#if you camp a pallet and point at me i will find a way to kill you through the screen

[ssawboness]

if you mildly annoy me in dbd you're getting slugged out of sheer and utter spite. i can and will spend the next four minutes violently nodding and banging on my bell as you slowly bleed to death on the ground. do not test me

[violetaerie]

Do you have tips for playing Violetta? I decided to unlock her and play her more.

Absolutely! Here’s some things to keep in mind:

• In the beginning, save your webs. You can sometimes place them in areas that survs will often use to kite, this comes in handy for later. But I’d recommend not using them for a speed boost until you’re chasing. As long as you’ve memorized spawn points and you know where to go, you should be able to find someone pretty quickly anyways.

• When your presence is almost close to unlocking your second ability, be sure to get a hit with your web shot. This way you can immediately fire a second one and get the surv either to half health or downed. I try to save this for chair rescues. They often will try to stall and play mind games which is good in case you miss, as it allows you to wait for cooldown and try again. Always try to get a web shot before a normal hit.

• Survs can see web shot coming from a distance unless it’s a REALLY long shot. However close range can also be juked (unless you have really good aim). I’ve learned that the best distance is when they’re about 10 steps ahead of you, or cornered. Always always do a web shot when they perform an action (vault windows, throw pallets, healing, etc).

• Cocooned survivors will often start rolling themselves towards the teammate coming to rescue. If you’re guarding them, watch where they start going and try to prevent the rescue. But I don’t always recommend camping survs you’ve cocooned, especially early game. Cocooning survivors should be done when you need to harass ciphers.

• Remember that Violetta is FAST! Walking through a max 3 stacks of webs will give you a big speed boost, so try to keep your webs close together, especially in small/tight areas. When survs have a lot of kiting material, speed is your friend. I always be sure to put my webs on windows and pallets as well so they’re sure to accumulate them and slow down.

Makes me so happy that more people are playing Violetta, she’s such an underrated character. I miss playing her as much as I used to, I no longer have a stable wifi connection and she’s so laggy for me now. I wish you the best of luck with your Soul Weaver matches 🫶

[shadowdaddies]

Hi, do you think you could write a Asterin x reader x Vesta fic where reader decides to go out into the woods for a thing and doesn’t come back for a while, but since readers more adventurous it’s normal for her to take a few days to explore the woods.

But then it’s been a week and the witches are about to say fuck it and go in after reader but then suddenly reader show up with a massive, half-feral female wyvern and is just like “hi, missed you babes this is Fenrir”

hii💜 I've been feeling whimsical lately and that definitely shows in this fic

Lucky Me

Asterin x Reader x Vesta

warnings: none

Shoving the last of the rations into your bag, you clasped it shut, slinging the leather strap across your body. Asterin and Vesta watched you from the doorway, thinly veiled worry in their eyes. 

“Why do you feel the need to go into the forest, again?” Asterin questioned, plopping down on your bed, her black and gold eyes peering up at you through long lashes. 

Vesta rolled her eyes, laying down on the bed next to Asterin. “This is what she does. Our Fearless Adventurer,” she mocked with a flourish of her hand. 

You scoffed, playfully sticking your tongue out at Vesta as you made your way towards the door. “The Jungle of Morla is known to have sprites called Leipreacháns. Apparently if you capture one, it has to give you its fortune,” you said, waggling your eyebrows as you elaborated on the mysterious tale. “It’s been a bit dull around here lately, and I’ve been wanting to explore the Witch Kingdom. And what chance would a little sprite have against a witch?” you bragged haughtily.

Asterin pouted, sitting up from the bed to throw her arms around you. “I don’t want you to leave,” she mumbled into your shoulder. 

Pressing a kiss to her cheek, you swore, “I won’t be gone longer than a few days. If I don’t find a Leipreachán, I’ll just scout the jungle so that we know what it’s like for the sake of defense and head back home.”

Soft blonde hair buried further into your shoulder, Asterin’s hug around you only tightening. Vesta stood, a smirk on her face as she moved to join the hug.

“I hope you plan on sharing that gold with us,” she teased, and you only brought her closer, basking in her comforting scent before you finally let the pair go and turned to walk out the door.

~~~

The jungle was full of life - the trees a more vibrant green than you’d ever seen, birds, snakes, and large cats found at every turn. But after a full day of travel, there remained no sign of any fairies, much less Leipreachán. 

Exhausted and frustrated, you rolled out your pallet on the forest floor, listening to the sounds of chirping birds and the babbling brook as you fell asleep.

The next day passed in an almost identical manner. You enjoyed the liveliness of the forest, the fresh air and unique wildlife, but no fairies were to be found. Until you crossed the tree line, where the colors of the leaves changed. As in, they changed constantly. You were covered in a rainbow of magic, the treetops changing from green to blue to purple hues and everything in between as you marched onward. 

Whispers echoed through the wind, your clue that dryads were in the trees. Bubbles sprung up from the brook, showcasing the alven who waved as they floated downstream. 

You had clearly entered into a place of magic, surrounded by fairies, and thus decided that this would be a proper place to set up camp for the evening. Remaining cautious not to destroy or loot any of the plants and berries nearby, you pulled food rations from your bag. Jerky, bread, and chocolate was what remained at this point, and you decided that the protein and carbohydrates from the beef and bread would provide you with better sustenance to further your search of the Leipreachán tomorrow. 

Setting the chocolate back inside your bag, you ate your dinner listening to the musicality of the enchanted forest, eventually drifting off to sleep under the starry sky. 

~~~

Unbeknownst to you, time moved slower the further you ventured into the Jungle of Morla. While less than three days had passed where you were, seven had passed in the Witch Kingdom.

Vesta paced back and forth, fingers tangled in her red hair as she fought the anxiety building within her. Asterin watched her from the couch, leg bouncing as she chewed on her lip.

“What do we do? Do we go after her? We don’t even know where she could be,” Vesta babbled, breathing growing difficult as visions flashed of all the terrible things that could have happened to you.

Asterin released a shaky exhale before she stilled, looking up at Vesta. “Of course we go after her. We can venture to the edge of the forest - that’s nearly half a day’s journey, and we’ll decide from there. I’m sure she left a trace of where she traveled.”

With that, the witches packed their bags, setting off towards the jungle.

~~~

A small, frustrated huff echoed in your ear, rousing you from your sleep. Bleary eyes opened to see a greenie at your side, hopelessly trying to open the bag which you were currently using as a pillow. You eyed the little golden fairy for a moment before you sat up, keeping your hand firmly on the bag.

The fairy jumped back, frightened as its iridescent wings twitched in irritation. “What do you want?” it hissed up at you.

You scoffed, shooing the fairy back with your hand. “What do you want? Who do you think you are, trying to dig through my bag?”

The fairy sniffed, turning her head to the side as she tapped an impatient foot. “You are the one in my forest, bringing chocolate! Of all the sweets, you bring chocolate and expect no fairies to take it? I could smell that from a mile away,” she huffed, eyes flicking to the small opening in your bag.

“Nuh-uh,” you tsked, slamming your hand over the opening with a Cheshire grin. “I’ll make you a deal,” you drawled, the greenie immediately perking up at your offer. “If you can help me find a Leipreachán, I’ll give you all the chocolate that I have. Which is a good bit, I’ll add.”

The fairy took about one half of a second to decide before she reached out a gilded hand, shaking the tip of your finger. It was a deal.

“The Leipreachán waits at the end of the brook,” the greenie said, holding out her hand expectantly for you to deliver the chocolate. You sighed, opening the bag to snap off a tiny piece of the sweet before dropping it in her tiny hands.

“I’m going to need more information than that, if you want more chocolate,” you countered. “How does a brook have an end? Where is that?”

Gold dust shook from the fairy as she stomped a foot, glaring up at you. “The end of the brook is the end of the brook,” she scowled, pointing upstream. “It begins at the lake. You will know it when you see it.”

You took a moment to consider, knowing how mischievous greenies and other sprites can be. Her directions seemed simple enough. “Fine. Here, take the rest of the chocolate,” you granted, setting down the bar in front of her. You were shocked at the strength she showed, her tiny wings beating like a hummingbird’s as she lifted the bar twice her size, flying away without another word.

“I guess that’s it, then,” you muttered, rolling up your cot and beginning your journey towards the lake. You walked for several hours with only the sounds of strange birds and the dryads to keep you company, when you came across a clearing. 

The trees parted, their colorful assortment of leaves making way for the sunny afternoon sky and a calm, crystal clear lake ahead of you. Scanning the landscape, you began to search for the Leipreachán when you felt something pull on your pant leg. 

Startled, you drew your dagger, turning to find a small, very old looking man with a long red beard. Immediately, you lunged for him, barely catching the little sprite’s ankle in your grip to drag him back towards you.

The Leipreachán spewed curses at you, thrashing in your hold as he fought to be free. You pressed your dagger to his throat, and the sprite’s eyes grew wide as he stilled. 

“Okay, then. You’ve caught me. I assume it’s my gold that you want, then?” he asked, his voice too light and teasing. Something was amiss here. Nonetheless, you nodded, eager to hear what he had to say.

“My pot of gold is at the end of the rainbow. If you find it, it’s yours,” he said, a delirious chuckle echoing from his lips until his face turned red, the Leipreachán disappearing into a puff of green smoke. 

Waving your hand, you coughed and sputtered out the smoke from your mouth as you sat back on your heels, pondering what he meant. There was no rainbow; it hadn’t rained recently. The sky was clear above you. If only you could climb above the tree line to see the horizon, see if the rainbow was there.

As you searched for a tree to climb to gain the vantage point you needed, the realization hit you like a brick, knocking you on your ass in laughter. The multi-colored trees of the enchanted forest were like a rainbow, and the end of the rainbow must be the edge of the forest. 

Surveying the trees that surrounded the lake, you found that the path through which you’d come had disappeared. There were no multi-colored leaves that exuded magic, just crisp greenery. The cracking of branches sounded from behind you, and you looked across the lake to see the trees tops shaking, a monstrous roar sounding from within. A small sliver of brilliant colors peeked through the far side of the trees, and you smirked at the realization. The monster was the end of the rainbow.

~~~ 

Vesta was doubled over, hands on her knees as she panted for breath. “Goddess, how and why does she go on these treks? This should be a designated form of torture,” she heaved.

Asterin took deep breaths, opening her canteen as she stood next to Vesta, the two of them at the edge of the jungle. “I don’t know, but if she’s okay, I might kill her for putting us through this.”

Vesta’s head whipped towards Asterin, golden-onyx eyes sparkling with mirth. “You could just tell her how you feel,” she said, smugness radiating in her tone.

“So could you,” Asterin snapped back, huffing as she put her canteen away. “Let’s get going, before nightfall.”

Vesta managed to stand, aching muscles following Asterin closer to the tree line when they heard it. The trees shook with a massive wind, a loud roar bellowing from above, shortly accompanied by the sound of your voice, yelling something unintelligible.

Panic struck the witches, their hearts pounding with worrisome fear as a shadow passed overhead. Daring to look up, they saw the deep purple scales of a wyvern, your broad smile as you sat atop the beast. 

Your excitement was palpable as you directed the wyvern towards the ground, Vesta and Asterin nearly losing their balance at the force of the landing. They watched, frozen in shock as you leapt from the beast, hauling your bag over your shoulder as you approached the wyvern’s snout.

“Good girl,” you cooed, scratching the creature’s chin. Striding towards Vesta and Asterin, you dropped the heavy bag to the ground, rubbing your shoulder at the pain from the weight it had been carrying. 

“What are you two doing here? You missed me too much after a couple of days?” you teased, your smile quickly fading at their twin looks of confusion.

“A few days? It’s been ten days since you left,” Asterin whispered, her voice shaking. Your stomach dropped, mind reeling as you tried to process her words. “And you have a wyvern?” she gestured to the beast, admirably unflinching at how its wings flared, talons digging into the ground at her movement.

You glanced to the beautiful creature, admiration in your eyes at the marvelous being. “This is Fenrir. I think I’ll keep her,” you explained, giggling as Fenrir brushed her snout against you affectionately. After a moment of charged silence, you continued. 

“Fenrir was guarding the Leipreachán’s gold. She was all chained up, poor thing. So she’ll be coming home with us,” you said, almost more to Fenrir than the others. 

Asterin charged you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug as she buried her head in your shoulder. “Please never leave for that long again. I don’t think I could bear it,” she sniffled against your skin. You waved Vesta over, the other witch joining the hug.

“We both missed you, too much. I am just glad you are alright,” she breathed. With a smirk, you leaned back from the two of them, walking to where your satchel lay on the ground. 

“I’m more than just ‘alright,’” you teased, an arrogant smile on your face as you dumped the pounds of gold from the bag. “Now, let’s fly home.”

[rainisawriter]

I’ll Never Leave – Renato (PSF #19)

Ficography

Genre: Fluff

Prompt: Keeping someone safe (@flufftober)

Word Count: 2,983

Pairing: Reader x Renato

World: Dead by Daylight

───── ⋆⋅🍂⋅⋆ ─────

You rolled your neck, breathing heavily as you stared at Ghostface from across the dropped pallet. You were the last survivor alive and he had been toying with you for about ten minutes. Despite chasing you while covered from head to toe, his breathing was completely normal. 

He tilted his head to the side, expression hidden behind the mask, though you knew he was smirking as he flipped his knife a few times. “How much longer can you last?”

You wiped the sweat from your brow, glaring at him. “As long as I need to.”

He didn’t know it, but you had been lucky enough to pull Bill’s hatch perk before the match began. You could see it glowing yellow in the distance, so close yet so very far. You were already injured and exhausted. Did you have enough energy within you to reach it?

As soon as doubt started to cloud your mind, you clenched your fists and told those thoughts to fuck off. You’ve been forced into this damn cat-and-mouse game for years. You were a veteran by this point and there was no way in hell you were going to give up. At the very least, you wouldn’t give this smug bastard the satisfaction.

“What are you waiting for?” you taunted, holding out your arms. “I’m already injured, Ghostie. Come and get me… if you can.”

Ghostface chuckled, gripping his knife tightly. He did love the thrill of the hunt. “I’m gonna get you, little lamb.”

You scoffed, faking right before running left. He fell for it but corrected himself quickly and you switched directions as soon as he did. You looped him for a solid minute before he got tired of it, kicking the pallet hard so that it broke in half. The second his boot hit the wood, you darted toward the hatch, clutching your stomach.

The shirt you wore was soaked with blood from the wound, pain shooting through your body with every step. You didn’t have to glance over your shoulder to know that he was on your ass. The hatch was nearly within reach now.

A cry left your lips when his blade sliced across your back, knocking you down to the ground. Unfortunately for him, you fell right next to the hatch and, before he could grab you, you slipped into the inky blackness, successfully escaping the trial.

You exhaled as you felt your wounds healing on their own, the darkness surrounding you completely. The first thing you heard was Renato calling out your name before his tall body fell against your own, his arms around you. You blinked a few times, the survivor’s camp coming into focus.

“Welcome back, meu coração,” he breathed out, his thick accent bringing a smile to your face. You honestly had no clue what ‘meu coração’ meant because neither he nor his sister would tell you, but you adored the way he said it.

“Thank you,” you replied tiredly, patting his back.

Nea scowled at you before slapping a candy bar against David’s palm. He was grinning widely, clearly proud of himself. Currently, you were on a winning streak and the two were constantly betting on you, offering up snacks or med kits. Since Nea didn’t like you, she kept betting for you to lose and always tried to sabotage you when you were in trials together.

