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tswwwit · 10 months

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Here's the second part of Cult Reincarnation Dipper!

The first part is over Here if you missed it.

Hope you enjoy!

“Here we are!” Bill says brightly. He nods approvingly at the room, then glances back at Dipper. “Glad you didn’t take off running during the trip.”

How Dipper could have managed that, he isn’t sure. The instant they appeared in this place, Bill took hold of Dipper’s wrist and hasn’t let go even once.

The nightmare realm is exactly as advertised. Dipper’s been pulled through mazelike corridors, up and down impossible hallways, over insane physic-defying structures - and past things with too many teeth and eyes.

He thinks he’s been holding up pretty well, all things considered.

Being dragged by a nightmare god into his realm of dreams for unknown reasons wasn’t exactly on his bucket list. Without any helpful explanations, or even unhelpful ones, he’s stayed calm and followed along. Remaining obedient, keeping quiet, and waiting in hopes of Bill either giving up, or giving him any indication of where the hell they are and what the fuck he’s doing.

Now they’ve arrived, and the destination… isn’t exactly encouraging.

Dipper looks over the gleaming instruments hung on the walls. The needles and scalpels and hooks. He drops his gaze towards the white paper on the chair, at the poorly hidden restraints.

A place of insanity and terror, owned by a king of nightmares, dragging along a vulnerable human with a badly injured arm. Of course he’d end up in a house of medical horrors. It’s too thematically appropriate.

So yeah. Dipper’s been holding on fine. Only his legs have decided they’ve had enough for the day, and given up.

His robes puddle around him as he hits the floor. The tile’s very cold and sterile under his legs, and his arm trembles in Bill’s unwavering grip.

“Hey! What gives?” Bill tugs on Dipper’s wrist again. Thankfully not hard enough to haul him to his feet.

Dipper shakes his head. The floor’s fine. He’ll stay right here, thank you very much. Trying to retrieve his wrist doesn’t work, but he makes a good show of it.

“Nice try,” Bill says, dryly. “But there’s no escaping! Now get on up and have a seat already.”

For the first time, his grip loosens. Dipper yanks his arm towards his chest, attempts to stumble to his feet. His legs fail to cooperate, sliding out in front of him like he’s putting up a tantrum rather than an escape attempt.

With a quick snort, Bill ducks down and tucks his hands under Dipper’s arms. A moment later he lifts Dipper bodily into the air, and appraises him with a smile.

Dipper kicks out in surprise, struggling for purchase - then lets his legs dangle in the air, limp. Flailing around isn’t going to help. Odds are it’d make things worse.

If there was ever a mistake Dipper shouldn’t make, it would be accidentally whacking a god in the groin.

Bill bounces him in his grip a couple times, with a pleased smile, and seemingly zero effort. The human form he’s wearing isn’t bulky; he’s just stronger than he appears. Dipper should have guessed as much. He’s in the demon realm, brought here - kidnapped by - an eldritch, too-powerful being. Any resistance he puts up is as much of a shield as tissue paper.

With a nod, Bill turns a full ninety degrees, and drops him directly into the chair. The leather of the seat creaks underneath Dipper as he hits it, and he instantly straightens up, back rigid.

“There we are.” Bill smirks with satisfaction. He points directly at Dipper’s face with a sudden frown. As it comes closer, Dipper leans as far back as he can manage. “Now stay. Put.”

The tone is very firm, and, well. Obedience is the name of the game, when it comes to a ‘god’.

Dipper simply nods. Bill beams again, then retreats to start pulling drawers open, rustling through them and muttering to himself.

Whatever he’s up to, Dipper doesn’t care to guess. From what he can tell, the entire room is made for easy cleaning, and the objects don’t lend him any comfort. Tons of gleaming instruments hang on hooks and boards, pale metal against white walls. The soaked sleeve of his robe is leaving little dots on the seat and armrests. Every spot of red stands out so brightly in this sterile white environment.

Dipper clutches his arm to his chest again. Not budging. Just as he was told. There’s a thin prickle of sweat building on his skin.

A sound catches his attention, and he glances up at Bill, who’s wearing a big, bright grin. He’s holding something glass in one hand, and a glint of metal in the other.

Dipper keeps trying to maintain pressure on his wound. Bill’s approaching without even a hint of hesitation - without being able to talk, he simply shakes his head again and again. He’s fine, this is great, they can go anywhere else, just don’t -

“What?” Bill cocks his head to the side, and grins again. “Easy, I don’t bite! Much.”

He has very sharp teeth, Dipper notices. With how human that form is, he hadn’t paid much attention to the details.

The white of his smile has fangs.

“Yeesh, tense much?” Bill raises an eyebrow, carelessly dropping a metal box in Dipper’s lap. The other one shows the glass to be a corked bottle - small, round and filled with greenish liquid. Bill starts shaking it rapidly, beckoning with his free hand. ”Gimme that arm, already.”

When Dipper doesn’t move, Bill slowly pries his arm away from his chest. He pushes it down onto the armrest - and before Dipper can react, the makeshift bandage of his robes is ripped off at the elbow, leaving him bare.

Dipper watches the blood trickling down over the seat with a nauseating flip in his stomach. He can look away - does, quickly - but worse, he’s oddly embarrassed. Everything in here was so pristine before he started leaking on things.

“Eh, could be worse.” Bill chimes in over Dipper’s thoughts. A brief glance shows he’s evaluating the wound; he waggles a hand in a so-so gesture. “Decent blood flow, but damage-wise? You’ll be wielding a knife yourself in no time!”

God, what a weird thing to say. Dipper half-shrugs in response.

He hopes Bill’s right, though. Not the knife-wielding, but that it’s not too bad. It certainly feels bad, but Dipper doesn’t have enough experience to tell how, or if, he’ll recover. He’s never seen a sacrifice, with a person, that called for that much blood. Especially one that got so… enthusiastic.

Or perhaps there was, and Dipper just looked away, like he always does. He’s never had the stomach for this sort of thing. Hell, he still doesn’t; as Bill gets settled, Dipper turns and starts counting all the knives on the walls.

Yep. There’s definitely a lot of them. So many, and none of them are in Bill’s hand at the moment. He tries to focus on that as well. The box in Dipper’s lap is too small to contain anything but the tiniest of the scalpels, too. Another good sign, if he’s feeling optimistic.

There’s the sound of something uncorking. Then, liquid dripping down Dipper’s arm and over his wrist, a bright, sparking sting - he grits his teeth, ready for the pain to build, and feels -

Nothing?

Dipper blinks. He’s lost count of the knives, but he does get an excellent view of the empty bottle sailing across the room, and shattering on the opposite wall. Quickly followed by the cork, with a spitting sound; Bill probably pulled it out with his teeth.

There’s a vague prod. Dipper cringes on reflex, shoulders tensing. The next one feels firmer, and not in a great place, but.

It doesn’t hurt at all.

Well, no. It does, a little. If Dipper clenches his arm and makes a fist, he can feel a kind of sting - and hear Bill mutter under his breath. So he probably shouldn’t do that. But other than that faint ache, the pain is gone, leaving a chill semi-numbness in its place.

Beside him, Bill makes a satisfied sound. He flips open the box in Dipper’s lap, pulls something out - then starts doing something weird to his arm.

Dipper feels a pinch, then a tugging sensation. He sucks in a breath.

“Hold still, already.” Bill’s grip tightens, holding him in place. Dipper can tell because when moves his fingers again, he can just about tickle the underside of his arm. “Hey! What’d I just say!”

Dipper stops moving. Obedient, definitely. Totally not questioning what the hell is happening to his flesh, or worried at all. He only flinches a bit at the repeated pinch-tug-pinch, running a line down his arm.

With the numbness, it’s easy to focus on breathing in, and out, in a steady rhythm. Passing time, until Bill’s done with his gruesome work.

“There we go.” Bill stands up, wiping his hands clean on a bright white cloth. He offers Dipper another easy grin. “Not too shabby, am I right?”

Dipper hesitates, but. He’s going to have to face the damage at some point. Might as well be now, while he’s still numb and lightheaded.

First, he sees Bill, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Then the arm itself, looking pale and small, with a long, thin line of stitches running up the wound.

No mutations, no mutilations. Just clean, closed skin.

Wow, that was a big cut. It didn’t really hit him until he saw it sewn up.

Dipper’s no expert on medical anything, but it must be decent work; Bill looks pleased with himself, for one, and the stitches themselves are neatly placed in even lines. Weirder still - it hasn’t been tinkered with, or experimented on at all.

Bill not-too-gently pats his wrist again, before wrapping Dipper’s entire forearm in bright white gauze. He hums to himself as he works. Just as he snips off the bandage with a pair of scissors, he pauses.

“Hm, kinda missing something,” Bill mutters, almost to himself. Then his expression brightens, and he snaps his fingers. “Aha!”

Dipper winces at the full-palm slap on his wrist. Ow. Even numbed, that stung.

“There! All patched up.” Bill says. He sets his fists on his hips, looking triumphant. “What’d’ya think, kid?”

Dipper looks down, and stares. He’s not really sure how he’s supposed to react.

Instead of taping the bandages in place, Bill’s smacked on a sticker. One of Bill himself, triangular-formed, and giving a disproportionately big thumbs-up.

“Ahem.” Bill clears his throat.

When Dipper checks, that seemingly eternal grin has popped right back into place. Expectant. Almost prompting.

Come to think of it - it’s the exact same one Dipper saw after the ritual, not that long ago.

The one that he still doesn’t know how to answer.

Dipper pulls his arm up, holding it close. He touches the bandages carefully, tracing down the line of his wound. All his fingers still work. All his skin seems to have stayed in place. Even the numbness has lingered well past the actual procedure.

Bill Cipher himself, lord of chaos and nightmares, had a hold of a wounded piece of mortal meat. And as far as Dipper can tell, nothing’s missing, nothing’s mangled, and it doesn’t even hurt.

Of all the things Dipper imagined about meeting Bill Cipher - and he can imagine a lot more things than the average guy -

This would never have made the list.

Bill hasn’t said anything. For a while now. Enough time has passed that the silence has grown awkward, because really Dipper should have done something by now, damn it. There has to be -

“Oh, right!” Bill breaks the silence with a snap of his fingers. His eye rolls; he even smacks himself on the side of the head in a ‘dang, can’t believe I forgot’ gesture. “Major bloodloss! No human brain works great when it’s improperly irrigated.”

Which… is true, sure. Dipper does feel pretty woozy, but more likely Bill’s referring to not getting a response.

That’s one thing he can fix, sort of. Dipper tries another smile. Hesitant, but not forced.

Bill just raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah, you’re cute. Don’t think flaunting it gets you anywhere.”

Dipper lets his smile drop.

Okay, what? That was not what he was going for, and - and it doesn’t make sense, anyway. Bill must have meant something else, because he’s not cute. Kind of a condescending thing to call a guy who’s just showing he’s grateful.

Even though he should know better, Dipper flashes an irritated glance at this idiot god’s face. He folds his arms, letting out a huff.

And Bill lunges in with startling speed.

Dipper jerks back in the chair only for Bill to follow, face inches away, sharp teeth bared in a wide smile. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, and his single eye narrows.

With rising tension, Dipper notes that said eye is actually glowing. There’s intent there, focused and strange - and even worse, the slow stir of magic building between them.

This is what he gets, isn’t it. For being a huge goddamned idiot, and insolent, and why did he do that of all-

“Boop.” Bill taps Dipper’s nose, and stands back up. As if to add insult to incoherence, he also pinches Dipper’s cheek. “Now! Upsy-daisy, kid! We gotta get you settled in!”

Dipper remains seated, even as Bill claps his hands and gestures for him to rise. At one point he even leans over and taps his thighs, in a deeply condescending beckon. If it wouldn’t be suicidally insane, Dipper would flip him off for that.

How is Dipper not dead yet. How is he not insane yet. This doesn’t make sense.

Nothing here makes sense.

But then, maybe Dipper should have expected that. Nightmare logic aside, he’s dizzy and tired, and it’s hard to keep figure out what’s insane demon-god stuff, what he’s simply lost track of.

Waiting for too long has had its consequences, of course. For the second time in an hour, Dipper gets hauled up by a too-strong monster. This time, he’s set on his feet pretty shortly, instead of being swung around like some kind of carnival prize.

Dipper hits the ground as Bill drops him, and stumbles. The world spins around him, and he nearly drops to the floor again until he braces himself on the closest solid-looking object.

The object moves under his arm. Above him, he hears loud, pleased laughter. “Aw, getting touchy, are we?”

Dipper stares at his arm, braced against a firm chest - then up at Bill’s wide grin. Then down again, where he’s wrinkling Bill’s shirt.

Shit. Wrong choice. Bad choice - but there wasn’t much of a choice! If Dipper didn’t want to fall on his ass, he had to grab something.

“I know, I know. I’m too tempting to resist.” Bill says, sounding eminently amused. Almost… teasing? He takes Dipper by the shoulder, turning him around towards the door. “Let’s get outta here.”

Wherever ‘here’ is. Wherever they’re going is even more worrying.

Still, Bill doesn’t seem mad about the invasion of his personal space. Or anything else, weirdly enough. Maybe Dipper’s misinterpreting the signs; he wouldn’t be the first worshiper to do so.

Mystery is part and parcel of Bill Cipher, one of his core essences. No part of him is uncomplicated or simple, because he loves making things difficult. There’s supposed to be puzzles, layered over each other in complex ways to obscure the truth. Every time Bill talks to one of the devout, it requires careful interpretation -

But there are too many possibilities, and Dipper’s too disoriented to keep up with any double-talk.

Bill opens the door into another black-red brick corridor. It looks like it could go anywhere, and everything about it screams ominous.

In a particularly stupid move - though one born of self-preservation - Dipper shoves himself into Bill’s grasp. He grips the shirt, hip bumping against the god, and Bill makes a quiet sound of surprise.

For a heartstopping moment, Dipper knows he’s fucked up.

Then the arm comes around him, and pulls him in tight. Squeezing his shoulder, then dropping around his waist, hand loosely holding his hip.

“Good choice, sapling! Your fleshy human vestibular sense is for shit, and I didn’t patch you up just to watch you break your skull on the ground.” Bill chucks Dipper under the chin with a knuckle and winks. “If I wanted a corpse, I could get those anywhere.”

