#it's gonna get fun >:3c

[browniefox]

i forgor my ao3 logon so I can’t comment right this second but I just wanted to say your pines paradox fic makes my heart hurt in the best way. Dipper and Ford interaction while Dipper knows he’s the author and Ford has no idea who he is is such a fun dynamic and also I love how much Stan already cares about him. He may feel like a bad person because he’s been told that but Stanley pines they could never make me hate you!!!! I wish Stan and Ford could make up w/o exploding the future ;_;

I'm glad you're liking it so far :D

The fic just has so many fun characters to match up and interact with each other! This next chapter I'm planning to finally have a real Ford and Stan conversation, which is going to go about as well as you'd think it will.

What I'm really loving is having parallels between Dipper and Mabel (not too many tho I don't want it to get annoying), as well between Stan in the past and present. He may be a little rougher around the edges in the past in some ways, but at the end of the day he's got a soft spot for those kid <3

[tswwwit]

Here's the second part of Cult Reincarnation Dipper!

The first part is over Here if you missed it.

Hope you enjoy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The white of his smile has fangs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing?

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

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

It doesn’t hurt at all. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ahem.” Bill clears his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This would never have made the list. 

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper lets his smile drop. 

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

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

And Bill lunges in with startling speed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing here makes sense. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which… makes a terrifying kind of sense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But definitely expectant. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another snap, and the room lights up. 

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

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

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

Comfy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leaving Dipper totally unsupervised.

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

Into a kitchen. 

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

Also, totally not an exit. 

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

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

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

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

Pretty weird for it to be so clean, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No Bill around, at all. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is he supposed to make of all this?

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

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

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

But if he’s here anyway…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With that in mind, Dipper gets to the investigation.

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

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

Ah, right. The eye thing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, Dipper’s going to pass. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just. So, so soft. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And shit, it’s dark in here. 

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

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

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

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

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

It hasn’t been too bad. So far.

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

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

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

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

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

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

There it is. His first order. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh.” Bill says, this time sounding… 

Not very thrilled. 

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

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

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

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

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

Shit, he’s likely seen everything. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait - but they are. 

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

But these aren’t just anyone’s things. 

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

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

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

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

He just- Said it.

Bill Cipher himself called his religion a ‘cult’. 

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

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

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

Dipper nods again, kind of numbly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then again… 

He never has liked the robes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. Shit, shit shit. 

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

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

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

Wait. Bill.  Hasn’t noticed, yet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh no. He forgot about…. that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Behind him, he hears Bill cackling with laughter.

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

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

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

But Bill sure thinks he’s fucking hilarious.

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

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

Bill Cipher’s a total asshole.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

everyone pls pat my head gently & sweetly i finally finished one of the (longer) books on my tbr 🫡

[somegrumpynerd]

HEY. POINTS FINGER… any thoughts on how everyone reacted when the other joined the team? as in how did killer react when dust came, how did he and dust react when horror came, how did they all react when cross came, etc. i love love LOVE your bad sanses thoughts way too much they make me so happy. if i write hurt you write comfort and it’s awesome. also how do you think they slowly started to get closer? just.. bah give me your thoughts on them!!!! any thoughts!!!!!!!!!

You fool!! You’ve given me a chance to ramble about my special little guys and now this post will stretch on forever!! Mwahahahahah >:3c

No but seriously this is probably gonna be wicked long cause I have 1 million thoughts about these guys joining and meeting each other so uh, readmore for everybody’s safety and sanity

(^ I wrote that in the document before I started typing out my actual thoughts and uh

yeah no kidding, this is like a fucking essay so proceed with caution)

OKAY SO

I’ve said before that Nightmare got Dust for two reasons; one being that Dream had just recently started working with Ink (and soon Blue) so he and Killer were no longer able to gang up on Dream. He wanted somebody else to bulk up their numbers and give Killer a little back up. He also was starting to realise that Killer didn’t handle being alone very well, since this was when he most often got worked up and broke things around the castle (and sometimes tipped over into stage 3). Dust would be a perfect fit since he had the same amount of lvl and fighting experience as Killer, and since they were so close in circumstance they would be practically like brothers right?

The irony that he thought this about a guy he was recruiting to help kill his brother was apparently lost on him.

They absolutely hated each other. Like, it was instant. Killer saw him as a replacement, why would boss go out and get another sans - one with almost the same backstory as me - when I’m right here? Does he think I’m not good enough? Am I disposable and this is the backup for when I die in combat? He didn’t take it well. He took it all out on Dust too, not cooperating in battle, trying to start fights in the castle, etc. He couldn’t outright kill him because Nightmare had given him strict orders not to, but Killer loves a loophole. If he roughed Dust up down to 1hp and something else happened to finish him off, technically he’d followed orders.

Dust just straight up didn’t want to be there. Nightmare just showing up and yoinking him had worked fine with Killer, but Dust had wanted to sit in his empty au and die, he had no intention of joining a team or doing work of any kind - good or bad. The only reason he didn’t just lie down and refuse the entire time was that he had to fight back against Killer, as much as he wanted to die he refused to give this ass the satisfaction or lvl. He didn’t intend to be any help out in the field either, but again, Killer was making sure he got fired at so he had to retaliate to stay alive.

