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#i am....starting to get to that point.
caruliaa · 1 year
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staff still hasn't given me polls, what should i do?
🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪 their moms 69%
🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪 their dads 31%
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grace image os i get to look at her
#edit: edited the og post to what i want but to set the record straight i edited to the post to be mathematically correct right after the#first person pointed it out which was like ten mins after i posted the og post. now fuck offf !!!!! the rest of the tags r from the og post#for some reason i feel very immature making your mom jokes about tumblr staff. which i shldnt !!#bc they suck nd they still havent given me polls. but i ig i feel imature bc it a your mom joke 😭 but still i tihnk its kinda funny#EDIT: edited the post to what i want bc yall were getting annoying . but to set the record straight i edited to post to be mathematically#also its *mum* not mom okay i am NOT !! an american . but if i say mum everyone will j be like 'omg british' like i dont know i am#anyway. i want polls please. give me the rigght to force my mutuals chose between the most inane things#also i tihnk it wld b cool for the cs weekly blog. like w each episode#i cld do a poll of like. out of five stars what do u think of this ep#and it wld b a cool thing of which eps r ppls faves#also i cld have like. whose ur fave in team red whos ur fave in acme etc#id prob just have to go with vile faculty bc theres more than 10 ppl in vile. and ppl wld kill me if i didnt include nel the ell or whoever#it wld b fun !!!#oh btw csweekly thats i thing i want to start. prob on uhhh the 11th of feb ill post abt it more but its basically#a tag/blog for watching cs one ep a time watching one ep every saturday#ya !! :3#flappy rambles#inaccessible#ask to tag#(<- idk. just in case)
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wardingshout · 3 months
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Zelda goes mushroom girl
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novelconcepts · 2 years
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The defintion of hell is knowing a show is incredibly well-received in its first season, but if people don’t become machines churning out tweets, content, and rewatching 24/7, there’s no likelihood it’ll get a chance to tell its whole story. This shit is madness. Shows in different genres shouldn’t have to pit-battle for dominance. First seasons are MEANT to be baselines establishing worlds and characters, not complete storylines. The idea that this golden age of television has turned into “get it done in one or get out” is revolting.
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southern--downpour · 10 months
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gl!ranboo doodle sheet bc i am actually going insane
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uncanny-tranny · 2 years
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The weirdest double standard is trans people can only ever "identify as" and cis people just "are," and the more time goes on and people start realizing this, I hope this will change
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caelanglang · 1 year
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injury recovery…
*break an arm or two out there kids!*
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chalkrub · 6 months
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made a little linocut for pixie <:^) miss her so much
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21stc3nturyd1gitalb0y · 3 months
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i started another pair of patch pants
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 3 months
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Izutsumi character study
#dungeon meshi#izutsumi#One of my goals for this year was to spend more time doing art studies.#What better way to start than with my favourite danmeshi character (not seen: a whole page of figuring out her features)#I feel like she is by far one of the most poorly understood characters in the series. Partially due to her 'late party member' status.#'She's abrasive and mean' - 'she's a picky eater' - 'she's a catgirl who acts like an asshole cat ' YES and that is the point!#Everyone in dungeon meshi is traumatized and messy about it but izutsumi is just less polite in how she tries to cope.#Izutsumi is a extremely traumatized teenager who has utterly lacked autonomy her entire life.#She is the epitome of a “If I can just have X thing then all my problems will be solved!” character. And the X is 'Freedom'.#Her epilogue was one of the best and wrapped up her character so wonderfully (WARNING: I WILL NOW SPOIL PART OF THE ENDING)#Because she finally gets her freedom! She can go where she wants to and she doesn't need anybody! Yet...it doesn't fix her.#She is so focused on doing only what she wants that she forgets her own needs. Sometimes you have to eat the things you don't want.#And sometimes you have to face the hard truths that you need more than just one thing to make you happy.#Life is not all about only seeking pleasures and avoiding pain. You need to be balanced in order to grow.#Eat your vegetables (including the metaphorical ones: I am eating more art veggies this year by doing art studies!!!)
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tswwwit · 5 months
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Here's a thing! Reincarnation of Dipper who's not in the best of situations. (A Cult)
Got some gore and knives in here so watch out!
In the room of ritual, everything is ready. 
Off in that wide and majestic space, the candles are lit. The circle is drawn. The altar spread with gold and trinkets, little offerings of delight and whimsy, tomes of knowledge. Along with the remnants of the latest sacrifice, dried in long trails down the stone.
The tomes, though. If one looked closely, they would see mostly encyclopedia volumes from like, sixty years ago. Because, yeah, those are going to be so tempting for a being of infinite knowledge.
Long chanting rings through the hallways, preparing the way. The ritual is in less than an hour. In preparation for the service, the servants of their lord make themselves presentable. 
Dipper adjusts his robe - too big for him, by at least one size- and pulls at the neckline. It always drags up against his throat, in a tight, uncomfortable way. He tugs it down again, glaring into the small mirror on the otherwise bare wall.
Bill Cipher is the most powerful being in the universe, and his reach is infinite and his discernment of the mind and mastery of mysteries is unquestionable, yadda yadda yadda. 
Dipper just. Doesn’t know what everyone else here expects to happen. Especially with the setup unchanged from the one he saw last year. And the year before that. And the one before that. 
Odds are, this ritual is going to end up the same as every other one. 
Pointless.
Dipper adjusts his robes again, and smooths out the front with slow strokes. As long as this is going to happen, he might as well avoid drawing attention to himself. He’s had enough ‘attention’ for more than a lifetime.