Which… makes a terrifying kind of sense.

Bill’s right, of course. He’s an immensely powerful god-creature, who can reach in between worlds, given the opportunity. He commands dreams, and people, and an all-consuming amount of magic.

If he wanted a corpse, he could have one in moments. And if he wanted it to be Dipper’s, all he really had to do was… nothing.

As Bill pulls him into the hallway, Dipper checks his wrist again. He flexes his fingers, and sticks close to his ‘god’.

His arm’s a little achy, as the numbness begins to fade. The gauze is tight enough to feel comforting rather than constraining, clean and wrapped with obvious care. Even with the slight pain, it feels like he’s going to heal up just fine.

And though it’s incredibly stupid, the super cheesy sticker does kind of make him feel better.

Obviously Bill likes Dipper’s blood. He said as much during the summon; that it’s ‘very nice’. Likely it’s the reason Dipper was kidnapped in the first place.

But instead of juicing him like an orange, Bill took pains to keep all of it inside.

“As long as we’re stopping you from kicking the bucket,” Bill snaps his fingers. A small, squarish carton appears, and he holds it in front of Dipper. “You might wanna drink this.”

Dipper grimaces at… whatever this is. He can’t read the language, but it’s decorated with a smiling thing that could be either a heart, or a severely mutated fruit.

He glances up at Bill again, but no explanation is forthcoming. He merely waggles the carton around again, nearly shoving it into Dipper’s chest.

Welp. A ‘god’ has ordered him to consume something. Obedience, right, still a virtue. Hell, even if Bill wanted Dipper to swallow liquid mercury, he wouldn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

Poison isn’t very likely, though. Bill doesn’t want a dead body around, and he’s put in way too much effort to reverse course now.

Bill raises an eyebrow, tapping the drink invitingly against his chest. At this point Dipper suspects the lack of explaining is intentional.

Fine, whatever. If he’s going to insist…

Dipper still gives it a skeptical look, but he takes it from Bill’s hand. Not accepting a god’s gift is probably rude. Offending him isn’t any more helpful than dehydration.

And though all the advice about dealing with supernatural beings says, ‘don’t consume what they give you’, Bill does have a point. Humans are full of liquid. Dipper lost a decent portion of his own. Filling it back up isn’t the worst idea in the universe.

The top twists open, though Dipper doesn’t dare glance at the contents. He’ll just shut his eyes and chug.

He takes several long, deep drinks, tilting his head back. At first to help himself swallow - then more, and eagerly, because holy shit, he’s so thirsty. He didn’t realize until he started, but he really, really needed this.

With the portion of his tongue he has left, he tastes a faint sweetness, like strawberries.

“Top up your tank, kid.” Bill gives Dipper another nudge, almost playful. “Humans are basically half-fluid. To go at it like that, you musta been practically mummified!”

Weird phrasing seems to be a thing for Bill. Better get used to it.

Since he’s not looking at him, Dipper rolls his eyes and makes a face. Just a quick, two-second expression.

Beside him, Bill’s grin inches up a tiny bit. He starts whistling a cheerful tune as he leads them onward.

It’s an indeterminate amount of time before they stop - Bill, fresh and cheerful, Dipper, wondering how much longer he has to be on his feet - but eventually Bill whips around a corner, facing a brown wooden door in the middle of one of the black slate walls.

Great. Another mystery room, and by the look on Bill’s face - one he’s been eager to get to.

By this point Dipper’s pretty sure Bill’s not about to execute or exsanguinate him At least 90% sure; it’s hard to tell when dealing with a being of pure chaos.

But he still slows his steps as Bill sets his hand on the knob, leaning back into that guiding arm on his waist. Unpredictability has always unnerved him.

Bill turns towards Dipper with a brilliant smile. “I’ve been looking forward to this.” He says, almost conspiratorially. He nudges Dipper forward as he opens the door. “Welcome home, sapling!”

With a gust of warm air and a light that leaves Dipper blinking, the door opens.

And with a proud smile, Bill Cipher leads him into the single most luxurious looking room he’s ever seen in his life.

Dipper stares. Maybe gawks a little, but he shuts his mouth quickly.

No matter where he looks, everything oozes rich, sumptuous leisure.

There’s paintings, and tapestries, a soft thick black carpet. A huge, soft-looking couch near a fireplace, odds and ends of scattered jewels and technical looking objects on the walls. There’s even a portrait of Bill himself, in his regular form, with a foot upon the world. Large double doors lead to another room, and though the partly open crack Dipper thinks he spots a bed.

On the second glance around, Dipper catches on. That subtle gleam, that catches his eye, seemingly everywhere - is freakin’ gold. Not just the occasional pierce of decoration, either; it’s subtly woven into parts of all the decor, thin lines on furniture and doors and even some in the carpet.

Bill’s room so far beyond the dark, stoic asceticism of the compound. Miles away. Lightyears.

Why the hell did they have a shitty stone cavern to worship in, if their god lives like this?

No, that’s easily answered -the priest always was a dick.

Dipper’s not thrilled about what Bill did to the guy back at the ritual, but he’s far from upset.

Beside him, Bill’s silent. For once he’s not shuffling Dipper along anywhere. No prompting, no pushing, no force of any kind -

But definitely expectant.

Without Bill saying anything, Dipper can feel his arm tense up with anticipation, awaiting a reaction. Probably something flattering to Bill’s ego, or worshipful of his presence.

Truth be told, Dipper might have even given one. Despite all his reservations about the chaos god beside him, it is impressive.

But he can’t say anything. There’s nothing to write down a worshipful chant on. He’s tired and hurt and he’s been walking what feels like all day. Finding focus is hard.

Dipper scrunches his face up, rubbing at his eyes. Things went all blurry for a second, and he has kind of a headache.

What does he do, another smile? But Bill said that was ‘flaunting’. and maybe that’s not great. Another expression, maybe. Some kind of gesture. Body language has a lot of options and… he’s run out of ideas for that. Maybe his brain really is working with too-little fluid.

“Hmm…” Bill rubs his chin, glancing at Dipper - then staring out into the room again. His eye narrows.

Shit, right, this was meant to impress. Dipper, fumbling the devout test for like, the millionth time in his life. Only right now, when it truly matters, he’s too messed up to manage even if he tried.

Before Bill can get too mad, Dipper hunches over. Looking contrite might stave off the worst of it. He can make himself look small.

There’s a long beat of silence. Then Bill claps him on the shoulder. “No worries, kid. This ain’t my first time with a human wandering in with mortal wounds and a poor sense of grandeur! You can tell me how great I am later.”

The rush of relief Dipper feels is immediately ruined by Bill dragging him forward again. So much for a true reprieve; infinite being of pure energy means never stopping for a second of rest, apparently.

“I got just the thing for a squishy little nervous wreck like you,” Bill says, striding forward confidently towards one of the walls, and a door Dipper’s 90% sure wasn’t there even three seconds ago. “We’ll stash you here until you’re more settled down!”

The door opens, and Dipper’s led into a small, dark place. He can make out vague, squarish shapes in the dim light. Thankfully none of them look too imposing.

Another snap, and the room lights up.

For the second time in about as many minutes, Dipper’s totally thrown.

“Kitchen’s through there, bathroom’s thataway,” Bill says, gesturing in the respective directions. He gives Dipper’s shoulder a squeeze, jerking his thumb behind himself. “I’ll be back out this way if you get bored!”

The words run though Dipper’s brain, but he’s not truly focusing on them. The room he’s in has most of his attention. No matter how he looks at it, though, he can’t see any traps. It just looks…

Comfy?

The light reveals a smaller room than the living one, and one that’s far less dramatic. None of the tchotkes lying around. Basically zero ostentation. There’s a wardrobe and a bed, a dark blue carpet rather than the black. A desk, some papers, and an absurdly large and obsessively organized looking bookshelf. The two doors Bill mentioned lie closed, on two different walls.

Dipper’s not sure what he was expecting, but. The simpler decoration, the small but cozy setup - none of which fits Bill’s taste, that’s clear even on a glance. This isn’t meant for the god himself.

Now there’s a question he’s never considered before: Does Bill Cipher ever have guests in his realm?

The answer must be ‘yes’, strange as it seems. Nothing in here is Bill’s vibe, but it might fit a human that he needed to stash somewhere.

Beside him, he hears a low hum. Bill’s hand runs down Dipper’s shoulder, onto his back. It strokes down, then up again - then pushes him forward. “Enjoy!”

Dipper stumbles a couple steps before catching the footboard of the bed. He leans against it, blinking rapidly.

“Now, I got a quick errand to run, so take your time getting comfy. Cram some calories in, wash your crevices, take a nap. Whatever human stuff needs doing.” Bill looks up from checking his watch, then gives him a wink, backing out of the room with double finger guns pointed. “See ya soon!”

The door closes behind him without even a touch on the knob. The room goes quiet.

Dipper cocks his head to one side. Bill’s absence is just as palpable as his presence. That powerful thrum of magic trails into the distance as he heads off, fading in Dipper’s senses, like a too-loud stereo speaker in an obnoxious, demonic car.

After a moment, he shucks off his robe - with the sleeve torn off, it’s weird and uncomfortable. That leaves him in just soft pants and his undershirt, but thankfully with considerable privacy.

As long as he’s here, Dipper does a quick inspection of the room. The bed’s bigger than any one he’s ever seen, minus the one that’s presumably Bill’s. The wardrobe contains a baffling array of flannel shirts, in that they’re almost all identical and oddly… worn? He shuts the doors with a shrug. Hardly the most intimidating find.

A thorough overview reveals no traps, no knives. The sharpest thing in the room is the pens. The worst thing that could happen to Dipper here is a papercut. Or maybe stubbing his toe on the heavy furniture.

It’s been a few minutes. Dipper glances at the door Bill retreated through. Still closed.

He hears no sound from the other room, either. He strains to feel some magic returning, a bloom in his limited senses, but it’s calm and quiet.

Whatever Bill’s up to, he’s long gone.

Leaving Dipper totally unsupervised.

Dipper instantly darts for the opposite door, opening it fast enough that it nearly unbalances him. It swings opens easily, totally unlocked, and he braces himself as he stares -

Into a kitchen.

A big one, at that. Lots of cabinets, a fridge, a stove, knives hanging on the wall in what looks like a rather ominous manner, until Dipper remembers that’s where knives are supposed to be. Though maybe not so many of them.

Also, totally not an exit.

Fine, whatever. They couldn’t all be exits, and there’s another to try.

Dipper rushes over to the second door, yanking it open to reveal… exactly what Bill said, again.

He lingers this time, leaning on the knob. Rubbing at his eyes briefly, in case that ruins the illusion Bill’s cast. It doesn’t have any effect.

It’s - this is way too straightforward. It has to be some type of trick.

Pretty weird for it to be so clean, then.

Any bathroom Bill has should be blood-splattered, or filled with bubbling acid - but this one only smells faintly of bleach. It’s lined with black and white tiling, with a shower that looks overly complicated and a bathtub that could fit several people inside. At least there’s no knives in this room - though Dipper does see a safety razor, resting on the sink. Right next to the cup holding the blue toothbrush.

He slams the second door closed, and takes a deep breath.

Maybe he’s disoriented. Maybe Bill turned everything around when he left, like every other corridor in this chaotic place, and maybe if Dipper yanks opens the third door -the one he came through - it’ll cleave between the realms, back into the ritual room, where -

Dipper leans on the doorframe, slowing down his breathing. He shuts his eyes, lips drawing into a thin line.

Or it could just be. Literally the exact same one he came in through.

Standing in the doorway of Bill Cipher’s personal quarters, Dipper frowns at the fireplace. And at the painting over it. Especially at the even more grandiose door that presumably leads to the god’s master bedroom. It’s beautiful, alright, Dipper can’t argue with that - but also ostentatious, and reeking of smug power.

It’s very quiet inside, too. No motion, no magic.

After a bit of hesitation, he leans his head in, checking both ways.

No Bill around, at all.

He must have actually taken off, instead of lying in wait, ready to surprise… The person he told exactly where he could be found. Which isn't much of an ambush, come to think of it.

Dipper lets his arms drop to his sides, then winces and rubs the bandage on his recently stitched one.

When he came into this place, he had a lot of expectations. All of them were backed up by years of knowledge about Bill Cipher. His likes and dislikes, unpredictability, and his bizarre proclivities.

So far, Dipper’s seen… not a safe place, by a long shot. But way less dangerous than what he thought he’d face.

In fact, aside from the trip to get here and parts of the medical experience, this has been way too normal.

Bill Cipher is a being veiled in mystery, or, depending on your viewpoint, mischief. Never totally meaning what he says, rarely acting like you’d think. Even in the most stodgy of ceremonies, the priest had to leave room for the fact that Bill’s not very… conventional. The research Dipper did on his own had similar things to say. Between sermon and study, that alone has been a constant.

Dipper taps his foot on the floor. The carpet remains soft and nonthreatening. The fireplace crackles warmly, and does not consume the room in a terrifying blaze.

What is he supposed to make of all this?

The priest claimed that only he could interpret the subtle signs of Bill’s true meaning, and what actions to take. He was dead wrong about that. Courtesy of the god he claimed to understand, for that matter.

The rest of the congregation can’t offer any insight, either; they’re back in the compound - but frankly? Dipper wouldn’t trust them to interpret a microwave timer, much less their god.

According to scripture, it takes ages of experience, along with deep personal knowledge, to even begin to understand Bill’s motives. One young human like Dipper would never stand a chance.

But if he’s here anyway…

Dipper traces his fingers along the wall, making his way quietly, cautiously, into the room.

Why not get started? It’s not like he has anything else to do.

Having something to study will help pass the time, as long as he’s here. And with this wealth of information in front of him, who could resist?

As he walks into the place, he doesn’t burst into flame, or turn inside out, or get tossed into an eternal void of constant screaming. So, it’s probably okay.

He takes a deep breath, and lets it out. It only shakes a little.

Besides, navigating around an immortal being of eternal knowledge can’t be that different from sneaking around the compound. All evidence so far is that Bill’s actually friendlier about it.

One thing’s pretty certain - he’s not likely to obliterate a guy he’s just spent several hours getting ‘settled’. If anything, he’s sorta intimated that Dipper’s a ‘guest’. Bill’s likely not magically bound to the rules of hospitality, but violating them is pretty universally gauche.

