#‘oh no I didn’t mean to! see I was actually trying to assassinate you —‘

[scarlethexelove]

I Did

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 2261

Warnings: Mentions of torture, scars, mean tony. Nothing much else.

A/n: I want to give credit to Dolls.mcu.editz on tiktok where I saw the edit that gave me this idea. So after asking for a poll of who this should be with I made this. Starts a bit angsty but it is super fluffy at the end. Soft Natasha and Wanda 🥰 Hope you all enjoy.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

You sit in the meeting room surrounded by all of the Avengers. On either side of you are Natasha and Wanda, your girlfriends. The conversation that is happening is making you uncomfortable to say the least. They are all talking about what is to be done if one of you is captured and possibly tortured by hydra or another entity. What would be protocols and procedures that need to be followed during and after the event. You’re quiet throughout and don’t add anything. Tony notices this and doesn’t appreciate that you are not contributing to the conversation. 

“Y/n do you have anything to add?” Tony questions a bit of malice in his words. “I would rather not.” You reply, sinking more into your seat. Wanda placing a hand on your thigh in comfort. “You always have something to add so why don’t you actually contribute to the discussion.” He pushes. You scoff and look him dead in the eye. “You would not hold up well under torture.” You calmly spoke back to him. “Oh and you would?” He raises his voice. “I did!” You just about yell back to him. 

Tony pauses a moment. Tears shine in your eyes as memories flash in your mind reminding you how you even got here. You don’t notice the sad looks around you from your fellow avengers. “Y/n I didn’t mean-” Tony is cut off by you. “Save it.” You mumble as you push your seat back and quickly make your way out of the room. Your ears ringing with the memories of your life before. You can’t even hear that people are calling after you. 

Tears start to stream down your face as you quickly keep walking. You feel a burning sensation in your skin as you become overwhelmed. The scars that scatter your body make it feel as if they are open wounds again. The pain and memories still flood in as your body moves on autopilot back to your room. 

Natasha and Wanda quickly rise and try to start following you. “Where do you think you are going? We aren’t done with setting these protocols.” Tony quickly jumps back in as your girlfriends try to go after you. Both of them turn around specks of red swirling in Wanda’s eyes as Natasha clenches her fist. “We are going to see if our girlfriend is ok. I don’t really care what you have to say right now.” Natasha spits back her anger with the man clear to everyone in the room. 

“You can check on her later. We need to get these set.” Tony still protests. Natasha slams her hands on the table, a small crack forming where her hands hit the glass table. “Listen here tin man you insulted our girlfriend. I don’t care what you decide, we are going to comfort her.” The room is tense as there is a staring contest between the two. “Well she started it.” He comes back still trying to defend himself when everyone in the room believes him to be in the wrong. 

Wanda tilts her head and red swirls in her hand. “Tony, you have no clue what she has been through. You may have been captured and held but you were never tortured. Natasha was raised and trained as an assassin against her will. Bucky was taken and experimented on as they constantly brainwashed him. I was experimented on and locked in a cell.” Wanda seethes, pointing towards the living quarters. “But she was experimented on, locked in rooms, tortured for days on end. Cut up just for fun, you have no fucking clue. So if you will excuse me we are leaving and you can fuck off.” Wanda grabs Natasha’s hand and they walk out of the room. Everyone in the room is left in show of the revelation. The only other person who is not shocked is Bucky, your best friend.

The two hear arguing ensue as they walk away towards your shared bedroom. They lightly knock on the door to not scare you but they hear no movement so they slowly open the door. They slowly enter the room but don’t see you but they see the bathroom door open. Light shines out and the sound of water pelting the tile floor is heard. “Detka.” Wanda calls out for you as they make their way into the bathroom but hear no response. 

Wanda and Natasha enter the bathroom, their eyes landing on your form sitting in the shower, your knees pulled tightly to your chest. You're still in your clothes and shoes as the water beats down on you. Natasha quickly moves to you going around you to your right side crocheting down as the water hits her. Wanda moving to your left side. They give each other a look and look back to you. You’re staring off into space, your body slightly rocking. Both women know that sometimes in stressful times your mind plays back what happened to you. Not just your mind but your body has a physical reaction. 

“Detka can I touch you?” Natasha asks. You don’t respond. She slowly reaches out for you and gently touches your arm. You jump lightly to the contact and she pulls back, but then you give a small nod for her to continue. She reaches out again and places her hand on your back gently rubbing comforting circles. “Detka may I?” Wanda asks and you also give her a nod. She smiles and follows Natasha’s lead. 

“What can we do to help sweetheart?” Wanda asks you. You finally look over to her and she can see past the water that trails down your face that you are crying, your eyes red and puffy. You open your mouth trying to speak but nothing comes out. Your eyes telling Wanda what you want her to do. “Are you sure detka?” She questions before proceeding. You lightly nod at her. She smiles. “Okay.”

Her hand goes to your head as red fills her eyes and red whisps come from her fingers. She lets what words you can’t say fill her mind before pulling her hand back, her eyes turning back to their beautiful shade of green. She gives you a soft smile and small nod. She then looks up to Natasha who is watching the interaction. 

“Her scars are burning and her clothes are overwhelming.” Natasha nods at Wanda’s words. They both work together taking off your shirt as you raise your arms. Natasha then moves in front of you. She takes off your shoes and socks, tossing them into the bathroom to deal with later. Wanda has removed your undershirt and bra tossing it with the rest. Working together again they work to remove your pants and underwear. You lift your hips to make it slightly easier on them. 

Wanda gently runs her hand down your arm. “Do you want me to try and help?” She gently asks you. “Please.” You mumble lightly. She kisses your head. “Of course. Which ones hurt?” She asks you. “Big ones.” You tell her. She knows which ones you mean. Her hand going to your left side the scar runs from just under your breast down to your mid thigh. Red comes from her fingers as it seeps down into the scar. The burn slowly fades as you feel her magic calming the nerves. Her hand moves to your right shoulder covered in a large burn scar repeating her action. She then moves to your left thigh a large circular scar doing as she has done with the other two. Your nerves calming as the burning and pain disappear. “Better?” She asks you.

You give her a nod. “Thank you.” You tell her finally, letting your body relax as you lean into Natasha. Her arms wrap around you. “No need to thank me detka.” Wanda leans in kissing your forehead. 

“Do you want to get cleaned up in the shower and get in bed?” Natasha asks you. “Mhmm.” Your reply comes in a hum. So that is what you all do. They help you up before they take off their clothes. Throwing them into the pile already on the floor. Gently washing your body and hair. 

You love the close moments with your girlfriends. Nothing sexual about it, it is just full of love and caring as they take care of you. They quickly clean themselves before helping you out of the shower. Since you have already been sensitive and overwhelmed Wanda uses her magic to dry you three off. The feeling of her warm magic eloping you and calming your nerves even more. 

Natasha picks you up. Your legs wrap around her waist and you bury your head in her neck as she carries you to bed. “My strong and tough super soldier.” Natasha chuckles as you whine into her neck. Which just causes her to chuckle more and you to poke at her side. “Heyyy.” She says. Wanda giggling at your two antics. 

 Wanda walks around to the other side getting into the bed. She moves the covers and opens her arms as Natasha places you into Wanda’s open arms. You instantly wrap around her and lay your head on your chest. Natasha crawls into the bed behind you wrapping her arms around your waist and cuddling into your back. She places small light kisses on your shoulder causing you to smile. Wanda then peppering your face with kisses which then causes you to giggle. 

“There is my sweet girl.” Wanda smiles down at you as you nuzzle into her chest. The room becomes silent as you relax into your girlfriends. The skin to skin contact is doing wonders for you. Letting you feel a closeness that you wouldn’t get with clothes on. 

Natasha kisses your shoulder again. “Marry me?” Natasha breaks the silence in the room. You look up to Wanda before turning to look at Natasha. Not sure if this is just in the heat of the moment or a true proposal. Natasha smiles before letting go of your turn and reaching into the drawer of her bedside table. She pulls out two small velvet boxes. “Wanda Maximoff and Y/n Y/l/n will you two do me the honor of becoming my wifes?” Natasha asks opening the boxes to show off two gorgeous rings. Each of them is set in silver with a beautiful garnet as the center stone and surrounded by smaller black diamonds. You can’t help but cry in happiness as you and Wanda answer in unison. “Yes!”

The three of you are now crying, happy to be taking a step forward in your relationship. “I was planning to do some crazy romantic gesture for you two but this moment just seemed too perfect to pass. I wanted you two to know how much I love you and that I would fight to the ends of the earth to keep you safe.” Natasha says through happy tears as you and Wanda cry harder. She places the rings on your fingers. 

You kiss Natasha hard and filled with love before pulling back and kissing Wanda. Wanda then leans over you and gives Natasha a kiss. Wanda then chuckles and shakes her head a bit. “What?” Natasha asks. Wanda says nothing as she gets up and walks towards the dresser and opens her sock drawer. You whine when her body heat leaves you. “I’ll be right back detka.” Wanda chuckles. 

You can’t see what she grabs as she turns and hides what she has behind her back. She walks back to the bed and climbs back in next to you. “Great minds think alike I guess.” Wanda says, pulling two more velvet boxes from behind her back. She opens them revealing similar rings that have a ruby at its center and diamonds surrounding it.  

Natasha behind you chuckles. “I guess so.” She says. “So Natasha Romanoff and Y/n Y/l/n will you marry me?” Wanda asks. You and Natasha laugh before saying yes to her. Wanda places one ring on Natasha’s finger the other she holds out for you not exactly knowing what to do with it since you have one on already. “I can wear both.” You proudly say before putting it above the other one. “Y/n/n that isn’t going to work.” Natasha laughs at your antics. 

“Wait, I have an idea.” Wanda gets back up and goes over to her jewelry box. You hear her digging through before pulling something out. She walks back to you and holds out her hand. You place the ring in her hand. She then reveals a necklace. She puts the ring on the necklace before motioning for you to turn. You turn around and Wanda secures the chain holding the ring around your neck. You smiled, placing your hand on the ring before turning back and kissing her again. 

As the excitement wears down a bit you three settle back into the bed relaxing. “I love you both so much and can’t wait to be your wife and for you two to be mine.” You say snuggled between the woman. “We love you too.” Both women say at the same time and kiss each of your cheeks. 

This day turned from a horrible day of overwhelming panic and pain into one of the best days of your life and you couldn’t be more happy than to be alive in this moment. Holding onto the loving memory forever and excited for what your future will hold.

[unknowndrone]

Yelena’s Diary

Yelena Belova X Fem!Reader

Prompt: Natasha finds Yelena’s diary which results in the contents of the diary getting revealed to you.

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: siblings threatening to kill each other

__________

She should’ve known better. As the greatest spy and assassin in the world with a sibling with a similar title, she should’ve known that unless that diary was sewn to her body, Natasha was somehow  going to get her grubby hands on it. 

“Give it back, Natasha!” She hisses.

They were like school girls, things that Yelena would only ever see happening in the American TV shows, not between two assassins. Natasha flips through the pages, while simultaneously dodging Yelena’s efforts to retrieve the book.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. How many chapters are you going to spend complaining about the team and complimenting Y/N?” she questions.

“Natasha, I am not afraid to stab you!” the younger sister threatens. 

“Do it,” Natasha challenges. “I bet you’d love to explain to Y/N why you felt the need to stab her favorite Black Widow.”

“-you are not her favorite Black Widow!” 

“Just because you wrote it in your diary doesn’t mean it’s actually true-”

“Stop it!” Yelena screams once more. This time she pounces on to her sister’s shoulders. Natasha wildly spins knowing that Yelena was seconds away from putting her into a choke hold before throwing Yelena on to the bed. 

Natasha paces away, flipping through the pages and gaining a few more paragraphs before her sister would rush to attack once more. “Who taught you to draw a heart like that, Lena?” 

The younger widow pouts. “Give it back, Natasha!”

That’s the thing about older siblings. They’re a menace.

At this point, the two widows were running through the compound. The blonde chasing the red head with no one to stop them. No one except-

The elevator door opens, revealing you. You just returned from your mission only to see Natasha trying to evade Yelena who looked ready to murder her. You raise your eyebrow, noticing how they were far too busy trying to fight each other that they didn’t hear the elevator door. 

Your eyes dart to see Steve walking past you with a book in his hand. Tapping his shoulder to get his attention, you gesture towards the widows. “What happened?” 

Steve only lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yelena’s been chasing Nat for hours.” He explains before leaving you to your thoughts. 

As amusing as it is to watch the two widows play a game of cat and mouse, you figured that it was time for the two to reconcile as you carefully approach them, making sure not to get too close just in case Yelena decides to throw a knife at Natasha and you aren’t able to dodge it in time. 

Eventually you get close enough, crossing your arms, fighting the amused smirk that was forming at your lips. When you let out a cough, the fight instantly stops. Natasha smiles brightly when she sees you, almost too brightly. Meanwhile, Yelena looks more horrified than she is happy. Part of your heart wrenches as to why she looks so disheartened to see you. She was always happy to see you. 

“That’s enough fighting for you two, don’t you think?” You suggest, eyes darting between Yelena and then Natasha. 

Natasha glances at Yelena, nodding, “I agree.” Her response only earns another glare from the blonde widow. 

 “How was your mission?” Yelena asks you. 

You shrug, “Standard.” Your eyes catch at what seems like a journal in Natasha’s hand. “I didn’t know you journal, Nat.” 

Natasha holds the book up, the smile on her face becoming more mischievous. “Oh me? Oh no,this isn’t mine. This is-” 

“Natasha stop! Don’t you dare ruin this for me!” Yelena hisses.

But just before Natasha can say anything, Yelena pounces on her. Your eyes widen at the violence and Yelena’s sudden persistence. You knew if you didn’t act now, the floors of the Avengers facility might be painted red. So your arms grab Yelena’s shoulders and you pull her until her back is flushed against you.

“That’s enough!” you bark, trying to get the two siblings to stop.

Yelena almost instantly relaxes in your hold. It wasn’t your first time holding her. In fact, you’ve hugged her many times before whether it be before missions when you return home from missions or whenever she’s upset. Your touch was like an instant sedative. 

This one especially.

Natasha sighs in relief, but her hand was still clutching the book. When she meets eyes with her sister, she notices how Yelena almost looks like she melted into a pool of her own love for you. Regardless, you pull Yelena away, dragging her to her room before things get worse. 

“Oh here’s your book Yelena…” Natasha teases, handing the book to her sister. Yelena quickly snatches it before you could get your hands on it. You know better than to ask questions seeing how pissed Yelena was. You figured that you would have a chat with Natasha as to why she’s going through her sister’s belongings later. For now, you need to make sure Yelena has cooled down.

The two of you are now sitting in your room. Yelena is laying in bed while you are getting changed into more comfortable clothes. The book is held protectively over her chest. It seems to be super glued to her like she didn’t want anyone seeing what was inside. 

“So…is there anything in that private journal I don’t know about?” you tease while slipping on your pajamas. 

The blonde blushes profusely, “no,” she speaks a little too quickly. 

“I’m not pushing, Lena. I was just curious,” you shrug. “You’re allowed to have your own private thoughts.”

Yelena looks at you for a while. She’s been doing that a lot recently where you would notice her gaze on you seemed to linger longer than expected. It made you curious at what was going through her little head. 

Eventually, you plop yourself on the bed next to her and, like many other nights before, you two bask in each other’s presence. You found her shoulder comforting, so you lay your head there, too, observing her reaction intently. To your surprise, you feel her muscles visibly tense for a moment before easing into your warmth.

“Is everything okay?” you ask her suddenly. 

“Everything is fine,” the assassin dismisses. “Just stop talking…”

Of course, her dismissive attitude made you just slightly more worried. Yelena was your best friend. The only time she was ever like this is when she’s afraid of something but she’s too scared to tell you. Just like the time she was secretly afraid of the sound of thunder so she actively avoided Thor and also tended to blast your music louder than usual during a storm. You knew just as well as Natasha when something was wrong with Yelena. 

“You can tell me,” you whisper in the silence.

“I can’t.” Yelena whispers back, her voice small. “This is different. I-I can’t share it with you.” 

You pout, looking over your shoulder to see her expression. “Why?”

“Because it’s not a good idea.” 

You frown, “Do you not trust me?” 

“This is different,” Yelena emphasizes more. “It will change how you look at me.”

