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seen from Belgium
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from United States
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Violet: Okay, I have to tell you the truth. The monsters from the fairytales are real. They're coming to kill us all, and our government is corrupt and trying to hide it from us.
Rhiannon, Ridoc, and Sawyer: Holy shit! Oh, this is such a relief! We thought that you were, like, mad at us or something. YES!!! Let's go do some TREASON!
fourth wing ch. 11 // iron flame ch. 45
ridoc screaming with his whole chest: did you all know my good friend violet she's so talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before-
I’m not sure about you guys but during threshing I imagine that Ridoc spent hours wandering around trying to find his dragon but Aotrom actually found him within the first 5 minutes and just covertly followed him around for 3 hours thinking it was hilarious then eventually got bored and threw a branch at his head
The fact that Violet got fucked (literally), betrayed by her boyfriend, heartbroken over losing her friend, betrayed by her dragons, hurt AND poisoned all in the same day is wild. You guys complain she’s “annoying” but I think she’s not half as annoying as she could have been. Matter of fact she should’ve set Riorson House on fire as soon as she woke up and saw HER BROTHER was fucking alive. She took it too well all things considered
Of Light and Shadow
Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader
Important Author's note in the end.
Backstory:
Y/n and Ridoc are twins, with him being older by 6 minutes. They grew up in coastal village named Ceaelyn in the Morraine Province of the continent. Due to the fact that their parents were highly absent, Y/n and Ridoc were raised by people in their village. They were the heart and soul of Ceaelyn. Once they got of age, they decided to join the riders quadrant. Their father, initially desagreed (as did most of the village), but seeing as they were so bent on going, helped them train little by little so that they could at least survive those first months.
Basgaith
First Impressions
A Scent of Trouble
Eyes Up, Gamlyn
Focus, Wingleader
Mutual Distractions
The Light Wielder
Gonna do something about it?
Soft Spot
Sweet and Pretty
Not just Vanity
Charmed
Charming her
We Were Rebels
Aretia
Domesticated
You are who I worship
Oh dear twin...
Smitten
Utterly Divine
Well, Who is she? | And who is he?
Girl's night
A Cultured Duchess | The Necklace
The Importance of Light and Hope
Homesick
Ceaelyan First
Duchess of the People
Missions gone Wrong
My one and only
Light of Mine
Bliss
Renovations
Beach Weekend
A Very Loved Wife
And a Very Traumatized Twin
Ridoc's Revenge
The Girl's Reward
Her Birthday
His Birthday
Just Pure Love
Stressful Situations
Incorrect Quotes
Author's Note: Hello! This entire story is ALREADY WRITTEN. I literally wrote it little by little as I was doing my midterms and finals as a way to destress and to survive my Onyx Storm hangover, mainly for me, using my name as an OC. Then as I finished it and I was like damn, this could actually be something people could enjoy. It fluctuates from canon a lot so don't expect it to be precisely like the books. I will be updating little by little. Since it quite literally finished you guys might get various chapters a day.
Taglist: @eepyfaerie @dreamdragonkadia
Leave me a comment to tagged. <3
“would you slap your best friend for a million dollars?”
Sawyer: “I would slap Ridoc for free”
Ridoc: *tearing up* “I’m your best friend?”
Violet: “if you slap me and then I slap you we each get a million”
Rhiannon: “great thinking, fuck the system”
Garrick: “fucking FINALLY”
Xaden: “bold of you to assume you can even get close enough to my face to… what are you— Garrick— Garrick NO STOP TRYING TO HIT ME THAT WASN’T A CHALLENGE—”
Quinn: “no.”
Imogen: “for a MILLION? girl I’ll slap YOU if you don’t start acting right”
Liam: “I would never hit Violet.”
Vi: “what if it was during sparring?”
Liam: “well—”
Vi: “what if Xaden said you could?”
Liam: “he can’t give me permission to hit you??”
Vi: “what if you were being held at sword point”
Liam: “do I still get the million dollars?”
Vi: “yes.”
Liam: “still no!”
Vi: “WHY NOT?”
Liam: “DO YOU WANT ME TO HIT YOU??”
