#playing as both the opening song and over the ending credits.....MAN...

[ronanlynchbf]

[dollwrites]

ᴘᴏsᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀɴs ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇʀ ᴋᴇɴᴛ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!heiress!reader, camming / sex work, objectification, rough sex, anal sex, hair pulling / spanking, reader is a superfan so there’s a power imbalance, playful banter and name calling. all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 ∣ act four [ camboy ]

you felt like the luckiest girl in the world right now, and you weren’t quite sure why. the reasonable side of you kept reminding that you had not been the only girl in this hotel room tonight, and you wouldn’t be the last. but the superfan in you fought against that, awestruck by the fact that Conner Kent was giving you the ride of your life.

Conner had so many fans, after all; many men and women across the globe that were just like you— visiting his live every weekend. Fridays and Saturdays quickly became your favorite days in the week, when you could willingly drain your bank account just to watch this beautiful man you’d become infatuated with get off in every way imaginable. if your parents ever found out just how you spent your allowance, and how many of your credit cards you’d already maxed out just to watch your fantasy become reality, you could almost swear they would cut you off. to be completely honest with yourself, your fathers multi-million dollar company had only a few more years left of profit if your addiction to Conner’s live chat room didn’t die out. you couldn’t help it— you were hyperfixated, and last month, your favorite camboy had a very special announcement: a way to thank all of his loyal fans— by meeting up with several whilst he traveled the country and fucking them senseless live in his hotel rooms. needless to say, you’d been over the moon when your city was one of the first stops on his tour; you’d dreamed of fucking this man for months now, and now you’d have your chance.

and he hadn’t disappointed.

your body rocked forward, smearing your face into the pillow with every backshot that you took. it was already difficult to breathe, as you wore a mask that covered your mouth and nose to keep your anonymity, but when one of his palms pushed against the back of your head and held you flush against the pillow, too, you felt as if you were overheating. both hands clawed at the sheets that were damp with a mixture of your and Conner’s sweat to combat the maddening pressure of his thick cock driving into you over and over again. his size had been manageable when he fucked your pussy, but since the second he’d begun to ravage your virgin asshole, you’d become acutely aware of just how big he was. the stretch was unreal, and when he’d switched holes, he left your cunt feeling hollow and uncomfortably empty.

“Damn, sweetheart, you were born to be a little whore, weren’t you?” Conner taunted, his hand then sweeping down your head and over your shoulders, following the arch in your back. “Made for this, designed to give up your tight holes, and let me bust them wide open.”

there was a loud chime that played whenever a viewer donated. the longer the chime, the more money the donation was, and at this point, you were certain the noise had become a never-ending song. one donation bled into another, and then another, and that chime became the soundtrack to your decimation. “Heh,” Conner was grinning, though his teeth were bared, and he chuckled hoarsely. his thick, heavy palm swats at your ass, and he watches as the flesh recoils and jiggles. “Tight, little daddy’s girl wants to be my favorite fuck-meat?”

with your face buried in the sheets, you could smell his scent clinging to them, and you just hardly resisted the urge to push the mask down and lap at the wet linens like a needy dog. you yip and nod at his question, which only spurred more and more donations from the virtual audience. Conner swooned, spanking your ass again, and again, and once more until it stung. then, he dug his fingers into your skin, the discomfort flaring further as he groped handfuls of your soft, warm ass. “I think the audience wants to hear you, princess.” he teases, squishing your ass against his rough palm, doing little to massage the sting away. “Tell ‘em.”

you raise your head, albeit weakly, and stare directly into the lens. you can see yourself in the viewfinder, and ( if you were coherent enough to care ) you almost couldn’t believe the mess he’d made you. hair mussed up, on all fours, with glassy eyes and slick skin. Conner had put you through the wringer, and he, somehow, still wasn’t done. you almost couldn’t force the words out amongst the cries and grunts as he ravaged your ass. “I—I—- want to be your favorite fu—-ckmeat- shit!!”

Conner hits an incredibly tender cord when one hand slips underneath your belly, and two thick digits plug your drooling hole. your eyes roll back at the intensity of having both holes filled, and you grip the sheets tighter, sputtering against the cloth mask as your head drops forward.

“Nuh uh uh, princess,” Conner croons, and his free hand slides from your ass up to the nape of your neck and over the shape of your lolling head, making a fist at the crown to grip your roots and force your head back up. his hips snap more fiercely, now, filling your canal to the hilt, his balls slapping against his own hand as he pumps his fingers into your cunt in tandem. heavens above, how the hell was he so good at overloading you?! “You hear all that?” he asks, gruffly. he was beginning to snort and howl like an animal, too, but he smeared his sweaty cheek to yours when he hunches over, pressing his rock-solid torso to your back. “All that fucking money you’re making me? You should know better than anyone, baby girl, what the audience wants to see me do to a spoiled brat like you. What do they want?” he hisses it against your cheek, using his tongue to swirl the taste of your sweat around before pulling it into his mouth.

“They— want to see you fuck me stupid…!!” you cry out.

“That’s right,” Conner was scoffing and his voice was strained and husky as he plowed into you, now, gripping your hair tight enough to keep your brows knit tightly in discomfort. “So let’s not hide those pretty, pretty eyes. They want to see them glaze over. The more they get to see you break, the more they’re going to pay.”

it was the obvious answer. if you were in the audience, you would want to see it, too. how braindead Conner’s cock could drive the poor recipient of his earth-shattering, skillful fucking. however, being on the other end of it was somehow even better. being able to cum and cum and cum some more without this adonis even losing steam or vigor, making it clear that you wouldn’t have a single moment of peace until he was finished ( and yet? no end was in sight ), and feeling every thought— every worry and every feeling not directly connected to Conner Kent’s cock as he pounded you just fracture and fall away with every thrust into you. it was an addicting, degrading, delicious experience. one that you knew you’d never forget.

[dietcokegirly12]

“Don't Move Like That”

featuring tecchou suehiro ♡ᰔ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

·········꒰ა 𓐩 ໒꒱········· ꒰ა 𓐩 ໒꒱········· ꒰ა 𓐩 ໒꒱········· ꒰ა 𓐩 ໒꒱·········

·········꒰ა 𓐩 ໒꒱········· ꒰ა 𓐩 ໒꒱········· ꒰ა 𓐩 ໒꒱········· ꒰ა 𓐩 ໒꒱·········

for all my tecchou lovers (づ ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈ )づ

tags: teasing, forced proximity, inexperienced!tecchou, handjob, cervix kissing, unprotected sex, edging, riding, premature ejaculation, reader is a member of the hunting dogs!, def others

NOTE: for the sake of this story's plot, our reader replaces Tachihara and his ability, Midwinter Memento, aka metal manipulation.

word count: 3.4k (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

KINKTOBER OCT. 13 /ᐠ •̀⩊ •́マ

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⊱⊰⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⊱⊰⋯⋯⋯⋯

“For this mission, I’m going to entrust it to you two.”

You swallow, glancing over to where Tecchou is standing, his usual blank face trained on Fukuchi.

It’s not that you didn’t like him, exactly. He was just always so… cold around you. He would barely speak, barely move, and was constantly tense. The whole situation always just ended up being… awkward.

Jouno’s mouth instantly curves up into a smile, his annoying sing-song voice ringing out through the uncomfortable air. “Oh Tecchou~”

You look over to see Tecchou scowling at Jouno, a light dusting of pink across his cheeks. Was he… blushing?

Jouno’s grin widens as he folds his arms across his chest, tipping his head slightly in your direction.

“When do we leave?” you interrupt their strange interaction to frown at Fukuchi, trying not to let your annoyance show at being paired with someone who won’t even talk to you.

His eyes gleam with cruel mirth, leading you to believe he had purposefully set this up. “Right now.”

─(･ω･)つ ──────────── ⊂(･ω･) ─

You sigh, looking out the window at the buildings passing by outside.

Tecchou sat stiffly beside you, the only sound from him being soft exhales as he breathes.

It’s so quiet, unbearably so.

You shift, unsure how to break the silence. Just as you’re about to open your mouth and say something, anything the car jolts to a stop.

“We’re here.” the driver Fukuchi had hired for the mission, gruffly says from the front.

You go to look over at Tecchou, but he’s already getting out, making calculated movements to make sure he doesn’t so much as even brush against you.

You almost scoff at his painfully obvious avoidance of you. You truly had no idea what you’d ever done to make him hate you this much but it was starting to piss you off.

As you both stepped out, he unsheathed his sword at your side.

Fukuchi had told you both that the mission was to track down a Special Ability using Gifted, who had been abusing his powers to commit acts of terroism against the city of Yokohama, so it was important to keep your guard up at all times.

“Stay close to me.” Tecchou growls to you, his eyes scanning the area.

You turn to him, widening your eyes in mock surprise. "He speaks!"

When he says nothing in reply, you roll your eyes. "We both know I can handle myself. What's the real reason you have finally decided to grace me with the gift of your speech?"

“What?”

You can't help but stare at him in disbelief. “Seriously? You ignore me every time we go to meetings, you go out of your way to make sure we don't get partnered, and you were silent the whole way here. And now you're playing dumb? God! What have I ever done to you to make you despise me this much?"

Tecchou hesitates, about to open his mouth to speak, but suddenly the sound of gunshots ringing through the air cuts him off.

“Get down!” he hisses, eyes frantically searching for the culprit.

You obey, diving down and bracing yourself as you try to stay out of the line of fire.

Simultaneously, Tecchou leaps into action, thrusting his sword in the direction of a dark-haired man in the distance.

The man fights back, his special ability overpowering, but still no match for Tecchou’s sword.

Deadly masses of bullets quickly cover the building walls behind you, and Tecchou grunts as he rapidly blocks with his sword.

It was apparent to you that the Gifted you two were up against, had some kind of telekinesis ability that was allowing him to empty all these hoards of barrels at you.

Luckily for you, your ability was Midwinter Memento, a metal manipulation ability that allowed you to control metal at will.

You join in, deflecting the bullets by turning them around in midair to point them back at their shooter.

While the Gifted is distracted staving off the shots, it grants Tecchou an opportunity to extend his sword toward him, effectively piercing through his chest with an awful crack! that signifies the splitting of bone.

The man sways slightly on his feet before falling forward and collapsing in a broken, bloody pile. There would be no tormenting innocent civilians for him any longer.

Tecchou turns back to you triumphantly, his face tilted in one of his rare, slight smiles.

You smile back, but suddenly a sharp, burning sensation ignites in your leg, outwardly spreading and you look down to see scarlett red soaking through your Hunting Dog uniform.

In the heat of battle, a bullet must have lightly grazed your thigh, enough for a steady stream of blood to begin pouring out.

Tecchou's eyes follow yours, and you see them widen in horror.

He shoves his sword back into its place at his hip, and immediately rushes over.

"What happened?"

You wince, shifting to stretch your leg out on the ground. "Fuck, I-I don't know."

"It's okay." He kneels at your side, bending to examine the wound. "It's not fatal, but it needs to be cleaned."

He instinctively takes your face into his hands, quickly checking for any wounds there. You let out a soft breath of surprise at the feel of his warm hands, and he seems to realize what he's done, snatching his hands back like he's been stung.

You open your mouth, unsure what to say, but he suddenly rises to his feet. "I'll be back, 'm going to get supplies." he mumbles, before practically sprinting away from you.

You furrow your eyebrows, but decide to pay it no mind. Tecchou is always acting weird around you, this is clearly no exception. Propping yourself against the wall behind you, you tilt your head back, closing your eyes.

It seems like only a few seconds have passed before he's back, the heavy sound of his boots against the pavement rousing you.

You watch as he stops in front of you, holding a bag of bandaids, gauze, and hydrogen peroxide.

He hands it to you dutifully. "I got what I could find, hopefully it's enough to stop the bleeding."

You stare at him, realizing he wants you to do it yourself.

You hesitate, looking down at your shaking hands. "Can you help me? Please?"

Your voice comes out more pathetic than you intended, and as you turn your eyes back to Tecchou, he's staring at his feet, face reddening. "Okay."

You shift over, so he can crouch next to you.

Carefully, Tecchou lowers himself, taking the bag from you to dig around for the gauze.

Once he finds what he's looking for, he turns back to you, his face flushed awkwardly. "I need to cut your pants so I can properly assess the wound."

You inhale sharply as he draws his pocket knife out, but when he looks over for your consent, you nod.

He steadies himself with a breath before gently pressing the tip of his knife against your upper thigh. Cautiously, he begins to cut, the sound of seams ripping the only noise apart from your ragged breathing.

Once he successfully removes the bloodied strip, he reaches into the bag to retrieve the small roll of gauze. He unrolls it, and presses it down on you lightly, the warmth of his fingers seeping through the thin bandage.

You wince slightly and he looks at you carefully.

“Hurts?”

You nod, and he eases up, taking extra care to be gentle.

Unfortunately for you, the bullet had grazed you on your upper thigh, and it's almost impossible to ignore the feel of his long, splayed fingers holding down the gauze uncomfortably close to the heat radiating in between your legs.

After a few long minutes, he lifts the gauze to check on your wound and after peering down at it for a couple beats, says, "The bleeding stopped."

Reaching for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and unscrewing the cap, he leans over your wound, his hands shaking slightly.

"Tecchou, come closer, you're going to spill it." You say, watching as his back stiffens. "Y-yeah.." he stammers, inching closer by a centimeter.

You sigh in exasperation, taking matters into your own hands, as you lift your other leg over his lap, straddling him in one fluid motion. "Was that so hard?"

Tecchou freezes, his body going completely stock-still. His eyes flicker between you and the way you're spread across him, his cheeks bright-red.

After a few moments of this, you roll your eyes. "Hurry up and pour it, so we can report back to Fukuchi."

He startles, his only response an almost imperceptible nod as his grip on the bottle tightens.

Just as he's about to pour it, he swallows thickly, hesitating. "This might sting a little."

"Tecchou, please I've been on way worse missions than this, I think I'll.." You suddenly gasp as cool liquid trickles down, your face tightening. Fuck. Fuck.

It feels like tiny shards of glass splintering all across your thigh, and you instantly jerk, squirming in his lap as you let out a wail of pain.

"Fuck! Tecchou!"

You feel him go motionless, his breathing increasing. "I know, I know." His voice is slightly strained, and gingerly, he smooths a hand over your other thigh, trying to calm you. "Just.. stay still."

You nod, your eyes screwing shut.

"Want me to keep going? It hasn't been properly disinfected yet."

“Y-yeah just.. fuck.”

He lets out a breath before pouring more of the peroxide across your wound, your hand clapping over your mouth, as you try to stifle the sobs threatening to come out. Tears stream down your face, and your body twitches atop him, shifting desperately.

His head falls forward, his breathing soft gasps. "Fuck, d-don't move like that."

You nod again, tears running down your face as you instinctively press your face into his chest. "'Msorry 'msorry! Hurts so ah bad!"

He stays unmoving, but eventually reaches one hand up to cautiously brush his fingers through your hair. "It's okay. You're okay."

You slowly steady your breathing, and after a few minutes of being pressed into him, you draw back, sniffling. "Sorry. That's so embarrassing."

He shakes his head, looking at you with something you can't quite name.

You finally clear your throat after an awkward moment, gesturing toward the bandages. "Come on. Let's just put on the bandages and get out of here."

Tecchou nods quickly, looking away as he pulls out a pack of Band-Aids. Ripping open the box, he carefully peels away the wrappers and begins pressing them on across your thigh.

On the final one, he presses it down a little too harshly, and you hiss softly, shifting, and in the process, accidentally grinding across his lap.

His eyes close briefly, and he shudders. When he finally speaks, his voice comes out ragged, "I said don't do that."

You can't help but bristle. "Yeah, well maybe if you were a little more gentle.." You break off as you feel something jabbing into you from underneath.

"Is that your gun in your pocket?"

Tecchou stills.

"Tecchou I'm serious, it's poking me. Take it out."

"That's not my gun." he says stiffly.

Oh. Oh.

You immediately freeze, your brain emptying as you stay, rooted in place, your body paralyzed on top of him.

His eyes are closed, too embarrassed to even look at you, as he breathes heavily, trying to calm himself down.

Your lips curve up.

“Tecchou, I didn’t realize I had such an effect on you.” Teasingly, you move your hand up his thigh, watching for his reaction.

His eyes fly open and he gasps, watching you. “Don’t..”

“Don’t..?” your hand glides higher. “Is this why you never want to talk to me, Tecchou? Do you have.. a crush? On me?”

His breathing is heavy, and he looks at you through half-lidded eyes. “Yes.”

You gasp in mock delight. "And here I thought you just hated me."

"Could never hate you." he mumbles out, eyes half-closed.

Your hand glides higher, and his face gets more strained. "Fuck, what are you doing?"

Your grin widens. "Just helping you."

His eyes close. "With what?"

"Your problem." And with that, your hand gently covers the tent in his pants, stroking him through his trousers.

He jerks almost instantaneously, bucking into your palm. "You don't.. ah.. have to do t-that."

You immediately draw your hand away, Tecchou's hips desperately trying to follow. "You don't want me to?"

"No! I do, I do! It's just that I.." He pauses, gnawing his lip nervously.

You raise your eyebrows, waiting for him to finish.

"I've never done this before." He lets out in a rush, his cheeks flushing in shame.

You pause.

"I know." He lets his head drop. "So if you don't..."

But he breaks off when without warning, you smash your lips against his, pushing him back. He falls back on the ground with a soft grunt leaving him as his lips desperately press back against yours, clumsily trying to fit his mouth to yours.

Guiding him, you let your hand drift back down to where his pants are straining against the outline of his cock. You can't help but moan into his mouth, as you feel how big he is.

Your tongue slips out to brush against his lips, seeking entrance and he complies immediately, his mouth opening hesitantly to allow you to explore. He tastes slightly minty, and warm, and you can't seem to get enough as your tongue sweeps all across his mouth, thoroughly mapping him out.

He groans, and you pull back, panting. "Of course I don't care if this is your first time. That just means I'll have to show you what to do."

Your mouth curves up at his exhale of surprise as you begin palming him through his pants, his breathing coming out in small huffs as he lifts his hips for more friction.

You lean back in to kiss him, while removing his belt and unzipping his maroon pants.

You push them down enough for his leaking cock to spring out, slapping against his abdomen, the tip flushed a pretty pink, and dripping with precum.

Gently, you ghost your thumb over his slit, pressing slightly, causing him to jerk forward, his breathing becoming heavier.

You take him into your hand, beginning to pump him slowly, your hand gliding up and down his lengthy shaft.

His head tilts back, and he shudders, his hips shifting forward more into your hand. Your hand was much smaller than his, and couldn't even wrap around him fully, but for some reason it felt much better than when he would do this alone.

His dick twitches in your grasp, and you twist your hand up and down, watching his breaths become more and more laboured.

As your grip tightens, picking up the pace, he starts thrusting up into your hand, more pre-cum oozing out as his hips stutter, watching you. "F-fuck I'm gonna..."

You can tell he's getting close, unused to being touched by someone else, and just as his breathing falters, his thrusts becoming sloppier into your hand, you draw your hand back, a pathetic whine leaving his throat as he stares at you, confused.

"Not yet." You start pulling down your own pants, watching as his cheeks flush.

"Wait." He sits up to bend his head over your bandaged thigh. "You're still hurt."

You roll your eyes. "I'm fine, it was just a graze, Tecchou."

He hesitates, but finally leans back. "Tell me if it hurts, and we can stop."

You nod, barely listening as you pull down your pants the rest of the way, dressed in just your Hunting Dog uniform top and your lacy black panties.

He swallows.

Your pussy had been throbbing from the second he started touching your thigh to treat you, and you couldn't deny how embarrassingly wet you already were.

Strings of arousal connect your pussy to your underwear as you hook a finger in the waistband and pull it to the side, Tecchou barely breathing as he watches, eyes wide. "I don't.." he starts.

You can't help but laugh at his tentativeness. "I'll do all the work. Just.. stay there."

As he stiffly lies back, his dick sticking up hard as a rock and still twitching from your earlier ministrations, teasingly, you begin grinding yourself against his abs, hard muscles twitching underneath you.

You knew you were making a mess out of his uniform, your slick leaving a trail of wetness across his red Hunting Dog top, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

He watches you, transfixed, his breath coming out in small pants. "Fuck, you're... fuck."

Your head falls back as you glide your dripping pussy back and forth, the roughness of the fabric contrasting with the slippery, slickness of your still clothed pussy, providing the perfect friction.

His erect cock spurts more pearly drops of pre-cum, his breaths shallow. "Please."

You stop, looking at the way his lips are parted, small gasps leaving him with every breath. "Please what?"

His eyes close. "Fuck. You know what I.."

Without warning, you lift your hips, positioning yourself over him, and begin to sink down in one fluid motion.

Without warning, and before he's even halfway in, you feel warm spurts of cum shooting into you, so much of it, it begins to seep out, forming a milky ring around his base.

Your hips stutter, and you pause, your mouth open in surprise as you look at the way his hips are twitching under you, body shuddering.

"Did you just..?"

He nods, eyes screwed tightly shut in embarrassment.

You can’t stop the small laugh that leaves you, amusement tugging your mouth up. "It’s normal for your first time, don’t worry. You’ll just have to make it up to me.”

He swallows.

Your hands come down on his chest, rising and falling rapidly, to steady yourself and with a soft gasp, sink down on the rest of his inches.

He grunts softly underneath you, still sensitive, and as he bottoms out, you curse softly, shifting as you feel his tip lightly brushing your cervix.

After the slight uncomfortable fullness fades, all you can focus on is the feel of his thick, veiny cock deep inside you, your cunt throbbing.

He groans, and lightly, you smooth some of his hair back. "I'll go slow."

Beginning to move, you lift your hips and drop them back down, gently at first and as he starts to get it, thrusting upward to help, faster.

"So.. tight." He gasps. "N-never thought I'd get to.. ah.. do this with y-you. 'S like a wet dream."

You can only moan in reply, the pace beginning to turn bruising as he repeatedly hits that plushy spot deep in your walls that makes your stomach tighten more and more with every breath.

Your cunt squelches with every thrust, your arousal pooling out combined with his cum still inside you, your back arching to take him deeper into your snug walls.

You can feel your clit pulsing, and gently, you guide his hand down to touch you there.

He jerks as his hand makes contact, and you move his hand to apply pressure. "This is how you touch a woman, Tecchou. More importantly, this is how you touch me."

Eager to please, he quickly gets the hang of it, speeding up his fingers and rubbing your clit, timing his thrusts to match up.

You feel him twitch inside you desperately, as your pussy clenches hard, the coil in your stomach tightening.

"Tecchou..." you groan, your cunt fluttering and contracting around him as white-hot pleasure overwhelms you, unable to form words to warn him as you spasm around his length, him following close behind as he spills his warm seed into you for the second time.

As you lay on top of him, both of you sticky and sweaty, and still coming down from your highs, he kisses your forehead gently. "Thank you." he says shyly, lifting you up off him to zip up his pants, you sliding your baggy, red uniform pants back on, part of it still cut from where your bullet wound is.

You can’t help but laugh, his inexperience obvious from the way he doesn’t know what to say after sex. “Let’s do it again sometime.”

It’s just then that you hear Fukuchi’s voice along with the stomping of boots that signifies two others, Jouno and Teruko close behind.

