#more reliable than i give it credit for | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

skzdarlings · 9 months ago

Text

birthday girl ; skz ; seungmin x reader

requested by anonymous: “You keep your hands where they are or I’ll tie them up” with Seungmin + requested by anonymous: ❛ i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making. ❜ is SO seungmin I can’t 😭 + requested by @sealovesbts : ❛ is that how you usually get out of these situations? by fucking your way out of them? ❜ x Seungmin djjdjjdjd 🫣

pairing: kim seungmin/reader content info: friends to lovers. boy next door!seungmin, stripper!seungmin. reader is kinda vanilla but gets a couple kinks unlocked: stripping, some power play, seungmin giving orders and her following it, having sex in privacy but a public venue overall. word count: 4100 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy!

You open the door and jump, startled to find Seungmin already standing there with his hand raised to knock. He also looks surprised but he doesn’t shriek like you do. You were already jittery before the jump-scare.

“Seungmin! Sorry!” You put a hand over your heart. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I can see that.” He speaks in his usual dry tone but smiles a lopsided smile.

Kim Seungmin lives in your neighbourhood. You have been amicable a long time so you like to consider him a friend as well. He is an admittedly private person and his personality can be brash, but you find charm in his quirky cheekiness. He is reliable whenever you need a hand.

He is dressed in a hoodie and jeans which is not unusual; he is not very flashy. His bangs sweep his forehead and he smiles a wide, boxy smile as he hands you a gift bag.

“Happy birthday, neighbour,” he says.

“Oh my goodness,” you say, flustered. “Seungmin! You didn’t have to!”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m the greatest,” he quips. While you open the present, he asks, “I guess you’re going out? You’re all dressed up.”

“Oh, um, yes.” You feel shy as he looks at you.

“You look good,” he says.

It makes you even more flustered. You are dressed a little sleeker and sexier than usual. Your sister has arranged your birthday party but you do not know where, only that she said to dress for fun. You are not great with surprises and your sister is a little wild, hence your nerves, but you have decided to leave your comfort zone for one night.

You were not expecting to run into your neighbour, friend, and crush.

Because, yes, you like Seungmin. A lot. Seungmin is very modest, low-key, and hard-working. You know he is at law school and works a few jobs to pay for it. You are not sure where, but he is intelligent and you can imagine him doing anything. His snark is amusing but his dependability and steadfastness is a sexy combination. Your sister has never met him but has often teased you for your so-called boring infatuation, but you disregard the thought. You like Seungmin, shaggy bangs and law school textbooks and all.

A flirtation has been subtly brewing over the last few months. You think the unexpected birthday gift is a step in that direction. Especially when you unwrap a recipe book you off-handedly mentioned a few weeks ago, touched he remembered it at all.

“Oh, thank you, Seungmin,” you say, gushing and sweet. You go to hug him but falter nervously and end up giggling.

He brushes some hair out of his eyes. They seem to sparkle with mirth, or maybe you are just ridiculously head-over-heels.

“You’re kinda goofy, you know that?” he says, but smiles. “I like it.”

“Oh gosh,” you say.

It makes him laugh. Then he says, “I’ll let you get to your party.”

“Oh, it’s just my sister and some girl friends,” you say. “I don’t even know where we’re going. Probably just some food and stuff. You know me. I’m very simple.”

“I do,” he says. “I’d like to know you better, though. Maybe you can make me one of those recipes some time. I like the one on page fifteen.”

You burst out laughing at his audacity, making him laugh too. His teasing successively obliterates your nerves.

“I will,” you say, smiling so big. “Page fifteen. Noted.”

“It’s a date,” he says. “I’ll let you go now. Enjoy your birthday dinner.”

“You too,” you say, then realize that response made no sense so you stutter through a retraction. You stop when he leans in and kisses your cheek, a quick peck that makes your eyes go wide.

“Goofball,” he says and bops your nose while smiling. “See you around, neighbour.”

“Bye, neighbour,” you say, giggling helplessly.

He smiles as he walks away, hands in his pockets, and you are still hugging your book and smiling.

The conversation with Seungmin is your last wholesome birthday moment. You meet your sister and friends only to get whisked off to a placeof complete and utter depravity.

Otherwise known as a club full of male strippers.

You are sitting at a little table, astounded at the room around you. You hold no judgements whatsoever, but between the flashing lights and loud music and, um, prominent bare chests and even more prominent bulges, you are sufficiently overawed.

You cannot help but gawk, mouth open as you look around at everything. It makes your sister and friends laugh. It is not mean but they are undoubtedly amused. Your shy character is the opposite of… this.

“You guys are crazy,” you say, only making them erupt into more giggles.

“You like logic and traditions so consider it a rite of passage, baby sister,” your sister says, slinging her arm around your shoulder and squeezing. “Or, hm, an act of feminism! It’s about equality. We need to objectify and ogle the sexy men on behalf of womankind.”

“How noble of us,” you say dryly, setting off another round of giggles. You shake your head, smiling with amusement too. You are a little embarrassed but it is quite funny, and there is a part of you enjoying something so opposite of your usual quiet scenes.

Amusing is the best word for it, though. None of the men are remotely your type and the relentless hip-thrusting is a bit much. You find yourself laughing into your drink and swaying to music as a few choreographed routines are performed. Some of the more elaborate dances are entertaining.

“The birthday girl likes a pretty boy,” your sister says, conspiring with your friends to find the perfect man to entertain you.

“No, I don’t,” you say. You roll your eyes and playfully shove her shoulder.

“Well,” she says, “there are no boring lawyers on that stage, so a pretty face will have to suffice.”

They proceed to point out a few of the prettier dancers while you shake your head. You turn to watch the stage where a different set of men are in the middle of a routine. There is a very rowdy bachelorette party in front of your table, occasionally blocking the view of one side of the stage. You are sipping you drink when a few girls move, opening the view.

You promptly spit your drink everywhere. Your friends squeal while you choke and there is enough chaos at your table for one of the dancers to look directly at you.

Not just any dancer.

Kim Seungmin.

You have seen that face twice a day every day for months and you still barely recognize him. It is no wonder that even a slightly obstructed view warped him entirely.

Your modest, low-key friend is dazzling under the stage lights, face lightly made-up and his usual shaggy hair pushed back off his face. Is it possible for a glimpse of forehead to so drastically change the composition of a familiar face? He looks like a new man, his features striking on his bright, open face, all framed by neatly styled dark hair. The familiar sparkle in his dark eyes is accentuated by the gleam of something shining around his neck. Necklace? Choker? Collar?

He is in a white dress shirt and blue jeans, ripped at the knee, but everything about him seems illuminated. He is the bold, blazoned fantasy version of the boy next door. Very literally in your case, which is maybe why you think it, watching him cross the stage with more verve and confidence than you knew he possessed. Your Seungmin walks in a casual shuffle, hands in his pockets. He does not stride.

He certainly does not… gyrate. Which is what he is doing when he catches your eye. There is a moment of shared recognition and subsequent surprise, wide-eyed as you hold gazes across a noisy room.

Seungmin, a seemingly consummate professional, blinks the surprise off his face and goes back to his routine.

You are not so practiced. Your surprise stays plastered there, your mouth open and eyes wide as you stare at him. The dance that seemed so exaggerated and ridiculous on the other performers is something else on Seungmin. Maybe it is his character, the boy next door with his ripped jeans and smirking grin. Or maybe it is because he is your boy next door.

He is not ridiculous. Quite the opposite. He makes it look natural, fluid and unhurried with the swivel of his hips and teasing grin. He seems to somehow make eye contact with everyone in the room.

You remind yourself that is his job when his eyes wander back to you. It does not slow the race of your heart.

He sits on a chair and opens his shirt. Some of the other dancers are more than half-naked, but he has a captive audience with the simplest action. Keeping each step to the beat of the music, he reclines and undoes his belt, which makes your lips part. Then he lets his shirt drop down his arms and reveals his shoulders, which makes you gasp. Then he cups a hand between his legs, curving his palm over the not-insubstantial bulge in his jeans. Heat fills the core of you.

He looks right at you with a tilt of his head and a lazy smile, the subtle sort of smirk that does not need to exaggerate. He knows he has you.

“Oh my god,” your friend says. “Not birthday girl eye-fucking a stripper.”

“What!” You rip your attention away all at once, flushed hot from head to toe. “I am not!”

“Well, he was eye-fucking you.”

You take a gigantic gulp of water, though it does not to quell the heat inside. Until today, the most you dared to fantasize about Seungmin was a prolonged kiss on the porch. Seungmin is polite. He does not eye-fuck.

Except you glance over the rim of your cup. He is still looking at you. It is not the way he looks at everyone else, who he skims with a cursory glance and flirtatious wink. It is a lingering, penetrating stare, like he is calling you to him with his eyes alone.

Oh. Gosh. He is eye-fucking you.

“I think,” your sister says, “we found a pretty boy for the birthday girl.”

And that is how you find yourself sitting in a small private room, barely bigger than a coat closet and washed in a dark purple light. You are perched on a plush little seat, holding your handbag so tightly your knuckles start to hurt. You let go and clear your throat, embarrassed even though you are alone. You place the bag on the floor and smooth your hands down the skirt of your dress.

You squeak like a frightened little mouse, jumping when Kim Seungmin startles you for the third time tonight. Once on your doorstep. Once on stage. And now in this little room, silhouetted by the hall lights until he closes the divider. He is still in his ripped jeans and dress shirt, neatly buttoned and composed again.

He runs a hand through his hair which makes your heart skip beats. You feel a little preposterous, scandalized by a forehead, but it makes his gaze so direct. You melt under the intensity of his stare.

“I hear it’s your birthday,” he says.

You imagine yourself as a stranger to him, the same line recited with the same confidence. For some reason, it is just as tantalizing. You like abrasive, quirky law student Kim Seungmin in his hoodie and jeans. But you find yourself irrevocably spellbound by this other version of him, who is so seductive it has women drawing money out of their purses.

“Yes,” is what you say, instead of all that.

He tilts his head, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. He is always clever but his open face makes his scrutiny more apparent. You swallow when he approaches, when he sinks down on one knee while holding your gaze in thrall.

“Breathe,” he says. “That’s not a request.” He rests his hands on the seat, framing your body between them. He does not touch you. He does not need to. Your breath spills free in a rush and he smirks. “Good. All right. So… neighbour… Should we talk?”

You think a thousand thoughts. Yes, a conversation. No, your friends paid for this room. They think you will get a lap dance or something, then return quickly. You want to ask when he is free for dinner. You want to ask how long he has worked here. You want to know him. You really, really want to kiss him.

You say instead, “I’ve never done this sort of thing before.”

He looks at you for another moment, still studious. You swallow again. Then he smiles that dastardly grin, wide and a little mean.

“And you want to?” he asks. “Do this sort of thing?”

“Only if it’s you,” you say, then avert your gaze out of embarrassment. Maybe that was too much cringe-worthy honesty.

He touches your chin, drawing your gaze back to him. You blink at him, helpless but to study his face in turn. He was always decently good-looking but he is driving you to complete distraction. You find yourself staring at his lips well before he starts speaking.

“I think you have more depth than either of us know, don’t you?” he asks.

“Maybe,” you say, laughing a little. You look at him with wide, earnest eyes. “Don’t we all?”

He touches his tongue to his upper lip, looking thoughtful but undoubtedly smiling. Then he smacks his lips and nods, his hair bouncing.

“Right,” he says. “In that case, birthday girl…”

He stands and your eyes follow. He holds your gaze until he starts unbuttoning his shirt, then your eyes drop to his hands, the deft flick of his fingers as they crawl down his chest.

A professional, you think. It gets you undeniably hot. You meet his eyes again when he tugs his shirt off and drops it behind him. He is more slender than chiseled, especially compared to some of the other dancers, but there is a firmness to his body, a control he has mastered.

He grabs a bar above your head that you did not even notice, using it to lift and lower himself over you. He lands in a smooth straddle with his knees cradling you under him.

You sit back, breathing harder already. Then he takes your hands and lifts them over your head, making your fingers twitch with anticipation. You are still fully clothed but your dress is sleeveless and low-cut and this feels like a vulnerable position, arms raised with a half-naked Kim Seungmin straddling your body.

He curls your fingers around the bar then drags his knuckle down the bare skin of your arms, making you shiver despite the packed heat of this little room.

“You keep your hands where they are,” he says, “or I’ll tie them up.”

You nod a little frantically and it makes him laugh. Then he is leaning back just enough to rock his body over yours, bringing your attention to every flawless plane of his body as he moves on you. He touches you sparingly, making you watch, making you wonder. Looking and fantasizing about what his hips can really do, what strength is hidden in the body he has mastered. He follows the low music, ever deep thrum of a bass, every heart-pounding beat.

He brings his face close to yours, so close your lips almost touch. It steals your breath like a real kiss would.

“I’m going to touch you,” he says. “Be good for me, birthday girl. Maybe there’s a present in it for you. Only if I like you.”

You cannot find any witty quips to return. He is definitely the experienced one, as effortless with his words as with everything else. You can only gawk at him as he slides smoothly off. Then his hands are on your legs, making them quiver, your body startled with the direct touch despite the warning.

Your skirt gathers just a bit, his hands curling under your knees. Then he is spreading your legs, not enough to see anything but enough you feel the empty space between them. Oh yes, emptier than you have ever felt. You are surprised by the way you clench, your body aching for more. He only teases, makes you feel that emptiness and picture every what if. He helps you with your fantasy, pushing your legs back like he would if he was fucking you deep, rolling his hips so close to yours in mimicry.

“Oh,” is the only sound you make. Your breathing is very loud. It says a lot on its own.

He is breathing a little harder too. He is still between your legs when he starts unbuttoning his jeans. He shuffles them down his hips but not all the way off. You can see he is wearing nothing underneath, the denim itself a suddenly tantalizing piece, slung low on his hips with the subtle sloping v of his body drawing your gaze to his middle.

