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helloheyhihowdyheya · 1 year

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Movie Night

Eddie Munson x gn!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Eddie bails on your weekly movie night to go be with Chrissy. So you make plans with Steve OR Two jealous idiots in love :/

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: Angst/unrequited feelings at first. Jealous!Eddie. Steve's a good friend. Fluff. Bad jokes.

A/n: Been trying to write this one for a bit. I might do a version of this where the reader chooses Steve instead, if there's any interest for it. Thanks as always for reading! Love to hear your thoughts <3

“Yeah, I’m heading to the diner tonight. With Chrissy.”

Sometimes, when you thought about your future, you’d imagine a lifetime of laughing side-by-side with Eddie. Imagine his hand clasped in yours, his body an anchor holding you to this place. Yet other times, like now, after he said those words, you feared you’d end up floating away alone.

You only barely caught his eyes on you after telling you the news, not that you were all that present anymore. Not when trying everything to focus on keeping your face neutral. Happy even, for him.

“Oh, that’s nice,” you said, though your voice probably betrayed any facade you tried to put on. All you could do was look at the way shadows from the dipping sun dragged down his face. Maybe floating away into the golden sky wouldn’t be all that bad.

“So movie night next week, then?” you asked, unfocused eyes drifting over his shoulder and past him.

Your question came out as a precaution, a hope at normalcy to lighten the mood. Just in the entryway of Eddie’s apartment, snacks in hand for tonight’s canceled plans apparently, you were glad you hadn’t taken your shoes off yet. Inching toward the doorknob, you gave a small smile that cracked at the edges.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Eddie offered, and it only made you chew harder on the inside of your cheek, savor the pain of it. Your fingers found the handle’s metal, unsure of what to tell him. He hadn’t ever canceled movie night before, and now it’s for lovely Chrissy.

She’d sort of joined the group, becoming better friends with Eddie after high school. And you were glad for it – truly, you were. You two had more in common than you’d expected, and she was nicer than anyone you’d ever talked to. So with the nausea of jealousy rising up your throat came bile tasting of guilt, a twisting feeling of shame for wishing she’d had any other plans than with Eddie, your Eddie.

Not that he knew your feelings toward him, which you usually kept tight under wraps. Until this. So you just said, “It’s fine, Eddie. I’ll see you around, ‘kay?” You didn’t wait for an answer or dare risk a glance at his face, just in case it looked happy.

A rumbling sigh escaped your mouth as you trudged down the building’s stairwell, your feet heavy against the steps and begging to drag you deeper. Each creak accompanied the rustling of the cookies, chips, and more piled in your arms.

Outside, the honeyed sun dipped through the sky’s thick wall of clouds. It brought a sprinkling of rain that seeped into you on the short walk home. Maybe out of necessity, but you welcomed the chill of the wind that carried goosebumps along your body. Let it freeze your skin, your pestering thoughts, your teary eyes.

Eddie could have other friends. He could spend time with other people. You knew that. And yet, he’d flaked on your plans with no warning. But he could be forgetful sometimes, and maybe they were just friends. And yet… a sharp feeling itched in your chest, one you couldn’t shake.

The back-and-forth plaguing your mind simmered to a dull annoyance as you entered your own place, dropping all the snacks on your counter. You let your hands fall by your sides as you debated finally taking off your shoes, staring at their fraying laces while deciding what to do tonight. The alluring voice of self-pitying called your name, telling you to find some trashy movie on TV or eat the food you should have been sharing with Eddie.

Stuck standing there, still staring at your shoes as the world continued on outside, your body finally jolted as the phone rang. The shrill noise forced your muscles tight, but that paled in comparison to the jump your heart gave. A small part of you knew it came from the hope that Eddie had changed his mind and was calling to apologize. But you wouldn’t believe it. If you did, that might just hurt worse than anything he could say.

A swallow passed down your throat as you readied your voice, a tightness refusing to go away. Grabbing the receiver, you said, “Hello?”

“Ah, hey. It’s Steve.”

Oh.

“Hi, Steve,” you answered, feeling your fingers tighten around the phone as you forced out an even breath. It was fine. You were fine. This dumb crush couldn’t last forever.

“Just filling my employee duties to remind you to return Alien the next time you’re here. I called to leave a message on your machine though, thought you’d be at Eddie’s tonight.”

Ouch. Guess tonight wasn’t the night that crush would end then.

“Uh, yeah,” you breathed out. “He’s busy tonight apparently. So I’m just here. But yeah, of course, I can drop off the tape tomorrow.”

Maybe Steve heard the disappointment in your voice or just was bored and free like you, because he asked, “Oh, well I’m almost done here at Family Video if you wanna swing by. Haven’t had dinner yet if you’re hungry. We could head down to the diner.”

“No! No, I’m okay,” you rushed out, feeling a chill spark through your body and up your spine. You didn’t need to witness Eddie and Chrissy dining together tonight.

Eyeing the snacks and your small TV, you debated whether to take him up on the offer. The weight of your unreturned feelings pulled at your tired mind, but maybe taking Steve’s offering hand could be a way back up.

Though he couldn’t see, you nodded as you shifted your weight back and forth. “But I’m okay going somewhere else. If you want.”

A small pause passed before he answered. “We could go to the theater. Been meaning to see that comedy… Spaceballs, I think.”

The smile beginning to spread across your face warmed your body, loosened the cold holding on tight to you. A stupid comedy with Steve’s terrible jokes sounded like a distraction you needed. “Sounds great. I’ll head to Family Video now.”

“Wait, stay there. It looks like it might rain. I’ll come pick you up,” he said, and you imagined his hand on his hip in that way he did.

“Okay,” you said. “See you soon.”

Trying not to dwell on thoughts of Eddie while waiting for the sound of Steve’s car, you paced back and forth through the room – shoes still on your feet. Eddie had his plans, you had yours. And that was okay. Right?

Rather than answering that question, you grabbed a handful from the pile of snacks and shoved them in your pocket before making your way to the front of the building. Maybe the universe was actually on your side because you didn’t wait long before spotting Steve’s car under the dark sky and dripping rain.

But as you jogged over and began to climb in, Steve shouted, “Ah! Wait, wait, wait!” He held out an arm before you could lean back against the seat, the car door still wide open.

“What? What is it, Harrington?” You asked through clenched teeth, your body growing colder by the second as drops continued to hit down your body.

He dug through the bag he brought to work, pulling out a jacket and handing it to you. “Here. Don’t need you freezing, or getting the seats soaked.”

Glaring at him, you knew the quickest way to get this over with was to wrap the jacket around your shoulders and shut the car door. Your fingers dug into the material, hoping to keep yourself from shivering.

“I’m starting to think you care more about your car than… well, anyone,” you muttered with a joking smile, though you couldn’t be too upset with the soft heat rolling from the car’s vents.

Steve only offered a confirmatory hum before putting the car into drive, heading toward the theater through watery roads. The street lights turning on stretched and became fuzzy past the rain-soaked windshield.

Less than a minute passed of soft drumming on the car’s roof and the quiet radio before Steve asked the question you’d been hoping to avoid. “So, uh, if Eddie’s not at your weekly movie night, what’s he up to?”

Your head turned toward the window, resting back against the seat. A sigh loosened past your lips, slowly growing into flat words. “He’s with Chrissy.”

“Ah,” was all he said. He wasn’t a stranger to your feelings for Eddie – not that you had been brave enough to tell Steve yourself. Apparently, you weren’t as good at hiding them as you thought, and he finally confronted you after the whole group hung out. You’d been “staring at him like he was freaking Rob Lowe” as Steve had put it.

He’d told you that Eddie had done the same, and you’d wanted to believe it. You did for a short while. But holding onto that seemed to just make things hurt more when he brushed you off, so you let it go. Or at least tried to.

“They’re at the diner, huh?” Steve asked, one hand holding the wheel and one combing through his hair.

If you weren’t clenching your jaw to keep from emotion rising up your throat, you might’ve laughed and cursed him for always seeing through you. But you just nodded instead, pressing your mouth tight.

Steve shrugged, giving you a sympathetic sideways look. “I know you’re gonna huff or sigh at me, but I still think you should tell him… Can’t blame him for not knowing, since both of you are equally oblivious.”

And you did sigh at that, knowing he was right. “Yeah…” Crossing your arms, you stared out the window at the world passing by until he spoke up again.

“Either way, screw ‘em. They’re missing out on Spaceballs and incredible company,” he offered, leaving no room for disagreement.

That got you to crack a growing smile again. “Are you talking about me or yourself?” you laughed out.

“That depends on who makes the funniest joke during the movie, so start preparing.”

Your brain automatically went to what kinds of jokes Eddie would make during the movie, his mouth barely shutting before making some comment that left you breathless laughing. But you shook your head, focusing on anything else.

You rolled your eyes as you answered Steve. “I think we have a different definition of funny though. Because yours always suck.”

He glanced toward you from the corner of his eye. “You know, maybe you should actually walk to the theater. Car’s feeling a bit cramped.”

Steve began to reach toward your door handle, but you slapped his hand away as you belly laughed. “See, I was going to share my bag of Skittles with you. But now? Not so sure…”

His hand reeled back to his side in an instant. Through a smile, he said, “Fine. You drive a hard bargain.”

The car pulled into the theater’s parking lot before you knew it. Your hand gripped the door handle, forcing your shoulders to relax and your jaw to unclench. Leave it all behind.

You took out your wallet as you entered the building, the jacket still around your shoulders, and asked for two tickets.

But Steve held out a hand, saying, “Come on, not letting you buy my ticket tonight.”

Letting out a long sigh, you shrugged like all you felt was indifference. But you were glad to turn back to the employee so Steve couldn’t see the disappointment on your face. Tonight, because you’d been left at Eddie’s doorstep with no plans.

But as you had tried and failed to do all evening, you really did forget about Eddie during the movie. You covered your mouth to keep from laughing too hard and ate way too much popcorn, pushing Steve away when he whispered much too loud his terrible jokes. It all passed in a blur, leaving you feeling lighter than before as you finally walked out into the night air.

Tilting your head, you stared up into the sky now free from any clouds. Stars dotted all across the darkness, creating freckles along the universe. The rain had stopped, but you still held the jacket around your body. You shut your eyes for a second, taking a slow breath.

“I think the system jamming with raspberry jam had to be the punniest joke in the whole movie,” Steve joked, breaking you from the quiet moment.

“That was horrible.” You rolled your eyes, unable to stop from laughing regardless. It echoed into the night, all the way to the van coming from down the road.

Any effort to forget about Eddie disappeared as the all too familiar rumbling engine grew louder. The smile that had been still stuck on your face began to drop at seeing Eddie’s van drive toward you and Steve. Instead, a rising rigidness made its way through your body.

Your steps stuttered for a moment, making Steve stop as well to wait for the van to pull alongside you. You steeled yourself to see Chrissy in the front seat, pretty smile and all right next to Eddie. But as the brakes screeched to a halt, you saw through the rolled-down window that he was alone.

“Hey, where’ve you been? I called your place,” Eddie asked, his jacket-covered arm hanging out of the van. His words sounded strained, but not quite accusatory. His eyes flicked between the two of you, and you tried to remember when you’d seen him this off.

Clutching your hands together, hoping the pressure would somehow ground you (or pull you into the ground), you said, “Uh, we, um, went to the theater. Thought you were busy for the night...” You trailed off, and the air around you three seemed to stretch thin, threatening to shatter and fall to your feet.

“We saw Spaceballs. ‘S pretty good,” Steve added, and that joking tone he had just minutes ago seemed to have disappeared. Still, you were glad for his attempt at keeping things light.

Not that it seemed to work because Eddie then let out a scoff. “Yeah, I’m sure you really appreciated all those Star Trek references.”

“Hey, I’ve seen Star Trek, Munson. I think we all know why Han Solo’s so popular, okay?” Steve told him while running a hand through his hair.

As you tried to keep your laughing in, you asked, “Are you saying you look like the hit Star Trek character Han Solo?”

And you hated the way your chest bloomed at the sudden laugh Eddie let out, being the one that made him make the sound you loved so much.

While Steve looked at the two of you with eyebrows scrunched, Eddie rested his chin on his hands sat along the window’s edge. He looked lovelier than you’d ever admit. “So… do you need a ride home?”

His eyes never left you, bringing a heat to your cheeks with their intensity. “Uh…” you began.

“I’d already offered a ride,” Steve answered.

Eddie pursed his lips for a second, tilting his head. “But my apartment’s closer, so it’s really no big deal.”

They both looked to you, expectant looks on their faces as if you held all the answers. And despite everything that’d happened, you couldn’t stop the pull of being with Eddie, the chance to be with him that your body never passed up.

You turned between looking at Steve, then Eddie, and back to Steve again. “Yeah, I can go with Eddie. You’ve done plenty tonight.”

“You sure?” Steve whispered, leaning closer so only you could hear. Giving you an out. But you could do this, and it did make more sense logistically. You were just being efficient really.

You nodded, offering a soft smile. Grabbing his jacket from your shoulders, you handed it back to him. “Thank you again, for everything,” you said before walking to the other side of the van. “Oh, and Harrington? Han Solo’s in Star Wars, not Star Trek.” Your laugh carried out as you said your goodbye, reveling in Steve’s groan that followed.

Though it quickly died down once you shut the van’s door behind you, the loud bang nearly breaking any confidence you thought you might’ve had up until now. Eddie just put it into drive, the van jolting forward.

