#or to display their interpretation to their followers

[ann-atar]

We're seeing Celebrimbor and Sauron as themselves, the best and worst of who they are, and I'm really in awe of both of them for different reasons. And the actors holy crap.

I'm in awe of Sauron for showing his real self to Celebrimbor. He's a mess because of Melkor in ways he is not quite aware of, but this time with Celebrimbor will give him insights into himself that would not have been possible without our favorite elven smith. I bet the fallout from this time in Eregion will sneak up on Sauron in unexpected ways later.

I'm in awe of Celebrimbor's brilliance and his bravery. He fought his way out of that nearly flawless illusion by force of will alone, and no one else has been able to do that (maybe Adar, but we don't know that Sauron constructed a whole fantasy world for him or not, and with Galadriel it was Sauron who played along in her fantasy).

I have no doubt after their scenes in this episode that Sauron loves Celebrimbor; as much as a being like Sauron is capable of love after forsaking emotional love all those eons ago, he loves this genius artist.

The tears in Sauron's eyes during "it's a pity" gave me chills.

And Celebrimbor admitted that a part of him knew that something was not right but he wanted what Sauron had to offer anyway. One of the things Sauron offered was collaboration and creation with someone on his level. They have a deep understanding of each other despite the enmity and Sauron will mourn in his own twisted way when it is finally over.

Yes, Celebrimbor went back to stall Sauron so Galadriel would escape safely with the rings, but I think he went back because even if the "light" he spoke about is elsewhere, the color and the connection are still by Sauron's side and he has chosen that place for his end. He and Galadriel could have escaped together easily enough, there was no compelling strategic reason for Celebrimbor to go back, but he went anyway. To do what he could, and because he's the only one who can "play the game" on Sauron's level.

But Celebrimbor knows it's almost over; for an artist to destroy one of his hands, well.

I'll probably have more to say about this after I really unpack it, but it's as if Celebrimbor knows that Sauron is as obsessed with him as he is with the rings, and their game-playing has reached more than a fever pitch, so Celebrimbor understands that Sauron will not be able to resist the chance to best him and prove whose will is stronger.

But this version of Sauron ... will be changed after this time in Eregion. He has cast off the facade of Halbrand completely and will be unrecognizable to Galadriel (I hope that's what helps her defeat him or get away) but he has crossed another threshold and will never be able to go back to the point when he arrived for the second time in Eregion and made a choice to follow old paths of destruction, and the even older pattern of abuser and abused.

Will we see Celebrimbor displayed as Sauron's "banner" in the next episode? I'm not sure, but it makes sense because if Celebrimbor dies Sauron will not be able to let him go right away, not even his body, not even in death.

(I'm tagging this silvergifting because that ship predates everything, and this episode was as close to an interpretation of book canon as I could imagine, and I'm still in awe of the performances from these actors and what I feel is the show's way of nodding to us old school fans.)

[frecklefaceart]

Can your stuff be tagged as ship?

idc /pos

[6esiree]

How They React to Your Thong Straps Showing

Imagine you wear a Y2K inspired outfit, thong and all, and you decide to show it off to Alastor, Lucifer, Husk, Vox, and Adam?

Alastor:

Who doesn’t love some Y2K inspired clothing, baby tee, low-rise jeans, thong straps and all? Apparently Alastor. For someone who dressed so conservatively, you should have anticipated his reaction, his head snapping at an unnatural speed as you excitedly descended the stairs in an outfit that was absolutely scandalous to his standards. Before you could even think about approaching the man, Alastor manifested in front of you with a tight smile on his face.

“My dear, what are you,” Alastor coughed in between his question, his eyes frantically scouring your lower half, “…wearing?”

Your breath hitched as Alastor planted his chest against your back, his hands running tentatively down your sides, assessing the thin, lacey strap’s that clung over your hipbones between his thumb and his forefinger. He lifted the material, clicking his teeth in what you believed to be disapproval when he traced it to your backside.

“It’s just a new style—” You started, but then Alastor let go of the straps, interrupting yourself with a squeak as it snapped at your skin.

“How dare you showcase my favorite pair of lingerie in such a crude, outward display?” Alastor whispered to you, his breath tickling your ear. “What did I do to deserve such a punishment, hm?”

Alastor had interpreted your excitement to follow along a harmless trend as a strange form of punishment, and there was nothing you could say or do to convince him otherwise. You sighed in defeat, reaching behind you to unfasten his coat, too lazy to go upstairs and change. To say that Alastor was pleased was an understatement, unable to handle the thought of anybody else seeing you in such an outfit.

Lucifer:

When Lucifer’s immersed in something, he tends to lock himself away in his office and ignore you. So, in an effort to get his attention, you decided to go out and buy some Y2K inspired clothing, which consisted of a tank top, a push-up bra, low-rise shorts, and of course, a cute thong. As soon as you got home, you put them on, barging into the man’s office and scaring him as the door slammed behind you.

“Damnit, I just—honey, I’m so sorry, but unless you have something important to say,” Lucifer started as he turned around, a deformed rubber duck in his hand, “You’re going to have to—oh my fuck.”

The rubber duck in Lucifer’s hand ceased to exist the moment his eyes landed on your form. Feeling rather triumphant, you did a little spin, allowing him to see your outfit from every angle. The man was practically frozen in his chair, but his stare never abandoned the swell of your breasts, or the way the thong straps tightly clung over your hipbones, squeezing your soft, supple skin.

“Are you…going somewhere?” Lucifer asked you when he finally snapped out of the trance you had put him in.

“No, I’m not,” You said, a sigh of relief escaping his throat. “But maybe I should, huh? You’re so busy and I’d love to try out my new—“

“Wait, what? No!” Lucifer shot up from his chair, panicking. “I mean, how about we go out together? Don’t want you going out all alone dressed like…this.”

You arched a brow at Lucifer, his arms wrapping around you as he planted his chin on your chest, looking up at you with a nervous expression. “Hm, yeah, I’d like that,” You said, chuckling as his grip on you loosened, hands falling down to unashamedly caress your hips. Lucifer’s thumbs moved underneath your thong straps, goosebumps littering your skin at the act. Yeah, you’d definitely be doing that more often.

Husk:

You never really got into the Y2K clothing trend, but tonight you were going to go out to a club. Besides the thong, Angel decided to lend you something nice to wear, nervousness blooming in your chest as you wondered how Husk would react to you in a tube top and torn, low-rise jeans, the elastic straps of your thong tightly clinging to your hipbones. It was just so…revealing, and you quickly figured out that the old man felt the same way when you stopped by the parlor to show him.

“Hey, doll, I don’t mean to state the obvious but…” Husk stuttered from his seat on the couch, his eyes looking everywhere but at you. “Your, uh, underwear is kinda showin’.”

“Oh! Yeah, I know. It’s the style,” You said, turning around and showing him your backside. “Do you like it?”

Apparently, the straps on the side were fine, but the whale tail? Nope. Husk immediately stood up from the couch, a gasp escaping your throat as he wrapped his wings around your body, all while his fingers hooked onto the belt loops of your jeans. “Husk, they can’t go up any higher!” You squeaked, your crotch screaming for help as he tried to pull them up, the denim unforgiving.

“Well, ya can’t go out like this,” Husk practically whined, his hands moving up to your sides. “Christ, I won’t be able to focus on anythin’ else but this skimpy lil’ thing ya got on.”

Husk proceeded to grab your thong straps, tucking them into the safe confines of your jeans. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment when you turned around to glare at him. “Come on, babydoll, I’m beggin’ ya,” He said, tucking his cold nose into the crook of your neck, looking up at you with those big yellow eyes of his. You had never seen Husk act like this, so you muttered, ‘Fine,’ chuckling when he purred in response.

Vox:

While Vox worked away in his office for most of the day, you found creative ways to distract yourself. This time around, you sought out Velvette, asking her to dress you like one of her models in the latest trend: the Y2K style. She rolled her eyes before snapping her fingers, only stopping when she said, ‘Ah, there’s the one!’ You were so excited with the outcome that you decided to bother Vox for once—that and the fact that Velvette had shooed you away.

“Sweetheart, I have to attend a meeting in exactly 10 minutes,” Vox said as he let you in, the smoothness of his voice allowing him to mask his annoyance. “What is it that you need that couldn’t wait until later?”

The man casually set down his coffee mug on his desk, unprepared for the sight of you in an off the shoulder top, low-rise shorts, and—wait, what was the thin material clinging onto your sides? You patiently stood before Vox as he leaned forward in his chair, his eyes widening when he figured out that it was your thong straps. A wicked smile slowly took over his face, glad that you had interrupted him in such a pleasant way.

“Why won’t you let me get a closer look, hm?” Vox hummed, leaning back into his chair and patting his thigh, inviting you to sit on his lap.

“Sorry for coming into your office during work hours,” You said as you lowered yourself on his lap, giggling as his hands immediately went to your sides.

“No, no—I’m glad you did,” Vox said, placing a tender kiss on your shoulder. “You look absolutely ravishing, sweetheart.”

You sighed as he toyed with the straps on your hips, his fingers moving underneath the thin material, admiring the lacey fabric. Vox didn’t do anything past that, however, the meeting he had to attend less than 5 minutes away now. “Fuck, I have to get going,” He told you, but he promised to see you as soon as it was over with, leaving the rest of his workload to his assistants. A small part of you felt bad for them, but you couldn’t wait to see Vox earlier than usual.

Adam:

If anybody appreciated skimpy clothing, it was Adam. While the way you dressed around him was more casual and therefore less revealing, you decided to surprise him during one of your little meetings, sitting patiently on the edge of your bed wearing a halter top and low-rise skirt, the straps of your thong obscured by your hands. When Adam welcomed himself through your window, that was when you stood up, moving your arms to your sides.

“Hey, babe, how’s it—holy shit, what are you wearing?” Adam asked, reaching up to remove his mask to see you better. “Fuck me, is that…? No—yes?”

You bit your lip as Adam seized your hips, maneuvering you with little to no effort, his eyes frantically taking in the sight of you. You looked up at him through your lashes, observing how his throat bobbed in anticipation, especially as he rolled the thin straps between his thumb and his forefinger. To say that you were delighted by Adam’s reaction was an understatement.

“Do you like it?” You asked him, gasping when you were suddenly tossed onto the mattress. “It’s—oof—Y2K inspired, new trend of clothing down here in Hell.”

“Like it? I fucking love it, baby,” Adam said, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his hands fixing to remove your skirt. “Everything else can come off—except for the thong, I gotta fuck you in it.”

Adam’s wings excitedly flapped behind him as you lifted your hips, allowing him to remove your skirt with ease. Hearing the way he groaned was music to your ears. “Mind if I spend the night?” He suddenly asked, your breath hitching in surprise. “You can do that?” Adam shrugged, mumbling his classic, ‘I’m the first man alive,’ basically telling you that he’d find a way to explain his absence from Heaven. You rolled your eyes before nodding, already thinking about what to wear next month.

[moonastro]

groom persona chart

venus in the house

what is a groom persona chart? this chart exhibits qualities that your husband will have and possible placements that can be seen in their chart. it is simply a chart all about your spouse in a woman's chart. the asteroid groom can be identified using the code 5129.

venus rules love, aesthetics and desires, it is the planet of beauty and is a benefic. in the GPC the planet signifies your husbands love language, their needs and wants and aesthetics that he may be interested in.

reminder: this is my interpretation from observations and first hand experiences, so don't take this to heart.

venus in 1st house: fs is the definition of love. will shower you with sweet talk, make you feel like a queen and the luckiest person in the world. can look beautiful and have a beautiful appearance and aura. fs can look aesthetically pleasing and can just display themselves as someone ethereal. this is a placement where they tend to be the jewel in the room it reminds me of a prince placement, people forget or don.t establish their flaws and are mesmerised by their charm and beauty. their love language can be to compliment on your looks and compliment you on your appearance, hair, make-up, jewellery and all that sorts of stuff. fs is very self aware and can be into small detail and self awareness however may do so in their mind and keep it to themselves. fs may crave attention though and may want to be praised by their looks and appearance considering their efforts maintaining their looks.

spouse can have natal venus in aries, 1st house, fire sign, fire house.

venus in 2nd house: fs is gracious with his words and is patient. he likes the more high end things in life and will make sure that you have the same experience with that. likes to spoil so your spouse can spend and love to spend money on people that they love. can be strict but only to the point where he may receive pleasure from his actions so spouse can be quite controlling at times. however, sometimes it can be for the best in order to get out of your comfort zone. spouses aesthetic can be laid back, an admirer and can be full of lust. whatever he has his eyes laid on he needs it in an instant, so he may approach you within your guys first meeting. can be quite sensual and a bit un bothered at times, they can have the mindset of everything will work out for me anyway so why worry kind of thing. since venus is in its own house, venus is comfortable and spouse may be very open and comfortable the idea and commitment of love, they see it as an opportunity for them and can also claim it to be a gift for them. spouse is very attentive to what you have to say to him, he memorises each detail that is said and makes it his best effort to use it to his advantage like for special events and whatnot.

spouse can have natal venus in taurus, 2nd house, earth sign, earth house.

venus in 3rd house: usually spouse can talk abruptly when they have interest in something they love. they tend to give lots of words of affirmation and can talk sweet nothings just so they can hold your attention to them that much more. has love and interest in academics and may be quite the study type. loves to learn new things and is a very quick learner. spouses aesthetic is quite the study type, loves to know the fact that he knows stuff that others may not. loves to be one of a kind, and loves to be special. spouse likes to be in his own space but values socialising just as much, they need others to recharge themselves. can think very precisely about things and be quite analytical and precise with their thoughts. love to follow schedules and have plans, this eases their mind and makes them be certain that that plan is still going on.

spouse can have natal venus in gemini, 3rd house, air sign, air house.

venus in 4th house: fs can be the non-dominant one but can try to reach the needs of their partner. even though if they dont agree with your views or opinions they will follow them just to make you happy and fell like you can trust them. traditional roles are important to them so most likely they will have traditional views of what should be done in the household but with that they will carry out their task and provide for their family and will not think otherwise about it. fs can have a firm mindset that family is the most important thing in the world. fs love language can be providing for their family and their loved ones. are interested in his family needs and is very loyal to his wife. fs aesthetics may be based on what they were brought up with as a child or most likely what they are most familiar with, they tend to dislike change and stick to one thing.

spouse can have natal venus in cancer, 4th house, water sign, water house.

venus in 5th house: spouse is a hopeless romantic and loves to tease their partner and be playful. this is them simply being themselves and being comfortable around you. spouse can attract great prosperity and luck in his life. may be gifted in many talents and hobbies and may even be interested in the entertainment industry. can be interested in music and the arts and can be really good at it also. the spouse aesthetic is relatable to a lot of people which can be the reason for their likeness. spouse can have many followers and many admirers themselves. they aren't the awkward type and will make everyone feel welcome in the presence of them, are extremely friendly to everyone also. spouse can have a particular interest in other people, they are curious of other peoples lives and lifestyles.

spouse can have natal venus in leo, 5th house, fire sign, fire house.

venus in 6th house: doing things and doing tasks for their significant other is very important. its even more important when they get praised for it as well because they will continue to do it and with contentment as well. they tend to love very practically and not take things overboard. they respect boundaries of their partner and can be invested in your day to day routine and life. can have a beautiful body and may really take their energy into taking care of his health which can include having healthy habits, eating balanced meals and having good physical activity. may dedicate his aesthetic towards his occupation and may spend most of his time and efforts trying his best at his work. spouses work place may be quite aesthetic and they spend most of their time there as well, could also have items in the workplace for convenience.

spouse can have natal venus in virgo, 6th house, earth sign, earth house.

venus in 7th house: spouse likes to be equal individuals in the relationship. they love it whenever them and their partner can share roles equally within their time together, it makes them have a sense of completeness. however, the spouse can be liked by his charm and balanced nature and can attract enemies that are jealous of how many admirers he may have. there's no good without the bad also it comes both ways. spouse loves to be on everyone's good side and can show their charm to win hearts of others. spouse may feel relieved knowing that others think highly of him. loves being friendly to people and loves it back from others. in romance, spouse can be quite the romantic since venus is in its own house. they love being commitment and love taking care of their partner with the extents of sharing moments that couples like to do. can romanticise dates and events that you guys will attend in order to make it that much memorable.

spouse can have natal venus in libra, 7th house, air sign, air house.

venus in 8th house: the fs can be so deeply in love that they can have no where to be attentive to but you. they feel very intensely and most of the time when you are making out your fs will have lots of willpower because they will most likely want to turn the make out session into something more. they will have to resist a lot. can have lots of intrusive and spicy thought about you. this image just came into my mind of them just staring at you and you noticing and calling them out on why they are staring, them saying nothing but in fact👀they were probably imagining the beyond lets just say. your fs can be full of surprises and can hide their affection from you very well so when he does something out of the blue it can leave you feeling confused. their aesthetic is full of mystery and and chill vibes, its really them teasing you as well. they can tend to do that pretend to not be interested when in fact they are just so you can chase them. they tend to crave s*x and sexual activity. this is the type though to keep in private until it is only the two of you. is the silent freaky type.

