#fifty-ish more pages to go

[the-mononoke-facade]

Funny thing in this book is the amount of time taken to describe the medicine vendor just for the person doing the extensive description to pretty much forget all about him and not recognize him the next time they see him

He's got such a distinctive appearance that you needed to take the time to note it in a book where character descriptions are exceedingly rare and that didn't stand out enough to be memorable? Come on now lol

[tswwwit]

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

Hope you all enjoy!

Good worshipers devote their whole heart to god.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just. Bill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bill really is up to something. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper wipes at his forehead, then around his neck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knows all about them, though.

Too much, maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aha!” 

Uh oh. Bill has an idea. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So Dipper simply… doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Under any other circumstances, he’d be thrilled.

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

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

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

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

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

Said proclivities don't include people like him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has to, before Bill figures him out. 

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

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

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

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

And he winks. 

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

Symbols. ‘Surprise’.

Robes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should go and… do a thing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Dipper has to participate. 

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

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

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

It’s just…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the things he can imagine Bill doing are… 

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

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

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

Damn it, what does Bill want from him? 

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

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

Actually…

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

Time to get to work. 

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

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

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

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

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

Why didn’t he prepare for this.

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

And what can Dipper say to that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re going. Actually going. 

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

No escape. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it is easy. Surprisingly so. 

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

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

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

If only ‘or what’ was an option. 

Dipper nods, once. Concentrates, hard. And -

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

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

They’re in… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He never thought it would look like this. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not fair. 

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

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

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

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

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

Somebody should stop him. 

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

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

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

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

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

His heart still beats fast, a rapid rabbiting pace. 

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

There it is.

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

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

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

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

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

And from the outside, it looks so… Small. 

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

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

There isn’t even razor wire on top. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper forces his head up, glancing around the buildings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh hey.  Dipper knows these guys. 

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

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

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

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

Here they go, then. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anything to get away from that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An order. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a moment, he even looks… surprised? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Dipper, too. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone’s watching. Best behavior, no slipups. 

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

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

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

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

And so the tour continues. Despite everything. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though not for the reasons their tagalongs would want. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper nods. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper blinks, twice. He looks up. 

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

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

The door slams shut. Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's a strange, lingering quiet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Bill’s waiting for an answer.

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

Eventually, he manages, “Mh-hm.”

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

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

He nods instead. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants to make a goddamn spectacle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper stares at the floor instead. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, they're just-

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

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

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

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

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

What is he talking about? Bill loves that stuff - 

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

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

Dipper mouth drops open - then he clicks it shut. 

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

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

What?

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

Dipper’s eyes go wide. 

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

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

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

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

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

This is… revenge.

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

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

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He should know better. 

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

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

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

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

And Dipper doesn’t care. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s ironic-”

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

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

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

“So what?” Bill rolls his eye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now that’s Dipper’s job.

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

He really thinks - how can he be so frustrating. 

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

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

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

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

That was a low blow. “Fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay. Wow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper. 

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay. Wow. That worked, somehow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you all just SHUT UP?”

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

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

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

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

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

See how they like it. 

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

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

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

“What? I’m just saying-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good thing there’s not much he wants to. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just faced down a god. Sort of. 

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

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

Maybe they didn’t really know, either. 

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

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

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

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

Of all the mortals Bill could have been saddled with - 

God, Dipper’s glad it’s him.

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

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

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

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

Mostly chill out. Maybe some other stuff. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though admittedly - the upside is pretty great. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has a place where he belongs. 

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

[sapphicdib]

So. Rot Au. Remember that?

Tbh this is waaaaaay near the end of the story and honestly probably requires a TON more fucking context but I just needed to get this shit out of my system. Feel free to ask about what the fuck is going on because I’d LOOOOVE TO TELL. The basic gist is that Sig knows Sliver wants her, and every other rotted iterator, dead, but thankfully because she isn’t his local group senior, she can’t do anything to him…yet. But this also means Sig can’t do shit to her either. So…why not employ the help of his best friend by infecting him and making him do her dirty work? Sounds like a perfectly sound plan made by a very sane individual!

Yeah so Sig n Wind make a biiiiiig fucking oopsie and Sig finally realizes that shit might have gone too far. :)

Finally made a couple ocs too! The next-in-line for the group senior mark is Once Stagnant Opportunity, the second oldest…or well, now first lol. I’ll be uploading their ref…soon. Ish. Probably.

Also I’m not joking this shit took me a collective FIFTY FOUR HOURS to create. The first page took 29, the second took 19, and the third took 6. I’m boutta look so annoying but dear jesus please reblog this

Song lyrics are from this banger: https://open.spotify.com/track/4jV5C4eSy2VmOrXZhc4PLg?si=M9qdvk2_Qa-y45GYvyzqhg

[that-ari-blogger]

The Importance of History (Them's The Breaks, Kid)

Darkness. Silence. Anticipation.

A camera whirs to life, showing a figure looking directly out. They are quiet, dressed in old clothes and covered in signs of fatigue. Their hair is a mess, their glasses are dirty. They look scared, wary, guilty. Vulnerable.

They clear their throat a few times, raising a glass of water to their lips and taking a careful sip. They look up at the camera with blood shot eyes. One slow breath, and then…

“Hey guys, Ari here. I made a mistake. I left out an episode of the show, and I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

Ok, the bit is stale already. This is a post about context.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD (The Owl House)

Let’s start with some framing. It’s something I missed out on in an earlier post, but the origins of the Boiling Isles are old as all hell.

The earliest we see in this series is about fifty to sixty years before Luz arrived, that being the Deadwardian era, and Them’s the Breaks, Kid shows us twenty-ish years in the past again.

But hear me out here. Eda mentions old witches who used to use glyph magic. This would have happened a while ago, to the point where it is only recorded in history books and people have forgotten about it before Phillip rocked up, and it's not the type of thing anyone has been able to replicate.

Then there is the wrinkle set by the Bat Queen. She is a palisman for a giant, too small for the titan, but far too big for a human sized person, which implies that there were once giants roaming the Boiling Isles, and they have had time to go extinct and also be forgotten, along with all evidence of their existence.

Even if they just up and went somewhere else for some reason, they would have left behind ruins of stuff they had made, and that has had time to disappear entirely.

Going back even further, we technically got a glimpse of a prehistoric Boiling Isles in Elsewhere and Elsewhen as well, that was the setup for the Stonesleeper.

This is standard history. Our world has ages and empires that have been lost to time, as well as a fair few eras of prehistory. What makes the Boiling Isles different, is that all of this took place on the carcass of a dead titan.

Where did the titans come from? How old could they get? Was this one killed unnaturally? Are there any others? How did the Titans evolve? What is the history of this world?

We will never know, but it does act as a jumping off point for my favourite part of history, that being the futility of conspiracy theories.

For the record, I am referring here to theories about history that have been proven untrue. The type that looks at something and decide it had to be some ancient, unknowable monster because it is too impressive.

The thing I like about this is the fact that you can look into these places and see that there absolutely was an eldritch being responsible for these feats, and its name was humanity.

I think the theories about aliens take away from the human achievements and their scale in the face of history. Here’s a building that is designed to light up perfectly at sunrise once every year. What could possibly have done that? A human being, that’s what.

We are the things that go bump in the space between pages of history. We are the monster that keeps us up at night. We are the centres of our own mysteries.

Taking away agency from history infantilises ancient people and has iffy connotations when you take a look at who gets that agency removed from them. Human history is impressive, and even more so when you realise how small we are as individuals in comparison to it.

Why do I bring this up?

It's something interesting I found. An element of history that reflects our own in a weird way that isn’t really a reflection at all. It’s a what if.

But also, it provides context. Not all of it is important, but history does rhyme with itself, and it’s nice to know what’s happened before so you can make moves for the future. If a domino chain leads a war, and you spot someone setting up a suspiciously similar line, you can step in.

This can be used in a much smaller scale, as a person’s history can explain their own actions, and lead you to predict their future or better understand their present. In this case, it gives more of a meaning to Eda and Raine’s relationship.

Eda opens by asking Lilith about history. There's a theme being set up here.

But that works both ways. Just as the audience is gaining information on the past, it knows where these stories are heading. You know that Eda and Lilith’s relationship is going to fall apart, and the episode reminds you of that by introducing them halfway through preparing for those fateful tryouts.

It also introduces Bump as an awkward subordinate, nowhere near the confidence of his present or even former self. This is the man who, as a student, took Hexide by force. But now he’s anxious and afraid.

The knowledge of what he will become makes this incarnation of the character funnier, but it also makes the moment when he stands up to Terra cathartic, and even more of a breaking point. He comes so close to being the Bump we know and love but fluffs it at the last moment.

However, it also reflects on how the education system in the Boiling Isles works.

We’ll start with Faust, because he’s the easiest to point at. He’s a teacher who cares about his reputation more than anything else. He doesn’t have the students’ best interests at all, and values only the appearance of perfection.

He expels the prize pupil, and it's glossed over because that doesn’t matter to him. To him, aesthetics are everything.

Exhibit A, he has a portrait of himself over his desk, holding a book of rules that he made up. He’s power hungry, which works with the name. Faust. After the scoundrel who made a deal with the devil.

However, it is Terra who interests me, because she is a cartoonishly evil villain for whom this episode acts as a second introduction. We meet each character in this series twice, once as a superficial trope, and once with more depth, and here is no different. Terra is a menace with a code. She values strength, and if you prove yourself, she will protect you.

But she is also indoctrinating children.

I’ve expressed my distaste for buzz word analysis before, so here’s what I mean.

The game in which kids are associated with either wild witches or covens is a method of teaching. It tells these kids that coven witches get to feel powerful, and that they are the natural enemy of wild witches. It teaches them that there is no way for wild witches to win, so there is no point. It teaches them that the emperor’s way of life is the only way of life.

But hold on a sec, because we can see clearly the writing on the wall here. The kids can’t, but we see this as teaching falsities. Isn’t there someone to sort that out and ensure the truth? Yes. In some places, that’s the government, but that only works if the checks and balances apply to everyone. If you have someone for whom rules do not mean anything, the whole system falls apart.

I don’t just mean Terra by this; I mean the person to whom she is subordinate. Belos has established that he can do whatever he wants, and the people closest to him have taken that as an excuse to gain the same type of power.

I think it’s notable that Belos didn’t rise on his own, he found people to support him. People who believed in him. He created a system of oppression, and learning from our history for a moment here, that doesn’t ever happen because of just one person.

I brought up the history of the Isles to point out just how much we don't know, and that nobody knows about.

History can be destroyed, or taken, or hidden. It can be obstructed behind paywalls and museum windows, and that can destroy cultures, but it can also cover up things that need to be remembered. Don’t put the facts on a pedestal, put them in context and learn from them.

Belos is a character fundamentally centred around keeping people in the dark, away from the knowledge of his own misdeeds. So, he has made learning about anything except what he thinks the world should be almost impossible.

We don't know about the Titan, or the Giants, or anyone besides Belos. I suspect that was very much intentional and a group of people have been trying extremely hard to make it so.

Final Thoughts

I’m posting these out of order because I genuinely thought his episode came after Hollow Mind for some reason. I don’t know why. But I will be putting it in the playlist in the actual order of the series. So, to those reading later, now you understand the introduction.

I’ve been thinking about the age of the Isles and its history as part of my season three hypothetical. I had the idea of the collector’s shaking up of the geography revealing things that were hidden by Belos, or destroyed, or maybe even older. I really want to lean into the “we are living on a dead god” aspect of the series. Maybe the characters don’t bring any of this up, but the audience can see things and clue in to the timeline of the isles. I think that would be fun.

Next post is Hollow Mind, and that post is already up. So, check that out if you want to, and stick around if my musings interest you.

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[chaosintheavenue]

2023 Fallout OC Census- Results

At long last, it's here! This time, we had 593 usable responses.

(There are a few categories I haven't analysed just yet, which is mostly because I have Ideas for how to display that data. Please stand by…)

Getting right into the numbers...

Game

Fallout (original): 18 Fallout 2: 8 Fallout 3: 59 Fallout New Vegas: 214 Fallout 4: 160 Fallout 76: 28 Fallout Tactics: 2 Van Buren: 13 A spin-off, AU or mod: 14 A TTRPG campaign: 13 Multiple of the above: 41 None, just the Fallout universe: 22

Are they the in-game protagonist?

Yes: 328 No: 203 It's complicated: 61

Species

Unmutated human: 444 Ghoul: 51 Synth: 41 Ghoul-ish: 13 Other mutant: 9 Supernatural/spiritual being: 7 Robot (non-humanoid): 7 Super Mutant: 6 Cyborg/android: 5 Unknown/it's complicated: 2 Other: 7

Definitions of a few categories, just to clarify exactly what's in there:

Ghoul-ish: Refers to all characters who are partially ghoulified, ghoulify during their storylines, and unique characters with primarily ghoul-like traits

Other mutant: Refers to all characters who are specified to have unique mutations from any cause, unless they better fit into the ghoul-ish category. This is a very diverse umbrella category, and in past surveys has included everything from characters specified to have 76-style mutations that basically function as perks, to a character similar in form and nature to the Master

Gender

Cis woman/girl: 217 Cis man/boy: 154 Trans man/boy: 76 Nonbinary: 47 Trans woman/girl: 27 Agender: 16 Genderfluid: 7 Genderqueer: 6 Man/boy, unknown or varies if cis or trans: 5 Transfeminine: 3 Bigender: 3 Demigirl: 3 Woman/girl, unknown or varies if cis or trans: 4 Butch: 2 Demigender: 2 Questioning: 2 Intersex: 2 Lesbian: 2 Māhū: 1 Multigender: 1 Queer: 1 Transmasculine: 1 Unlabeled: 1

Bonus answers I enjoyed: [redacted], a man in a certain sense of the word, cat, doesn't care for this, eh, God knows, a link to the Wikipedia page for Stone Butch Blues, it's complicated, man of questionable gender, no gender left beef, lost their gender in the war, people assume she's a woman but she doesn't really care, whatever's funniest, yeah

Where are they from?