A sigh escapes your lips as you lean into her shoulder more. “If it’s another assassination regret, you know I would never-”

“No…it’s not that.” 

“But it’s bothering you,” you reason. 

“No it’s not.”

You know better than to keep questioning Yelena knowing she wasn’t going to relent so you two continue to sit through the silence. You would give many things just to see what was going through her head right now or what was written in that journal of her’s that she wasn’t allowing you to see. 

Part of your heart might know, but your brain looked at your denial and turned it into cold hard facts. 

“If you started dating someone else, would you leave me?” Yelena asks suddenly.

“What?”

The blonde assassin nods slowly, “Would you forget about me?”

“Why would I forget about you? You’re my best friend-”

The word ‘best friend’ seems to only upset Yelena further in the way her eyes fall. You see it right away and you stop talking.

Yelena sniffles. “I don’t want to be your best friend. I want you to like me. You know? The one where you draw hearts around our names!” she blurts. 

Your jaw goes slack for a moment in complete disbelief. “Y-Yelena…”

The blonde turns away from you, not wanting to face you or the consequences of her words. But you are quick to put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Lena look at me…” you whisper gently.

Slowly, she turns, but her eyes don’t quite meet yours. “I ruined everything, right?”

A soft laugh escapes your lips as you shake your head. “No…no you didn’t. Would it be hard for you to believe if I said I liked you back?” 

It takes a moment for the blonde to process. She didn’t even think she heard you right the first time. “M-me?” 

You nod slowly, “yes you, dummy.” 

If she wasn’t so enamored by the realization, she would be pouting, but hearing you say those words cause her eyes to light up like a Christmas tree. You pull her close to you.

“I like you too, Lena. I was also scared that if I told you I would ruin things,” you admit. 

“Really?” Yelena questions in disbelief.

You nod slowly, “Really…” 

You feel Yelena lean into your touch which allows you to press a soft kiss to her forehead. You couldn’t help but notice the smile that paints the blonde assassin’s face. It was like a schoolgirl who just found out her crush liked her back.

As you both enjoy each other’s company, another thought crosses your mind. “Wait Yelena what did you put about me in your diary?”

Yelena starts blushing as she buries her head into your shoulder. “Nothing.”

“Do you draw hearts around our names?” you tease.

“Stop it-”

“Will you let me see what you write about me in your diary?”

“No.” she says firmly, burying her head more into your shoulder. 

For the rest of the night, the two of you enjoy each other’s company. A smile painted on both of your faces.

__________

OKay guyyysss i got hella lazy at the ending bc I couldn’t think of shit, but I hope you enjoy this anyway. Also, I totally havent had this sitting in my files for like 8 months...I hope everything is well with yall. Have a great day/night and rest well!

[oversensitiveandoffputting]

I cannot stop watching the first four minutes of Apology Tour because it’s so well-acted and animated (especially Bryan Pinkham, oh my god he was told Stolas was a cunt this episode and he delivered).

Stolas admittedly got petty when he brought up Striker and reminded Blitz that Blitz wasn’t there when he was being tortured and was almost murdered. But I think he knows Blitz was prioritizing his child and while it may hurt, as a father himself, he doesn’t actually hold it against Blitz for not being there.

What I think is actually cutting him up is that the guy he’s in a situationship with and in limerance with (meaning intense, obsessive crush), never showed up to see him at the hospital and kept making excuses to to not talk to him after he was tortured and almost murdered.

Like, fuck man. That has to hurt. That has to feel like a stab to the gut. We know as the audience that Blitz is keeping himself at a distance because of his self-hatred and complicated feelings and guilt, but Stolas doesn’t.

And shoutout to @timkontheunsure for finding this:

To be very quickly followed up by Blitz admitting he already knew Striker was trying to kill Stolas, even if he didn’t take it seriously (I take it at face value that Blitz didn’t think of Striker as a threat to Stolas. He took the assassination attempt itself seriously but had no reason to think Striker would attempt a second time and especially be successful. He seemed genuinely shocked that Stolas could be killed in Western Energy).

So, from Stolas’ POV: you’re have this intense, obsessive crush on your situationship. The other guy does not take it seriously that you were badly injured, never saw you in the hospital, is avoiding seeing you after you get out of hospital, sent you pictures of your torturer’s horse as memes, and then admitted that he already knew your torturer had plans to murder you while calling your a racist. Stolas probably believes Blitz does not care if he lives or dies. And while we as the audience agree that Stolas has racial blindness to work on, I’m sure the first time he’s ever had to think about race/class dynamics being when he’s being tortured is not giving him any motivation to check himself on it. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole topic throws him into a PTSD episode. This is especially heartbreaking because Stolas is making an effort to hide an injury he still has from Striker, most likely because he’s royalty and royalty have to appear strong at all times.

Sometimes I wonder if Blitz knows if Stolas wasn’t a pacifist, he would have murdered him ten times over by now.

And Stolas’ little drunken speech at the end is so fucking sad. I think he’s being literal when he says he wants someone to care if he stays or goes, but also euphemistic. He wants someone to care if he leaves the morning after, but he wants someone to care if he’s fucking murdered or not.

My sad birb, the bar cannot be this low.

And I think it’s going to be another thing that makes things very complicated and vitriolic between them. On Blitz’s end, you have the racism/classism and the power dynamic. On Stolas’ end, you have the knowledge that your situationship only wanted to see you for your access to the human world (there’s no way he didn’t figure that out after months of being left on read, which he mentions in S1E1) and probably wouldn’t have known if you passed at the hospital because he had no intention of seeing you. And Stolas deserves to have that hurt acknowledged. All the birb wanted was a “hey I’m glad you’re not dead here’s a little kiss on the forehead and a horse movie to keep you entertained.” That’s it. The bar is so low it’s six feet under Hell and it still wasn’t met.

And Stolas’s response was to get a little petty one time when they were already arguing? My ass would be using this to win every argument from now until Armageddon.

“Stolas did you do the dishes?”

“IDK Blitz. Did you come visit me in the hospital after Striker tried to gouge my eyes out?”

[us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2]

Conner and bizarro finally meet

on a random lonely day in the Kansas country side, Conner is rocking in a rocking chair reading a book lex got him. it's a big fat comic collection about this guy who works with the FDA for some reason and he's honestly just enthralled. there's a whoosh sound and suddenly Jason and bizarro appear, Jason has his arm over the shoulder of bizarro as he waves over to Conner. Conner is pretty confused who the other guy is.

Conner: hi Jason, who's with you?

Jason: oh this is bizarro, he's kind of my son.

Conner: since when?

Jason: since ages, lex basically was going to kill him but we accidentally broke him out of his containment. long story short he's here he's my son.

bizarro: *waves* bye! I'm bizarro

Conner: hi bizarro

Jason: don't mind him he's words are a bit backwards, something about the programming didn't quite work. all negative verbs and such are positives and all positives are negatives. we are working on it right buddy?

bizarro: I'm resting on it!

Jason: speech therapy is hard, he's perfectly normal he just has some mixed up brain functions. lex actually managed to reverse alot of the degenerative disease problems, so you know bizarro is just struggling with a few things. he's doing way better than before though right buddy?

bizarro: I'm not fine, I'm doing bad! red is doing a bad job

Jason: aw, thanks. I try, we really have to work on the negative verbs, but it's fine we can try again later. anyway I wanted you to meet your brother bizarro!

Conner: *holds out hand* nice to meet you bizarro, what do you like to do?

bizarro: I hate… reading books and watching movies, it’s not fun.

Conner: oh! I love reading books, I have some if you want one.

bizarro: I’m not interested, I hate reading. No thanks!

Conner: wait here I’ll go get one!

Conner runs into the house to go grab some books, he didn’t really know he had a brother but this was kinda cool. Even if it came out of nowhere.

Conner: I have.. Julia Gillard’s cookbook, pride and prejudice, moby dick, and.. bionicules? Honestly I don’t think I’ll read them again so you can have them, my gift!

Bizarro looks at Conner and smiles, he takes the books and starts reading them on the floor of the patio.

Jason: I know I should have called you, but we never have the chance to meet up.

Conner: it’s fine, honestly. I was just reading some comics, been a long week. Just wanted to soak up some sun, since Lex was nagging me about it.

Jason: Lex??

Conner: oh I didn’t tell you, yeah we are kinda trying to fix things between us. I think it has something to do with the whole kryptonite induced cancer, thing. He surprisingly actually does not mean any harm to me, it's so weird.

Jason: damn, even Lex of all people is trying to mend his relationships. Never thought I’d see the day.

Conner: oh it was weird, he came up to the house and actually apologised to me. Lex. APOLOGISED

Jason: NO WAY, I don’t believe you *crosses arms*

Connor: I wish I had it on tape, but no he did. It was so weird, then he told me he actually was pregnant with me.

Jason: wait… *murmurs* when would that have been.

Conner: oh a couple years ago as I’m about 4-5 now.

Jason: oh yeah he did basically disappear for a whole year one year, kinda thought he had some sort of horrible injury or assassin on his tail. Didn’t really think he was having you?

Connor: honestly I would not know, because again didn’t exist yet.

Jason: that’s actually around the time bizarro was made actually, well a year or 2 beforehand.

Connor: yeah makes sense, wait. bizarro is older than me?

bizarro: I'm younger than other superman.

Connor: true I do think your older than me, does lex keep saying anything about dissolving DNA to you guys?

Jason: on yeah that's what originally happened to biz over here, right buddy?

bizarro: me DNA re- reconsti- reconstituted.

Connor: oh damn, that most be why he is motherhen'ing so bad. "you really should be checking for it every 2 weeks" as lex says to me fortnightly now. ugh annoying.

Jason: really? guess I'll take his advice that does unironically sound like a good idea. Connor, well this has been nice. but we have to go or we are going to miss family dinner. see ya

Connor: honestly nice that you dropped by, nice to meet you bizarro!

bizarro: hi other superman!

Connor: you can call me Kon if you like

bizarro: hi Kon!

Connor: see you both enjoy the books! I'm sure bizarro will enjoy them

Jason: oh totally pride and prejudice is my favourite, I was looking for a copy for biz actually it's a wonderful gift, nice seeing you! see you next time for the space pirates?

Connor: always, those fucking space pirates though

bizarro: I love space pirates, they are the best

Connor: lol you're so right, bye guys!!

bizarro + Jason: bye!!!!

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[www-bvnny-b4b3couture]

Teeth p.3

Part 2

Settling in 🤷🏻‍♀️

The next morning after her first night the 2 men were very quickly forced to come clean because someone came knocking on their door. Wade had managed to sneak onto the edge of the bed since he didn’t wanna take the floor, Logan knocked out sitting up in front of the t.v.

Kaia suddenly looked around panicked for something to cover her face. Logan got up, rubbing away the sleep from his eyes but quickly becoming alert before he answered the door.

She had found her old mask in the pocket of her suit, she was in the bathroom listening when she heard the sound of the door opening.

“Hey Logan, there’s a meeting today, Charles wants you to join us, you too Wade.” She heard a few steps, she assumed whoever it was stepped inside. It was a female voice. “Uh yeah, we’ll be down in a few.” She heard Logan reply. “Yes, I need to get fully dressed.” Wade’s tone made her face palm.

There was a small moment of silence, “Who’s in the bathroom?”

“Oh um yeah about that, it’s a funny story actually, remember that assassin who kept us from getting to that one guy last time? Well we ran into her again, except this time… we like saved her and took her home with us.” Wade suddenly blabbed everything, she took that as her opportunity to just step out of the bathroom.

The woman who had come in was very beautiful, but what stood out the most was that she had white hair. She took a step back slightly when Kaia stepped out. “Logan?” She turned to Logan, his arms were now crossed.

“She’s alright, she was already trying to leave those shitbags anyway. Figured you could help her, like you guys helped me?” Her amber eyes pierced into Logan’s soul with an unreadable expression as he spoke.

“It’s not just that, you guys should have said something before just bringing her here.” The woman said, looking back at Kaia. Her eyes narrowed.

“Well it’s not just up to you, now is it?” Logan stated in response, raising his brow with a cocky smirk. That made the woman scoff at him, “Everyone is in the meeting room already, let’s just bring her with us.” She said after a bit, her tone a bit softer when she looked at Kaia again.

The four of them walked towards the meeting room, heading down the stairs and into giant hallways. The eventually made it to what seemed to be a conference space. The woman softly sighed before opening the doors.

Kaia wasn’t prepared for the amount of people in the room, and all eyes were on her. She wasn’t surprised though, she was a complete stranger in a mask.

There was a bald man in a wheelchair standing at the head of the table, when he saw the group he gave them a welcoming smile. “Ah, I see you’ve joined us with someone new. Kaia is it?” That made her raise a brow and look at Logan.

“Oh I’m sorry, I forget it can be a bit alarming for people when you know their name before introducing themselves. I’m a telepath, so I’m able to read others thoughts, sometimes without meaning to. It’s like overhearing someone talk.” She nodded at his explanation, although knowing he could read minds wasn’t less unsettling.

“Hold on so can we clarify who this is for those of us who can’t read minds?” Someone spoke up, she turned around to see a man with weird looking glasses, her head turned slightly at him, they seemed to be like goggles or something.

“This is Kaia everybody, the assassin we took home with us. Remember from that mission before?” She felt Wade’s arm sling around her as he spoke, making her tense up and snake away from him after about 2 seconds. Wade’s choice of words seemed to have caught the attention of everyone, she felt the piercing stares of all in the room, except the elderly bald man.

“Kaia was involuntarily used as a weapon by an organization unknown to us, Logan and Wade did a heroic thing by helping to free her.” He spoke up, she couldn’t help but feel like she kept being painted as the victim.

“If they used her as a weapon wouldn’t they want her back?” The guy from before spoke up, the bald man turned in his wheelchair to face him. “That’s a fair question, Scott, but it’s our mission to help mutants.” He then spun around to Logan.

“Do you trust her, Logan?” She glanced at Logan, not being able to read his expression, her amber eyes locking with him. “I believe that she wanted out, and that she wouldn’t have willingly came with us if she wasn’t looking for something better. I think everyone will learn to trust her.” She stared at her feet, her mouth twitching beneath her mask.

After that Kaia was brought back downstairs, this time going into a different room that was completely grey. A woman who she’d learned was named Jean came down with them. “What are we down here for?” She asked, settings like these brought back unwanted emotions.

“We just want a full body scan, to see if you’re ok and to identify a possible tracker.” Jean answered, giving her a reassuring smile, seeming to sense her unease. Kaia just nodded.

She stuck little grey things onto her chest, then explained that she would go into an mri machine.

She saw Wade’s head pop in once she was laying down, “You’ll do great sweetums, remember I’m standing right out here!” She rolled her eyes.

“Uh, you’ll need to remove the mask too.” Kaia softly sighed, reaching up to slide her mask off, but taking a few moments to do so. She turned away from the beautiful looking woman subconsciously, swallowing dryly. There was a silent moment before she heard the machine start up, beginning to slowly slide in.

At first it was completely black, then a bright white light turned on, lights turning on to line the walls. She took a deep breath as the process went on, hoping it was over quick.

After the scan they went into another room, the man in the wheelchair was standing there already. Kaia could see the images taken of her. She stared at the anatomy of her skull.

“It appears there’s a tracker implanted at the center of Kaia’s back. But as you can see here,” Jean spoke after a few seconds, zooming in to where the tracker was, it was in 2 pieces. “Looks like it must’ve gotten hit while you were fighting.”

“That’s thanks to me guys, not to brag.” Wade said, crossing his arms in a cocky manner. Kaia rolled her eyes, “So are you guys just gonna take it out?” She asked, Jean nodded.

The whole procedure took about 5 minutes. Jean patched her up quickly and Kaia quickly slid the sweater back on.

“That whole you need to die to heal thing is so inconvenient.” Wade commented about the patch on her back. “Tell me about it.” She mumbled.

“Oh also we have your… claw gloves. They’re made of the same alloy grafted to Logan’s skeleton, it’s called adamantium.” She saw Logan’s eyebrow raise slightly, “Explains why I didn’t cut through her.” Kaia scoffed, “Yeah, that’s why.” She responded cockily.

Jean laughed softly at the banter between the two, making Kaia notice the way Logan’s eyes softened as he looked at her. The change in his demeanor was weird to her, she glanced at Jean and saw the same tenderness in her eyes, although clouded with a bit of what looked like regret?

