#married to a demon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tswwwit · 1 month ago

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Here's a thing!

Containing: Bill as a widower, a surprise reincarnation, and dire threats of matrimony.

Despite how things turned out, Dipper has no regrets.

Okay. There is one: Getting caught in the first place.

But other than that, he’s lived his life the way he wanted to. Everyone told him joining the resistance was a terrible idea. That he had a bright future ahead of him, that he was smart, to not throw it all away for a useless, impossible task.

Like he could ever do anything else.

Even at the end of things, Dipper’s proud of what he accomplished. He helped so many people. He picked his fights carefully and mostly had them work out in his favor. He did the best he could, pushed himself to the very limits of his abilities, and it worked so well.

Bright future his ass. Fighting got him further than anything could. When you think of what he’s done. Where he’s clawed back territory. Who he’s saved-

A pang goes through his chest. Dipper ducks his head, hissing against the gag between his teeth.

Okay, second regret: Not saving more people. And not avenging others. Three regrets isn’t so bad. Right?

God, what else could he have managed, if he hadn’t been stupid. If he hadn’t slipped up this one time, if he could have escaped. If he could have-

“NEXT!”

Bill Cipher’s voice rings through the room. Two claps punctuate the statement, and the line moves forward.

Claws dig into Dipper arm, tighter than before. While they still don’t break the skin, the way he’s dragged forward has him hissing again. His skinned knees burn as they slide against stone, and the pain reminds him not to let up his guard.

Not here, in the Fearamid. There’s no worse place.

In a way, he’s kind of lucky. The massive pyramid that makes up Bill Cipher’s headquarters and fortress has never before breached. No member of the resistance has made it into the command base of the terrible demon who rules the west coast.

Dipper never thought he’d end up here, ever. The closest he’d imagined was in vague daydreams. The impossible kind where he had amazing powers, spouted cool one-liners, and could smash through the entire awful fortress to kick Bill Cipher right in his angles.

“Ugh.” Bill’s groan resonates through the room. “Why the hell would I need gold? Real crappy offering.” Another clap, then, “NEXT!”

Being tribute wasn’t exactly on Dipper’s bucket list.

So here he is. Dragged along by his captors to be one more present for the Nightmare King himself.

Demons try to slake their master’s insatiable greed with an endless parade of presents. The raiding never ends. The looting, the theft, the bribes - everything, everywhere gets poured into the coffers of this monster. Nothing is enough for him. It never will be.

So it’s pretty weird that Dipper’s here. By himself.

A hundred humans at once might provoke a passing interest. A few tons of liquor or - apparently not gold, no wonder that assassination attempt failed - could also catch his eye. Only the most elaborate, creative gifts might gain a bit of his favor, which is hard to get on a good day.

One human who really made Bill’s day worse, though? That might get a second look. Dipper didn’t think he was that big of a deal, but it would be kinda cool.

Or he wasn’t, and his captors will twist him into a new flesh configuration once they reach the front of the line, like performance art. Or he has been a pain, and when Bill finally gets his hands on him and can do whatever he wants to him, he’ll do unthinkably horrible -

No. Dipper can’t think like that, not now or ever. Fear won’t help. It never helps.

Terror one of Bill’s tools. He thrives on mortals cowering before him, and Dipper won’t do that.

He shakes his head to clear it, and gets the hood shoved further down for his efforts. The thin string around his neck draws tighter as a demon adjusts the cloth. Then it plucks at it, in an apparent attempt to make its captive look more ‘presentable’.

“You sure it’s-” One of the demons mutters above him. Another pluck at his hood pulls it upwards, and he hears a smack.

“Shh! Don’t show everyone ‘til we take credit,” insists the leader. Tension makes his voice rough. “You saw it. Just like in the pictures. Boss’ll love it.”

Sounds like they’re trying to reassure themselves rather than actually thinking this will go well. Dipper snorts. Amusement on the gallows.

All four demons shush him. He can practically picture them holding fingers to their mouths in unison, hissing at their captive. It makes him snort again, and a hand shoves his head down.

Shushed, of all things. The sheer absurdity makes him want to laugh.

Being captured was bad enough. All his hypervigilance turned out useless when it really counted. Everything he’d taken notes on, the plans, the studies - none of those mattered when he was dangling by his ankle from a snare in the woods like a helpless animal.

