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call-me-strega · 11 months ago

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How to Become a Step-Dad in 5 Easy Steps: p. 2, ch.2/5(?)

Happy Late Valentine’s Day my dudes.

(This is Unedited, the cleaner version is on ao3)

First, prev, lore, ao3

~~~

It was a week later that Jason ran into his neighbors again. Or well, actually Red Hood ran into them. Then again “ran into” was a bit of a strong (read: inaccurate) description. He had more so observed from afar than ran into them per-say.

He had just landed on a rooftop when heard the sound of increasingly familiar giggles. A cold wind pushed against his helmet as turned to the source. Lo and behold there was the father-daughter heading on the direction of their apartment complex. It was about two blocks from their current location.

‘Well,’ Jason thought. ‘2 blocks off my normal route won’t hurt. I’ll just make sure I see them arrive safely and then continue on with my patrol.’

He watched as Ellie is rushed down the street waving around her toy space shuttle, eager to get home. She ran further ahead from Danny who had his hands full with groceries. He called after her to stay where he could see her and she just giggled and gleefully replied with and “Okay Daddy!”

Jason smiled at their interaction. He felt a sense of comfort and longing seeing such a close and loving pair. However, his smile faded as a pit formed in his gut. His instincts could sense was something off and from the corner of his eye he saw some movement in the alley the Ellie was approaching. As quickly and silently as possible Jason crossed the rooftops to get closer.

Just as Ellie reached the opening of the alley some two-bit thug reached out and pulled her into the alley. The young girl cried out as she dropped her shuttle. She called out to her dad in distress.

“Daddy!”

“ It’ll be okay Ellie! I’m coming! Remember what I told you?!”

Danny called back took of down the road trying to reach his daughter.

This seemed to calm her down as her fear became more manageable. She stop struggling and did her to glared at her would be kidnapper. Jason finally arrive on the roof top ready to drop into the alley and intervene when he witnessed a series of events that stunned him.

Ellie kicked the guy in the nuts with as much force as her little body could muster.

Which appeared to be quite a lot based on the sound that came outa the guy as he let go of her. Just then Danny reached the alley abandoning his groceries by an empty box at the mouth of the alley.

“Ellie!” He exclaimed reach out to gathers her in his arms. He held her tightly and stoked her hair trying to calm her. “ It’s okay baby, I’m here. Daddy’s here Ell. I’m not gonna let anyone take you,” he assured her.

The guy growled as he managed to get back up. He bagan to advance towards them once again with a switch blade in hand this time. Unfortunately for him he didn’t get very far in his plan to use it as Danny reached into his pocket and pulled out some thing labeled “Creep Repellant”. Just as the guy got close Danny pushed Ellie behind him, lifted his arm and maced the guy to distract him. The man cried out in pain and ended up dropping his blade. Then Danny pulled back and clocked the guy in the nose. He stumbled back groaning.

Danny didn’t give him another chance to regain his wits. He just turned, picked up Ellie, and booked it home.

Jason witnessed all of this almost starstruck by the way the how the dad handled himself and his kid. His major priority was making sure Ellie got out of the situation safely even if he had to abandon his groceries and Ellie’s toy to do it. Jason decided to make sure they won’t be followed by this guy. He dropped in and quickly knocked the guy out. Then he zip-tied him to a pipe and called for someone to come pick up guy up before he decided to hand him over to one of his Lieutenants instead. None of them would take to kindly to a potential child trafficker.

Jason walked back to the mouth of the alley and examined the abandoned groceries in the same galaxy-print reusable bags he’d seen Danny use at the store last time. He picked them up, along with the toy space shuttle, and took the back to the apartment complex. He left them in-front of Danny’s door with a note from Jason saying he found them in an alley and believed them to be Danny’s because he recognized the bags and one of the toys Ellie had shown him.

Was it a bit weird? Perhaps, but it could be played off as a coincidence and made more sense than the Red Hood leaving them on the Nightingales’ fire escape.

Later that night Jason’s brain kept replaying the image of a six-year-old kicking a grown man in the balls and her father proceeding to pepper spray and deck the dude. It brought a smile to his face to see that Ellie was well protected and evidently being taught how to protected herself too. He felt his fondness towards them grow once more. (He tried to ignore the part of his brain that kept replayed Danny’s punch and whispered ‘that’s kinda hot’)

~~~

About three days later Jason was driving home from the Wayne Foundation on his bike when his engine started stalling and losing power. He cursed his luck and decided to take a turn to head to his favorite mechanic's shop.

Ol' man Sammy had started the shop when he was still a kid and his grand-nephew Leandro, Leo for short, started working under him when he had just started out as Red Hood. They were good people who didn't mind acting as informants in exchange for Hood's protection. Nor did they mind the Jason Todd-Wayne showing up from time to time. As far as they were concerned he was another alley tyke grown up, now a paying customer and potential investor.

Last he heard from them was a month when Sammy officially passed on the reins to Leo and settled into retirement with his wife Avellana. Word had it Leo had been looking for a new hand around the shop and Jason had sent a couple of guys looking to get out of the henchman business his way knowing if Leo didn't hire 'em he might direct them to a cousin who would. He wondered vaguely if Leo ever did end up hiring someone. 'Well I suppose I'll find out soon enough' he thought pulling up into the workshop.

Jason pulled his helmet off, feeling a fresh breeze hit his face, and called out to the two men he saw working on a truck. One of them was examining something under the hood and the other working on the underside. He tucked his helmet under his arm but didn't get off the bike yet. He called out to the two guys.

"Oy Leo, compa! Is that you?"

The man inspecting the hood pulled his head out and gave Jason an impish grin.

"Oh man, Jasón is that you güey?!" The wiry, oil-slick man came over to greet him. Shaking his hand and pulling him into a half-hug.

" You here to get something fixed man?"

Jason slide off his bike and nodded back at it.

"Engine keeps stalling, I was hoping you could take a look," He then glanced back over to the man still working under the truck. " How's Ol' Sammy doing? I see you got the new hands you were looking for."

Leo grinned back, enthusiastic as ever. "Yeah man, he's new in town but good with his hands and a hard worker. Tio approved of him before he left. He and Tia are on vacation right now, went back to visit her family."

That's when a phone rang in the office. Leo sighed turning to Jason.

" Hey man I gotta take this but the new guy can totally get you set up. I'll be right back."

He turned and called out to the man under the truck "Ay chavo! We got a customer man! Come help 'im out while I get the phone!" before rushing of to the office.

The man finally pulled out from under the car and staring back at him were familiar blue eyes and a face smudged with oil. Danny grinned up at Jason as he began to walk over.

"Well hey there stranger, funny running into you here. Guess you must be friends with Leo and Sammy, huh? A real man of the people you are?"

" Uh, hey," Jason felt himself flush with embarrassment, his hand coming up to scratch his nape. " I mean yeah I guess so. I've known them almost as long as I've been able to walk so..."

" I'd like to thank you."

" Huh?" Jason met his eyes with a confused look.

" For finding and returning my groceries and Ellie's shuttle I mean. I got real lucky you happened to find them, otherwise that'd have half a paycheck down the drain. I'm grateful for what you did."

"It was no big deal," he said glancing away. He looked back to see a soft look on Danny's face.

" It meant a lot to me" he replied softly.

The two gazed into each others eyes for a moment before Danny turned his attention to the bike.

" You said the engine was stalling?"

Jason nodded in reply as Danny began to inspect the vehicle. After few minutes Leo emerged from the office just as Danny gave his verdict.

"It need a couple of new filters and an adjustment of the throttle position sensor and then it should be good as new."

" Perfecto!" Leo exclaimed walking out of the office. "You can handle that while I had out. Some guy in Chinatown needs a tow so I gotta take the tow truck and go."

He turned to address Jason. "You can trust Danny here with the bike, I wouldn't have hired him if he wasn't any good!"

He clapped Jason's shoulder before rushing out to his truck. Jason turned to Danny who shrugged and gave him a helpless grin.

" You got experience handling bikes?" Jason questioned.

" Sure do, I knew this one asshole back home who had a pretty sick ride. I ended making friends with him somehow and he taught me about 'em. I've already worked on a couple for Leo here too." Danny replied before walking over to the register.

" Here, I'll ring up an estimate for you. If you decide to leave her here with me I can have her done in an hour-hour and a half and you can pay when you come to collect her."

Jason decided he was willing to let Danny handle his bike. He figured he could just walk a block and grab some dinner at that Mexican-Caribbean fusion place nearby.

" I'll let you take care of her, like Leo said, he wouldn't have hired you if you weren't any good."

Now it was Danny's turn to flush. He fiddled around at the register before talking to Jason again.

" So can I get your number?"

" Huh-?!" Jason startled. Danny flushed even deeper and pointed at the pen and notepad on the counter.

" For the job! I’ll send you a call or text when it's done!"

Jason's face broke into a wicked grin. "Sure," he teased picking up a pen.

"Here's my work number," he said handing Danny a piece of paper. " And here-," he paused to write another number. "is my personal line. But that ones just for you neighbor. So don't go spreading it around," he winked.

He turned to walk out as he heard Danny spluttering behind him. And despite the expletives Danny called after him, he could do nothing to disguise the fondness in his voice.

Later that evening, Jason rode home on his newly serviced bike. He'd offered to give Danny a ride home but he still had an hour of his shift left and reassured him that he would be fine to make it home by himself. He took not of how well the bike was running. 'Purrs like a kitten' he thought. The voice in the back of his head once again returned to chime in 'Nothing like a man who's competent at his job'. Jason cursed the voice out, revving his bike and ripping down the street.

~~~

A few days couple of days later Jason receives a text:

"Hey its Danny. You run a soup kitchen with the Wayne Foundation right?"

Jason is instantly filled with concern. Did the Nightingales hit a financial pit fall? Was Danny hurt and unable to work? Did that creep stop paying his child support? He quickly wrote back to Danny

"Yeah why?"

"Ellie made friends with another girl in the building whose mom mentioned "soup night" was coming up and she came home and asked me about it.

I'm lucky that Leo pays well and Vlad's got plenty of money to cough up that we don't really have a need to go but I figured this might be a good learning opportunity to help Ellie understand both our and her friends situations.

I was hoping you had room for a few extra volunteers?"

Jason felt his worries melt away, just like his heart.

"We always have room for more volunteers

I'll text you the details"

That following Sunday Jason was organizing volunteers to set up the rec center he'd established last year step up for the soup kitchen. He was directing people with trays of food while his assistant/partner Irene ran through hygiene rules with some of the volunteer servers.

Behind him Jason felt the door open and a refreshing rush of wind filled the air as his newest recruits walked in. The daddy-daughter duo walk up to Jason and Danny gave him a little 2 fingered salute.

" Volunteers Danny and Ell reporting for duty!"

Jason gave them a soft smile.

" Hey guys, it’s nice to see you. This is Irene, my second-in-command. She'll run you through the serving protocols and get you ready to help. Danny you'll probably end up handling food while Ellie takes up resupplying utensils, plates, napkins and bottled drinks."

Danny smiled and ruffled his daughter's hair who giggled enthusiastically with a determined smile on her face.

" I think that'll work for us!" he said, turning to Irene who greeted them with a warm smile and led them over to her section.

About 15 minutes later Irene sidled up to him with a cheeky grin. Informing him he'd left Danny and Ellie with some of the other, more experienced volunteers.

" Sooooooo," Irene wiggled her eyebrows at him.

" Sooooooo- what?" he returned to her with a blank stare.

" When were you gonna tell me you had a crush on your new neighbor!"

Jason's face turned red as two more of their colleagues descent upon Jason having overheard what Irene said. Like sharks to blood in the water he swore.

First John, who was also one of Hood's men, whipped around and exclaimed. "What?! Jason you have a crush on your neighbor! What about Hood?!"

" For the 50th time Johnny, I'm not dating Hood. And its not a crush Irene!" Jason said in exasperation.

That's when Fern, the non-binary rec center manager, popped up behind him and said "What's this about Jason having a crush?"

Jason once again protested futilely that he didn't have a crush while Irene gleefully filled Fern in.

" Jason's totally got the hots for the hot, single, young dad who's volunteering with his daughter tonight! You should have seen how soft his face got when they showed up. And get this! Their actually neighbors and Jason's already been to their house for dinner!"

Fern whistled while Jason spluttered.

" How do you even know about that?!"

" Your crush let it spill while we were making small talk," she shrugged.

Jason groaned. None of them were gonna let this go.

"Come on you guys, its nearly time to start. Go get into your places," he insisted.

They relented but Irene shot him a mischievous look that told him he wouldn’t be escaping their teasing at a later date. Sigh.

Jason took his place in line manning the mashed potatoes. He felt someone nudge his shoulder and turned his head to see Danny standing next to him.

" Irene put me in charge of the green beans"

Oooh Irene we will be having words later!

"- and Ellie's been put on crowd control, which I think is just their way of saying she should take any kids done eating to the other room to play."

He smiled up at Jason, who of course smiled back.

"Lets do this" he said as the doors opened and their night of volunteering began.

It was a busy night so he and Danny didn't have much time to talk, but Jason learned a great deal just by observing. As his night went on he only saw more and more what amazing people the Nightingale's were. Thoughtful and kind without being condescending. Both Danny and Ellie were incredibly compassionate people.

Danny made an effort to be kind to anyone who came up to him and tried to connect with them in order to make them more comfortable. Ellie was a hit with the kids. She was strong-willed, outspoken and quickly took to speaking up for the shyer kids. She ended up amassing a little posse of her own. She made sure all her newfound friends got to try the foods they wanted and to get their turns with the toys in the game room.

As Jason continued to scoop out mashed potatoes and ignore suggestive glances and cheeky smiles from his friend he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and warmth. This was something he built through his efforts to help the Alley and he got to share it with two people he was growing to care about deeply. In turn not only had they shown an interest what he was trying to do here but actively sought to help others with him.

Jason took in the sight of Ellie leading a gang of smiling children. He made another sidelong glance at Danny, who was bonding with a young boy who said the green beans reminded him of a mythological creature. Privately he thought to himself that maybe Irene was on to something with her whole crush theory.

~~~ Thats all for this chapter. I do have some stuff planned for the rest of this section so look forward to that. Once again I welcome any comments or constructive criticism!

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vyl3tpwny · 1 year ago

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why it ourple

ok.

i'm going to tell you the story of how purple became my favourite colour. and then, where the name vylet pony came from.

———————————————————

ch.1 the mace windu incident

once upon a time. I really liked star wars. i kind of still like star wars i guess. but when i was a kid, i REALLY liked star wars.

in my room, i had a mace windu poster.

i still can't find the exact poster. it looked something like this

mace windu was my fav star wars character for an inconceivably long time. with that, i also became fascinated with his purple lightsaber. nobody else had a purple lightsaber. i loved it. staring at that poster constantly made me really like the colour purple. ever since the poster started exerting its technicolour pressures and whimsies upon me, i became fixated on the colour purple. forever.

"hai!~ im mace windu and i loveee Videos!" - mace windu, star wars episode iii: revenge of the sith

———————————————————

ch. 2 the viny scratch era

fast forward like 7 years. i am in the my little pony fandom now. i am 13 years old. i really like vinyl scratch. she is pictured here:

my first online presence in the mlp community was as a vinyl scratch / dj pon3 roleplay account. for a good year, people called me vinyl and "vy".

however when it came time to start releasing music in the fandom, i couldn't go by vinyl scratch at the time. this name was already being used by the artist who currently goes by Scraton!

this is still one of my favourite songs by them:

youtube

anyway. i actually held a really insane, irrational grudge against scraton for being named "vinyl scratch" as a music artist before me. i got past that after a while, because i had to stop being 13 first. i stopped being 13 and eventually fell in love with their music and we became friends later after!

but it's 2013 and i can't be vinyl scratch anymore. people already called me "vy" because of being a vinyl scratch persona.

so.

