#maybe they can lead a cult together

[arttsuka]

I did a quick photo edit.

Further away? Closer? I don't know which is better. I want to like the closer version but the crowd is ruining it.

The pictures I used:

Edit: forgot to add this picture

Edit²: I actually drew them. Here.

[kuromi-hoemie]

hhhh talking about my writing was fun but 30 tags is not enough.. yes i have 3 major influences but i have minor ones too.. it is a lovechild of my favorite things.. writing is so fun and i have no self control or a concept of pacing myself i will sit there for 16 hours and get hit with every status effect but by god does it all just flow out of me. I've always been a music person yes but i also used to write a lot into early adulthood until The Incident™

but i am ready 2 jump back into it. i think comics are a great middle ground between the two mediums so i don't get As into writing bc i kind of started going crazy last time 🫡 i can take a more structured approach to it that forces me to pace myself and think about it differently. i love art.... i love making things i love knowing how to do things i love knowing how to play things i love having so many creative outlets, even if i don't do a lot of them regularly lol. it is enriching 😳 and nice to know that it's always there to come back to when u want.

[charmedreincarnation]

I shifted and manifested with your Morphics challenge !!!!!

I am sharing this on an alternate account because I don’t feel comfortable posting on my main account. I want to continue using my main account so, I hope that’s okay.

I’ve been in the LOA community for a while and have consumed every piece of information. You know how it is.. I had a Reddit and TikTok shifting account and was literally helping people shift with my advice. But aside from maybe slightly hearing or seeing my DR, I had never succeeded, and even that was years ago.

I’ve gotten lazier yet more somehow ambitious since 2020 when I first started this journey, which is insane because you know how when you first find out about shifting, you have a lot of symptoms and almost do it, but then months and years pass, and you’re more desperate yet doing the same useless things. It was like that. I was enlightened; I could spew every method to you backwards, studied many years from teachers like Neville Goddard, Joseph Murphy, Florence Scovel Shinn, Wayne Dyer, Earl Nightingale, Louise Hay, Esther Hicks (Abraham-Hicks), Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Wallace D. Wattles, Rhonda Byrne—okay, everyone and their teachers. I also spent so much money on paid subliminals, meditations, teacher personal subscriptions, witch spells, lucid dreaming supplements, etc., but there are some things money can’t buy, so really, don’t waste your money lol.

I’m not here to be wise and do nothing with that wisdom, so I realized maybe instead of trying to do everything so mighty and intricate and be pretentious in my intelligence, let me try something so simple I would be shocked if it worked. Then I came across a post that was like, "Everyone is going to shift in September," and I almost cried because I have been trying for almost 5 years. I’ve given everything, and I was starting to think LOA is a cult because, let’s be real, it checks off all the things of a cult:

1. Charismatic Leaders: Many LOA teachings are popularized by charismatic figures who attract devoted followings, similar to leaders in cults.

2. Promised Benefits: LOA often promises significant personal benefits, like wealth and happiness, which can be enticing and lead to strong adherence.

3. Community and Belonging: Followers of LOA often form tight-knit communities, sharing experiences and supporting each other, which can resemble the communal aspect of cults.

4. Us vs. Them Mentality: Some LOA teachings might create a divide between "believers" and "non-believers," fostering an exclusive mindset.

5. Simplistic Solutions: The idea that simply thinking positively can solve complex life issues might be seen as an oversimplification, similar to some cult ideologies.

It’s almost religious, but most people are religious, and you know what? Without faith in something, people might have probably just (TW) killed themselves. Everyone has some kind of cult behavior—religious, politics, loyalty to family who don’t love or respect them. At this point, if it was a cult, I guess I was okay with that. Hopefully, the belief would at least give some sort of false comfort. Because having awareness and enlightenment and still suffering is even worse. Ignorance is bliss, as they say.

Then I came across your challenge, and tbh I had tried every subliminal, meditation, binaural beat, etc., so at first, I thought, how will this be any different? But then I saw the LOA Bella success story, and I just felt this was my calling because I had never related to a success story so much. I wanted to cry because it felt like a sign.

This isn’t a very exciting or good story, but all I did was:

Morning
https://youtu.be/gOpZAPo8VvU?si=FA2oxWQkR6l2KU_M

During the day (together)
https://youtu.be/67T-wX2iqfM?si=-f-TvsYyQ_D-od1L
https://youtu.be/xwaSBZFucGg?si=8-XLLROuoIypBSu0

Overnight
https://youtu.be/uBHMmHbQwa0?si=h01rp0Ngdl7Xhv9C

Basically I had a lucid dream and woke up in my waiting room because I had used lucid dreams to get into the void state, but they were also fake voids, and it was annoying to think, "Wow, I’m going to wake up with my dream life," and then fail. So I was taking no chances. I had a dream I was at work, and this lazy girl was being lazy as usual but an actual nuisance. We were outside, and I was like, "Wait, I don’t work outside," and then I got too excited, so I started jumping around and did a backflip because I heard that helps stabilize the dream. Then I commanded my annoying coworker to take me to a portal, and she did. I envisioned my waiting room and set the intention that when I close my eyes and enter the portal, I would wake up in my WR. I walked through, and then I fell. I was scared to open my eyes, so I affirmed just in case as I fell, and I heard the beach waves, and I knew it was there.

I only did this for manifesting purposes because then I intended to shift back to the same reality but where I had my dream life and master shifting abilities and void ability.

Honestly, I was so depressed at that point I didn’t particularly have any dreams or aspirations, so I didn’t know what would make me happy, as sad as it sounds. But I just slid into my WR bed and set the intention because I knew anything is possible in my WR and fell asleep. When I woke up, I woke up in a brand new house with a brand new family in a beautiful room.

Now, like I said, I didn’t have any intentions, so for the last few days, I’ve been having so many surprises and things happening that I now realize, of course, I would want this. I am just very happy, and I can’t believe it was so easy after almost 4 years.

I don’t have any stupid enlightenment advice that I would have thought I would have when I finally succeeded. As stupid and cult-like as it sounds, don’t give up—something will click.

That's amazing! I'm so happy for you and your success :)) and I am even more happy that you’ve found happiness when you don’t even know what you wantedand that it worked out.

I had a very similar experience and what I took from this is to be open to experimenting with different methods because what might not work today could be the key tomorrow and it can seem random.

I wish you the best with your dream life and I hope you continue to find happiness in different ways

[dewdropdinosaur]

Kinktober Day 2: Double Penetration

Summary: Your harmless little question about your boyfriends cloning ability lands you face down, ass up in the bed of the King of Hell himself. Warnings: DP, P in V sex, P in A sex, nipples, cum...lots of cum, clone sex, etc. MDNI< 18+. I am not responsible for your media consumption. Kinktober Mention of the Day: @hazelfoureyes. THEIR KINKTOBER STUFF IS ALREADY FIRE. I mean who would expect anything less from the leader of the Horny Dear Cult TM.

It was supposed to be a harmless request, a simple inquiry you had for your boyfriend. You didn’t think it would land you face down, ass up on the king of Hell’s plush king sized bed; drooling and letting out incoherent praises at how good he was making you feel. 

It started with watching Lucifer preform a few parlor tricks to entertain the masses of the Hazbin Hotel, cloning a few apples to juggle with. While that in and of itself was an innocent act, it couldn’t keep you from wondering what else he might be able to conjure up and clone. This lead you to pulling him aside later that night and popping the question. 

“Luci, dear. May I ask you something?”

“Why of course my love! What is it?” He was simply beaming at you from across the dinning table, as if every syllable from your soft lips was a heavenly tune he couldn’t wait but to indulge in listening to. 

“About your magic act earlier—“

“Oh it was so fun wasn’t it! I am sure Charlie loved it!”

“Yes, yes. It was nice and I am super impressed but it left me wondering…can—what can you clone?”

Furrowing his brows together, Lucifer was somewhat taken aback by the inquiry. It seemed so simple to him to just clone something, the powers that come with ruling Hell seemed bland and denzinet considering how long he had been using them. Rising from his chair, Lucifer slid over to where you were sitting, propping his elbows on the corner of the table next to your spot. 

“Mhmm, I think close to everything. Ducks included. Oh I need to tell you about that time that I cloned 1000 rubber ducks for Charlie’s fourth birthday—“

“Lucifer, darling. I would love to hear that story but maybe another time? I have…another question.” Placing your hand gently on his forearm, you bring him back from reality. His eyes burning into yours with an intense curiosity, as you sheepishly smile and fiddle with a bracelet on your wrist. It was silver, adorned with a red and gold pendant; given to you on your one year anniversary as a sign of your boyfriend’s never ending love. 

“Can you…can you clone yourself?” 

And that is how you ended up as mentioned before. Face down, Lucifer himself laying under you, pounding into your weeping pussy as a clone of him matched his pace as it drove into your ass. Gripping the sheets, the pleasure was blinding; with every thrust you swore you could see Heaven itself and how God himself had blessed you with such a specimen of a boyfriend. 

“Fuck—Ducky, you’re squeezing me so tight!” Lucifer couldn’t help but shudder with every thrust into your cunt, its velvety walls wrapping around him in an inviting way that almost had him cumming on the spot every time. Slowing his pace below you, he took the time to suck on one of your hardened nipples; releasing a short cry from your puffy, lipstick ruined lips. 

“This what you wanted sweetheart? For me to take you like this….gosh you’re gonna take my cum so well. Gonna take it nice and deep inside both holes for me Ducky.”

A hot wave of pleasure coiled itself in your stomach, a taught line on the edge of breaking. It was unbearable…almost. Lucifer’s clone continued it’s relenting pace into your ass, occasionally coming to smack down or dig it’s nails into the soft supple flesh of your behind. 

“Come on sweetheart…cum for me—cum for us.”

Your body acted on command, letting out moans of sobbing pleasure as your release hit you like a freight train; squirting all over Lucifer. Not mere seconds later did he and his clone find their own high; cumming hard into your cunt and ass, the liquid gold seed seeping out of both holes. Gasping for air, you peeked your head down to see Lucifer’s eyes completely dialated and black; staring at the way your body soaked up his seed. Taking his fingers, he pushed some more back into your overstimulated hole with a smirk. 

“Think you can take us again sweetheart?”

[fdelopera]

Hamasniks are on track to become the next Jonestown

I've decided that I'm going to use a different strategy when I engage with Hamasniks.

I used to try to get them to feel empathy for Jews, thinking that maybe an experience of empathy for us would get them to wake up and realize that they are being Jew-hating bigots.

Maybe I could get them to feel some remorse for attacking Jews if I could get them to see that they are engaging in the same violent, depraved behavior that the Nazis engaged in during the 1930s, leading up to the Holocaust.

Maybe I could appeal to them using Rabbi Hillel's "golden rule": "What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. That is the whole Torah. Now go and study."

But I now know that these approaches were futile.

Why?

Because Hamasniks are in a cult.

The strategies I was using were all rational approaches, and Hamasniks are not behaving rationally.

They are in a cult that has compromised their empathy, which is a well-understood aspect of cult mind-control. And instead of feeling remorse for attacking us, these Hamasniks actually revel in harming Jews.

I started to realize this when I rewatched some documentaries about The Peoples Temple (aka Jonestown) and the Manson Family.

Imagine if Jim Jones and Charlie Manson were here today and had Instagram and TikTok, and you'll understand the scope of the cult that the Hamasnkis are part of.

Jonestown Massacre, explained

Jonestown Documentary

Manson Family Interviews

Manson Family Singing

Hamasniks are speedrunning both of these cults. And they are getting to the point where they will start being used as "sacrifices for the cause."

Aaron Bushnell was just a glimpse of what is yet to come for many of them.

So now, I am changing tactics.

I will no longer appeal to Hamasniks' empathy, because they have none. It has been beaten out of them.

Instead, I will give them a warning:

You are in a cult.

You may not fully realize this, which makes this cult especially dangerous for you.

The people running your cult are being very careful to "boil the frog" very slowly with you.

They started by teaching you some slogans to chant, and giving you some signs to carry.

They lovebombed you hard, and it felt wonderful to be part of a social group, especially after the extreme loneliness and isolation of Covid.

You didn't really understand what the "Pro-Palestine" movement was about at first, but you were just happy to be part of something larger than yourself.

Then Hamas carried out the October 7th terrorist attack, and within 24 hours, your cult leaders got you to chant their "Free Palestine" slogans in the streets, and they got you to harass Jews online.

You were told to tell Jews things like "Die Zio Scum" and "Hitler should have killed more of you rats."

You were told, "It's okay to attack these people, these people are Zionists, and Zionists are basically Nazis."

You were so lovebombed at this point that you didn't care that calling a Jew a "Nazi" is one of the worst things you can say to us. You showed your friends the hateful messages you were typing out, and you all giggled together at how much you were hurting these Jews.

Then your cult leaders got you to go out in the street and vandalize random Synagogues and Jewish businesses. They told you these were part of the "Zionist entity" that you were all trying to take down.

And sure, Jews were being attacked and murdered in the streets and in their homes all over the world, but you convinced yourself that their lives don't matter.

After all, your cult leaders told you that once Palestine is "free," every societal ill will somehow be "corrected."

And so, maybe you felt a little weird about spraypainting Nazi Swastikas on Synagogues, and maybe you felt a little guilty about smashing the windows of Jewish-owned businesses, but you did it anyway "for the cause."

Then your cult leaders got some of you to partake in University encampments, where they could indoctrinate you further. They controlled your food and water, and they deprived you of sleep. Those are some of the most well-understood methods of cult mind-control.

Then your cult leaders got you to take to the streets and harass and attack Jews in public places. Now you're no longer just spraypainting Nazi Swastikas on Synagogues or smashing up Jewish businesses, now you're are physically attacking Jews on the street.

That's all well and good, you might think.

You think you're just having some fun attacking Jews and larping as terrorists. You think this is just an opportunity to get some anger out.

But actually, that's not what is happening.

You see, this is not about you.

Your sense of "Main Character Syndrome" has blinded you to the obvious reality.

You are being primed to "give your life for the cause."

That is Hamas' entire strategy.

I suggest you get out of this cult while you still can.

The Islamists running your cult are warming you up for the final act.

Don't just take it from me. Learn about cults. They always end in bloodshed - and that blood is YOURS.

Don't believe me? Learn about Jonestown. Learn about the Manson Family. That is where you are headed.

You love to chant "Long Live the Intifada." Well, you should EDUCATE YOURSELVES about the Second Intifada.

You should EDUCATE YOURSELVES about what YOU will be forced to do in the Intifada that you are chanting for.

Hamas terrorists strapped bombs onto people and sent them into crowded areas to BLOW THEMSELVES UP in order to kill Jews.

And if you are not careful, that will be you.

That's where all this is headed.

Time to wake up, babes! You're in a cult.

[thatstonedwriter]

⋆｡˚ 「 Stepping Up 」 ⋆｡˚

◉ Sinopsis; Reader acts as Octavia's step-parent

◉ Warnings; none

── ˙•˚∘✮🌙ᯓ🪐˙•˚∘ ──

Initially, Stolas was nervous about you meeting Octavia. Getting into a relationship with someone who has a child is a big step.

His divorce with Stella certainly doesn't make things easier. Because stolas is so focused on trying to ensure Via's comfort, he keeps her out of the loop- but that only leads to more issues (as we've seen)

It takes a while before Octavia trusts you enough to feel comfortable or let her guard down around you. She does appreciate how genuine you are with her dad, and decides to give you a shot (much to Stolas' relief)

You often take Octavia to Stylish Occult, and if y'all can get your hands on Stolas' grimoire, maybe you can sneak up to some stores in the human world (cough hot topic cough)

Surprisingly, Via would actually be willing to go to LooLoo Land with you and her dad (once its rebuilt). If you're up for it (Satan knows Stolas isn't), you and Via go on the crazy rollercoasters together. If not, everyone sticks to the carnival games Ferris wheels.

Family. Movie. Nights. Stolas will let you and Octavia decide on what movies y'all watch (usually Octavia picks cult classics and supernatural documentaries).

Stargazing nights!! Stolas and Via are obsessed with the night sky; it's only natural y'all go out on clear nights to go stargazing. Stolas will portal everyone to a distant moon far in the cosmos so you can get views of new constellations and nebulas.

I think Via would be a bit of a theatre nerd (partially because she's voiced by Barrett Wilbert Weed), so if you're down, Via wouldn't mind singing along to soundtracks with you!

When Octavia warms up to you, she sees you as the second parent she never really had. You've put in the effort to connect with her, and not only do you get to parent an exceptional kid, you get to live out domestic dreams with Stolas.

