#if it was the other way around and this happened to merc he’d change his tune real quick

[muncedes]

“how can you even dare trying to talk bad about an event that sets the new standards to everything?”

the standards in question

[karenk06ontblr]

The Merc's Instant Death By Gang Tickling

Shared this on Deviantart the other day. I don't usually write other people's characters like this, but seeing as the community is here, why not? Originally a gift for @lovemybluebully

Contains MMMM/M tickle torture (and swearing).

Note: Some SPOILERS for Spider-Man: No Way Home & Deadpool and Wolverine. This is your official warning.

“Logan? Al? Anyone home?” Deadpool called out in greeting as he let himself into the apartment, still dressed in full costume. “Ugh! What a day. First, I had to try three different stores before someone had the kibble Dogpool likes-”

“We’ve got company.” Logan interrupted from where he leaned casually against a desk.

Deadpool paused in the doorway and looked up to see three figures watching him expectantly from the den of their small apartment. The place felt cramped on a good day, but with three Spider-mans and a Logan all collectively waiting for him, the place felt downright claustrophobic. Deadpool hesitated there on the threshold, before entering and shutting the door behind him.

“Webhead…s!” He called cheerily, putting on his best casual voice. “It’s so cool to finally meet you, mask-to-mask. Actually, I’ve been looking for-”

“We know.” One of the Spider-mans said bluntly. Deadpool couldn’t tell them apart. They were all in full costume like him.

“Right! Yeah!”

“When word gets around that a deadly mercenary is after one of us, we notice.” Another Spidey spoke up.

“What? No, no! It’s not like that!” Deadpool protested. It was then that he happened to look up and froze. He was grateful the mask kept everyone from seeing the way he turned deathly pale. Even so, Logan seemed to notice the change in him and straightened so they were standing next to each other.

Deadpool whirled, throwing open the door, “I just remembered I have a fight scheduled with that new Iron-Doom-guy! You know how it is with the MCU. Wouldn’t want me to let everyone down, would you? Duty calls!”

He was just through the doorway when Logan caught him by the arm. “Wade, these guys have been waiting for you for ages. Where’re you going?”

Deadpool was already reaching for his trusty Baby Knife with his free hand. He didn’t need that other arm, anymore. It was a stupid arm. He’d grow back a better one.

“What about your rule about not bleeding in the apartment?” Logan tried again.

“I’m not the one in the apartment, Peanut. You are!”

“What’s got you all freaked out?”

“I saw the title of this thing!” Deadpool groaned. His whole arm? It was such a waste!

Logan reached out to stop him from using Baby Knife. “You’re ridiculous!”

“What are your intentions with Peter 3?” One of the Spider-mans interrupted behind them.

Deadpool paused, “You mean-he’s here?” Stupid. Of course he was! All three of the MCU Spider-mans were watching him from the den. His gaze drifted between the three of them, trying to pick out which was which. Couldn’t they wear numbers or something?

He craned his head to get another look at the title, but it hadn’t changed. With a weary groan, he sheathed Baby Knife and didn’t fight it when Logan pulled him back inside and shut the door.

All he needed to do was make sure the situation didn’t escalate to where the title happened. He could do this. Deadpool was great at de-escalation.

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK…

He swallowed, trying not to let on how flustered he was. “Intentions? No intentions! Pinky-swear!” His boots didn’t let on that he was crossing his toes. “It’s just- I- The costume!” He settled on. “It’s just such an iconic shade of red, you know? Like mine? I-I wanted to know how he made it look so vivid! Maybe give me some pointers. No offense, but it’s the best of the Spidey suits.”

For a moment, no one answered him. Logan was staring at him with the bewildered and stupefied expression he wore sometimes when Wade accidentally got a special guest star killed.

Then one of the Spideys leaned forward, “And which suit is that?”

Deadpool stared hard at one Spider-man. Then the next. Then the next. Then he returned to the first one again-

“Told ya he’d never give you a straight answer.” Logan grunted, shaking his head.

Another Spidey sighed and aimed his wrists, “Right. Plan B.”

“WHOA! HOLD ON! H-HOLD ON!” Deadpool cried, his hands up in surrender. But it was too late. Webbing shot across the room and wrapped around his torso, trapping his arms at his sides. He staggered before toppling awkwardly to the floor, landing on his back. He struggled to get back on his feet as they surrounded him.

Logan reached him first, straddling him with a smirk. Deadpool wasn’t surprised. Plan B was probably his idea – payback for all the times Wade snuck up and got him.

He thrashed against the webs, struggling desperately, but his arms wouldn’t budge. A moment later, he felt one of the Spider-mans land on his calves while the other two gathered on either side of his legs.

“I told them ‘bout the rule ya got about blood in the house,” Logan assured Deadpool as he started jabbing his fingers up and down his torso, earning a series of snickers from Wade as he strained to draw his arms in and protect himself. The webbing refused to let him budge an inch.

“They said it wasn’t their style anyway,” Logan went on. “Besides, this seems to work better on ya.”

“L-hogan! Guys! Waih-ACK!” Deadpool jumped as the Spidey sitting on his legs gave the spot just above his knees an experimental squeeze. “Yadhohohon’t hahahaveta dohoho thihihis! Ihihit’s j-jhust a missuhnderstEEEHEEHEEHEE!” His protests were swallowed by a wild shriek as the two remaining Spideys attacked his poor thighs.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! EHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NUH-HA-WAIH! DOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AHA-FUHAHAHACK!”

“You weren’t kidding about his legs.”

“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAOSTAHAHA! AHAHA! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! EHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” The hands trapped at his sides strained to grasp at something – anything that would free his already-overwhelmed nerves from the insanity. But there was only the cheap carpet for him to claw helplessly at.

The two on his thighs were ruthless. Two sets of hands digging into his poor trembling legs, sending shockwaves of tickles all along his nervous system up to his brain. Already it was too much. He had no control over how his legs thrashed desperately to escape the overload. Logan was forced to concentrate his efforts on keeping him still, careful not to put too much weight against his lungs as wild, frantic laughter poured out of him.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I-CAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

He kicked, violent and sudden enough that it actually dislodged the terrible hands tickling him to pieces for a blissful moment. Deadpool was just able to inhale a long, wheezing breath, before they were upon him again.

“NEEHAAHAAHAAHAAHAA!” He shrieked, “MEEEHEEHEE! M-MEHRCEY-MERCY! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

The hands that had been torturing his knees started in on his thighs too, because it didn’t tickle enough yet.

“NUH-HOHA! PLEAHEEHEE!” He protested dizzily. The sounds tearing out of him now were a mixture of screeching laughter and wheezing gasps for air. He’d been fighting like the Hulk to break free, but his muscles were too overwhelmed with his shaking laughter to resist much longer.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! ST-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Okay, guys. Let him breathe.” Logan snickered. Wade wanted to slug him for finding his murder funny, but he was too grateful for the break to call him out.

For a blissful moment, the only sound was his lungs’ eagerly gulping the air. He shuddered.

“Sss...ssheriously…” Deadpool finally managed, “…oh, shit…heh-hey…Logan…”

“Yeah, Bub?”

“…ihi…ihihif…” Deadpool swallowed, “…if y-you hehelp…mehe inst-ehead…I prahmise I’ll…fohorgive you…for thihis.”

“Is that so?” Deadpool yelped as Logan suddenly dug into his hips.

“YEHES! B-buhut thahat meheeheeans nuho tihihicklihing!-GAH! Quihihihit ihihihihit!” He pleaded, twisting and writhing against the webbing as Logan let him have it. “NUHOHO! AHA-Shit! STAHAHAHAHAP! Leh-HEMEGOHOHO! LOHOHOGAHAN!”

But his roommate did neither of those things.

“Ehahahahahahahahahaha! ST-HAPTIHICKLING! Ahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! N-AHAHASHIHIT! PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!”

It was only when Wade squealed that Logan let him breathe again.

“Are you ready to tell us why you’re after Peter 3, yet?” One of the Spideys prompted.

“Ihihif I’d knohohown youhou all whanted me thihis muhuch-” He was cut off by his own scream for mercy as the hands returned to furiously digging and massaging into his poor thighs. Logan helpfully clawed against his hips, and Wade lost the chance to reason with his tormentors.

His screaming laughter returned with a vengeance. Too exhausted for struggling, his muscles resigned themselves to shaking from their effort to take it.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! SHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FUHUCKIHINGSTAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

It felt like an eternity before they let up enough that he could catch his breath.

“Ohokayhey!” Deadpool gasped when he could finally speak, “…thahas ehenough!...I-I cahan’t hahahandleit!...Nho mohohore!” He’d go insane if they did that again. Well, more insane.

“So tell us why you’re after one of us. The truth this time.” One of the Spideys drew a teasing hand along the inside of his thigh. Deadpool snorted a laugh and squirmed. The way he’d said it had rendered him flustered all over again.

“I wihill! I swear! Just…maybe if you let me up first…and take your masks off s-so I can tehell you apart?”

“Not likely,” another Spider-man answered stonily.

“Fine.” He turned his head so at least it didn’t feel like he was confessing to Logan. “I…okay, look. Now that big yellow and I are officially in the MCU like you guys, there’s been a lot of people online talking about us, like…you know, in the comics…people are pretty stoked about the possibility, and there was that time Ryan and Andrew kissed at the Golden Globes…so sue me, okay? I was thinking about it.”

They were all watching him again.

“I don’t know what half of that means,” one of the Spideys said after a moment.

“Yeah, ya get used to it.” Logan rolled his eyes.

“Who are Ryan and Andrew? What’s an MCU?”

“Who’s Iron Doom?”

“You’ll find that last one out soon enough,” Deadpool insisted. “Can I get up now?”

“So for those of us not in your weird fantasyland…” Logan mused, “…let me see if I’m understanding this…you were looking for Peter…3…because you wanted…a date.”

“Sure. Yes. That.” Deadpool couldn’t tell if it was better or worse that he still didn’t know which Spidey was Peter 3. He focused on glowering at Logan instead. “That works. What can I say? I’m a romantic. Besides, the fans are already rooting for us…” He breathed a sigh of relief as they finally got off of him so he could stand. Unfortunately, he was still to exhausted for any impressive flips while his arms were trapped at his sides.

One of the Spider-mans noticed. In a move that made Deadpool immediately freeze, he leaned over and withdrew Baby Knife, cutting him free of the accursed webs. He offered Deadpool his free hand, and hauled him effortlessly to his feet. Wade staggered, but managed to remain standing, watching in bewilderment as the Spider-man unmasked.

Whatever dumb comment Deadpool had been about to make died in his throat as Peter 3 passed Baby Knife back to him.

Peter 3 watched as Wade removed his own mask before turning to Logan and the remaining Spider-mans and said, “Would you guys give us a moment?”

***

“All that for a fucking date,” Logan was still shaking his head about it long after the three Peters had left.

Wade glanced at him. They were sitting on the couch watching TV, but honestly, Wade was having trouble concentrating on it. He was well aware that he’d spent the entire evening with a stupid grin on his face.

“Totally worth it.”

Logan laughed, “Ya haven’t even gone on the date yet. Do you know how lucky you are that I was able to translate your gibberish before they wrecked you again?”

Wade narrowed his eyes. “Ah yes, that reminds me…”

Logan yelped as Wade pounced on him, attacking his sides.

“Heh-HEYHE! NOHO!” The Wolverine promptly crumpled into a squirming mess.

“…I seem to recall offering you forgiveness, but instead you helped them tickle me to death!”

“Ihihi HEHEHELPED YOUHOU TOOHOO!”

“And for that I will show you mercy…eventually.”

[writin-with-the-blues]

can you please write more of the blu medic x red mercs but the rest of red team finds out?? Like the red merc walks into base and the rest of the team is like "um hey what the HELL you have a crush on a BLU!?!?!?" (If you can't do this scenario for all the mercs can you do it for pyro, engineer, and scout please) thank you!!! Sorry If this request is alot.

Oh absolutely I can do this! Sorry if updates have been slow, finals has been killing me and this seemed the easiest to post. (I feel like I am always writing Pyro wrong LMAO).

OG Post Here

Right person, Wrong side

Pyro, Engineer, and Scout x Male!Blue Medic! Reader (Romantic)

Pyro:

They are probably the most interesting when it comes to you.

They tried to talk about you to the rest of the Mercenaries actually. However, since most of them can’t here them, they brush it off as utter nonsense. Except for one particular person.

Miss Pauling.

It was over a phone call, since pyro was in their room, they didn’t feel the need to put on a mask. It had to do with a contract killing you in particular and they rejected it. Miss Pauling inquired further about it, she was simply told, “Oh they didn’t tell you? I love him.”

“You can fall in love?”

Okay, ow, that hurt. But that one conversation with Miss Pauling somehow got spread around the entirety of Red Team. Though, it isn’t really a case of, ‘They are in love with blue team’ but a case of, ‘They can love?!’

Overall, it went alright. Though it did show how people felt about their cognitive abilities.

Engineer:

Ah yes, Dell, the man with more PHD’s than fingers of the Mercs have after a fight. He got caught because of an invention.

I am a firm believer that Dell’s love languages are Gift Giving and Acts of Service. He adores the moments when you just look so happy and excited, so keeping the stressful moments to a minimum with his inventions or hell just giving you a cup of coffee is something he thinks about a little too much.

So when he finds out that your medigun isn’t working as well as it should be, he immediately gets to solutions for you. It wasn’t like you asked though, since you didn’t even know something was wrong with your medigun in the first place but the nozzle doesn’t have the same range as it used to.

Though, his teams medic assumed it was for him until the very quick realization that it did absolutely nothing for his medigun. Which immediately was brought with accusations of being a spy and betraying the team.

To tell you it was ugly would be an understatement. To the point where his only defense is that he loved you. So he just simply said that. Did it resolve his issues with spy accusations? Yes. But it created a whole new problem.

Now there’s a bit of pressure from the rest of the team to just, ‘Snap out of it’ but he doesn’t. As much as he lies through his teeth, and as much as he tries to ignore it, he can’t. I mean, he’s a full grown man dammit, who cares?

Scout:

If you were to ask me how he even gotten himself in this situation, I’d say the many doodles he has of you.

He has a somewhat (very) crass way of expressing his feelings when using his sketchbook. Everything he feels about you just drawn out, kissing, hugging, other things a 20 year old with art abilities draws.

The first person to find these sketches of you is Spy. His first thoughts follow the beat of, ‘This is really good anatomy.’ To ‘Is that the enemy medic?’

Spy tried to use it as leverage against Scout. Once Scout realized what had happened, he almost immediately decided to tell every red merc on his own terms.

It’s the most Jeremy thing he could do, but I genuinely believe he’d do it. Though it goes as well as you expect it to. Which is not great.

To sum it up, there were so many argument over it. Whether it is justified or not, but most were in agreement that they knew they can’t change his feelings about you.

Masterlist

[the-archangel]

It's My (Halloween) Party

Halloween fluff (mostly) with a NSFW middle bit!

“It’s fine V, honestly, it’s fine. I knew that in the end this is what would have to happen and so did you. I’m ready, it’s fine.”

V looks Johnny in the eye, the usual smug look had been replaced with one more sombre and thoughtful.

“Shit Johnny, I’m so sorry, but don’t you think you’re over-reacting the tiniest bit? I mean, I’m literally going to be gone for three days, I promise I’ll spend the day with you on Friday.”

