#before resorting to stealing other people's food

[glacierruler]

My brother needs to suck it up and eat the honey/sugar instead of stealing my soda all the fucking time.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

the compound part one

words: 2k

warnings: alien apocalypse au!, violence, reader gets injured, hunger/starvation, mentions of death

part one / part two

you take a deep breath as your eyes focus on the pile of supplies. you know it's bait. you know it's purposely set up near the border of the compound to entice thieves, that someone elses eyes are likely on it right now.

but you have no choice. your stomach growls. you can see canned food. it's been so long since you had something from before. you've resorted to killing wild animals and gathering as much edible berries and plants as you can find, but even those are hard to come by. everything is hard to come by.

you look at the fence separating you. it's chain link, easy enough to climb. there's barbed wire placed on the top, fashioned together with zip ties, but plenty of space for you to fit between.

your eyes adjust as darkness falls, glad your hiding spot is shielding you from most of the wind. now that winter is rolling through the north carolina woods, you need to come up with a new plan. whether it's moving south or finding others to survive with that you trust enough to not kill you for using their resources or leaving you behind as alien bait.

a cloud passes over the moon, sending the world into even further darkness. you don't allow yourself time to second guess, shooting forward as fast as your legs can carry you, praying that your speed makes up for the sound as you scurry over the fence.

you groan when in your haste you cut your leg on the barbed wire, but you have no time to stop and see if the gash is deep.

you make it to the stack of supplies seemingly without notice, but the second your hands touch the box of canned food, a floodlight illuminates the yard of the compound.

“shit.” you allow yourself to mutter a curse word, picking up the small box and tucking it under your arm as you head towards the fence, knowing the other side means safety. 

“stop!” someone shouts from behind as you begin to climb, moving slower now that you have less mobility of one arm.

you let out a scream when someone grabs your leg, you try to kick them away, but then your other foot is grabbed, being pulled down by compound men. you struggle the best you can, even dropping your precious cans of much needed food in hope it hits one of them, but your hands can only hang on for so long before you succumb to their pulling, falling backwards with a thump, head hitting the ground and darkness enveloping you.

--

your head pounds as you try to blink your eyes open before realizing that they're covered by a blindfold. 

what a shitty way to go out, you think to yourself. blindfolded and gagged by compound men. at the end of the world, you don't meet your end in an aliens bite but rather from other humans.

it makes you question if along with the apocalypse people lost their humanity, or if they're just finally able to show their true colors without the expectations of society.

you slowly become more aware of your body. your hands are restricted behind your back to some kind of chair. your fingers reach out to touch the rope and then the chair, sighing when it's cold and smooth. wood you could possibly break, but you have no chance with metal.

your feet aren't restricted. you try to feel around for anything, but the floor around you seems clear.

you consider tipping your chair over, but you have a feeling that would only result in more pain for you.

“you awake?” the question is asked. it's a male voice, of course. it's widely known the compound is almost completely male. only a few rare women have ever been seen behind the fence. you're not sure what their recruitment process is, but you've heard whispers that they bring impressive people in. people that try to steal from them and get caught or defend their stash when the compound men leave on their raids.

you thrash in your seat since you're not able to respond. no use delaying the inevitable. if they're going to kill you, you don't want to wait around for it to happen.

“good.” the voice says, and then all of a sudden the blindfold is tugged off your eyes. it takes you a second to adjust before you can properly look around the room, realizing you're up on a stage, auditorium seats in front of you with a few men in them, all heavily armed.

you realize quickly that the military base the compound men took over must have had some sort of stage for speeches, and that you're now center spotlight.

“she did pretty good.” one of the men in the auditorium hums from the seats as the one who took of your blindfold exits down the stairs to join them. “got to the fence. most people don't even get that far.”

you try to tune out their words, eyes sweeping from some sort of escape, or help. you've learned not to rely on human help after the aliens came, but you might not have any choice.

“yeah, but she got caught.” one man huffs out.

“shit, billy, shut up. we need more women around here.” a new man says, his eyes feeling predatory as he looks over your body, making you press your thighs tightly together. you manage to look to the side to realize there's an armed man on either side of the stage, tucked slightly into the wings, but their dark eyes on you.

“we shouldn't even be arguing.” the man who untied your blindfold says. “wait for him.”

him. the infamous leader of the compound. you've never seen him or even heard his name, but he has a reputation from the bit of gossip you've managed to pick up. cruel. not bloodthirsty or barbaric like some of the men under him, but unflinching in his standards. refusing to give out any sort of help or aid even if a mother is on her knees begging at the fence.

you've heard from some that he doesn't care, you've heard from others that it's because his men come first.

you also know every time the compound men leave on a raid, they're looking for more than just food. someone. someone that the leader lost. presumed dead, just like most of the people after the aliens came, but that doesn't stop him from looking.

your heart breaks for him despite his cruelty. you wonder if it's a son. a daughter. a sister, mother or wife.

you refuse to let your mind turn to the ones you lost. you weren't close with your parents when it happened, but your friends… your boyfriend. you shake your head, willing the thoughts to leave. no use getting emotional right at the end.

you hear footsteps, the men scattered around the first few rows moving to situate themselves, sitting a little straighter, making sure their makeshift uniforms are done properly.

the doors at the back of the auditorium open. you wait for the figure to step out of the darkness, the emerge from the shadow from the mezzanine above.

“untie her. now.” the voice rings out, so familiar it hurts as the men from the wings move quickly to undo your gag. you feel the sudden coolness of a blade against your wrist, but it slashes away at the rope.

the man is moving quicker now, your eyes widening when you realize who he is.

“rafe!” you scream, shooting up from the chair. tears are already streaming down your cheeks as you run, sprint as fast as you can across the stage, rafe also breaking into a run as you take the stairs so fast you're worried you'll fall.

“y/n!” rafe yells out as you reach each other. you're lifted into the air behind him, sobs racking your body as you press your face into his neck, legs wrapping around his hips.

“you're alive!” you can hear the disbelief in rafes voice. 

“i-i thought you were dead rafe.” you whimper into his neck, pressing kisses to his skin between the words. “i came to tanneyhill after they arrived and it was-” you can't finish your sentence. partly because the pain of having to describe what happened to tanneyhill, the home you spent so much time at. but mostly you don't finish because rafe sets you down, moving your head out from his neck to press his lips against yours.

you sigh with relief before kissing back, hands fisting in his uniform, just now realizing how bulky his clothing is, various weapons hanging from them.

“i-i love you so much.” you tell rafe, pressing your fingers against his cheeks, the plains of them still as smooth as you remember. you look into his eyes. it's the same rafe, your rafe, but at the same time he's different. clearly hardened by the apocalypse, aged quicker from the stress.

“i love you.” rafe kisses you again. “i never stopped looking for you.”

you. you're the one. not a son or a sister, but the person the compound men were looking for.

“i-i didn't know you were here.” you wish you saw rafe out on a raid, but just like everyone else in the north carolina woods, you scatter when the compound men leave their base, almost as much of a threat as the aliens are.

“otherwise you wouldn't have stole from me, huh?” rafe smirks, making you giggle. he clearly hasn't lost his sense of humor.

he pulls you close to his chest as he looks to his men. “dismissed. i will be in my chambers. no disturbances unless it's an emergency.”

the men instantly scatter. rafe waits until they all leave before turning to look at you, hands skirting down your body to your wrists. he sighs deeply when he sees the marks from the rope, red and bleeding in some places.

“let me get you cleaned up.” rafe says, and you just nod. it feels surreal to finally be back with him, your boyfriend who you could have sworn was dead. you didn't stay long in the outer banks, not with the limited resources of an island, but you looked every day for rafe to see if he somehow survived the aliens before you fled into the woods.

you feel like your eyes are still glazed over as rafe leads you out of the auditorium, promising you a full tour of the compound later as he moves swiftly down the halls, two men walking in front of him and two men behind him.

you should have known rafe would get himself into some sort of leadership position even after the apocalypse. he might not be the most well versed in combat or shooting, but he can lead and throw commands around like he was born for it.

“this is my- our chambers.” rafe pushes the door open, the four men remaining outside as rafe leads you in. it's surprisingly comfortable inside, suddenly feeling like you're in a home rather than a military base.

“i-i think i may have died when i fell off the fence. there's no way this is real.” you genuinely have to run your hands along your arms, pinching yourself to make sure you aren't dreaming.

“it's real, baby.” rafe sighs with relief as he strips off the weapons, placing them at the table near the door before stripping off his fatigues until he's just in a plain white tshirt and shorts, looking just like the boy you knew before the end came.

as he steps closer, arms wrapping around you and allowing you to relax into his hold, reality comes rushing to you. you try to keep your cries quiet, but in no time sobs are racking your body, rafe lowering you both to the ground as you cry, loud sobs, even interlaced with screams from all the horrors you saw surviving without him. you let it all go, finally safe enough to.

rafe doesn't say anything, just holds you until your cries lessen and you pass out, exhaustion pulling you to sleep.

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[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Love and War III

Summary: Trapped within the Illyrian War Camp, Reader must decide the best course of action to get home, even if it means trying to seduce the enemy

Content Warnings: Mentions of Past Abuse, Descriptions of Scars/Blood, Canon Typical Violence; NSFW (a little bit of SMUT, just a tease 😈) at the end.

Previous Chapter/Masterlist

__________________

I can’t sleep.

It’s not because my enemy sleeps with his back to me, inches away, only a couple of furs and pelts between us, though it certainly doesn’t help. All night, staring at the tent wall, the strange patterns etched into the dark leather, the images of my parents, my brother, my people, flash behind my eyes every time I close them. I can hear Tamlin calling me a traitor; hear my parents final, dying screams. They are gone and the male that killed them sleeps inches from me. 

My dagger is next to my boots near the edge of the bed. Several times over the last couple of hours I’ve debated on crawling for it, imagining the heavy feel of it in my palm before I drive it between Rhysand’s shoulder blades and pierce his heart. I have never killed anything but game before, it’s the specifics and all their complications that stop me. What if I miss and he wakes up? What if I manage it but can’t get past the ward, condemning me to the mercy of his entire camp? And worse yet, what if it is not enough for Tamlin to take me back?

I chew my lower lip as I roll over onto my back. I know he would do just about anything to have Rhysand’s head delivered to him on a platter, or at the very least, those great wings to keep as a trophy. But killing a warlord doesn’t remove the threat of his camp, shy of slaughtering every last male, women, and child here, there would always be a chance of retaliation. A new lord would take his place if there was so much as a single survivor, and the bloodshed would start all over again, even if it took a few decades to get to that point.

No, my people deserve peace, to not have to look over their shoulder every day expecting an ambush. I would not live to see any children I might have, grown and subject to the cruelty of this war band. I would not birth anything into a world where my pain could be their own. So killing him is out of the question, at least for now. 

So what can I bring in lew of that? Camp movements? Numbers? Do I try to steal some horses or resort to outright sabotage so that someone else is always to blame when things go wrong? 

My head hurts from all the questions. 

My chest hurts from all the things I know I might have to do. My mother would be ashamed of me. And yet, I hear my father’s voice, telling me to stop being so useless and do something. He tells me I am selfish for hesitating, stupid for not seeing the opportunities in front of me.

I roll over onto my side so I can get another look at the male who claims to be my mate, the male who ruined my life. He’d brought me more food than I’d seen in years last night, had stumbled through the most awkward conversation of my life before offering the whole bed to myself if I was uncomfortable having him near by. An insane notion really, the bed was big enough for us to sleep in without being in arm’s length of each other. Even then, he’d wrapped his wings around himself and slept on the opposite edge, never once rolling any closer, even in sleep. It was an awkward kindness, but a kindness I had not prepared to face. I had spent the better part of the evening with him wondering how I’d deter him from trying to sleep with me, since he’d been so casual with touching me earlier in the day, but it had never come up. Maybe today it would, but for now, he had not entirely made himself as bad as I remembered him to be.

Again, it is my father’s voice in my head, “He’s a male, there’s a clear way to get him to reveal his secrets.” 

He is a dangerously attractive male. I have to admit I’m surprised he has not taken after many of the other warlords and formed a harem of captive brides. Between his power and his looks, he could have had dozens of wives already, yet this tent is void of any feminine objects to imply he’s anything other than single. He would not be hard to seduce, he is already so eager to have me nearby.

I roll over onto my stomach, trying not to huff my annoyance. It is not as if I’m some blushing virgin, I wouldn’t be giving anything over to him that I hadn’t already offered, in secret, to other males. He’d be the most attractive male I’d ever bedded, at that. I shouldn’t need that much convincing, or alcohol, to tumble into the sheets with him. Especially if it means he lets his guard down and tells me something useful. Especially if the distraction keeps him from thinking about asking me to take his mark again. What need for it would there truly be if I’d already surrendered myself to him?

Yet, my stomach rolls at the mere thought of it. Those hands had shed my peoples’, my parents’, blood! In a matter of minutes, those hands had stolen the only security and safety I had ever known, and I haven’t felt a shred of it since, and I was going to let them touch me?

A shiver runs down my spine. No, there has to be another way to get information out of him without trying to seduce him.

I lay there, mind spinning, as soft gray light starts to filter in through the small gap underneath the tent. Rhysand will have to leave me alone in here eventually, I will just have to wait for the right opportunity to start snooping through his stuff and then maybe a better plan will come to me. Perhaps something in one of those stacks of untouched chests in the corner will reveal a weakness I can exploit, some hidden secret I can use to my advantage. I have to hope they hold something, I have little options otherwise.

With that plan in place, I finally close my eyes, and try to let sleep fill the void. No amount of worrying will make him up and leave this early in the morning, there is little else I can do at this moment other than sleep. But it’s not even a full minute after I close my eyes that the tent flap is tossed open, the stiff leather slapping so hard against the wall Rhysand springs up with a dagger in hand, wings flaring behind him, so large they nearly span the expanse of the tent.

“We have a…” I feel eyes on me, over Rhysand’s shoulder, as I sit up, “situation.”

Rhysand lowers the dagger to his side, hand shaking, knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping it. Strange, did he often expect to be attacked in his own tent?

“Ready the men,” he orders and the intruders withdraw before I can get a good look at them.

He smooths a hand through his hair, loose now from the knot it had been tied on, the braided strands drifting over his sharp cheekbones. His wings droop until they’re dusting the floor, like a giant leather cape. “You’ll stay in here,” he says, voice still thick with sleep. Dark circles rim his eyes and I can’t help but wonder if I was the only one drowning in my thoughts last night.

I nod, biting down on my cheek to keep the grin pulling at my lips away. Perhaps the Mother is looking out for me after all! This is just the opportunity I need! “You…” I need to play it safe, sounding too submissive too early might get suspicious. I don’t want him to think I’ve so readily accepted this arrangement, but I don’t want him thinking I’m going to try and run off either. I let the words come out slowly, like I’m unsure to say them. “You don’t want me to come with you, like you said yesterday?”

