#not very thematically appropriate but whatever | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tswwwit · 10 months

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Here's the second part of Cult Reincarnation Dipper!

The first part is over Here if you missed it.

Hope you enjoy!

“Here we are!” Bill says brightly. He nods approvingly at the room, then glances back at Dipper. “Glad you didn’t take off running during the trip.”

How Dipper could have managed that, he isn’t sure. The instant they appeared in this place, Bill took hold of Dipper’s wrist and hasn’t let go even once.

The nightmare realm is exactly as advertised. Dipper’s been pulled through mazelike corridors, up and down impossible hallways, over insane physic-defying structures - and past things with too many teeth and eyes.

He thinks he’s been holding up pretty well, all things considered.

Being dragged by a nightmare god into his realm of dreams for unknown reasons wasn’t exactly on his bucket list. Without any helpful explanations, or even unhelpful ones, he’s stayed calm and followed along. Remaining obedient, keeping quiet, and waiting in hopes of Bill either giving up, or giving him any indication of where the hell they are and what the fuck he’s doing.

Now they’ve arrived, and the destination… isn’t exactly encouraging.

Dipper looks over the gleaming instruments hung on the walls. The needles and scalpels and hooks. He drops his gaze towards the white paper on the chair, at the poorly hidden restraints.

A place of insanity and terror, owned by a king of nightmares, dragging along a vulnerable human with a badly injured arm. Of course he’d end up in a house of medical horrors. It’s too thematically appropriate.

So yeah. Dipper’s been holding on fine. Only his legs have decided they’ve had enough for the day, and given up.

His robes puddle around him as he hits the floor. The tile’s very cold and sterile under his legs, and his arm trembles in Bill’s unwavering grip.

“Hey! What gives?” Bill tugs on Dipper’s wrist again. Thankfully not hard enough to haul him to his feet.

Dipper shakes his head. The floor’s fine. He’ll stay right here, thank you very much. Trying to retrieve his wrist doesn’t work, but he makes a good show of it.

“Nice try,” Bill says, dryly. “But there’s no escaping! Now get on up and have a seat already.”

For the first time, his grip loosens. Dipper yanks his arm towards his chest, attempts to stumble to his feet. His legs fail to cooperate, sliding out in front of him like he’s putting up a tantrum rather than an escape attempt.

With a quick snort, Bill ducks down and tucks his hands under Dipper’s arms. A moment later he lifts Dipper bodily into the air, and appraises him with a smile.

Dipper kicks out in surprise, struggling for purchase - then lets his legs dangle in the air, limp. Flailing around isn’t going to help. Odds are it’d make things worse.

If there was ever a mistake Dipper shouldn’t make, it would be accidentally whacking a god in the groin.

Bill bounces him in his grip a couple times, with a pleased smile, and seemingly zero effort. The human form he’s wearing isn’t bulky; he’s just stronger than he appears. Dipper should have guessed as much. He’s in the demon realm, brought here - kidnapped by - an eldritch, too-powerful being. Any resistance he puts up is as much of a shield as tissue paper.

With a nod, Bill turns a full ninety degrees, and drops him directly into the chair. The leather of the seat creaks underneath Dipper as he hits it, and he instantly straightens up, back rigid.

“There we are.” Bill smirks with satisfaction. He points directly at Dipper’s face with a sudden frown. As it comes closer, Dipper leans as far back as he can manage. “Now stay. Put.”

The tone is very firm, and, well. Obedience is the name of the game, when it comes to a ‘god’.

Dipper simply nods. Bill beams again, then retreats to start pulling drawers open, rustling through them and muttering to himself.

Whatever he’s up to, Dipper doesn’t care to guess. From what he can tell, the entire room is made for easy cleaning, and the objects don’t lend him any comfort. Tons of gleaming instruments hang on hooks and boards, pale metal against white walls. The soaked sleeve of his robe is leaving little dots on the seat and armrests. Every spot of red stands out so brightly in this sterile white environment.

Dipper clutches his arm to his chest again. Not budging. Just as he was told. There’s a thin prickle of sweat building on his skin.

A sound catches his attention, and he glances up at Bill, who’s wearing a big, bright grin. He’s holding something glass in one hand, and a glint of metal in the other.

Dipper keeps trying to maintain pressure on his wound. Bill’s approaching without even a hint of hesitation - without being able to talk, he simply shakes his head again and again. He’s fine, this is great, they can go anywhere else, just don’t -

“What?” Bill cocks his head to the side, and grins again. “Easy, I don’t bite! Much.”

He has very sharp teeth, Dipper notices. With how human that form is, he hadn’t paid much attention to the details.

The white of his smile has fangs.

“Yeesh, tense much?” Bill raises an eyebrow, carelessly dropping a metal box in Dipper’s lap. The other one shows the glass to be a corked bottle - small, round and filled with greenish liquid. Bill starts shaking it rapidly, beckoning with his free hand. ”Gimme that arm, already.”

When Dipper doesn’t move, Bill slowly pries his arm away from his chest. He pushes it down onto the armrest - and before Dipper can react, the makeshift bandage of his robes is ripped off at the elbow, leaving him bare.

Dipper watches the blood trickling down over the seat with a nauseating flip in his stomach. He can look away - does, quickly - but worse, he’s oddly embarrassed. Everything in here was so pristine before he started leaking on things.

“Eh, could be worse.” Bill chimes in over Dipper’s thoughts. A brief glance shows he’s evaluating the wound; he waggles a hand in a so-so gesture. “Decent blood flow, but damage-wise? You’ll be wielding a knife yourself in no time!”

God, what a weird thing to say. Dipper half-shrugs in response.

He hopes Bill’s right, though. Not the knife-wielding, but that it’s not too bad. It certainly feels bad, but Dipper doesn’t have enough experience to tell how, or if, he’ll recover. He’s never seen a sacrifice, with a person, that called for that much blood. Especially one that got so… enthusiastic.

Or perhaps there was, and Dipper just looked away, like he always does. He’s never had the stomach for this sort of thing. Hell, he still doesn’t; as Bill gets settled, Dipper turns and starts counting all the knives on the walls.

Yep. There’s definitely a lot of them. So many, and none of them are in Bill’s hand at the moment. He tries to focus on that as well. The box in Dipper’s lap is too small to contain anything but the tiniest of the scalpels, too. Another good sign, if he’s feeling optimistic.

There’s the sound of something uncorking. Then, liquid dripping down Dipper’s arm and over his wrist, a bright, sparking sting - he grits his teeth, ready for the pain to build, and feels -

Nothing?

Dipper blinks. He’s lost count of the knives, but he does get an excellent view of the empty bottle sailing across the room, and shattering on the opposite wall. Quickly followed by the cork, with a spitting sound; Bill probably pulled it out with his teeth.

There’s a vague prod. Dipper cringes on reflex, shoulders tensing. The next one feels firmer, and not in a great place, but.

It doesn’t hurt at all.

Well, no. It does, a little. If Dipper clenches his arm and makes a fist, he can feel a kind of sting - and hear Bill mutter under his breath. So he probably shouldn’t do that. But other than that faint ache, the pain is gone, leaving a chill semi-numbness in its place.

Beside him, Bill makes a satisfied sound. He flips open the box in Dipper’s lap, pulls something out - then starts doing something weird to his arm.

Dipper feels a pinch, then a tugging sensation. He sucks in a breath.

“Hold still, already.” Bill’s grip tightens, holding him in place. Dipper can tell because when moves his fingers again, he can just about tickle the underside of his arm. “Hey! What’d I just say!”

Dipper stops moving. Obedient, definitely. Totally not questioning what the hell is happening to his flesh, or worried at all. He only flinches a bit at the repeated pinch-tug-pinch, running a line down his arm.

With the numbness, it’s easy to focus on breathing in, and out, in a steady rhythm. Passing time, until Bill’s done with his gruesome work.

“There we go.” Bill stands up, wiping his hands clean on a bright white cloth. He offers Dipper another easy grin. “Not too shabby, am I right?”

Dipper hesitates, but. He’s going to have to face the damage at some point. Might as well be now, while he’s still numb and lightheaded.

First, he sees Bill, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Then the arm itself, looking pale and small, with a long, thin line of stitches running up the wound.

No mutations, no mutilations. Just clean, closed skin.

Wow, that was a big cut. It didn’t really hit him until he saw it sewn up.

Dipper’s no expert on medical anything, but it must be decent work; Bill looks pleased with himself, for one, and the stitches themselves are neatly placed in even lines. Weirder still - it hasn’t been tinkered with, or experimented on at all.

Bill not-too-gently pats his wrist again, before wrapping Dipper’s entire forearm in bright white gauze. He hums to himself as he works. Just as he snips off the bandage with a pair of scissors, he pauses.

“Hm, kinda missing something,” Bill mutters, almost to himself. Then his expression brightens, and he snaps his fingers. “Aha!”

Dipper winces at the full-palm slap on his wrist. Ow. Even numbed, that stung.

“There! All patched up.” Bill says. He sets his fists on his hips, looking triumphant. “What’d’ya think, kid?”

Dipper looks down, and stares. He’s not really sure how he’s supposed to react.