There’s a rhythm to these ceremonies.  Dipper hears the footsteps, and easily tucks the hood of his robe up, only semi-stumbling as he joins the twin lines of robed figures leading into the ritual room. 
As he tucks his hands together, covering them with long sleeves - Dipper spends another moment to silently sigh. 
He joins the line, ducking his head as he joins in formation. The two lines of followers shuffle on with their long robes brushing the floor. He can hear them whispering to each other; varying levels of excitement, boredom. Talking about plans for after the ritual. He thinks he picks up one of the more devout members, almost humming with anticipation.
Despite the murmurs, the sight itself could be quite impressive. An all-seeing eye, if it was real, might even appreciate it.
Still, all these dramatics are so over the top. Just as fruitless and stupid as every other prayer, or ritual. Never worked before, not gonna work now. Dipper’s not sure why they’re trying the same freakin’ thing, over and over again.
For a bunch of people obsessed with the infinite power and knowledge Cipher represents, they haven’t accrued any. 
And for that matter! If Bill Cipher’s eye is truly all-seeing, why hasn’t he ever responded? His triangle is emblazoned on every wall, and on their robes. You can’t look at a surface without seeing it staring back at you, and there’s no short of devout worshipers, constantly praying and doing rites. 
Dipper dares a glance at one of the long scrawls on the walls, seething slightly at the handwriting. And the grammar.
If he was watching, surely he would have spoken up by now. Even if it’s just to critique the decor, which is tacky as hell.
The main ritual room fills up with warm bodies, and Dipper stands in an inconspicuous place. Just to the left, and not quite entirely in the back. At the front of the room, he can see the priest nodding approvingly, hands tucked behind his back. 
Hidden under the sleeves, Dipper clenches his hands together. Breathing out a silent prayer of his own, to nobody particular. He can stand stock-still through one or two more ridiculous rituals, if it means no more prayers to a blind idiot god.
A week. Maybe two. That’s it.
Then he’ll be out of these robes, and far, far away from here. He’ll never see these people again. He’ll never have to chant a single verse again in slightly incorrect Latin. He’ll never have to kneel, or go before that stone altar again, not even once.
The outside world is - there’s a lot of talk about it. There’s always a lot of talk, more or less colored by personal experiences and levels of permission to go ‘outside’. Dipper’s learned, now, that well over ninety percent of the gossip is lies. 
If his palms still sweat at the prospect, it’s because it’s… New. Different. But it can’t possibly be worse than here, and, like. Novelty is condoned by his not-really-a-god. Trying new things should be standard doctrine - if the priest wasn’t a total idiot.
Not much longer, now. 
Out there, things will be better. Out there, Dipper will have a chance at having a life. 
And there won’t be any trouble, since he’ll keep his mouth shut.
 “Children of Cipher!” The high-pitched voice of the priest rings tinnily through the air. “We are once again assembled!”
Dipper bows in concert with his fellows. Staring at the ground is a good way to not roll his eyes. 
A chant rises up, and he keeps his lips clamped together as he mirrors the ritual bowing and scraping and general genuflection. The priest will go on and on, no matter what he does. 
All it takes to get through this is time. Another round of kneeling, then standing, then kneeling, until they stand at the last word in a thronging chorus.
“Brothers!” A louder, shriller call, now that everyone has been drawn close to a fervor. For all his faults, the priest does know how to read the mood - “Tonight is a special evening!” His arms thrown up, spindly and bare as the sleeves drop near to his shoulders. “Who will bleed for our god?”
The only thing that prevents Dipper from flinching is how much attention that would draw.
He hardly dares to breathe, lest some wayward motion be taken as ‘enthusiasm.’ 
Dipper keeps his head bowed, as murmurs start up around him and  his forehead starts to prickle with sweat. 
Sacrifices happen all the time. Mostly animals. Last year they got a goat, and that was considered a pretty big one and the stew afterwards was filling, and probably tasted pretty good. 
Human blood, though. That’s - They haven’t done this in years. 
The susurration of voices in the background grow louder, and Dipper stays bowed in place. Of course nobody wants to volunteer; ‘willing’ isn’t easily found when it comes to getting a knife in your flesh - but someone’s going to bleed, tonight. The ‘volunteer’ bit will be justified by whatever’s convenient.
Around him there’s murmurs, a few, low arguments. Tension is starting to rise, but for the most part, he’s being overlooked.
He nearly thinks he’s gotten away with it, too, when a hard shove on his back sends him stumbling forward.
“Here, brothers!” The voice rings in Dipper’s ears as he tries to backtrack, slipping on the robes of the person in front of him and dropping painfully to the floor. “The provider!”
Shit, shit, shit. 
Dipper tries to glance back at whatever asshole pushed him, but the crowd’s already grouped together into a bunch of faceless clumps, drawing back from his fall. 
He levels the worst glare he can manage, even as both his arms are seized by two of his so-called ‘brothers’. The big ones. 
Gritting his teeth, Dipper digs in his heels. Struggling’s ineffective, protesting’s impossible. Gesturing wildly, including a raised finger in the general direction of the asshole who pushed him, Dipper gets dragged to the foot of the altar. 
“See how he offers his flesh! See how he shakes with joy!” The priest jogs his arms in the air. Dipper shakes his head rapidly holding up his hands. “His arms, already offered!”
And for a moment Dipper’s simply annoyed at how obvious it is that the whole damn ritual is a farce. 
“Tonight, we call upon the god! Tonight! We-”
Whatever else he’s yelling about, Dipper doesn’t pay any mind. He’s busy trying to use the loose robes to worm his way out of the guards’ grip. It halfway works, until one of them gets him by the bare wrist and painfully pulls it out.
