#so things that might go unnoticed if he was in only a season or two become habits and mannerisms because they happens often enough over

[tswwwit]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Dipper’s bowl of popcorn is empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stopping him from talking is the hard part.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The market for…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Special. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How much of this is true?” He asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper glances at the screen. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s even doing it right now. 

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

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

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

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

Dipper speaks up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Bill doesn’t deny it. 

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

Holy shit. Dipper’s right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s only focused on one person.

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

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

Wouldn’t that make someone kind of special? 

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

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

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

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

A blatant lie. Hardly his best one, either. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Fun stuff’. 

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

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

“Is that… so.”

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

“A few, yeah.” A lot, actually. 

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

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

Dipper swallows. He rubs at his throat. 

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

“Uh,” Dipper says, then, “Well.” 

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

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

What will he do? When he goes back?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper looks up. Spoilers for-?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seems ‘uh’, what?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he should replay it to check.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of - Dipper reaches out with his magical senses - 

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

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

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

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

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

Better get to work. 

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

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

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

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

Dipper figures it out in about two minutes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…It’s all about misdirection.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is there… actually nothing here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hold on - he hasn’t checked that yet. 

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

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

Sadly, there’s not much to look at. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In his hands, there’s a picture frame.

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

A picture of Bill. What a surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just a picture of… Dipper.

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

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

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

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

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

There wasn’t just one picture. 

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper wheels around and stares in horror at the room. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. He’s intact. 

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

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

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

At Bill. 

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

Then he blinks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whuh,” Dipper says, intelligently. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper’s heart leaps into his throat.

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

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

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

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

Oh. 

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

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

And Dipper’s still standing there. Untouched. 

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

Dipper nods, waiting for a moment. Then another. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Living here. With Bill. 

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

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

His assumptions have never been right. 

Bill’s home is a different beast entirely.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The birthmark. It must be that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, His room. Where he lives.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh. Now that’s an interesting thought. 

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

He could use that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here goes nothing. Dipper takes a deep breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simple solutions rarely exist, he guesses. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, what are they doing here? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just as he suspected. It is a great bed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Dressing for revenge [K. B]

Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

word count: 7k

summary: when Kaz and his crows return from Ravka they run into trouble, and to solve it, he looks for a childhood friend who is too resentful and too in love with him

warnings: trauma, PTSD, spoilers for S&B season 2, no physical contact, here Kaz has no romantic feelings for Inej

A/N: I LOVE Kanej, but I wanted to write something with Kazzle Dazzle because I love him too, lol. I hope you like it!

taglist (who I thought might be interested): @rustyyyyspoonz

The rumor had already spread throughout the Barrel: “Kaz Brekker and his crows are back” How long had it been since they had embarked into the Fold? Just a couple of months? They had felt like years, if you were being honest.

If it was true that they were back, you felt sorry for the trouble they were going to run into. The change of ownership of their club, the strengthening of the other gangs, and mainly the fact that they were being tried for murder thanks to the fact that Pekka Rollins had awarded it to them... all these problems were going to fall on them like a bucket of water cold. It had already fallen on them, in fact, since the rumor was accompanied that they had escaped from the stadwatch once they were captured.

You didn't know how much of what everyone was saying was true and how much was false, trying to stay as calm as possible when the name Kaz came from someone's lips for fear that Pekka had some magical ability and could read your mind or sense the fear in your eyes every time you met him. Afraid of him and afraid of what he might do to you if he knew you knew the black-haired man.

Things had changed a lot since the last time you saw the boy and that was more than noticeable. Your story goes back long before he made his reputation when you were just a couple of neighbor kids playing on the farms. You two arrived in Ketterdam together, with nothing but hopes for a better future and Jordie as your protector (or an attempt at that, at least), after your father and Mr. Rietveld died in the same accident, reuniting with Kaz’s mother and later to be matched by your mother, who had died of sadness, if that was possible. Three helpless children thrown into the cruel world were what came of that and the rest is history.

Crime, robbery, gangs, and a life of hardship were what you had to adjust to as a child, but you doubted very much that a single person living in The Barrel would be in a different situation. You weren't fully involved in the disgraced jobs of the majority, but if there was one true thing, it was that when it came to obtaining information you were, to say the least, excellent. You and Kaz had to fend for yourselves, and you learned what you could from the streets. In this way he and you became a team, so to speak, for a few teenage years, and for that period of your lives having each other was the only thing in the world. Over time he became ruthless, rude, a great fighter and earned the nickname 'dirtyhands' thanks to his gambling skills, from which he obtained most of the things you had. You learned to move quickly, to go unnoticed, and to defend yourself from those who tried to harm you, always supporting the boy’s plans.

Less than a year was enough for his name to become known and he began to think big. Sometimes he would tell you about the plans he had: to run Fifth Harbor, to establish the crow club, to become the best of The Barrel. All of that sounded like crazy ideas at first, but looking back you realized that he had accomplished too much in that pit for your relatively young age.

You never knew what made you and Kaz go their separate ways, but somehow it had happened. It was gradual, maybe that's why it was hard for you to notice, but one day you woke up and realized the distance that existed between him, who previously was practically the only family you knew, and you. It didn't take much for him to decide to break the bond that had held you together from a very early age; he never gave reasons for this and you never asked him.

You lived under some protection from the leader of The Crows, of course, but very few people could link you to The Bastard of the Barrel. Sometimes you still provided him with information, but when he found someone else, the inquiries became less and less frequent until one day they turned into none. You managed to eat and have a roof over your head pretty well (and mostly honestly) and you tried to stay out of trouble for a long time.

Until one day he flew away from Ketterdam without warning and order in the Barrel was disturbed in every possible way. With his team gone, it didn't take long for Pekka to seize control and anyone who didn't work for him was inevitably against him. It was only a matter of time before he found out the talent you had tried to hide and forced you to carry his lion shield... figuratively speaking.

If he ever knew that you used to work with Kaz he never mentioned it or maybe your relationship with him had been severed so long that no one remembered it anymore. Now you were just a little girl, as he used to call you, slippery enough that she seemed so harmless that, in his eyes, that became a benefit. You were never one to look rude, unfortunately for you, and that allowed men like him to feel entitled to take advantage of you. You thanked the saints that Rollins didn't find you attractive or who knows what other services he would have requested from you. It was always better to provide him with the information he needed than for him to force you to be his lover.

You weren't a part of the meetings that the Dime Lions had and you weren't considered a member either, which kept you calm every night. You were just another piece in the enormous chess game that Pekka moved at his convenience, the same game that was threatened by the mere existence of Kaz Brekker and much more so now that he had returned.

In the middle of the night it was logical to ask yourself, what kind of strange plans would he have in mind now?

One, two, and three knocks surprised you at the rickety wooden door and made you jump out of your chair, where you were already asleep. An old lamp was on the even older table and it illuminated the little space that your provisional home had so you took it to approach to open the door. It was raining outside (quite unusual for that time of year) and by the time it was you figured it was one of Rollins' idiots coming to do a job for you. What would he want now? Harbor information? Talk to a policeman? He was supposed to control everything, sometimes you kept wondering why he asked for your help.

When you opened the door, the air slipped in and almost extinguished the flame of the fire, but the temperature of the night wasn’t what left you freezing, but the presence that was in front of you. With his hat, a completely black outfit, and his cane in hand, but above all soaked from head to toe, there was him; Kaz. You almost feared you were imagining it, but you knew it was him by the clear, penetrating eyes that were watching you, even though you admitted that he had changed so much that in other circumstances you would have had trouble recognizing him.

“Did I arrive at a bad time?” he asked. No warm greetings, no smiles, no explanations. Just a cold, serious question, just the way he was.

“Someone followed you? If this place is horrible by itself, I don't want blood staining the floor” you replied with the same tone. You wanted to tell him that you had missed him, ask him if he was okay, and give him a huge hug, but those actions should be reserved for your nocturnal fantasies, because as soon as you took a step forward he would be able to hit you with his cane. Or at least that's what the Kaz you knew would do, but you doubted very much that the passing of the years would have softened his heart.

"Nobody followed me" was all he said and you stepped aside at the door so he could go inside. Even with his words, you felt the need to look out on both sides of the street in search of someone, but with the level of rain, you doubted very much that someone would want to stay and spy because he would probably die of pneumonia.

When you closed the door and turned around he didn't say anything, he just stood in front of you while the water drained from his coat. During that moment of silence, you allowed yourself to admire it under the warm light of the candle; his eyes definitely hadn't changed one bit, but now there was a tinge of contempt more noticeable than before. His features had hardened and he was thinner, barely resembling the boy you remembered, perhaps as a reminder of just that... that he was now a man.

“So the rumors are true…” you started to say “You are back”

"I think that's more than obvious," he exclaimed. For a second you forgot that it was he who had knocked on your door and you felt uncomfortable as if you were an intruder who had to get out of there.

There was silence again and you two just looked at each other. Kaz had made his own mental list of changes he noticed in you and was reflecting on when was the last time he had looked at you in such detail. You were wearing light clothes, because before he arrived you were about to go to sleep, and your face, although as childish as always, looked more tired than before. You had also cut your hair, which was messy around your shoulders and a bit darker in tone.

“And may I know to what I owe your visit? I guess you don't want to have tea” you said to break the silence. The dryness of your words in a certain way was to protect yourself because you never knew how much a sharp tongue like his could hurt you.

"I'm in a job and I need people"

Of course it was going to be due to a job, and of course that was why he had sought you out after so many years. A part of you, tremendously stupid, to tell you the truth, was hoping that during the time your friend was away from Ketterdam some divine clarity would have illuminated him so that he would realize that he had to look for you to repair your relationship and offer at least apologies. But you would have to pay him every kruge in the country for him to do something like that.

"I'm glad you considered me, but I'm sorry I have to decline."

"Why?" he asked immediately, his raspy voice showing annoyance at the refusal.

“Because it happens that you can’t work for opposing sides. At least not at the same time” you replied. Maybe it was due to fatigue, but you swore you saw a slight look of surprise on the man's face when you answered that. Most likely, he had assumed that you would be one of the few people who wouldn’t be on Pekka’s side and therefore a safe option.

“Do you work for Pekka?” he muttered. You knew him well enough to know that he was hurt, you could see it in his posture, in his voice, and especially in his look “After all he did to us?”

"And what did you want him to do?" you said, trying to ignore the fact that he had spoken in the plural. Us “You practically handed us over to him. My options were that or receive a bullet in the forehead."

"I didn’t hand you over to anyone"

"You abandoned us and left us in his hands, it's the same thing" you replied, shrugging. There was so much resentment and pain from never-closed wounds floating in the air that it was hard for him and you to think clearly. “Your vacation in Ravka may have been nice, but things only just went to hell here. So don't you dare judge me by the choices I made” you exclaimed defensively.

You didn't imagine that your first conversation with him after so long would be like this, but unfortunately, things never turned out the way you expected. After all, they were a crook and a spy talking in the dead of night.

"You could get information from him more easily," Kaz concluded, shrugging the same way you did. "And so we sink him from the inside."

"And risk him finding out and killing me?"

“You know that would never happen,” he said firmly “The thing about killing you. I wouldn't allow him” his eyes stared at you almost offended by the lack of trust you had towards him. There was silence for the third time and this time your gaze moved away to focus on anything but him.

"Plus you have this girl you took out of The Menagerie, don't you?" you said in your defense. The one you replaced me with, you wanted to add, but held back "So I don't know what you might need me for" 

"With so many problems going on, I thought it would be better to have as many alliances as possible," he explained to you. You continued without looking at him, with your head still full of worries and sorrows, and when he didn’t receive an answer, he spoke again "You know that it is your best option"

"I don't know that, but I do know that I would have liked you to at least ask how I am before asking me to join the team you never wanted me in and from which you separated me as soon as you had the chance" you exhaled, in an attempt to lighten the weight on your chest. 

It was no secret that you had always felt betrayed by Kaz’s treatment of you, even though he treated dozens of others the same way, because you somehow thought that your backstory was enough to deserve at least the sympathy or some consideration on the part of the crow. And of course you wanted to run from Pekka's clutches and plunge him into the deepest muck, but the resentment for what you considered your friend’s abandonment was stronger. You didn't even know if it was correct to call him ‘friend’.

"You would be a good ace up my sleeve" was all he replied, in an attempt to convince you. Kaz begged absolutely no one, but if there was one thing he had decided before coming to find you, it was that he wouldn't leave until you agreed to help him. Although the nature of your current job made things a bit difficult for him, "Pekka never knew you worked for me, did he?"

"With you" you corrected him "I didn't work for you but with you. We got to The Barrel at the same time”

"Y/N" he murmured. Your name sounded strange coming from his lips after so long without hearing it and that caught you off guard “I'm trying to help you so you don't end up hurt or dead. If you work for… with me, I can tell you where not to be. Otherwise I could find you in the rubble of some confrontation or with a knife from Inej or a bullet from Jesper through your chest”

"Always so thoughtful," you replied with a smirk, but as much as it pained you to admit it, he had a point. You knew what he was capable of and what Pekka was capable of… which side was more convenient to be on? "How much are you going to pay me?" you asked and Kaz smiled, but it wasn't a sign of happiness but mockery “You've always said that's what's really important, haven't you?”

He took something out of his coat and tossed it on the table. They were bills. 

"An advance, when I recover the crow club, I will pay you the rest"

“So my pay depends on whether we win or not. That doesn't sound so convenient to me,” you muttered, clicking your tongue, as you fought the urge to say yes just to be near him. It was cold outside, the rain was making a lot of noise and you just wanted to sleep at once, but you knew that you could have been arguing with him all night and neither of you would back down. Kaz was stubborn, one way or another he would get what he wanted. "This isn't just about the club, is it?" you said, with your voice noticeably lower and you would even say with a touch of softness. You and Kaz never talked about what had happened, but each of you was dealing with the weight of the trauma in your own way. He didn't say anything and this time you saw something in him that was different from his usual behavior, knowing that it was those ghosts from the past tormenting him.

"If someone should make him pay, it's us"

Us, again. 

"I'll think about it" was what you answered, after reflecting on what would be the appropriate response. The speechless moment gave you something else to think about, and you knew that a huge flaw of yours was how easily you let your heart take over. Because even with all the other feelings on top, you still worried about him "Now that the crow club isn't yours..." you started to say, afraid of what he might say "do you have a place to stay?"

You would have offered to sleep there if he said no, but instead he said he’d manage. That didn't completely reassure you, but you decided not to insist.

“First thing tomorrow, send a reply to this address,” he asked you, holding out a piece of paper that had a few drops on it “Don't go there personally or you'll screw everything up, just send me a note. A yes or a no will suffice”

“What if someone tracks down the note?” you asked, which was a totally valid concern.

Kaz was silent while he thought of an alternative, and then spoke again.

“Just write crows of a feather, murder together. I'll understand” he murmured and you nodded. You knew the poem he was quoting from, had read it many times from the worn-out book he had gotten for you. Kaz didn't wait for anything else and took long steps to the door, which he opened as soon as he could. "Good night, Y/N."

And then he left.

That night you thought a lot about the solution you would give him in the morning, thinking about the pros and cons of each possible answer, until you decided that it was best to say yes. You needed to do it if you wanted to live peacefully (as much as the place allowed) but the main reason was to support him. If he had been about any stupid dispute you would have said no, but you knew this was something else. Kaz missed Jordie every day of his life and his way of honoring him was by planning revenge against the one who led him to that fate, so it was kind of an obligation for you to help him with that too.

You wrote the note on a piece of paper and carefully folded it to put it in an envelope. You signed the outside with his name, written in the best handwriting you had, and although you were hesitant to do so, at the end you wrote a little ‘from a friend’ in the hope of making it clear to him, and perhaps even encouraging him that, if he was willing, you could recover a little of what you had lost. And you weren’t referring to physical things, but to what existed between you.

All your life you had lived with almost opposite feelings when it came to Kaz. Somehow you were upset with him for only seeing you as an instrument that he could dispose of for his interests, but this was linked to the feeling of affection that you wanted him to experience for you and that apparently didn’t exist. It was difficult to decipher anything he was thinking, not just about you, since he had taken it upon himself to build such a convincing facade that it made it complicated to see beyond. Added to that was his aversion to touch of any kind, which, while quite understandable and justified, still made you feel sad. More than once you tried, in vain, to be able to touch him in some way, even if it was something tiny, but he always pushed you away. He pushed you away physically and eventually emotionally, and yet with all this background you wanted to help him.

You knew you couldn't expect a reply to your note, but you were confident that he had received it, and your suspicions were confirmed when another letter came back a couple of days later. It contained a day, a time, and a place, which you assumed was a meeting with him.

You were very careful when you headed there, because you thought that the fewer people saw you together, the better, or else Pekka might suspect something. You covered yourself with a long black cloak for this task and when you arrived you noticed that it wasn't Kaz who was there, but a couple of boys.

"Who are you?"

"And you?" you asked, with the same defensive tone. The place seemed to be an experiment workshop and looking at it in more detail you noticed that there was a bed, so it could even be some kind of apartment. The two men, one brown-skinned and the other pale as snow, wore simple brown suits and were looking at you warily.

“She is Y/N,” said a voice behind you. By the sound of the cane accompanied by the footsteps you knew it was Kaz, “she will work with us”

"Oh," said the dark-haired boy, looking happier with the answer, as he walked in your direction "Welcome, in that case" he muttered flirtatiously, as he held out his hand for you to greet him "Jesper Fahey, at your service”

"I am Wylan" intervened the other, from his place, timidly and quickly.

"You arrived" Kaz spoke again. You turned and a couple of women appeared, you guessed that the shorter one with Suli features was the famous wraith of Kaz. And she was beautiful, you couldn't help but notice.

There was a brief conversation with the six of you there and then Kaz asked you to walk him up to the roof of the place. Once there you instinctively stood next to the only one you knew and he just looked at you out of the corner of his eye while he adopted the typical position of him leaning on the cane.

“Brick by brick” whispered the man’s raspy voice and you were about to ask what you were supposed to do there when an explosion went off in the distance so impressively that you stepped back a bit. It didn't take you more than a few seconds to locate the space and realize the place it was.

"The crow club" you said in a low voice, only for the black-haired man to hear you, while you watched him in profile. But he didn't look at you, just exchanged words with the others and talked about how Pekka's apparent reign was coming to an end.

You'd always known that Kaz Brekker was a little unhinged, and that night you proved it for sure, but you weren't even the least bit afraid. Rather, it was some strange hope that this madness would allow you to go far. Even freedom, perhaps.

After that clear declaration of war, things got considerably complicated, especially when you were summoned before Pekka and he asked you to investigate someone in particular and it turned out to be none other than the man you were now secretly working with. You assumed it was something logical, but even so you feared that Rollins had noticed the slight tremor in your hands when he asked you to complete the task.

You summoned Kaz to Black Veil Cemetery, late at night, and there you confessed to him everything that had happened. He of course found something good in this and devised a way to use it to your advantage, which put you at ease. It still amazed you a little at how nervous you became around him as if you knew nothing of what you were doing, but when you regained your composure you thought it was an excellent plan.

Meetings with Kaz were regular, but always in secret and alone, and they worked to exchange information that you considered useful for him with what he would allow Pekka to know.

You didn't know the full plans and you weren't part of them in any way, or you would be found out, but you knew about almost everything that was going on. The attacks, the fights, the traps, the injuries... you had to look at everything from the outside without being able to intervene. It was frustrating for you, more than anything in the world, and you had to admit that you had taken a liking to crows, even if you had seen them only a couple of times, so you also looked after their safety.

One day you received a note and went to a meeting with all the members of his group present, to finally hear the full version of what Kaz intended to do to finish off your boss. It was a brilliant idea, but you were a little worried about your position in all of this.

“You mean I'm going to be there watching everything Pekka and his thugs do?”

"It will be the best" he answered you. His face still had a bruise on his cheek, a memory from the last fight he had, and he looked exhausted "Jesper and Nina will be there, plus you'll be in disguise" he added and you nodded at that.

When the moment came you thought it would be an easy task, but when Kaz started to get brutally beaten you had to muster all your willpower not to throw yourself into trying to face Pekka, even with your zero skill. He sounded so convincing when he said about Alby that even you believed it, feeling suddenly awed by the cynical smile on Kaz's blood-smeared face. And he also mentioned you in the story, although not directly, saying that it was all about revenge for having abandoned you two when you were children.