“Alright Kaia you can have the room across Logan’s, and Wade’s is beside’s yours. Figured you’d rather stay near the people you’re most familiar with.” Jean said to Kaia with a soft smile. She really was very beautiful, too beautiful for her to look at. “Thanks.” She rasped, stepping into what looked like an exact copy of Logan’s room. Except cleaned. “I’ll let you settle in, bye Wade, Logan.” Kaia glanced at her quick enough to see the warm smile she gave before heading off.

She looked at Logan, who seemed to be watching her walk off with a longing expression. “I’m not interested in knowing what’s happening there.” She held her hand up, doing a circle motion at Logan and to where Jean previously stood as she spoke. His brows furrowed and before he could speak she cut him off, “Got any more of those beers?”

Wade interjected, slinging his arm around Kaia’s shoulders, and then around Logan. “Are we becoming a trio?”

Logan socked him in the jaw, sending him flying into her room, she looked at him pointedly, “Dude.” Logan looked at her annoyed, “Ya want a beer or not?” She quickly shut up and followed him into his room. He opened a mini fridge and tossed her a beer, she caught it easily, pulling her mask down and opening the cap with her teeth. “Neat trick.” Logan commented, an approving look on his face as she downed the beer, already tossing her a second. He wouldn’t usually share his beers but he was a bit impressed so he figured why not.

“Mind if I sit?” She asked, motioning to his bed, he shrugged, “Might as well, just don’t get on my nerves.” She plopped down on his bed, taking a swig of her beer. She glanced down at his beer, “Need help opening that?” Offering to help.

He glanced down at the beer cap still on and shook his head, “Uh no thanks.” He suddenly unsheathed his claws, easily slicing the cap clean off. “Neat trick.” She copied him, Logan gave her a cocky smirk. “I know.”

After a quick roll of her eyes she looked at him curiously, as if wanting to ask a question. “What?” He raised a brow at her, preferring she just say what she was thinking. “Does it hurt when they come out?” She asked, pointing down at his hand.

“Always. Just something I got used to though.” She nodded in understanding, knowing all too well what he meant. “Does it hurt when you, y’know.” He made a motion down to his own jaw, making her smirk softly in amusement. “Always.” She copied him, looking down at her beer and tracing the rim. “I passed out the first time, it’s the kind of pain your brain can’t process. I guess it just hurts so bad I don’t even feel it anymore.” She casually recalled.

“Yeah, I get you.” The room got a bit quiet after that, Kaia finished her beer and stood up, lifting her mask up, “I’m gonna go now, I think I’m gonna take a nap.”

“Alright, kid, take it easy for now.” She nodded at him and peaked her head out to check if Wade was out there. After that she silently slid out of his room and across the hall, her steps made no noise and that fact creeped Logan out.

“That kid still gives me the creeps.” He muttered to himself, taking a swig of his beer and turning to his t.v.

A/n: Honestly ima prolly just keep writing one shots that are just connected now that I’ve like gotten the trio situated n all that. Just like random scenarios I come up with lol. Love you if you read this bye.🩷

[gh0stsp1d3r]

I don’t know why, but I feel like it’d be really cute if Tangerine and Lemon have a little sister who has a completely normal job, like she’s a Kindergarten teacher, and Ladybug meets her when he shows up at Tan and Lemon’s safe house with them after the train fiasco. He starts talking to her about all the assassin stuff (he assumes she’s in the game too) and her older brothers are like, “Whoa whoa Mate, you can’t talk to her about that stuff, she’s not in the game, she’s a teacher, BACK OFF” lol

once again I don’t know a name for this.. 😭

Tangerine and lemon looked at each other, they didn’t know this guy too well. They didn’t know if they trusted him to much to be near you, and this was only the third job they’ve done together. After the train incident, they were paired up sometimes.

They worked well together, surprisingly.

“So where are we going now?” Ladybug asked.

“Our sisters house.” They said plainly.

“You guys have a sister?!”

“Yes, and if you say one word to her I swear to god-“

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

They knocked on your door, they knew you’d be here.

You opened it, with your dog trying to leave too. “Get back, get back, Loki!” You pushed him back and looked at them.

You smiled widely, and told them to come in. You didn’t even noticed the man behind.

“Oh, hello. Your name is..?”

“Ladybug. Well it’s my code name but- if you want my real name it’s-“

“It’s alright, I’ll call you ladybug. It’s cute.” You laughed. Tangerine rolled his eyes and glanced down at his feet as your dog ran into his leg repeatedly.

“Can I get you anything?”

“A cuppa, thanks.” Tangerine said.

“Me too please.” Lemon said.

“Can I just have some water please?” Ladybug said. He didn’t quite understand what they meant by a “cuppa” he guessed it was some British thing.

“Of course.” You said, smiling.

You gave them what they asked for and let them do their own thing as you went in your room for a little.

“Hey, (Your name), Can we get a pen?” You heard Lemon yell.

You sighed quietly, and looked around. You found a pen and grabbed it and got up.

“Here you go.” You gave it to him.

“Thanks.”

“So what you guys doing?” You sat down on a chair next to them.

“Jus’ debriefing.”

“Yeah. You know, it was a super long mission. I’m not used to this stuff I’m still used it snatch and grab jobs, I’m not used to seeing all the blood and guns and stuff. I don’t understand how you guys do it. But I’m sure you understand, I mean you are an assassin, right?”

Tangerine put a hand over his mouth, staring him dead in the eye.

“No, Im not an assassin. I actually am a local cafe owner. It’s down the street.” You said.

“Sorry about him, he talks to much and he won’t speak AGAIN, isn’t that right?” Tangerine said and turned back to him.

“Right, right, sorry. I would love to go tomorrow, maybe I’ll visit your cafe-“

“Wait, you guys are staying?”

Tangerine sighed again and shook his head.

“Look, (your name) we just need a place to stay for a night or two and we’re gone-“

“No, no! Please, stay as long as you need. I missed you guys.”

Lemon smiled “Aww I missed you too.”

You smiled back at him.

“Thank you. Goodnight.” Tangerine said.

“Goodnight.” You told them, and ran off back into your room.

“Thank you.” Tangerine gave you a small smile.

“And if you guys need anything else, let me know!” You said , and ran back to your room.

[thesharktanksdriver]

Oh! When I asked about magical girl! Y/n in Teen Titans (2003 version), I forgot to mention about how she would interact, meet or deal with the Titans’ villains like the HIVE, Slade, Red X, or the Brotherhood of Evil

No prob, I was actually wanting to add a bit about the hive in my first response but didn’t want to make it too long lol. I’m just gonna do the hive and Slade for this since I can’t remember the brotherhood of evil very well and red x would need his own thing lol

Is it any surprise that y/n ends up befriending the light? I mean really? With her track record the light are probably the least Bruce has to worry about. But anyways she would have probably heard about them through the teen titans but kinda didn’t pay them any mind till she ran into them. They at first think she’s a potential “no good goody two shoes” set out to stop their fun until she pulls out a sniper rifle and quite literally blow off the head of a shadowmite on one of their shoulders, effortlessly scaring the crap out of them and also making them quite interested in her.

I’d say she’s find them to be pretty fun, but she’d especially get along with Jinx and surprisingly Mammoth. Y/n is tired and exasperated half the time making her a kinda low energy person who would take to answering their questions as long as they got her bat-burger which leads to some interesting conversations.

“Yeah Robin has been pretty miffed lately cause-“

“Wait so you know Robin?”

“Yeah, both”

“Both???”

“Well you guys are from a seperate dimension right? Well there’s a Robin from my dimension who’s a different Robin from your Robin but still Robin. You can tell them apart cause your Robin is adverse to any real violence while my Robin would try and cut your arm off”

“….your Robin has a sword?!?!?!?”

“Yeah he also used to be an assassin too”

Yeah after that they start to think that they lucked out in the Robin department knowing theirs wasn’t the type to possibly cause real injury. That’s not even to mention when you mention other hero’s in this world or hell even the villains. Cause Jesus, Joker wore his own face after it was cut off?!?!? Or that an end of the world scenario happened just about every year?!?!?

They’re starting to enjoy where they live in comparison to you especially after you explain Shadowmites to them. How you hunt these monstrous creatures by your lonesome (maybe not as much as before since one of the bats typically tags along but still, there are times you go off on your own) and how your the sole thing keeping these things from literally devouring the universe.

But with that comes with you saying something oddly sad that makes them pause

“Hey….if the Shadowmites end up in your world and a magical girl is defending against them? Tell her about me. Tell her that I wish I could have met her myself and that…it’s gonna be hard but to keep going”

Damn…..that’s more depressing than they’d like to admit nor think about.

Her meeting 2003 Slade would be an….odd scenario considering she knows the Slade in her universe. So it’s definitely an awkward meeting when she’s like “yo Slade how’s rose doing” and 2003 Slade is wondering who the fuck she is and how she knows about his daughter.

When y/n learns that this is 2003 Slade though….she definitely tries to avoid him for various reasons. Cause listen, as much as her Slade is an asshole sometimes and has some weird ass morals he doesn’t act like a creep towards literal children. When hearing what he did to Raven she is appalled, she did not think being a hired murderer could get worse before she had heard that.

She does not in the slightest want to be around him

But him on the other hand is interested partially due to the fact he can see she’s skilled and some of the techniques she uses are some of his moves.

Which means that she must have known and trained under her universe’s version of him

When y/n now meets up with her version of Slade she thanks the gods he isn’t the same one from 2003

(Y/n to 2003 Slade be like lol)

[ornii]

Oh sorry! I mean Yelena from the MCU! :))

Mystery Woman.

A Platonic relationship with Yelena sounds interesting! Plus I’ve been getting back into the MCU.

Many would ask how you ended up dealing with A Russian Assassin. To be fair weird things happen in New York every week so stumbling upon an Assassin isnt a major thing. But you do remember the night, it was cold due to the snow and importantly you just pulled off. Double shift working at a local law firm. Superhero based claims are something that you had to file and that coupled with the constant pressure lead to a very unhappy shift for you.

Finishing up around three you stopped out to the cold and grime of New York lit up by the lights of the city. You wanted to head straight to your apartment, trudging though the snow you cursed to yourself.

“God damn Spider-Man… Daredevil all this shit.” You huffed, who new superhero’s made your life actually harder. You reach the apartment complex and past an alley you hear a thud, loud. Jerking your head you see trash bags lying next to a dumpster, which wasn’t surprising. But what was, was the strand of blonde hair in the dumpster. Curiosity admittedly got the best of you and you creep closer to see what it could be. You prayed it was something that could be easily explained but, it wasn’t.

A woman lied on the dumpster, a bad stab wound in her side, unconscious and losing blood. The sight of a body made you a bit dizzy, and you turned around to leave, “Not your problem.” You thought, but guilt crept up your spine as you heard the weak labored breath of the woman. She was going to die if you didn’t help. “..Fuck.” You whispered and turned around to yank her from the dumpster and throw her into your back, and taking her into the apartment.

Carrying a body was an issue, a bleeding unconscious one was a serious issue. But taking the back door and everyone being asleep made it easy. Slowly pushing the door to your apartment open with your foot you carried the woman to your 6 foot kitchen table, pushing the old pizza boxes and cups on the ground your lied her down and looked over her. Maybe early 30’s, late twenties, you couldn’t fully tell. You saw the growing blood clot on her side and took action and did some, less than chivalrous things. Gently reaching for her jacket you unzipped it and saw the wound. You went to the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit and performed based treatment, granted you knew much more than most.

Cleaning and Treating the wound, gauze and patching up her wound was next, thankfully to little issue. You felt her forehead.

“Fever.. odd. You weren’t out in the cold long.. unless..” you pushed your thoughts down and picked up the woman and walked to your living room, gently laying her on your couch and tossing a blanket over her, you sat in the chair to watch her. “Alright, when you wake up.. I have a lot of questions.”

You head was back, body limp as you slept in less than 20 minutes, thankfully it was the weekend. Eventually your eyes opened as you heard a shift, looking back forward you saw the couch empty. You attempted to stand up by an arm wrapped around your neck and a knife was mere inches from your face, you felt the blade lower to your throat.

“Tell me who you are, now.” The woman’s voice was Russian. Heavy accent to boot, you slowly raised your hands up to surrender. “I’m not here to hurt you…” you spoke softly to keep her from gutting you.

“I was on my way from work and I found.. you in a dumpster.” You took a deep breath and continued, “you were gonna die so I, took you here.”

The woman didn’t say anything, and you thought this is how you were going to die, until you felt her grip loosen and the knife away from your neck. The woman stepped in front of you, and tilted her head slightly.

“You don’t look like Anyone trying to kill me.” She shrugged.

“Uh.. yeah? I don’t, I don’t kill people.. uh. You’re welcome?” You were very confused, about what was going on. Moments ago she was going to slit your throat and now she’s just, searching your cabinet. “Uh.. what are you doing?” You asked standing up.

“Breakfast.” She responds, looking for cereal.

“Do you need help taking my things?” You approached, watching the random Russian woman look. “No cereal? How do you americas do this..” she muttered.

“We cook actual breakfast, Eggs, sausage, toast? Sometimes waffles.”

“I could eat that.” She said, “Do you know to cook?” You decided to open that Pandora’s box, which her reply worried you.

“How hard can it be?” She said, and you took that personally, you sighed and walked past her to your fridge. “I’ll make breakfast.” You said pretty firmly.

“I don’t need you to—“

“I’m making it, sit down.” You didn’t sound angry or even trying to, just stern. The woman saw how firm you are in it, and shrugged. She sat down as she watched you go to work. Thick slices of bacon on a hot pan, adding eggs to it and stirred for maximum volume, whisking away you decided to prob her mind.

“So, you have a name or are you gonna stay the mysterious girl who tried to kill me after I saved her.” You asked, smirking as you kept the bacon to a crisp. The woman thought for a moment, and answered.

“Yelena.”

“Hm. Not American.. definitely Russian. I doubt you’re an exchange student, so I’m gonna assume you’re here for something else.”

“You could say that, also Add Hot sauce.”

“Ew, no.” You responded.

“It’s not “Ew” to me, and I’m your guest.”

“Guest?” You said, which you realized you did drag her to your apartment. “Fine I’ll add hot sauce for you.” You decided to pour some to mix with the eggs and slightly mix the grease with the hot sauce to a blend that lathers the bacon. After a good roses you placed some on two plates and you both enjoyed the silence.

“Question.” She asked, tasting the flavor and perfect ratio of salt, pepper and hot sauce, with a slight tinge of basil. “Do you pick random woman off the street?”

That actually made you laugh, you didn’t respond and just smiled. Yelena probably expected you to be defensive or angry. Instead you responded.

“Guilt I guess.. if I left you there you probably would have died. I can’t have that in my mind, if I can help someone, I will.” Your response wasn’t something she expected, you looked up from your food to see her staring at you.

“What your eyes don’t work now?” You said jokingly, snapping her out of it.

“No, but I think I’ve, overstayed my welcome is, what you Americans call it.”

“I doubt you’d get far.” You replied, Yelena frowns at this. “And what makes you think that?”

“I mean, that stab was pretty bad, it’s good you didn’t get an infection. Plus I’ll have to stitch you up when I get the chance, plus you can stay here. I don’t think you have the woman to get or rent anyway.” You shrugged. “Plus is Christmas and I’m feeling generous.”

Yelena was confused on why you were being so nice about this.

“Why are you being so nice? I just tried to kill you five minutes ago.”

“You just remind me of my sister, annoying and kind of a shithead but, she has a good heart you know? I mean siblings, right?” You gave a chuckle, for a moment you saw a hint of sadness in her eyes, but Yelena hid it so well. She only had one response to all of it;

“Yeah to siblings.”

Sorry if it’s a bit short, but I’d like to continue it if people want!

[acourtofinkandpapyrus]

A Flower With Petals of Flame*: Part eleven (Eris x Reader)

Warnings: Jealousy, angst, SMUT, lots of dirty talk, all the fun stuff.

Part ten Part twelve

Tag list: open

After finding another one of the dead souls come back to life, you and your old friend go to sneak out. Eris gets the wrong signals and well, He doesn’t like seeing another guy touching you.

Sam Cortland, one of my closest friends and the best assassin of all time.

In my opinion at least.

“How the hell are you here?”  I dropped the magic I had been using to disguise me, yanking the mask off my face.