But the way he was taken captive? That was notable. A realization that only hit once he was stuffed into a box and had nothing to do except think - but an important one.

For one, most demonic traps leave their victims in multiple pieces. And for another, he wasn’t devoured afterwards. There was an odd amount of caution involved in his handling for a human with so little magic. Almost like they were frightened of doing it wrong.

And after that, he should have been smacked around and beaten for his defiance. Hell knows he didn’t take this bullshit lying down. But instead of ending up with open wounds and a broken jaw, there’s a bag over his head and rough cloth gag to shut him up.

In fact, aside from a few bruises and scrapes, Dipper’s perfectly fine. By all demonic standards, his entire kidnapping makes no sense.

Unless you know what Bill Cipher likes to do to humans.

Dipper tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. He hadn’t wanted to think of it. Now the idea won’t stop popping up, cold grey swimming through his thoughts.

There aren’t many pictures of Bill’s ‘sculpture’ garden. Most aerial shots just get the gist of it, a field spotted grey against green. Stone hands reaching for the sky or clutching their faces, thousands of bodies screaming for their life or hunkered down to the ground -

Swallowing again doesn’t help. His mouth is too dry, even when the gag is damp between his teeth.

Soon he’ll be one of the thousands of ornaments Bill makes of human lives, instead of killing them nice and clean. Another trophy.

Maybe it won’t hurt? Dipper hopes it doesn’t hurt. He hopes that that’s what he’s here for, rather than anything more creative. But it’s the only fate that makes sense.

A bit of cold comfort, then. He might not be mutilated. If he’s ‘just like the picture’ - whatever that means - then Bill will want him to stay exactly as he is.

It sounds absurd. But who knows? Odds are Bill Cipher has a type, and Dipper will make an exceptionally pleasant sight once he’s permanently a part of his estate. Maybe he’s got a thing for rebellious, fashionless nerds having the worst day of their life. Whatever goes on in that triangular brain is too weird for Dipper to fathom.

He hopes that being a statue is peaceful. Or at least not too painful. That it happens in a flash, like he’s seen in video. And if he’s lucky, the company he’ll keep for the next… forever might include his -

“Bo-ring,” Bill interrupts the next offering before the demon gets three words into their speech. “I’d say do better next time, but guess what?”

Two claps this time. Something explodes with a splatter, close enough that Dipper and his kidnapping coterie all flinch back.

“There won’t be another.” Bill finishes. He pauses for laughter at his dry semi-joke, then claps once more. “NEXT!”

The line of supplicants moves forward. Dipper’s knees skid across the floor as he’s dragged forward, sliding to a stop as his captors pause in their line.

They must be pretty far at the front by now. The group of demons in front of Dipper’s speaks excitedly to an unresponsive audience. He swears he hears a yawn.

Impressing Bill Cipher is difficult at the best of times. Doing it with one single human seems reckless even by Dipper’s limited knowledge, but excited murmurs keep darting over his head.

Either they know something he doesn’t, or there’s another factor in play. And hell, considering the tributes Dipper’s overheard, they could hardly do worse. Nothing’s impressed Bill so far. At best he’s waved off their offerings to be piled up with all the, quote, ‘other crap’.

The latest batch doesn’t fare any better than the previous one. Like last time, Bill groans and something goes ‘splat’. A sprinkle of unknown fluid hits Dipper’s knees, soaking into his jeans.

“Ugh,” Bill groans, low and extended. It seems like it’ll go on forever, until he hears, “NEXT!”

Dipper’s shoulders tense. His jaw clenches, arms and legs pressing against their bindings. None of which stops him from being pulled along in his kidnapper’s wake.

This is it, then. Facing the lord of dreams himself, eye to… cloth, Dipper doubts he’s going to get a real look at him.

Which might be for the best. Word is that Bill can manage terrible things to the human psyche, given the chance. Dipper’s very human, and he doesn’t have enough magic to defend himself even if anyone knew how to manage it.

So maybe it’s okay that he’s a little terrified, because it’s natural. And even more importantly, Bill won’t see it.

“My lord,” The demon that captured Dipper speaks in a gravelly voice. He’s a green-gray lizard creature, with several eyes, and his sheer amount of muscles belies a sharper mind than usual. Anyone who fought him might have made that mistake. “I found you somethin’ really cool.”