Instead of taping the bandages in place, Bill’s smacked on a sticker. One of Bill himself, triangular-formed, and giving a disproportionately big thumbs-up.

“Ahem.” Bill clears his throat.

When Dipper checks, that seemingly eternal grin has popped right back into place. Expectant. Almost prompting.

Come to think of it - it’s the exact same one Dipper saw after the ritual, not that long ago.

The one that he still doesn’t know how to answer.

Dipper pulls his arm up, holding it close. He touches the bandages carefully, tracing down the line of his wound. All his fingers still work. All his skin seems to have stayed in place. Even the numbness has lingered well past the actual procedure.

Bill Cipher himself, lord of chaos and nightmares, had a hold of a wounded piece of mortal meat. And as far as Dipper can tell, nothing’s missing, nothing’s mangled, and it doesn’t even hurt.

Of all the things Dipper imagined about meeting Bill Cipher - and he can imagine a lot more things than the average guy -

This would never have made the list.

Bill hasn’t said anything. For a while now. Enough time has passed that the silence has grown awkward, because really Dipper should have done something by now, damn it. There has to be -

“Oh, right!” Bill breaks the silence with a snap of his fingers. His eye rolls; he even smacks himself on the side of the head in a ‘dang, can’t believe I forgot’ gesture. “Major bloodloss! No human brain works great when it’s improperly irrigated.”

Which… is true, sure. Dipper does feel pretty woozy, but more likely Bill’s referring to not getting a response.

That’s one thing he can fix, sort of. Dipper tries another smile. Hesitant, but not forced.

Bill just raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah, you’re cute. Don’t think flaunting it gets you anywhere.”

Dipper lets his smile drop.

Okay, what? That was not what he was going for, and - and it doesn’t make sense, anyway. Bill must have meant something else, because he’s not cute. Kind of a condescending thing to call a guy who’s just showing he’s grateful.

Even though he should know better, Dipper flashes an irritated glance at this idiot god’s face. He folds his arms, letting out a huff.

And Bill lunges in with startling speed.

Dipper jerks back in the chair only for Bill to follow, face inches away, sharp teeth bared in a wide smile. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, and his single eye narrows.

With rising tension, Dipper notes that said eye is actually glowing. There’s intent there, focused and strange - and even worse, the slow stir of magic building between them.

This is what he gets, isn’t it. For being a huge goddamned idiot, and insolent, and why did he do that of all-

“Boop.” Bill taps Dipper’s nose, and stands back up. As if to add insult to incoherence, he also pinches Dipper’s cheek. “Now! Upsy-daisy, kid! We gotta get you settled in!”

Dipper remains seated, even as Bill claps his hands and gestures for him to rise. At one point he even leans over and taps his thighs, in a deeply condescending beckon. If it wouldn’t be suicidally insane, Dipper would flip him off for that.

How is Dipper not dead yet. How is he not insane yet. This doesn’t make sense.

Nothing here makes sense.

But then, maybe Dipper should have expected that. Nightmare logic aside, he’s dizzy and tired, and it’s hard to keep figure out what’s insane demon-god stuff, what he’s simply lost track of.

Waiting for too long has had its consequences, of course. For the second time in an hour, Dipper gets hauled up by a too-strong monster. This time, he’s set on his feet pretty shortly, instead of being swung around like some kind of carnival prize.

Dipper hits the ground as Bill drops him, and stumbles. The world spins around him, and he nearly drops to the floor again until he braces himself on the closest solid-looking object.

The object moves under his arm. Above him, he hears loud, pleased laughter. “Aw, getting touchy, are we?”

Dipper stares at his arm, braced against a firm chest - then up at Bill’s wide grin. Then down again, where he’s wrinkling Bill’s shirt.

Shit. Wrong choice. Bad choice - but there wasn’t much of a choice! If Dipper didn’t want to fall on his ass, he had to grab something.

“I know, I know. I’m too tempting to resist.” Bill says, sounding eminently amused. Almost… teasing? He takes Dipper by the shoulder, turning him around towards the door. “Let’s get outta here.”

Wherever ‘here’ is. Wherever they’re going is even more worrying.

Still, Bill doesn’t seem mad about the invasion of his personal space. Or anything else, weirdly enough. Maybe Dipper’s misinterpreting the signs; he wouldn’t be the first worshiper to do so.

Mystery is part and parcel of Bill Cipher, one of his core essences. No part of him is uncomplicated or simple, because he loves making things difficult. There’s supposed to be puzzles, layered over each other in complex ways to obscure the truth. Every time Bill talks to one of the devout, it requires careful interpretation -

But there are too many possibilities, and Dipper’s too disoriented to keep up with any double-talk.

Bill opens the door into another black-red brick corridor. It looks like it could go anywhere, and everything about it screams ominous.

In a particularly stupid move - though one born of self-preservation - Dipper shoves himself into Bill’s grasp. He grips the shirt, hip bumping against the god, and Bill makes a quiet sound of surprise.

For a heartstopping moment, Dipper knows he’s fucked up.

Then the arm comes around him, and pulls him in tight. Squeezing his shoulder, then dropping around his waist, hand loosely holding his hip.

“Good choice, sapling! Your fleshy human vestibular sense is for shit, and I didn’t patch you up just to watch you break your skull on the ground.” Bill chucks Dipper under the chin with a knuckle and winks. “If I wanted a corpse, I could get those anywhere.”

Which… makes a terrifying kind of sense.

Bill’s right, of course. He’s an immensely powerful god-creature, who can reach in between worlds, given the opportunity. He commands dreams, and people, and an all-consuming amount of magic.

If he wanted a corpse, he could have one in moments. And if he wanted it to be Dipper’s, all he really had to do was… nothing.

As Bill pulls him into the hallway, Dipper checks his wrist again. He flexes his fingers, and sticks close to his ‘god’.

His arm’s a little achy, as the numbness begins to fade. The gauze is tight enough to feel comforting rather than constraining, clean and wrapped with obvious care. Even with the slight pain, it feels like he’s going to heal up just fine.

And though it’s incredibly stupid, the super cheesy sticker does kind of make him feel better.

Obviously Bill likes Dipper’s blood. He said as much during the summon; that it’s ‘very nice’. Likely it’s the reason Dipper was kidnapped in the first place.

But instead of juicing him like an orange, Bill took pains to keep all of it inside.

“As long as we’re stopping you from kicking the bucket,” Bill snaps his fingers. A small, squarish carton appears, and he holds it in front of Dipper. “You might wanna drink this.”

Dipper grimaces at… whatever this is. He can’t read the language, but it’s decorated with a smiling thing that could be either a heart, or a severely mutated fruit.

He glances up at Bill again, but no explanation is forthcoming. He merely waggles the carton around again, nearly shoving it into Dipper’s chest.

Welp. A ‘god’ has ordered him to consume something. Obedience, right, still a virtue. Hell, even if Bill wanted Dipper to swallow liquid mercury, he wouldn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

Poison isn’t very likely, though. Bill doesn’t want a dead body around, and he’s put in way too much effort to reverse course now.

Bill raises an eyebrow, tapping the drink invitingly against his chest. At this point Dipper suspects the lack of explaining is intentional.

Fine, whatever. If he’s going to insist…

Dipper still gives it a skeptical look, but he takes it from Bill’s hand. Not accepting a god’s gift is probably rude. Offending him isn’t any more helpful than dehydration.

And though all the advice about dealing with supernatural beings says, ‘don’t consume what they give you’, Bill does have a point. Humans are full of liquid. Dipper lost a decent portion of his own. Filling it back up isn’t the worst idea in the universe.

The top twists open, though Dipper doesn’t dare glance at the contents. He’ll just shut his eyes and chug.

He takes several long, deep drinks, tilting his head back. At first to help himself swallow - then more, and eagerly, because holy shit, he’s so thirsty. He didn’t realize until he started, but he really, really needed this.

With the portion of his tongue he has left, he tastes a faint sweetness, like strawberries.

“Top up your tank, kid.” Bill gives Dipper another nudge, almost playful. “Humans are basically half-fluid. To go at it like that, you musta been practically mummified!”

Weird phrasing seems to be a thing for Bill. Better get used to it.

Since he’s not looking at him, Dipper rolls his eyes and makes a face. Just a quick, two-second expression.

Beside him, Bill’s grin inches up a tiny bit. He starts whistling a cheerful tune as he leads them onward.

It’s an indeterminate amount of time before they stop - Bill, fresh and cheerful, Dipper, wondering how much longer he has to be on his feet - but eventually Bill whips around a corner, facing a brown wooden door in the middle of one of the black slate walls.

Great. Another mystery room, and by the look on Bill’s face - one he’s been eager to get to.

By this point Dipper’s pretty sure Bill’s not about to execute or exsanguinate him At least 90% sure; it’s hard to tell when dealing with a being of pure chaos.

But he still slows his steps as Bill sets his hand on the knob, leaning back into that guiding arm on his waist. Unpredictability has always unnerved him.

Bill turns towards Dipper with a brilliant smile. “I’ve been looking forward to this.” He says, almost conspiratorially. He nudges Dipper forward as he opens the door. “Welcome home, sapling!”

