Don’t Touch My Hex...Please

[dweetwise]

dbd retrospection: bhvr’s negligence and our spending habits

i’m making this post following the talk of a dbd boycott and the (justified) outcry in regards to bhvr’s continuing subpar treatment of the game and its community.

it’s going to be a lot different than my usual content, and if you don’t want the negativity right now and just want to keep enjoying the game, it’s completely ok for you to ignore this post!

Keep reading

[notmyhex]

Encountering

Happy Max Day! I love this man so much, I’m excited to see what others have done! Here’s my contribution for today @highdwightofmylife

You looked down at your clasped hands, a frown on your face. You were unlucky enough to get the energetic trinity: Meg, Feng, and Nea. Those three tend to be very boisterous when together, sometimes too much for you to handle. They weren’t rude towards you. They had tried to include you, but your trials today had been very exhausting.

“Maybe another time,” you had suggested with a tired smile. The girls had agreed and sat chatting across the fire from you. Horrible, horrible trials. The Killers always seemed to know what to do to push you to you limits.

You were tired of the pain. You were tired of the adrenaline. You were tired of the bloodshed. And the girls talking about the trials in front of you were not helping. With a huff, you stood up and began walking. No calls come after you.

This wasn’t the first time you had walked off from the campfire. Hell, quite a few of your friends have gone walking, too. And they’ve learned how to travel.

When one does not focus, they can wind up anywhere. But when there is somewhere specific, say a place where someone could climb onto cars, the Survivors found that they could go where they wanted to go.

But there can be dangers to that. On one occasion, Jeff and Kate were chased out of Ormond by the entire Legion. But it has only happened once in a while, and there has been no casualties.

Quiet, you imagine, twigs cracking under your feet. Quiet.

When you break through the trees, you find yourself at the edge of a cornfield, the shack merely a few feet away. A tall, white tumbledown house stands guard over the field, creaking ominously.

Despite the atrocities you had faced within the premises, this is the closest place to being your favorite. It’s warmer here than in other parts of the Fog. You suspect that this place might’ve been near the south, perhaps even the mid-west.

You let out a heavy sigh, and enter the cornfield. The quiet rustling of the plants brings a smile to your face. The Entity has made the crops dry and brittle, but the texture of the leaves is comforting. Finally, you begin to calm down. Nothing is perfect, shit, it’s hell here, but you managed to find some peace here. You unconsciously make your way toward the house, letting your feet lead you onward.

A sudden feeling of unease takes you by surprise. You blink, brows furrowing. You’ve never felt this before. You can’t be in a trial; the feeling of falling didn’t come. You were used to trusting your gut, but sometimes it leads to failure. You pause, at the edge of the corn in front of the house.

You look around…

…

And see him.

The Hillbilly. He stands halfway down the stairs, his posture uneven. He stares at you, gurgling breath coming and going. His white, glowing eyes catch your orbs, holding you down with his stare. His scarred form always caused a pang to run through you. You can’t imagine why he is the way he is.

Another realization hits you, fear taking root. You were on his land. You were invading his territory. You should be running for your life, just like in the trials. You should be trying to find a pallet, or an escape route. He should be hobbling after you, chasing you with his strange gait. He should be revving up his blood painted chainsaw, the sound of which struck fear into the those who heard it. He-

…

He doesn’t have any of his weapons. The cattle hammer and the chainsaw are not present.

He continues to stare at you. You swallow, taking a small step back, trying to anticipate his next move. He surprises you again when he lets out a deep sigh, leaning down and taking a seat on the stairs.

It’s clear to you now. The Hillbilly doesn’t…have any motives. He has no desire to hunt you down, and he obviously doesn’t care about your presence.

Maybe he’s…tired, like how the Survivors are. Like how you are tired. You never thought the Killers didn’t like the trials, but seeing the Hillbilly now, casually sitting on his front steps, you begin to think that…they might not be so different after all.

…

Was it exhaustion? Maybe it was stupidity? Whatever it was, it led to you walking up to the front steps. The Hillbilly watches every step you take as you sit down a few feet away from him. You lean forward, as if prepared to run at the first sign of trouble, but you are there.

Max is…confused. When he first saw you, he was surprised. He had seen Survivors come onto his land before, but they never stayed here as long as you have. You…interested him. You were the first Survivor to not show fear to him, let alone sit next to him.

…

When he arrived in this place, the others had welcomed him, despite his…strange habits. They taught him the difference between off time and trials. He had made friends with them.

This Survivor, this bravery they show him…This small act of kindness of just sitting with him. He feels like maybe…

Maybe he is making another friend.

When the Hillbilly raises his hand from his side, you lean forward ever-so-slightly. But nothing could prepare you for what happens next.