The thought makes Dipper’s shoulders drop. He pats the wall a couple times, then checks his wrist. The bright yellow triangle stays still, overly-large hand still giving a thumbs-up.

Dipper rolls his eyes. Okay. There’s one fact learned - Bill Cipher’s capable of being kind of a dork.

This could actually be pretty intriguing. Useful, perhaps. In the heart of Bill’s home, with all of his stuff lying around - like that pile of books near the couch, or that pile of dishes he saw in the sink, or the fact that he even has a guest room, what the hell is with that -

Dipper can get firsthand information. No more dilapidated scrolls, or censored books, or scrounging around outside to find objective sources.

Bill Cipher, as far as Dipper can tell, actually lives here. In these exact rooms.

He can try and hide the truth as much as he likes, or lie to Dipper’s face, but he can’t hide his living room. Hanging out in your own place is the most authentic anyone can be, god or not.

With that in mind, Dipper gets to the investigation.

Without context, it’s hard to discern what most of the objects around mean. Whether they’re regularly used, or just for display. Until Dipper sees Bill actually interacting with the stuff he has, he’ll just file that information away for later.

About three circuits of the living room, Dipper catches sight of the portrait above the fireplace again. The one with Bill himself, crowned and stepping on the world. Scepter in hand, his single eye beholding -

Ah, right. The eye thing.

Dipper backs up, very slowly. As a parting gesture, he throws a little wave at the portrait, and another ‘cute’ smile.

Then he darts right the hell back into his room, and pulls the door along with him. He lets his head drop back against the wood, and closes his eyes.

Shit. Shit. Of course he wasn’t roaming around freely. There was oversight.

Hopefully Bill’s busy enough to not have cared about a couple minutes of ‘wandering’. As far as he knows, that was, uh… Dipper got lost, right. That sounds believable. Maybe he was even looking for Bill himself.

But snooping? No, definitely not. Why would anyone do that.

Welp. That’s about that, then. Three doors, three results, and zero exits.

Sure, it’s possible that Bill’s room does have a way out, but between the odds of being caught, and the odds of getting lost in the twisting, recursive corridors if he did manage to find it -

Yeah, Dipper’s going to pass.

He saw the other ‘guests’ around this realm, and they didn’t look like the types to leave blood on the inside.

On the upside he’s survived the night. Morning. Whatever time of day it is.

Bill wants Dipper alive, which is strange and confusing and more than a little concerning- but it’s also a huge weight off his shoulders.

Dipper turns to pull the door fully closed behind him, then hesitates.

After debating for a bit, he settles on leaving the door slightly ajar. Hearing when Bill comes back seems like a good idea, while keeping him out doesn’t.

But if Bill were to, say, see a door semi-open and shut it himself, then hey. Kinda his fault for not paying attention. No blame on any humans here.

Ugh, Dipper’s losing focus again; he shakes his head to clear it. His legs feel sluggish too, after the long journey and the.. ‘Getting lost’. They stumble as he takes another step.

After such a long day. After getting hurt, and dragged around, and everything else that’s happened, he’s just so tired.

Just like during the sacrifice, he has to focus on the real priority - and right now? It’s not the immortal, insane demon god.

With a weary sigh, Dipper looks for a place to sit down.

Even pulling the chair out from the desk seems like an ordeal. And while the bed’s far too large for just one person, it's here and empty. Presumably Dipper’s meant to use it, anyway.

And when he takes a seat, it doesn’t leap up to bite him. It doesn’t release any poisoned spikes when he tests the mattress with a quick press of the palm, or snap closed around him when rolls on top of the sheets. The blankets are smooth, without a hint of scratchiness.

Dipper breathes in, and lets it out slowly. He rubs a hand on the top blanket, patting it once or twice, before letting his eyes shut.

It’s just. So, so soft.

Weirdly springy too, compared to his old cot. A mixture of sink and bounce, so that Dipper almost feels like he’ll get absorbed into it like jello, or get thrown out of it if he moves the wrong way.

Shifting his weight, Dipper frowns as he tucks the pillow under his head. How could anyone sleep on something like this? It’s totally impossible.

----------------

Dipper wakes up with a damp pillow under his cheek, a slight headache in his temples, and a sore and aching wrist.

He rolls onto his side with a groan, moving to a drier section of pillow.

Great, he drooled in his sleep again. Super gross. Another reason that not having a tongue sucks.

It’s warm in the room, though, and quiet. His head hurts, so he needs some water. And his wrist hurts, too. Which isn’t surprising after being sliced open.

What’s more surprising is that he actually managed to get some rest afterwards. The whole compound is full of people celebrating or arguing after a ritual goes down. Usually there’s some of both, but right now it’s so quiet that he could swear nobody’s -

With a snort, Dipper jerks his head up off the pillow. He props himself up on his elbow, rubbing at his eyes.

Shit, of course. He’s not in the compound anymore.

Nobody is around, because he’s been taken away by their literal goddamned god, and stowed in this too-big, too-normal room in this alien place. Without other worshipers, who would… probably make things worse, if he’s being honest.

Dipper stuck here, fending for himself. He’s been subjected to… minor medical attention. And a nice bed, and a drink. Not to mention having his first uninterrupted nap in ages.

Thinking about it, it’s kinda hard to see a downside.

One will make itself known eventually. Dipper’s not so naive as to think this is altruism, not from Bill Cipher.

As he sits up, the blankets fall off him and pool into his lap, heavy and soft. For a moment, he’s tempted to pull them back up and curl into the nice, warm bed, under the gentle covers.

But that’s probably not the best idea, considering.

God, he can’t believe he just fell asleep like that. In the house of a nightmare demon, Dipper just went and dropped off like a total, vulnerable moron.

And shit, it’s dark in here.

He doesn’t remember turning off the lights. Or where the lightswitch is, for that matter. He can sort-of make out the furniture around him, some kind of ambient illumination, perhaps. A bit of light also shines out from the closed door leading to Bill’s room.

Somewhere in there, he hears footsteps, and then silence. The feel of that powerful magic, leaking in like the light under the doorframe.

Dipper fiddles with the edge of the blanket. Some kind of quilt, he guesses, one that’s faintly frayed at the edges. It’s very soft.

At minimum, he’s been in Bill’s house for several hours. His best guess puts it between half to all of a day, depending on how long he slept.

Despite all Dipper’s learned about the god’s unavoidable wrath, and his infinite, changeable whims -

It hasn’t been too bad. So far.

Dipper rubs his fingers together, leg jogging under the sheets. Eventually he realizes he’s pulling threads out of the quilt, and hisses through his teeth.

At some point, the other shoe will drop. Bill Cipher is capricious, his favor doubly so.

And nothing ever works out in Dipper’s favor, not even once.

But maybe, if he works at it now - he might be able to make some headway. Hiding away in the bedroom won’t help with that.

Getting up out of the bed is an effort, but his legs feel steady on the floor and his vision is clear. Dipper takes a deep, calming breath. He turns the knob, and peeks out into the room

“Hey hey! Look who’s back in the waking world. In a way.” Bill waves at him with a bright grin. Great, Dipper got spotted basically instantly. “Get over here! I need ya to check this out.”

There it is. His first order.

Dipper shuts his eyes, and walks into the room. He swallows, and drops into the fist form of ritual bow, knees thumping on the carpet.

This absolutely sucks. The one minor upside is that there is a carpet; Dipper’s not going to ruin his knees if he has to do this ten times a day.

Hanging around a god, he’ll be lucky if he spends any time not bowing and scraping and generally genuflecting. Though the idea makes him burn inside, he grits his teeth.

He can cope. He’s been through worse. If nothing else, Bill’s more interesting than the daily grind back at the compound. Albeit in a semi-terrifying way.

“Huh.” Bill says. Dipper mentally checks his posture, but no, it’s perfect. Wait - he forgot to press his hands together, right.

“Huh.” Bill says, this time sounding…

Not very thrilled.

Freezing in place, Dipper runs through his options. In a better world, he’d be able to start doing some chant or whatever, but that’s off the table. A quick peek at Bill shows that he’s not impressed, so. Read that right.

Also not very good. What else is there, though, what can he -

A long, heavy sigh interrupts his thoughts. Bill’s started rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. A totally devout kinda guy.” Bill’s voice is very dry. He taps one impatient finger on the table. “Really feeling all the religious passion, here.”

The clear sarcasm makes Dipper wince. God, of course Bill isn’t fooled. Seeing into the hearts and minds of men as he does, one small human is transparent as hell. He knows exactly what Dipper thinks of him, doesn’t he.

Shit, he’s likely seen everything.

“But sure, if you’re so devoted, you should get up already.” Bill’s tone lightens, and he gives a quick beckoning gesture. That eternal smile bounces back into place. “C’mon, kid. You can’t scrape your nose on the carpet and check out what I asked you to.”

Dipper scrambles to his feet, brushing nonexistent dirt off his pants. It’s a decent excuse not to meet the god’s eye.

He shuffles slowly forward until he stands next to the god. Logically that should make him nervous. He should be sweating and terrified -

But damn it, Dipper really hates genuflecting, and Bill’s total lack of interest is actually, maybe, kind of cool of him.

For a bright moment Dipper thinks there might not be any of that sort of thing, until a robe flops to the ground in front of him.

Ah. A not-very-subtle hint, there. Dipper takes a breath to steady himself -

Then a second robe right on top of the one on the ground. And a third. A fourth follows that nearly hits a cabinet on the wall, and Dipper decides he probably missed the mark.

Bill’s not making a point. He’s just messy.

“Jeez, with this many robes, you’d think they could make a few of ‘em fashionable.” Bill lets out a low whistle. When Dipper glances over, he’s rifling through those cardboard boxes with a frown. “Accessorize! Embroider! Stain ‘em with ichor! This crap is just boring.”

All their robes were pretty identical, but that was the point. To lose one’s individuality, and become a perfect servant for the god. Bill doesn’t sound as appreciative as he should be.

And where the hell did he get all of these, anyway?

The boxes on the table are dilapidated, reused cardboard. None of it matches the style or the reality of this… apartment? House? Something?

Bill chucks yet another robe over his shoulder with a snort. “And don’t get me started on the shape. Or the color!” He sticks his tongue out, letting a final robe dangle from his fingers like he’s holding a dead rat. “I woulda picked something way cooler.”

Whatever his definition of ‘cooler’ is, Dipper doesn’t want to know. Bill catches his skeptical look and Dipper quickly tamps it down.

That single golden eye blinks, then he beckons Dipper closer with a grin. “Get over here, sapling. I gotta know if we’re dealing with the full inventory or not.”

There goes Bill, again. Talking about something without giving Dipper any context for it whatsoever. Likely that’s a sign of things to come.

All the books about Bill Cipher say he’s ‘cryptic’. Now Dipper’s wondering if that was supposed to be a euphemism for ‘annoying’.

Dipper squeezes his hands tight at his sides. Not the kind of thing he should be thinking. Instead, he nods, and checks the boxes as requested.

His god continues messing with the contents, plucking out this and that. Another robe, discarded easily. He sets aside a small ritual set of candles, a setting for ritual offerings. All very distinct. They could have come from Dipper’s own congregation, they’re so familiar.

Wait - but they are.

He remembers Bill asking them to pack up stuff, distantly. He didn’t think about what it was for, other than, like, another weird god request.

But these aren’t just anyone’s things.

No, he recognizes that robe, with the chewed-on sleeve, and that set of trinkets. Hell, all of said robes have similar wear and tear, the same, slightly oversized look.

Dipper glances at the boxes, then back to Bill. Though he can’t speak to ask the question, it must be obvious in his face.

“Yep! This is your stuff, Pine Tree.” Bill points a finger gun, giving Dipper a wink. “I asked those imbeciles back in your cult to grab it for ya. Since you’re staying here with me, and all.”

Dipper’s mouth works, but no sound comes out; he shuts it quickly. Bill, uncaring, flicks a finger at a candle and watches it light with a smirk.

He just- Said it.

Bill Cipher himself called his religion a ‘cult’.

He actually admitted it. Under any other circumstances that would be absolute blasphemy, but the ‘god’ himself just casually tossed out that the entire stupid religion is kinda full of it and he isn’t even bothered by it.

Dipper wants to sit down, but there's no chair nearby. He braces himself on the table instead.

“Don’t get it wrong, I’m still the biggest, baddest being you’ll ever meet! But your group of losers pretended to speak for me.” Bill continues. Something about Dipper’s shock seems to have caught his attention. He throws his arms in the air in disgust. A carelessly held candelabra goes flying. “When I wanna give orders, I handle that crap myself.”

Dipper nods again, kind of numbly.

Yeah, that - that actually tracks. The gap between the Bill he was told about, and the Bill that is, is too vast to be ignored.

Obviously Bill’s weird, it’s part of his basic makeup - but if anything, he matches up more with the Bill that Dipper read about in forbidden texts, instead of the one heard at every sermon. And that…

Honestly, it feels pretty good. Being right. Or right-adjacent; Dipper’s not naive enough to think he has the whole picture yet. Still, being more correct than anyone else? Makes Dipper almost smile.

It’ll get clearer. There’s time, he’s not dead yet.

And who the hell knows what else Dipper’s going to learn, while he’s staying in Bill’s home. The only thing he can predict is that half the things will come totally out of left field.

A nudge on his side catches his attention again. “So! Does this cover everything, or do I gotta nightmare some guys into coughing up the rest?” Bill twirls a thin candle between his fingers idly, and raises an eyebrow. “Anything you wanna keep, or stuff you wanna obliterate?”

The startled look on Dipper’s face must surprise him, because Bill blinks a few times. “What? It’s your crap, sapling.” He offers a half-bow, and a wink. “Your gracious host here, at your service.”

Wow, uh, that - Dipper has to turn away for a moment. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling oddly -

Damn it, getting distracted is bad. He has to shape up. Bill might decide he’ll be less gracious if Dipper doesn’t freakin’ focus, now’s not the time to look incompetent.

He offers Bill a shrug, and a noncommittal wave, then tilts the closest box towards himself.

If he’s going to figure out what to do with his things, he might as well check what’s shown up. A part of Dipper’s surprised that there’s this much of it.