The cold stone hits his waist. One of his sleeves is drawn to his shoulder. His arm pinned, bare and wrist upraised, on the stone. 
Damn it, if he finds out who shoved him, he’s going to - he arches up, but firm hands hold his shoulders. There’s little time to think about revenge when he’s trying to find a way out of this. Arm, stuck. Shoulders, held. The exits, totally blocked by a bunch of crowded figures. 
In a way, Dipper can’t truly blame them. After all, if the current sacrifice got away, who knows? 
They could be next. 
The priest seems pleased, at least. He paces in front of the altar, gesticulating wildly, and rambling on about god and blood, and other nonsensical bullshit.
Great. They have their ‘sacrifice’ for tonight. So, so super ‘willing’ too, what with how he, quote ‘rushed to offer himself’, end quote. 
Dipper takes a long breath, holding it for three beats. Then he lets it out. 
Okay. If this follows most other ‘human sacrifices’, it should be bearable. Some bloodletting, a nasty scar. Maybe a missing finger, but he’s learned to deal with worse. Push through the moment, wait for it to be over. Soon enough, he’ll be on the other side of this entire godawful situation.
Focusing on the transitory nature of pain helps him steady his breathing. And more importantly, slow his heart rate.
Calming meditation. He can work on that. Though it’s difficult, with the way the priest keeps going on and on about an ‘auspicious night’. Also, the very large, curved, very sharp-looking knife.
Dipper tries his best not to stare at it. Or to linger too much on the thought of knives and flesh and blood. If he could stop thinking, for once in his stupid life, it’ll be over before he knows it.
That’s totally not not the usual knife, though. He wonders where the hell it came from.
Last time, it was some basic utilitarian repurposed chef-thing, with a crudely engraved triangle on the hilt and the blade. This one’s much more… Ceremonial. Sharper, too, with a wicked curve and a gleaming edge, and covered in runes that Dipper’s never seen before.
He mouths a swear as one guard uncurls his fingers from the edge of the altar, turning his wrist back upright. The priest waves the very, very sharp blade around, yelling something that Dipper doesn’t bother parsing, even as his mind races. He can tell it’s definitely not Cipher runes on that thing, and not the old Latin their god prefers. Did someone go outside to find this? Another random artifact that the priest got his hands on? Seems like he’s always picking up useless semi-magic items.
The knife doesn’t feel ‘useless’, though, even from a glance. It radiates a pure and terrifying purpose. 
Especially as it comes down, and rests against his wrist. Almost gently, its point bites a drop of blood from his skin.
The fetid breath of the priest pants over the altar. Dipper turns away, neck twisting as far as he can manage, eyes shut.
Please let this be just a bit. Just a drop. A small, tentative cut to fill a bit of the channels on the stone. There’s a sting to the metal, a slight burn, and though Dipper’s not one of the main Holders of Mysteries or anything, he feels like that’s a very bad sign.
Then he feels. Cold.
It runs down his inner arm, lingering for an instant before blossoming into sharp, bright pain. He nearly chokes on air, cringing into a hunched position as he feels the knife slide.
The catching drag of the old knife would have been painful, but that was mostly used for taking a finger, or maybe dragging across the back of the arm, in a more decorative than productive way of drawing blood. 
The ease with which this knife cuts sends a deep, swirling nausea straight to the pit of his stomach.
“Behold, the flow! The magic gathers, my children!” THe priest’s voice warbles a bit as “With this tool, with this magic, our god will hear our call! He will behold our devotion, and raise us to glory! He will answer-” More and more words, variations on encouragement. Zero substance, all hype. A fanatical motivation speaker, Dipper thinks, half-hysterically. 
Vapid or not, the result is effective. The sight of blood has certainly spurred everyone into a kind of frenzy, whether from fear or fervor, Dipper doesn’t care.
And they’re certainly getting a lot of blood. More than required.
Dipper struggles up against the hold, but it’s pointless. He ‘s stuck there for a few long minutes, oozing out for an audience that can’t even see half the damn thing, and it hurts. 
The red trail gathers, slowly pooling down and into the engraven triangle. Enough to fill the shallow channels easily, which, uh. Dipper’s never seen before. With the other sacrifices it kind of stopped and clotted, but this moves like it’s being wicked along the surface.
He makes a face as  his blood slowly travels through the lines, but can’t see any surface changes, or feel anything that might have been put on the stone.  
Until it connects at the top point. Then it meets, completing the image of Bill with a strange, too-bubbly ‘blorp’. 
Okay. Weird. But that’s plenty, right? Ritual done, blood offered, and now, he should get going.
Lurching upward gets the grip to loosen up on his arms, as the guards loosen their grip a bit. They already have what they need, and hell. Dippers deserves a friggin’ break. With the immediate attention off him, he can dare a glance at his arm - 
And instantly averts his gaze to absolutely anything else. 
The priest turns around, arms raised. Pumping them  in the air, knife glinting in the candlelight. “Yes. Yes!” He swings the blade around, nearly catching one of the big brothers in the side. “See how easily the liquid flows. The power builds! I can feel it - the summoning, in this room tonight!”
The crowd calls out their enthusiasm, a high rising ‘oooh’ noise. 
Dipper sighs, and tries to scoot back away from the altar. It’s done, at least; he’ll just have to cope with the aftermath. Could be worse.
“The other arm, brothers!” A loud, clarion call. Dipper whips his head around,  as the priest lowers his arms - and turns back around. Pointing at Dipper. Again. “I feel the blade crave more!” 
Uh, hello? What?
Dipper glances up at the knife. At how the slight sheen of blood has dipped into some of the runes, the faint glow -  and goes ‘huh’. 