The silence wrapping around you both squeezed tight, snaking around your bodies until you thought you couldn’t take it any longer.

“So, where’s Chrissy?”

Well, that was one way to break the silence. At least you ripped the bandage off, prepared to deal with the hurt that followed. Your leg began to shake up and down at the pause, steeling yourself for the worst.

You caught his eyes glancing toward you for a moment before answering. “She drove home. Didn’t stay too long.”

Unsure of how to answer, you just nodded. Only a few drawn-out seconds passed before he continued, “Called your place after to see if you still wanted that movie night.”

Your face twisted as the different emotions flowing through you turned your expression sour. He thought of you, worried about you. But you were still his second choice plans after his dinner fell short.

“Yeah, Steve didn’t have plans tonight and offered to go see a movie,” you said, giving no further explanation.

“Yeah, put that together,” he said, letting a strained pause pass before asking, “Did you like it?”

“It was pretty funny, I think you’d like it. Especially the Star Trek references.” You gave a little laugh, passing a hard swallow down your throat. Talking with Eddie wasn’t supposed to feel like this, not with him. And yet, the next words he spoke sent your body into overdrive.

“Even with The Hair and his jacket?”

Your arms curled in, your legs hugging closer to yourself as you turned just a bit away from him. Where was this coming from?

With a hard stare ahead and a tone sharper than you intended, you said, “Yes…? Even with Steve.” At that, Eddie let out a condescending scoff, making you finally turn toward him. “And was dinner good? Even with The Queen of Hawkins High?”

The words felt bitter dripping off your tongue, unnatural and sparked by Eddie’s own prodding. Both Steve and Chrissy were friends, and they didn’t deserve this talk. But god, how could he be so infuriating right now?

“Uh yeah, and I’m sure we had a million more interesting things to talk about than hairspray or whatever Harrington cares about,” Eddie muttered, not taking his eyes off the road.

Your hands clenched, your nails digging into the skin of your palms. You welcomed the biting pain. “Eddie, what are you talking about? I thought you and Steve were friends now. And… and at least he made plans with me and stuck to them, alright?”

As your apartment neared, the van fell into a charged silence. Your heartbeat sounded in your ears, drumming the rapid pulse into your head. Inching toward the door, your hand readied to leave the second this vehicle stopped. Maybe a future of floating away was better than one with an anchor that threatened to cut you loose at any second.

The brakes screeched into the air, accompanying Eddie’s soft voice that stopped you from leaving. “Wait.” He shifted the van into park and rested his head against the steering wheel, letting out a strained sigh. “I’m sorry.”

Seconds from asking what he meant, even maybe whispering an apology as well for the comment about Chrissy, you were cut off by a question that sharpened your body to an edge. “Can I be honest with you? And please promise to not completely and absolutely hate me.”

You rolled your eyes at him, your jaw ticking. “I’m not going to hate you, Eddie. Even if you are acting like this right now.”

Running a hand back through his hair, Eddie fidgeted with the rings on his hand as he thought about his words. “You know how we all hung out as a group last week and Chrissy forgot her jacket? Well, that’s really what today was. Returning her jacket and getting coffee. That’s all… but I made it sound worse so you’d, um…”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “So I’d what?”

“So you’d get jealous,” he rushed out, rubbing a palm down his face. “I’m sorry. I thought, for some idiotic reason, that it might make you jealous and confess your feelings. And now…”

He paused, letting out a sigh that turned into a sad, sort of disbelieving laugh as he reached behind his seat. He pulled out some store-bought and slightly crumpled flowers. “And now I’m confessing my feelings after sending you to another man and making myself jealous. And I’m apologizing for being stupid.”

At that, you laughed too. Actually giggled from deep inside. He liked you. You grabbed the flowers, brushing a finger over the orange, red, and yellow petals of the bouquet. “Eddie, that might be one of your worst ideas. Did Dustin suggest it?” you asked, leaning your face in to smell the flowers and hiding the heat rising to your cheeks.

“See! I knew it was terrible. That’s the last time I let Henderson give me dating advice,” Eddie confessed, collapsing dramatically back into his seat.

You just watched him, shaking your head. “Well, I can’t say I disagree with that… I would’ve loved to have movie night with you. Though, it’s not like I was any more forward about confessing my feelings.”

Eddie’s eyes returned to yours, the soft brown of them reaching out to wrap you in a warmth you’d missed. Tentatively, as if one word too loud would break everything, he asked, “And what exactly are your feelings?”

You tilted your head as you stared at him, unable to keep a smile from spreading. “I definitely don’t hate you. And maybe I was a little jealous of Chrissy.”

Eddie sprang forward, a wide grin on his face as he grabbed your hands. “So that’s a yes…that you like me too? Is that a yes? Sweetheart, please tell me that’s a yes,” he begged, inching closer.

Who were you to tell him no? Against his skin, your noses brushing together now, you whispered, “Yes, Eddie.”

Instantly, he pressed his lips against your cheek. And then your forehead. Then your nose. You laughed, your body shaking as he continued his lovely assault.

He spoke between kisses. “Do you.” Kiss. “Want to.” Kiss. “Have.” Kiss. “Movie night?”

Pulling away, he watched your face. “You pick any movie, I’ll go find it. Let me try this night again, the right way,” he breathed out. His eyes glanced down at your mouth before flicking back up from under those long eyelashes.

Nodding, nearly giddy, you agreed. “Of course.”

And you couldn’t stop smiling, not when he pressed his lips to yours and made your head spin in the most addictive way. Against your mouth, Eddie whispered, “It’s going to be better than your movie night with Steve, right?”

The genuine, almost naked look he gave you nearly stopped your laugh from escaping. Nearly. “Eddie, you don’t need to be jealous anymore. You’ve got me.”

“Right?” he repeated, his fingers resting on the peaks of your cheekbones.

Pressing your forehead against his, you reassured him. “Right.”

Only then did his tense shoulders finally relax, his body melding to yours as he kissed you again. And again. And again for good measure.

You didn’t stop smiling then either. Not when pulling him all the way up to your apartment. Not when watching some movie you’d both seen a million times with popcorn sitting on your laps. And not when falling asleep on Eddie’s chest to the rhythm of his heart, silently promising a future of floating away together, hand in hand.

#eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #stranger things #jealous!eddie munson

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mediumgayitalian · 4 months

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“Can I come over tomorrow?”

Nico’s hands still on the stubborn pillowcase. “To…my cabin?”

“Yes.”

“Um.” He resumes, sliding slowly away from Will’s wide round eyes, stuffing the puffy square of feathers into its fabric prison. The ghost of geese past are not happy with him. He is their prince. They will submit. “Yeah? You could all those other times, too.”

“Yeah, but I want to come over.”

“Yes,” Nico agrees, wondering if this is perhaps one of those moments Kayla warned him about. Has it reached day five of Will not sleeping? He doesn’t think so. He was napping when Nico came into the infirmary this morning to help with the tidying he promised to do. At least he was drooling enough that Nico hopes he was sleeping. “You mentioned.”

“So I can?”

“Yes, Will.”

Maybe it’s just an American thing. Nico has been noticing some Moments lately. He’s not sure if all teenagers have unanimously decided on some code they’d like to speak in during the few months he was busy defeating his great grandmother, or if maybe he’s finally stuck around long enough to notice, but nobody says what they mean, nowadays.

(He has gathered, thus far, that ‘on fleek’ is a synonym for ‘aflame’, although ‘yeet’ continues to evade him. Perhaps because Cecil and Lou appear to have indulged in the sick delight of replacing their every word with the term with the sole purpose to Confuse. Or perhaps, as Will has so indicated, they have each endured one concussion to many and are beyond any hope.)

“Sick!” That one Nico knows, at least. “I’ll come by after my morning shift? Connor got cursed by the Hypnos, Hecate, and Aphrodite cabins this morning so I have to do brain surgery before he forgets how to feel genuine human connection again, but I’ll be done by noon. Probably. I mean, Connor has a thick skull, genuinely I mean, which is why his lobotomy has been delayed so many times, but so long as I —”

It has been under Nico’s notice lately that Will eyes, genuinely, sparkle. He has read the cliche time and time again and rolled his eyes almost every time: diamonds sparkle. Water sparkles. Snow sparkles. Eyes reflect, and sometimes glow with reflection. They do not sparkle. To claim a set of eyes are sparkling is to profess to the world and all capable of registering your words that you are a brainless idiot who cannot dredge up from the depths of your mind, the most barren and bereft back corners, a single unique or clever comparison; a minutely original way to describe excitement or animation.

And yet.

Will is indeed very animated, and very excited about very many things, and it shows on his face; in the wideness of his grins, the springing mass of his curls, the stilted and flailing gilt of his languid limbs. It also shows, perhaps most obviously, in his genuinely magnificent eyes — Nico has seen the Logan Sapphire. He has touched the precious thing with reverent hands, stared in awe as it thrust out the light shine upon it like the golden ichor of Ouranous swirling with the sweet saltwater to birth Love Incarnate. He knows glittering, he knows gleaming, shimmering and shining and twinkling.

Will’s eyes sparkle, like the very tip of a mountaintop, like the crackling ends of a flame, like dewdrops on spider silk. It is transfixing. It is alluring.

“—ico. Nico! Hello-o?”

It is also a trap.

“Sounds great,” Nico says loudly, voice like cold soda over vanilla ice cream. He clears his throat, twice, to no avail. His vision begins to blur as the heat pouring off of his face warps the air. “Um. See you then?”

Will nods, or at least Nico hopes he does. His curls bounce, anyway. They are hard to miss. They remind Nico tangentially of how laughter sounds, unimpeded by shame; how the shimmering satin of a ribbon would curl and bend under the smooth slide of the scissor’s blade.

(His father’s circuit of jesters often included poets playwrights. They also doubled as Nico’s babysitters. Surely no lasting consequences, that.)

“Yes!” He flashes a smile, then, and it becomes imperative to note that his eyes squint at the force of it, and his slightly-too-big teeth brush his bottom lip, and he has, in fact, on each cheek, a dimple.

Now, Will is often and even frequently called Apollo Junior by just about every living soul in camp, up to and including Immortal Camp Director And Horse, Chiron; and uproariously once even Mr D, God of Wine. Allegedly, as taunted by Kayla, even by Will’s own mother. The golden hair and unfortunate habit of winking and legs for days do most definitely create an image.

Nico, however, contrarian he be, must deny: he has seen Apollo. Apollo is beautiful and golden and charming, but Will is not quite his spitting image. Will, more aptly, is the son of the Sun. He glows; the glare of his smile leaves impressions behind in the cells one’s eyes, the glide of his limbs is almost dragging, languid. To look at him is to commit yourself to blinding. To seek so desperately the solace of the light as to ignore the unsettling sting of the burn.

“I can’t wait!”

As a blissful cloud moving in front of the solar system’s brightest star saves your eyes the eternal fate of darkness, Will’s duty so saves Nico from an eternity of shadow. He returns, humming softly and horribly, to his work, sifting through folders and updating patient files, and Nico exhales the breath setting foundations in his lungs, slumping forward in fervent relief. A melancholic reprieve from the summer rays, if only for a moment.

He waves goodbye, or at least he hopes that he does, rushing out the infirmary doors and tripping down the rickety porch steps.

“Hurrying somewhere, Nicholas Claus?” drawls Mr. D, throwing darts a perilously balanced apple atop the horns of a satyr bleating in morse code.

“That was not even an attempt,” responds Nico, and hurries away before he can be dolphinized. Dolphinified? Made into a bottle-nosed beast. (Why bottle? Of all comparisons to make, who decided bottles were the utmost separate object to which the snout of the slippery beasts should be named? Oh, wait, drunk people. Bottles. Okay. Mystery solved.)

He manages, in his heroic retreat across the common, not to destroy entire swathes of grass and plants, a feat for which the Muses could perhaps write epics about. Truly he is capable of the utmost restraint and self-control. He does raise several full sized wolf skeletons, but they seem primarily preoccupied with hunting down the the Stolls, so a win-win as far as Nico is concerned. Probably not for Connor, who is apparently cursed or concussed, he doesn’t remember exactly, but he has managed thus far with his startling amount of daily braincell loss so by statistic and happenstance he is bound to survive another incident.

“There has to be away to shut myself off,” Nico says, out loud to himself, proceeding the slam of his cabin door and the heavy breathing upon it. He turns to his altar. “You mentioned an off button, Father. I don’t suppose it has been successfully implemented.”

No answer comes forth. He indulges in a brief moment of self pity, wherein the Nico who lives in his brain clears his throat, digs around the messy confines of his mind to find an imaginary black hoodie, slips it on, digs around again for a dagger, and stabs himself, choking and twitching pitifully. Real Nico then walks with great purpose to the exact geological centre of the stone cabin.

“Okay,” he says again. He nods, once, narrowing his eyes in determination. The Nico in his brain opens one curious eyelid. (Does Will do psychiatric assessments?) “Okay, this is. Hm.”

It is not the first time they have been alone together, after all.

In the weeks following Gaea’s defeat and Will Solace’s nonstop, irritating persistence, Nico has been thrust in his proximity an incredible number of times. From his three day stay, during which he was simply so unconscious for so long his father was concerned enough to manifest onto the mortal plane and poke at his soul until he responded, to his unofficial indoctrination (ha) as a nurse, to camp clean-up efforts, to cabin renovation, to general life — they have become friends. Coworkers, at least. Together they make the camp a little more bearable for everyone in it, including Nico. It is rewarding work. It is illuminating work; Will is a good teacher, and he is funny, and he is good company (and he happens to have very long legs that he does not bother to cover up very often and Nico has eyes that do what they please). They have been in Nico’s cabin together several times over the last few weeks.