With a gust of warm air and a light that leaves Dipper blinking, the door opens.

And with a proud smile, Bill Cipher leads him into the single most luxurious looking room he’s ever seen in his life.

Dipper stares. Maybe gawks a little, but he shuts his mouth quickly.

No matter where he looks, everything oozes rich, sumptuous leisure.

There’s paintings, and tapestries, a soft thick black carpet. A huge, soft-looking couch near a fireplace, odds and ends of scattered jewels and technical looking objects on the walls. There’s even a portrait of Bill himself, in his regular form, with a foot upon the world. Large double doors lead to another room, and though the partly open crack Dipper thinks he spots a bed.

On the second glance around, Dipper catches on. That subtle gleam, that catches his eye, seemingly everywhere - is freakin’ gold. Not just the occasional pierce of decoration, either; it’s subtly woven into parts of all the decor, thin lines on furniture and doors and even some in the carpet.

Bill’s room so far beyond the dark, stoic asceticism of the compound. Miles away. Lightyears.

Why the hell did they have a shitty stone cavern to worship in, if their god lives like this?

No, that’s easily answered -the priest always was a dick.

Dipper’s not thrilled about what Bill did to the guy back at the ritual, but he’s far from upset.

Beside him, Bill’s silent. For once he’s not shuffling Dipper along anywhere. No prompting, no pushing, no force of any kind -

But definitely expectant.

Without Bill saying anything, Dipper can feel his arm tense up with anticipation, awaiting a reaction. Probably something flattering to Bill’s ego, or worshipful of his presence.

Truth be told, Dipper might have even given one. Despite all his reservations about the chaos god beside him, it is impressive.

But he can’t say anything. There’s nothing to write down a worshipful chant on. He’s tired and hurt and he’s been walking what feels like all day. Finding focus is hard.

Dipper scrunches his face up, rubbing at his eyes. Things went all blurry for a second, and he has kind of a headache.

What does he do, another smile? But Bill said that was ‘flaunting’. and maybe that’s not great. Another expression, maybe. Some kind of gesture. Body language has a lot of options and… he’s run out of ideas for that. Maybe his brain really is working with too-little fluid.

“Hmm…” Bill rubs his chin, glancing at Dipper - then staring out into the room again. His eye narrows.

Shit, right, this was meant to impress. Dipper, fumbling the devout test for like, the millionth time in his life. Only right now, when it truly matters, he’s too messed up to manage even if he tried.

Before Bill can get too mad, Dipper hunches over. Looking contrite might stave off the worst of it. He can make himself look small.

There’s a long beat of silence. Then Bill claps him on the shoulder. “No worries, kid. This ain’t my first time with a human wandering in with mortal wounds and a poor sense of grandeur! You can tell me how great I am later.”

The rush of relief Dipper feels is immediately ruined by Bill dragging him forward again. So much for a true reprieve; infinite being of pure energy means never stopping for a second of rest, apparently.

“I got just the thing for a squishy little nervous wreck like you,” Bill says, striding forward confidently towards one of the walls, and a door Dipper’s 90% sure wasn’t there even three seconds ago. “We’ll stash you here until you’re more settled down!”

The door opens, and Dipper’s led into a small, dark place. He can make out vague, squarish shapes in the dim light. Thankfully none of them look too imposing.

Another snap, and the room lights up.

For the second time in about as many minutes, Dipper’s totally thrown.

“Kitchen’s through there, bathroom’s thataway,” Bill says, gesturing in the respective directions. He gives Dipper’s shoulder a squeeze, jerking his thumb behind himself. “I’ll be back out this way if you get bored!”

The words run though Dipper’s brain, but he’s not truly focusing on them. The room he’s in has most of his attention. No matter how he looks at it, though, he can’t see any traps. It just looks…

Comfy?

The light reveals a smaller room than the living one, and one that’s far less dramatic. None of the tchotkes lying around. Basically zero ostentation. There’s a wardrobe and a bed, a dark blue carpet rather than the black. A desk, some papers, and an absurdly large and obsessively organized looking bookshelf. The two doors Bill mentioned lie closed, on two different walls.

Dipper’s not sure what he was expecting, but. The simpler decoration, the small but cozy setup - none of which fits Bill’s taste, that’s clear even on a glance. This isn’t meant for the god himself.

Now there’s a question he’s never considered before: Does Bill Cipher ever have guests in his realm?

The answer must be ‘yes’, strange as it seems. Nothing in here is Bill’s vibe, but it might fit a human that he needed to stash somewhere.

Beside him, he hears a low hum. Bill’s hand runs down Dipper’s shoulder, onto his back. It strokes down, then up again - then pushes him forward. “Enjoy!”

Dipper stumbles a couple steps before catching the footboard of the bed. He leans against it, blinking rapidly.

“Now, I got a quick errand to run, so take your time getting comfy. Cram some calories in, wash your crevices, take a nap. Whatever human stuff needs doing.” Bill looks up from checking his watch, then gives him a wink, backing out of the room with double finger guns pointed. “See ya soon!”

The door closes behind him without even a touch on the knob. The room goes quiet.

Dipper cocks his head to one side. Bill’s absence is just as palpable as his presence. That powerful thrum of magic trails into the distance as he heads off, fading in Dipper’s senses, like a too-loud stereo speaker in an obnoxious, demonic car.

After a moment, he shucks off his robe - with the sleeve torn off, it’s weird and uncomfortable. That leaves him in just soft pants and his undershirt, but thankfully with considerable privacy.

As long as he’s here, Dipper does a quick inspection of the room. The bed’s bigger than any one he’s ever seen, minus the one that’s presumably Bill’s. The wardrobe contains a baffling array of flannel shirts, in that they’re almost all identical and oddly… worn? He shuts the doors with a shrug. Hardly the most intimidating find.

A thorough overview reveals no traps, no knives. The sharpest thing in the room is the pens. The worst thing that could happen to Dipper here is a papercut. Or maybe stubbing his toe on the heavy furniture.

It’s been a few minutes. Dipper glances at the door Bill retreated through. Still closed.

He hears no sound from the other room, either. He strains to feel some magic returning, a bloom in his limited senses, but it’s calm and quiet.

Whatever Bill’s up to, he’s long gone.

Leaving Dipper totally unsupervised.

Dipper instantly darts for the opposite door, opening it fast enough that it nearly unbalances him. It swings opens easily, totally unlocked, and he braces himself as he stares -

Into a kitchen.

A big one, at that. Lots of cabinets, a fridge, a stove, knives hanging on the wall in what looks like a rather ominous manner, until Dipper remembers that’s where knives are supposed to be. Though maybe not so many of them.

Also, totally not an exit.

Fine, whatever. They couldn’t all be exits, and there’s another to try.

Dipper rushes over to the second door, yanking it open to reveal… exactly what Bill said, again.

He lingers this time, leaning on the knob. Rubbing at his eyes briefly, in case that ruins the illusion Bill’s cast. It doesn’t have any effect.

It’s - this is way too straightforward. It has to be some type of trick.

Pretty weird for it to be so clean, then.

Any bathroom Bill has should be blood-splattered, or filled with bubbling acid - but this one only smells faintly of bleach. It’s lined with black and white tiling, with a shower that looks overly complicated and a bathtub that could fit several people inside. At least there’s no knives in this room - though Dipper does see a safety razor, resting on the sink. Right next to the cup holding the blue toothbrush.

He slams the second door closed, and takes a deep breath.

Maybe he’s disoriented. Maybe Bill turned everything around when he left, like every other corridor in this chaotic place, and maybe if Dipper yanks opens the third door -the one he came through - it’ll cleave between the realms, back into the ritual room, where -

Dipper leans on the doorframe, slowing down his breathing. He shuts his eyes, lips drawing into a thin line.

Or it could just be. Literally the exact same one he came in through.

Standing in the doorway of Bill Cipher’s personal quarters, Dipper frowns at the fireplace. And at the painting over it. Especially at the even more grandiose door that presumably leads to the god’s master bedroom. It’s beautiful, alright, Dipper can’t argue with that - but also ostentatious, and reeking of smug power.

It’s very quiet inside, too. No motion, no magic.

After a bit of hesitation, he leans his head in, checking both ways.

No Bill around, at all.

He must have actually taken off, instead of lying in wait, ready to surprise… The person he told exactly where he could be found. Which isn't much of an ambush, come to think of it.

Dipper lets his arms drop to his sides, then winces and rubs the bandage on his recently stitched one.

When he came into this place, he had a lot of expectations. All of them were backed up by years of knowledge about Bill Cipher. His likes and dislikes, unpredictability, and his bizarre proclivities.

So far, Dipper’s seen… not a safe place, by a long shot. But way less dangerous than what he thought he’d face.

In fact, aside from the trip to get here and parts of the medical experience, this has been way too normal.

Bill Cipher is a being veiled in mystery, or, depending on your viewpoint, mischief. Never totally meaning what he says, rarely acting like you’d think. Even in the most stodgy of ceremonies, the priest had to leave room for the fact that Bill’s not very… conventional. The research Dipper did on his own had similar things to say. Between sermon and study, that alone has been a constant.

