#lute is on the warpath

[mousy-nona]

Prompt: Lute changed her name into Astarte/Astaroth.

Humans asked silly questions all the time. Why am I on this Earth? Who created me? What purpose, they asked, do I serve?

Lute never had to ask those questions, because she knew all the answers already. She knew for whom she was created. She knew the why. She knew the what. She knew her purpose. 

She was the right hand of Adam, the sword and shield to his heart. Since the day he had formed her from the clay of the earth and the clouds of the sky and a sprinkle of the Almighty’s grace, she had been by his side. It was Adam who made her laugh until her stomach hurt by shoving twenty – count ‘em, twenty! – french fries up his nose. It was Adam who had made her cry when he’d disappeared for three days (on a tour of drugs and debauchery, she later found out, which made her feel rather silly about the whole thing). It was Adam who had shown her how good a hug felt, Adam who taught her what it meant for the heart to skip, to beat.

They had shared a billion moments, a trillion words – an eternity of memories. 

She had thought she had another trillion more.

But now, as she held him in her arms and his golden lifeblood spilled into her lap, as that trickster gleam faded from his eyes and his body grew impossibly still, she found herself asking her own questions. The one humans never have to ask. 

What happens after your Creator dies?

Lute had served a purpose. She had been created for a reason. But those (damneddirtyevil) dead humans had stolen it from her. 

As she carried Adam’s body back to Heaven (she would never let those damned demons have him, never), she resolved that the tears she spilled that day would be her last. Lute was dead. She was buried with Adam – because without Adam, there could be no Lute. Sine qua non.

She needed a new name. A new identity. 

What good fortune, then, that she knew exactly where to get one. Her skin prickled as she crossed the barrier between Heaven and Hell, as if it was shedding the angel she had once been. 

Good, she thought. All the better to wear a demon’s skin.

She touched down in front of a long abandoned castle, his pentagram seal long since worn by the harsh winds. The devil that had lived here had been one of the original Fallen; he had commanded 40 legions and been a crowned Great Duke of Hell.

Adam had killed him centuries ago for calling him “a bitchy fratboy.” 

She picked up his bent crown and fallen staff, shaped like a serpent mid-strike. She dusted off the crown, placed it on her own head. It fit perfectly, as if she’d been meant for damnation all along. 

She had picked him for two reasons. First, she would need all 40 of his legions (and then some) for what she had planned next. She would need the fear that his name inspired. 

Second, the castle had been strategically built on a hill – with a truly to-die-for view of that wretched hotel. 

Revenge was her middle name, but her first…

They would call her Ishtar. They would call her Inanna. They would call her Astarte. 

They would call her Astaroth, and all would fall on their knees before her. 

Starting with that fucking housekeeper.

[toiletpudding]

So Vivziepop teased that the Vees are gonna be a major part of season 2, and I'm really fucking curious on how they're going to be a threat for several reasons.

1. They didn't do anything in season 1 but talk shit and sit on the sidelines.

2. We literally watched the main cast taking on ANGELS, whom are seemingly extremely durable fucks and nearly invincible if it isn't their own weapons being used on them. So what the fuck are those three bringing to the table?

3. What's stopping Lucifer and Charlie from giving them a good old whack with the authority stick should they try anything? (Minus Val MAYBE using Angel Dust's soul as a hostage but idk)

I don't know, I'm still simping hard for the idea of Lute leading the Exorcists on a warpath and possibly finding out where the fuck Eve is.

(NOT TO MENTION MAYBE ADAM AS A SINNER WHICH I AM STILL DEEPLY HOPEFUL FOR PLEASE-)

[deadgirlwalking91]

new update - 'thank you for the venom', chapter 6: 'this isn’t what i wanted but i can’t keep my filthy fucking mouth shut'

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter 6 Summary

Lute bites off more than she can chew; Adam remembers he's not just Lute's punching bag... he's her boss.

Author's note:

Thanks to everybody who has read/engaged so far! I hope you like this one - it was great fun to write. Feel free to comment and inbox away, doesn't have to be about this fic. Happy to chat anything and everything guitarspear!

Cheers to @branded-rose for beta-ing once again; there's a snippit in here that I didn't send you, by the way. You'll know it when you see it ;)

***

Adam and Lute’s Office, Exorcist Training Centre, Heaven

It had been a month since the Great Bathroom Incident, and the Exorcists were beginning to feel the effects of burnout.

Layla collapsed from exhaustion during a gruelling combat tournament that Lute had sprung on the girls one training session. It turned out she had been hitting the gym twice daily to ensure her physical fitness could keep up with the increasingly difficult drills that Lute had been implementing.

Adam also knew for a fact that the gym wasn’t the only thingLayla had been hitting lately, but he was trying this new tactic with women where he didn’t kiss and tell.

Layla was one of many Exorcists who were suffering the effects of extreme fatigue due to their intense training regime. Over the course of a fortnight, there was at least two new injuries or incidents daily that arose, which meant one thing: More. Fucking. Paperwork.

As if he didn’t have enough shit on his plate already, he now had to spend more time in the office with the she-devil herself, who was still a raging bitch to him on the daily.

She was even worse than usual – not that Adam thought it was possible - now that their increased workload meant they had to stay back late each night to ensure the incident reports were completed in a timely manner. If there was one thing Sera got her panties in a twist about, it was overdue incident reports. Which, unfortunately for Adam, meant that Lute was also on the warpath about them.

The moment he stepped into their office on Monday morning, he knew he was in for it.

“Think you could fucking manage to be on time for once?” Lute snapped, eyes not leaving the paperwork she was frantically filling out.

“Think you could manage not to be a raging cunt for once?” Adam retorted, slamming a take-away cup down on her desk. Not that she fucking deserved it. He hoped the coffee was so hot that it would burn her mouth.

Without acknowledging the insult, Lute grabbed the cup and started drinking desperately from it, disgust clearly written all over her face as she chugged the beverage.

“Don’t get me that milky shit again,” she snarled, tossing the cup into the bin. “In fact, stop buying me coffee every morning, would you?”

“You seemed to enjoy it enough,” Adam retorted. “A ‘thank-you’ would be nice though, you rude bitch.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Lute looked up at him for the first time that morning, despite insulting him at least twice since his arrival. Adam couldn’t hold back his wince – she looked awful. Dark bags lined the underneath of her eyes, which were red rimmed with exhaustion, her hair looked like a brush hadn’t been taken to it in weeks and even from where he stood, he could see how physically tense she was.

“You look like hell.”

For once, Lute resisted the urge to retort back, though her eyes narrowed into slits as she glared at him.

“I’m serious. You look like you need a good dicking.” Adam dropped into his seat and started sorting through his own pile of paperwork. “Not that I’m offering. My cock would probably shrivel up and fall off once I stick it in because –”

“Will you shut the fuck up?!” Lute shouted, standing and gripping the edge of her desk so tightly Adam could see the whites of her already pale knuckles. She looked positively rattled, and he wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light, but her eyes seemed to be glistening. “C-c…” She took a shuddering breath to steady herself and looked around the room, avoiding eye contact, running her hand through her cropped hair. “Can you just…go?”

Adam studied her, frowning. In all the years they’d worked together, he’d never seen Lute lose her cool like this. Sure, she was in a perpetual foul mood, and often directed said foul moods at him, so he was used to her sharp tongue and venomous insults.

But…emotional Lute?

He didn’t know how to deal with an emotional Lute. He didn’t deal well with normal women who were emotional. He’d hate to think of how he’d handle his unhinged second-in-command who hated his guts on any regular day.

And yet… there was a nagging voice, somewhere deep in the back of his brain, that was urging him to cut her some slack. Give her a break.

Adam couldn’t quite place his finger on what caused him to listen to that voice, and there was every chance he’d live to regret it, but instead of kicking Lute while she was down – tempting as it was, given she’d been such a bitch lately - he decided to do the opposite.

He was going to grant her a reprieve.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said simply, staring at her. “You on the other hand, are dismissed for the day, Lieutenant.”

Lute’s head whipped towards Adam, her mouth agape.

“What?” she hissed.

“You heard me. Go home.”

“I’m not going home!” she shrieked. The glisten Adam thought he caught in her eyes earlier were now full-blown tears, threatening to spill down her cheeks. “Who’s going to do all the paperwork? Who will take training today?”

“Nice to know you hold so much faith in me.” Adam said dryly. “You’re a fucking mess, Lute. I need you to get your shit together. I can’t have you taking it out on the rest of the girls, not when they’re already dropping like flies every day.”

Lute gaped at him wordlessly.

“Close your mouth. You’re going to pack your stuff and go home. Now. If I catch you putting a single piece of paper in your bag so you can continue working from home, I’m adding another day to your dismissal.”

“What will Sera say?” she whispered, fear evident in her voice.

“Don’t worry about Sare-bear, she probably won’t notice. If she does, I’ll say you’re unwell. Women’s problems, or some shit.”

Lute let out a shaky laugh. “Great. Just what I wanted her to know.”

“One more thing,” Adam added, leaning back in his chair. “We’re having dinner tonight. You and me.” He pointed back and forth between the two of them. “After you’ve taken the day to wash the sand out of your vagina, and you’re a nicer person because of it, we’re going to go out to dinner and talk through some shit. Finish our conversation from where we left off a month ago.”

“I –” Lute started, but Adam held his hand up for her to stop.

“Shut up. It’s not negotiable, Lute. I’ll meet you at seven. For once, wear something that isn’t workout gear or your uniform. Got it?”

For what seemed like minutes, but really would have only been the matter of seconds, Lute stared at Adam, frowning like she wanted to argue but something was holding her back.

