#This is why it's hard to leave tumblr - not a lot of other sites let you drop huge blocks of text like this

[tswwwit]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Dipper’s bowl of popcorn is empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stopping him from talking is the hard part.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The market for…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Special. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How much of this is true?” He asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper glances at the screen. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s even doing it right now. 

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

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

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

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

Dipper speaks up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Bill doesn’t deny it. 

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

Holy shit. Dipper’s right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s only focused on one person.

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

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

Wouldn’t that make someone kind of special? 

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

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

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

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

A blatant lie. Hardly his best one, either. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Fun stuff’. 

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

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

“Is that… so.”

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

“A few, yeah.” A lot, actually. 

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

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

Dipper swallows. He rubs at his throat. 

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

“Uh,” Dipper says, then, “Well.” 

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

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

What will he do? When he goes back?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper looks up. Spoilers for-?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seems ‘uh’, what?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he should replay it to check.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of - Dipper reaches out with his magical senses - 

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

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

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

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

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

Better get to work. 

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

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

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

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

Dipper figures it out in about two minutes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…It’s all about misdirection.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is there… actually nothing here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hold on - he hasn’t checked that yet. 

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

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

Sadly, there’s not much to look at. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In his hands, there’s a picture frame.

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

A picture of Bill. What a surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just a picture of… Dipper.

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

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

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

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

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

There wasn’t just one picture. 

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper wheels around and stares in horror at the room. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. He’s intact. 

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

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

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

At Bill. 

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

Then he blinks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whuh,” Dipper says, intelligently. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper’s heart leaps into his throat.

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

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

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

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

Oh. 

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

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

And Dipper’s still standing there. Untouched. 

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

Dipper nods, waiting for a moment. Then another. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Living here. With Bill. 

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

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

His assumptions have never been right. 

Bill’s home is a different beast entirely.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The birthmark. It must be that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, His room. Where he lives.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh. Now that’s an interesting thought. 

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

He could use that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here goes nothing. Dipper takes a deep breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simple solutions rarely exist, he guesses. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, what are they doing here? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just as he suspected. It is a great bed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good night, sleep tight,” Bill says, low and close. Dipper shivers, though he isn’t cold. “Don’t let the demons take too big a bite.” Teeth click sharply right next to his ear, and Dipper shivers.

God, of course he wouldn’t just- just let this be calm and nice, he’s Bill friggin’ Cipher. “Jerk,” Dipper mutters, and feels Bill’s chest shake with silent laughter. 

The arm around his waist squeezes him tighter, pressing his back fully against Bill’s chest. He can feel it move as he breathes, and the steady pulse of his heart. Between real Bill and mini-bill, they’re practically a set of nesting dolls. 

After that… nothing. Bill doesn't taunt anymore, and a few minutes later, Dipper hears him start to snore. Another annoying bit of Bill, and not annoying enough to distract him from everything else. He wishes it would. 

Even in sleep, Bill has the nerve to keep breathing and moving, instead of being a warm statue Dipper could ignore. His fingers trail in a mindless, unconscious pattern over Dipper’s stomach, making him bury his face in the pillow. Running through every chant he can remember silently, over and over, especially the ones that are mind-numbingly boring.

 None of these ideas are sinful. Bill himself has done more, and worse, than just having two or three concepts flicker through his brain, and Dipper knows it’s not wrong. He does, really. 

…Just because it’s not sinful doesn’t mean it’s not awkward. 

Dipper keeps his eyes shut. Trying to ignore the pounding of his own heart. There’s a bright, tingling energy in his body, spreading through every part of him, head to toe. It's... inconvenient. 

Bill wasn’t lying about preventing nightmares. He’s terribly effective. 

Dipper can’t have bad dreams if he doesn’t get any sleep.

[budgebuttons]

There's a lot of reasonably frustrated but ultimately misdirected psa-style posting about how viewers NEED to start reblogging things rather than just liking them because that is the primary mode of post circulation on this site. The modern manifestation of this sentiment seems to miss the fact that, if you've been here for ~15 years, were here prior to, during, and after the exodus to the bird app, you already know that likes have always been more common than reblogs, that many people simply don't want to put your art on their blog, and that guilting end-users into using a microblogging site A Specific Way absolutely does not work. If it did, the trend would have shifted a decade ago. Because this conversation really is that old. Regardless, the modern discourse of how difficult it is to be Seen specifically on Tumblr isn't productive because I think it ultimately misses the reason being an artist online feels so Bad, now.

The social media era has funneled Looking At Stuff on the Internet into an economy of engagement that encourages end-users to treat everything we/they see as quick, cheap, and disposable. This is just another fun and flirty way that capitalism devalues art. It's nothing new. Trying to force masses of users to behave in a way that is healthier for the circulation of art isn't going to do anything to solve the discontent we all feel when we hurl something into the void and it is ultimately ignored. I swear up and down: A higher notes number won't feel better, either. Popularity is just as demoralizing as radio silence, but it manifests differently. Instead of 4 likes and maybe 1 reblog from Old Faithful Mutual, you get a horde of people who treat you like a content machine. You keep hoping for an impossibly Bigger Number. The notifs on the first Big Number Post haven't even settled, and people are already asking when the follow-up is coming. You get anons, but most of them are trying to passively convince you to give them More Content.

It's really, really hard to make people care about art. If there was a silver bullet for making the average person appreciate the enormity of human effort behind every beautiful thing they encounter, we would have found it centuries ago.

The best thing creatives can do for their lives online is to be friendly, or at least kind, with other creators. "Big" artists don't form in-groups because they're snobs. They find each other because they casually showed each other support, and their mutual appreciation for that Thing that wound them up in the same tag becomes a foundation for connection, and in many cases, the ever-illusive Bigger Audience as they introduce themselves to each others' circles. We get more eyes on our work by building community with each other.

Where does that leave people who are just here to look at things, not post them? I think the answer is almost identical: COMMENT!! Please, comment! The first step to engaging with art on a more meaningful level is to point out something you particularly enjoy about a given work. It can go in the replies, it can go in the tags, doesn't matter!! If you notice some symbolism or make some connection, there is all likelihood that OP put it there because they desperately wanted somebody to notice it. Let them know why you like it!

Reaching for the nebulous, impossible goal of better post circulation isn't going to make being a creator online in 2023 suck less. Meaningfully connecting with each other can, will, and does. You can make someone's day just by passingly letting them know that their effort is worth more than a number.

[itspyon]

how to adapt into dtblr culture for twitter refugees

so you've decided to move here from twitter. welcome and congratulations. this post is basically a big warning that goes THIS ISN'T TWITTER, DON'T BEHAVE LIKE IT IS, LEAVE THAT AT THE DOOR

i'll be teaching you two things, how the site works, and how to adapt your behavior to tumblr ( and really, normal human being ) culture. believe me, it's not that hard and it will actually feel very productive

let's start with the basics and frequent questions

your username can be anything, don't stress about it

your picture can be anything. a lot of us don't even have dteam related stuff up on our profile

your display name doesn't have to be your name. nobody is going to see it when you post, only usernames are visible

check your settings. do it. get familiar with them. turning on and off asks, turning anon off, turning submissions off. click on your blog, go to blog settings, check things there, go to account, your muted things will be there, go to dashboard and customize that. use your settings !!!

yes, pinned posts are fairly important and they tend to be pretty extensive. name age what you post about ( a lot of people here are multifandom !), just don't overshare ( no locations no trigger lists i beg you ). they also usually have a breakdown of your tags at the end

tags

it's a whole thing. some are actually useful. some are just passive commentary

the tags you put on posts ( both when you made the post and when you're reblogging something ) are both global and hosted on your profile. it's why you'll see things like "nameofperson art" rather than just "art". using just "art" will put you in the promoted tag, in this case

you can use spaces on your tags

usually you will tag what type of post you're making ( art, text post, ask post ), and then the contents keep in mind this is how people often mute things, some people tag the current situation, people use and mute ship tags. but this is also how people find things, like the specific asks from one person to another, so "username ask" is commonly used, "irl person ( dream, dnf, etc )" is also seen a lot just watch how others tag things and copy them. nobody will get offended you took their tag formatting, most of us will appreciate properly tagged posts

you do tag when you reblog people. you use tags to comment on things. don't really use replies unless you're, saying thank you to someone or pointing out a spell mistake or asking to add an option to a poll, etc. we don't do replies, just rb your reply

quick reblog and like deets

post popularity is measured in "notes" which is the sum of replies, reblogs and likes. we don't really care much about numbers here and if you start getting crazy about it people will not like it. this is more of a talking and showing site

you can reblog without tags, feel free to

you can hide your likes. you can and should like as many things as you want. they don't alter any algorithm, since there's none. a like is a "i saw this post" notification to the poster

actually posting

people talk a lot. a fucking lot, and it's something you will have to get used to, because it's very different from twitter

there are no qrts. callouts are looked down upon. breathe. if you don't like something MUTE IT DON'T POST ABOUT IT, because no one is going to listen to any callouts. you will have to learn to live with the fact people like things you don't. this will, with time, make you feel very free

the bulk of posting here is asks, as you might notice soon. asks are fun and encouraged. just don't name drop if you're talking about drama please ?

don't be scared to send asks off anon, this is how people will find you and get to know you really. people are also more likely to reply to you

block bait anons. yes you can block anons. yes it will block every blog they make

culture time

i've said this. tumblr is unserious. drama here is approached very differently and with several less layers of panic. you will see death threats. you will see slurs ( said in non derogatory ways ). you will see jokes about serious topics. you will see people say "i didn't like this" and nobody will care

tumblr is a community of individualism. you will like your own things within the thing we share we like. you might not like dream's music, you might not find irl streams entertaining, as long as you're fucking normal about it ? nobody will care and you're free to express your opinions. people will even come ask you about it and just have a chat. we're here for the same content to some degree

tumblr is also a bunch of people who understand they like another bunch of people. that none of the streamers have stopped being human. so you might see people defend things that, maybe, you'd not have thought to defend before. maybe you're even uncomfortable seeing them defending it. this is something you will experience a lot, and you'll learn to properly deal with it as time passes

because again. no one does callouts here unless it is extremely bad. no one cares if you don't really like them. and they also accept people might and will not like them. and that is fine. and that doesn't make either person horrible. you're just different people. and you don't even have to interact

you want to make friends ? ask people things, compliment people's work, genuinely attempt to make conversation. this is not an impersonal website the way twitter is. people don't care about your opinions because they care about you, and you are more than what you don't like

the more positive and jokey and interactive you are the more people will talk to you. there's no "hitting the algorithm", there's no "engagement", it's just people talking to people. so don't be a neg posting bot, and be a person

you will learn to be less miserable. you learn to stop giving a shit and just do what makes you happy. they cannot get you here. there's no qrts. the few antis you'll find can be blocked and you'll never have to directly interact with one. don't be mean to the people in your own community, even if you disagree

again, you are more than what you don't like. learn to be what you like instead. and leave the dooming at the door

[copperbadge]

Well, Still Salty.

