#no health potion having ass

[atlasian-guard-captain]

You can backseat my alchemical compositions and technique when you receive better marks from the bog witch coven who instructed me! Lousy mfer thinks he can brew an elixir of resurgence just because he picked some flowers and ate some bees in Skyrim smh

(backseating you at the mortar and pestle) man you aint even squarshing it

[camouflagedpath]

At this point I suspect Pierre Poilievre blames Trudeau when he can't find his car keys, can't get it up for his wife, steps on a piece of lego, etc. Just put a sock in it, man!

[zillyeh]

im ngl i love how combat feels in veilguard but its kind of driving me insane how much i have to watch my health

[sunnibits]

live footage of me trying to get through the world’s most basic ass combat mission in da origins bc I’m a little stupid bitch baby who doesn’t understand tactics and didn’t think to stock up on health potions beforehand

[rubys-domain]

i finally figured out how to deal with the raiden shogun weekly boss

[bitchydragondoodle]

favorite part of bg3 is treating my blorbos Right. Dragging astarion to get the prettiest outfits and then skipping next door to the gemstone shop to rob the owner blind as a fun lil date. Letting Gale wander around Ramazith’s Tower and take all of its shit because Lorroakan sucks and Mystra’s shit deserves to be free. Finding all the cats with animal speaking potions to let Shadowheart have fun being kind to animals. Letting Minthara sit in a throne and telling her it’s hot. Telling Vlaakith to fuck off with Lae’zel and then gifting her the most opulent heavy armor i could pickpocket from Dammon. Kicking Gortash ass with Karlach. Saving Wyll’s dad from Mizora by chucking potions at him.

Get in loser we’re doing morally dubious and wacky shenanigans for your Mental Health

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Fuck me, not them

Barbie dolls:barty crouch x gn! Reader

word: 2.9k

summary: barty sleeps with everyone but not you and you’re pissy abt it

warning: you and barty are both kinda slutty, talks of sex, i did not write smut but I did write them talking about it and slight descriptions, party’s sex both while they’re in Hogwarts but it’s their last year don’t worry abt it, mentions that you have a past of mental health issues, Barty’s a bot of an asshole for a second but so are you so it’s fine, I think that’s it idk

Barty was an amazing friend but unfortunately, he had quite a list of lovers. Every time you heard of his midnight escapades, you felt a pang in your chest. You knew he’d never think of you in that way and you really shouldn’t be so hurt about it but it stung. Alot. Especially because apparently, he was so good. Every time you sat in class someone behind you just had to have spent the night with your best friend and tell their friend all about it. You just had to overhear how spectacular he was. 

How could one little scrawny punk like Barty be so good in the sack someone was always discussing the hip move he did in their last adventure. Furthermore, if he could slut it up with just about everyone in your year and the year above, why not you? What was so wrong with you that he couldn’t even think of taking your pants off? You bottled up all your upset and unresolved feelings into spite. You danced provocatively with other boys and stared down Barty while you did it. You winked at the Hufflepuff boy next to you in Potions, directly in front of Barty. You’d bring boys over to your table and whisper in their ears while Barty ate his breakfest. You left every party Barty dragged you to with a new lover. You knew you weren’t going to make him jealous, but you could make him a little uncomfortable. Then you could sleep with them in the hopes they’d even grace the bar with the rumors of Barty’s skill set. 

It seemes your will wasn’t as strong as you thought it was. A dance with Ravenclaw’s hands traveling over Barty’s body in front of you was the straw that broke the camel’s back. You’ve seen Barty straddled and grinded on. You’ve seen Barty slip his tongue down multiple people’s throats. You’ve seen Barty drag his teeth over people’s jugulars. He definentaly wasn’t bashful about his exploration of the human body. That Ravenclaw though? You couldn’t handle that. Barty had his ass pressed to the front of his jeans, swirling his hips around with the music. Barty had a smirk on his face that made you wish the Ravenclaw was dead. The boy’s hands kept sliping under the band of Barty’s jeans and you were starting to imagine cutting them off. Barty knocked his hips back again making the Ravenclaw laugh in his ear. You felt like you might lose your dinner. You slipped into the dancing crowd easily and grabbed onto Barty’s forearm. His smile losened and he turned to you, raising an eyebrow. 

You pulled him away, all the way out of the party and a total of five steps down the hall. Barty pulled away from you, taking his forearm back. You turned back around to face him. There was glitter on his face from the girl who kissed his cheek earlier. His eyes were wide and his brows were pushed together. Barty raised his hands and shook them out like he was trying to find your reasoning in the air. 

“What the fuck?” Barty asked. You shook your head, looking around on the floor. You actually weren’t sure why you did what you did. 

“I don’t know.” You whispered. Barty scoffed. He sighed and pressed his hands to his hips. He chewed on his lips before sucking his teeth. 

“Listen. I know you’re going through this weird phase where you’re just like- taking every boy you can find to your sheets. That doesn’t mean you also get to spoil my fun. I know you’re not the biggest fan of my lifestyle but back up okay? Not your life, not your choices, kay?” Barty said. You cleanched your teeth and looked up at him. 

“I am not going through a weird phase, Crouch.” You said, venom lacing your words. Barty glared at you. He sucked his cheeks in before giving you a petty smile. 

“Right, last names now. You’re not going through a phase? Then tell me why exactly last year you wouldn’t even look at a boy twice and now you’re stripping down naked just because one of them half compliments you. You’re not going through a phase and I’m not a Ravenclaw. Makes sense.” Barty said, scoffing at you. You chewed on the inside of your lip. Your tongue darted out between your lips. 

“I’ve…blossomed over the summer, so what?” You said, shrugging. Barty let out a breath through his nose. 

“Right, course. Do you want to tell me what’s actually going on with you now or can I go back inside and get a moderately good handy, hm?” Barty said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. You rolled your eyes and turned away from him. 

“Yeah go slut it up, Bartimus. I’ll be here to drive you to your fucking STD test when you’re done, douchebag.” You muttered, taking steps back towards your dormitory. Barty scoffed loudly and chased after you. He kept pace with you, walking next to you. 

“Is that what this is about? You don’t like me sleeping around? Are you worried I might get sick? I’m safe, incredibly safe. I take potions and shit, not to mention that’s none of your business.” Barty said, his voice rising. You worried about a professor overhearing you as you turned the corner down the corridor. 

“No, Barty. That’s not what this is about. I couldn’t care less how many times you cum in someone’s ass or vice versa, okay? I don’t care. Just go back to your stupid party and grind on that fucking boy again. Who, might I add, told me I should kill myself.” You said, picking up your pace. Barty sucked in a breath, pausing his steps. 

“He said that?” 

“Yes, he fucking said that. Barty, okay? Then he barked at me like a dog. So no offense Barty,” You leaned into his face, hoping he could smell the anger on your breath. “I hope that handy is worse than mediocre.” You spun back around and kept stalking off toward your dorm. Barty’s footsteps followed after you. 

“Well okay, I won’t sleep with him. There, better now? Can we be friends again?” Barty asked, still struggiling to keep pace with you. You shook your head. 

“Fuck off, Barty. You’re such an asshole, you know that?” You said, sucking your teeth again. Barty groaned and clenched his fists in the air. 

“Why are you being like this? I’ve done literally nothing to you. I’ve been your best friend for years. I’ve watched you grow out your hair after you tried to cut it yourself. I’ve let you cheat off me when you were going through an episode. I fucking carried you to the bath when you fucking hit rock bottom. I have fucking been here for you for years. I’ve been here for you while you’re going through your stupid boy craze right now. So why are you acting so hateful towards me?”Barty said, counting off on his fingers while listing. You shook your head and took the steps on the stairs towards your commonroom two at a time. Your feet flashed down the stones, Barty’s slower steps following fter you. When you reached the bottom, you spun around. Barty stopped on the last step, staring at you with shock. 

“Fuck. You. Don’t bring that shit up for this stupid argument. You don’t get to hold that over my head.” You said, your voice breaking. Barty’s shoulders sank, and he sighed. You didn’t move, waiting for him to make a move. 

“I just don’t understand why after everything we’ve been through, you’re being so spiteful to me,” Barty said, his tone softer now. You threw your hands up in the air. 

“I just don’t understand why you’ll sleep with everyone in the entire school.” You said. You turned back around, heading towards the second staircase. Barty sighed and followed after you, you were starting to feel like he was a puppy attached to you with a leash. 

“So my slut-a-try is your problem?” Barty said, now getting tired of playing this cat-and-mouse game. He just wanted you to walk at a normal pace. You groaned out of frustration. 

“God, Barty! It-” 

“Not the first time I heard that,” Barty muttered, now hating his words but they slipped out before his brain could catch up. You stopped in your tracks. Barty froze in his step, pressing his clenched fists to his chest. You slowly turned around facing Barty. You felt a sour smile press into your cheeks. You thought you might cry and you didn’t want Barty to see that. 

“Are you serious?” You asked. Barty shook his head. 

“No, no. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. It was just habit. I’m so-“ You turned away from Barty, continuing your pace. 

“Barty, the problem isn’t that you stick your penis in whatever has a hole. Like you’re fucking Zeus or something. The problem isn’t that you’re apparently ‘so good’ in the sack just that everyone has to talk about it. The problem isn't that you’ll sleep with literally everyone. The problem is you’ll sleep with everyone but me. Am I so repulsive to you, that you can’t even consider maybe kissing me? You would rather sleep with every single person near you, but not your best friend who’s been pining after you for years. No, it’s okay I get it, Barty. I fucking get it.” You said, rolling your eyes. You wondered if you turned around to face Barty he’d be gone and back at the party. His footsteps stopped behind you. You groaned and turned back around. 

“Baby-“ 

“Do. Not.” Barty clacked his teeth together and nodded. 

“Sorry, just listen. I never made advances on you because I didn’t know you wanted me to. I don’t think you’re repulsive, I honestly think the opposite. I find you quite attractive actually.” You scoffed again, spinning around. 

“Go fuck yourself.” 

“Please. Just listen to me. I’m not fucking with you.” Barty picked up his pace, stopping in front of you. “I’ve liked you for years. I didn’t know you wanted me like that. I wasn’t going to risk our friendship for the chance of getting between your legs. I want you. I want you bad. I’ve wanted you bad for years but I couldn’t have you. I started sleeping around with everyone so I could pretend they were you but fucks sake you’re terribly hard to find a replacement for. I’d fuck you in this hall right now if you wanted me to.” Barty said, gesturing to the hall around you. You sucked in a breath through your nose. You glanced around the hall before swerving around him to start back on your path. 