You were able to breathe again until Pekka and his entire gang left the place in search of a son who wasn't really buried and you four were left alone. Under other circumstances you would have run to Kaz, cupped his face in your hands, sobbed, and told him it was over. But instead, you just stood in front of him and watched him; his eyes were wild with fury and a thirst for revenge that had already been quenched, but you sensed a hint of calm when he became aware of your presence.

"Breathe," you said in a whisper. Jesper and Nina were dismayed by the closeness with which you spoke to him, as they knew little of your history together “You're fine. We all are,” you assured him. That situation took you back to multiple panic attacks in the past where, given the impossibility of physical contact, all you could do for him was talk to calm him down. It always worked and Kaz had forgotten how soft your voice was and the way you brought him back to the real world. You decided to risk trying to do something else to comfort him and cautiously stretched out your hand towards him, instantly seeing his eyes widen in terror. But your hand ended up landing, more like a touch than a squeeze, on the man's bicep, which was covered by his coat; it wasn't intrusive, or abrupt, and Kaz was surprised that he didn't feel anything negative about it. He looked at your hand and then he looked at you with that usual serious expression, but he didn't push you away and allowed you to stay that way for just a few seconds, after which you decided to move your limb back.

You didn’t receive a verbal response at any time, but you did see him exhale shakily (so softly that you barely noticed) and nod his head while still looking at you, as if he were letting go of a huge weight that was stuck in his chest and at the same time assure you that it felt like a victory. Victory for beating Pekka, victory because he wasn't engulfed by an attack when you touched him, and victory because somehow you were there. You were with him, again.

“Now can we go back to normal?” Jesper asked, to break the silence, and you felt like laughing. Have they ever had a normal life? you asked yourself, but you didn't say.

"Yes" was all Kaz said and taking one last look at you he began to walk in the direction of the exit.

Both of them were curious about the type of relationship you had with Kaz but neither thought it wise to ask at the time, although Nina was getting an idea of things thanks to your racing heartbeat and his that it was impossible not to hear a moment ago. You stayed there just long enough to have a drink with Jesper and then you left the Emerald Palace. You didn't want to go back home, but going with one of them didn't seem like an option either, and once you were on the street you felt worried about remembering the state the black-haired man had left. You trusted that by that time he would be calmer and as if they thought for themselves your legs began to walk to look for him.

It was cold again and you feared you would meet someone dangerous on the road, but you only saw a couple of drunks and a girl looking for clients. Until you were in front of the door, you wondered if it was a good idea to go in, thinking that you would probably be crossing a line that Kaz was not going to allow you to, and wondering if you were going to put up with his refusal, which was a pretty good chance.

With trembling hands you opened the door, which luckily was unlocked, and as if some unknown instinct were guiding you, you found Kaz's room; it was the only one from which light came out through the crack in the door and something told you that he was there. You knocked twice, fearing you had knocked so low that he hadn't heard, and even considered walking back the way you came, but didn't have time to as the door opened a few seconds later. He had already taken off his coat and vest, probably because they were stained with blood, and his black shirt was open at the top buttons, with the suspenders that held up his pants hanging on his thighs. But what caught your attention the most were his pale, gloveless hands.

"What do you need?" he asked you directly. His face looked worse now that the bruises had swollen and the blood was dry. He'd probably have them for a couple of days, and he was definitely going to have a scar over his eyebrow.

"I wanted to see you" you replied, instantly regretting not having considered your sincere words better "I mean... to see how you were" you tried to correct. You thought he would slam the door in your face, but instead he scooted to the side to let you in, then closed the door behind you with a soft click.

Again you felt alien to the place for a moment, thanks to the fact that he looked at you from head to toe as if your presence bothered him. You had to mentally remind yourself that he saw most of them that way.

“Your pay will be ready soon”

"That doesn't matter," you said softly. Several things had changed since the first conversation you had with him, because now that you knew why Kaz had done everything he had done and the traumatic memories returned to both of you, the money had taken a backseat.

You didn't say anything for a moment and you looked for a place where you could sit later. Kaz’s room, once painted green but now just damp walls, had a small bed by the window, a desk littered with papers and a lamp facing another window, with a simple bookcase placed on the top of the side wall; a nightstand, a place to wash your hands with a mirror above it, a circular table in the middle of the free space, and a single armchair that at least looked comfortable. It wasn't the prettiest place, but at least it was cozy.

"Your girl, did she leave?"

“Inej is not my girl. Or from anyone, she is free now” he answered you. He still wasn't looking at you and you noticed that he was having a hard time staying on his feet.

"I'm glad to hear it. She deserves it” you murmured sincerely. You thought that she would be important to Kaz, like all his partners, and you decided to venture out to see if he revealed something else to you. "She's very smart."

"She is"

"And she's pretty too" you added and without moving his head he looked out at yours. You felt as if he was reading your intentions through your eyes, a quality he had always had.

"I think so," he said without much interest.

"Are you very hurt?" you asked, changing the subject, as you took a step towards him. By inertia he took the same step, in the opposite direction, and that made you stop abruptly.

"Nothing to worry about" he exclaimed and though he thought, you couldn't have known, of course, get close to you, you decided to take that step back before he did anything else. 

"Can I ask you something?"

"Mhm"

"What did I do to make you walk away?" you exclaimed, finally expressing a question that had been eating away at your chest and tormenting you for many nights in a row. And since there was silence, you spoke again: “Not like right now, but a long time ago. It's just… I never understood it. Before we were friends and for me… you were even like a family. I loved your brother too and I know losing him never affected us the same, but I was glad you were there for me after that. Then we got older and things got more difficult, but I still had you and that calmed me down. And then… we just drifted apart,” you muttered, shrugging, as you avoided his gaze. Kaz still didn't answer anything and you felt the obligation to fill the silence “Sometimes I remember the things we went through when we were young. The good ones, of course. Like that time we stole a cake to celebrate your birthday and it was probably the best sweet I've ever eaten” you commented, smiling at the memory "And when I made you laugh with my bad jokes, no matter how angry or sad you were... I haven't seen you smile for a long time and I don't know if you celebrate your birthday anymore” you reflected wistfully, almost as if you were talking to yourself. And well, in the face of Kaz's inexpressiveness, that's practically what you were doing.

He hadn't said anything yet and you concluded that all your effort was useless. It had been a mistake to go looking for him, as well as trying to get even the slightest proof that he had ever missed you and you wished you had never opened your mouth. You sighed to contain the urge to cry and without saying anything else you turned towards the exit, intending to leave and return only for your money, but Kaz's voice echoed. 

"Do you remember what I told Pekka?"

You stopped.

“You told him many things, you will have to be more specific”

"About not loving anything" he replied. Your hand trembled on the doorknob at the mere thought of what he was implying and I was able to hear your racing heart pounding in your chest. You heard footsteps and, still without moving, you heard him speak again "That's why I drifted apart”

You never, even in your wildest dreams, imagined that he would say something like that to you and perhaps you were just deluding yourself with the implication of the words, but it was enough to make you freeze in place.

"I still don't understand how that relates to me” you expressed in a low voice. Kaz took a few more steps towards you until you could see his shadow mingling with yours and you felt it was time to turn. He was watching you from above, seriously.

"I didn't want…" he trailed off. You would almost say he was nervous “I didn't want you to be…”

"A weak spot," you said without thinking, followed by a sigh that sounded almost amused "That's your problem, Kaz," you continued, your gaze far across the room, "You think love is a person's greatest weakness, when it's not like that"

"It is not?"

"No" you exclaimed with determination "I believe that... many times love is what keeps us alive. Struggling"

You were speaking for yourself when you said this. What was your motivation every day? In the past, the love for Kaz. Now, it was love for yourself and the hope that one day someone could love you with the intensity with which you loved others.

“I had already lost Jordie. I didn't want to lose you too,” he finally said and that's when your eyes locked with his. You never thought he would verbally express something like that.

“And did you prefer that I lose you?" you whispered in pain. You wanted him to be aware of things, because it seemed like it had never crossed his mind to stop thinking about your well-being and start thinking about your feelings. “You don't just lose someone when they die, Kaz. You can also lose those who are fully alive”

He didn't say anything, because he clearly didn't know what to answer to that, and while he reflected on your words, you caught a glimpse of a certain vulnerability in his blue eyes that you had rarely seen. I couldn't say that you knew the man in front of you better than anyone, but you had a considerable advantage thanks to the years you had lived with him.

“Okay, just… listen” you started to say, knowing he most likely wouldn't give you an answer “I know it's hard to live as we do— as all of us at The Barrel live, but the risks I decide or don't take. They are my decision, not yours. These years you have sought to keep me out of danger and I appreciate it, but you have to learn to trust me”

"I do. I trust you"

"Then show me," you replied. You couldn't help noticing that, even with his stained face, Kaz was still the most handsome man you'd ever seen “Friends do not avoid each other, nor do they move away and despite that, during all these years I have trusted you as from the first moment we were left alone”

You didn't know if you were saying the right thing, but at least you were saying something.

"And if it's too late?"

It was too late? Kaz wondered. He wondered if it was too late to open up to someone, to try to get over his trauma, to let go and finally love you the way he wanted to.

But all this remained as a thought, phrases that couldn’t leave his throat.

“It's not for me,” you assured him. “But my patience won't last forever. I think you should know that”

You couldn't even imagine how many emotions Kaz was trying to process at that moment, but even he himself didn't understand what a mess you'd made of him with that conversation. From his perception, he had admitted that he loved you, but from his eyes, you didn't seem affected by it. And you, contrary to what he thought, felt like you were going to faint.

You were about to leave, for the second time, but he spoke:

“Stay,” he said, sounding more desperate than he would have liked. “I don't know what to say, but… just stay here. I don't want us to be alone tonight”

Us. That fucking habit of Kaz's to speak in the plural and make you a nervous wreck.

You looked at the bed and found that it was too small for both of you, to which we had to add his refusal to be close to others. Proof of this was the unconscious movement of sticking your hands as close as possible to his body during the entire time you were talking.

"Use the bed, obviously you need it more than me" you muttered and went directly to the armchair. Fortunately your first impression wasn’t wrong, it was very comfortable.

The room was so small that the apparent distance between the pieces of furniture didn't mean much, so when he sat on the bed you could see him perfectly.

The memory of one of the times when both of you were in similar situations came to your mind. That night you had been woken by frightened screams from the next room, in that abandoned house where you and Kaz found shelter, forcing you out of bed to investigate.

It was hard to comfort a person without physically touching them, especially when he had nightmares, and over the months you'd had to get used to it. The boy hated waking you up, it made him feel guilty and stupid, but you always kept him company. You never spoke, never asked questions, you just stayed there so he knew he wasn't alone.

Maybe something like that was what Kaz needed tonight. 

"Rest" you exclaimed. His head turned to look at you and you detected a different and special glow in his eyes; as if it were a mixture of fear, softness, and gentleness. You appreciated that look for a few more seconds, which you feared you would never see again in your life, and then you reached out your hand to turn off the light on the desk.

Silence reigned in the darkness.

You settled in the chair, trying to figure out what would be the best sleeping position, and at the same time you heard Kaz slide between the sheets on the bed. After a while, your eyelids felt heavy, a consequence of the fatigue that the hustle and bustle of the day had left you, and when you were about to fall asleep, a voice pulled you out of your reverie.

"Thank you. For everything”

The phrase was a whisper, a delicate caress in your ear, but you understood it clearly. And you decided to think that when Kaz said 'for everything' he meant literally everything you had selflessly done for him during his life; like he just realized you were important. But it's not that he had just noticed it, but that he had just accepted it.

You wanted to stretch out the moment as long as you could because, even if you weren't looking at him, you knew he was awake thanks to the sound of his breathing, but at some point sleep overcame you and you fell fast asleep.

Kaz had nightmares that night, like always, but the difference was that when he woke up in shock in the morning, you were in the same room. So seeing you there, keeping him company, was reason enough to calm him down.

And like every time this had happened, he felt like the luckiest man in the world.

[lady-pug]

Anything For You

Summary: 5 times Crosshair protects you and 1 time you do the same for him.

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader

Word count: 5k

Warnings: canon-typical violence, one dude being kinda creepy at 79's

Notes: Hello hello everyone! It's been a hot minute since this series has seen an update, but after season 3 I had some inspiration (I know it has been a while since season 3 actually come out, but some things had happened that needed my sole attention, I didn’t have the time nor the energy and motivation to write for quite a while). But now I’m back!

I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy this and have fun while reading it. If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I'll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you truly enjoy this story.

Reader is female, but no physical descriptions provided. Also, when describing the formal attire in topic 3 I tried to keep descriptions to a minimum so you can imagine what the reader is wearing in this scene (I’m a sucker for women in suits, but it’s up to you to imagine)

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1.

The Batch’s mission on Taanab had gone south very quickly. The Separatists had aimed to cut the commercial lines the planet held with Coruscant, which would pose a major problem as it could possibly throw the entire Republic into starvation. So Clone Force 99 had been sent to scout the planet and possibly find Separatists spies stationed there. What they didn’t count on was being ambushed by Norulac pirates almost as soon as they tried to leave the planet.

Tech and Hunter had gone inside a facility suspected of housing the spies they were looking for, while Wrecker kept watch by the entrance, and you and Crosshair covered their shebs from a hill a few klicks away. What you didn’t expect was for Tech to take a major hit as soon as they walked out the door with the spy. In order not to compromise the mission, Wrecker pushed the cuffed nautolan back inside the compound and closed the doors behind them. 

As soon as the first blaster bolt was fired, you leaped to your feet, much to Crosshair’s protests, and started running towards Tech, medkit clutched tightly under your arm. Crosshair, ever the marksman, kept shooting his Firepunch, trying to get rid of as many pirates while you pushed forward. As you approached the place where Tech had gone down you skidded to a halt, keeping your head down as to avoid the blaster fire. Slipping your hand under his armpits you dragged him across the pebbled ground (and mentally apologized for any scratches he might find on his backplate later on), taking cover behind a short wall and starting to patch him up.

What you didn’t notice, however, was the pirate approaching from behind you and Tech while you assessed his injuries, who must have either slipped unnoticed by Wrecker and Hunter or come up all the way from behind the facility. You only seemed to notice him once Tech, coming back to his senses after a stim shot, pointed over your shoulder and told you to look out. By then it was already too late, as the pirate had his vibroblade raised and ready to strike.

As you fumbled with your blaster to at least try and protect the two of you a long blaster bolt came scorching through the air, hitting the man right on his temple and sending him tumbling sideways, dead. You glanced back towards the hill you had just climbed down from, sending a nod in Crosshair’s general direction, knowing he could see you with his scope.

“Thanks for having my back, Cross.” you spoke into your commlink before resuming your work on Tech’s wound, barely catching Crosshair’s reply.

“Anything for you, Copikla.” he mumbled, going back to firing his rifle in order to help his brothers take out the remaining pirates.

2.

The woman was definitely moving too fast for someone who allegedly had nothing to hide. And Clone Force 99 was hellsbent (more like ordered to) figure out why.

Your current mission, issued by Commander Fox of all people, albeit a stealth mission of sorts, wasn’t like anything you had ever done before. A Gran representative of Malastare, acting as a temporary substitute for Senator Ainlee Teem while the senator went back to his home planet to help calm the nerves and appease the public opinion of the citizens of Malastare about the rampage caused by the Zillo Beast, was suspected to be working for the Separatists. Afraid that an investigation lead directly by the Coruscant Guard would be too on the nose and she might try to cover her tracks, Commander Fox had surprisingly, as him and the Batch often didn't see eye to eye, requested that the Bad Batch be the ones to follow her around and figure out her intentions.

So here you and Crosshair were, following the woman a few paces behind her all throughout Coruscant busy streets. The plan of action had been to split up, Hunter and Wrecker taking the two parallel streets to the one where the woman was currently speed-walking while you and Crosshair followed behind her. Tech had stayed behind at the Guard’s headquarters, tracking the woman’s movements using the surveillance system. 

As the teams were being separated Crosshair had demanded that you go with him (although ‘demand’ might be too strong of a word, as he knew Hunter, as his commanding officer, could very well tell him to shut up and take a step back, which he thankfully didn’t), internally reasoning with himself that you could very well get lost and compromise the mission, even though the knowing smirk the Sergeant had sent his way after agreeing with his suggestion told him he might have other reasons. And now he was glad he insisted on that.

As dusk fell over the city and rush hour approached, more and more people filled the streets eager to head home. This didn’t pose a problem for Crosshair as his height, greater than that of the regs (and quite greater than Hunter’s, as he often liked to tease his vod about) paired with his extraordinary eyesight allowed him to keep his eyes on the Gran woman at all times. You on the other hand weren’t so lucky, as people bumped into you and tried to squeeze their way past the both of you. Concerned you’d slip away, dragged by the sea of people, he snaked his arm around your waist, his hand lazily draped over your hip, keeping you close to his side and not letting you venture away from him.

You looked up at him, a tiny grin gracing your features.

“Thanks Cross.”

The only response you got was his grip on your hip. tightening almost imperceptibly.

3. 

“I don’t like it.” 

Hunter sighed for the umpteenth time in the past hour.

“I already told you, these are our orders.” he turned towards his brother, who scowled in return.

“Why can’t one of us go in?”

“As a matter of fact, that option has been brought up to Commander Cody,” Tech chimed in, not once taking his eyes off his holopad “but he has reminded us of a crucial fact: no matter how much our phenotype might differ from that of the regs, we’re still clones. If a single slightly more enlightened individual in that ballroom catches sight of our resemblance to our mandalorian progenitor, the mission would be compromised.”

Crosshair huffed, still not convinced.

“But why does it have to be her?” he argued “Why couldn’t they have brought another natborn specialist? Or, kriff, even a senator? Senators are good at these sorts of events.”

“Senators are public figures, they would be recognized in an instant.” Hunter promptly answered “And all other female natborns were unavailable.”

“And the Seppie likes pretty women!” Wrecker laughed “I mean who doesn’t? I’m sure none of us would be able to seduce him!”

“I still don’t like it.” unsatisfied, Crosshair picked up his Firepuncher to check the scope, even though he knew for a fact it was pristine as always. 

A beneficent gala was being held by the InterGalactic Banking Clan to members of the Confederacy of Independent Systems council in Cantonica. One Separatist senator, a sleazy old quacta of a man, was rumored to have information on the next course of action regarding a siege against Republic forces in Ansion. So, given the sensitivity of the mission ahead, Clone Force 99 was called in. However, none of them could go in without the risk of being recognized as members of the GAR, so they had to send in-

“How do I look?” he was buried so deep in his own thoughts he didn’t even hear the door to the fresher opening and you stepping out into the hull of the ship. As he looked up to glance at you, he thanked the maker he was already sitting down, otherwise his knees would have buckled and he would have been sent tumbling down.

You looked gorgeous. 

Your hair was styled in a completely different style than you normally wore it, a few delicate pins adorning it. Some light makeup covered your face, accentuating your natural beauty. And your outfit… Crosshair had only seen you in your uniform and armor in the battlefield, or in your GAR-issued blacks around the ship. He had never seen you wearing anything like this, so formal and fitting for your exact frame.

He couldn’t even speak. He just kept staring at you, his eyes moving up and down your frame.

“You look beautiful, baar’ur’ika!” Wrecker’s booming voice brought him out of his stupor, as he shook his head.

“You really think so?” you asked, feeling a little shy “I never usually wear something so nice, this is a bit out of my comfort zone.”

“You look amazing Doc.” Hunter chimed in, nudging his brother with his elbow, his lips pulled in a knowing smirk “Doesn’t she, Crosshair?”

He was still collecting his thoughts when you turned to face him, eyes gleaming with… hope? 

“Yeah,” he dared answer “yes, she does.”

You beamed at him, smiling so brightly he felt his heart skip a beat for being the reason for your happiness. He wasn’t even bothered when he heard Hunter chuckling under his breath, no doubt catching on his vod’s reaction to your presence. 

As your squad started diskimbarking to start the mission, Crosshair reached out to hold you in place, his fingers gently encircling your wrist, leaving just the two of you still on the ship.

“If-” he swallowed thickly, not knowing how to say what he was thinking. 

“What is it, Cross?” you turned towards him, giving him your full attention.