Actually... there's that miniature altar that ‘disappeared’, and a pair of shoes that walked off by themselves. A scattering of little baubles, mostly bare-bones ritual stuff that everyone got handed out. Even though Dipper’s seemed to roll down a grate or get flushed somehow.

Guess Bill’s order really got people motivated to find his things. There’s stuff here that hasn’t made an appearance in ages.

Nearby, Bill’s put on his expectant look again. Dipper’s getting used to it.

Whatever Bill’s looking for, he hasn’t bothered to explain it in the slightest. Much like every other interaction with the guy. It must be pretty good though, because there’s a tinge of eagerness to his expression.

Dipper turns away to poke at the items on the table.

He almost feels bad that he doesn’t know what Bill’s looking for. Even though there’s no logical reason he should. Mind-reading is Bill’s thing, not his followers’.

Well, whatever. Bill can put that face on all he likes. Unless he has a few helpful hints on hand, he’s just gonna have to wait.

As for the possessions - A quick evaluation of the first box of stuff reveals… mostly things he doesn’t care about either way. On the other hand, he’s never had this many things before, and it would feel weird to just. Dispose of them this easily.

But then again…

He never has liked the robes.

Tentatively, Dipper points at the cloth on the floor, then cuts a finger over his throat.

Bill made his opinion on them clear, so. If he agrees. Maybe Dipper actually won’t need them during his stay in this -

A sudden burst of blue flame startles him; Dipper jumps in place, going tense.

Noted - be careful about inviting Bill to destruction, because he does not hesitate.

“Great!” Bill claps his hands together, rubbing them vigorously. “Half done - now let’s wrap this up and move onto something more fun.”

Patience must not be Bill’s strong suit, because he turns the boxes upside down, dumping everything out on the table. A few broad swipes spread it over the wood, a careless tumble of what’s, honestly, mostly junk.

Some of it was clearly just tossed in to make the box more full; the top layer is all stuff from the ritual room. As for the stuff that is his, well. How much of it could he actually need? There’s candles, a bunch of knickknacks that he didn’t even like when he was still in the, well. Cult. There’s a thick worn notebook, and his journal with its slightly tattered cover and the bookmark still in place -

Shit. Shit, shit shit.

Dipper’s heart leaps into his throat. He glances at Bill, then back to the table.

How did they find that, it was under the loose rock in the corner. Did they know all this time that he had this. Did they not care, or was it truly hidden and only discovered later. How the hell did it survive all the way here?

However it got here - that’s. All his notes, all his research. All his thoughts, lying there for Bill to -

Wait. Bill. Hasn’t noticed, yet.

He’s picked up a tiny brass necklace. His eye narrows as it dangles from his fingers. Not surprising; it is a pretty awful portrayal. The angles are anything but even.

And while he’s distracted, Dipper makes a grab for the books.

He times it right; as Bill tosses the necklace away and into the fireplace, he slides both books across the table, tucking them into his pants and under his shirt.

Not the first time he’s hidden contraband - and probably not the last. A quick check on Bill shows a totally nonchalant demon, slightly bored with the junk in front of him. Either he truly didn’t notice - or doesn’t care about what Dipper pulled. Either one’s a win.

Dipper feels tension seep out of his shoulders, and he shuts his eyes.

Compared to the god of fury and torture Dipper was taught about, the true god is relatively even-tempered. So far.

But he already knows how bad it gets, when something terrible is spoken about his god. There’s no way Bill would like reading what Dipper wrote about him.

“Aha!” Bill exclaims, and yanks his latest prize out of the pile, holding it in the air. “Knew there had to be something good in here.”

Dipper takes one look at whatever’s got Bill so enamored - and makes a face.

Oh no. He forgot about…. that.

“Maybe being ‘devout’ isn’t your style, but there might be a better term.” Bill’s sharp teeth are white in his smile. He flicks one of the ragged felt arms, squeezing the yellow ‘torso’. “How’s ‘obsessed’ fit ya?”

The stupid awful Bill Cipher plushie dangles limply in his grip. As Bill gives it another squeeze, some more of the stuffing puffs out. Worn as it already is, with one of the legs missing and the pupil in the eye worn away, it makes the entire thing look twice as pathetic.

Dipper staunchly resists the urge to hide under the table. It’s too late anyway. He’s not escaping this now.

Who the hell decided to pack that? It’s ugly and stupid and juvenile. If Dipper had been able to choose what he brought along, he would have deliberately left it behind. Maybe burned it, so nobody else would know he still had one.

As it stands, he’s torn between being glad it’s here - and totally goddamned humiliated.

He makes a quick grab for it, but Bill dodges him with a grin.

“Ah ah ah! Nice try.” He waggles it again, beaming bright. “I knew it! You’re super interested in me, aren’t you? Was this little guy your favorite? Didja cuddle up with him in bed every night?”

Asshole probably saw all of that happen, and now he’s taunting. Dipper grits his teeth, hands clenching by his sides.

Damn it, it’s not Dipper’s fault there weren’t a lot of soft things in the cult. Who cares if he had something that made his life suck a little less? Especially one that flatters Bill himself. If anything Bill should be pleased, knowing he got some devotion from this less-than-pious human- but instead he’s being an ass about it.

“I’m right, of course.” Bill says, with smug certainty. “Ol’ mini-me here got oodles of affection, didn’t he?” He rubs his chin thoughtfully, backing up as Dipper turns around the table corner in pursuit. “Now let’s see…”

Dipper sucks in a breath, watching Bill bring it to his face. His teeth bared in a sharp smile, mouth slightly open.

Bill shuts his eye, and puffs a breath over the plush. For a second Dipper thinks it’s about to be consumed in fire, he stumbles forward in protest.

But though it’s blue all over, it doesn’t burn. As he watches, the hole in the side closes over, stuffing concealed. Some of the minor stains come out, the stitching of the bricks turns black and pristine. The second leg dangles beside the other, the eye is full and renewed and only maybe blinks.

Dipper stops his chase, pausing with his hand on the table.

That plush hasn’t looked anywhere near that good since he was little. Bill acted like it was nothing to him. Bill thought it was funny. He could have turned it into nothing, just for kicks - and it’s.

Every time he thinks he knows what Bill Cipher is up to, his expectations get turned upside down and shaken for loose change. Dipper doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

Bill looks over his work with pride, picking up one of the arms to shake it. “Nice to meet ya, Bill! I’m the real, better Bill.” He pauses, then nods solemnly, as if it responded. “Yeah, I am the greatest. Glad you noticed!”

And in a stunningly unsurprising turn of events, Bill’s also going to be obnoxious about this.

Bill brings the plushie right up to Dipper’s face, pitching his voice higher. “Oooh, Pine Tree, I’m so glad to see ya! You’re my favorite human.” He lifts the felt arms in a floppy invitation for a hug. “I love you sooooo much!”

Dipper feels his lips draw into a thin line, while Bill’s mouth arches up in a grin.

“What’s that?” Bill cups his ear as if to hear better. “You want a kiss?” Dipper shakes his head, but not before Bill starts mashing the stupid plush against his cheeks. He tries fending it off, but Bill’s quick enough to find every gap in his defenses. Also, he’s making exaggerated kissy sounds. “Mwah mwah mwah!”

Dipper snatches the stupid plush from Bill’s stupid hand, then turns right on his heel and storms back to the guest room.

Behind him, he hears Bill cackling with laughter.

He knew he was in for some kind of trial. A type of torment. What he’s faced so far hasn’t been terrible. Or much at all, compared to when he was back with the congregation.

This god isn’t quite the creature of eternal nightmares and torment that he was always told about. Instead he has other motives, ones too strange and subtle to interpret. Dipper should be thankful.

A glance backward shows said god slumped on the couch, cackling to himself with one hand on his forehead.

But Bill sure thinks he’s fucking hilarious.

Dipper slams the door shut, as loud as he can. It doesn’t quite block out the continuing laughter. He slumps against the door, letting out a long, tired sigh.

Great. He doesn’t know what else he expected.

Bill Cipher’s a total asshole.

#I meant to get this done quicker but my body betrayed me with illness #Probably coulda done another editing pass but I am tired and need a nap #Apologies for all of this; My November was kinda bad and then I compensated by writing Hella Fluff #Gotta wait till next part for Bill to find out the reason Dip's so quiet #That's going to be very fun :3c #For me that is #Uhhh anything else that I can add as a fun note #There's one particular scene that made me go yeah this is a good reason to write a shitton of words to get there #Because I am a fool #Hope this was fun to read you guys!! I am gonna take a friggin' nap

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luck-of-the-drawings · 6 months

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"And soda; runs off into the street..." "...and soda... is totally okay!"

#jrwi fanart #jrwi show #jrwi suckening #cw blood #something something cracking open a boy w the cold ones #IF THERE ARE ANY MISTAKES I MISSED I SWWWEAR TO JEBEDIAH. IF I STARE AT THIS ANYMORE IM GONNA DIE IT NEEDS TO BE DONE #ALSO RRRAAAHAHHHGHGH CAN I JUST TAKEA SECOND TO SCREEAAMM ABT HOW MUCH I LOVE SODA AND EMIZEL.. LIKE THERYE SO CUTE....#THEY ARE HOMIES THAT KISS EACHOTHR GOODNIGHT. THEY CARE SO MUCH FOR EACHOTHER. SODA LOVES SODA AND SODA LOVES YOU #do u guys remember how willing he was to share blood w his vampire bestie. like cmon. remember when emizel memorized sodas Soda Schedule.#LIKE CMON.... they just have eachothers backs so much. ouhhh my god... ANYWAY SO THE ART HUH. I FEEL LIKE I SCRAMBLED W IT FOR A WHILE #DRAWIN IS HARD..... i think i did well in the end tho.. i like the lil heart beat effects. and i hope i made soda look Suffieciently Scared #i ALSO had fun w the teeth. i however did not have fun w the walls. if i had more drugs i mightve done every brick in more detail #but i didnt WANNA!!!! this will suffice.I HOPE IT FLOWS WELL&THAT ITS CLEAR... IVE STARED AT IT SO LONG IT IS NOW VISUAL SOUP. HELP!!!#i want my comics to have more Pauses and Space and Thought and Momence. i feel like normally they go so fast. but THIS time #i think i did good.... huuoouhhhh.... comics are HARD art is HARD but i am HARDER. or something. OH YEAH I HAVE MORE ART THINGS #soda was RLY HARD FOR ME TO DRAW FOR A MINUTE..but i like where his design is now. i wanted his hair to be curly swirly.like soda fizz #i THINK thats all my thoughts for now. if u have thoughts u should spill them in the tags i looooove reading tttaaggsss #have a goodnight i gotta go to work soon. maybe. unless the casinos power goes out AGAIN. OR SEOMTHING... UUGHHH MY SCHEDULE IS IN SHAMBLES #I THOUGHT I WAS WORKIN 3 DAYS INA ROW SO I RENTED A WHOLE DAMN HOTEL BC THE JOB PLACE IS FAR AWAY.. I HAD TO CANCEL THE WHOLE RESERVATOn #annd im MMMMAD ABOUT IT!!! like ill get over it ofc BUT IM PEEVED!!!! IM INCONVIENIENCED AND GENTLY AGGRIVATED. BUT OVERALL FINE.#hope yalls weekend goes well. sleep well. if u get the chance to.

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cluescorner · 5 months

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I cannot imagine being a Damian stan right now. You've got both Zdarsky's bullshit (where he clearly doesn't give a shit about your boy) and The Boy Wonder (where Juni Ba clearly gives so many shits about your boy) coming out on the same day. The whiplash must be insane. I hope y'all get some nice warm soup for your efforts jfc

#damian wayne #damian al ghul #damian al ghul wayne #batman #batfamily #for all of the issues that come with having Steph as your fave having too much wild shit happening at once is never one of them #btw I quite like The Boy Wonder Issue 1. wow shocker an artist and writer who I have liked everything they've ever done #has once again written something that I am enjoying with art that makes me want to be part of its world.#it's almost like Juni Ba is really freaking talented or something #like I have some problems with it but it seems like many of those are part of the point. Damian is learning that his siblings are more #three-dimensional than he realized and that is part of this 'coming of age' story merged with fairytale #so I can't be mad at the oversimplistic defining of Dick and Jason and Tim until the conclusion of the series. that might be the point.#I hope that the series will address Steph as a Robin but if not then frankly it's not an issue unique to this series.#I'll be annoyed and disappointed but ultimately roll with it like I am with Babsgirl being here. There's too much good stuff here to get #hung up on shit that seems to be almost an editorial mandate at this point. at least that's where I'm at.#I am also very sorry that Chip Zdarsky is massacring your boy. he has 'X (Tim for him) is the best Robin so everyone else must suck' diseas #where a writer really likes one specific Robin and in trying to uplift them demeans all of the other Robins. instead of like...just writing #for that one character only or alternatively not demeaning the other characters in order to make his blorbo look good #it's wild because I actually think his writing for Tim is pretty solid. but he's not writing a Tim series. he's writing a Batman series.#and if you are going to write a Batman series and include other Batfamily members you need to actually write them well.#instead of assigning them like 2 personality traits while Tim gets to be a whole character #I accept that behavior in fanfic where I have lesser standards because it's fucking free. not a comic run that wants me to pay #tens of dollars in order to understand what the fuck is going on. he's been going for a while now it's gotta be a lot of money.#I can buy Steelworks with that money. I can see John Henry and Natasha Irons in a trade. Fuck you Chip.#it's why it takes such a special person to write a good ensemble story/a good Batfamily story. you have to be good at writing a LOT #of different characters. which I don't think most people are. I sure as hell am not. I can write maybe 3 at a time confidently well.#and you also have to give all of them at least SOME love or else people will be upset that you aren't focusing on their fave #and also the writing as a whole will suffer. Chip Zdarsky is a pretty good Tim writer. I'd maybe read a Tim solo written by him.#I would not read a story focusing on multiple characters that I like written by Chip Zdarsky. because every character who isn't Tim #is at least a bit weak/inconsistent/out of character INCLUDING FUCKING BATMAN. THE NO. 1 GUY MOST ARE HERE FOR

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crescentfool · 1 year

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the persona 3 protagonist 25th anniversary nui in food appliances!