He rubs a hand over his face as he goes to a chest at the edge of the bed and starts pulling out his fighting leathers. “Not yet, not until you’ve taken my mark and I can guarantee it’ll protect you.”

Shit! I need him to stop thinking so much about that stupid mark.

He peels off his shirt, the early morning light coming through the open door illuminating the swirl of dark ink tattooed across his bare chest. I’d been too panicked about our sleeping arrangements to get a good look at him when he’d changed last night, or else I also would have seen the scar across his side, the four lines like claw marks across his bronze skin. There are other, smaller marks, a burn on his hip, a jagged slash across his collarbone, but none are so pronounced as the claw marks. 

My hand goes instinctively to my own side. I know those claw marks. I know how they scar, because I have the same ones on my side. “Stupid, useless girl!” I know them, because like the voice that keeps ringing in my ears, they came from my father.

I don’t know if that’s a sign of what I need to do, as if, even in death my father’s will is still forcing itself on my life, or some cruel twist, like the matching stars on the back of our hands.

“Are you all right?” Rhysand asks.

By the time I’m able to focus on him again, he’s already laced up his leathers and sheathed that massive sword between his wings. I give myself a little shake, let my hand fall back down into my lap. “Yeah.”

Like last night, he looks like he might say more, but then thinks better of it as he tightens a belt of knives around his waist. “Stay here, you’ll be safe. I’ll be back soon.” And then he’s gone. 

I stare out the empty door long after his large form is no longer visible, sunlight slowly creeping further and further into the tent’s cave-like darkness. No guards. I eventually crawl out from under the mountain of pelts, the lack of heat obvious as a draft of icy wind blows through the open door. I wrap one around my shoulders as I pad, barefoot, over the rug covered floor to the door. The encampment around me still slumbers, no drum beats to be heard this early. Some of the other tents nearby have their doors open, I glimpse a body or two still sleeping in their own fur covered beds. No guards. No horses. Beyond the camp, the mountain walls of this secluded haven are dusted with early morning mist, the path the men had taken out invisible from this angle.

I do not want to trek through those mountains on foot and see just how well the shield holds up, not yet anyway. Holding the fur a little tighter around my shoulders, I turn back to the tent and decide the best place to start snooping is here. The outside world can wait a few more minutes. 

I go to the chest at the end of the bed first. It’s full of more fighting leathers, some worn and battle scarred, some shiny and new; an old pair of boots, some mismatched socks, another cloak and two, pitted daggers, the wyvern carving in the handle worn down from years and years of use. Nothing interesting or useful. I close the lid and head to the table to assess the piles of random collections Rhysand has made. It’s a lot of books on strategy and star-charting, I flip through a couple of them, looking for things written in the margins or scraps of paper tucked within the worn pages, but there is nothing but dust. 

“Come on,” I whisper to myself as I move to the next stack. There’s a book of poetry and things written in Illyrian I can’t read, the only thing in the margins of the old paper is some random swirls and markings that match the tattoos on his chest. If I have to learn Illyrian just to find useful information, I am going to be here for years, and there’s no way I’d make it that long without being forced to take Rhysand’s mark.

The remaining scattered items on the table are trinkets and gloves and a couple scarves with stains that look suspiciously like blood. Not a map or log book among them. Does he not keep records of his fighting men? Does he not chart supply lines and keep tabs on his merchants? 

I rub my temples as I go to the stack of dust covered chests in the corner. This might make it obvious that I was snooping, considering the dust is thick enough to be drawn in, but if he asks, I can lie and say I was looking for extra clothes, considering I’m still wearing the clothes I came in. 

The top chest is filled to the brim with swords and knives, a couple of bows and arrows, and a wicked looking mace. All well polished and cared for, the blades carefully wrapped as not to be damaged in transit. I pull a knife out to examine it, the ruby in the top casting rays of light over the tent walls. It’s an expensive weapon… if I start collecting enough things, could I find a place to barter them and bring the money back to Tam? Mother knows we could use the extra cash for supplies!

I put the blade back. If I start stashing things now, I’ll have nowhere to hide them and nowhere to take them until I can be sure that I can get out of these mountains, but it is comforting to feel like I have options here. The more things I can bring back, the better my chances at appeasing Tamlin are.

I’ve just closed the lid when someone clears their throat behind me and I all but throw the pelt around my shoulders at them in surprise.

“Snooping are we?” Laughs a feminine voice.

I keep a hand pressed to my racing heart, even as I inch over to where I’d left my hunting dagger. “Mother’s tits!”

In the doorway, stands a blonde female, her hair braided and tossed over one, bare shoulder. The strapless red top she wears, made of lace, baring just a strip of midriff and a swirl of ink, disappearing over the hem of a flowing skirt stitched in gold thread, must be expensive. I’ve never seen anything like it in our markets; I’d never dare touch it even if we had. I hate the spike of envy that bubbles up in my chest. I’ve never particularly cared about such things, not when the comparison wasn’t so in my face every moment. How was it fair? These people took so much from us, and yet they faced no punishment, it was starting to feel like they’d been rewarded for it even.

“Don’t worry, I’d snoop too,” she says as she steps in, holding a tray of something steaming that smells divine. “I’m Mor, by the way.”

“Hi,” I’m not totally beyond pleasantries, even if I do feel like biting the next stranger to come marching into my life as if they have free reign. “I’m Y/N.”

“My cousin says you’re his mate, is that true?” She sets the tray down then sits and puts her feet up on the corner of the table, sprinkling mud everywhere. 

“I don’t know,” I admit. I don’t want it to be true, but this is a chance to do something for my people, and I’ll play that part best I can, but it would feel fake if I just suddenly pretended to believe it after my comments on the way here. Better to play it safe.

Mor pats an empty seat next to her in invitation, or perhaps demand, there is a regality to her that doesn’t make me feel I have room to tell her no. I am used to people moving me wherever they see fit, my feet start moving as directed before I can decide that I actually want to. “Show me this scar of yours.”

I sit and offer my hand. Hers are soft as she inspects the eight point scar atop my hand, not a callus to be felt. Definitely some form of royalty. 

“How did you get this?” She asks, turning my hand this way and that to get a better look, as if I’m a piece of meat at the market in need of inspecting. 

I bite my cheek to keep from yanking my hand out of her grip. “I was young and stupid, and my father had sent me out to hunt as a punishment, I stumbled into the Middle, and came across the Weaver. When I tried to escape, she threw a hot poker at me, the end was shaped like a star, I guess. She basically branded me.”

“You fought the Weaver?” A mythical monster, no one really knows where she came from, all we know is she lives in the Middle, in a place where other monsters hunt, in a cottage dripping in dark magic known to lewer in weary travelers, as I had been.

“Fought? Goddess no! Played a very terrifying game of cat and mouse, yes.”

“I’m sure your father was proud of such an accomplishment,” she says as she finally releases my hand and pushes a tray of steaming buns, meats and cheeses, and what looks like tea my way. 

My hand drifts over my scarred side subconsciously, and I do not miss the way her blue eyes track the movement, even as I blurt, “Yeah the beating I got when I got home was a little shorter than usual.”

She drops her legs off the table so she can turn and look at me fully and I wince as I realize my mistake. “My father is like that too,” Mor confesses with startling gentleness.

I’m even more surprised when she reaches out to take my hand, not to inspect this time but to comfort me over our shared past. My chest tightens; a lump forming in my throat. My father was not the worst male in the Grasslands by any means, he kept us all fed and alive, and sheltered for the most part, but he was never kind. 

Mor gives my hand a squeeze. “You are safe here, Y/N. I promise. Rhys won’t give you any trouble.”

I’m supposed to hate her. She is a part of this warband, she answers to Rhysand, she bears his mark--a swirl of stars across her right arm--she is my enemy. I aim to steal all her secrets and use them against her, to take from her all the luxuries my people were never afforded, a life we were never blessed to live. We have nothing! They had everything because they took it. And I wanted to take it from them, from her. So why, when I looked into her eyes did I suddenly feel so godsdamned guilty?

When I don’t say anything, Mor pushes my plate towards me again. “Eat. You’re thin as a board. Then maybe later, I can show you around camp? I’m sure my cousin will give you his tour or whatever, but it’s never the same without a girls’ perspective, right?”

I snag the tea, hoping the heat will burn away the lump still lodged in my throat. Why is she being so nice to me? These people are not supposed to be nice! They’re supposed to be cruel! They’re supposed to be evil, ruthless monsters! 

“That sounds like fun,” I say, the words as bitter as acid. I am a terrible person. She is genuine and kind and going out of her way to be nice to me and I intend to manipulate all of that.

Mor grins as she walks back to the door. “Holler if you need anything, ok? My tent is just down the way.”

“Thanks,” I say as I reach for a warm, sticky bun. It’s so sweet and gooey in the center and I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything so good in my life, yet, when I swallow, it might as well be sand. What have I gotten myself into? What kind of monster am I if I do this?

I set the bun back down on the tray and put my head in my hands. If I do this, am I just as bad as Rhysand?

------

Rhysand doesn’t come back until nightfall. Mor had come by hours ago with a tray for dinner, and had stayed for over an hour, talking about a lot of nothing, just to keep me company. I found out that she’s married to someone named Cassian, though she confessed after a bit of wine that Rhysand had orchestrated the union to get her away from her father, and that neither of them cared for each other in that way. It served the both of them to have the title, and while they shared a tent, there was little more than friendship between them. She’s very talkative, even with the smallest bit of wine, not that I minded, after several hours alone with my thoughts, it was nice to have something else to think about other than how I might sell my soul to get out of here. By the time she’d left and I’d made myself comfortable in the massive bed, I could only faintly make out the sounds of hoofbeats in the distance.

I’d be a liar if I said my heart rate doesn’t spike at the sound.

It isn’t like I was still snooping through his stuff--truth be told I’d forgotten there was still stuff to look through--but I sit up in a panic all the same, trying to figure out where I need to be to look the most innocent. Had I left anything out of place? 

I’m about to jump out of bed and double check the locks on the chests when Rhysand stalks back into the tent, completely covered in blood.

I can’t do anything other than stare, unsure if the blood dripping from his hair and down his face is from the gash across his temple or the gore that looks like it had been hurled at the left side of his head, chunks of something clinging to his ear.

There’s a small area behind the bed with a basin of water and some clean towels and he goes right to it, tearing off the leather gauntlets at his wrists and then his very damaged chest piece. Both make a heavy thwack as they hit the rug, a puddle forming beneath them. 

“Are-are you ok?” There are too many questions in my head, this one slips out first as I twist to look at him over the headboard of the bed. 

He winces as he pokes at the cut on his temple, “Fine,” is all I get before he cups water in his hands and does his best to clean the gore off his face. He’s making a mess. I’m tempted to crawl out of bed and throw a towel on the floor to spare the rug from damage, but the shadows that drift from his skin make me think better of it. 

Powers aren’t rare, especially among warlords, most of the fae need them to survive this barbaric society we live in, but I’ve never met anyone with such an obvious manifestation of them. Shadows trail off his shoulders, over his wings, twining around his powerful thighs. I can almost taste the darkness that leaks from him, even with the space between us. It is palpable and tangible and tied to his anger. A button I don’t want to push in any way. I sink a little lower into the mattress, using the headboard as a shield, just in case. 

“What happened?” I ask softly. 

He yanks a towel off the little drying rack next to the basin so hard it snaps like a whip and I flinch a little involuntarily. “We got ambushed.” He wets the towel and starts running it over his hair. When he unties the braids in the back, clumps of gore fall to the floor. “My sentinels spotted some enemy scouts this morning, when we followed them back, they led us right into a trap.”

Please don’t be Tamlin. Please don’t be Tamlin. “Did you find out who it was?”

“I have my suspicions,” he tosses the ruined towel on a floor and reaches for another to wipe off his arms and chest. “But none of them were marked.”

Not typically my brother’s style, but I can’t be totally sure. My anxiety sits like a weight in my stomach. “Any casualties?” 

“None of mine,” he growls. “Just some scrapes. Even unprepared, my men are lethal.”

Not as reassuring as I assume he thinks it is.

“We brought a few survivors back, I’ll know who sent them by morning at the latest.”

If I can get a good look at them, I can know for sure they’re not Tam’s men… “What will you do with them?”

He starts untying the laces of his pants and I hurriedly turn away, a blush creeping up my cheeks. I know he thinks we’re mates, but Cauldron have a little decency!

“Azriel will get the information I need out of them,” he says and I hear the sound of his boots and pants hitting the floor. “And then I will make an example out of them.”

It’s suddenly colder in here than it was a moment ago. I grab a pelt and pull it up to my chin as I draw my knees up to my chest.

There’s a beat, the only sound the scraping of a towel over his skin, and then I’m suddenly very aware of his presence at my back, his shadow looming over me. I sink a little deeper into the mattress, heart in my throat.

“This bothers you?” He asks quietly.

I’m glad there’s a thick layer of wood between us, it means I still have time to reach for my knife. “I-” Mother’s Tits what am I supposed to say?! It’s not like it matters, and maybe I could spin it to fit the narrative I need him to see in me, but the words escape me. No one has ever asked me what I think of the senseless violence that has plagued us since Hybern destroyed the world. Regardless of our boundary lines and markings, we all kill and maim each other to survive; we bleed and die and force others to do the same all for the slightest chance that we might escape that fate one more day. And I hate it! I’ve always hated it. I clung to my parents’ stories of better worlds because I’d wanted so desperately to be in one. 

“I don’t like violence,” I whisper. The first unaltered truth I’ve given him; the only unaltered truth I’ll give him.

He leans against the headboard, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “I don’t either,” Rhysand confesses.

I almost laugh. Death Incarnate hates violence? But when I tilt my head back to look at him, I see the weight of that burden in his eyes. He places his forehead atop his hands, sighing heavily and it’s like I can feel that weight in my chest. 

“I didn’t…” another breath, “I will do what is necessary for my people, no matter what it costs me, but… but it is heavy.”

I know the burden of leading a people is heavy, I have watched it tear Tam apart for decades. My brother had been kind once, had loved and laughed and had stayed up for hours teaching me how to play the fiddle when we were kids. Becoming the leader of our people had taken all those good and kind things and hardened them. The brother I had grown up with and the one I now answered to wouldn’t recognize each other. I hated myself for it, but the empathetic part of me can’t help but wonder if Rhysand had been like that too? Had he been kind and happy before he took over this position? Had becoming a lord stripped him of the things that had made him loveable and turned him into the monster that I knew?

Would being here turn me into a monster I didn’t recognize?

“It must be hard, to carry it alone,” I say slowly, weighing each word like it could be my last. This is a very vulnerable and volatile position to be in. I’m still very aware of the power that drifts off, his still bare, skin. I cannot upset it. But, can I find something useful here?

I’m playing with fire and I can feel it.

“I am used to it,” he replies.

