#it just looks like a trainwreck of a book

[starcloud-nova]

i picked up jodi picoult's the pact again and the book just Wasn't Clicking for me and i looked up the wikipedia summary and i was like wow okay. glad i did not read this book.

[nighttimescribbles]

tonight's guilty pleasure is a B-class pseudo-historical disney-fied movie with slightly baffling dialogue and semi-cringey writing that has nevertheless managed to worm its way into my head where it is now living rent-free. it does not help *at all* that the leading man is styled to be in possession of an unusual face and i do so love unusual faces 😩

[queeenpersephone]

what's really insane about the x-files is that nearly every show that's somewhat followed its formula (bones, lucifer, castle, etc) keeps some amalgamation of mulder and scully as its main couple, but they feel the need to supplement that main couple with an ensemble cast that are in nearly every episode. mulder and scully are pretty much it for the x-files. of course there's skinner and the gunmen, but they don't appear even in a majority of the episodes (and certainly not in a major way). there's probably a lot one could say about why, but i think the reason it works is because scully and mulder are so rich with characterization. for me, they're the closest movie/tv gets to real people, even if their connection to each other is beyond what any of us could have in a normal relationship. they're so multi-faceted, so complex, so contradictory. like, mulder's incredibly empathetic but can be a jerk. scully's by the book but she'll be held in contempt of congress for what matters. even something like scully's relationship with her father is so complicated in a way that it churns out episodes like never again or beyond the sea. the way david duchovny and gillian anderson act against each other on screen is heart-stopping, enthralling. even when they're a trainwreck, you can't look away. it's just so interesting to me how, even when shows are blatantly pulling from the x-files (and are good in their own way!) they're too afraid to really do the x-files. y'know?

[whore-ibly-hot]

Yan!Bully x Gn!Reader x Yan!Loser

'Art-Project'

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Bullying, name calling, degradation, violence, mentions of non-consensual photos, nonconsensual touching, male pronouns for the yans, mentions of school, general perversion, toxic behaviors, creep behavior.

(AN: Had a fun time with this one, really enjoyed toying with the dynamic between this two. I think I'll probably make a part two with these trainwrecks in the future)

Part 2 here

The crashing of books and pens falling on the tile floor rings out through the boy's bathroom, as a young, dark-haired boy is thrown harshly onto the cold multi-colored tile. The boy lets out a cry as he hits the ground, and he scrambles away upon impact, pressing his back up against the wall as he looks up at his assaulter.

"F-fuck off, Patrick!" Ahmed exclaims, his frightened eyes never leaving the predatory gaze of the bully who stands over him. Ahmed's free hand wanders around the bathroom floor, grasping blindly to try and find his book bag. Ahmed's accent only becomes more prominent, as his voice shakes and cracks. "Fuck did you say to me, you little shit?" Patrick grabs the boy by his collar, yanking him up from the ground and sneering at him. Ahmed gulps when he feels Patricks breath tickle his neck, making him tremble. "I-I didn't, didn't mean it, c'mon. I was just shocked when you threw me on the floor, it just slipped out." Patrick rolls his eyes, and as he does, his gaze falls on Ahmed's bright red backpack, laying open on the floor. Patrick notices how Ahmed's eyes widen when Patrick looks at it, causing Patrick to raise an eyebrow.

"What's in the bag, freak?" Patrick whispers, and before the sentence has even fully left his lips, Ahmed is fiercely shaking his head. "Nothing, nothing! Just work, please-" He hits the floor again, and he's sure tomorrow he'll be bruised from the rough treatment. "Pick it up." Ahmed looks up. "What?" "C'mon, pick it up. You're all freaked out, freak... I wanna know why, so I'm gonna tell you one more time." Patrick crouches down, and nods in the direction of the cloth schoolbag. "Pick. It. Up." He pauses after each word, relishing the fear in Ahmed's eyes.

Since Ahmed transferred to Morrisville high, Patrick had made his life a living hell. Not that he wasn't already unpopular at his old school, but people at least tried to avoid him there. People did here at first, before Patrick set his sights on Ahmed. Patrick wasn't sure what drew him to the scrawny, quiet boy. Possibly the way everyone avoided him, or maybe it was how little everyone knew about the new kid. Most likely, it was the knowledge that no matter what he did to the boy, or what he made him do, no-one was going to stand up for the boy. Patrick picked on everybody, but god, Ahmed became his favorite. The way he'd squirm, and cry. The way he was able to convince the other kids at the school to pick on the lonely boy. Things only got worse when Patrick found out that everyone at Ahmed's old school thought he was a freak too. Suddenly, shoulder-checks in the hallway became full-on beatings, stolen homework became shoes and clothes being taken from Ahmed's locker, or even right off the poor boy. Patrick never hesitated to remind Ahmed that even if he reported him, or got away from this school, that he'd still be a freak, no matter where he went.

Ahmed's sobs snap Patrick out of his reveling, as the scrawny boy crawls over to the bag, his hands shaking as he tries to grip the red canvas of the backpack. Patrick huffs, but before he can open up the backpack and take a look, he hears footsteps outside the bathroom, coming from down the hall. "Get in the fuckin' stall, go." Patrick growls, pointy sharply at the large handicapped stall at the other end of the bathroom. Patrick steps outside of the bathroom, and Ahmed can hear Patrick greeting whoever is outside. A friend of Patrick's probably. Another member of his little delinquent gang. Ahmed shuts the lid of the toilet and sinks down to sit on the lid, afraid his knees may give out. The sound of heavy boots approaches, and Patrick fingers slid around the stall door, pulling it open as he slips into the stall, locking it behind him. Ahmed tries to steady his breathing.

"Alright, open it up. C'mon." Patrick nods in Ahmed's direction. Shaking hands pull out textbooks, pens, pencils, even the leftovers from Ahmed's lunch. The objects clatter to the floor, scattering across the bottom of the stall. "See, nothing in here, just my school stuff." Ahmed's trembling hands extend the now empty bag to Patrick, presenting it almost proudly. "What... there's no fucking way." Patrick huffs. He begins to dig through the objects, kicking away the writing utensils as he grasps at the textbooks. He flips through each of the pages, trying to find anything incriminating. His frown only deepens as he finds nothing. He's about to give up, as he reaches for a blue folder labeled 'Math'. When he does, Ahmed lets out an involuntary whimper, causing Patrick to freeze. A sick grin spreads across the blonde's face, as he slowly pivots his head to look at Ahmed.

"There we go, somethin' in here you don't want me seeing?" He asks. Ahmed nods, tears cascading down his cheeks. "Alright, I'll tell you what, freak..." Patrick stands straight up, leaning up against the wall behind him. "Tell me what's in the folder, and I won't even look, okay? Just get it off your chest, I'm open-minded." Patrick purrs at the boy, watching his resolve crack in real-time.

"It's-" Ahmed goes quiet towards the end, his words so soft Patrick can't hear. "What was that? You gotta speak up." He sighs. "Or, I guess I could just look-" He moves to flip open the folder with the edge of his boot, causing Ahmed to jolt forward. "N-no!" The boy yells, thrusting his hands out in front of him. Patrick scoffs, tossing his head back for a moment as he laughs, clutching at his stomach. "Jesus, Ahmed, what the hell is in here that's got you so spooked?" Patrick asks. Ahmed shivers. Somehow Patrick using his real name is worse than him calling him 'freak'. It feels more personal.

"It's nudes... nude photographs." Ahmed whimpers, a blush of shame spreading across his cheeks as his gaze falls to the floor. "Oh- yours?" Patrick asks. Ahmed doesn't respond, causing Patrick's brows to furrow, an amused and pleasantly surprised expression coming onto his face. "Not yours, huh." Patrick glances down at the folder. "Who the hell's been giving you pussy, freak? Who's been letting you take those pics?" He asks. Ahmed's hands are tense, gripping the fabric covering his knees so hard that he worries they might tear.

"I- they didn't, alright?" Ahmed cries, curling his knees up to his chest and burying his face in shame. "They didn't-" Patrick takes a moment to process this information. His eyes light up in realization. "You really are a little pervert, huh? I knew something was off about you." He puts his hand on his knees, leaning over so he can make eye contact with Ahmed's curled up form. "A sick little pervert. You get off on those photos?" Ahmed whines. "Some poor kid at this school doesn't know that the school freak strokes it every night to a picture of them... poor them." Patrick leans down and picks up the folder.

"Wait, w-what are you doing, you said you wouldn't look if I told you the truth about what was in there?" Ahmed coughs, almost full on hyper-ventilating at this point, eyes wide in panic. Patrick nods, keeping eye contact with Ahmed as he flips open the folder. "True, but..." He shakes his head, his blonde locks falling from his loose ponytail. "How do I know you're telling me the truth about what's in here if I don't look?" Ahmed scoffs. "Why would I lie about having a folder of some creep-shots?" Patrick shrugs. "I don't know, maybe something like that doesn't seem that serious to you, y'know, because you're a pervert." He suggests. Patrick sticks his tongue teasingly out at Ahmed, before looking down at the gritty Polaroids nestled behind some math notes.

The photos are taken from all sorts of places. The ones at the front are simple upskirts from behind, the subjects face not visible. As Patrick examines more of them, he notices they seem to get more invasive. The final photograph was clearly shot at night, a bedroom window visible. The subject of the photo lies nude, and Patrick's face falls when he sees the face. He looks up at Ahmed, his breath halted. "They... they are cute, huh?" Ahmed looks up from his knees, confused. "You know them?" Ahmed swallows harshly, then nods. "Sort of... we have English together." As Ahmed explains the nature of his relationship to you, Patrick flips through the photos once more. Now that he knows these photos are of you, they have an even greater allure. "Hmm, I have lunch period with them, gym too..." He muses. "Heh, you should see em' in those little gym shorts, shit..." Ahmed isn't sure where this is going, but Patrick's calm tone and hyper-focused expression stress him out even more than when Patrick is outwardly aggressive. At least then he's predictable. Right now, Ahmed is in new territory with his tormentor.

Patrick sighs, and tucks the photos back into Ahmed's folder. He smacks the folder into the center of Ahmed's chest, making him let out a grunt as his trembling hands grip the blue plastic. "Listen, freak." He whispers. He places a hand on the wall behind Ahmed, allowing him to move his face right up in front of the boys. Brown eyes look back at him with fear. "Nobody has to know about all this. I'm still gonna kick your ass, but nobody has to know about your..." He thinks. "Let's call it 'extracurricular art project', okay?" Ahmed, gulps, and asks. "What do you want in return, I know the way you are." Patrick chuckles. "You're pretty smart, huh? Alright, I'll tell ya. Get me some of those photos, some new ones. And copy that last one, that shot into their room." He says. "Why, y-you like them too?" Ahmed whimpers. Patrick shrugs. "I know they've got a sweet little body, and I wouldn't mind a closer look at it, that's all." Ahmed considers this. If he doesn't agree, who knows what Patrick would tell everyone. God, Ahmed might even have to change schools again, and if he did, he couldn't be near you. He shakes his head. He won't let that happen.

"Alright, you got it. I- I think I can get them to you by friday." Ahmed offers, and Patrick nods. Ahmed moves to stand, but Patrick pushes him back. "One more thing, freak." He whispers. Ahmed bites his lips in fear. Patrick slips his hand from the boy's shoulder, down past his waist, and to the front of his victims school shorts. He roughly palms Ahmed's limp cock through his pants, making the boy choke on his own spit in shock. Patrick sighs softly at his reaction, leaning in to whisper into his ear.

"Snap me a pic of yourself too, freak..."

[sherewrytes]

𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤, 𝓒 𝓢𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻

Summary: You were tired of your plug always being a weirdo and never having what you wanted so you begged Sasha for her plug, Connie.

warnings: mature scenes, smut, weed smoking.

Your day had started with frustration. Your regular weed plug had bailed on you last minute, leaving you scrambling for options. Frustrated and in need of a break from the stress of finals, you turned to Sasha for help.

She was the one who always seemed to have a solution for everything, especially when it came to sourcing the good stuff.

"Sasha, my plug flaked on me. Can you hook me up with yours?" you texted, hoping for a quick response.

Her reply was almost instantaneous. "No worries! I'll set you up with Connie. He's legit and his stuff is fire. You'll like him."

With Sasha's recommendation in mind, you agreed to meet Connie later that evening. Nervous anticipation mingled with relief as you headed to the rendezvous spot. It wasn't long before you saw him pull up—a sleek, tinted matte black G-Wagon with red rims.

Connie rolled down his window as you approached, his presence commanding yet surprisingly relaxed. You exchanged brief introductions, and then he handed you the baggies of Trainwreck and OG Kush.

The Weeknd's "Shameless" softly played in the background, adding a touch of atmosphere to the exchange.

You couldn't help but smile at the coincidence or perhaps the intention behind the music choice, giving Connie a small giggle of appreciation before you paid him and walked away.

Unbeknownst to you, Connie lingered a moment longer, his eyes tracing your figure appreciatively. He couldn't deny the attraction he felt from the first moment he laid eyes on you. His mind raced with thoughts of wanting to get to know you beyond this transaction.