———————————————————

ch. 3 it's vylet time-wait is that can opener? CANNI?

it started on december 28, 2012. i posted to my then-instagram account this image:

you may recognize this as my oc canni. here's their reworked look in the 2022 album (10 years later) can opener's notebook: fish whisperer (illustrated by @astroeden):

can opener's original name was "ultra vylet". their colour scheme was originally intended to be the inverse of vinyl scratch's, as a sort of strange protest to not being able to be vinyl scratch. i was like ok. well if i cant be vinyl scratch, i am going to make a character that swaps the main colours. within a few months of "ultra vylet" existing, i discarded the design in favour of a completely different one:

this would be the only time vylet consistently had purple in her design until 2018 or so.. lol.

then. on april 15, 2013, i posted this to my instagram:

i had essentially combined three things:

The fact the people called me "vy'

The fact that my favourite colour is purple (violet)

The fact that I wanted to be vinyl scratch (dj pon3) before

———————————————————

ch. 4 vylet pony ≠ vinyl scratch

that is to say, i never really put a lot of thought into "vylet pony" as a name. i just made it when i was 14 and now i am going to be 25 soon. will i keep vylet pony as a name forever? not sure. do i take great pride in its insanely snarky origin? absolutely.

after i had decided firmly on "vylet pony" as a name — after dropping the "3" from it — i made a new instagram account. the very first thing i posted to it was this:

illustrated by my friend, shade.

now that looks slightly vylet-like, design-wise, oc-wise. oh. but now she is grey and black? ok.

she stopped being purple from 2013-2018.

here is how her design progressed through the years:

the first one is by my then-partner sara. this is when vylet's cutiemark was still an upside down music note, reflected from "ultra vylet" / can opener's original design. i'll show how it became a puzzle piece next.

the second one is by shade

the third one is by chibadeer

the fourth one is by astroeden

———————————————————

ch. 5 the puzzle piece

to this day, i still cannot find the fanart in question. but over instagram, someone asked to draw fanart of my pony. in doing so, they misconstrued the shape of the upside down music note as a puzzle piece, like this:

i've been looking forever for the original fanart/fanartist that made this mistake. because ever since that art, i just stuck with it anyway. i like puzzles and puzzle games. i'm also a puzzling and enigmatic person. and the puzzle piece can go into so many different things. all sorts of problem solving is like a puzzle. music fits neatly into that category in my opinion. so because of its intrigue and ability to mean so many different things, i just went with it. i never looked back.

———————————————————

ch. 6 that is the history of the colour purple and vylet pony character design

i hope this answers the question "why it ourple"!

#vyop #my little pony #mlp

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weixuldo · 1 year ago

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Enigma// ch 27

anakin x reader

A/N: Heyyyy- this one is pretttty long lol (a range of emotions for your reading pleasure) Hopefully u guys enjoy!! Also I am not an ordained minister and have never been to a courthouse wedding- so just keep that in mind if I totally butchered the process lollll!! as always, thanks for reading :)

NSFW

Courthouse weddings were not on your bucket list this year, but if its with Ani- you'll be alright.

warnings: cursing, mentions of pregnancy, afab! reader, marriage?, ani is a disabled veteran, topics of death, Vaginal sex, oral (f!recieving), cumplay (kind of?), liver failure?, depictions of pain

____________________________

You lightly squeezed Anakin’s upper arm with excitement as the officiant entered the small room. He was an older man, but he wasn’t the stereotypical short, bumbling bureaucrat; instead he was rather tall, in shape, and filled out his pressed suit nicely. He seemed to have himself all together.

He eyed the two of you suspiciously (he probably thought the two of you were a joke). After all, the two of you were nowhere near as dressy as him.

You wore a simple white dress you found at a thrift store you frequented. It has a lacy trim and a beautiful silk trail; honestly it was crazy that you found this in a size that would fit your pregnant belly in such a pinch.

Anakin told you he would have bought you a new dress from a boutique if you wanted, but you respectfully declined; you really liked the appeal of a secondhand dress- nothing wrong with clothing that told a story and now you got to add some new memories to the dress.

Anakin wore the only suit he owned, a plain dark blue coat and trousers with a white button up. Though, it was definitely too big for him now since he had lost so much weight. He never bought a new one because he always hated wearing suits (too many ceremonies in his full dress for the army), plus most suits made it hard for him to maneuver his limbs due to the cut and the tightness.

Whenever you were a little girl, you never expected the wedding of your dreams would be in a courthouse- but being here with Anakin was all your heart could ask for.

The officiator walked around to the bench and set his leather briefcase down lightly, before taking a few papers out. Anakin placed a stiff hand on your forearm and gave you a small smile.

“How are you doing, beautiful?” he whispered, his words tickling your ear.

WIth a shy giggle, you responded “I can’t wait to be your wife, Ani”.

“Alright- do we have everyone who should be present in attendance?” the tall man in front of you asked.

You turned behind you to check if Ben, Satine, and Ahsoka were still back there (where else would they have gone?). Once you gave them a quick smile, you turned back to the man and nodded.

“Perfect. My name is Mace Windu, and I will be officiating this marriage- I am to inform you that I am an ordained minister by law and every document you sign here will be officially binding. If you have any objections before we proceed, speak now or forever hold your peace. Shall we begin?” the man spoke before taking a moment to scan the room.

“No objections? Very well. We will begin the ceremony.”

Mace spoke so formally and so precisely that it felt more like you were being read your rights rather than being wed- but either way, you couldn't be happier.

Sadly your city’s courthouse didn’t allow for personalized vows (you had no idea why), so the ceremony was rather short. Once Windu had gone through the formalities and such it was your turn to answer.

“Anakin Skywalker, do you take this woman to be your lawfully-wedded wife”.

Anakin turned towards you and held his gloved hands out for you to hold. A soft, yet all consuming look of adoration consumed his features as he gazed upon your beauty. You were the most radiant woman he had ever set his sights on- how were you about to be his wife?

Anakin’s “I do” came out more as a heartfelt sigh than a statement, but that made it even more special.

His smile lines were evident around on his face as his blue eyes admired you; he was a little self conscious about the “wrinkles” but you always reminded him they told so much more than age- they told the story of his life; his joy, his despair, his pain, his laughter- they made him who he was.

“And do you, f/n l/n, take this man to be your lawfully-wedded husband?” Mace asked with a small smile.

“I do” you delivered with your whole heart.

“With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride”

Without hesitation, Anakin slipped his hand against your cheek and brought your lips to his. Never had a kiss been so dizzying- passion, lust, love, excitement, longing, and sadness all combined into one.

You reveled in the feeling of your plush lips against his.

You nearly forgot you were in public when your friends started to clap and make their way towards the front of the room. Mace set out the official document and handed you an expensive fountain pen for you to sign with.

You forgot all thoughts of his judgment once he handed you the pen with a smile, “congratulations, Mrs. Skywalker”.

You felt the butterflies in your stomach- Mrs. Skywalker…. Wow.

Anakin wrapped a loving arm around your back and pressed another kiss to your temple.

“I love you so much sweetheart, more than anything”

“You are my everything, Ani” you responded with another kiss.

___________________________________

“Are you sure you want to do this, princess?” Anakin asked shakily as you led him to your shared bedroom.

“I’m completely sure, Ani”

Ever since that first kiss as a married couple, you and Anakin had both been pining after each other the whole day; of course you had each other now, but you wanted that intimacy that was expected on a wedding night.

You didn’t ache for him purely from lust, rather it was an all consuming desire to be one with your lover, you wanted to be able to physically channel the love you so desperately felt.

“Please, Ani… I want you inside of me- I want you”

Your sweet and sensual tone made him shiver; how could he deny his beautiful little wife? Anakin bit his bottom lip hesitantly and nodded as he began to remove his slacks.

You relaxed back onto the mattress and released a sigh, “thank you my love”.

His sandy locks fell in front of his eyes as he gazed back at you, “Anything for you”.

Once he removed his pants, you helped him with his shirt; he laid on his stomach and placed his face between your plush thighs.

You were dizzy with anticipation as his bright blue eyes gazed upon your aching core- the two of you hadn’t been intimate in this way since the baby and all that time was taking a toll on you.

Obviously the two of you agreed to be gentle for the sake of the baby, but deep down all you wanted was for your newly-wed husband to fuck you untill you couldn’t speak right.

His stiff, cold hands held your in-place by your hips and he pushed his face right into you. Anakin’s skillful tongue swirled around your sensitive bud as he made his way up and down your delicate folds.

Unintentionally, you arched your back which caused your pelvic bone to bump his nose into your clit; an odd sensation that made you jolt. The strong cartilage pressed nicely against your swollen clit. Maker, was there any part of this man that you didn’t love?

“O-oh Ani” you moaned.

He started slowly but as your breathing began to quicken, so did his motions. He wasn’t really able to maneuver his mechanical digits in the way he would have liked to, so his mouth was very skilled.

He lapped up your sweet juices as he rutted his painfully hard erection into the plush mattress. He could get off by your reactions to his tongue alone. You were gorgeous.

He eyed your round stomach and for some reason that only charged his lust. You were carrying his child- his.

Anakin never really saw the appeal of children when he was younger (probably also because they were such a big factor for him and Padme), but now- now he saw the appeal. He saw all of it.

Though the child was an accident, it was born from the love and passion you and Anakin had for each other, this child would be there to love you when he’d be gone- this child you carried held his future.

His head spun with all consuming love for you- his wife.

Maker, he never thought he would get another chance at love after his accident all those years ago…

“A-Ani! I’m close” you whimpered, as your thighs trembled on either side of his face.

Your shaky voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he paused to kiss your sensitive bud before he helped you reach your anticipated release.

“Let go for me baby” he instructed softly.

And you did just that; stars flooded your vision and your brain went fuzzy. You couldn’t remember the last time you came (probably before the baby).

You allowed yourself a moment to gather yourself; Your chest heaved as you sat upright to draw him into a sloppy kiss. His sandy locks were all disheveled and his cheeks were rosy- he was perfect.

“Ani- that was… amazing” you huffed, still riding out your high.

His lips quirked upwards and he placed a hand on your cheek, “Anything for you, my love”.

He never hesitated to make you blush. You looked down to see his large bulge straining against his boxers.

“Oh, Anakin…” you cooed as you ghosted your fingers across his rock hard shaft.

He shut his eyes and quivered at your touch. You leaned forward and pulled back the elastic waistband to get a peek at his blushing member.

His velvety tip was bright red and weeping with precum; you gave it a soft kiss and collected a bead of his salty cum.

“F-fuck” he shuddered.

You began to tug his boxers off; as you did you kissed down his hip bone, v-line, and pelvis. You pulled the thin fabric over the threshold of his human and prosthetic legs until they were finally off.

His heavy dick slapped against his lower stomach; his one vein prominently pulsing on display for your pleasure. You gently dragged your fingers along the ridged scars that peppered his cock (they added a different level of sensation when they brushed against your walls).

You were about to take him into your mouth when he stopped you.

“Wait- I want to be in you” he said breathlessly.

You knew what he meant, but you felt like teasing him- “Well, technically you would be” you smirked.

He exhaled and playfully shook his head, “I didn’t know I married a comedian”.

You giggled and sat back up, “alright Ani, where do you want me?”.

The routine question was not because he liked to order you around the bedroom (well, sometimes he did), it was more of a courtesy question you habitually asked. Anakin was limited in the amount of positions he could pull off and some days certain ones were easier than others.

“Lie on your back” he said and you complied.

He grabbed a few pillows and stacked them under the small of your back so that you were more arched (a personal favorite of yours). He kneeled his prosthetics on the bed right against the backs of your thighs.

Anakin felt light headed with lust as he caressed your breasts and then down your swollen belly. His weeping cock was pulsing in anticipation as it stood proudly, eager to enter your plush pussy.

“Alright sweetheart” he breathed before slowly pushing himself into your.

You gasped as his bulbous head made its way into your cunt.

“Are you alright?” he asked quickly (and worriedly).

You nodded and asked him to continue.

Slowly, inch-by-inch, he made his way into you. You gripped the bedsheets and tossed your head back in pleasure.

Anakin was already feeling indescribably good, but when he finally bottomed out, he couldn’t suppress the guttural moan that escaped him.

“Feel good?” you asked him with a lazy smile.

He nodded vigorously “f-feels so good baby- s-so good” he babbled as he gently rutted his hips into you.

You patted his thigh to get his attention, “You can move more Ani- you won’t hurt the baby” you coached.

He clenched his jaw and nodded once more before he slowly dragged his length across your plush walls. The slow cadence of his hips made you shudder- the contrast from his fast and precise tongue to the slow but filling feeling of his cock only added to your overstimulation.

“Fuck…. you look so beautiful baby- my beautiful- ahh- m-my beautiful wife” he said.

“All yours Ani”

He groaned at your sentiment and began to quicken his pace- you felt so damn good; he was already feeling his release coming?

He watched your swollen breasts bounce as he thrusted in and out of you- he couldn’t take it anymore. Anakin shut his eyes and tossed his head back,

“I’m so- I’m so close baby” he almost cried (he too, had not cum in a while).

He snapped his hips into yours, making you yelp in pleasure, “F-fuck, ‘m sorry princess” he apologized before he moaned once more.

“I’m gonna cum! I’m- I- ‘m cumming. I’m cumming!” he stuttered as his body shook violently with the orgasm that ripped through him.

You gasped at the warm thrust of cum that shot into your already sensitive pussy. His thick ropes painted your insides as he continued to empty himself into you.

Both of you panted heavily and he began to unsheathe himself from your pussy. His dick was coated in a marvelous mixture of both of your highs… a heavenly sight.

You sat up and helped rest Anakin against the headboard before you retrieved his inhaler. You administered a few puffs before his breathing had calmed down.

“I don’t think you understand how indescribably in love I am with you” he huffed as his beautiful blue eyes looked deeply into yours.

You smiled and blushed a stray curl behind his ear, “I understand completely”.

________________________________________

You snuggled close to Anakin under the warm covers after the two of you had gotten cleaned up and took a shower.

You couldn’t believe you were actually married to the man you loved more than anyone else. Sure the two of you had got off on the wrong foot and had your rough patches, but look how far you've come.

Sleep was finally washing over you when you felt Anakin tense beside you. He was probably dreaming- he was plagued by constant nightmares from his past.

You began to brush your fingers through his hair (something you did to calm him when he would dream), but when his body jolted and he curled onto his side, you knew it wasn’t a nightmare.

“Anakin?!” you exclaimed when he started thrashing and groaning.

You sat up and reached for the light. He was clutching his right side with the arm he kept on at night- it was his liver.

His eyes were screwed shut as he braced himself against the bed. He wailed when you helped him upright, you could see his veins pulsing; every inch of him was screaming out for relief.

“Ani, I’m going to go get your pills, ok? Are you alright here?” you said hurriedly, your own heart rate was through the roof.

He just cried and shook his head, “Please- do-don’t leave me” he managed through gritted teeth.

Your eyes softened, “Ani, the pills will help, just let me get them for you- please?” you pleaded.

He stayed silent and finally nodded.

“Ok, I’ll be right back” you said before kissing him on the forehead.

You raced to the kitchen counter where his pile of pills sat, you rummaged through the bottles looking for the pain pills the doctor prescribed. Once you finally had it you dashed back to the bedroom.

Anakin had laid back down on his side and his face was scrunched in pain. You rushed to his side and pulled him up so that he was lying against your chest. His grimace was painful to look at and he drool had begun to pool on the area he had lied down on.

“Oh, Ani” you whispered as he trembled in your hold.

You helped him take his meds and comforted him as the feeling began to pass. He finally drifted off after about an hour or so of in-and-out pain.

Once you laid him back down, you walked out to the living room and sat on the couch. You debated switching on the TV to mindlessly view some stupid show to attempt to occupy your racing mind, but you ended up just staring at the black screen.

Before you knew it, salty tears were streaming down your face. Why did Anakin have to endure this? Hadn’t he gone through enough?

You thought about how happy you were all day and how much you wanted a life with him-but now this? Nothing but a bitter reminder of the limited time you actually had with your husband.

What hurt the most was there was nothing you could do...

nothing you could do, but wait.