Alright, he’ll admit. It’s definitely magical. 
But he’s beginning to suspect it has less to do with Bill, and a lot more to do with other forces. Ones that might, say, make a ritual flow smoothly. Or make a fanatical asshole even more bloodthirsty.
Behind him, he almost feels the guards shrug, right before he gets shoved against the altar again. One of the assholes even dares to pat his side, in a brief bit of unexpected sympathy. Not that it means anything. 
Dipper longs to curse them out, to scream at every single one of these absolute jackasses. Every one of them is just watching this happen. Nobody thinks about what happens next, ever, including - 
He grits his teeth instead, hard enough that he thinks something might crack.
Everyone follows orders. The words of their supposed ‘god’, filtered through a man who’s fallible and frail and frankly fucking stupid.  Always getting stupid magical trinkets. Always trying to find a link to that demonic god, constantly pursuing magic, and power, and influence. No matter the cost.
Why would he care if one of the too-few worshipers pays the price?
And fuck that.
Before, Dipper struggled as much as he could. Partly from fear, sure. But mostly to make a point. That this was stupid and painful, and wasn’t going to do anything anyway. Knowing that with enough kicking and protest, he might get them to cut things short.
Now, seeing the priest whip the blade back around, raising overhead with both hands - he fights.
A solid kick lands in the left guard’s groin, and he gets his wounded arm back. Dipper clutches it to his chest, but the other’s still pinned and being twisted, now. Another kick gets something softer, and he hears a huff from the priest. Then a loud, angry order to ‘Hold him down!’.
Dipper’s shoved into the stone, stomach digging into the edge of the altar hard enough to make him gag. His head hits the surface, more dizzying than painful. There's a hand gripped in his hair. Then his other sleeve is drawn up, his healthy arm extended over the table. Bare skin exposed, lying over the bloody surface. 
He breathes heavily, nose nearly against the altar. It quickly grows hot from his breath, and moist, too, which is probably why his face feels wet. He doesn’t hear anything but his own harsh panting. 
He never wanted to be a part of this, he never wanted to grow up like this. In a week or so, he was going to get out, and now he’s going to get hurt again, so soon, and he only has so much blood in him. He doesn’t want to die. He shuts his eyes, tucking up against himself. Hoping the weight of his body will drag his arm away where his own strength couldn’t, choking back a tightness in his throat. He was nearly out. He was nearly safe.
He was almost free. 
He breathes harder, shutting his eyes tight. He presses his forehead against the runes, and the blood, and just wishes he wasn’t here. 
Metal clangs on the floor, ringing bright as a bell. 
There’s a sudden intake of breath. Dipper feels the hands release him, a shocked sound. Then the ‘flump’ of a lot of draped fabric, all at once. 
Dipper keeps his face against the stone, breathing slower. That’s. That’s not how any ritual goes.
He can’t waste the opportunity, though. Now that his arms are free, Dipper pulls his sleeve back up, bundling it around the cut. Shit. Does he clench his fist or leave his grip loose? Which one slows blood flow. 
Whatever interrupted this isn’t going to last. He’s only got a few seconds before everyone comes back to whatever passes for their senses, and tries to ‘complete the summoning’, or whatever the hell they were after.
Gotta act. Gotta - Dipper wheels around, panting for breath. 
In front of the altar, all the robed figures in the room have fallen to their knees. The priest’s dropped the knife. Dipper scoots it a little closer to himself with a foot, watching as the zealot raises his arms in devout praise. 
Dipper pauses. Still clenching tight on his wrist, though his sleeve is starting to feel damp. Things don’t just stop like that. The ritual has to continue. People should be surging up to keep the momentum, but the entire room is -
Oh. 
Yeah, now he sees it. 
All the candles were lit before. They give a little light to a room that’s never seen electronics in its life, dim as it is. 
Right now, they’re bursting with flame, rising high enough to cast weird shadows over the cavern - 
And it’s a very bright blue. 
Shit.
Dipper whirls around, unsteady on his feet. Staring at a long, long trail of rising blood. Almost a string, or a reverse droplet, floating up from the triangle carved on the stone. In midair it spreads into a thin web, shapeless and vaguely pulsing. 
Okay. That is definitely magical. And absolutely up to no good. 
He fumbles around - where did he kick the knife? Maybe if he breaks it, it’ll interrupt this whole thing. Who knows what the hell that idiot priest did, or where he got the artifact, or what it does. 
Dipper doesn’t know much about gods, or spirits, or demons, but anything that gets pulled in by a blood sacrifice can’t be a good sign. He spots the damn thing near the opposite corner, and braces himself on the altar. It he’s careful, he can reach it without alerting anyone. Maybe.
Which is when the entire hall fills with bright, loud laughter.
“Well, well, well, well, well!” The voice rings just as brightly as the laugh. Dipper jerks towards the sound, involuntarily, only to see a single eye open inside the breath web of blood. “What do we have here?”
There’s a resounding groan from the crowd. Various people start chanting, but they’re all using different verses, and the priest starts his own, presumably improvised, wail of praise and devotion. The end result is an ear-rattling clamor. 
Dipper looks back at the altar. Watching the blood twist in this way, and that. The eye alights on him for a moment - he freezes - but it moves on from him quickly, examining the room.
There’s a lot to see, too. Maybe terrified, devout worshipers isn’t weird for a supernatural entity, but it’s thoroughly freaking Dipper out. Even the priest is on his knees.
“Boy, it’s been a while since I’ve had this kinda summon!” The net stretches, almost elastic; twisting into limblike shapes, and fractal forms. The slit-pupiled eye rolls back and forth. Then it blinks twice. “Might as well get dressed for the occasion! Hold on a sec.”