It didn’t take you long to realize what she was up to and you certainly weren’t going to let her be your downfall. 

Renato pulled back, a smile on his lips. “That’s your twentieth win, meu coração! Ten more and you’ll beat Bill’s record.”

You glanced at the old man sitting in front of the fire, a cigarette between his lips. He didn’t seem worried or bothered by this because, to him, it wasn’t a competition. He was here to fight and survive, nothing more, nothing less. You felt much the same, though you had found another reason to survive.

Your eyes fell on Renato and he offered you a shy smile, hand finding the back of his neck. It was what he did when he was nervous, you had learned, and he did it a lot when he was with you. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked

“Not really, no.” Your nose wrinkled at the thought of food, making him frown.

“Do you feel unwell?” His hand found your forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”

“I’m fine, just tired.”

He nodded in understanding, giving you a soft smile. “Go get some rest, meu coração. Sleep well.”

“Thanks, Ren.”

He bit his lip, butterflies fluttering in his stomach at the nickname. His dark eyes followed you until you disappeared into your tent. He wished he could make you feel better, but there was nothing that could heal against the entity’s grip. Whether you win or lose a trial, it’s always tough on the survivors.

You were a lot like Bill, pretending as if it didn’t bother you but he knew it did. It affected everyone, though he had noticed that it wasn’t the same for everyone. Some of the survivors were weaker to the entity’s influence, taking days to fully recover after a trial. Others were ready to go after just a couple of hours. You were part of the latter category, though he still worried for you.

Thalita nudged his shoulder, a smirk on her lips. “Daydreaming about them again, hm?”

His cheeks dusted with pink and he sent his older sister a scowl. “I was not.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” she snickered. “Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t just confess.”

“No way!” he replied quickly, shaking his head. “I could never.”

“Why not? It’s not like we’re going anywhere. Though,” her eyes flickered to Leon who was roasting marshmallows on the fire. “If you don’t confess soon, someone else might.”

Renato followed his sister’s gaze and frowned, feeling several negative emotions settling in his gut. He hadn’t failed to notice how close you and Leon were, though he couldn’t tell how you felt. He was confident that Leon liked you and the thought of him confessing to you scared him.

Leon was kind, friendly and selfless. He’s sacrificed himself many times just to give his team a chance at surviving and he never complained. Not to mention he was strong and attractive.

On the other hand, Renato was more reserved, struggling to properly interact with the others. He wasn’t willing to rush in and sacrifice himself for others, unless it was you or his sister, and he didn’t believe himself to be attractive at all. He was also self-conscious about his English, though you had reassured him numerous times that his English was fluent.

He had pictured himself confessing to you many times since the two of you first met, but he could never quite get up the nerve to do so. He was afraid of losing you. Not that you could go anywhere, you were all stuck in the entity’s realm, but he was afraid you wouldn’t want to be near him again.

It was honestly a tale as old as time itself, but he was okay with being a cliché so long as he had you by his side.

───── ⋆⋅🍂⋅⋆ ─────

A sharp sting against your wrist pulled you roughly from sleep and you scowled at the survivor mark etched into your skin. It was the entity’s way of keeping track of everyone and alerting them when it was their turn to enter the trial. It couldn’t have been more than five hours since your face-off with Ghostie and you still felt exhausted.

There was no getting out of it, though, not unless you wanted to spend time in the void, stuck to a hook for days on end. With a sigh, you pulled yourself out of the sleeping bag, stuffing your feet into your boots before stepping outside.

Most of the survivors had gone to bed, the campfire dwindling. The moon was full above, thin clouds floating around it like a blanket. It was hard to tell the seasons in this realm but the air was nippy, reminding you of autumn. The thought brought a smile to your face.

Your wrist burned again, smile twisting into a scowl. “Yeah, yeah. I’m going.”

You approached the shed that sat at the edge of the camp, stepping inside. Leon was standing at the locker closest to the door and he glanced at you, smiling warmly. You greeted him with a nod, approaching the locker beside him and holding up your wrist. The blue orb on the door scanned it before the lock clicked.

The locker opened up, the inside bigger than the ones in trials. The items you owned sat on a table while the walls displayed the blood web and the items you could buy. The timer had begun to tick down, indicating that everyone had arrived.

You didn’t bother looking to see who else had been chosen, you just focused on choosing your items. You decided on taking a toolbox with a brand new part, but something stopped you. Your gut was telling you to choose the med kit and you grabbed it seconds before the dark fog filled the room, encasing everything.

Cold drops of rain pelted your body and you knew what realm you had landed in before your eyes even opened – Mother’s Dwelling. It was your favorite realm because it was peaceful, easy to hide in, and because it always rained. You could only hope the killer wasn’t too annoying.

“I swear if it’s Ghostface again,” you muttered under your breath, beginning to walk through the forest, sticks snapping beneath your feet. 

There was a generator in front of you but you didn’t touch it. The beginning of the match was important because you had no idea who the killer was. They always listened for the annoying grating of metal as the generators started up and that would determine who got caught first.

Your heart rate increased, the beating in your ears steadily getting louder as the killer approached. You darted behind a thick tree, squatting down so you could peer over a thick bush. The forest was dark, thick black mist covering the floor. Your eyes narrowed as the killer came around the corner, heading straight toward the gen. 

It was the hillbilly.

You bit your lip to hold back your groan, fingers curling around your pant leg. Of all the killers, why him? Granted, he’s not as difficult as the cannibal, but he was still a pain in the ass because that chainsaw was painful as hell. 

‘Looks like I’m going stealth this game,’ you thought, watching as he sauntered away to check the other gens. Once your heart rate returned to normal, you approached the gen and got to work connecting wires and tightening screws.

You heard hurried footsteps behind you and you glanced over your shoulder, eyes widening. Renato smiled at you when your eyes met his, but it was a weary one.

“Meu coração,” he breathed out, coming to a stop beside you. “You’re back in a trial already… are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you assured him only to connect the wrong wires and cause the Gen to blow up in your face. “Shit.”

His slender fingers curled around your wrist, tugging you up and away from the gen just as your heart rate increased again. You could hear the chainsaw revving in the distance, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end. You shoved Renato to the side and he cried out, losing his balance and hitting the ground with you on top of him.

The hillbilly darted through the spot you had just been standing, the chainsaw cutting through the air. He let out a frustrated cry and you scrambled to your feet, only one thing on your mind – protect Renato at all costs. You would do anything to keep him safe, even if it meant sacrificing yourself to do so.

“Oi, shit stain,” you taunted, stepping away from Renato who was still on the ground, watching you with wide eyes.

The hillbilly slowly turned toward you, glowing eyes narrowed. 

You smirked at him. “Your aim still sucks. You should consider asking that leather-faced bastard for some tips. He’s way better than you.”

A loud, angry cry left him as he lifted the chainsaw above his head, revving it repeatedly. You turned on your heel, darting away with him right behind you. He tried to rush at you with the chainsaw but you darted to the left at the last second, just barely managing to dodge it. 

You ran through a pallet, thinking you had enough time to drop it and gain some distance but you misjudged it. He struck you hard with his hammer and you cried out, clutching your shoulder as you ran.

You were about to vault into the killer shack when Nea appeared on the other side of the window, a smirk on her lips. She shoved you backward as hard as she could and you stumbled back. The hillbilly grabbed your injured shoulder, bringing the hammer down again. Your body crumbled, pain filling you.

He grabbed you by the back of your shirt, throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You struggled to free yourself but he had been lucky enough to get iron grasp, making it much harder to break free. You glanced over your shoulder, realizing he was bringing you toward the shack, intent on putting you in the basement. 

Was he going to camp the hook? 

As he stepped into the doorway, the pallet was thrown down, stunning him. You fell from his shoulder, stumbling forward. Renato grabbed your hand and ran toward the other side of the shack, keeping you in front of him since you were already injured.

“This way, meu coração,” he whispered, lightly pushing you toward the corner of the map. 

You could hear the chainsaw revving and the hillbilly yelling. Renato bit his lip, acting quickly. Just before the killer came through the door, he shoved you hard against the log wall that surrounded the map. You winced as it dug into your back, aggravating the wound but that was quickly forgotten when the tall male pressed his body against your own, shielding you from view.

His fingers found the nap of your neck, warm breath on your ear as he whispered, “Please try to be quiet, meu coração.”

You buried your face in his tank top to muffle your groans of pain, fingers curling around the black material. You could hear his heart racing within his chest, the sound interlacing with your own until they became one.

You could hear the hillbilly’s heavy breathing as he searched behind trees and in bushes, trying to find you but his eyesight had never been the greatest and he certainly wasn’t the smartest. 

“I’ll protect you,” breathed Renato, his hand coming to the back of your head, his other arm slipping around your waist. His voice was trembling and he was obviously scared, but you knew he meant every word. “I swear I’ll protect you, meu coração.”

You chuckled softly, finally feeling as if you could breathe when the hillbilly gave up the search to check the gens. You pulled back just enough to look up at him, adoring the way his tanned cheeks had turned pink. “Isn’t that the same thing I said to you in our first trial together?”

“You remember,” he smiled, offering you a nod. “You’ve saved me so many times since I arrived here. Now, it’s my turn.”

“You can start by healing me,” you joked, giving him a half-smirk when he sent you an embarrassed look.

“Sorry!”

You kneeled down, allowing him to lean over you, his hands hovering above the wound on the back of your shoulder. With the entity’s magic, you felt the wound begin to close, wincing at the strange sensation. You’ve been healed thousands of times, but you didn’t think you would ever get used to the feeling. Rather than the wound healing, it felt more like…

Well, it felt as if time was reversing itself, as if someone had pressed rewind on just the wound. It wasn’t painful, perse, but it was a strange and uncomfortable feeling. It was unnatural like everything else in this damn realm.

“There,” he spoke softly, stepping back so you could stand again.

“Thanks, love.”

The words slipped out on their own accord but both of you tensed up because of them. It just felt so natural to say it to him that you hadn’t given it any thought. He knew that it was a common thing in some parts of the world to say to people that you had no romantic interest in.

He knew that, yet his heart raced within his chest, face burning. If it hadn’t been for the lack of ear-piercing pounding in his ears, he would have thought the hillbilly had returned. 

You frowned as you took in his tense posture. “Sorry, it just slipped out. If it makes you uncomfortable -“

“No!” He replied quickly, holding out his hand. “I-I like it… a lot.”

You hummed, amusement dancing in your eyes. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“A deal? What do you mean?”

“I’ll start calling you love if you tell me what meu coração means.”

Renato bit his lip as he considered this. “If… if we both survive this trial, I promise I’ll tell you.”

You hummed in thought, ignoring Nea’s scream as she was taken out by the chainsaw. It was just deserts, in your opinion. You smiled, slipping your hand into his. “You better stay close to me, Ren, so I can keep you safe.”

His eyes sparkled as he nodded, giving your hand a squeeze. “I won’t ever leave your side, meu coração.”

───── ⋆⋅🍂⋅⋆ ─────

-> General Taglist: @asterhaze, @mrskenpachizaraki

[margowritesthings]

Good Girl (pt. 2)

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 1565 words

warnings: explicit, cunnilingus, praise kink, use of the word daddy (idk man it just happened okay????), penetration, rough sex

a/n: this is probably my filthiest smut to date???? idk, but i bloody enjoyed writing it

tagging: (i can't find my taglist!! i'm so sorry- please do drop me a message if you'd like to be added)

part 1

It isn’t a long ride after all, due to the heavens opening above you and Arthur about 15 minutes after you’d set back off. You’d both decided it was best to set up a tent in the woods, despite only being about an hour out of camp. (Well, you’d decided it was best to set up a tent, and how could Arthur refuse that look you’d mastered so beautifully?) It was far too wet to set up a fire, so you had to huddle up close in the blankets. All in all, everything was going precisely to the plan you didn’t know you had until it all fell into place, laying on the blanket, feeling Arthur’s cock twitching to attention into your ass cheek.

A sultry, accomplished smirk pulls at the corner of your lips before you roll over in the tiny tent, finding your way right into Arthur’s strong hold. He consumes you, both in the way his huge arms wrap around your frame and the way his lips crash against yours. The second his tongue seeks entrance your lips part for him and you moan softly at the distinctly Arthur taste dancing on your pallet. 

He swiftly flips you to your back, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth once before pulling away to slip your buttons out of their holes and pushing your sleeves off your shoulders. You’re practically writhing under him, a sight to behold as a cocky grin appears on Arthur’s features. He pulls off your boots and peels down your jeans. You’re naked now, save for your panties, the cold air around you puckering your nipples to an almost painful point. He hasn’t even touched you and yet you ache for him. He knows it, a low chuckle emitting from deep in his throat while you twitch and mewl.

“What do you want, darlin’? Tell me what you want.” He breathes out, that same gruffness from earlier dripping from his voice as a single finger trails over your naked skin, down your chest, hovering just above your quivering heat.

“You. I need you, Arthur, please…” You whine needily, bucking your hips up to meet his finger. It brushes too briefly over your clit, sending a jolt right through your spine, escaping as a moan. Arthur’s eyebrow raises as his head tilts. 

“Such a needy girl. You’re gonna have to be patient while I get these clothes off. You think you can wait for me?” You nod, biting down on your bottom lip, a picturesque brat laying below your cowboy. 

“Good girl.”

Your eyes widen and you clench around nothing, feeling the cotton of your pantied soak through and cling to your swollen, twitching flesh. Ever the expert on your every tiny detail, Arthur watches your reaction with a satisfied countenance.

“I knew it… y’just wanna be my good little girl, don’tcha, sweetheart? My beautiful, filthy girl.” One hand reaches to unbutton his shirt, his duster coat long discarded on the floor, while the other hovers back over you, Arthur rewarding your good behaviour with deliciously slow circles with his thumb over your clit. You nod in response, watching Arthur slip off his suspenders with those doe eyes he loves so, grinding hungrily against his hand.

“Y-Yours.” You mumble, barely able to get the word out from your reddened, bitten lips. Arthur’s thumb against your little bundle of nerves is sending you dizzy, the corners of your vision fizzling as he slowly takes you right to the edge and then stops, pulling his hand away to unbuckle his belt. You whine again, much brattier this time, earning another chuckle just as Arthur’s thick, rigid cock springs free of his jeans, slapping up against his stomach. You can see him twitch, his rosy head slick from a bead of cum leaking out of you; he needs you just as much as you need him. 

“Y’gonna be good for me?” He drawls, stroking himself slowly, his eyes never leaving you. You can barely breathe, nevermind speak, so you respond with actions rather than words, crawling to Arthur and kneeling before him. In a swift movement, you lick up his shaft, having to sit up to get to the top, before taking him in your mouth and suckling. 

“Fuck.” He groans through gritted teeth, fingers tangling into your hair, thumb resting on your cheek sweetly as he rocks his hips into you slowly. He gives you the control, just long enough to get used to the feeling of your throat being filled, before grasping at your hair and fucking into you. He groans again, a carnal, visceral moan as you take as much of him as you can. You feel a tiny tear run off your cheek and onto Arthur’s thumb just as your lungs begin to burn for air. The noises that come from the pair of you are utterly filthy: the low groan from Arhur, your gasps and cries for air, his cock slipping out of your mouth with a loud pop. 

“That's my girl,” Arthur praises, wiping your tears and spit away from your cheek with his thumb. You’re almost certain that if he doesn’t take you soon you’re going to ruin the blankets, all but dripping out onto the floor for your outlaw. You whine, scratching gently at Arthur’s muscular thighs to let him know just how much you need him.