He sounds strangely excited about presenting a single mortal to his king. A hint of pride, maybe, that he kept it so intact? It could be difficult for demons, because Dipper’s sure never heard of it before.

His thoughts are interrupted by a slow push, sliding him forward across stone. Careful force, that lets him keep his balance instead of planting on his face. At least he’ll face his fate upright.

One more tribute. Sitting in front of a king, in a crowd of monsters, Dipper has his pride. And he will not bow.

And the response from Bill Cipher is… probably not what the leader wanted.

Dipper hears another groan, followed by a heavy sigh. “Wow. A human. Never seen one of those before.”

Ah, great. Sarcasm. Bill Cipher sounds as impressed with Dipper as he was with the dozen tributes before him - bored, tired, blase.

Dipper straightens his back, oddly offended. Wait, he doesn’t suck as tribute, right? Part of his pride hinged on his captor not being an idiot. It made losing less embarrassing.

“Ugh. Seriously getting tired of this crap.” Bill’s voice has a tinge of annoyance to it. Kind of a whine, even. “Like I don’t have enough in the rock garden already. The shine rubbed off that apple a while ago.”

“Er,” The lizard demon hesitates. “Uh, well. Nah, see, there’s-”

“Eh, whatever.” With another sigh, Bill snaps his fingers. “Alright, one statue, coming u-”

“Wait!”

The crowd hushes. A few gasps, a couple whispers at the sheer audacity. Even Dipper twists to look at his captor in sheer surprise. A useless gesture, he still has a hood over his freakin’ face. But, like. What?

That gruff voice burst out so quickly that it sounded almost defensive, and - what the hell is going on?

The too-busy hall has gone eerily quiet. Even the mad Nightmare King doesn’t speak, probably surprised at this act of open defiance.

“I- sorry, sorry, my lord. But, like, you’re gonna really like this one.” The demon continues, rapid like he’s on the verge of panic. But insistent, too. A tense excitement runs through his words. “You gotta take a look.”

Dipper blinks in a fruitless attempt to clear his eyes. Stupid fabric over his face. He’s flying blind here.

He wishes he could see everyone’s reactions. Mortals bore Bill at best. Aside from making them into decorations, he barely bothers interacting directly. One young human shouldn’t make a demon yell at Bill Cipher. He shouldn’t matter, or be important, or even register as anything. What the hell?

The crowd stays deathly silent. Bill doesn’t speak. A slow tapping of fingers thuds like a drum in the quiet, a slow contemplative beat.

The Lord of Nightmares holds his own counsel as he judges this outburst. Weighing his options.

“Huh,” Bill says, a second after Dipper thought everything would explode - “Got a lotta confidence in your prize, I see! Guess that’s kinda interesting.” His voice grows louder as he approaches, but there aren’t any footsteps. This monster floats. “Whatcha got there?”

“Well, he was runnin’ about messing up some stuff, and, well, we saw him and - y’know.” The lead demon continues babbling, voice rising to a squeak. Bill must have closed the distance, meeting him eye to multiple eyes. “And! And we made sure not to leave a mark or anything, we was real careful.” A beat of pause; presumably Bill giving him an askance look. “Aside from tying ‘em up, yeah? He woulda run off otherwise.”

“Huh.” Bill says, again. More thoughtful now.

The same thing Dipper might have said, if he wasn’t gagged. True, he hasn’t been beaten up for fun, or toyed with, or devoured. But he’d guessed it was to leave him a more presentable statue.

Said Nightmare King must be very close by now, intrigued by the semi-sales pitch - or maybe because there’s a secret. Dipper can feel warmth in front of him, radiating from an unseen source.

Another drumming, fingers on metal. Then, with a hint of a shrug. “Alright. Show me.”

The hood whips off, and Dipper gets a dizzying look at a massive room, black stone bricks and red lines, demons everywhere. Adjusting to the light takes a second, until his eyes land on the shape in front of him.

Dipper blinks a few times - then glares at this jackass.

Bill Cipher, King of Nightmares, conqueror of half the country and weird goddamn asshole, blinks right back.

Dipper’s seen this monster before, though not in person. Cipher’s always on the news. Appearing on TV and in print, whenever he conquers another piece of territory. His pictures are in magazines, photographs in articles, he has a few intimidating ad spots online - he’s everywhere, even on some forms of cash. It’s impossible to avoid this stupid shape.

