canvas of some surface tents, the metal doors to the lower cavern passages, where the main bulk of the cult resides and  - judging by the time - likely is in the middle of their mid-afternoon devotions. 

Bill slows the car, turning in a lazy semi-circle to head towards the entrance. He hums for a moment, then slows to a stop. Apparently thinking over their approach. 

Time for contemplation. That’s a first. Not that Dipper’s going to complain; even a brief reprieve gives him time to think. 

Frankly, he’s not sure how they’ll get in... But it’s not like there’s a lot in their way, either.

The fence around the compound is barely seven feet tall. Chain link wire with a lock on the gate. It ropes around the buildings, all encompassing - but very, very thin.

And from the outside, it looks so… Small. 

Months ago Dipper would have said it was impossible to pass. Climbable, yes - but then where would he go? Into the world, with all the heretics and criminals, the sinful mass of man? Where he knew nobody, and had nothing? A world of trouble and terror and people who could hurt him. Too many unknowns to risk.

After spending time with Bill, though, he can see it as the demon would - absolutely pathetic. 

There isn’t even razor wire on top. 

Kind of funny, really, that what keeps the cultists in is more mental than physical. Literally the only thing that even vaguely fits their ‘god’, and they weren’t even trying.

Then he hears the engine rev. Bill gives his hand a squeeze, turning towards him with a vicious grin, as the car accelerates at a terrifying speed, running straight towards -

“Wait! You’re going to hit-!” Dipper says, at the same time he realizes that’s the point.

The fence crashes down around them with a tangle of twisted metal and a noise so loud that it must be audible even underground. Bill laughs like a madman, spinning the car around to a stop in the midst of the buildings in a smoking circle. For the seventh time today, Dipper’s extremely glad he put on his seatbelt.

“Woo!” Bill exclaims, turning off the ignition and leaping over the driver’s side to stand on the ground. He sets fists on his hips, examining the compound like a particularly interesting new piece of land to conquer.  “Nothing like a bit of wanton destruction to start off the day, am I right?”

Dipper’s still too rattled to move; he feels around for the latch to the seatbelt. Once it’s undone, he simply. Sits in place. He needs a moment. 

“No sense dallying, kid.” Striding around the car, Bill opens the door and half-helps, half-lifts Dipper bodily out of the seat. “We got a lot of vengeance to take!”

Dipper hesitates. Then he nods, not sure what to say.

Bill glances at him. A quick once over, then a big bright smile. “See? You’re fine.” Another quick pat on the back, then a palm pressing against it as he steers Dipper around the car and forward. “Ready or not, here we come!”

The packed earth of the conclave kicks up dust under Dipper’s feet. It’s getting all over his shoes. He feels a little pang - Bill really wanted him to look presentable, and now it’s getting all messed up. He should maybe go back to the car and try and clean it up - 

Another insistent push. Dipper straightens his back, pulling his arms around to his front while he still can. Before - no, Bill wouldn’t grab like that, or drag him along the dirt. Not after getting him dressed up, it’d ruin all the work he put in.

Right. And he’s not in trouble, this time. Bill’s - it’s fine. He has to remember that.

Dipper forces his head up, glancing around the buildings.

Welp. Here they are. Back at the cult. The sight and the surroundings and the smell of the place bring memories bubbling to the surface. 

And their dramatic entrance caught considerable attention, because the doors to the caverns slam open with a resounding ‘clang’. 

Two bulky cultists storm out - no robes, just ‘regular’ clothing, ready to investigate the interlopers - then screech to a halt as they see their God approach. Dipper swears their heels leave tracks in the dirt. 

“Hey, fellas,” Bill says, with a too-casual wave. “Didja miss me? I know you missed me!”

Dipper watches their expressions change, from stony focus to wide-eyed alarm. One of them drops to his knees, while the other stays still as a statue. 

“Now that’s what I like to see.” Bill heads over to the two shocked humans, pulling Dipper along in his wake. He sets hands on his hips, smirking. “Ahem. Proper deference is due, dontcha think?”

He snaps his fingers, and the other grunt buckles. He hits the ground, knees first, then flops over nearly on his face, both hands pressed together in prayer, with sweat building on his thick forehead. 

Oh hey.  Dipper knows these guys. 

He’d almost forgotten - how could he forget - that these were the two that pulled him up to the altar. For his ‘sacrifice’. Where he nearly…

A quick glance over at Bill shows no recognition. But then - right, he wasn’t there for most of that. And most humans are beneath his notice. 

“Much better,” Bill says, with deep satisfaction. Pulling Dipper along behind him, he strides past the two guards. One of them groans; Dipper barely catches Bill’s leg pull back from what was a very solid kick.

Sunlight dips out of view as they head down the stairs. It’s cooler underground, though not by much so far. Even then Dipper feels oddly clammy. He keeps wiping his hands on his clothes and still they feel cold and damp.

Here they go, then. 

Now it’s time to show off all he’s learned, and the power he has now. The gifts Bill has given him, and the favor he’s been shown. 

Dipper swallows, though it’s difficult. His tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth. 

Behind the ‘welcoming committee’, a small crowd of robed figures huddles on the cavern steps. One yelps at the sight of Bill, whispering about ‘prophecy’. Another, younger man scuttles off, calling down the hallways. The rest stare at Bill with a mix of stunned looks, and absolute reverence. 

Dipper knows these people, too. A couple of the older group, a few younger. The middle-aged man with the weasley too-eager look; frankly Dipper’s surprised he’s here, instead of back at the altar. He would have sworn that that guy was planning on stabbing the priest before Bill did, and for more ambitious reasons. 

“What are you doing. Our lord has come to us!” The ambitious one hisses, tucking the hood of his robe up and elbowing the other cultists around him. “Be presentable for him.”

There’s a quiet rush to cover up faces; adjusting trinkets and bowing in a rush. Dipper watches the pale, shocked face of one of his classmates, too stunned to pull up her hood until an older man shoves it on with enough force to nearly topple her. 

A gentle tug on Dipper’s wrist catches his attention. He turns towards Bill, blinking up at a wide, wicked grin. 

“Y’know, I didn’t really get a good look at the place before, kid.” Bill says, lifting his chin to survey the winding tunnels of the cavern. He squeezes Dipper’s wrist. “Before we start the main event - how ‘bout a little tour?”

Dipper hesitates. That’s not very exciting, but. It’s true that Bill sort of showed up and dipped out without looking around. He’s a curious guy. He would want to take a look with his own eyes, not just the images of them. 

Another tug, followed by a teasing nudge. “What, you forget your way around?”

Dipper shakes his head, but before he can figure out what to say, the ambitious man steps forward. 

“My lord,” He simpers, bowing so low he nearly loses his balance. “A mere acolyte - a blasphemer - does not deserve the honor of guiding you. Let me-”

His words cut off abruptly. Bill moves lightning-fast, and his grip on the exposed throat slams skull against the stone wall.  

The man squirms at the end of Bill’s arm like a worm on a hook. His eyes bulge out, stark white in the bright red of his face as he scrambles for purchase, both trying to find his footing and not daring to claw at his ‘god.’ The hand on his neck tightens further, a sickening squeeze. Flesh bulges between Bill’s fingers like dough. 

“If I wanted your opinion,” Bill hisses, teeth bared in something not-quite a smile. “I’d scoop it outta your skull with a dessert spoon.” 

There’s a wet noise;something cartilaginous crunches, and Dipper shuts his eyes. His knuckles have gone white where he’s holding Bill’s arm. 

“Ha!” Bill sounds amused. There’s some thumping, then a ‘thud’ as he lets the body drop.  “Boy, humans are squishy.” 

The girl cultist hiccups, in a way that suggests she’s about to cry, wavering like she’ll fall. All the rest have backed away, sticking to the walls like barnacles. 

Dipper makes a low sound in the back of his throat.  All he gets in return is a quick flash of smile, and a pat on his hand as the last struggles die down at the end of Bill’s arm. 

“Figures. Some jackasses just can’t mind their own business!” Bill says, rolling his eye. “But enough with that, kid. Let’s get going!”

Yes, definitely, absolutely. Dipper nods again, holding tight to Bill’s arm and shuffling past the robed and staring cultists. 

Anything to get away from that. 

A tour, though. There’s very little that can go wrong with that, because there’s not a ton to see. Dipper can walk him around some tunnels and wave at the poorly decorated rooms. Then it’ll be done, and they can-

At some point the other, unstrangled cultists started trailing in their wake Dipper does a double-take when he notices, and catches a glance of his classmate, and her wide, wet, slightly reddened eyes. 

He can’t believe that after all of… that, they’re still following. 

“So! Why not start with your digs?” Bill nudges him with an elbow, with a teasing smile. Like he’s completely forgotten . “I’ve been meaning to see how you lived it up!”

The pointy bit of his elbow hits Dipper’s ribs, and he doesn’t flinch. This is fine, and normal. It’s not a punishment.

Bringing him to his old room though… He doesn’t think Bill would like that.

Dipper shakes his head, once. Lips pursed together, not sure how to explain. 

That it’s not… the guest room back at Bill’s place is better. This one was ransacked before he even left. If Bill wants to know more about him, he could just barge into Dipper’s new room and figure everything out. 

For some reason, Bill’s looking at him weird. 

After a moment, he nudges Dipper in the side again, smiling wider.. “Can’t be anything I haven’t seen before, sapling. I’ve been all around the multiverse!” He throws an arm out before him.  “Lead the way!”

An order. 

Dipper straightens up. He can’t exactly disobey that. Not in front of - Bill asked him to do it. It’s not that big a deal. Maybe it won’t be bad. 

And it’s not like he can stop their ‘tour’ now.

Word must have gotten out about their arrival by this point. The messenger did his work. Still doing it, actually; Dipper can hear him calling out and knocking on doors, and the bustle of footsteps on stone goes from a few taps to a quiet thunder. 

Their company hasn’t left to join the summons. A few more have peeked out of their rooms, a small bustle of robes behind them. Looking for signs from this incredible supernatural being. Taking in their every move.

The back of Dipper’s shirt is cool with sweat. Hopefully it doesn’t show through the suit. Bill wouldn’t like that. 

He guides Bill Cipher along the halls of the conclave, feet treading familiar stone. Even through these thick-soled shoes, he knows every inch of this uneven rock. He never misplaces a step. 

Bill doesn’t stumble either. Not even once. In that his recovery’s so fast that almost nobody would notice, if he wasn’t holding tight to Dipper. 

And that’s how a god should be. Unapproachable, untouchable. Never a single flaw. A firm hand, holding him on his upper arm, guiding the believer with perfect knowledge.

Despite everything, Dipper’s still not a believer - but he hopes his expression is appropriately devout. Bill’s right beside him, yet he’s the one leading the way. A sheep leading a wolf.

Gotta make it look good. For Bill. That’s what he wants.

Getting to his old room doesn’t take long. It’d be nice if there were more hallways to meander, and put this off.

But Bill did order it andDipper hasn’t forgotten his place. He doesn’t think he ever could. 

As they pass by the dormitories, he slows to a near crawl. Bill casts another glance over, then rolls his eyes. 

“What’s with the dawdling?” Bill says, bright and amused. He jogs Dipper’s arm in a playful waggle “Too many pictures of me? Some racy sketches?”

Dipper purses his lips, and doesn’t dignify that with an answer. He shrugs instead. 

Bill lets out a sharp breath, but doesn’t add on. There’s that faint frown again, brow furrowed. Not in a ‘disappointment at no banter’ way, something different.  Dipper can’t place it.

Not that he has time to work it out. They’re here. 

He lurches to a stop in front of his old room. Bill makes a confused noise, looking between Dipper and the crowd behind him. Then, squinting, at the door to his left.

“What, that’s it?” Bill glances between the entrance and Dipper. “No, ‘come on in’, or ‘oh no, don’t go in there’? Not even a ‘home, sweet, home’?”

It’s so hard for Dipper not to bite his lip. He’s glad he doesn’t, though; his teeth are gritted so hard they would snip right through.

This is just a place he stayed, once. It’s not a great one, not even a good one. He never belonged here. 

There’s a beat of silence, then - Bill lets out a huff. The metal hinges creak as he pushes the door open, and storms into Dipper’s former lodgings with a grunt. 

Dipper hovers near the doorway, but doesn’t enter. He already knows every inch of the place. There’s nothing else he needs to see. 

Two steps in, Bill pauses. Probably because there wasn’t enough space to truly storm in. 

For a moment, he even looks… surprised? 

Dipper frowns. Like. What was he expecting, another palace? It’s pretty much the same as any other low-ranking member; if anything Dipper was lucky it wasn’t a literal cell. 

Bill takes another step, pausing in the middle of the room. Stalks forward a few paces, then seems to measure the length and breadth of it with his steps. His shoe taps a fast rhythm on the floor, and Dipper sees his eye twitch - then he turns. Touching the back wall, where admittedly there are a few marks. 

No Bills, though. Just tallies from the days Dipper wasn’t allowed out. There aren’t too many, really. It could have been worse. 

Dipper turns to let Bill do… whatever he’s doing, without being spied on - then instantly turns back. 

He rests his head on the cold stone, just near the doorway. Inside, he can hear Bill muttering something under his breath. 

The little group of cultists tagging along has swelled to a pretty decent one. Dozens of people packing the halls, with tentative whispers and quiet mutters of reverence. Watching everything Bill does, albeit with some confusion as to why he’s poking around some loser’s room. 

And Dipper, too. 

They know him, same as he knows them. A familiarity borne of years of experience. And while yes, he did disappear in the presence of their god - he’s still the same person. He’s been here since he was young, running carelessly around the halls and getting his robes tangled. They’ve had years of hearing what he said, and memories of the ceremony. Where absolutely everyone had to attend. 

Clothes aren’t going to fool them. They see who he really is. 

This blasphemer, sticking out like a sore thumb next to the elegance of their god, and he can’t… What if they aren’t wrong, for once.

Any moment now they’ll raise their voices, loud and ringing with chants, and he’ll be back in that room alone. Locked in and - 

“Ha!” Bill storms out of the chamber, snorting and taking Dipper by the shoulder. “Whatever. You’ve got plenty of cool stuff back at my place!” 

One firm pat nearly sends Dipper reeling; he wasn’t braced for it. He straightens up and looks attentive. 

Everyone’s watching. Best behavior, no slipups. 

Bill watches him, head cocked to one side. He’s got a weird expression on his face. Smiling, but thinly. A tension around his eye that - He looks away before Dipper can get a good look. 

“Gotta say though, I’m not impressed,” Bill says, turning a look to the crowd. Their bodies shuffle against each other in terrified silence, before his eye flicks back to Dipper. “But hey, I’ve seen worse! Mostly when I’ve caused it!”

Dipper keeps staring at the opposite wall. He doesn't want to see anyone’s faces, even in the shadow of their hoods.

Bill mutters something under his breath, then says, “Let’s get going.”

And so the tour continues. Despite everything. 

They pass the dining hall - Bill scoffs, and drags a finger through today’s basic food. He makes a disgusted face at the thin oatmeal dripping from his finger, before barging into the back kitchen and coming back with fresh donuts. 

He offers one to Dipper, who recoils without taking it. That’s for high-ranking members, not - He can’t. Turning his head away, he shuffles backwards into the hall. 