I was cranky yesterday and I thought a good night's sleep would provide some adjustment in perspective, but unfortunately "spending yesterday not on tumblr" also offered perspective and got there first.

Up front: feel free to comment or reblog on this post (replies may be heavily delayed) but if you feel the urge to Like, I'm going to ask you to take one more step and go to https://www.tumblr.com/support, select "feedback" as the category, and enter a line or two about the new dash. It can be as simple as "Your new dash design is difficult to use and is driving people off the site". I'm not asking everyone to do it, but if you're going to Like this post, that would be a helpful action in addition. You can delete any response they send; no reason to expose yourself to the unique combination of incompetence and condescension with which they handle feedback generally.

Also up front: yeah, if I find somewhere else to go and go there, I will certainly let you guys know beforehand, I'm not going to just evaporate. I'll be broadcasting about Tumblr's replacement on Tumblr very heavily. But I can't deny that it is now an active goal of mine to find a viable replacement for this site. (More on this in a moment.) You will always be able to find me on AO3 as copperbadge, or via copperbadge@gmail.com. (More on this in a moment also.)

This kind of thing is why I refuse to fuck with staff now or ever; I don't trust them and I never will. Watching @wip respond to almost every complaint or suggestion with "but that would be really hard" is telling. Whoever is pushing blocks around at Tumblr wants a lucrative site that's easy to code, but lucrative is hostile to community and code is difficult by nature, and when the architecture of the meeting hall is hostile and cheap, people don't stick around.

I've been watching the site as every change made it incrementally worse, from a buggy post window that doesn't allow ease of editing to the new dash (which is the reason I'm writing this in a text window off Tumblr). I genuinely do not think I can use desktop Tumblr like this unless I can install something that will put it back the way it was, and roughly 40% of the content you guys get HAS to come through desktop. It's impossible to do on a phone or so time-consuming it's not worth it. I cannot code Radio Free Monday on a phone; it's a struggle to code it on a single-monitor laptop (I usually write it on my work computer, where I have two monitors). Even writing image IDs on the phone is difficult and something I rarely do. Tumblr is becoming an actively difficult place for me to make content, introducing friction left and right.

But where does one go? I've tried other platforms and they're either worse to use or they don't have the constituency. The problem with a lot of discourse around internet addiction is that it often points out how glued people are to their phones without asking what it is they're doing on those phones. I'm not addicted to social media; I don't doomscroll, I don't care what celebrities have to say, I don't find 140 characters useful or interesting, I don’t find most “funny” videos very interesting. I create a lot of original content for public consumption, significantly more than many social media users, and if that becomes difficult, then the site suffers more than I do. But it's undeniable that social media, and this social media in specific, is where my people are, and yeah, I like seeing you all every day. It makes it difficult to leave even when Tumblr is the best of a bad set of options.

It seems like a lot of the internet, lately, is the best of a bad set of options.

All that said, Tumblr forced a sudden, unwanted, and unchangeable reskin on me a day after I listened to a two-hour podcast about addiction while working on building a newsletter system for my author site. I spent the evening before this happened in contemplation of my relationship to social media and to my readership and how I might alter it to my benefit regardless of whether that's also to Tumblr's detriment. Their poor timing, I suppose. A lot of the theories advanced on the podcast were, to put it kindly, bunk, but one of the suggestions for people questioning their relationship to an activity was a dopamine fast -- removing something in your life that gives you quick but unsustained dopamine hits, so that you can take some time to level out and examine your behaviors. On the one hand, that's not at all how dopamine works; from the jump it's a bad theory. But on the other, pulling back from something you think may be causing you difficulty is generally speaking a good tactic.

Removing myself from Tumblr yesterday was an active process: because I have ADHD and often will forget something exists if I don't systematize my engagement with it, Tumblr is normally pinned to my browser, with the app on my phone's top screen. Removing the app and closing the window meant that while I occasionally reached for Tumblr, it was less frequently than I expected, and the lack of access reminded me why I wasn't there. I missed you guys, but I didn't miss getting distracted from work by my dash, or the pressure to respond to the volume of communication I receive through the site daily. I don't think my use of tumblr as my sole social media has been unhealthy, per se, but certainly yesterday felt both quieter and calmer after I walked away.

But that's a temporary relief, because you are my community, and not only do I not want to leave my community, it's a resource for me. One of the reasons I do things like Radio Free Monday and the weekly Hug on Saturdays is that I try to make sure that resource is reciprocal. Leadership involves service. Leaving would be easy in the short term, but in the long term, leaving my community without having another place to meet it, or another community to go to, would be harmful to both of us. I'm already someone who isolates, and while I have a strong brickspace circle of friends, they fulfill sometimes different needs.

Though I do appreciate the wild vote of confidence from the comments to my last post telling me people would come with me where I went. That means a lot to me. I will attempt to make it either unnecessary or as painless as possible. Just know, I see your faith and friendship and I appreciate it.

Sometimes at my old job I'd be in very tumultuous meetings where a lot was discussed and not much agreed on, and the most useful thing to me was always to say, "What are our next steps? What would you like me to do because of this meeting?" So what are next steps, all this being the case?

First, I'm going to be off Tumblr, mostly, for another couple of days, because clearly I need the break and a few days won't matter too much. Again, I will be back either to continue on the site or to let you guys know, at length and volume, where I'm headed. The former is much more likely.

Second, I'm going to be actively looking for both a widget I can install to reset the dash (recommendations welcome, I currently don't even use xkit) and a wholly new platform that's a realistically viable alternative. Even if the dash gets reset, the shitty post editor is here for good. Attempts to source alternative platforms in the past have taught me that it needs to have a mobile-friendly site or an app, a similar structure to tumblr, and a reasonable chance of actually attracting users. That's a heavy venn diagram unlikely to be fulfilled anytime soon, but I'm now invested in finding it, instead of just passively waiting for it to happen to me (as Tumblr did when it pulled me off LJ).

Third, I do have an email newsletter in the works! I'm just wrestling currently with setting up how people sign up for it. This wasn't meant to be "my main broadcast platform"; it's meant to be a once-monthly email to share book news, targeted at people who aren't on socials or who just really love content from me, I guess. :D The plan was for me to assure Tumblr users that it was not extra content, just select content repackaged into a digest. But it will be one way to ensure that if I'm moving around outside of Tumblr, you'll know about it. I hope to have a link to a signup page soon. (I'm....dealing with some code issues.)

Fourth, I'm going to be combing through the last ten years I've spent here and pulling anything I think is of value into an archive. For now everything will remain here as well, and I'll let you guys know if I think that's going to change, but it's clear that this space is moving only one direction, towards a place I can't exist, and when/if it crumbles I want to have already evacuated what's important.

So there you go. I'll possibly be posting sporadically (the Saturday Hugs are queued six months in advance so that'll happen) but if nothing else and if not sooner, I'll be back full-time next week starting with Radio Free Monday. I appreciate your patience and your kindness in the meantime!

[foxyyaoguai]

The antis have been all over my posts in the last few days, so I wanted to share my experiences and write a guide on how to deal with them. 

First off: Our ships and character preferences are valid, no matter how hard some people try to demonize them. We are part of fandom and allowed to post about the things we enjoy, just like everyone else. Our fanfics, fanart, video edits, photo edits, etc. are all works of love and they deserve to exist and be explored by others. 

✨ Strategies for dealing with antis ✨

Don’t engage. I have checked the bios of all the antis that left comments under my posts, and the majority of them are minors. You don’t want to talk to minors in fandom spaces!! And a conversation based on logic or reason won’t be possible either. 

Delete their comments. Tumblr, Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube allow you to delete comments, DO IT!! You created something with love and hateful comments have no place underneath it. Even if the comment just makes you uncomfortable and isn’t outright hateful, it is perfectly reasonable to delete it for your own sanity.

Block generously. Not only the people who target you specifically but also anyone who engages in character- or ship-bashing. People who do that for one ship will do it for other ships too and it’s extremely bad fandom etiquette. When you see a character or ship-bashing post, block everyone who liked it and then the poster.

Report people for harassment. The rules vary by site, but especially threats of violence should be reported. Also, if someone follows you to another social media site after you’ve blocked them, that is called block evading and you should report that too. 

