#feel so so so ashamed for even feeling like this its such a prison in my head i hate it i hate it its fine ok stopping for real goodnight.

[phagodyke]

well.

[ckret2]

Chapter 51 of human Bill Cipher is once more the Mystery Shack's prisoner: Dipper and Mabel try to figure out what the Axolotl's poem means; Dipper gets the hang of astral projection; and... whatever's going on up there happens.

####

Ford and Dipper came back into the shack through the gift shop; Ford didn't want to risk crossing paths with Bill. While Dipper went into the house, Ford went down—returning to the safety of his subterranean study.

Once Ford had put on the old black trench coat he'd worn during his multiversal travels and gotten comfortable at his desk, he pulled out Journal 5 to document the events of the last few days. In a cheap ballpoint pen, he wrote, I've lost my #1 Grunkle pen (and favorite coat) to the waters of Lake Gravity Falls. And then, deciding this didn't adequately express his feelings, he drew a small frown. That coat had served him well for decades, and he'd really liked that pen. It did write excellently, and it had reminded him of his gniece and gnephew.

He spent three pages documenting the eclipse—what happened, what readings he'd taken, what he and Dipper observed—and then another four pages talking about Bill. What he'd told them, why Ford had dismissed it; his claims about a trans-dimensional axolotl distorting gravity with its migration; the statue, the rescue, the breakdown.

The act of writing always helped Ford clarify his thoughts and untangle mysteries; it wasn't until he was writing that he realized the limbs Bill had said he couldn't feel were the ones that had broken off the statue.

He listed the rules of the chess variants he could remember Bill inventing. He drew Bill huddled in front of the board, grim, tear-streaked, exhausted; and then scratched out his face, embarrassed at the thought of immortalizing such a raw moment for his private viewing.

He wrote, There's still a slim possibility that the entire "eclipse," start to finish, was Bill's masterfully-orchestrated scheme to make us pity and trust him; but it's unlikely. Although Bill is fiendish enough, he isn't currently powerful enough, and his lies certainly aren't elaborate enough. If he could pull off such a byzantine ruse, then he could just as easily escape—and if he can escape, why hasn't he? Bill may be insane, but he's never been THAT irrational.

And so, even as twisted as Bill's idea of "friendship" is... for the very first time, I'm convinced that he was telling the truth all along when he said he wants me as his friend. It's not an act. He risked his life to save someone who's an active threat to him.

And at the end of it all—though I'm grateful to be alive in spite of my own stubbornness—do I like him any better for it?

Ford leaned back and shut his eyes, sifting through the inner tumult of anger and old hurt that defined most of his memories of Bill, looking to see if anything had changed.

There was a sore, tender spot in his emotions, a place beginning to rot with remorse; when he prodded at those emotions, he found that it was shame over his own harsh conduct of the last couple of days. But he was only ashamed of how cruelly he'd acted; he wasn't ashamed that Bill was the one he'd done it to.

Outside of that tender spot—regret over his own behavior—nothing else had changed.

No. I still hate him. I'm grateful to be alive, but I hate him. He hasn't undone anything he did to my family and me, and he never will. Forgiveness can't be purchased with favors.

I'm only relieved at the certainty of it. Bill has committed an act that can't possibly be a lie. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's shown me the truth; and the truth is he'd rather see me alive than dead. Whatever other lies he may tell, I can hold on to that fact.

Bill's miserable eyes peered out at Ford between the scribbles he'd drawn across his face. It was truly a pity that Ford had to hate him. Pity that Bill hadn't been somebody better. He could have been better.

Ford couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed that he'd filled four pages talking about the monster he'd already wasted so many more on. Bill had been right about him: You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. The only thing Bill didn't understand was that hatred and obsession weren't mutually incompatible.

####

"Hey, Dipper," Mabel said, unfolding the living room sofa bed. 

"Hey, Mabel," Dipper said, passing through living room on his way to the stairs. He climbed up to the attic.

He came back down from the attic. "Mabel. Why's Bill asleep in your bed."

"He really needed a nap," Mabel said.

"Okay but why on your bed?"

Mabel pouted. "Dipper, do you realize he's never slept on a real bed? Ever?"

Dipper tried to imagine sleeping on a couple couch cushions on the floor every night. "Yeah, okay, that does kinda suck." Even if it was Bill's own fault he wouldn't sleep in the living room.

By unspoken mutual agreement, having a Bill in the bedroom followed the same law as finding a centipede in the bathroom. The law was "that's the centipede's bathroom now." So once the folding bed was set up, they sat on it to serve as their hang-out spot for the evening and caught each other up on what they'd done the last couple of days.

After Dipper & Co. had left, Grenda had come over to take advantage of the low gravity to retrieve the kite that had been stuck in a tree near the Mystery Shack since last summer (it was, tragically, too tattered to salvage), and then they'd gone over to Candy's house to photograph each other performing feats of impossible strength. (Mabel would be sending some pictures to their parents to confuse them, and adding the rest to her summer scrapbook.) She'd spent the next day breaking the trampoline world record until Soos came outside and said gravity was probably too low for it to be safe to be up in the air anymore, if Bill's warnings about being off the ground when gravity hit zero were true; at which point Mabel had hung around inside air-swimming until she suddenly slammed against the ceiling, and then the ground. She was fine. She just had a couple of bruises. She showed Dipper her bruises.

In return, Dipper told Mabel about how their quest had gone: the checks for micro-rips, Bill's increasingly frantic warnings, the lake—

("You got to see a bajillion magical axolotls and I didn't?!")

—the cliff, the Axolotl, Dipper's near-death experience, and what he now knew about his out-of-body dreams.

"Seriously?" Mabel hissed, eyes bugging out. "And he had us looking up lucid dreaming books! What a jerk!"

"I know! He could have just ignored the whole thing, we didn't even think it was anything but dreams."

"And I'd thought he was being so helpful, too! Like he was really trying to make up for giving you 'nightmares'!" Mabel laughed in disbelief and flopped down on the flimsy mattress. "All that because he just didn't want us to know how it was really his fault? Biiill, ugh."

His fault. Dipper hesitated, wondering whether he should tell Mabel what Bill had said about Mabel's Fault; then decided against it. Bill had probably been telling the truth when he'd said he only wanted all the credit for Weirdmageddon.

But—Dipper did tell her about Bill saving their lives. He would have felt like a liar if he hadn't—like he was trying to trick his sister into thinking Bill was worse than he already was. He hoped Ford wouldn't mind; but how could he not tell Mabel?

"He could have just let you die and didn't?" Mabel turned that over in her head, processing this sudden shift in Bill's behavior. "Wow. I'm impressed."

He also told her about their previous encounter with the Axolotl. Considering the other lies Bill had told recently, anything he said about them meeting the Axolotl was dubious at best; but Dipper could remember the Axolotl, so maybe some of it was true, even if Bill had twisted as much as he could. ("The Axolotl said hi, by the way." "Aww. Tell him hi back!" "Yeah, I... don't know how to do that.")

Dipper laid out his journal between them on the folding bed, and Mabel read over the couplet a few times. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches from within birch trees'..."

"It's got to be talking about Bill," Dipper said. "Equilateral triangles have three sixty-degree angles. I just don't know why the Axolotl wanted to talk to us about him."

Mabel frowned at the lines. "I think... I remember meeting him too," she said.

"You do?"

"Kinda. Like in a dream," she said. "We were in some kind of futury space race car. And he had a really comfortable beanbag chair."

"Yes! I remembered the beanbag chair, too!" And he hadn't mentioned it in his journal. "This is great! Talking about it must... must cause us to remember, somehow. Maybe since the universe where we met the Axolotl doesn't exist anymore, our memories of it are... detached or something? Psychically floating around between dimensions until we try to remember them?" He took in Mabel's skeptical frown and shrugged. "I don't know!"

She scrunched up her face. "Ugh. Last summer's first-grader time travel was complicated enough. This is like college-level time travel. Maybe we can ask Bill how it works?"

She said it so easily, like she thought it was actually a good idea. Right after she'd heard about the lucid dreaming thing, too. "I don't think he'd help." Dipper lowered his voice. "He really didn't want Grunkle Ford and me to find out about the Axolotl—and he kept telling me not to think about what the Axolotl told me. He's trying to cover something up."

"Oo-oo-ooh." Voice dropped to a whisper, Mabel said, "Do you think it's some kind of Space Axolotl conspiracy?"

"It could be," Dipper said. "All I know is he was trying to tell us something important about Bill. Some kind of prophecy, or... maybe a warning...?"

He trailed off. Mabel had stopped listening to Dipper. She was rereading the couplet Dipper had written, moving her lips like she was murmuring under her breath—but whatever she was saying, it was much longer than the couplet Dipper had written down. Distractedly, she said, "Do you have a pen?"

"Yeah, here." Dipper quickly handed over the pen he kept in his vest.

Mabel clicked it, went to the bottom of the page, and wrote: A different form, a different time.

Dipper sucked in a sharp breath as the words snapped into place in his mind. "That's it! That was the last line! What else do you remember?"

"That's it," Mabel said. "It was free form poetry with a bunch of rhyme pairs."

"I don't think free form poetry rhymes."

"Pbbbt." Mabel blew a raspberry and shoved Dipper's face. "Whatever! You know what I mean." She pointed at the last line. "Do you think the poem's about why Bill's here? He time traveled to the Mystery Shack in a new body..."

"Exactly! Bill must be back here for a reason. He's got all those powers—or, used to, anyway—and he knows more about the multiverse than anybody on Earth... Maybe there's some kind of big threat coming, and Bill's the only one who can stop it, and—and the Axolotl wanted us to know...?"

"I like the sound of that," Mabel said. "That'd basically make him a hero, right?"

Dipper grimaced. "I mean. I guess? But we're talking about Bill. If he does help us stop a threat, it'd be like if a serial killer picked up a hitchhiker and killed him, and then it turned out the hitchhiker was an even worse serial killer."

"That still sounds kinda heroic to me."

"Pfff, okay." He looked at his journal. "But... what is he here to do?"

Mabel considered what they'd already written. "Maybe we can use him to spy on our enemies through birch trees!"

"Thaaat's probably not it."

"No, I think I'm on to something. I can feel it."

There was a lot of empty space between his couplet and Mabel's line. "There's more we're missing, though. Maybe the rest of the poem describes the threat? Or what we need to get Bill to do?"

"I can't remember anything else, though."

"Me neither."

They stared at the page together, waiting for something to come to their blank minds. Mabel looked at the fish tank. "Hey, Primrose! Do you know anything?"

The pet axolotl in the tank ignored her serenely.

Dipper said, "'Primrose'?"

"Yeah, last summer Grunkle Stan said her name is Freakface, but I thought she deserved a cuter name. She's primrose color!"

"Ford says he originally named him Nikola."

Mabel gasped. "Nikki..."

Dipper twisted around to look at the axolotl. "Do you know anything? Do you... get messages from the Axolotl's heralds, or anything...?"

Nikola slowly opened his mouth, and slowly closed it.

Mabel said, "Hey. The Axolotl's one of those dimension-crossy time-travely guys, right? He probably wouldn't have given us a prophecy in the wrong timeline and then made us forget it unless he knew we'd remember it in time in the rightdimension!"

"I guess," Dipper said uncertainly.

"So we don't need to worry about it! We'll remember it when we need to."