#lizzy speaks #persona 3 #minato arisato #makoto yuki #guys friendly reminder that this is what adulthood is about dont listen to anyone who calls you cringe #hence why im putting these in the main tags. i mean they're not incorrect for what the photos are about. lmao #anyway this was a very fun birthday!!! i feel very loved and supported by so many people and i got to do very fun things (like this)...#i think... birthday is like thanksgiving to me. in the gratitude respect.#a reminder of all the lovely people that i have gotten a chance to meet and how i've learned from them #it makes me very happy to have been born... i think every day is a great day to celebrate life's grandeur + brilliance + magnificence #it's just a very poignant and strong feeling that i have that i'm happy to have met so many wonderful people #and while there are some people i've only known for brief periods of time or people who i havent really been good at keeping in contact wit #i do cherish it! im so grateful. so happy that there are people who cheer my silly shenanigans on #while there are ways in which aging makes me go “oh hmm” i think overall i'm happy that i get to keep on living and learning #i have so much fondness for humanity and people... like even if i dont get to talk to ppl directly i just get very emotional yknow #like wow.. you exist.. thats so fucking awesome... i hope you have an awesome day... im glad our paths could cross #if you have read up to this point of my tags.. thank you for reading and being part of my life #i will keep on being the silliest guy ive ever known! cheers to more shenyanigans and self-discovery :3

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deoidesign · 2 months

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Allowing myself to work on this comic. A LITTLE. Please....... I'm making comics all day every day please let me chase my bliss a little........... With a different comic...........

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ruvviks · 2 months

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Following the chilling conclusion of All That's Left's first season, Mac and Layla and their friends find themselves scattered across a divided Los Angeles a year after their successful return to town. Matrix Corp has taken control— "With humanity's best interest in mind"— but with our protagonists' knowledge of Opportunity's destruction and Houston's unexpected fall, they know better than to trust the corporation and its near military-sized security force. Closed district gates separate them from one another and a new threat lurks just outside the city's walls— but resistance is on the rise, and it is only a matter of time before truth comes out. [SEASON ONE HERE]

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @roseeway, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree;

@kanos, @swordcoasts, @ordinarymaine, @claudiawolf, @strafethesesinners

#all that's left #edit:misc #nuclearedits #OK HIII here is season two :D i hope you guys like ittt the playlist is very funky just like the one for season one heehee #reblogs encouraged btw!! i love reading your guys' thoughts on stuff like this especially my original stories :^)#the opening theme is so good it works so well. very similar to the first season opening with wouldn't it be nice #wide shot of los angeles from the sky with the closed districts and one district in ruins because they let ghouls in a year back #with the song playing in the background as the camera pans over to show how bad the situation is after like #a little text intro that explains what happened in season one and how they made it back to los angeles safely for their happy ending #but. well. now there's this! and then the title shows in the screen and the song continues playing while you get like #a sequence of random shots from what life inside town is like now that matrix corp has taken control. are you seeing my vision #anyway i have a lot to say about the whole playlist again like with the other one but i won't do that here right now #this season would be fun because it jumps around more between different guys whereas in season one it was all one group #now you get a lot more interesting perspectives and there's additions to the cast and gabriella gets her own storyline #because she's stuck in some neighborhood outside the city walls with like. HUNDREDS of ghouls in slumber #and there's no way for her to get out of there safely. but she's going to try anyway #obviously this is never gonna be an actual tv show but i wish it was. i really wish it was i have so many visuals for it in mind

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lightbulb-warning · 1 month

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so has anyone figured out WHY there is the Need To Share our Artworks™ or is it just the vibes and our Soul apparently

#ive been running on “two cakes. u aren't BOTHERING people by putting art on their feed they can scroll past it/if they dont they get ”cake“”#and we love “cake”#“cake” is picture on the internet in this case #like okay the contracts and transaction format is a me problem!! i need to get rid of the “utilitarian brain worms” bc they're boring #this is supposed to be a hobby and the “get a good grade in hobby” wolf in the brain is just crying bc that's how they understand the world #the “get a good grade in x” wolf has valid pain but needs to stop controlling my life because they don't need to earn “enough value to live”#ect ect ect #and the life of minmaxxed utility is a life of trying to appeal to a “correct” that doesn't exist yaddi yadda = boring #i love you wolf. also shut up. affectionate. concerned. you get it #ok so we remove tangible purpose from act of experience art because THAT'S not “the point”#because “the point” is the joy killer eccetera ecc #but then what? “here check out this labor of love. i drew this fucker 15 times. no there's no story* there it's just a guy”#*story in this case being an emotional engagement/a situation/a context in which to ponder/other #so it's just a Draw. no further analysis. what do others Get from that?#i know i deeply enjoy art because im a fan of the process of People Making Stuff. i love when there was nothing but now there's something!!!#THAT'S what's it all about!!!!!!!!!!!!!! to me!!!! right now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#so it stands to reason that creation is purpose enough?? to be experienced???? to be known????????#idk!!#this is a nothing burger of a thought people have always liked picture on the internet stfu maiora there doesn't need to be a reason #this is just the brainworms talking!!! because god forbid “something not have a purpose”??? blegh!!!!!!!!#sounds like unhealthy rationalizing instead of letting things be out of The Fear™!!sounds like depraving urself from joy bc of BRAINWORMS!!!#so like!!!!! picture on the internet doesn't NEED inherent value. creation is enough!! (plus there's the Attachment to Character. also.)#but then why are YOU *points at you* here? gen q!!#i made an image you like and now you are reading my word babble in some tags!!! what's THAT all about???????????#it's INTERESTING!! do you see what im trying to get at??#is it empathy??? person made something other saw something other made- other2other connection???? intrigue????????#.......all this is probably explained in some book or yt essay somewhere. oh well.#in the meantime thank you for your time! we can pretend we were stuck in an elevator together and then i started rambling #i hope you have a great rest of your day thanks for stopping by!! <3 #maiora garrulates

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demigod-of-the-agni · 6 months

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Spider-Man India, but... where from India?

A SUPER long post featuring talks of: cultural identity, characterisation, the caste system, and what makes Spider-Man Spider-Man.

I’m prefacing this by saying that I am a second-generation immigrant. I was born in Australia, but my cultural background is from South India. My experiences with what it means to be “Indian” is going to be very different from the experiences of those who are born and brought up in India.

If you, reader, want to add anything, please reblog and add your thoughts. This is meant to be a post open for discussion — the more interaction we get, the better we become aware of these nuances.

So I made this poll asking folks to pick a region of India where I would draw Pavitr Prabhakar in their cultural wear. This idea had been on my mind for a long while now, as I had been inspired by Annie Hazarika’s Northeastern Spidey artwork in the wake of ATSV’s release, but never got the time to actually do it until now. I wanted to get a little interactive and made the poll so I could have people choose which of the different regions — North, Northeast, Central, East, West, South — to do first.

The outcome was not what I expected. As you can see, out of 83 votes:

THE RESULTS

South India takes up almost half of all votes (44.6%), followed by Northeast and Central (both 14.5%) and then East (13.3%). In all my life growing up, support towards or even just the awareness of South India was pretty low. Despite this being a very contained poll, why would nearly half of all voters pick South India in favour of other popular choices like Central or North India?

Then I thought about the layout of the poll: Title, Options, Context.

Title: "Tell us who you want to see…"

Options: North, Northeast, Central, East, West, South

Context: I want to make art of the boy again

At first I thought: ah geez. this is my fault. I didn't make the poll clear enough. do they think I want them to figure out where Pavitr came from? That's not what I wanted, maybe I should have added the context before the options.

Then I thought: ah geez. is it my fault for people not reading the entire damn thing before clicking a button? That's pretty stupid.

But regardless, the thought did prompt a line of thinking I know many of us desi folk have been considering since Spider-Man India was first conceived — or, at least, since the announcement that he was going to appear in ATSV. Hell, even I thought of it:

Where did Spider-Man India come from?

FROM A CULTURALLY DIVERSE INDIA

As we know, India is so culturally diverse, and no doubt ATSV creators had to take that into account. Because the ORIGINAL Spider-Man India came from Mumbai — most likely because Mumbai and Manhattan both started with the same letter.

But going beyond that, it’s also because Mumbai is one of the most recognisable cities in India - it’s also known as Bombay. It’s where Bollywood films are shot. It’s where superstar Hindi actors and actresses show up. Mumbai is synonymous with India in that regard, because the easiest way Western countries can interact with Indian culture is through BOLLYWOOD, through HINDI FILMS, through MUMBAI. Suddenly, India is Mumbai, India is a Hindi-only country, India is just this isolated thing we see through an infinitely narrow lens.

We’ve gotten a little better in recent years, but boy I will tell you how uncomfortable I’ve gotten when people (yes, even desi people) come up to me and tell me, Oh, you’re Indian right? Can you speak Hindi? Why don’t you speak Hindi? You’re not Indian if you don’t speak Hindi, that’s India’s national language!

I have been — still am — so afraid of telling people that I don’t speak Hindi, that I’m Tamil, that I don’t care that Hindi is India’s “national” language (it’s an administrative language, Kavin, get your fucking facts right). It’s weird, it’s isolating, and it has made me feel like I wasn’t “Indian” enough to be accepted into the group of “Indian” people.

So I am thankful that ATSV went out of their way to integrate as much variety of Indian culture into the Mumbattan sequence. Maybe that way, the younger generation of desi folk won’t feel so isolated, and that younger Western people will be more open to learning about all these cultural differences within such a vast country.

BUT WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH SPIDER-MAN INDIA?

Everything, actually. There’s a thing called supremacy. You might have heard of it. We all engaged with it at some point, and if you are Indian, no matter where you live, it is inescapable.

It happens the moment you are born — who your family is, where you are born, the language you speak, the colour of your skin; these will be bound to you for life, and it is nigh impossible to break down the stereotypes associated with them.

Certain ethnic groups will be more favourable than others (Centrals, and thus their cultures, will always be favoured over than Souths, as an example) and the same can be said for social groups (Brahmins are more likely to secure influential roles in politics or other areas like priesthood, while the lowers castes, especially Dalits, aren’t even given the decency of respect). Don’t even get me started on colourism, where obviously those of fairer skin will win the lottery while those of darker skin aren’t given the time of day. It’s even worse when morality ties into it — “lighter skinned Indians, like Brahmins, embody good qualities like justice and wisdom”, “dark skinned Indians are cunning and poor, they are untrustworthy”. It’s fucking nuts.

This means, of course, you have a billion people trying to make themselves heard in a system that tries to crush everyone who is not privileged. It only makes sense that people want to elevate themselves and break free from a society that refuses to acknowledge them. These frustrations manifest outwardly, like in protests, but other times — most times — it goes unheard, quietly shaping your way of life, your way of thinking. It becomes a fundamental part of you, and it can go unacknowledged for generations.

So when you have a character like Pavitr Prabhakar enter the scene, people immediately latch onto him and start asking questions many Western audiences don’t even consider. Who is he? What food does he eat? What does he do on Fridays? What’s his family like, his community? All these questions pop up, because, amidst all this turmoil going on in the background, you want a mainstream popular character to be like you, who knows your way of life so intimately, that he may as well be a part of your community.

BUT THAT'S THE THING — HE'S FICTIONAL

I am guilty of this. In fact, I’ve flaunted in numerous posts how I think he’s the perfect Tamil boy, how he dances bharatanatyam, how he does all these Tamil things that no one will understand except myself. All these niche things that only I, and maybe a few others, will understand.

I’ve seen other people do it, too. I’ve seen people geek out over his dark brown skin, his kalari dhoti, how he fights so effortlessly in the kalaripayattu martial arts style. I’ve seen people write him as Malayali, as Hindi, as every kind of Indian person imaginable.

I’ve also seen him be written where he’s subjected to typical Indian and broader Asian stereotypes. You know the ones I’m so fond of calling out. The thing is, I’ve seen so much of Pavitr being presented in so many different ways, and I worry how the rest of the desi folk will take it.

You finally have a character who could be you, but now he’s someone else’s plaything. Your entire life is shaped by what you can and can’t do simply because you were born to an Indian family, and here’s the one person who could represent you now at the mercy of someone else’s whims. He’s off living a life that is so distant from yours, you can hardly recognise him.

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, yeah? But, again, you’re looking at it from that infinitely narrow lens Westerners use to look at India from Bollywood.

AND PAVITR PRABHAKAR DOESN'T LIVE IN INDIA

He lives in Mumbattan. He lives in a made-up, fictional world that doesn’t follow the way of life of our world. He lives in a city where Mumbai and Manhattan got fucking squashed together. There are so many memes about colonialism right there. Mumbattan isn’t real! Spider-Man India isn’t real!! He’s just a dude!! The logic of our world doesn’t apply to him!!!

“But his surname originates from ______” okay but does that matter?

“But he’s wearing a kalari dhoti so surely he’s ______” okay but does that matter?

“But his skin colour is darker so he must be ______” okay but does that matter?

“But he lives in Mumbai so he must be ______” okay but does that matter?

I sound insensitive and brash and annoying and it looks like I’m yapping just for the sake of riling you up, so direct that little burst of anger you got there at me, and keep reading.

Listen. I’m going to ask you a question that I’ve asked myself a million times over. I want you to answer honestly. I want you to ask this question to yourself and answer honestly:

Are you trying to convince me on who Pavitr Prabhakar should be?

... but why shouldn't i?

I’ll tell you this again — I did the same thing. You’re not at fault for this, but I want you to just...have a little think over. Just a little moment of self-reflection, to think about why you are so intent on boxing this guy.

It took me a while to reorganise my thinking and how to best approach a character like Pavitr, so I will give you all the time you need as well as a little springboard to focus your thoughts on.

SPIDER-MAN (INDIA) IS JUST A MASK

“What I like about the costume is that anybody reading Spider-Man in any part of the world can imagine that they themselves are under the costume. And that’s a good thing.”

Stan Lee said that. Remember how he was so intent on making sure that everybody got the idea that Spider-Man as an entity is fundamentally broken without Peter Parker there to put on the suit and save the day? That ultimately it was the person beneath the mask, no matter who they were, that mattered most?

Spider-Man India is no less different. You can argue with me that Peter Parker!Spidey is supposed to represent working class struggles in the face of leering corporate entities who endanger the regular folk like us, and so Pavitr Prabhakar should also function the same way. Pavitr should also be a working class guy of this specific social standing fighting people of this other social standing.