Before you can register, your back is hitting the floor for the second time today, this time with Arthur’s strong arms to break the fall. His lips crash against yours with a fiery passion, his tongue demanding entrance to lick over your own. The tightening coil inside you is almost at breaking point as you pull and scratch at Arthur’s back to bring him closer. 

In one swift movement, without his lips ever leaving yours, Arthur pushes into you, right up to the hilt. You’re so full and it takes a second to adjust to the wonderful invasion, which Arthur gives you by staying right where he is. You’re twitching around his stiff cock, which seems to drive him dizzy. His arms tense around you and you see his jaw flutter, a sure sign he’s trying to hold back for you. The nip of his bottom lip between your teeth is enough permission from you, as he pulls his hips back agonisingly slowly. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, I… I can’t hold back, you feel too fucking good…” you feel his gravelly tone right in the bottom of your stomach, “Y’think you can take it?” 

You nod passionately, physically unable to speak as the air is stolen from your lungs time and time again by the outlaw. 

“Good.” It’s the last syllable he can manage before pounding into you, forcing a squeal from your lips. He fucks you hard, your hands gripping into his back to try and anchor yourself to the world, lest you drift away. He hits you right in that spot every time and you feel yourself winding closer and closer to the edge. You don’t know when the tears started falling again, but when Arthur reaches with his thumb to wipe them away, you catch it in your mouth. 

He raises an eyebrow almost smugly, pushing his thumb a little further into your mouth as you suckle. The harder he fucks you, the more your teeth bite into him. Arthur’s free hand grasps your hip, pinning you down so you can’t write beneath him.

“Look at you, taking me so well… my girl.” He leans in closer so his hot breath tickles your neck. You feel his tongue flick over your jawline, just as his hand leaves your waist to smack the side of your ass. You bite down harder onto his thumb, moaning around it as Arthur’s nails dig into your flesh. 

“Good-“ thrust “fucking-“ thrust “girl.”

His thumb pulls out of your mouth, letting you moan loudly and freely as it pushes down onto your clit. Your own spit, along with the slick you and Arthur had worked up together, is rubbed up and down your swollen nub until you can barely see, barely breathe, from the intensity. Arthur’s hips slam into you as he grunts and moans.

“Y’gonna cum for me, beautiful? Cum for daddy.”

You just about manage to reach the back of Arthur’s neck to pull him into a hungry kiss just before you cum together. He catches your cries and moans in his mouth as he uses expert movements to have you clamping and twitching and flooding onto his cock. It’s a rushing feeling, falling over your entire being like a white hot waterfall. Arthur’s thrusts are fast and hard right until the end, where he slams into you and grips your sides with a bruising force, spearing you into him. You can feel the twitches of his cock as he pumps his seed into you, coating your insides beautifully.

“Fuck, baby…” He groans against your lips through gritted teeth, just as the last drop of adrenaline leaves him and he collapses onto you, sliding out with ease as both of your slick starts to run down your leg. 

A tender kiss is pressed to your forehead with loving intention, while Arthur runs his fingers over your glistening forehead, wiping away a stray piece of hair. 

“I love yah, y’know that?”

“I know.”

“Never forget it.”

“I won’t.”

“Good girl.” 

[fruggo]

Hi hi can I req Danny, Leon and Steve with a male s/o who's a real goofy guy? Cracks jokes during chases, just can't take things too seriously, laid back and chill guy who prioritizes having fun

absolutely, thanks for requesting!! :D this is cute haha. i hope you like it!

danny, leon, and steve with goofy m!s/o

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

danny would consider himself a pretty fun guy, though perhaps his idea of fun would not be the same as a normal person's. so i wouldn't take his word for it if i were you.

honestly? he thinks you're the shit. he genuinely likes your bad dad jokes great puns, will banter back and forth with you, and he might even give you the hatch instead of a mori. although he would love to have your picture, it can wait until the next trial. or the next if he still doesn't feel like it. who knows?

he likes that you're not too serious about everything. since danny is the entity's golden boy, he never has to worry about anything! he likes it here! and it's cool that someone else has a similar mindset about things. although he might have misunderstood "making the best of the situation and just being a goofy person" for "liking it here". you never really clarified which one it was, and why should he ask?

when danny finds out that you act basically the same way with all the killers, cracking jokes and laughing things off in chases, he gets all pouty. he thought he was special. well, looks like you're getting that mori now.

he still likes you though, and he gives you even more special attention now in the form of tunneling and camping! he means well <3 (no he doesn't he is a little bitch and a loser)

but then he hears stories from the other killers about you, and is pleased to find that you are significantly more fun with him, and, dare i say, flirty!

but he still wants to tunnel and camp you.

when you realize what he's doing, you don't get mad about it. what's the point? in fact you think it's really funny.

the first time danny proximity-camped you, you found it rewarding to just talk and talk and talk until he finally talked back. it took a while, but he did finally respond.

you would just say dumb shit, and then you would say more dumb shit, and then it got annoying and danny had to tell you to shut up. and then you would just dramatically whisper something like "okay, pissbaby."

and danny thought maybe he should be angry with you, but he just wasn't. he couldn't be mad at you, because even if he was, you wouldn't care. you weren't scared of him.

so when he finally left and you got unhooked, he tunneled you obviously. it makes sense, okay?

"wow, am i that handsome and gorgeous and attractive?" you monologued while smashing a pallet onto danny's head. "i'm really just so irresistible that you want to tunnel me? honestly, danny, i'm flattered. i'm touched."

danny couldn't remember since when you were on a first name basis, but he let it slide. just because maybe he thinks you are that handsome and gorgeous and attractive.

dude danny is kinda fucked up but like. he's funny. and charming. and he also let you take off his mask once, and so now you know he's also hot. he has a few things going for him as long as you ignore the part where he chases you with a knife.

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐘

leon, our favorite rookie :D he's so cute!!! sorry im gushing i just cant resist i love him !!

and you love him too, so much. that's why you accidentally distract him during trials by goofing off and almost getting him killed

it's out of love. leon knows that. you don't really mean to.

while leon's doing a generator, you are probably somewhere nearby trying to find something even remotely interesting to do. and that might involve climbing a tree, then falling out of the tree. but it wasnt your fault! you swore the crows were attacking you, they didn't want you up in that tree because they knew you were just so cool up there and the Entity couldn't have somebody being better and hotter and funnier than itself so high in the sky.

leon could only smile and shake his head, inspecting you for the wounds you inevitably had. when you said you were fine, he was very skeptical, because your version of fine was never the same as his.

the killer knew where you were now because of your very loud "FUCK!" as the crows supposedly attacked you and forced you out of the tree, so you immediately put on your game face and got ready to command some attention.

leon said no, you were not in the right headspace to get chased. you only shrugged at him, slapped his ass, and ran towards the killer yelling, "HEY YOU WANNA HEAR AN AGGIE JOKE?"

leon was used to this by now, and he found it rather endearing. you were an enigma to him, really. how you could be so laid back about this whole murder-die-sacrifice thing was beyond him, but it was refreshing. he liked your enthusiasm.

since he had just come from raccoon city, he was still in his "i have to do the right thing and save everybody because it's my duty" kind of mood. you made sure to lighten up that burden and remind him that it's okay to chill sometimes, and he can't save everybody, especially not here. if you were in a particularly bad trial, you always made sure to get him to crack a smile.

likewise, leon wasn't always too jazzed about your "funny guy gets killed so the team can live" complex. he knew you didn't care, or at least you said you didn't, but he still hated that you constantly sacrificed yourself and acted like it was no big deal. to him, it was. he hated going back to the campfire alone and waiting forever for you to show up again; he cared about you and it hurt to see you sacrifice yourself so much even if he knew you would return.

leon didn't have a stick up his ass or anything--he had his fair share of humorous moments (i mean have you seen infinite darkness ashdjshdf that man just wants love and food). he just wants to save everybody, you included. it's frustrating to come to terms with the fact that he can't.

he loves it when he can hear you yelling at the killer mid-chase from afar, be it a pun or a swear or both. you've even influenced him to crack his own jokes while being chased sometimes--it comes out more often if he's being tunneled. if you ever happened to see him do it, you would wipe a fake tear from your face and start clapping. you were very proud of your rookie.

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍

the killers hated you and steve, and i mean like despised you

you were so chill. and for what???? why do you have chill???? nobody else has chill, what makes you think you deserve to have chill????

they could never make you angry and that made them super angry

you and steve would quip back and forth between chases, sometimes going so far as to pretend the killer is not there and talk about something like what kind of cheese you missed eating the most. let me tell you, that did not make the trickster happy.

he was a star!! a star, and here you two little shits were, ignoring him to talk about cheese. honestly, the audacity.

you and steve ran to the killer shack with the trickster on your heels, still talking about cheese. how the conversation had gone on this long was a mystery, and it continued to be a mystery while the two of you shared a chase in the shack.

steve was very happy to have found someone to share his sentiments with. everybody was so serious all the time, and while he was similar to leon with his altruistic streaks, he was slightly less responsible and occasionally enjoyed doing dumb stunts just for shits and giggles.

you can bet that whenever you are in a trial together, it's a competition to see who can hold the killer's attention longer. your teammates don't mind--all they have to do is complete gens, so their job is fairly easy. and it's always entertaining to catch sight of one of you sprinting with a new flashlight in your hand to go annoy the crap out of the killer.

there's no question that steve would die for you a hundred times over, and you would do the same for him. you didn't see it as a very big deal--you didn't see anything here as a very big deal. steve was the only important thing you had, really, and you cared for him a lot. saving him? kapeesh. no sweat.

scenario: steve is being chased, you throw yourself in front of him, the killer has noed, you are hooked, you give him a thumbs up as you die, he flips you off because why the fuck would you die for him what is wrong with you he's supposed to die for you and you know that?? why would you do that???? great, now steve gets to escape and it's all your fault.

you would simply smile. he was so cute sometimes.

[sundiscus]

wangxian dragon age au: ficlet

[part of a larger au i’ve mapped out + started drafting, but want to post as snippets for now! i’ve taken many liberties with the worldbuilding, and as such i think most can be inferred with context if you’re unfamiliar with dragon age.

part one now here

this snippet: the meet-ugly, ~1.7k]

✨✨✨

When Lan Wangji wakes up, he isn’t alone.

He doesn’t realize it right away. The first thing he notices is that, this time, there are no shackles. He shifts his hands the slightest bit, enough to confirm they are indeed free. The movement pulls at the little cuts on his fingers and forearms from where the shackles shattered apart, already scabbing over—so he has been unconscious long enough for the magebane to burn out of his system, which he confirms, finding his meridians free and clear. He’s lying on his back, something that feels slightly too soft to be a stone floor under him and something that feels slightly too rough to be a blanket draped over him. An odd green light pulses against his eyelids and the only sound is a muted, continuous hiss, like a distant waterfall. Wherever he is, it isn’t the cell from earlier.

It doesn’t matter. He won’t be here long.

He takes one more slow breath, listening closely. There. To his left, a few paces away, he hears a tiny, cut-off inhale. Now he knows where to aim. His eyes fly open as he launches himself upright, summoning his sword into his raised hand, and—

It’s like expecting the ocean and finding only a puddle. His sword flickers into existence for the barest moment, its glow illuminating a circle of stone walls, a pallet beneath him, and then Lan Wangji’s lungs stutter, pressure squeezing his temples, as if all air has been sucked out of the room. Bichen dissipates and Lan Wangji is left gasping, one hand still raised uselessly in the air.

From the shadows, someone says: “Ah, that’s not going to work.”

Lan Wangji is already looking to the side. He sees only a figure at first, because when his sword disappeared so had the strange, omnipresent green glow. The glow returns now, slowly illuminating a young man curled against the opposite wall, his hair a dark, tangled wave over his shoulders, wrists chained together with thick iron manacles. For a moment his eyes, staring right back at Lan Wangji, are the brightest thing in the room.

“What do you mean?” Lan Wangji demands, finding his voice. “Is there a suppression array?” It must be powerful to choke off his magic so finitely. If he can see it, though, he can figure out how to undo it.

The man wrinkles his nose. “Not exactly. But—ah, ah,” he says as Lan Wangji starts to stand, “don’t move too fast, the blowback from that is going to be pretty harsh.”

Lan Wangji understands almost instantly as a wave of vertigo hits him. His knees buckle before he’s halfway to his feet and he collapses back on the pallet, bracing his weight on his elbow to keep from falling entirely. When his ears stop ringing he can hear his own ragged breathing.

Enough, he thinks, and forces himself to even his breaths. To shift focus. Clearly whatever precautions Wen Chao and his soldiers have taken to secure this room go beyond magebane and a simple suppression array. He won’t be able to escape by sheer force like last time, but this will still be no more than a brief detour on his journey. He will make sure of it.

Yesterday—was it yesterday, now? The chamber has no windows, just the eerie green glow emanating from the walls—Lan Wangji had been traveling with a retinue of junior enchanters to retrieve research texts from the Circle in Hedong, where scholars claimed to have promising studies related to fade rifts. They were nearly there when a raven alighted on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, bearing the message: Siege on Gusu Circle. Reconvene to the north. He’d sent the junior enchanters ahead and turned back before the raven even took flight.

(The note had not mentioned his brother, so his brother must be alive. Rumors were already spreading outward from Gusu as he rode, saying Wen Xu had an archdemon, Wen Xu burned the Gusu library to the ground. They did not say Wen Xu killed Zewu-jun, Wen Xu killed a mage with a glowing hand. So his brother must have escaped. Knowing this did not stop Lan Wangji’s heart from racing as he spurred his horse faster, past refugee settlements and Templar camps, toward the distant gash in the sky.)

And then: a poisoned arrow biting into his arm, his horse crumpling on a hardpacked road outside Lingchuan. The Wen soldiers, ready for him. (Not ready enough, when at least six of their bodies fell before Lan Wangji did.) One day in the first cell, his failed escape attempt.

And now: magicless, trapped in a strange room with a strange, sharp-eyed prisoner watching him struggle to sit upright, the slow crawl of time a physical weight on Lan Wangji’s shoulders.

“Honestly, just ride it out,” the prisoner is saying. He has his chained hands up and open, like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal. “You’ll feel better in about an hour. Maybe less, if you’ve had a good meal recently.”

Lan Wangji’s head spins sickeningly. He ignores it, pushing himself up until he can prop himself against the wall, putting himself eye-level with the prisoner, at least.

“Or sit up anyway, I suppose,” the prisoner says. His voice has a ragged edge, as if it’s scraping its way out of his throat. “Sorry, I’d offer you some water, but I drank it all before I knew I’d have company. What are you doing here, anyway?”

If First Enchanter Lan wants his nephew back, he’ll have to lend us a few books, Wen Chao had mocked from outside the first cell. And if he wants you back with all your limbs attached, he’ll have to throw in trading deeds with the eastern lyrium mines for good measure. Do you think he can deliver that before you die here?

Wen Chao wanted demonic texts, Lan Wangji had guessed, the ones hidden deep within the library. No doubt for some dangerous, power-hungry scheme, and no doubt connected to the rifts. From there, it wasn’t hard to piece together that the attack on the Circle was meant to discover which texts were critical enough to be rescued and transported away, and likely steal them in transit. There are protocols for such events, Lan Wangji knows, and his presence here means the raid was unsuccessful, and he will be used as leverage for a second attempt.

