#mass mortality events
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An “unheard of” marine heatwave off the coasts of the UK and Ireland poses a serious threat to species, scientists have warned.
Sea temperatures, particularly off the north-east coast of England and the west of Ireland, are several degrees above normal, smashing records for late spring and early summer. The North Sea and north Atlantic are experiencing higher temperatures, data shows.
Daniela Schmidt, a professor of earth sciences at the University of Bristol, said: “The extreme and unprecedented temperatures show the power of the combination of human-induced warming and natural climate variability like El Niño."
“While marine heatwaves are found in warmer seas like the Mediterranean, such anomalous temperatures in this part of the north Atlantic are unheard of. They have been linked to less dust from the Sahara but also the North Atlantic climate variability, which will need further understanding to unravel."
“Heat, like on land, stresses marine organisms. In other parts of the world, we have seen several mass mortalities of marine plants and animals caused by ocean heatwave which have caused hundreds of millions of pounds of losses, in fisheries income, carbon storage, cultural values and habitat loss. As long as we are not dramatically cutting emissions, these heatwaves will continue to destroy our ecosystems. But as this is happening below the surface of the ocean, it will go unnoticed.”
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So I don't really think that it's a secret that Boston has a significant Minotaur problem. It's a pretty common situation for older American cities on the East Coast- centuries of poorly-documented cowpath-style urban growth providing an ideal nesting ground, widespread electrification and plentiful steam tunnels that compensate for the loss of the temperate Mediterranean climate that they're used to. And all this on top of limited institutional knowledge of proper containment tactics at least up until the Greek diaspora started to really blow up in the 20th century. You only have to fuck up the safety checks on one cargo steamer coming in from the broad area of old Minoa and then basically any import controls you put in after that point are closing the barn door after the bulls are loose. So yeah, no secret, it's an issue.
I do think, though, that we've kind of let the specific narrative surrounding the issue get away from us in the usual fashion, the problem people picture when they hear "Minotaur" isn't anywhere close the to the problem as it exists on the ground. I mean people's minds immediately jump to the 1949 Boylston massacre, but let's be real, even though that was really politically useful for finally getting the exit fares on the T removed, that was still a black-swan event, right? Basically every mayor since, like, Hynes has lived in mortal terror of having to manage a repeat of something like that during the mass media era, let alone the smartphone era. So we've got these Theseus kill-teams with their titanium-composite ropes and souped-up cattle prods and bolt guns, we have these constant "track replacement" stoppages on the orange line, and it's fine. It's fine! There hasn't been a serious Minotaur thing within walking distance of a T stop since, like, 2006, which again you can mostly chalk up to the chaos surrounding the dig.
No, the actual danger zones, the silent killers are the exurbs, like West Roxbury, Roslindale, parts of Hyde Park. Relatively dense foliage, bad sightlines, far enough from the urban center that the response times are bad, foot traffic that's basically nonexistent for big parts of the workweek because everyone's either commuting or hunkered down working from home. And, of course, a steady stream of delivery drivers with no political ties to the area. Which is an important element, right? I mean it's kind of baked into the Minotaur's nature, that they have a very finely tuned instinctual awareness of the politics of their situation. Start snagging homeowners, there might be a ruckus. But Amazon does steady business everywhere, and Minotaurs are smart enough to cover their bases, to wait until after the drivers have dropped off your package or delivered your food. So yeah, watch yourself out there. One eye on the treeline at all times. And if you see an Amazon van left idling, get ready to run faster than the driver could.
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At some point, the Axolotl must've witnessed the aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre.
As you can see, Bill is very happy and definitely not at all traumatized and doing great and look at all these followers he's found who are definitely alive.
Here, have a fic about the Axolotl, the birth of the Nightmare Realm, and Bill trying so so hard to convince himself that he's the hero.
####
To the mortals he swam past, with their different calendars and their different ways of perceiving time, the great Axolotl's migration through space and between dimensions was an event of great note: his passing marked eclipses, tsunamis, festivals, omens, meteor showers; his migration was studied by astronomers and his position was marked in astrological birth charts.
To the Axolotl, he was on his daily commute home. He could take an interdimensional portal, but swimming was better for the environment and he could use the exercise.
He passed by the same two dimensional wall every day. It was covered with many little worlds, and so many of them populated with little mortals, and he'd never paid any particular attention to the wall—until yesterday. A bold little triangle had shouted at him as he passed. It had been an amusing conversation—first contact was always fun—but he'd been busy and couldn't talk more than a moment, just long enough for the Axolotl to be charmed that a lower-dimensional creature had yelled at him and for the triangle to be shocked that a higher-dimensional creature had answered. The triangle had told him that, to his two-dimensional people, these shadows on the wall, the Axolotl was an eclipse: they marked the time by the shadow he cast on their flat world during his commute.
He hadn't even learned the triangle's real name. The triangle had refused to tell him, instead introducing himself as the "Magister Mentium." Teacher of minds? Maybe it was a job title.
Between the nightmare of a case the Axolotl was currently handling and the fact that he'd had to stay late working, he'd nearly forgotten about yesterday's fascinating little meeting until he was leaving on his nightly commute. He didn't know how long the tiny shapes' life cycles were; he hoped the little triangle was still alive today. If not, maybe he'd left behind descendants.
But when he came up to the wall, it was gone.
The vacuum reeked of burning hydrogen.
The Axolotl stopped, puzzled. The wall wasn't empty, wasn't damaged, wasn't going through heat death—the entire thing was missing. No rubble. Surely it hadn't been demolished for some new construction? It had been in good condition. It was a fairly new plane of reality, likely under fifty billion years old. And it had admittedly been a few eons since the Axolotl had studied dimension use & zoning law, but last he checked it was unlawful to demolish a populated dimension without transplanting the growths first—which took much longer than a day. So what could possibly have done this? And what he saw behind the wall...
Something was very wrong. He started moving again, faster, looking for someone who could tell him what was happening. He kept the ragged rip in reality left by the missing wall in his peripheral vision. Stars and stardust slowly fell in, sucked through the tear. The wall must have come down by accident.
Nobody would have knowingly left behind such a large hole to Dimension Zero.
Assuming he was looking at Dimension Zero; he wasn't sure he was. Beneath all other dimensions was supposed to be a void, an empty in-between space. The zeroth "dimension" was simply reality's center point, the not-dimension between all dimensions; it wasn't a place. But with the two dimensional wall gone, he didn't see reality bending in toward a point like he should. He saw a roiling, nauseating mass of blinding colors, thrashing around each other like a frightened pile of injured worms.
Far in the distance, a full reality away, he saw a faint line of blue light.
It was several minutes before he began to run into other people. He passed a crew of cosmic firefighters and their ships, spread out over a span of space wider than an asteroid belt. The fact that they didn't appear to currently be fighting any fires was more disconcerting than a full blaze would have been. An eerie tension hung thick over the scene like invisible smoke. As the Axolotl swam by a couple of firefighters, he overheard them saying, "... orders of magnitude higher than anything we've been trained to handle. An entire reality catching fire is one thing, but the concept of realitycatching fire...?"
"And the speed it's moving..."
"Excuse me," the Axolotl said, trying to keep the edge of fear out of his voice. (Why was he so afraid? He was barely acquaintances with one resident on the wall.) "Can you tell me what happened to the wall? It was just here yesterday."
Rather than explain, one of them pointed in the direction he'd been going. "Sorry, we don't know any more than you do. Look for the storm. You can't miss it."
The other asked, "Are you one of the guys with the apoc cops?"
His fear leaped higher. The "apoc cops" were members of the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force. "No. Sorry, I have to go." He swam onward toward the blue line of light.
The stench of burning hydrogen grew stronger. He smelled something else acrid underneath.
####
To his slight relief, the "storm" wasn't the disaster that had brought down this wall. Rather, it was a person: a lightly raining storm cloud with a gray rain-soaked fedora perched on top, hovering in space.
It was talking to a hapless-looking furred serpent twice the Axolotl's length with four mismatched limbs: she clutched a can of spray paint in her claws, and was so nervous he could hear the marble in the can rattling. A disembodied sunbeam pierced the eye of the storm cloud to shine in the serpent's face as she spoke, and a tornado swirled beneath its cloud, carrying all its personal effects—including a tumbling badge from the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force, its logo of a mushroom cloud struck out with the "no" symbol still visible through a thin glaze of sleet. A chill ran through the Axolotl at the sight of that badge.
The cloud wasn't the only one with the apoc cops on the scene. There were several other investigators nearby, taking readings where the wall used to be. The Axolotl didn't like just how many were buzzing around. They seemed far too busy for far too empty a space, and they steered far too clear of the thrashing, multicolored miasma covering the emptiness that should contain Dimension Zero.
There were several stars in the area that the investigators had to work around. Between the crowds and the missing wall, it took the Axolotl a moment to realize where they were: this was the spot he'd met the triangle yesterday. He was sure of it. He recognized the star right next to the missing wall, the one the triangle had told him he eclipsed during his commute. He'd passed it millions of times.
Why had the apoc cops set up here?
The star was slowly falling toward the roiling miasma where Dimension Zero should have been. He nudged it back into place as he passed.
As the Axolotl approached the duo, the serpent was saying, "I told you, I don't know how it caught fire! I was just passing by..." The storm cloud's sunbeam dropped from her face to point skeptically at her spray paint. She hid it behind her back and quickly went on, "I was just passing by, minding my own business and not doing anything illegal, and suddenly the whole wall went up in flames!"
The cloud said, "The whole wall? Simultaneously?"
"The whole thing! I mean... it kind of rolled across the dimension, but—it took less than ten seconds to cover everything I saw!"
"Which direction did the fire travel?"
While the serpent tried to remember, the Axolotl swam up to the storm cloud. "Excuse me, the firefighters said you're in charge of the investigation?"
"Currently," the cloud said, in a tone that suggested it very much wished it wasn't. It looked over the Axolotl, then turned back to the serpent—she flinched when its sunbeam hit her face again—and it asked gruffly, "Is this your lawyer?"
The serpent looked hopeful. "Are you my lawyer?"
"No, I'm not," the Axolotl said, perturbed. Potential defendants aside, nobody ever insinuated he was somebody's lawyer and meant it in a nice way—and he was on the receiving end of such accusations more and more often lately. His reputation was beginning to precede him. "We've never met. I'm trying to find out what happened to this wall. I know a—friend in there. You said something about a fire?"
An active ATTF investigation was in no way the Axolotl's business. But people had a tendency to cooperate with professionals, whether or not their profession had anything to do with the situation at hand. The ATTF agent turned to the Axolotl and said, "You had a friend in there. The wall that used to be here, Dimension 2 Delta, has been completely incinerated."
The Axolotl stared at the cloud, trying to process that. But the whole wall had been there yesterday. Billions of galaxies, each with trillions of stars, each capable of supporting trillions of species—never mind lives. "You can't mean completely. Surely there are some survivors?"
"Not a single one," the cloud said. "Not even gods and ghosts made it out."
"How?"
"That's what we're trying to figure out," the storm said. "Right now, the only witness we've found was the person who called in the emergency." A branch of lightning pointed toward the serpent. "And she doesn't know a damn thing." The serpent nodded in enthusiastic agreement.
"But that's... How does an entire dimension disappear with only one witness?"
"Very quickly," the storm said. "The apocalypse Origin & Cause investigation can't make heads or tails of the scene—" a gust of wind swept demonstratively toward the other apoc cops taking readings near the missing wall, "but far as we can tell, the damn thing spontaneously combusted—somewhere near here."
The Axolotl stared helplessly between the serpent and the storm. "Dimensions aren't supposed to spontaneously combust," he said, very reasonably and very unnecessarily.
"Tell 2Δ that," the storm said. "Only time a dimension moves that fast is during a Big Bang explosion or a Big Crunch implosion—and 2Δ wasn't undergoing a Big Crunch. No natural one, anyway. In all my eons with ATTF, I've never seen anything like it."
The Axolotl had been around enough eons himself to know that, after a certain point, novelty became very, very scary—because things working like they should shouldn't do anything you'd never seen before. He worriedly searched the roiling chaos exposed by Dimension 2 Delta's collapse for any sign of what had happened.
The chaos simply thrashed. It moved like it was in pain.
"Did that..." the Axolotl gestured vaguely toward the chaotic foam, "have anything to do with the wall's combustion?"
The serpent shrugged. "I didn't see it until after the fire went by."
The storm grunted uncertainly, a low, thunderous grumble. "Heck if we know. It's connected, no doubt about that—but we haven't even figured out what it is yet. All we know is, it shouldn't have been behind the wall."
The Axolotl stared into the roiling colors, looking for anything visible through the thrashing kaleidoscopic colors. "If you don't know what it is yet—then, how do you know there aren't survivors in there?" The Axolotl couldn't stop seeing that poor, frightened, awed triangle he'd met yesterday. All the people who'd once been in Dimension 2 Delta mattered—of course they did, those billions of trillions of trillions of billions of lives; he wanted any of them to survive—but that triangle was the one he knew, the one he saw in his mind's eye now. The whole dimension was contained inside that triangle. He had to hope. "I'm going to check."
"What—? You're crazy! Don't you know falling into Dimension Zero will destroy you?!"
"I know falling into Dimension Zero destroys you; I don't know what falling into that thing will do." He squared up with the chaos and steeled his nerves. "Besides, I can regenerate. I'm an axolotl."
"But—!"
"Sorry, there isn't time for more questions." He swam into the maelstrom.
####
Dimension Zero was supposed to be a singularity. Like a black hole, but even smaller—a point so dense it broke physics. If you fell in you'd be crushed into that point by the weight of all realities, a point so small it had no volume.
But whatever was behind where the wall had been, it was certainly no point.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, he was barraged with a psychic hurricane. Reality frothed and foamed like a flood spilling from a burst dam. Distant baby stars were born and popped like bubbles, and old stars fell in and were gloriously reignited. His every sense was bombarded with infinite sensations—every color and image in this dimension all at once; every song that had ever been played playing in the same instant and the instant extended indefinitely; strobe lights that were both flashing on and flashing off at the exact same moment. Beneath the music was a constant hiss like the background radiation of reality, the static echo of a universe's birth, but much too loud; he could swear it sounded like gibbering, babbling voices, their desperate messages unintelligible. He smelled every scent, including the lingering smell of burning hydrogen that he'd noticed outside; but above and beyond all that, he smelled the stench of burning life.
He knew now, this was Dimension Zero: it was as if all of spacetime had been crushed into a singularity, but then the singularity was bloated up to the size of an entire universe. Dimension Zero was never supposed to be this bloated.
And the most terrifying part: there were people in this bizarre ruin of a dimension. Millions of them. (Just as horrifying: there were only millions of them.) He was sure he must have been hallucinating—here, dreams and reality swirled around each other like a bottle of water and oil shaken until they were forced to mix—but the longer he looked, the more sure he was that the people were a part of reality. They were, perhaps, the most real thing in the entire dimension.
They were all dancing.
They were all dead.
"Heeey, look who's here!" Suddenly, in front of the Axolotl, there he was—as if he'd always been in front of the Axolotl, as if he were always everywhere at once. The ghost of the little triangle he'd seen yesterday, neon incorporeal. "Happy New Year, everybody!" He laughed. "Get it? That—that's a joke, time doesn't pass in the dream realm, so..." The triangle waved off the Axolotl. "Oh, you wouldn't get it. Screw you. Anyway, introductions! I should do that."
The triangle was extremely inebriated. He was blinking blearily, floating crookedly, moving in odd uncoordinated jerks, his pupil expanding and contracting with no correlation to the light it was taking in. He seemed to flicker across multiple timelines that had been collapsed into one, like a drunk that couldn't walk a straight line: appearing here then there, then multiple places at once, then everywhere; and then became everywhere, and then collapsed again to a single triangular point. The Axolotl had the worrying impression that the triangle hadn't been sober for a long time.
"So! These are my people!" He gestured with a flourish to the dancing corpse puppets. The strobe lights—which, the Axolotl only now realized, didn't actually have a source, but were rather disembodied rays of light emanating from nothing—turned to highlight them from every angle. It was like a cloud of glitter, all these tiny, flat, jewel-tone flecks, emerald and citrine and ruby and sapphire, triangles and squares and pentagons and hexagons. Each with two spindly arms; some with legs and some without; a single dull eye or a slack mouth; some of them cracked and chipped like broken glass, some of them crushed and melted together into multi-corpsed horrors, some of them fraying and peeling apart around the edges like fabric; so much silvery blood dripping and floating around them. Such beautiful, colorful dancing gore. "All my followers and friends! They love me! They couldn't see you last time you flew by, but thanks to me, they sure can now! Say hellooo!"
It took the Axolotl a moment to realize that the triangle's eye was boring into him and the instruction was for him. "Hello," he said weakly.
"Very nice." The triangle turned without turning to the millions lost inside Dimension Zero, reality shifting around him to put all of the dimension's prisoners in front of his eye. The Axolotl reeled from existential vertigo. "Now check this out!" The triangle gestured at the Axolotl for his people's benefit. "Behold! Your Magister Mentium presents to you: the eclipse! In the horrifying pink flesh! Quite a sight, huh?"
Many of the dancers turned toward him. Some aimed their dull, dead eyes in his direction. He shivered under their chill stares.
Heedless of the Axolotl's horror, the triangle elbowed him. "I didn't peg you for a party crasher, pinky!" (The triangle's touch was so cold.) "But hey, the more the merrier. Welcome to the dream realm, have a drink!"
A 2D cup manifested in front of the Axolotl that, based on its smooth, featureless yellow surface and its glow, appeared to be made from the triangle's own ghostly flesh. It seemed to be filled with watered-down raw existence. He didn't touch the cup. "What's the dream realm?" He couldn't stop staring at the dancers macabre.
"This is!" The triangle stretched out his arms—and stretched them, and stretched them, seeming to embrace all of reality at once. The Axolotl got the terrifying impression he was within the embrace too. "The realm of dreams! My realm! Paradise of color and light! Realm of spirits and muses!"
"It looks more like a nightmare."
"Do I come to your house and insult your wallpaper? Buzz off."
When the triangle dismissively floated away from him, the Axolotl again got the dizzying sensation that he was the one moving. The truth finally dawned on him:
The triangle, somehow, was literally the center of this universe. Point 0,0,0 on the cartesian plane of reality. Whenever he moved, Dimension Zero moved with him. When he backed away from the Axolotl, Dimension Zero backed with him, rushing past while the Axolotl held still.
And not once during their conversation did any of the millions of dead shapes stop dancing.
"What are you doing?" the Axolotl asked, voice hushed.
"Partying," the triangle said. "We're having a party."
The Axolotl couldn't tear his eyes from the choreomaniacs' forced revelry. "How long have you been partying?"
"Uhh... pfff... I dunno, hard to keep track. A few months?" The triangle turned toward his tortured people. "Hey! How long have we been partying?"
One of the bodies mixed in amongst the dead, boogying deliriously, faintly cried back, "Time has no meaning and eternity has collapsed into a single unending moment of bliss!" (The Axolotl shuddered at the grotesque ventriloquism act.)
"Oh, yeah, right, forgot I decreed that. Thanks, pal!"
"You're welcome, oh wise and glorious Magister Mentium!"
The triangle turned back to the Axolotl. "An eternity."
The Axolotl tore his horrified eyes away from the dancers. "What about all the others?"
The triangle paused. "I don't know who you're talking about." The background radiation hissed in agitation.
The Axolotl very much suspected he did. "Your other people."
"There aren't any others," the triangle said defensively.
"There were! All of the other shapes around your world! All of the lives on other worlds! Where are all those people?!" He hoped that they might have gotten evacuated to a neighboring wall, or that they'd been concealed somehow, or even that they'd been collapsed together into the shapes he saw before him and could still be separated—
"It's fine," the triangle said stiffly. "Nothing important was lost."
"Nothing important?" the Axolotl repeated, shocked. "This was an entire dimension—!"
"A wall," the triangle said.
"A wall with lives on it—"
"Shadows."
"And do shadows not deserve to live?!"
The triangle flinched at the question as his good cheer crumbled. He didn't answer, but he gave the Axolotl a heavy, hard, emotionless look—a wretched, empty look—and the Axolotl knew he knew they did deserve to live.
"They don't matter," the triangle lied. "Nothing important was lost. Only the true believers and the worthy remain."
"Your dimension had billions of trillions of stars alone. All the people surrounding them—"
"I didn't see any stars!" He said it so vehemently—as though, if he didn't see them, they must not have existed. As though he refused to acknowledge their existence. "I told everyone about the third dimension, I told them we were going, they had their chance to join me!" His voice was shaking. As he spoke he grew larger, until he was as large as the Axolotl—or perhaps the universe had contracted around him. "And if they refused to join the liberation, then they are what we liberated ourselves from!" Distant bolts of lights flashed through Dimension Zero, responding to the triangle's outrage; the nearest stars blazed brighter for him. His dead people screamed in terror. They didn't stop dancing.
"You... tried to leave your dimension before the fire reached them?" Had he tried too late?
The triangle flinched again; his appearance flickered, like a TV that for a moment had picked up a pirate station broadcasting on the same frequency. The whispers hissing beneath the music grew more excited again, but the Axolotl still couldn't make out what they said beneath the party music.
The triangle said, "The... the fire came second."
"What came first?"
But he didn't answer. "Yeah, I brought them here." He spread his arms again, gesturing at the other shapes. "They followed me, and I freed them from our flat, restrictive dimension. They're all fine. And they all love me for saving them."
"Saving them?" he echoed. He wanted to laugh in disbelief, but it felt too much like laughing at a stranger's funeral. Laughing at an open mass grave. "But—everyone here is already dead. Even you." The triangle should be in an afterlife. Whatever afterlives his dimension once had, they were gone now. The Axolotl would have to help the triangle find one in another dimension—the paperwork alone would take time he didn't have to spare; he'd probably have to split off a timeline or two to squeeze it in...
The triangle snapped, "Whoa, hey, hey! Watch who you call dead, buddy! Look at me!" He stretched out his limbs, glowing dazzlingly bright. Brighter than a star. Even the Axolotl had to turn away from the blinding light. "I transcended my body! I'm made of pure energy! This is the most alive I've ever been!" A being of pure energy that had lost its physical form was the very definition of a ghost; but the Axolotl didn't have a chance to argue before the triangle went on, "And does anyone here look dead? Everyone's dancing! We're all having a great time, aren't we?" A few corpses groaned and gurgled in response.
If the triangle wanted to be a wandering ghost, fine. That was his prerogative. But he had no right to force the remains of his followers to deny their death with him. "Look—look at your people," the Axolotl commanded. "You're making them dance! You must know what state they're in!"
Without actually moving, the triangle had somehow become the space in between the Axolotl and his choreomaniacs, forming a sharp shield in between them. "You don't know what you're talking about. They're fine. They're immortal!"
The Axolotl gestured furiously past the triangle. "LOOK AT THEM!"
The triangle's gaze flickered toward them for a split second. The Axolotl saw guilt flashing in his eye; but then he squeezed his eye shut. "No, you look at them. Maybe it took me a little bit to get it right, but they're all great now."