When you see other people getting hateful comments underneath their posts, leave a nice comment to offset some of the negativity. Your being supportive can make the difference between this person never posting again and them being motivated to keep going. People are always welcome to send me links to a post that is getting targeted by antis and I’ll like it and leave a nice comment. 🥰

Don’t let the bad comments outshine the positive ones! Every time my post gets enough traction for antis to find it, it also gets lots of lovely reactions. Many people have told me that my content and recommendations made them ship my OTP, and that is the single thing that makes me happier than anything else. Take a screenshot and look at these kinds of comments when you feel down. This is the real reason you should keep posting. 

Most hate comments are exceptionally uncreative. It helps to laugh about it, preferably with a friend. ✨ Remember, you used your energy to create something and you should be proud of it!

When you see a creator you like, but they also display obnoxious behavior towards people who like other ships, characters, or dynamics, at the very least don’t give them a platform by sharing their posts. 

Stay safe. Don’t post personal information online. 

It’s completely valid to step away from social media for some time. Private your accounts, turn off notifications, do a canon reread, read some fanfics in peace. Whatever it takes to remind you why you love the things you love. 

Bonus Tip: Watch videos of cute animals to destress. Bunnies nose-booping each other can (and will) cure anti-induced anxiety. :)

✨ Platforms sorted by least to most toxic and my advice for using them ✨

1. Discord 

Discord is great because you can join servers specifically for your favorite characters and ships. If a server doesn’t already exist, consider setting one up! Pro tip: only invite people that have positively interacted with you in the past. A small server consisting of nice people is a lot more fun than a large server consisting of members that can’t get along or are only marginally interested in the topic. 

Fandom Discord servers have clear guidelines on what you can post. As long as you follow the rules, people have no grounds for calling you out. In my experience, moderators are quick to respond to harassment.  

When you join a server and you see they heavily restrict certain types of content, it is a red flag. Proceed with caution, even if you plan to only talk about “safe” characters and ships. 

2. Tumblr

I have rarely gotten hateful comments on Tumblr, and the few times I did they were easy to delete.  

A lot of the older fandom generations use Tumblr and they are more mature and accepting of all kinds of content.

3. Twitter

Twitter makes it easy to curate your own fandom experience. You can mute words you don’t like to see on your timeline, mute and block users, and most people have their ship preferences in their bio.

4. Instagram

My Instagram posts about Jadecest get a lot of positive interaction, even more than on Twitter. There are unpleasant comments once in a while, but they are easy to delete. 

Blocking a user will delete all their comments from your posts. 

5. YouTube

People who don’t like your ship will downvote your videos and downvotes lead to the algorithm not recommending your videos. 

I have gotten a few negative comments, but they are easy to delete. 

6. Reddit 

When you post in a fandom subreddit, everyone will see the post, independent of their ship preferences. 

There are a lot of minors on Reddit. 

You can’t delete comments.

Most fandom subreddits are poorly moderated. 

7. TikTok

I have gotten the most hate comments on TikTok. They can be filtered or deleted, but antis interacting with your video by leaving hate comments will lead to the algorithm recommending your content to even more antis. It can get very ugly. 

If you post on TikTok consider turning off comments, stitches, and video replies. You can also mark your content as 18+, so it won’t get recommended to minors. (Again, antis tend to be underage.)