Never before has Will come over without some kind of stated purpose.

At least, not and absence he has made so obvious. True, the renovations took longer than expected, and the paint on the east wall is smudged from where Nico shoved Will, shrieking, off the stepstool, and they have perhaps, on occasion, used Nico’s illegal Wii when they were meant to be helping Annabeth make plans for Capture the Flag, but —

But.

Intent.

Is important.

It has been made abundantly clear to Nico over the summer that he has friends upon which he can rely. Reyna has made a point to Iris Message him at whatever Roman tryhard time she believes he should be awake, prompting an attempted murderous shadow travel that left him unconcious in Missouri and at the unfortunate end of many people’s shouting. And Will’s friends, who can perhaps at this point be called his friends also, have created a game entitled “How Many Grapes Can We Flick At Nico During Lunch Before He Goes Ballistic And Sends Us To Purgatory For A Little While” (four), which they are inclined and inspired to play every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Piper enjoys dragging him around to do Things. Jason is just around constantly. (Does he sleep? Nico should check on that properly.)

He had a point, somewhere. He’s sure he did.

It was maybe the impending anxiety attack, helpfully informs Brain Nico.

“Ah,” regular Nico replies, then grapples around for his least favourite pillow, slams it into his face, and screams at the top of his lungs for several minutes.

Brain Nico decides once again that commentary is the way.

I think we are an all powerful demigod of something, he muses. Dirt, maybe? Bad vibes? I can’t quite remember.

“The dead?” inquires regular Nico.

Do you think those years isolated in the Labyrinth perhaps situated us firmly on the shores of mentally unwell? responds he, blissfully unhelpful.

“I think that was Tartarus, actually,” says regular Nico, and promptly banishes his brain self to the deepest recesses of his mind, among memories of the taste of liquid fire and Calculus.

With the remaining, functioning (well.) part of his brain, he places both palms on the cool floor and attempts to focus.

Juicy Fruit It gets right to ya Juicy salt Hmmm Juicy Fruit, The taste the taste that’s —

For the love of all holy things, Nico begs his brain. It doesn’t work, but what ever really goes right in his life, so he pushes past the increasingly louder replays of eighties commercial jingles and maps out the ground below the cabin floor, pushes through the layers of underground.

Ah. Perfect.

He pulls up the very aptly placed skeleton of a cat, letting it scratch and sniff about his cabin before cautiously approaching him.

“You will be sure to tell it to me straight,” Nico says solemnly, holding out his hand. The cat bobs its nasal cavities in and out of Nico’s fingers and, apparently deciding him to be worthy of its attention, rams its skull against his knuckles. Nico snorts, running a fingernail along its cranial sutures and grinning as its purring echoes in his mind. “You seem very wise.”

The cat’s caudal vertebrae rattle in indignation, miffed at the mere idea that it could be anything other than wise. Nico is honestly quite impressed by its ability to glare without actual eyeballs, eyelids, or thought power.

“I am going to name you after my sister and pray that’s not weird,” Nico says. “I mean, I don’t think she would mind. You’re pretty cool, actually, and Hazel’s cool, kind of, so. Win win.”

Hazel the Cat seems unbothered by her christening, curling up in Nico’s lap. He runs his hand from cranial base to coccyx, finger dipping and bumping along the ridges of her spines, and settles against the cool floor, attempting to breathe evenly.

“It’s just.” He swallows. It takes a try or two, to work around the massive stone borrowed in his throat, and Hazel the Cat nips playfully at his fingers until his lungs settle again. “Before we had something to do, you know? We’d be cutting bandages, and he’d be all, hey, did you know bandages are mentioned in one of the first ever medical manuscripts and definitely predate it by many hundreds of years, and I would say I did, actually, I talked to the guy who made that clay tablet, and his eyes would get all wide and he’d be like no way, tell me everything, and then I would just talk forever.” Nico huffs. “We had something to talk about, you understand. Something to do.”

Nico tries to imagine what Hazel his Sister would say. Probably something along the lines of you are an impossible person, which is code for I have about as much luck as you do in this century, pal, the best I’ve got is hope for the best and remember adults no longer smack you for standing wrong. Which. Fair.

Hazel the Cat just purrs in his head again. It’s as encouraging as anything, he supposes.

“Am I supposed to have…conversation starters? He likes twizzlers and intentionally bad poetry. Maybe I could do something with that?”

Hazel the Cat shrugs at him.

“It’s not even — okay, it’s not just that, though. What is — how close is close enough in a casual setting? Or too close? How am I meant to greet him? Am I supposed to offer something? Make something? What do I do if there’s a lull in conversation? Or if it’s all lulls? Oh, gods, how much silence is socially appropriate —”

Hazel the Cat twists in his hold, meeting his eyes as if to say well I don’t think you’ll be struggling with that last one.

“Shush,” he tells her, but his mouth is twitching. “I’m just — I don’t want him to finally realize I’m weird. Or boring, gods. He’s such a hyper person, you know? He never stops. And I am supposed to entertain him! I think!”

This time he can actually hear his sister’s voice, in the back of his mind — you’re such a dummy. Ringed with fondness from the many times she’s said it to him, shoulders nudged carefully together, head knocked gently against his. You are weird and boring. Most people are.

“Ugh,” he sighs, tipping his head back until it rests against the mattress. “Friendship is hard work.”

Hazel the Cat swishes her tail, rattling the discs of bone like a rattlesnake. It’s a surprisingly soothing sound, like rain pinging softly against his window, or the flutter of the poplar trees outside of his father’s palace. Unconsciously he matches his breathing to it, slowing until it’s even, gentle, deep. His eyes, without any direction from his brain, drift until they blanket his hazy eyes, heavy as stone..

“S’not that serious,” he murmurs to himself, soothed under the weight of his feline friend. “S’just Will, I guess.” A beat. He smiles, slightly, a small, curling thing, mimicking the coiled heat in his belly. “It’s just Will.”

———

part two

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wlntrsldler · 6 months

Note

If the boys played “never have I ever” in an interview, what would be revealed to the public?

I SPRINTED TO MY COMPUTER

here's the transcript of poisoned mercury's buzzfeed interview where they played never have i ever as part of their press tour to promote their new album:

interviewer: thank you guys for coming!

luke *smiling while he fixes his mic*: thanks for having us :) we were just talking about how we used to do buzzfeed quizzes when we were younger.

travis: there were many days where we'd be in luke's house back in connecticut and completely forget that we were supposed to be rehearsing because we got caught up trying to figure out which inside out emotion we were.

interviewer: well, i'm glad to hear it because today we're gonna play a game of 'never have i ever.'

chris: unrelated but i fucking love that show. team paxton for life.

luke: dude no. ben is clearly the right choice.

connor: ok mr. enemies to lovers, of course you'd say that.

luke: shut up???!

travis: i think if we took the inside out quiz again right now, i'd get disgust because that's how i feel being in a band with two idiots who are so in love with their girlfriends.

connor: swear to god if i hear another "no you hang up first," from either one of you *looks at chris and luke* i'm blowing my brains out.

interviewer looks around the room, trying to ask the producers what she should do. the video editors are already stressing because they know they have to bleep out a lot of the words the boys are using.

interviewer: .... so let's start with the first question. never have i ever gone skinny dipping.

chris: fuck, how did you get all of us on the first question?

connor: yeah we've gone skinny dipping a few times, but the most recent was last summer. mama c-- shoutout mama c, we love you!

luke: yeah, we love you mama!

connor: she put all of us on timeout and we spent the entire summer at a music camp and on our last night, we all went skinny dipping at the lake with our roommates.

luke: oh shit, i forgot about that. those were good times. *looks at chris* i miss camp bro.

chris: me too.

travis *stares deadpan into the camera*: do you see what we have to deal with?

interviewer: never have i ever had a crush on a friend's sibling.

travis: guilty.

chris *turns his head so fast*: given that you're related to connor and luke is an only child, you better be talking about a non-band friend.

travis *shrugging*: your older sister is hot, rodriguez.

chris: stay away from my sister.

luke *looks at the interviewer with wide eyes*: next question or you'll have a video to submit to worldstar.

interviewer: oh! uh, okay-- never have i ever accidentally posted something to my main account instead of my private or close friends one.

connor *cracking up*: castellan, wanna take this one?

luke *blushing*: this feels like a targeted question because we know the infamous video of me with the handsome squidward filter on (the hozier incident) that was supposed to go on my close friends story! i was so embarrassed. to be clear, i was JOKING. i don't actually flirt like that.

travis: i've seen you flirt with y/n, and you in the squidward video had more game than you normally do.

luke *teasing because he knows travis does not want a relationship*: and yet who's single between the two of us?

connor: oh he got you there.

travis: y/n, if you're watching this, you deserve better. he's a loser. i have better friends i can set you up with.

luke: five star, if you're watching this, you're stuck with me. there's no going back.

interviewer: never have i ever had a song written about me.

chris: this is a great pivot to promote our sophomore album's lead single, "kiss her you fool!" we wrote this song about our front man, luke, here. our second album "optimism don't come easy (unless it's with you)" is out now.

interviewer: i love that shameless self-promo.

connor: i think we as a band can benefit from having some shame, but thank you.

chris *turns to luke*: this will also come as a shock to you, but there's another song out in the world that's kinda about you.

luke: huh? which one?

travis: quinnie, remember her? she was in cabin 7. she wrote the bulk of it, but y/n actually gave her the idea. chris and connor helped her with instrumentals and the song is sick.

connor: it was amazing. quinnie is so talented. if you guys haven't heard her music, i highly, highly recommend it. the song we're talking about is called touch tank. you guys should check it out.

chris: agreed. she's also just a fucking cool person. she's one of our closest friends in the industry.

travis *making a heart with his hands*: we love you, quinnie!

interviewer: okay, final question since we're running out of time. never have i ever gone on a world tour for my band's second album.

luke *laughs*: i see what you did there. that was good.

connor: we are soooooo excited to announce that we're going back on tour! this summer, we'll be seeing all your beautiful faces again. tickets go on sale this friday! we hope to see you there!

luke: check out our band's twitter for more information on how to get tickets and to see if we'll be coming to a city near you.

chris: we miss seeing you guys!

travis: see you guys so soon! we love you!

interviewer: that's all the time we have for today. thank you guys so much. it was a pleasure!

#frances writes #poisoned mercury chats #lol this was fun #luke castellan x reader

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aestherin · 1 year

Text

KEEP MY HEART

goal 09: do you like sweets?

You are fully self-aware that you have delusional tendencies, but you know yourself well enough to think that you weren't that far gone yet to the point that you will start seeing your long distance crush right in front of you.

He's probably real.

Taking notice of your presence, Scaramouche then turned towards you. His face was hard to read, other hand holding his phone and the other inside the pockets of his denim pants. His oversized black shirt was tucked, highlighting his good figure.

'Holy. He's got good style too,' you thought. It was simple, yes. But he carries outfits so damn well.

But what is he even doing here in your uni?

Since an eye contact has already been made, you flashed a sheepish smile and a light wave. Your loud personality online was such a huge contrast in comparison to how you're actually behaving now.

He just stared. 'Oh. So he's the cold type. God, he's exactly my type.'

"Aren't you going in?" You snapped out of your musings upon hearing his voice.

"I was about to. I'm starving," you chuckled. He scoffed. "I could use a bit of food, too."

"We should eat at the birthday party then."

"Kazuha's?"

You nod.

He looked away. "Go and eat inside. I'll find another place to eat at."

You flashed a look of disbelief. Scaramouche raised a brow in confusion. "Dude, you're literally already at a restaurant and you still want to go somewhere else to eat?"

"And you're hungry, aren't you?"

He sighed. "Look, I don't know if you know this, but the one holding a party — well, we're not on the best of terms."

Oh. Yeah.

There's that thing.

How the fuck could you forget that the love of your life is from the rival of your brother's team?

"Ah," You nod again. He seemed to take it as you understanding his reasoning and turned the other way, attempting to head off.

If only you hadn't tugged at his shirt.

"What the?!"

You led him to a lone bench at the parking lot, lit warmly by the streetlight just directly above it. "Sit there and wait for me."

"Excuse me?" He hissed. "What am I? A dog?"

"Your words, not mine." You grinned. "Just do as I say, okay? It won't be long, I promise."

He was about to retort but you cut him off by hurriedly entering the lively restaurant.

When you got back, you easily spotted Scaramouche who was sitting comfortably on the bench where you left him. He immediately scooted over once he saw you.

"Wow," he remarked. "You know I actually doubted if you would even come back."

You chuckled as you sat and handed him his plate. "Do you have trust issues?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Oh, so you do."

He rolled his eyes.

Your late dinner with him was mostly filled with a comforting silence, with some bits of small talk in between. The only ones left on your plate were delectable desserts, as well as the little pieces of food you left out.

"Do you like sweets?"

"No," Scaramouche speedily replied. "They're disgusting."

You subconsciously frown. "Shame. I like them."

"You can have mine then," he says as he picks up his portion of desserts and transfers them to your plate. Unbeknownst to you, his observant gaze failed to miss how your eyes sparkled in delight at the sight of mouthwatering sweets.

As he did so, Scaramouche also spotted some leftovers on your plate. "Do you not like bitter stuff?"

"My tongue can't handle them."