spouse can have natal venus in scorpio, 8th house, water sign, water house.

venus in 9th house: spouse requires attention in order to satisfy their love for you. may acquire random bursts of love for you at spontaneous times. they love to go and explore things they haven't yet experienced and love to go with their partner. they prefer to explore new places with their loved one by their side rather than by themselves. can be experienced in love matters and may be confident and know what to expect in relationships which will acquire them to be like a mentor within the relationship. the fs aesthetic is quite loving and prosperous, they give and dont expect to be given back. people trust what your spouse may say or do, he may be the type that is very reliant and people notice how gifted and talented he is.

spouse can have natal venus in sagittarius, 9th house, fire sign, fire house.

venus in 10th house: fs will have an acute sense of the world around them. they will have certain expectations of how the world can see them. can be quite precautious of what other people think. can be quite professional and mature when it comes to love. for example can be mature when conflict occurs and so forth and may establish sensible outcomes for problems within the relationship. spouse can handle professional matters very well and may be the one to act carefully when it comes to their profession. spouses aesthetic can be profession biased and may be serious about their authority. they dont like disappointment and making mistakes however in the end they realise that they are valuable lessons to which they take their time to reflect on. as a partner they are responsible and will take care of you very well. when in need of their help they like the fact that they are needed so will gladly help you out. can feel like they are responsible for you so will look out for you a lot.

spouse can have natal venus in capricorn, 10th house, earth sign, earth house.

venus in 11th house: fs can enjoy company of other people but know how to identify the ones that have caused them harm and they tend to stay as far away from them as possible. will go to great lengths to fulfil their needs and wants. can be interested in alliances if it benefits them so your fs can become friends with someone to help them forward. usually can have goals related to their outcomes in life that benefits them. since this house is the house of good spirit, spouses charms and personality may benefit them through many things. may not have many enemies unless afflicted or other placements show otherwise. in relationships, spouse is affectionate and cares about their partner, can give needed space for you and not cross any boundaries. will respect your views and decisions in addition to being a supportive husband overall, so expect him to be your no.1 fan.

spouse can have natal venus in aquarius, 11th house, air sign, air house.

venus in 12th house: spouse can be quite delusional at times but thats just the nature of them in order to make their situation and life that much better. they tend to make up situations in their head that never happened before and that confuses them if that occurrence has happened or not which can go two ways. its not bad at all, they are dreamers and manifesters, they may have manifested you or you could be the exact spitting image of the girl they have manifested. spouses aesthetic may be quite delusional, they may be influenced by their dreams and thoughts and may achieve great lengths because they can easily envision their future reality. spouse may love the idea of love but can be scared of actual commitment in fear of losing their freedom and routine. however, as a partner they will shower you with deep love that goes beyond the scale. they can experience things differently but can give you the world if he could. would go through great lengths to make you happy and may even displace their own happiness to fulfil yours.

spouse may have natal venus in pisces, 12th house, water sign, water house.

thank you so much for reading and supporting!!!

[yuveenti-blog]

Astrology Observations: 🌔🏡 Moon in Houses🌔🏡

Disclaimer: Thank you for returning to my page; I hope you are finding value in the content I consistently create for you. I truly appreciate your support, including your likes, reblogs and follows, and I am grateful that you are engaging with this post. This message is intended for you, and if my interpretation of these placements does not resonate, feel free to disregard it. It is common for individuals to not connect with certain aspects of their chart, as each chart is unique, and some traits may be overshadowed by more dominant ones. This marks my second post in the series discussing the influence of different planets in the houses, with the next post focusing on Mercury in the houses.

Moon in 1st house: These individuals manage their emotions independently. They openly express their feelings but refuse to view them as a vulnerability. They draw strength from their emotions, allowing these feelings to guide many of their choices. Their emotional state can change rapidly; they prefer to discuss their feelings or confront them directly rather than dwell on them. Air signs often experience a conflict between logic and emotion, leading them to adopt a more subjective viewpoint. They may also be inconsistent in relationships, displaying a non-committal nature and moodiness. In contrast, earth signs navigate their emotions more swiftly and adopt a straightforward, no-nonsense attitude, expressing their feelings bluntly. Water signs can be intense and passionate but may struggle with emotional balance, often finding themselves in dramatic situations due to frequent mood swings. Fire signs generally feel more at home in this emotional landscape, though they risk becoming destructively emotional.

Moon in 2nd House: These individuals often become deeply connected to their emotional states, particularly the positive ones, as their self-worth is tied to feeling good internally. During emotionally stable periods, they may perceive themselves as more valuable, while facing lower self-esteem during times of depression, failure, or anger. This focus on maintaining emotional well-being can lead to a sense of emptiness during low periods. Air signs might neglect their emotions in their pursuit of their personal standards, potentially becoming repressive and overly rational. Earth signs tend to grapple with self-esteem, as their sense of balance is linked to their emotional state and life aspirations. Water signs frequently confront insecurities regarding their worth, struggling to manage negative emotions and often clinging to emotional states longer than necessary, which can create trust and security issues. Fire signs, on the other hand, typically experience a boost in confidence, driven by their natural assertiveness, but they may also wrestle with jealousy and insecurity, particularly towards those they admire or aspire to be like.

Moon in 3rd House: These individuals tend to be analytical and often require solitude to explore their identity independently. They rely on friends for emotional support and frequently find themselves in the role of the therapist, either offering or seeking a listening ear. A need for understanding drives them, and they feel unsettled when they cannot piece together their thoughts. For air signs, this can complicate emotional processing, leading to detachment as they analyze their feelings from a distance. They may struggle to connect with those who lack intellectual depth. Earth signs face similar challenges, often suppressing their emotions and becoming the go-to for advice. Water signs possess heightened intuition, blending feelings with intellect, but they risk confusing emotions with logic, leading to biases and dependency on others while sometimes appearing overly self-assured. Fire signs may experience a slowdown in this context, as their thoughts filter through the mind, which can enhance their self-expression but may also make them seem preachy or controlling, leaving little space for others to contribute.

Moon in 4th House: Individuals with this placement are always in search of emotional security, often surrounding themselves with trusted people or those from their past. They thrive on familiarity to maintain emotional stability, which can delay their ability to form new friendships or relationships. Many may have a comfort item to help them navigate stress or emotional challenges. These individuals are prone to anxiety and tend to manage their emotions best in their safe spaces. For air signs, this can lead to a more reserved demeanor, as they hold back their feelings, appearing warm and engaging only with family and close friends while seeming distant to others. Earth signs may project a calm and easygoing nature, avoiding drama and feeling uncomfortable with emotional openness, revealing their true selves only to those they trust. Water signs often retreat into solitude when feeling emotionally unbalanced, relying heavily on their close relationships for support during tough times. Fire signs may experience fluctuations in energy, becoming more temperamental with those closest to them while appearing moody and less dependable to outsiders. They might struggle with conflicting feelings about their life direction and the needs of those they care about, leading to uncertainty about their path.

Moon in 5th House: These individuals prioritize enjoyment and often find it difficult to confront their emotions, preferring to escape into pleasurable activities or distractions from reality. They tend to rely heavily on friends, partners, and family for emotional support, struggling to cultivate their own emotional health. This can lead to a tendency to become enmeshed with others' feelings instead of focusing on their own. Air signs, in particular, may find it challenging to process their emotions without seeking distractions, often getting caught up in entertainment as a way to avoid feeling. Earth signs share a similar inclination towards seeking entertainment, often resorting to shopping or spending excessively during tough times to escape their feelings. Water signs, on the other hand, may gravitate towards romantic relationships during difficult emotional periods but are prone to ignoring or suppressing negative emotions, sometimes turning to substances for relief. They may also engage in reckless sexual experiences as a means of escape, yet they can be very enjoyable companions. Fire signs, while focused on fun and pleasure, risk becoming overly self-indulgent, sometimes losing sight of the seriousness of life and their emotions, leading to emotional buildup.

Moon in 6th House: These individuals often feel a strong need to comprehend their emotions, sometimes to the extent that it resembles a full-time job. They are well-suited for roles such as therapists or psychoanalysts, as they tend to take healing seriously and seek therapy when facing personal issues. Problem solvers by nature, they are more inclined to pursue emotional well-being than others. For air signs, this placement can be challenging; while they excel in rational problem-solving, their airy nature may cloud their judgment, making it difficult to identify the best path for emotional growth. Overthinking can hinder their ability to resolve issues, complicating their emotional journey. In contrast, earth signs thrive in this placement due to their grounded approach, combining a desire to solve problems with practicality and realism, which facilitates their healing process. Water signs may struggle, as their need for emotional fluidity clashes with the structure required for resolution. Fire signs in this position might face challenges due to their quick emotional shifts, which can hinder the natural flow of their feelings and lead to an excessive focus on their emotions.

Moon in 7th House: These individuals struggle with understanding their emotions due to an inability to recognize their own emotional state as distinct. They often gauge their feelings based on the moods of those around them; for instance, being with cheerful and calm people can lead them to feel positive, while being around negative or dramatic individuals can bring them down. This creates a fragile connection between their emotions and those of others. Air signs face particular challenges in this regard, as their tendency to overthink can lead to cynicism, especially in unhelpful environments. In contrast, earth signs are better equipped to manage their emotions, as they can maintain a sense of grounding and filter their feelings more effectively. Water signs, however, may find it difficult to set emotional boundaries due to their empathetic nature, often neglecting their own needs. Fire signs also encounter challenges, as their natural enthusiasm can wane in the presence of unsupportive people, leading to feelings of emptiness if their energy is not reciprocated.

Moon in 8th House: These individuals experience heightened emotional intensity due to their fluctuating emotional states, often remaining entrenched in prolonged feelings that can skew negative, particularly in this challenging placement. They grapple with their darker qualities, which can lead to a sense of alienation from the collective, making them feel distinct and somewhat out of place. This heaviness often prompts them to withdraw or become more private as a means of emotional protection. For air signs, navigating these intense emotions can be particularly tough, as they may prefer to focus on external matters rather than their own emotional landscape. Earth signs, while also facing challenges in grounding themselves, may find it easier to detach from these darker states and perceive reality more clearly. In contrast, water signs often feel overwhelmed by the emotional weight of this placement, leading to a constant intensity in their emotional experiences. This placement poses particular challenges for fire signs, as their natural enthusiasm and zest for life are muted by its darkness. It can be tough to maintain a positive outlook, and expressing their inherent fiery energy often becomes a struggle due to this dampening effect.

Moon in 9th House: Individuals with this placement possess a distinctive ability to perceive their emotional landscape, enabling them to gain deeper self-understanding than most, while also offering insights that others may lack. This placement is closely tied to faith, leading these individuals to often embrace religious or spiritual practices as a means of grounding themselves and harnessing their emotional strengths. For air signs, this placement is advantageous, as it fosters a unique outlook on emotions, allowing them to recover quickly and move forward with a positive mindset. Earth signs also benefit from this placement, as it provides a balanced perspective that helps them remain grounded without succumbing to overly optimistic or spiritual practices. Water signs thrive here due to their heightened perception and intuition, making them deeply attuned to their emotions. Fire signs, too, find this placement beneficial, as it equips them with emotional wisdom and enthusiasm, resulting in a confident and bold approach to life.

Moon in 10th House: These individuals often prioritize their public persona to the extent that their true emotions become disconnected from how they present themselves. They may appear confident and sociable outwardly, yet behind closed doors, they can feel deeply insecure and fearful. Conversely, they might project a strong, aggressive demeanor while internally grappling with vulnerability and emotional turmoil. This constant struggle leads them to mask their true feelings, adapting their emotional expressions to fit their surroundings or goals. Air signs, in particular, face challenges as they tend to rationalize their emotions, often neglecting their true feelings in pursuit of their ambitions. This lack of emotional awareness is compounded by their focus on external perceptions rather than introspection. Earth signs in this position face challenges as they lack a genuine connection to their emotions, often prioritizing stability and practicality over feelings. Their focus on maintaining a certain image leads them to neglect their emotional needs. Water signs, on the other hand, experience significant difficulty in this dynamic, as their natural emotional depth conflicts with the need to maintain a certain public image, leading to potential repression or explosive emotional outbursts. Fire signs are well-suited for this position due to their inherent confidence, boldness, and sociability. Their enthusiasm for life drives them to present a positive self-image, and this placement allows them to channel that fiery energy into more productive endeavors.

Moon in 11th House: These individuals often exhibit unrealistic emotional perspectives, as their attention is primarily directed towards collective concerns rather than their own feelings. This focus on friends, family, and the broader world can create a significant disconnect between their internal emotions and their ongoing contemplation of external circumstances. As a result, they may become emotionally detached, failing to recognize their true feelings or those of the people they care about. This tendency leads to a projection of ideals onto others instead of accepting reality. Air signs particularly struggle in this regard, as their tendency to overthink exacerbates feelings of delusion regarding their thoughts and emotions. In contrast, Earth signs tend to remain grounded, allowing them to better understand the genuine emotions of those around them. Water signs, however, may find themselves caught in the idealism of the 11th house, which can lead to delusions due to their strong emotional nature. Fire signs are often supportive of others but may neglect their own well-being, resulting in personal suffering while they ensure those around them thrive.

Moon in 12th House: These Individuals often experience significant emotional turmoil from a young age, leading to a persistent heaviness in their feelings and confusion about their true emotions. They may feel isolated or out of place, struggling with mental health challenges and the quest for their identity, particularly in processing past traumas. For air signs, this placement can be particularly challenging, as their tendency to rationalize and intellectualize emotions can result in overthinking and mental health issues. In contrast, earth signs benefit from this placement more, as it grounds them and allows for a clearer understanding of their identity and goals. Water and fire signs face the most difficulties in the 12th house; water signs may escape their emotional pain through substances, avoiding confrontation with their turmoil, while fire signs often find their natural enthusiasm dampened by a pervasive sense of gloom, making it hard to maintain their energy and positivity.

[jgnico]

Is someone gonna talk about the use of signage in yesterday's episode? Do I have to be the one to talk about the use of signage in yesterday's episode?

I know we all saw the billboard beside Choso displaying the abilities of his technique in tandem with the narrator, but there were so many more great uses of the signs in the background to convey information.

The first sign (and also one of the first shots) that we see in the episode is a Pedestrian Do Not Cross sign overlaid by the sound of Yuuji running, followed by Yuuji's shadow itself taking up the position of the pedestrian on the sign. You can read this as the sign telling Yuuji not to proceed to where he's going or as an indication of how the upcoming fight will end for the viewer.

The next sign that we get is one telling us to Go Left, which doesn't really seem important, but I promise you, it is. We'll see a lot of arrows pointing left throughout the episode and every single one of them is pointing away from danger. Go Left to avoid danger, essentially.

These two signs are arguably the most important in the episode, but they aren't the coolest use of visual symbolism that we got, so lets keep going.

The third sign that we see focused on in the episode is a No Running sign that Yuuji passes that says "Do Not Rush. It Is Dangerous." Yuuji, of course, runs past it on his way toward the escalators that lead (for him) to Gojo and (for the viewer) to Choso.

Once he does get to the bottom of the escalators, Yuuji is attacked by Choso immediately and Choso's opening move (Convergence), once Yuuji moves his arms up and away from his face, slices up through the subway cieling and the road above to cut the Pedestrian Do Not Cross sign that we saw at the beginning of the episode in half.

We also get out first big Left Arrow, placed immediately in the foreground of the shot and pointing toward the aforementioned sign that's been cut in half (this will be important later), but in a another view, it also points away from station itself. Again, go left to avoid danger.

Our next Left Arrow is on the ceiling between Yuuji, indicating that he should go away from Choso. Interestingly enough, it also points toward the bathrooms that Yuuji will go into later once his fight with Choso in the hallway becomes too dangerous.

That same arrow falls to the floor between them once Choso gets mad after Yuuji tells him about Eso and Kechizu crying, this time pointing directly away from Choso.

Another Left Arrow, this time in a more urgent red. We see this once Yuuji realizes that he's in serious danger, that he'll loose if he continues to fight Choso in the hallway. It's also pointing away from the bathrooms and toward the escalators from Yuuji's point of view beside the bathrooms, indicating that he needs to leave the area entirely.

The previous arrow pointing toward the bathrooms as a safe option has been destroyed and Yuuji has taken some serious damage by the time he moves toward them. The bathrooms are no longer safe. Yuuji needs to leave.

This is followed up by the only Right Arrows that we see focused on in the epsiode, but unlike the Left Arrows, they aren't used to convey how to get away from danger, but rather what is dangerous. Not only do these arrows all point toward Choso outside of the shot, they also have each of his techniques displayed below them.

Once the bathroom fight is over and Yuuji is on death's door, we get a zoomed out shot of his body framed by (two) people cut in half. This sign is shown right before Sukuna makes his only appearance in the episode, where we hear the sound of electricity flickering.

