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#if you believe the reincarnation theory
callmegaith · 5 months
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P A R A D O X
Stills:
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Honestly its so motivating to me to see how much I improved in 5 years 😭😭😭😭I hope if u see this U KEEP GOING! U GOT THIS, ARTIST! U GOT THIS!
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iristial · 1 year
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danhengposting · 7 months
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making moc teams before reading hcq lore: okay blade and bailu are MARRIED. i cant separate them because blade's gonna die without her.
me after hcq lore: ouch
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ihavedonenothingright · 9 months
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I think the choice to make the ancient hero a Zonai was clumsily handled, but not without some potential. It makes no sense that everyone suddenly knows he looked like that (especially since it's not recorded on the tapestry), and it makes less sense because the only people capable of producing half-Zonai half-Hylian kids were, as far as we saw, Sonia and Rauru. But I'm willing to toy with it in a different sense: namely, the aspect already works like the transformation masks, so what if it's the spirit of an older Zonai hero the ancient hero we know of assumed? It could even still contain the soul of a hero who saved Hyrule in the era the Zonai apparently populated the surface.
I'm frustrated by all the Zonai retconning of things that didn't need to be retconned, but more interesting headcanons are working okay as a solution.
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molly-vb · 2 years
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Hey, I've come to tell you that shipping King Dice with Ms Chalice is perfectly fine, and that she is a young woman and not a child (going off of her third super art and her statue in that one run n gun level) and at the beginning of the DLC she says she's been trying to leave the Astrel Plane for a long time, nobody knows how long she's been there tho. I think its safe to say that she is much older than Cuphead and Mugman, also it's canon that King Dice is 110 years old so...yeah
Thank you for respecting the fact that I ship it. I promise that I won’t come in between the part of the fanbase that don’t like the idea!
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abyssalpriest · 9 months
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Me: I am steadfast on the issue that cultural appropriation is an issue, but being drawn to research and talk to people of a spiritual culture and find out what you need to convert and/or appropriately interact with the culture is OK and that doesn't change when youre directed to start it by a spirit. If you're going to go through the proper means, the reason you started going through those proper means whether it's mundane or spiritual shouldn't matter. Many of the cultures in question are perfectly OK with people who think they are reincarnations of people involved with the group (for example monks taking on - taking BACK on - people who have memories of being in their monastery in a past life and who are now returning to said monastery to continue their work), or are OK with being drawn there by spirits of the group like hindu gods calling to people who aren't hindu because many Hindus see them as avatars of a universal God, and it's a rather uniquely western (for lack of a better term) idea that the only appropriate way to approach being drawn to another spiritual path is by completely mundane things, as if spirits and those groups have no autonomy nor ability to reach out unless it's through mundane means. Many of these cultures do not have the distinction of mundane therefore normal vs religion therefore not entirely real or able to be leaned upon as factual, it's disrespectful to tell cultures that believe in, say, reincarnation memories and autonomous/far reaching gods that you're Protecting them from.... things they believe are possible and ok... and not letting each individual culture make their own decisions on whether someone is respectful or not when they come knocking and give their reasons as to why they knocked is just in my mind much more harmful and intolerant of these cultures than the odd person genuinely appropriating
Spirits: OK, so here's where I want you to go research-wise and what name of mine I want you to learn about, it's directly connected to these people who you are not a part of, but I deserve to be able to not have my families and work on Earth ignored just because you aren't a part of them. If you want to be intimately close with me you need to meet my families, I will send you to learn about me from the people who know better than you and who are more experienced than you, and obviously I want you to do that in the way that's respectful to them, because they are my family, their importance and autonomy and the sacredness of their religion is exactly why I'm telling you who I am in their pantheons - it is about me honouring the work they have done with me over millennia. If you claim to love me then you should understand who I work with and why
Me: hmm....... Sounds like cultural appropriation tho....
#Insert what I just said about Leviathan being straightforward and ''if you want to actually do this work it will be hard and push#your understandings but if you believe in spirits then you better act like we're real and autonomous. If you want to treat us like#theories and lists of association you can go back to not talking to me and not listening to me and just worship my name''#He didn't say that to me but it's what I've gathered from a lot of conversations with him on shit like...#People just automatically worshiping him and getting barely anything out of it bc they can't even talk to him so he just has to be vaguely#present - not even vaguely present most of the time he points out given all the cultures that just give him shit for existing#Not saying actual literal cultures are wrong I'm saying that there's a lot of cultural ''we honour this trio because they created us'' in#the way wed talk about a culture of drinking. Not like a culture as in a literal locational group of people. Anyway.#Stuff like that and talking about how yeah sorry put in the work if you want results and how the spiritual world does not conform#to discourse any more than the natural world on this plane does like.... Animals will still kill and torture and abuse other animals#even if we sit here debating if they should or not.... Likewise we can sit here and have discourse over whether spirits will or won't#reach out to people of other cultures and whether reincarnation only works within the same culture over and over which....#I don't...... Unless you wanna use castes as your primary example of what Good ideas of reincarnation looks like.......#So many cultures that believe in reincarnation are being thrown under the bus by our discourse on what they should and shouldn't believe#for their own good??? Anyway this discussion doesn't have anything to do w reincarnation but that is one place where this attitude#is exemplified so. It's an example#ramblings //#Anyway. I know he's encouraging me to talk about it bc I know what I need to do and if I'm wrong I will figure that out#But man I spent enough years in a spiritual cult and then a borderline political cult online I'm so tired of being told I am evil#for having opinions on how to be Good and Appropriate and Kind. Bit even on how to get away with stuff I genuinely think the way#we approach appropriation is harmful to these cultures and I want to go about this more educated and understanding and....#Aware that we all use discourse a lot of the time to denounce other cultures' autonomy and practices and beliefs#but because we can rationalise why what we're doing is Helpful and Good we just shut down any attempt to say UMMM not good....#As being an excuse to appropriate and cross borders that shouldn't be crossed. Anyway#UGH. It makes my head spin to be sitting here like yes the most respectful thing for me to do seems to be reach out and learn#like. Because I know this spirit is real - shared by the culture I'm interacting with so if you shut me down saying yeah how do you Know#he's real you're shutting them down too which... Is most of my argument.... But because I know he's real that means he is a part of this#culture. This is a partner of mine. A best friend. Who has spent millennia in Mongolia with millions of people there. And I'm sitting here#like yeah yeah anyway we can't talk about Mongolia and what you do there and who you work with and why bc.... People on the Internet#will yell at me for it....
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aha-chuu · 8 months
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Here's the thing. "Renheng but Blade is immortal and nothing goes wrong" goes totally against the themes set up in HSR. But it's so fucking funny.
So, Dan Feng loves Yingxing whatever. They decide to make Yingxing immortal together and then BAM no one finds out (so no big crime to be arrested for) but there's two ways to play it. Either they have to slowly gaslight everyone into believing YX was a long life species this whole time, or they have to somehow pretend this is not YX, this is some other 100% naturally immortal dude and Dan Feng just has the Most specific type ever, to the point that he basically got his exes twin but immortal with a cooler haircut.
And with the gaslighting idea - I think it could work. No one's gonna notice that YX isn't aging for at least a few years, probably more since everyone they know is long-life and they likely have a warped perception of how regular aging works. So DF & YX just gotta wait like 5-10 years, slowly dropping hints that "oh yeah can't wait till our 150th anniversary!!" And Jing Yuan is like "... Hmm is that normal? That's probably normal?".
Cos also. Who's gonna mention it? Like it's gonna take so long for anyone to notice, is Jingliu gonna eventually sit them down like "you did a big sin didn't you" and then YX and DF just play dumb: "what??? Jingliu what are you on about? Is Mara eating all your memories of YX definitely being immortal this whole time?" So that's not good for Jingliu's mental health but whatever.
Anyway so Dan Feng and Yingxing have successfully scammed everyone but DF is still definitely the High Elder and absolutely no one wants him to be dating this guy. Also the dragon heart is missing cos it's in YX's chest and surely the Preceptors would check up on that? Like a renewal service? Some sort of 200-year check-up? Does DF have to take his bf with him so the aura is nearby? It's just a game of "how dumb are these guys?" Until all those preceptors reincarnate into ones who DF can convince "oh no the High Elder is supposed to give the dragon heart to their beloved. Yeah it's a ritual. Oh the immortality uh no Yingxing had that forever obviously".
Eventually YX is gonna get stabbed and he's definitely more immortal than everyone else. More gaslighting ensues probably, cos otherwise it's like?? He's just an abundance monstrosity (Jingliu is seeing red rn) and Jing Yuan has sussed it out at this point but yknow he likes YX; he prefers him being alive than dead. Jingliu is gonna stab YX for being an undying monstrosity and JY steps in - "nooo don't you know I mean ig your parents never told you but if uhhhh you suck enough dragon dick this is totally normal -" and anyway Sanctus Medicus get a lil fetishy sex crazed from that conspiracy theory.
Then later DF has to be reborn which is sad, but I like to think YX just takes like. A gap year from their relationship. He's a divorced old man he deserves a mid life crisis while DH gets the "plss don't fall in love this idiot guy again" speech from the other Vidyadhara but it's working like reverse psychology, DH is all "pshh I'm way too put-together for that!!" And anyway YX is still a hot piece of ass so DH fails immediately.
One day DH gets a dream memory about the whole sinning part of their relationship and has to come to terms with That™ meanwhile YX is sipping a mimosa while he's having a moral dilemma. "No babe it's fine it's like. Yeah it is a hellish sin but it's cute that you're so worried about it. No they can't try us for crimes we did so long ago don't worry" meanwhile JY is still dealing with the paperwork nightmare from YX's birth certificate definitely not being that of a long-life person's but ehh.
Basically fluffy unproblematic renheng where no one gets amnesiaed or tortured is great and good even if it laughs in the face of canon.
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creature-wizard · 5 months
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are you aware of a new age-person called teal swan? a friend showed me and told me her stuff is "better" but I still get red flags from it. ty for responding if you do!
Oh yeah, Teal Swan is awful. Not only is she pushing that New Age conspirituality stuff, she's into that Satanic Panic ritual abuse mythology and uses questionable mystical means to "help" others find out how they were supposedly abused. (For anyone who hasn't been keeping up, both New Age conspirituality and the Satanic Panic SRA mythology are pure conspiracy theory derived primarily from stuff like The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion - an antisemitic hoax - and like blood libel and early modern witch panic. If you want more information on New Age conspirituality and why it's bad, check out my pinned post.)
She's not a psychologist, but she effectively presents herself as someone who can help people with serious mental health issues. Very notably, she encouraged suicidal follows to visualize death, something which she sure as heck didn't run by any actual mental health professional first. Additionally, she's referred to death as a "reset button," which... let's face it, most people who believe in reincarnation aren't quite that, uh, flippant about it? Like, I'm not saying that she's encouraging suicide, but she's definitely not taking this very serious issue nearly seriously enough.
Additionally, people who've known Teal Swan personally report that she's extremely manipulative, controlling, and dishonest. Mormon Stories Podcast has a couple of interviews with people who knew her worth checking out - Growing Up With Teal Swan interviews a former childhood friend, and Leaving Mormonism To Join Teal Swan's Cult interviews an ex-boyfriend.
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foreficfandom · 2 months
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POV: You Are Actually MUCH More Powerful Than Alastor (1/2)
(Alastor x Reader, g/n, queerplatonic/sex and romance favorable, fan theories, God!Reader)
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Overlords are common sinners that boast many indentured servants to their name. Some also focus on physical territory. Some, like Alastor, don't bother. After all, radio knows little physical limitations.
Every Overlord had their own method of gaining prowess. Know one knows how Alastor became so dangerous. The strongest of the lords. Possibly stronger than some goetia royalty.
You weren't sure, either, but you had an inkling.
Because unbeknownst to anyone, you weren't some common sinner soul.
You were unique. A being originating far from this Christian realm of Heaven and Hell. You were undying, or a reincarnation, or a demigod. But you kept on the down low, 'cause attention would have meant trouble.
You could feel that Alastor's magic was a dark, bloody thing, nestled deep in his chest and hooked tightly like barbed wire. It tasted like sacrifices. It smelled like ultraviolet. And you knew it was borrowed, almost seeing the leash around his neck out of the corner of your eye.
Through a shared interest in the Hazbin Hotel, you and Alastor became acquaintances. Months later, you were proper friends. You could tell that Alastor valued the kind and pure of heart, even if he also believed them pitiful. Because they reminded him of a pleasant, happier life. A hidden part of him wanted to believe in their hope and love.
He thought you were just another sinner soul, and you didn't give him a reason to know any better. You had a job as part of the hotel staff. Their accountant, or security, or maintenance. Or their head concierge, guest service agent, auditor, what have you. Something vital to the business, but nothing glamorous. Labor has always been your most successful mask.
He was growing to love again. His mortal self might have been more recipient of affections and bonds, but decades living in hell has twisted him, and you could see him despair over the lump in his throat. His defeat at the hands of Adam proved his limits. You felt him writhe for weeks afterwards, and you let him reap what he sowed.
Curious, you sneaked away one evening and drew from your well of power to step through the fabric of time, finding yourself on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain to watch a young Alastor drink the blood from a bloody corpse, and spitting it over his shoulder. Some loa watched this bastardized libation from across the crossroads, but what answered was far more malevolent.