And wow, none of that is photoshopped, huh. Turns out Bill’s exactly as weird as advertised. Polygonal and golden. Noodly limbs, top hat, everything.

A total, monstrous asshole.

Dipper strains at his bindings, rising up on his knees. Unfortunately, the gag’s still in place, so instead of cursing this jackass out like he wants to, it’s all muffled shouting.

Bill Cipher goes perfectly still. He hovers in place, a motionless midair shape.

His single eye has a split pupil, and it meets Dipper’s own without moving. Or blinking, either, even though it’s been long enough that Dipper gave up trying to match it.

He’s just. Staring.

Which is… honestly getting eerie. The motionless focus, the impenetrable gaze. Not intimidating, of course. But weird.

Dipper drops back with a huff. Great. He’s having zero effect on this guy. Not even annoyance, and he hoped there’d be some.

As a last ‘fuck you’, he lifts his bound hands in Bill’s direction, and flips him off.

Bill’s pupil narrows to a single thin line. He makes a strange, back-of-the-throat sound without any visible neck. Like he’s choking.

“So, uh,” The lizard demon rubs at the back of his neck. Greenish sweat pours down his scales, and he wipes it on his tunic in short swipes. “Do you-”

“Shut up and gimme.” Bill interrupts. He darts forward in a blink of motion, making grabby hands in the direction of Dipper’s face. “Gimme gimme gimme!”

Neither Dipper nor his captor have time to react. Bill simply seizes him by the shoulders, hauling him away from his captors and onto his feet so fast his shoes leave streaks on the floor.

“Mh!” Dipper yells against his gag, stumbling to catch his balance. It isn’t the most eloquent protest, but he hopes the ‘you jerk’ gets across anyway.

While Bill’s hands are relatively small, they’re impossibly strong. His grip on Dipper’s biceps feels close to bruising, slightly shaking in its intensity.

Bill tugs him closer. The bizarre pupil flashes through a series of shapes too rapid to parse. A second later it flips horizontal, sweeping a beam of light up and down Dipper, head to toe.

While it doesn’t feel like anything, Dipper does his best to wriggle away. He hopes it messes with whatever scan this bastard’s doing. He hopes it’s as annoying as this demon is. A kick aimed at one of Bill’s floating legs didn't land, but it was worth a shot.

Bill ignores his struggles. He laughs at the kicks, which deserves more kicking. He wraps those horrible noodle arms around Dipper's biceps like ropes and giggles when Dipper growls at him, flickering side-to-side in weird, glitchy glee.

The sound of his stupid laughter makes Dipper want to fight him all the harder - useless, of course, those arms only look noodly. They’re super-magically powered. But that doesn’t mean he won’t try.

“Oh.” Bill says, lower than before. He draws Dipper close, bringing him almost within headbutting range. “Oh, now this is beautiful.”

“Mh?” Dipper tries to glare to poor effect. Confusion and anger keep jockeying for space in his head, and he’s pretty sure it shows.

And Bill starts laughing, high and loud and wild. He’s glowing now, surface lit from within with a bright golden light.

“Well! Gotta say this is interesting!” Bill pushes him back slightly, at a human-ish arm’s length. Though he still keeps a solid grip on Dipper’s arms , squeezing tight. “But man, this wrapping’s crap! What happened to ribbons on presents, guys?” His eye rolls. “Lemme fix that.”

With that said, he grows a third arm from one of his sides and snaps his fingers.

The cloth of Dipper’s gag parts like it was clipped with scissors. The bindings on his wrists cleave open, the chains on his ankles explode off his socks, and it’s only because Bill’s still holding him upright that Dipper doesn’t fall over out of sheer surprise.

He wipes at his mouth - spitting out threads in the process, he’d really been trying to chew through the gag - and coughs. With his wrists untied, he can flex his fingers and drop his arms to his sides, hands clenched into fists.

Because now he’s… free-ish. For some reason. With Bill holding onto him there’s zero chance of getting away, but still.

Dipper works his jaw a little, to loosen it. Rubs his wrists to ease the low ache. There’s a huge crowd of demons in this immense hall, so. No escape routes, not when the place is packed with monsters like a can of sardines.