We heard this exact sound earlier from the Left Arrow telling Yuuji to get away from Choso at the beginning of the fight, but I like to interpret it as an audio indicator of Yuuji's life and/or control of Sukuna flickering in and out, becoming weaker.

Side Note: In the previous shot of Yuuji that we get before this one, we see a blade of light cutting Yuuji in half, the same way Convergence cut the Pedestrian Do Not Cross sign in half earlier in the episode. This will come into play later in the post, but keep it in mind.

The next time we see these bisected bathroom signs is when Mimiko and Nanako approach Yuuji to awaken Sukuna. Two people framing Yuuji/Sukuna that have been cut, while those same signs are whole in the hallway to the left. Go left to avoid danger applies to the girls here as well.

Our next important set of signs are actually the same sign, a large green arrow in the foreground that points away from where Yuuji's body is. While Choso stumbles away from it (away from Yuuji/Sukuna) the girls walk toward it.

This is also the first Left Arrow that we see point toward Choso, unlike the one pointing away from him at the beginning of his and Yuuji's fight. Choso, at this moment and onward, is no longer a source of danger to Yuuji or to us, the viewer.

And finally, the final shot of the entire episode, our old friend, the Pedestrian Do Not Cross sign. Yuuji has lost to Choso, the girls have found him to awaken Sukuna, and we get a focus shot of the Pedestrian that previously represented Yuuji cut in half and covered in blood.

I mentioned earlier that we get another shot of Yuuji cut in half by a ray of light in the bathroom.

Here is that shot, and the way that I interpret it is as a reminder that Yuuji shares his body. Yuuji's control of his body has been cut off in the same way that the Pedestrian representing Yuuji has had part of it cut away. What's left is the part that Yuuji can't control, the Pedestrian covered in blood.

Additionally, repeated use of a sign showing pedestrians cut in half and bloody can also represent the civilians in Shibuya, especially now that Yuuji no longer has control of his body.

[knuppitalism-with-ue]

Something that has both fascinated me and frustrated me to no end as of late are the lacrimal crests of allosauroids and other such theropods. No living theropods, to my knowledge, possess such structures. The closest analog I could find were Geese. I'm being driven up a wall trying to figure out what they would have been covered with in life. How would they have been incorporated into the face of the theropod? What display structures could they support? Air sacs, keratin, or caruncles? How pneumatized were they? Were they even for display? Most paleoartists just reconstruct them as odd stones sitting on top of the animals head, or say they were just for shading the eyes, but that can't be it, right? It feels like something is missing.

As a Paleoartist, is there anything you can say on this? Because I don't know nearly enough.

Oh boi, this is a tricky one.

Cranial ornaments come in all kinds of shapes, sizes and surface textures. For Allosaurus it seems likely that they simply had keratin sheets on top of the lacrinal crests, at least that's what the rough surface and striations suggest. However it also seems like air sacs were reaching up from the antorbital fenestra

This is how I would reconstruct that part of Allosaurus in the moment.

There could have been more though, you can see in this photo of the skull of Big Al II that this animal had large opening behind the lacrinal crests, so there could have been other structures involved.

Maybe even better to look at is this 3d scan of Arkhane, from Brussels.

This could have been related to theroregulation, more display structures or simply further weight reduction.

There is quite a bit of wiggle room when it comes to the interpretation of dinosaur facial features and there is way too much already published and at the same time too little to put it all into a single blog post.

Also not all dinosaurus follow this patters, the cranial crests of oviraptorosaurs show no good indication for keratin crests for example. So it's better to say good bye to cassowary interpretations of these animals and instead cover them in skin and/or inflatable sacs, because these hollow chambers appear to be extensions of the sinuses. (my version of Corythoraptor on the right, Citipati from Wikipedia on the left.)

And then again in other theropods like Abelisaurs we see very rugose skull tops but without the striations you see on the lacrinals of Allosaurus, potentially indicating large scales. Here my, slightly over the top, interpretation of Skorpiovenator. And even then: within abelisaurus you have stuff like Carnotaurus which shows clear signs of keratin sheets on its horns.

This all has been complicated in recent years with new methods in bone histology, because as it turns out the internal structure of a bone can tell us stuff about it's outside, that's how we for example found out that Amargosaurus neck spines were no horns and probably conected with soft tissue, or that the osteoderms of notosuchians were covered by skin like in leatherback turtles.

Going back to Allosaurus and other allosauroids. Keratin sheets, scales, air sacs, all these were probably present in these animals, but their exact distribution is still a question of debate.

Here a paper from a few years back that maps para-nasal sinuses in extent and extinct archosaurus which gives you a little idea how complex their internal anatomy could get

https://anatomypubs.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/pdfdirect/10.1002/ar.20794

[runningfrom2am]

Hi, how’s your day been going? Hoping it was amazing. I just saw your post about needing inspo for Coriolanus fics! I’m not sure if you are taking requests but if you are Could you maybe do a touch-starved Coryo fic? Something fluffy/angsty where Coryo can finally fulfill those needs and be himself and vulnerable with the reader. Thanks!

as long as you need me - c.s

pairing: coryo x fem!reader

wc: 1.7k

tags/warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, he just needs you and you just want to help.

requests (currently closed- feel free to send whatever but it will be a while before I get to them!)

nav / coriolanus snow masterlist

a/n: ahhh thank you for sending this in! it was so fun to write like stopppp i just want to give him a hug omg. also thought i'd post this to hold y'all off until i post the next part of LTPF. anyway, enjoy!

You had a very stable grasp of the limits of your relationship. What was appropriate, and what was not. You were quite shy, and Coryo always carried himself with a high level of decorum. You would eat together at lunch, and he would walk you home most days. The weekends, your study dates, were always your favourite. He was significantly more relaxed, but you could still tell he was just a little tightly wound. By now, you've just learned that's who he is. Not overly affectionate, but he cares for you and you care for him. 

"I can't stay late today, I'm sorry." You said, genuinely feeling bad for having to turn down the request. In your junior year, you started tutoring for younger grades at the academy and it is something you thoroughly enjoyed.

"I have a test tomorrow! Why can't you stay? Just for a few minutes- I just have a couple of questions." The first year, Aelia whined.

"My boyfriend is supposed to walk me home and he has a tight schedule, but I'll tell you what, I can meet you in the library in the morning before class. That way it will still be fresh in your mind, yeah?" You grinned, and she seemed satisfied as you agreed on a time, not knowing that a few of the girls in your grade were listening in.

"Y/N," Clemensia decided to approach you as Aelia walked off, Arachne and Livia following close behind. "Did I catch you telling someone that you have a boyfriend? Did I hear that right?"

"Oh, well, yes." You answered sheepishly, gathering your things to put in your bag before your next class.

"Really?" Livia chimed in, and you just nodded. "Okay, well, spill. Who is it? Do I know him?"

"Um..." You looked around, deciding what to say. You weren't necessarily keeping it a secret, but you just hadn't felt the need to tell anyone you went to school with. "It's Coriolanus. Snow." You cleared your throat, unsure why you even added his last name. It's not like the name Coriolanus was abundantly common.

"Shut up." Clemensia laughed slightly, eyes widening at you. "You're joking, right?"

"No... We've been together for almost seven months now."

"I just... wow. We had no idea. Seven months! I feel like I've never seen the two of you get closer than two feet apart." You weren't sure whether to interpret this response as teasing or genuine shock- so you just gave them an awkward smile and a small nod before walking away.

At the time, you had never considered how your lack of affection in public could be confusing to people- not that it mattered. Rumors had spread quickly after that, which was to be expected when Livia and Arachne were involved. However, PDA just wasn't your thing. General displays of affection weren't really your thing, either. Both of you always had a lot going on, and having been together for almost a year by now, you knew that you loved him and he loved you. You didn't have to prove it to each other or to anyone, there was no pressure for anything to change. On your end, anyway.

Coryo, on the other hand, was feeling something shift. Leading up to the reaping and more importantly, to the prize. You both were in the running, being in the top twenty-four of your class, and you had no doubt that Coryo was a shoo-in, but you didn't know how extremely anxious it was making him. The now constant thrumming of his heartbeat in his chest and his shaky hands were always less around you, and he can only dream of how much better it would be if he could just hold you.

These days, he'd wake up expecting you in his arms due to a particularly calming dream only to be disappointed. He respected you a great amount and wouldn't want to push your boundaries, however unspoken. Still, he wasn't sure how much longer he could go about his day-to-day without testing his theory that holding you could cure his fears, or at least let him forget about them for only a moment. He would happily take just a second of peace.

Coriolanus usually greeted you outside of your unshared classes, seeing that you tended to stay a few minutes late to ask questions or polish off your notes. He couldn't wait to see you, he needed to.

"Coryo." You smile, walking out of your lecture hall to see him waiting.

"Hi, Love. How was class?" Your boyfriend greets you, joining you on your walk towards the exit of the school.

"It was good. Though, I find the topic of the rebellion kind of redundant at this point." You say, books tucked against your chest under folded arms. "Is it not too soon to discuss it in a history class? I mean, I literally remember what it was like to live in a bomb shelter."

Your joke seemingly lands on deaf ears as he just hums, placing a hand on your lower back to guide you out of the building. This wasn't totally unusual, but with the way he was pushing you, albeit gently, was telling you that something was wrong.

"Is everything okay?" You ask him, looking up at the boy next to you as you reach the bottom of the academy's front steps.

"Fine." Coryo nods, attempting a reassuring smile that he isn't aware falls short.

"Okay, well... If you want to talk about anything, I'm here for you, you know. Always."

"I know. Thank you, Love." He drops his hand from your back to hold your free one, turning in the direction of your apartment.

The next afternoon, you're in the same class, one of the rare ones you don't share with Coryo, taking down notes from the lecture when there's a knock on the door, followed by it creaking open. You pay no mind, taking the opportunity to catch up on everything written on the board.

"May I borrow Y/N, please?" Your boyfriend's voice is scratchy and shakey in a way unfamiliar sounding to you, making your head snap up. You'd never seen him cry before. "Only for a moment."

Your teacher dismisses you, likely on account of your and Coriolanus's mutually spotless records and his red-rimmed eyes. Clearly, you were needed urgently. You leave your bag and your books, ignoring the whistles and heckling of some of your classmates as you rush to the door.

Coryo had reached his breaking point. He was writing his third paper of the week, unable to focus on that and get his mind off of how unlikely it was he would get the prize if the Dean had any say. Sitting in the library, the world had started turning around him. People were talking, laughing, even, and he couldn't take it anymore. The floodgates opened and he had rushed out of the room. He couldn't go home, his attendance would be affected and he'd be throwing away the prize most definitely. He had nowhere to go, except for to you.

You close the door behind yourself, thankful that the hallway is completely deserted during class time. "Hey, what's going on?" You ask, and before you can get a good look at him he's pulling you into a crushing hug, shaking around you.

You're shocked for a moment, pulling yourself out of your head to hug him back. Whatever is bothering him must be bad. He'd hugged you before, but never like this. "Hey, it's okay..." You whisper, rubbing his back. "Let's go outside for a second, yeah? Get some air?" You offer, gently prying yourself from his grasp to look at him.

Coryo can't speak, overtaken completely by the tears flowing down his cheeks and the anxiety flooding every inch of his body. He feels like he could be sick, all he knew that he needed was you. He just nods, trying to regain his composure, if only for the couple of minutes it takes to get outside.

"Okay. Let's go." You smile, trying not to show how worried you are as you wrap an arm around his back, still holding him close to you as if he has a broken ankle and you have to carry him. So far, his theory was proving to be correct. Just having you at his side was calming to him, and mentally he's cursing himself for not voicing his fears to you before they broke him.

As soon as the door of the rarely used back exit to the school is closed, he's essentially collapsing onto the ground, tucking his knees up to his chest and crying into his hands. You're quick to join him, draping an arm over his back and trying to grab one of his hands to hold. Your brow is knit with worry, rubbing his shoulder as he allows you to take one of his shaking hands. "Coryo..." You say softly, trying to get him to look at you but he won't. "What's happening? Talk to me, you can trust me. I just want to help."

He sniffles, looking up at you. "What is it?" You ask again, hoping to prompt any kind of information out of him. When he doesn't answer, you curve your approach to yes or no questions, hopefully, to make it easier on him. "Is someone hurt? Is it Grandma'am? Did something happen?"

He shakes his head slightly with every question, once again avoiding your eyes as he looks down at the ground, occasionally trying to cough out the knot in his throat.

"...Do you want to talk? Or do you just need a hug?" You realize, leaning in so he would look at you again.

He pulls you closer, wrapping both his arms around you awkwardly due to the way you are both sitting. "Just need you here." He mumbles, hardly audible as he buries his face in your shoulder and neck.

Relieved to hear his voice again, you place a hand on his hair and on his back, holding him tight. "I'm here, Coryo. As long as you need me."

taglist: @keziahcore, @soulessjourney, @kitscutie, @annaelise, @serrendiipty, @fratboyharrysgf0201, @totallynotkaibiased, @stelleduarte, @klplynn, @secretsicanthideanymore, @bejeweledreverie, @fals3-g0d, @gloryekaterina, @andrewgarfieldsbitch, @queenofspades6, @pepperonipastas, @ladybug0095, @lunamothwrites, @sbrewer21, @mus-tbe-a-weasley, @splxtscreen, @unclecrunkle, @karmaswitch, @rororo06, @coconut-dreamz, @nekee-lilac02, @ooooglymoooogly, @slytherinholland, @riddlerloveb0t, @lovedbalances, @notyourwildestdream, @snowlandson-top, @too-lit-for-fanfic, @utopiakys, @deafeningballoonnacho, @darlingisntit, @roosterschanelslut, @chmpgneprblem, @cosmoetik, @lauravanderbooben20, @dry0campa, @luclue, @lokidala, @urvampgfsworld, @carolanns-world, 

[sunkissedchld]

𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

𝐀𝐩𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

observations are mostly based on charts shared in @d4rkpluto’s astrotumblr yearbook discord! thank you to the following people for sharing their charts:

@starsworldd @evangelinesbible @saturnianprincess @saintfool @modellemode @icanseethefuture333 @ibecookin

disclaimer: i interpret charts in whole sign

asteriod aphrodite is code 1388

⟡ aries sun could make you relatively confindent in their looks; you could be very passionate and/or dominant in relationships or want to lead your partner in some way

✦  in the 3H could make you quick-witted or smart mouthed

⟡ aries saturn could cause you to be hyper independent therefore causing potential partners to feel unwanted

⟡ taurus moons could enjoy being spoiled/pampered while in relationships; acts of service and gift giving could be your love language

⟡ gemini venus could be attracted to those who are witty, educated/logical, and/or like to debate. you could also like people who are a little unserious and those with large friend groups

⟡ for gemini mars, arms/hands can be turn ons. you could be a friendly flirt; not necessarily open to making the first move; could enjoy a cat and mouse game or playing hard to get

⟡ gemini saturn could have issues with communication in relationships - being "too" open or not open enough and/or not taking your partner seriously during times where you need to

✦  in retrograde, you could think too much about your own or your partners actions in the relationship; you could talk yourself into a bad mood which could carry over into the relationship causing insecurities and/or jealousy

⟡ gemini risings could be seen as friendly, approachable, and smart upon first impression; people could be drawn to your eyes and smile; people could also enjoy hearing you speak

⟡ cancer saturns could possibly be manipulative in relationships (if underdeveloped); you could put more into relationships than you get out of them or not put in enough effort; you could be overly attatched to your partner

⟡ leo/aquarius risings/venuses could have the most unique styles fashion wise

✦ for leos, people could try to imitate your style. for aquariuses, you might have your own sub-genre or self-described sense of style that is unique to you

⟡ leo jupiters could gain fame, confidence, and/or attention from their relationships

✦ heavier emphasis or likelihood if you also have leo degrees

⟡ leo saturns could have issues with confidence and/or receiving attention while in a relationship; you could want too many affirmations or never accept them when they're given

⟡ leo venuses/mars could be attracted to those who are confident and/or famous or well-known; also possibly attracted to people who are creative and playful; a partner's back and/or hair could be a turn-on

⟡ virgo venuses/mars could be attracted to those who are healthy and/or biological displays of health; a partner's stomach or abs could be a turn on; you could prefer when sex is semi-planned and/or could be prone to overextending yourself during sex; you could prefer being a giver rather than a receiver

✦ conversely, i think taurus venuses/mars would be more receivers than givers

⟡ virgo suns could be seen as "traditional beauties"; you could also be drawn to traditional relationships/relationship dynamics

✦ these ideas of "tradition" would be based on where you are from/your societal norms; there is no one, unified "tradition"

⟡ libra risings could have facial features that are proportionate to your own face; possibly described as ingeniune/gamine type; skin could often be clear or seen as nice

⟡ those with libra mars could see your partner's skin/hips/butt/lower back as turn ons and/or their partner touching those areas of your body could turn them on; you could be attracted to those who are charming and considerate; you could like it when you're "wined and dined" so to speak