“I don’t usually go further than this, you know,” he says. He slowly pushes the next button loose and you can feel the rush of heat from your belly swoop lower. His bulge looks obscene at this vantage, pushing at what little remains of the denim around it. “But I think I like you, birthday girl.” He opens another button. “I think I can make an exception.” He pushes the last button then grasps his jeans at the hips, grinning as he says, “Our secret.”

Secret, illicit, that’s what this feels like, looking at the gorgeous man you have been pining after, watching as he pushes his jeans down his hips and thighs. You are tucked in a small room not far away from a rowdy crowd, Kim Seungmin dropping the last of his clothes then continuing his slow and sensual movements.

You feel dizzy, your arms shaking. You close your mouth when you literally salivate, because his dick is right there, hard and curving up in front of you as he moves with skilled ease. You giggle a little nervously when he notices and swipes a thumb across your lips. Then he reaches up, curling his hands over yours on the bar as he leans in close to your face.

“You wanna touch me?” he asks, palms over your knuckles. You nod frantically and he grins that mean smile, tilting his head as he looks down at you. “What will you give me for it?”

“Anything,” you say. “You can do anything to me. You can have all of me.”

It occurs only seconds later he might mean money, but he just laughs, that familiar ha-ha-ha you have heard a dozen times before.

“Is that how you usually get out of these situations?” he teases. “By fucking your way out of them?”

“You’re so mean,” you say with a helpless pout.

“Yeah,” he says, brushing his nose with yours. “I am. I could be worse, but it’s your birthday.” He takes your hands and lowers them, guiding them to his shoulders.

You touch him carefully, as if he is fragile, or like he could disappear beneath your fingertips. This moment hardly seems real, ethereal and bright, all neon and purple haze. This is not like you and that is thrilling. This is all new, but he is also familiar. You are enjoying this, him, you together.

You touch him slowly, with intention, just the gentlest caress across his bare shoulders. It wipes his grin, makes his breathing get all slow like he is savouring it too. He looks at you with more intensity.

“You said I can anything?” he asks.

A nod is all it takes, then he is sinking to his knees. He pushes back a few loose strands of his hair, then his hands are under your knees and he is pulling you to the edge of your seat. You make a little noise of surprise, clutching his shoulders until he manoeuvres you. Then it is your legs on his shoulders and he is running his tongue along your inner thigh.

“Seungmin,” you say, breathlessly.

“Shh, shh,” he says. “Our secret, remember?”

Then he is tugging your now wet panties to the side, his mouth on you in a ravenous motion. You cover your mouth to try and stifle most of your moaning, but you cannot help the few sounds that escape, especially as he takes you closer and closer to a climax. He surfaces, still using his hand to get you close, his lips wet and eyes searching. He smirks, sliding two fingers into you while rolling his thumb across that distended bundle of nerves.

“That’s not quiet, birthday girl,” he says. “Don’t make me gag you.”

“I’m quiet,” is your rasping reply.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” he asks, fucking his fingers roughly through all the wet desire between your thighs, making you shake. “I can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making,” he says. “It almost sounds like you’re about to come for me. That’s pretty dirty. What would everyone out there say?”

Shocked. They would be shocked if they even believed it. You would not have believed it of yourself a few hours ago. But now you are coming all over his face and hand and it is still not enough. You have never begged for anything but the words are on your lips, your mouth open and eyes wide as you stare at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, fingers swirling at your entrance. He pushes in and out, just his fingertips, tormenting you. “That just made you needier, didn’t it? Tsk.” He sighs dramatically. “I don’t usually offer that. It’ll cost you.”

“I’ll cook the recipe on page sixteen too,” you say, making him laugh naturally again.

“What a bargain,” he says. He grabs his jeans and fishes a condom out of the back pocket. He even seems to make a show of that. He puts it on and fists his cock for you, standing above you while you catch your breath. When you reach for him, he grabs your wrists and yanks you up. He is effortless and quick, as always, spinning you around and pressing your hands to the back of the seat.

“You know the rules,” he says. “Hands there or I tie them up. That’s my girl.”

You follow his directions and bend over, feeling utterly debauched before he is even inside you. He lifts your skirt and tugs your panties aside again. You are fully dressed and he is completely naked, but you somehow feel more exposed, more vulnerable in his confident hands. He holds your hips and eases inside you, inch by solid inch until he is pressed up against your backside, buried to the hilt.

“That’s it,” he says, tone still cocky though it soon gives way to panting. He makes a few rough sounds of his own, fucking you quick and dirty in this small room. You are going to walk out of here smelling and looking like sex itself, dishevelled and shaky and well-fucked. Practically a new woman, one you are eager to know, containing as many contradictory dualities as Seungmin.

Seungmin, your goofy friend, who throws his head back as he drives into you again and again, shushing you when you get too loud. He muffles his own cry in your shoulder when he comes, still rocking against you for a moment after that.

“Fuck,” you say, dropping onto the seat after. He is tugging his jeans back on, though his eyes are on you. It is a scrutinous stare again. You undoubtedly have questions for each other. For now, you just smile, taking another shuddery breath as you come down from your high. “Well,” you say. “That might have been worth page seventeen too.”

His gaze softens, the corner of his eyes crinkling with his smile. He leans over you, brushes his nose against yours, and finally kisses you. It is the soft, tender kiss you dreamed about so long ago. It leaves you as breathless as everything else.

“All right, neighbour,” he says, “it’s a date.”

#kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #kim seungmin smut #seungmin smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz x you #stray kids x you #kim seungmin x you #valentinesdaystories #kpop fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

hawkepockets · 5 months ago

Text

actually. 🫷😀🫸 THOUGHTS ON AVELINE

i think aveline is a CORE da2 character, and her relationship with hawke is super super interesting. she’s hawke’s oldest friend in the game & by act 3, maybe the only enduring connection to their homeland & childhood besides the mabari. her voice, her bearing, her stated values are all very noble & movingly fereldan—but her actions both as guard captain & as a party member should be so profoundly disappointing to hawke almost no matter how you play them, which generates a powerful tension. imo it’s really poignant and adds a lot to the game’s central tragedy.

because how can hawke cut her off! but look at how she behaves: ignoring the serial killing & sexual assault of isolated older women and elf girls, baiting the arishok, slut shaming isabela, condescending to merrill. but how can they cut her off? the question is a privilege and a torment!

in this way i think she strikingly complements gamlen. like no matter what gamlen does and says to you, your love interest, leandra, the surviving hawke twin—he’s family and the only way into kirkwall. hawke is not permitted to sever those ties. and no matter what aveline does and says to you and all the women in your party, she remains your oldest friend and the only way back to ferelden, emotionally.

both aveline & gamlen will maintain a warm relationship with hawke as long as hawke tolerates their picking on those in proximity to hawke—but if hawke pushes back with aggressive dialogue options, both will tone match and became sour and hostile. aveline can be really quite awful to a red hawke, and will throw them to the ground and beat them at 100% rivalry. so there’s kind of an underlying challenge in both of these characters: how much will hawke, as gang leader & player character, put up with when it’s not directed at them?

of course, for all the nostalgia that seems to occlude av’s wrongdoings in kirkwall, she’s not really a childhood friend of hawke’s. she was a grown woman when they met, lothering was lost, and the moment was pretty heated thanks to aveline’s hostile templar husband.

and yet hawke is no more reliable & objective in their treatment of the past than varric is. and aveline is what they have! she’s standing in for all of ferelden, all of the past before the blight!

and likewise hawke for her! hawke is the only one left in act 3 who remembers wesley! aveline is the only one who remembers the dead hawke twin!

and as reprehensible as some of her decisions are, aveline’s grief for wesley and her enmity toward the old corrupt guard captain are sympathetic and her voice is sexy and husky and beautiful enough that. well im sorry i just lost the plot for a minute. uh

there’s also the act 3 subplot of the templars trying to take over the city guard, which sets up aveline as the only thing standing between kirkwall’s mages & absolute templar authority in the city. it’s literally her or cullen at his most brainwashed & violent. (to cullen’s credit he also thought it was a bad idea. but i won’t give him so much credit that i believe he’d turn down the position if aveline was removed.) between a knight-commander and a hard place, a pro-mage hawke has to choose the hard place.

so both of my playthroughs i’ve felt like hawke’s friendship with her is at the very least strained, if not completely ruptured, but they have to back her. how much that feels like fucking sandpaper may vary from hawke to hawke.

ultimately i just think she brings a lot to the table. i don’t necessarily understand why she’d be anyone’s all time #1 favorite companion, but you know.

#dragon age #aveline vallen #long post

756 notes · View notes

tarotofhope · 3 months ago

Text

PAC : 𖤐 What is good about you? 𖤐

(Special reading for reaching 100 followers)

Thankyou everyone 🥹🫶🏻Please keep on supporting🤍

(Please Read My Pinned post *IMPORTANT NOTE* before selecting a Pile)

Pick an Image by meditating and selecting the image you feel called to. You can be attracted towards more than 1 image. If you are not able to select maybe this reading isn't for you.

Pile 1

Cards: The Emperor, 5 of Swords and The Wheel Of Fortune.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 1. Your energy radiates with self-confidence and assertiveness. You are someone who does not let any kind of bs bother you. You're loud, full of energy and that looks charming to your admirers. You're someone who would build their empire with or without anybody's help. You seek adventure, and thrill and you don't like to get bored. You are a go-getter and you don't wait for somebody else to have your back, you do it yourself. You have good leadership qualities. You could kill for your independence and freedom. Sometimes you might come off as arrogant to people but you don't mean any harm to anybody. You might be funny and carefree, but people like your presence because they feel at ease with you. You light the room, pile 1.

Extra message: Your traits remind me of Eren Yeager from Attack on Titans/Shingeki No Kyojin. He will always 'Tatakae' for freedom.

This was all I got for you.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🫶🏼🥰��🌼🌻

Pile 2

Cards: Death, Page of Wands and Queen of Pentacles.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 2. You're someone who doesn't let your fate strangle you when it is not in your favor. It's like looking in the face of death, bravely. The Page of Wands is standing with his back towards the death card but I don't see it as escapism but rather someone who already dealt with major transformations and problems but overcame it with your unbreakable spirit. Now, you stand tall and fearless with a passion for work and growth. You guys could be married to your work. You're someone who people admire for their maturity. You're very reliable and stable, structured and organized. People might come to you for advice too. Your determination is unshakeable. You look very earthy and grounded or very fiery and passionate or both. Doesn't matter whichever career field you're involved in, you mostly keep your personal life to yourself. You have a great desire to maintain stability for yourself and your loved ones.

Extra Message: Your traits remind me of Loid Forger from Spy Family and Nanami Kento from Jujutsu Kaisen.

This was all I got for you.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🫶🏼🌻🌼🌸🥰

Pile 3

Cards: 9 of Wands, 2 of Wands, King of Wands.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 3. You're someone who was either bullied, taken advantage of or struggled very much earlier in your life. You thought you wouldn't overcome your problems but you were always more powerful than that. You developed from 9 of Wands to the King of Wands and it was indeed a long journey. You never give yourself enough credit for coming so far. You even lacked confidence earlier and had a low self-esteem but you've totally transformed yourself, your experiences made you this way. You speak more now, act more and you stand firmly for what you believe in. You do things you never thought you'd ever do. You are slowly coming more into light, you're more seen now. People who've been a witness to your journey either find your progress shocking or very inspirational and admirable.

Extra Message: Your traits remind me of Armin Arlert from Attack On Titans/Shingeki No Kyojin. His personality development was remarkable. Also, Ron Weasley from Harry Potter but in reference to the books and not the movies.

This was all I got for you.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🥰🌸🌼🌻🫶🏼

Pile 4

Cards: King Of Cups, 4 Of Swords and The Star.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 4. You are a humanitarian. You love to help people and your personality could be very unique. Your career path as well, could be very different and unique which people don't go for normally. You might be secretive and mysterious and have very few close friends. You might love to do charity and donations, you might even work with an NGO. You love animals, you might be doing something for them. You are someone who's emotionally very mature and understanding of people's behavior and emotions. You have a good sense of self. You might be highly aware of yourself and sensitive to your surroundings. Your hunches are on point most of the time. You don't like conflicts. You may have a calm demeanor. You might be interested in occultism, wicca, witchcraft, healing, mysticism, astrology, reiki etc.. You could prefer spiritualism over religion. No matter how different, you don't change your beliefs to please the world. You could come off as naive and gullible but your inner spirit is very strong. It intimidates as well as intrigues people.

Extra Message: Your traits remind me of Michael Jackson- The King of Pop.

This was all I got for you.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🫶🏼🌻🌼🥰

Pile 5

Cards: Justice, 10 of Swords and The King of Cups.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 5. You have a strong sense of justice. You are either this way by birth or you were not treated well/something bad happened to you in your childhood. You are not biased in your approach, you listen to all the parties involved before making any decision. Some of you could be lawyers or you study law, you could be police officers, or in the Army, navy, or air force. The card 10 of Swords is number 10 and it is the last number in minor arcana and Justice is 11, so, I believe you've come out of a difficult phase(10) and you're one step ahead of everything(11). You are quite the thinker. You weigh your words before speaking and you don't speak where it's not required but I'm also getting that either you talk too much or too less. Your speech might be entertaining or inspiring. You could also be good at voice dubbing or even singing. You also seem mentally mature and understanding. You might have a good sense of right and wrong. You might also be an avid reader. You look smart and clever, either street smart or book smart. You have a lot of knowledge about different things and you also love to share that knowledge. You're either very serious or fun to be around. Your intuition is on point. You love to fight or speak on behalf of other people especially those who can't do it for themselves.

Extra Message: Your traits remind me of L. Lawliet from Death Note.

This was all I got for you.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🥰🫶🏼🌼🌸🌻

Do watch the anime mentioned in the above piles if you haven't yet or you can also read the manga..🫶🏼🥰

Thank you so much for being here. I post PAC readings every Tuesday and Friday. Do love and support by reblogging, liking or following.

#astrology #divination #spiritualgrowth #spirituality #tarot divination #tarot pac #tarot pick a card #pick a card #pick a pile #daily tarot

256 notes · View notes

ironunderstands · 7 months ago

Text

God I love being correct (2.2 leaks incoming!!!)