To get it right? The Axolotl peered around the triangle at the shapes again, and only now saw that he was right.
Not all of them were dead.
Some were trapped in ecstatic trances; some were numb with terror; some were already long dead, and yet the corpses weren't being puppeted like he'd assumed—they danced under their own power. There were amalgams of a dozen, a hundred bodies fused together into shambling, gyrating horrors—but there was still life in their horrified eyes and their limbs twitched independently. The ones that were bleeding just kept bleeding and bleeding and bleeding, unending, blood never clotting nor running dry. The corpses and the comatose and the ailing and the bleeding dancing with the living that craved death.
The triangle was responsible for their condition?
He glided between the corpses, sliding his arms around a few of them. They kept dancing. "I didn't quite get to a few of them in time, so I took the empty space where their souls used to be and filled them with an insatiable hunger to party," he said. "And look, they're good as new! Probably better than they were before, even!"
"These bodies should be laid to rest," the Axolotl said heatedly, "and the rest of you should be dead."
The triangle went still.
The Axolotl remembered, a second too late, that that was a perfectly normal thing to say to deceased clients and other gods in his line of work, but the kind of thing that scared the living daylights out of mortals.
"So that's a threat." His arms slid off the shapes; his fingers were stained with silvery blood that shimmered like static noise.
"No! No. But the condition that you're all in..."
"You'd better check yourself, frills," the triangle snapped. "You crash our party, in our eternal paradise, and start threatening us! Who the hell do you think you are, telling us we should be dead?!"
The Axolotl paused uneasily. "A fully licensed psychopomp...?"
"Well you'd better keep your psycho, pompous paws off my people!" The triangle blazed bright red, literally incandescent with rage. Some of his "people" slowly stopped dancing and turned their hollow eyes toward the Axolotl.
And the Axolotl couldn't say why, but he was suddenly sure he was in very grave danger.
He backed up from the triangle, moving in the direction that the edge of Dimension Zero should have been, although he was no longer sure whether it was still behind him. "I... think I should leave."
"I think you'd better."
He turned and fled. He couldn't explain his panic, but he felt in his bones like something was chasing him. He had to spend longer than he wanted searching for the edge of this bizarre reality—the triangle had turned and twisted and moved the borders so many times that he'd completely lost his bearings—spied the nearest exit, and darted for it between two unfinished planes of reality.
He thought he felt flames at his back.
The triangle's voice followed him out: "Next time, poop on somebody else's party!"
He tumbled through the membrane between the overbloated Dimension Zero and the higher dimensions with the relief of a suffocating fish escaping its net to plummet back into the water. He had to take a moment to reorient himself to his surroundings—time passing so that each moment took its turn and ended when it was over, space that felt like space rather than all distances collapsed in on themselves—and looked back at Dimension Zero.
The longer he stared into the kaleidoscopic miasma, the more sure he was that, no matter where he looked, right at the center of his field of view, he could always see a shining yellow fleck of triangular glitter.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I spoke out of emotion. I am glad that you—" well, "survived" wasn't the right word, "—still exist. And it was heroic of you to save as many people as you did. I shouldn't have said they shouldn't be alive; just..."
He felt like he could still see the shapes dancing in the corners of his eyes.
"... Just not alive like that."
####
Who was the triangle?
At their first meeting yesterday, it had been clear to the Axolotl that the triangle could see and perceive things off his wall while the rest of his people could not; he'd identified himself as "Magister Mentium" rather than by name; and he'd been surrounded by shapes, all turned toward him, listening: so perhaps he was a leader of some kind? He must have seen whatever destroyed their dimension coming and been able to use his position to evacuate a few people. The true believers and the worthy, he'd said—maybe his... congregation? Maybe he was a religious leader? At any rate, it was a miracle he'd saved as many people as he had with what must have been very short notice.
But... their forced dance... the bodies fused together... the living-who-should-be-dead bleeding and bleeding and bleeding without end...
The Axolotl didn't want to believe the triangle had any ill will. He reminded himself that he didn't know anything about his people or their culture. These shapes had been through something unimaginably traumatic. They'd watched an entire reality die; many of them were stuck in the process of dying in a place where they couldn't complete it. Any mortal would be insane with grief. Perhaps their magister was just leading them in some sort of cathartic dancing mania; perhaps this was how the shapes processed their grief. He hoped that was what it was. He hadn't gotten a chance to speak to the others—he didn't know how many could speak—but he had seen, for just a moment, how survivor's guilt ate at the triangle.
The storm cloud with the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force had said that every single living being from Dimension 2 Delta had been killed. Even the gods and the ghosts. So how had the triangle and his people survived?
And what were they doing here, in the singular heart of all reality?
And what had happened to their world?
####
(Hello, thanks for reading!! If you were lured in by the colorful art I laid out as bait and this is your first time here, welcome!! This is part 1 of a 5-or-6 part fic about the Axolotl in the immediate aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. I'll be posting one chapter a week, Fridays 5pm CST, so stick around if you wanna read more and learn the exciting answers to exciting questions like "Bill where in the good goddamn did you find a bunch of half-dead shapes??"
It's ALSO chapter 61 of an ongoing post-canon post-TBOB very-reluctantly-human Bill fic. So if you wanna read more of me writing Bill, check it out here. If you're not sold on the idea of a human Bill fic, I've also got a one-shot about normal triangle Bill escaping the Theraprism if you wanna read that.
If this is NOT your first time here and you already knew all of the above: hey y'all remember when we had to skip over chapter 61 because it would've been posted like four days after TBOB came out and it needed MAJOR revisions? Well, here it is!! And also it's currently like six times longer than it was originally. We're gonna be hanging out with the Ax for like a month and a half, buckle up.
Let me know what y'all think so far!!)
#bill cipher#gravity falls axolotl#gravity falls#gravity falls fic#gravity falls fanart#the book of bill#euclydia#(or what's left of it anyway lmfao)#fanart#my art#my writing#bill goldilocks cipher#(AT LONG LAST)#(i spent all day drawing dead shapes)
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Conservationists release largest group of zoo-bred Bellinger River snapping turtles after virus wipe-out
Nearly a decade after a virus nearly wiped out a population of turtles unique to northern New South Wales, researchers say its origins remain a mystery as a project to repopulate the species hits a major milestone. Now identified as the Bellinger River Virus, it triggered a mass mortality event in 2015 that decimated 90 per cent of the river's snapping turtle population within six weeks. At the time, the state government placed 16 healthy turtles into a zoo-based breeding program led by Taronga Zoo as part of the NSW government's Saving our Species program. Some 179 Bellinger River snapping turtles have since been released after the program started in 2018, with 97 turtles reintroduced into the river during December marking the largest group yet...
Read more: https://www.abc.net.au/news/2024-04-09/bellinger-river-snapping-turtle-conservation-release-zoo-bred/103681974
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DEMO — Chapter One: Part One [34K Words] — 11/12/23
FAQ || PINTEREST || SPOTIFY || DISCORD
Aurelian Academy, the pinnacle of evolution within the supernatural world; the first landmark to be erected after the Dark Ages— the time when supernatural races still lived within the shadows of the mortal world.
You’ve been prepared to go for your entire life— all one hundred years of it. Being the youngest child of a ruling vampire clan didn’t give you much choice in the matter. Going to Aurelian meant taking the next big step in your immortal life regardless.
Will you be able to prove yourself to your parents? To your siblings? Will you be able to uncover the mysteries that surround the ancient school?
Or will everything vanish as the midnight sun approaches?
Create your character. Customize your name, potential nickname, gender (male/female/non-binary), sexuality, appearance, and hobbies. (Note: The MC is a Vampire and is 100 Years Old.)
Choose from 3 Classes— Charmer, Shadow-Kin, or Warrior.
How does your character feel about humans? Are they simply ants that you don’t bother with? Potential allies? An intriguing conundrum?
Do you enjoy the modern world? Or do you miss the simplicity of the past?
Romance 1 of 8 potential romances.
Explore Aurelian Academy and uncover the secrets that litter the ancient halls. Just make sure you don’t miss class while doing so.
Koda Kingston — [He/Him] — Bear-Shifter — He’s a mass of muscle and warmth, eyes filled with good humor and overall joy. Might not have a lot going on upstairs, but he’s definitely got the spirit. [Male MCs Only]
Scarlett Voltaire — [She/Her] — Vampire — Cold as ice, ruthless to any that oppose her, with a flair of heated contempt at the people who annoy her, Scarlett is the middle child to the oldest ruling family within the vampiric race. [Female MCs Only]
Cyrus/Cyra Aurelia — [He/Him or She/Her] — Phoenix — Heir to the Eclipse Throne; they’re the eldest child of House Aurelia, Founders of Aurelian Academy. They’re the pinnacle of what an heir should be: dutiful, strong-willed, and loyal above all else.
Quinn Grant — [He/Him or She/Her] — Wolf-Shifter — An individual that’s been whispered about within the halls of your home; a prospected mate in the event that both your warring families wish to unite. Now that you’re meeting them, you may be able to see if that’ll ever become a reality.
Caden Randall — [He/Him or She/Her] — Phantom — Appearing on a random night five years before, they’re not exactly what someone comes to expect when thinking about a phantom: scared of their own shadow, fretful, and a complete neat freak. They’re tasked with ensuring your stay at Aurelian Academy goes smoothly.
Sloane Addams — [He/Him or She/Her] — Wolf-Shifter — A wolf-shifter without a pack, disgraced in the deepest way possible, they don’t seem to be that overjoyed at the prospect of attending Aurelian Academy, but that doesn’t mean they’re not set on proving themself and finding a pack once more.
Blake Herrera — [He/Him or She/Her] — Demon-Hybrid — Your best friend (and potential FWB). With a flirtatious air, a rebellious spirit, and an affinity at finding trouble, they’re a demon that takes a bit to get used to.
Reginald/Regina Presley — [He/Him or She/Her] — Human — A scholarship student to Aurelian Academy; the first of many that may be attending. With a thirst for knowledge, along with a devil-may-care attitude, they’ll try their best to fit in. Of course, that’s easier said than done. As they’re the first human to ever be admitted as a student.
PINTEREST (OTHER) || MALE ROS FCS || FEMALE ROS FC || FAMILY FCS || ROS SKIN TONES
#midnight sun#interactive fiction#romance#supernatural#modern fantasy#interact if#if wip#dashingdon#hosted games
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Let’s talk Yi City Arc! I’ve seen a few posts since my time in the fandom that talks about the Yi City Arc as unnecessary or out of place in the whole of the mdzs narrative. I’ve even seen some suggest that the disconnect is because Yi City was originally a separate story to mdzs, a sort of prototype, if you will, to explain it away. I, too, after my first read questioned the significance of this arc to the overall story. However, the Yi City arc and its placement so early in the novel is actually just a huge and very clever spoiler to most of the important plot points of the overarching story… if you know what plot points to look for, which an un-spoiled first-time reader would not. So let’s talk about those spoilers:
1) The righteous cultivation clans’ refusal to stand against evil—and, really, their indulgence of it—leads to the wiping out of an entire clan and a monastery as well as the deaths of two powerful cultivators unaffiliated with any major sect.
The “righteous” cultivation clans happily ignore that fact that the Jin Clan is amassing power through unscrupulous guest disciples, and it is only when Xiao Xingchen, an outsider, brings the crime against the Chang Clan to light do they bother to pretend to do anything about it. However behind the scenes, the Jin Clan assassinates their only real opposition, and the other clans, great and small, continue to do nothing as Xue Yang is released to commit another massacre. The Jin are never held responsible for their actions. Likewise, all the clans turn away from Wei Wuxian, an outsider, when he calls out the Jin Clan’s crimes against the Wen remnants and accuses them of amassing power via poaching vassal clans and attempting to steal his tools. Behind the scenes, the Jin work to undermine Wei Wuxian’s reputation before joining in to massacre Wei Wuxian and the Wen remnants. The Jin are never held accountable for this, which directly leads into the Xue Yang situation.
2) Xiao Xingchen has his reputation slandered by Xue Yang killing others using his sword.
After Xiao Xingchen kills himself, Xue Yang begins using his sword to enact “vengeance” on the remnants of the Chang Clan, who he considers as having “betrayed” Xiao Xingchen. Finding the signature of Xiao Xingchen’s sword on the slain bodies leads the cultivation world to believe that a disillusioned Xiao Xingchen is killing in revenge. In much the same way, Wei Wuxian is used as a scapegoat by the cultivation world whenever bad things happen, such as the presence of walking corpses or the mass digging of graves. In neither situation does any clan investigate the true events of the situations, happy to blame the easiest suspect and allow the unrest to continue. In both situations, Xiao Xingchen and Wei Wuxian are eventually found innocent of the crimes for which they are accused, and the true culprit is revealed.
3) Xiao Xingchen is betrayed by someone he considered close to him, which eventually leads to his death.
Xiao Xingchen, due to being literally blinded by his sacrifice, ends up running into, rescuing, and caring for his mortal enemy, Xue Yang. Taking advantage of Xiao Xingchen’s blindness, Xue Yang tricks him into murdering a bunch of innocents and his best friend, causing him to commit suicide. Wei Wuxian, similarly, is betrayed by a close friend he kept near, figuratively blinded by a former childhood friendship and the present debt he felt owed to said friend’s parents. This misplaced trust directly leads to his death.
4) Xiao Xingchen must give up his eyes for Song Lan to see again, because Baoshan Sanren is not magical.
This is probably the biggest spoiler of the entire arc, but by the time you get to where this information is relevant, you’d probably have forgotten that this was even said. Xue Yang blinds Song Lan after destroying his home, and to atone for this, Xiao Xingchen goes to his master, Baoshan Sanren, to beg for her help. However, Baoshan Sanren cannot make something out of nothing. Mxtx explicitly writes that tidbit into the narration. Song Lan goes up the mountain blind and comes down with eyes. Xiao Xingchen goes up the mountain with eyes and comes down blind. Song Lan was given Xiao Xingchen’s eyes.
Much later in the story, Jiang Cheng loses his golden core. Wei Wuxian offers the miracle solution of Baoshan Sanren “giving” him a new one. Jiang Cheng, obviously skeptical, questions Wei Wuxian up until the moment he must go up “Baoshan Sanren’s mountain” alone. Wei Wuxian descends, alone, looking pale and weak. Later, when Wei Wuxian is ambushed by the Wen, Wen “Core-melting Hand” Zhuliu touches him and is visibly shocked by a discovery that he then keeps to himself. Jiang Cheng emerges from the mountain with a new golden core, while Wei Wuxian emerges from the Burial Mounds with a new cultivation method wholly independent of the need for a golden core. The Yi City arc tells us why this is: “Baoshan Sanren” cannot make something out of nothing.
And these are just the major parallels I remember off the top of my head. However, while a reread makes a lot of these parallels directly applicable to specific plot points in Wei Wuxian’s own story, I would argue that the biggest role the explicit paralleling is meant to play for a new reader is to make you question the dominant narrative of the main story. The narration tells us that Wei Wuxian is a bloodthirsty man who may as well be a demon, known for cruelty and vengeance. We see none of that from his character when he is resurrected. Then we get a mini-drama where a man with attributes Wei Wuxian directly relates to, with a story Wei Wuxian directly compares to his own life, is scapegoated by society, killed, then eventually vindicated. If nothing else, the Yi City Arc is meant to make you, as a reader, stop and go “Hey, wait a minute, what if Wei Wuxian isn’t the bad guy here???” And once you understand that, you should start questioning everything the prologue told you, just like the juniors start to question what they were told about Xiao Xingchen post Yi City in their group debrief.
#mdzs#human metas mxtx#this post is meant for someone#that i regret not responding directly to#but it was just their informal final thoughts and opinions after having just finished mdzs#and one of those thoughts was ‘yi city arc felt out of place’#you’re not meant to leave the yi city arc going ‘why was that necessary?’#you are meant to be like the juniors and go ‘hey what if I’m being lied to by someone?’
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Cult Part 5! Here's One, Two, Three, and Four if ya missed 'em.
“Whatever he’s up to,“ Dipper leans forward in his seat, glaring. “It’s not what you think it is.”
His warning goes unheeded. His glare, unnoticed. The man not only keeps talking to Bill, he does it in the stupidest way possible.
“I don’t believe you, vile tempter,” says the dark-haired man, folding his arms, turning away in a huff. His hips tilt in a way that makes those tiny shorts look ten times stupider than they already were. “Your infinite cunning and dire convincing cannot sway a human pure of heart!”
“Oh, how pure it is.” ‘Bill’ says slowly, capturing the man around the shoulders. “But think about it, mortal - What’s the worst that could happen?”
Some of the pouty defiance fades from the human’s face. His slow, dramatic turn towards Bill is focused in a close shot, so their faces are both in frame.
“Alright,” He says softly, “You bastard.”
Ugh, of course he’d give in easily. Even though it’s a terrible idea.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Dipper mutters, and stuffs another handful of popcorn in his mouth.
He’s seen his fair share of bad television - more so in the last week than ever before - but this bullshit really takes the cake.
Dipper stumbled on this drama while flipping through the billion options of Bill’s TV. Somewhere in the middle of random shows and channels, a brief clip caught his eye. Mostly because he thought the main guy looked like Bill, and it paused his thumb for a second.
Turns out it is Bill. Or rather, an actor playing him. The looks don’t quite match, and they’re using a different name - but the likeness is unmistakable, right down to the triangle motif.
For the first five minutes, Dipper had to just boggle at the very concept. Only the most devoted followers know the Truth. The clever plans and private nature of Bill Cipher are solely for those who are initiated in the deepest secrets. Ones that the ignorant masses could never comprehend.
A hundred-some odd episode tv series blows that theory out of the water. He guesses that’s more bullshit he learned from a bunch of ignorant, sheltered jerks.
Honestly, meeting Bill should have clued Dipper in earlier. A guy who talks about himself that much isn’t going to keep a low profile. Seeing it on Bill’s own TV was also weird until he remembered, right. Multidimensional sight. That’d show him things from all over. And pulling all the episodes on a dedicated channel in his living room? That’s an egomaniac’s move.
So of course Dipper would run into this. There was no better place.
The next episode starts. The opening credits roll for the dozenth time. Dipper doesn’t move from his position on the couch, but he does roll his eyes at the stupid smile actor Bill gives at the camera. Completely off-base, it’d be way more smug.
He should really stop watching. The first episode alone nearly had him grimacing at how idolatrous it was, and Dipper lived in a cult. Problem is, the worse it gets, the more compelling it becomes.
Then the theme song ends, and Dipper looks again down at the tiny text at the bottom. The one that reads, ‘based on real events!!!’.
Sure, it’s the most highly dramatized bullshit he’s ever had the misfortune of watching. Including the soap operas his cult classmate smuggled in all the time. And yes, it’ll be difficult to tell how much is true when it’s less reliable than an overheard rumor.
But it might give him some leads to go on, and Dipper can’t pass that up.
Suffering through shitty dialogue is a small price to pay, when it comes to unraveling the tangled thread that is Bill Cipher. Especially because his subject keeps trying to wrap up into a whole friggin’ gordian knot whenever he’s not looking.
Besides, Dipper’s already on episode twenty-seven. He might as well see how this season ends.
The plot picks up on the same convoluted scheme. Judging by last season, it’ll end in some climactic battle for no particular reason. The characters on screen continue their bickering, an intense-back and forth. One that ignores the very insightful commentary from anyone watching.
Halfway through, ‘Bill’ double- or perhaps triple-crosses his human rival/friend, and Dipper spends a few seconds to feel very I-told-you so about it. The plot thread isn’t resolved though, so there’s no way to know how that turns out without watching another episode.
And Dipper’s bowl of popcorn is empty.
He contemplates the dish first, then the TV. Whether to get up and refresh snacks, or stick around to see how ‘Bill’ ruins that guy’s day for the seventh time. A tough decision.
He’s just about decided to raid the kitchen for snacks, when the front door ominously creaks open.
Bill Cipher, Lord of Dreams, King of the Nightmare Realm, storms into the room with irritation in his terrible gaze, and furious purpose in his stride. He wears a scowl on his face that would make even the most apostate follower cower in terror, a demeanor that speaks of his infinite violence. The thrum of magic in the room builds, intense as it always is in his so-called glorious presence.
As that single golden eye alights on Dipper, he waves and says, “Hi.”
All the tension slides off Bill like a particularly messy sloughing of skin. “Hey yourself, sapling!” He waves back with more enthusiasm. “Been one heck of a day, lemme tell ya that.”
It sounds lighthearted. A pretty decent act. Tough luck for Bill, though; Dipper can read him pretty well by now. A check of Bill’s body language gives him all the info he needs.
Huh. There haven’t been many bad days since he’s met this ‘god’. But by the look of it, this one was more than most.
“That bad?” Dipper asks. Then, since he’s not doing much anyway - “Wanna complain about it?”
A blasphemous question. No follower should delve too deep, for that is the purview of divine revelation. The wisdom of Cipher - his most terrible secrets - are only revealed at his discretion. Not something to be pried at by the greedy and curious.
Dipper still marvels at how wrong they got all of it. Total misses on absolutely everything. Bill’s got secrets, sure. ‘Wisdom’ is questionable.
And when it comes to learning about his life, prying is unnecessary.
Stopping him from talking is the hard part.
“Don’t even get me started!” Bill says, clearly delighted.. He spreads his arms wide. “But you did! Too late to take it back now.”
“Mmh,” Dipper agrees. He’s got another episode queued up. That’ll be a nice distraction. Bill’s rambling can be interesting, but his complaints are longwinded. When you think about it, he’s really doing this ‘god’ a service by listening to all the bullshit.
He really doesn’t know what his old cult was talking about. Clearly they’d never met the guy. When this is how Bill talks to some random human, it’s amazing he has any secrets at all.
He waits for the oncoming onslaught as the show keeps playing on. The theme song finishes and the scene opens. There’s a new location, too - god, this better not be another timeskip. Demons might keep track of that stuff easily, but Dipper’s had to start taking notes.
It takes a second before he notices Bill’s… actually not talking.
A quick glance over - yep, just like he thought. Staring like a creep again. One of Bill’s favorite pastimes. This time paired with a pleased smile, and his hands on his hips.
“What’s up?” Dipper asks. There’s no rhyme or reason to the creeping so far - but he’ll figure out the pattern one day.
“Hm.” Bill gives him a slow onceover. The corner of his mouth quirks up another fraction. “Nice outfit.”
A quick check reveals… Nothing particularly interesting. His clothes are identical to, like, the same three outfits he always wears. Jeans and a t-shirt - though today he ditched the flannel for this big hoodie he found in his laundry. It’s remarkably soft. “Uh. Thanks?”
Bill says nothing. The smirk grows even wider. Very suspicious. Dipper narrows his eyes. “Are you making fun of me?” “Who knows?” Bill says, teeth showing in his smile. “Interesting outer layer you got going on there.”
Dipper checks the hoodie. No, he doesn’t sense any magic. If there were pins he would have felt them, and a curse would have kicked in by now. It’s just a random hoodie that’s admittedly too broad in the shoulders, but very comfortable. It even smells good.