The eye shuts into nothingness. Moments later, the blood starts getting really active, pulsing faster, twisting into shapes like it’s alive.
Dipper spares a terrified check on his wrist, but. No, he’s not feeding it, or anything. This is something else. Someone else, taking the material and lending it power enough to grow. 
Even as he watches, there’s a spreading arch of bone and the twist of veins. A fairly glorpy assortment of something between and below what looks like ribs, a strange thick blackness tinged with yellow…
He cringes back, and shuts his eyes. Shit, watching this is deeply unsettling. 
Not that it’s gory, per se - that would imply that something’s being taken apart, when it shouldn’t be. This is something being put together, a way that it shouldn’t ever be.
He backs up a step from the writhing mass, getting more fleshy by the instant. Then grimaces, teetering in place. Blood loss, right. From the asshole who started this whole thing. He levels a glare at said asshole - 
But. Beside him, the priest is quivering with tension. Trembling like he didn’t expect this to happen.
Frankly? Neither did Dipper. For all the times they’ve done a ritual, there’s never been a reaction like this. 
This insane mass, forming insanely out of nothing. Or well, from blood, that spread out in a weird three-dimensional - triangle, oh shit -
He should have known. Should have noticed. This was a summon, and while the object used wasn’t for the right being, maybe that doesn't’ matter with so much gathered intent. 
This is….
Dipper falls, awkwardly, to his knees. Then ducks down in as low a bow as he can manage, pulling the hood of his robe back over his head.
Part of him thought Bill didn’t exist, or at least not in the way these guys talked about him. Maybe they’d latched onto some other spirit or deity, and completely misinterpreted everything. Maybe they’d made it all up, including some of the really old texts. There was never any evidence that their lord and master was real.  
But given what’s happening here…
Like hell is he gonna look like the only person who doesn’t. 
Something - two things - go ‘clack’ on the altar. A few series of taps. 
Then a long, pleased sigh, and the sound of soft movement, like cloth.
Dipper keeps looking down. The hood keeps him anonymous, another faceless shape in the crowd. Just one more figure genuflecting before his - 
Before a god. 
One that might not even deserve a capital letter on the word, perhaps, but still an entity that he should not, under any circumstances, piss off. 
There’s a tap that sounds like a shoe, and a low hum. Something lands beside him with a thud. In the brief moment that he raises his head, Dipper catches sight of black loafers, and long fingers on an oddly human-looking hand. 
He quickly lowers himself more towards the floor, holding his arm tight. 
Yep, just one more super-devoted believer, same as all the others. Super not important enough to notice.
“You know, blood’s usually for blood gods!” Bill Cipher’s voice rings through the room. It’s higher than Dipper expected it to be. One of the fancy-looking black shoes kicks the knife up into the air, where it’s caught by the long fingers of that hand. “Pretty wild for you guys to pull this. With another guy’s artifact, of all things!” A chiding tut, and the knife twirls. “And pretty disrespectful, I gotta say.”
“My lord.” The priest’s voice is dry, even for a guy who already sounded half-dessicated. He rises to his knees, hands clasped together. “We meant no disrespect. We are here to serve you, master. As we always have.”
“Uh huh,” Bill says. In Dipper’s limited sight, he toys idly with the knife, pressing the tip against the finger of an opposite hand. A bead of something dark wells up, and he rubs his fingers together. 
The priest recites several lines of a chant, making a triangle with his fingers. So eager, and so totally missing the disinterest in Bill’s tone- “We have always been searching for you, our worship unending! You honor us with your presence. You shine upon us your infinite glory!”
“Sure you have,” Bill says, sounding, if anything, bored. The blade in his hand flips around between his fingers, then back again. The motion reminds Dipper of a very deadly fidget spinner. “Do tell.”
Which is when the priest surges up, nearly grabbing onto Bill’s thigh. He’s only stopped by a rapid sidestep. 
Dipper cringes back out of secondhand embarrassment. Bad move. Dumb move. ‘Devoted’ or not, Bill was bored already - and infinite beings of pure energy do not like being manhandled by mortals. 
“Let us use this connection, and the blade! Let us complete the sacrifice.” The priest continues, undeterred. Shuffling closer on his knees, he spreads his arms wide, inviting and eager. “The blood could grant you all your power, that you might grant us-”
“Pass.” Bill says dismissively. The knife flashes, and there’s a wet, solid ‘thunk’. 
Dipper catches a brief glimpse of the priest’s face - stuck in shock, pale and lined with age - just before his body falls to the floor, as limp as a ragdoll. The knife handle in his chest props him up at a weird angle, before a swift kick from a black shoe sends it tumbling down the short three steps of the dais.
Dipper cringes into a smaller ball, trying to scrunch himself into invisibility. He watches Bill pass in front of him, standing in front of the crowd. The hand rests on a hip, while the other is raised out of site. Still far, far too close.
On the one hand, Bill’s examining the congregation. Distracted, for a moment. Staying out of his attention is so, so great. 
Dipper curls up in a much, much tighter ball despite that. 
In every single one of his plans to get out of here, Bill Cipher existing wasn’t a factor. Much less his actual, physical presence. All he’d ever thought about was how this was bullshit, that the people he knew were awful - and how hopefully, nobody would notice if he left. Now the ‘god’ himself is here. Standing so near Dipper he could, if he wanted, stupidly touch the hem of his pants.
A distant, insane part of him chimes in with the stupid idea that it’s nothing to really worry about. 
Like, compared to how he’s still losing blood, for example. 
Right. Staunch first, panic later.