They’re touring, not having snacks. Best to move on before Bill can throw a fit about whatever he decides isn’t worthwhile this time. 

Bill thankfully moves on when Dipper leaves the room. A little quieter, with that thread of tension drawn a little more tight. can almost feel all his eyes activating, a subtle thrum of power that rings in his senses and has the cultists trailing them let out whispers of prayer. 

There’s nothing that interested him most places; he skips half the rooms Dipper tries to usher him into, striding past in a manner that brooks no argument. 

Dipper should protest. He keeps a steady pace instead, stuffing his hands in the uncomfortable pockets of his suit.

Why can’t they just get things over with now. Nearly everyone’s here, and the others could be gathered shortly in the altar room. It’d take like, five minutes, they’ll do what they came for and it’ll be done.

When they reach the library though. That’s a hit. 

Though not for the reasons their tagalongs would want. 

“Seriously?” Bill scoffs. He thumbs through the several-decade outdated volume, looking wryly amused. “This is the kinda crap they keep around for education?”

And despite everything - Dipper has to let out a snort. God, he wishes he was joking. It’s the worst.

Bill looks up sharply, eye suddenly alight with mischief. “Knew you’d agree, kid,“ He says, warmly smug. And winks. “Oughta show ‘em what this kind of crap deserves!”

With that said, he pulls out a book, throwing it over his shoulder. It lands with a crack, spine splitting, and several pages come loose from their leaves. 

Dipper leaps into action, seizing the book and making a grab at the pages. Before he can start stuffing it back back on the shelf, another one lands nearby. Then another. A third rockets past him, already on fire, and slops to a stop near the opposite bookshelf. Smoke starts to rise from the shelved volumes.

Bill cackles in delight. His rampage continues, careless of whatever happens and whoever has to sort out his goddamn mess. 

“Hey, what’s the problem? It’s all bullshit, anyway.” Bill says, turning to see Dipper scrambling to put out the growing flames. “C’mon, kid! Have some fun!”

He can’t have fun when things are messed up. People are going to get really upset. 

This catalog is supposed to be neat and orderly and undamaged, that was one of the very few responsibilities Dipper was trusted with back when he lived here, and half a minute into Bill being here it’s all going wrong. 

Even if Dipper wasn’t the one to do it, he was nearby when it happened. That’s close enough. 

But Bill’s too fast - Dipper has to race to get things back in order against a being of literal chaos, and he can’t keep up. There’s too much.

Vaguely he hears Bill say something else, but he’s not paying attention. He shoves another book back in place, bending down to scoop up another couple into his arms. One slips out of his grasp and he tries to get it again, only for more to fumble out of his hold. 

“Hey.” A loud voice. Then, louder, “HEY!”

Dipper’s yanked back up onto his feet, and the last of the books tumbles out of his arms. He looks up at Bill, and realizes that at some point he started breathing too fast, and too hard. Now he’s lightheaded, on top of being worried.

“That’s enough.” Bill says, voice flat. 

Dipper lets the last book drop from his arms, and holds very, very still. 

Shit. Shit. shit. He’s screwed up, things aren’t going nearly as smoothly as advertised, and now there’s going to be -

“Finally! Friggin’ useless goddamn-” Bill growls, sneering at the bookshelves and probably not at the useless goddamn acolyte, slightly shaking in front of him. “What’d’ya say we get moving?” 

Dipper nods. 

Bill looks at him with clear frustration, and gives him a jostle. 

Dipper nods again, more fervently. Yes, of course, he’s moving. They’re moving. Tour, yes, right. Back to the hallway. Another room, another show. His legs feel like they’re being puppeted, marching up and down on automatic. 

They pass by rooms, and caverns. Most bits of the cult Bill doesn’t seem interested in, so he moves on. They linger for a full few minutes at the priest’s old quarters - he doesn’t barge in like Bill does, waiting outside as is proper - but when Bill comes back out he can see the smoke rising in the room. 

Again, he’s taken in hand by a strong grip. Again, he marches. 

And with that painfully tight grip on his upper arm, the imposing figure behind hm, Dipper finds himself standing in front of a place he thought he’d never, ever, ever, ever have to go back to. 

Bill didn’t lead him to this place, his feet did. Happening on automatic, before it had time to become a thought. 

And = this time’s different. Bill wouldn't, he’s sure. He can get away this time. He doesn’t have to be here, nothing has been done wrong under Cipher’s all-seeing eye. It’s fine. 

He almost manages to step away before Bill’s grip  holds him short. 

“Oh? What’s this?” Bill says. Back to his lighter tone, genuinely curious. The poke at his ribs is probably intended to be playful. “This place a favorite of yours?”

He waits for a response. When he doesn’t get one for several seconds, he tries the door - locked. Frowning, Bill knocks on the door with a knuckle in a quick demanding rap. 

The door creaks open. The smell of cleaning chemicals doesn't quite cover other, deeper scents.

The elder scourger squints over his glasses, then wipes them on his shirt. Putting them back on, he looks at the crowd, then startles at Bill. Bowing deep, muttering some of the chants -  

Then his eye sets on Dipper, and he breaks out in a knowing grin. 

“Ah, I see the problem, my lord. I’ve handled this one before, always up to no good. Not surprised you had trouble with him.” He sets blunt fists on his hips, knuckles cracking under the pressure. “How many lashes today?”

Bill cocks his head to one side. Tapping his finger with a chin, and  letting out a long, thoughtful hum. 

It only takes a few moments for him to come to a conclusion, and then the flashing white of his smile is blinding. “Oh, there’s gonna be loads of ‘em! Oodles of beatings!” He says, bright and airy. Dipper feels his hand lift from his shoulder and pat his chest, pushing him back. “But I think I'll take care of the troublemaker myself.”

Is it possible to go so cold you die? Dipper doesn’t know if he’s breathing, or if his heart is beating, stiff and still like a statue. 

Then Bill kicks the elder directly in the chest, sending him toppling back into the correction room. Startled swearing rings against stone, along with a clatter of something toppling over. 

Dipper blinks, twice. He looks up. 

Bill sucks in a breath through his teeth, letting it out in a low hiss. The warm hand on Dipper’s chest eases him back until he feels rough stone behind him. He flashes a smile, and winks. “Wait here, kid.”

For a moment Dipper’s confused - he’s not in the room, and now Bill is, charging forward with furious intent, so. What was he saying about - 

The door slams shut. Silence.

Then a scream rings out, muffled by stone - and higher-pitched than it should be, from a grown man. 

Dipper presses up harder against the wall. Every inch of the stone is cool, growing cold against the damp shirt on his back. 

Noises barely heard through the cracks around the door. Ones he’s made before, words half-formed. Pleading, too, and cursing, that’s pretty common. Dipper’s said things he didn’t mean, when he was being corrected, it’s not surprising that someone else would. 

Strangely, Dipper can look off into nothingness. Letting the sounds all pass over and through him, like half-watching something on the TV back at Bill’s. It is happening, in a way, but one that’s distant and fake. No different than anything on that awful drama, or one of Bill’s preferred horror flicks.

Eventually it’s pretty quiet. Dipper’s glad that awful scene is over, it dragged out too long. 

Though even though the punishment’s over, he still hears wet, meaty thuds. 

Even Bill reemerging doesn’t affect him. Though he’s breathing hard, and the bright speckles on the suit jacket slung over his shoulder might as well be colorful paint, instead of - 

Dipper looks at the opposite wall again. Letting it all play out. 

Bill snaps something to one of the crowd, tugging his shirtsleeves back down from their rolled-up position. There’s a quiet response, one that makes him frown as he wipes his hands clean with a damp cloth. 

“So!” Bill says. Very bright. Far too bright, a forced enthusiasm. “Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. I even gave him the ironic fate treatment! Kinda cool, huh?”

Dipper looks at his beaming face - too wide, clearly forced - then drops his gaze to Bill’s lapels. Three red dots are on his collar. A small amount, considering. They even look like they’ve already dried. 

“Hello, you listening? That guy is never gonna lay a finger or anything else on you, ever again.” He tilts Dipper’s head up with one knuckle, smiling more gently. “Seems like cause for celebration to me!”

Though his hands are clean, he might not have gotten under his nails. Or maybe it’s the open door, and the steady drip Dipper hears in the silence. Either way, the hallway reeks of blood, thick enough to -

Dipper’s arm darts out to brace himself as he nearly loses his brunch. 

“Whoa, steady there.” Bill tugs him back upward, holding his upper arms. His eye darts up and down, a quick once-over. “This is going better than planned! Wreaking shop, taking out the worst of the pack, everyone gathering for the Grand Finale…” He trails off. The frown increases. “Pine Tree?”

Dipper looks back up at Bill, but meeting his eyes is too much. He focuses on his chin instead. 

“Hey. HEY,” Bill insists. His eye flickers blue for an instant, roving over him, then returns to gold and shuts, very tightly. For a second, he simply grits his teeth together, then -  “Why won’t you say anything?”

Dipper’s throat works. He swallows, then purses his lips. Putting in more effort just locks his jaw up tighter.

It’s not like he can’t speak. He has a tongue again. All the bits are present and active and should be able to move. He’s not, like, cursed or anything. 

Distantly, he notices he’s shaking. But it’s not very much. If he’s lucky, Bill might not notice. 

He is not making a scene, and he is not complaining. At no point has he stopped things in their tracks, or argued. He kept pace with his god like a good believer, and didn’t throw up on his shoes or anything. He’s fine. He can’t even be corrected anymore.

There's a strange, lingering quiet. 

Not just that the crowd is gone, Dipper realizes, but Bill himself has stopped talking. 

For a few long moments, Bill simply watches him. No commentary, not even a snappy joke. Examining Dipper for some invisible sign. Whatever it is he’s seeing, he’s having a rough time parsing it out. Almost like he’s confused.

Then a lightbulb goes off, and the cloud lifts. Bill even snaps his fingers.

 “Hey.” Bill nudges him, adding a wink as he spreads his arms wide. “You wanna-”

Dipper launches himself into those arms before Bill can finish the sentence. The impact has Bill letting out ‘whoof’ of breath, staggering back a half-step. 

Whatever, he can handle it. Dipper’s just one human, Bill’s tough and strong enough to deal with that, and besides, he offered. 

Dipper shoves his face into the thankfully dry fabric of his lapels, gripping hard on the back of his shirt. Above him, he hears a low chuckle. Arms come up and around him, wrapping him tight in warmth until Dipper feels enveloped in his presence.

Slowly, Dipper breathes in again, then out. Repeating it in a rhythm, trying to keep it steady. 

Being in Bill’s arms smells like being in his wardrobe, only with extra Actual Bill. Slightly metallic and  a hint of his cologne, solid flesh filling out the fabric like a well-stuffed plush. Though one that’s a lot firmer, and moving slightly as he breathes. 

Clinging to Bill Cipher like this would be a death sentence, but fuck it, Dipper’s special. And it’s nice. Holding a person close, who wants Dipper to do it and holds him right back.

Against his back, a palm presses between his shoulderblades. Moving down his back, then up again. And between that and Bill, chest moving as he chuckles, and the steady beat of his heart. 

He doesn’t know how long they stand there. Or what Bill is thinking. But he’s not letting go. 

Eventually, Dipper feels himself relaxing. Tension drains out of tired limbs, leaving him looser in Bill’s grasp. 

Not all of it’s gone. But some. Knowing Bill’s here. Not dragging him around, or barking orders or - other stuff, just there in his arms. 

Another chuckle. Bill thumps his back twice, clearly having noticed.. Not that it’s hard, with Dipper going from ramrod-straight to nearly slumped. “Ha! Figures. Humans love this stuff!” 

Bill sounds particularly smug for figuring out a pretty base-level fact about people. If Dipper doesn’t roll his eyes, it’s only because he’s busy. 

It’s funny, because he’s pretty sure Bill isn’t all tense biceps and shoulders anymore either. 

They linger for a moment. There’s a silence that, for once, doesn’t seem like Bill needs to fill it - until there’s two pats on his back. “Better?”

Dipper sniffs. With his chin tucked on Bill’s shoulder, it almost feels that way. Given another five or ten or thirty minutes, he could maybe even believe it.

But Bill’s waiting for an answer.

Getting him one is a struggle. Dipper’s tongue feels sticky. The stubborn thing remains glued to the floor of his mouth no matter how he tries to get it moving. Swallowing doesn’t clear his throat from the block that’s settled in there, somewhere above his chest. 

Eventually, he manages, “Mh-hm.”

“Great!” Bill exclaims, arms rising up and away. He also steps back, clasping his hands together to rub them sinisterly. “‘Cause we got a lot more to do tonight. We haven’t even gotten to the best part!”

For a moment, Dipper wants to grab him again. Seize him by the arms and bring them back around and just-

He nods instead. 

This was the plan. Getting vengeance. They can’t chicken out three-quarters of the way through just because Dipper’s… he just had a moment, it’s whatever. 

When Bill takes him by the arm again, it’s not to grab and drag. Instead, he crooks his elbow, then places Dipper’s hand on the inside of it. And winks. 

“C’mon, smile, sapling!” He bumps Dipper with a hip. “Let’s make one hell of an entrance.”

Again, Dipper nods. Again, he lets Bill take the lead. His muscles scream in protest, unwilling to keep walking until he forces them to move. 

He follows a half-step behind as they tread the corridors. Eerily quiet ones now that the rest of the cult has rushed to obey the orders of their ‘god’. Unaware of what awaits them - or, considering everything, possibly terribly aware. 

Distantly, Dipper hopes that it’ll be quick. One and done and then they can leave…

Fat chance, though. Bill doesn’t want that. It’s not his style. 

He wants to make a goddamn spectacle.

Why did they have to come back here at all? Revenge is whatever, it didn’t have to be now. Not when he was this close to just. Forgetting some of this place. Or parts of it, the things that kept him up at night. With the cult out of sight and out of mind, it dulled the sharper edges, like how Bill poured that numbing liquid on his wrist so long ago.

The doors to the altar room are open. There’s a huddle of hunched figures, bundled in their crimson robes and bowed already. Lines of people hoping and waiting and muttering low, prayers of worship ringing distantly down the hall.

Dipper nearly backpedals, then takes a deep breath. Letting it out. 

Why is this happening. He could be sitting in his comfy chair right now, away from the cold underground walls and warmed by the fire, watching Bill ramble on about how ‘great’ he is, and maybe even finishing his drawing. Back in his room where it’s safe. 

But no. Dipper’s here again, just when he thought he could leave it behind.

His teeth hurt from how tightly they’re clenched. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, and a ball of taut frustration, tight in his chest. 

Getting through this is going to be like a sacrifice. All it takes is gritted teeth and determination. Not showing weakness, not even a single tear. 

Just hold on for the ride, and hope it doesn’t hurt too much.

Bill takes in the room with a sweeping look, chin lifted. He smirks. Instead of an announcement, he stalks straight through the open aisle formed between the rows of cultists. 

Guess this ‘special event’ doesn’t call for much ceremony. He smiles and waves, giving little idle comments to whatever’s unfortunate enough to catch his eye. He lands a solid kick on a cultist who inched too close for his liking, and cackles. 