In previous OC survey location maps, I've only included a single data point for each character, regardless of how many places they may have connections to. However, this time I've decided to include each place that a character has lived as one data point.

The list of assumptions I use when creating these maps:

Arroyo = Oregon

Mojave Wasteland = Nevada if no more specific locations provided

Capital Wasteland = DC if no more specific locations provided

Vault 101 = DC (I feel like this one isn't geographically accurate, but it's to fit in with the above assumption)

Washington unqualified = Washington state, not DC (even for Fallout 3 characters, especially since I know of a Fallout 3 character who is intended to be from Washington state)

Appalachia = West Virginia unless otherwise specified

NCR = California

Legion territory with no other information given = Arizona (this feels like the biggest generalisation of all to me. Maybe take the Arizona count with a pinch of salt?)

'Near X place' = in the same state as X place

I go by the current fifty US states. No splitting of California or considering Canada to be part of the US

Locations that could not be easily defined or placed in a specific state/country (examples: the US as a general answer, multistate regions of the US, continents, or extraterrestrial locations) have been excluded for the purposes of this map

The map for the US:

Massachusetts: 104 California: 79 Nevada: 77 DC: 74 Arizona: 32 West Virginia: 25 Texas: 17 Utah: 15 Oregon: 14 Colorado: 13 New Mexico: 7 Virginia: 6 Maine: 6 Idaho: 6 Pennsylvania: 5 Illinois: 3 Washington: 3 Louisiana: 3 Florida: 3 Wyoming: 3 Tennessee: 3 New York: 3 Rhode Island: 2 North Carolina: 2 Minnesota: 2 Vermont: 2 Alaska: 2 Missouri: 2 Nebraska: 2 Michigan: 2 Indiana: 2 Kentucky: 2 Oklahoma: 2 Maryland: 2 Montana: 1 Connecticut: 1 Georgia: 1 New Jersey: 1 Wisconsin: 1

And the map for the rest of the world:

Canada: 7 Mexico: 7 UK: 7 Russia: 4 China: 2 Australia: 2 France: 2 Brazil: 1 Ireland: 1 Israel: 1 Finland: 1 Germany: 1 Japan: 1 Panama: 1

Further breakdown of characters from the UK: Wales: 4 (…these are all my guys, what can I say?) England: 2 Unspecified: 1

Has this character ever lived in a vault?

Yes: 223 No: 366

Faction

Minutemen: 99 Railroad: 86 Followers of the Apocalypse: 80 Brotherhood of Steel: 77 Yes Man/Independent Vegas: 63 NCR: 50 Caesar's Legion: 38 Original faction: 36 Institute: 26 Kings: 16 Great Khans: 14 Nuka-World raiders: 13 Mr House: 13 Raiders in general: 13 Goodneighbor: 11 Enclave: 11 Arroyo: 9 Think Tank/Big MT: 8 Reilly's Rangers: 7 Underworld: 7 Ciphers: 7 (would you believe me if I said the majority here are not mine? XD) Responders: 6 Acadia: 6 New Vegas Strip in general: 6 Lyons' Pride: 5 Children of Atom: 5 Megaton: 5 Gunners: 5 Boomers: 5 Powder Gangers: 5 Cult of the Mothman (all variations): 4 Crimson Caravan: 4 Chairmen: 4 Mojave Express: 4 Necropolis: 3 Shady Sands (pre-NCR): 3 Vault 13: 3 Twin Mothers: 3 Diamond City: 3 Freeside: 3 White Glove Society: 3 Vault-Tec: 3 Bishop family: 3 Regulators: 2 Tunnel Snakes: 2 New Canaan: 2 Gecko: 2 Settlers/Foundation: 2 Abolitionists/Temple of the Union: 2 Galaxy News Radio: 2 80s: 2 Desert Rangers: 2 Unity/Master's Army: 2 Vault 76: 2 US Government: 2 Broken Hills: 2 Sanctuary: 2 Blue Ridge Caravan Company: 2 Goodsprings: 2 Cutthroat raiders: 2 Feral ghouls: 2 Hub: 2 Ghouls in general: 2 Nuka-World in general: 2 Little Lamplight/Big Town: 2

And the list of factions with one response, allegedly for the sake of something called 'brevity': Boulder scientists, Vault City, Littlehorn & Associates, Jacobstown, New Reno, Brotherhood Outcasts, Marked Men, Mole Miners, Treeminders, Forged, Junktown, Triggermen, Free States, Vault 101, Vault 81, Slags, Hubris Comics, Bunker Hill, Rivet City, Van Graffs, Ug-Qualtoth, West Tek, Vault 95, Novac, Atom Cats, The Outer Worlds factions, Commonwealth Super Mutants, caravan companies in general

I was initially planning to include a separate 'ish' category for each faction, to account for characters that are aligned with factions unwillingly/temporarily/out of necessity, but looking at the dataset, that sort of situation was so much more prevalent than I realised and quickly made everything very clunky.

Main approach to problems

Diplomacy: 211 Combat: 147 Stealth: 101 Technical skills: 79 Avoidance: 53

And finally for now- preferred weapon type

Small guns: 191 Melee: 128 Energy weapons: 91 Big guns: 82 Avoids combat altogether: 49 Explosives: 27 Unarmed combat: 24

-

As always, thank you to everyone who participated and gave me a little information about your OCs! If you'd ever like to talk more about them, my inbox is always open :D. Getting to learn about everyone's brainchildren is definitely my favourite aspect of my tangential foray into the Fallout fandom sphere.

My future plan for this dataset includes… a lot of pie charts, to put it mildly. As I've done for past survey datasets, I'll be compiling pie charts for each question, separating responses by the game that the characters are from, and we'll see if any trends emerge!

[rjalker]

System Collapse is just so bad it'd be funny if not for the completely unnecessary transmisia (That doesn't even fucking make sense lofl).

So here's the things it's not:

It's not plot driven

It's not action driven

It's not mystery driven

It's not character driven

There's just 60,000 ish plus words of a whole lot of nothing happening and us being literally told things are happening.

We're told Murderbot has a Systems Collapse™ 😱 (A horrified emoji clutching its face in fear), and we're told that it's making mistakes.

As in it literally keeps going "I'd fucked that up" "Oh look another mistake I'd made" "I was useless"

But not like, actually making any real mistakes. Martha Wells is continuing the pattern of the 6 first books in the series, where we just get told Murderbot is making mistakes instead of Murderbot actually making mistakes, but this time it's even more glaringly obvious that that's what she's doing because it happens like 50 times. For no reason.

(And not even in a "Murderbot's self esteem is spiraling and it's having a horrible angsty time" way. No. It's fine except for where we keep being told it's not fine. But if you go off of what we're shown, it is, in fact, literally fucking fine. because it's bad writing.)

"not instantly noticing a door on the other side of the giant dark room" is not a mistake worth commenting on. No, not even in an in-universe sense. And especially not worth doing so what felt like fifty fucking times for things just as inconsequential.

If she wanted us to believe that Murderbot was actually making mistakes and performing at sub-optimum efficiency or whatever...how about have it fucking lead a group of humans into a room with people pointing guns at the door and someone gets shot because it wasn't paying attention or couldn't focus? Bonus points if the humans it's babysitting had been trying to draw attention to the problem but it kept shooting them down (No pun intended) and insisting it was the security and it knew what it was doing.

no, we can't do that, because that would require Murderbot to actually makes mistakes that matter.

And with Martha Wells writing, that's never gonna happen because all of her protagonists are overpowered Mary Sues who are never allowed to "lose" in any real way, and that includes making actual mistakes. (And, as many of my other posts have talked about at length, this is also why none of her characters will ever become physically disabled no matter how many times they get blown up or stabbed or shot or eviscerated)

So she's just gonna keep literally telling us that Murderbot is making mistakes about things that are not mistakes and don't actually matter. And that's all that we're ever gonna get.

Even in the book that's supposedly about Murderbot Having A Mental Breakdown 😱 (another horrified emoji).

And just like the rest of the book titles, this one has nothing to do with the actual story being told, at all. It is in fact the worst title so far because it's just so blatantly "clickbait" and a lie. lol.

I literally said aloud to Walks when I was 20 pages in, "I feel like this is gonna be a Steven Moffat".

And yeah, I was right, it literally is.

The first literal 99 pages, not even joking, are just referring to the Systems Collapse™ 😱 (another horrified emoji) the book is named for, and referring to this event, which already happened, offscreen, before this book started, as, literally, redacted.

Implying constantly that it's some huge big traumatic deal with far-reaching consequences and major impacts on our main characters.

And we literally do not even get told what this event was until literally page 99.

And then by page 101 we're done talking about it.

And we are literally told what happened. Not even shown it from Murderbot's perspective.

Because it...wasn't even aware of it at the time. It remembered sitting while the humans were talking, and then its very next memory is waking up in the medical bay, perfectly physically fine as always.

And you may be thinking in petrified horror, "oh gods, what happened during the time it doesn't remember?" and imagining all sorts of plausible and horrible scenarios.

And uhh, well I don't want this post to have any more spoilers than it already does, so I'll make like Martha Wells and just tell you: None of the things you're probably imagining, which would make sense and fit within the story and justify all this drama around the event, are what happened.

What happened, is, like the rest of this book, a whole lot of nothing.

And as I said above. This book is not driven by the plot. It's not driven by a mystery. It's not filled with action. And it's not driven by the characters or their emotions.

Nothing in this book seems to matter, except that we just keep being told it matters, like we're told Murderbot is making mistakes.

I love character-driven stories. If this book were 60+ thousand words of nothing but intense Murderbot introspection and development, I'd have loved it.

But it's not. And there's nothing else to make up for the fact that it's not. All the other books had either interesting action, interesting characters, a lot of funny things, or a lot of sad things. This has exactly none of those things.

It's not funny, it's not sad, it doesn't have any interesting character interactions, the plot, which is overly complicated and doesn't make sense, wastes a whole lot of time doing nothing, and we just keep being told that Murderbot is Especially Traumatized™ right now, but not actually shown this in any way. We did not need to be told that Murderbot was having a mental breakdown in book 5, it was fucking obvious from the way it was acting. We were shown the fact that it was breaking down.

Here? Nope. No show, all tell, and what we're being told isn't even true...probably all of the time, to be honest. There's no point where something bad happens and then Murderbot goes "that was bad". No, the telling isn't a reaction to the showing.

We just get told things and that's supposed to make them true. But that's not how storytelling works.

Oh and all the rest of the problems this series has had until now? yeah Martha Wells is still continuing those. Augmented humans AKA cyborgs AKA disabled people are still explicitly excluded from the group of "human", because Martha Wells saw The Imperial Radch series talking about how THE EVIL FUCKING EMPIRE does not consider disabled people to be human, and decided that was a cool thing to do without...the whole thing where it's evil to do so, and that's the whole fucking point.

Literally the entire point of this in The Imperial Radch is to show that dehumanizing people is something fashists do. But Martha Wells missed that part, so she's just gonna keep dehumanizing disabled people in The Murderbot Diaries as a point of course. With no contemplation by anyone or anything that hey maybe this is a bad thing to do.

She's still still making up millions of excuses to avoid freeing other enslaved people because she thinks robot rebellions are too cliche to be interesting, so the alternative is "don't free slaves whenever you get the chance because ummmm what if they're enslaved for a good reason and decide to murder everyone?" Yeah, we're on book 7 and she's still doing that shit.

She keeps showing us that Murderbot is just as overpowered as the rest of her protagonists, but all of sudden when it comes to freeing other slaves, now all of a sudden poor little Murderbot can't do anything because ummmmmmmmmmmmm it'd have to....*checks notes* hack the security system first. ya know, that thing it's done millions of times? that thing it does without hesitation or trouble literally all the time?

It's like the fucking Democrats every time they win office. Oh no, sorry, they can't actually do anything in this extremely powerful position to help people, they're actually totally powerless and um we should give them more money and more power and then they'll be able to do the bare minimum to help people Vote Blue No Matter Who [heart emoji]

Murderbot can hack anything it wants whenever it wants at any time, and only chooses not to send space stations crashing out of orbit to be polite.

But ohh, as soon as there's another enslaved SecUnit in front of it that it has the power to free, then all of a sudden um there's nothing it can do, it can't hack the security system all of a sudden.

Literally this:

[ID: The meme of someone putting on sunglasses, originally saying, "I can't read suddenly. I don't know." Now edited so the top is captioned, "Murderbot when it's given the chance to free other slaves:", with the person now saying, "I can't hack suddenly. I don't know.". End ID.]

And this isn't a character flaw, this isn't Murderbot being traumatized and falling for the same propaganda that justified it being enslaved.

No, this is all because Martha Wells thinks robot uprising and slave rebellions are too cliche. Literally. They're too cliche. And these people are enslaved because they're so dangerous. So they should stay enslaved. And we're on book fucking 7 so far. So the racism is continuing and there's no sign of it stopping any time soon.