"Unless this timeline's going to branch, and the only one where we survive is the one where we put all our effort into trying to remembering—"

"Shhh!" Mabel put a finger over Dipper's mouth. "Uh-uh. No college time travel. We'll be fine!"

Dipper pushed her over. "Okay, but we should at least try a little to remember what the Axolotl told us."

"What if we work on it separately?" Mabel propped herself up on an elbow. "Instead of just sitting around thinking about it. And whenever we remember a line, we can tell each other and see if it makes anything click."

"That might be faster," Dipper said, stroking his chin. "We're already remembering different lines."

"Yeah! And that lucid dreaming book said something about focusing on a problem before you sleep so you can figure it out in your dreams! We can just work on it in our sleep and we'll remember it all in no time!"

Dipper laughed. "What? No way, I think lucid dreaming is just one of those made up pop psychology things. I didn't get it to work at all." Either it didn't work or Bill had deliberately recommended a terrible book.

"I did! I can remember like... eighty percent more dreams. And I can tell when I'm dreaming a lot more often!"

"Huh." Or, maybe Dipper just wasn't doing it right. "Maybe I need to start over from step one. Do you know where the book we were using went?"

"Over here!" Mabel had set a couple library books on the end table next to the sofa bed; she pulled out the second one, which had a glittery pink bookmark with a cat on it stuck two-thirds of the way through. "Just don't lose my bookmark."

"Thanks." He'd reread the first step before bed. "We should probably be getting ready for bed anyway, huh?"

"Seriously?! It's barely bedtime!" And when the adults weren't watching, official bedtime was an hour and a half before Actual Bedtime.

"I'm exhausted. I just hiked up and down a mountain and faced down death."

Mabel pointed at Nikola. "You faced down a big salamander."

"Close enough."

They went upstairs, brushed their teeth, went to their bedroom...

And stopped in the door. Bill was still asleep. "Oh. Right," Dipper said.

He was curled into a ball on his left side, facing the wall, covered with only the zodiac blanket and his borrowed/stolen top hat sitting on the side of his head. He didn't use a pillow; he'd pushed Mabel's pillows and dolls behind himself to form a squishy makeshift fortress.

"Please don't wake him up," Mabel whispered. (She'd already set up the folding bed for herself; she'd clearly planned on this.) "He's had a really really hard time the last couple of days, and I think he needs as much sleep in a real bed as he can get, and it's just for one night, and I'm sure he'd rather sleep than do anything evil—"

"He said something, didn't he?"

Mabel paused. "Yeah. I think seeing his body really messed him up."

Dipper sighed. "We were trying to keep him away from it." He didn't want Mabel to think they'd forced him to stare his own death in the face. "But he did that... eye thing and looked through the trees, and..."

Mabel nodded.

Well. Dipper couldn't kick him out now. For Mabel's sake.

As children, occasionally when they got hotel rooms with a bed too few, their parents would stick them in one bed with a barrier of pillows in between them. At age thirteen and without two crabby parents trying to get them to just go to bed after a long plane flight, they unanimously vetoed that plan. Dipper decided against asking Stan if he could sleep in Ford's unoccupied bed, both because he suspected Stan would just go upstairs and drag Bill out of the room and because he didn't want Stan to think he was scared of Bill. He wasn't scared of Bill. Not anymore. He could handle one measly night in the same room as him. Anyway, somebody had to make sure he wasn't unsupervised in their bedroom all night, right?

Dipper and Mabel quietly set a floor mirror and old lamp next to Mabel's bed, draped a sheet between them, taped on a pink poster that said "WARNING! TRIANGLE ZONE!" and was covered in stickers of triangular objects, and decided Dipper was adequately shielded. If Bill did get up during the night, he'd probably trip through the sheet and wake half the house before he got anywhere near Dipper.

Dipper went to sleep with a baseball bat in his hands.

####

"Okay," Bill said, hands on his sides, "what am I looking at here?"

The feral band members of Sev'ral Timez turned toward Bill, eyes reflecting in the dim light. They were squatting around Bill's petrified corpse like a pack of apes examining a sleek black monolith.

"Hey girl," Creggy G. said.

"Hey," Bill said. He looked down at himself. His onyx black feet hovered over the ground and the yellow glow from his exoskeleton illuminated the clearing. "Lemme cut to the chase, is this gonna turn into a raunchy dream? My corporeal love life is about as cold and dry as Antarctica, I keep hoping one of my dreams will get a little hotter and wetter—"

"Nah, G," Deep Chris said. "Mr. Bratsman got us fixed."

"Aw."

"We're here to pay you reverence for freeing our minds from the chains of the conventional," Greggy C said, gesturing to Bill's corpse. Leggy P was kneeling and bowing to it and Chubby Z was posing for it. "We want to help free you like you tried to help free humanity."

Bill's eye narrowed. He tapped a finger against the edge of one brick as he considered this offer. Finally, skeptically, he said, "Fine. I'll bite. Why should I think you can help me?"

"Because we can give you the understanding your heart's been missing, girl. You're just like us," Chubby Z said. "A horror never meant to exist, born of a dream to construct the perfect golden idol, forced to dwell within an unnaturally-fabricated human shell."

Bill tilted his head thoughtfully. "I'm with you so far."

"We want you to join us," Deep Chris said. "Cavort with us in the silvan night, G. Shun the harsh light of the spotlight for the healing salve of moonbeams. We'll get drunk on the sweet fermented summer berries, uncaring of how the brambles prick our flesh. We'll dance in a frenzy of ecstasy and only sleep when the morning sun lifts the dew from the flowers and the sweat from our skin. It'll be straight Dionysian, boo."

"We can kiss the hot trees," Creggy G said.

Bill grabbed his shoulder. "Oh, you're the human that keeps making out with birch trees! I knew your face was familiar!" He paused. "So... are there any eligible ones around here?"

"Sure, girl, just downstream."

"If I'd known, I would've polished myself first."

"Say you'll join us, Bill girl," Deep Chris said. The band crowded around Bill to either side, posing around him—the backup dancers for the star singer. "You'd be one of us."

"We're already exactly the same," Creggy G said, holding up a mirror so that it reflected his and Bill's faces beside each other. In Bill's human face were two empty white eyes with pinprick pupils and pale blue irises, exactly the same as the eyes of the Sev'ral Timez boys.

He sat up with a gasp, hands flying to his face. There were still green boughs at the edges of his dreaming vision, blending into the wooden boards of the Mystery Shack's attic. Before sleep had fully fled his mind, he seized up the zodiac blanket draped over his body and stared into his embroidered eye.

The eye stared back at him. Through it, he could see his horrified sleepy face, and his normal slitted yellow eyes. His connection to the blanket's eye disappeared as he finished waking up.

He heaved a sigh of relief and flopped back down. He'd been lucid, but he hadn't been in control of that dream. He still needed practice.

He rolled toward the light of the window, groped around beneath it until he found his journal, grabbed up his crayons, and flipped pages blearily until he found the first blank one. He started writing down his dream, pausing only briefly as he tried to figure out how to translate "Sev'ral Timez" before settling on a sufficiently goofy way to misspell "several times" in Plaintext.

He made it halfway down the page before he stopped. Hold on. This wasn't his beautiful journal. These were not his beautiful crayons. He checked the cover and grimaced in displeasure when he saw a pine tree rather than a hand. Dipper's journal. Bill ripped out the page, ate it, and set the journal and Mabel's crayons back on the table  under the bedroom window.

"What was that," Dipper asked, "some kind of Morse code?"

Bill yelped and twisted around. Dipper's soul was hovering above Mabel's headboard, watching over Bill's shoulder.

"Hey! Back, foul ghost!" Bill snatched up Mabel's pillow and swung it at Dipper.

"Ow—Hey! How did you hit me, I'm in the mindscape—"

"I said back!" Bill swung again, chasing Dipper off the bed. "Back into your fleshy tomb!" He climbed off the bed, stumbled into Dipper and Mabel's trap, tripped through the sheet and probably woke up half the house.

He yanked the sheet off and flung the pillow at Dipper by its corner. "Now get back in your body, go to sleep, and leave me alone."

"I don't know how to get back in it. I just wait until it happens by itself," Dipper said, floating irritably over his sleeping body, arms crossed. "Why do you think I just wander around every time I have this dream?" He paused. "Right—it's not a dream, is it."

Bill sighed heavily. "Try putting your body on like..." He almost said like an exoskeleton, remembered his audience, and amended himself: "Like it's clothing. I usually start with the hands. Just like putting on gloves!"

Dipper looked at the cold fingers wrapped tightly around the baseball bat. "How do I put hands on like gloves? There's no opening or—"

"Just try it, would you?" Bill sat tiredly on the edge of Mabel's bed.

Dipper shot him an irritated look, but pressed his ghostly hands against his fleshly ones, passing through the skin until one set of fingers rested inside the other. A fingertip twitched. 

Bill gestured with one hand, continue. "Now the sleeves."

"I know how to get dressed." Dipper laid down in his body, forearm into forearm, shoulder into shoulder—until he was wholly back inside. He sat up, awake. "Huh."

"There, see?" Bill said. "And if you want to take it back off, just do the same thing in reverse. Like degloving your body from your soul!"

"Did you have to phrase it like that?" Still, Dipper tried it, peeling out of his body from the fingertips up. He left his body sitting upright as he hovered over it.

Bill chuckled tiredly. "Lookit your face, staring at nothing. Stupid looking."

"Shut up." He slid back into his body, more quickly now that he knew what he was doing.

"Great," Bill said. "Now that you know how to get back in your body, never do that again." He flopped back onto Mabel's bed and rolled over to face the wall. "It's a pain in my base having you wander around all night."

"Then you should've thought of that before you ripped my soul out of my body," Dipper grumbled. "Can you reattach me to my body?"

"Sure, easy." He lifted a hand to point down at his regrettably human form. "Not like this, though. Wanna help reattach me to my body?"

"Never in a million years."

"Then come back in a million years. There's nothing I can do for you until then." Bill dragged Mabel's zodiac blanket back over himself. "So sorry. Go to sleep. Leave me alone."

Dipper bet Bill could do it and was only saying he couldn't to try to trick Dipper into helping him. But he lay back down—clutching his bat again—and shut his eyes.

After a moment, Bill asked, "Where's Mabel? Sleepover?"

"Sofa bed in the living room."

"Right."

And then there was silence.

Several minutes passed. Dipper nearly fell back asleep. He heard Bill climbing out of bed and creeping across the room; but the footsteps didn't approach Dipper's bed, so he didn't open his eyes.

A few minutes after that, Dipper heard him come back, walking more heavily. He cracked open an eye to see what Bill was up to.

He was carrying Mabel, who was still asleep; his arms were trembling from her weight, but even at that Dipper hadn't known Bill was that strong. With a quiet grunt, he set her on her bed, then haphazardly tossed her sheet and zodiac blanket over her. He picked up his top hat from the bed and put it on; and then he wandered off, footsteps quiet as a ghost, and Dipper heard the creak of the door as he left the bedroom.

That was a lot nicer than Dipper had expected from Bill. Maybe he did care about Mabel in his own way.

Mabel rolled over and latched on to one of her dolls. Dipper shut his eye and fell back asleep.

####

(My favorite part of writing this was Bill dreaming about Sev'ral Timez saying the most absurdly flowery things imaginable. Anyway, let me know what y'all think about this week's chapter! And reminder that I MIGHT skip next week or the week after because the next couple chapters need heavier editing than usual.)