***

a/n: so sorry this ended on such a somber note but I told ya- it was a rollercoaster in here hahah- also ik courthouse weddings take more planning, but for the sake of the story- we’re gonna pretend Anakin had been planning this and compiling the documents so that if you said yes (which you did) the two of you would be able to be wed as soon as you signed ur name on the respective dotted line :)

taglist : @dnamht @sxoulohvn @angeelcoree @wtf-andys @httpeachesblog @katsukiswrld @jetiikote @poisonedsultana @imarimone12 @fallinlovewithevil @sythe-skywalker

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lolahaurisfw · 8 months ago

Text

✎ Introduction ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Reqs are always open like usual too, and you can request as much as you want and as detailed as you want! i just get to things when i can/want to.

Anon's: None Yet

Other Accounts: @lolas-favfics @lolamultifandom @lolahauri @chowderpop 🔞

AO3: Here

BlueSky: Here

-> MASTERLIST <-

DNI: Map, Zoo, Pro-Para, Pro-Ana, TERF, Zionist, Bigots, Discourse Blogs. Block me if you don't agree. ❤️🖤🤍💚

What I Won't Write:

Smut. (Go to my other blog)

What I'm Willing To Write:

Reader Who Is: Tall, Short, Fat, Chubby, Curvy, Buff. Trans/NB.

Reader Who Has: Depression, Anxiety, DPDR, ADD.

Fluff, angst, platonic, hurt/comfort.

HC's, one shots, short multi-chapter fics, imagines/drabbles.

Canon-friendly, AU's, Canon Divergence, Out of Character.

Ch x Ch / Ch x Reader / Ch x OC / Poly Ships of any kind.

F/F, M/M, F/M, GN/F, GN/M, Poly Ships of any kind.

Now that that's out of the way, here's the list of fandoms and characters i'm familiar with and will happily take requests on!

Adventure Time/Fiona & Cake: PB, Marceline, Marshall Lee, Winter King, Candy Queen, Simon, Ice King, Fiona.

Attack On Titan: Armin, Eren, Mikasa, Sasha, Levi, Hanji, Annie, Historia, Reiner, Erwin, Ymir.

Avatar: Jake, Neytiri.

Batman Begins Trilogy: Batman, Catwoman, Bane, Joker, Scarecrow.

Beauty & The Beast: Belle, Beast/Adam, Gaston.

Bee & Puppycat: Bee, Deckard, Cass, Toast.

BigBang Theory: Raj, Leonard, Penny, Amy.

Bistro Huddy: All Staff Members.

Black Dynamite: Honeybee, Black Dynamite.

BNA: Michiru, Shirou.

Bob’s Burgers: Bob, Linda.

Breaking Bad: Jesse, Skylar.

Call of Duty: Konig, Ghost, Mace, Keegan, Krueger, Valeria, Farah.

Creepypasta: Jeff, Jane, Ben, Toby, EJ, LJ, Slenderman, Splendorman, Clockwork, Kate, Masky, Hoodie,

Desperate Housewives: Bree, Gabi, Edie, Lynette, Carlos, John.

Dirty Dancing: Johnny, Baby.

Earth Girls Are Easy: Mac, Zeebo, Wiploc, Valerie.

Elemental: Wade, Ember.

Encanto: Isabela, Bruno, Dolores, Julieta.

FNAF Movie: Vanessa, Mike, William/Steve.

Frozen: Elsa, Anna, Kristoff.

Futurama: Leela, Fry, Amy, Bender.

Good Pizza, Great Pizza: Alicante, Octavia, Dr. Keh, Nasir, Flash, Cicero, Kimmy Slice, Dr. Price.

Grandma's Boy: J.P, Samantha.

Gravity Falls: Ford, Stan, Soos, Melody, Giffany, Bill.

Jane The Virgin: Jane, Michael, Petra, Luisa, Rose, Rogelio, Xiomara.

Jurassic Park (1993): Ian Malcolm, Ellie Sattler.

Jujutsu Kaisen: Gojo, Choso, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji, Shoko, Geto, Yaga Masamichi, Utahime, Uraume.

King of the Hill: Hank, Peggy, Luane, Nancy, Dale, Khan, Min, John Redcorn.

Life Is Strange (2015): Maxine, Chloe.

Lisa Frankenstein: Lisa, Creature, Taffy.

Little Mermaid (2022): Ariel, Eric.

MHA: Dabi, Hawks, Aizawa, Shigaraki.

Miller's Girl: Cairo, Johnathon.

Moon Knight: Moon System, Layla, Khonshu.

Mulan: Mulan, Li Shang.

National Treasure: Benjamin, Riley.

Nintendo: Link, Zelda, Peach, Daisy, Rosalina, Luigi, Bowser, Waluigi.

Norbit: Rasputia, Norbit.

Princess & The Frog: Tiana, Lottie, Naveen, Shadow Man.

Ratatouille: Colette, Linguini.

Regular Show: Mordecai, Margret, Eileen, CJ, Benson.

Resident Evil: Karl Heisenberg, Carlos Oiliveria, Lady Dimitrescu.

Rick and Morty: Rick, Jerry, Beth, Doofus Rick.

Riverdale: FP Jones, Hiram.

Scott Pilgrim vs. The World: Kim, Ramona, Gideon, Wallace.

Scream 5: Amber, Tara, Sam.

Serial Mom: Chip, Beverly.

Silverado: Slick, Rae, Mal, Paden.

Shallow Hal: Rosemary, Hal.

Shameless: Lip, Fiona, Kev, V.

SheRa (2018): All Adults.

Sherlock (2010): Sherlock, John Watson.

Slashers & DBD: Brahms, Ghostface, Michael Myers, Jason Vorhees, Pyramid Head, The Spirit, Huntress, Trapper, Wraith, Trickster, Pearl, Jennifer Check, Stu Matcher, Billy Loomis, Tiffany Valentine, Patrick Batmeman, Thomas Hewitt, Vincent Sinclair, Eric Draven, The Artist, Amanda Young.

Spiderverse: Miguel, Jessica Drew.

Spongebob: Dennis, Man Ray.

Squid Games: Gi-Hun, Sae-Byeok, Ali, Sang Woo.

Stardew Valley: All Adult Humans (Except George & Evelyn)

Steven Universe: Garnet, Amethyst, Peridot, Lapis, Jasper, Blue Diamond, Rose, Greg.

Stranger Things: Robin, Billy Eddie, Chrissy, Hopper.

Supernatural: Sam, Dean, Castiel.

Super Store: Amy, Jonah, Dina, Garrett, Cheyenne.

Tangled: Flynn, Rapunzel, Mother Gothell.

The Batman (2022): Batman, Riddler.

The Breakfast Club: John Bender, Allison Reynolds.

The Nanny: C.C, Fran, Maxwell.

Total Drama Island: S1 Contestants, Chris, Chef, Blainley.

Triple Frontier: Frankie, Santiago.

Turning Red: Ming Lee, Jin Lee.

Twilight: Edward, Carlisle, Alice, Charlie.

YOU: Beck, Joe, Peach, Love.

Young Sheldon: Mary, Connie.

Abel Morales (A Most Violent Year)

Astarion (Baulder’s Gate 3)

Babbo Natale (Violent Night)

Barbie (Barbie 2023)

Basil Stitt (Lightning Face)

Beverly Goldberg (The Goldbergs)

Bruce (Beyond Therapy)

Charles Ingalls (Little House on the Praire)

Charlie Dompler (Smiling Friends)

Chel (Road to El Dorado)

Dale Kobble (Longlegs)

Dan Conner (Rosanne)

David Levinson (Independence Day)

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

Doug Remer (Baseketball)

Duke Leto Atreides (Dune)

Fezzik (Princess Bride)

Francine (American Dad)

Fujimoto (Ponyo)

Georgia Miller (Ginny & Georgia)

Jack Harrison (Translyvania 6-5000)

Jackson Rippner (Red Eye)

Jon Arbuckle (Garfield 2024)

John Doe (John Doe Game)

Jonathan Levy (Scenes from a Marriage)

John Wick (John Wick 4)

King Baldwin (Kingdom of Heaven)

Kitten (Breakfast on Pluto)

Laurent LeClaire (In Secret)

Linda Gunderson (Rio)

Llewyn Davis (Inside Lleywn Davis)

Master Chief (Halo)

Mike (5lbs of Pressure)

Moe Doodle (Doodle Bops)

Nani Palekai (Lilo & Stitch)

Nathan Bateman (Ex Machina)

Outcome-3 (The Bourne Legacy)

Orestes (Agora)

Paul Blart (Paul Blart: Mall Cop)

Paul Cable (Last Stand at Saber River)

Peggy Bundy (Married With Children)

Peter Mitchell (3 Men & A Baby)

Poe Dameron (Star Wars)

Prince John (Robin Hood 2010)

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd (Top Gun: Maverick)

Rose Tyler (Doctor Who)

Shiv (Pu-239)

Stanley Ipkiss (The Mask)

Star-Lord (Guardians of the Galaxy)

Summer Field (Time Cut)

Tate Langdon (AHS: Murder House)

The Janitor (Willy’s Wonderland)

Thomas Magnum (Magnum, P.I 1980)

William Tell (The Card Counter)

#intro post #pinned post #fic writing #fluff #angst #x reader #profiction

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jane-the-virgin0 · 5 months ago

Text

Knocking at death's door (ch. 2)

summary: ~right before ROTS~ you're the Princess of a foreign land, about to be Queen. your father, although unknown to you, is Palpatine (pls suspend your disbelief), and you have force lightning powers. your powers have been sensed by the Grand Council and they know that you'll be recruited to the dark side, so they send Obi-Wan and Anakin to kill you before you can be used as a weapon. your life is doomed from the start, but Obi-Wan can't complete his mission.

pairing: Obi-Wan/reader

rating: 18+, minors DNI

warnings: violence (it is Star Wars), eventual smut, fluff, angst, death, age gap (reader is 24)

chapters: 1 ✧ 2/?

w/c: ~1237 (oops sorry not longer lol)

a/n: i've decided i'm gonna switch POV's every chapter:) hope u like!

˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡

“Master, must we have to act as a bodyguard for yet another princess?” Anakin whined.

“We are not bodyguards, have you been listening? We are to pose as bodyguards to gain the princess’ trust, then we are going to kill her.”

“Why can we not go kill her now?”

“Patience, Anakin. We must observe her and see how strong her sith powers are. If we were to engage her in combat immediately, we run the risk of being overpowered.”

“But-“

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan said, exasperated with his young padawan.

He directed their cruiser towards the distant planet. He too was incredulous about the fact that Mace Windu, and the rest of the Grand Council, would send their Jedi on a mission to one of the farthest reaches of the galaxy to kill a no-name princess. But if it must be done for good of galaxy, then Obi-Wan was willing to do it.

Still, he mused to himself, how did a long-lost daughter of Palpatine hide under the radar for so long? And being only a few years older than Anakin? If she was as half as strong as Anakin, they would be in trouble.

Sighing, he prepared the craft for landing.

˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡

“During this transfer of power, we are here to protect the princess and offer guidance for traveling to and from the Senate.”

“Wonderful!” The Queen exclaims, gracefully eating her plate of fresh fruit.

“Y/N? Anything to add?” She says pointedly.

“…No. Not really, your Grace.”

Obi-Wan eyes the Princess. She picks at her plate, mixing all the food together into one big blob.

“We are merely here to keep you safe, Princess, do not fear of us getting in your way.” Obi-Wan adds.

The Princess eyes him warily, her body language like that of a stray cat, coiled back and ready to attack if needed.

“Nonsense! She will be fine- in fact, she will be pleasant and accompany you on a tour throughout the palace before our court convenes.” The Queen says, standing up from the table, her handmaiden rushing to pull the chair back for her.

Obi-Wan looked back at the Princess, catching her throw a deathly glare at the Queen.

He felt exhausted already. His frustration with being sent on a mission that was proving to be a lot more troublesome than originally thought - himself and Anakin really should be able to kill her in a week, but with her stubbornness, it would likely take longer to get her to trust them - combined with having to wrangle Anakin like normal was beginning to put him in a sour mood.

Obi-Wan stood up, gently bowing to the Queen. He puts a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, interrupting his focus on stuffing his face full of fresh fruit and bread.

Anakin’s chair squeaks back as he rushes to stand.

“Thank you, your Grace.” He says.

Obi-Wan nearly rolls his eyes.

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you around and then to your quarters.”

Y/N stands up and begins to walk down the hall. Obi-Wan and Anakin trail after her.

“It is a beautiful palace, Princess. What do you know of its construction?” Obi-Wan asks, attempting to make conversation.

Y/N shrugs.

Anakin attempts to hold back a snort.

“I cannot say. All I know is that my grandmother, the Queen before my mother, helped to build the garden that helps to feed everyone in the castle. It is located in the back, if you are ever curious and want to meander through.” She says, keeping her gaze forward.

“Do you ever leave the palace?” Anakin asks, sauntering up to walk next to Y/N.

Y/N pays him no mind. “Rarely, only for special occasions like festivals and crowning ceremonies.”

Anakin makes eye contact with Obi-Wan, considering what she said.

“Here is the library-“ Y/N says, pointing towards an open door.

“And down the hall is the ballroom.”

“You have parties here often?”

“Anakin.”

For the first time, the Princess laughs. It’s a soft laugh, barely audible, but there nonetheless.

He feels himself smile in response.

“Yes, actually. We host the court and their families, as well as any important families in towns across the realm. Although they meet with the Queen for business, we try to keep them happy with dancing, music, and alcohol once a month.”

“When’s the next one?”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“In a few days time, actually. Presuming you are…still here, you might be able to experience it.”

They walked in silence down the hall and up the stairs.

“These two rooms here are for you. The one down the hall and to the right is mine.” She points at three rooms.

“I will take the first watch tonight, Princess.” Obi-Wan says.

She halts.

“First watch?”

“Yes, we’re here to protect you, so we’re going to watch over your room while you sleep.” Anakin says, shrugging.

“Absolutely not.” Y/N says sharply, her demeanor now even more frosty.

“I’m afraid that cannot be helped, Princess. We have promised the Queen that we would keep you safe-“

“I’ve never had someone guard my room before! I am not to be a prisoner in my own palace!”

Her angry words matched the fire in her eyes. Before either of them could respond, she marched into her room and slammed the door.

Anakin turned to Obi-Wan.

“Still think I’m annoying?” He grins and walks back the way they came.

Prisoner in her own room? They were sent here to make sure no one got in and tried to take even more advantage of her Sith powers. But what if they needed to be more concerned with her getting out?

˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡

Obi-Wan stands outside the Princess’s room, the air from the hall window blowing a frigid breeze onto his body. He wraps his robes tighter around his torso.

The Princess claimed she liked to sleep with the windows open, much to the disdain of Obi-Wan. While he saw no reason to believe her untrustworthy, he made sure to let her know how much of a security risk it could be.

“Princess, something could sneak into your bedchambers and harm you, without us knowing.” He had said.

She scoffed.

“My window merely backs up to the back courtyard. Do you expect a stray fenner’s rock to harbor such ill will for me that it climbs my brick walls and strangles me in my sleep?”

“Princess, I sincerely care for your safety-”

“Enough!” She said, and slammed the door behind her.

If he did not know any better, he would liken her attitude to Anakin's.

Unfortunately, she had yet to do anything that would raise suspicion, and going to the Queen to tattle on the Princess would only make her like him less, so he was forced to trust her.

Anakin was in bed, resting until it was his shift, which was not for a while. Obi-Wan was trained to have his guard up at all times, after all, a Jedi must be sharp and prepared for anything.

…Which was why when he heard a slight rustling outside the window, he moved slowly, lightsaber at the ready. Taking a quick peek outside, he saw a flash of white and the Princess’ hair darting through a bush.

Mentally cursing at himself, he slides through the window and down the short drop onto the ground below.

Following after Y/N, he had no time to think about why he really let her get away with keeping your window open in the first place.

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glaciertea · 7 months ago

Text

Masterlist here

Tales the Songs Weave

Ch.16<< >>Ch.18

Notes: Miguel isn't taking things very well.