Platforms are more toxic the more they show your content to people outside your bubble. Discord, Tumblr, and Twitter keep your content relatively well contained to your circle of friends. Reddit, TikTok, YouTube, and Instagram heavily promote your content outside your bubble, which is good, because more people are going to see it, but also bad, because it reaches more antis. 

~~~

Antis are loud and obnoxious, but it’s important to remember that they are a minority. Ship and let ship still exists, especially among the people who have been in fandom spaces for more than just a few years. Don’t be afraid to post your content and express your love for your favorite characters and ships! I, for one, would love to see your creations, and many other people would love to see them too. 

What are your experiences and strategies for dealing with antis?

[omgcatboi]

( someone requested I put this in its own post to reblog )

A guide of do's and don'ts for male feedees interacting with female ( or any ) feeders , incase you aren't sure

( as an autistic man, I understand how to explain this to you as I also struggle with being social ) !!

Don't:

Steer the conversation back to kink talk. If she's changing the subject, it's best to assume she isn't feeling the chat. So don't push it !! Spend a few minutes to chat like normal. You'll be surprised when you realize that these sweet feeders have a personality. You should show that you have one, too !!

Assume she owes you a response. Hey, guess what? People have lives !! Some feeder girls may be in uni / collage taking classes while also working two jobs. Or some may just have work, some may have kids, some may exist and have priorities and responsibilities !! She doesn't owe you a reply AT ALL !! Be patient and practice boundaries. You're acting co-dependant to a stranger and it's very off-putting ☹️ ( also you AREN'T ENTITLED TO KNOW WHY SHE DIDN'T REPLY!! That is no longer kink related and is asking about her personal private life. This is the internet!! For safety, she may not feel comfortable sharing that info. )

Dm her unsolicited pics, sexual dms, or fantasies! She may not be in the mood for that !! Or, she may not want to see that from you. Look, people can decide who they talk to and don't talk to. There's going to be a lot of people out there who don't wanna talk with you or don't vibe with you. It's life ! There's quite a few feeder blogs I've dmed and gotten no response from. It's life ! So what ! There's plenty of people to talk to on this site.

Immediately get sexual or flirty without consent ( also don't ask too early on ! It's kinda wierd and objectifying 😥 ) these are girls with whole ass feelings and emotions man.

Reach out with sexual intentions being your ONLY intentions. Again, this is a PERSON you're talking to. You wouldn't like it very much if some dude only dmed you for sex and didn't actually care about talking with you.

Block evade. If a feeder blocks you, don't make another tumblr account just to ask them why. If you don't know them, then they don't owe you a reason why. If you were very close to them, I know it's hard but you should let them go. If it's meant to be, they'll come back. Don't harass them.

Do:

Small talk ! Ask how they are, ask if they boil or fry their hotdogs ( and worship them for being right about fried being the superior option) ! Show actual interest in them !! You guys are MISSING OUT MAN ! Girls like these usually have so much personality it's addicting ! I mean you'd fall head over heels for these ladies, if you actually gave them a chance. Don't assume they're boring outside of kink !! ( Also by fall ' head over heels ' for them I mean you will adore them platonically ( with Maybe a crush ) do not expect dating out these girls. Most are taken and others probably get asked to online date by 10 other feeders a day. Just make some friends for once ! Not everything has to be about dating !!

Allow space for talk about hobbies outside of kink ! Into DND? What if she is, too!? Talk about it !

Give them space ! They get loads of dms a day, and also probably have limited free time for this place. So don't smother them !! You'll drain them if you act clingy, and make her want to leave.

Stay healthy. Don't be a negative Nancy. If things aren't going your way in the convo then don't guilt trip her. That's a dick move.

This was a pretty basic list and I'm as high as the cost of living still. So i probably forgot a lot. Anyway, this very Basic guide is a good tool to save and check if you need to. Drink your respect women juice.

[lananiscorner]

The Leviathan's Tail

Summary:

Strife has lost count of the many, many times he has tried to conquer the obstacle course called "Leviathan's Landing". Dis has not. She decides to provide him with a little hint...

Notes:

Yes, I am still alive. This is the first thing I've written in months, so probably rusty as fuck. Anyway, his was written for Darksiders Week 2023, Day 1: Celebrating Genesis. Can't say I liked Leviathan's Landing--quite the opposite in fact, but bless whoever found that little exploit for the third section of it.

Disclaimer: This work was written for publication on Archive of Our Own and my personal Tumblr (lananiscorner) and is not for profit. Any re-publication on for-profit/monetized sites/apps is not authorized or supported by me. If you come across such a re-publication, please leave a comment in my tumblr ask box. Podfics and translations may be authorized upon request.

Fic text beneath the cut.

The platform collapsed under his feet once more, and so did what little was left of his patience. Strife cursed as he fell through the void, seemingly endlessly, before one of the giant, undead snakes that had made its home in there found him and catapulted him back up to the beginning with an unceremonious flick of its tail.

Leviathan’s Landing, Vulgrim had called it, and now Strife finally understood why.

“Have you been attempting this ridiculous excuse of an obstacle course again, brother?”

“Of course not,” Strife scoffed in response. “I just came here for my daily dose of void diving.”

He wasn’t sure if War had been making fun of him or not. It was hard to tell with the big guy, and the fact that he and Strife had not had much to do with each other before defecting from the nephilim did not help. He had been a part of the Crimson Oath—meaning what you say but never saying what you mean had been second nature to Strife, drilled into his very being from the day he took the crimson. War, on the other hand, had been fighting at the front of Absalom’s forces, a vanguard, a bruiser, as brutally effective as gracelessly blunt, and in many ways his demeanor came to match.

Even now, as War raised an eyebrow ever so slightly before turning back towards the serpent hole, Strife was not entirely sure if he had even noticed the sarcasm in his brother’s reply. Strife was going to give him the benefit of the doubt, though. If even one good thing had come out of their third visit to Eden, it was that Strife had learned his younger brother was a lot smarter than one would assume from a front line fighter who had gotten hit in the head a couple dozen of times.

Unfortunately, Strife thought with a sigh as he looked back on the increasingly narrow pillars shooting up behind him, there was a better chance of snow falling in Hell’s furnaces than War helping him with this. As he trudged back to the serpent hole, frustration slowly turned into anger.

He was supposed to be the one who was good at this sort of stuff. Finesse. Swiftness. Sure-footed work under frantic circumstances. This was his element… and yet here he was, sulking after the Creator only knew how many attempts at tackling the damned third section of this utterly insane obstacle course.

He wanted to shoot something. Or even better, punch it.

Perhaps I should ask War to let me borrow that gauntlet for a minute.

The thought had never had more appeal. Unfortunately, the cold, unforgiving universe once more decided to laugh at him.

The serpent hole was where it had always been—or, well, where it had always been since Strife and War had gotten here—for all Strife knew Vulgrim reshuffled and redecorated the place every X number of years—but War was not. Knowing his brother, he hadn’t gone back to Vulgrim and Samael for a chat either, which really left only one sensible option. With a deep sigh, Strife headed towards Dis.

“Brother, I swear by Lilith’s tits, if you went to fight Dagon without me…”

“Then what?” Vulgrim’s ‘associate’ was on him in a hot second, the bauble she had been tinkering with flung carelessly back into the void with a flick of her wrist. The smile on Dis’ face was as unmistakably smug as the tone was tantalizing in her voice. “Will we get to see an epic brawl between two of the last nephilim in existence? I would pay for seats to that show…”

“Aaaaaand you’d be getting ripped off.” Strife smiled underneath his helmet as he brought out his guns. “You wanna see a fight between any number of the four of us? Just ask who should be in charge or claim that one of us is light years ahead of the others, and you’ve got yourself a nice little show.”

Of course, the truth was it probably wouldn’t even take that much. If there were two things that were in a nephilim’s blood, it was to wander… and to fight. In hindsight, perhaps that was why Absalom’s excuse for attacking Eden had always rung so hollow for him.

“A home for our people.”

As if their people were the kind that wanted homes.

As if they would not get bored less than a month into living there and move on to another planet to mess up.

As if any permanent settlement was not only unrealistic and completely out of character for almost all of them, but also an amazing opportunity for one of the many, many, many races who wanted his kind wiped from the universe completely to attack them where it hurt the most.

Except that was us. Strife hated it when the little voice inside his head was right. It was us who wiped them from the universe. Didn’t even need another race for that.

“Hey, Dis, you wouldn’t happen to have seen War, would you?”

There was no point in lingering in the past, no matter how many times its ghosts tried to claw their way back into his mind.

He often wondered how many centuries he was going to have to remind himself of that fact before it finally worked.

“The big guy?” Dis looked up from whatever potion she had been brewing—where had she even been hiding the vials and ingredients?—and nodded towards the serpent hole. “He bought some more trinkets from me before going to the arena. I thought you’d already demolished the place?”

Strife shrugged. “Yeah, pretty sure we did. But then again, War’s the kind that doesn’t mind repetition.”

“But you do?”

“Sure do. It’s boring. And I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

Dis grinned ear to ear. “Like tackling Leviathan’s Landing for the two-hundred and sixty-eighth time?”

Oh you little demon bit— “I have not—”

Suddenly, the temptation to shoot her was almost unbearable. Strife knew the feeling. The itching at the back of his neck. The tingling in his veins. The blood lust that was so common for all of his kind. Too bad all the stuff she sold was useful. And she was kind of cute. For a demon anyways.

“It has not been two-hundred and sixty-eight times.”

“Oh it has.” Dis shook the vial she was holding twice and smiled as it turned from dull gray to vibrant blue. “I counted.” She gave him a quick wink. “Your enthusiasm and tenacity really is quite endearing.”

“I’m gonna shoot you just for that tone in your voice.”

Strife sighed. He wanted to say he couldn’t quite place why it pissed him off so much, but unfortunately he could. That dreadful mixture of cheeky seduction and almost mothering ‘bless your little heart, you tried’ kind of condescension was something every nephilim had known from the day of their creation.

“You know, Dis… if you’ve got nothing helpful to say, maybe say nothing at all.”

“Very well,” Dis scoffed. “Go catch a Leviathan’s tail then, for all I care.”

Whatever warmth had been in her voice had turned into to ice. Strife was hardly surprised. A slighted demon sounded like she wanted to murder him. In other news, fire was hot and Samael could not be trusted. He watched her float back to her books and beakers and whatever else she had stacked up in that makeshift laboratory of hers, took a deep breath and holstered his guns.

There were other demons to kill in the arena. No need to waste his time and ammo on the demon who was supplying him and War with upgrades.

He was just about to enter the arena and find out which section exactly War had run off to, when he caught the glimmer in the distance.

How he had never noticed it before, Strife couldn’t tell. His senses were usually unusually sharp—more so than most other nephilim’s in fact—it had always given him an edge he had sorely needed. Perhaps he had always been to distracted by conversing with War. Perhaps the angle had never been right. Either way, he could see it clearly now—the unmistakable glow of a creature core, and a big one at that. Strife stepped over the serpent hole and headed down the rune-riddled path towards the core instead.