“Fine,” she answered. “See you then.”

Lute’s Apartment, Apartment Block, Exorcist Training Centre, Heaven

Lute sat on the edge of her bed, wrapped in a towel, staring into her wardrobe.

She had no fucking idea what to wear.

This wasn’t a predicament she usually found herself in; the beauty of being as unsociable as she was meant that she didn’t need an array of outfits stashed in her closet for impromptu events such as dinners with her boss.

In fact, her wardrobe mostly consisted of workout gear, her exorcist uniform and a few other select items of clothing. All of it was black. None of it was fancy. Or particularly feminine.

Sighing, she tousled her damp hair. This was stupid. Going to dinner with Adam was stupid. Adam was stupid. She could be using this time to catch up on the paperwork she missed out on doing while she’d been stood down for the day.

Lute would never admit it to Adam, but she had managed to relax for most of the day. And by relax, she completed a two-hour home workout, scrubbed her apartment from top to bottom, rearranged her pantry and finished all her laundry. This was all after she spent a good hour sulking about being sent home and wishing nothing less than a slow and painful death on her boss. Her version of sulking happened to consist of throwing things around her apartment until they broke.

She reached for her phone and tapped out a quick text message, hating herself for initiating conversation with Adam outside of work hours, but what other choice did she have?

Lute: Where are we going?

She tossed her phone aside and flopped backwards onto the bed. Knowing her luck, she’d make somewhat of an effort with her appearance, and he’d take her to a damn fast-food restaurant. Or she’d dress casually, and he’d humiliate her by taking her to a fancy restaurant, which she wouldn’t put past him.

It wasn’t the instantaneous reply that took her by surprise, but more the response itself.

Adam: Do you like BBQ?

Unsure how to answer, her fingers hovered over the screen of her phone before she replied.

Lute: Don’t know. Never had it.

Adam: Didn’t think so.

Lute hissed at her phone and threw it across her bed. Fuck it, she wasn’t going. It’d be a waste of time anyway – no doubt they’d start arguing and she’d probably get so irritated that she’d throw her drink on him and storm out of the restaurant.

Only for the next morning to come and it’d all repeat again. The childish jibes, the insults, the threats of murder…

Her phone buzzed again, unexpectedly interrupting her thoughts. Probably Vaggie asking where she was today. She reached across her bed and tapped the screen.

Adam: It’s not fancy. Hellfire Bar & Grill. See you at 7.

Well. That at least gave her something to work with. Sighing, she got up and started sifting through the clothing in her wardrobe for what seemed like the four hundredth time, wishing she was doing anything but going out for dinner with Adam that night.

Hellfire Bar & Grill, Heaven

For once, Adam had arrived somewhere earlier than Lute. She wasn’t surprised; considering he was highly food motivated she was willing to bet that had something to do with it.

What she was surprised at, however, was the fact that he was dressed entirely in casual clothing. She’d only ever seen him in three outfits before, and they were all different variations of the same robe. It was jarring, seeing him dressed in civilian clothing but still donning his usual helmet and mask.

“Hey,” he greeted her, looking up from his phone as he saw her approach.

“Hi.”

“Have you calmed the fuck down?”

Lute narrowed her eyes. “If you’ve asked me to come here so you can insult me, I’m turning around and going back home.”

“I would have thought,” he sighed, pocketing his phone and opening the door to the restaurant. “That some time off would have put you in a better mood.”

Ignoring him, Lute entered the restaurant and waited while he requested a table. Luckily for them - or unluckily, Lute thought – it wasn’t very busy, so they were seated swiftly.

“What can I get you two lovebirds to drink?” Their waitress chirped, beaming at them both.

“He’s not my fuckin-”

“We’re not dating, babe.” Adam grinned up at the waitress, who at his words, seemed to suddenly be very taken by him. “You and me, though? That could work. Two glasses of your best red wine, thanks.”

Lute shot him a disgusted look, wrinkling her nose at his blatant flirting. Sleazebag.

The waitress was clearly infatuated with Adam, because she giggled incessantly as she flounced away with their drink order.

“How do you know what I drink?” Lute demanded.

“The night I came to your apartment –”

“Broke into my apartment.” Lute corrected him, folding her arms.

Adam waved a hand carelessly in the air. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You had an open bottle of red wine on the bench, so I figured you drank it.”

“The things you learn when you break and enter.”

Before he could retort, the waitress returned with their drinks. She also held a piece of paper which she slipped not-so discreetly across the table to Adam. Winking at her, he pocketed the paper and Lute had to force herself to look away, lest she start gagging as the woman practically melted on the spot in excitement.

What all those women saw in him, she’d never fucking know.

“So,” Adam cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as the waitress practically skipped away. “Did you, uh, relax today?”

“I did.”

Silence. Lute, not really wanting to divulge any further information to Adam, fiddled with the sleeve of her jacket, staring around the restaurant. To their right was a couple who showed all the signs of being on their first date. Hands entwined atop the table, the angels were staring into each other’s eyes, not talking. Just… staring. With stupid smiles on their faces.

Lute rolled her eyes and shifted her focus to the table on their left, the couple occupying that space arguing in hushed voices, though one of the two women looked like they were dangerously close to tears.

Wonderful.

She lifted her wine glass to her lips and sipped, trying to fill the silence with something.

‘What did you do?” Adam pressed, drumming his fingers on the table.

“I worked out. I cleaned. I did laundry.”

“Didn’t I tell you to relax?”

“I don’t really do relaxing.” Another sip of wine. The way this meeting was going, she’d polish off the entire bottle before she got the chance to even eat.

“You were relaxing the night I came around to talk.”

Lute stiffened at the mention of that night. She set her glass down on the table, frowning as she ran her thumb and index finger up and down the stem. She was unsure how to answer – it would be easiest to tell Adam where to go, but the reality was that she was tired, and wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up the back and forth between them.

“I haven’t done it since.”

“Because of me?”

Lute felt her stomach knot, her hands growing warm and clammy. She removed them from her glass and wiped them down on her jeans. The last thing she wanted to do was get into a back-and-forth about that incident. Again.

“Why are we here?” Lute asked, her eyes snapping up and glaring at Adam. “What’s even the point of meeting here tonight? For you to -”

“Hey! Are you guys ready to order?” Another overly chirpy waitress was back, her smile almost blinding Lute. Her teeth were so white, it was alarming.

Lute stared at her menu, not registering anything that was on it.

“Usual for me, thanks babe,” Adam said, handing his menu back to the waitress. They both looked expectantly at Lute. Shit. She scanned the menu again, but nothing jumped out at her as particularly enticing. Truthfully, she didn’t particularly care for food – to her, it was just fuel to keep herself going.

“Uh, I’ll just have what he’s having. Thanks.”

Adam stared at her incredulously as the waitress took her menu and sauntered off, her small wings flapping happily.

“I’m not sure that was the best choice,” he said, eyeing her wearily. “I ordered –”

“I didn’t know what to pick, okay? I don’t really eat this stuff.”

“What do you eat, then?”

“What is this, twenty-fucking-questions?” Lute snapped. “I don’t have the time, or the patience to play bullshit games with you. What do you want?”

They both glared at each other from across the table, Lute’s golden eyes boring into the screen of Adam’s mask. For what felt like minutes, neither of them spoke.

The loved-up couple next to them were now tangled together atop a single dining chair, making out sloppily, the noisy smack of their lips filling the awkward silence. Lute’s eye twitched in annoyance, and she had to turn her head so she couldn’t see their tongues being shoved down each other’s throats.

“Shit, that’s annoying,” Adam scowled, taking a sip of his wine.

“If they keep going, they’re going to end up fucking on the table in front of us. Gross.” Lute muttered, also drinking. Their eyes met again, though this time there was the slightest hint of a smirk behind Adam’s mask.

He sighed and looked away, frowning.

“Lute. I’m going to level with you,” he said, leaning his forearms onto the table. “We need to make this work. The stakes for Extermination Day are fucking high this year.”

“What do you mean?”

 “Sera – ” Adam cut himself off, frowning. Lute studied him with mild curiosity as he paused, collecting his thoughts, his hand rubbing his chin. “Sera… she’s put a lot of faith in your proposal. And I won’t bullshit you – I thought it was a load of crap when I first read it. Too much math involved. If I can’t do the sum using my fingers, it’s too fucking hard.”

“Good thing calculators have been invented.”

“Wouldn’t know, I’ve never used one. Smartass. Anyway, after you left today, I took the time to read it again. I’ll admit, there’s…potential for it to work. But speaking from experience babe, a few adjustments need to be made.” Adam reached for his glass and swirled his wine, taking a sip once he was satisfied the burgundy liquid had been aerated enough. “Wanna hear them?”

Lute crossed her arms. “What are you getting out of this? I’ve worked with you for many years. I know you don’t offer anything up unless you’re getting something out of it.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“Spit it out, then.”

“Fine. Stop being such a fucking bitch all the time.”

“Excuse me?” Lute spat, her eyes automatically wandering to the steak knife set in front of her.

“You heard me, Lute. Statistically, you might be my top girl, but you rank dead last on my list when it comes to personality. Maybe if you loosened up and had a little fun –”

“Dinner’s here!” Two very large, very meaty plates were set down on the table in front of each of them. Lute wrinkled her nose, immediately regretting her decision to blindly order her dinner.

She should have known Adam would have ordered ribs, considering he waxed lyrical about them on an almost-daily basis. There had to be at least two dozen on each plate, all covered in a sticky glaze. Just lookingat the plate was giving her the sweats. She glanced over at Adam, who was watching her reaction intently.