CW: Rough sex, markings, oral sex (both giving/receiving), PinV, overstimulation

If anyone can tell me the name of this artist, please alert me so I can give credit where credit is fully due.

Chapter 17: I Can't Do Anything...

Word count: 7.5K

Things have certainly been off as of late.

You picked up on it when Miguel suddenly showed up to your place around two in the morning after not hearing from him regarding the other relationships in the multitude of dimensions. You probed at him, curious to know about his search and discoveries, as he only slipped into your bed, wrapped his arms around your waist, and held you close.

Not many words were spoken that night, as Miguel only mumbled praises in Spanish against your shoulder, kissing the puncture wound, and refused to loosen his grasp.

You were lost, but you allowed him to continue as you gave admiration and affection back.

And that's when you also noticed the regression in Miguel.

Whenever you throw a compliment at him, he immediately dodges it or completely denies it with the most sincerest of despondency, proclaiming he isn't anything positive that you commend him for.

You would knit your brows and counterattack his negative views on himself, which only rifted him farther.

He's been hanging around your job, nearly from opening until it closed, for the past few days, doing tasks here and there that even Ronnie couldn't help but comment on. She was joking around about it first, that her underuse was finally understanding his potential as a true employee for her, but it started to slowly freak her out.

It then took a sharp turn when Ronnie arrived one hour early to work, when a gigantic, broad brooding figure loomed by the shop's door.

Customers don't usually line up for anything here. Especially before the crack of dawn.

“What the hell?” She slowed her steps, hand in her bag, ready to mace whoever was lurking near her place of business.

Each tread seemed heavier than the last, her eyes squinting when the sturdy physique intensely wheeled its body towards Ronnie as a pair of glowing scarlet iris sharply stared into her soul. Yanking the small bottle out, she held it up and got into a defensive stance.

“I’m not afraid to spray! So I suggest you back away, and this is my only warning!”

The character shuffled around a bit, forcing her to lift the bottle higher. “Alright, you dumbass idiot, you asked for it!”

“Sé que no tienes ninguna duda. Watch where you're pointing that thing.” A familiar voice grunted out before pushing himself off the wall.

“Miguel? What the hell, man? Why are you here so early? And why are you ominously in front of my store like some creepy stalker?” Ronnie huffed out, stuffing her weapon away and pulling out her keys.

“I'm here to surprise her before she comes in.” He slogged in after Ronnie went inside.

“By being here an hour early before her shift? If that’s the case, you could come—oh, I don’t know—five minutes in advance?” She snided, settling her things behind the counter. “So why are you really here at this forsaken hour of the morning?”

Miguel placed his sunglasses on when Ronnie strolled over and turned on all of the lights. He didn’t have a clear-cut reason as to why exactly he was here before she even clocked in. He knew he should be spending these last several moments with you, taking in any time that is left before the sand trickles to the last drops of the glass. Maybe it was for the reminiscence that would ensue once that end struck, leaving only those memories of laughter and enjoyment from this cozy premise.

“I also wanted to do some of her tasks as well. I can help out with some organization or cleaning. I want to show my gratitude for all she’s done and... and will continue to do.”

Ronnie couldn’t help but scrunch her nose up. She was highly aware of how ridiculously cordial and fond you two were of each other, but there was something about that particular answer that set flaring alarms off in her head, and she did not enjoy it one bit. But she decided not to dawdle on it too much, for her sanity and potentially yours and his.

“Alright then. But as this is my place and my business, you are the lowly worker who will follow and do everything I say. Got it, peasant?”

“Ay, ¿en qué me he metido?” Miguel muttered under his breath, rubbing his scalp roughly.

“You got yourself into a load of hell, that’s what.” Ronnie retorted back, making him roll his eyes. He certainly would miss this banter.

The two spent the time going through materials and antiques, with Ronnie directing Miguel on what to do and where to exactly place certain items. There were moments when they began to clash, asserting their points in a very tolerant yet quarrelsome manner.

You tiptoed in, catching the middle of the mayhem, troubled by who Ronnie could exactly be disgruntled with already. Neither of the other two employees should be in this early, so you chalked it up to Ronnie oddly squabbling with herself until you caught wind of the second voice.

“Miggy? Miggy!” You squeaked, jogging up to him and wrapping your arms around his waist.

He returned it, but to you, it felt unfamiliar. The hugs that used to be toasty like freshly baked cookies near a warming fire on a lightly snowing winter night were polar stiffness. Numbness of distance that you haven't seen since your first encounter. And this coldness seemingly won’t melt away.

“Mi Estrella, is everything okay? Have you been feeling under the weather as of late?”

Those eyes. Those earnest and patient eyes that you give to him whenever there is something wrong. He didn’t deserve it; he never did in the first place. But he knew it was coming; he would receive the well-deserved punishment he corroded on you and the ones that surrounded you.

“Ah, no, mi… Luna. I’m okay. I have a migraine at the moment, so that's making me a bit sluggish.” He brushed the side of your face; your unsullied, delicate skin being touched by his horrendous, murderous claw seemed as if it were a privilege for him.

He will make this wrong… right.

You gave him a slight smile, kissed his arm, and knocked your head on his solid biceps. From the morning until the afternoon, Miguel barely moved away from your side. He would only leave you when you used the restroom, merely to be right back over you.

As in the previous days, he assisted by doing heavy lifting, restocking and rearranging objects, cleaning, or whatever ridiculous projects Ronnie had him do. You couldn’t understand where this sudden altar of behavior occurred, and frankly, it was throwing you for a loop.

He trudged around, picking up the vintage items, ignoring the other customers when they would come in. Lost in his own subconscious, you wearily peered in his direction, outwardly dazed just as he was.

“Yeah, you're not the only one.” Ronnie placed her tablet away and situated her elbows on the counter. “He's fighting something; I don't know what, but whatever it is, it's kicking his behind.”

A waft of air exhales from your nostrils. What could you do? There was only so much that he allowed himself to say, but now he's been virtually distant. Yes, he's been visiting more than before, and even so, something made it appear disingenuous in a way you wouldn't be able to unravel.

“I wonder if it's something I did. I mean, I know he will usually tell me when he's upset with something, but it's that internal instinct, you know?”

“Nah, I can definitely clarify that it isn't you. It has to be a job thing or a random slump; he is a very broody and moody one.”

“Ronnie.” You shot her a weighty caution not to continue.

“I'm just saying.” She threw her hands up in a defensive stance.

“I'm sorry, I'm utterly stressed out. I don't know what to do.” You rang up a customer and wished them a great day.

“Hey, don't be sorry; not good timing on my end.” Ronnie slouched on a wooden stool and crossed her arms. “I'm having a weird feeling. A hunch. I want to say that this doesn't concern me. I should only express so much, but I have a million and one opinions that are eager to yap and scream about this situation.”

Ronnie eyed your miserable and despairing state, taking the hint. “However, for your sake, I won't say anything. I'm sure things will be okay; maybe it's just that entire ‘bump in the road’ thing. Gotta do the whole, ‘be there for him,’ ‘time will heal and prevail,’ yadda, yadda, all that crap.”

She was trying to form that reassurance, the persuasion you acknowledged, but nonetheless, it fell completely flat on its face.

“Look, know I'm here for you. Things like this happen, and even with my involuntary comments, you guys will push through. And besides, I don't like my favorite being down in the dumps. I can whack his senses back for you if you want.”

Ronnie alluded to a certain bat, and you couldn't help but chuckle as your boss joined in, nudging you a few times.

“Nah, I don't think that's necessary. But, I'll let you know. Thanks, Ronnie, I appreciate it.”

“Of course, I have your back.” She gave you a side hug when Miguel meandered his way back up to the front, his eyes landing directly on you.

“I hate to go, but they need me at the HQ, mi… mi Luna. I will pick you up later on tonight, and I'll order in for us at your place, alright?”

“Yeah, that'll be good. And mi Estrella?”

Miguel forced himself to not snatch his hands away from yours when you stroked his knuckles with your thumbs. He hated this. He hated that you still give him these fragile touches, as if he's some glass waiting to break at the seams from the lightest of blows.

Because he knew he would fracture any second.

He swallowed thickly and stared into your eyes with his cowardly, shaded ones. “Ye-yes, m-mi Luna?”

“I love you. Remember, I will be here until those lavenders and marigolds are there, and all you do and continue to do will always be enough.”

Miguel's unrelaxed mannerisms weren't subtle. You carried on that set of sparkling kindness, not allowing it to fade, and he detested it. He gripped onto that animosity; you shouldn’t merit him with that patience. That tenderness. That smile. That beautiful smile.

“Thank you, mi luna. I will always treasure you.” Miguel pecked your forehead as his watch went off. “Tonight, see you later. And have a good day, Ronnie.”

“Yeah, thanks. Miguel.” There was a twinge of malice as she barely tilted her head in return, pretending to be busy with her tablet. Miguel scowled but immediately deadpanned. He didn’t need to cause you more pain.

You knotted at the sudden uncertainty and traction weaving through the air. You simply gave a faint simper and a courteous nod to try and falter the situation. “Miguel. Tonight, mi Estrella, tonight...”

The minute he stepped out, you groaned and reprimanded Ronnie, questioning if that was necessary, to which she responded, unapologetic, that it wholeheartedly was.

Miguel soberly trailed back to the HQ, his sight on the piles of buildings, businesses, and citizens marching along as if all was okay.

He was hindering this. Putting it off for as long as time will allow. The paranoia made a cozy nest; he had no plans on retiring off his brain anytime. More thoughts, more unsettling concerns, and more problems. His psyche races, speeding along to that oasis, until he hits it, only to reveal that the mirage was a cartoonishly painted brick wall of inevitability.

He pauses in front of a certain entrance. The twists and twines of ivy, the plethora of colors burning brightly into his gaze. The low-hanging flowers were beckoning him to remember how it used to be.

He took a singular step forward.

Then he drew back and faced the other way, proceeding to the HQ.

Several new strings roped themselves around him.

Teeming as usual, Miguel made his way to his domain, dismissing any others who scrambled their way to him and babbling on about mindless stories or questions. Passing the many anomalies that stockpiled because of him, because of you.

That tingle was not leaving until he had to fulfill that consequence. He leered up at the monitors encapsulating the glorious hell of the multiverse. The trillions he must protect are the ones he must sacrifice his time and days for to keep everything as it should be. Climbing onto the platform, he pressed a button, eyeing the screens as he gradually ascended.

Getting back to work, disapproving of any distractions, Jess’s voice snuck up to his ears.

“Did you do it?”

“No.” He carried on with his work, paying her no attention.

Her lips tugged into a frown, her hands in a prayer as she brought them up to her face. “Miguel, I understand this is hard for you; trust me, I do, but if we’re essentially on a timeframe, you will have to get this done.”

“I’m working on it.”

“And I get that. This must not be easy for you, and as a friend, I am truly sorry and sympathize with your pain.”

Nothing from his end, as she released an exasperated sigh. “Miguel, you have to do this. If I could, I would have helped in a way to ease the blow, but this is all on you, Miguel-”

“I know.” The pot began to bubble.

“And if what you said about your world is slowly collapsing, you have to work fast to undo this.”

“I. Know.” The water is rising.

“As much as Peter and I want to intervene, we can’t handle third parties like this. We’re trusting you. You can't dwindle.”

“I. Know!” It spilled over as he punched a hole right in his desk.

Jess closed her eyelids and fluttered them back open. “Peter and I are worried, Miguel. We are putting this faith in you. It's hard to hold onto confidential evidence as heavy as this. So, please, not as a boss but as a friend, we understand your pain, and we will be here. We just want you to make the right decisions, not wholly for us but for you as well.”

The right decision. The one he doesn't want to let go of but has to. Why? Why did this have to happen?

Miguel dug his talons right into the bed of his hair and into his scalp. Jess only studied the broken man. She saw the signs of him drifting, but she recognized this was the only way if it was to save them all.

“You could explain why it has to happen. I don't personally know her or how much you talked to her about this, but if she's been sticking around you for a good minute, she has to be understanding.”

Jess deduced that no matter what advice she utilized, it wouldn't change anything. She originally needed to discuss Gwen's insistence on visiting the boy, but figured another day would have to suffice.

“Take it easy and ease her in. We know you can handle it.” Jess strived for that upfront attitude, a conflict swelling, but she entrusted that blind eye to him, hoping he would do the right thing.

He didn't bother to dismiss her, as she took the cue and left without another sound. He snagged the other video out from the corner, despondent by it.

He was happy. He was loved. It was his fault for wanting to relive it. He was the fool in his own court.

Strings bounded more on his body, tightening their hold.

The room is nearly back in the lone void with that flicker of a dying light.

You and Miguel slouched on your couch, carelessly watching a random bad action film you threw on. The flashing glows from the screen were the only thing casting any light in the living room.

Half-eaten pancakes sat in two clear containers as you decided on breakfast for dinner, but you both couldn't digest them due to how hard they were on the stomach and the discomfort cramming in the air.

You did your best to bring in some enthusiasm, but ultimately stopped trying. Your energy was depleted, yet you still gave him space and warmth. Not much was exchanged during the duration of the film, and when he held you, that glacial contact wouldn't unfreeze at all.

“Miggy?”

“Yeah?” He barely looked downward to face you.

“Talk to me. I noticed things have been running through your mind as of late. Hell, even Ronnie detects something is up. I'm wondering if everything is okay. Is your job giving you crap again?”

Just as the first night you hung out, that pang of perturbation surged through him; you could feel it. You suspected it dealt with his work, and that reaction proved that you were on the right track. You tested to see how far you could stick yourself into the compacted cage he's in.

“After all this time, still? You are allowed to do what you have to do.”

“It's partially my job.” Lies.

“So they're not giving you a hard time?” You glide your fingertips up and down his arm, trying to subdue whatever was stirring in him.

“No, they are, fortunately not as much.” He hated this.

“That's good; that's good. I want to make sure you're okay. I've been worrying about you. After you crawled into my bed that night, it seems things have taken a turn.” You kissed his forearm.

“If you're in a slump, know I'm here, alright? We will work through this. Days like these happen, but we will go at your pace. Life is taking that unexpected turn, but we will find a way to that destination.” Your giggles flowed in his ears, nearly creating a knee-jerk reaction to move you from this position.

He hates this. He despises it so much. You don't deserve this, but he keeps giving in every time. Your comforting comments have him crawling back; your gentle nature. He needs to let go; he has to for this world.

But what has this world done for him? He gives, gives, and gives, and all it does is take, take, and take.

Yet, that's the harsh reality. It's a give-and-give with zero receiving. Not one.

He refused to open his mouth, burying his face in the crown of your hair. The room was still chilly, but you noticed the tenacious grasp had loosened some, so it was a good start. You remained this way for several minutes when you were smacked with a thought.

“Hey, mi Estrella?”

“Mhm?”

“Can you peek in your drawer? When I did some washing the other day, I think one of your shirts shrank down a bit. Can you double-check for me?”

He only nodded and untangled himself, scooting off the sofa. You waited until he was nearly in the room and leaned against the doorframe. Miguel didn't think too much of it. Kneeling down, he opened his personal drawer, ready to see the shirt on top, when his eyes suddenly cast a blank gaze.

Records. Music that he enjoyed from his childhood, in general, and ones he learned from you, and an empty picture frame with marigolds embedded in the molding.

“Surprise! I had to hunt down some of these in the shop; it was crazy. And the other week, we got a bunch more but never looked through them. But I deliberately and thoroughly took extra time, and this batch was a really good one.”

You shifted from leg to leg. “And the framework was so pretty when I spotted it as well. It reminded me of you, as corny as it sounds. You can put whatever you like in it! Maybe a stock image of empanadas.”

Your joke didn't even gain a smidge of a smirk as you ungainly crossed your arms.

He removed them one by one when another item rolled on the side, tucking itself into a corner. It was a dark violet bottle with lavenders decorating the paper wrapped around it.

“It helps ease the mind. A single spritz or two, and it should help with the aches in your brain. I tested it out when I woke up feeling off one night, and it made me feel so comfy, it startled me,” you chuckled. “Felt like I was having an out-of-body experience.”