It led him back to the big door. As once before, the keys he and War had found throughout Hell’s realms materialized automatically, shooting forth into their locks, no doubt drawn in by some powerful magic. There were not enough of them, of course. There hadn’t been last time either, and both he and War had agreed to leave the door alone until they had found a sufficient number to open the door.

As much as Strife loved a mystery, right now, the idea of what was hiding behind the gate was not nearly as interesting to him as the glow high above it, little more than a glimmer now that his sight line was blocked by the stone wall shooting up above the door. Strife climbed up one of the torches by the side, hoping to get a better look.

Who would put a stone wall above a door in the middle of nowhere? And who would put a core up there? And what kind of co—Oh.

He found the answer as he was balancing on the edge of the torch, flames licking dangerously close to his dangling scarf. From up here, he could see most of this corner of the void. He could see the entrance to the Boatman’s Labyrinth and Dis’ lab just before that. He could see the serpent hole. He could see the entrance to the Gauntlet. He could see the beginning of Leviathan’s Landing.

The beginning with the first pillars.

And the damned pillars.

And the second portal.

And the floating rocks that curved throughout the empty space like a winding snake.

And the third portal.

And a glimpse of the beginning of thrice-damned path he had just wasted hours on, bending gently in his current direction.

“You have got to be kidding me!”

This was it. This was the Leviathan’s tail. The end of the course. He couldn’t see if from where he stood, but he was as sure that there was one last portal up there as he was sure in his aim with his guns.

“Bless you, Dis, I promise I’ll bring you something really neat from the next vault I crack.”

Strife took a deep breath, then jumped towards the door, shadow-dashing mid air to land on one of the tiny outcrops in the rocky facade. If someone had told him to climb up this wall a week ago, he would have told them to get bent. Now, he was determined to scale this jagged piece of floating rock even if it was the last thing he was going to do.

As it turned out, getting above the door was the easy part. Getting up the wall behind it… Strife cursed under his breath as he tried to scale the rocks. Why did Lilith had to have been so incompetent at creating a hybrid between angels and demons? Where were the wings? You’d think that would be the first thing she would have taken from the angels. The wings. But noooooo. All he had was this stupid shadow wing thing he had gotten from Samael.

He had lost count of the many times his fingers had slipped from cracks to small and thin for a firm hold by the time he felt ready to climb back down again. Even though he was on the scrawny side as far as nephilim went, there was no way to get a good grip here. He almost missed the balancing act that was the pillars in the first section of Leviathan’s Landing.

Balance…

The idea that had sprung into his head was frankly crazy and likely to end with him losing parts he would hate to miss, but when had that ever stopped him? Strife shook the tension and soreness out of his limbs, then tackled the wall again.

This time, he planted one of his twin daggers firmly in the deepest horizontal crack he could find and clambered up onto it with as much care as he could muster. The tempered demon steel bent ever so slightly under his weight, but still, his feet remained steady. He had stood on worse. He just needed to put the thought of an arm’s length worth of razor sharp steel out of his mind.

The second dagger went into another split in the rocks, this time blade up. It was risky, but he could do it.

Strife took a deep breath, jumped up onto the hilt and immediately vaulted even higher, to grab the ledge at the top of the cliff. He hung on by the tips of his fingers, but he was going to be damned if he was going to quit now. With one last huff and a curse, Strife pulled himself to the top.

The core was humming quietly in front of him, its magic vibrating in the air, soft as the buzz of a bee on a warm summer’s day. It almost seemed to mock him with how peacefully it sat there, considering the violence this obstacle course had inflicted on him each time he had tried to get here the ‘right’ way.

“You little sucker…” Strife grabbed the core quickly before the universe could pull some new cruel joke on him and catapult it out of his reach by some contrived shenanigans.

I can already hear War’s response, Strife mused as he climbed down carefully, retrieving his daggers along the way. “You have not only cheated the creator of this course—you have cheated yourself.”

War could get bent. At the end of the day, Strife now had three Leviathan cores and War had none. And that’s what really mattered.

His brother was waiting for him by the serpent hole when he returned. Going by the few bits and pieces of demon that still clung to parts of War’s armor, it had been an entertaining run.

“So… how far did you get?”

“I stopped after the hundred and sixty-fifth wave.” War shrugged ever so slightly. “The arena is starting to bore me.” Then, he nodded towards his older brother. “I assume you tried the leviathan’s trail one more time?”

“Actually,” Strife grinned, even though he was fully aware War could not see it, “I grabbed the leviathan by its tail this time.”

War sighed. “You make as little sense as ever, brother.”

“Thankfully.” Strife thumped him on the shoulder quickly. “Now, shall we return to our regularly scheduled hunt for minor demon lords with delusions of grandeur?”

A rare smile graced War’s usually stern face. “Yes. Let’s go and kill Dagon.”

[monsterqueers]

You know, I can see why sometimes people think callouts are necessary;

When you are in a communal space and being harmed, or have suddenly become privy to serious harm, you want that harm to stop. One of the first things you learn on how to do that, once asking them to stop doesnt work, is to ask for help.

In small communities like forums or discord servers, you ask the community leaders for help. They talk to the person to make them stop or ban them from the small, non life-essential community. If the harm was bad enough they might encourage you to bring it to court (such as an adult soliciting nudes from minors in DMs).

Often this is done without the details being aired to the rest of the community (if the issue was in private).

But bigger websites like tumblr or twitter or youtube are not these kinds of small communities. Banning someone from a huge swath of the internet materially effects their livelyhood and ability to access community and care. The support staff for these websites usually take time to get to the case and often do nothing about it when they do because its not what they consider a TOS violation, even if its harm done.

This means if it cannot be solved by blocking, and you cannot leave because the space has things you need, your final tool to make harm stop is by airing the dirty laundry so social shame hopefully does something.

HOWEVER THE VAST MAJORITY CALLOUTS ARE NOT LIKE THIS

Most callouts are petty drivel attacking minorities (but especially trans women in particular) and filled with lies.

The person making the callout though, often genuinely believes that they are making harm stop like above though- because their definition of harm is much wider and includes things like 'trans woman having sex with consenting adults in a way I dont like', 'I was in conflict with my ex a lot because we could not communicate', and 'reblogged a fanart shipping naruto and sasuke once'.

They think that things that personally upset them out of disgust count as real harm. They think any conflict is always abuse.

Or at least, that is what the people making them will claim, and its hard to sort them from the true victims.

I think a notable part of why callouts are such a plague is because of the structure of social media as a whole. We dont HAVE the usual tools to curate our spaces well enough anymore and protect our communities from bad actors and people know this. Its the drawback of being so connected. They cannot see another way to do this, so they are loathe to let go of a tool that -in theory- can.

I think its something that is overlooked in conversations about this.

Its rare a plea to abandon callouts altogether has a feasable answer for 'what do we do with the confirmed serial abusers, scammers, and cult leaders that DO exist? How do we prevent them from hurting more people? They already had community support and love and they did harm with it. You cannot give them a rape babysitter a la the missing stair essay (of which the story shows works badly) over the internet. You cannot make them go to therapy over the internet and ensure it works. You cannot still act like nothing happened without making their victims feel unsafe and unsupported. What is there left to do?'

And honestly, I DONT have a good answer to assuage these concerns.

With new social media the way it is, with site moderators that only step in for TOS violations if that, how CAN we keep known serial bad actors with no true commitment to doing better from harming others except by warning people to not trust them?

Internet safety tip PSAs only do so much, and not using the megasites is not an option for most people either.

Trying to make callout posts be more accurate by trying to educate what is a calloutable offense has done nothing to reduce erroneous callouts.

People already commit to 'only spreading REAL callout posts', but they still spread bunk posts regardless.

It just... sucks all around.

-This post is not a perfectly worded and cited essay, do not treat it as such-

-This post is saying all the callouts crying wolf have ruined one of the few tools left to oust actual unrepentant serial abusers and scammers from communities without cop involvement, not that one should spread callout posts, dont clown!-

[fallloverfic]

hey hey so glad to have found you on tumblr. it was a bit hard for me to find content creators for ennead on this site, oddly enough

i saw some of your ask me prompts and i was wondering if you could do 4 and 10?

Hello!! And welcome :3 Thank you for the ask!! And yeah, tumblr is very quiet for the fandom. Twitter, pixiv, Ao3, and instagram are far more hopping.

I think this is for the ENNEAD ask me meme, so I'll answer based on that!

4. Who is your favorite character (if you have one)?

Shockingly I know, after publishing 48 fanfics that star or otherwise feature him in some fashion... it is Seth alkdjaldja he is best boi for me. Sad man, angry man. Love him. He's beautiful, he's tragic, he's fun. I love the way Mojito is exploring so many things with him, whether it's suicidal ideation, self-destructive tendencies, self-blame for things that are out of your control, cycles of violence, anxiety, responsibility... Just a lot of things. I love his power set (no pun intended). Shapeshifter characters have been my favorites since I was little (big fan of werewolves and shifters generally, and always have been, pretty sure it's why The Little Mermaid and other similar stories about water people who can change their shape have always stuck with me), especially when they can like dissolve into particles and reform. And I love his relationship with Horus. He's also really smart and can be quite thoughtful and I love how creative he is. Also I love when he gets into Situations. Angsty, whumpy man.

Second place is Horus. I love him so much. He's gorgeous, he's such a fun character, and he's hilarious. And his wings are so gorgeous T-T He and Seth are so cute and I go feral whenever I see them.

I like most of the cast, though.

10. How do you think ENNEAD will end?

I don't have good luck with guessing what Mojito will do intentionally, so take this with a lot of grains of salt lol I do have some luck doing it unintentionally when I write things into fics with like, "This would be cool if it happened", and then it kind of does lol And I do have some luck guessing what she won't do, so. Anywho.

We know Horuseth is the endgame ship, so they'll end up together. I assume they'll rule Egypt together in some fashion or, worst case, go off into the sunset together. Seth will fully get his powers back and the curse will be resolved. I imagine whatever's going on with Hathor's mirror will also be resolved (I think Nephthys was split into two people, and she'll be recombined and get all her memories back, and I think Hathor did it to take revenge for Ra). I'm still on the fence for whether Horus will actually "ascend" properly or not, or what that'll look like. He's kind of a strange demigod (Nut calls him the "link between the gods and humankind" (S02E44)), so I wonder if he won't actually ascend/he already has. But his ascension might also just be different than other gods, at which point I think Isis will step aside and let him rule fully on his own, with her help as needed. He doesn't marry Hathor. She gets booted out of Heliopolis. I also don't personally think he's going to lose his memory. He could, but on top of the circumstances around the whole "ascension involves memory loss" thing being still kind of unclear and questionable, he's a special kind of demigod/god, and his power involves knowing things. I think he'll be fine.