“You know,” he began uncertainly, eyeing the sheer volume of food between the two of them. “You don’t have to eat that. You can always order someth-”

“I’ll eat them.”

“Sure? There’s a lo-”

“I’ll be fine. I bet,” Lute added, folding her arms across her chest, an unknown bravado washing over her, “I can keep up for you, rib-for-rib.”

Adam choked on the sip of wine he’d been taking.

“You’re not fucking serious!” he spluttered, wiping his screen with the back of his hand.

“Did I stutter?” She picked up one of the ribs, instantly regretting her declaration that she’d eat what looked to be her entire bodyweight in meat. Why couldn’t she have picked a normal meal, like a steak? Steak would have been safe. Steak would have been easy. Steak wouldn’t have ignited her competitive streak and didn’t come with potential digestion issues.

But no. She just had to open her mouth. And if there was one thing that Lute did not do, it was back out of a challenge. Especially one that she initiated.

“Ready?”

“Lute, this isn’t a good idea, I mean it, the ribs are –”

Staring Adam down, she held the ends of the rib in each hand and tore a chunk off meat off with her teeth. She grimaced – the glaze was sickly sweet, and they were…

“– spicy.” Adam said, wincing.

She maintained eye contact as she chewed, hating herself for not thinking before speaking. The meat burned her throat as she swallowed, the spice hitting her nose and tears prickling at her eyes.

Lute closed her eyes and bit into the rib again, stripping the meat from the bone completely.

“You,” Adam started, picking up a rib of his own and shaking his head, “are the craziest bitch I’ve ever met, you know that, right?”

Lute wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tossed the bone onto the spare plate on the table. “Try and keep up, Sir.” She reached for another piece of meat and noticed Adam staring at her, an unusual expression depicted on his mask. “What?”

“You called me ‘Sir’.”

“And?”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t sarcastic.”

Lute grabbed her napkin, wiping her nose which has started to run. “Must have slipped out. I can assure you it won’t happen again.” 

She watched with vague interest as Adam started eating. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him consume food – in fact, he regularly ate at his desk in their shared office. It was the first time though, that she focused on the food disappearing into the void of his mask.

Because it did exactly that. It just… disappeared. Almost like there was nothing underneath.

Maybe…maybe that was actually his face, and she’d been wrong about it being a mask all along.

“How does that thing work, anyway?” She managed to swallow rib number three considerably easier than the first two.

“Holy magic, babe.”

“Care to elaborate?” Four down, twenty to go. Her stomach churned at the thought.

“Who’s playing twenty questions now?” he snapped suddenly, glaring at her. “Drop it.”

“So you’re allowed to interrogate me, but I can’t ask you anything?” Another rib done. She was getting hotter, and Lute could feel the sweats starting to kick in. Wiping her glaze-covered hands on her napkin, she shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair. The cool air was welcomed on her skin, and she silently thanked herself for choosing a top with thin straps.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t ask me anything. For example, if you were to ask me if I’m surprised that you own feminine clothing,” Adam waved a hand at her, “I’d say yes.”

Lute scowled. “I’m feminine.” She ripped the meat off rib number six with her front teeth, holding the bone expertly now with one hand. Wiping her mouth with her hand again, she reached for her wine and sipped steadily, using the liquid to help wash the food down.

“You’re the least feminine Exorcist in the fucking army.”

“That’s because I’m the only one you haven’t slept with.”

“Not true. I haven’t slept with the ones that are into chicks.” Adam counted the rib bones on his plate. “I’m at nine, by the way, what about you?”

“How are you at nine? I started before you, and I’m only on seven. And that’s just great. Wonderful. I’m the only straight one you haven’t touched. That makes me feel amazing.” Lute gnawed at her rib, her face flushing in embarrassment.

It wasn’t like she considered herself attractive or anything like that. Truthfully, she’d never thought about it because her appearance had never been of high importance to her. Sure, she liked her hair cropped a certain way, and she’d very rarely wear a small amount of makeup on special occasions, but that was the extent of it.

Moodily, she threw the bone down, not caring where it landed, and reached for another piece of meat.

“Shit – I, uh, didn’t realise you were into dick.” Adam at least had the gall to look somewhat embarrassed. “I just assumed you and Vaggie –”

“You assumed Vaggie and I what?” she growled.

“I’m not judging, babe!” Adam held his glaze-covered hands up in defence. “Love is love, right? And, between you and me, there’s nothing hotter than watching a woman eat pu -”

Lute chucked her eighth bone at him in disgust, cutting him off and hitting him square in the chest. The couple to their left, who had been arguing all night, stopped their bickering and glared at her.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Lute snarled at them, fingers wrapping around the steak knife that still lay atop the table. “You bitches have been going back and forth all night, but me throwing food somehow offends you?” She pointed the blade of the knife at them. “Turn around and shut the fuck up before I –”

The women stood hastily from their table and scurried towards the exit, one of them tossing Lute a scared look over her shoulder. She sighed, satisfied, and grabbed another rib, hand still on the knife’s handle.

“You,” Adam began wearily, shaking his head, “are a fucking nutcase. You know that, right?”

Lute shrugged and kept eating. “I don’t suffer fools.”

“I can see that.”

“Which is why you irritate me so much.”

“I’m no fool,” Adam declared, counting his rib bones out with his finger, starting over once as he accidentally confused himself. “I’m more than halfway done, by the way.”

“Me too. And yes, you are a fool.”

Adam crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. “Before our dinner came, I was trying to explain how, if we tweak your proposal slightly, you’ll have more success with your training plan.”

Exhaling, Lute closed her eyes. She was starting to feel nauseous and if she kept going, she was going to be sick. Maybe she was the fool. “I’m pretty sure you were in the middle of calling me an uptight bitch with a shitty personality, actually.”

He clicked his fingers. “That’s it! Thanks for reminding me.”

Lute opened her eyes and narrowed them at him.

“What? You’ve just jogged my memory. Anyway, you’ve been riding the girls too hard,” he stopped to snigger at his choice of words, and Lute rolled her eyes at his immaturity as she grabbed more ribs. “You need to give them some time off.”

“They already get weekends and evenings off, what more do they need?”

 “A night out on the town.”

“You’re telling me,” Lute said, pointing her bone at him accusingly, “that the reason you dragged me out to this stupid restaurant is so that you can propose some kind of night of fucked-up debauchery with your harem of women? And I’m meant to be okay with that?”

“Settle down, Dangertits. As hot as a harem would be, I’m thinking more a night at a bar with a few drinks. Let the girls have a good time.”

“And by a ‘good time’ you mean get them drunk enough so they’ll sleep with you?” Lute snorted, starting on a fresh rib. She noted that there were only a few remaining on her plate. She couldn’t wait to get home and take her pants off, because she felt like she was going to burst from the sheet volume of food she had consumed that night. She was so uncomfortable.

“Hey,” Adam said, sounding slightly wounded. “I’ll have you know I don’t fuck drunk chicks. I might be an animal, but I’m not a predator.”

“Congratulations, you have one redeeming personality trait.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Oh that’s right, I forgot. I’m the unfuckable, unfeminine, uptight bitch, right?” Lute gulped down the rest of her wine before reaching for her second-last rib.

Adam cocked his head. “I never said you were unfuckable. I said I’d slept with all the Exorcists that I thought were straight. Which, up until about half an hour ago, I was not aware included you.”

Desperately wanting to end this conversation – and the night, Lute held up her final large, juicy rib. “Last one.”

She was sweating, bloated and her throat felt like it had been ripped apart and set on fire, but she’d done it. She’d kept up. Rib-for-rib, like she’d challenged.

Adam raised his eyebrows and downed the rest of his wine. “Fuck me dead, Lute. I thought you’d struggle to get through six with the way you started out.”

Lute shrugged. “Yeah well, I proved you wrong, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, and you also managed to scare the fuck out of the couple next to us. I’ve seen you slaughter thousands of sinners over the years, but honestly, I think it’s your tongue that’s the most terrifying thing about you.”

Lute smirked. “I guess it is.”

And with that, she took the rib whole in her mouth, closing her eyes as she sucked the meat clean off the bone. Once she’d finished, she opened her eyes and set it down on her plate atop the others. Adam was eyeing her with a pained expression.

“I don’t know if I should be turned on or disgusted by that,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact. “But I was definitely wrong about thinking you weren’t into dick after watching you deep throat that massive piece of meat.”

Lute rolled her eyes. “It’s always one step forward and two steps back with you, isn’t it, Sir?”

“You know it, Dangertits. So what do you say? Can the girls have a night of fun?” He extended his hand over the table.

Lute considered it for a moment before reaching forward and shaking it. His handshake was incredibly firm, and she was surprised to discover that the span of her entire hand was almost the same size as the width of his palm. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed how massive his hands were before now.

“Fine. One night out, and then back to regular training.” She quickly let go and exhaled, wishing the remainder of the meeting would come to an end soon so she could go home and unbutton her pants.

After all, how bad could one night at a bar be?

***

Next time: We find out that a night at a bar can be very, very bad. ...or good.

[gctchell]

🖋- Honestly? Lute

Send me a 🖋 and a character you’d like to see me write, and I’ll give it my best shot!

Lute has never dealt with grief before. It's an obtuse and obstructive thing that's left dangling inside of her like rotten meat hanging from her ribs; too pathetic and clingy, refusing to be ripped out of her and just permeate everything she did with its presence, and also such a weirdly powerful thing that it pushed the tears out of her eyes when she least expected it. It was an ugly thing, and she was tired of it.