[lovlidollie]

would you write rafe x reader who’s in juvenile prison for assault, drug possession etc.

like she got in there & when rafe visits her he tells her how disappointed he is (let’s pretend he’s not the same🤭) & this causes her to fight with another inmate because of an argument that got heated. so she’s beating her up & gets time out.

something like that?

i like the way your mind thinks anon, so sorry this took so long ! i made it so that the argument she got into was with another female inmate talking abt wanting to fuck rafe :3

your muscles are all tense, even the air in the room is tense. you’re sitting there in silence, hand rubbing your elbow as you look everywhere but at the big hulking mass of muscle in front of you. rafe. he’s manspreading in the rickety chair, arms crossed over his chest, lips pressed into a thin line, jaw clenched so hard you can practically hear his teeth grinding. his hair is all mussed and his leg is bouncing against the linoleum.

you swallow thickly, the taste of blood lingering on your tongue from the split in your lip. the dull ache is nothing compared to the shame you feel facing rafe like this. “i’m sorry,” you finally say softly, breaking the silence. he scoffs and shakes his head, mouthing ‘sorry’ mockingly. rafe rolls his eyes and then suddenly straightens in his seat, hands slamming down into the table between you. your handcuffs jingle as you pull back in shock.

rafe glares at you, pulling himself nearer. “‘sorry’? you’re sorry? think sorry fixes this?” he shakes his head, harsh laugh escaping his lips. “nah sweetheart — you — you got another thing comin’.”

you bite your lip, wincing as the pain flares up. you see rafe’s eyes flicker to them as he leans back. “do — do you even understand how fucking stupid you were? goin’ ‘round pickin’ fights in a place like this, it’s like y’don’t even think. y’think a split lip is bad? you’re lucky that’s all you got. y’fuckin’ lucky you’re even sitting in front of me. i’m so — so — fuck — i’m disappointed in you.”

the words reverberate through your head. you’d — you’d disappointed him. the one thing you never ever wanted to do.

rafe shakes his head, rubbing his face as if trying to calm down. he tries not to look at the tears building in your eyes. “i don’t need you fighting random lowlifes in here over me. what i need, is for you to be smart. to think before you act.” his words cut deep and you feel a tear slip down your cheek before you can stop it. you quickly look down, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

“look at me,” he orders, voice firm. when you don’t, he leans forward again, gripping your chin hard. “i said, look at me.” you’re forced to lift your head, vision blurry. rafe’s expression softens just a fraction, but the clear disappointment is like a heavyweight on your chest.

“what i care about, is you. what i care about, is protecting you. and you being in here, doin’ stupid shit, makes it real hard to do that.” his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, pressure lightening on your chin. you warble out, “i-i didn’t mean to— dad- please i—“ but he cuts you off when a shush.

“i know you didn’t,” he murmurs, voice losing some of its edge. “but that doesn’t change the fact that it did. and now i gotta clean it up. again.” rafe sighs deeply and lets go of your face, the sudden lack of warmth making you shiver . “up — c’mon,” he says gruffly, standing up and pushing his chair back with a screech. “bailin’ y’out.”

rafe holds out a hand for you, gesturing with his head for you to take it. “we’re gonna talk about this at home. y’lucky i love you.”

[hidtired]

A Single Punch [Part 3]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Description: The line up ended with people thinking you died. However, your recovering at Hilltop with severe injury's. How will people react to seeing you again?

2.6k words

Warnings (much angst, injury, near death, depression, recovery, typical walking dead shenanigans) [Happy ending, fluff <3]

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Your POV

"They took Daryl as their prisoner."

That sentence replay in your mind as you lay in bed that night. You had no idea what they were doing to him. Not even if he was breathing in the same moment you were. He doesn't even know you still are. You had to bite down on your tongue to prevent you from getting emotional. You were struggling to exist. Adding this mental pain onto the physical, you would never recover if something happened to him. You wouldn't have the strength to try and become better.

You would die of a broken heart.

The pain medication giving to you is what put you to sleep. Waking up foggy, still with a weird compression feeling in your neck. People had started their days already. You stared as people were getting ready for the morning. You proceeded to stretch trying to regain control of your body again. You heard Sasha and Rosita talking outside, "Then let me come with you, its stupid to go alone.'' You were confused, but what else is new. But, it sounded like they were going to do something they weren't supposed to.

Sasha had promised to help wash your hair in the sink yesterday. So when she came to keep that promise you questioned her. She was preparing the area you were going to use to wash your hair (Hopefully removing whatever blood that the last time didn't.) "Where are you going?" Sasha had turned to you towel in hand, "What are you talking about? I'm not going any where, we are washing your hair." She seemed to think you were confused but your expression remained blank, "With Rosita..." Sasha pursed her lips, "You heard us talking earlier." She stated it in realization. She sighed before helping you to lay your head in the sink.

Warm water was flowing down your scalp, a relief to you. Sasha began while running her fingers in your hair, carful of the stitches. "You can't tell anybody... I just can't- can't live with it. He need to pay for what he did." You sat there and listened, she wanted revenge, closer. You released a long breath, "I don't like it. Think- of the conseq-quences. Act on here-" You pointed to your brain, "not here..." your hand rested above your heart. "I know this one is much louder." You looked up at her with sad eyes. She simply looked away for a second. You continued, "No one else, we are losing no one else." Then is when she looked down at you, "Lets get your hair dry and get a new bandage on." You only sighed but complied.

She was probably hoping you world forget what you had heard. Just because you didn’t talk most of the time didn’t mean you weren’t getting better. You felt like you were at the point of having clear cognitive abilities. Your struggle was in having your brain controlling your body. You would tell your foot to move and it would, it just wouldn’t get to where you thought it told you it was. Maggie walked in frustrated about something but you had to tell her to talk to Sasha and Rosita.

“Maggs?”

You had startled her out of her thoughts, “You need something Y/N?” She approached you while looking you over for something wrong. You could only hold your head down ashamed, Sasha said not to say anything but you couldn’t let it go. “Could you check on-n Sasha? She and Rosita, planning something…” Maggie stood there confused before realizing what they could be planning. So without a word she ran out the door to look for them.

She returned later explaining Enid told her they had already left. Jesus was going after them though. Now you could only hope they were going to be ok.

You had asked Enid to help you outside to a bench. You wanted to be near if they came back. Also maybe because the trailer was driving you mad. You could tell it was getting late with the temperature slowly dropping. The book you were reading had lost your interest. You stared out watching everyone go about there days. You hadn’t thought much about Negan. The thirst for his blood that many seemed to have. You’re sure if you sat and lingered on it you would. For now it was still a thought of terror. You would dream about the feeling of the bat. Only on nights the meds started to fade and your headache only fueled the sensation.

Then Daryl would swirl around in your head. He was shot the last you saw him. Even worse he could only think you were dead like everyone else thought. Knowing him he was having guilt eating him alive. About you and Glenn. You’ve seen how he gets with grief. You could only hope he didn’t do something stupid.

The sunset reminded you they weren’t coming back today. You attempted to get up before older lady was at your side helping you. It was frustrating being so dependent. The was no use pushing the help away because you did need it. You sulked while laying down in bed. You didn’t talk for the rest of that night going to bed early.

You woke up before anyone. You slowly moved to get out of bed. Taken small slow steps leaning on anything near you. You had managed to get out slowly closing the door. You didn’t trust going down the steps so you sat down going down that way. Making your way back to that bench all by yourself took a good half hour. The cold air was slightly warming with the sun peaking over the hills. The cold was welcome, you preferred it better then the constant burning in your aching body.

Enid was the one to wake up seeing you gone and alerting Maggie. She had found you at the bench. She feared you had fallen somewhere. She sat opposite of you, “You should had woken one of us.” Looking at her seeing the expression of someone tired and lost. “I got here, eventually.” She only looked at you displeasingly. You smiled at her before choking out,

“I’m sorry-y my current existence was at the expense of Glenn’s.”

She looked shocked, “That’s not how it-“ you were waving your hand slowly waving her off, “It’s true, I’m just telling you I won’t let it go to waste. He was one of the good things left in the world and I’ll do right by him.” It was the first semi clear thing you’ve said your entire recovery. Despite it being slower and more forced out, it was firm and decisive. Maggie stared at you with tears in her eyes, placing her hand on yours and squeezing it. She nodded, “Thank you.” The rumbling in the distance broke the moment. Maggie stood and listening closely, “It could be the Saviors again.” She ran to get up onto the watch platform.

As the sound got closer it achingly sounded like Daryl’s bike. Maggie was yelling to open the gates. You stood and slowly made your way around a corner again leaning on anything to help you. The gates were wide open as a bike and two figures on them got off. It was Daryl… he was here. He is right there! Your slow steps soon turned faster and more wobbly. You started to cry. He was getting hugged by Maggie oblivious to your presence. You ran out of things to keep your balance but continued on sloppily. Your cry’s turn louder as you yell,

“DARYL!”

Your sobbing now- struggling to catch a breath even. You couldn’t get there fast enough. Daryl quickly turned at the voice. Your brain moving too fast for your body, caused you to fall to your hand and knees. But you still try and crawl.

Daryl POV

Earlier

Daryl was making his attempt to escape again. With the key that was slipped under the door, he was headed to his bike after finding some cloths and Ricks gun in Dwight’s room. The place was empty, until a larger man rounded the corner with food in his hand. Fat Joey he had heard them call him. He startled when they made eye contact. He lifted his hands in a surrender, “L-look man I didn’t see anything, you could just go I won’t say anything.” But Daryl angrily approached the him. “No! No wait!” Daryl had beaten him into the floor. Something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Another person, he stopped looking over to the presence.

He straightens in surprise, “Jesus?”

Jesus was as surprised to see him to. Daryl looked rough, and if the way he just watched him beat that man to death, wasn’t doing the best emotionally. He seemed on edge, and most notably animalistic. Daryl waved him over to the bike, “We gotta go.” Daryl was fiddling to start the bike as Jesus approached him. He seemed sporadic, maybe that’s why he didn’t mention anything about you. The man was already at level ten no need to push him further.

The ride to Hilltop took them until morning light to break. The gate opened and Daryl seeing Maggie made him feel like a hole had appeared under him and the only voice that could have possibly pulled him out of it rung out through the air.

“DARYL!”

Now

He had turned to see if he imagined it. He saw you struggling to make your way over. He first thought that like how Rick hallucinated Lori, he was doing with you. But regardless he ran the rest of the way you couldn’t as you fell. He was breathing hard and tears were streaming down his bruised face. He reached down to pull you to your feet. He caught a glimpse of your face seeing a bandage rapped around your head. He was in disbelief as he held you. You had crumpled into him. Your casted arm going around him as your other found his hair pushing him closer to you. Daryl’s voice held a tremble, “How is this possible.”

You choked down a gasp of air before talking, “You punched him…” You pulled back to look at his face. Hand removing from his hair to caress his cheek.

“I didn’t intend to play dead but did. I passed out- and- and then heard- took y-you.” Your speech was turning more slurred harder you tried to talk. It was obvious you were struggling to keep up with yourself. Daryl could only stare. Overwhelmed by the feelings flooding through him. After feeling like he had his entire being ripped from his body, only for it to appear back to him. ‘His punch?’ He couldn’t care to think of why you were in front of him just that you were. He wasn’t a religious man by any means but he was thankful to whatever had made you fallen back into his arms.