── ˙•˚∘✮ 🔭๋࣭ᯓ🌙˙•˚∘ ──

[cyn-if]

CORRUPTANT

Chained up, locked away. Tortured and forgotten. At least that is how it has been for as long as you remember. Suddenly you are freed. Your mind is shredded, all memories lost to the overwhelming agony that you endured. The very people that imprisoned you demand for you to assist in preventing a looming threat, one that has the entire world at stake. Just who are you? Why were you imprisoned? What about those you knew? Remember it all and cope with the tattered remains of your psyche. Maybe even save the world. Or not, what has the world ever given you?

Corruptant is a 172,000 (so far) word dark fantasy interactive fiction game (book?) that sees you play a cursed amnesiac coping with the situation they find themselves in.

-Play as Male, Female or Non-Binary. -Deal with the lingering effects of your imprisonment. -Give into 6 different extremes. -Romance one (or more!) of 5 (6?) characters that find themselves on your team. -Save the world and earn your freedom. -Or maybe burn it all down as revenge.

Romance Options:

The Binder: [M/F]

They are the first person you really interact with upon being freed. Gentle, timid and soft spoken, at least around you, they are going to be a constant in your life for now. Finding themselves bound to you, they try to do everything in their power to make sure you are comfortable. Can you forgive them for working for your captors? Can you get over the power imbalance that lies between you two? Male: 5’9 with short styled brown hair. He has warm brown eyes and is clean shaven. Female: 5’6 with medium length brown hair, often worn in a ponytail. She has gentle, inviting brown eyes.

The Second Born. [M/F] The second born child of the reigning monarch, they find themself placed on the team that you are on. They seem to take things easy, flaunting rules and wearing a lazy smile. They seem to treat you like a friend (or more), easily chatting and joking with you despite your curse. Can anything come from these interactions? Male: 5’11 with messy chin length blonde hair. His face is framed on the left side by strands of his hair being a dark blue. His bold violet eyes and stylish beard add to the look. Female: 5’7 with spiky short blonde hair and smoky violet eyes. Her bangs are highlighted by strands of dark blue.

The Best Friend. [M/F] Your best friend from childhood. You remember them as a person filled with wonder and optimism, genuinely caring about you and always lifting you up. Are they still the same person from your fragmented memories? You recall HE had short ginger hair and bright green eyes. You recall SHE had short ginger hair and bright green eyes.

The Scholar [F] An obsessive and eccentric scholar that specializes in your curse among other things. She has been assigned to your team and seems to be captivated by you. Can you get over the scholarly eye she has for you? And what about her not even being human? She has glimmering silver eyes and medium length hair matching her eyes. She is 5’5.

The Cultist [M] A captured member of a cult that is attempting to bring about the end of the world. He seems to fanatically revere you as some sort of savior. He is placed on the team to lead you to your targets. Will the fact you two are both outsiders draw you two together? He has short black hair and a beard, his blue eyes are etched with tiny black runes around the iris.

Note on Game Mechanics:

This IF is geared towards storytelling, and while the personality stats and skills will have impacts on the narration as well as the outcomes of certain scenes, they are not the focus. No personality stat checks will bar you from content should you choose a certain personality, so feel free to explore around. The personality stats are there for flavoring (mainly).

Note on Content:

This story is on the darker side of things. Featuring some pretty mature topics and depictions. Below is a list of some things encountered in the book. Please be advised. -Torture. -Coercion to perform jobs. (NOT ANYTHING SEXUAL) -Blood and gore. -Extreme Violence. -Death. -Abuse.

Here’s the link and hope you enjoy it!

https://dashingdon.com/go/15625

[mythicmanuscripts]

I had a thot about our brunette king, Jace.

So, super sensitive after cumming, right? And you mentioned before that Jace had a pretty negative outlook on masturbating due to the hypersensitivity and bad feels after orgasming even if it felt good leading up to it. May I introduce: EDGING. Maybe before meeting his wifey or before the marriage, he tries masturbating without cumming. It feels good, he likes the build up, it's just how he feels after that sucks. So he tries to delay the inevitable. For as long as he can. This leads to a mind numbing orgasm after denying himself a couple times. Sometimes he won't even bother trying to cum, letting himself soften after not touching himself for a bit.

Now, he has his super lovely wife that holds him and wipes away his tears after he orgasms. He's laying in your arms one night, head resting on your chest as he listens to the beat of your heart, when he mentions his "past habit" to you, asking if you could try it together.

Subby Jace shenanigans ensue.

Anon I love you. I would die for you. I somehow never considered this aspect of the edging before and you are so so so right. I can’t believe how many talented followers I have!!

(Also I love how many people we have in the cult of sensitive!jace). Anyway, NSFW sub!jace below the cut!!

My immediate thought here was that Jace wouldn’t even know what he was doing at first? He just knew that touching himself felt good but after the orgasm felt bad, so he’d stop before the orgasm and then start again. It definitely did feel so much better, and he got really good with it.

Of course the main problem with this is that when he did eventually come, it would be absolutely soul shattering and leave him crying and whining out loud in an empty room, just holding a pillow and crying. He absolutely hates how it felt afterwards, always.

And he couldn’t always just not come, not only because he was a young man at the time but also because after being edged for so long, sometimes even the smallest bit of overstimulation can push him over the edge and then he has absolutely no control over it.

So edging really was like playing with fire for him, but he did it anyway because he was just too horny to do absolutely nothing.

This is something that Jace doesn’t tell you at first. He tells you about how bad he felt after cumming when masturbating, but he didn’t mention the edging. He just wasn’t sure if he wanted to admit that yet.

But in the end he decides to tell you, because you’ve been so so good to him. He never thought he’d be able to actually enjoy an orgasm without worrying about how sad and sensitive he would be afterwards, but now? Now there’s hardly any bad emotions at all. He does feel a little unsettled at first usually, but that’s so much better than before and he can handle that because you’re right there.

You always pull him into your arms and let him cuddle you and listen to your voice and feel you stroking his hair and kissing his head.

Maybe he comes clean during a random nightly conversation? Mild side note here but I think Jace would be a big fan of always having a little chat before bed. It doesn’t have to be about the day’s events if you don’t want it to be, anything will do. The goal is just to have a nice little reconnect before going to bed and it is genuinely jace’s favourite part of the day.

That night, you had sex with him and then he was pulled into your chest for cuddles and praise. He’s laying like that when he recovers and then the little chat starts.

Somehow you get onto the topic of first sexual experiences and poor Jace blushes a deep red as he admits he hadn’t been with anyone before you because he was much too water they people would make fun of him for how sensitive he can be.

Jace never thought he’d ever tell anyone about this, but he knows he can tell you.

It takes him a couple tries to get the words out and when he does, you immediately give him a little squeeze and a forehead kiss and promise him that you love him very much.

When you do try it, Jace absolutely loves it. You drive him insane with your teasing but it’s everything he wanted and more. Of course the resulting orgasm is also one of the biggest of his life.

For the first second after he came down, he panicked because he could feel himself distressed. But then you gently directed his chin up and gave him a soft kiss and kept your arms around him.

Make no mistake, he’s feeing a LOT of things, but he’s just so much easier when you’re there. He feels safe and loved and he knows it’ll all be okay.

And then just as a random tangent: this made me think of how Jace would love to eat you out while softly grinding on the bed? Not hard enough to make him cum, but just to feel good? He stops whenever he gets too close and then starts again. It’s truly his favourite way to do it.

[bullet-prooflove]

The Maybe Girl: Colton Shaw x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @inlovewithcharmers @mckinleysbones @rex-the-dino @ahoodgirl

Companion piece to:

Stay (NSFW) - Colter can never ask for you to stay.

Sometimes Colter dreams about you. His hands running through your hair, his lips chasing all over your skin as your head tips back and you say his name. Those are the mornings he wakes up with a hard on he has to take care of in the shower because those dreams, they’re memories, ones that are scored upon the surface of his heart. He jerks off to the image of your mouth encircling him, that sinful look in your eyes when you know he’s close, so close he’s about to…

There’s the other dreams, of course, the ones he would never reveal to a living soul. A white dress and a cabin in the woods, a couple of dogs. You’re both too fucked up for a traditional relationship and children aren’t on the cards but it doesn’t stop Colter from hoping that maybe one day you’ll both settle down together. He can’t see it happening anytime soon but eventually, when you both get your shit together.

“I’m your Maybe Girl…” You had said one night when you were laying on your stomach in his bed. He was doodling patterns across your skin, connecting the constellations of scars when you’d finally spoke.

“Maybe Girl?” He’d questioned, his eyebrows furrowing as he tilted his head to read your features.

“You know…” You say, meeting his eyes. “The one you tell yourself you may have a future with so you can avoid any other commitments.”

“That’s not…” He trails off, pursing his lips together when you give him that knowing look. “I don’t think of it as a maybe.”

For Colter it’s an inevitability. He’s been in love with you for years at this point and he’s confident you’re in love with him. It’s why you tell him your secrets by the light of the campfire, the things you’ve never told anybody else

“Oh.” You say, looking troubled. “Colter, I can’t give you anything more than this…”

“I know.” He’d whispered, his thumb tracing lightly over the apple of your cheek. “But maybe someday you can.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, he knows that now. Sometimes he gets so caught up in you he can’t help but express his feelings but you, you’re like a skittish animal. You need to be approached carefully, with caution because for you commitment is entrapment.

It’s marrying a man your father chooses for you at the age of fifteen, one three times your age and an elder of the cult he joined because your mother died and he can’t cope with his teenage daughter. It’s hunting in the woods for survival to feed children that aren’t your own, ones that you can never have because that first time was so violent that  it ruined you.

You don’t even bother to slip out when he’s asleep that night. You just get up, gather up your clothes and go.

He doesn’t follow because he understands that urge to escape, especially when you feel overwhelmed. That’s why his father called him The Restless One.

When you appear outside his airstream tonight he doesn’t expect it. It’s been six months since he last laid eyes on you and he’s parked in the middle of nowhere, waiting for the next reward to come through.

“I can’t be your Maybe Girl,” is the first thing you say to him, the rain pouring down as you stand outside, soaking wet.

“How about you be the girl that comes in to get dry?” He suggests as he steps out of the way revealing the warm glow of the airstream. “The girl I make tea for because there’s a chill in the air and I’m terrified of her catching hypothermia.”

You step inside, leaving a trail of wet clothes that leads directly to his shower. He sighs as he picks them up, hanging them up to dry over the cupboard doors in the kitchen before he goes through his slender wardrobe and picks out the shirt you like to wear. It’s a soft faded grey, one he’s had since long before he bought airstream. The only reason he hasn’t thrown it out yet is because he knows how much you like it.

“Are you going to join me?” You call from the bathroom and he envisions you naked underneath the water, the droplets trailing over your skin. He lays the t-shirt down on the bed and he wonders if you’ll stay tonight or if he’ll find that it neatly folded on the table were he eats as if it had never been worn.

“Yea.” He calls through, pulling off his own shirt and tossing it in the hamper. “Just give me a sec and I’ll be right there.”

Love Colter? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[yanderes-galore]

As long as I can, I will offer you something: romantique Satoru vs Suguru (cruse user) with the reader (sorcerer) who has a preference for Satoru.

Thanks to advance ~😘

Honestly, I'm down (bad) for this idea. I hope you like my silly little ideas.

Yandere! Satoru Gojo vs CU! Suguru Geto with Sorcerer! Darling

(Focuses on Suguru's feelings mostly)

Pairing: Romantic - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Jealousy, Violence, Possessive behavior, Overprotective behavior, Death, Blood, Attempted kidnapping, Stalking, Dubious/Forced relationship.

Well, as a Sorcerer there has to be something anchoring you to the role.

Or, in this case, someone.

Satoru Gojo is one of the many reasons you stayed a Sorcerer.

Plus, killing innocents like Suguru Geto didn't feel right.

Naturally you gained a preference for Satoru, still seeing him as a loyal friend.

The sad thing is you, Satoru, and Suguru used to be considered close friends in your student days.

It wasn't until after the Star Plasma Incident that Suguru began to drift from you both.

You saw your friend hit all new lows, looking disheveled and depressed.

You had no idea he'd snap.

Satoru had always seen you try to help Suguru.

You were closest with Satoru but Suguru was part of your trio so naturally you cared.

Suguru appreciated your concerns, but you could never convince him to enjoy this world after what happened.

No matter how much you hugged him or said you were there for him, you can't change fate.

Satoru and Suguru both had crushes on you when you were students.

Suguru appreciated the fact you cared enough to try and nudge him in the right direction, even if it was pointless.

He did love you in a way.

Satoru appreciated that you cared for your shared friend, his cheeks warming at the fact you were so attentive.

Although... things turn sour when Suguru goes rogue.

When you hear about how Suguru massacred an entire village while on a mission, that drives you to Satoru.

You feel betrayed by Suguru, which leads to Satoru pulling you closer.

This rift is what makes their crushes turn into a rivalry.

Suguru loves you and wants you on his side.

Satoru loves you and clings to you more due to losing Suguru.

I can see Suguru meeting you and Satoru one last time like in the end of that arc on the street.

He came to see you both, but Suguru's eyes kept trailing to you.

I imagine the rivalry would spark when Suguru makes one last offer to you.

Imagine if said offer was a confession, a last ditch effort to have you on his side.

Satoru is perplexed at this development, seeing Suguru give a smug look as he kisses your hand.

However, as expected, you turn Suguru down.

This makes Suguru pause, glaring at Satoru for a moment while Satoru glares back.

Suguru parts from you both, but it's clear things between them are unresolved.

Since you prefer Satoru, wouldn't it be even more dramatic if you two ended up together maybe a year or two after this event?

Either way, the whole dynamic of this rivalry would be picking sides in a war you have no idea is being started.

Suguru is working with his cult, keeping an eye on your development as a Sorcerer.

He thinks you could be a great asset... and he misses you.

Meanwhile Satoru often trains with you and comes off as more serious now.

He's even more clingy now, too.

These two are very strong with their abilities.

Suguru is probably not as strong as Satoru, but the two can put up a good fight against one another.

What irritates Suguru the most is your blatant favoritism for Satoru.

They both love you, but you're too damn oblivious to know you should join Suguru.

He hates that Satoru has such a hold on you.

It's even worse if when Suguru meets you again, you're dating Satoru.

Suguru gets so stressed about this.

They're both possessive but Satoru becomes more protective as he knows Suguru is still out there.

He just has no idea when he's going to make his move.

Satoru no doubt knows Suguru still has feelings for you and will do anything to get you by his side again.

Satoru gets a bit paranoid, imagining his old friend breaking you just to keep you to himself.

These thoughts cause Satoru to never leave you alone.

You're never off campus alone, always having Satoru follow you.

You want to be mad at him, but you can't.

You are just as aware of Suguru as he is.

You understand your old friend is a dangerous man, one willing to watch you from the shadows before pouncing when you're alone.

The fears of both you and Satoru aren't misplaced.

Suguru is indeed spying on you.

He stalks you, eyes narrowing when he sees you so close with Satoru.

Suguru often tests your abilities by sending Curses or Curse Users after you, although he's mostly testing how quick Satoru will come to your aid.

Suguru keeps trying to smother his irritation when he sees Satoru come to your aid. Every. Damn. Time.

He needs you alone... He needs you as his.

There has no doubt been attempted kidnappings by Suguru, often trying to force you away from him to take you.

But Satoru, like a protective boyfriend, always arrives to save you.

Satoru is annoyed that Suguru won't take a hint.

He isn't sure what it's going to take to get the Curse User away.

Satoru hates the idea of killing Suguru, but so help him if Suguru lays a hand on you....

Suguru doesn't mind murder, he hesitates when it comes to Satoru just a bit... but he's an obstacle now.

I like to think there's times they fight before the final confrontation.

Just as Suguru's about to wrap his arms around you, Satoru warps in and tugs you away.

Suguru hates that you won't willingly follow him... but blames it on Satoru.

Their rivalry becomes a constant game between the two.

Right up until Yuta comes into the picture.

Well, now Suguru has two reasons to attack the school.

If he can keep Satoru distracted, he can probably kill Yuta, take Rika, then take you.

It's perfect, it's tempting, and this begins their final encounter in the rivalry.

In canon, there's only one way the rivalry can end.

Suguru makes his entrance at the school, gaze immediately snapping to you with the rest of those students you and Satoru have.

He wonders what Satoru's plan is, leaving you all alone.

That's okay... Suguru's waited a long time for this...

You had been adamant on staying behind to watch Yuta, worrying for the kid due to his situation with Rika.