Eventually it got bad enough that Nightmare had to pull Killer aside and demand answers. In the year or so of knowing him Killer had never willfully disobeyed orders before, so Nightmare needed to know what had gotten into him. He dispelled the replacement rumour right away, he still wasn’t quite softened up enough to be sappy about it but he made sure Killer understood what a good worker he was and that Nightmare had no intention of losing him. It didn’t help a lot, they still hated each other for other reasons, but it eased a little.

Killer still had pretty frequent dips into stage 3, except now he would go straight for Dust usually. Nightmare had tried to explain what he’d learned about it to Dust, but he didn’t really believe that it wasn’t just Killer deciding to try and kill him for funsies. He only accepted it after a particular episode where he attacked Nightmare instead, which Dust knew Killer wouldn’t try in his right mind.

After he came back to his senses he sought Dust out. The air around Killer was very different after a stage 3, sort of sombre and almost calm, so Dust let them sit together and Killer apologised for giving him such a hard time. They actually talked for the first time in months while Killer was still calm (or tolerable, as Dust describes it), and it didn’t magically fix everything but, things were a little better. They still fought and argued and bothered each other but it wasn’t as sharp, there was a lack of real murderous intent in it all, and sometimes after an episode they would talk a little bit. It was the best Nightmare was going to get for now, so he took it.

They were still completely incompetent about taking care of themselves though. Neither of them would eat unless prompted and Nightmare didn’t have good enough knowledge of mortals to know when that should be to stop them passing out from hunger on the job. Not to mention the stars were now a full team, and with the way Killer and Dust would sometimes rather target each other on the field he could do with more backup.

Horror was the first of the group to get a choice in joining. Nightmare had taken note of how much Dust didn’t want to be part of things, and while it was in his best interests in the long run given his situation, Horror’s au was still mostly intact - though a little in disrepair. Horror was also the first in the group to have a good (and ongoing) relationship with his brother, so Nightmare knew he couldn’t just pop in and steal him, he had to be a bit more diplomatic with this one and offer a deal.

He gave Horror some time to think on his proposal - he would set up regular deliveries of food to Horror’s au in exchange for him joining their team - and was quite surprised when Horror agreed, with some stipulations. Horror was equally surprised when Nightmare agreed so easily to his terms (that he didn’t want his brother to know what he’d be doing, and that he wouldn’t kill). A little down the line the terms were altered to add that he would also be left to visit his au every week or so.

Horror was not impressed meeting the other two. He didn’t need his power as judge anymore to sense the lvl coming off them both, and given who they were working for he was instantly distrustful of them both (the uh, brother situation did not help). He was also in a place that had an abundance of food for the first time in probably years, so he was doing a lot of going hog wild in the kitchen and then getting very sick as a result.

Dust didn’t particularly feel anything for him. This guy hated him, sure, but it wasn’t forward and slashy like with Killer, it was just quiet loathing which was fine. That’s how Dust felt about himself so, y’know, mood. He did kind of feel sorry for him though, not just because of the whole famine and everything, but also because he was watching this guy eat like his life depended on it and then get sick and undo it day after day. He was the one who suggested Horror getting his food in moderation to Nightmare, which did help but was an absolute ordeal to enforce. Y’know how some people get hangry? Imagine that but you haven’t had a proper meal in years and now these people give you tiny amounts of food and don’t let you eat more for hours. The hunger mood swings were a sight to behold, you would never have guessed in those days that Horror specified not wanting to kill.

When his ability to eat had evened out and he was in better shape, Horror made a point of apologising to Dust for being aggressive with him. Over time he’d kind of softened up on him from his initial impression, since he could see plainly how wracked with guilt Dust was over his situation. It was a little easier to imagine that whatever he’d done was truly out of desperation and not just for fun, as Horror had assumed at first sight. 

They also both retained that classic sans laziness, so it was easy for them to share a space while saying and doing nothing. It made Horror the first person that Dust willingly spent time around in the castle (and vice versa since Horror was still largely suspicious of Nightmare and Killer - the deal seemed too good to be true and the stage 3 episodes didn’t help). As time went on, Horror kind of became Dust’s emotional support skeleton in a way. Dust had become quite averse to touch in his solitude and Horror very slowly brought him back out with casual gentle touches, until not only did he no longer freeze or stiffen at being grabbed but Dust would seek him out to flop next to on the couch. Horror claimed it was just returning the favour for helping with his eating situation, but really it was nice to have something resembling a friend here.

Killer, for his part, was going through This is My Replacement 2: Electric Boogaloo. Not to the same degree as with Dust, since Horror was quite a bit different, but Killer was still wary of this new addition. He didn’t really instigate anything though since, to be honest, Horror had the intimidation factor. He was like a foot taller than both of them, he had a cracked skull and completely different magic and it seemed like every time Killer saw him he was eating bread like a wolf eats a deer. So while he was going through his food moderating, Killer mostly just stayed quiet and kept his distance.