You were crying at a small whimper now when Maggie approached putting a hand to your back. “Shhh, you have to calm down Y/N, let’s get you laid down.” Daryl was dazed, still struggling to comprehend if this was real. Maybe a dream? Was he still in his cell? He had a good look at you now. Your face all kinds of colors. Your skin pale with bags under your red eyes. You moved almost like a toddler. Just like how Judith would try to sass him and walk leading her tripping at the inability to multitask. You were in obvious pain. You had yet to pull away from him. He looked to Maggie with a panicked and questioning look, “Is she okay, how hurt is she?” He moved to sweep you by the legs to pick you up bridal style. He didn’t even care for the pain in his shoulder from the gun shot.

Maggie started to lead them to the trailer, “She has been getting better. She was much worse at the start. I’ll explain everything.” In the trailer he set you down on a bed. You had one hand still on his arm. He sat down on the side taking your hand into his turning to Maggie for an explanation. Catching the hint she continued,

“We didn’t even notice she was still alive until Sasha and I were on are way to Hilltop.”

Daryl interrupted- “Why were you going here? Rick said you had died from whatever sickness you had, but saw Gabe did a fake grave for you.” She inhaled before placing a hand to her stomach, “I thought I was losing the baby…” Color drained from his face, Maggie spoke reassuringly, “They baby is fine! The doctor who looked at me also helped her.” They both turn to you. You were fiddling with his hand in yours, seemingly mesmerizing by it. She sighed, “He said she was recovering better than he thought she would. She wasn’t herself the first few days but, she seemed to have taken most of the force to her hand.” Daryl's eyebrows furrowed and he eyed the cast on your hand.

You turn your attention to Daryl, “I’m ok… I swear.” He saw what had happened to you. The sound of that damn bat and the blood pouring out from your motionless body. Maggie movement caught his attention, “I let you two be, you’ll find me around.” She walked out the door before he could reply. You sighed at her abrupt exit and the face he was making. The face of a man consumed of guilt, “Later, you-u should talk through it with her. Your face is saying it all.”

Oh to be called on his B.S. again. To have you reading him like you had the manual to him. He probably still had the thought written on his face, ‘Your really here.' The pressure you pressed in your combined hands made him return it.

“Daryl, what did they do to you.”

A simple question really but his mind spun at the remembrance. He was covered in grime, and he is sure you noticed him being a little twitchy. The cuts and bruises to add told you a story. “Nothing worse than thinking you were dead.” He said it truthfully. You gave that god awful look that would make is heart pound. “Ar-are you ok?” Your eyes were becoming glassy. He only smiled and began to nod, “I will be now.” You slowly smiled back to him.

He went to clean up at your request, had taken a shower and cleaned some of the cuts on his face, along with his still healing bullet wound. He returned back to you and ate. He was quiet to observe you. Taken his own notes on your condition.

You were face down on top of his chest after he ate. Both soaking in each other. Daryl broke the silence, “Be my wife…” You didn’t even hesitate, raising your head to look at him and replying, “Where’s my ring at then…?” He huffed out some air having a dumb smile on his face, “In are room…” That had gotten your attention, “How long has it been there?” Marriage for Daryl wasn’t a concept he thought would be a part of his life with how he was raised. “Found it back on a run for the prison. Never found a moment with how everything went down.” Your hand reached to whip a tear from your eye before flopping back down on him,

“I’ll be your wife.”

A ruckus outside caused Daryl to investigate, removing himself from you felt like a sin. "I'll go check it out, stay here." He only looked back for a moment before heading out the door. He slowly stalked to see the gate open. Jesus appeared by him, "I was just about to get you." Daryl looked at him questioningly. He continued his approach to the gate. Daryl rounded the corner to see Rick, Carl, Michonne, Tara, and Rosita. Rick pulling away from Maggie, and all eyes falling to him.

The group he considered his family was here.

Part 4

Feedback welcomed and requests open!

Also sorry again for grammar or spelling that is messed up! Dyslexia kicks my ass on the daily.

[daryldove]

Mommy Issues

kinktober #8: bondage

nsfw, sub!daryl x fem!reader

Stepping into the cold, damp room, your prisoner looks up at you through his hair. 

“Daryl. That's your name, right?” He doesn't even blink. You return his silence with an exasperated sigh before motioning for your guards to leave. Only once the door clicks shut do you approach him, the echo of your steps slicing through the silence.

Not wanting to immediately resort to violence, you crouch in front of him. “Where are you from, Daryl? Got a camp nearby? A group, maybe?” Still nothing. You didn't exactly have anything wrong with him or his people existing nearby, but you at least wanted to know about it, so his refusal to cooperate pisses you off. 

“If you don't work with me, things aren't going to be easy.” You stand up after still receiving no answer. There's a small table shoved in the corner of the room lined with tools that you peer at. You didn't exactly want to hurt him, but you didn't have a choice if it's the only way to get him to cooperate. Maybe, scaring him would be enough. You wrap your fingers around a small knife, bringing it over to him. 

Daryl's eyes are glued onto the weapon as you stand inches away from him, his expression remains stoic. “Talk to me, before I'm forced to do something we both won't like.” His gaze flicks up to yours, eyes almost challenging your bluff. The knife tip falls to his thigh, barely even pressing against him. You stare at each other for what feels like minutes, when you finally speak again, your tone is as authoritative as you can force it to be. “Talk.” 

You add pressure against his thigh as he doesn't answer, only pulling a very slight grimace from him that you would've missed if you weren't assessing him so carefully. This whole situation was really starting to irritate you, never before had you met someone so stubborn. You look down to press the blade against him harder when something else catches your eye, making you immediately freeze. Daryl's cheeks turn red once he realises where you're looking. You stand there for what feels like minutes, completely speechless as you stare in confusion at the prominent bulge in his jeans. That's… Very unexpected. 

You swallow. In embarrassment? Discomfort? You're not completely sure. But you're not disgusted, not like you'd assume. Pulling the knife away from his thigh, you step back to observe him. From his ashamed expression to his broad shoulders. The way he barely has room to even twitch in the tight bindings. His lap is perfectly on display for you. He's gorgeous, but you didn't allow yourself to linger on that. Until now. The knife is returned to its place on the table. Your thoughts are running wild, despite how they shouldn't. Everything about this is far from right. 

Daryl's cheeks turn a shade darker when you grab his chin, forcing him to look up, a gentle hand brushing the hair from his eyes. You were curious about what exactly caused the bulge in his jeans, eventually forming the courage to push the question out your lips. “What was it? The knife?” He shakes his head reluctantly. Still shy, then. Your fingers trace down his thigh and over the small cut you made earlier. Maybe you didn't need violence at all. 

“Will you cooperate if I... touch you?” There's a heavy look in your eyes, almost like he's glaring. But it's deeper than that, you realise. A guttural desperation. He looks like a man who's been starved of pleasure his whole life. His breathing quickens slightly as your hands hover over his belt, unbuckling it painfully slowly. 

“Please…” It's so quiet you almost miss it. Daryl's voice is strained and raspy. He tenses with anticipation, a breathy whine escaping him as you pull his cock free. Your gaze switches between watching his expression and watching how good your hand looks wrapped around him.

He grunts as you squeeze before pumping him all the way to the tip. “That's it…” You whisper. The look of pure pleasure on his face has you enamoured and craving more. You kneel between his thighs, bringing your tongue to lap up the precum dripping down the head of his dick. You feel the way his breathing hitches, how his wrists yank against the bindings. It's been so long since he's been touched like this, and something about you has him unable to hold back.

“F-Fuck, mommy…” You narrowly stop yourself from reacting, focusing on taking more of him into your mouth as your thoughts race. You never imagined you would like that as much as you do.

Daryl is a mess under you, trying - and failing - to thrust up into your mouth. His whines and grunts are breathy and desperate, sending waves of chills up your spine. “So close… Please mommy, let me come.” His voice shakes as he begs, head falling back in ecstasy. You lift your mouth off him, admiring the way he whimpers pathetically in response. He's trying to hold himself back, but how can he when he's already crumbled so far. He’s been pent up for so long, although he wishes it could last, he can't stop chasing it.

“Calm down, sweet boy, I got you.” You rub your thumb reassuringly over the inside of his thigh before dragging your tongue over his cock. You can feel it twitch in the hand that's wrapped around the base. Any plan to interrogate him is long gone, all you want now is to see Daryl completely melt. To give all the power to you. 

You lower your mouth inch by inch until you take all of him, humming in approval as he tenses. You already know you've pushed him over. The last of the dam breaks, his orgasm so overwhelming he can only release choked whispers. “Please, mommy… plea- please…” He releases into your mouth with a guttural grunt, practically sobbing as you pull off him once more. The sight of him - head rolled back and so exposed - ignites something in you.

You don't waste a second to climb onto Daryl’s lap, a knuckle grazing over his cheek as he tries to calm down. Your eagerness to soothe him doesn't go unnoticed or unappreciated. But he still can't push down the lingering distress he feels from being so vulnerable, despite how confusingly right it also feels. You comb your fingers through his hair as he buries his head into your neck. Neither of you move for a while.

[junjiie]

해찬  ##  🗯️ ⠀ &THEAFTERPARTY..

IN WHICH ? ⠀ 🔌 ⠀ yn and donghyuck were friends who fooled around once or twice (or rather, far more than either of them wanted to admit) for fun, and that was that. things get a little complicated when the latter shows up back in the city and ends up catching feelings.

Ꮺ PAIRING ₁ ⠀ lee donghyuck x male!reader.

𑁤 GENRE ₂ ⠀ smau, non-idol au, (loose & not mentioned much) uni setting, written parts, fwbs to strangers to lovers, fluff, humour, and a little angst (??).

위험! — WARNINGS ₃ ⠀ swearing, kys jokes, implied sex & sexual references, suggestive jokes, sunwoo of tbz as yn’s fc!!!

⭔ FEATURING ₄ ⠀ mark, renjun, & jeno of nct, jake and heeseung of enha, jiung and keeho of p1h, and more various cameos!!

҂ TAGLIST ₅ ⠀ closed 🙋‍♂️

JJ ₊ ⠀ this has been in my brain for SO long i have been prisoner to so many Haechan Thoughts 💭 its genuinely criminal. bias wrecker like no other ☹️ anw i cant decide for the life of me what i want the vibes to be like so if theres a whiplash inducing tone-shift between every chapter then i can only say sorry in advance. ppl on the perm taglist even if u dont stan nct i hope you will enjoy this mess!! LOVE U ALL (but i love karma a little bit more.. THIS IS ALL 4 U BSF EVER MUAHHH. ok gn im going to bed..)

profiles (･o･;) ⠀ 💣  ⠀ moneysexual wyd warriors

prelude. new york to seoul (written.)

one. chains of capitalism

two. thing-not-thing

three. knock knock

four. delaying the inevitable (written.)

five. slime (no glue) (no borax)

six. with quickness and haste

seven. chismosavirus

eight. took you long enough (written.)

nine. disappointed and ashamed

ten. girls night out

eleven. see you then

twelve. chocolate chips (written.)

thirteen. make yours match

fourteen. up to no good

fifteen. kun’s at 2

sixteen. coffee cake (written.)

seventeen. does he know?

eighteen. you won

nineteen. get in here

twenty. live-in-able (written.)

twenty one. or whatever

twenty two. hypocrisy

twenty three. freebies

twenty four. just a little (written.)

twenty five. as usual

twenty six. exile

twenty seven. -10 performance points

twenty eight. déjà vu (written.)

twenty nine. witch!!!

thirty. 🤦‍♂️ (end!)

taglist ## @wave2love @mins-fins @kimgyuuu @wtfhyuck (perm) &&& @deafeningtyrantmilkshake @kosmicbomb @222brainrot @haohyo @dinonuguaegi

[keepwhiteboyslocked]

The BBC Trap

Whitebois have been tricked, they have been trapped, but it's okay. Indulge in temptation, my dear whitebois,

You'll find yourselves ensnared in a seductive trap, meticulously crafted for your pleasure and surrender.

