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#now i spend all my time writing
tswwwit · 2 months
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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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jadewritesficshere · 8 months
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Insecurity 18+only
Steve Harrington x female!reader
shoutout to all my girlies who are self conscious about their chests.
Synopsis: You feel insecure about your boobs, but Steve shows you there is nothing to be insecure about 18+ ONLY
Contents: negative body image (descriptive about insecurities, self depreciating thoughts), pet names (Honey, Beautiful), groping, unprotected p in v (YALL PLEASE WRAP IT UP), creampie
The gnawing despair and shame that had started earlier in the night had continued to grow, becoming like lead in your stomach. It was movie night at the Harrington residence. As was the tradition after saving the world once or twice, the young adults would get together and watch a movie, eat pizza, and smoke if you felt so inclined.
Tonight was Eddie's pick, some B horror movie. You hadn't really paid attention, more focused on watching Nancy and Steve talking. The despondent feeling had started then, even if you knew they no longer had feelings for each other, you felt insecure. You felt as though you couldn't compare to Nancy. You loved Nancy, she was amazing. Hell, you weren't sure if you wanted to be her or be with her.
But you definitely knew you liked Steve. You hadn't even told Steve of your feelings for him, having your heart ripped out as you watched him go out on many dates, and feeling like an asshole for being glad they didn't end well.
The feeling grew as the movie started. Robin and Eddie, taking their roles as film critics seriously, talked about the techniques being used and made comments throughout. Nancy told them to hush many times, but they ignored her. It wasn't until one of the female characters had her shirt ripped open, causing her bare chest to be on display, that caused silence to occur. Her breasts were bigger than yours and perfectly even and round. Nipples that were hardened and like a beacon your eyes drifted to. Her breasts swayed in an almost hypnotizing way as she ran. You would have been the first to admit they were attractive.
"Damn," one of the guys had muttered, causing you to look over. Eddie's eyes were glued to the TV and for once he was silent.. Robin was blushing and her mouth was dropped open. Steve shifted on the couch, his hand going to adjust- oh.
Your stomach dropped and you felt like your veins had turned to ice. Of course this is what Steve would like. You didn't have a bad chest persay, but you were always self conscious of it. In fact, yours were uneven. Sure, they weren't an entire cup size different, but one cup of your bra would fit perfectly while the other was just slightly too big or too small depending on the bra. You knew that you were probably making a bigger issue out of things, but you couldn't help your insecurity. You noticed the difference every time you looked in the mirror, even if no one else did.
You hardly even noticed the movie ending. You couldn't even remember the plot. You nodded at the discussion Eddie had started, trying to make it seem like you had paid attention. You could feel Steve's eyes on you. "Are you okay?" Steve mouthed from across the couch. You smiled and nodded, but the look of concern didn't leave his face. Of course the one guy you wanted to seem normal to could tell something was off.
Slowly, everyone gathered their things to leave. Robin and Nancy left together while you were searching for your keys. Eddie had went to the restroom then left, saying something about a deal. You still couldn't find your keys. You always left them on the table in the hall, but they were nowhere to be found. This was just making your night worse. The icing on the cake. Like when you are already mad and your belt loop gets caught on the door handle. You grumble to yourself, when you hear Steve clear his throat.
You turn to glance at him. Steve had your keys in his hand. He jingled them before tossing them at you. You fumble with the catch, but don't drop them. Why the hell would Steve steal your keys?
Steve stood at the end of the hall in front of the front door. He had his arms crossed over his chest. "What's going on?" Steve demanded. You rolled your eyes at his tone, earning a glare," Seriously? You're acting strange, what happened?" "Nothing. Thanks for stealing my keys asshole." "It's called borrowing, you got them back." You attempt to slide by Steve but he blocks you. Almost like a game, you try to slide past and he blocks you.
You fake to the left, making Steve attempt to block you there, but slide past him on the right. You grasp the door handle but-
The handle slips from your grasp as Steve spins you around and pins you to the door. His arms blocking you on either side, holding onto your biceps. You drop your keys on the floor from surprise. A moment of silence between you two as you both realize the position you're in.
"What's going on? Did...did I do something?" Steve frowns at you. Your stomach drops at the look of disappointment on his face," No! Steve just...no." "You can't even look at me without frowning." His words make you realize you are indeed frowning. You must have been frowning at him all night. You attempt to smile, but the attempt is pitiful and Steve sighs," I'm sorry...I dont know what I did, but I am." "Steve you didn't do-" "No, no. Let me finish. I'm sorry that-" "Steve-" "-i never meant to make you uncomfortable, if you tell me what it is I can avoid doing it again-" "Steve I-" "- let me speak! I'm sorry i-"
"It's my boobs!" Your voice is loud, not yelling, but loud enough that there was no way Steve could ignore it. You bite your bottom lip and his mouth drops open slightly. He closes his mouth and swallows, your eyes flicking to his Adam's apple moving. You don't miss how his eyes snap down to your chest that was covered by your shirt.