Horror had not softened on him like he had with Dust, since Killer didn’t openly show remorse. He still watched him with distrust, especially after seeing the way he scrapped with Dust for seemingly no reason other than for violence’s sake. Killer was still mostly targeting Dust in his stage 3s, but Horror had to be careful to stay out of his way since he was still working with much lower hp than the other two. What did start to convince him was seeing how similar Killer and Dust were after a stage 3 episode. Once Killer was slightly more composed (ie stopped crying), he became so tired and quiet and blunt about things he normally joked his way around. It was a little startling, but also started to bring Horror around to the idea that Killer might regret his actions too, just buried under several layers of whatever the hell is also wrong with him at any given time.

Killer and Horror only really started interacting after talking about Dust. Killer was asking how he got Dust to like him since he seems to hate everyone and everything else, Horror told him very pointedly it was because he wasn’t trying to kill Dust. Killer admitted he wasn’t trying to kill Dust, at least not anymore, he just wanted to fight for fun. It opened up a better channel of understanding, knowing that Killer did not actually have murderous intent behind his swings (stage 3 notwithstanding). It made it easier for Horror to occasionally get involved in the roughhousing which Killer delighted in, knowing that the other two knew how to hold back enough to keep him from dusting.

Speaking of stage 3, it was around this time that Killer and Dust made a very important deal. After a particularly rough episode with a little too close of a call, Killer showed up in Dust’s room and begged him shakily to make a promise - that if he ever got too out of control during one of his stages, Dust would kill him. He’d been told over and over by Nightmare that it was impossible for Killer to hurt him since he was immortal, but now there were more people around him where that wasn’t the case, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he came out of a stage and found himself alone. Dust promised.

It’s also worth mentioning that, once they were all close enough to be on speaking terms, Horror started bullying the shit out of these two about eating. Now that Horror knew neither of them were going to kill him, he felt safe enough to pick them up by the scruff and set them at the table to say they weren’t leaving until they had at least a snack. He let them pick what they would eat - he wasn’t that cruel about it - but he had to see them eat at least 3 times a day or they would hear about it.

It was by no means perfect or regular, but after about half a year Nightmare finally had henchmen who ate food and worked together (mostly).

Now here’s the problem… I still haven’t really figured out how or why Cross joined the team. Like, obviously there’s some kind of point in the events of underverse where it splits off into an alternate timeline, but I haven’t really figured out where yet so. Leave that one with me just a little longer. Cross joins.

Nightmare really truly didn’t intend to take anyone else in. They were (mostly) getting along, they were pretty well matched to fight the stars, he had no need of more mortals.

…but he was also pretty soft at this point. Every one of them had taken a blow to his I’m immortal I’m an island I don’t get attached to others persona and he’d gotten pretty damn fond of them all. This was why when he felt the sheer weight of loneliness radiating off of Cross, he just couldn’t bring himself to leave him.

So Cross entered the castle. 

He did not particularly intend to stay or make friends, he was trying to get his world back and nothing more. He even revealed a little down the line that he outright refused to kill, and was quite surprised to find that Nightmare was fine with that. At the start he was polite but not friendly with the others and mostly kept to himself.

Dust, as is often the case, did not really have an opinion. Another new guy, this one was self sufficient and didn’t bother him so he had no reason to get involved. He was content to be in the same room as Cross but didn’t start up any conversations.

Horror felt the need to speak to Cross, since Dust would happily stay silent for years and Killer was, well, Killer. Horror was somehow the closest thing to normal they had, so he was the one that made small talk. Mostly asking what Cross would like for meals and encouraging him to pick something he liked when he got the answer of “anything is fine”. As Cross settled in a bit more and actually opened up, they bonded over being the only two to enjoy food. Horror made a point of adding chocolate to the stock they kept in the kitchen and making tacos here and there for Cross.

Horror was also the first Cross kind of warmed to, mostly because he was the one devoid of lvl and Nightmare had mentioned he’d also said he wouldn’t kill. Learning a little about his au’s situation only softened Cross to him more, especially seeing that he still cared a lot for his brother and was trying to protect his home (even if Cross found it unthinkable that he lived away from it). It was through Horror that he also got accustomed to Dust, how being quiet and distant was kind of his default and that he also felt deeply haunted by the loss of his world. They weren’t exactly friends, but it was comfortable enough.

So now boss had taken in another new person, someone who takes orders like a soldier and fights with knives and ruthless precision and aims to be his righthand man, and Killer was ecstatic. By now he’d mostly put his fears of being disposable behind him, Nightmare had gotten a bit less subtle in showing how important they all were to him and Killer felt confident he wouldn’t be replaced. Which was a little bit funny, because the only guy he didn’t feel threatened by was the one who absolutely competed for his spot.

Cross needed to prove he was useful, he had to feel like he earned his keep and that all the training and suffering he’d done was for a reason. When Nightmare sent them on missions, Cross aimed to be the fastest and the most efficient and to report to Nightmare without question. Horror and Dust looking on would have expected Killer to see this 100% as a threat to his position as (self proclaimed) Nightmare’s second in command, and to go for this guy’s throat when nobody else was around.