If Wen Chao meant to scare Lan Wangji with his demands, he had only succeeded in doing the opposite. Because if all they want from Lan Wangji’s family are books and deeds, it means they don’t know about his brother yet.

Lan Wangji doesn’t share any of this. “Political prisoner,” is all he says.

“Ahh.” The man nods. “I figured, what with the…” He gestures at his own forehead, chains clinking as he does. “You’re obviously a Lan. Someone will pay well to have you back home.”

“They should not have to pay at all,” Lan Wangji bites out. Something about the prisoner’s casual attitude grates at him. The world outside is quite literally falling apart at the seams, and Lan Wangji doesn’t have time to be used as bait in Wen Chao’s small-minded games.

The prisoner shrugs. “Yeah, but there’s not much choice at the moment, is there? For now you’re stuck here with me. I’m—my name is Wei Ying, by the way. What should I call you, while we wait?”

“Do the Wen soldiers enter this cell often?” Lan Wangji says instead of answering. “Is there a chance of overpowering them?”

A grimace. “Often enough. And no, I’ve tried. They’re stupid, but they’re prepared.”

Lan Wangji casts another glance over the man—Wei Ying—and carefully keeps any skepticism out of his expression. Then he looks around properly for the first time. Wei Ying is right—there’s no visible array on the floor, no glyphs on the circular stone walls. The green glow fades as it climbs the wall, leaving the ceiling cloaked in shadow and dizzying to look at, like an endless tunnel. Disturbingly, there isn’t a visible door, either. There isn’t much of anything but the one straw pallet, a lidded pot against the wall, an empty bowl next to Wei Ying, bone-dry, and Wei Ying himself.

“A Lan,” Wei Ying says when Lan Wangji is silent for long enough, pitched low, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I’m surprised Wen Chao would be so bold. He has to know that won’t go over well in the long run, I wonder if his father has any idea? No, he would’ve sent Wen Xu. Maybe Wen Chao thinks that by the time someone comes for you, he’ll have—” Wei Ying cuts himself off. Blinks. “You are real, aren’t you?”

Lan Wangji narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you’re not…” Wei Ying waves a hand at the room around them. “But, ah, why would I dream up a whole Knight-Enchanter? A Lan at that? You felt real enough, when I dragged you onto the pallet, but it’s still hard to tell.” Lan Wangji must have some reaction to that—to knowing this stranger’s hands have been on him, when he was unconscious—because Wei Ying adds, defensive: “What was I supposed to do? They left you on the floor.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t have an answer to that.

Wei Ying tips his head back against the wall. “Well. Your Circle, they have your phylactery, right? They’ll find you. Pay the ransom, or lay siege to Wen Chao’s little fortress here. That would be nice.” He casts his gaze over Lan Wangji again. “Looks like our captors were gentle enough in the meanwhile.”

There’s dried blood tugging at the hair of Lan Wangji’s temple, and he still has the nauseating sense that if he moves too fast he might collapse again. Gentle isn’t how Lan Wangji would describe his treatment so far. But it is also far below the threshold of what he can withstand, so it doesn’t seem like a point worth arguing. “And you?” he hears himself say.

“Uh.” Wei Ying shifts and holds up his shackled hands. “Less gentle, I suppose.”

“I meant—who will be paying your ransom.”

Wei Ying drops his hands into his lap. “Oh. No one.”

“Then,” Lan Wangji says, “why are you here?”

For the first time, Wei Ying flashes a smile. A hooked dagger in the dim light.

“I have something they want.”

[radicalbillie]

Love at first bite

Pt 6.

Astarion had truly been enjoying allowing his skin to soak up the suns rays. 200 years without, he had forgotten that light wasn't always harsh and punishing; it could be a soothing touch as well.

His feet stopped, facing the entrance to his tent. Eyes scanned nervously behind, straining his neck. The Gith had risen by this time her and the bloody Blade of Frontiers were having a chat. Trading fighting techniques with the halberd.

The vampire began biting his nails, the anxiety was flaring back up. The Ranger wasn't back yet, and the morning light was growing sharper as the sun continued to rise.

"Okay get a grip now." He talked himself down.

There was a waterfall behind his abode, near a small ruin, his long quick legs brought him quickly to it.

"I can ignore orders, walk in the sun..." he concocted the list under his breath.

Scared puppy eyes looked at the crashing waters before him. Could he be this lucky? He peeked over his shoulder nonchalantly as he could manage; seemed he didn't have an audience.

He raised a shaky hand, slowly to the rushing waterfall. It was only a small bit of his index finger that met the liquid but that was all it took. Like sticking his hand into a burning braizer.

He sucked in air through his teeth hard in pain as he whipped his hand back. He gripped his finger hard in his other hand.

"Fuck." He spat loudly.

Uncurling his hand he watched the seared flesh on the tip of his finger slowly regenerate itself, returning to its usual silky color.

"Oh sure, why would any of this make any bloody sense, or be remotely BUH-loody consistent!" He snarled.

Turning back to the camp, bleary red eyes looked to see a large orange cat, with a large flopping fish clenched in its teeth strutting up from the riverbank. A barefoot Wood elf not too far behind.

The mage stood up to greet her, he seemed to instantly notice the bruised blotch on her neck as they exchanged hellos. Astarion felt a familiar roll of his stomach, the sort he always felt back then when Cazador summoned him for 'dinner'. And just like he always did then, he forced himself to smile; to be suave and pleasant.

When he drew closer to them, he was surprised to see Ashe had a friendly smile to greet him with.

"Hello Astarion."

"Good morning, how do you feel?" He probed carefully.

"Fine, just a bit woozy." She shifted her weight placing a hand over the bite for a moment.

"It'll pass." He said, eyes focused on the large black an purple bruise.

It handn't looked that bad last night had it? Or had he just not noticed...

"So it's true?" Gale interjected. "We're traveling with a vampire? Of course we are." He rolled his eyes.

"That explains the pallet" Shadowheart spoke from the boulder she had been leaning on, listening in.

They were all glaring at him, all but the Ranger. Still, he had maintained a pleasant composure through worse.

"Just be happy I'm not a 'true vampire'. A bite from one of them and you might wake up a vampire spawn; like my good self. All vampires share in their hunger, but few have their powers."

"That why you can walk in daylight? Because you're only a spawn?" Ashe inquired.

"Oh no... I should be cinders in this light. Before now I hadn't seen the sun in 200 years. Someone..." He paused giving it some thought. "Or something wants me alive- they've changed the rules. Some of them at least."

Ashe gave him an inquisitive look.

"Running water still burns like acid. And I don't know if i need an invitation to enter a house. As for my other quirks, well we can figure those out in time." He smirked.

"Hunting with vampires, never thought I'd see the day..." Wyl's tone was almost jovial.

"I'm glad you're all being sensible about these revelations." Astarion kept laying it on thick. "I was worried people would show up with torches and pitchforks. "

Before he could speak further a loud snarl came up, suddenly the cat was standing between Ashe and himself, and if looks could kill.

"Although there's still time." He spoke nervously, hoping to diffuse the tension.

But then his blood donor said the most surprising thing he was sure he'd ever heard;

"Hmm, no- I trust him. He won't be anymore trouble."

Was she speaking to everyone or just the tiger? Either way he lept on the apparent acceptance.

"Oh no, quite the opposite I'm here in the spirit of openness and honesty."

"I just better not wake in the night to find fangs at my throat." Shadowheart scoffed before walking off.

"Seconded..." Lae-zel added. "I will not be as forgiving."

Gale crossed his arms, clearly skeptical. "You say all the right words but I'm not so sure you mean the right things. Still, I will respect the decision that was made."

Ashe patted Nyla on the back, encouraging her to trot away. Astarion got another look at the bruise, her wet hair clumping on it, he thought to ask if she needed a potion, he was more than capable of making one up. However before he could ask she spoke;

"Just let me know if you need anything else, we're in this mess together after all."

"Oh, you're such a sweetheart." He mused.

Was... was he flustered?

With a slight smile tugging her lips, she turned away going back to her bedroll. Gale and Wyl both stayed, looking him up and down suspiciously.

"Yeah, I'm keepin' an eye on you- and no wise cracks about havin' us for supper." Wyl pointed at him, his tone far more serious with Ashe's back turned.

"Speaking of that." Gale added. "I taste absolutely awful Astarion! Keep your distance."

Astarion smirked devilishly; "oh, I believe it darling."

[sundaeserenade]

So a few weeks ago I wrote a thread on twitter about wanting to write a reguri soulmate fic where they decide to not be soulmates and make the decision for themselves. like it’s a mutual thing that they both decide on instead of it being this sign from the universe or fate or whatever. basically, they just go against fate.

and i tried writing out that idea and forcing it into the standard path of r/g/y/fr/lg but i ended up not liking that and i didn’t like a few other things that i did. so this was a learning experience! if i ever write this, it’ll have to be an actual..au with no canon ties. which is probably better because i can do whatever i want with the world building!

but i wrote 2.3k words... and i’m not going to post this on ao3 bc it’s not finished and it never will be. it’s not polished and it never will be, but i figured i should post it here so that it’s somewhere, at least.

They were considered to be two of the lucky ones. Finding one’s soulmate so early on in life is a blessing from the universe, a sign that their bond is under the ever watchful gaze of the divine. Luck will follow them, surely. What do they have left to despair over? What do they have to fear? The greatest challenge of their lives has already been solved, and so they are told to walk freely and without pressure clinging to their shoulders.

They found each other at the fine age of six, and from now on, they will be blessed and find wealth.

“I don’t believe any of it,” Green whispers. He keeps his voice low, eyes darting around the blanket fort they’d built in Red’s living room. The only light they have is a single flashlight that keeps flicking on and off due to low battery. Red’s in charge of turning it off and on in hopes that it’ll last just a minute longer while Green is pouring over the books he’d taken from the bookshelf at his grandfather’s house. 

They’re all self-help books with titles like How to Find Your Soulmate and Gut Feelings Can Get in the Way of Love and other crap that Red doesn’t care for. Green turns pages and looks at indexes, his mouth forming words but no sound coming out. He skims over paragraphs meant for people twice his age to read, but Green’s smart, always has been, and he’s handling the bulk of the work while Red turns the flashlight on and off again.

Green stops on a page and Red leans forward to read the chapter title: Life is Always Better with a Soulmate! Green scoffs and rolls his eyes. “That can’t be true. What about those couples that break up? Your mom and dad did, right Red?”

Red nods, lips thinning. There’s a nervousness in his heart, heightened by the darkness that comes and goes with the dying of the flashlight. All of these books are telling lies and the adults believe them. But both he and Green know that it’s wrong, that soulmates aren’t all that they’re cracked up to be. 

After all, when he’d first met Green, when they’d first shook hands and looked into each other’s eyes, their bond was formed. 

It felt like… It felt like what volcanoes erupting looks like. A loud, earth-shaking feeling that filled Red with shock and fear of what was to come. It felt like the air was being forced out of his lungs, like an ekans squeezing a rattata. It felt like being lost in the woods at night and getting an expensive toy as a birthday present. It was frightening and too much all at once, so much so that they both jumped back, startled and scared.

But it was a bond being formed under the eyes of the universe. A pact being sealed without their consent or understanding. They had found their soulmate, and the elation and joy swept over Pallet Town like a wind with Red and Green staring at each other in confusion through all of it.

Green is Red’s best friend, but he can’t say for sure if that’s because of the bond or because Green likes to talk about pokémon with him. There’s no one else around who has such a strong interest in the creatures, but Green will flaunt his knowledge and sneak them into his grandfather’s lab to look at some of them. They fed a growlithe together, they ran from a nidoran together, but Red doesn’t feel that special feeling again. 

“I don’t feel it either,” Green admitted to him when Red had written out his question. “Maybe that’s all we’ll ever feel. Maybe it’s normal.”

There are no marks to make the process of finding soulmates easier. It’s a feeling, it’s a gaze, it’s a touch that one feels when they meet their special someone. Because of this, everyone is overly friendly. Shaking hands and hugging strangers is commonplace. Eye contact is expected, and Red is secretly relieved to have met Green because now he can avoid meeting people’s eyes.

Everywhere around them, people are almost desperate to find their one. It’s so deeply ingrained in their way of living and looking at the world. So Green wonders and ponders and thinks. Red asking that question only opened up other possibilities, and Green is curious and intelligent, so he runs with it in search of the truth. 

Which brings them to the blanket fort and the lies printed in black ink. The two of them sit there comparing what they’ve experienced in their lives to what the world at large believes. Red’s parents were no longer together, and yet they’d been soulmates. What does it mean? They’d been told repeatedly that once they found their special someone, the world would right itself, the universe would sing their song and they’d face little to no hardships.

“It’s a lie,” Green spits, closing the book with a loud slam. “They’ve been lying to us, Red.”

Red puts down the flashlight and reaches over to take Green’s hand. 

There’s no spark or visions of celebration to differentiate the touch from any other one.

 When Green turns seven, he puts distance between them. 

When Green turns eight, he starts being mean.

When they both turn eleven, they begin their pokémon journeys. 

It’s a monumental undertaking and when he was younger, Red had thought he and Green would face it side by side. But now, Green runs forward, spewing taunts in his wake. There’s no link between them that offers Red a peek into what Green’s really feeling, no sign given by their bond that could explain his behavior. Red is left alone, confused and hurt by his own soulmate shunning and belittling him every chance he gets. 

Red keeps walking because that’s what he’s always done. He catches pokémon, forges bonds with them, and trudges through grass and mud and rain to get where he needs to go. It’s fun being outside so much. He gets to be on his own, away from people and it’s not seen as him being strange or weird. Pokémon aren’t afraid of him. Pokémon don’t whisper hurtful things behind his back. It’s him, his team, and the four badges in his case.

That is, until the foreboding air and eerie light of Lavender Town comes creeping closer. An unsettling presence hangs over the town like a smog, and Red finds himself thrust into the city's problems as he chases Team Rocket. And in doing so, he runs into his soulmate once more in the Pokémon Tower. 

Red has a reason for being here; he’s been chasing Team Rocket thugs his entire journey. Green, however… Well. There’s only two reasons for visiting the Pokémon Tower, but Red doesn’t pry. Green tries once again at intimidation, and it ends as it always has previously; Green hiding his hurt behind a cracking mask and Red never being able to find the right words to say.

And yet, when he leaves Lavender Town after driving out Team Rocket and saving Mr. Fuji, he spots Green on Route 7, leaning against a tree. It’s not like Green to stick around in places where there’s no gym, so Red is confused...until he understands that Green’s been waiting for him.

A feeling of dread weighs him down. Was their fight at the Pokémon Tower not enough? Were the insults not enough? Red has had enough, and moves to the left to give Green a wide berth. He doesn’t want to battle or deal with the complex feelings that follow. He’s spent enough time here. He needs to go.

“Red.” 

Green’s voice stops him. It’s not because of the bond or any other false truth that’s been shoved down his throat. At one point, Green had been his best friend. And now, he still remains Red’s soulmate. Red keeps handing out chances for change, opportunities to fix things, but nothing ever comes. He needs to go.

Green pushes off of the tree, his arms still crossed. “Camp out with me tonight.”

Not a battle. Not an insult. Not a pointless taunt. A proposition. An opportunity for change? Red would be a fool not to take it.

He nods.

 By the fireside, Red and Green stare into the flames and keep their words to themselves. Their tents are already set up, their teams have already eaten dinner and they’ve done the same. There’s nothing left to take care of, but still they prolong what brought them together in the first place. 