I assume Osiris will be defeated in Duat in some fashion (possibly by Seth, Horus, Anubis, and maybe FG) and just be stuck down there, stewing (Mojito likes sticking to the original mythology in a lot of ways, and I don't think she'd like... perma-dissolve Osiris of all people), and he and Anubis will be on more of a balanced power stance, and just sort of share a power domain. I feel like part of ENNEAD's conclusion will involve Anubis leaving his control and just coming into his own power entirely. And he gets his memories of Seth back to some degree.

I assume FG will head home after/around when we learn his name and the Egyptians will be like "huh, well idk who that was, but whatever, I guess we'll keep an eye on [FG's home country], though." Which... if it's Greece or Rome... -cringes a little-

I also hope that Anubis will have a heavily implied partner of some kind. It's not gonna be Seth, and I don't really think it'll be Khnum, much as I love that ship (though I'm rooting for it fully and he's as likely as anyone), but it could be Isis, too. Mojito did do some Anubis/Isis art years ago. I just want him to not be so alone.

I think Isis, Seth, and Nephthys will reconcile to some degree. I don't know that they'll be very close, but I think they will be on speaking terms, though I honestly think Seth and Nephthys are the least likely of the group for this to happen with. It depends on whatever is actually happening with the mirror. Seth and Isis are already on the path to reconciliation. Nephthys is the only actually sort of static one.

If anyone would like to ask more questions, here's the meme again :D

(If this is for the fanfiction author ask me meme I linked, I can answer that one, too! I just didn't know which meme it was, and assumed based on context it was the ENNEAD one)

[starset21]

Chapter 7: Changing Perspectives

Standard Disclaimer: I only own my original characters, I've done some research but there will likely be Navy/military inaccuracies, and I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may be found is on tumblr and Wattpad under @.itswildflower

Looking for the other chapters? U.S.S. Christmas Masterlist 

A/N: This story is heavily inspired by the hallmark movie of the same title and is very self-indulgent. I'm also trying a different format than I'm used to using so it may change in later chapters.

Summary: Kate finally tracks down Jonah and Dorothy

“Good Morning,” Jake greeted his father.

“Morning son. So... Kate told me that you had a great day in New York,” Ron started.

“Yeah, it was nice. We ended up at the train show.”

“The same one I took you to as a kid?”

Jake nodded.

“Oh!”

“Yeah. Brought back a lot of memories of Christmas. And memories of the divorce. You know, we never really talked about you leaving, pops. One day you just moved away and it was… The code of silence after that,” Jake confessed.

“I regret that. Somehow it just seemed easier to act like nothing happened,” Ron shook his head.

“I-I just... I didn't understand, especially at Christmas. I just wanted my dad,” Jake told him.

“I failed you. I failed your mom. But I want you to know how much I missed you. When you got older, why do you think I wanted you to be a pilot so bad?” he asked.

“To follow in your footsteps?” Jake guessed.

“To… To be close to you. You are the most important thing to me in my entire life, more important than any career,” Ron confessed.

“Your career is everything to you,” Jake pointed out incredulously.

“And I'm proud of my service and what I've accomplished. But nothing… Nothing holds a candle to my only son,” Ron finished.

“Thanks, pops.” 

“How's my Christmas story coming?” Kate’s editor in chief asked as soon as she got into the office.

“I'm still working on it, but I'm honestly not sure if it's gonna be done in time,” Kate told him.

“Well, I'm counting on this. You have till end of day, then I'm gonna have to go with something else,” he told her sternly.

Kate left his office with a frown and went to her desk, sitting down and putting her head in her hands. “I can't believe this. I finally have a heartwarming story worth telling, and I don't even know how to tell it. I… I don't know what else to do,” she lamented.

“Go get hot chocolate with me?” Abigail, her best friend asked.

“With marshmallows? Lots of marshmallows?” Kate asked sadly.

“As many as you want,” Abigail confirmed.

“Okay. Lets go,” she told her, standing up.

“So you can't find any record on Jonah William?” Abby asks as they get on the elevator.

“Oh, no, I found plenty, but none that match the age and profile of our pilot, its so frustrating. It's like he's a ghost or something,” Kate groaned.

“I can't believe it's this hard to find someone,” Abby commiserated.

“I know. It's a mystery,” Kate sighed.

“Sounds like you've had quite the adventure on that ship. By the way, whatever happened to Mr. Military man?”

Kate’s face heated. “We, um… We almost kissed,” she confessed.

“What?!” Abby nearly yelled.

“Abby! Shhhh. But it's not going anywhere,” she told her.

“Wait. A romance grounded before taking flight? Do you like him?” Abby pressed.

“Yes. But it's not that simple, Abby,” Kate told her.

“Just imagine the wedding! All those handsome groomsmen in uniform? With their swords? Your bridesmaids in peach? That is my color palette, by the way,” Abby smirked. 

“A wedding announcement!” Kate’s eyes snapped to Abby’s.

“I'm convincing, but…” Abby trailed off.

“No, no, maybe there's a wedding announcement for Jonah and Dorothy,” Kate started as the elevator door opened. “I don't know why I haven't thought about this before. You're on to something…” Kate trailed off as she spotted a familiar head of blonde hair. “Jake?”

Jake nodded to the woman at the reception desk and turned. “Can we talk?” he asked. 

“I hope it's okay I came to see you,” he said after they came to a stop in a park.

“Yeah, of course. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything's good. Oh, I... I brought this for you. You know, just in case you find him,” he told her, pulling out the ornament that said ‘To Dorothy.’

“I... I can't believe you came all this way just to give me this,” Kate told him.

Jake’s adams apple bobbed before he spoke again. “You know, I… Really didn't want to say goodbye to you yesterday. When you left, it felt… It felt wrong. You know? Like I was losing something. I've fallen for you, Kayleigh Wells. And before you say anything, I know how you feel about what I do. The military life. But… I was just hopin' maybe I could take you out on a date. We can see where things go,” he explained. 

“Jake. What if one date turns into two, and then two dates turns into three, and… Look, if… If this goes somewhere, it's not gonna end well. So is it even worth taking that risk?”

“Remember when you asked me if I was ever scared when I'm flying, and I told you that I'm not scared of anything?”

Kate nodded.

“Well, the truth is… I'm scared of falling in love. But I'm willing to take that chance,” Jake told her.

“Jake... i-I'm so sorry. I can't…” she looked away from him.

“So is that it? Kayleigh, what if our whole lives have led up to this point? What if you and I found each other just like Jonah and Dorothy did?” Jake asks.

“I have to go back to work,” Kate told him, water beginning to line her eyes.

“Kate… I'm not gonna hurt you,” Jake says quietly.

Kate shakes her head. “You don't know that,” she told him before walking away yet again.

“He seems sweet,” Abby attempts to start the conversation when Kate returned.

“Yeah, he is, but romance grounded, remember?”

Abby frowned at her.

“Look. That's them. They were married on Christmas day in 1974. But their last name isn't William, it's Williams. They must have gotten it wrong on his file before the fire,” Kate told her, pointing her computer screen towards her friend. 

“Fire? Whatever. You're a genius. Keep going.”

“Last known address… Veterans home in Norfolk.” Kate picked up her phone and made a quick call.

“What did they say?” Abby asked when she hung up.

“They moved out a couple of years ago and they can't give me any information unless I'm family,” Kate sighed.

“So close! Wait. Look at that. The call sign painted on his plane. What does it say? "Picas... so"?” Abby pointed to a photo Kate had found.

“Picasso. That's funny,” Kate mused.

“What?” Abby asked.

“There's a diner I've been going to since I was a little girl, Picasso's diner. Do you think there could be a connection?” she asked her friend.

“It would be a Christmas miracle if there is. Go get 'em, Kate.” 

Kate quickly made her way to the old diner. “Hi, Sharon,” she greeted as she stepped inside the establishment.

“Kate! Your brother joining?” she asked.

“No, no, I'm not here to eat. No, I actually have a question about a story that I'm working on,” Kate told her.

“Is it about that bank president?” Sharon asked.

“No, not him. It's about a man named Jonah Williams, he was a pilot for the Navy, he married a woman named Dorothy?”

“Yes, Joe, he owned the diner. He sold it about 25 years ago. I worked for him as a teenager,” Sharon told her.

“Any idea where he is now?”

“No, but I do believe that he has a daughter in Virginia beach. Lily is her name,” Sharon told her.

“Sharon, you are amazing, I'll see you on Christmas day!” Kate exclaimed before heading back to the office.

Kate couldn't help the smile that was growing on her face as she heard the words spoken on the other end of the phone.

“Okay! Thanks! Okay, that sounds great. I'll see you tomorrow,” Kate hung up and threw her hands up in the air out of excitement. Abby sent her a questioning look.

“I did it! I found Jonah and Dorothy. They live with their daughter now, I'm heading to go see them tomorrow,” Kate told her.

“That's great!” Abby exclaimed. 

The next morning Kate knocked on the hardwood door of the Williams residence.

“Kate?” the daughter Lily asked.

“Yeah! Hi! Merry Christmas,” Kate greeted.

“Merry Christmas. They're on the back porch, come on in.”

“Okay, thank you.” Kate stepped through the front door and followed Lily through the house.

“Come on in. Mom, dad, this is Kate from the Norfolk register,” Lily introduced.

“Hi! Lily told us about this story you're working on,” Dorothy smiled.

“Yeah. Yes, it's just, oh, your life, it's so exciting. Do you mind if I record this?” Kate asked, taking a seat across from them.

“By all means. But I don't know what all the fuss is about,” Jonah laughed.

“Well, from what I could tell, Mr. and Mrs. Williams, you just have such an incredible story. Now, tell me… What happened after the tiger cruise, how did you win over Dorothy?” Kate asked.

“Well, her brother told me where the dance studio was, so after we docked, I drove seven hours to find her in New York City,” he started.

“He made it in the Nick of time. Practically had to duel the doctor I was seeing. I wasn't sure about that guy. But there was something about Joe. So I ended my relationship, and after a few dates, I knew. He was the one,” Dorothy chimed in.

“We got engaged shortly after, and we were gonna wait to get married until after I got out of the service. But then I got called back to Vietnam,” Joe sighed.

“I told him I would wait as long as it took. I just didn't realize how long it would be,” Dorothy added.

At Kate’s questioning look Jonah picked up the story.

“My plane got shot down in Vietnam and, well, the next seven years I was a pow,” he told her.

“I had kept hope alive. But then when the war ended, two officers walked up the driveway, and I thought for sure Joe had died. Instead they said he was alive! I fell on the ground crying. It was the greatest moment of my life,” Dorothy told her.

“What gave you the strength to not give up on him?” Kate asked.

“I prayed every night that he'd come home. He had to. He's my one true love, after all,” Dorothy told her.

“Okay, and, let's see. How did you end up at the diner?” Kate asked Joe.

“Well, I was an artist. That's why the guys gave me the call sign "Picasso." They were always teasing me because whenever I wasn't flying, I was sketching. But I couldn't make any money in art, so I opened the diner. But it's amazing that you figured this all out,” he told her.

“Oh. Well, uh… It was tricky with your last name having two spellings,” Kate chuckled. 

“Oh, yeah. The Navy messed that up. They left off the "s," and I just left it as "William." I finally got it corrected to Williams when I came home from Vietnam,” Jonah informed her.

“And do you two have any more children?” she asked.