But Killer was fascinated. Cross was completely different from any of them, bar Nightmare whose au is a whole different kettle of fish, so he had a certain element of unpredictability to him. Horror and Dust were both based on classic sans just like him, so to a certain degree he knew how they would feel about most things and what they might say, the only differences being in what they had experienced through their own timelines. Cross was based on a swap sans and his au had taken wild twists and turns away from usual events, so Killer had to learn everything about him by poking and prodding for answers or observing from a distance, much like back when it was just him and Nightmare. Cross was something new to be studied and Killer loved taking notes.

Cross did not see this as friendly. He was competing with Killer for approval, not realising Killer was playing their contest like a game. When he saw Cross training he would jump in to spar for fun, but Cross saw his rival trying to get a jump on him and take him out of the running. When Killer would hang around and pester Cross in their off time with questions, it didn’t seem like someone taking interest, it seemed like someone being nosy and looking for weaknesses to exploit. When Horror mentioned that Killer was being surprisingly contained and friendly, Cross really thought he was fucking with him.

The first time Cross was willing to even consider this was the case was when his locket came loose on the field and Killer ran back to find it, since one of the notes he’d taken was how the locket wasn’t something Cross would play about (the same as Horror with food). It didn’t make sense for someone who was seriously competing to have him kicked out to just hand his necklace back, no ransoms or attempts to crush it to upset him, just some vague remark about “owing him one” and then right back to Nightmare for orders.

Cross had to give him something of a chance after that, Horror helped a lot by telling him “he doesn’t want to hurt you, he just doesn’t know how to be normal”. It was mostly a playful jab at Killer, but reframing their interactions changed it significantly for Cross. Now they were sparring playfully and having friendly competition on jobs. He wasn’t as put off when Killer went into stage 3 because he knew he could match him in combat and the others were always on hand to help restrain or distract him. Cross also took note of how Killer calmed down a lot for physical touch, not unlike how Dust had warmed up to Horror. It went a long way into not only making him a little less combative for attention every day, but it seemed to put longer stretches between his episodes (which Cross had also started tracking so they wouldn’t be caught out by them as much).

For his part, Killer has disobeyed instructions in the past to benefit Cross, usually ignoring the task to help him if he’s hurt. He’s also given Nightmare nudges towards praising him because he’s noted that that’s what Cross needs in the same way he needs touch (not that Nightmare doesn’t praise them normally, but when Cross is going through it and needs something). He also doesn’t particularly like chocolate but has made a point of not admitting this to Horror so he can give his chocolate to Cross.

(It’s also worth noting that Cross is the only one, besides Nightmare, that has been to Horror’s au. He offered to help out during the food delivery and got to meet Horror’s Papyrus (who he is a little intimidated by but ultimately friendly with, even though it’s a little weird since he’s a good bit different from his own Papyrus). Dust and Killer can’t really visit for a few reasons, mostly because everyone will notice their lvl immediately and know what they’ve done. Dust especially doesn’t know how he would react to having a Papyrus in front of him again and doesn’t want to put Horror's family at risk to find out. Whenever he visits, his Papyrus asks about Cross now and sometimes tries to make tacos for him (key word tries, he’s still a Papyrus after all). He may have joked that seeing Cross sometimes is “like having another brother but younger and less lazy” and when Horror told him this Cross may or may not have cried.)

And that’s where we are now!

They’re a very strange group who’ve been through some inexplicable events and have all changed each other in one way or another. And whether or not it can be admitted, they are a family c:

Now onto how Nightmare was made emotionally open by each of them!! In this essay I will no just kidding could you imagine this is already like 7 pages long

If you got to the end of this post please drink some water and get yourself a snack

[komashkathesilly]

I would be the forever grateful if you drew kanamizu or just Mizuki please and thank uyou

C:

sure :3c

[thelemonsnek]

Oh while I'm here and posting stuff. I've recently gone from collecting images for my own purposes, to creating a Hisui/PLA centric archive with as much official art as I can get my grubby little hands on. If anyone has or knows about any obscure official art or merch with art on it, I'd be verrrry grateful for any help anyone has!

[image id: art of Irida exclaiming in surprise and joy, holding her hands in front of her mouth. End id]

And, does anyone have a preference on where the archive be stored? I want it to be easily accessible to the general public, while still being viable long term. My fallback for stuff like this in the past has been google drive, but if anyone has any better ideas I'd love to hear :) tbh I was considering my neocities page, given how little I trust google these days

I'd love to hear your thoughts!!

[mothlover69]

U ever just wanna shove ur f/o up against the wall and watch them blush

[pucciverse]

solitary wildcat

extra variants

[aftersector]

my rook! :D

[coulrology]

So what's the lore with Juniper n their relationship with Vitimir n Hettie?

WELL for both, their relationships go back to their school days! Although the difference being that Juniper and Hettie went to St. Epiderm together, while Vitimir went to a different school (Glandus at the time he met Juniper).