Crouching next to him, you placed your head on his shoulder. “I hope you enjoy these. I thought maybe a few presents can be a pick-me-up, even if it's just for a few minutes.”

Those soft eyes. That smile. That patient smile. Why? Why were you so gentle? Why were you so kind to him? He did damn all to deserve these moments of clarity.

He held the items in his destructive claws and only dazed off. Why were you making this harder? Why did you have to be the one to find him that night? Why did he have to abandon his realm for this new one?

Burning blood-red eyes that have witnessed so much hatred, pain, and grief peering into ones that hold compassion. That admiring charm. That relentless amount of love.

Only for it to be gone.

A troubled look made its way onto your face. You did have second guesses about the gifts, believing it was too early to purchase things such as this when he's not in the best mindset.

“Do… do you not like them? I was thinking that it might have been bad timing, but I wanted to make sure things were oka-”

His lips were on yours. His claws energetically roam your curves and softness. Your unruly tongues collided as you enfolded your arms over his shoulders, locking your hands in place.

Miguel pulled you both to your feet, hoisted your legs up, and forced them around his waist. He easily steadied you up and onto the creaky bed, still connected in that fierce duel. You do all of this for him. So much for a disgusting creature who is greedy and unmindful of others.

It's only fair.

It was only fair to give you the last bout of tenderness, lust, and passion. To give any final positive emotions he had clinging onto the edge. To give it all away before it becomes another cautious tale for others to heed and understand.

It's only fair that you are granted one last act of affection from him.

You were sweet; you smelled so divine. The sugary syrup was still fresh on your lips, and your soft moans grew as Miguel grinded against you, his length growing under the fabric of his suit. He wanted to take his time. He has to; this is for you; you both will never have this again.

You pull away, sucking in an abundance of air. Your lips were puffy and red, while Miguel only watched. You started to speak until Miguel took your back in, nibbling your bottom lip, his tongue down your throat, and whirling it madly.

Miguel has never acted this way before. You would joke around about how he's a predator who is delightful and soft to his prey, but now he evidently might have stripped away that title to be a full-blown predator. You were frightened, though highly aroused. Your hands massaged his shoulders, but it was nearly impossible to get rid of any tension in them. Finally, you managed to pry away from the starved kiss and gulp down some more air.

“Miggy, are you stressed out? If this is your way of saying you want to take out some frustration on me, all you had to do was ask.” You laughed, nudging your forehead into his.

The joyous sounds began to die down when Miguel didn't make a single peep. Those intense irises were all you mainly focused on. You were seriously fucking worried.

“Is... Miguel, is everything okay? You haven't said much, and I want to help, but I don't know how much I'm allowed in for this-”

“I want to make love to you. Will you allow me?” He said it in an unsettling tone.

That caught you off-guard. You gaped, your mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land. “I-I, I mean you can. You are allowed, yes.”

“Will you allow me to fuck you?” He commanded, but he also sounded distressed.

That severely caught you off-guard. There is something going on. Miguel is a straightforward man, but not excessively concrete when it comes to intimate moments. You primarily decide to discuss whatever was going on after; even though now would have been better, there was a desperation in his eyes.

“Yes, mi Estrella, you can, but please know we should tal- mmph!”

Once again, you were cut off by the lip lock, as it somehow amplified. His conscience was growing berserk; he had to please you. He needed to. He had to.

He ripped off your tank top. You wanted to protest, impishly pretending to be displeased, but stayed hushed. Your back arched when he harshly groped your breasts, tweaking and squeezing the nipples. He tugged and pulled them, his unsheathed claws carefully dragging against the smooth mounds, taking in your faint moans.

Circling the areola, he bent downward, taking a hardened bud in his mouth, sucking and greedily gnawing at it. Your fingers stroke his hair, releasing a comforting sigh.

Maybe it was the mass of stress from work catching up to him. It explains the haziness and absence in his eyes whenever you observe him in his current condition. Tapping his head, you pulled Miguel out of his trance of mindlessly moving back and forth between your breasts.

“Miggy?”

“Yes?” He popped the right nipple out of his mouth and scanned your face to see if something was wrong.

“I was thinking… When was the last time I’ve gone down on you?”

He froze. No, this isn’t what was supposed to happen. He was going to only take care of you because you needed this. He shouldn’t receive any treatment from you.

Yet, when he stares into those tempting eyes, he wanders in, adoring the feeling of becoming lost in them.

“I-I can’t remember. Maybe a week or two ago? I–I don’t know.” He was being selfish. This is for you, not him. He fought and shoved those malicious thoughts of your lips around him.

How your pretty little lips will engulf each inch for him.

He mentally shook them aside.

“I want to care for you. Will you allow me to, mi Estrella?”

Internally, he's shouting, dismissing any variety of pleasure that he shouldn't rightfully have. But, to make you happy, he will do whatever pleases you because you're the one who is truly deserving.

“Ay, si, mi… mi Luna.” With no hesitation, he swaps positions, mounting you on his stomach.

“Suit, mister, I feel you poking me with that stick.” You grinned, eyebrows wagging flirtatiously. A rising quiver of a smile nearly trailed his lips until he dropped it.

“Don't worry, mi Estrella, I'll make sure you feel extra, extra good.” You rubbed his unseen chest, igniting that excitement in you. “Now, the suit, Miggy.”

This was your rule, and he must follow through no matter what. Removing the gear entirely, he powered down, detached his communication watch, and tossed it on your nightstand. Nothing will deflect him from this.

“There we go. Let me value and dedicate my devotion to you.” Your fingers drifted across his pecs, the curves and indents of his muscles, your mouth watering at this marbled bronze beauty of a man who lay underneath.

You wondered if you had unknowingly sealed a deal with the devil. A contract you'll never break.

“What did I do to get you?” You tried to knead any strain from him, “Tell me what I did to get an amazing, gorgeous man like yourself on my bed, lying beneath me?”

You left feather-light kisses anywhere you could on his scarred, tanned skin, your tongue occasionally dipping into the nicks of his rough skin and creeping up to his neck, nibbling the brawny flesh. Your warm breath sends prickles down his spine, gaining a ragged grunt.

Miguel caught the rebuttals that were ready to tumble out. He’s not entitled to spoil this for you. His brain was a broken record; he replayed one thing over and over, skipping over the other lines that got lost in the track: ‘For her. This is for her. All of this is for her.’

His shaft ached for you; he tried to keep the begs in, but they taunted him. “Mi… Ah- mi Luna... por favor, necesito que me toques—I need you to—”

“Shh, yes, mi Estrella. I will take care of you.” You whispered against his chest, edging yourself down tantalizingly slowly.

He had to prevent himself from bucking and compulsively rushing you down with his hands. He could only observe your engaging lips making their way down until you finally made it to his pulsating, raging erection.

“Whoa, Miggy, I don't think I've ever seen it this prominent. Everything about you is so beefy.” You snickered, eyeing the phallus. His tip was red-hot; thick heaps of transparent fluids smothered most of the firm length, veins webbing from nearly all sides.

“Let's see.” You tapped the glans a couple times before brushing your fingertip over the body to the base and back up. You were the paintbrush, and Miguel was the canvas.

Sucking in air through his teeth, he keenly watched you stroking him, adding finger after finger until you wrapped around him. “You're so big, mi Estrella. I love this cock so much.”

You hummed, leaving random peppered kisses, before pumping in a steady manner. He groaned, his head writhing on the pillow.

“There it is. Don't hold back, okay, mi Estrella?” Your hand held that rhythmic motion as the other crept its way up his meaty thigh and began to palm at his balls.

Miguel pursed his lips as your wispy digits generated electrifying jolts. He was unfit to be touched by you. The twisting on his cock and the cupping on his sack sent his brain into a fever.

He couldn't control his moans when your tongue found his balls, flicking and twirling between the two. He gripped the linen at the vibrations when you purred and lifted your head back up.

“Joder, Luna mía, por favor, por favor no, necesito poder cuidar de ti—Aah!”

You enveloped a quarter of him, noisily slobbering as many fluids drooled down your chin and on his trimmed pubic hair. Bobbing up and down, you cautiously squeezed his scrotum, moaning to send exhilarating thrills to him.

“I- fuck me, I-I need, I can't-” Miguel gasped when you swallowed more until he reached the back of your throat.

You were on a mission to have him submit and relax. Placing both hands on his thighs, you sped up. Your hooded eyes peering up into his hypnotic, mesmerizing iridescent ones. Your tongue glided and swirled in spirals as you sucked in your cheeks to have it rub against them.

Miguel groaned at the warmth of your mouth, tangling his fingers into your hair, and bucked his hips. Tears rushed down as you deep-throated him like your life depended on it.

He was so big, but you didn't care; it was just you and him, no one else. You were determined as you moved quicker, gagging yourself as the suction got louder.

He was prepared to burst; your muffled moans and his were harsh in his eardrums. Your nails pricked his tough skin, imprinting markings on them. Pushing your tongue out, you uncontrollably bobbed your head, tasting the delectable saltiness from his pre-ejaculation.

Your palms caressed his abs and proud V-line, not lessening your immediacy and craving for him to spill over, when you were hastily moved away from his cock and twisted on your back.

His eyes were glowering, a darkened red, as he took in your disordered, foggy state. Drool and his filth were running down the sides of your mouth.

“Mig- mi Estrella, you didn't get to—wait, wait! Miggy, let me- Miguel!”

He tore your pajama bottoms and panties off in one fell swoop and stared. It was perfect. Your murky juices shimmered on the sheets, seeping out, as you clenched at nothing. The pride that usually swarms through his veins was blocked out. He couldn't be proud of that anymore.

He moved himself between your legs, spreading them all the way, and bound them to the bed. You fidgeted, poking at the silky netting, before he took your wrists and pushed them over your head.

“I will make you feel a way you never felt.” He snarled on your neck, forming goosebumps all over.

“O-okay.” Was all you could squeak out.

He traced phantom lines and circles against the inner thighs and outer folds, concentrating on memorizing your delicate skin and listening to your sharp breaths and drawn-out moans. He alternated between light touches and firm pressure, letting your wetness soak his fingers.

“Mi-Miggy.” Your eyelids waned in anticipation, his darkened gaze having you timidly shiver.

He brought himself to his knees and dipped his head, the air dense with temptation. Nipping and biting the soft flesh, he worked his way up and reached your heated sex as streams of wind came from his nose onto your sensitive, swollen clit. The need in your loins and stomach was heady in temperature.

“Mi–Mi Estrella!” You blurted that out louder than you thought.

“Sé que sé.” Licking the outline of your pussy with his tongue and along the slit. Your chest heaved, hands running through his curly locks, whimpering out from the lazed movements.

You were enjoying yourself; that’s what he wanted. What he wanted? The mental feud began to sink in.

No longer taking his time, he dove in, lapping up your sweet nectar. He slurped and flitted at every tender spot he found on your folds and labia.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at the sudden change of mood. He is a sheer predator at this moment.

“Oh, Miggy, this pussy is all yours–mmn!

You squeezed around his tongue as Miguel switched between rolling your clitoris with his teeth and fingers, operating in an uneven pattern.

He melted into your sopping pussy, swashing the juices as he buried his head, wagging it fanatically. His claws penetrate your skin, generating his own engravings.

His grunts sent sparks shooting up your spine. You were in space; you could see the whole infinite universe. Your raspy pants picked up when he devoured your vagina, trembling over every sloppy taste and lap.

“Miguel, I'm close!” You slurred in that drunken blur. Your walls tighten around the invasive, ravaging appendage.

Increasing the intensity, he sucked harder, your nails clawing his shoulders as your back curled off the bed when he pushed three of his sheathed, long digits into your hole, pumping wildly.

“Mi-Miguel, OH SHIT-”

“Mmph! Mmmn!”

His tongue wriggled over the throbbing nub, his fingers spraying out your creaminess over his palms whenever they came into contact with your folds.

White was the only thing you saw as a powerful climax washed over. Your figure trembled as your muscles quivered and pulsated.

Hoarse cries escaped, your body shimmering in sweat, mouth open, and eyes glazed over. You are an angel to him.

“Holy- holy shit... Miggy, that was... You were an animal, I-”

You were disrupted when he intrusively gave you a rough kiss, tasting the tang on his tongue. The mesh was removed, and his sheathed hands clumsily roamed, pinched, and grasped any part of your body, wanting to savor these last moments.

“Miggy, everything will be okay. Whatever is going on, know I'm here.” You pecked his check, leaving even more on his neck.

He nearly strangled out a sob. You were so generous. Unselfish. He needed you. He wanted you one final time.

Why was he so inconsiderate?

“I need… I need you; please let me…”

“You can have me, mi Estrella. You always can, because I trust you.”

Several strings snapped in place.

Grabbing your leg, he bent it up to your chest, and wrapped some web around your ankle. He shot the silk to the ceiling, tugging it a couple of times to make sure it was in place. You trembled, looking up at Miguel. The fervid stare wouldn't disappear; your vision was hazy. You were displayed as he raked his eyes over your panting lips and the sweat dribbling from every gland.

A glistering art piece in the infinite night's heavens. Art that is being defaced by his corruptive hands.

Squeezing your grappled thigh, he positioned himself once more, taking the other leg around his waist and shoving himself in one go. He rutted into you, and the bed impacted into the wall repeatedly as it clashed with your cries and shouts of pleasure.

“Mi-Miguel! Slo-slow down! Slow–ah!”

His cock was rubbing up your walls, taking in every squelch, every squish, and every drenched slapping as you constricted, squeezing the thick, veiny shaft as he thrust with his crazy speeds.

Your wetness sloshed out on his lower abdomen and thighs with every bullish lurch. The sheets were defiled with murky blotches as Miguel dug his talons into your outer thigh, a few trickles of blood seeping out. Your screams could be heard from the whole apartment floor.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

That hammering pace never lets up, his length throbbing as he remembers every part of your velvety pussy fluttering and tightening. Every cry you made, every euphoric moan because of his cock molding and overwhelming your loving, yearning sex.

The bedframe cried alongside you. Shocking jolts coursed through your veins, and drops of tears ran down your cheeks, nose, and mouth as you tasted the salty water. Miguel grunted close, nipping your earlobe and feeling his fangs graze against it.

He heard his and your hearts beating irregularly, his hip bones buckling into yours, which would surely leave bruises in the morning. The engorged cock bulging you with each fill. He needed to remember all the senseless garbles and whimpers.

This beautiful face.

Enclosing your arms around his taut, damp neck, you croaked and gasped out vulnerable and cherishing remarks.

“I love you, mi Estrella! Oh–mmn, you are wonderful to me!”

He clenched up, his hips involuntary picking up more momentum.

Don't say that.

“You deserve the world; you deserve this! You deserve it!” Your whines chimed louder.

He growled out, leaning down, and rolled his pelvis into yours uncoordinatedly and immoderately. The floorboards groan with each jolt as the bed legs scrape against the wood.

No, I'm a monster. Don't say that.

His arms crash down to each side of your head, his razor-edged fingertips slashing up the fabrics underneath. Your fluids covered both lower regions as they dripped down to your bottom and splattered on your stomach and his abs.

With foggy vision and a heavy head, you couldn't handle the overstimulation. Your brain was so far gone that you could hardly continue the enchanting praises. Eyes flickering in the back, you sink your nails in his skin, your bounded leg losing its feeling, but the battering from Miguel overwrites it as his bulbous tip abused your cervix, refusing to hold back.

“So- so good—so, so, amazing.” You slurred as he found the right spot once more. “Ah! Don't stop! Oh, Miguel, I love you!”

Why?! Don't say that! Why do you make this so damn difficult?!

A guttural, animalistic noise reverberated from his chest and throat. He tore right into your blankets and mattress. He yanked one claw out of the tattered furniture, slicing the web, as you yelped at your limb suddenly collapsing back on the bed.

“Miggy!”

He picked you up by the sides, propping himself on his knees and lodging his clawed feet in the bed. He hooked your legs around his waist and lower hip. You didn't loosen your hold on his neck, as his robust arms kept your back sturdy, his chest against yours.