Sarcasm: Slavery is fine apparently as long as you're scared of what the enslaved people will do if you free them! Such great morals. Definitely couldn't have been unpacked in the second book at all.

The first few books were always making excuses not to free other slaves, but they've never been so blatant about being excuses until now. There is genuinely no excuse for keeping this shit up at this point. She's already spent the first 6 books showing us how completely overpowered Murderbot is. Pretending it suddenly can't do anything only when it's time to free other enslaved people is so fucking transparent and racist. Like I said it before and this book is just further cementing the fact that these books, despite the premise, are just slavery apologism at this point. We are on book 7! Seven! you don't need seven fucking books to deal with this shit!

Anyways don't waste money buying this book. Get it from your local library or the Web Archive or borrow from a friend. It's not worth spending money on. If your local library doesn't have it yet, make an Official request for them to get it.

The only thing worth reading it for is so you can see exactly how not to tell a story, because the problems in this one are so fucking glaringly obvious at all times.

Worst Murderbot book published so far. -5/10. Do not recommend. Definitely do not spend money on it.

[starghost-fics]

posting "schedule" is ramping up to be maybe weekly ish, as the end is now in sight (for me, at least) and i'm Motivated

Chapter 17: During Trent's week with his daughter, he fails to ignore a group text, but also has some quality father/daughter time involving swings and macarons, then is lovingly interrogated by his ex.

commentary/notes below the cut

I don't know what group texts look like on iOS products, sorry! we're going for vibes, not verisimilitude here

as noted elsewhere, trent is reading Maggie O'Farrell's The Hand That First Held Mine, which I do recommend

(warning: accurate portrayal here that within the first fifty pages there is talk of a difficult childbirth, to put it mildly)

hilariously, the novel also features a character named Ted and a character named Felix. but i read the novel well after i introduced Felix to the story!

Felix is the second lover of one of the characters, being the one who's fine and all, he's there, he's got his appeal, but the shadow of her first lover looms over their relationship and her whole life

so I had fun imagining how that might fuck with Trent's head as he got farther into the book, but I didn't want to turn this fic into a book report so I'm relegating this amusement to my extra commentary

more Vi lore that is hinted at: one of her parents is from Spain but moved to London as a young adult, and Vi's connection to Spain is one of cousins and auncles and holidays and music

terribly sorry that this is 90% non-canonical characters, but hopefully you like at least one of them

[spaceorphanssecondbreakfastclub]

Reading Agatha Christie: 4:50 From Paddington

Maybe ten-ish years ago, they redid the covers for all of Christie's books - and I liked them enough that I went out and purchased every single one so they look, stylistically, the same. I am a little disappointed in this one, though, it's perhaps too simple. Not on par with nearly every other book. Interestingly, though, they redesigned the Marple books, and now they all look... bleh, so I will take this edition.

We have another Miss Marple book! Which... I'm glad I've been enjoying them more upon reread, because I didn't find them that interesting when I was younger. Maybe there are some things that just work better when you're older. Anyway... I did like this book! I didn't love it, it's not a favorite, and there are some writing issues in it, but I did enjoy my time reading it.

The premise is really very catching. One of Miss Marple's friends is on a train when she sees - in a train going on along side her - someone murder a woman. It's kind of crazy and wild, and no one believes Mrs McGillicuddy saw anything, so she and Miss Marple try to figure out if it was even a possible thing and what could have happened. The first part of the book really moves as they try to figured it out, which is a lot of fun, and different from Christie's usual set ups.

Once the dead body is found, however, things slow down and kind of start rolling in Christie's usual style. The body ends up at Rutherford Hall where a patriarch of the Crackenthorpe family lives and things descend into Christie's usual fare of a somewhat wealthy family with a ton of problems.

There are a lot of characters and most of them aren't all that memorable because a lot of them are stock characters that Christie has used time and time again. But standing out is Lucy Eyelesbarrow, whom Miss Marple has go to work at the estate as help so she can sleuth her way into figuring out what is going on. She seems to be a middle aged version of those plucky heroines that Christie used to use in her thrillers back in the day.

The character work is fine, but the biggest issue of the book is that there are no real clues and you can't really figure anything out. The ending has an interesting twist to it, sure, but there's no way anyone is getting there based on the text. It's also, maybe, a good fifty pages too long -- in that I was just ready to get there already.

How Miss Marple tricks the murderer, though, is kind of entertaining, and even if the ending isn't as satisfying as it could be (and there are a few ambiguous loose ends - which is a new trend in Christie these days) at least Miss Marple is rather solid in the book.

Like I said above, I liked it, but didn't love it. It was a nice read, but doesn't stick with me the way a lot of the good Christies do.

[inclusivefuture]

Publishing Goal Updates and Content Submissions Reopening

If you're subscribed to our newsletter, you may have heard about our new publication plan for Issue 1 of Inclusive Future Magazine. In the June Newsletter, we announced that we're putting together a 32(ish)-page zine, which will be available in print and digitally. At this point, we're thinking we'll likely be ready to ship worldwide during the fist quarter of 2024.

Although this is a smaller publication than we initially envisioned, we're super stoked about it because:

We actually have the resources to pull it off, thanks in part to a couple of generous donations, and

We will get to hold it in our grubby little hands sooner rather than later!

Our next step is to finalize the contents of Issue 1. Pieces we've previously published on our website will be in the next print issue, as well as new, never-before-seen content! Which brings us to some more really exciting news... 🥁🥁🥁

CONTENT SUBMISSIONS ARE NOW OPEN UNTIL OCTOBER 6TH

Did the pieces already published online inspire you like they did us? Hopefully they got you thinking about what a future would look like in which all expressions of gender or lack thereof are fully included. Maybe you even got to imagining the movie poster for Unbreakable Butch, or thinking up the feature story behind the cover illustration by Liasis. Now's your chance to share those ideas with us!

Since Inclusive Future Magazine is an anthology of speculative epistolary fiction - that is, prose and art in the guise of a pop culture magazine that imagines a more inclusive future - we're asking you to imagine that it's the year 2068. In this future, we've achieved gender equality in the broadest sense. Not only are genders outside the binary widely acknowledged and accepted, but people of all genders are paid equally for equal work, have equal opportunity, are included in scientific studies, and are marketed to equally.

You are writing and making art from this future, roughly fifty years from now, and you are submitting a piece of work to an international culture magazine whose target audience includes English-speaking adults of all genders living anywhere in the world.

Specifically, we’d like to see pieces that fit in with and respond to the work we already have, like an article to go with Al Hess' amazing artwork (pictured here) or a feature article to accompany Liasis’ cover illustration (above). Find out more by visiting our call for submissions page on our website.

To see what past, successful submissions have looked like, check out Issue 1 on our website!

If you submitted a piece during our last call, we will automatically consider the piece again during this round. If you didn’t, or would like to submit again, then you can find instructions on how to submit on our website. We’re excited to see what you come up with!

Originally posted on our blog on July 31st.

Links in reblog.

[cozyunoist]

what do you get from hume and what do you think communists can get from hume

I think the headscarf is quite chic personally

well as you might infer hume was very formative in my intellectual development, & i still recommend him insofar as he’s a wonderful writer! i think he motivates epistemology/metaphysics brilliantly, he takes you in the right direction re scepticism (particularly towards causation), & you can also straightforwardly draft him into the sort of expressivist-ish position i’ve sketched on here before.

that said, as for what communists can get from hume? i’m not sure that he is the most sophisticated exponent of any of his positions. which is ultimately a good thing! he thought and wrote in a way that made him easy to take up. but it also means hume studies (phenomenal journal btw) today is going to be more historical than philosophical. i also have some bones to pick with him on apraxia, naturalism & bayle’s dictionary. he’s an academic, i’m a pyrrhonist; he’s a vague conservative; i’m communist. maybe what this means is that hume is best as a stepping-stone on the road towards getting comfortable talking with people doing philosophy again. he certainly was for me! as well as, ofc, great style inspo.

it’s not directly pertinent, but my personal story with hume is a little too funny not to share. i was 13 the first time i cracked the first critique. it felt a little like hitting my head against the wall… i had something like fifty pages of marginal notes on the first ten pages, and was really going in more or less blind. i’m most of the way through the second preface, & i get to kant saying ‘hume was pretty close, but his argument leads us to believe metaphysics is just delusion’. i was like, thank god, i should just go read this hume guy instead. so i put the book down, check out hume’s enquiry, read it satisfiedly, & don’t touch kant again for like four or five years.

[saving-word-crawls]

Malory Towers Word Crawls for Slower Typers

By: NgWriter728

Hello fellow writers out there,

This topic was created on Thursday 9th July 2020. Here are the first word crawls I ever wrote, based upon the Malory Towers books written by Enid Blyton. Please enjoy!

Welcome to the Malory Towers Word Crawl for Slower Typists, First Term! (Enid Blyton)

This crawl gets about 900 words out, although most people get more. You have to have pen, paper, a timer and a dice (virtual if needed) ready. You have to stick with the character you get at the beginning for the whole crawl. Good luck!

Malory Towers is the story of an all-girl boarding school on the cliffs of Cornwall. No matter how hard each challenge is, you must complete it. Remember to choose your option wisely at the beginning of each crawl. To make it easier, I increased the difficulty slightly for each crawl, so the first 6 are easy-ish, the next 6 are Medium-ish and the Teachers’ Crawl is a super hard epic. I wish you good luck for each one!

You have to go on a train for a few hours to get there. Oh dear! If you would chit and chat on the way there, Complete the Fifty Headed Hydra 6 .

If you get <250 words , you are either Sally or Darrell , both hardworking girls.

If you get >250 words , Well Done! You’re either Alicia or Betty . You don’t work hard but are very clever.

If you would rather do something creative , write 40 words . Choose between Irene (who likes music) or Emily (who likes sewing). If no one takes notice of you , set a timer to 2 minutes and write as much as you can.

If you get <50 words , you are Gwendoline (Gwen), and you don’t care for school work.

If you get 50-80 words , you are Mary-Lou . You are very shy but honest.

If you get >80 words , you are Jean , the awkward Scottish girl.

At last, you’re there! Malory Towers has its own swimming pool by the Cornish ocean, and you feel like a refreshing dip. First, though, you have to give your health certificate to the Matron.

If you’re Irene , sprint to 80 words as you look for yours.

Otherwise, go on to the next section.

Next, you go to the Headmistresses office. If you are Mary-Lou or Gwen , write to the nearest fifty words as you shiver under the headmistresses’ stare, whilst everyone else writes 30 words as they digest the talk.

Time to go to your dorm! You write 40 words about your setting as you settle in.

The next day, it’s time for a swim. But mean Gwen dunks poor Mary-Lou in the water and Darrell, in her anger, slaps Gwen in the face.

If you are Darrell or Gwen , do a 5-minute word war against your enemy (if you have one).

If you are Mary-Lou , write 30 words as you recover. Otherwise, skip this section.

During the next swim, Darrell fakes a cramp and Mary-Lou jumps in to save her.

If you are Darrell or Mary-Lou , sprint to 100 words as you become the center of attention.

If you are Gwen , roll a six-sided die, multiply by 5 , and write that many words as you green with envy.

Everyone else does a celebratory 45 words .

It’s half-term! Choose what you would rather like to do.

If you want some first-rate food , you’re stuck with Gwen, who lies about her terrible school work! Write 60 words in 3 minutes to get away.

If you go with your best friend , write to the nearest 100 words as you relax.

If you are alone , word war for 6 minutes as you fight someone else to go with Darrell. If you lose, try again until you win .

Back to school term. Darrell pushes Sally over in a row and Sally has to go to the ward.

If you are either of them , write a page in sorrow and pain.

Otherwise , write for 7 minutes as you spend that much time in the wards with Sally, who is badly hurt.

Hooray! Sally gets better! You celebrate by writing 60 words of/ in your favorite scene .

However, Gwen is mean to Mary-Lou and blames it on Darrell.

If you are Gwen , write 70 words about trickery and evil .

If you are Mary-Lou or Darrell , write 80 words in 3 minutes in shock and disbelief.

Otherwise, skip this .

Mary-Lou goes down at night and discovers Gwen, the culprit! Everyone except Gwen writes 50 words .

Hooray, it’s the end of your first term! Sprint to 120 words as you race to the train. Goodbye!

~

The Malory Towers Word Crawl for Slower Typists - Second Form (Enid Blyton)

On average, this crawl gets about 1.2K words. Please remember who/ what you chose for the first task. Off you go and remember to come back!

Malory Towers is the story of an all-girl boarding school on the cliffs of Cornwall. No matter how hard each challenge is, you must complete it. Remember to choose your option wisely at the beginning of each crawl. To make it easier, I increased the difficulty slightly for each crawl, so the first 6 are easy-ish, the next 6 are Medium-ish and the Teachers’ Crawl is a super hard epic. I wish you good luck for each one!

When you get there, there is a huge kerfuffle as three new people arrive. Who could they possibly be?

If you befriend Daphne (rich and snobbish), write 60 words in 3 minutes before Gwen snatches her from you.

If you befriend Belinda (likes art), write for 8 minutes whilst you get your portrait sketched.

If you befriend ''Ellen* (scholarly and hardworking), write to the nearest 50 words as she lectures you.

If you ignore them, you write 90 words in 3 minutes as you try to find your friends. If you fail, choose one of the new girls to befriend.