It started manifesting its rot in anger. When Saint Peter wasn't suffering the new form of abuse she would sling his way and make him hunker down beneath, it was any member of the army that dared to approach their new leader with some form of comfort. Lute was a barbed wire and she was sticking everyone who came close -- the only exception being Emily and Sera.

It wasn't only verbal. Lute had gotten to a point where she would storm Adam's room and shatter anything she could get her hands on. It would always right itself within the hour, and perhaps that only egged her on more and led to further devastation of his room. His mirror, his wardrobe, his bed and his furniture all faced her wrath. She didn't need a swore to tear into the bed frame and snap its golden bones in two, and she didn't need her sword to tear her grip through the chair he loved so much and still wore the indent of his shape from years of usage in the cushion.

What Lute did need was Adam, and she cursed him out for it every time she went on the warpath in his bedroom. Screaming at him, berating him, tearing her nails across his walls and absolutely tearing asunder a ghost. No, he wasn't even that. He just wasn't here, in any way, shape, spirit, or form. He was nowhere anymore, and Lute hated that.

Lute hated it so much, she wept into his pillows and beat her fists on his de-feathered bed, screaming into the blankets, muffled and raw until her throat hurt. It was weeks of this behavior, and weeks bled into a month, two month, three.. It never got lighter, until one day Lute just felt everything inside of her turn off like a switch.

And her brain turned on.

"I want to see Michael." Lute hissed through her teeth at Sera, who frowned and squinted her eyes at the angel. "I want to see every bloodthirsty motherfucker that tore into Lucifer, and I want an audience with them right fucking now."

Fair is fair. An eye for an eye.

Fuck the Hellborn. Lucifer wanted to get involved? Lute would bring at least one of his big brothers along for the ride. Buckle up, devil bitch. Extermination Day is getting a much needed upgrade.

[kanmom51]

https://pbs. twimg.com/media/FDM_7rqXMAIPfnb?format=jpg&name=large

So, today twitter was a bunch of pissed off TKKs and pissed off Jungkook's akgaes on the warpath cause we had a couple of seconds of Jikook. This fandom is seriously starting to getting on my nerves 😒

You and me both anon.

You and me both.

Do they even realise how moronic they sound?

"decipher riddles"? TKK being "enigmatic, hidden"?

They are abso-bloody-lutely ridiculous.

How do they not hear themselves.

"while Jikook are loud"...

Hell yeah, they're loud, because they are the actual real couple here, the ones that can't keep apart, the ones that constantly need to be within each other's orbits, the ones that need each other's comfort, attention, smiles, approval etc. etc.

Que boloudos!!!!!!

[wordsablaze]

5. of logic with naught but a look

your beauty hides the pain Lost on the mountain, Jaskier accidentally angers a mage who decides to curse Yennefer with his company and for once, it might actually be a blessing in disguise…

A/N: it’s been months but hi again !! we’ve switched from eventual geraskefer to yennskier btw :p @random-nerd-3 @surreal-static x

previous chapter

-

Jaskier has something of a panic attack later in the chapter, it's not awful but if it may make you uncomfortable then skip from the first 'and so he does' to the second of the same line xx

-

“-ake up already, bard.”

Jaskier groans, blinking rapidly as he pulls himself upright.

Yet again, he finds Yennefer glaring down at him. This time though, she doesn’t try to send him through a portal or through the air itself, she just folds her arms. “You take far too long waking up.”

“I’ll have you know that I have a reputation for making my leave faster than should be possible, thank you very much,” Jaskier argues, stretching his arms above his head as he straightens up.

“Escaping the consequences of your lust doesn’t count as being efficient,” Yennefer scoffs, turning away.

Jaskier makes a face at her before standing up. “And threatening to steal a man’s blood does?”

Yennefer just rolls her eyes. “He’s hardly a man. And I couldn’t care less what happens to his blood, I’m only here for my payment.”

“Well, what exactly is your mysterious payment? Must you act so suspiciously all the time?” Jaskier asks as he brushes off dust that doesn’t exist from his clothes.

She waves a hand dismissively but she seems almost pleased to be called mysterious, which, when he thinks about it, doesn’t exactly come as a total surprise.

Either way, she’s presented with a small box when they arrive downstairs and Jaskier is given no time to question the contents of the box or the possibility of breakfast before he’s being pulled through a portal and they’re leaving.

He drops to his knees as soon as they emerge, one hand curled around his stomach. “Gods, now I understand why Geralt prefers to travel on foot. Well, on horse if we’re being technical. Which we’re not because you’re walking away…” he trails off, focusing his energy on keeping up rather than rambling.

“Any chance we’re headed to a town? Or a village? Or anywhere else that serves food?” Jaskier asks.

Yennefer sighs loudly. “Can’t you go just one morning without a meal?”

Jaskier scowls at the back of her head but chooses not to point out the fact that it’s been more like three days since he’s had an actual proper meal, instead starting to hum and idly strum his lute as they keep walking.

And keep walking.

And keep walking.

And keep walking until his throat is too dry to produce actual lyrics and he’s beginning to question why they used a portal in the first place. He can’t afford to slow down though, not when that would cause them both pain and Yennefer seems to be on a warpath of an errand.

It’s plenty of hours later, when humming begins to hurt as well, that he slows down and leans - read: collapses - against the nearest tree. “I know you’re a heartless witch and all but really, darling, are you trying to kill me?” he manages.

Yennefer blinks as she turns to face him, as if she’d forgotten he was following her at all. “You look awful.”

Jaskier snorts. “And you look appalling as ever.”

Her lips curve into a small smile before she walks over and places the back of her hand against his forehead. “You’re not ill,” she concludes with a frown.

“Oh, I will be if we keep walking at this pace, I assure you,” Jaskier replies, “for even the sun has begun its descent and I fear I shall sink down into eternal slumber along with it.”

“If only,” Yennefer mutters but then sighs slowly. “I suppose we can rest for a while. I don’t want to be dragging around your corpse after all.”

Taking that as permission, Jaskier slides down to the floor, shifting so he’s more comfortably propped up against the tree and his lute is cradled in his lap. Yennefer raises an eyebrow at him and without breaking their gaze, twirls her hands and brings a tent to life behind her.

Jaskier stares at her. “Would you like me to applaud?”

Now it’s her turn to snort in amusement. “Do you need me to spell it out for you? Neither will I settle for cold ground unless I have to and nor will I be seen travelling with someone covered in dirt. Now get in, bard.”

Wordlessly, he pulls himself to his feet and stumbles inside as gracefully as he can, a small smile spreading on his face when he sees two beds inside. “Why, Yennefer, you might have a heart after all,” he breathes as he falls face-first onto the smaller one.

“Do you always tire this easily?” She asks, but he’s already halfway asleep and doesn’t care to explain himself.

He still doesn’t care to explain himself when he’s halfway awake and topples off the bed, which promptly promotes him to all the way awake and rather annoyed about it too.

Yennefer appears either not to have slept or to have woken before him, half a smile on her face as he watches him recover and flop back onto the bed. “Are you aware that you snore terribly?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes as he shrugs on the doublet he seems to have wriggled out of at some point and rolls his shoulders. “Are you aware that not everybody is ashamed to be caught breathing while they’re asleep?”

“Most men are stupid like that,” Yennefer replies and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he might have thought there was something like appreciation in the way she raises an eyebrow at him.

He waves a hand dismissively before winking at her. “I think I’ve earned the right to be seen as unique, don’t you?”

She doesn’t answer but that in itself implies she doesn’t outrightly disagree so he lets himself be content with it. While he’s doing that, she unravels the tent and quite literally tucks it into her pocket, continuing to walk with the assumption that he’ll follow - the correct and only logical assumption, so he can’t really fault her for that.

He trips over something within three seconds because turns out taking a nap in the afternoon means waking up in the evening, in the dark. “Not that I don’t love walking practically blind but what is it that’s so urgent we can’t even afford to rest for the night?”

“Rest for the night? I don’t know how you and Geralt did things, bard, but nightfall doesn’t stop me from getting where I want,” Yennefer replies without even turning around.

Jaskier resists the urge to flinch and throws his hands up instead, not that she would see either of those actions anyway. “As I’ve been asking, darling, all I care to know is where you want to be. Oh and while we’re on the subject, why we only portalled halfway!”

“Certain areas are strongly warded against portals, idiot. And I don’t need to justify anything else to you so if you’re going to be a stubborn child about it then you can very well shut up,” Yennefer practically hisses at him.

And so he does.

Unwillingly.

He gasps as his throat closes up, something heavy and tight settling around his neck and forcing him into silence.

He’s dimly aware of himself letting out a small whimper but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t even remotely think to care because he wants to say something, anything, but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

He can’t and it’s just like last time with the djinn and he can’t breathe but this time there’s nobody to clutch onto, nobody to take him to a healer, nobody to care about him losing his voice, and he can’t do this a second time around, he can’t-

“Jaskier!”

What exactly is he meant to do about buttercups when he can’t breathe?

He can’t do anything about them because he can’t do anything at all and he’s never going to be able to pick or look at buttercups or any other flower again and it’s all his fault for being so loud and annoying and he wants to go back and change things but he can’t change who he is and he can’t breathe and he’s going to die and-

His knees slam into the ground when his legs buckle and his hands scrabble to dislodge the pressure around his neck but there’s nothing there and oh gods, he must he cursed again because he can’t breathe and he can’t think and he’s going to lose his voice or his life and really those are the same thing and he’s going to die alone and he can’t-

“Breathe, bard!”

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

He doesn’t remember how to breathe and it’s too late because he thinks his eyes are open but the world is black so he’s probably already gone blind and now he’s going to go mute and it’s too late for him and there’s nothing to be done and-

“I said breathe!”