He pressed a kiss against the puncture wound, erupting back into his beastly action.

His balls striking against your ass, your melodious moans and raw whines, his low groans and husky rasping, and the crashing collisions of your sticky, soaked bodies resounded all over the rooms.

You would put any orchestral symphony to shame.

You took every inch. You were able to be molded by him. He will look back on your beautiful expressions from every passionate session. He will think back on how he was the one to make you float and feel these incredible sensations.

“Miguel! Mi Estrella! I-I can't keep–Aah!”

“Fuck—mmn- fuck, fuck, fuck-”

Those screams, those dilated pupils, the dribbles of spit, tears, and sweat raining down on your face and body.

This body. He will never forget your body.

A carnal, maniac tempo set further, his cock ramming into your insides. He will recall how you perfectly squeezed for him or how he rubbed your g-spot so nicely to elicit more raspy wails for the Gods above.

“I love you! Oh Miguel!”

I'm so sorry.

He will never forget your love. He will never disregard these tender and compassionate moments with you.

He captured your lips. Your tongues in a slow, mellow waltz, despite the contrast of the barbaric movements. Placing his forehead on yours, he choked back another sob. He will miss this display of affection.

“I'm close! I'm close! I'm–I'm- Miguel!”

You screeched out, shockwaves convulsing from head to toe. Goosebumps took over as you shivered and clamped around Miguel, whose thrusts were irregular as he neared his release.

He will miss you taking every drop of him. He will miss how you devoted a part of your life to him.

He will never forget the kids that ran through his head. In that ever-growing garden of beauty and goods, with your smile and his eyes.

Miguel shuddered and roared out, shooting thick webs of white deep into your core. He didn't stop until he was empty, and every vile string painted and coated every part of your walls.

You whined when his fangs pricked your neck, essentially stabbing at it. He didn't let up either. He remained this way for a few moments as blood ran down your shoulder. You were fully immobilized.

Pulling out, he licked and cleaned the wound, slowly laying you down. Streams of his essence spilled out until he forcibly gathered a satisfying amount and shoved it back into you.

“Mi... Mig... I love... you... you are a... laven…”

You couldn't move a single thing, not even your eyes. He inserted a good amount. You listened to your heart palpitate in your eardrums. In the morning, things can be discussed and disputed.

He only stared at your spent and limp body, covered in bruises, marks, scratches, and hickies. He skimmed over at the shredded covers and mattress, and dents now left on your wall. The floor must be damaged and streaked.

There was no clarity. There are no remedies for this tormenting misery. Only disgust, bile hatred, and disdain for the cardinal sin he imposed on you.

Strings covered his legs and lower torso.

The intoxicating aroma lingered in the atmosphere, his nose picking up every scent of your lovely fragrance and his putrid stench.

He slid off the bed and into the bathroom, coming out with freshly dry and damp rags and a tube of pain ointment. He intensively wiped and cleansed your body, applying the cream over the scars he caused.

You evidently appeared relaxed. Your chest was rising in a gradual, even sequence, as you were fast asleep. You're at peace. You've been tainted for the last time.

Miguel snared, then went vacant. That itch was heightening, or was that guilt? He imposed an act so heinous, an act so atrocious for his true motives. He couldn't keep doing this to you. Disturbing you with his recklessness in a falsified manner that he disguised as devotion, fondness, and appreciation…

I'm so sorry, mi Luna…

He stroked your cheek, hot teardrops streaming down from the tip of his nose onto your beauty. He took in every feature, from every lash to every perfection you found imperfect. This is what he wanted to retain the most of. Being able to gaze upon this gentle, compassionate, and divine soul one last time.

Especially after such an undignified exploitation.

He leaned his forehead on yours and let a tortured cry out.

“I'm so sorry, Mi Luna. For all the burdens I have borne. You won't have to bear them any more.”

He didn’t get any sleep that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@ella-janehaven @prozacgooble @sanguwuxyoonbummy

#miguel o'hara #tales the songs weave #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel smut #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #atsv miguel #miguel fanfic #miguel spiderverse #miguel x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara x y/n #atsv #miguel o'hara x you

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pengychan · 13 days ago

Text

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 38

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: E Status: In progress

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

*** Guess who thought she could wrap up the Big Fight in one chapter alone. Bonus points if you guess who could not, in fact, wrap up the Big Fight in one chapter alone. (I may or may not have decided whether some attacks hit or not by rolling dice.) The art at the end of this chapter is by @sabbathism! Also, chapter 34 and 35 both have art now, so go back to check it out! ***

It was impossible for any mortal soul who spent time in the Hells not to become tainted by it in some way. When everything around her was drowned in light and every devil who’d been looking on screamed as one - flesh and skin sizzling loud enough to be heard through the cries, through Duke Hutijin’s veritable roar - Dalah, too, thought it would kill her.

It did not burn her, but it was too much, too bright, smothering. It hurt her eyes, made her stumble back against the wall and fall on her knees, covering her face with both hands. She was still reeling when a voice spoke, soft yet unyielding, like velvet-covered iron.

“You have called upon me. Yet you are not the one I gave my feather to.”

Dalah swallowed and dared pull her hands away, cracking her eyes open. The light had dimmed to something bearable, at least for her. Around them, fiends lay screaming on the ground, or tried to run for cover. Further ahead, Barbas tried to cover himself with his cloak while Hutijin roared in blind fury, an arm still over his eyes. He tried to step forward, lifting his mace, only to be struck by a golden mastodon large enough to take up much of the hallway.

“I got this!” it cried out, the voice much too shrill for a creature that size. As the pit fiend and many of the guards he commanded were sent tumbling back by the force of the impact, Dalah met the gaze of… well. Not quite a gaze. The celestial above her had a blindfold over her eyes, yet she seemed to be looking right at her.

Dalah swallowed. “It was to help them. I… they have to-- if Mephistopheles found out--”

“Hush. Let me in,” the celestial spoke, except that her lips did not move, and the voice was in her own head. The next moment she felt it - a presence searching in her mind as though shining a light someplace dark, looking through thoughts and memories and images - of the vaults, of all the faces of her son, of the mortals who accompanied him - and of the thought of the fight that had perhaps already begun, all of them against the Lord of the Eighth.

It was unpleasant, but it only lasted a moment. Then the presence retreated, and the celestial smiled. That alone soothed the discomfort, made her forget her fear.

“I see and I understand,” that voice spoke straight in her mind once more. “You seek to help them, and thus my sword is yours. Find the incubus, and get as far from here as you can. My friend and I shall keep them away for as long as the summon lasts. Go, mortal.”

There was a cry, something screamed in the guttural snarls of Infernal, and Dalah looked up to see that some of the guards had regrouped, and were now rushing at Zariel and her mastodon, with Duke Hutijin leading the charge. Dalah had just enough time to stand and run through the same door she’d seen Haarlep duck into before they met, and chaos ensued - a vicious battle soon joined by more fiends, many against two. But it was not her battle.

I have to find Haarlep, was all she could think. The hall she was in was mostly empty but for a few fiends who had limped inside to get away from the holy light and were now laying on the floor, some motionless and some still groaning, most of them with blistered skin and eyes white as a cooked fish’s. No trace of anything resembling an ascended fiend, but of course--

A clawed hand landed on her shoulder, causing her to almost cry out. The voice that followed was raspy and unfamiliar - but the words caused the scream to die in her throat, and fear to turn to relief. “Well, looks like we really should make ourselves scarce, don’t you agree?”

Haarlep had taken the form of a cornugon, and they gestured for her to follow them to the nearest window. The blizzard raged outside, as always, and the incubus turned to tear a cloak off the shoulders of a harvester devil who lay on the floor, groaning, asking in a whine what had happened. They draped it over Dalah, pulled the hood over her head.

“Better wrap up. It is rather cold outside.”

“Outside?” Dalah turned to look at the blizzard, biting her lower lip. She had never been outside Mephistar ever since her servitude had started; she’d heard a few minutes exposed to the ruthless Canian cold would be enough to freeze her solid. Haarlep hummed.

“Only a short flight, I assure you. But it’s best for us to go a few levels down, away from battle. And the safest route is from outside,” they added. In the hallway the mastodon trumpeted, swords clashed, someone screamed. Haarlep was right, of course - the blizzard was the lesser evil, if the Hells did have such a thing as a lesser evil.

Haarlep threw the window open, and turned to her. She hesitated only a moment before reaching out, letting Haarlep pick her up. A quick check to make sure the cloak was wrapped tight around her and they leaped out of the window without a word of warning, leaving the chaos of the battle behind and causing Dalah to mute a scream against their shoulder while they plummeted down, down, down, towards the glacier below.

Neither of them noticed one wounded fiend watching them leave from the far end of the room, features twisting in a scowl.

***

“Well, sounds like leaving the feather with Haarlep was an excellent choice. I am half tempted to go downstairs and have a look at the carnage--”

“You’ll do no such thing, spawn. Keep moving.”

“See, this is why Raphael does not like you. Isn’t it right, Raphael?”

“Among other reasons.”

“I’ll try to bear the sorrow. This way - quick!”

In normal circumstances, the powerful devils who dwelled in the upper floors of Mephistopheles’ palace would have seen through their simple invisibility spell easily enough. But with a celestial wreaking havoc a few floors beneath them and most fiends at court either seeking refuge behind closed doors or rushing to join the battle, they went unnoticed all the way up - through corridors and halls, up stairs and finally, to a hall grander than the rest, one more hallway… and that was where the spell dissolved.

But it did not matter. They were close, and the way forward was clear.

“This is where I wish you luck and take my leave,” Adonides spoke, gaining himself a scoff from Raphael which he returned with a glare. “Asmodeus’ orders. But of course I would not be coming in with you either way. I’d be the first you’d sacrifice as cannon fodder.”

“... Hmph. I won’t insult your intelligence or mine by denying it,” Raphael muttered.

Adonides gave him one last, long look. “I wish you luck. I do. For Cania, if nothing else.”

“I’ll do my best not to die. I’d appreciate it if you could find my incubus, and my mother. Ensure that they survive this, too. I wouldn’t forget it.”

‘And I won’t destroy you if I live to be Lord of Cania’, was what that meant, and Adonides understood perfectly. He nodded. “... I’ll see what I can do, little duke,” he replied, and in a whirl of icy wind he was gone, leaving them alone only a couple of halls away from the doors leading to Mephistopheles’ throne room. Raphael breathed in, and turned.

Normally, those halls would be patrolled by Duke Hutijin; a fearsome opponent indeed. But he was not there, busy battling the former archduke of Avernus, and nothing was left between them and the Lord of the Eighth. “He must be aware of Zariel’s presence,” he said, and resumed walking. “That may have kept him from noticing us thus far, but it won’t last. Follo--”

“Raphael, wait,” Durge called out, and when Raphael turned they were holding out something priceless indeed - a personal gift from Bel himself. He’d faintly wondered what had become of it near the beginning of that rather unlikely quest, when Haarlep had returned the gloves to him, but other events had quickly pushed the thought out of his mind. Truth be told, he’d forgotten all about it until now, with Durge holding it out to him - the Helldusk Armor.

“I entirely forgot I had it,” Durge was saying, as though they were not talking about an armor crafted by the forgemaster of Avernus himself. “I assume the boots are part of it - I found them in Wyrm's Rock. Did Gortash take them with him when he fled Avernus?”

“That he did,” Raphael replied. He’d raged when he’d found out part of his armor set was missing. It had been two or three decades earlier, no more, yet it felt like centuries now. He reached out to take the armor, only to pause and frown. “Is it cheese I am smelling?”

Durge had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Yes, that is-- some cheese ended up in the-- well. I will make sure to better separate camp supplies from equipment going forward.”

“Count yourself lucky. It took me days to get the smell of fish out of this one,” Astarion muttered, gesturing at the penumbral armor he was wearing. Between that and the Shadow of Menzoberranzan, it seemed he had come to the conclusion that stealth and quick strikes, followed by an even quicker retreat, would be his best strategy. He was not wrong on that.

Nor was Durge wrong in assuming Raphael would want to wear the Helldusk Armor: he was going to need all the help he could get. For that, he supposed he could endure the smell of cheese. So he nodded, took it. A burst of flames and there he stood, clad in his old armor; it felt good, like slipping his hand into an old glove and finding it still fit him no matter how much he’d gone through. Speaking of which…

The gloves Haarlep had given him were in his bag, and he put them on before glancing up. Astarion had stepped closer and was holding out something else - the armor’s own helmet.

“Found this in your vault alongside the staff,” he said. “And Mol’s contract. And all the gold.”

Raphael snorted. “Of course you did,” he muttered, and took the helmet. He was rather grateful to find that it did not, at least, smell of cheese. He cast a quick spell of invisibility on it, so that his sire could see his face, and put it on.

“Oooh, looking scary now,” Karlach muttered, leaning on her silvered halberd. Like she wasn’t a fearsome sight herself, clad in bonespike gear. “Ready to go in, soldier?”

No. I am not ready. I don’t think any of us are. But we have no choice, and so in we go.

Raphael looked down at himself, and nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said in the end. He cast one more spell on himself; he had to choose between foresight and mind blank, and he chose the former. Casting mind blank first would make him impervious to foresight, and it would be good to anticipate his father’s first moves. It was less time than he’d hoped he’d have to prepare, but it would have to do.

To his right, Wyll Ravengard laughed. “Good enough. Well then, let us go forth and con--”

“Wait,” Halsin called out, and held up something - an armful of potions, elixirs and oils. For speed, for strength, for resistance, accuracy, and more. Where did all that come from? “We’ve been hoarding all these for the right fight. I suspect this is that fight.”

Ravengard let out a hum. “Oh, you never know. We might be asked to take down Asmodeus next,” he said, and Raphael’s laughter was almost sincere as he reached for the bottles.

***

Mephistopheles knew a celestial had manifested at the heart of his citadel as soon as it happened, and had his eyes on it - or rather, on her - within a scarce minute. It was unmistakable, the divine aura about her; particularly to a being who had given out that very same aura himself, once. Even though that had been such a short part of his long existence he still remembered it and oh, how he loathed the memory.

The demons he’d fought at the very beginning of the War had loathed it too, of course; they took a savage joy in each celestial light they were about to snuff out. They had almost snuffed out his own, once, when he’d been too deep into the Abyss as the trumpets sounded, calling for a retreat. He’d been surrounded before he knew it, arrogant young thing that he was, and soon enough he was unarmed, helpless, ready for a last blow that never came.

There had been light, causing the shrieking chaos or the horde to part, and the beating of wings. He recalled Asmodeus’ hand stretching down towards him and grasping his wrist, he recalled Dispater’s mace crushing every demon who tried to come between them.

They’d put up a fierce fight, the three of them, as they climbed their way back to the heavens.

Hold fast, brothers, hold fast, the resplendent celestial who’d one day become the King of the Hells had said, almost snarled, savagery twisting his beautiful visage while they fought back entire hordes. I swear on my holy light, I shall never let you die.

Only later had Mephisto learned that, in their mad dash down the chasm and into the Abyss to reach him on time, Asmodeus and Dispater had defied clear orders to retreat and leave stragglers behind. Their first act of defiance, for his sake, and they had borne the punishment for it in silence; Mephisto had borne it with them, insisted on it.

And it was on that day, perhaps, that something had changed.

The first angels to fall, as they called them on Mount Celestia, but that was one of their many lies. They had not fallen; they had carved their own path, contract in hand and away from their influence, to build their own power. Asmodeus had made his throne; Mephistopheles had made his libraries and laboratories; Dispater had built his iron city, the tower at its heart. More had followed them, joined their ranks; some had indeed fallen due to failings of their own, like Baalzebul did long ago… or Zariel, much more recently.

But she’d risen again, it seemed, and her holy light shone anew - this time much deeper than Avernus, in his own court. Bold of her, he had to give her that. But most of all he had to wonder - what was she doing there?