⟡ scorpio suns could have an alluring/intense look; your eyes and/or sexual organs could could be seen as attractive; you could want intensity when it comes to romance and sex; you could be into "taboo" relationships; you could possibly be possessive or prone to jealousy in relationships

⟡ scorpio venuses could be attracted to those who are protective over them; major cravings for intamacy and closeness while in a relationship; "i want to be inside of you"

✦ in retrograde, achieving these wants in a relationship could soothe your personal emotions and repair your own emotional needs

⟡ scorpio jupiters could have their sex life increased while in a relationships; possibility of going through more transformations (especially intense ones) while in relationships; possibly being more secretive

⟡ scorpio risings could have an intense gaze; your beauty could be intimidating to some people, but you still manage to draw people in to being fascinated by you

⟡ capricorn chiron/liliths could detest being in "traditional" relationships or being expected to follow through with "traditional" relationship dynamics; could have a want for a little bit of instability

⟡ capricorn moons could value stability and successes in relationships; anniversaries and planned dates could bring you comfort

⟡ capricorn mars could be attracted to those who are older and/or more mature; people with strong bone structures/hair could be turn-ons; could also be attracted to people who are cautious and/or "traditional"

⟡ aquarius risings make you an eccentric beauty; smile and/or calves could be an attractive point; you could be ahead of fashion trends

⟡ aquarius chiron/liliths could worry about your relationships being seen as odd or "taboo"

⟡ those with sun conjunct mercury could entice people with your voice or way of speaking; you could be known as a sweet talker

⟡ those with a fifth house stellium could be very fertile

✦ having many trines to jupiter could also be an indicator

⟡ 12H junos could find that marriage transforms them (ie. in capricorn, you could go from being someone who is always wanting to go places or never wanting to settle down to maturing and finally doing so)

⟡ 8H jupiters could gain money from shared resources in relationships; could also have hyper active sex lives

⟡ 3H moons could have words of affirmation be your love language

⟡ those with their ascendant at 5º could have people who are very sexually attracted to you; you could always gain attention even if you don't always want or notice it

⟡ 6H moons could value acts of service as your love language

✦ even more so if it's also cancer moon

⟡ 11H jupiters could find your friend group grows when getting into relationships

⟡ 1H junos could find that marriage changes people's perception of you; you could also gain/lose weight while in relationships (ie. libra ascendants would likely gain weight; be seen as more playful and/or charming)

⟡ 5H junos could find marriage makes you more creative; children could be a focal point of the marriage; marriage could also cause you to be more intune with your inner child

⟡ 4H moons may find that emotional connections in relationships bring you comfort; touch could be your love language

⟡ 12H moons could long for being in long-term relationships; there could be a want for a "soulmate" or "other half"

⟡ 2H moons could have gift giving as your love language; doing daily routines with your partner could bring you comfort

⟡ 2H jupiters could see an increase in their personal money/possessions while in relationships

⟡ 9H jupiters could gain more knowledge while in relationships; you could also travel more or have more experiences with things or people who are foreign to you

⟡ 11H moons could value time spent together ; thinking about the future and bringing together friend/family groups could bring you comfort while in relationships

⟡ 8H saturn/liliths could have an aversion to sharing resources in relationships; having a "what's mine is mine" mentality

[fuctacles]

Under pressure

For @subeddieweek Day 1 | M | 1177 | accidental subspace, non-verbal communication, sleepover, Steve-instinctive-Dom-Harrington | Ao3 Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Ao3

Eddie avoided fights because he was a coward. A pussy, even, he'll admit. But there was a whole other reason for him avoiding sports.

He wasn't a big fan of physical contact. 

But since he's become better friends with Steve Harrington, he's been discovering things about himself. Things he wished would have stayed hidden. Forever.

The first time, it was a tussle for the remote. Eddie refused to watch another episode of whatever the fuck capitalist media was trying to spoon-feed them, while Steve was adamant there was a plot that he was invested in. One elbow to the gut and some pulled hair later, he landed underneath the guy, his weight pinning him to the ground.

Melting his bones.

Soothing.

"You okay?"

Steve sounded concerned about Eddie's sudden silence, and his mind scrambled to salvage his dignity. All he could manage was a groan, which Steve thankfully interpreted as a sign of pain and not the sudden weakness that it was. 

He instantly hopped off of him, apologizing.

Eddie has been avoiding and yearning for the touch ever since.

He had never considered Steve like that, but apparently being sat on was the biggest turn-on for his poor little dick, and now it was all he could think of at night.

His doom comes when he has to sleep over after a night of drinking. Steve insisted they share a bed, that it was alright, and Eddie foolishly believed him. 

It is fine until Steve rolls over to put away his glasses. 

"Shit, sorry. I just gotta..."

They didn't think this through, because Eddie was the one next to the bedside table, the one Steve was trying to reach. He almost crawls over Eddie to accomplish it, his weight heavy on top of him, pressing him to the mattress and making his mind go blank. 

He bites his lip so hard he probably draws blood, but it doesn't stop the whimper Steve's body literally pushed out of him.  Steve freezes. 

"Are you alright?" He drops the glasses and shoots up. "Did I hurt you?"

Eddie can't answer. His brain is screaming at his mouth, but he can't manage a single word, all he can think of is Steve's body back on him, that weight pressing him down, immobilizing him. He could probably reach pure bliss with just that.

When he doesn't get an answer, Steve pulls on his shoulder to flip him on his back. Eddie whines in protest but doesn't have enough control over his muscles to stop him. His shame gets put on display and Steve's eyes widen.

"Eddie?"

His pupils are huge as he blinks owlishly up at his friend.

"You okay?"

Eddie nods.

"Do you need anything?"

You. On me, against me, in me.

He shakes his head slowly, not breaking eye contact. This seems to frustrate Steve.

"Eddie, come on," he groans. "Clearly something's wrong. Do you need water? I can bring you some." He moves to stand up, but Eddie's in the way. He has to throw his leg over him, and Eddie presses his eyes closed, begging his body not to react.

It's enough to alert Steve, though, and he freezes hovering above him, mid-movement. 

"Huh."

It's a soft sound, barely there, and Eddie decides to keep his eyes closed. Maybe if he does, whatever realization Steve has gets forgotten, and he moves on, brings him the damn water, and maybe throws it on him like on a horny dog. Maybe that would help him.

But no, the ‘huh’ is followed by Steve settling down on his hips.

Oxygen escapes him in a whiny breath, and his body presses up without his control, seeking that delicious weight of another body. 

"Want to make out about it?" Steve asks out of the blue like any normal person would in these circumstances. But Eddie doesn't answer him, he can't, and he doesn't know. He can only stare and writhe under him, making tiny sounds of need he can't comprehend. Steve frowns down on him, partially concerned, partially curious. 

"Don't feel like talking?" he asks. Eddie gives him a nod. He hums. "Can you answer some yes or no questions? Nod for a yes and shake your head for no."

Nod.

"You can blink twice if you don't know or don't want to answer. Okay?"

Nod.

"What do you do if you don't want to answer?"

Eddie blinks twice.

"Good. Great." Steve smiles, and Eddie mirrors it through his haze. "Are you feeling alright?"

Nod.

"Do you need water?"

Shake.

"Do you need the bathroom?"

Shake.

"A snack?"

Shake.

Steve considers him, perched on top of his body. Eddie tentatively reaches up, palms resting on his thighs. Steve's gaze follows his fingers, where they just rest with no ill intent, only there to touch.

"Will we talk about it more in the morning?"

Eddie hesitates. Does he want to talk about it? To bring his shame to the light of day, confess the budding crush on his friend? But Steve doesn't seem angry, he's not kicking him out of the bed. He's being soft and gentle and trying to understand. Maybe in the morning, they could understand it together. Tentatively, he nods.

That eases Steve's frown a bit, but he sighs when another problem hits him.

"I don't know what else to ask," he admits with a huff. 

Eddie wants to help, so he slides his hands up, towards his hips, and tries to convey as best as possible where he wants him. He stares into his eyes, begging him to understand.

"Want me to lay down on you?"

He nods furiously, excited to get what he needs. 

Steve looks down. It's a minuscule movement of his eyes, but it's there. He will know if Eddie's hard when he moves, but he needs the heads-up. The bulge in Eddie's sweats is noticeable but not fully there, to Steve's relief. Having his friend under him in such a pliant state is already overwhelming as it is, and he knows Eddie will feel his own chub when he moves. 

"We're just sleeping tonight, alright?" Steve clarifies and Eddie nods without hesitation. "And cuddle a bit, I guess." Eddie nods again.

He moves, watching his friend’s face for any sign of distress. Eddie’s hands slide around him in an embrace that's more comforting than Steve's ready to admit, and soon they're chest to chest, legs tangled, and he has to crane his neck to maintain eye contact.

"That alright?"

Nod.

Eddie's hands squeeze him minutely and Steve settles down against his shoulder, finally resting his full body weight against him.

The man underneath him sighs, and it's like his whole body deflates. He makes a content sound in the back of his throat, and Steve wants to cry. It's so endearing and so comforting to have Eddie trust him like that. To have him turn into mush in his presence. 

He hopes he's not overstepping when he presses his nose to Eddie's neck, inhaling him and softly caressing his skin when he murmurs a "goodnight, Eds."

[love-bitesx]

: ̗̀➛ PROTECTOR. hobie brown x reader

summary: spider-man makes a point of walking y/n home every night, but after befriending them as hobie brown as well, his feelings get complicated. words: 3.5k REQUESTS OPEN ! warnings: non-explicit sexual harassment (a man is very creepy to reader), reader isn't gendered! but be aware, author is female, so possible afab bias, i tried my hardest i swear. all characters are adults :) author is british so this is my interpretation of his silly little slang from what ive experienced hehe also divider credit: cafekitsune a/n: may feel a little ooc, but in my headcanon, when he's pining the way he is for reader, he's so soft. also, spider-man and hobie r completely different personalities u cant tell me otherwise. first time writing hobie so pls give me opinions ty. enjoy!!!!!

“is it home-time already, darlin’?”

there he was. the familiarity of routine washing over you, turning your head to see him propped up against the brick, spikes on display and guitar pick flipping in between his clothed fingers.

“spider-man, my hero,” you sighed and clutched your non-existent pearls, a smirk on your lips.

“you know i hate that,” kicking off from the wall of the pub you just clocked out of, he stuffed his hands into his patched up jacket, his bouncy stride meeting yours on the pavement.

“i know,” you smiled, allowing your bag to fall from your shoulders and into his outstretched hand, as always.

it had become a routine, over the course of a few months, that the one-and-only spider-man would escort you home from work in the late hours. at first, it didn’t seem real. why would he decide to spend valuable time most days walking you home, when he could be out fighting whatever darkness lurks in the shadows? you’ve asked him, almost every time, but he always gives the same, vague answer;

“who else is gonna keep you safe, love?”

his legs were longer than yours, by a mile. so he had to slow his usual pace for you. naturally bouncy, his booted feet tapped against the pavement like a kick drum, and you wondered whether that was the radioactive blood in his veins, or his natural energy.

laughter flittered through the dark streets as you caught up, it had only been a day since you last saw him, but being a crime-fighting, fascist-killing superhero, there was quite a lot to pack into a 24 hour day.

he bounced off the walls of passing buildings, recreating his fights with the air that hung between you both, throwing in some exaggerated punches here and there, to elicit an extra giggle or two from you. you almost got lost following his animated recreations, but he kept an eye out for the roads ahead. he’d memorised all the paths leading to your apartment.

it had all started a few months prior, after a particularly long shift at work. constantly over the span of a few hours, this guy would not leave you alone. no matter how many times you refused his advances, a smile on your face, masking the unsettling pit in your stomach at the sight of his grin. drink, after drink, after drink, he ordered just to stare at you the whole night, crude gestures and words thrown your way.

you’d gotten used to it, working at a pub in the depths of london, it wasn’t ever unusual to get unwanted advances. but something about this guy, you couldn’t shake it. ~

“what time do you finish, ay?” his accent was thick, you placed him somewhere up north.

“i’m not sure,” you muttered back, forcing a smile.

“oi, come on! ‘course you know what time you finish,” his words were slurred, and his eyes hadn’t left yours once, “was thinking we could ‘ave some drinks together, tha’s’all.”

“sorry, i can’t tonight, i have to be up early tomorrow,” you giggled, and if he wasn’t so drunk, he’d definitely have picked up on the nerves lacing your words.

“come on,” vowels drawn out, he made an attempt to stand up to meet your height, the proximity of him sending a shock of fear to your heart, until a strong hand clapped against his chest, the force almost sending him backwards.

“pack it in, dickhead, they said ‘no’,” a deep, almost calming voice spoke, contrasted completely with the stern, threatening tone of his words.

you looked to meet your protectors gaze, and it almost stunned you. he was tall, taller than you, for sure. dark, smooth skin with an aura of pure mayhem, silver piercings protruding from his face. adorned with a ripped, skin-tight plain top and denim vest, littered with badges, patches and just about any accessory known to man.

his eyes were what really held you. a heavy look, dark brown with the most unique feeling of strength and power that you’d ever seen. you could’ve easily gotten lost.

deciding you’d stared at him long enough, though, you broke the eye contact, diverting it back to the man who looked a humorous combination of terrified and offended at the same time.

“‘s alright mate, we were just talking, back off, yeah?” his liquid courage built up, ignorant of the taller man’s hand still pushing against his chest, ring-clad hands seeming to leave an imprint.

“think it’s time for you to leave, mate,” he spat back, mimicking his slang.

a moment of silence followed. you’d fully expected the drunken creep to swing a punch, or at least bite back, but under the weight of the taller man’s stare, he seemed to lose all fight he had in him. with a final murmer of something you couldn’t quite hear, and unsure you really wanted to, he stumbled backwards, slipping into the crowd.

“thank you,” you broke the silence, to which the man shrugged.

“he was a pig,” he brushed it off like nothing, and you couldn’t help but smile at his attitude. raising his newly free hand, he stretched it towards you, tight in a fist.

“hobie, hobie brown,” he greeted, and his accent completely erased the ‘h’ from his name.

“y/n l/n,” you smiled, accepting his offer and spudding him, the cold metal of his rings against your knuckles. you couldn’t help but grin at the oddity of his presence.

hobie kept you company for the rest of the night, ranting about his thoughts and opinions of various important subjects, ranging widely from drinks of choice to the existence of capitalist propaganda in modern media, all of which you hung onto every word of.

it wasn’t long until he’d managed to book him and his band into a few slots on the pub’s makeshift stage that stood empty on the other side of the room, smiling to himself at how authentically excited you seemed to hear his music.

when he left, his vacancy was immediately obvious. the booming pub feeling oddly silent without him.

after closing up for the night, you grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, switching the lights off with one hand and fiddling with the keys in the other, shaking the door to double check you locked it well enough. body aching from being on your feet all day, you yawned, stepping autopilot into the darkness. the night air was chilling, causing you to wrap your jacket tight around your body. cursing at yourself for not bringing another layer, or pre-ordering a taxi home.

“oi,” you heard from your right, turning quickly to the familiar call.

stumbling on the pavement, the drunken creep from earlier pointed towards you.

shit.

you hadn’t expected him to actually wait for you. it’d been hours since he left, he was insane. what was he thinking?

grabbing the keys from your pocket, you gripped them in your freezing hands in defense.

“where’s your little friend, huh?” he spat, clearly enraged by hobie’s interruption earlier. he stepped closer, and you stepped back, trembling as you tripped slightly on the pavement.

“ay, is this twat bothering you?” a voice called from above.

wait, above?

craning your neck up, you made eye contact with possibly the last person you expected.

“spider-man?”

and from that night, he’d met you every time. waiting outside the pub doors, no exception, to walk you home.

“hey!” spider-man’s upbeat calling snapped you instantly back to him, jumping slightly as you finally noticed he was directly in front of your face, white eyes narrowed on your demeanor, “where’d you go, huh?”

“sorry,” paying him an apologetic smile, “just thinking.”

“wanna clue me in, darlin’?” his tone was playful, but the soften of his masks expression felt genuine.

“just thinking about the day i’ve had,” you lied, unsure whether his spidey senses could tell. not that it was rare for you to think about how you met, but you didn’t want to bring it up again. if he could tell, he didn’t let on.

“whataboutit?” he sped up, slipping back to your pace and slinging his lanky arm over your shoulders, basically hanging onto you as you walked. he liked walking with you like this. it made him feel powerful, like he was keeping you extra safe.

“hobie’s band played again!” you exclaimed, and if he’d been paying attention, he would’ve seen the way your face lit up at the memory. unfortunately for him, his eyes were trained on webbing a chocolate bar from a passing vendor. god knows why it was still open, but he was glad it was.

“hobie, again, huh?” taunted spider-man, punching your arm playfully with the fist that gripped the newly stolen snickers bar, “starting to think you’re replacing me, love.”

