#cause like who wins or who’s better isn’t even the point of the show it’s all about doing the right moves to get attention

[alphajocklover]

Hey ! Recently, I've heard about a guy in my college, a young jock fresh from high school, that honestly acts very weirdly.

Apparently, his friends all went to local universities, while he moved all the way out to the capital, apparently in a bid to get some "elite" education. But that's not really weird, isn't it.

No, the weird thing starts at how he already acts like he's the king of uni, belittling everyone, including those like me who have been here for quite a few years, acting and even stating that he is the "alpha" of our department - as if such an outdated and so obviously false way of classifying people was even remotely correct. But then, he just goes around stating that he needs some "betas". Now, while I can imagine what they must be, those "yes-men" you see in movies accompanying the bully, I can't even begin to see how he wants to bring that to real life ! Especially since he's not in high school anymore !

Well, whatever. The real thing that creeps me out is how he seems to hang out near me weirdly often... Should that be cause for concern ?

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. I’ve only just seen your message. Hopefully there's still enough time for me to warn you. What you’ve met isn’t human. Not exactly. He’s… more.

Most teenage boys go through puberty with drastic changes. They shoot up, gain a bit of hair and possibly some muscle. Their voice deepens, and of course they get some… urges. It’s all very natural. But some teenage boys undergo a… startling transformation. They don’t just shoot up, they tower. They don’t gain a bit of hair, they grow bushes of it. Some shave it so that they can better show off their muscles, but most don’t. Muscle isn’t just possible for them, it’s inevitable. They’re bodies become beefy and hard, even without exercise, though most still become obsessed with lifting weights and getting even bigger. But what sets these boys, or rather these men, apart from the rest most are their urges. They don’t just feel the need to cum like most guys. They get the urge to dominate. The urge to show their power. The urge to fuck.

These men are what’s known as Alphas. And no, that’s not just some arbitrary classification. This isn’t some guy calling himself an alpha male because he’s an insecure Andrew Tate obsessed bitch. What you are dealing with is a real fucking Alpha. Once they were normal people like you or me, but something… awakened in them at some point. Usually during puberty, as I showed before, but it’s not impossible to have an Alpha discover his true self later in life. These men, if they can be called mere men, are bigger, stronger, more dominant than the average man. Much more dominant. So much so that the world seems to… bend to their will. I don’t know how they do it. Maybe they have some sort of special pheromones, or magic powers. But what I do know is when they want something, it just happens. If they want to be good at something, they just are. If they want to win at something, they just do. If they want the world, it’s served up to them on a silver platter with a protein shake.

And if they want you to be their Beta, you will be their Beta.

I’m not kidding. They can just.. change people. You’ve probably already seen some symptoms, in you and your friends. A sudden interest in fitness, in sports, in ‘bro culture.’ A strange growth spurt, the kind that really shouldn’t happen after puberty. An increased libido, a simpler vocabulary. And most of all, a great admiration for your Alpha. Not just admiration, a deep love. A need to do what he says, be what he says. Once those feelings start it’ll be too late to save you. Soon you’ll be nothing more than his Beta. Everything about you will revolve around what they want.

It’s not the worst fate in the world. Most people think that if a horny Alpha could do whatever they want to you, you’d end up a brainless sex doll. But more often than not what they really want is a bro. Or, more accurately, they want bros. Alphas are so competitive that they rarely are able to spend extended periods of time together. It’s like having two leaders of a pack. Eventually they end up locking horns. So they find, or rather make, Beta bros for them to hang out with. Big, but not as big as their Alpha. Sexy, but not hot enough to take any pussy away from the Alpha. Cool but not cool enough to take any attention away from the Alpha. There are some differences based on what the Alpha wants. Some Betas are stoners, some are jocks, some are surfers and some are skaters. It all depends on the Alphas personal aesthetic and taste. But Betas are all muscular, horny, hung, and completely subservient to their Alphas.

If you’re lucky, you can get out. Move somewhere far away, and forget about all of this. If you’re lucky the Alpha won’t care enough to go after you. You can keep your identity and sense of self intact.

But if you’re not lucky? If you’re too far under his influence? If your Alpha has taken a liking to you and won’t let you go? Well…

… be grateful you’re his Beta bro and not his Beta bitch.

**3 post in 2 days! I feel like I’m on fire! Guess I’m just very motivated to write recently. Anyways I hope you guys liked this one! Hope mentioning Andrew Tate wasn’t too political. I hate to let irl politics ruin my online fun. Enjoy!**

#jock tf #jock transformation #jockification #muscle growth tf #nerd to jock #Alpha with a capital A #muscle tf

[satoruhour]

the racer toji smut won’t leave me alone so here is my additional brainrot bc my sister in christ we must suffer together <3

what about fem!reader who’s bf is a total ass bc he dragged her to the races but ignores her for the whole night bc he’s too busy showing off to the other guys and makes fun of her for not knowing shit about cars. she went to support him but he’s being so shitty and she goes to sulk alone near some quiet part.

a little boy comes to join her and he introduces himself as megumi, he hates crowds and loud noises so he sits with reader for a while, until his daddy comes along and his daddy is hot. toji introduces himself, asking what a pretty girl is doing alone in these parts and offers to show her his car but out from nowhere comes slimy bf who just embarrases himself trying to kiss toji’s ass and reader is like i need to break up with him

but ofc toji puts him in his place and tells him his gf is way out his league, and a real man would never leave his girl alone the entire night. it shuts him up fr and toji, megumi and reader leave to go check out some cars bc it’s nice to actually have someone tell you all about the cars instead of being made fun of for not knowing

the rest is obvs history bc megumi loves hanging out with reader and toji can’t keep his eyes off her. and vice versa hehe

a/n: jelly ur mind >>>>> also how did i write a whole FIC about this omfg im sick. i claim i dont like toji then write like this 💀💀 + can u tell how much i love making fun of incompetent men by the way i talk about reader’s shitty boyfriend cause youd be right. i hate men. ✶ / 2.2k

the stuffy parking lot had been a routine place for you at this point, taking the familiar route past shibuya 109 and into miyamasu-zaka avenue. you’re not entirely pumped to be in the car beside your boyfriend right now, who’s talking loudly and obnoxiously into his phone, but that isn’t what is irking you right now. you’re more worried when you reach there, sure to come face to face with his equally obnoxious friends who just can’t shut up about their cars.

it would be fine if they were being cocky and could back up their modifications and NOS with proper results from racing, but they were all losers, both figuratively and literally. you sigh for the umpteenth time when daisuke asks if you cancelled the dinner with your friends because he was going to celebrate his ‘sure’ win and you stifle the urge to laugh. sometimes you wonder why you’re still here.

“we’re here babe, c’mon, get out. i’ll go park the car and come back to get you,” as daisuke tells you this, he’s patting your thigh like you’re a dog, smiling his stupid smile and your brows knit together.

“can’t you just drive to wherever you’re parking?”

“ahh… no can do, baby — my parking’s somehow better when you’re not stressin’ me out in the passenger seat.” what were you doing dating a man who couldn’t even park? you groan into your hands, picking up your bag and exiting the vehicle, making sure to slam the door extra hard even if you’ll be getting a lecture later about harming his ‘baby’.

he’s perfectly fine watching your tantrum and doesn’t say anything except for continuing to smile, driving off without a care as he looks for a parking spot. thankfully you could save your face a little, since you were still early to the meet, a minimal amount of people lingering around the abandoned parking lot in their miniskirts and tights and tramp stamps — a look you definitely would’ve loved to try out if not for your boyfriend telling you you can’t show off your legs.

it’s like he has some personal vendetta against you, but really you think it’s just because he saved you from an unfavourable situation before and while at the time you expressed mutual feelings for him, he just might be holding you hostage with that favour he did for you, unconsciously feeling terrible if you were to leave him.

a few minutes pass, and then ten, and you’re waiting for a full fifteen minutes against a wall, all the while the classic crowd of tokyo is trickling into the car park, cars driving in slowly and you’re dreading every time someone enters, sure that you’re being judged for being daisuke’s significant other. and when the waiting time finally hits twenty, you’re taking matters into your own hands and turning the corner where he drove.

just to see him conversing with his loser friends who were already somehow there, showing off their own cars which they spent money on for nothing and laughing up a storm. you lug your body over, because while you were still somehow okay with daisuke, you couldn’t stand his friends.

“babe! ah, my bad, should’ve texted you that the boys were already here and that i was with ’em,” his affection was limited to just a hand on your waist, not wanting to look like a softie in front of them, “we were just talking about our updated NOS, or ‘nitrous oxide system’ for my cute baby who couldn’t remember it the first time.”

all you can do is burn in embarrassment as they laughed, ridiculing you for the mistake you made ages ago about the terminology of street racing that sometimes you couldn’t exactly grasp. you did your best each time, sometimes googling things about racing that you wouldn’t know otherwise, but because it was still pretty illegal in japan, it was difficult to find the specific terms they used. but with how much your boyfriend teaches you (as condescending as it was), you probably could’ve written an essay.

and it wasn’t a one-time thing either, from smacking your hand off the stick shift to pestering you about closing the car door more gently, you’re soon to reach your limit.

“yeah, i know what a NOS is, bitch.” you mumble under your breath, turning away from him as he continued joking with his boys before one of them shouted out someone else’s name, hiroshi, you heard and they all pile over each other like excited dogs, seeing his new and improved Mitsubishi Eclipse, a bright, striking green and your boyfriend follows them easily.

throughout the different races of the evening and the excitement, you’re left chasing after your boyfriend who can’t help but sidle up to different racers and their cars, and the dreaded situation you hoped wouldn’t arise, did. daisuke loved asking you questions with confusing numbers and letters, and then laughed in your face when you picked the wrong option.

so when he asked you whether a L72 or a 327 small-block was better for his sorry excuse of a Camaro from 1981, you answered that you knew they had used 327s for Yenko Camaros, but without the knowledge they had discontinued it since it wasn’t optimal performance for the car. “yeah, no, darlin’, they already stopped it and switched to big-blocks after ’69… i thought i taught you this!”

with lips pressed tightly together, you find that you hardly want to be here any longer, body turning hot with shame and tears prickling at your eyes. you don’t chase after daisuke when he walks off and nudges hiroshi about your limited knowledge about cars, hands clenching and unclenching into fists before you’re tugged gently on your jacket sleeve.

in front of you is a young boy, playing with his fingers shyly with a head full of messy black hair and strong features that scrunch up into an anxious expression and you’re squatting and wondering what business a young boy like him had in scenes like this before he’s explaining how he hates the loud music and noises of metal against metal and the sound of tires.

you frown, understanding him immediately as you ask if you can hold his hand to which he nods, “what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“fushiguro… megumi,” he mumbles, flinching when there’s an erupt of cheers from the concluding race.

“oh, honey, let’s go,” you squeeze his hand in solidarity, “let’s sit far away from the action, okay? you like music?”

megumi sniffles a little and nods again, calming down the further he is from all the cars, sitting down on the curb in an area where there’s fewer racers, it being a deadend for the route. soon, you’re fishing out your earphones to insert into his ears, playing a few favourites of yours at a softer volume to drown out the noise of the cars. you’re content to find someone as clueless as you in this whole thing, even if the other was a child, and you almost want to chastise his parents for leaving him so vulnerable in a place like this when said parent is looking left and right, jogging while looking for his son.

“that’s my dad…” megumi mumbles with hope in his voice as the man starts to call out for him, expression morphed into worry from the moment he looked down from his car to find megumi gone. the boy’s hands you back your earphones with a slight smile and a ‘thank you’ before running off, and you’re lunging forward just to make sure he’s safe, running a little behind him while he navigates his father’s voice. it seems like he doesn’t have much care for the loud noises when his dad is finally in view because he speeds immediately into his arms before a tall man comes into view, and you’re blessed with seeing this hot-ass dad in a baggy long-sleeved top.

“hey… thank you for lookin’ out for the kid. i’m fushiguro toji,” toji nods towards you in acknowledgement, looking past your face after appreciating it before glancing down to your figure. “what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?”

megumi who was propped up against his shoulder opts to cling to his father’s neck, hiding from the rest of the world while you walk slowly alongside the man, fingers thumbing the strap of your bag to keep your grounded. you were quick to explain that you were here because of your boyfriend, and you swear a glint of disappointment flashed in his eyes, but you don’t give it much thought because soon the man himself is running up to you with a renewed sense of confidence.

it was probably because toji was here; and sure, you knew about fushiguro toji and how much your boyfriend loved him, but you didn’t know how popular he could get, drawing countless pairs of eyes to your interaction. 

“hi! hi, fushiguro toji right?” and you’re already ready for the clownery to start when he opens his mouth, “i’m wakashita daisuke, big fan! any chance you’ll get back into racing?” daisuke is spouting so much shit you can’t even bear to look up but there’s one sentence that has got toji riled up, using just one hand to threaten your boyfriend who looks scared out of his mind. “you’d look so good with a Ford Mustang too, why don’t you sell off that old Corvette you’ve got—”

and soon toji is clutching onto the collar of his shirt, easily pulling him off the ground as the people surrounding you laugh and whoop. seems like you weren’t the only one who hated him.

“that Corvette means something to me, not like that piece of junk you call your Camaro. and at least i treat my car better than how you treat your girlfriend,” he spits the word like it’s venom, “who you can’t even respect as a person.”

daisuke is plopped onto the floor, but toji easily backs him up with a finger to his chest, “laughing like an idiot when she doesn’t know about engines and then saying you taught her — that would reflect your efforts as a teacher, wouldn’t it?” the man smirks when your boyfriend stutters out his answer, the crowd oooh-ing like it’s a free show.

“and then you leave her stranded for the whole night to hang with your boys, in a place where she’s uncomfortable and vulnerable. but you couldn’t give a shit, can’t you? you’re too busy sucking your friends’ cocks to notice.” there’s howls of laughter now (you can’t help but let out a giggle too) with how ruthless toji is being, all the while having a kid on his shoulder, but you imagine megumi is used to these types of altercations by now.

toji leans down to spit in his face, “you disrespect a woman in my eyes, you’re a joke to me.”

he just rolls your eyes, heading off from your stupid boyfriend and toji fully expects you to follow, beckoning you to go with him when you stay rooted. “c’mon, don’t mind him. he didn’t deserve you.” toji mutters, pressing a kiss to megumi’s temple as he leads you away from the scene silently, and you leap at the opportunity to thank him immediately.

“to be fair… i did all the research for my boyfriend,” toji interrupts with ex-, and you laugh, “yeah, ex-. but i’m not entirely opposed to learning about cars. they seem kinda cool.”

“is this your way of telling me you want me to teach you?” what’s a little flirting with a guy, anyway? even the other said it himself, daisuke didn’t deserve you. you nod with a sheepish smile, petting megumi’s head when he rouses from his dad’s shoulder, heart warming at how the young boy shoots you a gleaming smile.

toji shrugs with a little chuckle, “sure.” he’s keen on showing you his Chevrolet Corvette at the other end of the parking lot first, telling you about the specifications and the modifications he made for it to be suitable for drifting. he explains how his Corvette had to be converted to a rear-wheel-drive car, or a RWD to support the heavy stress on the back wheels to make a successful drift turn.

toji tells you the differences between a clutch kick and a shift lock and how to sustain a drift on a sharp turn, excited at finally finding someone who didn’t have a clue about racing. he even offers to show you, but you’re a little too intimidated by being in the passenger seat with him, especially when it’s going at high speeds.

“maybe another day,” you offer and toji picks up on your insinuation, trying to stifle at grin that maybe this attraction wasn’t one-sided. he liked the way you talked to megumi, he liked the way you intently listened about his love for cars, and he couldn’t wait to get you in his car with a hand to your thigh.

“i’ll hold you to your offer, darlin’.” the name sounded so much better coming from his mouth, an attractive smile lining his face before he offered his free arm for you to hang on, gasping silently when you felt how toned his arm was. oh, the late night thoughts you already knew you were gonna have…

“i’ll tell you about the other cars here, let’s go.”

thirsts and drabble requests are open!

#moonjella #satoruhour's mutuals #asks #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk headcanons #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk drabbles #toji fluff #toji x reader #toji imagine #toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro fluff #fushiguro toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen toji #jjk toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji headcanons #toji fushiguro imagine #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x you

[tswwwit]

Cult Part Four, coming at ya! Here's parts One, Two, and Three for reference.

Bill’s patience is running out. 

Dipper can see the way his eye narrows from across the room. His tapping fingers hit a frustrated staccato, rather than an idle bored beat.

Any moment now he’s going to act. There’s no preventing it; only enduring. Dipper hunches down in his seat. 

Hopefully it won’t end up as bad as last time.

“Boring!” Bill shouts. He throws his arms in the air before slumping down dramatically on the couch. “Are you really gonna spend all your time reading?”

And there it is.

Dipper watches Bill for a deliberately long moment, then turns back to his book. 

Unfortunately, for Bill, yes, that is how Dipper’s going to spend his time. After the last debacle, he knows better than to ‘go with the flow’, as Bill so annoyingly put it. 

“I get that you’re quiet for respectable enough reasons, but do you gotta be a homebody while you’re at it?” Bill rolls onto his stomach, chin braced in his palm. “What about all the other entertainment around? Our little outing the other day was way more interesting.” Without looking up, Dipper gives him a thumbs down. And though Bill makes a derisive sound, he doesn’t argue. 

That’s as good as admitting Dipper was right. One more day without horrifying demonic escapades in the nightmare realm, and a personal win.

What’s good for the demon… isn’t nearly as good for squishier, more mortal beings. Annoying as it is for Bill, he knows that as well as Dipper does.

Which is likely why he’s not pushing it. 

Even he has to admit that the outing didn’t go great. Keeping his human captive alive must be worth a little boredom.

That ‘fun little tour of the Fearamid, to ‘show you around the place!’ was supposed to be easy. As if wandering around a physics-defying realm is a walk in the park. One filled with hundreds of overpowered monsters who think  ‘mortal’ is a synonym for ‘snack’. 

Even if Bill had advertised it as a trainwreck, it couldn’t possibly have gone more off the rails.

To Bill’s credit, his infinite power did keep the slavering hordes at bay. They were on their best behavior. It’s just that their ‘best’ behavior is barely human-adjacent.

The day ended with Dipper somewhat more informed, miraculously unharmed, and only shaking a little. Getting all the ash and viscera off took three rounds of laundry and two baths. 

Bill, of course, laughed nearly the whole time.

So yeah. Dipper’s not going out again anytime soon. Eventually he’ll have to, if he wants to go anywhere but the apartment - but he wants to get way better at magic first.

Unfortunately for Bill, that means waiting. And he hates waiting.

Another long, bored groan from the couch. A quick glance shows Bill practically melting off it onto the floor. Torso dangling, arm draped along the carpet.  

More dramatics. Typical Bill. It’s not serious and Dipper doesn’t need to placate him. He has to remember that.

Instead, he stares at the text in front of him. Concentrating on it is a lost cause, but it’s better than meeting Bill’s eye. That just makes him uncomfortable.

It’s just. 

Like, he can understand if having a guest sit around the house all the time is a bit boring. Bill’s used to higher stakes. More excitement, and explosions. 

But Bill’s also a hypocrite, because Dipper’s absolutely caught him with his nose stuck in a volume or six of dense magical literature. He just shoves them under the couch cushions and pretends he was doing something cooler. 

There’s a billion ways Bill could entertain himself, and ninety-nine point nine repeating percent of those options don’t require some random human to be involved. He could run off into any distant realm of reality. Pull some pranks in another galaxy, bamboozle some head of state on a random planet. And if he didn’t want to go out, he could stick around and torment some demons in the Fearamid.

Nothing is making him bring Dipper along for the ride. Hell, if he’s that desperate for this specific company, he could try out some peace and quiet. Sit on the couch, whip out a book, and spend time reading. All he has to do is stop putting up a front for like, five seconds.

Dipper watches as Bill slowly oozes onto the floor, about as liquid as a presumably flesh-and-bone demon shape can be. 

Yeah. No way Bill’s going for the last one. But that’s not Dipper’s fault. 

Seeing him sulk is kinda reassuring. Any time Bill spends complaining is time he’s not concocting a devious ploy, or taking up his hobbies of conquest or slaughter.

Best of all, it means this has nothing to do with Dipper. Aside from being convenient to complain at.

Because Dipper is special. He’s there for a reason. 

In the fullness of time, he’ll be tangled up in some complicated, demonic scheme. Designed for him by fate, and handled by a master of machinations. He’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop for a while - but apparently it’s not happening today.

Right now Bill’s just being obnoxious. Just like every other day that ends in ‘y’.

Judging by his slumped position, Bill also doesn’t look like he’s getting up anytime soon. Maybe…

‘What’s wrong?’ Dipper traces the letters with his finger. A thin glowing line left behind in its wake.

He’s still learning the hand gesture language, with a limited vocabulary, but he already knows how to write. Learning a little illusion magic has been useful, and Bill wasn’t even a jerk about it. Much.

The words hover in midair, alight with white-blue light. Dipper waits for a few seconds, then frowns.

The downside of writing to Bill is that he has to see it to respond. The big sulky demon god is too busy contemplating the pile on the carpet to pay attention.

Dipper’s frown turns into a glare. 

A snap of his fingers makes a bright burst of light, sharp as a flashbang. Bill jerks up from his liquid position like he was never out of shape.

“What’s up, sapling?” Bill rolls onto his side to lounge, head propped up on one raised arm. Likely aiming for suave, but with his legs still on the couch it just looks stupid. “Are you as bored as I am?”

“No,” Dipper writes, then again, “What’s wrong?”

“Pfft, nothing! Don't be ridiculous.” Bill says, letting his legs slide down to join him on the floor. “I got everything under control here.”

That’s ominous. Dipper didn’t even imply that something might be out of control.

“What-” Dipper continues. Then hesitates. “You seem antsy.”

Bill snorts. Though Dipper knows he doesn’t have any trouble reading backwards script, he doesn’t offer a reply.

Not helpful. Classic Bill. And he’s avoiding the question. Dipper slumps in his seat. 

Trying to make Bill admit there’s a problem won’t work. He could spend a million years on that quest and still get evaded.

With that in mind, Dipper taps his foot on the floor a few times. Redirection, then. He tries, “Who messed up?”

“Ha!” Bill claps once, grin resuming its rightful place. “Astutely observed, sapling. You wouldn’t believe the amount of incompetence I gotta deal with on the daily.”

Dipper nods in sympathy, rolling his eyes when Bill’s not looking. Then he sits back, an audience for the oncoming speech. 

“You’d think that one simple request wouldn’t be tough to pull off.” Rising to his feet, Bill tucks his arms behind his back and starts pacing. “But no! Apparently the losers for hire these days take over two weeks to manage one tiny,” He pinches his fingers together. “Itsy bitsy little request! Even with encouragement!”

Dipper raises an eyebrow.

The type of ‘encouragement’ Bill typically offers would light a fire under anyone’s ass. The fact that it hasn’t says a lot.

For a short while, Bill simply paces back and forth. He looks like he’s about to say something, glancing at Dipper - then he turns away, eye narrowed. “I hate waiting.”

Yeah, no kidding. All evidence points to Dipper getting the most patient version of this creature, when others barely get seconds to respond. He punched him in the face and he’s still around to tell the tale.

Other beings aren’t so lucky. Even for minor infractions, or just ‘looking funny’ at him. 

Dipper should know. He scraped plenty of their viscera off the other day.

Writing something to placate Bill would get him huffy. Asking a question… Dipper has a sense that he’d deflect. If Bill wanted to go into greater detail, nothing would stop him from spilling the beans.

So instead of any of that, Dipper smiles. 

Like always, Bill responds with one of his own. Everything about him brightens, like flipping a switch.

“Eh, whatever. It’s no big deal!” Sauntering over, Bill leans against the back of the chair. His arm dangles down to brush the back of Dipper’s head. “Word is they’re finally done with the job. Should be here any day now!”

Bill’s playing a bit with Dipper’s hair, but he doesn’t come any closer. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because the high back of the chair prevents him. 

Tough luck for Bill. This seat is comfy and all, but Dipper really picked it because it made it hard for him to loom.

Disobeying his god’s will is, of course, blasphemous, insolent, and absolutely forbidden.

But Bill doesn’t care. And frankly - Dipper doesn’t care much anymore, either. 

Making Bill work for what he wants feels right. Appropriate. 

Every time Bill runs right into a roadblock, watching him grumble and scheme his way around it is honestly kinda fun. Giving Bill something to work around seems to entertain him, and for Dipper - it almost feels righteous to thwart him. He’s kind of getting the hang of it. aside from the occasional burst of guilt.

Overall, Dipper’s really, really glad he read all those books.

The mini-library in the guest room has been an amazing resource. Not only for magic, but for the Fearamid, and monsters. It’s helped him brush up on his Latin and learn a bunch of spells.

He also learned that Bill probably didn’t stock these for him. No, these were there well before Dipper ever showed up. 

Though Bill tries to hide it, he likes books. The guest room ones wouldn’t be of much interest; the magical material’s too basic for him to care. Of course Bill would have flipped through them anyway, but if anything truly bothered him, he’d have pruned the collection, merely for his pride.

But Bill either didn’t notice - or didn’t care - about the anecdotes.

Sprinkled in those studious texts are dozens of tiny notes. Between every monster examination, or explanation of a complicated magical theory, there are mentions of Bill himself. A sentence scribbled in the margins, or a short paragraph explaining how Bill ‘thought it was stupid’ or ‘helped with this part’. All written with a steady, studious hand.