I’ve briefly touched on how Juniper and Vitimir met here, so that explains their first meeting. To reiterate, Vitimir was a shy kid that didn’t really have any friends growing up (aside from bugs/whatever little creatures they spent their time around) and was bullied frequently, so that single positive interaction with Juniper, though small, really stuck with him and he never forgot it. Juniper didn’t forget it either, but being the sociable type meeting and talking to lots of different people, that moment sorta blended in with the rest of their memories. So fast forward to them both working as Coven Heads at the same time, Vitimir immediately recognizes Juniper. Despite Juniper changing a lot since his child self, that one good memory left such a big impact on Vitimir as a kid that he still held that soft spot for them. So of course, when Juniper eventually approached him on their own time, Vitimir already had this layer of vulnerability. Even though they might not have recognized him, from Vitimir’s perspective, there was that sense of familiarity and comfort; Juniper might have changed, but that kind kid was still in him. Now that they have the chance, Vitimir wants to actually get to know this one person who had plagued so many of their thoughts as a kid. And the rest is history!!

As for Hettie! Again, she and Juniper attended St. Epiderm together. Hettie was just as terrifying as a kid as she is now. She was everything- a jock, a princess, a bully, a weird girl, whatever you can think of. Though she’s very open about who she is, everyone around her was always so intimidated by the fact that she was unpredictable (and the fact that she’s both the smartest AND strongest person you’d ever meet is terrifying enough on its own). Most everyone- except for Juniper. To Juniper, Hettie was always such a character. She’s always been so confident and unapologetic, able to command people’s attention without even saying a word. Her unpredictability made everything she did so interesting. Juniper so deeply admired this about Hettie. And the fact that she’s 100% his type only drew them closer to her. Hettie was Juniper’s first ever crush, and that love Juniper had for her never faded. Though as kids, they weren’t in the same social circles, they did cross paths a lot, whether it was through Sonia (Scooter Crane’s daughter and childhood best friend to Juniper, who was also in the Healing Track), or Juniper getting injured for whatever ridiculous reasons. At this age, Hettie didn’t reciprocate her feelings (yet), but she had a fondness for Juniper because he was so different from the other kids for the fact alone that they had a (very obvious) crush on her. And while their crush may have caused them to do embarrassing things, and foolishly being used as her own guinea pig from time to time to practice her magic on, Hettie had cared about Juniper. To her, he always made life more fun and interesting. Fast forward to them as Coven Heads- Hettie has grown a stronger affection for Juniper. He’s changed over the years, but he still makes life so much more fun and interesting. Perhaps now, Hettie admires Juniper for the same exact reasons they always have her. They’re still a bit pathetic around her, but Hettie finds it endearing. Not to mention, Juniper still makes for a good doll to experiment on, and she takes good care of her favorite dolls ;-)

[mochiwrites]

no one is ready for the hero au I’m throwing together

[aria0fgold]

I love swap AUs centered on circumstances, I love doing that with my own OCs and I'm about to subject mhyk with the same thing. Once I get enough free time and also have my health start getting better I WILL write that mhyk isat au!

[mars-ipan]

guys pinterest pose references kinda fuck severely

[vargaslovinghours]

Y’all are being subjected to my Sims 2 tests, so there

The other set of Vargases came over for a visit and Scriabin picked up Shmee and started talking to Scriabin through him. Very normal, very usual

I downloaded some circle-glasses recolours and hghghh they look so good! Closer every day to his final details! Getting ever closer!

Edgar too! I made him a custom hair with a lighter undercut - I’m mostly happy with it, probably could’ve shifted it a shade closer to his skintone but the texturing was weird no matter what :P And his stripey shirt! I wish Body Shop didn’t have that hands-on-hips pose lol, it looks so much better in-game, but that’s all the better :)

I got some new clothes for Todd as well! As soon as I saw this ‘fit I was like “Oh that’s 100% Todd there he is.” Scriadad hug ♥ So cute

Foot-dancing together stopp it’s so cute!!

The way he looks at them stoppp <3 <3 They kept doing this right up til they left for home haha, Todd’s giggles are the cutest

Used SimPE to save him to the Body Shop, I now have infinite copies of The Boyyyy ♪

Moved him in with his “parents” as just shadow people basically, they’re not gonna matter in a bit as long as I remember how to get the Social Worker/Adoption process to work properly. Get her Todd!!

Wanna play? :D

Menacing :(

Look, Todd, your new dads are here! Initially I wasn’t sure who I wanted to adopt him, got lots of options; the first passes, the married couple with their own Todd, Johnny?? He definitely doesn’t have the facilities for a child lol But these are the ones that showed up on their own, so the married Vargases are the winners!

Scriabin cares more about him than his actual parents ;; A stranger off the street shows him more care! Not that it’s a high watermark

Look at him being a good dad!

Weh, he just wants friends ;; Poor baby

Best timeline, thank you

While we wait for CPS, let’s get some other interactions in! Nny is mean so he tended to prank the other two with a nose flick - mostly Edgar lol ♪ Now kiss

“Oh please don’t break all my bones~ :3” I love Todd looking up at them haha <3

Pffft, I think he was talking about the other Scriabin and just how attractive he is. Classic Scriabin. Alternatively, also funny to imagine him bragging himself up about how he’s just so handsome that Edgar can’t help but love him hahaha ♪

Allow me to tickle you with my KNIFE! >:D

Get a load of this guy lol

He ended up passing out at one point - I forgot which motives make CPS show up >.> - and completely 0%’d his comfort, but for some reason stargazing increased it?? It’s the same ground wh

Is two not enough to satisfy your butterfly bloodlust child?? He ended up with three, I had him release them before he was picked up by the Social Worker - success!