Alastor agreed to a very dangerous exchange. He now had hold over magic impressive enough for a mortal, but you knew it to be a relatively bum deal compared to true power. He would hunger constantly for flesh just to feed its energy, which was a cleverly hidden clause to curse him further through devilish consumption. His shadow sprouted antlers and a maw of sharp teeth.
For two decades, Alastor hunted and ate. Always male victims, usually white men, individuals some might damn as monsters themselves - the abusers, the genociders, the murderously entitled. What was once a scared young man grew hollow and fat on the power.
You've seen enough. Stepping through once more, you joined Alastor in cooking an orzo for shrove Tuesday. Sharpening your gaze, you watched his reflection on the shiny metal surface of a pot, and saw the stitches embedded in his face, pulling tight and vicious.
You nonchalantly asked, "How did you become so proficient at the kitchen knife?"
"Well, I was taught that one could eat, or they could eat well," he replied in a sing-song voice. "And practice makes perfect! Hunger is truly the best teacher."
The meat he was pairing was pork, but you knew he's served human flesh for dinner at least once before. You didn't say anything, because they'd grow suspicious at how you could possibly know from just the smell.
Alastor allowed only you to join him in cooking, partly because he favored you so much more, also because you were a right hand at making a meal. You didn't mention that millennia of existence made one a right hand at any skill.
And tonight, he would begin to see it.
Leaving the broth to simmer, you grabbed a small pairing knife and one of the tomatoes. Instead of simply coring and slicing, you inserted 0.013'' of carbon, chromium, and manganese right between where the molecular cells of epidermis ended at the pericarp. In a single momentum of both your knife and the tomato, the skin was perfectly peeled within two rotations.
Alastor wasn't even looking at you. But he froze over the cutting board, rictus smile sharp.
You haven't even used magic yet.
Both the tomato epidermis and its flayed flesh were completely free of any trace of the other, so in one hand, you ignited the skin to transmogrify into a tiny figurine made out of its glycerin wax. In the other, the tomato was sacrificed in a hole of light-bending void for its animal equivalent - the tiny heart of some small animal, possibly a bird or an amphibian, beating calmly as if alive.
Alastor slowly turned his head to watch as a miniature wax replica of himself held the heart in both shaking hands, before doubling over to devour it whole, its relative size and gore very reminiscent of a large, juicy tomato.
A picture perfect snapshot of his fifth or sixth murder while alive. Some world war veteran that still longed for the battlefield and had exercised his frustration upon his mother and younger siblings. The man might have been rotten, but his warrior's blood had burned hot and nourished Alastor's gaping void particularly well.
(NEXT)
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grunckle · 1 month
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My view on the cycle.
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Cycles are probably the most mysterious part of Rain World lore, and a common consensus I see on them is things involving multiple, branching timelines. However recently I've heard a theory that I believe fits in much better with the narrative and lore.
The main base of the theory is the karma flower dialogue from Moon,
"This is a hallucinogenic plant. They used to call it a 'Wheel Flower'. It became the symbol for enlightenment as it momentarily enables a creature to let go of its carnal self, and to contact the selves of other planes - dreams, memories, imagined worlds."
The theory summarized is that when we sleep, we can have possibly countless dreams of death. These are our, "cycles" in game. But eventually we wake up into a true reality, which is revealed to us when we progress and rest again. In this way the player and all other creatures act as a sort of seer to other terrifyingly realistic subconscious probabilities, (dreams and imagined worlds) until actually experiencing one true reality. If death is your reality, then you simply reincarnate, which is what happens in hunter's campaign via cancer death.
Karma fits into this by being the one thing that "remembers" these dreams. Even if your death wasn't real, your karma is still affected by it and is tied to you in reality.
I prefer this theory to the timeline theories because of the aforementioned karma flower dialogue, but also because timeline theories have a whole lot of complications when it comes to how ancients tracked time and objectivity. I just believe this theory is a good bit simpler and fits better into what we're already told.
But of course it poses one problem, with this theory it implies that all the slugcats we play as (except Hunter as I mentioned) would have never actually "died" in real life. But, if you've ever played Dark Souls and heard of hollowing then you might know what I'm getting at. By giving up, you do die. And the vast, vast majority of Rain World players give up. Very few make it to the end, the ones that did are skilled enough to have never died outside of these subconscious worlds.
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exactlycleverpirate · 1 month
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What happened to Lemuria and Rafayel?
A mix of facts and theory. I try to quote where I got stuff from in the game, but let me know if something is unclear.
This is a monster. For TLDR, jump down to the bold words, as this sums up the general idea of this post.
SPOILERS for Main Story, Anecdote 3, and some Memories.
(MS stands for Main Story)
What we know:
Rafayel is Lemurian (Ebb and Flow and MS Chapter 7)
As a child, a long long time ago*, he lived in a Lemurian community in the ocean, specifically in the Deep Sea. He would sneak away from his home to explore the ocean and the surface world. (Nightly Stroll, Whalefall Lament,  Ocean At Night).
*(What is a long, long time ago? 10-15 years? 800 years? He says his age is “24…probably” (promotional video). What does that mean? Has he forgotten exactly when he was born or is he alluding to the fact that he is much older? He made his vow to MC when they were both children (MS Chapter 7.11). Was that current MC or a previous reincarnation of her? If current, then he must be actually around 24. If a previous life of MC, then he could easily be 800 or more.)
Lemuria was believed to be mythical, and/or to have disappeared thousands of years ago. It was confirmed to really exist when, on December 31st, 2034 (the same year the Deepspace Tunnel appeared and the Chronorift Catastrophe occured), a tsunami and earthquake southeast of Linkon opened a rift in the ocean, revealing an ancient Lemurian city (MS, in-game article, and promotional video). When asked how he can be alive today if Lemuria disappeared thousands of years ago, Rafayel says to think of him as “a lost pearl that washed up on the beach”.
Other Lemurians are still alive. Rafayel’s Aunt Talia appears to be a Lemurian herself (his only remaining family) as she has known him a long time, knows about Lemurian ceremonies and other Lemurians, etc. In 2047, a Lemurian named K died. Rafayel attended his Seamoon Ceremony (essentially a funeral of sorts, returning him to the ocean to pass on and return to the water from whence he came), as did other remaining Lemurians (Anecdote 3). 
Now that we have that foundation to work with, let’s start with Louis’ Tale in Anecdote 3. 
For the sake of argument, I am going to assume that Louis got most of the story right, since Rafayel doesn’t contradict him on most points, aside from dismissing him in general, which I feel was to downplay how close Louis was to the truth.
They are discussing the opera Rafayel just performed in, particularly, the Siren’s Ballad. In the opera, the siren is a woman and the human is the man (played by Rafayel). Louis says they got this wrong. The Siren was “a charming, handsome merman”. Presumably this Siren is Rafayel.
Simple enough so far, but now it gets confusing.
The Siren (Rafayel) “met a woman on the beach, but she took his tail and cut off his scales”. This sounds similar in some ways to MC, but opposite in others. MC was a child, not a grown woman. And Rafayel got stranded on the beach (No way out, no hope, and waiting to die) and MC rescued him from death, rather than taking his tail and scales. 
However, if we assume Fragrant Dream was a memory and not just a dream (Rafayel acts as though this dream is significant somehow), Rafayel gave a scale, his blood, and his voice to save MC, and ultimately sacrificed his life for her, in some past life. The perfume (bitter like fermented aquatic plants, the same description as the potion in the dream) that brings the possible memory to MC’s mind is from Your Fragrance. Rafayel has some very strange lines in Your Fragrance when he is under the apparently intoxicating effect this perfume has on him. He says the perfume smells familiar, then goes on to say:
“It must be an allergic reaction. This isn’t perfume. How dare they use such underhanded methods to trap me…”
“Who gave you the perfume?”
“Are you trying to run away again?”
“I’m not going anywhere. You’re gonna lock me up again… You’re with them, I just know it. Don’t think I’m unaware of what you’re about to do. (MC name), I won’t fall for it again. Not this time.”
This all implies that Rafayel was trapped and locked up in the past. And that on at least some level, he feels like MC played a role in him getting tricked. (Which might explains why he considers abandoning her when she is drowning in MS Chapter 7.11. See an alternate theory for this here.)
Back to Louis’ story, he describes the fate of the woman. The Siren is on the verge of death, and he sings the Siren’s Ballad. (Later, we learn this portrayal of the Siren’s Ballad is inaccurate: ““Siren's Ballad” isn't a song of revenge. It's an elegy sung for Lemuria”.) According to Louis, “Ultimately, the woman on the shore passed away with a smile as he sang.” Obviously, MC is currently alive. Did Louis get this wrong? Was this a past life? A different woman?
Louis then describes what he believes those who die by the Siren’s song experience. 
“People lured by the siren's ballad don't die peacefully. Their smiles are just a mask bestowed by the Siren. Instead, as they near death, they witness bizarre visions as they're plunged into endless torment.” 
The man, Mr. Fallon, who died during the opera is described as having died of no obvious cause with a smile on his face. After singing during the opera that Mr. Fallon died watching, Rafayel goes backstage. 
“A searing pain throbs in his throat, pulsating in tandem with his heartbeat, rapidly stimulating his nerves. As he touches his Adam’s apple, he pulls out a new tie from his leather briefcase, a smooth satin entwined between his fingers. The cool texture gradually envelops his neck. It’s like sheathing a blade.”
This strongly implies that Rafayel used his voice for something more than singing, hinting at it being a weapon. I think it is safe to assume Rafayel somehow killed Mr. Fallon man with his song, presumably in the way Louis describes.
Another interesting thing of note in this part of Louis’ description is: “A blue pattern, representing the Siren, appears on their chests. It's a constant reminder of the sins they committed against the sea.” At first, I thought this may be the pattern we see on Rafayel’s chest in Chapter 7.11, implying he sinned against the sea, but on rewatching it, I realized that the mark is red, not blue. So I am inclined to go with my first impression that Rafayel’s mark is related to his bond with MC (since it responds to her calling out to him).
So, now that we are thoroughly confused about what has taken place between Rafayel and MC, let’s move on to the next part of the story. This is when everything takes an even more heartbreaking turn.
“The Siren returns to the sea, believing everything has ended. But he discovers his underwater kingdom has turned to ruins, soaked in blood. His people have either vanished, turned into bloody foam, or were kidnapped. His homeland has turned into a silent, deserted city overnight. Oh, and as for the name of this underwater kingdom - Lemuria.”
(Interesting side note: After this part of Louis’ story, Rafayel’s meal is served: “a fish laying amidst white rosemary”. Rosemary symbolizes fidelity and remembrance.)
Later, in his memories, Rafayel adds to this scene for us.
“The young boy sits alone in the middle of the coral reef, softly humming “Siren's Ballad.” Waves lap the shores, staining it dark red. The color blends almost seamlessly with the bloody setting sun in the distance. Those who deceived him have long since sailed away on their massive ships, laughing all the while. “Siren's Ballad” isn't a song of revenge. It's an elegy sung for Lemuria.”
He also remembers:
“The dying cries of his people echo in his ears, fizzing and crackling like a broken record that's been ground into pieces.”
“In the darkness, the shadows of those he personally laid to rest emerge and drag him down, lower and lower into the depths.”
Now, let’s talk about the painting Raymond bought from Rafayel. 
But first, let’s talk about Raymond. He is a former patient of Zayne’s with a congenital heart disease. In his mansion, he has a giant fish tank with no water in it. Instead, it has a dull and pale skeleton. (MS Chapter 2.2-2.3)
“Fin-like bones protrude from its pelvis. This skeleton lacks legs, its spine extending like a long string. Its pose is ominously beautiful, resembling a girl sitting cross-legged.”
I think it is pretty safe to say this is a real Lemurian skeleton. 
Additionally, Zayne notes that “According to the Akso remote monitor, your vital sign data has improved. The equipment also determined your age to be far younger than what it actually is.” In other words, Raymond’s health has improved, and he is unnaturally youthful for his age. Raymond even suggests he should be dead by now and asks Zayne if he is curious as to why he is not dead. Zayne admits to initial curiosity, but then moves on.
Before K died, he said “They took away my scales and drew my blood. Over and over again. I’m no longer Lemurian.” The doctor told Rafayel that K had endured “such agony”. This appears to be something many of the Lemurians on land are facing or trying to hide from.
In Rafayel’s Myth (Chapter 3), it says that the humans of that time believed:
"Every Lemurian was blessed with beauty. Their tears turn into glimmering pearls, their voices brought dreams of wonder, their blood made one live forever or could even resurrect the dead. Once you tamed a Lemurian, they were the most loyal, powerful servant. They listened to every command, even if it cost them their life."
Even if only parts of this are true, it shows that Lemurians are considered highly desirable as slaves or for parts. And the part about the blood seems to have at least an element of truth, given Raymond's health.
It seems reasonable to conclude that Raymond has been harvesting something (scales, blood, etc) from Lemurians to unnaturally lengthen his life and make him younger.
Now enter Rafayel’s painting. 
He used blood red coral, infused with Metaflux, from the ruins of Lemuria for this painting.
When MC resonated with the painting in Raymond’s house, this is what she experiences:
“A stunning oil painting hangs on the wall opposite of the sofa. It depicts a brilliantly blue sea with cascading white waves. Each brush stroke feels alive as if countless fairies are jumping out of the water.