Dipper feels the burn of dozens of eyes, laser focused on his back. They can’t be seen under the hoods, but it doesn’t stop them from reaching out. He hunches over, using Bill to cover some of the sightlines.

This could still be quick. Showy doesn’t mean extended or even that Bill has something truly awful in mind…

One quick glance at the look on his face shuts that idea down. The smile on Bill’s face is so sharp he could cut himself on it.

“Boy, if I had a nickel for every worthless piece of crap in this room - I’d have a ton of equally worthless metal discs!” Bill chortles again, nudging Dipper with his elbow. Possibly to get his attention. “Am I right?”

Dipper stares at the floor instead. 

A beat of silence. Bill mutters something, leading him towards the altar at the front of the room. 

One, two, three steps up to the dais. Dipper doesn’t need to look, he barely feels them. Like he’s walking on air. 

Bill pats his hand twice, then pries it off of his elbow. He has to do it finger by finger. The process takes him a while, since they keep latching back on. 

The altar surface hasn’t been cleaned. Guess nobody got around to the messy parts in his absence. Brownish-black clots lining the three sides of Bill’s image, carved into the rock. Thin trails leading into the recess, leading back to a misshapen pool at the front.

Someone did pick up after them, though. A little. 

Because the decorative ritual knife lies in the center of the pattern. Still silver-bright and clean.

Dipper traces a thumb down the raised line on his wrist, clutching it tight.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and other assorted assholes!” Bill’s voice echoes through the chamber like it was made for it. Maybe it was. “You’re all gathered here today to address some pretty shitty things you’ve been up to!” His tone turns coy, almost finger-wagging. “Gotta say I might have liked it! If you hadn’t picked the wrong friggin’ target.”

A soft muttering. A sound of discontent, even nervousness. 

That’s the first smart reaction Dipper’s seen from these people since they arrived. 

Some part of him is still surprised, though. Their ‘god’ is here. Shouldn’t that fill them with, like. Violent fervor? Vindication for their decades of worship, now that he’s finally arrived? That same intense energy, the cheering and shouting and excitement when a ceremony goes just…

Right. 

Considering what Bill’s done since showing up… Maybe Dipper’s not that surprised. It hasn’t exactly been what they expected.

Bill’s been talking. A tone common to most of his rambles, something something always watching, something something about ‘wrath’. Never quite saying why said wrath is arriving, since he’s a cryptic jerk about everything. 

A burst of blue light blooms, followed by a horrible, extended scream. Along with the sound of flames, a scramble of people trying to get away from the heat. Several other voices join the terror in a different kind of chorus, discordant as each person tries a different song at once. 

Dipper tries not to let that stick in his head. Think about anything else. Anywhere else.

Bill starts laughing, clapping as if he’s pulled off a fun magic trick. 

Maybe it’s not as bad as he thought. It could be - Dipper glances over his shoulder - 

And immediately averts his eyes. The smoke stings, and the smell of overcooked meat and carbon leaves him coughing. 

And not a single one of these idiots has fled. Nobody protests, or makes a comment about how he overcooked the barbecue, which would make Bill miffed and amused at the same time. Something that defuses his anger and gets him off this stupid track. 

The chorus grows in volume, settling on a single song. Several cultists have fallen to their knees, hands clasped in prayer.

Fuck, they're just-

Too much scripture. Too many lies. They don’t know what’s going on. Nobody’s ever told them, they never had a chance to figure it out. 

Even though Bill’s here in all his terror and… not quite all his power - no scripture could have prepared them for the real deal. 

If any of them had, they would have run long, long ago.

One voice speaks up. “My lord.” Quiet, hesitant. The girl’s voice. “I don’t think-”

“Ah ah ah!” When Bill speaks, it’s with a sneer in his tone. “Who said you could think? Much less talk back.”

What is he talking about? Bill loves that stuff - 

“Now there’s an idea,” Bill muses. His shoe taps the stone a few times. Then he snaps his fingers. “Hey, guys! Bring up our first demonstration of the night!”

Twin grunts sound from somewhere in the crowd. Dipper reels around, watching the guards from his sacrifice, grabbing the girl by the arms. 

Dipper mouth drops open - then he clicks it shut. 

“No, no, no,” Pleading, like that would work. Mascara is running down the girl’s face. He didn’t notice she was wearing any earlier. That’s forbidden here, a violation of the rules - “My lord, wait-”

“Ooh, you’re a mouthy one, aintcha?” Bill tuts, shaking his head. Despite his wry expression, there’s a hint of amusement. “Turns out I got just the ironic punishment for that! Kind of a what-comes-around-goes-around thing!!”

What?

With a jaunty whistle, Bill leans over Dipper to pick up the discarded knife. Metal scrapes against stone as he drags over the surface, a dramatic flourish.

Dipper’s eyes go wide. 

A twirl sends flashes of light off the edge. Bill toys with it a little more before testing the blade against thumb, and nods with pleasure. He grins, gesturing to the guards. “Hold her down and open that yap.”

The girl is shoved down to her knees. Dirty fingers shove against her jaw, into her mouth, until even with the struggling it’s pried open. The small pink tongue scoots to the back, a snail curling helplessly up in its broken shell.

Dipper  can feel his own, at the back of his throat. He knows the ache of having a jaw held open. The salt-warm of tears on cheeks, staring wide-eyed at a relentless force that won’t stop, even if you could speak, with shining sharp metal ready to remove that possibility.

An idea snaps into place, bright and sharp as the knife, and almost as cold.

All of this. Each and every horrible thing Bill’s done isn’t just to torment, because he’s never so simple as to have just one motive when he could have six, and he cares about what Dipper thinks. About what happened to him.

This is… revenge.

Bill’s doing this because he thinks that’s what Dipper wants. 

“Y’know, if I hadn’t thought of this first, I bet Pine Tree woulda personally requested it!” Bill taps the knife ons own cheek thoughtfully, then grins. “Say goodbye to your-”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

The words echo against the walls, resonate around the cavern. Loud enough to cover up the wails, and stop Bill in his tracks.

Everyone goes still. Everything else has gone deadly, terribly silent. 

Dipper realizes he’s leaning forward, fists clenched. His throat feels rough and his own voice rings in his ears, but fuck it, at least it didn’t break and Bill has cut that shit out.

Bill turns. He straightens up and gives Dipper a look more puzzled than anything else, because he’s a goddamn fucking idiot. “Pine Tree?”

Instead of answers, Dipper just grunts as he storms forward. His jaw clenched so tight it hurts. 

Bill’s looking at him expectantly, but fuck him. He doesn’t deserve an answer, anyway. 

He should know better. 

With a low, thoughtful sound, Bill opens his mouth to say something. Before he gets a word out, Dipper slaps his hand with enough force to make even a demon let go. 

The blade skitters across the floor, going ‘ting’ against something in the background. 

Bill blinks twice. Then frowns, flexing his fingers to get sensation back. Rubbing them slowly, he turns fully away from the victim to face Dipper, head on.

It’s not a great look. The familiar smile has vanished, leaving something cool in its place.

And Dipper doesn’t care. 

A hot bright anger buoys him up above all the concerns, like he’s floating on a cushion of air. Beneath the rising fury all his worries look so small.

How dare Bill pull this. All of this, the ‘visit’, the tour. Bringing Dipper back here and bringing back things he didn’t want to remember. The screaming and fire and the things he’s done, all of them more and more wrong. And this huge, arrogant, total dipshit asshole -  

How dare he try doing that, and say Dipper would ask for it. 

“Excuse me?” Bill says. Not angry, exactly. But less than pleased.  He spreads his arms in an annoyed shrug. “Great you’re up and at ‘em, kid, but what’s the big deal? I was just about to-”

A shove doesn’t get Bill off balance - but it does get him to shut the hell up. He takes a half step back, surprise flickering back on his face. Dipper closes the space between them, fists held tight at his sides.

“Hey!” Bill holds his hands, palm up. Oh, now he’s annoyed. “What the hell, kid?”

“What the hell made you think this was a good idea?” Dipper snaps back. A sharp gesture at the victim - now staring, eyes wide - sends the burly cultists backing up and away in a nervous bulky shuffle.  “Just… this?”

“It’s ironic-”

“It’s evil.” Dipper insists. Louder than Bill’s voice, almost in a shout. 

For the first time in a long, long time, he’s not going to back down. Asking the hard questions and prying into the secrets of his god is what he does, damn it, and even though they tried to stop him years ago, well, Bill screwed up and brought it back.

Nobody else could get away with this. But Dipper can. 

“So what?” Bill rolls his eye.

So, he says. Just, ‘so what’. Like none of this is a big deal.

“So maybe you shouldn’t do evil things!” The argument sounds stupid even as he says it. Dipper swears and tries starting over.  “Or you should-”

“Uh, hello! Bill Cipher here, not sure who the hell you’re talking to,” He snorts, looking condescending as hell. “I get that you don’t wanna get your hands dirty - too squeamish, it’s whatever - but someone had to do something!”

“Nobody had to do any of this!” Dipper gestures at - everything, an awkward flail. “We didn’t even have to come back here!” 

“Oh no, no no, we definitely did.” Bill wags a chiding finger. Moving it back and forth, then tapping Dipper’s nose like a jackass. It sends a new surge of fury racing through his veins. “Like I’d ever pass up a chance for some chaos! Hell, it’s even justified this time, ain’t it?”

Punching Bill the second time isn’t as satisfying as the first. He only has like, half a foot of clearance and the bastard’s too tough to ever hurt. The return of surprise on Bill’s stupid face though - that’s great.

“It’s not. What are you even trying to do? Have some ‘fun’? Your version, which sucks.” Now that he’s started, Dipper can’t seem to stop. The words spring out before they ever pass through his brain, propelled by sheer anger. “You’re just an asshole. And- and a jerk and a moron and - and fuck, Bill, you’re not even a god. Just a dick.”

Bill’s lips firm into a line. Mouth screwed up, hands on hips; exasperated that he’s been called out with no great way to correct it. 

Somewhere in the distance, a series of gasps. Yes, it’s blasphemy. Totally heretical. Also it’s true.

It’s practically a scene out of that stupid shot. The plucky mortal, facing down the demon all dramatically, except real this time 

So what if Bill’s pissed off. The mortals that he’s had before probably all did this, at one point or another. They didn’t just roll over and do what he wanted because it was too hard to speak up No, they stood their ground. They stopped him.

Now that’s Dipper’s job.

“Huh!.” Bill smiles. One edged with irritation, with a flash of teeth like a minor threat. “That’s a pretty funny thing to say to the guy doing you a favor.”

He really thinks - how can he be so frustrating. 

“Stop acting like this is for me.” Jabbing a finger into Bill’s ribs, Dipper glares up at him.“This is all about you.” 

Bill’s lip curls. The lingering hint of smile evaporates. Now it’s all bare teeth. “Come again?”

“It is,” Dipper insists. “You wanted to come here. You made the plans, you wanted the stupid tour, and to have your stupid vengeance on people you’ve never even met.” He punctuates each point with another stab of index finger into ribs. “You wanted to have your little show. Not once did you ask me what I thought.”

“To be fair, kid,” Bill says, lilting like a teacher talking down to a little kid. “You weren’t exactly speaking up, were ya?”

That was a low blow. “Fuck you.”

“See! Total lack of constructive input!” Bill tuts. “What a shame.”

That smug, handsome face shows no signs of cracking. Dipper nearly stalks away in frustration - then reels back on Bill with another shove. One quick sidestep and he stumbles. Bill starts laughing, high and bright. 

Facing down a demon. A powerful one, strong enough to beat him into paste or light him  up like a match. 

Dipper should be scared. That’s the smart thing to do.

But instead of terror, there’s a weird electric energy, crackling in the air between them. Not Bill’s magic, though that’s probably part of it. Maybe just that he’s standing up against Bill Cipher and it’s - exciting, and energizing. Or at least giving him enough adrenaline that he doesn't have to think too hard. 

“Fine. You want my input? I’m telling you now.” Dipper speaks through gritted teeth. Getting in someone’s face is a game both of them can play. “You’ve done enough. Cut. It. Out.”

“Oh, please. That’s your big idea?. Just quit?” Bill scoffs. “You hardly know up from down half the time! Or what’s going on in your own head! Taking down the ol’ tormenter is a classic for a reason, sapling.” He spreads his hands wide, offering them palms up like a gift. Or an invisible enemy’s head. “It’s everything you ever wanted!” 

This time Dipper snorts. Clearly it isn’t. Obviously it isn’t. 

For some reason that sets Bill glaring, which in turn is - 

God, this idiot. Dipper runs a hand through his hair, letting out a tired laugh. “You have no idea what I want.”

If Bill knew what he wanted, they would have just stayed at the damn Fearamid. If he cared what Dipper was thinking he would have asked. If he read his mind to check, or just - anything, it’d be obvious. And he hasn’t. 

Because if he had the first goddamn inkling of what Dipper really dreamt of, lying in bed and feeling a pathetically desperate ache, he’d - 

React, somehow. Good or bad or weird, Dipper doesn't know, but he knows Bill wouldn’t keep a poker face for that.

And isn’t that ironic, really. Bill himself with no secrets from this one mortal, and Dipper the one with something hidden away. He’d never expect it.

“Then do it!” Bill snaps an arm out towards the crowd, sending cultists ducking in a rippling wave. “We’re right on center stage! Here’s the audience! You got some big plan up your sleeve? Nut up and go for it!”

Heat rises around them; Bill’s magic is leaking out. Dipper could burst into flames any moment now, by the mere whim of a powerful being, a near-god. 

 Dipper’s fingers flex. Shutting his eyes to block out Bill’s too-close face. Quelling the urge to do something amazingly stupid. 

“What is it you really want, Pine Tree?” Bill hisses, voice low. He leans in; a stupid attempt to intimidate that leaves him inches away. “Show me.”

Fuck it. 

Dipper seizes this stupid idiot awful asshole by the tie, ignores the way his expression shifts from irritation to confusion again - and hauls him in. 

His first thought is that Bill’s lips are very, very soft. The impact nearly clicked their teeth together, but with that cushioning it landed without major problems. He grabs at his shoulers, holds the back of his head, silently willing him to stay still for at least a moment.  

It doesn’t matter how Bill responds. So what if he shoves him away, or burns him to ashes, or takes back all the things he’s given him.

Totally worth it, if only because he surprised Bill for once. And he got this. 

He gets his moment. Two of them, actually. By the third, Dipper’s thoughts start catching up with him. Like how he has no idea what he’s doing with his lips, except mushing them up against Bill’s unresponsive ones. 

Honestly, Dipper’s probably kind of bad at this. Going into this without an exit strategy was not his best idea. 

Then a palm smacks against the small of his back, hauling him in close. That yellow eye flutters shut as Bill lets a soft ‘mh’ noise, tilting his head to meet him, cupping Dipper’s cheek.

Okay. Wow. 

One of them might not be good at this, but Bill can more than compensate.

Holding onto Bill’s shirt doesn’t feel like enough anymore. Where to put his hands, when all of Bill seems like a great place to touch. One slides around wherever it can, while his other hand twines fingers in Bill’s hair, running over and through it. Around his waist Bill tugs him as close as possible, like he’ll never let him escape. Which is probably the best plan he’s ever had. 