He rolled a new Want as soon as Todd was taken away - “Wants to see Ghost of Todd” Woah, dark! :0

And here he is on the married Vargases’ lot!! Success!! I did it right!! Heck yeah! :D Unfortunately they were uh, indisposed at the time. Good job guys pft

Goes right for Shmee, he really is Todd <3

[sysig]

A hero is only as good as his weapons, so make ‘em count (Patreon)

[sabraeal]

Brewed With Intent, Part 2

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2023, Day 1: Attraction

“Well, I personally don’t see what the problem is.” There’s more shirt than Suzu when he shrugs; two layers at least that Shirayuki can count, and both of them wrinkle when he folds his arms across his chest. Defensive, like he expects her to grab him by one. Nervous, like she might be able to drag him over the counter that way. Or at least, like someone has tried. “You knew your order was ready, didn’t you?”

“It’s not that it wasn’t effective.” Hard to argue that when she’s already here, standing in Shidan’s shop, eager to avoid whatever he might cook up as a follow-up. “It’s just that the execution is lacking a little, um…”

The rotating display squeaks under Obi’s singular attention. “Soul?”

“Soul?” Suzu scoffs. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t just send a…a cat! They’re way too high a consciousness to take to anything but the most advanced charms. Though” —one long-fingered hand raises, wrapping oh-too thoughtfully around his chin— “if I tweaked a few sigils, maybe a rat…?”

With a piercing squeal, the display’s tortured keens abruptly cease. It may be next to impossible to look at Obi, but by the tilt of his head, she knows his eyebrows must be scraping his hairline. “Bro. Vermin isn’t going to be an improvement on bird.”

“I thought pigeons were already considered—?”

“She’s not complaining about the genus, Suzu,” Yuzuri deadpans, one ear flicking at the precise rhythm Garrack's left eye used to, before— er, well, recent events. “It’s the method.”

“Really?” Suzu frowns, and to her dismay, turns it right on her. “Yuzuri did mention that she found its movements a little uncanny—”

“Gross,” she corrects with relish. “I called them gross.”

“—But I thought that if I tweaked a clause or two, I might be able to make it more bird-like.” He blinks down at her, more curious than concerned. “Do you think that might help?”

“Erm…” Her gaze doesn’t quite skitter over to Obi, but near enough that she can catch the encouraging arch of his eyebrows, the goading wave of his hands. “Maybe?”

Obi clucks his tongue. At her, she knows. It’s just— Suzu might be comfortable doling out cutting critique like her grandma did butter on bread, but ‘it’s an abomination’ is hardly constructive enough to be considered an objective review.  “I don’t think Miss cares about how it moves. It’s that it’s moving at all.”

Suzu scratches absently at where his goggles dig a divot in his curls. “But how else would it get to you?”

Yuzuri sighs, long suffering. “How many times do I have to explain this? It’s dead, Suzu. No one wants it to ‘get to them.’ They want it to go away!”

“What are you talking about? My messengers are a stunning example of highly skilled charm work! Besides,” he adds, confidence leaking from him like helium from a balloon. “It’s the only way to get people to pick up their orders.”

Obi cocks his head, curious, like a cat. “Doordash has an app.”

“Weren’t you just complaining about a lack of soul—?”

“What about the coin?” Shirayuki blurts out, before she can think better of it. “That’s what the shop used to use, right? A coin that was spelled to glow?”

“Well, yeah, at one point. But metal is really more Shidan’s element, you know.” Suzu has all the height he needs to look down his nose at them naturally, but his chin takes a prideful tilt anyway, giving him an extra inch or two. “If I’m taking over order management, I've got to rely on my own talents. That’s what Shidan told me. Work with my own medium.”

Yuzuri cocks her head, ears splayed in annoyance. “And that medium just so happens to be dead stuff?”

“We can’t pick our natural proclivities,” he sniffs. “Besides, everyone always complained about the coin thing anyhow.”

Like most of the words Garrack said this morning, the answer to this is seared in her mind. “Easily lost?”

“See?” Suzu jabs out a hand. “Shirayuki gets it. No one’s going to lose a bird.”

Yuzuri throws up her hands. “A dead bird!”

“Listen, I’ll give you: no one’s gonna lose it.” Obi braces a hip against the counter. “But they are gonna run away.”

“What, why?” Suzu huffs. “It’s a bird, everyone loves birds!”

A strong stance to take in a city where Shirayuki has routinely watched commuters throw their purses at the pigeons perched at the bus stop. “Well, maybe that’s true, but ah…these ones talk.”

“Oh yeah.” Shirayuki doesn’t so much see Obi shiver as the air around him trembles, tracing goosebumps up her own arms. “Talk about nightmare fuel.”

“What’s wrong with the way it talks?” Suzu leans over the counter, all business now, face furrowed with stern curiosity. “Is there some sort of pitch change? Or maybe a slow down effect, or static—?”

“Oh, buddy.” A breath whistles through Obi’s teeth, pitying. “You wish it was something that simple.”

Suzu’s eyebrows disappear beneath the curtain of his curls. “What do you—?”