During lesson time, you find out that Sally is head of form. To celebrate, write 50 words. Hooray! However, Alicia doesn’t seem to agree. Roll a 6-sided dice, multiply by how many times you have had a leading role and write that many words to console her.

Soon, a trick is played on Mr. Young, your music teacher. Write a funny phrase for every chapter in your book so far. Everyone loves it and the tricksters are encouraged to do it again. Darrell plays the same trick on Madame Dupont. Write for 6 minutes to stop the rumors spreading.

When it is time to decide on the leading role for the upcoming French play, Madame Dupont chooses charming Daphne whilst Madame Rougier chooses Sally and Darrell.

If you chose Daphne as your friend at the beginning, support her by writing 80 words.

Otherwise, word war for 4 minutes as you argue over the cast list. Move on if you lose.

Belinda places a rude sketch of Madame Rougier on her very desk and is about to get a punishment.

If you befriended Belinda at the beginning, sprint to 80 words as you think of a diversion.

Otherwise, do a marathon of 220 words before Madame Dupont comes and saves the day. Whichever you did, rest and take a fifteen minute break as half term nears. You deserve it!

As exams come up, Ellen works too hard but does bad at school. She wants to cheat and when she is caught looking for the exam answers, she is accused of stealing the valuables that are going missing.

If you went with Ellen at the beginning, word war for 8 minutes to protect her. Move on if you lose.

Otherwise, write to the nearest hundred as you plan to catch her red-handed.

Oddly, Mary-Lou goes out one night to deliver Daphne’s parcel to the post office. She almost falls off the cliffs and Daphne saves her in time. Write for 9 minutes whilst everyone figures out what has happened.

You find out that Daphne was the thief and all the stolen valuables are in her parcel.

If you ignored all the newcomers at the beginning, write to the next chapter as you regret ignoring Daphne. She apologizes and isn’t expelled, so you write a serious scene to forgive her (and yourself).

If not, roll a six-sided die, multiply by 10 and write that many words in 3 minutes. You’ve got to sort this situation out so you decide not to expel Daphne. Write another 50 words as an afterthought.

As the term closes, Ellen is sorted out and is taken sick in the ward. Write 70 words in 3 minutes when you visit her. She turns out to be so clever that she moves up a year! Write for 4 minutes before she leaves.

Eventually, Jean is leaving as well! Write to the length of Auld Lang Syne to say goodbye.

On the last day, you do a marathon of 260 words all the way home. Phew! What a term!

~

Welcome to the Malory Towers Word Crawl for Slower Typists, Third Year! (Enid Blyton)

This word crawl gets about 1.5K words out, and you can get order marks (punishment) if you aren’t careful! Make as many friends as you can and have fun!

Malory Towers is the story of an all-girl boarding school on the cliffs of Cornwall. No matter how hard each challenge is, you must complete it. Remember to choose your option wisely at the beginning of each crawl. To make it easier, I increased the difficulty slightly for each crawl, so the first 6 are easy-ish, the next 6 are Medium-ish and the Teachers’ Crawl is a super hard epic. I wish you good luck for each one!

Oh dear, Sally and Betty aren’t coming to school until a few weeks later! Write for 3 minutes.

If you get <250 words, you sulk at home and continue to the next section.

If you get >250 words, you send a telegram to your friend and can skip the next section.

On the way there, you meet a tall, mature girl called Zerelda, who is one year older than you.

If you are wearing makeup, write half a page in 15 minutes as you chat with her. If you succeed, you befriend her.

If you aren’t, sprint to 60 words to try and wake her up, but she ignores you. Write for 3 minutes without hitting the backspace key. If you succeed, she wakes up and manages to befriend you.

Oh look, there’s a new girl called Mavis, and she really likes singing! Try to write 40 words in 2 minutes to calm her down.

If you succeed, write another 20 words to befriend her.

If you fail, you get an order mark from Matron, who scolds the pair of you for messing around.

Gwendoline ends up admiring Zerelda’s looks and tries to befriend her. However, Zerelda is about to get punished by Miss Peters for not tying up her hair. Do a 4 minute word war against someone you haven’t fought before. If you succeed, Zerelda doesn’t listen to you and gets scolded anyway.

Another girl has arrived – Bill, a tomboy girl who loves horses.

If you are scared of horses, write for 2 minutes to try to escape. Bill notices you and tells you it’s ok. Sprint to 80 words in 3 minutes to get back to her. If you succeed, you overcome your fear of horses and befriend her.

If you aren’t scared of horses, write the number of horses you’ve ridden, multiplied by five, in 1 minute. If you succeed, Bill is impressed and easily befriends you.

Zerelda is demoted down to the third form. You write 2 sentences about friends to encourage her.

Hooray, Darrell is a reserve for the lacrosse match! Write to the nearest 50 words to celebrate.

When your class plays a sneeze trick on Madam Dupont, Miss Potts is very suspicious. Do a Marathon of 230 words in 10 minutes. If you fail, you get an order mark for playing a trick on Madame Dupont.

When rehearsing a script part in a music room, Zerelda gets disturbed and throws a book at the intruder.

If you befriended Zerelda, you write 30 words to lie that it was you.

Otherwise, roll a 6-sided die, multiply by the number of plays you’ve been in, and write that many words.

During the next drama lesson, Miss Hibbert says that Zerelda is unable to act, as she is too drastic.

If you befriended Zerelda, you watch in shock and skip this section.

If not, you write to the next 100 words in 4 minutes to calm yourself down.

If you fail the task, you stand up and imitate Zerelda dramatically. Angry, Miss Hibbert gives you an order mark for not being sensible.

One night, Bill’s horse, Thunder, gets colic (stomach disease). You and Bill have to walk him around the stables.

If you are Bill’s friend, write for 3 minutes as you spend that much time with Bill. Then skip the rest of this section and take a 10-minute break.

Otherwise, sprint to 85 words to try to think of an excuse to go away, then continue to the next task.

Eventually, Miss Peters rides to get the doctor. On her way back, she finds Mavis lying on the road.

If you befriended Mavis, you panic and do a marathon of 230 words as you try to wake her.

Otherwise, write for 2 minutes with your eyes closed as you try to help her in the dark.

The next day, Mavis befriends Zerelda when she comes to visit her in the ward. Write with only your weak hand for 1 minute as you try to heal Mavis’ lost voice.

Miss Peters and Bill are close friends, and everything is sorted out. Write for 3 minutes to contemplate on all the joys of this half term.

Before the end of term, the dreaded extra prep comes up. If you got no order marks, skip this. For every order mark you got, write 5% of your current word count, as you pour over your work. Ouch!

Goodbye, friend. Remember to pack up 40 words before you go. I hope you have a nice break!

~

Welcome to the Malory Towers Word Crawl for Slow-ish Typists - Upper Fourth (Enid Blyton)!

This word crawl gets about 1.6 words out (daily word count for 5K) Good luck and don’t forget who you are!

Malory Towers is the story of an all-girl boarding school on the cliffs of Cornwall. No matter how hard each challenge is, you must complete it. Remember to choose your option wisely at the beginning of each crawl. To make it easier, I increased the difficulty slightly for each crawl, so the first 6 are easy-ish, the next 6 are Medium-ish and the Teachers’ Crawl is a super hard epic. I wish you good luck for each one!

This term, many new people have arrived!

If you want to be in the first form, set a timer to 4 minutes and write as much as you can.

If you write <300 words, you are either Felicity (Darrell’s sister) or Susan, a sensible girl.

If you get >300 words, you are June (Alicia’s cousin), a bright girl who finds school work easy.

If you want to be in the fourth form, write 90 words in 3 minutes.

If you fail, you are one of the new girls (twins Connie or Ruth, or Clarissa who likes horses) If you succeed, roll a six-sided dice and write for that many minutes.

If you get <150 words, you are either Gwen (lazy), Mary-Lou (shy) or Bill (likes horses).

If you write 150-300 words, you are either Darrell (head girl) or Sally (Darrell’s friend).

If you manage >300 words, you are either Alicia (clever) or Betty (Alicia’s friend, in another form)

Phew! During dinner, Gwen thinks Clarissa is ‘Honorable’, but is disappointed when she seems very ordinary. Undeterred, Gwen befriends her anyway.

If you are Gwen or Clarissa, write to the nearest 50 words as Gwen lies that the people in her form are all very mean.

If not, but you are in Darrell’s form, sprint to 70 words as you discuss the situation in the common room.

Otherwise, skip this section.

When Darrell’s form goes out on a picnic, Clarissa’s aunt accidentally makes a feast fit for a king when only Clarissa and Gwen are there to eat it!

If you are either of them, write for 8 minutes as you stuff yourself full.

Otherwise, write to the nearest chapter as you plan to take the rest of the food for a midnight feast. You decide to have a midnight swim before the feast.

At the midnight swim, 3 people from another tower (including Betty) come along as well! When everyone goes inside, June and Felicity enter the first-form common room to find a midnight feast going on in there. They decide to join in. Uh-oh.

If you are not in Darrell’s form, write 50 words as you hurry back to your dorm.

If you are Felicity, sprint to 80 words when you discover leftover food the next day.

Otherwise, write for the number of midnight feasts you’ve had in your life, + 30.

Darrell, in a panic, finds June in a music room, who feels really guilty. Darrell thinks she wants to snitch on her so she gets very angry and, in her temper, shakes June. Miss Potts comes in on the scene.

If you are Darrell, write 150 words in 4 minutes. If you fail, Miss Potts is really cross gives you an order mark as punishment. You decide to resign as head of form.

If not, skip this section.

Meanwhile, June is boasting to her form about her lucky escape. Felicity, however, is Darrell’s sister so dislikes June and befriends Susan as a result.

If you are in the first form, write to the nearest 100 words to sort out the friendship groups.

Otherwise, write 20 words as you clear away the crumbs from the common room.

As half-term nears, Gwen pretends to have a weak heart so she doesn’t have to take the school Certificate exam. Clarissa refuses to help her, and as a result, the two are no longer friends.

If you are Gwen, write half a page to persuade Madame Dupont to believe you.

Otherwise, do a four-minute word war as you try to stop Gwen from going home. Whatever the outcome, Madame Dupont helps Gwen and she ends up going home anyway. Take a 20-minute break before moving on to the next section.

Before the exams, Gwen comes back to school and as a punishment, has to do more exercise.

If you are Gwen, sprint to 100 words in 3 minutes. If you fail, you get an order mark for not following the teacher’s and doctor’s advice.

If not, write 30 words as you tease Gwen.

Whilst revising for the exams, Alicia is very casual and annoys her form very much. However, she gets measles during the exam and has to go to the ward.

If you are Alicia, write 40 words as you apologize to your classmates for being so mean.

If not, write for 7 minutes as you spend that much time visiting her in the ward.

After the school exams, Connie’s belongings keep on going missing. Darrell finds out that Connie wanted Ruth to do badly in the exam so they could both stay in fourth form, but Ruth managed to pass. Darrell tells the headmistress and is made head of form again.

If you are either of the twins, do a 9 minute word war against each other. If you lose by more than 10 words, you get an order mark for whatever wrong you have done.

Otherwise, do a marathon of 275 words as you discuss whether Connie and Ruth will be separated.

Bill and Clarissa both love horse and turn out to be best friends. At first, Gwen doesn’t mind, but when she finds out that Clarissa really is rich, she is very jealous.

If you are Gwen or Bill, word war for 12 minutes as you fight over Clarissa. If you win by more than 10 words, you can skip the next section.

Otherwise, write 1% of your word count in 10 minutes. If you succeed, you can skip the next section.

Ok, it’s time for detention. If you go no order marks or used the previous task to escape, skip this.

For every order mark you got, write 300 words as you stare at the sheets of paper. Oof!

All right, Goodbye. I’ll miss you. And don’t forget to write for 3 minutes on your way back!

~

Welcome to the Malory Towers Word Crawl for Slightly-Slow Typists – Into the Fifth! (Enid Blyton).

This word crawl gets about 1.8K words out. You can choose up to two options for the first task, but no more. Have fun!

Malory Towers is the story of an all-girl boarding school on the cliffs of Cornwall. No matter how hard each challenge is, you must complete it. Remember to choose your option wisely at the beginning of each crawl. To make it easier, I increased the difficulty slightly for each crawl, so the first 6 are easy-ish, the next 6 are Medium-ish and the Teachers’ Crawl is a super hard epic. I wish you good luck for each one!

As you travel there, you and your friends discuss your favourite hobby. What is yours?

If you enjoy music, then write as you hum your favourite tune.

If you want to be the co-producer of a play, write for 5 minutes as you discuss your ideas with somone else.

How about artwork? Write to the nearest 50 words in 2 minutes.

If you fail, you admit that you actually enjoy making dresses! Bad luck, because there’s heaps coming your way!

Once there, you meet one new girl and two old girls! How exciting!

Maureen, who is new, is similar to Gwen and they inevitably befriend each other. If you chose artwork or dresses, you sprint to 70 words as you sketch Gwen’s scowl for the third time that morning.

The two old girls are Moira and Catherine. Neither are very likeable and you write another chapter as you wait for lessons to begin.

Turns out, Moira is head of form. How terrible! Luckily, your year gets to organise a play for Christmas! Do a marathon of 280 words as you chat away the lesson. If you want, write about winter or Christmas!

When Maureen and Gwendoline find out that the play is Cinderella, they start parading in front of your mirror! Write a whole page as you fume and tell them to get out. Extra: write about a very impossible dream or hope.