"Uh I'm sorry?" Steve blinked a few times before looking into your eyes," I think I'm missing something?" Nerves wrack your stomach, embarrassed at the feelings of insecurity you had. You fidget under his gaze," Well I mean...the movie...she...mine don't look..."
Steve's eyes widen slightly with realization. "Oh Honey...there's nothing to be self-conscious about." You scoff at his words making him glare. "Seriously, all boobs are beautiful. Big, small, perky or not, I could go on. Even, uneven, doesn't matter to me.. Boobs are boobs. And they all are beautiful." "Not mine." Steve rolls his eyes," Yes yours." "Nuh-uh" "Yuh-huh!" You and Steve bicker back and forth before the thought fuck it runs through your mind.
You grab the hem of your sweater, yanking it up. You're glad now that you had worn the severely baggy sweater without a bra. Your breasts jiggle slightly with movement, Steve's eyes immediately darting to them.
He licks his lips as he stares at your chest. Your chest rising and falling with every breath you take. His gaze heavy, making you aware of what you just did. You go to lower your sweater and his hands dart out to hold yours up," Now hold on..."
He smirks at you and lowers one hand down to your left boob. He palms at it, making you realize how big his hand really is. He squeezes lightly before lifting your breast and letting go, watching your breast fall and jiggle. He groans and the sound goes straight between your legs. His other hand darts to your other breast. You can tell there is a difference in size against his hands, but Steve doesn't seem to care.
Your nipples start to harden from arousal and the cool air. Steve's eyes focused on the peaks as his thumbs rub over each one. A shudder runs through you and goosebumps run down your arms from Steve's feather light touch. Steve's eyes are lit up with barely contained lust.
"Don't know why you were concerned about these...They're perfect." Steve mumbles, dipping his head close to your chest before looking up at you. The unspoken question has you nodding your consent. Steve grins slightly before slowly kissing your chest. A kiss here and there. A slight bite. Licking and swirling his tongue. He sucks lightly on one nipple, sending shivers down your spine.
You can feel your arousal start to dampen your panties. A light moan escapes your mouth before you bite your lip to hold it back. Steve groans at the sound before pulling back. "Fuck babe..." Steve exhales slowly. He closes his eyes trying to get a grip on himself. You aren't sure if you should lower your top or take it off. Steve shifts and your eyes dart down and-
Oh. A thrill of pride runs through you at seeing Steve's erection. Knowing you gave him that? Knowing you got him worked up just from the part of you that you are the most insecure of? It may not take away that insecurity fully, but it does help to lessen it in this moment. You lick your lips at the sight. Damn, it was big.
Steve's hands slowly grasp yours and lower your sweater. "We uh better put those away. Or I'm gonna have a hard time controlling myself." Steve clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. You nod absent-mindedly. You pause and then say," Who says you have to control yourself?"
Steve growls and crowds you against the door. Your arms go over his shoulders, a hand in his hair and one on his neck. Your noses knock together slightly before his lips collide against yours. Soft but passionate. Your chest rubs against his as he pushes a leg between yours. The friction hits your pelvis as you both grind against each other.
You can feel the roughness of his jeans through the fabric of your pants, it hitting just right to feel amazing against your clit. You pull back with a gasp, Steve taking the opportunity to kiss down your jaw. You aren't sure if he maneuvers your head, or if you turn it to give him better access. You can feel a hint of pain as he nips his teeth, that turns into pleasure as he sucks and licks the spot. He trails down from your jaw to your neck, to the spot that makes your fingers and thighs clench. You know your underwear must be soaked at this point.
"Steve," you tap his neck to get his attention and he pulls back to look at you," Bedroom?" Steve's eyes light up and a blinding grin spreads across his face. He lets go of you and takes a step back. Steve grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers. His hand bigger then yours, but feeling like a puzzle piece sliding into place. Butterflies in your stomach taking flight as it felt so right.
Steve leads you up the stairs and into his bedroom. He lightly closes the door and pulls his shirt off. You can't help inhaling sharply at the sight. Pale skin scattered with beautiful moles, like stars in the night sky. You want to kiss each one. His chest hair and that stupid happy trail, it made your mouth salivate. Steve flexes his biceps slightly, trying to show off. You wouldn't tell him, but he didn't need to show off for you. You thought he was beautiful just as he was. Even when he was a "loser" (his own words not yours).
You toss your sweater off quickly, not wanting to miss a second. You push your pants and underwear off in the same movement. It hit you suddenly, that you were naked in Steve's room. This had only happened in your dreams, and if this was one, you didn't want to wake up.
Your eyes dart back to Steve as his jeans come off with his boxers. Steve's dick stands to attention, lightly hitting his stomach. A smattering of curls neatly trimmed at the base. A prominent vein on its side. You can see a mole on one of his balls, and you still agree with your earlier thought of kissing every mole. You lick your lips at the thought. Steve goes to take his tube socks off and falters slightly, almost falling.
It takes some nerves away you didn't realize you had as you giggle at the man in front of you. Steve's face flushes with embarrassment, but that feeling goes away as he sees you getting comfy on his bed. In his mind, you look like you belong. Like this was the perfect place for you. Steve gets his socks off and tosses them away, stalking over to you.