Dipper taps his foot on the floor. The carpet remains soft and nonthreatening. The fireplace crackles warmly, and does not consume the room in a terrifying blaze.

What is he supposed to make of all this?

The priest claimed that only he could interpret the subtle signs of Bill’s true meaning, and what actions to take. He was dead wrong about that. Courtesy of the god he claimed to understand, for that matter.

The rest of the congregation can’t offer any insight, either; they’re back in the compound - but frankly? Dipper wouldn’t trust them to interpret a microwave timer, much less their god.

According to scripture, it takes ages of experience, along with deep personal knowledge, to even begin to understand Bill’s motives. One young human like Dipper would never stand a chance.

But if he’s here anyway…

Dipper traces his fingers along the wall, making his way quietly, cautiously, into the room.

Why not get started? It’s not like he has anything else to do.

Having something to study will help pass the time, as long as he’s here. And with this wealth of information in front of him, who could resist?

As he walks into the place, he doesn’t burst into flame, or turn inside out, or get tossed into an eternal void of constant screaming. So, it’s probably okay.

He takes a deep breath, and lets it out. It only shakes a little.

Besides, navigating around an immortal being of eternal knowledge can’t be that different from sneaking around the compound. All evidence so far is that Bill’s actually friendlier about it.

One thing’s pretty certain - he’s not likely to obliterate a guy he’s just spent several hours getting ‘settled’. If anything, he’s sorta intimated that Dipper’s a ‘guest’. Bill’s likely not magically bound to the rules of hospitality, but violating them is pretty universally gauche.

The thought makes Dipper’s shoulders drop. He pats the wall a couple times, then checks his wrist. The bright yellow triangle stays still, overly-large hand still giving a thumbs-up.

Dipper rolls his eyes. Okay. There’s one fact learned - Bill Cipher’s capable of being kind of a dork.

This could actually be pretty intriguing. Useful, perhaps. In the heart of Bill’s home, with all of his stuff lying around - like that pile of books near the couch, or that pile of dishes he saw in the sink, or the fact that he even has a guest room, what the hell is with that -

Dipper can get firsthand information. No more dilapidated scrolls, or censored books, or scrounging around outside to find objective sources.

Bill Cipher, as far as Dipper can tell, actually lives here. In these exact rooms.

He can try and hide the truth as much as he likes, or lie to Dipper’s face, but he can’t hide his living room. Hanging out in your own place is the most authentic anyone can be, god or not.

With that in mind, Dipper gets to the investigation.

Without context, it’s hard to discern what most of the objects around mean. Whether they’re regularly used, or just for display. Until Dipper sees Bill actually interacting with the stuff he has, he’ll just file that information away for later.

About three circuits of the living room, Dipper catches sight of the portrait above the fireplace again. The one with Bill himself, crowned and stepping on the world. Scepter in hand, his single eye beholding -

Ah, right. The eye thing.

Dipper backs up, very slowly. As a parting gesture, he throws a little wave at the portrait, and another ‘cute’ smile.

Then he darts right the hell back into his room, and pulls the door along with him. He lets his head drop back against the wood, and closes his eyes.

Shit. Shit. Of course he wasn’t roaming around freely. There was oversight.

Hopefully Bill’s busy enough to not have cared about a couple minutes of ‘wandering’. As far as he knows, that was, uh… Dipper got lost, right. That sounds believable. Maybe he was even looking for Bill himself.

But snooping? No, definitely not. Why would anyone do that.

Welp. That’s about that, then. Three doors, three results, and zero exits.

Sure, it’s possible that Bill’s room does have a way out, but between the odds of being caught, and the odds of getting lost in the twisting, recursive corridors if he did manage to find it -

Yeah, Dipper’s going to pass.

He saw the other ‘guests’ around this realm, and they didn’t look like the types to leave blood on the inside.

On the upside he’s survived the night. Morning. Whatever time of day it is.

Bill wants Dipper alive, which is strange and confusing and more than a little concerning- but it’s also a huge weight off his shoulders.

Dipper turns to pull the door fully closed behind him, then hesitates.

After debating for a bit, he settles on leaving the door slightly ajar. Hearing when Bill comes back seems like a good idea, while keeping him out doesn’t.

But if Bill were to, say, see a door semi-open and shut it himself, then hey. Kinda his fault for not paying attention. No blame on any humans here.

Ugh, Dipper’s losing focus again; he shakes his head to clear it. His legs feel sluggish too, after the long journey and the.. ‘Getting lost’. They stumble as he takes another step.

After such a long day. After getting hurt, and dragged around, and everything else that’s happened, he’s just so tired.

Just like during the sacrifice, he has to focus on the real priority - and right now? It’s not the immortal, insane demon god.

With a weary sigh, Dipper looks for a place to sit down.

Even pulling the chair out from the desk seems like an ordeal. And while the bed’s far too large for just one person, it's here and empty. Presumably Dipper’s meant to use it, anyway.

And when he takes a seat, it doesn’t leap up to bite him. It doesn’t release any poisoned spikes when he tests the mattress with a quick press of the palm, or snap closed around him when rolls on top of the sheets. The blankets are smooth, without a hint of scratchiness.

Dipper breathes in, and lets it out slowly. He rubs a hand on the top blanket, patting it once or twice, before letting his eyes shut.

It’s just. So, so soft.

Weirdly springy too, compared to his old cot. A mixture of sink and bounce, so that Dipper almost feels like he’ll get absorbed into it like jello, or get thrown out of it if he moves the wrong way.

Shifting his weight, Dipper frowns as he tucks the pillow under his head. How could anyone sleep on something like this? It’s totally impossible.

----------------

Dipper wakes up with a damp pillow under his cheek, a slight headache in his temples, and a sore and aching wrist.

He rolls onto his side with a groan, moving to a drier section of pillow.

Great, he drooled in his sleep again. Super gross. Another reason that not having a tongue sucks.

It’s warm in the room, though, and quiet. His head hurts, so he needs some water. And his wrist hurts, too. Which isn’t surprising after being sliced open.

What’s more surprising is that he actually managed to get some rest afterwards. The whole compound is full of people celebrating or arguing after a ritual goes down. Usually there’s some of both, but right now it’s so quiet that he could swear nobody’s -

With a snort, Dipper jerks his head up off the pillow. He props himself up on his elbow, rubbing at his eyes.

Shit, of course. He’s not in the compound anymore.

Nobody is around, because he’s been taken away by their literal goddamned god, and stowed in this too-big, too-normal room in this alien place. Without other worshipers, who would… probably make things worse, if he’s being honest.

Dipper stuck here, fending for himself. He’s been subjected to… minor medical attention. And a nice bed, and a drink. Not to mention having his first uninterrupted nap in ages.

Thinking about it, it’s kinda hard to see a downside.

One will make itself known eventually. Dipper’s not so naive as to think this is altruism, not from Bill Cipher.

As he sits up, the blankets fall off him and pool into his lap, heavy and soft. For a moment, he’s tempted to pull them back up and curl into the nice, warm bed, under the gentle covers.

But that’s probably not the best idea, considering.

God, he can’t believe he just fell asleep like that. In the house of a nightmare demon, Dipper just went and dropped off like a total, vulnerable moron.

And shit, it’s dark in here.

He doesn’t remember turning off the lights. Or where the lightswitch is, for that matter. He can sort-of make out the furniture around him, some kind of ambient illumination, perhaps. A bit of light also shines out from the closed door leading to Bill’s room.

Somewhere in there, he hears footsteps, and then silence. The feel of that powerful magic, leaking in like the light under the doorframe.

Dipper fiddles with the edge of the blanket. Some kind of quilt, he guesses, one that’s faintly frayed at the edges. It’s very soft.

At minimum, he’s been in Bill’s house for several hours. His best guess puts it between half to all of a day, depending on how long he slept.

Despite all Dipper’s learned about the god’s unavoidable wrath, and his infinite, changeable whims -

It hasn’t been too bad. So far.

Dipper rubs his fingers together, leg jogging under the sheets. Eventually he realizes he’s pulling threads out of the quilt, and hisses through his teeth.

At some point, the other shoe will drop. Bill Cipher is capricious, his favor doubly so.

And nothing ever works out in Dipper’s favor, not even once.

But maybe, if he works at it now - he might be able to make some headway. Hiding away in the bedroom won’t help with that.

Getting up out of the bed is an effort, but his legs feel steady on the floor and his vision is clear. Dipper takes a deep, calming breath. He turns the knob, and peeks out into the room

“Hey hey! Look who’s back in the waking world. In a way.” Bill waves at him with a bright grin. Great, Dipper got spotted basically instantly. “Get over here! I need ya to check this out.”

There it is. His first order.

Dipper shuts his eyes, and walks into the room. He swallows, and drops into the fist form of ritual bow, knees thumping on the carpet.

This absolutely sucks. The one minor upside is that there is a carpet; Dipper’s not going to ruin his knees if he has to do this ten times a day.

Hanging around a god, he’ll be lucky if he spends any time not bowing and scraping and generally genuflecting. Though the idea makes him burn inside, he grits his teeth.

He can cope. He’s been through worse. If nothing else, Bill’s more interesting than the daily grind back at the compound. Albeit in a semi-terrifying way.

