#myownmeadow

[themortaldraw]

@myownmeadow @lotustired

you people are doing some playdough nonsense to him

[voidindite]

I saw your for-fun bribery post! :)

If you’ve seen Haunted Winter, may I request a fic about that? Really any POV, there needs to be more HW fics in general.

If you haven’t, then what about something to do with the Doc and Abolish Veylockle? Or him trying to be supportive to Apokuna, the other soldier in town? Or all three. :)

haven't had a chance to watch the HW finale yet because i've been busy </3 i'm also VERY new to the 100dmv stuff and slowly trying to catch up on it so i hope he's accurate here aaa but how about a little calm before the storm? is touch-averse + touch-starved 100dmv legs a thing? because it is to me..... i'm still doing fic bribes for legs votes if anyone wants to send more ;)

-----

Warmth is a luxury, in this place.

It helps to dull the ache a little. Helps tense muscles finally relax for a moment. Helps sleep come a touch easier.

The others are asleep. Finally. Sitting around the fireplace with wool blankets pulled snugly around themselves and hoods low over their faces. Marm is curled up with her head in Avid's lap, he and Drift leaning on each other with their heads hanging in a way that can't be comfortable. Viking had had...a harder time. Adamant about finding his missing friend.

Something in the back of Legundo's mind pulls whenever he mentions "Apo." Something feels wrong and he can't place why.

But finally--finally--even Viking dozes off.

When his head falls against Legs' shoulder, the man stiffens. Legs had startled him back awake with an instinctual shove; fortunately he's too tired and bleary-eyed to really register what had pulled him from his sleep.

Legs is more careful when he nods off again, even as every muscle in his body is primed to leap away from the touch.

Touch isn't an easy thing for him. Touch means something is close enough to stab, to slash, to bite, to maim--to kill. His skin is pockmarked with the scars to prove it, and it's the one thing he can be grateful to this winter hell for: at least it means he can cover most of them up and they won't think anything of it. They stare enough at the ones marring his face.

(He denies that he craves any touch they offer. That the warmth of their hands lingers when they help him up or offer him tools or pat him on the shoulder.)

(Denying it to himself is easier.)

(It will make it hurt less when he's torn away from them to be alone again.)

He's grateful for the company--he is, really! He thinks. He hopes.

But he also hates that it means others have been dragged into this with him. He's supposed to suffer this alone--either surviving long enough or dying a brutal death to start somewhere new, so what had changed?

Viking shifts, an arm slinging across Legs' lap. He freezes and sucks in a breath, forcing his eyes to pin on the fire. (He wonders if the touch burns even more than it would to stick his hand in it.) It sinks its claws into his mind, ensures he can't ignore it no matter how much he tries. It's there, pressing against him. Trapping him-

A shaky breath, and he gently moves Viking's arm until it's tucked into his own lap. The man grumbles something in his sleep and presses his face more firmly into Legs' coat.

He tries not to think about what will happen when--no, no, if, he needs to think if not when--he can't save these people.

Right now...he just needs to make himself focus on survival.

Like he always has.

Just...with the added complication of other people joining him. He's had companions before. Animals, pets, but companions nonetheless.

He tries not to think about his track record of losing those companions.

This will be different.

Right?

It has to be.