Steve slowly crawls onto the bed and over you. You grin up at him as he braced himself over you. "Hi," you murmur before kissing him. You can feel one of his hands snaking down your arm and grabbing your hand. He holds your hand as you kiss, making your head spin. Something so innocent as holding hands mixed with the way his tongue was moving against yours made it feel incredibly dirty. You knew you would think about this moment every time you held hands, because now you weren't going to let his hand go that easily.
Steve slowly lines up, rubbing his dick through your folds. A shiver of pleasure runs down your spine as he rubs against you clit. You whimper slightly, bucking against him. Once his dick is coated thoroughly with your arousal, he teases your hole with his tip. The lightest touch of pressure, just so you know he's there before he pulls away.
You can feel the head of his dick slip in slightly, both of you moaning. "Ready?" He asks and you nod. He slowly pushes in, pausing to give you time to adjust to his length. It has a slight sting of pain as you stretch to adjust for his size. Steve murmurs apologies as he kisses your face, going back to the spot on your neck he found earlier. You relax against him and he pushes in all the way.
You've never felt so full. The feeling was amazing. Steve slowly starts to pull out before pushing back in. Each thrust of his dick sending pleasure coursing through you. You wrap your legs around his waist, allowing him to hit a different angle that causes you to moan.
Panting into each other's mouths as he thrusts into you. Steve moans wantonly, sending shivers down your spine. With every thrust he hits that spot that makes you see stars. You can feel your climax approaching. "Give it to me Honey," Steve murmurs, hand snaking down and circling your clit.
You crash over the edge before you realize you were even there. You spasm from pure unadulterated pleasure. Stars explode in your vision as ecstasy takes over. "Oh fuck you're-" Steve cuts off with a gasp as his hips stutter. You are floating through space, barely tethered to your body. You thought out of body experiences only happened when you were about to die, but the pleasure you felt sent you to new heights.
Steve's thrusts falter as he cums. You start to come back to earth as you feel his release paint your insides. Steve collapses on you, not in an unpleasant manner, but like a weighted blanket was laid on you. You wrap your arms around his waist in a loose hug (and if you squeezed his ass well thats just for you two to know). You can feel his heaving breaths as his chest rubs against yours.
Steve pulls back slightly to stare into your eyes. "Hi again," you giggle. "Hi Beautiful," He grins at you. You try to hide your face in his neck but he laughs and pulls back more, making you whine. "Don't go shy on me," Steve kisses your nose," I've seen you naked now. Nothing left to be shy about." You would argue but Steve kisses you again.
Steve slowly pulls out and you whine at the loss. You can feel his cum slowly drip out of you. He pulls back but you tighten your arms around his waist. "Hey, I'll be right back. Just gonna get a towel to clean up." Steve strokes your jaw. You reluctantly let go of the man so he can go get a towel. Steve leaves and returns quickly. A wet wash cloth in hand, Steve pauses at the sight of his release dripping out of you. You can tell he likes what he sees, making a mental note. He cleans you up, careful as you are still sensitive.
Soon, he is crawling back into bed next to you. He curls into you, wrapping an arm around your waist as his head goes to lay against your chest. You wrap one arm around his waist while the other hand goes to his hair. You both sigh contentedly. "Beautiful," Steve mumbles, kissing your breast. Yeah, your insecurity was definitely lessened in this moment. And you had a feeling that every time it started to grow, Steve would show you how he felt about them.
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frenchfry99 · 3 months
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Waitttt....you said Lilly has a *honkable nose???*
.....
*Fnaf nose honk insert*
Lilly does the fnaf nose honk canon ‼️🎉
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She's inviting you to join the clownery!
Do you accept the offer??