“Huh.” Bill says. Dipper mentally checks his posture, but no, it’s perfect. Wait - he forgot to press his hands together, right.

“Huh.” Bill says, this time sounding…

Not very thrilled.

Freezing in place, Dipper runs through his options. In a better world, he’d be able to start doing some chant or whatever, but that’s off the table. A quick peek at Bill shows that he’s not impressed, so. Read that right.

Also not very good. What else is there, though, what can he -

A long, heavy sigh interrupts his thoughts. Bill’s started rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. A totally devout kinda guy.” Bill’s voice is very dry. He taps one impatient finger on the table. “Really feeling all the religious passion, here.”

The clear sarcasm makes Dipper wince. God, of course Bill isn’t fooled. Seeing into the hearts and minds of men as he does, one small human is transparent as hell. He knows exactly what Dipper thinks of him, doesn’t he.

Shit, he’s likely seen everything.

“But sure, if you’re so devoted, you should get up already.” Bill’s tone lightens, and he gives a quick beckoning gesture. That eternal smile bounces back into place. “C’mon, kid. You can’t scrape your nose on the carpet and check out what I asked you to.”

Dipper scrambles to his feet, brushing nonexistent dirt off his pants. It’s a decent excuse not to meet the god’s eye.

He shuffles slowly forward until he stands next to the god. Logically that should make him nervous. He should be sweating and terrified -

But damn it, Dipper really hates genuflecting, and Bill’s total lack of interest is actually, maybe, kind of cool of him.

For a bright moment Dipper thinks there might not be any of that sort of thing, until a robe flops to the ground in front of him.

Ah. A not-very-subtle hint, there. Dipper takes a breath to steady himself -

Then a second robe right on top of the one on the ground. And a third. A fourth follows that nearly hits a cabinet on the wall, and Dipper decides he probably missed the mark.

Bill’s not making a point. He’s just messy.

“Jeez, with this many robes, you’d think they could make a few of ‘em fashionable.” Bill lets out a low whistle. When Dipper glances over, he’s rifling through those cardboard boxes with a frown. “Accessorize! Embroider! Stain ‘em with ichor! This crap is just boring.”

All their robes were pretty identical, but that was the point. To lose one’s individuality, and become a perfect servant for the god. Bill doesn’t sound as appreciative as he should be.

And where the hell did he get all of these, anyway?

The boxes on the table are dilapidated, reused cardboard. None of it matches the style or the reality of this… apartment? House? Something?

Bill chucks yet another robe over his shoulder with a snort. “And don’t get me started on the shape. Or the color!” He sticks his tongue out, letting a final robe dangle from his fingers like he’s holding a dead rat. “I woulda picked something way cooler.”

Whatever his definition of ‘cooler’ is, Dipper doesn’t want to know. Bill catches his skeptical look and Dipper quickly tamps it down.

That single golden eye blinks, then he beckons Dipper closer with a grin. “Get over here, sapling. I gotta know if we’re dealing with the full inventory or not.”

There goes Bill, again. Talking about something without giving Dipper any context for it whatsoever. Likely that’s a sign of things to come.

All the books about Bill Cipher say he’s ‘cryptic’. Now Dipper’s wondering if that was supposed to be a euphemism for ‘annoying’.

Dipper squeezes his hands tight at his sides. Not the kind of thing he should be thinking. Instead, he nods, and checks the boxes as requested.

His god continues messing with the contents, plucking out this and that. Another robe, discarded easily. He sets aside a small ritual set of candles, a setting for ritual offerings. All very distinct. They could have come from Dipper’s own congregation, they’re so familiar.

Wait - but they are.

He remembers Bill asking them to pack up stuff, distantly. He didn’t think about what it was for, other than, like, another weird god request.

But these aren’t just anyone’s things.

No, he recognizes that robe, with the chewed-on sleeve, and that set of trinkets. Hell, all of said robes have similar wear and tear, the same, slightly oversized look.

Dipper glances at the boxes, then back to Bill. Though he can’t speak to ask the question, it must be obvious in his face.

“Yep! This is your stuff, Pine Tree.” Bill points a finger gun, giving Dipper a wink. “I asked those imbeciles back in your cult to grab it for ya. Since you’re staying here with me, and all.”

Dipper’s mouth works, but no sound comes out; he shuts it quickly. Bill, uncaring, flicks a finger at a candle and watches it light with a smirk.

He just- Said it.

Bill Cipher himself called his religion a ‘cult’.

He actually admitted it. Under any other circumstances that would be absolute blasphemy, but the ‘god’ himself just casually tossed out that the entire stupid religion is kinda full of it and he isn’t even bothered by it.

Dipper wants to sit down, but there's no chair nearby. He braces himself on the table instead.

“Don’t get it wrong, I’m still the biggest, baddest being you’ll ever meet! But your group of losers pretended to speak for me.” Bill continues. Something about Dipper’s shock seems to have caught his attention. He throws his arms in the air in disgust. A carelessly held candelabra goes flying. “When I wanna give orders, I handle that crap myself.”

Dipper nods again, kind of numbly.

Yeah, that - that actually tracks. The gap between the Bill he was told about, and the Bill that is, is too vast to be ignored.

Obviously Bill’s weird, it’s part of his basic makeup - but if anything, he matches up more with the Bill that Dipper read about in forbidden texts, instead of the one heard at every sermon. And that…

Honestly, it feels pretty good. Being right. Or right-adjacent; Dipper’s not naive enough to think he has the whole picture yet. Still, being more correct than anyone else? Makes Dipper almost smile.

It’ll get clearer. There’s time, he’s not dead yet.

And who the hell knows what else Dipper’s going to learn, while he’s staying in Bill’s home. The only thing he can predict is that half the things will come totally out of left field.

A nudge on his side catches his attention again. “So! Does this cover everything, or do I gotta nightmare some guys into coughing up the rest?” Bill twirls a thin candle between his fingers idly, and raises an eyebrow. “Anything you wanna keep, or stuff you wanna obliterate?”

The startled look on Dipper’s face must surprise him, because Bill blinks a few times. “What? It’s your crap, sapling.” He offers a half-bow, and a wink. “Your gracious host here, at your service.”

Wow, uh, that - Dipper has to turn away for a moment. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling oddly -

Damn it, getting distracted is bad. He has to shape up. Bill might decide he’ll be less gracious if Dipper doesn’t freakin’ focus, now’s not the time to look incompetent.

He offers Bill a shrug, and a noncommittal wave, then tilts the closest box towards himself.

If he’s going to figure out what to do with his things, he might as well check what’s shown up. A part of Dipper’s surprised that there’s this much of it.

Actually... there's that miniature altar that ‘disappeared’, and a pair of shoes that walked off by themselves. A scattering of little baubles, mostly bare-bones ritual stuff that everyone got handed out. Even though Dipper’s seemed to roll down a grate or get flushed somehow.

Guess Bill’s order really got people motivated to find his things. There’s stuff here that hasn’t made an appearance in ages.

Nearby, Bill’s put on his expectant look again. Dipper’s getting used to it.

Whatever Bill’s looking for, he hasn’t bothered to explain it in the slightest. Much like every other interaction with the guy. It must be pretty good though, because there’s a tinge of eagerness to his expression.

Dipper turns away to poke at the items on the table.

He almost feels bad that he doesn’t know what Bill’s looking for. Even though there’s no logical reason he should. Mind-reading is Bill’s thing, not his followers’.

Well, whatever. Bill can put that face on all he likes. Unless he has a few helpful hints on hand, he’s just gonna have to wait.

As for the possessions - A quick evaluation of the first box of stuff reveals… mostly things he doesn’t care about either way. On the other hand, he’s never had this many things before, and it would feel weird to just. Dispose of them this easily.

But then again…

He never has liked the robes.

Tentatively, Dipper points at the cloth on the floor, then cuts a finger over his throat.

Bill made his opinion on them clear, so. If he agrees. Maybe Dipper actually won’t need them during his stay in this -

A sudden burst of blue flame startles him; Dipper jumps in place, going tense.

Noted - be careful about inviting Bill to destruction, because he does not hesitate.

“Great!” Bill claps his hands together, rubbing them vigorously. “Half done - now let’s wrap this up and move onto something more fun.”

Patience must not be Bill’s strong suit, because he turns the boxes upside down, dumping everything out on the table. A few broad swipes spread it over the wood, a careless tumble of what’s, honestly, mostly junk.

Some of it was clearly just tossed in to make the box more full; the top layer is all stuff from the ritual room. As for the stuff that is his, well. How much of it could he actually need? There’s candles, a bunch of knickknacks that he didn’t even like when he was still in the, well. Cult. There’s a thick worn notebook, and his journal with its slightly tattered cover and the bookmark still in place -

Shit. Shit, shit shit.

Dipper’s heart leaps into his throat. He glances at Bill, then back to the table.

How did they find that, it was under the loose rock in the corner. Did they know all this time that he had this. Did they not care, or was it truly hidden and only discovered later. How the hell did it survive all the way here?

However it got here - that’s. All his notes, all his research. All his thoughts, lying there for Bill to -

Wait. Bill. Hasn’t noticed, yet.