You're both targets... Satoru knows this.

Although Satoru wants to believe Yuta has things covered.

Suguru's main goal would be Yuta, but he certainly keeps you at bay.

He loves how good it feels to have you pinned, whispering how he's yearned for this.

If only you joined him all those years ago... you could've been perfect.

He tells you how you can't hide behind Satoru anymore.

If he has to, he'll kill him, kill him just to make sure he puts an end to this game.

But that's okay... he'll take you home once he has Rika.

Of course, his plan doesn't go as well as he thought it would.

It's only salt in the wound when Satoru shows up as Suguru bleeds on the ground.

Satoru is glaring at Suguru, recalling how scared you looked.

"I didn't hurt them badly, Satoru... but you came to rub it in, didn't you?"

Suguru would grin, blood still pooling.

"They weren't yours. Never were. I've told you that for years."

Satoru's glare is cold, his blue eyes narrowing.

Suguru merely glares back, grunting.

"You were holding them back. I could've made them great. I could've loved them more than you-"

"You're delusional from that blood loss, aren't you?"

Even as one of them is dying, the two still bicker.

Their rivalry still flares, but Suguru accepts the loss eventually.

"Fine, Satoru. You win. But... won't you let me see them one last time?"

Satoru hates the idea, jaw clenching.

"After what you did? Fat chance."

"Please, Satoru... I'll behave."

Reluctantly Satoru may call you over, you’re staring down at Suguru with an echo of disdain in your gaze.

Suguru merely gives a bloody smile, reading out to hold your hand.

Satoru keeps a tight grasp on your waist, a cold gaze never leaving Suguru.

Suguru no doubt confesses his obsession, stroking your hand quietly before kissing it.

Your skin is stained with his blood, Suguru's gaze is nothing but lovesick.

Eventually, before Suguru can kiss your face, Satoru yanks you away.

You're sent back to recover as the rivalry concludes.

It ends the same as canon, Suguru dies at Satoru's hand and Satoru claims you for himself.

Satoru feels he can relax more, knowing you're finally safe... and finally his.

Satoru would win this rivalry, holding you possessively to his chest as you two continue dating.

Satoru begins to show some red flags... but you don't notice them until later.

For the most part... he's just clingy.

Luckily he doesn't have to worry about Suguru anymore...

Although I do wonder what his reaction would be to Kenjaku feeling a similar desire later on...?

[video-game-luvr]

80's themed Honkai Star Rail!

A/N: Let me cook! Let me cook! These prompts will be made into yandere fics, if you guys enjoy it, the smut will come eventually.. If you folks dig it! Just be patient and let me cook! I haven't ever posted actual fics or series so my work isn't the best but I still hope you bunch enjoy it nonetheless! Feel free to correct me or tell me if it's OOC! I am always open to improving! English was not my first language.

My ask box is open for ideas and thirsts! Maybe an 80s slasher theme next? A serial killer is on the loose! Who could be behind the mass disappearances!

Neighbourhood dilfy uncle Gallagher, who is friends with your parents... This prompt would also work so well with Jingyuan! Your parents just trust their friends so much, don't they?

Welt being that hot librarian with a mature charm. You can't help but gaze at his veiny and calloused hands, holding that book, and scrutinizing everything about the contents of the book.

Sneaking out at night to skate around with Caelus and Luka!

Dan Heng who is part of a band, as a bassist. Walking around everywhere with his headphones on. Talking about music with him, and him sharing all his favourite songs with you by giving you a custom made cassette! (Though it was probably pirated)

Going to a cassette store and befriending Dan Heng gives you butterflies. The usually cold and hard-to-approach Dan Heng was now your friend!

Gepard being the local heartthrob, he is such a sweet man, always helping his neighbours with carrying their groceries to their house. Funnily enough, this man is also really clumsy. Your mom asked for his help in changing a light bulb, only for him to fall over from the ladder, luckily he didn't get any major injuries from it.

More about Gepard, he is part of the baseball club! His broad figure and precise aim makes him perfect for it! Just about everyone has a crush on this brawny oaf! He is such a himbo. He can definitely do no harm!

Rock star Blade/Yingxing! It just makes so much sense! Especially if his band is punk, definitely an alternative band for sure, even if it's not punk. Just cheering for him with all your heart, and seeing him throw a wink your way.. Orz "Meet me behind stage." He mouthed to you. The cold arrogant star took a liking to you! Now this is exciting!

Ah yes, Sunday. The epitome of a perfect man. A role model for everyone in school. (Probably a preppy private school) His drive to keep things in order is commendable. All of his perfect execution as a school president isn't limited to the school. He also most definitely goes to church and organizes youth events, leading the choir, you name it!

However, under that flawless persona. Sunday is probably hiding some deep dark secrets. Who knows what that man is thinking.(It's giving... cult leader!)

Playing videogames with Caelus! Who has been your trusty neighbour for years! Your first encounter was him digging into piles of junk, you were really weirded out at first, and probably refused to play with him. But with enough nagging from your mom, you slowly warmed up to the idea of being friends with that weird silly neighbour of yours. From that point on, you guys started to play videogames together! Caelus has started to change over time, he seems to not be able to focus on videogames anymore.. His face oddly becomes red when he catches you gazing at his face. Without your knowledge, someone's love has started to bud and bloom. (He wants you so bad! You might regret befriending this weird kid!)

Himeko is the absolute hot aunt! The resident MILF! Every time she talks with your mom, you can't help but stare at how beautiful she is. She can't help but tease you about how adorable you look with that flushed face of yours. Your mother trusts her with all her heart. I'm sure she wouldn't do anything twisted.

Argenti, an art student. His vision of what beauty is is directly painted onto the canvas. He is incredibly passionate about his vision. A beautiful birth, a beautiful life, a beautiful end to life. He may seem a bit eccentric at times, but he means well... Right? (He is probably a cult member... Not Sunday's though. He is a follower of the path of beauty!)

[k4ychiko]

How would look cultists (Old faith) Look in your Cotl band au? And bishops? And how they Role change?

I NEED ANSWERS

Heres their full ref sheet!

Ive made a bunch of doodles and art (under the #cotl band au tag) but i'll be planning to make more art of them! Theyre very dear to me..

I'll write some stuff down here about the characters

Keep in mind this au is not related to scott pilgrim 😭😭 just cus i drew lamb in that poster doesnt correlate to the show pls thank you!!

So since its a modern au, Some stuff might not be similar to the original lore in the game such as the bishops injury and what not lol

-

Shamura - multi purpose

They learned to play a lot of instruments at a very young age, and passed their talent to their siblings. Shamura thought of teaching them only as a hobby, not fully knowing well that they'd form a band.

Shamura couldn't finish their education because they needed to be the one providing for their younger siblings. They work as a tailor.

But despite it all Shamura is still very wise and smart.

Shamura is 31.

-

Kallamar - keyboard and backup

kallamar's voice has always been my favourite because of how soft and melodic it sounded in the game. So not only is he a keyboardist, but also a backing vocalist too.

He's in a polyamorous marriage. Two wives and 1 husband. (Kallamar also has a son.)

And because of his family, kallamar couldn't attend in majority of their band practices

He's hard of hearing. Knows sign language.

Kallamar is 27.

-

Heket - bass

Heket can speak, but prefers to appear mute to the audience.

She speaks using sign language. Everyone in the band knows sign lanuage.

Heket is currently in college learning mechanical engineering.

She's bisexual. And currently dating someone. (Not revealing who just yet)

Sozo and Heket are very good friends. Enjoying tea time together and talking a lot of things. Mostly about mushrooms and family.

She's 22.

-

Leshy - drummer

Leshy and yellow cat (named Fian in this au) are dorm roommates and best friends. Some believe they are more than friends.

All his chaotic energy and anger goes to banging on those drums. Shamura thought it was meant to be.

Leshy studies biology. People didnt believe him when he revealed he's one of the top students in his college.

He has a really good memory. Memorized the drums layout immediately after losing his vision.

Hes 20.

-

Narinder - lead guitarist

Dropped out of college to focus on the band. Bad decision really.

Aym and Baal were the only nerdy fans to get close and have a sweet relationship with nari. Like he's their uncle.

Narinder and Lamb used to date when they were 20. They broke up because of miscommunication (and many more reasons). they are in good terms 3 years later.

Lamb had moved on from their relationship, but nari hasnt.

-

Lamb - Lead singer

Lamb can do a death metal scream, dont let that innocent look fool you.

They were recruited in the band by narinder and became the leader.

Ratau adopted Lamb

Lamb's songs are somewhat religious and has a cult vibe. But sometimes they focus about relationships and struggles.

Lamb and Goat are really great best friends. Maybe even more than best friends.

-

If u guys wanna know more feel free to ask me!

[enjolraspermettendo]

Les Miserables Fanfic recs✨️

I tried to make a selection, my absolute favourites have a heart next to them ❤️, but my les mis fics bookmarks have 17 pages, so you know, there are still other amazing fics that i didn't include (part 2 maybe?). I also realised while making this list that most of these fics are actually very well known, but still, they're great 🤷‍♀️ I'm an angst enthusiast, be warned.

( I'm trying to also tag the tumblr accounts of the authors: if you are one of the authors and I missed your url and want me to add you or if you want me to remove you dont hesitate to contact me! )

❤️ World Aint Ready by idiopathicsmile @idiopathicsmile

Enjolras presses his lips together. He already looks pained, and Grantaire hasn't even opened his mouth yet. That's got to be a record, even for them.

"I need a favor," he says at last.

"With what?" says Grantaire. "Ooh, are you forming a cult? Can I join? I'd be awesome at cults, I just know it." He ticks off his qualifications on his fingers. "I love chanting, I look great in robes—"

(High school AU. Grantaire the disaffected stoner is pulled into a cause bigger than himself. Or: in which there are pretend boyfriends for great justice.)

Part 1 of World Aint Ready-verse

To Fold the Sheet by Lyres

“Can you say one good thing about the season?”

Holding out his soap-sud covered hands until Grantaire tosses a towel on top of them, Enjolras hums in thought. “Not really,” he says, once he's dried off. “Just don't have a lot of happy memories of summer, I suppose.”

(In which Grantaire attempts to make Happy Summer Memories, and Enjolras is endlessly patient.)

History of Melancholia by Squash (JeSuisGourde) @meta-squash

Grantaire deals with his depression by documenting it through photography as he and Enjolras try to wade through life with mental illness. It doesn't make it any easier for him or Enjolras, though. It's the blind leading the blind as they try to navigate the waters of depression.

A series of moments in no particular order, showing the paths that Grantaire's depression and addiction has taken him on and the ways he has tried to survive.

Submission (Going Down, Down) by ddeadkennedys

anyway, enjolras hated grantaire at first. enjolras isn't an asshole, he's not a gatekeeper or some sort of shitty elitist, but grantaire was uninspired, hopeless despite all that potential. a waste. but then that whole thing went down, and shit changed, and if grantaire thought he couldn't get enough of enjolras' attention before, now that enj is only mean to him for fun he's a fucking junkie for it.

Part 1 of the revolution is my boyfriend

Keep It Kind, Keep It Good, Keep It Right by lady_ragnell @theladyragnell

“You aren’t going to ask me if I’m okay?”

“You aren’t. Believe me, I know the signs.” Grantaire sighs, and his breath mists in the air like cigarette smoke. “They love you in there.”

“And out here?”

“You know that’s not a fair question.”

Forget Me Not by Opium_du_Peuple @just-french-me-up

Enjolras loses four years worth of memories after a nasty car accident. Though he still remembers who Combeferre and Courfeyrac are, he also finds himself with a herd of friends he doesn't remember meeting. Friends who are exactly what his blank mind needs to recollect his missing memories.

or : the amnesia fic no one asked for.

i'm not the moon (i'm not even a star) by serinesaccade @serinesaccade

“The amnesiac has questions,” says Grantaire. Boyfriend grips the wheel. “Don’t worry, we’ll start with the 200 dollar Jeopardy trivia.” A semi roars past them. “What’s your name?” The perfect sinew and bones of his fingers relax. “Oh,” he murmurs. Just like that, defenses lowered. “Enjolras.” “Cool,” Grantaire says. “I’m Grantaire.” Something happens to Enjolras�� face which, if you zoomed in, might be considered a smile. “I know.” “How long have we been dating, Enjolras?” The almost-smile is gone. The gameshow metaphor has become too apt; someone’s lost it all. “That’s complicated.” Well. Grantaire should’ve known some part of this fairytale was too good to be true. He’s best friends with a streetsmart renegade and someone who wrote him a welcome-back-to-consciousness poem in godawful blue icing on an orange frosted cookie cake. There are nearly ten people who were waiting for him to wake up in a hospital room. Of course his inexplicable relationship with his supernova hot, socially conscientious boyfriend is ‘complicated.’

thirteen days and fourteen hours and a dozen minutes by Potoo

"Enjolras,” Grantaire gasps as delicate fingers brush over his chest, an airy quality to them, “what do you want?” Because Grantaire would serve him the whole world on a silver platter, and it would never be enough.

“You,” Enjolras states, his voice clear and severe, “I want you.”

Enjolras discovers one by one what his friends think about Grantaire. He is rather surprised by their words.

Also: body worship porn.

Metropolitan Art by ryssabeth @avagueambitioninyourerection

Paris is his home.

❤️ Wrap your fingers round my thumb by Ibbyliv

When Éponine leaves in the morning, he’s already feeling much better. No really, he is. He makes a cup of coffee and even showers. The sun is shining brightly –even though it’s mostly late in the afternoon than morning but he has no one to apologize to, no reason to excuse himself for being a lazy ass and not finishing that painting for ages- and he’s humming a catchy tune that has been stuck in his head while he wipes his hair dry with a towel. He opens the door because he feels good enough to take the trash out, and everything’s alright, even the odor coming from the plastic bag, until he hears it.

It’s a cry, a wail, desperate and heartbreaking as if something tiny is trying to cause its lungs to explode and is on its way to success. Grantaire looks around, not willing to accept what he feels coming, before lowering his eyes on the floor. In this moment, Grantaire swears, he's so fucking wasted. * Enjolras leaves to work abroad for a year. When he returns, he finds out that there has been a new addition to their group.

A Series of Progressions by AnnaBolena @annabrolena

Modern AU in Paris in which most of Les Amis are students and all of them are sort of slow on the getting together aspect of relationships, with sociopolitical commentary and medical jabber peppered in between.

how sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame by Tegami @furtherfish

He could have shrugged and that would have been it. Say that he just found it precious. But Grantaire was Grantaire and he never could keep himself from oversharing and he was already dizzy with the way this night was going, so he told the truth. “The first thought I had when I read that poem was ‘If someone would ever call me “sweet boy” and mean it, I would probably pass out.’” OR: E & R are being ""casual"". Grantaire attempts to break some of their habits. Enjolras reads some angsty notes R left in his copy of Shakespeare's sonnets. Then they fuck

❤️ Hotel California by sunflowerbright

'You can check out, but you can never leave' - Reincarnation!AU

❤️ Paris Burning by thecitysmith @thecitysmith

In a world where cities are personified, the City of Paris has been missing for centuries, driven away by the horrors of war and the worst humanity has offered him. Enjolras dreams of meeting Paris, and leading him to a better tomorrow. What he doesn't know is that Paris is now a cynical drunk who calls himself Grantaire.

❤️ Thirty-Two Times by Ark @et-in-arkadia

Marius, looking chastised but sad, says, “Is there nothing then for romance, Enjolras? It seems a strange emotion to be struck with, distracting as a fever, if it means nothing.” It is Grantaire who answers first. “Nothing means anything, Marius,” says the cynic. “Yet who would ever die for his country if he did not love some person who lived within it?”

❤️ Once We're Kings by raeldaza

Their kingdoms have been at odds for centuries, so what will be a greater 'fuck you' than to send hapless knight Grantaire as their representative for Prince Enjolras's queen choosing ceremony before he is crowned King? Grantaire disagrees, but he doesn't seem to get much of a say in the matter. No one is really expecting anything to come of it, but trust Enjolras to defy expectations.