“I think my dorm will suffice.” You muttered. Your pace slowed down to a regular pace, no longer fueled with anger. Barty met your pace, walking beside you and taking your hand in his. 

You always thought it was like an inside joke. People said that he was amazing but he was actually medicore it was funny because only the people inside on the joke knew that. Now that he was actually using his mouth on you, you realized they weren’t joking. You thought he’d be in and out of your bed in maybe ten minutes like everyone else you’d slept with in the last few months. Twas not the case. 

You thought he’d call it quits after the first thirty minutes but he just kept going. He just kept your legs over his shoulders and his mouth on your heat. Then you thought he’d stop after your third time coming but he didn’t. You were starting to worry that his mouth would go numb from all this use. You started to worry you’d go numb from the waist down if he kept pumping orgasm after orgasm out of you. You were pretty sure he spent hours below your belly button. He’d spend minutes licking and sucking and then a few more minutes massaging your legs and stomach. Barty would trail kisses around your belly button as your brain settled down and your legs stopped aching. Then he was back to his licking and sucking. Eventually, your head was getting heavy and you weren’t even sure if you could cum again even if you wanted to. You tapped Barty on his shoulder three times and he pulled up for air. Barty sat up, pulling your legs into his lap. 

He pressed light kisses against your chest as his hands pressed into your thighs. You were pretty sure you shed a few tears in the time Barty spent making you spent. He made a small whiny sound at the look on your face. He gently wiped at your cheeks, flicking your tears away. Barty lightly kissed the apples of your cheeks. He gently massaged your stomach, pulling your tired arms over his shoulders. He kissed the side of your nose. Barty hummed, trying to egg a sign of life out of you. You hummed back, knocking your nose into his clavicle. Barty pulled you off the mattress, hugging you to his chest. 

“I think I’ve killed you,” Barty muttered into your bare shoulder. You sighed into his skin, trying to muster a kiss to his clavicle but your exhaustion made it more of a smear of your lips. You hummed against him, closing your eyes. Barty let out a relaxed sigh against your shoulder. 

“Oh look at that, you’re breathing,” Barty whispered. You shook your head. 

“Stop. Talking.” You said, closing your eyes and planning to fall asleep in his lap. Barty’s hands found your back, rubbing it. Barty gently rocked you back and forth, slowly pushing you back towards sleep. Your arms went slack over his shoulders. Barty slowly pet the back of your head. 

“Can’t sleep, baby. I have to clean you up first.” Barty whispered. You leaned back, sticking your hand out for his face. You smuthered his mouth with your fingertips. 

“Shush, I like us like this.” You said, eyes still closed. Barty’s hands were pressed into your back, keeping you from falling backward onto the pillows. 

“What, covered in cum?” Barty snorted at his own joke. You shook your head. 

“Soft.” Barty made a sad sound, a whine even. Your hands reached out for him again, dragging them over the part of his chest you knew had the tattoos he did himself with a muggle tattoo gun two summers ago. 

“Gross, feelings. Come on, spread your legs so I can clean you fully.” Barty muttered. You dropped back into the mattress, snuggling into your sheets. You allowed Barty to open your thighs, letting them drop open. You peeked an eye open as you watched Barty lean over to your bedside table to grab his wand. He muttered some spell as he pointed it at your thighs. It left a weird tingily feeling behind but when he moved his wand onto the next section your skin felt clean like you just stepped out of the shower. Barty was quite thorough, making sure to get every part of your skin. After the first few seconds, you got used to the feeling and closed your eyes. 

Eventually, Barty’s wand clattered to your bedside table again. He flopped himself next to you, stumbling his way under your sheets. You hummed, flinging your hand out towards him. Barty made a startled sound but met your hand with his. He pressed it to his chest and intertwined your fingers. You were on the brink of sleep but something was bugging you. Did he usually spend his time during hookups giving them the best and longest head of their life? Did he usually not receive anything at all? You sucked in a quick breath your eyes flashing open. 

“Barty. You didn’t get anything. Let me at least give you a mediocre hand job.” You said, looking up at Barty. Barty shook his head against your pillow. 

“No. I’ve got plenty, trust. I think I might’ve come more just from tasting you and rutting against your bed than I have sleeping with everyone combined.” Barty said, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. You sighed. 

“Right. Well, speaking of your other hookups-“ 

“This is not a hook-up,” Barty said, his tone so serious for someone who was licking your cum off your body ten minutes ago. You stayed silent for a moment, waiting for him to say it was less than a hook up. 

“It’s not?” Barty made a dissagreeing sound. 

“No baby. I’ve been waiting for so long for this, you’re stuck with me until one of us dies. I hope you thought this through.” Barty said. You hummed. You sat back for a moment, thinking of what Barty would look like in twenty years. Hot, you decided. 

“Sounds good to me. Speaking of your hookups, is this how all of them went? Hours of your, apparently heaven-sent, mouth?” You asked, feeling a tiny pang of jealousy hit your heart. 

“No. That’s just for you. Usually, I just prep and then some doggy or other. After an orgasm or two, I ditch and go back to my dorm to pretend it was you. This is years of pent-up sexual desire.” Barty said, pecking your cheek. You hummed, leaning further into him. 

“I liked it, we should do this more often.” You said against his clavicle. Barty wrapped his arms around you, tugging you closer. 

“I think so too. Twice a day, every day.” Barty whispered. You groaned, knocking your forehead against him. 

“No. No. Now stop talking, I’m sleeping now.” You pressed your nose against Barty’s chest. You were lulled to sleep by his back rubs. When you woke up in the morning, he was still there. That breakfest you saw the Ravenclaw boy taking extra glances at you two while Barty kept his arm over your shoulders as you both ate. 

[the-californicationist]

The Window (Ch.07 - Finale)

Ch 01 // Ch 02 // Ch 03 // Ch 04 // Ch 05 // Ch 06 // Ch 07

......

This is an excerpt. For the full fic, please read on AO3.

You were full of come, your tits were sore from being emptied by hungry mouths, and yet your pussy just couldn’t get enough. After two and a half rounds, Simon had fallen asleep on his back, and so you were riding him, reverse cowgirl, grinding your wet hole against the root of his cock, feeling him breathe heavily in his sex-induced slumber. 

Kyle had just returned from the kitchen, mixing some sort of health drink concoction for you, and you were a little suspicious that it was meant to help with your milk production - which needed the opposite of help at this point.

The boys were drinking from you every chance they got. After the all-clear from the doctor, that was the only green light they needed. To make matters worse, every time you got turned on, your milk would let down, and the laundry had piled up around you for days. 

Soap was in the den folding piles of clothes at this very moment, letting Ghost and Gaz have their fun with you. You were all sitting down to a big Sunday roast later, courtesy of John Price, captain-turned-chef. 

“Greedy little thing, arentcha, babes?” Gaz teased you, giving you a kiss on your forehead and making you take a sip of his potion while you were lazily rocking yourself back and forth on Simon’s swollen shaft. 

“Mm,” you made a face at the taste of his drink, “Why don’t you help me wake him back up?”

The glint in Kyle’s eye was like a shining star, just as greedy as you and far more mischievous. 

“Got room for me?” Gaz set his drink down and climbed into the bed, spreading his lieutenant’s legs a little wider to accommodate him.

He was already naked, and already hard, but you reached for him anyway, wanting to pump his long prick in your hands just to see him writhe for you. Gaz bent to suck from your breast, catching a stray droplet of your milk on his tongue and chasing it to the source. Then, he edged himself forward, fondling Ghost’s heavy ballsack, moving it out of the way to find his tight asshole. Gaz reached for the lube, being a little too generous with his application, and rubbed it all over himself and Simon’s unsuspecting hole. 

Carefully, Gaz moved between Simon’s legs, feeding himself into his ass, fucking him along with you, and smiling like a fiend. 

“Oh, yeah,” he sighed, shaking off the chills, “Tha’s what I fuckin’ needed. Why’s he always so bloody tight?”

“Does he feel as good for you as he does for me?” You asked, kissing Gaz on the mouth, feeling his hands as they rubbed over your sore tits, moving down to the globe of your belly. 

“Yeah, he’s so good. Look at you. Ridin’ him like our pretty little slag, huh? Is that what you are, babes?”

“Yeah,” you whined, playing along with his dirty talk, kissing him deeper, feeding your tongue to him. 

“Ungh, fuckin’ hell,” Simon woke up, his hands instinctively clutching your hips, bending his head around to glare at Garrick, “You two are gonna give me a bloody stroke.”

“Yeah, that’s the idea,” Gaz winked at him over your shoulder, returning to your kisses, rutting himself into Simon’s asshole, stretching him deeper and deeper with every thrust. 

“Bastard,” Ghost complained, but it was framed by a dark, pleasure-filled moan, so his sergeant ignored him and continued to pump himself into his warm body, raw and hard as a stone. 

Kyle grabbed one of Ghost’s legs, slinging it over his own thigh, trying to get his long cock all the way inside. You three were a tangle of limbs and lurid grunting, the wet sounds of your pussy and Gaz’s lubed pounding filling the bedroom with your cries. 

Gaz kept his hands on your belly, staring down at it between kisses,

“Look at you. So fuckin’ beautiful. Tell me you want more than one, Spar. Please. Even if it’s a lie. Tell me, now. I think it’ll make me come so damn hard.”

You were kissing his neck, leaving dark, purple hickies across his sensitive skin, playing with his nipples with your fingertips, 

“Don’t come yet. Wait for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Gaz returned to your hanging breasts, groping them and suckling from them erratically. He used his other hand to play with your clit, reaching below your belly to find your tender nub, rolling the body of it back and forth, teasing you until you shattered under his hands. 

“Fuuuhhhhhck! Garrick! What are you makin’ her do to me? Holy shit,” Ghost reeled, squeezing and slapping your thick ass as you came on his cock, soaking him and matting his pubic hair, sticky and cloying. 

“She likes that cock, Riley. Don’t you, Sparrow?”

You nodded, your mind blanking in and out of consciousness. 

“Tell him,” Gaz snarled, pinching your nipple cruelly, fucking his cock into Simon hard enough to make him grunt with every forceful snap of his hips. 

“I love your cock, Si!” You whimpered, holding onto Gaz’s neck for stability. 

You were bent forward a bit, and it gave Ghost just enough room to fit a wide thumb against your asshole. He played with it, not penetrating you, but pulling at your edges, teasing you like you and Gaz were teasing him.