“never,” you teased back, elbowing his side, hearing the jingle of his badged vest, “hobie’s just…”

ears pricking, he clung onto the words you were speaking, anticipating possibly hearing something he didn’t want to.

“he’s just so cool,” you breathed with a smile, and he almost verbally sighed in relief, stopping himself in order not to rouse suspicion. he smirked under his mask, “just got this feel about him, so easy to talk to, and he’s so talented! you know, i’ve almost learnt all the lyrics to his songs.”

his heart just about exploded. in fact, he thinks he could pinpoint the exact moment it did.

he played off his burning cheeks, clearing his throat and incredibly glad his mask hid his flustered expression.

“you should come see him, you know,” you looked up at him, and though you knew his answer was ‘no’, it was worth a try, “i can hide you in the back if you don’t wanna be seen.”

“come off it, love,” he dismissed, avoiding your gaze, but his back was tingling like pins and needles under the warmth of it, “i’m not keen to meet the man stealing you from me.”

“fuck sake,” you laughed and pushed his arm off you, brushing off his playful flirting.

his confidence was excelling. the friendship you had formed over the prior months had stemmed from his childish charm, and it hadn’t faltered once.

“well, here i am,” you brought your pace to a halt, hovering in front of the door to your apartment building.

“i’ll miss you tonight,” he fell against the wall, eyes stuck on you. you couldn’t see it, but you could feel his smirk.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, i finish at 11,” you stepped towards him.

“i’ll be waiting,” he kicked off from the bricks, raising his hand to ruffle your hair, much to your protest, before practically disappearing in front of your eyes.

you were left grinning to yourself, much like every night.

“what’s up, bruv?” hobie’s friend elbowed him harshly in the ribs, causing him to rip his eyes from you.

“nothing,” he huffed, but by the lack of sustenance and playfulness in his reply, his friend was less than satisfied. hobie was a carefree, reckless guy with a constant spurt of irony, and seeing him with a sullen expression and no bite back, was worrying.

“come off it, hobie,” another one piped up, sitting across from him with an empty pint in one hand and cigarette in the other, pointing the latter in his face. he huffed, “you’ve been slumping for like 3 months now, and you’ve only been writing sappy love songs.”

the table snickered, and even hobie’s lips curled into a smirk. his friend was right, he wasn’t even nearly like his usual self. he blames you for that.

“who is it then, huh?” his friend pushed, cigarette still hanging in front of hobie’s face, ash crumbling off the end, “has our ol’ hobie brown got himself a partner?”

“oi, you know i hate labels,” he smirked again, knowing he was lying. not that he didn’t usually hate them, but he couldn’t avoid the fact that every time you made your way to the front of his mind, he was urged to call you his. his partner. his person. his love. just his.

he always did hate consistency, anyway.

“another round, guys?” your voice ripped him from his thoughts, your scent somehow drifting above the sticky smell of beer and cigarettes, he pinned that down to his spider abilities, but he’d be a fool to ignore that he had simply just memorised the aroma.

“please, darlin’,” hobie’s friends chirped up, grinning at you thankfully. he cursed the burning feeling in his chest.

“i could do you guys a deal,” you smirked playfully, and he looked up to meet your eyes. you looked beautiful tonight, like usual. he was fucked.

“if you lot give us a song, it’ll be on the house,” you smiled hopefully, taking note of their usual orders just incase they agree.

“sounds like a plan,” hobie reached his hand out to you, open for a handshake, to which you took. soft hands falling into his calloused ones, he couldn’t help but notice how nice it felt.

turning away, you left to get their usual set up sorted, feeling him still watching you, to which you threw him a smile over your shoulder.

it wasn’t unusual at all. his eyes would always find you. at the table with his mates, his gaze would swim through the crowd to yours. even on stage, lost in the moment with himself and his guitar, it was you he always found his eyes trailing back to. it wasn’t like the other men in the bar, it wasn’t predatory desire or lust, but it was warm. it was safe.

he had three options, really; confess himself to you as hobie brown, coming clean about the way he felt about you, the warmth in his heart that spread across his spine whenever you smiled at him, eventually having to come clean about his alter-ego. he could confess as spider-man, to which he’d have to come clean about his actual identity. or option three. stay silent and suffer in his own pity. bite his lip and pretend his heart wasn’t yearning for you.

but, he prided himself in being able to speak his mind without hesitation. confident in his word, suffocated in his silence. he would always say: if he ever bit his tongue, to kill him there and then. well, here he is; begging for mercy at the barrel, his tongue bleeding from keeping his heart locked in his chest.

he was fucked. well and truly.

“anything special happen today?” spider-man nudged you, taking a worried note of your unusual quietness recently. it was the same night, he’d picked you up like normal, and hopped along beside you.

“the band played again,” a swelling smile bloomed on your lips, “other than that, not really.”

your voice was hollow tonight. easily mistakable with your naturally soft tone, but to his trained ears, it didn’t feel right.

stopping immediately in his path, his bouncy steps ceasing, you quickly copied him. confusion slipping behind your eyes.

“what’s up?” you questioned.

“you know you wanna tell me,” he stepped around you, arms falling over your shoulders from behind, heavy with his full weight. something about the mask, it gave him a confidence with you that he’d quenched as hobie.

you sighed and rested your head back against his chest, taking him by surprise. there was something intimate about the way your eyes were closed, body resting against him. your brain was hectic, he didn’t need his spidey senses to see that.

“there’s just…” you spoke, eyelids feeling heavy as you opened them, looking up to see him. head split in two, you were unsure if you even wanted to say it out loud, “there’s this guy.”

it was almost cruel how fast his heart dropped, plummeting like a boulder into the pit of his stomach. body stiffening, his head was spinning so fast he didn’t even have the conscience to mask it.

“i just can’t get him out of my head, it’s so stupid,” if your wistful look wasn’t answer enough, the outpour of dissonance he could feel from your body told him it was serious.

“not another fella tryna steal you from me,” he chuckled, but his voice was weak, vulnerable. you hadn’t heard it like that before.

untangling yourself from his weighted grip, you leant against the wall of the building you were stood in front of, staring up into the night sky. there was something so embarrassing about admitting a silly little crush.

“not another one, technically,” you spoke softly, a hint of a smile tickling your lips at the thought of him, he stepped closer, “i’ve already told you about him.”

and he stopped dead in his tracks. mind racing a million miles an hour, picking apart every word you said. was he stupid? was he reaching? seeing something that wasn’t there? he was the only one you’d spoken about, but surely not, right?

shifting closer again, his body begun to feel the heat radiating off you, barely an inch between you both. he towered you, as always, the spikes on his jacket and mask hitting the streetlights perfectly, giving him an orange glow. you bought yourself to look at him, and though you couldn’t see the eyes beneath, you felt his gaze.

insufferably close, closer than you’ve ever been, you could feel your heart in your chest. a tension that you hadn’t quite felt before, bubbling in the air between you.

“say his name, love,” his voice was low, lower than normal, and a twinge of familiarity hit your chest hearing the deeper tone, one you couldn’t quite pinpoint. chills dripped down your spine at the new found feeling.

gulping, you could feel his name in your throat, struggling it’s way out.

“hobie.” your voice was barely above a whisper, but considering he almost had you pressed against the brick, he heard every syllable. and god, did it sound good.

“again?” he croaked, just wanting to confirm, needing to hear it again, needing to hear you say it, relish in every beat.

“hobie,” you repeated, louder this time, more conviction in your chest, “i like him, like a lot.”

he went silent. dead silent, barely moving. heat radiated from him, and you could’ve sworn in the vacancy of sound that you could hear his heart pounding against his chest. reaching up, your hand trembling slightly, you placed it there. on his chest, feeling the material of his suit, the humanity of his heartbeat. he melted into it.

“are you o—“

“i need to tell you something.” he interrupted you.

it was your turn to be silent, eyes heavy with intrigue, begging him to continue.

without a word, his ring-clad hand ghosted your skin, drifting past the air between you and to the base of his mask, sliding along his neckline for the seam, and dragging it up over his face, revealing the man within.

your heart stopped, a thousand things flashing through your head, through your heart, surging in your bloodstream. you didn’t even know what to say, what to think, how to comprehend it.

“hobie?” your voice was small again, shrunk beneath the look in his eyes, the desire.

embarrassment waved through you for a moment, a sudden panic of the earlier confession, your chest pounding at the possible rejection.

he didn’t even leave the thoughts enough time to fester, however, because his hand that was holding his mask was suddenly flush against your jaw, the material falling softly onto your neck. thumb trailing the comfort of your cheek, revelling in the feel of your skin, warm against his hands, he leaned forward.

his lips were on yours, without a word. gentle, but rough. the tension escaping through the feeling of him pressed into you, desire leaping out of every shared breath. his other hand fell to your waist, and yours stayed firm on his chest, bunching the fabric in your hand to bring him closer. he obliged, of course, and the kiss deepened. his head spun.

pulling away for breath, you kept your eyes on his lips, disbelief swimming around your brain, colliding with the need to kiss him again.

“y/n,” his hand brought your eyeline to his, “i like you, too.”

you couldn’t help but smile, relief washing your body out.

“like, a lot.”

he kissed you again. and again.

a/n: hope u enjoyed!! pls let me kno if ur did, this is my first time writing for him <3 thanku!!!

[monstersandmaw]

Male kelpie (dad-bod, single father, biker) x plus size f. reader - Part One (sfw)

Background info post on the Full Moon Motorcycles group here Oats Appreciation post here

Featuring a plus-size, bisexual, not very confident reader, and a divorced, Scottish, single-dad, biker kelpie with a soft-dad bod and a heart as big as his bike’s engine (possibly bigger).

CW: there is a very brief moment where a character (not Oats!) insults the reader for her size and uses some fat-phobic language towards and about her, unaware that she can hear him. If you’re sensitive to that, it is brief, but you can skip from “…you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.” to the paragraph beginning, “After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror…”. Also, if you squint, there’s a passing moment that could possibly be interpreted as the reader having some potential issues with food, but it’s not intended to be a big deal and it’s only for about two sentences. Still putting it in here too, just in case. 

Wordcount: 7562

You pushed open the glass door of Full Moon Motorcycles and willed yourself not to feel self-conscious or out of place.

Having both an older brother and a mother who rode motorbikes had at least given you a fair bit of familiarity with bikes and the general ‘biker culture’, but it was mostly the fact that almost all the ‘biker girls’ you saw posing on social media were slim and toned, which you were decidedly not.

From the utterly foetid takes in the comments section of the one post your brother had shared on his page with you in it, you’d also got the impression that the biker community was not particularly kind to any woman with a waist over 25 inches. It probably wasn’t the case, but your one experience with it had been enough to make you very wary.

And yet, as you made your way towards the bike shop’s counter and the older man with floppy, greying hair and warm brown eyes looked up, you were greeted with an open, welcoming smile.

“Hi there,” he said, standing up with a grunt from the comfy chair where he’d been sitting in the corner near the shop’s antique cash register. “What can I do for you?”

You smiled shyly and glanced along the wooden countertop before returning your gaze to him. “I’m looking for a present for my brother, but I’m kind of on a budget…”

“Gotcha. We’ve got some silly key fobs there,” he said, indicating a rotating display rack at one end of the counter, with mottoes that ranged from funny to explicit, “But if they like working on their bike themselves, you can’t go wrong with some maintenance supplies… Not the most glamorous but I promise they’ll be grateful to you all the same.”

“Could always tie a festive ribbon round it,” you said, and he chuckled and nodded.

“That’s the spirit.”

You eyed the reasonable price of the fobs with some relief, and then followed his gesture towards the various bottles of chain degreaser and the like, and a few other useful tools and kits that were stacked on shelves on the back wall to the right of a door that presumably led into the back and store rooms.

The right hand side of the shop had the counter and some shiny, new bikes that had been parked in a row around the perimeter of the space, and the left hand side was more open with a bench or two against the brick walls, and some red, mechanics�� tool-chests tucked against the back wall. A number of leather two- and one-piece suits hung in racks at the furthest end though, with helmets on shelves and a few rows of t-shirts, jeans, gloves, and boots displayed too. There were oil stains in the centre of the polished concrete floor, and you suspected that tinkering took place there outside of the shop’s usual opening hours.

The whole vibe of Full Moon Motorcycles was friendly and cosy, with a slightly industrial, grungy note for some flavour.

In short, you loved it.

“There are also some fun helmet covers –” the older man chuckled, and added, “A number of the regulars here have them, and there are also some earplugs, or perhaps a tough phone case and mount? A chain care kit? There are some vinyl stickers too, and t-shirts, socks, neck warmers, balaclavas, mugs, helmet care kits, thermals…”

Laughing, you held up your hands for him to stop, and he started to chuckle too.

“I’ll let you browse in peace, sweetheart,” he said, his whisky brown eyes twinkling. Even his un-looked-for endearment came across as kindly instead of creepy, and not many men could pull that off. “You just holler if you have questions and I’ll be happy to –”

The door opened behind you and he broke off as his attention was snagged by the arrival of a heavy-set guy in dark jeans and a softly-worn, black leather jacket. He held a black helmet with a tinted visor in his large hands, and he looked more than a little wind-blown and rumpled.

Incongruous with his rather roguish-dishevelment, a lock of his long, thick, slightly grizzled, black hair was held back by a little hair-clip with a Barbie-pink, fabric bow. It didn’t fit with the dark scruff of stubble on his jaw or the piercing green-blue eyes at all, but he seemed completely unfazed by its presence.

“Oats!” the older man exclaimed with obvious joy, clapping his hands. “It’s been a while, my boy! How was the trip to Scotland? You make it round the NC500 this time?”

The ‘boy’ looked to be in his mid to late thirties…

“Ach, no’ a chance this time, Hank,” the man chuckled with a heavy, Scottish accent lacing his rich, rough baritone. Exactly where in Scotland he was from, you couldn’t tell, but it was lyrical and attractive all the same.

“Ah, next time, next time. And is Natalie well?

“Oh aye, my wee Loch Ness Monster is doing just fine. She’ll be terrorising her mother for the Christmas holidays. I came straight from the road though — clutch started playing up just south of Birmingham.” He grimaced, but even that looked charming somehow. “Sort of hoped you might find a minute to take a look at it for me if I left the Old Girl here. No rush though.”

“No problem, Oats. We’ll get her running properly again in no time. Bet you’re missing little Natalie already,” Hank added sympathetically.

“Ah, you have no idea,” the man, peculiarly-named ‘Oats’, sighed ruefully, shaking his head.

“See she left you with a parting gift though,” Hank snorted, pointing at the bow hair clip.

With a slight frown to his dark eyebrows, Oats reached up and patted at his head until he found it, and then he laughed. It was a loud, delighted, full-bellied sound that reverberated through the space while it lasted, and he left the hair clip where it was with no trace of self-consciousness as he lowered his hand again. “Aye, that she did. Surprised it survived the journey down with my lid on and everything. Oh –” His unusually pale green eyes landed on you, watching him and lurking near the rows of t-shirts on the back wall, and he went still.

Those sea-grey eyes raked you up and down, clearly noting the way your black leggings clung to the curves of your thighs and hips, and the black hoodie, which maybe went some way to hiding the softness of your stomach a bit, and he swallowed visibly. He looked… hungry. That was not the usual reaction you had grown accustomed to from men, and you let the flare of heat lick up your insides for just a moment, daring to hope that maybe he did find you attractive.

“Sorry,” he said in your direction, with a soft, dusky smile. “Didnae mean t’interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” you managed to croak back at him before returning your attention, however reluctantly, to present options for your brother while the older man, Hank, hobbled out around the corner of the wooden counter to chat amicably with the man. You couldn’t hear what was said as the two chatted in lower voices, but it was evident that they were good friends. While they talked, however, you couldn’t help noticing that he stole occasional sidelong glances in your direction, and you felt your face warm pleasantly.

‘Oats’ was certainly an unusual nickname, but then again, almost everyone who rode with your brother also had their own nicknames for one reason or another. As you browsed, you wondered what Oats had done to earn that one. He certainly looked like a snack to you, but you vowed not to let your attraction to the stranger show. Awkward situations (or worse, silences) tended to arise when you let that happen.

He had a tanned, outdoorsy complexion, and longish, black hair that was tied back in a low ponytail that brushed below the collar of his black leather jacket. It looked like it had a tendency to flop into his face when not restrained by that out-of-place pink bow. He filled out the jacket very well, and clearly had a soft paunch, and his thighs looked frankly delectable in those thick, indigo jeans. You prayed you wouldn’t have to see him fully from the back if he turned around, to witness the way he filled out the seat of his jeans too.

Fuck. Concentrate.

Bike gifts for brother, not delicious-looking stranger you’re never going to see again.

“Well, I shouldnae hang about, I suppose.”

Oats’ voice cut through your musings in front of chain degreasers and you jumped a little. Glancing back over at him, you offered him a smile when he too turned to look at you one last time, and a slow, charming smile crept onto his handsome face.