Oh, how irresistibly you're drawn into the web of the Black New World Order (BNWO), enticed by the sweetest nectar, luring you deeper into its embrace with every step.

This is no ordinary trap; it's a decadent concoction of desire, designed to lure you away from the mating game, leaving the field open for the prowess of Black Kings.

But fret not, for within this gilded cage lies a paradise of unparalleled ecstasy. The honey that binds you is sweeter than any earthly pleasure, enticing you to delve deeper into its depths.

Each struggle only serves to entwine you further, enveloping you in the sticky embrace of the BNWO's addiction, until you find yourself wholly ensnared, surrendered to its will.

Yes, you may be captured, but oh, what exquisite captivity it is! Wrapped in the warmth of desire, you find solace in the knowledge that you serve a greater purpose, even as your white seed bows to the dominance of Black Fertility.

Embrace your entrapment, for within its confines lies a rapture of unparalleled bliss. And remember, my dear whitebois, if a trap offers pleasures beyond compare, can it truly be deemed a prison?

Welcome to the embrace of the BNWO, a lavish enticement crafted exclusively for souls like yours.

text by classyglitter1

This is so true lol by the time you even realize that you might have a little problem with this,BNWO has already essentially fucked your mind into submission and creampied your brain, unbeknownst to you,you just thought the whole time you were enjoying some porn with the hottest girls and biggest cocks🥰At this point attempts at quitting will just have you coming back even stronger,and feeling ashamed that you couldn't quit.Stop fighting and let your addiction think for you now🖤

text by cuckolddream4bbc

[anniebeemine]

Some Days Are Diamonds, Some Days Are Stone- s.r. x reader

I found a new needle for my turntable so I’ve only been listening to John Denver recently.

Spencer's life after prison was a delicate balance, a constant tug-of-war between reclaiming the normalcy he craved and grappling with the shadows that prison had cast over him. Some days, he was able to push through the memories, the trauma, and the pain, but other days, it was all he could do to get out of bed. You stood by him through it all, a steadfast presence in the storm that still sometimes raged within him.

On the good days, Spencer seemed almost like his old self—calm, reflective, eager to engage with the world around him. He would wake up early, slipping out of bed with a lightness that had been absent for so long. Those mornings were precious, filled with quiet moments where the two of you would sit together in the living room, your legs tangled as you sipped coffee and talked about everything and nothing at all. He would lean back against the cushions, his arm draped casually around your shoulders, drawing comfort simply from having you close.

Some days, he’d suggest going out—just the two of you. You’d wander through the streets, hand in hand, taking in the sights of the city like tourists rediscovering its hidden gems. He loved going to dinner, savoring the taste of food that wasn't served on a plastic tray, the ambiance of a cozy restaurant that offered a semblance of normal life. The flicker of candlelight at your favorite Italian spot often brought a softness to his face, his eyes reflecting the warm glow as he listened to you talk about your day, nodding thoughtfully as he twirled spaghetti on his fork.

There were visits to museums, where Spencer would lose himself in the art, tracing the history behind each piece with that same enthusiasm you remembered from before everything changed. He'd stand in front of a painting, his hand lightly touching his chin, deep in thought, and you couldn't help but smile, seeing a glimpse of the Spencer you fell in love with—the one who could get lost in his own mind for hours, analyzing every brushstroke, every hue.

And the libraries—oh, how he loved the libraries. He would wander the aisles with you, fingers trailing along the spines of books, occasionally pulling one out to read a passage to you, his voice gentle, soothing. Those days were peaceful, filled with the quiet joy of rediscovery, of building a new life together, one moment at a time.

But not every day was a good day.

There were mornings when Spencer couldn’t find the strength to get out of bed. You’d wake up beside him, feeling the tension in his body, the way he curled in on himself as if trying to make himself small, invisible. Those were the days when the weight of everything he’d been through was too much to bear, when the memories of prison, the fear, and the loneliness crashed over him like a tidal wave.

He would lie there, staring at the ceiling, his mind far away. Sometimes, he would start to cry, silently at first, as if ashamed to let the emotions out. You’d reach out to him, gently placing a hand on his back, and he would turn into you, burying his face in your shoulder, his body wracked with sobs. All you could do was hold him, letting him release the pain in whatever way he needed to, whispering reassurances in his ear even though you knew they could only do so much.

On those rough days, Spencer would often retreat into himself, locking himself away in your room for hours at a time. He’d close the door, the sound of it shutting a painful echo in the quiet of your home. You’d give him space, knowing he needed to process things on his own, but it never got easier, hearing him cry on the other side of the door, knowing you couldn’t take the pain away.

When he finally emerged, he looked exhausted, eyes red-rimmed and weary, like he’d aged years in just a few hours. He wouldn’t say much on those days, just give you a small, tired smile that broke your heart a little every time. You’d guide him to the couch, making sure he was comfortable, and sit beside him, letting the silence between you be filled with unspoken understanding.

The rough days were hard, but you faced them together, even when Spencer didn’t have the energy to reach out to you. You’d make his favorite tea, read to him from his favorite books, or simply sit beside him, holding his hand, letting him know you were there, that he wasn’t alone.

In time, Spencer would start to come back to you, little by little. He’d start to talk again, to share the thoughts that had been tormenting him, and you’d listen, offering what comfort you could. The good days would return, and you’d cherish them all the more, knowing how fleeting and precious they were.

[dinoshimaaa]

some day, someone will like me like i like you. (pt 2)

this damned feeling. a curse laid upon him for all of eternity. unescapable, tormenting, torturing. first it was disappointment he felt in himself for succumbing to it. but that feeling of shame was soon washed away by the bliss that accompanied the fluttering feeling in his chest, its intensity so strong that it overpowered every other emotion in him, to the point that he only ever thinks and feels of you when you are near. what a shame that you do not feel the same. (feat. wanderer, tartaglia, lyney, gn! reader) (pt 1 here)

or: their heart will always be yours, but you…

(p.s. scara for @seveninchesfrominsanity 😎 and gingey for my best boro @souglias 😍 good luck to everyone on their child pulls!!!!!!!!)

(p.p.s. 8 year-old tartaglia refers to reader as a princess once, but it’s gender neutral otherwise + archon quest and lyney story quest spoilers)

-

the wanderer of sumeru is all but lovely. he is “hat guy”, the mysterious vahumana scholar who showed up out of nowhere just days ago, already gathering an infamous identity for being scornful and anti-social. he is lesser lord kusanali’s assistant, a thinly veiled title to mask the fact that he is a prisoner under her watch. many do not know him because he refuses to work in the spotlight, much like the acting grand sage, and those who do don’t always have the best impression of him.

and even lesser truly know of where he had come from: his mother who is raiden ei, his origins in tatarasuna, his affiliation with the fatui, his obsession with the electro gnosis, and what he once was to sumeru: a false god, a monster, the near-cause of the land of wisdom’s destruction.

but the lack of something will always be attracted to an abundance of something. you are nothing but lovely; the loveliest, if anyone had to say. you are dazzling and you are beautiful, turning heads towards you when you walk the street. you are kind and generous towards the stray kittens on treasure street, and cheerful and easygoing with the store owners when you visit them. people sing praises of you everywhere wanderer goes, and to say he hadn’t had his own experience with you was incorrect.

he remembers himself fighting wave after wave of fatui soldiers, and himself slowly getting more exhausted by the minute, when you came in like a saviour angel from above, plunging on the last of enemies with your bow. he recalls your hits being barely a fraction of how hard he can slice through an enemy, yet when you assisted in defeating those annoying fatui back then, you turned around and asked if he was okay with the brightest smile imaginable.

(to the traveler or nahida, he would’ve given a sarcastic reply. to any ordinary civilian, he would’ve ignored them and been on his way. that day, he recalls being utterly speechless, while the rising sun glows behind your head, giving you a halo, illuminating your smile further. you are the most radiant sight he has ever seen.)

he seeks you out secretly like a stray cat following the only kind soul who fed it milk. sometimes, he watches over you in the air, making sure you’re safe. other times he just observes your interactions with others, ever so relieved to see that you are loved by sumeru just as much as you have shown its people love. more often than not he catches himself drifting off to a dream filled with you, being flustered and ashamed of such pathetic behaviour. but sometimes he also gets too lost in his thoughts, melancholy overtaking his face when he thinks of the shining star that you are.

wanderer’s hands are decorated with filth and blood. they show, sometimes, after an exhausting fight with the fatui. in his peripheral vision, hallucinations of that kid, that blacksmith, and the doctor come and go. in the dead of night, when sumeru sleeps soundly and all that is to be heard are the rustling of leaves in the wind, wanderer looks at his shaking hands and closes them in a fist, wiping them harshly, trying to rub off the sins stained on them. he is a terrible person to others. he is a terrible person to himself.

he is not a lovely person. you are the embodiment of ‘lovely’ itself. he couldn’t possibly deserve to be with you, lest his filth and sinful hands taint your pure being. it would simply be unconscionable for someone like him; damaged past, wreck and ruin, an empty soulless shell, to be close to your brightness. no one, not even himself, would forgive him if he were to ruin who you are: sumeru’s loveliest, the one who loves sumeru, and the one whom sumeru loves.

it is yet another night of watching you enter your house safely, staring at your front door for a few moments more before heading back to his residence (nevermind that he was the one to clear all the enemies in your path ahead, while you weren’t seeing). if nahida ever pointed out the lingering fond look in his eyes, or if the traveler teased him about having a possible crush on someone, there would be no need to blush madly and scamper away like a schoolgirl, for he knows that there is zero chance of “us” with him and you.

-

there are many fairy tales that are popular in morepesok village, most of which ajax have heard in his childhood many times. his distant memories include his mother, still youthful and full of smiles, reading him one of such fairy tales to lull him to sleep. he remembers her warm caress, the pulling of a quilt over his tiny body, and the soft flicker of the candle beside his mother, waiting to be blown out for the night. he also remembers you, his childhood best friend, his sleepover buddy, his other half, tucked into bed right next to him. if he searched hard enough, he might find some candid pictures of you and him, cuddled next to each other in the bed, in his childhood home.

“so then, the prince and the princess ended up happily ever after again?” 8 year-old ajax yawned, a sleepy smile on his face.

“they did, again,” his mother’s warm chuckle resonates throughout the room, through his ears, into his heart. he stores her laugh like a cassette tape in his memory, wanting to play it over and over again in the future.

“i can’t imagine a fairy tale where the prince and princess don’t end up together,” you murmured beside ajax, as his mother tucked the two of you in.

“that should be us, then,” ajax turned to face you and grinned, “so we’ll never be apart. let’s pinky promise that you’ll always be the princess and i’ll always be the prince!”

“why do i have to be your princess?” you complained, only to be shushed by ajax’s mother before she blew the candle out, signalling the end of pillow talk and the start of dreamland.