❤️ Your Heart on Your Skin by zade @racetrackthehiggins

Grantaire’s first flower appears when he is two years old. It’s late, for a First Bloom, considering some children are born with their First already etched above their hearts, but Grantaire’s parents are warm and loving and wait to see what sort of child they have born unto the world. His First Bloom, when it comes, is vibrant patch of yellow carnations. He is too young to know what it means, and his parents don’t tell him, just—withdraw, and a much smaller patch of yellow carnations appears on his mother’s ankle. -- Soulmate AU where things in your life appear as flowers on your skin, and people with hard lives have a lot of flowers to show for it

Tetris by chapstickaddict

Cosette is Enjolras' half-sister. His father slept with Fantine and then buggered off to be with his wife. Then Enjolras found out. One day he sees her- and he knows its her- and doesn't know what to do. Enjolras is Cosette's half-brother. Her mother slept with a married man and died of a broken heart and weary soul. Then Cosette found out. One day, she finds him-and she knows its him- and doesn't know what to do. Then Marius happened...

Silence Is the Speech of Love by lady_ragnell @theladyragnell

Grantaire's life has a pattern: he pays his respects to Aphrodite, he goes to work, he loves Enjolras and provokes him because he can't bring himself to do otherwise. That seems unlikely to change, at least until Enjolras speaks out against the gods and ends up cursed. Grantaire does his best to help him, but it turns out it's just as hard to love Enjolras up close as it is from afar.

Part 1 of The Speech of Love

❤️ I Believe In Nothing but the Truth and Who We Are by Whreflections

"Under the wine, Grantaire smelled like smoke and summer nights. His dark hair curled in a chaotic mess around his face, his neck below pale and soft. The first time they met, the first time he drew the scent into his lungs, he ached with the need to mark that stretch of skin, to card his fingers through Grantaire’s hair so very gently before tilting his head back so Enjolras might mark his bared throat and make his claim. He resisted then, telling himself that to act on instinct alone was the arena of an animal; he was a man of intellect, and he could choose." As an alpha, Enjolras has known Grantaire to be his mate since he first came to the Musain, a truth he does his best to bury. With his devotion already promised to France, he tells himself he cannot risk dividing his loyalties, cannot risk a bond that would pull so heavy on his heart. This is what he's told himself a thousand times, but when Grantaire needs him, his careful resolutions may not be able to hold against the strain.

His Love Letter by ShitpostingfromtheBarricade @shitpostingfromthebarricade

Your Wednesday regular appears right on time and orders the same thing as he does every week, but something's different today.

❤️ Here's looking at you by illuminate

“So domestic trouble rather than treason?” Floreal said. “I’m not saying one precludes the other.” Enjolras said, which came out more pained than he had intended. “Are you suggesting Grantaire sold national secrets to a crime lord because you were a bad boyfriend?” Floreal asked. Her tone was bemused, but there was a glint in her eye that turned the comment into mockery. “No.” Enjolras snapped, stung, and then didn’t say more. Spy AU. Grantaire removes his tracker and disappears the same night Lamarque is killed in his office. Enjolras is left behind, trying to figure out what happened and why Grantaire didn't tell him anything.

❤️ Meanwhile, A Glacier by standalone

“I’ll go.” He says it without brashness or deference. Just a statement. “Where?” “You want to climb the Forty,” he says, and Enjolras can’t deny it. “I’ll go with you.”

❤️ It's Not the Same Anymore by ShameDumpster @shamedumpster

Grantaire is a bookstore clerk in his late twenties, and to everyone’s eternal disbelief, a father. It’s been years since he’s seen anyone from his former group of friends, after a falling out cleaved him from the ABC, but everything changes when Enjolras walks into his bookstore. Can they rekindle their friendship, or something more, while they both come to terms with how their lives have changed over the past decade?

Part 1 of INtSA-verse

❤️ Combeferre's Tattoos by standalone

Enjolras clunked down three lowball glasses of whiskey and a bottle of soda water. “We have already established, ‘Ferre, his freedom to leave us. Can you please stop bringing it up and instead give him some incentive to stay?” Combeferre cocked his head to the side, as if amused at Enjolras’s crankiness. “Such as?” “He seemed to like you shirtless.” ‘Ferre nodded. “Then perhaps someone should take my shirt off.” or When the universe gives you Enjolras and Combeferre, who the hell are you to ask questions?

Part 1 of Tattoos AU

❤️ In Defiance of all Geometry by idiopathicsmile @idiopathicsmile

Amis House might not be the biggest student co-op, or the fanciest, but it's got something all its own. Specifically, smoke damage on the kitchen ceiling from that time Courfeyrac lit a political pamphlet on fire. In which there are secrets, pining, pancakes, and revelations, and sometimes the shortest distance between three points is not a triangle but a circle.

Part 1 of IDOAG-verse

❤️ We still got time (Raise your hopeful voice) by RavenXavier

“Excuse-you!” came Grantaire’s offended voice from the other side of the room. “I would make an excellent wife, Monsieur Lesgle, should I choose to! I have all the qualities of one!" (In which Enjolras slowly falls in love, and Grantaire takes the time to explore what feels right.)

Musagetes by defractum @defractum

"You've had sex," says Grantaire, just to clarify. He gives Enjolras an obvious look up and down, as if he's trying to imagine it right now: Enjolras having sex, Enjolras in the act of having sex. The curve of his mouth gives away his smirk; it's Grantaire though, so his smirk is two-thirds mocking and one-third self-deprecating. In which Enjolras has sex, has casual sex, and doesn't talk about it; in which Grantaire speaks better through art.

❤️ Through the Narrow Place by revolutionbarbie

“What brought you to Paris?” Montparnasse asked. “A train, ostensibly. And a bus.” Grantaire leaves Poland for Paris, content to remain alone forever if it means that he'll be safe. He goes to work and he comes home and he doesn't think about how few people there would be to miss him should he disappear. When he meets the Friends who gather and plot at the Cafe Musain, he realises how much he has been missing and though their leader is reckless and arrogant, Grantaire can't help but be drawn to him.

❤️ A Thousand Miles by kjack89 @kjack89

Some couples had a morning breakfast routine. For Enjolras and Grantaire, it was coffee. Come rain, shine, or hectic schedules, they still made time every morning to have a cup of coffee together. Sometimes that time saw Grantaire perching on the counter in the bathroom while Enjolras gulped his cup in the shower; other times, it was the two of them in bed long past when they were supposed to get up, wrapped in blankets and each other. Some days those precious few minutes were the only time they saw each other, and they treasured it. Even when Enjolras was out of town on business, they called or Facetimed each other to share their morning cup of coffee. It was the one consistency in their lives that Grantaire could count on.

❤️ Hēbē by illuminate

“You cannot feed on a citizen without their consent, because that would be an attack on their person - and their Rights, I am sure. But you cannot risk revealing your nature and so you cannot ask for permission. Luckily, you have me, who am already aware and quite willing.” The chair screeches loudly as Enjolras pushes himself away from the table. ”Come now, Apollo, let me be your cupbearer.” Grantaire implores; his tone somewhere between teasing and honest. “No, we are not doing that.” Enjolras growls. (In short: Enjolras has trouble feeding himself, because he is too busy planning the revolution. Grantaire finds out and is more than willing to help.)

Part 1 of cupbearer

Enjolras looks down at where Grantaire’s hand holds the pack against him and doesn’t bother to take hold. “If you were Combeferre,” he says, “this would be the part where you tell me these things will kill me.” “If I were Combeferre, I’d be inside and you’d be bothering someone else,” Grantaire snaps. He snatches the pack of cigarettes back and extracts one, leaving just two inside. It is with sharp, savage movements that he jabs it into his mouth, lights it with the silver Zippo, and then offers it to Enjolras.

love is in the air, i just gotta figure out a window to break out by tamquams

[tswwwit]

Cult Reincarnation part Three! Here's parts One and Two if you missed 'em.

The followers of Bill Cipher are the most blessed of believers. Strong and devoted, they are empowered to overcome all things, through service to their god.

And in times of trouble, the devout always have something to turn to. 

Dipper bows his head before the golden image, and tries to force his muscles into a semblance of relaxation. 

Worship.

He hopes hating every second of it doesn’t matter. If it works at all. 

Praying to a god, in the domain of said god, should technically speaking be overkill. This kind of thing is supposed to reach through the veil between planes, not just partway across a building. The process has a lot of kick to it. 

That’s the theory, anyway. Dipper’s working with what he’s got - 

But he’s not sure Bill’s all that easy to reach. 

No worshiper has ever called for help and received it. There were excuses, of course. Dozens of them. But brushing them off with a ‘not worthy’ doesn’t work when it’s literally everyone.

Either nobody’s worthy, or no help is provided. From what Dipper’s learned about the god himself, it’s the latter. 

Probably because Bill doesn’t care about most of them. Maybe because he thinks it’s funny. The third guess -  that he thinks helping is boring - is currently leading the pack.

There’s another reason, too. One that’s… technically possible, but Dipper’s trying not to think about it. 

No matter what the cause of it, none of those bode well for Dipper’s plan. That’s on top of the fact that summoning Bill is, by all metrics, an incredibly reckless idea. 

Still, desperate times call for desperate measures. 

Dipper needs a quick way out of an awful situation, and it’s one he got himself into this time.

Focusing on the shape of Bill in the window, Dipper concentrates. Breathing in, then out. 

He snaps his fingers, and the candles bloom with bright blue fire, before settling down to the standard red-yellow glow. Despite everything, he spends a brief second admiring the tiny flames.

The magic comes so easily to him now. Studying mysterious texts found in a hideous nightmare realm is another bad idea, but you can’t argue with results. Whoever gathered the books in the guest room must have -

Another wailing howl rings down the corridor. A distant scrabbling echo, the scrape of claws on stone.

Dipper drops to his knees and scrambles to finish his makeshift setup. Something ninety percent cribbed from the ritual he ‘volunteered’ for, minus all the blood.

Rushing through this isn’t optimal, but hell, none of this is. Dipper’s working on a hope and a literal prayer. Being in the guy’s home instead of a dimension away should amplify the effect. Bill might not be able to ignore him, if he’s loud enough.

When the alternative is being devoured by wandering demons, Dipper’s willing to have a bit of faith. 

Just a smidgen, though. Enough to make this work.

Another chattering sound, though more distant, gives him plenty more panic-induced belief to work with. 

With all the setup done, Dipper claps his hands together. He tries to steady his breathing. The words of the ritual resonate in his mind instead of out loud, which should be good enough considering the god in question.

And he knows Bill, too. Personally, not abstractly. Dipper can hold the image of him in his mind as clearly as if he was standing in the room. The fact that it’s a human shape shouldn’t matter. He’s… ninety five percent certain it won’t.

Now. If he focuses. If he reaches out with sincere effort and desire, pushing with the magic that bubbles inside him - this should work. 

He really, really hopes it works. 

“You rang?”

His heart nearly leaps into his throat. Jerking up right, Dipper whips around towards the voice. 

Where Bill Cipher stands. He’s right behind him and just to his left, as smug and dapper as always. Appearing out of freaking nowhere.

Dipper slumps back down to the floor as Bill wiggles his fingers in greeting.

That’s one hell of a response time. He’d barely gotten started before Bill popped into place.

“Looks like you had a fun little jaunt!” Bill claps his hands together, leaning - but not quite looming - over him. “I wondered where you’d run off to!”

The phrasing makes Dipper wince. That’s not - he hopes Bill didn't really mean that. It would mean he got the wrong idea. 

Dipper didn’t ‘run off’, because he’s not stupid. No matter what other people might have said. 

All he wanted was a cursory look around. Checking out if there were other ‘apartments’, see if there were any windows. Something brief enough to let him get an idea of what kind of place he was dealing with, then heading back to the relative safety of Bill’s place.

Which might be the weirdest part of all. 

That it is safe, for a limited version of the word.

Since being kidnapped, he’s had zero new injuries. Plenty of comfort, reasonable safety, and very little to hide from. Material comforts, not promises that never get realized. Even his room in Bill’s place is the nicest place he’s ever lived, cozy by any definition.

Casting everything aside for the chance at an ‘exit’ is a dumb choice. 

Dipper was doing just fine where he was. No running off anywhere. He’s been perfectly fine with his three little rooms, even if it’s a bit limiting. 

Technically he has access to four, if you include the living room. But that one usually has Bill in it.

Some worshippers would have bled far, far more than Dipper did, for even the briefest chance at access to their god. Getting their messages to him directly, basking in his radiant golden presence, accessing all his mysteries - a dream that they could hope to think about achieving, one day in the future.

And they’d all be disappointed.

Turns out Bill’s both weirder and more crazy than any scripture made it seem. It’s nothing like… anything, really.

Dozens of passionate sermons on Bill’s infinite wrath, crumbling in the face of him being totally, bizarrely chill with everything Dipper’s done so far. Hours of speeches about his unknowable motives, and infinite grandeur, shattered by watching him pontificate on whether he should wear the ‘cool’ socks today, or the ‘ones with little duckies on them’. 

Hell, Dipper watched his god blow up half of a wall by accident and shrug it the hell off - then later get so mad at something on interdimensional television he choked on the gummy bears he was eating.

Years of study has done nothing to prepare Dipper for this, and he was the one looking in forbidden texts. 

It’s. Informative. But also, like, a lot. 

So for the most part, Dipper decided to hole up in the guest room. It’s easier than parsing the god puzzle, and the alone time is nice. 

In the last… few days? More than a week, possibly, he’s had time to read, write notes, take uninterrupted naps, and nothing bad has happened to him. Peace and quiet came at a premium back in the compound. Here, all he has to do is shut a door. 

Still, books only last so long to keep someone occupied. Confinement has always made Dipper kinda stir-crazy. 

And on the one occasion when Bill wasn’t in the living room, well. Curiosity has always driven Dipper into absolutely dumb actions. Including going snooping again. Maybe a tiny bit of peeking into Bill’s bedroom, because the door was unlocked. 

And since that was unlocked, it only made sense to test the knob leading out of Bill’s quarters.

It’s not Dipper’s fault the damn door disappeared the moment he stepped outside.

So really, he didn’t ‘run off’. He wasn’t trying to escape, or even go too far from his room.

He just got bored.

And when that went south, he didn’t have many other options. Turns out the Fearamid is full of demons. He saw that on the way in, but he didn’t truly understand the extent. 

Without Bill escorting him, the concept got hammered in pretty much immediately.

The moment he stepped out, he must have caught the attention of damn near every demon in this godawful place. One young human, basically catnip for monsters. The first one showed up within a minute.

Time is strange here, though. It might have been longer. 

Dipper has been running for what feels like hours. 

“What’s the matter, kid? Trip not as fun as you expected?” Bill gives his shoulder a friendly shake. “Or didja just miss me?”

Dipper shrugs. 

Sure, it’s nice Bill showed up. It’s great that he’s not deadly. But he’s arguably a different kind of problem.

A few tugs on his shirt make him reluctantly stand, turning to face Bill. Despite being summoned in his own home, he’s surprisingly upbeat. 

“Now I’m guessing you called me - and this is just off the top of my head here - that once you got going, you couldn’t find your way back.” Bill sets fists on his hips, eminently amused. “A little lost lamb like you musta freaked out!”

Before Dipper can do more than shrug, something with way too many limbs scuttles around a corner, filling the hallway with a writhing mass. He surges closer to Bill, heart in his throat.

A moment later the creature spots Bill, and freezes in place. Then, lifting each of its limbs like it’s tiptoeing, it backs all the way up and around the corner. Like it opened a door, saw something twice as horrific as itself - and then carefully shut it again, trying to pretend that didn’t happen.

“Do me a favor, though, and put a little less ‘oomph’ into the magic next time.” Bill pushes a pinky into his ear and twists it around, then pulls it out and flicks it clean. “That crap was loud.”

Dipper nods rapidly. Yep, can do. At some point he started clutching Bill’s elbow, but he’s not about to stop. Not here.

With Bill guiding him, the mazelike corridors present no further problems. Even though they do turn around at least three times, and at one point walk on the actual ceiling, Bill keeps going with perfect confidence in his stride. 

There aren't’ any interruptions, either. Compared to mere minutes before, the halls are mysteriously quiet and empty, leaving him and Bill to stroll along, hand on elbow.

When they arrive back at the penthouse, Bill opens the door with a sweep of his arm, and a slight bow that might be mocking - but Dipper’s too tired to be bothered.

So much for the ‘escape’ idea. Running around the Fearamid was nothing but an exercise in terrified frustration.

It would be rational, Dipper knows, to be more upset. But the cult was also a confusing, stupid, terrifying place that held him captive, and back there he could never count on having a hot bath, or privacy, or sleep. 

A few weeks ago he would have said the threat of death back home was lower, but now? He knows which one he’d choose, any day. 

The one confounding factor is Bill himself. 

In the cult, you couldn’t avoid him at all. Always talking about him, if you still were able. Praying to his idols, going to the rituals, chanting and waving your hands like an idiot in the air. Making sure that your every action pleased him. Following all his orders. Every day, some part of your day was spent thinking or acting on his wishes.