At the edge of the sea, the water is gradually stained crimson like something is being torn apart, swallowed, and coalescing into a blood clot.
The gloomy weather, the sound of the ocean - a salty humidity slowly creeps into my hair.
A girl by the shore, the lower half of her body submerged in the water. Strange. It's almost like she’s crying and laughing at the same time.
The swirling fog carries a faint, ethereal melody on the sea breeze. It sounds like a song, yet is also a lament.”
Mermaid Song plays in the background while MC is resonating with the painting. The translation of it is: 
“A fish in your hand. Please burn with passion. Nets of moonlight. With coral, a prison. When waves kiss the morning sun. The scent of roses pierce. With a fish in your hand. Blood. Blood. Blood covers the sea.”
When MC visits Rafayel’s art gallery, we learn a bit more about this painting.
“When I was a kid, I had dreamed I turned into a fish.
I swam and swam and swam from the deep sea, seeking a place beyond the water's surface. Only to end up in blood-red seawater.
It was the first time I ever saw such a color. Who knows how many years I've spent trying to recreate it. But I never really could get that same shade of red.
It was always a slightly different hue, you know...”
All of this put together paints a scene along these lines for us:
A young Rafayel returns from an encounter with a human woman on the beach (MC?). He finds that Lemuria is in ruins and empty. He swims to the surface. It is nighttime on a coral reef. There is a smell of roses in the air. As the sun rises, he sees that the water is filled with blood. Perhaps there is a Lemurian girl there singing mournfully, or the girl in the painting is representative of Rafayel’s experience and the experience of other survivors. (Perhaps it is even her skeleton in Raymond's home). Some Lemurians are dead or dying in the water or on the beach. Rafayel hears their dying cries and returns those dead on land to the sea to become one with the water. He then sits alone on a coral reef, surrounded by bloody water, singing an elegy for Lemuria as the sun sets. He knows he was deceived and that his deceivers have already sailed away. Some of the Lemurians have been kidnapped and taken away with the deceivers.
("A fish in your hand" from the Mermaid Song seems to refer to the Ocean Emissaries (little blue fish) that come from making a Lemurian vow (though Rafayel also seems to be able to summon these on command). Is this a reference to the promise between Rafayel and MC? How does that play into the rest of this scene?)
Given how vulnerable Lemurians are on Ebb Day, I think it very likely that this occurred on Ebb Day. (Perhaps this vulnerability was revealed to those who killed the Lemurians by MC or Rafayel himself. Did one or both of them trust the wrong people with this information? This also might be why Rafayel was stranded on a beach in the first place when he met MC.)
So now we have some kind of a picture about what happened to Lemuria. Is this ancient or recent history?
Either way, Lemurians still live and are still being harvested for parts.
Louis concludes his story by asking Rafayel, “When the Siren returns to the beach…How does he exact his revenge on those responsible for Lemuria's destruction?”
To which Rafayel responds, “I think he’d first learn from them. He's gotta study their wits and cruelty, you know.”
Which brings us back to Mr. Fallon dead with a smile on his face at the opera. And also Raymond drowned in his bathtub after carving fish scales into his body. The painting has vanished from his home. (MS Chapter 7.3)
I think this is why Rafayel has a bounty on him, since those participating in harvesting Lemurians are being killed by him, but can't exactly go to the authorities about it.
I also think Rafayel is not solely motivated by revenge. He tells Aunt Talia “Not every Lemurian survivor can wait.” Somehow, what he is doing is supposed to prevent other Lemurians from ending up like K.
Talia notes that Rafayel has changed "After that incident in Lemuria." He seems unrecognizable. Past Rafayel was like a blazing flame, whereas he "now resembled a reef battered by relentless waves - outwardly cold and hard, yet riddled with cracks, vulnerable to crumbling from the next wave." Talia is helping Rafayel gather information for his goal, but she isn't convinced that they are doing the right thing.
What are your thoughts? Was this helpful? More confusing? Is Rafayel ancient or young? What the heck happened between Rafayel and MC? Let me know your thoughts!
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tswwwit · 2 months
Text
Cult Reincarnation part Three! Here's parts One and Two if you missed 'em.
The followers of Bill Cipher are the most blessed of believers. Strong and devoted, they are empowered to overcome all things, through service to their god.
And in times of trouble, the devout always have something to turn to. 
Dipper bows his head before the golden image, and tries to force his muscles into a semblance of relaxation. 
Worship.
He hopes hating every second of it doesn’t matter. If it works at all. 
Praying to a god, in the domain of said god, should technically speaking be overkill. This kind of thing is supposed to reach through the veil between planes, not just partway across a building. The process has a lot of kick to it. 
That’s the theory, anyway. Dipper’s working with what he’s got - 
But he’s not sure Bill’s all that easy to reach. 
No worshiper has ever called for help and received it. There were excuses, of course. Dozens of them. But brushing them off with a ‘not worthy’ doesn’t work when it’s literally everyone.
Either nobody’s worthy, or no help is provided. From what Dipper’s learned about the god himself, it’s the latter. 
Probably because Bill doesn’t care about most of them. Maybe because he thinks it’s funny. The third guess -  that he thinks helping is boring - is currently leading the pack.
There’s another reason, too. One that’s… technically possible, but Dipper’s trying not to think about it. 
No matter what the cause of it, none of those bode well for Dipper’s plan. That’s on top of the fact that summoning Bill is, by all metrics, an incredibly reckless idea. 
Still, desperate times call for desperate measures. 
Dipper needs a quick way out of an awful situation, and it’s one he got himself into this time.
Focusing on the shape of Bill in the window, Dipper concentrates. Breathing in, then out. 
He snaps his fingers, and the candles bloom with bright blue fire, before settling down to the standard red-yellow glow. Despite everything, he spends a brief second admiring the tiny flames.
The magic comes so easily to him now. Studying mysterious texts found in a hideous nightmare realm is another bad idea, but you can’t argue with results. Whoever gathered the books in the guest room must have -
Another wailing howl rings down the corridor. A distant scrabbling echo, the scrape of claws on stone.
Dipper drops to his knees and scrambles to finish his makeshift setup. Something ninety percent cribbed from the ritual he ‘volunteered’ for, minus all the blood.
Rushing through this isn’t optimal, but hell, none of this is. Dipper’s working on a hope and a literal prayer. Being in the guy’s home instead of a dimension away should amplify the effect. Bill might not be able to ignore him, if he’s loud enough.
When the alternative is being devoured by wandering demons, Dipper’s willing to have a bit of faith. 
Just a smidgen, though. Enough to make this work.
Another chattering sound, though more distant, gives him plenty more panic-induced belief to work with. 
With all the setup done, Dipper claps his hands together. He tries to steady his breathing. The words of the ritual resonate in his mind instead of out loud, which should be good enough considering the god in question.
And he knows Bill, too. Personally, not abstractly. Dipper can hold the image of him in his mind as clearly as if he was standing in the room. The fact that it’s a human shape shouldn’t matter. He’s… ninety five percent certain it won’t.
Now. If he focuses. If he reaches out with sincere effort and desire, pushing with the magic that bubbles inside him - this should work. 
He really, really hopes it works. 
“You rang?”
His heart nearly leaps into his throat. Jerking up right, Dipper whips around towards the voice. 
Where Bill Cipher stands. He’s right behind him and just to his left, as smug and dapper as always. Appearing out of freaking nowhere.
Dipper slumps back down to the floor as Bill wiggles his fingers in greeting.
That’s one hell of a response time. He’d barely gotten started before Bill popped into place.
“Looks like you had a fun little jaunt!” Bill claps his hands together, leaning - but not quite looming - over him. “I wondered where you’d run off to!”
The phrasing makes Dipper wince. That’s not - he hopes Bill didn't really mean that. It would mean he got the wrong idea. 
Dipper didn’t ‘run off’, because he’s not stupid. No matter what other people might have said. 
All he wanted was a cursory look around. Checking out if there were other ‘apartments’, see if there were any windows. Something brief enough to let him get an idea of what kind of place he was dealing with, then heading back to the relative safety of Bill’s place.
Which might be the weirdest part of all. 
That it is safe, for a limited version of the word.
Since being kidnapped, he’s had zero new injuries. Plenty of comfort, reasonable safety, and very little to hide from. Material comforts, not promises that never get realized. Even his room in Bill’s place is the nicest place he’s ever lived, cozy by any definition.
Casting everything aside for the chance at an ‘exit’ is a dumb choice. 
Dipper was doing just fine where he was. No running off anywhere. He’s been perfectly fine with his three little rooms, even if it’s a bit limiting. 
Technically he has access to four, if you include the living room. But that one usually has Bill in it.
Some worshippers would have bled far, far more than Dipper did, for even the briefest chance at access to their god. Getting their messages to him directly, basking in his radiant golden presence, accessing all his mysteries - a dream that they could hope to think about achieving, one day in the future.
And they’d all be disappointed.
Turns out Bill’s both weirder and more crazy than any scripture made it seem. It’s nothing like… anything, really.
Dozens of passionate sermons on Bill’s infinite wrath, crumbling in the face of him being totally, bizarrely chill with everything Dipper’s done so far. Hours of speeches about his unknowable motives, and infinite grandeur, shattered by watching him pontificate on whether he should wear the ‘cool’ socks today, or the ‘ones with little duckies on them’. 
Hell, Dipper watched his god blow up half of a wall by accident and shrug it the hell off - then later get so mad at something on interdimensional television he choked on the gummy bears he was eating.
Years of study has done nothing to prepare Dipper for this, and he was the one looking in forbidden texts. 
It’s. Informative. But also, like, a lot. 
So for the most part, Dipper decided to hole up in the guest room. It’s easier than parsing the god puzzle, and the alone time is nice. 
In the last… few days? More than a week, possibly, he’s had time to read, write notes, take uninterrupted naps, and nothing bad has happened to him. Peace and quiet came at a premium back in the compound. Here, all he has to do is shut a door. 
Still, books only last so long to keep someone occupied. Confinement has always made Dipper kinda stir-crazy. 
And on the one occasion when Bill wasn’t in the living room, well. Curiosity has always driven Dipper into absolutely dumb actions. Including going snooping again. Maybe a tiny bit of peeking into Bill’s bedroom, because the door was unlocked. 
And since that was unlocked, it only made sense to test the knob leading out of Bill’s quarters.
It’s not Dipper’s fault the damn door disappeared the moment he stepped outside.
So really, he didn’t ‘run off’. He wasn’t trying to escape, or even go too far from his room.
He just got bored.
And when that went south, he didn’t have many other options. Turns out the Fearamid is full of demons. He saw that on the way in, but he didn’t truly understand the extent. 
Without Bill escorting him, the concept got hammered in pretty much immediately.
The moment he stepped out, he must have caught the attention of damn near every demon in this godawful place. One young human, basically catnip for monsters. The first one showed up within a minute.
Time is strange here, though. It might have been longer. 
Dipper has been running for what feels like hours. 
“What’s the matter, kid? Trip not as fun as you expected?” Bill gives his shoulder a friendly shake. “Or didja just miss me?”
Dipper shrugs. 
Sure, it’s nice Bill showed up. It’s great that he’s not deadly. But he’s arguably a different kind of problem.
A few tugs on his shirt make him reluctantly stand, turning to face Bill. Despite being summoned in his own home, he’s surprisingly upbeat. 
“Now I’m guessing you called me - and this is just off the top of my head here - that once you got going, you couldn’t find your way back.” Bill sets fists on his hips, eminently amused. “A little lost lamb like you musta freaked out!”
Before Dipper can do more than shrug, something with way too many limbs scuttles around a corner, filling the hallway with a writhing mass. He surges closer to Bill, heart in his throat.
A moment later the creature spots Bill, and freezes in place. Then, lifting each of its limbs like it’s tiptoeing, it backs all the way up and around the corner. Like it opened a door, saw something twice as horrific as itself - and then carefully shut it again, trying to pretend that didn’t happen.
“Do me a favor, though, and put a little less ‘oomph’ into the magic next time.” Bill pushes a pinky into his ear and twists it around, then pulls it out and flicks it clean. “That crap was loud.”
Dipper nods rapidly. Yep, can do. At some point he started clutching Bill’s elbow, but he’s not about to stop. Not here.
With Bill guiding him, the mazelike corridors present no further problems. Even though they do turn around at least three times, and at one point walk on the actual ceiling, Bill keeps going with perfect confidence in his stride. 
There aren't’ any interruptions, either. Compared to mere minutes before, the halls are mysteriously quiet and empty, leaving him and Bill to stroll along, hand on elbow.
When they arrive back at the penthouse, Bill opens the door with a sweep of his arm, and a slight bow that might be mocking - but Dipper’s too tired to be bothered.
So much for the ‘escape’ idea. Running around the Fearamid was nothing but an exercise in terrified frustration.
It would be rational, Dipper knows, to be more upset. But the cult was also a confusing, stupid, terrifying place that held him captive, and back there he could never count on having a hot bath, or privacy, or sleep. 
A few weeks ago he would have said the threat of death back home was lower, but now? He knows which one he’d choose, any day. 
The one confounding factor is Bill himself. 