“Jade saved Aventurine!!!” “Jade helped him out of the kindness of her own heart!!” “Jade is such a mother figure to Aventurine!!”

mmm yeah, definitely yup 100%

Honestly this fucking speaks for itself, and I’m so glad hoyo committed to the evil on her, she’s very compelling and that’s extremely cunty I must give her credit for it, but god do I absolutely despise the people who believe Jade and Aventurine have a healthy relationship, or that she “saved” him out of the kindness of her own heart or something.

To Jade, Aventurine is an investment, nothing more and nothing less, which is why she puts her faith in him, he’s a reliable business opportunity, but that’s not the same as caring about him personally and I really need people to get the difference

If Aventurine hadn’t proved himself useful to her, she would have left him to rot in prison or succumb to his death sentence, this isn’t saving, it’s exploitation.

Jade knows Aventurine couldn’t decline whatever offer she made, and anything is worse than death or slavery, the things he’s trying to escape, so she offers for him to join the IPC to make more money for them. That’s it, that’s all she wants, she doesn’t care about how bad being in the IPC is for Aventurine’s mental health, how he literally took on a suicide mission so he could escape being a stoneheart, how even if she “saved” him, his banner name is literally “gilded imprisonment” and his lightcone “inherently unjust destiny”, so damn she did a real good job at saving him and fixing his life, definitely didn’t just put him in a pair of gilded chains.

Also like can we talk about how weird Jades comment about his eyes were? Like it’s genuinely creepy to me considering Avens eyes are a) one of his biggest insecurities and b) people fetishize them, something which Jade knows and chooses to still comment about. I hate to say it, but I feel like if this was a male Jade saying that to a female Aventurine, yall would never let that slide and Jade would never beat the p3do allegations. Aventurine was likely a teenager/young adult in that scene, and either way there is a visible power dynamic between them (I mean Aven is literally in chains looking up at her), and I don’t think if the situation was flip flopped people would be treating Jade like some kinda hero. If they were the same gender I feel like people would be shipping them though 😭

So, yeah. Being correct feels amazing, pls use your brains and realize that just because one character sounds kinda nice to another, does not mean they actually care about them or are a good person!

#honkai star rail #aventurine #hsr aventurine #hsr jade #penacony #hsr spoilers #hsr leaks #Ah it feels so good to watch the “Jade is mother figure to Aven” truthers lose #Now we have to prepare for the second wave of annoying #That being the “omg don’t end that flop jade”#I hope her kit is absolute dogshit just to limit the size of her annoying ass fans #Ik it will probably be amazing but still #Jade is a pretty amazing villain and I hope her fans don’t keep ruining her for me

395 notes · View notes

tswwwit · 7 months ago

Text

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

321 notes · View notes

shinidamachu · 5 months ago

Text

the importance of "I'll protect you with my life"

For @inukag-week's sacrifice prompt, I thought I'd expand on a topic I have only mentioned before: the "I'll protect you with my life" line and why it matters even more than we give it credit for.

The thing about Inuyasha's character is that he was build — both physically and psychologically — to survive.

Physically, the fact that his own blood can be weaponized into a powerful attack backs up that assumption.

And so does the fact that one of his defining traits is having a defense mechanism that kicks in whenever he's on the verge of certain death with the sole purpose of keeping him alive.

Psychologically, his tough childhood shaped his survival instincts into a reliable and sharpened sense. And this next part is more of a conjecture than anything else, but I believe Izayoi's death plays a huge role here.

It can be assumed that she gave up a lot in order to live her love story and her life choices ultimately resulted in an early death. Inuyasha, being the child born from that love, has no better way of honoring her memory than living. First, for her. Then, to spite those who were against his very existence.

And this — conscious or not — need to live, is deeply intertwined with his desire to belong. Fitting in is the safest way to survive and, at first, he tried to achieve that by becoming a powerful demon.

Then, he went the opposite direction and agreed to turn into human, which only cements that his true wish wasn't to simply become one or the other at all, but to be accepted, so he could live.

That's why he doesn't take threats to his life laying down, especially when unearned. It may not look like, given his reckless way of dealing with things, but in a crooked way, Inuyasha actually values his life.

So much, in fact, that putting other people's lives above his own was a foreign concept that he struggled with at the beginning and had to learn in order to wield Tessaiga.

When Kagome tells Inuyasha she will help him with the sword under the condition he promises to protect her, she obviously never meant that said protection should cost of his life.

She wouldn't dream of it because she knows she's not entitled to it. He doesn't owe her anything. Although, one could make a point that he kind of does.

Kagome is literally the reason he is alive. Through their journey, is a recurring theme that her voice would bring him back from death's grasp every time. She's constantly saving his life. In more ways than one.

And despite Inuyasha's immediate reaction to her request being to mock her and making it clear that he never said he would protect her forever, he was the one to willingly and unpromtly add the "with my life" bit.

Even though protecting Kagome with his life was precisely what he had been doing the entire time — in spite of spending a good chunk of the series thinking his life wasn't his to give away —, to say it out loud makes for an amazing paralel and it shows how much they've grown, both as characters and as a couple.

But more than that: it shows a whole new level of devotion. For the first time ever, Inuyasha is chosing to promise his life to someone for no other reason than the fact that he loves her.

And despite talking about a lifelong commitment, I can't remember a single stance of the story where Inuyasha had acted more free.

No wonder the scene can be interpreted as a proposal.

#Inukag Week #Inukag Week 2024 #Kagome #Kagome Higurashi #Inuyasha #Inukag #Sidposting #Inukag meta #Inuyasha meta #Anyways this is what I have to say on the subject and I hope you guys enjoyed reading my thoughts on it

165 notes · View notes

lovemyromance · 9 months ago

Text

SJM: I thought it was obvious??

AKA - No analysis needed. The clues are there. Things are already happening.

Please keep your 80 page PowerPoints and highlighted words from your “8 books of canon” (none of which are actually from ACOTAR, btw) to yourself.

“I thought it was obvious” = no deep dives needed. No extrapolation or analysis necessary. The words are already on the page. You don’t have to work harder than SJM to come up with your own theories (*cough* see HOFAS crazy hype theories vs actual book)

“I thought it was obvious”

The ONLY couple currently mutually attracted to each other is Elriel. They have had moments since ACOMF. ACOSF did not end them, it gave them the setup for the next book. They are set up for the greatest tortured forbidden romance of the series, how can you dispute that? Why would you WANT to dispute that love story? I don’t want ACOSF 2.0 which was all physical and no substance. I want an angsty, slow forbidden romance. I want to fall in love when the characters fall in love. Elriel will give us that.

“I thought it was obvious”

The other ships do NOT exist on the page at the moment. Elucien, I will give credit to because they are still mates so that COULD happen still. But right now, where ACOSF ended, they had barely even seen each other in a year. The only romantic coded interactions have been between Azriel & Elain thus far.

“I thought it was obvious”

Elucien & Gw*riel have not shared any romantic moments. There is no romance between them at this current time in the series. I am not talking about “what could happen” or “what could Sarah be setting up” because she said it was obvious. That means it’s there already. There’s no reason to hypothesize and theorize about ships that don’t currently exist in the book. Because - and say it with me-

“I thought it was obvious”

What is obvious about elucien? Other than the fact that they are mates. That’s it. That’s all they have. Not even a conversation on the page. Not even a shared shy glance or brush of their fingers. It’s the equivalent of an arranged marriage neither of them seems to want. Analyzing 20 sentences about flowers and sunlight, going out of your way to prove feyre is an “unreliable” narrator when she questions the bond (but Cassian, fashion police of Velaris, is a very very reliable narrator)-Why? Is any of that obvious to the casual reader? No.

“I thought it was obvious”

I’m not even going to spend many words talking about Gw*nriel, as I don’t see it as anything more than a crackship. They have like 4 platonic interactions. Friendly. Banter, sure. But not all banter is a clue that people are predestined soulmates. Most people who read their interactions are not going to overanalyze spark and glow and shadow behavior. They shouldn’t have to because - again - none of that is obvious.

“I thought it was obvious”

Shy glances and subtle scenes in the background wasn’t enough for those who claim to be reading experts. So SJM released a bonus chapter where in clear black and white text, you see both Azriel and Elain desperate for each other. This man is willing to BEG on his knees for a taste of her/ the end. Why would you even want him with anyone else after that?

“I thought it was obvious”

All these characters I’ve mentioned have been supporting characters this entire series. Nothing concerning them is going to happen in someone else’s book-but the seeds have been sewn. Any scene with Elain could have been written with Lucien or her sisters instead of Azriel - but it wasn’t.

Ex: when majda says, “if anyone can figure out what’s wrong, it’s a mate”

Lucien is THERE. Feyre is THERE. Nesta is THERE. But who figures it out - not her mate, nor her sisters - Azriel.

Lucien could’ve shown her the garden, feyre could’ve sat with her and listened to Elain’s garden plans till 3am - but no - it was Azriel.

And this man is the only one in the NC I’m convinced that has an actual job and responsibilities. So he is choosing to spend what little free time he has with ELAIN. What’s not clicking, folks?

“I thought it was obvious”

Sarah-we love her-but she is Queen of cliches. Her writing is not some insane thriller level that has you gasping every page turn. She likes threes, she likes happy endings, she likes her male LIs desperate for their female counterparts. The answer to Amarantha’s riddle was LOVE. CC had “through love all is possible”.

You really think she wrote the line “hoped love would trump even a mating bond” and it meant nothing?

SJM doesn’t do anything easy. But she said it was obvious- because it IS.

#elriel #pro elain #elain archeron #elain x azriel #azriel

200 notes · View notes

spaceseinensam · 1 month ago

Text

love seeing everyone's Mouthwashing theories and analysis and just wanted to throw my two cents in, bc Mouthwashing is an amazing game, not only story-wise, but also on a meta level.

!!! SPOILERS FOR MOUTHWASHING, CAN'T PUT A READ MORE ON MOBILE !!!

the game is told from two perspectives: Curly before the crash, Jimmy after the crash. The player controls either one of the two in the corresponding times, and I think the concept of "protagonist" plays a big role here. Before the crash, Curly is the protagonist. He's the captain everyone listens to and tries his best (more or less) to be a leader, a friend, a beacon for everyone. Jimmy is an old friend of his, but ultimately an NPC in Curly's perspective. And the game shows that Jimmy is very jealous of that. He wants to be a big shot too. He wants to be someone others look up to. He wants to "take responsibility".

The crash happens and Curly is left burned and limbless and voiceless and now Jimmy is the protagonist. We, the player, control him and thus we get his very limited and unreliable perspective on everyone else. And Jimmy loves being the "protagonist". The game is even warped story wise so we only learn in the end that it was Jimmy who caused the crash, not Curly. With Jimmy as the protagonist, every other character is subject to his perspective: for example, when Anya locks herself in Medical to end her life, Jimmy influences Daisuke to believe that Anya would kill Curly, although she's shown nothing but compassion and selflessness for the other characters all game. It's easy for the player to get caught up in that, as seen in players being totally fine with drugging Swansea to enter Utility and rarely questioning if the character they're controlling is being reliable or not.

The game being warped through Jimmy's influence also shows itself in other instances: during the one time Jimmy and Anya talk alone in the hallway, Jimmy lashes out at her. He yells about the "tasks" he's been given and the order of them, resulting in the tasks the player can see in the user interface starting to flicker and change according to what he yells. This is showing how meta wise the game is being influenced by Jimmy being the protagonist, having to bend to his will and act accordingly. But we also see the game fight back: during the hallucinatory vent sequence, the player has the option to turn around after seeing a piece of paper that reminds them to "take responsibility" and when turning around and facing away, thus not facing responsibility, the game snaps the player back to face the paper again. It looks like the whole game is a representation of the protagonist struggle between Curly and Jimmy. Curly, the "natural protagonist" is hijacked by Jimmy's actions, making Jimmy the new protagonist of the game. He tries to fulfill the role according to what he thinks he has to do, but he's not good at it, resulting in the game being told out of chronological order, to show the player both sides of the coin.

And even the finale of the game is a representation of the "protagonist struggle" between Jimmy and Curly. In the end, after everyone is dead except them, Jimmy (controlled by the player) takes Curly to the one functioning cryo pod, his last action as a protagonist. Then, in the last scene, the perspectives are switched again. The player looks through the eyes of Curly inside the cryo pod, seeing Jimmy outside ultimately walk to the side and kill himself with a gunshot. As the credits of the game play, the cryo pod is starting to freeze Curly and the player is stuck as him in the pod, ending the game. It shows that Jimmy didn't manage to grow into the role he so desperately wanted, bc his last action as the protagonist is giving away responsibility, directly back to Curly. Jimmy can end the game as an NPC again and avoid taking responsibility, while Curly is the one now faced with an undetermined future, worse off than before.

I hope my ramblings made sense, but I love the game a lot and I hope more people start to analyze the story and other aspects of the game soon!

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing jimmy #mouthwashing curly #mouthwashing analysis #shut up am #just some thoughts #I love this game a lot

133 notes · View notes

kindasleepywriter · 11 months ago

Text

The way to a droid's heart (Cal Kestis x BountyHunter!Reader)

Based on this wonderful request. Always open to hearing more ideas!

Summary: Cal demonstrates what happens to those who mess with you. Warnings: Implied and explicit threats, that's about it Word count: 2.9k

In all the years you’d known him, you’d never understood how Cal Kestis was still alive. When you had met him 6 years ago, you’d been just as idealistic and adventure-seeking as he was. The years that followed, however, had changed you and shaped you for survival. Dreams didn’t get you very far, not in the galaxy like this one.

You’d quickly lost hope of ever becoming a fighter pilot when you’d realized the few rebel cells were dropping like flies, all at the Empire’s hand. One lone pilot wouldn’t make a difference out there, you’d concluded, and from that moment you’d just tried not to end up as space rubble like your parents. You’d ended up as a bounty hunter instead, a damned-good one, and you took what joy you could while chasing bounties all over space.