Red has no idea what it is that Green wants, so he’s confused, but that’s not the only thing that’s confusing him. He hasn’t spent this much time around Green in years, and yet...he feels nothing from their soulmate bond. There’s no relief or itch for touch, there’s no yearning in his heart and no sudden impact of feelings like when they’d first locked gazes. If feels normal between them, as it always has since that first meeting. 

Is this normal? Is this how it’s supposed to be?

Green tosses another twig into the fire that it didn’t need and looks up at Red. “Do you want to break our bond?”

Red’s eyes widen. His lips part. He forgets to breathe. He stares.

“I’m not going to force you,” Green holds up a hand. “But I… I’ve been thinking...about this whole soulmate thing…”

Red keeps silent, his heart racing and it’s the most feeling he’s ever felt since that day. 

“I don’t know about you, but luck hasn’t been following me,” Green says, glaring at the flames. “Wealth hasn’t found me. And I know… I know we aren’t close anymore, but…” Green sighs, looks up at Red and the fire in his eyes is unlike anything Red’s ever seen. It’s volcanoes erupting and stars bursting into dust. “I want to make this decision myself.”

Quickly, Red reaches into his backpack for his notepad and a pencil. He bites his lip as he thinks on what to say. When it comes down to it, there’s just one question that hasn’t left him and probably never will. 

Have you felt anything since that first day? Even now?

Green looks over the paper and he takes a minute to respond. When he does, hurt chokes his voice, reality making his throat tighten. “No, I haven’t.”

Red sits back. The last bit of hope up and fades and he’s left with this choice. What is a soulmate bond if there’s no feelings attached? If there’s no constant affirmation that this is right? How do they know for certain that they’re each other’s soulmates? The feelings had been immense, but they’d vanished since. But who was to say that was a bond being formed? What if it was just them, the two of them, and nothing more?

But it had to be a bond, because that’s how it’s always been described. That was the one part those books got right. That initial feeling of everything at once, like the universe crashing in on them. Amazing and scary and beautiful and sad. Everything that they are and could be leveled against them in one, single gaze. 

Then after, there’s no more. That is all they are afforded. 

Green is his soulmate, but Red thinks of him as a lost childhood friend, someone who isn’t interested and wants nothing to do with him. Still, those old times when they were younger… Red wouldn’t mind going back to that. He prefers friendship over this bitter rivalry that hurts much more than it should, that tears and rips his skin.

But isn’t this the same? Green wants nothing to do with him yet again. Not as friends, not as soulmates, only rivals competing for something that they were supposed to do together. Red grips his pencil tight.

Do you hate me that much?

Green stutters. “Red, I…” He shakes his head, leans forward to set his elbows on his knees. He stares into the flames but then looks past them to regard Red. “I don’t hate you. I just think this would be best for both of us.”

Why?

“Because have you ever felt anything for me?” Green asks, turning the question around. “You always ask if I’ve felt anything, but have you? What is this bond doing for us, huh? Everyone talks like it’s the best thing, like it’s an amazing necessity, but it’s not!”

Red looks away, feeling Green’s frustration and understanding it. They always sang of soulmates, sang of love and fate, but it’s done nothing for them. Are they too young? Too ignorant of the world? And if so, shouldn’t they figure this out themselves? They can’t trust what they’re told, they can’t trust what people say. This is a step that they have to make on their own.

With every step on his journey, Red’s been making his own choice and how freeing it’s felt. He decides where to go, who to battle, what pokémon to catch. He decides his place in the world and who he wants to be. He dives into caves and crosses rivers. He looks up and dreams of snow, he looks back and yearns for times long past. But those are still his choices to make. 

This is the same. This is something that they can choose for themselves. There was always the possibility for more, an opportunity for the two of them to become more, but…this opportunity, this chance may be what they need.

What does Red have to lose? There’s never been another feeling or indication. They’ve grown apart despite being fated to be together. They’ve already defied all logic and reason. 

And he wants… He wants to know. Maybe if they break the bond, another feeling will happen and they’ll know for certain, then. 

How do we break it?

[lesetoilesfous]

Hello and welcome back! Here's a DADWC prompt for you! "Kiss in a dream," with Fenders (please!).

Heeey, thank you so so much!!!! <3 <3 <3 I love writing Fenders!!!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders

Tags: canon-adjacent, pre-relationship, unrequited longing (that it is in fact requited but he doesn’t know that yet), past abuse

Rating: Mature

This is a terrible idea.

Anders has not been in this particular forest since he was fifteen, running through it barefoot after the thin fabric shoes he’d been given at the Circle had fallen apart in the mud. He hadn’t stopped, heart pounding with the weight of a dozen hounds, breath burning as he heaved it in sobs into and out of his lungs. Anders had only stumbled for long enough to pull the cloth off his feet and run onwards. He’d barely made it to sunrise before the templars had caught him, and by that point his feet were bloody and black with cuts and bruises. He still has the scars of it, not yet at that point proficient enough with healing magic to deal with the injuries before they stuck. 

And yet for all of that, it’s one of his most precious memories.

Anders follows the sobbing ghost of his younger self into a familiar clearing, emerald with dewy grass and thick with budded flowers. He watches himself stop, reeling, gangly arms windmilling in the frostbitten air as he sways under the great silver weight of a full moon. It had been years since he had seen the stars. 

Anders watches the dusty arc of stardust that crossed the sky like a mighty river reflect in the eyes of his younger self, a child pale as a corpse with barely an echo of the freckles he would one day wear on his skin (as a boast of all the sunlight he had seen). Then his younger self disappears, and Anders finds himself alone in the clearing. 

This is a terrible idea.

He sits down on a log, and looks up at the stars, and waits. The wind is chilling, but the cold doesn’t hurt the way it usually does. It’s the Fade, after all. There’s no real cold or warmth here. Anders isn’t sure how long it takes, but eventually, glowing with starlight like the saints of old, Fenris comes out of the trees. Under the moon he’s ethereal, hair silver-white as winter snow, brands glowing a dull, impossibly faint blue like burning lyrium. His dark skin is terribly mortal beside all the magic in him, and somehow more handsome for it. He stumbles forward, feet bare and muddy, and one of his hands comes up to touch Anders’ cheek.

This is a terrible idea.

“Are you well, mage?”  Anders thinks about pulling away. He really does. He knows he should. He knows he should leave this particular thicket of memory and the dreams it brought with it, and find some other pocket of the Fade in which to while away the temptations of his demons. But Fenris’ fingers are sword calloused and warm on his cheek, and after a moment his grip tightens, concern clear in the mossy forest green of his eyes. “Anders. Look at me.”

Anders does, and as he does his clothes transform, turning into some practical leathers and travelling armour. He feels new bruises and injuries spreading across his body, and he nods, not entirely sure he’s doing so honestly. “I’m fine. Are you?”

Fenris’ expression softens, and he smiles, leaning forward to press a kiss to Anders’ forehead. “I’m fine. The Templar order has not yet been taught to counter the combat techniques of Seheron.” The pride in Fenris’ voice suggests his disdain that they hadn’t, and Anders hides a smile, standing instead. 

“Shall we make camp?”

Fenris hesitates, considering the question seriously. The trees rustle, but there are no beasts. This, Anders thinks, is one of the ways that he knows this isn’t real. For all that his foolish heart might want it to be. After a moment Fenris nods. “We should be safe. Though we should leave at daybreak.”

Anders nods, “Of course.” Whilst he sets about setting up their tent and bedroll, Fenris patrols the perimeter. Satisfied, the elf rejoins him whilst Anders is about to light the fire. Despite himself: despite knowing that this is a dream, and that this apparition will do nothing to contradict him, Anders hesitates, glancing up at Fenris with his hand over the kindling on the bed of rocks he’s built amidst the grass. “May I?”

Fenris smiles at him, gratefully, and Anders tells himself he is not letting his actions be defined by the desires of a dream. He waves a hand, and the fire lights, and Fenris sits beside it stiffly. After a moment Anders joins him, looking over the familiar sight of torn armour and bloody skin. He has healed Fenris a thousand times by now, of all manner of injuries, and he is sure that it is this familiarity that makes these moments feel so real. 

Throat thick, Anders raises his hands over Fenris’ injured shoulder. “May I?”

The expression that Fenris gives him then is how Anders knows that it is a dream. Fenris in reality had never looked at him with such honest, unguarded trust (however badly Anders might have found himself longing for it, in recent months.) Fenris nods, “You may.”

Anders smiles at him, and pours his magic into this imaginary Fenris’ wounds, feeling the muscle and sinew stitching themselves back together as blood rushes back into the area. Anders lets his magic wash the pain away and ease the bruising, and after a moment Fenris relaxes. Beside them, the fire spits and pops. Fenris looks at him, and his face is painted gold in the firelight. “Thank you.”

Anders smiles, and shakes his head. “It’s nothing.” He moves to stand, and tells himself it isn’t only to prompt what he knows will happen next. Fenris’ hand, gauntleted and calloused, catches his. Anders jumps at the feeling of metal on his skin, but then Fenris’ warm fingers are closing around his, and he turns to look back down at the elf.

Fenris pulls him down, and Anders bends with a feeling like falling. Fenris’ other hand comes up to gently touch the side of his face, and Anders tries to ignore the way the the steel on his cheek makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It’s easy enough when Fenris meets his eyes, and Anders finds himself falling into the intelligence that lies behind them. “It is not nothing.” Fenris says, softly, insistently. “You are not nothing. Not to me.”

Anders averts his gaze (this is a terrible idea), “Fenris, I -”

But then Fenris tugs at him again, unbalancing him, and there are warm, soft lips on his, and a hand moving into his hair, and Anders feels his eyes flutter shut as he sighs, melting into the kiss. Behind them, the fire cracks, and gold sparks dance up into the faded echo of a midnight sky.

When Anders wakes, he can still taste the kiss on his lips, still feel the tingle of it on his skin. His body is sweating, and his blanket has long since been knotted between his feet. Anders calls fire to his fingers without thinking, lighting the dark as he tries to establish what time of day or night it is. The clinic is silent, and after a long moment there’s only the distant yowl of an angry cat. Anders relaxes, letting the fire go out as he pushes his fingers through his hair, staring at the sudden dark. 

Then he swings his legs out of bed, and lights a candle with a gesture of his hand, pulling a shirt over his head as he moves to sit at the upended crate he’d made into a desk beside his pallet of a bed. Dipping his quill into his ink pot, Anders rereads the last page of his manifesto. Maker help him, but he could not go back to sleep.

[corinnesamuels]

Teddy Wants a Treehouse

(Or, the one where Harry has a minor bout of jealousy.)

When Andromeda Tonks asked Harry and Ginny Potter to watch 4-year-old Teddy for a week, the Potters accepted without hesitation. Andromeda had been playing a tug-of-war-like game with her last living sister, working to discover if Narcissa Malfoy still had traces of the person she had once known. It was decided—after a year of awkward silences, long-forgotten happy memories, and melancholy rememberings of what had been—that the two sisters would take a holiday. Maybe after being away from everything, they could find out one way or another.

At least, she hoped.

While she knew that her surrogate family would not become close friends of the Malfoys if she and Cissy were able to rebuild their relationship, they had respected her desire to try to work things out. It was decided that Ginny would watch Teddy during the days she wasn't in training, and on the days she had to travel to Holyhead, Harry would take Teddy to the childcare wing of the Ministry. Teddy had been before on just a handful of occasions but seemed to love it each time. 

Andromeda told Teddy of the arrangement a few days before she was due to leave for Italy, and he was ecstatic.

"I's gets to stay with Harry' n Ginny for a whole week?" He had asked excitedly in the middle of breakfast. Porridge smeared across his mouth, small clumps taking residence in between strands of shockingly turquoise hair.

He was as messy an eater as his mother had been clumsy. It brought a sad smile to Andromeda's face to think about it.

When Harry and Ginny came to pick Teddy up for the week, Andromeda couldn't tell whether godfather or godson was more excited.

Ginny had no trouble stating that it was Harry.

And as Harry looked up from blowing a raspberry on Teddy's stomach, the little boy still squealing with laughter, the look on the man's face proved that his wife was most definitely correct.

But neither Andromeda, Ginny, nor Harry expected Teddy to come down with dragon pox just two days into the week. Andromeda offered to come back early, but Harry promptly refused. He almost never took days off from work and had plenty of leave accrued to stay home with Teddy. Andromeda looked skeptical during their conversation over the Floo, but Harry assured her that if he could defeat dark wizards and live through three different killing curses, he could take care of his sick godson.

He'd call over to the Burrow and have Molly help, at the very least.

"Really, Andy, we'll be fine. Enjoy your time in Italy. Everything will be fine when you get back." Harry said. His knees were beginning to ache from having to crouch down by the fireplace. Reluctantly, and with many quickly given tips for treating dragon pox and reminders about what Teddy liked and disliked, Andromeda ended the connection. Harry stood up, rubbing his knees.

"Well, Ted, it isn't the week we had planned, but let's make the most of it, shall we?"

Teddy looked up from his place on the hearth rug and began to try scratching his irritated skin, foiled by the scratch-proof gloves he had been forced to wear.

"Itchy." Teddy said grumpily.

Harry managed to get an appointment at St. Mungo's that afternoon. Harry was happy to discover that while Teddy would be a little lethargic for the next couple of days, he would be back to his usual self and ready for all the things Harry had wanted to do before the week was up. The Healer gave Teddy a salve for the irritated skin, a potion to knock the dragon pox out altogether, and a lolly for his troubles. She also had the decency not to laugh when Harry took one as well.

Not an hour after Harry and Teddy returned to the house on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow, Molly Weasley arrived with an arsenal of sickness-beating supplies—enough soup to last a week, a salve she decided was much more effective than whatever rubbish they were passing out at St. Mungo's, and a fresh set of gloves for little hands that still tried to scratch at the pockmarks.

"Mrs. Weasley, I'm green! And itchy!" Teddy said as Molly bustled into the kitchen.        

"Well indeed, you are!" Molly replied as she poured bowls of soup for him and Harry. "But not to worry dear, we'll have you right as rain in no time. Eat up! You'll need your energy. You too, Harry, dear. You're looking quite thin. A good wind might blow you away."

Harry knew better than to waste his time protesting Molly taking care of the two of them, and after one sniff of the soup, he joined in with Teddy, eating hungrily.

"Thanks for bringing us soup, Molly. I really appreciate it. I was thinking that I'd have to order takeaway this evening."

Molly looked scandalized at the thought of a sick toddler eating takeaway. "Nonsense! I'll be sure to bring some more soup over tomorrow. It will make this little one start feeling a little more like himself." She gave Teddy a pat on the head and set the dishes to washing themselves with her wand.

Molly sat with Harry and Teddy at the dinner table for a while, going into exaggerated raptures as Teddy demonstrated his abilities to write his letters and numbers.

"How smart you are, Teddy! You'll be at Hogwarts before we know it."

Teddy looked at once proud and mildly embarrassed at the statement and looked to Harry for further approval. Harry smiled and ruffled Teddy's hair. After the dishes had been washed and dried, and the kitchen looked a bit cleaner than it had when Molly had arrived (though quickly she denied any additional spellwork and proceeded to change the subject), Molly stood to leave.

"Well, I must be off." She said as she double-checked her basket to make sure she had everything. "Arthur will be home soon, and I'll need to get dinner ready. Feel better, dear." Molly kissed Teddy on the top of his head and turned to hug Harry goodbye.

"I'll be around tomorrow to check on the both of you." She said as she grabbed a handful of Floo Powder.