“You two! Where have you been!”

tagslist: (ask to be tagged!) @kissesmellow21 @rosebluuod @sakui1 @sayyestoheaven00

[eddiemunsons-missingnipple]

can i get a lil sum sum with soft eddie? maybe he’s telling you all about his favorite movie while you watch it? little behind the scenes facts while you lay with your head in his lap 🥹 you can’t help but smile at how excited he gets over the movie, making you happier than ever

Eddie munson x reader

Warnings: none, fluff. Soft!eddie

"C'mon babe, I'm putting in the movie!" Edde yelled from across the room.

You were busy getting the snacks together for your weekly movie night. You had one every day of the week if Eddie didn't work too late. Since today is Thursday. That means it's Lord of the Rings night. Or as Eddie refers to it, Tolkien Thursdays. This week, you and him would be watching Return of the King together.

He's seen these movies probably more than you can count. Yet every time he presses play, he's like a little kid watching it for the first time. Eddie knows every single piece of trivia there is to know right down to the actors' shoe size. He's watched all of their interviews and will quote "when will you wear wigs" at any given opportunity. Eddie thinks that interview is the funniest thing to exist.

"I'm coming!" You yelled back, dumping the bag of popcorn in a large bowl.

You rush to join him on the couch, setting the bowl down on the table next to the sodas you brought in earlier.

"Hurry, hurry." He waved

"Eddie, you haven't even pressed play yet," you smile, shaking your head.

"You can't miss a single second, babe, not one." His said eyes trained to the screen in front of him.

You watch him with amusement as the opening title finally appears. Your eyes locked on him while. You couldn't help but think it was so cute how animated he got at times. As the movie went on, Eddie seemed to calm down a little. You just knew if you put your palm to his chest, you could feel his heart beating a mile a minute.

Smiling softly, you move to lay your head in his lap and watched the ending battle. Eddies favorite part besides Denethor tells Pippin to sing for him. He knows the song by heart, and you do too now. You often hear him humming it in the shower after he gets off work.

You felt him jump and gasp as is he doesn't know what's about to happen.

"You paying attention, baby?" His voice sounding panicked. He moves a hand to gently stroke down your face before placing it on the curve of your hip.

You chuckled slightly, "Yea, Ed, I'm watching."

This was the part he looked forward to most. The scene where Eowyn defeats the witch king. You felt him shift as he leaned forward. He's trying to contain his excitement since you're lying on him. Normally, he would be jumping out of his seat, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"I am no man." He whispered, yelled to himself. You don't have to touch him to know he has goosebumps all over. Eddie was always at his happiest at these moments. You heard him repeating his favorite lines to himself all throughout the movie.

"Psst! You awake? " Eddie gently shook your shoulder.

"I'm awake."

He leaned back after getting a handful of popcorn. out stretched his legs, getting comfortable himself.

Did you know Frodo falls down 39 times in this?" He snorted with a mouth full of popcorn.

"He sounds a lot like me." You laugh as he continued telling you little facts here and there. The credits have started rolling, and Eddie still hasn't stopped educating you on his favorite trilogy. You soaked it all in every little detail he told you about. He even taught you how to say "I love you" in Elvish.

"So that's what you've been saying to me this whole time?"

"Yep." Eddie grinned from ear to ear.

You could listen to him ramble on forever. His face lighting up at the mention of Lord of the Rings is enough to keep you asking him about it. His smile was infectious. You never want it to go away. The way you both relaxed into one another during these moments was very special to you both. There was instant peace it felt like all of your worries just melted away.

"Eddie?" You call out to him.

"Yeah?"

"Can you read to me tonight? " Your eyes grow heavy as you turn to look up at him.

"Of course, baby. Ready for bed?" Eddie smiled down at you.

You nod. "Mmhmm."

"Kay, let's get you to bed then." He let out a loud yawn and popped the knuckles on his hands.

Eddie spent the next hour and a half reading The Hobbit to you. Trying your damn best to stay up longer. He was an amazing, great storyteller. He liked to make up little voices for each character as he read out loud to you. Eventually, sleep won and took over you and him.

Eddie fell asleep a little after you with the book tucked under his chin. Your head leaning against his shoulder. This became another part of your routine together. Movie nights and then a book before bed. You loved the way he would get so immersed in them both. Now you really understand why the kids loved having him as their DM. He made it fun and exciting. You didn't think you could fall in love with him more than you already were. But you were wrong. You were very wrong.

[tswwwit]

Cult Part 5! Here's One, Two, Three, and Four if ya missed 'em.

“Whatever he’s up to,“ Dipper leans forward in his seat, glaring. “It’s not what you think it is.”

His warning goes unheeded. His glare, unnoticed. The man not only keeps talking to Bill, he does it in the stupidest way possible.

“I don’t believe you, vile tempter,” says the dark-haired man, folding his arms, turning away in a huff. His hips tilt in a way that makes those tiny shorts look ten times stupider than they already were. “Your infinite cunning and dire convincing cannot sway a human pure of heart!”

“Oh, how pure it is.” ‘Bill’ says slowly, capturing the man around the shoulders. “But think about it, mortal - What’s the worst that could happen?”

Some of the pouty defiance fades from the human’s face. His slow, dramatic turn towards Bill is focused in a close shot, so their faces are both in frame.

“Alright,” He says softly, “You bastard.”

Ugh, of course he’d give in easily. Even though it’s a terrible idea.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Dipper mutters, and stuffs another handful of popcorn in his mouth.

He’s seen his fair share of bad television - more so in the last week than ever before - but this bullshit really takes the cake. 

Dipper stumbled on this drama while flipping through the billion options of Bill’s TV. Somewhere in the middle of random shows and channels, a brief clip caught his eye. Mostly because he thought the main guy looked like Bill, and it paused his thumb for a second.

Turns out it is Bill. Or rather, an actor playing him. The looks don’t quite match, and they’re using a different name - but the likeness is unmistakable, right down to the triangle motif.

For the first five minutes, Dipper had to just boggle at the very concept. Only the most devoted followers know the Truth. The clever plans and private nature of Bill Cipher are solely for those who are initiated in the deepest secrets. Ones that the ignorant masses could never comprehend.

A hundred-some odd episode tv series blows that theory out of the water. He guesses that’s more bullshit he learned from a bunch of ignorant, sheltered jerks.

Honestly, meeting Bill should have clued Dipper in earlier. A guy who talks about himself that much isn’t going to keep a low profile. Seeing it on Bill’s own TV was also weird until he remembered, right. Multidimensional sight. That’d show him things from all over. And pulling all the episodes on a dedicated channel in his living room? That’s an egomaniac’s move. 

So of course Dipper would run into this. There was no better place. 

The next episode starts. The opening credits roll for the dozenth time. Dipper doesn’t move from his position on the couch, but he does roll his eyes at the stupid smile actor Bill gives at the camera. Completely off-base, it’d be way more smug.

He should really stop watching. The first episode alone nearly had him grimacing at how idolatrous it was, and Dipper lived in a cult. Problem is, the worse it gets, the more compelling it becomes.  

Then the theme song ends, and Dipper looks again down at the tiny text at the bottom. The one that reads, ‘based on real events!!!’. 

Sure, it’s the most highly dramatized bullshit he’s ever had the misfortune of watching. Including the soap operas his cult classmate smuggled in all the time. And yes, it’ll be difficult to tell how much is true when it’s less reliable than an overheard rumor. 

But it might give him some leads to go on, and Dipper can’t pass that up.

Suffering through shitty dialogue is a small price to pay, when it comes to unraveling the tangled thread that is Bill Cipher. Especially because his subject keeps trying to wrap up into a whole friggin’ gordian knot whenever he’s not looking.

Besides, Dipper’s already on episode twenty-seven. He might as well see how this season ends. 

The plot picks up on the same convoluted scheme. Judging by last season, it’ll end in some climactic battle for no particular reason. The characters on screen continue their bickering, an intense-back and forth. One that ignores the very insightful commentary from anyone watching. 

Halfway through, ‘Bill’ double- or perhaps triple-crosses his human rival/friend, and Dipper spends a few seconds to feel very I-told-you so about it. The plot thread isn’t resolved though, so there’s no way to know how that turns out without watching another episode. 

And Dipper’s bowl of popcorn is empty.

He contemplates the dish first, then the TV. Whether to get up and refresh snacks, or stick around to see how ‘Bill’ ruins that guy’s day for the seventh time. A tough decision. 

He’s just about decided to raid the kitchen for snacks, when the front door ominously creaks open.

Bill Cipher, Lord of Dreams, King of the Nightmare Realm, storms into the room with irritation in his terrible gaze, and furious purpose in his stride. He wears a scowl on his face that would make even the most apostate follower cower in terror, a demeanor that speaks of his infinite violence. The thrum of magic in the room builds, intense as it always is in his so-called glorious presence.

As that single golden eye alights on Dipper, he waves and says, “Hi.”

All the tension slides off Bill like a particularly messy sloughing of skin. “Hey yourself, sapling!” He waves back with more enthusiasm. “Been one heck of a day, lemme tell ya that.”

It sounds lighthearted. A pretty decent act. Tough luck for Bill, though; Dipper can read him pretty well by now. A check of Bill’s body language gives him all the info he needs.

Huh. There haven’t been many bad days since he’s met this ‘god’. But by the look of it, this one was more than most.

“That bad?” Dipper asks. Then, since he’s not doing much anyway - “Wanna complain about it?”

A blasphemous question. No follower should delve too deep, for that is the purview of divine revelation. The wisdom of Cipher - his most terrible secrets - are only revealed at his discretion. Not something to be pried at by the greedy and curious. 

Dipper still marvels at how wrong they got all of it. Total misses on absolutely everything. Bill’s got secrets, sure. ‘Wisdom’ is questionable.

And when it comes to learning about his life, prying is unnecessary. 

Stopping him from talking is the hard part.

“Don’t even get me started!” Bill says, clearly delighted.. He spreads his arms wide. “But you did! Too late to take it back now.”

“Mmh,” Dipper agrees. He’s got another episode queued up. That’ll be a nice distraction. Bill’s rambling can be interesting, but his complaints are longwinded. When you think about it, he’s really doing this ‘god’ a service by listening to all the bullshit.

He really doesn’t know what his old cult was talking about. Clearly they’d never met the guy. When this is how Bill talks to some random human, it’s amazing he has any secrets at all.

He waits for the oncoming onslaught as the show keeps playing on. The theme song finishes and the scene opens. There’s a new location, too - god, this better not be another timeskip. Demons might keep track of that stuff easily, but Dipper’s had to start taking notes. 

It takes a second before he notices Bill’s… actually not talking. 

A quick glance over - yep, just like he thought. Staring like a creep again. One of Bill’s favorite pastimes. This time paired with a pleased smile, and his hands on his hips.

“What’s up?” Dipper asks. There’s no rhyme or reason to the creeping so far - but he’ll figure out the pattern one day.

“Hm.” Bill gives him a slow onceover. The corner of his mouth quirks up another fraction. “Nice outfit.”

A quick check reveals… Nothing particularly interesting. His clothes are identical to, like, the same three outfits he always wears. Jeans and a t-shirt - though today he ditched the flannel for this big hoodie he found in his laundry. It’s remarkably soft. “Uh. Thanks?”

Bill says nothing. The smirk grows even wider. Very suspicious. Dipper narrows his eyes. “Are you making fun of me?” “Who knows?” Bill says, teeth showing in his smile. “Interesting outer layer you got going on there.”

Dipper checks the hoodie. No, he doesn’t sense any magic. If there were pins he would have felt them, and a curse would have kicked in by now. It’s just a random hoodie that’s admittedly too broad in the shoulders, but very comfortable. It even smells good.

He waits a few seconds - Bill keeps staring, oddly smug - but with no information forthcoming, Dipper decides to chalk it up as another ‘weird demon thing’. There’s a lot of weird demon things. Most aren’t as innocuous as random fashion critique, so he might as well let this slide. 

“Cute as that look is, you did ask for the rundown, sapling.” Bill loosens his bowtie, letting the ends drape over his shirt. “You know what my least favorite part of today was?”

“Dealing with idiots.” Dipper replies. It’s always idiots. He rifles through popcorn kernels to find any remaining puffs.

“Sure, sure. Most times!” Bill strides over, sighing dramatically. “But today it was dealing with sycophants.” 

Dipper runs that through his mental dictionary - then frowns. “They weren’t flattering enough?”

“Close!” With a grin, Bill leans on the arm of the couch. “More like praise comes in a lotta different flavors, and this one -” He stops mid-sentence, with a sudden frown.

Pausing? That’s unusual. Dipper rips his attention away from the show, glancing up.  “This one was…?”

“Hm? Oh, y’know.” Oddly enough, it seems like Bill genuinely wasn’t deflecting. Simply thinking, his head slightly tilted. He snaps his fingers twice. “Like, suckups are one thing. Currying favor’s the most common grift in the universe! It’s the… That kinda saccharine crap that’s a hair too sincere. Like…” He wags his hand in the air, fingers wiggling as he tries to grasp for an invisible word. Grimacing when he doesn’t find it. “Ugh. English doesn’t have the right vocab.”

A multilingual master of the mind probably does feel limited by speech. And every day, Dipper learns something new. 

Demons have a different culture. Human customs don’t apply. Learning it has been a whole process, more arduous than he’d expected - because it’s got an entirely new language, with a million new words.

Apparently said language has a lot of terms for ‘suckup’.

Dipper rummages around for an English word that might fit. “So it was… Creepy?”

“Close!” Bill agrees, looking pleased. “Little bit obsessive. A touch like they’re up to something.” He makes a face. “Or worse, they’re not! Even when every non-braindead being should know I’m not on the market.”

“The market for…?”

“Most everything,” Bill says, with his usual amount of detail. 

“I would have thought you get that a lot.” Dipper frowns. Power, money, fame - Bill’s got it all. As the biggest shark around, he should be used to remoras.

“Totally! Everybody wants what I got, sapling. Power especially.” The couch barely bounces when Bill plops himself beside Dipper. “But just ‘cause I have it in spades doesn’t mean I’m handing it out like eyeballs at a wedding.”

“Um.” Except he kind of is. Because. If he wasn’t, then why has Dipper’s magic been so strong recently. There’s no way that’s a coincidence -

Bill leans in closer, meeting his gaze directly. One eyebrow slowly lifts.

Dipper ducks his head, scooting an inch away. Bill hasn’t said anything. He didn’t need to.

Special. 

Suddenly it’s very important that Dipper fiddle with the unpopped kernels in the bottom of his popcorn bowl. He was going to get more snacks. Right. Kitchen’s not far from here.

Before he can rise, Bill snaps his fingers and the bowl refills. Overflows, even, scattering kernels everywhere. Then he shoves his hand in up to the wrist, sending more of it flying.

“So that’s the losers I gotta deal with. Every day with these idiots! And I’m supposed to meet up with a few of ‘em later. If we weren’t talking an old favor, I’d pass,” Bill says. He slumps back, with an uncharacteristic sigh. Then shrugs, kicking his feet up onto a previously nonexistent ottoman. “But hey! There’s always time for a vicious betrayal!”

Dipper makes a soft sound of commiseration. That’s an interesting fact, too. Favors, deals. Those are demonic things, He wonders what those involve, and how - 

“Ha! Now this is a classic,” Bill says, interrupting before the question can form. He’s watching the TV now, grinning wide.  “How’ve you been liking the show? Looks like the main character’s a real handsome guy!”

“It’s terrible,” Dipper says, flat. It gets a chuckle, but no argument.

“Sure, I’ve seen better,” Bill says, nose wrinkling up at a particularly dramatic line from the actor on screen. He flips the TV off, then shrugs. “But eh,” Hand waggling, an ‘iffy’ gesture. “When you got a billion-eye view of the multiverse, you see way dumber crap than this.” 

Fair point. Dipper shrugs, but doesn’t comment. Something to think about, there. That Bill’s seen this before, for one, but also-

“How much of this is true?” He asks. 

If this demonically produced drama is even slightly accurate, Bill will have a strong opinion. Once he starts talking, everything will reveal itself.

“Great question! I’d say…” Bill pauses to stroke his chin. Aiming for ‘solemn’, but mostly reminding Dipper that the jerk never needs to shave. “What does it matter if a narrative is factual or fictional? Everyone’s got their own version of how things go down! Truth’s a sucker’s game when you really think about-”

An elbow to the ribs doesn’t quite shut Bill up. Just gives him enough pause to let Dipper interject.

“Philosophy doesn’t suit you.” He nudges him again before he can derail the topic. Bill sticks out his tongue, and for a second Dipper’s tempted to poke it in revenge for before. “I’ll settle for which parts actually happened.”

“Spoilsport,” Bill says, sounding oddly warm. “Eh, they took a lot of artistic license in this series. And that’s coming from me.” Shrugging, he makes a so-so- sort of gesture, weighing it in his palms. “Call it less than you’d like, but more than you’d think.”

Dipper glances at the screen. 

The battle at the end of the episode is a poorly-cut fight. Bill, human-formed, faces off against seven gorgons. Which is bullshit, they’re territorial - and the shoggoth at sunset brings it almost to the level of parody. The human of this episode has fainted in a way that leaves him leaning against Bill without somehow falling on his ass.

Yeah. That about tracks. Demon to human translation: ‘Artistic license’ means ‘total bullshit’.

Almost on cue, Dipper feels fingers brushing against his hoodie. There’s a shift as Bill adjusts his seat, his arm unsubtly snaking over behind Dipper’s head. 

Any minute now that ominous limb will drop onto his shoulders. Just like the last half dozen times. God forbid Bill not take up all the room he can; he thinks everything is his. Even gorgons aren’t this territorial.

Dipper can live with it. Hell, if the worst thing Bill ever does to him is invade his personal space and talk over an already bad TV show, he’s basically set for life. 

And truthfully, it’s not that bad. Less irritating than it should be. Having someone close, even if they are an obnoxious evil demon god, feels nice. 

One day he’s going to know why he’s being bothered by Bill in the first place. What made him stand out among the rest. What he’s for. The question doesn’t upset him like it used to, but he can’t help but pick at it like a still-healing scab. 

It feels like he has a decent amount of facts already. Between the journal in the guest room, watching the highly dramatized version of Bill’s life, and talking to the demon himself… 

Dipper glances over at Bill - still focused on the show, crunching popcorn - then down at the long line of his wrist. 

Even Bill’s providing clues, in his own, unique way. When he arguably shouldn’t. 

It would be so, so easy for him to cut it all off. Burn the books, break the TV, cage Dipper up and beat the curiosity out of him. Taking every step the cult did and more, in his ‘wrath’ and ‘infinite cruelty’.

But he’s not. He wouldn’t, not to Dipper. 

In fact, Bill’s been - in a weird, exclusively Bill-ish way - kind of helpful. Hell, he’s having a great time. 

He clearly delights in watching Dipper scramble around, trying to follow a breadcrumb trail of hints. Even more fun is occasionally dropping a bunch of clues down the wrong track, then hiding behind a tree to giggle. He especially likes to dangle something just close enough to grab, then teasing Dipper as he tries to make the leap. 

So much of his time is spent making stuff annoying, teasing and taunting and tricking - but Bill’s not actually stopping him. As hobbies go, it’s both incredibly dickish, and totally benign. It’s almost like… 

Dipper gets the sense that Bill expects him to figure it all out. Bill just also thinks he should make the journey very… ‘interesting’.

Joke’s on him, though. He’s left more hints than he intended. He may not even realize how far Dipper’s come.

The show plays on. The actor ‘Bill’ argues with the latest, nearly-identical human guy. They change actors a lot; usually whenever there’s a timeskip. They always have exactly the same role, too - ‘guy who argues with the demon in charge’. Probably because demons consider all humans interchangeable. 

There’s some interaction between the various planes. Everyone knows that. Demons are pretty rare on the list, but lower-level entities occasionally get summoned, or break in through some magical mishap. 

Back in the cult, Dipper learned that Bill Cipher has bothered and convinced and manipulated mortals for eons. His unearthly machinations twist the strings of his human puppets, all the time. Slowly building to the inevitable goal - the world, under Bill’s eternal thumb. He never interacts directly; the physical plane is not yet his to roam.

But in the drama, Bill is on the physical plane. Not acting through haunting prophetic dreams, or divine revelations. Just bitching and prodding and poking in person. 

And while the setting’s  fictionalized version of the place, it’s definitely not under any demonic reign.

The implications took a while to sink in, but Dipper thinks he gets it now. Parts have clicked together; facts he didn’t know were connected until just now. 

Bill probably doesn’t realize it, but he’s helped  there too. Filling in the gaps. Adding extra detail.

He’s even doing it right now. 

The unasked for commentary track continues as Bill talks. Going on about how he hasn’t been to that country in millenia, or how the seasons are wrong for this encounter. Elaborating on details, mocking others, going on about the stupid plotline and dialogue -  

Totally bragging about his earthly knowledge. About the physical world. Because he’s been there.

Dipper sits up a little straighter. It bumps the hand trailing through his hair away, and he settles back to let Bill’s idiot fingers continue their idle path. 

He can’t be totally certain without proof, though. And Bill has always liked it when he’s picked up the clues…

Dipper speaks up.

“I think more of this is real than you’d admit, Bill. You’ve…” Didn’t laud himself over them, no divine visitation- “Hung out with humans.”

“Hard not to! What with billions of you dreaming all over the place.” Bill says, deftly avoiding the question. Staring at the screen now, focused forward in a way that makes it hard to catch his eye. “You’re everywhere on that scummy pebble you call a habitable planet.”

No confirmation, but no denial. Which means Dipper’s on the right track. 

“I mean you’ve been on Earth. In the, uh, flesh,“ Dipper insists. No triangles were visible, maybe that form can’t be sustained in reality - but this is no time to get derailed. He seizes the thread of logic, yanking on it with all he’s got. “Was-”

“Pfft, who hasn’t!” Bill interrupts. He flicks the question away, snorting in amusement. “Pretty permeable place you got there.”

“That’s at least two hundred years of human interaction,” Dipper insists. He jabs his index finger at the screen, then into Bill’s ribs. “And I can’t help but notice none of it is in your realm. It’s on Earth. Which you haven’t conquered-” Before Bill’s mouth can open, he holds up a hand. The lie is so dumb he doesn’t wanna hear it. “Nice try, I was just there.”

“Yeah, yeah, make a mountain out of a molehill.” Bill buffs his nails on his shirt, chin lifting. “I’ve just been busy! I’ll get around to it!”

“Sure you will,” Dipper says. He narrows his eyes. “I’ve figured you out, Cipher. I know what’s going on.”

Plausible deniability went out the window ages ago, thrown with such force that glass shattered everywhere. Leaving Bill standing in the middle, wondering aloud what happened, with a perfectly innocent look on his face..

It’s about humans. About earth, and Bill, and Dipper himself. Why Bill never showed up before, in all those years - decades - of cult summons, the ones he never ever answered, even though they really tried. Not just that he didn’t see them, or didn’t care to. 

It’s because Bill Cipher can’t do everything.

Bill’s been evasive, per his usual. He’s not quite meeting Dipper’s gaze, and keeping up a dismissive tone. 

But he can’t deny that he’s interested, even though he tries to keep his expression aloof. It’s not working so great. His mouth keeps twitching as the grin starts to leak out around the edges. 