There’s nothing about Bill’s powers, or his domains. No sense of any weaknesses or strengths. Some anecdotes are a little funny, some a little strange, but for any academic or enemy purposes they’d barely be worth reading.

To Dipper, they’ve been absolutely invaluable. 

They speak volumes about Bill’s personality. 

That’s totally critical information if you have to deal with the demon himself. Reading between the lines revealed traits Dipper never learned in sermons. 

How Bill loves a good joke. How he’s temperamental, but easygoing as long as he thinks he’s in charge. The kinds of things one can get away with, if they’re clever. All of it written with absolute confidence, oozing a type of exasperated affection that leaps off the page.

Someone lived in that room before. A human. A guy who knew Bill, who did tons of fascinating stuff - and that guy got away with way more defiance than is rational or reasonable. 

Though that must have been centuries ago. The books are really old. 

There’s a low hum behind him. Dipper can feel the chair rock a bit, as Bill either tests its balance - or whether he can rip the back off, in service of more efficient human-bothering.

Another one of Bill’s personality traits. One Dipper could have guessed by himself.

He loves being the center of attention.

“Hmmm,” Bill hums again, stalking around Dipper with a contemplative look. Circling much like sharks are said to, though thankfully without the testing bites. Treating this more like a puzzle than an act of defiance.

Looks like the chair is giving him some trouble. Even though he offered to create the seat since Dipper wouldn’t join him on the couch. If anything he’s at fault for making it an option. 

With a huff, Dipper shifts until his back is pressed against the cushion. Bill pauses in his circling to inspect the new position, tilting his head. 

Once Dipper saw a video of a tiger in its cage, rolling a pumpkin filled with raw meat. It seemed like it was having a lot of fun, batting it around and biting into the flesh. 

Bill might not mind some defiance, if it serves a similar purpose. 

Before Dipper can wonder what amount of it fits the - well, bill - he’s interrupted by a foot stomping on the seat.

Dipper claps the book shut. Leaning away, he stares at the leg beside him. 

Bill’s taken his shoe off and stepped right onto his chair. His three-eyed monkey-patterned sock, toes wiggling, trying to nudge itself under Dipper’s thigh. 

What the hell is this supposed to accomplish? Dipper glares upwards at a bright, bold grin. 

“What’s the big deal? It’s my chair, technically speaking!” Bill winks with his single eye, tenuously balanced as he barges into Dipper’s personal space. His foot finds a weak place and slips between Dipper’s thigh and the cushion. “Scoot your cute butt and make some space.” 

It’s a big deal because it’s rude, for one. And second, Dipper’s not scooting anywhere. 

Drawing his legs up in an attempt to kick Bill’s out fails spectacularly. A whole calf gets wedged underneath him. Bill’s straddling the arm of the chair, his idiot bulky leg nearly shoving Dipper out of it. 

Shoving him back just makes him laugh. And work harder.

It’s a tense ten, maybe twenty seconds of squirming struggle. No matter how Dipper tries to use balance or leverage, he ends up with more inches of Bill underneath him. 

This is ridiculous. Bill has an entire couch to himself. He can make furniture appear and disappear out of nowhere. If he wants a damn chair, he could just create one.

But. That’s not the point, is it?

He wants Dipper’s seat because he’s not allowed to have it. The desirability is directly tied to the difficulty of obtaining it, with a side of annoying a human to boot. Dipper could be lying on a bed of nails and Bill would still tip him out, just to get his kicks.

He’s not even sitting in the chair at this point, merely hovering while using the arm for balance. Trying to plop back down would land him more on Bill than on cushion. 

Screw it. Dipper cedes his position with as much dignity as possible. Standing up tugging the rolled-up flannel sleeves down his arms. 

The newest conquest of Bill Cipher: One seat in the living room. Dipper hopes he’s real happy about it.

Funny thing though. In the process, he left his own throne unguarded. 

Dipper stalks towards the couch - he doesn’t like the material it’s made of, but it’s either make a point or start huffing off to his own room - 

Only to be hauled right back in. 

The grip on his hips is firm and fast enough that Dipper doesn’t have time to resist. Butt hits thigh, then gets tugged further back until he’s fully, unquestionably, in Bill’s lap.

He just got out of the chair. Bill had won. What the hell. 

Dipper gives him an incredulous look, and Bill responds with a big, self-satisfied smile.

“Well, well, well,” Bill says, dripping smugness so thick that Dipper could wipe it off in globs. “Look what we have here.”

The only reply he’s getting for that is a grunt. While this isn’t the first dumb stunt Bill’s pulled, Dipper knows better than to react. It only eggs him on.

Of all the people Dipper’s met, Bill Cipher is by far the most touchy. The closest runnerup is a few lightyears away. 

Even now, his arms loop loosely around Dipper’s waist, patting him on the side. He’s warm and close, in an alive way, not like a warm bed or a shower, or even a seat that was sat in before. 

It’s… not unpleasant. Not exactly. Dipper shifts around, trying to settle into his new ‘seat’ on Bill’s thighs. It’s just - 

Damn it, he doesn’t know what it is. Touching someone else isn’t bad, Dipper has to admit that - but it makes him too aware of himself. Feeling every way he positions his arms, or moves his weight. Like remembering he can breathe manually, with an extra uneasy sense that someone might catch him in the act.

Bill’s unbothered. But basically nothing bothers him. He’s chummy and touchy and weird, the concept of ‘guilt’ might not even fit in his head.

Something about Bill just... Makes Dipper think too much. Makes him weirdly restless.  Like he’s doing something wrong - but also like he’s totally going to get away with it. A tense energy that builds slowly over time, until he either has to escape, or like. Explode or something.

It’s probably Bill’s magic. He should rein that in better. It’s far too strong to dunk an entire human in all the time. 

“Ah, ease up already.” Bill says, clapping Dipper’s thigh with a startling motion, squeezing him just above the knee. “You still got a seat, only it’s better.” His voice grows quieter, close to Dipper’s ear. “Don’tcha like it?”

His breath is warm. It tickles. Dipper barely avoids slapping him in the rush to cover his neck. 

Which doesn’t bother Bill. In fact, he laughs. Dipper has a sneaking suspicion that even if he had smacked him, he’d be outright cackling, because again, total weirdo.

Across the room, there’s a wordless, agonized scream. 

Dipper nearly leaps upright, kept in place only by an instantly tightened grip. Bill snaps towards the sound, looking surprised.

Ah, right. The doorbell. 

That goddamn sound. Even when Dipper knows what it is, the temptation to run for cover is as strong as the first time.

“Oh for - “ Bill draws a hand down his face. “Had to be right now, didn’t it.” His leg jogs in place as Dipper tries to get up. “Hey, hey, hold up! Where do you think you’re going?”

Off his lap, duh. With someone at the door, Bill has to get up anyway. Not that he’s making it easy. 

Dipper takes the initiative to pry himself away - or attempts to, until Bill clamps back down without even looking at him. 

This is getting ridiculous. He can’t hang on to one human forever.

When the doorbell screams again, Bill looks downright sour. 

“Ughhh.” Bill groans, standing without warning. It nearly topples Dipper over. “Yeah, yeah, hang on, will ya?”

Giving Dipper a brief pat on the small of his back, Bill stomps over to the door. Another scream rings through the penthouse, then again, the sounds overlapping.

Freedom. Finally. Out of sheer pettiness, Dipper drops down to reclaim his rightful seat. 

Still, he’s curious. 

From this position he can’t quite see the doorway. Only the sight of Bill’s back, storming towards it.

There haven’t been many visitors. When Bill wants demon interaction, he heads outside the apartment. The only other time someone rang the doorbell, they brought some big weird box Bill grabbed before kicking the delivery guy to the curb. 

Yet another interesting fact, filed away in his personal Bill folder. That he gets deliveries. He doesn’t make everything out of nothing. Maybe he can’t.

Which means even in his own personal realm, Bill Cipher isn’t totally omnipotent. Another knock to his all-powerful status. Not a big one. Bill’s still so close to a god that it might as well not make a difference.

But it does. To Dipper, it does. Knowing that not everything bends to Bill’s will feels…

He’s just glad he’s not alone in that, he guesses.

Off in the distance, Bill opens the door. His frown flips right into a smirk - then he steps outside, and shuts it. 

Probably another package. He looked extra smug about the last one, like he’d been waiting for it for a while. This follows the last one.

Dipper leans over, staying seated. With the door closed he can’t see anything, and if they’re having a conversation, he can’t hear it. 

Secrets. Smugness. The mentions of ‘errands’ earlier, and the waiting - 

Bill’s up to something.

The Grand Plans of Bill Cipher are invisible to those outside his circle. His divine machinations are how he leads his followers and manipulates the masses. All eventually leading together into the Grand Goal: the subjugation of Earth, illuminated eternally under his golden image. 

Though if conquering a world involves internet delivery, it’s a lot less dramatic than it was made out to be.

Dipper lets his head thump back against the seat cushion. 

Not that, then. Something else.

Pretending Bill isn’t up to something would be dumb at best, and Dipper’s not the type to ignore evidence right in front of him. Getting strange deliveries. Rubbing his hands together and cackling to himself, the fact that he’s Bill Cipher - all of it points towards a plan. A poorly hidden, minor one, but still.

None of the scriptures he learned are accurate, according to the god himself -  and Bill’s kept mum about any new escapades. Without clues to go on, all Dipper can do is speculate.

Eventually, Bill will show his hand. An offhand comment, or an extra-bizarre set of actions. Until then, he’ll have to keep an eye out for Bill acting weird. 

Well. Weirder. 

And hope, rather nervously, that he’s not too deeply involved.

Dipper sets the book aside, folding his hands in his lap. He looks back at the door, then over the living room. 

The fireplace in front of him crackles with warmth, typical fire-colored flames lapping up into the nonexistent chimney. The flannel shirt he’s wearing is almost too warm, but he keeps it tucked around him anyway. Under his weight, the chair’s cushions sink around him, sturdy yet soft. Rich and opulent and comfortable.

Despite how strange it is here. How confusing, weird, and occasionally frustrating…

Living with Bill doesn’t suck. 

The other shoe is going to fall at some point. That unpreventable, oncoming disaster. Dipper’s always worried about it, he never won’t be. 

But right here, and right now, he’s…

Not safe. Never safe, not around a god and demon. But maybe close enough to feel that way, sometimes. 

Despite the fact that it’s impossible - if things could stay like this, then -

His thoughts are interrupted by a sudden loud slam. Which is. The door. Right. 

Dipper pries his nails out of the arms of the chair. He shuts his eyes, and lets out a slow, careful breath. He needs to stop flinching, damn it. 

He hears Bill’s cackling laughter rings through the room, loud and bright. Dipper rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat.

Alright. Time to make some mental notes. 

What’s Bill up to now?

If it’s anything like the last package, he’s going to act all mysterious about it, while also implying Dipper should be very curious and intrigued. Then never answer literally any question and giggle before running away. Both stupid and annoying. 

“Finally! I’ve waited way too long for this,” Bill says. There’s a package wrapped in brown paper, tucked under his arm. He rubs his hands together, looking Dipper over with anticipation. “Paid a pretty penny for it, too.” 

Dipper runs over a slew of options - subtle, hinting. Maybe if he throws in a smile, that’ll sway Bill into spilling a secret….

Fuck it, he’s in a good mood. Dipper just asks. Writing out, “What is that?”

“Oh, you’ll see. You’ll see.” Bill tosses the package aside - it floats in midair - then seizes Dipper by the shoulders. “Get yourself ready, sapling! Cause we’re doing this tonight.” 

What. 

Dipper tries for a smile. He tries to gesture out ‘My what’, and is immediately thwarted as Bill hauls him up from his seat; he grabs onto Bill’s arms so he’ll stop with the shaking. 

Enthusiasm is nice and all, but seriously, what the hell?

The way Bill talks makes it sound like he was in on this. A co-conspirator, who should share his excitement about getting this delivery -  Which wouldn’t be too bad, except he has no idea what’s going on. 

“Aw, don’t make that face,” Bill tuts, chucking him gently under the chin. “Getting all the junk required was a pain to subcontract, lemme tell ya - but wait’ll you see the results! Your surprise is almost ready!”

A surprise. Just for him. How fantastic.

So much for not being involved.

Dragging his feet doesn’t help; Bill’s arm comes around his waist and pushes him along. If he dawdled any harder he might just be picked up.

Getting Bill’s attention fails, because he’s not looking. Gesturing words, writing them - nothing turns his head. He’s laser focused on dragging Dipper up and towards his fate.

No, not ‘fate’. Surprise. 

That could be bad. Really, really bad, or it… could be good. Some surprises are good. That’s within the realm of possibility. 

Who the hell is he kidding. It’s never a good surprise, not even once. 

Bill hums to himself, bright with energy and - now Dipper’s certain - deliberately ignoring the struggling human in his arms. He’s too busy pulling Dipper towards a doorway. One that wasn’t there a minute ago. 

Dipper’s seen this happen before; it’s another part of the penthouse. Leading to a different, unknown part of the Fearamid.

He casts a longing glance back at his chair. Can’t they just do whatever it is in the living room.

“Now, to set the scene-” Bill says, opening the door wide.

Into a dark room, candle-lit. Sconces flicker with fire on the walls, draped red fabric over seats, and at the end - a large, flat mass of stone. Dipper goes very, very still.

“Whoops! Wrong setup.” Bill slams the door shut, flashing a grin at Dipper that entirely fails to be reassuring. He taps the doorknob a couple times. After a moment, he opens it again “Here we go!”

Clutching Bill’s arm tight, nails nearly cutting the fabric - Dipper gets a glimpse of white and black and gold, a bunch of tile - then shuts his eyes and digs in his heels into the carpet. Useless. Pointless. But a small, deliberate act of defiance.

“Not the most dramatic scenery, but eh, whatever.” Bill keeps talking, as casual as if he’d flipped to the wrong photo on his phone. Dipper’s socks skip on the carpet, then slide against the tile as Bill drags him forward. “There’s something to be said for easier clean up!”

Cleanup. 

Dipper clenches his mouth shut, ducking his head and refusing to look. He can’t watch this again. Not ever. He’ll-

“Now stay here, sapling.” Bill pats his back twice, and Dipper hears his shoes clacking on tile as he walks away. “Gotta do some quick concocting, be about five minutes - and then we’re gonna have a great evening!”

Great for who, Dipper wants to ask. He wisely doesn’t. He doesn’t move an inch. 

This is going to be bad.

Bill leaves, still cackling. Dipper stands where he is, eyes shut. Tucking his arms around himself, even though it isn’t cold. 

This entire time, he’s known he was here for a purpose. That living here wasn’t some grand generous gesture, that Bill’s ulterior motive would rear its ugly head. He should have spent more time figuring it out. Learning how to escape it. He has a whole huge list of things and none of them are any goddamn help. 

Bill said he was special. Gods don't grant that adjective without implications. 

What little information he has gleaned isn’t useful. The last time Dipper asked, Bill just looked amused. Closing the distance between them with a slow, dangerous smile, repeating exactly what he said again, low and pleased.

Dipper had to go and sit in his nice quiet room after that. It made him really nervous. Not knowing what’s coming makes him nervous. 

Okay, a lot of things make him nervous, but this time he has very good reasons to feel that way.

Time to think. Get ahead of whatever’s going on, and find a way out. What does Bill want?

It could be he was kidnapped from that particular sect because of… something something magic reasons. Anything could cause it. Maybe something in the ritual. What if whatever it did didn’t just summon Bill, but affected Dipper, now he’s roiling with sacrifice potential, he could -

He grips his wrist, tracing a thumb over the scar.

With the bandages gone and the stitches out, it’s nothing more than a line. Slightly raised from the rest of the skin, pink with healing. 

No. Blood’s not the answer. That’s all staying inside. 

But it is a major magical component, both literally and symbolically. If something else made Dipper weird, it’d show up like antibodies after an infection.

And Bill brought him into a special place for easy cleanup. If anything’s more ominous, Dipper sure as hell can’t think of it. This place with the shining tiles, and the cold floor, full of - 

He hasn’t checked what it’s full of.

Swallowing dryly, Dipper takes in the clean surfaces, the shining tile, and all of the…

Bathtubs?

The one set in the floor is big enough for three people. Two are stuck into the walls, another bent ninety degrees to fit in the corner, and one on the ceiling, of all places. There’s a big, semi-transparent curtain around an alcove containing over eight showerheads. There’s a rubber duckie that has six wings and too many teeth. 

This looks like a bathroom. One weird, physics defying, nonsensical - wait a minute -

On impulse, Dipper scoots over and picks up one of the bottles near the multi-headed shower. He sniffs at the cap.

Yeah. He knows this smell. It’s close enough to put a finger on. In that it’s put finger and palm and annoying arm around Dipper, all the freaking time.

He sets the bottle back down, setting fists on his hips. Glaring at his surroundings doesn’t make them change, but it does make him feel better.

This is Bill’s bathroom.

What kind of evil plan takes place in a bathroom.

Freaking out seems less reasonable and more a waste of time. Easy cleanup - was that literal, or another bad joke? Bill would think that crap was funny.

He breathes in, and then lets it out, slow and careful.

Obviously there’s still a purpose. Probably it’s not great. 

Terror’s just hard to sustain when he’s wondering why Bill needs four different loofahs. His list of awful fates never involved shower gel.

Dipper shuffles back over to the sink - wishing he’d had shoes on, he nearly slips twice - and checks himself in the mirror. 

He looks small and oddly colorful, out of place among the black-white tiling. Standing out like an awkward, human thumb.

Pulling some big, important move here doesn’t seem likely. The aesthetic’s terrible, Bill’d pick somewhere way cooler.

Overall the bathroom is kinda normal - by Bill standards - both fairly humid and warm. The air smells like shampoo and soap, instead of blood and magic. 

Now, the altar room would have made sense. Human sacrifice, demonic soul-devouring, messy blood ritual - it’s a multipurpose setup. Getting dragged in there would have shortened Dipper’s list by a ton. Only to the goriest and most awful fates, but at least it would narrow it down.

Unless… this doesn’t have to do with why he was kidnapped. 

Dipper frowns at his reflection.

Thinking about it, didn’t Bill suggest getting in the tub with him a few days ago? At the time Dipper thought that was a joke. Unless it wasn’t?

All this happened because Bill got a delivery. Something Bill couldn’t make for himself. He’s been planning this for a while, and he was really, really excited about it.

…Bath bombs better not be literal in this place. That’d be a stupid way to die. 

As he stares in the mirror, his reflection looks back. Dipper looks tired, but mostly, kind of exasperated. He sighs, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of both hands. 

Yeah. Bill’s being Bill again.

And honestly? Could be worse. Dipper knows how to deal with a few random deific impulses by now. He can ride this one out, too.

Since Bill isn’t back though…

After that first panicked flight into Bill’s bedroom, Dipper hasn’t seen much of his private stuff. Staying clear of another incident took priority. Now, there’s an opportunity to investigate.

A close sweep reveals zero secrets, other than Bill using like, ten different skin products and a stupid amount of hair ones. The sharpest object in the entire place is a bunch of toothpicks and nail products. There isn’t even a razor in here. 

In the middle of wondering how to bathe in the Rube Goldberg machine that passes for a shower, he hears the door open again.

“Here we are!” Bill says brightly. “Didja miss me? Admit it, you missed me.”

Dipper spins around with a start, socks skidding, and meets one of the biggest grins he’s ever seen. Which is saying something. 

“No time to waste! I’ve got a whole evening laid out for us.” Bill says. He gestures in the air with a thin glass syringe. “And it all starts with this.”

Light glints off an absurdly large needle, thinned to an impossibly sharp point. The glass underneath swirls in a sickening cloud of grey-green fluid, dotted with tiny rainbow sparkles. Actually, the shower might not be good for bathing, but could be a good place to hide. There’s a lot of things to grab onto when someone tries to drag you back out.

“Hey hey hey!” Bill snags him by the waistband before he moves more than an inch. Almost like he anticipated the retreat. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, kid. This is gonna be great! You’ll love it!”

Dipper shakes his head rapidly. He makes an X with his arms. Neither of which stop Bill from pulling him in with relentless strength and terrible amusement.

Running’s off the table. Squirming away from Bill hasn’t worked literally any time he’s tried it, either - but that’s no reason to quit now. Even with Bill grunting and swearing as limbs flail and sorta-maybe accidentally on purpose get him in the gut, if Dipper can get to a faucet and make everything wet that’ll make it harder to hold-

“Calm down, Pine Tree.” Bill says, then sighs as Dipper’s elbow collides with his chest. “Don’t you want your tongue back?”

He’s got to -

What?

It’s surprising enough that Dipper stops. A little too fast, maybe; he should have toed his socks off earlier. If Bill weren’t holding onto him, his face might have hit the floor.

“Ha! Knew that’d get you listening.” Bill says smugly. With a quick tug, he gets Dipper back on his feet - primps his collar for him, in an annoying way - and winks. “You, me, your tongue - we’ll all get along famously, guaranteed.”

That’s not possible. That’s - 

Dipper glares at this asshole for playing yet another game, and not a funny one at that. Bill beams back at him, and doesn’t elaborate. 

“What, still a skeptic?” Bill raises an eyebrow. “Hello! I’m Bill friggin’ Cipher. You think a little body horror’s outta my purview?”

Okay, fine, but. But Dipper just figured out that Bill isn’t as much of a bigshot as he claims. 

This is - has to be - another big fat stinking lie.

Before he can argue, Bill starts talking again. “See, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.” Tilting his head back, he looks up at the ceiling like he’s being thoughtful, instead of frustrating. He taps the terrifying syringe against his cheek. “And I figured - Hey! I don’t like fixing other people’s mistakes - but this screwup was too bad to ignore!”

A mistake, he says. A screwup.

Dipper bites his lip. Sure, Bill’s said those things before. But. He’s never even breathed the word ‘fix’. 

This is something that he wants Dipper to believe. There’s no basis in reality. To bring this up now, out of absolute nowhere, is cruel and insane. There has to be a complication, it won’t be easy, or -

Possible. It’s not possible. 

Dipper wants to slap himself; he grabs his shirt instead, holding it tight in balled fists. 

This has been over with for a long, long time now. He screwed up, he got caught, and even if he didn’t deserve it then, well. What’s done is done. He’s learned to live with that. Been there, done all the steps of grief, despair and rage, bought the t-shirt.

Nobody could have stopped it. Nobody would do anything about it then, and won't now. Nobody was ever going to save him, or make things right. 

Maybe Bill didn’t order this. Or condone it. It doesn’t matter. 

None of that changed how things turned out.  

Bill has been watching Dipper for a while. Not in an upset way, just curious. Like he’s reading Dipper’s mind - which he probably is - but hasn’t bothered to correct him. He catches Dipper’s gaze in the mirror and flashes a smile, before his face returns to semi-neutral.

Guess he isn’t going to fess up. That’s fine. 

If this is Bill’s idiotic plan, getting Dipper worked up, he might as well know what the cruel, senseless motivation is. Or make it look as dumb as it clearly is.

Time to pick this ploy apart.

Unfortunately, that brief moment of hesitation bought Bill enough time to get behind him. His stupid face is so smug in the mirror’s reflection, and his palm is warm on Dipper’s waist.

Dipper grimaces, hunching his shoulders. He can’t let himself be swayed. Not to this insanity.

Some things just have to be cut off.

“It won’t work.” He writes. 

“Bullshit.” Bill says flatly. He taps Dipper’s shoulder, slight irritation in his voice. “I didn’t put in this much effort and that much cash to make a friggin’ placebo.” A quick, semi-gentle shake. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing? That I’m some run-of-the-mill sucker? I deserve more credit than that!”

And - yes, hard to argue with. For all of Bill’s many flaws, he’s not truly stupid. 

Still a liar, though. A fact proven over and over again. That he’s persisting with this one shows real commitment to the bit. This awful, prank that he’s - 

…pretty damn excited about it. Practically bursting with enthusiasm, bright and eager to move on with things. Like regrowing a body part is like running a quick, exciting errand. Like it’d be simple. Dipper wonders if it is, before glaring in the mirror again.

It’s the confidence. Bill always acts like could stride forward into any situation, and no matter what, the forces of his magic and his ego will come out on top. He’s so certain of himself it’s downright convincing.

Damn it. Dipper rubs at his eyes.

Overthinking, again. Leading him to the train of thought Bill wanted him to take. Now he’s finding it hard to derail.

And - and besides, even if Bill could do it, he would have earlier, wouldn’t he? Would have fixed things as soon as he knew. He waited with bated breath to hear Dipper speak, that expectant look started from day one. Spoken at length about how much he hates the tongue situation, too. It’s like it bothers him more than Dipper at this point, which is so weird that it almost loops back around to make sense. He would have used anything he had on hand -

Dipper looks up. His own face in the mirror stares back at him, wide-eyed.

Unless he didn’t have it on hand. 

The packages.

Another glance at Bill’s face shows the same expression, maybe a little more intrigued. It might even pass for reassuring, if he wasn’t holding a needle sized more for puncturing cat-sized butterflies than any medical procedure.

Bill can’t do everything. Only mostly everything. Dipper’s seen that firsthand. 

And when he does have everything he needs for a plan, he snatches the first possible opportunity to pull it off. 

It’s - 

Dipper can’t. He needs more information.

‘What’s in that’, He writes the words in the air. Legible, if shaky.

“Eh, you got your hydra plasma, some troll platelets, unicorn spit,” Bill casually lists off the ingredients with practiced ease, flicking the side of the syringe. “Some stuff of my own design - and a few drops of your blood.”