But that takes away the authenticity of Spider-Man India. Looking at him through the Peter Parker lens forces you to look at him through the Western lens, and it significantly lessens what you can do with the character — suddenly, it’s a fight to be heard, to be seen, to be recognised. It’s yelling over each other that Pavitr Prabhakar is this ethnicity, is that caste, this or that, this or that, this or that.

There’s a reason why he’s called Spider-Man India, infuriatingly vague as it is. And that’s the point — the vagueness of his identity fulfils Lee’s purpose for a character that could theoretically be embodied by anyone. If he had been called “Spider-Man Mumbai”, you cut out a majority of the population (and in capitalist terms, you cut out a good chunk of the market).

And in the case of Spider-Man India? Whew — you’ve got about a billion people imagining a billion different versions of him.

Whoever you are, whatever you see in Pavitr, that is what is personal to you, and there is nothing wrong with that, and I will not fault you for it. I will not fault you for saying Pavitr is from Central due to the origins of his last name. I also will not fault you for saying Pavitr is from South due to him practising kalaripayattu. I also will not fault you for saying he is not Hindu. I also will not fault you for saying he is a particular ethnicity without any proof.

What I will fault you for is trying to convince me and the others around you that Pavitr Prabhakar should be this particular ethnicity/have this cultural background because of some specific reason. I literally don’t care and it is fundamentally going against his character, going against the “anyone can wear the mask” sentiment of Spider-Man. By doing this, you are strengthening the walls that first divided us. You’re feeding the stratification and segmentation of our cultures — something that is actually not present in the fictional world of Mumbattan.

Like I said before: Mumbattan isn’t real, so the divides between ethnicities and cultural backgrounds are practically nonexistent. The best thing is that it is visually there for all to see. My favourite piece of evidence is this:

It’s a marquee for a cinema in the Mumbattan sequence, in the “Quick tour: this is where the traffic is” section. It has four titles; the first two are written in Hindi. The third title is written in Bengali*, and the fourth title is written in Tamil. You go to Mumbai and you won’t see a single shred of Bengali nor Tamil there, much less any other language that's not common in Maharashtra (Western India). Seeing this for the first time, you know what went through my head?

Wow, the numerous cultures of India are so intermingled here in Mumbattan! Everyone and everything is welcome!

I was happy, not just because of Tamil representation, but because of the fact that the plethora of Indian cultures are showcased coexisting in such a short sequence. This is India embracing all the little parts that make up its grander identity. This scene literally opened my eyes seeing such beauty in all the diverse cultures thriving together. In a place where language and cultural backgrounds blend so easily, each one complementing one another.

It is so easy to believe that, from this colourful palette of a setting, Pavitr Prabhakar truly is Spider-Man India, no matter where he comes from.

It’s easy to believe that Pavitr can come from any part of India, and I won’t call you out if the origin you have for him is different from the origin I have. You don’t need to stake out territory and stand your ground — you’re entitled to that opinion, and I respect it. In fact, I encourage it!!!

Because there’s only so much you can show in a ten minute segment of a film about a country that has such a vast history and even greater number of cultures. I want to see all of it — I want him to be a Malayali boy, a Hindi boy, a Bengali boy, a Telugu boy, an Urdu boy, whatever!! I want you to write him or draw him immersed in your culture, so that I can see the beauty of your background, the wonderful little things that make your culture unique and different from mine!

And, as many friends have said, it’s so common for Indian folks to be migrating around within our own country. A person with a Maharashtrian surname might end up living in Punjab, and no one really minds that. I’m actually from Karnataka, my family speaks Kannada, but somewhere down the line my ancestors moved to Tamil Nadu and settled down and lived very fulfilling lives. So I don’t actually have the “pure Tamil” upbringing, contrary to popular belief; I’ve gotten a mix of both Kannada and Tamil lifestyles, and it’s made my life that much richer.

So it’s common for people to “not” look like their surname, if that’s what you’re really afraid about. In fact, it just adds to that layer of nuance, that even despite these rigid identities between ethnicities we as Indian people still intermingle with one another, bringing slivers of our cultures to share with others. Pavitr could just as well have been born in one state and moved around the country, and he happens to live in Mumbattan now. It’s entirely possible and there’s nothing to disprove that.

We don’t need to clamber over one another declaring that only one ethnicity is the “right” ethnicity, because, again, you will be looking at Pavitr and the rest of India in that narrow Western lens — a country with such rich cultural variety reduced to a homogenous restrictive way of life.

THE POLL: REINTERPRETED

This whole thing started because I was wondering why my little poll was so skewed — I thought people assumed I was asking them where he came from, then paired his physical appearance with the most logical options available. I thought it was my fault, that I had somehow influenced this outcome without knowing.

Truth is, I will never really know. But I will be thankful for it, because it gave me the opportunity to finally broach this topic, something that many of us desi folk are hesitant to talk about. I hope you have learned something from this, whether you are desi or a casual Spider-Man fan or someone who just so happened to stumble upon this.

So just…be a little more open. Recognise that India, like many many countries and nations, is made up of a plethora of smaller cultures. And remember, if you’re trying to convince Pavitr that he’s a particular ethnicity, he’s going to wave his hand at you and say, “Ha, me? No, I’m one of the people that live here in the best Indian city! I’m Spider-Man India, dost!”

(Regardless, he still considers you a friend, because to him, the people matter more to him than you trying to box him into something he’s not.)

*Note: thank you dear anon for letting me know that the third title was Bengali, twas my mistake for literally completely forgetting

#long post + more tags that kinda spiral away BUT expand on the points above AND kinda puts everything together concisely #BROS THIS IS AN HONEST TO GOD ESSAY #THAT HAS BEEN COOKING IN MY HEART FOR A WHILE NOW. SIMMERING FOR MONTHS BEFORE FINALLY BOILING OVER IN THE LAST WEEK #genuinely hope you read MOST of it because yes it has Quite A Lot Of Exposition but it all matters nonetheless #put in a lot of thought into this so i expect you to do your part and challenge your thoughts as well #you see how i'm not asking for you to listen to me. but to actually Think. i want you to cook your thoughts and add some spice and flavour #and give it a good mix so you can come out of this a little more wiser than before #because!!! yeah!!!! spider man india is just that!! he's indian!!!!! we don't need to collectively agree on where he comes from #bc it gets rid of that relatability factor of spider man. at the most basic level #think of it as a schrodinger's. he is every single culture and none of them at the same time. therefore none of us are wrong!! sick!!!!#pavitr's first priority is making sure HIS PEOPLE are safe. that's probably as far as we can go that relates him back to peter parker spide #he loves his people and working in the name of justice to FIGHT for HIS PEOPLE is just the duty/responsibility he takes up #it makes sense that he loves everyone and every culture he engages with bc that's the nature of spider man i suppose #if peter parker spidey acts as the guardian for the regular folk.. then in my mind pavitr spidey stands as the bridge uniting the people #because society as its core is very fragmented. and having pavitr act as a connection to other folks.... mmmmm beautiful #that's what i'm talking abouttttt !!!#anyways guys this is literally 3001 words on my document EXCLUDING THE TITLE. THAT'S 7 PAGES AT 11pt FONT. i'm literally cryingggg wtf #pavitr prabhakar #spider man #spider man india #desi #desiblr #atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv pavitr #indian culture #india #desi tumblr #what the fuck do i tag this as #agnirambles

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peawinkls · 7 months

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why jfabe is NOT!!!! boring and lifeless and proving that wrong, an informational thread discussing their relationship and dynamic, because honestly im getting tired of ppl saying their boring

contains s3 spoilers!

The relationship between JFK and abe from Clone High is something alot of people within the community discussed, especially before s3, being talked about more after s2's finale. Many speculated that the two would remain friends or even become more than that.

Now with season 3 out, we have a lot more things to work out with, specifically episode 3. It's something a lot of people are too afraid to admit, but jfabe/abefk would make the show a lot more interesting, rather than its repeatable joanabe plotline.

So, I'm here to talk about the inner workings of this pair, why their so interesting, and why they work out so much, whether platonic or not. If ur not a fan of jfabe/abefk, or heavily dislike the ship, I'd recommend turning away from this post.

Introduction, the who, the when, the why, the how...and their differences n similarities

So, we all know these two characters. JFK the beloved, Abe the hated. Something that many people picked out of the 2020 clone high fandom. But what if i told you that the beloved and the hated were truly meant to be together from the start?

What we already know is that they are the complete opposite of each other in many ways. JFK is meant to be a parody on 90s jocks from highschool movies and tv shows. Abe is the weak nerd who desperately wants to be cool.

JFK is buff and shorter, Abe is tall and lanky. JFK is a douchebag, Abe is the nicer guy. The list goes on and on. And they even have stuff in common, such as the fear of abandonment and the fear of ruining things.

But one difference i can note is that Abe is way more naive than JFK, JFK is portrayed as empty-headed, but not empty-headed enough to not realize whats going on. Of course, despite the differences, both characters make a really good team.

And this was even evident in s2 ep10, aka the finale, where they both realize that they make a great "duo of bros who'll remain friends for the rest of their lives". Jfabe shippers were FEEDING on this shit back then you have no idea

So with this stuff out of the way, it's time to talk about my favorite episode out of season 3.

Bible Humpers: A Much Needed Praycation

This episode revolves around JFK getting tired of having meaningless sex with girls and partying hard, and decides to seek out a new life when he and Abe discovers the prayer pals club, hosted by Lady Godiva. And at first, Abe is happy to see that JFK is taking on new opportunities.

"Where the slut goes, the wing slut follows."

But eventually, JFK starts straying away from Abe and his friendship, to the point of even FORGETTING about the broniversary that Abe had planned for the both of them (he literally baked a giant cake for him, look at me and tell me thats straight cmon now).

Seeing how Abe had already lost Joan and Gandhi, he didn't wanna lose JFK either, and does everything he can to make him happy and thats so clear. And even at the end of the episode, it's revealed that Abe even respected his choice on ultimately choosing celibacy.

He really does care a bunch for JFK, liking him for who he truly was (compared to JFK's other dates) and respecting his choices. And despite choosing celibacy over Abe, the two still remain close, which really tells you how great their bond is.

So something HAS definitely changed throughout the years, from them hating each others guts to potentially becoming clone highs next couple...which didn't happen, and I'm still petty about it i will admit.

But even if they didn't become canon at the end, you could really tell that some people who worked on this episode wanted them to be a thing, and that's a good enough sign for me that they could hopefully become canon in the next season if we ever get one (still petty though).

Let's circle back to season 1 again. I'm not making a jfabe thread without mentioning Litter Kills: Literally, which is another episode that jfabe shippers fed on. In this episode, JFK's close friend Ponce dies, and he's left to grieve over him.

And in this episode, we see a side of JFK that we never saw before. He starts wondering why the hell he's feeling all of these emotions, because he's a Kennedy, and he's not used to them. But Abe helps him realize that emotions like this are normal.

And even if the two hated each other, Abe apologized to him in the end and finally realized his mistakes. It seemed like Abe disliked him, yet he cares about him. Abe never knew what if felt like, because he hasn't lost a friend close to him.

So he starts berating Cleo for comforting JFK and was even aggressive towards JFK as well, believing that he was only doing all of this just to take Cleo away from him. That was all because he NEVER knew what it was like. But he finally understood.

He was sorry, but he felt like he couldn't do much to help because he didn't experience the same thing. So he just hugged JFK and held him...for a really long time.

But that was just enough for JFK, all he needed was comfort, and Abe chose to do that. So even at the episode, he couldn't help but ask JFK if he was alright. And by the next episode, JFK was already feeling better. All it takes is someone to tell you that its gonna be okay.

So what I'm trying to say is despite their own anxieties, flaws, characteristics, whatever, their PERFECT for each other. I don't like how people label them as "boring", when their so much more deeper than that.

Jfabe/AbeFK is one of my comfort ships for this exact reason. Their lore, dynamic and relationship goes beyond that, i don't ship them just because i think their cute, but because their interesting, and it may seem like im going insane over a white boy ship, but i truly, truly, from the bottom of my heart, love this ship to pieces, and hopefully people can see that through me. Thank you, clone high.

#clone high #analysis #clone high season 2 #jfk clone high #clone high 2023 #jfabe #abefk #clone high abe #clone high reboot #clone high season 3 #clone high spoilers #i GUESS the alternate title for this should be “in defense of jfabe/abefk” because some of yall needa hop off of a harmless ship #i hope this converts some of you i managed to do that w some mutuals on twitter #long story short jfabe is just a really underrated ship with interesting lore and potential and i never got why people hated it #so now that ur reading this watch the mr peabody and sherman show if you want another good history show to watch (shameless plug)#im so rabid about this ship someone hold me back. no one gets them like i do (except for like 5 people)#yes im the same guy who wrote that one jfk character essay and the jfabe queerbaiting essay can you tell i like them a normal amount #bai

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chaosduckies · 4 months

Text

Restoration (Chapter 9)

The very, VERY long awaited chapter! Where you finally find out what happened to Ryker’s parents, and a little bit of Nathan’s past! Great, right? Hahaha- no. I was evil this time around.

Word Count: 6.7k

CW: Description of death, mentions of death, panic attacks, horror elements (They’re watching a horror movie), I think that’s it!

9-Nathan

It was hard to breathe. My body trembling, heart racing, vision blurry. There were loud noises coming from above. The ground shook as people starting barking out orders and running all over the place. Mom had taken me under a cabinet to hide. Something was happening, my mom was badly hurt and struggled to stand on her own two feet, while people dressed up in a uniform were storming the building with weapons that looked painful.

My mom laid down on the hard, wooden floor, catching her breath and watching with me as several shoes filed into the same room as us. I was terrified. I didn’t know if these people would hurt us like the other ones did. I heard several screams, yelling, threats, and then there were several questions being asked to the people who tortured us.

“Where are the humans?”

“Where is the rest of your family?”

“Why are there cages set up in the back room?”

I cringed, back, hugging my mom, but only earning a quiet yelp and her pushing me off of her. I apologized quietly and raspy, trying to stay quiet so those people don’t find us. I had forgotten that she didn’t like to be touched.