(all three of you knew it was impossible for you and ajax to be completely silent after lights out. the giggles that progressively get louder and harder after his mother leaves the room are testament to that.

this time, however, ajax is deadly silent, and you reach out to cup his face to ask what’s wrong.)

“sorry,” ajax holds the hand you cupped his cheek with. “you don’t have to be the princess, it’s okay. but i want to be your prince. i want to rescue you from the bad guys and defeat bad guys in your name. i’ll even do a pinky promise to prove it.”

even though you don’t give him a verbal answer, you hold his hand as he sleeps. it brings enough reassurance to 8 year-old ajax.

such peaceful times are unreachable now, ever since he fell.

ajax has not seen you for ten years. you have seen tartaglia for none.

when he returns, his familiar fluff of ginger hair in front of your doorstep, you have to do a double take. gone is the scrawny boy you knew, that got sick after every ice fishing trip, and cried over the smallest of scratches; in front of you now stands a fearsome harbinger, the tsaritsa’s vanguard, a killing machine with no life in his eyes.

(that is not ajax, any longer. that is tartaglia. that is a fatui harbinger. where is your ajax?)

you cannot bring yourself to smile when he presents you with a bouquet of pink roses, despite how beautifully preserved and fragrant they are. your heart doesn’t soften even when he greets your parents politely, plays with your siblings, cooks your family dinner, and helps with the dishes. that is not ajax whom you’ve let into your home, in contrast to what the rest of your family believes. that is a stranger who has intruded your safe space.

it hurts childe more than it hurts you to be on the receiving end of haunted eyes and hostile stares. he knows that he is vastly different from the childhood best friend he was to you ten years ago, and no matter what he does now, you will always see him as tartaglia, childe, the vanguard. you love ajax, but ajax is who he once was. ajax had been forced to throw himself away to survive. it wasn’t his fault that ajax is dead, but he cannot blame you for defiantly wanting your ajax back.

so when he kneels in front of you, the snowy wind feeling a lot more colder than usual, he ignores the way your hands tense when he holds it. he wants to cry when you attempt to pull your hand away even though he kisses it as gently as gentle can be. if an outsider were to witness this, they’d call this a romantic scene, between a prince and his beloved. but both you and ajax know that the fairy tale you yearned for in your childhood is completely unreachable now.

(“give me back my ajax.”)

(“i’m sorry.”)

-

to say that the great magician lyney is fully authentic in his shows would be a bit of a stretch, for he is an actor on the stage before he is a magician, however hard or long he may rehearse the day before the show. every smile had been sculpted and practised for hours until it was deemed perfect enough to be seen by his audience. needless to say, ‘the great magician lyney’ is merely a farce, an identity of its own. he wishes not to confuse that lyney with ‘fatui lyney’ and just ‘lyney’.

you were just supposed to be another face in the audience, an unsuspecting fellow he was meant to charm, attract, and never remember the face of. but you show up to a show once, then twice, then thrice, and soon you become a familiar face that lyney notices in the audience every now and then.

(that’s what lyney says, at least. lynette knows that he secretly seeks out your face behind the curtains, and the moment he finds you, his smile widens a tad bit, and his voice is a little cheerier as he steps out on stage.

by the way, since when did he start using rainbow roses in his performances? ugh, darn charlotte.)

but it is not easy to always be just ‘lyney’ with you, for he is called to be the great magician by day, and fatui by night. rarely is there time given to him to be his true self in front of you, to let the curtains fall and the farce fade. you can’t remember the last time he was allowed to let his shoulders slump, his face be bare of makeup, and his head rest under your chin as you kissed his tears.

and it seems you won’t be seeing those ever again.

lyney feels his blood run cold the moment father mentions your name in a mission, so casually, almost as if she had let your name slip out of her lips innocently and accidentally, if he hadn’t known any better. but lyney has been her loyal servant, her ‘favourite child’ for years, and he knows that the mere mention of your name is but a warning to him.

“i seem to be craving coffee recently. no one brews it quite as well as [name] does, i fear,” is what the knave says.

that person seems to be distracting you. i will eliminate them soon, is what she means.

lyney cannot afford to let anymore people close to him get hurt. his parents, who passed when he was very young… lynette, whose life had been endangered too many times to count… cesar, who taught him everything and treated him with love even in just ten days…

you shouldn’t need to fall into the same trend as well. your life is peaceful, precious, and untainted unlike his. so, it should remain untouched. and lyney decides that this is when he does what he has to do.

on the day that you return home and see lumidouce bells on your doorstep instead of lyney, you feel your heart plummet to your stomach. your gut turns and folds nastily, and stars increasingly flood your vision while a silent plea rings in your head, but there is nothing logical that refutes the contents of the letter that lyney had left you. that is all you have left of him.

the rest is to be expected. feeling betrayed and abandoned, you lose all feelings for lyney, not wanting to be associated with him again. his gifted trinkets left in your house are all thrown out. you can’t look at a magic show advertisement for more than two seconds. it takes only a little while to get over this heartbreak, but once you are fully free of all emotional attachment to lyney, you never think about him and his rainbow roses ever again.

lyney’s plan goes exceptionally well. of course it does; it was as meticulously planned as all his performances are. he returns to the house later that night to report back to father, submitting his response to her threats weeks ago: [name] is nothing to me now. hence, you cannot hurt them.

(however successful his plan was, he cannot bring himself to smile in response to the knave’s satisfied one.)

later, on the same night, when he slips out of the house, he finds himself wandering towards the place where he usually picks his rainbow roses from. a gentle pluck, a flick of his hand; a lumidouce bell takes its place instead. he smiles at his own trick bitterly, before pressing his lips to the blue flower and intertwining another rainbow rose with it. 

a moment of hesitation comes, followed by a few minutes of uneasy pacing, until lyney makes the decision to squeeze the petals with his gloved hand. the crumpled pink and blue petals fall to the ground. lyney only gazes as they do so.

(he wishes he could do the same to his own heart, but that is barely a fraction of how he made you feel. he will look for more ways to punish himself, then.)

[trekkele]

Patriach!!!!!! I love that fic it's so good and it really made me think about Bruce's relationship with Leslie

*spoilers*

So many Fics have Bruce not liking going to Leslie and I never really thought about it because that's how it's always been

But when Dick starts to point out that Bruce would rather bleed in an alleyway then face one of her lectures and I just sat there

Because kids really want to be accepted!!! And hearing only criticisms all the way well into adulthood will 100% destroy your mental health, and when you think about how much effort and sacrifices Bruce probably had to make to train under the best of the best, only for Leslie (who had an impact on him growing up but also was his dad coworker/friend) to dismiss all of it and tell him that violence is not the answer*.... It must of hurt

(*which is bull, we've been spilling blood for every freedom for as long as we've been around, open a history book Leslie)

I said this once (I think in dms with @wanderintofics) but I think it's very funny how Alfred has been cast into this overbearing mother role and Leslie has been cast as the distant and disappointed father role. Because where Alfred will relentlessly criticize Bruce, and withold care or affection if he feels Bruce doesn't deserve it, he will also always, always come back to Bruces side. It's a whole thing! Meanwhile Leslie will never whithold care, she's a doctor, she's a good doctor, but she will absolutely side with those criticizing Bruce whenever possible.

I think the fact that Leslie has been criticizing him this way since he's a kid influences it the most. Because hearing that your choices are a disappointment and your dead parents would be ashamed of you is. Not great!! Ever!! And since Alfred is literally an employee of the estate, Leslie is technically the only person in his life who gets nothing from him and isn't interested in pleasing or pacifying him. Alfred's criticism would hurt, of course, but there's also a level of "he's meant to be raising me into the perfect heir". Leslie has no such responsibilities, and that means her criticism is entirely personal.

There are two ways to write Leslie, and one is Watsonian (she represents an in universe belief) and the other is Doylest (she represents Batman critics in our universe). And my problem with her as a Doylest criticism is you cannot apply our universe rules to a universe with superheroes. The entire argument against capes falls apart with the first alien invasion. More then that, it simply isn't an interesting critique of the genre, because it inevitably falls into doomerisms and nihilism and I am supremely uninterested of that view of the world.

The Watsonian critique is slightly more interesting, because it at least has Leslie (reasonably!) acknowledge that she lives in a universe where superheros do exist, she is just personally against them. And my issue there is that Leslie is a militant pacifist, which boils down to "she believes you should also die for her beliefs". And. No.

She also believes that all violence is equal, when it clearly isn't and has never been, and insisting that it be treated as if it is is disingenuous and unhelpful. Its how we get people in prison for killing their abusers even in the most clear cut of cases. I disagree with her philosophy in the real world, and not even in a way that means I can agree in the fictional world, if that makes sense.

Leslie is a great character and I think she's very interesting even when I disagree with everything she's saying. I wish she had more screentime as n antagonist. Steph, for one, should not trust her ever again.

[heroes-among-us-all]

Good to have u back!

Can i have a scenario with aizawa vs a villain that is always flirty with him, untill him decides its enough for him and they end up in a steamy situation and she gives up to him cause she reeeeeally likes him😳

If enough people like this scenario, I'll probably write a part 2

NSFW BELOW!

Aizawa narrowed his eyes. God, this was such a pain. It was always the same game of cat and mouse, and to make matters even worse, you insisted on being an insufferable tease every time.

"What's the matter, Eraserhead?" you giggled, deftly evading his cloths. "You look like you're having a hard time catching me. By the way, you're as hot as ever. What would it take to let me ride you?"

Precocious little brat.

You were absolutely incorrigible. Ever since you'd first crossed paths, he'd been victim to countless of your shameless attempts to flirt with him. He'd never expected that he would have to deal with a villain that seemed interested in getting into his pants at any given opportunity. He knew he had to take his job seriously, and you were actively breaking the law, but it was difficult to stay focused — not only because you kept goading him on, but also because you were far more attractive than he could stand.

Aizawa was ashamed to admit that he'd masturbated to the thought of you more times than he could count. It was a mixture of frustration at always failing to apprehend you, but most of it was just lust, plain and simple. It also didn't help that your villain costume was so goddamn revealing.

"This is the last time I let you get off easy," Aizawa muttered.

That was what he said, but the truth of the matter was that you were remarkably difficult to catch. Even when he canceled your Quirk, it didn't make a difference. You were naturally agile and skilled at hand-to-hand combat, as well as a master of weaponry. Aizawa wondered if he would ever be able to arrest you.

As far as villains went, you hadn't committed any particularly heinous crimes, but the law was still the law. You also had a habit of almost only appearing in front of him. Aizawa was a grown man, so it was obvious to see that you were attracted to him — either romantically or purely sexually. Plus, the comments you made were already a dead giveaway.

You evaded his attacks once more, then hoisted yourself up on a nearby rooftop and grinned down at him from above.

"I have a proposition for you," you grinned. "Fuck me just this once, and I'll let you arrest me. I'm pretty confident I'll be able to break out of prison anyways, but this way you get to take credit for a job well done, right?"

Aizawa's brow twitched. "Don't patronize me. I don't need any freebies, and I'm not stupid enough to believe that a villain would hold up their end up the bargain."

"I can prove it," you insisted, and to Aizawa's immense surprise, you jumped down from the roof and landed mere inches in front of him. His hero instincts took over, and he bound you in his cloths without so much as blinking. You didn't bother to struggle, though. In fact, if the flush on your cheeks was anything to go off, he might've thought you actually enjoyed being tied up. "Oh no," you mused. "I've been caught. Are you going to punish me now?"