"Give it to me then instead of wasting food, idiot."

You let out a laugh. "Is that your way of saying you like bitter stuff?"

The man just let out a quiet "tch" before taking a bite.

KEEP MY HEART — scara x reader smau

previous . masterlist . next

SUMMARY —you find plenty of guys around you attractive, but there is only one you’re willing to make the first move on: the guy you first saw during your older brother’s soccer game. spoiler: he's a player from your rival university.

NOTES -> a lot has happened lmaoo i was so busy aaa -> i graduated hs finally :P -> i also submitted my requirements for college haha -> also can u guys believe i'm gonna be in college while my college smau is on going omg -> and apologies for ghosting HASDHADHA (also wtf fontaine livestream tomorrow already whaaat time flies so fast omg)

TAGLIST I (closed)

@lady-elodie @krnzysh @syriiina @unsterblich-prinz @xiaosonlybeloved @xiaomainlmao @cindywasneverhere @coquettemaiden @sunsethw4 @lunavixia @calickoh @arealistonao3 @lowkeyivorie @zyilas @mondaymelon @yukiipc @heartswonder @st0pthatsgay @ozzierenato @astreaa-express @shewolfmiko @lovelyycherries @myaaones @countessqin @aloveablechaos @letthewindlead @lunaavity @local-blueberry-boy @luminestars @layla240 @useless-potatho @atlaszi @alatusorrow @lahsram2201 @sakiimeo @user11918163805279 @vqazx @neigesprincess @kunicrush @yoursockstinks @hotgirlshit5 @mikctp @crucnhice @apotatouwu @yuaenri @sammybeefangirls @miko1ly @deffenferofjustice @etherisy @sagegreenthinks

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annie-creates · 7 months

Text

Take a day off

Pairing: Lady Lesso x reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 1000

Note: This request was very specific but i did my best to follow it as closely as I could so I hope you'll like it. I hope we can get out of the shadowban, or did people just stop reading?

Warm and snuggly, that’s how you felt with the rays of sun on your face when you woke up. It made you not want to get out of bed, in the best-case scenario for the whole day. Your girlfriend laid right next to you enjoying the depths of sleep with her red hair sprawled over the pillows. Digging lower into the blankets you felt a weird wetness between your legs, hurriedly getting up realizing you forgot about your upcoming period.

“Shit.” You jumped out of bed forgetting all about the sweetness and laziness of the morning.

Running to the bathroom you notice your pajama pants are bled through. In a hurry you try to minimize the damage, washing the bottoms in cold water to get the blood out. You tried to do anything and everything to get everything back in order and stressed to do so before your partner wakes up. Returning in the room hoping to not disturb your girlfriend, you find her stripping the sheets and covers. A cold feeling of embarrassment and shame washes over you as you couldn’t clean up after yourself in time.

“I’m sorry…” you mumble with your gaze shamefully fixed on the ground.

“What are you sorry for?” Lesso looks at you incomprehensibly.

“I didn’t mean to.” You sniffle a little trying to suppress the tears welling up in your eyes fidgeting uncomfortably.

“Oh honey, it’s just a period. Everyone has it, it’s nothing to be sorry about.” Leonora lets go of the sheets to come and hug you to her, shocked by your reaction as you pull away a little.

“Please don’t be mad at me.” Her hug and tenderness made you cry even more, partly with embarrassment and partly with relief that she didn’t immediately scream at you.

“Of course I’m not mad at you. How did you come up with that?” The dean could hardly understand your reactions or reasoning.

“Well… Chris broke up with me for my period stains.” You admit even more embarrassed having to explain the end of your last relationship.

“Baby it’s nothing to be shameful about, and if they did, they were just a stupid immature idiot.” She assures you kissing the top of your head. “How about I make you some nice warm bath, hm? You can relax and relieve the pain a little.”

“Yeah I’d like that.” You mumble nodding slightly.

Leonora puts the laundry into the washing machine and filles up the tub with hot water, bubbles and relaxing essential oils. You didn’t have many opportunities to take a day off and just lay down and relax, so she decided this is going to be one of those days, starting with a nice bath. She helps you undress and into the water, washing your back and massaging your shoulders how you used to do for her when she was stressed out or stretched herself too thin with responsibilities.

“Thank you, you are the best.” You whine, your worries washed away along with some of the cramps pain.

“No, you are. You never have to be ashamed of being the wonderful woman you are, love.” She soothes you with another kiss.

After washing you up Leonora wraps you up in a fuzzy bathrobe and puts clean bedding onto the bed, snuggling you in. The sun that you were content with almost an hour ago irritated you now as you tried to get comfortable with the pain and feeling of hunger you suddenly had. Periods were always a little crazy and unpredictable.

“Mph, can you get the blinds?” you ask your girlfriend covering your eyes in annoyance.

“Sure. Is there anything else I can get you? Nice warm cup of tea? Or hot chocolate? Some sandwiches?” Lesso offered closing the window sills and creating a dim atmosphere in the room.

“Yes.” You nod and snuggle under the covers.

“Yes to all of it?” Leonora laughs a little.

“If it’s not a problem, please.” You kindly specify.

“Okay.” She gives you one last kiss before leaving the room to get all the food she could find. “I’ll be right back.”

“You don’t have to hurry…” you assure her half asleep already. “Ow, or maybe you do.” You change your mind with a wave of period pain.

Leonora roamed the kitchens for anything that could be of use to her and you could like, warm cup of tea, a bottle of water, sandwiches with different meat in them and a bowl of soup. She also got a few sweet pastries in case you were craving a sugar bomb for breakfast this morning. With a tray stocked with food she returned into the room setting it down on your bedside table.

“I got a few of everything.” She strokes your hair seeing your face contorted in pain.

“Thank you.” You squeak out over your cramps.

“Here, let me get you a warm blanket.” Leonora got a blanket from the armchair sat by the fireplace that was still nicely warmed up. “That should help with the pain.”

“What would I do without you.” You sighed content with her care.

“Be the incredibly strong and wonderful and beautiful woman you always are.” Lesso answers without missing a beat as she gets into her side of the bed.

“Will you read me something?” You ask her not having the energy to read yourself but wanting to listen to her voice telling you stories.

“Sure.” She agrees hugging you to her and opening the book waiting for her on her nightstand.

As she draws little circles on your back with her nails and reads to you, you slowly drift off to another peaceful sleep. Leonora could hardly imagine a better morning than having you snuggled securely in her arms having no other things to worry about than your wellbeing. If this was the happy ending everyone always warbled about, she was quite happy to find it with you and she was going to do everything in her power to keep it.

#lady lesso #leonora lesso #lady leonora lesso x reader #leonora lesso x reader #lady lesso x reader #school for good and evil #tsfgae #fanfiction #lady leonora lesso #sge #lady lesso x you #leonora lesso x you #lady leonora lesso x you #charlize theron #charlize theron x reader #charlize theron x you #lady lesso fluff

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binkywinky · 10 months

Note

do you think monica forgave carol too quickly?

Understanding is not the same as forgiveness. What happened in the movie was that Monica now understands why Carol did what she did. Carol owed her an explanation, and she gave it - that's it. Monica didn't say it was OK or that she forgave her, nor did Carol actually apologize for being gone.

I think Monica's lack of anger is being interpreted as forgiveness, but to me, it can attributed to the following:

She actually got to spend time with Carol. And despite how hurt she is, Monica values that relationship and wants to reconcile with her more than she wants to be angry with her.

She knows Carol came back for Maria. That goes a long way.

She knows Carol didn't just forget about them like they didn't matter. As evidenced by the photos on her ship and her memories, she thought about them all the time.

She knows Carol wanted to come home and that her reason for not coming home is based on guilt, shame, and fear, not a lack of love.

She knows Carol's actively trying to recover her memories of them, even 30 years later. That's a pretty big deal considering most people would have probably given up by now and moved on.

All of those things, I think, make it easier for Monica to drop her guard around Carol during the movie. She knows Carol loves her - it's plain as day on her face (seriously, she's like a goddamn puppy) and extremely clear in that moment in the movie where Carol tries to get her at the risk of fucking up reality. And she also realizes that Carol is a well-meaning idiot who still hasn't figured out how to properly manage or respond to her emotions.

So yeah, Monica understands Carol by the end of the movie and is certainly on the path to forgiveness, but I think there's still many conversations to be had between them. When that will happen, IDK, but now that a level of understanding has been reached, repairing that relationship can actually start to happen.

#binky answers anons #monica rambeau #carol danvers #the marvels

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mrsfrecklesmarauders · 7 months

Text

Party for Moony. Part 1.

Sirius remembered Remus's eleventh birthday. Sirius remembered the delicious chocolate cake his mum had prepared. Sirius remembered the books his dad had given him which made him happy. Sirius remembered the birthday song, the laughter, Remus's bright smile as he blew the candles.

It hadn't been a huge party or celebration. Remus didn't have more relatives. He didn't have friends at school. But it had been filled with love. Sirius had been surprised with the amount of hugs and kisses Remus had received from his parents. It was a shame Sirius had been the only one to witness it.

"Thank you for coming, Sirius. It was a nice birthday"

"Yeah! I hope you liked my card, Rosie" Of course, Remus was Rosie then. Sirius scratched his head in embarrassment "I didn't have money for a present. I'm a kid"

That made Remus laugh.

"I loved it!" To Sirius’s surprise, he received a kiss on the cheek "Best birthday ever"

Sirius remembered the details so well. But it was stupid that he didn't remember the date. It was until they were talking about Rugby and some match that was going to happen around March, that Remus mentioned it was his birthday. Sirius felt stupid to forget. He used to be Remus's best friend. And now he had missed five birthdays. He felt shitty about it.

"Of course! The beginning of March, right?" Sirius guessed.

"The 10th, yeah" Remus gave him a soft smile over his book.

"Cool! Are you a March child?" James commented with excitement "Me too! Mine's the 27th"

They hit palms. Then the subject was dropped. But Sirius couldn't stop thinking about it. It was mid February already. They had to plan something.

"We have to do something for Remus's birthday" Sirius told his friends at the dorm while Remus was studying with Lily.

"Yeah sure" James answered as he was typing on his laptop "We'll make a party in the Common Room"

He sounded like he didn't care. But Sirius had the urge to do something special. Make up for being a shitty friend and disappearing from Remus's life.

"It has to be something more special than a shitty party in the Common Room" Sirius groaned irritably. James and Peter looked at him.

"Watch it, Potter" Peter joked "Remus is winning your place as Sirius’s best friend"

"Shut up, Wormtail" James threw a pillow at him "I will always be Sirius’s best friend, right?"

"Yeah" Sirius didn't pay attention though. He was thinking of what could Remus enjoy. "It has to be something big" he added without noticing how James rolled his eyes "For what he told me, he hadn't had many friends. Or birthday parties. We have to party hard!"

"Yeah!" Peter beamed with the word party because he appreciated everything that sounded cool.

"Do you remember when we made that huge party at the beginning of fifth year? That even seven years wanted to come?" Sirius asked with a smile.

"Oh! That was wicked" Peter nodded.

James didn't look so happy.

"We should do something big again!" Sirius exclaimed "Invite the whole school!"

Peter beamed but James didn't. "Prongsie?"

"All of that for Lupin and not your best friend?" he murmured under his breath.

"What?"

"Yeah yeah!" he said louder "Sounds cool"

Sirius knew his best friend very well and he knew he was jealous. It was comical.

"Since Prongsie, our magesty, has also his birthday on March" he smiled as he sat on James's bed "We can make a joint party!"

James looked up at him with a pout. "You remember about me as well?"

Sirius giggled "Don't be an idiot, Potter" he said "It's just that Remus had never had a birthday party"

"Never?" Peter asked with surprise.

Sirius shook his head. "Well, he used to have dinner with his parents. But his mum is dead. And his dad is not here. We are his friends now. We should make him feel special"

James and Peter looked pitiful.

"Prongs, you've had plenty of parties, haven't you?" Sirius asked "And your parents will probably come to Hogsmeade for the weekend like every year... Remus will be all alone..."

James sighed "Fine, you are right"

"Plus, you said Remus was one of us now, didn't you?" Sirius asked with a smile "He is supposedly a Marauder now, isn't he?"

Sirius and Peter looked at their friend for a confirmation. James was unconsciously the one who said the last words when it came to Marauders business. And yes, they had told Remus over Christmas that he was one of them. They made him sign the Marauders' Code and all. They baptized him as Moony. They hadn't accepted anyone in their group before. But Remus was different. He was easily liked by all the boys.

James's mouth twisted in a smile. "Yeah of course he is one of us"

That made Sirius smile. He felt Remus was meant to be a Marauder.

"Huge Marauder fuckery then" Peter commented with hands on his hips "It is a sign that Remus and Prongs share birthday month. We can make March our annual time for a party chaos"

"We can make it a tradition" Sirius agreed. Then looking at James again for confirmation.

"Sure" James sighed with a slight smile "Sounds good"

"I also have an idea" Sirius added now that the three boys were sat at James's bed "Remember when we talked to Remus about his business?"

"He owns a business?" Peter asked clueless. Sirius hit his head.

"I'm talking about him being trans!"

"Oh yeah" Peter nodded embarrassed while his friends giggled.

"What does that have to do with his birthday?" James asked.

"I was thinking about presents and what he would like.." Sirius explained "A book? A sweater? Some chocolate?..." he shook his head "And then it hit me!" he smirked "He would like money for his surgery"

"To remove his boobs?" Peter asked making the others chuckle.