Bonus Lilly with a couple of her many friends! (lil one befriends anyone in sight)
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Haven't drawn my Home design in ages,, he's such a silly fellow (as much as a house can be silly and fellow lol)
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If nothing else Koenma is a Kuwabara stan and I'm right there with him o7 (I need to write the kuwameshi fic that goes with this fr)
#maybe one day i'll write that au i have sitting in my head#ever since the comment he made about making kuwa spirit detective instead ive been thinking about it#like...what if yusuke is still recruited same as canon but like#kuwa was already spirit detective? doing assignments for the guys upstairs and all#and they made yusuke help him after his resurrection instead of going solo#and it's hilarious because they still have the ''rivalry'' set in place so it's like#now i gotta be coworkers with this guy i was in a fist fight with last week?#yusuke is like you can't be serious you want me to fight DEMONS with the guy who cant even beat ME? lmaooo okay#kuwa would be more in tune with his powers atp in this au and super offended like hello#why would i use my reiki on a FELLOW HUMAN CHILD you DICK i can hold my own on my assignments just fine#but he's actually really excited to be able to spend time with yusuke doing something besides getting his ass handed to him#they're both genkai's students (she's endlessly annoyed but they grow on her)#i just think it'd be fun cos like#it'd be harder to exclude kazuma from shit if he's literally been involved in this shit before he even met#kurama and hiei#kuwabara isn't really told about yusuke's resurrection so things go mostly the same up til he's brought back#they're both called to koenma's office and it's the spiderman pointing meme 💀#it's koenma's first time seeing kuwa in person as he usually just sends assignments with botan#yusuke has already seen him cos of the resurrection arc#and koenma is SUCH a fanboy ''kuwabara it's such a pleasure. you know you're my best worker 🥺''#''um urameshi am i seeing things or is that a fuckin baby'' yusuke will NOT stop laughing#it fucks koenma up so bad he makes sure he's in his adult form when he's around kuwa next#cos he wants to be the respected boss but also guy that you can chill with!! he's so cringe#okay yeah i need to write this it's such a fun concept#kuwameshi#yu yu hakusho#kuwabara kazuma#yusuke urameshi#koenma
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silenthillbunni · 27 days
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🐇💭
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panharmonium · 4 months
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What do you think about this: "Kakashi was never interested in Sasuke as an individual, he only projected himself into him and saw a smaller version of himself on Sasuke, Sasuke was never Sasuke to him, just a little Kakashi". I wanted to know your opinion because I miss your meta posts and I feel like lately people are hating Kakashi for things that aren't real :/, also you are really good at explaining and I feel that both characters need love
Hello! Thanks for the question!
The answer to "what do i think about this" is, honestly, that I don't think about it X) I watched the whole show without engaging with the fandom at all (for fear of spoilers, initially), so I was able to experience it without being exposed to anyone else's thoughts, and now that I'm done I generally still avoid poking around, because devoting mental energy to opinions that I find bizarre/not supported by the text doesn't enhance my fandom experience.
Kakashi and Sasuke's relationship is one of the most compelling things about the series to me. I was very surprised when I finished the show/manga and first exposed myself to the fandom only to find so few people invested in them, but at this point I've (mostly) stopped asking myself "what show was everyone else watching" and just settled into enjoying the show that I watched, because that's more fun for me. I can't convince people not to dislike Kakashi if that's what they want to do. I do find it a little weird, because I don't think that's what the story is asking from us, but as long as people mind their business and aren't bugging me on my own blog, they're free to do what they want.
I know it can be frustrating when there are people hating various characters for "things that aren't real," but the fact that these criticisms aren't "real" is precisely why I generally avoid engaging with them. For Kakashi, specifically, there are certain things people can say that will immediately make me stop taking them seriously - "projecting" is one. "Bootlicking" is another, but again, these terms are so wildly inaccurate that I'm not interested in talking about them. The manga and the show are easily accessible; if people want to rewatch/re-read them, they can.
In general, I just prefer to avoid engaging with most of the fandom negativity I see. I think overall most of the rancor I've stumbled across boils down to people engaging with the story in very ungenerous ways, if that makes sense, and that's not how I prefer to read/watch things. Like - back when I was still in the middle of watching the show, I remember someone sent me a message saying that they loved seeing me talk about the story with earnestness/joy, and it was such a lovely message to receive, but it also made me pause and wonder for a second if this was really an uncommon enough thing to be remarked upon. Wouldn't that be the default? Aren't we all here because we love the story and the characters so much? But the truth is that sometimes it does feel like large chunks of fandom spaces (not just Naruto, I mean; I've certainly experienced this elsewhere) are very focused on being negative about "things that aren't real," as you said. Like - people calling Sakura "abusive" for bopping Naruto on the head when he says something rude, when this is not something the text is even remotely trying to say about her. People writing off Jiraiya's entire storyline because of the non-consensual spying on women - which, yes, of course, is disgusting and wrong. Obviously. I am very aware of that. However, I can simultaneously recognize that the story isn't really interested in that or intending me to read it like that; the voyeurism is written as a joke (yes, I understand how gross that is) and there are a hundred potential personal and/or patriarchal and/or genre-related and/or cultural factors that may have gone into Kishimoto writing this particular fail. If I want to understand and appreciate what the story was ACTUALLY trying to communicate with Jiraiya (that he's an idealist who gave up on the world when everything went wrong, who turned to shallow pleasures of the flesh to distract him from the pain of his disillusionment, and who was finally restored to his former faith after meeting Naruto), then I have to mindfully set the voyeurism aside and go, "This writer wrote a gross thing, and I recognize that, but I'm also not going to fixate on it, because I can simultaneously appreciate/find meaning in what he was really trying to say."
I think some of the Kakashi complaints out there very much fall under this umbrella. If I have to see one more person frothing at the mouth about Kakashi briefly tying Sasuke (a qualified ninja who has already demonstrated his ability to escape rope restraints and whom Kakashi has been individually mentoring, sparring against, and connecting with for a month) to a tree for approximately sixty seconds - honestly. I don't know how to tell people they're missing the point, so I don't bother.
Ultimately, the fact of the matter is that people are entitled to dislike any character that they want, even for contrived reasons. As long as they're doing their own thing in their own space and letting me do my thing in mine, we're good.