Infinite knowledge is great, he should have expected that. Should have guessed Bill knows what he’s doing, warm lips and teeth and his touch on Dipper’s back, briefly on his thigh. Slow motions that leave him shivering, because this is actually happening. 

Even over the kiss it’s a dizzying thought. Bill’s *into* this, and - how did -  Maybe there were hints he missed? Maybe Bill actually knew? Or maybe - There’s too much to process. 

And when a quick flicker of tongue darts out, Dipper lets out a little noise from the back of his throat. 

Then Bill - who is, still, inevitably, an asshole - pulls back. 

Dipper tries to drag him back in, but the bastard only laughs. How can someone look so stupidly smug with his hair all ruffled and his clothes messed up, it’s insane.

“Cripes, sapling.” Bill’s grin is wilder than usual, and equally wide. He gives Dipper a gentle shake, half-laughing. “You shoulda said something!”

“Um,” Dipper looks away. Embarrassment has started trickling in again. And it’s hard to think of a response with soft lips on his cheek, moving to his ear. “I dunno.”

“We have gotta,” Bill murmurs, in a very distracting way that involves planting kisses on Dipper’s neck between each word. “Work on your talking skills.”

There’s probably a retort for that. Unfortunately, most of Dipper’s brain is occupied. Whatever going to say vanishes in a puff of pink mist. 

And when Bill finally lets up, it’s while looking all too smug, and wiggling his eyebrows. Dipper sighs, cups that stupid smug face in both hands. Slowly, he strokes a thumb over an angular cheek.

Damn it. Bill was right. Dipper should have said something ages ago. Instead of this entire stupid awful mess, they could have figured this out and done actually fun things. Maybe they could have even kissed on the couch all evening, which is totally possible now and sounds fantastic.

Most of all - Dipper can’t believe this worked. That he can have this. 

The brief silence is nice, but it won’t last. Any second now, Bill’s going to make some really stupid comment, Dipper can feel it in his bones. If he thinks quick, maybe he can preempt the dumbest possible result. How-

Something goes ‘crack’ against the altar, just beside him, and Dipper jerks back. Hot wax splatters from the candle, which didn’t hit but still makes a tiny but spirited attempt to set his suit aflame. 

Bill rears up, snarling. The hold around Dipper’s waist goes painfully tight, shoving him hard enough to let out an involuntary ‘oof’. 

“Blasphemer! Heretic!” The shrill voice sounds tinny in the too-quiet room, and a little rough. Not surprising, since the owner had just been kneeling and crying recently. “How could you?”

“What are you-” Dipper starts, then tries to duck another flung candle. Bill snags it from the air; it melts in his grip like water. 

Bill’s slow turn towards the girl should cow her, or - at least get her to shut up. Dipper can’t see the expression on his face but there’s no way it’s a good one. It’s like she’s just not paying attention…

Then again - a quick check of the room confirms that nobody is. Not to Bill, at least. They’re all staring at… 

Dipper. 

“You…” With one trembling arm, the girl points at Dipper with furious accusation. “You pervert!” 

Huh. All the kissing must have really done a number on Dipper’s brain. It almost sounded like she said… 

Now the gears start grinding back to life, putting that phrase through the machinery and coming up with… “What?”

“You can’t even go one day without committing sacrilege!” She stomps her foot, mascara-streaked cheeks puffing out in frustration. “You’ve corrupted our god!” 

“What?” 

That’s the most ridiculous, misguided, ass-backward thing he’s- they can’t actually believe that crap. Right?

But in the room of ceremony, the crowd is stirring. Whispers grow and bubble. A slowly rising murmur, with brief pops of agreement.

Soon there are calls for Bill to come to his senses, cursing Dipper’s name and his horrible influence. Hands are wrung in lamentation for god himself taking in such an unworthy creature of dark purpose, this… 

Are they seriously calling him a ‘temptress’? What the hell? Anyway, the right word would be casanova, and that’s… really an overstatement. 

Dipper struggles for something to say - and for his balance, because Bill’s started laughing so hard he’s almost doubled over.

After years and years of total conformity and respect for their teachings - the cult finally rises to their feet in revolt, driven by furious purpose. 

Not at the incredible violence, though, oh no. Or the orders, or the chaotic dream god, or any of the other bullshit that they all went through. 

At him. 

All because of a freakin’ kiss where their stupid god was totally participating. 

Truth doesn’t matter, he supposes. Or what’s real, or right or wrong. What matters is that they didn’t like what they saw, and someone’s gotta take the blame.

Guess Dipper isn’t a ‘worthless’ acolyte. He makes a great scapegoat.

“Seriously? I just saved your lives.” Dipper steps forward, hands up. The only reason the next projectile doesn’t hit is because Bill’s put up a short wall of flame between them; it keeps the mob from advancing. “What the hell.”

“This is what I keep telling you! The hero crap is a dead end, sapling. No good deed goes unpunished.” Bill smacks him on the side, straightening up with a grin. He steps forward, cracking his knuckles. “No worries, though! Not my first rodeo with an unruly mob.”

“No.” Dipper blocks him, arm outstretched. A weak barrier at best, but one that makes Bill pause in his tracks. 

Bill glances over, one skeptical eyebrow raised. It’s true, he could take care of it. In a way. One with a police report writing ‘no survivors at the end.

And as much as they’re all assholes, it’s not really right. Not just morally, but because the punishment doesn’t fit. 

“It’s my vengeance.” Dipper insists. He tugs Bill’s arm, urging him back. “I’ll handle it.”

That gets a smile. Bill, eternal nightmare demon, spreads his arm over the crowd with a flourish, and steps aside, bowing deep. 

Okay. Wow. That worked, somehow. 

Maybe because Bill wants to see him in action. Possibly because he’s curious what Dipper will come up with. 

Or even, maybe, because Bill wants him to enjoy the result, and that’s possibly the weirdest reason of all. 

Standing in front of the crowd, fire alight between them - Dipper tries cracking his own knuckles, but they don’t pop. He just looks stupid, and his joints are weirdly sore now. 

“Sinner-” “Heretic-” “Just the worst, I always knew it-”

The voices drift over him; he barely hears their words. It barely takes effort to bring the magic up, thrumming through him. A net of warmth in his body, running through his veins. 

And if he channels it like this, and commands it like so, with all of Bill’s power behind it and his own will directing the flow, a form takes shape inside, weighty inside his chest. Ready to be let out at his word.

He built this curse. He planned every part, designed from the ground up. He knows precisely what it’ll do and - yeah, okay. This does feel pretty cool. Bill will probably even like it. 

Magic burning under his skin, Dipper takes a deep breath, and a second step forward - then lets the power out with a shout.

“Would you all just SHUT UP?”

A tidal wave of invisible energy rushes in the room, washing over the floor and dissolving into the air. For the second time, the room goes quiet. Eerily so, because the crowd still writhes in a formless mass. People throw their arms in the air, shake their fists. But except for the rustle of cloth and footsteps on rock, it’s a pretty noiseless riot.

Bill raises an eyebrow, and Dipper coughs into his fist. Okay, not really dramatic. Guess the concept takes a second to hit. 

It only takes a few seconds. First one person touches their face, another claps hands over their throat. A slow, near-silent panic ensues.

Dipper folds his arms, watching them all mouth words. One person is pulling at their tongue, another squishing their lips. Someone starts looking for paper and pen. They’ll find out how fun that is pretty soon. 

Not being able to talk isn’t so great, is it. Especially, say, for exactly as long as Dipper couldn’t.

See how they like it. 

“Aw, really? That’s barely anything!” Bill complains, obnoxious and loud. He waggles a hand, a so-so gesture. “Five outta ten, maybe.” 

“It was ironic.” Dipper protests. “Because, y’know.” He points at his own mouth, frowning when Bill snorts. He gets his hair ruffled for his efforts. “Points for style, sure, but what about suffering? This crap isn’t even permanent.”

Why does Bill have to talk all the goddamn time? Everyone heard - He runs a hand down his face, hissing through his teeth. 

“What? I’m just saying-”

Dipper seizes him by the tie, dragging him nearly face-to-face. “They didn’t know that.” 

Bill’s eye goes wide. For a long moment it’s locked with Dipper’s - then it darts away, looking absolutely anywhere else. His lips clamp tight as he finally, for at least a second, shuts the hell up. 

Dipper takes a long, long look at his face, the lines and the angles of it. He needs to remember this expression. Who knows if he’ll see it again. It might even be a first in history. 

Bill Cipher, demon and nearly-god, realizing he thoroughly put his foot in it. 

“Lord of Nightmares, huh,” Dipper says, quiet and thick with sarcasm. “A real master of psychological torment.” 

“Shut it.” Bill snaps, still unable to meet Dipper eye-to-eye. “Hardly an issue, a quick spell adjustment and we’re-”

“No, we’re going home.” Before any argument can start, Dipper shoves him towards the altar.  “Now.”

Dipper’s tired from casting the curse, and he’s tired from dealing with the memories. Tired of this place and the people in it. Revenge happened, it’s off the checklist, and he is so, so done with everything. Total waste of his day. 

Better get while the getting’s good. Before anyone gets any ‘fun’ ideas, and while Bill’s still deflated from his misstep. Dipper has maybe three minutes of being able to push him around, tops.

Shoulders rising, Bill bares his teeth - then mutters something under his breath, folding his arms over his chest. He’s in a full-blown sulk now, and his cheeks are the faintest shade of pink. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Bill says, flicking his fingers. “I was done with this half an hour ago anyway.” With a huff, he stomps over to the altar.

What a liar. Bill would have continued, done more and worse, if someone hadn’t stopped him. This wouldn’t be half as easy if he wasn’t eager to put his fuckup behind him. 

Well, whatever works, works. Dipper rolls his eyes, tugging at his arm. With a sigh, Bill finally, grumpily, relinquishes his hand and Dipper takes it in his own, squeezing it gently.

Bill sticks his tongue out, but doesn’t protest. He rolls his eyes, as Dipper takes one look back. 

In the disarray of cursed cultists, no particular person stands out. A mass of red and gold, milling in confusion and fear. Not understanding what’s going - and probably not wanting to. 

There’s a lot he could say. If Bill were doing this, he’d have some snappy line ready to go, accompanied by a gore-filled finale of fireworks. Dipper’s different. He doesn’t have a plan in mind. Half the time he doesn’t know what to say, even when the situation isn’t completely fucked. 

Good thing there’s not much he wants to. 

Summoning the transport is easy. Simply touching the power is like drawing a breath, feeling the veil between worlds start to part. Dipper knows how to do it, going back to Bill’s realm is as easy as flicking a switch. 

“You know what? You’re all assholes.” Dipper says, just as the magic catches and he feels the world around them start to fade. “But you deserved a better god.”

The world flickers around them; it fades. Dipper keeps walking forward across nothingness. The dream dimension spins around them with its flickering images and aurora-like colors, the fragments of a subconscious mind.

Damn. Dipper’s aim is off. The Fearamid’s like, miles away. Either he’ll have to get Bill to do some space-manipulation, or prepare for a hell of a hike. 

That’ll have to wait, though. Behind him Bill mutters sulky, ego-soothing complaints, though not too loud. It’ll be a while before he’s back at full power, metaphorically speaking. 

A very fortunate circumstance, considering. Dipper’s reeling from what just happened. Adrenaline drains out of him, leaving him jittery and very, very tired. 

Away from the compound. He’ll never ever ever have to go back, nothing can make him. He’s out in another dimension, where he’s free.

And isn’t that the most messed up thing. That Dipper can stand on nothing in the middle of a dream realm, a dimension of insanity, and that helps him calm down. 

He just faced down a god. Sort of. 

He really did it. He can’t believe he did it, but somehow, in the moment. He couldn’t not do it, it was an impulse impossible to resist. The whole thing felt like… a knee-jerk reflex. An unused muscle kicking back into life under the electric shock of ‘Screw You Bill’. 

Just like those other guys, from so long ago. The braver, stronger ones who knew what they were doing - 

Maybe they didn’t really know, either. 

Dipper takes a steadying breath. He lets it out, and feels a knot of tension slowly release. 

He doesn’t know if he can live up to the birthmark, or even what it means. Another thing he’ll have to drag out of Bill, slowly and in pieces. But apparently, amazingly - he can do this. 

And he’ll have to, because holy shit, Dipper really gets it now. Somebody has to keep an eye on this demon, or hell knows what he’d get up to.

Looking back at Bill, still fuming, a sulking huff of breath out his nose. That handsome face is so annoyed, and it looks so, so good on him that Dipper wants to grab it again and kiss him stupid. For being stupid. 

Of all the mortals Bill could have been saddled with - 

God, Dipper’s glad it’s him.

Hopefully it’ll be a good few months before he needs to do that again, though. That metaphorical muscle friggin’ aches. 

“And what was with that parting shot, huh?” Bill’s voice finally rises back to its normal volume. He gives Dipper a haughty look. “I think I make a great god!”

There are so many things wrong with that, that - Dipper groans, stalking away across the dreamscape. No way he’s starting that conversation, it’ll take hours. 

What really sounds good is taking a shower, and collapsing on the couch to watch something brainless. Given some time to calm down and let the stress dissipate, he can handle Bill’s bullshit again. With a little encouragement, he might even get Bill to join him and they can - 

Mostly chill out. Maybe some other stuff. 

“What, you sulking?” No ground means no footsteps to warn Dipper when Bill pops up right next to him.  “Forget those idiots, kid. That’s all behind you! Let ‘em marinate in their misery like they deserve.” He rests a hand on his chest, self-important. “Just like I deserve at least three smooches for helping you get them theirs.”

Because he did such a great job of that. Dipper sets his mouth in a line, watching Bill grimace. Yeah. He knows what he did. 

“Whatever, you’ll get over it,” Bill says, bright. That ego bounces back like a rubber ball; the hard it lands the faster it comes back. He takes Dipper’s hand, lifting it to his face. “I happen to be a master manipulator.”

“No.” Dipper turns away again, forcing himself to frown. “I’m mad at you.” The words come out weaker than he’d like. 

“Not for long!” Bill gives him a rakish grin, and kisses the back of his hand.

Dipper ignores it. He’s a very strong and determined weird mark-bearer thing guy. Totally resistant to this demon’s terrible wiles. He is resolute as stone as Bill plants more kisses on the back of his hand, then works his way up his arm, to his shoulder and cheek. 

“Never letting you live that down,” Dipper mutters. These schmoozing attempts have no effect on him. He’s strong and brave and totally not melting a little into Bill’s arms. “You screwed up my revenge.” He adds, more annoyed.

“Ugh.” Bill's groan has a bit of embarrassment behind it. Just a twinge, but enough to make Dipper smile a bit himself. “Fine. Fine! I guess you need some recompense, whatever. I’m thinking…” Bill taps his chin, smirking. “Some kinda lip-based repayment plan. Whatd’ya say?”

Bill Cipher is a vile tempter, is what he is. Pulling Dipper’s strings like that, super easily. Damn it, he knew there’d be a downside to Bill figuring him out - 

Though admittedly - the upside is pretty great. 

Dipper pretends to think about it for a long second, watching Bill. The expectant look returns, his eye goes bright - and smiles. “I think we could make a deal.”