He’s picked up a tiny brass necklace. His eye narrows as it dangles from his fingers. Not surprising; it is a pretty awful portrayal. The angles are anything but even.

And while he’s distracted, Dipper makes a grab for the books.

He times it right; as Bill tosses the necklace away and into the fireplace, he slides both books across the table, tucking them into his pants and under his shirt.

Not the first time he’s hidden contraband - and probably not the last. A quick check on Bill shows a totally nonchalant demon, slightly bored with the junk in front of him. Either he truly didn’t notice - or doesn’t care about what Dipper pulled. Either one’s a win.

Dipper feels tension seep out of his shoulders, and he shuts his eyes.

Compared to the god of fury and torture Dipper was taught about, the true god is relatively even-tempered. So far.

But he already knows how bad it gets, when something terrible is spoken about his god. There’s no way Bill would like reading what Dipper wrote about him.

“Aha!” Bill exclaims, and yanks his latest prize out of the pile, holding it in the air. “Knew there had to be something good in here.”

Dipper takes one look at whatever’s got Bill so enamored - and makes a face.

Oh no. He forgot about…. that.

“Maybe being ‘devout’ isn’t your style, but there might be a better term.” Bill’s sharp teeth are white in his smile. He flicks one of the ragged felt arms, squeezing the yellow ‘torso’. “How’s ‘obsessed’ fit ya?”

The stupid awful Bill Cipher plushie dangles limply in his grip. As Bill gives it another squeeze, some more of the stuffing puffs out. Worn as it already is, with one of the legs missing and the pupil in the eye worn away, it makes the entire thing look twice as pathetic.

Dipper staunchly resists the urge to hide under the table. It’s too late anyway. He’s not escaping this now.

Who the hell decided to pack that? It’s ugly and stupid and juvenile. If Dipper had been able to choose what he brought along, he would have deliberately left it behind. Maybe burned it, so nobody else would know he still had one.

As it stands, he’s torn between being glad it’s here - and totally goddamned humiliated.

He makes a quick grab for it, but Bill dodges him with a grin.

“Ah ah ah! Nice try.” He waggles it again, beaming bright. “I knew it! You’re super interested in me, aren’t you? Was this little guy your favorite? Didja cuddle up with him in bed every night?”

Asshole probably saw all of that happen, and now he’s taunting. Dipper grits his teeth, hands clenching by his sides.

Damn it, it’s not Dipper’s fault there weren’t a lot of soft things in the cult. Who cares if he had something that made his life suck a little less? Especially one that flatters Bill himself. If anything Bill should be pleased, knowing he got some devotion from this less-than-pious human- but instead he’s being an ass about it.

“I’m right, of course.” Bill says, with smug certainty. “Ol’ mini-me here got oodles of affection, didn’t he?” He rubs his chin thoughtfully, backing up as Dipper turns around the table corner in pursuit. “Now let’s see…”

Dipper sucks in a breath, watching Bill bring it to his face. His teeth bared in a sharp smile, mouth slightly open.

Bill shuts his eye, and puffs a breath over the plush. For a second Dipper thinks it’s about to be consumed in fire, he stumbles forward in protest.

But though it’s blue all over, it doesn’t burn. As he watches, the hole in the side closes over, stuffing concealed. Some of the minor stains come out, the stitching of the bricks turns black and pristine. The second leg dangles beside the other, the eye is full and renewed and only maybe blinks.

Dipper stops his chase, pausing with his hand on the table.

That plush hasn’t looked anywhere near that good since he was little. Bill acted like it was nothing to him. Bill thought it was funny. He could have turned it into nothing, just for kicks - and it’s.

Every time he thinks he knows what Bill Cipher is up to, his expectations get turned upside down and shaken for loose change. Dipper doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

Bill looks over his work with pride, picking up one of the arms to shake it. “Nice to meet ya, Bill! I’m the real, better Bill.” He pauses, then nods solemnly, as if it responded. “Yeah, I am the greatest. Glad you noticed!”

And in a stunningly unsurprising turn of events, Bill’s also going to be obnoxious about this.

Bill brings the plushie right up to Dipper’s face, pitching his voice higher. “Oooh, Pine Tree, I’m so glad to see ya! You’re my favorite human.” He lifts the felt arms in a floppy invitation for a hug. “I love you sooooo much!”

Dipper feels his lips draw into a thin line, while Bill’s mouth arches up in a grin.

“What’s that?” Bill cups his ear as if to hear better. “You want a kiss?” Dipper shakes his head, but not before Bill starts mashing the stupid plush against his cheeks. He tries fending it off, but Bill’s quick enough to find every gap in his defenses. Also, he’s making exaggerated kissy sounds. “Mwah mwah mwah!”

Dipper snatches the stupid plush from Bill’s stupid hand, then turns right on his heel and storms back to the guest room.

Behind him, he hears Bill cackling with laughter.

He knew he was in for some kind of trial. A type of torment. What he’s faced so far hasn’t been terrible. Or much at all, compared to when he was back with the congregation.

This god isn’t quite the creature of eternal nightmares and torment that he was always told about. Instead he has other motives, ones too strange and subtle to interpret. Dipper should be thankful.

A glance backward shows said god slumped on the couch, cackling to himself with one hand on his forehead.

But Bill sure thinks he’s fucking hilarious.

Dipper slams the door shut, as loud as he can. It doesn’t quite block out the continuing laughter. He slumps against the door, letting out a long, tired sigh.

Great. He doesn’t know what else he expected.

Bill Cipher’s a total asshole.

#I meant to get this done quicker but my body betrayed me with illness #Probably coulda done another editing pass but I am tired and need a nap #Apologies for all of this; My November was kinda bad and then I compensated by writing Hella Fluff #Gotta wait till next part for Bill to find out the reason Dip's so quiet #That's going to be very fun :3c #For me that is #Uhhh anything else that I can add as a fun note #There's one particular scene that made me go yeah this is a good reason to write a shitton of words to get there #Because I am a fool #Hope this was fun to read you guys!! I am gonna take a friggin' nap

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raayllum · 4 months

Note

I’m sorry how is arc 2 not about aaravos? Everything about the show leads back to aaravos. The whole lore of the show is centered around aaravos. And it is absolutely titled the mystery of aaravos because it does plan on dealing with the mystery of aaravos in every possible way, and that has infact been confirmed by the showrunners on multiple instances. Aaravos is just as, if not more of a main character than rayllum in the ways that count because everything going on revolves around him.

And since he’s an EXTREMELY important character, how is it not justified for fans of him to want more screen time of him?

I’m sorry but not everything about the show revolves around rayllum and you shouldn’t call people out just for wanting to see more of their favorite character.

God forbid something about aaravos is actually about aaravos and not rayllum for once 💀💀

Actually I can and do call people out for wanting to see more of their favourite character when it causes them to be entitled / unfair to the broader story they want to tell. If you haven't been doing those things, then that post wasn't about you, but given the way you put your best foot forward here, I might go out on a limb and guess this might be behaviour you display sometimes, and it may be worth reconsidering.

As a bit of background:

My favourite character in a TV show was once a side character who was in 1/4 seasons, and one episode in the final season, and then he never showed up again. which was Okay, because he was a Side Character and it would've been pretty silly for the show to bend over backwards to include him more. Granted, there were opportunities (him and another character were travelling together, then she showed up at a Plot Relevant location without him and it was never addressed) but the show wasn't bad or wrong for not including more. I wasn't owed more screen time just because he was my favourite character, and while any character can Technically be Levelled Up for more screen time and plot relevance, sometimes characters are just there to serve more minor specific purposes, and that's Okay. It's all about adjusting your own expectations and not being an asshole.

Furthermore, given that I posted my personal opinion on my personal blog and only used my personal tags for it, you had two options for finding this post:

It got sent to you, presumably meaning you had someone else to be salty with in a private manner that would've been far more appropriate

You follow(ed) me, in which case you are more than encouraged to unfollow or block me if I have a post/opinion you find annoying or uncouth. Please do so rather than doing whatever This Is in my inbox in the future, it'll likely save you not only time but also embarrassment

The fact you thought going into the inbox of a Virtual Stranger and getting upset about me not thinking your favourite character is the Most Important Character in TDP Ever — because he isn't — in one (1) post is truly baffling to me in terms of 1) curating your internet experience and 2) interacting appropriately with strangers directly online. I've seen a lot of shit opinions in my day, and I vent in private to my fandom friends about it 99.9% of the time, thank you very much, or post about it in my personal tags on my own blog rather than making it someone else's problem.

In the nature of analysis / debate, though, let me clear what I meant considering 4+ people got their trousers in a twist about the idea that Aaravos isn't a main character.

That said, a few quick disclaimers: Aaravos is a very interesting character to me, and I like him a lot. I've written a fair bit about him in regards to how he's a thematic opposite to Harrow, his view of children, what I think happened to his chest piece, speculation on his banishment, his parallels to Finnegrin, his mythic connections to aspects of the Fae + Egyptian and Greek mythology, his foil relationship to Rayla, his characterization and motifs/symbols. So it's not as though I don't enjoy him or don't think he's important to the story. He is, he's just not a main character nor the most important. Moving on:

Secondly: it seems maybe my meaning of macguffin is getting misconstrued. A story Macguffin is a plot device that drives the story forward. Sometimes it's a character (R2D2 in star wars has to be transported from one dangerous location to safety because he has blue print plans), sometimes it's an object (the one ring, fetch quests, etc). Either way, the story is centralized around 1) characters competing for ownership or safe guarding of said person/thing and 2) through that competition or competing needs, the characterization of the main cast is revealed.