Dipper wraps his sleeve around his arm, as subtly as he can, teeth gritted. His first priority is to stop bleeding. No escape plan - or any plan for that matter - is going to be useful if he dies. 
The immensely powerful nightmare god is also a problem, obviously. But in this moment he’s not the immediate threat. 
“Hmmm.” Bill lets out a low, contemplative hum. It resonates in the room, with how deathly silent things have become. “Let’s see here…”
After a pause, he snaps his fingers. “Stand!” 
The entire congregation leaps to their feet. One of them stumbles and gets a swift kick in the side.
“Sit!” Bill commands. Everyone drops to the floor. A low chuckle, then, “Turn around three times and bark like a dog!”
Oh, now that won’t - 
Or maybe it will. Dipper cringes, back pressed against the altar. Don’t just comply, what the hell. Sure it’s a magical god-being, but - fuck. He watches the scene with a grimace. 
Bill, though, seems to be having a great time. He’s bouncing in place, voice bright with enthusiasm. “Do a little dance! Twist yourself until your joints snap! Hell, start a fight with the guy next to you!”
There’s havoc in the room of ritual. Robed figures practically fall all over themselves, and Dipper notes with a nauseating turn that some of them have drawn knives of their own. Chaos reigns; an entire scramble to do each possible thing, all at once. 
And Bill’s laughter rings out over everything, clapping his hands in delight.
Dipper’s trapped in this room with an insane madman, leading a horde of equally insane idiots, and he doesn’t have a way out. He hopes he’ll stay out of notice. He hopes that he’ll live through the next five minutes.
There’s no controlling the situation, but he can improve his odds.
The altar’s pretty close, and Bill’s turned away, for the moment. Dipper scoots back, inching himself towards the corner. With enough shuffling, he might be able to move behind it and get out of sight. 
“Welp,” Bill claps his hands again, this time with finality. Some of the chaos stills. “You’re all annoying, boring little vermin, but maybe you guys could improve. I noticed the blood you used to summon me was real choice stuff!” The exaggerated sound of a kiss. “Very nice.”
Dipper feels sweat building up in his robes, and tries to be very still. Basically part of the ritual scenery. Anonymous furniture, at best.  
“In fact. It was so nice.” The voice continues, at a lower tone. Almost a purr. There’s a clack of shoes on stone. “Let’s see who this little treat is!”
The god seizes Dipper’s wrist - the wounded one, sending a bolt of pain down his arm - and clamps his palm around it, incredibly tight. 
Before he knows it, Dipper’s standing again, involuntarily, staring past his hood into a bright, glowing eye.
He’s meeting his god. He’s been noticed by Bill Cipher. 
So far he’s not trembling, so. That’s one thing he has going for him. 
Bill’s eye flicks down, then up again, almost thoughtful. Any question about his power is quickly tossed aside, because holy shit; the magic is nearly palpable, thrumming into Dipper’s skin and making his heart race. 
He’s also sporting a bright, wide grin, in a face that makes Dipper do a double-take.
Like. He thought - he glances at the triangle on the back of the wall, then to the person in front of him. 
Okay, it’s said that Bill Cipher can take any form he wants, human included, but, like. What?
Thankfully, Bill doesn’t seem to notice any of the insane, stupid things Dipper is thinking. All he does is raise his hand, and with one quick motion, sweep the hood off of Dipper’s head. 
Dipper flinches back. Jaw clenched, eye shut. 
Shit, shit, shit. Special attention. All the scenarios he can think of say ‘not good’. Best case scenario, it’s because Bill wants to thank him, for... Whatever his blood did. The rest of them involve increasingly terrifying ideas about what ‘nice blood’ means, and how much of it Bill might want. All of it, say. Maybe immediately. 
Dipper can’t pull away, not with such a strong hold on his arm. Fighting is downright dumb. Trembling’s happening, despite his best efforts, and the intrusive thought bubbles up that, hey, at least there’s lots of pressure on his wound. Could be worse.
Nothing happens. For several seconds.
Eventually, Dipper peeks an eye open. 
There’s Bill Cipher, looking back at him. His eye is literally lit up, the pleased grin wide on his face. 
Dipper waits for an order, but the god doesn’t speak. He just wiggles his eyebrows. If anything, he looks oddly… expectant?
Fuck. Dipper has to do something. 
What the hell, there isn’t any doctrine for this.
Sure, he knows all of the catechism, and each chant he was taught. He’s got an encyclopedic memory of everything he was taught about this powerful interdimensional god-being, he knows every ritual back and forth. The tenets spring to mind, unbidden: Be obedient, speak his words, serve him in all ways - and most of all, don’t think. 
But Dipper can’t chant. He hasn’t been told to do anything yet. And though it’d be a death sentence, if serving involves more bleeding he’d be tempted to kick again. Hell, he literally just watched everyone else trying the other bits. They did exactly what they were supposed to, and that was ‘boring’. 
He never could stop thinking, though. 
Now, his mind is racing.
A little-known and never-preached fact about Bill Cipher is that he doesn’t, actually, like rules all that much - 
So. 
Dipper offers a hesitant, closed-mouth smile. He wiggles the fingers of his free hand, a bit awkwardly, in greeting. 
Then ducks his head again, wishing he still had a hood to cover his face.
That didn’t make it weird, right? That’s a normal, devout thing to do. Coming from a totally religious guy, who’s only slightly damp from all the sweating.
“Oh.” Bill’s voice lowers to something like a purr. He tucks a knuckle under Dipper’s chin, lifting him to meet his single eye again. An eye that’s glowing now, bright gold and  half-lidded. “Ten outta ten on the offering, guys. Very cute.” 