“Good girl, innit she?” Ghost commented, sticking his thumb in just a little further, grinding it in small circles, stretching your hole. 

“Yeah, she is. Our girl. You gonna come for us again, Spar?” Kyle rubbed your clit faster, applying more pressure.

“No… hngh, no! I can’t. Kyle, please… I’m…” You were falling apart. 

“I think you will. I think I’ll make you,” he threatened, bending to drink from you as he tortured your pussy, fucking Ghost that much harder, his excitement at your pleasure driving his movements. 

“Garrick,” Simon hissed through gritted teeth, and you felt him lose his strength, his thumb popping all the way into your hole as his cock started to spray his third load inside of you, already swimming in his own come and adding to the mess he’d left deep in your pussy. 

Kyle made you come, too, stacking your orgasms together like cards in a deck, dragging you and Ghost over the edge at the same time like the magician that he was. 

Then, you took your revenge, leaning forward, looking at him with your hooded, exhausted eyes, whispering right into his mouth, 

“You gonna be the one to put another baby in me, Gaz? You wanna give me another, don’t you?”

“Oh, fuck yes!” 

You’d done it. Gaz launched himself forward, flinging his whole weight into Ghost, emptying his heavy balls deep into Simon’s belly. You were all gasping for breath, sliding over each other like you were careening out of control, unable to manage your overwhelming sensations, beyond gluttonous in your lustful entanglement. 

Slowly, you slipped away from each other, falling into a heap, cuddling and dozing in each other’s arms, letting the cool, dark room lull you to sleep. 

You awoke where you had fallen asleep, wrapped in Ghost and Gaz in a sticky, sweaty mess, but you’d felt the mattress dip under the weight of someone else, and it had pulled you from your nap. 

“John?” You muttered, trying to see who was sitting at the edge of the bed.

“Hey, little bird. You looked so comfy. Didn’t wanna wake you,” he whispered. 

There was something in his voice. Something sad. It dragged you out of your soporific daze like a shot of adrenaline, and you carefully removed yourself from your sleeping lovers. John helped you stand, your legs still shaking like a baby deer, weak from your blissful play. 

“Easy,” John chuckled, admiring the welts on your ass that Simon had left with his big palm, “C’mon. I drew you a bath.”

You followed him into the huge bathroom, seeing the tub filled with hot water and bubbles, wide enough for the both of you. At first, John was going to leave you to your own devices, but you wordlessly invited him in, pulling at his buttoned shirt, dragging him gently over to the steamy basin. 

So, he stripped for you, knocking off his hat and raking his shirt over his back, shucking down his jeans. He stepped into the tub first, using his strong hands to guide you in, knowing your balance isn’t what it was when you were a less-spherical shape. 

You sank down with him into the water, sighing from the relief,

“Mmm, that feels amazing. I think I was too horny for my own good. Gonna be sore tomorrow.”

“It’s cute that you think Simon’s the last one who gets to come in my tight little pussy tonight,” Price joked with you, a wide smile stretching across his face. 

“Oh!” You joined in his humor, putting on an air of sarcasm with your tone, “It’s your pussy, hm?”

“It is,” John curled his arms around you, making you lean your back against his chest, folding you into him like a love letter in an envelope; signed, sealed, delivered. 

He rubbed his hands across your belly indulgently, more possessive than Gaz had been, and a little less reverent. Then, he cupped your furry mons, making a shell-shape with his hands as if protecting your quim from the outside world, covetous and possessive. 

“It is,” you confirmed, leaving the jovial tone out of your voice this time. 

You felt his chest swell with pride, and then, he was lost deep in thought, thumbing his fingers through your curly hair, sliding over your clit, groping you absentmindedly. 

“Tell me your secret, John Price,” you whispered, “It’ll be just between us.”

To your surprise, he told you right away. No prying. No fighting it out of him like you were wrestling an alligator. He whispered into your ear, 

“I won’t take the paternity test.” 

You spun around in the tub to look at him face to face. He was leaning back, resting his neck against the lip of the tub, his eyes soft and serene, gazing at you like you were a valkyrie come to steal him from the battlefield, fully at peace. 

“What? Why? Don’t you… I thought…”

The worry that laced itself around the edges of your words made him reach for you, dragging you closer to him as he explained, 

“That baby’s mine, Sparrow. I know it is. And even if it isn’t, it still is. I’m going to be a father in a few short weeks, and I’m going to hold them in my arms, and I’m going to love them just as much as I love you, just like I love my men. And I could take all the tests in the world and it still wouldn’t convince me that your baby isn’t Simons. That it isn’t Johnny’s. That it isn’t Kyle’s. Even if the test came back at a hundred fuckin’ percent, there’s no one on this whole bloody planet that could convince me otherwise.” 

He studied your face, watching his words sink into your heart, and he dropped his voice to a low, dark purr, 

“I’m sorry, Sparrow, but I already know that this is my child,” his hands caressed the base of your belly where the little body was resting inside of you, “I’ll sign my name on the forms, I’ll pay for all of the costs, but I don’t need a test. You’re having my baby, love. That’s all I care about.”

When the tears came, you weren’t sure where they were from. You felt a sort of relief, like a weight being lifted from your arms. Like a locked door finally opening. You weren’t sad. You were almost… happy? It felt like John was embracing you and your baby along with his men. He was bringing you all into his life as his family, no matter the result. You felt safe, loved, and well-cared for. 

John pulled you into his chest, letting your tears come without shushing you, without making you feel like you needed to stop. He let you cry, just keeping you close to him, protected and warm. 

His smoky voice washed over your mind, a deep purr,

“Pretty bird…”

You lay your cheek against his open palm, letting him hold you up, relying on his strength. Your mind was getting lost as his soft kisses pulled you into a dreamlike stillness, feeling the way his mouth dragged languidly along the line of your jaw, tasting you and leaving a burning trail of his hot breath upon your skin. 

“Give me that fork. No, that one. Yeah.”

“Can you pass the rolls, Si? Ta.”

“Didnae any of yous bring the butter over here?”

“Want anything else, Spar?” Gaz kissed you on the forehead as he took his seat beside you at the table, squeezing through the chaos of arms and plates and hands as the others reached and grabbed and passed food from one spot to the next. 

“I’m perfect, thanks,” you smiled up at him, spooning hot, salty mashed potatoes into your mouth, groaning from the comfort and familiarity of John’s home-cooked meal. 

You were perfect, you thought to yourself, chewing over the word in your mind. Despite the odds, you were, for the first time in your life, truly perfect.

You ate and listened to the rumbling voices of your four lovers, watching them dote upon and tease each other, rough yet soft, playful yet caring, and you thought about your life together. Their love for you was everywhere you looked. It was in the pillow that Soap’s mother had sent you, which you were perched on at this very moment, meant to ease the strain on your back. It was in the way Gaz kept spooning more servings onto your plate when he thought you weren’t looking. It was in Simon’s firm squeeze on your knee as he leaned over you to grab his fifth or sixth dinner roll, checking on you wordlessly, making sure you knew he was there. And it was in John’s eyes. 

It was always in John’s eyes. The whole house could be coming apart around you, brick by brick, tumbling from roof and rafters right into the damn sea, and his eyes would be fixed on you, like a disciple looking up at the altar of their marble goddess, praying for her endless, merciful benevolence. 

You were surrounded by the torrential swell of unconditional love, fathomless and infinite, so deep that you would drown in it. It was all around you. It would surround your children. And their children. You felt like you were being granted a vision into the future where the love that you had made with these men was the spark for a dynastic blaze. A lamp that would never lose its flame, lighting the path for you and your descendants until the end of time. Love, love, and nothing more. 

John clinked his glass, bringing you back down to earth,

“Alright, family meeting. I talked to Sparrow earlier, and I told her that I refused the paternity test.”

There were looks between your boys, and they shifted their weight a bit, ready for Price to continue. He cleared his throat,

“I want to take financial custody, regardless of biology.”

“Dibs on next,” Gaz interrupted, stuffing his mouth with a dripping, butter-filled roll. 

“Third –” Ghost and Soap said at the same time. 

“I don’t need your financial help,” you spoke up, raising your hands to silence their bickering, “I went into this knowing I would be a single mom. That was the original plan. I didn’t know I’d end up in love with four men. I didn’t even know that was a thing that could happen to a person. But, I’m glad it did. I can afford this on my own.”

“I know you can,” John said, “But, I also know that we all want the best for him.”

“Her.”

“Them.”

John narrowed his eyes like a disgruntled teacher silencing a class,

“Them. We want what’s best for them. And I want to do more than pay. I want to be there. The footie games, the dance recitals. Parent night. I’m there. I’ve added you onto all of my accounts. Cards should be in the mail.”

There was a short silence. You could see the gears turning in everyone’s minds at the same time. Finally, Simon looked at Price and took his hand, holding it like he was giving him a promise, 

“I refuse the test.”

“Me, too,” Gaz smiled at you, reaching over to place a big, warm hand across your belly. 

They all looked at Johnny, watching him squirm in his seat, the peer pressure sinking into his bones. Soap was taking a long time to chew his bite of roast, sitting back, staring at his now-empty plate. He looked over at you, swallowed, and took a long breath. As the air filled his lungs, his broad chest expanded, and then he let it out, letting the breath hiss through his nose before he said,

“I willnae take the test either, bonnie. Tha’ bairn’s mine, and I’ll give you another the moment you ask me for it.”

............to finish this story, please read on AO3. There are essential tags there that I do not feel comfortable including on tumblr. I apologize for the inconvenience. Thank you for respecting my decision.

[silverskye13]

rns angst prompt: something to do with evil beesuma and helsknight? And argument? A particularly bad fight? Maybe this was when hk wasn’t champion yet?

The Champion didn't like him. Of that much, Helsknight was certain. Which was a shame, because if Helsknight were being completely honest, he would have to say he looked up to the Champion. Sure Evil Beesuma was sharp and prideful, and seemed to walk around with a permanent chip on his shoulder, but he was also the brother of the man who ruled hels. It was a long, dark shadow to live under, yet he somehow still managed to burst out of it like a second sun rising. When people talked about him, they didn't talk about his brother. They talked about him. His strength. His perseverance. The fact that he built himself from nothing, with no help from Evil X. All his success, he earned himself. It was magnificent. His fights were legendary, all form and poise and bloodless efficiency. Mechanical. Perfect.

[It was a shame, too, that Helsknight was admiring that perfection from the ground.]