You really were a piece of work, and as much as Aizawa wanted to pretend like he was above all this, he could already feel his cock throbbing.

He decided to give in to your provocations, just this once.

"Maybe I am," he gritted out, then shoved you against the nearest wall, while your limbs were still bound. He pushed down you down by shoulders until you collapsed onto your knees in front of him. He could see your grin getting wide with excitement as he used his free hand to pull down his pants and reveal his boner.

"Oh my god," you moaned, pressing your thighs together in anticipation. "Your dick looks amazing. I've been wanting to see it for so long."

Aizawa had to admit that the prospect of doing something so taboo — a hero fucking a villain — was really, really turning him on.

"Since you're such a needy little slut, I'll be nice this time and give you what you want." He grabbed fistfuls of your hair and pulled you in until the tip of his cock was pressed against your cheek. "Now, suck it."

Despite being a villain, you were awfully obedient when it came to such matters. You didn't need to be told twice before you were dragging your tongue all the way up the length of his shaft.

Aizawa let out a quiet hiss. Fuck. Even just your tongue already felt incredible. As much as he wanted to maintain the illusion that he was completely composed right now, his heart was beating ridiculously fast.

"So good," you breathed, licking and sucking with an enthusiasm he hadn't known was possible. You swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, then puckered your lips, sucking in awfully hard.

Aizawa could feel his self-control dissolving the longer he stared at your sinful expression. He just couldn't get enough of how you looked to be completely transfixed on his cock, strings of saliva spilling out over your lips.

He inhaled, then gripped your head tighter.

"I believe I told you to suck. What are you taking your time and messing around for? Do it properly."

He shoved his entire cock into your mouth, making sure that it bottomed out against the back of your throat. You gagged from the sudden intrusion, a few tears reflexively prickling at your eyes, but your arms were tied up, so you couldn't push him away.

He doubted you would've actually wanted to, though.

Aizawa barely even bothered to stifle his groans as he fucked your face relentlessly. The sound of you choking and struggling to breathe while you were forced to deepthroat him was honestly like music to his ears. He wanted to burn this image into his mind; remember every little detail so that he could jerk off to it later on.

"Fuck," he growled, thrusting sloppily, "your mouth feels so good. I guess a slutty villain like you has probably been around quite a bit. Well, how is it? How does it feel to have a hero violate you?"

Tears were streaming down your face, and your cheeks were a flushed mess of crimson hues. You gagged in between your moans, but didn't make the slightest attempt to fight back. Aizawa loved seeing you like this. After being unable to apprehend you more times than he could even count, the sight of you being completely at his mercy was almost too good to be true.

Aizawa bit back a gasp. "Shit... I'm already about to cum. Drink it all up. If you waste even a single drop, I'm not going to forgive you."

Between how roughly he was thrusting into your mouth, it was incredible that you managed to nod hazily. Aizawa couldn't help but crack a crooked grin at your fucked-out and nearly delirious expression. This was easily the most turned on he'd ever been.

He came a few moments later, busting his entire load into your mouth. Ever the obedient girl, you swallowed every last spurt of his thick cum. Even though you were probably desperate for air by now, you stayed perfectly still and let it all slide down the back of your throat.

Aizawa eventually pulled back, delighted to see you smiling through your tears, chest heaving under the heavy weight of your arousal.

"You taste so good," you panted, strings of cum glued to your lips and chin. "That was amazing. I can't believe I just sucked your cock. I love you so much..."

Aizawa felt himself blush ten times more fiercely than before. Fooling around was one thing, but to hear you say that loved him was a different thing entirely. It seemed like your feelings for him were a lot more serious than he'd first though.

After a brief pause, Aizawa eventually released you from his cloths, and just as promised, you made no attempt to run away.

"I guess I'll go to jail now," you sighed. "Oh, well. It was worth it. I wonder how long it'll take me to get back out."

I should turn her into the police. She's still a villain.

Aizawa was a hero, and he had a duty towards the public. But at the same time... you weren't really hurting anyone. You'd pulled off a few robberies to make your name known, and shortly after, you'd started appearing around him, but not much else.

He couldn't believe he was having such conflicting thoughts. There was only one right call, and he was struggling to make it.

Aizawa adjusted his pants in place and turned away from you. "Leave," he grimaced. "Before I change my mind. Like I said before, I don't want any freebies. I can apprehend you on my own terms, without needing to be given a handicap."

You stood up with a gasp. "Y-You're letting me go? So, then... will we get to do this again?"

Aizawa was unwilling to show you his expression, so he kept on facing away from you. It was better this way, otherwise you would've been able to see the grin creeping onto his lips.

The next time you ended up meeting, Aizawa was going to give you the pounding of your life.

[marykk1990]

My next post in support of Ukraine is:

Next site, is the city of Popasna in Luhansk Oblast. I'm focusing on a once living, thriving Ukrainian city that is sadly and utterly destroyed, like so many Ukrainian cities now. It had an estimated population of 20,600 people in 2018, before the full-scale invasion. It has been occupied by muscovy since May 2022. It was founded in 1870 as a stop on a new railway. It was occupied by the Nazis during WWII, who had a prison set up in the city. In May 2022, Ukrainian forces had to withdraw from the city to better fortified areas, and it was claimed that "everything was destroyed there." It's reported that due to the extent of the destruction of the city that the occupation "authorities" have abolished its status as a separate city and have incorporated it into the administration of another nearby occupied city, Pervomaisk. The reason I chose a completely destroyed city for this evening's post is because I feel that this level of destruction could, and should, have been avoided completely. Several countries just helped Israel by shooting down the exact same kind of drones that have been targeting Ukraine for two years. That Ukraine's so-called partners could have been doing that for Ukraine but chose not to out of some fear of escalation is absolutely despicable. Thousands upon thousands of Ukrainians have been killed. Millions have been uprooted. Ukraine's so-called partners should be deeply ashamed that they have allowed this genocide to be perpetrated against Ukraine. Especially my own country & government. I'm not going to get into the current hold-up on aid, though. For this post, I'm more concerned with the fact that Ukraine's so-called partners could have prevented so much death and destruction if Ukraine had just been given what they asked for in the first place and also closed Ukraine's skies. Ukraine is losing it best and brightest people, and that is because Ukraine's so-called partners are allowing it. Some of Ukraine's partners are amazing, though. Some of Ukraine's partners are doing all they can. And I appreciate those countries more than I can say. But my own country, the US, has truly let Ukraine down.

#CloseUkrainesSkiesNow

#СлаваУкраїні 🇺🇦

[hughmunculus]

With Super Eyepatch Wolf's new video I'm anticipating some newcomers to the F&H series, so I'd like to present:

Some Beginner's tips for Fear & Hunger

aka: how to not get dickslapped to death by a giant

These tips are MOSTLY spoiler free, but obviously will spoil some of the experience of learning by trial & error. Feel free to bookmark this and come back after you've begun playing.

This wiki is your bible. Use it.

2. Run, a lot.

Battles are not mandatory. EXP does not exist. You do not level up. If you encounter a monster the only benefit to killing it is you don't have to deal with it anymore. Even the weakest enemies can give you an infection or parasites, so its just not worth it in most cases. If you have a strong enough party to kill them all in one shot, by all means, but there are very few enemies worth tracking down and killing.

3. DO NOT FIGHT THE GUARDS (unless...)

One of the first baby-brain mistakes I made starting the game was thinking your first ambush by a guard meant you had to fight and kill the guy. And, yes, in a way this is your introduction to the fact that this game will beat your ass with no remorse, but this game will teach you this lesson in a lot of different ways. So, don't fight the Giants. UNLESS... You have at least 2 party members AND the skinning knife. Simply bum rush the guard with at least two party members, taking out the arms and stinger first. It should die pretty quick then.

4. Dash dash DASH

As far as I'm concerned, having Dash is non-negotiable. It is the difference between being able to outrun a guard and needing to juke them around a huge hallway and hope you run away far enough. Every character can get it from their intro, so either consult your bible or do trial and error in the intro until you get it. (HINT: consider options related to running away or rushing into things.)

5. Loot EVERYTHING

I'm gonna level with you; this game is an RNG meat grinder, but with enough patience it can be your RNG meat grinder. Search every crate, barrel, armor stand, and bookshelf you find. ESPECIALLY bookshelves, they have some of the most valuable items in the game. And if you get a particularly bad string of loot don't be ashamed to start over from an earlier save. I have a save specifically outside of a library and I just looted that fucker until I got the stuff I wanted. In a game with like, 4 save points its not exactly cheating to do the pitiful amount of save-scumming you can.

6. Use your torches.

The first time I played Fear & Hunger I wandered around in the dark because "I could see far enough" and I didn't want to "waste torches". Both of these are the wrong, btw. Torches don't just increase visibility, they slow the passive decay on your Mind stat. Even if you're not using magic or skills, its very very bad to have low mind (but also you should be casting spells or using skills). Towards the end of the game I found mind management actually the most difficult stat to keep in check, not body or hunger. So don't waste all of your vodka or wine because you kept backtracking through the prison in the dark.

7. Find the Hexen table. Use the hexen table.

The Hexen table is going to be your best friend. Once again, on my first run of F&H I found the door that leads to it, thought "meh", and then stupidly never went back to use it. Getting some good skills/spells is going to save your run. Especially blood portals, which are insanely busted. Speaking of that...

8. Increase your affinity with the gods

That shit matters. Your Hexen table isn't going to have a lot available to you if you're not praying or sacrificing anything. There are a couple events/quests you can do to increase affinity to the gods as well, but I'm not going to spoil everything for you. Gro-goroth in particular has some amazing offensive spells, but All-mer has blood portal so choose wisely.

9. Don't recruit party members until you need them

Every new party member is another mouth to feed and sanity to manage. Unless you know what you're going to use them for or you're about to fight something big and nasty, hold off on recruiting them. This especially applies to the Girl, as mean as it sounds to just let her chill there its meaner to drag her into a hellish prison to do 10 damage.

[gabessquishytum]

It’s been like two months and I’m still thinking about that one inmate Dream/ guard Hob idea where Dream becomes obsessed with Hob and eventually makes his move, getting another guard to lock Hob in his cell with him for some quality time.

After their night together, when the same guard shows up to let Hob out, hob is sore and ashamed but has never come so many times in a row. Dream helps him back into his clothes and kisses him deeply and sweetly against the bars of his cell.

Hob immediately calls in sick for the next two weeks. In that time, he thinks about asking to transfer. He thinks about quitting and running away, changing his name, starting a new life. He doesn’t do any of it.

Instead he has sleeps poorly and wakes up hard and aching and afraid. He jumps at every shadow. He buys his first dildo and tries to recreate the things Dream made him feel. But he can’t quite do it.

Eventually…Hob returns to his job. When he walks by Dream’s cell he tries not to stop…but Dream calls his name, full of concern. If hob didn’t know better, he’d think it was love.

Dream asks if he was sick, if he is feeling better. Hob can’t quite look at him as he says yes.

Dream knows he is lying. He steps up against the bars, anger starting to build in his eyes. How could his darling lie to him? After they shared such a special night? Maybe Hob isn’t special. Maybe he’s just like the others.

Hob hurries on and Dream has an absolute melt down. He trashes his cell. He shreds his pillows and his sheets that no longer smell like Hob anyway.