“I’ll be keeping watch on the roof the entire time.” he breathed out “If anything happens, if at any moment you feel like you might be in danger, comm me. I’ll find a way to get you out, Copikla.”

You smiled softly at him, turning your palm up and intertwining your fingers.

“I’ll be fine, Cross. Really. You don’t have to worry about me.” Impossible, he thought, and as if reading his mind you squeezed his hand gently “But thank you for keeping an eye out for me.”

He squeezed your hand back, lips turning up in the tiniest of smiles.

And if at a certain point during the gala, a glass of wine carefully balanced on a tray on a waiters hand spontaneously exploded, startling the waiter and making him drop the entire contents of the tray over the separatist senator as he started getting handsy with you, Hunter’s scolding for nearly compromising the mission was definitely worth it as you giggled at his antics behind the sergeants back.

4.

79’s was certainly more packed than usual for a standard Taungsday. It seemed like most battalions were on leave at once, hence the more chaotic atmosphere and the crowd forming around the bar. 

It had been forever since Clone Force 99 had shore leave scheduled on Coruscant instead of being called back to Kamino, so you intended to make the most of it. Wrecker was already a few drinks in, arm wrestling some of the boys of the 212th; Echo was catching up with some of the boys in blue, having spend so much time away from his old battalion; Tech had already gone back to the barracks to read some articles on his holopad, the weird neon green cocktail he had order right at the beginning of the night only half empty and long forgotten; and Hunter had already scurried off with a gorgeous orange Twi’lek. 

Only you and Crosshair remained at the table, chatting idly, your thigh pressed against the side of his and his arm slung over the back of the seat behind you. Your heads were tilted close together in order to hear each other over the beat of the music in the club. For a moment Crosshair thought it felt weirdly… intimate, even though you weren’t actually doing anything. He’d never been this close to anyone, where he felt he could just let himself be. It was nice.

“I’m going to get another drink.” you whispered-yelled at him at one point, gesturing at his own cup “Want anything?”

He pondered for a moment, before declining with a shake of his head.

“Someone has to keep a clear head in order to babysit the lot of you.” he motioned to where Wrecker, clearly a little more than tipsy, was celebrating another victory over a shiny.

You snorted, before quickly turning around and walking towards the bar. He couldn’t help but silently watch over you, always keeping you in his line of sight.

It had become second nature to him, watching you. At first he tried to argue that it was only to ensure you didn’t do anything stupid and risk one of his brothers, but it slowly ended up becoming something he just did naturally. He wanted, no, needed, to ensure you were safe at all times, and not just on the battlefield.

As he watched you lean over the bar and signal the bartender, your back turned to him, he noticed a devarionian man quickly glance over at you from a few seats away. For a few moments nothing happened, he kept his eyes trained on you, occasionally catching sight of the devarionian from the corner of his eye. 

And then the guy was moving.

He slid up next to you, standing way too close for your (and Crosshair’s comfort). The mirror above the shelfs in the bar let him see your face,  and you did not seem too happy with your new company. At first you tried ignoring the man, he noticed, giving him very clipped answers and only nodding along. The guy, it seemed, couldn’t seem to take a hint, as he kept rambling on and on about something the sniper couldn’t bother reading his lips for. And the moment his hand brushed against your arm, startling you and prompting you to take a step away from the man with ‘uncomfortable’ and ‘creeped out’ written all over your face, Crosshair was out of his seat and crossing the dancefloor towards you in quick strides.

Once he approached the pair of you, you noticed him over the man’s shoulder, your face relaxing slightly at the sight of him.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, to which the devarionian turned to him seemingly undisturbed. 

“Yeah, me and the lady over here were having a wonderful chat.” the devarionian dismissed him “ Now if you’ll excuse us.” 

Crosshair knew he was tall. He, along with Tech, was the second tallest amongst all clones, shorter only than Wrecker. It wasn’t something he usually cared for, unless when he got to tease Hunter about his own height, which was shorter than the regs, but he knew for a fact he was taller than most people. So he decided to use this to his advantage. As his face contorted into the deepest scowl he could muster, he crossed his arms over his chest, squaring his shoulders. This meant he was absolutely towering over the man. He didn’t even have to say anything and the devarionian was already cowering.

“A-actually, I think my buddy over there is calling me over.” and he rushed off without even looking at you again.

You looked at Crosshair as he relaxed, a mixture of gratitude and a sense of residual unease written in your face.

“Thanks Cross,” you started “but I could’ve handled him. You know I can take care of myself.” 

“Trust me, Copikla, I know.” he shrugged “But you shouldn’t have to.” 

Your face softened at his words, and you leaned your head against his arm. 

“Thank you anyway.” 

His response came in the form of a wordless hum, but which carried a whole lot of meaning to it.

‘Always’.

5.

Crosshair absolutely hated keeping watch. He would take Wrecker’s snoring and Tech’s endless tinkering over this any day. They were in hyperspace, for maker’s sake! What threat could be so dire that one of them had to stay awake and alert for hours, freezing cold as Tech refused to fix the cockpit’s heating system?

But Hunter insisted. And as their sergeant, Hunter was in charge and whatever he said goes. And so here Crosshair was, watching nothing go by bored out of his mind.

All of a sudden he heard the soft pattern of bare feet against the cold floor of the Marauder, approaching the cockpit. It couldn’t possibly be Wrecker, he could still hear his snoring from all the away from the bunks. It wasn’t Echo either, as the clanking of his mechanical legs against the durasteel floor would have given him away. It probably wasn’t Hunter, as the man was an incredibly deep sleeper, his slumber being one of the only one moments his heightened senses gave him a break. And Tech wasn’t supposed to come relieve him from watch duty for at least three more hours or so. So that left only you.

Because of this line of thought he was unsurprised when you joined him in the cockpit, dropping onto the co-pilot seat next to him.

For a moment neither of you uttered a word. He stayed silent as he took you in, noticing the way your shoulders trembled slightly and the soft sniffles you were trying to contain.

“What’s wrong?” he asked at last.

You startled, as if only now noticing his presence next to you. Once you calmed down you simply shrugged in response.

“Nightmare, ‘s all.” your voice wavered a tiny bit, but it was enough for him to notice.

Silence permeated the room once more as he thought about the situation. You clearly seemed shaken by whatever was plaguing your mind when sleeping, yet he didn’t really know how to help. He wasn’t the best with words, Hunter and even Wrecker were way better than him when it came to comforting people.

But then he paused. Thinking about Hunter reminded him of something his older brother would do whenever one of them had nightmares as cadets.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

As a kid Crosshair never took Hunter up on his offer to listen, but he would still sit with him in silence and let him wind down after the dream. Wrecker on the other hand often rambled about what had scared him and Hunter always found a solution for him. Tech often kept to himself, never mentioning when he had nightmares of his own, but he knew Hunter had his back should he ever wish to talk.

You chuckled, though it was humorless and heavy.

“You know I have worked with other clones, right?” he nodded, remembering the medical base you used to work at before joining Clone Force 99 as their field medic “I had a lot of patients there. Most we were able to treat, but… we lost a lot of them as well.” 

He could only imagine the kind of toll that took on someone.

“And it’s like they weren’t even people!” you whispered, frustrated tears collecting in your eyes “There wasn’t any family we could contact to deliver the bad news, at best one of his batchmates or another brother from the same battalion. But in the end it was just… crossing numbers out of a spreadsheet.” 

You took a deep breath in order to collect your thoughts.

“I see them when I fall asleep sometimes.” you smiled, but it was a sad smile, one that Crosshair didn’t think suited you at all “The ones I could save.” 

Crosshair didn’t know what to say to that. How much death had you witnessed before you met the Bad Batch? Before you met him? You had your own demons haunting you, and it served to show him that them, the soldiers fighting this war, weren’t the only ones affected by it.

“Come here.” he extended a hand to you.

“What?” you looked at him, confused.

He repeated himself, and when you stood up and stopped in front of him he gently grabbed your wrist and pulled you onto his lap, maneuvering you so your head was resting against his shoulder, your ear right above his heart.

“It’s not your fault.” he spoke into your hair “You cannot save everyone. All you can do is try.”

“What happens if I’m not able to save one of you?” he heard the terror in your voice and he couldn’t stand it.

“I won’t let that happen.”

“Cross…”

“I won’t.” he affirmed firmly “I watch over you so you can watch over us. Always.”

He could feel the tension in your body vanishing, as a comforting silence enveloped the both of you. Slowly, as your breathing slowed down and you fell back asleep, he tightened his grip on you, keeping you close to him. And you slept soundly and peacefully through the night, with Crosshair keeping guard of your dreams. 

+1 

Another mission, another success. Clone Force 99 was ordered to infiltrate a Separatist base on Agamar and retrieve some sensitive information regarding the former Separatist rule over Onderon. The mission was easy (at least by the Bad Batch’s standards) and Wrecker was overjoyed over getting to blow a droid tank up. But it was time to head back to Kamino, resupply and wait for new orders.

Wrecker practically barged out of the ship as soon as the Havoc Marauder touched the hangar on Tipoca City, claiming to be starving even though he had eaten not even an hour before. Tech, Echo and you followed him to the mess hall, and Hunter headed to the commander’s office to submit the several missions’ reports he was due, promising to join the four of you later. Similarly, Crosshair mentioned stopping by the armory to grab some more reflective disks as he was running out, shooting a wink your way as you promised to save him a seat next to you on the squad’s usual table.

On the way back to their quarters following his visit to the armory Crosshair bumped into Hunter and after a few words both decided to stop by their quarters in order to leave their equipment before heading to the mess hall to meet the others. As they wandered the sterile halls of the kaminoan facility, however, an incoming transmission from Hunter’s comm made them stop short.

“Hunter, where are you?” Tech’s usually calm and collected voice came through sounding a bit… panicky. Strange, Crosshair’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at his brother; Tech didn’t panic.

“Crosshair and I are on our way to our quarters, why?”

“You might want to make a detour to the medbay.” Echo’s voice came in as well. “A fight broke out in the mess hall.”

Hunter pinched his nose as Crosshair sighed in annoyance. Typical. They’ve been back on Kamino for less than a standard hour and they were already in trouble.

“What did Wrecker get up to this time?” Crosshair spoke into his brother’s comm.

Echo and Tech paused, the silence on their end stretching for a moment.

“It wasn’t Wrecker.” Tech answered.

“This time.” Echo chimed in.

A distant ‘Hey!’ was heard as Hunter and Crosshair exchanged a confused yet concerned glance before rushing through the halls. Tech and Echo were waiting for them before the closed doors that lead to the medbay.

“What happened?” Hunter asked, his tone laced with tiredness, clearly fed up with his brothers’ antics. 

But before either of them could respond a pair of troopers, regs by the looks of it, walked out the doors. And they couldn’t look worse for wear; one of them had a busted lip and the other was sporting a broken nose, two large bruises already starting to climb up towards his eyes.

“Oh, look, the rest of the anomalies are here.” the one with the cut lip snickered, grimacing as the action pulled against the wound.

“How about you control your little shabuir next time, eh?” the other scoffed as they walked away “Crazy shebs medic and the genetic freaks, it’s like they were made for each other.”

As soon as the word ‘medic’ crossed the reg’s lips Crosshair was moving, busting through the doors of the medbay. What he saw made his heart clench with worry; you were sitting on a cot, holding Wrecker’s hand rather tightly as a medical droid worked on your face. Crosshair could see some caked blood on your hair as the droid cleaned the side of your forehead where it had dripped down. As the droid went over where the cut must have been you winced, to which Wrecker rubbed up and down your back.

“There, baar’ur’ika. It’s all better now.” Wrecker whispered, or at least tried to.

“Thanks, Wreck.” you smiled up at him “I’m just not used to being on the receiving end of medical care, that’s all. I’m always the one cleaning up your cuts, not the other way around.”

Crosshair was so engrossed in watching the exchange he barely heard his brothers follow him into the medbay.

“Some regs started provoking us as we were walking to our table in the mess hall.” Tech explained “She started getting agitated but we told her to just ignore it. But then… a pair of regs said something under their breaths only she could hear, and she…”

“She went ballistic.” Echo completed for Tech, who looked unsettled for once “It looked like she was out for their heads. So much so that Wrecker had to step in.”

Crosshair heard Hunter sigh behind him.

“Command is not gonna be happy with him for getting into a fight. Again.”

“Oh no,” Tech corrected “Wrecker intervened in order to pry her away from the regs. The two troopers who just walked out? That was all her doing.”

A strange sense of pride bloomed inside Crosshair’s chest and started crawling up his throat, his lips threatening to curl into a small smile. Not only were you always looking out for them on the battlefield, but also outside of it? The trust he had been building over time seemed to solidify at that very moment.

As the droid finished wrapping your injury and walked away, Wrecker finally seemed to notice them. 

“Look! Crosshair and Hunter are here!”

As your eyes finally found his, you seemed to light up entirely, akin to a little kid on Life Day.

“Come on, Wrecker, let’s get you some food.” Hunter called, a barely contained sigh escaping from his lips “From what I hear you didn’t get a chance to eat yet. And I have to go back to Command and report this incident.”

Your smile turned sheepish and Crosshair couldn’t tell if you were embarrassed over the slight reprimanding tone in the sergeant’s voice or because your shenanigans had caused everyone to miss dinner so far.

As the other’s left, he sat down on the foot of your cot next to your legs, his long fingers wrapping around your ankle.

“So” he drawled out, a small smirk pulling at his lips “I hear you got yourself in trouble?”

You chuckled, to which he squeezed your ankle playfully in return.

“Yeah, I guess your affinity for trouble is rubbing off on me.”

“I mean, you were assigned to us after all, you obviously aren’t the little angel Commander Cody made you out to be.” he joked, before letting his curiosity get the better of him “What did they say anyway to make you snap like that?”

He noticed the very moment your face fell, your smile slipping off your face and your eyes turning slightly dull.

“Oh, Cross.” there was something so sad in the way you said his name that he never wanted to hear again, even if it meant he never got to hear his name fall from your lips for the rest of his life “They were so vile. First they started talking about Tech, Wrecker and Echo and they just told me to ignore it, but then…” a very soft, almost unnoticeable sheen of tears brimmed in your eyes “They started talking about you, Cross.”

The grip he had on your leg grew even tighter as he physically recoiled, taken aback.

“They started saying these awful things about you and you weren’t even there.” you stammered “They were being cruel and mean to you behind your back and I couldn’t let that slide. I just remembered what you once told me, about how the regs treated you as cadets and I just… saw red. I didn’t even think, I just acted.”

Crosshair felt his heart skip a beat. You, their sweet medic, got into a physical altercation… because of him? Because you felt the need to protect not only him, but his vode as well? You, who baked cookies and was nice to him even when he pushed you away and insulted you, broke a soldier’s nose… for him?

“I-I’m sorry.” you sighed “I know I shouldn’t have, but-”

“Would you do it again?”

Now was your turn to be taken aback.

“What?”

“If a bunch of regs ever insulted me or my brothers again,” he said slowly, the words feeling heavy on his tongue “would you defend us again, even if it meant getting hurt?”

Your lips curled up in a gentle smile, one he came to realize was reserved for him and him alone.

“I’d do anything for you, Crosshair.”

In a moment he was by your side, not even realizing he was moving. He sat on the bed by your side as you scooted over, making space for him, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. His lips pressed softly on the hair on the crown of your head as he spoke.

“I won’t let you get hurt, Copikla.” he whispered, the most vulnerable he had ever been “Not on my watch, you’re never getting hurt again.”

He sighed contently as you relaxed by his side, laying your head on his shoulder.

“I promise.”

[elisysd]

16. I want you to see, how you look to me

Masterlist - Previously - Next

Chapter soundtrack : BIRDS OF A FEATHER - Billie Eillish

He was furious. He had pictured Zandvoort and the second part of the season as some sort of resurgence. A fresh start. A new beginning. In his mind it was supposed to be different. He was feeling happy in his private life, why his professional one couldn’t follow the same path? The worst thing was that he wasn’t furious against his team, no, it was mostly against himself. He just needed some peace and quiet to focus on himself before going to media duties, which he dreaded. He wanted to hide in his driver room, he wanted to brood, just a while. He passed his door right as he felt an anxiety attack coming for him. His throat tightened, making it hard for him to breathe. He tried to cough, thinking it would make everything better when it just managed to make it worse. His vision started to blur right as two arms circled his waist and he felt a head pressed on his back as the sweet perfume of vanilla mixed with lavender hit his nostrils. 

“It’s okay, Charles. You’re okay,” you whispered, scared a sound too loud would scare him or make him spiral. As though he was about to break.  “I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’ll try to get it.”

“Can you give me a better car?”he asked, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. 

“That might be out of my hands… sorry,” you pouted, trying to make him laugh for real. “But seriously, I’m here for you. You’ve been there for me when I needed you most, so it’s natural to show up when you’re feeling down.”

“This is the worst weekend of the season. I know I say this every Sunday but this is how I feel. But somehow, you’re making it a whole lot bearable,” he mumbled, burying his head in your neck. “I don’t want to go to the interviews.”

“Do you want to have an interview simulation with me?”

“As long as you don’t hold back.”

“When have I ever held back with you, Leclerc?” you teased him, bumping his shoulders with yours.

Coming back to the hotel with you, he was in a happier mood. Your help before the interviews had been much more useful than Silvia’s briefing and Pierre, his best friend, had earned his very first podium with Alpine after a complicated beginning of the season. In the end, the weekend was not that bad. His first move when crossing the door of his hotel room was going for a shower while he saw you throwing yourself on the bed, exhausted. He felt stupid for not checking up more on how you felt. He knew it had been a complicated day for you as well. He briefly hesitated joining you but he was feeling sweaty and in his own head. He didn’t want to drop his bad mood on you, even unconsciously. 

When he came back, you were sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, scrolling on your phone and not caring about his presence. He was sure you hadn’t even noticed him. He slowly approached you, carefully sitting next to you to see a picture of both of you arriving together, hand in hand, in the paddock. 

“Y/N…”

“They are blaming me,” you said, matter of factly, without an ounce of anger or sadness in your voice. “Because of your DNF.”

“It’s stupid.”

“It is. I don’t understand how some people can be so… violent. I’ve done nothing but walk next to you and hold your hand. And here they are calling me nasty names, saying that I only bring you bad luck. As if you had been exceptionally lucky this season… Sorry. How can all of this be my fault?”

Charles saw a tear forming on the corner of your eye and he quickly caught it before pulling you against his side. 

“I was stupid to think we would go unnoticed, that we would manage to stay out of people’s radar. It was naive.”

“If it is too much for you…”

“Don’t you dare finish this sentence. It’s not too much, you’re not too much. Your life is not easy to handle, sure. But I love you. What I feel for you is worth going through that. I just need to get used to it. I knew it was a risk, that being insulted was part of the game even if I don’t understand it. It hurts, I won’t deny it. But I love you. That outdoes the bad sides.” you reassured him, putting a hand on his cheek. 

“If you don’t want to attend Monza, I would understand.”

“I’m going to Monza. It’s your second home race, there is no chance I will miss it.”

“Then, I promise you, you won’t be alone. My mom will come and I’ll make sure you stay by her side.”

“I… I think I would like that.”

Monza was everything you were expecting and more. Sea of red and yellow flags were displayed everywhere. Fans chanted Charles’ name wherever he was going. Autographs and pictures taken every minute of every day. It was exhausting and you were not the one having all these duties. But Charles didn’t seem to look tired, quite the opposite. The more he was seeing people, the more he was excited and the more he couldn't wait to go on track. His goals were clear and he would do anything in his power to get them. That’s why he was absolutely crushed after the qualifying. He wanted to be the one on pole and no matter how much he was happy that a Ferrari would start P1, he would have rathered it be him. 

“You can still aim for the podium, Charles,” you tried to reassure him at the table of the restaurant the team had booked.

“No matter what, I’m proud of you Charlie,” Pascale said, stroking his back as Charles was sighing, defeated. 

“Negotiations for my contract renewal are on pause. Fred wants us to focus on the remainder of the season, he told me it was not his priority. Bu it’s mine. I need to deliver. I need to show Ferrari that I’m still their biggest chance to come back on top. And it means that I have to outperform Carlos. And being P4 while he starts on pole, is not showing that.”

“They know how valuable you are for the team, Charles,” Lorenzo intervened. 