In the cult, you couldn’t avoid him at all. Always talking about him, if you still were able. Praying to his idols, going to the rituals, chanting and waving your hands like an idiot in the air. Making sure that your every action pleased him. Following all his orders. Every day, some part of your day was spent thinking or acting on his wishes.
Actually being around him every day requires… precisely none of that. He’s so -
‘Different’ would be the wrong word. A being who’s lived for literal eons doesn’t change things up on a dime. 
This is Bill Cipher without any convenient ‘reinterpretations’. 
The priest was wrong about Bill. Everything he said was at best incorrect, and more likely a bunch of self-serving bullshit. Everything they ever did was stupid and wrong. Bill never cared about what they did, or all the prayers they sent or literally any devotional action. And that’s a true, unshakable fact, because the opposite idea - that Dipper’s mere presence changes Bill’s behavior, even one iota - is laughably outrageous.
Another slight shake. Bill, trying to catch his attention again. He’s raised an eyebrow, examining Dipper’s face as he thinks.
Right, Dipper should - uh. Probably just get out of here. Before Bill does something like get annoyed at his ungrateful guest. Or worse, put on the expectant look again.
With a quick nod, and a ‘cute’ smile, he shuffles out from under his arm, and scuttles for the guest room. 
Everything’s just as he left it. The open book. The tidy sheets. The notes he was taking, before he noticed Bill was gone and thought he’d have a tiny look around -
“Haven’t done much redecorating, I see.”
Dipper nearly leaps out of his skin. Shit, what - 
Behind him, Bill hovers at a disrespectful distance. His eye is narrowed, and his expression suggests a man who’s not terribly impressed. 
“A full week shoulda had you settled in way more.” Bill says, shaking his head in… disappointment? He stalks around Dipper casually, glancing around the room. “Hey, you made the bed! That’s rare!”
Dipper’s mouth works, but that’s an old, dumb instinct. He shuts it, and glares. 
Bill wanders around, casually pacing around the small space. A quick check of the bed, yanking out the sheets until they’re messy again - then setting his fists on his hips, looking proud of himself.
Okay. This is new. 
Bill’s been around, but he’s never intruded before. Every time Dipper wasn’t sure how to deal with him, he could retreat back to the guest room and be sure that he’d have some space. Quiet, too, aside from the occasional piano playing, drifting through the door.
Now he’s thinking all of that was a courtesy. 
Obviously Bill can’t be kept out of what is, after all, his place. He’s simply chosen not to intrude until now. 
With supreme confidence, Bill drops onto the bed, tucking his arms behind his head and crossing one leg over the other - yeah. Still his place, and he knows it. He didn’t even take his shoes off. 
“Oh!” A bright grin crosses Bill’s face. He rummages under the pillow for a second. “I take it back - you did make one addition to the decor.” 
With a grin, he brandishes the stupid plush of himself like he was holding up his firstborn child. Because he is, as Dipper learned, a narcissist. 
Ugh, of course he’d find that. Dipper looks away, trying to keep his annoyance off his face. 
“Yeah, yeah, glare all you like, kid.” Bill says, wagging a chiding finger. “You’ve been making yourself scarce, but you can’t avoid me forever! At the very least ya need to get those stitches out in a few days.” A smirk. “Though I’d love to see you manage that yourself.”
Dipper can’t argue with that. He does try to stop glaring, but it’s surprisingly difficult. 
“What?” Bill sits up, setting mini-Bill in his lap. He raises an eyebrow. “Not got anything to say?”
Obviously not. Dipper folds his arms, and tries not to look at - not an interloper, this is Bill’s. He’s the guest. Getting bothered by it is rude at best.
“But no! Silent as the night is long, and orders of magnitude more boring. This whole time, I haven’t heard a peep from you, Pine Tree. And I've been very patient.” Bill sighs, running a hand through his hair. “What gives?”
Like that’s not obvious, either. Dipper pinches his lips together, tight. 
There was a sacrifice. Made in Bill’s name, and for his honor. A devotion bestowed unto him. He can ignore cries for help, but there’s no way Bill didn’t notice that. Just like when he showed at the ritual, or at Dipper’s impromptu summoning. The call would have been too strong. 
No, even stronger. With that much blood spilled, it must have been like a signal beacon.
Bill knows what went on. He just didn’t care. 
And now he’s being an asshole, just because he can.
“It’s especially irritating when you have plenty of avenues to make a statement.” Bill rises from the bed with a sigh, dropping mini-Bill back onto the pillows. “You just haven’t put in the effort!”
Without waiting for a response, he stalks straight past Dipper and over to the desk. He runs his fingers over the surface, caressing the edge of -
Oh, shit, no.
His journal. That he left out, like an idiot, assuming Bill would never, ever come in here to see it-
By now it’s far too late - he must have seen a bit already -  but Dipper hurries over towards him anyway. It’s not like he can shove Bill out of the way, or smack anything out of his hand. The repercussions would - he doesn’t want to think about those; they make him feel so sick.
Bill’s already picked it up, he even turned a page - 
“See? You’re literate, sapling! Reading and writing, both at your command.” He rests the journal against where his heart would theoretically be. “Why haven’t you shown any of it off?”
For a lot of very good reasons. For fuck’s sake. Bill’s already intimated that he knows Dipper doesn’t really believe. But he is arrogant, and powerful. A terrible, awful, confusing god.
He can’t be allowed to read that journal, because gods do not like being called ‘assholes’. Even if it’s true.
Though it’s a dumb move, Dipper makes a grab for the damning evidence. Bill’s too quick though; he misses by a mile.
“Oop!” Bill raises his arm high, looking at Dipper with amusement. “Aww, nice try! So close.” With a wink, he dangles Dipper's own personal, very private notebook over his head. Why does this bastard have to be tall, damn it. “What, you want this?” 
Dipper grits his teeth. No, he was never going to get it back by force, or speed, or even a quick wit. One young human doesn’t stand a chance. 
Desperate times. Desperate measures.
It worked before. It might work now, 
Dipper takes a slow breath, and lets it out. Then he shuts his eyes, and kneels. 
Above him, he hears Bill’s laugh fall silent. Slightly placated, then. A little more should do the trick. 
With a great effort of will, Dipper bows his head, hands pressed together. He can get through this. He can kneel and - kind of sit awkwardly on his foot, he shifts his weight and braces his palm on Bill’s thigh for balance. 
He’s about to start praying when something hits him in the head with a thump. 
Dipper jerks back, hissing through his teeth. He starts rubbing at the spot, head lowered - 
And when he blinks at the floor, a book flops unceremoniously open on the carpet. 
Before Bill can move, Dipper snags the journal that was just dropped on him. Tucking it under his arm for safekeeping, and scooting back on the carpet. 
“Eh, whatever. Go ahead and keep it.” Bill folds his arms, turning away to sit back down on the bed. Weirdly huffy for a guy who was getting worshiped. Maybe Dipper did it wrong. “Besides! I don’t need to skim through some book to know you.”
Welp, that’s ominous. 
Dipper shuffles back over to the desk. He glances over at Bill - looking away, still in his odd sulk - then opens a drawer, drops his journal in, and shuts it with his hip.
Another huff from Bill. By his face he’s not in a great mood, but it doesn’t seem to be actively dangerous.
And he doesn’t make another move for the journal. Even though it’s full of secrets.
That’s one relief. Maybe he considers Dipper’s secrets too boring. Maybe Bill’s not interested in them, beyond using them to antagonize him. 
He’s a god, anyway. A demon slash god slash infinite being of pure energy. All human thought should be totally beneath his notice, just like the fleeting human lives that make up his cult -
But that doesn’t make sense, either. 
Dipper rubs at his eyes. Silently willing any part of this, at any time, to finally come together. 
Because if humans were totally beneath Bill’s notice, why is one of them here? Living in his home, taking up his space, eating his food and breathing his air and getting weird expectant looks. Even for a supernatural being, that’s no small effort.
If it were just about his blood, Dipper could understand that. It wouldn’t be very fun, but he’d get it. 
But it’s not. Because none of it has been spilled since the ritual. Because nothing’s been painful or threatening or - okay, a lot of it’s been weird, but nothing like the scriptures said it would be. All the rules Dipper’s learned simply don’t seem to apply. 
Bill’s supposed to be - 
He’s supposed to be different, is all. 
But hee can hardly blame Bill for that. It’s not his fault people got him wrong, or idealized him, or if he’s super weird - that last part was advertised, extensively. 
There’s a lot of things that a lot of people are ‘supposed’ to be, Dipper guesses. It never really fits them, in the end.
He just doesn’t understand why Bill’s doing this. 
“Don’t think we’re not gonna go over the main pain of the day, either.” Bill gives Dipper a long, annoyed look. “What kinda guy stays at another guy’s place and doesn’t give him so much as a ‘hello’?”
Dipper shrugs, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He can’t quite meet Bill’s eye. 
Okay, technically Bill’s right. That would be rude, if it weren’t for certain circumstances. 
“And I don’t mean chanting a prayer, either! You got fully functional hands and a brain.” With a frown, Bill stands and approaches. Dipper backs up against the desk, but Bill stops a couple feet away, hands on his hips. “Why not write a thank-you note or something?”
Oh. Well. 
That was always an option. Dipper just didn’t know Bill wanted it. 
And why would he? Bill’s a mental god, a mind reader. Always keeping an eye on him. The idea that he just wants to be ‘talked’ to is…. 
Yeah, another weird thing. Hell, at least Dipper can do that. It might not even be too embarrassing.
Before he can grab a pen and paper off the desk, Bill shoves a whiteboard and marker in his hands. He nearly jumps back, before accepting it with reasonable dignity. Despite having seen it before, Bill manifesting things out of nowhere is remarkably startling.
Now he’s left staring at it. Wondering what he should do.
“Ahem,” Bill clears his throat. “You could start with a, ‘Hi Bill!’ or, ‘You’re amazing, Bill’. Y’know, any kinda standard greeting.” He claps his hands together, grinning wide. “But I’ll give you more points for creativity.”
Dipper glances down at the blank white board, then back up at Bill. He clamps his mouth shut, trying to focus.
That was a joke. Right? He’s, like, 90% the ‘points’ are rhetorical, not literal. How do you get a bad grade in talking to a god? What metric would Bill use to - damn it, he’s overthinking this already. 
What would be a good answer. What would be bad? And what’s the horribly wrong one that ends in disaster? 
Dipper hesitates, biting his lip. He hears Bill make a soft groan, either impatient or already disappointed.
Great. Yet another chance to fail his god. Just like all the other times Bill waited for something, and didn’t get it. Now he’s going to read something Dipper wrote, words made just for him, and those will be the first words Dipper’s ever said directly to him. They have to be - 
Shit. Right. 
Another glance up - Bill has his expectant look on again, and somehow it’s even brighter this time. Watching tantalizing treat, held just out of reach - but maybe arriving, in a moment.
Of course. That’s what Bill’s been waiting for.
The only truly wrong answer is not giving one.
Dipper gives a quick smile, and starts scribbling on the whiteboard. He can do this. It may not be great, but he can hardly do worse than nothing. 
The instant he puts marker to surface, Bill’s grin somehow widens to an impossible degree, even though it’s the single most boring thing that could be going on in the nightmare realm. He even claps a few times, like a particularly annoying, demonic seal.
His enthusiasm takes some of the pressure off. Even if Dipper can’t bring himself to use the most worshipful greetings, Bill should be pleased nonetheless.
“Lemme see, lemme see!” Bill beckons him closer, eye bright and lit from within. 
For a second, Dipper’s tempted to hold the board to his chest, feeling warm in the face. It’s really not a big deal. Bill doesn’t need to make one out of it.
After a second, he turns his head away and the board around, where he’s written a fairly neutral - but still devoted! - greeting.
‘I am at your service, my lord.’
Bill looks down at the board.
Then he looks up at Dipper’s face, searching it for something. Then down again. 
The smile has slid away, leaving a mix of alarm and disgust behind. Like Bill bit into a donut he’d been saving for a special occasion, and got a mouthful of frog spawn. 
The reaction is so unexpected that Dipper’s more baffled than nervous. What, is it his handwriting? A quick check proves it’s perfectly legible. 
“Cute, I guess! Give it another shot.” Bill says, and wipes the board clean with two fingers. He laughs, in the tone of someone who’s seen a terrible social gaffe and is glossing over it. “Try ‘Bill’, instead. ‘Handsome’, if you’re daring. A pet name, even!” His smile inches briefly downward. “But ‘bout skip the ‘lord’ or ‘master’ for the next few years. Minimum.”
Dipper slowly turns the board back around, though he does side-eye Bill for a moment. He gets a grip on the marker again, pausing for thought. 
What the hell, that was a classic. Every supernatural being likes deference. Especially the powerful ones. Except now the rules have changed up, again, without any rhyme or reason, because Bill just has to be super weird, all the goddamn time. 
Not that he’s going to comment on it. If Bill overthinks this ‘no groveling’ decision, he might change his mind. 
After a few seconds of deliberation - Bill staring the whole time - he goes with, ‘Hi Bill’
“Much better,” Bill says with satisfaction. He rubs his hands together, smiling wide. “Man, we have a lot of catching up to do!”
He leans in, very, very close, making Dipper lean back against the desk. He clutches the board tight, smiles awkwardly - and hopes this won’t be too bad. 
One of Bill Cipher’s domains of power is knowledge. Another is secrets. 