Helsknight's mouth tasted like blood. His head swam. There was an ache so deep in his teeth, he wondered if his jaw was broken. Above him, the hels ceiling shifted with phosphorescent colors as stars receded from his vision. Helsknight groaned and slowly, painstakingly, he turned onto his side and spat.

"Alright," Helsknight said raggedly, "give me a few minutes."

The showrunner coaching him relayed his request to the metal goliath standing over him. Evil Beesuma made a loud buzzing noise that Helsknight had come to associate with contempt. On his shadow on the sand, Helsknight watched him sign a dismissive motion, and while he couldn't hear what was said, the intention seemed obvious.

"Give the fool a few minutes. It won't change anything."

The showrunner helped Helsknight stagger to his feet, and together they limped to the stone bench in the practice arena. The broken nose and busted jaw were not the only hurts this particular bout had earned Helsknight. There was a wicked gash on his hip that was bleeding pretty badly, and he had a collection of bruises on his arms and chest that ached deep in his muscles.

"Listen Hels," the showrunner sighed, handing him a health potion.

"Helsknight."

"Whatever. Listen, I know you did well in the starter bracket--"

"Undefeated," Helsknight hummed, licking blood off his lips. It took him a few tries to get the potion uncapped, but when he managed it, he tossed it back. It warmed him all the way down his throat, and as the pain eased away from him, he felt tense muscles relax.

[Gods alive these things were good.]

"And I know you showed promise in the championship tryouts--"

Promise. He'd won eight out of ten of his matches. To get a sponsor, most only needed to win half. Helsknight didn't know who his sponsor was yet, but he knew there was a waiting list involved. A waiting list for him. A waiting list of people who hoped to outbid each other just to buy his gear, and sit in his box, and maybe shake his bloody hand after the match. It was ridiculous.

"But maybe going after the Champion is a little much for you still, yeah?" The showrunner asked pleadingly. "You're clearly outmatched, and a bad starting round can end your career if you're not... Mindful."

The showrunner did not say, if you lose your temper in front of the stands. The showrunner did not say, if Evil Beesuma wipes the floor with you, and it's a bad fight. He did not have to say these things. Helsknight was very well aware.

"We have two weeks before the match." Helsknight said steadfastly. "That's two weeks to prove I can take him."

The showrunner hissed out a long breath and pinched the space between his eyes. "Aren't you tired of getting your ass kicked?"

Anger, hot and quick, flickered to life in Helsknight's chest. It must have showed in his eyes, because the showrunner took a step back, hands raised in exasperation.

"Fine. Far be it from me to keep you from breaking all the bones in your body. Champion." He signed to Evil Beesuma, who had by now cleaned the blood off his knuckles, and retrieved a new sword to practice with. His other one had grown dull against Helsknight's armor and blade. "He still wants to train. Would you--"

Evil Beesuma buzzed something. It was a loud, long, grating note, nearly a roar. The lights of his eyes were narrowed in a glare, all four fists clenched. There was vicious humor there, and no small amount of loathing.

Helsknight didn't blame him. He was a threat to the Champion. The showrunner couldn't tell. It wasn't his job to tell. But Evil Beesuma knew, in the same bone-deep way Helsknight knew, that Helsknight was learning. Perfecting.

When they had started, Helsknight had lasted, oh, about half a minute. Compensating for Evil Beesuma's multiple arms was, unfortunately, the least of his problems. It was the efficiency of movement, calculated dancer-like grace, that was the real trouble. It was the fact that every swing of his sword was always just as strong as the last. No room for error in mechanics. Once a pattern was recognized, it took a fluke to flaw it, and Evil Beesuma was just person enough to compensate for flukes where computer efficiency failed.

But Helsknight was efficient too. He was not the perfect brawler. He was not the perfect gladiator. But he was the perfect knight. At least, he was the perfect knight by his Hermit's standards. His perfection included strength of arms, and a cunning blade, and a thirst for battle that could not be slaked. It apparently also included the ability to adapt and learn. And Helsknight was certainly learning, and learning well.

Two and a half minutes that last round had lasted. Two and a half minutes of dodging, and parrying, and figuring out what hurts he could fight through and what he couldn't. Two and a half minutes of pain tolerance, and the limits of adrenaline, and muscle memory. Two and a half minutes of learning what made a perfect warrior perfect, and adapting it into something he could achieve.

And he would achieve it. Like the sun rising. Like a wave devours a cliff. Helsknight would learn. It was only a matter of time.

Helsknight got to his feet. He took a moment to drink some water, and rinse his mouth, and wash the drying blood from beneath his nose. He made sure the buckles on his gauntlets were tight, and checked the guard on his sword.

Helsknight and the Champion met again on the sand. They were vicious; limbs and teeth and steel. Helsknight imagined someday he would go deaf from the ringing of metal. Someday. Today though, he was going to lose to the Champion again. It would take less than two and a half minutes. Even if the health potion revitalized his muscles, it didn't take the weariness out of his mind.

The Champion got him in a headlock. The movement was so baffling, Helsknight didn't even know how he'd managed it. He'd simply twisted, and what once had been freedom, and the shiver of stung nerves as blade met blade, turned into a vice around his neck and arms tangled in his, holding him still.

[Cheating. Helsknight thought scathingly. That's cheating.]

It was cheating for a knight. There was a certain amount of honor and decorum he was held to that the Champion was not.

The Champion was a brawler. He hadn't spawned into this world strong and implacable, a diamond and netherite wall. He had built himself this way, piece by piece and code by code. It was admirable. Enviable. He turned Helsknight feeble with flippant assuredness, and Helsknight had started strong. It was part of why Helsknight admired him. The Champion had achieved his greatness by building himself into something better.

It hadn't made him kind, and that too, Helsknight envied in its own way. The Champion was a weapon that was blunt and unyielding as a club, and he broke people precisely. He did not grieve his actions. He took pride in their efficiency, no matter how ugly it was. That was the nature of violence.

Evil Beesuma held him still, choking, until stars devoured his vision and novaed black. It was not a slow squeeze. There was no threat of slowly strangled air or struggle to wrench his arms into place. Evil Beesuma had closed on him like a bear trap, and did not release his iron jaws until Helsknight was sure he intended to suffocate him to death.

Helsknight awoke on the sand, gasping like a hooked fish, his throat refusing to open completely even when freed. It hurt. His lungs burned, and his throat was bruised, and the simple action of swallowing was thick and unbearable. He tried to turn onto his side, to help his damaged muscles move, but the Champion landed a foot in the center of his chest, pinning him on his back. Evil Beesuma looked down at him, arms crossed over his bent knee as he leaned his weight down on Helsknight. For someone already struggling to breathe, it was a cruelty. Helsknight felt his chest fall when his breath was squeezed out of him, and he felt every muscle in his chest protest as it struggled to rise against the weight.

"I ought to kill you," the Champion said, his voice a bored drone that seemed to leap into Helsknight's head when their eyes met. "You seem to think some passing skill with a blade entitles you to something. It doesn't. I don't owe you anything, knight."

Helsknight gripped at the Champion's ankle, a new burst of adrenaline spiking him as fear at his situation sank in. Stars, slow pinpricks, were gathering on the edges of his vision again. His entire world narrowed to the effort of breathing. The Champion reached down, and doing so pressed what was left of the air out of Helsknight's lungs. Cold metal splayed against the side of Helsknight's face as the Champion forced him to meet his eyes.

"You are a waste of my time," Evil Beesuma said, cold and inflectionless. The contempt of someone convinced they were watching someone far beneath them try to struggle upwards.

Helsknight realized he was scared. It surged to him through the stars devouring his sight again, followed swiftly by the darkness beyond. He was scared. Scared and cornered. Cornered. And angry. Rage filled the gaps in his lungs, consumed the stars in his vision. The world in front of him went briefly red, consumed by the determination to be spiteful and petty, and to make the Champion think twice before belittling him like this again.

Helsknight punched Evil Beesuma as hard as he could in the knee, the only thing he could really reach. His gauntlet saved him the sharpness of the metal around the Champion's legs, but he felt his knuckles break. He also felt the Champion's leg slip away from him. He fell like a tree, landing halfway on Helsknight's legs.

Helsknight gasped in a breath of air so deep he had to cough it all back out again. Everything about him to do with air and breathing rioted, tangled with the wash of nausea that came in the aftermath of adrenaline, and he nearly gagged. Helsknight tried to stand, made it halfway to his knees, when a shove to his side sent him back over again. Helsknight braced himself as best he could, waiting for some show of cruelty. He glared up at the Champion in ragged defiance, trying to find his breath.

The Champion was laughing at him. Elated. Surprised. Wholly unbothered. Helsknight had probably broken his hand on Evil Beesuma's knee, and it had all the effects of a bird landing.

"I'll give you one thing knight, you've got some fire," the Champion laughed, his voice cloyed with the derisive affection one might reserve for an arrogant child. "But you need to learn when a fight is lost." He made a dismissive motion with his hand, sweeping the idea of Helsknight aside. "Try me again in a few months, when you've figured out how to bend iron."

The Champion turned away from him. He was leaving. The tide of Helsknight's rage at the dismissal surged him to his feet. He reached for the dagger on his belt, determined to do something, anything, to chip away at that iron wall. Just a scratch would do. Proof the Champion was fallible. Mortal. Beatable.

He threw the dagger.

Later, months later, when Helsknight and EB were friends, EB would teach Helsknight how to properly throw a knife. It would be a game they played fondly, friendly competition, where they could get fierce safely. Where they learned how to challenge each other to be better. Now though, Helsknight didn't know how to throw a knife. He still felt vindicated though, when the handle hit Evil Beesuma squarely in the back of the head.

The Champion stopped in his tracks, turned with red eyed fury on the impudent knight. Helsknight's lip curled in a sneer. He moved his hands rapidly, in the only sign language he knew.

[He had meant for it to be a good thing, learning sign. Helsknight knew the Champion had a sizable crowd of deaf and mute fans; people who saw in him a brighter future, where they were seen and understood and appreciated equally. A world where people listened to them. Helsknight thought it was unfair then, that only the Champion bothered to incorporate sign into his sets. They should be able to hear the Champion's challenger without the help of an interpreter. And, just like they did, Evil Beesuma deserved to be met where he was, with words he could follow easily. He shouldn't have to memorize stage directions, and distant indecipherable mumbling, just because his challenger was lazy.]