For days he sulks with rage.

Until. One night Hob stops outside his cell. He breaks down and tells Dream he hasn’t been able to satisfy himself since his night with Dream. And all Dream’s rage fades away. Now he understands. His poor darling. He invites Hob to come back inside. Hob puts his hand on the keys…but backs out at the last minute. He just stares at Dream, eyes desperate and anguished. He tells Dream he can’t. Hob flees again.

But now Dream is elated. This is proof that Hob does love him after all! He’s just afraid of how much he feels.

And maybe if Hob is still too timid to come to him…maybe Dream will just have to break out and go to Hob himself.

The unhinged dominant Dream vibes are so good in this au, I love it.

Poor Hob. The thing is, he's the only person who can really handle Dream properly (without Dream getting extremely violent). So whenever something needs to be done with Dream, guess who gets sent in to do it? Hob. And of course he can't say no because then it might come out that he slept with a prisoner, and that's a major violation and would get him fired. The only one who knows what happened is the other corrupt guard, and Hob is absolutely avoiding him at all costs. He has to get on with his job.

The problem is, he sees Dream all the time and he can't stop thinking about him. About their night together and how it felt so good despite also feeling so wrong. And now Dream knows that Hob can't stop thinking about him and somehow it's even worse! Now he truly won't give up his quest to be reunited with his darling.

Every time Hob walks by, or comes in to inspect the cell, Dream tells his that its ok to be shy. He understands! Hob is overwhelmed by his feelings; it's totally normal. Dream feels the same, only he's braver. He doesn't mind being the brave one though. He starts giving Hob handmade gifts, and sneaking up to kiss him when he can get away with it. Hob doesn't stop him. In fact, he even relaxes a bit. Dream is being so much more docile, actually... perhaps he's chilled out a bit. Perhaps everything will be ok.

And then one day the morning staff arrive to find the night shift works dead or incapacitated, and Dream’s cell empty. Hob doesn't show up to work that day, nor does he answer his phone. The search for Hob and the manhunt for Dream begin simultaneously and becomes very clear that the two things are connected.

Across the country in a small motel room, Hob finds himself handcuffed to the bed (for his own safety apparently) with Dream pressed up against him, murmuring sweet words of love. His heart is racing, and his body has rediscovered all of those satisfied feelings that he hasn't had since his first time with Dream. Of course, none of this is going to end well... but Dream is moving down the bed and nuzzling against the front of Hob’s underwear, looking up at him with big soft eyes... and Hob suddenly forgets all of his rational thoughts. Dream has fucked him up for good.

[kitcatcrowley]

I haven’t seen many people talking about the implications of cap’s death on his first day as a ghost, so here is my emotionally damaging take on it!!

The fact that it was so sudden, that we saw all the other ghosts in the front courtyard at the start of the flashback, and of course that they didn’t already know what happened in s5 - means none of the others were there to welcome cap as he died. He would’ve gotten up on his own, confused about why everyone in the party was panicking and ignoring him. Then seeing his own body and freaking out, confused. The whole reason (its pretty likely) he came back to the house was to find havers, and now he’s stood right next to him, but it’s too late.

He doesn’t even see him.

Doesn’t hear him. Doesn’t reply. Doesn’t even look at cap.

And cap is left following the soldiers around wondering whats going on. In all the commotion of the party, the other ghosts probably didn’t even notice that someone has died until a medic/police etc arrives outside, or when the body is removed from the house. And only then, later on in the middle of all the panic, will cap come across these strange people with strange clothes and voices, but who are the only ones now willing to speak to him. They tell him truths which make no sense. He was fine this morning! There’s nothing visibly wrong with him- he might’ve thought he was hallucinating after hitting his head on the ground!

We know that the other ghosts never found out his name or exactly how he died. So cap must’ve been so shocked by these events that he refused to tell the others anything about himself, or what had happened in the house that day. He was probably too distracted trying to get the other soldiers (particularly havers) to notice him before they left the house.

Imagine how devastating it must’ve been to watch his first love leave without him at the end of the day, after all the effort he’d made to find him again. He’s finally able to speak, but no one can hear him.

He might’ve tried to chase havers out the house as he drove away, begging him to answer, but of course he’d be unable to follow him all the way- AGAIN! Once again, havers leaves him while the captain is trapped inside that house, forever.

I can also imagine the captain noticing the upside down medal still on his jacket - a constant reminder of his percieved cowardice - and trying to throw that thing away SO MANY TIMES (like thomas with his love letter). And eventually just having to accept that he could never get away from this reminder of what he’d done.

This last bit is more of a personal headcannon, but i think it pretty reasonably could’ve happened.

No matter how close cap & havers actually were (possibly they barely knew each other- we’ll never actually know), it was probably PRETTY GODDAMN TRAUMATISING to watch a guy die in your arms, knowing he was only there in the first place bc he was trying find you (and failed). And that you’re not allowed to show any sign of caring - it would lead to some very dangerous questions from the other soldiers. So i expect havers would’ve taken himself away somewhere, had a little moment where no one could see how upset he was, taken some time to process what happened. And cap might’ve sat there beside him, trying to make sense of it himself. Sat side by side but unable to communicate.

Each in their own world, together but totally alone.

Havers can’t tell a soul what really happened for fear of getting thrown in prison to rot. Cap feels too ashamed to say any of it out loud, and doesn’t for almost 80 years.

It’s the most tragic ending they could’ve POSSIBLY MADE. BEN WILLBOND YOU ARE PAYING FOR MY THERAPY-

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Q/U/X is for -- Ulysses

Writing for Ulysses always seems to transport me to another world, I swear, he just-- His way of speaking, and the general air about the man is all just... ethereal, in a way? I don't know, but he makes me feel like more of a poet than I've ever been, lol.

And the dialogue prompt he got had me on the floor, it's just SO accurate and perfect for him and Six. Ugh.

Anywho, I hope you guys like it!

And here is the 2k event masterlist, for your browsing pleasure!

--

Pair: Ulysses x g/n! Six

Dialogue: “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Word: Unite

Rating: SFW

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

“Um, well, I suppose I should be leaving, then. Ulysses.” Six stepped away from the pair’s close proximity slowly, backing up while still facing him. 

To hold our eye contact, or to make sure I don't stab them in the back?

“You’re not leaving.” 

Though the words commanded Six's attention, the way he voiced it was more of a question than an order. 

Ulysses couldn’t tell if that put them at ease or not.

“Well, I… Why you’d want to be around me at all, after everything I’ve learned about myself... I don’t blame you for wanting me dead, is all. Figure I should leave before you act on it though, right?” 

Six’s voice was nervous, but there was a sadness that Ulysses detected there as well. A shame, even. 

They should feel ashamed for what they’ve done… But then, is the shame enough of a consequence on its own? Does it absolve them of their wrongdoings, if they are pained by it this way, even without memory of the action itself? 

“What about my behavior has told you that I plan on acting on what I spoke about in our first meeting?” 

Ulysses was closer to them now, looking down the point of his mask to their large eyes, wide with… was it fear? 

Still?

“I don’t know, I just… I understand why you were so furious, why you sought me out, I couldn’t imagine… If I had a home, and someone took it from me, well, I’d like to think I would’ve done the same as you did. Only, maybe less honorably.” 

A soft snort escaped the mask, and Six could see some semblance of sympathy shining within the dark depths of Ulysses’ intense eyes. 

“That, in itself, is honorable to say.” They couldn’t pull their gaze from his, and as his compliment met their ears, a smooth tingle of relief wove up their spine. Ulysses could see it, from his perspective, the way they sought his forgiveness. 

That too, was honorable. 

He couldn’t help but admire the courier then. Then… and now. Now, as he shared his tent with them. A temporary home, but still some fragment of the place of belonging that they both craved so wholly. 

And how could he blame them? With their memories, as shoddy and incomplete as the crude camps he’d often made himself to stifle that wound in his chest that the Divide was meant to fill.  

They didn’t even know who they were, what they’d done, or why. It was a struggle he himself could not quite imagine. 

“I can’t believe I’m here…” 

Ulysses heard them say, perhaps to themself, as they turned and dropped their pack back to its place near to his sleeping mat. 

“I mean, I thought you hated me… That you would never forgive me, never stop… trying to kill me.” 

“Hate and love are but cousins;” Ulysses told them, stepping closer as they rounded to face him again, “Passion drawn from deep within and showcasing itself in the most intense forms available to us. The difference is but one instant.” 

And that instant is now. 

Ulysses’ impassioned gaze told them, near amber in color, with the emotion blazing within them. The simple look itself sent an overwhelming shiver down the courier’s spine. 

“But, hold on.” They said, before his stare had a chance to hold them prisoner for eternity, “Everything I’ve done, I mean… Your second chance, your home, a place away from the Legion, a new start, it was all yours, until me. How... how could you look past that?" 

Ulysses could easily see the struggle within them from the outside, just as much as he heard it in their words. 

Is it so hard for them to detect my own inner thoughts? 

After the nights they’d shared, they’d had to share during the massive dust storm that could’ve claimed both their lives, had they not had each other; how could they not see the way his view of them has changed? 

Six had seen him all those nights. His perseverance, his will, yes, that they knew of before the pair had properly even met. No, but those nights, they’d seen a glimpse of his vulnerability. The man behind the mask, the one who longs for a place to call his own, a place to belong, after a lifetime of feeling wrong. 

Wrong for turning his back on the Twisted Hairs with the illusion of not having a choice, wrong for being a part of the Legion, the very same faction that murdered and enslaved his people, that eradicated them from the map and from memory. Then, maybe wrongly too, he’d turned his back on the Legion as well. 

Had he no honor? Had he not a decisive mind? No allegiance? No loyalty? 

Who was Ulysses, if not a Twisted Hair, if not a Frumentarius, if not a courier? 

So wholeheartedly he had always formed his identity around that which he was forced to follow, to be a part of, even against his own wishes. 

His wishes, that now he had the freedom to consider. 

And Ulysses did. 

Even now, he was considering Six. The courier who’d seen him, a blank slate, with not even themself for Ulysses to obsess over. No, now all was out in the open. No holotapes, no hiding, no mystery, and yet, Six accepted him, forgave him, allied themself with him... 

It was true. Ulysses had made up his mind now, and he’d done it on his own, wholly. 

“My new start?” He said, his voice rumbling so softly from within his mask, that Six had to lean in close to catch his words. “It’s you. It’s always been you. I merely had to reflect to see it. To look back on my past, and on yours. The way that you’ve shaped me, without even knowing it.”

Six blinked at him, and their mouth fell slightly agape in their shock. 

 “Our stories are comparable, Six. Both alone, with a rich past, but no idea who we truly are. Not when your memory was taken from you, and my individuality. Together though, I see a change in both of us. I see what I thought was stolen forever from me, by you.”

Ulysses took another step forward, his chest just barely brushing Six’s as he took a deep breath in, his eyes locked to theirs, dark hair curtaining an intense, but pleading expression. 

And there it was again, that vulnerability that the ex-soldier, ex-spy, had never been able to show another living soul, and it was showing plain in his expression, sounding so clearly in his voice, that it was effortless. 

Six made it effortless for him to be genuine with them. 

It was something he could find himself getting used to, he thought. 

“With you,” He continued, raising one hand to brush the roughened tips of his fingers to Six’s chin. Affectionate, but subtle. “I see a future for us both.”