He waits a few seconds - Bill keeps staring, oddly smug - but with no information forthcoming, Dipper decides to chalk it up as another ‘weird demon thing’. There’s a lot of weird demon things. Most aren’t as innocuous as random fashion critique, so he might as well let this slide.
“Cute as that look is, you did ask for the rundown, sapling.” Bill loosens his bowtie, letting the ends drape over his shirt. “You know what my least favorite part of today was?”
“Dealing with idiots.” Dipper replies. It’s always idiots. He rifles through popcorn kernels to find any remaining puffs.
“Sure, sure. Most times!” Bill strides over, sighing dramatically. “But today it was dealing with sycophants.”
Dipper runs that through his mental dictionary - then frowns. “They weren’t flattering enough?”
“Close!” With a grin, Bill leans on the arm of the couch. “More like praise comes in a lotta different flavors, and this one -” He stops mid-sentence, with a sudden frown.
Pausing? That’s unusual. Dipper rips his attention away from the show, glancing up. “This one was…?”
“Hm? Oh, y’know.” Oddly enough, it seems like Bill genuinely wasn’t deflecting. Simply thinking, his head slightly tilted. He snaps his fingers twice. “Like, suckups are one thing. Currying favor’s the most common grift in the universe! It’s the… That kinda saccharine crap that’s a hair too sincere. Like…” He wags his hand in the air, fingers wiggling as he tries to grasp for an invisible word. Grimacing when he doesn’t find it. “Ugh. English doesn’t have the right vocab.”
A multilingual master of the mind probably does feel limited by speech. And every day, Dipper learns something new.
Demons have a different culture. Human customs don’t apply. Learning it has been a whole process, more arduous than he’d expected - because it’s got an entirely new language, with a million new words.
Apparently said language has a lot of terms for ‘suckup’.
Dipper rummages around for an English word that might fit. “So it was… Creepy?”
“Close!” Bill agrees, looking pleased. “Little bit obsessive. A touch like they’re up to something.” He makes a face. “Or worse, they’re not! Even when every non-braindead being should know I’m not on the market.”
“The market for…?”
“Most everything,” Bill says, with his usual amount of detail.
“I would have thought you get that a lot.” Dipper frowns. Power, money, fame - Bill’s got it all. As the biggest shark around, he should be used to remoras.
“Totally! Everybody wants what I got, sapling. Power especially.” The couch barely bounces when Bill plops himself beside Dipper. “But just ‘cause I have it in spades doesn’t mean I’m handing it out like eyeballs at a wedding.”
“Um.” Except he kind of is. Because. If he wasn’t, then why has Dipper’s magic been so strong recently. There’s no way that’s a coincidence -
Bill leans in closer, meeting his gaze directly. One eyebrow slowly lifts.
Dipper ducks his head, scooting an inch away. Bill hasn’t said anything. He didn’t need to.
Special.
Suddenly it’s very important that Dipper fiddle with the unpopped kernels in the bottom of his popcorn bowl. He was going to get more snacks. Right. Kitchen’s not far from here.
Before he can rise, Bill snaps his fingers and the bowl refills. Overflows, even, scattering kernels everywhere. Then he shoves his hand in up to the wrist, sending more of it flying.
“So that’s the losers I gotta deal with. Every day with these idiots! And I’m supposed to meet up with a few of ‘em later. If we weren’t talking an old favor, I’d pass,” Bill says. He slumps back, with an uncharacteristic sigh. Then shrugs, kicking his feet up onto a previously nonexistent ottoman. “But hey! There’s always time for a vicious betrayal!”
Dipper makes a soft sound of commiseration. That’s an interesting fact, too. Favors, deals. Those are demonic things, He wonders what those involve, and how -
“Ha! Now this is a classic,” Bill says, interrupting before the question can form. He’s watching the TV now, grinning wide. “How’ve you been liking the show? Looks like the main character’s a real handsome guy!”
“It’s terrible,” Dipper says, flat. It gets a chuckle, but no argument.
“Sure, I’ve seen better,” Bill says, nose wrinkling up at a particularly dramatic line from the actor on screen. He flips the TV off, then shrugs. “But eh,” Hand waggling, an ‘iffy’ gesture. “When you got a billion-eye view of the multiverse, you see way dumber crap than this.”
Fair point. Dipper shrugs, but doesn’t comment. Something to think about, there. That Bill’s seen this before, for one, but also-
“How much of this is true?” He asks.
If this demonically produced drama is even slightly accurate, Bill will have a strong opinion. Once he starts talking, everything will reveal itself.
“Great question! I’d say…” Bill pauses to stroke his chin. Aiming for ‘solemn’, but mostly reminding Dipper that the jerk never needs to shave. “What does it matter if a narrative is factual or fictional? Everyone’s got their own version of how things go down! Truth’s a sucker’s game when you really think about-”
An elbow to the ribs doesn’t quite shut Bill up. Just gives him enough pause to let Dipper interject.
“Philosophy doesn’t suit you.” He nudges him again before he can derail the topic. Bill sticks out his tongue, and for a second Dipper’s tempted to poke it in revenge for before. “I’ll settle for which parts actually happened.”
“Spoilsport,” Bill says, sounding oddly warm. “Eh, they took a lot of artistic license in this series. And that’s coming from me.” Shrugging, he makes a so-so- sort of gesture, weighing it in his palms. “Call it less than you’d like, but more than you’d think.”
Dipper glances at the screen.
The battle at the end of the episode is a poorly-cut fight. Bill, human-formed, faces off against seven gorgons. Which is bullshit, they’re territorial - and the shoggoth at sunset brings it almost to the level of parody. The human of this episode has fainted in a way that leaves him leaning against Bill without somehow falling on his ass.
Yeah. That about tracks. Demon to human translation: ‘Artistic license’ means ‘total bullshit’.
Almost on cue, Dipper feels fingers brushing against his hoodie. There’s a shift as Bill adjusts his seat, his arm unsubtly snaking over behind Dipper’s head.
Any minute now that ominous limb will drop onto his shoulders. Just like the last half dozen times. God forbid Bill not take up all the room he can; he thinks everything is his. Even gorgons aren’t this territorial.
Dipper can live with it. Hell, if the worst thing Bill ever does to him is invade his personal space and talk over an already bad TV show, he’s basically set for life.
And truthfully, it’s not that bad. Less irritating than it should be. Having someone close, even if they are an obnoxious evil demon god, feels nice.
One day he’s going to know why he’s being bothered by Bill in the first place. What made him stand out among the rest. What he’s for. The question doesn’t upset him like it used to, but he can’t help but pick at it like a still-healing scab.
It feels like he has a decent amount of facts already. Between the journal in the guest room, watching the highly dramatized version of Bill’s life, and talking to the demon himself…
Dipper glances over at Bill - still focused on the show, crunching popcorn - then down at the long line of his wrist.
Even Bill’s providing clues, in his own, unique way. When he arguably shouldn’t.
It would be so, so easy for him to cut it all off. Burn the books, break the TV, cage Dipper up and beat the curiosity out of him. Taking every step the cult did and more, in his ‘wrath’ and ‘infinite cruelty’.
But he’s not. He wouldn’t, not to Dipper.
In fact, Bill’s been - in a weird, exclusively Bill-ish way - kind of helpful. Hell, he’s having a great time.
He clearly delights in watching Dipper scramble around, trying to follow a breadcrumb trail of hints. Even more fun is occasionally dropping a bunch of clues down the wrong track, then hiding behind a tree to giggle. He especially likes to dangle something just close enough to grab, then teasing Dipper as he tries to make the leap.
So much of his time is spent making stuff annoying, teasing and taunting and tricking - but Bill’s not actually stopping him. As hobbies go, it’s both incredibly dickish, and totally benign. It’s almost like…
Dipper gets the sense that Bill expects him to figure it all out. Bill just also thinks he should make the journey very… ‘interesting’.
Joke’s on him, though. He’s left more hints than he intended. He may not even realize how far Dipper’s come.
The show plays on. The actor ‘Bill’ argues with the latest, nearly-identical human guy. They change actors a lot; usually whenever there’s a timeskip. They always have exactly the same role, too - ‘guy who argues with the demon in charge’. Probably because demons consider all humans interchangeable.
There’s some interaction between the various planes. Everyone knows that. Demons are pretty rare on the list, but lower-level entities occasionally get summoned, or break in through some magical mishap.
Back in the cult, Dipper learned that Bill Cipher has bothered and convinced and manipulated mortals for eons. His unearthly machinations twist the strings of his human puppets, all the time. Slowly building to the inevitable goal - the world, under Bill’s eternal thumb. He never interacts directly; the physical plane is not yet his to roam.
But in the drama, Bill is on the physical plane. Not acting through haunting prophetic dreams, or divine revelations. Just bitching and prodding and poking in person.
And while the setting’s fictionalized version of the place, it’s definitely not under any demonic reign.
The implications took a while to sink in, but Dipper thinks he gets it now. Parts have clicked together; facts he didn’t know were connected until just now.
Bill probably doesn’t realize it, but he’s helped there too. Filling in the gaps. Adding extra detail.
He’s even doing it right now.
The unasked for commentary track continues as Bill talks. Going on about how he hasn’t been to that country in millenia, or how the seasons are wrong for this encounter. Elaborating on details, mocking others, going on about the stupid plotline and dialogue -
Totally bragging about his earthly knowledge. About the physical world. Because he’s been there.
Dipper sits up a little straighter. It bumps the hand trailing through his hair away, and he settles back to let Bill’s idiot fingers continue their idle path.
He can’t be totally certain without proof, though. And Bill has always liked it when he’s picked up the clues…
Dipper speaks up.
“I think more of this is real than you’d admit, Bill. You’ve…” Didn’t laud himself over them, no divine visitation- “Hung out with humans.”
“Hard not to! What with billions of you dreaming all over the place.” Bill says, deftly avoiding the question. Staring at the screen now, focused forward in a way that makes it hard to catch his eye. “You’re everywhere on that scummy pebble you call a habitable planet.”
No confirmation, but no denial. Which means Dipper’s on the right track.
“I mean you’ve been on Earth. In the, uh, flesh,“ Dipper insists. No triangles were visible, maybe that form can’t be sustained in reality - but this is no time to get derailed. He seizes the thread of logic, yanking on it with all he’s got. “Was-”
“Pfft, who hasn’t!” Bill interrupts. He flicks the question away, snorting in amusement. “Pretty permeable place you got there.”
“That’s at least two hundred years of human interaction,” Dipper insists. He jabs his index finger at the screen, then into Bill’s ribs. “And I can’t help but notice none of it is in your realm. It’s on Earth. Which you haven’t conquered-” Before Bill’s mouth can open, he holds up a hand. The lie is so dumb he doesn’t wanna hear it. “Nice try, I was just there.”
“Yeah, yeah, make a mountain out of a molehill.” Bill buffs his nails on his shirt, chin lifting. “I’ve just been busy! I’ll get around to it!”
“Sure you will,” Dipper says. He narrows his eyes. “I’ve figured you out, Cipher. I know what’s going on.”
Plausible deniability went out the window ages ago, thrown with such force that glass shattered everywhere. Leaving Bill standing in the middle, wondering aloud what happened, with a perfectly innocent look on his face..
It’s about humans. About earth, and Bill, and Dipper himself. Why Bill never showed up before, in all those years - decades - of cult summons, the ones he never ever answered, even though they really tried. Not just that he didn’t see them, or didn’t care to.
It’s because Bill Cipher can’t do everything.
Bill’s been evasive, per his usual. He’s not quite meeting Dipper’s gaze, and keeping up a dismissive tone.
But he can’t deny that he’s interested, even though he tries to keep his expression aloof. It’s not working so great. His mouth keeps twitching as the grin starts to leak out around the edges.
“Oh?” Bill’s voice has a strange tone. He leans in until their thighs touch, sides together; he must be really interested in something. “Go on, sapling. Enlighten me!”
That’s the core of a line of truth, leading somewhere important - if Dipper dares to follow. He’s getting close, he can feel it. It’s dangerous, but-
Getting the words out is harder than he thought. Challenging Cipher is - he starts talking before he can talk himself out of it.
“You can’t take over reality.” He keeps his voice level, daring Bill to interrupt. “You don’t have all your powers there.”
A pause; Bill’s oddly silent. His face is blank.
Before he can get angry, Dipper rambles out the rest. “Or at least not yet. You’d have taken over already if you did. I mean, it’s not like you didn’t have time. You can’t get the world because…” Here it goes - “Something’s stopping you."
He watches, tense, as Bill’s expression sours. Looking askance at Dipper, he folds his arms in a huff. Muttering something under his breath about ‘stubborn’ and ‘annoying’.
But Bill doesn’t deny it.
God, and even the look on his face. The one that’s both annoyed but also, maybe, resigned? Like it’s an old, old roadblock that he’s both huffy about, and very used to, it’s…
Holy shit. Dipper’s right.
His heart is racing. Merely guessing that Bill can’t accomplish his main driving purpose is a far cry from him saying it, or even not arguing with it. The very thought makes his head swim.
But he can’t stop now, not while he’s ahead.
“So there’s some obstacle even you can’t get rid of,” Dipper says. Looking at Bill out of the corner of his eye, he pitches his voice in a tone of reverent, religious awe. “I can’t even imagine how powerful that is. How incredibly-”
“Hey! Don’t get so full of yourself, Pine Tree, it’s just not the right time yet!” Bill sits up straight, indignant. He bares his teeth in a sneer. “Maybe there’s something I still want from that miserable little rock, you ever think of that?”
Another admission. An unforced error. Bill winces very slightly as he hears his own misstep, and Dipper swells with pride.
Bill thinks he’s all high and mighty and oh-so-secretive. A master of mysteries. If only he didn’t talk way too much. He didn’t think Dipper was clever enough to trick him and he gave everything away.
“That’s it. That’s why- why everything.” Dipper beams as he waves over, well, everything. “You keep going back there, and you keep picking a human, wandering around with some random guy - because you can’t get what you want without one.”
Not a cult, building power. Not a massive ritual spell. Nothing grand and showy; Bill would have done that if it was effective. That’s way more his style, and far more magically powerful.
There’s been none of that. Not in the show, not in real life. He hasn’t used the cult, he doesn’t have a base of power. Bill doesn’t peddle with groups, both in the real-life cult and the cannon fodder in the show.
He’s only focused on one person.
Out of billions of people he could bother, Bill latches onto a single, unfortunate guy and throws their life into total chaos. It’s a curse, an annoyance, a bolt of bullshit out of nowhere - and would also ensure you don’t bleed out until he’s had his ‘fun’.
Being picked out from the crowd like that. Having the full brunt of Bill Cipher himself foisted upon you, laser-focused. Going from a nobody to someone who has all his attention -
Wouldn’t that make someone kind of special?
No response, again. Bill has retreated to his last, mocking resort. Flapping his hand like a puppet as Dipper talks, and making faces.
Yes. Finally, Dipper got him. He followed the breadcrumbs, avoided the trap, set up one of his own - and Bill walked right into it.
Dipper gives him the smuggest, most annoying smile he can. He’s got plenty of examples to draw from.
Bill glares, and flips him off. “Sure, sure, live it up,” He says, rolling his eye dramatically. Waving off the loss like it’s no big deal, even though it clearly is. “You don’t have a clue what’s really going on.”
A blatant lie. Hardly his best one, either.
Dipper lets himself enjoy this win for a full minute. Rare chances like this should be savored. He has to hold onto the couch so he doesn’t grab Bill’s dumb handsome face and shake it, for being so very, very stupid. He’s never going to let him live this down
“So. Why do you need a mortal?” Dipper asks after a while. Bill isn’t volunteering any more information, and there’s one more part he hasn’t quite figured out. “The thing you’re after. Why can’t you just,” He grasps at the air in demonstration. “Take it?”
Bill’s eye twitches, once. He doesn’t say anything.
“I mean-” Dipper hesitates. “That’s a ton of work. Heading to a different realm, picking a new mortal every time - that’s decades - no, centuries of effort. The human has to do something, right? You wouldn’t do all that just for fun.”
“Excuse you, it’s plenty fun!” Lifting a finger, Bill wags it chidingly. “You think I’m above messing with some mortal just for kicks?”
Shit, he’s not. Ruining a random person’s life for the hell of it is so very, very Bill.
“Alright, maybe.” Dipper admits. This could be because Bill’s a capricious dick. “But I’ll bet there’s more to it.”
“Never have one motive when you could have six,” Bill agrees. The grin widens, he wiggles his eyebrows - and he starts cackling.
So yes, there’s more. And no, he’s not telling.
Dipper racks his brain for ideas. For clues. Whatever Bill’s after must be extremely important if a literal demon god keeps chasing after it, over and over again. Nothing comes to mind, though.
Eventually he sighs, waiting for Bill to be done with his stupid smug laughter. It doesn’t cover up his mistake.
“So I guess that makes me your latest human… companion thing.” He prompts, once Bill’s finally done with his smug, jerk laughter.
One of the first things he noticed - that room in Bill’s penthouse. The one meant for a specific type of person, as clear as a fingerprint. How many of Bill’s mortals stayed in that room? How many of them-
Those notes in the journal. Dipper has to go back and check them. Now that he knows it was someone in exactly the same position, there might be more to learn.
“Congrats, kid! Ya got parts of it! Well played! But I gotta ask one thing.” Bill cocks his head to one side. A brief, amused smirk. “There are plenty of magical guys around! A lot of ‘em begging for demonic contracts!” The smirk widens, sharp teeth showing. “Why do you think I picked you?”
Dipper opens his mouth. After a beat, he shuts it.
He was so busy thinking about the mechanics of his presence that he didn’t think about the motive.
Obviously Bill grabs a human for practical purposes, so he can get that thing he wants on Earth. If it’s an entertaining person, that’s a bonus in his eye. This time it ended up being Dipper, because…
Not because he’s devoted. Or the most knowledgeable guy around. He’s smart, but too aware of the experience he lacks. Weeks ago he would have said it was the ritual knowledge from the cult, but since that’s less than worthless… Something else, then.
“Because…” Dipper starts, then hesitates. Mind racing, trying to pin the strings between the bits of knowledge he has before Bill throws a wrench into it. “Uh.”
Shit. Shit, he’s so close, there’s a piece missing. A final step. He struggles to find it but there’s little time to think; Bill’s expectant expression demands an answer.
“Convenience?” Dipper hazards. He was right there, in the middle of a powerful ritual, directed at Bill, so-
Instantly he knows it was the wrong guess. By the way Bill’s face fell, it was off by several hundred miles.
“Ooh, nice try.” Bill tugs Dipper closer, hand dragging through his hair - Dipper ducks out of the way before he can start a ‘companionable’ noogie. “You really missed the mark there!”
“Any chance you’ll tell me what that is?” Dipper says, with no small amount of bitterness.
Damn it. He was so close he could almost taste it.
“Nope!”
“You- hmph.” With a grunt, Dipper scoots away and out of his grip. He’s used to all the deliberate frustration, but right now it just sucks.
“Aw, don’t make that face!” Bill scoots after him, trying to get his arm around him again. Dipper swats it away. “Tell ya what - here’s a hint! You’re something a guy doesn’t see every day, sapling.” He winks. “Pretty unique.”
How very specific. Totally not opaque. How does Bill manage to give more facts and make things more mysterious in the process? It’s a really annoying talent.
Dipper sulks then, for a bit. When Bill tries petting his air again, he smacks his arm away, muttering unflattering things under his breath. It makes Bill laugh again, cackling in delight.
“What’s the matter?” Bill nudges him, a teasing laugh. “Ease up, kid. Given enough time, you’ll figure out some real secrets.”
“May Cipher hear your words,” Dipper says, the old phrase springing up before he can stop himself. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, cringing away from his own voice.
Thankfully, the slip gets Bill laughing. Dipper’s turn to not live something down; they’re one for one today.
“Okay, some of the affectations are adorable,” Bill says, nearly pinching Dipper’s cheek before he elbows him in the side. “Hardly worth all the other crap, but still!!”
“It really wasn’t,” Dipper says. He rubs at his left wrist. ‘All the other crap’ barely covers it.
“Don’t worry, sapling.” Bill says, voice low and satisfied. He squeezes Dipper’s knee, grip tightening. “Once we got everything in order - we’re gonna wreak some havoc on those idiots! All the fun stuff and more!”
‘Fun stuff’.
Spending time with Bill, even in Dipper’s position of relative safety, teaches you a lot about what he thinks is ‘fun’.
He’s not sure why he didn’t see this coming.
“Is that… so.”
“It is! Getting back at those who wronged you, tormenting the tormentors. Punishment returned with neat ironic twists!” Bill waits for a beat, then grins, jostling Dipper with a gentle shake. “Come on, you gotta have ideas!”
“A few, yeah.” A lot, actually.
Being favored by a ‘god’. Chosen, in a way. Having Bill’s favor means having his full permission to enact vengeance.
He’d be lying if he said he never thought about… what he’d do, if he could. Fleeting ideas from too many nights lying in bed. Staring at the ceiling, feeling the burn in the back of his mouth, or the pain in his knees or the stripes on his back. Frustration and anger and hurt, bubbling up into red-hot thoughts that tasted like blood even with a missing tongue.
Dipper swallows. He rubs at his throat.
“Ooh, I bet you’ve got a lot.” Bill purrs, wrapping his arm around Dipper’s waist. He walks his fingers up Dipper’s knee, trailing up his thigh. “Whatcha got in mind? Turning them inside out? Bone dissolving? Rearranging their legs where their ears should be and making them try to do a cartwheel?”
“Uh,” Dipper says, then, “Well.”
Bill is way more creative than Dipper is. Half the ideas he’s mentioned Dipper couldn’t pull off, and even if he could it’d be… Messier than he’s comfortable with. In those moments of pain and rage, he would have - even then, it’d be a stretch.
Though maybe Dipper wouldn’t mind when it came to the priest. Too bad he’s already dead.
What will he do? When he goes back?
He can see their faces in his mind’s eye. All the people he knows. The only people he ever knew, in that life that feels so far away.They’ll show up again in the room of ceremony, once they get wind of their god’s return. Except this time, he’ll be standing proud at the altar, with everyone in front of him, staring in…
He knows how they stared at Bill, at least. That mix of wonder and terror, their eyes wide. They’ve always believed so much. Hopeful in a way that Dipper never was -
Or. Was, rather. Only when he wasn’t so stupid.
And isn’t it just - so pathetic, and sad. Thinking things might turn out well. That something good might happen, when someone better knows it won’t. Those idiot, expectant moments before you know there’s a punishment coming, that leave you without a chance of defending yourself.
Dipper can feel the burn of Bill staring at him. Waiting to hear his most horrible, gory ideas, and bring them into terrifying technicolor.
“I’m not telling.” He states finally, sounding more prim than he would like. “Nice try. It’s, um. Going to be a surprise.”
“And I can’t wait to see it!” Bill beams, nearly bouncing in place. His enthusiasm is so powerful it’s almost catching. “Mark my words, kid - it’s gonna be a real party.”