"Yes, Wormy. To remove his boobs"

"I don't think you can say boobs, though mate" James suggested.

"Tits?"

James shook his head.

"Melons?"

Sirius sighed as James started laughing "Melons?"

Peter shrugged "I don't know"

"How about chest?" Sirius intervened.

"That sounds better!" Peter exclaimed as Sirius ruffled his hair.

"Carry on, Padfoot" James tutted.

"With what?"

"You had an idea..."

"Oh yeah! Bloody Pettigrew distracted me..." Sirius rolled his eyes "I think we should take the advantage of the party, charge for the entrance or something and gather the money for Remus's surgery"

"Do you think people are going to pay for a party?"

"This school is full of rich wankers that would do anything to have a good time" Sirius explained "Plus, this would not be a common party. We have to make it more interesting, worth paying for" Sirius smiled at the end because he was excited about his own idea. He could picture Remus's smiley face already.

"I would pay for that" Peter commented.

"Good thing you have a free pass" Sirius answered.

"Yeah? How come?"

Sirius pursed his lips "You'll be one of the organizers" then bam, another hit on Peter's head. Then Sirius turned to James.

"Prongs?"

James was looking at Sirius in a strange way. It was a mixture of anger and jealousy, but also pride. James was the good bloke that went around helping others. Not Sirius. He was the hero. Not Sirius. He had ideas to cheer his friends up, not Sirius.

"You really like him, don't you?" James said calmy. As if he was accepting the idea. James was easygoing, good to make friends besides the Marauders. Not Sirius. But Remus was different. He was Sirius’s. In the way he was his friend first. In the way that he discovered how cool Remus was. In the way that Sirius could be liked by other people besides James. He was popular for being a Black and for being James Potter's best friend. But Remus was someone that proved Sirius could be liked for himself. And Sirius liked that.

Now, he blushed. James made birthdays a big deal for The Marauders. Not Sirius. The fact that Sirius cared this much about Remus's was weird.

He must've really liked Remus. And of course, Remus (Rosie back then) was the hype of his childhood. But Sirius was not a kid anymore. So this embarrassed him as a teenager.

Sirius shrugged "I like to do stuff for my friends" he blushed more.

James didn't tease him for blushing. He just pulled him closer to give him a kiss on his head.

"Remus is a Marauder. One of us" James said to his friends "So we have the mission to make him have the best birthday of his life"

When Sirius saw him smiling, he loved James more. He was really lucky to have him. And Remus would to.

"For Moony" he extended his hand in the middle of them. Moony had been his nickname for Remus since always. But now he didn't mind his friends using it as well.

"For Moony" James added immediately, doing the same.

"For Super Moony" Peter added last with a huge smile.

They all laughed and excitedly began planning everything before telling Remus the news.

#Happy birthday to this precious boy #anything for our moony #marauders #maraudersera #muggleau #remus lupin #trans remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #peter pettigrew #wolfstar #remus lupin birthday

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pengychan · 5 months

Text

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 7

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

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

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

*** The second half of this chapter was supposed to be about the kind of Bullshit only a party with a rogue and a bard can get into, but then the first half took over. So yeah, Astarion and Raphael will have to wait until the next chapter to get into Bullshit. Until then, have more existential crisis. Crisises. Chrysler. Crises. No I did not have to look up what the plural of crisis is. ***

“You know, I am not entirely sure Raphael was ever informed of the difference between sparring and attempted murder.”

Sitting just inside one of the tents they had set up on the lakeshore to keep away from the sun, Astarion shrugged. “I’m pretty sure that he knows the difference and chooses to ignore it. I do it all the time.”

“You’re remarkably unconcerned.”

“And you’re surprised?” Astarion clicked his tongue. “Wyll, you know as well as I do that my lovely idiot could tear him apart if they wanted. Raphael has literally no chance in all Hells to beat them. Durge is going so easy on him, it’s almost embarrassing.”

“Well,” Halsin intervened, briefly looking up from the duck he was whittling and giving the boiling pot of stew a stir, “they did say that the goal is to make sure he can hold his own before we head to Avernus. I suspect maiming him again would rather slow the progress.”

“Fair enough.”

A pause, and three pairs of eyes - well, two pairs, one single eye, and a sending stone - kept following the sparring match unfolding on a flat, rocky patch of land. It was painfully unbalanced, even with Durge going easy on Raphael. He seemed to know a variety of spells to cast, and his aim was improving, but he tried too hard to land a hit and quickly ran out of steam.

He makes mistakes when he’s angry, Hope had said, and that had not changed. The limitations of a human body, and a middle-aged one at that, were not helping. Raphael was clearly struggling with that, and he barely dodged an acid splash from Durge’s part that Astarion had seen coming from a mile away, with his eyes shut.

“I wouldn’t have thought he’d be able to fight at all, without his hellish powers,” Wyll commented, looking on through narrowed eyes. “Then again, Mephistopheles is considered the greatest wizard of all the Hells. Perhaps he learned from him.”

“Doubtful,” Halsin replied, scratching his chin. “I am certain you learned a great deal sparring with your father, but the Lord of the Eighth is not known for willingly sharing his knowledge. I doubt he’d make an exception even for his own offspring.”

“He’s a bard,” Astarion said, and shrugged when they turned to look at him. “Oh, I forget you two didn’t get the dubious pleasure to visit the House of Hope with us and Karlach. Trust me, he’s a bard if I’ve ever seen o--”

“Agh!”

Astarion trailed off, and they all looked back to see Raphael had slipped on an icy patch and fallen heavily on his back, groaning. It would have been the perfect moment to strike, but Durge was really holding back, so they allowed him a moment to recover… and then several more moments. But Raphael just lifted himself one knee and paused without getting up, panting. The spectacle was over, it seemed.

A bit of a shame, that: watching Raphael getting his ass handed to him time and time again was endlessly entertaining.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Durge said, much too generous in Astarion’s opinion, and stepped towards Raphael, lowering their staff. “You keep attacking in anger. That’s never a good ide--”

Raphael looked up sharply, lips curling in a sneer, and Durge didn’t get to finish the sentence. Raphael brought his hands together and, before anyone could react, pushed them out with a snarl. “Detono.”

The thunderwave caught Durge by surprise, and they had no chance to brace or try to avoid it. They were thrown back into the air, Mourning Frost falling from their grasp to clatter on the ground. They landed with a grunt, but there didn’t seem to have been much damage… until a moment later the ground Durge had landed on shimmered. Realization hit Astarion only a moment before fire erupted from the ground, engulfing Durge, and the roar of flames almost covered their startled cry.

Well, look at that. When had he cast a glyph of warding? How had none of them noticed?

“Durge!”

“You bastard--!”

Halsin and Wyll stood, ready to rush forward, not impeded at all by the risk of being turned to cinders by sunlight. They didn’t go far, though: Durge hadn’t been turned to cinders either - of course not, it would take much more than that - and stood, coughing, before lifting a hand.

“All fine,” they managed, and while it clearly wasn’t all fine, they weren’t too badly injured either. They groaned a little, went to pick up their staff, and turned to grin at Raphael, all fangs. “All right,” they conceded, just as Halsin went to heal them. “That was really good.”

Raphael snorted and stood slowly, carefully moving away from the icy patch on the ground. He cast a healing spell on himself before he replied, still scowling. “Not good enough,” he muttered. He reached to smooth down the blazer Durge had given him, after finding it wedged somewhere in their bag of holding. “Seeing how you got back up.”

“If it makes you feel any better, a god also failed to kill me.”

“The god killed you well enough. Another god made the unfortunate decision to bring you back.”

“You devils and your fixation for details,” Daurge sighed. “Thanks, Halsin - I’m fine, honest. I think that brings an end to this sparring match, though. Is the stew ready? I’m starving.”

Having already feasted on the blood of the boar who had so generously provided the meat for the stew, Astarion did not need to eat. Still, Durge settled right inside the tent with him to eat, while the other two saps sat right outside the entrance. Raphael, as he’d been doing since they’d departed Last Light Inn two nights earlier, took a bowl to his own tent some distance away. At least now it looked like a tent, rather than a sheet thrown haphazardly over some stick by someone who clearly had never set up a tent before.

“I think we should be there in another five days’ walk - I mean, nights’ walk,” Wyll was saying. “I’d hoped to be back quicker than this, but as long as Karlach is safe in the House of Hope, I’m sure she’ll understand. We do need supplies.”

Durge nodded. “Bit of a shame the portals are not working,” they said through a mouthful. “It seems none of those in Baldur’s Gate or even Rivington were left intact. It would have saved us a week. Still, that’s not too long a walk as long as we keep leaving at sundown. As soon as we’ve reached the Gate, we’ll head to the Devil’s Fee. We buy whatever we may need, get Helsik to open a portal to the House of Hope--”

“Do we even have enough money for her to do that again?” Halsin asked.

A pause, and four pairs of hands went to open as many pouches. Several pairs of eyes - three pairs, one eye, one sending stone - had a quick look at the gold inside. Another pause. Four throats were cleared.

“... In retrospect, I should have asked that earlier.”

“Well, perhaps she’ll accept to let us through in exchange for another artifact…”

“Maybe my father can be convinced to give us a loan…”

“We’ll figure something out when we get there. We usually do.” Astarion put down his pouch before he glanced outside the tent, and the others followed his gaze. Raphael had finished eating, clearly, and was closing the tend flap to sleep without a further word to anybody.

“... I think it would be best to keep him out of the House of Hope,” Wyll said. “Hope may not be-- I think she’s seen enough of him to last her several lifetimes. Even if he can no longer harm her, I don’t want her to endure his presence again for even a moment.”

Durge nodded, setting down the bowl. “Yes, I agree. She’s been through enough as is.”

“Counterpoint,” Astarion said. “He might have a stroke if he sees the changes she made to the place, which I bet are delightful. And that would be absolutely hilarious.”

Durge laughed. “My counterpoint to your counterpoint is that we need him alive to take us to the Sword of Zariel,” they said, and reached into the bag of holding. They rummaged a bit before pulling out something - the Spider Lyre they had taken from Nere’s body. They’d had no use for it in a long while, but then again they hadn’t had a bard in their party. Until now. “I’ll be right back,” they said, and left the tent to head towards Raphael, lyre in hand.

“... Projecting more than a little, aren’t they?” Halsin commented, and Astarion sighed.

“Yes, they seem to have made Raphael their pet project. I can’t say I’m all that surprised. They trusted me when it was an objectively stupid course of action. Mind you, they were severely brain damaged - and I’m not sure all that damage has healed just yet...”

Wyll frowned. “He’s a devil. A split soul doesn’t make him any less of a hellspawn.”

“They’re aware. And I’m sure you can guess what they’d answer to that.”

“Durge is a bhaalspawn no longer,” Wyll replied, and Astarion shook his head.

“... That’s what you two will never get, I’m afraid, but I do. Once a spawn, always a spawn,” he said, looking on as Durge stopped outside Raphael’s tent and left the lyre by the entrance.

“You’re free, Astarion,” Halsin spoke, his voice gentle. “You’re both free now, and it was a hard-won freedom. What someone else made you into doesn’t define you anymore.”

Ah, Halsin. Spoken like the sweet, sensible tree hugger he was. Astarion smiled faintly. “You’re not wrong, but that’s not what I’m talking about either. You can kill some parts of you, but you don’t get to erase them. You can only grow around it, or die trying.”

A brief silence as they watched Durge turn away from the tent and head back towards them. Behind them, the flap opened just enough for a hand to grab the lyre and take it in.

“Raphael might just choose to die rather than try,” Wyll finally muttered, and Astarion laughed.

“Entirely possible,” he conceded. “And who are we to tell him what to do?”

***

When the Chamberlain of Mephistar came to claim him on Mephistopheles’ behalf, Israfel was thirteen years of age and entirely unprepared.

Truth be told, over the past couple of years he’d found himself daydreaming of that day less and less. He’d even come to think, at a point, that he may be fine if no one came to take him to the Hells at all, if his father didn’t want him there. Among servants there was talk - in secret, theoretically, but they spoke much too loud - that Lord Rahirek may be considering making Israfel his heir. Until just a few years earlier, that would have been unthinkable.

“Of course Lord Starspire must have thought of it,” the kennel master had said with a shrug, during a conversation with the master-at-arms. “He’s got no kids of his own. The lad is all that’s left of his lady wife, and he’s a clever one. His lordship would have seen it a lot earlier, if he could stop sniveling over her grave for a minute and look past the horns.”

“He was grieving, you animal.”

“It’s been thirteen years. If the Hells don’t come to take him, and he’s good at whatever it is that lords do, why not make him next in line? He even looks like a human now. His Lordship should claim him as his own and be done with it.”

“It’s not that simple. Would other lords accept it, a half-fiend among their peers?”

“They wouldn't want to piss him off, that’s for sure. A good thing in my books.”

Israfel had snuck away unseen, and hadn’t mentioned the conversation he’d heard to anyone, but it was true that he was in his human form more often than not, and that Rahirek had started teaching him things about the land he lorded over. Not long after that conversation, he even took Israfel with him for a negotiation with the dwarven clans along the eastern peaks of the Starspire mountains, from which his family got its name.

“To show you how it’s done,” was all he had said, and Israfel had needed no convincing. He had never wandered far from the fort, and finding himself so high up had been exhilarating. He could turn his head and see so much, across Firedrake Bay and all the way down the Trade Way far beyond Starspire Fort, and south to Zazesspur where, to hear one of their dwarf guides, people wiped their asses with sheets of gold when they weren’t busy trying to kill each other. Israfel had stopped his mule and reached out; the city looked so small, he could blot it out when he closed his first. For a moment, he’d felt like a giant.