The rehearsals goes well, but Moira is very domineering and Alicia resigns.

If you wanted to be co-producer you get very angry and word war for 10 minutes.

If you make dresses, you lose your stitch because your attention was turned. Write for 20 minutes.

If you write less than 600 words, you lose your stitch again and get very frustrated. Write another 150 words.

Otherwise, you can skip this section.

Felicity plays her first lacrosse match and scores the winning goal! Roll a dice, multiply by 10 and write that many words to celebrate. Woo-hoo!

Uh-oh! Moira gets spiteful, anonymous letters and she thinks it’s you. In fact it’s little June! Ms Grayling, the headteacher, wants to expel her but Moira says no and saves her! Then Alicia comes back as co-producer. Such turn in events! Write 2 times your previous count for the lacrosse match as you dance around the dorm shouting wildly! (well, not practically)

The end of term is a great success! Everyone has so much do to and it’s great fun!

If you enjoy music, then sprint to 80 words as you jump around turning pages for everyone!

If you are co-producer, do some editing for 5 minutes then stand back and admire your work.

If you chose dresses, you have worked very hard and write 250 words. Well done, told you it would be tough!

If you chose art, write for a casual 8 minutes. Challenge: describe a landscape or scenery.

Congratulations! This term was very demanding and you have done lot. Take a huge break and watch a play if you like. Goodbye, and get ready for your next term. It’s going to be even harder!

~

Malory Towers Word Crawl for Slightly-Slow-ish Typists – Last term (Enid Blyton).

This word crawl gets about 2K out, so don’t push yourself to do it all in one go. Please be careful what you choose at the beginning – there will be consequences later on. Well, go on and enjoy your last term!

Malory Towers is the story of an all-girl boarding school on the cliffs of Cornwall. No matter how hard each challenge is, you must complete it. Remember to choose your option wisely at the beginning of each crawl. To make it easier, I increased the difficulty slightly for each crawl, so the first 6 are easy-ish, the next 6 are Medium-ish and the Teachers’ Crawl is a super hard epic. I wish you good luck for each one!

Once inside the classroom, you discuss what you are looking forward to in your last year at Malory Towers.

If you like French, then the new french girl, Suzanne, notices you and you have to write for 3 minutes as you try to get a word of English out of her which is not ‘police?’.

How about Sport? You’re not alone, write to the next 100 words whilst you discuss your favourite sport.

You feel in your purse and you find nothing. If you’re planning to save up for food, write 90 words. Challenge: write about something that’s very expensive.

Woohoo, you find out that you, Darrell, is head girl of the whole school! Sprint to 80 words in ectstasy.

There’s another new girl called Amanda, who apparently is so good at sports that she’s planning to take part in the Olympic Games.

Take part in a 7-minute word war as you try to beat her at diving and swimming. It’s very hard, so try again if you lose.

Eventually, Amanda tells you that she’s planning to coach a second former called June, who’s cheeky and not very hard-working. As year leader, you write 200 words in 5 minutes to tell her that there’s not much point. Move on even if you fail as she won’t listen to you.

A second former who’s very spoilt, Josephine Jones, has £5 consficated by Matron. She sneaks back and accidentally gets £9, but doesn’t give back the change. Consequently, she is sent to Coventry.

If you chose money at the beginning, write for 12 minutes whilst you try to persuade her to lend you some cash.

Otherwise, take a 10-minute break to sort out your other businesses.

Josephine then decides to run away from school with Deirdre, a weak first former. Whatever next?

You write half a page to decide whether or not to expel them. You come to this conclusion: Josephine should be expelled but not Deirdre as she was innocently under Josephine’s influence.

To prove that she is an excellent swimmer, Amanda swims out to the choppy Cornish sea and almost gets dashed to the rocks! Luckily, little June rows out and rescue her.

If you chose sports, then do a marathon of 400 words as you frantically try to help Amanda.

Otherwise, skip this section.

As end-of-term fun, Suzanne manages to persuade some second formers to play a great trick with magnets on Madame’zelle, your french teacher. What cheek!

If you sided with french, write the number of threads you’ve read in another language, muiltiplied by 10. You feel strangely proud of teaching Suzanne how to communicate in English. You should be.

Otherwise, write 150 words in 4 minutes as you roll around with laughter and try not to cry (best not do this in reality). If you fail, write another 50 words to make it seem like you were just coughing. Seems like Belinda failed very dramatically, though.

Hip-Hip-HOORAY! You’re going to university with Sally, Alicia and Betty. Wonderful news; go ahead and read the forum for 3 blessed minutes and choose a type of writing challenge. (and remember to do it, of course. If you can’t find one, you might want to make one up and it to do it with 3 other friends.)

Well, goodbye! I hope you had tons of fun. And don’t leave anything behind!

Malory Towers will miss you, and so will I! So long… for now I’ll have to deal with all your relatives in Second Form! Yes, that means you, little Felicity. Ok, farewell!

[chubbology]

Inertia

prompt: a man gains weight trying to get his ex-girlfriend back, but goes way too far and gets addicted to gaining

He hadn’t gone to the gym even once in ages.

After a year of singlehood, he wasn’t ashamed to admit anymore that he’d only really gone in the first place to impress women. Ironic, of course, since his ex had never been more than vaguely dissatisfied about his gym habit.

When they first started dating, he had love handles he hated and his thighs had been too thick. He assumed she dated him despite these flaws. Only after he lost weight to please her did he find out that it was his chub that caught her eye. It was bigger guys she was into. It was a lot of miscommunication. A lot of insecurity on his part, since what her preferences meant was that she wanted him to be a little heavy, and he couldn’t possibly accept that with his society-ingrained doctrines about attractiveness.

But those doctrines meant fuck-all now; he was eating a double cheeseburger in his car, helping it down with an orange soda, thinking about dessert. He was wondering if she’d be proud of him now that he’d gained thirty pounds. He wondered if she’d look at him with half-lidded eyes like she used to, if he put on another thirty. Fifty. Whatever.

His phone buzzes. He sits up straighter, belly swelling a little into his lap. It’s her.

Hey. My friend needs to sell her two tickets. I know it’s your favorite band. Interested?

The next text was a link to an information page about an upcoming concert. He’d been so disconnected lately, he hadn’t even heard about it.

Even though he wasn’t actually all that interested, he replied that he was, and they set a date to meet up the next week. Shit. He looked down at himself. If she were someone else, she might be repelled. But she wasn’t someone else…

He was hit with a brilliant, maybe brilliantly stupid, idea. It’s execution began with going right back through the drive thru.

In the days leading up to seeing his ex again, he ate almost constantly. Since he was only doing freelance online at the moment, his work didn’t get in the way of this. He let himself eat whatever he wanted, in amounts three times what his body craved. He pushed himself to a state of being constantly past full. She liked fat guys? Fine. Even if she still didn’t want anything to do with him, he wanted her to see what he could have been, if he hadn’t been such a gym-rat douchebag. If he’d let himself become a lazy, docile boyfriend like she wanted instead, weak and overweight.

It was hard, gaining a lot of weight in a week. The number on the scale didn’t go up as much as he expected, even though he’d eaten enough calories to gain twenty pounds at least. He compensated by showing up to their meeting spot wearing clothes that tightly hugged his body, which now had a good forty-ish pounds of fat clinging to it. Looking in the mirror before he left, he’d almost seen what she was into. His ass had gotten kind of wide and dumpy, but in a sexy way?

He was all nerves when she showed up looking healthy and cute and indifferent about him, holding the tickets in her hands. Almost indifferent. She definitely gave him a once-over, when she thought he wasn’t looking. He could tell she bit the inside of her lip.

“Well,” she said, meeting his eyes fearlessly. Were her cheeks a little red, or was that wishful thinking? “I’ll see you.”

“Really?” he blurted. “Kinda miss hanging out.”

She smiled and turned to leave. “Maybe.”

He went home and binged hard.

*

In contrast to how he grew too slowly in the week before meeting up with her, in the weeks afterward, he gained weight doubletime. Fat rounded him out as easy as if he were a swiftly filling water balloon, engorging his thighs and belly and ass and hips wide and heavy. He ate compulsively as his appetite skyrocketed, as cravings crushed his will to restrain himself. His budget was thrown out of whack as he spent his savings on pantry loads of unhealthy food. His clothes stretched and seams snapped as he struggled to fit in his largest clothes. He shopped in the plus sized section first for comfort, then by necessity.

All the while he could only think: I wished she was watching.

He started imagining her with him. In the car as he ate fast food. At the store as he bought new clothes. Walking beside him as he forced himself to get exercise.

“Slow down, big guy.” “No, I think you need one size bigger.” “Sweating already? You’re so out of shape.”

Why did he like it? Imagining her mocking him? Teasing him? Eyeing his body, fleshy and overfed.

The next time she texted, it was late at night, and his eyes were glazed watching television, eating huge spoonfuls of that miracle drug called Nutella. His belly swelled out of his shirt. His breasts and face were puffy. According to the numbers he punched into Google, he had long crossed the threshold of obesity.

How was the concert?

He stared at the words. This was it. Maybe his only chance. He replied: Didn’t go after all. Been feeling off lately.

To his (very manly) delight, this prompted more questions, and it became clear she wanted a real conversation. Was she thinking of him? Missing him like he missed her? He thought out every response with the careful focus of a rocket scientist. He wasn’t going to mess this up.

He didn’t seem to, and they texted into the early hours of the morning, catching up. Finally, finally she asked to meet up with him again, and - feeling more eager, a little reckless - he tapped out a disclaimer. Or to her, hopefully: motivation.

Just so you aren’t shocked when you see me, I’ve put on weight since I bought those tickets from you. I’m not sensitive about it or anything, but it’s a lot. So here’s a fair warning.

He held his breath as he waited for her reply. Held his breath. Held it…

Oh. Really?

Like before, they set a time the following week. This time, to get coffee. No big deal.

He knew he had more than fulfilled his little scheme of putting on weight to catch her attention, and he could push the breaks now, but he felt helpless against his inertia. At this point, he’d cultivated half a dozen habits that had his weight steadily rising, and he couldn’t just turn them off. If he so much as thought of eating less, his whole body seized up in fearful anticipation and unhappiness, and he found himself cramming a couple moonpies into his mouth just to calm down.

He gained another six pounds between their text conversation and their coffee date. He felt so out of control, so out of shape, so out of line with the standards of popular society that he felt oddly…free. In a way, he felt free of anxious self-consciousness as he heaved himself out of his car and waved at her through the coffee shop window. She was sitting in a corner at a table for two. Despite his warning, she looked a little shocked.

When he sat down across from her, his huge ass hanging off the ends of the seat, she appeared to inhale deeply. Her expression was inscrutable.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said.

Blushing, he supposed he deserved a bit of tactlessness, for the tactless way he broke up with her. “What? Oh. Yeah, no. I wasn’t.”

She sipped her coffee, eyes flicking between his flabby chest and his flabby face. In a low tone that no one else would hear, she said, “What happened? For you to get fat as fuck.”

He opened his mouth and closed it. This wasn’t how he was expecting this to go. “Well. I’ve been working from home, stressed out. I let myself go and…” He trailed off when he realized her eyes were cold. No - so hot they seemed cold, like his shower water when turned to the highest setting.

“Is this because of me?” she asked, cutting to the chase. She crossed her legs, now openly surveying him. “Did you decide it was okay to gain a hundred pounds because you thought I’d be into it?”

He was speechless. He swallowed.

“Well? Do you want me back that badly? Ever since I saw you last time, all chubbed out, I’ve been thinking maybe I should give you a second chance.”

“Um.”

“But I don’t know…” She shrugged, but a smirk was hiding just behind that indifferent frown, and he wanted. He wanted her forgiveness, whatever that meant. “How about you gain a hundred more and we’ll go on a real date? Sound good? You’re not the only fat guy out there.”

She was full-on grinning now, and he missed her little games like this. He could play them, too.

“Maybe, but I bet I’m the only guy who’s gotten this fat for you,” he said. She was immediately affected by this, and he licked his lips. “You really want to wait to see me a hundred pounds bigger than this, or do you want to stick around to watch?”

Even quieter, she said, “You saying you like gaining weight? How convenient.”

So she still doubted him. He put out his hands for her to see. “Just look. Look at how fat my hands are. I can’t…” And finally his composure cracked a little. “I can’t stop. I couldn’t stop if I wanted. Even if you never talk to me again, I’m gonna gain weight.”

Any playfulness was gone now from her. She looked like she wanted him, too. “Hmm. Maybe we should go before you break that poor chair, huh?”

He blushed again. God, he was getting docile. “I’m not that bad,” he muttered. But she gave him a cruel grin. She hadn’t entirely forgiven him. “You will be.”

And he knew then: he was doomed. He was already a little bit into his own heaviness, and she was going to take that feeling and amplify it tenfold. She was going to enable every bad habit he had, watch him flounder under his increasing size and become weaker under layers and layers of fat until he could barely lift a two pound dumbbell.

He knew she wanted this to happen, and maybe he’d broken up with her before because he’d been afraid.

But he wasn’t anymore.

“Let’s go then,” he said.

*

Thank you to the reader who commissioned this work!