“A super fun one,” Dipper says. “Totally.” He offers a smile back, waits for Bill to start cackling - then quickly looks away before his face gives up the game.
For such a consummate liar, Bill’s hit rate on detecting them is only 50/50.
Though. It isn't a lie, really. Dipper does have a lot of ideas. And what he ends up doing to the cult will be a surprise.
In that he’s not sure what he’ll do until he gets there.
“Take your time, sapling! Whatever you come up with is gonna be great, I’m sure.” Bill rubs his hands together, a glint of sinister anticipation in his eye. “I can’t wait to see it.”
Dipper lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I hope you’ll like it.”
Of course it wasn’t going to happen today. That’d be a quick turnaround by anyone’s standards. Even Bill himself needs longer than a few days to cook up a… what did he call it that one time? A ‘showy little number with a twist at the end’. Anything else would be disappointing.
Anyway, it’s too early to make definitive plans. Bill said he should take his time, and Dipper believes him. Shoving his human back into the world half-cocked would ruin the entertainment.
And when you think about it, there are so many options that it could take a lot of time to narrow them down. There could be setbacks, and stutters. It could take weeks, maybe months, to get everything just right. A punishment ironic yet powerful, subtle yet dramatic.
Who knows how long it’ll take until Dipper’s ready to head back? Certainly it won’t feel very long, to a guy who’s billions of years old. And as long as he’s making some progress, nothing needs to happen just yet.
“Ooh, this one,” Bill says suddenly. He sits up straighter as something catches his attention. “I remember when - ah, but that’d be spoilers!”
Dipper looks up. Spoilers for-?
Oh. A new episode started when he wasn’t paying attention. “It’s still a bad show,” He mutters. He could turn it off out of spite, just to bother Bill - but he did kinda want to see what happened with the twelve-ring summon the ‘bad’ guys were planning.
Another episode would actually be kind of great, thinking about it. He could use the distraction.
Bad TV, Dipper’s learning, is nice. One of the few times where he can almost let his brain turn off.
And having someone else who thinks the show is dumb somehow enhances it.
The climactic battle has the worst dialogue, and terrible graphics. Dipper can barely look at the monsters, they’re so poorly rendered. Bill agrees that they needed a better illusionist; half of the explosions look like they were drawn.
Chatting about something so trivial makes everything so easy. Dipper lets out a laugh when Bill mocks his own actor’s performance, then swats at him when Bill teases him for being a dork.
Some idle comment sparks a bit of bickering. One of them throws popcorn at the other. Dipper doesn’t remember who started it - only that by the end, the bowl is empty again, and he’s smiling for what feels like the first time in hours.
Actor Bill hisses,“Oh, you are a vindictive, terrible mortal.” His suit has mostly melted off from the acid, leaving shreds of it hanging off his arms and chest. The shreds slide off his skin as he storms forward. “A pitiful being like you should never exist!”
“Yet I do!” Protests the human, standing with fists on his hips and a truly defiant look. One only partly ruined by his totally shirtless form.
“You never stood a chance against me,” Actor Bill purrs, slamming a hand into the bark of a tree, pinning his captive in place. “There’s no escape, kid! There never will be!”
“Oh yeah?” The man’s chin juts upward, a sneer of sheer contempt - totally unrealistic, nobody would get away with that - as he flips Bill off. “Then I’ll be your own personal curse, demon. You’ll never escape me either.”
The music surges, a broad orchestra that’s… honestly a jarring clash to the argument that breaks out. You can barely hear what they’re talking about over the grand music.
“Just shut up will you?” The man yells.
With a broad sneer, Actor Bill leans in, smug grin surprisingly close to the real version. “Make me.”
The human fumes, eyes narrowed. His fists clench as if he’s about to throw a punch. But when he extends his arm it’s too slow for that, and his hand is open. It seizes ‘Bill’ by the back of the neck, yanking him in, then -
Dipper nearly leaps out of his seat, eyes wide. Only the pressure of Bill’s arm over him keeps him from standing.
“Three stars for timing, zero for technique.” Bill gives the TV a thumbs down. “That’s way too much tongue! This ain’t slug wrestling for crying out loud.”
Dipper’s shoulders rise nearly to his ears. He doesn’t dare glance at the screen. Only once the wet noises stop, and the credits music rolls, does he try darting one in Bill’s direction.
Who seems entirely, implausibly bored. He cups a hand over his mouth as he yawns, loosely splayed over the couch.
“You’re, uh. Okay with that?” Dipper asks. He tucks his hands between his knees, leaning forward. “It just seems, uh.”
“Seems ‘uh’, what?”
“Like,” Dipper gestures vaguely at the screen, even though it’s faded to black. The credits roll, a series of ominously glowing symbols scrolling up the screen. “That was…” He searches for a word, and fails.
“Terrible writing,” Bill says, bored. He shakes his head, lips drawn into a line. “You’d think someone would come up with a better plot for this kinda crap. It’s not like there isn’t material to go on.”
“But he kissed you,” Dipper says, before he can stop himself.
It’s one thing to blaspheme a little, Dipper himself is no stranger to forbidden acts, but this one takes the cake. The whole bakery, even. To do that at all is bad enough, but to Bill or - or an actor playing him, obviously it’s not the same thing, but still-
“Yeah, yeah, smooching, whatever.” The concept hasn’t phased Bill in the slightest. He snorts, grin widening. “Contrary to your idiot idolatry, I have been known to practice a liplock once in a while!”
“You-” Dipper starts, then stops. “I-” He shuts his eyes, then blinks rapidly. “Yeah, okay.”
So. Bill isn’t surprised, because this is - he sees everything, it’s not like he didn’t know about that kind of stuff.
It’s just that. As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing to get worked up about. Because nothing that happened there was wrong.
Dipper presses the heels of his hands into his eyes to rub them, then draws them down slowly over his face.
Every time he thinks he’s found the bottom of the pit of bullshit he learned back in the cult, he finds another goddamn level beneath it. There may never be an end to all the lies.
Another one he can strike off the ‘sin’ list. There’s basically nothing left now, with Bill indulging in everything from gluttony to sloth to… that.
Every whim Bill has, he indulges. Often to excess, and always with aplomb. Dipper never had the opportunity or ability to do even a tenth of what Bill has, and - god, he wonders what that’s like.
“Do you…” How to phrase this. Dipper wipes sweating palms on his jeans. “Have you… kissed a lot of people?”
The words come out in a bit of a rush. Bill snorts in amusement, which is a relief; that wasn’t the worst question to ask.
“Depends! What’s ‘a lot’? I’m pretty particular about my partners.” Bill’s smile widens, and he wiggles his eyebrows. A quick squeeze Dipper’s shoulder, just above the bicep. “But sure! I’ve known a guy or two worth putting a peck on.”
“Okay,” Dipper says. Then, because that feels inadequate. “Cool.”
Because of course he has. Bill’s put his mouth on. Thoughts are spinning in his head now, rapid and light.
“Come to think of it, it’s been a while since I’ve dabbled in the dating scene!” Bill continues, with an odd tone in his voice. “Pretty tough to find the right guy these days, when you’re holding out for something special.” A nudge, as his eyebrows go double-time.
God, and he would have options- Didn’t Bill say it earlier? People pursue him. For power, sure, but that’s only what he mentioned. Kind of weird, though, Dipper’s only heard of men chasing after -
Wait. Wait, no, how did he never consider this before? Maybe because his stupid upbringing blinded him; Bill’s not human. The shape he’s wearing doesn’t mean anything, metaphysically, doesn’t speak to what he really is, and he just said that at some point he’s kissed a man.
“Are you a girl?” Dipper blurts. Staring wide-eyed at that angular face, at the arms and then a little longer at his chest.
The look of sheer incredulity Bill levels on him makes Dipper sink down into his seat.
“What?” Bill asks, and - oh god. That’s the first genuinely bewildered look Dipper’s ever seen on him.
“I thought - I was wrong.” Dipper’s face burns, he wants to cringe himself into a ball and then fall between the couch cushions. “Sorry.”
Great. Dumb guess, shitty concept. Now he looks like an idiot. His very first assumption was the right one. More fool him for overcorrecting.
“Whatever, kid. And don’t say ‘sorry’,” Bill flicks his fingers. Awkwardness slides off his back like water on a duck, he’s grinning again. “None of your human crap applies, y’know?” He brings his hands together, index fingers and thumbs forming a familiar, three-sided symbol. “I’m the shape you see on caution signs, not bathroom doors.”
“Right.” Dipper perks up. So he wasn’t totally wrong, just... not at all right. Still embarrassing, he should change the subject. “Um. So-”
“But I do have a dick, if that’s what you’re asking.” Bill adds, grinning way too wide.
“I wasn’t.” Dipper claps hands over his ears. It fails to cover up the delighted chortle beside him.
Guess he’s learning all kinds of things about Bill today. Just not ones he wanted.
Not helped by the way Bill leans in very closer, tickling him on the side in a way that makes him jump again. He’s about to scramble off the couch or do something inadvisable like shove someone else off the dang thing - when Bill’s ringtone goes off.
“Ugh, are you- Blegh.” Bill says, moderately annoyed. He leans on Dipper for a moment as he fishes around in his pocket, a smothering weight. How is a simple human shape so heavy.
Whatever he sees on his phone screen has him sticking his tongue out. “Ugh,” He repeats, frowning at. Lifting his arm off of Dipper, and holding up a finger. “Be right back! I gotta take this.”
Dipper hopes the jerk gets lost on the way and falls down a hole. Not really, just - it would be something to say when he’s at a loss for anything else. He just rolls his eyes instead, watching Bill depart with a pointed stride and a grumpy mutter.
Finally, some space to breathe. To think. The mind magic of Bill’s presence always has Dipper scrambling for something to think about that isn’t his too-powerful aura.
He taps the edge of the bowl, an idle beat. Feeling the chill on his side where Bill’s body kept it warm.
Yep. Just Dipper, and the tv, and any remaining popcorn, all to himself. Nothing wrong with that.
He brushes around the bowl without any particular intent. Kernels rustle against his fingers, and he spends a minute swishing them around, even though his hand gets greasy.
The remote lies inches away. Easy to pick up if he wanted to distract himself. Finishing the season is an option, but feels wrong to keep watching when Bill’s not here to see it.
Actually, Dipper could watch something better. Finding a show that doesn’t suck, or have bizarre, blasphemous content. Just some real, semi-wholesome entertainment that doesn’t raise more questions than answers.
Distantly, he hears Bill still on the phone. Sounds like the conversation’s going to take a while.
Dipper taps his fingers on the couch, creeping towards the remote.
Said remote also has, like, a million buttons, so it takes a while to figure out which ones to press. One goes back to the previous episode. This one skips forward, another pauses. This one goes back in fifteen second intervals.
Dipper leans over, checking - Bill, still well out of sight - then taps the volume button down until it’s nearly zero before hitting play again.
“Make me,” Bill’s actor hisses again, before getting grabbed and - stuff.
Dipper sits forward in his seat, elbows on his thighs. Living with Bill means exposing himself to new ideas. Since he didn’t look before, now’s as good a time as any.
Though - Wow, Bill really wasn’t kidding. That is a lot of tongue. Even with the volume lowered it’s all wet and - it makes him feel odd, even though he knows it’s not sinful.
Maybe he should replay it to check.
The fourth time around, he pauses his research to inspect it closer. Aha -That’s what was bothering him, those aren’t real abs. They’re enhanced with makeup. The lighting covers it a bit but when you really look, it’s totally obvious. The actor playing Bill has the worst version; the other guy just has a blotch near his -
“Son of a bitch.” Dipper says, standing up so fast the popcorn bowl dumps its contents on the floor.
The image burns itself into his brain. Dots and lines, laid out on skin. A pattern Dipper could never forget if he wanted to.
Oh, Bill got lucky earlier. Real lucky. The only reason he got away with it is Dipper had his eyes covered. If he’d seen it, he would have had that evil demon bastard as pinned as that human in the show.
Before he knows it he’s charging for the entryway.
He can hear the jerk still talking on his phone, muted voice growing louder as Dipper storms in his direction. Unaware of how he’s been found out.
Dipper doesn’t have a plan in mind, which is the first thing that’s probably going to go wrong - but he’s got to do it, right now, before Bill can run off on some errand or head to some party, evading and avoiding questions like he always does.
And before Dipper can lose the courage to confront him. A little confrontation might intrigue the guy - excite him, even - but the questions racing through Dipper’s mind aren’t going to be fun.
Too bad. Bill’s not going to wiggle his way out of this one.
He catches sight of Bill’s back, turned towards the door and totally not paying attention. Dipper storms up behind him, intending to catch him by the shoulder and whirl him around. See how Bill likes it when he-
The door swings open. Dipper skids to a halt, rocking back on his heels.
That is. Many demons. Eyeballs peeking over the shoulder of something with spikes, another with wings too large to see around. A crowd clustered around the doorway.
Bill stuffs his phone back in his pocket, glaring at them all.
“You call five minutes notice a ‘heads up’? Then show your asses up here?” Contempt rings in Bill’s voice, low and furious. “You got a lot of nerve, and that’s no compliment.”
“It was urgent,” a voice burbles. Something soft and squidgy - oh, that’s where the eyes were, on stalks - it bubbles literally as it speaks. “The mistress-”
“Yeah yeah, blah blah, I’ve heard it all before. Cram it.” Bill stalks forward, leveling a look at the group that has them all scooting away. “Maybe your ‘mistress’ should think ahead next time. Or think at all before calling in a last-minute favor from me.”
Slowly, inch by inch, Dipper backs away. If he keeps really quiet he won’t catch anyone’s attention, they’re all too focused on Bill to mind one small human in the room. Hopefully.
“You got the thing?” Bill snaps his fingers impatiently. There’s some confusion - demons tangling up and shuffling each other around until they manage to wrangle something out of the group. “Alright, hand it over.”
A briefcase is shoved into Bill’s eager grasp. He spends a moment examining it, then unlatches the clasps. Opening it the very, very slightest fraction of an inch - then rolling his eye, and slamming it shut again.
There’s some brief conversation - partially demonic, and partially too inhuman for Dipper to parse. The slimiest demon tries slipping past Bill, into the penthouse - only to get caught by the eyestalk. Green smoke rises, hissing and squealing as Bill’s grasp heats to a burning flame.
“Ah ah ah! Nice try,” Bill chides. With a snap of his fingers, another door appears. Dipper recognizes this one; it leads to a sitting room. “We’ll have our little discussion elsewhere.”
With minor threats and moderate violence, the demon crowd is forced through the open doorway. A miniature parade of odd shapes and sizes, skittering around under Bill’s impatient gaze. He snaps his fingers and they all hurry up.
Dipper guesses he’s going to be preoccupied for a while. He wishes he’d asked more details about this meeting earlier, but neither of them thought it would happen today.
As the last of the demons flutters into the sitting room, Bill turns around. Raising an eyebrow, looking amused.
Dipper makes a belated attempt to duck back around the corner, even though he’s well and truly caught. Curiosity got the better of him, damn it.
“No worries, sapling, you take it easy out here! I won’t be long,” Bill says, voice bright. He waggles his fingers in Dipper’s direction. “Coupla hours at most to milk these suckers for every penny they got.”
Dipper nods, once. He stays silent. Bill’s beckoning him over, but no way is he getting close. He knows that look. As soon as he gets within arm’s reach, he’ll have his cheeks pinched or pulled into a noogie or something.
Bill makes a disappointed face as his nefarious plan is thwarted, then shrugs. The easy grin returns. “Fine, be that way.” He gives Dipper a sharp wave and a wink. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t! Or do! I’m not a cop!”
The door shuts behind him with an ominous ‘click’. Dipper watches it for a while. No motion, no sound. No Bill popping back out, declaring that he’s already done and they can finish the drama.
Guess they’re well and truly settled in for some weird, demonic business deal. For several hours. Or more.
God, that’s frustrating. As much as Dipper wants answers, he can’t just barge into a room full of strangers and start demanding them. Especially when those questions might be kind of… personal. Bill probably wouldn’t be furious if it was just Dipper asking - but airing his dirty laundry in front of a crowd is a terrible idea on multiple fronts.
Damn it. And Dipper was this close to having him right where he wanted him, too.
He kicks the carpet a couple times. Then the baseboards. When the meeting hasn’t resolved two minutes later, Dipper stuffs his hands in his pockets, and slinks back over to the couch.
It’s empty, with scattered cushions and a throw blanket disordered from their popcorn fight. He stares at the discarded bowl, and the cooled fabric.
Settling back down isn’t nearly as appealing as it was five minutes ago. He’s not sure he can.
Dipper feels his hands clench into fists, then forces them to relax. He tucks them behind his back instead.
Every time. Every freaking time. Just when he thinks he’s close to understanding, another curveball gets in his way.
Pacing back and forth helps a little. There’s plenty of space in the living room to work out this restless energy.
Whatever this - this thing is, it’s been going on for a while. Centuries of Bill picking up mortals, putting them through their paces, trying vainly to reach the object of his desire. A pivotal point of his unknown plan.
And since he’s still going after it, every human before Dipper must have failed.
Maybe Bill got distracted by dicking around. Maybe it really is too powerful to overcome. Or maybe his humans didn’t even know what it was, since they were in the company of a cagey, manipulative asshole.
Dipper could go back and dig through the books in the guest room - but if they didn’t know either, then that’ll be a wash. There’s the show, but it’s so full of bullshit that he doesn’t dare make too many guesses.
Even at the best of times Bill’s wrigglier than an eel, and a total stickler for details. If Dipper doesn’t check off all the boxes on the list, finding everything he was supposed to - then Bill’s going to tut and wag his finger instead of handing over the prize
Too many questions. Zero idea what it’s about. Only one person knows anything useful, and he’s a total dick about parceling out the facts.
Waiting for him to get back won’t take long. It’s barely any time at all, even on a human timescale. Dipper can manage.
It’s just…
The idea of sitting around meekly, waiting for Bill to return. Hoping he’ll come bearing information because Dipper needs his stupid hand held through the mystery just feels - pathetic.
Everybody keeps making decisions for Dipper that change his whole life. Nobody gives him a heads up on what they’re going to do. People taking charge, over and over and - he’s just so tired of letting things happen to him.
If he just had one more thing. Something to prove that he’s right, not hearsay or guesses but physical evidence, that he could shove right in Bill’s dumb face -
Dipper pauses in his rapid pacing. His head slowly turns.
There is one place that he hasn’t fully mapped.
Technically he’s been in there before. Even more technically, Bill’s said he’s allowed to enter. Dipper just hasn’t gone back since that first time since. Well. It’s a little too personal. It felt weird to poke around.
But if there was a place to find the deepest, most powerful secrets of Bill Cipher - it would be in there.
The doorknob to Bill’s master bedroom is oddly warm for something metal. Like it has its own radiating heat, just like the demon who commands it.
Dipper takes a calming breath, then lets it out as he turns the knob.
The unlocked door opens easily, gliding without a sound. Funny, he almost thought it would have an ominous creak.
The carpet’s soft. It muffles his steps. Not that there’s anyone to hear him; Bill’s busy with his meeting several rooms and an unknown amount of actual space away.
Still, Dipper feels a semi-giddy thrill run through him as he walks back in - intentionally, not fleeing - into the most private sanctum of his ‘god’.
Centuries worth of humans. That could be dozens, even hundreds of people, depending on how fast Bill churns through them. And he loves his little trophies and knickknacks, having something to wave around while he brags.
If there is any proof, Bill will have kept it around.
Last time Dipper was here, it was during a panicked rush. He didn’t really look at the room, or check for anything that might explode or devour him - and then Bill was there, and it was. A lot.
This time, he can really take in the place. Get a real sense of what might be going on.
Speaking of - Dipper reaches out with his magical senses -
Then winces. He eases back until the flare of magic is no longer blinding.
Everything in the bedroom is soaked in Bill-essence. Not surprising, really. All of it has marinated in god-demon magic for hell knows how many years, so thick it feels like it could be wiped up with a finger.
For all that, it’s remarkably unthreatening. The sensation’s not welcoming, that word would be too strong - More like it could be dangerous, and deliberately choosing not to be.
“Right,” Dipper says aloud - checks over his shoulder on a paranoid impulse - and sighs when nothing happens. He claps his hands together. “This should be good.”
Time’s limited. Bill claimed it’d be a couple hours, but his company wasn’t invited. Depending on how annoyed he gets, that meeting could be over in seconds.
Better get to work.
Circling the room, Dipper trails his palm over the wall, checking for cracks that would indicate a door or a safe. He brushes fingers over a shelf for secret switches, then rubs them together. Not even a hint of dust.
There’s got to be somewhere he would hide a private journal, or… or a list of human-selecting criteria. Or like, an elaborate carving of every human he’s ever had, with all the information about their lives and when and why he grabbed them. Details.
Sure, there’s plenty of magic around. Tons of it. It’s in the absurd amount of Bill-shaped knicknacks, and the variety of miscellaneous thingamajigs. It’s in the paintings, in the tapestries. The little statues and trinkets and amulets displayed on the mantle. An extravagant collection if you’re generous, clutter if you’re not.
Another person would consider this quite the find. Dipper’s stumbled over a dozen artifacts pulsing with power just lying around like cast-off socks. Finding what Bill likes the most or considers the best is nearly impossible to parse.
Dipper figures it out in about two minutes.
The only thing to glean from this horde? Is that Bill picks up too many souvenirs.
He scowls at one particularly annoying statuette, towering over a field of presumably conquered human-things. A crowd of bowing figures, prostrating before the much-larger Bill in a series of miniature lines. He checks over his shoulder, then flicks the statue’s golden hat off.
On the one hand, it’s careless as hell. Leaving an amulet that rips off all your skin, lying half-under a chain that summons a horde of flying eyeballs, is a recipe for disaster.
On the other hand, it’s… maybe a little clever. A type of misdirection.
Sure, some artifacts have elaborate puzzle elements, and half of them likely contain mystical secrets - but Bill’s decorative habits are so busy, it covers up the fact that none of them are important.
No, Bill’s real secrets aren’t so easily found. They’re held much, much closer to his chest.
Putting them behind a puzzle wouldn’t work. Someone could solve that. Hiding them in plain sight is an option, but not particularly Bill’s style. Guarding them with a series of traps… Probably not in his bedroom, where he could accidentally set them off and ruin his suit.
But then, that would be what people expect, wouldn’t it? That Bill would have a bookshelf that swings out into a secret room, or a seal protecting a hidden vault. A big scary door, with mystical, nearly impenetrable lock.
…It’s all about misdirection.
Dipper drops the edge of the painting he was toying with, and heads to the dresser instead.
Part of him can feel the weight of the all-seeing eyes. The portraits of his ‘god’, omnipresent and watching. Unblinking, unmoving. Always watching.
Dipper shuts that idea out of his mind. That’s not true and he knows it, for a fact. Bill doesn’t pay attention to even half his eyes on a good day. Most times it’s like a single digit percentage.