“We have two older sons in the marines corps, five grandchildren. And they're coming to visit today!” Dorothy exclaimed.

“How were you okay with just uprooting your life like that for Jonah, for the Navy?” Kate asked.

“Easiest decision of my life,” Dorothy said immediately. “It didn't matter. Joe was my home. Wherever we went, all I needed was him. And I had the kids and my dance career, which always kept me very busy.”

“You know, the U.S.S Polaris is named after the north star. It's the way sailors have been finding their way home for centuries. And in this case, it led me to Dorothy,” Jonah told her and Kate nodded.

“Actually, I have something for you,” Kate told them, pulling a tin that she had placed the ornament in out of her bag and opening the lid. “I think this belongs to you,” she offered it to them.

“Oh! I don't believe it! Joe, look! It's the star you made for me,” Dorothy smiles, looking at him.

“Where did you find this?” he asked as Dorothy carefully pulled the ornament out of the tin.

“A pilot I know, he found it in an old box on the ship,” Kate told them.

“It's a symbol of our everlasting love. Thank you. Did this pilot help you track us down?” Dorothy asked.

Kate nodded.

“Well, please... thank him. For us,” Jonah smiled almost knowingly.

“Oh, I will. He's… He's a wonderful man,” Kate tells them. 

[princesspoll]

FAQ

How does this work?:

A bracket of up to sixty-four characters (that's our goal!) will be selected to compete. Each poll will run three days, giving you enough time to promote your faves, but not so long that this takes forever. The final result will decide tumblr's favorite fictional princess!

Why princesses?:

Because even though I'm staunchly anti-monarchy in reality, I do love a good princess character. Also because a lot of my personal favorite characters fall under this category.

Who can be nominated?:

Any fictional character that is or was a princess, or their society's equivalent of... for the most part, or who ends or starts the story as a princess*.

*I thought a lot about this, and I'm going to ask you all to use your discretion. Do you associate this character with being a princess? In my personal view, if we took the characters of Elsa and Anna from Frozen, I would nominate Anna and not Elsa, because although they both start the movies as princesses, and Anna does also end up a queen, she spends 90% of the films as a princess, whereas Elsa spends 90% of them as a queen.

But I'm not going to turn down your nominations because of my personal opinion. If they were or are a princess (and we actually see them as such in canon), they're eligible.

(My reason for using this as an example is because I thought most people would be familiar with it. Nominated media can be aimed at any target audience. I encourage stories of all kinds geared toward all age groups, nationalities, etc.)

Can I nominate real princesses?:

As much as I'd love to see you all write meta on like, Princess Diana's revenge dress, no. Let's leave real people out of this.

What about fictional versions of real princesses?:

HEAVILY fictionalized versions would be accepted (i.e. Anastasia from Fox or from Fate/Grand Order). Again please use your discretion. I'll let you know with plenty of time remaining if I'm unsure if they should be eligible, and you can convince me that I'm wrong.

This male character is called a princess. Can we nominate him?:

No, not in this particular bracket. Women (cis and trans) and femme presenting non-binary characters only, please. Male characters are heavily favored in fandom as is. You can find endless brackets to nominate your faves in already.

Also, I'm gay.

How many characters can I nominate?:

Up to ten. Characters will be decided by who is nominated the most. Don't let this discourage you from nominating obscure faves! You never know who else is out there (plus you can always ask your friends to help. I won't know. xp).

What's the schedule?:

Nominations run a week; 3/26-4/3. Polls will start 4/7. I'll put a detailed schedule in the bracket master post.

Can I promote this on twitter?:

YES, or any other social media site. The more traffic, the merrier.

Can I promo my fave nominees, post meta, etc?:

Yes of course.

Your graphics seem kind of girly:

It's hard to find princess-y clip art and stuff that doesn't look girly. Princesses of all types are encouraged and loved though; femme, butch, gnc, and everything in between.

What's the tag for this event?:

#princess poll

I have other questions:

Ask Box

[thepatronsaintoffilth]

The sudden reblogs of ‘you smell like trouble’ is ominous but welcome! Anyway I’ll take it as a sign to share what I’ve been thinking for a bit. (Oop I’m so excited for the next chapter!) I really love your series and I think I now know why, like I can probably articulate why. I really suck with feelings and being intimate and often times I want it to happen to me if that makes sense? In order for me to understand someone’s advances they need to be aggressive, but I always shy away from aggressive advances even when I like them back. Since it’s in a controlled environment so to speak I really like having the control being taken away? By someone who wants to worship me? Rock my shit

Anyway love your writing bye 🧡

ANON

YOU JUST MADE MY DAY, MONTH, AND YEAR.

Being "forced" to receive the things you want and need, but are too proud or even scared to ask for, is a major theme in the story. And I put it there for the same reason because I'm the exact same way 🙈You really just saw into the heart of my story, anon! I feel so seen

I write A LOT of smut. Short stories, text posts, and of course the heisen fic here on Tumblr, but I also write stuff for other sites and there's a ton of stuff in my gdrive that's as yet unpublished - and the common thread running through a lot of it is aggressive desire in the service of making the protagonist whole and fulfilled, whether they ask for it or not. Which they usually don't 🤣It's hard to know what to do, or how much to give, how little regard to give to past mistakes ... Whoever I write as the aggressor in the story, has to cut through all that bullshit.

And if there's one thing we all know about Karl: its that he doesn't tolerate the bullshit 🤣🤣🤣

Hard at work on this next chapter, and I can't wait for you to read it. He'll be back from his "family visit" and in a foul mood for sure. Karl and our reader are headed for a crash course in intimacy, let's say 🙊

- Saint

p.s. here's my ao3, there's not a lot there but! leave me a comment on YSLT! I always read, re-read and respond to them

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

Hey.

So, it’s been a while. I have a lot less energy than I used to and I’ve found that being online is extremely bad for my already struggling brain. I’ve really struggled to keep up any connections I used to have, even though I wanted to and I felt extremely guilty for struggling so much with just talking to people. I feel like I’ve become a completely different person in the past few years. I guess I kind of outgrew Tumblr and I felt like I was a fraud when I couldn’t reach the same levels of energy and enthusiasm to behave like I used to and I felt like I didn’t belong here any more and that I was a disappointment, but I still think about all of my friends on here a lot and I’m really sorry I faded out without any explanation, it was never a deliberate choice, time just did time things and all of a sudden it’s been years and I felt too guilty and ashamed to come back, like I was being kept prisoner by my own skull raisin. I still think about you all and I hope you’re living the wonderful happy lives you all deserve and that the world is being so, so kind and gentle to you. I hope you find new happiness and love every single day. I still love all of you with my whole heart and soul and I’m really, genuinely sorry for leaving like I did, I hope none of you were worried and I hope you didn’t miss me.

A life update is that I’m doing okay, even good. My partner Josh and I are still going strong, we’re planning on getting married in the next few years, and I’ve been flying over to see them regularly (I’ll never stop being grateful that I have this opportunity.) Their apartment is yellow and we adopted a very big plush Bulbasaur son together and we cuddle until we fall asleep every night and their smile and their mind make me reach a level of happiness I genuinely did not think I was capable of and they have helped me find who I really am. Loving them is the easiest and sweetest thing I’ve ever done. I’m planning on moving overseas to be with them after we’re married (paperwork + residency reasons.) Their friends have welcomed me incredibly kindly into their group and their city is a world I want to live in and I feel like I finally know where I belong. I have finally, finally found my home.

Other updates. My pets are getting older and we lost Maudie, I still miss her and I’m scared for the others but I can’t do anything but love them. With my partner’s help I realized that I’m most likely autistic and I’m hoping to get officially diagnosed once I’ve moved, but not before, because a diagnosis could get my residency denied. I have a steady job with very nice coworkers/friends and in general I’m a lot less scared of life and I’m actually excited for the future, even though I still have very hard days, weeks, months. I have a lot more confidence and love in myself. I own a shirt with rubber duckies on it and I adore it with my whole heart. I have two tattoos named Frank and Louisa and I’m hoping to get more soon. I make very good soup. I’ve learnt to draw, I still have a long way to go but it makes me happy and it’s therapeutic and also how does lighting and shading work oh my gOD-

If anyone wants to reach me at any time, for any reason, my Discord is awshucksalright#7140. It’s one of the few sites that I don’t have a mental block with so I’m usually active on there, but I am a different person now so I understand if you don’t have a drive to, there’s no expectation. I just wanted to make a post to give closure if it was needed because just dipping like I did was super shitty and I wish I could take it back but at this point it feels too late and I don’t know if I have the energy to come back again any way. I have been lurking like a weirdo on your blogs to make sure you’re okay, I should’ve just reached out, I don’t know why I didn’t other than my brain not letting me, it felt like a wall and it still does. It was nothing any of you did, it’s just my own brain being a dick and I hate it and I wish I could change it. I don’t want any of you to think that you weren’t/aren’t important to me because you always have been and always will be. Your kindness and friendship has meant the world to me.

I don’t want to say goodbye so I’m not going to, I don’t want to close that door because I love so many of the people through it. I just hope you’re all okay and that life is treating you with all the amazing-ness that you all deserve. I hope you all feel warmly and gently hugged.

I love you. 💖💖💖🐰🐰🐰💕💕💕

[enden-k]

hi youn you don't really know me but i just wanted to say your tags on that most recent reblog of the "reblog art posts you like" post are so real and i really appreciate you taking the time to write all of that. i'm a hobbyist content creator myself (i do it for myself + my close friends) but i've never really posted anything online because i worry about basically exactly that kind of thing. especially with my ocs. i don't think i'm capable of making myself not look at the notes, the one time i made a text post it somehow got like 60 likes and 5 reblogs and from that other post you reblogged that looks actually pretty generous which is horrifying to me.

anyway um thank you. as someone who regularly puts effort into running their mouth in the tags of art+writing posts (and has gotten multiple dms thanking me for doing so, actually!) and is too afraid to post on this site, i really really agree that reblogs and especially heartfelt tags make such a difference, and the situation here on tumblr is really discouraging to active creators and to new/silent creators as well. like current creators getting fed up and leaving is a big concern obviously but there is also already content being missed before it's even posted. and i would be really surprised if that weren't the case for many other young creators that just decided to keep their ideas to themselves because of all this.

i know personally when I see this happening to artists (including writers) that i really look up to what it really feels like is just that fandom is dying. like it's just a small handful of content creators here holding each other up (the majority of that handful of reblogs) and everyone else is probably on some kind of a mindless content scroll. likes to me are like a little hand wave, like a "hey I saw this thing!" marker, but reblogs are like taking a picture of it, going "hey I like this!" or "i want to see this again!" and it feels kind of weird to see swarms of people just kind of giving a little thumbs up/wave/brief nod to something they theoretically like.