“But it’s Hallowe’en tomorrow V, I wanted to take it all in, dress up and shit, y’know?”

“I know, I do, but you can always decorate the apartment. Hey, why not have a party? Get dressed up, invite your friends, it’ll be fun.”

Johnny huffs non-committally, he does love a party, he might struggle with the friends part though. “I got a costume, see what you think?”

V nods and settles back on the couch and a few minutes later a subtly changed Johnny re-enters the room. V looks at his friend’s black suit, shirt and tie combo quizzically, “Who’re you supposed to be?”

“I’m an old-school assassin, like in that movie we saw where he killed that dude with a library book.”

“Shit yeah! That’s pretty good. If you put away the shit-eating grin and worked on harassed and homicidal you’d look just like him.” V laughs.

“Thank you for your valuable feedback.” Johnny spits before stalking back to the wardrobe.

-

Kerry is also in a wardrobe, albeit a much larger, more glamourous one. This Hallowe’en is going to be epic and he and V need outfits to match. There is already a pretty impressive pile of discarded clothes and exotic costumes, but nothing seems quite right.

V had tried helping at first, unearthing pirate costumes and elegant military gear from long-forgotten videos and declaring it all perfect, but hot as V looked in the sexy highwayman outfit, none of it was vibing with Kerry so the outfit was abandoned with the rest – only a little torn by its somewhat hasty removal. So, V is returning home in good spirits, oblivious to the increasingly frustrated mood of his husband.

“Hey Ker, you still upstairs?” V shouts.

A muffled, “M,hm,” comes from somewhere above him. Taking the steps two at a time and entering the closet, V tries not to smirk at the picture before him: world-famous Rockerboy Kerry Eurodyne sat in his underpants and a black feather boa pouting in a maelstrom of abandoned ideas.

V carefully picks his way over to the comically dejected looking man and sits behind wrapping his arms around his shoulders and grimaces through the pain of the coat hanger currently digging into his upper thigh. “It’s OK Ker, I’ll drive us into the City Center, buy lunch, look for costumes…”

Kerry cuts him off, “No! There’s something here, I can feel it, I just can’t find it.”

V pulls him closer burying his face in the older man’s neck, mostly to hide the chuckle. “Ditch this for a couple of hours, we can come back to it later, we need to pack for tomorrow’s trip.”

The other man looks momentarily startled, he’d been trying to forget about the record company shindig in NY he’d agreed to host, only finally agreeing because there’d be chooms there he hadn’t seen in a few years – and because of the preem Hallowe-en party of course. “Sure, I suppose,” he says, reluctantly letting the boa fall to the floor and allowing V to help him up, not that he needed help of course.

-

V flicks a note to Johnny when they’re on the way to the airport, Kerry sighing and rolling his eyes as he does so. “I just don’t want him to worry.” Explains the ex-merc.

“You don’t want him bugging you all day asking if you’ve set off yet ya mean.” Mutters the Rockerboy.

Johnny reads the message sullenly, last Hallowe’en was a wash out what with hospital stays (him), hissy fits (Kerry) and psychological evaluations by the bucketful (him and V), he wanted this one to count. Asking around various bars had given him a few leads to some preem parties, but none of them were quite what he was looking for, too controlled, not enough mayhem, maybe he wouldn’t bother after all, just throw himself into some work and forget about the whole thing. Fucking Kerry spoiling his fun again.

The Afterlife is buzzing, especially for a Tuesday morning which is often the quietest part of the week, prolly everyone wanting to conclude business before the evening shenanigans begin Johnny thinks curling his lip. He heads towards a couple of chooms in a corner booth and begins to talk biz.

-

Dragging the cases to the cab whilst Kerry expansively describes the hotel they’ll be staying in, V quickly pings off another message to Johnny, ‘En route to hotel, any plans yet?’ but no reply is immediately forthcoming so he takes his seat and looks out at the crumbling skyscrapers of New York that remind him so much of home.

Kerry’s voice brings him back to the moment, “Do you think we made the right choice?”

Baffled, V looks for clues in his husband’s face, does he mean in coming to NY, or picking this hotel, or getting a cat, or, well the list is pretty long of things they may regret one day. “Nope, you’ve lost me.”

“Of costumes ya gonk, what else could I be talking about?”

V lets out a breath and grins, “Course, everyone’s gonna be blown away.”

“Ya think? It’s not going to come across as a little, I dunno, low effort?”

V grips Kerry’s hand even tighter than he already is, “Babe, no one is gonna care about anything other than how fucking awesome we look, it’s not even worth thinking about.”

Sinking into his husband’s arms, Kerry smiles and looks up into the ex-merc’s eyes, “You’re one choice I’m never gonna regret,” he whispers huskily before planting a kiss on V’s bearded chin and snoozing for the rest of the ride.

-

Back in NC, Johnny is in the shower after a seemingly straightforward gig that turned unexpectedly messy. Picking the bits of Scav bone out of his matted hair is taking longer than he anticipated, he grunts with satisfaction as each one hits the floor of the shower.

Finally feeling reasonably presentable he searches the apartment for his jacket, he’s finally found the perfect party, he’s ditched the costume, he very much wants to look recognisable as himself when he walks in. “Fucking thing, where’s it gone?” he mutters to himself as he turns the room upside-down. Sitting on the bed and scanning the room, he frowns as he notices V’s battered old ‘Second Conflict’, jacket on the back of the chair, the October air is too cool to go jacketless, so “Fuck,” he sighs as he shrugs on the offending item and leaves into the Hallowe’en afternoon smog.

-

For the more formal, earlier part of the evening, Kerry has chosen a powder blue shot-silk evening suit and for V a matching one in teal, V is leaning heavily on the dressing table clinging onto the edge with one hand and gently stroking Kerry’s hair with the other as the Rockerboy expertly and enthusiastically sucks on his cock. “You look so hot in that suit Ker,” V purrs between gasps, “hope I didn’t hurt your knees pushing you down on the floor like that.”

Kerry pulls away from the object of his obsession for a moment, a string of drool and precum connecting them still, “You know I’d crawl over broken glass to get to your dick,” he smirks running his tongue up the underside and grinning as V shivers, “but I will get my own back ‘bout the crack about my knees later.” V chuckles, then gasps as his length disappears into Kerry’s warm, willing mouth.

“Five-minute call Mr. Eurodyne,” a runner calls through the door just as V groans and Kerry swallows, he licks his lips and kisses his husband deeply.

-

Johnny is on the street looking over at the warehouse where the party is to be held in a few hours’ time. He’s rolled up pretty early since he’s unfamiliar with this part of Watson and wants to make sure he makes a big entrance dead on time later. Satisfied that he has identified the main entrance and any exits he may need for whatever reason he retires to a nearby bar, orders a tequila and checks his messages.

Despite still being pretty pissed at V for disappearing over the holidays, he grins when he sees his message, “Heck yeah!!” he replies and settles in for a couple of hours while he waits for the party to begin.

-

V basks in the reflected glow from his husband as Kerry charmingly ad-libs his way through introductions and conversations, finishing with him disappearing in a puff of smoke whilst a spooky instrumental version of Dark Matter is played allowing him to grab V and rush back to the dressing room to get changed for the party proper.

“Still not sure about this Vince,” says Kerry pulling on and adjusting the wig he spent many hours choosing and having styled just right, “but it is spooky how much you look like him, got his mannerisms down and everything. Gives me the creeps if I’m honest.”

Looking in the mirror, V has to agree that the make-up artist, who is now working on Kerry, has done a preem job, unsettlingly so in fact. “It’s supposed to give you the creeps, it’s Hallowe’eeeeeen,” he replies in his best spooky voice. After a last critical look in the mirror V grabs his jacket and leans on the doorframe having a smoke waiting for Kerry to be ready. The make up guy does a couple of last adjustments and stands back whilst Kerry plays with his Kiroshis to get just the right eye color and stands to look in the full-length mirror.

He's almost mesmerised by what he sees there, “You’re a fucking genius Terry,” he tells the make-up guy, eyes never leaving the mirror.

V comes up behind him and slips his arms around his waist, “I honestly don’t know if it’s wrong to feel like this, but you look so fucking hot right now.”

Kerry turns in his arms and looks for V’s eyes, but finds only his own reflection in the lenses of his glasses, “V honey, it’s never wrong to tell me I look hot.”

-

 People have started arriving to the party in Watson, Johnny nurses his drink and watches through the grimy window of the bar, waiting for the perfect time to make his entrance. He checks the pistol in his jacket, hefts his duffel bag onto his shoulder and makes his way over, avoiding being seen until he reaches the camera over the doorway to which he gives a one-fingered salute before heading inside.

It's maybe not what most people would call a party, mostly there are heavily chromed Maelstrommers hunched over laptops or having heavy conversations at tables, but as far as Johnny Silverhand is concerned anywhere where you can drink and have fun is a party, he’s already done the drinking part, now he’s ready for the fun.

He’d made it in and up the stairs without being spotted, clearly they’re all too busy to check the cameras, good. Standing just inside the doorway to the goon-filled open space beyond Johnny drops the bag pulling out V’s favourite SMG, Fenrir – perfect for these over-chromed gonks – and with something less flashy as a backup he kicks open the door, spraying bullets as he strides forwards.

Not being complete idiots, most of the gangers flee through the fire exit and disperse into the night, that’s fine, he’s not here to kill particularly, he’s here to collect. A couple of crumpled bodies impede his entrance slightly, but he grins as a metallic voice whines, “Shit, it’s Johnny Silverhand,” he makes his way towards the injured goon.

A couple of the guys don’t seem to have got the message, a well-placed bullet re-acquaints them with it, a couple more decide to try to be heroes, a casually hurled grenade finishes them off, finally it’s just Johnny and his quarry and a nervous woman who appears to be the girlfriend.

“You Taser?” the merc asks lighting a cigarette, well-aware of how this illuminates his scowling face.

“Leave him alone,” the woman shrieks coming at Johnny with impressively sharp steel nails unsheathed, “or I’ll fuck that pretty face right up.”

“Aw, she thinks I’m pretty,” Johnny says as he slows her down with a spray of bullets to the legs.

“Shit, dude!” screams Taser covering his head with his arms and smearing the blood dripping from his chest over his face.

Johnny looks into a face that is mostly polished chrome with two red pin-pricks that he guesses must be eyes. “Brick says you owe him, and you owe him big. He wants his Eddies.”

Taser gulps, “But…” Johnny’s pistol presses uncomfortably into his abdomen, “Shit, fine,” his eyes glow violet for a moment, “it’s done, tell him it’s fucking done.”

“We thank you for your co-operation,” Johnny offers as he leaves.

-

Over in New York, the party is also in full swing, the media swarm around the red-carpeted entrance to the ballroom cooing over the guest’s costumes and analysing their choices. The short journey from their room to the party is a tense one for Kerry, still unsure if anyone will even get their costumes, never mind dig them. Hand in hand, he and V leave the elevator and turn the corner onto the carpet, dozens of heads turn, they’d been waiting for his arrival, not only is he a huge star, but his costume never disappoints. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but the gasps, laughs and applause are not unwelcome.

For the occasion, V has replaced his synth-skin chrome arm for an older, silver model, red shades and a dark, shoulder-length wig add to the look, but it’s the ‘borrowed’ clothes – leather trousers, Samurai tank and the iconic jacket – and immaculate mannerisms that really make the resemblance extraordinary.

Kerry had spent ages getting the bandana just so around his thick, curly dark hair. Terry had done an amazing job with the facial hair and tattoos and somehow made him look thirty all over again. The moment of inspiration had come as he put the pile of clothes back into the closet the previous day, his old leather vest had slipped from its hanger as he shuffled past with his armful of rejected outfits and on picking it up something akin to a lighting bolt hit him, Kerry Eurodyne and Johnny Silverhand finally together again after fifty years.

The crowd lapped it up, especially when they stop for a very wet, passionate and long kiss, tomorrow’s screamsheet headlines are just writing themselves.

-

Having collected his payment for a job well done, Johnny makes his way through town, stopping briefly to change before making his way to the Afterlife and the private party he was about to crash. The feeds on the street caught his eye, he stands clenching has cigarette between thin lips as he watches the footage beamed from New York, he was definitely going to have to have a very serious word with V later.

-

The party was awesome, Kerry had kept his crown as the King of Hallowe’en and V was having a lot of fun channelling Johnny again for one night. Back in their room, the Rockerboy throws himself onto the bed chatting animatedly about how awesome the evening was while V sits beside him, smiling at how happy they both are and remembering how lucky he is.

“Y’know,” says V resting his hand on his husband’s chest, “Rock God Kerry is my guy, but this version is still doing it for me.” Kerry scowls at first, but is soon smiling again as V’s hand slides down his torso and into his jeans, “Keep the costume on for a while huh?” he asks, running his tongue around a pert nipple.

Kerry closes his eyes and moans softly, but then opens them and pulls himself up into a seated position, evicting a confused V from his chest, “You’re gonna have to get changed, the thought of Johnny anywhere near my cock is putting me off,” he growls.

V snickers, Johnny would love to know he was cock-blocking him from the other side of the country, “Course Ker, gimme a minute.” The ‘borrowed’ clothes drop to the floor, the shades and wig come off and the make-up is wiped away, a few minutes later a fresh-faced V comes back to four angry messages from Johnny and a gently snoring husband, it’s OK he decides curling up next to his man, it can all wait til morning.

[heyitsresonate]

It’s 11 in the morning, I haven’t slept, and I’m thinking about fe3h fanfic “what if” ideas

Like, Jeralt and Byleth were mercenaries. So naturally, when the Dagda and Brigid War in 1175 broke out, Jeralts mercenaries probably were located within the Adrestian Empire- after all, war is profitable for Mercs.

Sure, the conflict mainly targeted House Nuvelle and Barony Ochs territory. But considering the Adrestian capital of Enbarr is coastal, there would’ve been some level of concern to its safety.

So say that Jeralts Mercenaries are hired to patrol Enbarr- or better yet, the outside perimeter of the Imperial Palace.

What if Byleth, through happenstance, found one of the secret entrances to the Palace that led to the dungeons that Edelgard and her siblings were experimented on? Like one of the entrances the Prime Minister Aegir escapes out of jail from in three hopes.

We know Edelgard got out of her experimentations with the crest of flames somewhere around 1175-1176. So this would be the later end of the experiments- most her siblings would be gone, and those that remain would’ve likely be quite unwell. However, she wouldn’t have the crest of flames, and likely wouldn’t have the white hair either- I’m of the mind that it’s the second crest that turns the hair white, and so if the second crest isn’t there, then.. yeah.

Also, if the focus of experiments went by age, Edelgard and her two younger siblings would be alive. Fucked up, far from unscathed, but alive.

What if, upon finding these captive children, Byleth helps them escape? What if the three Hresvelgs go into hiding, by following Jeralts Mercenaries under different names?

And if events played out about the same past that point, what happens when Byleth and Jeralt gets summoned to Garreg Mach? There’s so many ways things would deviate.

Edelgard, at that point, wouldn’t be the flame emperor. Nor would her siblings. She wouldn’t have as heavy of a distrust in others, if she had family and friends in the form of her siblings and Jeralt/Byleth.

The Black Eagles would likely be led by Ferdinand. I think he’d still be a good person, but different focused as his mind would be to prepare to take over the Empire after graduating from Garreg Mach, rather than being a superior to Edelgard like he’s focused on in three houses.