“Oh?” Bill’s voice has a strange tone. He leans in until their thighs touch, sides together; he must be really interested in something. “Go on, sapling. Enlighten me!” 

That’s the core of a line of truth, leading somewhere important - if Dipper dares to follow. He’s getting close, he can feel it. It’s dangerous, but- 

Getting the words out is harder than he thought. Challenging Cipher is - he starts talking before he can talk himself out of it.

“You can’t take over reality.” He keeps his voice level, daring Bill to interrupt. “You don’t have all your powers there.” 

A pause; Bill’s oddly silent. His face is blank. 

Before he can get angry, Dipper rambles out the rest. “Or at least not yet. You’d have taken over already if you did. I mean, it’s not like you didn’t have time. You can’t get the world because…” Here it goes - “Something’s stopping you." 

He watches, tense, as Bill’s expression sours. Looking askance at Dipper, he folds his arms in a huff. Muttering something under his breath about ‘stubborn’ and ‘annoying’.

But Bill doesn’t deny it. 

God, and even the look on his face. The one that’s both annoyed but also, maybe, resigned? Like it’s an old, old roadblock that he’s both huffy about, and very used to, it’s…

Holy shit. Dipper’s right. 

His heart is racing. Merely guessing that Bill can’t accomplish his main driving purpose is a far cry from him saying it, or even not arguing with it. The very thought makes his head swim.  

But he can’t stop now, not while he’s ahead. 

“So there’s some obstacle even you can’t get rid of,” Dipper says. Looking at Bill out of the corner of his eye, he pitches his voice in a tone of reverent, religious awe. “I can’t even imagine how powerful that is. How incredibly-”

“Hey! Don’t get so full of yourself, Pine Tree, it’s just not the right time yet!” Bill sits up straight, indignant. He bares his teeth in a sneer. “Maybe there’s something I still want from that miserable little rock, you ever think of that?”

Another admission. An unforced error. Bill winces very slightly as he hears his own misstep, and Dipper swells with pride. 

Bill thinks he’s all high and mighty and oh-so-secretive. A master of mysteries. If only he didn’t talk way too much. He didn’t think Dipper was clever enough to trick him and he gave everything away.

“That’s it. That’s why- why everything.” Dipper beams as he waves over, well, everything. “You keep going back there, and you keep picking a human, wandering around with some random guy - because you can’t get what you want without one.”

Not a cult, building power. Not a massive ritual spell. Nothing grand and showy; Bill would have done that if it was effective. That’s way more his style, and far more magically powerful. 

There’s been none of that. Not in the show, not in real life. He hasn’t used the cult, he doesn’t have a base of power. Bill doesn’t peddle with groups, both in the real-life cult and the cannon fodder in the show. 

He’s only focused on one person.

Out of billions of people he could bother, Bill latches onto a single, unfortunate guy and throws their life into total chaos. It’s a curse, an annoyance, a bolt of bullshit out of nowhere - and would also ensure you don’t bleed out until he’s had his ‘fun’. 

Being picked out from the crowd like that. Having the full brunt of Bill Cipher himself foisted upon you, laser-focused. Going from a nobody to someone who has all his attention - 

Wouldn’t that make someone kind of special? 

No response, again. Bill has retreated to his last, mocking resort. Flapping his hand like a puppet as Dipper talks, and making faces. 

Yes. Finally, Dipper got him. He followed the breadcrumbs, avoided the trap, set up one of his own - and Bill walked right into it. 

Dipper gives him the smuggest, most annoying smile he can. He’s got plenty of examples to draw from. 

Bill glares, and flips him off. “Sure, sure, live it up,” He says, rolling his eye dramatically. Waving off the loss like it’s no big deal, even though it clearly is. “You don’t have a clue what’s really going on.”

A blatant lie. Hardly his best one, either. 

Dipper lets himself enjoy this win for a full minute. Rare chances like this should be savored. He has to hold onto the couch so he doesn’t grab Bill’s dumb handsome face and shake it, for being so very, very stupid. He’s never going to let him live this down

“So. Why do you need a mortal?” Dipper asks after a while. Bill isn’t volunteering any more information, and there’s one more part he hasn’t quite figured out. “The thing you’re after. Why can’t you just,” He grasps at the air in demonstration. “Take it?”

Bill’s eye twitches, once. He doesn’t say anything. 

“I mean-” Dipper hesitates. “That’s a ton of work. Heading to a different realm, picking a new mortal every time - that’s decades - no, centuries of effort. The human has to do something, right? You wouldn’t do all that just for fun.”

“Excuse you, it’s plenty fun!” Lifting a finger, Bill wags it chidingly. “You think I’m above messing with some mortal just for kicks?”

Shit, he’s not. Ruining a random person’s life for the hell of it is so very, very Bill.

“Alright, maybe.” Dipper admits. This could be because Bill’s a capricious dick. “But I’ll bet there’s more to it.”

“Never have one motive when you could have six,” Bill agrees. The grin widens, he wiggles his eyebrows - and he starts cackling. 

So yes, there’s more. And no, he’s not telling. 

Dipper racks his brain for ideas. For clues. Whatever Bill’s after must be extremely important if a literal demon god keeps chasing after it, over and over again. Nothing comes to mind, though. 

Eventually he sighs, waiting for Bill to be done with his stupid smug laughter. It doesn’t cover up his mistake.

“So I guess that makes me your latest human… companion thing.” He prompts, once Bill’s finally done with his smug, jerk laughter.

One of the first things he noticed - that room in Bill’s penthouse. The one meant for a specific type of person, as clear as a fingerprint. How many of Bill’s mortals stayed in that room? How many of them-

Those notes in the journal. Dipper has to go back and check them. Now that he knows it was someone in exactly the same position, there might be more to learn.

“Congrats, kid! Ya got parts of it! Well played! But I gotta ask one thing.” Bill cocks his head to one side. A brief, amused smirk. “There are plenty of magical guys around! A lot of ‘em  begging for demonic contracts!” The smirk widens, sharp teeth showing. “Why do you think I picked you?”

Dipper opens his mouth. After a beat, he shuts it. 

He was so busy thinking about the mechanics of his presence that he didn’t think about the motive. 

Obviously Bill grabs a human for practical purposes, so he can get that thing he wants on Earth. If it’s an entertaining person, that’s a bonus in his eye. This time it ended up being Dipper, because…

Not because he’s devoted. Or the most knowledgeable guy around. He’s smart, but too aware of the experience he lacks. Weeks ago he would have said it was the ritual knowledge from the cult, but since that’s less than worthless… Something else, then.

“Because…” Dipper starts, then hesitates. Mind racing, trying to pin the strings between the bits of knowledge he has before Bill throws a wrench into it. “Uh.”

Shit. Shit, he’s so close, there’s a piece missing. A final step. He struggles to find it but there’s little time to think; Bill’s expectant expression demands an answer. 

“Convenience?” Dipper hazards. He was right there, in the middle of a powerful ritual, directed at Bill, so- 

Instantly he knows it was the wrong guess. By the way Bill’s face fell, it was off by several hundred miles.

“Ooh, nice try.” Bill tugs Dipper closer, hand dragging through his hair - Dipper ducks out of the way before he can start a ‘companionable’ noogie. “You really missed the mark there!”

“Any chance you’ll tell me what that is?” Dipper says, with no small amount of bitterness. 

Damn it. He was so close he could almost taste it.

“Nope!” 

“You- hmph.” With a grunt, Dipper scoots away and out of his grip. He’s used to all the deliberate frustration, but right now it just sucks.

“Aw, don’t make that face!” Bill scoots after him, trying to get his arm around him again. Dipper swats it away. “Tell ya what - here’s a hint! You’re something a guy doesn’t see every day, sapling.” He winks. “Pretty unique.”

How very specific. Totally not opaque. How does Bill manage to give more facts and make things more mysterious in the process? It’s a really annoying talent.

Dipper sulks then, for a bit. When Bill tries petting his air again, he smacks his arm away, muttering unflattering things under his breath. It makes Bill laugh again, cackling in delight.

“What’s the matter?” Bill nudges him, a teasing laugh. “Ease up, kid. Given enough time, you’ll figure out some real secrets.”

“May Cipher hear your words,” Dipper says, the old phrase springing up before he can stop himself. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, cringing away from his own voice.

Thankfully, the slip gets Bill laughing. Dipper’s turn to not live something down; they’re one for one today.

“Okay, some of the affectations are adorable,” Bill says, nearly pinching Dipper’s cheek before he elbows him in the side. “Hardly worth all the other crap, but still!!”

“It really wasn’t,” Dipper says. He rubs at his left wrist. ‘All the other crap’ barely covers it.

“Don’t worry, sapling.” Bill says, voice low and satisfied. He squeezes Dipper’s knee, grip tightening. “Once we got everything in order - we’re gonna wreak some havoc on those idiots! All the fun stuff and more!”

‘Fun stuff’. 

Spending time with Bill, even in Dipper’s position of relative safety, teaches you a lot about what he thinks is ‘fun’. 

He’s not sure why he didn’t see this coming. 

“Is that… so.”

“It is! Getting back at those who wronged you, tormenting the tormentors. Punishment returned with neat ironic twists!” Bill waits for a beat, then grins, jostling Dipper with a gentle shake. “Come on, you gotta have ideas!”

“A few, yeah.” A lot, actually. 

Being favored by a ‘god’. Chosen, in a way. Having Bill’s favor means having his full permission to enact vengeance. 

He’d be lying if he said he never thought about… what he’d do, if he could. Fleeting ideas from too many nights lying in bed. Staring at the ceiling, feeling the burn in the back of his mouth, or the pain in his knees or the stripes on his back. Frustration and anger and hurt, bubbling up into red-hot thoughts that tasted like blood even with a missing tongue. 

Dipper swallows. He rubs at his throat. 

“Ooh, I bet you’ve got a lot.” Bill purrs, wrapping his arm around Dipper’s waist. He walks his fingers up Dipper’s knee, trailing up his thigh. “Whatcha got in mind? Turning them inside out? Bone dissolving? Rearranging their legs where their ears should be and making them try to do a cartwheel?”

“Uh,” Dipper says, then, “Well.” 

Bill is way more creative than Dipper is. Half the ideas he’s mentioned Dipper couldn’t pull off, and even if he could it’d be… Messier than he’s comfortable with. In those moments of pain and rage, he would have - even then, it’d be a stretch. 

Though maybe Dipper wouldn’t mind when it came to the priest. Too bad he’s already dead. 

What will he do? When he goes back?

He can see their faces in his mind’s eye. All the people he knows. The only people he ever knew, in that life that feels so far away.They’ll show up again in the room of ceremony, once they get wind of their god’s return. Except this time, he’ll be standing proud at the altar, with everyone in front of him, staring in…

He knows how they stared at Bill, at least. That mix of wonder and terror, their eyes wide. They’ve always believed so much. Hopeful in a way that Dipper never was - 

Or. Was, rather. Only when he wasn’t so stupid. 

And isn’t it just - so pathetic, and sad. Thinking things might turn out well. That something good might happen, when someone better knows it won’t. Those idiot, expectant moments before you know there’s a punishment coming, that leave you without a chance of defending yourself.

Dipper can feel the burn of Bill staring at him. Waiting to hear his most horrible, gory ideas, and bring them into terrifying technicolor.

“I’m not telling.” He states finally, sounding more prim than he would like. “Nice try. It’s, um. Going to be a surprise.”

“And I can’t wait to see it!” Bill beams, nearly bouncing in place. His enthusiasm is so powerful it’s almost catching. “Mark my words, kid - it’s gonna be a real party.”

“A super fun one,” Dipper says. “Totally.” He offers a smile back, waits for Bill to start cackling - then quickly looks away before his face gives up the game.

For such a consummate liar, Bill’s hit rate on detecting them is only 50/50.

Though. It isn't a lie, really. Dipper does have a lot of ideas. And what he ends up doing to the cult will be a surprise. 

In that he’s not sure what he’ll do until he gets there. 

“Take your time, sapling! Whatever you come up with is gonna be great, I’m sure.” Bill rubs his hands together, a glint of sinister anticipation in his eye. “I can’t wait to see it.”

Dipper lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I hope you’ll like it.”

Of course it wasn’t going to happen today. That’d be a quick turnaround by anyone’s standards. Even Bill himself needs longer than a few days to cook up a… what did he call it that one time? A ‘showy little number with a twist at the end’. Anything else would be disappointing. 

Anyway, it’s too early to make definitive plans. Bill said he should take his time, and Dipper believes him. Shoving his human back into the world half-cocked would ruin the entertainment. 

And when you think about it, there are so many options that it could take a lot of time to narrow them down. There could be setbacks, and stutters. It could take weeks, maybe months, to get everything just right. A punishment ironic yet powerful, subtle yet dramatic.

Who knows how long it’ll take until Dipper’s ready to head back? Certainly it won’t feel very long, to a guy who’s billions of years old. And as long as he’s making some progress, nothing needs to happen just yet. 

“Ooh, this one,” Bill says suddenly. He sits up straighter as something catches his attention. “I remember when - ah, but that’d be spoilers!”

Dipper looks up. Spoilers for-?

Oh. A new episode started when he wasn’t paying attention. “It’s still a bad show,” He mutters. He could turn it off out of spite, just to bother Bill - but he did kinda want to see what happened with the twelve-ring summon the ‘bad’ guys were planning. 

Another episode would actually be kind of great, thinking about it. He could use the distraction.

Bad TV, Dipper’s learning, is nice. One of the few times where he can almost let his brain turn off. 

And having someone else who thinks the show is dumb somehow enhances it. 

The climactic battle has the worst dialogue, and terrible graphics. Dipper can barely look at the monsters, they’re so poorly rendered.  Bill agrees that they needed a better illusionist; half of the explosions look like they were drawn. 

Chatting about something so trivial makes everything so easy. Dipper lets out a laugh when Bill mocks his own actor’s performance, then swats at him when Bill teases him for being a dork.

Some idle comment sparks a bit of bickering. One of them throws popcorn at the other. Dipper doesn’t remember who started it - only that by the end, the bowl is empty again, and he’s smiling for what feels like the first time in hours.

Actor Bill hisses,“Oh, you are a vindictive, terrible mortal.” His suit has mostly melted off from the acid, leaving shreds of it hanging off his arms and chest. The shreds slide off his skin as he storms forward. “A pitiful being like you should never exist!”

“Yet I do!” Protests the human, standing with fists on his hips and a truly defiant look. One only partly ruined by his totally shirtless form.

“You never stood a chance against me,” Actor Bill purrs, slamming a hand into the bark of a tree, pinning his captive in place. “There’s no escape, kid! There never will be!”

“Oh yeah?” The man’s chin juts upward, a sneer of sheer contempt - totally unrealistic, nobody would get away with that - as he flips Bill off. “Then I’ll be your own personal curse, demon. You’ll never escape me either.”

The music surges, a broad orchestra that’s… honestly a jarring clash to the argument that breaks out. You can barely hear what they’re talking about over the grand music.

“Just shut up will you?” The man yells.

With a broad sneer, Actor Bill leans in, smug grin surprisingly close to the real version. “Make me.”

The human fumes, eyes narrowed. His fists clench as if he’s about to throw a punch. But when he extends his arm it’s too slow for that, and his hand is open. It seizes ‘Bill’ by the back of the neck, yanking him in, then -

Dipper nearly leaps out of his seat, eyes wide. Only the pressure of Bill’s arm over him keeps him from standing.

“Three stars for timing, zero for technique.” Bill gives the TV a thumbs down. “That’s way too much tongue! This ain’t slug wrestling for crying out loud.”

Dipper’s shoulders rise nearly to his ears. He doesn’t dare glance at the screen. Only once the wet noises stop, and the credits music rolls, does he try darting one in Bill’s direction.

Who seems entirely, implausibly bored. He cups a hand over his mouth as he yawns, loosely splayed over the couch. 

“You’re, uh. Okay with that?” Dipper asks. He tucks his hands between his knees, leaning forward. “It just seems, uh.”

“Seems ‘uh’, what?” 

“Like,” Dipper gestures vaguely at the screen, even though it’s faded to black. The credits roll, a series of ominously glowing symbols scrolling up the screen. “That was…” He searches for a word, and fails. 

“Terrible writing,” Bill says, bored. He shakes his head, lips drawn into a line. “You’d think someone would come up with a better plot for this kinda crap. It’s not like there isn’t material to go on.”

“But he kissed you,” Dipper says, before he can stop himself. 

It’s one thing to blaspheme a little, Dipper himself is no stranger to forbidden acts, but this one takes the cake. The whole bakery, even. To do that at all is bad enough, but to Bill or - or an actor playing him, obviously it’s not the same thing, but still-

“Yeah, yeah, smooching, whatever.” The concept hasn’t phased Bill in the slightest. He snorts, grin widening. “Contrary to your idiot idolatry, I have been known to practice a liplock once in a while!”

“You-” Dipper starts, then stops. “I-” He shuts his eyes, then blinks rapidly. “Yeah, okay.”

So. Bill isn’t surprised, because this is - he sees everything, it’s not like he didn’t know about that kind of stuff. 

It’s just that. As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing to get worked up about. Because nothing that happened there was wrong.

Dipper presses the heels of his hands into his eyes to rub them, then draws them down slowly over his face. 

Every time he thinks he’s found the bottom of the pit of bullshit he learned back in the cult, he finds another goddamn level beneath it. There may never be an end to all the lies. 

Another one he can strike off the ‘sin’ list. There’s basically nothing left now, with Bill indulging in everything from gluttony to sloth to… that.

Every whim Bill has, he indulges. Often to excess, and always with aplomb. Dipper never had the opportunity or ability to do even a tenth of what Bill has, and - god, he wonders what that’s like. 

“Do you…” How to phrase this. Dipper wipes sweating palms on his jeans. “Have you… kissed a lot of people?”

The words come out in a bit of a rush. Bill snorts in amusement, which is a relief; that wasn’t the worst question to ask. 

“Depends! What’s ‘a lot’? I’m pretty particular about my partners.” Bill’s smile widens, and he wiggles his eyebrows. A quick squeeze Dipper’s shoulder, just above the bicep. “But sure! I’ve known a guy or two worth putting a peck on.”

“Okay,” Dipper says. Then, because that feels inadequate. “Cool.” 

Because of course he has. Bill’s put his mouth on. Thoughts are spinning in his head now, rapid and light. 

“Come to think of it, it’s been a while since I’ve dabbled in the dating scene!” Bill continues, with an odd tone in his voice. “Pretty tough to find the right guy these days, when you’re holding out for something special.” A nudge, as his eyebrows go double-time.

God, and he would have options- Didn’t Bill say it earlier? People pursue him. For power, sure, but that’s only what he mentioned. Kind of weird, though, Dipper’s only heard of men chasing after -

Wait. Wait, no, how did he never consider this before? Maybe because his stupid upbringing blinded him; Bill’s not human. The shape he’s wearing doesn’t mean anything, metaphysically, doesn’t speak to what he really is, and he just said that at some point he’s kissed a man.

“Are you a girl?” Dipper blurts. Staring wide-eyed at that angular face, at the arms and then a little longer at his chest. 

The look of sheer incredulity Bill levels on him makes Dipper sink down into his seat. 

“What?” Bill asks, and - oh god. That’s the first genuinely bewildered look Dipper’s ever seen on him. 

“I thought - I was wrong.” Dipper’s face burns, he wants to cringe himself into a ball and then fall between the couch cushions. “Sorry.” 

Great. Dumb guess, shitty concept. Now he looks like an idiot. His very first assumption was the right one. More fool him for overcorrecting.

“Whatever, kid. And don’t say ‘sorry’,” Bill flicks his fingers. Awkwardness slides off his back like water on a duck, he’s grinning again. “None of your human crap applies, y’know?” He brings his hands together, index fingers and thumbs forming a familiar, three-sided symbol. “I’m the shape you see on caution signs, not bathroom doors.”

“Right.” Dipper perks up. So he wasn’t totally wrong, just... not at all right. Still embarrassing, he should change the subject. “Um. So-”

“But I do have a dick, if that’s what you’re asking.” Bill adds, grinning way too wide. 

“I wasn’t.” Dipper claps hands over his ears. It fails to cover up the delighted chortle beside him.

Guess he’s learning all kinds of things about Bill today. Just not ones he wanted. 

Not helped by the way Bill leans in very closer, tickling him on the side in a way that makes him jump again. He’s about to scramble off the couch or do something inadvisable like shove someone else off the dang thing - when Bill’s ringtone goes off. 

“Ugh, are you- Blegh.” Bill says, moderately annoyed. He leans on Dipper for a moment as he fishes around in his pocket, a smothering weight. How is a simple human shape so heavy.

Whatever he sees on his phone screen has him sticking his tongue out. “Ugh,” He repeats, frowning at. Lifting his arm off of Dipper, and holding up a finger. “Be right back! I gotta take this.”

Dipper hopes the jerk gets lost on the way and falls down a hole. Not really, just - it would be something to say when he’s at a loss for anything else. He just rolls his eyes instead, watching Bill depart with a pointed stride and a grumpy mutter.

Finally, some space to breathe. To think. The mind magic of Bill’s presence always has Dipper scrambling for something to think about that isn’t his too-powerful aura. 

He taps the edge of the bowl, an idle beat. Feeling the chill on his side where Bill’s body kept it warm. 

Yep. Just Dipper, and the tv, and any remaining popcorn, all to himself. Nothing wrong with that. 

He brushes around the bowl without any particular intent. Kernels rustle against his fingers, and he spends a minute swishing them around, even though his hand gets greasy.

The remote lies inches away. Easy to pick up if he wanted to distract himself. Finishing the season is an option, but feels wrong to keep watching when Bill’s not here to see it. 

Actually, Dipper could watch something better. Finding a show that doesn’t suck, or have bizarre, blasphemous content. Just some real, semi-wholesome entertainment that doesn’t raise more questions than answers.  

Distantly, he hears Bill still on the phone. Sounds like the conversation’s going to take a while. 

Dipper taps his fingers on the couch, creeping towards the remote. 

Said remote also has, like, a million buttons, so it takes a while to figure out which ones to press. One goes back to the previous episode. This one skips forward, another pauses. This one goes back in fifteen second intervals. 

Dipper leans over, checking - Bill, still well out of sight - then taps the volume button down until it’s nearly zero before hitting play again. 

“Make me,” Bill’s actor hisses again, before getting grabbed and - stuff.

Dipper sits forward in his seat, elbows on his thighs. Living with Bill means exposing himself to new ideas. Since he didn’t look before, now’s as good a time as any.

Though - Wow, Bill really wasn’t kidding. That is a lot of tongue. Even with the volume lowered it’s all wet and - it makes him feel odd, even though he knows it’s not sinful.  

Maybe he should replay it to check.

The fourth time around, he pauses his research to inspect it closer. Aha -That’s what was bothering him, those aren’t real abs. They’re enhanced with makeup. The lighting covers it a bit but when you really look, it’s totally obvious. The actor playing Bill has the worst version; the other guy just has a blotch near his -

“Son of a bitch.” Dipper says, standing up so fast the popcorn bowl dumps its contents on the floor. 

The image burns itself into his brain. Dots and lines, laid out on skin. A pattern Dipper could never forget if he wanted to.