Another beat and then he softly adds, “It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

His response simultaneously makes my heart ache and my mind spin. I hadn’t found anything of use in this tent, despite the hours I’d spent searching, and maybe that was a sign. Maybe there was nothing in this tent, because the information was all contained to one thing: The male standing behind me. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a coincidence that this morning I had been wondering if I should try and seduce him. My assessment about it being easy to do was already confirmed with this conversation, he was vulnerable, now more than ever, all it would take was a push in the right direction…

I push myself back up onto my knees and turn so I can face him. He looks small here, the wet strands of his hair clinging to his face. 

His violet eyes watch my every move like a snake tracking a mouse. 

There’s still a headboard between us. Still time to change my mind. Still time to keep my soul intact. What kind of person am I if I do this? 

I swallow the lump in my throat as I tentatively reach out to take his hand. At least there is no more blood on them. Touching him doesn’t immediately make fire rain down from the heavens so maybe that’s a sign the world won’t totally end if I do this. This male took everything from me, and yet, under his own admission, he’d damn his soul for his people. If a monster could do that, couldn’t I do it for the sake of my people?

“How can I help you?” I ask softly. I hope it sounds convincing, that the shakiness in my voice sounds like a lack of confidence and not because I’m trying not to throw up. This was not the plan this morning! But I’ve gotten nowhere all day and suddenly there’s an opening before me and I have to try and take it, don’t I? It might be my only chance, especially if there is fighting on the horizon. If I can distract him, or figure out who Tam needs to join forces with to finally be rid of Rhysand once and for all, I have to take it. 

His violet eyes widen as they settle on the placement of my hand on top of his, as if he hadn’t thought it possible that I would willingly comfort him. 

Am I doing this too fast?

“If… if this thing between us is real, I want to be useful. I want to be a good mate.” Kill me. Please, put me out of my misery, what in the Seven Hells am I doing?! “Please, show me how I can be a good mate?”

My parents are rolling in their graves.

He moves faster than most fae should be able to, hand sliding out from under mine to reach out and thread into my hair, pulling my body flush against the headboard as his lips meet mine. Cauldron, for a male who looked so awful seconds ago, his lips are sinfully soft. It takes a second for me to even register what I’m doing, and by the time that my brain catches up, he’s sliding his tongue past my teeth and I’m letting him, lips parting, head tilting to give him more access. Having the headboard still between us is both an uncomfortable angle to be at and a relief, because at least I have a little time to accept the fact that I just told Death he could bed me if that would make him feel better.

Tamlin can never find out this is how I saved our people. 

But this is for my people. I can play with fire for them.

There are worse ways to do it, I suppose. He’s certainly not a bad kisser. 

Hell, he’s actually a really, really good kisser, if I let myself stop thinking for two seconds and just relax, I might actually enjoy it.

He pulls away by a mere fraction, forehead resting on mine, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Distract me?” He asks, voice so low and husky I think he might actually be begging.

I hate to admit it, but I do get a thrill of seeing such a powerful male so desperate in my hands. Of course, I can’t let him know that. “Show me?”

It’s all the prompting he needs to release me long enough to climb into bed. I’d forgotten he was already undressed until he was pulling the blanket off and climbing on top of me, all warm skin and damp hair and more desperate kisses. Large hands slide under my sweater, exploring every inch of me as he continues to kiss me like a man starved.

My reservations begin to slip with each new brush of his callused hands over my skin, trailing higher and higher. It’s been awhile since I’ve taken anyone to bed, even longer since I’d had the time to let anybody explore my body so meticulously. It’s good. My eyes drifting shut, body arching into his touch. I don’t know which of us comes up for air first, or which pulls the other back for more. As easy as it is to end up in this position, I’m surprised how readily I want it, him. Something tugs at the skin beneath my breastbone, like there’s a thread being yanked on, warmth flaring down that little spot, hotter and hotter with each passing second. I don’t have enough time to consider what that is, what it means, before his lips trail down to my neck, teeth scraping my tender flesh.

I instinctively drag a hand through his hair as he nips and bites at my throat, surely leaving marks. If I ever had any intention to push him away, I lose it as his large hand kneads my breast, slender fingers moving to tweak my nipple. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter as a moan slips out of me. 

Aren’t I supposed to be distracting him?

Before I can ask, he’s yanking my worn sweater over my head and tossing it over his shoulder. Those intense violet eyes run over me,  a grin stretching across his handsome features as he gives my breast another squeeze, but the teasing stops when he spots the scar across my abdomen. Or maybe the fact that you can count my ribs. Maybe both. His hands drift lower, methodically, not teasing but studying, like he might crack open my rib cage and dissect whatever is beneath my skin. 

“Who did this to you?” He growls, hand trailing over the scar.

My whole body trembles under his touch, mind reeling as I try to make sense of the sudden shift in tone. I don’t want to talk about this. Not with him. I’d already admitted too much to Mor earlier. We need to get back to the distraction. “Hunting accident,” I lie.

His hand remains over the scar, “Don’t lie.”

This is too intense, I’m too vulnerable in this position, I’ve lost all my power. My head spins, trying to think of something clever, trying to get myself back on track. Why did I think I could do this? Seduction is not my skill set. Outright anything is beyond me. I move behind the scenes, quietly with my head down, I am not anyone’s first line of defense. I’m not even sure I’m the last line of defense.

My heart’s pounding in my chest and I know he can feel it beneath his hand, because his face softens. His free hand comes to brush my cheek, pushing a few wild strands of hair from my face. Now I’m really shaking. This is far, far too intimate. 

“You’re my mate,” he says gently. “I will kill anyone who hurts you.”

I don’t want that kind of power looming over me the rest of my life. I swallow the lump in my throat. “You wanted a distraction. This-”

The tent flap bursts open without warning, a flurry of shadows rushing in. Rhysand barely has time to grab a blanket to cover the both of us before a male steps out of those shadows.

“Azriel!” Rhysand snarls. “This better be fucking important!”

The male stands at the edge of the bed, fighting leathers splattered in blood, his dark hair falling over a set of deep hazel eyes. He spins a bloody dagger between hands scarred beyond repair. “They’ve talked.”

Shit.

Rhysand is still leaning over me, body and wings shielding me from Azriel’s view. “And?”

Hazel eyes flick to me before returning to his lord. “Amarantha.”

I don’t know if I should sigh with relief or not. Tamlin is still safe. My people are still safe. But having Amarantha knocking at the door while I’m trapped inside here is not on my to do list. My whole life we’ve avoided her and Hybern’s forces by not making too big a fuss. If they want some of our territory, we push into another lord’s to make sure there’s space for us without any direct confrontation with her. We keep our heads down. We don’t make deals or bargain with the other more tolerable lord’s for aid. We stay within our own borders and we stay out of her way. But the Illyrians? They pick fights with her. They apparently have no qualms with torturing her men. 

“I’ll be right there,” Rhysand says in dismissal and his shadowy companion disappears as quickly as he came. 

“I have to deal with this,” he sighs, leaning back on his knees.

I’m relieved, I really am. I tried to do this way too quickly. I am relieved.

So why do I feel a knot in my stomach?

Rhysand leans in long enough to press a kiss to my forehead, the move tender and gentle, and nothing like the male that had entered this tent covered in blood just moments ago. It makes my head hurt. I know the kind of male he is. I know the monster that lies behind this pretty package. So why is he pretending to be anything else? Why act like this with me? What game is he playing?

“Maybe we can finish this later?” There’s a hint of teasing there, but it feels more like an apology.

I want a later. I want to feel those full lips on my skin again.

I absolutely don’t want a later. This whole thing is a mistake.

“Yeah,” I saw anyway.

He’s dressed and gone before I can ask myself why I agreed to it again. I put my head in my hands, palms pressed into my eyes. What am I doing here? And why is it starting to feel more complicated than it should be?

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

Taglist:

@judig92, @randomperson1234sblog, @nyxbranwenn, @lilah-asteria, @barb00235, @landofpetrichor, @hjgdhghoe, @buttermilktea11, @yourforeveryoungblog, @sassyn , @zoeisdreaming6

As always, let me know if you want to be added to the list :) Thx to everyone who has liked, commented or reblogged you're all angels <3

[jeeaark]

in a timeline where the illithid invasion never happen, a world where the absolute never existed, what would greygold's life be like? or maybe even lae'zel's? a world where they stumble upon each other without all the destruction around them.

The funny thing is.

Without squids trying to ruin their life, Greygold would have never discovered the power of friendship

Worse even, they'd still be a dispassionate lone ranger with questionable bird ethics surviving the wilderness and living off raw eggs like a weirdo.

Meanwhile, Lae'zel is still a Vlaakith devotee and if they stumble upon each other without a plot to drive them to work together and get to know each other... Bad things would happen! Someone would probably die. Most likely Greygold. But! Lets say. A plot did happen.

Buckle up buckaroos. This train thought went off the rails enough that I had to draw pics. Faster than writing out a 13k+ fic (for me anyway).

Let's say Greygold got the 'steal the githyanki egg ' job from Esther. Let's say they succeeded in sneaking in and out without too much of a fuss (mostly involving cat familiar distractions). And something Unfortunate happens before Greygold could complete the quest, leaving Greygold with an egg that eventually hatches:

And the githyanki child is not your average run-of-the-mill space lad either (Who loves eating raw eggs now too. It's fine. Builds character. Probably) But uh yeah, that whoosh accidentally cosmos-signaled all the githyankis and Vlaakith to which she reacts with a 'Wtf? Did anybody just get Prince of the Comet vibes from that? With a "I love egg" aftertaste? No? Just me? Hrm.... I do currently have a lot of free time on my hands....Fetch me that child. I want to study him like a bug. I'm suddenly feeling... Creatively ambitious with a side case of nefarious today. Might bury an old big secret if that kid is replacement-viable.' Thus search patrols investigate-

And never return.

After the first surprise patrol disaster, Greygold has been putting their danger ranger skills to good use via setting up counter-ambushes for all the constant surprise attacks. Classic "who is hunting who?" ordeal.

Nonetheless, there is more of them than there is of Greygold, so they resort to hiding in the Underdark after realizing the githyankis don't have dark vision and it's more environmentally dangerous than the surface. It is also a fun learning experience for the kid. Search patrols continue to never return. Until-

Lae'zel can't help but notice her mission orders do not add up and her rationality has a mighty need to make sense of it before solving problems with immediate hostility. Meanwhile this has been Greygold's first super tiny dose of kindness involving people interactions in years. Instant crush. Chase Shenanigans Ensue. Until child makes their first hunting trap. Instead of catching food, Lae'zel is captured. It also turns out the over-the-top trap involves sinking sand and a nest of Ankhegs (giant burrowing man-eating bugs). Greygold tries to help Lae'zel. For Reasons.

Something akin to mutual respect is formed. Stuck working together. Get to know each other. Discuss contradictions with mission. Verdigris worms his way into Lae'zel's heart (as much as she loathes his name). Escape the Ankheg nest which had terribly escalated because a giant fire ant invasion decided to overrun the ankheg nest at the same time.

Everyone is covered in bug guts after this.

Something something bond over experience enough to trust and listen to each other's opinions. Short Rest. Negotiate. Discuss plans to investigate Da Truth together. Shenanigans Ensue. Then Bad Shenanigans Ensue. Argument Ensues, resulting in Lae'zel Splitting Off. Verdigris disagrees with this approach and chases Lae'zel in order to bring back. Unanticipated Ambush happens at most inopportune moment. Greygold is Captured.

But they escape. Not before confronting Vlaakith's projection and discovering her plans and secrets thanks to one extremely curious Verdigrisgold (Verdi for short omg so long) with ridiculous super psionic powers.

And then they coincidentally interwovenly meet/save/recruit their bg3 companions anyway because there are no mindflayer abduction to stall certain ill-fated situations from happening to certain Companions-to-be and I need for them to be OKAY. So. Greygold discovers the power of friendship again. But is also now co-parenting a fate-of-the-githyanki-freedom child with Ex-Vlaakith-devotee Lae'zel. How's that for an AU timeline?

[jasmines-library]

Hii my bday is at 18th and i’m spending it alone so i thought of requesting a winchester sister where they just celebrate her birthday softly hahah

A Winchester Surprise

Hello lovely! Happy Birthday! Thank you so much for requesting, it means a lot to hear that people are enjoying my work. I'm sorry to hear that you have to celebrate your special day alone, but I'm hoping that the Winchesters will help cheer you up a little :)

Summary: After years of your birthday being forgotten or consumed by a hunt, your brothers make sure that this one is extra special.

Warnings: None!

Word Count: around 1.6k

⛤ MAIN MASTERLIST ⛤

When you awoke the bunker was silent. Your bare feet padded down the hallway as you made your way towards the kitchen. To your disappointment, Dean wasn't hovering over the cooker, nursing a tray of bacon. He wasn't in the library either. Furrowing your brow, you ventured back down the halls, settling outside of his room. You knocked, bouncing on your heels as you waited for his gruff answer, but you were only met with silence. So, you pushed the door open.

Dean's room was dark, but when you reached blindly for the switch, his bed was empty and unmade. Sighing, you turned up the hall to try your other brother. Similarly there was no sign Sam, though his sheets were neatly tucked into his bed. You figured he must have been on a run, until your phone buzzed and his number flashed up on the screen. Your heart sank when you read the message.

Sam: A hunt came up last minute, didn't want to wake you. It's not far. We should be back in a few hours, if not there's food in the fridge.

You sighed, shutting your phone off and slipping it back into your pocket. They had forgotten. Again.

For years, your birthday had often slipped their minds. When John was still alive, your special day hardly ever crossed his train of thought. When you were too young to hunt, your birthday was often spent with your brothers, locked away in some shitty motel room in the middle of who knows where. Dean was the one who made an effort to get you something. A few times he had even resorted to stealing, though that never really ended well, but the gesture always brought a grin to your face. Sammy always tried hard too, he would draw you pictures of give you one of his precious items that he had stashed away. But as they three of you got older and your brothers began to hunt, you were often left alone.

You wanted to be mad at your brothers for forgetting your birthday, you really did, but with everything that was going on in your lives you supposed it was something that was understandable. Besides, it was too hard to be mad at them when they tried so hard to balance everything.

Slightly disheartened, but trying to to let it ruin your day, you busied yourself with various jobs around the bunker. But as time ticked by and there was still no sign of your brothers, you picked up a book and slunk back into your room, curling up on your bed to read it.

It wasn’t long after you had settled down to read your book that a loud commotion broke through the silence of your room, occasionally broken but the sound of your pages turning. Intrigued, you slid out of bed and into the rest of the bunker.

It was oddly dark in the main entrance to the bunker, which was weird because you didn’t remember turning off the light. It was even stranger because if your brothers were home, they would need the light to see.

“Hello?” You called out into the silence. There was a hubble of whispering and shuffling coming from the library before it fell silent again. “Sam? Dean?”