His - Dipper pats himself, checking his arms, his torso. Nothing hurts, and he hasn’t noticed new scabs. Surely he would have seen Bill coming over to - 

Another snort. “Uh, hello? You left plenty around the place when I stitched you up, kid. It was hardly in short supply.”

Another bit of truth; it did kinda go everywhere. And Bill would save some, like a creep.

Dipper rubs at his wrist, reminding himself that it’s absurd to be embarrassed about getting an arm slashed open. 

“I get why you’re not jazzed, kid. Not a fan of mouth stuff after your last big show, am I right?” Bill moves to sling an arm around his shoulders, missing as Dipper ducks and slides closer to the sink. He holds his arm out wide instead. “But think about the benefits! Don’tcha wanna talk again? Taste again? All the other stuff?”

Yeah, of course Dipper does. He’s thought about it over and over and over.

He remembers what it was like. Moving around. Talking. How food tasted better, in that he could taste something without it nearly being in the back of his throat. All those aching nights feeling a deep literal emptiness, clamping his teeth shut as if it’d make the yawning gape feel more complete.

Staying awake, with a burn he couldn’t swallow and a pain that wouldn’t stop. 

He was up night after night after night, hanging with those thoughts. Hoping for something entirely out of reach.

Eventually it was easier to stop thinking about it. 

When he dreams, he still has his tongue. 

“After all this time, you got the solution right here! In a solution, conveniently invented by yours truly.” Bill claps a hand to his chest, grinning from behind Dipper in the mirror. “Give it a shot! Literally!”

The ceramic of the sink is cold. Dipper’s holding onto it too hard, his knuckles are starting to hurt. 

He’s so tired of hurting. 

“Or, y’know. Stick with the super happy situation you have going on right now.” Bill makes a face, sticking out his own tongue before blowing a raspberry. He lowers the syringe. “Your choice.”

 Before Bill’s arm can fully fall, Dipper seizes him by the wrist. He doesn’t know when he moved, fast enough that even Bill looks surprised. 

Gotta calm down. Think about this rationally.

There's an all-powerful demon. A smart, conniving asshole, who spent time and effort on a completely crazy plan in this unearthly, magical realm. Carrying an evil implement of unknown origins, wanting to stick it right into his face. 

Because he’s been planning this. He played the long game. Bill’s been wanting to hear from him for ages, and he’s anything but stupid.

If there was ever a place this could work, it would be here. 

Despite everything. The position he’s in, the man standing behind him, and his own internal swearing at himself -

Dipper feels a flutter of long-extinguished hope.

A million things could go wrong with this. As far as he knows, he might have like, his head exploded instead of a good result. He could grow five tongues instead of one, or maybe it’ll come out rainbow colored or everything will taste like blood forever. He shouldn’t go along with this. It’s going to suck and be dumb and there’s no real guarantees.

Also, that needle is fucking terrifying. Another reason not to let Bill do whatever he wants.

Dipper shuts his eyes briefly, then writes, ‘Will it hurt?’

“Yep!” 

The expression on Dipper’s face must alert him to how bad that answer was, because for a brief moment Bill looks chagrined. He glances away, clearing his throat.

“Look. We’re talking about a piece of flesh smaller than a pack of playing cards.” Pinching his fingers together, Bill squints through the gap. “So what if it’s not a great time? It’ll take like twenty seconds! A minute, tops.”

In the mirror, Dipper watches his reflection’s shoulders drop just a bit. He breathes out through his nose, and rolls his eyes.

That… really shouldn’t be reassuring. 

Only it is, because Bill didn’t sugarcoat it.

He could have claimed it was a totally painless process, or tried to deflect and change the subject. Which would set off Dipper’s bullshit alarm pretty much instantly. Leaving him to wonder exactly how bad this would be.

As it stands, Dipper’s betting that ‘not a great time’ actually means ‘will horribly, horribly suck’. And it’s still better than being lied to. 

Another question. “And then what?”

“Then the fun starts, kid! I got a lot of ideas for activities, once you got the ol’ wiggler back in your yap.”

Not what he was asking; Dipper elbows him none-too-gently in the stomach.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bill grumbles a bit, then sighs. “Yes, it’s gonna hurt, you’re gotta shed some scar tissue,” He lifts a few fingers with each point, “Lotta bleeding and liquids and whatever. But super simple! Don’t chicken out now!”

A minute of agony. That’s it. Straightforward. Temporary. Super easy.

Dipper’s palm slips on the sink; he wipes his sweating hands on his pants. He’s standing on the floor but he has to grab the sink again to stave off a swelling sense of vertigo. 

If it’s as quick as Bill says, he can handle that, maybe. If it works. 

It better work.

“Remember, Pine Tree! All the benefits! Like talking! Midnight snacks!” Bill chimes in, sounding too much like a used car salesman to be truly convincing. “Attempting to stick it up your nose, getting it stuck to a lamppost in winter, making out with handsome immortals! Everything you’ve been missing out on.”

Dipper knows all of those, or - most of them. Bill doesn’t need to tempt him, he gets it already.

He just. Needs a minute. To think some more about the implications and all the details and such. A little more time and he’ll have his head on straight.

“We might even take a trip to your old cult.” The thump of a hand on Dipper’s shoulder has him tense, briefly, before relaxing again. “Dontcha wanna let ‘em know exactly how dumb that move was?” His voice lowers, quieter but closer. “Imagine the looks on their faces when you tell ‘em - out loud! - that they could never hold you back.“

Dipper looks up. 

Of all the scenarios he’d dreamed about, that had never entered the picture. Too impossible even for a daydream. Stupid and self-indulgent and insane. Only a madman would think of it. 

In the mirror, Bill’s eye has gone very bright. Leaning over Dipper, and muttering right into his ear.

Dipper writes, “Do it.”

“Finally!” Bill lets out a breath, a tension dropping that Dipper didn’t notice until it was gone. He beckons him in. “Alright. Show me the ol’ lingual stump there, sapling.”

In the second Dipper needs to parse that, Bill’s already turned him around. With a bright grin, he makes an odd gesture at his chin; it takes a second to get.

Right. For Bill to stick that huge thing in there, Dipper has to open his mouth. 

A simple motion. Dipper can manage. The first thing to do is stop clenching his teeth together. 

With effort, and a bit of struggle, Dipper lowers his jaw and tilts his head back. Bill takes hold of it, and Dipper deliberately doesn’t go tense. Watching the syringe lift into his vision, as shining bright as the grin on Bill’s face. 

He shuts his eyes tight. He might have to feel it, but Bill can’t make him watch.

As Bill gets into position, he keeps up a tuneless cheerful hum. Dipper tries his best not to picture it. The way Bill’s probably loving the entire situation, even when this is gonna suck. 

“You’re gonna feel a little pinch here.” Bill says, peppy as ever, and something stabs into the stump of his tongue.

On instinct Dipper tries to jerk his head away, but struggling against the grip Bill has on him - fuck, moving only makes it hurt more. And that awful groaning sound, he realizes, is him. Strangled and inhuman, ringing against the tile and in his own ears. 

Fighting - not this time. He has to let this happen, let it - 

A moment later his teeth clink on thin metal, and he realizes with a start that the needle was probably that long so he wouldn’t bite Bill’s fingers off. 

“There we go!” Bill sounds delighted. The needle slips back out, almost nonchalantly, as he hums a little tune to himself. “Great job, sapling. Not much left now!”

Dipper blinks rapidly; his vision’s gone blurry and he tries to clear his throat.Thank fuck, the first part’s over with. 

The rest better not be too long. Better not hurt much more. The back of his mouth feels like he’s been stung by a bee, a hot and growing ache. Touching the underside of his jaw with cool fingers helps for a brief moment, but it’s only cool on the outside. 

And it spreads. Fast. Down his neck. Up into his jaw. A stinging heat, rising and expanding.

Dipper clamps his jaw shut, teeth grinding, but the pressure’s barely a distraction. This - he grabs onto Bill’s arm, shaking it hard.

“What?” Bill looks nonplussed. He tilts his head to the side. “I toldja it would hurt!”

Yeah, but he could have been more descriptive.

More pressure helps; a hand on his throat, one over his mouth. The burn builds, like bile rising in his throat, like acid. Like he swallowed fire, spreading down his throat and up into his face and nose; his eyes start watering. 

Throat bobbing, trying to swallow, Dipper wants to make a sound, but doesn’t dare. Not when things are moving in his mouth with increasing wetness, thick and metallic, just like - god, he’s such an idiot. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted him, never should have let him touch him, ever or at all, not if this was the result. 

“Don’t hold it in, kid!” Bill says brightly, adding a light smack on the back of his head that sends him leaning over the sink. “See? Not so bad, is it?”

It’s so, so bad. Like his head is going to explode, like his throat will shut; it’s hard to breathe. The throb redoubles, then triples, mouth so full his cheeks are going to split open, why does Bill sound so calm. 

Leaning over was a good idea though.

Dipper opens up over the clean white porcelain, blood pouring out of his mouth. More than he thought could come out, even after the last time. A sick flood partly mingled with clear fluid, spiraling into a pink swirl in the basin.

Which. Does help with the pain. The disgusting torrent washes away the ache, even as it makes a miniature murder scene in the sink. Dipper’s whole head feels like it’s bursting, his nose is running, he spits and gags, and a thick chunk of grey-red fleshy gunk splats into the basin. 

He spits again - his jaw throbs with pain, but there’s less liquid this time. A couple more times and it’s dry. His head feels clearer, more headache than fire - and says “What the fuck.”

Then he jerks his head up, staring at his reflection. 

What he just heard. That wasn’t Bill. 

The Dipper in the mirror stares back at him, wide-eyed and pale in the face. Chin wet with blood and unknowable fluids, some dripping on his shirt. 

Behind him Bill stares in starry-eyed, open-mouthed delight. 

“What the fuck,” Dipper repeats, watching his mouth move in the mirror - and claps his hands over it. Bill claps his hands rapidly, like a huge, yellow, demonic seal. 

Dipper said that. 

His voice. Strangely deeper than he remembers, resonating in his own head. 

The pain is fading, fairly quickly. A thin sweat is cooling on his skin. Pulling his sleeve over his chin only gets about half the mess off. As the pain fades he’s aware that his whole face feels gross. 

In the first actually helpful move of the evening, Bill turns the sink on for him. 

Splashing his face with warm water feels good. Refreshing. Especially scrubbing away the slick mucus and sticky blood. He has to spit again a couple of times; the inside of his mouth feels so thick.

Then he feels a heavy clap on his back, one that drifts up to tousle his hair. Bill starts laughing. “Ha! Toldja it wouldn’t be so bad, kid. How ya feeling?”

What a question. How to answer.

There’s simply too much feeling. His mouth is full. Like he put too much food in there, but it’s not - not bad? Weirdly wet and taking up so much space. Like… a really new big finger he can wiggle around. Touching it to every single tooth in his mouth, and tapping it against the roof, and feeling - no, tasting - a strange, metallic tang that makes him want to spit again. 

Was Dipper’s mouth always this wet? He thinks he needs to brush his teeth. There’s ridges and bumps and - he winces as he bites down a little too hard. 

Strange yet familiar sensations. Feeling and touching and tasting. Not a distant memory that he focused on too hard. Not a dream.

In disbelief, Dipper sticks his tongue out. 

The air is cool and tastes like nothing, aside from the bizarre feeling of his tongue drying out. There’s no extra tentacles, no visible scars. He only sprouted one rather than seven, and it’s not forked or some bizarre color. Just pink and damp and round. 

Hell, there’s even the birthmark, just like before. Like it was never missing. 

Tentatively, he presses a finger against the surface - yep, that’s real. Also, he can taste himself touching it. Which isn’t bad, but is super weird. 

“Huh.” Bill says. Soft, almost surprised.

Dipper glances up in the mirror. There’s a weirdly contemplative look on Bill’s face, which blossoms moments later into a grin. 

“So that’s where that was!” Bill says. A second finger joins Dipper’s, touching the mark. “Pretty cute!”

Dipper’s tongue zips back inside at the first tap. He claps a hand over his mouth, glaring back at Bill.

Welp, now he knows what ‘god’ tastes like. It’s skin, with a hint of soap. At least Bill washed his hands first. 

The move was also annoying enough that he almost forgot that truly out-of-nowhere comment. Almost.

Dipper narrows his eyes, and asks, “Where what was?” 

Okay. Just kinda blurted that one out.

He touches his throat, rubbing his palm against the soft flesh. Then his mouth, pressing fingers on his lips.

Three more words. He’s speaking words. 

Flexing a muscle he hasn’t had in ages comes with fewer issues than he’d imagined. His voice is a little creaky, but his tongue moves just fine. One relief there; he’d worried he’d need to learn everything again.

“Eh, it’s nothing.” Bill lies. With a flourish, he pulls Dipper around so they’re face to face. “Now, what about you?”

Dipper opens his mouth again. Then he catches Bill’s expression, and shuts it. 

Of all the smiles he’s seen on Bill’s face - angry, smug, arrogant, amused, excited - none of the others compare. 

This one seems genuine. 

“Ahem.” Bill clears his throat. “So! Any first words for your very handsome host and healer, here?” His single eye flutters, like he’s trying a coquettish bat. “Maybe a thank you? A ‘you’re so great’?”

There’s the expectant look again. 

One of the first things Dipper learned about Bill Cipher - he wanted Dipper to talk to him. An insane request for an unknowable reason, from an equally insane and unknowable being. So far they’ve made due with other methods, communication has improved, but at the end of the day - 

Bill really wanted this. A lot. 

Now what the hell should Dipper say?

He rolls his tongue around, trying out silent syllables without opening his mouth. The words came so easily when he wasn’t thinking; now they’re all scrambled around in his head. 

The first thing he says should mean something. Be important. They should be - not devoted, Bill hates that. It should - 

No, wait. He knows the answer. 

Dipper turns around, bracing himself on the sink.  

When he smiles, it’s not because Bill expects it, or because he thinks he should. Just because he wants to.

“Hi, Bill.”

And Bill bursts out laughing, high and delighted. 

“Ha ha ha!” With startling swiftness he scoops Dipper up, raising high and swinging him in a circle. Dipper grabs at his arms, his heel clips the sink as they twirl. “Finally!”

Two disorienting turns later, Dipper hits the floor again, only for Bill pulls him into a tight, unmistakable hug. 

Dipper goes still for a moment, squished by strong arms - then fumbles, awkwardly, to pat Bill’s back in return. That’s what people in hugs do, right.

Normal people probably don’t get squeezed like someone’s trying to pop them, though. A few seconds in he thumps Bill on the back, until the jerk finally remembers mortals aren’t so durable.

“Nice to hear from you again, kid! Not much flair to your intro, but we can work on style later.” Bill holds him out at arm’s length, looking him up and down. “So! Now that you’ve got your tongue back, whaddya say we give that thing a workout?”

For a split second, Dipper wonders how tiny a barbell that would take, and how it would even work, before remembering that’s insane. Those aren’t a real thing.

Then he remembers that he’s hanging out with Bill Cipher, so. Hopefully it’s a very small barbell. 

Before he can ask or write the question, though, Bill seizes his wrist again. Dipper shakes his arm - no good, as always. Still worth doing.

Surprisingly, Bill snorts - then lowers his grip, taking Dipper’s hand instead. He squeezes that once, because everything’s a stress ball to him, then goes right back to dragging Dipper around like a toy wagon.

Matching his pace this time, Dipper follows in his wake. They leave the bathroom quickly, fading into a long, elegant hallway. 

Glancing around the place - opulent, check, grandiose, obviously - Dipper looks down at their joined hands and frowns.

So much for getting any context. Bill’s just. Going to do the physically impossible, celebrate it, then move right onto the next thing. Without looping Dipper in on any part.

As Bill reaches his target - another door, big and fancy and frankly tiring in how much Bill’s clearly showing off - Dipper grips his hand tighter.

No, wait. If he remembers right, this time there was a clue. 

Earlier, Bill said there was a surprise for him. The tongue had to be that, but then… there was an entire evening he wanted to get to. A series of events, perhaps. Knowing Bill, each one’s more bizarre and frightening than the last. 

“Hey!” Bill snaps his fingers, and tugs Dipper’s hand. He’s backing into the new room, grin alight as he spreads his arm wide. “Get outta your head and in here already.”

Shrugging, Dipper follows him in. After the last ‘surprise’, nothing’s going to catch him off guard. He doubts it’ll be as out of nowhere, or as bloody. Bill’s set a pretty high bar. 

This time, the room is… Dipper pauses. 

Dining room. Big table, the super long kind from medieval times, fancy tablecloth and chairs and heaped upon it, so much food.  

Taking his tongue out didn’t ruin his other senses; it smells fantastic in here. The spread is lavish and vast, piled way too high for any two people to possibly finish. Like everything Bill has, it’s over-the-top and way too grand. 

Dipper feels a sharp pang in his chest as he remembers he won’t be able to - 

Wait, no. Not anymore. 

He rolls his tongue around in his mouth - still weird - and swallows. He rubs at his throat, and glances, carefully, at Bill. 

That gets a smile, and a fairly smug wink. Bill clicks his tongue twice, gesturing him over to the table.

Things click into place. Exercise. An evening plan.  

Bill set this up for the express purpose of using his tongue on stuff, which is, mostly, duh, eating. 

As Dipper hesitates, Bill rolls his eye. “What’s with the holdup? You’ve got a major sensory organ back!” He nudges Dipper forward to the table. Pulling out a chair, he gestures with a flourish for him to sit. “Why not enjoy it?

Refusing would be rude, Dipper guesses. He takes the offered seat, then braces himself on the table as Bill pushes the chair in, patting his shoulders. 

A moment later Bill’s taken his own seat right next to him, looking pleased. “Whatd’ya think of the spread? ” He waves over the table, nearly knocking over a candlestick in the process. “Anything catch your eye?”

It’d be easier to list what doesn’t. There’s too much. 

Dipper’s only read about half of these dishes, and there’s a solid quarter he’s never even heard about. Bowls of noodles and a whole roast something that he can’t identify; platters of pasta and fried tidbits, a whole board full of cheeses, green vegetables piled high -

His mouth is watering. Like, a lot. A strange sensation, though not unpleasant. 

“Go on! All yours, sapling.” Bill scoots his chair a little closer, grinning wide. “Have anything you want.”

How does he manage to make an invitation sound ominous? Dipper side-eyes him as he slowly picks up a fork.  

What to choose. What will Bill let him have. To start with he’ll go for something simple; nothing that would be funny to yank out of his hand. 

Now to just… narrow down the dozens of dishes into ones he can identify and probably aren’t poisoned.

Bill watches him fret for about thirty seconds, heaving a huge sigh. He plucks something up with his fork - some kind of noodle in green sauce - and tries to shove it right in Dipper’s mouth.

His jab takes out an eye instead of hitting the target as Dipper flinches. Some sauce smears on his cheek, Bill makes another stab at it. Before he can do any damage, Dipper seizes the fork out of his hand. 

Alright, jeez, he gets the hint already. Being cautious is the smart thing to do here.

And what is this.

Pasta, obviously, though it’s a weird noodle shape. A green sauce when it should be red. It was handed to him by a crazy demon. Multiple reasons not to put it in his mouth.

But it looks pretty good, and it smells pretty great. Kind of herbal and rich, and - actually, Dipper’s really hungry, now that he’s thinking about it.

Fuck it. If he was going to get in trouble, it’d probably be that one time he punched Bill in the face, not for eating food he was nearly forcefed.

Here goes nothing. 

Dipper opens his mouth, trying to ignore Bill staring. Carefully guiding the food past his lips.

And with a thump, he sets the fork down. Shutting his eyes, and letting out a closed-mouth groan. 

Oh fuck. 

It’s great. 

The flavor alone has him reeling back like he’s been punched, filling his whole head with taste and smell. The sauce is creamy and rich, both herbal and slightly sweet, while the pasta tastes bready and not at all like sad cardboard. He can even taste the cheese on top, savory and sharp. Nothing like a microwaved plastic plate of mush. Something real, and filling, hot and fresh. Something substantial.

And chewing. He’d almost forgotten chewing like this. The simple sensation of a noodle, firm but yielding between his teeth, makes him have to blink rapidly to clear his eyes. 

No more tilting his head, no dry mouth. He can swallow with absolutely zero effort. At no point does he have to struggle to get it down, it just happens, without ever feeling like he’s going to choke. 

Dipper takes another forkful. Then another, pulling the bowl towards himself without bothering to put it on his plate. Bill looks on, with that same eternal smile, but whatever. He’s not the most important thing in the room.

Eating, so painlessly, effortlessly simple. He’d almost forgotten what this was like.

Forget everything else Bill has done, for a moment. Ignore the way he’s staring like a creep. Right now, Dipper could kiss the ground Bill walks on. Maybe even his cheek. 

Giving Dipper this back is the only thing Bill’s ever done worth worshiping. 

Eventually Bill drags the pasta away, tutting about Dipper being ‘unadventurous’ and ‘boring’. Whatever, there’s a lot more to try. More to investigate.

“How’s the grub, kid? Good?” 

Dipper glances at his plate - piled high with nearly a dozen things - then raises an eyebrow. Bill raises one right back. 

Oh right. Words. 

Swallowing, Dipper says, “It’s. Really good.” Then, uh, he should probably add. “Thanks.”

“No problem at all. In fact, my pleasure!.” Bill leans an elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand. He pokes him in the ribs; it tickles a little. “You gotta put more meat on those bones, anyway.”

With a shrug, Dipper tentatively takes another serving of the green pasta. Currently it sits at number one on his list, but the rankings have been changing rapidly with each taste test. 

Bill’s also making odd comments, as is his wont. Sure, Dipper guesses he could stand to be a little less scrawny, though it’s not like he’s meatless. All humans are made of - 

Now there’s an unpleasant thought. 

“Wait, is, uh.” Dipper carefully sets his fork down, bracing his palms against the table. If he has to make a quick escape, it’ll give him leverage to shove off. “Is any of this. People?”

“Nah! Human flesh is really more for show than for taste, unless you’re an obligate anthropophage.” Bill snorts, waving off that thought. “You guys’re kinda stringy and bitter. That’s novelty food.”

Then he pauses. His eye narrows, he starts looking thoughtful. 

Before he can open his mouth, Dipper interrupts. “No, that’s fine. I really don’t want any. Thanks.” 

“Eh, suit yourself.” Shrugging, Bill settles back in his seat. He plucks a couple of mozzarella sticks off a platter and pops them into his mouth. “Like I shaid, y’re not mishing muh.” Wow, he has terrible table manners.

Another ‘horrible fate’ crossed out on the list: Bill isn’t fattening him up to eat him. 

Dipper didn’t think it was a likely option, but it never hurts to be sure. And with that out of the way…

Eating is so much better now. He has a lot of things to taste.

During his search, Bill’s eager to offer suggestions. A slice of rich dark meat, a sampling of something sticky but savory that goes well on it. A smattering of vegetables, a mozzarella stick or three. He even insists Dipper take a bite of some white meat pried out of the shell of a huge red bug. Deflecting his offer fails miserably, so thankfully it does end up tasting good. Though Dipper thinks that the dipping butter’s doing a lot of the heavy lifting.

Between the spread on the table, and Bill’s infinite creativity, there are infinite possibilities - and only one limit. His stomach.

When Bill tries to push another crepe on his plate, he waves it off. He leans back in his chair, breathing slowly. 

Good news is, he learned a lot about a variety of foods. He’s full and content. Bad news is, he really, really can’t take another bite or he might be sick. 

As far as Bill Plans go, this one’s hardly the worst. Even Dipper has to admit this was a good idea.

“Wait wait wait. One last thing,” Bill interrupts. He holds up a few fingers, turning away as he rifles through a small box.  through something with a bunch of frilly paper. Once he finds what he’s looking for, he turns around with a flourish. “Can’t have dinner without dessert.”

Dipper nearly waves him off again- then does a double-take. Is that - 

The small circle in Bill’s fingers is definitely chocolate, and Dipper’s only had that like, twice. Ever. Full or not, he can make room for this.

His first grab at it misses; Bill dodges easily and wags the treat with a mocking smile. “Ah ah ah, not so fast! Lemme do the honors.” He brings it close to Dipper’s mouth, eyebrows wiggling. “Open up.”

Dipper tightens his lips, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Then looking from the chocolate, back to Bill. The smugness of his grin does not waver. 

Normally Dipper would skip this entirely, rather than let Bill go ahead with this shady-seeming move. Unfortunately, the box is behind Bill’s elbow; he can’t just make a grab for the others.

So with a sigh, and a bit of a shrug, Dipper opens his mouth and lets Bill push the treat in. Reminding himself that Bill literally just fixed it, he won’t ruin it now. 

The moment the chocolate hits Dipper’s tongue he knows he made exactly the right choice.

Reach and sweet, just as good as he remembered. No, better. Smooth and not too cloying, as it warms and melts it fills his whole mouth. An involuntary groan comes out of his throat as it vanishes, gone all too soon - but some of it has melted on Bill’s fingers too. Dipper flicks his tongue out to catch the last of it, warm and sweet.

A sharp intake of breath. Dipper blinks his eyes open. 

Bill’s staring at him, very close. He must have scooted his chair over, they’re almost touching.

“Pretty great, right?” Bill says. His thumb brushing Dipper’s chin, tongue flickering out over his own lips. “How ‘bout you let me have a little taste.”

“Uh.” Dipper licks at his teeth, nose scrunching up  as he frowns. “I already ate it?” He glances over at the box, tilting his head to get Bill’s face out of his vision. “But, uh. There are more over there.”