[The showrunner Helsknight had been assigned told him it was a bad idea. He said he would be learning a language just to insult it's Champion with it. Helsknight had argued Evil Beesuma was the Colosseum's darling. For all his prideful shortcomings in the privacy of the cells, outwardly, as much as he could be to a crowd of thousands, he was just and strong and kind. If Helsknight was going to depose him, he was destined to be the heel anyway.]

[When Helsknight had told the Champion what he wanted to do, Evil Beesuma had actually considered his challenge. It was probably the only reason he'd humored him this long.]

[Helsknight really was stupid when he was angry.]

"Pride comes before the fall," Helsknight signed, and then he shouted, because Evil Beesuma was looking at him, and he didn't know the signs for his next words: "You absolute piece of shit!"

It was not his brightest moment.

It wasn't Evil Beesuma's either.

The Champion's eyes reddened and narrowed with anger. His hand flew to his sword, and he lanced forward in a flickering of color.

Helsknight respawned in his room in the cells, gasping in sucking breaths around a hole in his throat that was no longer there. He was still angry. Angrier, now that he'd faced a terror of respawn, and it had shaken him far more than he thought it would. When he rolled off his bed, his hands were shuddering, his nerves jangled. His only sword and armor were in the training yard, and he bolted for them. He shoved past gladiators in his way, pounded up the stairs, tore through the mess hall. When he burst onto the sand, Evil Beesuma was waiting for him, all wrath and stung pride.

He at least had the grace to let Helsknight grab his sword.

The moment their swords crossed again, Helsknight knew something was wrong. It took a few minutes for that wrongness to bash its way past his fury, but in a bone-deep way, he noticed it. Evil Beesuma was moving too slowly. Inefficiently. There was a jerkiness to his movements that hadn't been there before. Imperfection. A crack in the iron wall.

At first, Helsknight chalked it up to a loss of composure. He'd managed to piss the Champion off, and so his poise was slipping. Helsknight didn't lose his composure in quite the same way when he was angry and fighting. He slipped deep into muscle memory, and turned into a creature of reactions and instinct, all conscious thought fled in the wake of emotion and brute strength. It had won him more than one match. He was ready for it to win him this.

Helsknight slammed his blade into the Champion's near the hilt, and Evil Beesuma, strong as a hoglin with hands like vices, didn't drop it, but he backpedaled. It was not the appropriate response to what Helsknight had done. Imperfect. The wrongness Helsknight's conscious brain noticed needled at him again. He lifted his sword into a guard position and waited.

[He will spring for me, Helsknight thought. He is stronger, and his skills are more finely tuned. He works best when he overwhelms.]

The Champion did not spring forward. He took a step back instead, and seemed to catch his breath. The Champion was made of metal and redstone. He did not breathe. He did not bleed. And from what Helsknight could tell, nothing on him was broken. Helsknight wasn't strong enough, harmful enough, good enough, to break the Champion. He wasn't even sure he'd hit him once.

Helsknight narrowed his eyes, and let out a long slow breath, and dragged his anger down, called it to heel.

"Champion Beesuma," Helsknight asked, trying not to grind his teeth, trying not to be spiteful. He was a knight. He needed to act like one. "Are you well?"

Evil Beesuma laughed. It was a haughty thing, meant for bravado, but it too sounded off. Shaken. Yes, something was wrong. The Champion looked down to one of his hands, which Helsknight realized was shaking. Evil Beesuma blinked down at it. His sword lowered, and then dropped from his grasp. His sword hand, too, was shaking. He said something, speaking to himself, soft inflection. A question. The Champion wasn't looking at him, so Helsknight couldn't decipher the words, but the tone was dread.

Not here. Not now.

Helsknight sheathed his sword. He held out a hand, trying to show he meant no harm. "Champion?"

Evil Beesuma, the Champion of the Colosseum, collapsed. It happened so slowly, he almost seemed to fold in on himself. Not a swoon. Not a faint. Just a slow sink first to his knees, and then to the ground. The only sign the movement wasn't intentional was from the continued shaking in his hands, and the way the bright screen that made his face flickered and jolted through expressions, breaking into off-color pixels.

Helsknight's first worry, as he sank down beside him, was that in his anger he'd broken something irreparable. He didn't think he had, but he knew the Champion was different than a regular helsmet. More fragile, in odd ways. Redstone and mechanical pieces, much like his armor and weapons, didn't mend on respawn. The soul of a person did, the bits that made them work, but a broken ax didn't regain durability just because you died holding it. Evil Beesuma was subject to that; his mechanical parts more often than not needed mended and replaced after heavy matches. He had a small fleet of drones to help with this, little bee-shaped helpers who flew around him when he went about his business. But whatever was going wrong with him now seemed to infect them too. The two or three that had even managed to flit over to him flew in dizzy, decaying circles overhead, bumping into each other. One, simply dropped out of the sky.

"Champion, can you speak?" Helsknight asked as calmly as he could, trying to meet the Champion's eye, but finding it hard to know where to look when the screen was glitching so badly. "Can you tell me what's wrong, or how I can help you?"

[If he could help at all, besides simply holding the Champion's hand and saying useless platitudes about how all things pass.]

The showrunner, who had until that point, apparently, been content to watch them kill each other, materialized at his side in a rush.

"You can't help him," he said nervously. "I'm surprised you've never seen this before. It's--" he looked away and cleared his throat. "The Champion isn't well."

Helsknight blinked. His first instinct was to snap yes, of course he isn't well. He just blacked out, or fell into whatever equivalent an android could have for a seizure. Obviously he wasn't well. Then the statement sank in, the implication beneath digging hooks in.

The Champion was dying.

Helsknight, very stupidly, found himself on the verge of asking why. Why him? Why now? Why this? Why like this? Helsknight had only seen someone on the verge once before, the Universe temporarily dithering over someone's mortality. It had been when he was still a squire, and one of the knights had... It wasn't a fit exactly. They'd been training, and she became lightheaded and shaky, and had a hard time breathing. At the time, Helsknight thought it was heat stroke, or maybe that she'd overexerted herself. When she sat down to cool off, she'd fallen asleep.

It had taken her three days to wake, and when she did, she was quiet, and meek, and scared.

Helsknight sighed, and he swore. "How long has this been happening?"

"Last I heard it'd only happened once," the showrunner answered skeptically. "Then again, he hadn't wanted anyone to know."

"Well. They're going to know now," Helsknight said grimly. "Make yourself useful and get me a strength potion." Then he snapped, when the showrunner blinked at him in exasperation, "Unless you'd like to carry him down to his cell yourself?"

They scampered off. Helsknight sighed again, running a hand through his hair. Respawn had done him one good turn at least; he wouldn't have to take any armor off before trying to drag the Champion downstairs.

"Alright then," Helsknight grunted as he got his arm beneath Evil Beesuma's shoulders and started lifting him. He was heavy and unwieldy, with too many limbs that were all too long. The Champion was taller than Helsknight by just enough that it made a difference when trying to carry him.

It was hard work getting the Champion downstairs. It was even harder work trying to be discreet about it. People saw him. Helsknight couldn't help that. But he at least stuck to the less traveled stairways, so news would travel slower. When he finally made it down the long, loud hall to Evil Beesuma's cell, he was relieved and grateful. He deposited the Champion into his bed, and arranged his limbs into a position that seemed comfortable. Then, not entirely sure what to do, Helsknight left.

It took the Champion a day and a half to wake. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't very long. Helsknight had heard of helsmets nearer to death falling asleep for days or weeks. The idea was terrifying to Helsknight, that he might, out on the streets one day, simply pass out and never wake again, smothered in the jaws of the Universe. This was not nearly so dramatic, Evil Beesuma might really have only suffered a handful of the episodes.

But it was enough time that people noticed, and they talked. They talked about whether the Champion was fit to fight. They talked about whether they would risk killing him. Some people were even so bold as to talk about him like he was dead already. They talked about what his statue would look like in the Colosseum hall. What they would do if he perished before a new Champion could be made. It made Helsknight angry hearing it. When he stumbled into those conversations, he found himself glowering and looming until the discussion broke off.

The day after Evil Beesuma woke, Helsknight gathered his courage and visited him. The Champion didn't like him, probably wouldn't appreciate him coming. Helsknight didn't blame him. It would sting someone's pride to act so high, and so cruel, and so triumphant, only to be felled a moment later by the hels equivalent of a lightning strike.

Evil Beesuma was alone when Helsknight entered his cell. He was sitting on his bed, face held in his hands, papers spread out on the sheets beside him. Helsknight caught a glance of a missive with the Colosseum seal on it.

"Your sponsor is concerned that, should you die in your next match--"

Helsknight averted his eyes quickly. He quietly backed out of the room, awkwardly considered his options. He thought, probably, the Champion might appreciate the chance to save some face around someone he didn't like. He sighed.

[Respect the honor of your fellow helsmet, he repeated to himself, trying not to feel ridiculous.]

Helsknight retreated up the hall a ways, and then made his footsteps loud when he came back again. He knocked obnoxiously on a few doors, and asked loudly and stupidly for directions to the Champion's cell. The walls in the cells were thin. He was easy to hear, even if the Champion couldn't catch the words. He would at least know someone was coming.

Sure enough, this time when he answered, Evil Beesuma was standing. The missives were collected in a neat, face-down pile on the bed. A dozen of his little buzzing drones hovered around his shoulders, scanning and doing maintenance. He had put on a practiced air of disdain and unconcern. Good. He didn't know his moment of despair had been witnessed.

"What are you here for?" Evil Beesuma demanded, all four of his arms crossed.

Helsknight briefly considered the best way to be respectful. He decided the best thing he could do was treat the Champion like nothing had changed. Enough people were treating him like he was fragile.

"I came to ask if you were well," Helsknight said simply, and when he was met with stony silence, begrudgingly added, "and I came to apologize for losing my temper."

Evil Beesuma side-eyed one of his drones, as though they were passing secret messages between each other. Helsknight thought it was a handy little trick to make people feel scrutinized. It added to the Champion's air of skepticism and disdain.

[Don't get angry, he hissed at himself, when the burn of emotion flickered in his stomach. Don't get angry.]

"Generally speaking, my Order is against outbursts like that," Helsknight continued, valiantly pretending he was unphased. "And it was arrogance on my part. I'm well aware I'm beneath your skill, and you offered me a kindness in using your time to train me."