Vi: “IT’S A MILLION DOLLARS I JUST CAN’T FIGURE OUT WHY YOU WOULDN’T TAKE THAT OPPORTUNITY!”
bonus:
interviewer: “would you slap—”
Cat: “yes.”
interviewer: “I didn’t finish the—??”
Cat: “the answer is yes, I will slap anybody you put in front of me.”
interviewer: “…even Maren?”
Cat and Maren, at the same time: “yes”
Maren: “I’m still mad at you for that”
Cat: “you shouldn’t have tried to take my fucking strawberries??”
In sickness and in health (FW Boys x Reader)
(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)
Thank you to @empyreanevents for the beautiful border!
Summary: A scenario with the FW boys featuring various illnesses and injuries. You know what they say, in sickness and health right?
Authors Note: I do love a drabble and thought this could be quite a fun theme to explore, so I hope you enjoy. I have other similar ideas, so feedback or comments are appreciated! Themes of injuries, near death experiences and angst below.
Xaden
The air inside the outpost is suffocating — thick, unmoving, and hot enough that even the stone walls feel warm under your fingertips. Outside, the heatwave is melting half the quadrant. Inside, you’re melting for a totally different reason.
Because you’re burning up.
And not in a fun, Xaden-causes-this kinda way.
You’re sprawled on your bed, limbs heavy, skin flushed, breathing shallow. Sweat dampens your hairline, and every inch of you feels too hot, too tight, too much.
Of course today would be the day your body decides to spike a fever.
You hear heavy, familiar footsteps before you see him.
“Sweetheart?” Xaden’s voice carries throughout your room — you didn’t even hear him open the door. His voice is tense. “You missed training. What—“
He stops dead in your doorway.
You groan and pull the blanket up weakly. “Don’t look at me.”
He ignores that immediately.
In three strides he’s at your bedside, backlit by the sun pouring in through the window. His eyes widen as he crouches down, reaching out to push the sweaty hair from your forehead.
“You’re burning,” he mutters.
“You don’t say,” you rasp, glaring weakly. “It’s approximately a thousand degrees in here.”
“It’s eighty-eight,” he corrects automatically.
You squint up at him. “Why are you like this?”
“One of us needs functioning brain cells,” he replies dryly. That would usually garner him a slap, but when you don’t, he frowns and presses the back of his hand to your cheek, then your neck, his frown deepening. “You have a fever.”
“Well aware.”
“And you didn’t come and get me?”
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
His eyes snap to yours. He looks…offended. Personally offended.
“You are never a bother.”
Your stomach flips — fever or not.
He stands, rolling his sleeves up past his forearms — a sight that would usually make your temperature soar but for different reasons. “Alright. Up.”
“No.”
He raises a brow. “Up.”
You attempt to sit up, get dizzy, and immediately flop back down.
Xaden sighs, that soft, resigned way he only uses with you. That one that says I’m annoyed at you, but also stupidly in love with you.
“Fine,” he murmurs, sliding an arm behind your shoulders and lifting you effortlessly. “I’ve got you.”
Your head falls against his chest, too hot, too tired to argue. His skin is warm — but a comforting warm, not the furnace your body currently is.
He settles you against him, sitting on the edge of the bed with you in his lap. His thumb strokes along your arm, grounding, comforting.
“I’m going to cool you down,” he says. “And before you make a smart comment — no, not that way.”
You pout. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You thought it.”
You glare.
He smirks.
Then he shifts, calling shadows to dim the sunlight streaming into the room. The temperature drops a few blissful degrees instantly.
“Mmm,” you sigh, eyes falling half-closed. “Shadow daddy saves the day.”
He pauses.
Slowly. Deliberately. You feel him tense under you.
“…Never say that again until you’re ready to receive the consequences.”
You snort — which dissolves into a weak cough, but it was worth it.
He brushes his hand along your back until the coughing eases. Then he tucks your head under his chin, voice going soft in a way that makes your chest ache.
“I’ve got you. No more overheating alone.”
You mumble into his skin, already drifting. “I hate being sick.”
“I know,” he whispers, lips brushing your temple. “But I don’t mind taking care of you.”
He holds you tighter against him as shadows swirl cool and gentle around you, lowering your fever bit by bit.
“How about a cold shower? I know how much you like those.”
Within minutes, the heatwave outside feels like a distant problem.