Back in your apartment, you rolled up and settled in to unwind. Connie's image lingered in your mind—not just his looks, but the energy he exuded. He was undeniably attractive, but the idea of getting involved with your weed dealer gave you pause. With finals weighing heavily on your mind, romantic entanglements were the last thing on your agenda.

Meanwhile, Connie couldn't shake off the impression you had left on him. He swung by Sasha's place, unable to contain his curiosity and desire to know more about you.

"Why didn't you introduce me to Y/N sooner?" he asked Sasha, his tone laced with both annoyance and amusement. "She's fine as hell."

Sasha rolled her eyes playfully, catching onto Connie's newfound interest. "Didn't think you were looking for more than just a business connection, Connie. But if you're into her, go for it."

Connie's mind was made up. He wanted to see where this could go with you, beyond just being your weed supplier. He started texting you more frequently, not just about weed but about everything and anything. You found yourself enjoying the conversations, his easygoing nature calming your nerves amidst the chaos of exams.

But as finals approached, your responses became sporadic. Connie noticed the change and it bothered him more than he expected. He pressed Sasha for information, needing to understand why you seemed distant.

"Y/N's got finals," Sasha explained, trying to appease his curiosity. "She's buried in books right now. Give her some space."

Connie thought to himself that both your lives were so different, his just a guy on the street trying to make it to the next day and you a girl in university studying for your dream career.

It made him feel a bit insecure, but he didn't let it stress him too much.

He bounced from Sasha's spot back to Ony's crib, where the air was thick with smoke and the vibes were chill. Eren, Jean, and Ony were deep into their game, but Connie's mind kept drifting back to you. Even as he tried to get into the flow of the game, he found himself constantly checking his phone, hoping for a message from you.

But all he saw was your latest IG story—a real moment, you looking stressed AF, tears welling up as you spilled about the pressure of finals.

It hit him deep, reminding him of the gap between both your lives, yet making him respect your hustle even more.

The evening after your last final, you heard a knock at your door. You weren't expecting anyone and felt a twinge of curiosity. Opening the door, you were greeted by Connie, looking as cool and confident as ever.

He held a couple of bags, one from Diesel, Von Dutch and another from Jacquemus, and a grin that made your heart skip a beat. The scent of your favorite takeout wafted through the air, making your stomach rumble.

"Hey, thought you might need a little celebration," he said, stepping inside and setting the bags on your coffee table.

You were wearing a burnt orange silk shorts set, the long sleeve cropped button-up highlighting your deeply melanated skin. Connie's eyes lingered a bit too long, but you didn’t mind. In fact, you kind of liked it.

"I can’t believe you did all this," you said, your voice soft with gratitude. "You didn’t have to."

Connie shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Figured you deserved it after all that hard work. Plus, I missed our chats."

You smiled, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the weed. "I missed them too."

"Don't just stare at them Ma open them up" Connie smiled while sitting on your couch and pulling you next to him. Connie was wearing his Essentials Sweatshirt paired with sweat shorts from FOG Essentials paired with beige Nike dunks.

You opened up the Von Dutch bag first to see a cute cropped tshirt. Then you reached for the Diesel bag, feelin' the excitement build. As you opened it, your eyes widened, and a grin spread across your face. Inside was the Diesel Fluffy iconic mini bag in pink and blue, lookin' all cute and stylish

"Oh my God, Connie! These are so cute!" you exclaimed, holdin' up the bags, your voice filled with joy.

"Yeah, I knew you’d like ‘em," Connie said with a proud smirk, leanin' back on the couch. "You deserve it, baby. Keep goin'. There's more."

You set the bag aside carefully and reached for the Jacquemus shopping bag. Inside, you found two Le Bob Artichaut hats, one in pink and one in blue denim. "No way! These are perfect!" you squealed, throwing your arms around him to hug him tightly.

"You really know how to spoil a girl, Connie. Thank you." you said with an ecstatic tone.

"Nah, you worth it. Gotta keep my girl lookin' fly," he replied, pullin' you closer. "Besides, it's fun seein' you happy like this."

You felt warm and loved, appreciatin' every moment. Connie always had a way of makin' you feel special, and today was no different.

Connie rolled up some blunts for you and him to smoke while you scrolled through your phone looking for some music to play since you usually like smoking to music sometimes. She pulled up Just me and you by Larry June & Ro James

Connie leaned back, taking a long drag before passing the blunt to you. "So, how's finals been treatin' you?" he asked, genuinely curious.

You sighed, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "They been kickin' my ass, to be honest. But I'm almost done. Just need to get through these last few days."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "I feel that. You need a break, for real. That's why I brought all this." He gestured to the takeout and the Diesel, Von Dutch and Jacquemus bags he had set on the table.

You couldn't help but smile. "You really ain't have to do all this, Connie. But I appreciate it, for real."

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but there was a softness in his gaze. "Figured you deserved it after all that hard work. Plus, I missed our lil' chats."

You took another hit, feeling the tension of the past few weeks start to fade away. "I missed 'em too. You been good though?"

"Yeah, just been grindin' as usual," he said, his eyes flicking over your outfit again. "But I gotta say, you look real good tonight."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks. "Thanks. I wasn't expectin' company, but I'm glad you're here."

He chuckled, clearly enjoying your reaction. "Wanted to. Plus, I threw in some new strain I been workin' on. Thought you'd like it."

You found yourself inching closer to him, the barrier between dealer and client blurring into something more personal, more intimate.

The warmth from the weed and Connie's presence made everything else fade into the background.

Eventually, the blunt burned down to a roach, and you both sat in a comfortable silence. Connie's arm rested behind you on the couch, and you leaned into him, feeling a sense of ease you hadn't felt in weeks.

"So, what you thinkin'?" he asked softly, his voice low and smooth paired with his low red eyes. Connie was eyeing you up and down next to him. The way he was looking at you, was turning you on. You were both staring into each each other's eyes

You turned away your head to break the eye contact, only to feel Connie's fingers on your jaw turning him back to him saying "I'm over here Ma, focus." You blushed a lil, trying to focus on him.

Connie smiled showing off his gold and diamond studded canine grillz. "You gon answer me, tell me what you're thinkin"

"Nothin' much Connie, just thinkin about the fact you already checkin for me heavy and we're just friends"

Connie didn't like when you referred to him as your friend because he wanted so much more. Connie brushed a hand across those cheeks " " I don't wanna be friends." He leans in reading your expression for confirmation before letting your lips meet for a slow deep kiss.

"Connie" you whispered against his lips. "Tell me what you want Ma and I'll give it to you. Just say it." Connie stared at your face taking in your features.

Connie pulled you onto his lap, your arms around his neck, his around your waist, one hand slowly sliding up your back to lightly grip your head to pull you into the kiss more.

You whimper and sqirm a bit when he lifts you up and places you right on the growing clothed erection.

While awaiting your answer, he began slowly kissing on your jaw and neck leaving marks. He pulled you as close as he can to his chest and pushing your head into his neck, encouraging you to mark him as yours.

"Tell me to stop or tell me you want this as bad as I do"

You stared at Connie,biting your lips trying to hold back your moans but you couldn't. You looked at him in his and begged "Please Connie"

Next thing you know, you were flat on your back on the couch with Connie slowly sliding down your burnt orange shorts down your thighs. "Fuck! you're soaking already." Connie sighed out with a husky tone.

The moment his mouth connected with your wnet pussy, you were seeing stars. Ofc you've had sex before, got eaten out before but not like this. Connie was easily going to become your best eater.

Connie was murmering to himself saying,

So fuckin wet Ma *slurp* Mine You taste so good

You felt his tatted fingers slide in and out of you,while his tongue licked you from your clit all the way down to you sopping entrance. It felt like the wetter you got, the more he ate. It was like he was licking up every drop you released.

Connie pushed his face deeper into your thighs while curling his fingers upward. The rhythm was in, up and out. Your legs tightened around his head while grinding against his face.

"Oh,God" you groaned "Oh, god. Connie, mm gonna"

Connie slipped his fingers out in favor of his tongue,dipping in and out of your cunt while his thumb rubbed firm cirlces against your clit.

Your body was shaking under him. He stared up at you. eyes red and filled with lust. A soft scream came out your mouth while your back arched off the couch and he never stopped. you heard him groan and smirk against you. When you finally came down off your orgasmic high. Connie stared at you and said "Bedroom now"

You stared at him and saw he he was serious so you jumped off the couch and walked to your room with Connie trailing behind you.

As soon as you entered your room. Connie picked you up and drop you on your bed. He came over you staring at you. You could see his face wet from your cum. You licked your lips and pulled him in for a kiss.

Connie undressed himself and you. connie stared at you for a brief moment while you take in his length. He had a pink tip, leaking pre and a thick vein running along the underneath.

You never had something that big before. Connie smirked and said "I'll go easy on you Ma. Promise."

You felt Connie pushed in slowly. stretching you out, your eyes widen a bit. You closed your eyes only to then feel Connie's hand sliding up your body and lightly gripping your jaw "Don't close your eyes. Look at me."

Connie fucked you deep and slow. obviously trying to get you used to his size. Tears wet the corner of your eyes. Connie leaned in and kissed him away saying " You can take it Ma. I know you can. Just say the word and I'll break you in so good."

"Con! Please" Please what y/n Fuck me! I am fucking you Connie! Harder

"You need it deeper Ma." Connie smirked and spread your legs wider then spread your pussy wider exposing your clit. He grinded himself against it with every hard thrust he gave you. You were screaming his name "Con you feel so good!"

"shit,pa—" you wailed, knuckles turning white with the strong grip you had against the bedsheet. "'s too much!"

You never been fucked so hard in your life. The way your bed screeched against the floor and your headboard slammed against the wall with each thrust he gave you it was ridiculous. You tried turning your head to the side to avoid looking into his eyes.

“Look at me while I fuck you.”

“c-connn” you teeth bit into your lip making it wet, you held in the grunt of pleasure leaning forward trying to catch your breath. Your mind barely comprehending the massive orgasm you felt coming. He was rutting into you like an animal, had you squirming under him.

he grunted, while licking and nipping at your jaw line," Come on Ma. Just take it. It's too good..." He started to thrust up into you making you yelp out

" right there mama?" "mhm hmm" you shook your head not wanting him to stop " come on baby use your words" "Yes Connie..right there!"

you were gripping the sheets and screaming, tongue out begging. " O-ohh fuckk babyyyy"

im gonna cum mama" he groaned into your head while kissing and sucking on your neck.

he grabbed your hand while his hand still gripped your jaw and his thumb rubbing against your cheek.

"cum inside mee" you purred

" y/n. dont say shit like that. You want my cum for real." You tried catching your breath but you barely got the words out from how deviously hard he was fucking you. "Yes Con. please."

His hips was ramming his cock in and out of you. You feared he'd break you the way he was fucking you. He rutted into you faster and harder. You could barely get a sound out of your throat

You felt yourself tighten and clenching his cock while you came, squirting on his hips and your chest. Connie was still rutting into you.

"Fuck y/n mm cumming" You felt Connie fill you up inside the sensation of it had your eyes rolling back and you cumming around his cock again.

Connie pulled it and watched his cum trickle down your thighs.

Connie felt like he was was on cloud nine. He felt like he shouldve asked you to be his girl first but things got a lil heated.

Connie pulled you off the bed and dragged you to your bathroom so you can both clean up and shower together.

[tswwwit]

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

Bill’s patience is running out. 

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

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

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

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

And there it is.

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

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

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

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

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

Which is likely why he’s not pushing it. 

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

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

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

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

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

Bill, of course, laughed nearly the whole time.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper’s frown turns into a glare. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper raises an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So instead of any of that, Dipper smiles. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To Dipper, they’ve been absolutely invaluable. 

They speak volumes about Bill’s personality. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He loves being the center of attention.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But. That’s not the point, is it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only to be hauled right back in. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, right. The doorbell. 

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

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

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

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

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

When the doorbell screams again, Bill looks downright sour. 

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

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

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

Still, he’s curious. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bill’s up to something.

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

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

Dipper lets his head thump back against the seat cushion. 

Not that, then. Something else.

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

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

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

Well. Weirder. 

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

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

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

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

Living with Bill doesn’t suck. 

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

But right here, and right now, he’s…

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

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

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

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

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

Alright. Time to make some mental notes. 

What’s Bill up to now?

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

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

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

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

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

What. 

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

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

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

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

A surprise. Just for him. How fantastic.

So much for not being involved.

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

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

No, not ‘fate’. Surprise. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cleanup. 

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

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

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

This is going to be bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hasn’t checked what it’s full of.

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

Bathtubs?

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

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

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

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

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

This is Bill’s bathroom.

What kind of evil plan takes place in a bathroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper frowns at his reflection.

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

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

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

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

Yeah. Bill’s being Bill again.

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

Since Bill isn’t back though…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s got to -

What?

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

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

That’s not possible. That’s - 

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

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

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

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

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

A mistake, he says. A screwup.

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

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

Possible. It’s not possible. 