Then there had been the screech, so loud it hurt his ears, and something much bigger than him had swooped down on the caravan. Right afterwards, a man screamed. “Perytons!”

“Form a line! Protect Lord Starspire!”

What happened next would remain confused in Israfel’s memories, only brief flashes of clarity in the midst of chaos. He’d remember the giant eagle with the head of a fanged stag standing on top of a fallen, screaming man, trying to claw his heart out through the armor, threatening to gore anyone who came too close with its antlers. He’d remember a swipe of its wing knocking him off his mule onto the ground, a few feet away from the abyss, and he’d remember hitting his shoulder hard. He’d remember a scream - his name, someone screamed his name - and the beasts’ eyes on him, the fang bared. He’d remember lifting his arms to protect himself, and then…

Then he’d only remember heat, and screeches of pain echoing through the mountains. The peryton tried to take flight only to crash down again, screaming, its plumage on fire. Flames wreathed its antlers like they were dry wood, eyes melted out of its sockets from the heat. There was a rush to get out of the way, lest the beast’s dying throes knocked any of them off the side of the mountain; someone grabbed Israfel, too, pulled him to safety behind a boulder.

After that, he’d remember a furious heartbeat against his cheek, a hand pressing against his head and neck and then down his back, checking for injuries. Dimly, he realized he felt the weight of his horns again. When had he changed form? Had the others seen?

“Are you all right, boy? Were you hurt?”

Israfel had closed his eyes, listening to the last of the beast’s dying screeches over the man’s thumping heart. He’d willed himself to change back to his human form before he spoke. “No, sir,” he’d managed, and felt Lord Rahirek Starspire let out a long breath.

“Thank the Gods,” he whispered, and didn't let him go for what felt like a very, very long time. When they’d emerged, the danger gone, their dwarven guides had looked at him warily.

“‘Twas not normal fire that did the beast in,” one had muttered, looking back and forth between the smoldering corpse to Israfel. “Hellfire, ain’t it? And my old eyes work well enough to tell you got horns on your head a minute ago, lad. Could do with an explanation.”

Israfel had felt Rahirek’s hand on his shoulder. “Be grateful my ward felled the monster. He owes no explanation to you or anyone else,” he’d said, and that had been the end of it. With only two mules dead and one man injured, the journey had continued without further incident.

The travel back had been undisturbed as well. Rahirek had kept Israfel close, pointing at landmarks and cities. “It’s high time you visit the capital,” he had said halfway through their descent, with home within sight. “I’ll take you next spring, if you’re inclined to come with me.”

Israfel had been plenty inclined, but that didn’t matter: it was never to be. They had returned to the fort to a tense silence, pale faces and quiet servants. In the kennels, the dogs were subdued; it had been the master-at-arms to come tell them what was going on, but it was not needed. From the hall, faint but unmistakable, came the smell of sulfur.

“One Duke Barbas is here,” he had managed, unable to meet either of their eyes. Somewhere out of their line of sight, Nan was crying. “To take Israfel home.”

And that, love, was that.

***

“Love, please, give me that knife.”

The woman is crying, but it’s not her tears the boy’s eyes pause on. His gaze is fixed on the blood, red and rich, dripping onto the floorboards from her outstretched hands, cut to the bone from the attempts at stopping the knife. It mixes with the blood of her husband, who’s already dead on the floor and growing colder by the second.

He called him dad, until now. Until just hours ago, maybe minutes. Or it may have been days, he’s not sure. Time means nothing. Everything went red and then dark and he grabbed the knife, and then all was blood and meat. That’s all the man is now. He’s just meat and it all feels so right. It’s better this way. Better to die than to live in a world with him in it.

“Sweetheart, please. This isn’t you. We can fix this,” the woman calls out again, choking out words. “My little boy, listen to me.” A bloody hand rests on his cheek. She touched his face many, many times before. Sang him to sleep. Soothed him after bad dreams. Mom, he’s called her, ever since he learned to speak. He knows she is not, nor her husband was his father - they’re halflings, he is not - but it never mattered. It still doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters but the crimson filling the cracks between the floorboards and the smell of death and the fact that she’s wrong. This is him. This was always him.

She wants the knife.

He’ll give her the knife.

The blade sings through the air, slices through skin and muscle and cartilage like it’s nothing. She chokes on blood and her hands go through her throat, but cannot stem the flow. One last, wide-eyed look, then she falls on her face and doesn’t get up. The boy looks on, quiet, with the crimson hand still smeared on his face. Once the last of her life’s blood has flown, he turns to the door.

He’s not the only child they have taken in. There are others, too, his siblings, who will be home soon. They have names, but it’s not important now. The dead need no names.

He holds onto the knife, and waits.

***

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t do that, don’t-- yes, that’s better. Breathe, possibly no frost breath if you can help it-- there. Good. You’re fine. Whatever you dreamed up, it’s not now. Do you understand me? Nod if you do. Or bite me, you have permission to bite this once.”

Face pressed against Astarion’s shoulder, Durge let out a long breath and nodded. “Yes,” they rasped. “I’m fine. It was just--”

“Nightmare, or memory?”

“Memory.”

“I see.”

They leaned back against the bedroll, and for a time they only listened to their own breathing, to the drumming of rain against the tent they were sharing. “Want to talk about it?” Astarion finally asked, a hand rubbing the back of their neck. Durge breathed out.

“It was the family that took me in. In Baldur’s Gate, when I was very young. They loved me. I had forgotten their faces.”

“And now you remembered them? Well, that is nice--”

“I butchered them all.”

“Ah. I do see why that may be an unpleasant recollection, then.”

“I killed my foster parents. I waited for the other children they had taken in to come home and slaughtered them all, put the bodies in a pile and stood there for hours, just - looking at them. I don’t remember what I was thinking. Only that I was… happy. Something had been sated.”

“The Urge.”

“Yes. I think that was the first time it came over me.”

“And now it’s gone. You really shouldn’t forget that bit, love. The Urge is gone, for good.”

Durge nodded, and shut their eyes. In the back of their mind, a voice rang out.

Young Master, precious fledgling, follow ever your heart. In time, your true family will find you.

“I can’t remember their names,” they murmured in the end.

“It wouldn’t do you any good--”

“I ended the entire family. I owe it to them, don’t I? To at least remember their names.”

“... Remember what Withers said? You can go through all the names once you’re dead. Until then, you can just live.” Astarion pulled back, and spoke again in a very questionable impression of Withers’ voice. “Greet the bloodless dawn, child of none.”

That, at least, made Durge chuckle. “That was terrible,” they said, then, “thank you.”

“Anytime, dear.” His hand rested on Durge’s face, where the woman’s had in the memory. “But do try to sound more impressed by my actorial skills. You hurt all three of my feelings.”

“There’s a third one?”

“Oh look, now you think you’re funny. It worked too well.”

Another chuckle, and Durge nuzzled against his hand briefly before they sat up. “... I’ll go for a walk. Clear my head some. I’ll be back soon.”

“Are you sure? Sounds like it’s pouring.”

“I’ve been covered in worse things than water.”

“You’ve been covered in better things, too.”

“Such as…?”

“Blood.” A pause. “That was probably not the right thing to say given the circumstances. But you know what I mean.”

Durge laughed, and kissed his head. “Yes,” they replied, stepping outside and breathing in the cool air, letting the rain run over their scales. It felt good, as though it was washing something foul away. “I know what you mean.”

***

Raphael woke to the sound of rain, and somebody’s grip on his face.

His eyes snapped open, but at first he saw very little. Until not too long ago, he could see in the dark just as well as he could on a bright day; now, the half-light inside a tent on a rainy day was dim enough to disorient him - but only for a moment. The hand holding his face had scales, and the red eyes looking down at him were awfully familiar.

“You-- what--” he began, only to trail off when the bhaalspawn tightened their grip on his face, the palm covering his mouth.

“Ah-ha, let’s not make too much noise.” They leaned in, baring their fangs in a grin, and Raphael froze. There were several responses that crossed his mind - all of them demanding they unhand him immediately, a few with a side serving of a firebolt to the face - but, just awake and disoriented, half trapped under the blankets, he voiced none of them. All that left him was a weak noise at the sudden jolt that went up his spine. The bhaalspawn’s grin turned to confusion for a moment, then amusement. They laughed, pulling away.

“Well well well, now that reaction was a surprise, my pet.”

Wait.

“What-- you--!” Raphael scrambled to sit up. Mortification turned to anger as he faced the creature, face burning, teeth clenched. “What manner of joke is this supposed to be!”

A chuckle, and then the being before him shifted, morphed, until Raphael was glaring at his own face as it was… before. Haarlep tilted their head and reached to flick his nose, snatching their hand back before he could slap it away. “And here I thought you couldn't surprise me anymore, little brat. Now, is it me or you’re not especially happy to see me?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Keeping an eye on you, of course. Fun as it was assisting in your escape from Mephistar, surely you didn’t think for a moment I organized the whole thing all by myself, did you? Truth be told, I believed you dead for months until the announcement you’d be devoured in spectacular fashion. Good thing your father seems to enjoy playing with his food almost as much as you do, huh? What a surprise it was. I’d done my mourning and it turns out it wasn’t necessary.”

Raphael scoffed. “Yes, I could feel just how much you mourned,” he snapped, “whoring my body out to anyone who asked.”

“Aaaah, yes. You did feel that, didn’t you?” Haarlep grinned again. “It was my most requested form, and many at court were willing to pay handsomely for it. I’d been released from my oath to you, after all. I’m sure you’ll understand. Did it provide some distraction from your misery?”

Very much unwilling to think back of anything he’d thought or felt while in the bowels of his father’s dungeons, Raphael smacked away the hand that had reached out to brush back his hair. “Don’t you touch me, incubus,” he snapped, “or you’ll find I still have teeth.”

“Ah, I certainly hope you do. You were not rescued out of kindness, you understand.”

Of course not; the notion was too ridiculous for any self-respecting devil to entertain. Something stirred in the back of Raphael’s mind, the memory of someone putting his own frail, aging mortal body between him and a danger, but he was quick to chase it away. That was the kind of sentimentality befitting a mortal, and regardless of his current situation he was no mortal. He had never been. If he still breathed, it was because someone wanted something from him. “Obviously,” he ground out.

“Your savior will expect you to do something in return. Don’t ask what,” Haarlep added the second Raphael opened his mouth. “I couldn’t tell you even if I knew all the details. My lips are sealed - from talking, that is - unless I’m given the direct order to tell you.”

“And who, pray tell, would have to give that order?”

“Your savior, of course.”

“Haarlep.”

A laugh. “Don’t get too cross with me, little brat,” they said. “I quite literally cannot speak the name or even give hints unless allowed. It’s a very stringent oath. You should have thought of doing something like that, come to think of it. Might have kept me from accidentally oversharing your little secrets, although I’m fairly sure it wouldn’t have done much to keep the little mouse and their companions away from the Orphic Hammer.”

“Accidentally,” Raphael snorted, tasting bile in his throat. “You’ve never once passed up a chance to push against my authority.”

“True, I thought it would be hilarious to see your face once you returned to find the hammer gone. I never imagined it would result in your demise. I suppose it’s a good thing for both of us that you’re not one to hold grudges,” they added, like they didn’t know that Raphael could hold grudges as tightly as Asmodeus held onto his throne.

Raphael glared, teeth clenched so tight his jaw hurt. “I ought to flay you alive.”

“You may try, pet. It wouldn’t be a long fight,” the incubus almost sing-sang. And they were right, of course. A mere human with a few cantrips has no hope to best a devil, let alone unarmed and unarmored. Raphael balled his hands in fists, resisted the temptation to still try wrapping them around Haarlep’s neck - his own neck - and scowled.

“Am I to believe that whoever it is you obey has no instructions whatsoever for me?”

“Not quite yet, but soon. For now, the lack of instructions means you’re on the right path, I suppose. Although you’ll need to be extremely cautious, back in the Hells. Mephistopheles will be furious the second he finds out you still live. He hates being fooled about as much as… well, you, or anyone for that matter. He’d stop at nothing to destroy you.”

Of course. Raphael would have expected nothing less. “Duly noted,” he said, coldly, pushing away the dread to focus on what little he knew. Whoever had saved him wanted him to return to the Hells; to what end, he couldn’t imagine. Was it all about killing Zariel? By extension, was this Mizora’s doing? It seemed unlikely. What influence would Mizora have in Cania?

Focused as he was trying to make a somewhat coherent picture out of the scraps of information he’d been handed, he didn’t notice Haarlep reaching out for him until their hand grabbed his chin and lifted his face. Their face-- his face, would it ever be his again?-- peered at him closely, a smile playing on their lips.

“Tell me the truth, sweetling,” they said, running a thumb across Raphael’s own lips. “Have you missed me? Thought of me?”

Raphael scowled, anger roiling in his chest and aching need in the pit of his stomach. It had been half a year without that indulgence, leaning back to feel pleasure and think of nothing anymore. He hated it. He hated Haarlep. He hated how much he needed it. “I thought of many ways I could kill you, if you’re inclined to hear them,” he spat, and Haarlep’s smile widened.