Because you’re wrapped up in Xaden’s arms — and for once, he’s the cool one.
Dain
The migraine hits like a blade behind your eyes.
Not gradually. Not politely. One moment you’re fine, the next you’re pressing your fingers to your temples, vision blurring, stomach turning, the world suddenly too bright and too loud.
Dain notices immediately.
“You’re sitting down,” he says, already at your side.
“Dain, I’m fine—“
“That’s not a request.”
He has you in a chair before you can argue, hands warm and steady on your shoulders. His voice drops automatically, like he’s afraid even sound might hurt you.
“When did it start?”
“Just now. I think.”
“Hmm. And how long has it been since you’ve eaten or drunk anything?”
You squint. “Umm—I don’t think-“
“Too long, then.”
He sighs, not annoyed — worried. You’d already been in the small study room within the Rider’s Quadrant library for hours when he joined you. No wonder you had a migraine if you’d been squinting at old texts all day.
Before you can protest, Dain is packing your things up, slinging your bag over his shoulder before he carefully helps you to your feet. It hurts to even talk, your whole head radiating with the pain.
You don’t argue.
Before you know it, you’re in a familiar room, Dain’s comforting cedar and vanilla scent immediately enveloping you which brings you a semblance of comfort that you’re finally somewhere you can lie down.
“Eyes closed. Lights off,” Dain orders.
He presses a cool cloth into your hands and guides it to your forehead as you lie down. He darkens the room, shuts the curtains, moves around with quiet efficiency. You hear water being poured. A cup set down.
“Drink,” he says gently, helping you to sit up just enough. “Small sips.”
“You’re being very bossy,” you whisper.
“I’m being generous,” he corrects. “If I were truly following protocol, you’d already be in the infirmary.”
You groan and sink back into the pillows.
He sits on the edge of the bed and carefully, reverently, starts combing his fingers through your hair, slow and soothing, like he’s trying to soothe the pain out of you by force of will.
“Just relax,” he murmurs. “Take a deep breath.”
You do. Because it helps. Because he’s here.
You moan softly in relief as his fingers gently press on your temples, rubbing with slight pressure to try and alleviate the pain. He always knows how to make you feel better.
“This is an order,” he adds softly. “No reading. No training tonight. No trying to ‘push through it’. You’re resting.”
“What if I want to be heroic?” You ask weakly.
“Denied.”
You almost smile. It hurts too much to actually do it.
He presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering. “I’ve got you. I’m going to take care of you.”
For once, you decide to listen to him, allowing his fingers to soothe you to sleep.
Ridoc
You don’t feel it at first.
That’s the strange thing about adrenaline — it turns pain into background noise, makes everything sharp and bright and distant all at once. Your body’s in survival mode until suddenly it’s not.
You land hard, heart still racing, hands shaking as you slide off your dragon.
The sky is clear. The threat now gone. You’re fine.
Violet and Rihannon jog over, relief evident in their eyes that you’re safe.
“You good?” Violet asks.
You don’t get time to answer as Ridoc suddenly appears, grinning. “Did you see that dive? I swear I was—“
He stops.
The smile on his face drops so fast it terrifies you.
“…Hey,” he says, voice suddenly tight. “Why are you bleeding?”
You blink. “What?”
He points with a shaking hand.
You look down.
Dark red is seeping through the seam of your leathers, spreading slowly, steadily, like ink in water.
“Oh,” you say distantly. “Huh.”
“What happened?” Rihannon demands.
You try to shrug — and the world tilts.
Ridoc catches you instantly.
“No, no, no —hey—stay with me,” he says, holding your weight up against his chest, trying to keep you steady. “Don’t you dare do that. Don’t you dare.”
“I’m okay, I think. Just tired,” you mumble.
“That is not how tired works,” he snaps, panic seeping into every word. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? Why didn’t you feel it?”
“I didn’t—“ Your legs give out completely.
Ridoc drops to his knees with you, pulling you fully into his arms, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice suddenly raw. “No, sweetheart—keep your eyes on me, please.”
“Violet, where’s Brennan!?”
“Someone get help!”
“We need a healer over here, now!”
Your vision blurs. The noise around you fades.