Cal, on the other hand, never seemed to lose his ambition of defeating the Empire. Not that he’d ever told you that’s what he was doing, of course, but only a space slug could’ve been so blind as to not see it. He wasn’t exactly being subtle, making no effort to conceal the weapon at his side and giving his real name to anyone who might have asked. His ever-growing collection of scars didn’t portray him as a man who sat around waiting for change, either.

Perhaps you’d ask about them, one day.

You watched from the far end of a bar you’d never tried learning the name of, as a stoned-faced Pantoran you didn’t recognize spoke with Cal. You couldn’t quite hear their conversation but, with the way BD-1 had whizzed in boredom for a good 10 minutes before scurrying off to scan whatever he could find, you could deduce they weren’t exactly talking about their latest game of holo-chess.

You turned back to your drink, flipping up your hood and shaking your head softly at the man’s persistence. On the move, as always.

You were starting to come to terms with the fact that your contact wouldn’t be showing up. You’d already sighed watching your watch more times than you could count, annoyed at the inconvenience of flying so far into the outer rim for nothing. It had been a pain negotiating your meeting too, the contact insisting on you being alone with no weapons. You’d eventually faked giving in, choosing to keep your rifle and pistol on board your currently broken down S40K and instead hiding vibro-blades inside your boots.

The ship was already on its last legs when you got it, the only reason why you’d been able to pay, but the years had caught up with it in the last two months. You spent almost all of your money on maintaining it in the air, and you were running out of funds fast. The anticipated need to buy another cheap but more reliable hunk of metal was what had caused you to pick up another bounty only a few days after your last.

Normally, you liked to spread out jobs over a few weeks to enjoy the credits you made, but the sputtering of your engines when you’d crash landed into this city’s landing dock had made clear you couldn’t afford the luxury this time.

You were nearing the bottom of your drink, trying to plan a way off this planet without mounting any more personal debts to anyone, when you felt a small nudge at your right foot. You looked down, expecting to see some rodent or pest trying to eat through your sole, but were instead met with a little red and white hyperactive droid.

You scanned the room quickly to make sure no one was looking, and stretched a hand in his direction so he could haul himself up onto the cushioned booth. He didn’t hesitate to scramble up your arm, emitting a few whizzes and beeps of thanks on the way.

“Hey, beedee,” you greeted him flatly. “Thought I finally managed to evade your scans this time; guess I was wrong.”

A low whistle and a trill.

“I know, I know, you see everything. It’s hard to forget when you always choose to remind me at least twenty times every time you find me.”

He emitted a series of approving noises, and you rolled your eyes at his cockiness. Where he’d gotten that attitude wasn’t a great mystery. He jumped on one foot, nudging at your coat’s pockets with the other, his eyes going in and out of focus audibly as he searched for god-knows-what.

You tsked. “Will you stop that!” you chided and swatted him away like you would a cat. “Yes, I brought you something from my last job, stop assaulting me for a minute and let me find the damn thing. And you better not tell your dad, I’m not letting him think I’m a softie just because I keep entertaining your crow tendencies.”

Suddenly the picture of good manners, the droid sat and wiggled his legs as he sent you a sweet melody. Manipulative little shit, you thought affectionately. He was annoying as could be, but the little guy was cute.

You fished out a shiny piece of silver metal from your breast pocket. You had made sure not to lose the small leaf-shaped brooch, the perfect gift for BD-1. Your last bounty had necessitated infiltrating an Imperial event, and you’d found the piece while snooping through an officer’s desk. You’d never been so happy to have preemptively messed with the camera feeds.

The droid whistled in excitement and bathed your hand in a green light. You tried and failed to fight the smile that braced your lips as you watched him dance around your palm. He scanned the object from every angle he could find.

Too focused on his reaction, you failed to notice the individual looking over your shoulder until his shadow dimmed the wall you were facing. Too late to react properly, you shut your hand as quick as you could and turned to look at the man. Kin Fobam. Another bounty hunter, a Pau’an, one that always found a new way to piss you off. Today would apparently be no exception. BD beeped in annoyance at your movement before noticing you had company.

“Well, well. It would seem our little bounty hunter has a penchant for jewels after all.” the man sneered at you.

You rolled your eyes and did your best not to flinch at the lack of personal space, his two-meter height trapping you without much breathing room. You could smell the alcohol he had consumed, but you didn’t need it to know he was intoxicated. At this time of night, he always was. You were already almost pressed to the wall of your booth with only enough space to keep BD behind you, so you stood your ground and straightened up as best you could. You kept the droid in place as he spat angry threats at Kin, unwilling to let him make the situation worse.

“Kin, don’t you know women love shiny things?” you mocked with an arched brow, “Maybe if you’d known that earlier, that lovely Iridonian wouldn’t have spat at you again for your advances last week. How’s your attempt at courting her going, by the way?”

You subtly held the metal pin in pinched fingers behind your back as his white face somehow turned even paler in anger, desperately hoping BD-1 would understand what you were trying to tell him. You almost sighed in relief when you felt him swiftly slide it out of your hands into his stim container.

Kin moved even closer to you, forcing you to lean over BD in a desperate attempt to gain some personal space. Your free hand instinctively reached for your hip but only found the weathered leather of your empty holster. Shit, you’d left your guns on the ship! You didn’t have the space to reach for your blades either, so you had no choice but to do it the old way.

You tensed, ready to headbutt the towering Pau’an out of your space, but you stilled when you felt cold metal brush against your skin in the small gap where your shirt and pants met. A blaster. Fuck. This is why you never left without a firearm.

“I wonder, if that piece of metal is worth so much to someone like you,” he growled, “then maybe you’d accept payment in other forms… as thanks for sparing your life today, hm?”

You cringed at the implication of his words but took a steadying breath. You’d insulted this guy in more ways than you could count over the years and you knew he could pull that trigger without a second thought, but you’d fought bounties that were bigger, angrier, and certainly more skilled. He wasn’t the first to try and extort sexual favors from you, nor would he be the last.

Your brain spun in circles, trying to come up with a plan that didn’t involve blaster fire passing through your right kidney and BD-1 in one fell swoop. You didn’t have to think for long, though.

Before you could make a move, a blinding orange light flashed between you and Kin, floating just underneath his chin. You could feel the heat from where you were, could imagine the pain its power wielded. The way the man’s white flesh turned pink at its proximity didn’t go unnoticed.

“How about I gift her with the loss of your life as an apology for letting her endure your dirty ass, Kin?” a smooth voice drawled, the speaker invisible to you with your still-focusing eyes, but you didn’t need to see him to know who it was. As if the lightsaber wasn’t already enough to identify him, but you’d know that voice anywhere too. You weren’t the only one, if the cheering beeps you heard behind you were any indications.

A smirk braced your features as the Pau’an gritted his sharp teeth, hesitating a second before raising his hands in a defeated manner. He demonstratively holstered his pistol to make sure his head wasn’t cut off at the movement and he slowly stepped back a few feet away. The lightsaber didn’t stray a single millimeter from him. His brows pinched in anger, and he looked expectantly towards you. “It was just a little bit of fun, right?” he said as he hissed in pain. “Nothing to get upset about.”

You chuckled at the attempt. “I don’t know, I’m thinking your head on a platter sounds pretty great right about now. Maybe I can find someone out here who’d enjoy some barbecued Pau’an. What do you think, Cal?”

Your heart skipped a beat when your gaze met amused grey eyes over Kin’s hunched shoulders. He winked at you, and you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip.

“I’m pretty sure that violates too many health codes,” he said, “you know, quality standards and such.”

BD whistled in agreement, scampering up onto your back and nudging the side of your head when you got up to lean against the side of your table.

“Too bad,” you sighed, crossing your arms, “maybe it could’ve bought me some new earrings.”

Cal laughed loudly, warmth spreading through your chest at the lovely sound before he closed a hand on the sweaty neck before him and brought his blade even closer to his chin. “The next time you even come within 20 feet of her,” he stated casually, loudly enough for the entire bar to hear and turn the heads of the few who weren’t already watching, “you won’t live long enough to say ‘womp rat’. Are we clear?”

Well, if your heart hadn’t been beating fast before, it sure was now. Never had a threat sounded so attractive before. You diverted your gaze. Get a grip, you reprimanded yourself.

BD-1 only encouraged him, a crackling sound buzzing entirely too close to your ear for your liking. When did he get a taser? You didn’t even want to know what he used it for, finding trouble with his new gadgets was a special talent of his.

Kin, now wide eyed, muttered an affirmative and a long line of fearful apologies, eager to escape the Jedi. Cal flicked off his saber and forcefully shoved him away. The Pau’an bolted out the door of the bar, running for his life, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his fear. BD reprimanded Cal for acting so late, beeps and squeals echoing through the room after the patrons returned to their usual business, but the red-haired man was only focused on you. Your skin heated at the attention.

“I could’ve dealt with him myself.”

He gave you a wide smile and stepped closer, no Pau’an separating you anymore. “Oh, I know. Wasn’t this much more fun though?”

The corner of your lips twitched, and you shrugged, softly shaking your head at his ever-lasting upbeat attitude. You uncrossed your arms, placing them behind you on the rusty table to comfortably lean back. “Still could’ve knocked him out faster without alerting every possible person of a Jedi’s presence here.”

“Give me a break,” he said almost sheepishly, reaching up a hand to scratch the back of his neck, “is a guy not allowed to show off to a pretty girl every once in a while?”

Your breath hitched on a single breath, caught off-guard. Sure, the two of you joked around all the time, but he’d never gone so far as to straight up flirt with you. You tried not to react, probably failing miserably at doing so.

“Smooth.”

He threw his head back in laughter, his reddened freckled cheeks showing more embarrassment that he let on. “I try.”

“Next time,” you said, striding past him, “if you really want to show off, perhaps you shouldn’t wait until there’s a blaster pointed at me before making your move.” You had no idea how you kept your voice steady, and you couldn’t help but hear the rare softness of it. You were thankful that he couldn’t see how wide of a smile you currently wore.

He jogged to catch up, keeping pace with you as you headed for the docking bay. “I’ll keep that in mind” he chuckled.

You glanced back at the bar over your shoulder, and BD started emitting alarm noises from your other side, indignant at still being ignored. You patted his head, quieting him for a moment. “Where did your informant go?” you asked Cal. “Wouldn’t want to hinder your next side quest.”

“That was anything but a quest,” he said, “Just a boring old trade. Wouldn’t be so boring if you were there, though.”

A loud whistle of approval sounded above your shoulder.

“Hey, calm it, up there!” you exclaimed, using another opportunity to escape from answering. “I’ve only got two eardrums, let’s not break one of them.”

BD whistled again at a lower volume, followed by a barely audible series of sounds.

“Yeah, weak organics my ass,” you muttered. “We’ll talk about how great being a droid is the next time you bend your antennas and come running to me.”

Cal’s soft laugh caught your attention once more. He was watching you both with such a fond smile... Your heart squeezed at how soft he looked, for once not rushing towards something and instead enjoying the moment.

As you neared your ship, small tendrils of smoke still escaping the upper vents, he looked at his watch when it suddenly started beeping, and he made a face. “I’d love to hear the rest of your arguing, but we have to go. A revolution doesn’t fund itself.” he said. He looked up at the droid sitting on your shoulders. “Yes, beedee, that means you. Hop on.”

Cal held out an arm, BD begrudgingly taking his usual spot on his shoulders, spitting menacing sparks at the jedi along the way. The latter looked towards you with a flicker of hope as he stepped backwards towards the back of the hangar where the Mantis stood. “Can I convince you to join me this time? Still got an extra bunk if you want.”

“I don’t think you want me and beedee on the same ship 24/7, Cal. Anyways, I’ve told you before, I can’t just discard my old one.”

He stared at your smoking Hawk-Class before he turned to you unimpressed. “That thing can’t even fly.”

“It can! I just need to fix the cooling mechanism and-”

“And the hull, the reactors, the hyperdrive, the-” he continued, amused at your stubbornness.

“Okay, okay,” you scoffed, “you’ve made your point. Might as well drop it here, I guess. I could hitch a ride, if you’re heading towards the inner rim, but I’ve got approximately nothing to give in payment for the fuel.”

BD startled you with a burst of binary, so fast you couldn’t hear him. Cal looked at you sharply.

“You’ve been giftinghim things?” he exclaimed.

“You utter snitch, beedee!”

The droid whistled at you disapprovingly and loudly shot the brooch from his stim compartment right into Cal’s hands.

“I can’t believe you,” you continued, “the one thing I told you-”

You fell right back into your argument with the droid.

Cal tilted his head back in loud laughter and threw an arm around your shoulders as you whisper-yelled at BD-1, leading you towards the Mantis. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

Getting side-tracked by BD1? In my supposedly Cal-centered fic? It's more likely than you think.

This was pre-realtionship like my last Cal fic because tbh i have trouble setting up the change from friends to lovers without writing a whole novel, but I have some ideas roaming around my head I'd like to write. We'll see how that turns out!

Tell me what you think, and check out my masterlist!

#Cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #cal kestis x you #jedi survivor #jedi fallen order #jedi video games #star wars jedi #star wars #fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic

329 notes · View notes

tainbocuailnge · 3 months ago

Text

we're told and shown very little of what shalem and phantom's bond was and is like, so there's a lot of ways to interpret it. but personally I think it's a bit of a waste to show them straightforwardly getting along when they're both extremely insane in conflicting ways. the only on-screen interaction they have is shalem reprimanding phantom, and then testing him, and phantom's response is that he'll do something really detrimental to himself if shalem asks. so to go with their first impressions as looming ominous guy and modest nervous guy and portray shalem as losing composure & getting all blushy at phantom's advances doesn't feel right to me.

shalem actually presents himself to doctor as the one you go to when /you/ lose composure. his profile is clearly written by the troupe instead of rhodes HR like everyone else, and it tells you "you don't remember meeting, but you trust him and rely on him," like a command for the situation to develop as such, rather than a report of how the situation developed. his colleagues think shalem is weirdly pessimistic sometimes, but he's capable and reliable. his role as "modest and gentle shalem" requires him to be composed. in those new CN lines where doctor hands him an outfit to put on he doesn't sound embarrassed about it either. I don't think flirtatious attention would get him to blush that easily.

all the glimpses of what he's like outside that role show him as pretty decisive. every instance of breaking character is him being more forceful than his image allows. if something needs doing and nobody is doing it shalem will go "this is stupid why are we letting this happen" and step in. when he loses composure in his oprec he tries to :/ through the pain before getting screaming mad. when he's scared he gets mad too. shalem tries very hard to be a meek person and his life would be easier if he actually was, but he's not. he's mentally stronger than a lot of people including himself give him credit for. he just doesn't like when it's quiet.

and phantom clearly trusts shalem enough to completely submit to his judgement. the one interaction they're shown having is phantom saying he'll sing if shalem wants him to. phantom will explicitly do what shalem tells him to even if he thinks its a bad idea.

his codename may be phantom and his cat's name christine, but lucian is the christine in this situation. he's the young actor kidnapped and forced to sing by his shadowy teachers. they're making him play the phantom of the opera but that doesn't mean he actually is the phantom. shalem is far more like the phantom of the opera than lucian. shalem can't exist without the mask that lets him pretend to be a real person or leave the theater that mask was made for. it's just that his mask is also salome, which makes him extra insane (love) because salome was a no-name normal girl used as a tool in political machinations until she got written into a play that reinterpreted her as insane and a willing participant. so shalem's nightmares try to convince him he actually did want that guy's head on a plate.

phantom's second module says he doesn't see any art in killing despite how much the troupe hyped it up to him, but he works as assassin and went back to kill the troupe. shalem does still see the art in it, but he works in logistics and ran away because he didn't want to kill. we know phantom left after he realized his teachers were villains and that he completely trusts shalem's judgement, so while there's no clear proof it's likely that shalem's betrayal is what inspired phantom to leave as well. everyone in the troupe was raised to look up to lucian, and told that they had no worth if they couldn't make it to his level. shalem didn't have what it took to become like lucian, but that's exactly what made phantom want to be more like shalem.

and again, we know very little of what their relationship was like, or is like now. we know phantom completely trusts shalem, but the only opinion shalem expresses about phantom is "we're certainly similar, but I'd like to stay away from all that" and their only interaction is shalem reprimanding and testing phantom. so it's possible that shalem doesn't like phantom at all, and is only saving him because the situation is stupid and someone has to do something. phantom is the only person who could begin to understand shalem, but shalem doesn't like being seen closely because he's scared he has no "self" behind the act, so phantom understanding him might not be a good thing to shalem.

I think that kind of resentment between fellow survivors is really interesting. they both left, but lucian is still the troupe's favourite while shalem is called a cowardly traitor. even if shalem does get along with phantom, that would still be simmering below the surface right? their experiences were similar, but lucian was the standard that the others were held to, and the punishment for not being able to live up to that standard was death. isn't it a sick joke to have to go back to save the man whose mere existence made yours harder?

phantom knows that he was the bait the troupe used to draw in fresh blood, and he feels deeply guilty over it. so I think his willingness to submit to shalem's judgement is also because he knows he's at least partially to blame for what's wrong with shalem. meanwhile shalem's nightmares taunt him by saying the troupe was wrong and he's a great actor, so I think part of him still wants to prove himself as an actor. he wants to escape the audience in his head, but can't fully let go of the promise of getting to be on the stage either. and while phantom is the more outwardly insane one, he's making new friends and picking up new hobbies in his oprec while shalem has to be in the eternal nightmare vortex. even in rhodes island phantom is the one who actually gets what shalem wants.

so you have shalem, who wants a normal life he can't have because he was raised to be an actor-assassin with no self, and phantom, who is willing to do whatever shalem says to make up for being the symbol used to ruin shalem's ability to live normally.

phantom in general tends to punish himself. he refuses both medical treatment and gratitude until folinic corners him and chews him out. he feels guilty over being a dangerous person to associate with, but also over rejecting the help he is offered in spite of this. he's willing to submit to shalem's judgement and accept any punishment from him, but shalem wants to be normal and just helps him because it's the right thing to do and this whole situation is stupid, but that only makes phantom feel even more guilty. that too is unresolved resentment.

there's a tension between them where phantom repeatedly shows a desire to leave his decisions to others, while shalem desperately tries to take his decisions from the hands of others. there's clear incentive for phantom to just hand all his agency over to shalem, especially if we assume that shalem leaving is indeed what inspired phantom to follow, and depending on how you read the scene it's phantom's willingness to do what shalem says rather than his reluctance to sing that confirms to shalem that phantom is back to usual. phantom through this respect for and trust in shalem gives shalem a lot of power over him that shalem doesn't actually want to have, because the only decisions shalem wants to be controlling are his own.

they certainly are similar, but they cannot recognise themselves in that mirror, because the part of them that wants to be like the other is at odds with their actual desires. phantom left the troupe like shalem did, perhaps even to follow shalem's example, but shows no indication of wanting a normal life. shalem is a valued coworker, and phantom is an elusive mystery that schwarz warns you as someone familiar with the underworld to stay away from. he speaks of guilt and punishment and truth, but not of what comes after, and he's largely dependent on miss christine to be his moral compass. he's making friends and getting hobbies only because miss christine pushed him to. phantom values justice, but struggles to make his own judgements, and seems to reason that since he's already a murderer he might as well keep killing.

shalem meanwhile values normalcy, but doesn't seem to care nearly as much about justice. his reasoning for defying the troupe and letting his target go wasn't that it was wrong to kill, but that the situation was ridiculous and there had to be a different way. what shalem's nightmares taunt him with isn't the morality of his actions, the way phantom stumbles over his words to justify himself in his own nightmares, but whether they were really his actions. violence excites shalem in a way it doesn't for phantom, and he has no hesitance about threatening murder to secure his agency.

so phantom values justice, and he values shalem's judgement, but he appears unaware that shalem doesn't actually share those values. a normal life just generally doesn't require or involve murder. so while phantom is frequently punishing himself out of guilt and is implicitly looking to shalem to deliver some of that punishment, shalem doesn't really give a shit, because he doesn't really want to think about let alone reckon with their pasts at all. what shalem reprimands him for is causing trouble for the doctor.

their relationship is, by virtue of both operating through externally imposed personalities, inherently somewhat out of sync. you might even call it somewhat parasocial. I think there's probably a lot of pity involved too, pity for the one made to chase your shadow, and pity for the one who cannot escape that shadow. as fellow survivors they're the only ones who could possibly understand each other, but their values and priorities don't line up, and so neither do their expectations and images of each other.

but crucially, i think if any moves are to be made between them, it has to be shalem who makes those moves. because phantom wants to leave his choices to others while shalem is far more decisive than he appears and in fact much of shalem's character tension is based in being forced to finally step up and do something. phantom has very decisively put the ball in shalem's court by establishing that he'll literally do whatever shalem says. all of which is a very long way to say. i respectfully disagree with some of the fanart ive seen on twitter dot com lately.

#arklance #metapost #arknights #shalem #shalem arknights #phantom #phantom arknights

86 notes · View notes

veronicawildest · 9 months ago

Text

Vedic Astrology Notes

by veronicawildewest

(please give credits if you want to copy)

(Disclaimer: this is my personal observation, take this like a grain of salt)

Those who have sidereal mercurial rashi in their natal placements when unevolved are too judgmental. The type of people who are too judgmental to the point where they feel perfect even though they have more flaws than the other person

(Looking directly at sidereal gemini and virgo specifically unevolved PUNARVASU and ARDA)

Anuradha men have anger issues

The unevolved dhanista women that I know personally are very thirsty for men's attention

Sidereal sagittarius men are generally womanizers

People with vimshottari nakshatra ketu are good at harnessing talents

Sidereal Leos are blind to their mistakes. After all, they don't know the word sorry

When it comes to transits, rahu and ketu (shadow planets) are the most reliable to observe when it comes to trends (in my personal opinion)

Rahu is represented by trends while ketu is past, The saying "History repeats itself" is connected to the rahu and ketu axis.

Although the sun is exalted in aries. Ashwini nakshatra men (first nakshatra in the lunar mansion) suffer when it comes to confidence. They don't know if it's too much or not enough.

If I compare the nakshatra arda to the quote, this is "work smart not hard".

shravana people naturally like to socialize even if they say they're quiet, they are the type who are quick when it comes to connecting with other people

Sidereal water signs are good at cultivating resentment, especially sidereal cancers, so maybe Mars is debilitated in that sign because, it takes a strong person to actually let go and that's the number one thing that sidereal cancers have a hard time with.

So maybe sidereal libra is infamous for the reputation that "tropical scorpios are great at transformation" maybe because of the resident nakshatra in sidereal libra. There is Chitra, Swati and Vishakha who are all about manipulating appearances and persona.

Example: Doja Cat and Eminem have a persona. The Era of Lady gaga in the FAME album.

Usually in the enemies I notice there is sun opposition moon synastry

#vedic astrology #astrology observations #vedic astro notes #astrology notes #vedic chart #vedic astro observations

249 notes · View notes

everpresence · 4 months ago

Text

why read books about the law + book recommendations

hello, gentle soul!

if this is your first time coming across this blog, i just want to say hi, i'm jas, and the purpose of @everpresence is to post teachings from renowned teachers of the law. this will range from ancient teachings to modern new thought leaders.

every once in a while, though, i will be making a post where i talk about my own personal experiences with the law. that'll start in a few weeks, though. i am going to be on vacation soon to a country i've been wanting to go to my whole life LOL! it's still unreal how the bridge of incidents leading up to it went, but nonetheless, i am SOOO grateful that i am going to be experiencing it for the first time.

anyways, for my first official post, i want to talk about reading books!

books! why should i read books?

while it undeniably is fun and girly-pop to read such beautiful and aesthetically pleasing posts about how easy the law is, i personally feel that it is best that we learn from source material.

when you learn from source, you start to gain a foundational understanding of the law and how it not only can be applied to your life, but how it is always shaping your life experiences regardless of whether you are using it consciously or not.

let's say that you're in college and you are assigned to write an academic paper. if you want to learn something and you want to understand it on an academic level, which would you want to go to first: social media or the books?

i'm not going to say outright that social media is not a reliable source. we have learned a lot from social media, especially during the pandemic. and i get why it can feel much easier to consume information in bite-sized videos or text posts. unfortunately, though, social media also happens to be a source of limiting beliefs and blatant misinformation about the law.

we take what we choose to believe to be true from social media. we choose to believe that we have to "take action" in order to get what we want. we choose to believe that we have to "spam affirmations" even when we don't feel like it.

we are choosing to accept beliefs from social media that are actually hurting us rather than helping us hone our innate ability to consciously choose the life we want to live and evolve.

but once you sit down and read the books, you'll start to learn just how simple the law really is. trust me.

i used to go through many reddit posts, youtube videos, tumblr posts, but it only made me feel more lost on what i'm supposed to be learning and doing. it is only when i sat down and actually started reading the books that i started really understanding how the law works.

and i give a lot of credit to the books for my successes hehe

reading books is not boring!

i also want to talk about a common belief surrounding reading books, and this is actually a perfect opportunity to touch on how the law works through this format. how exciting!

so if you say to yourself the following:

"reading is boring"

"reading books is a waste of time"

"i'm not going to get anything out of reading"

you are basically accepting this belief that is being translated to—for example—that feeling of dreadfulness or laziness when you are told that you have to read a book.

does that make sense?

your mental attitude surrounding the topic of reading books is what is currently being reflected as you are reading this post. and you should accept it for what it is, but you must also see that it can also (and thankfully) be changed. it's not a concrete fact that's true for everyone, but an idea that some people have agreed to believe in.

instead of choosing to believe that reading is boring, you can choose to believe that reading is fun and fruitful.

instead of choosing to believe that it's hard to understand a book, you can choose to believe that reading is easy.

and when you choose to believe that reading benefits you, you'll start to see how these beliefs shape your reality.

this is what's so crazy about the law. even when we are not using it consciously, our beliefs regarding EVERYTHING are always being reflected back to us through our physical reality.

we are always choosing what to believe to be true for us, and NOW is the time to choose beliefs that serve our greater good.

book recommendations

there's no particular order you have to read these books in, but whatever you feel pulled towards, definitely take the leap of faith and give it a read!

all of neville goddard's books -> i mean it when i say all of them because the more you read neville goddard's works, the more you understand that your life is a result of you using the law, whether consciously or unconsciously, and that you absolutely do have the ability change your life by changing your conceptions about yourself. his books are a great introduction for those who are starting to learn about the law. if i were to choose a book, though, it would have to be The Power of Awareness. for those who are completely new to the law, though, i recommend reading At Your Command and Feeling is the Secret.

Seth Speaks by Jane Roberts -> i want to preface this by saying that seth is a channeled entity. it honestly was weird for me first when i first found out about him, but through my own personal experiences, i saw how his teachings are not only phenomenal, but also true. before reading The Nature of Personal Reality, i feel like people would get a better understanding of what seth is talking about by reading Seth Speaks first. it's foundational knowledge about how consciousness is the only reality. there are also some interesting topics worth reading about such as near death experiences, how much sleep you should be getting, "coordinate points" (though you don't have to subscribe to such beliefs), etc.

The Nature of Personal Reality by Jane Roberts -> i cannot emphasize enough how much this book has changed the way i view my thoughts and my emotions. i used to demonize the CRAP out of them until i read this book, and it has allowed me to be able to process them without critically judging myself. besides that, the ideas in this book go hand-in-hand with neville goddard's teachings and even expands on them. it is genuinely so groundbreaking, and every time i reread this book, i always end up learning something new. there are also some neat exercises in there about how to change your beliefs.

The Power of Your Subconscious Mind by Joseph Murphy -> joseph murphy and neville goddard have both been taught by abdullah. i like how this book is straightforward and addresses certain topics like money, relationships, science, etc. he is mainly an affirmations girly.