Briefly, Helsknight considered kneeling. It would be a very knightly thing to do. He also thought his pride would eat him alive if he did it. He was still a bit too resentful of that foot planted on his chest, squeezing the life out of him. Helsknight settled on a small, stuff bow. It made Evil Beesuma laugh, a sharp derisive noise. Helsknight stubbornly ignored the thorn of anger pressing deeper into his side.

"I humbly ask you continue training me," Helsknight said, "and you consider accepting my challenge for the Championship."

"If you think just because you carried me down here I owe you something, I don't," Evil Beesuma said sharply.

"I don't think you owe me anything," Helsknight said, trying to keep both hands on his patience. "I'm asking politely for your time."

"And why in hels should I give it to you?" The Champion stepped towards him, towering. Anger, and the soft touch of nervousness, pulled a little harder against Helsknight's restraint. He wasn't used to being intimidated. He decided immediately he didn't like it. "As you've clearly noticed, I have little enough of it to go around. What makes you think you deserve it?"

"Because I'm a knight."

"Because you're a knight?" Evil Beesuma laughed. "Am I supposed to be impressed because you walk around in a fancy cape all day?"

Helsknight scowled. He clenched his fists at his sides, and for a long, cold moment, considered punching the Champion as hard as he could in the face. It probably wouldn't do anything besides wound his own knuckles, but gods alive it would feel great. And then he would wash his hands of the stupid gladiator, and all his spiteful, biting pride.

[Saint help me. Saint keep my temper somewhere else.]

"Being a knight means I will treat you with honor and respect, Champion," Helsknight said, trying to keep the aggravated growl out of his voice. "No matter what state you're in when the fighting starts."

The Champion narrowed his eyes at him.

Helsknight took that as a... positive sign.

"The showrunners aren't going to want to risk you in the Colosseum now," Helsknight said quietly. "Your fellow fighters will be tempted to stay their hands, to take it easy on you, because they're scared they'll be the ones to kill you."

"And you're not?" Evil Beesuma snorted skeptically. "I suppose you'll take pride in being the one that finally kills me."

"Don't insult me, Champion!" Helsknight snapped fiercely, taking an angry step forward, so they were chest to chest. "I would never take joy in something like that. Losing you would be a greater sin to this world than anything my winning would gain. People look up to you. They aspire to be like you -- at least the kind show you put on for the crowd."

Evil Beesuma made an uncomfortable noise, guilty.

[Good, he should be, for how he'd been acting.]

"And despite your ruthlessness teaching me," Helsknight said, trying again to regain control of his emotions, at least enough to keep from yelling quite so vehemently, "I respect you. For your strength, and perseverance, and what you've built. You have a legacy here. Something you are rightly proud of."

Helsknight huffed out a tense breath through his nose. "I think it would be a shame to be robbed of that legacy, and the vindication of the works of your hands, because someone else is too scared to accept your challenge. You should have the choice to fight, and keep fighting. Not to rot at the top because ambition fails. If I were in your place, I would hope someone would offer me the same."

Helsknight stepped back from the Champion, breathing intentional, slow breaths through his nose. Embarrassment was starting to chase him, the feeling of stupidity at his fervency, and his vulnerability. Evil Beesuma's gaze slid away from him, some of his previous spite and fire gone. At the very least, he didn't loom threateningly anymore.

Helsknight sighed. Perhaps... A tactical retreat was best. Before he opened his mouth and said some other ridiculous thing. He offered the Champion another stiff bow, silently dismissing himself. Just before he crossed the threshold, buzzing filtered towards him, low and weary. Helsknight turned to look at him.

"Tomorrow, first thing in the morning," the Champion said quietly. Then, with a bit more of his former bite, "Bring your dagger. That throw was trash."

Helsknight nodded. He exited into the hallway, wandering with ever quickening steps back to the stairs that would take him to his cell. Halfway up the stairs he sighed, and stopped, and leaned his forehead against the wall. His hands were shaking.

"If I'm the one who kills the Champion, they'll hate me," he whispered to himself. Between hels and his Hermit, and the spiteful Champion below, he supposed he would have to get used to being hated.

"Nowhere in your tenets does it say you need to be loved," Helsknight murmured. He sighed again, and ascended the steps.

[Some things were more important than his image anyway.]

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi, Miss Raven! Since you seem to be a Leona fan, can you explain what his plan and goal was in book 2?

Eh… I don’t think being a Leona fan is a prerequisite to understand his motives and plan 😅 AND FOR THE RECORD, I DOn’T LIKE KINgSCHOLAR, OKAy??????? (<- tsundere)

It’s spelled out pretty plainly in book 2, albeit in a sort of scattered way. Here’s the Sparknotes:

Many of Savanaclaw students tend to get picked up by professional magift/spelldrive scouts at the inter-dorm tournament. However, they haven’t been able to stand out recently because Diasomnia (and more specifically Malleus) crushes them in their matches. This has made many Savanaclaw students worry about their futures once they graduate. Leona, being the dorm leader, decides to cook up a plan to help his dorm members.

Importantly, Leona also has complex selfish motives (which, sadly, are not fully explored in the game). He, being the scorned second born prince of his country, was put down his entire life and compared to his older brother in spite of him constantly trying to demonstrate his merits. His whole bid in book 2, then, is partly fueled by a personal disdain for Malleus, wanting to help his dorm out, and that desire to prove he has what it takes to be a “leader”. This is his time to shine—and that’s why he reacts so poorly when his plan falls through. This failure is, to him, just another kick to the teeth, another reminder that he was so stupid to have had any hope at all, that he shouldn’t have even bothered trying. (The light novel explains Leona’s innermost feelings a lot better than the game does, so I’d recommend that you read this post for more context!)

Anyway, Leona decides to use dirty tactics to get their main rivals and most threatening opposing players out of the way so Savanaclaw can have the spotlight. He has Ruggie use his UM, Laugh with Me (which allows him to force others to mimic his own body movements), to injure other students who may pose a threat in the tournament. Notable casualties include Jamil from Scarabia and Trey from Heartslabyul. The ultimate goal, however, is to take out Malleus.

Leona made a deal with Azul in preparation for his attack on Malleus. He basically forks over a lot of money in exchange for a magic enhancing potion. The idea is that Ruggie will take this potion, which will magnify his UM and allow him to control a lot more people at once. When Malleus comes out, Ruggie will control the bodies of all the spectators in the arena and they’re supposed to… trample Malleus I guess? (It’s not clear if Leona’s intention was to outright kill Malleus this way or just to incapacitate him to the point where he cannot participate in the tournament.)

Leona reasons that Malleus would not be able to use his magic on civilians, so he would be caught in a position where he cannot escape, but… well, let’s just say there’s a reason why book 2 is commonly regarded as the “worst” of the main story. There are SO many plot holes book 2 might as well be swiss cheese 😭 Like, what the heck is stopping Malleus from teleporting away??? Or using magic to heal himself back to full health if he did get injured??

Leona’s plan is so stupid and unimpressive in book 2 that it makes HIM also look stupid and unimpressive. I always, always have to get a dig in whenever I discuss this part of the main story because it makes me SO salty. It’s such a half assed introduction to Leona as a character and it forever stains his legacy… 💢 You’ll find many book 2 rewrite/fix-it posts and fics because of this. (I have one of my own; you can read that here!)

[b0njourbeach]

LeoVil Dynamic Analysis

Their dynamic could be - in my opinion - classified as "enemies and lovers". Mutual annoyance with the tendency to insult the ever-living rainbow out of their asses. They're besties, they're exes, they hooked up at some point.

Vil can't stop calling Leona pretty, visibly annoyed by his beauty (relatable). But both of them are known to have the habit of keeping up a certain image of themselves: Leona as the rough, "not caring" guy who acts all high and mighty but in reality, he does care - He just doesn't/can't/won't express that he cares (for most likely multiple reasons but that's a different story). And Vil? Well, it's obvious he has to only show his perfect side, no? He cares about people but he expresses it in a way that can and is seen as him forcing everyone to be their perfect selves. Yes, his tips might be unwanted (depending on who it is) but he still looks out for the people he cares about - And it's not a secret that he's nagging Leona every breathing moment if given the opportunity.

But there's something about these specific two that tickles a special part of my brain: Their trauma. Its source is entirely different yet practically carbon copies. Leona, the second born prince who could work as hard as he could possibly do and he'd be still "just" the second born, the shunned, a royal nobody. It is carved in his nature that he will never be first, he'll be never be the best - He's the eternal second place and no work will ever change it. Much more, there is this little person who's practically sunshine as a person - this little person that was the final brick on the wall that would part Leona forever from the first place: Cheka. What's worse is the fact that Cheka is entirely oblivious that he is a problem in Leonas life and his mental health. Cheka wants to be around his Uncle, wants them to play and get along well, unaware of how bothersome he truly is (in Leonas eyes).

And it's the same with Vil. He is not bound by blood to his personal "final brick" but it's just as persistent. Ever since he was a kid, he wouldn't be the last one standing, the number one, the star. He was the Villain, the second one, he belonged in the shadow. A shadow that would cause the "hero" to shine even brighter: Neige. A ray of sunshine, the hero, the number one. It would not matter how much Vil would work on his acting, on himself, on everything - As long as Neige existed, he was nothing more than the shadow.

Having this deep understanding and relations - without having the same source of "bother" - they could support each other like no other could. Sure, people can listen to them (if they'd ever open up to begin with) but it's different, it's more intimate, if the person *knows* the pain. Talking and knowing that the person in front of you bleeds from the very same wounds, it's a special bond.

Now that I explained the base of my sight on this Duo/ship, I would like to introduce my headcanons to this lovely ship because I believe that it makes this ship even better.

When Leona first saw Vil, he mistook him for a girl and treated him with utmost respect (since he has a natural respect for women). It took him several weeks to realize that Vil is indeed a guy. He immediately dropped his manners and became the Leona we know - Much to Vils annoyance because in his eyes, Leona became suddenly an arrogant asshole and refused to elaborate why the sudden shift in attitude happened.