Actually being around him every day requires… precisely none of that. He’s so -

‘Different’ would be the wrong word. A being who’s lived for literal eons doesn’t change things up on a dime. 

This is Bill Cipher without any convenient ‘reinterpretations’. 

The priest was wrong about Bill. Everything he said was at best incorrect, and more likely a bunch of self-serving bullshit. Everything they ever did was stupid and wrong. Bill never cared about what they did, or all the prayers they sent or literally any devotional action. And that’s a true, unshakable fact, because the opposite idea - that Dipper’s mere presence changes Bill’s behavior, even one iota - is laughably outrageous.

Another slight shake. Bill, trying to catch his attention again. He’s raised an eyebrow, examining Dipper’s face as he thinks.

Right, Dipper should - uh. Probably just get out of here. Before Bill does something like get annoyed at his ungrateful guest. Or worse, put on the expectant look again.

With a quick nod, and a ‘cute’ smile, he shuffles out from under his arm, and scuttles for the guest room. 

Everything’s just as he left it. The open book. The tidy sheets. The notes he was taking, before he noticed Bill was gone and thought he’d have a tiny look around -

“Haven’t done much redecorating, I see.”

Dipper nearly leaps out of his skin. Shit, what - 

Behind him, Bill hovers at a disrespectful distance. His eye is narrowed, and his expression suggests a man who’s not terribly impressed. 

“A full week shoulda had you settled in way more.” Bill says, shaking his head in… disappointment? He stalks around Dipper casually, glancing around the room. “Hey, you made the bed! That’s rare!”

Dipper’s mouth works, but that’s an old, dumb instinct. He shuts it, and glares. 

Bill wanders around, casually pacing around the small space. A quick check of the bed, yanking out the sheets until they’re messy again - then setting his fists on his hips, looking proud of himself.

Okay. This is new. 

Bill’s been around, but he’s never intruded before. Every time Dipper wasn’t sure how to deal with him, he could retreat back to the guest room and be sure that he’d have some space. Quiet, too, aside from the occasional piano playing, drifting through the door.

Now he’s thinking all of that was a courtesy. 

Obviously Bill can’t be kept out of what is, after all, his place. He’s simply chosen not to intrude until now. 

With supreme confidence, Bill drops onto the bed, tucking his arms behind his head and crossing one leg over the other - yeah. Still his place, and he knows it. He didn’t even take his shoes off. 

“Oh!” A bright grin crosses Bill’s face. He rummages under the pillow for a second. “I take it back - you did make one addition to the decor.” 

With a grin, he brandishes the stupid plush of himself like he was holding up his firstborn child. Because he is, as Dipper learned, a narcissist. 

Ugh, of course he’d find that. Dipper looks away, trying to keep his annoyance off his face. 

“Yeah, yeah, glare all you like, kid.” Bill says, wagging a chiding finger. “You’ve been making yourself scarce, but you can’t avoid me forever! At the very least ya need to get those stitches out in a few days.” A smirk. “Though I’d love to see you manage that yourself.”

Dipper can’t argue with that. He does try to stop glaring, but it’s surprisingly difficult. 

“What?” Bill sits up, setting mini-Bill in his lap. He raises an eyebrow. “Not got anything to say?”

Obviously not. Dipper folds his arms, and tries not to look at - not an interloper, this is Bill’s. He’s the guest. Getting bothered by it is rude at best.

“But no! Silent as the night is long, and orders of magnitude more boring. This whole time, I haven’t heard a peep from you, Pine Tree. And I've been very patient.” Bill sighs, running a hand through his hair. “What gives?”

Like that’s not obvious, either. Dipper pinches his lips together, tight. 

There was a sacrifice. Made in Bill’s name, and for his honor. A devotion bestowed unto him. He can ignore cries for help, but there’s no way Bill didn’t notice that. Just like when he showed at the ritual, or at Dipper’s impromptu summoning. The call would have been too strong. 

No, even stronger. With that much blood spilled, it must have been like a signal beacon.

Bill knows what went on. He just didn’t care. 

And now he’s being an asshole, just because he can.

“It’s especially irritating when you have plenty of avenues to make a statement.” Bill rises from the bed with a sigh, dropping mini-Bill back onto the pillows. “You just haven’t put in the effort!”

Without waiting for a response, he stalks straight past Dipper and over to the desk. He runs his fingers over the surface, caressing the edge of -

Oh, shit, no.

His journal. That he left out, like an idiot, assuming Bill would never, ever come in here to see it-

By now it’s far too late - he must have seen a bit already -  but Dipper hurries over towards him anyway. It’s not like he can shove Bill out of the way, or smack anything out of his hand. The repercussions would - he doesn’t want to think about those; they make him feel so sick.

Bill’s already picked it up, he even turned a page - 

“See? You’re literate, sapling! Reading and writing, both at your command.” He rests the journal against where his heart would theoretically be. “Why haven’t you shown any of it off?”

For a lot of very good reasons. For fuck’s sake. Bill’s already intimated that he knows Dipper doesn’t really believe. But he is arrogant, and powerful. A terrible, awful, confusing god.

He can’t be allowed to read that journal, because gods do not like being called ‘assholes’. Even if it’s true.

Though it’s a dumb move, Dipper makes a grab for the damning evidence. Bill’s too quick though; he misses by a mile.

“Oop!” Bill raises his arm high, looking at Dipper with amusement. “Aww, nice try! So close.” With a wink, he dangles Dipper's own personal, very private notebook over his head. Why does this bastard have to be tall, damn it. “What, you want this?” 

Dipper grits his teeth. No, he was never going to get it back by force, or speed, or even a quick wit. One young human doesn’t stand a chance. 

Desperate times. Desperate measures.

It worked before. It might work now, 

Dipper takes a slow breath, and lets it out. Then he shuts his eyes, and kneels. 

Above him, he hears Bill’s laugh fall silent. Slightly placated, then. A little more should do the trick. 

With a great effort of will, Dipper bows his head, hands pressed together. He can get through this. He can kneel and - kind of sit awkwardly on his foot, he shifts his weight and braces his palm on Bill’s thigh for balance. 

He’s about to start praying when something hits him in the head with a thump. 

Dipper jerks back, hissing through his teeth. He starts rubbing at the spot, head lowered - 

And when he blinks at the floor, a book flops unceremoniously open on the carpet. 

Before Bill can move, Dipper snags the journal that was just dropped on him. Tucking it under his arm for safekeeping, and scooting back on the carpet. 

“Eh, whatever. Go ahead and keep it.” Bill folds his arms, turning away to sit back down on the bed. Weirdly huffy for a guy who was getting worshiped. Maybe Dipper did it wrong. “Besides! I don’t need to skim through some book to know you.”

Welp, that’s ominous. 

Dipper shuffles back over to the desk. He glances over at Bill - looking away, still in his odd sulk - then opens a drawer, drops his journal in, and shuts it with his hip.

Another huff from Bill. By his face he’s not in a great mood, but it doesn’t seem to be actively dangerous.

And he doesn’t make another move for the journal. Even though it’s full of secrets.

That’s one relief. Maybe he considers Dipper’s secrets too boring. Maybe Bill’s not interested in them, beyond using them to antagonize him. 

He’s a god, anyway. A demon slash god slash infinite being of pure energy. All human thought should be totally beneath his notice, just like the fleeting human lives that make up his cult -

But that doesn’t make sense, either. 

Dipper rubs at his eyes. Silently willing any part of this, at any time, to finally come together. 

Because if humans were totally beneath Bill’s notice, why is one of them here? Living in his home, taking up his space, eating his food and breathing his air and getting weird expectant looks. Even for a supernatural being, that’s no small effort.

If it were just about his blood, Dipper could understand that. It wouldn’t be very fun, but he’d get it. 

But it’s not. Because none of it has been spilled since the ritual. Because nothing’s been painful or threatening or - okay, a lot of it’s been weird, but nothing like the scriptures said it would be. All the rules Dipper’s learned simply don’t seem to apply. 

Bill’s supposed to be - 

He’s supposed to be different, is all. 

But hee can hardly blame Bill for that. It’s not his fault people got him wrong, or idealized him, or if he’s super weird - that last part was advertised, extensively. 

There’s a lot of things that a lot of people are ‘supposed’ to be, Dipper guesses. It never really fits them, in the end.

He just doesn’t understand why Bill’s doing this. 

“Don’t think we’re not gonna go over the main pain of the day, either.” Bill gives Dipper a long, annoyed look. “What kinda guy stays at another guy’s place and doesn’t give him so much as a ‘hello’?”

Dipper shrugs, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He can’t quite meet Bill’s eye. 

Okay, technically Bill’s right. That would be rude, if it weren’t for certain circumstances. 

“And I don’t mean chanting a prayer, either! You got fully functional hands and a brain.” With a frown, Bill stands and approaches. Dipper backs up against the desk, but Bill stops a couple feet away, hands on his hips. “Why not write a thank-you note or something?”

Oh. Well. 

That was always an option. Dipper just didn’t know Bill wanted it. 

And why would he? Bill’s a mental god, a mind reader. Always keeping an eye on him. The idea that he just wants to be ‘talked’ to is…. 

Yeah, another weird thing. Hell, at least Dipper can do that. It might not even be too embarrassing.

Before he can grab a pen and paper off the desk, Bill shoves a whiteboard and marker in his hands. He nearly jumps back, before accepting it with reasonable dignity. Despite having seen it before, Bill manifesting things out of nowhere is remarkably startling.

Now he’s left staring at it. Wondering what he should do.

“Ahem,” Bill clears his throat. “You could start with a, ‘Hi Bill!’ or, ‘You’re amazing, Bill’. Y’know, any kinda standard greeting.” He claps his hands together, grinning wide. “But I’ll give you more points for creativity.”

Dipper glances down at the blank white board, then back up at Bill. He clamps his mouth shut, trying to focus.

That was a joke. Right? He’s, like, 90% the ‘points’ are rhetorical, not literal. How do you get a bad grade in talking to a god? What metric would Bill use to - damn it, he’s overthinking this already. 

What would be a good answer. What would be bad? And what’s the horribly wrong one that ends in disaster? 

Dipper hesitates, biting his lip. He hears Bill make a soft groan, either impatient or already disappointed.

Great. Yet another chance to fail his god. Just like all the other times Bill waited for something, and didn’t get it. Now he’s going to read something Dipper wrote, words made just for him, and those will be the first words Dipper’s ever said directly to him. They have to be - 

Shit. Right. 

Another glance up - Bill has his expectant look on again, and somehow it’s even brighter this time. Watching tantalizing treat, held just out of reach - but maybe arriving, in a moment.

Of course. That’s what Bill’s been waiting for.

The only truly wrong answer is not giving one.

Dipper gives a quick smile, and starts scribbling on the whiteboard. He can do this. It may not be great, but he can hardly do worse than nothing. 

The instant he puts marker to surface, Bill’s grin somehow widens to an impossible degree, even though it’s the single most boring thing that could be going on in the nightmare realm. He even claps a few times, like a particularly annoying, demonic seal.

His enthusiasm takes some of the pressure off. Even if Dipper can’t bring himself to use the most worshipful greetings, Bill should be pleased nonetheless.

“Lemme see, lemme see!” Bill beckons him closer, eye bright and lit from within. 

For a second, Dipper’s tempted to hold the board to his chest, feeling warm in the face. It’s really not a big deal. Bill doesn’t need to make one out of it.

After a second, he turns his head away and the board around, where he’s written a fairly neutral - but still devoted! - greeting.

‘I am at your service, my lord.’

Bill looks down at the board.

Then he looks up at Dipper’s face, searching it for something. Then down again. 

The smile has slid away, leaving a mix of alarm and disgust behind. Like Bill bit into a donut he’d been saving for a special occasion, and got a mouthful of frog spawn. 

The reaction is so unexpected that Dipper’s more baffled than nervous. What, is it his handwriting? A quick check proves it’s perfectly legible. 

“Cute, I guess! Give it another shot.” Bill says, and wipes the board clean with two fingers. He laughs, in the tone of someone who’s seen a terrible social gaffe and is glossing over it. “Try ‘Bill’, instead. ‘Handsome’, if you’re daring. A pet name, even!” His smile inches briefly downward. “But ‘bout skip the ‘lord’ or ‘master’ for the next few years. Minimum.”

Dipper slowly turns the board back around, though he does side-eye Bill for a moment. He gets a grip on the marker again, pausing for thought. 

What the hell, that was a classic. Every supernatural being likes deference. Especially the powerful ones. Except now the rules have changed up, again, without any rhyme or reason, because Bill just has to be super weird, all the goddamn time. 

Not that he’s going to comment on it. If Bill overthinks this ‘no groveling’ decision, he might change his mind. 

After a few seconds of deliberation - Bill staring the whole time - he goes with, ‘Hi Bill’

“Much better,” Bill says with satisfaction. He rubs his hands together, smiling wide. “Man, we have a lot of catching up to do!”

He leans in, very, very close, making Dipper lean back against the desk. He clutches the board tight, smiles awkwardly - and hopes this won’t be too bad. 

One of Bill Cipher’s domains of power is knowledge. Another is secrets. 

With the way Bill asks questions, it’s like Dipper has a bunch that he doesn’t already know about. 

Bill wants to know his favorite color - blue - tells him it should be yellow, with a haughty sniff, then erases Dipper’s apology and insists he tell him about his brief trip outside. And about how he likes the penthouse. How he’s found the accommodations - comfy, thank you - and a thousand other minor, dull details. Keeping up with the sheer barrage makes Dipper’s hand cramp, even when he skips out on full sentences. 

It’s one of the longest conversations - insofar as it is one - that Dipper’s ever had with someone outside his old cult. Bill, meanwhile, is the god of that cult, and he still doesn’t seem to know anything about it. Or at least he’s asking a hell of a lot of questions about really, objectively, boring crap. At some point, Dipper realizes that eternal smile isn’t there anymore, so it’s probably boring him, too.

“All of that aside - I think we oughta get to the heart of the matter, as it were.” Bill snaps his fingers, and the grin resurges. 

Dipper nods. He swallows, throat bobbing, and ducks his head. 

Okay. Everything else has been kind of surface level. Now he must be moving on to deeper secrets. Things in Dipper’s head that have never seen the light of day. Or the ones that have, and Bill’s going to dig into them, deeply. Possibly painfully so -

“Why won't you talk to me?” Bill whines. 

What?

Dipper runs that sentence back through his head, but there’s no other word for it. The high, nasal tone, the slump of Bill’s shoulders. A look that might be a pout - he’s sulking again, but way harder this time. 

But that - Dipper double-checks his board, recalling all his responses. It can’t be something he wrote, that was all pretty bland. So either Bill’s just being weird again, or - something. Another thing.

Damn it. He wishes he had more space to pick this apart, but Bill’s been so close and talking too fast. He didn’t have time to analyze while bracing against the flood.

“Seriously, what are we looking at here?” Bill says, straightening up. He paces around Dipper in a circle, arms tucked behind his back. “Vow of silence? Cause if so, I’m your god, and I say screw that! Pipe up anytime!”

Dipper shakes his head. No. If it was, he would have violated it a long time ago. It’s a weird guess.

It’s weird that Bill is guessing.

“Ethereal binding? A curse, maybe?” The idea must strike him as a fun one, because Bill perks up again. “Now if we’re talking curses, oh man! I’ve got a whole collection! There’s dozens of ways to break those, kid. Hell, depending on type, we could get you patched up this evening!”

Again, Dipper shakes his head. He huffs out a sigh, about to correct Bill’s incredibly wrong assumption - 

Then pauses with the marker above the board. Because - well - Bill wouldn’t want to be told the obvious. He should know this already. 

Dipper bites his lower lip again, frowning at the blank white space. 

Shouldn’t he?

Meanwhile, Bill rattles off more speculations, each one more bizarre than the last. No, he didn’t make a deal with a sea witch, or a harpy. He didn’t wander into the bog of silence, or sell his voice for some magic beans. 

By this point he’s not bothering to hold up the board and marker anymore, just so he can shrug better. Without writing down his responses, he has more space to think.

He already knew the ‘didn’t care’ part. An ambivalent, cruel god would hardly have reason to help any easily replaceable mortal. The ‘bored’ part might fit, if Bill wasn’t so bluntly fascinated by the topic. Obviously Bill thinks some suffering is fun, but this ‘conversation’ doesn’t entertain him. It’s something…

There… was a another idea. One Dipper kept to himself. 

An assumption, and one that he knows so, so much better than to speak aloud.