The last thing you’re really aware of is Ridoc’s hand cradling your head, his voice shaking as he keeps talking, like if he stops something worse will happen.
“You’re okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re not allowed to leave, do you hear me?”
You try to smile. “You’re…so dramatic.”
He lets out a broken laugh that sounds dangerously like a sob. “Well, I have a right to be now. Usually you’re not this full of holes.”
Darkness edges in and Ridoc shakes you as he notices your eyes fluttering shut.
“No, no sleeping yet. Brennan’s coming. It’s okay, I’m going to make it okay.”
The world keeps coming and going in fragments — voices overlapping, the sky beginning to spin.
Then—
Hands press to your side.
Warm. Too warm.
The pain explodes.
You cry out, a sharp, broken sound ripped from your chest as the sensation comes roaring back all at once, ten times worse than before.
“Easy—easy,” a voice says. Calm. Focused. “Keep her still. I need to stabilise the bleeding.”
Through the haze, you recognise Brennan’s voice.
“Bren—nan?” You gasp.
“Yeah,” he says gently. “You’re not allowed to die today. Sorry.”
You laugh weakly — and immediately regret it.
Ridoc makes a strangled noise and tightens his hold on you, one hand cradling your head, the other gripping your hip tightly, anchoring you to him. “I told you,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re not going anywhere. You hear me? You don’t get to leave. I forbid it.”
Brennan’s hands glow brighter, heat and power sinking into your wound. It burns, deep and vicious, like your body is being stitched together by fire.
You whimper.
Ridoc immediately starts talking, voice low and rushed and very much not his usually teasing tone.
“Hey—hey, look at me. Okay? You remember that time you tried to outfly me and almost flew into a cliff?”
You huff a weak laugh despite yourself. “I…didn’t almost…”
“You absolutely did,” he says, with a shaky smile. “And I was very heroic about it. I actually let you win.”
Brennan glances up. “Keep her talking.”
“Oh, I can do that,” Ridoc says immediately. “I’m excellent at that aren’t I, lovekins? You love that about me.” He curls some stray hair behind your ear with shaky fingers.
You smile weakly. “Debatable.”
“There it is,” he says softly. “See? Still arguing with me. That’s a good sign.”
The pain starts to dull, not gone, but no longer overwhelming. Brennan exhales slowly. “She’s stable, for now. We need to get her to the infirmary. Now.”
Ridoc doesn’t hesitate. He scoops you up like you weigh nothing.
“No,” you murmur, half-asleep. “You’ll…drop me…like last time.”
“Never,” he says fiercely. Then quieter, just for you. “I’ve got you. Always. I love you, okay? So you’re going to stay. Because I’m very annoying and persistent and you’re not allowed to escape.”
You manage a weak smile. “You…love me, huh?”
“Unfortunately,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours as he walks. “I’m completely ruined.”
You laugh softly, eyes sliding closed again, safe in the warmth of his arms, voice still in your ear —keeping you here.
Garrick
It happens because you’re absolutely, completely convinced you’re right.
You’re walking down the stone steps outside the training courtyard, gesturing wildly as you explain — once again — how Garrick definitely cheated during your recent sparring session and he’s just too proud to admit it.
“I did not cheat,” he says, exasperated and amused at the same time.
“You absolutely did,” you insist, walking backwards down the steps so you can point at him for emphasis. “You always do that thing where you—“
Your foot lands wrong.
There’s a sharp twist of your ankle, a very undignified squeak, and suddenly the world tilts.
Garrick lunges to try and stop you from cracking your head open as you tumble, managing to grasp you firmly enough so you end up sitting hard onto the steps directly below you instead.
There’s a second of silence.
“…Ouch,” you say. “I think my ankle just betrayed me.”
Garrick is in front of you instantly, all joking gone. “Let me see.”
He crouches, gently lifting your foot and examining it. “Does this hurt?” He presses lightly just above your ankle.
“Yes.”
He shifts a little. “And this?”
“Ow! Yes.”
He exhales through his nose. “Not only can you not beat me at sparring, but you can’t even walk properly,” he teases.
You huff with indignation. “I can walk—“
“No walking.”
“I can try hop—“
“Also no.”
Before you can argue further, he slides one arm behind your back and the other under your knees and lifts you with ridiculous ease.