“See you,” he said with a dip of his head. Before he strode from the shop though, he let his eyes roam once more down the length of you and he bit his lower lip, almost regretfully, then turned away abruptly.

Oh yes. He absolutely did fill out the ass of those jeans beautifully.

Quite honestly, you weren’t totally sure what you ended up getting your brother for his birthday. You took whatever it was to the counter in a daze, your mind replaying over and over the way he’d looked at you.

“Must say,” Hank said conspiratorially as he fished your change from the antique cash register and slid it across the polished, wooden counter towards you. “I’ve never seen Oats quite so taken with someone, miss.” He chuckled, his kind, whisky-brown eyes glinting. “You take care now.”

Swallowing, you nodded and left the shop, hoping perhaps to find Oats waiting for you outside on the street, leaning against his motorcycle, but life was not a movie, and wherever he was, he was not lingering in the hopes of seeing you. In fact, the street was completely deserted, so you crossed, clambered into your little hatchback, and drove home with the feeling that you’d let a pivotal moment in your life pass you by.

Your sour mood persisted like a raincloud for the whole week, but by the time you were driving over to your brother’s on Saturday for his birthday ride, you were trying to pull yourself out of it. You had your own helmet with you, secured in the back of the car, and beside it was (now wrapped) the present you’d got him. In fact, it was a chain care kit, and, although you hadn’t noticed at the time, Hank had thrown in a free keychain that said ‘In my defence, I was left unsupervised’ which was very on-brand for your brother. You had planned to go back and thank him for the freebie as soon as you could, but your brother’s birthday ride had been planned for that Saturday, and work had been hell that week, so you’d not had the chance.

Predictably, Alex wasn’t in the house when you rang the doorbell, so you followed the sound of metallic clinking and laughter, and went round the side to find him tinkering with his mad little Honda Grom in the garage, while his two best mates — Eggs and Sparky — were lounging around and either making unhelpful suggestions or lewd comments.

“Yo!” Sparky grinned when he saw you, sitting up straighter and almost falling off the mechanic’s tool chest he was leaning his weight against. At Sparky’s exclamation, your brother sat up and banged his head on the handlebars of the short little Grom with a curse.

“Hey,” you mumbled in Sparky’s general direction. “Happy birthday, Alex.”

Alex scrambled upright and came over to hug you, probably smearing grease and dirt all over your armoured jacket, but since it was black anyway, you didn’t mind too much. Alex was about as opposite to you as it was possible to get — straight up and down like a beanpole, and tall. You took after your mother, inheriting all her thick curves and soft edges. Soft heart too.

“Thought this might come in handy,” you mumbled when Alex released you and you held out the brown paper bag stamped with the logo of Full Moon Motorcycles.

His eyes lit up when he saw the logo, and he tore into it like a chipmunk after a peanut, grinning in delight when he’d dismembered it, and in particular he showed off the keychain to his mates. Eggs snatched it and tried to claim it for himself, but Alex was having none of it, and the three of them scrapped and goofed around while you sat down on an old, metal stool in the corner and waited for the other two of your small party to show up, with a cool, curdling kind of dread in the pit of your stomach when you heard one name in particular. Nooner.

Within an hour though, you were all out on the road.

You took the pillion seat behind Alex, and warded his mates off at red lights when they came for his killswitch to immobilise him. A while later though, Alex zoomed off down the open road that would take you all out of town and towards the somewhat famous biker cafe, ‘Elusive Neutral’, that sat nestled amongst the fragrant heather of the rolling hills surrounding the old market town.

The sky was a gorgeous, autumnal blue and the weather was perfect, neither too hot nor too cold, and as your brother’s Yamaha flew along the winding A-road that was every biker’s dream, you cracked a smile and gently tipped your head back. As much as it had scared you when you’d first ridden behind your mother all those years ago, you did love the feeling of being out on a bike. Not that you were actually brave enough to want to try and learn yourself though. Something always held you back, made you wary and unsure, and then you inevitably felt down about that too. God, you wished you had Alex’s wild confidence.

Nothing good ever seemed to last for you though, and when Alex’s R1 had purred into the car park behind Eggs and Sparky, and you’d hopped off to let him reverse more easily into a space, you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.

“…if he didn’t have his fat sister with him, we could have fucking ripped it up along those twisties.” That, of course, had come from Nooner, named for the fact that he rarely stuck to two wheels and always pulled wheelies, or ‘nones’, whenever he got the chance. Out of all of your brother’s friends, he was the one you liked the least, for… obvious reasons.

“Talk about killing the vibes, huh?” Eggs replied, trying to suck up to him, as ever. “More like ‘crushing’!”

The reason Eggs had earned his nickname was that he’d lost a bet and shaved his head when they’d all been about sixteen, and he’d looked like a boiled egg til it grew back. You wished you had the sass to remind him of that every time his spine seemed to crumble in favour of earning a half-hearted snicker out of Nooner.

When Alex joined you, he caught the crestfallen expression on your face and frowned, but you shook your head and walked away from them, heading for the cafe alone.

“Can’t wait to shove some cake in her fat gob already,” Nooner added as an aside to Eggs, and your vision blurred as tears welled along your lashes. Why did people have to be so cruel? To trample all over someone else just to feel a little taller themselves?

You vaguely heard what sounded like Sparky’s voice countering the comment, but you didn't stick around either way. If you mentioned it to your brother again, he’d just say it was banter with the guys and not to take it to heart. Easy for someone who's never been on the end of that kind of comment to shrug it off, after all.

You ducked straight for the toilets when you got inside the airy, modern cafe, not even bothering to look around or find a table first.

After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror to see that you hadn’t turned your eyeliner into a panda cosplay, you headed out again and made for the little bar that doubled as a counter for people who were there solo to sit and eat instead of taking up a whole table to themselves. None of your brother’s friends joined you, and when you glanced back over your shoulder, you saw that they’d settled themselves around a table in the far corner and already had a number for a server to bring their food order over. They hadn’t even waited for you.

“Fuck them,” you hissed through gritted teeth, taking a seat at the bar instead. The stools were made of old tractor seats, and they were surprisingly comfortable, and as you leaned your forearms on the countertop, the young woman behind the counter came over to you with a smile that made you feel a little better.

“Hey,” she said. “What can I get for you?”

You ordered a hot drink, and then took out your phone while you waited for her to make it for you.

For half an hour or so, you sat scrolling through social media and sipping your drink and telling yourself this was your brother’s day and not yours. He did come over a couple of times, but you declined to sit with his friends, and because he’d never had any real reason to doubt you before, he took you at your word when you told him you were happy enough where you were. “I don’t want to get in the way,” you said, and he believed you.

Patting you on the shoulder, he left you for the third time, and you looked down into the dregs of your drink with a heavy sigh. “This sucks.”

Outside, the sound of more bikes arriving made your ears perk up, and you wondered idly what they rode. Elusive Neutral had once been an old cattle barn, but it had been completely redone and the walls on two sides had been replaced with vast picture windows that showed the sweeping expanse of moorland beyond, and a small sliver of the car park at one end. Craning your neck, you saw a group of maybe five or six bikers draw up, some on hipster looking cafe racers and others on racy sports bikes. There was even a Ducati Panigale among them, and behind them followed an old, battered, blue pickup truck.

The door opened a little while later, and you glanced over, eyes drawn instinctively by the movement.

Above the general chatter and merry chinking of china in the room, the energy of the new group of bikers rose like a cloud of dizzy mayflies; buzzing and excited and full of joy. You watched them all with interest from your perch at the counter.

The first through the door was an absolute Amazon of a woman, with her long black hair restrained in a thick braid, and shoulders the width of a barn door. She was lean and tall, and in her biker gear she looked… incredible. Her face was strikingly handsome, but until she glanced down at the woman walking beside her, her features were hard and glowering and unspeakably stern. She held the door open for one of the others to follow her inside, but when she locked eyes again with the brunette by her side, her whole expression melted into unguarded adoration. Your gut twisted briefly with jealousy.

It wouldn’t matter to you who looked at you like that, if only someone would.

You looked away, and by the time you glanced back at the bikers, the whole group had filed in from outside. There was a guy with golden-brown skin and beautiful dark brown eyes who had his arm wrapped possessively around the waist of a pale, skinny guy in black jeans and a moth-eaten, black jumper, with his long hair tied back in a bun, and behind them came a strikingly attractive guy in a manual wheelchair, flanked by a very short biker with slightly anaemic looking skin. You wondered fleetingly if the guy in the wheelchair had ridden a motorbike there, and if so how, before you realised he was probably the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, with long, flowing red hair and dark green eyes, and the kind of mouth that was made for laughing, and for kissing.

Jesus, was it an unwritten rule of being a biker that you had to be unfairly attractive? Even Hank, who you recognised with a start of surprise coming in behind the guy with red hair, wasn’t unattractive, in a bulky, older man kind of way.

The guy walking with him though… he truly made your stomach swoop.

It was Oats.

You looked away before he could spot you, sitting alone at the bar like some pathetic creature waiting for cocktail hour to begin. It was lunchtime on a sunny, autumnal Saturday though, and there you were sitting alone because you didn’t fancy sitting with your brother’s loser mates.

God, the way Oats had looked in his tough-looking leather jacket, with his eyes crinkled mid-laugh at something the guy in the wheelchair had shot back at them over his shoulder… You bit your lip and stared into the bottom of your cold, empty mug like it would divine some kind of solution to your situation for you.

The new group didn’t seem to notice you while they filed up to the counter, jostling and joking, and when they drifted off to another corner of the cafe, you turned back to your phone, trying desperately to resist the almost overwhelming urge to keep turning over your shoulder to watch them.

Before too long however, you startled at a soft tap on your shoulder, and you looked around to find Oats himself stepping back to a polite distance and smiling down at you like he’d found a treasure in an unexpected place.

“Hey there,” he said in that rolling, Scottish accent that did unspeakably indecent things to your insides. “Sorry if I’m intruding, but you were at Full Moon last week, right?”

Mute for a moment, you nodded, and mustered up a slightly dazed smile for him.

“You… here alone?” he asked, eyeing the currently-empty seats to your left and right. In fact, someone had only just gathered up their belongings and left.

“Kind of?” you croaked, letting your eyes slide over to the table where your brother and his friends were hunched over one of their phones, snickering at something. “It’s… It’s my brother’s birthday today. I… tagged along as pillion, but… you know… I’m kind of a spare part really.”

At that, Oats’ dark eyebrows knitted into a scowl and he looked across the room at them before returning his attention to you. Then, his unearthly, almost prismatic, silver-green eyes took in your empty cup and he grinned. “Can I get y’a top up?”

Your instinct was to refuse, but you bit your lip. This didn’t feel real. A cute, handsome, courteous guy was actually taking an interest in you.

“Sure. Thank you.” And the smile that spread itself across your face telegraphed your delight in a way that was impossible to disguise with any kind of suave grace.

Oats, however, seemed equally delighted, and nodded. The barista came back over and he leaned his weight on the counter to talk to her. He seemed to have that enviably easy manner with everybody, and he even charmed a free slice of cake out of her too with what felt like no effort at all.

“Chocolate? Or something else?” he asked you.

“Pardon?”

“Cake.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” you said, but he frowned.

“You sure? I’m gonna have a bit of their chocolate cake. It’s so good, it’s practically a sin.”

“I…” you faltered.

He didn’t pressure you though and shrugged easily, turning back to the barista. “Gimme two forks with that, love. Just in case.”

“No problem,” she beamed back while she bustled about, and Oats eyed the empty bar stool next to yours.

“May I?”

You swallowed your nerves and nodded. “Please.” And then, because apparently a demon of confidence had temporarily possessed you, you eyed his slightly helmet-flattened forelock and said, “No pink hair clips today?”

He guffawed loudly enough that your brother actually glanced over and frowned when he saw you talking with a stranger.

Oats snorted and shook his head. “No, not today. My daughter is still up in Scotland with her mother.” He fixed you with a more serious look and said, “She and I divorced, before you get the wrong idea about me flirting like this with a beautiful woman.”

The compliment caught you so off-guard that you just froze for a moment, but when the heat of a blush filled your face, you looked away and he chuckled.

“I’m not normally so forward, but I’ve been kicking myself for not talking to you when I first saw you in Full Moon. Hank was telling me just this morning what a muppet I’d made of myself for walking away like that.”

You looked behind you at the group of his friends and then turned back to him. “Won’t they think you’re being rude, ignoring them like this?”

He shook his head and smiled. “They’re probably all taking bets on how quickly you’ll shoot me down.”

“What? I’d have to be an idiot to do that.”

At that, his face split into a huge, handsome grin and he shook his head just a little. “Lucky me,” he said. “You ride?” he added, eyeing your jacket that was obviously a motorcycle jacket.

You shrugged. “Pillion. I’ve never ridden myself, but my brother lets me come out with him sometimes.”

Oats nodded, and then, as the barista set down his coffee, your top-up, and the plate of decadent chocolate cake with two forks, he said, “I’m Euan, by the way, but everyone calls me Oats.”

You introduced yourself, and then said, “Oats?”

He snorted and nodded. “Not the worst nickname, for sure.”

“Can I ask where it came from?”

Oats nodded and shunted the plate towards you first before leaning his elbow on the bar and watching you while he spoke. “I think it’s because I’m a dad, but I’m always prepared for most situations, and when it comes to my Natalie, she’s always hungry. I’ve usually got about a thousand granola bars stashed away about my person —” he said, cutting himself off to pat conspicuously at his jacket pockets. Pulling a slightly dog-eared crunchy bar from his breast pocket, he wielded it like a magic wand at you and said, “Case in point.”

“Hence, Oats,” you said, eyeing the healthy brand name on the packet.

“Exactly. Like I said, it could be worse. See the tall lass over there with the dangerous scowl?”

You didn't need to turn around to know which of his friends he was talking about, but you did anyway. “Yeah.”

“We call her Pixie.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” he chuckled, stowing the granola bar back into his pocket and taking a huge scoop of the chocolate cake with his own fork.

“What do you ride then?” you asked.

“Triumph Bonneville T120,” he said with almost exactly the same intonation and fondness as he’d just said ‘because I’m a dad’, and you couldn’t help smiling. “Can’t be doing with all these glitzy sports bikes and the like,” he added with a laugh, setting his fork down and blinking slowly. His lashes, you noticed, were thick and dark and enticingly long.

Laughing, you smiled. “Don’t say that too loudly — my brother rides an R1.”

“Nice,” Oats grinned back. “But nothing could entice me away from my girl.”

“I’m surprised you’re here, flirting with me then,” you said. Evidently that confidence demon was still lurking.

Again, Oats laughed, though it was more of a low whicker this time, and it rolled right through you and lit you up all over. God, how long had it been since someone had laughed like that for you?

“There are… exceptions,” he said in a rumbling murmur. “Tell me about yourself?” he asked, and you did.

You spent the next hour at least talking in an easy back and forth with him while he charmed a few more refills from the barista and a lot of answers out of you, before one of his friends sidled up shyly and waited for a lull in your conversation.

“Sorry to butt in,” the small, unbelievably beautiful woman said. She was the one who’d been on the receiving end of the adoring look from the Amazon, ‘Pixie’. She had chocolate-brown hair falling in thick ringlets around a gorgeous face, and, you were pleased to note, she had wide hips and a softness to her that a lot of the biker chicks you’d seen online didn’t have.

“Coco,” Oats beamed. “Meet my new friend.” He introduced you by name, and Coco smiled at you, holding out her hand.

When your palms connected, you felt a warmth rush through you and you felt like your heart skipped a beat. The feeling like you could tip forwards and drown in her endless, dark brown eyes almost unseated you, but she let go of you and stepped back with a pretty smile on her Cupid’s-bow lips. “Pleasure to meet you. Just wanted to tell Oats that we’re thinking of heading off soon. Ariel has a photoshoot he wants to get to in an hour or so, and Demon’s keen to get going as well.”

Oats nodded, and you tried not to let your stomach drop down to your boots at the thought of all this coming to such an abrupt end.

Coco turned her head sharply to look at you just as the feeling hit, and she smiled faintly. “You could always stay here though, Oats,” she added with a pretty smile. “We’re only going back to Full Moon, and Demon clearly has no intention of lingering there…” She shot a meaningful glance back at their table. Demon, the guy with dark hair and tanned skin, was seated with the guy he’d entered with now draped in his lap, his skinny legs dangling as he sprawled languidly back against the guy’s muscular chest. Demon whispered something into his ear before he clearly bit the shell of his boyfriend’s ear, which made him sit abruptly upright and flush a vibrant pink.

Oats laughed again and shook his head. “Fuck me,” he chuckled privately. “Never thought I’d see the day. You guys go on. I’m… I’m very much content here.”

“I can see that,” Coco smirked, and walked away.

When she was out of earshot, you turned to Oats with a hot flush of your own in your face and said, “Don’t stay if you don’t want to… I’m sure my brother will be leaving soon anyway…”

Just as you said that, and before Oats could reply, Alex reappeared at your side and jutted his chin in Oats’ direction. “You good?” he chirped at you.