Edelgard, driven not by a desire to destroy the church but to take back her nation from TSLITD, could possibly confide her identity with and ally with Rhea- considering her fondness for Wilhelm Hresvelg, and the whole ‘blood of my blood’ thing with the crest of Seiros. Though I believe she’d still have her strong anti- crest sentiment, she wouldn’t have the resources, the strength, or as much desperation to war with Rhea, and would as such have to find friendlier ways to find change on that front.

Monica wouldn’t have gotten kidnapped and killed- the only reason for that was to pave the way for Edelgard as the flame emperor. Without Edelgard, there would be no Kronya, at least no Kronya as Monica. Perhaps she’d be a library assistant to work under Solon.

There’s a possibility that the death knight, Jeritza, wouldn’t even be a factor. After all, it’s Edelgard that saved Jeritza and took him in.

Especially with the lack of hair change, there’s a good chance Dimitri would immediately recognize Edelgard- which he would’ve thought was a long dead step sister. Perhaps him refinding family could help the poor lad be a bit less traumatized. Dimitri would probably support Edelgards attempt at retaking the imperial throne, as well.

As for Byleth, she gets more emotional as the game goes forward- likely because she’s surrounded by people she deems family or friends. Having the three Hresvelgs in her Mercenary group could mean she finds her emotions sooner.

All that to say I’m *very* unwell, and will not be well until i get this out of my brain and into writing.

[kellanved-ammanas]

TF2 Drabbles Demo/Soldier - Intelligence

Summary: would you be willing to write one about soldier being surprisingly smart? One where he starts saying tons of 'intelligent' things and the other mercs are surprised?

[A/N] Another instance where I took a plural and turned into focusing mostly on just one merc's reaction. These are drabbles though so that's kinda just how it's gotta be sometimes because doing something will all nine mercs, though possible to do in a drabble, depends a lot on the scenario, most of the time it's really difficult. This time I choose Demo because I really like Boots and Bombs, they're a real good ship.

~

“They will have moved their sentry gun, most likely to the other side. So we should take the long way around this time to get a better angle on it,” Soldier said as he and Demo exited Respawn together.

“Why would they move it?” Both he and Soldier had failed to take it out this time. Granted in part because they’d gone in not knowing were it would be but most of the time, the enemy Engineer didn’t change its position until he was rebuilding it after it got destroyed. There were few instances where he did move it while it was still intact but it didn’t seem worth randomly betting on.

“The enemy Spy just killed our Medic before we died and the Sniper took out our Heavy. So the gun will have been almost completely uncontested for longer than usual. The enemy will have taken advantage of that to move the gun to take us by surprise when we make it back there. We will take them by surprise instead and send the lot of them and the sentry gun to hell.”

They’d only been working together for a couple months but one thing had become clear about Soldier pretty much since the day he’d joined the team; intelligence wasn’t his forte. There was nothing wrong with that of course and Demo didn’t mind it at all but it was doubtful he was capable of being that aware of what was happening on the battlefield. Demo, himself, had been a bit too distracted by actively getting shot at by the sentry gun to notice if Medic and Heavy had died or not, let alone how if so. How would Soldier have noticed let alone been able to draw such quick conclusions? Likely he was just guessing and in his lack of intelligence was convinced of it.

Theoretically it might be a correct guess but if they approached from the ‘long way around’ that Soldier now wanted to, it would put them in a bad position to take out the gun. Which would most likely result in yet another trip through Respawn. Something Demo still wasn’t entirely used to and thus would rather avoid.

Soldier wasn’t giving him time to argue though as he rushed off, seemingly expecting Demo to just go along with his plan and follow. Fine, let him get taken out by the sentry gun then, Demo would go the usual way and, knowing where it was now, explode it by himself.

Except when Demo got there he was the one shot down by the sentry gun because it had indeed been moved to the other side. Soldier was right, perhaps as just a lucky guess or maybe he really was that tuned into everything going on around the battlefield. Thus maybe he wasn’t entirely stupid after all. Either way, Demo owed him a drink later to make up for not believing him.

[elgaravel]

OC TAG GAME

was tagged by the lovely @aragorngf to sort some ocs and use this picrew! tysm <333333

FAVORITE OC:

gray -- devil may cry 🌱

My poorest little meow meow. My wet paper bag of a mercenary. My sweet cheese. My silly rabbit. They simultaneously make my heart ache and soar whenever I think about them, their story, and everything that they are. I’ve put a lot of thought and care into them over the past couple of years that I’ve had them and they pretty quickly claimed this spot. They are my favorite brainworm <3. 

NEWEST OC:

aurora -- devil may cry 

There’s actually a newer oc but I made like. 2 days ago and I’m not quite ready to share her with everyone yet so here’s Rory!! Not too much on her backstory yet. She’s not involved with any canon characters, just Gray and eventually Dmitri. She does die a few years after meeting them unfortunately 😔  

OLDEST OC:

tihtiyas -- resident evil 

Maverick is technically my first oc but he’s just changed soooooo much while Ti hasn’t much in comparison so I put her here instead. I’ve mostly just refined her as I’ve gotten older. I’ve had her since I was about 12 years old and she means a lot to me :) even tho I don’t talk about her too much. I really like her story and her relationship with Leon and the other characters. I made her when at a time where I was struggling with accepting my identity as an indigenous person (not because I was ashamed but bc of other reasons) and she kinda helped me with that! 

MEANEST OC:

jace -- fable

This was a tie between him and Zeke, whom I could not make in the picrew so </3. I will give Jace the title of the worst man in Albion purely because Reaver was not alive during the first game JDFSKL. Jace was raised by good people and knew a lot of kindness in his life though he’d end up jaded to the world around him anyway due to the first raid of Oakvale that happened when he was only a child. This would result in the loss of father and sister while his mother was nowhere to be found, or so he thought. To Jace, kindness is weakness and only the strong can survive. Though one could argue he takes that sentiment a step too far.

SOFTEST OC: 

valen -- skyrim

The sweetest girl in all of Tamriel!! Valen is soooo special to me. She is a bosmer and a healer, a job that requires no small amount of compassion. Her story is one of self-discovery, particularly discovering her strength and self-worth though she loses no amount of kindness along the way, she just doesn’t let it get in the way of taking care of herself anymore. 

MOST ALOOF/STANDOFFISH OC:

silas -- dragon age: origins

This is partially a defense mechanism (mainly against humans) but also because of their overwhelming autistic swag. At their core, Silas is kind and protective of those around them, perhaps overwhelmingly so. They’re also irresponsible and flighty but becoming a warden forces them mature pretty rapidly. Through their journey, they discover their knack for leadership and for problem-solving even if they’re not the most diplomatic. Their relationship with Mivera (their sister), Zevran and the other companions is really special to me!   

DUMBEST (AFFECTIONATE) OC:

sylvan -- skyrim

I had such a hard time with this one because none of my ocs are really stupid? I picked Sylvan because I guess he’s the least intelligent but mostly just acts like a giant dumbass because he thinks it’s funny. But it also works to his benefit when others underestimate him. He’s not the most academically sound but he has the street smarts, charisma, and looks to make up for it. 

SMARTEST OC:

demetria -- eso

I don’t think you can be as old as she is and be dumb fjdslf. But her upbringing had a heavy focus on the academics and magic so she’s always been incredibly book smart. She was, however, lacking any sort of street smarts or social skills until she left the cave she was raised in. But this would change upon meeting Valkya and Hakon, two nord warriors turned mercs who took her under their wing. She’s blunt, witty, and a tiny bit arrogant but is also kind and loves to talk about her studies any chance she gets. She’s a nerd <3. 

OC I WOULD BE BEST FRIENDS WITH:

eden -- devil may cry 

She is truly the bestie of all time. I’ve always found myself drawn to people like Eden (extroverted, kind, and very talkative) and she loves to adopt sad little introverts so I think we could be great friends! Sitting on a rooftop and watching the stars with her would fix me, I think. 

tagging: @numbaoneflaya​ @time-is-a-lake​ @aartyom​ @celticwoman​ @mrs-theirin​ @nuclearstorms​ @morvaris​ @druidgroves​ @katsigian​ @swanfey​ @swordcoasts​ @jillvalcntines​ and anyone else who’d like to join in!! 

[merge-conflict]

🔎 the search for october 🔍

tagged by @luvwich (bare, disgust, feed, plastic, silence) and @ghostoffuturespast (eyes, dive, water, corner, shudder) Switched it up a little this time to alternate because why the hell not. :3 Starting out strong with a little gender lust and what is technically a twofer making the last one a bonus.

bare [thread safe]

“Very good,” [V] murmurs, licking the shell of [Goro's] ear and making him shudder. Seeing his bare chest sparks the same envy she felt the first time she’d seen it– sparks her desire to crawl under his skin and become him the way Johnny became her. Sitting like this, with her body framing his, she can almost believe it’s possible. “Pretend I’m not here.”

eyes [when her edges soften]

She turned to him briefly, teeth flashing in the dim light. “You want me to say it? Fine: You were right, Johnny. This is my kind of fucking place.”

It was. He had enjoyed it on his first visit, but he liked it better watching through her eyes. The thing about V was that under that fresh coat of corpo veneer she was an animal– and one of the only people he knew who instinctively took to it. He knew because he had felt her savoring it when the mood struck her, chasing the exhilarating high without a hint of shame. Plenty of mercs wanted to be bloodthirsty and carefree, but had to dope themselves into it. V was just the opposite.

disgust [the damn things overlap]

V rose to her feet in stages, feeling heavy and threadbare. She turned off the lights and the room was plunged in deep blues, brushed here and there by the red and orange of the heating coils. Goro’s eyes followed her, irises dark, his pupils shining faintly with reflected light. He stood when she drifted closer, tense like he was waiting for something to happen.

“There,” she said, quietly. “Now you know all of my shameful secrets. Be all my sins remember’d.”

The words came easier than she had thought they would. For once she didn’t feel the shiver of self-revulsion or disgust. She was just tired, and a little buzzed, and possessed by the urge to touch him and make sure he was still real.

dive [fleeting fits of reason]

Mostly Johnny sat, and got drunk, and played until he re-opened the raw skin of his fingers, too impatient to slowly build up his calluses. Sometimes he disappeared for hours, out driving around in one of Kerry’s cars, hitting up some dive bar at the edge of town that catered mostly to nomads and anyone too down on their luck to make it entirely in or out of the city.

V had been a ghost for at least two days, and Kerry only knew she was around because the mugs in the kitchen occasionally moved. She was partial to the novelty mug that swirled iridescent colors with temperature changes– it was the only dish he’d ever seen her wash. Whether she was avoiding Johnny or just him he wasn’t sure. The entire villa felt like those last few Samurai roadshows, when everyone knew it was about to explode, but nobody wanted to be the one to light the match.

feed [fleeting fits of reason]

The first notification [Alt] receives that is early in the morning, the strength of Johnny’s adrenaline response overriding several other weighted variables. She sees what he sees, time shifted by several seconds after she frees her attention. There’s not much for her to see, except that the decreased frequency of his dreams have not been accompanied by a decrease in intensity. When he catches his breath he moves to swing his legs out of bed and then stops for no reason she can discern, watching the sleeping forms of V and Kerry. His eyes linger on the rise and fall of their chests, the place where their shoulders touch– she dismisses the feed and returns to working through Smasher’s black box.

water [the damn things overlap]

“Everyone here has one job,” [V] murmured. “Keeping on schedule. Come hell or high water, everything has to be ready.”

“They did not even scan your face.”

“Contractors aren’t in the main database. Decade or so ago Militech got into the HR system off access from a local vendor, whole big shitshow.” It had been before her time in CounterIntel, but the incident had left behind a scar that was not so easily forgotten.

plastic [the damn things overlap]

V stayed only as long as she was able, seeing the room through Goro’s expression as he surveyed the damage. Everything else was a hostile smear of color and texture, threatened by the overwhelming ringing of fading gunshots and adrenaline. She returned up the stairs, past the clinic room and into the small waiting area. It was dark and deserted still, and she sank into one of the cheerfully colored plastic chairs, leaning forward with her elbows propped up on her knees.

corner [the damn things overlap]

“Maybe I just came here to smack you around,” [V] mused, stepping closer, boxing [Hellman] into the corner his cot made with the wall. “Just to make myself feel better about my inevitably painful ending, and one of the assholes responsible.”

He withdrew into himself, and she could see he was deciding whether or not to fight back. “I didn’t make you put that shard in your head. Is that why you are here? Is Silverhand’s influence corrupting you so quickly?”

silence [the damn things overlap]

“Mm. The proper punishment for all traitors.” [Goro] turned his head, breath sending chills up and down her spine. “And such disloyalty must be punished.”

V shivered; her teeth ached. There was a procedure for that sort of thing, clean and professional, no warning and no mess. Plenty of paperwork. But this wasn’t just some exec jumping ship or getting too greedy. No member of the board had so much as hinted at public opposition of Yorinobu’s rise to power. Doubtless all of them had their own private plans, but the silence spoke volumes. On that level, the entire matter could be solved quite easily through a visit to the next physical board meeting, like the one that was sure to confirm Yorinobu as head of the company. And Arasaka knew when to be showy, knew when bloody and brutal was a better lesson than a suddenly vacant chair.

shudder [the damn things overlap]

The space where V should have been was blank. Like static on the tv, bright empty white and black pixels, a low hiss like something being vaporized. Focusing too much on it was making her heart race, her lungs shudder. Her left hand felt like it was caught in a net, and though [Johnny] instinctively tried to move he could only make her fingers twitch.

All at once whatever was under her hand moved, and he managed to peel back her eyelids just enough to see the deep shades of blue that made up her nightvision. It was Takemura, raising his head, V’s fingers still tangled in his hair, which meant this was really not a situation Johnny wanted to be in.

<V, time to wake up!> He might as well have been screaming into the void. <Fuck me, if you die on me here, the first thing I’m going to do is dye your hair black. You listening?>

---

Tagging @corpocyborg, @another-corpo-rat, @corphoe, and anyone who wants to play and hasn't already been tagged :3 with heat, shot, luck, elbow, death

[ink-on-the-brink]

Out of all the mercs, which do you think would be the easiest to befriend and gain all their trust and which one would be the hardest??? And also, I really love your writing :D keep it up and have a nice day/night!!! ^^

Happy to know you enjoy my work! It's good to know I'm doing something right!

This one's going to be super quick since I've been a bit busy recently, but it should be fun. It will go in order from easiest to hardest to befriend. (Also there won't be any editing so excuse my spelling mistakes)

Pyro

You so much as smile at them and they are your best friend. Not kidding. They can and will make you a best friend after only the first time meeting you.

All you have to do to gain their trust is be kind. They won't notice if it's fake or not so even a sarcastic or strained tone won't matter as long as you're smiling and saying nice things.

Pyro is super bubbily and energetic and if you meet that energy you two are going to get along tremendously well.

You may not understand them, but they are telling you their deepest secrets all the time. Their trust in you is very noticable even after only a week of meeting them.

They are a bit- well more like extremely childish. So being their friend automatically makes you more of the adult no matter how immature you might be.

Overall they just want to be friends with any and every person they meet and you are going to be their bestest friend no matter if you want to be or not.

Scout

This man is a pretty easy friend to make. You make even a half attempt and he's your best friend on day one.