There’s a rustle and a clatter before the back door swings open, guided by Shidan’s hip before the rest of him bustles through, letting it swing back on its hinges. “All right then. Took a little bit of doing, and a couple of, er, spectacular failures—”

“He set his beard on fire,” Yuzuri mutters, “twice.”

“—But I think I managed to get something that’ll work.” He glances over at Obi, only for his eyes to skitter back over to the much safer harbors. “For your…special circumstances, I mean.”

Obi’s lips tug at a corner. “No explosions?”

“No.” Shidan attempts to meet his eyes, but only makes it to his shoulder before he shudders, retreating straight back to the counter. “None of that.”

Shirayuki can’t tell if Obi’s raising his eyebrows or furrowing them, but his whole body curves into a question over the counter, so— he’s curious. Maybe even impatient. “Well, hope it goes with my fit.”

A wooden box settles on the counter, a different grain than the polished oak it sits on. Shidan’s the one to slide the lid open, revealing a plush green cushion beneath, and on it—

“Oh,” she hums, surprised. “A necklace?”

It’s not anything fancy; no precious gems or rare metals. Just a thin slate of clear quartz a little smaller than her thumb hanging from a cord. Not Obi’s usual style— he’s more into leather wristbands and collars that look like they could come straight from the pet section of Fred Meyer, but  there’s a quiver in his shoulders when he looks down, an expectant stillness in his casual lean. He likes it.

“I don’t often work with jewelry.” Shidan shuffles, almost nervous as she lifts it off its cushion, letting the crystal dangle from her fist. “Clockwork is really my wheelhouse, really. But after Suzu explained the lengths you all went through so Obi could use a smartphone…”

Shidan’s hardly closed his teeth around that last syllable before Obi’s whipped it out, a smooth screen wrapped in a thick rubber case. Lines bite deep into the silicone, straight rays and curving spirals, a sigil so complex it’d taken Suzu nearly five days to complete it. According to Yuzuri, he’d slept for nearly two straight days after, only rousing to shuffle to the bathroom before throwing himself back into mattress.

“I can drop this baby down the stairs and there’s not a scratch on it,” he informs Shidan proudly. “Just last week a genius loci tried to swallow it and I didn’t even lose service.”

By the way Shidan’s gaze cuts to her, he doesn’t miss the implication that Obi was inside it at the time. “It was in a sewer,” she adds, although she doubts context will take the concern out of his eyes. “Obi wasn’t to its, er, taste.”

“Ah, well,” he murmurs, faint. “Good thing I thought cogs and gears might not be very compatible with his…biological peculiarities. I see that might not have been a good fit lifestyle-wise either.”

“No,” she agrees, thinking of the last kelp forest he’d had to extract her from. That couldn’t have been more than a month ago, maybe two. And certainly not the first. Nor the last. “Our work doesn’t tend to be, ah…”

“Dry?” he offers, a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Definitely not.” Shirayuki tilts her hand, crystal tumbling against her knuckles, and ah— the light splits over it, a thousand tiny etchings shining gold. Air hisses through her teeth. “This is amazing, Shidan. We can’t have possibly paid you enough for this amount of—”

Care. Attention. A hundred thousands words that evaporate the moment he rubs at his neck, and she remembers Garrack doing the same. Garrack who had mouth marks all the way down past her collar and—

Ah, she’s just not going to think about what Shidan might be keeping beneath his. “Um, never mind.” Her cheeks heat as she drops it back in the box. “Just…thank you.”

“No need to stand around thanking me.” He lifts his chin, encouraging, “Try it out.”

Shirayuki blinks. “Oh! Are you, um…sure?”

Both his eyebrows lift. “No point being so grateful if you get all the way home and find out it doesn’t even work.”

“Or worse.” Yuzuri’s ears give a playful flick. “It turns him into a frog of something.”

Shidan glares at his apprentice. “It’s not going to turn him into a frog.”

“Yeah, yeah, and I’m sure the Emerald Lady didn’t think that nice scarf of hers would turn into a fireball either.” The chair she’s in isn’t built for lounging, but Yuzuri lifts her legs up over the arm of it anyway, somehow casual even though she can’t possibly fit. “Who knows what Obi’s body chemistry is gonna do to this thing.”

“No one is going to get turned into a frog. Or a fireball,” Shidan assures her. “It’s just…best to try it out in the shop, where I can work out the kinks, if there are any.”

“And where we have a fire extinguisher.” At Shidan’s glare, Suzu offers, “Just in case.”

“Thanks,” Obi says dryly. “Real vote of confidence, there.”

Suzu shrugs, nearly lost under the labyrinth of shirts. “Forewarned is forearmed. And also keeps our insurance premiums down.”

There’s a pause where Shirayuki waits for him to pick it up, to make some crack about fashion or disaster or both as he hooks it over his own head, but—

But instead Obi just stands there, shoulders half-hunched and…awkward. It might be hard for her to look directly at him, to overcome the overwhelming instinct to not see, but the problem has never been mutual— oh, no, he insists on keeping at least one eye on her at all times; just in case you get any ideas about windows, he’d say, too-sharp teeth flashing at the corner of her vision. But now he’s got his head turned, looking anywhere but at her, and she— she doesn’t like it. Not one bit. “Obi—?”