I'd love to write more. Check me out <3 etsy.com/shop/Chubbology

[makeste]

So there's an article that says this is going to be the last arc of MHA, but I feel like that could be just conjecture as there's already a bunch of stuff that hasn't been fully explored, threads that haven't been finished, such as the UA traitor, or what the 2nd, 3rd, and 6th user's Quirks are, or who Hisashi Midoriya is. If it's the last arc, then I feel like it will lead to a Part 2 of the series. If not, then it's really going to be a long arc.

for me personally, I’d rather see the series end after one last giant, epic arc than have it spin off into a part 2. I have a bunch of other posts about this already though (they’re a few months out of date, but my opinions haven’t changed at all), so I’ll just link those and summarize here.

timeskips are The Worst and I hate them lol.

Horikoshi has hinted (and as of last December, blatantly said outright) in multiple interviews that we were getting close to the end of the series. he’s also had a clear idea of his overall endgame for a long time and has been steadily drawing the lines to connect all of those dots.

Horikoshi’s pacing has always been much faster than that of most other mangaka. I actually broke it down arc by arc in an Excel chart once and summarized the results here. his average arc is only about 20 chapters long (and even shorter than that if you exclude the two big outlier arcs). so his recent pacing is nothing new. he isn’t actually going any faster than usual, it just feels that way because so many things are actually being resolved now at last.

a lot of the still-unresolved plot points (and there are only a few of them left now) will probably take less time to wrap up than people think. don’t forget that the Prison Break took only one chapter instead of being an entire arc like everyone expected. Mirio got his quirk back in the span of five pages. the quirk-be-gone bullets were finally introduced in the middle of the War arc and took up less than one chapter total. granted, I think things like the U.A. traitor and the Second and Third users will take up more page time than that, but even if they take up a dozen chapters each, that still puts us well within the 400-chapter range, which is still my best guess for how long the series will be.

that isn’t a bad thing either, imo. as I’ve said before, I would rather have Horikoshi end the series on his own terms and go out with a bang than see the series drag on past its prime like so many other once-great series have done. I don’t need another 700-chapter mess like Naruto or Bleach. I think 400-425 is the sweet spot and will give him time to wrap everything up in a satisfactory way without wearing out his welcome. and it still gives us 1-3 more years of the series. and again, even if I’m overestimating and we’ve only got one year/fifty chapters left, I would still rather see that, assuming that’s been Horikoshi’s plan from the start. better that than having it turn into a soulless, plothole-riddled mess because Jump doesn’t want to let it die. that would be the worst-case scenario for me.

so yeah. everything we’ve seen indicates that the series is ending soon-ish, and that “the final act” isn’t just hyperbole. now, whether that means “final arc” (i.e. 50 chapters) or “final saga” (i.e. 100-150 chapters) is still up for debate, but either way I think we should start bracing ourselves. and also, remember that the upside of this is that if this really is the final arc, then things are about to get epic as fuck. I for one just want to enjoy the ride, and fully intend to bury any and all broken-hearted “it’s too soon to say goodbye” feelings until the last possible moment, when they’ll all come swarming up all at once and will leave me an inconsolable mess lol.

[thepriceofbeingaroseisloneliness]

TOSHIYA AT JOE YOKOMIZO CHANNEL 4TH FEB TRANSLATION/NOTES 4/4

Joe Yokomizo Channel

Guest: Toshiya (Dir en grey)

Notes before reading: This is the translation/notes of the livestream on Joe’s Niconico channel with Toshiya as a guest last 4th February.  This is part 4. The livestream was one hour and fifty min approx. This part covers the last 20 minutes. The livestream is no longer available at Joe Yokomizo Channel but you can check the translation of the previous parts at my tumblr. Feel free to correct me if you spot any mistake or any confusing parts.

Links or credits to this post when the content is reposted or captured in other SNS are appreciated ------------------ (First part here) (Second part here) (Third part here) Joe: That’s it. I’m going to ask you…. They are asking.... how do the other members call you, Toshiya… Toshiya: Mostly….”Toshiya”…. Joe: Toshiya? Toshiya: Yes Joe: Just “Toshiya”. Toshiya: That’s it… maybe sometimes…..they say it in an easy way….it’s not like like they attach anything (suffix) like -kun or -chan to my name….they say it in a normal way…. Joe: “Toshiya”, “Toshiya”…. What ice cream are you recently addicted to? Toshiya: Recently… Joe: That’s the question… Toshiya: Recently….somehow….as I’m lazy… Joe: You are lazy….yes, yes, you said that at the beginning of the program…. Toshiya: As expected….I gained a bit of weight…. Joe: *surprised* It doesn’t look like that at all… Toshiya: Now…..I lost some weight… Joe: You did? Toshiya: I did….so I’m not eating sweet things now… Joe: Now you are not eating sweet things…. Toshiya: Yes Joe: I see…. that’s why he is not eating ice creams recently!..... Toshiya: I don’t… Joe: These kind of questions are a bit harsh but if you have to choose….tsubuan (coarse sweet bean paste) or koshian (fine-grained sweet bean paste)? Toshiya:*Enthusiastically* I like both! Joe: You like both…. Toshiya: But I would say koshian? Joe: If you had to choose, it would be koshian….now there is a question related to The Freedom of Expression, a youtube program I do with Kaoru. “Joe also does  The Freedom of Expression with Kaoru. I would like to hear any stories with Kaoru”. Toshiya: With Kaoru?....well…..mmmmm……*chuckles*…. Kaoru…..Surprisingly, there are many stories of just the two of us that would make you laugh…. Joe: I see…. stories that you can’t tell here…. Toshiya: *nods* That’s right… yes yes….*laughs*…mmmmmm….that’s right…..*laughs* Joe: That’s it….*laughs* Toshiya: Surprisingly…. Joe: Surprisingly…. Toshiya: Unexpectedly…. Joe: I get it… They both laugh. Toshiya: It’s like….I feel like maybe they might be not so open-minded….. Joe:  You can’t…..that’s it…. it would be many grow-up/adult conversations….. Toshiya: *laughs* Grow-up/adult conversations…. Joe: That’s ok… Toshiya: That’s it….but something really…..it applies to the other members as well…..they are all caring/considerate people….they are really like that….what I hate the most when I’m drinking….what I hate the most is people who are in bands that talks shit about other members…. Joe: I see Toshiya: I really hate that…. Joe: I can’t stand that… Toshiya: It’s like…..(they act) as it is ok to talk shit/say bad things when you drink…..much less about members…. Joe: Talking about another member…. Toshiya: I’m like….”I think you should stop doing that”…. Joe: Like “you should speak face-to-face”….it feels like something you should say directly to the members…. Toshiya: I hate that kind of thing….some people say stuff like that sometimes….it’s such a turn-off…. Joe: It really kills the mood….that’s totally it…..because no one chose the band members for you….you are playing in that band because you want to…. Toshiya: That’s it…. Joe: That’s it…..but that happens…..I see…. Toshiya: Before this, at a Liberal Democratic Party meeting…..they took a questionnaire, they weren’t complaining about the organization but they were many people who didn’t like it (the questionnaire). Because they are all adults, right? To some extend, I feel that  it’s important that you see things from a rational point of view…. *Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) is a conservative political party in Japan that has almost continuously been in power since its foundation in 1955.   Joe: Certainly….the good thing about rock….of course it has an aggressive/offensive side but, in the end rock is something positive, isn’t it? Toshiya: That’s right… Joe: Because it’s the power of the people what pushes your forward…. Toshiya: Thereby, you are pushed forward by others…. Joe: Right…. So even if there are things that you might hate about it, to me, the power of rock is finding the good things/side…. Toshiya: That’s right….Taking that direction is rather easier…. Joe: For sure….

Toshiya: The things that you don’t like…..it’s like they become invisible… Joe: Right… Toshiya: It’s better not to see them…. Joe:  True… Toshiya: Even though I can see them…. Joe: That’s right…. Toshiya: I’m being too honest/serious…. Joe: No,no….that’s important….. Then I have the following question…. What protein do you drink? Toshiya: Protein?.....Sabas….