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ghostoffuturespast · 4 months
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I'm half-tempted to just nuke my discord.
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godsfavoritescientist · 8 months
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Building off of what I wrote in my fic "Sparks," I'm really compelled by the idea of Ford genuinely no longer being interested in sailing around in a boat with Stan by the time they were seniors in high school.
I like the idea of it not being just a symptom of the resentment that had been building between them, nor it being a dream of Ford's that only paled in comparison to west coast tech, but it being a genuine loss of interest on Ford's end. I think it complicates things even further in some really juicy ways.
Like, imagine going through high school slowly losing more and more interest in the dream you've shared with your twin and only friend ever since you were little kids. How do you break it to him? How do you explain it to him without making it sound like a rejection of him? Without it making him hate you?
How do you explain it without it feeling like a spit in the face to all the hard work he's put into a plan that started out as a way of him comforting you by telling you "it doesn't matter what people say about you, you're going to be an adventurer who sails away into the sunset and never has to hear their mockery ever again, and there will be babes and treasure and heroism, and then they'll all see how cool you really are!"
And all through high school you think to yourself, "he's going to move on to more realistic dreams any day now, and then I won't have to say anything about it!" But no matter how many times you mention something else he could do with his life that he seems interested in, or bring up the challenging logistics of traveling around long-term in a boat, he sounds just as committed to the childhood dream as ever, and completely oblivious to how apprehensive you sound.
So resentment grows, little by little. Because that's easier than confronting the soul-crushing levels of guilt that are building up inside of you, every time you don't take an opportunity to tell him you don't want to do the plan anymore. You don't have a single person in your life who modeled how to have difficult conversations for you. As far as you know, having this conversation with Stan would crush him into tiny little pieces and then he would hate you forever, and you can't stand the idea of losing the only friend you've ever had.
So tensions grow. A lack of interest turns into a bitter resentment that, if you were really being honest with yourself, is directed more at yourself than it is at Stan.
And then the falling-out happens, and it seems like you were proven right. Stan hates you now, and he's never going to forgive you for giving up on his dream. But two can play that game, so you try to hate him too. Because if you hate him too, then maybe it won't hurt as much that he never came back. That he never even turned up at school, or by the boat, or in through your bedroom window in the middle of the night. He knows what dad's like, and how he says impulsive exaggerated things when he's angry, and haven't you both dealt with his harsh words countless times before and been able to dust yourselves off and joke about it later? So why isn't he back at home, joking with you about how absurd your dad acted that night, being impossible and belligerent about ruining your dream, but at least now you're even, because you've ruined his dream too.
-
And now imagine you find out he risked the lives of everyone in existence to bring you back, right after you had accepted your fate was to die killing Bill. It would be terrifying and confusing and infuriating. If he cared so much, why didn't he do something to reconnect with you sooner? Why did he ignore you in favor of trying to make it big without you? Why didn't he take the infinitely safer and simpler action of reaching out to you without you having to track down his address and send a desperate plea for help? You were convinced that he didn't care enough to bother with you unless you had an important enough reason for him to come. But even then, he thought your plans were stupid. He didn't want anything to do with you, not even with the world at stake.
Did he save your life out of guilt? Does he pity you that much? It doesn't add up with what he did in the decade leading up to shoving you into the portal. And the dissonance between the version of him in your head that hates you, and the man who held out his arms to welcome you back to your home dimension, is so strong that you feel like you're being lied to again, like you're back in the depths of gaslighting and manipulation that Bill put you through, even though there's no way that's what Stan is trying to do... right? You can't figure it out, so you run away from it. You don't want to know the answer to whether or not Stan hates you, because you don't know which answer would hurt more, so you try to make him hate you more than ever, because at least then you would know for sure how he feels.
And in the end, after he sacrifices his memories for you, and for the world, things seem clearer. The layers upon layers of confusion and anger and hurt seem to have washed away like drawings in the sand, leaving behind the simple truth: that you two had an argument, and didn't move past it for forty years, and despite everything you put each other through, you both still want to re-connect.
So you sail away in a boat together.
And at first, it's wonderful. It's exactly what you want. It feels like an apology to Stan, and a thank-you for saving the world, and a once-in-a-lifetime chance to heal the rift between you two, and it's good to be back on earth, and you wonder why you ever doubted the dream you two once had.
But then, after the first long journey you spend on the sea together, when you get back home to dry land, Stan is already talking about planning your next adventure out on the open sea. He recaps every adventure you had on the first trip, over and over again, and he wants to chat with you all through the morning and long into the night, and you don't have the words to explain to yourself that you don't have enough social battery for this, and suddenly you're slipping back into the horrifyingly familiar feeling of Stan being overbearing and needing space from him and how could you think that? How could you think that about him after everything he's done for you and everything he's forgiven you for? But the longer this goes on, the more you realize that you still don't want to spend the rest of your life sailing around with Stan. It's great fun in moderation, but the idea of your whole life revolving around Stan and going on adventures with Stan and being in a boat with Stan with no time to be by yourself thinking about your own things and figuring out your own dreams makes your skin crawl with a claustrophobic kind of panic that you still don't know how to put into words forty years after the first time this feeling grabbed you by the throat and ruined your friendship with Stanley.