Trust is earned when you play fair. He doesn't really like cheaters, so if he challenges you and you make it a point to be as fair as possible he already believes you're a good person.

I hope you like some friendly competition because that's basically your guys' friendship is based on.

Now while you two might become great friends quickly, that doesn't necessarily mean you're going to know his deepest insecurities. That will problably take about a half a year and a loy of awkward conversations to get to.

He can be a very annoying person so being his friend takes a considerable amount of patience.

Overall he just likes having friends, even if he tries to stay macho about it.

Demo

Being his friend is pretty easy as well. He always likes to have a few drinking buddys on hand and he won't hesitate to invite along people he might not know very well

He'll gain immideate trust for you if you help him while he's drunk. Most people will leave him in a corner to wake up in so he'll take your act of kindness as a reason to keep you around.

Most of your friendship is based on achohal. Drinking together, gifting booze, encouraging others to join, you two will most likely not even remember most of your more trusting moments with eachother.

As bombastic and outgoing as he is, he's rather private about certain topics. That is unless he's black out drunk. If he's not as drunk as he usually is he won't answer questions about family or anything about the future until he feels he knows you well enough.

Demo is a bit of a handfull most days. He never turns down a dare and bar fights are common. You'll likely have to pull him off the floor a lot and he is notorious for invading personal space. So as long as your up for the challenge, he's up for being your friend.

Overall he's a drunk idiot, but he's your drunk idiot. He will be sure to make each day a little interesting

Medic

Becoming Medics friend can be...an interesting expirence. It's going to involve blood, guts and conscious surgeries and he's not going to care for those who are faint of heart.

You want to gain his trust? Well here's the thing, there is no surefire way to do that. Help him out one day and he'll appreciate it, another and he might become suspicious. The best way is probably to find some interest in his expirements. He prefurs to surround himself with like-minded people.

The biggest part of your friendship is most likely a shared interest in crimes against humanity. Two mad scientists testing on the bodies of dead 'patients'. What could go wrong?

Medic tries to hold a professional tone most of the time but will drop all of that when in battle or when expirementing. It can be hard to keep up with how quickly he switches from one to the other so try to stay aware of what's happening.

Medic doesn't have secrets. He has no shame and will tell you the most horrifying things in an upbeat tone. That, however, doesn't mean he fully trusts you. It will likely take a while before he trusts you enough to leave you alone with any of his expirements or projects. It's his life's work after all, he's not going to allow just anyone to mess with it.

Overall he doesn't mind having friends, but he isn't very open to close friends. It'll take a bit of time and prying to get him to fully trust you.

Soldier

This dude is extreamly parinoid. He's consistently second guessing his friendships and looking for double agents. So becoming his friend isn't exactly easy. You are going to have to seriously impress him for him to even think of you as anything more than a possibly traitor.

Gaining his trust can vary on many factors. Military backround? You're already up a few hundred points. Love for america? He's open to listening to you. Care for raccons? Okay maybe he isn't as hard to befriend as he tries to be.

Violence. So. Much. Violence. If he thinks you might be a good friend he's going to put you to the test. Rigorous training, sparing, tests on your patriotism, anything that he deems as important will be something he tests you on. All of them will most likely involve some sort of physical endurance. Even after you two are friend these will still be a constant in your life.

He's not good with secrets but there are a few things he keeps silent about and getting him to talk about it will likely end with you on the floor. As stated before he's a rather parinoid person and if it's something he's not willing to say out loud, it's something that you're going to have to spend years gaining enough trust for him to open up about it.

Soldier is extreamly loyal. If you're his friend he'd happily bleed to keep you safe. He'd never believe a single negative thing said about you and will side with you one everything, no matter how wrong you are. If you remain just as loyal he will become your right hand man in an instant.

Sniper

Overall Soldier's a loud, obnoxious, patriotic and still somehow very lovable person. When he cares about someone he tends to be extremely kind, be it in a more abrasive way then others. So as long as you can see past his militaristic exterior he's one hell of a friend to have.

You wanna be friends with Sniper? Yeah, good luck with that. Not only is the dude a loner, but he has hella trust issues and he sure as hell isn't here to make friends. Becoming his friend is going to take time. A lot of time. And maybe some coffee.

There isn't a singular act you could do to gain his trust. You can defend him all you want, side with him on every issue, pull him out of a near death expirence, its not going to change how little he trusts you. It's going to take all of those and a few long coversations (good luck getting him in a conversation in the first place) before he even attempts to trust you.

Your friendship relies heavily on practically. He's only going to think of trusting you if he feels you give some advantage. It will take a few heart to hearts for him to look past seeing you as someone who can help him and instead as someone he cares about.

Sniper has a lot of dark parts to him and it is only once he fully trusts you that you'll get to know that side of him exists. Secretly he really just wants to spill about his insecurities and problems but he doesn't trust that people won't use it against him. Once he does trust you his cold exterior will fade away and you'll get to know a lot about the demons he fights with.

He pulls off the calculated killer rather well. Most people believe he knows of nothing else. To anyone who's close to him however, he's quite honestly a mess. He needs someone that grounds him and if you can provide that type of friendship then he will appreciate it more that any type of heroic act you could preform.

Overall he's guarded and quiet but desperately wants someone to relate to. It will take a persistent attempt to earn his trust and even if he's your friend he still tends to keep to himself.

Heavy

Ah yes, the silent behemoth. Befriending him is going to take more than just patience. It's going to take a certain amount of willpower as well. He doesn't trust easily and you'll have to work hard to prove yourself to him, most likely on the battle field.

His trust is gained a few ways, none of which are easier than the last. First you must have some care for family. That doesn't necisarry mean that you have a family, but one of the first things he looks for in a possible friend is whether they have any strong familial values. Next you will have to prove to be strong enough to fend for yourself. He might be a human meat sheild but that doesn't mean he likes being one. He appreicates someone who can help rather than hinder him. There are many more steps afterward and you will have to pass with flying colors for him to consider it.

Your friendship will rely entirely on having eachothers back. He needs to know you are willing to stick with him no matter how dire the circumstances. You fuck up or betray him once and he will most likely never trust you again.

Heavy doesn't talk much. Whether that is because of his lack of english knowledge or simply choosing to keep his mouth shut really depends.

He doesn't hold many secrets but he does hold many dark memeories. He usually would only trust his family enough to talk to them about it but once your close enough to be considered family he will open up to you, if only a little bit.

Heavy keeps to himself most of the time and doesn't prefur to say much, if anything at all so getting to know his isn't easy and gaining his trust is even harder. He's got a family to take care of and he's not going to risk their safety by trusting someone he shouldn't have.

Spy

Ah yes, the backstabber himself. Guarded, mysterious and an annoying bastard. The path to his friendship is fog covered and honestly it can be hard to tell whether he cares for you or not. He will never announce his care or show it in any way, so good luck finding out if you're on his good side.

You want his trust? You'll have to prove you're worth trusting. Getting him out of a tough spot or siding with him is likely to earn his respect at the very least. It won't get you all the way there though. He doesn't associate with anyone that doesn't hold his type of class. You'll have to be rather poised and polished when around him.

His friendships usually end up in a love/hate dynamic. He might enjoy your company, and in doing so open a weak point for others to exploit. That's where the hate comes in. He doesn't like having people close, it makes his job harder, so no matter how much he cares he sure as hell isn't going to let it show.

Spy will never, ever, trust anyone with the knowledge of his past. He'd sooner die then let someone know anything that happened before he met them. No matter how much he trusts you, no matter how close you get, you will never have enough trust for him to tell you that.

Spy his one hell of a prick. It might all be in good fun, but he can be a little too good at getting on your nerves sometimes. It's best if you keep him in check by returning his remarks with equally devistating comebacks. He might even respect you more if you're able to match his level of prickery.

Overall he's going to remain mysterious no matter how much he may trust you. He will try to not befriend anyone, so you making an attempt to do so will likely be met with less than favorable reactions at first. Give it time and he might just consider you not as annoying as everyone else.

Engie

You thought he was a trusting guy didn't you? Well that's just what he wants you to think. Becoming his friend is a complicated process that you most likely wont even be aware of. You'll think he's your friend when really he's the farthest thing from it.

Gaining his true trust is near impossible. He has nearly everyone convinced of his friendly exterior so he almost can't afford to trust anyone to know the truth. In every case that it is possible it's entirely on accident. Maybe you seem to genuinely care for him and the guilt leaves him a bit more open to caring about you. Or the opposite can happen. You see right through his act and in a bid to keep you silent about it he becomes honest with you. Either way it's not going to be on purpose.

Engie grew up in a life where you weren't supposed to trust everyone but you damn well make sure everyone trusts you. This can make it hard for him to be an actual friend, considering he's always kept people at a distance. He will often fall into habits of keeping his friendly exterior instead of being more genuine with you.

Engie has a lot of secrets. A lot. Most he will take to his grave. If you do, however, manage to earn his trust and especially if you earn his care, he'll share a few. There are very few circumstances that he will and most time while doing so he can be very visibly uncomfortable. You don't get raised in a mercinary family without a few demons following you.

He's only cared for very few people in his life and he's trusted even less. So there are times when he either seem distant and uncaring or caring to the point you feel patronized. It will take him a while to find out if he should trust you and the moment he does it can seem almost like you have become the most important person on his life. His once empty gestures are now entirely genuine and he feels safe with his back toward you. This is by no means an easy point to reach and will most defiantly have taken literal years to get to.

Overall he's used to not genuinely connecting with people and is extremely hesitant when doing so. You may not even notice this conflict, but it's most certainly a large part of his life.

[bostonbashers]

Hear me out.. How do mercs behave around a person they have a huge crush on?! :D

AAAAAA this one is so cute, i’m in love!! 🤩❤️

-

Scout:

literally a fucking DORK around you. tries to impress you constantly with anything and everything he has, ranging from his skill set to his appearance to his personal belongings and much more.

always finds excuses to spend time with you and it can be the most asanine ones in existence. oh? you have free time tomorrow? let’s go take a run down the street. you miss your puppy that got lost when you were a kid? let’s go to the ends of the earth to find it.

made you borrow his jacket/shirt once because he accidentally spilled a drink all over your shirt. once he saw you in it, he nearly died and didn’t want it back. takes it back anyway due to his pride and though he seems outwardly okay with it, he secretly doesn’t wash the clothing for a long while.

his flirtatious behavior around other people goes down immensely. scout becomes strictly loyal to you once his crush grows stronger and can’t bear the thought of talking with someone else, even if you don’t like him back. it just doesn’t sit with him right.

Soldier:

soldier is much softer and kinder around you. he restrains himself from using any harsh words that could hurt your feelings and tries to slow down on your training.

shows you his pets!! one of his prized possessions that he won’t allow anyone else to touch, like ever. he trusts you to love and take care of them the same way he does.

everyone has to respect you. if they even give you a slight problem, he’ll get on their case about it and probably give them hell before they could even mutter out an apology. you deserve respect and he’s gonna make sure you get nothing less.

lots of supportive comments from him! even if it’s something small, he’ll grin at you proudly and yell out a, “good job, cupcake! you did great!” while giving you a strong pat in the back or an approving nod.

Pyro:

pyro is usually sweet and kind with a certain crowd and tries to do the best they can for others, but with their crush? it’s a whole different story. they’re absolutely head over heels for them.

like a lovesick puppy; they will follow you wherever they go with a skip in their step. like, i mean they’ll follow you everywhere. “no, pyro you can’t follow me to the bathroom-!” they don’t really listen but patiently wait outside anyway.

one of the many mercs who won’t hesitate to show affection and sees nothing wrong in it. runs up to them and holds their hand firmly with a happy hum, hugs them more than usual, and just straight up gives you all their attention.

Demoman:

oh boy, if tavish has a crush on you, he’ll show it when he’s absolutely wasted. demo will literally smother you with affection regardless of where you both are and literally latch onto you every second he gets a chance to.

lots of drunk ramblings; he’ll lay his head on your shoulder or lap while he mindlessly slurs about how amazing you are, what his favorite thing is about you, and so much more.

it’s pretty obvious at that point demo likes you so you admit your liking to him pretty quick and it’s funny how shocked he gets. “ya knew i liked ya?!” yes, demo, they did.

when he’s sober, he’s much more shy with it and controls his actions a lot more. apologizes for his behavior while drunk. tavish exhibits more gentleman behavior, from opening doors to making you a decent dinner and just basically ensuring your comfortability.

Heavy:

heavy is very mature and will accept his feelings pretty quick compared to the others. it’s a 50/50 chance with him; if they feel the same, that’s great! if they don’t, then.. he’d have no choice but to move on. that’s how life works.

once he does accept it, be expecting a lot of mother hen behavior; he literally watches your every move to make sure you’re safe and healthy. even if you are, he goes out of his way to give you things whenever he knows you’re around; a homemade meal, a blanket, probably some candy. your smile is already more than enough to make up for the little things he does for you. 

no one will ever dare to hurt you around heavy (or just in general, really). he senses danger and issues pretty quickly, so it’s easy for him to detect any bad intentions. he’s like that scary bodyguard who looms behind you, glaring at anyone who radiates rancid vibes to scare them away.

Medic:

probably takes a while to accept or realize it cause he’s always so preoccupied in his lab, being busy and all. but once he does realize it, it’s sort of foreign to him at first, so of course, he goes to heavy to speak about his emotions. after being told it was a crush, he pays attention to you a lot more than usual, sometimes even without him noticing.

he gets all giddy when you’re around and although it’s not the jumpy, squealing giddy, it’s certainly one shown through happy greetings and continuous conversations that seem to be never ending. (you don’t mind though)

makes up random appointments and checkups for the smallest things just to see you and gets very, very excited whenever you decide to come to visit him without his knowledge. nearly drops everything just to attend to you.

he talks to archimedes so much about you that his precious pet basically knows who you are based off his owners reactions and automatically flies to you whenever you enter his lab. that bird is a lot smarter than you think. they get along with you pretty well and medic melts whenever he sees you talk to his birds like he does and play with them.

Sniper:

bless his heart, the poor man will literally faint around his crush. just the sight of them flusters him to his core, and don’t even get me started on their little habits and that godforsaken smile. [hes literally almost died when they grinned at him]

he’s already so reserved and quiet as he is, but around them, it’s even worse. he’s always so scared he’s gonna scare them away or say something stupid, but he eventually lets go of the fear and tries to muster up the courage to talk to you.

once he does, he spends a lot of his time with you, often inviting you out to drive around with him or just simply sit outside and enjoy the breeze. he talks a lot more than usual and though he doesn’t completely open up about his past just yet, he does indirectly hint that he trusts you more than anyone in his life.

lots of sleepless nights when he realizes he’s in love. he does everything to take you off his mind but all fails in the end and he’s kept wide awake thinking about what you two could be. from then on, it becomes increasingly difficult to keep his cool around you and silently begs you’ll confess one day or he’ll lose it.

Engineer:

sweetheart mode: activated. like it’s not a big switch up, since he’s naturally a gentleman but it’s noticeable enough. you’ll notice that your nicknames will start slowly forming to more romantic ones and how he blushes with a smile everytime it leaves his lips.

the other mercs can tell when dell has a crush; he blushes a lot more than usual and they catch him smiling more than once by himself. they realize it when you approach him and he automatically fixes himself to look presentable without a second breath. his voice also changes to a much happier and giddy tone, it’s so cute!

stares at you from a distance a lot or whenever you’re distracted with something. half of the time he doesn’t even realize he’s doing so but once he catches himself, he blushes and looks away, silently telling himself to quit it. often you’ll catch him staring at you, but you ignore it for his sake and laugh to yourself when he smiles back and waves shyly.