With the way Bill asks questions, it’s like Dipper has a bunch that he doesn’t already know about. 
Bill wants to know his favorite color - blue - tells him it should be yellow, with a haughty sniff, then erases Dipper’s apology and insists he tell him about his brief trip outside. And about how he likes the penthouse. How he’s found the accommodations - comfy, thank you - and a thousand other minor, dull details. Keeping up with the sheer barrage makes Dipper’s hand cramp, even when he skips out on full sentences. 
It’s one of the longest conversations - insofar as it is one - that Dipper’s ever had with someone outside his old cult. Bill, meanwhile, is the god of that cult, and he still doesn’t seem to know anything about it. Or at least he’s asking a hell of a lot of questions about really, objectively, boring crap. At some point, Dipper realizes that eternal smile isn’t there anymore, so it’s probably boring him, too.
“All of that aside - I think we oughta get to the heart of the matter, as it were.” Bill snaps his fingers, and the grin resurges. 
Dipper nods. He swallows, throat bobbing, and ducks his head. 
Okay. Everything else has been kind of surface level. Now he must be moving on to deeper secrets. Things in Dipper’s head that have never seen the light of day. Or the ones that have, and Bill’s going to dig into them, deeply. Possibly painfully so -
“Why won't you talk to me?” Bill whines. 
What?
Dipper runs that sentence back through his head, but there’s no other word for it. The high, nasal tone, the slump of Bill’s shoulders. A look that might be a pout - he’s sulking again, but way harder this time. 
But that - Dipper double-checks his board, recalling all his responses. It can’t be something he wrote, that was all pretty bland. So either Bill’s just being weird again, or - something. Another thing.
Damn it. He wishes he had more space to pick this apart, but Bill’s been so close and talking too fast. He didn’t have time to analyze while bracing against the flood.
“Seriously, what are we looking at here?” Bill says, straightening up. He paces around Dipper in a circle, arms tucked behind his back. “Vow of silence? Cause if so, I’m your god, and I say screw that! Pipe up anytime!”
Dipper shakes his head. No. If it was, he would have violated it a long time ago. It’s a weird guess.
It’s weird that Bill is guessing.
“Ethereal binding? A curse, maybe?” The idea must strike him as a fun one, because Bill perks up again. “Now if we’re talking curses, oh man! I’ve got a whole collection! There’s dozens of ways to break those, kid. Hell, depending on type, we could get you patched up this evening!”
Again, Dipper shakes his head. He huffs out a sigh, about to correct Bill’s incredibly wrong assumption - 
Then pauses with the marker above the board. Because - well - Bill wouldn’t want to be told the obvious. He should know this already. 
Dipper bites his lower lip again, frowning at the blank white space. 
Shouldn’t he?
Meanwhile, Bill rattles off more speculations, each one more bizarre than the last. No, he didn’t make a deal with a sea witch, or a harpy. He didn’t wander into the bog of silence, or sell his voice for some magic beans. 
By this point he’s not bothering to hold up the board and marker anymore, just so he can shrug better. Without writing down his responses, he has more space to think.
He already knew the ‘didn’t care’ part. An ambivalent, cruel god would hardly have reason to help any easily replaceable mortal. The ‘bored’ part might fit, if Bill wasn’t so bluntly fascinated by the topic. Obviously Bill thinks some suffering is fun, but this ‘conversation’ doesn’t entertain him. It’s something…
There… was a another idea. One Dipper kept to himself. 
An assumption, and one that he knows so, so much better than to speak aloud.
Not that he can ever do that again. 
Looking at Bill’s face, though. He’s gone quiet, momentarily. Looking back at Dipper with his head cocked to one side. Staring, intensely, like he wants to drill the answer straight out of his brain. Which he can, he’s Bill freakin’ Cipher. But he’s not doing it for whatever reason, so Dipper just has to roll with that.
At the end of the day, there’s no other conclusion to come to. 
That despite the all-seeing eye, the power of a god, and knowing mysteries of the multiverse - 
Maybe Bill actually, genuinely, doesn’t... 
Dipper has to try a couple times before he gets the letters down without them wobbling too much. He gets them down with careful strokes, board feeling heavy in his hands.
His hands only shake a little when he flips it around. 
‘You don’t know?’
“Hey, I know tons, kid! A billion things! I could tell you what I had for breakfast, January 25, 1938! Or what Machiavelli did in his spare time! But that’s stuff I was personally involved in.” Bill scoffs. Then waves vaguely, not meeting Dipper’s eye. “Whatever went on in your little conclave wasn’t on my radar. I might be short on specifics.” 
Even though he was already expecting something like that, the admission catches Dipper off guard. 
Holy shit, he was right.
Bill genuinely didn’t know. He just said it, though not in so many words. 
He just. Said it. 
There are things in the world that he doesn’t notice, or - or things that he misses, he’s not - 
As Dipper reels at the revelation, he braces himself on the desk. Bill’s arm shoots out, bracing his waist like he thinks Dipper’s going to fall. 
And. If this wasn’t for - if this wasn’t from Bill. If he didn’t command it from afar. If it wasn’t his order. Then it was always the people around him, especially the priest, and Dipper didn’t, maybe, do something wrong, he just. 
Dipper sniffs, then wipes at his face with his sleeve. Hopefully it looks like he was scratching an itch or something. 
Weirdly, Bill’s serious face starts edging towards… surprise? Alarm? He coughs into his fist. “So, about the-”
Dipper waves him off, then realizes that was stupid. He picks up the board again, and scribbles, ‘I can’t.’
“What do you mean you ‘can’t’?”
How is he not getting this? Dipper huffs out a breath, and underlines ‘can’t’. Twice. 
Bill rolls his eye, patting the air in a calming motion. “Alright, alright. Straight up incapable! Now are we talking emotionally, spiritually…” It was already weird to see him serious. Now, his expression is far too calm.  “Or physically?”
Maybe Dipper shouldn’t admit this. Maybe telling Bill would get someone in trouble, but it’s not Dipper in trouble, maybe never should have been, and momentum carries him forward. 
It takes a second to write it. The words keep coming out wrong. 'They said it was for blasphemy’.
"Show me." Both Bill's face and voice are dead flat. 
The sharpness of the command stings. Dipper winces, jaw clenching tight. 
There’s the first order he’s been given. Until now, Bill hasn’t bothered, and all things considered it could be worse. 
But it is an order. Dipper swallows against the nausea rising, and clenches his fists.
Okay. He can do this. It’s been a long time since he took a look in the mirror at that particular sight, but - right, lord of nightmares. He’s probably seen way worse. 
Under Bill’s impatient gaze, Dipper carefully sets his board and marker aside. Then he shuts his eyes, points at his mouth, and opens it. 
He only holds it that way for, like, a little bit. Exposing this sucks. It makes his mouth dry, and having Bill stare at it makes the twist in his stomach worse.  A few seconds all he can stand before he shuts it again. 
A low growl rumbles. 
Then Bill’s thumb digs into the corner of his mouth, pulling it back and shoving in between his teeth. Dipper tries arching his head away, but Bill turns him back with a commanding grip on his chin. A thumb digs in, wedging his mouth open and pushing his teeth apart. The only choice is to open up or bite him, and it hurts - 
Dipper twists his head. Bill holds him still. The helpless ‘ah’ that comes out of his throat sounds strained and weak. Shit, he should just be quiet, it’s not like he’s not used to it at this point.
Continual pressure, Bill’s not giving in - so Dipper relents, letting Bill get his awful kicks out of the sight. Face burning, eyes shut. He’s never liked having to use his mouth since it happened, and Bill keeps staring when he should have only needed a glimpse to know what was wrong.
Bill holds him like that for a full ten seconds. Silent. Staring. 
Then he lets go. 
Dipper stumbles back, covering his mouth with both hands. Through the rapid blinking, he can see Bill take a deep breath in. 
And another one. 
Bill’s eye is twitching but otherwise, he’s dead-faced. No more smile, no easy stance. He’s tense and his fingers flex. His eye glows with a dull, burning light.
That’s… not a happy look. Dipper presses his back up against the wall. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the heat from his own eyes.
When Bill punches the wall, it shatters as if hit with a sledgehammer.
Dipper drops. Legs folding, butt hitting the ground, and pressing his hands tight over his face. Shards of the wall tumble onto the carpet, and blink away into ash, as blue fire burns in the crater; drywall flaking away to reveal more of that same black stone.
“You have got to be kidding me! What kind of bullshit is THIS?” Bill’s voice rings through the room, loud and so angry. He starts pacing back and forth, throwing his arms in the air. “Bunch of half-witted jackasses ruining my stuff! And for what?” 
His voice turns strange and deep on some of the words, it resonates in the room, it makes the walls shake. 
Dipper shuffles up against the desk, taking shelter from the blooms of fire that seem to be popping up on the walls, and the floor, and - everywhere. It’s trailing along the baseboards, climbing up the corners.
Bill didn’t like that. He really, really didn’t like that. He’s angered his god again and it’s going to be bad.
“And in my name! Under my image! What a laugh!” Bill taps his foot against the carpet, teeth bared, eye glowing a bright, hot red - “They like blood rituals? Oh I’ll give ‘em a blood ritual.”
It feels like the entire building is moving by now, as Bill punctuates his statement with a kick. It tosses Dipper an inch off the ground, sending books and pens toppling to the floor. The door to the kitchen splinters into a thousand quietly screaming shards, before vanishing in acrid smoke. The heat’s rising, Bill’s way too close - and the light’s gone strange and shifting, casting stark shadows in dark black and bright light.
Dipper never should have mentioned anything. Never gone outside, never left his room, never spoken up, the last is a lesson he should know by now. Never should have thought that Bill didn’t have infinite wrath available, how stupid was he. 
All he can do now is try and make himself small. 
Tucking himself against the desk isn’t working but there’s nowhere else to go. Nothing in this room is safe, and it’s so hot - Dipper tries to breathe steadily but he can’t seem to get enough air.
“I never shoulda left that place intact in the first place!” Bill throws his head back, laughing to himself with a manic grin. “That’s the last time I let a bunch of stupid cultists live with their lungs on the inside.”
Bill punctuates his threat with another kick to the wall, which deforms like putty around him. Bill swears again. He yanks his leg, attempting to pull it out - and hey, the door’s open. Bill never shut it, he’s turned away for now and as long as he’s not looking - 
Dipper makes a break for it. 
Scrambling on hands and knees on too-hot carpet hurts, but the lower he keeps himself the less likely he’ll catch Bill’s eye again. A frantic couple of seconds later he’s out of the guest room, heart pounding, and he leaps to his feet and runs.
Can’t stay out here. Room’s too open, too many places to be cornered. Can’t be in the open or be seen, can’t remind Bill that the source of his anger is right here with him, so easy to catch and punish.
His brain catches up with him just as his foot hits stone. 
Dipper freezes in the doorway, breathing hard - but not stepping out. 
Okay, the exit opened easily enough, but he already knows that everything outside is terrifying and horrible and - he glances over his shoulder, at the blue light - it’s not much of an improvement. 
With a jerk, Dipper abandons that escape route, and turns back to face the penthouse. The light from the guest room is growing, Bill’s anger surging, and before he storms out Dipper needs a place to hide. 
There’s too much space under the piano. He’d never fit in the cupboards, or under the couch, and the fireplace is literally on fire - 
But there is one more open door that Dipper’s never been in before. 
Bill might not like it, but he also won’t look there first thing and it’s further away from him than where Dipper’s standing right now.
He’s through the door to Bill’s bedroom before he can stop himself -  no magical resistance, and no time to think about why - Dipper checks, but there’s no obvious exits, or closets, or even conveniently large wardrobes, why does - 
In the distance, Bill lets out a loud, angry incoherent sound. He hears the door slam, open or closed he can’t tell. 
As another rumble shakes the Fearamid,  Dipper ducks and slides underneath the too-large bed.
Thank hell the bed’s totally oversized; there’s enough space to crawl, so he shuffles up and back, towards the headboard. It’s a little dusty and there’s some clutter he can’t see, but all that is easily shoved aside until he curls up, tight, against the wall and under the frame.
That’s it. As far away as he can get.
Nothing left to do but wait.
It feels like a long time. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. There’s no way to tell, with the only frame of reference being his own heart pounding, too fast. 
The building has gone still again, which. Hopefully that’s a good sign. Maybe Bill’s calming down. Maybe he’s moved somewhere else. Maybe he noticed Dipper left, and he’s going to hunt him down and - 
But it might take him a while. This is a decent hiding space. The blankets draped back down after he slid under, covering any line of sight. And all the light. Everything’s dark, and the cloth and bed muffle all the distant sounds. 
Somewhere, Bill lets out a single, furious shout. Dipper winces, but he can’t make out the words anymore. It could be about anything.
After that, there’s silence again. 
Simply waiting means he could stalk in without any sign. He can be quiet, he’s basically a supernatural predator, and an ambush - he needs some warning. 
Dipper shuffles until he faces the wall, pressing his ear against the floor, listening for the approach - No footsteps. Yet. He can still feel his heart beating at a rapid pace, but he thinks he’s not panting anymore, so. That’s good. 
The quiet, and dark, and - for some, incredibly weird reason - the smell of the room itself all combine into a strangely calming effect. Not that it’s safe, because absolutely isn’t; there’s literally only a duvet keeping him out of sight.