But the first time this happened, it nearly ruined his life forever. You can't let yourself feel this. You don't feel this. You're happy to spend the rest of your life fulfilling Stan's lifelong dream, and making up for the time you crushed his dream, and sure, maybe he crushed your dream once too, and maybe it would be nice for him to support your dreams like you're now doing for him, but you can't say that. He saved the universe, and it would be horrible and ungrateful and cruel for you to try to voice these feelings, especially when you don't know how to voice your feelings without it making other people feel like you twisted a knife into their gut. So you try to pretend the feeling isn't there.
You go out on a boat with Stan again. You planned out another incredible journey together, and this should be fun, and you should be happy about this, but the unspoken feeling you shoved as far down in yourself as it could possibly go is eating you alive. The worst part? Stan is starting to notice. You have never been good at hiding your emotions. The trick to it has always been to convince yourself you don't feel it at all, and not think about it, and that has always worked like a charm. But whenever the emotion claws its way back up to the forefront of your mind, you can tell Stan knows something is wrong. So you can't even give him the happy ending he deserves. You can't even convince him that you want to be here on the open seas forever with him, like he deserves. And you keep trying and trying to hide it, but Stan keeps asking in roundabout ways, like "You're being awfully quiet, sixer," and "whats that look on your face?" and eventually it comes exploding out of you like a shaken-up soda bottle dropped on its cap.
And then it's like you're back at home in New Jersey again, standing in the living room while dad grabs Stanley by the shirt. It all comes pouring out of you, in the worst possible way, with the worst possible phrasing, like a pandora's box of monstrousness, and Stan tries to fight back against the sting of your words, but you're made out of acid and you're burning through him and you can see it on his face, and there's never any coming back from this, not this time, you'll just have to either jump into the ocean or become a monster forever, so Stan can hate you more easily again, and-
-and at the end of the outburst, you're still on a boat in the middle of nowhere in the ocean with your brother, in dangerous waters, and you have things to do to keep the boat running smoothly.
You can't run away from him. He can't run away from you. You're stuck here for at least a couple more weeks, even if you turned around and sailed back towards shore right away.
-
And the thing that compels me so much here, despite how unbelievably angsty it all is, is that it sets up a situation wherein the Stans might end up forced to actually address the decades of resentment and confusion and wanting-to-reconnect-throughout-it-all that they thought they could gloss over and heal with enough time spent adventuring together on a boat. They might end up forced to actually address the crux of the issue that drove them apart in the first place: Ford wanting a little more space to feel like his own person, and to feel like he's able to have his own dreams, too.
It wouldn't happen easily, nor right away, but if they were stuck together on a little boat in the middle of nowhere surrounded by magical creatures they have to protect each other from in order to make it back home alive, then after they had one fight where they brought up all the things they silently agreed to never bring up again, it would probably happen many more times, and each time it would leave them both angrier at each other than ever, until eventually something honest slipped through amidst all the saying-anything-except-what-they-mean bickering. And once enough of these honest moments slipped through, then they would have a thread to tug on to start to unravel the gargantuan knot of their decades of unresolved conflicts.
And then, eventually, maybe Stan could learn that he can have a good friendship with his brother without needing to be glued to him at the hip, and Ford needing a certain amount of alone time doesn't mean he dislikes him or wants to abandon him, and Ford could learn that he can be honest and have a meaningful connection with someone without it driving them away and making them hate him.
#succumbed to the stan twins angst visions and wrote 2000 words about this#ford pines#ford meta#this turned into a character analysis that almost reads like a fic#godswriting#<- i need to change my writing tag to this#something bothers me a little bit about the solution to their conflict being 'ford appreciates stan more now so he is now fine with-#-boat adventures with stan'. to me it leaves the initial conflict of 'he doesnt want to do that anymore' unresolved#obviously you could easily argue that ford never stopped wanting to go on boat adventures with stan and he just couldnt justify it to-#-himself when compared to the opportunity at west coast tech. but that has one less layer of conflict#compared to the possibility that he truly was not interested in boat adventures anymore. ESPECIALLY if its a manifestation of him#feeling suffocated by the whole dynamic-twins-duo thing#its normal to start wanting a little bit more space especially at that age. to want to have space to figure out who you are#the healthy thing would have been them talking about it and figuring out a compromise. like 'when ford needs space he can spend a few hours#-alone without stan being worried the whole time that it means ford hates him' and 'we still spend x amount of time working on the boat and#-we still chat on the way to and from school every day and hang out at the beach on weekends'#like of fucking course it was never about hating stan or about wanting to get away from him because of who he is as a person!#he literally just wanted to have a little bit of breathing room to be his own separate person. he just didn't know how to put it into words#I really think the crux of it all was them not knowing how to navigate that balance between independence and identity while staying close#so ford misattributing/reducing that feeling to 'I dont have the exact same dream as stan anymore. why does he still have that dream. oh no#feels like a good way of giving that conflict a tangible aspect to it thats easy for the stans to point at and talk about as a way of-#-alluding to the REAL core of the conflict between them.#and of course the show never says 'they sail around the world for the rest of their lives 24/7' so it's not like it Actually Conflicts with#-my interpretation of the conflict and how it should be resolved. but since its the last thing we see happen between them when theyre given#their happy ending. I feel compelled to say 'hey I know them living in the shack together and traveling in a boat every single year sounds-#-really fun and like a satisfying ending but I think they should have a Little Bit more space from eachother than that. Hanging out almost-#-daily but not literally being in the same house and same boat for the rest of their lives. bc if stan was ok with ford asking for that-#-little bit of space and if ford didnt panic and isolate himself from everyone whenever he needs like one hour of alone time? that would-#-feel like a big piece of the puzzle fitting into place for their conflict resolution and growth as characters. to me#and I think they deserve to have all the tied-up-loose-ends and resolved-conflicts and character-growth in the world.