Welp. This is his life. Years and years of the cult, then kidnapped and dragged around and taken into the den of this absolutely ridiculous being. 

Fitting in back there was impossible, but. Dipper thinks it makes sense, a little bit. Between the mark and Bill himself, with his arm over Dipper’s shoulders and his heart beating fast -

He was a puzzle piece out of place. Part of the wrong picture, trying to be shoved in where he obviously didn’t fit. 

Being here, with Bill, feels… correct. Really good, too, in the way that a burn feels better under cold water, or a wound feels better all stitched up.

And deja-vu, almost. A sense that things are right. 

In the middle of terror and nightmares and chaos, Dipper’s always been part of the picture, in a way. 

He has a place where he belongs. 

“That’s my favorite mortal.” Bill grins, wide and wild, and swings Dipper up into his arms. “C’mon sapling. Let’s get you home.”

[moony-2001]

The real-world impact of Lore Olympus

i.e. do your research Rachel

Trigger warning: racism, fetishization, appropriation, mentions of SA

Long post ahead

A while ago, someone told me that Lore Olympus was just a silly little comic written out of boredom. That it was made to be "funny". They told me that "[I] can't hope [for] an extremely [well-written] story when it was just made with the intention to make something goofy" and that if Rachel actually wanted to make something serious like I had, she would write a book and not a comic.

At the time of this exchange, it was past 1 a.m. and I was exhausted. I did not want to argue with this person and it simply wasn't worth my time or energy in the moment.

But looking back at that (mostly one-sided) interaction, I can't help but think that there is so much wrong with that point of view. Of course, everyone is entitled to their opinion about Lore Olympus, whether good or bad. But Lore Olympus isn't just some silly little nothing comic about nothing important. It is a comic that actively appropriates and erases Greek Culture. It is a comic that has no respect for the actual stories that have been passed down over thousands of years whether by word of mouth or written text. It is a comic that perpetuates a false narrative and harmful stereotypes about characters or certain groups of people. So, no, it's not just a silly little comic.

Incorrect information

Here’s an example of what I mean:

When I was doing research for my post about the 10 year time skip, I looked up Leuce to reconfirm the little information I knew about her. Wanna guess the first thing that popped up about her?

A Lore Olympus Wiki article.

Okay. How about Minthe? Hundreds of pictures of her from Lore Olympus and a LO Wiki article as one of the top 3 results. Both character are horribly represented in LO and unfortunately there isn’t really any documented stories or records that can refute how LO paints them. Because of this, other characters in Greek Mythology like Leuce and Minthe, whose stories have little to no documentation, stand to suffer the most harm from deliberate misrepresentation on Rachel’s part.

Of course well-known and better documented figures in Greek mythology face slander as well. What about Thetis or Leto? How about Apollo? All of their portrayals in LO are HORRIBLE. I have seen people online absolutely drag them to filth not because they're upset about how the character is portrayed compared to their mythological counterpart, but because they have no knowledge of how they are actually portrayed outside of LO. They just assume that's how the characters are. Similarly, people who have either very little or no prior knowledge of Greek Mythology and Culture would look at the comic and go "Yep, sounds legit. It must be true." and go about thinking that what is portrayed in LO is accurate to what was transcribed thousands of years ago.

Creative interpretations and racism/fetishization within LO

Don’t get me wrong. Creative interpretations and artistic liberties can be great. When they’re done tastefully. I personally think if done correctly, a Greek myth spun in a modern way has the potential be very good. But that's not what we were given.

Characters like Minthe, Leuce, and Thetis (all nymphs btw) are portrayed as trashy tramps who put out and are used as a foil sabotage Persephone and/or her relationship with Hades. Compare that to Greek Mythology where in the Iliad, Thetis is very well-respected by the gods, particularly Hera. Unfortunately, other similar characters like satrys (and basically any character that isn’t a god) are usually portrayed as a low-class POC that can be easily exploited, manipulated, or used as a temporary villain/lover/pawn to “get back” at Persephone, our white-coded protagonist who can do no wrong.

Additionally, there is a clear race/class bias against characters like nymphs in LO. We see many cases scattered throughout the comic of gods like Hera or Aphrodite referring to nymphs as "trash" or "low class" or the idea that nymphs do not belong with gods being heavily implied if not outright said. I cannot tell you how often I've seen Minthe be called some variant of "cheap" by the readers of LO. Even Persephone (who created the flower nymphs) treats them with such disrespect. She frequently calls them some variant of "stupid" or "simple" like saying how they're not the sharpest crayons in the box even though she's the one WHO MADE THEM. However, it's so odd not really to note that nymphs like Echo, Amphitrite, or Psyche (who was previously disguised as a nymph) are not discriminated against. This is because they are liked or trusted by the gods they are around and ergo are often portrayed as the "good ones", which is a disgusting mindset to have.

We also see the fetishization of nymphs in the comic that is disturbingly similar to the fetishization of women who are Black, Asian, or Latina. It is a known fact that Hades has a flower nymph fetish. Not only is this implied in the comic, but Rachel stated it outright in an old Patreon post. Nymphs are also generally treated as sex-symbols, disposable, and as a lesser-than. Zeus frequently displays this behavior by abandoning nymphs he knocked up in the mortal realm.

For example, when Persephone finds out Apollo is dating Daphne, she isn't upset he's dating her friend. She's upset he's dating a flower nymph, beings that are generally considered to be "rare", "dumb", and objects of sexual desire. Ew.

Even on the Lore Olympus website (loreolympians.com) nymphs are regarded as "beautiful", "desirable", and "very exotic". And when they're not described in a sexual manner they're say it with me now regarded as "low class" or "workers" for some kind of god/goddess.

Final thoughts

So not only is the characterization of characters like Minthe or Thetis harmful to Greek culture and the stories that are so ingrained in their society, but it is also perpetuating harmful stereotypes about people of color and women who are confident in their sexuality.

Of course, the characters within Greek Mythology had their own issues. Zeus was a serial rapist, many of the goddesses deemed to be "feminist" by today's standards were actually horribly misogynistic looking at you Athena. But 1. that's just how things were back then (but that does not make it right) and 2. all of the good, the bad, and the ugly is still there in Greek Mythology. They're not denying how fucked up it is, but they're also not changing their history to better fit their own narrative or the narrative of the modern world. It exists, it happened, but now it is studied and called out by historians.

Rachel, on the other hand, is doing exactly that. She is actively changing the Greek's cultural history to better fit her fic's narrative. She is constantly sweeping things under the rug or going "No this is how it ACTUALLY happened". Lore Olympus is marketed as a "feminist retelling" yet somehow, it takes allllll the ugly parts from Greek Mythology (rape, incest, problematic age gaps, dubious consent, etc.), mixes it with a majority of the issues we have in the modern world (white feminism, rape-apologists/rape culture, grooming, fetishization of certain minority groups, etc.) and then amplifies the concoction to 20. Lore Olympus cannot be a "progressive, feminist, retelling" and also have characters that are morally apprehensive/come straight from the ancient myths. It does not work. In fact, IMO it makes all the problems from both eras worse.

News flash: actual cultures that are still thriving today are not your toys. They are not "made up". They matter. Do better.

[blamebrampton]

Books talk to each other. Mostly because practically every writer is also a voracious reader, but also because books arise out of times and places and we share a lot of our worlds these days. So it’s unsurprising that several novels I have hugely enjoyed over the past few years share the theme of the antiheroine who is past all giving of the fucks. Naomi Novik’s powerful dark sorceress kept on her own tight leash in the Scholomance books was a joy to follow; Xiran Jay Zhao’s Iron Widow slashed her way into my heart and now Sarah Rees Brennan’s Long Live Evil has added to a list of beloved antiheroines that probably started for me with Becky Sharp in Vanity Fair.

Coincidentally, when considering how to describe Long Live Evil without significant spoilers, I realised that it shared several major themes with Vanity Fair. Young woman unfairly treated by fate decides to embrace her slut era to survive a war zone – both very accurate and wildly inaccurate for both. LLE opens with main character Rae in a hospital bed, teasing her sister about a book series they both adore. Rae is taking refuge in the story they have shared over years because it is one of the few things they have left: she is losing her fight against cancer and has been losing parts of her life, family and memory as that fight has progressed.

My personal hospital experiences have all been to do with major traumas rather than illness, which I vastly prefer because if you don’t die in the first couple of days, you usually start mending and you can immediately make plans to make the best of whatever you’ve broken. Rees Brennan, however, famously wrote a very funny, very horrible, ‘Kids, you won’t believe what shenanigans your girl’s been up to now, it’s only stage four Hodgkins lymphoma!’ post on her Tumblr or LJ (someone who has been hit in the head with taxis fewer times than me will doubtless factcheck that in the notes) about seven or eight years ago and then faced the very serious business of trying to live. The hospital scenes are painfully authentic, as are the stories of people who have left Rae as she slipped further out of everyday life.

For Rees Brennan, a loving family and peer group were there to hold her as close as they could. For Rae, only her beloved little sister, Alice, and Time of Iron, their favourite fantasy series, remain. They read the books together, remember adventures cosplaying and watching the musical, they wonder about the final instalment; for Rae it’s a joy she can still share (even if she doesn’t remember as much as she should), for Alice, it’s her two greatest loves. When a strange woman offers a door into the world of the book and a possible magical cure to Rae, she wants it as much as she disbelieves it.

Stepping into Eyam, the land of Time of Iron, Rae finds herself in the body of a villain doomed to die the next day. No worries! She’s thought and fought her way out of worse scraps than this in her past as a head cheerleader, let alone while battling cancer. She can use her knowledge of the plot to change things! If only she remembered more of the books…

Portal fantasies are common enough, but not all play by the same rules. This isn’t Narnia, where the magical world is more real than our own, for Rae, the world of the book is nothing more a tool to get her hands on the cure. She doesn’t need to care about any of these people, they’re not real. Most of them speak in a formal language that relies on the conventions of fantasy literature (there is an ongoing, warm-hearted skewering of all Game of Thrones-esque texts running through both the story and the in-text ‘quotes’ from Time of Iron) and half the characters are known more by their descriptions rather than their names. So she will play the Beauty Dipped in Blood, with her questionable morals, impractical clothes and centre-of-balance-distorting boobs for the weeks that will pass until the cure is available. Whoever she has to shuffle in the plot to secure a place beside that cure, she will shuffle. While she’s not out to kill anyone, it’s not as though they were ever really alive. Not like her. If she has to be the villain to survive, she will be an impeccable one. The people will cheer evil on!

Obviously, little goes to plan. Rae’s illness has taught her cruelty, but she hasn’t forgotten what it is to be kind. Even as she manipulates her role into ongoing main character, she realises that’s not how anyone gets a happy ending. That’s not how she can live with herself. As she comes to think of the other people in the story as real, they become more so, both in how we read them and in how they impact the story. Rae remembers what it is like to make friends, which she never meant to, but, oh, the luxury after years of watching people slip away!

As in previous novel In Other Lands, Rees Brennan has a long list of fantasy tropes to embrace and undermine, and her deft touch with humour is as evident as ever here, but her publishers call this her first adult novel and there is a shift in tone from her previous works. Anger is more real and lasting. Consequences are more significant. Understanding is reached for, even if it’s bitter. One of my favourite things is that she lets her female characters rage, but never judges those who can’t, whether because they’re too powerless or just too tired, and her male characters are allowed to be people if they choose to be — which all but the most vainglorious do.

I hadn’t paid much attention beyond checking the release date for the book, so didn’t realise it was the first in a series. For me, it worked perfectly as a standalone novel, even with the unended threads, which would have perfectly balanced Rae’s unfinished life. That said, I am very happy to know we will spend more time with these characters in the future. I want more. I do want to know if there is a hope for Rae, if this is the fever dream of a fading life, if this is the story Alice has told to ease her sister from the world or something else. There are a dozen characters I hope for, at least three happy endings that would bring joy. But don’t wait for the next books: sink your teeth into this one and believe what it says about the importance of listening to stories rather than just falling in love with characters. Though if you find yourself cheering on Rae, or her servant Emer, the elusive Eric, Horrible Hortensia or almost any of the others, I am the last person who will judge you.

[reiding-writing]

I feel bad for sending one request after another but like okay hear me out, Spencer is cold and it's very obvious that his skinny ass purple scarf doesnt do much, so reader lends him theirs and he gets really flustered because it smells like them 😭

scented scarves [ s.r ]

Summary:

Vegas was a pretty warm city even in the winter, a stark contrast to Quantico’s freezing temperature. Needless to say, Spencer wasn’t fairing very well in the cold, and your offer of your scarf leaves him flustered and mildly overwhelmed.

WARNINGS: n/a

pairing: spencer reid × gn!reader

genre: fluff

wc: 1.2k

masterlist!!

a/n: this one’s pretty short but i hope it suffices nonetheless!

thank you for the request, you’re welcome to send as many as you want <33

It was -2 degrees celsius. 28 degrees fahrenheit.

In other words, absolutely fucking freezing.

The joys of living in Virginia.

It was blatantly obvious which of your team members were acclimated to the colder climates, or more accurately, who wasn’t.

Anyone who walked into your office, profiler or otherwise, would be able to tell.

Garcia was wrapped up in a chunky knitted sweater, a pair of thick tights under her skirt as she padded across the bullpen back to her tech dungeon with a cup of hot chocolate in her hands.

Prentiss was wearing a shirt and a sweater, her hands held out in front of a mini heater on the top of her desk in a desperate attempt to warm up her extremities so the rest of her body would follow suit.

And Spencer…

Spencer was sat cross legged in his chair with two pairs of socks on, a knitted vest over his shirt and a cardigan over his vest, his signature purple scarf wrapped around his neck and covering his chin as his hands gripped his coffee mug like it was the only thing keeping him from turning into a human icicle.

Poor Spencer Reid. Vegas really didn’t serve him well when it came to Quantico winters.

If his trembles weren’t so adorably funny you’re sure you’d feel bad for the boy, but instead you’re muffling a laugh as you walk across the bullpen to sit at your desk beside him, disposing of your bag under the table and unfurling your chunky knitted scarf from your neck to drape over the back of your chair.

One of the pros of being born and bred in Virginia is that you didn’t have to worry about freezing from the inside out.

Spencer’s eyes follow you as you take your seat, and you swear you can see him shudder when you remove your scarf, as if you removing a layer of warmth made him colder.

“You good over there?” You can’t help the amusement painting your face as Spencer stares at you like you’ve got a second head.

“How are you not freezing?” Spencer’s tone carries genuine bewilderment as his eyes scan what you’re wearing, a pair of black slacks and a white shirt, alongside a semi formal blazer that you also shed to lie over your chair.

“It’s climate acclimation Spence, you of all people should know that,”

His expression doesn’t change at your answer, continuing to blankly stare at you like some foreign species that had just invaded the earth. “I know that- logically… But still i’m literally shaking from how cold it is,”

“That’s what happens when you’re a Vegas baby who moves to Virginia,” You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly as Spencer huffs, taking another sip of his hot coffee in attempt to regulate his body temperature back to something warmer, tucking the narrow purple strips of thin-knitted fabric under his chin to expose his mouth to the mug.