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

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

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

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

None of that changed how things turned out.  

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

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

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

Time to pick this ploy apart.

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

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

Some things just have to be cut off.

“It won’t work.” He writes. 

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it. Dipper rubs at his eyes.

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

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

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

Unless he didn’t have it on hand. 

The packages.

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

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

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

It’s - 

Dipper can’t. He needs more information.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually it was easier to stop thinking about it. 

When he dreams, he still has his tongue. 

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

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

He’s so tired of hurting. 

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

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

Gotta calm down. Think about this rationally.

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

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

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

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

Dipper feels a flutter of long-extinguished hope.

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

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

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

“Yep!” 

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

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

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

That… really shouldn’t be reassuring. 

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

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

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

Another question. “And then what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It better work.

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

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

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

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

Dipper looks up. 

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

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

Dipper writes, “Do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, but he could have been more descriptive.

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

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

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

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

Leaning over was a good idea though.

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

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

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

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

What he just heard. That wasn’t Bill. 

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

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

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

Dipper said that. 

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

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

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

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

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

What a question. How to answer.

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

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

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

In disbelief, Dipper sticks his tongue out. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay. Just kinda blurted that one out.

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

Three more words. He’s speaking words. 

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

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

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

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

This one seems genuine. 

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

There’s the expectant look again. 

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

Bill really wanted this. A lot. 

Now what the hell should Dipper say?

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

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

No, wait. He knows the answer. 

Dipper turns around, bracing himself on the sink.  

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

“Hi, Bill.”

And Bill bursts out laughing, high and delighted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, the room is… Dipper pauses. 

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

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

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

Wait, no. Not anymore. 

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

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

Things click into place. Exercise. An evening plan.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what is this.

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

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

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

Here goes nothing. 

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

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

Oh fuck. 

It’s great. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s the grub, kid? Good?” 

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

Oh right. Words. 

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

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

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

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

Now there’s an unpleasant thought. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before that happens, Dipper will cut things short. 

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

The living room again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait - they already ate, what is - 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That brings them to now. 

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

This one… doesn’t fit.

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

But. 

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

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

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

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

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

Then…

…Maybe it’s just movie night?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too warm. Soft shirt. 

Slowly, Dipper lets his heavy eyelids shut.

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

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

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

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

Wait, where is he? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s gotta get up anyway. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nervousness. 

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

Time to leave.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing touches him. No punishment lands. 

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

But he’s so, so close.

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

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

He’s not going to look. He’s not - 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just. Needs a second.

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

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

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

He’s fine.

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

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

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

…Bill hasn’t burst in now, either. 

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

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

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

He doesn’t.

In fact, he hasn’t moved an inch. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper narrows his eyes, and stands firm. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he’ll even say them out loud.

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

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

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

He also knows better than to think it can last.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hannie-dul-set]

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS [2].

SYNOPSIS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. WARNINGS. mentions of dicks and balls and nudity, mentions of sex, mild manipulation, someone cries at one point, the usual amount of swearing. WORD COUNT. 3.3k.

TAGLIST. @cerealdreamwriter @tyongff-ff @dinonuguaegi @certifiedmoa @blueberrgyuu0 @primantha @blu3bell4 @nunugget @hoshi-is-ult-bbg

NOTE. whatever the bet they have is, it's definitely one of the three things you're thinking about. per usual, please let me know what you think about this trainwreck so far!

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 2 — the inevitable disasters of living with six men.

FOR THE MOST PART, LIVING IN YOUR NEW TEMPORARY HOME HAS BEEN FINE. It’s similar to living in the dorms, but a lot more hygienic and a lot less stressful considering you don’t need to use your earplugs at the dead of night anymore. Your housemates all surprisingly tend to themselves, minding their own business on the day-to-day.

Jake makes sure you feel welcomed by introducing you to the extensive LEGO collection in his room which is taking him more than a week, you have never seen Soobin come out of his room again after he got jumpscared by your Victoria’s Secret on the first day, and Heeseung smiles and says hi to you but never fails to demonstrate his superhuman agility by swerving out of your way when you cross paths in the narrower hallways, making sure he never touches you. You also hear questionable screams of anguish from Beomgyu’s room whenever you come down for water at 3 a.m., you often have breakfast cereal with Jay and he always makes sure to refill your Cheerios while saying “to make your day a lot more cheery-oh,” and sometimes— when you’re particularly lucky— you and Sunghoon would emerge from your bedrooms at the same time and he’d stare you down, like usual, until you finally smile at him and he breaks into a cold sweat before either retreating back into his room or downstairs.

It’s great. Living with Jake and his friends is so great.

Until it’s not. Because you’re living with six men, and that statement in itself is bound to harbor problems.

Case in point—

“Who the fuck ate my ice cream?”

It’s early in the morning. Heeseung, Beomgyu, Jake, and Jay are all gathered around the kitchen island as you witness the murder scene in the fridge. You turn around, revealing the opened pint of mint chocolate that has a very noticeable chunk taken out from its creamy, minty center. “Not me.” Beomgyu is the first to defend himself. “You’re the only one in this house that even likes that toothpaste shit.”

“Say that again.” You slam the fridge door shut, looking him dead in the eye. “I dare you. Say that shit again.”

You wait. You continue staring at Beomgyu until he breaks into a nervous sweat and lets out a cough after tearing his head away. A victorious grin stretches on your face. “Thought so, punk.”

“That’s not fucking fair. You can’t pull that crap!”

“What crap?” you press further. Beomgyu isn’t able to challenge your stare again so he resorts to hopping off the stool with a groan and disappears into the living room. That’s another victory in your books. “Anyway, seriously— which one of you ate my ice cream? I won’t get mad. Just be honest and tell me.”

Jake fidgets in his seat. “Are you sure someone ate it?” 

“There’s a hole! There’s literally a singular hole!” You’re sure one of them took a bite before realizing their major fuck up and discreetly returning your pint into the freezer. Jay chokes back a giggle. The three of them are looking at each other. Oh my god, they’re all children. “Heeseung. Do you know what happened?”

The man in question suddenly jolts in his seat and straightens his shoulders. “N-no, no I don’t,” he sputters out. “I really don’t know.”

“I think he does,” inserts Jay.

“I think he does, too.” You settle the violated ice cream on the counter before marching up to the panic-stricken accused. He tries to run away, but you’ve memorized all his evasive tactics. You know how this bastard operates, so you slam your arm down over the counter as a barricade before he could book it. “Heeseung, did you kill my ice cream?”

“I did not!” he exclaims.

“Who did it, then?”

“I don’t know— ask Sunghoon!”

Just in time. Sunghoon is mid-stride into the kitchen, but makes an immediate u-turn the moment he hears his name. You’ve just about had it. You manage to grab him back by the scruff of his shirt and yank him down with a harsh tug. “Holy shit,” Jake breathes out. Sunghoon tries to pry himself off with a grunt, but you have an iron grip on his collar.

“Talk,” you spit out. “Tell me who ate my ice cream. I’ve had enough of your silent treatment, Park Sunghoon. You better spit it out, right now.”

This time, he succeeds by grabbing you by the wrist and almost flips you over, before settling with twisting your arm instead. “I don’t fucking know!”

“Ow!”

You hold your forearm close to your chest. That was the first time he’s ever spoken to you and you would’ve thought his voice was pretty until he decided to cuss you out. “Well damn, you don’t need to be a total bitch about it.” Sunghoon’s expression sinks. He grumbles and turns back out of the kitchen. You let out a sigh, quickly returning your attention to the three boys on the counter before they can get the opportunity to run away. “None of you are leaving until you tell me who the culprit is.”

Heeseung squirms nervously under your stare. The other two are out of hot water because they don’t seem to know anything. It takes him thirty seconds to break. “Soobin hyung said— said something about making a mistake so I think you should— wait, hold on!”

Too late. You’re already marching up the stairs. You can hear the scrambling of footsteps following after you, but you don’t stop, not until you reach his room and you lift your fist up to gingerly knock on Soobin’s door. Two knocks. And then three. You hear the knob click before a small gap cracks open— wide enough for you to flash the hesitant Choi Soobin a malicious grin. Within a second, all the color drains from his face and he tries slamming the door back shut, but you wedge your foot into the gap quick enough to stop him.

Fuck. It hurts like a bitch. You’re biting down your tongue and trying your best to maintain a smile. “Let’s talk, yeah?” You kick the door open and Soobin stumbles back to avoid the violent swing.

It’s the first time you’re entering someone else’s room. You hope you don’t get sued for breaking and entering.

“I believe we have yet to formally introduce ourselves to each other, Mr. Choi Soobin, but you see, there has been a conundrum,” you start, walking into his personal space, inch-by-inch, step-by-step and he slowly backs away. “A crime scene, if you will. Yesterday, on my way home from work, I bought a delicious pint of mint chocolate ice cream from the 7-Eleven just outside the subdivision. You’ve been there, right?”

The back of his legs hit the cushion of his bed when there’s no space left for him to back into. “Soobin.” Your voice is sharp, slicing into the air, and Soobin stumbles back onto the mattress. “Have you been there?” you repeat your question. He nods, throat bobbing when he swallows down nothing. 

Maybe you’re pushing it, but you’re having way too much fun. Let’s just say you’re getting even. “Well, I left that pint of ice cream untouched in the freezer because it was already really, really late at night,” you continue. “I intended to eat it this morning, but imagine my surprise when I opened the pint to find a huge, gigantic hole in the middle! Almost as if someone dug a spoon and stole a bite of my mint chocolate ice cream.”

Soobin flinches everytime you hiss out a word with too much enunciation. You’re practically looking down on the giant man. His face is drenched in guilt. He’s got nowhere to run now. 

“Do you know what happened, Soobin?”

Too much. Maybe you pushed it a little too much this time because all of sudden— he’s in tears. He’s actually fucking crying. 

“...Soobin…?”

“I—I didn’t know it was yours! It was— it was late at night and I was half asleep, so I—I—I thought it was the choco chip ice cream I bought the other day, put when I put it in my mouth, it tasted horrendous, and that’s when I knew I did something horribly wrong.” There are fat tears rolling down his flushed cheeks and he’s close to breaking into a fit of hiccups. Oh no. Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I’m sorry, I’m so—sorry, please forgive me, I—”

“H-hey— it’s fine, it’s alright, I was just messing around!” Your palms and fingers are now all wet trying to console him while wiping off his tears. The last time you had to comfort a grown man was when you watched Hi Bye, Mama! with your friends, so needless to say, you’re lacking in that skill department and are thus, also freaking out. The only thing you’re getting out of this is the discovery that Soobin’s skin is unfairly soft. What the hell is his skincare routine? “It was a joke! A joke! You know what, you can have all my ice cream from now on! So, please just stop crying—”

“Oh my god.”

You snap your head back to see the rest of the boys gathered outside the door, but that’s the least of your concerts at the moment because you think you’ve just traumatized Soobin a second time within two weeks you started living here. “You monster. You made Soobin hyung cry,” Beomgyu announces from behind, and you shoot him a glare.

“Do you want me to make you cry next?”

“I think I’m good.”

Soobin finally calms down after that and you’re all subsequently kicked out. You knock on his bedroom door the next day with three more pints of ice cream (different flavors) as a peace offering and though you’re sure the both of you are cool now, he still starts sweating when you try to make eye contact with him. You also haven’t caught the bastard that keeps on depleting your kisses stash yet, but you’ll find him eventually.

And that was just one of your problems. The next issue you have is a little less dessert related, and little more—

“Fuck! Put some pants on, for shit’s sake!”

The amount of times you’ve almost seen a pair of balls hanging around shouldn’t be legal. You finally decide to round them all up in the living room for a discussion one day because it’s been getting out of hand.

“Listen,” you start your speech. The six of them are sitting around the sofa as you stand in front of them, arms crossed, and all. “I understand that you’re all used to living by yourselves for a very long time now. Trust me, I really do. But to be completely frank, I also really don’t want to see any dick and balls outside the bedroom, you know? I get enough unsolicited dick pics already.”

Jay looks like he wants to say something. “So, does that mean it’s okay if it’s inside the bedroom?” You give him a look. He politely puts his hands on his lap. “Sorry.”

“Anyway,” you continue. “Old habits die hard. I understand that. But someones these habits need to be broken for the sake of a peaceful cohabitation. That is why I thought of a countermeasure.” You tap on the large jar that’s been sitting on the coffee table since their arrival. All eyes are on the container. “Every time someone accidentally flashes anyone— of course, that includes myself— they have to put money in the Preservation of Dignity Jar as a penalty.”

“PD&J.”

“Yes. Thank you for your input, Jay. Jake, you’re raising your hand?”

Jake lowers his arm and clears his throat. “Who gets the money once the jar is full?”

“Very good question.” He looks proud of himself. You give him a smile. “All the money goes to me because of how much you guys have violated my eyes within two weeks of living here.”

“That makes sense,” Sunghoon nods at your proposal. Of course he does. He’s the biggest culprit out of the lot.

“That’s not fair!” Beomgyu interjects. “It’s not like I want you to see my dick!”