Eventually he has to admit he’s wasting time. The big problem is right in front of him, if he can just. Face it.

Taking a deep breath, he turns his head to look at the worst creature in the entire goddamn world.

Bill’s lower eyelid has risen up in a curve, kind of like a smile. Still laser-focused on Dipper’s face, boring into him as if he could see into his soul. Or maybe plotting a laser course through his prefrontal cortex.

But there isn’t any mockery. No taunting or yelling or stupid puns. None of the typical theatrics that you’d see on a news report. Just… more staring.

Dipper clears his throat. He tugs at the collar of his shirt.

The whole room has gone so, so quiet. He didn’t think it could get quieter than before, but that was people glancing at each other, waiting for a chance to leave the crime scene. A hush littered with bits of gossip and gasps, warnings passing between the crowd.

This silence is an indrawn breath. Held in anticipation.

So. Here he is. In front of the greatest, most powerful monster in history, and instead of being a cool dramatic confrontation, with like. Action, or a witty back-and-forth - it’s just awkward.

“Well, sapling?” Bill prompts, eye narrowing. He releases Dipper’s arms only to point directly at his face. Like he's accusing him of something. “Got anything to say for yourself?”

Dipper breathes in deep.

Okay, then. Space to talk? A chance to say whatever he wants?

Yeah. That he can work with.

“Fuck you, Bill.” He spits out the words, putting all the hate in his heart into the venom of his tone. He steps forward, getting right in this asshole’s… face? Surface? Whatever. “I hope you die. In a fire. And that your ugly-ass pyramid falls on you, and you get crushed in the rubble, and - and that your exoskeleton gets melted down for scrap, because you just suck that much.”

Bill… says nothing. No magic twists Dipper into a terrible shape. No pain jolts through his body.

And when Dipper dares to look him in the eye, his face reflects back from the infinite depths of Bill’s pupil, blown wide from the tiny slit of seconds ago. By this point it’s nearly a circle. Which is weird, and kind of intimidating -

But he’s not made of rock yet. Bill hasn’t retaliated, probably because he’s too stunned to react. And fuck him.

“And another thing,” Dipper continues, less steadily now. He didn’t have a speech prepared. But since he’s not dead, hell, might as well make the most of it. “You’re dumb as hell, and I hate you. So much. You’re the worst thing that could ever happen to m-”

Something goes ‘splat’ just beside him, making him flinch. Another wet sound lands nearby, followed by another, and another. A slow patter that builds in pace, rapid and thick.

Dipper stares in horror as literal, throbbing hearts pop up and circle around Bill Cipher’s top hat, spinning in a rapid circle. As more manifest, old ones fall to the floor like the world’s worst rainstorm, spattering red across the stone. Even his pupil is that same friggin’ organ now, pumping away in silhouette.

“Aha. Ha ha!” Bill’s voice raises in pitch with his laughter, and his fingers wiggle in anticipatory glee, just before his arms extend and coil around Dipper’s body, pinning his arms to his sides. “HA HA HA HA HA!”

Dipper opens his mouth to protest. Rather pointless in retrospect, though he does get out a “Hey!” as he’s lifted off the ground.

That stupid heart-rain has stopped, at least. Now it’s just Bill, glowing incredibly bright and giggling like the complete madman he is.

Dipper kicks out in protest, swearing and struggling. Bill’s dumb noodle arms have some give to them, but they’re wrapped tight enough that it doesn’t matter.

“YOU!” Bill’s voice was already loud, but now it resonates. Filling the hall with a boom, ringing against the walls. His eye has blown out to a circle again, and in the depths a few strange, starlike dots glimmer. “Of course it’s YOU! Nothing was gonna keep you away, was it? And now you’re back!”

This is the point where Dipper would protest again. Or threaten, or question or - something.

But it’s pretty hard to get words out when an insane demon is spinning you around like a carnival ride, complete with fireworks overhead.

Below him the crowd cheers, a raucous chorus. He could swear more demons are pouring in by the second into an already packed hall. Lights are going off and on in a strobe, with the pop of fireworks ringing overhead. Music blares from one corner, then another as stereo sound kicks on.

Between the explosions, the lightshow, the noise - Dipper would try to figure out what the hell is going on, if he weren’t trying not to be sick from the spinning.