After several minutes of the uniformed people asking several questions, they began searching for us. They had checked nearly everywhere. I was scared of what they were going to do if they found us. I mean, I was still in the mindset that everyone would hurt us. It’s all I’ve ever known since I was just a kid. That people would kill just because some don’t listen to them.

“What do those people look like, Nate?” My mom had asked, trying to get a peak outside. I cringed, forcing myself to look outside.

“B-black uniform… a gold badge on one’s. They have those… talky thingies on a belt.” I looked to her, seeing a glimmer of hope in her eyes. She smiled, softly laughing, “Nate, honey, I need you to go out there and get one’s attention. They’re going to help us.”

My breath hitched in my throat. Go out? Help? What if they don’t? What if they don’t see us? What happens then? They’re still looking… if mom really says they’ll help us then they should find us. But I didn’t think they would. More and more of them were leaving the house. They’re not going to find us.

“Please, Nate. We’ll die if they don’t f-“ I heard a soft thump! I looked back, seeing that my mom was passed out on the floor, her leg bent in an awkward position. I hurried to her side, tears on the side of my face. What was I supposed to do? She’s passed out from shock, people were looking for us. I was just a kid. What could I do? Even if I managed to be brave enough to go out, what were the chances that they’d even see me? What are the chances that they won’t just place us back in another cage? Well, if my mom says that they’ll help shouldn’t I believe her? She knows more than I do anyways.

I sucked in a shaky breath, wiping away my tears and taking hesitant steps out of our hiding spot under a cabinet. My heart threatened to pound right out of my chest. I kept my arms wrapped around my chest. I flinched when people started running out. I listened to what they were saying before stepping out, cowering behind the leg of the cabinet. They were all leaving.

Panic rose inside of me. What happens if we don’t get found? What happens if we do get found?

“We’ve searched everywhere for thirty minutes. There’s no sign of humans except the cages.” One of them sighed, reporting back to someone with a hat and a shiny badge on it. Was that their boss? I cowered behind the leg even more. He looked scary… Like one glare from him and it would be the death of me. I was never going to get us out of here…

One small group left, but I still heard faint footsteps. People were calling for someone, but it was a voice that sounded not much older than me honestly. Maybe three or four years older. I couldn’t tell. But it still freaked me out when he walked into our room. A flashlight in his hand. I jumped, hiding myself behind the leg even more. This was our last chance… But I don’t think I could do it. I was scared. Terrified. I held a hand up to my mouth to muffle my sobs. Why?

“Is anyone here?” A light voice asked, the footsteps getting closer. I looked back to my mom, who was still passed out. Even if she was awake, I doubt they’d hear her yelling. Especially since she can’t walk without some kind of help.

“We’re here to help. Could you please come out if you’re in here?” The footsteps were walking closer. On the side of the cabinet. I think there was a bookshelf there. Good thing we didn’t hide there. But was it good? I don’t think it was. If I go out will he see me? I looked out, seeing him checking through every spot in between the old books looking for us. No doubt he’d eventually find us. I just don’t think I’d be able to handle being grabbed against my will. I’m pretty sure I’d just freak out, and I don’t think he’d really appreciate it. I winced, lightly rubbing my arms and chest. Would he hurt me if I did anything wrong?

“Hurry up Zaragoza! We’re leaving in five!” Someone had barked an order, making me wince and cover my ears. So loud. But in five minutes they’re leaving. That was bad. This guy would have to find us in that amount of time.

“Just give me a little more time!”

The person checking our room crouched down, checking the lower shelves before adverting his attention to another corner of the room. The opposite place where we were. I stood up on shaky legs, seeing him check underneath the chair thoroughly. So he would find us. Does he have enough time though?

I swallowed, taking shaky steps toward him. He looked around 20. Maybe early twenties. He didn’t look like he would hurt us either, but that could easily be a trick. Still, if it meant that they can help my mom then I’d take the risk. I kind of have to anyways.

I was getting closer and closer. My body didn’t want to. I nearly tripped a couple times because my legs didn’t want to work, but I had eventually made it close enough to where he could hear me if I slightly yelled. I sucked in a deep breath, the adrenaline getting to me, “S-Si…” I couldn’t even finish it, but I didn’t need to. In some kind of miracle, he had heard me. Despite it being a quiet whisper.

His eyes landed on me as a walked backwards, eventually falling. Please don’t hurt us. Please don’t hurt us. Please don’t hurt us. It was all I could think about. My body was trembling a whole bunch, I’m sure he saw it too. My head was faced down in case I was about to be killed. I didn’t want the last thing I see be another sadistic face ready to kill me all over again.

“A… kid?” Was all he said before I heard shuffling. I looked up only for a split second, seeing his hand reaching for me. I quickly stood up, running back, but tripping over my own two feet. Nonononono. Please don’t. Please don’t take me away from my mom. The thought stayed in my mind.

“Hey now, I’m not gonna hurt you.” His voice just barely above a whisper. I looked up. His hand retracted back to his side, his full attention on me. Everything in my body told me to run, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. My chest was rising up and down fast, and I’m sure he noticed.

“Is there… anyone else with you?” He had asked. I didn’t hear him for a second, but still nodded my head. He won’t take her away from me right? I can’t break our promise.

“Do you mind showing me? I’m just gonna help her. I promise.” A smile appeared on his face, and I didn’t know if I could trust it. Would he really help her? Or would he just hurt her even more? I sucked in a breath, forcing myself to stand on shaky legs and showing him under the cabinet she was unconscious under. He told me to move out of the way so he didn’t accidentally hurt me while moving it effortlessly, and looking completely shocked at my mom’s limp body. Her chest rising up and down.

The man in uniform wrapped his fingers around her weak body, and I couldn’t help the little whimper that came from me. He brought her closer to his face, making sure that she was still alive. Shocked at first, then he quickly turned to me, worried. I bit the side of my cheek, backing away. Don’t pick me up. Please. Don’t.

I stumbled backwards, not ready for what was eventually going to happen. His thumb was pressed up against the front of my body, pressing me slightly into his pointer finger. Tear stung my eyes, thinking that I was about to die. I tried pushing away, kicking, but my body was weak. It hurt to even move at this point. The only thing that was keeping me from passing out was the adrenaline.

“Kid, it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. Just going to check if you have any bad wounds.”

Of course I was! I was covered with bruises from head to toe, I’ve broken so many bones I forgot what number I was at already, Worst of all I had cuts from being played around with like some sort of doll! Of course I was hurt! I guess the adrenaline rush was over, because the next thing I know I was passed out.

——————

I woke up in a cold sweat, my body sore for no apparent reason. Groaning, I turned on my light and read my clock. Ten minutes before the alarm went off for school. Might as well start getting ready. That was a weird memory though…

Lately things have been getting easier at school. Mostly because everyone was was excited for Christmas at the end of the month. I however, wasn’t too excited. I mean, I rarely had anyone to celebrate with. Last year we were still in the hospital and my mom was taken to some other building close by where I was. They said that she was really sick, so I spent it alone, and same goes for this year. She has work now.

It was barely the first week of December. Classes were going by slow and handing out less and less work. Even the teachers want to have those two week off. I don’t blame them. Everyone around me seemed to be asking each other to go to the school dance before the break. I didn’t really understand why there was one, but I’m pretty sure most people were only going for the free food. Me? I didn’t really feel like going. Too many people. Plus, I can find something to do at home.

I’ve actually found a job. It’s small, and doesn’t really pay much, but at least it’s something. I mean, how else was I supposed to buy Lucky and all of them Christmas gifts? It’s the only way I know how to get people to like me. It hasn’t worked yet, but I’m sure at some point it will. I just had to keep smiling and hoping.

The entire reason I was getting the gifts was because they’ve been really nice to me (Minus Jasmine since she keeps glaring at me every time I’m with Ryker. She literally scares the life out of me but that doesn’t mean I won’t get her something). It’d feel wrong not to get them something.

I’ve saved up a little bit of money. I already have an idea of what I can get Angela, Lucky, Jasmine and Isabelle. Dylan was still a mystery to me since we’ve only ever talked that one time, and I have a half idea for Ryker, but I doubt he’d like it. I already have a gift for my mom. Since she loves wearing necklaces and earrings I bought her a pair a couple days ago. She has no idea, but I’m sure she’ll love them. The necklace was actually a heart-shaped locket. Inside there was an old picture I found of all three of us. Before we were kidnapped of course. I just made a copy of it and cut it out to put inside. So, I’m sure she’ll love it.

It was freezing outside. Snow covered the grass, the roads were somehow fine, and some younger kids were making their way to school like me. Something felt off about today, but I didn’t think much of it.

——————

School today was fast. It was last period before I even knew it. maybe because the classes didn’t feel like grading all of that work before the break. I know I wouldn’t. But still, I just wasn’t expecting Mrs. Kay to give us another project only two weeks before break. That’s not really enough time unless it was a slideshow or a short poster board presentation, which I could not do under any circumstance.��

“We’re doing Christmas presents!” She cheered at the front of the class. Some people were cheering along with her, some just smiled and laughed. I just stared at the drawing of a Christmas Tree on the board. What? I was trying not to think about how bad the gift I was getting for Ryker was going to be. I mean, I couldn’t really think of anything else.

“Just give your partner a Christmas present. That’s all I’m asking for. Just take a picture of them with their gift and I’ll consider it as proof that you actually did it. Remember, you still need to pass this class to graduate.” Her eyes trailed off to a random girl sitting in the classroom who just rolls her eyes. What was up with this teacher and giving us the strangest projects? It was just crazy.

I sighed, trying to figure out what else I could get for Ryker. I mean, he gave me the idea in the first place. It was during Lunch about two days ago and he mentioned something to Dylan about a band he’s been wanting to see. He’s also mentioned to them to me, and I agreed to listen to some of their songs. Surprisingly I liked it. Why do I bother mentioning this? Well, because that band is going on tour, and they were coming to our city in the last week of December (I looked it up). I just figured I would buy tickets as a gift. I just needed the money.

The only thing I worried about was if Ryker would even like it. Did he like concerts? Would he think it was stupid? Would he think I was stupid? Probably. But at least if I buy two, he could take Jasmine with him. I didn’t want to bother him. Plus, I’ve never been to one before and I have no idea what to expect. I don’t think I’d like it with all of the loud noises. And the people…

Anyways, that’s what I hoping to get for him unless I somehow get another better idea. So far nothing.

Ryker tapped lightly on the desk in front of me. I shook my head, barely realizing that I was zoned out that entire time. I nervously smiled up at him, hugging my backpack close to my chest. Today was Friday, meaning my mom had work, and I didn’t have work today. I would probably just go home, sit outside and read a book or something. I didn’t feel like staying inside all that much even if it was freezing cold outside.

“You good?” He asked, moving his hand away from me. I bit the side of my cheek. Of course I was grateful, but I hated how he always thought I was uncomfortable around him. Like he always has to be wary of everything he does around me. I don’t mind, but I kind of wish he would be comfortable around me too.

“Wanna come over after school? It’ll only be me and you for a while. Everyone else is going Christmas shopping and told me not to come sooo…” Ryker trailed off, trying to read my expression. I wound’t mind. That get’s rid off all my plans though. Not that there were any to begin with. I’m pretty sure he’ll ask if I wanted to go outside anyways. I nodded my head.

I mean being alone with Ryker wasn’t new to me. What could go wrong?

“Have you ever been to my side of the city? Like, to stores or anything?” He had randomly asked, a smile on his face. I shook my head. I could never dream of it. It was a crazy idea in the first place. I mean, I could get stepped on at any moment, grabbed, yelled at, worst of all I could get lost. It was a huge place for giants, so imagine what it was like for humans. I shuddered at the thought.

“We could walk around. Y’know, for a little while,” He shrugged his shoulders, “O-of course you don’t have to though! It’s just a thought.”

Oh. I don’t really know about that. There’s a ton of people around especially since it’s nearly Christmas. I usually buy things online like I already have with most of Ryker’s siblings, but dealing with people fifty times my height would be so much more worse. I guess it wouldn’t be so bad if Ryker was there though. That way I actually have a means to escape if I needed to. Or if I just wanted to hide. I’m sure he’d figure out something. I just didn’t want to bother him.

“S-sure.” I mumbled quietly, hoping he could hear. I was always so shocked when he could. Then again he has two human siblings. It kind of made sense.

When the bell rang, Ryker kept his palm flat so I could climb on. I never fail to lose my footing and ended up falling over for the millionth time this school year. I’m sure Ryker was getting tired of it at this point. I would be.

After walking for a while, we passed the extremely busy coffee shop, and I thought that’s where he was going since he walked towards it, but he didn’t. I was freaking out a little since he just walked through the crowd of people with seemingly no effort. It was a little loud, but it was over pretty soon. I still can’t believe people would wait in such a long line for a coffee. It seemed like a waste of time honestly.

The cold air slapped me in the face for the second time today, immediately making me shudder and try to bury my face to stay warm. If I’ve learned anything from my mom it’s that the cold would end up getting me sick if I didn’t at least cover my nose.

“If it gets too cold you can just tell me. We’re almost to the coffee shop I work at anyways.” He shrugged like the cold didn’t bother him. He was only wearing his usual jacket and some jeans. His hands were still invitingly warm. If it wasn’t rude, I probably would have just curled up in a ball and slept right in the middle of his palm. I wouldn’t though.

I didn’t know where he worked at. I just knew that he had a weird schedule and didn’t really like working there. I wondered why. I feel like working at a coffee shop would b better than stocking shelves at a dollar store in the middle of the tiny town I live in. Then again, it must get pretty busy since where he works is in the middle of the city and its winter. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like it? I have no idea. I don’t even know why he was taking me there. Maybe just to hang out?

When we arrived, this place looked a lot more calm and comfortable. The line didn’t lead outside like the other one, there was a library that had a bunch of bean bags and cushioned chairs. It smelled like peppermint and somehow cinnamon at the same time, and it was decorated with a Christmas Tree in a corner with fake presents. What really caught my eye was that there were human-sized tables on top of the other ones like at school. There was also a mini library for humans, and even human workers who were handing out people’s drinks. I liked this place. It was a nice atmosphere. Plus it was amazingly warm in here.