“Do they? Because I’m not sure of that myself.”

You glanced at Pascale who shook her head, clearly disagreeing with Charles’mood. You bit your lips, trying to find the right words. 

“If you are not sure, please look at the crowd. They love you. They trust you. They don’t care which positions you are starting tomorrow, they have your back. Always have and always will. Look at them. Look at us. We love you. We are proud of you. We are with you. It doesn’t matter if there are bumps on the road, we are sticking by your side. And not only us but your dad too, Jules, Anthoine… my brother. We are all here for you. You won’t let us down. I don’t think you could ever let us down, if I’m being honest.”

Charles turned his head in your direction. You could feel how emotional you were. Since the beginning of the weekend, Luc had been on every corner of your mind. You couldn’t help but think of how much he would have loved to be there so you had tried your best to keep engraved in your memory each details you had come across. Your phone was full of pictures of the track, cars, little italian streets, crowds and flags. Charles. Charles in his suit, Charles in his team merch, Charles, half asleep on the hotel bed, Charles and you taking stupid selfie mirrors. You were a lovesick mess, you knew it and you couldn’t imagine what Luc would say about that. You knew he would feel excited and would tease you endlessly. You would have been annoyed, sure, but you couldn’t help to miss it. Missing something that would never happen was a strange feeling, but one you had regularly. 

“I love you,” he simply replied, kissing the side of your head. 

The race went by like a blur. Your eyes, Pascale and Lorenzo’s were glued to the screen as you watched Charles and Carlos battling in a not so clean way. You feared that one of the cars, if not both, were going to get taken out and you knew it would be a disaster. It was the very last thing Ferrari needed for their home race. Thankfully, Charles brought the car home safe but, you knew, deep down, that he would be disappointed and angry. And from what you could read on Pascale’s face, she was thinking the same as you were. 

It took a whale before Charles finally appeared and contrary to what you expected, he was smiling and laughing. You didn’t have time to react when he took you in his arms, spinning you around and burying his head in your neck, inhaling your scent. 

“I’m so happy,” he mumbled against your skin as you ran a hand in his hair. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s been a long time since I felt so alive walking out of that car. This battle reminded me why I love racing so much. The thrill, the danger, pushing the limits… I missed that.”

“So… you’re not disappointed of not being on the podium?” you asked, trying to get a confirmation out of him. 

“Would I have loved winning against Carlos? Of course. But this is what racing is about, you can’t always win. But one thing is for sure, it fueled me with a new desire to be the best for the next races.”

He took you hand in his, kissed his mother’s cheek, promising her to visit her soon and left. The Tifosi were still there, waiting for him and as he looked at you, silently asking for your approval to go and see them, you nodded. 

“Join me.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a need. You followed him as the screams were getting more and more intense and soon, he was totally swamped with pictures, autographs on t-shirts and caps, and gifts handed to him. In front of such euphoria, you came to his rescue, helping fans getting their merch signed, collecting the little books and letters for Charles’ to read later. You could see in their eyes how grateful they were and you tried your best to reciprocate the feeling. When they finally went out of the paddock, you were both tired, but happy. Charles swung his arms around your frame and leaned into you. Once in the comfort of the crowd, he faced you, suddenly serious. 

Here you were, a Ferrari’s cap on your head, eyes shimmering with pride and happiness, rosy cheeks and a smile that hadn’t left since he had come back. It hit him. You belonged with him. You belonged in his life, around his friends and his family, in the garage, in his car, in his apartment. You belonged everwhere he was. 

“I love you,” he blurted out. 

“I love you too,” you replied, your fingers tracing his jaw. 

“No, I don’t think you understand. I’m in love with you. I’m in awe of what you are and I don’t believe that you are mine. There is not one fiber in my body that has fully proceeded that you chose me. But, I swear, If I have to spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of you, then it is something that I’ll do gladly. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

“I know. And I can promise you that I’ll do the same. I intend to make this, us, work. Because I truly believe you’re the love of my life, Leclerc.”

That night, as the moonlight was reflecting on your face, Charles couldn’t help a feeling of guilt to snake around his guts. You hadn’t complained about following him around, he knew you were happy with it, but he also couldn’t miss how you had, countless times, glanced at the media section of the paddock and he swore he had caught a look of longing in your eyes. You wouldn’t say it but he knew how you missed your job. And despite saying that you could find something else, that it was all okay, he knew you would never be as happy as you were in a F1 paddock, a media pass hanging around your neck. He was deadly serious when he had told you he would do anything for you. And anything started with talking to your old boss. 

Author's note: And I'm back! It feels good to be there and to finally uplaod. I feel like I haven't done that in ages. I still don't know how regular I'll be so bear with me.

Don't hesitate to leave a comment or an ask, as well as reblogging and leaving a like. Besides the fact that I absolutely love to read you, it helps a lot for the story to find its audience. I also have a taglist for this story, so if you want to be added so you never miss a chapter, let me know.

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[darknight3904]

The Monster and The Lady

Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Happy Loki Season 2 Finale! As my gift to you here's the chapter a day early! ( The finale was amazing and it ripped my heart out and stomped on it.)

Asgard 2011

Astri was polishing her sword when Loki barged into her chambers. 

   "Remember the conversation we had about knocking, Loki?" She asked without looking up 

His lack of response got Astri to look away from her work. Loki was sitting on one of the large pieces of furniture that decorated her room. All of his attention was on his hands as he stared at them. 

   "If you're upset about what happened to Thor, I'm sure he is fine on Midgard." She said moving to sit next to him. "They love him there."

   "Stay back," Loki said, his deep voice suddenly scaring Astri. It was the same tone he often used when speaking to enemies in battle. It was intimidating, mean, and cold, and Astri hated everything about it.

She crossed so that she was sitting across from him, the small table felt like it was keeping her miles away from him. Loki's eyes looked red and swollen as he kept them focused on his hands. 

   "You've been crying." Astri observed, "What happened?" 

   "Nothing I can't handle." He lied.

   "It doesn't seem that way? Do you want some tea? We can talk about it, I'll send for Drifa." Astri offered gently

   "I didn't come here to talk," Loki said 

   "Then why are you here and not in your chambers?" Astri pushed, she knew he didn't just come here to sit, he had something he wanted to get off his chest. 

   "I don't want to be alone." He said, looking up, "You're the only thing that makes sense in this damn palace." 

Okay...progress. But he definitely had something else he wanted to say, Astri would take that for now. 

   "You don't have to worry. I won't be going anywhere, I'll stay here with you." Astri assured knowing her words were anything but lies.

   "You won't want to once you know though. That's what scares me." Loki said softly 

Astri wanted to reach across the table and hold his shaking hands but his harsh tone from earlier kept her grounded in her seat, hands folded neatly in her lap. The doors opened to her chambers and two guards walked in. 

   "Lady Astri, the queen summons you." The one on the right said. 

Astri wondered what could be amiss as she walked quickly through the halls. Loki was uncharacteristically a few paces behind her and dead silent when the guards directed them to Odin's chambers of all places. Frigga seemed frazzled and uncomposed when Astri saw her next to the Allfather. It was strange seeing her so distressed when she normally seemed to have everything under control. 

   "Astri, Loki." She stood and greeted them both with warm hugs. Loki's stiffened posture didn't go unnoticed by Astri. 

   "What happened?" Astri asked eyeing Odin's sleeping form 

   "He has fallen into the Odinsleep. It was too sudden this time. I fear he might not wake this time." Frigga said sadly 

   "He is strong, Frigga. I'm sure he will wake again soon." Astri said placing a warm hand on her mother figure's shoulder. Was this what Loki wanted to tell her? Did he cause this? The way he was acting made it seem worse than this. Odin had fallen to Odinsleep many times in the past.

The doors opened abruptly to reveal what had to be a full platoon of soldiers on the other side. When Loki turned to them they all bent their knee to him. One came forward and presented Loki with Gungnir, the spear Astri rarely saw Odin without. 

   "My king, Lady Sif, and the Warriors Three request an audience with you." He said once Loki had taken it from him

Astri felt her face pale when she realized what was happening. Loki seemed to have a similar reaction but quickly recovered and nodded to the man. 

   "I'll meet them in the throne room," Loki said, dismissing him and his fellow soldiers. 

   "Loki..." Astri said, reaching out to grab his hand. She didn't know what she was going to say just that she didn't want him to leave her. 

   "Stay here. With my mother." Loki said, pulling his hand away from her reach 

   "But I want to-" 

   "Stay. I'll send Drifa to bring you those cakes." Loki cut her off 

   "Is that an order...my king?" Astri asked, the words felt bitter in her mouth. 

   "Yes." He hissed before turning on his heel and leaving the door. 

   "Come sit with me, darling." Frigga beckoned to her.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Loki kept his word and sent Drifa with Astri's favorite cakes. They were delicate little lemon-flavored things with soft powdered sugar on top. Beyond the cakes, he had also sent her the book she had been reading for the past week along with tea and a book for his mother. Even when he was upset, he was looking out for them.

   "What's on your mind?" Frigga asked, moving her eyes from Odin's form.

   "Nothing." Astri sighed 

   "Remember when I told you your mother and I were raised by witches?" 

Astri nodded. 

   "That means I can see with more than eyes. Now, why is my son troubling you?" She asked 

How does she always know what's wrong?

   "He seemed very distraught before you summoned me here. I know it could have just been Odin's condition but it seemed to be more than that." Astri confessed, "He kept staring at his hands too, and wouldn't let me sit next to him which you know he always does." 

   "I think it's best if I let him tell you what's wrong," Frigga advised suddenly looking away.

   "But you just asked me to tell you-" 

   "When Odin fell asleep, He and Loki were discussing...matters in the weapons vault. Loki told me what happened." Frigga explained, "But, it is not my place to tell my son's secrets to the world." 

   "But it's not the world. It's just me." Astri reasoned 

Silence passed and Astri could tell Frigga was thinking about something important.

   "Go to him. If he gets upset tell him he can whine about it to me." Frigga smiled

Astri groaned but stood up and went to the door anyway. 

   "You're sure you'll be ok alone?" She asked looking back at Odin. 

   "I have lived for thousands of years, darling. I will be alright." She smiled gently

Astri nodded before quietly slipping out the door. The walk to the throne room was incredibly brief. Perks of being the Allfather, your bedroom is closest to the most important room in the castle. 

Loki's armor was complimented by the large throne. The green he normally donned made him look more regal as his golden helmet shone when the light hit it. 

   "Lady Astri. I thought I ordered you to stay with my mother." 

  "And I thought you weren't an uptight jerk with a stick up your ass," Astri responded 

Loki's sharp gaze snapped to her and she stared up at him defiantly. He might be king now but she knew he'd never do anything to harm her. 

   "Leave us." He ordered the guards in the room 

Astri watched him slowly descend from the throne almost as if it was for dramatic purposes. King of Asgard? More like King of Dramatics.

   "What are you doing?" Loki asked, annoyed

   "I wanted to talk to you," Astri explained 

   "That doesn't mean you can call me names like that in front of others." Loki scolded "I'm acting king now." 

   "The guards do not care what names the king's childhood friend calls him. I bet some of them are old enough that they saw the time you and Thor went running through the castle naked." Astri smiled 

   "Stop it," Loki demanded, looking around to see if anyone had entered the room

   "I'll stop when you talk to me." Astri said, "Do you think any of them remember the time you went crying to Frigga after you had a nightmare from the scary story Thor told at that sleepover we had with Volstagg?" 

Loki snapped his fingers in her face before she could think of another embarrassing childhood moment of his. 

   "Alright. We'll talk. Just stop saying crazy things." He said 

   "Crazy? All those things happened Loki. Just like the time you farted in front of that gorgeous boy, you tried charming who was visiting from Xandar with her family." She laughed 

Loki's face had grown red as he gestured for her to follow him. 

   "Not another word about me as a child," Loki ordered 

   "The fart incident was 200 years ago. You were already fully grown at that point." She pointed out 

   "I'll cut your hair again," Loki said as they reached his chambers

Astri giggled as she sat down on his bed and gestured for him to sit next to her. 

   "I'll say here." Loki declined still several feet from her 

   "I'm not going to bite you you know," Astri said

   "I just...don't want to hurt you." Loki softly said, piddling with his hands, a gesture Astri noticed he had down since they were children.

   "You won't. Just...tell me what's wrong. I'll help you fix it. I promise." She sincerely said 

   "You can't. I can't. No one can." Loki said looking away from her and at his shoes 

   "How do you know? What's even wrong anyway?" Astri asked 

   "If I tell you, you'll be scared of me," Loki said quietly

   "I won't. Nothing you do will ever scare me." Astri swore

A soft beat of silence passed over the room as Astri wished Loki would look up at her. 

   "I am a monster. A relic Odin kept here until he had a purpose for me." Loki said 

   "You're not a monster," Astri assured, standing and crossing the room so she was close to him again. 

   "You don't understand...I'm...one of them. One of those monsters who we've been told frightening stories about since we were children. I am a Frost Giant. The monster who Asgardian parents tell their children to be frightened of when they misbehave. I was nothing but a bargaining chip to Odin. Another object in this castle that represents his conquest over these Nine Realms." Loki said angrily, words cutting across the air like knives, as he finally looking her in the eyes 

   "What do you mean you're a Frost Giant?" Astri asked slowly, surprised at his speech.

Loki led Astri through the castle as he told her the story Odin had told him merely hours before. She stayed silent the whole time, absorbing what came from his mouth. Loki couldn't tell what was worse, her silence or what she might say about who he was. They reached the weapons vault quicker than he would have liked and soon were standing in front of the Joutun's casket. 

   "I will show you." He said, barely trusting his voice 

    "You don't have to. Let's go back to the library and read together." Astri said reaching for him again.

Loki ignored her request and placed his hands on the casket again. An indescribable coldless tingled through his body and he watched his hands turn blue once more. He felt it spread across his body and felt the soft facial lines that all Frost Giants bore rise from his skin. When he was sure he had held it long enough, he turned back to his dear Astri, awaiting her judgment.

   "I understand if you want to leave," Loki said

Astri was silent as her eyes roamed across him. Her light brown eyes we taking in every inch of blue skin that Loki had exposed to her and when she was finally done looking she opened her mouth.

   "I don't care." She said

   "What?" Loki balked, feeling his skin begin to change again

   "I don't care what you are. Tomorrow you could show me you're actually a dragon with wings the size of me and I'd still stay by your side. What matters to me is that you're Loki. I don't care if you're blue." Astri said finally taking his hands when they had gone back to normal.

   "Why?" He asked, closing his eyes and savoring how his hands felt in his. 

   "Because you're important to me," Astri said pressing her forehead to his "No one knows me like you do, and no one ever will." 

No spoilers to the finale but I have never felt more devastated yet fufilled by a Marvel project ever. I don't think I've been this distressed since I watched Infinity War and had to watch Loki die and then 2 hrs later watch Peter "die" in Tony's arms.

Taglist: (Comment below to Join)

@buttercupcookies-blog

@666-gothic-bat-666

@cyberwears

[thecoffeelorian]

Fandom Friday, 09/13: Fanart!

Hello again, everyone…and welcome to another installment of Fandom Friday, the two-post series where I go off to find new and interesting fanworks that might need a bit more visibility.

Before we begin...I'm not sure I have a cool address created for this latest update, other than the seasons are about to change, and I think that...for better or for worse, I'm probably changing a little right along with them.

I have no idea whether this will prove to be a good thing or not in the long run, only that I'm still learning new things even as I face my elder nerd years, and my ever-increasing amount of gray hairs upon my head keep reminding me that there's still a ways for me to go here...so please. I hope that anybody still reading my words will continue to be patient with me, especially if I don't always feel in the mood to draw, write, or otherwise create eye-catching things for the rest of the interwebs to enjoy.

And so without further delay...here are my picks of the week.

THE CLONE WARS

The Clone Wars Fanart--By @clownbloody:

The Clone Wars Fanart--By @lonewolflupe:

THE BAD BATCH

The Bad Batch Fanart--By @thora-sniper:

The Bad Batch Fanart--By @elslittlestories:

ANDOR/ROGUE ONE

Andor Fanart--By @fen-luciel:

Rogue One Fanart--By @aron-mp4:

STAR WARS REBELS

Star Wars Rebels Fanart--By @hayesflint:

THE MANDALORIAN

The Mandalorian Fanart--By @shadsthequeenofthepotatopeople:

In conclusion, as part of my mission to poke around the Star Wars fandom and, on Friday every two weeks, highlight those artists who might otherwise go unnoticed…I hope you will check out the links I have included for yourselves and like, comment on, and reblog them, as well as also giving the artists a few more followers to their Tumblr pages.

Please also like and reblog this latest installment so that these links can be spread around to as many other fans as possible, just in case not all of them can tune in at the same time.

An additional thank you goes to @djarrex for making the divider I used earlier in this post, but still want to give credit for.

And finally, so that I do not forget…this post will be continued in its second half: the Fanfiction Edition.

Thank you, good morning, and I’ll see you in the next post!

No Pressure Tags: @melymigo @algo-o-nada @theosb0rnway @everybirdfellsilent @skellymom

@leos-multifandom-corner @maggie-dylan @leenabb104104 @gun-roswell @tazmbc1

@bluedeedeedoop @its-time-to-rise-above @tlmtwelve and anybody else who might be on the lookout for new SW fanart.

[foxyanon]

To Love A Dragon: Part 3

Since my birthday is in a couple days, here’s a gift from me to y’all! Something a bit lighter for my babies after the last depressive piece I released 😅 I do directly quote Season 2 Episode 2 in this, because let’s be real, ‘twas iconic on Sihtrics part

Summary: An oath is sworn, and a man put in his place.

Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Rhaenerys Targaryen

Word Count: 2439

Rating: 18+, MDNI

TW: Eadred is a cunt, Rhaenerys is a bad bitch, otherwise there isn’t any major warnings here

Part 1, Part 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from The Last Kingdom or A Song of Ice And Fire nor do I own any of the images used. I only own my OC, Rhaenerys Targaryen.

Dividers by @arcielee and @zaldritzosrose

The next day, Guthred held a Witan, whatever that meant, in his hall and Rhaenerys stood in attendance with Ser Elwood at her side. She watched as the men bickered, the petty lords arguing with whether or not they should march to Eoferwic, claiming that they had no enemies in the city but that their lands would be left defenseless should they march with their king. The whole thing was rather entertaining to her, because she couldn’t imagine any lord in Westeros making such statements to her own father. Guthred kept speaking in that aggravating tone, the one where he was trying to portray authority but his voice kept cracking.

”Are we certain this man is actually a king and not the court jester?” Rhaenerys muttered under her breath, chuckling a little when Ser Elwood tsked at her. She glanced at him quickly and saw he had cracked a smile at her joke but was still trying to maintain a neutral expression.

She turned back to the crowd and listened as Uhtred claimed there was wealth aplenty in this city, as well as lands. Some fool in the back made a comment about women as well that had some others laughing, and Rhaenerys had to remind herself to keep her mouth shut at such a disgusting comment. Then of course Abbot Eadred gave some rousing speech about how their army was holy and they needed to liberate Eoferwic, that God is with them and so on. It did not go unnoticed by Rhaenerys that Guthred looked upset that he couldn't inspire the way the older man did. Even more interesting was the reaction from Uhtred and Guthred’s sister, Gisela. By the expressions on their faces, there was a more personal slight at Eadred’s comments.

Guthred approached her after everyone had been dismissed, his demeanor one of a man about to ask for something by beating around the bush. “So Princess, what do you think of Cumberland so far?” He asked, clasping his hands together.

She hummed, watching as the lords dispersed the hall in the early morning. “It is…very different from what I am used to,” she responded politely, wondering how long it would take him to get to his point. Blissfully, he got right to it.

”I was wondering if perhaps you might march with us? I should like to ask about your own home and perhaps discuss an alliance between our two kingdoms,” Guthred said, looking nervous despite him having been the one to reach out seeking a marriage with her. Even though she wanted to outright refuse his offer, she wouldn’t deny a certain curiosity at seeing this Eoferwic place and getting a better idea of the people in this land.

”I do not see why not, I should like to see more of this place and have my maesters archive as much as possible. Though, you understand I may not participate in any battle, yes? I cannot in good faith order my men to fight for another’s cause if there is nothing in it for them,” Rhaenerys said, laying some bait to see how he would react.