The scrying eye gave him few answers, if any. Zariel fought viciously, her war mount at her side, against dozens of pit fiends; Duke Hutijin led the charge, crossing his mace with her blade time and time again. Of all of them, he was the one who could put up the fiercest fight - that was no surprise. But what Mephisto truly noticed was something else: Zariel gave her back to the stairs leading higher up the palace, to the spire where he resided and had his throne and grand hall. She was not being held back from reaching the higher levels of his palace: she was keeping everyone else away. A distraction.

And he could think of only one being who might be bold enough to seek a celestial’s assistance in Mephistar of all places; only one being who might even ask for such a favor, having had a hand in turning the archduke of Avernus into a celestial once again. And his ascended half, he could see, was conspicuously missing from the fight raging only a few floors below his grand hall.

Raphael. He is here. Mephistopheles’ lips curled in a smile that held no more warmth than the glacier his citadel was carved into. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the scrying orb he’d been looking at and stood. He closed his eyes, tuned out the hum of the celestial’s presence, and focused on something else - more subdued, but familiar.

Raphael was many things, few of which he could find in himself to praise. But he was, undeniably, of his blood. And that blood called to him, too, if he listened closely enough.

Mephistar was more than a citadel, more than a jewel fashioned out of ice; every wall and floor and ceiling was as much an extension of him as the rest of Cania was. His consciousness unfurled, through walls of ice and heated air, listening, seeking… and he did not need to seek far. Raphael was indeed at his door, all of him. How that could be, he did not know. He’d make sure to ask, before he ended him. It’d take him but a moment… if he chose to be merciful, of course. He could draw his death out for much, much longer than that.

Mephistopheles, Lord of No Mercy, smiled as he called out for his son.

***

There was a time when Dalah had not feared heights at all.

Being raised by the Storm Horns in Cormyr had seen to that since an early age, and things which seemed daunting to most - like crossing a narrow bridge across a gaping crevasse - had never been a problem.

Not for her and certainly not for her brother, who’d carried her on his shoulders over those bridges long before she could walk. He had been fearless, she recalled, sure-footed as a cat but far more reckless. She recalled him almost dancing across those narrow bridges, or just jumping from one side to the other, curly black hair bouncing as he did.

The boldness of youth, she recalled her mother saying, laughing. But then a seemingly solid rock had given way beneath Israfel’s foot, and he would never grow any older than he’d been that day. Young, bold, and gone before his time; he’d plummeted down a crevasse so deep it would take three full days to recover his body - a body she had not been allowed to see.

The last image she had of him was that look of utter surprise that barely had the time to turn into terror, an arm stretching out towards her. Dalah had reached out too, for that hand which had brushed away her tears after a bad dream, while he sang to her all the rhymes he knew - but she was too far away. She’d known even then that she was too small to save him, even if she could reach his hand; that she would have just gone over the edge with him.

Even with that knowledge, she’d dreamed of that grasping hand for a very long time - fingers clawing at nothing before Israfel disappeared down, down into the chasm with hardly a scream. Their mother had not laughed, then, or-- I lost the wrong child -- or even again as far as she could recall. Dalah had never been able to bear heights again.

Any heights whatsoever - let alone the thousand or so feet between the window they’d jumped out from and the icy ground below. She could not bear to look, and so she did not. She closed her eyes, clung to Haarlep, and just kept her face pressed against their shoulder when finally wings unfurled, and their fall came to a stop.

They were warm, too; that helped, with the blizzard whipping at them, cutting through any layers of clothing she had on. The descent resumed, but smoother, more controlled; then they landed onto a balcony, and Haarlep put her down before they took on a different form - a tiefling. “Now, Lady Baalphegor did say this would always be open… ah, good. This way.”

They pushed a door open, and slipped back inside the citadel. They were rather low down but still within the upper levels, in the huge pantries below the kitchens that served the court; there were crates of food, and no one else in sight. Dalah took off the cloak, shaking snow and ice off it. “What… what do we do now?”

“My instructions if it ever came to this are to peel potatoes and lay low. I’m not very good at laying low. And you’ll probably have to show how to peel a potato,” Haarlep spoke, but their grin died down when they turned to Dalah. She said nothing, but she did not need to. They were perceptive as always. “... It has to be now, doesn’t it? Now that the game is up.”

“... Yes. Adonides told me to buy him time, and left.” She breathed out, and somehow she felt colder now than she did at any point while in the midst of the blizzard. For a moment she saw it again - her brother’s wide eyes when he realized the ground had given way beneath him, the way his fingers grasped at the air, and then… “Do you think he has a chance?” she choked out, and Haarlep bit their lower lip. They crossed their arms as though they, too, were cold. When they spoke, it was with their gaze fixed on the floor.

“I don’t know that. But I know Raphael. If there is a chance, he’ll seize it. Maybe Mephistopheles won’t see it coming. He thinks him as inoffensive as a mouse next to his might.” They looked up, and finally, they smiled. “This would be a really good moment for my little brat to prove he truly was the fox all along.”

Down came the claw, Dalah thought, and I can only pray it’s his own.

She did not speak as much aloud; she just nodded, and sat back on a crate, trying to fight back the growing sense of dread. She tried to recall the vision she’d seen then, Israfel standing above Mephisto’s broken corpse, and she clung to that with all she had.

***

“If anyone wishes to leave, this is the moment.”

Raphael spoke quietly, hands hovering before the double doors of ice that led to his father’s throne room. His voice was tense and the words more than a touch dramatic, with the long pause and all. The most theatrical part of him - which was to say, all of him - was probably patting itself on the back right then.

Unfortunately for him, few of them quite shared his taste for theatrics. Durge guffawed.

“Bit bloody late for that, don’t you think?”

“We signed a binding contract, remember?”

“And even without it, we’re in too deep to just leave.”

“Stop trying to sound cool and open the door, soldier. I have an axe to grind on your old man.”

“Don’t you mean, an axe to grind with-- ”

“No. I said what I said.”

Raphael breathed in, and the next breath out was almost a chuckle. “Don’t make me regret ever approaching you more than I already do,” he said, and went to push the doors open.

He never got a chance.

“Come forth, boy. Face your maker, if you dare.”

The voice reverberated through the doors, through the walls, through their very bones. The massive set of doors swung open an instant before Raphael touched them, beckoning them inside a massive throne room. Ice, all of it, a pit of fire and a pit of swirling souls at either side of an empty throne. And, descending the few steps from that throne to the ground, clad in robes of dark blue and silver, was the Lord of the Eighth.

Durge had seen portrayals of several visages of Mephistopheles. In most of them, there were things which were unchanged - the long straight black eyes, the beard at his chin, the four ram-like horns adorning his head. The visage of the Lord of Hellfire, with crimson skin and dead white eyes, bore a striking resemblance to his son’s… but it was not the one he was wearing that day.

That day, the visage before them was that of the Cold Lord, with dark blue skin that turned almost black at the base of his horns, and cold eyes of the lightest blue. His features too seemed different in that form of his, more gaunt, sharper. It made Durge think of shards of ice indeed.

But beneath it all, the Lord of Hellfire yet burned; what balance there had been between the collected façade and the raging passions inside had broken, and threatened to break up his entire layer. He looked perfectly at ease, entirely in control. And yet, if he was anything as his son had been…

He makes mistakes when he’s angry.

He did not seem angry now; somewhat annoyed, perhaps vaguely amused. He spared them a passing glance, pausing briefly on Durge - the slightest grimace; surely he knew who they were, of their role in the heist that had started it all - before looking at son.

Raphael met his gaze, and for a moment he was silent, lips pressed together in a thin line before he spoke one word, clipped and cold. “Father.”

“Raphael,” Mephistopheles greeted him, and chuckled. A gesture of his hand, and the great ice doors slammed shut once more behind them, locking them in with him.

Good, Durge thought. They could sense their companion’s tenseness as though they all shared the same nerves, hear a faint creak as Karlach’s grip on her weapon tightened, the whisper of an arrow being pulled out of its quiver.

But none of them moved, not yet, as Mephisto spoke again. Out of a grand window, so tall it almost reached the vaulted ceiling, the blizzard raged. “Such a long journey to return here, in my grasp, to die all the same. A waste of time, and yet you have brought me a gift.” Those pale blue eyes shited on Durge. “The one who started it all, one of the thieves who stole from my vaults. The banite’s life is extinguished, his soul beyond my grasp, but I shall have your blood, child of Bhaal. Do not doubt that. Yours, and that of the vampire spawn who denied me seven thousand souls I was owed.”

The cold gaze turned to Astarion, and Mephistopheles’ lips pulled open to reveal teeth that looked much too sharp, even for a fiend. Thin and pointed, like those of a fish of the deep. “Your old master is being tormented here for failing to uphold the bargain, did you know that? Perhaps I’ll keep you, too, to torture each other. What a touching reunion that would be.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Astarion, a low growl from Karlach and Halsin both, and Durge’s grip on their staff tightened just as Wyll shifted to stand between Astarion the the archdevil. But it was Raphael to speak, his voice a growl.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

A laugh, cold as a glacier. “Ah, growing bolder, are we? What do you precisely plan on doing?” A raised eyebrow, no trace of concern, no sign he felt in the least threatened.

And why would he? He was the Lord of the Eighth, at the very seat of his power. He did not know of the scheme which had unfolded around him, with none other than Asmodeus pulling the threads from the shadows. But at the end of the day, if Asmodeus was the great puppet master of the Hells, what did that make his archdevils?

“You have reclaimed your other half, somehow. A notable feat, I must admit,” Mephistopheles was saying. “The wise course of action would have been to then flee, and never return. But you were never wise.”

“And I suppose you’ll claim you’d have allowed me to keep living if I did.”

A chuckle, and Mephistopheles stepped closer, hands folded, not even attempting to cast yet. He was taller than Raphael, even like this, but they had been warned that he could change form - they had seen the size of his maw, in the Orb of Infernal Envisioning - and that in Ascension he was terrible to behold. Durge suspected they would soon find out how many terrible things lurked beneath the pleasant façade of the Lord of Cania.

“You were always too rash, for all the patience you so pride yourself in. If you and the thieves you associate with had waited but perhaps a day, you’d have known I had an offer--”

“Lady Antilia, for my fiend half. I am aware.”

That caused Mephistopheles to fall quiet, those pale blue eyes narrowing. A flash of something crossed his features, but was quickly smothered. He took a step towards them, still composed and regal as they come; Durge swallowed, ready to respond to an attack which did not come, not just yet.

“... Someone from my council was quick to inform you, I see. I shall get to the bottom of that, don’t you doubt it. But you still have time to return her, and walk out of here alive.”

Raphael did not reply right away. He only looked over at his sire, jaw clenched. “You once told me you sired more bastards than you cared to count. That none of us means a thing to you - the mere happenstance of your spraying seed, as I believe you put it once.”

Mephistopheles’ eyes narrowed further, two slits of pure malevolence. “Choose your next words carefully, whelp.”

“What makes her different?” he asked. The choice to refer to her in present tense, as though she still lived, did not escape Durge. It made sense, to try and keep Mephisto from learning the truth just yet. Mephistopheles did not, at least, deny his daughter once more.

Still, he grew wary. “... How did you extort such information?”

“I did not. She gave it willingly.”

“Mph. She did always have a soft spot for you. Either she did not see just how foolish you are, or found your idiocy endearing. Where is she?”

Raphael clenched his jaw, saying nothing as his gaze flickered away. Something flashed over Mephistopheles’ gaze, there one moment and gone the next, so quickly that Durge could not name it. It was as though he’d teetered on the brink of comprehension for an instant, and then wilfully turned away.

Instead, he sneered. “So be it. Since you insist on being whole, I’ll ensure I destroy all of you this time. I'll give you one more chance to listen to the sound of your own voice, as you so love it.” One more chance to tell him where his sister was, and perhaps he’d make it quick. “Do you have any last words?”

Raphael did not reply right away; he looked up, met his sire’s gaze, and he seemed to steel himself before he spoke. When he did, his voice was quiet, somber. Not mockery, not a challenge; only a message relayed, a promise fulfilled.

“... She wanted me to tell you that she was loyal.”

Durge remembered, quite vividly, how something had shifted in the House of Hope in the few instants before Raphael arrived to catch them in the act. They recalled the sensation of time slowing, the air itself becoming thicker, almost pushing back while they tried to move through it as though the House itself strove to keep them there - an extension of its master.

Now it was the same, yet much different. Now it was as though time stopped entirely; even the wind outside had stopped howling, as though all of existence itself-- every layer is an extension of its ruler -- was holding its breath in the deafening silence that followed.

It was a mere instant. It was eternity. It was the blink of an eye suspended in time, until finally Mephistopheles’ features twisted, almost blurred-- something else beneath the surface, ancient and terrible and hungering -- and at last, the Lord of the Eighth screamed .

At least, what was the only way one could describe it. It was a scream but also something else entirely, something which was not heard as much as it was felt. It reverberated into the walls and the ceiling, through the entire citadel, across all of Cania, wordless, overpowering.

The ground shook, the winds screamed again; outside the grand window glaciers collapsed and columns of hellfire shot up to the skies as the entire eighth layer of the Hells seemed to seize up in fury, in agony, in utter and complete outrage.

It was awe-inducing, and terrifying beyond what a mortal mind was meant to withstand. There was a wave of pure dread that could have broken them, left them paralyzed on the spot. But there was something to counter it, a faint hum in their very bones, and the dread passed them by without taking root.

From this moment on, no matter what horrors you may face - you shall never be frightened, Zariel had said after giving her boon, and she’d spoken true. Durge had thought it would be useful, then; now, they realized it could very well have just saved their lives.

Before them, Mephistopheles had lifted his arms with another cry of fury that made the entire palace groan around them. Something materialized in his hand, a three-pronged ranseur; the air around him seemed to shimmer, and it was the only warning they got. But it was enough.

Raphael moved fast, bringing up his hands, drawing something up from the ice floor - a fine mist that solidified in the blink of an eye into two walls of ice on either side of him. Asmodeus may have given them some resistance to hellfire, but none of them was eager to test how effective that would be against the brunt of an attack from the master of hellfire himself.

“Go,” Raphael hissed just as Mephistopheles brought his ranseur down with a cry and a streak of scorching hellfire burst forward, right at them.

“You were supposed to say duck!” Durge heard Wyll protesting as they-- well, ducked behind the walls of ice Raphael had just created.

It was not just ordinary ice, of course; hellfire would have burned through that in the blink of an eye, and got to them next. But Raphael’s command of the Plume was a thing of beauty, despite how little time he had to master it, and the walls held against even the scorching heat of hellfire. Most of the flames broke against it, while some spilled above, burning brightly above their heads for a few instants. Beside Durge, Astarion nocked an arrow.

“Well, that was an explosive start for sure,” he muttered, and turned to grin at them. “May I get a kiss for luck before the dance starts?”

He could, and did. Durge pressed their forehead against his for a moment more, too, before pulling back. “I’ll see you on the other side, won’t I?” they asked, and Astarion laughed.

“My dear, we’re in the Hells. Let this be testament of the fact there is nowhere you can go where I won’t follow,” he replied, and darted away from behind the wall, seeking a vantage point to strike.

Durge gripped the staff more tightly, turned to glance at the others - they looked back, Karlach and Wyll and Halsin, the same grim determination on their faces - and at last they stood up to fight, staff raised to call down the first strike of lighting.

***

While his companions dove for cover - or ducked, as Ravengard so insisted - Raphael stood his ground, not far from the very spot where Mephistopheles had tried to destroy him with hellfire for the first time. He’d underestimated him, then; Raphael had to hope he’d underestimated him now too.

Unlike his ability to control it, immunity to hellfire was something he’d built up. He’d gone from being able to just about survive it to withstand it with limited damage - and then without taking any, first in his ascended form and then in his every other form as well. He’d been determined to never again be left at the brink of death by something that was his to control; he’d sworn to himself that should Mephisto ever try to pour hellfire down his throat again, he’d be able to spit it back in his face and laugh.

Now he did not, however, feel like laughing.