Odds are he won’t find out. Besides, he’s too busy at the moment to care. What Bill doesn’t know can’t bother him, so it’s totally fine if Dipper rifles around in his underwear drawer.
Dipper holds up a pair of boxers, frowning at the pattern. Tiny blue pine trees against the most garish yellow ever. Truly hideous.
This is both worse than the triangle ones, and more inexplicable than ones with the heart pattern. Hardly what he’d pictured underneath the suit.
Not that he’s ever pictured it. That would be weird. But if he had, it would have been way cooler than this.
This search comes up with nothing, other than confusion at Bill’s fashion sense. Just clothes in the drawers, along with several unsheathed knives, a Bill-shaped keychain, and three glass eyeballs. Dipper does find a drawer with a lock set in the bottom, but he doesn’t have the key. Even then, opening it would just swing the bottom open and let all the pants fall out, so. No dice.
The closet is a walk-in. Dipper stands in the entrance for a minute, staring at the lines of suits and shirts and clothes and cloth and -
He shut the door again. Nope. That went back way too far. Diving in there might get him lost in the bespoke suit dimension.
Checking under the bed reveals… exactly the same stuff as last time.
More dustbunnies than anything useful. There’s a magical ring that’s bent with the gem fallen out, weakly emitting a tiny skull-shaped cloud. One actual sock lies discarded under there, half-balled up from its removal. It has little blood-soaked knives on it.
Dipper rubs at his eyes, staring up at the bedsprings. He sneezes, then wipes his nose on his sleeve.
So far, so… nothing. Disappointing, and weird.
He crawls back out from under the bed. Brushing off the dust, he gets up and sets fists on his hips.
Most of the obvious hiding places contain exactly what one would expect. Worst of all, it’s weird stuff. Just weird enough that he’s certain he’s not in a fake, illusory version of Bill’s bedroom, but the actual real place. It’s just less exciting than he’d thought it’d be.
Is there… actually nothing here?
Not that the evidence doesn’t exist. It has to be somewhere. The idea of Bill not having any secrets is impossible. Like a duck not swimming, or most mammals not breathing; a necessary part of their nature.
So it might actually be a different, hidden room. Figures. Getting to Bill’s secrets wouldn’t be as easy as opening his bedroom door.
And if that’s the case - Dipper’s out of luck. Finding an access point would be hard enough with his limited experience. Bill’s secret horde would have a set of quantum puzzles and a spike trap, at minimum.
He sits down on the bed, sighing heavily - then blinks.
Wow. The bed is incredibly nice. Just touching the sheets is a smooth, luxurious experience; Dipper presses his palm into those soft covers, stroking along the edge. Bouncing slightly on the mattress, just to test.
Not too firm. Not too soft. Just right. He could lie down for a moment if he wanted - and. And Bill said he could be in the bed, right? That was a while ago, but the invitation wasn’t taken back.
As he swings his legs up, one of them knocks into the bedside table.
Hold on - he hasn’t checked that yet.
Dipper hops, reluctantly, off that comfortable bed. One that has to be magical in its own right; he was nearly tempted to take a freakin’ nap. He’s lucky to have pulled himself out of it.
The bedside table doesn’t have such dangers, thankfully. Its drawer opens easily, unlocked and smooth on its slides.
Sadly, there’s not much to look at.
Dipper frowns at the contents. Some breath mints, a big bottle of clear liquid. A strange metal thing that’s bulbous on one end and tapered on the other. Picking it up shows it’s heavy and cool - but no apparent purpose, and zero magic. Maybe a weapon? Except it’s nowhere near big enough to be an efficient one.
He has to pull the drawer out more to get the metal object out. It easily slides open another foot, which is - weird? And actually…
Another tug, and a few more inches confirms - this goes back further than physically possible.
With a shrug, Dipper chucks the metal thing over his shoulder and onto the bed. By the time the drawer is out all of the way, it’s almost longer than he is tall.
Pushing things around to check, he finds snack wrappers - gross - and pieces of bone. A tiny skull, some weird statuette. A pair of handcuffs and a sleep mask, a tangle of metal wires and an elaborate candle, a weird ribbon-tied bundle of brown hair that he nervously scoots away with the back of his hand. With all the crap in here he’s half-worried he’ll feel something go ‘squish’ or skitter up his arm.
This is, more than anything, a junk drawer. Damn it. This was the last place he was going to check, and he came up empty-handed-
Then his knuckles bump against something, at the very far back. Shadowed by the overhang of the table above it, so far back it’s almost impossible to get a grip. His fingers slip twice before he gets a nail around one of the corners. A little wriggling. Then - Ha!
Dipper pulls the object out with more force than he needed. The move jolts the drawer open at an awkward angle, off its track. Whatever, he’ll fix it later.
In his hands, there’s a picture frame.
Now this could be something. A personal photo, so close to the bed. Something that should be resting out in the open, until it was stashed away nearly out of reach. He turns it over in his hands.
A picture of Bill. What a surprise.
Nothing remarkable here. Just Bill himself, giving the camera a thumbs up with stupid sunglasses over his eyepatch, lounging on some white-sanded beach on a towel of his own image.
Vacation photo. Great. Totally relevant. Totally not annoying, to get so close and yet so far.
“Jackass,” Dipper mutters, and pokes the stupid demon ‘god’ right in his stupid eye. The back of the photo frame presses against his fingers.
Wait. Then - It’s not flush with the frame. There’s a gap, or -
Dipper flips it over again. The only thing keeping the picture in is a tab, holding the backing in place. If he twists it, it comes off easily.
And there is another photograph, hidden behind the first. Oldest trick in the book.
Whatever Bill’s got to hide here, he sure as hell didn’t make it easy to find. Stuffed away in an innocuous place, not a hint of magic around it, right in his personal sanctum - this has to be something good.
A quick flick retrieves it; Dipper flips the photo around, and -
Blinks, twice. He nearly does a double take. An illusion? No, it’s - he just checked for magic, and there isn’t any here.
It’s just a picture of… Dipper.
And it has to be him, because- because it looks like him, and he’s in Bill’s home, wearing one of his favorite shirts as he lounges on the couch. In the photograph, he’s mid-yawn, arms drawn up as he stretches, loose sleeves falling down.
For a moment he wonders if this was one of Bill’s other humans - it’d be one hell of a resemblance if so - but the jagged pink scar running down the left wrist is absolutely unmistakable.
Dipper stares for a while. He’s not sure what to make of this.
Why is this stashed away? It’d help if it was like, a weird picture, one with some clear and sinister intent. The weirdest thing about this is the fact that it exists. And that quiet fluttering noise that started a few seconds ago.
Something taps on one of Dipper’s shoes, and he glances down.
There wasn’t just one picture.
With the backing removed, with the way he’s holding it - dozens of photos pour out of the picture frame, fanning out in their fall; an impossible number of them, there’s no way they all could have fit- Goddamn it, it’s extradimensional.
“Shit,” Dipper says, and tries to clap the backing back on. He gets a papercut for his troubles and swears, sticking his finger in his mouth.
Some fumbling later, he slaps the frame onto the sheets face down. The flood ceases, though a few more puff out as a final insult and scatter on the sheets.
Dipper backs up cautiously, just in case there’s another surprise in store - and nearly slips as a picture glides across the carpet. A second trips him up as he tries to get his balance, he grabs the blankets to steady himself.
How many fell out of the frame? Where have they all gone? It can’t be…
Dipper wheels around and stares in horror at the room.
Photos have tumbled everywhere. Across the floor and onto the table and under the bed, some halfway across the freaking room like an extra-inconvenient game of 52 pickup.
“Shit,” Dipper repeats. He nearly sits down on the sleep-enchanted bed again, then thinks better of it.
So much for being careful and subtle in his quest. Evidence of his spying has splattered across the entire goddamn room. He scoops up an armful, cursing as half of them flutter away like annoying butterflies. Another grab lets half the ones he gathered tumble back out of his grip.
Okay, this - this isn’t a disaster yet. This is solvable. Bill doesn’t need to know, it’ll be fine. He’ll never notice. As long as Dipper gathers these and gets them back into the frame. That shouldn’t be too hard to figure out. Depending on how long that meeting runs, he might even have time to-
A sound. Was that a footstep? Or just paranoia.
Clenching his teeth against another curse, Dipper snags another armful, then a second. For lack of anywhere else to put them, he dumps them on the bed. Put everything in one place first, then worry about -
No, there was a sound. He hears another one now. The doorknob rattles, clicking as it turns.
Shit.
Dipper swipes his hands over the blankets, snagging what few photos he can reach and shoving them into the opened drawer. Then ramming the drawer shut with an all-too-loud thunk, clamping loose pictures in the gap, before belatedly realizing he left the metal thing out, too. He grabs it as the door starts opening, and now there’s no time left, he’s got to hide.
Suits rustle as he makes his dive into the closet. The door, pulled behind him as he made his rush to hide, clicks against the frame but doesn’t latch.
No more noise from the main room. Too quiet, almost, the sound of his own quiet panting muffled by surrounding cloth.
That. Did not go well. Dipper grits his teeth, silently running a prayer against discovery in his mind - wait, no, calling out for the guy he’s trying to hide from is a terrible idea.
Through the inch of open space, he can hear the faintest, lightest footstep. Not the thud of Bill’s shoes - but he might be still in the doorway. It’s hesitant because he’s looking across the mess, wondering what the hell just happened.
And what the hell was Dipper thinking? Permission to be in Bill’s room is nowhere near the same as permission to get his grubby fingers on every inch of Bill’s junk. Even that intrusion pales in comparison to putting a gallery’s worth of photos - ones Bill had deliberately hidden - practically on display like an impromptu art exhibition.
Dipper takes slow, measured breaths. In, and out.
All he can do now is wait. Stay quiet. Small, and hidden. Out of sight equals out of mind for most beings.
It’s too much to hope that Bill will let this slide. But maybe he can come up with an excuse? Lying in a cool enough way might amuse Bill enough not to go full-on nuclear.
The closet doesn’t judge him. The closet is where nobody will yell at him, since suits can’t talk. He’s even ninety-percent sure Bill doesn’t have any that could; it’d take away from his own rambling time.
Dipper shuffles into the rack, pressing his face against the lapels of a jacket. It’s a little cool on his cheeks, smelling faintly of Bill’s aftershave. He sighs against the jacket, feeling the press of the other suits on his back, and almost, sort of, feels a bit calmer.
After a while, he remembers he’s clutching the metal thing tight, in both hands. It’s warmed remarkably fast against his flesh, and now he’s not sure what to do with it. Stick it in a suit pocket, maybe? It doesn’t fit in any of them, or his own for that matter. The damn thing’s too long and weirdly shaped to go in anywhere.
Another footstep. Soft, but close. Despite the danger, Dipper pokes his head out of the suit rack to get a better listen.
The pacing is very soft and very rapid. Like multiple little feet instead of the standard two, tapping on the floor. Then on the bed, then - on the wall?
Okay, it’d be one thing if Bill decided to tiptoe in on his hands and knees. Weird, but not that weird, considering. The erratic movement, also plausible. Who knows what the hell he gets up to when Dipper’s not watching him.
It’s just… too quiet. Too furtive, really, like it’s trying hard not to make too much noise. Dipper’s all too familiar with the process.
And faintly, he can hear a strange, gentle buzzing. A quick, two-second burst that he almost mistakes for static. Only there’s no TV in here, and the pitch is off..
Dipper scoots a little closer to the door, ready to press his ear against it. The sound hits a deep, unpleasant memory, throwing him back to some of the more unsavory cult duties. Sacrifice cleanup. The messes always had a bunch of - but he’s never even seen a spider in Bill’s rooms. Much less some sort of giant fly.
He turns to peek through the opened crack, just as the door gets thrown open wide. The demon - and it must be a demon, because no fly is five feet tall and has that huge a spike on its face - lets out a horrible, high-pitched shriek. Dipper’s own scream doesn’t match its pitch, but it’s a hell of a lot louder.
Compound eyes reflect his face back at him like mirrors. A thin tonguelike proboscis runs along the sharp spike on its face, four arm-leg things reaching out towards him with odd spiked pads -
Dipper screams again, and hits it with the metal thing.
The demon wobbles, looking dazed - before it can grab at him again, he whacks it a second time. Wings buzz fast, a high ear-splitting pitch, limbs grasping at his shirt and his face. They whip acros his arms and sting. Shoving it away feels so- gross, it is like a big bug, all shell and hair and ew.
Another grab; the pad lands on his collar and it almost digs into his flesh One of the spindly limbs cuts across his shirt with a tearing noise and he hits it harder, feeling something crunch unpleasantly under the blow.
At some point the metal object in his hand started buzzing too; something in the sound has the demon reeling away in fear or disgust. And that is a chance to land another blow. A solid one, right in the eye. As it reels back Dipper follows the blow another, and a third, and again and again and again until stuff stops slashing at him and poking, and all that��s left is empty space in front of him.
Dipper realizes he's breathing hard. A quick patdown to check shows he’s sweating, and there’s some - ugh- goop on his hand. His shirt’s ripped, but there’s no blood. Everything’s intact.
Well. He’s intact.
A thoroughly swatted demon lies on the carpet, carapace fractured in multiple places. One leg jerks up and twitches rapidly before going still.
Nausea roils in Dipper’s stomach. It’s not human gore, or even mammalian, but. God, that was gross. And it smells really, really bad.
Something slams open a few feet away, and Dipper nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks up at the noise and -
At Bill.
A newly-manifested doorway has popped into existence, right in the middle of the room. Bill stands in the frame, teeth bared in a snarl, his arms braced he’s about to leap out. His eye lands right on Dipper, lit from inside with fire.
Then he blinks.
Bill looks Dipper over, then down at the twitching bug demon. His eye glances over the room, then back to Dipper. Then down again, to the metal thing in his hand, still buzzing away. Dipper lets it drop from nerveless fingers, where it vibrates in a slow little circle on the floor.
Several seconds pass without a snappy comment. Dipper can’t read the expression on Bill’s face. It flickered through several before settling on blank..
“Well, well, well, well, well,” Bill says, clapping his hands together. An unsurprisingly swift recovery. Behind him in the sitting room, Dipper can see the other demons clustering around to catch a peek. “I can’t believe what you’ve been up to!”
Dipper’s heart plummets into his stomach. He clutches at his torn shirt. That smile looks delighted, but it always masks something else.
He’s been caught. Caught right in the middle of things, red-handed. Guilty as hell in the eye of his god.
What the fuck was he thinking. Digging where he shouldn’t, pushing when it’s wrong. Being allowed to be here has been more than Dipper could ever ask for, and what does he give in return? Blasphemy. Violation. He’s ruined everything because he wanted to know things he was never meant to, just like he always does.
“Look, I can explain,” He babbles, backing up a step. Bill’s quicker by far, catching up before he can do more than hold up his arms. “Wait, I-”
A firm hand catches his shoulder; the other takes him by the cheek. Bill’s face is inches away, approaching fast, and he can’t help but see those sharp, sharp teeth in his open mouth, things that could bite and tear.
At the very last moment, his head is twisted to the side. Something soft and damp smacks him on the temple.
“Mmmmwah!” Bill draws back with an exaggerated sound, cupping Dipper’s face in both hands. “Boy, you really walloped that guy! Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.”
“Whuh,” Dipper says, intelligently.
Bill drops his grip and turns towards the demon on the floor, giving it a contemplative, almost professional look. He taps his foot for a moment, then nods, like an expert evaluating a journeyman’s craft.
Dipper touches his temple with two careful fingers. It’s a little damp. A warm, tingling feeling spreads out from where Bill- Where it happened.
“Now, as for you-” Bill eyes the demon a little longer, then sets his hand on his hips. His smile changes to the sharp, unpleasant version. “Creeping around the place. Digging through my stuff. I don’t take kindly to peeping eyes that aren’t mine.” One sharply polished shoe lands a heavy kick in the vague area of the thing’s groin; it lets out a tinny scream. “And you made a huge goddamn mess while you were at it!”
Dipper glances over the scattered photos, open drawers, and the scattered knicknacks. Yes, someone certainly did.
Another kick lands on the demon with a crunch, and he winces.
“Gee, I wonder how you snuck your way in.” Bill says, immensely dry. He turns slightly towards that still-open doorway. The demons leaning in to watch start backing up fast. “Who coulda possibly helped with that! It’s a real friggin mystery for the ages!”
A mystery that Dipper had been wondering about, somewhere beneath the panic. The solution’s clear now that it’s gone.
Getting through Bill’s front door was all they needed. With such a big crowd of ‘small-timers’, as Bill would call them, he’d barely bother to track every one of them. The fly demon could have easily hitched a ride in a shrunken state; too small to be noticed until the time came to start snooping. With Bill busy elsewhere, it would have been a perfect opportunity - if Dipper hadn’t had the same idea.
That it is a spy is a relief. Dipper had been a little worried. If this was the kind of bug that comes crawling in after cracking open a window, he’d have second thoughts about his living arrangements.
Bill makes an odd pointing gesture. The room tremble as it shifts - and a spike impales the demon in front of him, dangling its slender body in midair.
“I’ll handle those losers in a second,” He says, gesturing at the doorway. He taps a foot, humming briefly in thought. “But as for you…”
Dipper backs up further. He keeps Bill between him and the fly-creature while still trying to keep an eye on the action.
Watching Bill about to enact his vengeance is … Sure, it was spying. It didn’t do what was right, or even smart. But he already beat it up, and it’s looking really rough. Whatever Bill’s going to do is -
The insect-like demon flails on the spike, limbs writhing. A loud buzz starts up again, along with some odd clicking noises.
“Hm?” Bill cocks his head to one side. Then he glances back at Dipper. “Yeah, what about him?”
On second thought, Bill should finish this guy off quickly and violently. For spying, and for ruining Dipper’s shirt, and being a goddamn snitch.
“Oh, I see!” With a grin, Bill stalks closer. “You know what, you’re right! If I caught two spies in my place, they’d totally get the same treatment!”
Dipper’s heart leaps into his throat.
No, wait, that - he was so certain, this isn’t -
“But there’s a real big problem with your dumb little assumption.” Bill tuts, holding up one finger in a chiding wag. With a vicious grin, he seizes it by the spike on its face. “There’s only one of those around!”
Dipper’s heart restarts, though it’s pounding fast. He braces himself on one knee, starting to breathe again.
“See, you’re here uninvited.” Bill says, very calmly, even as he twists the head at an unnatural angle, a sound both crunchy and wet. The wings buzz so fast a breeze starts picking up. “And HE freakin’ LIVES HERE.”
Oh.
There’s a thud as the severed head drops; Bill stomps on it with one perfect black shoe. Fragments of chitin flying, goo splatters in a comically yellow splat, making more of a mess than Dipper ever could.
Then Bill scowls at the ruined carpet, his hands on his hips. Like he’d walked in on a pile of undone dishes instead of making the disaster himself.
And Dipper’s still standing there. Untouched.
“There,” Bill says, with deep satisfaction. He wipes his hands off on his suit jacket - then frowns and takes the whole thing off, toweling bits of innards off his face. “What a moronic thing to try. Though it has been a grip since anyone made an attempt!.” Shrugging, he tosses the jacket away. “Guess they’re forgetting what happened to the last batch.”
Dipper nods, waiting for a moment. Then another.
And he’s still there, untouched. Unharmed. Because - because he’s not a spy, or an interloper, or even an unwanted or unattended guest. Bill doesn’t see him that way. He thinks that -
“So, I’m…” Dipper starts. Pauses, briefly, as Bill looks over his shoulder, then summons up the scraps of his courage. “I’m… not in trouble?”
“Sapling, you’re fine! Better than fine!” Bill says, dismissing the suggestion with a wave. “Hell, you could go through my freakin’ underwear drawer and I wouldn’t give a crap.” He pauses - then turns towards Dipper with a huge, knowing grin. “See anything you liked?”
“I’m-” Dipper freezes. All his muscles tense, and his face is hot. He touches his temple again; the tingling has started running down his neck. “Uh.”
Bill’s still staring at him. His smile widens another degree for every second it lasts.
“I’m gonna go take a shower.” Dipper blurts, and starts backing up again.
That’s a good excuse. Reasonable. He’s got goop on him, he’s sweaty, and he would really rather avoid talking about anything right now.
“Suit yourself!” Bill laces his fingers together, pushing his arms out in front of himself until the knuckles crack. He faces the door again, storming towards the meeting he’d recently abandoned. “I got some business to take care of.”
Dipper nods, once. He leaves the bedroom at a walk instead of a run, and hears the door shut behind him.
He’s…
All his breath comes out in a rush. The wall is steady under his back as he leans on it, palm over his eyes.
Holy crap, he’s fine. He really is. It’s okay.
This wasn’t a mistake. Everything was fine, he did make the right guess, and thank fuck for that. He is allowed in the bedroom. He could go anywhere he wants, and it’d be fine. More than fine.
He also wasn’t lying about the shower. Not only does it buy him some space, this fly-blood stuff really stinks.
Getting into the shower, he sets his face in the hot, pounding stream and tries to scrub off the goo. Water pressure. Hot water, and as much of it as he likes. Dipper can turn his back to the steady stream and feel it beating out the tension.
He lets out a low groan, letting water run through his hair. For all that it’s bizarre and confusing, the sheer luxury of Bill’s home is downright amazing.
Though. It’s not just Bill’s home, is it.
Dipper tilts his head out of the water. He watches droplets trickle down the shower walls.
Like. Obviously Bill’s the owner, he’s the ruler of his own domain. He controls the very fabric of space, changing the interior on a whim -
But there’s another person around. One who’s not a guest, or merely staying over for business reasons. Not a sentient pet or a tool or one of his knicknacks, kept carefully for display.
Dipper is a whole entire person who gets to be here, in Bill’s home, because he lives here too.
Not all that long ago, he was worried he wouldn’t leave this place alive. Then he wondered whether he could leave at all. For a while he wondered if Bill would make him go, after he was done doing… whatever he wanted to do with Dipper. Yet another part was convinced that when they went back to the cult, that’d be it. Back to earth, out of the dreamscape and out of Bill’s hair.
The last two no longer hold up. Because Dipper lives here, Bill said it himself, and by the nonchalant way he said it it’s been a done deal for a while.
Bill didn’t even try to hide it. He didn’t think it was a surprise.
The concept’s so big that Dipper doesn’t know where to start.
Living here. With Bill.
Dipper’s been places, though not many. Lived in places, if only a grand total of two. Early on, he thought that this one would be the same as the last. A man in charge, setting strict rules that must be followed. Forbidden from ever leaving. Punishment for not doing as he was told, or even thinking about not toeing the line.
All his experience told him that was how things go. It was all he knew. An assumption that everywhere was going to be the same tune, played on a different instrument.
His assumptions have never been right.
Bill’s home is a different beast entirely.
Bill could be in charge, but he doesn’t care to be. Not with Dipper. He hasn’t heard an order leave his mouth in ages. He’s free to leave the apartment if he wants, nothing’s going to stop him - though that’s a bad idea for other reasons, and Bill didn’t create them just keep Dipper in line. The worst punishment he’s gone through is a pinched cheek and some teasing, which is so minor that it almost goes into the negative. And he doesn’t have to worry about the breaking rules, because Bill doesn’t have any.