The man in front of her looked taken aback for a moment, before nodding his head and speaking once more. “Of course, Your Highness. As there is no official alliance between us, it is understandable you wish to do the proper thing. Perhaps a share of the spoils and even access to Church records? I understand you are something of a learned woman,” he spoke rather quickly, seeming a little desperate for more men in this fight.

Rhaenerys cocked a brow at Guthred before answering. “Yes, I do enjoy scholarly pursuits,” she corrected, trying not to bristle at him for his insult. She’s a scholar, equal to the men who use the title and not just a woman who wishes to learn. She shared a look with Ser Elwood, considering the offer. Nothing needed to be said between them, the subtle nod of her sworn shield all the confirmation she needed. “Very well, King Guthred. I accept your offer to march to Eoferwic and share in the win. Perhaps the journey will be enlightening for us all,” she said, knowing full well she was going to take that time learning about a certain currently imprisoned man.

Sihtric had been marched behind the wagon he was tied to, the body of Saint Cuthbert leading the procession at the front. They had only just begun the journey, stopping to make camp on the first day when he decided he needed to act. He had seen no sign of Lord Uhtred or the Princess Rhaenerys and he was not so sure Halig would get either of them without a little persuasion. He put his plan into motion the moment the nun wearing Tekils armor started approaching, the bag of heads in her hand.

”You! Girl!” Sihtric called out, only for Hild to ignore him.

“Woman!” No response.

“Warrior,” he said, sighing heavily. That got her attention, and she turned around to give him a look.

”I need to go into the woods there,” he started, Hild only arching a brow at him. “I need to shit,” again Hild only gave him an unimpressed look before turning around and continuing on her way. “I do not wish to fill my breeches!” He hollered, watching as Hild said something to Halig that had him and another man coming to take him into the woods.

Naturally they shoved him around, but he was used to it so he didn’t let that dissuade him from his plan. He dug a small hole to sell his story, Halig taking that time to ask about Dunholm fortress.

”It is tall,” he chuckled, unable to resist being snarky.

”Tell him that and you are a dead man,” Halig said with an incredulous laugh.

”Then let me speak to him.”

”He will speak to you when he is ready. He is a good man,” Halig said, the look in his eyes saying he spoke true.

Sihtric stood up, pretending like he was going to do his business and waited until the other men turned around before making his move. He was quick to knock the bigger man off his feet with the rope binding him, kicking Halig back to the ground and disarming the bigger man. Overall, the fight only lasted a few minutes, Halig and Sihtric trading blows until the Dane got the upper hand. He held the blade against Halig's throat, shouting at the other man.

“You will fetch Lord Uhtred or Princess Rhaenerys. Tell Uhtred I have his man. Now!” It didn’t take much for the man to run off, hollering for Uhtred and the Princess as he quickly made his way back to the camp. “With luck, we shall both live,” Sihtric spoke softly to Halig, not moving the blade from his throat.

He watched as a small crowd assembled, Uhtred followed by Hild and Rhaenerys flanked by her knight. Uhtred was the first to reach him, a look of fury on his face and Sihtric got right to speaking.

As Rhaenerys walked up, she overheard a conversation between Sihtric and Lord Uhtred. From the looks of it, Sihtric was trying to bargain for his life. What caught her attention, however, was the fact he was still bound and holding a sword to Halig. To say she was a little impressed would be an understatement, so she watched attentively from the sidelines.

”A life for a life, is it?” Uhtred asked.

”My life for my sword. I wish to serve either you or the Princess. I could’ve killed both of your men, but I wish to serve either you or the Princess, Lord,” Sihtric spoke, maintaining eye contact throughout the exchange.

“You are Kjartan’s man,” Uhtred rolled his eyes, not believing the young man.

Rhaenerys watched as Sihtric shook his head, the next words out of his mouth solidifying her desire to accept his oath for herself. “No. I am Kjartan’s bastard son whelped on a slave girl,” he responded.

Naturally, Abbot Eadred decided to pipe in and make his opinions known, proclaiming Sihtric a heathen and saying he should be killed while Uhtred yelled that no one should move and just let him speak. Rhaenerys looked at the Abbot curiously, wondering what he meant by the use of the word heathen since that meant something different in Westeros. Sihtric did not look like a wildling to her, he looked like a Northerner if anything. The shouting match between Uhtred and Eadred carried on for another moment before she decided to step in before they came to blows.

”Enough!” Rhaenerys commanded, stepping into an authoritative role with ease. Everyone stopped and looked at her, and she turned first to Eadred. “Perhaps you might enlighten me what you mean when you call this man a heathen, Abbot. That word has a very different meaning where I am from,” she spoke, her wrist finding its home on the pommel of Dark Sister, a habit she picked up from watching her father.

The man glared at Uhtred for a moment before facing her, collecting himself before speaking in a measured tone. “Of course, Your Highness. What I mean is this boy a pagan barbarian, he follows the false gods instead of the one true God. His people are uncivilized savages, a plague meant to be cleansed from this land by the hands of the righteous.”

She clenched her jaw, picking up his meaning instantly. She had played nice so far, but for him to classify any outside his own narrow minded views as unworthy of existing had her blood boiling and she was going to put him in his place. “Answer me this, do you think Ser Elwood here is a heathen?” She asked harshly, gesturing to the older man behind her.

”No, Your Highness. He is a good and godly man, unlike some present,” Eadred stated, cutting his eyes towards Uhtred and Sihtric.

”He is a good man, yes, but not a godly one. He follows the Faith of the Seven, a religion which worships multiple gods,” Rhaenerys gripped Dark Sister, willing herself to keep a level tone instead of throttling the fool in front of her. “Do you believe the captain of my household guard, Beren Harclay, my own mother’s cousin and follower of the Old Gods, is a heathen?”

Eadred realized his faux pas too late, his eyes widening as he prepared to back track but the look in her eyes had him answering her in a nervous manner, twisting his hands anxiously. “No, Princess. What I meant was-“

“I myself follow the Gods of Old Valyria, just like my father and grandmother,” she cut him off, her gaze hard as she practically stared him into submission. “Am I a heathen, Abbot?” She snarled, watching as the men behind Eadred shrank back a little from her tone.

”No, Princess,” Eadred answered, looking like a thoroughly chastised boy in that moment as the realization his words had insulted her and her people, thus effectively ruining any chance at an alliance between Cumberland and Westeros.

Rhaenerys took a deep breath before glaring at Eadred once more. “For a man whose faith preaches loving thy neighbor, you certainly have an interesting way of going about it,” she ground out, Eadred grinding his own teeth as he bit his tongue to prevent putting his foot in his mouth any further. She didn’t miss how Uhtred smirked a little as the man stepped back to his place beside Guthred, nor did it escape her notice that the king did not intervene.

He truly is a weak man with no backbone, she thought with a roll of her eyes, turning her head to face Uhtred. “I believe Sihtric has made his intentions clear enough. Either you accept his oath, or I will ask that he be released to me so that I might. I could use a man of his skill and knowledge, since I am clearly uninformed on the differences between this land and mine,” she said with a pointed look at the Abbot, who at least had the decency to look partly ashamed of himself.

For his part, Uhtred looked back to the bound man, his hands resting on his hips as he addressed the young warrior. “Well boy, the choice is yours. Either me or Princess Rhaenerys,” he asked, Sihtric looking between the two of them as he thought over his decision.

When Sihtric initially put this plan into motion, he did not anticipate that he would have the option to choose. Either way, he would be free from Kjartan and have the chance to lead a better life, one that would make his mother proud. He looked at Lord Uhtred, and in another life, he would’ve sworn to him. But in this one, he couldn’t pass up the chance to serve an actual princess.

“I swear my sword is yours, Princess. On Thor’s hammer, I swear,” he said, gripping the pendant he wore and kneeling in the leaf covered ground. He kept his head down, only barely looking up when he saw her boots come into his view.

”Then you have my protection, Sihtric,” she said, pulling a dagger from her side to cut the ropes binding him. Her touch was gentle, and he found himself blushing at the contact.

”Thank you, Princess, thank you. I swear I am your man from this day, until my last,” Sihtric said gratefully, relief flooding his veins when the rope fell from his wrists and onto the ground. He chanced a look at her face, rubbing the reddened marks on his skin from the bindings.

“Indeed you are,” Rhaenerys had a knowing glint in her violet eyes and a wry smile on her lips as she spoke, making Sihtric feel as though there was some deeper meaning behind her words. He stood and watched her turn, speaking to a dark haired man wearing black armor with a sigil bearing three moons, waxing, full and waning, emblazoned on the chest plate. “Captain Beren, Sihtric is with us now. See to it he is armed and armored properly as a man of my House,” she commended, the man nodding and gesturing for Sihtric to follow him.

Sihtric was quick to follow, only to be stopped by Halig when the other man gave him an unreadable stare.

’So, do you need to shit, or not?” Halig asked him, sounding rather pissed off but Sihtric just laughed it off and followed after Captain Beren, eager to prove himself worthy of Rhaenerys and her generosity.

Tagging: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @whitedarkmoonflower @gemini-mama @zaldritzosrose @alexagirlie

@legitalicat @thenameswinter99 @viking-chaos

[mistigrisunshine]

spuffy fic rec

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

(Unintended) You Could Be by ashcrashed [14k]

No, she hadn’t lost her mind. Because the reasons that made Spike the actual worst also made him the right one for the job.

Domino Effect by Anaross [15k]

Spike slips away unnoticed after Angel gives Buffy the amulet that might help in the final battle and runs directly into a tearful Buffy with a message from the future. AU after End of Days.

Monky Business by Girlytek [18k]

Retconning Dawn is harder than it looks.

In Remission by Quinara [19k]

In the five years Spike's been missing, the world around Buffy has irrevocably changed. The general population has woken up to vampires' existence and the kill count has dropped way down. She's sharing a house with a soulless vampire, still going by the name of Faith. But what does Spike have to do with it? And what does it mean for their future?

Devouring Time by Sigyn [20k]

An apocalypse has ravaged the world. Buffy has lost her friends, and her beloved Spike, and wants nothing more than to die, to rest, but immortality denies her that chance. With nothing more than her scythe and a hint of possibility, she seeks out a goddess of time, who offers her the chance to enter a universe of her own past, to choose a champion and save the world. Buffy knows who she would choose. But how can this Spike, paralyzed, filled with rage, and still in love with Drusilla, possibly be a champion for life, for light, and for the slayer he hates? Only time will tell.

Bring On Christmastime by bewildered [21k]

Welcome, Gentle Readers! Have you ever wondered the true meaning of Christmas? I know I have. But never fear, I, Andrew Wells -- having been privileged to bear witness to a Christmas miracle, in this the year Anno Domini Two Thousand and Two -- shall now share with you the answer, a tale that will warm the cockles of your cold, cold heart and fill you to the brim with tingly, pepperminty Christmas spirit.

There's something about Anne by Frillyria [44k]

Anne is just a regular girl until a not-so-regular boy gets a hold of her - she is thrown into a life outside her control, and has to do what she can to survive - and to choose hope over fear and distrust.

nothing safe is worth the drive (follow you home) by SummerFrost [61k]

Here's the deal: Buffy's got no idea how to beat Glory, or how they're gonna book it across the country in a moldy RV without anyone killing each other, especially now that someone broke one of the beds—and the thought of going home again kinda makes her wanna cry. The one thing she knows is that Spike would follow her anywhere, even like this.

The Key is Donnie Summers by Girlytek [121k]

Response to tempestt's challenge, what if Dawn were Donnie, if the monks had created a brother for Buffy instead of a sister? --complete through Season 5--

Liebestod by Iamblichus [149k]

They really should have known the First Evil wasn't done with them after Sunnydale… Enter: Time-travel, mysterious prophesies, and lots of poetry. BtVS Post-Season 7; Angel AU Season 5. All's well that ends well.

[dr-futbol-blog]

38 minutes

The episode 38 Minutes (S01E04) is a strange one. This is the first time we see the team on an away-mission (and we see this only in flashbacks), and yet there is this established dynamic within the team and between the characters that would be much more at home later on in the season. They all care too much, they trust each other too much. There's an intimacy to their interaction that is difficult to explain.

The functioning of the puddle jumpers is deconstructed when we have barely learned how they work in the first place. We learn obscure Wraith lore when we've barely scratched the surface with them. And then there's the question of the strange almost-confession from Sheppard to Weir that is left hanging at the end of the episode.

There are some parallels between this episode and the previous, Hide and Seek (S01E03) that kind of provide a motivation for them happening in sequence, the episodes mirroring each other. I suppose a modern binge-watching audience might spot such parallels much more readily than one would have watching episodes in a weekly schedule and if these two had been separated by more episodes between them, but it is still weird.

There are in both episodes, for one, the subtle and private touches, unnoticed by the others.

Both lead characters also end up unconscious on the floor at the end of the episode, tended by the medical staff. There's also the innuendo: where Sheppard referenced dicks ("That's [size not mattering] a myth!") in a tight spot, here Rodney describes John's bug bite as a hickey. How ever you want to interpret their relationship, these off-hand comments reveal that they sure do think about each other in sexual terms.

Where Rodney has his Big Hero Moment and saves everyone, Sheppard is saved by everyone. They all work so hard so save the man who believes he has to save everyone even if it kills him but does not believe himself worth saving.

It is very touching but it would have made more sense and carried more weight later on in the season, perhaps after we had seen him save the day and the others a bunch of times. Now we start deconstructing the hero myth right from the outset.

But it's actually the almost-confession that I want to dissect here.

Often when homoerotic subtext was used end employed in mainstream shows, especially during this era, the more something was in fact hinted, the more the main-text had to compensate by showing or referencing something over-the-top heterosexual. It's the plausible deniability. There sure is something gay going on in here so we'll distract the normative viewer with bells and whistles elsewhere (cf. the nurse at the end of this episode; Sheppard smiles at her and the mainstream audience is going to interpret that as sexual interest -- after all, nurses are sexy in Western culture. But note also Rodney side-eyeing her as she walks away. What this is is another case of Sheppard using his charm to get someone to do something for him -- in this case, making sure that he gets sick bay privileges). We sure don't want to make John Q. Public uncomfortable. They have to be given the chance to read the text in a normative way.

John Sheppard and Elizabeth Weir are the main characters of the show. It is easy to read their relationship as a friendship but a kind of a will-they-won't-they dynamic was also inserted into it. There are looks, there is unexplained tension, we are clearly meant to see them as close even if the nature of their closeness remains unexplained. All of this is of course true of Rodney and Sheppard, as well. It keeps things interesting, narratively speaking.

In the episode, there is this strange throughline of Shappard wanting to make what equates to a death bed confession of some kind. It is not an offhand remark but something that is returned to time and again:

Weir: Hang in there, Major. We're working on the problem. Sheppard: I know you are. Listen. I'd like to say something while I still can. Weir: Don't! You're gonna get through this.

...

Sheppard: What I wanted to say was... Weir: Save your strength, John, and tell me in person. Sheppard: This is important.(Weir sighs and closes her eyes.) Weir: I'm listening.

...

Weir: By the way, what were you going to say? Sheppard: When? Weir: Before, when you thought, you know ... Sheppard: Oh, that. Weir: I didn't want you to say it at the time, but now I'm curious. Sheppard: I was going to say, um ... take care of each other. Weir: That's nice. Sheppard: Yep. McKay: And, uh, indeed, we did. Sheppard: Yes, you did. Thank you. Again. McKay: You're welcome.

Weir: You weren't really going to say that, were you? Sheppard: I have no idea what you're talking about. Weir: I didn't think so.

Clearly, this means something.

Is this meant to be romantic? It can be interpreted as romantic. The mainstream audience likely will interpret it as romantic because that's what they are primed to do. Man, woman, something unsaid = unresolved sexual tension, unrequited love. Right?

Only, this interpretation makes no goddamn sense.

First of all, Elizabeth Weir was still in a relationship at this time. Granted, she didn't know whether she would ever be able to return to earth, she had not broken up with her man. It would make romantic interest in Sheppard morally dubious at best.

Second, by this time they barely knew each other. A confession of undying love would be wildly out of place, and a confession of interest would fit ill with the direness of the situation.

Third, for mainstream television, Elizabeth is too old to be Sheppard's love interest. Yes, they're practically the same age and the actress is technically the younger of the two, but this is how the world of entertainment works. If they had pursued this, it would have been a May-December romance of the wrong variety for the general audience.

Fourth, the question of the chain of command. Given that the expedition had civilian leadership, the major had been thrust into a command he had not signed up for, there existed a rather precarious chain of command on Atlantis at this time, as it was. Adding romantic entanglements into it would have been a Really Bad Idea. And the chain of command coming between a pair romantically interested in one another was something that was true of the entire franchise. Sam and Jack only got to have each other in some alternative situations, never in the main text. We all knew they loved each other but their position in the military would not allow them to get each other.

While they were both military, we have the same dynamic with Daniel Jackson and Vala, who are both civilians. They got to have each other in a timeline that was erased but in the main text their professional relationship precluded them from consummating their relationship.

And note that this franchise knew how to do unspoken romantic tension perhaps better than any other, it was their bread and butter. This wasn't it.

But wait, I hear you say. Isn't this true of Sheppard and McKay as well?

Yes and no. Yes, there is a chain of command. No, neither of them cares about it in text. That is, the chain of command between them, not chain of command in general.

First, there is the infamous scene in Miller's Crossing (S04E09) where Sheppard attempts, as a last resort, to pull rank on McKay with very little luck.

Sheppard: You're an invaluable of my team, and you report directly to me. McKay: Really? You want to talk about chain-of-command right now? Sheppard: You are not doing this.

Not only was McKay going to do this, the fact that he didn't do it right away had more to do with his respect for Sheppard as a person than a respect for the chain of command. But there's an even more incriminating scene in Harmony (S04E14):

Harmony: Tell me: which one of you is the superior officer? McKay: You mean, who outranks who? Harmony: Yes. McKay: I'm a civilian; I don't have a rank, but basically we're equals. Sheppard: Technically I'm in charge. Harmony: I thought so. You have all the makings of an excellent leader, John.

They are basically equals, John is technically in charge. This, according to them. Of course in reality being in charge of McKay is like being in charge of a bag of cats, but that's another thing entirely.

So what was Sheppard going to say to Weir? I would venture a guess, based on the episode Letters from Pegasus (S01E17) toward the end of the season, that what he wanted to say had something to do with Col. Sumner. That was the thing that was weighing on him this whole time. At this time we knew nothing of Sheppard's family back home or even if he had one -- and he certainly didn't feel he had anything to say to any of them when they were sending their final messages to earth.

Where other people are sending messages to people they love back home, Sheppard's focus is entirely different: "I'm not sure if Colonel Sumner's parents are still alive. I'm not sure he even has a family back there -- not all of us do. But if he does have a family, they should know that he died with honour and courage in the performance of his duty."

At the end of the day, when the chips were coming down, when they were sending their final messages to their loved ones, this is what John Sheppard wanted to say. In the episode he tells Elizabeth that what he had to say was important. This is important. Much more important than any confession of feelings could ever be.

But what did Elizabeth think he was going to say? That remains unclear. What is really curious, though, and notable, is that McKay seems real tense when they're waiting for John's answer. He stands there with what can only be described as baited breath. And it is his reaction -- not Elizabeth's -- that we get to what John says, lying about it though he clearly is.

What is that about? Why do you care so much my guy? Why do you have an investment in this?

Dear God, he's almost as relieved here than he was when they had just saved Sheppard's life.

Like I said, this would have made much more sense further on in the season. But as it is, the dynamic between these two characters got to a really intense start!

[theforgottenmcrmy]

Honor~ Part 1/2 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is an overall part 8 of the series “Growing Strong”, the masterlist of which can be found HERE ᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, suggestive themes, violence

Summary: Honor was subjective; it meant different things to different people. That was one of the most difficult concepts you’d ever had to come to terms with, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t a lesson worth learning.

A/N: Happy Halloween! 🎃 👻 I hope you guys are having a much better day/night than I am, cause your girl is going through it rn🥲 *handing out tissues* so, how are we feeling about the season finale, everyone?🥺 … on that note, I regret to inform you that these next two chapters will have some angst. I just ask that you hold off on throwing tomatoes at me until you’ve read it all. Part 2 will be up on Thursday 11/3.