For my next headcanon, I first have to mention an HC I have for/about Vil: I genuinely believe that he has an issue with potions / is addicted to them. We know that he's extremely talented when it comes to brewing potions - Not to mention that his Unique Magic supports his abilities if needed. Being the prominent person he is, he has undoubtedly dealt with extreme stress, probably (extreme) pain, self-doubt and most likely self-hate as well. So if it becomes extremely bad, he would get himself a potion to calm the thoughts and stress, giving him similar experiences to taking drugs. Obviously, he wouldn't want to see others that he even remotely does such measures to get himself in a calmer state, so he genuinely keeps himself hidden in quiet places of the school. Unfortunately, he once thought hiding in the Botanical Garden was a great idea - It was not. A certain feline was - as usual - in the garden and immediately noticed something was off. Not only did he notice the messed up mental state of the "Oh so perfect" Vil Schoenheit but he also smelled the faint scent of some potion. He first wanted to be the usual cocky guy but decided differently. Even with the potion, Vil was in a bad shape and it was quite easy to tell. Sitting on the floor, leaning against the tree, completely fatigued. Leona decided to get him a bottle of water and placed it in silence next to him and leaned against the other side of the tree. They didn't talk, they just sat there. Neither of them would ever talk about this situation but it became a habit of the two of them for a while (until Vil has started to catch Rooks attention more and more).

-> After Vil overblotted, they met again on the tree. It was as if Vil was seeking comfort by the silence of the feline. If there was silence, there would be no judgment, there would not be Betrayal and what he needed most after the competition was a person who gave comfort that he could trust in.

They also have shared custody over Epel, trust me. I know, many see Rook and Vil as Epels "parents" but having Leona and Vil to be his "parents" would make more sense: The strict mom that wants Epel to make use of his potential (which are unfortunately his feminine charms) while Leona is his Sports dad, the "masculinity" Epel admires and wants so badly.

[isa-ghost]

cranboo and phil hcs maybe..........

God where do I start with this. /pos

qPhil headcanons masterlist

I know exactly where. *Slams my fist on the desk.* ENDER KING POSSESSION AND ENDER WALK. Being manipulated by a [perceived?] higher being without their consent and to some degree without their knowledge. Doing things they'd never do in their right minds, hurting people they'd never hurt. Becoming cold and self-centered while controlled. Being terrified of how they can barely if at all control themselves.

Phil misses that kid a lot, actually. He was trying his best, and he can relate to just wanting to settle and belong somewhere while trying to put personal demons to rest or at least escape them. He's glad he could pass on some wisdom and give him a sanctuary while he tried to heal and move on.

He wishes he could've taught Ranboo how to not feel so guilty about things. And to have less shame. He started, but feels like he didn't make a lot of progress.

He hopes he'll cross paths with Ranboo again some day. He'd love to see how his Ender abilities have developed, how he's changed and matured, and same with Michael if he has the kid with him. Sometimes it makes him too aware of his immortality, but he does enjoy seeing how people he knew years ago have grown.

He had mixed feelings about Michael_Beloved. He certainly wasn't gonna hurt him whatsoever though, that's for sure. He enjoyed watching Techno's reactions to the kid.

He can't lie to himself, he was honestly kinda looking for some of the same weird quirks popping up while Ender King was possessing him as the ones he knew Ranboo was developing. He's SO grateful he didn't develop the weakness to water (*laughs in amfmn*)

To this day he wonders what Ranboo was doing with those water bottles he asked him to get. He's a bit concerned, but it's none of his business. 🤷🏼‍♂️

I'm not sure what they would've bonded over, if anything, pre-Syndicate, but they Were neighbors in New L'Manberg for a while. Phil really did enjoy it, he just had no interest in the government part. Living in NL was temporary while he got his bearings in this new realm (and recovered from the fresh trauma).

Consider it because he's a people pleaser if you want, but Ranboo was always really good at helping tend to Phil's fucked up wings. And as rich as he was, he always seemed to have health potions or a gapple or something on hand for Phil to have if he was having a bad pain day. That kindness has never left Phil's mind, and sometimes Quesadilla Island residents reminded him of it.

CURSE THOSE DAMN 2X1 RANBOO MINES THAT WENT ON FOREVER, HE STILL DREADS SEEING TUNNELS LIKE THAT TO THIS DAY.

He would've fucking loved to watch Ranboo fruit it up on Quesadilla Island. Sometimes he imagines how he'd react to seeing Phil fruiting it up and it makes him laugh. Tbf on Ranboo's part, to him Phil would've gone from "I have a wife who's a goddess and I don't need anyone else" to "This is my wife, my husband, my fuckbuddy, his boyfriend, my other fuckbuddy–"

Consider: Because Ranboo ended up in the Nether with Michael, Blaze Empress eventually tells Phil she's located them. It may not be HER Nether, but after QI, her and Rose are kinda like "fuck it, we ball" now. Especially because they wanna make sure Ender King isn't being a bitch in some other realm. They'll beat his ass together in every universe. Anyway: Phil hears she's found Ran and they become pen pals via Blaze.

I think Phil being possessed by Ender King with Ranboo's filthy rich ass in walking distance of his house would've been really fucking funny.

The two of them were so shit at referring to themselves as their Syndicate code names. And because of the way things played out, they never had the time to get used to using them at all. To this day they hear those names and just start laughing like idiots.

Tbh if they were to cross paths again now, Phil would be way more likely to be a "bad" influence on Ranboo. Fuck it we Bolas. (I am eating the concept of Ranboo picking up on Phil seeming,, wilder than the last time they met).

[hazard-symbols-that-fuck-hard]

I’ve been playing Enderal, and I think it’s really cool that people have made entirely separate games with Skyrim’s creation kit

But imagine a game made with Skyrim CK that doesn’t have a fantasy setting

Like some sci-fi shit where everyone’s a robot and all the spells are re-named to seem more gadget-y (like flames -> flamethrower attachment or sparks -> live wires— you could also rename magicka to “battery life” and re-texture health potions into repair kits)

Or even something like GTA where it’s regular-ass modern-day earth

I’ve been toying around with making my own mods, so I might end up making a little proof-of-concept demo of this once I finish my current project

[unripemelons64]

I just pulled off, the wildest move, In Baldur's Gate 3, EVER. This just cements my belief that Astarion is the most OP character in my squad. Hands down, I'm not lying. Bro is carrying my mismanaged team.

But let me start from the beginning. I was doing quests. And it just so happened that I needed to slay some goblin leaders. And me, not liking combat that I know for sure I would lose, and liking to oppose every instruction given, I had to find a roundabout way of killing them.

So i stealth the first one, the second one I needed to keep alive, but that I mostly did normal combat style, since there weren't too many enemies, and I had a fun strategy (Tav, Astarion, Gale as backup and Karlach, as what I like to call the strong characters, the meat shield). Then came... the one. That one bastard that aggros the whole damn goblin settlement.

After a long, long hours of, trying to first use void bulbs to suck him into a hole in the ground, I dropped off some loot to other characters, grabbed some explosive barrels from another room, painfully slowly dragged them over and set them around, then climbed back to the rafters and finally blew him up and teleported away before they could aggro on me. And it worked.

But, people who play this game, from what I've seen, know this tactic. It's standard, so that's not the crazy part. It's what happens after

Because you see... I forgot that I left the druid that I needed there. In the basement. With a horde of angry goblins waiting for me. (No seriously, who made that ruins? Who made the goblins so hard to beat? I'M ON NORMAL DIFFICULTY DAMMIT-)

Anyway, yeah, I kinda had to get back in. But you know, I'm not fighting all of them, because it's not fun (I'll get their asses once my party has higher level, you'll see…) Thankfully, I quite like stealth, so that would be fun! And fun it was! (And I don't feel bad about save scumming. They gave me the save button, so I will use it!) I made Shadowheart give Astarion a bonus sneak buff and sent my boy off. Also thankfully, my perfectionist collector brain made me explore most of the place, so I knew how to get around. I question how the goblins didn't hear the grown man jump down with the loudest thud known to man, but I'll take it. Eventually he ended up over the main door, so I went in... ... Yes, I opened the door from above. Game logic lol-

The real fun began inside. Because it was literally Astarion walking in, and every goblin in a nine-mile radius collectively turning their heads at the same time. I'm sorry, my boy, but I think there was no sneaking out of this one... But you underestimate how much I didn't want to deal with combat and sneaking the whole party past too, so I made him run for it-

Normally, he wouldn't get there. I ran out of potions at the end, and one hit, and he would be d.e.d. But you see, while exploring while the goblins were still calm, I found ~a secret tunnel~ So there was a horde of goblins, and Astarion was just dashing and dodging while chugging down health potions. He was LITERALLY ONE HIT POINT from dying :p But he made it! It looked comical, and he was pissed that he was hurt, but Astarion, your deeds will never be forgotten. Without you, my team would be a bit more crap than it is now. You carry everyone's dumb asses.

I imagine he came back looking like those Minecraft players full of arrows. I healed him, but my game might have glitched, and so he's now just permanently stuck in the pained pose. We understand Astarion, you break your back for us.

I let him carry all the party's gold from now on.

[xx-lemon-drop-xx]

Warnings: fem! Reader, mentions of bullying, weight, blood, being punched and getting punched etc.

Request: Yes.

Words: 1,795

-Riddle Rosehearts-

•You dare to bully his s/o? Off with your head! No but literally. Riddle is hunting down the person who did this to you and giving them hell in every way possible that doesn't break the school rules.

•When he'd first gotten a call telling him you were in trouble due to punching someone in the nose, Riddle was seething. Perhaps a suitable punishment would be having you read and write down 400 out of the 810 rules of the queen of hearts. Hmm, yes that sounds excellent.

•His mood got even more sour when he entered the nurses room to see them bandaging your bloodied knuckles with you crying, blabbering about how they said you were fat and how you'd get in trouble with your boyfriend.

•“Who?” It was a simple demand from him for their names or their looks. How dare they hurt his rose. Riddle had grabbed Trey from his activities to sit with you while he tracked down these students to report them to the headmage.

•This red Bakugo had borderline threatened to have Cater post online how bad Crowley was as a principal if he didn't get these students kicked from the school.

•Lesson learned: Don't mess with Riddle's girlfriend.

•In the aftermath, Riddle will pamper you. He’ll make you some tea, make you some sweets (W/Trey’s help) and take care of your injuries himself. There's a lot of reassurance that leaves your usually hot-headed boyfriend's lips. On how perfect you look, or how cute you look despite his embarrassment of admitting it.

•He’s by your side until he makes sure your mental health is fine and your injuries have healed.

-Leona Kingscholar-

•Literally busts down your door asking if you beat their asses.

•Doesn't matter how you answer. He's sending off some henchmen of his to beat their asses a second time if you've already done so. No one messes with his Herbivor. He’ll make sure to visit them for a third beatdown in his own time.

•Leona doesn't go to the teachers in the school or to Crowley for help. This is between him and the assholes that decided to beat you up and harass you about your looks. He’s giving them hell, regardless of if you wanted him to or not.