As you made your way into the library, you reached blindly for the light switch. It flickered on, illuminating the room. When your turned around, your heart swelled.

In front of you stood your two brothers, spaced either side of the closest table, each wearing a party hat that looked far too uncomfortable on their heads. They had decorated the table with a selection of balloons in your favourite colour. In front of them lay a pile of badly wrapped gifts. Some of which were just paper bags from the gas station folded over and taped together with your name or some sort of drawing scrawled along the top.

What really caught you eye, and allowed a long smile to appear on your face, was the pie placed precariously in the centre of the table. Someone had suck a couple of candles in the middle of it.

“I- I thought you forgot.” You told them.

“How could we forget, sweetheart. It’s our little sisters special day.” Dean said, moving around the table to wrap you up in one of his bearhugs.

“You did all this for me?”

“Of course we did, kiddo.”

You grinned, engulfed in your brothers’ arms.

“There was no hunt, was there?”

Sam shook his head, which only made your heart swell more. They had taken time out of their day to do this for you.

“I know it’s not much, but we didn’t really know what to get you.” Dean told you. “And we couldn’t find a cake we thought you would like so we got you your favourite pie instead. But if you want us to go and get you something else then we can-“

“It’s perfect.” You beamed, cutting off his rambling.

“Dean was planning on cooking you up something to eat tonight. We thought it would be nice to also watch a movie or something together. We’ve got all the snacks you could ever need.”