Bill doesn’t seem to notice any of this, focused on the human he’s captured. Eventually he slows, letting Dipper touch solid ground again Dipper with a glimmer in his eye that instantly makes him wary. Something is up, and he doesn’t know -

“I know just what to do with you, kid.” Bill says, eye narrowing. Two hands come up and cup Dipper’s cheeks, strangely warm - “C’mere!”

Watching Bill’s eyeball drop back into its socket, and the huge, sharp teeth emerge from the mouth where his eye should be, Dipper knows immediately that this. This is how he’s going to die.

Then the eyelids purse into lips, and Bill hauls him in face-first.

“Mmmmwha!” A long, exaggerated sound. Pretty dramatic, really. Bill draws back, eye smiling at Dipper as he squeezes his cheeks with both hands. “Oh man! You have no idea how long I’ve waited for that!”

“Whuh.” Dipper says, intelligently.

Bill cackles, chucking Dipper under the chin, then tickling it with a couple fingers. “Ha! Did one little smooch rock your world?” His eye wiggles, with horrible, terrible implications. “Don’t worry, there’s way more where that came from!”

Dipper reels from the sensation of having his whole face - not eaten, or rearranged, but - His legs totter, but the arms around him keep him upright.

A million questions whirl around. None of them have answers. They simply spin and spin and spin until Dipper’s brain feels blank, like -

Oh. Okay.

Intellectually, Dipper knew that Bill could break minds. He just thought it’d be more gory and torturous. For some reason.

“And as for you-” Bill turns towards the cluster of demons that brought Dipper here, to this weirdo showcase. Under his gaze, even the most terrible monsters cluster together with nervous smiles. “Who’s in charge of your little outfit?”

Tentatively, arm shaking, the leader raises a hand. Bill’s eye snaps to it and he floats in, right in front of the lizard demon’s sweating, scaly face.

Then his lower eyelid rises in that strange emulation of a smile, and he gives him an incredibly hard high-five.

“Alright everyone, listen up!” Bill proclaims, turning towards the crowd. Grabbing the lead captor’s wrist, he raises it up like a winning prizefighter. “These guys get free drinks for the next two millennia!”

A cheer rises up from the crowd. The lizard demon’s mouth purses in a ‘o’ of delight, hands fluttering at his cheeks like a human winning a gameshow. Dipper spends a moment staring at the frankly bizarre site of a group of demons clutching each other like giddy highschoolers, bouncing in a circle.

“You heard it here first, guys! The boy is back!” Bill shouts. He whirls in a full circle, nearly giving Dipper a heart attack. It feels like any moment he’s going to fall, even when he’s wrapped up - “And you know what that means?”

Gasps bubble up from the gathered demons. A susurrus of voices starts, fluttering back and forth in the crowd.

‘Party’, is whispered from one corner. Another careful voice ventures to ask, ‘Party?’. The word repeats, flickering in and out of hearing as it spreads through the crowd. Off in the back a single voice lets out a loud ‘Wooo!’

“That’s right!” Bill is so, so loud, and so, so pleased. He holds Dipper overhead, bouncing him up and down. “Iiiiit’s PARTY TIME!”

An explosion of confetti covers the room. A disco ball drops from the ceiling, music bursts from unseen speakers, and Bill sets his captive down on the floor next to him. His arms uncoil, spinning Dipper around like a top until he thinks he’ll fall-

As the room reels around him, Dipper reaches out for the closest solid surface, leaning on it until the room stops whirling around him.

If the surface happens to be the worst asshole ever, well. He didn’t have any other options.

“Hell, free drinks for everyone tonight!” Bill shouts, to a huge, monstrous cheer from the crowd. Part of the room has transformed into a long bar, and a good third of the demons are already rushing towards it. “Get while the getting’s good, guys!”

Watching the stampede, Dipper’s too surprised to move, until the demon under his elbow does it for him.

“Stick close, sapling. These guys can get pretty rowdy!” Bill says. His metallic surface is warm, not quite hot to the touch. The corner pressing into Dipper’s side, though, that’s annoying. “Don’t want you getting lost again.”

A tight belt wraps around his waist and makes him startle - but it’s just Bill again. A small black hand pats his stomach twice before taking hold of his shirt.