“Garrick!” You laugh, automatically curling your arms around his neck. “I’m not dying.”
“I know,” he says, already walking. “But you’re also not walking.”
You settle against him, clinging to him like a very content monkey sitting in its favourite tree.
“I think you’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely,” he says without shame.
You rest your head on his shoulder. “You’re never going to let me forget this, are you?”
“Oh, absolutely not. I’ve already told Chradh. This will be brought up at least twice a week.”
You groan.
He carries you across the courtyard, completely unbothered by the perplexed looks thrown your way.
“Wave,” he murmurs. “You look very heroic.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
By the time you reach your room, you’re both laughing. He carefully sets you down on the bed like you’re made of glass.
He kneels in front of you, gently taking your ankle again. “Does it hurt now?”
“A little,” you admit.
He frowns. “I’m getting some ice. And you’re not moving.”
“Yes, sir,” you tease.
He points at you. “Save that for later.”
You grin.
Garrick comes back with a block of ice — courtesy of Ridoc— and sits beside you, holding it to your ankle with surprising gentleness considering his brutish stature.
“You know,” you say. “If you wanted to carry me around, you could’ve just asked me.”
He smirks. “Where’s the fun in that?”
You lean into him, ankle propped up, perfectly content to be fussed over.
And Garrick?
He looks like he’s already planning how to convince you to not to walk for the rest of the night.
Bodhi
Bodhi is trying hard not to kill you.
Which, frankly, is not what you want.
“Stop holding back,” you pant, circling him on the mat.
“I’m not—“ He blocks your strike and counters, a little too fast. “I’m trying not to break you.”
“Romantic,” you mutter. “Come on Durran, give me your best shot.”
It always irritated him when you called him by his last name.
Big mistake.
It happens in a blink.
He twists to dodge you, you overcommit, and when he grabs your arm, swinging you over his body and onto the mat below, your body twists and there’s a sickening pop — and suddenly your shoulder isn’t sitting where it should be in its socket.
You freeze, sprawled on the mat.
“Shit—“ you say faintly. “That’s not right.”
Bodhi goes sheet-white.
“Oh my gods — I — I didn’t, I swear I wasn’t —“ He’s already at your side, hands hovering like he’s afraid touching you will only make it worse. “Gods, are you okay? Say something. Say you’re okay?”
You swallow, blinking through the sharp, nauseating pain. “It’s okay. Don’t panic.”
“I’m not panicking,” he says, voice already halfway to hysterical.
“Bodhi,” you say firmly. “This has happened before.”
That stops him.
“It has?”
“Unfortunately. I dislocated it when I was younger. Fell out a tree. Lost the argument to gravity.”
He stares at your shoulder. “Your arm is…wrong.”
“Yes. Very observant of you, love. Now listen to me.”
You take a careful breath. “We need to reset it. Now. Before it swells and cuts my circulation off.”
His eyes go wide. “I can’t—what if I make it worse?”
“You won’t,” you say, meeting his gaze. “I’ll tell you exactly what to do.”
He hesitates. Then nods. “Okay. Okay. I’m listening.”
You talk him through it, step by step, keeping your voice as steady as possible as white hot pain pulsates down your arm.
“Sit behind me. Good. Now—take my wrist with one hand. Your other hand on my shoulder. No, the other shoulder. Yes. Like that.”
He’s shaking.
“You’re doing great,” you add gently. “Deadly rider, remember?”
He lets out a weak laugh. “I’m going to throw up.”
“After,” you say. “I need you to focus for me.”
You swallow as the colour begins to drain from your skin. “When I say now, pull — firm and straight. You can’t hesitate.”
He looks at you, terrified. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“…Now?”
“Now.”
He does it.
Pain flashes white-hot and you cry out, fingers digging into his arms—
And then—
Your shoulder slides back into place.
You sag with a shaky breath. “Okay, that was the worst part.”
Bodhi scoots round to your front, looking just as pale as you’re sure you must look too. “I hurt you,” he whispers. “I can’t believe I hurt you.”
You manage a crooked smile. “Technically, I hurt me. You just…assisted.”
He presses his forehead to your knee, hands clenched. “I still dislocated it in the first place. I’m so sorry.”