In Arc 1, Zym is the plot Macguffin. He overall has very little personality even once hatched beyond being sweet, occasionally helpful, and scared. He is the titular character, and his existence matters, but mostly because he serves as a motivational point for the characters. Claudia, Soren, and Viren want to stop Zym from getting back to Xadia; Rayla, Callum, and Ezran, want to help him get back.

Zym himself does not drive episodes forward. He rarely makes decisions that impact the main group. His existence or fears cause them to make decisions (they go looking for help because they dropped his egg; Rayla and Callum have to go after Nyx because she stole him) but he is not likewise making decisions for the group. S4 definitely levelled Zym up into him making 1) more independent decisions and 2) having more of his own interior feelings, particularly about his father, but Callum is the one who decides to send him up into the trees; Ezran is the one calling the meeting for Zym to come to Katolis. A couple of exceptions (he has a mini arc about his mom for 2 eps, he has an arc in s2 with Ezran) do not suddenly make Zym a "I'm making decisions that heavily push the plot forward every episode" kind of character.

You'll also note, if you actually read said post you're referencing, that I specified "'the mystery of aaravos' (esp these past two seasons)" and that I never mentioned lore, either, even if I have likewise written about lore extensively (one of my more recent metas on it was about 4.8k words on lore alone, for example).

Aaravos' plot impact was a lot heavier in S2 and particularly S3 than it is in S4 or S5, as he influenced Viren's decisions more heavily and eventually came into more direct conflict with the core protagonists. This is likewise reflected in Aaravos in S2 and S3 being in multiple episodes (half the season in s2, and almost every episode at least a little in s3).

Meanwhile in Arc 2, Aaravos could effectively, unknown to his pawns drop dead after giving Claudia her final instructions pre-S4, and nothing would be affected plot wise, because Arc 2 thus far has mostly been characters fearing his impending release (the main cast) or dealing with the fallout of his actions from S3 (the Sunfire elf plot line). The only thing we'd lose on that level from a "Claudia believes Aaravos is alive and is trying to free him, but he's not actually" is Callum and Rayla's possession plot line, ironically enough given your apparent dislike of them, until the very very end of 5x09 in which he tries to goad Viren into killing SS.

I'm excited for and expecting that to change in S6 and S7, but that doesn't change what S4 and S5 currently are, either. Same thing for Amaya and Janai more so being main characters, Janai in particular, in S4 and S5, but they were not main characters in the first three seasons. That doesn't mean they're not good, meaningful, and important characters for the story, but I'd be a very poor meta writer / have very poor media literacy if I tried to claim that Janai is a main character in arc 1 over say, Callum.

For another example: everything in Avatar: The Last Airbender revolves around Team Avatar wanting to stop Ozai, but Ozai is not a main character in the show. He's there to be a minor character, an endgame big bad, and to affect his children / embody the conflict the characters are up against. The fact that TDP has so many antagonists that are also Main Characters throughout the whole show (Viren, Claudia) is actually pretty rare in media, particularly for children.

The Legend of Zelda games usually revolve around Link wanting to save or free Zelda, and while certain games flesh her out and make her more developed into a main character, the central character of the narrative is Link, because he's the character we follow the most.

Additionally, the Importance of a character in a narrative has no bearing on whether they're your favourite, or even necessarily whether they're a 'good' / 'well written' character. Rayla, for example, is my personal #1 favourite character in TDP. She is a main character; she is not The main character. That's not an insult to Rayla; she's there to be a foil, one hell of a narrative lancer, and our main elven character. But I can't (nor do I want to) magically change her role in the story to claim that it's something it isn't.

The central main character of TDP is Callum. It always has been, it always will be.

He is the character who shows up in every single episode, he's our central mage character in a show all about magic, he has the most developed relationships out of everyone, he is the POV character we follow the most. That doesn't mean he's your favourite, that doesn't mean he has to be your preference, you don't even have to like him. But he is The Main Character. The majority of the story revolves around him and the people in his life. No amount of liking another character more is going to change that, whether you're clamouring for Rayla, Aaravos, Sol Regem or anyone else.

While there are shows where I think the side lining of characters feels off (Gus and Willow in The Owl House come to mind) that's mostly because 1) that sort of side lining usually happens to characters of colour, as it did there and 2) there's no real reason for the story to sideline them considering everyone lives in close proximity and there's a s1 emphasis that the main character has never had friends before and that she desperately wants some. Therefore, she should be thrilled to have best friends for the first time, but we barely see them. See the disconnect?

Aaravos is a minor character and big bad who is well utilized in the overall minimal screentime he has, especially thus far in S4 and S5. That doesn't mean he's not important to the story, and that doesn't mean he can't or shouldn't be your favourite, but your assertion doesn't miraculously make him our main core protagonist of the entire show, because 1) he's not our central pov character and 2) that's about the only requirement a main protagonist has to have, and 3) that's just not how stories work.

I also have no clue why you brought up Rayllum as a ship, given that I didn't mention them in my OG post at all, but given that you seem to think "this character isn't a main character" is a moral or value statement, I'll assume you said it to ruffle my feathers — that doesn't really work, given that I agree with you that not everything in the show is about Callum or Rayla individually or as a relationship, because it Isn't. Even if I hated them as characters or as a dynamic, however, that wouldn't change the fact that they're two of the core 3 characters (alongside Ezran) and that their relationship has the most screentime out of anyone in the show.

And if the show decided to tone down their screen time to give other characters more time, I'd be okay with that — because I don't need my Personal Favourite to be the most important character in the source material / screen time ever in order to feel secure in liking them, thanks.

#fandom nonsense #aaravos-brainrot #thanks for asking #or not

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kradogsrats · 9 months

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A Song of Love and Loyalty (and Loss): General Miyana

So thanks to @raayllum I have been thinking about Miyana. Miyana is a very interesting figure in the cast of a story where the central conflict is shaped around what an individual will do for the sake of love, whether to themselves, to others, or to the world—because Miyana, in her initial arc, is characterized by what she won't do for love. She's very much a facet of the same theme, but in a way that people are liable to find unsympathetic: she doesn't support Karim when he's relatively harmless, to the point that could be considered a betrayal of him, but then she does when doing so means doing serious harm in a definite betrayal of "the good guys."

But I love a complicated woman, so why not do a deep dive on the motivations, story arcs, and thematic future of a character most of the fanbase probably can't name and most of the rest likely hate?

So What is Miyana's Deal?

Miyana is one of the "Six Horns," the best and most respected of the Sunfire generals, named for the six horns of Sol Regem. The Six Horns, as at least part of their duties, form a tribunal that is is implied to be the highest level of Sunfire justice. Their role appears to be determining innocence or guilt, and the sentencing is left up to the monarch—however, they are also powerful enough to completely displace the monarch if they unite in intent to do so.

In their role as judges, the Six Horns adopt ceremonial regalia that hides their emotions and gives at least a symbolic curtain to their identities, creating a sense of impartiality... but it does not appear to be any kind of secret who they are. Miyana is still one of the Six Horns when out of "uniform," and she and her colleagues freely mingle and discuss things among themselves.

From her role, we can assume that Miyana is smart, politically astute, likely good at reading both people and situations, and has demonstrated loyalty to the Sunfire kingdom (... empire?). It's difficult to tell whether being a warrior is also part of her skillset, because she doesn't demonstrate any combat ability or inclination in her appearances—ex. she does not walk around armed. The "general" title would seem to imply some amount of combat experience, especially with our one other "general" example being Amaya, an extremely hands-on commander. However, given the intertwining of government and military there appears to be in Sunfire elf culture, the position is more strategic and advisory in nature than front-line combatant.

Miyana and Karim: a Secret vs. a Symbol

Miyana and Prince Karim are engaged in a romantic relationship that is secret... but also not particularly subtle, at least on his part.

When Karim bursts into Miyana's... office? Quarters? Whatever, she's the one who is disturbed and slams the door behind him. He doesn't really appear to give much of a shit.

This makes sense, because Miyana is the one with something to lose if their relationship gets out. She's meant to be an impartial judge, even against the monarch—an entanglement with the royal family significantly compromises her. Presumably, if she wanted to be with Karim openly, she could relinquish her position... but she does not, either because she doesn't want to, or because Karim doesn't want to make things official.

Speaking of...

Karim, somewhat hilariously, suggests to Janai that she keep Amaya as a permanent consort, rather than officially marry her and have that marriage be a "symbol" of what he perceives as the beginning of the end for Sunfire power and culture. This suggests that it could be Karim who insists on maintaining secrecy over his and Miyana's relationship, assuming he feels the same way about making sure his own eventual marriage is appropriately symbolic for his people.