“I would love that.”

~~~

The rest of the evening was full of laughter. Dean had attempted to cook your mothers famous casserole, but he wasn’t very successful. He ended up spilling half of the contents before burning the rest in the oven, so the three of you ordered your choice of take out. You then retracted to your room and piled up on the bed to watch a movie. You were squashed between the two boys, who took up most of the bed. Especially Sam. It reminded you of when you were small. And it brought a soft smile to your face.

“Thank you.” You told your brothers as the first film rolled to a close.

“For what?” Dean queried, shifting on the bed to face you.

You gestured around the room. “For this.”

“Oh y/n, it’s nothing really kiddo-“ Sam started.

“And for always being there. I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”

Sam looked at you in awe, before using the arm he had wrapped around your shoulder to squeeze you closer to him. “We’re so proud of you, Y/N. So proud.”

You smiled at Sam who returned the gesture without hesitation. Dean watched the two of you closely. He had had never been so proud of two people, ever.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” Dean told you. “We love you so much.”

Note: I hope this was satisfactory! And I hope that you have a great birthday. Lots of love :)

[fuwaprince]

👉👈 Hi friends! I have a long, serious post made just for you(!) that isn't full of spoilers, smut or mooning lawn gnomes. Please read if you can, this is a 💥 mutual aid request 💥

It has been a horribly painful and long while as most people following/keeping up with me know. and in a few days I'm going to be down $1500, which is basically all my fucking $

I can't afford Christmas for anybody, which sucks and I'm very sorry. I can't even take care of myself and haven't been, which also sucks and I'm very sorry

Landlords spontaneously raised rent on me more than halfway through this month as punishment for not getting to my house chores and not communicating, to be totally honest with you. I feel ashamed and awful about it but I didn't want to clean the place while multiple ppl living here had tested positive for COVID and kept walking around unmasked... I am not fully vaxxed because I've been too depressed to get any kind of necessary medical care done and I didn't want to catch COVID in the middle of my finals week for the semester. I woke up to being angrily and rudely bitched at first thing after the last of my finals (I passed at least). It wasn't a humanizing text. Fuck the mistreatment though. Rent is now almost doubled and it won't be lowered

There was no room for negotiation and I truly believe they've resorted to pricing me out of living here because the group of renters psychologically tormenting me wasn't effective (actually- putting a picture of my rapist on the fridge rly was super effective in getting me to isolate myself in my room all day and so was outing me as trans to the transphobic ass neighbors.... But I didn't and still don't have any place better to move out to, like the way they were hoping I would. Yes, I have looked and BEGGED btw)

I want out of here NOW, but I can't leave. I tried and had to come back because it was the best option. I can't afford to stay in a motel/hotel/BnB just to get away from them for a day or two during Christmas. I don't have any friends who I can spend the holiday with either. During the semester, I resorted to convincing classmates with keys to locked buildings to let me crash in them while they worked at night and I would leave before anybody showed up. Now that school is out, I can't do that. I don't have any family I can reach out to for support or friends who I can depend on for immediate help. I have been crying day in and day out for weeks. I have records of it posted throughout my blog. Literally crying for days on end. I'm being so fucking transparent

All that lump of text is to explain to whoever is out there, who might be listening and willing and able, to please consider helping me, if and ONLY IF able. I know times are tough and if you'd rather use your $ for other reasons or just don't have any to spare, don't sweat it and take care! 🫂

I've thought about what I could do for a long time and have helped myself how I can. It isn't enough. I've applied for so much assistance. Been approved and been sabotaged by my inhumane mom (who does not love me) via stealing my legal documents and letters and hiding them for months. My mind jumps to grim places but I'm clinging for dear life to whatever hope I have left that says things will get better. I wish I knew somebody with a business that I could work for. Part of me feels so fucking terrible for asking for help because I feel like a waste of all your resources. I feel like I shouldn't ask, like I really do not fucking deserve help, but there are friends online who care, who I know mentioned being interested in helping in whatever ways they can

So to the people who care to seriously me, I'm ready to accept it: please send me nice words to get through this and feel less alone. It feels pathetic to ask but I would love a nice letter. A nice card even. Kind words of any kind would go a long way. It means more to me than food. I have felt so broken and every day feels like a test to figure out how badly I actually want to live

I'm also leaving my cash app and paypal here in case anybody would like to do more than what I'm comfortable asking but probably very likely will inevitably need very very soon. I will be left with fucking nothing and I will have no idea what to do once rent is paid

Thank you to those of you who have sent love, offered to listen and heard me out. I really wish it wasn't so hard to survive. I'm trying to feel better knowing there are people out there who are also without help and hoping the best, but it doesn't make me feel any better or comforted tbh. I just wish the help was there for us. I wish there was a place to go for spare love, care, compassion, empathy, kindness, humanity, generosity... I need that more than I need $. Call me stupid but that's what I live for. I don't live for paying to survive in terrible conditions. I live for love and to smile with friends

I hope to write back to the friends who have already been so kind as to message me soon btw. I'm sorry for not replying sooner. Your overwhelming support is sincerely sweet and sometimes I cry because I can't believe people are so nice (to me???). It'll give me something to do that doesn't make me feel like dying! :') so thank you thank you thank you *fist bump*

Hope you're all doing as well as you can and that somehow things get better. Hope anybody else struggling like me doesn't make the mistake of isolating like a sick and dying animal. You deserve love. You deserve support. Don't be like me. Have the courage to reach out to the people who care about you for help as early on into your emergency as possible. Don't let your situation snowball because you spend so long trying to figure out if you're worth it!!! This Random Tumblr user is here to tell you that YOU ARE. Sending my infinite everlasting unconditional love. Be nice to yourselves. Be nice to each other. Fuck the hateful assholes who wish I would just kill myself already. Tell your friends you love them. Happy Holidays!!!

And here's a single picture of a mooning lawn gnome at the very end, as a treat! I told you this post wasn't full of it.... It just ended with it 👉👉

[thelovelycircusau]

🌸 Prince Caine’s Tour

The millisecond Pomni or “Princess” Pomni began to utter that you might be interested in Prince Caine’s tour, he immediately carried you off to each and every single location and coming to an immediate stop, your stomach lurches forward but you manage to keep it down as he drones on and on about the place.

The Royal Castle seems more like a Metropolis than a castle of any sort. The Home Base area seems alright- like a really high class resort or something.. you miiight have noticed a bunch of interesting looking characters in a… hot spring? All giggling and naked, Prince Caine might have given you a ‘look’, but you’re not fully sure.. he seemed very interested in your room- explains about needing to push a button to alternate between your bedroom door going to the Home Base or the Royal Castle ~ and the button to his room, “no reason..”

Whilst stopping in at the Portal Center, you noticed an Exit, or you thought it was… right? Suddenly you’re whooshing towards the next location-!

The Fandom Land seemed legitimately interesting- you wanted to buy a toy! Of course Prince Caine grabbed it for you, saying he’ll just put it on your tab, before carrying you over to the …uh.. Day Care? They seemed to have little kids and babies around-huh. Interesting looking little babies.. one looks like a Pawn, another seems a Bunny-Shoelace thing and another looked like a Bunny-Doll thing?? Also.. eggs?? Seemed to be incubating.. huh.

Next he took you to The Gardens! Amazingly beautiful and well maintained- tho you couldn’t help but notice the marble statues of Prince Caine all around.. most of them very naked.. the makes you blush, he steals a glance down at you, a twinkle? He gestures at the places to sit and sip tea, drop the gossip and all that.. then WOOOOO-! You’re suddenly in what appeared to be a delightful theme park (The Fair), but a moment later its theme appears to change! Now there’s new rides, new food, new things to buy, etc!

Next is The Beach, one side had adults, the other a mix of kids and adults- the adults side had more drinks, drugs, etc. Some huts for people to rest in, also some bonfires, so much! Woooooosh! Now you two are above vast forest- Prince Caine explains, motioning to the Children’s Forest, its “Safe For Work” and very safe for all ages! Then he mentions to the other area, The Furry Forest, he chuckles, explains it’s the “Not Safe for Work” forest, where Adults can dress up, play as whatever and ‘do’ whatever, without judgement. Then points towards a much darker eerie looking place, away on its own space- The Spooky Forest, where Cryptids, Aliens, Ghosts and the like hang out.. that’s more Hard-Mode.

He seems to have forgotten something.. you point out what looks to be a Colosseum, he rolls his eye, his jaw seems to grimace, explains it’s where PvP takes place- where people can mindlessly kill or fight each other safely, but also people can go watch if they like. His tone seemed as tho he found it distasteful, as tho he miiight look down on them. Then he also remembered The City, soon you’re whizzing past a futuristic, very.. Neon-Cyberpunk, but more Utopian? He explains it’s where most Users tend to live and own their own homes, work jobs, earn money, etc

Finally after all that, he pops you back up above everything, holding you excitedly at arm’s length, asking you what you thought about it all and where you’d like to go next?

* Red places I forgot about.. I’m not drawing them rn//

[abbysdruidess]

˜”°•.˜”°• headcanons about you and abby's wedding - modern au •°”˜.•°”˜

wc: 1.1k

warnings: wedding w modern au(obvs), crying, tooth rotting fluff, allusions to sex, no use of y/n

a/n: lmk what you guys think of this one and whether you'd like more of reader and Abby in this universe! don't hesitate to send any requests<33

this is sort of on theme with a previous fic where abby proposes to you, this one can be read as a standalone though:))

❦ after the proposal, you guys hurrying too much to get the wedding off the road and on the rails- you're still extremely proud and giddy to call each other your fianceé, and you've sent about 100 pictures of your wedding ring to everyone.

❦ it isn't until one night where you're having dinner over at jerry's that he brings up the wedding preparations and you're like oh shit, you two kinda need to haul ass and start sending invites.

❦ you decided on a small affair, only your immediate families and close friends over. I imagine that in the insistence of your future brother in law Lev you sent out RSVP invitations that were ocean themed with cute little sharkies on the front that say in a vast ocean of people we found each other(💀). A lot of people found them pretty funny though, and Lev was pretty excited about them.

❦ on par with the beach theme of your engagement, you decided to have the wedding on a beautiful beach resort in the beginning of June-not too hot, not too cold;)-with the ceremony and the reception on the shore.

❦ of course, you couldn't leave out the bachelorette party! You and Abby travel to Vegas with your respective friend groups for a weekend of clubbing and partying in general. And lets be fr, someone from either of two groups ends up getting lost and you have to recover him Hangover style. Thank God you didn't arrange for it the day before the wedding.

❦ the days before the upcoming event are mostly a blur, both of you making last minute arrangements about the food, the flowers, the music. Your gown with the final adjustments is delivered and you have to hide it in a fridge box in the basement so Abby won't take a peek.

❦ "But baaabe, I just wanna see what it looks like! You know this stuff about bad luck isn't actually legit." "I know, but it will be more exciting to see the final look at the wedding. I promise you."

❦ finally the big day is here! And let me just say, as a very emotionally constipated person, you'd probably be a little teary eyed all day long. When you put on your gown and look at yourself in the mirror and realise that holy shit, I'm about to marry the love of my life, my Abigail, she wants to spend the rest of her life with me. And this just hits you all at once and a few tears run down your chin.

❦ if you have any wedding traditions from your culture that you'd like to honour, Abby would be 100% down for it. It makes her feel closer to you, and part of the new family she's going to be in. She also really likes listening to its origins and what it's supposed to represent. In my country, we do this thing where the wedding squad writes all their names down in the couples' shoes and by the end of the night whoever's name is the most smudged is the one who's going to get married first. Let's be real, if they did this, it'd probably Manny whose name had almost disappeared and he'd freak the fuck out.

❦ once you're ready to walk down the aisle, and you glance at Abby you let out a small ᵍᵃˢᵖ at the sight, with Abby dressed to the nines and a glowing expression on her beautiful face. Her mouth also formed a little O at the sight of you, ready to become her wife, looking so so happy and a slightly teary eyed.

❦ during the actual ceremony, you two keep stealing glances at each other, smiling kinda goofily like :]. You two are goobers fr.

❦ for the vows, I think the game establishes that Abby is a big bookworm, so she chooses something perhaps from Emily Bronte or Jane Austen. Of course this isn't the entirety of what she wrote, she just finds it more accurate to express her love for you through someone's else perfectly adept words.

❦ once the reception kicks in, you're carefully wiping tears from your eyes so you don't smudge your makeup, and take some photos with the wedding party on the beach. You're accepting everyone's congratulations for your newlywed status, and settling down to prepare for your first dance.

❦ you had decided on dancing to Por Una Gabeza, and had actually rehearsed the slow tango a couple times so your movements are synchronised. By the end of the dance, you're in each other's arms, cheek to cheek simply enjoying the moment.

❦ by the time you've finished you meal, the party is in full swing, and you join in for a few dances until you decide on a cake break and allow Yara to be Abby's dancing partner. By the way, your wedding cake? Exquisite, chocolate ice cream with strawberry.

❦ I also imagine you guys doing the whole tossing the bouquet thing and -surprise surprise!-it ends up on Manny's lap on accident. He almost leaves.

❦ by the night, you're both clinging to each other, ready to resume your lives as Mrs and Mrs, and also ready to break into the bridal bed. Seriously, you can feel Abby's fingers feeling up your thigh and she's been whispering the things she wants to do to you all night. By 2 in the morning you're home, very much exhausted by the preparations and the emotional high, but also very ready to let Abby peak what's under your bridal gown.

❦ for wedding gifts to each other? She hands you two tickets for some exotic island you guys always talked about going, and make it your honeymoon. You get her an antique vinyl record player, because she had always been going about getting something to listen music to while cooking. Needless to say you both love each other's gifts:D

❦ a week or so after the ceremony you receive the photographs, and Abby makes it her duty to hand them on every corner of the house. Seriously, at some point, you could see a photo of you two in your field of vision pretty much about everywhere.

❦ her favourite one remains in her desk, one where you two are about to leave, sweaty and drunk, the camera capturing your musky faces as you sit on her lap clinging for dear life. It's so sweet and endearing, and it reminds her why she married you in the first place.

[krysmcscience]

Aww, look at these cute lil kiddos, they couldn't possibly be-

-oh, wait, no, never mind. They're evil.

I'll clean up and color these sketches eventually. Also, goofy headcanon stuff under the readmore if anyone cares. XD;

The Mystic Seller's mention of Leshy's ascension to godhood got me wondering what sort of mortals the Bishops used to be before they were gods, and how the five of them are even siblings. Unless some Real Weird Genetic Fuckery is going on, I have severe doubts they're related by blood, so...Found Family...? Yes, please~ OuO

So now in my brainspace they start out as a bunch of wretched orphan kids, relying on each other to survive with their own unique skillsets, which they utilize with Extreme Prejudice against anyone who happens to be unfortunate enough to have what they need (food/gold, generally).

Shamura is the leader and tactician (and has some spellcasting know-how as a treat), Kallamar is the lookout and stealth killer (with poisons, though he'll resort to Weaponry Panic if things get dicey), Heket is the thief and explosives fanatic (watch out - she'll steal all your food and then go scorched earth on your crops to make sure you STARVE), and Leshy is the distraction master and trap-digger (and general menace who will bite people's faces). Meanwhile, Narinder gets the short end of the stick as usual, in that his only real skill is Kill People Dead - a silent assassin most times, following Shamura's lead to avoid putting him or his siblings in danger, but if he has to, he's equally fine with just rushing in and going ham with whatever weapons he can get his rude little hands on.

I haven't put much thought into most of their meetings - mainly just that (as the seemingly perpetual outlier of the five) Narinder was the last to be brought into their little family. He was already pretty decent at killing to survive, unwittingly massacred a camp of the quartet's latest targets on his own, fell into one of Leshy's pit traps on the way out, and was later found by both Leshy and Heket, who only resisted firebombing Narinder's fun new pit-home when Kallamar found their targets already dead, after which Shamura saw the value in offering Narinder a place in the family. Naturally, he accepted, since the choice was a logical one for survival's sake, but inwardly, he latched onto Shamura pretty hard as a source of guidance and companionship - and, eventually, comfort. Because I gotta add that lovely source of OOF.

The biggest OOF this headcanon creates, though, is that Narinder used to be the one protecting his siblings. :3c Until...ya know. They needed protecting from him. >:3c I do tend to headcanon the whole betrayal thing to be rather less unprovoked on his part, though, because I read too much into the few details canon gives us on that front, and this fucker has become my precious little meow meow, okay??? >:[

I needed to be in bed hours ago lol, why do I do this

[oraclefreak]

[ao3]

First year Ruggie Bucchi worked himself to the bone too much.

CW: Fainting, starving, some hints of Ruggie's past, overworking (and physical consequences of that)

A/N: This has some grains of my own personal headcanons for Ruggie.

--

For most people, doing “nothing” would be picking up their hobbies, like writing, drawing or playing videogames. For some people the expression “doing nothing” means that they aren’t doing anything important nor productive at the moment, which could serve as time to do some tasks; but they choose not to.

For Ruggie, there wasn’t really a “doing nothing” state in him. His body would always move while doing chores. His ears would always be alert in case he sensed danger or someone approaching him. His mind would always be full on what to do later, what to do next, and lastly what he’s doing now. He was always standing, never dozing off too much and never allowing himself to be too comfortable at times.

But this was one of those days that he really needed to think nothing.

Ruggie wasn’t an overthinker; he is a schemer, and someone raised by survival. His thoughts were never easy to read to other people, and Ruggie had picked that ability of not showing and telling from all he had gone through.

His mind was tranquil as long as he had something to eat. No one lives if they don’t eat. It’s a basic human need after all; hundreds of centuries back, humans still had to hunt in order to survive.

But during someone’s hunt season, it is someone else’s prey season.

Ruggie knew he wasn’t the strongest out of everyone. He was smaller than all of his dormmates, even the younger ones. He didn’t mind being tiny; his size wasn’t an issue, perhaps more of a consequence.

The hyena beastman stumbled slightly as he walked through the school corridors. It was common in him, really. His walking sometimes seemed unorganized, unpredictable… Like he could be either planning nothing or everything at the same time. Perhaps it was part of his “don’t show, don’t tell” mechanism.