sorry this got so long!!! i just really appreciated your post and i had a few thoughts and then i wrote a whole wall.. (also no pressure to post this (though it's also ok if you do)! mostly wanted to let you know that post meant a lot to me)

hi, dont apologise or worry about the length of this message! its all fine!

i forgot to mention it in the rb tags and my post earlier but YES. yes exactly, reblogs esp with tags on it, ppl gushing or talking about the creation they rb is always the best thing for a creator. this can literally make our days, i have messages and tags saved for whenever i feel unhappy about my stuff so i can look them up again! it really means a lot, so not only do you show your love and support to the creator and their work by rb, it can also make us so so happy to see you talk about it

and yes, its really really hard for new/starting creators to post here, bc of this issue. as well as for OCs!!! thats mostly why i also keep my OCs away and just do fanart bc honestly, i think this would actually sadden me so i dont want that. and knowing that many people do that too is very sad bc theres so much stuff people wanna show but dont dare bc they feel like no ones gonna look anw. so much creativity and wonderful works, kept hidden/unposted or not appreciated enough, its really saddening

anw, same thoughts honestly. thanks sm for the message!

lets keep creations, no matter if art or writing, fanwork or OCs, alive by actually reblogging it instead of just mindlessly liking it; lets give new/starting people a chance to show their work

[femchef]

Over the last few weeks, I’ve found myself in the position of reassuring fandom people (observers, creators, writers) and. I’m going to say it all here - and I want you all to take a deep breath - deep, in and out, maybe a good four or so times - and listen.

Opinions from antis don’t matter - especially when they enter into your space, that you made for yourself and your fandom friends. They really don’t.

Do you know why so many of us oldies love ao3? It’s that marvelous tagging system. Tags are like the warning colors on a poisonous frog okay? The person who ignores all the things they don’t like in the tags, who jumps in and then gets upset - because they don’t like the ship, or the content, or they don’t like au’s or plots/timelines deviating from canon, or they don’t like OCs or SI’s, they don’t like XYZ-cest, etc - that person does not matter.

If they leave a rude or combative or argumentative comment - well cool, bro they are entitled to their opinion but that opinion has no bearing on what the creator is doing in their story. At all. That comment can be deleted, that person can be blocked or just flat out ignored. They’re shouting into a void of relative anonymity on the internet and I cannot emphasize exactly how little that actually matters at the end of the day.

I’m certainly not going to apologize for liking what I like. I’m here to have fun. “Your fav is problematic” hell yeah, my fav is problematic - it makes them interesting. I don’t care that you don’t like them? Why should I care if you don’t like the things I like? I don’t like gray colored cars - I think most of them are ugly. My opinion doesn’t matter to a person who likes the gray car they’re driving? There is absolutely no reason my opinion should matter to them at all.

If my neighbor across the street has tacky colored curtains in her windows, am I entitled to thinking they’re tacky? Heck yes.

Am I entitled to walk into her house uninvited and then throw a tantrum because her living room decor is hella tacky? Uh no. No I’m not. Friends listen - those ugly-ass curtains are my first and only necessary clue telling me we are not gonna agree on style choices.

Besides, my neighbor doesn’t get to bitch at me because I have a two foot tall tin rooster sculpture on my back porch. If my neighbor feels like telling me it’s tacky - “well ok? What’s your point? It’s my rooster”.

So if I’m scrolling on ao3 and see something tagged with a ship or topic I don’t like, y’all I’m gonna give it a miss. Just. Skip right over it. It’s not my sandbox - which is another thing.

You used to see in disclaimers from older fandom sites something to the effect of “I’m just playing in [XYZ author]’s sandbox”. I really love that, because at the end of the day, we are all here to have fun. If you’re not having fun, that’s totally ok!! You can go home, you don’t have to share this sandbox with other people! That is 110% alright to take your bucket and go dig somewhere else! No one is going to build the same sandcastle. This is what curating your experience on the internet and in fandom is ALL ABOUT. If you’re not having fun - if you’re uncomfortable or unhappy, it’s ok to move on. It’s good and healthy to move on!!!

To keep with the sandbox metaphor:

We’re all here to have fun. If someone says something in a fandom space (discord, twitter, tumblr, ao3, literally anywhere), and it makes you upset - you need to put a little distance between you and that situation. It doesn’t matter if it’s an anti or someone super hard-line about their favorite RPF boyband shipflavor. If you get more than passingly annoyed, and you can’t set it aside, then it’s time to go home for the day. Come back tomorrow to hang out. It’s okay. It really, really is.

I’ve seen some authors and artists who let aggressive commenters drive them away and it’s really heartbreaking. Fandom spaces are weird and fringey and goofy and fun and expressive. It’s so fascinating - it’s a space where a lot of people who create in it are doing so with no expectation of compensation beyond the pleasure of the creative act and (maybe, hopefully, joyfully) other people will appreciate the thing they made. So while we’re here, let’s go over another point:

1) The creator doesn’t owe you anything.

2) People invading your creative space with rude criticisms or demanding comments about your update schedules do not matter.

As a person creating fanworks - I am so happy when I get notes or kudos or comments or questions!!! It helps keep me creative! It helps cheer me up on a really bad day!! They’re wonderful.

But you’re not paying me to make stuff for you. You didn’t purchase a product or service from me. We didn’t enter into any sort of contractual arrangement. I am literally not beholden to you at all.

Authors and creators don’t owe you anything. If you decide you don’t like something about their work or art or even things more personal - politics, opinions, car colors, whatever - that. Is. OKAY. It’s so totally okay. That means you get to move on to something or someone you like more! You are not beholden as a reader or as a creator!!!

Look. Do I enjoy fanworks tagged parental!Roy in the fma fandom? Heck yes - I eat up found family like a starving woman who’s never seen a buffet in her life. Do I enjoy fanworks tagged Roy/Ed in the fma fandom? Hell yes - absurdly intelligent people with trauma and daddy issues is catnip for me. I don’t have any problems separating these two in my head. They’re different genres. Do I also love Ed/Win ships in the fma fandom - hard yes, there’s something nostalgic and whole-grain sweet that is for sure my cup of tea. Do I also love Win/Pan ships? Chaotic girlfriends 210% yes. What about Havoc/Al? Eh. Not really my jam, I tend to give that a miss. Ed/Envy? Nah, that’s a hard no for me. Does this mean I’m going to go into a fic with tags I’m not interested in or actively dislike and read or interact with it anyway?

Uh no. No I’m not.

But what about if it just pops up in a fic and it wasn’t tagged and I wasn’t expecting it?

Well - that’s a little inconvenient for me as a reader, but. Beyond leaving a polite comment asking the author to consider tagging the significant thing I didn’t like, I just. Stop reading. And move on.

That’s it. That’s all that should happen.

Oftentimes the best thing you can do is just. Let. It. Go. If you’re not having fun in the sandbox anymore just go play in a different one - go home, go hang out with other people. But just. Let it go.

Same thing applies to comments - someone drops a comment in your inbox that they really hate xyz and they want you to know they’re upset about it? Just delete the comment. You are not their therapist. You’re not their meatspace friend. At the end of the day, the person who submitted their comment is an anonymous person to you, and it’s not your job to manage their feelings or their discomfort. You don’t have to be an asshole about it - trigger warnings are a thing - but, conversely, they don’t have to be an asshole about it either.

This post is getting a bit long. But please - the salient point is that you should be having fun in your creative spaces out there, you have no reason to feel ashamed of the things that make you happy or bring you joy.

Antis don’t matter at the end of the day. Let them die mad about it. Just have fun playing in the sandbox.

[kimtaegis]

Maybe you just don't want to talk about this with anyone, so feel free to ignore it, I'm glad if you only read. Please please take control of the people you follow, the people you interact with and have on your blog or in any other site or social media that you use to share your interest in BTS... Our experience in the fandom will depend 100% on that, the way you see armys will be entirely affected by it. Don't follow anyone just 'cause they're nice if what they say upsets you, don't be afraid to block or unfollow anyone who makes you uncomfortable. There are many types of armys and accounts you can engage with, there are fanbases sharing beautiful projects and kind actions from armys around the world, there are artist armys (just like you!) who show their creations, armys focusing on gathering votes and streams (this will be forever important) and overall many many armys who just care about what BTS have to say, trusting their messages and trying their best every day. I'm afraid that you may start to see armys in a negative way, I'm afraid that you can believe that this fandom isn't a good fandom, that this doesn't feel like home... This is not true, please remember that? Ever since I becamy army I never thought bad of this fandom and I always could understand why BTS love armys so much, 'cause armys have been comforting me too and I don't even have friends... I'm comforted just by "strangers". Even on Twitter, where things are much bigger and easier to trigger us, I've found my "safety zone". It's all a result of whom you follow. This doesn't mean I haven't found mean people, stalkers or antis, I did and sometimes I kept looking for them, even knowing how it made me feel, but I do my best to control what and whom I search for. Please take care of this ♡ life is already so hard, this part doesn't need to also be. Our fandom is the biggest in this world and of course that it means there'll be more toxic and obsessed people, the bigger it is it can be scarier, but I hope you can always see that this number isn't even close to all the kind armys who learn a lot with BTS, all the armys chasing for their future and trying to be better human beings. You're one of them!

oh you’re very sweet for sending all this, I appreciate it. I just think that it’s pretty much impossible to avoid any of this simply because of how today’s social media works; I have a tiny twitter account, only follow a very small bunch of fans (mostly mutuals from here and editmys/fanartists); the algorithm still suggests super problematic tweets to me. Which is sad in itself because those tweets get so much traction that they’re suggested to me, do you know what I mean? I do block and mute every single one of these accounts, have a mile-long list of muted words, and yet. And just leaving or disabling these functions would let me not see the stuff I would like to see anymore, so that’s also not great. Tumblr is comparably fine but is also absolutely deserted and boring. I’m sorry to say this but ever since I joined the fandom two years ago, I had my opinion on the general vibe of armys and this didn’t change at all. I’ve never seen this fandom as a healthy community or a home, I’m only in it because I love the group. Yes there are definitely amazing (and sane) people I’ve met here on tumblr through the boys and I’m so grateful for that, but unfortunately it’s really just a very small number of people who I truly get along with (probably my own fault but yeh). Also it’s not just the negativity by the way, but also the infantilism, or the other extreme, sexualisation of the members, the absolute obsession with chart and streaming numbers, awards and records, the “quantity over quality” way of thinking, the list goes on. There’s just so much I can’t vibe with, don’t want to. I’m trying my best to keep curating my own fandom experience and I don’t see myself not following bts’ career at any time soon, but it still sucks that such a big part of loving them feels so.. corrupted at times.