Bill blinks twice. His lips tuck in, mouth in a flat line. The box on the dinner table must have slipped his notice somehow, because he turns to stare at it with a narrowed eye. 

“Hm. Mhmh.” A grunt, his eye twitches - then the grin slides back into its rightful place. “So there are!” 

With one snake-fast motion, Bill snatches a ball from the crinkly paper. He jams it into his mouth and bites down hard with too-sharp teeth. Chocolate splinters from the force, scattering on the table.

Ignoring the atrocious table manners beside him - Dipper leans back in his seat. He’s never had a meal like this before; Bill really went all out this time.

A second later, he yawns. It takes a few shakes and some blinking to clear his head.

Eating too much has side effects, he guesses. Part of him wonders - but no, if Bill wanted to drug him, he’d be passed out at the table. “Looks like you’ve had enough kid. Now up you get,” Bill says out of nowhere. An instantly later he’s pulling Dipper up  hands under his arms. “Can’t just pass out at the dinner table when the night’s hardly started!”

Wait, this wasn’t it? He’s got more planned? What the hell else could there be?

As Bill surges forward, Dipper just manages to step away before he’s bodily picked up.  He brushes off his shirt as Bill blows a disappointed raspberry behind him.

“Fine, fine. Use your legs if you gotta!” Bill scoffs, as he slides a guiding arm around his waist. “Get ‘em moving, then, ‘cause we’ve got at least one other stop tonight.”

He’s always fast. Always rushing. Always dragging Dipper out of one situation and towards another door. This could be his whole life, it seems; always another mysterious room, another terrifying situation, all with a jerk who doesn’t explain anything. 

Keeping up with Bill is easy once Dipper’s expecting it, but he casts a worried glance back at the dining room.

Leaving all that food there seems like such a waste. Then again, it is god-demon realm and all. For all he knows it could remain there in stasis, awaiting the next visit. Or just evaporate into nothing now that they’re done, which is even more of a waste.

Rethinking it, though - Bill did say he could have all he wanted. Encouraged him to indulge himself.

Maybe his full stomach is making him too optimistic, but he thinks some might ‘magically’ end up in his kitchen later. 

Or it’ll vanish completely because Bill and conserving go together like oil and water. Better not get his hopes up.

Whatever their next step is, Bill seems pretty cheerful about it. He’s even humming a tune to himself, one that Dipper can’t place. Refraining from giving Dipper any helpful information, per usual. 

Bill loves secrets. Mysteries. Keeping the events of the evening must amuse the hell out of him what with making it all seem intimidating, and ominous. 

Unfortunately for Bill, his secrecy has some holes in it. A pattern has been building in their night. Two data points, both leading to… 

Not a certainly positive third. Nothing’s certain. But it is trending in that direction.

Besides, if Dipper had to guess, the next one’s not the bad one. The theoretical fourth event is where Bill will pull the rug out from under him. Breaking a fully established pattern, right when he has his human lulled into complacence, is much more dramatic.

Before that happens, Dipper will cut things short. 

The guiding arm steers him around a corner, through a series of doors, leading into…

The living room again. 

Dipper gives it a quick once-over. Same furniture, same lighting, same obnoxious company. He’s been steered around a mobius strip leading back to the original spot.

“Pfft, what’s with the look? Relax!” Bill says, and shoves him onto the couch.

Dipper nearly jumps off of it; this not his favorite furniture material.  Bill pushes him down again, grinning like it’s a game of ping-pong rather than a guy not wanting to sit on furniture that’s slightly cannibalistic and could lick him at any time. Another attempt fails; Dipper’s palms sink into soft fabric, there’s not enough leverage to - 

He stops. Patting once, then twice. Looking down at his seat with mild surprise.

Okay, there’s one difference. This couch isn’t made of human skin.

A weird, but rather welcome change. Getting up at this point feels like too much effort, so he slumps into the seat.

The new couch, fabric and all, sinks easily under his weight. Soft enough to mold around his body, like it’s eager to absorb him. For a moment he worries it might, until Bill flops down right beside him.

“There’s only one way to follow up dinner with company. The classic human scene for this kinda thing, one might say!” says Bill, clapping his hands together. “First - setting the mood.”

A quick snap of his fingers, and the firelight dims. So do all the lights in the room.

“And second -” Bill grins, like he’s being very clever, and says, “Pick your poison, Pine Tree.”

Wait - they already ate, what is - 

At Dipper’s startled face, Bill rolls his eye, and holds up a finger. His face scrunches up as he leans forward, fishing around in the couch cushions.

A second later, Dipper gets a remote chucked into his lap. 

“You didn’t get a lot of shows back in the ol’ cult digs, am I right?” Bill jabs his thumb at the opposite wall - and the TV that’s appeared in the last five seconds. “No time like the present to start getting caught up!”

Secular media causes degradation of the spirit. Outside influences are absolutely forbidden. The only way to get access would be by sneaking around, or sticking one’s nose where they shouldn’t.

Dipper’s seen several shows, and he got them by himself, not through the cult’s terrible black market selection. Calling himself an expert would be an exaggeration, but he’s been around the block before. 

And honestly, getting back into that sounds great. Ten or so TV shows can’t compare to the likely hundreds that are out there; people must never run out of stuff to watch.

Plus, Bill will have demon media, too. Finding out what that’s like could be downright fun. 

Two minutes into channel surfing, Dipper has to admit he’s out of his depth. How much of it is missing out on a normal person’s experience and how much is Nightmare Realm stuff is hard to tell. Except for the obviously demonic shows, none of these seem familiar.

There’s literally a million freaking channels. Picking any one is impossible.

Meanwhile, Bill offers quick, one-word comments about how one’s ‘boring!’ another ‘meh’, a third ‘wow, that one?’, and a fourth ‘ooh, body horror!’ - Dipper flips quickly through the next twenty channels, hoping he won’t decide for them. 

At one point Bill tries hitting the opposite channel button so they flip back through the same two things for over a minute, until Dipper finally wrestles the damn remote away. If he ‘accidentally’ kicks Bill in the leg, either Bill doesn’t notice, or does a good job of pretending he didn’t. Either way, he’s laughing the whole time.

Eventually they settle on a demonic movie, something that Bill casually mentioned was ‘alright’, with an askance look at Dipper. Applying Bill-knowledge to that look - Dipper interprets it as him, wanting to watch it. With a side of ‘can’t show interest and still Be Cool’, and a half-serving of  ‘maybe the human shouldn’t see it’. 

Dipper sets the remote down. They’re sticking with this one. Anything Bill doesn’t want him to see probably has very juicy information. 

And if he notices that eternal grin widen, a bare fraction of an inch - he doesn’t comment on it.

About ten minutes in, Dipper realizes he should have asked if this would be all in English. This one has some, sure, but seventy percent or so is in Bill’s demonic language. Subtitles aren’t a thing; he poked at the remote for them but it just made the channels jump around, until Bill very casually flipped it right on back. 

Between the lack of language knowledge and demon knowledge, following the plot is hard. Dipper squints at the screen, as if that’ll make things easier. 

What little of it he follows shows a long, complicated drama. A lot of power plays, interpersonal violence. Mild-for-demons gore interspersed with over-dramatic arguments. The two main characters seem to be at each other’s throats all the time, while also being metaphorically attached at the hip. 

Nearly an hour passes before Dipper gives up on fully tracking the plot. A valiant attempt was made, but the language gap’s too large, even though the actors are basically chewing the scenery. Sometimes literally. Changing the channel’s out of the question, too; Bill too enraptured, Dipper too tired. 

It’s strange, really. Sitting here, with his ‘god’. Something he’d never thought he’d do, ever. Because Bill wasn’t real, then because Bill was up to something, and now….

A glance at Bill fails to clarify anything, as always. 

He knows Bill had a plan for the evening. He said as much. And it hasn’t gone off the rails, or Dipper would have noticed; this ‘god’ never misses a chance to complain.

The only conclusion is that things are going how Bill wanted. What that might mean is more of a mystery than the demon himself.

So far, they’ve only done a few things. Terrifying bathroom regeneration, dinner, and sitting here watching TV. A list too short to be helpful. None of them have much in common.

Dipper nestles down further into the couch, blinking slowly. Nearby, Bill pours himself another drink by snapping his fingers and summoning it.

What, exactly, is Bill’s goal with this? There has to be a purpose.

Giving Dipper his tongue back is obvious. It’s for talking. 

Bill’s been bored more than once waiting for a written reply - and while Dipper’s pretty sharp, he’s still a beginner at sign language. Add on Bill being a good but very impatient teacher, and things weren't going great. Hearing him make twenty guesses at Dipper’s next word while he was trying to remember the damn thing left both of them frustrated and annoyed. 

So the first part makes sense, even as a standalone. Regrowing an organ is way faster than learning an entire language, and Bill gets exactly what he wanted, right from the first time they met.

The food, well. Dipper’s still running that over in his mind, but he thinks it’s not much more complicated. Mostly a followup to the tongue thing. Possibly to show Dipper how great going along with Bill’s absolutely insane ideas is. Plus, Bill gets company, and to show off his power and all his ‘cool stuff’. He’s never hesitated to prove how quote, ‘awesome’, and ‘swimming in money, kid’, he is. 

If that’s right, it could be very useful. A little finesse, maybe a smile or two, and Dipper might get a repeat performance.

Both of those events fit with what he knows of Bill. Dipper can see how they work together, one leading into the other. 

That brings them to now. 

Sitting on the couch. Watching some way overextended drama thing with a language Dipper maybe catches one word out of ten in, while this ‘god’ lounges next to him with zero signs of ill intent.

This one… doesn’t fit.

Hell, he’s not sure how any of this fits. Not into a greater purpose. There’s no benefit. No grand plan, no conquering. No motive beyond ‘convenience’ and ‘entertainment’. No real gain for Bill himself, which more than anything makes zero sense, and these days Dipper can find a little bit of that in Bill’s actions, even if it’s backwards from the human kind.

But. 

If there isn’t a greater plan in mind. No scheme to empower himself, no urge to torment or conquer - 

Then this entire day was simply a series of selfish, bizarre whims from a guy who can do anything.

Which… is like most of the days Dipper’s spent around the guy. 

Beside him, Bill swirls his drink, snorting at something onscreen before taking another sip. Looking pleased with himself - typical - and wearing the common domestic smirk. No sign of any ulterior motive.

Okay. Say that there was a plan, of sorts. Just one that Bill thought would make his life more fun, and convenient. Hell knows just does whatever, whenever he wants. 

Then…

…Maybe it’s just movie night?

There’s a low groan next to him. With a huge, almost theatrical yawn, Bill stretches his arms wide, raising them in the air Once he's done, they thump onto the back of the couch; the closest one lands around Dipper’s shoulders.

Wow, even Bill’s tired. A big meal must have that effect on demons, too.

Dipper holds back his own yawn. For about five seconds. It happens anyway, leaving him slumping down, eyelids heavy.

He still can’t put the pieces together. None of the respective tabs and slots seem like they line up. 

But fuck it, it’s late. He’s tired. Trying to think through Bill’s convoluted mind is a task for a more life threatening scenario. 

Sitting here with Bill, sinking into the soft fabric of the couch, in a dimly lit but very warm room -

As far as plans go, Dipper can imagine far worse fates than this. 

In a way. A small one. He could almost get used to this.

Underneath the strange dialogue, he can hear the gentle flickering of the fireplace. Between the full stomach and the dim light, there’s a warm lassitude filling his limbs. Dipper stretches his arms, then his legs, before shuffling further into the enveloping embrace of the couch. 

Clearing his throat, Bill adjusts his position. The motion bumps his side up against Dipper’s, a solid, surprisingly not-unnerving presence.

Dipper grunts. After a moment, he tilts his head to look at Bill. He doesn’t seem to notice, too focused on the drama playing out onscreen.

It’s strange - everything about Bill is strange - but in this relevant quiet and calm, Dipper can get a good look at him. Most of the time they’re close because his personal space is being invaded, and that doesn’t leave any space to think.

For a magical shape inhabited by an interdimensional entity, Dipper has to admit - the human form is very well designed. 

The body next to him isn’t full of sharp edges. Much softer than metal. It feels like a real person, somewhere underneath that permanent suit. The angles of Bill’s face and the shape of his body fit easily within the human spectrum, he could pass easily for one on the street. Anyone taking a second glance would notice the positives before the oddities. Even those weirder bits kind of fit Bill; they come together a strangely compelling way. 

Hell, Dipper knows it’s an artificial body, and he’s still fooled sometimes. It’s a truly excellent facsimile.

Given the chance, there could be more to figure out. Stuff to prod at, or examine. But Bill probably wouldn’t like that, and anyway it’s late. 

Dipper feels the weight over his shoulders shift. He hums a brief sound of apology; he didn’t mean to jostle Bill’s arm too much. It’s not bad, having it there. A warm, solid thing that holds him close, silk shirt soft under his cheek.

Too warm. Soft shirt. 

Slowly, Dipper lets his heavy eyelids shut.

A scream cuts through the air. Kinda tinny sound. Must be the doorbell again.

Then Dipper’s pillow shifts under his cheek, and he startles slightly. Not very far, maybe an inch. 

Wait. This is - not his room. The living room.

Orienting takes a second. The scream was - from the tv, right. Onscreen a demon gets murdered in a grisly fashion, swearing as it’s carved open. For some reason Dipper’s view of it is sideways. 

Wait, where is he? 

Dipper  leans up slightly to get a better look, and hears a muffled snicker. A firm hand presses his head back down, fingers carding through his hair. His face gets smooshed against silken fabric. 

Not couch fabric. Clothing fabric. And underneath it, a body. 

Which is the person next to him, who is sitting next to him, who can only possibly be Bill. 

Dipper nearly drifted off right next to the guy. That’s no good. 

How did this happen? One moment he was vaguely watching TV, the next he was out like a light, it’s weird. It hasn’t been a long day. He hasn’t exerted himself, he’s not sick or hurting, he hasn’t even lost any - 

Alright, he did lose some blood. The wound just healed over too fast for it to be a problem. 

And now that he’s concentrating on it - physically, he’s fucking exhausted. His arms and legs have a faint familiar ache, like he’s been running and hiding for hours.

Maybe regrowing an organ took more out of him than he thought. 

Trying to open his eyes is more difficult than anticipated. Dipper has to open them. Just gotta get up the will to move. Shove himself off the couch and escape. 

Forcing his eyes open, Dipper catches the movie just as a dramatic confession scene starts playing out. There’s a lot of arguing. And some kissing?  He can’t tell if it’s eternal rivalry or love, but either way Bill seems deeply intrigued.

Dipper could get up. There’s no compulsion on him. No curse, or any kind of spell.

But between the exhaustion, his full stomach, and sitting in a dark warm room, watching the fire flicker - Bill’s fingers, running in slow circles on the back of his neck and through his hair - it’s hard to think why he would.

Moving’s effort. Nobody’s making him do it. Even Bill’s distracted, watching his ridiculous drama; Dipper could drift off again, right here and now, and be totally, probably fine. 

He’s gotta get up anyway. 

Falling asleep on a literal Lord of Nightmares is a bad idea. Time to go to bed. In a real bed. Even if Bill doesn’t mind getting Dipper-drool on his fancy shirts, at best it’s rude as hell.

Eventually Dipper gets his heavy arms to move. He tries lifting his head. It’s briefly stopped by the pressure of Bill’s own cheek, before it disappears like… okay, maybe Dipper imagined that part. From there - standing’s effort, but surprisingly easy without demonic interference.

Not that Bill doesn’t look a little like he wants to grab Dipper again. His eye narrows, but he doesn’t move when he asks, “Hey! Where’re you going?”

“Sorry,” Dipper starts, then pauses. Bill’s got a weirdly pinched expression; he must not have liked that - The words start stumbling out, unbidden. “It’s not - Sorry. I mean, I just. Uh, I’m really tired. I should go to bed-”

“Why do you gotta leave for that?” Bill leans back further, onto the arm of the couch. He pats his shoulder, then runs his open hand under it like a showcase display. “You were plenty cozy here! Stick around!”

“You’re not a pillow though,” Dipper tries to argue, but Bill keeps talking. “Says who? I can be anything I want, whenever I wanna.” Bill sniffs, lifting his chin. “You should see me shapeshift, sapling, it’s a hell of a sight!”

Dipper shrugs. He looks down, digging his toes into the carpet. 

By all rights Bill should be offended that Dipper touched him at all, except for how he’s pretty touchy himself. It can’t add to any plan or conquer any planet, at best it would….

Does Bill… want human drool on his shirt? Is that a thing? Collecting blood is one thing, what do other fluids do?

“Ahem,” Bill pats his shoulder again, then his lap. “Get back here, already. You know you wanna!”

A command, though one that’s not harsh. And Dipper doesn’t have to follow Bill’s orders. He knows that. Bill hates that, he prefers to make a solid, convincing argument rather than watch Dipper fold like paper. Dipper could leave, right now, and it’d be fun for him, it’d be fine.

There’s an argument to be made that this order wouldn’t be too awful. He was pretty comfy. 

Unfortunately for Bill, it's also a bad idea.

Leaning up against a literal Nightmare Lord and taking a nap is bound to have terrible effects on the human psyche. Between the way Bill radiates magic like heat - like a goddamn furnace - feeling his chest through the thin shirt, the arms coming around him -

Dipper covers his mouth, looking away. He can already feel the flames of Bill’s magic licking through him, and they’re not even touching.

Definitely a pass. He prefers his brain unfried, thank you. 

He almost speaks up to say so before Bill snaps his fingers. An idea has struck him, apparently. By the look, he thinks it’s a great one.

“Not where you wanna rest your head? No problem! You got options.” Bill says, casually waving off any concerns like errant spiderwebs. “How bout this?”

In one quick motion, Bill undoes his tie, letting it drape loose around his neck. Another flick opens the first button of his shirt. He continues down, in a line of quick movement. One, then two; three and another. Dropping down, step after step, fabric parting until it reveals a wide expanse of skin.

What is he- Dipper turns his head away - then back when there’s no horrible explosion of fire or blood or, or - 

He doesn’t know what he expected. It’s just an open shirt.

With his work done, Bill kicks his legs up on the couch and lounges back, arms tucked behind his head. “So? Whatdya’ think?”

There’s probably a good response to that. Thinking of one is hard, though. Dipper’s never, ever seen the suit come off. Wasn’t sure it could.

He’d kind of wondered if there was skin under his clothes, and, yeah, turns out there is. A lot of it. 

“Hey!” Bill snaps his fingers, then grins at Dipper’s slight startle. “Now, if a shoulder doesn’t appeal to ya, this might suit your fancy.” He motions over the half-opened shirt. The body’s so human looking under the clothing; all warm-looking skin and the curves of muscle. “Mortals love nestling up against flesh, am I right?”

“Um,” Dipper says. Reaching for a word, or a phrase, to tell Bill that this is.

Not wrong, exactly. Sleepovers exist, not that Dipper’s had one. But he’s sure they don’t work this way. Neither of them are in their pajamas, there isn’t a pillow for or a bed around - and demon gods with dubious motives are never part of the equation.

Cultural clash, maybe. Bill could have misunderstood how this works. A brief moment of confusion, or insanity -

Billgiving Dipper a look that makes his stomach do a flip. Both dark and a little playful, a strange mix.

So much for misunderstanding. Bill seems like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Dipper wipes his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants. His newly-grown tongue feels thick in his mouth. He tries to look at the carpet instead of at- anything else, and fails miserably. 

Each time he looks up, he’s confronted with Bill having a body and a chest, looking at him with a half-lidded gaze in the dim, flickering light of the fire.

The fireplace should have been turned off fully, come to think of it. It’s way too warm in the room right now, making Dipper lightheaded and slightly damp in his own shirt. Along with building energy. A weird tremulous feeling, like he shouldn’t just stand there. He should take action. Move.

“I gotta go,” Dipper blurts, and heads for his room.

He keeps a respectable pace while he’s at it. Not too slow, not too fast. This way it feels - and looks - less like fleeing.

“Whoa, wait wait wait,” Bill says. The thump behind Dipper tells him he’s gotten up from the couch.  “C’mon, kid, no need to rush off back to your bed! What, is it the mini-me you’re after? Cause the real deal’s a million times better than that bite-sized scrap of fabric.”

The door’s nearly there. Though Dipper hears Bill storming up behind him, he only picks up his own pace. A brush of air ghosts over his arm as Bill makes a grab at his wrist.

The heat, the energy, the weird, light feeling in his stomach - Dipper can put a pin in the core feeling now. 

Nervousness. 

All the more reason to leave. Feeling scared means something’s coming. Ignoring the danger only lets it catch up. 

Time to leave.

He gets his hand on the doorknob just in time for Bill’s palms to slam into the wood on either side of his head. 

Too fast, damn it, he doesn’t know why he didn’t think of that - and the low chuckle behind him sends a warm shiver down his spine. 

“What’s the matter kid?” Dipper’s stomach does an awkward somersault as he feels Bill’s breath ghost over the back of his neck. “You didn’t think you were gonna get away that easy, did you?”

The doorknob isn’t turning. Dipper grabs it with both hands now, but no matter which way he moves it, it’s stuck or something- Bill’s laughter rises into a high, delighted cackle, fingernails scraping down the wood.

“Not a chance,” Bill says. His voice is low as he presses Dipper closer to the door. “I’ve got big plans for you, Pine Tree.”

Oh.

The flushing warmth drains from Dipper’s face; his blood runs cold. The way Bill crowds him in feels less like his normal bullyish habit and more like being in a trap.

There was an ulterior motive; something dangerous and demonic. Stupid. Idiot. He should have known better before this happened. He shouldn’t have gotten so close, shouldn’t have agreed to anything tonight. Everything was leading up to a part of Bill’s grandmaster plan and running away ruined it, now he’s in trouble, he should have listened to his gut and gotten out of there first thing. 

Bill keeps saying that he’s special. How stupid was it to hope it was in a good way.

“No running off, kid!” Strong hands turn Dipper around and push him back. He hits the door with a thump. “You-”

Bill might be quick, but in this, Dipper’s quicker. He already has his arms up, covering his head, his face. His mouth works without permission as he says, “Please don’t-” 

Then clamps his teeth shut before the next word. Maybe Bill won’t - he probably wouldn’t, or not start now, he hopes. He thinks. Saying it could put the idea in Bill’s head if it’s not there already and protesting wouldn’t stop him if it was, it’d just make Dipper sound weaker than he already is now.

A hand reaches out. Dipper flinches away so sharply it hits the door behind him.

Nothing touches him. No punishment lands. 

Each moment that it doesn’t makes Dipper think that maybe, just maybe, nothing’s going to happen. Hopes it won’t. Bill hasn’t harmed him so far and he wants things to stay that way. 

But he’s so, so close.

In the silence, Dipper hears only his own harsh breathing.

“To start with,” Bill says, slow, though not as loud - Dipper realizes he’s drawn back a bit, one hand is lifted. “You’ll need this.”

He’s not going to look. He’s not - 

Okay, he does peek, because he’s curious. Since he’s already in trouble, he might as well know why.

Held between Bill’s fingers is an elaborate golden key. 

“Your door’s locked, kid.” Bill wiggles the key back and forth between index finger and thumb. “Might wanna do something about that before going beddy-bye.”

“Oh.” All of Dipper’s held breath escapes him in a rush. He lifts his head slightly, checking - but Bill’s standing a good two feet away now. Not. Doing anything. “Oh, yeah, um. Right.” 

That’s all it was. The knob wasn’t working because he locked it. That’s all. It’s fine. He’s fine. 

He doesn’t remember doing that, though- Wait, did his door even have one.

“Seemed like the sorta addition you’d been waiting for. No skin off my nose to make a quick renovation.” Bill purses his lips in a pout, like he’s about to sulk again. “I was gonna tell ya, but then you ran off! Ya gotta hear me out before fleeing, sapling.”

Oh. That’s - yeah, he did kind of want that, he just thought. Bill controls this place, he owns everything here. Asking felt wrong, could have got him in trouble, and anyway he hasn’t barged in in weeks, so really, Dipper hadn’t minded. But now….

Though the key’s right in front of him, it’s hard to get his limbs to cooperate. Dipper takes a slow breath, brushing off his shirt, smoothing back his hair. 

He just. Needs a second.

“Lemme just get that for you,” Bill says, with a brightness that doesn’t quite ring like his usual. He winks, stepping to one side and unlocking the door with practiced ease. 

The instant it’s open, Dipper rushes into his room.

Bracing himself on the footboard, he takes stock of the situation. The light is on, and everything’s in place. His bed is halfway made and his book is on the table where he left it, there’s no ominous presence chasing him into this miniature sanctuary.

He’s fine.

He’s back in his room. Back where there’s a soft bed, with cozy blankets, all of his stuff. Everything’s in place, nobody’s messed with it, even the plushie is still  next to his pillow. Nothing’s hurt him in here before and it won’t start now.

A few moments helps him compose himself. Dipper runs a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath.

 Plus. There’s a door that locks. Not much protection against the creature he’s cohabiting with, but that’s okay. If Bill does burst in, he won’t be able to lie and say he didn’t know he shouldn’t. 

…Bill hasn’t burst in now, either. 

A quick check over his shoulder shows him still standing in the doorway.

For a man who doesn’t like being ignored, he’s gone unusually quiet. Dipper waits. He fidgets with the hem of his shirt. 

Any moment now Bill’s going to fill up the silence. Babble something inane or intimidating. 

He doesn’t.

In fact, he hasn’t moved an inch. 