You give him a smile and he flinches back down into his seat. “So, is it my fault for walking into an unlocked bathroom?”

“Knock first!”

“I do, and you bitches never fucking answer!”

“Okay!” A clap resounds in the room. Heeseung makes an attempt to resolve the spat. “How about we all get the money in the jar?”

“None of your socialist bullshit, Heeseung. The most deprived should get all the money in full.” He winces the moment you step a little too close. You let out a sigh. “State your miseries. Soobin, you start.”

He’s been quietly fiddling with his thumbs since the beginning, and the sudden flush of attention isn’t helping his nervousness. “I...I have this Gojo figurine that I’ve been eyeing since last month, and—” Soobin cuts himself off. You raise a brow. He looks away. “N-nevermind. You can have the money.”

That was three more seconds of eye contact than usual. You should give him a pat on the head for that. “I’m in debt,” Beomgyu quickly presents his case. “I borrowed money from Jay and I need to pay him back.”

Jay goes next. “I’m a couple hundred thousand won short because Beomgyu borrowed money from me.”

“Those don’t sound very misfortunate, I’m afraid.” Jay says he totally, absolutely agrees with you and Beomgyu clicks his tongue before grumbling in the corner of the couch. Your eyes land on Jake, who hesitantly drawls out that he wants to buy a new beanie. Sunghoon spends too much time thinking so you eliminate him for being slow. “Heeseung, would you like to say something?”

“I just think we should all—”

“My turn,” you cut him off before he tries to settle for equality again. “My dorm caught on fire. I’m half-homeless right now. If there aren’t any objections about me being the most in need out of all of us, we can agree that I’ll be the one keeping the money.” They don’t dare make a noise. You grin. “It’s a pleasure doing business with all of you. Please feel free to walk around in your underwear as much as you’d like. Thank you.”

When you saunter out of the area, you hear Beomgyu rallying them to protest because this felt like an unfair arrangement, but by the end of the week, the jar is already a fourth filled with sweet, sweet cash and you have successfully established the steady flow of your passive income. Was that your intention in the first place? Perhaps, but they have to compensate you somehow for everything your eyes have been forced to witness.

But there is yet another pressing problem in your midst. This one, you’re not entirely sure you have a solution for.

“Hey,” you greet Jake after he opens his bedroom door for you. He invites you in and you realize he’s building an addition to his very extensive LEGO collection, so you’re careful not to aim your ass on any of the bricks scattered on his bed.

“What’s up?” he asks with a curious smile. 

“How did you get your friends to agree with me living here?” Jake cocks his head, eyebrows furrowed. “I mean, it’s kinda obvious that they’re not exactly comfortable with me being around.” 

“Are…you sure you’re not just misunderstanding?”

“Jake,” you exhale. “One of them picks a fight with me whenever he gets the chance, another one doesn’t even want to fucking talk to me. The other two are either desperately avoiding me or flat out think I’m about to hit them when I raise my arm for a wave. And aside from you, I can only hold a normal conversation with Jay, but those conversations aren’t exactly normal, either.” You have no idea if he hasn’t noticed this, or if he simply just wants to feign ignorance, but Jake looks like he’s in very deep thought. You sigh again. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here? I can just find another place to stay if I’m being too much.”

You must’ve hit a nerve, because he suddenly snaps into panic. “No! I mean, you really don’t have to go! Trust me, having you here is important to all of us.”

Now, that’s suspicious. You narrow your eyes at Jake, and he presses his lips together and looks away. Something is definitely up and you’re not going to give up until your dear friend voluntarily spills out his guts or until you make him spill it. 

“Important?” you prod. “What do you mean by that?”

He starts sweating even more. “I—I mean, those four are just shy, you know? They’re not very good at expressing themselves. And—and you’re getting along pretty well with Jay! They all have absolutely zero problems about having you here, I can guarantee you that.”

You continue staring at him for a little longer, throwing out a hum and sigh every now and then to get his gears grinding. When you deem him scared shitless enough, you finally start, “I see.” There’s something wrong in the tone of your voice and he knows it. Jake swallows nervously. You finally crack him. “Jake, I’m really disappointed.”

There it is. You watch as he crumbles right before your eyes. “I really expected better from you, you know?” A little more. “Of all people, I didn’t think you’d be the one to put me into this kind of situation. I mean, we’ve been friends for a good while now. No, I’m not angry! I’m just really, really disappointed.”

“Hear— hear me out!”

Almost.

“I have nothing to do with the bet, I promise! I’m just an unwitting participant, so please don’t get mad at me! I’ll tell them to quit it, I really will!”

Gotcha.

“Oh, so there’s a bet?”

It’s like you drained all the life out of him within a matter of seconds.

“H-huh?” he stammers, eyes batting in confusion. “Didn’t you say you were disappointed? Haven’t you found out about the whole bet thing?”

“I found out thanks to you.” It probably isn’t a good thing if Jake is this terrified about you finding out. You lean back, palms sinking into the push of his blankets as your friend continues to eye you nervously. “How about you tell me more about this interesting bet? Does it have something to do with me having to live with all of you?”

He’s nipping on his bottom lip. It’s becoming more evident that whatever this bet is— you surely have the right to know. “I’m sorry,” he finally spits out. “I—I can’t say— at least not at the moment! But, I promise it’s nothing bad! It’s completely harmless and not dangerous at all!”

It’s definitely something bad. “Alright.” You get up. He instinctively blocks your way and panics again when he realizes what he’s doing. You click your tongue. “I’m not going to force it out of you if you don’t want to tell me. You’re still the owner of the roof I’m living under, so I can’t exactly try to fight you, you know?”

“So, you’re not leaving?”

Jake is wearing his puppy dog eyes and you honestly start to feel bad. You sigh for the umpteenth time and raise an arm, letting your fingers pad through his soft hair when you pass in front of him, walking towards the door. “I’m not,” you assure. “I am finding out about this god damned bet eventually, though. It’s honestly worrisome how easy it is for you guys to crack under pressure.” Flashbacks consisting mostly of Soobin and Heeseung flit through your mind. You’ll try to mess with them a little less from now on.

You exit Jake’s room with a new problem on your plate and your previous one unsolved. It just keeps building up more and more.

To be honest, the biggest problem you expected to have upon discovering that you’d be living with six grown ass men would be them bringing in girls way too often for your personal comfort, but so far that hasn’t happened yet. Something tells you that you don’t need to worry about that anymore.

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[mxnhoo]

surprises! (k. sn)

synopsis : sunoo was ghosting you the entire day, and you wanted to have a day out with your mom to take your mind off of it, and suddenly there was.. a surprise?! pairing : kim sunoo x reader genre : romance, fluff, sunoo is mad mad mad sweet it makes me want to cry, not proofread w/c : 2.6k a/n : hey guys, just had a quick idea and had to do something about it. idea is from @/hatsunenica on tiktok. worst part is, it's currently 1am and i need to wake up at 7am tomorrow LOL ignore the mistakes, hope yall enjoy. KINDA HATE IT THO COS IT'S KINDA CLICHE

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You rested on your bed, feeling exhausted after crying non-stop for hours. You were just laying down lifelessly, your phone beside your head. The room was dim, the only light source being the lamp that was resting on your nightstand. Your pillow and sheets were stained with your tears and snot, leaving an obvious outline and you stared blankly, resting on your side. You received a notification, making your phone screen turn on, and you instantly sat up to see the notification, but was quickly met with disappointment when you realised it wasn't from the person you anticipated it to be. Quickly looking at the time before your phone automatically turned off, you realised how early in the day it was for you to be crying like this. Heck, it was only 6am in the morning, the sun has barely rised and you're already feeling a trainwreck of emotions, it's insane. Disappointment and hurt only filled you as you think back on the reason why you were crying in the first place.

Sunoo was not responding to any of your texts or calls, and it was making you feel worried, scared, fearful, to the extent you were crying this badly. He stopped responding to you from 3pm from the day before, and it made your overthinking worse.

Was he tired of you? Was he ghosting you? Did he not love you?

But to make it worse, you two weren't even in a relationship, so you felt like you didn't have the need to get upset over this. Your eyes slowly closed and you drifted off to sleep, feeling completely exhausted after being up for majority of the night, trying to contact Sunoo.

The sunlight made it's way to your room, and upon the brightness increasing, you started to gain consciousness. Opening your eyelids, you are met with the ceiling, and you had to take a few seconds to just stare and recall what happened. You heaved out a big sigh and shook your head, trying to shake the thoughts away. You sat up on your bed and quickly check your phone one last time, and once again, no notifications. You wanted to cry again, but there were no more tears. You put your phone on silent and Do Not Disturb, not wanting to come into contact with it for a while.

You throw your feet over the edge and realise how your journal and pen was resting on the floor. You probably accidentally kicked it down during your sleep after you journalled how you felt, writing down all the things you felt down to release your pent up emotions. You pick the journal up, reading a few lines from the entry you made yesterday.

"i miss your touch, i miss the way you call my name" "i wish you would just say something" "i love you sunoo."

And upon reading the last line, you slammed your book closed, immediately putting it on your nightstand. You shook your head once more, letting out a long sigh. Suddenly, your bedroom door opened, and you turn your head towards the door. It revealed your mom who was looking elated, and she spoke out, "Darling, let's go out today! Dress up nice, okay?"

You wanted to refuse, you wanted to say no so you could just rot at home in your self-pity, but before you could respond, your mom had already closed the door on you, leaving you no choice. Maybe a day without your phone will do it. Maybe you'll feel better.

You softly screamed and set your foot on the floor, standing up and stretching, ready to carry out operation "Day Without Phone Or Texting Sunoo". You knew your mother would take you out to breakfast, so you made your way to the bathroom to start preparing to shower.

Dress up nice? You definitely did. You were shutting your eyelids close as you spray the setting spray on your face after having put on a full make-up look. You slowly put down the spray and opened your eyes, looking at the table mirror in front of you. You grinned as you realised how prettier you have gotten, feeling more confident in your own skin. Today, you wanted to just forget about all of your problems, and you were definitely going to do it in the prettiest way. You stood up from the chair to take into view of how you completeluy looked. The sundress you were perfectly complemented your body well, showing off your good shape and your make-up that was just finished off making you look like a princess. Goddess, even. Feeling happy at your look, you opened the door to see your mom who was already dressed up, sitting on the couch and waiting for you.

"Ready to go? Let's dine at your favourite!" she exclaimed. You nodded, already feeling detached from your problems, and you quickly snatch your bag that was hanging near you as you folloewd her. Your phone was still nicely resting in your room, and you glanced towards your room one more time before closing the front door beside you.

Breakfast at your favourite cafe -- Dreamy Drips, which served the best pancakes, and afterwards your mom bought french toast too, which was nicely accompanied by an ice cream flavour of your choice, chocolate chip.

Afterwards, you and your mom walked around the street, admiring the view and just chatting. Occassionally, Sunoo appeared in your mind and it always made you want to break down, but you focused on the person who loves you with her whole heart -- your mother. You smiled at her, laughing at the jokes she made.

Shopping at your favourite bookstore was also one thing you two did, feeling like you were in paradise. You felt ecstatic at the sight of filled-up bookshelves, and it was almost as if all your problems were non-existent.

A cat-cafe was the next thing you and your mom went to. You absolutely loved cats, wanting to own one so bad but not having enough time to take care of it properly. You caressed the cat that was resting on your lap, and you smiled at your mom who was now taking a photo of you.

Lunch was the next thing. You two ate at a sushi restaurant, completeley devouring the food at sight. When you were completely filled up, you burped loudly and rubbed your stomach, your mom laughing at you.

This time, you and your mom ended up in the mall. You walked past stores, liking how they all have their own styles and different products. You occasionally entered stores to see the different things that they sold, copping a few items here and there.

After a long day, your mom announced that she wanted to go home. You agreed, feeling exhausted yet refreshed too, and she called a taxi. On the taxi ride home, you expected her to be chatty, recalling the simple moments you and her shared earlier in the day, except she was constantly on her phone and constantly typing.

"Who was she texting that she's typing like that?" you thought to yourself. You shrugged and looked out of the window, watching as the car you were in drive past the buildings. Your mom was probably texting your dad.

Upon reaching, you and your mom step foot outside the taxi, and you were about to walk up to her so you two could walk in the house together, but she quickly looked up at you.

"Darling, I have to deal with last-minute things, take the keys!" she exclaimed, smacking the keys to your palms before going to the opposite direction. You didn't even have the chance to say anything before her silhouette started to gradually become smaller, and not visible. You sighed, holding your bag and the plastic bags from the shops you shopped at today, walking up to the front door. Your rings clinked loudly and you unlocked the door, stepping foot inside.

Immediately, you noticed how the aroma of the whole environment was different. It smelled like.. vanilla? You tilt your head in confusion, raising an eyebrow and closing the door behind you. You turned on the light switch and instantly noticed something on the floor. Red.. petals? You observed as it trailed to your room, and you cautiously look around to see if anyone was there, but you were met with nothing. You attentively stepped to the front of your room, twisting the knob and opening the door.