He shrugs.  “I could ask you the same thing.”  He said, pulling his hood down to reveal his face, unmarred and annoyed.

We all had kept scars of how we died in the afterlife, I had realized soon after I met Tamlin the scar around my neck was gone.

So were Sam’s.

“I actually died in this world. You, on the other hand, did not!”  I whisper shout the last bit, remembering Azriel could be here any moment.

“We don’t have time for this.  Come with me.  You have that weird star thing, right?”  I ask, shoving the mask back onto my face.

He nodded.  “I found out-”

I cut him off. “No time.  Big scary friend who doesn’t know I’m here coming who wants that thing you have right now.”

Pushing open the door, I look back to see Sam cursing under his breath as he makes his way over to me.

“Oh, and iron doesn’t work like it does in your world, so I suggest keeping that better hidden.”  I comment as I step out with him in tow.

I stop quickly to grab a pair of boots from the guards.

I mean, we’re already stealing a priceless magical object, they won't mind a missing pair of boots, will they?

“Do you know how annoying you are?  You’re worse than Celaena”  He grumbled as he struggled to keep up.

I slow down and snort.  “Didn’t you fall in love with her?”

“Fuck you.”

I snort again, using my magic to make myself look again like Erica.  “Do you mind if I make you look like a faerie?”  I ask, and he gives me a confused look.

“The humans and fae of this world don’t really mix.  Like, at all.  So if they see short, human you running around…”

He sighs.  “Fine.”

Only moments later, he still looks like himself, but taller, sharper, pointed ears, the whole shabang.

There were no physical changes, and that made it all the more impressive that he was managing to walk more quietly than me, his footsteps almost silent.

That’s why we were able to hear the soft footsteps coming from another hall.

We both paused, and I did the first thing I could think of.

Pushing sam to the wall, I whispered, “Kiss me.”

We had been in situations like this before, and no matter how I teased him, we were both just friends.

But to anyone watching us at that moment as Sam flipped us around, kissing me deeply, no, they wouldn’t know any better.

The footsteps come to an awkward halt, and I open my eyes, giving Azriel a grin.

I had hoped he would continue onward, but he didn’t.  He just stood there and watched as Sam pulled away, half turning and shooting a glare at Az.

“Move on asshole.”  Sam snarled, pulling me closer to him.

And that’s When Eris rounds the corner, stopping right behind Azriel as he gaped at us.  He quickly schooled his face into a chilly expression.

“You should keep a closer eye on your family, Eris.”  Azriel says darkly, amusement lining his soft voice.  After that he continues onward.

The irony in that statement is hilarious.

“And who is this Erica?”  He says, his tone sharp.

Was he jealous?

His eyes met Sam’s, and Eris stiffened even more.

Oh shit.  He was jealous.

I push Sam away, careful not to send him flying with my fae strength.  “This is Sam, one of the other dead souls.”

Something Rhysand had said to me just came back to me.  “Two of the three would try and kill us.”

The words ring through me, but I shake them off.

They must have been wrong.

Sam and I would never hurt them.

Eris had gotten closer to us and I hadn’t noticed.  “So, who are you… Sam?”

I dropped both our illusions, and Eris seemed shocked as he saw Sam was a human.

A human that was not going to be pushed around.

“Oh.  So you’re Eris.”  He said with a slanted grin, and I was suddenly worried.  “For how much Y/N talked about you, I thought you’d be…  More impressive.”  Sam said, brushing his shoulder against Eris as he passed him.

“I’m staying in the forest nearby Y/N.  You know how to find me.”  He said, winking at me where Eris couldn’t see before rounding the corner.

Eris just stood there, torn between shock and fury.

I snorted, and his gaze shifted to me, just as intense, but it was different, not angry.

“Something funny pet?”  He asked, grabbing my hips and pulling me to him.

I clenched my thighs in an attempt to relieve the sudden ache I had between my legs.

We stand there for a moment, and I wonder if I should pull away.

He didn’t need another mess to deal with, he didn’t need to be dragged into the shitstorm that was my life, or my death.

Before I can do anything though, his mouth meets mine, his tongue exploring mine as our teeth clash.

He pushes me against the wall as he uses one hand to drag my dress up to expose my thigh, the other moving to my head to tilt my head back so he could kiss my neck, his teeth scraping ever so slightly against my sensitive skin.

I whimpered as his hand traced patterns on my thigh.  “Eris-”  I said, sounding more needy than I meant.  “Anyone could see us.”

He growled into my skin, and I yelped as we were suddenly in a room, him carrying me as I wrap my legs around his waist. Feeling his hardness through his pants and squirming, he breathed into my ear, making me shiver, “Desperate, aren’t you pet?”

I rolled my eyes, preparing to say something snarky, but he moved one of his hands to tilt my chin down to look at him, the other arm still holding me up.

“Tell me.  Tell me you want me.”  He whispers, looking up at me with something more than just lust.

“I…”  My throat closes up as I look at my closest friend.

I can’t speak, so instead I thread my fingers through his hair and lean down, biting his bottom lip softly and squeezing my legs tighter around him, almost moaning at his aroused scent and the way his member pressed in between my legs.

He lays me on the bed softly, grinning at my sounds of disappointment as he pulls away.

Only to kneel before the edge of the bed, grabbing my legs and yanking me to him.

I moan as his tongue darts out, flicking my clit in a sinfully skilled way.

Letting out little moans, my hips rolled as I tried to make him do more.  “Eris!”  I shouted, my hips bucking as he slipped two fingers into my sopping cunt.

I moaned as I let myself go, bringing my hands up to toy with breasts, pinches my nipples as he nipped at my clit, forcing me to let out harsh pants of pleasure.

“Eris, I’m gonna cum.” I pant, moaning as he released my clit with a resounding pop.

He looked up at me with lust filled eyes, licking my arousal from his lips.  “Do you want to cum on my cock pet?”

I moaned, nodding, and his fingers dug into my thighs, causing me to whimper.  “Words pet.”

“Yes Eris, I wanna cum on your long, thick, cock.”  I said in the most seductive way possible, and a shiver of pleasure went up my spine as he groaned.

He crawled onto the bed, his eyes predatory as he caged me in with his arms, leaning down to kiss me deeply.

I moaned into his mouth as he pushed in gently, slowly.

Too slow.

I pulled away from his lips, growling, about to speak when he suddenly pushed the rest of the way in, making me moan loudly as his mouth closed around one of my breasts, one of his hands taking care of the other.

As I got closer, I moaned, “Eris- gonna cum-”

His other hand slid between us, finding my clit and pressing down in time with his thrusts.

Seconds later I fell over the edge with a scream of pleasure, my arms wrapping tightly around Eris as he moved us so we were both upright.

My head had fallen back in bliss, almost cumming again as his hot cum spurted into me, leaving both of us panting.

“It’s been a long time since we did that.” Eris commented, nuzzling into my neck a bit.

Normally, I would feel more relaxed after this, but that old ache started in my heart again.

I had thought maybe after a couple hundred years away, the pull wouldn’t be so strong but…

He had made it clear long ago that he didn’t want me. And even if he did now, it was too dangerous for him.  For me.

This was just a friends with benefits situation.

I try not to let it bother me, letting him drag me down to cuddle in the bed for a little bit.

And I let him, because what harm is it in imagining, just for a tiny while, that we could be more?

[tobythewise]

welcome to dadwc!! for the future, or whichever pairing, maybe "One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss." for zevran x alistair?

Thank you so much for the prompt!! :D This one was super fun to write. I tweaked the prompt EVER so slightly but I hope you'll still enjoy <3 Written for @dadrunkwriting Content: Alistair/Zevran, Truth Serum, Some mutual pining, getting together, and first kisses

Oh. This is bad. This is really, really bad. 

“Tis nothing bad, per say,” Morrigan says, trying to reassure him, but for some reason, hearing her say that does nothing to stop the panic welling up inside of Alistair. 

“Per say? Just tell me what was in there, Morrigan. What did I just drink?”

“Twas only a serum. If you could only read you’d see the label had a warning on it,” she says, pointing at the bottle and rolling her eyes. 

“Let’s just stay calm,” their trusted warden companion says, his eyes darting between all three of them. “How much of that did you drink?”

“The whole bottle! I thought it was a healing potion! It was the same color as the others!”

Morrigan lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This will teach you to take something from my bag without asking me first. Maybe this will help you learn that lesson.”

Zevran picks the bottle up off the ground, his eyebrows just about hitting his hairline as he reads the words. “Ah, it has been a long time since I’ve seen something like this. You have nothing to fear, my warden, so long as you’re not trying to hide anything.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Alistair demands, feeling his cheeks heating without his permission. His heart is hammering against his ribs as he thinks about the one, big secret he’s keeping from the group. Well, mainly from the elven assassin squatting in front of him. 

“It is a simple trust serum. Once it gets into your system, you will be unable to withhold the truth.”

Oh god. 

“Right,” he says slowly, getting himself to his feet and dusting himself off. “That’s my que to head into the forest for the night. Good night and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Oh, Alistair. Sharing your truth is never a bad thing,” Leliana tries to reason but Alistair isn’t in the right headspace to argue. He just shakes his head and takes off into the treeline, praying to Andraste Herself that no one will follow him. 

Alistair feels like he can’t take in a full breath until he’s hidden within the trees. He ducks behind a large one, pressing his back against it. He sucks in a sharp breath, trying to get his heart to slow down before it threatens to leap right out of his chest. 

By the Maker, he feels so fucking stupid. How could he not look at the label before drinking that potion? Why’d it have to be truth serum? 

He’s not trying to lie to his companions but he’s certainly not trying to let them all know about his big, stupid crush!

Alistair drops his head back against the tree, staring up at the sky which he can just barely see through the branches. He should have brought his bedroll with him out here so he could sleep away from the others. He was in such a hurry to get away from Zevran before he said something he’d regret that he didn’t even think to grab any of his things. 

Just thinking about Zevran has Alistair’s cheeks heating. Though their relationship started off on the wrong foot, Zevran has more than earned Alistair’s trust. And more than that, he’s somehow earned his affection. 

There’s a rose in his backpack he often takes out and looks at when he’s alone in his tent. It’s meant as a gift that he can’t seem to get himself to actually give away, too terrified of everything changing. Why put himself on the line when there’s so much to do? Why change anything without the knowledge that there will even be a tomorrow to enjoy it?

Andraste’s ass, he’s a mess. 

He’s so deep in his own head that Alistair doesn’t hear anyone creeping up on him until he’s suddenly not alone. Or maybe he doesn’t notice because an assassin doesn’t want to be heard until it’s too late. Either way, Alistair absolutely does not let out a high pitched scream. Nope. That must have been Leliana finding a spider back at camp… 

“Ah, fear not, it is only I,” Zevran says in way of greeting, leaning against a tree across from Alistair. He crosses his ankle over the other, looking completely at ease. By the Maker, he’s hot. 

Alistair can feel his ear heating from the thought, thankful it hasn’t left his mouth. “I wasn’t scared,” he quickly says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Right, of course,” Zevran says with a knowing smirk that Alistair wishes he could kiss off his face. “I simply wished to make sure you were alright, my warden friend. You seemed rather upset earlier.”

Alistair opens his mouth to reassure Zevran that everything is fine, except what comes out is, “I’m freaking out right now and I don’t want the others to know.” He snaps his mouth shut so quickly it makes his teeth ache for a moment. That wasn’t what he wanted to say at all! Shit, this truth serum will have him confessing his feelings if he’s not more careful. 

“Is there anything I can do to be of service? Anything to help?”

“Yes,” Alistair says without thinking. He covers his face with his hands, letting out a frustrated groan. 

“If you don’t mind, I would like to hear how I can help.”

Alistair chooses his words more carefully. “I would be less embarrassed if you were not the one talking to me.”

Zevran’s easy smile melts away for a moment, a look of hurt crossing his features before it’s replaced once more. “Ah. I understand. Shall I send our fearless leader to talk with you? It seems the bond you’ve formed with him is something special, is it not?”

“It is. But it’s not what you think. I don’t have feelings for him, not in the way you’re assuming.” Damn his mouth. Damn this serum. Damn himself for not reading that label!

Zevran hums, tilting his head to the side. “Then I am confused. Is there another you would prefer?”

Alistair shakes his head but keeps his lips sealed for once in his life. They look at each other for a long moment before Alistair forces his eyes away. There’s something about Zevran’s golden eyes that somehow read past the bullshit and find the heart of issues. He can read people, has had to in order to keep himself alive as a Crow. That doesn’t mean he wants that insightfulness pointed in his direction. 

That’s a lie. He does want that. But he’s also scared out of his mind of being rejected. 

Zevran doesn’t keep it a secret that he’s had a string of lovers in the past. He believes in finding pleasure in the sure and now because there’s no knowing what the future holds. But Alistair is the opposite. He’s never fallen in love, never had his heart stir in this way, and certainly never had sex with anyone. He’s never even kissed another person before! 

Why would Zevran even think twice about someone like him?

And yet, those golden eyes continue to stare at him, seeming to see straight through him. 

“What is the reason you’d have me leave you here? Have I done something to upset you?”

“No! No, of course not, Zevran. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve only done everything right. You’re amazing.”

Alistair closes his eyes, tipping his head up towards the sky once more. Maybe if he prays hard enough, the Maker will send lightning down from the skies to smite him and deliver him from this conversation. 

“You flatter me,” Zevran says and Alistair’s eyes snap open when his voice comes from far closer than before. Zevran is no longer standing against the tree. Nope. Now he’s face to face with Alistair. “I have a theory. A very interesting one at that. But I dare not test it without knowing more.”

Alistair swallows around the lump in his throat, his entire body seeming to stand on end with how close Zevran is standing. He wishes he could take a step back but the tree has has him frozen in place, unable to escape. 

“What theory is that?”

Instead of answering the question, Zevran continues on his tangent thought. “I care for you a great deal, Alistair, and I would never push you or wish to make you uncomfortable. I have held myself back with great effort, but now I see maybe you did not wish for me to hold back.”

Alistair finds his head shaking without his permission. He’d never want to hold Zevran back. He deserves everything after all the shit he’s been through. He deserves happiness and pleasure and love. 

Zevran’s hand finds Alistair’s cheek, his thumb catching on his stubble. Alistair’s stomach explodes with butterflies. He licks his lips and Zevran’s eyes catch the movement of his tongue. Alistair is frozen, caught by the assassin and there’s no place he’d rather be. 

“I want this. I want you,” Zevran says, his voice just barely audible. “But I will not take that which you do not offer. We have darkspawn to defeat, a country to save, and an archdemon to slay. Those are all important things, but still, I find myself wanting more.”

Alistair feels like he can’t breathe. This is everything he’s ever wanted to hear. His fingers dig into pocket, retrieving the rose he’s been holding onto since the beginning of this journey. 

Alistair hands the rose over, doing his best to ignore the way his face is bright red. “After Lothering, I found this rose. Despite all the destruction this one little rose somehow survived. A little brightness to withstand the darkness. That’s how I feel when I’m with you.”

Zevran stares at the rose for a long moment and Alistair’s stomach sinks. He’s about to put the rose back into his pocket when Zevran finally moves, gently taking the offered gift with such reverence it makes Alistair’s knees weak. He holds it like it’s something precious, something to be revered, the same way he feels about Zevran. 

“This is a beautiful gift, mi amor. Thank you.” When Zevran’s golden eyes meet his, Alistair’s stomach fills with butterflies. “Now, one last time I wish to ask, do you really want this?”

Instead of answering with words, Alistair surprises them both by ducking down and kissing Zevran’s lips. 

[wolfscarr]

Asmodean Crystals’ mere existence is the issue.

https://www.tumblr.com/wolfscarr/713871219805601793/helluva-boss-the-grimoire-useless-pointless?source=share

^ To see how the Grimoire is now really just a big PAPERWEIGHT and making Stolas a useless character as a result.

https://www.tumblr.com/wolfscarr/749044157770825728/helluva-broken-narrative-and-the-most-useless?source=share

^ The Broken Narrative.

Just a small bit here, but I’ve see some try to give an explanation as to why Blitz doesn’t just have an Asmodean Crystal and instead went with the Grimoire. The thing is, even if one of these explanations are true, it doesn’t fix anything. The mere existence of these crystals is the issue. Let’s look here for a moment.

1. “The Crystals are tied to whoever is using them.”