Spy:

takes a long while before he actually accepts the crush, seeing that he’s a very secretive and reserved person but once he does, you best believe you’ll be spoiled and loved by this man. lots of gentleman behavior!! opening doors, buying you gifts, giving you his coat, and all that fancy stuff.

teases you a lot more than he should; he enjoys your reactions. he’ll lean in close enough where your fingers brush slightly, tilt your chin up when he talks to you and makes intense eye contact while doing so. whenever he gets too close or the moment gets too tense, he backs away with a smirk and pretends as if nothing happens.

he listens to you and anything you have on your mind. his door is literally open for you 24/7 and even if you come knocking at 3 am, he’ll let you in and listen to what you have to say. you think he’s not listening cause he’s very unresponsive but when you’re finished and about to leave, he gives really good advice and tells you quietly that he’s there for you in an indirect way. depending how close he is to you, he’ll let out an experience or two about him to put you at comfort and as thanks for confiding in him. he then walks you back to your room with a simple nod and goodnight.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin has been Court Sorcerer for a couple months now;

and whilst the gang knows that, in theory, he is "The Most Powerful Warlock to Ever Walk the Earth"... they never quite realised what that meant, until he got stabbed through the chest, and he laughed...

Good-Merlin, can still be a little very dark sometimes, especially when his friends are in danger.

TW: Some fairly graphic descriptions of violence under the cut, just lots and lots of blood, and Merlin being a little very terrifying.

ONCE AGAIN the gang (5 knights, A+M) are in the woods doing some shit.

A large group of mercenaries had been reportedly ransacking some outlying villages. Arthur had been crowned for less than a year, so in a show of solidarity and loyalty to his people, he took himself, his five best knights, and the newly appointed Court Sorcerer, instead of just assigning it as someone else's problem.

The first couple of days are uneventful. Everything's been so busy in recent months, with Leon taking charge of the knights whilst Arthur gets on with his kingly duties, the change in laws, and the complete change in Merlin’s life; it was nice for everyone to just catch up and goof around.

Of course they were focused on helping their people, but they might as well relax themselves on the way there. Everyone knows, a happy, de-stressed fighter, is a good fighter.

They come across the mercenaries quicker than expected. Apparently they had grown in confidence and ventured further into the kingdom.

That also means the gang wasn't expecting it, and even Merlin is taken by surprise.

There are also far more attackers than they were expecting, and six knights, even six of the best knights, was no where near enough to keep pace with the 30 or so group of attackers, and the fight was over before it really began.

Which is what lead to the current situation.

The gang had been dragged to a clearing, all clapped in cold iron shackles (with Camelot's new change in laws.... well, the mercenaries weren't taking any chances, any of them could be hiding sorcery).

A man who has clearly established himself as the leader starts shouting orders:

"Someone get a fire lit, a big one. Chain the knights to the trees, but that one-"

(He points directly at Merlin, the only one of the group not in armour)

He gives a horrid grin before continuing:

"- bring that one here, and unshackle him. Perhaps the King will pay up quicker should we pre-emptively send a.... message."

All the knights widen their eyes at this. Apparently these idiots hadn't realised that one of the men they had shackled to a tree was the King.

I guess if they were from outside of Camelot, they might not know what he looks like? But none of them question it, all hoping that once Merlin was free of his shackles, he could make a run for it and bring an army back.

Merlin just smirks slightly to himself, so small and brief, that only Leon notices it, and allows himself to be dragged towards the man in the centre of the clearing.

The Sorcerer stands casually, trying not to gag from the smell of the mans breath.

He rubs his wrists absentmindedly, and subtly takes in a deep breath as the shackles are removed, and he feels the magic flow back through his body.

Merlin lays a steely glare on the Head Merc as the knights watch on in fear, why wasn't he running? Fighting?? Anything??

He goes to say "That was a very bad move on your part." but just as he opens his mouth to speak, he feels a sharp pain in his chest.

He opens his mouth but all that comes out is a harsh gurgle, as blood starts dripping from between his lips.

He can vaguely hear the screaming of the knights as he takes a stumbled step back, before falling to his knees, only then looking down to see the hilt of the dagger, poking out from his chest.

He coughs up some more blood as he looks up at his attacker, unable to do anything but tremble, and pull a face of confusion, blinking rapidly in shock.

He can still hear the shrieking. Someone yelling his name. Someone screaming curse words, a lot of "NO!"s

The head honcho gives him one last smirk before walking over towards the knights, who are yanking so tightly at their chains, and screaming so loudly, they're almost certain to have fractured wrists and strained vocal cords.

Merlin kneels there, looking back down at the dagger, still coughing up blood and struggling to draw breath, his whole body trembling, as The Merc begins to address his chained friends.

"His carcass will be dropped at the gates of Camelot. Hopefully that will deliver the message to your powerful King."

He starts chuckling at the knights pleading, but before he can gloat more, Merlin starts wheezing. Loudly.

He turns around, about to yell at someone to finish him off and shut him up, when he realises in horror, that the wheezing, is slowly morphing into laughter.

The knights turn their stares back to their friend, confused and horrified, as Merlin looks up at The Merc from his place in the floor.

He slowly stands, swaying on his feet, grinning wildly, blood now pouring from his mouth, his teeth stained. A dribble comes out of his nose, his eyes manic, and his body still shaking.

"How... how is this possible?!-"

The Merc takes a step back, as all of his... employees... stare on, too shocked to act.

"- even if you were a sorcerer this is.... this is IMPOSSIBLE!"

He takes another step back, getting paler by the second, and a blood soaked Merlin grins at him,

He tilts his head, looking like a madman, and wheezes out a crazed:

“You think you get to kill me?”

The knights stare on in near-revulsion, as he lifts a hand wet with blood up, pulling the dagger from his chest, groaning briefly.

The red streak on Merlin’s chest begins to grow rapidly at this, and he bends over, almost falling, as he coughs up an impossible amount of blood, keeping the dagger gripped tightly in his hand.

As Merlin looks up, once again grinning, the leader regains a small part of his composure, and yells:

“KILL HIM! FOR GODS SAKE SOMEONE KILL HIM!!”

Before the swordsmen can take even one step towards Merlin, the grin drops from his face, his eyes glowing gold as he begins to snarl.

He begins taking disjointed steps towards the Head Merc, not even looking at the other men, trusting his Magic to do what he wants without much guidance.

He is vaguely aware of the screeching all around him, and begins to smirk again as the man he’s heading towards darts his gaze around the clearing in pure terror. The knights are also looking horrified, staring at the sharp vines bursting from the ground, and viciously ripping their attackers to shreds.

The Head Merc looks back towards Merlin, somehow managing to look even more petrified, as Merlin’s walking, and breathing, seem to become easier with each step.

The shrieks die down, and the clearing becomes silent, save for the harsh, frantic, panting of the only man left. The glow fades from Merlin’s eyes, his magic settling back into him. He spits out one last mouthful of blood, still walking, his chest fully healed, and the threats taken care of.

Still, he smirks.

The man falls backwards to the ground, rabidly scrambling away from Merlin, paler than ever:

“What.... what are you??? Please.. please!! I DIDN’T KNOW!!”

Still, Merlin walks towards him.

Still, he smirks.

The knights just about manage to tear their gazes away from the carnage in the clearing, staring at Merlin in fear.

Merlin’s eyes flash briefly gold once more, as he absentmindedly waves his hand, using his magic to pull the Merc to stand before him.

He’s trembling hard, but is too scared to make even a single noise.

Merlin tilts his head and, whilst still smirking, says:

“You attack my friends. You put me in cold iron. And you think you’re the one that gets to kill me?” 

The knights shudder at the deadly tone of voice, one they’d never heard Merlin even get close to before.

Merlin’s hand rushes up and grips the man’s hair, yanking it back, as he drops his smirk and starts snarling again.

Quick as lightening, he thrusts the dagger that had previously perforated his own chest, up into the man’s heart, staring him into his eyes as the breath leaves his body:

“You don’t get to kill me.”

The Merc stops moving quickly, clearly falling to a more accurate blow than the one he’d given the sorcerer.

Merlin drops him, his eyes following his carcass in clear disgust.

The Sorcerer lets out a short, huffed, laugh, but before he can do anything else, he’s pulled from his thoughts, by Lancelot’s trembling voice:

“M... Merlin?”

Merlin’s head snaps up towards his friends, and his eyes widen just a fraction, before he casually waves his hand in their direction.

The chains that hold them to their trees crumble to the floor, and each of them slowly stands on shaking legs.

Merlin notices the fear and horror in their faces, levelling a short, assessing, stare at each of them before glancing back down to the body at his feet.

He looks back to Arthur before smiling. It’s his normal, sweet smile, as opposed to the smirk he held earlier, but it does little to comfort The King. If anything this smile is more terrifying after what they had just witnessed, and the fact that Merlin was still covered head to toe in his own blood didn’t help either.

Arthur continues to stare at him, trying not to look scared, but failing miserably. At that, Merlin shrugs slightly, before looking down at his hands, seemingly no longer even thinking about the knights (or...anything that had just happened).

He gives an irritated huff at all the blood, before moving his attention to his shirt:

“Bollocks. This is gonna be a bitch to wash. He could have at least slit my throat, instead of putting a giant hole in my shirt.” he mumbles it to himself, but the others draw in shaky breaths as they overhear him.

The knights glance at each other quickly, before slowly making their way to Merlin. None of them come within arms reach of him however.

(Though they are all now aware, after that terrifying display, that Merlin didn’t have to even be thinking about it, to hurt them).

It’s Leon that gulps, and speaks first:

“Merlin? Are you... feeling alright?”

Merlin looks up in confusion about that, but the speed of it makes the knights all flinch.

He looks around at them as he replies:

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be? I already told you guys, I’m immortal.”

He looks down at himself, looking frustrated again, before perking up with sudden happiness:

“OH! I can just-”

He once again waves his hand, eyes flashing gold, as the blood disappears from his clothes and skin, and the hole in his shirt repairs itself.

The knights look amongst each other again, before Leon pipes up once more:

“Merlin you just... you laughed. You wiped them out. Do you... does your head feel alright?”

Merlin frowns at that, before turning around and looking at the carnage for the first time.

His voice is quiet when he speaks again:

“Oh. Yeah. My magic is pretty protective of you guys. I told it I wanted them all dead for hurting you, and I guess... that’s what it did-”

He looks back at them once more, his expression holding slight, worrying, amusement:

“As for the laughter, I just think it’s kind of funny that people keep underestimating me. And they keep dying for that mistake.”

He glances at the bloody scene again, only quickly, but when he looks back this time, he’s biting his lip and looking worried. Looking much more like the scared Merlin they used to get, all those years ago. He fiddles with his hands roughly, and seems to shrink in on himself as he looks at Arthur:

“Was that... was that wrong? You didn’t want any of them alive did you? I’m pretty tired now, but I could probably summon one of their spirits if you wanted to ask some questions or something?”

Arthur is taken aback at that, but he calls upon his bravery, and is the first of the knights to move closer to Merlin, only hesitating for a second, before pulling him into a brief hug:

“No, no it’s fine Merlin, you did great. I... we just haven’t seen you show off the extent of your powers yet and it was a little... unnerving.-”

The King pulls back, but keeps one hand on Merlin’s shoulder, glancing at the others, finally shuffling closer, before continuing:

“-I have a feeling we won’t be seeing any more of these guys, if there are others. Though one or two survivors would be great, next time.”

Merlin nods thoughtfully at that, as he receives a shaky smile, and clap on the back from Gwaine.

As Arthur lets go, and starts to pick his way through the bodies, looking truly unnerved, Gwaine following him, the rest of the knights briefly smile as they pat Merlin on the back one by one.

All of them get to work piling the bodies in one big heap, to burn them, and All of them are thinking the same thing:

“Thank fuck Merlin is on our side.”

THE END ✌

Soz lads, I know this is lot more gory than what I normally go for, but I just LOVE the concept of Merlin letting his dark side getting the better of him when the people he cares about are in danger.

Plus the idea of the gang finally seeing, finally understanding, why Emrys is worshipped by like 95% of magic users they come across....finally understanding that Merlin... their sweet, innocent, must-be-protected-at-all-costs Merlin,,,,, is basically a God. Noice

[shepherds-of-haven]

In an alternate Blest where the Endarkened never returned thus there was never a need for the shepherds to form, what would the main cast be doing?🧐 Would any of their paths have crossed otherwise? For those who are not from Haven would they have any other reason to travel there?

Holy shit anon, this is such a great question that I've literally sat on it for six weeks thinking about it... Let's give this a try! 🤔💭

Beware! Heavy alpha build and overall spoilers below! Read at your own risk, or do not read if you haven't played the alpha fully!

Blade: well, if things had gone exactly the way they had, just without the need for the Shepherds in the mix, he'd be dead! But if we ignore that particular detail, he'd still be working as an assassin for the Ket Rebellion, and he'd probably be a colder, crueler person as a result of it. He would still be a frequent visitor to Haven, plotting you-know-what and taking on various jobs and assignments in the meantime; and he and Trouble were friends before the Shepherds were formed, so they'd still be merc buddies and occasional partners on bigger jobs where they'd need someone to watch their back! But they probably wouldn't be as close. He'd probably spend the rest of his life working as the tip of the spear for the Ket rebellion, the left hand and living weapon of his brother. It'd be an okay life, but he'd never truly be independent!

Trouble: he'd likely still be a mercenary or soldier-for-hire, sort of wandering around the Continent with Haven as his home base. For some reason, I could see him being talked into joining the Army of the Sun and becoming a military man once he was older and tired of the merc life; he'd probably like the order and structure and camaraderie of it for a time, but he'd clash with his superiors and the culture so much that he'd probably eventually wind up discharged! At that point, he'd probably leave it all behind and go West to start a new life... maybe he'd become the sheriff of some small town out there, or a farmer, or an airship mechanic in Lindell!

Tallys: she'd probably work as a hunter for hire, usually working for the farms out in the Sun's Embrace or guarding their livestock from wolves and predators, or possibly as a 'van guard for Elvish caravans. She volunteered at poorhouses and Elvish clinics in Ashtown before joining the Shepherds, so she'd probably still be doing that. I think her life would be a sort of haze of just... existing, looking for a purpose or some way to help people but feeling like it's all a bit futile. She'd probably do some self-destructive things to make her forget the emptiness inside of her, and if things reached a boiling point, perhaps she'd simply disappear into the wind one day...

Shery: hmmmm, this is an interesting question! Shery met up with the Shepherds because her parents sold her into an apprenticeship that she didn't want and she ran away, and by coincidence she happened to come across the group and Blade offered her a job as quartermaster because she was good at book-keeping. If that didn't happen, I don't know what would have happened to her?! She alludes in the game that she saw how prostitutes by the docks were living and was scared that that was the only option open to her if no one would hire her, but I like to think she would have found a job as like, a librarian or a bookshop clerk or a merchant's assistant. I almost feel like she could have somehow run into Riel and joined Merchants Guild as one of his assistants alongside Aerin! So I feel like she would have been okay, though her life would have been very quiet and domestic and humble, and unless she worked for Riel, she likely would have never earned enough to have more than a little dingy apartment all to herself (and some cats).

