#if it turns out that is now what a mutual is I’m fighting I’m rioting I’m Fucking looting

[ratwithahatonamat]

So someone recently explained what Mutual meant and I said

“Oh like a friend in law”

And they just looked at me thought a moment and finally Said

“Your technically right but please don’t call it that”

#people kept calling me mutual I had no idea what it meant #stop using internet slang to me it makes feel like I’m 60 #‘why don’t you know what it mean?’ I HAVE A LIFE I LIVE AND DO THINGS THE INTERNET IS NOTHING TO ME #I’m officially calling it friend in law I think that’s like so much better #if it turns out that is now what a mutual is I’m fighting I’m rioting I’m Fucking looting #if someone actually knows what a mutual is… explain it in the tags please #just call me a stranger or dude or something but pls do not throw words at me like bread crumbs #I have a name… it’s microwave! #and for anyone who’s gonna bully me OBVIOUSLY THATS NOT MY REAL FUCKING NAME #I’m dumb but I ain’t stupid #don’t ask for my real name all you need to know is that it came from a regular show character

[dolliedarlin]

KIRIPIMA | THREE ⏤Eijiro K.

BAKUSQUAD ENDEARMENT SERIES PART 1 : EIJIRO KIRISHIMA

SUM. : kirishima wants to know why you make him feel the way you do and what better way to find out than to take you and Ren on a little outing. 

PAIR. : pro hero eijiro kirishima x single mum reader

LENGTH : 2.1k

G. : fluff ; ren discovers cotton candy ; red riot fans are super cute ; kirishima realises his feelings and what he wants ; you should say yes

A/N : i really can’t stop writing for this series, what is wrong with me? but at least this gives many of you a fun read to uwu over whilst also giving me the dopamine rush i need to stay sane during these stressful times. anywho~ i hope you all enjoy the read (also i can’t believe i’m turning 19 tomorrow)

edit : i'd like to give extra credit and thanks to @SeabornBeauty on quotev for giving me the prompts and ideas for part 3 and future parts 4 and 5! thank you so much, lovely! they were perfect prompts for future additional parts!

TAGLIST : @girlontumblur ; @pegdenki ; @kirislut ; @bunny-on-crack ; @pandainfinitely 

After the day at the ice cream parlor, Kirishima was determined to spend more time with you outside of strolls in the park. Of course, Ren would be present as well because the two of you always come together like a packaged deal, which isn't a problem for him as Ren is just too sweet for his own good.

The pro-hero had grown a fondness for both of you. Every day, he ends up thinking about you, at least, once; holding your hand as he carries Ren in his spare arm, who he knows would immediately start fiddling with his spiked hair. The adorable little coos and awes Ren would let out even though the little boy has played with his hair many times by now would never fail to make Kirishima's heart thump with affection. If any harm came to your son, Kirishima would go ballistic. He could say the same for you. The simple sound of your voice sets his mind at ease and your radiant smile gives his heart wings. If anything were to happen to you, nothing would get in the way of his fight to take you away from danger.

The way you make him feel wasn't something Kirishima was familiar with and was more than eager to figure out as soon as possible. Hence why he was keen on spending more time with you. This led to him begging Bakugou into swapping patrols for one night so that he could take you and Ren out to a western fair that was traveling across Japan.

At first, Kirishima didn't think you would actually agree to it, however, that could have been his mental cushion for if you ever rejected his offer. On the other hand, he was very pleasantly surprised to hear you agree on an outing with him outside of the park strolls.

"A western fair?" you hum thoughtfully as Ren perks up in your arms, which you immediately take notice of. Turning your gaze to your little boy, you lean close until your noses were almost touching, "What do you think, little lotus?"

"Fun fun!" Ren cheered before looking at Kirishima and making grabby hands at him, whereby the two of you instinctively took a step closer to one another, allowing Ren to cuddle into the pro-hero's chest. In the beginning, you were always very timid about being so close to the hero, however, after spending so much time together, where Ren constantly forces the two of you to stay within such close proximity, the intimately close distance now elicits a comforting feeling for you. And judging from the relaxed smile on Kirishima's handsome face, you can confidently say that the sentiment is mutual.