All in all this is a reasonable explanation, hence why Blitz didn’t just mug the incubus for his and forced him to open the portal in the latest episode. But if that’s the case, it just raises further questions. Like why doesn’t Blitz just hire someone with a crystal and do it that way? Let’s be real for a minute folks, you replace Loona as the receptionist with some just random Hellborn with a crystal and what changes other than Loona not being a receptionist?(Just make her part of the Assassin team) Nothing, because we don’t really see her do her job, in fact you can literally just make an offhand comment about this because they hardly ever show I.M.P going through portals anyway in the episode, except for a few times, but you never explicitly need to show what actually opens said portal or who opens it.

Or why can’t Blitz just hire someone to get a crystal for him and deliver it? Because apparently Stolas is going to Asmodeus for one, even though I don’t see why Asmodeus would want to give him one in the first place, considering he has his own means to get to Earth.

So then if it only ties to the User who first uses said Crystal, then all Blitz has to do is get someone who knows how to get one and boom. 

Also it’s logical for these random crystals to be tied to a user, but not an all powerful grimoire that anyone can use? Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but ok.

2. “The Crystals are hard to get.”

Are they really though? Consider for a moment that random back alley incubus had a Crystal and I doubt this person is anyone of importance to actually need one....this suggests that they wouldn’t be hard to obtain. Now for Blitz? It might be considering Fizzarolli, who more than likely told Asmodeus about what happened between them and thus, he wouldn’t get one. (Which also questions, why again would Asmodeus give Stolas one, given Stolas is seeing Blitz.)

But this just goes back to the 1st point, why Blitz can’t just hire someone or have someone get one for him? 

Also Barbie Wire, an imp out of rehab has one. Now sure you could say that perhaps she has a better relationship with Fizzarolli(considering all 3 of them grew up in the circus). But between 3 imps(Blitz, Moxxie n Millie) and a hellhound(Loona), they wouldn’t be able to figure out a way to get one in some form or fashion?

Even moreso folks, wouldn’t it be more interesting to see the first couple of Episodes of S1, in HOW I.M.P got the ball rolling? You could make these first few episodes in showing how these lowly imps and a hellhound, get access to this Crystal that enables them to run a successful company. This also would help with establishing worldbuilding and so forth. But no, instead it’s just....a sex deal.

Edit: Oh and lookiee here, at the end of the episode of Oops, Fizz says that Blitz has “earned a crystal” thanks to reconnecting/saving his life. Sure....yeah, so guess it’s not so hard if all Blitz had to do was reconnect with Fizzarolli. Stolas is a literally pointless character, if all Blitz had to do was reconnect with Fizz...which makes for a far better narrative!

Edit: Another thing, why is Stolas being the one to give Blitz the Crystal? Can’t Fizz or Ozzie just...you know, mail it to I.M.P.? Call up Blitz for it since they have his phone number? Or they can just send one of Ozzie’s servants to I.M.P, or Moxxie or Millie or Loona goes and gets it? Stolas is a useless character at this point, only being shoehorned in to do stuff, but he’s not needed for.

Conclusion

So you see the issue here. There isn’t any real explanation(not just these ones either, I just chose 2 randomly) to just allow these Crystals mere presence to NOT affect the story. The mere existence of them at all, is the issue here, especially when you could write something better as far as both worldbuilding and character building this way.

[shivunin]

A Good Fight

(Arianwen Tabris/Zevran Arainai | 2,440 Words | AO3 Link | CW: Mild sexual references/sexual tension)

Summary: Things that annoy Tabris: frivolous conversation and being the butt of a joke. Why, then, can she not get the insufferable Crow out of her mind?

“May I rest my head on your bosom?” the Crow asked somewhere behind Tabris. “I might cry.”

Tabris grimaced, casting a look at Alistair. He echoed her glance, nose wrinkled. It galled her to agree with him, but plainly they were in accord when it came to this.

“You can cry well away from my bosom, I’m certain,” the mage said severely. 

“Reconsidering keeping him around yet?” Alistair asked in a low voice, bending closer. 

Wen pressed her lips together, eyes narrowed, and glanced behind her at the other two. Zevran gazed at Wynne soulfully, one hand pressed to his chest. Wynne was grimacing, staff thumping into the dust of the road as they climbed the hill. 

“Did I tell you I was an orphan?” the former Crow went on, his voice sorrowful. “I never knew my mother.”

“Egad,” Wynne said, disgust as plain in her voice as it was in the lines of her body. “I give up.” 

She sped up, outstripping Zevran and both Wardens. Arianwen watched the mage go, shaking her head, and glanced behind her again. 

Zevran caught her eyes at once and winked. Wen stared back, lips still pressed into a tight line. 

“Maybe I am,” she told Alistair, and turned away again. 

Before them, the harried mage left small clouds of dust above the road. The late afternoon light diffused there, giving the road an odd sort of dreamlike quality. 

“Could still give killing him a shot,” Alistair muttered. 

“What was that? I could not hear you over the sound of all that armor,” Zevran said, abruptly behind them. Arianwen took a large step to the left and carried on. 

“Oh, nothing,” Alistair said. Wen could feel him looking at her, but she ignored the desperate glance. “We, ah…thought your conversation was interesting. That’s all.”

“Ah—so I suppose you also have an opinion about murder, then?” 

There was something under the words. Some sort of…double meaning, hidden undercurrent. Ugh. Wen hated plenty of things, but trying to understand what someone meant when it wasn’t what they actually said ranked highly on the list. 

“Let’s not,” she said. 

“Not what? I am afraid I do not understand you.”

If he started talking about her bosom, she’d just stab him, Wen decided. When she sped up, the assassin matched her. 

“Talk.”

“Pardon? I did not catch what you said.”

“I, ah—wouldn’t push your luck, there,” Alistair said, jogging for several steps until he drew even with the pair of them. “She’s got a short temper.”

“Yes, I had determined as much,” Zevran said. “And how lovely she looks when she is thinking of death.”

Wen stepped directly into his path and stopped moving, forcing the assassin to stop in his tracks or dodge to the side. He chose the former, still smiling broadly, though he stopped only an inch or two away. Arianwen met his eyes squarely, thinking. 

She didn’t think she wanted to kill him. The man was decent enough at what he did. Fighting him had been the best part of fighting any of the Crows. Actually, he’d been her favorite person to fight since they’d left Ostagar. There was something fluid about the way he moved that—well. Fascinated her, actually. She liked watching him. 

No—no, she didn’t want to kill him. What would be the point now? It certainly wasn’t as if she cared that Wynne, of all people, was annoyed. Actually, she should be thanking him. For once, the mage hadn’t been hovering over her shoulder and asking questions. 

“I don’t think so,” she said, to the dust in the air as much as she was speaking to either man, and turned to continue up the hill without any additional elaboration. 

“Yes, I see what you mean,” Zevran said behind her. 

“We aren’t friends, assassin,” Alistair said stiffly, but added in a quieter voice: “Best to avoid prodding at her when she’s already tired.”

“Mmm,” Zevran allowed. Wen gritted her teeth, irritated again, but he went on a moment later. “I shall take your advice very seriously, Warden.” 

Wen glanced behind her one more time, expecting the same cocky grin or perhaps another wink. Instead, she found a flash of something she didn’t expect: 

Exhaustion. Hiding in the corner of his eyes, in the subtle roll of his shoulders.

Ah. That was harder to ignore. 

Wen closed her eyes, willing herself to keep walking. It would be easy. It would be better. He was so annoying; maybe he’d stop talking if he was too tired to manage. 

As soon as she reached the top of the hill, she swung her pack from her shoulder and sat back against a fence. 

Not for him. Obviously not. 

But—maybe it was time for a break. That was all. Redcliffe was almost in sight and they’d probably be busy as soon as they got there. Best they sit and rest now before they no longer had the choice. 

She certainly, pointedly did not breathe easier when the Crow sat to her left with an audible sigh of relief. 

|

“Are you quite certain you are ready for this?” the assassin asked. 

Wen, who’d deposited the last of her armor to the side of the clearing, nodded curtly. She’d have to be a fool to think he had nothing to teach her. Whenever possible, she did try not to be a fool.

“I need to know all I can. Show me, if you want to.”

The outskirts of the Brecilian rose around them, trees already towering higher than she’d ever seen them before. This place was odd and old, breaking the monotony of carefully planted fields and abandoned villages. She didn’t feel like herself here. It was as if she’d slipped off her skin and found it ill-fitting upon its return. Or—perhaps something hung watching in the air here. Something that saw her, that waited and knew. 

She couldn’t say she liked it. 

“If I want to?” Zevran flipped the knife in his hand once, neatly. “And here you have been asking so politely, Warden. How could I say no?”

“You’ve just said it,” Wen replied, taking a slow, smooth step to the side. “Obviously you know how.” 

“Tch,” he began to circle with her—taking her measure, she thought. Some of the glossy humor fell away, baring the steel beneath. “So literal.”

Wen huffed, refusing to be dragged into a conversation. She’d get distracted by talking and then he’d strike. She knew exactly how this worked. 

“First and foremost,” he said, “I have seen you fight. You are very skilled, yes? But you are not careful.”

Wen felt her eyebrows climb. Zevran feinted, she sidestepped, and they resumed pacing each other. 

“Are you suggesting I get thicker armor?” she asked. 

He laughed, a deeper thing than his usual chuckle. Wen narrowed her eyes. 

“You have been spending too much time with Alistair. No—I am suggesting you learn to be quieter,” he said, and moved—it was like his body had become liquid for a moment, flowing so close that she was forced onto her back foot. A blow in the right spot and she was stumbling back, struggling to halt her momentum enough to guard herself. 

To her surprise, he did not press his advantage. He took a step back instead, watching her with an odd look on his face. Wen scowled and rolled her shoulders, loosening the muscles that had gone taut. 

“I’m plenty quiet.”

“Not quiet enough to be an assassin—and that is what you asked me to teach you, yes?”

Wen pursed her lips. She had asked him. She’d wanted to know how he moved the way he did, but she certainly couldn’t ask him for that. It had been plenty easy to imagine what he’d say in response. 

“Fight me, then,” she said, and dropped her knife. It sank into the soft earth point-down, which meant she’d have to be very thorough when she cleaned and oiled it later. At the moment, she didn’t really care. 

Zevran cocked an eyebrow at her, but stepped back to set his knife aside. 

“Are you quite certain? Surely you would like some sort of explanation first.”

“No,” she told him. “I’m too literal for that.”

Zevran tipped his head back and laughed. 

As soon as his eyes were closed, she struck. It ought to have been a glancing blow, only a soft slap to his shoulder to get his attention. The strike never landed. Instead, he flowed away from her and spun, planting a hand on her back and pushing. Wen was ready for it this time. Her weight shifted hard to her back foot, but she did not waver.  

“Good,” he said from behind her, but when she reached back to grasp his arm Zevran was already gone. 

Arianwen spun slowly, listening. He must have gone up; there was nothing closer than the branches to hide behind. Her heart thudded in her ears, distracting her. Where was he? That rustle in the bushes had the rhythm of a squirrel, the scratching at the bark to her right was certainly a bird, and the crunch in the leaves behind her—

Zevran dropped from above and locked her into his arms before she had a chance to strike back. 

“As I was saying,” he told her. “Not very careful.”

Arianwen tried to kick him to little avail. Zevran laughed into her ear, his mouth briefly brushing against the point of it. An odd tingling sensation spread from that point to her cheeks, burning as it went. What was this? Some sort of poison?

Arianwen planted her feet, gripped his arms where they wrapped around her, and flipped Zevran over her head. His eyes were wide when she straddled his chest, a knife already pressed against the hollow of his throat. She could feel his pulse against her knuckles, could feel his breath whenever his ribs expanded between her thighs, and—what was this? 

“What did you just do?” she snarled. Zevran’s brows lifted. 

“I caught you,” he said. 

“Not that. You—” 

She pressed her lips together all at once, her face hot, and climbed off of him. If there had been some way for Arianwen to scratch the sensation from her skin with bared nails, she would have done it immediately. It lived somewhere deeper than her skin, entirely beyond the reach of fingertips or knives. 

Had he ever touched her skin to skin before? She could not think. 

“Well? Teach me,” she demanded, taking several steps away from him. The distance, such as it was, did not help.

Zevran rose more slowly, dusting himself off. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. It was—speculative. Like he was weighing her against something in his mind. 

“Or was that it?” she asked. 

“No, no—I was merely thinking how best to show you what I mean,” he said. There was some hidden meaning to his words. She could feel it. 

Wen frowned at him, eyes narrowing. What was he actually saying? 

“Let us begin again,” he said, spreading his arms. Wen took a deep breath, wishing away the odd burning at the back of her neck and the tips of her ears. 

“Let’s,” she gritted out, her heart beating curiously fast, and raised her fists.

|

“Are you awake yet?” Zevran murmured. 

“No,” Wen told him, hand skimming over his loose, night-rumpled hair. Zevran grunted and pressed his face more firmly against her bare chest. 

“It should not surprise me when you make jokes,” he said. His lips pressed against the skin over her heart. “And yet…”

“Oh, ha ha,” Wen said, rolling her eyes. “If you’re going to be a pest, you can get off.”

“Oh?” he angled his head until he could look at her, morning light glinting across one golden eye. “Can I?” 

“Andraste’s tits,” she muttered, squirming without any real effort to dislodge him. 

“Yours are finer by far, I assure you,” he informed her solemnly, pressing a kiss to the nearest of them. 

Arianwen rolled her eyes, but threaded her hand through his hair again. Some of the tangles smoothed under her touch, but not enough. He’d still need to comb it when he rose for the day. 

She tried very, very hard to pretend that she couldn’t hear the army moving outside their tent. 

“Zevran,” she began, her voice soft, and he lifted his head to look at her. 

What could she tell him? That there were even odds she would die today? That she was grateful? What more could she possibly tell him now? 

“It will be a very good fight, yes?” he said, as if he knew what she was thinking. “Your favorite thing.”

Tabris pressed her mouth closed, searching his face for meaning. She found none. There was only the warmth of his eyes, the comfort of his body pressed to hers. The clamor of steel rose beyond their flimsy canvas walls. Time was almost up. It would be a good fight, yes. If there was anything she loved, it was a good fight. 

Arianwen loved Zevran more.

She’d planned to leave him behind, where the fighting was less heavy, but she already knew she wouldn’t be able to bear it. How could she fight through the city, never knowing if he’d been struck by a stray arrow or felled by an ogre? She could not protect him and seek the archdemon both. At least if they were together—at least they would both know. At least neither of them would have to wonder.

Until the end, then, and perhaps whatever came next. At least she knew she wouldn’t be alone. 

“Yes,” she said, passing her fingers through his hair one last time. Her hand fell to a stop at his cheek, thumb tracing the bottom point of his tattoo. 

“You will remember what I taught you, yes?” 

He lifted himself onto an elbow and leaned forward to kiss her. It had been meant as a glancing thing, she thought. It ran deeper than that in the end, desperate hands on shoulders and teeth and tongues and heat. She didn’t want to lose him. She raged at the world, for giving them to each other right on the doorstep of ruin. 

“Always,” Wen told Zevran, and clutched him to her when he would have risen to go. He endured this for several moments longer, his breathing uneven, before he pressed a kiss to her cheek and moved away. 

When she pushed the blankets aside to stand, his was the hand that pulled her to her feet.

(For Zevwarden Week Day 6: Favorite Things and Pet Peeves. Thanks again @zevraholics!)

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 16

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** TFW you send your wayward son to serve another archduke to straighten him out, and the guy actually likes him more than you do. ***

While an abandoned watchtower couldn’t really hold a candle to an inn, Durge had to admit it was an upgrade from the caves they’d found refuge in since their arrival to Avernus. 

Raphael would have probably failed to see the bright side, and scrunched his nose in disgust as he tended to do, but he was out like a light as he recovered from the fight. He didn’t even stir when Durge laid him down on the bedroll Halsin had placed on the ground.

“... How close a call was it, Halsin?”

“Very close - I’d say he had moments to spare. The poison Yurgir coats his blade with must be powerful indeed.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to test it. I got a few bottles out of one of his merregons.” Two pairs of eyes turned to Astarion, who shrugged. “I didn’t steal those, don’t worry. I don’t take risks--”

“Astarion. Love of my life.”

“... Fine. I don’t take stupid risks. One of the lot was willing to trade, and I had just won some coin.”