And so he does.

Normally.

He gasps again as he finds he can taste the air around him, hauling in breaths as if he’s never been blessed with the ability to do so before.

Pressing his head to the ground as he slowly tries to think past the pounding of his heart, he turns his attention to the quiet chatter of birds and the soothing hand on his back and the feel of leaves beneath his knees and wait, what?

He pulls himself upright, peeling his eyes open and frowning when he sees Yennefer kneeling beside him, one hand still resting between his shoulders and the other balanced on the dirty ground she swore she’d avoid touching.

She beats him to saying anything with a small, remorseful smile. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t realise how the chaos here would affect my words.”

Oh.

He nods, sitting back on his heels and returning her small smile. “That’s the third time you’ve apologised in just as many days. Are you sure you’re not being affected too?” He asks, wincing at the croak of a voice that leaves his lips.

Yennefer rolls her eyes but he can’t find any malice in the act this time. “I meant it, Jaskier, you don’t need me to cause you additional pain when you have plenty of your own.”

He doesn’t really know how he’s meant to reply to that so he doesn’t, simply taking her hand as she offers to help him to his feet and leaning on her for a moment until his legs decide they’re strong enough to hold him up on their own.

“Thank you,” he whispers softly.

She nods, glancing over him once more before continuing to walk and if her pace is purposefully slower this time, well, neither of them are going to point it out.

-

thanks for reading! | masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier​ | next chapter

[miss-choco-chips]

Meeting the chosen ones

Choose five characters among your faves, drag them out of their universe and lock them in a room. No plot, no plan. Just let them interact together. Three pages or less. Then tag someone else. They can pick up where you left it, with the same characters, or with their own five in another locked room (in the same building, can interact with other ‘teams’)

I choose Tim Drake, Stiles Stilinski, Oikawa Tooru, Lance Mcclain and Jaskier.

The door opened, and one last man was shoved through it. The other figures in the room watched in silence as it banged closed behind him before he even reached the floor, a hard sound reverberating on the stone walls as the man’s instrument, a lute, fell by his side.

-What the-! Geralt!!!! -he called to his witcher friend. Only silence and the echo of the door’s lock sliding into place answered his pleas for help.

The man, Jaskier, got up to his knees, too used to sudden situations meaning impending death to stay on the ground. Hugging the lute to his chest, he backed into a wall, finding the relative safety of having his back protected before he allowed himself to look around the room.

Children. Those were all children. In various states of health, some pretty banged up, some looking just barely unruffled, most of them analyzing him with cold, calculating stares.

-What… where are we? Who are you?

The two closests to him, both in their later teens and with brownish hair, huddled closer. One had a strange looking… weapon? at hand. Jaskier watched it warily but since it wasn’t pointed in his direction, he didn’t slide further away. The other’s hands were empty, though his eyes cuted sharper than any knife he’d ever encountered.

-Easy, easy. We… well, we all are in the same boat, here -the one unarmed soothes, raising both hands in a calming gesture- My name is Tooru. 

Slowly uncurling from his tense, ready to pounce and fight his way out position, Jaskier does his best to throw a reassuring smile to the kid.

-I’m… I’m Jaskier. 

Tooru smiled at him, warm, though there was an undercut of danger lurking behind his calm facade.

-These are Lance, Stiles and Tim. I’m assuming you got picked off the street by someone and brought here, like us. 

As he was noding, because that was exactly what had happened, to him, he followed Tooru’s hands gesture while he introduced the others. Lance was the other closest to him, with the strange looking weapon. Stiles seemed to have a weirdly shaped iron pipe, but he was deep in conversation with the other kid, Tim, who was/

-I’m sorry, but is he chained to a wall? -he couldn’t help his shriek, forgetting about his fear at the sight of the smallest of the kids chained to the fucking wall. He was in the worst shape out of all of them, too, with a busted lip and a black eye that, from experience, Jaskier knew was an old wound.

-I’m probably the best combatant here -the kid replied, shrugging as if the situation wasn’t new for him. Maybe it wasn’t, fuck if Jaskier knew- Which means that whoever took us knew that, and took preventive measures to keep me from fighting my way out of here.

-Maybe… -he tries, because fuck this, he’s obviously the older, he should be attempting to reassure the, find a way out- if we pushed together? We could try and force the door open, and then look for a key for -he gestures at Tim’s ankle.

The one with the weapon, Lance he reminded himself, raised the thing as if to show it off.

-Tried shooting with my bayard at it. Not even a dent, and this thing packs a lot of power, so it’s likely we won’t be able to, even if we pushed together. Trust me.

-If I could free myself -mused Tim, although whether he was talking to himself or Stiles (who, in all the time Jaskier had been in the room, hadn’t stopped pacing back and forth in front of the chained kid) he didn’t knew- I could probably pick the lock.

Stiles shook his head. Well, it answered that- Been there, done that while you were having your beauty nap.

-Excuse you, I was unconscious. I was in the middle of a fight when I got sucked in here -he spatted, and damn, this one needed a nap; his tangled black hair and dark eye bags agreed with Jaskier’s thoughts-, and got knocked out just before whoever it was brought us here got to me.

Stiles shrugged, stopping in front of him and dropping to his knees, hands reaching to fiddle with the chain- Big deal. I was helping my werewolf friends fight off a rival pack, and I need to go back to them. Without me there, their collective brainpower got cut down to half, and the other half is in the precious hands of Lydia who, though a genius, doesn’t have my patience for dealing with the pack’s bullshit.

Lance sighed, resting his back against the stone wall, just at the left of the door. He, like Tim, looked banged up. There was also a shadow in his eyes, that told the story of many barely survived battles- Well, toughen up princesses, I was at war. My team needs me there, because nobody else can talk my mullet haired, brain dead leader from terrible life choices. He’s gonna get everyone killed, trying to get me back.

Jaskier could relate. He could only imagine what Geralt was doing now, after he vanished without trace from the oath they were both travelling.  Probably, knowing the brute, in the warpath, looking for Yen or Triss to help track him down.

-I was helping my friend hunt down a selkimore -he added, because at this point, this sounded more of a whine fest than anything, and he could really use a good whine.

Naturally, all eyes went to the last one. Tooru, who had been watching them all with varying degrees of horror, blinked.

-I was gonna play a volley match before morning class -he whispered. Jaskier wanted to ask what volley was but, with his luck, it was something that could offend the kid, and he looked disgruntled enough- what are you people?

-Fuck -uttered Tim, sharing a look with Stiles, who was still working on the chain.

-I feel you. I was also thinking that maybe being fighters was what we all had in common, because obviously, we aren’t from the same place -he pointed at Jaskier’s… everything- Musician down there looks like he’s from the past, and Mr War Vet -he pointed now at Lance- like he’s from the future.

-Oh I’m not a fighter -he felt compelled to correct, choosing to not dwindle into the ‘past’ and ‘future’ thing-, my friend is. I’m just tagging along, the Witcher’s faithful bard, writing songs about his adventures.

Tooru, if anything, looked even more confused.

-Iwa-chan must have hited me really hard in the head this time.

---------------------.

What would your faves do, if locked in a room together? 

Tim Drake and Stiles Stilinski would put their big, dangerous brains together and work looking for a way out. Tooru is utterly confused because he’s a regular high school student, but once he gets his bearings with him, he would help. Lance, war vet but no strategist, would provide support with his sharpshooting abilities once they are all out of the room and navigating the place together. Jaskier, who I just learned i loved yesterday and thus is the one I explored the least, would tag along, singing to keep everyone’s spirits high and mothering them when one gets inevitably hurt.

Tagging @the-quiet-carrotcake

[the-ghost-writers]

Under a Blanket of Stars

SWF piece about the heroes of Darkest Dungeon getting a well-deserved break and listen I just want about these people actually being happy for once. 

Also, @hotmilky is like 90% of the reason why I wrote this

“It reminds me of the farmstead. The stars, the way they twinkle, it’s just like the crystals.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me of that damned place.” Sneering at the memory, Dismas pulls his eyes away from the stars above him. Instead, he lets his gaze linger to the grounds of the estate, his shared sitting place with Reynauld on the abbey roof giving him a clear view of Hamlet. The other heroes scurry about, jumping between the barracks, tavern, medical ward, and the abbey, albeit the still broken abbey is the least popular of them all. The forge has gone cold as the blacksmith has gone to sleep and the guild is empty from it being too late in the night for anyone to want to train. Just the trinket stand is open; the nomad isn’t actually selling at this ungodly hour, only keeping around to talk with Katherine and discuss the value of their findings. 

But the tavern is teeming with life, faint sounds of revelry coming from it as the heroes of Hamlet rejoicing in falling another evil titan of this cursed island. Dismas himself was among them, getting drunk off good vibes and lousy beer before leaving and coming to the abbey. Stealing Reynauld away from his duties, he dragged his boyfriend to the roof where they sit now, near the edge of the abbey so that they can enjoy the sight of the stars. 

Dismas leans against the crusader and looks to Reynauld’s scruffy face, the knight’s helm set down beside him. “You know what the sky reminds me of?” The holy man looks down at the highwayman who’s truly about to earn his title of a bandit, making a small questioning sound. Dismas tugs down his neckerchief and shows his scarred grin as he speaks. “Your forehead, they’re both fuckin huge.”

Reynauld’s hands fly up and cover his head as he turns his body away from his rude, ass of a boyfriend. “It’s not that big!” Dismas cackles as the stoic knight is reduced to a blushing mess. It’s not long before the two of them settle down again, the crusader still grumbling a little as he wraps an arm around Dismas to pull him close. 