Not that he can ever do that again. 

Looking at Bill’s face, though. He’s gone quiet, momentarily. Looking back at Dipper with his head cocked to one side. Staring, intensely, like he wants to drill the answer straight out of his brain. Which he can, he’s Bill freakin’ Cipher. But he’s not doing it for whatever reason, so Dipper just has to roll with that.

At the end of the day, there’s no other conclusion to come to. 

That despite the all-seeing eye, the power of a god, and knowing mysteries of the multiverse - 

Maybe Bill actually, genuinely, doesn’t... 

Dipper has to try a couple times before he gets the letters down without them wobbling too much. He gets them down with careful strokes, board feeling heavy in his hands.

His hands only shake a little when he flips it around. 

‘You don’t know?’

“Hey, I know tons, kid! A billion things! I could tell you what I had for breakfast, January 25, 1938! Or what Machiavelli did in his spare time! But that’s stuff I was personally involved in.” Bill scoffs. Then waves vaguely, not meeting Dipper’s eye. “Whatever went on in your little conclave wasn’t on my radar. I might be short on specifics.” 

Even though he was already expecting something like that, the admission catches Dipper off guard. 

Holy shit, he was right.

Bill genuinely didn’t know. He just said it, though not in so many words. 

He just. Said it. 

There are things in the world that he doesn’t notice, or - or things that he misses, he’s not - 

As Dipper reels at the revelation, he braces himself on the desk. Bill’s arm shoots out, bracing his waist like he thinks Dipper’s going to fall. 

And. If this wasn’t for - if this wasn’t from Bill. If he didn��t command it from afar. If it wasn’t his order. Then it was always the people around him, especially the priest, and Dipper didn’t, maybe, do something wrong, he just. 

Dipper sniffs, then wipes at his face with his sleeve. Hopefully it looks like he was scratching an itch or something. 

Weirdly, Bill’s serious face starts edging towards… surprise? Alarm? He coughs into his fist. “So, about the-”

Dipper waves him off, then realizes that was stupid. He picks up the board again, and scribbles, ‘I can’t.’

“What do you mean you ‘can’t’?”

How is he not getting this? Dipper huffs out a breath, and underlines ‘can’t’. Twice. 

Bill rolls his eye, patting the air in a calming motion. “Alright, alright. Straight up incapable! Now are we talking emotionally, spiritually…” It was already weird to see him serious. Now, his expression is far too calm.  “Or physically?”

Maybe Dipper shouldn’t admit this. Maybe telling Bill would get someone in trouble, but it’s not Dipper in trouble, maybe never should have been, and momentum carries him forward. 

It takes a second to write it. The words keep coming out wrong. 'They said it was for blasphemy’.

"Show me." Both Bill's face and voice are dead flat. 

The sharpness of the command stings. Dipper winces, jaw clenching tight. 

There’s the first order he’s been given. Until now, Bill hasn’t bothered, and all things considered it could be worse. 

But it is an order. Dipper swallows against the nausea rising, and clenches his fists.

Okay. He can do this. It’s been a long time since he took a look in the mirror at that particular sight, but - right, lord of nightmares. He’s probably seen way worse. 

Under Bill’s impatient gaze, Dipper carefully sets his board and marker aside. Then he shuts his eyes, points at his mouth, and opens it. 

He only holds it that way for, like, a little bit. Exposing this sucks. It makes his mouth dry, and having Bill stare at it makes the twist in his stomach worse.  A few seconds all he can stand before he shuts it again. 

A low growl rumbles. 

Then Bill’s thumb digs into the corner of his mouth, pulling it back and shoving in between his teeth. Dipper tries arching his head away, but Bill turns him back with a commanding grip on his chin. A thumb digs in, wedging his mouth open and pushing his teeth apart. The only choice is to open up or bite him, and it hurts - 

Dipper twists his head. Bill holds him still. The helpless ‘ah’ that comes out of his throat sounds strained and weak. Shit, he should just be quiet, it’s not like he’s not used to it at this point.

Continual pressure, Bill’s not giving in - so Dipper relents, letting Bill get his awful kicks out of the sight. Face burning, eyes shut. He’s never liked having to use his mouth since it happened, and Bill keeps staring when he should have only needed a glimpse to know what was wrong.

Bill holds him like that for a full ten seconds. Silent. Staring. 

Then he lets go. 

Dipper stumbles back, covering his mouth with both hands. Through the rapid blinking, he can see Bill take a deep breath in. 

And another one. 

Bill’s eye is twitching but otherwise, he’s dead-faced. No more smile, no easy stance. He’s tense and his fingers flex. His eye glows with a dull, burning light.

That’s… not a happy look. Dipper presses his back up against the wall. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the heat from his own eyes.

When Bill punches the wall, it shatters as if hit with a sledgehammer.

Dipper drops. Legs folding, butt hitting the ground, and pressing his hands tight over his face. Shards of the wall tumble onto the carpet, and blink away into ash, as blue fire burns in the crater; drywall flaking away to reveal more of that same black stone.

“You have got to be kidding me! What kind of bullshit is THIS?” Bill’s voice rings through the room, loud and so angry. He starts pacing back and forth, throwing his arms in the air. “Bunch of half-witted jackasses ruining my stuff! And for what?” 

His voice turns strange and deep on some of the words, it resonates in the room, it makes the walls shake. 

Dipper shuffles up against the desk, taking shelter from the blooms of fire that seem to be popping up on the walls, and the floor, and - everywhere. It’s trailing along the baseboards, climbing up the corners.

Bill didn’t like that. He really, really didn’t like that. He’s angered his god again and it’s going to be bad.

“And in my name! Under my image! What a laugh!” Bill taps his foot against the carpet, teeth bared, eye glowing a bright, hot red - “They like blood rituals? Oh I’ll give ‘em a blood ritual.”

It feels like the entire building is moving by now, as Bill punctuates his statement with a kick. It tosses Dipper an inch off the ground, sending books and pens toppling to the floor. The door to the kitchen splinters into a thousand quietly screaming shards, before vanishing in acrid smoke. The heat’s rising, Bill’s way too close - and the light’s gone strange and shifting, casting stark shadows in dark black and bright light.

Dipper never should have mentioned anything. Never gone outside, never left his room, never spoken up, the last is a lesson he should know by now. Never should have thought that Bill didn’t have infinite wrath available, how stupid was he. 

All he can do now is try and make himself small. 

Tucking himself against the desk isn’t working but there’s nowhere else to go. Nothing in this room is safe, and it’s so hot - Dipper tries to breathe steadily but he can’t seem to get enough air.

“I never shoulda left that place intact in the first place!” Bill throws his head back, laughing to himself with a manic grin. “That’s the last time I let a bunch of stupid cultists live with their lungs on the inside.”

Bill punctuates his threat with another kick to the wall, which deforms like putty around him. Bill swears again. He yanks his leg, attempting to pull it out - and hey, the door’s open. Bill never shut it, he’s turned away for now and as long as he’s not looking - 

Dipper makes a break for it. 

Scrambling on hands and knees on too-hot carpet hurts, but the lower he keeps himself the less likely he’ll catch Bill’s eye again. A frantic couple of seconds later he’s out of the guest room, heart pounding, and he leaps to his feet and runs.

Can’t stay out here. Room’s too open, too many places to be cornered. Can’t be in the open or be seen, can’t remind Bill that the source of his anger is right here with him, so easy to catch and punish.

His brain catches up with him just as his foot hits stone. 

Dipper freezes in the doorway, breathing hard - but not stepping out. 

Okay, the exit opened easily enough, but he already knows that everything outside is terrifying and horrible and - he glances over his shoulder, at the blue light - it’s not much of an improvement. 

With a jerk, Dipper abandons that escape route, and turns back to face the penthouse. The light from the guest room is growing, Bill’s anger surging, and before he storms out Dipper needs a place to hide. 

There’s too much space under the piano. He’d never fit in the cupboards, or under the couch, and the fireplace is literally on fire - 

But there is one more open door that Dipper’s never been in before. 

Bill might not like it, but he also won’t look there first thing and it’s further away from him than where Dipper’s standing right now.

He’s through the door to Bill’s bedroom before he can stop himself -  no magical resistance, and no time to think about why - Dipper checks, but there’s no obvious exits, or closets, or even conveniently large wardrobes, why does - 

In the distance, Bill lets out a loud, angry incoherent sound. He hears the door slam, open or closed he can’t tell. 

As another rumble shakes the Fearamid,  Dipper ducks and slides underneath the too-large bed.

Thank hell the bed’s totally oversized; there’s enough space to crawl, so he shuffles up and back, towards the headboard. It’s a little dusty and there’s some clutter he can’t see, but all that is easily shoved aside until he curls up, tight, against the wall and under the frame.

That’s it. As far away as he can get.

Nothing left to do but wait.

It feels like a long time. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. There’s no way to tell, with the only frame of reference being his own heart pounding, too fast. 

The building has gone still again, which. Hopefully that’s a good sign. Maybe Bill’s calming down. Maybe he’s moved somewhere else. Maybe he noticed Dipper left, and he’s going to hunt him down and - 

But it might take him a while. This is a decent hiding space. The blankets draped back down after he slid under, covering any line of sight. And all the light. Everything’s dark, and the cloth and bed muffle all the distant sounds. 

Somewhere, Bill lets out a single, furious shout. Dipper winces, but he can’t make out the words anymore. It could be about anything.

After that, there’s silence again. 

Simply waiting means he could stalk in without any sign. He can be quiet, he’s basically a supernatural predator, and an ambush - he needs some warning. 

Dipper shuffles until he faces the wall, pressing his ear against the floor, listening for the approach - No footsteps. Yet. He can still feel his heart beating at a rapid pace, but he thinks he’s not panting anymore, so. That’s good. 

The quiet, and dark, and - for some, incredibly weird reason - the smell of the room itself all combine into a strangely calming effect. Not that it’s safe, because absolutely isn’t; there’s literally only a duvet keeping him out of sight.

It just. Feels a little safer. For stupid, back-of-the-brain reasons, totally irrational. Like an animal retreating into its burrow from a predator, pinging ancient instincts.

Which isn’t rational in the slightest. Not to mention the danger is Bill Cipher himself. Dipper’s putting his faith into a blanket keeping a monster from seeing him, and if it wasn’t so terrifyingly real it’d almost be funny.

This is the best he’s got for now. He’ll figure out the next step later. Whenever that is.

The one positive note is the yelling’s been done for a while now. Quiet is a welcome relief. Even if it’s temporary. 

Very temporary, as a sudden commotion starts up in the living room.

By the sound of it, Bill’s stomping around and making a clatter. He’s messing around with objects. Breaking something, maybe. Doesn’t matter, as long as he’s not breaking someone.

More thudding - faster, like a run - then Bill’s voice, loud and slightly breathless. “Hey! Pine Tree?” 

A long pause.

Dipper tucks his legs up against himself, wrapping his good arm around them. His other wrist throbs; he holds it close to his chest.

Swearing resumes, at a lower volume - then a rapid thump of a run, before an abrupt stop. 

Then Bill shouts again, echoing and distant, as if down a hallway. “Dipper!”

The name rings through Dipper’s nerves like a bell. It’s like being clanged against a metal pot, sudden and shocking, vibrations running through him. He clasps his arm tighter around his legs, and shuts his eyes.

It- maybe that was less angry? Bill, wondering where he went. Dipper’s not in trouble. He shouldn’t be in trouble. It wouldn’t be fair, it wasn’t fair before and it wouldn’t be now, he was just doing what he was told this time - and there’s no way to get out of here. There’s nowhere else to go.

Dipper pushes his nose into his sleeve, face against the fabric. 

It’s too much to hope that Bill’s not upset - but he might have taken off somewhere. Found someone else to take his anger out on. A more deserving target.

He won’t be mad forever. Right?. His emotions are flighty, and he’s easier-going than the sermons made him seem. Given enough time, maybe Dipper can uncurl himself from this place, sneak back to the probably-ruined guestroom, and -

Footsteps, again. Close. 

Dipper jerks his head up from the floor and he can still hear them, even through the cover of the bed and blanket.

Bill’s not just back, he’s in the room with him. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did he take off, that was the worst thing he could ever have done. The eye of God is always watching, witnessing everything Dipper does. 

He can run, and he can hide, but in the end he will always face judgment.

He claps a hand over his mouth and nose. Holds his breath. A few more seconds. A minute. Every moment he can get is precious.

Bill’s shoes on the carpet make a loud, distinctive thump. The sound heads towards the fireplace of the room - then pauses, and turns back to the door. A quick, repetitive path, back and forth. Not near the bed, yet. Bill’s muttering something under his breath that’s too quiet to make out, staying in the room, not leaving, until Dipper’s lungs burn with the effort to keep still. Keep silent.

“Fuck!” Something slams into the bed, a thump on the mattress that sends the frame shaking. Despite all his effort, some air escapes Dipper’s lungs through his nose with a short, high sound. He clamps his fingers over it, but it’s too late. 

Silence. 

Bill goes still. He’s next to the bed. But he’s not setting everything under the bed aflame, or swearing or yelling anymore. Dipper holds his breath again, daring to hope-

“Aha!” The blankets whip up, letting all the light in - and showing Bill’s huge, sharp teeth bared in a grin. “There you are!” 

Dipper turns away. He faces the back wall, he lowers his head.

“I thought you almost ran out again for a sec!” A low whistle. “Be a real shame if you got devoured, kid. I’ve barely even started with you!” There’s a shuffle, like Bill - the god - himself might actually be kneeling, if only to get a better look. “C’mere.”

Dipper shakes his head. Behind him, he hears Bill let out a displeased grunt.

No, he’s not coming out. Not for this. Not even if Bill’s mad about it. 

There's punishment waiting, once he emerges. Dipper can handle it. He has before.

But he will not go willingly. He never has. 

Obedience truly offers no protection. Bill asked Dipper to tell him. Dipper did as he was told for once. Getting hurt for it is just unfair. Hi only did what he thought was right. That's all he's ever done, no matter what anyone else says, and even if some of it was blasphemous then it sure as hell wasn't any of Bill’s business. He doesn’t even know what was said. 

If Bill wants to make a big, agonizing show out of something that upset him, then whatever. He can't be stopped. 

But he doesn’t get to pretend it's anything but cruel. 

He'll have to drag Dipper out.

Another grunt behind him, and the shuffle of something on carpet. Dipper hears it come closer, then the soft brush of something on his back - he flinches. 

“Oh, for-” A heavy sigh, then a retreating scuffle. Bill mutters something under his breath, then, “Under the bed is where monsters live, sapling. By all rights I should join you! Might wanna get outta the way first.”

Dipper doesn’t move, or respond. He remains still, in the desperate hope that Bill will find it boring enough to leave him be.

There’s a pause. A long one, at that.

The silence lingers, for three seconds. Then five. Ten. 

“Okay! Okay, I get it.” Bill says. His tone is calmer, though more sarcastic than soothing. “So the little scene earlier got you freaked out. It’d be a pretty poor showing on my part if I didn’t inspire terror! But none of that was about you, kid.” A patting sound, like a palm on carpet. “You’re fine! No cowering needed!”

Yeah, right. Dipper almost rolls his eyes. 

Oh, no, of course he’s not in trouble. He just needs to come out so they can have a little ‘talk’, or participate in this one little ‘ritual’. With commentary that never once mentions his name, but says it louder than any words. 

It wasn’t true then, and isn’t true now. One of Bill’s major domains is deception, and in plain terms -  blasphemous ones - that makes him a big fat liar.

Dipper tucks his chin down further. Bill missed getting hold of his shirt earlier, so he’s sure as hell not offering his hair as purchase. If he wants to wreak vengeance, he better break down the bed or scoot back under.

Either way, Dipper gets the small satisfaction of making him work for it. It’ll almost be worth what follows.

“Seriously!” Bill says, indignant this time. “Cross my heart and hope to rot in a grave, you’re not the guy in trouble.” He waits a beat, then another - then an annoyed groan, as his lies have no effect. “Always a friggin’ skeptic, huh.”

He pauses, then, “What do you want, kid? A bribe, maybe? Do I gotta blackmail you outta there?” A hum of thought. “Okay, both! If you get outta there, I won’t read your dumb journal and will get you something reaaally nice.”

Let him talk all he wants. It doesn’t mean anything. 

“You gotta come out eventually, y’know.” Bill continues. Dipper tries to tune out his voice, but Bill’s very hard to ignore. “You can’t live there forever!”

It’s true, Dipper can’t. At some point, he’s going to need water, or to eat, or use the bathroom. All kinds of mortal human necessities. 