“That scarf isn’t going to do you very much you know, it’s basically a glorified fashion piece,” You weren’t trying to knock on Spencer’s scarf by any means, it’d become a staple of his office wear, one that you definitely weren’t complaining about, but in weather like this it wasn’t really doing him any favours.

“I know…” Spencer sighs at his own intolerance to cold weather.

You’d think having worked in Quantico for half a decade would have stopped him from turning into a human icicle the minute the temperature dropped into the negatives, but no, of course it didn’t. Of course he continued to feel like he was sat in a bathtub full of ice despite having four layers on. Of course he did.

You push your chair back from your desk, the noise of it’s friction against the cheap carpeting of the floor drawing Spencer’s eyes to you once more, and to you bring yourself to your feet and pull your scarf from under your blazer with a small amount of struggle before walking over to him, the scarf stretched out between your two hands.

Spencer doesn’t have the time to question what you’re doing before your scarf is wrapped around his neck, immediately engulfing him in a cocoon of extra heat that his own scarf failed to provide.

He didn’t have time to thank you either, as you departed with a ruffle of your hand in his hair towards the kitchenette to fix yourself a coffee.

At first he’s confused.

Then he’s warm.

And then the lingering scent embedded in the yarn hits his nose and he flushes a bright pink, thankfully hidden under the knit.

Of course it would smell like you. It was your scarf. Your cells would cling to the yarn as you wore it and leave a permanent trace of you behind.

But it smelled like you. And any lingering molecules of coffee in his sensory neurons were immediately overridden with your scent instead.

Any conscious sense of being cold had left his body. His trembling had seemingly stopped, his brain too focused on your scent invading his nose and making him feel fuzzy inside.

You returned with your cup of coffee soon after, Spencer still coming to terms with his reality as you take your seat again. “You look much warmer now,”

You half insinuate the flush on his cheeks, although he’s unsure if you recognise the origin behind it or if you genuinely just believe that your scarf has helped insulate his neck and warm up his face. Which it had, but not as much as your scent had done.

Spencer’s normally sharp mind stumbled over words, and he couldn't help but fidget with the ends of the scarf as he tried to formulate a response.

"Yeah… thanks," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact, his cheeks tinged with a subtle blush.

His reaction brought a soft smile to your face, alongside a small chuckle at his seeming inability to form a full sentence. "You're welcome Spencer, but it's just a scarf,”

But for Spencer, it was more than that, it was a tangible connection to you. The combination of your proximity and the familiar fragrance leaving him pleasantly flustered and mildly overstimulated.

As the day unfolded, the team couldn't help but notice the change in Spencer's demeanour. Teasing remarks were exchanged, and Spencer, although still focused on his files, couldn't escape the playful banter.

At the end of the day, you approached him, a twinkle in your eye. "I think you should keep the scarf," you suggested, "You need it more than I do."

Spencer's shy smile revealed his appreciation, and he nodded, holding onto the scarf as a cherished memento of a day that had unravelled his usual composure.

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

Clone wars headcanons about everything and nothing

Ahsoka has a decent amount of allergies but only a handful are actually life-threatening and no matter how much she tells Anakin that it never stops him from treating them all the same

And by treating them all the same I mean he’s slapped some snacks out of her hands because he knew she was slightly allergic to it

In his defense the clones are really bad at keeping track of her allergies and because of that they have fed her a couple of things that were lethal to her and ever since then Anakin’s never really trusted them with food

Also in his defense Ahsoka once ate something she was highly allergic to on a dare (the poor clone didn’t know she was allergic) and all she did to remedy the situation was hand said poor clone her EpiPen before passing out

Unfortunately the clone didn’t know how to use the EpiPen so Ahsoka ended up passing out and Anakin and Rex had to rush her off to the med bay because they didn’t know how to use the EpiPen either 

Because of this incident the clones weren’t allowed to give Ahsoka food and there were a couple of signs that said “blue to the sky orange to the thigh” around the ship

I feel like everyone in Clone Wars is simultaneously touch-starved and tactile which is a very fun mix especially when I think about Ahsoka and everyone else because I like to think whenever Ahsoka asks for a hug 9.5/10 she gets one 

Master Plo is the most used to this cause Ahsoka’s been like this since she was a child and he’ll admit he’s spoiled her with hugs 

If you were to ask her what his hugs feel like she would say they feel like childhood or that feeling you get when you smell something that you could only find in your home when you were a kid

Obi-Wan is an interesting can of worms because he’s as tactile and touch-starved as the rest of them but he’s also incredibly touch-adverse which results in him declining hugs 5/10 because he just can't fathom touching someone in that moment

But when he does give Ahsoka a hug she’ll say there’s nothing like it and she would often describe it as a breath of fresh air and very soothing on stressful days 

Rex is most likely it give Ahsoka a hug bro is simply the hugger™ and she would describe his hugs as comforting if not a little awkward but grounding none the less kind of like hugging a weighted blanket just out of the drier 

She doesn’t get to see Padme nearly as often as she would like which means she tries to get a hug whenever she can and Padme will never decline her hugs if anything she initiates most of them

Ahsoka doesn’t remember her mom or her hugs well but if she had to give an example of what a hug from her mom felt like she would say Padme’s 

Anakin honestly isn’t comfortable with touching people he doesn’t know well but when he does feel comfortable with someone he’s clingy 

Ahsoka will never admit this half cause it’s embarrassing and half because she fears it would hurt the other’s feelings but Anakin’s hugs are easily her favorite something about the all-encompassing hug makes her feel safe and secure like nothing else 

But the funny thing is that sometimes he doesn’t really have the energy to hug Ahsoka so he’ll just put all of his dead weight on her which usually results in one of two reactions from her 

one. Is usually her saying “Hug me like you love me” or something along those lines to which he will squeeze the everloving force out of her or two. “Hug me like a normal person” which usually gets the smartass response of “Who said I was a normal person”

So it’s pretty obvious that Anakin and Ahsoka have their bigger competitions but they’ve also got little ones like who can make the funnier face when Obi-Wan is trying to do his work which normally ends with the duo hunched over laughing and Obi-Wan finding another place to work 

The: “Who can accurately make the noises Obi-Wan makes while stretching” challenge which just usually results in the clones worriedly checking in on them cause it sounds like they’re in pain

The: “Who can eat more ice cream” challenge always ends with Anakin regretting his life choices and Ahsoka doing the dishes because she feels bad 

Long story short they’ve got a lot of challenges cause they’re competitive little weirdos but the funniest part is they rarely keep score of who the winner is so they’re in an endless cycle of useless competitions 

Obi-Wan has slowly collected mugs for everyone he’s close with and they have a nice little home in his otherwise empty mug cupboard 

Anakin and Padme have matching from Naboo because Obi-Wan took them shopping when they were pretty young 

Padme can’t drink tea with them as often as she would like but when she can schedule a small tea break Anakin makes sure to smuggle all their mugs out of Obi-Wan’s kitchen

Ahsoka’s mug is possibly one of Obi-Wan's favorites it’s a good size and practical but’s also got nice intricate color-changing details because they both thought it looked cool

Cody and Obi-Wan’s mugs are pretty similar but their main difference is the childlike handwriting on the bottom of one that says “to: Obi from: Ani”

Rex doesn’t get a mug until later and it’s the most unconventional and inconvenient mug in all of creation the poor dude has to hold it from the sides because his hands don’t fit in the handle

And its design pisses Obi-Wan off every time he sees it the only thing that’s stopping him from smashing it into hundreds of little pieces is that Rex picked it so in the cupboard it stays 

Sometimes the group forgets that Ahsoka isn’t human which leads to very funny circumstances 

Like Rex losing a decent amount of credits trying to call Ahsoka’s “bluff” of being able to bench twice his weight 

Or at the fact that Obi-Wan was once hiding from Ahsoka and Anakin because he didn’t want the duo to see the extent of his injuries from a solo mission 

But he forgot that Ahsoka could smell and hear better than the average being so she was able to track him down pretty fast (she was also freaked out cause she could hear his erratic heartbeat and smell the blood so that wasn’t a pleasant experience for her) 

Or the number of times when she’s eaten an unholy amount of food just for Anakin to wake up at 3 am to find her scavenging for more cause she’s still hungry 

And let me tell you seeing some small hunched-over little creature with reflective eyes at that time of night would make even the chosen one screech like a banshee

[jinkoh]

fall back on me

hyunjae x gn!reader

summary: to say you hadn't been pleased when you’d found out hyunjae was your soulmate would be an understatement. he was loud and annoying and all the two of you ever did was bicker. and yet, somehow, you wanted to be there for him

part of my soulmate series

tags: soulmate au (sharing bruises), childhood frenemies to lovers, high school au, hurt/comfort, some fluff, SFW; warnings: implied abuse/domestic violence, mentions of injuries and blood

wc: 3.8k a/n: can someone tell me why this is almost 4k when i thought i'd stick to tiny <1k drabbles for this series? is it bc i am currently so very in love with leehyunjae?? perhaps?? we may never know

series masterlist | tbz masterlist

“I think I could really miss out on P.E today,” you sighed as you slung your gym bag over your shoulder and followed your friends out of the classroom.

“You could always miss out on P.E, y/n,” Siyeon corrected with a raised eyebrow. “I remember in middle school there was a time where you purposely forgot your gym clothes every. single. week.”

“Eh? For real?” Minji chimed in in surprise.

“Yupp, even got detention for it, but showed up without again the week after.”

“Let bygones be bygones already, Siyeon,” you complained, a little uncomfortable about her bringing it up. Not that it wasn’t true, but you’d had your reasons at the time. Now however you simply didn’t like sports. You weren’t very good, especially with ball sports, and you knew you’d get an earful about it if you got hurt.

“Fine,” she agreed, almost disappointed to drop the topic. Minji on the other hand didn’t mind much, her attention grabbed by something else—or more accurately: someone else. The guys from the basketball team were coming your way, Juyeon, Jacob and, of course, Hyunjae. Minji seemed absolutely delighted; it wasn’t a secret that she basically crushed on all of them. You weren't half as excited about this. When Hyunjae met your gaze, a small grin tugged at his lips and he came your way. You let out a groan. You really weren’t in the mood for this.

“What a passionate greeting,” he said with a small shake of his head, “is that any way to treat your beloved classmate?”

“We’re not even in the same class, Jaehyun.”

He dramatically clutched his heart. “So cold, y/n, so cold.” Then his gaze fell onto your gym bag. “P.E? Really?”

“Yup. We’re playing basketball.”

He scrunched up his face. “If only you were half as gifted as me.”

“It’s not like I want to play either. But I’m hardly the one making the class schedule now, am I?”

“Right. Guess there’s no way around it. Just don’t fall again, those were some nasty bruises last week.”

“Mhm,” you rolled your eyes. “I’ll try my best.”

“Well sadly, your best isn’t all that good, y/n. You know, I could give you some pointers.”

“Nah, thanks, I can handle myself.”

“That’s just empty words,” he complained, “I need a bit more than that to feel reassured.”

“If the ball comes my way I’ll just catch it with my face,” you deadpanned before pushing past him.

“Not funny!" He yelled after you but you didn’t turn around again, just giving him a half-assed wave over your shoulder.

A second later, Minji was jogging up next to you, completely baffled by the whole interaction. “How do you know Hyunjae?! Do you have something going on?”

“Ew, no,” you immediately replied.

“But he clearly cares for you!”

“For me?” You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Hardly.”

Siyeon came up between the two of you, casually slinging her arm over Minji’s shoulder. “They are soulmates,” she explained matter of factly, “Didn’t you know?”

“He is your soulmate?! Why didn’t you tell me, y/n?”

“It’s not like it’s something to brag about.”

“Duh?! It is! We’re talking about the Lee Hyunjae.”

You made a disgusted face. “Exactly.”

In High School, Hyunjae was one of the popular kids. Maybe it was because he was tall or because he played basketball or perhaps it was that charming smile of his—either way, everyone was enamored by him. The guys wanted to be his friend and the girls wanted to get into his bedsheets and even the teachers seemed to like him despite his bold demeanor. 

You however felt a little different about him. You’d been in the same school since elementary, so you’d basically seen him grow up. While he was the cool and charming Hyunjae to everyone else, to you he was still Jaehyun, the odd one out, a kid that seemed unable to read the room or purposely didn’t. It wasn’t that he’d never had friends, it was that he couldn’t seem to keep them, sooner or later being left behind for being loud and annoying or for taking one of his pranks too far. The teachers had deemed him a troublemaker, unable to focus and distracting everyone else and your opinion of him wasn’t much better. 

You’d found out he was your soulmate in 4th grade, when the bloody knee he got from playing soccer made your own knee turn red and blue. To say you weren’t pleased was an understatement. You had no intention of being close to such a troublesome kid, worried about ruining your grades and tired of his exhausting personality. Any time you spoke to him, you just ended up bickering about his missing homework or him skipping out on cleaning duty. Honestly, it was draining your energy. So, you kept the whole soulmate thing your little secret, never telling him what you’d discovered. It was easy enough—he was never paying attention to you anyway, so he wouldn’t notice if you shared a bruise or two from time to time. You didn’t tell anyone else either. As far as you were concerned, you didn’t have a soulmate. A lot of people didn’t have one anyway and as long as neither of you got hit in the face no one would find out.

You started to reconsider in middle school though. It wasn’t that you suddenly liked him, even if you had to admit that he’d gotten more bearable. He’d calmed down a little and his pranks too were not completely lacking in sensibility and consideration anymore. Actually he was barely playing pranks at all, keeping a low profile more often than not. And there was something else. 

At first you’d thought the bruises were from playing soccer again, and you would have told him off to be more careful if that hadn’t meant outing yourself as his soulmate. But you realized he never actually joined the guys playing soccer anymore. And it would barely explain the bruises anyway—if they were on your knees, sure, but on your ribs and upper arms? You had your doubts. As they kept appearing, littering your body to a point where you didn’t dare to change in front of other people anymore, your worries grew. Something was wrong, but you didn’t know how to address it and much less if you should in the first place.

“Long sleeves?” Siyeon asked one day during recess, eyebrows raised in confusion.

“I don’t know, I think it’s kinda cold,” you lied.

“Cold? It’s summer! Y/n, I can literally see the sweat running down your temple.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I swear to god, we only have weirdo’s in this class. Hyunjae is the same.” She nodded over to him. You thought he’d been sleeping, his head resting on his arms, but at the mention of his name he looked up. Your gaze briefly met, and for a second there was an odd expression on his face, his eyes lingering on your covered up arms for a second too long. You felt your chest tighten, thinking he knew, and for the first time it wasn’t the soulmate part that frightened you. More than that you worried about the fact that you knew such a deeply vulnerable thing about him. You weren’t close, so surely he wouldn’t want you to know. You opened your mouth, wondering if you should say something, but then he turned back around, resting his head on his desk again as if nothing had happened. Maybe his odd gaze had just been your imagination.