As always, thank you all for the love🖤 eat all the candy you want today/tonight/whenever, you deserve it!🖤

Ser Laenor Velaryon was many things.

He was kind; he’d never laid a hand on Princess Rhaenyra. He’d been knighted at a young age, and had proved to be an asset to the Crown during the war in the Stepstones. He was daring; he’d claimed Seasmoke, one of the more nimble and faster dragons that the Targaryens boasted.

But, like all others, Ser Laenor also had his shortcomings.

As you purposefully entered the banquet hall you’d been directed to by a chambermaid, you frowned immediately at the sight that you were met with.

Ser Laenor was seated upon one of the tables in the middle of the room, apparently having decided that a chair was not suitable for such a purpose. His most recent companion, Ser Qarl Correy, was seated upon the table as well, right beside him. The pair talked loudly about something you couldn’t quite pick out the specifics of amongst their inebriated babblings.

You continued to watch with dissatisfaction as Ser Qarl raised a goblet of wine to you as a poor form of greeting before handing off said goblet to his drinking partner.

A few servants waited in the periphery of the scene, ready to jump in and assist the prince consort with whatever he may require at a moment’s notice. The looks on their faces ranged from neutral to weary.

“My Lord.”

Ser Laenor flinched at your bellow, but regained his composure fairly quickly. “Good morrow, Lady Tyrell!” He took another gulp of wine and before wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “How fare thee? Ser Qarl and I were just breaking our fast.”

The near empty plates beside and around their seated rear ends had gone unnoticed initially. You’d been far too distracted by the notion of Princess Rhaenyra’s husband and his companion already indulging themselves at such an early hour of the morn.

Ser Laenor inquired curiously, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I was told the Princess’s labors are drawing to a close,” you informed him neutrally. “Perhaps you might be a bit more… coherent, when you go to her?”

“... Ah, yes, yes. Of course.”

Despite your increasing irritation with the situation, you knew better than to show it. You bowed your head and gave the pair a strained smile before excusing yourself without another word.

Ironically, Ser Laenor Velaryon’s degree of interest in his family was like the weather over the sea: constantly changing with the seasons and tides.

And, for all the many things that he was, Ser Laenor Velaryon had never been a particularly attentive father- a fact that had cultivated a dangerous situation for you and the ones closest to you over the past decade.

As you made your way through the halls of the Red Keep, headed back from whence you’d come, you realized with dread that the castle had begun to awaken for the day.

You were not naive; cruel whispers had never been foreign among the halls of the Red Keep. But it appeared that the vipers had only become more venomous over time.

And those brazen whisperers had not spared you as a subject of their poisonous words.

Though… you had hoped they might have.

You were the Lady of House Tyrell, Mistress of Highgarden, Defender of the Marshes, Lady Paramount of the Reach, and Wardeness of the South. In the ten years you had taken up your family’s seat, you had come to live up to both your father and brother’s names. With your husband’s unwavering support, you worked tirelessly to ensure that you earned your right to the family titles that King Viserys had declared belonged to you. Sleepless nights preparing contracts for the crops trade, countless hours of council meetings regarding the issues facing the noble and common people, and thousands, perhaps even millions of gold dragons invested back into your homeland and the people who lived and worked there had finally begun to pay dividends.

Most of your time throughout the year was spent in the Reach, as was what you deemed necessary to adequately fulfill your obligations. You were well respected there, with only some, though plainly, expected, dissension… primarily from the likes of those who resided over in Oldtown.

You’d have been content to stay in the Reach, but your loyalty and friendship to the Princess had repeatedly called you back for visits to the capital. At first, you had been regarded with the respect you had earned over your years of service to the Reach and the Crown.

But with each passing year, the esteem the other lords and ladies placed upon you slowly began to diminish. And now, most of your noble peers did not hesitate to reveal exactly what they thought of your… circumstances.

In passing, most of them only seemed to offer you one of three looks: a look of pity, sympathy, or disgust.

Pity, for how could you have “failed to keep” your husband’s attention?

Sympathy, for how could you be held responsible for your husband’s lustful “wiles”?

And disgust, for how could you have “allowed” your vows to each other and before the gods to have been soiled so easily?

If only they knew…

…

You must have had the gods’ favor that morning, for you managed to make your way through the Red Keep without happening upon too many others. That was just as well; you’d gotten hardly any sleep the night before, and if you had to tolerate another single pitiful look at that moment, you might not have been able to properly mind your tongue.

And that would be an awful slip that neither you, your husband, nor Princess Rhaenyra could afford.

As you entered princelings’ chambers, you were pleasantly surprised to be greeted with the voices that had been suspiciously absent when you’d awoken that morning.

All four of the boys had their backs turned to you as they played in front of the fire with their miniature knights and dragons. They were so consumed in their games of pretend that your sudden reappearance had gone unnoticed.

But you hadn’t gone unacknowledged by your husband.

Harwin, who had been ever so carefully watching over all four of them, saw you enter immediately. As you walked further into the room, he rose from his crouched position and gave you a soft smile. 

You watched the boys in silent amusement for a few moments before finally deciding to make your presence known. “There you are. I had wondered where the four of you might have wandered off to this morning.”

Just a few hours before, you’d been given a bit of a start. Right before the sun rose, you’d stirred from a less than pleasant sleep to find yourself alone in the room, despite having succumbed to your dreams sometime in the night to the sound of animated whispers of four young boys filling your ears. But you’d known there’d been little cause for panic; Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys seldom made a move without eyes upon them. And wherever the young princlings went, your own sons were never too far behind.

Upon hearing your voice, all four of the boys turned and lifted their heads in your direction. They smiled and rose, before bounding over to you with excitement.

“Has there been any news?” Prince Jacaerys, or Jace, as Princess Rhaenyra had nicknamed him early on in his life, asked. He was the Princess’s oldest son, and nearly ten years of age. Though being third in line for the Iron Throne would have deemed him worthy of such attention regardless, additional interest had been placed on him shortly after his birth. Prince Jacaerys had been born with dark hair and eyes; he blatantly stood out in the sea of the other Targaryens he lived amongst.

“None yet,” you answered him truthfully. Upon seeing the disappointed look on the boy’s face, you quickly promised, “But soon.”

“We went to the dragon pit this morning!” your oldest son informed you enthusiastically, coming to stand beside Jacaerys.

Derrik, despite having been named in homage to your predecessor, bore little of the physical characteristics that had been passed down through generations of House Tyrell. At nearly ten years of age as well, just a few months younger than Prince Jacaerys, you imagined that he was a spitting image of what Harwin must have looked like at that age. His grandsire, the Lord Hand Lyonel Strong, had frequently made such a comment to that extent. Derrik was already the tallest of the four boys, and had even begun to encroach upon your own height. In addition to all the other traits he took from his father, he also shared Harwin’s dark curls. But his eyes were your own, as was his generally agreeable temperament.

Upon your oldest son’s admission, you looked at Harwin with surprise and mild concern. “Did you, now?”

“Look, Lady Y/N!” Prince Lucerys bid, running to the table beside you. You hadn’t noticed the sizzling pot upon it until the youngest of the Princess’s sons called your attention to it. But you knew what it contained, even without the young boy having to remove the lid.

“Jace let me pick out the egg!” Prince Lucerys, or Luke, beamed up at you. The youngest prince was over seven years old, though closer to eight. Like his older brother, Lucerys also had dark hair and eyes. But there’d never been any doubt as to who his brother was, nor his mother- his smile mirrored Princess Rhaenyra’s perfectly.

You returned his familiar smile with genuine ease. “I see that. Well, I am certain that your little brother or sister will be very grateful, Your Graces.”

It had become a custom during King Viserys’ reign for all newborn Targaryen children to have a dragon’s egg placed in their cradle. While you were wary of Princes’ safety whilst they underwent whatever necessary to secure the egg before you now, you were relieved at the thought that Princess Rhaenyra would be spared a trip to the dragon pit. Though she was likely to be exhausted, the Princess’s stubbornness had not diminished in the slightest over the years. Both of her older son’s eggs hatched in their cradles, and there was no doubt that she would wish the same for her next child.

While the Princes smiled to each other at your praise, you almost lost your footing when the fourth boy, your youngest son, threw his arms around your waist in an impromptu hug.

The boy looked up at you with wide eyes pleadingly. “We’re sorry we didn’t wake you when we left, Mother.”

Your resolve faded; it was extremely difficult to be cross when such a look was being given to you.

Selwin, the youngest of your boys, was a few months Prince Lucerys’ junior. He had been named after Harwin’s grandsire. Despite this, and in contrast to that of his older brother, not many physical traits of House Strong were made apparent in him. In fact, your youngest son resembled your late brother Derron so greatly, you found it to be unnerving at times. Selwin, though also tall for his age, was more lean and slender than Derrik. His hair matched your own, but he had your husband’s hazel eyes. Like Harwin, it seemed that he had inherited a bit of a fiery temper… which had been discovered fairly quickly after the boy was old enough to spend time in a training yard. But, also like Harwin, Selwin treated his family and those he cared about very sweetly, and never showed them anything but the utmost kindness.

You patted Selwin’s hair soothingly as silent acceptance of his apology. In the gaggle of young babbling boys surrounding you, you had failed to realize your husband had made his way over to join you.

Harwin, dressed in his armor and gold cloak, gave you an apologetic look.

Your family’s recent trip to King’s Landing had become less of a visit, and more of an extended stay. As he usually did, upon your return to the capital, Harwin had resumed his old post as a captain within the City Watch.

But through extenuating circumstances, the Commander of the City Watch had been forced to resign recently, and King Viserys had appointed Harwin in his stead… A perk of being the son of the Hand of the King, and retaining a close friendship with Princess Rhaenyra, you supposed.

It had been an unexpected appointment, but Harwin took it in stride. Though your family would eventually depart King’s Landing, he was determined to serve dutifully until that time came. In fact, just the previous evening until early that morning, he’d been out in the city, on patrol. Despite the tiredness that you could see lingering in his eyes, you knew he’d never let it show in front of the children.

Now that the boys had greeted you, their attention quickly returned back to their games. The boys fled back their miniature knights and dragons, but you remained where you were, watching them fondly as Harwin took another step towards you.

“When I returned this morning, you were still asleep,” he explained quietly. “I thought it might be best to let you rest whilst I escorted them to the dragon pit myself.”

Before Princess Rhaenyra had begun her labors the previous evening, she had asked you and your children to keep her sons company in the princes’ chambers. She wanted Jacaerys and Lucerys to be comfortable, and more importantly, kept distracted. Your sons, who had become close companions to the princlings throughout the course of their lives, fit the bill. You’d never spoken of it with her, but you suspected the fate of her late mother was never too far from her mind. Watching over her sons while Princess Rhaenyra labored was a small price to pay for ensuring that she had some peace of mind.

You gave Harwin a small but appreciative smile. “I am surprised the boys were already awake,” you confessed. “They were talking and playing well into the night.”

All of the boys, but particularly the Princes, were ecstatic with the idea of another addition to the royal family. At some point past midnight, you’d given up on encouraging them to get some rest. They would fall asleep wherever and whenever their bodies told them too, and not a moment sooner, you had realized in defeat. While the boys had engaged in another spirited game of pretend, you had drifted away on one of the sofas.

“Well, the Princes and Derrik were awake,” Harwin recalled, somewhat hesitantly. “I may have had to stir Selwin a bit…”

You gave him a mock look of disapproval at this revelation.

“In my defense,” your husband added hastily, “He was sleeping at a rather odd angle. I feared his neck would ache and pain him this morning, if I continued to let him lie as he was.”

On the contrary, and comically so, your youngest son briefly caught the room’s attention by breaking into an energetic sprint about the room, maneuvering a toy dragon to soar through the air as he did so. Prince Lucerys was just a step behind him, flying a dragon of his own.

“Although, he certainly doesn’t look to be in any discomfort,” Harwin observed bewilderedly, letting out an amused chuckle. “... Come to think of it, I don’t believe there is much at all that is able to truly dampen his spirits.”

You accused teasingly, “He gets that from his father, you know.”

“Funny,” Harwin exhaled, looking down at you with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “I always thought he got it from his mother.”

A comfortable moment of silence passed between you. Only the sound of the children’s laughter and the crackling of the fireplace was able to be heard.

It was an oddly peaceful moment that made it so very easy to forget that there had been any strain at all between you and Harwin as of late.

A knock on the door shattered the moment of calm.

You gave Harwin a forlorn look as you went to answer it. You opened it slowly, revealing one of Princess Rhaenyra’s handmaidens. She reported the information she’d been tasked to relay, excused herself, and you shut the door once more. When you turned around, all five of the room’s other occupants looked at you expectantly.

You announced, “The Princess has had a boy.”

All four boys broke out into cheers.

“A brother?” Lucerys exclaimed with a smile.

Derrik asked, “Is he healthy?”

“Is Mother alright?” Jacaerys added on.

Selwin demanded, “What’s his name?”

You held your hands out in a gesture you hoped would calm all of them. “I was told both the Princess and the young Prince are well. And, as for his name- I do not believe he has one yet.”

“Be patient, lads,” Harwin encouraged the Princes upon seeing their fallen faces. “I am sure your mother and your brother will join us in a few hours.”

“In the meantime, perhaps we might call for some food?” you suggested then, immediately piquing the group’s interest. “After your trek across the city this morning, I dare say the five of you must have worked up quite an appetite.”

The boys agreed, and after a servant had been called to request the meals be brought up, they returned to their games once more.

None of them noticed the uneasy look exchanged between you and Harwin.

When Princess Rhaenyra entered the room some time later, you were pleasantly surprised to see that she was accompanied by her husband. Ser Laenor looked vastly more coherent then when you last saw him. That was much to your relief, considering he was holding the newborn prince in his arms.

Harwin, who had indulged the children by participating in their most recent game, stood tall, and you rose from your seat on the sofa nearby.

Upon noticing their parents' attention had been diverted, Derrick and Selwin also rose to their feet, and quickly bowed to Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor.

You couldn’t help but smile at them, happy that despite the commotion, their manners had not been forgotten. For all the shame you had felt as of late, your two sons had never made you feel anything but pride.

“Mother!” Jacaerys greeted, swiftly rising and rushing over to the door. The other three boys were quickly on his heels. When he reached the table near the door, he removed the lid of the pot sitting atop of it, revealing the dragon egg. Crackles of embers filling the pot in the effort to keep the egg warm filled the room.

“We chose an egg for the baby,” Lucerys explained to his mother.

“Ah,” Princess Rhaenyra mused, flinching as she carefully took a step towards the sofa. “That looks like the perfect one.”

It was obvious by the Princess’s voice that she was still in great pain. You immediately grabbed two nearby cushions, fluffing and putting one upon the seat of the sofa, and the other up against the back of it. Harwin came up from behind the both of you and offered her an arm, which she took gratefully, before cautiously lowering herself down onto the sofa.

Jacaerys lightly swatted his younger brother’s curious hands away from the egg, and your own children leant closer to it as they tried to get a better look.

“Not everyday an egg leaves the dragon pit, Princess,” Harwin informed her. “I thought it best to escort the lads.”

Princess Rhaenyra smiled at him genuinely. “Laenor and I thank you, Commander.”

“Another boy, we heard,” you chimed in. You lowered yourself onto the sofa beside the Princess slowly, so as not to disturb or cause her additional pain. “Congratulations, Your Grace.”

Princess Rhaenyra looked at you with a veiled expression and gave you an appreciative nod. She was clearly tired, and in decent discomfort, as was to be expected. But there was still a sheen layer of sweat upon her face, meaning that either the midwives had not bothered to wipe her brow, or something else had happened more recently that had caused her to strain herself further.

You suspected the latter.

“Might I?” Harwin asked Ser Laenor, his eyes darting downwards towards the babe in the prince consort’s arms.

Princess Rhaenyra turned away from you. To her husband, she said, “Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey.”

Joffrey.

You took care to hide any facial response you might have had to the announcement of the newest prince’s name. A well enough name, you supposed, but it was greatly unlike the names of his older brothers. It didn’t take much thought to surmise who the responsible party must have been. Come to think of it, the name sounded awfully familiar…

Ser Laenor nodded understandingly. “Of course.”

Harwin gently took the newborn prince from the other man’s arms. Despite everything, as Harwin smiled down at Prince Joffrey and began to bounce him lightly, you couldn’t help but feel warmness begin to stir in your heart. Seeing Harwin with a babe in his broad and protective arms reminded you very much of when your own children were that young. It was a sight which you were unsure if you would ever witness again.

“Father?” Lucerys asked Ser Laenor, “Please, may I hold Joffrey?”

“No, no, no,” Ser Laenor said, patiently, but firmly. As the second-born prince made grabbing hands at the babe in Harwin’s arms, Ser Laenor had little choice but to calmly redirect him, and his elder brother, towards the door. “Back to the dragon pit for you two, before they send out a search party.”

The Princes grumbled as they were led out of the room.

You looked at Derrik and Selwin, and asked them both pointedly, “It is about time you both reported to your tutors for the day, don’t you think?”

Your sons also grumbled in protest. Thankfully, your husband caught on to your not so subtle hint at once, and he gently deposited Prince Joffrey back into Princess Rhaenyra’s awaiting arms.

“Come now, lads,” he beckoned Derrik and Selwin, before placing guiding hands on their shoulders. As he led them towards the door, he continued, “Let the Princess rest. We shall see your mother later.”

Harwin’s eyes lingered on you as he closed the door. You gave him a grateful look before he disappeared from view.

Once you were finally alone with the Princess, your focus was able to be solely put on her and the babe.

“How was it?” you dared to ask, though you knew her answer.

Princess Rhaenyra deadpanned. “A perfectly pleasant experience, as it always is.”

It was quiet for a moment, before you both let out a few hearty laughs. But when Princess Rhaenyra abruptly hissed in pain, you sat up straight.

“What is it?” you demanded worriedly, reaching out to support her hold on Prince Joffrey if needed.

The Princess gritted her teeth. “‘Tis nothing,” she attempted to dismiss your concern. “... It seems I have simply overexerted myself.”

“Then let me take him,” you offered readily, glancing down at the newborn prince in her arms. “Or, I can call for the wetnurse, if you’d prefer.”

“No, no,” the Princess insisted. “It is not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Princess Rhaenyra’s eyes never left the babe when she spoke next. Perhaps it was in an effort to keep herself composed. In the years since you had both become mothers, you had noticed it was nearly impossible for the Princess to be in a foul mood whenever she was around her sons. She loved them deeply. They gave her great joy, and, to put it simply, she was completely devoted to each of them.

“The Queen requested that Joffrey be brought to her at once.”

You blinked. “Now?”

“No. After. Laenor and I have just come from her chambers.”

Your brows furrowed. “... Surely you do not mean-”

“But I do.”

“Gods.”

The thought of Princess Rhaenyra, minutes after giving birth, being forced to walk the halls of the Red Keep to present her newborn son before Queen Alicent was appalling. You wanted to believe it was a joke, but you severely doubted that Princess Rhaenyra would ever jest about such a thing. And the hardened look in her eyes confirmed to you that it was anything but.

You leaned closer to her, attempting to get a better look at the babe you had yet to hold. “Why in the Seven Hells would she-”

Prince Joffrey fussed slightly, causing the blanket he was wrapped in to shift. The fabric around his head fell, revealing a crown of dark brown hair.

You fell silent.

Princess Rhaenyra quickly adjusted the blanket, covering the babe’s head once more. But the damage had been done.

“... I suppose the blood on his father’s side runs strong,” you found yourself commenting tactfully, referring to Princess Rhaenys’ brunette locks.

Princess Rhaenyra laughed once, shortly, and looked thankful for having been offered an out. But she said nothing further after that, choosing instead to focus back on the squirming child in her arms.

A very uncomfortable silence took over the room, and the pair of you had no choice but to endure it.

Later that night, you laid in bed, wide awake and restless, staring blankly up towards the ceiling of your chambers as your own thoughts tormented you.

…Another princeling born bearing little resemblance to that of his father… more fuel for the fire… those reprehensible whispers that you now knew would never cease…

The only person in the world with whom you wanted to talk to about your thoughts and feelings was lying right beside you. But he was fast asleep, and despite everything, you did not have the heart to wake him.

If sleep claimed you that night, you do not recall it.

…

Little did you know, Harwin had not slept that night, either.