There he was. Sitting on your bed, in a suit, holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers - roses, and balloons that were sticked onto your wall that spelled out, "Will you be my girlfriend?".

You dropped the plastic bags you were holding and brought it up to your face. Your jaw dropped and your eyes widened, processing the sight that was right in front of you. Sunoo was chuckling, as he nervously scratched his neck. He stood up from the bed, and started stepping towards you, until you called out, "Stop right there!".

Upon hearing your callout, he immediately halted to a stop, his eyebrows raising as he felt slightly puzzled. "I-I just.. need to process everything.." you added on, slowly bringing your hands down back to your sides.

He chuckled and responded, "You can take your time, I'll always be here, okay, Y/N?". Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you felt a blush creep up your cheeks and ears. You finally processed the sight in front of you, and cleared your throat. "S-so.. what is this?".

He finally took the steps towards you, holding up the bouquet and smiling at you oh-so handsomely. He replied, "I wanna ask the prettiest girl out, and it so happens to be you".

You still couldn't believe your eyes, but you slowly took the bouquet into your hands and sniffed the aroma of the roses. They smelled so beautiful. Your eyes started welling up, and upon seeing your emotional state, Sunoo started to panick, "W-wait, why are you cryin-?"

Tears finally rolling down your cheeks and you cried out, "I thought you hated me! I thought you didn't like me anymore and I thought you found someone else! I couldn't stop crying earlier today because of my overthinking!".

Still panicking, Sunoo quickly brought you into an embrace, and patted your back. "Shh, I got you, Y/N."

You continued to cry, now your tears staining his suit, not being able to hold back your tears anymore. He continuously whispered sweet-nothings into your ears as he patted your back and caressed your hair.

"Was this why you were ignoring me?" you asked, voice cracking at the last few words. Oh man, Sunoo wanted to slap himself for breaking your heart and making you cry like this. He quickly leaned back and cupped your face, "Yes.. I wanted to surprise you and make you really happy, but I didn't expect you to be over me not responding. I'm sorry, okay, baby?". He pecked your forehead, and looked at you with such a reaussuring gaze.

You finally looked at him, eye-to-eye, and you noticed how handsome he looked today. The way his hair was nicely slicked back, eyes looking genuinely worried for you, and you melted into his gaze. With your free hand, you caressed his cheek and finally smiled.

"There's the smile I love so much." he grinned, a pink tint on his cheeks showing.

"I got you a gift, mind if I show you?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, signalling if it was okay for him to pull away, and you nodded "Not at all, what is it?".

He grinned and stood back from you, walking towards the other side of your bed and picking up a box that was blocked in your view. As you watched him, you look at the bouquet of roses he gave you and smiled, placing it down on the table near you afterwards. He walked back to you, holding the box with both hands, and he handed it to you.

"What's inside, hmm? I wonder what it could be!" you said, your heart currently feeling so ecstatic at the moment. You opened the box and is met with a variety of things.

The first thing you pulled out was a digital camera that looked brand new, and you looked at Sunoo with shock.

"Is this the digital camera I wanted?!" you asked, feeling completely excited. He nodded and you continue, "But isn't it $300?!". Your eyebrows furrowed, worried about the cost.

He shook his head, "Nothing is too expensive when it comes to you."

You pouted your lips, melting at his words as you place the digital camera box inside the box and took out the next thing.

A stack of polaroids that were joined compiled together by a rubber band. You placed the box on the table that also had the bouquet and removed the rubber band, seeing all the polaroids.

The first polaroid was of you when you and him had gone out to study with a group of friends. You didn't even know he took a photo of you.

Second polaroid was of you studying when you went to the library to study with him and a few others

Third.. fourth.. fifth.. and it went up to a 10th.

The 10th one was a polaroid of you at the cafe, when you and him had agreed to hang out alone. You remembered it clearly, he asked to take a photo of you on his polaroid camera, and you shyly smiled at the memory. The 10th one had permenant marker writing at the bottom, and it wrote "The moment I knew I was in love with you."

You gasp and you looked at him. When you and him had went out that day, it was 2 years ago. He had been in love with you for so long?

You tied a rubber band around the stack of polaroids and placed it back into the box, and now the last thing was.. mail. A lot of it. You questioned Sunoo, "What's all of this?".

He shyly smiled, scratching his neck, "I wrote a love letter for you every single time I couldn't stop thinking about you." Your jaw dropped again, and you looked inside, realising the insane amount of letters inside. You could easily say there was 10, no, 25, maybe even 50. That is insane.

"I hand-made all those flowers in the bouquet, y'know?" he smiled, fidgeting with his hands, feeling worried you wouldn't like it. You whined out, your heart melting at him and feeling so happy

"I love it, Sun, I love all of it." you cried out, feeling emotional. Upon hearing your words, his face lit up, and he immediately brought you into an embrace.

Sunoo cleared his throat, before asking the big question, "Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?".

You smiled at him, feeling so emotional that the boy your heart has been yearning for was finally asking you out, and even reciprocaiting your feelings.

"Yes, Sun, of course!" you exclaimed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him for a kiss.

You were kissing him for the first time, and his lips felt so soft, so gentle. He held your head oh-so gently, and he was tilting his head to be able to gain more access. The way you two were moving in such a rhythmatically way showed the chemistry between you two, and you wanted time to just stop right here. Your heart was rapidly beating, and you felt like it could explode any moment. You felt so joyful, cheerful, delighted, elated, jubilant, ecstatic, all the snynonyms for happy. There were no words spoken, but it was so clear how much the two of you yearned for each other. The warmth you felt was like no other.

After a long minute, you slowly pulled back. Resting your forehead on his and looking right into his eyes, you smiled, "Sun, I love you so much."

He chuckled and replied, "I love you too."

[soraka-in-warhammer40k]

"The Siege of Terra? Ah, that's nothing complicated. It's just one planet, compared to the whole Heresy leading up to it, that's nothing! Just read the books one after another, it's mostly linear. Two factions mashing into each other, no third party interference, on one planet in one system. How bad could that even get?"

Meanwhile the "Siege of Terra" Lexicanum page:

I can't wait to get to this in about 30 volumes or so because holy does this look like an absolute chaotic trainwreck - and that is just the Commanders!

[lafresnaya]

so... who was going to tell me that my estimates of the tma characters' ages was WAYYY off??

and i know jonny probably meant it to be that way so that there'd be leeway for creative interpretation of the characters and all, but my brain wants them pinned down. so. here's a mini-list/research rant of my favs. presently the list consists of:

Jonathan Sims

Martin Blackwood

Sasha James

Timothy Stoker

Mike Crew !

Oliver Banks

Michael Shelley

Gerard Keay

Three disclaimers – (i) The TMA timeline is a trainwreck. Many assumptions have been made. At least half of them are probably wrong (especially where University is used as an age marker) and also my maths ability sucks because I haven’t done maths in two years, so where there are glaring issues, so feel free to correct me and I will edit accordingly :’) (ii) This is by no means definite. See above. Honestly, attempting to decipher them feels like trying to understand the Spiral. But I’m doing it anyway, because as both a fanfic writer and an academic, I want to at least try. (iii) SPOILER WARNING!! SO MANY SPOILERS! I think the only seaosn that isn't spoiled is maybeeee S5 ???

With that, let's go! [Ages are approximate & as-of 2016 / S1]

Jonathan Sims Age: 28 Birth year: 1987-1988 There seems to be a general consensus on this one. MAG81 appears to be one of the key clues here – ‘Jon says that he was about 8 during the events of the statement and that it happened a year or two after Leitner's library ended, which was in 1994. So he's born around 1987-88.’ [source: reddit]Of note is the fact that he lied about his age and pretended to be older, which is hilarious, and leads me to believe that he’s the youngest of the Archives crew – or at least, near there.

Martin Blackwood Age: 28-ish Birth year: 1988 Has worked for the Institute since at least 2009. He’s lied about having a Master’s in parapsychology, so is likely old enough to feasibly be able to have one. As all institute staff have to at least have a Master’s in something archive-related (iirc), all of them must hence be at least 22/23, assuming the Master’s courses are 1 year long. Jonny has, however, stated that Martin is either a bit older or a bit younger than Jon, and I’m tempted to believe it’s the former (see above).

Sasha James Age: 28-34, 30-ish? Birth year: 1981-1987 There’s like, nothing on Sasha. I’m assuming she’s at least older than Jon, because that might be why he began faking his age. The only possible marker would be that Sasha’s worked in Artefact Storage (for 3 months), Research (for longer, I assume) and long enough in Archives to be considered as Gertrude’s likely successor. So, definitely more qualified, and also older than Jon.

Timothy Stoker Age: 30-ish Birth year: 1986? Tim has a degree in Anthropology from Trinity College (I assume this to be Oxbridge, rather than Ireland or something, since he resides in London), and spent 5 years working at a publishing firm. This puts him at 26 (18+3+5) in 2013 when Danny was taken. As he says he began working for the Institute shortly after, I would assume that this is when he stopped working for the firm. I’ve added a bit of buffer because nobody’s birthdays are given, ever, and also there might have been a bit of time between leaving university and joining the firm and/or leaving the firm and finding the Institute. So – 30.

Okay that’s the core staff, onto my other favs.

Michael 'Mike' Crew Age: 37-ish Birth year: ~1979 My #1 avatar! I did a double-take after I worked out his entire timeline, but here’s the highlights: He was a uni student during late 1997-early 1998 when he went looking for Ex Altiora in Lion Books. I’m assuming he was a first year, because generally uni students stay in the sameish area for the whole course and I don’t see him missing out on an opportunity to Leitner-hunt just because the store was in a slightly out-of-the-way part of town. So! This puts his birthdate at around 1979-1980.

Oliver Banks Age: 28-ish Birth year: ~1987 Oliver Banks’ timeline during & post-Uni makes NO SENSE. Fortunately, we do know that he moved to London around 2005 to do his undergraduate degree at the London School of Economics. Which puts him at around 18 in 2005, and his birth year can be worked out from there. Quick rant about Oliver’s timeline: Oliver is working at Barclays by 2007, and he was recruited after graduating. Which means he both began and subsequently completed his undergraduate degree between 2005 and 2007. That’s literally impossible for a standard 3 year course. Plus, by around 2007, he’s been working for nearly a year at Barclays, so he started in 2006… so apparently he began his degree and completed it in under a year, since the academic year starts in September??

Michael Shelley / Michael the Distortion Age: 31 / 49 / early 50s (but canonically 92 at all points in the timeline) Birth year: ??? I didn’t do the research on this one, so here’s my source because I don’t think there’s any more I can add.This mess is truly Spiral-worthy, which could have been intended, but also may just be the TMA timeline wonkiness at work. There’s also been some speculation that he was hired at even younger than 18, but equally it’s possible that he was hired older, which puts his age squarely into the [I don’t have a fucking clue] range.

Gerard Keay Age: technically 32 Birth year: ~1984 Gerry was born in the 80s, and given that the above source states he was in his ‘late teens’ in 2002, this tracks. Making the assumption that he’s 18 in 2002, I’m going to place his birth year at around 1984. However, he died in 2014 (I’m assuming late-2014, given that he had time to encounter Leitner in London & travel a bit with Gertrude before his death) in the USA, putting him at around 30 at the age of his death. Since he’s dead, he doesn’t really age, but he is ‘aware’ enough to be in existential pain so I’m going to go with Descartes on this one and say he’s ‘alive’ enough to continue counting his years of existence. Poor guy. Doesn’t even get to actually die til August 2017 either.

Part 2 ft. the 4 Grandpas of the Apocalypse here

[mins-fins]

a motherfuckin' trainwreck — yeon sieun

yeon sieun x gender neutral!reader

requested : !

warnings : might be a little ooc (?)

sieun is literally the awkwardest of awkward people

he doesn't even know how he actually got into a relationship is he’s being honest

he's weird about affection too

not like in a "oh i'll kill you if you touch me" kinda way but in a "oh my god your hugging me what do i do?" kinda way

whenever you give him hugs he kinda just stands there, confused

but he loves holding hands

and linking arms probably

your basically the only one who can distract him from studying too much and he pretends to hate it but can't hide how grateful he is

sieun struggles to voice his feelings and he's grateful with how patient you are with him

he probably sometimes still uses platonic words to address you and you just go "wow, friendzoning me after all we've been through?" he would roll his eyes, but he still loves you

your probably on his mind all day

while he's in class he's probably wondering "oh how's [name] doing?", "is [name] alright?", "is [name] happy?"

will literally always sleep on you if he's tired

laying on your shoulder or lap

he's SOOO clingy but then he'll deny it???

"sieun you know your super clingy right?" "stop lying, [name]".

your love language is physical touch and sieun's is probably words of affirmation

oh he LOOVES complimenting you

he just finds everything about you admiring and can't resist the urge to compliment you whenever he gets

"you have nice eyes, [name]", "you know your super pretty right?", "i can't believe how i'm dating such an amazing person".

sometimes he does it without even realizing

and you go so red which he laughs at

despite that sieun isn't the greatest at taking compliments himself

whenever you compliment him he freezes and goes red, not being able to respond

"sieun, your so smart, i can't even begin to rant about how great you are".