You didn’t go swimming even once that summer, and you assumed neither did he, because the bruises never really left, new ones coming before old ones could heal. You skipped out on P.E class claiming you forgot your things, or changed on the toilet instead and no one seemed to question it, deciding it must simply be a rebellious phase for you. You knew it couldn’t continue like this, but you felt so helpless, caught up in something that shouldn’t be your business. With the history you shared, what could you even say, that wouldn’t sound condescending and meddlesome coming from you? You felt like the issue was slowly eating you up from the inside and a part of you wished you could just wipe off all the bruises and get rid of the connection that tied you to this mess. But even if you could, even if you woke up tomorrow without a single bruise, your skin a blank slate, Hyunjae would still have them. He would still wake up with the same injuries, covering them up for no one to see. It must be lonely, you thought, to go through so much pain all by yourself, hiding it away when really you want someone to notice and hold out a hand to you.

When you spotted him still lingering in the half dark classroom after school was long over, sitting on the floor against the wall and playing something on his phone, you decided to talk to him. 

“You’re still here.”

Hyunjae looked up at you, surprise flashing through his eyes, before he focused back on the screen that was casting a blueish light onto his face. “Mhm.” He shrugged. “You gonna rat me out to the teachers?”

“Aren’t you going to go home?”

“Yeah,” he said, but he didn’t show any intention to leave at all.

It wasn’t exactly how you expected the conversation to go. You’d thought it would be easier. Or maybe you were just caught off guard to see him so calm for once, his energy seemingly used up over the course of the day. He wasn’t making snappy comments or bad jokes. He was just sitting there.

At a loss of what to do, you plopped down next to him, leaving some space between you. You glanced at his phone, watching him play. He didn’t comment on it, but you noticed the way he tilted the screen the tiniest bit so you could see better. The two of you probably sat there like that for almost an hour, until a pop up warned him that he was running out of battery. 

“Shit,” he grumbled, reluctantly closing the game. He shoved his phone into his pocket, but even then he didn’t stand up.

“You don’t want to go home, do you?” You asked and you didn’t expect him to be honest, but he was.

“No.” He paused for a moment before looking over at you, searching for something in your eyes. A sense of fellowship, perhaps. “What about you? You don’t want to go either?”

You hesitated. “That’s not it.”

“Then why?” But it seemed what he was really asking was how? How do you know then, when you’re not the same as me?

“I was worried.”

“About what?”

“You.”

There was another pause and then he laughed, but it didn’t sound convincing. “Why are you always so meddlesome? You don’t have to bug me about my homework anymore, you know? You’re not my mom and I’m fine.”

“But you’re not,” you insisted.

He looked almost angry now and it was weird to see him like that, because through all the years you’d known him, through all the fights you’d picked with him, you’d never seen him angry, not really. “Don’t act like you know me. You don’t know anything.”

You bit your lower lip and closed your eyes, trying to gather some strength. Your fingers clutched the hem of your shirt, holding onto it with a grip so strong it made your knuckles turn white. “I do know,” you pressed out, your voice trembling as you pulled up your shirt enough to reveal your ribcage. Hyunjae made a choked up noise, but it took you a second longer to find the courage to look at him. When you did, there were tears in his eyes. He looked onto your skin in horror, and you knew that he understood what it all meant. You let the hem of your shirt fall back down. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and the way he sounded so shaky, so vulnerable, made tears well up in your eyes too. He wrapped his arms around his body, as if that could somehow hide away the truth you both already knew about.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Jaehyun. It’s not your fault.”

“But I—,” He trailed off. “I’m so sorry.”

“I promise you don’t have to be sorry. And you don’t have to endure it all by yourself either.” You reached out, gently, carefully grazing his hand with your own. To your surprise he didn’t flinch away. Instead, his fingers wrapped around yours. He held onto you like a lifeline, his grip almost painful, but you didn’t complain. In a way you felt grateful that he wasn’t pushing you away. It was weird, because you’d never thought you cared about or liked him. But right in that moment, you thought maybe you did. At the very least you wanted to be someone he could rely on and why would you want that if not because you liked him to some extent?

It would be delusional to think you could magically fix his situation. After all, you were just a kid at the time. But still, you tried to at least be there in ways you could. You’d stay behind after class with him, keeping him company as he played his mobile games. Sometimes you’d use the time to do your homework, and eventually he even joined in, getting you to explain things he had missed due to getting distracted in class. You liked the way his face lit up when he got them right. You were also the one to suggest the basketball club to him. Because you’re tall, you said and it wasn’t a lie, but mainly it was because they practiced late and it gave him a reason to stay behind. You never talked about the bruises again, but you thought they became fewer, the less time he spent at home. Until suddenly, they just stopped appearing.

“We moved,” he ambiguously explained one day, but you understood just fine without him having to say more.

“So…you can go home now?” You asked, looking up from where you were crouched over your math workbooks.

“Yeah.” He paused. “But you still have to explain the homework to me though.”

“Okay,” you smiled and you thought he was smiling too, his head already hunched over the formulas in his book again.

“You’re kidding, right?” Hyunjae greeted you as soon as you came out of the changing rooms after class. He was leaning against the wall, clearly having waited for you. His nose was red and slightly bruised.

“Don’t be mean,” you replied with a pout, your voice slightly muffled by the towel you were holding up against your face, “I have a nosebleed.”

“I can see that." He shook his head with a sigh. "I didn’t think you meant it literally when you said you’d stop the ball with your face.” 

“Neither did I, but it seems this is what fate wanted.”

“Fate my ass. You just suck at sports.” 

“Be grateful you only get the bruise and not the bleeding.”

“Mhm, thanks for not completely ruining my face.” He pushed himself off the wall and started walking down the hallway. After a few steps he turned back around to you. “Stop standing there like a fool. Come.” He didn’t check again if you were coming along, but he didn’t have to because you plodded after him, gym bag in one and the bloody towel in the other hand. Hyunjae stopped in front of the infirmary, knocking but not waiting for a response before pushing the door open. It was empty either way. You awkwardly stood in the doorway while he rummaged through the cabinet.

“Can you not stand there like some playmobil figure? Sit,” he nodded towards the bed in the corner.

“You really keep on insulting me today, huh?” you complained but you plopped down on the mattress anyway.

Hyunjae met your gaze with a grin. “Today? Always.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Mhm, says the one who gave me a super ugly bruise on my face.” He sat down on the wheeled swivel stool, scooting it over until he was right across from you, a box of wet tissues in his hand. “Now let’s clean up that mess.”

When you lowered the towel he pulled a disgusted face. “That’s so gross.”

“It’s just a nosebleed,” you put the towel up again with a frown, “and I never said I needed your help anyway.”

“Don’t be silly.” Hyunjae moved your hand away and tilted his head to take a proper look. “It’s not bleeding anymore, is it?” He mumbled, carefully wiping away the blood stains beneath your nose. It didn’t seem like he actually wanted a reply, so you stayed quiet, fixing your eyes onto the trees outside the window so you didn’t have to look at him this close up. Maybe it should have felt weird to have him take care of you like this. But it didn’t, because Hyunjae was always like this. Even with all the bickering and arguing, even when his friend circle was so vastly different from your own, when it came down to it he’d have your back.

“Can I ask you something?” you broke the silence while Hyunjae momentarily stopped his ministrations in your face to switch out the tissue.

“You mean what I did to deserve a soulmate as clumsy as you? I’d like to know that too,” he replied as he got back to work, but you ignored the silly comment.

“Why didn’t you try to keep it a secret?”

“What?” He sounded genuinely confused about what you were talking about.

“That we're soulmates. Isn't it embarrassing?”

Hyunjae huffed a laugh, not lifting his focus from where he was getting rid of some blood that had made its way into the corner of your lip. “Why would it be embarrassing?” 

“I don’t know. Because you’re one of the cool kids now.” 

That put a challenging grin on his face and he glanced up. “You think I’m cool?” 

“You know that’s not what I mean.” You rolled your eyes.

“Hm,” he paused to think for a moment. “It just never occurred to me. I don’t think there's anything embarrassing about it. You being my soulmate was never something that seemed worth hiding. And I know you'd never tell anyone the things I do want to hide.”

His words made you feel a little guilty, remembering all too well how keen you’d been on keeping it a secret when you'd first found out. 

“To be honest,” Hyunjae continued, “when you told me I felt sorry. But I also thought I got impossibly lucky.”

“Lucky?” 

“Yeah,” he stared at his hands as switched out the tissue again, even though there was barely any blood on it. It felt like he was purposely avoiding your gaze, something that didn’t happen all too often. “I really liked you, you know? Even before you told me.” 

“But I was so mean to you.”

He tilted his head in confusion. “Really? Were you mean?” 

“I was totally mean. I always bugged you to hand in your homework. And I scolded you when you didn’t do your cleaning duty.” 

“Yeah. I kinda liked that.” 

You let out a snort and it made a new wave of blood gush out from your nose. 

“Ew.” Hyunjae scrunched up his face as he held up the tissue to catch the blood.

“Are you a masochist or something?” 

“Don’t be like that.” He gave you a dissatisfied pout. “At the time it meant a lot to me. You were the only one who cared enough to get angry. Even the teachers had given up on scolding me. I think I would have repeated a year if it wasn’t for you. So I was grateful. And in middle school too…,” he trailed off. You both knew what he was talking about anyway. 

“I didn’t do anything, though. I didn’t do anything to help.”

“You did. You were there for me. You made me feel less alone. I think I have a lot to be grateful for. So there isn’t really any reason for me to be embarrassed about you, is there?” 

You felt your cheeks flush with heat, taken off guard by his sincere response. It’d never occurred to you that he could think this way about everything. You hadn’t expected him to value it so much, because you’d always felt like you hadn’t done enough, like you hadn’t been good enough of a soulmate for him. So the way he spoke so fondly about you now almost made you want to tear up. 

“Still, isn’t it bothersome?,” you mumbled, trying to distract from how flustered you were. “What if you want to date? Wouldn’t they be put off if they knew you had a soulmate?” 

“What, are you worried about my love life?” Hyunjae grinned, “Or is it you who’s bothered, because you think the reason you can’t get any is because of me? Trust me, y/n, that’s not why. It’s just not very attractive to have blood gushing out of your nose.” 

“Shut up. I was being—” 

“But I might be willing to take responsibility anyway.” 

“—serious,” you completed your sentence, before what he’d said actually reached your brain. “What?” 

He shrugged. “I’m just saying. If you’re worried about ending up all alone because no one wants a klutz like you, you always have a soulmate to fall back on.” When he looked up, his expression was serious, eyes not shying away from yours. “Fall back on me.”

You’d been sitting way too close this entire time, with him tending to your face, but now that he was looking at you so intently it suddenly made you feel nervous. You almost wanted to pinch yourself to make sure this was actually happening. When you replied your voice came out quiet and a little raspy. “I don’t think it’s considered falling back if I never wanted anyone else to begin with.”

A silly smile spread on his lips, making his eyes form crescents. “It’s because I’m so cool, right?”

You shook your head in disbelief before you let your forehead bump into his. “It’s because you’re such an idiot.”

“Hm,” he hummed, his gaze dropping to your lips, before coming back up to your eyes again. “I think I can live with that.”

You weren’t sure who closed the gap between your lips. Maybe it was you, but it didn’t seem to matter either way, because he cupped your jaw and kissed you back. It tasted a bit like iron and a bit like disinfectant and it still made your heart flutter.

“You know,” he eventually mumbled into your lips with a grin, “your nosebleed is making this kinda gross.”

“Don’t ruin this for us.”

“I’m not ruining it. I’m making it special.”

series masterlist | tbz masterlist

[crazylittlejester]

jes i have drunken water while i am sick are you proud of me

anyways. how tall do you think each link is?

im very proud :) make sure you keep doing that and get plenty of rest :)

and i feel like my height headcanons kinda change from time to time but at least for today:

Time: LU specifically, 5’9. Biblically accurate OOT Link, 5’5. and Mask is 4’10. He was a lot more mad about his height in his youth but now he couldn’t care less. Though he does think it’s hilarious he’s taller than Wars and will subtly rub that in his face in a very little shit kinda way, but its so subtle the others never really pick up on it. Like he’ll see Warriors reaching for something on a shelf and grab it for him even though he literally isn’t that much taller, and he takes joy in seeing the burning rage in the captain’s eyes. But Wars can’t yell at him because hes “just being nice”

Wars: 5’6 but he will LIE to you and say 5’8. Absolutely has thick ass soles on those boots to make him taller. He also refuses to admit he’s shorter than Twilight, like REFUSES

Twilight: 5’7/5’8, but he’s too nice to call Wars out on his bullshit because he’s noticeably taller and if he’s just barely 5’8 theres no way in hell Wars is. He used to be a little sad he never grew taller but he has other worries about his appearance that bother him far more than his height

Sky: 5’4, and he doesn’t deny it because frankly he doesn’t care. He killed Demise and now he’s on another quest, he doesn’t have time to be insecure about his height /j

Hyrule: 5’1 ish, and he’s just so oblivious to this fact. Like he knows people are taller than him but he doesn’t care and he also doesn’t know how tall he is off the top of his head

Legend: 5’0, and denies this. He’s the kid at school who always has platform and boots on. Unlike Warriors he doesn’t try to hide the fact he’s wearing big boots, but he does hide the face hes only 5’0

Wild: 5’2, and he couldn’t care less honestly, like yeah he’s short and has to look up to most people to talk to them but that doesn’t bother him he’s never not once been like “aw man… I’m short… /neg” its always been like “HEHE I CAN FIT IN THIS VERY SMALL CRACK”. He’s the kid who fit himself in the school lockers

Four: 4’4 because it’s funny to me. He’s not even mad about it, he actually thinks the others are disturbingly tall and its unnerving

Wind: Not QUITE 5’2 yet but he’s growin’ and FAST. He’ll reach 5’6 or 5’7 one day, and Wars will fall to the ground and sob

I am a FIRM believer that they are all short as hell. None of them are close to 6’0 and most of them are fine with this akskdkkddm

[six-eyed-samurai]

Hi I was wondering if you could do a amajiki x reader where reader is on her period and has really bad cramps and mood swings and amajiki has to ask mirio and nejire for advice

SUMMARY: Very apologetically Tamaki has no idea how to handle your shark week, so Mirio and Nejire are here to help him out! A/N: Very apologetically I too am not sure if things were accurate I'M SORRY I DON'T EXPERIENCE THIS so I'm literally trying to remember what my ex gf was like FORGIVE ME ALSO FOR BEING SO LATE I HAD TO STOP HALFWAY BECAUSE OF EXAMS WARNINGS: Fem!Reader, period, maybe inaccuracies (refer to above)

🌸Let’s set the scene.

🌸Please pity him. It was in the middle of a cafe date that suddenly you stopped slurping your drink, freezing with a funny expression and your waffle piece halfway to your mouth. Obviously Tamaki’s voice peters out and away as he sinks into his jacket….oh crap, did he say something wrong? Maybe his breath smells bad?

🌸Then you ask to borrow his jacket. He gives it over, relieved, thinking you must’ve just been cold or something - wait, why are you tying it around your waist and heading to the toilet?

🌸When you finally come back out you awkwardly ask to cut the date short with much apologies, but you really wanted to head back and change….why? Oh right, your period kind of….leaked.

🌸”….”

🌸”Sure, sure! All’s to worry, not to fine!” Tamaki’s just happy it isn’t because of him - it’s your third date after a year of hopelessly pining and finally using up all the courage he had in this lifetime to confess and ask you out.