Bill stands just outside the threshold, hands by his sides. Watching Dipper like he’s a million miles away instead just a few meters, looking like - Dipper can’t place it. An expression that, on another face, would make more sense. On Bill it’s more like something’s gone wrong. 

More seconds pass in silence. Too awkward, and too quiet, Dipper should - Bill shouldn’t look like that.

“Um. Thank you,” Dipper says, stilted and awkward, but sincere. “For, uh,” He gestures, even more furtively, to his mouth

The corner of Bill’s mouth quirks up. “Eh, no biggie.” He flicks his fingers in a dismissive manner, then polishes them on his still-opened shirt. “Don’t get me wrong, I do love the sound of my own voice - but a guy can use a little variety around the place, y’know?”

“And, uh. Dinner was nice too,” Dipper continues, a rush of words, whatever comes to mind. Knowing that any moment Bill could leave gives him a weird burst of energy to keep rambling. If he’s talking, Bill will listen. He just said as much. “I really liked that. Did you always have a dining room that big? Does it always exist? I mean, yeah, you can just make stuff, but making entire architecture’s a big ask. Do you just move stuff around, or make it from scratch every time? I know you have a lot of magic, but don’t you need to, like, save it up for stuff, or does it-”

The questions keep coming, awkward over his new tongue. All the ones he’d been wondering about, and now that he can just say them, they pour out in an almost involuntary flood. So much faster than writing. 

Getting all the thoughts out of his head is kind of a relief. Bill’s eye widens briefly; he must not have expected that.

At some point Dipper realizes he’s been rambling at Bill levels of length, and shuts his mouth with a click. 

“So, uh.” Dipper clears his throat, feeling awkward. “Yeah.” That was way, way too many questions. Stupid. Intrusive.

Bill leans casually against the doorway now, raising an eyebrow. Again, amazingly, he hasn’t minded a bit of it.

In fact - while Dipper was speaking, every word added an incremental increase to his grin. Now it’s bright on his face again, full-force.

“Dinner, huh?” Bill says, electing to skip over any kind of answers, like a jerk. Looking amused now instead of - whatever that was. He claps his hands together, rubbing them with anticipation. “We should do that again sometime! Tomorrow, even!” 

“Sure,” Dipper agrees in a rush. Damn, maybe that was too fast. He sounds too eager, Bill could use it as leverage, dangle it in front of him then pull it away. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “That. Sounds okay.”

Bill chuckles. He takes a half-step, stopping just before he enters the room. “What, no followup questions?” His smile is teasing now. “Here I thought I was gonna get the whole spiel!”

“No I- It’s cool.” Turning away, Dipper rubs his face. He clears his throat. 

No more distractions. He was going to bed. He was getting away. Conversation over, he shouldn’t drag it out. 

“Forgetting something?” Bill speaks up. Dipper glances back at him, where Bill, again, raises an eyebrow. Again, he waggles the key in Dipper’s vision. 

Damn, he did forget; he’ll need that. Dipper takes a step closer. Then another. 

His own hesitance annoys him; Fuck it, it’s not like this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. With a huff, he draws himself up and stomps over to Bill. Holding out his hand, palm up. 

The slow smile that spreads across Bill’s face is downright wicked. Another bit of showmanship; he’s clearly covering for something. 

Dipper narrows his eyes, and stands firm. 

One of Bill’s hands comes up underneath Dipper’s, cupping the back. The other sets the key into his palm, a motion that comes off as almost too casual. It might have worked, too, if he didn’t slowly trace his fingers over it, tickling the skin. “Here ya go, kid.” 

The touch leaves a tingling feeling in its wake. Probably magic, something with the key - Dipper pulls his hand back a second too late, clutching it to his chest. 

“Nighty-night, sapling.” Bill winks, and annoyingly, gives double finger-guns at him. As he backs away, the door slowly closes in his wake. “Don’t forget about tomorrow! Mark the date!”

Dipper raises an eyebrow. He’s not going to forget the literal next day. Bill’s an idiot. 

“‘Cause I’ll be seeing you real soon,” Bill continues. His face leans into the slowly closing crack of the door. Aiming for ominous, probably. Pity his timing’s off. “Sooner than you think! In fact, I could-”

Dipper steps forward and shuts the door with a ‘thunk’. The muffled ‘Hey!’ from behind it has him forcing down a grin of his own. 

Defying Bill shouldn’t be good. It should scare him. It should feel more wrong.

Instead it gives Dipper a bit of a spring in his step, and a faint burst of pride. The weirdness of this place must be catching. 

He makes a quick change into pyjamas, shutting off most of the lights. Flopping back into the comfy bed, with the lamp on the bedside table letting out a dim glow. 

Mini-Bill, keeping vigil on his pillow, stares at Dipper with the same focused intensity as the real version. Dipper scoops it up in his arms, and rolls onto his back, holding it above his head.

“At least you’re not scary,” Dipper says, and smiles. Because he can speak now, god, it’s going to take a while to get used to that. He pulls mini-Bill down and into his face, nuzzling the soft, worn fabric. 

Then sits up, suddenly alert. Somewhere Bill just swore really loud; it’s since faded into a long, complaining groan. He stubbed his toe again, didn’t he. 

A minor annoyance, considering. As exhaustion looms. Dipper flicks the bedside light off, and pulls up the blankets. 

This is probably the… not the longest day he can remember, but certainly up there. So much has happened. He’s learned some stuff - not enough yet, but some - and he’s going to get to do even more tomorrow. Because Bill’s a lot of things, but he’s never boring, and the whole time Dipper will be full and fixed and whole.

Thanking Bill earlier was sincere. But it didn’t cover everything, or how much it meant. It’s too vast; a mind-reader like Bill can’t know how he feels when even he’s still working it out.

One day, Dipper might find the words to describe it. How important this was. And, well. Special. 

Maybe he’ll even say them out loud.

He squeezes the plush tighter, and almost doesn’t feel dumb for doing it. Bill’s never judged him having mini-Bill and if it could be made fun of, he would, so. Keeping this, holding this, is okay. Curling up around it in the cozy bed, and holding it close.

Sleeping with it in his bed. In his room. He has a key to the place and everything.

…Dipper could live like this, he thinks. In this place of danger, extreme weirdness, and relative peace.

He also knows better than to think it can last.

But hey, screw it. Until then, he might as well enjoy himself. 

Back in the cult he never had a tenth of the creature comforts, and the company was definitely subpar. Here in the Fearamid, he’ll learn new things, all the time. Doing magic, having his own place, living and eating well. Finding secrets. 

And occasionally getting a bout of sheer terror, but, well. Bill is a Nightmare Lord and all. Complaining about that would be like bitching about water being wet, and here it happens less often than back on Earth.  

For now, he’s doing okay. Comfortable, warm, well-fed. Mostly, temporarily, safe. 

When Bill finally makes his move, Dipper hopes it’ll be obvious. Most of what he does is too weird to find a pattern. There may not be any clues until Bill’s already kicked off the events that will seal Dipper’s eventual fate. 

All because he’s special. And he only has one clue as to what that means.

Dipper wedges mini-Bill further between his chin and his shoulder. Running his tongue over his teeth, curling it in over the birthmark - then letting it lay still, heavy in his mouth.

As far as he knows, the plan could have already started.

#This took forever and I'm sick of looking at it #So now all of you get to stare at these words!! #I hope it's a fun read! #I could probably have done yet another editing pass #But I am v tired #The stupid document hit 65 pages so it's a big ol' post #I hope you can enjoy my foolish typings #Gotta get started on More Writing now

[thearchercore]

Lando’s comments about not being bffs with max is for sure directly related to lestappen gate. 

We’ve know since the summer that Charles is Ferrari’s priority to resign. (Remember we even thought it was going to be announced in the summer?) they’ve been working hard to make sure Charles feels positive about 2024 and comfortable in the 2024 car and feels like he can win a championship with Ferrari. And Charles was full steam ahead ready to renew.

It all changed in Singapore. Charles was shafted by Ferrari and Carlos was prioritized. Carlos prioritized Lando instead of his teammate - helping him stay in DRS even though he was a competitor. In the cool down room he said that what happened to Charles was “none of his business”.  Charles raises all fucking hell and Ferrari sees they’re about to lose their il predestinato.

Suzuka happens next week. And then there’s a break before Qatar - and Charles goes back to the factory in Maranello. He’s there for a week, while Carlos is no where to be seen and never shows up. Charles has a sit down interview in Qatar where he talked about feeling positive for the future and the developments for next year's car and genuinely seemed excited for the new car.

This was all before the mess of the last few races, when we saw the real development of lestappen gate. And the possibility of Charles going after Red Bull, not feeling like he can win with Ferrari. And the emergence of lestappen as being friends. publicly at least, cause we all know they’ve been close for ages. 

Ferrari gets desperate to keep Charles and will stop at nothing to retain him. Prioritizing his contact negotiations, giving him whatever he wants, making sure he knows he is the priority and they’ll do whatever they need. They hired Fred for him, and Fred is hiring and replacing like money is free to get a better team for Charles. And made it clear - the 2024 car will be suited to Charles and what he likes. 

Now who isn’t the priority? Carlos. His contract negotiations have basically stopped because they don’t care about him right now. There’s constant talks about how it’s likely he won’t reach a deal and Ferrari already has a shortlist of who they will pursue and why they’d be a great fit, to the point Spanish media is taking these so seriously that they’re shading Ferrari. Even the Spanish GP was talking shit about Ferrari on Twitter. 

Fred shades Carlos as the Vegas GP, saying Vegas was their best race of the season (even above their only team win). Fred shades Carlos again for his crash in practice in Abu Dhabi, saying that the Vegas pothole was bad luck but he said Carlos crashing in practice was “something else”. 

And with Singapore and everything that followed after, we see Charles and Carlos move from friends to barely interacting except for required events and videos. Carlos sees clearly that he is 2nd to Charles and will be considered that way with everything going forward, and is not happy about that. 

So that brings us back to: Max and Lando. Max respects Charles more than he does any other driver on the grid (hello he apologized to Charles in Vegas for turn 1?? When has he ever apologized for anything that happens on the track). Max is taking Charles’ side and even if he knows Charles is only using Red Bull to get a better Ferrari contract, he supports him cause he genuinely loves racing against Charles in a proper car. And besides the respect, they’re great friends. 

Lando’s allegiance is obviously to Carlos. And he’s hearing all of it from Carlos and his being pissed. And I can fully see it coming up in convo with Max (after all Max and Carlos were teammates and friends once upon a time) and Max not fucking having it and standing on Charles’ side. And suddenly there’s the divide and Lando refuses to say they’re friends, because he’s so behind Carlos. 

And it all just further enforces how powerful Lestappen is together. 

solid points! my little own theory was that lando wants to go into 2024 with an internal goal to be THE rival to max (how realistic that is, that's another discussion) and so the friendship with max no longer benefits him.

when lando was up and coming driver, the clout that he got by hanging out with max benefitted him. he was seen partying with the world champion, got more publicity thanks to that etc. it was in general a very appealing friendship to be in for lando.

fast forward, mclaren built a car in the second half of 2023 that could fight max in certain scenarios (singapore comes to mind). however, lando did not manage to maximise the potential due to little driver errors that always cost him a better starting position.

it's 2024 now, ferrari and mercedes have great drivers but they are fully dependent on the state of their car and the team strategy. mclaren seemed to work out some of that already so mclaren goes into this season maybe more confident than they should be.

lando's friendship with max no longer benefits him, he will be now seen as a rival, not a friend. he could be fighting him on track, and so he probably wants to push his own agenda and distance himself from max. in this scenario, carlos is a safe option as any other friend on the grid (i assume tensions will rise between carlos and oscar as oscar will no longer be a rookie)

on the other end, charles is doing the exact opposite, he maximised potential of ferrari's car and also stopped following ferrari's pr guidelines. in vegas or abu dhabi, he hung out more with max than his own teammate. during the winter break he had only one scheduled appearance with another f1 driver on the grid, again, max.

charles publicly connecting himself with max does no good for ferrari's image and how they're pushing the "friendship" between carlos and charles. in that sense, charles is not hanging out publicly with max because it benefits him, quite the opposite.

he's doing it to manipulate the narrative and take over some control himself.

that's how i see the situation right now. it will be definitely interesting to see how these grid dynamics develop because yes, they are co-workers but also in the season where so many contracts expire, it's also a big powerplay so there's definitely a lot of decisions behind the scenes

#lestappen gate 2023 #charles leclerc #lestappen #formula 1 #f1 #max verstappen #lando norris

[hearts4hughes]

the fight | jack hughes

jack hughes x fem! reader

a/n: something quick as i finish up some part 2s for other jack fics

warnings: talk of a fight (not sure if that’s a warning or not?)

gif is not mine

one second you were chatting with jim, and the next you’re out of your seat, trying to get a better view as jack takes down aho.

“oh my god.” you mumble, watching him pound on the player below him. you frantically look over to jim who seems unfazed as ever. “jack’s in a fight!” you exclaim with wide eyes.

he chuckles at your obvious observation, taking another bite of popcorn. “he’ll be fine.” your eyes dart back and fourth between jim and the fight on the ice. he lets out another hardy laugh as your mouth hangs agape. “don’t worry. i mean he’s winning, so that’s good!” he jokes.

you smile unsurely, laughing to yourself at the fact jack’s own father isn’t even slightly fazed at his first nhl fight. “sure…”

as the refs break up the scene, jack looks up towards your seat in the arena. worry drowns your features until he breaks out into a toothy smile, showing off his newly missing tooth. he gives you a quick wink, sending butterflies off in your stomach, and returning his focus back to the game.

he finds this amusing.

“looks like someone tried to impress you.” jim observes the flirty looks his son sends to you. your cheeks flush a deep red.

“he looks too happy for someone who just got in a fight.” you point out, taking your seat next to jim once again.

the rest of the game goes by smoothly. the devils won 8-4 with a huge lead. along with that, aho steered away from jack and refrained from taking cheap shots at other players.

jim decided to head home after the game. he’d call later to congratulate his sons and talk about their game play. which left you here now, mindlessly walking through the tunnels of the prudential center. as you round the corner near the locker rooms, you wait and strike up conversation with other hockey wags.

“hey, baby.” jack’s voice causes you to redirect your attention from the conversation to him. he wears a proud, but smug smile, practically waiting to be scolded by you.

you look at him unamused. “you started a fight!” you whisper yell, grabbing his hand and leading him into a more private corner.

he laughs, bringing you into a deep hug. “good observation, honey.”

“it’s not funny!” you bite back a huge grin, trying so hard to keep your composure. “you could’ve gotten hurt.” you pout, nuzzling your face into his neck.

“well it’s a good thing i didn’t.” he pulls you away from his neck, staring into your eyes with a wide smile. “aho had it coming for him. he was cross checking and slashing all game. i wasn’t going to take it anymore.”

he presses a soft kiss to your lips, bringing you back against his chest. you breath in his freshly showered scent, savoring the moment, even if you were trying to act disappointed.

“you’re lucky you’re hot.” you sigh against him.

“even with my missing tooth?” he teases playfully. you giggle at his slight lisp. it was barely noticeable, but it made you smile like an idiot when he struggled to fully pronounce letters like t or s.

“yes, jack.” you reassure, pressing another kiss to his lips. “even with your missing tooth.”

#hearts4hughes #new jersey devils #jack hughes #nhl imagine #hockey blurb #hockey imagines #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #nora's writings 💐

[spicyclover]

Show me your scar

Summary: Being teammates isn’t always the easiest thing in the world. 

Request

Hope you’ll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section! And to support me by tipping me!

I'm open to requests.

Little information, I will, for now, only post on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.

Thank you, and Enjoy! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

Rivalry and challenge have always been the words to describe your relationship with Daniel. Never giving up. No matter the cause. No matter the consequence. He’s one of the tops of the top drivers, and you can’t afford to lose another race. It’s almost the middle of the season, and you’re way behind him. 

You can’t sleep or eat as you should. All those worries and pressure put you in a state you can’t imagine. It’s eating you alive, even though you try to keep healthier habits. Seeing him perform more than you is painful. Eating less. Putting more hours in the sim or at the gym. You can’t even remember the last time you went out with friends. 

You hate being the second driver. It’s a fact. We are at the Canadian Grand Prix, and you’re about to go in your car for the race. Your weekend has been worst than ever. You couldn’t or barely do the practice season since your vehicle had a mechanical problem. You have qualified in P12, way behind your teammates who are in P6. 

Sat in the car, you’ve been focusing on your race. You haven’t eaten in a day and are throwing up everything you put in your mouth out of stress. You’re dehydrated, but the doctor cleared you for the race. You can feel the lack of sleep and food getting to you, but you suppress those feelings to focus. You need to focus. All you need to do is set your mind and mind to win and be better than him. 

You do the formation lap, and the race begins. The first corner is the worst. Everyone turns around. And already two cars are hitting each other, causing a lot of debris to spread out on the track. You get through the dust cloud and are a little further away. A yellow flag is automatically displayed, and your engineer informs you as best he can of the situation. Three cars are off the grid, so you’re three places ahead on the grid. You’re no longer twelfth but ninth, three places to your number-one rival.

The red flag is on, and you all get behind the safety car and back to the pit. Once in the pits, everyone is allowed to get out of their vehicle, as the red flag may take several minutes. 

Okay, here is the thing about Daniel. Is the best teammate in the world outside the track. Always been friendly and compassionate. He likes you. It’s a fact. Being the first woman in a long time in a formula one car and being his teammate is the dream for Daniel. So when you’re out of your monoplace, he’s already by your side, debriefing the incident. 

“What a crazy start,” he says with his sexy Australian accent. “It was just pure chaos. I saw it in my mirrors. It’s a good thing you haven’t been it.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, eager to get away from him.

You like Daniel, he’s a great person, don’t let anyone fool you. But you can’t let the fact of being his teammate and being the less competitive one is so hard on you. You just can’t let things go, and every time, sometimes happens, you can’t let it go. You've always been like this. Making no difference between the race track and off-track. So even though you like him, you just can let things go. At some point, you just stop talking about anything and let him do all the talking. 

Well, in fact, one night in Monaco, you allowed yourself a little party and ended up being drunk in a boat, almost falling out off the ship and into the Mediterranean. Thanks to Daniel, who passed by and caught you in time. You were in his arms when you started mumbling all you had in your heart. Letting your bag go and saying what’s been bothering you. 

“You know. I hate being the second driver. You have all the glory and everything because the car is designed for you. What am I left with? Scrubs. It’s suck. I’ve been sick for three weeks now because I just can’t deal with my shit.” You cried on his shirt. “I don’t want to be second.”

He brought you back to your hotel room and stayed with you. Listening carefully to everything you’ve said to him. He knew this feeling of being second too well, and he couldn’t do anything to improve it for you. Before returning to his apartment, he brushes your hair and puts your pyjamas on. 

You didn’t talk about this after. And a year has passed, and you’ve been in the same situation again. Making yourself sick to be at your best performance. The red flag is over, and you all drive off to race. 

Your laps are getting good, and you feel good about the car. You managed to get behind, Daniel. Finally, you’re getting in the groove. Your laps are getting better than Daniel, and the team order Daniel to let you through. You’re in the long straight to the last corner. After insisting quite a bit, Daniel let you through at the last moment, making a dangerous move. 

Your wheels lock up, and you’re enabled to finish your turn. You are going straight to the champion wall, full speed and no brake. The back of Daniel's car damaged your front wings, which blocked your brake and locked up the wheels. You don’t even have time to think you hit the first wall. Part of the barrier flies around, and you feel something touching your chest. 

The second wall came quickly as the first one. You can feel pressure on your chest, and you have difficulty breathing. You can hear on the radio your engineers calling your name. You want to say something, but the words are stuck in your throat. 

After that, you don’t remember much. Everything is blurred. You are in great pain and somehow hear Daniel's voice calling your name. Then you black out. 

The first thing you hear when you wake up. It’s the rhythm of the monitor. Then you smell sanitizer. When you can open your eyes. You are met with the worried looks of your family. And then everything became a blur. The doctor's announcement. The end of your career. The beginning of this new rehabilitation. The world kept turning, but you felt stuck in your bed. Well, you are stuck in bed. Time flies, and the vacation finally arrives. You’ve been discharged, and you went back home to the UK.

It’s the first in three months that you and Daniel will see each other again. At first, you’ve been angry at him, wondering why he made that move. When he enters your apartment, a weird silence takes place. Neither of you knows what to say to the other. Deep down, you must keep your mind open and calm to any outcome. So when you see how uncomfortable he has been, you can’t help yourself to hug him. A weight is lifted from your shoulder and Daniels. Something forgiveness is the way to find peace. 

You converse for quite a while, talking about everything other than racing. It’s been long since you opened up to him that way. Making yourself vulnerable again, just like at the beginning of this journey. Really being friends with him.

“Show me your scar.” He says tenderly after seeing you scratching through the fabric of your shirt. 

You take your top off, showing yourself in your sports bra. He sees it for the first time. This scar on your chest’s forever grave in your skin because of his mistake is like a fantom reminder of his action toward you. His gaps silently.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, tears in his eyes. 

“I’ll heal.” You simply say, putting your shirt back on. 

“Scars don’t disappear.”

“No. But they heal, and I think I need to heal now.” You say, stocking his cheek and removing a few tears from his eyes. “I’ll be better, and it’s time I care for myself.”

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #Daniel Ricciardo fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fluff

[tinyozlion]

Zechs Marquise / Milliardo Peacecraft:  A Heel Turn for the Greater Good

Zechs Merquise is the main character of Gundam Wing. 

Ah, you thought it was Heero, or maybe Relena, didn’t you? Well, judging by the first act of the series, this is clearly not the case!  

Zechs is the very first character we’re introduced to. He’s mysterious, handsome, ultra-competent. He shows concern for civilian safety and the safety of his men. He takes personal risks, fights on the front lines. He demonstrates right away that he has a strong ethical code that places great importance on the moral conduct of soldiers. His subordinates look up to him, his superiors value and respect him. We get all of this in act one of episode one.

Absolute hero material, so far! Hard to see why he's being framed like antagonist. Whatever, I'm sure he'll be on the winning team in no time! Just like Quattro Vegeta, or whatever.

By episode three, we’re introduced to the Tallgeese, a mobile suit that matches all the criteria for being the Big Damn Hero Machine that a protagonist would use: it’s ancient, it’s got a history, it’s the progenitor suit, it’s got no bells or whistles, it demands great strength and skill from the pilot but offers unmatched performance to those who can overcome its challenges. It’s the perfect suit for Zechs, and obviously the next step in his hero’s journey! This is the part of the story where he can finally meet the terrifying, so-far unbeatable enemy on equal footing. 

...But of course, OZ is also introduced in episode 3. So now we know that Zechs works for some faceless, secret military organization– but that’s fine, right? It’s the Alliance military that’s the Big Bad Guy, and Zechs seems to be part of some elite special unit that’s only for brave, self-sacrificing soldiers! OZ hasn’t done anything really bad yet, while on the other hand, the Gundam pilots have been a bunch of mercilessly violent loose cannons who’ll kill anyone who gets in their way.

In episode four, we meet Noin, an immediately likable and equally skilled OZ officer who has a deep personal connection with Zechs. Already this is a power couple we can get behind. We watch as Noin suffers a humiliating defeat and a barrage of misogyny from a Gundam pilot, who kills a bunch of young recruits in their sleep. Definitely not a good look for the Gundam Team! while Zechs and Noin (and Treize, in a more literal sense) come out of this episode smelling like roses. 

Just look at them! They’re going to make such a great team. I hope they give those homicidal Gundam kids what for!

It’s only when episode five rolls around that we finally see what OZ is really about: assassinations, covert schemes, foul play, political manipulation, and the ruthless accumulation of power. Uh oh! 

But surely, Lady Une is the real baddy here, and Treize is no more than a shadowy puppet master whose true motives remain mysterious. Zechs and Noin are still such obvious Good Guy candidates, they really ought to be the main protagonists of this show by now! The big scary OZ that the Colony rebels warned us about seems a far cry from the OZ we’ve seen so far. Even after the point where OZ becomes the new uncontested Bad Guy, Zechs and co. keep their noses pretty clean.

And then! Then Zechs reveals his tragic past, his double-identity, his secret Count of Monte Cristo/ Man in the Iron Mask plot to avenge the ruin of the Sanc Kingdom and the deaths of his family, the noble house of Peacecraft! How romantic, how dashing! His quest continues to best the Gundams, but this takes on the hue of personal enlightenment; Zechs wants to defeat the Gundam pilots to prove he is capable of being a “True Soldier”, worthy of the power he’s been given, worthy of what has been sacrificed to his cause. 

Boy, that’s some hero behavior! And it gets even better: Zechs and Noin leave OZ to begin championing the Sanc Kingdom and its policies of Total Pacifism. No one can say Zechs isn’t one of the good guys now, right? He even dresses up all spiffy in white and becomes an ambassador to promote peace in the colonies! 

–Or rather, he tries to. 

Because despite having gained a reporte with a few of the Gundam pilots, he still hasn’t managed to ally with them. They still view him as an enemy, no matter how hard or how desperately he tries to convince them that he’s turned over a new leaf. 

He can’t beat them, and he can’t join them. Why?

Pictured: the saddest boys in the universe.

The second act of Gundam Wing is a crucible where every character is forced to re-evaluate their place in the ongoing conflict. You can see and feel his frustration building as the future spirals out of control. 

What is the purpose of Zechs Merquise, or of Milliardo Peacecraft?

He has refused to be OZ’s mascot, the Lightning Count. He’s not capable of bringing peace to the colonies by himself. He can’t join the Gundams in their fight against OZ. He can’t even protect the Sanc Kingdom, because the very act of fighting in its name is used as an excuse to wipe it out. 