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hella1975 · 4 months
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there's a very specific kind of vibe that comes with living with your friends in final year that it just does not have in first year or even second year. like as a fresher it's usually the first time any of you have lived away from home let alone with SO MANY people your age and it's terrifying and exciting and randomised to boot so it's generally carnage for a whole year in the best and worst ways, and then second year you pick who you're living with and it feels like for the first time you're doing this adult thing PROPERLY. you have a place of your own now. these are the people you've chosen to live with. studying gets serious etc. but it's still fresh. it's still new. you still don't know how to navigate it. but final year? final year is when you actually get it right. you know how to manage your time better. you know what works for you and what doesn't. studying is the main focus and you've been out in the world for three years now and it's not loud and boisterous like it was in first year and you're not exciteable and awkward like you were in second year. you're comfortable. every single one of my flatmates has their own friend group and we mainly keep to our own social circles, but we'll still meet each other back at the house after a night out and sit in the kitchen or my room to do the debrief. sometimes i'll go days not seeing either of them despite sharing a house but every now and then someone will softly call up the stairs that 'the heating's on!' or one of us will sneeze and the other two will yell 'bless you!' through the walls. the lack of interaction isn't interpreted as dislike in ways it would have been even last year, because we're all just old enough to be past that now and settled enough in our friendship not to worry about it. idk. uni is very loud and unsettling a lot of the time so it's been really sweet to see how almost boringly comfortable final year is.
#like my day today was literally drag myself out of bed at 10am to meet my econ friends bc we're in a group together#and i spent two hours with them writing a fucking TRADE REPORT before coming home#and the rest of the day was kinda lost. i showered. i put a wash on. i had a nap. i mainly stayed in my room#which sometimes is the End Of All Things but today was quite nice#and i can hear in their rooms how my flatmates are doing the exact same thing. pottering about and getting on with uni#and we've barely spoken all day but earlier my one flatmate ran into my room all excited to show me her nails#bc she's been teaching herself to do gels and it took her 2 hours but im still one of the first people she wanted to show#and just now we all went to use the bathroom at the same time and it led to one of our Stair Sessions#where we all inexplicably just gather on the stairs and chat for no reason with a cup of tea#idk it's just nice. it's such basic shit but i can't belive in first year i used to spend EVERY DAY with these girls#and we were one single friendship group and that was all we had#and then in second year one girl branched off bc she lived in a studio and got into her societies#but me and the other girl lived together again and it was the same thing of she was a friend before she was someone i lived with#and weirdly that can actually be detrimental to a dynamic. but this year we're all just very solidified and confident in ourselves#and where we stand and yes we all have our own friendship groups outside of the house now#but there's still that love and simple comfortableness around each other that you only get with time and a hell of a lot of proximity#and a sense of being settled that maybe is just what happens as you get older#idk it's just really nice. if i had this exact same day in first year (doing economics and barely leaving my room)#it would've been a really bad depressive day for me so the fact i can find such contentment from it now is really heartening#i love my little life here im very proud of what ive been able to achieve :)#hella goes to uni#feeling nostalgic because SOME BITCH decided to ribs post
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liquidstar · 2 days
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a friend who'd wait :)
#im posting this very late because i was sort of weary of how it came out and ended up messing w it until it was like 4am oops.#and i have plans tmrw so... oh well! i did my best and ill put it out while i can!#and i tried to make the scene match barnard's colors lol#finn's ocs#finn's art#i know i said id do more sillay stuff with the simpler screentone only style but i had a couple more of these in me#and this is the first piece im making thats like an actual part of the story too rather than just setting stuff for fun#i wanna write something to go with it too but for now ill just sort of briefly explain the context in the tags here:#barnard has a pretty bad case of OCD and his compulsions have made it difficult to make friends in the past#he was never outright bullied or anything but people just didnt really have the patience to deal with it#he has compulsions that include stuff like walking through doors until it feels right and needing things to be perfectly aligned#which in group settings has lead to people having to wait for him to finish his rituals and join them#they might find it tolerable at first but eventually they grow impatient and hes just... not invited to stuff anymore#but juno is a newer member of the guild who ends up frequenting the same library. hes also kinda a little weird#and they dont become fast friends or anything but just sort of naturally spend time in the same place#though they never plan meetups they eventually fall into a routine. around the same time theyd just both be at the library#and read next to each other. and maybe talk a bit. and eventually they end up walking back to the guildhall together#since theyre going to the same place after all. and juno always waits for barnard outside the door#eventually barnard asks if this bothers him. juno kinda just tells him 'of course it does' without any malice or anything. just a statement#barnard is surprised and apologizes and juno says not to. but the next day juno doesnt show up at the usual time.