•He doesn't pamper you as much as some of the other dorm leaders would. But if you want something he'll send Ruggie out to get it for you.

•Leona cuddles you more than he did before. Fuck school, you can get back onto your studies after your well rested and in a better state of mind. He's not going to let you go anywhere without him for a while.

•Congratulations, you've unlocked grumpy bodyguard Leona. You better make sure people don't look at you for too long at one time.

•If you have any leftover injuries from the fight, Leona is surprisingly good at tending to your wounds and patching you up. Of course, he's not the gentlest person, so don't complain to him if he's holding your tiny wrist a bit too hard while tending to you.

-Azul Ashengrotto-

•Have you ever heard of blackmail? Well, he has, and he knows how to do it at an expert level. Perhaps you should start feeling bad for your bullies.

•It certainly wasn't a fun matter to receive letters stating their name, house address, and their Parents and/or siblings names, including their biggest secret. It was a well written threat: Mess with (Name) and get outed.

•Of course Azul did turn to Idia’s hacking skills to find out where they lived. It was a fun little project for him. Especially for Floyd and Jade when they were sent out by him to deal with some “Funny business.” 

•Azul is also someone who reports these kids to Crowley and gets them kicked out of the school. He understands bullying all too well due to going through it himself and he’d be damned if he sat back and watched it happen.

•He creates a potion that's like a cream to help heal your injuries at an accelerating rate. Of course you need to do nothing in return for him for this cream, think of it as your loving boyfriend helping you get better. 

•If it makes you feel better about your looks or your weight, Azul will go out of his comfort zone and crack open the picture book of him as a child. Once again, he knows how this feels and he wants you to know you are not alone in this struggle.

•Azul definitely pampers you in his own way. He takes care of your homework, makes you food, and hell if you want to see his mer form he's all too happy to let you. For the week you're getting better, if you ask he'll lay off his work for you too for a bit.

-Kalim Al-Asim-

•Why’s his little sunflower crying? 

•Hands down, coddles you. Kalim is up your ass from the moment you walked into the room injured. His little feelings can’t take the fact someone would want to hurt his girl just because of weight or looks. He cries. Immediately.

•Kalim doesn’t hold you, you hold Kalim. It's Jamil that reports the bullies you punched while Kalim Hugs you half to death for the next three days. While he does try his best to wrap up and tend to your injuries it's also clear he doesn't know what the hell he's doing.

•In The end it's Jamil that's correctly tending  to your bloodied knuckles and the bruises and scratches on your body while Kalim grabs you some of the soup Jamil had cooked for dinner. After dinner Kalim presents you with desserts before diving head first into your chest to cuddle you.

•When hearing that Crowley wasn't going to kick out the students that bullied you, that's when things got serious. Kalim, with the help of another dorm head (Azul) Confronted the mage.

•It ended smoothly when they (Mostly Azul), had blackmailed the Headmage to the point where he had no other option but to expel the students. That or be outed on magicam about how horrible of a principal he was.

•Kalim throws a party for you at the end of it all. A “Congratulations on getting rid of your bullies party.” What a kicker.

-Vil Schoenheit-

•Someone hurt his little spuddling??

•Oh, This means war.

•Don't you worry, (Name), Rook will deal and dispose of those poor insignificant worms. Vil busies himself tending to your cuts and bruises, Blowing on the anti-peroxide he’d dripped onto the cuts to disinfect them.

•Ngl, Vil curses those peasants. Every day for the next three weeks they'll be waking up consistently throughout the night unable to get the slightest bit of rest. 

•Vil doesn’t pamper you as much as Kalim or Azul would but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t pamper you. Vil gives you gentle massages and checks up on you in between classes, making sure they don’t mess with you again. He gives you lotion and creams, and he does face masks with you. 

•Obviously those bullies didn’t have any style, because to Vil you drip looks just as much as you seem to drip food crumbs everywhere you go. Though, he doesn’t mind the mess in the end, (As much as he seems to.)

•He also has Rook secretly trail after you when he’s not around, just in case something happens again. Vil likes to be in control of the situation.

-Idia Shroud-

•This man has a set of rules. And those rules are to avoid direct confrontation by all means necessary, and to stay cooped up in his room for as long as humanly possible. In none of those rules was Idia prepared to deal with bullies. Much less bullies that are bullying his s/o.

 •When you come into his room with Ortho following you in with bandages and neosporin, he was shocked. “(N-Name) What happened!?” 

•Bullies- Something he was eerily familiar with. Of course, he won’t be addressing them directly, though hacking their devices and uploading a virus is a wonderful option. A wonderful option he follows out with.

•Idia also leaves Crowley a… less than family friendly email, along with a video of the evidence of you being harassed and being hit first. Crowley can’t pin anything on you for punching your bullies- since yours was in self defense.

•Idia games with you sitting in his lap. While making sure you had plenty of snacks and drinks, he also made sure you were getting an adequate amount of sleep and your injuries were tended too before anything else. It would be inconvenient if the cuts were to get infected.

•He forces you to do online schooling in his room with him for the week while Crowley straightens out this issue.

•Idia is happy with the extra time you both get together, all while tending to you during it. Of course, that doesn't mean he’ll stop gaming for you either.

-Malleus Draconia-

•Those bullies dared to speak bad about his s/o? More so they Touched you? Ohhhh this does not fly with Malleus.

•He doesn’t understand how such imbeciles could even dare to look in your direction. They do know you're dating one of the five most powerful mages known in history, correct?  

•Lilia needed to stop him from murdering those scoundrels, so instead, Malleus has them arrested. Yep, you heard that correctly. They were arrested. Malleus simply heals your wounds with the snap of his fingers. 

•He treats you like a princess. You get what you want and exactly what you want the moment you want it. He pampers you like he's the king of pampering. Only him and Lilia get to tend to any wounds you have.

•If you want, he will have Lilia teach you some things about self defense.

•Please lay with him and give him some nice snuggles. He’ll bring out his tail and wrap the appendage around you while you cuddle up to each other. Doesn’t mind if you hold or feel up his horns either. He’s all yours for the taking.

•Malleus will prepare you a fancy bath with petals, wine and lit candles to help relax and soothe you. This man will do anything for you, even if that's running across the world for you.

•Malleus praises you to be brave enough to punch and fight back against your harassers every day. It's something he wants you to feel proud about and know that he’s proud of you for doing so as well.

[rhapsoddity]

I read a writing prompt the other day where the hero got seriously injured and they showed up on their enemies door step saying they didn't know where else to go.

The first thing I thought of was Jimmy and Fwhip in your vigilante au

JUST YOUR LUCK I'VE WRITTEN A FWHIMMY DRABBLE FOR THIS

Today was a lazy evening for Fwhip. Even villains needed days off, and he was no exception. As the sun dipped behind the tops of the building, Fhwip sunk into his sofa, mindlessly watching trash TV.

His attention was snapped away by a light rap against his door. He wasn't expecting any visitors or any packages. Grumbling, he pushed himself to his feet.

"You better have a good reason to pull me from my sh-"

Fwhip cut himself off at the sight in front of him. Jimmy, still in full Sheriff costume, was slumped against the doorframe, pale as a sheet. He barely looked like he could hold himself upright.

"Jimmy?! Why are you-"

"I... I didn't know wh-where else to go..."

The vigilante crumpled in front of him, Fhwip barely catching him before he hit the ground. Fwhip dragged him inside, laying him down on the couch so he could close the door.

"M'sorry..." Jimmy mumbled.

"It's okay-"

"No; You hate m-me, I don't know why I even came- why I'm here."

"Shut up," Fwhip grumbled, "You betrayed me, but I don't want you dead. What's wrong with you anyway?"

"God," Jimmy weakly chuckled, "Where do I start-"

Fwhip kicked him in the shins, not in the mood tonight to deal with Jimmy's joking about.

"OW, THE FUCK?"

"Come on, no bullshit, what drove you here?"

"I was fighting a dickhead with some sort of gas powers, I managed to knock her out and restrain her, but I was using my bandana as a filter and it's not ideal."

Fwhip peeled Jimmy's mask off. It was drenched in sweat, his eyes bloodshot with a dark haze over them, and he was wheezing. Fucking hell, he clearly had multiple affects on him. Weakness and wither perhaps? Fhwip wasn't particularly familiar, his expertise was with technology, not potion effects.

"Well I respect any woman that can kick your ass, she's fucked you up."

"Fuck you dude, if you're gonna be a dick I'll leave."

As Jimmy went to get up, Fwhip held him down. With how weak Jimmy had become, he couldn't fight Fwhip's push.

"I'm a villain not a monster. You can recover, then you can fuck off."

Jimmy rolled his eyes at that, shrugging off Fwhip's hand, and looking over to gauge his chances of getting to the door.

"I'd rather my chances of collapsing in an alleyway-"

Fwhip roughly grabbed Jimmy's face, jerking it to look at him. He whimpered in suprise.

"Ah ah ah~ You are at MY mercy little hero. I could take you out of commission right now if I so wish."

Jimmy winced at the dark tone lacing Fwhip's words, straining against his grasp.

"So behave." He dropped his hand from Jimmy's face. "I don't want you trying to scramble up and away, you'll fall over and you barely have braincells as it is, you can't risk losing any more."

"H-hey!"

"I'm not wrong."

Fwhip left him unattended as he said this, dissapearing out of view to his kitchen. Jimmy didn't dare move from the couch. He knew that Fwhip could take him on 1 on 1 at full health, it'd be safest and smartest to just stay put for now. A few minutes later Fwhip came back with a coffee mug full of a purple liquid.

Jimmy was looking worse by this point, barely concious and slumped on the couch.

"Mnnn not drinking thattt..." He mumbled.

Fwhip rolled his eyes.

"It's not poison dumbass."

Fwhip gently tilted the potion into Jimmy's mouth. He pulled a face at the taste, before settling down. Before too long, Jimmy had passed out. He had not much energy to begin with, and that regren potion snatched away the rest of his energy to begin to heal him.

Now that Jimmy couldn't catch the look, Fwhip was looking over him fondly. Despite the fact that Jimmy's ideals were directly opposed to his, despite the fights they had and blood they'd drawn from eachother... He couldn't deny deep down he missed Jimmy.

Once apon a time, they'd been best friends. Hell, for a little while, they'd been more than that, before they'd fucked that up. Jimmy was inherently likeable, it was a shame he didn't join him when Fwhip had defected to villainy.

Maybe he would come round and see Fwhip's perspective one day. The man could hope at least.