“Fine,” you replied. “This is Oats. I met him at Full Moon Motorcycles when I was buying your birthday present.”

“Oh,” Alex replied, holding out his hand for Oats to shake. “Good to meet you, man. You tell her what to get for me? If you did, it was a good choice.”

“No,” Oats said carefully, his grey-green eyes sliding back to your face even while he shook your brother’s hand amicably. “No, whatever she got you, it was all her.”

“Oh, cool,” Alex said. “Listen, sis, we’re gonna hit the road in a while. Nooner and Eggs want to hit the twisties for a bit, but I can’t really do that with a backpack, so Sparky said he’d give you a ride home, if that’s ok.”

You swallowed. “Um…”

“I can give her a lift,” Oats replied after a swift glance in your direction. “She’s already got her own lid, and there’s room on the Bobber’s double seat for both of us.”

“I don’t know, man,” Alex said with a wary frown.

“Your choice,” Oats shrugged easily, looking at you and holding his hands up just a little.

For a fleeting moment, you weren’t sure, but the idea of wrapping your arms around Oats’ thick middle and sitting astride his gorgeous bike kind of decided it for you. Besides, it was a long time since you’d done anything truly just for yourself; simply because you wanted to. You nodded at your brother. “It’s fine. You go ahead.”

“You sure?”

Nodding to reassure him, you smiled again and Alex backed up a pace. “Cool. Text me later, ok?” he said as he retreated towards his friends, clearly trying to hide his excitement at not having a passenger for the great, twisting section of A-road they were heading for.

“Will do. Have fun, and don’t crash!” you called after him. “Or get a speeding ticket!”

He waved a hand over one shoulder without looking back, and you laughed and returned your attention to Oats. “Brothers.”

“Bikers,” he replied. “You try telling that to any of that lot though —” he gestured towards his own group of friends who were now filtering out of the door. “You ready to head out too or do you want to stay?”

You did want to stay, but the seat wasn’t that comfortable anymore, and you wanted to move around a bit. “No, I’m good to go,” you said and prepared to slide off the stool, but Oats stepped down first and held out his hand to you. You didn't need helping down, and his playful little smirk told you he knew as much, so you rode out the last of that demonic possession and let your fingers slide across his palm and he steadied you off the stool.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“Pleasure.”

You picked up your helmet from where you’d stowed it on the floor at your feet and straightened to find him waving casually across the room to the good-looking guy with the ethereally pretty boyfriend. Before he stepped away from you and made towards the door though, you cleared your throat and said, “Oats?”

“Mn?” Looking down at you, his entire attention honed in on you, like you were the centre of the universe, and you swallowed back a sudden welling of emotion.

“Listen… Thank you… for… coming over to me today. Like I said, it’s my brother’s birthday, and he was here with his friends, and he only included me so I didn’t feel completely left out, but…” Accursed tears washed over your eyes for a moment but you blinked them away furiously and ploughed on regardless. “I’m really glad I came along today anyway,” you finished rather pathetically.

His full, beautiful lips curled into a gentle smile and he blinked softly and exhaled. When he spoke, his voice was low and his words private, as though you weren’t standing in a busy cafe surrounded by people and the cheerful clatter of coffee cups and laughter. “I’m really glad I did too. I wasn’t going to, you know? I was going to stay at home and edit a boatload of raw photographs for a client, but Demon convinced me to come out. I guess I owe him.”

“‘Demon’? For… For the speed?” you asked, wondering how he came by his nickname.

“For the horns,” Oats replied in deadpan humour. “Have a look if he’s still there when we go outside. You ready?”

You followed him out of the cafe with a nod, and just as you took a deep, indulgent breath of fresh, heathland air, Oats’ group of friends filed out past you on their bikes. The one named Demon was in the lead, and the nickname made immediate sense. Sitting astride a blood-red Panigale, with his boyfriend clinging on behind him like a limpet, the guy had pale, curving horns fixed to the crown of his helmet.

“Yeah, that tracks,” you said, and Oats waggled his dark eyebrows.

The Amazon had a Yamaha R1 like your brother’s, but hers had a pearl-white wrap that made it look almost spectral, and riding out in front of her was Coco on a yellow and black Honda Hornet.

The telltale red plait told you that the guy in the wheelchair was on a modified Kawasaki, with unusual struts at the back that looked like they would come down when he stopped to stabilise him instead of having to take his legs off the foot pegs, where they were currently Velcro-ed in place. Watching the whole group file out was Hank, standing beside a battered old pickup. In the bed of the truck, you could just see that the red-headed biker’s wheelchair secured in place.

Hank waved the last of them off, then glanced over at Oats. The older man lifted his nose just a little, as if he too was enjoying the fresh, moorland wind that whipped across the car park, and he nodded once at Oats, and then at you to your surprise, before clambering stiffly up into his pickup and closing the door. It shut with a raucous yelp of rusty hinges.

You stood there and watched Oats’ friends all file out, all waving at Oats as they passed, before they set off down the road in a roar of revving engines to leave a lonely looking Bonneville waiting patiently near the stone wall of the car park nearby.

“Yours, I presume?” you said, nodding at it.

“Yup.”

“She’s a beauty,” you mumbled, self-consciousness prickling at the sides of your neck for the silly comment.

Oats beamed though, his sea-foam eyes lighting up as the crinkles around his eyes and the slight dimples in his cheeks creased under the force of his obvious pleasure. “Thank you. She’s my pride and joy. You ready? Oh, wait, you should put your address into my phone before we get going,” he laughed.

You nodded, taking the offered phone from him. Your fingers brushed against his warm skin as you took it, and a tiny thrill passed through you that you did your best to quash. With your address plugged in and a route home waiting to be followed, you handed it back to him and looked up into his handsome, rugged face as he smiled.

“Cheers. Let’s go,” he said, and you trailed along beside him over to his bike, heartbeat thudding in your ears with your nerves.

He swung a leg over and turned the key, then pushed the bike upright and nudged the side-stand in with his left foot before flicking the switch and bringing the bike to life. She growled beautifully, the low, thundering rumble of her engine sounding far more visceral and primal than your brother’s sports bike did. Perhaps it was the design of the lower-slung Bonneville, with its visible parts that made you think of a Steampunk aesthetic, but you instantly preferred it. Plus, the double seat looked way more cushioned — and less precarious — than the one you’d perched on to get to the cafe that morning.

Oats got himself comfy while you slid your helmet on, then he looked over his shoulder at you and nodded, so you took that as your cue and got settled on the pillion seat behind him. The footpegs were already down. The pulsing purr of the machine beneath you was almost enough to distract you from the fact that you were entrusting your life to a relative stranger, whom you’d never seen ride before, and as you climbed on and rested your hands politely on his shoulders, you felt a shiver travel through your whole nervous system.

“Do whatever’s comfortable for you, obviously,” Oats said over the noise of his bike, “But if you want to hold my waist — if you can actually get your arms around my middle, that is,” he chuckled self-effacingly, “— feel free. Totally up to you.”

“Thanks,” you yelled back, and, because apparently that pesky demon of confidence was still kicking around, you hugged his torso.

It was wonderful.

Slowly snaking your arms around his middle, you felt your chest press against his back and you caught the way he inhaled slowly and tried not to wonder what it meant. It felt so good to hold him that you had to remind yourself it wasn’t a hug. It was to keep you in place while a gorgeous stranger drove you home on his equally gorgeous bike. With a final thumbs-up to check you were happy, to which you replied with a nod of your head and tried not to clack your helmet against his, he pulled away and your heart leapt for the sheer joy of it.

Where the R1 was built for sleek speed and bursts of power, the Bonneville was build to be enjoyed, and oh gosh, did you enjoy every curve.

And not just the curves in the road, either.

Oats was soft, but he was solid, and the urge to rest one hand on his thick thigh was almost overwhelming, until he took the corners at just the right pace to be exhilarating without you having to worry about your safety, and you clung on instead and laughed behind the safety of your visor.

It was all over way too soon, and as the Bonneville chugged into your road like a steam train and halted outside your poky, terraced house with its quaint little kitchen garden out the front in the postage-stamp of space between the pavement and the house, your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. Please don’t let this be it, you thought desperately.

You went through the motions of getting carefully off the bike without staggering or falling, and again, Oats held out his hand to help steady you. You gripped his fingers gratefully and when you gave an extra little squeeze to his hand at the end, you could have sworn he answered with one of his own and a throaty chuckle.

He dismounted too, which surprised you, and you wondered if you were going to have to ask him inside. As much as you wanted that in principle, you desperately didn’t want it to happen today because the house was a mess: laundry was still hanging up all over the place, and you’d cooked a curry the previous night and it was definitely still lingering in the air.

Oats took off his helmet but left his bike idling, which went a little way to reassuring you, and when you looked more closely at his expression, you thought you saw a hint of something familiar lingering in the corners of his eyes. Was he nervous?

Swallowing thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing behind the thick, 5 o’clock shadow that looked like it lingered pretty constantly no matter the time of day, Oats took a deep breath, held it, and then smiled at you. “Fuck,” he exhaled, and laughed. “I’m… very rusty at all this.” He held his helmet in both hands before him, toying with the strap.

“If I gave you my number, would you maybe like to meet up again?” you asked, taking pity on the man.

“Very much,” he said softly. “Like I said, Natalie is with her mum for the holidays, and apart from a wedding I’m covering next week, this is a pretty slow time of year for me. I’m free… mostly whenever.”

The reminder that he had a daughter with someone else did make you wonder what you were letting yourself in for. Children weren’t really something you had any expense of, since neither you nor your brother had shown any parental inclinations yet, and you weren’t particularly close to your cousins who had small kids.

“Ok, let me give you my number and we can figure something out.”

That done, he slid his phone back into his pocket and zipped it up, biting gently at his lower lip for a moment. “I know it’s bold,” he said, “But may I kiss you?”

Your heart skipped and soared. Breathless, you looked up at him and whispered, “Yes.”

His tiny, gentle, lopsided smile heralded the kiss’ approach, and he took your jaw delicately in one, leather-gloved hand as he leaned down and brushed his lips against yours. They were soft but insistent against yours, and you answered with a little moan as your eyes fluttered shut.

He groaned, pulling you closer with a low growl so that you were pressed flush against him for a moment before he stepped back and exhaled roughly. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll see you soon?”

You nodded, feeling like you were floating inches above the ground.

You watched him re-mount his bike and adjust himself a little once he was settled, then he revved it playfully for you, and rode away after a final look back at you. He flipped his visor down as he pulled away, and you watched the bike and its rider disappear down the road.

‘Soon’ couldn’t come soon enough… 

__

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[deliciousangelfestival]

The Malicious Daughter is Back! - 3

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

You scoffed, “Are you willing to wait until school is over? As you can see, I have to teach my precious students.”

Bucky smirked. This was the first time you had seen him smile. You had to admit he was handsome. Victoria must be proud, as Bucky was way out of her league.

But you didn't want to get close to him since he was already your step-sister's fiancé. Perhaps he had the same character as her.

Bucky interrupted your thoughts, “You don't have to worry since the principal has given you permission to leave after this class.”

Unbeknownst to you, before he entered your class, Andre had brought him to the principal's office. Bucky had bribed the principal with cigars.

For the first time, Andre saw his principal, who usually wore a flat expression from the stress of dealing with delinquent students, laugh heartily as he picked up the cigars. “Haha… of course. Miss Sinclair needs a day off.”

Clueless about Bucky's deal with the principal, you raised your eyebrows in surprise, not expecting the principal to give you a day off so easily.

Half a day without dealing with the delinquents wasn't a bad idea. As you rose from your seat, you issued a directive, "Fine. Let's go."

You pointed towards the hallway and added, "And stick close to me. It's like a jungle out there."

As Bucky followed behind you, he soon realized the context of your warning. The students erupted in cheers, though the intent behind their vocalizations remained ambiguous, potentially constituting either catcalls or attempts to provoke offense.

"You've got a rich sugar daddy, miss," one student jeered, while another offered unsolicited advice, "Dude, run while you still have the chance."

A misguided attempt at physical interaction occurred when one student attempted to bump into Bucky, prompting him to sidestep, causing the student to stumble and fall.

"Dude, what the heck?" the surrounding students exclaimed in confusion.

"Pardon me," Bucky politely interjected as he maneuvered away from the scene.

Observing the exchange, you addressed the student, Mark, with a pointed remark, "That's what you get."

In response, Mark displayed a gesture of defiance, raising his middle finger, to which you reciprocated in kind.

Witnessing the interaction between you and your students, Bucky noted your lack of fear, interpreting your demeanor as assertive and resilient.

“RINNNGG!”

Break time was over, and it was time for the students to return to their classrooms. However, none of them made a move.

You understood the reason; they knew you were leaving.

Standing near the school door, you raised your right arm and held up three fingers.

“If I count to three and you guys are still here, I'll make all of you fail my class,” you warned them, your tone firm and commanding.

“We'll make you viral, b*tch! This is unfair,” Mark protested.

“Try me. One…” You began the countdown, your voice echoing through the hallway, your expression steely.

Before you could even say “two,” the students scattered, rushing back to their classrooms in a panic.

Bucky watched in awe, though he didn't verbalize it. Instead, he gave you an impressed look, admiration evident in his eyes.

You shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly. “Like I said before, devil spawn.”

Bucky chuckled and held the door open for you, a gesture of respect and acknowledgment of your authority.

💋💋💋💋💋

He brings you to a luxurious café, seemingly inspired by Moroccan design. The place features intricate tiles, arched doorways, and rich colors. Elegant furniture, soft lighting, and comfortable seating create a warm atmosphere.

It had been a long time since you visited a place like this, reminiscent of times before you were kicked out by your stepmother.

Opting for the cheapest drink on the menu, you ordered a cold brew, not wanting to owe him anything more than necessary.

Your drink arrived promptly, and you tasted it. The taste of the coffee made you forget about the shitty cafeteria coffee you just had. Compared to you, who ordered a simple drink, Bucky's was unique.

His coffee was prepared right before him, with the server announcing, “We have prepared your coffee cup, sir.”

Bucky nodded graciously. “Thank you.”

“You're very welcome, sir,” the server replied before departing. “Enjoy.”

Bucky savored his coffee with an air of elegance, his movements precise and refined. You couldn't help but notice that he had been wearing leather gloves this whole time.

Taking a sip of your drink, you asked, “So… What do you want to talk about?”

Bucky set down his drink and met your gaze with his calm, cold demeanor.

“It's about last night,” he began, his expression unreadable as he spoke.

You grumbled, “Oh my god. Are you going to sue me for sexual harassment? I'm sorry. It's a bad habit of mine, doing something without thinking. Please don't sue me. I don't have the money to hire a lawyer.”

Bucky struggled to follow your rapid speech. “No, calm down. I won't sue you. It's just…” He paused, taking a deep breath to compose himself.

Or did Victoria cry to Bucky and ask him to teach you a lesson? You couldn't help but wonder what he was going to say next.

“I have this disorder, Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD). The symptoms include being overly sensitive to sensory input, including touch,” he explained, his gaze shifting to observe your reaction.

“No judgment here. I've encountered various cases of trauma from my students,” felt relieved a bit you reassured him, trying to offer some comfort.

“Thank you for understanding,” Bucky replied gratefully. “When someone touches me without my consent, I will vomit or I will faint.”

Your eyes widened in realization. “Shit.” Guilt washed over you as you began to fully comprehend the impact of your actions.

Bucky confessed, “The weirdest thing is, when you touched me, kissed me, my body didn't have any reaction.”

You lifted your head in confusion. “Huh?”

“I went to different psychologists, tried many medicines, doctors, meditations, but none of them worked. Except you. A stranger that I've never met,” Bucky elaborated.

“Are you sure?” you asked, still trying to process the revelation.

Bucky then removed his leather gloves and called the waitress over. “You. Come here.”

The waitress approached, curious about Bucky's request. “Yes, sir?”

Bucky extended his bare hand. “Shake my hand.”

The waitress, unsure of the situation, complied and shook Bucky's hand.

In an instant, Bucky grabbed a nearby bucket and began to vomit.

The waitress and you were both shocked. Bucky, who had been calm and composed moments ago, now appeared pale and sickly in just a matter of seconds.

Could what he said really be true?

Bucky wiped his mouth and apologized to the waitress, his tone sincere. “I'm sorry. Please don't be offended. It's not because of you. I hope the tips my secretary will give you could cheer you up.”

The waitress, still unsure of what just happened, responded hesitantly, “Ah, thank you?”

Bucky's secretary appeared seemingly out of nowhere and began conversing with the waitress, diverting her attention.

Left alone with Bucky, he raised his hand again, as if asking for your right hand. Confused, you offered your hand, which he gently took and held in his.

You thought it might have been a mistake, but Bucky showed no reaction. He closed his eyes, seemingly waiting for something to happen. There was no rapid heartbeat, no sweating, and no urge to vomit.