DIpper almost wishes he could blame it on, well. Demon realm. Strange culture. That things are topsy-turvy because everything else conspired to make it that way, rather than just.
Like, he already knew the cult was shitty when he was still in it. Knowing how shitty it really was leaves him wondering what a normal life could have been like. A strange, what-if ache.
Dipper had made plans to leave that awful place, knowing it meant he could never return. Even if there was anything he wanted to go back for, it wouldn’t be safe; Once he got out, that was going to be it. The whole world, or the conclave. One or the other.
If he wants to step outside Bill’s home, he doesn’t need to abandon it.
They’ll make a visit to Earth, for one. Bill wants to go to the cult for revenge, and Earth seems to intrigue him. He’ll take Dipper along with him, not lock him away in his room, because he wouldn’t let him miss the ‘fun’.
And - and if the show was right. Later, Dipper might get to visit Earth by himself, while Bill waits back at the Fearamid.
It’s an idea that feels more dreamlike than anything else in this realm of sleep. That maybe, this could be a place he can leave and come back to. Somewhere he doesn’t have to choose. Going and seeing things he’s always wanted, then returning again, with someone happy to see him at the door. Maybe that’s what a home’s supposed to be.
Dipper lets his head thunk into the side of the shower, out of the stream.
It’s weird to think a deadly demon realm ruled by an all-powerful madman is the safest Dipper’s felt in… forever, maybe. Which is another question entirely.
How the hell is he getting away with all of this?
It’s not just the snooping from earlier; he didn’t find much worth mentioning. Punching Bill in the goddamn face, though, that should have sent him into the lowest, most horrible dungeons. Not to mention the increasing amount of backtalk he’s giving a ‘god’. Complaining and questioning, even arguing, all excused. The defiance even delights Bill, because he’s a huge goddamn weirdo.
Nobody else - nothing in the universe - could get away with all of that without retribution. Yet Dipper remains singularly, remarkably unharmed. The worst Bill’s ever done is scare him a little, and even that’s odd considering the whole ‘nightmare king’ deal he has going; Dipper should have had at least two heart attacks by now.
The birthmark. It must be that.
The one human in the show had it, and Dipper has it too. The other human companions… He didn’t see it on them, but it might have been in a different place? At minimum though, that’s two humans who Bill hung out with, wearing the same star-ridden shape.
But ow would Bill have known Dipper had it? He wasn’t watching him before they met - and by the time they did, the mark had been missing for ages.
It could be magical. Maybe. Dipper’s never heard of ‘special birthmarks’ actually being a thing outside of bad fantasy novels. Then again, if it was, the magic could show up in his blood - exactly what was used in Bill’s summon. Which would…. Do a thing. He thinks.
Dipper rubs his face with the washcloth, willing his brain to start working better.
Everything feels muddled and weird. Partly from exhaustion, partly from too much information with not enough connections.
Still, one thing is certain. Bill wasn’t lying, no matter what Dipper thought at the time. He is special.
It’s… what, special… privilege? A secret power? Some strange field of influence, so specifically targeted it’s ridiculous, with no logical reason to exist? It’s…
Dipper gets out of the shower, and stares at himself in the mirror. He sticks his tongue out. The birthmark remains, brightly outlined on pink flesh.
Having more pieces to the puzzle helps. Sadly, he still doesn’t know the picture on the front of the box.
Confronting Bill without having his thoughts in order would be worse than useless. He’ll dodge every guess, unless Dipper throws something really solid at him. He needs a strong offense to pry the secrets from between Bill’s stubborn, oddly soft lips.
Screw it. There’s too much to go through, and he’s so, very tired. He can sort it out tomorrow.
There’s no rush, anyway. Bill’s not going to kick him out. Dipper lives here.
Preparing for bed is the same ritual as always. Brush teeth, get changed. He can turn the lights on and off whenever he wants, not wait for someone else to do it at a mandated time, and now he keeps them dimmed. The bed’s already made in the guest room-
No, His room. Where he lives.
An emotion fills his chest, welling up until it feels like he could - Dipper grabs mini-Bill and holds it tight.
Squishing the plush in his arms helps, though he has to hold it very hard. And this is his, too. Bill hasn’t tried to take it from him beyond starting to glare at it on occasion. He has so much that’s his.
The quilts settle cozily around him, comforting in their weight. The pillow soft,sinking under his head. Comfort, too; he has this now, and he’s never, ever going to take it for granted.
Problem being, when he shuts his eyes, there’s flashes of translucent wings. A high buzzing, from both the thing in his hand and the thing making crunching noises -
Dipper sits up again with a groan. Rubbing at his face, he kicks his legs over the edge of the bed.
He knows what kind of night he’s in for. They’re infrequent enough lately that it doesn’t bother him. Nightmares in the nightmare realm, who could have guessed. Another round isn’t going to kill him.
Yet somehow, the idea of lying down and watching that scene repeat in extra-gory detail, with the cult and god knows what else thrown in, feels like an extra shitty thing to go through right now.
He could get up and read for a while, try to get it out of his mind. Or get a glass of water, or journal down all the things he’s learned today. Hell, he could even bother Bill, who doesn’t ever seem to sleep and certainly wouldn’t mind the company. He’s almost always up for whatever Dipper suggests, no matter what it…
Huh. Now that’s an interesting thought.
It might work, too. Being ‘special’ gives him some extra leverage. Stuff that Bill wouldn’t normally allow, he lets Dipper get away with handily.
He could use that.
Dipper gets up, heading for the doorway. Still clutching mini-Bill, since he doesn’t expect to be up for long. He’ll consider this a test run. A little favor shouldn’t bother Bill much; it’ll barely take him a second.
The door to his bedroom creaks as it opens. The living room’s still lit up, though dimmer than usual. Typical for the ‘evening’, or dream realm equivalent. He pushes it open further, stepping out into the light.
And there’s Bill. Sitting in the high-backed chair, facing the fireplace.
He must have wrapped up his ‘business’ to his satisfaction, looking pleased with himself. He swirls a drink in his fingers that shifts color with every turn. The light from the fireplace illuminates the angles of his face, and the curve of his satisfied smirk.
Dipper hesitantly clears his throat. Instantly Bill perks up, head swiveling in his direction like a compass needle to the north.
“Hey there, sapling! What’s up?” Bill asks. He crosses one leg over the other, offering a quick wave. “Thought you were in for the evening.”
“No, not yet.” Dipper says. Already he’s awkward; asking for things and actually getting them still feels weird. “Soon, maybe. But I, uh. Wanted to ask you something first.”
Bill tilts his head back, finishing his drink in one long swig before tossing the glass aside. He gives Dipper a wink, and double finger guns. “Sure, go for it.”
Okay, now. How to phrase this. Hopefully it’s not some kind of offensive ask, and - well, he’s pretty sure Bill’s not doing this on purpose. More like it’s an aura around him, or a knee-jerk reflex. Not always activated, but powerful when it is.
Bill’s still watching him curiously. Waiting for Dipper to speak, in an eerily patient silence.
Here goes nothing. Dipper takes a deep breath.
“I don’t want to have bad dreams, so, uh,” He admits, though it comes out a little rough. He tugs his pajama shirt to straighten it. “Could you…um. Not? For tonight?”
A beat of pause. Bill blinks several times, then says, “That’s not me, kid.”
Oh for - Dipper levels a deeply unimpressed look. Usually Bill’s lies are better. “You’re the lord of nightmares.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m great at designing them, not the source of all of ‘em. You think I got time to get to every being in the multiverse?” Bill says. He catches sight of Dipper’s glare and frowns, lifting his hands to show his own empty palms. “Look, I’m not poking around in your subconscious. Whatdya want, a pinky swear?”
Dipper’s mouth moves, his tongue flicks. The words come out without permission. “Or maybe you’re just not that great.”
He shuts his mouth with a click, almost catching his tongue in the process.
He shouldn’t have said that. Shit, even if he is a little annoyed, he keeps crossing that damned line. Questioning Bill’s power. His capability, his very essence. Surely Bill won’t just ignore it again.
Except Bill does. If anything he looks more amused, starting to snicker as he rises from his seat.
And he does inflict a ‘punishment’. By getting super close and ruffling Dipper’s hair in a super annoying way. Dipper shakes it off, pulling back with a huff. Annoyed, but also - god, he really does have a lot of leeway. It’s insane.
“Hey! I’m definitely the best.” Bill chides, wagging a finger at him. “You just got your perspective wrong! Elements exist on their own! Some guys are just great at manipulating ‘em. You’re not texting the king of fire every time you light a match, y’know?”
“Well,” Dipper says, then stops. When Bill puts it that way -
Not omnipotent. Not omnipresent. Not literally the fabric of the mind itself, either; he should have thought of it before, except he keeps making dumb assumptions.
“Look. You want a custom, hand-delivered nightmare? One that’ll make someone scream their lungs up and claw their own eyes out? Then I’m the best in the biz!” Bill puffs out his chest, smiling wide - then shrugs, looking a little wry. “But any dreamer can have something nasty crawl outta their subconscious. That’s just nature.”
Dipper nods, once. Letting out a sigh, and rubbing at his eyes.
Not the answer he was looking for - but an answer nonetheless.
He’d guessed that Bill wasn’t inflicting them on purpose, sure. Infrequent and random fit ‘accidental’, there wasn’t any pattern he could find. Learning they’re not Bill’s fault at all is surprising - but nice.
…That also means every terrible dream Dipper has had came from his own stupid brain. Going around concocting terrible scenarios and waking him up in a sweat, purely au naturale. Super great.
Simple solutions rarely exist, he guesses.
“Sorry. Or- yeah.” He squirms out from under Bill’s pursuing hand, turning back towards the door. Another bad night isn’t the worst, he’ll live. “I’ll just-”
“Hey, hey! Don’t sweat it, sapling. When it comes to nightmares, you came to the right guy!” Bill interrupts before Dipper can make it more than a foot. He takes him by the shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “I got just the solution for ya. Sweet dreams only, one hundred percent guaranteed.”
Or maybe… Dipper glances back. But Bill just said he wasn’t doing this, so-
“Really. One hundred percent.” That’s an exaggeration if he’s ever heard one. Dipper folds his arms, giving Bill an arch look. “If you’re not making the nightmares, then that means you’re playing defense. You’re telling me you get every single one?”
“Always so cynical! Ninety-nine point nine repeating is mathematically identical.” Bill says primly, already steering Dipper around, pushing him in another direction. “And better odds than you’ll get anywhere else.”
Fine, that’s true enough. Dipper doesn’t have better options. Or any other ones. He might as well see where this leads.
Bill hums behind him, bizarrely delighted by the weird request. Maybe because it’s weird. Maybe because he enjoys the process, somehow? Either way, he seems confident in his ability to pull this off - but when doesn’t he?
Dipper gets maneuvered through the living room, over the carpet, and - into Bill’s master bedroom again. He glances over his shoulder briefly, just before the door shuts behind them.
Wait, what are they doing here?
The room’s just as clean as the first time he entered. There’s no demon corpse, no puddle of ichor or new freestanding door. No photos to be seen. At some point Bill must have tidied up -
Dipper closes his eyes against the mental image. Bill, seeing through all the evidence he left. Knowing it was Dipper who did it. He hasn’t said a word about it, but the guilt lingers.
He almost wishes Bill was mad about it. Or complaining about the mess, or making some wry comment to tease him about his shitty show of espionage. At least then he'd know what Bill is thinking.
Dwelling on his own guilt is interrupted by Bill pushing him forward, then halts suddenly. Leaving Dipper standing at the side of that immense, luxurious bed.
Bill gives his shoulders another pat, then lifts up one edge of the sheets. “Hop on in, kid!” With a little flourishing bow, he flaps the covers. “Get yourself cozy.”
“Uh. Sure.” Dipper hesitates, but. Bill’s nudging him along, so he eventually pulls himself up into the bed and under the opened sheets. They drop on top of him before he’s even fully in the thing, while Bill perkily walks off to another part of the room.
Just as he suspected. It is a great bed.
As Dipper settles back, the mattress is firm but yielding. The pillows mold around his head. The blankets are cooler than the quilts in his own room, almost chilly - but not hard to get used to.
It’s not hard to settle down, waiting for Bill. For a ritual that involves dreams, a bed as the setting makes sense. Though part of him thought Bill would just, like. Snap his fingers, or something. Demon powers, or whatever.
Even without any magic, Dipper’s tired enough to fall asleep right now. But that might mess with whatever Bill’s doing, so. He’ll just. Shut his eyes for a moment.
“Hold tight for a sec! I’ll be with ya in a jiffy,” Bill says, vastly more upbeat than the situation calls for. “Lemme just slip into something more comfortable.”
Dipper’s eyes shoot open. He blinks up at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up. “What do yo-”
His words die before the sentence fully forms. He shuts his mouth slowly. Swallowing with a mouth that’s gone suddenly dry.
Bill’s shirt lies in a silent pile on the floor by his feet. In the firelight, broad shoulders roll as he stretches, casting interesting lines of shadow on the planes of his back.
Dipper drops back down, clutching the blankets like a lifeline.
Okay, wait, maybe he has the wrong idea. Bill’s not, like.
There's a clinking sound. A belt being undone, moving as it slides from its loops - then another as it falls. Followed by a zip, and more soft shuffling of cloth.
Dipper dares a glance. Then instantly grabs one of the other pillows, pulling it over his face.
Okay. Okay, this is - fine and, normal maybe, he doesn’t know how this ritual’s supposed to work. It’s not unheard of to be… unadorned when doing powerful magic, since any enchanted clothing could interfere. Bill’s just getting rid of them before he casts the spell. Everything’s going exactly as it should, and Dipper can throw out that newly-acquired mental picture as totally irrelevant and definitely rude.
The pillow helps. He’s not tempted to look at all, but if he was, it completely blocks his view and most of the sound.
He should be patient, and quiet, and wait for the spell. If it’s strong enough that Bill has to undress to cast it, this will take a while. Dipper has plenty of time to calm back down.
A motion in the covers, as something pulls them up. A deep, pleased sigh, much closer than before - then a large weight sinks the mattress slightly, scooting close with familiar, incorrigible confidence.
Or, the thought appears in Dipper’s mind. There’s no spell. It’s a ward. Which would require the warder’s presence, right. Totally reasonable.
So yes, of course. Bill joined Dipper in bed, just like he said he would like, less than two minutes ago. How that little fact got glossed over was - he stopped thinking straight for a while, that’s all.
The cult didn’t leave Dipper with a huge range of experience, he knows that. Hates it, most days.
But even in that limited scope, he knows some people sleep undressed. He’s seen his share of unfortunate cultists get woken up for morning sermon, only to see them entirely unprepared. That Bill shares that particular proclivity is… honestly not that big a surprise.
“Ah, now that’s nice.” Bill says, voice slightly muffled. There’s a thump near Dipper’s head - probably Bill lying back himself. “You don’t look all that cozy, though. What gives?”
Dipper tells him he’s fine, but he doesn’t know how much of it gets through the down covering.
There’s a pause, then a snort. The blankets shift as Bill adjusts them, drawing them further up.
It really is fine. He’s doing great, he’s comfy, Bill’s going to help him with something and it didn’t seem like any kind of trick. All he has to do is deal with a perfectly normal sleeping habit from a not-at-all normal guy, who’s lying so close Dipper can feel him breathing. Inches away, with his bare skin warming the too-cool blankets.
He can’t hold the pillow this tight forever, though. It’s getting hard to breathe.
Then a thump, just near Dipper’s head; Bill slammed a palm into the mattress. Leaning over him no doubt, with his body covering Dipper’s own. The picture is clear in his mind; he can almost feel the body looming over him. Something gently tugs the pillow, urging it away, and - and Dipper shouldn’t resist, should he? Bill is after something, he’s demanding and forceful, he’ll do anything to get what he wants.
The pillow leaves Dipper’s loose grip, pulled away by a firmer, stronger hand. He lets his arms drop to either side of his head. His breathing picks up.
And Bill is looming over him. Held up by one strong arm, looking amused. His eye bright and half-lidded, his smile sharp and dangerous on his face. Wearing a soft, loose t-shirt, reading ‘Hungry Zixlor’s Burger Joint’.
Dipper reads the shirt, then tilts his head up for another angle. Below that, Bill’s put on the pine tree boxers.
“See? Way more comfy when you can actually aspirate.” Bill says, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Dipper rolls onto his side, feeling a rush of annoyance. The hell, he was going to put the stupid pillow down. Bill didn’t have to get all over him just for that.
He feels the bounce as Bill drops back down into bed, cackling to himself at another successful human-annoyance. Dipper’s half-tempted to smack him with the damn pillow, but who knows what that would lead to.
Mini-Bill got lost in the covers somewhere along the line, so Dipper fishes around until he finds it and hugs it to his chest. He lets out a huff, squishing it tight.
Without warning, an arm slips under Dipper’s neck. Another drapes over his waist. If asked later, Dipper will claim he didn’t make a single sound, much less anything undignified.
Instead, he holds very, very still. The arms around him are firm and strong. With the body behind him warming up everything, the blankets suddenly make sense. Bill’s practically a furnace. Anything more insulation and they'd combust.
“Good night, sleep tight,” Bill says, low and close. Dipper shivers, though he isn’t cold. “Don’t let the demons take too big a bite.” Teeth click sharply right next to his ear, and Dipper shivers.
God, of course he wouldn’t just- just let this be calm and nice, he’s Bill friggin’ Cipher. “Jerk,” Dipper mutters, and feels Bill’s chest shake with silent laughter.
The arm around his waist squeezes him tighter, pressing his back fully against Bill’s chest. He can feel it move as he breathes, and the steady pulse of his heart. Between real Bill and mini-bill, they’re practically a set of nesting dolls.
After that… nothing. Bill doesn't taunt anymore, and a few minutes later, Dipper hears him start to snore. Another annoying bit of Bill, and not annoying enough to distract him from everything else. He wishes it would.
Even in sleep, Bill has the nerve to keep breathing and moving, instead of being a warm statue Dipper could ignore. His fingers trail in a mindless, unconscious pattern over Dipper’s stomach, making him bury his face in the pillow. Running through every chant he can remember silently, over and over, especially the ones that are mind-numbingly boring.
None of these ideas are sinful. Bill himself has done more, and worse, than just having two or three concepts flicker through his brain, and Dipper knows it’s not wrong. He does, really.
…Just because it’s not sinful doesn’t mean it’s not awkward.
Dipper keeps his eyes shut. Trying to ignore the pounding of his own heart. There’s a bright, tingling energy in his body, spreading through every part of him, head to toe. It's... inconvenient.
Bill wasn’t lying about preventing nightmares. He’s terribly effective.
Dipper can’t have bad dreams if he doesn’t get any sleep.
#One day I will relearn how to write short things#Today was not that day and tomorrow's not looking good either#By the end of this miniseries I'll have basically written a dang novel#RIP my writing hands#I will now have some chocolate as a reward#Fun Fact: I know I'm finished editing when I reach what I call the 'fuck it phase'#Which is when I'm sick of looking at the dang thing#So here it is!!#This is why it's hard to leave tumblr - not a lot of other sites let you drop huge blocks of text like this
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Persephone has a very nasty habit that needs to be talked about.
Have y'all ever really sat down and observed the when of Persephone's actions towards others?
There are three actions specifically I want you to recall and try and remember what happened preceding those actions:
1.) Persephone turning Minthe into a mint plant
2.) Persephone cornering Tori at his job
3.) Persephone invading Leuce's home with barn animals and low key threatening her life
Think very hard for a second about the when of those events. What happened leading up to them?
First, Persephone turning Minthe into a mint plant. This happened right after she made out with Hades at the shopping mall, but more specifically, this happened while she was hiding out in Hades' home from Zeus, while also fearing the worst of her situation with Apollo.
Second, Persephone cornering Tori at his job. This scene came right after she saw the "Apollo for President" sign in Olympus.
And third, Persephone invading Leuce's home. This came shortly after she had felt insecure over Hades calling Hera 'Bunny', which for some reason she pinned on her own "jealousy" instead of calling out the elephant in the room.
It also came right after the Zeus/Dionysus incident and Demeter trying to force her to stay in the Mortal Realm, but I think the Hera incident is the most damning because it's the most related to Persephone's clear insecurities that are being compounded by dating / being married to a serial cheater.
What do all three of these things tell us about Persephone?
It shows that Persephone has a bad habit of projecting all of her problems onto other people that have nothing to do with the bigger issues.
Minthe ratted her out, yes, but she was still running from her inevitable trial, attempting to use the Underworld's policies to play the system and get herself off as scot-free as possible. I mentioned this already in a previous post, but these aren't the actions of a person who claims to feel as guilty as they do over committing mass manslaughter. Point is, she would have gotten caught eventually, and she still had to answer for her crimes. Minthe was an easier target for her anger and frustration than Zeus.
Tori gossiped about her in college, yes, but it came from a very real incident in which Hades ripped out his roommate's eye and beat him half to death. Tori wasn't even gossiping at that point, he was deadass just telling his side of the story and warning people that Persephone was affiliating herself with an abusive man. None of what he said about her being "Hades' dark concubine" was untrue, but he had the unfortunate luck of being at the bank right after Persephone was triggered by the Apollo sign. Tori was just an easier target for her anger and frustration than Apollo.
Leuce attempted to 'seduce' Hades, yes, but she was manipulated by Thetis in an attempt to get her planted just like Minthe and I think a lot of people forget that. Not to mention, Persephone says that she had "ten years" to make the moves on Hades, but like... no she didn't, because Hades was either possessed by Kronos or in a coma for those 10 years, and then he got married to Persephone like 5 days after that LMAO (not saying that excuses her trying to seduce him, I'm just wondering when she was supposed to find the time in those 10 years to talk to him LOL). And finally, and most importantly, Hades had already rejected her advances. She was already embarrassed. She clearly wasn't going to attempt it again. She is of no threat to Persephone, the now wife of Hades and Queen of the Underworld. So Persephone raiding her home was purely just for her own entertainment and, again, to satisfy her own insecurities. Leuce was just an easier target for her anger and frustration than Hades and Hera.
Point is, instead of actually dealing with the root of her issues, seeking legitimate help for her trauma, and/or learning any amount of self-care techniques to manage her frustration and refocus herself on the bigger issues, Persephone is instead relegating herself to a bully who takes out all of her issues onto people weaker than her, oftentimes people who have nothing to do with those bigger issues or have no real bearing on her life.
I'm sure now that I've written about this (because I'm not 100% convinced Rachel isn't reading this lmao the odds are low but never zero) there's gonna be some arc where Persephone goes "aw, I saw the bigger issues but now I'm a different person so life goes on!" without actually doing anything to make up for how she's harmed people (there already is sort of a 'twist' like that in the newest FastPass and it's uh... yikes) but until that happens (again, odds are SEVERELY low but never zero) Persephone is literally the worst person in her own story. She doesn't need a sugar daddy, she doesn't need power, she needs some bitter doses of reality and, most importantly, help.