Oh, Bill got lucky earlier. Real lucky. The only reason he got away with it is Dipper had his eyes covered. If he’d seen it, he would have had that evil demon bastard as pinned as that human in the show. 

Before he knows it he’s charging for the entryway. 

He can hear the jerk still talking on his phone, muted voice growing louder as Dipper storms in his direction. Unaware of how he’s been found out.

Dipper doesn’t have a plan in mind, which is the first thing that’s probably going to go wrong - but he’s got to do it, right now, before Bill can run off on some errand or head to some party, evading and avoiding questions like he always does. 

And before Dipper can lose the courage to confront him. A little confrontation might intrigue the guy - excite him, even - but the questions racing through Dipper’s mind aren’t going to be fun.

Too bad. Bill’s not going to wiggle his way out of this one.

He catches sight of Bill’s back, turned towards the door and totally not paying attention. Dipper storms up behind him, intending to catch him by the shoulder and whirl him around. See how Bill likes it when he-

The door swings open. Dipper skids to a halt, rocking back on his heels. 

That is. Many demons. Eyeballs peeking over the shoulder of something with spikes, another with wings too large to see around. A crowd clustered around the doorway.

Bill stuffs his phone back in his pocket, glaring at them all.

“You call five minutes notice a ‘heads up’? Then show your asses up here?” Contempt rings in Bill’s voice, low and furious. “You got a lot of nerve, and that’s no compliment.”

“It was urgent,” a voice burbles. Something soft and squidgy - oh, that’s where the eyes were, on stalks - it bubbles literally as it speaks. “The mistress-”

“Yeah yeah, blah blah, I’ve heard it all before. Cram it.” Bill stalks forward, leveling a look at the group that has them all scooting away. “Maybe your ‘mistress’ should think ahead next time. Or think at all before calling in a last-minute favor from me.”

Slowly, inch by inch, Dipper backs away. If he keeps really quiet he won’t catch anyone’s attention, they’re all too focused on Bill to mind one small human in the room. Hopefully. 

“You got the thing?” Bill snaps his fingers impatiently. There’s some confusion - demons tangling up and shuffling each other around until they manage to wrangle something out of the group. “Alright, hand it over.”

A briefcase is shoved into Bill’s eager grasp. He spends a moment examining it, then unlatches the clasps. Opening it the very, very slightest fraction of an inch - then rolling his eye, and slamming it shut again. 

There’s some brief conversation - partially demonic, and partially too inhuman for Dipper to parse. The slimiest demon tries slipping past Bill, into the penthouse - only to get caught by the eyestalk. Green smoke rises, hissing and squealing as Bill’s grasp heats to a burning flame.

“Ah ah ah! Nice try,” Bill chides. With a snap of his fingers, another door appears. Dipper recognizes this one; it leads to a sitting room. “We’ll have our little discussion elsewhere.”

With minor threats and moderate violence, the demon crowd is forced through the open doorway. A miniature parade of odd shapes and sizes, skittering around under Bill’s impatient gaze. He snaps his fingers and they all hurry up.

Dipper guesses he’s going to be preoccupied for a while. He wishes he’d asked more details about this meeting earlier, but neither of them thought it would happen today. 

As the last of the demons flutters into the sitting room, Bill turns around. Raising an eyebrow, looking amused. 

Dipper makes a belated attempt to duck back around the corner, even though he’s well and truly caught. Curiosity got the better of him, damn it.

“No worries, sapling, you take it easy out here! I won’t be long,” Bill says, voice bright. He waggles his fingers in Dipper’s direction. “Coupla hours at most to milk these suckers for every penny they got.”

Dipper nods, once. He stays silent. Bill’s beckoning him over, but no way is he getting close. He knows that look. As soon as he gets within arm’s reach, he’ll have his cheeks pinched or pulled into a noogie or something.

Bill makes a disappointed face as his nefarious plan is thwarted, then shrugs. The easy grin returns. “Fine, be that way.” He gives Dipper a sharp wave and a wink. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t! Or do! I’m not a cop!”

The door shuts behind him with an ominous ‘click’. Dipper watches it for a while. No motion, no sound. No Bill popping back out, declaring that he’s already done and they can finish the drama. 

Guess they’re well and truly settled in for some weird, demonic business deal. For several hours. Or more. 

God, that’s frustrating. As much as Dipper wants answers, he can’t just barge into a room full of strangers and start demanding them. Especially when those questions might be kind of… personal. Bill probably wouldn’t be furious if it was just Dipper asking - but airing his dirty laundry in front of a crowd is a terrible idea on multiple fronts.

Damn it. And Dipper was this close to having him right where he wanted him, too.

He kicks the carpet a couple times. Then the baseboards. When the meeting hasn’t resolved two minutes later, Dipper stuffs his hands in his pockets, and slinks back over to the couch. 

It’s empty, with scattered cushions and a throw blanket disordered from their popcorn fight. He stares at the discarded bowl, and the cooled fabric. 

Settling back down isn’t nearly as appealing as it was five minutes ago. He’s not sure he can.

Dipper feels his hands clench into fists, then forces them to relax. He tucks them behind his back instead. 

Every time. Every freaking time. Just when he thinks he’s close to understanding, another curveball gets in his way. 

Pacing back and forth helps a little. There’s plenty of space in the living room to work out this restless energy. 

Whatever this - this thing is, it’s been going on for a while. Centuries of Bill picking up mortals, putting them through their paces, trying vainly to reach the object of his desire. A pivotal point of his unknown plan. 

And since he’s still going after it, every human before Dipper must have failed. 

Maybe Bill got distracted by dicking around. Maybe it really is too powerful to overcome. Or maybe his humans didn’t even know what it was, since they were in the company of a cagey, manipulative asshole.

Dipper could go back and dig through the books in the guest room - but if they didn’t know either, then that’ll be a wash. There’s the show, but it’s so full of bullshit that he doesn’t dare make too many guesses.

Even at the best of times Bill’s wrigglier than an eel, and a total stickler for details. If Dipper doesn’t check off all the boxes on the list, finding everything he was supposed to - then Bill’s going to tut and wag his finger instead of handing over the prize

Too many questions. Zero idea what it’s about. Only one person knows anything useful, and he’s a total dick about parceling out the facts.

Waiting for him to get back won’t take long. It’s barely any time at all, even on a human timescale.  Dipper can manage.

It’s just…

The idea of sitting around meekly, waiting for Bill to return. Hoping he’ll come bearing information because Dipper needs his stupid hand held through the mystery just feels - pathetic. 

Everybody keeps making decisions for Dipper that change his whole life. Nobody gives him a heads up on what they’re going to do. People taking charge, over and over and - he’s just so tired of letting things happen to him. 

If he just had one more thing. Something to prove that he’s right, not hearsay or guesses but physical evidence, that he could shove right in Bill’s dumb face - 

Dipper pauses in his rapid pacing. His head slowly turns. 

There is one place that he hasn’t fully mapped. 

Technically he’s been in there before. Even more technically, Bill’s said he’s allowed to enter. Dipper just hasn’t gone back since that first time since. Well.  It’s a little too personal. It felt weird to poke around.

But if there was a place to find the deepest, most powerful secrets of Bill Cipher - it would be in there.

The doorknob to Bill’s master bedroom is oddly warm for something metal. Like it has its own radiating heat, just like the demon who commands it. 

Dipper takes a calming breath, then lets it out as he turns the knob. 

The unlocked door opens easily, gliding without a sound. Funny, he almost thought it would have an ominous creak.

The carpet’s soft. It muffles his steps. Not that there’s anyone to hear him; Bill’s busy with his meeting several rooms and an unknown amount of actual space away. 

Still, Dipper feels a semi-giddy thrill run through him as he walks back in - intentionally, not fleeing - into the most private sanctum of his ‘god’. 

Centuries worth of humans. That could be dozens, even hundreds of people, depending on how fast Bill churns through them. And he loves his little trophies and knickknacks, having something to wave around while he brags.

If there is any proof, Bill will have kept it around.

Last time Dipper was here, it was during a panicked rush. He didn’t really look at the room, or check for anything that might explode or devour him - and then Bill was there, and it was. A lot. 

This time, he can really take in the place. Get a real sense of what might be going on. 

Speaking of - Dipper reaches out with his magical senses - 

Then winces. He eases back until the flare of magic is no longer blinding.

Everything in the bedroom is soaked in Bill-essence. Not surprising, really. All of it has marinated in god-demon magic for hell knows how many years, so thick it feels like it could be wiped up with a finger. 

For all that, it’s remarkably unthreatening. The sensation’s not welcoming, that word would be too strong - More like it could be dangerous, and deliberately choosing not to be.

“Right,” Dipper says aloud - checks over his shoulder on a paranoid impulse - and sighs when nothing happens. He claps his hands together. “This should be good.”

Time’s limited. Bill claimed it’d be a couple hours, but his company wasn’t invited. Depending on how annoyed he gets, that meeting could be over in seconds.

Better get to work. 

Circling the room, Dipper trails his palm over the wall, checking for cracks that would indicate a door or a safe. He brushes fingers over a shelf for secret switches, then rubs them together. Not even a hint of dust. 

There’s got to be somewhere he would hide a private journal, or… or a list of human-selecting criteria. Or like, an elaborate carving of every human he’s ever had, with all the information about their lives and when and why he grabbed them. Details.

Sure, there��s plenty of magic around. Tons of it. It’s in the absurd amount of Bill-shaped knicknacks, and the variety of miscellaneous thingamajigs. It’s in the paintings, in the tapestries. The little statues and trinkets and amulets displayed on the mantle. An extravagant collection if you’re generous, clutter if you’re not. 

Another person would consider this quite the find. Dipper’s stumbled over a dozen artifacts pulsing with power just lying around like cast-off socks. Finding what Bill likes the most or considers the best is nearly impossible to parse. 

Dipper figures it out in about two minutes. 

The only thing to glean from this horde? Is that Bill picks up too many souvenirs.

He scowls at one particularly annoying statuette, towering over a field of presumably conquered human-things. A crowd of bowing figures, prostrating before the much-larger Bill in a series of miniature lines. He checks over his shoulder, then flicks the statue’s golden hat off. 

On the one hand, it’s careless as hell. Leaving an amulet that rips off all your skin, lying half-under a chain that summons a horde of flying eyeballs, is a recipe for disaster. 

On the other hand, it’s… maybe a little clever. A type of misdirection. 

Sure, some artifacts have elaborate puzzle elements, and half of them likely contain mystical secrets - but Bill’s decorative habits are so busy, it covers up the fact that none of them are important. 

No, Bill’s real secrets aren’t so easily found. They’re held much, much closer to his chest. 

Putting them behind a puzzle wouldn’t work. Someone could solve that. Hiding them in plain sight is an option, but not particularly Bill’s style. Guarding them with a series of traps… Probably not in his bedroom, where he could accidentally set them off and ruin his suit. 

But then, that would be what people expect, wouldn’t it? That Bill would have a bookshelf that swings out into a secret room, or a seal protecting a hidden vault. A big scary door, with mystical, nearly impenetrable lock. 

…It’s all about misdirection.

Dipper drops the edge of the painting he was toying with, and heads to the dresser instead. 

Part of him can feel the weight of the all-seeing eyes. The portraits of his ‘god’, omnipresent and watching. Unblinking, unmoving. Always watching.

Dipper shuts that idea out of his mind. That’s not true and he knows it, for a fact. Bill doesn’t pay attention to even half his eyes on a good day. Most times it’s like a single digit percentage. 

Odds are he won’t find out. Besides, he’s too busy at the moment to care. What Bill doesn’t know can’t bother him, so it’s totally fine if Dipper rifles around in his underwear drawer. 

Dipper holds up a pair of boxers, frowning at the pattern. Tiny blue pine trees against the most garish yellow ever. Truly hideous.

This is both worse than the triangle ones, and more inexplicable than ones with the heart pattern. Hardly what he’d pictured underneath the suit. 

Not that he’s ever pictured it. That would be weird. But if he had, it would have been way cooler than this.

This search comes up with nothing, other than confusion at Bill’s fashion sense. Just clothes in the drawers, along with several unsheathed knives, a Bill-shaped keychain, and three glass eyeballs. Dipper does find a drawer with a lock set in the bottom, but he doesn’t have the key. Even then, opening it would just swing the bottom open and let all the pants fall out, so. No dice. 

The closet is a walk-in. Dipper stands in the entrance for a minute, staring at the lines of suits and shirts and clothes and cloth and - 

He shut the door again. Nope. That went back way too far. Diving in there might get him lost in the bespoke suit dimension.

Checking under the bed reveals… exactly the same stuff as last time. 

More dustbunnies than anything useful. There’s a magical ring that’s bent with the gem fallen out, weakly emitting a tiny skull-shaped cloud. One actual sock lies discarded under there, half-balled up from its removal. It has little blood-soaked knives on it. 

Dipper rubs at his eyes, staring up at the bedsprings. He sneezes, then wipes his nose on his sleeve. 

So far, so… nothing. Disappointing, and weird.

He crawls back out from under the bed. Brushing off the dust, he gets up and sets fists on his hips. 

Most of the obvious hiding places contain exactly what one would expect. Worst of all, it’s weird stuff. Just weird enough that he’s certain he’s not in a fake, illusory version of Bill’s bedroom, but the actual real place. It’s just less exciting than he’d thought it’d be. 

Is there… actually nothing here?

Not that the evidence doesn’t exist. It has to be somewhere. The idea of Bill not having any secrets is impossible. Like a duck not swimming, or most mammals not breathing; a necessary part of their nature. 

So it might actually be a different, hidden room. Figures. Getting to Bill’s secrets wouldn’t be as easy as opening his bedroom door. 

And if that’s the case - Dipper’s out of luck. Finding an access point would be hard enough with his limited experience. Bill’s secret horde would have a set of quantum puzzles and a spike trap, at minimum.

He sits down on the bed, sighing heavily - then blinks. 

Wow. The bed is incredibly nice. Just touching the sheets is a smooth, luxurious experience; Dipper presses his palm into those soft covers, stroking along the edge. Bouncing slightly on the mattress, just to test.

Not too firm. Not too soft. Just right. He could lie down for a moment if he wanted - and. And Bill said he could be in the bed, right? That was a while ago, but the invitation wasn’t taken back.

As he swings his legs up, one of them knocks into the bedside table. 

Hold on - he hasn’t checked that yet. 

Dipper hops, reluctantly, off that comfortable bed. One that has to be magical in its own right; he was nearly tempted to take a freakin’ nap. He’s lucky to have pulled himself out of it. 

The bedside table doesn’t have such dangers, thankfully. Its drawer opens easily, unlocked and smooth on its slides.

Sadly, there’s not much to look at. 

Dipper frowns at the contents. Some breath mints, a big bottle of clear liquid. A strange metal thing that’s bulbous on one end and tapered on the other. Picking it up shows it’s heavy and cool - but no apparent purpose, and zero magic. Maybe a weapon? Except it’s nowhere near big enough to be an efficient one. 

He has to pull the drawer out more to get the metal object out. It easily slides open another foot, which is - weird? And actually…

Another tug, and a few more inches confirms - this goes back further than physically possible. 

With a shrug, Dipper chucks the metal thing over his shoulder and onto the bed. By the time the drawer is out all of the way, it’s almost longer than he is tall.

Pushing things around to check, he finds snack wrappers - gross - and pieces of bone. A tiny skull, some weird statuette. A pair of handcuffs and a sleep mask, a tangle of metal wires and an elaborate candle, a weird ribbon-tied bundle of brown hair that he nervously scoots away with the back of his hand. With all the crap in here he’s half-worried he’ll feel something go ‘squish’ or skitter up his arm.

This is, more than anything, a junk drawer. Damn it. This was the last place he was going to check, and he came up empty-handed-

Then his knuckles bump against something, at the very far back. Shadowed by the overhang of the table above it, so far back it’s almost impossible to get a grip. His fingers slip twice before he gets a nail around one of the corners. A little wriggling. Then - Ha!

Dipper pulls the object out with more force than he needed. The move jolts the drawer open at an awkward angle, off its track. Whatever, he’ll fix it later. 

In his hands, there’s a picture frame.

Now this could be something. A personal photo, so close to the bed. Something that should be resting out in the open, until it was stashed away nearly out of reach. He turns it over in his hands.

A picture of Bill. What a surprise.

Nothing remarkable here. Just Bill himself, giving the camera a thumbs up with stupid sunglasses over his eyepatch, lounging on some white-sanded beach on a towel of his own image. 

Vacation photo. Great. Totally relevant. Totally not annoying, to get so close and yet so far.

“Jackass,” Dipper mutters, and pokes the stupid demon ‘god’ right in his stupid eye. The back of the photo frame presses against his fingers. 

Wait. Then - It’s not flush with the frame. There’s a gap, or - 

Dipper flips it over again. The only thing keeping the picture in is a tab, holding the backing in place. If he twists it, it comes off easily. 

And there is another photograph, hidden behind the first. Oldest trick in the book. 

Whatever Bill’s got to hide here, he sure as hell didn’t make it easy to find. Stuffed away in an innocuous place, not a hint of magic around it, right in his personal sanctum - this has to be something good. 

A quick flick retrieves it; Dipper flips the photo around, and -

Blinks, twice. He nearly does a double take. An illusion? No, it’s - he just checked for magic, and there isn’t any here. 

It’s just a picture of… Dipper.

And it has to be him, because- because it looks like him, and he’s in Bill’s home, wearing one of his favorite shirts as he lounges on the couch. In the photograph, he’s mid-yawn, arms drawn up as he stretches, loose sleeves falling down. 

For a moment he wonders if this was one of Bill’s other humans - it’d be one hell of a resemblance if so - but the jagged pink scar running down the left wrist is absolutely unmistakable. 

Dipper stares for a while. He’s not sure what to make of this.

Why is this stashed away?  It’d help if it was like, a weird picture, one with some clear and sinister intent. The weirdest thing about this is the fact that it exists. And that quiet fluttering noise that started a few seconds ago.

Something taps on one of Dipper’s shoes, and he glances down.  

There wasn’t just one picture. 

With the backing removed, with the way he’s holding it - dozens of photos pour out of the picture frame, fanning out in their fall; an impossible number of them, there’s no way they all could have fit- Goddamn it, it’s extradimensional.

“Shit,” Dipper says, and tries to clap the backing back on. He gets a papercut for his troubles and swears, sticking his finger in his mouth.

Some fumbling later, he slaps the frame onto the sheets face down. The flood ceases, though a few more puff out as a final insult and scatter on the sheets.

Dipper backs up cautiously, just in case there’s another surprise in store - and nearly slips as a picture glides across the carpet. A second trips him up as he tries to get his balance, he grabs the blankets to steady himself. 

How many fell out of the frame? Where have they all gone? It can’t be…

Dipper wheels around and stares in horror at the room. 

Photos have tumbled everywhere. Across the floor and onto the table and under the bed, some halfway across the freaking room like an extra-inconvenient game of 52 pickup. 

“Shit,” Dipper repeats. He nearly sits down on the sleep-enchanted bed again, then thinks better of it.

So much for being careful and subtle in his quest. Evidence of his spying has splattered across the entire goddamn room. He scoops up an armful, cursing as half of them flutter away like annoying butterflies. Another grab lets half the ones he gathered tumble back out of his grip.

Okay, this - this isn’t a disaster yet. This is solvable. Bill doesn’t need to know, it’ll be fine. He’ll never notice. As long as Dipper gathers these and gets them back into the frame. That shouldn’t be too hard to figure out. Depending on how long that meeting runs, he might even have time to-

A sound. Was that a footstep? Or just paranoia.

Clenching his teeth against another curse, Dipper snags another armful, then a second. For lack of anywhere else to put them, he dumps them on the bed. Put everything in one place first, then worry about - 

No, there was a sound. He hears another one now. The doorknob rattles, clicking as it turns.

Shit.

Dipper swipes his hands over the blankets, snagging what few photos he can reach and shoving them into the opened drawer. Then ramming the drawer shut with an all-too-loud thunk, clamping loose pictures in the gap, before belatedly realizing he left the metal thing out, too. He grabs it as the door starts opening, and now there’s no time left, he’s got to hide.

Suits rustle as he makes his dive into the closet. The door, pulled behind him as he made his rush to hide, clicks against the frame but doesn’t latch. 

No more noise from the main room. Too quiet, almost, the sound of his own quiet panting muffled by surrounding cloth.

That. Did not go well. Dipper grits his teeth, silently running a prayer against discovery in his mind - wait, no, calling out for the guy he’s trying to hide from is a terrible idea. 

Through the inch of open space, he can hear the faintest, lightest footstep. Not the thud of Bill’s shoes - but he might be still in the doorway. It’s hesitant because he’s looking across the mess, wondering what the hell just happened.

And what the hell was Dipper thinking? Permission to be in Bill’s room is nowhere near the same as permission to get his grubby fingers on every inch of Bill’s junk. Even that intrusion pales in comparison to putting a gallery’s worth of photos - ones Bill had deliberately hidden - practically on display like an impromptu art exhibition. 

Dipper takes slow, measured breaths. In, and out. 

All he can do now is wait. Stay quiet. Small, and hidden. Out of sight equals out of mind for most beings. 

It’s too much to hope that Bill will let this slide. But maybe he can come up with an excuse? Lying in a cool enough way might amuse Bill enough not to go full-on nuclear.

The closet doesn’t judge him. The closet is where nobody will yell at him, since suits can’t talk. He’s even ninety-percent sure Bill doesn’t have any that could; it’d take away from his own rambling time.

Dipper shuffles into the rack, pressing his face against the lapels of a jacket. It’s a little cool on his cheeks, smelling faintly of Bill’s aftershave. He sighs against the jacket, feeling the press of the other suits on his back, and almost, sort of, feels a bit calmer.

After a while, he remembers he’s clutching the metal thing tight, in both hands. It’s warmed remarkably fast against his flesh, and now he’s not sure what to do with it. Stick it in a suit pocket, maybe? It doesn’t fit in any of them, or his own for that matter. The damn thing’s too long and weirdly shaped to go in anywhere.

Another footstep. Soft, but close. Despite the danger, Dipper pokes his head out of the suit rack to get a better listen. 

The pacing is very soft and very rapid. Like multiple little feet instead of the standard two, tapping on the floor. Then on the bed, then - on the wall? 

Okay, it’d be one thing if Bill decided to tiptoe in on his hands and knees. Weird, but not that weird, considering. The erratic movement, also plausible. Who knows what the hell he gets up to when Dipper’s not watching him. 

It’s just… too quiet. Too furtive, really, like it’s trying hard not to make too much noise. Dipper’s all too familiar with the process.

And faintly, he can hear a strange, gentle buzzing. A quick, two-second burst that he almost mistakes for static. Only there’s no TV in here, and the pitch is off.. 

Dipper scoots a little closer to the door, ready to press his ear against it. The sound hits a deep, unpleasant memory, throwing him back to some of the more unsavory cult duties. Sacrifice cleanup. The messes always had a bunch of - but he’s never even seen a spider in Bill’s rooms. Much less some sort of giant fly. 

He turns to peek through the opened crack, just as the door gets thrown open wide. The demon - and it must be a demon, because no fly is five feet tall and has that huge a spike on its face - lets out a horrible, high-pitched shriek. Dipper’s own scream doesn’t match its pitch, but it’s a hell of a lot louder. 