“Shirayuki,” Yuzuri hisses, ears pulling back. “Don’t be rude. You know that Obi can’t take what he’s not given.”

That’s not…strictly true. There’s been more than a few times she’s had to traipse back to the service counter at the store to return the contents of his pockets. Can’t help it, he’d sigh, still looking too proud of himself, I’m trickster-blooded. Can’t help causing a little chaos. Ryuu had once tried to tease out the logic of it, to try to understand how a little petty thievery wasn’t against even infernal rules, only to find himself in a quagmire of loopholes within loopholes, buried in fine print. Certainly a looser definition of ownership than she’d thought the Lower Courts would take.

But still, he wouldn’t steal anything from her. And not just because of who holds his contract.

“It’s yours,” she reminds him, staring at where the edge of his pockets cut across his wrists. “I had it made for you.”

Still, he doesn’t move. Nothing more than one of his too-many-eyelid blinks.

“Ah, that…” Shidan clears his throat. “I believe that by the ruling of the Lower Courts, a gift is the property of the giver until it is physically given. There might even be, er, formalities involved.”

It’s habit to glance at him, to meet his eyes and find the answer there, but—

They skitter away, like they always do, dread churning in her stomach and bile licking at the back of her throat. But not before she sees the tension in his hunched shoulders, in the contorted way he’s twisted his neck, baring it like a dog expecting a kick. “O-oh.”

Her fingers are numb, clumsy when she fumbles the cord from the box. Still, she manages to hook it around the first set of her knuckles, thrusting it out in the space between them. A smaller gap than she’d perceived, she realizes, when her hands have to haul up short to keep from crashing into his chest.

“Obi,” she breathes, watching the pendant tremble with the same rhythm as her fingertips. That’s how some divination works, she remembers. Sympathetic nerve twitches. “You…I mean, I think…you’ll have to bend down…?”

She can’t look at him, not directly, but even she can see the way his eyes blink wide. “Haah…right.”

He stoops, head jutting out awkwardly from his shoulders, baring the long, tanned column of his neck. Without his eyes on her, the soft animal that is her fear only quivers in her belly, letting her lean close enough to count vertebrae. It’s strange to see this much of his skin, for him to let himself be so…vulnerable. A strange heat gathers beneath her belly, scintillating like magic before a charm, and she swallows to keep her hands steady, to keep them from brushing through the bristle of his hair just to see what it feels like.

“I…” There’s no reason for her mouth to be so dry, or her cheeks to be this warm. “I…ah…bequeath this to you.”

The cord settles against the knob on his spine, shifting as he straightens, all six-foot-even of him. The crystal spins helplessly on its cord, settling against his chest. His skin, she realizes, his collar open just enough to let it lay flat against that smooth sliver of copper. His eyes settle on her again, and she feels that flutter of the soft animal in her, the one that feels his attention and longs to flee—

And then, suddenly, it doesn’t. Her fear curls right in on itself, and like a mouse in winter, settles in for a long nap.

Which leaves Obi right there in front of her. Visible, for once.

She hesitates. Why, she can’t say. It’s only—

“Miss?” Obi’s never sounded any less confident than cocky, and yet now his voice trembles, and she…she looks.

Even without being able to see him, there were things about Obi she knew. He was tall for one— taller than her, at least, even if he never thought that much of an achievement. Lean, but in the way gymnasts were, or the kids who played at doing parkour in the park. Skin that wouldn’t fit in even the broadest definition of white. Dark haired enough that she couldn’t tell if it was him using her brush or Ryuu. But now—

“Is the Asian thing because like, BTS is hot right now?” Suzu asks, never one to be constrained by social niceties. “Or is that…?”

“My dad.” His hand snakes up to his shoulder, squeezing. “At least, I think. The Lower Courts keep records, but…”

He shrugs. One shoulder, matching the slant of his mouth, casual and wry. Devil-may-care, some would say. It fits him the way his leather jacket does, clinging in all the right places, molding to his shape. Well-worn. Familiar.

Yuzuri gives him one good glance, boots to bristle, and hooks her hands around her hips. “Oh my god,” she groans, utterly dismayed. “You’re hot.”

There’s a shift when she says that, Obi’s stiff spine melting away so that he can slink up to the counter. Each vertebrae articulates like a cat prowling in the grass, pulling his proportions impossibly long, incredibly lean. “What’s the problem? I thought you liked eye candy.”

“Yeah, but I know you. Hot guys are like Monets” — Yuzuri holds up her hand, keeping him at a distance— “they only look good if you don’t know about all the mess.”

“I always thought that was sort of neat,” Suzu says. “The technique is part of the appreciation, you know.”

“Suzu, we already know you’re a good person or whatever,” she informs him, bored. “You don’t have to tell us.”

“What about you, Miss?” Obi arches back against the counter, languid as his grin. “What do you think?”

Her mouth works, trying to explain that she— that he—

His eyes crease, right at the corner, watching her with a fondness she’s always felt but never saw, and—

“I…” They’re gold. His eyes. So striking it’s an effort to look away. “I think we might need to get you a pair of sunglasses.”