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imagine, a Christian girl/boy (reader) x hobie brown. How would he deal with them?
Love this idea a lot 🥰 first time writing in headcanons, honestly I probably went off the rails but hopefully I fulfilled your wishes!
I kept it as gender/race neutral as I could, if you see flaws, please let me know
🪻| Crosses and pentagrams
First of all, this boy is not waiting till marriage. He doesn’t believe that marriage is necessary and if that would be your only need in life, you would sadly have to part your ways.
BUT he is quite persistent. So he loves himself a challenge.
You met when you were volunteering for church, handing out flyers for a charity concert that would take place in church yard. As intimidating Hobie was, you decided to walk up to him and start your usual introduction
“Hello there! I’m y/n, a believer in goodness! Would you be interested in coming to a charity concert? Coming to mass afterwards is…optional” you said, last sentence was unsure, since while you talked you took a look at his outfit, full of spikes, heavy jewellery and a pentagram necklace. Yet weirdly, he stopped and listened intently instead of quickening his pace like most did.
“Tell you what, gimme your number and I’ll think of more questions to ask about the event” he smiled sheepishly and gave you a marker from his pocket, tapping the flyer.
That’s how your situationship started.
You never saw the pentagram on his neck again once you said you don’t like it. You noticed little things he did for you, compliments on your mostly white and usually modest appearance.
Like the devil he was, he tempted you to wear your more revealing tops, your excuse being the heat. (You thought he didn’t notice but oh boy he did)
Soon situationship turned into a relationship and you enjoyed kissing his pierced lips. You found out that making out did make you feel good. But you were scared so once it felt too good, you would back away and hear a frustrated groan.
It was cute seeing you two together; it was an ‘opposites attract’ typa couple. Him in black, silver jewellery with different crystals, piercings everywhere. And you- a modest person with minimalistic neutral color palette and simple gold jewellery. The only ring you wore ever was your purity ring.
Which eventually got taken off when you finally felt the urge to suck his dick, slowly learning that you were just a mere mortal with desires.
Hobie was ecstatic, knowing that the two months he waited were worth it and now he guided you to get on your knees and prepare.
This man is such a tease. He knew that you felt bad for giving in for your desires, and had a field day with this information
“Such a bad Christian you are, shouldn’t you wait for marriage?” He smirked, leaning into the chair and held you down on his dick. He groaned, feeling the little vibration of your moan.
After your first time he couldn’t take his hands off of you whenever you two met.
He would make you cum in an alleyway, suck him off in the streets at like 4am when rarely anyone was awake.
He would love when you had your cross necklace on, tugging on it whenever he wanted to kiss your fucked out face.
When nowadays you would get on your knees in the church, your cheeks would flush at the dirty thoughts you had.
He was possessive; if he saw you talking to another guy, he liked to mark you up, he knew that you would stress over it and try to cover it.
“Good child of god knows that they should be loyal, so what the fuck was that about?”
Would love to fuck you dumb, corrupt your mind.
It was truly the end of your journey with god once you decided to move in with him. Despite the fights with your dad, you finally gave in to Hobie
It was evening. You just changed in you pyjamas. You felt how Hobie was staring at you, but you didn’t mind.
“Finally you done with your skincare shimcare routine, I was wai-”
“Shush” you silenced him and kneeled leaning on your bed, starting to pray. You mumbled the prayer to yourself, eyes closed. Your felt how the mattress shifts and something touches your elbows. You slightly open your eyes before re-signing.
Hobie was sitting in front of you, legs spread, you were now in between them. He tilted his head with smirk, looking at his hardened cock, showing through his boxers and sweats, briefly.
“Did you say your goodbyes to god yet? Can you please show attention to me now?”
-
His dick inside of you, as you tried to reach your orgasm. He smiled at your needy and fucked out expression. He has edged you for a while now, pulling out as soon as your moans get higher.
“Please please, let me cum Hobie”
“Who’s your god now?”
“You! You’re my god. Please just let me cum”
“Your wish is my command”
#hobie smut#astv hobie#hobie brown#hobie brown smut#hobie brainrot#spider punk#atsv x reader#atsv smut#hobie x reader#hobie x you#hobie x y/n#hobart brown#smut
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Silent Heartbeat | TP Shockwave x f!vampire reader | NSFW 18+
Word count: 3200+
Warning: Smut ( Shockwave doing it for science ), horror, gore/blood, size difference and robot on vampire. NSFW 18+.
Notes: Happy early Halloween. This is just one of my own works I wanted to do for the holiday and submission for an event through discord.
This holiday isn't a big thing in Australia, but it has been slowly growing more popular over the years. I've never been trick or treating and never carved a pumpkin. I've only ever been to one halloween party when I was 13yrs dressed as a vampire. However I do enjoy the theme and over the years all I've ever done is watch horror movies on the day. Love getting creative and I really enjoyed this. 🥰
Shockwave uses mass displacement.
Back From the Dead - Halestorm
☕ Coffee
Darkness. Numbness. Hunger. Silence.
This is all you have had for centuries, no escape, trapped in a fluid cocoon, forced into a deep slumber until someone or something is to wake you up. How you ended up trapped wasn't by choice, but you were left with no say as your sourdre de sang, your master, forced this upon you, his way to save his children.
It was a long time before you're eventually discovered, but not by who you imagined it to be. For the first time in so long there was light, causing you to squirm in irritation within the fluid sack, before movements vibrated around you, and a giant shadow looms over with a single blazing red eye burning down through the cocoon.
Still in your half staged slumber you sense yourself being moved. Everything is happening now, and once free, you'll rain chaos upon the world, just as your master wanted.
But you weren't freed from the cocoon, not right away. Your barbed ears twitched as the voices muffled, heightening your hearing to hear what was being said around you.
"Subject is a unique discovery. I shall need to perform more tests to determine what it is. Only thing I was confirm is whatever is inside is alive, but not." The weight of the iron cold voice pieces her senses.
"How can something be alive and not?" Another thundering voice erupts, causing her to twitch from the unexpected loudness and squirm within the cocoon.
"Well, whatever it is, its moving." A new voice purrs out like silk, it was quite delightful, making you purr in return and wrapping yourself under the membrane of your wings.
"It appears to have vital readings, but I'm unable to trace any beat rhythm. Further tests will need to be performed before I attempt to open the fluid sack."
Yes, freedom, but not just yet.
It honestly felt like another eternity, tests performed, most causing you pain but not something you couldn't handle, before you were finally set free. The cocoon was sliced open with care and the fluid poured out, along with you. Your body lays on a cold surface as you give yourself a moment to stretch out your wings, sighing in relief before you open your eyes, pale like snow, before shifting to your mortal blue iris.
Hunger struck you and you opened your mouth letting out a silent screech as your sharp teeth appeared before shrinking down to their own blunt selfs. Your skin, pale and grey, craves the coldness you lay upon before finally taking in your surroundings, whoever freed you, they better have a meal ready.
"Fascinating." That iron cold voice speaks from above and you're faced with what appears to be a giant with one eye. Not who you are expecting. "Subject appears to hold features of a human, yet not quite human."
No, not human, not anymore.
Shockwave. That was their name you had learned rather quickly. They had no idea just what you were, and were clueless with your needs. He didn't have a meal ready, and this pissed you off. What made you even more angry was he had locked you up in a glass like box, a cage to put it simply.
As much as you want to let out your rage, you're simply too weak. You needed blood, and you tried to say this, but in your state only harsh breaths could be sounded. The idiot was going to let you starve!
"What...what is that thing?" The same silky voice catches your tarped ears making them twitch. Turning your head through your hazy vision you're met with other giants. Just what were they?
"I'm still learning that myself. She's an interesting discovery." Shockwave answers.
"She?" That loud one, the grey giant, he was too loud!
"She holds the genetic materials of a human female body."
He wasn't wrong there. You're female. You lay naked on the cold surface within the glass cube, trapped again. Didn't these idiots know just what you were? Of course not. Stupid.
"Does she fly?" The same silk voice asks.
"She hasn't attempted to fly, yet, but with membrane wings like these I would guess she can but appears to be in a weak state currently."
Blood! You need blood!
Again, you attempt to scream this out, but of course only a quiet screech is sounded, so you end up hissing out of irritation.
"She looks like something from one of those human horror films." A new peachy voice catches your attention, as does the crimson red. You missed the taste of blood.
"And how would you know that, Knock Out?" Stupid loud voice won't shut up!
"Um...drive in theatres, Lord Megatron"
Lord? At least you're learning names, very strange names.
"I am interested to know more." Shockwave shows his curiosity.
"It's just a silly human myth!" Knock Out laughs but stopped, seeing Shockwave's seriousness. "Um, well, I'm no expert, the humans call them vampires, feeding and surviving on human blood, quite disgusting actually. But it's all just stories, legends."
You've heard that name a million times before. At least someone here knew what you were, they didn't seem to believe it, but you'll soon show just what you were truly. They had no idea the chaos you'll bring.
"I might need another test subject, a human. Bring one to me, and we'll see if this is true." Shockwave wants to know.
Yes! Bring one, someone, anyone!
Your intense and weak gaze holds with Shockwave for a while while you both wait for your meal to arrive. As blunt as he was, you can't help but feel slightly curious. Never have you seen something like him before, and you thought you saw everything over the years you've lived.
They weren't human, but a whole new species. Fascinating.
Shockwave is very curious himself, and couldn't wait to discover more about you. Silently, he opens the glass cage and moves his servo towards you. You try to shuffle away from his touches but fail, you simply don't have the strength. He grabs hold of you and you can only hiss and snarl at him bluntly like a newborn lion cub. Just wait until he sees you in your full beast mode.
He holds you with care, digits ghostly grazing against your naked skin with your wings tucked against your back. You feel him staring, searching, and can't help but gasp sharply as he gently drags his digit across your bare breasts. You wanted him to keep going but he didn't, making you glare up at him through a pout.
No blood. Lack of pleasure. It was horrible.
"You're a remarkable find, creature." Shockwave says through a low tone. "I look forward to learning more about you. Do you speak?"
Again, much to your annoyance, you try to speak, only another dying hash breath comes out. Of course you speak, you just couldn't right now, not without the first taste of blood in so long.
"I'll know in time, little one."
Suddenly your senses perk up, ears twitching as the pupils in your eyes dilate before your head snaps to the side staring at the closed door to the room. You smell it. A mortal human. Shockwave watches and tilts his head.
"Remarkable. You can smell humans from afar."
He puts you back in your glass cage much to your annoyance. All you can do is press yourself against the glass and stare at the closed doors, before they hastily open with the returning giants.
"Got your...uhh, test subject?" Knock Out wasn't even sure what to call it. He still didn't see a point in doing this.
"Who are you?! What are you?! What the fuck is going on?!" The man is clutched in his servo not so gently, visibly terrified, clueless to his fate.
"Oh hush you! Play nice." Knock Out comes over and tosses the human into the swiftly opened cage by Shockwave.
There's a sickening crack, the man yells in agony, his leg breaking from the impact. You mask yourself in the shadows of your cage as you now act in your intinks, and that's hunting.
"What do you expect to happen?" Starscream isn't sure of the point of this either.
"The second you returned with the human, she knew. She can sense humans. Again, further studies and tests will need to be done for me to understand her better." Shockwave doesn't take his optic off from your cage, recording every moment.
The man goes quiet when he realises he's not alone, and can only whimper through his pain as he vaguely sees you in the shadows, snarling lowly, and his fear spikes high. You pounce.
His terrified wail is the last thing that sounds from him. You don't hold back and let out a snarl as you grab the man, teeth bare out as your eyes grow intensely cat-like, before sinking your teeth into the man and tearing into his throat, streaking the glass cage with the blood as you start to feed.
Instantly, you taste the warm blood while draining the mortal, regaining your strength slowly, growing stronger. You let out a purr as your wings stretch out excitedly.
Meanwhile, the giants watch you, few curious, most horrified.
"M-my lord, you can't allow this thing to remain here!" Starscream panics as he steps further away from you. Shockwave ignores Starscream as he continues to monitor your improving vitals, much more quickly than expected.
"They're just silly human stories, how is this even possible?!" Knock Out questions as Breakdown, despite his size, steps away from the bloody scene unfolding.
Soundwave only tilts his helm as he watches, unaffected by the blood bath.
Megatron, ignoring everyone, steps closer, watching as you take the life of this human and drain all his blood, quenching your hunger and regaining yourself again.
"Shockwave, tell me, what am I looking at?" He's so casual, darkness in his tone as he hovers over you.
"Lord Megatron, I present to you, the greatest threat to humans."
You have drained the man all his blood and finally retract your teeth out of his neck, the warmth covering you and the walls of your cage, before you toss your head back and let out a lingering stretch as you spread your wings out, displaying quite a horrifying and powerful pose for them to see.
Megatron lets his lips curl into a twisted smirk. "A threat indeed."
Over time you find yourself getting use to these new species, Cybertronians, they called themselves. Shockwave learns more about you and after you regained your strength you were able to talk finally.
It was a whole new world out there. Humans evolved rapidly, multiplied quickly, and apparently you were the only one of your kind still around. You couldn't be sure about that as you couldn't sense the hive or your master through your senseries.
You decided to not waste your time or energy on this. You were free, sort of, but you could do whatever you like, kind of. Shockwave still has rules you need to follow, or you won't get any blood.
You couldn't be greedy when it came to consuming. Other mortals were brought to you, but they were limited. You weren't allowed to leave the room until Shockwave allowed it, and if she did, she would need to stay with him at all times.
Fucking rules.
But you were alone in a whole new place, so you'll follow these rules for now until you grow bored of playing along. You'll silently admit you were curious about them, never before seeing such things.
Shockwave had provided you with clothes, being modest he calls it. Only the tube dresses were suited for you because of your membrane wings, which you would stretch out often as if you had woken up from a deep slumber.
You would fly but were restricted. Shockwave only would allow you to stretch your wings under his watchful optic, but you wanted to go outside. You’ll debate this with him eventually, but there’s something else on your mind. Sex. Lately you've been craving it. Like blood you wanted it, though it wasn't a survival thing, just greed and desire.
"You seem frustrated." Shockwave says as you sit in your cage, board, horny. "Is there an exclamation for your mood?"
"I want to fuck." You answer bluntly as you hang upside down from your cage.
He's quiet for a moment. "You want to mate with another. Is this a requirement?"
"Yes...no, it's just something I miss, something I crave." You can only shrug a little before looking at him from your upside down position, eyes intense. "Does your species fuck?"
Shockwave stops his work and his single optic peers at you. He's quiet, as if he's pondering how to answer you. You thought it silly. Sex was sex, or maybe they don't do this, and you sigh through frustration before wrapping yourself up under your wings, covering your body like a sleeping bat in their dark cave.
Your ears twitch hearing movement, then your cage opens, and you peek through your membrane wings, only to be left shocked to see Shockwave now within your cage, shrunk down and looking up.
Untangling yourself, you drop from the ceiling and land gracefully on your feet directly in front of him. He's still big, but no longer giant.
"We do."
Everything in your twitches in excitement. Silently, he moves around you and sats down on the plush area he had provided, a way for comfort. You move your hands over the tube of your dress and push it down, letting it pool around your feet before you calmly walk towards him, even though everything in you is bursting with arousal.
Shockwave is doing this for science, a way to learn about sexual matters for her kind. He retracts his panel before she reaches him and coaxes his spike out of its housing.
You admire what he provides. Long, thick, pulsing, ridges running along the base making your core twitch in excitement. Early, you straddle his lap and trace your hands across his plated armour, the hardness all so foreign to you, but oddly both warm and cold at the same time.
Neither of you are interested in foreplay, so you don't hesitate to position yourself over his spike and sink down onto him. His thickness stretches you widely, burning a little, since he's already large and you haven't had sex for centuries. You are too impatient to prepare yourself, so you go for it.
Your sharp teeth bare out as you toss your head back, moaning in delight followed by lustful purrs as you sink down on him fully, moving your hand to touch your belly feeling the pull bump created by Shockwave's cable buried deep in your.
Never, not once, have you ever felt so full before with any man cock. Now, you have a new obsession, and you plan to use it as often as possible. Only thing that is lacking is his reactions. He was too quiet, as if he had no feeling or emotions through pleasure. Weird.
"Doesn't this feel good?" You ask as you start to grind down on him, panting through your growing pleasure building through your body.
"It does." His answer is so dull.
"Why are you quiet?" You lean forward and drag your tongue against his neck cables, determined to get him to make any sort of noise.
"I see no purpose in making noises." Again, dull.
You smirk against his neck before looking into his optic, eyes dilated with desire and sharp fangs hanging over your bottom lip.
"I'll make you moan. You won't be able to help yourself."
"You can try."
Challenge accepted.
Your body compulsives rapidly as you start to ride him, hands and nails digging into the plating against his shoulder, leaving marks due to your strength. Usually kisses were a distraction, but that won't work in this case, and you know you'll have to be creative if you want some noises from him.
Clenching tightly around his spike, you fully sit down while rolling your waist, grinding on him as you move a free hand to your breast, massaging the mound in his solid optic against you.
You don't even know if he found humans attractive, but this is all you can do to keep his attention on you. Your other hand moves across his, searching and exploring for any weak spot you might discover. He doesn't try to stop you, as if he's curious if you could get him to moan.
Your own sounds increased, low whines and chattering purrs, core clenching over again around his pulsing spike, feeling every ridge glide against your inner channel and tip pressing so far deep through your cervix.
His frame heats up rapidly from your actions but still no sound from him, so your hands keep exploring all over, holding yourself back as you continue to ride him.
Then you find something, right at his neck cables again. Perfect.
Moving yourself forward you latch your mouth at his neck, using your tarped tongue and fangs to tease at the soft cables. This is usually the most vulnerable thing for any mortal, and you thought for a moment you could rip those cables out, but you choose not to do this to Shockwave.
It would be pointless. He doesn't have blood that you consume. All he's good for at the moment is sex and you are eagerly enjoying yourself, growing more excited when you feel his frame quivery under your touches the more you suck at his neck.
Your hands drag down his chassis as your waist humps down on him, moaning against his sensitive cables while letting out purrs and moans. Your wings wrap around your joined bodies, keeping close as your breasts press up against the cool metal against his chassis, mouth still latched onto his neck.
Then finally, it happens. He moans.
Victory!
You can't help but giggle through your burning arousal, feeling greatly satisfied that you were able to make him moan and react against you. "Told you I could make you moan."
"You proved me wrong. Well done."
Grinning softly, you suddenly use your strength to push him down against the plush blanket, catching him off guard, before you start to violently ride his spike, humping hard with your head tossed back and wings spread in excitement. You feel his servos grip at your waist then, finally getting into it and you feel him thrust up against you much to your delight.
You'll never take a man cock again. It's all cybertronian spikes for you.
"Fuck! Fuck!" You curse out feeling yourself about to erupt through your orgasim, mewls of pleasure sounding from you as more moans can be heard from Shockwave, frame shaking as his spike pulses more rapidly deep within you.
You feel him stiffen and jerks up before you feel your depths fill with warm fluids that flow through you, filling your belly that bumps out with his spike, right before you feel yourself fall apart on him.
Letting out a loud screech you toss you head back with teeth bared and wings spread wide, body compulsing for the first time in centuries, fluids mixing together within you. Purring out loudly you then collapse onto his chassis, keeping yourself on him as you wiggling yourself.
You weren't done just yet with him.
"We're doing this everyday, whenever I want, no arguments." You say this, demanding what you want. Shockwave wasn't one to accept demanding, though he thought for a moment over it.
"That's...acceptable."
#transformers#prime#valveplug#tfp shockwave#reader insert#dark#shockwave x reader#horror#vampire#smut#fanfiction#writing#sugarrusheag
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LIVEREAD: WAKFU, THE GREAT WAVE [TOME 1, Chapters 4-7]
Always some weird shit happening in this country.
I really wish they didn't make Grougalorasalar so fine because now putting him next to Joris feels like one of those "trying to give my cat body dysmorphia" memes.
EXCEPT JORIS ALMOST DEFINITELY ALREADY HAS THAT 😭
Some thought that it's quite cheap, to resurrect a character this way — however, killing 1k people is already established as a type of resurrection that works, within canon. And there is dramatic irony, considering at the end of the movie she kinda began to understand the error of her ways... It's like the universe is saying lol, no peaceful death for you, keep suffering, y'know? It's compelling.
SHUT THE FUCK UP. I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR FEE-FEES. YOU ALWAYS CRY WHILE COMMITTING WARCRIMES. COME UP WITH A NEW GIMMICK!
Like literally — this guy will cry over his dead son, and act scared about being forced to commit more warcrimes w/ Joris in the movie... and then go on to commit more warcrimes for centuries. Is he for real?
I think that, of all the people he could have picked, Julith is the most befitting candidate to try and fight Yugo.
She hated holier-than-thou types. She was aligned with Brakmar. She was willing to commit mass murder and abuse her son to reach her goals. For the right reasons, she will be willing to do more mass murder and son abuse once more. It literally makes so much sense to me.
(ANKAMA PLEASE CHANGE HER MOTIVATION FROM REVOLVING AROUND THE MAN SHE WAS IN LOVE WITH. DO KEEP THE CHILD ABUSE, THO. IF YOU DON'T DO THESE 2 THINGS, THIS MANGA WILL BE UNREADABLE AND UNBEARABLE. THANK YOU.)
Once again, I really appreciate the irony. I hope she feels bad about this — I hope it's clicking for her that this is what she was going to do. (I love torturing characters I love torturing characters I love—-)
I really wish we got some more of a conversation here — like "it's been approximately 600ish years since you died" or "the world almost ended like 4 times since you died, and there was a huge flood and stuff".
I really wish to see the reaction of some random mortal character from Dofus era to all the bullshit that has happened since then.
(God, I hope her first thought after learning how long it has been is, "oh, I guess I won't know what happened to my son. It has been a long time. He died a long time ago, I guess. That's probably a good thing." It would be so funny so so funny sooooo funny to me. hehe)
Due to Atcham being an owner of one of these thins in the past, I sadly have an affinity for them.
(I like to think Atcham wishes he could get another one, but being able to own an animal like this was like, one of the things he had to sacrifice to become a Bontarian.)
Something wrong with her, for real.
Loving their resurrection of Julith not just physically, but in spirit too <3
Welcome back, Irredeemably Evil Female Character Driven To Kill Torture And Abuse Innocents (Including Children) By "My Husband, Who Is The Only Person The Writers Have Me Care About, Died"-Disorder And No Other Character Traits Besides Motherhood/Desire To Be A Mother (Despite Being Abusive To All Children Around Her) Given To Her. You truly are a classic, in Ankama media!
I wonder if Julith is being forced into this, or if the only lesson she got from dying is "Jahash wouldn't have wanted me to kill 1k Bontarians" and she is still as weird and horrible of a person.
I guess it's hard to judge what is happening, without knowing what 'Salar told her.