Compound eyes reflect his face back at him like mirrors. A thin tonguelike proboscis runs along the sharp spike on its face, four arm-leg things reaching out towards him with odd spiked pads -

Dipper screams again, and hits it with the metal thing. 

The demon wobbles, looking dazed - before it can grab at him again, he whacks it a second time. Wings buzz fast, a high ear-splitting pitch, limbs grasping at his shirt and his face. They whip acros his arms and sting. Shoving it away feels so- gross, it is like a big bug, all shell and hair and ew.

Another grab; the pad lands on his collar and it almost digs into his flesh One of the spindly limbs cuts across his shirt with a tearing noise and he hits it harder, feeling something crunch unpleasantly under the blow. 

At some point the metal object in his hand started buzzing too; something in the sound has the demon reeling away in fear or disgust. And that is a chance to land another blow. A solid one, right in the eye. As it reels back Dipper follows the blow another, and a third, and again and again and again until stuff stops slashing at him and poking, and all that’s left is empty space in front of him.

Dipper realizes he's breathing hard. A quick patdown to check shows he’s sweating, and there’s some - ugh- goop on his hand. His shirt’s ripped, but there’s no blood. Everything’s intact.

Well. He’s intact. 

A thoroughly swatted demon lies on the carpet, carapace fractured in multiple places. One leg jerks up and twitches rapidly before going still.

Nausea roils in Dipper’s stomach. It’s not human gore, or even mammalian, but. God, that was gross. And it smells really, really bad. 

Something slams open a few feet away, and Dipper nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks up at the noise and - 

At Bill. 

A newly-manifested doorway has popped into existence, right in the middle of the room. Bill stands in the frame, teeth bared in a snarl, his arms braced he’s about to leap out. His eye lands right on Dipper, lit from inside with fire.

Then he blinks. 

Bill looks Dipper over, then down at the twitching bug demon. His eye glances over the room, then back to Dipper. Then down again, to the metal thing in his hand, still buzzing away. Dipper lets it drop from nerveless fingers, where it vibrates in a slow little circle on the floor. 

Several seconds pass without a snappy comment. Dipper can’t read the expression on Bill’s face.  It flickered through several before settling on blank.. 

“Well, well, well, well, well,” Bill says, clapping his hands together. An unsurprisingly swift recovery. Behind him in the sitting room, Dipper can see the other demons clustering around to catch a peek. “I can’t believe what you’ve been up to!”

Dipper’s heart plummets into his stomach. He clutches at his torn shirt. That smile looks delighted, but it always masks something else. 

He’s been caught. Caught right in the middle of things, red-handed. Guilty as hell in the eye of his god.  

What the fuck was he thinking. Digging where he shouldn’t, pushing when it’s wrong. Being allowed to be here has been more than Dipper could ever ask for, and what does he give in return? Blasphemy. Violation. He’s ruined everything because he wanted to know things he was never meant to, just like he always does. 

“Look, I can explain,” He babbles, backing up a step. Bill’s quicker by far, catching up before he can do more than hold up his arms. “Wait, I-”

A firm hand catches his shoulder; the other takes him by the cheek. Bill’s face is inches away, approaching fast, and he can’t help but see those sharp, sharp teeth in his open mouth, things that could bite and tear.

At the very last moment, his head is twisted to the side. Something soft and damp smacks him on the temple. 

“Mmmmwah!” Bill draws back with an exaggerated sound, cupping Dipper’s face in both hands. “Boy, you really walloped that guy! Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.”

“Whuh,” Dipper says, intelligently. 

Bill drops his grip and turns towards the demon on the floor, giving it a contemplative, almost professional look. He taps his foot for a moment, then nods, like an expert evaluating a journeyman’s craft.

Dipper touches his temple with two careful fingers. It’s a little damp. A warm, tingling feeling spreads out from where Bill- Where it happened. 

“Now, as for you-” Bill eyes the demon a little longer, then sets his hand on his hips. His smile changes to the sharp, unpleasant version. “Creeping around the place. Digging through my stuff. I don’t take kindly to peeping eyes that aren’t mine.” One sharply polished shoe lands a heavy kick in the vague area of the thing’s groin; it lets out a tinny scream. “And you made a huge goddamn mess while you were at it!”

Dipper glances over the scattered photos, open drawers, and the scattered knicknacks. Yes, someone certainly did.

Another kick lands on the demon with a crunch, and he winces.

“Gee, I wonder how you snuck your way in.” Bill says, immensely dry. He turns slightly towards that still-open doorway. The demons leaning in to watch start backing up fast. “Who coulda possibly helped with that! It’s a real friggin mystery for the ages!”

A mystery that Dipper had been wondering about, somewhere beneath the panic. The solution’s clear now that it’s gone.

Getting through Bill’s front door was all they needed. With such a big crowd of ‘small-timers’, as Bill would call them, he’d barely bother to track every one of them. The fly demon could have easily hitched a ride in a shrunken state; too small to be noticed until the time came to start snooping. With Bill busy elsewhere, it would have been a perfect opportunity - if Dipper hadn’t had the same idea. 

That it is a spy is a relief. Dipper had been a little worried. If this was the kind of bug that comes crawling in after cracking open a window, he’d have second thoughts about his living arrangements.

Bill makes an odd pointing gesture. The room tremble as it shifts - and a spike impales the demon in front of him, dangling its slender body in midair.

“I’ll handle those losers in a second,” He says, gesturing at the doorway. He taps a foot, humming briefly in thought. “But as for you…”

Dipper backs up further. He keeps Bill between him and the fly-creature while still trying to keep an eye on the action. 

Watching Bill about to enact his  vengeance is … Sure, it was spying. It didn’t do what was right, or even smart. But he already beat it up, and it’s looking really rough. Whatever Bill’s going to do is -

The insect-like demon flails on the spike, limbs writhing. A loud buzz starts up again, along with some odd clicking noises.

“Hm?” Bill cocks his head to one side. Then he glances back at Dipper. “Yeah, what about him?”

On second thought, Bill should finish this guy off quickly and violently. For spying, and for ruining Dipper’s shirt, and being a goddamn snitch.

“Oh, I see!” With a grin, Bill stalks closer. “You know what, you’re right! If I caught two spies in my place, they’d totally get the same treatment!”

Dipper’s heart leaps into his throat.

No, wait, that - he was so certain, this isn’t -

“But there’s a real big problem with your dumb little assumption.” Bill tuts, holding up one finger in a chiding wag. With a vicious grin, he seizes it by the spike on its face. “There’s only one of those around!”

Dipper’s heart restarts, though it’s pounding fast. He braces himself on one knee, starting to breathe again.

“See, you’re here uninvited.” Bill says, very calmly, even as he twists the head at an unnatural angle, a sound both crunchy and wet. The wings buzz so fast a breeze starts picking up. “And HE freakin’ LIVES HERE.”

Oh. 

There’s a thud as the severed head drops; Bill stomps on it with one perfect black shoe. Fragments of chitin flying, goo splatters in a comically yellow splat, making more of a mess than Dipper ever could. 

Then Bill scowls at the ruined carpet, his hands on his hips. Like he’d walked in on a pile of undone dishes instead of making the disaster himself.

And Dipper’s still standing there. Untouched. 

“There,” Bill says, with deep satisfaction. He wipes his hands off on his suit jacket - then frowns and takes the whole thing off, toweling bits of innards off his face. “What a moronic thing to try. Though it has been a grip since anyone made an attempt!.” Shrugging, he tosses the jacket away. “Guess they’re forgetting what happened to the last batch.”

Dipper nods, waiting for a moment. Then another. 

And he’s still there, untouched. Unharmed. Because - because he’s not a spy, or an interloper, or even an unwanted or unattended guest. Bill doesn’t see him that way. He thinks that - 

“So, I’m…” Dipper starts. Pauses, briefly, as Bill looks over his shoulder, then summons up the scraps of his courage. “I’m… not in trouble?”

“Sapling, you’re fine! Better than fine!” Bill says, dismissing the suggestion with a wave. “Hell, you could go through my freakin’ underwear drawer and I wouldn’t give a crap.” He pauses - then turns towards Dipper with a huge, knowing grin. “See anything you liked?”

“I’m-” Dipper freezes. All his muscles tense, and his face is hot. He touches his temple again; the tingling has started running down his neck. “Uh.”

Bill’s still staring at him. His smile widens another degree for every second it lasts. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower.” Dipper blurts, and starts backing up again.

That’s a good excuse. Reasonable. He’s got goop on him, he’s sweaty, and he would really rather avoid talking about anything right now. 

“Suit yourself!” Bill laces his fingers together, pushing his arms out in front of himself until the knuckles crack. He faces the door again, storming towards the meeting he’d recently abandoned. “I got some business to take care of.”

Dipper nods, once. He leaves the bedroom at a walk instead of a run, and hears the door shut behind him. 

He’s…

All his breath comes out in a rush. The wall is steady under his back as he leans on it, palm over his eyes.

Holy crap, he’s fine. He really is. It’s okay. 

This wasn’t a mistake. Everything was fine, he did make the right guess, and thank fuck for that. He is allowed in the bedroom. He could go anywhere he wants, and it’d be fine. More than fine. 

He also wasn’t lying about the shower. Not only does it buy him some space, this fly-blood stuff really stinks. 

Getting into the shower, he sets his face in the hot, pounding stream and tries to scrub off the goo. Water pressure. Hot water, and as much of it as he likes. Dipper can turn his back to the steady stream and feel it beating out the tension. 

He lets out a low groan, letting water run through his hair. For all that it’s bizarre and confusing, the sheer luxury of Bill’s home is downright amazing.

Though. It’s not just Bill’s home, is it. 

Dipper tilts his head out of the water. He watches droplets trickle down the shower walls.

Like. Obviously Bill’s the owner, he’s the ruler of his own domain. He controls the very fabric of space, changing the interior on a whim - 

But there’s another person around. One who’s not a guest, or merely staying over for business reasons. Not a sentient pet or a tool or one of his knicknacks, kept carefully for display.

Dipper is a whole entire person who gets to be here, in Bill’s home, because he lives here too.

Not all that long ago, he was worried he wouldn’t leave this place alive. Then he wondered whether he could leave at all. For a while he wondered if Bill would make him go, after he was done doing… whatever he wanted to do with Dipper. Yet another part was convinced that when they went back to the cult, that’d be it. Back to earth, out of the dreamscape and out of Bill’s hair. 

The last two no longer hold up. Because Dipper lives here, Bill said it himself, and by the nonchalant way he said it it’s been a done deal for a while. 

Bill didn’t even try to hide it. He didn’t think it was a surprise.

The concept’s so big that Dipper doesn’t know where to start.

Living here. With Bill. 

Dipper’s been places, though not many. Lived in places, if only a grand total of two. Early on, he thought that this one would be the same as the last. A man in charge, setting strict rules that must be followed. Forbidden from ever leaving. Punishment for not doing as he was told, or even thinking about not toeing the line. 

All his experience told him that was how things go. It was all he knew. An assumption that everywhere was going to be the same tune, played on a different instrument. 

His assumptions have never been right. 

Bill’s home is a different beast entirely.  

Bill could be in charge, but he doesn’t care to be. Not with Dipper. He hasn’t heard an order leave his mouth in ages. He’s free to leave the apartment if he wants, nothing’s going to stop him - though that’s a bad idea for other reasons, and Bill didn’t create them just keep Dipper in line. The worst punishment he’s gone through is a pinched cheek and some teasing, which is so minor that it almost goes into the negative. And he doesn’t have to worry about the breaking rules, because Bill doesn’t have any.

DIpper almost wishes he could blame it on, well. Demon realm. Strange culture. That things are topsy-turvy because everything else conspired to make it that way, rather than just. 

Like, he already knew the cult was shitty when he was still in it. Knowing how shitty it really was leaves him wondering what a normal life could have been like. A strange, what-if ache. 

Dipper had made plans to leave that awful place, knowing it meant he could never return. Even if there was anything he wanted to go back for, it wouldn’t be safe; Once he got out, that was going to be it. The whole world, or the conclave. One or the other. 

If he wants to step outside Bill’s home, he doesn’t need to abandon it.

They’ll make a visit to Earth, for one. Bill wants to go to the cult for revenge, and Earth seems to intrigue him. He’ll take Dipper along with him, not lock him away in his room, because he wouldn’t let him miss the ‘fun’. 

And - and if the show was right. Later, Dipper might get to visit Earth by himself, while Bill waits back at the Fearamid. 

It’s an idea that feels more dreamlike than anything else in this realm of sleep. That maybe, this could be a place he can leave and come back to. Somewhere he doesn’t have to choose. Going and seeing things he’s always wanted, then returning again, with someone happy to see him at the door. Maybe that’s what a home’s supposed to be.

Dipper lets his head thunk into the side of the shower, out of the stream. 

It’s weird to think a deadly demon realm ruled by an all-powerful madman is the safest Dipper’s felt in… forever, maybe. Which is another question entirely.

How the hell is he getting away with all of this?

It’s not just the snooping from earlier; he didn’t find much worth mentioning. Punching Bill in the goddamn face, though, that should have sent him into the lowest, most horrible dungeons. Not to mention the increasing amount of backtalk he’s giving a ‘god’. Complaining and questioning, even arguing, all excused. The defiance even delights Bill, because he’s a huge goddamn weirdo. 

Nobody else - nothing in the universe - could get away with all of that without retribution. Yet Dipper remains singularly, remarkably unharmed. The worst Bill’s ever done is scare him a little, and even that’s odd considering the whole ‘nightmare king’ deal he has going; Dipper should have had at least two heart attacks by now.

The birthmark. It must be that.

The one human in the show had it, and Dipper has it too. The other human companions… He didn’t see it on them, but it might have been in a different place? At minimum though, that’s two humans who Bill hung out with, wearing the same star-ridden shape.

But ow would Bill have known Dipper had it? He wasn’t watching him before they met - and by the time they did, the mark had been missing for ages. 

It could be magical. Maybe. Dipper’s never heard of ‘special birthmarks’ actually being a thing outside of bad fantasy novels. Then again, if it was, the magic could show up in his blood - exactly what was used in Bill’s summon. Which would…. Do a thing. He thinks.

Dipper rubs his face with the washcloth, willing his brain to start working better. 

Everything feels muddled and weird. Partly from exhaustion, partly from too much information with not enough connections.

Still, one thing is certain. Bill wasn’t lying, no matter what Dipper thought at the time. He is special. 

It’s… what, special… privilege? A secret power? Some strange field of influence, so specifically targeted it’s ridiculous, with no logical reason to exist? It’s…

Dipper gets out of the shower, and stares at himself in the mirror. He sticks his tongue out. The birthmark remains, brightly outlined on pink flesh.

Having more pieces to the puzzle helps. Sadly, he still doesn’t know the picture on the front of the box. 

Confronting Bill without having his thoughts in order would be worse than useless. He’ll dodge every guess, unless Dipper throws something really solid at him. He needs a strong offense to pry the secrets from between Bill’s stubborn, oddly soft lips. 

Screw it. There’s too much to go through, and he’s so, very tired. He can sort it out tomorrow. 

There’s no rush, anyway. Bill’s not going to kick him out. Dipper lives here.

Preparing for bed is the same ritual as always. Brush teeth, get changed. He can turn the lights on and off whenever he wants, not wait for someone else to do it at a mandated time, and now he keeps them dimmed. The bed’s already made in the guest room-

No, His room. Where he lives.

An emotion fills his chest, welling up until it feels like he could - Dipper grabs mini-Bill and holds it tight. 

Squishing the plush in his arms helps, though he has to hold it very hard. And this is his, too. Bill hasn’t tried to take it from him beyond starting to glare at it on occasion. He has so much that’s his.

The quilts settle cozily around him, comforting in their weight. The pillow soft,sinking under his head. Comfort, too; he has this now, and he’s never, ever going to take it for granted.

Problem being, when he shuts his eyes, there’s flashes of translucent wings. A high buzzing, from both the thing in his hand and the thing making crunching noises -

Dipper sits up again with a groan. Rubbing at his face, he kicks his legs over the edge of the bed. 

He knows what kind of night he’s in for. They’re infrequent enough lately that it doesn’t bother him. Nightmares in the nightmare realm, who could have guessed. Another round isn’t going to kill him. 

Yet somehow, the idea of lying down and watching that scene repeat in extra-gory detail, with the cult and god knows what else thrown in, feels like an extra shitty thing to go through right now.

He could get up and read for a while, try to get it out of his mind. Or get a glass of water, or journal down all the things he’s learned today. Hell, he could even bother Bill, who doesn’t ever seem to sleep and certainly wouldn’t mind the company. He’s almost always up for whatever Dipper suggests, no matter what it…

Huh. Now that’s an interesting thought. 

It might work, too. Being ‘special’ gives him some extra leverage. Stuff that Bill wouldn’t normally allow, he lets Dipper get away with handily. 

He could use that.

Dipper gets up, heading for the doorway. Still clutching mini-Bill, since he doesn’t expect to be up for long. He’ll consider this a test run. A little favor shouldn’t bother Bill much; it’ll barely take him a second. 

The door to his bedroom creaks as it opens. The living room’s still lit up, though dimmer than usual. Typical for the ‘evening’, or dream realm equivalent. He pushes it open further, stepping out into the light.

And there’s Bill. Sitting in the high-backed chair, facing the fireplace. 

He must have wrapped up his ‘business’ to his satisfaction, looking pleased with himself. He swirls a drink in his fingers that shifts color with every turn. The light from the fireplace illuminates the angles of his face, and the curve of his satisfied smirk. 

Dipper hesitantly clears his throat. Instantly Bill perks up, head swiveling in his direction like a compass needle to the north. 

“Hey there, sapling! What’s up?” Bill asks. He crosses one leg over the other, offering a quick wave. “Thought you were in for the evening.”

“No, not yet.” Dipper says. Already he’s awkward; asking for things and actually getting them still feels weird. “Soon, maybe. But I, uh. Wanted to ask you something first.”

Bill tilts his head back, finishing his drink in one long swig before tossing the glass aside. He gives Dipper a wink, and double finger guns. “Sure, go for it.” 

Okay, now. How to phrase this. Hopefully it’s not some kind of offensive ask, and - well, he’s pretty sure Bill’s not doing this on purpose. More like it’s an aura around him, or a knee-jerk reflex. Not always activated, but powerful when it is.

Bill’s still watching him curiously. Waiting for Dipper to speak, in an eerily patient silence. 

Here goes nothing. Dipper takes a deep breath.

“I don’t want to have bad dreams, so, uh,” He admits, though it comes out a little rough. He tugs his pajama shirt to straighten it.  “Could you…um. Not? For tonight?” 

A beat of pause. Bill blinks several times, then says, “That’s not me, kid.”

Oh for - Dipper levels a deeply unimpressed look. Usually Bill’s lies are better. “You’re the lord of nightmares.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m great at designing them, not the source of all of ‘em. You think I got time to get to every being in the multiverse?” Bill says. He catches sight of Dipper’s glare and frowns, lifting his hands to show his own empty palms. “Look, I’m not poking around in your subconscious. Whatdya want, a pinky swear?”

Dipper’s mouth moves, his tongue flicks. The words come out without permission. “Or maybe you’re just not that great.”

He shuts his mouth with a click, almost catching his tongue in the process.

He shouldn’t have said that. Shit, even if he is a little annoyed, he keeps crossing that damned line. Questioning Bill’s power. His capability, his very essence. Surely Bill won’t just ignore it again.

Except Bill does. If anything he looks more amused, starting to snicker as he rises from his seat.

And he does inflict a ‘punishment’. By getting super close and ruffling Dipper’s hair in a super annoying way. Dipper shakes it off, pulling back with a huff. Annoyed, but also - god, he really does have a lot of leeway. It’s insane.

“Hey! I’m definitely the best.” Bill chides, wagging a finger at him. “You just got your perspective wrong!  Elements exist on their own! Some guys are just great at manipulating ‘em. You’re not texting the king of fire every time you light a match, y’know?”

“Well,” Dipper says, then stops. When Bill puts it that way - 

Not omnipotent. Not omnipresent. Not literally the fabric of the mind itself, either; he should have thought of it before, except he keeps making dumb assumptions.

“Look. You want a custom, hand-delivered nightmare? One that’ll make someone scream their lungs up and claw their own eyes out? Then I’m the best in the biz!” Bill puffs out his chest, smiling wide - then shrugs, looking a little wry. “But any dreamer can have something nasty crawl outta their subconscious. That’s just nature.”

Dipper nods, once. Letting out a sigh, and rubbing at his eyes. 

Not the answer he was looking for - but an answer nonetheless. 

He’d guessed that Bill wasn’t inflicting them on purpose, sure. Infrequent and random fit ‘accidental’, there wasn’t any pattern he could find. Learning they’re not Bill’s fault at all is surprising - but nice.

…That also means every terrible dream Dipper has had came from his own stupid brain. Going around concocting terrible scenarios and waking him up in a sweat, purely au naturale. Super great. 

Simple solutions rarely exist, he guesses. 

“Sorry. Or- yeah.” He squirms out from under Bill’s pursuing hand, turning back towards the door. Another bad night isn’t the worst, he’ll live. “I’ll just-”

“Hey, hey! Don’t sweat it, sapling. When it comes to nightmares, you came to the right guy!” Bill interrupts before Dipper can make it more than a foot. He takes him by the shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “I got just the solution for ya. Sweet dreams only, one hundred percent guaranteed.”

Or maybe… Dipper glances back. But Bill just said he wasn’t doing this, so-

“Really. One hundred percent.” That’s an exaggeration if he’s ever heard one. Dipper folds his arms, giving Bill an arch look. “If you’re not making the nightmares, then that means you’re playing defense. You’re telling me you get every single one?”

“Always so cynical! Ninety-nine point nine repeating is mathematically identical.” Bill says primly, already steering Dipper around, pushing him in another direction. “And better odds than you’ll get anywhere else.”

Fine, that’s true enough. Dipper doesn’t have better options. Or any other ones. He might as well see where this leads. 

Bill hums behind him, bizarrely delighted by the weird request. Maybe because it’s weird. Maybe because he enjoys the process, somehow? Either way, he seems confident in his ability to pull this off -  but when doesn’t he?

Dipper gets maneuvered through the living room, over the carpet, and - into Bill’s master bedroom again. He glances over his shoulder briefly, just before the door shuts behind them. 

Wait, what are they doing here? 

The room’s just as clean as the first time he entered. There’s no demon corpse, no puddle of ichor or new freestanding door. No photos to be seen. At some point Bill must have tidied up -

Dipper closes his eyes against the mental image. Bill, seeing through all the evidence he left. Knowing it was Dipper who did it. He hasn’t said a word about it, but the guilt lingers.

He almost wishes Bill was mad about it. Or complaining about the mess, or making some wry comment to tease him about his shitty show of espionage. At least then he'd know what Bill is thinking.

Dwelling on his own guilt is interrupted by Bill pushing him forward, then halts suddenly. Leaving Dipper standing at the side of that immense, luxurious bed. 

Bill gives his shoulders another pat, then lifts up one edge of the sheets. “Hop on in, kid!” With a little flourishing bow, he flaps the covers. “Get yourself cozy.”