“Max.”

You blink, your eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. The Killer points to himself, saying the name again. His voice is rough, yet quiet. His glowing eyes watch you, waiting.

You realize he’s waiting for you. You stutter, still amazed in the normalcy of this situation. “Oh, um,” you point to yourself, mimicking him, “(Y/n).”

‘Max’ tilts his head, sounding out your name. “(Y/…n). (Y/n).”

You feel a smile pulling at your lips. “Mhm. It’s nice to meet you, Max.”

He looks up at you, his drooping mouth lifting up at the corners. You lean back against the stairs, taking this time to relax. And as you talk to Max, hearing what he has to say, you realize that maybe…

Maybe he isn’t as bad as you thought he was.

[notmyhex]

Killers and Pianos

@highdwightofmylife

For Deathslinger Day uwu. This one got long ;-;

I should have brought someone with me. What was I thinking?

You pause at the foot of the dirt road, taking in your surroundings. You are tired of the bickering of the survivors who had a trial with you. You had all gotten out just fine, but they were still arguing over the daring basement rescue mid-match.

Who cares if you should have stunned the killer on the way out, you lived, didn’t you?

…

You had seen others leave the campfire before, but up until now you were too nervous to travel the Fog. It might’ve been safer if you had stayed and told David to shut it.

But here you stand, looking down the road of the Glenvale, a fitting tumbleweed bouncing down the street. Despite the nerves jumping under your skin, you are a little happy you wound up here. The dying sun behind the mountains was a welcome sight, a large preference to the endless night in the rest of the realm. You are also grateful for the gentle warmth the place brought.

A faint sound tickles your ears, and you turn toward the saloon. You recall a piano playing tunes in the building, but within trials no one had time to investigate. And investigate is what you shall do.

You peek into the building, cringing at the dead men who sat at the tables. But besides them, the bar was vacant. Even though you are positive the place was empty, you creep closer to the elephant in the room.

The piano plays an upbeat number, undeterred by the death surrounding the saloon. The keys press in themselves, defiant of the fact that no player controlled it. From past experiences, you knew that if you left, then came back in, a different song will play.

You walk in and out of the building several times. Every time it changed. You became more comfortable in the bar. Soon, a mischievous smile finds its way onto your face as you continue to mess with the instrument.

An unsuspected wave of nostalgia washes over you as you jump in front of the piano for the umpteenth time. You remember when you used to take lessons. At the time, you didn’t like the thought of practicing an instrument only to find a different career path. But the tunes you used to play were fun to learn, and you felt proud each time you mastered a piece…

Curiosity plagues your mind as you stand in the doorway. Swallowing, you pad up to the piano. You nervously place your hand beside the keyboard.

…

The saloon goes silent. The keys freeze, as if it was just a normal piano. You retract your hand at the sudden stillness, and glance back toward the exit. When you look back, you notice the chair is tilted in your direction.

You blink. Was it…inviting you? To play? As ridiculous as that sounds, you suppose the idea can’t be that weird. There was and eldritch horror holding you and your friends captive, after all.

You sit in the chair, turning it back to its original position. Looking down at the keys, a number comes to mind. The name of the piece is lost to you, but as you place your hands on the keyboard, you find yourself content to forget.

Content to forget where you are.

What you know.

Content to forget the trials, and the feeling of death.

The soothing melody floats through the air, echoing around the saloon. The song is unlike the others the piano had played previously, and you welcome the change of pace. The opportunity to take the time to relax is one you have not had in a while. You feel the weight of stress lift off your shoulders, and you feel as light as air.

And as the final notes fade out, a calmness floods over you.

“My, my. What a delightful performance.”

You turn around so fast you could have gotten whiplash.

The Deathslinger smiles across the room, sitting casually at the bar. His weapon lays across the counter, blood stained. At the sight of the harpoon gun, you stumble out of your seat, edging toward the door.

The Killer chuckles at the sight, his crooked jaw snapping into place. “Aw, come now. Won’t a pretty darlin’ like yourself take a sit?” He pats the barstool beside his.

You frown, thinking. You could try to make an escape, but you know that the Redeemer can catch you in the blink of an eye. But if you stay, you might not leave the saloon alive.

You should’ve stayed at the fire…

…

Swallowing, you keep your eyes on the Deathslinger as you sit on the other side of the counter, keeping your distance. He hums at your choice.

“I suspected as much. I’m sure you aren’ takin’ too kindly to the idea o’ sitting with the likes o’ me,” he says as he gets up from his seat. Your heart leaps into your throat, thinking he’s going to attack. Instead, he surprises you by going behind the bar, leaving his gun on the other side of the counter. You blink, watching as he takes out a bottle of rum. He turns to you. “Fancy a drink?”