“Yeah… the other one is too crowded. I figured you wouldn’t like that and I think this is a calm place.” Ryker explained, taking a seat at a table in a corner where the heater was blowing. If he wasn’t here no one would be able to wake me up if I fell asleep. Still, I kept my eyes wide open, looking out for what comes next.

A woman my height (She was actually half a foot taller than me but you get the idea) walked up onto the table from an elevator and smiled big while holding a small notebook. Oh! I don’t have any money on me. She looked over at Ryker, then gasped.

“Ryker! I haven’t seen you since they switched our shifts!” The woman placed her hands on her hips. I’m guessing they used to work together. She looked close to her thirties. Her hair was tied back into a loose bun, sweet, hazel eyes that complemented her dark skin tone. She looked really nice.

“Nice to see you too Nylah.” Ryker chuckled. The woman turned to me with a big smile, holding in a squeal, “Agh! Who’s this sweet little guy?” She ran up to my side, studying my looks before wrapping me in a tight hug. I wouldn’t have minded if it hadn’t hurt my back by pressing against my leftover scars. I shuddered, but kept it to myself. I mean what else was I supposed to do? I just met this woman. I can’t already have her thinking I was weird or something. If she’s close to Ryker and she thinks I’m not a good friend would she tell him something?

Why was I worried if Ryker would stay my friend? I already knew the answer. He would leave me, and then I’d be lonely all over again. What else was there to it? I might as well make the best of it now.

“Just a friend from school… I think you’re squeezing him too much.” Ryker’s hand reached out hesitantly, but retracted with a worried face. Was he worried about me? It seemed unreal, but I never really know with him. But to be honest, Nylah was hugging me a little too tightly. I could barely breathe and it was little uncomfortable, but I wasn’t going to say anything. It would be rude. Even if it hurts. Nylah let me go quickly.

“Oh! Sorry honey. It’s just after Ryker’s parents-“ Ryker cut her off by slightly tapping on the table and looking away. After his parents what? They weren’t even around as far as I knew. If they were on a business trip it’s been four months already. I would have thought they’d be back. I’ve actually been meaning to ask him, but it felt like overstepping into his personal life.

“Sorry,” She whispered, “So what’s your name sweetie?”

I blinked a couple times before opening my mouth to speak, “N-Nathan.” It came out the quietest whisper that I was so sure even Nylah couldn’t hear me, but she did. I had zero idea how, but she did.

“Nathan! That honestly suits you,” She grinned, “Is this big teddy bear being nice to you? Oh what kind of a question is that! Of course he is!” She laughed. Ryker hid his embarrassed look, but I could tell he was smiling under the hand that was hiding his face. I laughed a little.

“Ah, anyhow, what can I get you two?” She grabbed her pen and stared at the tiny notebook. Right, we’re at a coffee shop. But I don’t have any money.

“I’m-“ Ryker cut me off, “Two hot chocolates?” I stared at him, shaking my head. He was trying to pay for me. I was not about to let that happen. It wasn’t right.

“Alright, I’ll be right back.” She smiled and left.

Ryker smirked, resting his head on his crossed arms. I wasn’t mad, more worried. I mean I did want hot chocolate, but I wanted to buy it. It wasn’t right letting Ryker pay for it. Ughhhh.

“I get it for free I hope you know. I work here, remember?” He chuckled slightly. Right, but I thought it was only a percent off. I guess this place just works differently. Maybe I could just get a job here? It’s really peaceful and calm. I love it here.

Nylah came back along with another worker who was a giant. She gave me a mug with gingerbread on it, along with a piece of paper. What was that even for? I thanked her, and she just giggled. I sighed, taking a sip. It was good. So good. Why don’t more people come here rather than that other place? Well… I guess that’d ruin the atmosphere.

“We can go to my house after this. If you want to.” Ryker took a sip, biting the side of his cheek. I guess he burnt his tongue. I nodded my head, taking another sip, eyeing the piece of paper Nylah handed me. I grabbed it, shocked at what it read.

Make a promise to me that you won’t leave Ryker. He needs a friend. Especially now. And something tells me that you do too.

I stuffed the paper in my pocket. It’s not like Ryker could read it, but you never knew. He kept surprising me. I took another sip, playing with my hands as Ryker stared at the window, glancing down at me every now and then. I knew he wanted to say something. The anxiety was eating at me, especially after reading that note Nylah handed to me. Who wouldn’t be?

I waited for what seemed like hours in silence. I admit, it was awkward, but I really just wanted to know what Ryker was going to say or why he really brought me here. Why did he bring me here in the first place? Besides getting free drinks and him thinking that I’d like the place. I absolutely love it. Not too many people, it was quiet, and pretty much the opposite atmosphere compared to school. It was peaceful. Maybe I should start coming here? No, that was a terrible idea. I’d have to walk on the giants’ side of the city alone and I can barely handle it when I’m with one. Wait I’m getting off track again…

“… athan?” Ryker whispered above me, questioningly. I shook my head out of my spiraling thoughts and diverted my attention to Ryker, who chuckle and sighed at the same time, “I just asked if it was good. I-I mean the hot chocolate.”

I blinked a couple times before answering with excitedly nodding my head. Come to think of it, how did he know I liked hot chocolate so much? The only person I’ve told was… Lucky. Right. That makes more sense. I stared at the cup Ryker had, seemingly full. Honestly, it didn’t seem like he liked it all too much.

“What about you?” I pointed to his cup, making him nervously laugh, “Hot chocolates not my thing.”

Then why was he forcing himself to drink it? I mean it does explain why he didn’t seem to like it, but why fore himself? Was it because of me? Probably. He didn’t have to force himself to do something for me. Especially not something he doesn’t like. I hate this feeling growing at this knowledge.

“Th-then what is?” I asked curiously, hiding the small panic rising inside of me.

“You’ll think I’m crazy, but I like cold things. Especially in winter. So like ice cream or a frappe.” He shrugged his shoulders. I don’t think he was crazy. I’m actually not even surprised. He doesn’t wear a thicker jacket (Neither do I but that’s because I don’t feel like interacting with people just to buy another one), he doesn’t wear gloves, no boots, and he doesn’t seem bothered by just sticking his hand in snow without anything on. This guy was some kind of superhuman, so this wasn’t really a surprise. Then again, there are beings who tower over many, many human skyscrapers by just standing up so what else is there to expect in this world?

I shook my head, slightly smiling, “Why didn’t you g-get that then?” Ryker’s eyes were wide from shock for a split second. He just laughed, “Y’know, most people freak out when I tell them that.”

“Why? It’s a stupid reason to be.”

“Yeah. I guess it is.”

After I finished with my drink, and Ryker traded his own out for a frappe, which he ended up finishing before he even reached his own house. I was safe and warm in his palm, somehow not worried about the fact I was roughly a hundred feet in the air. Or that I was completely trusting someone else with my life. Then again, it’s much easier when you’ve known the person for your entire school experience. Which was about four months.

When we arrived at his house, the heater was already on, which I was so grateful for. I also found the house a little bit of a mess, but I already knew it was hard for Ryker to keep up with everything. I just kind of wished I could help, but alas, I was literally an inch and a half tall and couldn’t even move around his house without some kind of help. I’m sure Ryker knew that too.

“Sorry for the mess. I’ll clean up-“

I shook my head instantly. He didn’t need to impress me. I’ve known him for four months, and I might still be the slightest bit scared, but I like to think I know him. I don’t even know why he thinks he needs to impress me. I’m gullible. I’ll practically believe anyone if they give me enough proof.

Ryker sighed, grabbing a human sized blanket and handing it to me while I was still in the warmth of his hand. I mumbled a thank you, not expecting a reply. There were times where I was too quiet for anyone to hear. Including humans. It’s just a useless talent I have. Sometimes it even kicks in when I need my voice most. So a really annoying one too.

“Wanna watch a movie then? I haven’t been able to watch a movie I actually want to watch in a while.” He chuckled, tilting his hand slightly on the arm of the couch to gently let me off. I nodded my head, wrapping myself comfortably in the blanket he so kindly handed me.

“You’re fine with horror?” Ryker had asked before putting a disc into the dvd player. Horror? How do I tell him I might actually freak the heck out and maybe, possibly pass out? I don’t. I’ll go along with it. It’s his day, and he can do whatever he wants with me. Even if it means he’ll hear me squeak like a mouse again or scream my head off at some kind of jump scare.

I hesitantly nodded my head as he put the disc in, turned off the lights, and left the room to go make popcorn. I hated how it was already dark outside. It made this a million times scarier for me.

The screen showed a young woman going through her drawers, looking for something. Suddenly, there was a figure in her mirror, that disappeared just as soon as it appeared. I jumped though. I didn’t do well with horror movies, but I guess I’d just have to deal with it just for tonight. It’s not like this could happen in real life, right?

Ryker came back with a small bowl of popcorn, offering some to me, which I declined. He sat down, his arms just a few feet away from me. It scared me a bit. What if he gets scared, and knocks me off the armrest? Was I in his way again? Should I move before something bad happens? How scary was this movie?

It was maybe only thirty minutes into the movie where I was already shaking underneath the blanket I was given. Not just because I was cold either. It was because I was terrified. A guy earlier had died by being dragged in through a mirror and was falling in through a void only to fall into a pit of spikes. I had jumped, but Ryker had no reaction at all. Like he’d seen that before. Then again, we were practically exact opposites no matter how many people say we weren’t all that different.

A couple of minutes later, Ryker placed his bowl on the coffee table in front of him, but stayed in the same position. I had wondered fro a split second if I should move, but then the girl had scared on tv, drawing my full attention, which was a fatal mistake because now her guts were spilling out and-

I hid my entire body underneath the blanket this time. I’m sure if the light was on you could see me visibly shaking, but luckily it wasn’t. I just hoped I wasn’t bothering Ryker. That would be bad. If this was something he liked doing I didn’t want to-

Why was it quiet?

Something pinched my sides, making me squirm and try to swat away whatever on the outside was trying to pick me up, but then my mind had finally solved it. Ryker was trying to pick me up. Heck. No. Never again. I rushed to get out of the blanket, pushing it off of me the second I peeked my head out. My heart was racing, my legs felt like jello, how was I going to run now? Not like I could without facing at least a fifty foot drop.

“Woah, Nathan, little guy, I was only trying to…” Ryker’s eyes looked me over. He bit the side of his cheek, looking down then turning away and burying his head in his hands, groaning. I jumped expecting him to be mad at me, but instead he just leaned forward into the illuminating light of the tv that was paused. Oh. Oh. What do I do? How do I make it up to him? I-I can’t do anything-

“S-sorry. I’m s-so sorry. I-I’ll just l-leave.” I covered up my mouth the second the words escaped. Why. Why couldn’t I just be normal? I can’t even get down safely without Ryker’s help, and currently I don’t think he wants to be anywhere near me. Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back. I backed up as far as I could with safely being on the arm of the couch. I tried my hardest to make myself seem smaller. Great. Now I’ve really messed everything up. I was just scared. That’s all. Why does fear always have to ruin everything for me?

“No no you don’t have to. I should have known you wouldn’t have wanted to be touched. That’s on me. I’m sorry.” Ryker apologized, a struggling smile trying to meet up with his eyes. My heart fell. I should be the one apologizing. He’s obviously hurt by something, and I couldn’t get rid of the thought that I was the cause of whatever was hurting him. All because I was afraid.

I was only scared because I didn’t want to be held the way I used to be. I didn’t want to be dangled, pressed up against until all the air left my lungs and I passed out, worst of all I didn’t want to be kept in a fist. That would be the worst possible outcome. I was afraid that Ryker would do the same. But, thinking about it now, I don’t think he could ever hurt someone. Not ever.

I stood up on my shaky legs, walking as close as I could, “I-I was j-just scared. I-I’m sorry. R-really.” I hoped he could hear me. When I heard him chuckled, I knew he did.

“It’s fine. I get it. Why’d you say okay though if you don’t like horror movies?” He asked in his usual soft voice. I played with my hands while answering, “I u-usually go along with a-anything. I-I don’t w-want you to do s-something you d-don’t want to.”

It was the truth. What else was I supposed to say? That I was just doing it because why not? Ryker would just ask again. I knew how he’d react. Sometimes. I wasn’t expecting the nickname in his earlier sentence. “Little guy?” I mean I like when he says it, but I don’t like the name in general. Maybe it was because I trusted Ryker and he doesn’t use it to taunt me. I just hope it doesn’t catch on. I’m sure he was just caught up in the moment too.

“I appreciate it, but I don’t mind doing something else.” He smiled sadly. No, I was not about to be the reason he can’t have fun. I can’t.

I shook my head, “I’ll be fine. I just get scared easily.” I rubbed my arms. Ryker was thinking for a second before offering his hand palm-up. I looked up at Ryker questionably, but didn’t question him. He kept his hand up against his jacket, “Is that comfortable?” I nodded my head in response.

“My parents used to do it with Lucky when something bad was happened. You-you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

I shook my head, but my curiosity had the best of me, “What h-happened to your parents?”

Ryker sighed, giving a soft but sad smile, “They died in a car crash a little over a year ago.” I jumped, slapping my hands over my mouth.

“If you get scared you can turn away, and I’ll block it for you. Would that be easier for you?” I nodded my head. His parents… Did I ask a wrong question? Ryker didn’t seem bothered by it all too much, but still. Should I say something? No. I think I’ve said enough.

The movie was getting finished up. The last person was making it out of the house. She was crying and laughing while collapsing on the concrete, right before she woke up back in her room that looked perfectly normal except for the face staring at her through the mirror. I jumped when suddenly the person stepped out, and turned around to face the jacket that was keeping me warm. I took several deep breaths before I felt something soft rub my back. Like it was trying to calm me down. Reassure me. I smiled leaning into the gentle touch. What? You would to if you were in my shoes.

Ryker only let out a small chuckle, right before he change the tv to the news, where suddenly I was hearing raging protests. I quickly turned to the tv, seeing many, many people marching down the street holding up signs and looking like they were all about to cause chaos. There was a warning for humans living in the giant side of the city to move to the human side.

Ryker and I looked at each other with horrified looks on our faces. This was not going to end well.

——————

ahhhhh. I do love a decent cliffhanger. I wonder what happens next!

Also, this was a little fast paced because holy moly school does not need to assign five projects due in one singular week. Sorry if it’s not as good as you all had hoped TwT

Thank you for reading!

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