#barnard assumes hes committed somekinda more by bringing it up. he ends up staying there late reading to get his mind off it & not ruminate#but when he leaves juno is in fact still waiting for him down the hall (see pic) having collected a bunch of books literally abt ocd#he fell asleep bc barnard stayed later than expected. and hes an eepy guy generally. and also one very bad at expressing himself#but now barnard gets that juno's 'of course it [bothers me]' had the implication of 'but its worth it' which no friend has previously done.#and from the interaction juno was also able to understand that this isn't something barnard just does for the hell of it so. he studies.#and checks a bunch of stuff out because he thinks it could help his friend too (theres ocd workbooks and such- i remember working w them)#and thats the point where they became more ''friends'' than ''pleasant library acquaintances''#from there on they also do get into juno's problems. whole other bag of worms. but this specific scene is more about bernard from his pov#sorry about when i said briefly explain. i lied </3#but compared to the whole sequence im picturing its brief so shhh
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ickypuppi3 · 1 year
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sorry to be a hater but the whole ‘mom steve’ ‘babysitter steve’ thing is quite literally one of the worst things to have ever happened to his character
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spirallingstarcases · 4 months
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a random wip for a tatt design i never went through w haha
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ereborne · 2 months
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What is a Monday? A miserable little pile of obligations.
semester turnover restructure
generate/send out error reporting
figure out how to separate out unique counts
create polite reply to Massive Dick Move email
finish the bad book >:(
bò kho (not an obligation. dinner)
laundry
lizard bath
#yapping tag#I spent my weekend trying to sleep and now all my chores are due today and I wanna complain. grump grump grump whine.#the semester turnover restructure actually is a pet project so that part I like! I wish I could take my time with it though#the error reporting is. well it's easy to generate (it's actually running now) and it's tedious but uncomplicated to send out#but then I'm going to spend the rest of the day getting passive-aggressive responses from everybody#in a just world my coworkers would respond to careful itemized lists of all their fuckups with 'thank you Alexis you're so helpful#we really appreciate you flagging our mistakes two weeks before the system final-saves them forever into stone. have a cookie!'#but alas#if I'd been any less stressed and frantic when I first established the error reporting I'd have set up a separate address to send them from#write up some template emails and let the reporting all come out of the mythical 'automatic system thing'#--every 'automatic system thing' in our college is me or IT on my behalf. even the people who hired me for this don't seem to realize#if only I'd known from the beginning that nobody would ever connect me and my systems! I'd be exploiting the shit out of it--#the unique counts is going to be a headache. no idea how I'm going to structure the coding for it. might be fun to invent? we'll see#the Massive Dick Move email response also will be an invention. 'hello Mr Massive Dick I am karma here to smite you' but polite#the bad book >:( I don't want to read any more of but the deal I made with my friend is he sends me free books and I report back#we did not discuss a special 'get out of book free' card for when the main character is a godawful shit sibling. (should've done though)#beef stew is good! mostly it's on the list so I don't forget to set the timers#laundry and lizard bath can wait until tomorrow if they must but they shouldn't wait any longer than that. lizard and I will get stinky
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bravevolunteer · 3 months
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michael ships moodboard
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whumpberry-cookie · 1 year
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I'd like to introduce you to Shiro
Whump reccomendation - Voltron Legendary Defender
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Shiro is the Leader of the Heroes (VLD). Also the cinammon roll ready to sacrifice himself for his friends.
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Look at him. Look how caring and gentle this giant is.
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It would be a shame if this fatherly buffy fluffy figure was main whumpee of the whole series, getting kidnapped, electrocuted, experimented on, forced to fight on te arena, restrained by wrists to the ceiling, of course relieving trauma with hallucinations and other fun stuff.
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But he was.
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He was a perfect Whumpee.
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Leader Whumpee.
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Yas.
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I still love him.
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mysicklove-main · 9 months
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hey guys, recently i have been getting like WAYYY to into tumblr and basically judging my value over the notes i get on posts 😅. this is def not very good, so im going to take a couple days off just so that i can take a second to connect with the real world and hopefully realize how much better life is then staring at this app for so much of my day.
that being said, i’ll prob be back in like 2-3 days so don’t worry everyone. 🥳🥳🥳 but hopefully when i come back i will be able to limit myself like a normal person does lol
ily u all
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