“Uh. Sure.” Dipper hesitates, but. Bill’s nudging him along, so he eventually pulls himself up into the bed and under the opened sheets. They drop on top of him before he’s even fully in the thing, while Bill perkily walks off to another part of the room. 

Just as he suspected. It is a great bed. 

As Dipper settles back, the mattress is firm but yielding. The pillows mold around his head. The blankets are cooler than the quilts in his own room, almost chilly - but not hard to get used to. 

It’s not hard to settle down, waiting for Bill.  For a ritual that involves dreams, a bed as the setting makes sense. Though part of him thought Bill would just, like. Snap his fingers, or something. Demon powers, or whatever. 

Even without any magic, Dipper’s tired enough to fall asleep right now. But that might mess with whatever Bill’s doing, so. He’ll just. Shut his eyes for a moment. 

“Hold tight for a sec! I’ll be with ya in a jiffy,” Bill says, vastly more upbeat than the situation calls for. “Lemme just slip into something more comfortable.”

Dipper’s eyes shoot open. He blinks up at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up. “What do yo-”

His words die before the sentence fully forms. He shuts his mouth slowly. Swallowing with a mouth that’s gone suddenly dry. 

Bill’s shirt lies in a silent pile on the floor by his feet. In the firelight, broad shoulders roll as he stretches, casting interesting lines of shadow on the planes of his back. 

Dipper drops back down, clutching the blankets like a lifeline. 

Okay, wait, maybe he has the wrong idea. Bill’s not, like. 

There's a clinking sound. A belt being undone, moving as it slides from its loops - then another as it falls. Followed by a zip, and more soft shuffling of cloth. 

Dipper dares a glance. Then instantly grabs one of the other pillows, pulling it over his face. 

Okay. Okay, this is - fine and, normal maybe, he doesn’t know how this ritual’s supposed to work. It’s not unheard of to be… unadorned when doing powerful magic, since any enchanted clothing could interfere. Bill’s just getting rid of them before he casts the spell. Everything’s going exactly as it should, and Dipper can throw out that newly-acquired mental picture as totally irrelevant and definitely rude. 

The pillow helps. He’s not tempted to look at all, but if he was, it completely blocks his view and most of the sound. 

He should be patient, and quiet, and wait for the spell. If it’s strong enough that Bill has to undress to cast it, this will take a while. Dipper has plenty of time to calm back down.

A motion in the covers, as something pulls them up. A deep, pleased sigh, much closer than before - then a large weight sinks the mattress slightly, scooting close with familiar, incorrigible confidence. 

Or, the thought appears in Dipper’s mind. There’s no spell. It’s a ward. Which would require the warder’s presence, right. Totally reasonable. 

So yes, of course. Bill joined Dipper in bed, just like he said he would like, less than two minutes ago. How that little fact got glossed over was - he stopped thinking straight for a while, that’s all. 

The cult didn’t leave Dipper with a huge range of experience, he knows that. Hates it, most days. 

But even in that limited scope, he knows some people sleep undressed. He’s seen his share of unfortunate cultists get woken up for morning sermon, only to see them entirely unprepared. That Bill shares that particular proclivity is… honestly not that big a surprise. 

“Ah, now that’s nice.” Bill says, voice slightly muffled. There’s a thump near Dipper’s head - probably Bill lying back himself. “You don’t look all that cozy, though. What gives?”

Dipper tells him he’s fine, but he doesn’t know how much of it gets through the down covering. 

There’s a pause, then a snort. The blankets shift as Bill adjusts them, drawing them further up. 

It really is fine. He’s doing great, he’s comfy, Bill’s going to help him with something and it didn’t seem like any kind of trick. All he has to do is deal with a perfectly normal sleeping habit from a not-at-all normal guy, who’s lying so close Dipper can feel him breathing. Inches away, with his bare skin warming the too-cool blankets.

He can’t hold the pillow this tight forever, though. It’s getting hard to breathe. 

Then a thump, just near Dipper’s head; Bill slammed a palm into the mattress. Leaning over him no doubt, with his body covering Dipper’s own. The picture is clear in his mind; he can almost feel the body looming over him. Something gently tugs the pillow, urging it away, and  - and Dipper shouldn’t resist, should he? Bill is after something, he’s demanding and forceful, he’ll do anything to get what he wants. 

The pillow leaves Dipper’s loose grip, pulled away by a firmer, stronger hand. He lets his arms drop to either side of his head. His breathing picks up.

And Bill is looming over him. Held up by one strong arm, looking amused. His eye bright and half-lidded, his smile sharp and dangerous on his face. Wearing a soft, loose t-shirt, reading ‘Hungry Zixlor’s Burger Joint’. 

Dipper reads the shirt, then tilts his head up for another angle. Below that, Bill’s put on the pine tree boxers.

“See? Way more comfy when you can actually aspirate.” Bill says, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Dipper rolls onto his side, feeling a rush of annoyance. The hell, he was going to put the stupid pillow down. Bill didn’t have to get all over him just for that. 

He feels the bounce as Bill drops back down into bed, cackling to himself at another successful human-annoyance. Dipper’s half-tempted to smack him with the damn pillow, but who knows what that would lead to. 

Mini-Bill got lost in the covers somewhere along the line, so Dipper fishes around until he finds it and hugs it to his chest. He lets out a huff, squishing it tight. 

Without warning, an arm slips under Dipper’s neck. Another drapes over his waist. If asked later, Dipper will claim he didn’t make a single sound, much less anything undignified.

Instead, he holds very, very still. The arms around him are firm and strong. With the body behind him warming up everything, the blankets suddenly make sense. Bill’s practically a furnace. Anything more insulation and they'd combust.

“Good night, sleep tight,” Bill says, low and close. Dipper shivers, though he isn’t cold. “Don’t let the demons take too big a bite.” Teeth click sharply right next to his ear, and Dipper shivers.

God, of course he wouldn’t just- just let this be calm and nice, he’s Bill friggin’ Cipher. “Jerk,” Dipper mutters, and feels Bill’s chest shake with silent laughter. 

The arm around his waist squeezes him tighter, pressing his back fully against Bill’s chest. He can feel it move as he breathes, and the steady pulse of his heart. Between real Bill and mini-bill, they’re practically a set of nesting dolls. 

After that… nothing. Bill doesn't taunt anymore, and a few minutes later, Dipper hears him start to snore. Another annoying bit of Bill, and not annoying enough to distract him from everything else. He wishes it would. 

Even in sleep, Bill has the nerve to keep breathing and moving, instead of being a warm statue Dipper could ignore. His fingers trail in a mindless, unconscious pattern over Dipper’s stomach, making him bury his face in the pillow. Running through every chant he can remember silently, over and over, especially the ones that are mind-numbingly boring.

 None of these ideas are sinful. Bill himself has done more, and worse, than just having two or three concepts flicker through his brain, and Dipper knows it’s not wrong. He does, really. 

…Just because it’s not sinful doesn’t mean it’s not awkward. 

Dipper keeps his eyes shut. Trying to ignore the pounding of his own heart. There’s a bright, tingling energy in his body, spreading through every part of him, head to toe. It's... inconvenient. 

Bill wasn’t lying about preventing nightmares. He’s terribly effective. 

Dipper can’t have bad dreams if he doesn’t get any sleep.

[louventcavaliersx]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐈𝐓.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Prior to the Dance of the Dragon, the vow between Daemon and his paramour lingered without knowing if it will last.

Inspired by the Song of Achilles, Patrochilles. Credit to Madeline Miller for the quote.

fanfiction | House of the Dragon

When Rhaenyra had received the tidings of Lucerys' demise, she crumpled at her place, unable to rein in her sorrow. The passing of her offspring, now her cherished child that she held so close to her heart. All hastened to her side, tending to her as she sought solace in her chamber.

The remnants of the young boy and his dragon washed ashore on Dragonstone.

Dread seized you as you bathed in the balmy waters. You chewed at your lower lip, grappling with the impending storm that loomed over all. None shall emerge unscathed. The dragons shall clash and waltz until one prevails and the other succumbs.

The downfall of the dragons was imminent.

Lost in reverie, you failed to perceive the door creaking open, heralding the entrance of the man. Only when his hand alighted on your shoulder did you startle with a soft gasp.

"'It is me, my love." His rich voice banished the tumultuous thoughts. You lifted your gaze to meet his, discerning the unease mirrored in his eyes; he too foresaw the looming conflict.

A hush fell upon you both as you reclined against his embrace, swallowing the lump formed in your throat. You prayed that neither of you shall meet a grim fate. The throne could fall to the Greens, yet your sole concern was your beloved.

Daemon tenderly kissed your temple. "You are tense," he observed, caressing your shoulder blade. "Tell me your worries." A gentle plea. He had never been unkind to you. Never.

You spoke, "Daemon, war is on the coming. Lucerys shall be avenged one way or another, and I dread it shall claim us both." The chamber was filled with a hushed breeze, engulfing the palpable tension and fear that gripped you so tightly. The water now felt icy to the touch, unlike its previous warmth, unlike his touch.

The Prince remained silent, pressing another kiss on your temple. After a pause, he murmured, "In the end, we all meet our demise, my love. Such fears need not consume you. War was inevitable when that drunk cunt of a king seized Rhaenyra's throne in our absence." Yet his words failed to offer solace as intended.

Turning towards him, you twisted your body to face his. Tears once concealed now brimmed in your eyes as you clasped his hands. "I care not for the Greens or the throne. Death does not faze me. It is our parting that I dread. I cannot bear to be parted from you, plagued daily by fear for our safety." Your words were a soft whisper, tinged with regret at the tremor in your voice. How could you rein in your emotions when his life hung by a thread much like yours?

The Prince knelt closer, his eyes reflecting a love unmatched. "The gods are cruel. They shall never grant you lasting joy and triumph."

Drawing nearer, relishing his words, you leaned into his gaze.

"I'll tell you a secret" he raised your chin, locking eyes with you. "I shall be the first." Boldness shimmered in his gaze, deepening your affection for him. "Swear it."

"Why me?"

"You are the reason. Swear it."

Enveloped in fervent love and unwavering devotion to him, you uttered a vow that would alter your lives forever. "I swear it."

A grin played upon his lips.

"I feel like I could eat the world raw."

[mikobeautifulheart]

hi!! 💗

i was wondering if you could do a yuji drabble wherein he walks into our dorm and we're just BAWLING and he goes to comfort us thinking it's serious and is like "it's okay.. you're bf is here.." bc he SUCKS as comforting people (LMFAOO) and then after a while when we calm down we tell him (still crying..?) that one of our favorite MALE (heskeske) characters died in an anime and he just gets all dramatic and jealous and then gets gojo-sensei in on the situation 🤭🤭 like a whole AITA 💀

this request is a bit short and not so explanatory, but idc how you write it since it's yuji and i'll read ANYTHING abt yuji. 💋

ASK AND YOU. SHALL. RECIVEEEEE. (Recive it unedited.)

Here we go.

Yuji who sucks at comforting you only to getting jealous over 'guy'

Yuji knocks on your door, he wanted to drop off some of the books he borrowed from you only to get no response. It was weird because he knew you were in your dorm...

"NOOOOOO" You yelled making Yuji panic

"Y/N ARE YOU OKAY?" He said as he burst open your door only to see you balled up on your bed crying into your pillow while muttering random sentences hysterically.

"He was-HIC- so-HIC-"

"Calm down Y/N are you okay?!" Yuji asked scanning your body for any inguries

"NOO IM NOT" you shouted throwing the pillow in your arms at the T.V infront of you before going back to crying.

"Shhhh calm down what if Nobora hears you?" he said with an awkward look on his face.

You stopped everything and stared at him.

"You monster-" you said before the tears rolled down your cheeks again.

"Do you not care?" you said through tears with your lip quivering.

"Okay, okay, i'm sorry but I can't help you if I don't know wats wrong." he said rubbing circles in your back in an attempt to soothe you.

It was no use because you really started to cry now.

"What's going on? I heard someone crying" Gojo asked sticking his head in the door way of your dorm.

"First he-he, and now Yuji, MY OWN BOYFRIEND DOSEN'T CARE ABOUT ME"

"I DO!" he retaliates

Gojo scans the room laying his eyes on your T.V seeing the end credits of Demon slayer playing. His face went white.

"No- Don't tell me-"

You nodded your head up and down aggressively while sniffing into a tissue

"RENGOKU-SAN" Gojo yelled grabbing the T.V by the screen watching the credits go by.

Yuji finally realized what this was all about.

"Are you kidding me?" He turned to you stiffly.

"Y/N...He's not real, your crying over someone who's not real-"

You and Gojo both froze

"Yuji, clearly you don't understand the gravity of the situation" Gojo starts.

"You see when someone with a pure heart and soul dies, no matter if they are real OR NOT, its a hard loss. Its like if they killed the earth worm man in the first Human worm movie."

Yuji turns his attention back to you

"You didn't even cry this much when I 'died'" Yuji mumbled

"THATS COMPLETLY DIFFERENT!" You said offended that he would even consider bring that up right now.

"YOUR RIGHT, HES NOT REAL AND YOUR CRYING OVER HIS DEATH WHILE I 'DIED' AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN CRY THIS MUCH."

Mean while Gojo laid on your floor muttering the lyrics to the end credit song while crying.

THANKS FOR READING ♡

AUTHORS NOTE: some of this totally isn't based off a personal experience. Anyways I hope this is close to what you wanted anon. And thanks for your request. reblogs are welcomed btw.

[ecargmura]

Oshi No Ko Episode 24 Review + Final Thoughts - Season 3 Has Been Announced

When one revenge door closes, another opens. Aqua’s revenge comes to a close, but Ruby’s door has opened. Uh-oh. What’s going to happen now? Fortunately, Season 3 has been announced, meaning the story is definitely not over, especially with the post-credit scene…

The finale of Season 2 is like both a conclusion and build up for the events of the upcoming next season. Ruby has been out of it after finding Goro’s corpse, but learns from the creepy crow girl that a famous idol gave birth in Miyazaki 16 years ago and that the doctor in charge of her disappeared during the birthing. She also mentions that before the birth, there were two people sneaking around the hospital, one being the stalker and the other…well… Ruby figures out that this could be the twins’ father and that’s how her desire for revenge starts. It was like how Aqua decided to get his revenge after realizing who was behind Ai’s murder when he was a toddler. The buildup is the same, but Ruby wants to get revenge for two people…is that why she has two black stars on her eyes compared to Aqua who only had one as he only wants to get revenge for AI? Also, Ruby, why are you trusting the words of this creepy little girl so easily? She could be lying to you…but at this point, there are no lies here.

For Aqua, it did feel as if he wanted to break up with Akane, but decided not to and officially date her last minute. Given that he’s a people pleaser, I guess he got cold feet and decided to date her because he felt bad seeing her cry. Poor Kana. However, I am getting a little tired of the dragging love triangle subplot Aqua, Akane and Kana have going on. The writer keeps backpedaling a lot and it’s getting really annoying. This is why I advocate for Akane and Kana to get together and for Aqua and Melt to get together, but alas, this is a manga written by a man…

It’s interesting how both seasons of Oshi no Ko ends with a B-Komachi song. However, the one for this season is a little more bittersweet as Ruby got her dark stars and isn’t as happy and chipper as before. I think the best thing about Oshi no Ko is that time passes. Now, some time passes that a year officially passes, making Ruby and Aqua 17 years old and second years, while Kana and Akane are going to be 18 and in their third year of high school. Time does play an important factor in this story, so I’m glad that it’s not a stagnant concept.

But yeah, the post-credit scene is pretty crazy in that Aqua and Ruby’s father officially reveals himself by murdering a girl. What’s interesting is that Hikaru, the name of the father, has purple eyes. Guess who also has purple eyes? Yep, Taiki Himekawa does. That makes me wonder where Aqua’s blue eyes came from. I guess it was split since blue and red makes purple as both parents have purple eyes in a sense. Hikaru looks like a celebrity, so why haven’t people noticed the similarities between him and Aqua looks-wise? I guess Aqua’s face is more like a male version of Ai in the sense that Kaburagi pointed out that he has similarities towards Ai in terms of facial structure so I’m assuming Aqua’s face leans towards looking more like Ai than Hikaru’s?

I think the Hoshino family is pretty interesting in the sense that both Ruby and Hikaru have their dark stars protruding out of their eyes and its on both eyes while Aqua only had it on his right eye and it doesn’t protrude as much—only time it did was when he was four and during the stage play. I just look at the dark stars and wonder how they gonna blink.

Speaking of which, the voice actors for Hikaru and creepy crow girl have been officially revealed. Hikaru is voiced by Mamoru Miyano and Tsukuyomi, the crow girl, is voiced by Hina Kino. I honestly can’t wait to see what these two have in store for next season. It’s been a while since I heard Miyano voice someone who’s quietly psychotic. He normally voices loud, pompous and flamboyant crazy guys, so I honestly can’t wait to hear him voice someone so soft-spoken to the point it’ll be creepy. Hina Kino normally plays cute little girls, so she’ll be playing against type too.

I can’t wait to see what next season has to offer.

Final Thoughts

Unpopular opinion: I liked the Stage Play arc. People might complain how it detracts from the revenge story, but I liked what it presented. However, the ending of the arc did show that it was still a part of the revenge story regardless of how it was written. It’s nice seeing new sides to our favorite characters and how the new ones are integrated into the plot.

For the characters, I did like seeing new sides to them. I’m still a big Aqua fan, so I’m glad that I got to see different sides to him. It was also nice seeing more sides to Kana and Akane, and even Ruby too! I just wished that some side characters were utilized a bit more. It sucks that out of the characters involved with the revenge plot, only Himekawa has a direct connection to it. I’d like to see Aqua involving one more person into his revenge scheme even if it isn’t Himekawa. Speaking of which, I do think that him concluding his father is dead and his revenge is done still does feel out of character for him.

I do think it was a step up from the previous season where the animation quality has improved tremendously. I especially loved Melt’s parts. The voice acting has improved tremendously as well. All of the voice actors did a spectacular job with going into their character and the character that they play for the stage play. It was really nice seeing new sides to the voice actors. As someone who likes hearing voices, it was a real treat for me!

It was nice learning about how stage plays worked. It was also nice to learn how manga adaptations worked as well. I feel like learning about various types of media feels super educational for me. It’s always interesting to learn new things. Though, I do admit that Oshi No Ko’s interpretation of how these things work might not be super accurate, but I still do appreciate getting an insight.

Overall, I do think Season 2 is a huge improvement from the first season. Like I said, that’s an unpopular opinion. I honestly can’t wait to see what Season 3 has in store. Will it still be in Aqua’s perspective or will it be in Ruby’s? I might start the manga out of curiosity of what will happen next… What are your thoughts on the second season and will you be in tune for Season 3?

[naussensei]

First Year SatoSugu

It may have been a good thing that Suguru’s first mission was that intense and traumatic, because every subsequent mission felt like a joke after that. Or maybe it was Yaga’s presence in each mission that helped ease Suguru’s nerves. Surely that played a role, too, even if Satoru would never credit him. There was comfort for both in knowing that, at the end of the day, someone would be waiting for them in the car to drive them home, full with words of praise or reprimands –sometimes both– on their way to grab fast food, something that had quickly turned into a routine.

After his fourth mission, Suguru was starting to get the hang of it, and by the time August came, he’d counted at least 20 missions, but stopped counting after that. Perhaps Satoru was not wrong in claiming he was the strongest, because every time they were sent on a mission together, it was over before he could blink, and soon they were either lounging at the dorms playing videogames with Shoko, or being scolded in Yaga’s office– more often than not, thanks to Satoru’s doing.

The scolding became more frequent now. Suguru got in trouble for things he never thought he could get in trouble with before. For a school that had almost no written rules, everything could be a potential breach. 

Today, unfortunately, was one of those days when he had to sit at Yaga’s office, and he could not even fully blame Satoru for it.

After that day’s mission, Suguru braced himself to hear Yaga endless scolding on their way back to the school, but to his surprise, Yaga had been exceptionally quiet the whole drive, somehow making it even worse. When they reached the school, the man got out of the car, just as quietly, and sent them to their dorms to shower and tend to their wounds, summoning them to his office later.

As he walked the endless aisle toward Yaga’s office, Suguru was already reflecting on what he had to say. Satoru, as always, seemed unfazed.

“Can you at least pretend to be worried?” Suguru grumbled, slowing down the pace.

“Why?” He said, resting his hands behind his head. “We’re gonna get detention anyway.”

Suguru let out a loud sigh.

"It's fine," Satoru waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, "at least we're in htis together."

"That doesn't make me feel any better..." He muttered under his breath, but Satoru did not seem to pay any mind. He was walking with his hands in his pockets and whistling a song he had been listening to all week.

“Maybe if we apologize we can get out of it,” suggested Suguru, only half-convinced. “At least feign some repentance.”

“For what? It’s not like I committed a crime or something. Did I not save our asses?”

Suguru wished to say more, but desisted from it, because the door of Yaga’s office was already open and inviting them in, and he was not ready for it.

The man was sitting sternly by his desk, his serious face impeccable. 

“Sit,” he said, his voice as severe as his face.

The two followed his instruction in silence, eyes on him the whole time as Yaga brought his hands together over the desk.

“I just wanna know…” he said, followed by the longest sigh. “...Why?”

“We are so sorry, sensei.” Suguru rushed to say, before Satoru opened his mouth to ruin everything. “We saw ourselves in trouble, and Satoru had no option but to use Red.”

Yaga looked down at his report, pinched the bridge of his nose, and looked at them again. “Fifty-one non-sorcerers injured. Yes, you heard that right. Fifty-one. And you’re lucky none of them died. If it wasn’t for Shoko, they would’ve.”

“But she was there, wasn’t she?” Said Satoru, in a matter-of-fact tone that did not please Yaga. It was starting to show in his face.

“That is not the point.” He groaned.

“It won’t happen again.” Suguru assured him, but Yaga glared at him with an accusing finger pointed at him in response.

“Excuses! You said the same thing last time, Geto!”

Suguru gulped. There was nothing he could say to counter that.

A wave of relief washed over him when Yaga’s glare switched to Satoru. “Do you understand how dangerous it is to use a technique you have no control over?”

Satoru shrunk in his seat, averting his gaze, yet he did not say anything.

“And you!” he turned to Suguru again, and a chill ran down his spine, “Why did you not stop him? I trusted you with that! There is a reason why I paired you up.”

“I–” Suguru was at a loss of words. Even he couldn’t explain why he’d endorsed Satoru’s behavior, even knowing he would regret it later. Maybe deep down curiosity had gotten the best out of him. He had only seen Satoru use Red that one time during their first mission. “I thought it was the best way for us to—”

“Well, next time think again!” Yaga banged his fists on the desk, making his mug wobble. “It was a simple mission, with a very low grade curse, in plain daylight. You did not have to overdo yourselves like that!”

“Yeah, Suguru, why did you not stop me?” Satoru sneered. “I was counting on you, partner , since I’m so unreliable. Maybe I shouldn’t be the one sitting here this time listening to this speech.”

Suguru's jaw dropped in disbelief of the words he'd just heard. So much for 'being in this together'.

“Satoru, you—“ Suguru gritted his teeth, his blood boiling as the feeling of betrayal burned in his guts. “You son of a–!”