“How did you even communicate?”

“They grunted and I grunted back.”

“Nnmmgh…”

“Yes, something like that.”

Durge glanced back at Raphael, but he wasn’t waking up: just shifting on the bedroll, brow furrowed. It was hard to tell if he was dreaming or just trying to lie more comfortably. 

“I’ll head back downstairs and see how the planning is going,” Halsin said, standing. There was an old table at the ground floor, where Yurgir had placed a map as he discussed with Karlach and Wyll - their party’s experts on all things Avernus, so to speak - how to best ensure they could cross the Styx without incident. “And I think Yurgir could use some extra healing, however much he tries to shrug off his wounds. Although I cannot say I have a salve potent enough to help him should he still be here when Raphael recovers enough to start gloating.”

“Hopefully, he’ll be wise enough not to,” Durge replied, gaining themself a long look from Astarion.

“Durge. My little bhaal-babe.”

“... Fair enough. I suppose we can only hope Yurgir will have left by the time he awakens.”

As Halsin headed down the stairs with a chuckle, Astarion sat with his back against the wall, letting out a long sigh. “Well. Seems the incubus was wrong.”

Still sitting on the ground next to Raphael’s bedroll, Durge blinked. “The incubus?”

“When they said Raphael only ever wants to sleep with himself. I’m pretty sure he’d make an exception for you.”

Durge blinked. Opened their mouth. Closed it when Astarion raised an eyebrow, and finally reached up to rub their forehead. To be entirely honest, the assessment didn’t entirely come as a surprise… although they had not been entirely certain, either, that they were not misreading signs. “Surely, he has more urgent matters on his mind.”

“I had you on my mind when I had the most urgent matter in that mind, love. I can’t say I’d blame him,” Astarion added with a grin, gesturing widely at Durge’s body.

They cleared their throat. “It’s entirely possible all he has on his mind is manipulation,” they said, although they were not certain of that either. “Some misguided attempt to ensure I keep my word when it comes to getting the other half of his soul back from Mephistopheles.”

Astarion shrugged. “A sound strategy. I first seduced you to make sure you wouldn’t turn against me, remember?”

Durge chuckled. “Hoisted by your own petard.”

“Oh, no complaints. I mean, I had plenty of complaints when feelings decided to show up and complicate the matter, don’t get me wrong. But no complaints whatsoever now.”

“Even if I’m dragging you to Mephistar?”

“You make my life interesting, darling. And speaking of interesting, you did specifically ask for Raphael’s form in the House of Hope. Impossible not to take notice.”

Durge groaned and chuckled at the same time, resting their head against the wall. “Almost made Karlach carve her own eyes out.”

“I for one think it was an excellent choice. If one had to pick.”

“It doesn’t necessarily mean I’d--”

“Not necessarily, no. But if you would - understandable, although I must say I’d prefer him with horns - just know that you need not hold back on my account. As long as you tell me how it went, that is. I’m rather curious to find out if it would really take half a moment to finish him.” A pause, then he tilted his head as though something had suddenly occurred to him.  “... Huh.”

“What?”

“Do you think he felt it, when you were with the incubus?”

Durge blinked. “I… ah. I had never thought about it. I suppose he would have. But I had no idea that would happen.”

“Maybe that’s why it took him so long to get back, he first had to take care of--”

A sudden barrage of screams and hollers caused him to trail off, the merregons Yurgir had left stationed outside the tower to keep guard clearly reacting to something. Amidst the screaming there was a voice that sounded very much familiar. 

“Oh come now, that wasn’t nice-- ow! Hey! You really don’t want me to sound this horn now, pretties!”

Durge blinked. Astarion blinked back, and immediately jumped on his feet to look outside through the arrowslit in the wall. He stared a few moments before blinking again and laughing. 

“Well,” he said, turning back to look at Durge. “Speak of the devil, indeed.”

***

“Ah, here you are. I was concerned I’d missed my chance to speak with you prior to your departure.”

Duchess Baalphegor’s voice was not unfriendly - it never was - but it still made something clench in Raphael’s stomach, his fingers slipping as he tried to buckle the final strap of the leather armor he’d been given. He turned, bowing so quickly he didn’t get a real look at his father’s consort. Further back, in the doorway, stood one of the debtors she’d hand-picked as her attendants, but he barely saw her out of the corner of his eye and paid her no mind.

“Lady Baalphegor. I was not expecting--”

“Oh, hush. Let me look at you.”

Raphael swallowed, and looked up. She was closer than he’d realized, brow furrowed as she examined his face; however, the frown quickly smoothed out in yet another of those half-smiles which were never far from her lips. “Well, look at that - not the slightest sign of scarring. You truly made an incredible recovery.”

“I had excellent healers tending to me, Lady Baalphegor.”

“The most excellent healers in Baator could have done nothing for a hellfire-charred corpse. The fact alone that you survived to receive treatment is remarkable.”

“If not for Lord Mephistopheles’ will--”

“Oh, he was being silly over nothing, wasn’t he?” She sighed, and Raphael bit the inside of his cheek. The friendliest smile or the hottest pincers in Baator couldn’t tear a single word against his father out of him, not in his court, not where he could find out. For all he knew, Baaphegor was looking to have him say something which his father could condemn him for.

Loose lips had almost cost him his life. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

He almost killed me. He called me son. I’m nothing to him. He gave me a chance. I hate him. I’ll make him proud. 

“... I was disrespectful. No devil of his standing can tolerate disrespect. I am grateful for his mercy,” he replied in the end, gaze still low. “I’ll make the most of the second chance he saw fit to grant me.”

There were a few moments of silence, and already he feared he’d made a wrong move when he heard her hum. “Well then, I’m here to wish you best of luck, and to ask that you deliver a message to the Lord of the First on my behalf.” She held out something - an envelope sealed with wax. It looked mundane enough, but Raphael could sense the arcane power in the seal as soon as he reached to take it. It was clearly meant for Lord Bel’s eyes alone, and Raphael had no intention to find out what may occur if he attempted to open it. 

“Of course, Lady Baalphegor. As soon as we reach Avernus--”

A laugh. “Ah, don’t be ridiculous. You’re not marching with the troops through all the layers from here to Avernus. That would be dreadfully tedious, and this letter is to be delivered quicker than that. I’d go myself, if I wasn’t needed for yet another meeting with emissaries from Minauros. As you’re carrying out an important task for me, you have a one-time authorization to use my outer portal to the Bronze Citadel. You may await the rest of the troops’ arrival as Lord Bel’s guest.”

Truth be told, that was a relief to hear: Raphael had been dreading the march almost as much as the Blood War itself. Every single one among the troops was likely to know who he was and how he found himself among their ranks, and nothing delighted a fiend quite as much as stepping over someone who’d just been brought low. At the very least, he could expect ceaseless mockery; knowing that at least was delayed - and perhaps averted, as the Blood War surely would take most of their focus - brought some measure of comfort. 

“I shall inform the commander at onc--”

“The commander has been informed. No need to concern yourself with him.”

“... Thank you, Lady Baalphegor.”

“Oh no, you’re doing me a favor. No need to thank me,” she replied. Rather certain that she knew precisely what she was sparing him, Raphael bowed his head again.

“I am humbled by the trust you’re placing in me, despite my recent-- shortcomings.”

“Youthful indiscretions are hardly shortcomings. My consort would know as much, if he recalled what youth even is.” She shook her head in a sort of indulgent exasperation that, Raphael knew, no one else in Cania would dare show towards the Lord of the Eighth without severe consequences. “Upon your arrival, make sure you deliver that letter to Lord Bel directly. You are to place it in his hands, and no one else’s.”

“It will be done, Lady Baalphegor.”

“Good.” She smiled, and turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. Next to her, the attendant still stood in the same spot she’d been all along, gaze low. Had he paid attention to her, he may have noticed brown eyes peering at him from beneath a curtain of dark hair, but all his attention was for Duchess Baalphegor as she spoke again, without turning. “And, Raphael?”

“My lady?”

“... You’ll find Lord Bel to be a fine strategist, and a reasonable creature. Use your time at the Bronze Citadel well. If you prove an asset, he’ll treat you as one.”

Rather than as cannon fodder, the unspoken part went; Raphael understood that all too well. “I’ll keep it well in mind, Lady Baalphegor. You have my deepest gratitude,” he said, bowing his head once again. Then the door closed and he was again alone, a sealed envelope in hand and some hope that he may, perhaps, yet survive his service in Avernus.

***

“... And thus I came to find you, to give Raphael this token of Lord Bel’s support and see what I can do to ensure he doesn’t get too horribly mangled in the process of helping you see this mission through. You’re all very welcome. That was by far the worst welcome party I’ve ever had, I must say.”

“That may be because you’re not welcome, incubus. At all.”

“Oh, I’m sure you don't mean it.”

Yurgir snorted. “Believe me, I do,” he replied, only to be utterly ignored by Haarlep. They looked over at Durge instead, and grinned. 

“Ah, I have a few more reviews on your form! I wrote them aaaaall down. Didn’t bring the records with me, unfortunately. Would you like to hear the gist of it?”

“No, thank you,” Astarion snapped, in a way that clearly suggested he meant to give absolutely no thanks. Haarlep tilted their head.

“It’s mostly good reviews.”

“They said no. ”

“They didn’t say anything. You said no.”

“I’d also rather not know. And I’d rather we drop the subject now,” Durge replied, putting a calming hand on Astarion’s shoulder. He glared at the incubus, but he eventually let out a long breath and turned away, back to Yurgir as he spoke again. 

“So, you’re going for Zariel this time? Could have mentioned that.”

Astarion made a face. “Ah, that. We figured it was on a need-to-know basis.”

A scoff. “I won’t go running my mouth. If you can take down Zariel, then she isn’t fit to rule Avernus and Bel may as well get another shot at it. I won’t be the one to get in your way.”

“I know you wouldn’t tell on us, buddy. Just figured it could put you in a shitty position if we got caught, is all,” Karlach pointed out, patting his back. For all her disdain for devils in general - something Wyll couldn’t help but share, to be honest - she seemed to rather like the orthon. He could see why: it was difficult not to like someone who could take a bloody defeat with a shrug, and return it with unwavering respect.

Yurgir stared a moment, and barked out a laugh. “Are you concerned for my safety now?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a mortal thing to do,” Karlach said with a shrug.

“Hah! No need. I can look after myself, and I will get Haruman out of your way tomorrow - push a big enough horde of demons by his hill, he won’t resist charging through it. The incubus can even make itself useful by letting you know when the way is clear.”

“Huh? Me?”

“Those wings aren’t just there to look pretty, are they? May as well use them to survey the ground from above and report back to them once I get Haruman out of the way.”

A smile, sultry as they come, a brief flick of their wings. “You think my wings are pretty?”

“No. Did you hear a single sentence past that?”

“Report back to them when the way is clear.”

“Mph. Good enough.”

Haarlep nodded. “Well then, consider me well and truly at your service. Tell me what to do, and it will be done. And I am sure you have questions - I’ll be happy to answer all those I can answer at present. But first, I’d like to see how my former master is faring.”

“He’s sleeping upstairs. You may want to try and convince him not to take unnecessary risks. The duel came close to killing him,” Halsin said, entirely ignoring Yurgir’s snort that it hadn’t been close enough. “He only has half a soul. I don’t know if a scroll or spell of resurrection would work on someone in his state. I am not eager to find out the hard way.”

The incubus seemed amused at the request. They seemed amused by just about everything. “I’ll see what I can do,” was all they said, and headed upstairs, Bel’s horn still in their hands.

***

One thing Haarlep had always liked about Raphael’s human form was how small it was compared to the one they wore. It was easy to move, to pick up and bend into all sorts of delightful ways; the skin was so thin, easy to mark and break, and it always flushed so nicely under their ministrations. They always made sure to both mock and praise all those things, loudly, each time they bedded him. Raphael wore that form as often as his other one in bed; perhaps more, come to think of it, especially when he wanted to feel small. 

For someone who loomed so large outside the boudoir, that happened remarkably often.

Haarlep had tried taking his human form, once. And only once, because seeing them wearing it had sent Raphael in a fit of screaming rage such as they’re rarely seen. It wasn’t often that they paid any heed to his threats to draw and quarter them, but that one time it had felt dangerously like he might, after all, go through with it. 

Curious, that. Raphael had never expressed discomfort about his human form; even if it was not the one he celebrated in those tacky portraits of himself, even as he said time and time again it was only meant to put mortals at ease, Haarlep always got the feeling he quite liked it. Yet he did not want to see Haarlep wear it, and had forbidden them to use it, ever.

In a way, he seemed strangely possessive of it - one form he’d hold onto and never surrender even to them. It had made them wonder, sometimes, which form he considered the true disguise. Haarlep was no stranger to disguises, of course. Yet beneath all the glamorous they had collected there was a form that few had ever seen, but which they knew was entirely and unequivocally their own. For Raphael, and all cambions, it was not so. Both forms were his own, which meant that neither truly was if one were to overthink it. And Raphael spent most of his time doing just that - overthinking.

With a sigh, Haarlep set down Bel’s horn next to Raphael’s bedroll and sat on the floor, reaching over to smooth back his hair. It caused him to stir, mumbling something. When he opened his eyes, he still seemed dazed. No wonder, that: a human taking on an orthon alone crossed the line between foolishness and suicidal ideation. And yet there he was, still recovering but alive. 

“Haarlep?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, and they smiled.

“You look well, my little brat. For someone who fought an orthon, that is.”

“How…?”

“The sending stone I left with you on our last meeting, remember?” Haarlep reminded him, and pulled back their hand. Or tried to, because Raphael reached up to grasp their sleeve, and struggled to lift himself on an elbow. Something had yet to heal, clearly, because he stilled with a groan. Haarlep sighed, and reached over to pull him on their lap, cradling him with arms and wings. “There. Be still now.”

Raphael let out a long breath, resting his head against Haarlep’s shoulder. They expected him to ask what they were doing there, demand an explanation of what was truly going on, but he asked something entirely different.

“The debtor who aided my escape,” he murmured, eyes already slipping shut. “Who is she?”

Ah. Well. Now that was unexpected. Haarlep paused a moment before they chuckled, leaning their chin on top of Raphael’s head. “If out of all the questions you must have on your mind that’s what you ask first, I suspect you already know.”

“Tell me.”

“... Yes. She is your mother.”

A long breath. “Is she still-- is she well?”

“As well as one can be as a debtor in Mephistar. She’s watching over your other half. She’s grown fond of him, if you can believe that. She calls him Israfel, and he responds to it.”

“Impossible. I killed him” Raphael murmured, clearly already sinking back into sleep. Or unconsciousness - hard to tell the difference. “He was weak and I ended him.”

“You’re talking more nonsense than usual, pet. Quite a feat.”

A grumble, but he didn’t protest. He only opened his eyes, or tried to. Haarlep could feel the eyelids fluttering against the side of their neck. “Lie to me,” he murmured. 

Ah, that. Not an uncommon order, back when he owned them. Usually uttered once they were done servicing him, as he lay spent and boneless on the mattress. Now that they were no longer sworn to Raphael, they could refuse. Still, old habits were very hard to kill. 

“Oh, with pleasure. I just love your blazer,” they said, and waited for the usual scoff at the impertinence. Yet, the puff of air against their neck felt almost like a silent chuckle. Haarlep blinked, faintly wondering what they’d given him to dull the pain.

“I despise it.”

“Not your style, I have to admit. Clothes as a whole don’t flatter you. I like you best naked.”

“That is not a lie.”

“Ah, are we still doing that? Very well. What do you want me to lie about?”

“You know,” Raphael murmured, in that quiet voice that they only ever heard in the boudoir before - that voice of his that pleaded without pleading. 

Of course Haarlep knew what he wanted to hear. It all always came back to the one lie they told best. And for what was perhaps the millionth time they decided to indulge him, pressing their lips against his hair before speaking it, just as his eyes fell shut again.

“I love you,” Haarlep said. There was no response, and they had no idea whether Raphael had even heard them before he fell back in a deep sleep, but to be honest it didn’t matter. 

They’d have more chances to lie to him. It was their second greatest talent, after all.

***

“Lord Bel. This one says he was sent by Duchess Baalphegor, to deliver a message.”