It just. Feels a little safer. For stupid, back-of-the-brain reasons, totally irrational. Like an animal retreating into its burrow from a predator, pinging ancient instincts.
Which isn’t rational in the slightest. Not to mention the danger is Bill Cipher himself. Dipper’s putting his faith into a blanket keeping a monster from seeing him, and if it wasn’t so terrifyingly real it’d almost be funny.
This is the best he’s got for now. He’ll figure out the next step later. Whenever that is.
The one positive note is the yelling’s been done for a while now. Quiet is a welcome relief. Even if it’s temporary. 
Very temporary, as a sudden commotion starts up in the living room.
By the sound of it, Bill’s stomping around and making a clatter. He’s messing around with objects. Breaking something, maybe. Doesn’t matter, as long as he’s not breaking someone.
More thudding - faster, like a run - then Bill’s voice, loud and slightly breathless. “Hey! Pine Tree?” 
A long pause.
Dipper tucks his legs up against himself, wrapping his good arm around them. His other wrist throbs; he holds it close to his chest.
Swearing resumes, at a lower volume - then a rapid thump of a run, before an abrupt stop. 
Then Bill shouts again, echoing and distant, as if down a hallway. “Dipper!”
The name rings through Dipper’s nerves like a bell. It’s like being clanged against a metal pot, sudden and shocking, vibrations running through him. He clasps his arm tighter around his legs, and shuts his eyes.
It- maybe that was less angry? Bill, wondering where he went. Dipper’s not in trouble. He shouldn’t be in trouble. It wouldn’t be fair, it wasn’t fair before and it wouldn’t be now, he was just doing what he was told this time - and there’s no way to get out of here. There’s nowhere else to go.
Dipper pushes his nose into his sleeve, face against the fabric. 
It’s too much to hope that Bill’s not upset - but he might have taken off somewhere. Found someone else to take his anger out on. A more deserving target.
He won’t be mad forever. Right?. His emotions are flighty, and he’s easier-going than the sermons made him seem. Given enough time, maybe Dipper can uncurl himself from this place, sneak back to the probably-ruined guestroom, and -
Footsteps, again. Close. 
Dipper jerks his head up from the floor and he can still hear them, even through the cover of the bed and blanket.
Bill’s not just back, he’s in the room with him. 
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did he take off, that was the worst thing he could ever have done. The eye of God is always watching, witnessing everything Dipper does. 
He can run, and he can hide, but in the end he will always face judgment.
He claps a hand over his mouth and nose. Holds his breath. A few more seconds. A minute. Every moment he can get is precious.
Bill’s shoes on the carpet make a loud, distinctive thump. The sound heads towards the fireplace of the room - then pauses, and turns back to the door. A quick, repetitive path, back and forth. Not near the bed, yet. Bill’s muttering something under his breath that’s too quiet to make out, staying in the room, not leaving, until Dipper’s lungs burn with the effort to keep still. Keep silent.
“Fuck!” Something slams into the bed, a thump on the mattress that sends the frame shaking. Despite all his effort, some air escapes Dipper’s lungs through his nose with a short, high sound. He clamps his fingers over it, but it’s too late. 
Silence. 
Bill goes still. He’s next to the bed. But he’s not setting everything under the bed aflame, or swearing or yelling anymore. Dipper holds his breath again, daring to hope-
“Aha!” The blankets whip up, letting all the light in - and showing Bill’s huge, sharp teeth bared in a grin. “There you are!” 
Dipper turns away. He faces the back wall, he lowers his head.
“I thought you almost ran out again for a sec!” A low whistle. “Be a real shame if you got devoured, kid. I’ve barely even started with you!” There’s a shuffle, like Bill - the god - himself might actually be kneeling, if only to get a better look. “C’mere.”
Dipper shakes his head. Behind him, he hears Bill let out a displeased grunt.
No, he’s not coming out. Not for this. Not even if Bill’s mad about it. 
There's punishment waiting, once he emerges. Dipper can handle it. He has before.
But he will not go willingly. He never has. 
Obedience truly offers no protection. Bill asked Dipper to tell him. Dipper did as he was told for once. Getting hurt for it is just unfair. Hi only did what he thought was right. That's all he's ever done, no matter what anyone else says, and even if some of it was blasphemous then it sure as hell wasn't any of Bill’s business. He doesn’t even know what was said. 
If Bill wants to make a big, agonizing show out of something that upset him, then whatever. He can't be stopped. 
But he doesn’t get to pretend it's anything but cruel. 
He'll have to drag Dipper out.
Another grunt behind him, and the shuffle of something on carpet. Dipper hears it come closer, then the soft brush of something on his back - he flinches. 
“Oh, for-” A heavy sigh, then a retreating scuffle. Bill mutters something under his breath, then, “Under the bed is where monsters live, sapling. By all rights I should join you! Might wanna get outta the way first.”
Dipper doesn’t move, or respond. He remains still, in the desperate hope that Bill will find it boring enough to leave him be.
There’s a pause. A long one, at that.
The silence lingers, for three seconds. Then five. Ten. 
“Okay! Okay, I get it.” Bill says. His tone is calmer, though more sarcastic than soothing. “So the little scene earlier got you freaked out. It’d be a pretty poor showing on my part if I didn’t inspire terror! But none of that was about you, kid.” A patting sound, like a palm on carpet. “You’re fine! No cowering needed!”
Yeah, right. Dipper almost rolls his eyes. 
Oh, no, of course he’s not in trouble. He just needs to come out so they can have a little ‘talk’, or participate in this one little ‘ritual’. With commentary that never once mentions his name, but says it louder than any words. 
It wasn’t true then, and isn’t true now. One of Bill’s major domains is deception, and in plain terms -  blasphemous ones - that makes him a big fat liar.
Dipper tucks his chin down further. Bill missed getting hold of his shirt earlier, so he’s sure as hell not offering his hair as purchase. If he wants to wreak vengeance, he better break down the bed or scoot back under.
Either way, Dipper gets the small satisfaction of making him work for it. It’ll almost be worth what follows.
“Seriously!” Bill says, indignant this time. “Cross my heart and hope to rot in a grave, you’re not the guy in trouble.” He waits a beat, then another - then an annoyed groan, as his lies have no effect. “Always a friggin’ skeptic, huh.”
He pauses, then, “What do you want, kid? A bribe, maybe? Do I gotta blackmail you outta there?” A hum of thought. “Okay, both! If you get outta there, I won’t read your dumb journal and will get you something reaaally nice.”
Let him talk all he wants. It doesn’t mean anything. 
“You gotta come out eventually, y’know.” Bill continues. Dipper tries to tune out his voice, but Bill’s very hard to ignore. “You can’t live there forever!”
It’s true, Dipper can’t. At some point, he’s going to need water, or to eat, or use the bathroom. All kinds of mortal human necessities. 
But until then, he can put off the consequences. Annoying Bill is just a bonus. 
Another, louder groan, and then Dipper hears Bill’s shoes on the carpet again. He stands by the bed for a moment, then goes back to tracing the same pacing path, back and forth. Not bored enough to leave, not annoyed enough to pursue. Even the slight reprieve is a surprising relief. 
Bill's also muttering to himself again. Mostly swearing, by the sound of it, but Dipper thinks he hears the word ‘stubborn’. Which tracks.
How long will it take before Bill gives up? Will he give up? Dipper’s kept his interactions with him to a minimum; he doesn’t know how much patience Bill has. Or how long it’ll last until the fire blooms under the already stifling bedframe, heat building -
“Ha!” Bill snaps his fingers. Chuckling, too, like he’s just had a great idea. 
Okay. Not that long, then. 
Before he can curl up even tighter in the cramped space, he hears Bill’s thudding footsteps - 
Running out of the room?
Dipper waits for a moment. He squirms around enough to tilt his head, checking the space left from Bill raising the blankets. Nothing there.
It’s too much to hope that Bill’s truly gone. He’ll be back. By his exclamation and sudden exit, he’s preparing for some dubiously good idea. He’s going to…
To… 
Something.
For a moment, Dipper almost wishes he had hung out with Bill more. Talked to him, or, well. Wrote something to him. Maybe then he’d have a better idea of what’s going on in that insane, convoluted head of his. It’s not burning Dipper out, apparently, or convincing him through lies. But that just leaves a giant blank space he can’t fill in with useful information.
It barely takes a minute before the sound of Bill storming back in breaks his train of thought. 
Since Dipper knows a scheme is being pulled, he’s sorta prepared. He hopes it won’t hurt, or not hurt too badly.
“Alright.” Bill returns to his previous position, standing by the bed. His breathing has slightly picked up, like he ran all the way somewhere and back. “How about this, then?”
Dipper doesn’t respond. He can tell Bill’s getting back down to peek under the bed; the shadows show it, there’s a scuffle on carpet. 
Then, Bill’s voice. Higher pitched, somewhere in the range of cloying and deeply annoying. “What’s wrong, Pine Tree?”
What.
“I heard that someone is reaaaal upset!” Bill continues, with the same godawful tone. “Why don’t you come out and have a big cuddle with your-” A pause, a quick ‘eugh’ - “Squishy little friend! Mini-Bill!”
Okay, what.
Dipper turns away from the wall out of sheer morbid curiosity. 
The first thing he catches is Bill - looking annoyed, until he sees Dipper turn to look and instantly brightens. He’s crouched by the bed, looking sideways under the frame, one arm extended, and he’s wiggling the stupid Bill plush.
Dipper stares at it. Bill jiggles mini-him some more, making the black legs and arms flop around like the most noodly of puppets. 
Bill dashed off like something was urgent, but it was really only just across the penthouse. Then he dug that out from under Dipper’s pillow, and ran back like he’d just had an amazing idea. 
It’s so…
Dumb.
With a playful whistle. Bill makes the puppet’s arms rise up like it’s offering a hug, clapping its little hands together.
In fact, Bill Cipher - is a goddamn idiot.
It’s the same phrase that always occupies a part of Dipper’s brain, only this time instead of the shame, the self-recrimination, and the memory of pain - he kinda feels like he wants to laugh. 
God. That’s. Vindication, isn’t it. Even while he’s in danger, it feels really, really good.
Bill catches him watching, and all his smugness returns in a rush. “Ha! Knew this would work.” He says - in his normal tone, thank fuck. “Your - ugh - little friend is waiting, kid! Come give ‘em a kiss!”
Alright, that’s enough. 
Dipper makes a swipe for the plushie, but Bill’s quicker on the draw and he misses by inches. That also brought him perilously close to Bill-range - he retreats before Bill can swipe right back.
Too bad. He’s not getting out of here yet. Being under the bed has been safe, so far. He can’t give that up. 
Bill groans, slumping down onto the carpet. He lies on his side, turning Mini-Bill around to glare like somehow it’s the reason Dipper didn’t give in. 
“Fine. Fine! Take your dumb toy, if he makes you feel so much better,” Bill says, mockingly. With a wordless sneer, he flings the plush in Dipper’s direction and flops down on his back. “He’s stupid anyway.”
Mini-Bill lands just far enough away that Dipper has to shuffle forward to grab it. Bill doesn’t move from where he’s lying, giving Dipper enough time to scoot back against the wall and bring it to his chest, holding tight. 
Yes, it’s dumb that Bill got this. Yes, it’s also dumb that Dipper’s glad he got it, and he knows it’s totally stupid, but having the one soft thing in his life in his arms again does make him feel better.
He checks Mini-Bill - still intact, undamaged - then back at the regular-sized version.
Bill lets out a derisive snort, but doesn’t speak. He folds his arms over his chest.
That… was nothing like Dipper expected.
That can’t have been his whole plan. Right? There’s another plot. Deception that he hasn’t seen yet. 
On the carpet, Bill lies flat on his back. He’s glaring at the ceiling. One finger taps an impatient beat on his bicep. And while there’s no smile on his face, he doesn’t look angry, exactly, even though his brow is furrowed.  It takes a second for Dipper to parse.
Bill. Actually looks…
Tired.
Not physically, of course, there’s no sweat on him. Simply like he’s run out of energy, and needs a moment to recharge. Like someone poked a pin in an inflatable plan, one he put a lot of work into, and now he needs a minute to sulk.
Which means he’s not up to anything just yet. 
Dipper squeezes Mini-Bill a few times. It’s soft and clean. A quick check proves it doesn’t even smell like smoke from all the burning; the guest room must be pretty intact. 
After a moment, he wriggles onto his stomach, plushie tucked between his shoulder and ear. 
But he slows down, and stops. Bill’s eye is on him again, half-lidded. Contemplative.
 “What a shame. My human’s decided to dwell with the dust bunnies.” Bill lays the back of a hand dramatically against his forehead, though his eye stays firmly on Dipper. “And here I was, just about to tell ‘em the real reason he’s here.” The barest flicker of a grin, quickly repressed. “Guess he’ll never learn it now!”
Okay, that's a temptation. Dipper glares, but it only makes Bill’s smile creep into a grin. 
And… fine. It’s effective, too. 
Whatever. Bill was right, earlier. Dipper really can’t stay under the bed forever. It’s cramped and dark and uncomfortably tight. It’s only been about half an hour and parts of him are already sore.
And if he’s got to get out, then now’s as good a time as any. 