He noticed people surrounding him, obviously all of them being newly familiar faces. Ruggie knew what was going around him every day, but today it seemed like he was slowly being distanced from the floor.

He could’ve thought about what was happening to him, but he was incredibly exhausted of thinking. Reality was that he didn’t need much inspection to know what happened.

Ruggie had once again not eaten enough.

It was common for him to not have much money. In fact, he was the most broke student of all NRC, and he was barely in his first year.

His routine to know how to get food was easy. He could fetch a lot of cooking ingredients in his own dorm, plus he actually had to cook for Leona very often and most times he separated a portion of the food for himself. He would also resort to stealing some things, obviously from people he knew were well accommodated financially – he wouldn’t dare to steal mindlessly like he’d done several times before arriving campus.

But his plan was damaged when he doze off for a couple of days.

First, when he cooked Leona’s meal he could feel a bit out of place. He realized the beef had finished cooking long ago, but his mind was in another place. As soon as he smelled a different smell than his usual cooked meals, he turned the stove off like it was a command from his own hand and not a stimulus provoked by his brain.

Leona had began complaining soon after, and Ruggie didn’t get time to cut himself a piece.

A day after that one, the hyena beastman started feeling slower, which wasn’t normal at all coming from him. He realized he had to do something about it because if he wasn’t fast enough to steal or looked intimidating enough for people to fear him, he wouldn’t be able to get food in the quickest way.

His daily chore of buying Leona’s lunch was insanely difficult because of his lack of agility when having low energy. He didn’t get his favorite thing from the cafeteria, so he settled with a close second, and realized the money left to buy something for himself was little.

Or, well, it might’ve been little for anyone, but for Ruggie it was like a miracle he could afford a donut. At least it was his favorite food, right?

Leona didn’t complain much anyway, if anything he accepted the food without looking because he was just sleeping.

A Ruggie in a better state would ask him if he would go to class at least, and maybe also mumble under his breath that Leona was just as lazy as ever.

But Ruggie didn’t feel like doing anything today, so even the usual was tiring.

After chewing the donut for a while longer than it could’ve, Ruggie felt like he had enough in order to survive P.E. It wasn’t his worst subject, in fact, Ruggie was athletic and he could do just fine. But even the easiest things are harder to do with an empty stomach.

After the class, he felt a migraine incoming. Maybe it was from all the yelling everyone did, maybe a brute movement while he flied on his broom.

He could just grab the first-aid kit in his dorm and get an ibuprofen. But, once again, Ruggie was too tired to even do it.

He collected pieces of clothing around the public area of Savanaclaw, most of them being Leona’s. He then put them all to wash.

Between the washing machine and a cupboard, there was a tiny space, just little enough for him to fit.

Perhaps it was because of the exhaustion, but Ruggie couldn’t help it but sit down at that tiny space. The only noise covering his ears was the washing machine’s, and maybe it didn’t hit close to home, but he was already used to it since he had to wash clothes every day.

It was just a weird day.

Ruggie Bucchi, tired. So exhausted that he couldn’t even lift a finger and thieve something that wasn’t his.

Way to go.

He couldn’t doze off much more and he knew. But the dissociation was so intense he could feel his vision become partially black. He could feel his shoulders were too heavy. His migraine started propagating to every part of his head, which also didn’t feel very light.

A lazy “ah” came out of his mouth before he felt he was no longer sensing anything, not even the washing machine’s sound.

[...]

Ruggie felt someone shaking him, but he didn't even bother to open his eyes, they were too heavy. He could also listen someone calling out to him, and saying something inaudible to someone else.

Just how much time did he lose because he felt too tired?

Ruggie didn't like people caring after him, he could do it himself. It was hypocrite of him to think that he could survive all by himself if he wasn't paying attention to everything. How foolish he was, sensing danger at the last minute and giving in.

Another lazy, but this time shaky sound came out of his mouth -- like he attempted to talk, but given his state he was only able to mumble incoherent words.

He'd be back on track in no time. He would become better at this. He would...

But he can't right now.

Give Ruggie Bucchi some time, he'll make a name out of himself. But for now he is only a poor, broke freshman.

[honeysuckletoast]

Miss Nightjar and Miss Thrush head cannons✨ Thank you @gayandawreck for the prompt!

Miss Eleanor- Grace Nightjar

-shes nocturnal and rarely ever catches the sun, leaving her always looking sickly pale.

-very long silky waves of dark brown hair that reaches her waist. She let's her kids very gently braid it when she has time, but typically keeps it in a tight bun

-Shes very clean and proper, she loves routine and never ever breaks from her routine.

-has a 3rd peculairity that no one except miss Avocet and some of the council know about. When she snaps her fingers or puts her hands on someone's shoulders for a long period of time, it causes whoever can hear it or is being touched to be thrown into a state of hysteria, seeing some unspeakable horror for a short time along with bleeding out the ears and nose. She nearly killed some peculiar boy when she was really young on accident. She rarely ever uses it now unless her wards are in extreme danger, and it scares her when it happens.

-struggles to sleep sense it's daylight outside and the human part of her tells her she should be awake, but the bird part of her is nocturnal and tells her to sleep

-Millie has no idea her first part of her name was Eleanor until someone called her leni instead of Grace. She now will only call her leni, but miss Nightjar actually doesn't actually mind, despite how she glares at Millie when she calls her leni.

-in the academy Millie was convinced that "Grace Nightjar" was some fictional made up Ymbryne that everyone spoke about jokingly and blamed everything on, plus Miss Avocet claimed grace would tell on anyone who left the house (due to Alma and Isabelle sneaking out) . They finally ran into eachother one night and Millie screamed so loud she woke at least half the academy.

-she had to comfort a heartbroken Alma when her ward Charlotte got out and aged forward and had to be sent to live with miss Nightjar. She's really good at comforting people.

-will deny ever being sick or getting sick, and will continue to keep her routine, even if she is pass out, nearly dead from exhaustion sick. Millie once resorted to Litterally locking her in a walk in closet to get her to rest once.

-wont eat anything she doesn't make herself, or let her wards eat anything she hasn't prepared. Mostly due to their dietary restrictions.

-knows human biology and medical knowledge like the back of her hand so she could administer any type of care needed to her wards that wasn't surgical.

-Even if grace doesn't want to admit it, she has grown to love having Millie there and gets lonely when she goes to her other loop.

-struggles to make friends due to her cold and nocturnal nature towards everyone but her wards.

-Grew up in the slums of london with her older brother Edward who had the peculiarity of throwing up and sweating lava. He was caught one day stealing food for he and grace, and hung for his crime. Grace simply wandered, getting a job as a grave robber for very little pay, (could work all night and anytime she was about to get caught she would turn into a nightjar).

-Her and Enoch met before either of them went to a loop. His parents took care of her brother's body and buried it, and they meet in the grave yard while he was digging out a grave that she was intending to steal from. they actually became good friends and he would sneak her bits of food when he got a chance and let her sleep in the tool shed as a bird, and in return she would bring him any viable hearts she found while grave robbing. Enoch noticed how ill she was becoming sense she wasn't eating enough, and when he was taken into his first loop and heard about the academy, he went and took Grace (who had become so sick she couldn't move much) and left her on the doorstep. Grace still doesn't know who carried her to the academy and he won't tell her.

- she blends in with the ground very well like most nightjars.

-as a great eared nightjar, she looks like a lil dragon (go looked up a great eared nightjar, they are freaking adorable. 11/10 birds)

Miss Millicent Thrush

-litterally like a ball of sunshine as a child and as an adult.

-had 8 siblings, she was a middle child

-holds the record for the girl who had fallen down the stairs most in the academy. She's really clumsy but has strong bones now because of it.

-she really wanted to marry and have her own children alongside her wards. She struggled with thoughts of abandoning the academy and simply living her own normal life

-used to her nails so bad in the Academy miss Avocet would tape her fingers with a special type of tape that was near impossible to remove without nails or a sharp object. She tried to bribe Alma to peel the tape off with liquorice but it failed.

-really close with all of her sisters, making a point to visit at least one of them once a month. She finds the isolation of loop life to be incredibly disheartening.

-had a very contagious laugh.

-considers Melina her daughter, and when she found out she died she went and sat in in silence for nearly 2 whole days, staring at her wall before the reality hit her.

-her favorite food is cinnamon sugar toast.

-when she brought Joel and Peter, Peter and Joel, home, she thought they were a simply a bit clumsy and didn't realize they were blind for nearly 3 days. She felt so bad once she realized she gave them each some candy (they didn't eat it)

-had 11 wards, from 5 years old to 16 (Melina was the oldest) at the time her loop was raided.

-she really loves to sketch, and she has a whole sketch pad of sketches featuring her sisters and her wards that she won't show anyone because she's insecure about them.

-if you call her Millicent, she won't respond because she is so used to hearing Millie.

-in an attempt to cheer Melina up after a bad day when they were going in-between the council and her loop, she ran down and tried to catch a duck on the edge of a pond, failed, slipped and broke her leg. Then she walked home on it while laughing and trying not to cry in front of Melina who was laughing so hard she was crying.

-can fall asleep anywhere, whenever. Sleeping is one of her best skills.

-surprisingly good at trivia and hide and seek. She loved to play games with her wards.

-really likes the mystery novels and romance novels. She is an avid reader.

-is a Song Thrush

Any head cannons you want to see for MPHFPC my inbox is open✨

[okanadafreakingfan]

Teach me to laugh again

Buggy X reader

Part 1

So this started as me writing out my OCs backstory but I’ve changed the POV so that it can be read as a reader insert. Currently it’s all angst and fluff cause they are children in this, after the flashback I’ll see about more mature themes :)

Let me know if you’d like to see more of this, title help me with inspo <33

Everything was cold. Whether it was the golden collar around your neck, or the chains shacked to your ankles, hidden beneath a long skirt, keeping you from running away, that made you feel this way. Or maybe it’s from the general lack of warmth in your life, since the day you ate that damn devil fruit. You only ate it 3 years ago, the day you turned 7. You were only a child. You still are a child, but it doesn’t feel like it. You feel like you’ve had you childhood stripped from you, had to grow up so fast, to mature in this new, unloving environment.

You ate it by accident, almost dying from hunger on the streets you resorted to stealing. it was the only food in reach, it was a bit odd, blue and swirly, but at the time you just assumed it was from the other side of the grand line, maybe even the red line, as that specific market was full of odd fascinations from many different places. You ate the odd fruit thinking nothing of the distastefulness of it, your mind was solely on survival. However, the person who set up the shop caught you around the corner, dragged you by the elbow and chained you to the shop stall. He said that you will have to earn that fruit with your life, and that he now owned you for your trespasses.

He chained you up and made you perform, after finding out that you had eaten a sing-song devil fruit, allowing you the power of voice, and a beautiful, alluring singing voice that was very profitable for the man that now owns you.

And so now here you are, ten years old, sitting on a wooden plank that substitutes as your bed, staring at the wall. You have no dreams, no aspirations. You barely remember the person you were before everything went downhill. can’t even remember the faces of your family.

Did i even have a family?

Oh well it doesn’t matter now. What good will thinking do me. I’m an object, a simple attraction that people pay to watch perform, a designated child prodigy,but no one knows the reason for your amazing voice is simply the effects of a Devil fruit.

all of a sudden your world crashes around you as the entire building shakes. The place is built near the shore, so it’s very likely to have been a cannon ball, pirates were attacking.

The wealth that has been wracked up by the establishment must have made its way to the pirates ears. Your eyes finally leave the wall as another loud bang goes off and the building shakes, there are no windows in the room your kept in, there’s no way of knowing what’s going on out there. Shouting and the sound of things being broken is all that can be heard. Footsteps coming closer and closer.

Drawing your legs close to your chest, tears start to form at the corners of your eyes. Although this is a horrible life to live, it’s the only life you’ve known, other than starving on the streets that is. You don’t want it to all be stripped from you once again, anything but that. And pirates were sure to be worse than any treatment you have gotten here.

The door to your so-called room suddenly gets bashed in, an older man with a prominent black mustache looks in and seems surprised to see you here. Next to him are two boys around my age, one with red hair and a straw hat, and the other with blue hair and a prominent red nose. You look at them for a moment. The older man (you later find out to be Gol D. Roger) steps forward to see if the key he has on him fits in the keyhole on the gold collar strapped to your neck. It doesn’t and he lets out a slightly annoyed sigh.

“Buggy, try get this lock picked,” he tosses him a thin lock picking tool “I’ll continue to look around, shanks with me” he orders that last part as he turns his heel to leave the room.

Buggy looks annoyed at this and grumbles something you can’t quite make out before sitting beside you to try pry off the collar.

“I’m buggy” he huffs, apparently not liking how silent you were being.

“Y/n” you whisper back, voice slightly horse from un use. You haven’t spoken a word in the past three days.

“Pfft” he chuckles as he continues to work at the lock.

“What?” You tilt your head, confused. He thinks you look sadly adorable with such a blank expression but such inquisitive eyes.

“It’s just the way your looking at me, it’s funny is all… uhh not that It’s a bad thing, or anything,” He curses at himself, he doesn’t want to make her think he’s a mean person, it seems like she’s got enough of that already from the looks of things. She was scarily thin though, and definitely looked too pale for comfort. Finally the clasp to the collar unlocked and the chain fell from it just as the building began to shake again, the walls crumbling slightly from pressure. They needed to get out of here quick.

“Comeone lets go” he says quickly, standing up and yanking you up with him. The chains around your feet clang at the movement. he, only now noticing them, lets put an audible groan as he tries to pry them off.

“Just take the gold collar and go, it’s more valuable than I am” you say, barely above a whisper.

Buggy just stares at you, not believing what just came out of your mouth.

“Do you think we’re just trying to get your gold off you!?” He yells, genuinely worried that that’s actually what you think is happening.

You simply give a small nod, what else would pirates want from you? In your mind You would have no other value to them.

“No! We’re getting you out of here, whether you like it or not, I am gonna save you and your gonna thank me” he shouts this, like a promise. The way you look at him makes something inside him break. The light in your eyes looks like it’s been dimmed a long time ago, and a part of him just wants to make you happy again, to see you laugh. And most of all, to see you away from this hellhole, and safe with him.

[gaily-daily-musings]

This is the second part of my billford portal era fic which you can read on ao3 here: (x)

Pls keep in mind this is an unfinished rough draft

Ford enters a contest of endurance. He's always held a good exercise regimen. He should fair fine. He could really use the prize money too. Sleeping outdoors holds its appeal for only so long.

He only had the clothes on his back, his leather gloves that had been in his pockets, and a pair of goggles which he'd stolen. he's had to scrap for food. Resorting to stealing more often than not and dumpster diving. He hates the way it makes him feel. He's been getting better at foraging though. But the risk that he may eat something poisonous is always a risk.

At the starting line he comes across a familiar face. Ford's mood instantly sours.

"God not you again."

If there's one person worse than Bill Cipher in the universe it's Rick Sanchez.

"Are you actually competing or are you just gonna steal the prize money?"

"What if I am?" Rick grins.

This man was like if you combined the worst parts of his brother Stan with himself. All ego and no morals.

“Perhaps you should try playing fair for once. Unless you don't think you can beat me?”

Rick's grin turns mean. “Any day of the fucking week pal!”

They gear up and get in line. Ford frowns at Rick's anti grav boots.

“That's not regulation! They are against the rules!”

"Jesus, as much a stickler as always. Newsflash asshole, everyone's cheating!”

Ford looks around. Indeed everyone seemed to have something on their person that they'd slipped into the competition.

“you really outta get laid. It'd loosen that stick up your ass," Rick snorts. "Normally I'd offer but I don't wanna die from nightmares courtesy of your demon boyfriend thanks."

Ford startles. "How...do you know about that??"

Rick shrugs and doesn't answer. How infuriating.

-

They race. A third party wins. Ford and Rick had been too busy fighting each other to notice.

Rick shoots a portal and grabs the prize money from the guys hands before disappearing. Ford rolls his eyes. Typical.

-

“You know you've never asked to use my gun to get home.”

"I don't…" Ford's mind draws a blank. He feels numb in the pads of his fingers.

“Not that I'd let you, mind you, but you've never even asked how to make your own.”

Ford's mind turns over like a pancake. Why hadn't he?

He thinks about returning home. To his empty house in the middle of the woods. Surrounded by anomalies he's already studied. And people who don't understand him.

He thinks about his research which had stagnated. Nothing left for him to do or see.

Does he even want to go back?

Ford's gaze drops to the ground. Was there even a point?

Rick sighs. "Fucking shoot me if I ever get that deep in self denial." he throws up his middle finger and walks away. “Till next time fucker!”

-

After several years Ford can admit to himself a few things.

It is out of some morbid sort of pleasure when Ford finds out that others seem to cower at the mere mention of Bill's name. To know that Ford alone openly defied this powerful being and actually got away with it was a little bit intoxicating. Ego boosting. He'd successfully stopped the portal from opening and pissed off Bill Cipher and then lived to tell the tale.

Back then, in the before, Ford had felt like he could do anything. Be anything. The world--the universe--was at his fingertips. And now...well he still feels like that. Not in the same way, but similar. He feels important in his mission to stop Bill once and for all. He feels like he's the only one smart enough and resourceful enough to do it.

Perhaps that's why they've started talking. Him and Bill. Why Ford even allows it. Because he's unconsciously separated himself from the rest of the galaxy just like he had with humanity on earth. Plus a wise man once said to know thine enemy.”

They argue a lot. But they keep coming back to one another. Year after year neither one loosens their grip on the other.

It's always in the dreamscape. Never in person. They've made a place for themselves there.

They talk about sacrifice. Ford learns that people have sacrificed to Bill before. Offered him their blood. While Bill found blood useless, he found it fun to play with the insides. He thought it was fascinating how fleshy species worked. He would examine the heart, the liver, and pull out the lower intestine. And if they didn't offer willingly, Bill took one anyway. He knows intimately how over 4,878 different species of biology worked. A sacrifice was a chance to learn. And perhaps to have a new toy with permission to rip open.