By the way, if she still has a grudge against Bonta for planning the perfect series of events to kill her and Jahash, it will be so funny. Lady you literally tried to killed a woman's husband <3 you have no moral high ground anymore <3 and she never Had a moral high ground to stand on, but now there's like, hypocrisy to it too, if she uses the "my husband and I were plotted against" card.
[giggles cutely] You see, , this is why I often bring up Joris while analysing child-parent relationships and immortality. Ankama loves reiterating on ideas and concepts.
For example, the most recent motif is poisonings and belladonna, especially when love and royalty is involved...
I know I roasted the hell out of Eliatrope for her bad ruling skills, but I don't think that calling a ruling queen "kiddo" and "the girl" is helpful in this situation.
Then again, Aurora said that her father spent most of his time holled up in a cave, in season 4. Maybe he usually doesn't do politics. Maybe he's more of a military leader, while others do all the work.
...Yeah, I know, I know. Ankama just didn't give a shit and I'm just making stuff up to make it make sense.
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Kami, Oxter
Image accessed at the Ultraman Wiki here
[I'm back! It's the start of a new school year, so I've been busy busy busy. I do hope to return to my summer schedule of one new monster a week.
And what a monster we start with! Oxter is one of the weirder designs in Return of Ultraman, but has connections to Ultra kaiju before and after. The plot of the episode, and Oxter's acidic powers, feels a lot like Stegon, who I've already statted up here. And the same author who wrote this episode wrote an episode of Ultraman Ace with another bovine kaiju, Cowra. The Cowra episode is notable not for the powers or appearance of the kaiju, which are fairly sedate by the standards of Ultraman Ace. But the way a character turns slowly into Cowra feels like it started out as transformation fetish porn, and then was repurposed into a kid's show about a giant silver alien/angel who punches monsters. The "writer's barely disguised fetish" trope goes way back.]
Kami, Oxter CR 19 N Outsider (native) This creature’s head resembles that of a cow, but its anatomy otherwise bears little resemblance to ordinary animals. It is bipedal, with a thick slug-like tail and stumpy legs. Its back has a high bony hump, and its head is set low on its shoulders. Instead of arms, it has large red horns, which articulate on jointed stumps. Its ears stick out at a wide angle, and a ribbon-like tongue flickers in its tusked mouth
An oxter is a bizarre kami that guards a site of mass animal death and protects their remains from desecration and disrespect. They can be found in any natural environment, from tar pits and volcanic craters to water holes that had dried up at an inopportune time. Oxters do not care much for the reasons their ward might be disturbed and respond to any disturbances with violence. From wizards seeking out supplies for necromancy or golem construction, to scientists studying the natural processes that occurred at the site, all are likely to find themselves subject to the oxter’s destructive scrutiny.
Oxters are slow and cumbersome on land, but they are surprisingly mobile in the water. As such, they often remain stationary and probe out disturbances using their supernaturally long tongues, which can extend for hundreds of feet. These tongues are coated in corrosive saliva, and anyone who gets close to an oxter will be sprayed by a torrent of acid. An oxter’s melee weapons are its horns, which are capable of surprising mobility and can strike repeatedly at multiple targets as if they were swords. Oxters have few spell-like abilities in comparison to other kami, but can use magic to move through impeding terrain or to smite interlopers in a particularly desperate battle. An oxter will fight to the death to protect their ward.
Because of their association with mass mortality events, oxters and stegons can be found in association with each other. Stegons are the only undead creatures oxters will tolerate, and the kami see such assemblages as a natural consequence of particularly serious disturbances. Oxters will permit other creatures to live in their wards, even sapient ones, as long as they respect the peace of the dead who lie there. They rarely associate with other kami unless their wards overlap, but in such cases the oxters tend to defer to their more intelligent kin, even if they are much physically weaker.
Kami, Oxter CR 19 XP 204,800 N Colossal outsider (kami, native) Init +9; Senses blindsense 60 ft., darkvision 60 ft., Perception +26
Defense AC 34, touch 7, flat-footed 29(-8 size, +5 Dex, +27 natural) hp 330 (20d10+220); fast healing 15 Fort +19, Ref +19, Will +17 DR 15/cold iron and magic; Immune acid,bleed, mind-influencing effects, petrifaction, polymorph; Resist electricity 10, fire 10; SR 30
Offense Speed 40 ft., swim 80 ft. Melee gore +26/+21/+16/+11 (4d6+13), bite +24 (4d6+6 plus 2d6 acid) or gore +24/+24/+19/+19/+14/+14/+9 (4d6+13), bite +24 (4d6+6 plus 2d6 acid) or tongue +26 (2d8+13 plus 4d6 acid plus grab) Space 30 ft.; Reach 30 ft. (20 ft. with bite, 60 ft. with tongue) Special Attacks breath weapon (120 ft. cone, 20d6 acid, Ref DC 31, 1d4 rounds), constrict (2d8+19 plus 4d6 acid), extensible tongue (AC 23, 33 hp), trample (2d8+19, Ref DC 33) Spell-like Abilities CL 19th, concentration +23 3/day—commune with nature, freedom of movement, undeath to death (DC 21) 1/day—quickened divine power
Statistics Str 36, Dex 21, Con 32, Int 9, Wis 20, Cha 21Base Atk +20; CMB +41 (+45 grab); CMD 56 Feats Blind Fight, Double Slice, Great Fortitude, Greater Two-Weapon Fighting, Improved Initiative, Improved Two-Weapon Fighting, Multiattack, Quicken SLA (divine power), Two-Weapon Fighting, Weapon Focus (gore) Skills Knowledge (nature) +16, Perception +26, Sense Motive +22, Survival +22, Swim +37; Racial Bonuses +4 Perception, +4 Swim Languages Senzar, telepathy 100 ft. SQ articulated horns, merge with ward, ward (animal graveyard of 4 square km or less)
Ecology Environment any Organization solitary Treasure incidental
Special Abilities Horns (Ex) The horns of an oxter are capable of making iterative attacks as if they were manufactured weapons. An oxter can fight with both horns in the same turn as if using two manufactured weapons (and most oxters take Two Weapon Fighting and other feats for this purpose). In any round in which an oxter makes a melee attack with its articulated horns, it treats its other natural weapons as secondary natural attacks. Extensible Tongue (Ex/Su) An oxter treats its tongue as a primary natural attack that deals bludgeoning damage. It can make attacks with a reach of 60 feet ordinarily, but if the oxter spends a move action, it can extend its tongue 60 feet. It can continue to spend move actions to keep extending its tongue at a rate of 60 feet per round to a maximum of 1200 feet long. The tongue can attack around corners and even enter buildings; if the oxter cannot see what it’s attacking, the tongue can use the oxter’s blindsense. An oxter cannot use its tongue as a weapon in a round where it attacks with other natural weapons. The oxter’s tongue has hit points equal to 1/10 the oxter, and an AC of 10 + ½ the oxter’s natural armor bonus. It uses the oxter’s saving throws, resistances and immunities if attacked separately. The oxter’s tongue can make Stealth checks as a Medium creature, and is five feet in diameter. If an oxter’s tongue is reduced to 0 hp, it is shed, and the oxter grows a new tongue over the course of the next 24 hours.
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Monster Spotlight: Vilderavn
CR 16
Neutral Evil Medium Fey
Bestiary 5, pg. 268
Unlike our last few articles, these horrors are decidedly not just little guys, and are in fact one of the most vicious Fey we've ever seen. Unlike many malevolent Fey which are merely born from mortal misery and anguish, Vilderavn were directly created by an unnamed fey lord for the express purpose of destroying mortal armies and kingdoms, something they excel at to such a degree that they make excellent overarching villains in a campaign featuring a looming war and political intrigue. A Vilderavn, more than any other monster we've seen in several weeks, is not a monster to simply be dropped on the party! These bloody birds thrive at being shadowy puppetmasters behind a conflict, advisors to (what the party believes is) the Big Bad, or even potential backstabbing allies and resources to the party themselves, turning on them at the climax of the adventure!
And the best part is that it's extremely unlikely the party will see it coming. Don't think it's just as easy as spotting an ominous black knight with a raven motif; Vilderavn are accomplished shapeshifters with an extremely wide repertoire of possible forms, able to take on the form of any Small or Medium Humanoid, a black-feathered Peryton, a wolf, or a Dire Wolf. You may find it strange that a raven-themed knight doesn't turn into a raven, and that's because it already is one! The above picture? That's after it's shapeshifted. A Vilderavn in its NATURAL form is a gigantic raven, and this is the form it uses to swoop over battlefields and kingdoms it plans to destroy... and to appear before prospective allies as an omen of fate, offering nobles, soldiers, and mages its skill as an advisor, an oracle, and spellcaster to give them the edge they need in the coming war.
If you can't believe some ostensibly smart people could be so easily tricked into believing a dog-sized bird is here to help them, don't be so judgmental! That might seem suspicious to someone from Earth, but on Golarion the culture surrounding such events is quite different; after all, not only do stories of heroes cursed into the forms of animals and deities appearing to people in the shapes of animals abound, but the Psychopomps as a whole are often associated with carrion birds and possess powers over fate and fortune, both of which Vilderavn can manipulate with their powerful spells and Raven Hexes. Those Hexes have numerous uses both in and out of combat, one of which includes the ability to send Dream spells to up to 6 people a day, letting them sculpt a first impression LONG before they appear physically before their target.
This isn't even getting into their skills, such as +30 to Bluff and +21 to Diplomacy (and further heightened by their Charm Hex), or their spells, such as at-will Suggestion or a 1/day Mass Suggestion to steer opinions, send anyone who could call their bluffs out on errands, and create trust where there was none before, or even a 1/day Modify Memory to completely rewrite a victim's knowledge of events until the fey appears to be some sort of saint or savior. They can also offer a Limited Wish once per month to a mortal being to sweeten any deal they make, making them seem trustworthy even as manipulative malevolence swells within their hearts.
Even if appearing as an animal doesn't work, they can freely change into generic wise sages, charismatic nobles, intelligent generals, or imperfect copies of just about anyone... unless they pull a kill-and-replace. Any creature killed by a critical hit from their bite (including a coup de grace if they're unconscious or helpless) has their soul devoured by the fey, and from there on out, the Vilderavn not only has the ability to perfectly assume their form, but has access to all of their memories, making their imitation literally flawless unless someone can see through their disguise with magic (and it will likely HAVE to be magic, because their Bluff and Disguise shoot up to +40 when imitating a devoured victim). Even then, good luck convincing anyone of what you see, as everyone else is likely under the raven's dewclaw as it steadily kills its way into more and more important positions until, eventually, it can take command of events entirely.
Wow, all this and we haven't even gotten to what it can do in combat! We're going to have to put the rest of this under a cut!
Vilderavn tend to avoid combat right up until the point they can destroy an entire army with a single blow to its leadership, right after it's spend weeks or even months carefully sculpting their confidence by leading them to numerous smaller victories. Until then, they serve as excellent advisors and powerful spellcasters, able to use Dispel Magic at-will to shield themselves and their allies from enemy magic, Detect Thoughts at-will to sniff out dissent and betrayers among the ranks (along with anyone who could view them with suspicion), and Scrying at-will to spy on anyone who lacks protection from such invasive magic. They also have a handful of constant spells which make it almost impossible to sneak anything past them: Deathwatch, True Seeing, and Tongues. No vampires, illusionists, or hidden conversations in foreign languages will corrupt and mislead the leader the raven is trying to corrupt and mislead!
And speaking of corruption, Vilderavn are masters of the corrupt art of curses. Immune to curses themselves, they can freely cast Bestow Curse to personally torment anyone they desire and Geas 1/day to force annoyances on petty quest, and their aforementioned Raven Hexes also have a menagerie of debilitating curses and debuffs among them as well, including the crushing Misfortune, the action-economy-ruining Agony, the absolutely Fighter-punishing Retribution, and the ever-reliable Evil Eye... and capped off by the damning Dire Prophecy, a permanent -4 penalty to not only their AC, but most d20 rolls as well, including saving throws. The Prophecy can also be cashed in at any time by either the Vilderavn (if it's nearby) or the DM (if it's not), imposing a -18 penalty on the victim's AC or on an attack roll, combat maneuver check, skill check, or saving throw.
Where's the -18 come from? Well, they use their Hexes as if they were an 18th level Witch, and all of their Hex effects (as well as the DC, which is 25) are modified by the fey's Charisma rather than its Intelligence. Powerful enough on their own, anyone who's played alongside a high-level Witch knows that Hexes are extremely potent force multipliers when the rest of the party can take advantage of them, and this means if a Vilderavn has allies, it can safely sit back and use its 110ft fly speed to keep it out of trouble as it debilitates the party with its powerful Hexes... and caw-haw-haws at them with Cackle, keeping the punishment of Misfortune, Agony, or Evil Eye rolling round after round as its allies tear into the debuffed party.
UNLIKE a Witch, forcing a Vilderavn into melee doesn't mean you're home free, oh no. They're dangerous enough in their raven form, where Bloodbird tacks a stacking 1d6 bleed damage onto its Claw-Claw-Caw-Caw attacks, the former doing 1d6+11 and the latter 1d8+11. If you think that's a mistake on my part, no, the Vilderavn can indeed make TWO bite attacks with its beak whenever it Full-Attacks thanks to a constant Haste effect on itself. If that beak damage looks low, it really isn't, because it's got a critical range of 15-20, threatening a critical hit 25% of the time instead of 5%. With a single Full-Attack, the unkind knight can deal an average of about 70 damage AND stack up to 4d6 bleed onto a single victim, then fly backwards the next round and strike them with a Hex or two before flying back in to do it all over again.
But of course, it's rare for a Vilderavn to have allies it doesn't plan to slay itself. When it has already used (or cannot use) its spells or Hexes to weaken its foes, or when it simply wishes to display its martial skill and fight on even terms with a human, it takes the shape of the Raven Knight, shedding its natural armor and its terrible beak and claws but gaining +5 Full Plate and a +5 Cruel Keen Falchion. Its AC goes from 34 to 38 in its knight form, and its melee goes from four weak natural attacks to four powerful sword swings (despite its low BAB; remember a permanent Haste gives it an extra attack!) dealing 2d4+21 damage... while also keeping the same 15-20 critical hit range AND the stacking bleed, potentially dealing around 50 damage with one swing instead of needing four attacks to achieve the same result.
So, let's see, that's the offense, how about the defense... High AC, check. High saves? +17/+21/+18, check. DR 15/Cold Iron and Good, check. SR 27, also check. Permanent Freedom of Movement? Of course, we can't have a battle end with a single Hold Monster now, can we? No elemental immunities, but it IS immune to energy drain, death effects, and all forms of fear. I'm also receiving a note about its saves, hold on. Ah, no, my mistake, its saves are actually +22/+26/+23, because the Vilderavn DO have power over fate, which includes the ability to add +5 to any one saving throw of their choice each round as an immediate action, something they're likely to save when they're targeted by a powerful Save-or-Suck that they're not immune to, such as petrification, sleep effects, or nausea. There's no per-day limit on this ability, only per-round, so maybe ask your allies to pile on all their most powerful abilities at once?
Hah. 'Allies.' There's no one here that's your friend. At least, that's what you're going to think while in combat with the Vilderavn; anyone within 30ft of it is not only vulnerable to its Frightful Presence, but its FP is also attached to Shatter Loyalties, an ability that causes anyone affected by it to treat all other creatures as an enemy, thwarting not only teamwork, but teamwork feats, as well as flanking bonuses, movement in tight spaces, and of course: willingly accepting beneficial effects. Any creature whose loyalty has been shattered has to be forcibly administered any positive effect (and is allowed to make a save to resist such effects), and doesn't count as a valid target for any effect or ability that counts 'allies.' This shattering effect lasts until the victim is no longer within 30ft of the fey and bypasses fear immunity entirely, so the party Paladin may not be shaken up by the Frightful Presence, but if they fail the DC 26 Will save anyway, suddenly all their beneficial auras shut off for everyone else, leaving them more vulnerable to the raven knight's fierce spells and Hexes.
If the Vilderavn pauses its assault momentarily when it has someone at death's door, do not mistake it for a show of mercy. Remember that they can tear the souls from their mortal victims, but they can only do so while in raven form, as Soul Eater very specifically triggers from its bite attack. A party held at bay by its magic or laid low by its damage may only be able to watch in horror as it assumes raven form, climbs atop their fallen friend, and drives its beak deep into their chest, shearing their heart from their body and their soul with it (frightening everyone who sees it, or shaking them up if they succeed a DC 27 Will save). From there on out, it has full access to their memories, their personality, their very face, ready to destroy their lives and everything they had ever hoped to create... and if the DM is especially cruel, it may use Modify Memory on the only conscious witness to the act to make them think their ally is fine, that they managed to get away from that fiend! A fiend slithering its way into the party as it wears the fallen allies' face. Waiting for the chance to tear hope away from you all one final time.
You can read more about them here.
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What's your interpretation of Chaos?
If you had your way how would Chaos, Chaos corruption, and their relationship to the warp work? How would psykers, faith, and Chaos corruption change? How would their role in the grand narrative of 40k change? How might this change or recontextualize things like the Horus Heresy, the fall of the Eldar, the Sabbat wars, and the fall of Cadia/Cicatrix Maledictum?
okay.
chaos should work as pagan spiritualism. we have spirits(daemons), that are the embodiment of a concept or an event, and they act according to their nature. they don't need your goddamn soul, bc they have no free will or desires, they are unchangeable. but. if the soul is close to the aforementioned concept, it will be pulled in by the "gravity" and become a part of it. so the daemons will absolutely influence mortals to gain that astral mass and be more stable.
astral presence warps the body and mind. it generally warps it in the directions your "soul spikes" are pointing - new body will be better at things you like or do constantly. once your mind can't handle the change any more, your "soul spikes" change directions aimlessly - you become a chaos spawn. if you know what you want and your resolve is strong - it won't happen.
every use of warp powers is a fair exchange - although you don't always know what is taken from you. always keep that in mind and track all your losses, psyker. deals with daemons work the same - they are pure astral matter, not a creature, even if they look like one. remember that, summoner.
god-emperor is nothing but a big warp presence as well - and it works just the same with him, except you don't get any cool mutations, and live a boring life full of shame and regrets. i mean, if your soul wants it, then alright, but eh... i judge you. find something you personally are aligned with, not forced into.
chaos is ambivalent. it just so happens that death causes a huge emotional output. not all deaths are equal though. one of the millions slaughtered by a chaos space marine means nothing besides the fact of death - unlike someone's first murder done by a glass chard in self-defence. your rivals have to be the same size of you, or bigger - or there is no astral output.
i am not well-versed in 40k history, so you gotta figure things out yourself based on the provided concepts.
thank you for a good question!
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HIII! The ask box finally decided to work for me- 😭 I have a few questions....again.
Have The Archivists faced any dangerous threats? (Not including the Titans)
Can Archivists been born from a Gamma ray Burst and not just a KiloNova?
Have the Archivists ever considered the existence of other Cosmic beings from different dimensions?
Does The Wayfarer still have the skull of the extinct species?
How old is The Anatomist? (Are they in the 100 thousands or maybe in the 1 million range)
Would they attempt to help Climate change, deforestation, humans driving animals to extinction, just planet destroying stuff in general on Earth?
All lot of questions- Sorry about that. 😓
I have no clue what the issue with the inbox is. Some of the asks also disappeared when I know for a fact I got them and was planning to respond later. But glad this one survived. Gotta say, it's a rapid ask fire, so I'll short-answer them
1. So yeah, there aren't many things that can hurt them, but celestial beings can damage each other. Encountering other children of the stars is rare, but if that happens, and it's difficult to predict what a semi-conscious mass of magic decides to do or another far more unstable collector, but they havent seen them for a long time. As for non-physical threats, at this point, they are mostly desensitized to mortals, but that's also something they found out: how bad people can be when they are scared of someone, like Belos with no remorse throwing Collectros disc to be forgotten. I'm pretty sure if he could ensure more to control a pretty powerful power source he would even if that powersourse was a kid and I dont belive he was the only person to ever have this approach
2. Maaybe? In my version, children of the stars are born from events where a big release of energy and magic occurs. Kilonovae typically release energy of 10^41 to 10^43 joules, GRBs typically release something around 10^44 to 10^48 joules. I think it would create a celestial being, but I'm not sure if it would really be a collector or rather some other celestial creature that is simmillar but not the same. I'd like to think that collectors are all born from the same astronomical phenomena, especially given how rare they are (and it plays a little bit into siblings motive), but I dont really have a good reason why it cant be Gamma Rey too
3. They are aware of other realms, but traveling between them is bit more tricky and they already try to keep up with everything that goes on in the galaxy they are currently in. I think there is some quirk to titan magic that makes the travel between dimensions really possilbe or at least more controlled
4. yup! they took more keepsakes but the skull is preserved in Way's corner of the archive
5. It's closer to billions in range. For collectors to be able to look over evolution, stars coming into existence, millions of years isn't enough. Anatomist was one of the younger collectors when the first archives were established and everyone split to their own, but it was still a long time ago. I imagine it takes a very long time for immortal beings to grow up. At the point of the story, they aren't even really mature
6. I know it's currently still a theory, but there are articles about Earth currently experiencing 6th mass extinction, the previous one being that one that took out the dinosaurs. The archivists' goal is to preserve life, and if it's dying, that mission is sabotaged. So yeah, they would probably try to stop it, but I don't think they'd take kindly to the one species that caused it so the earth after their interference wouldnt be the same
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𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔢 / 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔢?
vocalist: Estelle (quintessence) 1st cellist: Naia (water) 2nd cellist: Neve (water) pianist: Artemis (earth/air hybrid)
The chamber ghoulettes are older than the Clergy itself. The four--two friends and two sisters--came together to form the still running quartet. To honor Lucifer. To set a soundtrack for the budding church. Even today, they are highly respected and revered as the chamber ensemble for mass and special events.
The group is elusive--mysterious and private. They prefer to keep to themselves, residing in their own quarters on the abbey grounds. Forming a little commune of their own, as they have for centuries.
Copia, of course had become familiar with them, first as a watcher, and then as a leader. He respected their privacy, their hertiage with the church he now leads. Would never ask too much of them. But with the upcoming movie, he decided it was time they should be officially honored alongside their modern musical counterparts. To highlight the ancestry, the ones who came before them all.
Estelle and Artemis were both born topside. Drawn to the small group of mortals and demons forming a new community in the countryside. Naia and Neve, sisters, younger and older respectively, were refugees of sorts. Escaping from their nearby village after being hunted by invading humans. Finding the church by accident, but inadvertently drawn to its bubble of magick. Finding their shared love for music as instruments evolved and changed over the centuries. Artemis' first instrument was actually the harp, as the first piano wouldn't be constructed until many many years after her cohorts' cellos. Estelle melded them all together, bringing words to their melodies.
The rest, as they say, is history.
#the band ghost#la forum ghoulettes#chamber ghoulettes#rite here rite now#ghoul headcanons#ghoul ocs#(kind of)#moodboard#estelle ghoulette#artemis ghoulette#naia ghoulette#neve ghoulette#you thought crow had lore with nyneve? meet these ladies#ficlet#crow headcanons#crow writes
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