"Thanks again for the soup, Molly. Teddy, what do you say?"

Teddy's little green face looked from Harry to Molly and then to the fireplace. "I want to go wif you to the Burrow! Can I?"

Neither Harry nor Molly had expected that response. A little surprised, Molly looked to Harry and saw him attempt to hide the slightly crestfallen look that passed over his face. Trying to avoid letting Harry know that she had seen it, she bent down to get a little closer to Teddy's eye level.

"You want to go to the Burrow with me?" Teddy nodded eagerly. "Well, Teddy, you know you're always welcome, but Victoire won't be there." She said, thinking that Teddy must have been missing his playmate. At this, Harry squatted down and placed a hand on Teddy's back.

"Is that why you want to go to the Burrow, Ted? You want to play with Vic?"

"I want to go see the treehouse. Harry doesn't have one." Teddy said matter of factly. Harry and Molly looked outside the sitting room window. There were several trees on the property, but as Teddy had mentioned, none of them held a treehouse.

"I don't, do I?" Harry rubbed Teddy's back, mulling things over in his head. "Molly, do you mind if Teddy and I come over and camp out in the treehouse today?"

Teddy gasped with excitement and threw his little arms around Harry's neck before looking back at Molly. "Please, Mrs. Weasley!"

Molly laughed. "Of course, you can. Arthur would love to see you both. How does treacle tart sound for pudding?"

"Excellent." Harry and Teddy replied. Molly chuckled to herself and straightened back up.

After Molly disappeared into the fireplace, Harry stood up and looked around. "Well, Ted, we'd better pack some things up for us to take to the Burrow. Go grab a few things, and I'll send a note to Ginny."

A few hours later, Harry and Teddy were sitting in the treehouse on a pallet of sleeping bags and pillows, reading the latest issue of Martin Migs the Mad Muggle. Teddy loved the silly stories and was sent into a giggling fit every couple of pages. He was right in the middle of one when they heard footsteps on the treehouse ladder.

"Looks like you two are having plenty of laughs without me. Did you save me any fun?"

"Ginny!" Teddy squealed as the redhead crawled over to them in the treehouse.

"Wotcher, Ted." She grinned before placing a kiss on his turquoise fringe. "Hello, love." She said as Harry leaned over to get a kiss of his own.

"How was training?" Harry asked, ignoring Teddy's groans of "yuck!" when the kiss lasted longer than Teddy preferred.

"It was good. Gwenog mostly had us go over some new approaches to next week's match. The Tornados' new beater is starting, and he's got a wicked aim."

"Can I go to the Quidditch match? I want to see the snitch!" Teddy asked as he crawled onto Ginny's lap. Harry beamed at Teddy's mention of the snitch and sent a smug look over to Ginny.

"We'll have to check with your Gran, Ted. But wouldn't you rather get more excited about the quaffle?" Ginny asked, glancing at Harry, whose mouth was now in a straight line.

"I like them both! But snitches are really fast and they get a bazillion points!"

"I suppose that to a four-year-old, 150 and a bazillion are quite close to the same thing." Harry said. "Nice try with the quaffle bit, though."

Ginny stuck out her tongue at him and then turned back to Teddy. "Is that your new issue of Martin Migs, Ted? Is it as funny as the last?"

After the rest of Martin Migs, a few dragon coloring pages, and one and a half rounds of Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump, Teddy Lupin began to doze off. Ginny rubbed his back as Harry laid him down on the sleeping bag. "Poor kid. I remember when Ron and I had dragon pox. At least we had each other to play with."

"Yeah," Harry said as Ginny moved to sit on his lap. "When he mentioned that he wanted to come over, your mum thought that he wanted to play with Victoire."

"She also mentioned that you looked a little hurt when he said it."

Harry felt himself blushing subconsciously. "I had hoped that she didn't notice that . . ." He muttered under his breath. "I thought he was bored with me at first. Then he mentioned the treehouse, and I realized that it did seem a lot cooler than being cooped up in our sitting room all day."

"He adores you, Harry," Ginny said, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Believe it or not, even more than treehouses. And quaffles, apparently." She feigned a look of disbelief. 

Harry laughed. "Apparently."

Over the next few days, Teddy returned to his normal coloring and was ruled to be back in perfect health. Harry, still on cloud nine from spending the week with his godson, decided to stay home even on the days that Ginny didn't need to go to Holyhead and squeezed as many activities in as they could into their last two days together. They got ice cream at Florean Fortescue's, went to the joke shop to play with some of George's more toddler-friendly items, and went to the cinema in London. And then, almost too soon, Andromeda returned from Italy, and it was time for Teddy to go home.

The next weekend, Ginny awoke and instinctively backed closer to Harry, only to find that Harry wasn't there. She turned over and looked around where he should be lying and, confused, glanced around the room. She didn't hear any sounds of movement in the bath, and no sounds were coming from the kitchen. Getting out of bed, she pulled on her dressing gown and walked over to where they kept their calendar in the kitchen, but his work schedule showed that he didn't have to report to the Ministry today either.

Where had he gone off to?

She noticed a cereal bowl and a used coffee mug in the sink, the tea kettle on the stove, and smiled. She hadn't been able to pick up his coffee habit in the mornings and could only tolerate the stuff when she was in dire straits. But Harry had been there and grabbed a bite to eat before he went to wherever he had gone off to and had gotten the kettle ready so that she could have tea when she woke up.

Ginny pondered this as she poured a cuppa and heard a tapping noise. She walked over to the window and saw her husband standing on a ladder by one of the sturdier trees in their yard, hammering at a set of wooden planks. Wrapping her dressing gown more securely around her, she walked outside to the tree.

"I was wondering where you had gone off to."

Harry looked down at her and grinned. "I wanted to get an early start and didn't want to wake you."

"I noticed," she said, sipping her tea and smiling at him as he went back to working on the boards. This was one of the few moments outside of their time with their friends or family that he didn't look so burdened. "What is it that you are doing, exactly?"

"Teddy wants a treehouse." He replied simply. "Could you pass me that instructions page? The one by your foot?"

Ginny picked up the instructions page and handed it to Harry. She watched as he tapped it with his wand and caused it to hover in front of him. He squinted at it briefly and picked the hammer up again. There was a sudden intake of breath, and he stuck the pad of his thumb instinctually in his mouth before looking at it.

"Splinter." He said at her concerned look. Ginny examined his thumb as she pulled his wand off of the boards and tapped twice on the small sliver of wood lodged in his hand. The splinter shot out and into the air as the skin healed itself.

"I'm pretty sure you could have gotten one that was already made." Ginny said as she placed his wand back on the planks of wood that harry was assembling. "Or done it with magic."

He shook his head. "Some things are better done by hand."

"Your hands are quite capable, from my personal experience." She smirked before taking one last sip of her tea, noticing that Harry looked quite pleased with himself at the statement.

Read the rest on ao3.

[maggotmouth]

          hillo sexthy legends !!   i’m nora and i’ll be writing margo colby n probs sm1 else bcos lets be real, i lack self-control. u can find her pinterest here n some info abt her sexy self below the cut. plot with me on discord ( hot girl midsommar#8664 ) or in my ims !!  x o x

     * CAMILA MORRONE, CIS WOMAN + SHE / HER  | you know MARGO COLBY, right? they’re TWENTY-THREE, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ELEVEN YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to SCRAWNY BY WALLOWS  like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole BLEACH WHITE SNEAKERS POUNDING ON A GYMNASIUM FLOOR, USING THE SAME BLUNT SCISSORS TO HACK THE SLEEVES OFF AN EXES T-SHIRT THAT YOU USE TO CUT YOUR 3AM FRINGE, A WALNUT-SHAPED ACHE IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH FOR THE PERSON YOU COULD HAVE BEEN thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 8TH, so they’re a LEO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nora, 25, gmt, she/her )

CLICK ANYWHERE ON THIS SENTENCE FOR SEXII GOOGLE DOC!!

bullet point summary of margo.

—   born margaret but NOBODY calls her that. its colby, coach or margo, and go to the privileged few. margo grew up in the creek commune n then dropped out of school cos of a teenage pregnancy so she was a bit of a cautionary tale back in’t’day (said tht in my yorkshire accent). she now works for summer camps coaching pee wee soccer and pee wee cheer, as well as helping out her beekeeper dad on his honey farm, which is jst north of abernathy creek, and working at scuba on the off seasons.

—  its just her and her dad, and has been for as long as she can recall !! everything she knows about her mum could fit on the back of the weathered passport photo she keeps in her wallet of a stranger who shares her face - her name’s melody, or at least tht was name she used when working as a dancer, she’s from argentina and dropped mag’s dad as soon as someone w more money came along.

—  margo’s father is a beekeeper with his own organic honey company. margo and her dad moved to irving in the early 00s, the summer between grade school and middle school, because her dad had heard about the communal living in abernathy creek and wanted to lend his skills there and live off the fatta the land in a very lenny from of mice and men kinda way.

—  for a few years of middle school margo was bullied for living with the ‘freaks from the creek’, but when they realised how chill her dad was with underage drinking, margo ‘keg-bringer’ colby soon gained popularity among the more renegade students. every so often, the high school parties would happen at her end of town, occasionally with members of the commune even offering the high schoolers a spiritual experience they’d never forget (often in the form of mushrooms) which meant people tried to stay on her good side. to get an invite to a margo colby party handed you a free pass to make up the most ridiculous shit about the commune you liked and nobody else could say anything, because they’d never been to the creek.

—  at school, margo had a lot of ‘behvioural issues’ bcos of undiagnosed adhd, she found it difficult to sit still for hours n write down huge chunks of information n her restlessness was seen as laziness. she was encouraged to do sports, as were most of the kids who weren’t that academically inclined, but she turned out to be pretty hot shit at sprinting, because she grew up surrounded by bee houses and he who runs slowest gets stung, baybeyy!! so yea, in school sports became her LIFE. she was gonna get a sports scholarship to college but ended up dropping out of school in senior year n becoming one of those kids who could have had it all but lost it.

—  she had sex with sutter at a house party when she wasnt really ready because it felt like the right thing to do at the time and everybody else was doing it. she’d attended health class, she’d seen the corny videos. she knew about all the statistics, but she also knew that it had never happened to anyone she knew and the pull out method was basically safer than the morning after pill and way less expensive.

—  a teenage pregnancy knocked her out of the runnings for prom queen and meant she had to leave school early. she didn’t go to college when her friends did, instead she spent the time interviewing potential foster candidates and eating her weight in lindt chocolate while marathoning love island in her room.  

—  she had a son, who she passed off to someone else a couple of towns away.  it was a closed adoption which seemed like the best idea at the time, but she now wishes she had access to his life.

—  after peaking in high school and jumping between jobs for a few years, she got a more permanent role at scuba which she loves with all of her heart and soul, but unfortunately a bar job doesn’t pay the rent.  

—  she works at summer camps coaching  junior soccer and netball on the side. she’s extremely competitive and takes it very personally if her team lose. the kids all call her, coach colby n write her longwinded letters about how they’ll never forget this summer camp before they go back to their suburban picket fence houses n she keeps all the letters in a drawer n takes them out to read when she’s feelin depressed.

—  enjoys surfing and worked for a number of years on resorts like mila kunis’ job in forgetting sarah marshall. she went on to work 18-hour days as a stewardess on luxury yachts which is a part of her backstory i added after watching season one of below deck because i guess i really am that fucking impressionable. met most of her surf friends doing tht but said she’d never in her life do it again bcos it was mostly just picking up after rich white ppl for shit pay. she came back to irving n thats when she started doing the summer camp jobs so she could move out of the creek n get her own apartment. 

—  she never actually finished senior year so she’s currently going to night school at the community college to get through her exams and is trying to save to go to college or open university. she wants to major in criminology. she’s super ambitious but also super adhd so she fluctuates between thinking she can achieve anything to just feeling like a failure n thinkin whats the point

—  used to shoplift to feel joy and as an act of resistance to her hippy commune routes, but now sees herself as a reformed, bin-diving freegan (sims 4 eco living can i get a hell yaaaa). also she thinks it’s totally wrong to steal when you have enough money and clearly don’t need to steal to survive, ppl risk imprisonment for basic necessities, so for her to do it for a brief thrill and some new shades felt a bit derogatory

—  was raised jewish. became a vegetarian as a child because it seemed, at the time, easier than having to explain which foods she was and wasn’t allowed to eat together, so she just cut out meat entirely. still a vegetarian now and dabbles in veganism, although its become less about not eating certain meats in the milk of their mother and more about her global impact / carbon footprint

—  nurses little animals to health in her garden. has a hedgehog name OJ short for orange juice not the other one filthy pig. her and her dad have always been huge animal rights activists and existed on a vegetarian diet. the only one in their house who isn’t vegetarian is their cat, auggie. (short 4 augustus gloop)

—  has a lot of stupid ass stick and poke tattoos. there was a phase during her years as a barmaid where she wanted to train as a tattoo artist n would mostly practice on herself or any friends who would let her

—  she doesn’t form many long lasting friendships cos she tends to be super excited when she makes a new friend and just see them all the time but then it wears off and she can ghost a bit. she’ll always coming pinging back but she’s not the most predictable or loyal friend, sometimes she’ll sleep in your house every night for a week and then you won’t even get a text from her for a month. her best friends are elderly neighbours and houseless people she meets when volunteering at the foodbank. she thinks they’re more authentic than most of the ‘fake posers’ she meets down the vela pier

—  calls herself a butch lesbian but still has sex with men when she wants validation. sexually attracted to some men, especially effeminate men, but only romantically attracted to women. very possessive of the gals in her life.

—  stopped giving a shit about getting older or adhering to anyone elses bullshit standards, realised it was all fake p much as soon as she dropped out of school and one by one her friends just stopped texting her

—  lives in one of the lofts in port apartments. it’s open plan with rugs and lava lamps everywhere. she has a palette bed. its all very ‘sustainable chic’. like, oh wow, a pallet bed that im supposed to think you made from scratch but i KNOW you got it  off ebay because you thought it looked trendy

—  constantly says shes poor but still buys clothes from urban outfitters. sus.

—  frequently found at fannies flirting with the cute bisexual bartender with a choppy black bob.

general vibe / personality

vibrant, vulgar, self-absorbed, tenacious, veers bewteen apathetic and dogmatic, temperamental, flighty, unreliable, magnetic, charismatic, passive aggressive, likes to play devil’s advocate, takes the moral high ground. estp and a leo

likes: 70s music, john wayne movies, black mirror, philosophy, cowboy chic culture, dc comics, the smell of locker rooms,, deep red lipstick, lacrosse sticks, smoking weed from a bong, dogs, karaoke, pet rats, kate moss, late-night strolls, hawaaiian shirts worn open over a bralette, skinned knees, thai food, picking the apples at the very top of the trees, zip-lining, cigarettes, the idea of pegging but not the practical application of it, decorative lamps, LGBTQ+ pin badges, worn-out furniture, twangy electric guitars.

dislikes: girls who call other girls ‘pick me’ girls, woody allen movies, mental mathematics, wealthy children, quentin tarantino, ironing, institutionalised misogyny, the imaginary future, french literature, ‘dump him’ feminism, wes anderson films, spoken word poetry nights, college-educated bar staff who act like they’re better than you,  indie softbois, the general mentality of cheerleading squads.

aesthetics

orange peel, the smell of bleach, skeleton drawings in the margins of a journal, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, bleach white sneakers pounding on a gymnasium floor, setting dumpsters on fire for the hell of it. a hit flask of vodka decorated with hello kitty stickers, split knuckles, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, a child in an oversize bee keepers suit, scabbed knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your dad wouldn’t take you,  a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

hoo boy this is getting LONG AS FUCK but here are my wanted plots

wanted plots

ok margo’s been in irving since she was like 10. she’s quite a vivacious person?? she dresses completely instinctively without any sense of cohesion so she stands out. a guy once told her she was wearing the ugliest outfit he’d ever seen and he thought that was so cool and brave of her. but anyway where was i going.. she grew up in the abernathy creek so stuck out like a sore thumb,,,, maybe ppl who were super interested in the creek or maybe poked fun at her bcos of it idk.....

b4 she dropped out, margo used 2 b in with the cool kids at school bcos her dad would buy them booze and rarely ask for the money. maybe a fun plot cld b with some of the ‘it girls’ she used to hang around with b4 she got pregnant n dropped out and they all went off to college n stopped texting her.