Ford finds it all horrible. But also unfortunately fascinating. The people he was currently staying with were a subsection Cipher cult. They'd initially captured him, but now they treated Ford with respect. He pretended to be a follower by showing off his tattoo. He hated showing it off let alone acknowledging it, but this was an exception. He'd rather not be killed and eaten thanks.

Across the dimensions, those who swore loyalty to Bill Cipher were either dangerous, insane, or both. Most criminals who associated with him tended to do so sparingly. But the most loyal Bill referred to were his henchmaniacs. they lived with him in the Nightmare Realm. None ever ventured there. These cult people, however, weren't Henchmaniacs. They lived outside Bill's realm.

The rituals are all nonsense as far as he could tell. Ford couldn't believe how ridiculous it was. He wonders if Bill ever crashed these things like a frat boy at a house party. Hopefully not.

Had Ford ever been this cringey in his worship? He winces. He gets why fiddleford had been so fed up now.

They give him a room and a bed. A real bed. It felt luxurious. he knows he can't stay for long or else Bill would come and find him. But he still drags his feet about leaving. the way these people looked at him, like he was important, was intoxicating. No wonder Bill favored this tribe.

Still the sacrifices were wrong. Bill didn't need the blood! Why make them keep doing it?

They get into an argument about morality.

"I don't understand why you need to take over the universe! Why can't you find a new peaceful place to live without hurting anyone?"

"Of course you don't understand you're just a human!"

"Why can't you be happy with what you have?"

"BECAUSE I HAVE NOTHING!" Bill's voice booms like a thunderclap. Ford covers his ears. "You have to scrap and lie and cheat for everything in this world Sixer! People don't just hand you what you want on a silver platter!"

Bill is heaving.

Ford lets his hands fall. His words echo. No, people don't just give you what you want. But Bill did. He offered Ford everything. Everything he ever wanted. His dreams and hopes.

Ford is the only one Bill has ever been physically close to. This knowledge has always sat at the top of his heart. He hoarded it like a secret. It filled him with a sense of importance that he probably shouldn't feel anymore.

And he wonders…

Did Bill share that same light hope? Did he possess a secret joy that Ford was his and his alone?

It still amazed him even now, that this wild untamed creature would come down from the heaven's long enough to let Ford call him “His.”

Instinctively, Ford touches his upper left arm. The tattoo was always covered now. All of his body was. Once upon a time Ford was proud of his choice of ink. Bill wasn't even aware of it. He'd gotten it after the “flirty gal” disaster. Bill had thought that one was hilarious. As angry as Ford had been over that particular incident, it had given Ford the idea to get one that actually meant something.

He'd always meant to tell Bill. But somehow he felt too embarrassed to say anything when the time came. Like it would be taken as some declaration of love (even though it practically had been.) He supposed he was afraid that Bill wouldn't understand the significance of it. That he'd treat it like any other trinket that was made in his name.

"Sure that's great Sixer. But have you seen the pyramids? Best tribute anyone ever made me!"

He didn't want this sacred thing to be undermined. So he said nothing.

Some time after he'd fallen through the portal he'd only looked at it in anger and shame. Wanting to get rid of it but unsure how or who to ask. It would take money which he did not have. And he needed to save every penny for essentials.

Now whenever he looks at it, it feels less like a cheesy couples tattoo and more like a tramp stamp. It is embarrassingly over the top. And the more Ford stares at it the more his cheeks inflame. He'd known on some level what he was doing when he got it. And anyone else who saw it would understand too. This side of the portal he would just as likely be ridiculed for being such an easy target or thrown to the curb in distrust.

“You could have had me.” He finally says.

It's mortifying enough that that alone makes him wake up.

-

It is dark in the cell. They called it an oubliette. Ford's lock picking set had been taken along with everything else. What's so ironic is that he's starting to feel closer to his brother now, millions of miles across space and time, than he has in years.

It's pitch black in here. Its cold. Ford has never been scared of the dark. Has never shied away. Rather he wondered the sorts of things he would find. The secrets he could uncover.

There had been a moment in the cave, after he finished the summoning incantation, that his light had gone out. Nothing happened. But he didn't feel quite as disappointed as he thought he would. The darkness felt almost comforting.

Then the eyes opened and kept opening. Hundreds it seemed. All staring at him. Watching and waiting. He didn't feel unnerved or apprehensive. He felt rather special. That these eyes would turn towards him.

Ford sighs. He could call him. Call Bill for help. He has avoided doing so for 10 years though and has never once admitted defeat. But he's been here for months already. His frail body feels ready to snap. He calls him.

Bill appears in his mind. They're in a library. In truth Ford can conjure any background he wishes. It's his dream after all. But he finds comfort in familiarity. And he has always been most comfortable in a library. Sweet grass under his feet and stars above his head.

Bill floats near him but keeps his distance. He's as weary of Ford as Ford is of him. It could be a trap.

“I need you to get one of the guards to give me a set of keys.”

Bill is not so ready to help. Why should he? What does he get out of it? He's known Ford was here for a while. But he thought a punishment was in order for his human. Served him right for continuously defying him.

“I'm not helping you with the portal.” Ford growls. “And I'm not joining you! Other than that, name your price!”

Bill's eye squints like he's smiling. It was cute the way Ford tried. As if anyone could intimidate Bill Cipher.

Bill makes a show of thinking about it, humming loudly.

“Let me see you.”

It had been quite some time since last they did something intimate. A long time.

“Seriously?”

“You call my name a lot in your sleep. Could be taken the wrong way Fordsy.”

Ford blushes angrily.

Bill stretches into a human form. “I think you rather liked it last time.” He winks.

Ford undresses. He doesn't look at Cipher while he does. He pretends his body isn't responding to the attention. Pretends he doesn't want this. That he doesn't ache for it.

Bill holds him down, having gone eerily quiet. The silence unnerved Ford. Bill was never quiet.

Then a claw touches his back. Tracing up and down. It hits Ford like a comet to the face. The tattoo.

Bill had known. He'd known since that first time in his dream where Ford had felt fuzzy and unreal and Bill laid him out like a feast.

Why hadn't he said anything? No, Ford knows why. Anything would have been taken as a taunt. He would have immediately rectified the mistake had Bill pointed it out.

Ford made up all kinds of excuses. But at the end of the day, he could have gotten rid of the tattoo if he'd really wanted to. The truth was that it brought him a sense of purpose. Bill Cipher was out there and Ford would stop him one day. It was a reminder. They were still held together by destiny.

Something presses against him, hot and burning. Bill's hum thrums throughout him.

"I knew you were still mine." Bill's voice is pleased. The note of possessiveness makes Ford's toes curl.

-

After breaking out of prison Ford takes up with a group of scavengers. He's only been with them for a few weeks before Bill crashes it. as they're out foraging an abandoned spacecraft for parts, Bill takes over someone's body. Ford is a little ways away from the others so they don't notice.

“Bill! What are you doing?! Stop this!”

"Hey Fordsy look how wide I can open my mouth!" he unhinges the jaw.

Ford can practically see the creature's intestines. He grimaces.

Whenever he possesses someone, the gold in his eyes always seems to shine through. Like rays of the sun peeking through the curtains, the physical body unable to contain all of his magnificence.

Ford would be more angry about this, and he is, but he can't risk revealing Bill to the rest of the group. No one ever took kindly to finding out Ford used to be a follower. And no doubt Bill would tell them.

"They're planning on screwing you over by the way."

"What?"

"You're the newbie. They get someone to do all the hard work and then ditch them the first chance they get."

Bill could just be lying. Trying to drive a wedge between him and the rest of the crew. But it wasn't as if they were all buddy buddy. And Ford had a strict policy he adhered to: trust no one.

Bill wanders over to the rest of the group despite Ford's protests. Bill starts trash talking the crew, making everyone antsy and mad.

Ford hisses at Bill to stop but it only eggs him on.

“What's gotten into you?” One growls at Bill.

“Nothing! Just realized I hate all of you! You're lazy and stupid and ugly!”

Bill expects the punch. He doesn't duck. The body is flung backwards, hitting the ground hard. Bill starts to laugh.

Ford, feeling guilty for the body Bill was possessing, steps in to help defend him. As if by Bill's design, they start fighting the rest of the crew together. None of them have the intelligence to realize their friend is possessed nor the patience to soften their blows.

It gets to the point where Ford knows they have to retreat. They fall back to the ship. Bill jumps into the cockpit and starts the engine.

“What are you doing?!”

“Stealing the ship! What's it look like?”

Ford looks back at the rest of the crew banging on the doors demanding to be let in. On the one hand, Ford didn't like the idea of just stealing from them. On the other, none of them were particularly good people and were self proclaimed thieves themselves.

He collapses in the passenger seat as Bill hits the accelerator. He feels a hysterical bubble of laughter push up his throat. Bill joins in and soon they're both laughing. Ford is bruised and bloodied and his head is killing him.

Bill is insane. Ford has always known that. And yet even back then he'd always loved that spark.

"You know," Ford says slowly, "this kind of suits you."

And he means the whole not terrorizing entire populations and tearing apart the universe kind of thing. Just them and their inside jokes. Brilliant minds sharing space.

"Of course I look good!" Bill says with a swagger. "I can pull off any meat sack I wear!"

That had been so far past the actual point Ford was trying to make, but his lips pull up unbidden try as he might to fight it. And then he's smiling openly at Bill Cipher. Laughing at his horrid humor. Bill grins back, like making Ford chuckle is the highlight of his day. He preens at the attention. At Ford's attention. And it just makes Ford want to look at him more. To give Bill whatever he wanted. It's a dangerous feeling.

He should probably tell Bill to get out the body. He feels kind of bad for hijacking the ship as it is. The least he could do is make sure this person wasn't stranded on some strange planet.

But Bill crosses his arms and huffs. "Don't wanna."

Ford sighs. This was going to be a long ride.

-

"No one wants to hold a rose with too many thorns."

The fortune teller's words haunt him. Aside from Stanley and Fiddleford, Stanford had never been close to anyone. It was pathetic. A whopping number of two people in the entire universe. Something had to be wrong with him.

Family was supposed to like you, so did Stanely even count? And Fiddleford had a golden heart. He got along with literally everyone in college. Even the fraternity brothers. They often invited him to socials. Though Fiddleford would turn them down to study with Stanford.

It's moments like these when Ford looks back and wonders whether Fiddleford had done so because he actually wanted to. Or if he stayed holed up in their room to keep Ford company because he felt sorry for him. Because he pitied him.

It was true that Ford had never had the best track record with people. Most of the things he said went over their head. And they never seemed to get his humor either.

Ford threw himself into his books and learned to be content with that. Knowledge was so much more satisfying in the long run. You could always count on numbers and math. But people were unpredictable. People were mean. They were rude and loud and they made fun of his hands.

Stanford has always assumed that it was other people that was the problem. But as he remembers the fortune teller's words at the fair, he thinks back on all his interactions. Was he the problem? Was Ford the one who looked down on others? did he roll his eyes when someone said they were a liberal arts major? Was he the one that used obscure references to historic scientists and scoffed when someone didn't get it?

Ford covers his face and rubs at his eyes. He feels like an ass.

The thing is, Ford doesn't know how to be around people. And for the most part they don't know how to be around him either. Should he say this? Should he say that? Should he point out the weather?

It had been so easy with Bill. Of course, a lot of that was because Bill was just pretending, but even now it was eerily easy to fall back into that rhythm. He feels himself losing sight of his mission. Of what matters.

-

Reverse Falls dimension

Traveling across dimensions, Ford comes across a place that is all backwards.

Bill, or rather Will, has been captured and tortured for years. The other Ford owns the demon and lets the kids play with him for their act in some kind of tent of telepathy.

It's horrifying. Seeing how callous he was capable of being.

The other Ford is friendly with him at first. Gladly inviting him in to sit and talk with him. Ford asks him how to do it. How can he defeat Bill?

The other him tells him that he has to make a weapon. Binding Bill in the same way that he did with Will won't work. Will was an idiot. Bill won't be tricked as easily. the other ford tells him all the materials and how to get them. Ford thanks him.

Before leaving the other him invites him to stay for a show.

“I insist.”

So Ford stays.

It's awful. It's degrading. It's humiliating. He tries to sneak out in the middle of it and just go. He makes it outside. As he rounds the tent to the back, he overhears other Ford talking with his brother Stan. They were arguing.

Apparently he thought this little sideshow was smalltime. They shouldn't be using Will to make money. He was a powerful demon. They should be using him for to take over government and rule the world for example. Stanley was so small minded. Keeping to this backwater town and making chump change with his little Tent of Telepathy act.

He's spotted. Ford freezes.

“Skipping out are we?” other ford says.

“No i…i mean i, um, was just looking for the bathroom.”

Stan glares at him. “Didn't like the show? I put. A lot of work into that you know. Least you could do is watch the whole performance.”

Ford starts backing up. They follow.

“Well it's–I mean it's just a little much for me i think. I'm not sure I was prepared to watch children saw a demon in half.”

"What?” Other Ford asks. “It's not like he has feelings."

The fact that those words are said from a face matching his own horrifies him. Ford has thought that same exact thing before. That Bill was callous and cruel and it was all he ever was and would be. That he did not care for others.

Ford remembers the crumpled form of Will on that stage. He was more or less the same being as Bill. Same powers, same form, same voice. Something had happened differently in this Cipher's past. Or perhaps not differently at all. Perhaps this version had decided to direct his rage inwards instead of out. He blamed himself instead of the universe for his troubles. For whatever it was that he did, the sadness was unbearable.

"He can feel just as much as you or me." Ford says lowly, vehemence rising in his voice. "Just because he looks different doesn't mean he can't feel anything! He has hopes and dreams and regrets just as much as you or I!"

Stanford looks at his double’s face and glares back. His face, his voice, his body, they were all ugly and twisted. "The only monster here is you!"

You.

Me.

Us.

The double pulls back. Blinks. Then breaks into a chilling laugh.

Chase scene

Ford runs. He'd no intention of getting captured here. No telling what these people would do to him.

He doubles back into the tent. Using the element of surprise, he frees Will. he takes the poor thing into his arms and races like a bat outta hell. He runs into the woods praying that they were shaped the same as his own back home. He knew where several good hiding spots were.

He retreats to a cave to catch his breath. Will trembles in his arms.

“It's alright. You're safe now. They can't hurt you anymore. You can come back with me! I can take you!”

The broken triangle shakes, similar to the motion of shaking one's head.

“I can't. My place is here.”

“It doesn't have to be!”

Will looks at him with a sad smile. “I always thought it had it bad, but it looks like I lucked out with my dimension after all."

Ford looks down at him incredulously. "How?? I never did anything like this to my Bill!" He ignores how 'my bill' feels on his tongue.

"It's hard to love you Stanford Pines." He cups Ford's chin and strokes his cheek. "I'd rather know exactly where I stand than be pulled back and forth."

-

When Ford travels back, it takes a moment to adjust.

Bill visits in his dreams as usual. But it's different now. Whereas Will did not hide his pain, choosing to embrace it, Bill hid his under a thick veil of anger and humor. Hating the universe and all therein. Raging and raging because he could. Because it still hurt and it would never stop.

"Heya Fordsy!" Bill says cheerfully.

Ford smiles back. "Hey Bill."

Bill pauses. He must sense something for his single eye squints.

Ford walks closer. He hasn't willingly reached out to him for over two decades. He very much wants to again suddenly. Despite the circumstances, it had felt nice holding Will in his arms.

"You ever think about wearing a tie? Instead of a bowtie?"

Bill reaches up to his little bowtie. "Of course not! Bowties are way more cool!"

Ford chuckles. "You should try it. Just to see."

Bill rolls his eye. He snaps his fingers and there it is. A little black tie. Ford slowly reaches out so as to startle Bill. He touches it. Then he tugs, pulling it towards him. Pulling Bill towards his face.

"See? Looks good on you."

Bill flushes pink.

-

In his quest across the universe he comes across a great being. He asks it one question.

“How can he defeat Bill?”

The axolotl does not answer. That is not the real question he wants to ask, it says. That is not the one in his heart.

But Ford doesn't know what's in his heart anymore. He walks away empty handed.

-

With every dimension he goes to, he finds himself returning to one being. All paths lead back to Bill. His thoughts twisting and turning until they were once again consumed by little yellow triangles.

-

Weirdmageddon

Reunion with his brother. Finding a kindred spirit in Dipper. Knowing that he must follow through with his mission to protect earth.

-

Bill turns the golden statue over. He literally had Ford in the palm of his hand. The world was finally at his feet and yet he was sitting inside. Staring at nothing. This should be his crowning achievement. Everyone was out there partying and having a great time destroying the local buildings and wildlife.

Bill places Ford down. He'd always imagined this moment. A glorifying triumph, a party lasting forever. No limits. No restraints. Finally he would be free. No one to hold him back or hold him down. The freaks, the weirdos, the outcasts, they would make the rules from now on. Let society crumble and be rebuilt.

When had he started to imagine it with Ford by his side?

Ford could have done so well. His human was an outcast too. Attracted to the unknown and the weird. They could have ruled side by side. Bill doesn't offer immortality to just anyone. He didn't do it on a whim. He genuinely wanted to give Ford the world. He's surprised by how much it hurt when Ford turned him down. It wasn't like he didn't expect it. Ford was too pure. For all his dark thoughts and questionable desires, Ford remained a good person despite everything. Despite the years Ford had remained firmly attached to his morals.

-

Piano scene

Tries to seduce him. Bill doesn't know what he's doing. Hadn't known the first time either, it just happened. Now that he's actually trying he feels unsure what to do. what are the right words he can say to convince Ford to join him? Are there any right words that even exist?

-

If Bill could not be the center of Ford's affection, he would be the center of his ire. It didn't matter so long as he held the man's full attention. He wanted to be so utterly wrapped up in Ford's mind he didn't want anything else leaking through.

"You worshiped me!"

Bill spats like an ex lover on a soap opera. He still doesn't understand where it was they'd gone wrong. hasn't Bill shown Ford for years that he's serious? Has he not chased him and helped him and sat and talked? He's been right here for 30 years.

Ford growls back at him, ever defiant. "There's plenty of other gullible people out there! Go bother them!"

"They're not you!"

The words die in his throat. They're not Ford. They're not him.

Bill doesn't want followers. He doesn't even want henchmaniacs. He wants Sixer. His smart, naive, annoying little human. As stubborn as an immovable rock.

-

Resisting him is just as hard as Ford knew it would be. but it's made easier with all the atrocities Bill was currently committing.