The estate below seems to be winding down for the night, lights flickering out and people heading off to bed. The same tired spell hits the couple sitting atop the abbey, leaving them drowsy in each other’s hold. A gentle tap on Dismas’ shoulder brings him to look up at his knight in shining armor. But Reynauld’s gaze is stuck on the stars, not wavering despite the highwayman’s staring. Dismas scoffs and goes back to resting his eyes when what was a tap in now a rough shove on his arm. Shaken awake, he’s shocked when Audrey sits her royal butt on the very edge of the abbey and dangles her legs off the roof as she tips her hat in greeting. “You two havin a good time?”

“Argh!” Groaning like the bitch he is, Dismas glares daggers at the graverobber. “The fuck are you doing here?”

She sticks her tongue at him. “Saw you two sitting on the roof and decided to bug you.

Putting an arm across his chest, Reynauld dips his head to her. “Good evening, Audrey.” As he speaks, that town’s plague doctor comes up from behind and stands beside her girlfriend, arms held behind her back with her mask pulled down and dangling from the strap around her neck. “And good evening to you too, doctor.”

Paracelsus nods in acknowledgment but doesn’t turn her head to do so, Audrey simply tips her hat again. But it’s all ignored because Dismas pokes the knight in the jaw and grits his teeth. “Don’t be nice to them, I’m trying to make them go away.”

Laughing, Reynauld swats the finger away. “Some of us have manners.” 

Sitting up straight and pursing his lips, the highwayman scowls. “I have manners!” Turning around and planting his boot against Audrey’s back, he puts a little pressure on her as if he were about to push her. “I could shove you off you know. There’s nothing you could even do to stop me.”

Turning her head, the grave robber gives him a vicious grin. “Then do it, pussy.” Para chuckles to herself as her lover gets in yet another spat with her fellow criminal before going back to watching the stars and making out constellations. 

Suddenly, there’s a loud bang as the hatch to the roof flies up. “Reynauld!” Storming up the ladder and getting to her feet, Junia marches across the stone in a warpath that brings her to the crusader. The man is made familiar with fear when she gets close enough to make out the vestal’s face, a muscle under her eye twitching as she looms over the warrior. “You let The Holy Flame die out?” Her shouting is loud enough to carry throughout the night, accented by her slamming a boot against the roof. “The only job you had was to feed it logs to keep it alight, but you abandoned your duties to be with-” Her words get caught in her throat, released in pissed scream before she narrows her eyes on the crusader. She opens her mouth to carry on but stops, closing her eyes and letting her shoulders sag. “Damn it, Reynauld.” Dropping to sit beside him, she leans in and rests her arms on her legs, head tilted toward the ground as she gently shakes her head. “The damage is already done. There’s no point in getting mad anymore.” Putting a hand out, she huffs. “Audrey, could I have a smoke?”

Reynauld’s shocked look goes ignored as the grave robber reaches into a pocket and pulls out a ratty homemade cigarette, passing it to Reynauld to give to Junia. “The holy saint is de-stressing like the rest of us common folk? Blasphemous.”

Raising her head, Junia sticks the cig in her lips and cups her hand around it, creating a holy flame in her palm to light it. Taking a drag, she pulls it away and lets the smoke drift out. When she’s empty, she gives the robber a smirk. “Fuck off.” Audrey giggles in response before Dismas ropes her back into their argument, not a fan of being pushed aside and ignored. 

Eventually, he stops whining about them being there and settles back into snuggling up with Reynauld, even if the armor he wears doesn’t make for a comfortable pillow. The minutes dwindle by in silence, all eyes cast above to watch as more and more stars appear in the absence of the sun’s light. The quiet momentarily broken when another set of heroes make their way to the roof, Barristan about to shout at everyone to ask why they’re atop the abbey when Missandei jabs him in the rips to shut him up. Bringing a finger to her lips to hush him, she comes over to stand behind Junia, her crossbow slung over her shoulder, never without it just like always. The man-at-arms stays beside her, arms crossed and frowning, although his grumpy mood fades away from the beauty of the night sky. The two soldiers are far from the last ones to come up to the abbey roof, people trickling up the steps and joining the group in watching the stars. Within the hour, every hero in Hamlet is gathered to watch the stars; what they do is split between those mourning their losses, some taking a moment to relax, a few taking in the sight, and others contemplating what the future might hold. 

As if in a picture, not a soul moves and no one dares speak, each of them looking to the stars that are so far away yet look so close. But it’s shattered by the gentle strum of a lute and the somber voice of the jester. “Blast. This silent comradery makes me want to live to see tomorrow.” All eyes turn to Jingles, but he cares not as his head his bowed and shaking from side to side. “To actually want to see your horrid faces again. Ha, what a joke.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a flask and offers it to Shaggy, his tone picking up and gaining momentum. “Seems we’re doomed to suffer another day.” 

The houndmaster scoffs and swipes the flask from cloth covered hands, taking a single swig before coughing it out and sputtering while doing so. Holding up the container, he shakes it in annoyance. “What the hell kind of whiskey is this?”

The jester plucks the strings on his lute, and one could practically hear the grin in his voice. “It’s not drink at all, it’s fish pee. You really shouldn’t drink from that you don’t know of.” He ends it with a laugh, joined by Shaggy, and that’s all that needed before the gathered party breaks from their frozen places and get loud as they delve into conversations. The night comes to life, bursting with laughter from everyone spreading out and enjoying themselves while within the confines of the abbey’s roof.

Audrey sits and leans against stone as Paracelsus has her head in her lap, the grave robber playing with her girlfriend’s short hair as she speaks to Alhazred, going into painful detail about all the beautiful qualities their semi-friendly neighborhood abomination has and loudly stating that the occulist she pursue his desires to ask the man out. The thin guy nearly faints when he moves his hands away from his face and catches sight of Bigby watching him. Pulling his coat up and turning to hide, leaving the scarred man to his own devices. The abomination pulls his cloth a bit more over himself and turns in confusion, leaving the situation with Alhazred untouched. Instead, he gives his attention to Baldwin as goes on speaking of old tales about the kingdom he used to rule, describing the wondrous people and spectacular arts. His mask is off, his diseased smile shining brightly as he loses himself in memories, but he’s brought back to the present when Bigby goes to sit beside him as it’s the only space left. They both stop, the story on pause, before the leper king moves himself to make room for the chained man and carries on without so much as a twitch of a grimace. On the other side of the roof, Damian raises his arms to the sky and shouts the praise of The Light while, just a few feet away, Boudica is slamming a fist on the ground and cussing up a storm in a language no one else knows. Between them is a flat top chimney and around them is a crowd cheering as Damian is the undefeated arm wrestling champion. The flagellant defeated Baldwin first, followed by demolishing Tardif until Boudica tried his strength; while close, the hellion still lost and Damien has bested the last of the strongest in the hamlet. Yet the crowd parts as another challenger approaches. Amani approaches the chimney, barking at the flagellant to come back and face her. Eyes hidden by his hood, only Damian’s righteous grin is showing as he set his right arm down, ready to crush the new girl. The shieldbreaker doesn’t move for a couple of seconds, merely staring at the man’s arm before shrugging and putting her own arm on the chimney. Damian’s grin vanishes when Amani puts her wrapped up stump up and gently pulls back. Bowing his head, he both forfeits and apologizes to her, gaining a laugh as she nudges his shoulder and assures him it’s fine because she was kind of planning on having him do that. Still at the edge of the abbey, tired from interacting with all their friends and fellow heroes, Dismas and Reynauld are once again watching the stars. Their arms are wrapped around the other as they start losing themselves to sleep, soothed by the comfort of their lover and the security of those around them. The highwayman lets out a long sigh and rests his head on Reynauld’s shoulder. “Gods…I’m just thinking about all I’ve said and…” He lets the word linger as his eyes are looking above. “Now I’m going to think of your giant forehead every time I look at the sky.”

“Feh,” Cracking a smile, the crusader cups Dismas’ chin and pulls his gaze to him. He looks into those hurting eyes, yet it warms his heart to see the life in them. “You’re such an ass.” Closing his eyes, he leans in to kiss him on the forehead, pulling Dismas against him and returning to the loving silence of the night.

[abenthyadventures]

Day 18 (Pt. 1): Or A Coincidence of Fates

Over the last few weeks, traveling with Agnes, we have shared some stories of our lives so far. I have sensed there is something more to Agnes than I’ve seen thus far, but I can tell she is just and true—a paladin to the core. Today, I bore witness to her splendor in battle, and truly she is a force with which to be reckoned, but more on that later.     

Our contact in Phandalin, Sildar Halwinter, pointed us toward a group of adventurers in search of one Cragmaw Castle. He stated they had rescued him recently and been effectively dealing with a troublesome gang called the Redbrands who had been harrassing the town. The castle itself had apparently been overrun with a goblin tribe working along with Redbrands. I was shocked to learn that the leader of the Red-brands was actually a traitor to the Lords' Alliance. Sildar filled me in about Gundren Rockseeker, a dwarf who had gone missing and might have a lead on Wave Echo Cave. The adventurers were presently trying to locate Gundren; it was feared he may be in mortal danger, if not murdered already.     

We set out this morning, good portents in mind, and found them without much difficulty. Nolwë aided our efforts to locate the adventurers admirably, though her hunger struck at an unfortunate moment—I thought she might help me listen in on their conversation, but a murine delicacy appeared and caused her to reveal herself quite conspicuously as my familiar. One of their number, a female elf was quick to draw her bow as soon as she saw us; these are not the safest lands, so I understand it somewhat, but if we are to partner, I must encourage her not to be too quick to provoke potentially powerful enemies—although a showdown between her and Agnes would have been some spectacle. Nevertheless, three of the four were cool headed enough to first use words over weapons.     