Taken off guard, you hesitantly shake your head. “Oh, um, no thank you.”

“Suit yourself.” He takes out a glass, pouring a generous amount before putting the bottle away. He moves along the bar so he is the furthest he can be from his weapon, but still in speaking distance from you. He takes a sip before looking your way.

“So, what brings you out t’ Glenvale?”

You grip the barstool beneath you. You speak quietly, as if raising your voice could put you in more danger than you are in right now. “I just…wanted to get away from the others. They can be…stressful, sometimes,” you reply, picking your words carefully.

The Killer nods, humming and swirling his drink idly. “Yeah, I hear yer racket when things come a cropper. Some o’ y’all think yer real curly wolves, but it’s all bosh. But some o’ you,” he starts, nodding his head to himself, “some of y’all really fight like Kilkenny cats,” he takes another drink. When he finishes, he puts down his glass, looking at you.

“Tch, enough ‘bout trials. ‘Saw you playin’ the piano. How’d ya learn?”

His lighthearted conversation is enough to make you calm down, at least enough to stop the death grip you had on the stool. You lean on the bar, holding your head in your hand. “I took lessons when I was growing up,” you glanced back at the instrument before looking back to him, “It was nice to practice.”

The Deathslinger nods toward its place against the wall. “Yer dreadfully good. ‘Might have you come over to ‘practice’ ‘nother time.”

Your eyes widen, surprised. “You…want me to come back?”

“’Course. This is the closest thing to peace I’ve found in this wretched place. But,” he says, raising a hand, “only if you want to.”

You turn toward the piano, thinking. You did enjoy playing it. And if the gentleman who ‘owns’ the place is welcoming you here…

…then maybe taking that walk was a good idea.

You smile. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer. Thank you.”

He grins. “I’m the one that’s supposed to be thankin’ you, darlin’.”

You dip your head, sliding off your chair. “I think it’s about time I head back. Don’t want to others looking for me,” you look up to him, “It was nice meeting you…”

You trail off, realizing you hadn’t properly introduced yourself. The man nods.

“Caleb. Caleb Quinn. And yourself?”

You tell him your name, and he repeats it. “Well, it was a pleasure. I’ll be seein’ you. Do say ‘hello’ to Persephone on yer way out.”

You blink, but wave goodbye as you walk out of the saloon.

…oh. That’s Persephone.

A mare stands behind a post, gazing at you with glassy eyes. Her bay colors were faded, and her black mane was stringy. She tilts her head at you, as if wondering who you were.

“Hello, Persephone,” you murmur, raising a hand in a little wave.

She gives you a soft whinny, then leans forward so that your hand is petting her snout. Her skin feels sticky, but you pet her nonetheless. You smile, taking your hand back.

“I’ll see you soon. Maybe I can bring something for you…” you say that last part to yourself, thinking of the plants near the campfire.

As you walk out of the exit gate to head back to the fire, you take a moment to glance at the permanently setting sun. You can’t wait to see it again.

[notmyhex]

Whispering

Happy Philip Day! This is for @highdwightofmylife ‘s April Event ;w; 

(Philip x Reader)

You frown to yourself, watching the dark woods. You’re pretty sure you’re in the right clearing, the one with the tree with blue leaves. Shadows dance around the trees, jokingly hiding the rest of the forest from you. The sounds of invisible wildlife whisper like voices in water. Walking up to the willow, you plop down on the ground, content to wait for your loved one.

You look up to see the canopy of leaves sway in the breeze, the gentle sound encouraging you to lean into the tree. You lower your gaze to the group of white flowers across the clearing from you. A calm smile finds its way to your lips as you remember picking them with him, then demonstrating how to make a flower crown. You recall the flustered grin on Philip’s face when you had placed it on his head.

You lost track of time, and in the midst of your memories, you hear a shuffle nearby. You sit up, but no one is there.

Another whisper, near the flowers, and you wonder if the Entity is trying to pull one on you. Hesitantly, you stand up, wondering, hoping that some other Killer didn’t find you.

A flicker in the corner of your eye is the only warning you have before you feel invisible arms wrap around you, a squeak escaping you. Quiet chuffing laughs come from above you, and Philip’s arms materialize in the blink of an eye.

Once you calm down, you let out a giggle, pulling the arms closer around you. The Wraith hums behind you, resting his head atop yours, his warm breath flowing over your face. You look up into his glowing eyes, planting a kiss to his nose. A sort of purr resonates from him, and he leans down to press a loving kiss to your lips. And as you close your eyes, melting into him, you think this was all worth the wait.