“Oh, you have missed me,” they crooned, and leaned in to claim his mouth. Raphael gripped the straps of their harness, not quite knowing whether he’d push them back or pull them closer - and then leaned back, taking Haarlep down on him. He felt the incubus smile against his lips, pressing him down on the bedroll. “I missed you, you know,” they whispered.

Until half a year ago, it was a sentence Raphael may have brushed off with a scoff and hardly a thought. Now it made something ache around the empty nothing where half of his soul had been, and he closed his eyes. “No,” he managed, his voice almost breaking. “You did not.”

Maybe they’re here to take what remains of my soul, he thought. Maybe I should let them. No soul must be better than a maimed one. At least those soulless dolls don’t have any notion of what befell them. What chances do I have to be whole again? I am at the whim of mortals who stabbed me in the back before.

A sigh. “Ah, you think so little of me,” Haarlep lamented, and bit his lower lip, barely a nip. “I have many new bodies for you to sample, if you’re so inclined. You seemed interested in the little mouse’s. Or would you rather have this form again? Your own body, for old times’ sake?”

Trying very hard not to think of the suggestion, Raphael shook his head and tightened his grip on Haarlep’s harness. “This,” he rasped, and Haarlep chuckled.

“You’re so wonderfully predictable,” they said, parting Raphael’s legs with a knee and kissing his neck, his jaw, so warm against his skin. “Open up for me, pet, and I’ll make it all better.”

Raphael closed his eyes, parted his lips, and for a time he thought of nothing.

***

While Durge hadn’t expected anything to happen at camp while they were away, returning to find no trace of unwelcome visitors - no Mizora showing up in a ring of hellfire waving a contract, no vampire spawn trying to drag Astarion away, no githyanki asking them to help overthrowing a space tyrant or trying really hard to kick their collective asses - was still kind of a relief.

Rain had stopped falling around the time they had decided to cut the walk short and head back. Evening was fast approaching, and soon enough it would be time to leave. As it turned out, they weren’t the only one awake: the flap of Raphael’s tent was open, and Raphael was crouching at the lakeshore, throwing water over his face and running his hands through his hair as though trying to scrub something away.

Durge paused, watching, as Raphael sat back on a rock and remained still, wet fingers in his hair, the heels of his hands pressed over his eyes. His shirt was open and rumpled, and he was drawing in long breaths. It looked like he was having-- well, a moment.

Maybe it would be best to get to their tent unnoticed, but Durge had never been really good at just doing what was best. Instead they stopped by the camp chest, grabbed a bottle of Arabellan Dry, and headed for the lakeshore. Raphael recoiled when they sat next to him, and turned to glare only to be presented with the bottle, cork already off.

“I don’t have a decanter or cups at hand,” Durge said. “You’ll have to drink from the bottle.”

Raphael looked at the label, and sniffed contemptuously. “This should be served at cellar temp--”

“I’ll guzzle it all down myself here and now if you finish that sentence.”

“Hmph.” The bottle was snatched from their hand, and Raphael took a long swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand - not at all, Durge thought, something he ever pictured him doing - and said nothing, looking pointedly away from them at a mountain range in the distance. There was a brief silence.

“Was the lyre to your liking?” Durge finally asked.

“It should prove adequate,” was the only reply they got. They followed Raphael’s gaze to see if there was actually something worth looking at, but they saw nothing. Only the mountains.

“... So,” Raphael finally spoke without turning. “The vampling let slip that it was you who took the Crown from Mephistopheles’ vault. You and Gortash. I should have known.”

Gortash. Thinking of the man didn’t come easy to Durge. They knew there had been something there, the closest they’d ever had to friendship before Orin unwittingly set them free, but it was only the faded shade of a sensation. A memory of a memory of something they may have dreamed up, once.

Durge didn’t want to remember more; they were afraid of what may turn up, of the being they were when they’d so admired the slaver who sold Karlach to the Hells and doomed so many others to worse fates yet. But they would not pretend it had never been so, either. Pretending felt like a luxury they had not earned.

“My favorite assassin,” Gortash had called them, and he had meant it. But they were no longer the person he’d known, not by a long shot. They had changed beyond recognition, and Enver Gortash had not.

“... I know Gortash lived in the House of Hope.”

A shrug. Dismissive. “For a time. He wasn’t my ward for very long. He found his way out annoyingly quickly, I have to say, although not before making some useful connections.”

“Why was he there?”

“He was sold to me. An overpriced brat if there ever was one.”

Durge scowled. “Why buy him in the first place?”

Another swig from the bottle. “I figured he had potential. And I was right, was I not? I have an eye for potential, you know I do, even if mortals are so prone to squandering it. I never bothered to try and take him back after he fled, but I’m pleased to know you put him down.”

“... Enver Gortash had to be stopped. Enver Flymm was a boy. The Hells are no place for a--”

“I paid for him, fair and square,” Raphael scoffed, and the indifference slipped. Suddenly, he looked angry. “For the full asking price his loving parents set, if you must know. If they didn’t want their boy to go to the Hells, they should not have handed him to a devil.”

“So why didn’t you bother?”

Raphael paused and blinked, taken aback, bottle in mid-air. “What?”

“You’d paid for him. Why didn’t you bother to take him back? You don’t strike me as someone willing to let an investment go. Unless he somehow became Bane’s Chosen the second he was out, what challenge would it have posed to you? Reclaiming a mortal boy?”

A sneer. “Maybe I was just curious to see how he’d burn himself out left on his own devices,” Raphael snapped, and took another swig from the bottle. He turned away. “I think we should consider this conversation over. Do not waste your breath or my time, unless it’s to beg forgiveness for your treachery. Or to tell me how you plan to recover the rest of my soul from Mephistopheles’ vaults.”

Durge sighed, and decided to let the matter drop. For now. “I do not recall the details of the heist in Mephistar,” they admitted. “But if I could steal the Crown then, I am sure I can get to your soul too.”

A hum, making it plain that Raphael very much failed to share that certainty, but he didn’t remark on it. He looked up at the setting sun instead, and so did Durge; it was turning the sky to-- blood -- fire, and it reflected on the lake’s still surface. In the distance, birds called.

“... What has become of the Crown?” Raphael finally asked, almost conversationally. Only the tenseness in his back betrayed how sore a subject that was.

“It came apart when we took down the Netherbrain. Gale was able to reforge it, and gave it to Mystra for safekeeping. She took the netherese orb out of his chest in exchange.” And, Durge knew, it had been the last interaction between them. As far as they were concerned, Gale was better off for it.

A snort. “Safekeeping, of course. As if gods are not wont to misuse power the same as everyone else,” was the response. One last swig, and Raphael passed the bottle over to Durge. They took it with a shrug.

“Who better to hold onto it than the goddess of all magic? It seemed the safest course of action.”

Raphael laughed, or at least he came remarkably close to it. “If you truly believe that,” he said with a wide gesture, tongue loosened by the wine, “then I have the most delightful bridge to sell you in Stygia.”

A snort, also not too far away from a laugh. “If after all this I’m still in the mood to invest in Baator’s infrastructure, I will let you know,” they said, and emptied the bottle in one gulp.

***

[Back to Chapter 6]

[On to Chapter 8]

[Back to Start]

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #raphael bg3 #astarion ancunin #halsin bg3 #wyll ravengard #haarlep bg3 #hell to pay

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crystallizsch · 6 months

Note

HI!! jumping in here because I’m pretty awkward starting convos and those ask prompts were perfect for breaking the ice

I get the feeling you’ll get a lot of jamil asks so I’m gonna throw a curve ball and ask about deuce with 9 and 18 (since it seems like you also like heartslabyul hehe)

AA HI HII!! It’s so cool to finally talk with you! And aaah i get it, i feel similarly hfkdjsks but it makes me happy that you decided to send an ask thank you! 😭💖

ANYWAYS DEUCE YES and you’re right i love heartslabyul, especially the duo, so thanks for this!

jamil my beloved he needs to take a back seat again for a bit afklsjs

━━━━━━✦ 9. Could you be roommates with [Deuce]?

I’ve roomed with siblings my whole life (at least up until college) so i think i totally could be roommates with Deuce! idk he gives little brother vibes despite being an only child

Something that reminded me, I checked to see and in the 2nd halloween event, apparently he grinds his teeth in his sleep (which is probably a whole thing to address??? but i dont know much to give an opinion ;;;)

anyways i’m pretty used to noises at night and the general shenanigans that comes with rooming with younger siblings (there’s no privacy but admittedly it’s less lonely) (but i do prefer privacy). and I imagine deuce anyway to be the respectful type and just tries his best to be considerate

but yeah in any case i could be roommates with him if I didnt have the choice to room alone akjdksjsks

Also slight tangent i looked up his room and damn it’s so neat???

he has a ton of books this boy 😭😭

also he has a little picture frame awhh

i imagine it may be a picture of him and his mom??? which honestly would be pretty ballsy because you’d think a boy that age would not even consider proudly putting that up because of ridicule (then again he’s also not afraid to fight). but that’s also what i love about deuce, he loves his mom and he cares enough to show it despite what anyone thinks 😭 (or maybe it could be just displaying one of his achievements or something idk idk hgkjdsfjlds)

Man i know the heartslabyul dorm rooms are pretty but it feels so unrealistic for that it is THIS clean and organized (there’s probably some kinda rule in there somewhere keeping it clean i imagine hfhjdjdj)

━━━━━━✦ 18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

ACE THE SINGLE BRAIN CELL DYNAMIC IDIOTS THAT VALUE EACH OTHER AS FRIENDS bromance real

AND JUST THE WHOLE MAIN FOUR IN GENERAL

I think adeuce have that type of friendship where they butt heads and make fun of each other a lot, because that’s like how they show that they are comfortable with one another and that, out of all people, they choose each other as the main person to hang out with.

I think if it weren’t for what happened in the prologue they wouldn’t be as close as friends. It felt like an excuse for them to bond and get to know each other properly despite their differences (and they're roommates so if none of that happened i think they'd only be acquaintances at most)

I also love that during events whenever the other is not involved, it’s always so funny one of them is usually like “wow it’s such a shame ace/deuce is not here”

actually I dont think there’s an event where BOTH ace and deuce is in an event together??? man🧍(unless i'm forgetting something)

but also when is twst gonna finally have the main quartet all be involved in an event together 🤨

AAH i’m just a sucker for the friend duo/trio (+ occasional creature/animal) trope.

I’m lovingly chewing on their dynamic every time

still open for asks!

#SORRY FOR THE DELAY #i went to sleep ;;#ALSO FELLOW JAMIL ENJOYER RAAHH #love your jamil stuff #so i was surprised when i saw you in my inbox #i was ALJDFLJSASK such an honor hi #[—✦ chatting #-✧ ask game

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 2 years

Text

Going Trick or Treating with Ted Logan would include~

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(This is super late but it was in my drafts and finished so here~)

- Ted spent a lot of his childhood being “the older brother” so even though Halloween is arguably his favorite holiday, he’s very lax about how he wants to spend it. He’s down for whatever you want to do and sort of just tags along; happy to be there and spending time with you.

- Don’t expect a ton of input when you ask what he wants to be/dress up as. You’ll get a very excited and adamant “for sure” when you question him on whether or not he wants to dress up; and probably if he wants to be in a couples costume with you, but he’ll always respond with an enthusiastic “I don’t know” whenever you ask for any specifics.

- So yeah, it’s more or less your decision to make. You probably choose to be something like a Rockstar and his girlfriend; since it’s a fairly fitting costume all thing considered, but if you’re more of a “this is my one chance a year to dress like an idiot” kind of person, he’ll gladly wear one of those silly foam outfits as well.

- Whatever you guys choose; he’s not embarrassed in the slightest. It’s Halloween, you’re supposed to dress up and look silly. And what’s silly anyways? He’s having fun so who cares.

- But, speaking of costumes: he has absolutely zero focus while browsing the aisles of the Halloween store. He’s bouncing from image to image and getting distracted from/forgetting about the ones he’s already considering because he’s immediately focused on another one. You’ll probably not even wind up buying any of them either, you’ll go home empty handed and just choose something from your closet at the very last minute.

- I don’t think Ted is capable of getting embarrassed: like he legitimately can’t feel shame; at least 90% of the time. He’d happily go trick or treating with you and wouldn’t even bat an eye at the prospect of people your age seeing and making fun of you. He’s simply here to have a good time, and honestly? Good for him.

- As much as he loves trick or treating, he loves sitting on the curb and talking with you even more. The longer the night drags on and the more you decide to “stop for a second” the better; especially when you shiver and he gets to scoot in extra close to “keep you warm”.

- He’s constantly touching: holding your hand, leaning on you, hugging you from behind, rubbing his hands on your arms to warm you up, etc. He’s affectionate and considerate, thank you very much.

- He insists on carrying your candy when he see’s that you’re struggling; even if you insist that you’re fine. How he manages to carry both your bags, along with you on his back a majority of the time, never ceases to confuse and amaze you.

- On that note: piggyback rides; especially if you were dumb and decided to wear uncomfortable shoes.

- The two of you probably cross paths with his brother during the night and the two of them have a stand off in the middle of the street. He almost runs after and tackles him when he makes a comment about how good you look.

- If he was wearing a big latex mask or let you put makeup on him, you’d have to lift it up to kiss him or would wind up with lipstick/face paint all over your face from him kissing you everywhere. I don’t know, it’s just a cute thought.

- He wreaks havoc on his bag of candy. He leaves the night with half of what he collected because of just how much he snacks on his stash. How he doesn’t throw up before morning is genuinely beyond you.