Which is a little weird, but probably - 
“Y’know what?” And Bill’s grin widens, bright and wild, as his thumb strokes Dipper’s chin. “I like this one.”
Uh oh.
Dipper tries sinking down into his oversized robes, but Bill just fishes around inside them until he can pull Dipper up again by his undershirt. 
“In fact,” Bill declares, sounding proud. He pulls Dipper in closer, hand still clamped painfully tight on his wounded wrist. “I’m gonna keep him.”
What?
Immediately after that declaration, Dipper’s tugged in close, thumping against his side. Bill turns to start barking orders at the congregation, a sneer in his voice and a 
Dipper can’t quite parse it. He’s still running over the words in his head. 
In the ritual room, the candles flare even higher, temperature rising to an uncomfortable degree. Dipper watches two worshipers collide with each other in their frantic obedience, and can’t even laugh about it.
‘Keep’, Bill said. 
What does that mean? Everything here is already ‘Bill’s’, in a way. But the way he said it sounded… oddly specific. 
A hopeful part of Dipper chimes in that it might just mean ‘not let him bleed out’, but he’s never been that lucky before, and there’s no reason it would start now.
With everything else going on. With the presence of a god. e. 
The cultists are bustling about; a few of them deposit things near Bill’s feet, like gifts upon the altar. Boxes, totems, more lit candles that Bill idly kicks over onto one of their robes, watching them flail at the sudden burst of fire. 
Eventually, Bill considered the task ‘done’, or close enough. He sighs, shaking his head. “About time, guys! Talk about slow. Hard to get good followers these days.”
Bill clicks his tongue in distaste, then snaps his fingers.
Dipper hears a weird ‘zmmm’ sound to his left. He notices that Bill’s suit is really soft material, and also that he probably shouldn’t be grabbing it like this. 
He doesn’t dare look at the sound. Not when Bill’s turned towards him with smug pride, like he’s pulled off a plan without a hitch. 
“Man, it's only been fifteen minutes, and I’ve had it with these losers.” Bill gives the congregation a look of disgust, then turns back to Dipper. That grin reemerges like the sunrise. “Screw these guys, am I right?”
This time, Dipper’s smile is involuntary. He quashes it fast, but not before Bill notices.
“That’s what I thought.” Bill says, with deep pleasure. He takes a step closer to the altar, pulling Dipper along with a surprising lack of force. “So! What’d’ya say we ditch this joint?”
Dipper doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t know what’s been happening, either, other than it’s all been going way too fast.
But Bill Cipher is looking at him, still. Present, powerful. Eager for a response. 
Dipper just shrugs.
He wouldn’t know what to say even if he still had his tongue. 
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Bill says, eminently pleased. Pulling Dipper in closer, with an arm suddenly around his waist. “Hold on tight! It ain’t a bumpy ride, but it’s a weird one.”
Dipper follows as he walks. Partly on automatic, and partly because what the hell else is he supposed to do?
About three steps in, he realizes they’re both walking on thin air, towards and over the altar. 
He jerks his head over, blinking at the source of that ‘zmm’ sound. 
Because of course summoning am interdimensional god-being would leave a remnant. He had to come from somewhere. 
Like, say, a weird red-yellow gap in space, with nonsense things flung around in a black and bizarre starscape. Dipper catches a glimpse of something with two many limbs, and of a series of screaming mouths with no bodies, and a duck and a grandfather clock, tumbling through the air. 
It’s almost like it might be a nightmare dimension. Who could have thought.
With nothing else to cling to, his free hand clamps Bill’s shoulder, tight. 
“You’re my guest for the next while, sapling.” Bill says, squeezing him tight in return as he steps in - and drags Dipper alongside him, stalking into the portal. “Glad to have you!”
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its-your-mind · 6 months
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HEY. HEY.
HEY @re-dracula WHAT GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO HAVE JONATHAN ACTUALLY READING THAT PASSAGE OUT LOUD BEHIND SEWARD DESCRIBING THE SCENE, HUH? WITH THE TEARS IN HIS VOICE AND THE PAUSING AND THE SHORT LITTLE INHALES AND THE VOICE CRACKS? WAS IT TRULY NECESSARY??? I WAS ALREADY CRYING. I DIDN'T NEED THIS TOO. WHAT THE FUCK.
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lavenoon · 9 months
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@naffeclipse realized it's criminal I haven't drawn him with claws so far, since I love inflicting retractable claws on any version of the dca I touch
*self insert is not a girl (he/she)
og detective au by sunnys-aesthetic!
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jamietwat · 4 months
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Time loop fic set during season 2 when Jamie’s back around but Roy isn’t coaching yet where it takes Jamie and Roy an embarrassing amount of do-overs before they finally realize they’re both caught in it because for days Jamie goes over to Keeley’s place and antagonizes Roy in basically the exact same way because he thinks making the same stupid old man jokes all the time is funny anyway and any slight changes in conversation he just assumes is because he showed up at a different time or worded his own end of the conversation a little differently but Roy’s still basically saying the same grumpy old man shit anyway
And Roy makes basically the same retorts every time because he stands by it and he assumes Jamie shows up at slightly different times looking for Keeley as a butterfly effect of his morning with Keeley being different but that there’s no escaping him showing up to be a little bitch at some point
And like they both sometimes tell people but not the same people on the same version of the day so Keeley individually thinks that both of them are losing it on different versions of the day before eventually they both mention it
And then on like day 5 of the same day over and over Jamie doesn’t show up and Roy is irrationally angry about it but thinks it must be somehow connected to the fact that he was acting absolutely insane with Keeley trying to explain what’s happening while she thought he was fucking with her and somehow that made her brush off Jamie and him not show up or something?