You carefully cup his face with your good hand. “Hey. It was an accident. And I’m okay. Sore. But okay.”
He searches your face like he’s not quite sure he believes you.
“You owe me though,” you add, teasingly.
He blinks. “What?”
“Princess treatment,” you say. “At least for a week.”
He nods immediately. “I’ll do you one better. Queen treatment. For a month.”
You smirk at him. “And I get whatever I want.”
“Forever.”
You snort, then wince. “You spoil me.”
He helps you up gently, like you’re made of glass, arms securely around you.
“I’m never sparring with you again,” he mutters.
“Yes, you are,” you say. “But maybe with with less dramatic attempts at dismemberment next time.”
He pulls you into a careful, protective hug, chin resting your hair. “That was scary.”
“Thank you, for helping me fix it,” you say. You stand up on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “At least if it ever happens again, you’ll know how to fix it.”
“Yeah…I’d rather not,” Bodhi grimaces. “I’ll just stick to giving you queen treatment instead.”
Brennan
The world is noise and fire and wind — and then it’s water.
Cold, black, crushing.
Your dragon hits the lake like a fallen star.
The impact throws you forward, the water swallowing you whole in a violent, freezing rush. Everything becomes weightless and heavy at the same time. Your chest burns. Your limbs won’t listen. Somewhere far away, you’re aware of your dragon thrashing, roaring, fighting the water—
Then nothing.
No air. No light.
Just dark.
Brennan sees it happen.
He’s still in the air when your dragon goes down, still shouting your name into the bond, into the sky in sheer terror.
He watches your dragon crash into the lake, watches the spray erupt, watches the surface swallow you both.
Time stops.
His dragon roars in fury.
“No—no, no, no—no!”
He doesn’t remember landing. Only running.
Your dragon claws its way back to shore, half-dragging itself, half-collapsing, and by some miracle — some instinct older than language — it has you clutched in its grasp, limp and unmoving, armour dripping, hair plastered to your face.
You don’t move.
You don’t breathe.
Brennan hits his knees beside you and the world narrows just to your face.
“Oh gods,” he whispers, hands shaking as he tilts your head back. “No, no, stay with me — please —“
He checks your breathing.
Nothing.
Your dragon whines.
Your lips are tinged blue.
Panic claws up his throat.
He starts CPR with hands that refuse to stop trembling, counting under his breath, begging you between breaths, between compressions.
“Come on. Come on. You’re not allowed to do this. Not you. Not now.”
Nothing.
Your chest doesn’t rise.
Something in him breaks.
“I can fix this,” he says suddenly, desperately. “I can—I can fix this.”
His hands glow as he presses them to your chest, his signet flaring with a wild, terrified intensity. He doesn’t try to pull the water out — he does something far more desperate.
He mends your lungs.
He forces them back to what they were before they became damaged and water clogged.
Before you drowned.
“Please,” he whispers, forehead nearly touching yours as he presses his hands harder to your chest. “Please come back to me.”
And then—
You gasp.
Violently.
Your body arches up as you splutter, coughing, water pouring from your mouth as your lungs burn and seize and drag air back in like it’s the most precious thing in the world.
You’re shaking. Coughing. Alive.
Brennan makes a sound that’s halfway between a sob and a hysterical laugh and pulls you up against him, arms crushing you to his chest like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.
“Oh—oh gods,” he breathes, burying his face in your wet hair. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re here. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
You’re still coughing, still shaking, weakly gripping his leathers, but you’re breathing.
That’s all that matters.
He holds you and holds you and holds you, hands pressed to your back, his own shoulders trembling now.
“I thought I lost you,” he whispers hoarsely. “I can’t—I can’t do that. Don’t ever do that to me again.”
You manage a weak, watery sound that might be a laugh. “I told…you. Malek…can’t keep…us apart.”
He lets out something similar to a croaky laugh and presses a kiss to your hair, your temple, your forehead.
He doesn’t let go of you for a very, very long time.
*Everyone is playing Monopoly together* Violet: I want to buy this property, but I don't have enough money. Will the bank accept 10 kisses instead? Xaden: *As the bank* The bank will accept the offer Bodhi: This is not how the game wo- Garrick: And they're kissing Ridoc: EVERY TIME.