"uh huh" sieun.exe.has stopped working

sieun is so confident about the relationship despite how quiet he is??

like he'll hear someone talking bad about you in front of him and he'll say something like "that's my partner, watch your mouth".

he probably gets jealous so easily too

like he just loves your attention and when it's on someone else whose so random

he'll glare from afar

and then you'll ask him later like- "why were you glaring earlier?"

he would probably lie but then say, "fine i was jealous".

then you'd laugh and tease him about it as long as possible

sieun probably helps you study too

he gets so annoyed by you doing everything but listening to him so he literally has to force you to

"[name] can you pay attention?", "no, i'm too busy staring at your pretty face", "shut up".

your literally always at his house

his parents are barely home so you basically live there at this point

"sieun, your beds so comfy", "don't mess up my pillows, [name]".

you probably sleep on him too

like- you'll be laying on his shoulder as he finishes his math work for the night

and you'll have to force him to stop so he could get at least 5 hours of sleep

your probably one of the only people whose made sieun smile more than once in a day (sorry suho)

he hates your stupid jokes but smiles anyway because he loves you so much it's hard not to

he has a habit of running his finger up and down your arm, it's basically become a routine for him

HIS EYES OH MY GOD HIS EYES- he always stares at you with this majestic look

they're always on you if not on that damn paper all the time

he could simply go on and on about you and your interests and how amazing you are and how much he loves you

AND he's such an AMAZING LISTENER too like he remembers all of your interests, pet peeves, what you like, what you hate, your icks, everything

you guys probably listen to music together <333

your the only person who knows the music in his playlist

you read together too

whenever you guys read dramatic books you always give an over-the-top reaction whilst he just stares at you like your insane

"OH MY GOD SHE KILLED HIM!?", "yeah.. that's what it says, [name]".

he's probably just super calm and your super overdramatic

you guys are like the jumpy extrovert x calm introvert trope

you'll be jumping around and full of energy whilst he holds onto you so you don't get lost

he lets you clean his scars and treat his wounds since he likes when you do it

on rare occasions he likes to ramble about just random things and he's so cute when he does it too

like- he'll be going on about his interests and you just sit there staring at him lovingly

you guys are literally opposites attract

sieun being the "grumpy" and reserved introvert whilst your the jumpy and energetic extrovert

i love grumpy x sunshine tropes can you tell??

you always buy him food

making sure to feed him too

you always struggle with that though

"sieun you have to eat", "no i have to study [name]".

he still will eat for you though

sometimes he just likes to lean on his hand and admire you

just stare at you

probably thinking about how pretty you are in his head

he sometimes unconsciously smiles while thinking about you

he just loves you very very much

[loveofmychips]

get him back! - Steven Hyde x Reader

A/N: first time writing for That 70s Show! This is based on Season 1, and inspired by the new song, ‘get him back!’ by Olivia Rodrigo. I heard the lyrics and thought immediately of Hyde. Hope you love this, and let me know what you think. DISCLAIMER, I DO NOT SUPPORT DANNY MASTERSON, I AM WRITING FOR THE CHARACTER HYDE ONLY!!!