He bids a heartfelt adieu to his Big Damn Hero Machine, the Tallgeese, and finds himself in possession of its polar opposite: the Epyon, a machine made to scour its pilot and the world of hypocrisy. 

Finally, Zechs has his answer– the reason why his purpose eludes him, why all his best intentions go astray, why the harder he tries to align his moral compass to the Gundam pilots or embrace his pacifistic inheritance, the more lost he becomes: He is not the hero. 

He has been trying and failing to be a hero since episode one because this isn’t a story about noble, heroic, chivalrous warriors doing battle in order to gain personal clarity and strength.

It’s not about man-vs-man conflict resolving in a test of skill. If it were, Zechs would have been victorious and completed his hero’s journey by now, and the show would be over. 

But that was never the role he was meant to play. That’s not what the stage requires. The third act begins as he accepts a new mantle, and becomes the villain history needs in that moment to bring everything together.

“Zechs considers this place his grave. [...]He intends to pay for the sin of purging humanity, all by himself.”

–Not to purge humanity of “violent earthlings”, as his White Fang propaganda speech stated, but to purge the current generation of the means to wage mechanized warfare, and of the desire for combat and retribution itself, in order to finally bring the cycle of war between the earth and space to an end. 

…But of course, nothing ever really ends, does it? History dances forward, with or without you, and all the sacrifices and fail-safes in the world will not stop new challenges from arising. 

Nevertheless, if it is possible to choose, by means of noble principle, to be a villain for the sake of the greater good, in the full assurance of one’s own destruction and revilement, then surely that is also in some winding, definitionally tragic way, a path to heroism– and if this is so, then Zechs is strong (and disillusioned) enough to take it. 

I do not think that the series supports the idea that his actions or their consequences are justified– only that they achieve their immediate purpose: setting the stage for peace. For now.

...And Now, An Important Note on Gundam Meta:

Zechs is what is referred to in the parlance of the Gundam fandom as a “Char Archetype”, or “Char Clone”-- a term I think is of debatable accuracy. For a longer discussion on Char Aznable and his role in MS Gundam, please see the entry: The Char Aznable Problem.  But I want to make it clear that knowing about Char’s backstory IS NOT a necessary prerequisite to understanding Zechs’s story. 

Zechs and Char share a lot of DNA as characters, that’s unavoidable– a masked man in red who poses a threat to the main Gundam pilot is a staple of the genre; he’s deliberately an homage to Char, as much an expected feature of a Gundam series as... well, Gundams. That much is not in question. 

However: Char’s motivations only make sense in the context of the original Gundam series; if you try to apply the same logic within the structure of Gundam Wing, it becomes gibberish. But the gibberish is by design– If you don’t understand the context behind Zech’s late-series genocidal spiel on why “earthlings are the ultimate threat to peace so we must destroy earth, the source of all conflict yadda-yadda blah-blah”, then… yeah, you’re up to speed. No one else listening to White Fang’s broadcast understood it either. It’s MEANT to sound like the ramblings of an extremist madman who poses a catastrophic and unavoidable threat to both Earth AND the Space Colonies he claims to represent. That’s the basic nature of his Ozymandius Gambit: invent something scary enough that everyone has to band together to fight it.

So you don’t need to know about Char to understand Zechs– but knowing about Char does make Zech’s role (and Treize’s role!) in Gundam Wing that much more interesting.

Zechs is not a Char Clone, he is a conversation with the idea of Char, taking a theme and transposing it into a new composition.

--Anyway, it’s a little unfair to try and force a comparison between Zechs and Char, when Char had MS Gundam, Zeta Gundam, and Char’s Counterattack to do everything he did, and Zechs only had Wing. 

Now, I’m not a mathematician or anything, but I’d say that makes Zechs roughly…

Three times faster.

#milliardo peacecraft #zechs merquise #gundam wing #gundam wing meta #gundam meta #character analysis #parsing post #tinyozlion pgw

[rvp32]

Savior- Chapter 2

“I am Gaeul, what is your name?” She said while holding out her hand 

Looking at the hand she held out, the entire situation bewildered you “I am Hwang y/n” You say and show her your palm which is covered in blood and glass shards. 

“Oh my god, we need to treat this otherwise it will get infected,” She said in a panic, she held your arm and dragged you downstairs towards what you assumed was her, the funny thing was that you let her do it. Curiosity about her took over and you wanted to see where it would go.

Gaeul pulls you inside and commands you to sit, you listen and try to stop the bleeding but it wasn’t very effective. Grabbing a first aid kit, alcohol,  and a tray to help, she kneels in front of you and begins to treat the wound. With every shard of glass that she pulled out you winced in pain and sometimes let out a yelp. After bandaging your palm, she pulls up a chair opposite to you and says “jumping off the building isn’t the best way to go out you know, there are more effective ways to do it”

A shocked expression plastered all over your face as you were expecting her to try and console you not to off yourself. “Yeah I know but sadly I don’t have access to all those things right now and shouldn’t you be trying to stop me?” you ask

“No matter what I try, if you don’t want to live you will do it anyways, So why did you wanna do it?” Gaeul asks while looking you in the eyes. 

You explain your situation to her and tell her about everything that happened between you and Miyeon. After venting about the entire situation to her you felt a lot better. Without saying anything Gaeul walks to the kitchen and grabs a glass of water and brings it to you, taking the glass of water from her you thank her and look down into the glass of water anticipating a reply from her 

“If she did something so evil and disgusting to you, shouldn’t you do something worse or get payback? Do you want to let her win and be happy? Because if I were in your place I wouldn’t, I would make her life miserable” her voice was laced with poison and anger. 

“I don’t know, you make a very valid point, you know. I will think about it and get back at her” confident that you could come up with something. 

“Let me know how it goes, women like her should be put in their place, they need to know the difference between right and wrong. 

It was getting late and you didn’t want to overstay your welcome so you told her that you should go back home but she said that she wasn’t going to let me leave because you would probably jump after you left her house. You tried to reason with her and tell her that you won’t but Gaeul was very stubborn, she insisted that you sleep in the guest room to which you had no choice but to agree. Since your shirt had blood stains on it she followed you to your room and let you freshen up and get changed, after which you headed back to Gaeul’s room. 

After getting back to her room, she leads you to the guest room and hands you a blanket and a pillow. “Thank you so much, for saving me I would have regretted it, but thanks to you I realized that I shouldn’t be the one regretting it, I would like to take you out to dinner tomorrow if that is fine with you” 

“Ohh slow down there, you're welcome, in the past I was also in a dark place but sadly no one was there for me so I try my best to help others. Yes, I will have dinner with you tomorrow,” Gaeul said. You could sense the sadness in her voice, but you don’t probe any further.

“Good night Gaeul, thank you again,” You say as you head into the room. The bed was comfy, and within a few minutes of lying down you fell asleep. 

Random noises and the bed moving causes you to open your eyes to find Miyeon having sex with another man while sleeping on the same bed as you, “This is the best feeling ever having sex right next to him, he is a cuck who doesn’t even know that his girlfriend is cheating on him” Miyeon Moans not noticing that you were awake. you try to do something about it but your body won’t move, it was almost like someone tied you to the bed however this was not the case as you could see that your arms were not tied but they just wouldn’t move. All you could do was to try and scream hoping that she would stop. The next thing that you see is Miyeon trying to stab you with a knife. 

You jolt up awake in the unknown room but you feel some warmth holding you, Gaeul was holding you and trying to calm you down “it is a nightmare, you are safe, I am right here, she won’t be able to hurt you” She says while patting your back and head. Her presence and constant reaffirmation calmed you down, allowing you to go back to sleep.

The sunlight causes you to wake up and notice that Gaeul was still sleeping beside you with her arms around your shoulder while your face was near her breasts, a blush crept up on your face noticing the position that you were in. Trying to move out of someone’s hands while making sure that they don’t wake up was difficult, as you were trying to slip away Gaeul woke up, “Good morning Y/N, are you feeling better? Gaeul asks.

“Yeah, I am good thanks to you. I was able to sleep better after the nightmare, sorry for disturbing your sleep.” You apologize. 

“It's fine, you can freshen, there is a new toothbrush in the washroom. Once you are done, I will make you some breakfast”

Before you can protest, Gaeul walks out of the room leaving you alone, you decide to freshen up and head to the kitchen. The kitchen was still empty so you decided to look around. There were barely any pictures, she had a PS5 and a Switch. Out of everything in the living room what shocked you the most was the Doctorate certificate hanging on the wall. Gaeul was a certified neurosurgeon, the certification explained why she could remove the shards without any hesitation and also bandage your hand so easily. 

While staring at the certificate Gaeul walks out of her room and says “yeah I forgot to mention I am a doctor” She says nonchalantly while walking to the kitchen. She made a simple breakfast for herself and you with eggs, sausage, and hashbrowns. As you were finishing up you looked at the time and were amazed to see that it was nearly 11 AM “shouldn’t you be at the hospital considering it is so late?” you ask Gaeul hoping you weren’t the reason why she was late.

“No, today is my day off and I don’t have to report daily, my area of expertise only requires me to come in rarely so I get to stay home or go out very often,” Gaeul says while taking the plate from you to wash, you try to stop her and volunteer to wash it, she looks at you and laughs not understanding why you ask “what happened? Why are you laughing?”

“Look at your left hand, how do you plan on washing dishes with a single hand?” Gaeul says while with a smile plastered on her face. Feeling embarrassed you don’t say anything but admire Gaeul’s beauty as she washes the dishes. She was a very pretty woman and over that, she was a kind person as well. 

“Am I that pretty for you to be staring at me so intently?” Gaeul says which brings you back to reality, you notice that you had been staring at her for a while now. 

“Yes you are really pretty” you reply and it wasn’t what Gaeul was not expecting you to be so straightforward that she drops the spoon that she was washing and you also notice a red tint forming on her face.  

“What do you do for a living?” Gaeul asks trying to divert the topic, You decide not to probe any further 

“I am an investment banker, the CEO of Hwang investments” you reply 

“No wonder you looked familiar, Your face is on that huge hoarding in downtown Seoul,” Gaeul says with a surprised look on her face. 

“Yeah, that does sound like me. Anyways I should go back to my place as I need to go to work” You say as you needed to be in the office today 

“Okay fine you can go but promise me that you won’t try to do anything stupid, call me if you feel overwhelmed or if you want to vent. Here is my number” she slips her business card toward you 

“Thank you, I promise that I won’t do anything stupid so don’t worry, be ready by 7:00 PM, I will pick you up for dinner,” You say as you begin to walk towards the door. 

You get dressed and head to the office, as usual people were greeting you but once you reached your office Choa barged into the room questioning why your left hand was bandaged, Worrying Choa meant that she would be on your ass a lot more than usual so you just tell her that you hurt yourself while picking up pieces of a glass that you broke, though she was skeptical about it she decided to trust you and not ask more questions. 

Going through the day you were excited for the evening because you would get to meet Gaeul again. You finish your work an hour earlier than you expected so you go back home to shower and change to make yourself more presentable. By the time you are ready, it is almost 7:00 PM so you decide to knock on Gaeul’s door which is only 2 floors below yours. The door opens to reveal Gaeul who is wearing a black dress that is hugging her curves and a pair of black stiletto heels to match her dress.

“You are beautiful,” you say without a speck of hesitation in your voice. Gaeul blushes at the sudden compliment and invites you in to sit down as she isn’t done getting ready.

“Aren’t you a bit too early or were you that eager to meet me?” she says. You were trying your hardest not to stare at her ass while she was doing something near the counter but you just couldn’t take your eyes off her. 

“Yeah, I was very eager to see you” you reply, still staring at her ass. The reply causes Gaeul to turn around but you still couldn’t take your eyes off her. 

“Hey, my eyes are up here. You have a very bad habit of staring don’t you” with a smirk on her face which 

“Sorry, I was just mesmerized by your beauty, are you ready to head out?” embarrassed that she caught you staring, you pull your phone out to distract yourself. 

“Yeah I am, let's go, Where are you taking me anyways?” Picking up her purse she walks towards the door and you follow.

“I chose a Japanese restaurant, hope that is fine with you,” The elevator doors open and both of you get in. 

“I love Japanese food” was the last thing she said, the elevator ride was silent. You walk towards your car and open the door for her, she gets in and you go around to sit down as well. You tell your chauffeur where you are headed and the car begins to move.

Gaeul broke the silence, “Do you always have someone driving you around?”

“No, I usually have someone driving me if I have to work or if I am injured” you reply by showing her your bandaged hand. 

“Oh, sorry that was a silly question given that I was the one who bandaged your hand,” she says with a giggle. 

“So, Miss Kim, what made you want to become a doctor?” curious about why a woman as beautiful as her, who could have become an idol or even a model chose to become a doctor.

“I want to save people, Mr. Hwang,” she replies with a smile. It was a simple answer, she didn’t expand on it anymore. For the rest of the car ride, you guys talk about things like your hobbies, and what you like to eat. You were able to learn that she loves to watch anime and K-dramas. She is also a gamer who loves to play Fifa, Super Smash Bros, Call of Duty, and many more. What caught you off guard was her love for sports, Gaeul loved to play and watch football and coincidentally both of you supported the same team. 

The car arrives at the restaurant and both of you get down. The receptionist greets you and walks you to your table. Both of you ordered food and continued your conversation from the car. Both of you had a lot in common. Recently she even went to a Twice concert, you were also present in the concert and had backstage access as Mina was one of your close friends. When she found out that Mina was my friend and that I met twice she freaked out and asked to tag along with you the next time you went to meet Mina. You agreed because Mina would love Gaeul’s bubbly personality. The dinner was very smooth, the conversations covered multiple topics. You enjoyed talking to someone who listened and showed interest in what you were speaking about. 

You escort Gaeul back to her room, “I hope you enjoyed the dinner because I truly did. If you ever need help with anything please don’t hesitate to call, text, or even knock on my door. My apartment number is 2012.” Gaeul nodded and said that she will be there for you as well. Before you left she gave you a tight hug and went into her room shutting the door. You were astonished and stood in front of her door for a minute trying to figure out why you felt this way.

Being around Gaeul for some reason made you feel comfortable, you wanted to protect her, and help her but at the same time you wanted her in your arms all the time. 

Before you could proceed with anything you had to first take care of the whole situation with Miyeon. Payback and punishment were due. The first thing you do is contact your friend Andre who was exceptional with computers, he could access any type of information. You asked Andre to help find some dirt on Miyeon, to which he agreed without questioning because when he first found out about you dating Miyeon he was against it. After all, according to him, she had a ‘weird vibe’. 

Within a few hours, you get an email from Andre, it contains the illegal and stupid things that Mieyon has done or is doing. Miyeon ran a Cafe in Seoul, it was relatively successful but she was using underhanded techniques to evade taxes which meant that she could essentially go to jail if someone found out. You sent an ‘anonymous tip’ to the cops that night. 

Changing into more comfortable clothes to go to bed, you were looking forward to how the situation would pan out, playing some soothing music when you fell asleep. The next morning you woke up to news stating that a popular cafe in Seoul was closed down because it was evading taxes, there was a video of Miyeon being taken to the police station. You felt a sense of relief. Deciding to finish what you started, you go to the police station where she is being held to ask for a private audience with Miyeon, they were hesitant at first but they allowed it. 

You walk into the room that she is being held in. “Hi Miyeon, how does it feel being held accountable for your actions”

“Y/N please help me, I am very sorry for what I did. Please help me get out of this situation, I will do anything for your help. I beg you!” Miyeon pleaded with you, her eyes filled with tears.

You laugh, it was comical how much a person could change when they needed you. “Oh really? Who do you think even put you here you whore?” you say with a malicious look. 

Appalled with what she is hearing, Miyeon begins to cry, she tries to get out of her chair to grab you out of anger but you dodge pretty easily. “Easy there, I am here to help you. I did this just to show you what I am capable of doing to you, this isn’t even the worst thing that you have done. Consider this as your last warning, mess with me again and you won’t see the light of the day for the rest of your life” you say, smiling at the state she is in.

“My lawyer will be here in a few hours, she is the best there is in South Korea so you will most likely get away with a fine, which you will pay for so be thankful. Bye Miyeon this is the last time that I will help you, don’t ever appear in front of me again. You understand?” You leave the room without listening to her response. 

As soon as you exit the Police station you text Gaeul “I did it I finally got my revenge on her. Are you at home or work? I wanna see you so that I can tell you everything”

She replies that she is still at home so you head back and tell her everything about it. She was excited and happy that you were finally able to get back at her. “ This calls for a celebration! You want some whiskey?” Gaeul asks 

“Hell yeah it does!” you say 

After talking to her you notice that she was playing the Call of Duty campaign, “Hey you wanna 1 vs 1, the loser has to grant the winner a wish” You say  

“You are on, better not back down or give me excuses when you lose,” Gaeul says as she walks to the couch with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. 

A game of Frontline and the first to 20 win, Gaeul was very good but you were equally experienced, the score was neck to neck but you ended up losing. The last kill was so stupid, you died by walking into a trip mine that Gaeul had placed next to a doorway. 

“Damn I can’t believe that I lost because of a fucking trip mine!” You say in frustration. Gaeul smiles and says “hey, a loss is still a loss so you better be ready to grant my wish”

“Fine you are correct so what is your wish?” You are curious to see what she wants from you.

 “I am not going to use it now but I will tell you when it's time” she says with a knowing smile. 

Not wanting to leave her presence, you ask her if she wants to watch something to which she said that she would love to watch the new season of The Alchemy of Souls, you agree to her request and pull it up on the TV. 

The episode plays on the TV while you and Gaeul sit next to each other, to your dismay there was a good amount of distance between the both of you. As you watch the series your eyes begin to close, the lack of sleep from all the nightmares catches up to you and you end up falling asleep on the couch.

A sudden noise from the TV wakes you up, confused as to what that sound was. You try to look around only to notice that you were asleep on Gaeul’s thighs. Jolting up from the realization you begin to apologize to her, “I am so sorry I didn’t think I would fall asleep, it must have been very uncomfortable. I should head back. Thanks for having me over,” 

Getting up to leave you to feel something tugging on your t-shirt, turning around to find Gaeul holding it while looking at the ground, she mumbles something inaudible to you, “huh? Gaeul I can’t hear you”

“Don’t leave please” Gaeul says while looking you in the eyes, her eyes pleading and begging you.

Hearing her say that set something off in you so you sit back down but this time you were very close to her body touching yours. Looking at her you catch sight of Gaeul staring at your lips. This action gives you the confidence to move in to kiss her. The first kiss feels electrifying, it was filled with love, there was no fight for dominance, and both your tongues moved perfectly. The need to feel more of her grew within you so you picked her up and placed her on your lap. The kiss got deeper, and Gaeul’s hands began moving inside your shirt. One of your hands was placed on Gaeul’s ass while the other was playing with her hair. The kiss slowly turned into one with more lust, and Gaeul started grinding on your clothed- penis. It took all the willpower in your body to pull away from the kiss. 

“Gaeul, are you sure about this? If you keep grinding on me like this I won’t be able to hold back” You say to make sure that you weren’t making her uncomfortable.

“I am sure, so I beg you please don’t stop” After saying that she kisses you again and tries to gain more friction on her folds. Gaeul giving you the green light was all you were waiting for. Your hands immediately pulled up her hoodie and to your luck, she wasn’t wearing any bra.

She pulls out of the kiss and covers her body, “You are beautiful and your body is like that of a Goddess so please don’t hide it, let me worship this heavenly body of yours” You say while placing kisses on her neck and trailing to her hands that were covering her mounds.

“Take off your shirt as well, I don’t want to be the only one almost naked” listening to her demand you pull off your t-shirt and kiss her again. The grinding doesn’t stop and there is a wet spot that forms on your pants, Gaeul’s panties were soaked. You picked her up and placed her on the couch, your shaft was begging to be freed and it was almost painful. Pulling down your boxers you hear Gaeul gasp. “What’s wrong?” you ask.

“It's so big! I have never been with someone so well-endowed. This might not even fit inside me” she looked like she was scared but also excited to find out how good this would be. 

Kneeling next to the couch you spread Gaeul’s legs apart and start to slowly eat her out. “Mhmm,” she lets out a muffled moan. “Don’t hold back, I wanna hear your beautiful voice.” You continue to eat her pussy and play with her clit, her hands are grabbing the back of your head pushing you in. 

“Oh my fucking God, this feels amazing, please don’t stop. I am so close!” her head was thrown back and her back bent. 

“I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum, cumming!” you help her ride her orgasm out, she was still shaking. You didn’t let anything go to waste and gave her pussy a final lick. 

Your cock was now throbbing, hoping for some sort of relief. Gaeul falls to her knees and begins to play with your shaft, using both her hands to rub it, she places her head on the tip and starts to bob her head slowly. Gaeul was trying her best to take in more every time, she started to gag when she was nearly there. She takes your cock out of her mouth and tries to catch her breath. 

She goes back to sucking your cock, She wasn’t the best at it but she was truly trying her best. After a while of her sucking your cock and using her tongue on its head you were about to cum. “Gaeul I’m going to cum”

She fastens her pace and tries to go deep, as you are about to cum you push Gaeul’s head deeper and unload into her throat. When you pull out, she starts coughing, and you realize what you did. “I am so sorry, I can’t believe that I just did that.” 

The tears and the erotic expression that Gaeul had on her face weren’t helping, your cock began to harden again. 

“Hey calm down, I am fine, it wasn’t even that bad. I was trying to satisfy you but it looks like you aren’t satisfied” She says while looking at your cock which was now fully erect. 

“We don’t have to do this if you are tired or don’t want to” you try to convince her that you can stop now. 

“Come here and fuck me hard, I shouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow, I am not giving you an option” Gaeul pulls her panties down, spreads her legs, and is playing with her pussy. 

The sight makes you lose all control. “Ms. Kim, you are going to regret your words, you won’t be able to walk for at least 2 days after I am done with you.” 

You align your shaft with Gaeul’s dripping pussy and tease her by hitting her pussy with your cock. “Stop teasing please put it in, I can’t wait to feel your huge cock”. No longer being able to resist, you slowly insert your shaft.

“Oh fuck! It’s so fucking huge, Slow please wait it hurts, it hurts” Gaeul is screaming and her nails are digging into your skin, 

“You are so fucking tight!” halting midway allowing her to adjust to the size.

“Should I continue?” Gaeul nods, so you continue to insert into her until you are balls deep. You don’t move to allow her to adjust. You kiss her neck to distract her from the pain, slowly trailing your kisses to her neck and giving her some hickeys. 

“Ahh!” A loud moan leaves Gaeul’s mouth 

“You have a really sensitive neck Gaeul, I am going to move now, if you feel too much pain let me know and I will slow down.” slowly moving, you continue to kiss her and play with her body.

Moans and grunts were all you could hear. Everything was going well until you pitched her nipple and hit a certain spot that caused her to scream, you stopped everything. 

“Don’t stop, please do it again, do it again please, I beg you. I’m going to lose my mind, you are touching places that I never thought was possible, make me cum please”

You indulge in her wish and do the same thing but with strength this time and it completely sends her over the edge and squirts all over you.  she is a mess, her entire body is shaking, her eyes rolled back, and unable to form say anything comprehensible. Her pussy is so tight with her orgasm that it is essentially holding you, hostage. 

A switch in your mind flips, instead of slowing down and allowing her to ride out her orgasm you speed up to help reach your orgasm, “Stop, pl…ease. Too much. Ahhhhhhh” Gaeul cums again, you pull out and cum all over her stomach. Come back to your senses and see that Gaeul is crying from the over-stimulation. 

“I am so sorry I don't know what went over me. I am going to grab a tissue from the washroom to help you clean up,” Gaeul was completely lost, tears falling from her eyes and sobs were all you could hear but her face had a satisfied smile on it. She mumbled something that you couldn’t understand. 

By the time you got a tissue  Gaeul is already passed out, you help her clean up and bring her a blanket. The cold feeling must have woken her up because as you were about to leave she held your hand so you decided to cuddle with her and fall asleep on the couch. The tiring activity puts you to sleep relatively fast. 

Waking up first and beside her was very nice, you decide to order some breakfast, and though you would love to make her breakfast you also do not want to wake her, she looked so beautiful sleeping. Recounting the events from yesterday, you blush. Admiring her beauty, you place a kiss on her forehead. “You have a very bad habit of staring, did you know that?” Gaeul speaks with her eyes closed. 

“When someone as pretty as you are in front of me, I will be staring” you give her a peck on the lips. 

“You weren’t lying when you said that I won’t be able to walk for a few days,” Gaeul says with a smirk

“Yeah sorry about that, I don’t know why I lost control. I can’t believe that I was” Not letting you complete the sentence Gaeul kisses you to shut you up. 

“You talk too much, I loved it, every single bit of it so stop apologizing,” Gaeul says and you hug her in response to that. 

“I enjoyed it as well, anyways I ordered some food, it should be here soon, you might want to brush and freshen up,” you say as you get up from the couch. 

Gaeul gets up and limps her completely naked to the washroom. “Shouldn’t you put on some clothes?” you ask, smiling as you watch her cute ass bounce with every step she takes. 

“Why? It's not like you haven’t seen everything already” She winks at you and continues to limp. You also go to the guest room to freshen up. 

The food arrived and Gaeul and you sat down to eat. The food felt much more delicious now that you were so hungry. “I know that this is late but would you be my girlfriend ms Kim Gaeul”

“Yes, I would love to be your girlfriend Mr. Hwang.” you get up, hug her and kiss her.