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! some1 she feels like she knew before irving ???

since margo literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships. fwbs. enemies with benefits. all the angst. all the slow burn mutual pining we hate each other narratives

locals who play sports. margo wld be all over community soccer n take it way too seriously. maybe ppl she plays hockey with. girls who she’s like, weirdly intimate with but its not a thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

she works part time at scuba. i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry.

she's also a surf instructor and occasionally works as a lifeguard!! gal has like 7 jobs ik but regular swimmers hmu

ppl she coaches at the gym !! she wants to be a personal trainer

i reckon she might have recently started meditating to try and calm down her mind cos its always bustling with thoughts, n i think she’s p interested in buddhism so if anyone’s a buddhist hmu

someone she’s trying to make a zine with on female empowerment and women in film and art, etc. just a very feminist zine. 

TLDR:  angry sports gay, former high school track prodigy turned drop out, who likes feminist literature, wearing leather jackets over slip dresses, and smudged red lipstick.

this was so long !!! im sorry !! if you’ve read this far have a biscuit, love x

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of wildfire relief, @theactualpiemaker donated $50, and requested Laurent/Damen, with sub!Damen. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. 

A month before Laurent’s official coronation, there is a brief but bloody revolt in Barbin, and Damen thinks for a brutal and world-greying hour that he’s lost him.

The Veretian contingent, with a full complement of an Akielon ambassadorial party, had sailed from Ios many weeks before. Ios was more-or-less stable; the kyroi had reassembled, under Damen’s kingship and Nikandros’ steady honesty, and the seeds had begun to be sown. A peace, made between two kings. An alliance, forged from trust and the love-story that couldn’t be kept quiet, considering how many had been witness to Laurent’s trial, and to how Damen had rather aggressively ignored sense to try to save him. To try to save them both. In meetings of their very small private council—Vannes and Laurent for Vere, Damen and Nikandros for Akielos—Nikandros had despaired. No one, he said, will trust now that it is a true alliance. Gossip, he said, and stories that grew bigger with the telling. Like Laurent somehow besting forty men alone on a mountainside, except that now it was somewhat to do with how Damianos’s cock must be mighty enough to win over a frigid northern princeling.

Vannes had laughed, at that. Laurent had looked as cool and remote as a mountain peak. Let them tell it, he’d said, while Damen had his face in his hands. But let’s give them a few more details, to tell.

In every situation, Laurent found an advantage. There were whispers—from Pallas, from Lazar. To Akielons: the blond prince smiled for Damianos when he would not smile for another. To Veretians: the barbarian king protected Prince Laurent with his life, even with his own kingdom on the line. The long enmity between one country and another dissolved, in their two heads bent close together, in the gentle words they exchanged. To the smallfolk, and the servants, and the soldiers low in rank—was it not something to hope for? Love, they said it was. Love that could stop a war.

Not as easy to sell a love-match to the lords of Vere, to the kyroi of Akielos. That had to be done with diplomacy, with displays of advantage. Look what we gain by having the barbarians on our side. Most of Damen’s conversations became about trade routes. Wiser heads understood there was more to be gained from diplomacy than from war. A whisper, passed from servants to Vannes to Laurent, who lay half-dressed in Damen’s great bed at Ios and whose mouth curled, recounting it: if wheat tariffs will go down as Damianos goes down, then all hail the ice-cock of the Prince of Vere.

The Council of Vere had returned home after a chilling and deliberate series of meetings, in which they were closeted with Laurent and Laurent alone. Laurent said little of them, except that he had made his points clear. Damen kissed his jaw, when he said it, and didn’t ask. When Laurent left later with the Veretian ship Damen held him, on the harbor, in front of anyone who cared to look, and Laurent gave him that small unexpected smile and touched his cheek, and when the ship left his bright head was visible for a long time, glinting gold in the sunlight.

Damen’s ship followed, after a month. Time for each of them to rule, for a little while. To be seen as competent, apart. An official invitation was extended for the King of Akielos to attend the coronation of the King of Vere, and it was all the excuse he needed to get Laurent back in his arms. It was also a very public journey, with public stops publically planned, and they were—Damen can’t believe it—too confident.

In the spirit of that first allied campaign, they were to meet on neutral ground. Barbin, with its rolling hills, its farmland, the orchards heavy with apples. A festival in the Veretian style, to greet a visiting monarch, but away from the shadow of the looming castle at Arles. Damen moved more slowly, as king. His entourage was small, but he’d brought advisors, diplomats. Guards, and he never knew relief as he did when he remembered the decision to ride ahead with half of them, to get to the meeting grounds early. That they were there when the fighting started. If they’d been later—if they’d stopped—

The melee wasn’t brief. A planned attack, in three stages. Damen understands the details later, through a fog. What’s stuck in his mind, the detail that matters, is the way he’d seen Laurent’s pennant, the starburst on blue, stagger in the distance and then fall. He’d stood in his stirrups and shaded his eyes, and when he realized—when it was happening—

He’s told that he killed—many. Many. He stands in a tent, one of the brightly pennanted gaudy Veretian things that hadn’t been destroyed in the fighting. He’s attended by a low-ranked soldier who’d been a servant, he said, before he joined the army. He lets the boy remove his armor, carefully, and lets the boy wash the blood from his hands and arms and face, and he stands with his eyes pinned to the blue-silk wall and thinks of Laurent. Riders have spread throughout Barbin and the second there’s word he will be told. He knows this and can’t think past it. He’s waiting, to receive word, that after all their trials and the cruelties of the last year, that here in this godforsaken stretch of muddy farmland, the prince—his prince—

A noise, at the tent-flap. A muffled discussion. The boy-soldier disappears, reappears. “Exalted,” he says, softly, and Damen closes his eyes.

He can’t make the words come out of his mouth. The boy seems to understand—he’s clever, Damen thinks, the thought very distant as though it is all the way back in Ios, and when they finish here he will recommend that the boy be promoted—and there’s a pause, while Damen stands with his clean empty hands, half-stripped to his leather skirt, waiting to be told that Laurent is dead.

“Not how I wanted our reunion to go,” he hears.

His heart’s cracking, in his chest. He sways and there are cool fingers on his wrists, a strong grip, keeping him upright. Blue eyes, above a half-scarf of rough grey wool, and a wink of gold, on the hand matched with his.

“Steady,” Laurent says, his voice gentler, and Damen grabs him, crushes him close. His name is on Damen’s lips but he can’t say it. It’s—it was too close. The pennant falls, behind his eyes.

“I thought,” Damen says, finally, and Laurent says, “I know,” very softly. His fingers curl against Damen’s throat and Damen presses his lips to Laurent’s hair, the foolish disguise of the scarf pulled away. Damen says, “I can’t leave you again,” and Laurent’s slower, that time, to respond, and Damen pulls away to find Laurent’s eyes somber, and he says, “No,” but of course Laurent says, “Yes, you must.”

A plot, he explains. He’d seen shifts. A lord, loyal to the Regent. Whether because he believed the lies the Regent had told or had helped to sow them, Laurent doesn’t yet know. The love-stories and the wisdom of the alliance hadn’t swayed him and he’d thought to lop the head from Vere, to blame the visiting barbarian king. The timing of the attack was a surprise but the fact of it wasn’t, and he’d hoped they would have more time. Still, it could be fixed. But: “This time,” Laurent says, and Damen’s chest aches to hear how carefully he says it, “I really must go alone. I must. You’re too important now to scramble under the trees with me. If the King goes missing, at the same time that the Prince is dead—”

It’s logical. Damen hates it. “Take a guard,” he says, and Laurent shakes his head. “Please—please, for me. I can’t—”

“You can,” Laurent says, with a ruthless sort of compassion. “And you will trust me, and I will be back. Two hours. I swear it.”

It is a genuine, physical pain to end their embrace. Laurent’s hair is mussed from where Damen had gripped it, too tight. Longer, now—to his shoulders, nearly. He tucks it behind his ears, pulls the scarf again over his head. He’s in stolen clothes, somehow—grey woollens, like a farmhand. The jacket makes him shapeless. He lifts the scarf over his face, and then pauses, and lifts on his toes to grip Damen’s hair and pull him into a kiss—a kiss, their first kiss in more than a month, and it’s hard with Laurent’s teeth behind it but Damen clutches him, breathes him, before Laurent wrenches away and turns his face to the side, breathing out, the air shaking. “Two hours,” he says, after a moment, and tucks the scarf over his face again, tucking it back so the only way to recognize him are those remote, cold-sky eyes. Damen clenches his jaw, and lifts the tent flap for him. He watches Laurent disappear between the soldiers trying to organize themselves in the churned-mud battlefield that had been a parade ground, and then closes the flap, and settles to wait.

*

It rains. Damen listens to the patter on the tent, watches the brazier with its dark orange coals. He has left Meniados and Lycaeus to manage the camp. Everything is paused. The only order he gave was that no one was allowed to leave—no riders for distant forts, no word sent back to Arles. He lies on the pallet made for him in the tent and is alone, to think. To hope.

When he comes it isn't through the flap. There's a rustle, against the other side of the tent, and when Damen turns his head he sees a knife slice through the thick silk, a slice carving through just enough to admit a slim body. Damen sits up, heart in his throat. Laurent slips through and in an instant pins the flap of fabric back into the earth with his knife, and crouches there on the far side of the tent, just for a second, breathing hard.

"Is it done?" Damen says.

His voice sounds strange, thick. Laurent looks at him, sharply, and there's a pause while he pulls the scarf from his head, his hair tumbling out pale and shining in the glow from the brazier. "Yes," he says, simply, but he's frowning.

Damen has one foot on the bare earth but can't seem to stand. Laurent drops the scarf to the ground, slips off his wet shapeless jacket, and comes across the tent to him, and puts his fingertips to Damen's jaw. His eyes searching, his brow furrowed. "Damen," he says, and it's soft, and Damen turns his face into Laurent's palm, hiding himself. Behind his eyes the pennant falls and it isn't enough, that Laurent's here in front of him. These two hours—three, nearly, because Laurent is a liar—they haven't—he's trying to drag up words, but he—

Laurent's other hand touches his hair. "Quiet, now," he says. Calm, but firm. That tone, when he's giving orders and is confident they'll be obeyed. Damen sits, quiet, and Laurent drags his fingers through Damen's hair, gently untangling the curls. "Let me," he says, and Damen nods, his eyes closing. He'd agree to anything, if Laurent's hands stay on his skin. If he just stays and doesn't leave, again.

Laurent unpins the chiton Damen had half put on as a ward against the Veretian chill. The cloth slips away, to lie with Laurent's jacket. He unbuckles the leather skirt and Damen lifts his hips just enough that it can be dragged away, too. He's left naked, other than his golden cuff, and Laurent urges him down to his back with soft touches, and when he's flat on the pallet Laurent sits beside him, and leans over, and kisses him on the mouth, very gently.

Nothing like their kiss, before. He opens his mouth and Laurent licks inside, his hand on Damen's jaw, but when Damen lifts a hand to touch Laurent's hair it's stopped, and pressed slowly but firmly back against the pallet. He's left to lie there, to be kissed. Laurent kisses as he always has, with simple affection, and it's making the heat rise behind Damen's eyes, his chest slowly turning into a complicated, sore tangle.

A shift of weight, a slide. Laurent straddles Damen's hips, still wearing his damp trousers. His thumbs drag over Damen's cheekbones and Damen's fingers curl against Laurent's thighs, holding. He's allowed that, at least. The warmth of Laurent, through the damp wool. The flex of the slim muscle, the confident seat of a rider, as he leans over, carefully shielding Damen from anything outside the heat he's so-slowly stoking between them, here on their shared pallet.

The rain beats hard, above. He can still hear Laurent's breath. A slow touch, over his shoulders, his chest. Massage, he realizes after a moment, his brain working at some lower speed. Laurent carefully working the muscle, gentle circles. His hands frame Damen's ribcage, his thumbs smearing slow over Damen's nipples, which were half-budded but tighten further at the touch. Not as sensitive as Laurent's, not nearly, but he breathes out heat at the tent's canopy when Laurent's mouth touches one, liquid furl, and then the other. His abdomen, then. His hip. Laurent's weight and touch shifts, easy, and when he moves away enough that Damen can no longer hold his thighs his hands curl empty on the pallet, waiting. He feels—drugged. His heart thuds slow and heavy in his ears as a drumbeat.

Laurent's mouth, on his cock. His thighs are spread, easy confident hands on his knees. He drags in air and somehow it isn't even a surprise, when always before Laurent had approached this act as a challenge. Damen had been honored by it, before. Now he melts, into the thin down pad, his mind swirling away. His cock had been half-roused, just by Laurent's presence and the fact of his touch; he rises fully, now, and Laurent's easy, meeting it. Not teasing, not the practiced skill of before. He licks into the slit at Damen's cockhead and then sinks down immediately, sucking steadily, his head bobbing. Damen's thighs flex and his hips lift, thoughtless reaction, and instead of pushing him back down Laurent allows it. Encourages it, one hand under Damen's arse and the other holding his balls, rolling them soft and warm, the touch tender. Damen's fingers curl against the mattress and his hips lift, and again, and Laurent makes the smallest sound, some chest-noise, and stays still while Damen fucks helplessly upward, fucking into the wet liquid heat of him, his mind drained away and all that's left this simple physical pleasure, this knowing that Laurent is here with him, has worked him to this place, has opened himself so that Damen's cock smears the back of his throat. Laurent doesn't choke, doesn't move, only holds Damen's hips in the lightest grip and makes himself soft, and when Damen comes he doesn't expect it. His balls clutch, his heart thudding. He grips the mattress and makes some sound, says something he hardly hears. Laurent's mouth holds him, through it, suckling softly to prolong the pleasure, and prolongs it far enough that Damen's cock hardly softens, just pulsing gently against Laurent's tongue, in his throat. A minute—longer—Damen doesn't know. Time is something outside of him. He drags in air and it feels cold, inside his overheated body. He pools empty, on the pallet.

When Laurent finally pulls his mouth away Damen's heart has slowed, quiet as a sprawling sluggish river. A kiss, to his hip, to the stretch of stomach under his navel. He feels the sensation of Laurent crawling upward, his body stretching out over Damen's, and he expects to be kissed but instead Laurent lies on him, and draws his fingers through Damen's hair, and tucks his face in close, by Damen's ear. He's talking, Damen realizes, after too long. Very quietly, but he's talking.

"You did so well," he's saying, when Damen finally hears him. "You did just as I wanted. You're perfect. I'm so glad of you."