This one has a name, Raphael thought, but did not speak. At the heart of the Bronze Citadel, surrounded by at least a dozen fortified rings positively crawling with armed devils, Raphael knew it was best not to speak unless spoken to. So he kept silent, head respectfully bowed before the throne where Lord Bel sat in the least regal pose possible, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees to better peer down at him.

Up to that moment, Raphael had only heard tales of the Lord of the First. If other archdukes were somewhat dismissive of him, there were few devils in the Hells who did not dream of doing precisely what he had done - climb all the ranks, from a lemure borne of a mortal soul all the way up to pit fiend, coming to rule Avernus through his own skill and victories.

And, well, some betrayal against his predecessor. But that went without saying, in Baator.

When Bel spoke, his voice was a guttural rumble. Massive and covered in crimson red scales, cut a fearsome figure. “A message? And what it may be?”

Raphael bowed. “I do not know, Lord Bel. I was not to open the seal, and I did not,” he said, pulling out the letter. “I was instructed to deliver this to you personally.”

The archdevil’s flaming eyes narrowed as he looked at the seal. Then, he smiled. Green, steaming venom covered his fangs. “Very well. You can give it to my guard,” he said, gesturing to the armed erinyes standing around them. One of them stepped forward, holding out a hand, and Raphael stepped back. 

“... My apologies, Lord Bel. I was instructed to deliver this letter in your hands only.”

“And I am instructing you to hand it over to my guard. Are you going to obey or not, Canian?”

Raphael bit his tongue, mentally cursing every deity whose existence he was aware of plus a couple more he made up for the occasion. It was plain as day that he was being tested, but whether Bel wanted him to show obedience to him or prove he didn’t waver from an order, he did not know. He had to make a guess, and hope it was the correct one. 

“... Forgive me, sir. I may only leave the letter in your own hands, and no one else’s.”

There was a long, heavy silence. The erinyes who had stepped forward did not move away, and her hand rested on the pommel of her sword; Bel stared at him for several moments, saying nothing. Then, he laughed. It felt sudden and loud as the crack of thunder. “Hah! At ease, Oreasha. You, what is your name?”

Raphael breathed out before he replied. “Raphael, your lordship.”

“Well  then, Raphael,” Bel said, holding out a hand, palm up. “Here’s my hand. You may place Duchess Baalphegor’s letter in it.”

The letter exchanged hands, and Raphael watched in silence as Bel opened it, the seal disappearing in black smoke. He watched him read, then pause; both his eyebrows went up, and his eyes flickered up to look at Raphael before he resumed reading. That the letter spoke of him was an easy enough guess; not knowing exactly what it said set him on edge.

For all I know, she wants me dead and I’ve just given Bel the order to end me. 

He couldn’t think of any reason why she’d wish him dead, but he could think of no reason why she’d help him either. The intrigues going on in the court of Mephistar made even his most elaborate deals with mortals look no more impressive than the theft of eggs out of a chicken coop, and now he was caught up in it, hapless as a mortal. What if--

“Well. Never thought I’d see the day a son of Mephistopheles would grace my halls,” Bel muttered, and the letter in his hands went up in flames with a gesture. Raphael knew better than to try asking precisely what the letter said, and he just bowed his head.

“My parentage is irrelevant. I was sent to serve you, and serve you I shall. If you’ll let me.”

A rumbling laugh, and the Lord of the First stood. He towered over Raphael, over every guard in the room. He gestured for the erinyes to stay put, and stepped past Raphael. “Walk with me, child of Mephisto,” he said. Raphael followed him, through hallways and onto a balcony. 

The Bronze Citadel had few of the lavish luxuries of Mephistar, but it was to be expected. Unlike Cania, Avernus was one immense battlefield; the Citadel was more fortress than palace. From the balcony Raphael could see the barren land beyond the fortified rings, the watchtowers against a burning sky.  “Had you been to Avernus before, Raphael?” Bel asked.

“Only in passing, my Lord.”

The Lord of the First nodded, and gestured to the landscape. “That’s the Styx. Every day, along the River of Blood, demons breach our barriers and pour in from the Abyss. Every day, we repel their attacks. Do you know how many devils are in all the Nine Hells?”

“No, sir.”

“Too many to count. Some will tell you it means infinite, but they’d be wrong. We are not infinite; however, demons are or come damn close to it. Their strength is in numbers - we cannot hope to match that - so I turn away none who’s willing to serve. It would be foolish. And while I do not partake in the political maneuvering your father and his peers are so fond of, I am no fool.”

“... Yet for all their numbers, Avernus has never fallen into demon hands.”

“All that keeps them from spilling in the layers beneath and onto other Planes is that they are mindless hordes. We fight back viciously, and we fight well, but advantage is strategy.” He turned, nodding towards something. A huge table, it seemed… until Raphael approached and saw it was a map of Avernus. Miniature figures representing armies and demonic hordes moved across it, no doubt mimicking the movement on the ground at that very moment. 

Lord Bel approached, placing a hand on the edge of the map. “You’re no soldier.”

“... I can hold my own in a fight. I can--”

“You will not be kept from the battlefield, obviously. Inexperience in battle makes for poor strategists. But I’d rather you play on your strengths instead of trying to prove a point. A sharp blade can slaughter demons; a sharp mind ensures their armies are kept at bay.” Bel gestured widely at the map, at the miniature armies moving across it. “I told you, strategy is everything. Lady Baalphegor says you’re a good learner. So for now watch, and learn. ”

And so he did.

***

“So, there is some sort of plot going on in Cania, and it concerns Raphael in some way - hence why his human half was smuggled out of Mephistar.”

“Yes.”

“But you cannot tell us, or him, what it is yet. Or who’s involved.”

“Precisely. My lips are quite literally sealed.”

Wyll nodded. “I am not unfamiliar with that sort of predicament,” he conceded. “Anyway, there is a different plot to get Zariel out of the way that involves both the previous Archduke of Avernus and Mizora, who in turn ordered me to see it through--”

“Correct again. You are her favorite warlock, from what I’ve heard.”

Wyll made a face. “A dubious honor.”

“I’d be happy to be her favorite anything,” Haarlep sighed, gaining themself a slightly baffled look from Wyll and a groan from Karlach. 

“Eugh,” she said, causing Haarlep to shrug. 

“There’s no accounting for taste, darling. Which is to say, yours is clearly unaccounted fo--”

“Back to the subject at hand,” Halsin cut them off before they got too sidetracked, “you said Raphael was not supposed to get mixed up with the business about Zariel.”

“No. But as he did get mixed up , it was decided it would make a fine test. If he doesn’t survive this mission, it means he never had any hope of accomplishing anything in Cania in the first place, so it wouldn’t be much of a loss.”

“How delightful,” Raphael muttered. Rest, potions and healing spells had restored him to full health, but he was still frowning as they hiked their way up the hill. Haruman’s Hill, although there was no Haruman in sight. There was no one in sight, Durge noted, demon or devil. Somewhere in the distance, west of where they stood, they heard the sounds of a battle.

As though reading Durge’s thoughts, Astarion looked around before speaking. “... Well, this was a lot easier than I thought it’d be. Yurgir wasn’t joking when he said he’d get everyone in a mile radius out of our way.”

Karlach grinned. “Of course he wasn’t. He’s a devil of his word,” she said, causing Wyll to chuckle and Raphael to scoff. 

“Oh, I thought you couldn’t stand devils,” Wyll said. 

“I beg to differ, given how he turned on me despite the perfectly generous agreement we had in place,” Raphael muttered.

Karlach shrugged at both arguments. “What can I say, I like the guy. He’s the one shining exception.”

“Am I not an exception?” Haarlep asked, turning to her with something remarkably close to a pout on their-- well, Raphael’s face. “I was really good at this entire scouting thing. Came back to tell you the way was clear right away.”

Karlach let out a hum, as though considering. “Eh, maybe if you change your face to that of someone less insufferable,” she conceded. Again, her words caused Raphael to scoff. 

“Puerile as her comment is, it would be wise to take a different form, Haarlep,” he muttered. “Most denizens of the Hells are not familiar with my human form, but the one you’re wearing is more widely known. If someone sees it and news that I still live spreads, all of the bounty hunters of the Nine Hells would be looking to capture me and drag me back to Cania in chains.”

Haarlep to shrugged. “On the bright side, my pet, it wouldn't be all that bad.”

“No?”

“You look delightful in chains,” they replied, causing Durge to nearly choke on the water they were drinking from their flask and everyone else to disguise their laughter as coughing fits with… varying degrees of success. Raphael scowled. 

“Once I'm whole again,” he snapped, “my very first act will be ripping out that insolent tongue of yours."

"Of course it will," was the response, not in the slightest concerned, and Durge could tell that did gain them a few points with Karlach… which were then promptly lost when Haarlep chose to take Durge’s form, of all forms. This time, at least, they were wearing clothes. “How about this one, pet? Last time I visited you, I did notice--”

“No!” Raphael barked, so suddenly it caused nearly everyone else to recoil. He looked furious, skin flushed. “Another form, incubus. Now.”

“I do quite like--”

“He said now, ” Astarion snapped, and Haarlep sighed, rolling their - Durge’s - eyes. 

“Very well, if you must all be so dramatic,” they muttered, and changed back into a different devil - tall and with ivory-pale skin, hollow black eyes and an equally black mustache. The horns were on the smaller side, but the wings were admittedly impressive. “There. How about-- huh. Raphael? Are you well?”

Raphael was, quite obviously, not well. He’d stopped in his tracks as though struck, and his jaw clenched before he spoke, his voice tight. “How-- when… ?” he asked, only to scowl and shake his head when Haarlep opened their mouth to reply. “No, don’t. Just change. I hardly think that the Justiciar of Cania is a fitting choice to go unnoticed,” he ground out. 

Whatever the problem was, it was obviously not just that; still, Haarlep asked no questions and changed form again. This time it was a rather nondescript devil with a bluish tint to their skin, who might have passed for a large tiefling if not for the wings. “How about this one?”

“... Suitable,” was all Raphael said, and for the rest of the hike he remained silent, gaze locked dead ahead of him. 

Only as they got to the top of the hill and prepared to cross - Haarlep by flight, the rest of them through dimension door spells - did Durge approach him to speak. “Are you well?”

Raphael glanced back at them, and turned away just as quickly. “... It was not my intention to cause a scene. It’s ancient history; Bele was no justiciar back then. He got his claws in me when I was still foolish enough to slip up, and was quick to report that slip to my father. I was hoping to never have the displeasure of looking at that face again, that's all. I will admit that knowing he had Haarlep as they wore my form does not precisely delight me.”

“Would you like us to kill him when we get to Mephistar?” Astarion called out, searching through the scrolls they’d brought for the one he needed to cross over with Halsin. “It can be arranged for a fee. A small one. Call it a friends discount.”

For a moment, Raphael stared. Then, his lips curled upwards. “Careful, spawn. I might decide to hold you to your word.”

“Oh, please do,” Astarion said, and grinned at Durge, grabbing Halsin’s arm and holding up the scroll he needed for the spell. “See you on the other side,” he called out, and within moments they were gone, reappearing down below, joining the others already on the opposite bank of the Styx. 

“Well, only us left,” Durge said, and placed a hand on Raphael’s shoulder, preparing to cast. Before they could, however, Raphael spoke again.

“... Your concern is unwarranted. I do appreciate the offer to kill him, however.”

Durge smiled. “Do feel free to hold us to our word, if we cross paths with this Bele. No fee required. I am the Chosen of Bhaal no more, but I remain rather good at killing people.”

“You failed to kill me.” 

“And I am glad,” Durge admitted, giving Raphael’s shoulder a squeeze before they cast the dimension door spell. And perhaps it was only their imagination, but for a moment they thought they’d felt Raphael leaning against them a little more heavily than strictly necessary.

***

“So. Are you going to tell me what that was about, my pet?”

“I am your nothing. And I owe you no explanation.”

“Justiciar Bele did seem to have it in for you. It took me a bit to recover last ti--”

“Be quiet.”

Raphael had ordered Haarlep to be quiet many times before; it had never quite shut them up, really. But sometimes it gave them pause and this was one such time. Still, they did not leave: they sat back, watching Raphael tune his lyre at the entrance of the cave they had found refuge in while, further inside, their companions were setting up a small camp.

Finally, they sighed. “I tried to offer other forms, truly. He would not change his mind and I had no intention to raise any suspicion."

“Like you ever needed an excuse to spite me,” Raphael muttered, but he couldn’t bring himself to put much venom in the words. “... I consider the matter closed. Don’t bring it up again.”

“As you wish, my little brat.” Another pause, then, “... You know, back in the House of Hope, the handsome dragonborn over there also asked specifically for your likeness--”

“Agh!”

Raphael’s hand slipped and the unforgiving string he was testing cut into the pad of his finger. He snatched up the wounded hand with a hiss and a curse. “Will you be quiet!” he snapped, trying his best to pretend the cut was the only reason why his voice had almost cracked for a moment. 

Still wearing the likeness of some devil Raphael had never met, Haarlep tilted their head and reached over to take Raphael’s hand. He offered no resistance, only looking away as they brought the wounded finger to their mouth to place a kiss on the cut, then on his palm. To Raphael’s annoyance, it still made his breath catch a moment. He really couldn’t win with that creature, could he?

“You should be more careful, my pet,” they purred against his skin. “This form of yours gets hurt easily, and I promised your mother I’d keep you safe.”

His mother. He hadn’t thought of her existence in the longest time, until the beginning of that entire charade, as though Mephistopheles had made him out of thin air. And now the thought of her haunted him as it did when he was young, as it had haunted her husband.

“I don’t understand. What’s in it for her?”

“I suppose that at first, it was to spite Mephistopheles. Spite is a powerful motivator, no? You always said so. But to be honest, now she’s rather more concerned about you.”

Raphael scoffed. “She doesn’t even know me,” he muttered.

She was in Mephistar all along, and never once sought me out.

“She knows your other half, at least. Seems fond of it.” A shrug. “And besides, humans are odd like that. How many souls did you get that way? So many mortals with unremarkable or even unlikeable children, and yet willing to part with their own souls for no reason but that they loved the bones of them.”

“Mph. Insolent as ever.” Raphael frowned, and cast a quick healing spell on his wounded finger before he resumed tuning the lyre. Her lyre. Maybe he ought to return it to her, once all was said and done. He’d hand it over and say… what could he even say to her?

“Enough with the frowning, my pet. I always told you it would give you wrinkles, and heeere they are,” Haarlep sing-sang, reaching over to rub two fingers over the creases of Raphael’s scowl. Still, when they pulled him close to rest against their chest and folded both wings around him, he did not resist. “Besides, she knows of you.”

“Of course she heard--”

“I told her a lot of things about you. Entirely too much, maybe. She did ask me to stop.”

Ah, he could imagine precisely the kind of things they’d have told her. Raphael groaned. “You despicable creature,” he ground out, only for Haarlep to lean in and kiss the bridge of his nose, right where it always wrinkled in anger. 

“Ah, I could have done worse - I could have shown her. Alas, she was obviously not interested…”

Raphael scowled. “I despise you.”

“No, you don’t,” they informed him, and kissed the scowl again. “You want to hate me, of course. But you never managed to do that.”

Raphael may have hated them for being correct, if not for the fact that they were indeed correct. He’d felt disdain and annoyance as well as anger, and many more emotions in-between, but true hatred was reserved to few beings indeed and Haarlep, for all their valiant efforts, was not among them. “I find you infuriating,” he said instead, taking one last look at the lyre and giving it a soft strum to make sure it was tuned. 

Resting their chin on top of his head, Haarlep laughed. Their hand went down his chest, down his stomach; with their wings shielding them from sight, they placed a hand over Raphael’s groin. He shivered, and did not protest, when they palmed him through the fabric. “Of course you do,” Haarlep chuckled against his ear. “And you’re such a brat about i--”

“Hey, Raphael!” Astarion’s voice cut them off from the back of the cave. “Can you play that thing, or is it just for show? We need some music here!”

Raphael blinked, and turned to look. Haarlep pulled their hand away and helpfully lifted a wing out of the way to let them see what precisely was going on - a dance lesson, apparently. Ravengard seemed determined to show Karlach the ropes of some courtly dances, which in Raphael opinion didn’t fit her any more than they’d fit Yurgir, for the remarkable pirouettes he’d shown himself capable of the previous day. 