“I love you Gaeul, you make me feel so safe when I am around you” You confess

“I love you too Y/N, I feel happy when I am with you because I can be who I am when I am with you,” Gaeul says with a cute smile on her face 

You continue to eat and suddenly Gaeul says “I also know what I want to wish for” 

“Oh, really, and what is that pretty girl?” 

Her face turns red hearing the nickname that you gave her, she composes herself and says “I know that this is a weird wish but now that we are dating I feel like I should have you try it with me so that you can decide if you want to do this or not?”

“Gaeul you are being weird just tell me what it is and I am willing to try it” 

“I want you to dominate me,” Gaeul says with a serious tone without any expression on her face 

To be continued 

This one was longer than usual. Let me know what you guys think

#gaeul smut #ive fluff #ive gaeul #Series #ive smut

[bropunzeling]

ooh, this looks like a fun game! AU where the Oilers snap Matthew up instead of Puljujavri!

matthew and leon get along really well practically from the start. they're the same kind of annoying, at the heart of it; leon thinks it's funny when matthew pisses off a whole bench, and matthew likes when leon is a smug asshole who just put up 4 points. neither of them are the big guy on the team (how can you be, when it’s connor mcdavid's team) but they’re both hanging out as joint number two. putting up points. causing problems.

but the oilers keep being that little less good than they're supposed to be. they keep falling that little bit - that whole mile - short of expectations. and leon's - it's not to say he's used to it, or resigned to it, but he can work with it. he thinks they can get to a place where they can turn things around.

and he thinks - knows - matthew's gonna be a part of that. sure, the bridge deal isn't as good as an eight year guarantee, but he figures contract negotiations will go fine. matthew's gonna stick around.

more to the point, he wants matthew to stick around. matthew's his friend, matthew gets what it is to be one of connor mcdavid's oilers. he makes the team better. he makes leon's life better, he doesn't want to give up ragging matthew about his shitty taste in tv or competing at golf or hanging out after practice, watching matthew play with his dog. he likes it all. they could do it for another eight, ten years.

and then instead of signing with edmonton in the summer, matthew goes to florida.

leon's had this happen before. friends leaving. but he didn't - this one feels personal, and painful. especially because matthew never let it slip, never even hinted at what he was thinking. it stings, and leon reacts the way he always seems to, which is to get mad, to lash out.

that first game in november he's furious, and upset. seeing matthew on the other side of the ice in the wrong colors, being on the receiving end of his stare or his chirps or his slashes - it just pisses him off more.

and then after, they all have to go out, because of course they do, matthew has to show them his favorite bars, and the win should make leon okay with it all but he isn’t, he's still frustrated and angry without any reason for it, nursing his beer and barely conversing, when matthew comes by and nudges him. asks how he's been, needling and yet sincere. they make stilted conversation, and leon wouldn't be mad if matthew bailed. he knows he's being dickish even if he can't stop.

matthew says, rolling his eyes, i miss you too, asshole. and leon looks at him, and it’s like a camera clicking into focus, matthew's grin and his creased eyes and the warmth of his arm against leon's and fuck, fuck --

of course leon figures out he wants matthew after he's left

#ask meme

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #1 – How Beautiful We Were by Imbolo Mbue

I read the overwhelming majority of this book in 2023 but I finished it after new years so review #1 of the new year it is! Despite it by all accounts being very critically acclaimed and well-reviewed, I had absolutely never heard of it before opening up the packaging on a ‘blind date with a book’ thing a bookstore was doing (incredible gimmick, for the record). Overall a great book, if rambling at points and with a somewhat weak and confused ending.

The story takes place in Kosawa, a village on the western periphery of a fictional west African country, with the incredible bad luck to have been built atop a fortune in oil. The story is told through several POVs, and follows the villagers struggle against the Pexton corporation and their country’s de facto neocolonial government to try and have their home restored to what it was before the river and soil were poisoned and children started dying. It’s told on a generational scale – stretching from the ‘80s to the mid 2000’s – and follows the main cast of characters from childhood into their forties, As might be expected from that, it’s not exactly fast-paced or full of heroics – lots of promises and reassurances being given and never lived up to, and dramatic actions being taken and leading to awful tragedies or only compromised half-successes. The book really beats in the theme that if you’re really powerless and the ones fucking you over have all the cards, a lot of time there really isn’t a winning move. Well, and maybe that the heroic, principled attempts at violent resistance repeatedly got everyone involved killed but did win real concessions and aid for the other villagers who were willing to play along (or just to sell out or give up Kosawa for dead), though I’m not entirely sure that’s how the story’s intended to be read.

The prose isn’t usually eye-catching, but it’s extremely well-constructed, and beautiful at points. The story does a lot with shifting points of view, jumping from a corporate one of a particular age-group of children whose lives parallel the story, and closely individual ones from different members of a particular family whose daughter Thula ends up becoming the moral/intellectual heart of the resistance. Each voice feels incredibly distinct and focused on very different things, in a way that really worked for me. The massive timeframe covered also lets the book really indulge in showing what the day to day life of the villagers looks like – how they sustain themselves, the social rhythms of life, the rituals of adulthood, marriage, and childbirth, how widows and children are treated, and how the poisoning of the environment around them weighs down but doesn’t destroy any of it. It even does a great job of really selling the perspective and world-views of people for whom the world is enchanted and spiritual rites have real direct physical effects, which in my experience the vast majority of books about religious/spiritual characters totally fail to.

The tone of things is pretty overwhelmingly melancholic – this is a story with a deep sense of history, which also means a very tragic imagination. Characters who really dedicate themselves to trying to change the world are portrayed as deeply admirable but almost certainly doomed and even likely to cause more harm than good. You see this most prominently with Thula, whose basically a genius and devotes her entire life from childhood to activism and social change with saintly (if not near-inhuman) purity and focus, and dies in her forties having not won much at all. The ones who take what they can, get government jobs and use the opportunity to become exactly as corrupt as the men who came before them and loot the country for the benefit of their friends and families meanwhile – well, they definitely aren’t making the world any better, but they’re shown as very human and sympathetic and they mostly end up with exactly the lives they were hoping for.

#book review #clifi #literature #How Beautiful We Were #Imbolo Mbue

[yall-hate-kids-tourney]

Round 2: Nagisa Momoe (Madoka Magica) vs. Amane Momose (MILGRAM)

Propaganda below the cut

Nagisa Momoe:

I think this might just be the fandom circles I'm in,but a lot of people don't like how Nagisa killed Mami?Even though she herself was dead duue to being a witch at that point guys come on.Also how her wish was selfish and pointless even though the fandom doesn't criticize characters who made objectively worse wishes when they were older.There is some criticism that her inclusion in rebellion was unnecerssary and just bloated the cast while contributing nothing significant to the plot but it's been a while since I've watched rebellion so idk .

Amane Momose:

Amane was voted guilty in the first trial so that she would acknowledge her guilt. It backfired, and now she’s considered a threat. Well, everyone is a threat, but nobody’s threat level has been as heavily discussed and debated as hers. Consider the next prisoner in line, Mikoto. He’s objectively more dangerous and cannot be restrained. He beat up the guard in trial 1, and he was able to hold his own when the other guilty prisoners were attacked. But a good incentive to forgive him is so that he will calm down. You know what? That’s a good incentive to forgive Amane too! But she *can* be restrained, so a good portion of the discussion went into how she should be voted guilty so she *will* be restrained and not a threat. Since her vote was a near 50/50, of course a good chunk of the voters expressed dissatisfaction with her forgiven verdict. Some are already planning to vote her guilty for trial 3, calling her a “lost cause”. She hasn’t even done any concrete harm yet. Hold the pitchforks until she actually causes harm, please? And what if she *was* voted guilty in trial 2? We’ve been warned that she will continue to deny our judgement. A second guilty verdict won’t make her better either, and then what? She’d be called a “lost cause” as well. There is no winning with her.

----

Where do I even start? So first of all she’s an cult child who was physically and mentally abused and tortured by her parents and then (presumably) murdered her mother after her mother killed a cat that she took care of.

Now everyone in Milgram is a murderer but when Amane came and her MV showed her murder and circumstance in an admittedly highly fictionalized depiction of it the audience decided to…repeat the cycle of abuse!

She was voted guilty for the main reason of “teaching her” and helping her “realize that she was abused.” I would like to note that this tough love approach is something her parents utilized against her. “We are only doing this to help you.”

So the audience replicates Amane’s abusers and repeats the cycle of abuse and that’s pretty shitty but it isn’t exactly “Fuck Em Kids” level.

And then Trial 2 happened. Cause Amane is bitter and angry and horrifically traumatized so she acts aggressive and hostile. Especially towards another prisoner.

Now, again, everyone here is a fucking murderer (of atleast could be constructed as one) These people being able to Harm is a core concept of this series.

Yet for some reason it feels like people treat Amane as a “delusional creepy kid who wants to kill people” which completly takes away the nuance of her character. She does have the capacity to harm! Everyone here does! She’s not Uniquly Dangerous! She just has a Reason to be Dangerous. A Reason we GAVE HER by REPEATING THE CYCLE OF ABUSE.

In short: In a series full of Murderers I’m honestly a bit pissed that the 12 year old abuse victim is the one who’s treated like the guy from American Pyscho.

----

TL;DR: "We metavoted this abused, indoctrinated child guilty in trial 1, but it didn't work. Now she is a threat to three grown adults: one who is fully free and two whom she has been shown to get along with. Please metavote her guilty again so she will be restrained and unable to attack them, even though that means subjecting her to further psychological torture." Amane Momose is the youngest of ten murderers, prisoners of Milgram who are to be judged innocent (forgiven) or guilty (unforgiven). In the first interrogation (voice drama), she said that what she did was in line with her religion's doctrines. If we judged her the "wrong way", she said she will just deny the verdict. Combining the voice drama and music video, you could piece together that she was raised in a cult and abused, even though she is cheerful and downplays her pain. She never shows *who* she killed, only *why* she did. After the first day of her vote, she was 81% innocent, but this wouldn't last the whole three months. Many people voted her guilty so she would "see her sins", part of the practice commonly known as "metavoting". Her innocent percentage rapidly decreased, and she hit guilty in the last 15 days, finishing at 51% guilty. At the end of the first trial, Jackalope (who is something like a host) went over all the prisoners' verdicts and commented on the general reasoning. When he got to Amane, he *laughed* at the audience for voting that way to make her realize her sins. Trial 2 rolled around, and it was revealed that Amane's victim was her abuser. On day one, she was at 74% innocent. Seems like a cut-and-dry case now, right? Well... in the intermission, two of the prisoners (Fuuta and Mahiru) were badly beaten up and became reliant on the care of Shidou, a doctor. Amane became hostile to Shidou because what he was doing was against her beliefs. She visited all three of them on their birthdays to convince them to change their ways. She seems to be especially close to Fuuta, who is now murmuring about salvation. Guilty prisoners are psychologically tortured, forced to listen to voices that reject their beliefs. Fuuta and Mahiru both say that the mental strain is worse than their physical injuries. But Amane, who also looks worse for wear, was thrown under the bus because she isn't injured and is considered a physical threat to them (never mind that she gets along with them). She's considered a threat to Shidou, a grown man who is twice her size and fully free, while she is partially restricted by the long sleeves in her trial 2 uniform. She might indoctrinate Fuuta even though, in a prison of ten people and one guard, she's the only voice of her cult. Fortunately, she got a break. Her vote was falling at a similar rate to the first trial. But this time, it stabilized at 51% innocent, 12 days before the end of her vote. But there's no way this is over.

#yall hate kids tourney #round 2 #Madoka Magica #Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magica Rebellion #Momoe Nagisa #nagisa momoe #milgram #milgram project #amane momose #momose amane #cw child death #cw cults #cw child abuse #cw torture #cw psychological torture #cw animal death

[dekusleftsock]

Okay okay, I said I would talk about my theories on Ochako’s feelings for Toga, but most of it is based on simple parallels between bkdk.

Lets start with Katsuki Bakugou: Rising.

I can hear you saying, “Oh but Ochako hasn’t sacrificed herself for Toga/the other way around”. Correction, they haven’t done it yet.

What do I mean by this? Well, let’s look at a more closely relating parallel in the newest chapter.

These two panels align just, so well. TOO WELL, in my opinion. Too well to ignore.

Honestly I could see an Uraraka Ochako: Rising in some way. Some sort of apology for not seeing her as human; to show that she does genuinely care about toga. How she couldn’t stop thinking about her.

And yes, I’m well aware of Toga’s genuine acts of violence and Uraraka’s justified view of her at the time. I’m not saying she’s a bad person, but I’m saying that she isn’t a perfect person in this situation either. Even in this chapter, Toga was not seen as a “full on villain” until this rejection.

Hell, she’s just following orders now because she thinks that will be her only purpose from here on out. Ochako and Toga need to prove their worth to each other, because if they don’t then they will never even accept themselves.

Ochako is like (and I couldn’t put this as well as angy-grr has), a weird hybrid between Izuku and Katsuki. She has Izuku’s martyr complex and Katsuki’s determination to win. They are both her biggest assets and weaknesses. Weaknesses that have been exploited, assets that she’s learned to be a better person.

And god, all for one is watchful. I’m sure at one point or another he’s going to use their love of each other against the other in some way, like keeping Toga to stay in line and keep fighting, or for Ochako to sacrifice/hurt herself in order to save a villain. It’s a double edged sword, they either have to literally refuse to express their feelings or hurt themself to do so.

And, while I do dislike Twice’s death, (bc it makes me sad not narrative reasons) it had so much purpose in Toga’s arc. It makes her have to question the ideas of death as valuable or not, is life valuable or not, and does she truly want to hurt the ones she loves, or does she just want to express the way that she’s been treated all her life?

Like, okay yes, Toga partly acts the way she does because of her quirk. But god dammit, it’s also because she’s expressing her trauma. On other people. She can kill whoever she wants, whenever she wants, because she loves them SO MUCH! Because, even though she hates her parents, that’s how they “expressed” their care and love for her.

That’s what this scene was referencing. She views love as something she’s willing to let destroy her. Love is destruction, and if it’s not her then it’s the other person. She wants love to be tangible, yet out of reach. Like Sato or Izuku.

So when her first true experience with love, familial love with twice, it leaves this question:

Because this, THIS MOMENT, is a lasts act of desperation. To find love without violence.

Just because toga seeks out violence for love, does NOT MEAN that she actually WANTS it. Unhealthy behaviors don’t just happen. Horikoshi is very much pushing nurture over nature throughout the story, so I feel like we focus too much on Toga’s quirk and the consequences to it, and not WHY there’s consequences in the first place.

You don’t just grow up and decide “I like when the people I love are bloody and beaten”. No, that’s caused by a deeper issue, one usually because of an innate experience.

Yes her eating the bird as a child was supposed to show that she had an attraction to blood, I know that, but we are also dismissing this the same as the heroes (like ochako) have throughout the story. “She was such a good kid until her quirk made her commit such violence!” THATS the storyline the news pushes.

And then when the reporter comments on it, she says that it is due to a society that actively suppresses quirks. Quirks, quirks, quirks. Who’s entire identity also surrounded the fact that he had a strong, flashy quirk that made him worth something?

And tell me, if Katsuki’s quirk truly was apart of his anger issues and general “explosive personality”, then why does he lose it the more he uses self introspection? Why does the explosive energy slowly descend into something more of a mask? If Ochako was bubbly because her quirk was cute and made her float, then for the love of god, why does she get more serious?

We have ignored this repeatedly as a fandom. Quirks are nature, isn’t that stated by people who are actively suppressive? Like Toga’s parents? Like AFO?

Toga isn’t violent because of her quirk, she’s violent because it was the only way the people who cared about her expressed love. For the love of god, Sato was literally in a fight when she fell in love with him. And Ochako, our amazing girlboss who’s changing the world, has finally put the pieces together.

Quirks aren’t nature.

And the fact of the matter is, you don’t come to that conclusion without a deep understanding and care for another person. You don’t see past that “nature” they’ve been taught. From Aizawa, to Mitsuki, to Izuku Midoriya.

Hell, Uraraka thought Katsuki was just that stubborn! That there was no changing that! And yet, and yet, Izuku fucking came anyway. He came and he made kirishima take his hand because of WHAT OCHAKO SAID!

THIS is what Ochako’s character has been leading up to. Because she loves toga, and she doesn’t want to let her go. You don’t just, start wanting to save someone you see as irredeemable. That you don’t care about.

#midoriya izuku #bkdk #mha deku #bkdk brainrot #bakudeku #bnha deku #bakugou katsuki #mha analysis #deku midoriya #mha bakugou #togachako brainrot #toga x ochako #mha toga #togaraka #toga #togachako #toga x uraraka #togaocha #bnha toga #toga himiko #ochako x himiko #bnha ochaco uraraka #mha ochako #uraraka ochaco #ochako #ochaco #uraraka fanart #my hero academia uraraka #leftsock rambles #vdidndijdidjdhsh I love them

[jujumin-translates]

Event | 5th Anniversary: The Way Back Home | Chapter 5 - Autumn Planet Story

*Contains spoilers for Act 12 - eternal moment*

Izumi: Is everyone ready?

Juza: Yea.

Azami: Everyone’s hair and makeup is perfect too.

Omi: Wearing these costumes is always exciting, isn’t it?

Taichi: Ah! Mi-chan and Ma-kun are here!

Sakuya: We’ll have to show them how cool we are!

Sakyo: It’s not just those two, we need to show the entire audience the best play possible.

Banri: Damn right.

Banri: …Aight, let’s do this thing!

Autumn Troupe & Sakuya: Yeah!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Izumi: (A few years before Saku leaves the ANIMS ship… This takes place before Dee received his code name “Doug”.)

Izumi: (Out of these crew members, only Dee and the oddball Saku don’t have code names.)

Izumi: (Ted, a childhood friend of Dee’s, was one of the first to receive his name, “Tig”, out of the crew members. This makes Dee even more impatient.)

Izumi: (Dee, frustrated with this, has an outburst at Tig’s father, the captain of the ship, Bear.)

Dee: “Why the hell do Rat and Bat get names, but not me!?”

Rat: “Sorry, Dee. We’re just ahead of you~.”

Bear: “Until you figure out the reason, you’ll always be half a man.”

Bat: “I mean, what’s the point of the code names anyway?”

Rat: “As part of ANIMS, getting your animal code name is a sign that you’re independent. I think you broke the record for being the youngest, Bat.”

Bat: “Huh.”

Rat: “That was the weakest reaction ever! Well, you are a certified communicator. No wonder you’re so sought after.”

Bat: “I mean, you got your code name almost as soon as you boarded the ship, didn’t you, Rat?”

Rat: “‘Cause I’m just that good~.”

Dee: “I could get certified if I wanted…”

Bear: “We already have enough communicators. If you want to be one, look elsewhere for work.”

Dee: “Tch.”

Tig: “Dee, you haven’t cleaned the decks yet. Don’t make Saku do it all by himself.”

Dee: “Fuck off, I know!”

Dan: “Dee, I think you’re just snappin’ at Bear again.”

Dee: “Shut up. And if I am?”

Woll: “Bull’s-eye.”

Dan: “Guess I won that bet.”

Woll: “No helpin’ it. That’s a big win for you.”

Dee: “I ain’t a horse for you to bet on.”

Dee: “All of you treat me like I’m stupid. Pretty sure Saku and I are the only ones on the ship who don’t have code names.”

Saku: “What’s that about me?”

Dee: “Doesn’t it make you feel pathetic that we’re always just treated like we’re not really pirates?”

Saku: “I’ve never really thought about it… I guess I’m not necessarily unhappy with my current position or anything…”

Dee: “Tch, stop fucking joking about me bein’ on the same level as someone unreliable like that.”

Dee: “If none of you are gonna admit it, then I’ll make you admit it. I’ll make you admit that I’m a man worthy of ANIMS.”

Tig: “Dee, clean the decks.”

Dee: “Just fuck off, I’m doin’ it now!”

Tig: “Haah, what the hell?”

Bear: “He’s been like that ever since his father died. You’d better keep an eye on him.”

Tig: “Why me?”

Bear: “You already know why.”

Izumi: (Dee is getting increasingly frustrated with Woll and Dan teasing him. He’s much more childish and brazen than in the original.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Dan: “That’s our target this time, Ralph’s ship.”

Bear: “Way to go, Dan. You’ve got us in a good position.”

Dee: “But I’ve got no clue what kinda things rich people like. Are we really goin’ to war with that ship?”

Tig: “It just for appearances. They don’t even have any weapons.”

Bear: “Alright, for our scouts--.”

Dee: “I’ll go.”

Bear: “Tig.”

Tig: “Roger that.”

Bear: “Dee, you’ll be with me.”

Dee: “The fuck!? Why!?”

Tig: “Shut up. Obey the captain’s orders.”

Bear: “Rat, provide logistical support. Bat, stay with the ship and jam any rescue signals.”

Rat: “Aye aye, Sir.”

Bat: “Understood.”

Bear: “Everyone else, rush in as soon as Tig attacks.”

Woll: “Aye aye, Captain.”

Tig: “Don’t do anythin’ uncalled for, Dee.”

Dee: “Shut the fuck up.”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Izumi: (Dee, impatient to be successful, is the first to board the ship without listening to what the others are saying…)

Tig: “I’ll be goin’ soon.”

Rat: “Unit One is ready to-- wait, huh?”

Woll: “It’s already gone?”

Dan: “Huh, who’s on board?”

Tig: “That bastard-- Can I take Unit Two?”

Rat: “Uhm, yeah, probably.”

Dan: “Unit Three will be on standby, just in case.”

Tig: “Thanks.”

Tig: “Unit Two, launchin’ in three, two, one--.”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Beeping*

Tig: “Dee! Stop actin’ so selfishly!”

Dee: “Just shut up! I’m way better at handlin’ these guys than you are! Stay outta my way!”

Tig: “That ain’t the point! This is why you’ll always be half a man!”

Dee: “Who you callin’ half a man!? Just shut up and watch me!”

*Lazers firing*

Ralph: “!? W-What was that!?”

Subordinate: “Pirates!”

*Explosion*

Ralph: “H-Hurry up and do something quickly!”

Dee: “Hah! Perfect. Nowhere to run. Now all I’ve gotta do is get in and--.”

Tig: “Dee! Three planes incomin’ at two o’clock!”

Dee: “The hell? I thought they didn’t have any weapons. I never heard anythin’ about there bein’ an escort.”

Dee: “Whatever, I’ll deal with the three planes myself.”

*Lazers firing*

Tig: “Dee, don’t go alone!”

Dee: “I’ve got it under control.”

*Explosion*

Dee: “Aight, one down. Now for the rest--.”

*Explosion*

Tig: “Dee!”

Dee: “--Gh.”

*Beeping*

Dan: “Coming in on Unit Three for backup.”

Dee: “Dan!? What are you doin’--?”

*Beeping*

Rat: “Likewise, I’ll cover you, please rescue Dee, Tig!”

Tig: “Roger that.”

Dee: “--Shit, now everyone’s involved, this is bad.”

Izumi: (And as a result, ANIMS is forced to withdraw…)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Bear: “Let’s regroup and take off at once.”

Bat: “Aye aye, Sir.”

Woll: “Glad you’re safe, Dee.”

Tig: “How’s the condition of Unit One?”

Rat: “Dee did a good job of doging, so I don’t think it’s in too bad condition.”

Bear: “Dee, your selfish actions put the whole crew in danger. Are you aware of that?”

Dee: “--Yes.”

Bear: “Your father, Bull, was honestly one of the worst leaders I’ve ever seen.”

Bear: “He was the first to jump into danger, and his first priority was always protecting his comrades by bringing up the rear.”

Bear: “‘After I’m gone, you’ll still be here, Bear. Dee will have you, so I don’t have to worry.’ That’s what he used to say.”

Bear: “Every day I stood next to him as his second-in-command made my anxious as all hell, but I was proud to be there.”

Bear: “Dee, think it over again as to why you’re not recognized as a full man.”

Bear: “You have to be aware and responsible if you ever want to lead ANIMS as captain one day.”

Dee: “Me…?”

Tig: “Why are you surprised? Hasn’t this always been your plan? You’ve been sayin’ that you wanted to be captain ever since we were kids.”

Rat: “Well, but you’re still just half a man right now!”

Dan: “At this rate, you won’t get your code name and become captain until you’re an old man.”

Bat: “And no one wants a captain like that.”

Woll: “Haha. You’re gonna have to really work at it.”

Dee: “Guys… I’m really sorry.”

Dan: “He apologized. Seems like I’ve lost.”

Woll: “And I guess that means I’ve won this time.”

Dee: “You place bets on shit like that too!?”

Izumi: (Dee’s comrades follow after him. Their tone is joking, but you can feel their belief in Dee and their encouragement.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Rat: “Huh? What about Saku?”

Bat: “He said he had stuff to carry. They brought him along to the captains’ drinking party or something.”

Rat: “I’m so jealous. I wish I could’ve gone too.”

Dan: “Well, there’s no helpin’ it. We can’t celebrate the spoils of war right at this moment.”

Rat: “That’s dumb.”

Dee: “He said he was sorry.”

Rat: “He wasn’t trying to be disagreeable or anything.”

Dan: “Stop pouting.”

Dee: “I ain’t poutin’.”

Bat: “Huh? Isn’t that Ralph’s ship over there?”

Dan: “I didn’t see anythin’ about them comin’ into port around here, though.”

Woll: “Maybe it’s because of the incident the other day.”

Dee: “‘Bout damn time.”