“Geto!” Warned him Yaga, but Suguru’s hands were already reaching for Satoru’s neck.

“Maybe if you didn’t try to show off because MeiMei and Utahime were around, I wouldn’t have to stop you in the first place!”

“Huh?! Who would want to show off in front of that rat-face?!”

“Enough! Both of you!” Interrupted Yaga, a booming voice that made them both jump back to their seats. He rubbed his temples thoroughly before he said, “Honestly, I don’t know what’s worse, when you’re getting along or when you’re not.” 

He made a loud sound when he dropped on his seat again, defeated. “I’m sick and tired of you. I don’t want to see your faces in at least three business days. Go back to your rooms now.”

“What about detention?” Asked Suguru.

“No detention. It doesn’t work on you anyway.” He said, rubbing his forehead. “No more missions for you in three days either.”

The smile that was beginning to shape in their lips dropped before Yaga could finish his sentence. “Don’t look too happy about it. You are not allowed to go out at all during those three days. You are to remain at the school at all times.”

“Sensei…” Suguru pleaded.

“Oh, come on!” Satoru cried. “But it’s summer! You can’t do this to us!”

“You did this to yourselves. Maybe from now on you’ll want to think again before doing something stupid.” Yaga’s resolve was definite, he was already settling to get back to work, deeming the conversation over. “Now, leave. You’re dismissed.”

The other two stared at him with their mouths wide open in a silent gasp, then shared a troubled look before they excused himself to leave.

They headed back to the aisle with their heads low, Satoru rambling, as always; Suguru quiet as ever, his heart still too uneasy as he reviewed the situation in his mind, drowning in embarrassment for his own behaviour. Never before he’d cursed in front of a teacher, let alone threatened to hit another student. But Satoru did bring the worst out of him sometimes… most of the times, really. And right now, Satoru’s endless rambling was beginning to feel less than bearable. Not like Suguru was paying any attention to it, too lost in his own thoughts, trying to understand why, after that exchange in Yaga’s office, Satoru was still following him around right now.

“Oi, are you even listening?” Satoru said.

“What do you want?” Suguru snapped.

“Yo, why are you so mad?” 

Satoru’s startled expression only contributed to enhance Suguru’s anger.

“What do you mean ‘why?!” He barked. “Thanks for throwing me under the bus like that, Satoru. Thanks a lot. That was really nice,” he scoffed, then speeded up the pace, hoping Satoru wouldn’t follow this time. 

He should’ve known better than to hope.

“It was just a joke!” Satoru’s voice was closer than he wished it was. 

Seeing that Satoru would not stop following him, Suguru halted to face him.

“Jokes are supposed to be funny,” he said, then pointed at his own face. “Do you see me laughing?”

Satoru considered for a moment, then shrugged. “It was funny to me at least. Does that count?”

“Ugh,” rolling his eyes, Suguru turned to continue walking to his room, Satoru following silently behind. When they reached Suguru’s door, Satoru spoke again.

“So!” His smile was as enthusiastic as ever. “Do you wanna play video games in my room, or–?”

The door slammed close on Satoru’s face, Suguru cursing at it from inside his room. He would not succumb to him. Not this time. He would remain in his room and find something to do –anything that did not involve Gojo Satoru. 

He plugged in his earphones on, played whatever CD he had last been listening to in his CD player, mustering the determination to ignore Satoru for the three days that their confinement would last, and keeping himself busy dealing with the fact that, for the first time in his life, at 15 years old, this was the closest thing to being grounded he’d ever experienced.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Sweet Nothing: The Morning

summary: life with joel (and sarah) before the end comes is sweet nothing.

pairing: gn!reader x preoutbreak!joel miller, sarah miller

contents: song based fic, tooth rotting fluff, food mention, kisses

word count: 688

gif credits: @avasillva

an: because if there’s anybody who needs nothing to be expected of them, it’s joel miller. be nice to me please, this is my first time writing for him. thank you to both @honeybrowne and @inklore for encouragement to dip my toe into the joel pool! <3

sweet nothing masterlist | misc. masterlist | requests are open

There’s a stillness about morning that Joel covets— more particularly the mornings he gets to spend with you. They are made of a bunch of nothing, a conglomerate of moments that someone could brush away as routine or mundane. But, that’s the beauty of you. Every moment he spends with you feels noteworthy, like something he should write down in a book to memorialize forever.

He can smell that you’re awake before his eyes even open. The telltale smell of espresso wafts through the entire house and he smiles, rubbing the sleep out of his blinking eyes. The sun is just rising, orange and red just peaking over the horizon and spilling through the thick curtains of your shared bedroom.

He can picture you, hair messy and wild from sleep in the shirt he bought a few sizes too big just so it’ll really swallow you up. The ghost of your hum, soft and sweet, some pop song he doesn’t know the words to but soon will because you and Sarah will play it into the ground.

You putter around the kitchen with stealth, doing your best to stay quiet even as the smell spreads. Your routine is simple, grinding your beans, smoothing and leveling and pressing. Steaming and frothing milk. Two shots for you, two shots for him, an adjustment from the four he’d be used to before you. You find just as much joy in the process as you do in the product and the moments there after.

Just as he gathers the strength to push himself up to meet you downstairs the door opens and you slink inside. The smell of espresso is stronger now, rich and smoky and you hold up both of your steaming mugs with a grin that makes his heart stutter.

“Oh, sleeping beauty’s awake, hmm?” You tease, softly shutting the door behind you with your foot. The last thing you want to do is wake the true sleeping beauty too early.

“You didn’t wake up this early til’ you met me,” He quips, stretching as he sits up.

“Yeah, whatever makes you feel better baby,” You carefully climb into bed next to him.

As always, his voice rough and low with sleep, Joel murmurs a genuine, “Thank you.”

You shake your head, knocking it against his shoulder, “Anytime.”

Comfortable silence. It was something that never existed to you before Joel. You and silence weren’t a thing until you met this shy man— something he denies. According to him, he’s serious, not quiet.

He’s always been fine with you filling it whenever you see fit, but you’ve grown to appreciate small bouts of it because it’s with him. The two of you sit shoulder to shoulder, sipping coffee in the quiet of the morning.

Coffee finished, Joel pulls you close, his mouth as light as feather against yours when there’s a knock on the door. You both jump, heads turning towards the door.

“I know you’re awake, I smell the coffee!” Sarah yells through a laugh.

Joel snorts, shaking his head, “Good morning to you too darlin’.”

“Are there pants on?” She shouts through the door.

“Yes!” You and Joel shout in unison.

“Then let me in!” She insists, rattling the knob in a move that makes you both laugh again.

You turn to him with a smile. One of his favorite things about you is the lack of disappointment in your eyes when you two are interrupted— the space that you’ve created for Sarah in your heart. That your love always encompasses all of the unpredictability of loving him and the tiny family he has— that you’re part of it now.

He presses a kiss to your cheek, “It was good while it lasted, yeah honey?”

“It’s perfect. All of it, it’s perfect,” You murmur before hopping out of bed to unlock the door.

There’s nothing sweeter than the moment Sarah bursts through the door and jumps into bed next to her dad. Except for the moment she asks you to join them while tugging on Joel’s ear. And who are you to say no to the resident sleeping beauty?

part 2: mohawk

let me know if you’d like to be tagged in joel miller stuffs!

taglist: @honeybrowne, @hotchs-bitch, @jazzelsaur

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

The Cishet 1990s American Father-Son Movie, Good Omens triggered.

For those who are confused, @howmanyholesinswisscheese made a heartbreaking Good Omens post. Read it and weep.

The reblogs however degenerated into a Cishet Father-Son saga, since you maggots are all my adoptive parents. Here is a more polished version of my latest contribution to the hellsite.

[Opening credits play over highly saturated, sundrenched midwest farmland. Bob Dylan's Sara plays and the title appears as the camera slows to a halt in front of a sprawling house.]

[TITLE: Farewell, Iowa, We'll Meet Again, a Gus Van Sant film]

Art 'Greeny' Matthews, a man who does an honest day's work in the farm and is pretty darn proud of it, wanders through his house. His wife Darlene just left him (hence the opening song), and he is faced with the prospect of raising his only son, a ten year old lad Asmond 'Mond' Matthews, on his own.

Greeny takes Mond along with him as he works in the farm on holidays, riding in the tractor. Mond cries about Darlene, who didn't even leave a note, the hussy, and Greeny comforts him as much as he can. "It'll be alright, son," Greeny says on Mond's eleventh birthday, as they sit in the stable with a badly made cake on the wobbly stool. "Just you and me, eh? Not bad!"

"I hate chocolate," Mond whispers miserably, and the birthday party ends in more tears.

When Mond is thirteen, he starts to grow more closed with his emotions, just helping his dad around the farm. They're making a huge profit, and Greeny has business deals and free time, and makes an effort to bring Mond along to golf games and such. Mond is being bullied in school for being caught writing poetry, but he refuses to tell his dad why he comes home with a black eye every other week.

"I'm always here if you want to talk over a game of catch, son," Greeny tries one day. "No thanks, dad," Mond says, and wanders away into the stable. At fourteen, Greeny tries to bring him on fishing trips to discuss his feelings, as they used to do back when Darlene lived with them. Mond swallows, but shakes his head.

Finally, Mond can't keep it from him anymore, and when Greeny finds out, he goes into a rare fit of temper. "Just like your mother, boy!" he says, hand rattling his mug of ale. "A wanderer and a careless fool, that's what you'll turn out to be! There ain't no place in this world for people livin' in their heads."

Mond doesn't write poetry anymore.

As Mond grows, though, he helps out more with the farm, and they bond over hopes for future profit, and joking about golf, which they both find pretentious. "C'mon, champ, let's go play golf," Greeny says while they watch suited businessmen make their way to the house, out of place amidst the yellow-green farmland. "What's your favourite golf club?"

"That a literal club, or the thing they whack the ball with, dad?" Mond responds, and Greeny chortles. "I taught you better than that, son."

He has high hopes for Mond, he will take over the farm. Greeny is growing weary of his duties, he married late and had Mond even later.

[Montages of sunlight days ensue, intercut with shots of Mond, who always has a melancholic air about him. His mother was a dancer, and that rebellious spirit, so long dormant, is beginning to stir as he enters his twenties.]

On his twenty-first birthday, Greeny has baked him a cake, not chocolate. Mond barely sees it. His father doesn't know him. Not really. Not at all. When Greeny says he is handing over the farm to him, and starts to give him instructions about the responsibilities, Mond has had it.

He picks up the rucksack he's been storing by the umbrella stand for weeks, and shoulders it as Greeny pauses mid-lecture. "I'm sorry, dad," Mond says. "I'm going away to be my own man. This was your dream. Not mine."

Greeny is too frozen to stop him.

[Knockin' on Heaven's Door by Bob Dylan plays with another montage]

Mond travels the States, far from home and Iowa, and after a year of struggle finally publishes his first anthology of poetry. Hoping to make his dad proud, he sends a letter home asking if it imperative he return, since he's too ashamed to say he wants to. The reply is a brief but polite no from the housekeeper, saying his father wishes him well but does not require that he return. Assuming Greeny wants nothing to do with him, Mond stays away, bitter and homesick.

He is called home a few months later, and when he arrives, he is met not with Greeny, but with the housemaids and farmhands in black, and the housekeeper teary-eyed as she guides him to the back garden and a lonely gravestone. Greeny, heartbroken by his son leaving the same way Darlene his wife did all those years ago, declined in health, but he kept up the farm till the end, all ready for Mond should he want it after all, and for the head farmer if he didn't.

Mond, still carrying his book hoping to have shown his dad at last, stares in shock at the gravestone. He thinks even at the end Greeny did not know him, thought he would want the farm. Until he reads the inscription. Art 'Greeny' Matthews, friend to all, loyal husband, and most of all, proud father of a poet.

His father knew, Mond realised. His father knew what he'd been doing.

"Are ya proud, dad?" Mond whispers, dropping the book and kneeling down before the stone. "Are ya proud? It was all for you."

[The camera pulls back to show the farmland, scattered with people in black going about their work because business stops for no one, and a solitary figure by the gravestone. Bob Dylan's Blowin' in the Wind plays as the end credits roll.]

"How many roads must a man walk down, before you call him a man?

How many seas must a white dove sail, before she sleeps in the sand?"

The end.

@howmanyholesinswisscheese The challenge has been issued.

[coffeelouis]

written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Prompt: Wrath | Word Count: 666 | Rating: M | POV: Jeff | Relationships: Steve/Eddie | CW: None | Tags: Corroded Coffin

set somewhat ambigulously in the tuesday's gone with the wind universe, mostly in stealing goodie's name and personality bc like,, that's goodie! thanks @thisapplepielife for him love you 🫶

i also made up the song name, that's not from tuesday's gone, by that point i hadn't gotten far enough to figure out i was writing steve as their tour manager and basically set it in the universe. also i had eddie as the lead singer in this, so maybe this is an au of tuesday's gone

🎸😈

“Gareth, I really think this is a bad idea, man,” Jeff warned, hovering in the doorway. Gareth and Goodie were both crouched next to the sound equipment, Goodie observing as Gareth tinkered.

“It’s precisely what they deserve.”

“Exactly, we’ve warned them multiple times,” Goodie added, ever the pot-stirrer.

“We haven’t, in any way, indicated we’d go this far. We’ve just ribbed Eddie.”

“Nagged,” Gareth corrected.

“Relentlessly. And, would you quit it with the hand-wringing, man? You’re in or you’re out of this,” Goodie said decisively.

“And it’s not as if it’s anything new!” Gareth argued, **It’s just.. a different approach.”

“It’s completely different circumstances, though! And it digs at Steve, not Eddie.”

“Digging at Steve is how to you get to Eddie.”

At the same time, Goodie countered, “Steve will be fine—he’s fine about everything.”

“He’s used to us,” Gareth agreed, reaching up to test his work.

As the sound rang out in the empty theatre, Gareth let out a crow of victory, and Jeff felt his stomach sour.

“I really don’t feel good about this.”

“You don’t have to take credit then,” Gareth smirked, dusting his knees off and walking off in triumph to get ready for the show.

Goodie followed behind him, looking similarly smug—despite having contributed absolutely nothing.

🎸😈

Eddie had fought to play “The Harvest” towards the end of the setlist. It was a hard-fought battle when they’d begun this leg of the tour, Gareth argued it should be the opener. But, it was third to last, so Eddie was dripping in sweat and probably a little delirious by the time Jeff went in with the opening chords. He could see the man swaying around his microphone, his long hair falling into his eyes.

He figured that’s why it took him until the end of the second chorus to look up in confusion. Jeff quickly began watching his chords—as if they weren’t muscle memory by this point.

Gareth’s smirk gave the game away—that the backing track was not the pre-recorded moans that accompanied the song on it’s studio version; instead, Steve’s high-pitched moans that had leaked through the hotel walls nights earlier filled the venue.

Fury erupted across Eddie’s face. He stomped across the stage towards Gareth—guitar still in hand, and somehow still playing.

Jeff glanced behind him for backup from the crew, the stagehands, anyone. Instead, he saw Steve, a bright laugh inaudible, but clearly dancing across his face. His eyes were glittering with the creative wrath of the band.

Jeff, who’d seen him sternly lecture stagehands for incorrectly setting up equipment or tell off venue staff for stupid production mistakes, was surprised, but relieved at the reaction. It was an interruption to their planned schedule, and more than that an airing of an intimate moment; but, he supposed when it came to Eddie—or really, any of the band—he really did hold a soft spot.

Eddie was now standing at Gareth’s side, uselessly telling him off. Gareth certainly couldn’t hear him over his drum set, let alone the music the rest of them (Eddie included) were still playing. But Eddie continued on at it, over singing the next verse.

Jeff kicked his leg out at him, hoping to get this show back on the road—literally. They were approaching the next chorus and the moans coming in again; without Eddie to sing over them, they would be even more pronounced.

Eddie finally noticed, and abandoned Gareth to kick back at him, fighting before realizing that he was in fact signaling him to look off-stage at Steve, now waving and smiling at him. Eddie lost all fight, smiling back.

Jeff felt like he was invading on a moment to be watching as Steve rolled his eyes and jerked his head to the mic, telling Eddie to keep going. Eddie laughed too, and ducked bashfully back towards the front of the stage, chastened. He blew a kiss, Steve caught it.

Yeah, his bandmates were silly and vengeful, but they put on a damn good show.

[rvllybllply2014]

This is based on my life. Also non linear. Abusive toxic relationship, non graphic descriptions of attempted rape, rape joke, and descriptions of violence, threats of being killed without explicitly being told ie it’s through actions, dealing with an alcoholic. Older brackenwood, tiny side of Davron. Aeron and Davos are fine it’s Amos who’s in the bad relationship. Read at own risk. If you need to chat dms and asks are open. Also more an explainer at the end.

Amos always taught his boys, yes his boys, Aeron and Raylon to never settle and to never believe that they deserved to be abused. But if they were caught in an abusive relationship then they could come home no questions asked. But Amos has somehow trapped himself in an abusive relationship, and he’s embarrassed to be trapped.

He’s gotten good at dissociating the bruises that occasionally pop up. He tells himself that these bruises are the last time, he’s not stuck he has money and he doesn’t have to put with the alcoholic he’s dating. That he’s done being accused of being a cheater, a whore, being called worthless. Amos is tired of doing everything for his alcoholic partner, he’s tired of pretending everything is okay. But most of all he misses his friends Willem and Samwell.

He had to stop being friends with them after one too many arguments early in his relationship. His boyfriend kept accusing Willem of helping Amos cheat or encouraging him to cheat. It didn’t matter how many times Amos defended Willem from the accusations, his boyfriend would never listen. With Samwell his boyfriend was okay with their friendship, Samwell was married with a kid so no threat to his relationship.

What his boyfriend never realized was how much Amos used both of them as sounding boards early in their relationship. At times Amos felt like he was going crazy with all the accusations and how he was being treated. To Willem and Samwells credit they always validated his feelings and encouraged him to do what was right. Willem even tried to remind Amos that he was a good person and stronger than he was acting now.

Maybe Amos should’ve waited longer before jumping into a relationship, after Amos had just lost his wife nine months earlier he was still healing. But too late Amos realized he should’ve listened to Willem, he was just desperate to be loved again and his boyfriend was good at love bombing him. Willem and Samwell were weary when Amos told them that he spent eleven hours with his date and at the end his date said he loved Amos. But Amos just brushed it off.

Anyway the first fight doesn’t happen until Willem invites Amos and his boyfriend out to dinner. Aeron is invited too since he’s just started dating Davos, it’s a way for both Willem and Amos to make sure their nephews are taking good care of each other. Amos thinks the outing is going well, Willem and the boyfriend seem friendly and Aeron and Davos are having a great time.

It’s only after dinner and Amos is driving them home does his boyfriend really let his feelings be known. He starts playing songs about the man has caught his girlfriend cheating and is a hoe and they’re done. Amos doesn’t catch on at first, he only does once his boyfriend repeatedly plays a song saying how they’re done and you can’t trust a slut. Amos looks over to ask what the fuck is wrong with him?

But he stops when he sees and finally feels the anger rolling off his boyfriend. His boyfriend tells Amos that they’re over, he caught Amos checking out all the men that came into the restaurant, he even had a friend come in and his friend confirmed that Amos was eye fucking him. Amos was a disrespectful whore for doing that, while completely ignoring the fact that Aeron and Davos were seated close to the door and he’d occasionally glance at them. Also it’s natural to glance at people walking through a door, no one ever knows if a friend could walk through it.

Amos is tempted to fight his boyfriend on what he was actually doing but just says okay we’re done but can I come get my clothes from your place?

Which was his first honest mistake. Amos was allowed into the apartment and once he was in there was no escaping. Amos was not a small man but his boyfriend had the element of surprise and a drunk rage that allowed him to pull Amos across the floor by his hair. His boyfriend yelled that he hated Amos and he needed to leave right the fuck now while pulling Amos towards the door by his hair. Thankfully once at the door he let go his hair and just shoved Amos out with his clothes.

That is when Amos should’ve let the relationship go and block the shitty boyfriend’s number. But he stupidly believed that his boyfriend was just drunk and that he really did love Amos. Which was confirmed the next day when he received a call from his boyfriend apologizing and saying that he did love Amos, he’s sorry for what he did. So Amos took him back.

The second time Amos should’ve left and blocked his boyfriend’s number was when they went on a staycation and had a hotel room to themselves. Amos woke up to a pressure in his and his boyfriend on top of him complaining about how Amos tightened up and broke the condom. Amos rightfully freaked out and asked what the fuck his boyfriend thinks he’s doing?

He never agreed to being fucked while he was asleep. His boyfriend swears that Amos was awake otherwise why else would his ass tighten?

Amos explains that he was very much asleep and people do subconsciously react to things while asleep. But his boyfriend insists that Amos was awake, Amos eventually lets it go. He knows his boyfriend did attempt to rape him, but he’ll never mention it again. Ironically it’s his boyfriend who always brings it up swearing that he’d never attempt to rape Amos. That Amos was awake but wants to make himself feel hotter by saying that he attempted to rape him. How his ass isn’t that great anyway, it’s not in his character. Never mind the fact that just weeks prior his boyfriend was laughing at his cousin making a rape joke aimed at Amos, by saying Amos just needed to be held down and that he shouldn’t stop even if Amos told him to.

The abuse kicks up on their six month anniversary. Amos booked a nice hotel with a romantic package added on. But his boyfriend had other ideas, he got drunk again and started shoving Amos around the room. As soon as Amos picked up his boyfriend his boyfriend started biting him from the top of his shoulder to his elbow, that Amos could thankfully hide under his shirt sleeve.

He even almost shoved Amos into the glass shower while saying that Amos was a whore and cheater. Once his boyfriend had decided that Amos was “locked” in the bathroom, the door was just closed, he left the room. Amos not entirely sure about what just happened or what he should do stayed until he came back. Amos was quietly crying to himself, when his boyfriend came back. It was maybe a couple of minutes of his boyfriend being back before they heard a knock on the door with the person identifying themself as a manager.

Amos told his boyfriend to just sit on the bed he would handle the issue. Once Amos opened the door he notices that security was also with the manager. Amos’ boyfriend came up behind him and noticed the security guard and just bolted. The security guard followed the boyfriend while Amos stood there apologizing to the manager. The manager explains that the room next door called the front desk about a disturbance in his room. Amos keeps apologizing for the disturbance, the manager reassures him that he’s not in trouble but his boyfriend now is.

Eventually the cops catch his boyfriend and take him to a drunk cell in the jail. The cops also ask Amos if he needs medical attention, Amos stupidly keeps the bite marks /bruises hidden underneath his sleeve and Denys the medical attention and repeatedly tells them he won’t press charges. The cops tell Amos that he deserves better than his boyfriend and it’s not too late to leave, this relationship isn’t worth it. The manager says that Amos can stay or have the charge removed from his card if he leaves. Amos leaves, while thankful that Aeron was with Davos that night.

Amos receives a call from his boyfriend later on in the night. His boyfriend accuses Amos of having a party, he heard the tv show Amos was watching in the background. Amos stupidly agrees to come see him later and to take him back to his apartment. It was stupid because Amos knows he’ll keep his promise.