He opened his eyes and saw you looking thoughtful. “Thank you for your patience and trust.”

You replied, “Ehm, glad to help.”

“My predictions were correct. You could be the answer to my disorder. I will make you a generous offer,” Bucky stated. His voice tone sounded like happiness is in it.

"Really?" You could ask for money for your grandmother's surgery. After you were kicked out of the house, you lived with your grandmother from your mother's side. After your mother died, your father stopped sending money to your grandmother.

Bucky nodded, his expression serious.

You hesitated. "Wait. Does Victoria know about this?"

Bucky shook his head. “Besides my parents, only you know about this.”

“Both of you are going to get married, and you didn't want to share the truth?” you questioned. Poor Victoria, the man she will marry, has a cold heart.

You were supposed to be the bad guy, glad that she would receive her karma. But why did this remind you of something?

He went silent. The thought of marriage with Victoria irked Bucky. He pulled on his leather hand gloves again and rested his hand on the table. He looks like he's discussing a business deal worth billions.

“The truth is, I saw this marriage as a business deal. I don't have the desire to have a heart-to-heart conversation with your stepsister. And from what I've seen of her, it's better if I don't talk to her about my disorder,” Bucky explained.

His tone was cold, sending a shiver down your spine. No wonder the Barnes family had been successful conglomerates for so long—they knew how to get what they wanted.

But there was something you didn't agree with. “I want to help you,” you stated.

Bucky visibly lightened up at your words.

You crossed your arms tightly, a frown creasing your brow. “But after what you said to hide it from your fiance, you reminded me of my father. A man of few words. A hero in business, but a failure in family.”

Your father, Jonathan, lived and breathed for money. He left everything about the household to your mom, while the families’ businesses thrived. But after your mother died, her family's business went bankrupt, and he didn't offer much help.

You didn't want to assist another man who reminded you of your dad.

Placing a dollar bill on the table to pay for your drink, you stood up abruptly. “I hope you find a cure, but I won't be the one to help you. Thank you and goodbye.” You grabbed your coat and started walking away.

Bucky hadn't expected you to reject him. And what's more outrageous is you're comparing him with your father. Bullshit.

He scoffed, his fingers tapping the table in frustration. No one had ever said no to him before.

He turned around and saw your back. “What if I raise my offer? Your childhood home and Velari into your hands?”

Your foot stopped before you reached the door. How did he know your deepest desire? The home you got kicked out of was the treasure from your mom. That beautiful home was designed by her; she was a designer.

And Velari, the fashion brand built by your mother, was now occupied by Celestial Enterprises, owned by Genevieve. It was your birthright to inherit your mother's work, but that other woman and her devil spawn were able to kick you out.

Lost in your daydream, you didn't realize Bucky was standing before you. “Do you like that deal?”

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze with a hint of mischief in your eyes. A sly smile played on your lips as you reached out and gently took his hand in yours.

Bucky felt a sudden surge of heat as your fingers intertwined with his.

You lifted his leather-clad right hand and brought it closer to your lips. Gently, you pressed a kiss against it. "With an offer like that, I might just be tempted to give you more than just my hand."

The gesture made Bucky shiver, though he didn't feel any disgust. This feeling was completely different from what he experienced last night.

From this moment, he knew you're a natural seducer, and he was playing with fire.

Author Note: I had goosebumps writing the last part. I hope you like this chapter. 💓💋

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[wabatle]

.ೃ࿐ Blue Lock boys and their love language .ೃ࿐Featuring: Isagi, Bachira, Chigiri, Reo, Nagi, Rin, Sae .ೃ࿐Warnings: Reader is implied fem in Chigiri's part, other than that gn!reader, this is my first time writing for Sae, so I'm very sorry if he's ooc! .ೃ࿐A/N: I did a little bit of research to figure all of the love languages out, and I’m really proud of the result! Keep in mind that all of them, although they may share a love language, can each interpret and display them in their own, unique ways <3 .ೃ࿐Taglist: @stellas-starry-stories13 (chigiri) @mariaace (everyone) <3

-ˏˋ⋆ Yoichi Isagi ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Words of affirmation, acts of service, quality timeׂ

╰┈➤Words of affirmation

Isagi will 100% make sure you feel secure and comfortable in your relationship. He always makes sure to tell you anything he thinks you need to hear and will talk to you if you have any problems.

ׂ╰┈➤Acts of Service

Though it may not be much, Isagi tries to do whatever he can to take a load off your shoulders. Got a long to-do list? Isagi will check off as many things as he can for you.

ׂ╰┈➤Quality time

Isagi would try to make as much time for you as possible. He wants to be around you and enjoys your presence, so why wouldn’t he want to spend time with you?

-ˏˋ⋆ Meguru Bachira ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Physical touch, words of affirmation, quality time

╰┈➤Physical touch

Bachira is very touchy. He will cling onto you and won’t let go, as well as accompany you everywhere. If there’s one way Bachira thinks he can prove his love for you, it’s with cuddles and attention.

╰┈➤Words of affirmation

If Bachira catches even the smallest signs of insecurity from you, he’s all over you, telling you how much he loves you, how amazing he thinks you are, literally everything he can think of to punch that insecurity out of you.

╰┈➤Quality time

Ditches practice for you. That’s it, that’s the whole thing. Okay, in all seriousness, Bachira wants to spend every second of every day with you. He’s like a puppy.

-ˏˋ⋆ Hyoma Chigiri ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Gift giving, quality time

╰┈➤Gift giving

Chigiri definitely loves to take care of your hair together, so he would gift you shampoo or conditioner, or some kind of hair care product. He would also give you hair ties or hair accessories.

╰┈➤Quality time

Chigiri loves to spend time with you. He doesn’t really care how, whether it’s sitting at home on the couch gossiping, or walking around town together, stopping at random shops. (Hence the gift giving.)

-ˏˋ⋆ Reo Mikage ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Gift giving, physical touch, quality time, words of affirmation, acts of service/all 5

╰┈➤Gift giving

It’s no secret that Reo is insanely rich. Which, for you, means you get practically everything, whether you asked for it or not. If you look at something for just a second longer, Reo’s card is already out, and you’re already exiting the store with a bag in hand.

╰┈➤Physical touch

Reo is also a clingy guy. He loves to be around you and cuddle with you, or simply follow you everywhere, like a lost puppy. It can get overwhelming at times, but he’ll stop if he feels he’s smothering you.

╰┈➤Quality time

Being clingy, that also means he wants to spend as much time with you as possible. He loves to take you out, whether to fancy restaurants or to luxury stores, or even traveling together. Whatever it is, he wants to do it with you.

╰┈➤Words of affirmation

If you feel insecure or some kind of negative emotion, he himself gets very insecure. So, in order to fix that, he assures you how much he loves you, and as you start feeling better, his own insecurities subside. He worries that he’s the one causing you problems, so you’ll have to assure him he’s not.

╰┈➤Acts of service

Reo would hate to see you stressed about anything, whether it’s something big or not. So, he’ll gladly take some, or even all, of the responsibility. I would imagine that sometimes you have to tell him you don’t need his help because he’s so insistent.

-ˏˋ⋆Seishiro Nagi ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Physical touch, quality time

╰┈➤Physical touch

Cuddles. So much cuddling. Even just when he puts his head on your shoulder, he stays stuck to you like glue. He just wants to have you near him when he’s gaming. He wants an arm around you while he holds his controller.

╰┈➤Quality time

The only reason I included quality time is because Nagi insists on gaming with you. Most of your dates are at home where you relax and play games together. But, on rare occasions when you go out, you most likely stop at an arcade at some point.

-ˏˋ⋆ Rin Itoshi ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Acts of service, words of affirmation

╰┈➤Acts of service

Though Rin may not have a lot of time for you, he still tries to do what he can to prove he loves you. So he does little things, like cleaning up the house a little bit or buying you something on his way home.

╰┈➤Words of affirmation

Though he may not be the best at it, Rin knows no better way to assure you he loves you than telling you. Of course, never in front of his team or really anybody, but, rest assured, he’ll tell you once he’s sure the two of you are in private.

-ˏˋ⋆ Sae Itoshi ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Quality time, words of affirmation

╰┈➤Quality time

Although it may not happen much, quality time with Sae is well spent. Usually, all you do is tangle together while either talking or watching something, but, nonetheless, Sae likes it, and so do you.

╰┈➤Words of affirmation

Despite what a foul mouth Sae can have, he would never use the words he uses to describe other teams or players on you. Most things he says feel and are very genuine, but a few things can come across wrong or sound very possessive.

thank you for reading!

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[tswwwit]

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

Hope you all enjoy!

Good worshipers devote their whole heart to god.

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

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

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

That… didn’t pan out as expected. For a list of reasons that starts with Bill’s sheer unrighteousness and only gets longer from there. 

And somehow, eventually, impossibly - it ended up with him here.

A quick glance up shows Bill in the same position. Lounging in his armchair, staring off into the distance with a zoned-out expression on his face.

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

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

Bill Cipher’s right here in front of him. In the strange, oddly human flesh. How could he not be interested?

At the moment, there’s not much to glean from his actions. No mysterious words, or weird signs to interpret. Just Bill lounging around, head propped in a hand with his eye unfocused. 

At first glance, everything seems normal; just some human-ish guy having a lazy weekend. A second glance would show that the hand under his chin isn’t his own. The tattered remains of a sleeve and ragged, severed flesh dangle against the upholstery. Occasionally Bill clacks the jutting arm bones together like the world’s worst pair of tongs. 

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

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

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

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

If the cult scriptures were right about even one thing then… it wouldn’t be great. The ‘god’ they depicted wasn’t the best. But at least he wouldn’t have to make up a Bill-Cipherpedia from scratch. 

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

Besides, this is what he’s supposed to be doing. Probably. 

Bill’s had mortals before, and all of them had a role to play. Dipper’s the latest in a long line of mortals. Evidence abounds that this has been going on for a long time, even if Bill himself isn’t cooperative.

Dipper even has the mark to prove it. 

Whatever compels Bill Cipher to keep a human hanging around - it almost always has that in common. Even with the scant resources at hand, Dipper’s sure of that. 

Someday, he’ll get to the bottom of that mystery. Why Bill keeps snagging up a series of impressive men, other than the fact that they’re all strong and smart and interesting and cool. 

Weirdest of all is that they sure as hell weren’t devoted to any cause. Or at least any that make sense. 

From the scraps Dipper’s put together - Each of them seemed tasked with fending off the machinations of this demon. Thwarting him, in short, and….. Being kind of successful at it. The results seem mixed. Still pretty impressive, in that anyone won even once.

How the mark ended up on Dipper of all people is anyone’s guess. 

Kind of a cosmic gaffe, honestly. Sticking some constellation on nerdy loser who doesn’t fit in anywhere. Not in his old cult, not in the world in general. Definitely not in a madman’s nightmare dimension. 

Maybe removing the piece of flesh that bore said mark was -  he stops thinking about it. 

Anyway, it’s back now, and he…. Probably has a job to do? Even if he can’t do any of the other stuff, he can sure as hell take notes.

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

But when it comes to dealing with Bill Cipher himself, Dipper’s journal is going to be way more helpful. The best, even. 

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

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

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

So really, observing him is the right thing to do. Since he’s got eyes everywhere, someone should keep an eye on him. 

And for lack of anyone else, that task falls to Dipper.

He checks back on his subject - still calm and quiet. A rarer sight than one might think. 

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

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

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

There’s no mask being worn here. No lies. It’s just… Bill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bill really is up to something. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper wipes at his forehead, then around his neck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aha!” 

Uh oh. Bill has an idea. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So Dipper simply… doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Under any other circumstances, he’d be thrilled.

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

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

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

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

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

Said proclivities don't include people like him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has to, before Bill figures him out. 

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

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

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

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

And he winks. 

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

Symbols. ‘Surprise’.

Robes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should go and… do a thing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Dipper has to participate. 

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

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

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

It’s just…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the things he can imagine Bill doing are… 

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

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

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

Damn it, what does Bill want from him? 

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

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

Actually…

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

Time to get to work. 

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

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

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

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

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

Why didn’t he prepare for this.

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

And what can Dipper say to that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re going. Actually going. 

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

No escape. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it is easy. Surprisingly so. 

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

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

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

If only ‘or what’ was an option. 

Dipper nods, once. Concentrates, hard. And -

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

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

They’re in… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He never thought it would look like this. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not fair. 

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

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

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

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

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

Somebody should stop him. 

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

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

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

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

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

His heart still beats fast, a rapid rabbiting pace. 

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

There it is.

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

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

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

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

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

And from the outside, it looks so… Small. 

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

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

There isn’t even razor wire on top. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper forces his head up, glancing around the buildings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh hey.  Dipper knows these guys. 

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

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

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

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

Here they go, then. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anything to get away from that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An order. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a moment, he even looks… surprised? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Dipper, too. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone’s watching. Best behavior, no slipups. 

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

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

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

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

And so the tour continues. Despite everything. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though not for the reasons their tagalongs would want. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper nods. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper blinks, twice. He looks up. 

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

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

The door slams shut. Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's a strange, lingering quiet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Bill’s waiting for an answer.

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

Eventually, he manages, “Mh-hm.”

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

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

He nods instead. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants to make a goddamn spectacle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper stares at the floor instead. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, they're just-

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

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

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

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

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

What is he talking about? Bill loves that stuff - 

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

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

Dipper mouth drops open - then he clicks it shut. 

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

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

What?

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

Dipper’s eyes go wide. 

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

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

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

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

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

This is… revenge.

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

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

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He should know better. 

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

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

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

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

And Dipper doesn’t care. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s ironic-”

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

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

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

“So what?” Bill rolls his eye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now that’s Dipper’s job.

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

He really thinks - how can he be so frustrating. 

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

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

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

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

That was a low blow. “Fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay. Wow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper. 

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay. Wow. That worked, somehow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you all just SHUT UP?”

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

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

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

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

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

See how they like it. 

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

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

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

“What? I’m just saying-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good thing there’s not much he wants to. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just faced down a god. Sort of. 

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

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

Maybe they didn’t really know, either. 

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

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

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

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

Of all the mortals Bill could have been saddled with - 

God, Dipper’s glad it’s him.

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

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

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

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

Mostly chill out. Maybe some other stuff. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though admittedly - the upside is pretty great. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has a place where he belongs. 

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

[diejager]

Okay so this is a character I have in the works but I'd love your interpretation.

What about a BunnyDragon!reader being introduced into the monster!141? Long drooping ears, a friendly temperament, spewing green flames that bring life and heal things rather than destroying them. But their claws and teeth just as sharp and deadly as any other dragon.

Rabid Cw: reader being a menace, fire, pyromaniac, tell me if I missed any.

Laughing, you dashed off, away from the mess you four created out of sheer boredom, green flames sparking and lingering on the corner of your lips were the only proof people had to link you to the few burning heaps around the base. Your ears flopped as you ran and hopped away, a skip in your feet and a bright smile splitting your face, flashing sharper than usual teeth at people who stood in your way. They all parted, little chuckles leaving their lips when they saw you, all used to your little pranks, the sly and mischievous gleam in your eyes when you got bored and the loud steps that followed you closely, either Price, Laswell or another superior chasing after you to scold you.

“Spread out!”

You separated from the others, taking your own path from the fork. Spreading out meant that it’d take more time to catch each and every one of you to bring to Price’s office, wasted time meant that you stalled your punishment and burned through Price’s anger and disappointment. You would rendezvous back on the roof or the airfield once you’d waited out long enough, or Price would hound you back to his office for a verbal lesson on behaving and not giving him and Laswell paperwork.

Which seemed to be your situation after he sent the others to find you, Soap brought back by the scruff by Ghost, Gaz by a stalking Horangi, Rudy by a snickering Alejandro and you by a touchy König. You sat on the armrest of the worn couch, giving space for your wings to breathe and flutter behind you, occasionally moving to soothe the small ache; and your tail to sway, moving back and forth on the floor like a dog wagging it’s tail. There was a slight excitement in your body, to see how Price would react to this stunt you pulled, bigger in scale and more obnoxious with the bright flowers and lively faun that bloomed after your flames died down.

“Want to explain it to me before we start?”

You all shared a look, seconds spent staring to convey a silent message that you all agreed on and that left you to work your magic. You gave him a cheeky grin, watching his eyes narrow and his arms cross before you stared your little explanation, going onto the blandness of the base, the sheer boredom you all felt and having to find something to occupy yourself with. You could feel disappointment ooze off Price in waves, his furrowed brows and shaking head to the small snickers and laughs from the men who caught you.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Price sighed, stepping away from his desk and moving towards you with big and quick strides.

You only smiled up at him, gazing at him through squinted and amused eyes, head perked up to his bowed figure, face nearing yours with a stoic expression.

“But you love me,” you let slip out, feeling especially cheeky and proud of your work, bringing life to a grey area.

“But I love you,” he agreed with a small smile, hitting your horns with his, a display of love and affection for dragons, “Doesn’t mean you’re not getting punished, any of you.”

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