Joe: Sabas?...... Toshiya: Yes Joe:  Is that so?  Sabas? Toshiya: The blue one mostly….I’ve been drinking it recently to lose weight…. Joe: I see….what shampoo or hair product do you use? Toshiya: Shampoo?....mmmmm…what it would be…..about that….surprisingly I use the ones  I get from fans…. Joe: Is that so? You don’t use specific ones…..I’m already at that point….As I’m already 52 years old….*takes off his hat* they told me that my hair is at stage 4, hair restoration is hard….I’m using a hair growth formula that costs 6000 yen per bottle. *The stages of male pattern baldness are measured on a scale from 1 to 7. By stage 4, there is significant hair loss. Toshiya: If you are getting bald, it can’t be helped right? Joe: There is nothing you can do…. What would you do?....if you go bald… Toshiya: Well….mmmm…. I would shave my hair off…. Joe: You would shave it off? I think it would look good on you…. Toshiya: If you think about it, there is nothing that you can do…. Joe: Certainly….*laughs*…..Certainly….I’m going to ask you another question, because we have so many….What was your nickname when you were a kid?.... Toshiya: When I was a kid?.....what was it?....mmmmm….usually….I wonder….I don’t remember it…. Joe: You don’t remember? Ohhh Toshiya: Mmmmm…..*starts laughing suddenly*… this was interesting though…..*laughs* Joe: What is it? Why are you already laughing?….. Toshiya: I’m sorry…..*laughs*….I’m really sorry…. Joe: It’s ok…. Toshiya: This is again about Shinya…. Joe: It’s fine…. Toshiya: Shinya, don’t get mad….I think it’s ok because he told it himself but…. Joe: It’s ok…. Toshiya: When he was asked what was his nickname in the past…..he said it was “liar”….. Joe:* Burst into laugther* That’s so bad….as a person….it’s too amusing…. Toshiya: For real….I really think they are all interesting people….. Joe: It's hard for him to talk much, isn’t it? Does he talk a lot? When I asked him, he just answers……he was amazing…..”liar”….. Toshiya: *laughs* “Liar”…. Joe: Amazing….. Well we are getting closer to the end of the program….. What is your favorite song from Dir en grey? Toshiya: Mmm….I wonder…..I like all of them….I feel strongly about all of them… Joe: I see… Toshiya: I feel strongly about them…..I really feel strongly…. When I think about them…..the feelings and the state of mind of the time (when they were done)….. Joe: Every song……all of them were fun to make but it seems that it was also hard…. Toshiya: Yes, that’s it….that’s true… Joe: Right?....if you play them at a live…..various memories will come…. Toshiya: That’s right…. Most of them were hard….. Joe: Making songs…..that’s such a hard thing….but the fact that there are people who will listen to them, people who are waiting for those songs…. Toshiya: What makes me the happiest about making songs, it’s that for a person, it will become something memorable even if is left in the past….. Joe: Something that will be there…. Toshiya: The feeling that you had when you listened to that song will remain. Like….somehow….any occasion….like a dir en grey album was released at the time you were cleaning the closets and you were listening to it….things like that….that someone was listening to it at moments like those….I’m really grateful. If this can become a page in a person’s life, I’m really grateful. Joe: That's a really nice thing, isn’t it? Toshiya: Time ago…. I was drinking with Baba from Dragon Ash…. Joe: Oh Baba….. Baba who passed away….. *They are talking about Ikuzo Baba “Ikuzone”,  Dragon Ash’s bassist, who passed away in 2012. Toshiya and Ikuzone were interviewed and appeared together at the cover of Bass Magazine No. 228 June 2010* Toshiya: He said that……if you are not forgotten…..you will be able to live forever…. Joe: I see… Toshiya: Baba said this talking about Hide….. Joe: Is that so? Toshiya: If you are forgotten…..I don’t think you will be able to live…. Joe: Well, Baba is still living in us, isn’t he? Toshiya: Of course he is. Those words that he said to me….even now…..those words resonate with me…. Joe: Certainly…..those words  are really good…aren’t they? Toshiya: I think those words were very Baba-ish…. Joe: Certainly…..because the music will remain forever….even if you forget about it for a moment….it may now always be part of  your playlists….but it will come out eventually… Toshiya: That’s right…..somehow…..mmmmm…. I want you to listen to Dir en grey forever…..*laughs* Joe: Of course… Toshiya: I want that to happen but I don’t know (if it will happen)……but……if it bring you memories of that time….that….makes me really happy and grateful…. Joe: I see…..everybody is taking this chance to write the dir en grey songs they like at the comments…..there are many comments appearing on screen…..lastly….there is one more questionnaire for Toshiya….February 2021 has just started….. the emergency state has been extended and we are all in a difficult situation but…..I wonder what are his goals, dreams or plans for this year……ah! Amazing *points at the comments* Thank you for writing so many comments…. Toshiya: Thank you… Joe: All of them…..”Yokan”…. I see…..”Child Prey”….there are many songs there….”Ranunculus”….ahh, Ranunculus is such a great song…..I really like “Ranunculus”…. Toshiya: Ah….it’s really a good song…. Joe: It’s an amazing song…..”Ningen wo Kaburu”…..write more, write more…..we are looking at your comments while we are drinking….please, we are going to use a paper sheet again….*pointing at the notebook on the floor* Toshiya: Ah,yes….*picks it* Joe: About this year….. something like a close goal….you said you were lazy  a while ago but….I want you to think about a positive keyword for 2021….amazing….you all are writing a lot of comments….”Lotus” is there too….amazing….”Rinkaku”….they are writing many songs…..”Zakuro”…..that’s a great song……”Utafumi”….thats a more recent song…..it’s a good song too….. Toshiya:  Somehow…..the songs that we have made…..probably…. Honestly, I can’t say  that Dir en grey is going to be there forever…. I always think about it as walking on thin ice….honestly….somehow….when Dir en grey is gone…..the things that we did….like our legacy…..I think that would be the songs after all….. Joe: I see…. Toshiya: If we are remembered that way…..I would be really thankful….. Joe: That’s right….they are writing “please don’t be gone”…..of course that’s what we all want, that Dir en grey never ends... Toshiya: Of course…. Joe: Of course no one wants Dir en grey to disappear, I’m not saying it with that intention….. Toshiya: I don’t think about it but I can’t promise…..I can’t do that…. Joe: That’s right…..because a band it’s a miracle…. Toshiya: I think so… Joe: Many things you do are miracles…..because not many people can do that… Toshiya: I don’t know….All this….I really just cant do it (by myself)…. Joe: That’s why I think it’s so great that you can perform and produce things…. Toshiya: I agree…. Joe: Definitely, there will a tomorrow and a day after tomorrow…. Toshiya: I agree… Joe: Yes…. Toshiya: That’s it….So, at this time with Corona going on…. I have thought about a lot of things inside my head….but after all, I thought about what was the most negative thing about this situation for me….when I thought about that…..I think the most negative thing for me is that the activities of these 5 people  are reduced…. Joe: I see…. Toshiya: I don’t think it will last forever….I think that the other members feel the same than me…of course, I want to continue doing this as long as I’m alive…. Joe: Of course… Toshiya: I don’t know…. Joe: Yes… Toshiya: With that in mind, last year…..2020….somehow we could only do things as a band at the beginning of the year…that’s it….I feel like  the time of these five people doing things  together has been dramatically reduced……that’s really…..I think it’s very frustrating/annoying….. Joe: I see. That’s why I’m sure the next single is going to be amazing and strong….something that it’s going to make you think hard…. Toshiya: I want it to be something that remains…. Joe: Also the concert screening tour is going to start soon….I hope that everyone as well while believing in every moment, support it… So, what kind of goals or thoughts has Toshiya for 2021? What ideas has installed into his heart? I told him to express them in one kanji…please take a look…. Toshiya: It’s a bit so-so…. Toshiya shows the kanji he wrote. Joe: There it is…. Toshiya: Yes Toshiya wrote “動” (motion). Joe: “Motion” Toshiya: *Laughs* “Motion”…..yes….. Joe: Yes…movement…. Toshiya: Movement….that’s the main thing……I think it’s the main thing right now….unless something “moves”….I knew that nothing was going to happen last year but this year I want us “to move” as much as possible….as much as possible….Of course I want to meet the fans ( at a concert) again but over all, I want  the five of us to move forward…. Joe: That’s good… Toshiya: That’s the main thing I want….. Joe: The band moving forward..…. please everyone look forward to that….the concert screening tour will start soon and although the release date hasn’t been set yet, a new single will be released in the spring. The next action has already begun in pre-production, so when the situation allows it, we all can meet at the live venue again…. Toshiya: That’s it….really…..I want them to come but honestly I can’t tell them to come….that’s it…..if something happens, it’s going to be the hardest thing for us….somehow….that something happens to the people who say that like Dir en grey….that’s the thing I hate the most… Joe: That’s right… that something happens to the people who loves you…..that’s the worst…. Toshiya: It is….it’s the worst…. Joe: For real… Toshiya: For real, I really hate it… Joe: That's right. That's why we should take good measures against infection. We are still in a difficult situation at this time….at an emotional level too…..and after all, I think that some people are also feeling (emotionally) weak…. Toshiya: That’s why that I got this opportunity to be here….that you all are watching this….it make me happy… Joe: Well, finally, what was promised….he’ll take off his sunglasses and say goodbye…but before….next week a new program will be broadcasted….next week Shinya from LUNA SEA…. Toshiya: Oh! Joe: He’ll come to the program…. Toshiya:  A big senpai…. Joe: Isn’t he? He got infected with Corona virus…. Toshiya: Ah, that’s it….it surprised me… Joe: The concert they had at the end of the year had to be suspended…. Toshiya:  That’s right….that some people said you did something bad/wrong… Joe: That’s right…. Toshiya: So  that you ended up like that (infected with the virus)…. Joe: It’s not like he was doing it on his own….but on the contrary, it seems that Shinya also seems to have thought about that, about all the things he did around that time…. Toshiya: It’s really…..to blame someone for that…. Joe: That’s definitely wrong… Toshiya: I think it’s nonsense… Joe: I think that everyone here thinks the same about this….*pointing at the comments* they didn’t do anything wrong….anything wrong….its seems that everyone here knows that…. As for Toshiya, you said you would come after the single is released and you will sing “Jesus” with you sunglasses off… this was decided today…. Toshiya: But it must get the approval of LUNA SEA members….if they don’t approve it, I won’t do it…. Joe: I will get it!.... Toshiya: No,no… Joe: I’m going to get the label president confirmation…. Toshiya: *Laughs* Sakanoue? *Masatoshi Sakanoue is Luna Sea’s  executive producer* Joe:  Sakanoue….*nods* I’m going to ask for his approval… Toshiya: Nooo…..*raises his arms and squeals*….stop it…. Joe: I’m going to confirm it with him…. I’m going to get his approval Toshiya:*Laughs* For real?....I’ll play bass!… Joe: No, no….anything it’s ok but you have to sing…..the bass….it’s going to be like “he is playing bass as always”…. Toshiya: It's really embarrassing….if you could insert some blurring effect/pixelating…. Joe: I’ll! I will insert some blurring with a mosaic effect….but you have to sing….you can play the bass too if you want…. Toshiya: And some…for the voice…..how is it call?...that thing that changes it… Joe: To change it…..some voice distortion….like if you were interrogating…. Toshiya: That thing that makes your voice super high…. Joe: “It’s decided, he’ll sing while playing the bass”…..everyone is so spoiled…… Toshiya: Yes… Joe: Well, finally…at the end of the program he is going to take off his sunglasses and say goodbye to all of you….*Toshiya is about to get the sunglasses off but it’s stopped by Joe* First the message….then you take off the sunglasses at the end when you say bye bye to them…. Toshiya: Well….today was….arggg…..I really hate this *cleans the sweat of his fronthead* I’m sweating a lot…. Joe:*Laughs*I’m sorry…. Toshiya: It was really fun…. Joe: Thank you…. Toshiya: If you laughed watching this…..that would be the best….that would be the best now…we would be thankful for that and it would make us happy….Yes, that’s it. Next time I’ll come after the releasing of “Oboro” and we’ll have a good drink with you all again…. Joe: Yes… Toshiya: Thank you for today….. Joe: Thank you for watching…. Well, while he says goodbye after taking his sunglasses off, I want to thank you for today. *Toshiya laughs and takes his sunglasses off* Tonight’s guest was Toshiya from Dir en grey! Thank you for watching! Toshiya: Thank you for watching! *waves* Joe: Bye, bye! *clapping* Toshiya is on screen, shyly, waving goodbye and then covers his face with his hands. The image fades and the logo of the channel appears. *Thank you for reading :)*

[dreamsatdusk]

Command and Strategy of the Second Army, Post-Shadow and Bone

I had grand plans of getting more meta written over a recent weekend, but between major fatigue and so on, it didn’t happen.  I did get some more reread done and thus, meta prep notes on several topics.  Most are for longer posts (or a series of them in one case).  But I’ve found myself musing on the Second Army’s situation in book 2+3, strength in numbers and other related details.

It’s definitely more musing than anything, as I’m not looking up specific details and what is most fresh in mind is the middle third-ish of Siege and Storm.  Some things below may have a concrete answer in some book or another - and I would be happy to hear if so!  But for now, to ramble:
 Alina returns to Os Alta in this segment and with the help of NIkolai’s input, is granted temporary command of the Second Army.  On page, this mostly manifests as her involvement with the Grisha still at the Little Palace.  And that number is much reduced over what it was some months prior:  there and elsewhere, many Grisha went into hiding or joined the Darkling.  Many of those who stayed behind are of the younger set - in their late teens and early twenties for those where their age is roughly known.  (The group that Fedyor brought with him to join Alina has probably got some older Grisha in it, as the group was one that had been stationed at a southern border outpost and Fedyor himself seems to be more experienced too.)

When Alina first arrives back at the Little Palace to announce her command, the following exchange occurs:

Sergei cleared his throat.  “Alina, you are the Sun Summoner, and we’re grateful for your safe return, but you aren’t qualified to run a military campaign.”

“Qualified or not, I have the King’s blessing.”

And Sergei was in fact totally correct.  Alina was not qualified to be in command of the Second Army.  And by the end of the book, if I recall right, the only surviving members of it that were at the Little Palace during her tenure as commander are:  Sergei, Stigg, Harshaw, Nadia, Zoya, David, and Alina herself, plus the students (Adrik is technically in this subset, though he left with Alina’s group rather than go to Keramzin).  At a dinner soon after Alina assumes command, she surveys the tables:  “I made a silent count—forty Grisha, maybe fifty, most of them barely out of school”.

I would also suspect there could have been other Grisha in Os Alta that didn’t happen to be at dinner at the Little Palace when the Darkling’s forces attacked the city that could have gotten away.  But still.

Furthermore, there’s little more than cursory attention shown in the book to the idea of an actual military campaign.  Alina spends much of her time on page attending meetings, talking with people about other topics, angsting about Mal, and so forth.  It’s true they do not know where the Darkling’s group is, but still, they make frequent references to assuming it could be comprised of many experienced Grisha, on top of having the Darkling’s capabilities and the nichevo’ya.  There is a lot of talk about what to do about the Darkling, but not the overall rebel faction of the Second Army that I recall.  

Alina as commander of the Second Army reads as pretty disastrous, though that isn’t really dwelled upon at all in the text.

Mind you, this is not the same as saying some other person in charge would have automatically done better.  They may not have, especially if the choice were just from among those Grisha at the Little Palace.  What sort of training and experience did those who were there have?  The Second Army must have had a command structure, as an independent entity from the First Army.  But I don’t recall we get much, if any, mention of what it might have been in the books.  We know that at coming of age, some Grisha immediately join ‘the troops’ so to speak, and some of them are selected for advanced studies first, one of which is explicitly stated to be ‘military strategy’.

We know the group remaining at the Little Palace was stated to be a ‘young group’.  Serigei’s situation sheds a bit of additional light on this too I think.  He demonstrates a bit of ‘take charge’ approach when Alina arrives, and while this doesn’t get him anywhere in the context of who’s going to be in command, the scene does read overall like he HAD been helping run things previously.  Furthermore, a bit later on, Alina remarks on Sergei having been the one to have “tried to manage some of the Darkling’s duties, but much of the work had simply gone unattended”.  

How young was Sergei himself? I suspect he was around Marie and Nadia’s age, though perhaps a little older.  It’s not just that he and Marie began to date, but more some of their interactions in Shadow and Bone.  He came across as having a similar maturity level and not being a more experienced adult. Also, it’s possible he was there as an advanced studies student too, like Marie and Nadia. Zoya is another one to consider:  she said she spoke for the Summoners during that encounter and we know she’s 18 or so at this point.  

I don’t know that we ever get any numbers overall for the number of Grisha in the Second Army at the time of Shadow and Bone.  They do seem very widely distributed though - at outposts, serving with noble families, stationed at the Shadow Fold, etc.  How many were neither at the Little Palace nor with the Darkling/in hiding in Siege and Storm? Was there no one with more command experience who could have been recalled to Os Alta to support Alina (or be the one actually in charge, with Alina as a figurehead)?  Was this even considered?  

Again, if the Darkling was believed to have significant numbers of Grisha with him, the fact that the strategies seemed so focused on how to fight he and the nichevo’ya is an immense failure to plan.  To not account for the capabilities of talented Heartrenders, Summoners, etc., could have meant disaster even without the Darkling’s abilities.  Add in that the Darkling could pull of things only Alina could effectively counter?  

I’m continuing on with the reread and will note down if I find any further relevant details, but so far, what I’ve found aligns with the above and what I recall from past readings.

Outside the narrative, there is some explanation for all of this.  This isn’t a military fantasy, it’s a YA trilogy. The focuses between the two are very different - this is supposed to be about Alina’s personal journey so to speak.  That said, as someone who liked reading military fantasy, amongst other things, even when I was in the target age bracket, I think I’d have been annoyed about some of this even then.  The situation is such a mess, but more than that, it’s never much examined in the story as part of the MC’s arc. It’s just…a thing that happened?

[deathwishdaydream]

Dear Universe, Up Yours!

Chapter 4

I didn't even know where we were going. Gerard didn't either. All I knew was that we were getting the hell out of Belleville. We escaped school during lunchtime, so we've already eaten enough to not need any food in a while. I have about $43 after spending my money at the convenience store, and I wanted to make sure that Gerard and I would have enough to eat, get a motel, and gas. I think that was also one of the most important things to consider if you wanted to run away. How were you going to provide for yourself? Without parents, a house, school?

"Gerard?" I said and he gracefully hummed in response. It was phenomenally conspicuous that I had developed a massive adoration for his voice. I always felt something odd in myself every time I heard it. I couldn't explain it, even if there was a dictionary in front of me with pages full of preternatural words that defined every inscrutable, nameless human feeling and thing in the universe. What I was able to explain, though, was how I heard his voice differently from anybody else. Simply because I felt that everything that mystically came out of his mouth could reach lurkingly into my brain. It gave me the same feeling of being read to as a little kid, but even better. Much better... Oh right, the money. "How much cash do you have on you right now?"