Tig: “Oi, you’re not plannin’ on boardin’ again, are you?”

Dee: “They came from way far away. Can’t pass up that kinda opportunity. If they come into port, we’ve got ourselves an openin’. We’ll be able to pull it off no problem.”

Tig: “You haven’t learned your lesson at all.”

Rat: “That’s our Dee!”

Dan: “It’s true, we’ve got a chance. I’m in.”

Woll: “Same here. Not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

Bat: “Ralph and his crew are gonna be comin’ in soon. If you want your chance, go as soon as they do.”

Dee: “Ya already intercepted ‘em? That was fast work.”

Rat: “I’m gettin’ hella hyped!”

Dee: “We go at 22:00. I’ll board first.”

Tig: “I’ll go too. We learned out lesson last time.”

Dee: “Permitted. When we give the signal, the rest of y’all board too. Rat will be in charge of logistical support and diversion.”

Rat: “Aye aye, Sir!”

Izumi: (The members of ANIMS are filled with excitement. Their tone of voice and facial expressions really show off their nature as pirates, as if they’re enjoying the roughness of the plan.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Dee: “Looks like they’re short of hands. Perfect.”

Tig: “You haven’t reflected at all, have you, Dee?”

Dee: “I have. That’s why I brought you along.”

Tig: “Haah. How the hell am I supposed to support somethin’ like this…”

Dee: “It’s time. Let’s go.”

Tig: “Understood.”

Dee: “Pardon us!”

Guard: “Who the hell are you!?”

Dee: “We had to leave early the other day, so we’d thought we’d pop in to say hello again.”

Guard: “Oi, someone, come here! There’s pirates!”

Dee: “Tig, the signal.”

Rat: “Oh, it’s time, it’s time.”

Woll: “We’re gonna have to kick it up a notch from last time.”

Dan: “We’ll have this over with before the captain can even find out.”

*Lazers firing*

Izumi: (ANIMS acts as violently as they want. It really shows off the true spirit of Autumn Troupe.)

Izumi: (Banri-kun’s leadership skills are put to good use for Dee’s performance, plus the action scenes with everyone are also very impressive.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Bear: “So, what’s the meaning of this?”

Dee: “As future captain, I’ve gotta make sure I finish the job I messed up on.”

Dee: “Just so you know, this was my decision, so the other guys ain’t responsible.”

Bear: “God… Dee, from this day on, you’ll be known as Doug.”

Doug: “Huh?”

Bear: “And you’re not a future captain. From today on, you’re the captain. So pull yourself together.”

Doug: “Are you for real?”

Bear: “Tig, you’ll support Doug as second in command.”

Tig: “No avoidin’ it, I guess.”

Bear: “That’s a weight off my shoulders.”

Bat: “Oi, the Space Police are headed this way.”

Dan: “If we don’t hurry, the port will be put into lockdown.”

Doug: “Aight, y’all, get ready now. We’re gettin’ the hell outta here!”

Rat: “Aye aye, Sir!”

Izumi: (Now given his code name, his determination to live as Captain Doug of ANIMS is reaffirmed…)

Izumi: (The universe of the space performance was further expanded by seeing the past stories of ANIMS.)

Izumi: (The audience seems to be thrilled to get to know the activities and the growth of Doug and the others, which differs from the main story.)

Izumi: (Autumn Troupe’s spin off performance was a huge success!)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Applause*

Sakuya: Thank you very much!

Omi: Thank you.

Juza: Thanks.

Azami: Thanks so much.

Sakyo: Thank you very much.

Taichi: Thank you!

Banri: Thank you so much!

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

#a3! #a3! translation #banri settsu #juza hyodo #taichi nanao #omi fushimi #sakyo furuichi #azami izumida

[thornybubbles]

Can't Fight This Feeling: Yandere Speedwagon

Note: This is another short story I came up with using the picker wheel method. Just like with Santana, I had the wheel pick a random prompt from a list of yandere prompts from Tumblr and then had it pick a character from a list of JoJo characters I haven’t written for yet. The character was our favorite Best Waifu Speedwagon and the winning prompt was: “Yandere watches darling sleep and imagines their future together.” I wrote most of this while I was sick so if it sounds weird in some parts, I’m sorry. This is lighter fare as I don’t really see Speedwagon as the hardcore yandere type. I’m honestly not happy with this at all. The ending isn’t very satisfying in my opinion, because I just wanted to finish it and get it posted. Again, sorry for the poor quality in this one. 

Robert listened to the slow ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway as he gazed down at your sleeping face. Something as lovely as you simply shouldn’t exist in this world, and yet, here you were. Robert had seen his fair share of ugliness. Ogre Street was where ugliness in all of its forms thrived. It’s where he learned all of life's cruelest lessons. That’s where he learned that someone could stab him to death and leave him to bleed out in the streets and not a soul would care. It made him bitter. 

When he met Jonathan Joestar, most of that bitterness went away, but it left a hole in his heart where it used to be. Jonathan’s rare show of true nobility and kindness was not something that he was used to. He was so used to being looked down on by those in the higher class and always having to watch his back around his peers. He had his allies, but he had made it a point not to get too attached to any of them. He never knew when a street fight would go wrong and he’d end up losing them. 

Robert couldn’t handle losing people. He’d only known Zeppeli for a little while, and he spent most of that time arguing with him, but watching the man die such a gruesome, painful death nearly destroyed him. Then getting word of Jonathan’s death only a short time after, when they all believed that the nightmare was finally over… It was almost enough to make him return to thuggery. 

He’d gotten drunk the night after Jonathan’s memorial service. He just wanted to drink himself into such a stupor that he couldn’t even remember his own name. If he drank himself to death that night, then all the better. Life had taught him another of its cruel lessons… the cruelest lesson of all: Genuinely good people were rare and it was even rarer for them to live very long. It seemed the world couldn’t handle even an inkling of kindness, bravery, or love before it snatched it all away. Zeppeli and Jonathan didn’t deserve their miserable deaths. If he’d had a chance to take the place of either one of them, he’d die in their stead in a heartbeat. Death like that should be reserved for people who hurt people, like Dio… like himself.

He wandered far away from Ogre Street and the miserable hovel he called home until he found himself in a neighborhood he didn’t recognize. Or at least he didn’t think he recognized it. His vision was so blurry that he could only follow the streetlights at this point. The lights were the only things that he could see properly. His wobbling steps caused him to step wrong and he staggered off of the sidewalk and tripped over someone’s front steps. He bumped his head on the railing and yelped in pain. He ended up sprawled across the steps, his bottle of liquor smashing on the cobblestone walkway. His head was spinning and he wasn’t sure if it was due to the bump on the head or the alcohol. Just before he lost consciousness, he saw a light go on in one of the second story windows of the home whose steps he was laying on. He supposed he’d wake up in a prison cell in the morning, probably pinched for trespassing, vagrancy, public drunkenness, or all three. 

He was more than a little surprised when he woke up in the most comfortable bed in the world with the worst hangover in the world. Once his blurry eyes managed to focus on his surroundings, panic started to settle in. Instead of cold stone walls, he saw polished wood. Instead of iron bars on the windows, he saw lacy, poofy pink curtains. The more he examined his surroundings, the more he thought that this looked a lot like a woman’s room…

Oh.

OH!

OH NO!!

He needed to get out of there! He could hear someone coming up the stairs. His heart nearly burst out of his chest. HE NEEDED TO GET OUT OF THERE RIGHT NOW!!! This was the worst possible outcome. Worse than waking up in a jail cell! He had no idea how he came to be in some woman’s room, but it was an enormous taboo for him to remain there. He glanced around the room, his panic-filled eyes desperately trying to find a means of escape. He could hear the footsteps on the top stair. All he could see was the open window. Out the window it was, then. He quickly sat up… and regretted every decision he’d made that led up to that moment. His head felt like it was going to split in half. He clasped his hands to his temples, hoping to soothe his hangover somehow. That’s when he noticed the bandages wrapping around his head. 

Huh?

Someone bandaged him? Who would do that? Who would waste good bandages on a lowly goon like him? 

That’s when you came through the door. Robert froze holding his head and looking at you with a horrified expression. You set the tray you were carrying down on the nightstand, placed your hands on your hips, and glared at him. 

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” you demanded. 

“Ah! I-I’m s-sorry! I--!!” Robert stammered but then he realized that he recognized you. You had spoken those same words to him the first time you met. 

“You lie back down right now.” you said firmly, gently pushing him back down onto the overstuffed pillow. The pillow billowed up around him, causing his shaggy blonde hair to floof up around his face. You chuckled at him as he looked at you with those same worried, confused eyes he’d given you when you first met him. 

“Y-you’re… you’re the nurse…” he mumbled as the pain in his head was starting to make him dizzy. 

“We just keep running into each other, don’t we, Mr. Speedwagon?” you said as you uncovered the bowl of soup on the tray. 

“Do you think that you feel up to eating something?” you asked him. 

Robert didn’t answer, he just stared at you as he was caught up in the memory of the first time the two of you met. It was the night he came to visit Jonathan, after he’d been injured after the first fight with Dio. You caught him trying to sneak in after visiting hours, scaling the side of the building like some kind of cat burglar. 

“Just what do you think you’re doing?!” You yelled up at him. He looked down at you, realizing he’d been caught, and slowly descended the ropes back down to the ground. He blurted out some excuses, saying he realized how bad it looked, but he assured you that he wasn’t trying to rob the place. (Who’d rob a hospital, anyway? He wasn’t that much of a lowlife!) He just wanted to see his friend. You asked him why he hadn’t come during visiting hours and he explained that he tried, but they wouldn’t let him in. You looked at him in his desperate, watery eyes, then glanced down at his shoddy sling. You scolded him, not for trying to break in, but for trying to do so with an obviously injured arm. 

“Come with me.” you commanded. 

Stunned, he followed you into the hospital where you led him to a room. To his delight, the room was right across from Jonathan’s. You explained to him you couldn’t let him into Jonathan’s room due to his delicate condition, but he was being treated by one of your best nurses, and that while he hadn’t revived yet, he soon would. If anyone could break him out of his unconsciousness it would be her. You promised to let him take a peek at Jonathan before he left. You then proceeded to treat his arm. Robert winced and hissed as you did so. He realized that you had essentially snuck him in as a patient so that he could check on his friend. None of the other staff had been willing to do that for him and he didn’t know how to feel about it. He protested when you began to prepare his arm for a more professional sling, saying that he couldn’t pay for it. You sent him a silent glare, he yelped and shrank in on himself, but didn’t bring up the cost of treatment again. 

“Mr. Speedwagon? Did you hear me?” you asked, dragging him off of memory lane. 

“Oh… yes. Thank you…” he mumbled. 

You reached over and propped up his pillow so that he was sitting up slightly. When you put a spoonful of soup to his lips he realized that you planned to feed him. 

“Y-you don’t have to d-do that!” he sputtered, moving his head away from the spoon like a fussy toddler. 

You huffed and fixed him with that same glare you gave him when he mentioned being unable to pay for you treating his arm. His face flushed, not only from the idea of you feeding him but from the fact that he rather liked that glare. He couldn’t say what it was exactly, but the expression brought something out in your eyes that made him feel warm all over. Noticing the sudden color in his face, you set the spoon back down into the soup and placed your hand on his cheek. His eyes closed out of reflex and his face heated up even more. 

“You seem to have a bit of a fever. I’ll give you something for that in a moment. First let’s feed you. Having something in your stomach will help to ease that hangover of yours.” you told him. 

Robert allowed you to feed him, pointedly avoiding looking you in the face as you did so. You scolded him for wandering the streets in a drunken state at night, not because of any societal rules, but due to how dangerous it was to be inebriated in the middle of the night with no one around to keep him out of trouble. It seemed you simply couldn’t stop thinking like a nurse no matter what. He normally hated it when people told him what to do, but he found that he rather liked it when you scolded him. You didn’t do it to boss him around or give yourself reasons to feel superior to him. You did it because you actually cared about what happened to him, though you had no reason to. He could feel that empty space inside of him that used to be filled with bitterness begin to fill up with something that he never felt before.  

It didn’t take long for him to realize that he was in love with you. How could he not fall for someone who treated him with such tenderness? Even when you chided him for one thing or another, you only did so because you wanted him to stay healthy and out of trouble. Robert realized that he’d been lucky enough to find another rare gem of a human in you. Jonathan and Zeppeli were gone, cruelly taken from a world that didn’t deserve them. But you were still here. You could still spread your kindness freely… but Robert knew that as soon as the Universe caught a glimmer of the light in your sweet soul, it would do everything in its power to snuff it out. He wanted to protect you. In the same way that he vowed to protect Erina and her child from the cruelties of the world, he wanted to do the same for you. 

But it wasn’t the same with you. When Robert realized that he was in love with you, he also realized that the feelings he had for you seemed to keep growing. That empty place inside of him was not only filled up… it was overflowing. There wasn’t a moment that went by that he didn’t think of you. Even when he was helping Erina out, he was thinking of you. 

Now here he was, standing next to your bed, watching over you as you slept, unaware of his presence. He knew what he was doing was wrong, and oh so inappropriate, but he couldn’t help himself. He just wanted to make sure you were safe. He found out that you had no family to speak of. You had no one around to watch over you. It wasn’t fair. Not that he didn’t admire your independence, something unheard of for women of the time, but… what if something happened? What if you got hurt? What if you got sick? No one would be there to help you. Would anyone besides himself even know or care? He hated the idea of no one being there for you if you needed them. 

Robert wanted to be there for you. He figured that if he married you, then he would always be able to watch out for you, but…. He was still just a lowly street thug with a criminal background. You deserved someone far better than him. So he decided that he would have to make something of himself first, before he could attempt to court you. It was only right. He would find a way to earn lots of money, legitimately, and become someone you would be proud to have by your side. He would use that money to help people as well as make a better life for you. If you wanted to continue to be a nurse, he would let you. You could work together to make this horrible world a better place. You could help him watch out for Erina and the future Joestar descendants. 

The Grandfather clock in the hallway chimed. It was 1 am. You sighed softly and turned over in your sleep. Robert felt that it was time for him to leave. He would be back the next night to watch over you again, knowing that one day, he could watch over you without having to break in. 

#speedwagon #yandere speedwagon #robert e o speedwagon #yandere speedwagon x reader #speedwagon x reader #reader insert #jjba #yandere jojo #yandere jjba #yandere jjba x reader #this could be better #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #jojos bizzare adventure x reader #jojo x reader #phantom blood #jojo no kimyō na bōken #jojo no kimyou na bouken

[frogsndogs]

So I recently rewatched Scooby Doo Stage Fright and I have some thoughts. 

Now, I really enjoy this movie and consider it one of my absolute favourites! The first phantom? Amazing and weird but in a way that fits. All the contestants? Keeps everyone guessing. The “no dogs” rule that makes it a struggle for Scooby to get into the opera house? Hilarious. (Especially the old man bit)

But I’m not a really big fan of iterations of the franchise where Daphne is obsessed with Fred to the point that it’s her only character trait. And you might say that her love of Fred wasn’t her biggest motivator in the movie, but throughout the movie she makes it clear she only wants to win so that she can work up the courage to tell Fred how she feels. 

But she had one line really stood out to me, that didn’t have to do with her crush on Fred:

“Why do monsters keep showing up wherever we go? Is it something about us?”

There is a lot going on in this line. 

First there’s the sentence itself- what it points out. It is an in-universe acknowledgement that monsters go wherever they do. A couple series have done this, even Shaggy did it in the first part of the movie, saying “When do we go to a place that’s not haunted?” But what makes this different is that it isn’t trying to be meta and it isn’t sarcastic. It’s scared, and vulnerable. This sounds like a teenager who is trapped in this strange cycle with no real end in sight. Who’s not sure if she’s the problem.

In many different iterations of the gang what stands out is that they’re the outsiders. The weirdos. Daphne’s family history especially in some iterations makes it clear that she was pressured to conform to something that her parents wanted, something that society wanted. This seems like a line from someone who thinks that there is something wrong with them. Who hasn’t reached Be Cool Daphne’s comfort level with her weirdness.

So I think that the movie would be better if instead of Daphne having an obsession over Fred, she is worrying over why ghosts keep popping up wherever they go. And there’s a couple points in this movie where this would fit well.

First: All the other contestants. Are considered weird. What if Velma said that “A lemon-scented ghost would fit right in with this crowd” and Daphne lowers her head and says “Yeah” softly. Because she is part of this crowd. Talent Star seemed to have attracted a whole bunch of weird people, whose to say that this isn’t bringing up Daphne’s feelings of being different all over again? Like if you won a contest and all the other people who won were batshit crazy wouldn’t you doubt yourself? Just a little bit? Especially if you were a young girl who’s always been told she’s batshit crazy?

Then when Daphne wakes up at night crying? What if she wakes up crying because everything feels wrong? Because she feels wrong? Teenagehood is a time with lots of change and lots of transitions and lots of doubts. So she wakes up crying because she has a lot of existential questions about her life. 

And then the whole 5 different phantoms thing is obviously not helping. Just when Daphne thinks they’re done and can move on with normal teenager activities another phantom shows up to ruin everything all over again. This further reinforces the cycle that has been plaguing Daphne for who-knows how long at this point.

But then I think that this movie also presents the perfect opportunity for Daphne to realize that being weird isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Take Steve (the first phantom) for example. There is no way to deny that this guy is weird. He grew up in a sewer, has no idea how mirrors work, he is generally strange. But he’s also selfless. He’s ashamed of the hurt he caused in the past (but even then the worst he did was destroy the disco ball - no one actually got physically hurt), he saves Fred by attacking another one of the phantoms, when Brick gets arrested and no one knows what to do he steps up and takes charge. 

I would like to see a convo between the two of them - maybe Steve notices that Daphne’s feeling down about everything and approaches her, asking what’s wrong. Maybe all this pressure that’s been building up throughout the movie finally breaks and she confesses everything that’s been on her mind. And Steve listens. And he understands what it’s like to be weird, and maybe we could get a bit of backstory on him (why there is a random guy living in the sewer will forever haunt my every waking moment) and it could all boil down to yeah, I was weird like you but unlike you I was alone. Because maybe that’s what it takes for Daphne to stop being so caught up in her own weirdness but see every else’s as well. We have Fred who sleeps with a net, Shaggy who can eat a giant pizza like its nothing, Velma who is interested in stuff that isn’t very mainstream like the soap diamond, Scooby who talks.  

And this doesn’t change the fact that they are her best friends, her family. That throughout the movie they have been there for her and supported her and Fred on this wild ride. And same goes for every mystery. And the fact that they’re weird? Makes them stronger in the face of these mysteries. Fred’s net saves Shaggy and Scooby’s lives (that dude was running around with a butcher’s knife - he should def be locked up for attempted murder). Velma’s love of the niche comes in handy when stopping Dewey. Scooby and Shaggy sneaking into the opera house reveals that Dewey is the 4th phantom. 

So maybe this convo really helps Daphne gain confidence to go on stage and sing her heart out. Then they have the whole chase with Dewey and they give up the contest for Emma and all that. And then, the final nail in the coffin that makes Daphne come into her own weirdness. Brick. 

Brick, who is by far the most “normal” person around. Sure, he says “Fantastic” a lot, but that’s not a guy who pulls an egg out instead of a card or a goth band that was a country act up until a few weeks ago, with 3/4 of them being honestly surly and the the other one being so cheerful. Earlier in the film Daphne says that she really admires Brick, and in this version maybe that could mean that maybe in this whirlwind of weirdness she admires how he’s so… normal. But then at the end of the film comes his confession - that he’s surrounded by all these talented people makes him feel suffocated. He feels pathetic. And Daphne then realizes that yeah - all the other contestants were weird, all her friends are weird, but that’s what made them talented. Thats what makes them so amazing. 

In the end, the movie ends with Daphne coming to terms with her weirdness - and maybe starting Be Cool Daphne’s list of everything she wants to do. In the end she comes to terms with the fact that monsters tend to follow them around, but as long as she’s got her weird friends she’s gonna be okay.

#scooby doo #scooby gang #daphne blake #shaggy rogers #velma dinkley #fred jones #be cool scooby doo #scooby doo stage fright #daphne blake is amazing #do i ever make short posts? #no #why? #bc apparently i can't shut up #i am so sorry this is so long #pls bear with me

[bohemian-nights]

Finished watching “House of The Dragon” for the first time a few weeks age and for the most part I really enjoyed it. But then then I started involving myself in fandom discussions ….is it weird that I thought it was weird how many people shipped Daemon and Rhaneyra? I would like to point out that I’ve not read Fire&Blood yet so maybe their relationship is different/better in the books but.....show wise I haven’t really seen anything to make me want anything they have (in their romantic relationship that is) for myself. Then the fact that he’s her Uncle has always rubbed me the wrong way. Of course people can ship what they want and I’m not trying to shame them or anything like that but it’s just a little weird to me.

I’ve been on the internet for a long while now so of course I know that fictional and real world incest exists and that there are different literatures that have incestuous relationships but for the most part (from what I’ve seen) either the book/show/movie paints it in a bad way or the actual fandom itself points out that it’s weird and unhealthy because it’s incest. I think “House Of The Dragon” may be the first show I’ve seen to do otherwise. Maybe I haven’t been properly “desensitized” to it since this is the first time I’ve ever really had an interest in anything by or based off of George R. R. Martin’s work. So tell me are the relationship(s) different in the books? Better? Worse?

It is very odd and no their relationship isn’t described as any better/romantic in Fire & Blood. In fact you could make the argument that it’s worse considering 1/2 of the passages that Dumbnyra stans argue show Daemon and Rhaenyra’s “love” are when she’s underage🙃

She’s like 8 here and Daemon is in his 20s:

Oh so romantic. Daemon loves his niece so much except gasp he took away his affection once he knew that she was going to be made his brothers heir and not himself:

He comes back though when he realizes he can be closer to the throne if he compromises her and forces daddies hand. Being groomed and having your rep ruined is the stuff of Jane Austen novels😍 She’s 14 here and Daemon is 30:

Does it get better when Rhaenyra is finally legal? Nope.

Here they marry six months after both their spouses die which they claim is “romantic,” but it really reads more like a quickie wedding cause Rhaenyra got pregnant(and if they were really f*cking while Laena is alive why didn’t her dumba** get pregnant with Daemon’s silver haired child to throw off the scent that her children aren’t Laenor’s and why didn’t Daemon get her pregnant if he couldn’t stand to be apart from her and wanted to “protect” her🙃):

They also try to argue that Daemon(after disobeying his wife and queen's orders to save the actual woman he loved) died for Rhaenyra cause he’s taking out her greatest threat:

Even though her greatest threat is Daeron who has an army in addition to a dragon:

Keep in mind this was even before Ulf and Hugh betray Rhaenyra which may or may not have been in that letter, but Daemon for sure knows the greatest threat to Rhaenyra’s safety/reign is Daeron and not Aemond. Aemond was the minor leagues and getting himself “killed” to take him out did little to help Rhaenyra out. She’s most certainly be in dead water after he’s dead because she’d no longer have the dragons needed to win. They’d technically be tied at first, but one of her dragonriders is a child who’d easily be killed. It becomes a 2:3 fight and yeah Addam (bless him cause he actually should’ve left her behind) and Rhaenyra are going down.

And Rhaenyra even considers his abandoning her and saving Nettles an act of betrayal:

They try to use the book to support their ship, but if you read there is nothing romantic about this ship.

Very few prior to this show were hardcore Dumbnyra stans. In fact, most people said Laena was Daemon's greatest love(as a Nettles girl I don’t agree with this), but they screwed her and their relationship over on the show after they race-bent her.

Dumbnyra stans for whatever reason watched the show and thought a man grooming his underage niece (they call the scene where he’s giving her a necklace at 14 romantic) because he wanted to be closer to the throne/his bro was the hottest thing since sliced bread so they’ve said and done any and everything to support their delusions.

Dumbnyra only has the fanbase it does because it’s the only “real romantic pairing” with two white leads on the show thus far. They don’t really care about incest(although it’s a bonus to some of the extremely mentally ill members of their cult) they just like that they are two blonde haired white people. Plus this ship kinda has a built in fanbase(Jonerys, another another dry incest ship. They've not met in the books yet, but it's probably hearing that way if George ever finishes the books🙃).

A great deal of the shippers who do ship Dumbnyra do so because they thought for whatever reason Dumbnyra on HOTD would be Jonerys 2.0 done right since their last ship ended like this😊:

Honestly Dumbnyra shippers set themselves up for failure cause Dumbnyra was never supposed to be this epic romance that they made it out to be in their delusional little heads(a man giving his 14 year old niece jewelry isn’t the romantic serve they think it is and abandoning her in a brothel sure as hell isn’t hot. Those are literally the “best moments” of their ship on screen unless you want to count that beach scene🤣).

Which is why they gloated over Laena being screwed over (and still are obsessed with her despite the fact that she suffered from biased writing), tried to say that older!Dumbnyra have “mature chemistry” when two rocks have more chemistry than they do, why they started spazzing out after choke gate(which up until that point 90% still acted like this ship was the sh*t), and why anytime you bring up Nettles they have a panic attack and pretend like she won’t be on the show 🤣 It’s a sight to see.

I wouldn’t rag on them so much if they weren’t proven to be racist morons, but alas they seemingly can’t help targeting Black characters and Black fans(besides the ones who tap dance for them) with harassment so at this point f*ck 99% of them 🤷🏽‍♀️

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotdask #bnask #bnasks #hotd spoilers #daemon targaryen #the claws will really come out when a certain someone shows up ☕️ #rhaenyra targaryen #anti dumbnyra stans