🌸Then it actually hits him.

🌸Silly boy’s even more panicked than you are, and YOU’RE The one on your period. It’s mostly because he wants to help you cover up and not have the date ruined but he has no idea how, not having much experience in this - come to think of it, Nejire never brought up her period with him and Mirio, so honestly he had no idea what he was doing.

🌸Hell, he’s suddenly forgotten how the menstruation cycle works - where did all those science lessons go??? Help???

🌸You have to assure him it’s not a big deal, his jacket is enough, could he help get a doggy bag for the waffles and get the drinks though?

🌸After he drops you off by your dorm Tamaki is immediately whipping out his phone and googling about periods, but it’s only explaining to him why and how it happens…wait, you’ll get mood swings, headaches, loss of appetite, lethargy and cramps? And girls go through this every month?

🌸That sounds worse than a villain attack; Tamaki’s respect for you probably broke the meter.

🌸He’s gonna be the supportive boyfriend! This is his chance to show you you didn’t make any mistake in choosing the quiet weirdo to be your partner! Tamaki nods, trying to hype himself up.

🌸Problem is…what is he supposed to do…

🌸Nejire and Mirio are more than happy to play wingmen once more, of course!

🌸All his plans collapse when you didn’t show up in class the next day however. Not only that, you’re pretty dry when he texts you and you’re - you’re ending the conversation first?!

🌸*>>sry im not feeling my best rn and dont wanna take it out on you*

🌸*>>ill talk to you ltr?*

🌸Tamaki ends up overthinking as usual, picking away at his lunch so obviously, leading to Mirio and Nejire’s interrogation and him spilling his guts. He wants to go check on you to see if you’re fine, but do YOU want him to go check on you?

🌸Nejire scoffs and tells him of course you’d want him to check on you! Girls could get clingy on their periods, of course you’d appreciate it if he came over…hey, you both could always do a stay at home date, nothing fancy! You’d surely be up for movies to cheer you up - Nejire would gladly lend Tamaki her account, no payment required.

🌸What’s he supposed to do? Nejire’s winking not so subtly as she slyly suggests cuddling under blankets with - oops, he looks like he’s about to faint now. No surprise, Tamaki nearly had a heart attack when you both first brushed fingers.

🌸Tamaki’s social anxiety having him debating between being the object everyone in the corridor must surely be gawking at or running somewhere far far away? No worries either, Mirio’s there to stop him from getting a concussion slamming his head against the wall.

🌸Mirio helpfully knocks very loudly on your door, calling out Tamaki’s name when your groggy voice drifts out. He gives his stunned, dark-haired friend a thumbs up and shoves a box of chocolates into his arms, mouthing “give this to her!” before taking off.

🌸Regrettably Tamaki’s first words to you were not…er…

🌸”You look terrible.”

🌸Immediately Tamaki backtracked, yelping about how it was probably the dim lighting that made him see things wonky, he’s SORRY, he didn’t mean it he was just surprised, please FORGIVE him, uh, uh, please have this box of chocolates as apology! 🌸Oh dear, he’s just too cutely flustered to be mad at, so you accept the box (thrown at you accidentally) with a hoarse laugh, self-consciously trying to smooth down your mussed hair and wrinkled sleeping clothes, asking what brought him here.

🌸Tamaki didn’t miss the way your arm was wrapped around your abdomen, or the way your eyes were a little screwed up from the pain and sleepiness, but he decided to go ahead and ask anyway if you were okay and why you didn’t show up to class today.

🌸Awkwardly you explain your cramps were really bad and after going to Recovery Girl she decided you were better off resting than doing anything physical for the day, admitting you probably shouldn’t have succumbed to the temptations of cold boba the other day.

🌸”Can….can I…can I stay with you? I brought a movie and uh, chocolate and I can bring blankets we could make a fort if you’re not too mad at me-”

🌸”Mad at you?” You tilted your head, surprised and confused. “Why would I be…oh. Is it about our earlier texts?”

🌸He nods, and you reach out to take his hand comfortingly. “Dummy, I know it’s probably a lot for you, but no matter how bad my mood swings are, I’d never get mad at you, alright?”

🌸Tamaki must have some real good karma from his past life to deserve an angel like you.

🌸”So…about that movie date?”

🌸The next day Mirio and Nejire eagerly await news of what had transpired; Tamaki hides his face when you grin brightly and say “I wouldn’t mind having cramps that bad again if he’ll come and cuddle me like that.”

[myseungsunglove]

The Master of Flirting | Bc

Pairing: Chan  x Reader 

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, language

Word Count: 2k

Summary: The reader and Chan forge an unlikely connection and bond and venture into territory that is unfamiliar to both. 

A/N: This thought came to me while Chan was sending messages on bubble Sunday. I’m completely delulu. You can join me or not. Whatever floats your boat. I’m not picky. Inspiration hit, and I had to pump this out. Maybe there will be more. We’ll see. 

◠ ◡ ◠᭚ιαᵕ̈

Feedback Welcome

「© August 13, 2023 by mysweethannie」

Sunday Bubble Messages from Chan.

Channie: I heard that supposedly I’m the master of flirting. 

Y/n: oh? Is that so? 

You knew how Bubble worked, but it was always fun when Chan got into these playful moods on Bubble. You couldn’t help but feel like you were having a conversation with him. 

The notification buzzes on your phone. You chuckle and open the app. 

Channie: makes no sense 

Y/n: Very few things in this life make sense, if we’re being honest. 

Channie: I don’t even know what flirting is. 

Y/n: me either, frankly. Can I get a dictionary definition please? It may help clear things up for both of us. 

The messages continue in the app, and you can’t help but chuckle at how adorable he is. He proceeds to tell STAYS they’re pretty and that that isn’t flirting, it’s just facts. He even goes as far as to remind everyone they’re perfect, and bless him he knows the right things to say to make anyone giggle like they are something special. Eventually the messages die down, and it makes you wish there would be a Chan’s room to look forward to. Damn do you miss those. 

You flip over to instagram and scroll through your fyp and some of the messages from your roommate spamming you with videos they found funny. Right before you’re about to return to your scrolling, you notice you have a request to receive a message. Your account is private, so it’s rare that anyone ever requests to message you. Everyone you want to have access to you there already has it. Curiosity wins over though and you click on the small request box. 

You stop dead in your tracks. 

gnabnahc wants to send you a message. 

This has to be a joke. Chan only started his account a couple weeks ago. It’s sad that he must’ve been hacked already. How does that even happen, you wonder to yourself. 

You can’t help but click on the message though, curiosity eating away at you. 

Bang Chan: flirting - as defined by the dictionary - to behave as though attracted to or trying to attract someone, but for amusement rather than with serious intentions.

What the hell? You think to yourself. Wait. How would a hacker know what you said in Bubble. Better yet, how the hell would someone find your insta from Bubble?

Then you remember you use the same username and picture in both Bubble and Instagram. What. An. Idiot. You can’t help but think. 

You click accept on the message and open up the chat. There is more there and your mouth continues to gape as you read on. 

Bang Chan: Damn. That definition is kind of harsh. I’m not sure that clears anything up for me. Hahahahaha 

Okay. That’s definitely Chan. There is no way this is a coincidence. You think carefully before doing anything. You click on the profile and it takes you to Chan’s official instagram. These messages are coming from the account that he just started weeks ago. Your mind is racing at the thought. 

You hop back over to messages quickly. 

Y/username: to be fair, I think it accurately describes me. 😂😂 

You see his username pop up immediately as he starts to type. 

Bang Chan: You mean you actually flirt for amusement with no serious intentions? I’m wounded. *clutches chest dramatically* 

Y/username: Christopher. You can’t tell me you don’t do the same damn thing. Be honest. You’re delulu but not seriously that bad, right? 

Bang Chan: delulu? Whatever do you mean? 

Bang Chan: Okay, fine. I’m caught. But I do mean the things I say when I tell STAYS how proud I am of them. And how beautiful they are. And that I love them. 

Bang Chan: I guess flirting makes it feel a little less lonely sometimes. 

You’re surprised at the honesty coming from him. And you still can’t believe this conversation is happening. 

Y/username: In a crowded room, surrounded by people but still feel alone. 

Bang Chan: exactly. 

Y/username: why me? 

Bang Chan: what do you mean? 

Y/username: like how did you find me? Are you really Bang Chan? I have so many questions. *laughs nervously* 

Bang Chan: hmmm

Bang Chan: first, your username and picture are the same in Bubble and Insta. I kind of shot in the dark on that one. But even your quotes were the same, so I took a chance. I always see your replies in Bubble. You’re funny. And sometimes I feel like I’m just talking to you. And I wanted to actually talk to you for once. 

Y/username: Wow. I—

Bang Chan: second, I’ll prove this isn’t a joke. 

Immediately you get a bubble notification. Chan has sent another message. You open the app and it’s a selfie and a picture of him in the studio, clearly it’s current. He is sitting in the chair you’ve seen hundreds of times in the room that has become so familiar to STAYS. 

Shortly after that, your notification dings in instagram. 

Bang Chan: *video  sent* 

You watch the video.

“Hi!” Chan giggles on the screen. He is wearing the same clothes as the selfie he sent on Bubble and is sitting in the studio. 

“This is the craziest thing I’ve done in a long time,” he laughs nervously. “Maybe ever,” he amends, smiling so bright his eyes disappear into tiny slits. “I hope this is proof enough, yeah? Cause I really like talking to you and uh,” he laughs again, looking away from the camera for a moment. “And I’d really like to keep talking if that’s okay, yeah?” 

The video ends there. You sit staring at your phone, absolutely dumbfounded. You can’t believe this is happening to you. 

Y/username: okay. You’re really you. 

Bang Chan: I’m really me

Y/username: hullo *runs and hides in the corner*

Bang Chan: okay, you’re too cute. Don’t get shy now. You’re always the funniest responses in Bubble. This isn’t different. 

Y/username: okay, but to be fair I never in a million years thought you’d ever actually SEE my responses there. Even if it did feel like sometimes you were responding to me, I wasn’t about to think that was true or remotely possible. 

Bang Chan: well, think again? I guess? Because I definitely was gearing my conversations towards you on multiple occasions over the last few months when I sent messages. And honestly, I needed to actually talk to you because, well, I wanted you to know we were talking.No real way to do that on Bubble without it being weird and the company jumping on my ass, so now you know. 

Y/username: now I know. 

Bang Chan: so tell me about yourself. I know you’re the same age as me. I recall you live in the states. You’ve said that on Bubble a time or two. *smiles* You love rainy days. You melt when I sing, especially if I’m singing with Han or Seungmin. You’re a sucker for a good rap line. 

Y/username: you remember all that? Hell you saw all that? 

Bang Chan: told you I was paying attention. I’m nothing if not honest. 

Y/username: duly noted. Honesty is the best policy after all. 

Bang Chan: let’s see. You’re really beautiful. You said once you loved singing which I’m dying to hear. 

Y/username: correction: not beautiful. Just kind of exist. Also, trust me, I’m nothing compared to you guys in the vocal department. You don’t want to hear me. nope. no way. 

Bang Chan: don’t say that about yourself. Please. And can I please hear your voice? You’ve heard mine. It’s only fair. 

Y/username: *glares* 

Bang Chan: *sends picture* 

He is pouting at the camera, his eyes big and pleading and you can’t help but smile. 

Y/username: you’re kind of a little shit, you know that? 

Bang Chan: me? Never? *sends picture* 

This one he is smiling big, his eye disappearing he is smiling so big. 

Y/username: god. And you’re cute. Fine. 

Bang Chan: fine? do i win? 

Y/username: *sends video* You send a video of you singing a verse from “Iris” a Goo Goo Dolls song. 

“And I’d give up forever to touch you. 

Cause I know that you feel me somehow. 

You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be. 

And I don’t wanna go home right now. 

And all I can taste is this moment. 

And all I can breathe is your life. 

When sooner or later it’s over. 

I just don’t wanna miss you tonight.” 

Bang Chan: oh my god. That was fucking incredible. 

*sends video* 

“Seriously, y/n. Your voice is incredible.” He smiles brightly. “I really am blown away. Damn. I—…” he laughs, covering his face, his ears turning red. “I know this seems crazy, but I really wanna meet you, yeah? I just, feel this connection. I know this is crazy. God, what am I doing? Any chance you can come to KCon? I’d get you VIP tickets, hell, I’d pay for your flight at this point. And you could stay where we’re staying. Meet the boys, god, Chan, what are you doin?” 

The video ends there and you’re stunned. You can’t believe what just happened. Your mind is racing. 

*audio call from instagram Bang Chan is calling* 

You don’t know what you’re thinking when you hit accept. The little phone turns green. 

“Hullo? Y/n? Ya there?” Chan’s voice comes through your speaker and shakes you from your trance. 

“Yeah, I’m here. Hi,” you chuckle, your voice squeaking a bit. 

“Hi,” he responds and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I meant everything I said in that video. I know it’s crazy and I— well I had to say it. Take a chance.” 

“You meant it?” you asked, still unsure and in disbelief at the course of events over the last hour. 

“Every word,” he assures you. “In fact, I maybe already have the ticket and am currently looking at flights,” he admits. 

“Holy shit, Chan. Seriously?” 

“I know,” he laughs nervously. “I don’t know what’s getting into me.” 

“I like it, whatever it is,” you chuckle. “God, I just don’t want to massively disappoint you because that feels like that will happen. Since we’re being honest.” You pause. “We’re still doing that, right? The honesty thing?” you joke.

“We are. And you won’t be a disappointment. I don’t do things like this, so trust me when I say, I want to meet you. I  need to,” he sounds so vulnerable admitting that. “And I hope you want to come out to LA.” 

“I really do,” you admit. “So am I really doing this?” 

“Just say the word, and I’ll get everything arranged. And I mean everything, so don’t argue,” he says firmly. 

You can’t help but laugh. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” he asks tentatively. 

“Do your thang, Bang Chan,” you laugh. You don’t know what’s gotten into you either, but you’re gonna go with the punches at this point. This is absolutely the craziest and possibly the most reckless thing you’ve ever done, but hell it feels good. 

“Wow! Okay,” he laughs. “Okay! I need to get off here and arrange everything. I’ll call you back with all the details, yeah? I need your address for your airport pickup and to book the flight. I can take care of everything else. My manager will arrange for the hotel. God this is really happening.” 

“It would seem so,” you laugh. 

“This is crazy,” you say at the same time. Then you both laugh. 

“Okay, I gotta go finalize this because I’m not missing my chance to meet you. I’ll call back. God, I’m so excited. Talk soon, yeah?” 

“Yeah, talk soon. Bye Chan.” 

“Byeom darling.” 

He ends the call and you're stunned in silence once more. He called you darling. What on earth was happening!? The reality of the situation hits you head on. You’re going to LA. To see Bang fucking Chan. And to meet all of the Stray Kids. Holy shit. How was this your life? You jump up and immediately start making arrangements. You’re not sure how long you’ll be gone, but everything else can wait because opportunities like this never just happen and you’re not gonna let this one pass you by. 

Not on your life. KCon or bust! Look out LA because y/n is coming to town! 

| Pt. 2 - The Mystery of You >