"Umm, I don't know, I'll have to check, it's all in my wallet," he said, preoccupied with driving. I bet he passed his first-ever driver's test. It was extraordinary how the asphalt never left his sight.

"Give it to me, I'll see how much," I told him. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna steal. And we can combine our money if you'd like because we'll need enough for food, gas, and a place to stay."

He nodded quite casually, and he took out his wallet from his front pocket, bringing it to me as his eyes were still thoroughly affixed to the road. "Thanks," I said, grabbing the wallet from his hand, watching it go right back on the steering wheel once I properly took hold of the wallet.

I opened it up and was suddenly met with Gerard's driver's license photo. He looked so sweet and innocent, smiling in the tiny picture. Maybe a little more than he does right now because he was a bit younger here. Purer, if you will. My eyes had scanned all the faded numbers and letters, being informed that the license wouldn't expire until another two years. Apparently, he was also a class D. Though feeling like I was negligently intruding, I began to do what I had planned to do in the first place: I checked the large wallet pocket filled with cash and took them all out, attentively counting. He had $52.31, including some coins I found in there. I felt obligated to count all the coins, for some reason. It just made sense. I then put all his money neatly back inside and handed the brown wallet back to him. "Fifty-two thirty-one. I have forty-three, so I'm sure we're good." He nodded in regard, then took his hand out for me to give him back his wallet. I placed it in his palm accordingly as he stuck it back into his pocket and continued to focus all on driving. I know it was important to have all your attention on the road, but Gerard strictly stuck to that. His broad eyes never leave the dark pavement in front of him. Either something had tragically happened to him, or he just drove this way. There was nothing wrong with that, of course, but it felt as if he was always in some sort of ethereal trance when he would drive.

Time passed effortlessly as I looked out the window, the sky a blue-ish gray. The colors and the dullness brought me back to the bench in the park. Then I looked at him.

"Are we friends, then now? Acquaintances, maybe?" I asked all out of a sudden. If we were going to stick together, which we should, then we'd have to be pretty compatible in order for this running away thing to work well, I thought.

"I mean, yeah. Sure, I guess," he replied. The plainness of his response kind of irked me.

"Yeah, but I don't know shit about you," I told him bitterly. "Tell me about yourself."

He brought his hand to briefly scratch his right eyebrow, then, like a magnet, went back to the wheel. "I like comics, you already know that now. I like playing D&D. I also really like coffee and I'm very into art and would like to make comics in the future too. I like Britpop but I also like rock. Not the whole 'Rock and Roll' thing with bands objectifying women and being terrible shitheads. And I'm very-" He stopped so abruptly, and it significantly caught my interest. "I was very close to my brother," he mumbled regrettably. If he were to look down, he would, but he was still so fixated on the road. God, I wonder what happened to their relationship. His brother lives all the way in California. "Anyways," There was a large mood change: neutral to upset then to neutral again. It was weird. He was changing the subject because he was currently uncomfortable with it. But I didn't want to poke for details if this was truly sensitive. He moved his hand to the back of his neck as if he could scratch off the thought. "What about you?"

"I get angry easily, maybe. Impatient. I'm annoyed by our school and the town that we live in. In junior year, Phillip Young kept calling Dylan Murphy by his dead name, beating him up as well, so I beat up Phillip. Then I got in trouble. Chelsea McCoy was slut-shaming many girls and being a complete dickhead, so I started yelling and insulting her, using all of the curse words that exists. Then I stuffed her in a locker. Got in trouble again. I'm surprised I didn't get expelled yet." I explained tenderly, remembering both incidents well and satisfyingly. That was one of the only things I was proud about myself and behavior. Sometimes my dreadful, persistent anger can be advantageous. I wasn't some savior or school vigilante. I was just an asshole with anger issues and those two pissed me off so I properly lost it.

"That's really cool of you, though. They definitely deserved it," he replied smiling, as I smiled at him back. The way his lips formed that way had made me feel good at the moment. And I liked how he was getting less and less shy to speak or react every second. I wanted to know more about him, though. Like, not the 'all about me' school presentation favorite food shit, but I wanted to know him. I wanted to know why he isolated himself so much, I wanted to know some other side of him. I wanted to know him. But that could be for a different time.

I guess I should actually tell him more about myself, though. But the 'all about me' elementary school presentation way. "I was born in Minnesota. Most of my family's there," I began. "Been there for a nice time, but then we moved here. Damn, I didn't know Jersey was such a disappointment. Or just, y'know, the town itself, I guess," I added, letting the memories of my hometown rush to the top of my brain. But then I paused, suddenly feeling a little... perturbed, maybe. I was quite aware of what had caused it, though. "You're... You're okay with this, right? Running away from here with me? I feel like I'm pushing you. Also, we just met too."

I think his face changed as I spoke. His resting face, which was a bit tense, had softened. Like if he felt sorry for me or anything. That wasn't the reaction I intended for him to bring. "I've always wanted to leave this place, actually. Too many... bad memories," he sighed. I don't doubt it. He drove so cautiously, he always kept to himself, and his brother lives across the country. A lot of things must have happened throughout his life here.

I placed my hand on his shoulder in affirmation. Maybe the car drove over a bump or a stiff rock, but if that wasn't the case, then Gerard had flinched at my touch. The look on his face made me assume that the hairs on his body would have raised at that very moment. I lifted my hand off. Maybe he didn't like physical contact. Or he was just startled at the time. "Well... We'll leave and make better memories, yeah?" I reassured, smiling slightly, even knowing he wouldn't see it. I didn't know what happened with him here, but I knew it must've really sucked. That was an understatement; it must have been terrible. He's a very quiet kid. Was, at least.

Time passed even more, and I was convinced we were already out of Belleville. And I started to get really hungry. "Gerard?" I asked while replacing the cassette that had finished, with a different one, beginning to play Britpop.

"Hm?" he hummed, pursed his lips, and blinked.

"I'm hungry," I said, unfortunately in a tone that made it sound insignificant. I hated how the things I tried to say out loud wouldn't come out the way I wanted them to.

"Me too," he replied. "But there's a roadside diner coming up soon, so we can eat there." I nodded in response and moved my arm by the window, letting my head rest on my hand, and looking through the glass, anticipating the eatery.

Luckily, we eventually pulled into a parking lot and I saw the small and short diner, with as many windows as a car dealership. I got out of the car and slammed the door closed, immediately smelling whatever the fuck hippo's shit smells like. God, it was awful. Gerard exited the car and merely scrunched his face, smelling the same smell I did, which I chuckled to myself quietly. It was kind of cute, his reaction.

Together, we walked to the inside of the diner by opening the rickety door, a bell attached above it ringing. This part of Jersey had a lot of bells. Weird. The door had a small 'welcome' sign, but other than that, it was just wooden and plain, having a musty small window at the top half.

Once Gerard and I got settled into our seats, he leisurely analyzed the menu. And after watching him read the menu to himself for a short while, I moved my attention to the window beside me. Being met with the sinister cluster of trees and hues outside, I began to feel tired. I couldn't tell if the sight was comforting me or drugging me. "You, uh, know what you're gonna order?" I didn't jump, but I was still moderately alarmed as I heard Gerard precipitously speak. And I heard his voice again without actually looking at him; feeling that same, weird feeling in my stomach afterward as the words he said had pleasantly come through different areas in my ear. I hated not knowing why certain things occurred and what they were, so this feeling rather pissed me off. I needed to know what it was.

"Yeah, I'll just, y'know, get whatever burger they have here," I replied blankly, trying to shake off the thoughts of that strange feeling. I watched the trees move together as the wind pushed them as far as it could. I didn't know if I looked at this because it was beautiful, or I didn't want to look at Gerard so I could hear him that same way again. The trees did look pretty peaceful, though. Yet they were so tall and surrounding that they felt like school bullies.

"...You okay?"

"Um, yeah, why wouldn't I be," I replied abruptly and turned my head to the waitress that appeared the hell out of nowhere, in front of our table. I think I had some idea why Gerard asked about how I was feeling. Sometimes I would get randomly upset but it was mostly because I felt enormously worn out. I did feel, for some reason, like I wanted to drop dead right at this moment, and I didn't know why.

"Good afternoon, my name is Jenna and I'll be your server for today. Can I get you two anything to drink?" The waitress at our table said cheerfully, holding a black leather notepad and a short pen in her hands. Something that I found interesting, mostly because it was pretty rare - she gripped the pen in her slim left hand.

The waitress looked at me, waiting for a response. "Um, just water," I finally answered, watching her write down the word in her left hand. I was able to hear the scratching of the black pen, which somehow made the atmosphere less tense. Then, she looked at Gerard.

"I'll have water too," he replied quietly as she added more to the page of the notepad.

"Alright, just two waters?" she ensured, smiling, and we both nodded, confirming it. "Okay, and are you ready to order your food already?"

"Oh, um, yeah," I said, looking at Gerard.

For the third time, time passed, yet awkwardly, and we've already gotten our food. It was pretty silent, except for the music playing in the background and a few chattering. I looked at the booth at the side and two kids and a man, their father most likely, sat down. They looked happy. They probably don't live in Belleville, I concluded. Though there were a few things I noticed that were strange, but it wasn't relevant nor important.

As I took more bites of my burger, I turned my head back to Gerard but noticed something happening behind him. I poked my head out slightly, trying to see what was going on. He looked at me, then turned his head around to try to see what I was looking at as we then heard the door open and its hysterical shrill. He looked back at me confused and asked, "What?"

"Those people who just left didn't pay for their food," I replied with my mouth full. "They dine and dashed."

"Jeez. Well... At least the food the cooks made weren't a waste 'cause they finished, right?" he said softly.

"Well... Their server will have to cover the cost of the bill at some times," I explained. "The diner would also lose money on the food or drinks they got,"

"How do you know that?" Gerard asked, chuckling shortly. I learned instantly that I liked his chuckle.

"I don't know. I know a lot of random information from different people and stuff," I shrugged. Again, I looked at the other booth on the side I saw before; the one with the man and his two kids. I felt for the plate and inserted a fry into my mouth. "I'm also very observant," I added, chewing the fry, then gulping it promptly. "That guy over there," I pointed to a man with dark brown hair and eyes, crows feet on each end, sitting by two small children. "He's a bad husband," Gerard turned around and looked at him, then back at me. "And/or he's having marriage problems,"

"And how can you assume that?" He brought his elbow onto the table and held his head in his hand. He was interested, I could tell, which made me feel a little proud.

"For the past few minutes, he has been looking at their waitress' ass. It could be a mistake, but I could tell he was also looking at her, uh... 'dirty pillows,'" He giggled at the awkward Carrie reference I made. Then I continued. "Weird and perverted, especially because his children are right there. But they don't know anything about that. Every time their server would go to them, he would, occasionally, cover his wedding ring by either putting his right hand on top, hiding his hand under the table, or even taking it out at some times. But I'm pretty sure his children know the purpose of the ring already, so he's trying to make it very subtle that he's hiding it in front of the waitress. Also, she couldn't have coincidentally been his wife. That family's tourists. She has no ring, and the children aren't showing any affection or closeness."

Gerard looked at the family at that booth for a long time until the man did at least two of the things I've said. "Shit, you're right! What an ass-"

"Being a bad husband doesn't mean he'd be a bad father, though. I mean, by default, being a bad husband would immediately make you a bad father because divorce and your parents arguing can ruin a kid's childhood, and staring at young women with his kids there. But besides that, see, the food his kids ordered was... unreasonably expensive, but he gave it to them anyway. I saw the menu. So he might be spoiling his kids too, but we don't know for sure," I explained as the young daughter and son ate their food. "They look genuinely happy. And the boy is wearing a hat from a theme park from a different state, so the kids' father must be passionate about making his kids content,"

He looked back at me when I finished and chuckled to himself. "You must've really paid attention in science with, y'know, observation and stuff,"

"No... actually. It's pretty natural, I've been like that ever since I was little. I even eavesdropped and everything." I smiled, picking at another french fry on my plate.

He smiled in response and took a bite out of his food. "I eavesdrop all the time," he said with his mouth full and I smiled. It makes sense; being quiet would make you great at listening and listening to other people's conversations.

Soon after, we both finished our food and stood up from our seats. I hesitantly put my hand out.

"Friends?" I asked.

He grinned and shook my hand. "Friends."

We paid upfront and got out of the diner, only to smell the outdoors, shit-scented. We walked over to his car and came inside, slamming the doors closed afterward. He started the engine and put the car in reverse to get out of the parking spot.

"So," I began. "Where to?"

He chuckled and I could have sworn that something changed in my body after hearing and looking at him. "Anywhere but fucking here."

We drove off to the road surrounded by the trees with pale leaves and the gray, pale sky mostly covered by them. When I closed my eyes, I felt the same, free feeling when I would sit on that bench in the park. I didn't need to feel the grass on my feet. I already felt the same, anyways. I think this was the feeling of release; escaping the redundant captivity in a small, boring, and soul-sucking town. And I loved it.

I opened my eyes and looked at Gerard. He was adorable, really. And staring at him for a longer duration could have convinced me that he was beautiful. But that would be silly. I wouldn't actually know what's really beautiful, being somebody who never appreciated anything of that nature. I'm pretty sure that I am messed up. That something was definitely wrong with me. So maybe I couldn't judge what was beautiful. But I was extremely certain, maybe more than I have ever been in my life, that those lips of his were.