He rolls onto his stomach, and inches forward, before pausing with a jolt as Bill scrambles up to a sitting position. But he doesn’t go for a grab. He just…  watches, with a weird amount of anticipation. When he sees Dipper hesitate, he starts patting his knees. 
Great, Bill’s not just stupid, he’s a dork. 
Yet another difference from doctrine. The list is getting really long - but Dipper’s okay with that. 
It could totally be worse. Way worse.
Crawling his way out is way harder than it was getting in. Without the energy of panic, it’s kind of a pain in the ass. Hiding in a barely accessible place seemed like a great idea until he had to get himself out.
It’s a far less eventful exit than he pictured. More awkward than anything. Also, the sideboard is lower than the space under the bed, and Dipper hits his head on it with a - well, he can’t swear. But he wants to. 
“Having trouble, kid?” Bill says, sounding amused. He gets to his feet, grinning wide. “No problem. Lemme get that for ya!” And snaps his fingers.
Light floods over Dipper. So does space, in an alarming amount. 
He glances around, where there’s no frame or legs or mattress or - where the hell did the bed go?
“Up you go!” Bill takes hold of Dipper’s arms, pulling him to his feet. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Dipper looks behind him - no, the bed wasn’t turned over, or anything. He can’t see a blanket or a shred of wood around. But if Bill he can make things out of nowhere, he can get rid of them too, and -
He. Probably could have done this the entire time. 
“Hey,” Bill says. He catches Dipper’s attention again with a little shake, holding onto his upper arms. “Listen up, ‘cause you weren’t earlier - You aren’t the guy I was mad at, kid.”
A brief, hesitant nod. Yeah. Okay. 
By now Dipper’s pretty sure that’s the case, or everything else wouldn’t make sense. But the way he - with the punching, and the yelling, the distorted reality -
“No, really! I wanted you in mint condition, sapling. I’m mad at whatever empty-headed asshole decided they should perform an objectively stupid surgery! ” His smile flickers into a grimace, sharp teeth very white in his face. “Someone made a real dumb call.”
On that, they can agree. Dipper nods, one sharp motion. He sniffs, and swallows.
Bill’s smile is back, but not the standard version. This is a thin thing, with tension around his eye. 
Though Dipper hasn’t been here long, he has learned a few things. One of them is how to read the variations of ‘happy’ that Bill puts on. It’s a clear cover for other emotions, running just below the surface
Right now, Bill’s still mad. He’s furious.
But like he said - it’s not at Dipper. 
This is anger with no immediate outlet, burning underneath his skin. His eye is focused elsewhere, off into the distance over Dipper’s left shoulder, like he can see the person he wants dead but just can’t reach them. Yet.
And Dipper knows exactly how that feels. For exactly the same reason.
There’s something they can both agree on. It was totally bullshit. Unfair and cruel and - and Bill himself had nothing to do with it, he’d never have ordered it done. Maybe Bill would never have said Dipper deserved to - 
Dipper takes another, longer, sniff. Clears his throat, blinking rapidly. No, can’t - not the time for that. Dwell on it later, not in front of a friggin’ god.
Bill clears his throat, smile shifting ever so slightly. “Hey hey hey! Easy, there.” He winks, sliding his hands up to pat Dipper’s shoulders. “I, for one, think a little vengeance is in order. And since it was your tongue, I’ll even let you pick the method! How’s that sound?”
That sounds… violent. Gory and chaotic and -  knowing Bill - filled with maniacal laughter.
Some deep part of Dipper even likes the idea, but he knows couldn’t go through with it. Even thinking about it makes him feel so, so tired. And awful. Pre-grossed out by the blood. There’s been too much of that already. Still, he nods again, which makes Bill cheer up. The prospect of future chaos, whenever that may be. 
Though if Bill tries following up on that, it’ll be pretty hard to pull off. The culprit was last seen dead on the steps of the altar.
“Welp!” Bill claps his hands together. “Can’t say this was a total shitshow! I learned a lot about you today.” He cocks his head to one side. “More than I thought I would.”
A dismissal. According to Bill, everything’s wrapped up. 
As he takes a step back, Dipper grabs him by his shirt. It stops him right in his tracks. For a single, stuttering heartbeat, Dipper thinks he’s fucked up, again. 
“Oh? Not done with me yet, are ya?” Bill purrs, clearly delighted. He spreads his arms wide. “What’s up, sapling? Miss me already?” He ruffles Dipper’s hair in a rough, annoying way. “I haven’t even gone anywhere!”
No, that’s not it. Dipper frowns, and shakes his head. Though it doesn’t dislodge Bill’s hand, he ignores it
There’s a lot of things Dipper doesn’t get about this place. How it works. Where, exactly, the hell he is. But ever since he was dragged from reality and brought to a weird god’s realm, he’s mostly wondered why. 
Why him. Why then, why bring him here in the first place, why stitch him up and feed and house him. Why not earlier, damn it. 
And Bill just beckoned him out with a clear, though indirect, offer. 
He doesn’t get to back out of it that easily.
“Do me a favor, will ya?” Bill says, slow. He moves in fast enough that Dipper has to back up this time. 
Wow, they’re, uh. Really close now. Dipper has a close-up view of Bill’s collar, before a touch on his chin lifts his head. 
“If you’re gonna invade my room, sapling.” There’s a twinkle in Bill’s eye. “You should get in the bed instead of under it.”
What, like. Hide under the blankets? Literally, next time? Dipper guesses that makes… some kind of sense. In a nightmare realm, made of thoughts. Shifting spaces, lingering ideas - maybe it actually does protect you from monsters. That’d be strange, but…
Damn it, this place better not run on metaphors, or that’s going to be really annoying to parse.
Also, Bill’s giving him a weird look. He stares forward, lips tucked in, like he didn’t say what he meant to, or a great line didn’t land.
Wait. Was that a joke? Weird god-demon humor? A reference? It could - no, he’s getting distracted. Letting Bill change the subject lets him get away without answering. He gives Bill’s shirt another tug, insistent.
“What’s up?”
Oh, for - Maybe Bill should put some of that infinite knowledge towards remembering what he said three minutes ago. 
Dipper holds his hand out flat, scribbling an invisible pen on his palm. Thankfully Bill gets that hint; another board snaps into existence, and Dipper takes it not very gently from his hold.
It only takes a second to write it out, though Bill keeps trying to lean over the board for a peek. 
‘Why am I here?’
“Oh, that.” Bill says airly, looking up and to the side. He’s avoiding Dipper’s gaze. “Y’know. Reasons.”
Dipper takes a deep breath, and lets it out. Okay. Secrets. Another of Bill’s domains, he gets that, but still. He underlines the question, twice. 
“Boy, you’re real curious arent’cha?”
Yes, he is. How much more obvious could it be? Dipper taps the end of the marker on the board - then sighs, and writes a quick addition. ‘Please’. 
“How polite!” Bill’s smile turns mocking, squeezing Dipper’s shoulders. “Wanna add a ‘pretty’ to that?”
That- Fine. Dipper grits his teeth. After the day he’s had, he can handle one last awful thing. For answers.
The marker smudges from the pressure as Dipper painstakingly scrawls down the word.
“Hm.” Bill’s eye narrows as he hums in thought, He rubs his chin, head tilting to the side. Taking his damn time, too, as he looks Dipper over like he’s evaluating a rather expensive purchase.
It never hurts to look presentable in front of a deity, when it comes to something important. The best he can do is stand up straight, and look attentive. Bill shouldn’t mind. He should just spit it out already.
“The reason you’re here, mortal…” Bill says, drawing the sentence out, word by word. He smiles, something slow and sharp, as his thumb strokes over Dipper’s cheek - then pinches it. “Is for me to know, and you to wonder about!” 
What? 
Fucking what?
As Bill draws back, Dipper’s mouth works, no sound coming out. Another yank on Bill’s shirt does nothing except make him laugh. 
It’s not funny. It’s important, it’s - Heat rises into Dipper’s face. His shoulders inch up towards his ears.
Bill can’t just do that. Not after today. Not after everything Dipper’s been through, the demons, the tantrum, the stupid talk to get him out of the bed. The totally humiliating plea. Dangling this in front of him, the reason he’s been kidnapped and confused and basically alone this whole time, then taking it back? 
Nothing ever goes right for Dipper when it comes to his awful god, and - and the laughter stings. Embarrassment burns and rises on the coattails of all the other bullshit Dipper’s dealt with today; there’s heat in his chest and a knot in his stomach. 
That’s not what he said. It’s not fair.
He can’t just do that. 
“Yep! You’re not getting that one outta me. Nice try, though.” Bill taps his finger against the end of Dipper’s nose, making him flinch. “You’re never gonna gue-”
Rational thought doesn’t have time to catch up before Dipper’s fist meets Bill’s face. 
It lands, painfully, in the juncture of his head and neck. With more of a thud than a crack - but it does jerk Bill’s head to the side, and that’s a minor win.
Or would, be, if it had the right effect. 
Bill looks surprised and totally unhurt, while Dipper’s knuckles definitely sting from the contact. He shakes them to get some feeling back. What the hell, how durable is that bastard - 
His brain, screaming from the background, kicks in again. 
Dipper grips his hand tight as shame rising higher in his chest, a burning tide. It feels like he’ll choke on it.
Stupid, stupid stupid. How could Dipper be this dumb, he’s in the realm of a god, helpless, powerless, at the mercy of his whims  - and if Bill wasn’t mad before then he’s definitely mad now. 
God, this always happens, Dipper does something stupid, he stupidly defies god’s will, and there’s always consequences, no matter how he fights.
He looks up at Bill, chest heaving. Bill looks right back, rubbing his jaw - and starting to smile, wide. Showing those dangerous, predatory teeth.
No way to get out of here. Leaving the penthouse means other dangers, and leaving the realm is impossible. Even if he could, Bill’s got a memory a million years long, and he put a knife in the priest’s chest so casually that it was like putting it back in a drawer.
But Dipper can avoid him, for a bit. Along with all other awful things he found out today, he learned that fact.
He turns on his heel, ready to make his second run of the day.
It fails almost instantly.
One step into his retreat, Bill seizes him by the waist and drags him in, too quick by far. Strong, too; kicking out doesn’t work, hitting him again doesn’t work, he struggles against the tight grip and it only makes Bill let out a terrible, cackling laugh. 
Arms come around him, then, drawing him in too close to even hit the bastard anymore, or struggle effectively. They squeeze so tight it’s nearly hard to breathe. Dipper feels a warm grip on the back of his neck, firm and relentless. 
God. He never stood a chance against Bill, did he. Too strong, too quick. Too weird to understand, or placate. Nothing was going to be clear, or forthright, or helpful or safe. 
Escaping the cult didn’t matter, all of Bill’s previous patience didn’t matter, things are alway going to turn against him and ruin his day and his life. It doesn’t matter where Dipper is, it’s always going to be like this. 
It was never going to be okay. 
The strangled noise that escapes his throat sounds so much worse than a normal person’s. A wordless, helpless sound he can’t stop, there’s too much frustration and anger and sheer exhaustion, and Bill’s holding him really right, up against his chest. Dipper headbutts his shoulder in one last attempt at escape, then just. Leaves it there. 
Bill can retaliate whenever he wants. Dipper can’t fight right now, he just - He needs a minute.
The minute lasts. And passes. 
Also, Bill’s shirt is really soft, so it doesn’t hurt when he rubs his face against it. Fuck, and now he’s getting it wet -  but actually, fuck Bill, he’s the one who caused all of this. 
Absolutely everything is Bill Cipher’s fault, even if indirectly. Dipper hiccups, then wipes his nose on the soft cloth. 
It’s all soggy and gross now, he screwed up again - 
But no, Bill deserves it. He hopes it sucks for Bill as much as it does for him, trying to stop his chest from heaving. Bill could have let him go and avoided this, but no, he’s stuck in his arms. Let that asshole get all damp. 
At some point Dipper started clinging back, but that’s only because he couldn’t go anywhere else. Bill hasn’t relented even in the slightest, this entire time. He’s stroking a palm up and down Dipper’s back in a slow, warm rhythm because he’s super goddamn weird. 
Much like living under the bed, this, too, can’t last forever. 
Eventually Dipper sighs. The breath is shaky. Still more solid. He doesn’t have any more to let out.
He’s. Still pretty embarrassed, but he can’t see Bill’s face and he’s not dead. Two okay points in what’s otherwise been… not the worst day of Dipper’s life. But maybe in the top ten.
The hand playing with the hair at the back of his neck slows. Then it strokes through his hair again, and down. Bill pats him between the shoulders, letting out a low sigh. 
“Aw, look at you. All torn up ‘cause the answer wasn’t handed to ya on a silver platter.” Bill pats his back a couple more times. “Man, are you full of fluids!”
A little squirming manages to free Dipper from Bill, at least by a few inches. Bill gives him a once-over, then pushes a handkerchief into his face. 
It’s too late to pretend none of that happened. Or cover up, for dignity’s sake. Or back up, for that matter. With his cover totally blown, Dipper takes the damn thing so he can stop ruining Bill’s shirt, and wipes his face.
“Tell ya what. You had yourself a big day, and your poor human brain’s probably way too overwhelmed to be of use, sooooo…” Bill says, drawing out the word slowly. Smug, again, despite his snotty shoulder and too-close human. “I guess I can part with one hint.”