We introduced ourselves as representatives of the Lords’ Alliance, Abenthy Laphroaig from Silverymoon and Agnes Aberlour from Waterdeep, and then learned their names as well, as I shall detail momentarily.  I should make a notation that they hinted at several interesting encounters recently. I do not have many details yet, but I was especially interested in their encounters with a green dragon they claimed to slay and a red-cloaked wizard apparently practicing necromancy, whom they left alone. I sense there may yet be a confrontation with that necromancer, whom the party believed to be a Red Wizard of Thay. For the time being there was other business which needed attending. After several exchanges of wit, we came to an agreement to cooperate and set onward toward Cragmaw Castle, which turned out to be a makeshift outpost of goblins and hobgoblins in the employ of a nefarious individual known as the Black Spider, as Glasstaff also apparently had been.       

  I do not know if the aforementioned aggressive elf would agree, but the halfling named Finnan seemed to me to be their leader. At the very least, he led the way in promoting discourse betwixt us. Finnan is a bard, and though he did not communicate to me his schooling, I suspect he has a connection to the Weave through the Feywild. He spoke of “The Great Stories” and suggested a frontal assault on the keep—not because it offered a strategic advantage but because, as he put it “so many great stories involve marching right through the front door.” I found myself involuntarily placing my hand to my forehead at this and muttering a mild oath under my breath. Despite this, he was the one who suggested we put the tactical options to a vote and he made no efforts to overturn the fact that four out of the six of us wanted to enter the side door we located. I found it intriguing to watch him when the fighting began. Without a doubt his songs were inspiring, and I found myself vitalized and more fleet of foot than usual. One might think it unwise to start playing a lute mid-battle, but magic can be a funny thing. My proposal of a stealthy approach had already been thwarted by this point, so using every available resource seemed wise. Lest I paint a picture that he entered the fray with naught but a lute, let me state he also had skill with a rapier; however, his compatriots seemed surprised when he unsheathed it.     

Another elf, much more soft-spoken, was also in this party. He introduced himself as Aief. I did not recognize his name as being typically elvish and he must have noticed a quizzical expression on my countenance, as he then provided an addendum: his name comes from the dwarvish language. I asked how he came to have a dwarvish name, but indicated that was a tale for another time. I respected this and did not push further. I trust I shall learn soon enough. Aief struck me as one who has trained religiously in the martial arts, both unarmed and with blades. He bore a quarterstaff and scimitar and wielded them effectively. I did not sense the same malice as I did in the other elf though. He moved with both measured steps and grace. One might have wondered why we so readily joined with this band of adventurers, especially when one of their number greeted us with hostility. In truth, seeing Aief amongst them played no small role, for you see I received a portent before we set off. In my dreams,I had clearly seen Aief striking a down a grick, though of course within the dream I did not know his name. Once I actually met Aief, the very elf I saw as I slept, I knew destiny awaited. Indeed, as foretold, Aief delivered a fatal blow to a grick within the keep, after I weakened it. I anticipate we will be able to work well together.     

Berien was the third to introduce himself. Berien had several elven features, but as he stood next to two elves, it was clear he was also half-human. I imagine it to be most challenging to straddle two such dramatically different worlds. To hardly age as your human family and friends grow old must be a heavy burden. But that is compounded with maturing at a much more rapid pace than pure elves, certainly creating a restlessness that must be difficult to contain. I can see why many half-elves gravitate toward a career of adventuring. Where else can they turn after all? But I digress. Berien was a curiosity, and not merely for his race. No, he was remarkable for his unpredictability. He reminded me of a pirate, with how he moved about and brandished a rapier. Hopefully he is of stronger moral character than the pirates about whom I have read. I do suspect there is some redemptive quality within him. I also noticed he seemed to have a certain respect for the halfling. In the midst of the fighting, he was rendered unconscious and I suspect he very nearly died, but the bard was able to reach him before it was too late. Perhaps this has been a recurring theme in their own adventures, accounting for his respect. I did not bear witness to how he managed to get himself hurt. What I do know is that he had tried to scout a room and as soon he entered it, debris came crashing down blocking his return. He later came screaming through a different entrance, bloodied and with tattered clothing. Finnan helped him revitalize, and again he was off like a bolt from a ballista, promptly screaming again once out of my sight. When Finnan and I were able to reach him, he was downed and in mortal danger from multiple hobgoblins. We were able to fight them off while Finnan stabilized him. As an aside, I noticed he seemed to have a sword imbued with magical properties, but he did not actually use it, opting instead for his rapier. I found this most curious.     

My initial impression is that these four adventurers are quite capable, especially if their claims of slaying a green dragon are true, though I’m concerned about the impetuousness of the elven woman, Lyria. Ostensibly a ranger, she is fierce and indeed today she was indomitable, but she is unlike any ranger I’ve known—rather she reminds me of a barbarian on a warpath. She was irrationally celebratory when faced with opportunity for battle against the goblins and hobgoblins; I do suppose hobgoblins are infamous for their cruelty, especially toward elves, so it was not entirely unmerited that they receive the wrath of her war instruments. Still, I worry she will charge forward at the wrong time and put not only herself in unnecessary peril, but also the other members of the party who might not be so sturdy. I found that there was one time she acted particularly irresponsibly. While the rest of the party had agreed to try a stealthy approach, she brazenly approached an arrow slit—which, mind you, I had obfuscated with an illusion so as to mask our approach—and started blindly launching arrows into it. Somehow, this did not alert the goblins who seemed more concerned about a cruel manager of a hobgoblin who was barking orders at them. Once the fighting began in earnest, she was a frontline soldier, alternating between using her bow and using her sword, both to tremendous effect. If she can be trusted—and perhaps convinced to work more tactically—she may prove a very valuable ally. One item I did notice especially: she wore a belt I readily identified as an arcane artifact that I believe gives her preternatural strength. When time allows, I must ask her how she came across such a wondrous thing.     

As for Agnes, my travel companion of the past few weeks, she was like a spring sunrise after a long winter, piercing the veil of night. She gallantly put herself on the front line, shield in one hand, sword in the other. Once, she commanded one goblin to stop in its tracks, and it had no choice but to obey. Another time, as I had seen in another vision, she delivered a blow so thunderous that it would have made Talos envious. She was restless at times and looked to press ever forward, but she was never reckless. While we were making acquaintance with the others, I overheard Lyria jest about me having a bodyguard. Agnes is certainly a guardian, no doubt, but not just of me. No, she has a great destiny ahead of her. She will undoubtedly be a mighty bastion standing firm against the tide of evil.     

After we cleared the kitchen and multiple hobgoblin patrols, we were able to take several minutes to process our surroundings. Returning to the chamber in which the grick had attacked Aief, we recognized that it had been a sort of shrine in the past. Berien located a small golden statuette which I noticed as having magical properties. I called upon my arcanabula to perform a brief ritual to identify the magic while the others kept watch. Interestingly, the statuette was enchanted with the spell known as augury. One can imagine why it would catch my particular interest. The statue bore the form of a sun elf. It might be a random treasure hidden here by one of the goblins, or I suppose it could be a remnant from when certain gods were worshipped here—namely Lathander, god of dawn—as Berien seemed to suggest. When time allows, I’d like to do some more research. At first, only I, Aief, and Berien knew about finding it. We resolved to discuss it with Finnan and Agnes when possible, but agreed it might be best not to include Lyria just yet for fear that she might, in her impatience, waste its magic.    

 <to be continued>

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Fireproof” - Part 5

“Fireproof” - Part 5

( Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 )

My Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Eggsy Unwin x Reader

Word Count: 2,396

Key: Y/N = Your Name, Y/L/N = Your Last Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Violence, Cursing, Injuries, 

Summary: After a genetic mutation showed itself about 5 years ago, you became a Kingsman and worked alongside some of the best agents: Your father, Merlin, Roxy, and Eggsy. When you are assigned a mission with Eggsy, things flare up.

Author’s Note: So this is my first Kingsman fic. I had this idea at 2AM when I was working on packing up my stuff for moving. I know it’s a bit out there, but I hope you give it a chance.

There will be a part 6 and possibly an epilog to this series! So keep an eye out for that!

Special thanks to @the-witching-hours12-3 for being the one to help me through this story and helping me think that my ideas are good. Haha! <3

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

The mission was going smoothly until someone found you hacking into Arkady’s system. Alarms blared throughout the entire building. But even with the warning, Arkady didn’t see Eggsy coming at him with a gun. Eggsy was able to take the target out and stop the world from killing itself.

The whole base was armed and trying to find you and Eggsy. You were using the computers in the airplane, gratefully staying put. While Arkady’s people may have found out that you were hacking, they couldn’t tell where you were hacking from. You were safe inside the plane. Eggsy was a different story.

You were watching him on the map, trying to lead him back to the plane without being surrounded by guards. But there were too many.

“Take a left! Three on your right! Watch out!” You heard four gunshots through the speaker and then saw him on the move again. “Another left. You should be getting close, just-- Fuck!”

“What! What happened?! You alright, Branwyn?!”

You had been closely watching Eggsy that you didn’t notice the swarm of soldiers coming from in front and behind him, the only two ways out of the hallway you had just led him into. There is no doubt in your mind that Eggsy was a fantastic agent. His hand-to-hand and weapons combat was top notch. But there was no way he could take all of those soldiers down.

“Galahad! They’re coming from every direction. I’m gonna try to hack into the system again and--”

“No! That’ll just give them another chance at getting into your computer and fuckin’ us both over!” Your heart was pounding, knowing what he was going to say next. He took a breath in as he hid as best he could. “You get that plane up and runnin’ and you get the hell out of here and save yourself.”