Summary: you decide you want to get your ex back….just in a more ‘sinister’ way

Pairing: Steven Hyde x Reader

Word Counter: 3,512

Warnings: angst, slow burn, cursing, toxic relationship (pls don’t think this is healthy lol), lotsss of arguing, mentions of sex, harassment, alcohol

~~~~~~~~

I met a guy in the summer, and I left him in the spring

He argued with me about everything

He had an ego and a temper and a wandering eye

He said he's six-foot-two, and I'm like, "Dude, nice try"

You were introduced to the gang in the summer by Donna. You had been talking to her throughout sophomore year, and she decided you would be a perfect fit for the group.

Everyone was kind of weird, but you found it fun and loved how things were always different with them, especially when it came to Steven Hyde.

You had always thought he was cute, even before officially meeting him. His curly hair was something you wanted to touch and play with, and his eyes hidden behind sunglasses made him seem mysterious. Not to mention, who doesn't love a ‘fuck the patriarchy’ kind of attitude.

So, despite it taking a while to happen, you both eventually started dating at the beginning of the new year. And it was a complete trainwreck.

Hyde was the worst boyfriend at times. He never wanted to do the things you wanted, he would show up late to pick you up, and sometimes it felt like you were just convenient eye candy.

What made it worse? It was clear he had a thing for Donna, despite her and Eric wanting to be together.

After a month, others started to notice.

You were in the basement with Eric, working on a school project when Donna walked in.

"Hey, y/n, can we talk?" Donna asked as she sat on the couch.

"Well, we are kind of busy," Eric started before you interrupted with, "Yeah, sure."

Eric looked taken aback but put his book down anyway and sat back. "Right, it's not like we need to do schoolwork. Who needs education?"

"Eric, shut up," Donna rolled her eyes. "Look, we need to talk about you and Hyde... I don't know if you should keep going out with him."

There was an awkward silence before Eric got up. "I'm gonna... go anywhere but here," he said before rushing up the steps.

"What are you talking about?" You sighed, putting down your own books.

"He treats you like crap! I was at The Hub yesterday, and he showed up. I asked if you were with him, and all he had to say was, 'No,' and I know for a fact you were excited to have a movie night with him last night. You don't deserve to be treated like that!" Donna insisted.

You hesitated for a moment. That's where he was. It was bad enough he never showed up for your date at the theater, but the idea that he was with Donna instead made it even worse. You ended up drowning your feelings in buttered-up popcorn and the movie "Fun with Dick and Jane."

Most of the time when he wanted to hang out, he would drag you out to multiple parties and any club he could sneak you both into. If it was something you wanted to do, like a movie night, you would find yourself alone.

You shrugged it off, telling Donna, "Oh no. We actually canceled it. I wanted some alone time."

Donna saw through your excuse and tried to argue with you, but that day you insisted on moving on.

It didn't get better. You had more interactions similar to it, not only with Donna but soon with Eric, Jackie, and even Fez, all within the same week.

He said I was the only girl, but that just wasn't the truth

And when I told him how he hurt me, he'd tell me I was trippin'

But I am my father's daughter, so maybe I could fix him

"Hyde, can we talk?" You asked softly as he flipped through a magazine next to you on the bed.

"What about?" He mumbled, not really paying attention to you. Not like he had been for the entire two hours you'd been at his house.

"Hyde, you stood me up last week. Can you put down the magazine?"

Hyde huffed and threw it down, saying, "There. What?"

You took a deep breath and sat up on his bed. "Look, I know you're not always the most romantic or anything, and I'm not trying to demand too much, but can we agree that if we set a date, you'll show up to it? It's really embarrassing for me, and others notice-"

"It's none of their business. Since when did you care what the others think?" Hyde questioned, his eyes narrowing at you behind his dark-tinted sunglasses. Despite wearing them, you always could tell his expression behind them.

"Well, I care when I get told by everyone that you treat me like shit," you stated in a point-blank manner.

Hyde chuckled a little, as if you were stating lies that were barely grazing his tough, shielded skin. "I don't treat you like shit."

"You ditched me last week! I think I have a right to want to talk about it, instead of you grunting your way through it like a caveman," you defended, glaring at the man in front of you.

Hyde was pissed. You always let him off the hook, and the one time you tried to talk about it, he was acting like you were the bad guy.

"I'm not grunting! You're making a big deal out of nothing. This is why guys are better off being single. Girls make everything so complicated," Hyde snapped.

You were shocked he suggested the idea of it, but why should you be? It makes sense, doesn't it? The reason Hyde is a horrible boyfriend is that he doesn't want to be your boyfriend.

"Really? You mean that?" You whispered. "Then let's make it easier for you. We're over."

"Y/n, hold on-"

Before he could say anything else, you grabbed your jacket and rushed out of his house. As you left, you vaguely heard his mom yelling at you both to keep it down because her program was on.

Luckily, she wouldn't have to worry about that anymore.

So I write him all these letters, and I throw them in the trash

'Cause I miss the way he kisses and the way he made me laugh

Yeah, I pour my little heart out, but as I'm hitting "send"

I picture all the faces of my disappointed friends

Because everyone knew all of the shit that he'd do

Two months later, you were still hanging out with the gang.

Strangely enough, you were fine with being around Hyde once you got over it. At least you thought you were. Hyde only tried once to talk to you about breaking up. As quickly as you shot him down, he backed off completely, and you two practically never had conversations longer than short one-liners of insults back at each other.

Despite all the bad, you found yourself mostly remembering the good. The reasons you liked him in the first place: Hyde made you laugh, he was one hell of a kisser, and he knew how to comfort you if you were upset about school or anything else that wasn't about him.

You found comfort in your journaling, writing out your thoughts constantly because if you admitted to Jackie or Donna you missed him at night, then they would surely yell at you.

You were content writing it out. At least you thought you were.

Prom night was coming up, and people were pairing up one by one, leaving you with only two options: go with Fez or someone you barely knew.

Both were not ideal.

You were with the girls at Donna's house as she showed off her cute outfit for Prom.

"These are the shoes I'm wearing to Prom! Aren't they cool?" Donna said, holding up silver low pumps with an excited smile.

"Oh my God, I was gonna get new shoes except Michael didn't ask me," Jackie replied before you could compliment the cute shoes.

Donna looked a little discouraged before turning around and grabbing her dress off the cabinet above the fridge. "You like my Prom dress, right?"

"Of course! It matches your eyes!" You grinned, holding the end of the beautiful blue satin dress.

"I was gonna get a new Prom dress... except Michael didn't ask me," Jackie said with a pouty expression, making you and Donna just awkwardly nod. Luckily, Donna knew how to move the conversation along.

"I'm so nervous about Prom! I think it's gonna be the night that Eric and I... you know?" Donna hinted, making Jackie state, "Oh my Gosh, that's when Michael and I were gonna do it the first time!"

"You and Kelso did it like two months ago, and like thirty times after that!" You groaned out. "Look, why don't you just ask Kelso to go with you if you're so desperate?"

Jackie gasped and looked on the verge of tears. "Okay, first off, it would've been the first time at a Prom! Second off, this is the Prom! This is not the time for your stupid feminist crap!"

The door opened to reveal Eric and Kelso. The door slammed, leading to a usual standoff between Kelso and Jackie. It felt like a wild west showdown.

"Hello, Michael."

"Hello, Jackie."

"I'm just here helping Donna get ready for Prom... because Eric and Donna are going to Prom," Jackie stated, with tears still in her eyes.

"Yes, we are," Eric nodded in agreement, making you roll your eyes at the awkwardness. Kelso chuckled and replied, "I'm going to Prom...". You and Donna looked at him in hope to end the pain of Jackie complaining, while Jackie's eyes widened up until he finished his sentence, "I'm taking Pam Macy."

Donna immediately stood up and bolted out of the room into her living room, to which Eric followed nervously.

"Well, I'm gonna go—" You started heading for the door until Jackie yanked your arm back to sit down at the dining table again.

"Well, I have a date too," Jackie stated in a matter-of-fact tone, making you look at her confused. Why in the hell would she lie about that?

Then Kelso's reaction made everything make sense.

"Who is it? What's his name?" Kelso interrogated, as if he was a detective finding out who the killer is. Jackie was a spoiled brat, but damn did she know how to get a reaction out of Kelso.

"His name is... not important. What's important is he's better than you, in every conceivable way," Jackie smirked, leaning back in her chair all smug.

"Well. Damn, Jackie! That can be anybody!"

I wanna get him back

I wanna make him really jealous, wanna make him feel bad

Jackie's brilliance shone through in her unintentional advice on getting back at Hyde. As for your story, here's the continuation with grammar and punctuation improvements:

That day, you left Donna's house with a passion you had never felt before. You wondered if this is how Hyde felt when he pulled pranks on the boys or did something bad. It felt risky, but also so damn good.

You ended up going to The Hub and found a guy from school, Ethan. You never had a particular interest in Ethan. He was sort of bland but popular at school for being on the basketball team. So why him?

You distinctly remembered that one afternoon when you were dating, Hyde thought the guys who played basketball on the team were stupid for wearing uniforms with shorts.

Plus, Ethan was still somehow available, so it was perfect, right?

Well, that's where you messed up. He was available because he was a creep. He was already hinting at getting you into a hotel room before you could even figure out what time he was picking you up.

As much as you'd love to change your mind, you knew you needed a date. The plan wouldn't work without one, plus Jackie would kill you for going stag. So you went with it.

The night of prom, Ethan showed up at your door with bad intentions in his eyes.

You wore a lovely (f/c) floor-length gown with black heels that fit wonderfully to your figure. Your (h/c) hair was left down and hairsprayed to perfection, and you held a small black purse with your stuff. Long story short, you looked hot. Any idiot would have been able to see that, meaning Hyde would too.

"Well, you look ready to stay in the back seat of my car all night," Ethan badly flirted, making you roll your eyes.

"I'm more interested in going to the prom... you know, the thing I asked you to in the first place?" You hinted while walking to his car.

He moved to open the passenger-side door for you, which was sweet until he ruined it with a, "Well, we will see how you feel after an hour."

This was going to be a long night.

Oh, I wanna get him back

'Cause then again, I really miss him, and it makes me real sad

Oh, I want sweet revenge, and I want him again

I want to get him back, back, back

The Point Place Junior Prom looked adorable with the multi-colored streamers, balloons, and a rocking band, which managed to cheer you up after the lousy ride there. The entire ride, Ethan kept trying to put his hand on your thigh, as if you'd skip the entire prom just for a loud five minutes with him in a crappy motel room.

You attempted to have a fun night, but disappointment was slowly taking over you. It was the end of the night, and everyone was slow dancing. Hyde had been with Jackie, and you doubted he even was looking at you.

Ethan was nonstop insisting all night on leaving, which only continued to bug you more and more.

"Hey, Ethan, can you get me some punch?" You asked, putting a halt to the dance.

"Yeah, fine." Ethan huffed and walked away. You walked over to the table where Jackie was sitting, noticing how sad she looked.

"Hey, Jackie... you look great tonight. That color is great on you," you complimented, realizing you hadn't talked to her all night due to her being with Hyde.

"Thanks... I'm sorry I brought Hyde. I thought it would make Michael jealous, but I don't think he cares about me with Pam Macy around," Jackie admitted, before her sad eyes became soft and hopeful.

You turned to see Kelso behind you, looking down at her with love.

"Jackie."

"Michael."

You smiled at them both before getting up from the table to leave them alone. At least someone's plan worked tonight. You looked around to try and spot Ethan. He was nowhere to be found near the refreshment table, and instead, you spotted Hyde watching you.

Hyde nodded up at you in his silent, "How you doin'?" style. Slowly, you started to walk towards him.

"Hey... how's the punch?" You attempted to joke, making him crack a small smile.

Hyde pulled back his jacket to reveal a small flask. "Better with alcohol. I would ask if you want some, but you barely drank when we were together."

"Well, maybe it's a good thing that was a while ago," you commented, getting some punch and holding out your cup for him to spike it.

Hyde smirked and poured some in for you until you heard someone clear their throat.

You turned to see the one and only, Ms. Kaminski.

"Is that alcohol I see?"

Oh, I wanna key his car, I wanna make him lunch

I wanna break his heart, stitch it right back up

I wanna kiss his face with an uppercut

I wanna meet his mom, and tell her her son sucks

"Dammit, Hyde, I can't believe you got us kicked out of the dance! My date is in there!" You scolded as the double school doors closed behind you both.

Hyde rolled his eyes and attempted to start walking away from you. "Oh yeah, your date. Ethan's a real charmer," Hyde mumbled.

This is what he always did. But you weren't letting him get away that easy. Not like when you were dating. You rushed in front of him and pushed back on his shoulder to make him stop walking.

"For your information, that date was my ride home! Thanks to you, I'm walking home in heels. Which, by the way, are not comfortable!" You snapped.

"Relax, man. I can drive you home. I got Jackie's Lincoln," Hyde groaned. "I thought with the drink maybe you have chilled out a bit—"

"Chill out? Hyde, this was the junior prom! I was excited for the dance, and now it's done! All because I accepted a fucking drink from your... your dumbass!" You yelled before lightly smacking his shoulder, as most of the gang does to each other.

"Screw you, Steven Hyde. Screw your alcohol, and screw your ride! Just screw, screw, screw!"

You don't think you ever said "screw" that much in your entire life. Usually, it's a regular curse word like "fuck," but for some reason, all you could think of was... well, "screw." That's all Hyde ever had done for you. He was the one who screwed everything up. Not just tonight, but your entire past relationship.

As you started walking away down the sidewalk to go home, you instantly started to regret not putting up with your anger for the ride. God, do heeled shoes start to hurt after a short time. You knew you got out what needed to, though. Despite your breakup being so explosive, Hyde and you never talked about it otherwise. Maybe that's just because he hates relationship drama and never brought it up. Or maybe you were just too weak from the pain to ever really confront him about it all.

Regardless, the tension between you two had been brewing for 3 months, and you should have known it would have been released sooner or later.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a car approaching you from the side, and though you tried not to look, you eventually did.

Hyde was slowly driving next to you with the Lincoln, just as he promised earlier. He started rolling down the windows and said, "Y/n, get in."

"No."

"Stop acting tough. I know your feet probably hurt."

You stopped at that statement. You turned towards the window as anger slowly started brewing again.

"Oh yeah? Because you know so much, don't you? You know everrrrrything about me, don't you? Tell me more about how I'm feeling, oh please, Hyde." You growled, turning and starting to walk again.

Hyde jumped out of the Lincoln, slamming the door closed and jumping in front of you.

"You should be grateful, man! Your date was a creep and was grabbing your ass all night!" Hyde snapped. "Now cut the crap, and get in the damn car!"

His words made you freeze before saying, "How would you know he was grabbing my ass?"

"What am I, stupid?! I watched you all night—" He started before realizing what he was saying, "Dammit..."

"You're jealous—"

"No—"

"That I was with someone else." You finished.

"I wasn't jealous. I was just making sure he didn't do anything!" Hyde defended with a sigh.

You slowly moved towards him with a small smile covering your face, "Hyde..."

Hyde took a deep breath, "He's a jerk... And I was a jerk. You don't deserve that, alright? Not again." He mumbled, stepping towards you until you were close to each other's faces.

"You're right. I don't deserve that... so whatever this is right now should stop."

"Yeah... we should stop..."

Your words didn't match your actions. Neither of you backed away. It felt like hours you stood there staring into each other's eyes, when in reality it was only a minute.

"But what if we didn't?" Hyde whispered, gently reaching up to move your (h/c) hair out of your (s/c) face as a soft wind casted.

"Hyde—"

"I messed up. I know I did, alright? I suck and took you for granted. Can you forgive me?" Hyde pleaded, holding onto your face now with both of his hands.

You hesitated, knowing how everyone in the gang would feel. They would say you're stupid for taking him back. The amount of burns would be endless in the basement.

The fear of him hurting you again was strong... but damn, the temptation was stronger.

"You promise not to look at other girls? To go on dates with me like I want? To stop being late?" You whispered.

Hyde nodded quickly, "I promise—"

You cut him off, pressing your lips against his. Hyde wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible yet it still didn't feel close enough.

The taste of alcohol mixed with crappy high school dance punch never tasted better than on his lips and tongue. It sent fireworks throughout your body, knowing he was yours again. And it was gonna stay that way.

[emotionallychargedtowel]

That post about Higuchi Kouhei and his cat got me thinking about some other tokusatsu-to-BL pipeline actors that are on current or recent BLs, so I thought I'd do a screenshot post about Kamen Rider Revice, a recent toku series that features two lead actors who star in current BLs, plus an actor in a smaller role who was part of a side couple in a BL series that recently completed a second season.

The main character of Revice is Igarashi Ikki, played by Maeda Kentaro, currently playing Ohara Yamato in I Can't Reach You. His siblings are very central to the story as well--by the end of the series, the story is centered around his whole family. Ikki's younger brother Daiji is played by Hyuga Wataru, currently playing Yamasuge Ryuiji in If It's With You.

Here they are having a bath in the opening credits for the show (the Igarashi family runs a public bath house).

I should say at the outset that I can't entirely recommend Revice, especially to folks who don't already have some tokusatsu-watching under their belts. It's a hot mess in a lot of ways. But it does have some really outstanding highlights. The best aspects of the series, in my book, were:

Kagerou (Daiji's demonic alter ego),

George Karizaki (my beloved),

Igarashi Sakura/Kamen Rider Jeanne (the most formidable female Rider I've seen in any series in the franchise), and

the relationship between Sakura and Natsuki Hana (a rare example of a convincing Sapphic ship in a franchise well known for "heated drama between men").

I'm not going to get into 2 and 3 here, as tempting as that would be, but I'll include as much of 4 as time/space permits.