Amos does visit his boyfriend and tells his boyfriend that he’s been permanently banned from the hotel. Amos also shows the severe bruises he received from all of the bitting he did. His boyfriend asks if Amos hates him, but Amos can’t find it in himself to hate him.

More time passes with the occasional fights and accusations. They mostly happen when his boyfriend is drunk. Before Amos knows it years have passed and he’s just grown used to being called a whore and getting bruised from his boyfriend. He’s just thankful Aeron moved out with Davos and has a loving relationship. He’s also thankful that Raylon is living on his own, and starting a relationship with a wonderful woman. That way nobody knows how abused Amos is. Hell Amos doesn’t want to admit to himself that he’s abused, because according to his boyfriend real abuse victims would just laugh at him.

Never mind the fact Amos had gotten: a black eye, chocked, hit/slapped, punched in the chest while driving twice (thankfully he blocked it both times) Amos asks why he’d do that and the response he received was because he felt like it, been screamed at in public, had the wheel jerked towards ditches, had his arm twisted to the point of almost breaking while driving (again multiple times), his fingers almost broken, lightly punched on the legs/feet, had his arms held down while getting slapped in the face resulting in bruised arms, and his wrist almost broken. He was also punched in the neck while driving but thankfully the idiot missed and hit his collar bone and the idiot tried to light Amos on fire while Amos was driving. Also when his boyfriend gets drunk he is in pain, he’ll scream and then pinch Amos to the point of bruising him. Amos also revives a lot of bites when his boyfriend is drunk. Amos also learned to not make eye contact with anyone otherwise he’s eye fucking that person.

Amos flinches when his boyfriend makes sudden fast moves but also gets asked why he does? It’s not like he’s being abused and it’s making him look like he’s being abused so he better stop it now.

It took years of silently suffering before Amos reached out to Willem. After Willem hears everything he pulls Amos into a hug telling him that he’s sorry that Amos suffered all of that in silence. But he’s here now for Amos. Willem tells Amos that he loves him and he understands if Amos doesn’t want to date him, but he will treat Amos better.

It takes Amos almost a year before he decides that he does want to date Willem. He’s scared of a new relationship even after Willem shows him how much he does love and respect him. But once Amos gives him a chance it’s the type of love he craved with his last relationship. Willem is everything that he needed. Willem also helps Amos relearn how to make eye contact with people.

Aeron and Davos even get over the fact that their uncle got together. They’re happy as long as their uncles are happy, even if their uncles are technically in-laws now.

So years later at Amos and Willems wedding Aeron and Davos give speeches about how they were supposed to be the only Blackwood/Bracken wedding but here they are at another Blackwood/Bracken wedding. Raylons speech is short and sweet, welcoming Willem into the family again and announcing that he’s going to be a grandfather in about five months.

So yes Amos spent years in a shitty abusive relationship but he got out and even if he didn’t consider himself a survivor he truly is.

Anyway the attempted rape happened to me. I was asleep on my stomach and woke up to my boyfriend on top of me complaining about how I tightened my vagina and broke his condom. He always claims that I was awake and he’s not a rapist or an attempted rapist. And the list of what Amos went through yeah happened/still happens to me. His cousin who has never met me nor will ever meet me said to my boyfriend that he just needs to hold me down and fuck me. It doesn’t matter if I say no, my boyfriend just laughed instead of shutting that shit down. To this day he swears his cousin didn’t mean it, but does get mad if I throw that situation onto his niece saying that it’s wrong to wish it on her. But it wasn’t wrong that I went through it? He also said that he’ll never respect me because I ask him to. Anyway abusers swear they’re not abusers but they are and alcoholics deep in their addiction swear they’re not and try to switch over to what’s wrong with you. If you’re in the same situation I’m so sorry, whatever you’re feeling is valid and I love you.

[mynameisnotthepoint]

Ossan no pantsu EP 5

Disclaimer: I had already watched this drama with subs that were mostly machine translated, so this is less of a first time reaction and more of an "i finally have the whole picture now". This will contain spoilers, so be warned!

As always: thank you to @isaksbestpillow for continuing to provide us with excellent subs to this drama!!

Quote

"That's how it is being a parent. You can't really think with confidence: 'I just handled this the best way.'" (Mihoko to Mika, translation by isaksbestpillow)

My very jumbled thoughts/extras

I am a bit behind with my posts about this series. Work and a cold caught up with me, but I will try to finish this.

Later episodes will deal with this more, but ultimately, older people are left behind by this rapidly changing system. My coworker's husband had to look for a new job at 62 after his bus driving company closed down. He spent months unemployed. Makoto here also knows that he doesn't have a lot to offer except grit and perseverance. You need them to survive a job, but these days you have to have many more qualifications to think about switching jobs. I also noticed that the coworkers call her Shimura-san!! Which also is something that will come back in a later episode.

I also love the fonts and color grading they used to show Makoto's entrance into the office - a contemporary suspense (?) font/music - and then the flashback scenes to when Makoto was starting out that feel very oldschool.

I think it is in this episode that Makoto realises he could be a burden to society. He is, in many ways: people bow down to his wiles (his wife) or ignore/avoid him (his subordinates, his children, even his dog). Throughout this series he comes to a bigger understanding of how respect should be mutual, and is also earned. --- INTERLUDE: Theme song and Daichi's actor Oppan's opening credits song アプデライフ (Updated life) is by the Jpop group FANTASTICS from EXILE TRIBE, of which Nakajima Sota, who plays Igarashi Daichi, is a member (he is a vocalist). This group has two members who have also played in BLs: Yagi Yusei (vocalist, from the My Beautiful Man-series) and Kimura Keito (dancer, from Ameiro Paradox). It is actually through FANTASTICS fans that I first learned about Oppan :) --- My heart aches for both Daichi and Madoka. You can see Daichi's face fall, a sadness creep into his eyes while Madoka tries to explain why he couldn't tell his parents he had a boyfriend. Meanwhile Madoka is just so scared to lose Daichi, so scared to be himself. And Daichi is the one who can muster up a smile, try to make everything seem OK. Madoka is so tall and yet, he always seems to make himself small, hunches over, ridden by guilt. The flashbacks of how they met and how they got to know each other are so well done (@twigtea and @bengiyo have written such good meta about it and the outing scene at the end!!).

Daichi's mom is such a wonderful person. She knows her son, knows when he is being chipper to hide that he is feeling sad. It shows the strength of their bond that he can show his anger with her, although it might be misplaced, as she was the one trying to help him. And Daichi knows, after raising his voice at her, he immediately deflates and apologizes. (my mom is so very similar to his mom. and i can also get angry at her or take her for granted, which i immediately feel sorry about).

BTW: Matsushita Yuki (who plays Igarashi Mihoko) plays Ida's mom in Kieta Hatsukoi AND Kurosawa's mother in the Cherry Magic movie!

I touched upon this briefly in a last post, but I love how they made Kakeru's hair truly look like it has grown out and he hasn't really cut it evenly. Although it does change quite a bit at the school scenes, which were probably filmed later. Through the series, Kakeru not only becomes comfortable wearing make-up outdoors, but also puts a lot of effort into his hairstyles.

I love Mika so much. Kakeru feels down and useless because he is unable to go to school again, and she encourages him to help her with the laundry. We later learn that she doesn't enjoy housework all that much, but in this moment she is happy to see him outside of his room and wants to spend time with him. He is also doing more housework just by helping out than Makoto ever seems to do...

The dynamics in this family are so developed!! Mika talks very differently to Moe, who seems to have the upper hand a lot in their conversations. But I really like how they genuinely seem to get along and want to spend time together. Them evaluating Makoto together if he can attend a barbecue with Madoka and Daichi and Daichi's mom was so funny. Also them preparing for the barbecue together and welcoming their guests together warmed my heart.

ME TOO. Also, this is one of my favourite Kakeru outfits. I truly love his style. Also, after meeting the girls who were nice to him, this meeting with Hasegawa shows Kakeru he can talk to people his age without feeling alienated. It takes repeated experiences liket this to get you to enjoy company again, but he smiles and is happy. (Now Makoto, we don't just assume our child is dating someone, he is literally just sitting next to him and talking - the face touching means nothing!! I do like that this makes the updating even more concrete for Makoto). The second time Hasegawa and Kakeru meet up starts a bit akward, but they talk to each other freely. Yet, Kakeru shuts down when Hasegawa starts talking about school and the baseball club. He'd still rather avoid the conversation and walk away than say what is on his mind. He is going outside, went outside to buy products for Hasegawa, but he isn't suddenly free of his worries and coping mechanisms.

Makoto buying books on queerness and acceptance is what makes Moe believe he has changed. And yet, reading up on things doesn't make you know how to react in real life. Makoto having his subordinates clap for him makes him overconfident, makes him think he knows everything. But, as @bengiyo pointed out, it is really important that he does his updating independently too, he shouldn't just wait for Daichi to explain everything to him.

The scene which hurts the most here is at the barbecue, when everyone has been having such a good time and even Kakeru is happy to watch them from his window. Makoto just says out loud what everyone has been avoiding all afternoon: he calls Madoka Daichi's boyfriend. It was just an unspoken rule that everyone at the party understood: Daichi and Madoka are there. What they are to each other is personal to them. Makoto wants to please, wants to show that he has updated, has such foot in mouth syndrome that he doesn't realise that rule. And Madoka very understandably freaks out. I must say, I have watched this episode three times now, and I have only been able to watch this scene without pausing or fast-forwarding once. It hurts.

What I did notice, in the aftermath, is that there are shots of the characters where Moe and Mika stand together in the foreground, then in another shot Daichi stands in the foreground while his mom is in the back, and Madoka and Makoto are both alone in their shot. I don't know if this was intentional, but it does illustrate how they feel about themselves in that moment in time. Moe and Mika are united in wanting to make this work, Daichi has his mom he can rely on, but both Madoka and Makoto feel alone and afraid in this moment.

An anecdote from when the show was airing: this episode was the one I saw people talk about the most before episodes 8 and 9 aired. It generally frustrated me to no end that people seemed to only focus on "the gays" and disregarded the rest of the story (Moe!! Kakeru!! Mika!! and even Makoto's development). Seeking out explicitly gay characters shouldn't make you disregard a story that is about queerness, about how women are treated, and so much more. It didn't help that a lot of fan translators were only focused on translating Sota's scenes, as they were fans of his group/him as an idol. It is so interesting to have an actual idol in a drama that has a whole story thread about being a fan of an idol group! (I am now just referencing later episodes...).

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

First of all, CONGRATS on your follower milestone! 🥳💕

Second of all, could I request 11. "You butt-dialed me, and now we have some things to talk about." with Joe Velasco please? 🥰

~drabbles-mc 🖤

Masterlist

Squad Room Secrets

Contains: Fluff, Fin being a fed up old man.

1.1K words

“If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself.” -  George Orwell.

"I'm going over tonight to watch the fight with her. I don't know man, I don't know where to start or what to say or how to say it."

Fin huffed, "I don't know Velasco, may start with how you feel. It's pretty simple."

Joe sat down like the world was resting on his shoulders, "Yeah Fin, that's going to go down great, 'hey y/n, I'm deeply in love with you and every second my not with you feels like torture' she's going to run for the hills."

Fin sighed, "Maybe not, maybe, you need to give her more credit than that."

Joe shook his head, "Like I said, even if I was going to tell her, I would have no idea where to start."

It felt dirty to listen to their conversation when you realised he hadn't meant to call, but after you heard the first few words, there was no stopping. You hung up the phone before Joe could realise what had happened and sat strewing for hours, thinking about whether you should rip off the bandaid or wait until tonight.

In the end, you decided it was better to face it head on and just call him. The phone rang a few seconds before Joe's voice came across the line, "Hey y/n, are we still for tonight?"

You took a deep breath, "You bet we are, but you butt dialled me, and now we have some things to talk about."

There was a sharp inhale, "How much did you hear?"

He sounded so worried, "I hung up when Fin tried to get you to role play."

Joe sighed, "Is this the part where you let me down easy?"

A little part of your heart broke that he was so ready to be rejected, "Umm, no, it's not. Look, we're both grown ups, and I'm not in the mood to hear Fin say he told me so fifty million times. We're both a fault here, I was just as chickenshit as you."

You could hear the gears turning in his head, "Are you saying…?"

"Yes Jose, I am saying that. I love you, I have for quite a while and I was intent on stewing in my own misery until you finally saw it but I see now that you are far too noble to make assumptions. I really need to get back to it but we can talk more about this tonight." It felt good to get it off your chest.

"That's great, I'd love that." There was a pause, "I love you y/n."

You sighed, "I love you too Joe."

****

You jumped and raced to the door when Joe knocked, and his face broke out into a smile when his eyes met yours, "Hey."

You waved, "Hey, you wanna come in?"

He nodded and kicked off his shoes as he walked through the doorway, "So, where do we start?"

You opened your arms, "How about a hug, we already do that." It felt different this time as his warm body wrapped around yours, "It's nice not feeling like a total perv when you hug me."

His laugh reverted through your chest like the drum beat of a well loved song, "I'm glad I wasn't the only one."

You never wanted to leave the safety of his arms, "You wanna sit down? They're just about to play to preshow."

He nodded, "Sure, you wanna talk first? We've got ten minutes."

You pulled back and shrugged, "What's there to talk about? Nothing's changed, not really. We're still going to do all the things we did before, it's just that we've added things and you can finally give up online dating."

He chuckled, "You're right. What did you cook?"

"I figured I had some making up to do, so I made your favourite." You pointed towards the oven, "And Creme Burlee."

He closed to distance again and took your face in his hands, "Can I kiss you?"

You nodded, "Oh yes please." His lips didn't find yours right away, instead, he stroked your cheek with his thumb as he slowly closed the distance. You were surprised that when your lips finally touched, there was no burst of fireworks, rather, it was quiet, like you and Joe were the only two beings in the universe.

There was a buzz in the air that you swore was coming from your own ears but Joe pulled back with a disappointed sigh, "Food's done."

The world returned in sharp focus, "That it is. I'll get it ready if you put on the fight."

He nodded, "Sure. I enjoyed that."

"Yeah, me too."

****

"How is Fin going to get you back for being right?" You knew he would want something, he wasn't going to let it go with grace.

Joe snorted, "He said he's going to remind me about this until he retires."

You did your best to stop yourself from laughing, "Oh boy, you're going to be hearing about this for years."

Joe threw his arm over your shoulder and you turned your attention back to the TV as the fight continued. You flinched when a fist hit a face and Joe chuckled when your hand landed on his thigh, "You good there?"

You blinked and went to move but Joe placed his hand on yours, "Yeah, I'm good." He laced his fingers in yours, chuckling as you clenched it with every hit, "You're not normally like this, you love it most of the time."

You shrugged, "He looks like he's twelve. Plus, this ref isn't very good."

"We should go to a fight one day, on a date." There was a confidence in Joe you hadn't seen before and his smile had a certain charm.

"You don't need to convince me. Does this count as a date?" You were unsure, it didn't feel like a proper first date.

Joe shook his head, "No, this isn't a date, at least not a first date. We gotta go to dinner for that."

You nodded, "Ok, well do you want to go to dinner with me?"

Joe smiled, "Yes, I would like to go to dinner with you."

"So what does this count as?" You thought for a moment, "A get together?"

"Nah, we're just spending time together. You should get used to it, you're my girlfriend I'm going to want to spend a lot of time with you." He was definitely turning on the charm.

"I'd hope so, boyfriend." You paused, "That doesn't sound right, we're not twelve. Lovers?"

Joe suppressed a smirk, "Not yet. Significant other sounds nice."

You nodded, "Yeah it does. Which brings me to my next point, maybe you should stay the night and we can get coffee in the morning? Nothing has to happen, I just wanna make up for all the cuddling we've missed."

Joe smiled and moved closer before brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, 'I'd really like that."

Fin

@mysoulisasunflower

[httpknjoon]

the lover and the love songs | ksj

(credits to the owner of this GIF. I downloaded this from Pinterest.)

plot | You co-wrote songs for Taylor Swift’s Lover, unintentionally fueling the rumors.

words | 1391

genres | humor/crack, fluff, actors!au

pairing | actor!jin x famous!reader

song inspos | cornelia street, daylight, lover, paper rings (all by taylor swift)

note | usernames used in the fic are all fictional.  this was set in 2019. if you haven't heard the songs mentioned, I recommend listening to them before or while reading this :) let me know your thoughts. enjoy reading!

main masterlist | drabble series

@/taylorswift13: Lover, out now! Pre-add, pre-save, pre-order (all the pre stuff you feel like doing) Can’t wait for you to hear this.

@/taylorswift13: Special thanks to my friends who worked with me to finish this album.

For the second tweet, the singer posted a group picture of her, you, and her producers. It was a historical event for your fans as this was the first time you ever did something in connection with music. You always shared in interviews before how you like writing stuff as a hobby. But you never published anything about it.

@/drivingred: you’re telling me that THE Y/N, hollywood’s best actress, wrote songs with TAYLOR SWIFT????!?

@/corneliaswift: THIS IS THE GREATEST CROSSOVER OF MY LIFE 

@/POPCRAVE: Y/N wrote four songs for Taylor Swift’s Lover.

replying to @/POPCRAVE

- @/YNUpdates: OH MY GOD NOT JUST ONE BUT FOUR!!! FOUR 😩😩

– @/grandeswifty/n: i’m so excited!

Both your and Taylor’s fandoms are celebrating the new content they receive. Meanwhile, you were radio silent as you were in the production of your new movie, Lonely People. You only heard about your collabs being publicized when your co-actor congratulate you. 

“Hey, I read the news! Congratulations!” 

You were sitting on a make-up chair when your on-cam fiance, Sebastian Stan, entered the trailer. You cannot turn your head to him as your make-up artist is busy with your face. So you simply look at him through the mirror.

“What? What news?” you asked, sounding a bit concerned. This type of thrill kills you. With how the media works, you can learn various fake and crazy news about you.

“You wrote songs with Taylor! You didn’t tell me you’re a songwriter!” he exclaimed as he sat down next to you.

Your eyebrows raised, “It’s out?!”

“Yeah, here!” he showed you his cellphone screen. 

An hour later, your makeup and hair are both done. You were just waiting for you to be called in your trailer for your scene with Jin. Since this is the first time you wrote anything for and with someone, your heart cannot stop pounding out of your chest. Your palms were sweaty as you try to focus on reading your script while your co-written songs played in your earphones. Instead of internalizing your character, you ended up thinking if the public liked it. Over and over again. You were too deep into thinking that you almost jumped when someone knocked on your door.

Removing your earphones, you said, “It’s not locked. Come in!”

Looking at your opening door, you see your leading man stepping inside. Already in his sophisticated character form, Jin spoke,

“We’re up. Everybody’s waiting outside.”

“Oh, okay.” You gulped, hoping you can just shake this nerve-wracking feeling away.

Jin waits for you as you stood up. You subtly shake your head, internalizing your character and trying to flush out all distracting thoughts you were thinking about. You were about to open the door when Jin gently held your arm.

“Are you okay?” he asked with concern obvious in his tone.

You chuckled nervously, shaking your head again, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little nervous, I guess.”

Lines formed between his eyebrows. You were always confident before any of your scenes. You rarely go tense when you were about to act so Jin knows that something more is bothering you. He sees you chew on your lips as you waited for him to say something.

“What happened?” he asked again.

This time, he tried to make you comfortable as his thumb drew circles on your skin. He then reached for both of your hands and he immediately felt how stone-cold it was. You sighed,

“My collab with Taylor is out now.”

Oh, that’s why. Jin nods. He knew about that project of yours for a while now and you’ve been open about how you were so excited about writing with her and finally presenting your other skills to the world. He even heard the final product of the songs from your phone when you shared it with him exclusively months ago. He remembered your proud and excited smile while you watch him listen to it. 

“It will be fine, bub. The songs are all perfect,” he reassures you. “I told you, you did well with that. Everyone is gonna love it since they are going to feel how much love you poured in writing.”

Your tense shoulder slowly relaxed as you tried to control your breathing. You were so out of it that you just felt now that Jin was softly massaging your palm. You sighed again before nodding.

“Thank you.”

You were about to open the door but he stopped you once again, “Wait, come here, bub.”

He pulled you in for an embrace. You smiled and wrapped your arms around him. You loved it. It was the warmest and most comforting hug. The best thing to receive after feeling nervous. Unexpectedly, Jin whispered something familiar that made you laugh.

“You’re doing great, sweetie.”

Taylor Swift shares details about the quadruple song collabs with Y/N: ‘She’s just so perfect.’

Taylor Swift had a lot to say Monday night on Instagram, three days after releasing her new album, Lover, which includes three songs co-written by Y/N.

The multi-awarded artist confirmed that the actress helped in writing four tracks from her recent album: Cornelia Street, Lover, Paper Rings, and Daylight.

In Instagram Live, Swift dished on how she is “such a massive fan of Cornelia Street and Y/N”, the movie Y/N led starred back in 2017 with rumored lover, Jin. The songwriter said that their friendship started after she reached out to the actress after watching the film, showering her with admiration. 

Earlier this year, Y/N was seen going in and out of Swift’s infamous apartment multiple times. And the reason behind it? She was co-writing love songs with her!

“The songs we worked together are all about our own experiences with love and loving someone,” Swift said. “You know, we easily relate to each other since a lot of our past relationships were publicized and criticized by many people.”

“And now, obviously, I am really private about my relationship. I get to really enjoy every emotion I have and received and convert it to this album. That sort of became a love letter to love.”

Just when Swift began talking about the privacy of romantic relationships, the comment section was noticeably flooded with questions about you and Jin. It seemed like the singer noticed it as she chuckles while scrolling down the comments.

But in the best way possible, Swift dodged the questions,  “The fact that I get to write music with her and talk about life experiences is an honor and a privilege. She is so generous and kind. I even met Francheskat! She is so hands-on and organized about everything. She’s just so perfect. I thought I wanted to be her when I grow up,” Swift joked. “Absolutely love her and I really hope you love these songs as much as I do.”

The unwavering support and great reviews for the songs didn’t calm down. It continued for a few more days. One of your co-written songs became a fan favorite. You only posted a story of a selfie with Taylor and tweeted gratitude for her. Your fans mentioned you as they try to know more about what’s behind you writing these love songs.

@/yngolden: CORNELIA STREET IS BASICALLY A CONFIRMATION, RIGHT??? 

replying to @/yngolden

- @/astronautboy: i personally think that it's about the bts of their first movie together

@/thegreatyn: paper rings! 😩😩 remember when y/n said that jin lets her borrow every book he has?!

@/YNJINUPDATES: Back in January 2018, Jin posted this story on Instagram.

In the said story, Jin was talking to you about taking your Christmas lights and decorations down. “It’s January already!” he laughed behind the camera. You were shown in your pajamas while sipping a cup of coffee, unbothered. “This is my home. I can do whatever I want,” you spoke nonchalantly.

replying to @/YNJINSUPDATES

- @/franchessy: Now tell me Y/N and Jin is not together 😤😤😤

@/JINSRIGHTTOE: ynjin not beating the living together allegations 🙃

@/swiftiesyn: OKAY LOOK ME IN THE EYES AND TELL ME THAT Y/N IS NOT IN LOVE RIGHT NOW. [insert an angry, cute cat reaction picture]

additional note: send me an ask if you have any questions for mc and jin!

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