If things hadn't worked out so well, she likely would have returned home and faced her terrible parents, and probably would have lived under their thumbs for the rest of her life as atonement! :(

Riel: he'd still be master of Merchants Guild, and doing just fine! I think he'd just continue to garner wealth, power, and influence, and likely would have been made a minister or some sort of politician within the Consortium when he was older! Not sure yet if he would have taken that offer, though! If the Endarkened didn't exist, I wonder if Merchants Guild and Thieves Guild would have had any particular bone to pick with each other, as they largely ignored each other's existence... Chase's thieves typically targeted the aristocracy and the obscenely wealthy before the whole Black Sun thing, so they might never have crossed paths!

Chase: he'd still be master of Thieves Guild, also doing just fine! I can't really imagine anything about his life changing that much; he would have continued to steal, nettle, and harangue the denizens and criminal underworld of Haven until the ecosystem could no longer sustain it and the Thieves Guild would have to pack up and move elsewhere to elude capture (probably to Conte); or he would have developed such a monopoly on crime in Haven that he would have gotten bored of the power, handed control off to Ari and Kato, and peaced out to parts unknown... realistically, in that scenario, his luck would have to run out at some point, and he'd probably sleep with or double-cross the wrong person (probably both) and get himself into a corner he couldn't back out of alone...

Red: he'd still be Archmage of the Veiled Circle, and they probably would have remained at Capra for longer, since there wouldn't have been the Endarkened to draw attention to their activities as pointedly as Quiial did. Still, they would have had to leave to evade the Inquisitors eventually, and probably would have settled somewhere else; and Red probably would have passed off leadership of the Circle to someone else, maybe a promising instructor who joined later or Pan or someone. Basically when he'd felt he'd put in the time and wasn't abandoning the Circle to its fate, he'd leave and go off and do his Traveler stuff he'd always wanted to. But it'd be a lonelier, more solitary life, and his letters home or his jaunts back to the Circle would drop off as he became more and more engrossed in his research, and people would worry about him or his health, not having anyone to watch his back on the road. He has a 50/50 chance of marrying someone nice that his family set him up with after like a concerned intervention on their part, or he'd probably drop off the face of the earth and no one would know where he went!

Ayla: she'd still be working as a wilderness guide, taking rich people around on tours and guiding parties and caravans through dangerous stretches of wilderness. She would have gone to Haven to visit as a tourist, but probably wouldn't have stayed long; a handful of weeks, at the most. She'd spend her life scrapping, fighting to stay alive, and watching her own back, but it would be an empty life, pretty much devoid of meaningful connection or meaning. At some point she'd probably get fed up, return to Jalis, and launch a single-woman campaign against the warlords there, just because she could!

Briony: hmmm... okay, she'd still be in that shipwreck, but would slavers have found her if there was no gladiator arena, since there would be no Endarkened to have created it?? I feel like she would have woken up, still an amnesiac, and staggered to the nearest town eventually (which I think would have been Courtshore or one of its outlying, smaller towns/villages). After recovering a little, she probably would have put herself to work as a mercenary or as a street-fighter working for bets (so like a gladiator... but on the street!). She probably would have been taken in by a kind innkeeper or family and allowed to rent a small room with her bizarre story of not having a memory. Or she could have taken up something simpler, like working as a barmaid in the inn or something like that! She probably would have had a relatively happy, peaceful life once she got used to things and it all settled down... but given her proximity to the shipwreck, her past would have caught up to her way faster, and the fallout would have been... intense...

Lavinet: she'd still be in Lockwood, and the Elementals would still be an issue, since that wasn't tied to demonwork! What probably would have happened: things would have deteriorated, and the families of the besieged nobles in Lockwood would have grown impatient and would sent in their personal armies to deal with the situation, most likely without Lavinet's consent. The ensuing conflict would have been devastating, with the Elementals most likely winning. In response, the Autarchy would have mobilized the Army of the Sun and absolutely annihilated the Elementals--but Lockwood would have likely burned, caught in the crossfire. Lavinet would have to spend the rest of her life with that shadow looming over her, and while she'd still harbor ambitions to attend the Sun Court and rise in the ranks as a Sun Courtier, there would always be that stain on her reputation, or she wouldn't have been able to leave Lockwood, having to help it rebuild after its destruction. Or she would have gotten kidnapped by the Elementals far earlier and might have been killed then!

Halek: he would have stayed sol of the Reach, and I have no idea what would have happened... he probably would have married Moonsilk and just have been absolutely miserable... probably would have popped out a few kids and just... existed! Or maybe he might have run away and left Naolin holding the bag and become like a guilty drunkard in some random town, though it's hard to believe they wouldn't have tracked him down eventually...

[tf2-hellhole]

Maybe Mercs with an S/O who's a clothes designer and just makes so much clothing items (ranging from like jackets and scarves and sweaters and such) for their merc s/o?

Scout:

Oh my god, he absolutely loves it. He enjoys the attention he gets when you take measurements/edit the clothing/anything that involves having him stand there while you give him attention.

And of course, he flaunts all the clothing you make for him. He’s a very fashionable boy and he’s always walking around with the clothes on, especially if it’s brand new. He also brags that his gorgeous S/O made the clothing, too.

You can tell he loves the outfits; the dork gets so dang excited when you have a new outfit ready for him, and it’s honestly so sweet.

Soldier:

He’s a good model for when you are experimenting with clothes; he’ll stand still for however long you need and he’ll happily wear anything you want him to.

Asks you to plllllleeeeeeaaaaaaasssssseeeeee make him some American-flag-themed clothing. If you do, he wears it all the time, basically any time he’s not wearing his work uniform.

Like Scout, he’s gonna brag about your skill and all the amazing clothes you’ve made for him all the dang time. Though honestly, he’s bragging a lot more about dating you than having the nice clothes.

Pyro:

Pyro would love it if you made clothes for them, but you have to realize that you’re probably the only person who will ever see it on them, since they only wear their work clothing when out and about.

Pyro rarely takes off their work clothes, so wearing what you make for them is a much more intimate and personal show of affection that it’d be for the other mercs.

Surprise, surprise, Pyro loves more feminine or child-like clothing styles (probably Lolita too tbh) but they’d be happy to wear just about anything you make for them.

Demo:

He enjoys being your guinea pig for making clothes, even if he’s not the best model. He likes it a lot because he gets to spend time with you while you work.

He’s not the most fashionable person, so he appreciates that you give him good clothes so he looks nice. He makes sure to show his appreciation for you making sure he doesn’t dress like a grandpa.

He likes to make sure you always have the supplies you need to work. Mercenary work makes a good chunk of change, so he likes to buy all sorts of materials for you (usually what he likes/what he thinks you like).

Heavy:

Heavy obviously doesn’t care much about fashion, so he’d prefer warm clothing from his S/O. He’d love stuff like sweaters, scarves, or mittens from them, especially if you knit/crochet them.

He’d never say it, but he thinks you doing what you do is super adorable. He can’t help but smile when he catches you hard at work on your latest project.

He asks if you can make clothes for his family. His sisters have taken a liking for fashion and want new clothes, and he wants comfy clothes for his mom. And, he insists on paying you full price for your work.

Engie:

Engie’s not really into fashion, since he honestly only wears his work clothes and stereotypical Texan clothing, but he’s happy to be your guinea pig for experimenting with different styles.

He’s a very good model for making clothes; he’s excellent at standing still for you and isn’t the type to get nervous when you’re working with pins.

He’s always blushing when you’re working with him on clothes, since he enjoys being with you for such a long time. Sometimes he gets so wrapped up in work, so he appreciates that you pull him away from it.

Medic:

Medic cares a lot about his appearance, and he likes to look clean and professional. So if you were to make him some suits/formal clothing or repair his work clothes, he would deeply appreciate it.

He’s like a little kid on Christmas morning when he gets new clothes from you; he gets so excited and has the silliest grin on his face, and of course he loves putting it on for the first time.

But he is kind of a brat when it comes to his clothing; he likes specific styles and aesthetics and he’ll probably complain if his clothing doesn’t fit his preferences. Just communicate well with him and it won’t happen.

Sniper:

Sniper usually doesn’t put a great deal of effort into his appearance, so he kinda feels pampered when you make or give him new clothing. Don’t get me wrong, he loves the attention and the thoughtfulness.

You can tell it makes him happy to get new clothes from you. Like, he still doesn’t understand why you care so much, but he loves it. He’s always blushing and has a goofy smile when he gets new clothes.

He’s not a super fashionable guy, so he prefers to get just normal clothes in a higher quality from you. If you give him something super fancy and fashionable, he honestly feels a little silly wearing it.

Spy:

Of course this dude is so excited about you being a clothes designer. He loves when you make clothing for him, and he’s always bragging about having a “personal tailor”.

Spy buys you all sorts of extremely expensive and high-demand supplies for your work; the best fabrics, the strongest threads, the best equipment, the whole shebang.

He makes sure you know that your work never goes unappreciated. He always finds a way to thank you for your work, sometimes with cash, sometimes with gifts or dates, sometimes with just a sweet “thank you”.

[aggressive-positivity-network]

[Tf2 headcannon thingy] how would everyone react to scouts ex leaving him with a kid

Oooh, spicy! Real spicy!

TF2 Deadbeat Ex Headcanons

Engineer:

Is one of the few mercs that actually knows anything about children.

The kid likes Engie best he is a) not scarily massive and b) doesn’t treat them like some animal escaped from the zoo.

His rage is well hidden, but god forbid the ex ever shows up at the base again.

The ex actually showed up with a new boyfriend, wanting some of their clothes back.

“Well, no problem, pardner. Lemme just...treat ‘em first. For lice and th’ like. Y’know how dirty us mercenaries can be.”

He shuts the door, opens it a few minutes later with a shoebox of ashes, then slams the door in the ex’s face.

Demo:

Will come in handy when the kid gets a little older, and he likes to hold the baby occasionally, but when it comes to actually taking care of it, he can’t be trusted.

“Ah, my ma gave me whiskey when I was a lad ‘n I turned out fine...”

As for the ex?

He’d be apathetic when sober - he’s seen it all before.

But drunk?

Someone’s house is getting blown up while a victorious Scottish battle song is played on a crappy MP3 player.

Medic:

Has a real soft spot for children, being a doctor and all, but every person under twelve that isn’t insane gives him a wide girth.

So, for a while, he avoided the baby, only giving it the initial check-up.

However, one night, the baby was crying, and he was the only one awake. He immediately donned his gloves and lab coat and went into the baby’s room, which was a cleaned out supply room with a crib and a few of Pyro’s old toys.

The baby didn’t need anything specific - the new place and the darkness had simply scared it.

Medic reached into crib and tried to pick up the child, but they only screamed louder. He hurriedly took off his gloves and tried again.

The baby calmed a bit, now only whining and whimpering. Medic turned on a lamp and rocked the baby in his arms.

The baby fell back asleep after a while, but Medic kept rocking it for a little longer.

Scout came in at one point, and Medic showed him how to properly hold the baby before disappearing back into his lab.

Ever since then, Medic felt both more affection for the child and more hatred towards the ex.

When he is tired or unmotivated, he sometimes makes little machines of torture in case the ex ever crosses him again.

Sniper:

Doesn’t hate kids, but doesn’t particularly like them, either.

Unless they can properly aim a gun or appreciate Taylor Swift, him and children have nothing in common.

He was actually the one to suggest the break-up to Scout, though, so he feels a little bad for putting his teammate in that position.

He mostly acts as a person for Scout to talk with, especially about being an adult and the feelings he still has for his ex.

“You did the right thing, mate. She made your life a living ‘ell...I’ve seen some pieces ‘a work in my time, but she was the whole bloody museum.”

He definitely has moments with the baby, though, despite his reluctance.

One time, he was cleaning his gun, and cocked it to make sure it moved smoothly.

The baby started giggling, so Sniper cocked his gun again, which sent them into hysterics.

A few minutes later, they were both laughing, and Miss Pauling poked her head in to see them both on the floor, guffawing.

Once Sniper got ahold of himself, he said, “That there is a future mercenary!”

Heavy:

LOVES children, but it took the baby a while to realize that this giant of a man was on their side.

Knows the most about children out of all the mercenaries, and is the go-to for a baby-sitter when Scout has an assignment.

Heavy doesn’t hold anything against the ex, though he doesn’t respect nor condone their actions.

He was the one who discussed the matter with the ex - he was the only one who wouldn’t kill them.

“You are leaving child with man you loved for three months. We will take. Heavy will take. But child now is not yours. You are not ma. You are just stranger. Do not come back. Heavy will break you.”

He also consoled Scout when he was the most upset, building him back up to his old self...well, as much as Heavy could.

Spy:

Really doesn’t like children, but puts up with it for Scout’s sake.

Never holds it, takes care of it, or even looks at it. However, he did stop smoking around it without Pauling even having to ask.

One day, he saw Scout crying outside of the baby’s room. Scout tried to pass it off as fatigue, but Spy, uncharacteristically gentle, stood with him until he could speak without sobbing.

Scout said he couldn’t be a father, and that only a few weeks ago he had blown up the lab, and what would happen if he killed it...!

“Scout.”

Spy put a hand on Scout’s shoulder.

“You may be impulsive, illiterate, vainglorious, a bit self-absorbed, and generally immature...”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Shut up. I’m not finished. But, all of that said, you are not cruel. You are not stupid. You are not vindictive. You took this child, despite everything, and you have taken care of them. You still wish good things upon a broken-off lover, and you took her creation with determination. Many men would leave such an offer on the side of the road or in an abandoned schoolhouse. If you can overcome such a deep loss, you can take care of a child. You are ready.”

“Really?”

“Oui. Besides, you have a doctor, a muscle-bound love bug, and, if all else fails, a woman. You are not alone.”

“Wait, so...you’ll help me change them?”

“Hell no. Well...not yet, anyway. Time will tell.”

Soldier:

Soldier is the one to bring all the supplies, food, and anything else the baby might need anywhere the team would need to take it.

He also buys most of it, since he is so ready to go to a gas station in the middle of the night.

However, this did lead to an odd exchange between him and an old woman.

“Oh, running out for the wife, I see!”

“SCOUT’S A DAD!”

“A...a dad? Oh, are you an uncle? A brother, perhaps?”

“WE’RE ALL DADS!”

“How...how many of you are there?”

“AT LEAST THREE!”

“Oh, mercy...”

When it comes to the baby, both Scout and Miss Pauling are hesitant to leave him alone with it.

Maybe when the kid is a little older.

Pyro:

Would love to hold and play with the baby, but it cries every time they get near it.

They refuse to take off their mask, but Miss Pauling always finds them sadly rocking a bunched up blanket whenever the baby gets freaked out.

In order to combat the problem, Miss Pauling got them a realistic baby doll to hold while the real thing was being passed around.

It definitely helped, but there are still times when they’re a little melancholy about it.

The only way they can really interact with the baby is through their puppet shows.

Since he can’t be understood anyway and no one can see his mask, the baby’s delighted by the shows Pyro puts on.

Pyro is slowly but surely gained the baby’s trust by having a puppet on one hand while holding the baby in the other.

As for the ex, the team has only told them vague things about it. They aren’t sure how they’ll react, and the last thing they need is another criminal trial.

For now, they’re just saying that they found the kid.