Hellfire surrounded him, licked at his flesh and armor, powerless to harm him despite the devastating heat. Amidst the white flames he saw his father, ranseur still raised, features twisted in a snarl as he looked upon him with a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

I could have been loyal too, once. I’d have served you with all I had for just a second look from you. Did you know that? Did it ever matter?

He met his sire’s gaze and held it; for a few long, endless moments, there were only the two of them staring at one another amidst roaring white flames.

“Perhaps you’d wish to sit on my throne,” he’d said that day so long ago, a hand at his throat. “Is that what you covet, you ungrateful wretch?”

He hadn’t, not then. After that, he’d set his sights higher, and he was brought low. He’d clawed his way back into the Hells, into that room, before that very same throne. Now he’d either sit upon it, or perish before it… and he had absolutely no intention to perish.

The ground between them turned into a field of hellfire, Mephistopheles snarled, any and all composure gone. The rising heat caused his long hair to flutter like an ominous cape behind him, nearly indistinguishable from the dark flames emanating from his body.

“I will destroy the very memory of you, whelp,” he thundered in Infernal, and Raphael felt himself smile. It did not reach his eyes.

“Call me archduke,” he snarled, and lifted his arms. There was no verbal component to cast any Plume spells, just as there was no verbal component needed to unleash hellfire.

All that Mephistopheles could see was steam from melted ice on the ground rising up in a fine mist around the still burning hellfire, and suddenly turning to ice, encasing it. It made the fury turn to surprise for just a moment, the archmage of the Hells unable to tell by what magic had Raphael trapped his flames into ice which would not melt. But it was brief; the next moment he sneered, and knew.

“The gelugons. This is their doing, is it not? Nebulat will know my wrath once I am done wit--”

The crack of thunder drowned out his sire’s next words, and lightning struck true as Durge always did. Mephistopheles did not scream, but the blow was felt; he ground his teeth as electricity coursed through him, and he seized for a moment before his form came apart in a burst of flames, turning into a cloud of ash and disappearing from sight.

Casting foresight on himself before stepping in had been a good choice, truly, because Raphael knew precisely what he’d try to do, and he could counter it. He teleported out of reach in a burst of flames - ah, he did miss those boots - just one instant before the cloud of ash appeared where he’d stood, and his sire’s form came back together.

The thrust of his ranseur met only the ground where Raphael had been; Mephistopheles bared his teeth in a snarl, and turned to seek him out, as though having entirely forgotten his companions were even there. His eyes found Raphael, and seemed to burn.

“You cannot escape me, whelp! Do you truly--”

“Shut up and fight!”

Karlach’s throwing axe whistled through the air, but did not meet its target; with a scoff and a single, fluid movement, he struck it in mid-air with the ranseur before it could touch him. He did not, whoever, see the arrow that Astarion let loose next.

It hit him behind a shoulder, but what tore a grunt from him wasn’t the arrow itself: it was the guiding bolt that had come with it, courtesy of a bow that had something markedly celestial about it. That was exactly what Raphael had hoped would happen. Mephistopheles could heal himself quite easily by devouring souls, much like Raphael himself, but he lost that ability at least for a time if he took that kind of damage. It was a weak spot Raphael had made sure to rid himself of - any and all radiant attacks against him would in turn stun his enemies.

But it seemed that the archmage of the Hells had taken no such precaution. And that was how it always went, was it not? When one’s power seemed overwhelming and eternal, that was when they’d grow careless; hubris may look like well-earned confidence in the powerful, but hubris it remained. That was how the child-who-would-become-a-god doomed his empire, how the Cold Lord brought his kingdom to the brink, how the fox could fall to mice

“It's what we're meant to endure, this hunger for more,” Mephistopheles had told him once. “All your siblings were and are the same, all those yet to be born will be the same. And all of you will meet your end for it, one way or another. Overextending yourselves. Overreaching.”

He had been right about Raphael - about most of his offspring - but he’d also been blind enough to believe himself exempted from the warning. The apples had not fallen far from the tree, and nothing thrived in its shade. No new seed would take; the apples would rot and nourish the very roots of the tree which had borne them.But those roots, too, were diseased .

There was a cry, and Ravengard cast a cone of cold; he did not have the command if the Plume Raphael did - none of them could - but it was fiendish ice nonetheless, and it did cause injury as well as another grunt of pain. That, at last, caused the Lord of the Eighth to turn his attention on the mortals, too. He sneered, and lifted a hand as Halsin tried to attack.

The counterspell snuffed out whatever spell Halsin had tried to cast, and caused the druid to stagger backwards, slipping on the ice. The Lord of the Eighth laughed, low in his throat. Even so his fury was a palpable thing, so thick one could almost choke on it if they stood too close. Lord Mephistopheles turned to seek out his son with that terrible gaze of his; he found him, and smiled. Somehow, it seemed the most horrible sight the Hells had to offer.

Raphael knew precisely what he was about to do. He’d have known even without the aid of the foresight spell: he’d expected that move - but it had expected it later, rather than so soon.

Mind blank, I must cast--

It took him a blink of an eye for that thought to form, and it was already too late.

Mephistopheles was not the archmage of the Hells for nothing; a single gesture, and the spell was cast. “You have brought insects to my palace, whelp. Do something about it, won’t you?” he ordered. Raphael felt the enchantment take hold, an unyielding grip on his mind, the fog beginning to fill his vision. He fought its hold and he almost broke out of it - but only almost.

The geas spell took hold, the fog fell, and Raphael knew no more.

***

Duke Hutijin had absolutely no idea what in all the layers of Baator had just happened.

He knew a few things, he supposed. He had seen plainly the human soul block their path - mortals, how he hated them - and lift up the shimmering feather before calling Zariel’s name.

Once that accursed holy light had abated enough for him to look, teeth ground and ignoring the burns and blisters on his skin, it had been easy enough to put two and two together: the mortal, whoever it was, had the audacity to summon a celestial there, at the heart of the Eighth. And not just any celestial - the one who’d until recently been Lord of the First.

Hutijin had known little of Zariel, either as fiend or celestial; his business rarely took him to the First. His priority, always, was protecting the Lord of the Eighth. Always and especially now, with an attack within the palace.

I shouldn’t be here. What use is a shield when so far from its lord? Why did I let him send me to guard the vaults? And where in the Hells has that creature gone now?

So many questions, so few answers - and no time to try and find any. The fight raged on, turning the grand hallway into a battlefield, with Hutijin leading the charge - his mace clashing against the longsword, the force of each blow making the opponents grind their teeth as they tried to push one another back without success, raw strength evenly matched.

No other among the guards or the other pit fiends he commanded could hope to match the solar’s sheer power; most they could do was try to give him support before being beaten back with a flare of holy light, a slash of that glowing sword. One such slash grazed at his arm, but it gave him the opening he needed to swing his mace and finally, he truly struck. Zariel let out a pained groan, ichor falling on the floor and freezing in place.

“Zariel!” the mastodon cried out, loathsome creature that it was, and to his chagrin she answered with no sign of pain in her voice.

“It’s nothing to be concerned about. Hold them back. Leave this one to me.”

And damn it, the golden creature did hold them back: a single blast of that trumpet kept throwing off their feet, sometimes knocking them several paces back before they could strike. Guards fell, but more rushed to take their place. The battle was starting to look as though it would stretch for a while - perhaps until the time for the summon was up - and it did not escape Hutijin that the Lord of the Eighth was not there.

Surely he’d know a celestial was there by now; surely he’d have intervened by now, if not to fight to summon more forces. Unless--

The swing of Hutijin’s mace met only air when, suddenly, the palace shook, knocking him back a few paces. All of Mephistar, all of Nargus, all of Cania seemed to groan, to seize, to scream alongside its ruler. It made even the loathsome celestial creatures pause, in a moment of unreal stillness and silence. For a moment, even breathing was a struggle.

Something was wrong, and he had to get to Lord Mephistopheles now. Had it been Zariel alone, himself and the pit fiends he commanded may have been enough to at least hold her back so that they could reach the stairs leading up to the palace’s spire. But she was very much not alone, with the damned mastodon laying waste on his forces, while it took all of Hutijin’s strength to counter Zariel’s strikes.

Enough. I have a duty. The guards can deal with her and get butchered for all they matter.

The stairs were right there, behind the celestial, and Hutijin did not bother to counter her next blow: he only dodged it and, in a moment of intense focus, teleported - past her, at the foot of the stairs. He had only enough time to laugh, and attempt one step.

The triumph was short-lived. The accursed celestial too could teleport, and she did. Another burst of loathsome holy light caused him to snarl and step back, closing his eyes; an upward slash of her sword and he was falling back, hitting the floor with a hoarse cry.

He was wounded, losing blood from a gash across his chest. But he still held his mace, and he could still fight. “Out of my way,” he snarled, standing.

The celestial looked at him, or so it seemed, despite the blindfold on her eyes. “No.”

“You’ll let me pass, or die. ”

“You know loyalty better than most of your brethren. I can respect that. Regardless, you shall not pass for as long as I draw breath. I too made an oath.”

A sneer. “Or for as long as your summon lasts. You can’t stay here for long, can you? You’re not of Baator any longer. Sooner or later, you’ll be forced to leave.”

A quirk of her lips, and she lifted the longsword; behind them, there were cries and a sound of shattering bones when the mastodon charged again, crushing all in her path. Hutijin did not turn to look: all he saw was the celestial between him and his lord.

He roared, and swung his mace; she caught it with her blade, speaking calmly even as she strained against him, over the screams and sounds of the raging battle. “That being the case,” she replied, “I’ll make sure as few of you as possible live to go up these stairs.”

***

It was the steps on the stairs that alerted them that someone was coming into the pantry.

Dalah knew it was a devil the instant she heard them. That was not the sound of shoes or boots, but the far more distinctive one of cloven hooves - so it was neither Adonides nor Baalphegor. It was enough to make her wince, and turn to Haarlep. They, on the other hand, were already gesturing for her to hide, and moving to another spot behind a pile of crates.

Hide. As though that ever helps, Dalah thought, but it was the only possible course of action, and so she did. Maybe it was nothing to worry about; maybe it was one of the supervisors, doing routine checks of the pantry - consequences were always severe, should food run out when one of the Dukes planned a lavish banquet. But even that was a frail hope: who would be bothering with pantry checks with a celestial in the palace?

And it was indeed no pantry check. A few words, spoken by a voice she knew and hated, were enough to shatter that hope. “I know what you did,” Chamberlain Barbas snarled, his oily voice rougher than before; there was that charred scent that came off fiendish flesh scalded by holy light. “I know you’re here. I can smell that accursed celestial all over you! ”

The last words were a roar, and a bolt of fire hit the crates she was hidden behind. It threw her back with a cry, and she hit the ground heavily. She had barely enough time to look up, to see the snarl on his burnt face, when a voice rang out - all surprise and outrage.

“Barbas, enough! What do you think you’re doing?”

It caused the chamberlain to stop in his tracks and turn, blinking. He was holding a wounded arm to his chest; it still smoldered faintly.

“... Justiciar Bele? What are you doing here?” he asked. There was surprise in his voice, but also suspicion. It was no wonder: Haarlep looked the part perfectly, but they were not dressed for it. Soon enough, suspicion would win out… and if it came to a fight, they would stand no chance. Not against a Duke, however wounded.

Dalah did not stand, not yet. She turned and reached out, across the floor, as Haarlep said something she did not catch through Bele’s lips.

Her hand closed around a paring knife.

***

“Impero ti--”

“Don’t!”

Karlach’s hand grasped Wyll’s wrist, and the spell he’d been about to utter to trap the now possessed Raphal in a magical hold fizzled out.

He turned, taken aback, to see Karlach shake her head. “Don’t bother wasting it. Do something about the hellfire with the magic ice thing, or strike the motherfucker over there.”

Wyll blinked. “He’s under his control, if he’s not stopped we’ll be facing two--"

“Not for long. You didn’t come to the House of Hope, but we fought him - really fought him - and I promise this won’t last. That’s why the others didn’t try to hit or trap him.”

That was true: Karlach had helped Halsin on his feet instead, while both Durge and Astarion had struck out at Mephistopheles. The archdevil has been able to cast the arrow off course with a gesture of the hand; Durge’s blight spell found its target, however, and tore a grunt out of Mephisto. Even still, he had not seemed particularly concerned.

“Persistent insects at that,” he’d muttered, and lifted a hand. “End them, Raphael.”

The ravaging inferno created by Raphael’s previous attack burned all around them. Wyll and Karlach had narrowly avoided the brunt of it by ducking back behind the wall of hellish ice - Halsin had sought refuge there, too - and it had left them effectively stranded, unless they were ready to take some damage.

As Rapael turned to Durge - pliant and empty-eyed, a living doing rather than a living being - Wyll knew he had to do something… but Karlach had grasped his wrist before he could.

“Just trust me ,” she whispered. “Get rid of the hellfire.”

And so he’d trusted her, of course - he always did, with his life - and had called upon the plume to cast an ice storm on the still burning surface around them. It did not come easy to him, but it was enough to encase the flames in ice… and it allowed Halsin to step forward.

This time, the archmage of the Hells was not able to counter his spell; the sunbeam shot forward, striking the Lord of the Eighth, and the pained noise was unmistakable, even as it turned into a cry of fury at the end. Mephisto once again disappeared in a cloud of ashes, only to reappear a further distance away - right behind Halsin, the ranseur lifted to strike.

“Enou--!”

Something shot through the air before he could strike; something that looked like an ice dagger, but which seemed so much colder even at a distance. It struck true, at the center of Mephisto’s chest; the scream that followed made clear it was not, in fact, just ice.

Well. That was fast.

Wyll turned to see Raphael standing a few paces away, once again in full control of himself. His teeth were bared. “You forget, father,” he sneered, “how disinclined I am to follow orders.”

For a moment, the Lord of Cania only stared, stunned, as though he was only now seeing his son for the first time; his chest was covered in ice which his own heat struggled to melt, Then the surprise was gone, and his features twisted.

“Impudent whelp,” he thundered, lifted a hand… and suddenly, something ground to a halt. Wyll could feel it, the way a fisherman feels the sharp tug of the hooked fish that just ran out of line. He heard it again, the faint humming of the stone Astarion had picked up in Nebulat - a little less faint now that it had been activated.

The first of Asmodeus’ boons had been of help already, it seemed. There would be no summoning any underlings that day… and going by the rage on Mephistopheles’ face, he had just realized as much.

“You’ll regret this,” he seethed, “but not for long. ”

A single hand was held out, and the souls rising and falling from the pit by his throne were pulled towards it, into Mephisto’s nostrils, lightning him up from the inside before his very features seemed to blur and… and…

“Get away from there.”

Raphael’s voice was the crack of a whip, the kind of order you just know you must heed - and a dimension door saw to that for Wyll and Karlach, with Raphael grabbing Halsin to fly him to the far end of the room, where Durge and Astarion already stood.

They regrouped, and not a moment too soon. Before their eyes, the rest of the throne room seemed to explode in hellfire. Even from a distance, they felt the heat and might have taken some damage, too, if not for the limited resistance Asmodeus had granted them.

Shielding his eyes with an arm, Astarion yelled. “Isn’t that something of an overkill?”

“I am fairly certain overkill is precisely what’s on his mi--” Durge began, and never got to finish that sentence. Even if they did, no one would have heard them through the roar which shook, once again, the entire palace.

Wreathed in hellfire was a towering creature of bone and flames, looking at them through three pairs of white, dead eyes. Two sets of jaws snapped; Wyll found himself staring at the gleaming fangs, at the clawed hands meant for nothing but tearing, rendering, destroying. For a moment, Zariel’s boon was almost not enough to keep terror at bay in the face - faces - of an ascended Mephistopheles.

Beside him, Raphael breathed out. “Down came the claw,” he whispered, and stepped forward into the hellfire.

[Back to Chapter 37]

[On to Chapter 39]

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#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #raphael bg3 #halsin bg3 #haarlep #raphlep #wyll ravengard #karlach bg3 #haarlep bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #bg3 astarion #baalphegor dnd #durgestarion #wyllach #mephistopheles dnd #asmodeus dnd #hell to pay

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