But until then, he can put off the consequences. Annoying Bill is just a bonus. 

Another, louder groan, and then Dipper hears Bill’s shoes on the carpet again. He stands by the bed for a moment, then goes back to tracing the same pacing path, back and forth. Not bored enough to leave, not annoyed enough to pursue. Even the slight reprieve is a surprising relief. 

Bill's also muttering to himself again. Mostly swearing, by the sound of it, but Dipper thinks he hears the word ‘stubborn’. Which tracks.

How long will it take before Bill gives up? Will he give up? Dipper’s kept his interactions with him to a minimum; he doesn’t know how much patience Bill has. Or how long it’ll last until the fire blooms under the already stifling bedframe, heat building -

“Ha!” Bill snaps his fingers. Chuckling, too, like he’s just had a great idea. 

Okay. Not that long, then. 

Before he can curl up even tighter in the cramped space, he hears Bill’s thudding footsteps - 

Running out of the room?

Dipper waits for a moment. He squirms around enough to tilt his head, checking the space left from Bill raising the blankets. Nothing there.

It’s too much to hope that Bill’s truly gone. He’ll be back. By his exclamation and sudden exit, he’s preparing for some dubiously good idea. He’s going to…

To… 

Something.

For a moment, Dipper almost wishes he had hung out with Bill more. Talked to him, or, well. Wrote something to him. Maybe then he’d have a better idea of what’s going on in that insane, convoluted head of his. It’s not burning Dipper out, apparently, or convincing him through lies. But that just leaves a giant blank space he can’t fill in with useful information.

It barely takes a minute before the sound of Bill storming back in breaks his train of thought. 

Since Dipper knows a scheme is being pulled, he’s sorta prepared. He hopes it won’t hurt, or not hurt too badly.

“Alright.” Bill returns to his previous position, standing by the bed. His breathing has slightly picked up, like he ran all the way somewhere and back. “How about this, then?”

Dipper doesn’t respond. He can tell Bill’s getting back down to peek under the bed; the shadows show it, there’s a scuffle on carpet. 

Then, Bill’s voice. Higher pitched, somewhere in the range of cloying and deeply annoying. “What’s wrong, Pine Tree?”

What.

“I heard that someone is reaaaal upset!” Bill continues, with the same godawful tone. “Why don’t you come out and have a big cuddle with your-” A pause, a quick ‘eugh’ - “Squishy little friend! Mini-Bill!”

Okay, what.

Dipper turns away from the wall out of sheer morbid curiosity. 

The first thing he catches is Bill - looking annoyed, until he sees Dipper turn to look and instantly brightens. He’s crouched by the bed, looking sideways under the frame, one arm extended, and he’s wiggling the stupid Bill plush.

Dipper stares at it. Bill jiggles mini-him some more, making the black legs and arms flop around like the most noodly of puppets. 

Bill dashed off like something was urgent, but it was really only just across the penthouse. Then he dug that out from under Dipper’s pillow, and ran back like he’d just had an amazing idea. 

It’s so…

Dumb.

With a playful whistle. Bill makes the puppet’s arms rise up like it’s offering a hug, clapping its little hands together.

In fact, Bill Cipher - is a goddamn idiot.

It’s the same phrase that always occupies a part of Dipper’s brain, only this time instead of the shame, the self-recrimination, and the memory of pain - he kinda feels like he wants to laugh. 

God. That’s. Vindication, isn’t it. Even while he’s in danger, it feels really, really good.

Bill catches him watching, and all his smugness returns in a rush. “Ha! Knew this would work.” He says - in his normal tone, thank fuck. “Your - ugh - little friend is waiting, kid! Come give ‘em a kiss!”

Alright, that’s enough. 

Dipper makes a swipe for the plushie, but Bill’s quicker on the draw and he misses by inches. That also brought him perilously close to Bill-range - he retreats before Bill can swipe right back.

Too bad. He’s not getting out of here yet. Being under the bed has been safe, so far. He can’t give that up. 

Bill groans, slumping down onto the carpet. He lies on his side, turning Mini-Bill around to glare like somehow it’s the reason Dipper didn’t give in. 

“Fine. Fine! Take your dumb toy, if he makes you feel so much better,” Bill says, mockingly. With a wordless sneer, he flings the plush in Dipper’s direction and flops down on his back. “He’s stupid anyway.”

Mini-Bill lands just far enough away that Dipper has to shuffle forward to grab it. Bill doesn’t move from where he’s lying, giving Dipper enough time to scoot back against the wall and bring it to his chest, holding tight. 

Yes, it’s dumb that Bill got this. Yes, it’s also dumb that Dipper’s glad he got it, and he knows it’s totally stupid, but having the one soft thing in his life in his arms again does make him feel better.

He checks Mini-Bill - still intact, undamaged - then back at the regular-sized version.

Bill lets out a derisive snort, but doesn’t speak. He folds his arms over his chest.

That… was nothing like Dipper expected.

That can’t have been his whole plan. Right? There’s another plot. Deception that he hasn’t seen yet. 

On the carpet, Bill lies flat on his back. He’s glaring at the ceiling. One finger taps an impatient beat on his bicep. And while there’s no smile on his face, he doesn’t look angry, exactly, even though his brow is furrowed.  It takes a second for Dipper to parse.

Bill. Actually looks…

Tired.

Not physically, of course, there’s no sweat on him. Simply like he’s run out of energy, and needs a moment to recharge. Like someone poked a pin in an inflatable plan, one he put a lot of work into, and now he needs a minute to sulk.

Which means he’s not up to anything just yet. 

Dipper squeezes Mini-Bill a few times. It’s soft and clean. A quick check proves it doesn’t even smell like smoke from all the burning; the guest room must be pretty intact. 

After a moment, he wriggles onto his stomach, plushie tucked between his shoulder and ear. 

But he slows down, and stops. Bill’s eye is on him again, half-lidded. Contemplative.

 “What a shame. My human’s decided to dwell with the dust bunnies.” Bill lays the back of a hand dramatically against his forehead, though his eye stays firmly on Dipper. “And here I was, just about to tell ‘em the real reason he’s here.” The barest flicker of a grin, quickly repressed. “Guess he’ll never learn it now!”

Okay, that's a temptation. Dipper glares, but it only makes Bill’s smile creep into a grin. 

And… fine. It’s effective, too. 

Whatever. Bill was right, earlier. Dipper really can’t stay under the bed forever. It’s cramped and dark and uncomfortably tight. It’s only been about half an hour and parts of him are already sore.

And if he’s got to get out, then now’s as good a time as any. 

He rolls onto his stomach, and inches forward, before pausing with a jolt as Bill scrambles up to a sitting position. But he doesn’t go for a grab. He just…  watches, with a weird amount of anticipation. When he sees Dipper hesitate, he starts patting his knees. 

Great, Bill’s not just stupid, he’s a dork. 

Yet another difference from doctrine. The list is getting really long - but Dipper’s okay with that. 

It could totally be worse. Way worse.

Crawling his way out is way harder than it was getting in. Without the energy of panic, it’s kind of a pain in the ass. Hiding in a barely accessible place seemed like a great idea until he had to get himself out.

It’s a far less eventful exit than he pictured. More awkward than anything. Also, the sideboard is lower than the space under the bed, and Dipper hits his head on it with a - well, he can’t swear. But he wants to. 

“Having trouble, kid?” Bill says, sounding amused. He gets to his feet, grinning wide. “No problem. Lemme get that for ya!” And snaps his fingers.

Light floods over Dipper. So does space, in an alarming amount. 

He glances around, where there’s no frame or legs or mattress or - where the hell did the bed go?

“Up you go!” Bill takes hold of Dipper’s arms, pulling him to his feet. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Dipper looks behind him - no, the bed wasn’t turned over, or anything. He can’t see a blanket or a shred of wood around. But if Bill he can make things out of nowhere, he can get rid of them too, and -

He. Probably could have done this the entire time. 

“Hey,” Bill says. He catches Dipper’s attention again with a little shake, holding onto his upper arms. “Listen up, ‘cause you weren’t earlier - You aren’t the guy I was mad at, kid.”

A brief, hesitant nod. Yeah. Okay. 

By now Dipper’s pretty sure that’s the case, or everything else wouldn’t make sense. But the way he - with the punching, and the yelling, the distorted reality -

“No, really! I wanted you in mint condition, sapling. I’m mad at whatever empty-headed asshole decided they should perform an objectively stupid surgery! ” His smile flickers into a grimace, sharp teeth very white in his face. “Someone made a real dumb call.”

On that, they can agree. Dipper nods, one sharp motion. He sniffs, and swallows.

Bill’s smile is back, but not the standard version. This is a thin thing, with tension around his eye. 

Though Dipper hasn’t been here long, he has learned a few things. One of them is how to read the variations of ‘happy’ that Bill puts on. It’s a clear cover for other emotions, running just below the surface

Right now, Bill’s still mad. He’s furious.

But like he said - it’s not at Dipper. 

This is anger with no immediate outlet, burning underneath his skin. His eye is focused elsewhere, off into the distance over Dipper’s left shoulder, like he can see the person he wants dead but just can’t reach them. Yet.

And Dipper knows exactly how that feels. For exactly the same reason.

There’s something they can both agree on. It was totally bullshit. Unfair and cruel and - and Bill himself had nothing to do with it, he’d never have ordered it done. Maybe Bill would never have said Dipper deserved to - 

Dipper takes another, longer, sniff. Clears his throat, blinking rapidly. No, can’t - not the time for that. Dwell on it later, not in front of a friggin’ god.

Bill clears his throat, smile shifting ever so slightly. “Hey hey hey! Easy, there.” He winks, sliding his hands up to pat Dipper’s shoulders. “I, for one, think a little vengeance is in order. And since it was your tongue, I’ll even let you pick the method! How’s that sound?”

That sounds… violent. Gory and chaotic and -  knowing Bill - filled with maniacal laughter.

Some deep part of Dipper even likes the idea, but he knows couldn’t go through with it. Even thinking about it makes him feel so, so tired. And awful. Pre-grossed out by the blood. There’s been too much of that already. Still, he nods again, which makes Bill cheer up. The prospect of future chaos, whenever that may be. 

Though if Bill tries following up on that, it’ll be pretty hard to pull off. The culprit was last seen dead on the steps of the altar.

“Welp!” Bill claps his hands together. “Can’t say this was a total shitshow! I learned a lot about you today.” He cocks his head to one side. “More than I thought I would.”

A dismissal. According to Bill, everything’s wrapped up. 

As he takes a step back, Dipper grabs him by his shirt. It stops him right in his tracks. For a single, stuttering heartbeat, Dipper thinks he’s fucked up, again. 

“Oh? Not done with me yet, are ya?” Bill purrs, clearly delighted. He spreads his arms wide. “What’s up, sapling? Miss me already?” He ruffles Dipper’s hair in a rough, annoying way. “I haven’t even gone anywhere!”

No, that’s not it. Dipper frowns, and shakes his head. Though it doesn’t dislodge Bill’s hand, he ignores it

There’s a lot of things Dipper doesn’t get about this place. How it works. Where, exactly, the hell he is. But ever since he was dragged from reality and brought to a weird god’s realm, he’s mostly wondered why. 

Why him. Why then, why bring him here in the first place, why stitch him up and feed and house him. Why not earlier, damn it. 

And Bill just beckoned him out with a clear, though indirect, offer. 

He doesn’t get to back out of it that easily.

“Do me a favor, will ya?” Bill says, slow. He moves in fast enough that Dipper has to back up this time. 

Wow, they’re, uh. Really close now. Dipper has a close-up view of Bill’s collar, before a touch on his chin lifts his head. 

“If you’re gonna invade my room, sapling.” There’s a twinkle in Bill’s eye. “You should get in the bed instead of under it.”

What, like. Hide under the blankets? Literally, next time? Dipper guesses that makes… some kind of sense. In a nightmare realm, made of thoughts. Shifting spaces, lingering ideas - maybe it actually does protect you from monsters. That’d be strange, but…

Damn it, this place better not run on metaphors, or that’s going to be really annoying to parse.

Also, Bill’s giving him a weird look. He stares forward, lips tucked in, like he didn’t say what he meant to, or a great line didn’t land.

Wait. Was that a joke? Weird god-demon humor? A reference? It could - no, he’s getting distracted. Letting Bill change the subject lets him get away without answering. He gives Bill’s shirt another tug, insistent.

“What’s up?”

Oh, for - Maybe Bill should put some of that infinite knowledge towards remembering what he said three minutes ago. 

Dipper holds his hand out flat, scribbling an invisible pen on his palm. Thankfully Bill gets that hint; another board snaps into existence, and Dipper takes it not very gently from his hold.

It only takes a second to write it out, though Bill keeps trying to lean over the board for a peek. 

‘Why am I here?’

“Oh, that.” Bill says airly, looking up and to the side. He’s avoiding Dipper’s gaze. “Y’know. Reasons.”

Dipper takes a deep breath, and lets it out. Okay. Secrets. Another of Bill’s domains, he gets that, but still. He underlines the question, twice. 

“Boy, you’re real curious arent’cha?”

Yes, he is. How much more obvious could it be? Dipper taps the end of the marker on the board - then sighs, and writes a quick addition. ‘Please’. 

“How polite!” Bill’s smile turns mocking, squeezing Dipper’s shoulders. “Wanna add a ‘pretty’ to that?”

That- Fine. Dipper grits his teeth. After the day he’s had, he can handle one last awful thing. For answers.

The marker smudges from the pressure as Dipper painstakingly scrawls down the word.

“Hm.” Bill’s eye narrows as he hums in thought, He rubs his chin, head tilting to the side. Taking his damn time, too, as he looks Dipper over like he’s evaluating a rather expensive purchase.

It never hurts to look presentable in front of a deity, when it comes to something important. The best he can do is stand up straight, and look attentive. Bill shouldn’t mind. He should just spit it out already.

“The reason you’re here, mortal…” Bill says, drawing the sentence out, word by word. He smiles, something slow and sharp, as his thumb strokes over Dipper’s cheek - then pinches it. “Is for me to know, and you to wonder about!” 

What? 

Fucking what?

As Bill draws back, Dipper’s mouth works, no sound coming out. Another yank on Bill’s shirt does nothing except make him laugh. 

It’s not funny. It’s important, it’s - Heat rises into Dipper’s face. His shoulders inch up towards his ears.

Bill can’t just do that. Not after today. Not after everything Dipper’s been through, the demons, the tantrum, the stupid talk to get him out of the bed. The totally humiliating plea. Dangling this in front of him, the reason he’s been kidnapped and confused and basically alone this whole time, then taking it back? 

Nothing ever goes right for Dipper when it comes to his awful god, and - and the laughter stings. Embarrassment burns and rises on the coattails of all the other bullshit Dipper’s dealt with today; there’s heat in his chest and a knot in his stomach. 

That’s not what he said. It’s not fair.

He can’t just do that. 

“Yep! You’re not getting that one outta me. Nice try, though.” Bill taps his finger against the end of Dipper’s nose, making him flinch. “You’re never gonna gue-”

Rational thought doesn’t have time to catch up before Dipper’s fist meets Bill’s face. 

It lands, painfully, in the juncture of his head and neck. With more of a thud than a crack - but it does jerk Bill’s head to the side, and that’s a minor win.

Or would, be, if it had the right effect. 

Bill looks surprised and totally unhurt, while Dipper’s knuckles definitely sting from the contact. He shakes them to get some feeling back. What the hell, how durable is that bastard - 

His brain, screaming from the background, kicks in again. 

Dipper grips his hand tight as shame rising higher in his chest, a burning tide. It feels like he’ll choke on it.

Stupid, stupid stupid. How could Dipper be this dumb, he’s in the realm of a god, helpless, powerless, at the mercy of his whims  - and if Bill wasn’t mad before then he’s definitely mad now. 

God, this always happens, Dipper does something stupid, he stupidly defies god’s will, and there’s always consequences, no matter how he fights.

He looks up at Bill, chest heaving. Bill looks right back, rubbing his jaw - and starting to smile, wide. Showing those dangerous, predatory teeth.

No way to get out of here. Leaving the penthouse means other dangers, and leaving the realm is impossible. Even if he could, Bill’s got a memory a million years long, and he put a knife in the priest’s chest so casually that it was like putting it back in a drawer.

But Dipper can avoid him, for a bit. Along with all other awful things he found out today, he learned that fact.

He turns on his heel, ready to make his second run of the day.

It fails almost instantly.