[duskkodesh]

Spoiler free and spoiler review of Morbius from a comic lover’s perspective.

Okay, you know how this works. Spoiler free is up here. Spoilers will be under the cut. You have been warned!!!

First of all... WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST WATCH?! WHAT WAS THAT? IT CERTAINLY WASN’T MY FAVORITE CHARACTER OF ALL TIME. NOPE.  Spoiler free: Reviews saying it was confusing were not lies. It was a mess. Scenes felt like they were written by entirely different people and then thrown together, characters seem to have no relationship to one another, actors don’t express emotion except Matt Smith who is an absolute mad lad and I can’t hate him. Worst crime is there’s characters who seem entirely like a waste, they never get to really serve any pivotal role, and you get the sinking feeling that there was a board of Sony executives with a wishlist sitting and picking apart the script. The entire feeling of the film is ‘marketing decision’ and the ending is the least satisfying cinematic ending I’ve seen since The Lost World.

So, onto the spoilers

PLOT: The only things really in character for Morb are his sense of humor, altruism, and how much he absolutely gets the piss beat out of him. Other than that the character was unrecognizable and Leto’s stiff as a board acting did not help. The movie starts with the bat trap scene. You’ve seen almost all of it. Then childhood bits, cheesy but not the worst part of the film. Matt Smith’s character is Lucian, a kid who gets nicknamed Milo by a young Michael. We get not enough interaction to buy them really being friends then it’s onto the future. Morb is gifted, gets a scholarship, invents artificial blood, receives a Nobel prize which he refuses... god knows why. He’s a director at Horizon labs and working on his cure. Milo is an adult and funding his research. The two still speak but Matt Smith is the better actor here and carries the conversations. Martine also works at the labs and they aren’t together but there’s supposed to be chemistry... I guess? I wasn’t feeling it.  So, boat, tests, mercs, change, growling with bad CGI, Nom nom nom, and they at least kept canon with the fact he jumps off the boat. He sneaks back to the labs, runs tests on himself. Feeds on artificial blood and leaves out his vials of the serum that changed him. Milo checks on him, insists on this cure Michael has and they fight about it. Cliche’s happen, obviously he steals a vial.  Morb gets arrested, Milo visits him and lets it show that he used the serum. Morb vamps out and breaks out. They spend a lot of cam time on Milo turning evil, so much that for a bit I wondered if he was the main character. and OH MY GOD GUYS, the CG vampire head on Matt Smith is CRAZY. I had to hold in laughter. Milo and Morb fight, Milo kills ‘Nicholas’ AKA Jared Harris their older mutual mentor. Milo kills Martine, Morb finds her and drinks her blood. Are you ready for this shit?  The cam shoes a drop of Morb’s blood falling to Martine’s lips... YEP. Milo has a final big fight with Morb where... GET THIS. HE WINS BY COMMANDING A SWARM OF BATS. I wish I made that up. Deus ex battica. Martine is showed waking from death, Morb flees the scene. Stroud stands around having done very little in the plot... and the credits roll. That’s it. Then we get post credit scenes where Vulture shows up, goes free, then approaches Morb to ask if he’d work with him. Morb is in the sinister six, I’m so fucking done... I rant for an hour on the way home and my own SPOUSE Says he thinks it wasn’t as bad as Venom. HERESY. Obviously that’s just an outline, there’s more to it but... Okay, where’s my notes. My reviewer points... yessir. 

Acting: Bad, Tyrese Gibson is meh... Matt Smith is crazy and enjoyable. Everyone else is bad.

SFX: Some scenes look great, others the bodies ragdoll like rubber, or faces look ridiculous. It goes from bad to good so many times I had whiplash.

 Plot coherence: It’s not great... I’m gonna be honest. I’ve read better fanfic.

Soundtrack: Sometimes booming when it doesn’t need to be, but overall servicable. Some is absolutely genius like the music Matt Smith dances to.

Accuracy to Morb’s canon personality: Not... really? I mean he actively manages to NOT really make any huge bad decisions after he wakes up on the boat and that’s just not the loser I know. Points for him making very dry jokes and getting bossed around by Martine.

Chemistry between characters: Hoo boy, no. Just no. When Morb and Martine kiss I was just like ..”Why?”

Whether they did anything innovative: The flight effects and the bullet time were retro but honestly cool. I can’t hate on them.

And whether they dropped any comic easter eggs for Morb fans in particular. I didn’t really catch anything. Even lab numbers I thought would correspond to Marvel issues... really didn’t. It was a meh. Overall 5/10 because it’s a good laugh watch. Now, I need to cleanse my brain with old comic issues.

[ohlawsons]

08.08 enemies to lovers | elena/maegar less "enemies" and more "perpetually annoyed by each other's presence" but anyway here's 5.5k words of self-indulgent growing-old-together fluff

“Maegar.”

Elena stares up at the merc’s outstretched hand, her thick brow furrowing at the too-easy smile he turns towards her; she’s had her fair share of meetings with various mercenaries and vagabonds and do-gooders, and she knows better than to be swayed by his charm. “Sir Varn of the Varnling’s Host,” she repeats, crossing her arms, “I’m glad to finally meet in person. If your company is truly as capable as you say, then we should have no trouble at all driving the necromancers from town.”

“We?” The charm disappears as easily as Varn had summoned it moments ago, and he withdraws his hand as he regards her with amused curiosity. “I mean no offense, my lady, but my company and I aren’t wholly untested – we can easily deal with a group of necromancers without the assistance of a priestess.”

She narrows her eyes; she isn’t quite offended at the way he brushes off her skills, but neither does she appreciate it. “You would be foolish to turn away a cleric of Pharasma. Besides,” she adds, smoothing down her simple red and gold robes, “it wasn’t a request. If you want payment, you’ll be taking me with you.”

“We would be happy to have you accompany us.” A second man joins them – sharper, older, with a rather self-important air around him – and cuts the argument that Varn had been forming. 

“Cephal–”

“Nonsense,” he chides, the word as sharp as the look he gives Elena. “Would I be correct in assuming that your presence would allow us accommodations from the temple?”

Elena turns towards the newcomer, Cephal, making a point to face entirely away from Varn. “I can offer a meal and a place to rest for the evening, yes. I also happen to know exactly where the necromancers are hiding.” 

“It’s settled then.” With a pointed, almost chiding, look towards Varn, Cephal adds, “It should make this job go rather quickly. After all, it’s not as if we have the time to waste.”

…

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Varn looks a bit surprised at the sudden reproach, but Elena isn’t sure if it’s her words or the fact that he’d rounded a corner and come, quite suddenly, face to face with an angry priestess, still half asleep and brandishing a book in his direction. “We’ve taken another job. If we want to make the next town by nightfall, we need to leave–”

“I thought I’d made myself quite clear,” Elena huffs, “that I’m coming with you.”

It takes only a moment for the lingering surprise and last traces of sleep to vanish, and Varn frowns. “The Varnling’s Host is quite capable without–”

“Bullshit. You’d be–” Elena stops short, suddenly very aware of her rising tone in the otherwise empty temple of Pharasma. “You’d be dead without me,” she continues, glaring up at Varn with all the venom she can muster at this hour, her words a sharp, hushed whisper. “And you and I both know that a barbarian with a questionable knowledge of anatomy does not count as a trustworthy healer. You need my abilities as a cleric, and I need to get out of this temple and enact real change in the world.” She leans forward, resisting the urge to stand on her tiptoes and reach her dwarven frame a bit closer to him. “I’m. Coming. With you.”

His brow furrows, and Elena can almost hear the wheels in his mind spinning as he works out an argument; but then he simply throws up his hands. “Fine.” He turns and continues towards the temple’s main doors, muttering something beneath his breath about he wouldn’t be dead, he’s been fine for years without a cleric.

He absolutely would have died, Elena thinks to herself, but doesn’t give herself time to gloat – she needs to gather her things before they just leave without her.

…

“Fuck.”

The thing they’re fighting is a small time lich – which doesn’t change the fact that it’s still a fucking lich – and Elena’s on the verge of exhaustion trying to keep their party safe and alive, until a stray bolt of necromantic energy – meant for the paladin they’d hired to guide them, she thinks – catches her right in the gut, sending a cold, sickly energy through her entire body. The pain is enough that she falls to her knees, the innate wrongness of the magic enough to have her grasping and clutching, white-knuckled, at her midsection as she desperately tries to summon up one last remnant of Pharasma’s grace to heal herself.

She thinks she’s able to stop it from spreading, but that doesn’t stop the hollow ache in her stomach; the lich falls, but Elena remains keeled over, gasping for breath and squeezing her eyes shut to try and stop the crypt they’re in from spinning around her.

It’s Cephal who comes to her aid, eventually, and while he can only offer so much aid it’s enough to at least stabilize her; Elena still doesn’t care much for Cephal, even after traveling with the Host for a little over two years, but he’s fair, at least. Best she can tell, he sees her as something of a business investment, and that means an interest – however calculated – in keeping her alive.

That’s enough, for now, as it means that as the rest of the party regroups after the fight, Elena can slowly begin to tend to the wounds of others, rather than succumb to whatever darkness she’d felt.

“Maybe you should stay back next time,” Maegar suggests, somehow managing to make such a ridiculous request sound both insulting and perfectly innocent. “Save that healing energy of yours for when we really need it.”

Elena pauses, her hands going still as she wraps a nasty gash on Maegar’s sword arm. “You’re right – next time you’re surrounded by a half dozen living corpses, I’ll just wait around and not save your life so that I have a little bit of magic left so a cut like this hurts a little less.” There’s no heat behind the words, not really, just a hint of annoyance that Maegar still, somehow, seems to misunderstand her purpose here; she intends to track down and eradicate any undead she can find, and she’s carefully honed her skills to make herself a powerful ally in battle. Her healing magic is just another arrow in her quiver – so to speak – and she’s worked hard to make herself capable of so much more. 

Still, she continues wrapping the wound, giving a showy roll of her eyes so Maegar understands she takes no real offense to his comment. As she finishes tying the bandage, Maegar tugs his arm free and gingerly tests the range of movement, grimacing a bit. 

“You’re right,” he says finally, as Elena is gathering her supplies but before she can move on to the next member of the group. “We do need you in battle. But it wouldn’t hurt if you were a little more capable of defending yourself.”

She levels him with a curious, thoughtful stare, waiting as she tries to sense any disdain behind the words; but there doesn’t seem to be anything but genuine concern, and Elena frowns. “I’m perfectly capable of defending myself. But – thank you.”

…

“Let me see it.”

“It’s fine.”

With a heavy sigh, Elena holds one hand out, the other on her hip, rolling her eyes as she repeats herself – again. “It’s bad enough that you came all the way across town to interrupt me at the temple. Let me see.”

Maegar, hair and clothes damp, seated hunched over in one of the temple pews, shakes his head; he looks almost like a chastised child, and Elena debates telling him so. “I told you, I’ll be fine. Didn’t come for healing, anyway.”

Elena narrows her eyes. “Is that so.” They’ve traveled together for a decade, now, and never once has she known him to seek her out like this; they’ve shared meals together, but a few moments in a cramped campsite is different than a trek across town. Her sharp eyes search Maegar again, and she plants her outstretched hand on her hip; his words are hardly slurred and he’s more sure-footed than not, but she can smell the alcohol on his breath still. She expects the bar fight and subsequent walk through freezing rain were sobering, to say the least, but it’s not enough to fully convince her that Maegar has, without the influence of drink, sought out her presence just to… visit? 

Something about her quiet scrutiny must be enough to change his mind, because Maegar – head still hanging low – holds out the hand in question. The skin is split and already bruising around the knuckles, and Elena’s been a healer for long enough to recognize that there’s likely a couple of breaks. 

“What, exactly, happened?” She takes his hand in both of hers, already aglow with healing magic as she begins coaxing the skin and bone to knit itself back together.

“There was… trouble.” He grimaces, lifting his head enough to watch as the magic overtakes his entire hand. “I had to settle a dispute, is all.”

“With what – a wall?”

“A half elf in a full set of plate mail.”

Maegar, at least, has the sense to sound a tad sheepish, and Elena bites back a growing smile, forcing herself to focus on her magic. She doesn’t doubt that he’d leapt to someone’s defense, regardless of how foolhardy it sounds that it was, and by now she’s gotten rather adept at stitching him back up in the wake of the aftermath. “Better?” she asks, still cradling his hand in both of hers as the glow of her magic fades.

“Much, thank you.” He falls silent again, some of the tension seeming to finally melt from his shoulders as he sits back in the pew. “Do you mind if I stay a bit?”

That quiet suspicion is back, but Elena pushes it from her mind and nods. “Only if you promise not to pick a fight with anyone here.”

…

“What do you think?”

Elena glances over the rough sketch of the fort, frowning as she traces out Maegar’s plan of attack with one finger. “I don’t know.”

Cephal lets out a loud sigh and points, once again, towards a circled entrance on the south side of the fort. “The boy you just hired – if he’s anywhere as quick and quiet as he claims, he can sneak through the cellar and have the job finished within minutes.”

“And we risk getting him killed within minutes.” Maegar plants a hand on Elena’s shoulder – they both know he has no chance of convincing Cephal, but she might still be swayed – and motions towards the door, where the rest of the Host is enjoying an evening off at the tavern. “We take two or three others and pose as merchants. It gets us access to the inner fort, and access to their leader. If we’re lucky, they’ll even show us the documents – then it’s just a matter of getting out–” he pauses to draw a finger along his planned escape route, ending at the southern entrance that Cephal has been tapping at all evening, “--and getting paid.”

“Risking all of us, rather than one unproven thief.”

“Exactly,” Elena interjects, gaze darting towards Cephal. “He’s unproven. If he doesn’t make it out, then the fort goes on high alert. But,” she adds quickly, holding up a hand to cut off any arguments or gloating before she can finish, “Maegar, your plan is shortsighted. We can’t adequately prepare for a heist without raising suspicion.”

Cephal gives a low hum in thought, before nodding and giving the map a little tug towards him. “You’re suggesting we use the merchant ruse to scout out the documents’ exact location for the boy.”

“We take him with us,” she suggests. “Let him get a good look at things, and if he’s not up to it, he has the chance to tell us.”

Maegar’s hand slips from Elena’s shoulder as he crosses his arms, eyes narrowed as he mulls over her proposition. “I still don’t like that we’d be putting the kid in that much danger.” But there’s no real fight in the words, and the three of them all know how much he values Elena’s input; she’s rarely steered him wrong in fifteen years. “We’ll get everyone else up to speed in the morning.”

…

“There you are! I’d wondered where you’d gotten off to.”

Maegar’s sudden, boisterous voice is enough to break Elena’s concentration, and she curses as her stance falters; gasping for breath, she turns to chastise him, but the words die on her lips as she turns to find that, instead of his usual light, roguish attire, Maegar is adorned in well-fitting formalwear, with his dark hair falling loosely against his shoulders. Elena’s mind falters and stalls, until she remembers that he’s meeting with some dignitary about some very discreet, very well-paying job.

Perhaps, after nearly twenty years on the road together, neither of them are as young as they used to be – however, Elena considers this a very poignant reminder that Maegar can clean up very nicely when he intends to.

She clears her throat, making a show of adjusting her grip on the two blunted daggers she’s holding, doing her best to pay little attention to her own tattered, dirt- and sweat-stained clothes she’d chosen for her morning sparring session. “You’ve been telling me to take better care of myself in battle for years,” she points out, the words ragged and breathless. “I thought I might finally do something about it.”