He's speaking Akielon. His accent better, but still with that exotic lilt of Vere. Damen never wants him to smooth it away. "I," Damen says, and feels Laurent's attention sharpen, his body shifting. Damen licks his lips and yet no more words come.

Laurent lifts up, enough that they can see each other. His hair falls over one shoulder. In the low light from the fading brazier his eyes are very dark, enough that Damen can hardly see the blue. "You're here," Laurent says. Damen blinks at him. "Damianos. Here, with me. We're safe. The danger has passed."

Damen comes back to himself in stages. Laurent waits with him, patient. He lifts a hand, at last, and brushes his knuckles against Laurent's fine ivory jaw. "I saw the pennant fall," he says. His voice sounds as rough as if he hadn't spoken in days. "I thought…"

Laurent doesn't answer. His eyes are enough. He holds Damen's neck, his throat, very gently. Damen could lie here for a week, just like this. With the fact of Laurent's heart, beating in his chest. With the body-warm press of the gold they share against his skin.

The rain slackens, against the roof of the tent. The world turns. Damen licks his lips and tries to be a king, and not just a man whose world nearly ended. "What happened?" he says. There are dead to deal with. Orders to be given. He touches Laurent's chin. "Can we—"

"Later." Damen's mouth shuts. Laurent's mouth curls, just a little, at how quickly Damen obeys. He slips slightly to Damen's side. Damen immediately misses his weight. "There's—half an hour, perhaps. We have time, for this."

Damen turns his head and Laurent's looking at him with a tenderness he can hardly bear. He knew that Laurent could hold his heart. He hadn't known, until that moment when Laurent ordered him so gently to be quiet, that Laurent held his body, too. His mind. Every part of him, surrendered. It will be a joint kingdom, he thinks, but really, there will be only one ruler. It is calming, to think it. He bows his head, when Laurent touches his jaw, and lets his forehead settle against the soft rain-smell of Laurent's hair, and sighs. Laurent says they have time. They have time.

[sykilik101]

Moments With You

There's no such thing as coincidence. I don't believe for a second anyone else besides her was supposed to be there that day. Fishing and owning a bike that just happened to have a Pikachu-sized basket?

We were meant to meet.

xxxxx

"Sorry I'm late!"

We'd already been traveling together for a few months now, and I'd gotten a pretty good idea of who Misty was. Quick to anger, an unwavering sense of right and wrong, and a love of water Pokémon that even I couldn't hope to match. We were past the point of simple acquaintances and could now be considered friends, but there were sides to Misty I had yet to learn about.

One of those was her with her hair down.

Her voice pulled me from my PokéDex, a speechlessness overtaking me as Pikachu's gleeful exclamation blended with the music and crowd. Everything in the background was blurry from the lantern smoke and lights, but Misty standing in her pink kimono, fan in hand, was immediately seared into my mind. For a second I was reminded of when I'd seen Giselle at that Pokémon Tech place we'd visited; she was pretty in that "make my face warm" way. I'd never gotten that feeling from Misty before, but now-

"Come on, Ash, let's dance!"

Her hand found its way into mine, and a dizzying warmth accompanied the softness of her fingers. My voice trembled a bit as I agreed, and with her extended invitation to Pikachu I couldn't help but laugh. She pulled me onto the dance floor with an infectious jubilance that suited her better than I could have thought. It was the first time that the two of us, together, whittled the hours away in the company of food, dancing, and a budding best friendship.

That was also the first time I felt soon-to-be-familiar nerves in my stomach around her.

xxxxx

"Okay."

"Right."

Traveling through a foggy forest towards a town that was supposedly home to ghost Pokémon didn't have the same energy as "summer festival," but at least I was holding Misty's hand again. It was Brock's idea, which was the perfect excuse for me to hold hers for longer than a few seconds. Even with my glove in the way, the tips of my fingers pressed into her skin, and I felt an abnormal heat surge through my cheeks. I wondered if I could convince the others that we should come through this forest on the way back.

I'd held out my hand to Brock so he wouldn't get lost; leave it to him to grab Pikachu's tail and ruin the moment.

xxxxx

"What are you two doing here?"

At this stage of our friendship, it was easier to hide any displays of enamorment behind a curt answer or a crude decision. I'd had enough practice with starting arguments after being caught staring, but I still hadn't gotten many opportunities to compliment her while maintaining plausible deniability. It was next to impossible to say something like "Your eyes are pretty" inconspicuously, so any chance I could get to say something about her, even hidden behind sarcasm or jokes, was something I wouldn't let go to waste.

I wasn't sure why Misty even agreed to help Melvin out in the first place. Misty's not an especially kind person, so agreeing to be some magician's assistant, in a Goldeen dress of all things, would definitely be high on my "things Misty would never do" list. Despite that, I couldn't help but think that she looked really...really pretty. Like, "the Maiden's Peak festival" pretty, but this time, I wanted to tell her. Hiding a compliment behind an annoying tone sounded like a good idea, and since starting an argument with her was easiest when she was in a flustered state, this was the perfect cover for me to say-

"That's a real cute outfit, Misty."

Surprisingly, I managed to keep a straight face and not stutter my words, despite inexperience threatening to wipe away the snarky tone I was going for. I was ready for the verbal retaliation she was famous for, but the sudden complaints of the audience demanding a show was a welcomed distraction. Taking a front row seat I savored the feeling of victory at having been able to call Misty cute and not end up with her mallet on my head.

It's too bad she didn't put her hair down for the outfit, though...

xxxxx

Every story I've heard of mermaids says that they're always extremely beautiful. Mermaids probably aren't real, but I think Misty is making me a believer.

xxxxx

"Careful, Ash, all that food can make your belly as big as your head."

I like that we're now at the point where her teasing comments are all in good fun. Of course, even if it wasn't, nothing was gonna bring my mood down. I'd already won my first two rounds, and I even got to eat for free thanks to a fan of mine. After having not had a meal for the entire day, all Pikachu and I wanted was to dig in.

Misty's company wasn't unwelcomed, either.

I wanted to answer her, but she happened to catch me mid-chew. My response was automatic and ready, but before I swallowed, a thought came to me. It was a nickname I'd thought about before, and I'd never found the right moment (or courage) to try it out. However, my post-battle elation made my worries feel insignificant, and I figured even if she didn't like it, I could brush it off as me just being too happy about my success to care.

"Thanks, Mist, but I can't help it! I got all this food for free! That's 'cause she happens to be a big fan of mine!"

Mist. I like the way it sounds, and the fact that she didn't immediately get that Misty eye twitch means she didn't dislike it. Although, maybe it's 'cause I'm so used to calling her Misty, but Mist feels a bit...awkward. Almost like how you'd call your girlfriend a cute nickname.

...Misty as my girlfriend...

"Ash, everybody in the Pokémon League gets to eat here for free."

So much for the fan of mine. I think, maybe, I'll keep Mist in my back pocket for future use, when it feels right to give her such a cute nickname.

xxxxx

"You're crazy!"

"Crazy is right! Never in a million years!"

She didn't have to deny it that hard...

xxxxx

"You and I will be married someday, too."

"Mhm…"

I didn't really register what Misty had said right away. My thoughts were more focused on how we were going to stay overnight in this park and hearing this girl - Temacu, was it? - talk about marrying Brock. For some reason I half-expected Brock to be going along with her imagination; after all, wasn't he always talking about cute girls and how he'd want to be with them? Did he not consider Temacu cute? Maybe he just doesn't want to marry her right after meeting her. I guess that makes sense. It would be kinda weird to want to marry someone if you're not in-

...wait, her and I, married?

"Huh?!"

I recognized that look in her eyes. Throughout our travels, anytime Misty messed up or said something she didn't mean to, her eyes always did that same thing; I could practically hear her screaming "I didn't say anything!" in her head.

The thing is, she did say it, and my brain started spinning all sorts of ideas on what she was implying by that. She could have just meant, in the future, I'd be married and she'd be married, but not to each other. That'd probably be just what she'd say if I brought it up. But...what if she was actually thinking that her and I would be married to each other? Was that something Misty thought about? Would she want to marry me?

Temacu's dad showed up, and after some talking we were invited to stay at their house instead of the park. I should have been more excited at being able to sleep in a bed instead of my sleeping bag, but Misty's response kept replaying in my mind. Even if her words hadn't registered to me right away, her voice had been calm with a bit of that daydreamy tone she used once in a while. I couldn't remember her sounding like that when talking about me.

Having packed our camping gear back up, our group began heading into the town. Brock and Temacu lead the way, with her dad shortly behind, and Misty and I bringing up the rear. As we walked I stole a glance at her from the corner of my eye. She seemed lost in a thought, her hands absentmindedly rocking Togepi to and fro as the little Pokémon looked on the brink of a nap. Eventually her gaze caught mine and she turned towards me.

"Is something the matter, Ash?"

I could ask her right now. With the others ahead of us, we had the privacy to have such a conversation. It wasn't a hard question at all. Were you really thinking about us two being married together? My mouth started to open, but something about the way she looked at me held my voice back. If I was wrong, it would just end in another argument, which would fit the status quo between her and I like usual.

But, deep down, I think I couldn't handle the idea of us fighting about marrying each other.

I needed more time to see how she felt about me. I'd spent enough time with an erratic heartbeat around her to know where I stood, but something about not knowing how she felt about this scared me enough to close my mouth, turning back towards the others.

"It's nothing."

Maybe her and I would be married someday. First, however, I needed to find out if she even liked me the way I liked her.

xxxxx

"Will I...see you again?"

"You will. I swear."

The dirt was quieter now, disturbed by two feet rather than six. The road from Viridian City to Pallet Town was familiar to me; the loneliness wasn't. The tears had subsided, but the ache in my chest was still as strong as ever as I slowly trekked down the dusty road.

I'd been ready to tell her. The mood had been perfect, if a bit more somber than I would have hoped for. Shades of purple and orange painted the sky, the sunset burning to match her hair. There was no hint of teasing or malice in the air, and the bike stationed by her side felt nostalgic; it made me think of how far we'd come since the first time I'd taken it from her. That time together, however, had come to an end, as a phone call from her sisters had sent us our separate ways.

However, it wouldn't last forever.

The handkerchief felt soft in my hands, wrapped around the bento Brock had given me. The corners were tied up perfect and sweetly, as if she'd done this for me a million times before. Her fingers had moved so effortlessly to fold the cloth, knot it tightly before offering it to me. What she'd really given me wasn't just tangible, and I think we both knew that. I know I can be a little dense, and I usually let my optimism take over when I'm unsure of something, but I think I got the message pretty clearly this time. In that moment, I could see exactly what I was looking for in Misty's eyes. Even if I hadn't said anything, I felt like she knew what I wanted to tell her.

There was something she wanted to tell me, too.

My heart, still deflated, skipped as a flush clawed its way up my face. I could be crazy and wrong on a million levels, but I'm pretty sure she feels the same way. Even if I'm either, or both...I can tell her now. Maybe I don't need a perfect moment or the right words, but I'll be ready when I see her again. She'd found her way into my life once before, and she'll do it again.

After all, there's no such thing as coincidence.

______________________________________________________

I gave myself permission to be less “strict” about trying to write Ash in character, deciding I’d let myself kinda run wild with maybe using words or descriptions you might not expect from him. This was fun to write, and I hope you enjoyed it.

[six-06]

So some (drunk) hardcore gamer friends of mine have recently introduced me to the black hole that is Dead By Daylight. I can only play the mobile version, but I'm having fun so far, but from watching them and other people play, I just... Don't understand how people can be so salty????

Like when I'm the Survivor and I realize I'm not gonna make it, I go down making sure my teammates have a chance. I'm on death hook and you've just gotten your first hook? Everybody else is too far away or doing Gens? I'll get myself taken out making sure you're off the hook before it gets to it's second stage, I don't care if Ghostface is standing there camping out and teabagging you. Or I'll body block to give you more time to wiggle, or sabotage hooks, or... whatever.

I don't disconnect even when I'm getting tunneled because hey, at least tunneling me is giving my teammates time to do gens. Save yourselves I'll struggle as long as I can to keep them busy. It IS still hell of annoying, I'll admit that, but it's not technically against any rules?

(By the way, if you're a Bill main you're my hero and you have my mad respect, every time I'm in a match with a Bill they are such an absolute bro and champion and they help me do gens and rescue my dumb newbie ass from hooks and heal me. Seriously, love you guys. 😘)

And if I'm playing Killer and I realize I'm not getting any kills, I'm not salty about that either. Sure, it's disappointing but at the same time kind of fine with me, I don't necessarily enjoy hurting people. (Ironic since I'm not too bad at Killer, compared to being a garbage Survivor.)

You wanna teabag me mockingly at the exit? Cool, cool, I'll headbang along. I mean, if you get close I'm still gonna smack you for the points, but unless you're dumb enough to pester me rather than escaping more than once, I'm just gonna let you go and break some pallets for points as you do, maybe close the hatch if I can find it in time.

Hell, last night as the Trapper I just set a shit ton of traps in front of the exit gates when I saw all four players inside teabagging me so I could get points for setting the traps and they could get points for disarming them. Then I'd reset them and repeated until they were about out of time, so I smacked them to give them a speed boost to the exit. Everybody came out with over 15,000 bloodpoints, so that was pretty cool.

It might just be the game is new to me and I'm not disillusioned yet, and I'm not trying to flex or anything, I just legitimately can't understand how people can rage-quit and put the other players in a bad place. It's supposed to be a game and other than a few tunnelers, so far everyone I've played with has been pretty cool.

And to BOTH those red rank Freddys and that red rank Myers who were tunneling and face-camping a bunch of white ranks with one perk each... RUDE. To the Ghostface that pulled me straight off a nearly-finished Gen out of nowhere and face-camped me, also rude (but fair.) At least teabag me if you're gonna face-camp, you're literally a Ghostface.

But anyway there's only one way to wrap this up: I pretty much main Legion solely for the music. To every Survivor I've played against, thank you all for letting my inefficient Killer ass chase you around and accidentally smack windows rather than vaulting just so I can spam the chase music.

[unnerving-presence]

Omg thank you for explaining it for me cuz im mostly really really confused like, sometimes i end up with lower ranks but they still manage to kill me lol

Oh and one time i ran from a bubba for like the whole trial and (because i panicked & didnt want to get caught ngl) i sometimes dropped a palette on him. He catched me at one point and didnt even gave me a chance to get down from the hook. He just stood before me and used his chainsaw, ignored the others and let them leave while i died ? I was so sad at that

- 🌸💕

i die to low ranks all the time cause they camp me 😭 i had a trapper camp and tunnel me simply because i ran him like he shook his head and hit me on hook and everything just for running him for more than 5 seconds. god i hate low ranks lmao (fucking ash 4 and he’s trying to be toxic tf??)

sorry that happened to you :( it’s insanely easy to camp with bubba even if your team has bt, so most people will just leave, but it is possible to get a 4 man escape against one

also a lot of bubbas tend to camp if you couldn’t tell. the real people that actually main bubba don’t camp or tunnel so if they decide to they most likely don’t really know how to play him well. haven’t seen a good bubba since the p3 one i ran into a couple months ago. like even when i play bubba i suck because you never know how a survivor will play. sometimes they drop pallets and sometimes they actually loop them. either way you lose unless you got gen regression perks. and i only got pop on him rip i keep saying i’ll play him since i plan on making an edit for him on tik tok but it’s so hard finding the motivation because he’s insanely easy to run even when all they do is drop pallets. like i can’t play bubba for the life of me but i try 😭