#♡#law of assumption #loassumption #loablr #manifestation #manifesting #spirituality #neville goddard #law of attraction #loattraction #seth #jane roberts #joseph murphy #consciousness #div cr plutism

106 notes · View notes

ceasarslegion · 3 months ago

Text

By the wishes of a few people, here's my advice post about living alone. Keep in mind I'm speaking from the perspective of a canadian urbanite, so this will not apply to absolutely everybody in every kind of culture, economy, living situation, those in rural areas, etc. This also is not assuming wealth disparities are a matter of personal attitude, i KNOW it's complicated. Get back with that shit right now, you know damn well this advice assumes you are able to achieve the financial means to live on your own and is not disparaging anyone who legitimately can't.

Let's cover the basics first.

Source of income:

This seems rather obvious, but your income should be regular and reliably the same or similar on a monthly basis. The most obvious way to achieve this is with a job, and I'm sorry but minimum wage is not going to cut it on your own anymore, which means you're going to have to swallow your pride and accept that you'll likely have to work for some industry or corporation with a dodgy moral record. Get used to it. There is no point in self-flagellation, the world is complicated, just take the 50-60k a year office job, no one actually expects you not to and nobody will hold it against you when the "moral" option is soul-crushing retail. The real world really doesn't give a shit what you have to do to afford a comfortable lifestyle as long as you do what good you can within your abilities, no one in the real world expects you to sacrifice your own wellbeing for a cause.

Salaried positions are your most reliable because you'll always pull the same amount, while hourly pay comes with the ability to pull overtime pay in exchange for more shifts, but if you run out of sick days you'll have to spend the rest of the year taking unpaid time off when you need to call in. Whichever one you choose depends on what's available to you and what's right for you physically and mentally, I can't make that call for you.

You also need a credit card. That is non-negotiable. If you don't have a credit score, you can't sign a lease. Bad credit is better than no credit. We can argue until the cows come home whether or not credit scores are good or bad, but it's just reality that you're going to need one. The good news is it's fairly easy to build credit from no credit: you just have to pay off your credit card in full on time every time. The bad news is it's equally as easy to tank your credit score, you just have to miss one or pay it too late, and it's very hard to build good credit back from bad credit. So don't see it as free money, only spend as much as you can pay back, and if you don't have credit right now, start with small things like lunch and little treats that you immediately pay off.

Looking for a place to live:

Once you have your regular and reliable source of income, you can start looking for your place. There's a few things you should keep in mind:

-Draw up a budget for how much you can spend on rent and bills. That includes all basic living expenses: rent, utilities, food, internet, phone, hygiene. Compare how much you make per month to what you can spend. 1/3 to 1/2 of your salary is a bit more realistic to expect to spend on rent alone nowadays, so work within that range when you apartment hunt. Think of everything when you're budgeting, like how much do you spend on haircuts per month? You probably didn't think of that, because I didn't either at first.

-Apartment buildings with some/all utilities included often have higher base rents. You have to keep in mind that this is so the landlord can balance out the utility bills of the whole building, which are unpredictable expenses and on them to pay every month. If you don't know how to budget yet or don't know how to do so with unpredictable bills, I highly recommend trying to find a place with utilities included so you know EXACTLY how much you'll need to pay every month and can plan in advance

-Older buildings tend to be both cheaper and more likely to have centralized utility systems, which means they have to include it in the price of rent because there's no way to tell who used how much of something. If it's your first place alone, you'll probably be tempted to get the brand new, expensive building down the road, but it won't actually make much of a difference when you move in. You will love it regardless.

-Never ever sign a lease until you've either seen THE unit you're considering, or one of the show units that is exactly the same layout. The last thing you want is to go off online photos only to move in and find out the building has a mold problem. You can arrange personal tours by contacting the building manager or the landlord directly. Phone calls are the best way to do this.

-If you want the unit after seeing it, you know you can afford it, there's nothing funny about the place, apply IMMEDIATELY. Places are usually on the market for a few days before they're snapped up by a new tenant, you have to strike while the iron's hot.

-If you've decided on the place you want and had your application accepted, read the lease carefully before you sign. Many places require tenant insurance that meet specific policy requirements, have registration rules about long-term guests, outline how the parking works, quiet hours, smoking rules, mail, laundry, all the way down to what kind of barbecues are allowed on your deck in the case of mine (I am in a wildfire danger zone, so any types that produce embers are strictly prohibited for fire safety reasons). Ask any question that comes to mind about the lease. Not everything in a lease is some human rights violation just because you don't like landlords, keep in mind you're living in the same building as dozens of other people, so there has to be ground rules established for everyone's sanity.

-Internet is often not considered a utility so you'll have a hard time finding any place that includes it. You can arrange to have your wifi set up in advance of a moving date on a specific time and date, do this right after you sign a lease so you don't forget. They won't charge you until you're actually hooked up to the network.

-If your utilities are NOT included, get those set up in advance too. The main ones are HVAC, water, and electricity. The companies that do this vary depending on where you live and what's available, so shop around online once you've signed your lease and sign up as soon as possible. The last thing you want is to forget this and then move into a dark freezing apartment with no water.

Budgeting:

After your living expenses are covered, you should have a comfortable amount of financial wiggle room leftover. If you wouldn't, the place you're looking at is either too expensive, or you're being overcharged elsewhere. It's completely normal for living expenses to take up most of your budget these days, you're doing just fine in the same boat as everybody else if that's the case, so don't panic yet. If you have absolutely NOTHING leftover though, then you're out of your price range.

You also need to set money aside for fun and saving. Do not forego fun money, your brain will try to kill you with hammers and knives if you never get or do things for yourself. And if you're on your own, you're the only one providing that for yourself now. And a solid building base of savings will only help you in the future, whether you lose your job, have an emergency, or even need a down payment on a house later in life. Don't be a doomer about your circumstances or the socioeconomic and generational cards that were dealt to you, chip away at it a little at a time. And don't fall for social media's insistence that anybody with anything at all is some bourgeois degenerate or that being fortunate enough to be able to have upward mobility makes you some ultra wealthy shithead, working towards a comfortable standard of living for yourself does not make you a rich elite or a bad person. You're working towards the standard we should all live as, not exploiting the poor or being a class traitor. I feel the need to add that last part since we're on the website of "struggling art students in NYC are bourgeois that are just bad with money and having a gaming computer makes you upper middle class." Don't listen to a word any of those people say, I know it comes from a place of very real hurt and pain for them but that doesn't make it grounded in absolute reality for absolutely everybody.

Social needs:

If you're by yourself, there's gonna be a lot more work you have to put in for your social and entertainment needs. I can not stress enough how important it is to give this the time and work it needs, do not neglect this.

Lots of libraries have clubs you can join that will get you out of the house and meeting new people regularly. They're either free or very inexpensive. This is a great place to start.

Take advantage of technology we have now. Hop on discord calls more frequently, make sure you're talking to your friends on the regular and try to make plans as much as you can.

Also, I advise finding lots of things you can do by yourself. You will be spending way more time alone than you ever have before, so find single-person hobbies. Go thrifting, get into knitting, go explore the city, read lots of books, do puzzles, just don't lock yourself inside all day in your free time. Even if you're doing it alone, going out and seeing that the world is bigger than your apartment and your workplace is very good for you.

Misc advice:

You don't need a conventional coffee pot maker. Single serving will suit you just fine.

Cleaning is easier when you have a routine. It doesn't all have to be done on the same day of the week, but having a regular schedule of what gets cleaned when for non-daily chores will help you keep on top of it. And please, god, don't neglect your cleaning and hygiene just because no one lives with you to see it. On that note, spray bottle all purpose cleaners are your best friend for daily spot cleaning and you should deep clean your washroom around every 2 weeks in my experience since that's where you'll be doing most of your personal hygiene. Also make your damn bed, yes you'll just get back into it at the end of the day but having a major part of your space neat and tidy will do wonders for your mental health.

Don't buy the cheap garbage bags. Some things you really do want the expensive shit for.

If you don't have a car, delivery service/rideshare subscriptions ARE worth it and legitimately economical in the long run. I do wanna circle back to square one and say that yes, most of them like prime and uber do have dodgy moral records, but sometimes you just gotta swallow your pride and accept that. Once again, no one in the real world expects you to spend your entire day on public transit looking for toilet paper that isnt 30 dollars a pack or lugging 50 pounds of groceries back on a bus just for a cause. It's not the fault of someone who needs these services for their quality of life that they do the things they do, don't put that responsibility on your or other's shoulders when the fault lies at the top of the corporate ladder.

When you're budgeting for living expenses, expect your income to be at the lowest and your expenses to be at the highest. I expect 2 call ins per month and to need to spend the max amount i have on groceries every time, that way I never fall short and never have to cut into my savings that I've dubbed my "oh shit, I'm broke" money. Your emergency reserve may look tempting to you, but as someone who has been in a position where they had to drain it to nothing in the past because of an unforeseen financial emergency, you REALLY are gonna want that untouched if and when shit hits the fan. Life is unpredictable, prepare to roll with the punches so they don't knock you out.

A few people wanted to be tagged in this, so here you go @lilsnatch and @kisstheashes <3

#i hope this is helpful!#ramblings

56 notes · View notes

buckets-and-trees · 1 year ago

Text

Warm Shadows - Let All Light Go (2/4)

Collection: Warm Shadows Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Steve x f!Omega!Reader, existing Alpha!Bucky x f!Omega!Reader Word Count: 7.5k Summary: Now that he's claimed you, Captain Hydra takes you back to his new base of operations, his little omega bait for the Soldat. But the bond between an alpha and an omega is a powerful thing that shouldn't be trifled with. [sequel to When You Fall On Me Like Night]

Content Warnings: DARK, a/b/o dynamics, explicit smut, DUBIOUS CONSENT/omega heat, oral - female receiving, vaginal fingering, breast play, vaginal intercourse

Logistical Notes: We've got a dose of pride for @nickfowlerrr's Seven Deadly Sins + Seven Holy Virtues writing event. Now this second part is too late for the Horror Movie Hoe-a-thon, but I had most of it written before the challenge closed, and so I had plucked another dialogue prompt from her list, so I still want to give @witchywithwhiskey credit where it's due, and you'll find the prompt in bold and italics when it appears.

Additional Notes: I had no intention of making this three times as long as the original, but Steve had other plans. So many other plans. Thanks to @biteofcherry for letting me suss out a couple of the things I had questions on plot-wise. Title from Hozier's De Selby (Part 2).

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Steve doesn’t smile anymore. He hasn’t smiled in weeks. And yet the frown on his face is more than the non-smile stoicism that had taken over his demeanor since the ambush outside of Turin. He exhales deeply, washing away the frown as he straps your limp body into the jump seat of the stealth jet. Unconscious and sedated, your head falls forward though your torso is held back by the chest harness of the safety belt. Steve angles your head back against the headrest because if you got a crick in your neck, it will be a problem he doesn’t want to hear you try and complain about later.

He had achieved his objective in coming to Wakanda. Though the operation had played out with slight differences from what he had anticipated, it had gone as close as he could have logically projected in almost every aspect. He knew Bucky. No. The Winter soldier, he corrects. And he knew you. As players in this piece of the plan, you had both been reliably predictable.

As a super soldier Steve knew the strengths, the weaknesses, the limitations, and what Barnes would be susceptible to. That’s why he had been so prepared in laying his trap and incapacitating the asset.

Overpowering you had been easy.

Claiming you had split a slow but building tremor to his system. It had changed what he’d intended to do.

A few hours later as he approaches the remote Hydra base, that disconcerting feeling in his brain that he is working to tamp down still smolders with something unsettled that makes him flick his eyes up to the mirror that allows the pilot to check the interior behind him to see that you’re still in the same state of sedation.

His new conditioning will help him to control this irritating itch.

After touching down and rolling into the hangar, Steve unbuckles you from the seat and slings your unconscious body over his shoulder. He doesn’t stop walking but proceeds to give his brief mission report to the ranking officer on base who was waiting to meet him at the base of the small jet’s cargo ramp as he exits. This man is not his handler but his liaison for the time being. He’s competent enough that Steve if rarely frustrated with him. The power dynamics are something Steve is constantly aware of. Hydra wants to know they are in control and yet learned with the Winter Soldier that an asset stripped of complete autonomy was more inflexible to work with – and impossible to pull back when he broke free. They don’t want to make the same mistake with him, but they give him no illusion over who his allegiance is to now. It’s not a leash, but an unmistakable tether that they will let him tenuously control as long as he ultimately complies.

It's why he has tolerable and private living quarters where he deposits you on top the large bed. He leaves a bottle of water next to you and then leaves. The door to his quarters is controlled by a fingerprint recognition, allowing Steve a fair amount of control over who can come in and out, and he has no intention of giving you access.

He goes to the mess to get food. No one approaches him while he eats. He collects two of the meal boxes that are ready to go – one marked for lunch, one marked for dinner – and brings them back for you.

You’re still asleep when he returns. He takes the time to order routine meal delivery to his quarters for you long term as well as a supply of standard issue clothes and laundry service. This base is a hub for research and development, so the standard of living is functional and minimalistic, which suits him fine, and that is all you will require as his omega.

It's mid afternoon before you finally wake, and he can sense the moment you resume consciousness – his heightened senses heard the change in your breathing, but there’s also an innate sense about it. He wasn’t expecting that.

He shifts slightly where he sits in a boxy armchair reading over some new intelligence reports on his tablet to watch you. You slowly sit up causing the water bottle he set on the mattress next to you to roll against your body, and you frown, then look around and see him almost immediately. Fear and anger show immediately in your face, exactly as he expected.

“Your food is on the counter,” he says flatly.

“I don’t want it.”

“You will,” he responds.

You look away from him, scan the single-room quarters, and then look down to the water bottle again. He hears your small sigh before you pick it up, unscrew the top to take a few sips, then close it and shift to one side of the bed and lay back down, curling up, facing away from him. There’s an east-facing window on that side of the room.

None of this behavior is unexpected, and it’s of no matter to him. He has you here, he’s keeping you here as long as necessary. You’re hurt, you will hold onto your pride at the offense for a long while yet, and he expects it. He’s not offended. It will wear away.

He has a few projects he planned to touch base with various research and development teams on the base, and so now that he knows you’re alert and fine, he has no problem resuming his operations and routines.