Like you, his own thoughts only ever came back to two things… the third princeling born with hair and eyes unlike either of his parents… and the cruel rumors swirling about the Red Keep that he knew would only become more twisted because of it.

The following morning, you found both of your sons awake in their chambers.

You entered without announcing yourself, genuinely curious about the scene that awaited.

Selwin was already dressed and sporting his training armor. As he fought an invisible enemy with an invisible weapon of his choice on one side of the room, Harwin was assisting Derrik with securing the last few straps of his breastplate on the other side.

Once Harwin was satisfied with his work, he looked at the armor appraisingly. Your son looked up at him patiently, and somewhat timidly, waiting for his father’s opinion.

“It looks as though you’ll need some bigger armor soon, at the rate you’re growing,” Harwin decided, causing Derrik to smile widely. The pride was very evident in your husband’s voice. As Selwin suddenly ran past them, Harwin fondly rustled his hair in passing, and added, “You too, lad.”

You couldn’t help but beam at the scene.

Harwin had taken to fatherhood like a duck to water. He’d always been fiercely protective of his younger brother and sisters, and when it came to you and your children, it was no different. He’d been hands on with their learning and training since the day they were born, as had you. It hadn’t always been easy, but you had no doubt that there was no other man in the Seven Kingdoms that you would have wanted to raise your boys with.

Though initially you’d both been nervous at the prospect of parenthood, it was later proved that neither of you had any need to worry. Your children loved you as much as you loved them; and in turn, they’d always been decently behaved. In due time, they’d make fine lords in their own right.

“I can’t wait to take on Prince Aemond!” Selwin declared excitedly.

You weren’t sure why he had called out that young Prince specifically, but you made a mental note to speak with him about it later.

Derrik countered with a disapproving frown, “Prince Aemond is several years older than you.” He was right. Prince Aemond was closest in age to Jacaerys and himself, but even so, the Queen’s second son was still older than both of them.

“But we’re about the same size. I’d be more than a fair match!” Selwin argued lightly. He looked up at your husband with pleading eyes, giving him the same look the boy had given you the day before. “Please, Father? Can I spar with the Prince?”

Harwin sighed, and shook his head regretfully. “Sorry lad, but you know the rules. You are to sit and watch- and only watch- until the Princes’ training is done. I’ll work with the both of you after that.”

“But we’ve trained with Jace and Luke before!” Selwin protested.

“Aye, and that is only because the Princess Rhaneyra gave you permission to do so,” Harwin reminded him patiently. “The Queen has not given you such permission. Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond are to have more attentive instruction… as they deserve.”

Selwin did not look too happy, but he relented nonetheless.

“Besides,” Derrik said to his younger brother then, “You know Mother doesn’t like us sparring with the Queen’s sons.”

“She worries too much,” Selwin denounced.

“Come now,” Harwin frowned disapprovingly at the boys. “Your mother has every right to worry about you, as do I.”

Derrik and Selwin looked up at their father, slightly taken aback by the seriousness of his tone.

“What I am about to say is not meant to scare you, but it’s about time that the two of you hear it,” Harwin cautioned them. He let out a small sigh as he visibly contemplated his next words. “... Those around you, especially those here in the Red Keep, may treat the two of you with respect, but that is only because your station commands it. Some of them may even be pleasant enough to you… But that does not mean that they will have your best interests in mind, or that they are able to be trusted.”

Though he had prefaced his warning, your sons still looked alarmed by the gravity of Harwin’s words. You didn’t relish in the fact that they seemed scared, but it was necessary.

The plot against you the night before your wedding; the scheme devised to swindle your birthright out from underneath you… Ten years had passed since both had occurred, and you had no more answers now than you did back then. Over the years, you’d wondered if your brother Derron had been able to uncover any more information into either of those matters, particularly in regards to those who may have been orchestrators…

But if Derron had discovered anything, that knowledge had died with him.

With the exception of the gossip swirling about the Red Keep, neither you nor Harwin had been the target of any further conspiracies since then. But just because an enemy was dormant, that did mean that the threat was at bay. You had children now, and the reality of the situation was that you and Harwin were more vulnerable now than ever before.

Noting the sudden fear on the boys’ faces, Harwin placed one hand on each of their shoulders comfortingly. “But you can always trust that your mother and I will look out for you,” Harwin promised them, smiling softly. “And that is why we worry. That is why we want you to study, so that you might become wise, and be one step ahead of anyone else who may target you. That is why we want you to train, so should the situation ever call for it, you will know how to defend yourself.”

Derrik and Selwin looked up at their father with large eyes as they clung on to his each and every word.

“Do you understand?” he coaxed.

The boys nodded eagerly. “Yes, Father.”

You decided that that was the best time as any to make your appearance known. You stepped further into the room, putting a smile on your face as you did so. “Good morning.”

“Mother!”

You braced yourself, and smartly so, as your boys rushed over to hug you. You laughed and patted their backs lightly; the metal of the small armor was still cold to the touch. “Look at the two of you… You look as though you're ready to go man the Wall!”

“We’d never go that far away, Mother!” Derrik corrected quickly.

“Good,” you affirmed. “I’d miss you both terribly.”

“Run along to the training yard, lads,” Harwin suggested then, his eyes locking with yours. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Derrik and Selwin gave the pair of you knowing smiles before promptly heeding their father’s suggestion.

“Be careful!” you called after them cautiously, though only half-heartedly.

The sounds of the boys’ laughter slowly dissipated the further they ran down the corridor. When it was just the two of you left in the room, you turned to Harwin expectantly.

You weren’t sure what look you anticipated him to have, but it definitely wasn’t the one upon his face at that moment. Sadness lingered in his eyes… or perhaps guilt.

“Might we talk?” he asked, nervousness and uncertainty plain in his voice. It reminded you faintly of when you’d first met him, “Later, I mean. Over supper, perhaps?”

You did have a great deal to talk about. “Of course… That sounds quite lovely, actually. I’d like that very much.”

Relief visibly washed over Harwin’s face at your agreeable response. He nodded firmly once, though it looked like it was more to reassure himself than to confirm anything to you, and went to leave.

You stood still, expecting him to walk by without another word to follow your sons to the training yard, as promised. But instead, Harwin came to a halt beside you. You looked up at him curiously, your guard slightly raised.

Harwin leaned down and placed the lightest of kisses upon your forehead. Any emotional shield you tried to craft crumbled at the simple but extremely meaningful action. Despite his gentleness, you could feel the emotional depth behind it. Your heart lurched at the feeling of his lips upon your skin, and you found yourself feeling remorse when he slowly pulled away.

“I shall see you tonight, My Love.”

And with that, he left.

It was only when the room was quiet and still that you breathed out your response, despite the fact that there was not a single soul around to hear it.

“Until tonight, Dearest.”

A/N: Thank you for reading! Part 2 will be posted this Thursday, 11/1. If I remember, I’ll try to post a link to it here. Either way, I’ll make sure it is added to the masterlist. I hope you all have a wonderful week!🖤

[mllemaenad]

The Magnus Protocol: Putting Down Roots

Well, Colin is the most interesting character. It might just be because I've done IT. Never mind the supernatural. That error does not mean anything. You're seeing that error because it's the last thing that failed, but it only failed because nine other things failed before it. The first thing that failed is the actual problem, but you don't know what that is because you currently can't get to the top of the log file because of all the other things that crashed. So what the hell is wrong with you, you stupid machine?

It's all very relatable.

That said, a ".jmj error" does seem likely to be the text-to-speech programs crashing, so it probably is a supernatural error and it probably does mean something.

For the moment, it still seems most reasonable to speak as though "Norris" is Martin. It may not be, of course. It could be a disembodied voice with no personality attached to it at all – but what do you do with that, until the narrative makes something of it? It could be somebody else entirely, but in that case I know nothing about them or their motives so there's nothing useful to say until they reveal themselves.

So for now: Occam's razor. It sounds like Martin and it came into being after the conclusion of The Magnus Archives, so the simplest guess is that it is Martin. If and when useful evidence to the contrary surfaces, I will change my mind.

Also: Norris told a story about a man who killed his love and then lost himself so badly that he turned into a tree like bloody Harold from the Fallout series. It also dealt very much with feelings of being forgotten and unnoticed:

Norris/Samuel Webber I can’t go home. Not for a few days at least. And I’ll have to avoid the usual haunts until they forget about me again. That won’t be difficult. What’s one more stressed doctor. Just a grey man in the crowd, unnoticed until I’m useful. The Magnus Protocol: Putting Down Roots

That's a problem from Martin's past, but also a problem he might reasonably said to be having now, if he's explaining the horrors of the world to people and nobody (with the possible exception of Sam) is listening.

If that isn't Martin, it is something doing an uncannily good job of explaining why Martin might not be having a great year.

And, while this is evidence of nothing, for the moment I am much amused by the idea that a ".jmj" error is the cast of The Magnus Archives continuing their longstanding tradition of complaining about statements. One of those creepy messages comes in and Martin just wails "Again? Seriously?" and the whole system blue-screen-of-deaths. It may not be true, but it's funny in my head.

I do note that the new format gives a much greater capacity for bad or ambiguous endings to the tales. There's a thing John says in season four that sticks with me:

Archivist One thing that always strikes me when I read statements like this is… the bias of survivorship. With one or two notable exceptions, the only statements the Institute receives are those where the witness has successfully escaped whatever terrible place or being has marked them for a victim. I wonder how many don’t make it out. How many of those shapes in the water were once just like Mr. Shakya. – The Magnus Archives: Submerged

And he's right: there are a few instances of letters-to-be-read-in-the-event-of-my-death, and a few cases where a person who is clearly still being pursued by something stops in to tell their story before being run down, but most of the stories end in an escape. They aren't exactly happy, but they do tend toward the hopeful: by luck, tenacity or skill you may survive. Even the cavalcade of horrors in season five has finally has something you could call a happy ending: you can assume most of those people lived, and even went home.

If you compare the first four stories of The Magnus Archives with the first four stories of The Magnus Protocol, you get a very different pattern.

The Magnus Archives:

Nathan Watts of Anglerfish outwitted the titular monster – he spotted that the voice did not come from the figure's mouth, and got away.

Joshua Gillespie of Do Not Open outlasted the coffin, using music ice, and apparently an iron will to resist its siren song.

Across the Street is the odd one out: while Amy Patel seems to have survived the experience unscathed, the story is clearly about Graham Folger, and the monster very definitely got him.

Dominic Swain of Page Turner was rescued by Gerard Keay.

But in The Magnus Protocol, because the stories are harvested, they can just end – and so far, they do:

Harriet Winstead's fate in First Shift is unclear: did she escape, or was she killed or taken? She is last seen in fear for her life and seeking shelter.

Likewise, in the episode's second story, RedCanary's fate is somewhat unclear, although only in the sense that there isn't a definitive ending: there's a clear implication that their explorations had permanent consequences. More than that, while it is uncertain if Harriet got help, it is certain that RedCanary did not. Due to the anonymous nature of the forum, they were warned and banned when their behaviour began to reflect the peculiar things that were happening to them. Nobody went to help.

Daria of Tweaking lived (at least so far), but is afflicted and changed by whatever the tattoo artist did to her, and the most distressing thing is that she seemed largely unaware of that fact. She knew that the tattooing itself was weird and invasive, but did not seem to find her persistent self-mutilation odd, and is merely awaiting further "inspiration" to continue the process.

Samuel Webber of Putting Down Roots turned into a tree, and while it is not completely clear if that means he died, he's definitely gone – his belongings simply found among the roots.

There has not, so far, been a story that matches the general pattern of The Magnus Archives, in which a person who is at least broadly fine describes the weirdest thing that ever happened to them. People here ... they disappear.

Everything feels much worse in this universe.

In terms of the overarching plot, Alice's plot against Colin seems unnecessarily petty, and also weird. I've turned her logic over in my head a few times, and I do not believe it. There might indeed be occasions where a bigger IT department would be better at troubleshooting problems than the one local guy, but those occasions probably do not include a scenario where you're running 30-year-old proprietary German software that is mysteriously haunted by text-to-speech programs that should not be there. Colin freely admits he does not understand the system – but it is highly doubtful that anyone else does either.

She also says this:

Alice All I’m saying is that Colin tinkers with this system all the time and I don’t see any oversight. If you queried upstairs asking about it, all bambi-eyed and innocent, some alarms might go off. They might even come down and do a refresh or reboot or whatever. – The Magnus Protocol: Putting Down Roots

This contradicts a lot of what was said in First Shift, in which Colin was indicated to be essential personnel who might not be allowed to quit, and that he was being leaned on by a minister to accomplish ... something. Now, granted, Alice may simply mean that a senior IT person isn't monitoring him – but it does seem that the people "upstairs" are aware of Colin's activities, and seem to be in contact with him about them. And her insistence on a "refresh or a reboot", aka "turning it off and back on again" is interesting in light of the earlier conversation:

Colin Do you have any idea what will happen if this thing finally managed to extinct itself? Alice We’d go home early? – The Magnus Protocol: Putting Down Roots

Calling in IT only makes sense in the context of killing the system: shutting down whatever they are using and migrating to something consistent with what everyone else is using. Then they could be supported the same way everyone else is, and have their software updates managed at an enterprise level. And what would that do? Stop the voices? Unleash indescribable horrors on the world? Couldn't say.

But the core of the episode is a small-scale power struggle over the stark difference between Colin and Alice's attitudes to their work.

Colin seems overworked, highly stressed and oddly dedicated: he learned German to help his crappy IT job, for a start. He is suspicious of the system and what it is recording, and disinclined to be "friends" with it, but also seems to regard its failure as potentially catastrophic. He is under some kind of pressure from above that indicates that someone regards his work as critical, but does not seem to have clearly stated what that means to anybody – or if he has, they weren't listening.

Alice is committed to the idea that their work is meaningless, and engages with it as little as possible – she sticks around while Colin is fixing her workstation, but exits to make coffee the moment Norris starts talking again. She's stated previously that she believes they only exist as a forgotten department and is unmoved by the thought of their programs finally biting the dust.

Sam, as the new guy, is caught between them: he's naturally more engaged with the stories than Alice is, and has clearly been looking into the history of The Magnus Institute, but he's also closer with Alice than with Colin and being mentored by her.

The plot goes nowhere, because Sam declines to participate. It's impossible to say who is right and who is wrong, or if both characters are just screwing around because their jobs are awful – but it is interesting that this ideological difference escalated so early.

Something strange is happening. Do we care, or do we not?

Of course, it's also fair to note that the characters themselves may be unreliable. John continued to pretend to disbelieve the statements in The Magnus Archives long after he'd worked out the correlation between the ones that required the tapes and the ones that were true – because he believed that was the prudent thing to do. It may be that Alice is deeply invested in everything that is happening here and simply refusing to say. But you can't know these things until the characters crack so, for now: Alice is committed to not caring, and Colin is committed to finding things out, and this is becoming a problem.

The story ends with a minor spat between Gwen and Alice, which is interesting because it sheds a bit of light on Gwen's past. Her surname is Bouchard, which makes it easy to make assumptions – but it's hard to tell what is still true in an alternate universe. Apparently The Shining and A Nightmare on Elm Street still got made, but The Magnus Institute is in Manchester so all bets are off.

In this instance, however, there seems to be a pattern: Gwen, like Elias, seems to have come from money.

Alice Let me guess, fancy gowns, champagne, bathing in the blood of the poor – that sort of thing? Gwen You know we make the same, Alice. An old friend just made partner at her law firm. She wants to celebrate. Alice You sound thrilled. Gwen Oh I can’t wait to catch up and tell them I’m still working in the same cesspit I was last time they asked. – The Magnus Protocol: Putting Down Roots

Elias, however, was something of a feckless stoner whose most notable trait was an utter lack of a defence mechanism for dealing with the supernatural. I would not describe Gwen as feckless at all, and while Elias was picked as a means for an immortal to hold on to life and power, and thus ostensibly rose quickly to the top of The Magnus Institute, Lena seems to be actively stymieing Gwen's career.

But it creates an interesting pattern. The OIAR is implied to be a place with a high turnover rate and little security – and it's a bastard of a job that no one enjoys and seems to be accomplishing little. It's easy to wave your hand at Sam: he's here because of whatever weirdness has led him to research The Magnus Institute.

But. It's him, but not just him. Sam is overqualified for the job. Gwen has connections, which usually lead to better prospects. No idea what Alice has been doing with her life, but ...

Alice Fine. Yes, I’m working that night. I’m working every night. I was born down here and I’ll die down here. Happy? – The Magnus Protocol: Putting Down Roots

So why are these people still here?

[dinitride-art]

Mike Wheeler in Season Four (Analysis/Theory) pt.2/3

As I was saying, there’s a window with open blinds behind Mike and Will, and ‘open sign’ that we can see in the group shots, and the thought bubble that El sketched out framing the two of them. Everyone can see Mike looking to Will for reassurance. It’s not the same as season two when they were younger and it could be passed off more easily. It’s way more noticeable to the people around them now. And Mike keeps looking to Will, and Will keeps answering. And everyone can see it.

We see that Mike starts to look at bit tense after El and Argyle formulate the plan.

And then we see Will keeping close to Mike again. But there’s a more noticeable separation between Mike and El, created by this. Not one that anyone really seems adverse to though.

When Mike’s filling the pizza dough freezer with water, Will looks at him. And he looks concerned. The whole situation is tense, but this concern is specifically directed at Mike.

“What if [he] doesn’t need me anymore.” El’s back, and Will lied about the painting, and Will’s been the one that Mike’s been leaning on this whole time. Mike’s done this before. He did it when El came back in season three, he did it when he got to the airport, and Rink O’ Mania, and when they went back home and at breakfast when he wouldn’t talk to Will. Red tomatoes in the fridge, and a blue light behind Will’s head. He’s thinking that it’s happening again.

This time he was the one to push Mike towards El, though. But Will is an unreliable narrator. And we know that he doesn’t have all the facts. That Mike doesn’t love El like that. That Mike doesn’t talk to El like he talks to him.

But this is what Will’s seeing. And this time he understands why it’s happening. Because he played a key role in it.

Jonathan talking to Will about what’s going on is showing us that he can see it too. That Mike and Will reaching for each other isn’t going unnoticed. It’s the first time it’s mentioned this explicitly, but he’s not the only one to see it. Suzie was looking at Mike looking back at Will, Argyle called Mike out the first time he met him for being fake, Jonathan’s been looking at the two of them the entire time, and El put them in a thought bubble.

They’re seeing it and the audience is too.

We see Mike and Will (still) sticking really close together later, and this shot is showing us that Jonathan and Argyle can see them. It’s from over both Argyle and Jonathan’s shoulders. And they’ve got space between them. Mike’s hands are clenched and again, Mike’s in yellow light, and Will’s in blue. The background colours are the opposite of their outfits, both complimenting each other, and showing their contrasted roles.

As things get worse, Will starts shifting closer to both Mike and El. Mike’s hands are still curled up and he’s in the same tense posture that Jonathan is.

It’s easier to see a little later on. Jonathan and Mike are reflecting each other. And we know that Jonathan has been having problems with stress and anxiety and he’s been self medicating with weed. At least it’s implied that’s what’s happening with him. Their clothes even kind of reflect each other, with being open button ups (to an extent) and a white undershirt underneath showing. They’re all freaking out here, but the focus is on Mike and Jonathan. Although, it is mostly on Mike.

When El starts choking, everyone starts freaking out. Especially Mike. This is also where Will reaches out and touches Mike regardless of who’s looking at them. It’s like the shootout. They can reach for each other there because who gives a fuck? They might die and they’re scared enough that it doesn’t matter anymore. Similar situation with the monologue.

When Will puts his hand on Mike’s back, Mike is shocked. He literally whips around so fast his hair has a frame by frame journey. This is not a comforting gesture that can be written off as anything other than what it is. It’s not hidden, or small. Or anything that might be able to hide Mike and Will from everyone else.

Will’s reaching for Mike, because they’re all freaking out, but Mike’s been spiraling the entirely of this season. And Will’s been trying to keep Mike together this whole season. So, it makes sense that we’ve built up to Will’s hand on Mike’s back. (Not even his shoulder. Which can be seen as somewhat acceptable. Will’s hand. Is on Mike’s back. And that is very different.)

Confusion and devastated realization. Will just comforted him in a tense and stressful situation, and then slapped him in the face.