“Well, a word of advice,” he offers, the words softer and more thoughtful than Elena would’ve expected, “you don’t want to hold a blade like that in a real battle. It’s showy, but not– here.” He pauses, the words coming to an abrupt halt as he crosses the courtyard where she’d been practicing, pulling his own knife from his belt. Maegar makes a show of gripping the dagger differently than Elena had been, twisting his wrist so she gets a good look at the hold. “More control this way, and less chance of hurting yourself if you strike something that doesn’t give, like, say, a shield or good armor.”

She studies his grip for a moment, then stares down at her own hand as she adjusts her fingers; he’s right, and she can already feel a difference in the way the blade moves. “Thank you. I… I suppose I thought I’d pick up what I needed on the road, but I shouldn’t assume myself above a good teacher.”

He laughs, quiet and comfortable as he sheathes the knife. “I don’t know that I’d make a good teacher, necessarily, but I’d be happy to pass along what I know.”

“I’d appreciate it,” she tells him earnestly; the atmosphere between them is a bit too sincere and a bit too heavy for the early hour, so Elena clears her throat and adds, “As long as you don’t expect me to teach you to smite undead in the name of Pharasma.” Maegar gives a slow smile, but says nothing, and Elena knows him well enough to sense there’s something else about her training session that has been bothering him. “Alright,” she sighs. “Out with it.”

“It’s nothing.” He takes a step backwards, hands up in surrender. “I should be going, anyway–”

“Tell me.”

“I was going to mention your footwork, but it can wait.”

Elena shakes her head, wondering if she’s going to regret finally acting on Maegar’s near-constant concern for her well-being in fights. Her magic and spells and prayers to Pharasma are familiar and comfortable and she’s content with her strength in them, but blades are Maegar’s realm. 

Maybe she’ll regret it spectacularly, but maybe she’ll convince him that she can hold her own in battle.

…

“Elena!”

As her mind catches up with the battle, it’s too late. She’s barely recognized that someone’s calling her name – that Maegar’s calling her name – before she’s knocked to the ground; the troll she’d been trying to avoid topples, a column of fire from Cephal bringing it to its knees. The troll’s swing of its massive, spiked mace had gone wide at the last second, slicing into Maegar as he’d rushed forward to her defense,  and the mace had barely scraped Elena, knocking her off balance.

By the time she can actually form the thought in her mind that Maegar needs help, she’s already scrambling forward to his prone form, one hand throwing up a shielding spell over them both and the other already preparing a healing spell. There’s a flash of her magic before she can force herself to call out, to call for Cephal to cover them; the wizard’s already there, barely sparing a glance towards them as he hands alight with magic again.

Curses and prayers fall from her lips in equal measure as she rolls up her sleeves, the fraying crimson and gold fabric of her robes already stained with dark, wet blood as she steadies herself; the battle still carries on around them – at least two more of the shambling, undead trolls, as well as the necromancer commanding them – but she trusts Cephal entirely to keep them safe while she works.

There’s a moment, as she kneels beside him and her hands shake as her fingers trace where his armor is split to reveal skin and tissue and bone, that her mind goes blank and she can’t remember what comes next, what she needs to do to heal him. 

But where her mind and her heart are torn, frozen in shock at the sight of her best friend fading before her, her hands are already in motion, already summoning every ounce of healing magic she can muster. She’s done this before, pulled more than one person from far graver injuries than this. She’s watched them threaten to slip from her as she’d bartered with Pharasma, pleaded for the lives of those the Grey Lady would otherwise claim.

And so, now, she lets her hands work, doing all she can from letting her mind wander to the unfocused pain in his gaze or the quick, shallow breaths he’s taking. It’s not him, it’s not Maegar, it’s just bone that needs rebuilding and tissue that needs reforming and skin that needs to be stitched back together. She prays, with every torn, frantic piece of her soul, for strength; the prayers turn to pleading, to bargaining, to a quiet curse that Pharasma can’t – won’t – take him from her.

She doesn’t, and when Elena’s finally satisfied that he’s no longer slipping away from her, she rocks back onto her heels and lets her shoulders slump, exhausted, as she wipes dirty, bloody hands on her dirty, bloody robes. The battle ended, at some point, and Cephal still keeps a quiet watch over them even as he directs the rest of their group.

“Thought I was going to lose you.”

The relief – and the absurdity of Maegar’s statement, given the circumstances – escapes Elena in a silent, breathy laugh. 

…

“Take your damn shirt off.”

Elena knows there’s a sharp retort on Maegar’s tongue, knows from the quick, sidelong glance he gives her that he nearly summons up some glib remark about how forward she’s being given that the two of them are alone in his tent. But he doesn’t; even two days removed from the troll attack that had nearly taken him from her, and it seems he’s still too exhausted to argue further. 

“It’s healing up just fine,” he insists, though he takes his time shrugging out of his cloak. 

But she just stands in front of him, saying nothing and crossing her arms as she waits to inspect her handiwork. Her healing during the battle had been shoddy at best — understandably so, given that she was equal parts tired and distracted and just a tad worried — and she won’t be doing either of them any favors by letting a half-healed wound, especially one as serious as what Maegar had endured, fester. Still, he continues to insist he’s fine, though his slow movements and grunt of effort as he tugs his shirt over his head suggest otherwise.

It’s… not as bad as Elena had been expecting, but she still feels herself take a sharp breath of surprise as she inspects the wound. The healing seems to have taken well, and she gingerly lifts Maegar’s arm out of the way to inspect the myriad of bruising across his chest and torso, spots of deep blue connected by a swath of deep green and yellow.

“See? Not so bad.” Maegar’s tone is light, but she knows him well enough to tell that he’s gritting his teeth. “Give it a few more days and I’ll be right as rain.”

“You’re sore and in a great deal of pain,” she guesses, hands beginning to glow as she readies another healing spell, concerned about any lingering internal damage. Elena — or at least, the part of her still able to treat Maegar as just another patient — is content with the job she’s done and pleased with the rate of healing, but it’s Maegar and her heart drops at the thought that he’s been dealing with this pain for days and she’d let him turn her away.

He grimaces and flinches at her touch. “Sore, yes,” he agrees, after a moment, “but alive, thanks to you.”

Elena frowns at that, and the tent falls into silence as she works; her hands trace over what remains of the wound, and Maegar tenses where her fingers ghost over his skin until she lets her magic flow, warmth filling her hands and her chest as she pours everything she has into healing him. 

Once she’s satisfied, she takes a step back from where he’s seated, doing her best to give him space in the small tent. “Don’t do anything like that again,” she chastises, but there’s no real heat behind the words. They’re both too exhausted to be angry at each other, too glad the other is still alive.

As expected, Maegar just shakes his head and gives her a soft smile. “You know I can’t promise that. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, Elena.”

“For starters, you’d have to find a new healer.” She turns to leave, then pauses. “I… may have said some particularly uncouth things to Pharasma while I was asking her to save you. Perhaps we could at least put a pause on the daring heroics until I’m content in my repentance?”

“That, at least, I think I can manage.”

…

Elena is well aware that she and Maegar have each grown… distinguished, she supposes, in their own way. In the nearly three decades they’ve traveled together, she’s watched him grow from an eager young man to someone full of life, educated and charismatic and well-traveled, with grey at his temples and laughter lines and a charm that never seems to steer him wrong.

Elena, by contrast, has forfeited her youth for a frown that seems etched into her skin; she’s never been what she’d consider attractive — thick brow and hooded eyes, hooked nose, a chin that’s too sharp and jutting — but she certainly doesn’t wear her age with the grace that Maegar seems to.

Still, it’s never bothered her when they spend a few nights in some town and her evenings are spent in the company of nothing but the occasional drink, while Maegar seems to have no trouble attracting all manner of attention.

She watches him now, seated with a woman with broad shoulders and a wide smile, built like one of the barbarians from the north but with a radiant sort of charm that Elena has picked up even from the other side of the tavern. 

She shouldn’t find herself bothered by the interaction. Shouldn’t find her fingers tapping restlessly against her mug as the woman orders another round of drinks.

She shouldn’t care. She’s never cared before. But, somehow, she can already tell that the next few days they spend in this godsforsaken village are going to be some of the longest of her life.

Quen, an elf they’d picked up a few towns back, slides into the seat beside Elena and sets a fresh mug in front of her. He takes a sip of his own drink, the pair of them sitting in silence and watching as Maegar and the woman leave half-finished drinks, their bright joined laughter ringing through the tavern as they head for the door.

Quen sets his mug down and sits back in his seat, arms crossed. “It’s always like this,” he guesses, voice soft, giving an almost imperceptible nod towards the door. 

Elena, jaw clenched, still not quite certain why the evening has gnawed at her so sharply, gives a quick nod of her own. 

“My condolences.”

…

“So — what do you think?” Maegar, one hand planted on Elena’s shoulder, gestures with his other hand in a wide, sweeping motion as if to show off the forested lands he now calls his own. 

“Varnhold,” Elena says slowly, arcing one brow upwards. “It’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Nonsense.”

She gives him a sidelong glance, then crosses her arms and takes in the view in earnest, feeling a smile grow on her lips despite herself. “It’s beautiful. And it’ll be nice to have a place to call home again.” Home, really, is just wherever Maegar is, these days, but she can’t deny that she’s eager to have a real house to live in.

“There’s still a long way to go,” he remarks, sounding almost like a word of caution if not for the excitement clear in his voice. “Kjerdi’s already handed me a half dozen lists of decisions to make.”

“Which you’ve already handed off to Cephal,” she guesses.

“And we’re all happier for it.” There’s a long pause, the silence filled by the sounds of the forest around them. Elena’s nearly ready to head back towards the town when Maegar speaks up again. “Have you… put any consideration into my offer? There’s—“ He falters, seeming at a momentary loss for words. “We know undead have been an issue in the area for years, so I’ve already had Kjerdi begin work on building a temple to Pharasma. I still believe you would serve us best as my General, but if you'd rather focus your efforts on the temple, I’d understand.”

Elena hesitates, weighing the options in her mind. She’d put quite a bit of thought into Maegar’s offer to instate her as the General of Varnhold, and as much as she feels highly inadequate, she supposes she’s just as qualified as Maegar is to be a baron. “I would like to be involved in the temple,” she decides, the words slow but certain. “But as always, I feel my efforts are of more use in a practical sense. I have no desire to lead in the temple if there’s no need for it.”

“And your appointment as General?” He waits, staring at her with such expectancy that she begins to feel there’s much more riding on her answer than just a new job. 

“I’m still debating,” she answers honestly. “I’ll have my decision by morning.” Out of the corner of her eye, she catches as Maegar’s shoulders slump a bit, but Elena just shakes her head. “I don’t want to have to leave and start over anymore. Whatever I choose to do here, I want it to be permanent. I want to make this my home, and I won’t be making any of these decisions lightly or rashly — foreign though I know the concept is to you,” she adds, teasing, a belated attempt to keep the atmosphere between them from growing too heavy.

But something in her words seems to be exactly what Maegar was looking for, and he lets out a long, relieved sigh before turning to her with a wide, genuine smile. “Good.” The word comes out in a single rush of breath. “Hearing that you want to stay here with me — in Varnhold, that is — is comforting.”

“I am most certainly staying here for you,” Elena rebukes, clasping her hands behind her back and giving Maegar a sharp once-over. “It’s been three decades — you’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

Maegar laughs at that, the sound ringing clear and bright in the morning air and lifting Elena’s heart in a way it never has before. “You don’t know how glad that makes me.”

…

The morning sun rouses them, eventually, but even as the camp begins to stir around them, Elena is content to remain — for a time — curled in her bedroll, if only to postpone, however briefly, their impending descent into Lostlarn Keep.

She… doesn’t think Maegar had necessarily intended to spend the remainder of the night in her tent, but after the severity of her nightmares had woken them both, he’d come to check on her and simply never left. But she’s not going to argue; they’ve shared a bed before, but always out of an objective necessity, and never like this — curled together, sharing warmth in an otherwise cold and damp morning. 

There’s work to be done, though, and Elena is hopeful that there are many more lazy mornings waiting ahead; she almost hates to rouse Maegar, with as content as he looks still half-asleep beside her, staring up at her with the most adoring expression she thinks she’s ever seen. 

“We need to get going,” she informs him as she sits upright, doing her very best to keep her voice level as she turns towards him with a stern glance. “If this place is as terrible as the centaurs say, we’ll want to be out before nightfall.”

“We’ll be back in the capital by nightfall,” he amends, reaching up to brush a strand of wayward hair from her face. 

“Not if we don’t get up and moving.” Pursing her lips — and failing terribly at what’s meant to be a chastising look — Elena reaches for Maegar’s hand from where he’s still caressing her cheek. “We’ll have time once this is dealt with,” she promises, giving his hand a light squeeze before releasing it.

“I was actually hoping to talk to you about that.”

“Oh?”

He sits upright, stretching and cracking his neck before slowly meeting Elena’s gaze again; she knows him well enough to sense that he’s nervous, stalling for time while debating how to phrase words that he’s likely had in mind for far too long. “I… don’t know that I was clear in my intentions when we talked last night.”

Elena is immediately replaying their conversation in her head, pulse spiking in some phantom fear that despite his ardent confessions of love and worry and adoration, she’d somehow misconstrued his words. “I thought you were quite clear,” she says, her voice sharper than she intends, “unless I was mistaken.”

“I meant every word,” he tells her, insistent. “What I mean to say, is that I want to spend the rest of my life by your side, if you’ll have me.”

“You have my word,” she promises, voice soft, leaning forward to press a slow, careful kiss to his lips; she pulls away just enough to rest her forehead against his. “For the rest of my natural life, I am yours as long as you are mine.”

His only response is to kiss her again, deeper and heated; as he leans into her, she can feel the way he smiles against her lips. He moves to trail kisses along her jaw, giving a little hum of contentment, and Elena allows herself to languish in the attention for a moment before forcing herself to pull away, one hand pressing lightly against Maegar’s chest. 

“But first,” she reminds him, “we have an ancient evil to defeat.”

Her words draw a light chuckle from him, and he gives her a slow nod. “As always, we seem to be the only ones standing in the way of some unspeakable horror.”

When Elena emerges from her tent, she finds Quen unconcerned, carefully putting out their campfire. The remaining two in their party, Fen and Lyra, sit facing the tent, cross-legged in the grass, and Elena watches with an arched brow as Fen wordlessly tosses a coin pouch towards Lyra; she inspects the clinking pouch with a wide grin and announces, shameless, “I get to be the one to tell Kjerdi when we get home.”

…

Retirement isn’t exactly what Elena had expected — teaching young Pharasmites in a kingdom openly hostile towards their goddess, sharing a grand manor at the edge of the capital with a husband who works tirelessly for a queen neither are fond of but both are deeply indebted to. 

They’ve lost friends and family and a home to whatever madness Vala has found herself wrapped up in, and Lostlarn and Vordekai both still weigh heavily on them. Perhaps Elena still aches from the months-long vigil she kept beneath the earth, and perhaps Maegar still hears the echo of Vordekai’s voice when his mind wanders, and perhaps they’re both revisited by horrible things in the darkest hours of the morning — but they’re alive, and they’re together, and if they keep telling each other that’s what’s most important perhaps Elena will even believe it, someday.