- He would be conflicted but he’d wind up giving you the last/only piece of candy that he has that the two of you mutually love. Like if you had one snickers bar in both your bags combined, he’d really want to have it but he’d know that it’s your favorite so he’d drop it into your bag instead.

- Speaking of: he knows what you love and hate so he swaps stuff out without even saying anything, or grabs something to eat from your pile without asking because he knows you’re gonna give them to him by the end of the night anyway.

- Bill would probably tease the two of you for going out and trick or treating but he’d definitely feel a bit conflicted about whether or not he should have gone afterwards.

- By the end of the night you’re an itchy costume, makeup covered pile of limbs and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#ted logan imagine #ted logan imagines #ted logan headcanons #ted logan headcanon #bill and ted imagine #bill and ted headcanons #bill and ted headcanon #bill and ted imagines #80s movie imagines #80s movie imagine #80s movie headcanons #80s movie headcanon

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vole-mon-amour · 9 months

Text

I always forget how chatty Nathan is.

He talks to himself when he's anxious/nervous. "Let's see, I ruined my marriage. Drove away my best friend. And now my brother is missing. On the bright side, there's no one to tell me I'm an idiot."

He goes, "Don't snap, don't snap, don't snap!" when he slides down with a claw on a rope. When he lands, "Ha! It didn't snap! Sweet."

He's the kind of guy that comments on things even when there's no one to hear him.

His banter with Sam as something constant because of the younger brother & older brother dynamic, but I'm more than sure that Sam raised Nathan with "No shame" politics. As in, there are no shameful questions. Boys cry. You can express your feelings with me whenever. Yeah, even when you feel embarrassed about those feelings and say them out loud, just remember that I still love you.

And when Sam is missing throughout the story, or doesn't respond, or there's any sign of trouble, Nathan is so so worried for Sam.

"Just don't tell him [Sam] I said that."

They love each so much. They care deeply. It's the shared trauma that made them incredibly close.

I love them, your honor.

UPD:

Nathan: "Boat's down there."

Sam: "After you, captain."

💙🤎

#nate drake #uncharted 4 #natisplaying #sam drake #drakecest

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icey--stars · 1 year

Text

Born For Tragedy: Part 13

Series Index

She was tragedy. Nothing except death, fear and pain followed in her wake. When she was young, she was beaten. Now she’s the one doing the beating as an assassin. A mysterious stranger comes to her, paying an absurd amount of money for her to kill Beron Vanserra, and protect the eldest son until the job is done. She stumbles across a story much similar to her own, and knows what must be done.

a/n: this chapter is mostly filler so enjoy :)

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

And so, she did stay. She remained in Eris’s room while she recovered from the exhaustion of the Calanmai Ball night. Most of the time, it was just sleeping or resting with the dogs. She finally managed to steal that damned book off his shelves.

She was reading said book when he returned on the 5th day of her being holed up in the room. He’d been checking in of course, but he hadn’t once come back to sleep or anything. Distantly, she hoped he wasn’t working himself to the bone to try and fix the court. Perhaps he was just sleeping in an office or something.

“Ah,” Eris hummed, spotting the title. “Like reading, do you?”

Valda glanced up, shutting the book on her thumb to hold her place. “A few titles,” she admitted. “This one has been taunting me since the first time I cleaned your study.”

Eris chuckled. “I dearly love that book,” he admitted. “Do you like it?”

She scoffed, grinning. “I love it. This novel… it caught my eye in Hewn City, while being trained to be an assassin, and basically any other time I’ve seen it. It’s my favorite book.”

“Mine too,” he chuckled, coming to sit beside her. “Which part is your favorite?” He asked as he began to take off his boots.

“I like the parts where she’s writing about a world like ours,” She admitted. “She uses it as an escape. If this kind of world existed, I would bet we use each other for a sense of escape.”

Eris smiled. “I like that thought,” he said softly. “I quite enjoy the parts where she finally stands up to the idiots in her… whatever other language she’s learning– that class.”

Valda hummed. “That is quite a good part. I have to admit I laughed when she tried to punch them though. She couldn’t even throw a punch!”

“Don’t go after her,” Eris scolded playfully. “She’s trying. Plus they have guns in that world. She doesn’t need to fist fight.”

“Everyone should know how to fist fight Eris!” Valda insisted. “It’s like the backbone of all societies!” As she did so, she slid a piece of paper into the book as a bookmark.

Eris chuckled, grinning as he finally looked up after setting his boots aside. “Are you sure? I think the backbone of any society rests in the different arts.”

She rolled my eyes. “Stop being right,” She groaned, flopping back onto the bed.

Eris grinned as he turned to face her again. “I will never stop being right.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” Valda teased, shoving one of her ankles into his calf. “Learn some shame, heir.”

“High Lord,” Eris corrected with a smirk. “Or did the greatest assassin in Prythian forget who she has killed already?”

She rolled my eyes, sitting up again. She’d had enough magic today to finally cover her scars, which made her feel infinitely more herself. Valda slapped his upper arm. “I can still stab you,” She threatened.

“I don’t think you will,” Eris challenged, his eyes gleaming.

Valda smirked and stood, going toward one of the many dagger stores she’d found in his room and pulling out one of the nice, gold-hilted ones. “Want to test that?” She challenged with a grin.

Eris rolled his eyes. “I can easily dodge your measly dagger.”

Valda flipped it around and raised her arm up like she was going to throw it. “Oh yeah?”

The High Lord pulled out his own dagger from his fancy little jacket and set it aflame. Valda lifted a brow. “Fire does nothing,” She pointed out. “Just cauterize the wound you cause.”

“Yeah, but it hurts,” Eris countered.

Valda scoffed. “I suppose it does hurt. You’re not wrong there.”

Eris and Valda stared at each other for a few more moments before Eris extinguished his weapon and slid it back into its hidden pocket along his torso. Valda put the dagger back as well.

“Has someone been trying to kill you?” She asked.

Eris jerked his head over toward her. “What? No.”

“Why are you carrying daggers around then?” She questioned. “I don’t remember you doing it before.”

“It’s nothing,” he dismissed. Valda narrowed her eyes.

“Who?” She growled.

Eris sighed. “It’s just the council members. And nobility. They don’t exactly like me right now. So I’m being careful.”

“What’s causing the biggest issue?”

“The assassin of Beron,” Eris admitted quietly. “I’m making it work.”

“How so?” She asked. How could she fix it?

“I’m placating them,” Eris assured. “The council is settling bit by bit. I’m diverting their attention with better and newer policies.”

Valda narrowed her eyes. “Tell me it all,” she ordered.

Eris swallowed before explaining. He’d started a little expedition to find the client of the assassin or the assassin themselves, but as expected, it’d come up short. Now he’d been working to convince the council, the lords and other nobility that it wasn’t that bad. He’d been making drastic changes in Autumn. Females had a lot more rights, first and foremost. Secondly, the peasants weren’t suffering from starvation and a lack of funds. The taxes were lowered and the budget changed. The nobility, of course, didn’t like it, but it distracted them. They weren’t vying for the execution of the assassin causing it all.

“Let me help,” Valda said determinedly, walking towards Eris where he still sat on the bed. “I’m healed.”

Eris’s jaw clenched. “You’re still weaker than usual,” he argued. “You can stay here until you’re back up to strength.”

“Eris,” Valda snapped. “My work here is done. My only work here is as some dumbass servant. Which I’m pretty sure I’ve managed to get above Nova by now as the personal servant of the High Lord. Let me help. I can do spy work for you.”

He closed his eyes briefly and then sighed, his shoulders lowering. “Fine, but only because I really need people to trust right now.”

She smirked in triumph. “Great!” She exclaimed. “What’s my first mission then High Lord?”

Eris rolled his eyes, smiling faintly. “Stop calling me High Lord,” he chuckled. “That’s your first mission.”

“Boring,” Valda complained. “Give me something real to do, Eris.”

She noted the way he seemed to tense at his own name. “Your first mission is to see what the lower class thinks of me so far. Through the servants or a nearby town. Just let me know if you leave?”

She dipped her head briefly. “Sounds easy.”

“Rhysand and his cronies are visiting tomorrow, so I suggest visiting a town tomorrow if you wish to escape that chaos,” Eris suggested. “Perhaps find time to finally claim your winnings for your achievement.”

She chuckled, sitting on the bed. “Yeah, that sounds fun. Might get to threaten him.”

“Why would you have to threaten him?”

“Did you really think he assumed I was going to succeed?” Valda asked, giving him a look. “No, he didn’t, so I have to threaten him to get the money out of him. I’ll send a letter out tomorrow.”

“How are you going to get a letter to some mysterious stranger?” Eris asked incredulously.

“We agreed on a few locations he’d check for letters,” Valda answered. “Not that hard. I’ve been in this business for a while and ironed out many kinks.”

“Hopefully you won’t have to worry about that too much anymore,” Eris said quietly.

She perked up, looking at him and then down at the floor as she realized that she wouldn’t be an assassin anymore if she lived here. “I guess so,” she answered.

“Anyway, what’s an excuse Adira can use to talk to Nova again?” Valda asked aloud, mostly to herself, but she was open to ideas from Eris.

“Tell her I required you to stay somewhere private temporarily due to worries about assassins or something,” Eris suggested. “After deep cleaning my new rooms, I put a bed in the study for when I collapse from work. You can just say you’re staying there.”

Valda hummed then shook her head and stared at Eris for a moment.

“Why do you look surprised?” Eris asked.

“I suppose I didn’t expect you to move so quickly into the High Lord’s quarters, but that’s my own fault. Where might Lady Merle be staying then?” Valda asked.

Eris chuckled, grinning at that. “My mother is staying in the Day Court with her mate.”

Valda blinked, and blinked twice more and once more for good measure. “What?!” She asked, staring at Eris in shock. “Who is it? How was Beron not her mate-”

Eris cackled, leaning back on the bed. “It was a well-guarded secret apparently. My mother’s mate is Helion Spell-Cleaver.”

“The High Lord!?”

“Yes, I don’t think I know of any other males named Helion in the Day Court. Do you?”

Valda groaned, laying back on the bed and shoving her face into the pillow. “That female is terrifying. I vow to never ever fuck with Lady Merle.”

Eris scoffed. “Why’s that?”

“She hid it for centuries! Do you realize how hard that must’ve been?! With Beron as her husband?! She is a force of the Mother I will never mess with. I’d be more likely to throw myself into the Cauldron to be boiled alive.”

“Oh, better yet,” Eris continued. “Lucien, my little brother, isn’t Beron’s son.”

Valda rolled to face Eris. “Don’t tell me,” she begged. “He’s Helion’s?”

Eris smirked, grinning like a fiend. Valda groaned. “Your mother is terrifying,” She said, muffled by the bed. “Why does she have to be so nice? She’s terrifying! How could she ever hide that!? Her youngest is another High Lord’s son!”

“He wasn’t High Lord when Lucien was conceived,” Eris reasoned.

“Still!” Valda argued.

Eris chuckled, sitting up again. “I suppose I’ll have to agree with you. Mother was always more apt in court than I ever was, or Beron. She could hide her face well and always could convince anyone to do anything she wanted. Including me.”

“What has she made you do?” Valda asked curiously, rolling back to not muffle herself on the bed anymore.

Eris shrugged. “I don’t know, but I try to never lie to Mother. She always figures out the truth somehow on her own.”

“I’m never messing with Lady Merle. She has two High Lords protecting her and she’s terrifying,” Valda vowed.

Eris laughed. “I suppose she does, doesn’t she? Maybe more. Feyre seemed to like her.”

“Ah, her,” Valda hummed. “She’s interesting, isn’t she?”

“Very,” Eris agreed. “I have the pleasure of meeting her and her bastard mate tomorrow.”

“Rhysand sucks,” Valda agreed. “When he was my High Lord, all I remember is that he was utterly horrible. Torturing people in the middle of court, or misting people to bloody ribbons mid-sentence. He misted the lord I was supposed to kill when he was just giving a report! He was just staring at Morrigan wrong apparently.”

Eris hummed. “Masks are worn frequently, but Rhys seems to be the worst of all. Especially in Hewn City.”

Valda hummed, closing her eyes. “I’ll go to talk to Nova I suppose,” she announced, sitting up at last. “And prepare for a trip to some nearby farm or town tomorrow. I’m not staying with that High Lord here.”

“I’d protect you,” Eris assured. “And go to Redwood, that’s a nice town.”

She felt her heart thump louder at the proclamation at the beginning of his statement, but she shook it off and stood.

“Wait,” Eris said. Valda turned back to face him.

He stood and rushed out of the bedroom door, heading towards his study–old study. He came out a few moments later with a paper with the Autumn Court’s symbol stamped in messy wax. “Give this to Nova. You don’t have to even say anything. Just give it to her and walk away.”

Valda chuckled, running a nail by the wax. “Do I want to know how messy the handwriting is in this?”

“Most definitely not,” Eris chuckled. “And you can stay in my new room if you’d like. Or here. But you’re not sleeping in the servant’s bedrooms anymore.”

Valda smiled faintly. “I think this room is pretty nice,” she answered.

“All yours then,” Eris said with a warm smile.

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

TAGLIST (see post for getting added)

@bunnymallowo, @officiallyunofficialperson, @margssstuff, @rebloggiest-reblogger, @inpraizeof, @graciereads, @eos-princess, @imma-too-many-fandoms, @mali22, @sassybluebird, @bubybubsters,

#eris x oc #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #orignal character #oc #mywriting

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