One step into his retreat, Bill seizes him by the waist and drags him in, too quick by far. Strong, too; kicking out doesn’t work, hitting him again doesn’t work, he struggles against the tight grip and it only makes Bill let out a terrible, cackling laugh. 

Arms come around him, then, drawing him in too close to even hit the bastard anymore, or struggle effectively. They squeeze so tight it’s nearly hard to breathe. Dipper feels a warm grip on the back of his neck, firm and relentless. 

God. He never stood a chance against Bill, did he. Too strong, too quick. Too weird to understand, or placate. Nothing was going to be clear, or forthright, or helpful or safe. 

Escaping the cult didn’t matter, all of Bill’s previous patience didn’t matter, things are alway going to turn against him and ruin his day and his life. It doesn’t matter where Dipper is, it’s always going to be like this. 

It was never going to be okay. 

The strangled noise that escapes his throat sounds so much worse than a normal person’s. A wordless, helpless sound he can’t stop, there’s too much frustration and anger and sheer exhaustion, and Bill’s holding him really right, up against his chest. Dipper headbutts his shoulder in one last attempt at escape, then just. Leaves it there. 

Bill can retaliate whenever he wants. Dipper can’t fight right now, he just - He needs a minute.

The minute lasts. And passes. 

Also, Bill’s shirt is really soft, so it doesn’t hurt when he rubs his face against it. Fuck, and now he’s getting it wet -  but actually, fuck Bill, he’s the one who caused all of this. 

Absolutely everything is Bill Cipher’s fault, even if indirectly. Dipper hiccups, then wipes his nose on the soft cloth. 

It’s all soggy and gross now, he screwed up again - 

But no, Bill deserves it. He hopes it sucks for Bill as much as it does for him, trying to stop his chest from heaving. Bill could have let him go and avoided this, but no, he’s stuck in his arms. Let that asshole get all damp. 

At some point Dipper started clinging back, but that’s only because he couldn’t go anywhere else. Bill hasn’t relented even in the slightest, this entire time. He’s stroking a palm up and down Dipper’s back in a slow, warm rhythm because he’s super goddamn weird. 

Much like living under the bed, this, too, can’t last forever. 

Eventually Dipper sighs. The breath is shaky. Still more solid. He doesn’t have any more to let out.

He’s. Still pretty embarrassed, but he can’t see Bill’s face and he’s not dead. Two okay points in what’s otherwise been… not the worst day of Dipper’s life. But maybe in the top ten.

The hand playing with the hair at the back of his neck slows. Then it strokes through his hair again, and down. Bill pats him between the shoulders, letting out a low sigh. 

“Aw, look at you. All torn up ‘cause the answer wasn’t handed to ya on a silver platter.” Bill pats his back a couple more times. “Man, are you full of fluids!”

A little squirming manages to free Dipper from Bill, at least by a few inches. Bill gives him a once-over, then pushes a handkerchief into his face. 

It’s too late to pretend none of that happened. Or cover up, for dignity’s sake. Or back up, for that matter. With his cover totally blown, Dipper takes the damn thing so he can stop ruining Bill’s shirt, and wipes his face.

“Tell ya what. You had yourself a big day, and your poor human brain’s probably way too overwhelmed to be of use, sooooo…” Bill says, drawing out the word slowly. Smug, again, despite his snotty shoulder and too-close human. “I guess I can part with one hint.”

Dipper looks up. Bill meets his gaze with a grin, totally unbothered. Oddly unbothered.

It’s… it’s like he truly doesn’t mind that his shirt is ruined because some random human’s having a fit, or that he’s been bothered by pointless crap ruining his evening. Bill looks…

Well, he’s… not amused, exactly. Something less snide, and downright impossible to place.

“Truth is…” Bill leans in close, and winks. “You’re special, sapling.” He lingers for a moment - then squeezes Dipper again, slightly more gentle. “Have fun working out what that entails.”

Special. 

Sure, it’s a hint. One that’s sorta true. With everything else that’s happened, denying it outright would throw all of the other hints out with the bathwater. But…

Dipper, of all people. Special. 

It’s one hell of a word choice - and it’s totally, classically Bill. 

With just one word, Bill implied a secret with deep importance. Saying that, deep down, Dipper has something nobody else does. 

Because of course he did. It’s about the allure. 

Everyone wants to be important. Being important to a god, triply so. It’s the carrot at the end of a long, long stick. A temptation. Doesn’t Dipper want to know why he’s ‘special’? Wouldn’t it be cool if he was? The intrigue is exactly why it’s so dangerous.

His first instinct was right. Bill is an asshole. And a big fat liar. 

Dipper blows his nose into the handkerchief, sniffing again. Looking awed at the ‘reveal’ would be the right response, but he’s too tired to play along. And by the look of it, Bill doesn’t mind that either. 

“Gross,” Bill says, but his smile doesn’t alter a fraction. Dipper can’t see any other emotion behind it, for once. He reaches up, thumb smoothing some hair behind his ear, before his arm slips around Dipper’s waist. “No amount of special stops you from being organic, unfortunately.”

Yet more Bill, revealed. A liar, an asshole - and definitely the type of guy who can’t leave an insouciant comment unsaid. It’s completely unsurprising. 

Even though he doesn’t need to, Dipper blows his nose again, just to watch Bill make a face. He rubs at his eyes, trying to dispel some of the lingering heat. 

It doesn’t matter though, Dipper guesses. Bill’s always going to be really goddamned weird and erratic and insane. A person that no amount of learning enables you to entirely predict.

He’s just going to have to work around it. Somehow.

With a smile, Bill starts up his slow petting again. His arms are warm, and that inhuman strength isn’t so bad when it’s just. Holding. 

It’s been a long time - or, how long has it been? Years, maybe… god, Dipper can’t remember the last time someone just- 

He takes a slow, shuddering breath. Bill goes very still for a moment, then he squeezes Dipper around the back, with both arms. Not hard, just tight enough to be kind of…

Wow. Okay.

This is a hug. Bill might lie about it later, but there’s literally no other word for it. 

Dipper turns to rest his forehead on Bill’s dry shoulder, and listens to him chuckle. He can feel his chest moving under his hand, and the steady beat of an inhuman heart. 

There’s a secret here. One about Dipper, and what he means. Bill’s partially revealed it, and he wants Dipper to work out the rest. Best thing to do would be to get on that immediately.

But he’ll have time for that later. 

He can stay here for a bit. Until Bill gets bored with this part too. 

Dipper lets out a sigh, and lets himself relax. He feels the slow stroke start up on his back again, and a low contented hum. This warm body, firm under his arms. 

Even if it’s a lie, it makes Dipper feel like he’s special. Just for a moment. 

[momolady]

2023 Year End Stats

Not to be stereotypical or anything, but for me at least, 2023 was an odd year. I bled for 6 months straight, dealt with the worst pain I still can't comprehend, had a hysterectomy, moved in with my partner, got some cats, dealt with a lot of stress, watched the world burn. Yeah, it's been pretty good to outweigh the bad.

But anyways! I've done the math and put together a list of my stories that performed the best this year. At least in terms of notes anyways. I'm also going to share my stories that didn't perform as well and hope they get the love they deserve.

Anyways, let's get on with the count down. Forty total stories have published on Tumblr this year. Sixty-six were published on Patreon. Top monsters were orcs (7), Vampire (3), Fae, Minotaur, Romm Monster, Lich (all 2).

Top Ten Stories:

10. Kahann the Naga

This one would probably be in my top ten favorites to write of the year. This dark, twisted romance between a lonely, isolated girl shipwrecked on an island with the dangerous and sexy Kahann struck the dark romance itch I've been wanting to scratch.

9. Keir the Orc

Comfy farm romance that features annoyances to lvoers. What else could you want? Orcs are always fun to write, I feel I could do it with my eyes closed, but thankfully I don't wanna do that.

8. Atharo the Lich

The pink lich, this one had imagery in it I couldn't get out of my head. the visions of this pink lich still huant me and I wish I could conjur such sstrong imagery still.

7. Asier the Drider

A simple premise we cann understand. Getting packages and ordering online is probably yhe msot fun we can have without leaving our homes. But what if your neighbor was annoyed by this? And what if that neighbor was a drider?

6. Auberon the Room Monster

The enchanted library. i think I've written more about the romance and mystery of bookstores an libraries more than anything. But this story was special, with lots of worldbuilding wrapped like a blanket around these characters. The room this monster stays in is the library, and who doesn't wanna spend time with that guy?

5. Marek the Vampire

This murky, dark, and swampy tale is one of those that stays with me. The idea of a different sort of vampire, one in the bogs and wetlands of a strange peninsula that gets flooded every year haunts me. The image of him is one of my absolute favorite creations and I hope I get to visit this peninsula village again.

4. Placide the Paralangua

This story marks the beginning and growth of my Charcourt universe. Liek Hearthway Hollow it's a town filled to the brim with straneg creatures, only it's the Paralangua, alligator type monsters who throw a festival every year to celebrate their history and the continued growth of Charcourt. Is it a cult? Maybe. There's a new five part tale of this area up on Patreon now.

3. Ben the Werewolf

Enmies to lovers, I think most people get on board with this trope. This tale of Hearthway Hollow delves into the relationship between two high school enemies who reconnect after years and manage to put aside their competitivness to find one another. The lead in thisstory is also Rowan's little sister.

2. Leraye the Demon

Demons are always fun. My demon characters have ways of weaving themselves in and out of the world we know, sometimes as proper members of society, often not. Leraye is one of those that visits our world as a full time member, seeing out the comforts of a Chinese bakery whose owners are a family with ties into the reality he avoids.

Florenz the Vampire Bat

This would for sure also be on my favorites of the year. This dark story wove together elements of fantasy, horror, and romance that I love to death. The lead is sophisticated and dashing, the lead is adventurous and excitable. The chemistry between the leads while writing this tale was so good.

The Ten Least Appreciated Stories

10. Juniper the Tiefling

I am deeply disappointed this didn't do as well as I expected. This story was based on characters me and my bff made for a one shot DND session. So this story was more personal to me than others. but more than that, I feel it had some of my best banter!

9. Rocco the Guard

Another personal tale based on ideas me and my friend came up with during a visit where we watched the Owl House together. I also greatly enjoyed the leading lady who was smart, spunky, and chaotic in the absolute best ways.

8. Ozzie the Werewolf & Tryfon the Naiad

It has a trans lead, it has polyamory, it was set in hearthway Hollow! I thought this story was serving up gold on a platter. But maybe people weren't in the mood for gold. The comedy in this is top notch, at least I thought.

7. Laertes the Fae

Another story where the dialogue I feel sparkles and pops with every interaction the characters had. This did only recently come out, so maybe it'll grow after this.

6. Ransom the Shapeshifter

Another personal story based around lore me and my bff created for our Stardew Valley characters. It also featured a nonbinary lead and monster, I thought people would be excited for this. I loved playing with the avant-garde sci-fi aspect and being a little weird. But maybe that's why people didn't like it too much lol

5. The Leshy

Another story that would be in my top ten for my personal favorites to write. I loved the complexity of the leading lady and crafting her has made her a personal favorite. The characters and world of this story will be one that stays with my thoughts as I think about the cozy, dark streets anfdthe moss covered steps of the buildings.

4. Jaqueline the Dullahan

This story has it all! Chocolate, Halloween, a sexy dullahan chef, and it's a lesbian romance. Maybe I don't have enough wlw readers but this story came from a ko-fi prompt I wrot and just grew into a full fledged story. I really enjoyed the atmosphere of this story and how it felt like a cozy fireplace with hot cocoa.

3. Beast the Symbiote

Beast is a character I have been wanting to get out into the world for years. She's such a complex villain character, and who doesn't love that. I feel like she is one of my coolest characters. Lucky Devil was also a character I had been dying to get out, she's been in my head since I watched Magi Madoka and she took form slowly over the years. She is in part based on me, and I want to do more with this lovely couple.

2. Fia the Selkie

I'm starting to see a pattern here. Male reader stories aren't ya'lls cup of tea? Too bad, I have some amazing male readers and commissioners I adore working for. Fia was this comforting warm blanket of a story. A struggling musician and the lovely Selkie he's come to be with. I really love this story, please check it out if you want some comfort.

1.Ria the Orc: an AU

I'm actually a wee bit pissed about this one. Another male reader, and Ria is a character I've come to absolutely love. This was written for a commissioner I've come to consider a friend, and writing for him has become an amazing experience. Ria and her beau have also become such real, loving characters in my head. This was an AU of the modern monsters Ria where she is in Obresh and participates in the Reaping. Who doesn't love Reaping stories? C'mon folks, give these ten stories the love they deserve!

Thank you all for an amazing year! Next year I will hopefully publish and you're going to see bigger and grander things from me, I owe that to all of you. Keep a look out for my Ozren novel hitting the shelf soon. Thank you so much and I hope I continue to write stories you love.

[nayatarot777]

how can you co-create with the universe to attract fortune to yourself? 🪡🎨 • pac 🎴

if you’d like a personal reading, then see info here

subscribe to the patreon if you’re interested in daily messages from spirit, weekly pac readings for “the week ahead”, exclusive extended readings to the tumblr PACs, exclusive pac readings - such as 18+ and love pac readings - new moon + full moon readings, plus more. i’m on there everyday, just doing my thing 😂

{• pile one •}

cards: the hierophant, knight of wands, 3 of cups

spirit is suggesting that you focus on finding a community that connects people based on their faith. a community of people who are focused on sharing knowledge and downloads that they’re receiving from the divine. whether this is a spiritual community, a self-help community, maybe even a religious community (please be careful with any communities like this, because when you’re not, that’s when you fall into the trap of a cult 🙃). i’m also seeing that you guys could create your own community of people on your own platform in which people are able to learn valuable lessons from you - especially about friendship, happiness, “sisterhood”, i’m hearing. i’m seeing jupiter in the 4th house/jupiter in cancer, so if you guys have either of those placements (or maybe sagittarius in the 4th, moon in sagittarius, something that mixes cancerian and jupiterian energy together) then your abundance is tied to womanhood and femininity. so surrounding yourself with likeminded women/feminines or helping them in some way will bring a lot of abundance to you. i’m also hearing “changing people’s definition of happiness”. motivating people to follow their own morals and values, leading you to do the same.

{• pile two •}

cards: 2 of swords, knight of pentacles, strength

you attract abundance when you’re in your ego. not when you let your ego control you, but when you control your ego and know how to direct your strengths into some type of creative process that you can persistently focus on. when you focus on taming your ego so that you can use it to your advantage. you need to honour your ego a lot more. i feel like, with the 2 of swords, spirit is saying that you’re listening to external noise from the outside world wayyy too much. you don’t need to look for direction and guidance from other people. other people can’t help you. you need to listen to your intuition. certain communities (especially the “new age”, phony ass ‘spiritual community’) will teach you that it’s a negative to be in your ego. no tf it’s not. your ego is your identity. who you are. if you don’t know who you are, then you’re a nobody. a pushover. with no morals, no personal values, no backbone (which is probably why those same communities promote toxic positivity and being a doormat for the sake of appearing like you’re all ‘love and light’ and shit). fuck all of that. you need to have patience with yourself when developing your ego because you may not even know who you are currently. once you do, you’ll find your courage and strength to listen to your intuition and invest into what it’s telling you. your ego is your life force. feed it with valuable energy by valuing it - regardless of other people’s opinions. only insecure people who don’t know who they are will get triggered by you. who gives a damn about them though? this is your life. start living it as the person who you truly want to be.

{• pile three •}

cards: the emperor, queen of swords, 8 of pentacles

you guys are extremely intelligent people. you need to find confidence in your knowledge and what you know that you know - especially with something practical that you’re trying to master or perfect. you have an eye for what needs to be improved in your day-to-day, practical life or in your business. whenever the emperor comes out with the 8 of pentacles, it definitely indicates entrepreneurship to me as a reader. and this entrepreneurship could be surrounding honesty, truth, giving direct messages to people so that they can improve their life. this could be life coaching, motivational speaking (especially with this emperor (aries energy) mixed with this queen of swords). you guys know how to pump people up to start working on themselves and aspects of their life as much as possible. and you guys are naturals at this. start just posting random posts of encouragement or motivation whenever you get the inspiration to, and i feel like you’ll attract a lot of people to you who are willing to give you abundance in exchange for the energetic abundance that you give to them. you can really monetise your words and your motivation due to the guidance that you’re able to give people about their sense of self and how that relates to their manifestations/goals + achievements. this aries energy could also be about physical activity - like fitness training. you know how to stay on people’s necks so that they complete a task thoroughly and over and over again to the point where they perfect it. and you can do that for yourself. feed into that.