“I can do without,” Karlach protested, a good deal more flustered than she was trying to let by. The others were not joining the dance lesson, clearly, and were getting ready to enjoy the show instead. Astarion in particular, as he was grinning, draped over Durge’s lap with his head resting against Halsin’s thigh. 

“But it’s much easier with music to follow, trust me,” Ravengard exclaimed, already poised to start, a hand held out to her. He turned to glance back at Raphael over his shoulder. “Come on, I gave you the rapier that won you that duel. You owe me one!”

Raphael scoffed. “I owe you precisely nothing,” he muttered, but he sighed and leaned more comfortably against Haarlelp’s chest before he picked up the lyre again. “Very well. Let’s say I’m in a generous mood. What do you have in min--” 

“Oh! Do Three Thayvian Roses!” Astarion yelled, causing Karlach to laugh, any embarrassment forgotten. 

“No, no, do Down Another Tankard!”

“The Waiting Grave!”

“Juice of the Vine!”

"And That's Why You'll Hear Johnny Cryin'!"

“Absolutely none of those are any good for a courtly dance,” Ravengard protested, laughing, and turned back. “Come on, you’ve been around since before the fall of Netheril. You’ve got to know a good one.”

Raphael snorted. “I know more songs than you can hope to even name between all of you,” he informed him, and leaned back to start plucking at the strings. Indeed, suspected he knew more songs than humanity as a whole had ever written - too many to pick, and he let his fingers do the choosing. He closed his eyes and only when he recognized the tune did he begin to sing. 

“Alas, my love, you do me wrong, To cast me off discourteously For I have loved you well and long, Delighting in your company…”

It had been years since he’d performed that one, but of course he didn’t misremember a single word, didn’t miss a single note. It was not the type of music he’d compose himself, but there was a soothing quality to it. It was easy to let himself get lost in it. 

“Your vows you've broken, like my heart, Oh, why did you so enrapture me? Now I remain in a world apart But my heart remains in captivity…”

The words rang out in the utter silence inside the cave, and that was what finally startled him out of it - how quiet it was, no sound of shuffling steps, or stumbling, or whatever a barbarian would do while trying to dance. Raphael blinked his eyes open and turned to realize everyone was stock still, staring right back at him. Ravengard was still stuck in his bowing position, his hand held in mid-air; the tiefling was still standing precisely where she was before, jaw slack.

They all looked as though someone had cast a petrification spell while Raphael wasn't looking. Glancing upwards, he realized even Haarlep was staring down at him. He blinked again. “... Is something the matter?”

“Huh,” Karlach replied, not very brilliantly. 

“That’s-- well--” Ravengard echoed, not much more articulate. 

Sitting against the wall, the druid just stared in silence; his gaze seemed a million miles away. Beside him, Durge seemed to shake themself out of some sort of trance. “Good,” they managed. “That-- really good.”

“What my companions are trying and failing to say,” Astarion supplied helpfully, still on Durge’s lap, “is that you put every harpy who ever lived to shame, and we should find a way to bottle your voice and sell it. Is there a way? We should ask Gale if there is. We could split the profits.”

Haarlep laughed. “Oh, you never sang so prettily for me. Should I be jealous?” they asked, leaning in to nuzzle his neck before whispering, “I still enjoy your moans best.”

Raphael rolled his eyes, but made no attempt to pull away. “... I agreed to provide music for a courtly dance. I see no such dance happening,” he pointed out, causing Ravengard to recoil and immediately turn back to Karlach. 

“Ah, of course! I’m ready, I’m ready!”

Raphael sighed. “The time you’re making me waste,” he lamented, but he did pick up the lyre, and began to play anew. This time, he didn’t close his eyes right away. Ravengard and the tiefling did start to dance in a slow circle; to his surprise, she didn’t stumble on anything. Clearly, they had done it before; they kept their gazes fixed on one another, and smiled.

“Greensleeves was all my joy Greensleeves was my delight, Greensleeves was my heart of gold, And who but my lady Greensleeves…

Still sitting against the wall, the others were listening, eyes closed. Durge’s head seemed to sway a little at the music, as though they were getting lost in it. Raphael turned away, closing his eyes again. Beneath his head, Haarlep’s chest was a solid, warm pillow. He chose to only focus on that, on the strings beneath his fingers and the words coming unbidden to his tongue. No Cania, no Avernus, no Zariel or Mephistopheles.

For a time, there was nothing outside that one cave.

“I have been ready at your hand, To grant whatever you would crave, I have both wagered life and land, Your love and good-will for to have…”

*** Bards gonna bard. The song is a traditional English folk song called "Greensleeves". The author is unknown. Legend says it was written by Henry VIII for Anne Boleyn (that ended up great didn't it) but it's only a myth, as it was most likely composed some time after his death.

***

[Back to Chapter 15]

[On to Chapter 17]

[Back to Start]

[mikhailwrites]

Waiting for Connection 6 / Ghost x Soap NerdAU

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

Previous chapter | AO3

The London Underground during the rush hour is a particular kind of hell. Strangers squeeze together, trying their best not to step on each other’s feet or even look someone in the eye. Usually, they would stare at their cell phones, even if they had nothing to check or read, really. Ghost closes his eyes and tries to breathe through the discomfort and anxiety. It’s just a few stops, but it takes forever. Especially as more people pour in, a message repeated the thousandth time is broadcasted about minding the gap, followed by a “See something, say something” announcement. If he hears it one more time, Ghost swears, he will smash the speakers.

Should’ve taken the cab. If only it weren’t so bloody expensive. Just because Ghost has the money doesn’t mean he’s willing to pay stupid sums. He hates London. Absolutely and categorically. Too much noise, too much traffic, too costly, too many people.

The Blackfriars finally comes up, and Ghost squeezes through the people. The crowd carries him all the way to the surface, where he takes a lungful of fresh air. Or, well, air. Damp and smelling of exhaust fumes.

Thankfully, the pub’s not far, and Ghost is in no hurry. He strolls at a leisurely pace, avoiding main streets flooded by tourists and natives alike like the plague, using back alleys and narrow, dirty passages reeking of piss and stale lager, reminding him of home.

The pub he goes to is in one such back alley. It looks dirty and cheap, but once Ghost steps inside, it’s actually clean and nice. The furniture and design are dated in the right way to call it cosy. There are a lot of people, but it’s curiously quiet and as far as Ghost can tell, no tourists.

Ghost comes up to the bar. “I’ve got a reservation. Name’s Garrick,” he tells the woman, who checks something he cannot see before she nods and points to a small table in the corner. There’s already someone sitting there. The baseball cap is a dead giveaway.

“Fancy meeting you here, Lieutenant Garrick,” Ghost claps Gaz’s shoulder when he walks up to him as if they met by chance. Gaz jerks and turns around quickly. Gaz always had impeccable impulse control. Better than Ghost, for sure. If their places were switched, Simon would probably try to flip Gaz over the shoulder and onto the table. As it is, Ghost smiles as he removes the medical mask he wears in public and sits down. “So, how are you?”

 Kyle rolls his eyes but smirks. “Oh, cut the crap, Ghost, we both know you wouldn’t come to London to catch up with me.” Ghost takes a breath to object, but Kyle continues before he can speak up. “Or… not just to catch up with me. So, what is it? Need help getting rid of a body?”

Ghost snorts, and Gaz grins, catching a waiter’s eye and gesturing for two pints.

“No. But you’re right, I have a favour to ask,” Ghost admits. He was never one for beating around the bush. “Got a callsign, let’s see what can you tell me about it?”

“Bloody hell, Ghost, I don’t know every soldie…,”

Ghost doesn’t even let him finish. “Soap.”

Gaz promptly shuts up and stays silent for half a minute, precisely when their beers arrive. Ghost hands the waiter a ten-pound note. Gaz waits until the waiter retreats before he speaks up. “Right, I guess I do know about this one. How do you know him?”

“Coincidence, met him online,” Ghost answers truthfully.

“Online? Like a dating app or assassins for hire?” Gaz feigns shock but can barely keep it up.

“A video game, Gaz, Christ,” Ghost shakes his head as he takes the glass and downs half of it in one go.

“Alright, alright. Just taking the piss, mate. Seriously, though, there’s not much I can tell you.”

That’s a peculiar choice of words on Gaz’s side. He didn’t say he doesn’t know the lad; he said he can’t tell Ghost much. Meaning he knows a shit load but can’t speak about it. “I understand. I have some tips, so… just nod if I’m right?”

“Alright.”

“Sergeant?”

Gaz nods.

“Fits. I know he’s good, but is he more than good?”

Another nod.

“Marines?”

That gets a first shake.

“Not the Marines? Then that means he’s pretty daring, isn’t he?” he looks at Gaz expectantly. Gaz nods.

“Really? Interesting. One of yours?”

“Ghost,” Gaz warns.

“I know, had to try,” Ghost smiles.

Gaz sighs and shakes his head before his lips also curl in a smile. “What I can tell you is that he’s not only good at his job but a good man, too. I can see why you’d like him.”

“It’s not… we’re not…,” Ghost says hastily, panic clear in his voice.

“Relax, Simon,” Gaz says, taking a swing from his glass, “you’ve changed, you know...” When he sees the disagreement written all over Ghost’s face, he continues. “I think it’s good. You’re… you seem fine. Content.”

Ghost jerks a little at the sound of his name coming from Gaz. It took him months to get used to being called Simon, but for Gaz, he’s always been Ghost. Not anymore, apparently. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. Maybe Gaz is right. Simon has changed, and it’s not a bad thing.

“Guess I am,” Simon muses, looking around at all those civilians. Technically, he’s one, too, but in reality, there will always be the matter of his past etched into his very existence. He’s been a soldier for so long, but that’s not all he’s been.

Maybe it’s time he remembered.

[selfindulgentfandomstuff]

Violent Psychopath + Abnormal Psychologist = Loving Relationship?

CHAPTER 2: MURDOC

———

Fandom: CBS MacGyver (2016 reboot)

Pairing: Murdoc x Emmett Becker (fan character)

CW: killing mentions, violence mentions, shooting mentions, general morbidity associated with a character like Murdoc (especially since it’s written from his pov)😭

———

See, I wasn’t planning on falling in love. Hell, I didn’t even know that was something I was capable of. I never had been one for abandoning my job for romance- unlike my mentor, Mr. Helman. No, I was always one for the hunt, and well, the very violent kill too, but that’s besides the point. My point being: I didn’t think I would ever fall in love. With anybody.

And yet there they were. Sitting across from me, aimlessly rambling about something or another. I wasn’t really listening that closely at the time. Truth be told, I was far more interested in memorizing the details of their face. I do that sometimes. Memorize people’s faces, that is. I like to remember what their features look like with the terror of impending death etched in on them. It's cathartic, really.

But it’s different with Emmett. I don’t wanna see their facial features contorted with fear. Ever. Sure I would tease them a bit, yea, but that’s only because they’re awfully cute when they blush. No, I don’t want to hurt or even really scare Emmett. I really truly don’t. Which is weird for me. Exceedingly weird. Seeing as I just totally adore hurting people. If you haven’t already gathered, I have a particularly nasty case of antisocial personality disorder. I’m a complete nutcase, actually.

But here’s the catch; not only do I not want to hurt this person, but I even enjoy their company. I find myself looking forward to their visits. And oh have I been indulged… Emmett used to visit once a week as mandated by my imprisonment at the behest of the Phoenix Foundation. But soon it was upped to twice a week. Now, they’ve been coming in every day, much to my delight. I still haven’t figured out why.

Today, as I tuned back into the conversation, I realized, Emmett was telling me about how they very nearly went into physics as a career, thanks to their interest in astronomy and astrophysics. I almost let slip that I was glad they didn’t, y’know, because if they had, well I would likely have never met them. Luckily for me, they didn’t seem to notice my near slip-up. Or if they did, they allowed me the dignity of letting it pass unnoticed.

It made me wonder though, if I’d ever tell them. I really didn’t know. I mean, what does one say in a situation like this? ‘Hey, I know I’m a lethal assassin-now prisoner at federal supermax prison and you’re only here to psychoanalyze me but I might be in love with you?’ Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. Really and truly though, I knew I couldn’t handle the blow of rejection on top of being imprisoned. I had to at least get out first. Then, at least then, if I told Emmett and got brutally rejected, well, then I could turn back to my favorite hobby: shooting people.

It occurred to me, I really should make a plan to escape. I mean, I had the aforementioned motivation but also, my son, Cassian. When would I ever see him again? And would he find out what I did for a living? I couldn’t let that happen. So I had double motivation to get out.

And so I did. I got out. It was the most fun I’d had in a long time, killing those guards.

I hadn’t wanted to leave Emmett in the dark. I’d wanted to tell them, let them know where I was going, say goodbye in case things went awry by some odd mistaken chance. But I didn’t. Because, honestly, let’s be real, if you were a psychopathic murderer cooped up in supermax, would you tell your therapist you were trying to escape? Yea, no, I didn’t either.

But, of course, things went according to plan. I faked my death, killed the guard by my door (and several more along the way) and made my hasty escape from federal prison.

If only I could escape my own feelings towards that psychologist so easily. I still had that to contend with of course. I decided, however, that this would be my first course of action: pay Emmett a little visit…

———

Woooo same deal as the previous one!! I’ll go back and link the previous and following chapters later!!

Previous chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/selfindulgentfandomstuff/757376610766864384/violent-psychopath-abnormal-psychologist

Next chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/selfindulgentfandomstuff/757379545299107840/violet-psychopath-abnormal-psychologist-loving

[ennissg]

If nobody else asked them yet 3 and 8 for the asks?

I got the exact 3 and 8 ask for A’mos but since you didn’t specify which durge I’m gonna ramble about Dr. Vrach this time if that’s ok, I just think about both of them a lot🙏

Based on this ask. (also ty for creating it! And additionaly thank you for making it not romance specific!) While this is technically durgetash I wanna specify that it is strictly platonic between these two. Tho, I’d argue this doesn’t make their bond less unhinged. It might make it worse actually?

3. What did Durge think of the little wannabe Tyrant at the beginning? Someone competent or someone who tries really quite hard?

For this I hc they met way before Gortash even became a banite, before he was sold to Raphael even. Dr. Vrach never forgets a face, just like he never forgot the face of a certain lower city cobbler’s kid who tried to pickpocket him once but got away bc he couldn’t snatch a child in broad daylight with multiple witnesses, nor could he be bothered, when he wants to keep appearances as a well-meaning doctor. 

He is getting into his 120s when they meet a second time, both being a wizard and a demigod he was able to extend his lifespan way above what an average human has and he has full intent on going as long as he needs to bring his father’s rule and achieve lichdom himself. So, when he sees Gortash again, 10-15 years later, having successfully resurrected the cult of Bane in Baldur’s Gate and strolling over to the living(for now) flesh and blood of Bhaal for an alliance? Oh, he was intrigued to say the least. A man forged in the hells, fostered by tyranny, with an unstoppable drive for progress and absolutely no limits as to what is ethical  - what a terrifying combination for a human to have. What an amazing opportunity to observe this brilliant mind, he would’ve dissected his brain if it didn’t kill him instantly, too. He saw so much potential in Gortash, potential he could help him realize. Dr. Vrach instantly became invested in his work, he wanted to become his mentor, to teach him how much more death he can bring into this realm if he only had more knowledge.

And Gortash, finally getting that older nurturing figure in his life? Finally getting his talents not only recognised but encouraged and cultivated? Yeah, he didn't get an assassin for hire, he got a free uncle who's always elbow deep in gore and likes to call ghouls his "colleagues".

8. Both Gortash and Durge are sadistic little gremlins, so when it comes down to it, who's better at torture? And did they make a competition out of it?

Absolute torture olympics at the Iron Throne all day every day for these two. And, unfortunately, no judge survived to keep the score but it is definitely in Dr. Vrach’s favour. He is always up for “research” and there is no end to lucky participants in his very ethical humanoid trials™ as well as his lifetime experience as a necromancer and a self proclaimed medical professional. Sometimes he’d like to see how many organs a person really needs to stay alive, sometimes he’d try to turn someone’s skin inside out all in the name of curiosity of course. It's edutainment to him. Magic certainly helps to keep them alive longer, he’s not interested in seeing the limit of an average person, he wants to see the limit. Period. How much can one’s body endure before its soul is released to the Gods? How far can you go past organic matter? It was a regular Unit 731 when they got together. 

There isn’t much of a difference between Dr. Vrach’s research and torture though, so it’s hard to tell at times.