The single declaration over the food is all you say to him for the first few days.

Not that he is there much either. He has missions, projects, agendas – his own and Hydra’s, and certainly doesn’t exist to coddle his omega.

An omega, he reminds himself.

There is only one bed, and he doesn’t say one word about it to you. The first night when he returns, you are curled in on yourself on the edge of the bed much as you had been earlier when he left (though he notes you had eaten the roll from the dinner box, so you had moved at some point). He wordlessly changes into his sleepwear and slides beneath the sheets. He figures if it bothers you enough, you can choose to sleep on the small couch or the floor, but he isn’t going to give up the bed to accommodate you.

On the third day, you rise when he does. The small bathroom is the only private part of the living quarters, so he is closed off from you while he showers, but as he eats breakfast and finishes the rest of his morning routine, you sit in the armchair, legs curled up, and watch him with a cool storm in your eyes.

When he returns on the fourth night, you smell different. You wear the same clothes, but you’ve clearly showered, and you must have done what you could to clean your clothes in the sink because you're wearing them and not the base-issued garments. You’re already curled up on your side of the bed, still on top of the bedding, barefoot, but not sleeping yet.

Your state of unrest is burdening his thoughts. It’s an imposition he can’t have.

The way you bleed into his consciousness was the only thing he had stupidly forgotten to even account for in this maneuver to draw out the Soldat. Part of it was because he hadn’t been entirely sure he could successfully make the claiming bond – he knew he could get the bite, but it had been a gamble on whether it would work.

It had.

Though it hadn’t been like a clap of lightning but more like an invisible string threaded between the two of you. He had used it to manipulate the situation that night, but the reality of it had also shifted what his original plan for you had been.

Having never bonded with an omega, he had heard varying reports of how the connections could develop between an alpha and an omega. Some said it was strong enough to reach a degree of non-verbal communication, but this seemed to be developing as more of a constant, pressing awareness as the string wove further through him as the days passed, but an awareness that he was learning to read and decipher.

That cool storm that brewed in your eyes any of the few times you looked at him had to be tamed. He didn’t expect it to go away, but he could not have the rage brewing, growing, and pulsing from you to him. He can’t afford the distraction.

In an operations meeting one of the analysts sits down to the table with two unnecessary books in the stack of things they’ve brought with them, and he remembers that you loved to read.

He deposits a linen tote bag with a stack of books on your bedside table that night, returning after you’re already asleep.

He leaves for a mission across the globe before you wake the next morning.

When he returns three days later, it’s mid-afternoon, and he goes to his quarters after the mission debriefing. You’re sitting almost comfortably on the couch with one of the books. You still regard him with cold, guarded eyes, but you’re wearing the base-issued clothing. It’s plain, utilitarian, slate grey.

He remains with you the rest of the evening, the two of you eating dinner together at the small table in one corner of the room when meals are delivered. You don’t look at him, and he doesn’t watch you too much. He thought he had been focused on the mission. He thinks now the focus had come easily again because you were less angry, an icy ache rather than the rampant and enflamed rage that was only further agitated without anything to do.

The next day is unremarkable with this new development. You read, you wear different clothes from the base again, and he is back to his standard on-base routine, returning to his quarters after dinner but before dark. It’s the same the day after, and then the day after that. The only thing that changes at the end of one more day, is that once you’re settled to sleep and he slides into bed a quarter of an hour later, he’s about to drop off to sleep when he hears you take a deep breath.

His own heart stills. What are you about to do?

“Can I have normal clothes?” you ask softly.

One request could lead to another request, and another.

But if they’re as simple as this, easy enough to appease, he could say yes until he needs to refuse you something he’s not willing to entertain.

“I’ll see it done.”

“Oh,” your response is small, surprised.

“Now sleep,” he says, not a command.

Mid-morning he has a break between consultations, and he pulls one of the base caretakers aside and charges them with accommodating your request.

He returns to you before dinner that night. He simply finished his work earlier than usual that day, it’s nothing more than that. You’re in jeans and a lightweight crewneck sweatshirt. Eating dinner is another quiet affair, but the easiest it’s been out of the few times you’ve shared any meals in this place.

Over the next week he eats breakfast with you and most of his dinners. There’s a sadness that’s growing, but he is also melting the glacier of your guarded hostility.

While eating dinner one evening, you ask, “Where are we?”

“A Hydra research and development facility.”

You give it another moment, and then you press further, “And where’s this facility located?”

He looks up at you across the table and gives a dark, wry smirk. “Europe.” His tone is clipped. He can see you know that’s the end of the information he’s going to give you on the matter.

“How are your books?” he ventures after a few minutes. He had gone to the bookshop in the town to purchase a second stock of books for you earlier in the week.

“I appreciate them,” you answer. Without looking back up at him, you say, “The old you liked to read.”

He glowers at you, but he can see there’s almost a warmth in your eyes. It does something to him, so he drops his eyes back to his plate.

He stands abruptly and takes his plate to the counter by the sink, then he leaves. He won’t entertain that line of conversation with you. He paces through the facility for an hour before he returns. When he sees you seem to have been waiting for him, there’s a small warmth in his chest. You just nod at him, and he nods in return. No more words are exchanged between you that night.

When you both finally retire to bed, he doesn’t say a word or give any sign of reacting to you pulling the covers back on your side of the bed for the first time in this space and climbing into them, he simply does the same on his side. You still stay rigidly still and curled up, nearly on the edge of the mattress, but it’s more than he ever expected from you. The nights following, you maintain this step forward in proximity.

He notices your hand going to your bonding mark from Bucky over the following days, and it happens more and more frequently. He almost says something, but as he scrutinizes your actions, he sees you do it without seeming to think about it. It bothers him, but when he sees it’s not intentional, it’s not jealousy or rage that eats at him, it’s something else.

Because why hasn’t the Soldat come for you yet?

That was the object of the game, after all.

He was sure he hadn’t underestimated the Soldat’s skills or Bucky’s devotion to you. Bucky had, in fact, been spotted close enough in the region that the whole base had been on red alert for three days, certain the Winter Soldier would strike, but he hadn’t. Then the reports were he’d gone further north and left Italy altogether, so the alert had gone down from red to orange, and now sat at yellow - standard caution and operating procedures.

It was bothering him further because you were supposed to be Bucky’s beloved omega. How could he abandon you this long? Work so carelessly? Soldat should be desperate and raising hell at this point.

Because at this point?

It’s why Steve decides to embark on one more mission. He doesn’t tell you where he is going. He didn’t tell you even that he is going. He could already feel your unease growing, the questions and uncertainty. He doesn’t need his omega further agitated.

His mission is quick and successful.

As he returns, there is a sudden spike of fear and adrenaline when he is about an hour out from the base. It burns through his system, and he hasn’t felt any emotions overpower him this strongly in weeks and weeks, but after less than a minute it’s snuffs out almost as quickly as it had flared.

Twenty minutes from landing, a call buzzes in over his comms.

“Captain, our base has been attacked, but we are clear from intruders and in active recovery mode now,” his liaison’s voice relays.

“Intruders?” he growls.

“Full report forthcoming and will be ready by the time you arrive. You are cleared for landing but divert to the machine storage facility rather than our standard hangar, we’ve sustained damage there. End communication.”

Steve slams his fist against the arm rest of the seat – the place he knew could sustain the brunt of his impatience – and it breaks off, smashed away completely.

His landing approach gives him a view of the obvious devastation to the base, the entire northwest quadrant still in flames, but with crews working quickly to extinguish the fire.

His liaison is waiting in a truck to drive from the storage on the outskirts back to the main base.

“Twenty-two casualties, six injured, two hundred on evacuation disbursement orders. Only beta essential personnel and the damage control teams remain, prime essential personnel were evacuated as soon as the intruder was reported.”

Steve frowns. “Identity?”

“Confirmed as the Soldat.”

Steve nods. “You said intruders when you contacted me on approach.”

“We’ve since confirmed it was the Winter Soldier and only him.”

He nods again. That news wasn’t surprising. Had he known I would be gone? He was certainly cutting it close, waiting until almost the eleventh hour to come for his omega.

“Status of the omega?”

“We sedated and moved the omega to our facility outside of Geneva.”

Steve’s entire chest seizes in rage – not only moving his omega without consulting him, but to sedate her without any thought? It doesn’t matter that it’s standard protocol for prisoners, you’re his omega. However, every alarm in his head rings immediately that he can not show any ripple of emotion or he may very well never see his omega again. He won’t make the same mistake again – not for a third time.

“Geneva will be the next center of operations for current projects?” he asks.

“Correct. Early calculations project that this base can be functional again in four to five months, and we’ll evaluate whether projects will move back, or continue in Geneva and other bases in the region and clear the way for new initiatives here. We thought you would want to see evidence and damages yourself here first, which is why I didn’t redirect you once we had entered the first recovery stages after clearing all immediate threats, Captain.”

“The logical call,” he agrees.

Four and a half hours later, he touches down in Geneva, but it’s another two hours before he can escape all the protocol and regrouping strategy conversations. Within ten minutes after that, he’s in the new living quarters assigned to him on the Swiss base.

And there you are. Haphazardly deposited on the bed, but there all the same. He lets out a breath as he closes the door behind him. It locks automatically. He drops his pack on the couch and then makes his way to you. He rights your body, laying you fully across the bed and straightening your limbs. He removes your shoes and tucks a pillow beneath your head. He could smell you immediately on entering the quarters, but handling your body now confirms you’re dangerously close to breaking into your heat a day earlier than you were supposed to. He has no doubt it’s due to the distress of the day. That spike of fear and adrenaline he felt earlier had to have been you moments before you were sedated for transport.

He examines your neck, but sees no evidence of an injection, which leaves sedation by inhalation. In a situation where they needed efficiency and couldn’t chance a miscalculation of precision, it was the logical move. It also narrows things down to one of two compounds currently in use for inhaled sedation, which he appreciates.

Then he sees the bloom of a bruise forming already on your arm just above the elbow, and his brow furrows. He will review the footage and he will find out who did this to you.

Satisfied in general over your state – even breathing and no other visible injuries – he turns his attention to the new living quarters. It’s still a studio set up, but moderately larger than the Turin facility. There he’d been assigned quarters for an individual, and this is clearly one of the units designed for Hydra personnel with a partner. A marked difference here is an area that is sectioned off as a study with a desk and a bookshelf. There are already some books there, but empty shelves that can be filled as well.

There’s a decently sized case on the table in the kitchenette area. Inside is a selection of personal effects transported here from Turin, likely collected after the initial evacuation of personnel, but delivered here in those first two hours while he was in the strategy meetings upon arrival. There are a few items of his clothing, a modest selection of the wardrobe he’d arranged for you, toiletries, and even your small accumulation of books.

He has just finished unpacking the case when he can sense you stirring on the bed. A moment later he feels the spike of unease and tension as you register the new surroundings, sitting up on the bed, but he’s already approaching you.

He can feel the diminution of your nerves when your eyes land on him, but he sees the initial wave of relief in your eyes that you also try and stamp away in an instant.

He sits cautiously but with no apology on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Where are we?”

“A new facility.”

Your eyes study him for a moment. He knows you’re assessing that his answer means he won’t give you details. “Still in Europe?”

He nods.

“How long since the former facility was compromised?” you ask.

He smirks. You were always intelligent – not that it would have been difficult to figure out, but he’s proud of how quickly your mind works.

You huff at his hesitation and roll your eyes. “If you think I’ll use the information to try and figure out where we might be, I don’t know where we started, so it won’t be of any use to me, I’m just hungry and want to know how much time I’ve lost.”

“It’s been somewhere between seven to eight hours.”

He reaches for his communications tablet and quickly orders a standard meal for each of you to be delivered as he hasn’t eaten much either.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” you break the silence again. “Bucky found me.”

He hadn’t planned to tell you, but he won’t lie to you. “Yes”

“He’ll find me again. He said that wherever I went, he would find me.”

“Oh, I know.” His stare is back on you. “That’s the entire point. I need the Soldat.”

The silence that builds between you two is full of anger on your side. There’s nothing else for him to explain, but he’s curious to see how long you’ll keep this moment stretching on before ending it or saying something else.

But it grows more and more uncomfortable, and you try not to fidget. You’ve never been one to fidget, and certainly not over these past few weeks at any point around him. Then he notices the beads of perspiration gathering on your brow.

“Your heat, Omega.”

“My heat, not yours.”

“Sure,” he laughs cruelly. He reaches out to touch your cheek, somewhat patronizingly.

“Don’t touch me!” you snarl and snap your jaws at him, causing him to withdraw his hand immediately. “I don’t need you.”

“Fine.” He stands and retreats, not because he fears you in the slightest, but because he won’t fight your petulance, not when he has better things he can do at least for now. “Face your heat alone, Omega.”

He leaves, hearing you let out another impatient huff just as the door closes behind him.

He leaves you in pursuit of one of the data analysis rooms. If you’re going to be difficult and refuse him, he can do better things with his time until you’re ready to bend and keen for him. Once there, he logs into the system and pulls up the footage from Turin. He watches every frame of the Winter Soldier’s attack on the facility. It was shown earlier when he was meeting with the Hydra officers in debriefing the attack, but now he can study it alone in its entirety, moving from camera to camera outside, and then through each hallway and room without commentary from anyone else, able to slow down and rewind each moment as he sees fit.

It’s masterful.

And he looks directly at cameras after many of the kills. Twenty-two casualties and only six injuries? That’s intentional. He knows the Soldat could have executed this more quietly, and that’s evident in how he exits when he realizes you’ve been moved. From that point, his exit strategy has him engaging with almost no one, but setting fires and explosions, leaving enough damage in his wake to send his message.

It’s effective.

Steve narrows the block of time from the incident on the base and watches additional footage from the same ten-minute period. It’s every frame of the footage related to your acquisition, sedation, and transport from the base. He is interested in discovering just how the Soldat knew when to retreat, and he leaves notes in his log and in addition to drafting and sending a memo with some of his theories and observations to his primary liaison and a few of the officers on the taskforce. But his primary objective was to figure out who handled you so roughly, and he does. They will be dealt with later. He can’t expose such a personally driven need to deal out punishment.