It might seem weird that I'm not recommending a series with some of my favorite characters in the entire Kamen Rider franchise AND a relationship between girls that is a hair's breadth from being canonically queer. It's just too much of a trainwreck to endorse as a whole. But as I said, the highlights are really something.

One of the biggest issues I had with Revice was that Ikki, the protagonist, just isn't a very compelling character. As a result I don't think Maeda Kentaro really got to show the range of his acting abilities in this series. (This just makes me more curious to see him in ICRY. From the excerpts I've seen so far, it seems like he shows a really different side of himself.)

Maeda appreciators might still enjoy the many determined faces and creepy smiles he gets to dish out in this series. Here's a sampling.

It's possible they'll want to look away when he starts doing things like this, though.

Fans of both Maeda and Hyuga might enjoy some of their scenes fighting side by side, including doing their various henshin poses (the moves they do before they transform into their masked Rider forms).

Or when they do things like this bonkers flying kick.

Thankfully, Daiji is a more interesting character than Ikki, so Revice gave Hyuga some more challenging things to do. I thought Hyuga also just really made the most of every opportunity the show presented to him. He was seriously impressive. This is the reason I was sold on IIWY the moment I saw the announcement about it based solely on Hyuga's involvement.

Here's a sampling of Hyuga as Daiji.

In addition to playing Daiji, Hyuga also played Kagerou, Daiji's aforementioned demonic alter ego. Kagerou was formed from thoughts and emotions that Daiji repressed. The biggest of these was his resentment toward Ikki. But apparently Daiji had also been repressing a desire to be a somewhat gender non-conforming goth, because that's Kagerou's other raison d'etre.

In some ways, it's hard to imagine a character more different from Ryuji. If they have anything in common, it's the fact that they both place a high value on honesty.

One other thing that's worth noting about Hyuga's work on Revice is that he was only 17 when the show premiered. He showed major dramatic range in this part, not only playing two very different characters but doing everything from low-key nuanced scenes to bombastic high drama. Not to mention the stunts! Doing all of this at 17 is seriously remarkable.

Now for our bonus dude! There's a secret evil-fighting organization called Weekend that secretly keeps tabs on the Igarashi family for years before coming out of hiding to join the big central battle of the series. One of the Weekend operatives is Ushijima Hikaru.

Look familiar? Maybe not, he didn't make faces like this on his BL series.

How about now? Yep, it's Oku Tomoya, who plays Hanabusa Asuka on both seasons of Minato Shouji Coin Laundry.

Oku has some big scenes and interesting moments in Revice. He does some romantic pining, goes through big-time loss, does quite a bit of martial-arts sparring, gets seriously injured, and more. He even gets to henshin a few times. Here he is getting ready to do just that with Sakura and Hana. Those Weekend uniforms are pretty hardcore in a 70s flight attendant sort of way, but I feel like Oku really sells it here.

While we're on the subject of Sakura and Hana, I feel like I can't mention their relationship without including some moments where their story came particularly close to tipping into full-on yuri.

If you're going to do an enemies-to-lovers story, why not make them full-on superhero nemeses?

The word "date" might not technically get used by the characters, but there's no mistaking that the amusement park hangout Sakura invites Hana on--while she is still a fully-functioning bad guy, I might add--is definitely a date.

Most of the time when a Rider beats their nemesis for the final time they don't hold each other tenderly in the sunset.

By the end of the series, they're in a big tub together at the Igarashi's bath house.

There are tons more examples but you get the idea. If this isn't borderline-yuri I don't know what is.

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

Saw your Neil Gaiman post and as someone that found comfort in Good Omens (and got hyperfixated on it), I'm finally glad that some people are finally talking about how he isn't that great.

Even as a Fan, GOmens fandom is so...weird. See, in other fandoms people won't give much of a flying f/ck about the authors besides some mild respect or praise, but GOmens praise Neil SO HARD, despite giving off some iffy vibes (that now I understand why, after that big post) Never liked how almost every single POC character in GO has such a minimal role, same with women characters, the fact he's been caught (and that can be easily checked) lying about his ideas surrounding GOmens, the way he went from "Is not a romance, but it can be if you want to" -> "i always wrote it as a love story" also how he went from "There won't be another season because of Terry and because the ideas for the next book were incorporated in the show" -> "It was in 2019 when I finished writing S2 with the ideas I discussed with Terry before he died" and like seriously no one never noticed how much of a clown he his lying and backpedalling all over again again? Then there's how bad rep for fat people Sandman was and instead of accepting criticism he just keeps giving some "vague intelligent answer" and sits and waits for his legion of fans with a parasocial relationship to defend him. But somehow he's treated as a world treasure and a genius with a big brain. And this is less problematic and more petty but I'll be honest. He isn't that much of a good writer anyway? The prose is okay is good, but the worldbuilding and lore and characters is mostly edgy and lacks deepness. His fans seriously want to make a sea out of muddle puddles,,, and that's fair! Is such a big part of fan culture to dig into the smallests of things and make an universe out of a cardbox background character, but please, don't give Neil the credit that he doesn't deserve. And what proves more to me that he isn't that good of a writer, is just...take a look at that mess of a S2 of Good Omens, it was so bad that some people had to THEORIZE that it was bad on purpose. I have such a beef with S2, characters like Muriel, Saraqael and Michael and Maggie and Nina were so heavily promoted and of course everyone was hyped, finally more POC, more disabled characters, and yay, women! And they're lesbians! And and...and hold on, how it is that Muriel didn't do that much at all? How it is that Saraqael after being so hyped BARELY had almost nothing to do, is really that all the disabled rep we got? How is it that Michael and Uriel barely had anything to do and were just background characters again? It just angers me with how with so many fem-presenting characters, and POC and disabled persons cast, they literally add nothing to the series, AND NO ONE EVER TALKS ABOUT IT. Is just this endless praise for Neil and his oh big brain. All praise Neil Gaiman, our lord and saviour of queer people. HOW IT IS, THAT THE TWO LESBIANS HYPED ROMANCE WAS ALL RELATED TO AZIRAPHALE MEDDLING WITH THEM TRYING TO SHIP THEM? And it also was bad, very badly done, is really this the women representation we got, seriously??? Talking about misleading advertising.

S2 was such such a mess, it just shows how much Good Omens needed Terry to be, well, Good Omens. I really suspect Neil stole ideas from the fandom because S2 was just a trainwreck of all the fanfic tropes you could find in GO fandom and is almost disrespectful to Terry's work in Good Omens, and I don't care for how much Neil makes his friendship with Terry as a pity party and as a "it gives me so much joy, Terry would be so happy", because seriously it's almost manipulative. Talking about Manipulative. His meddling with fandom is starting to feel unprofessional, but this ask is already long... Sorry lmao, something on me snapped after getting finally the solid evidence that Neil .Is. Not. Great

Oh he’s always been completely unprofessional but since he types in a mixture of corporate-speak and “cool dad” talk his fanbase doesn’t notice.

Here’s the thing about Neil, he’s both petty and extremely insincere. People criticized lolicon sin his presence and he was so offended on the behalf of weirdos who pleasure themselves to Hentai depicting child molestation that he wrote a several paragraph long response dismissing simulated child pornography as simply being “icky speech” that should be protected by the sacred American constitution despite, you know, the fact he’s not even American so his weird obsession with the first amendment and only ever really bringing it up to defend simulated child porn is and always has been suspicious.

As for his backpedalling, the man sees $$$$ and just goes for anything he can find to make more. People love to say “oh but he donates tens of thousands to charity!” yeah, usually to HIS charity for bailing out pedophiles. With funds typically out of the wallets of his fans due to fundraising it rather than coming out of his own checkbook so it’s not exactly a charitable action as much as it’s an empty gesture. And frankly he almost certainly just does it for tax benefits if we’re going to be honest here. He continued good omens because it would make money and generate more attention towards him and he’d be the brave hero who brought back show that did well. That’s it.

He’s just discount, off-brand Elon. Rich white man who thinks he’s gods gift to man despite bumbling through even the most basic concepts because his fans would walk into traffic blindfolded to defend him from even the mildest of criticism.

People on here just like him because they’re starstruck that a creator of a popular IP is active on this site and because he produces media that’s adapted with white middle aged twinks who are dubiously romantically affiliated.

[rapha-reads]

IWTV rewatch

(previously in "Daniel versus messy dramatic vampires"... Rashid turned out to be Armand, Louis' dissociating and lying to himself, Lestat's dead, or not, who knows, Claudia's gone nuclear and everyone's insane. Onto season 2, welcome back to the trainwreck and the ramblings of a bookworm nerd. Spoilers for the whole show and the books.)

Season 2 episode 1 [What Can the Damned Really Say to the Damned] - part 1/4

- Before we even start the episode (oh boy this is going to get long), I have to share the passage from the book from which that quote comes because it's amazing:

"The Mediterranean was black, black off the coast of Italy, black off the coast of Greece, black always, black when in the small cold hours before dawn, as even Claudia slept, weary of her books and the meager fare that caution allowed her vampire hunger, I lowered a lantern down, down through the rising vapor until the fire blazed right over the lapping waters; and nothing came to light on that heaving surface but the light itself, the reflection of that beam traveling constant with me, a steady eye which seemed to fix on me from the depths and say, 'Louis, your quest is for darkness only. This sea is not your sea. The myths of men are not your myths. Men's treasures are not yours.'

But oh, how the quest for the Old World vampires filled me with bitterness in those moments, a bitterness I could all but taste, as if the very air had lost its freshness. For what secrets, what truths had those monstrous creatures of night to give us? What, of necessity, must be their terrible limits, if indeed we were to find them at all? What can the damned really say to the damned?"

- [Daniel] "Memory is a monster. We forget, it doesn't. "

We about to explore the concept even deeper...

- [Louis] "She writes it here, so, let's believe it."

[Daniel] "Let's."

Tells you everything already. Let's believe what we've been said, let's believe what's been written, let's not try to verify anything, let's not try to check our flawed memories against facts. And that'll be your undoing, Lou.

- Ayyy, the first "disregard"! Danny boy really does not want to hear from Armand at the beginning.

- Can I just say, maaaan, dirty grimy Louis looks absolutely beautiful, no, I will not take any criticism.

- [Louis] "Can you imagine, never dreaming? Would you look forward to sleep? Or would it terrify you when the day broke?"

[Armand] "Or is it the sleep of an infant? Tabula rasa?"

Makes me think of something my Doctor, Eleventh, said once:

"Clara sometimes asks me if I dream. 'Of course I dream', I tell her. 'Everybody dreams.' 'But what do you dream about?' she'll ask. 'The same thing everybody dreams about', I tell her. 'I dream about where I'm going.' She always laughs at that. 'But you're not going anywhere, you're just wandering around.' That's not true. Not anymore. I have a new destination. My journey is the same as yours, the same as anyone's. It's taken me so many years, so many lifetimes, but at last, I know where I'm going, where I've always been going: home, the long way 'round." (Eleventh Doctor at the end of The Day of The Doctor)

I think this quote can perfectly be applied to Louis. I mentioned in my rewatch of the very first episode that by accepting Lestat's offer, Louis loses access to an important part of his identity: his life amongst the Creole community of NOLA, with the church and the weddings, the dances and the games, the traditions and rites. And Louis says himself, what he wants is a family of his own, a home. Everything Louis ever wanted is to find the place and the people he belongs to, his home. It turned out not to be the NOLA of his youth, where he couldn't have a proud out gay man. Season 2 shows that it's not Paris of the after war either, nor is it with Armand; Paris is too isolated and too strict, and life with Armand, well, too dishonest and cold. Is it to be with Lestat? Could be. Or, like Louis says and shows in ep8, he's companion enough for himself and he'll paint his life with his own colors from now on.

- Abso-fucking-lutely adore the change in behaviour of Armand now that he's not playing Rashid. The white shirt casually open, the lounging, seductive pose, the langourous manner of talking... It's another mask, he's playing another role to push Daniel's buttons, but it's closer to how you'd imagine a 500-year-old vampire who looks as gorgeous as he does would act. And honestly Assad Zaman is gorgeous and talented and even if I'm not an Armand fan I am still mesmerised and nodding approvingly.

- Oh, hey, didn't notice the first time around, but the subtitles when Claudia talks German (or I think it's Ukrainian?) respect the little errors of syntax and tenses she makes. That makes my little multilingual heart very happy.

- [Louis] "This war. It's affecting the blood. Been drinking misery, hopelessness. It's in the blood, we're taking it in. Taking it on. I'm thinking it's why we can't get warm, warm up."

Yeah... *looks at 2024* I know what you mean.

Louis imitating Claudia and having a conversation all with himself is equal part funny and sad. They both need a hug. And a shower.

- [Louis] "The vampire hadn't been here for centuries. The few scraps of forensic proof we found made the case plain, but Claudia was unassailable. Like... like some deranged geologist waving a woolly mammoth tusk saying, 'Let's knock on the neighbor's door, there must be one inside.'"

Fascinated with the way Louis's been narrating this part of the European journey so far. There's life in his voice, rhythm, animation, in a way that was seldom there before. As if he's fondly remembering that part of his life, when it was just him and Claudia and no obligations, no responsibility, just the chaotic, bloody wilderness of WW2-torn Europe, and despite the grief, the loneliness, the cold, he's enjoying himself, because it's some sort of elipsis between the pain he left behind in NOLA and the pain he's about to encounter in Paris. As if those few years running around Europe in rags, hunting down phantoms, was much more peaceful and fulfilling than 30 years of (admittedly, partly) abusive marriage to Lestat, and definitely more than the Paris time or the after-Paris. And the way the light orchestral music hasn't stopped since the beginning of the episode highlights that feeling of fond remembrance. Yes, Claudia was angry and mostly silent, yes, he was grieving Lestat and hallucinating him all the time, yes, Europe was deep in WW2 and all the horrors that entails, and still, Louis is feeling more himself than he did in his own hometown with his suits and his respectability and his complicated family. Maybe Lestat was right after all, maybe Louis hid behind his masks for so long while all along his true nature was the wilderness hidden by the veneer of sociability, the way New Orleans's buildings barely veil the swamps... Or maybe I'm reading way too much into it all.

- [Louis] "I want to thank you... for the memories you helped restore the other night. I understand these diaries much better now."

Are you sure. Are you really sure of that, Louis. Though, it does give more weight to what I was saying just above. Louis feels like he's unlocked a part of himself he had lost or forgotten thanks to Daniel's unrelenting questions, and it makes him much more invested in his own narration and much more lenient towards Claudia's narration.

- [Daniel] "And tonight's two hours and counting on chasing old world vamps who never materialize. You ever read Moby Dick, Real Rashid?"

[Real Rashid] "I'm here to serve"

[Daniel] "Ah. Yeah, sure. I'm sorry, this is... this is so weird. Where did they send you when Shah Rukh Khan over here was playing you? Is there a panic room behind the Rembrandt?"

[Louis] "My love ran a theatre company for 150 years, Daniel."

[Daniel] "Your love was in a box pondering a premeditated neck wound, according to Claudia. She wrote it, let's choose to believe it."

[Armand] "Unworthy in San Francisco, Unworthy in Dubai. Disregard."

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA I AM DYING THIS EXCHANGE IS EVERYTHING

Haaa, let me catch my breath, I've been wheezing for the past 5 minutes relistening a couple of times to the whole thing to make sure I don't miss a part. Catty old bitching drama queens sniping at each other, this is the best. I want a poster with this entire conversation printed on a Rembrandt painting to put in my room.

The SRK mention, DYING!!

Real Rashid being all "begging you to please not involve me in whatever this is, I just want my paycheck".

Louis trying sooooo hard to sell his and Armand's relationship and Daniel immediately coming in with the steel chair and Claudia's diaries, and didn't I say "Let's believe it" would come back to bite him in the ass, I hadn't expected it so soon tho.

And then Armand being so vexed he lets loose his inner catty drama queen too, and yet I am sorry but have you seen how he looks at Daniel even when he's insulting him, Devil's Minion fans, how are we feeling, 'cause I'm having the time of my life.

And finally, to come back to that first line, Daniel alluding to Moby Dick as a parallel to Claudia's impossible hunt for the vamps... I love clever literary references.

Alright. I stopped laughing and I didn't wake up the house. Let's carry on. Dreamstat is about to make his first appearance...

season 1 masterpost

part 2 | part 3 | part 4

episode 2 | episode 3 | episode 4 | episode 5 | episode 6 | episode 7 | episode 8

[haystarlight]

Okay so sorting characters into Hogwarts houses is obviously out of fashion but can we assign them a Camp Half-blood cabin, like:

Luz could be Apollo (cause she's bi, cause she's a ray of sunshine, cause she loves art and music and is creative and also her mom's a vet so she's a kind of healer)

Amity can be either Athena (cause she a smort gurl who loves to learn and read and be clever) or Hephaestus (cause she grows up to be like an inventor/engineer/mechanic thing and Alador has kinda Hephaestus vibes) or it would even be cool if she was a Hecate kid (you know because she parallels Hecate from the Azura book series)

Willow is obviously Demeter, I don't need to explain that one.

Gus is more difficult. But I think he would either also be an Athena kid (Gus and Amity in the same cabin what a concept huh) or Dionysus (cause he can torture people with illusions and Dionysus could do that too)

Eda and Lilith can both be in the Hecate cabin (it's the vibes mostly, Eda more than Lilith tho, Eda would totally go into the Witchcraft cabin (yes I know they're *all* witches but Eda's vibes are different)) or the Eris cabin (you know, Eris the goddess of Chaos? That's totally Eda)

Raine is also in the Apollo cabin (art, music and poetry like Luz. Also bitch is a hopeless romantic with a trainwreck love life, that's as Apollo as anything)

Hunter is more difficult I think. Hades maybe? Cause he came back from the dead and he's got all that trauma wet cat eyebag sadness just like Nico?

Vee.... Aphrodite? Because Aphrodite can change her face depending on who looks at her?

King... Zeus? Like, King of Demons, King of the Gods?

I think I'm done for now