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely not! You are not getting rid of me that easily.” You felt a flickering inside yourself, you knew what it would grow into.

“Branwyn. Just go! I love you. Please... Get back to Merlin and Lancelot in one piece. I’m fucked.”

You took a few breaths but couldn’t stop the feeling inside of you getting hotter and hotter. You were scared beyond belief, but there was no other option. Standing up, you fixed your phone to your belt with the display showing the layout of the building with Eggsy’s location on it. The weapons cabinet had more than enough for you to bring. You took two lighter grenades, a pistol that you tucked into the back of your pants, and a larger gun. Opening up the cabin door, you began your warpath.

Eggsy was actually very close to the plane, but the guards formed a wall around him. There was a small path that cut through one hallway to where Eggsy was, but there was no easy way for him to get to it. You, on the other hand, made it through with no problem. When you came out of the other side of the cut through, you were thrown into hand to hand combat with three soldiers.

You’re able to shoot one of them, but then one of the others held your arms behind you and the other knocked your gun out of your grasp. They were able to get a few punches in your chest and gut while you assessed the situation and make your move. You pushed yourself up and over the one that was holding you back, walking yourself up against the chest of the one that hit your gun away. Both of them landed brutal hits on you as the fighting continued, but you didn’t give up.

At one point, one of them got a hold of you and threw you against the wall. The back of your head hit the wall and you felt the air get knocked out of your lungs, but then you looked down to the ground. Your gun was right at your feet. Without thinking any further, you fell down to the ground as if from the attack, then grabbed your gun and took down the two remaining assailants. As soon as they fell, you regained your breath.

“Branwyn!” You heard Eggsy yell out to you. You looked up and saw that one of the soldiers who hadn’t engaged you had found where Eggsy was hiding and had thrown him into the middle of the rest of the soldiers, the crowd of enemies slowly closing in around Eggsy.

You felt the fire inside of you ready to burst. You ran towards the soldiers, flames already flourishing out of your hands and enveloping your hair. When you were a couple of steps away you shouted.

“Galahad! Get down!”

He did as you said and crouched to the floor, shooting a couple of guards to try to help you out. A tsunami of heat rushed at the guards, taking ¾ of them out, burning them up with ease. There were only a few left and that last move used a lot of your energy, so you began to shoot individual flames at the men as if they were bullets.

One guard behind you shot your arm. You cried out in pain and faltered, grabbing your upper arm, he’d gotten a good shot. Soon after, another gunshot was heard, but this time it was from Eggsy’s gun. You turned around in time to see the guard drop dead on the ground.

Turning to face the last small group of soldiers, they all shot at you at once. Eggsy thought you were done for, but you just held up your hand. A wall of intense heat materialized in front of you and Eggsy. As the bullets got closer and closer to your wall, they melted into puddles at your feet. All of the soldiers looked at you with horror and froze. You walked towards them with your hand still raised and backed them into the stone wall at their backs. As you got closer, so did your heat barrier. Their screams echoed through the hallway as you burned them until they all fell silent.

Your lungs were metaphorically on fire, but your hands and hair were still actually on fire. Focusing your gaze to your hand, you stood there for a minute trying to catch your breath and diffuse the flames. It seemed counterproductive, but using your powers like this made it easier to control. You understood how they worked in a whole new perspective. Once you realized that, the flames retreated back inside.

You were so focused on calming down that you didn’t hear Eggsy getting up and softly walking towards you.

“(Y/N/N)?” You jumped at the feeling of his hand on your shoulder, pulling you from your thoughts. As soon as you turned around and saw his green eyes, your thoughts changed from fire to worry.

“Oh my god, Eggsy! Are you okay? I was so scared! I saw all of the guards on the screen and I couldn’t just sit there and I was not about to just leave you here to--” Your speed talking was cut off by his lips crashing into yours. After a sound of surprise, you kissed back, relishing in the feeling of finally having him this close to you. Your hands rested against his chest as his grabbed your waists with a strong but comfortable grip. As the kiss got more heated and needy, your hands slid up to the back of his neck, running your fingers through his hair, lightly tugging.

You were the one to pull away for air, but he didn’t let you go far. Eggsy pulled you into a comforting embrace, kissing your cheek and neck as he did so.

“I thought I was fucked, and then I saw you gettin’ beat up and I got so worried about you. I told you to go! But then you were a fuckin’ badass and I just…” He trailed off as he caught his own breath.

He pulled away a bit and had hands went to your face so he could really look at you. You had quite a few cuts and bruises thanks to the three dickheads that whaled on you a few minutes prior. After a few seconds of looking, he finally spoke his mind.

“I love you. Holy fuck I love you, sweetheart!” Before you could respond, his lips crashed into yours again, and you happily kissed back; this one wasn’t as long as the first.

Everything was finally catching up to you. Your left arm burned thanks to the bullet that ran through you. You pulled away from your kiss and winced in pain. Eggsy became very protective and tried to help you right then and there. But you grabbed his bicep with your right hand to steady yourself, effectively stopping him. After using your powers as much as you did and fighting off those three men, your body was about to collapse. There were black rims around your eyes as you began to get tunnel vision. Gripping his arm tighter, you felt your legs starting to wobble.

“I think I need some help…” Before you even spoke, Eggsy was ready to catch you.

He could tell that something wasn’t right. He quickly picked you up bridal style, making sure your left arm wasn’t pressed up against him and walked back to the plane. He started walking down the hallway until you interrupted.

“Other way, bruv.” He stopped in place and looked down at you, letting a small laugh out. Even in this state, you managed to still make fun of him by calling him “bruv.”

You still had your phone hooked onto your belt and had the schematics up. You meet his gaze and exchange small laughs before you got very lightheaded. Resting your head against his shoulder, you felt yourself relaxing as you fainted in his arms. Your body went limp as you passed out; Eggsy ran as fast and as safely as he could back to the plane.

~~~~~~~~

Groaning a bit, you woke up and saw that you were back on the plane, but you didn’t remember getting there. You sat up and looked around, panicked. Your arm was wrapped up and hurt like a bitch. Other various parts of your body were sore but the biggest thing that you felt was exhaustion. Not any normal type of exhaustion; it was the type after you used your mutation more than you're used to. Then it all came back to you.

Mission. Popov. Eggsy. Fire.

Before you could get too worked up, Eggsy rushed to your side and took one of your hands in his.

“Hey! You’re okay. We’re safe.” He gives your hand a light squeeze as you nod and slowly lean back into the chair again. Eggsy gently placed his hand against your face, lightly stroking his thumb across your cheekbone. “That’s better. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Well, I saved your arse. Then you kissed me, and I passed out.”  Eggsy laughed at your answer, earning a smile from you.

“Yeah, that’s really it.” He was smiling at you as he moved his hand up to your forehead and looked a bit worried. “You feelin’ alright, luv?”

“Um… Tired and my arm hurts from the bullet that went through it, but other than that, I’m fine. Why?”

“You’re burnin’ up!” You instantly sat up with a new wave of fear going through you. That is until Eggsy’s look of worry slipped into a smirk and he started laughing. You picked up on what he was doing.

“Wow. Really? Puns? Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to hear shit like this from you.” You joked back and forth.

“Ooo, burn.”

“Oh my god. Did you just--” You couldn’t help but laugh at his jokes. While they would get antiquated, they were enjoyable in the moment.

“You gotta admit, I am on fire with these one-liners.”

“Sure. But do you wanna feel what it’s like to actually be on fire?” You playfully threaten was a flame takes over your hand that Eggsy is holding, but he doesn’t flinch, the flames not hurting him.

“You wouldn’t do that to me. You love me too much. I’m fireproof.”

“Eggsy Unwin. I swear to god… While you are partially right, I could still hurt you if I wanted to.” The flame died down as Eggsy leaned over and kissed your forehead.

“You know you like my stupid jokes. Now, get some more rest. We got about another two hours until we’re home.” He doesn’t get up yet as if already anticipating (or hoping for) what you were going to do.

“Is the plane on auto?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Is everything else put back in its place?”

“Yes, they are.”

“Can you stay with me then?”

“Yes, I can.”

Eggsy helped you up so that he could take your place and then help you settle into his lap, making sure your wound wasn’t pressed in any uncomfortable way. You lounged against him with your forehead along his neck.

“You alright?” Eggsy asked when you stopped moving, finally satisfied in this position. You nodded in response. “Good.” He brought your hand up to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on it.

As you were letting your eyelids droop, a phone in the plane went off near you. You turned to reach for it, but Eggsy stopped you, worried it would make your bullet wound even worse before you got proper medical attention.

Answering the phone, Eggsy brought his free hand to the back of your head and began lightly massaging it. You’d be lying if you said it was anything but immensely pleasurable. You gave in and went back to your comfy position with a hand on Eggsy’s chest, listening to his part of the conversation.

“Hello? … Yes, we are both alive, Merlin. … (Y/N) is restin’ right now. …  She is a bit injured. Nothing severe. … Your daughter is a fuckin’ badass, Merlin!”

You laughed a bit at that last part. Eggsy heard and leaned down to kiss your head before turning his attention back to the phone. What you didn’t hear was your father’s response that had made Eggsy smile:

“Yes, I know that. What made you finally come to that conclusion though? Did she save your arse?”

Tags:  @the-witching-hours12-3 @theeactress @undersoilxnddirt @juggernaut-jones @eggsyunwinftw @boundtomyfate  @grippleback-galaxy @sarahp879 @breakfastatswarovski  @fandomsandwriting