Bill comes at him with sweet words and promises. Then when that doesn't work, he comes with rage and threats.

Whenever Bill feels something, he feels it fully and without shame. When he is angry he is fire. When he is happy he is an explosion. And when he loves, it is all consuming. He doesn't hide it away.

Ford knows the truth. Of course he does.

Bill loves him. He loves him.

It steals Ford's breath and aches in his chest. He feels like he's being pulled apart and put back together in equal notions.

-

Erasing Stan's mind

In one fell swoop Ford loses both his brother and Bill. It cracks his heart in half.

-

Therapist

The axolotl has Bill making amends to people he's wronged. It's a very, very long list. He has to write a personalized letter to all of them.

Stan is fishing when a giant axolotl bursts out of the water and floats above the boat. He falls over and hits the deck. Ford runs up from downstairs. He stares at the great cosmic Axolotl.

“It's you.” He breathes.

The axolotl explains that Bill is currently his patient at the theraprism. Ford's heart twists. Bill is alive?

It then says that Bill has written an apology letter.

“It's your choice to read it or not.”

It leaves as swiftly as it came. Stan frowns at the note. Ford crumples it up and puts it in his pocket.

“I'll throw it away later.” He tells his brother.

Stan lifts a suspicious brow. “Why not do it now?”

“You shouldn't litter in the middle of the ocean, Stanley.”

-

“Bill? Stanford Pines has passed away.”

He continues drawing. That's all he did nowadays.

“Are you alright?”

“Time is an illusion.”

Ford was always both dead and not dead.

“We can talk about it later if you want. I'll leave you alone to process.”

There is nothing to process. He can go back and see him at any time. Just as soon as he got out of here anyway.

Bill's crayons break in his hands. He's been holding them too tightly.

-

Bill sits in his cell with his stupid scrapbook looking at his memories.

Curse them all.

Curse them.

Curse him.

-

“Bill?” His jailer calls. “You have a visitor.”

Bill ignores them.

“They said their name is Stanford Pines?”

Bill freezes.

He walks–as he can't float anymore–to the visiting section and scrambles up the chair to sit. Ford stares at him. His hands are clasped before him on the table. They're beautiful.

“Hey Sixer.”

“Hey Bill.”

[atlafan]

Figure skating isn’t for the weak. It’s fun when you first start out. You’re put into a group of kids the same age as you, and you all get to be in events together. You learn to work together and skate together. You help each other with your hair and makeup. You have slumber parties and form bonds like no other. Other kids at school just didn’t understand. Other kids at school didn’t have to be up at 4AM for early ice times. Other kids didn’t have to be on strict diets. Other kids didn’t have to be perfect. The group that skated together, stayed together.

It's all fun and games until you level up, until you can start competing in singles competitions. You and your friends suddenly all have different coaches and choreographers and trainers and doctors. You still have slumber parties, but now you can’t trust a single one of them. Someone could steal an idea for a routine, or get in your head and make you fall on your ass. Injuries become more serious when you get older. You don’t heal as quickly, you’re benched for longer, forced to focus on other things.

To make more time for working out, skating, learning new routines, and the like, your single mother pulls you out of school. Suddenly, you’re being home schooled. But it’s not how you think it’s going to be. You sit at your kitchen table with your laptop and follow along as best you can. You’re home alone while your mother works her second job to give you all the things she feels you need.

The word “Olympics” is thrown around. Life passes by. You become one of the top single skaters in the country. But you don’t want to go to the Olympics, you don’t want to skate anymore. You don’t want cut up ankles and blistered toes. You don’t want massive, purple bruises on the areas you fall on. You don’t want to have a weird relationship with food and fitness. You don’t want to live your mother’s dream for her.

Okay, so maybe you don’t do all of these things. But Lily did. Her mother kicked her out when she quit skating. Lily would have been devastated if it hadn’t been for the fact that she found out her mother had been betting on her competitions and had won thousands upon thousands of dollars. Lily stole her mother’s secret stash, and off she went. She went across the country, she even went to Europe. She worked odd jobs here and there. She didn’t make any friends, but she hooked up with a lot of people. Many men and women were fascinated by her flexibility.

Eventually, Lily ran out of money. She didn’t want to move back to the town that she had so many horrible memories of, but she didn’t have roots anywhere else. She could at least move in with an old friend and get a job at one of the local resorts. She could tend bar or waitress. There was the risk of running into her mother, but Lily could handle her own now.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” Zuri squeals when she meets Lily down by her car. “What can I help bring in?”

“I honestly don’t have much.” Lily says as she takes her two suitcases out of her trunk. “I’ve been living the minimalist life for a while now.” She turns to look at Zuri and opens her arms for a hug. Lily isn’t a touchy person, but she knows Zuri is, so she makes an exception for her best friend. “You found a great apartment. I’m surprised your parents didn’t make you stay living at home.”

“I told them if they wanted me to keep competing that I needed more independence. So of course they found me one of the better buildings in town. I’m excited that my second bedroom will actually have someone living in it again. I had a roommate, but they didn’t like how early I got up for runs.”

“It’ll be nice to have someone to go for runs with again. Not a single person I’ve met over the years likes getting up before sunrise to get a workout in.”

“They’re weak.” Zuri grins and grabs one of the suitcases. “Come on, let’s get inside, it’s cold.”

“It’s always cold here.” Lily replies flatly.

Lily and Zuri have been friends since kindergarten. And since Zuri competes in doubles skating, she and Lily never had to compete against one another. They were in the same skating groups as girls, and they were the two girls that didn’t look like all the other girls. Neither of them fit the mold of a stereotypical figure skater. Neither of them had much representation growing up in the world of skating.

Zuri is a dark-skinned, first-generation Nigerian. Her parents are both doctors and wanted to give their little girl everything. But the other girls, and their “show moms”, didn’t care about that. All they saw was a girl who didn’t look like them, whose hair couldn’t be done like theirs, and whose parents had accents. Lily didn’t have quite as many stereotypes working against her as Zuri did, but Lily’s Jewish, which none of the girls understood. Zuri’s Muslim, so even though she didn’t know a lot about Judaism, she knew what it was like to not be Catholic. Lily also has wildly curly hair that’s dark brown, as opposed to many of the other girls who had naturally straight, blonde or light brown hair. A lot of them dyed it as they got older. Lily and Zuri liked to keep their hair as natural as possible. As soon as Zuri was old enough, she stopped letting her mother perm her hair.

The girls stuck together and had each other’s back through a lot. Zuri’s home became like a second home for Lily when things got bad with her mother. Zuri’s parents are strict, but they’re understanding. They cared for Lily like she was their own. So, when Lily told Zuri she was moving back to town, her parents were overjoyed. Zuri was just happy to have her good friend back home with her.

“This place is huge! The pictures you sent didn’t do it justice.” Lily says as she looks around.

“I wanted you to be pleasantly surprised. My parents want to have us over for dinner tonight, I hope that’s okay. My brothers will be there!”

“They’re the only familiar faces I want to see, so it sounds good. Besides, you know I love your parent’s cooking.”

“You’re the only friend I’ve ever had that can actually handle the seasonings they use.”

“I think that’s the only reason they like me.” Lily grins, and the girls giggle. They both plop down on the sofa and sigh.

“So, how long are you going to avoid your mother for?”

“Not sure. She’ll catch wind that I’m here soon, then the skating questions will start.”

“Well…do you think you’ll get back on the ice?”

“I don’t know. It’s been a long time. I’m not in skating shape anymore.”

“It’ll come back to you in a snap, but no pressure from me. My parents will probably ask you about it, though.”

“I’m fully prepared for it, don’t worry. At the end of the day, it’s my choice whether I get back on the ice or not. I need to want to do it, you know?”

“Preaching to the choir.” Zuri sighs.

“How are things with your girlfriend?”

“Ugh, we’re not talking at the moment. She’s mad that I won’t tell my parents about us. She just doesn’t get it. It’s not that I’m ashamed of her or who I am, my parents just don’t…they’d disown me. I don’t think she’s worth it for me. She’s not someone I’m going to choose over my family.”

“Understandable. It’s too bad you couldn’t come visit me in Europe. I fucked anyone I wanted, it was great.”

“I think my favorite story is still the foursome with those women from Italy.”

“God, that was one of the best nights of my life.” Lily smiles fondly. “Not gonna find anything like that here. It’s annoying, I prefer being with men, but once you’ve been with a woman…men just don’t satisfy you the same.”

“Again, preaching to the choir.”

The girls both burst out laughing at that. Eventually they get up and Zuri leaves Lily to unpack her room.

The dinner at Zuri’s parent’s house goes as well as Lily knew it would. It was great to see Zuri’s brothers Kellan and Kani; they’re both surgeons. Lily tells Zuri she’s going to take a walk instead of driving home with her. She’s been awfully social today and she just needs time to herself. She also wants to be able to smoke a cigarette in peace. She knew Zuri would scold her if she saw her lighting up.

She walks through the town square, noting which businesses are new, and which ones are the same. The snow and ice on the sidewalk crunches beneath her boots. The night is quiet and still. She forgot how quiet things could be here. She takes a final drag of her cigarette before tossing it on the ground and grounding it into the snow with her boot. She walks to the ice rink and lights up another cigarette.

Lily started smoking at fifteen to help keep her weight down. It also just helped her manage her stress. She stopped when Zuri’s mother caught her. She gave it up for a long time, but when she ended up in France, she started up again. Everyone smokes in Europe.

The lights are on in the rink, and the parking lot is full. It’s only 8PM. The local hockey team is probably having a game. It should be over soon. She walks around to the back of the rink where the port for the Zamboni is. The cold from the rink slaps her in the face. The Zamboni comes towards her. It was just finishing resurfacing the ice between periods. A man hops down from the seat up top, taken aback by Lily’s presence.

“Can I help you?” He asks as he takes his driving gloves off.

“No, sorry.” She mutters. “I was just taking a walk.”

“By the Zamboni port? There’s a sign that says to steer clear, it’s dangerous over here.”

“I’m not an idiot, I know it’s dangerous.” She taps her cigarette, and the man watches the ash fall to the ground. He looks back at Lily, frowning as she takes a drag. “I wanted to see the score.”

“You can’t just watch the game for free, that’s not fair to everyone else who paid for a ticket.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Jesus Christ.” She rolls her eyes. “Lighten up. The family that owns this rink owns the majority of the town, they can afford not having sold me a fucking ticket.” Another puff of her cigarette.

“You really shouldn’t smoke those.” He kicks some ice away from their feet, and Lily blows her smoke right in his face. His mouth falls open in shock. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“A stick in the mud Zamboni driver.” She scoffs.

“You can’t just do whatever you want.” He tells her as she starts walking away. “We’re living in a society, you know?!” He calls after her and she sticks up her middle finger at him as she continues to walk away, not looking at him.

“Was…was that Lily Goldman?” Another man comes to the area.

“Yep.”

“What’s she doing back in town?”

“No idea.”

“Did she recognize you?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Did you tell her you knew her?”

“Nope.”

“Harry…”

“It’s fine, Niall. We’re all adults now. I’m not going to let her ruin my life again.”

[READ BRINGING HER HOME ON PATREON NOW!]

[dailyanarchistposts]

The following are suggestions for direct action organizing. These are meant as guidelines—feel free to improvise process as necessary.

Direct action utilizes hands-on intervention to directly challenge hierarchies. By using spectacle to expose hypocrisies, direct action terrorizes the status quo and revitalizes public space. In the process, it builds a delicious and defiant culture of resistance. Direct action encourages people to push the boundaries of acceptable behavior in order to create new possibilities for organizing, self-determination and activism.

Why non-hierarchical organizing?

In this country we are encouraged to think that voting is a participatory act of “democratic” choice, when in reality it means that a majority controls the agenda. Non-hierarchical organizing means that everyone participates in the process. Though there may be other models for non-hierarchical organizing, we have found consensus to be the most effective.

Consensus Process

Consensus means everyone comes to agreement before any decision can be made. In order for meetings to run as smoothly as possible, at the beginning of each meeting, someone volunteers to facilitate. The facilitator compiles a list of agenda items at the start of the meeting, keeps track of who wants to speak, calls on speakers, makes sure speakers stay on topic and keeps the agenda moving. After a proposal for action and a discussion of this proposal, the facilitator calls for consensus when a decision seems imminent; this involves asking who is in favor, who objects and who abstains. If there are any objections, the group formulates alternate proposals until consensus can be reached. Some groups have a formal process for tallying abstentions in order to decide if a proposal should be revisited. In the case of GAY SHAME, we have found that consensus occurs remarkably easily, since we have worked through our common politics and we discuss issues extensively prior to calling for consensus. We only use the more formal consensus process in the case of extreme disagreement.

If someone believes that a decision close to consensus is contradictory to the goals of the action or group, that person can block consensus. In the case of GAY SHAME, this has only happened one time in our four-year history. Of course, consensus decisions may always be revisited in the future. Usually, though, it’s all flower power and SSRIs here at GAY SHAME.

There are many different effective models for creating consensus-- feel free to share your strategies with us.

Working It Out

If you know people who share common goals, politics and strategies then contact them to arrange a time/place to meet and brainstorm ideas for a call to plan an action. If you don’t know anyone else who shares your politics, skip to step 2.

Make a call to plan an action: including a purpose/target (for example, GAY SHAME’s all to challenge the rabid consumerist monster that is corporate pride).

Create regular, free, public, accessible, meeting time and space (for example, GAY SHAME started meeting in a café with a lot of empty meeting space, now we meet in the back room of a sympathetic bookstore). Assume that all meetings are being surveilled by law enforcement and concerned citizens and plan separate spaces for organizing covert aspects of actions.

Fundraising is No Fun

True, the world is run on money and that does not exclude your direct action, but it is important to figure out ways to avoid spending money in order to further your critique of capitalism. Many people have boring day jobs that give them access to many useful resources, such as: paint, paper, markers, copies, food, etc. Borrowing, stealing and sharing can build relationships that grant writing, silent auctions and walk-a-thons never can. As a last resort, if you must shell out money then try to figure out ways to best distribute the costs.

Should You Approach the Media?

The mainstream media will probably not be on your side, especially when you’re doing something that actually challenges the existing power structure that controls most media outlets. Always remember that the mainstream media consists of corporate hacks, vultures and ghouls all vying for a chance to exploit you into your grave. Therefore, it is important to discuss early on whether you want to approach the mainstream media at all, and if so, how to ensure that your message gets across, if at all possible. Also, discuss alternative media such as “progressive” newspapers, pirate or non-commercial radio, “public” television, indymedia or any other options that may or may not be better than the corporate crap. Of course, you can also make your own media (take this web site, for example).

[thejournalisttintin]

I was going to put these in the order that I published, but ultimately decided to deviate a little from the original lineup.

For my next timeline, I've decided to do Chang, my baby goober 🥰 And this is also the first time I do a timeline with five pics, because there’s so much to discuss about this boy 😁

Headcanon info below!

Kid: As a child, Chang lived a relatively normal life. He had a nice home, and a loving family that took great care of him. His father was once a silk farmer and his mother was really into nature and enjoyed planting trees and flowers all around the house. Much of Chang’s childhood was spent exploring his family’s garden, and he was also wildly imaginative.

Chang also loved to draw a lot. He would spend time drawing pictures of plants and animals that passed by his home every day. So his family decided to save up money to get him his very own sketchbook and pencils to draw on.

(These are just my headcanons about his birth parents, I don’t know much else. If anyone can help me out, I’m open to suggestions…)

Early Preteen: Before the events of The Blue Lotus.

When the Japanese occupy Shanghai, Chang and his parents had to go into hiding. However, it wasn't enough to protect his parents from Japanese soldiers who broke into his home. Chang's mother told him to go hide in the closet once they heard loud banging on their door. Of course, Chang would have never imagined that those would be his mother's final words before she and her husband were shot at gunpoint.

After his parents were killed, young Chang wound up living on the streets, destitute and homeless. Left starving and vulnerable, Chang had to get creative in surviving on his own. He resorted to pickpocketing to get money for food, and in some cases, would steal food to feed himself. He managed to get away with it for a while, until he was eventually caught by local policemen. So Chang was later sent to an orphanage in the hopes that the people there would straighten him out.

Early teen: During the events of The Blue Lotus

Chang has been living in the orphanage for some time, after he was sent there by police to be straightened out. However, he didn’t exactly fit in with the other kids. He found it hard to adapt to a new environment, as he was plucked from the streets. He often had a habit of sneaking out, but as always, he wound getting caught and sent back.

And as if by ironic coincidence, the orphanage ends up being destroyed during a flood. Chang was the unlucky one and wound up getting swept away by the flood, nearly drowning. He is immediately rescued by Tintin, and they soon become friends after reflecting on each other’s experiences of how the world perceives them.

Teen: Chang is now living with his newly adopted family, the Wangs. Even if they had met for a short time, Chang kept thinking of Tintin and wrote to him every day. However, he still feels a bit apprehensive about the sudden change in environment, seeing how he first lived on the streets, then an institutional facility, and wound up nearly drowning.

Mr. and Mrs. Wang start noticing this affecting Chang’s personal life and education, so they decide to send him to London to live with his uncle for some time. However, along the way, his plane ends up crashing in the Himalayas while en route to Kathmandu. Once again left to survive on his own, Chang becomes hopeless thinking that no one will ever rescue him. Until a chance encounter with the yeti (also Tintin nearly risking life and limb to save him!) gave him some sliver of hope.

Current: Chang is now a college student in London, studying art history in Bristol. He also decides to get into photography, suggested by his friend Maxine(my OC). It took him a while to get used to using a camera, but with help from Maxine, he got very good at photography. He is also best friends with her younger sister Hanna, with whom he had a brief fling with.

He also takes part in a cultural study exchange program, which let him travel around. Of course, he couldn’t believe his luck when he found that he was heading to Brussels for this exchange. He and Tintin finally meet up again, and catch up on everything that has happened since they last met. And soon enough, their friendship starts to grow into something more…

There are a few more timelines I want to get through, so stay tuned!