And Dipper’s standing here, not dead. Not a statue, not an experiment. Kind of an offering, maybe, but a weird one. He’s just…

Standing beside Bill goddamn Cipher, unharmed by the most unhinged creature in the universe. And why the fuck is that?

An explanation has to be nearby. A reason. For everything.

Why he’s here. Why he got this reaction. Why this Bill is so not like the Bill on the news, and maybe even why demons are chanting ‘chug chug chug!’ to a monster bodysurfing the crowd, drinking from a bottle the size of his arm.

Dipper feels a glass pressed into his hand, cold with a slender stem. He holds it absentmindedly, glancing around the room and the raucous party kicking up, trying to find sense in the nonsensical.

The hall is huge, so. Fits a party atmosphere, he guesses. Bill himself has one ropy arm warped around his waist, with a grip on his shirt so tight he’s pretty sure it’d tear if he took off running. Behind them is the dais where Bill reigned over the tributes, making each and every decision from his throne -

Dipper does a double-take, glancing back over his shoulder.

A second throne sits next to Bill’s on the dais. Way harder to spot, though; it lies in shadow, unlike the brightly lit rest of the room. The dark grey blends with the shaded light until it nearly matches the black walls. A seat too small for any human-sized person, and too human-shaped for any different kind of person. Instead of either, a painting rests on the seat.

Easing out of Bill’s grasp is impossible, but with effort Dipper manages to twist around for a better look.

The painting is set in a gilded frame with elaborate designs - mostly triangle based, no surprise there - but the picture itself is of a human.

Sitting in the smaller throne is a portrait of a young man. Messy brown hair and a lean build, wearing casual clothes and a faint half smile. His head tilts towards the viewer, as if they just caught his attention. His expression looks like he heard a dumb joke and is ready to retort, amusement shining in his dark brown eyes. Beneath his bangs a series dots and lines in pink stands out, like a strangely shaped… birthmark.

Dipper’s hand flies to his chest. His heart feels like it’s stopped for a second.

No, wait. That can’t-

He whips around, getting a ‘hey!’ from Bill who nearly spills his martini at the motion. Dipper smacks him out of the way, his hat is blocking the view.

Now that he’s spotted them, they’re impossible to miss. One portrait hangs out to the left of the throne, sleepy-eyed and cowlicked hair blinking in the viewer's direction. On the right a shirtless human lounges on a couch, jeans slightly undone. Another hangs from the ceiling of all things, glaring down at Bill’s throne from above like an annoyed god.

Shit. The pictures.

They all look exactly like Dipper.

“Geez, aren’t you squirmy? Ha! Figures!” Bill says, floating closer. When one of his arms loops around Dipper’s neck and he tousles his hair, it meets a man gone still as a statue. “You’re always a pain in the angles! It’s adorable!”

“What the fuck is this.” Dipper can’t even make it a question. His voice is too tense to rise at the end.

Bill’s eye swivels from his face, to the portraits, then back again. It rolls in its socket so far back it comes around again. “You. Duh.”

“How-” No, that’s not the right question. “What- Wh- huh?”

Not his best showing. Words aren’t working right; they fail him along with his usually organized thoughts. Dipper can’t concentrate. His mind filled with too much weird and why and - in an insane section of his brain - an incredulous, really, Bill?

“Oh, that.” Bill says, flicking away dismissively. He gestures over the portraits, the party, and then at himself. His arm makes another loop around Dipper’s neck, loosely draped. “What’s to wonder about? It’s simple!”

“Is it.” Dipper says, flat. He stares forward, even as the arm snakes around and around his torso in two loose loops.

“Absolutely!” Bill’s voice drops as he closes in. Not quiet, but muted enough to not be heard over the party crowd. “See, you got away from me once, kid. And fair enough, that’s what mortals do!” The stem of the martini glass shatters in his grasp, and he drops the remains with a casual flick. “They die on ya!”

Dipper glances at the portrait on the throne, then back to Bill. Tries to swallow, though his mouth feels dry with a sudden, looming realization.

“But there’s no escape this time. Never again.” Bill's eye narrows, so close to Dipper's face it's nearly touching. “Prepare for happily ever after.”

#This is not a oneshot #I actually have a whole plot for this and everything #God help me #Do I have to come up with a title for this? Maybe I'll wait on that #In my docs it's called marrying the grief-mad demon scourge but I'll probably pick something Punny #As is my fashion

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