And there’s some weird stuff going on here with left eyes, and split facial expressions, and bright white lights, and Vecna- but I’m going to ignore that for right now.

Mike and Will both are hurt by what’s happening. Neither of them want this, El doesn’t want this- this is the first time this season that Will has hurt Mike since their fight at Rink O’ Mania. Not intentionally, here, but after spending the season trying to make sure Mike’s okay, this is a full turn around.

No ones happy with what’s going on here. No one.

But even after the monologue, and Will sitting a part from Mike and El, they’re still gravitating together. But their roles have swapped again.  Because now, Mike’s the one keeping close to Will. They’re both not doing well, though. So it might be that the two of them are keeping close to each other an equal amount now. Which isn’t a good thing. It might mean that they’re both starting to break.

This is the first hug between Mike and Will this season, and it’s very telling that Lucas is there as well. Group hugs are fine. Mike and Will hugging at the airport in front of a bunch of people they don’t know (and do know) is not.

Mike’s still tense here. Probably because he can see Max, and whatever guilt he has for not being there and letting her in to the party and Mike’s got a lot of reasons to be anxious right now. The looming threat of Vecna, his feelings for Will becoming more visible to the people around them as they get older, losing Max, El getting her powers back and his whole relationship with El, Eddie’s dead (he may or may not be aware of that by now- wasn’t shown or discussed), and the fact that Hawkins is very different from California. That’s a few reasons that Mike might be spiraling right now.

Hands clenched, eyes wide open. Whatever the reason may be- Mike’s not doing well. Will’s fingers curl into his back, and it’s another subtle hidden form of comfort from Will to Mike. But it’s hidden because Lucas is there and it seems normal within the context of a group hug.

Then El and Lucas hug, and Will’s taking up a considerable amount of this shot, so this might be showing us that two friends can indeed hug each other after a long time of not seeing each other. Contrasting what happened at the airport.

As they go to Max, Mike moves closer to Will. This time Will’s the one with clenched hands and tense posture. They’ve moved from Will comforting Mike, to an equal share of distress and comfort.

El leans on Mike, and Will’s head is tilted towards Mike. But they’re in a situation where they cannot safely reassure each other that it’s going to be okay.

Lucas might be picking up on what’s happening with them though. This is a shot that is similar to and OTS shot, so I’m going to assume it’s somewhat an indication of perspective as well. Because in this shot, Mike and Will are taking up half the frame and we can see Mike’s shirt pocket pointing to Will. And we, the audience, saw Mike gravitate towards Will.

There’s a new consistency with Mike and Will reaching out to each other, and then an indication that someone else is seeing it.

(usually it’s Jonathan)

(Suzie sees Mike looking back at Will, this is an OTS sort of shot again)

They are being perceived.

They keep looking to each other. And people keep looking at them. 

They’re beginning to notice that Mike and Will are different. 

[bearsanpancakes]

Mitsuki Izumi - RabbiTube Mini Rabbit chat

[Note: I am translating from the Taiwanese server of IDOLiSH7, not the Japanese server! Translations might differ from the original Japanese version due to that, but it shouldn’t make too much of a difference overall!]

ㅤ

Touma: Thank you both for yesterday’s RabbiTube Mini afterparty!

Touma: I feel glad to be able to visit your dorm 😄

Mitsuki: Mhmm! Thank you for coming over!

Sogo: Thanks for your hard work, Touma. We should be the ones to thank you instead for bringing a hostess gift.

Mitsuki: The locally-made beer you brought was super good! 🍻 The muscat flavor felt very refreshing!

Sogo: It wasn’t too sweet despite having a fruity flavor to it, it goes down really well.

Touma: I had some of it while I was doing some on-location filming and thought it tasted really good…! I’m glad that you both like it as well!

Mitsuki: Sogo drank until his face was flushed, after all!

Sogo: It was very delicious, so I drank it a little too fast on accident…

Mitsuki: Thankfully it went unnoticed by Tamaki w

Touma: Would something bad happen if he noticed?

Sogo: Not really… It’s just that I’d get caught in embarrassing situations if I had too much to drink… especially that I’d keep causing trouble for Tamaki-kun…

Touma: Is that so? Now I feel like the serious and tense Sogo has a funny side to him after all!

Sogo: I

Sogo: I didn’t act unseemly in front of you, did I!?

Touma: No, no ww It’s just that you constantly gave me peanut shells as a gift w

Sogo: I’m sorry for my unseemly behavior…

Mitsuki: ww

Mitsuki: It’s alright, everyone was drinking super fast and the atmosphere was lively, so don’t worry too much!

Touma: Yeah, that’s right! I also drank tons of beer because Mitsuki-san’s cooking pairs well with alcohol, and it tasted really good!

Mitsuki: Ah!! Your compliment sure does make me happy!

Touma: It truly was amazing!

Touma: The sausages and the mustard potato salad kept me craving for more…

Mitsuki: I’m glad that it suits your appetite! I’ll prepare lots of them for you the next time you visit 💪

Touma: Now that I’m reminded of the dishes, I’m craving them again…

Mitsuki: You sure are an adorable foodie ww

Sogo: Those two dishes are quite popular amongst our teammates as well. 

Touma: Oh, I’m sure it tastes great!! It must be amazing to have a teammate who’s good at cooking…!

Mitsuki: Does ZOOL not cook often?

Touma: We have a guy who can make perfect Japanese cuisine and help out around the kitchen, a guy who once said he doesn’t quite know how to show off his culinary skills to other people, a guy who knows a really great chef, and a guy who only recently learned about temperature and time control when it comes to cooking!

Mitsuki: Ah, I think I know who’s who!!! 😆

Sogo: Once you learn about temperature and time control, you’ll be able to learn how to cook in no time. Touma, you’ve mentioned that your senses are sharp when it comes to picking out seasoning. I think that you could memorize different seasonings immediately, you might have the talent for it.

Touma: So you knew which one was me huh ww

Mitsuki: Yeah! You were previously able to quickly discover ingredients that enhance the flavor of a dish, after all! Especially when it comes to seasoning for Chinese cuisine！

Mitsuki: 

Touma: Yup! I’ve been into slightly spicy flavors recently, so I really enjoy Chinese cuisine!

Sogo: I’ll make some mapo tofu the next time you come over then. There’s been a spice I’ve been wanting to test out…

Mitsuki: Oh, what spice is it?

Sogo: There’s some in the kitchen, let me go take it!

Touma: So you’re both at the dorm right now, huh!

Mitsuki: Sogo is currently tidying up the clothes that need to be washed and I’m looking through my script, we’re doing our own things while chatting!

Touma: That makes me long for a dormitory lifestyle~

Mitsuki: Although there are some exhausting aspects, it’s still really enjoyable!

Mitsuki: Regardless of exhaustion or joy, we can always return to the same home and share the same feelings. That’s what happiness is, don't you think?

Mitsuki: Zool may also suit a dormitory lifestyle. I think it’ll be nice to have some time to understand each other, or in other words, some common time together!

Touma: You’re right… senpai’s words have touched my heart deeply…

Mitsuki: Mhmm, if you all do plan on doing so, then I can give you all suggestions. Just contact me whenever!

Mitsuki: Uwah!

Touma: !?

Touma: Mitsuki-san!?

Touma:

Sogo: Sorry Touma! Mitsuki-san started coughing violently after opening the cover for the spice!

Touma: For real!?

Sogo: He went to drink some water

Sogo: I think he’s still coughing… He’s shaking his head still, could you please wait for a moment?

Touma: About that, our definitions of “slightly spicy” means the same in that it’s only a little bit spicy, right…!?

Sogo: Mhmm, that’s how I comprehended that term as well.

Mitsuki: Sorry for the wait!

Mitsuki: I directly smelled the spice on accident! I forgot to fan the spice with my hand while checking it, so I choked on it!

Touma: Are you guys running a science experiment or something!?

Sogo: Indeed, cooking is quite similar to an experiment. You do have talent after all, Touma.

Mitsuki: Oh~ I see! That’s an appropriate description!

Mitsuki: Sogo, let’s use this spice when we’re together!

Sogo: Okay! Let’s do that…! Touma: IDOLiSH7’s dorm does sound lively after all, how nice!

Sogo: I take it that you want to live a dormitory lifestyle with your teammates after reading Mitsuki-san’s messages?

Touma: Yup~ I think that would be nice!

Touma: It feels lively to simply walk out of the toilet and into the hallway.

Mitsuki: What does that mean? 🤔

Sogo: Did something happen?

Touma: I was startled by Yotsuba and Rokuya in the hallway the moment I stepped out of the toilet.

Touma: They both hugged each other and screamed “It appeared—!?”

Touma: So I said, “Yup, I’m done, so you guys can use it now.”

Touma: I thought to myself, “Simply meeting in the hallway can be so lively after all, huh!”

Mitsuki: www

Mitsuki: I think that’s somewhat our fault.

Sogo: I think it’s because Mitsuki-san and I secretly practiced our zombie acts in the living room at night…

Mitsuki: As we were practicing running while attacking, Nagi and Tamaki, who just finished playing their games, suddenly walked in.

Mitsuki: They screamed, “It appeared—!?” and caused a huge scene 😱

Touma:

Mitsuki: After our RabbiTube mini was released, they were watching it with their eyes closed w

Sogo: That’s right… Maybe they were startled when they saw you in the hallway because you also became a zombie in the video, Touma.

Touma: I see! Mitsuki-san and Sogo’s zombie acting skills were quite good after all w

Mitsuki: Thank you! Although it scared someone, all that practice was worth it ww  

Mitsuki: Touma’s zombie act was perfect as well!

Touma: Speaking of which, my manager grabbed a chair to use as a shield and walked into the practice room while I was practicing ww 

Touma: He thought there was a strange person in the practice room ww

Mitsuki: How cute ww

Mitsuki: We’re creating victims everywhere w

Mitsuki: But that also proves that our performances as zombies were great!

Touma: If I were to receive a job offer to act as a zombie on the spot, I think I’d be able to act it out well w

Sogo: I had lots of fun ever since the start of practice because there were a lot of acting techniques and moves that I don’t get to do often!

Mitsuki: Mhmm! I’m glad to be able to partner up with Sogo and Touma! Thank you! Both of you were very nice to work with 😄

Mitsuki: Let’s have some Chinese cuisine together at our dorm next time! Seriously, do come over soon!

Touma: Okay!! I’ll bring the drinks!!

Sogo: Then I will need to learn how to make some good, slightly spicy dishes.

Mitsuki: 

Touma:

Sogo:

ㅤ

End of RabbiTube Mini

[itsgxsly]

DEAL

Summary: rookies are always the talk of the year when the season kicks off. This 2023, Oscar and you are in the spotlight due to your love-hate relationship.

Pairing: oscar piastri x reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 695

Being two of the new rookies on the grid caused a lot of pressure for two young guys like you and Oscar. You had known each other for a long time, you had even been teammates in Formula 2. During this time, a respectful rivalry had been created between the two of you, you didn't hate each other, you were actually decent friends off the track, but it was true that when you knew that some F1 seats were free and that they could belong to one of you, you did not hesitate to fight with all your might to get a seat.

When Alpine announced Oscar as its driver, you allowed yourself to think that this was your chance for McLaren to make you its driver. After several negotiations and talks, you wanted to think that you almost had it, but the illusion did not last long when Oscar said that he wouldn’t drive with Alpine, and instead the seat at McLaren was his. Still, you didn't take it the wrong way, it was a tough sport and only the best made it to the top, plus the Williams team had offered you the seat of a Nicholas Latifi who had retire by surprise. So when you saw Oscar at the last race of the F2 season, you gave him a hug of feeling and promised him that you would be his worst nightmare when you got to F1.

And indeed you were both the living nightmare of the other, and of your two teams, who had to put up with the constant flirtatious fights between you.

It was fun watching you fight over every stupid little thing while at the same time looking at each other as if you were going to kiss at any moment. The comments towards each other during the races on the radios did not go unnoticed by anyone. But deep down everyone knew that the true feeling between you remained in a simple rivalry. There was no real evil in the way Oscar made fun of you when he outscored you. There was also no evil in you when you laughed at his and his horrible papaya car.

Today was race day. Both of you two had a good season so far as rookies. You were getting ready to get in the car when Oscar walked up to you. You speaked before giving him time to open his mouth.

“Look who's over here. Did you come to see me to get away from that horrible car of yours?”

"You're so funny" his words were brimming with sarcasm. “Actually, I came to wish you luck. You will need it if you want to score points with that blue junk"

"You know that with that "blue junk" I'm still better than you"

"you don't even believe that"

You fell silent and decided to speak again.

"Good luck, Oscar" this time your voice was serious and the smile on your face now had a touch of shyness when you spoke.

"Good luck, y/n." Oscar mimicked your tone.

You smiled at him one last time and turned to go find your engineer for the final preparations.

“y/n!” Oscar's shout behind you made you turn around again.

"what happen?"

"Listen, I've got something for you." Oscar seemed shy as he scratched the back of his neck.

"I’m listening"

“If I make it to the podium today, you will go on a date with me” His gaze was still on the ground. Maybe he was risking making a fool of himself.

"What if you don't make it and I outrun you today?" you tempted him

"Then we won't talk about this again and maybe I'll recognize that your car isn't that horrible" Oscar was excited when you didn't automatically say no, but he still didn't look you in the face directly.

He blushed when he felt your lips on his cheek.

"We have a deal, Piastri" smiling to him one last time, you turned and left.

Later, you smiled and clapped your hands euphorically as you watched Oscar receive the third place award from the top of the podium.

[indigo-creates-chaos]

Fable smp theories bc I'm totally and completely normal about it-

Spoiler warning for anything that happened in lore before/during the company outing streams! That's the point I'm caught up to lol

Let's talk about Wolfs mask first. I am almost certain that fixing the mask would make him human again. I assume that it wasn't originally supposed to be a curse, i could imagine that it was a gift either from Delta to Wolf or a gift from Vikesh to Wolf (but made by Delta at Vikeshs request). It might have been a thing that was supposed to help Wolf meet up with Vikesh by letting Wolf transform into a literal wolf to help him sneak away from the people around him unnoticed. I'm confused as to how the mask got into his and Centross bedroom considering the fact that he transformed down in the cave, but perhaps Centross brought it up after the fact in the hopes of somebody finding it? It was placed where the compass called "home" was placed originally. Anyway, the fact that the mask is now in Fables hands is terrifying and I'm scared of what he'll do with it.

Also, regarding Centross, of course we don't know what he's the God of yet. I assume he's on the end court (would it still be called that if the court technically doesn't exist anymore?) because of the fact that Eperos was the one that helped him to ascent. He is almost certainly still able to manipulate objects in the overworld bc he was able to replace the book that was meant for Wolf with one that was meant for Icarus. That's why I assume that he also moved the mask (aka replaced the compass). I wonder to what extent he can manipulate things in the overworld.

Now, let's talk about Rae. Poor, poor Rae. He was so close to getting his hands on the broken mask but he couldn't bring himself to enter Wolfs and Centross room, not even to feed Hope. I'm sure he would've put two and two together pretty quickly. Now here's how I think the mask thing is gonna go. I think Fable and his squad will roll up to Raes house to demand that he willingly give up the soul shards. Ofc he's not gonna want to do that, which might result in a bit of fighting. And then Fable is gonna propose a trade. "If you cooperate and let me take the shards, I'll give you what you need to turn Wolf back to his human form." And I feel like Rae will be tempted at the very least. We've seen how desperate he is to get Wolf back. I'm not sure if he'd go through with it, but he'd definitely be very tempted. I'm also wondering how the shards being gone would affect his mind reading abilities? Bc I'm not sure if those are there bc he's Enderians child or bc he's her vessel or if its bc of the shard. Ig we shall see.

Now, the one and only Fable. I don't trust that guy. I never have and I never will. I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt back when hed just gottten out of purgatory, but he proved to be just as bad as we thought it'd be. Although his intentions might be... I don't wanna say good but ig reasonable? I feel like he can't really be redeemed, not after everything he's done. Like he didn't even explain to Aurelius what his plans are or anything, he literally just killed her for no reason. Well technically there's probably a reason, I'm getting to that lol. I think Fable will kill every single god after he takes their immortality. After all, they might try to stop him from completing his plans. They are a threat to said plans. I believe that Aurelius will not be the only God that Fable kills through the remainder of the season. He might spare Rae, but only if he doesn't see him as a threat when he comes to take his shards. Same goes for Jamie and anyone else who has some sort of shard/godly power, so maybe also Easton, Momboo and Ocie? Which is quite concerning.

Also, Len. Ven doesn't see him as a threat but if he learns about what Fable is doing I'm pretty certain that he's gonna side with Athena. That's a pretty significant threat in my opinion.

Finally, Arissanna. I feel like she's a wild card in all of this. If Rae and his group can figure out a way to reverse the vexing problem I feel like she'd absolutely side with them. If that doesn't happen I don't think she's gonna be loyal to anyone but herself. She might side with whichever side she thinks is stronger and change her alliance on a whim depending on what the others offer her. We shall see how her arc develops.

Anyway, that was my long and incoherent Fable smp rambling. If you read it all thank you, I hope you liked it and have a nice day!

[stromuprisahat]

How would you have concluded Shadow and Bone? What would be ideal ending to you?

I'd scratch all the shit from second season. Truly, there's nothing really worth salvaging.

I wouldn't interfere with the Crows. Hurrying up their plotlines and engrafting them into TGT was a huge mistake. TBH Ravkan cameos sucked even in the books. "Everyone meets everyone" trope's rarely well-handled.

I wouldn't erase Grisha genocide and Ravkan wars, I wouldn't blame them on the Darkling, I'd make the heroes attempt to solve those realistically. Hard decisions, moral dilemmas and dead ends included.

I'd skip idiotic speeches. I know US-American probably love those (judging from their stories), but that shit's pathetic. And a nice speech isn't really likely to open the masses' eyes and turn them into accepting philanthropists.

Alina would grow into a critical, active figure caring for more than Mal (plus like two more people ~sometimes~). Actually caring, not making a speech to three point half Grisha about... whatever was that "My beloved Second Army..." shit supposed to be. Oh, and she becomes less self-centred and more compassionate. Ironically, the pig-headed teen from books had more empathy than her allegedly more mature show!counterpart.

I'd never erase Aleksander's pragmatic, more ruthless streak, and while I cannot see a good ending for him in books, in show he feels much younger, more hopeful... less dead inside?! So even though I wouldn't make him into the brain-dead simp the second season did, he and less short-sighted Alina might work something out in the end.

Oh, and Nikolai would be introduced as the lonely, clever boy with need to prove himself. Anyone else sees Darknikolina possibility?

TGT ends because Alina's robbed of her nature, I think it should end with her fully embracing it, duties and responsibilities included. You cannot control other people's faith, but I'd want her to reject her alleged Sainthood, since Ravkan religion likes to use it to keep dehumanizing Grisha. I don't mind her becoming Queen- for more self-aware character it might be a good way to be able to influence people without that Sainthood she'd give up in my scenario.

I'd like to see her destroy the Fold hand in hand with the Darkling. She might have the power, but she doesn't know shit about merzost, and wouldn't it be a beautiful parallel? The first time they enter it, she believes him The Evil and he's forced to make her use her powers in order to expand it, the second time they both go willingly, and she trusts him enough to allow him to use her power, taking down the thing bit by bit.

Since we're keeping it, we'd need to address the wars and Grisha oppression. The ending doesn't need to mean something definitive- life doesn't work in absolutes-, but Ravka's lack of resources considered, they're in no position to end anything, unless they give up... or conjure something their enemies cannot trump. Excluding merzost, threefold amplified Sun Summoner under more experienced Shadow Summoner's guidance could make a unit small enough to infiltrate enemy territory and target strategically chosen places. With invisibility on their side, they might go unnoticed except for the traces of their activity. They're at that stage of history, when nations are starting to pull out nukes, and Ravka happens to own two fully conscious ones. With Grisha it's much harder. There might be laws, treaties and agreements, but those are just words, and words are wind. What deed might change one person's mind, can only reinforce another's prejudice. This is a nightmare to solve, but education, laws and black magic seems like the only way to go.

So that's the end I got to today. These three forcing Fjerda and Shu Han to lay down their weapons and agree to treat their Grisha in humane way, OR...