Dipper looks up. Bill meets his gaze with a grin, totally unbothered. Oddly unbothered.
It’s… it’s like he truly doesn’t mind that his shirt is ruined because some random human’s having a fit, or that he’s been bothered by pointless crap ruining his evening. Bill looks…
Well, he’s… not amused, exactly. Something less snide, and downright impossible to place.
“Truth is…” Bill leans in close, and winks. “You’re special, sapling.” He lingers for a moment - then squeezes Dipper again, slightly more gentle. “Have fun working out what that entails.”
Special. 
Sure, it’s a hint. One that’s sorta true. With everything else that’s happened, denying it outright would throw all of the other hints out with the bathwater. But…
Dipper, of all people. Special. 
It’s one hell of a word choice - and it’s totally, classically Bill. 
With just one word, Bill implied a secret with deep importance. Saying that, deep down, Dipper has something nobody else does. 
Because of course he did. It’s about the allure. 
Everyone wants to be important. Being important to a god, triply so. It’s the carrot at the end of a long, long stick. A temptation. Doesn’t Dipper want to know why he’s ‘special’? Wouldn’t it be cool if he was? The intrigue is exactly why it’s so dangerous.
His first instinct was right. Bill is an asshole. And a big fat liar. 
Dipper blows his nose into the handkerchief, sniffing again. Looking awed at the ‘reveal’ would be the right response, but he’s too tired to play along. And by the look of it, Bill doesn’t mind that either. 
“Gross,” Bill says, but his smile doesn’t alter a fraction. Dipper can’t see any other emotion behind it, for once. He reaches up, thumb smoothing some hair behind his ear, before his arm slips around Dipper’s waist. “No amount of special stops you from being organic, unfortunately.”
Yet more Bill, revealed. A liar, an asshole - and definitely the type of guy who can’t leave an insouciant comment unsaid. It’s completely unsurprising. 
Even though he doesn’t need to, Dipper blows his nose again, just to watch Bill make a face. He rubs at his eyes, trying to dispel some of the lingering heat. 
It doesn’t matter though, Dipper guesses. Bill’s always going to be really goddamned weird and erratic and insane. A person that no amount of learning enables you to entirely predict.
He’s just going to have to work around it. Somehow.
With a smile, Bill starts up his slow petting again. His arms are warm, and that inhuman strength isn’t so bad when it’s just. Holding. 
It’s been a long time - or, how long has it been? Years, maybe… god, Dipper can’t remember the last time someone just- 
He takes a slow, shuddering breath. Bill goes very still for a moment, then he squeezes Dipper around the back, with both arms. Not hard, just tight enough to be kind of…
Wow. Okay.
This is a hug. Bill might lie about it later, but there’s literally no other word for it. 
Dipper turns to rest his forehead on Bill’s dry shoulder, and listens to him chuckle. He can feel his chest moving under his hand, and the steady beat of an inhuman heart. 
There’s a secret here. One about Dipper, and what he means. Bill’s partially revealed it, and he wants Dipper to work out the rest. Best thing to do would be to get on that immediately.
But he’ll have time for that later. 
He can stay here for a bit. Until Bill gets bored with this part too. 
Dipper lets out a sigh, and lets himself relax. He feels the slow stroke start up on his back again, and a low contented hum. This warm body, firm under his arms. 
Even if it’s a lie, it makes Dipper feel like he’s special. Just for a moment. 
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adrienjay · 6 days
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Well, since my "Bravern is the Deathdrive of gluttony" crack theory was proven wrong, it seems I need an even bigger crack theory to replace it. Introducing:
Bravern is transgender
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I think it goes without saying, but spoilers ahead!
So first of all: the entire existence of Bravern can be taken as a transgender allegory. The show does something pretty interesting when it banks on you, the viewer, assuming that Lewis is jealous of Isami for being the one chosen by Bravern to help save the world. But if you rewatch the show after the episode 9 twist, you realize hey, wait a second, Lewis actually totally wishes he was that giant robot" (Which is funny, because... He is)
Lewis tries to become Bravern's pilot to get as close to this wish as he believes is possible, and is shown to be haunted by Bravern's rejection. He tries again to become Superbia's pilot, going as far as to say if it goes wrong and he dies, it will be worth it. And even after failing, he continues to hold on to the hope it's still possible until the others are like "no dude, we've got a brand new non-sentient mech for you to pilot, you don't need to do this."
When he dies in the battle against Cunus, the audience gets a flashback to his past where he complains about the limits of the human body before looking up at a Titanostrider in wonder. And when he first gets a chance to pilot one, he gets overexcited, noticeably enough that others tease him for it.
After reincarnating as Bravern, he's very clearly happier! He loves his new body, he's considerably more optimistic than he was as a human, he's much more self-confident, and he's a lot more open about his romantic feelings. The fact that he's keeping his true identity a secret can be considered part of this allegory too - he doesn't want to be seen as his old self anymore. He's Bravern now.
But here's the kicker: the specifics of how Lewis was able to revive himself through sheer force of will aren't completely clear in the show, but the Bravern radio show confirms that Bravern was created by Lewis's mind taking over Cunus's body. And since Cunus is a clearly female-coded robot, this means that Bravern's body used to be female.
Thus, Bravern is not only a transgender allegory, but also literally trans in another sense. I rest my case.
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screaming-weevil · 11 months
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re: #what the FUCK does this mean
there's a conspiracy theory that bts's jungkook is princess diana reincarnated,, hope this helps,,, enjoy your safari,
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i can't believe i found a spider in my boxers yet THIS is the most startling discovery I've made today. thank you
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shiny-jr · 1 year
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Congratulations on 5000 followers, that's such an amazing milestone <33
For your event, if you don't mind, could I please ask for the prompt HOLLOW - "Without you, I am nothing. I am empty" with Malleus Draconia
– Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.
– Prompt: Hollow. "Without you, I am nothing. I am empty."
– Character: Malleus Draconia.
– Note: First prompt! I originally didn't plan for it to be this long, but I kinda got carried away when writing. Oh well, it is what it is. Thanks though! Here's your large order of dragon fae content.
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In a way, it was pathetic. He was the fae prince, heir to the throne of the valley and named on the list as one of the top magicians in the world without even trying. People fell to their knees in either fear or reverence in front of him, the mere mention of his name was enough to make the ordinary folk tremble, he had enough power to summon destructive storms unconsciously with just his mood. The list of his strengths was as long as the years he lived, he surpassed everyone not only in skills and power but also in age. As a fae, he would live much longer than the majority human population could even imagine.
Despite all this, despite his status, his might, his intelligence, and the abundance of wealth he had, he was alone. Those he did have were far and few inbetween, just enough to count on one hand. On his thumb, his grandmother, the queen; on his pointer finger, Lilia, his caretaker and oldest retainer. Those two were with him since the beginning, for the first hundred years of his life. The rest were only recent additions. On his middle finger and index finger were his newest retainers in training: Lilia’s adopted human son, Silver, and the son of a long time fae lineage loyal to the Draconia family, Sebek. Finally, on his pinky, was the newest addition, a human he met only months ago. Yet months were like a blink of the eye to him, human lives were like flames on a candle, burning brightly and flickering out abruptly and in the next instant. This human must’ve had the brightest candle of all with the most captivating warmth and light, because he was always lured toward them, just like a month to a flame. The reason he thought it pathetic, was because someone like him was reduced to nothing by a mere human. It was much like the most fearsome and mightiest of dragons submitting to the smallest mouse.
And yet, no matter whether he continued to believe it to be pathetic, or he didn’t care, or he actually enjoyed it, there was one fact constantly lingering in the back of his mind: mortality. Fae would always outlive humans, he’s outlived more humans than he could count. And it scared him. When his dear human friend’s candle finally extinguishes one day, what then? Just the thought causes him to lose his composure. He refuses to go back to being alone, back to a life of darkness and despair. Just one taste of the light was enough to make him never want to return to how things used to be, and he would long for that light from them for as long as he lived. Still, the fact remained, what would he do when the flame is at risk of being extinguished? He wasn’t sure if he could handle the grief when that day would eventually come, because the truth was: Malleus depended on his human. This human he held close to his heart was his world, his treasure, and without them he was nothing. He was empty. Would he snap and destroy everything in his vicinity, reducing it all to rubble and ash? Would he isolate himself once more and spend his every waking hours searching for that familiar warmth and light? When he did dream and succumb to the cold darkness, he was sure that his dear human would haunt his dreams too. Now during his lifetime, he had heard of theories and stories of reincarnation. If this held true, he could search for his dear human and reunite with them, but he was certain that even the short time separated with only grief and desperation left would drive him insane. 
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iloveyanderes · 1 year
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More yandere ideas:
Rich yandere(pantalone, ningguang, ayato and diluc) x workaholic darling, rich yandere really just wants to pamper darling and take care of them for the rest of their lives, making sure they don't have to lift a finger. Meanwhile darling really loves working, they live for working, their entire lives revolve around doing things for other people and can't handle the idea of someone trying to do things for them, rich yanderes like ningguang and diluc might just settle for paying all of darlings expenses and helping them out with their work making sure they don't get sick or overwork themselves, but rich yanderes like ayato and pantalone would absolutely not allow that. Ayato probably won't kidnap you at first but he'd probably make sure you'd get fired and no on would hire you, if you decide to leave inazuma for work he'd definitely kidnap you and hide you in the kamisato estate, never to be seen again. Out of all four of them pantalone would definitely be the most dangerous, I fully believe that he would drug you to the point of paralyzation if you refused to come with him, if your so instant on working all the time then why doesn't he just take away your ability to work?
Yandere sagau idea where the reader is the Creators granddaughter. The great and might creator is seen as someone unattainable, so perfect and better then everyone else. So you can imagine the suprise when the creator falls in love with human and had a child, their child immediately becomes a god and is seen just as unattainable as the creator, but when the child of the creator gives birth to a granddaughter people immediately assumes that she will be as high and mighty as the latter, except she isn't the girl was a human she was weak she was fragile, she didn't have any powers like her mom and grandmother. It was then that people decided she was obtainable, when she turns sixteen you can't imagine the amount of courting gifts she got, unfortunately the granddaughter really isn't interested in love so she kindly rejects them. Eventually that gets people angry so they force her to have them, people go all out just to wisk her away to a "date" where they spend the entire time profoundly expressing their love, maybe drugging them so the granddaughter can't run away.
Platonic yandere Childe x lumine&and aether younger sibling reader, imagine after the unknown god attacked you and your older siblings you wake up in snezhneya, worried because of the neverending cold you quickly try to find shelter, losing more and more of your strength before finally collapsing on the snow. About an hour later Childe finds you on the ground, flabbergasted by your almost blue face and very young appearance he quickly brings you to his family to get you warmed up, let's say when you wake up your surprised when your in someone's house, it's there that you see one of childe's siblings who quickly calls Childe. Because of your child like appearance your very used to be talking to you as if your a child but this guy talked to you as if your a helpless infant toddler that didn't know anything, it was infuriating to you since your pretty much older then his great grandpa. Though at the moment it was your best bet to find your siblings so you cooperated with him. He pretended to play along with your concern and promised to help you, but when you turned to leave he didn't let you saying that since your so young you can't protect yourself. When he went to liyue he made sure his parents kept you confined to the house, he did end up meeting your sibling and befriended them, your siblings asked where you were and he pretended not to know you, he led your sibling farther and farther away from you.(sorry I got very board writing this one)
Yandere cyno x rukkhadevata reincarnation reader. There's a theory that cyno is the reincarnation of the priest that was loyal to the greater lord and I'll play of this. Imagine cyno gets all of his memories from his past life and remembers rukkhadevata and has great regrets that he wasn't able to protect her, so when he meets you her obvious reincarnation he makes sure he doesn't repeat the mistakes of the past. Your confused when some random person you've never met suddenly kidnapped you and brought you to the nicest looking prison ever. At first you absolutely refuse to eat anything but quickly change that when he forces food down your mouth, every time you refuse to sleep on the silk bed made just for you he ties you to it and blindfolds you so you'll eventually fall asleep, the moment you take a single step out of the house, your immediately brought back inside. Cyno would rather die them ever hurt you, he'd never punish you for anything you've done but if someone else even put the slightest of scratches on you they would suffer indescribable hell.
Yandere Abyss twin x isekaid reader, imagine your the biggest genshin impact fan ever, you've read millions of fanfiction, have tons of merch, spent ever extra dollar you make on genshin, memorizing all of the lore. Then one day truck-kun decides to take your life and you wake up in kheanri'ah, luckily the people bring you in kindly, when the abyss twin shows up you immediately explain your situation to them and it takes a while for them to believe you. But when they do the two of your become very close, when the destruction of kheanri'ah comes around the abyss twin absolutely refuses to let you near dainsleif, thinking of him as a traitor and you can't be allowed near him. Over time you notice the abyss slowly corrupting you friend, but whenever you mention it to them they get mad at you, wanting to help your friend you join the abyss too. The abyss twin keeps you very close almost never letting you leave the abyss, when you and dainsleif met again and the traveller is with him, the abyss twin immediately orders you to leave but you stay, wanting to consult dainsleif about the absolute crap your friend has gotten in too. The abyss twin ends up dragging you back to the abyss and let's just say there not happy.
This is all I've got for now please feel free to take these or give me your ideas
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