Personally, given the way Karim behaves, I think it's Miyana who isn't willing to abandon being one of the Six Horns for him—whether because of the power and status it affords her, or because she values being in a position where her service to her people has a strong impact, or because it took her a fucking long time to climb the ladder. Who knows.

But basically, Karim? Not subtle:

Look at this guy, he might as well have literal heart eyes. He also doesn't avoid openly socializing with her:

Not to mention that they have matching earrings, for fuck's sake.

Anyway, he doesn't even respond to Miyana's concern about them being seen together when he barges into her space. He's not exactly behaving as if he's committed to the secrecy.

Season 4 Arc: Gently Convincing Your Royal Boyfriend that He's an Idiot

Miyana is introduced in the s4 Sunfire arc when it pivots toward Karim moving directly against Janai. Immediately after being dissatisfied by the result of Lucia's trial and Janai revealing the Sun Seed to him, Karim meets with Miyana and their relationship is revealed to the viewers. She does appear before that, with Karim (the three previous screenshots are from before that point), but this is where they are formally connected.

This scene, immediately before Karim tells her that he has seen "the truth" that Janai must be removed, is the last time we see Miyana smile until the end of s5. She spends the entire rest of the season going through various stages of concern and doubt about Karim's... frankly unhinged plans.

She questions him at basically every turn, but never goes so far as to say outright that what he's proposing is a bad idea. She acknowledges that the others of the Six Horns might be sympathetic to his take on Janai's direction, but more than once cautions him that she does not believe they will be willing to turn against her.

So how does she really feel? Karim certainly implies that he sees her as his "woman on the inside," secretly feeding him information on the Six Horns and influencing them in his favor, in turn. There's a cut segment that has been referenced in interviews in which Karim cautions Miyana that she must not be the first to vote in his favor, because that will possibly reveal their relationship—which, while he may be thinking about her preference for secrecy, would also kind of invalidate the entire vote.

Miyana, on the other hand, expresses a lot of concern for Karim. She's very worried that he's misjudged the situation and will fail—possibly because she knows she cannot rescue him if he's wrong. And she doesn't, even when he cries out to her, specifically:

I bet that was real fun for her to try to explain. It's possible she could have helped him more after the fact if he hadn't implicated her that way, but it's also entirely possible there's nothing she could do—the monarch, after all, is the one who sentences the guilty.

Even if Miyana is 100% behind Karim's vision for the future of the Sunfire people, at no point does she appear to agree with the way he's pursuing it, and in the end she refuses to go down with him. (Contrast with, say, Sarai... who firmly expresses her disapproval to Harrow about his approach, but then backs him 100% with action.)

Season 5 Arc: Can You Even Trust Yourself?

Miyana does not appear a single time in s5 until she reports Kim'dael's infiltration of the camp to Janai. At this point, Janai entrusts her with concealing and protecting the Sun Seed.

This is an interesting exchange, since on Janai's end it indicates that she and Miyana probably don't know each other well. Janai at least suspects what they are facing, based on the description of "a ghost"—if she suspects that it's Kim'dael specifically, she would be aware that the only person who could have sent her is Karim. It's not clear whether some of Miyana's involvement with Karim might have come out after s4, but even if it did, it was probably brushed off because she didn't stand with him in his ill-judged coup.

Also, like... what does Janai expect her to say? "No"? This isn't really a question—Janai has decided that, absent other immediate options, she can trust Miyana as a member of the Six Horns to safeguard the future of their people. She's indicating to Miyana that she is being given an incredibly important, secret responsibility.

And personally, I fully believe that Miyana thinks she is being 100% truthful in her answer. I don't think she's been sitting around waiting for the perfect moment to run off to Karim—she loved him, and still loves him, but she chose being able to continue having a role in shaping her people's future over throwing away everything for him. She has no idea where he is or what he's doing. He's gone. Exiled. No longer a factor.

So what changes? The ransom demand:

Karim sends Pharos with a message that says, simply:

He has Janai.

He wants the Sun Seed in exchange for her life.

He wants Miyana to come to him with it.

For Miyana herself, this potentially changes everything, because what she's hearing is:

Karim is alive.

He is still fighting for his vision, and has gathered allies powerful enough to overcome Janai.

He has some kind of plan requiring the Sun Seed, which likely plays to his actual strengths (he's a mage, the Sun Seed is a powerful magical artifact).

He wants her at his side.

Personally, if I was her, I'd be at least a little worried that he wants her as the delivery person so he can punish her for her betrayal of him... but he's also such an unbelievably soft boy that I can see why that might not cross her mind. Like, his reaction to seeing "Miyana" riding toward him is unrestrained joy and affirmation that his belief in her was correct—if anything, what he's expecting here is that Miyana will convince the others of the Six Horns to agree to his demands, thereby getting him the Sun Seed and reuniting them.

Miyana, for her part, is now in a position to significantly shift the balance of power. She still loves Karim, and she presumably still believes in his direction for the future. She can bring him the Sun Seed. She can bring him her segment of the Sunfire army. Both of those will significantly weaken Janai's position, while putting Karim much closer to success. Unlike Karim's s4 plan, this is a good bet. This is worth throwing away what she has, in favor of something she could gain.

Removing the Mask: Miyana's Final Turn (So Far)

Bear with me for a moment, because we're going to briefly circle back to s4 and Miyana's position as one of the Six Horns. Throughout s4, there is demonstrable tension between her role and her relationship with Karim, for both of them:

Each of them, in a private moment, contemplates the mask she wears as tribunal judge—a symbol of what keeps them apart. Both of them know that this is her central choice, between her love for him and the duty (loyalty?) to her people that she won't let go. Karim, poor fool that he is, thinks that those will never come in conflict. Miyana spends all of s4 knowing that they will. Maybe even knowing what her choice will be.

In Amaya's deception to rescue Janai, she puts on Miyana's clothing and mask, pretending to be her in order to get close to Karim. Karim completely falls for this, and thereby suffers a second emotional betrayal from the "General Miyana of the Six Horns" mask.

He's so happy that his faith in her wasn't misplaced, and then he gets literally hit in the face with it:

So that sucks for him. However, when Miyana ultimately returns to him, she has stripped all aspects of her Six Horns role, wearing neither her tribunal mask/robe nor her usual fancy tunic and adornments (what Janai was wearing):

She professes her loyalty to Karim having only the most basic layer of her personas: the bottom-layer red tunic and pants that go under both outfits. She has, it is implied, completely discarded the position that previously held her back from Karim.

She also claims that her loyalty has never wavered (debatable), and equates her loyalty to Karim with her love for him, also unwavering (probably true).

This, the moment when Karim receives her (after literally starting to cry), is the first time she smiles again. She continues to smile through the end of the sequence, revealing to him both the Sun Seed and the army she has brought. She appears to have zero conflict about this—she has shed it all with the shell of her identity as one of the Six Horns.

So What Does This Mean for the Future?

Miyana has explicitly equated her love for and her loyalty to Karim. And what is love, in this series, but something to be tested?

Even having stripped away all the aspects of her dedication to her people that are related to the Sunfire mainstream rather than Karim's rebellion, Miyana is still going to have to reckon with whether Karim's vision is the future she wants and whether she can support how far he may go for it. She has handed Karim, and by extension Pharavos, a great deal of both magical and martial power. When Karim's ambitions collide with Aaravos's, he will almost certainly double down—accepting what Aaravos offers and/or foolishly believing he can somehow come out on top.

Miyana is the only one of this trio who is potentially even a little clear-eyed, though she could absolutely be blinded by love. She may follow Karim to the bitter end and self-destruction. She may try to save him. She may try to save others from him. She may realize she can only save herself.

Of the characters with close relationships that carry this loyalty/love tension of loving someone but not necessarily being able to support their decisions and actions, we have:

Soren, who was unable to continue following Viren's downward spiral and instead chose loyalty to his king. His father may be a lost cause, but he still believes he can save his sister.

Terry, who has been left by Claudia with the aggressive guilt that she has robbed herself of his support because she believes he will eventually abandon her, and has several directions he could go: doubling down on his loyalty to Claudia and aggressively following her descent, prioritizing his love for Claudia and focusing on finding a way to save her, or he might cut his losses and fuck off completely (unlikely).

Lissa, whose precise situation we don't know the details of, but who left behind everything she loved and never looked back (or was never allowed to).

While I'm sure whatever resolution they write for Miyana will be fine (*grits teeth*), at this time I think the best one for her would be a Lissa-style ending. Janai's path may lead to the end of Sunfire history, as Karim put it, but his path will lead to the end of their future. Miyana will eventually recognize that, and that like in s4, she can't save him from himself. However, this time she has already irrevocably cast aside her former position—leaving Karim also means giving up her chance (or perception of her chance) to be someone who actively shapes and safeguards her people's future. If she returns to Janai, she faces exile at best. Might as well skip the painful part of that and just... go. But in having given up her complex loyalty to Janai, and finally separating her loyalty to Karim from her love for him, she's left with an opening where loyalty to herself and her own principles can blossom.

#the dragon prince #miyana #karim #janai #sunfire elves #did she seize my interest JUST because i suddenly thought 'oh she's like lissa?" SHUT UP DON'T LOOK AT ME #kradogsmeta

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