And it takes Jamie showing up at 100 and just tearing Roy apart and going on about what a dick he is (which isn’t unusual but isn’t how this routine goes) and weirdly fixating on how he was excited to meet Roy but then he ended up just being an old washed up prick that never even gave him a chance because Jamie figures he can just show up, yell at Roy for all the reasons he’s so fixated on being a little asshole with a grudge against Roy in particular to get it out of his system, and then never have to deal with any consequences of Roy finding out about the whole embarrassing having been a big fan and expecting it to be so cool to play on a team with him just to immediately get offended that Roy didn’t give a shit about him and his bullshit and so Jamie ended up hating him thing
But instead Roy just scowls at him and is like “that’s not what you’re supposed to say” and Jamie’s like “…what.” And Roy’s like I’ve done this day like ten times already and either I make Keeley think I’m certifiable first thing in the morning and you don’t show up or else you show up looking for her and then make the same completely uncreative old man jokes at me and Jamie’s like what the fuck I’ve been doing this same day over and over and you’ve been making the same shitty jokes that weren’t funny the first time over and over again
And Keeley’s just sitting there watching this like “Are you two fucking with me? I can’t believe you two got along long enough to plan whatever the fuck this is.” And honestly, the fact that she couldn’t imagine them ever getting along to plan this stupid joke and agree on it is the main reason she actually starts to believe them that time in an okay either I’ve completely lost it or you two are stuck in a time loop kind of way and when she starts going on about how every time loop movie there’s like a moral the person has to learn and maybe they’re both caught in it because they’re supposed to learn how to get along and be friends and Roy’s supposed to take Ted’s offer and that’s how Jamie finds out about the Ted trying to convince Roy to coach thing
But they’re both like fuck no absolutely not, that’s not it and I’d rather be stuck in this stupid fucking loop forever than voluntarily spend time with him let alone get along (as if Jamie hasn’t shown up to annoy him practically every version of the day and Roy hasn’t just been sitting there waiting for him every time) and then they actively avoid each other for like a week’s worth of versions of the same day before they start considering that Keeley might have been on to something but it still takes three more days of pointedly not seeking the other out and waiting for the other to give in first before they run into each other at Ted’s place anyway and finally start actually swapping information they’ve picked up from their loops and what they’ve tried changing to try to get out and discussing ways to try to get out of it while Ted’s just sitting there cracking jokes and making annoyingly similar to what Keeley said comments about how in time loop and body switch things it’s always that you have to learn to see things from another perspective and be nicer to someone you don’t usually see eye to eye with before you can get out (Ted doesn’t actually believe they’re stuck in a time loop though, he’s just going well weird hypothetical but I’ll play along if this almost certainly made up scenario is what it takes for them to have an actual conversation with each other)
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tsaikonautz · 1 year
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hhhhhhgngn
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callileonn · 7 months
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#fe3h#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd#felix hugo fraldarius#dimilix#comic#I'M *STILL* GOING THRU IT W THIS GAME CLEARLY#its been months....... but classes start again this week so i'm drawing them as many times as i possibly can before i get irreparably busy#my projects for them are getting increasingly complicated like i think someday i'm going to master interiors specifically so i can draw the#standing awkwardly on either side of the desk in dimitri’s study during their post-AM pining phase#i love applying the hopes development to dmlx in houses but in like EXTREME slow burn mode#btw felix sits there until mitri wakes up at which point mitri is like felix…… u should have woken me#and then they argue abt why he shouldn't have & felix gets embarrassed/frustrated and leaves#he only realizes he left his cloak w mitri until he’s back at his quarters. and then dimitri has to awkwardly return it the next day#and then perhaps them forgetting things in each others’ spaces becomes an excuse to talk outside of their duties................#but u didn't hear that from them#ALSO i think dedue is standing outside mitri’s office & he lets felix in but for the rest of the day if anyone comes by he just tells them#that dimitri is presently occupied by very important matters and cannot be disturbed. while fully aware he just fell asleep :'-)#and when felix leaves they just sorta nod at each other & dedue notices his missing cloak but politely refrains from mentioning it#ahem. anyway. i love them so much
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thegirlsinthecity · 7 months
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This one is for the lovely @kalevalakryze ! Thank you for all the time and effort you put into your amazing fics!
This idea is once again pulled from their fic Mine over on AO3 :)
#star wars#ahsoka#wolfwren#sabine wren#shin hati#ahsoka series#ahsoka show#sabine wren x shin hati#star wars fanart#my art#thegirlsinthecity#okay when I read this scene it stuck in my head for days#(i had to get the dyeing image out of my brain first to be able to work on this one but once it was done? I immediately started this one#It’s such a good fic and a very cute scene!!#i hope you like it :)#i’m actually pretty proud of myself on this one#still lots to learn but i am improving i feel like#the lighting is what took me the longest because no matter how many videos i watched about light i still don’t get it#i also tried really hard to make the faces a focal point by rendering that area more than the rest. i originally had more detail on the rest#but it distracted from what should be the focus#also i am a perfectionist and often lose sight of the bigger image… note to self it doesn’t matter if something is rotated 37 vs 38 degrees.#no one will notice you don’t have to waste an hour deciding on if a single pixel should be added or not#also note to self phone will crash multiple times as soon as more than 30 layers are involved#also note to self overlay is your best friend#but yeah probably the first time i’ve looked at something i’ve made and been like ‘holy fuck i did a good job’#also you know what? i will be shameless and put my own damn art in my favourites tag if i want to because i’m so proud of myself#favourites#tumblr is compressing my image quality >:( it actually looks so much crisper in my camera roll#adhd rambling sorry got off track here
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