While he’s been gone he’s felt the tenor of your emotions tugging at him – not tugging insistently, and with how tightly you’ve tried to control and suppress your emotions over the past few weeks, this must mean you’re battling to keep things at bay, pushed beneath the surface. As soon as he enters, he clocks the spiking fluctuations of your hormones. Since returning with you from Wakanda, he’s read extensively over the heat cycles, and this situation gives all the signs that you’re vacillating precaiously between falling into either a standard heat or a dry heat. You’re trying to stave off the heat as long as possible, but it will come, and if you fight it too hard, it will be a dry heat, which will be physically and mentally painful for you and difficult for him to navigate with you. He needs to edge you carefully from that tipping point of the dry heat.

You’re sitting at the table, having polished off one of the meals already and eating the last bits of the other one. It looks like they were boxes with sandwiches, fruit, and vegetables. You’ve left the celery from both servings. He smirks, but he’s glad you’ve eaten. That’s a good sign.

In another attempt at normalcy, desperate to keep things at bay, you push the chair out across the table from you with your foot, nodding for him to sit. You try and engage him in completely normal lines of conversation. He knows what you’re doing. He’ll entertain it for at least a little while so he can assess more of your state and how he should handle it.

He’s more concerned with watching you than listening to what you’re saying. You stand to refill your cup with water, and he follows you to the sink. He reaches into the cupboard and gets a glass of his own, encroaching somewhat into your space very casually. It doesn’t put you on edge, so he eases even closer, as you continue to talk. He puts a hand on your shoulder and leans in to fill his cup with the tap. There’s a slight hitch in your breathing at his proximity. He pushes the teasing of his closeness even more, moving his hand down your arm and resting it on the counter next to yours.

“I know what you need, Omega,” he whispers against the shell of your ear.

He can feel you do everything you can to remain still.

But then you turn your head ever so slightly toward him. “The last time you touched me, you humiliated me.” Your voice is flat.

He doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t move.

Finally, you ask, “What did they do to you?” your voice barely above a whisper.

The dangerous question comes out of nowhere, and the surge of emotion it evokes in him is immediate. He growls, whipping away, not even thinking before he slams his fists on the table. It splits in two clean pieces. He grabs one before it even falls to the floor and throws it against the wall, smashing it, splinters flying.

He turns back, advancing on you, and you’re already trembling. He doesn’t relent, forcing you up against the wall, caging you in. He pounds his fist into the wall right above your head, and you close your eyes, afraid to move. He can smell the fear in your scent now, but there can be no confusion here.

“No, Omega,” he speaks low, and his other hand moves lightning fast to grip your chin. He can feel your pulse racing beneath his fingers. “Look at me.” You open your eyes. “We aren’t doing that.”

He leaves a beat of silence between you.

“Do you understand?”

You nod.

He drops your chin, then grips the neck of your shirt and yanks, ripping the fabric down the front and jerking you forward, making you bump into his chest. He picks you up and hauls you across the room with a few furious strides to drop you onto one of the armchairs.

You right yourself in the seat as he steps back, but only an arm’s length away. He doesn’t have to use his alpha voice or say the words. He knows the look he gives you communicates his instruction: stay put, don’t move.

He slowly undresses, unfastening, unbuckling, unzipping. He places each article of his dark tactical suit in an orderly pile on the coffee table. It’s purposeful, this tactic. The onset of your heat is only a moment away. You’ve been doing everything in your power to stave it off. Part of him clocks this enormous show of strength and sees it for more than stubbornness, recognizing the discipline and power within you. But this has gone on long enough, he needs you to finally tumble over the edge, and he will push you if he must.

He watches you watching him as he reveals each expanse of naked flesh – arms and torso, legs, and finally his loins when he slips off his boxer briefs. He’s hard for you, of course he is, the pheromones have been flooding out of you, and he wasn’t tempted to touch you in Turin, but now it’s all he can think about. He wants your body supple and pliant, submissive beneath him. He stands above you, looming, imposing – he knows he is, and he wants you to feel that he can do this – and pumps his cock slowly with his own fist.

He does it a few more times, watching you watch him. He sees the small ripple of a shudder you can’t suppress when your breath hitches.

“Undress,” he commands.

Your jaw ticks up. He knows you don’t like it – he felt it the first time he gave you an alpha command, and he hasn’t again until this moment. You look down as you reach behind your back to unclasp your bra and slide it off, dropping it to the floor. You stubbornly refuse to meet his eye since he’s making you do this – he knows it. You hook your thumbs into your waistband, and you push your leggings and underwear down in a slight huff.

“Spread your legs,” he issues another command.

You do, still refusing to meet his eye. Part of it is the irritation over the commands, but he knows part of it is also the trepidation still pulsing through you. He doesn’t want to make this easy for you, but he doesn’t want you to suffer the agony of a dry heat where you’ll be agitated, devoid of slick, in pain, and distressed.

He sinks to his knees between your parted thighs, but now you can’t help but look at him staking his claim there so close to your exposed core. He can see you have a million questions in your eyes, it’s the most you’ve allowed him to glimpse of you – the real you – these past weeks.

He lowers his head, keeping his eyes on yours, and licks a slow, broad stripe from the side of your knee along the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He can feel you tense and hold your breath. And he stops inches from your warm cunt, pulling back and kneeling back on his heels.

You whimper.

He knows he has you now.

“Touch yourself, Omega,” he doles out the third command. He knows how he wants this to play out.

“Don’t make me,” you plead, but your hands are already slowly moving to your center.

“Do it,” he barks, and you flinch.

There’s a little bit of slick between your pussy lips, and he watches you trace a finger slowly over your folds, up and down. You drop your head down and to the side, refusing once more to look at him.

“Omega, have you ever experienced the pain of a dry heat?”

You huff.

“Is that what you want?”

“I want him!” you blurt, and you certainly must not have meant to say it out loud because your hands immediately fly to cover your mouth and your eyes flash to him in fear. And anger. Both are there.

He growls and surges forward to claim your clit between his lips, clamping his hands at the juncture of your thighs to keep your legs open. He sucks hard and flicks his tongue angrily over the little bundle of nerves, drawing a cry from you immediately. Your hands push at his head, but there’s no match for his strength, and he holds your pelvis firmly to his face.

“No, no, no,” you murmur, starting to cry.

He keeps up the furious sucking and flicking, and it’s less than a minute before he feels your whole body seize up, frozen as the first orgasm crashes down on you. Slick begins to seep out in abundance, and he hums in approval, but he doesn’t relent, only changes his tactics. He flattens his tongue and laps at your cunt, letting his tongue slip between your folds and into your hole every two or three licks. It’s less frenzied, but no less insistent, and he rips a second orgasm from you easily. He hums in approval as this time that blissful wave forces you to throw your head and shoulders back, and you land against the back of the armchair, clutching at the rim of it next to your head.

But he won’t relent yet.

He reaches up to cup one of your breasts in his hand, and you moan and push your chest forward for him, head still thrown back, and he imagines your eyes must be shut. He squeezes your breast, then tweaks your nipple, and your breath hitches. He presses his mouth back to your folds and works his lips over your puffy, engorged clit, working slowly this time. He draws his hand away from your breast, and then he slides the fingers that just tweaked your nipple into your tight heat. He pumps slowly, and your hand moves to the back of his head, applying insistent pressure there. He crooks the fingers and strokes along your front wall, and he knows he finds the spot of your undoing when your legs abruptly shift, the left lengthening out, and your right hitching up over his shoulder to press into his back. He doesn’t change a thing now, sucking, pressing. He knows you’re on your way, but he will not hasten this. He wants you to feel every drawn out moment of this – some but not enough of what you need.

Paying attention to every breath above him, every movement of your body, and especially the way your muscles start to squeeze around the fingers he has inside you, he stops just short of your third orgasm.

You whine in protest, but he pushes himself up to stand above you. He grabs your waist and hauls you easily with his preternatural strength up and over his shoulder. You claw at his back, but it’s only a few quick steps for him to be able to throw you down onto the bed.

Your fear from his outburst is long gone, and the face you turn up at him is angry, and you snarl, quickly kneeling up on the bed.

He grasps your chin in his slick-covered hand and looks into your face. “You will beg for me, and only then will I consider whether or not I will touch you again or let you suffer.”

He drops your chin and is already turning away, but you’re lightning fast in reaching for his wrist.

He stops and only inclines his head part of the way to look back at you.

“Take me,” you plead, voice stronger than he expected.

He furrows his brow.

“Please,” you implore.

He turns fully back to you. Perhaps he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. You’d always been adaptable and clever, and rarely stubborn to your own detriment. You had been stubbornly trying to hold the heat at bay, dangerously so to tempt the dry heat, but he knows this is an extreme circumstance for you, and with the tide turned yet again, he was almost impressed that you had so quickly determined it was worth it to take what you needed.

“Then present,” he says simply.

You turn, moving up to the middle of the bed, but close to the headboard, and kneel on all fours.

He climbs up behind you.

You drop down to your elbows, subjecting yourself to him, omega to alpha.

He takes his cock in his hand and rubs the angry red tip up and down your slick folds. You whimper, and he sees the small shiver that runs down your spine. He sinks his thick length into your tight heat, and you both groan as he fills you for the first time. He doesn’t move once his hips are finally flush against your ass. He breathes in and out, in and out, and watches your measured breaths as well.

He did not know it would be like this.

He reaches forward, grips your shoulder, and pulls you up and back towards him. Your hands move to reach out to steady yourself on the headboard. He presses his fingers into that juncture at your neck where he claimed you, and you keen, throwing your head back. He leans forward and while his right hand stays anchored at your hip, his left strokes that bite again, then moves to hold the front of your neck as he leans down and forward over you. You look up at him, he looks down at you. “You’re fucking mine, Omega,” he growls, your eyes locked.

“Yes, Alpha.”

Then he feels you rock your hips back against his. He smooths his hand down your neck, then presses his lips to your forehead. “You’re mine,” he says again, imprinting the words against your skin.

Then he pulls back and thrusts into you. A few thrusts like that, but as you begin to keen for him, begging for more, he has to drop back and grip your hips with both hands to fuck you. You both come twice – once quickly, and once more very slowly – before you’re boneless beneath him, and he forces you down to the mattress, shifting you to your side and drawing you up against his chest. You whine, but he strokes your arm and promises he’ll give you more once you sleep.

While you sleep in his arms, sticky and sweaty, his mind goes to work.

It’s not long before you wake again, and you two truly fuck, carnal bleeding with a few moments that are too tender for either of you to acknowledge. But his stamina outmatches yours and he has you exhausted and sleeping again before long.

He’s never taken care of an omega in heat before, and it’s all-consuming, but he stays focused. When you’re awake, he plies your body with pleasure until you cry, keen, moan, scream aloud and silently, and it goes on and off again between sex and sleep all through the day. He’s prepared for your reluctance during the first high phase of the heat to eat or drink anything, but he slips you bits of fruit and nuts as he can, gets you to greedily gulp water only after he pushes it your way insistently. You want his cock, not hydration or nutrition.

A little before midnight the second night, you stretch and yawn waking from another of your short sleeps, and then you roll out of bed and pad to the bathroom. He’s been rooting through some of the cupboards, taking stock of what’s there, and he finishes quickly and follows you into the bathroom after he hears you flush the toilet and then turn on the showerhead. You’re slipping into the shower when he enters the bathroom, and he’s there in time for you to give the silent invitation for him to join you – the expectation, even.

You’re still in heat, but craving a shower lets him know you’ll have enough of your mind back for what needs to happen now.

Things are tenuous, but there’s no denying that this heat has changed things for both of you. He claimed you in Wakanda, but the two of you have bonded through the first thirty hours of this heat in ways neither of you thought possible.

He takes the lathered-up sponge you place in his hands, and he washes your body carefully. Then you take it back, soap it up again, and run it over his skin with the same kind of attention.

He washes your hair, you rinse away the suds, and then he pulls you flush against him. You take his hardening cock in your hand and pump shamelessly. He groans appreciatively, than pushes your back up against the tiles, moves your hands away, and pulls your leg up around his waist so he can enter you. You clutch at his shoulders for stability and moan. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, but he speaks just loud enough for you to hear, “This is the only place I’m sure no one will hear us, but they also need to have no reason to question what’s happening if they’re monitoring.” He moves his hips back and then pumps slowly into you again. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you moan, “more, Alpha.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly, though he knows you can’t see it. He tongues his bite at your neck, and you whimper. He gives you another thrust, and you keen.

“I won’t have you anywhere near these Hydra personnel anymore. I don’t trust them.”

The surprised noise that escapes your throat is slightly distressed, and so he speeds up his thrusts a little. “My heat,” you whisper.

“The heat cycle is the only time no one expects me to be anywhere or respond to anyone unless there’s complete catastrophe, and I already reported the onset of your heat last night. They won’t disturb us for a few more days, and they will not expect us to attempt to leave our quarters let alone the facility. If we can manage to get out unnoticed, we will have enough of a head start on time to lose them completely.”

You remain quiet.

“Omega?”

“And go where?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

You push his face away from your neck and push at his chest. “I’m still nothing more than your bait?”

He growls and turns you around so your chest and face are pressed up against the wall.

“I’m still your alpha, and yes my end game is still to draw out the Soldat.”

“Why?”

“I need him.”

He nudges your legs apart and enters you from behind, and you groan as he fills you.

He pulls back, about to enter you again, but then you turn your head, and gasp, “Wait,” in a tone that’s different enough that he does, brow furrowing as he meets your eyes.

“Omega?”

“Tell me what happened to Sam, to you, and I promise I’ll go with you willingly.”

He didn’t think you knew Sam had been with him.

You reach for his head and urge him back to the cradle of your neck.

With more than your words and the gentle action, you’re also entreating him through the bond, he can feel it. It’s powerful. And so he tells you. It only takes him two sentences to tell you what you need to know. Tears stream down your face, and he fucks you then, the fucking he needs for him, not you, but you allow him to take.

go immediately to part three: Carving Through the Dark

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!