"So, is that a yes, I'm hearing?" Kirishima grinned brightly as Ren nodded.

"Yes!" the two boys then turned towards you with expecting eyes.

"I guess, we're going, then!"

The experience of attending a western fair was completely new to Kirishima but he was happy to be sharing the unfamiliar event with you and Ren. A lot of games were played and most were lost but the few that Kirishima managed to win, resulted in a happily cheering Ren as you clapped in congratulations. Upon handing Ren the toy he had succeeded in winning, the red-head was met with a tight hug around the neck from the little boy as you smiled widely from beside them.

Kirishima hadn't really had the pleasure of feeling the satisfying triumph of being the number one hero, however, from Ren thanking him through the tightest embrace he could manage with his little arms as you smile fondly from behind your son's tiny frame, Kirishima can confidently say that he can finally relate to the feeling of being a winner - of being number one. He is standing on the tallest mountain with his back straight and screaming in happiness up to the heavens. Nothing could beat this feeling.

He could very well get addicted to this light and whole emotion. If only he can put a name to the sentiment, he would know how to properly pursue it.

"What dat?" Ren asked, pointing towards a cotton candy stand, "Pink fluffy cloud?" he tilted his head adorably as Kirishima once again became a victim of irresistible cuteness - it's deadly.

"That's cotton candy, baby," you explain, ignorant to the pink hue flourishing on Kirishima's cheeks. It felt as if you were calling him by that fond term of endearment with how close you were despite your gaze being directed explicitly at your son, who was in his arms.

"Candy?"

"Do you want some, Ren? I can buy a small one for you, if you'd like," Kirishima offered after sending you a look asking for permission. In response, you had lifted your hand to gesture that a small one would be alright, you wouldn't want Ren having a sugar rush, especially this late in the evening. He would have one undoubtedly since cotton candy was essentially sugar, however, you still want him to experience tasting cotton candy as he's never had it before. A small amount would be alright to have.

"Okay!"

After tucking Ren into your arms, Kirishima went off to buy a small stick of cotton candy as you and Ren found an empty bench to sit on and gather the small collection of prizes Kirishima had won for him. "Kiripima best!" Ren cheered as he bounced in your lap, cuddling all the small toys to his chest with the happiest smile on his face.

"Yes, he is, do you remember what to say, baby?"

"Thank you!" Ren chirped to demonstrate his manners.

"That's my good boy," your soft praise is followed by a kiss to his button nose. Soon enough, Kirishima came back with a stick of cotton candy for Ren as he hands you a corndog. He has one for himself as well.

"I felt bad not getting you anything so I hope this corndog makes up for that,"

He chuckles bashfully as you smile and happily accept the offering, "That's so thoughtful of you, thank you Eijiro," he has to keep himself from physically shivering at the way you say his name. It sounds so much better being said by you and your beautiful voice.

"Nah, it's no problem at all," thankfully, he manages to act normal around you, "here you go Ren," handing over the fluffy cotton candy that Ren had been eyeing the instant his hero came back, Kirishima gently bit his lip in an attempt to keep himself from laughing aloud.

"Thank you, Kiripima!" Ren leaned over and quickly gave him a kiss on the nose before stuffing his cheeks with the cotton candy, his eyes sparkling with joy the instant that the sugar cotton melted on this tongue. To eat your corndog as Ren devours his cotton candy, you and Kirishima sit side by side on the bench as Ren happily munches away on his sweet treat atop Kirishima's lap. Idle, happy conversation happens here and there as Kirishima drapes one arm along the back of the bench while you lean back and rest your head against his shoulder.

As you were munching away on another bite of your corndog, which you loved the texture and taste of, rapid footsteps suddenly rang in your ears until a new person made their way to stand before you. Looking up, in front of you, stood a fairly young teenage boy whose eyes were sparkling with excitement whilst bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"You're the Sturdy Hero, Red Riot, right?!"

"Uh, yeah," Kirishima confirmed before being hit with enthusiastic rambling. It was clear from the young lad's unstoppable speech, that he really admired Kirishima. Looking towards the casually dressed pro-hero to your right, you witness the look of fondness and humble pride in his gentle expression, which instantly warmed your heart. The entire time, the Red Riot fan was rambling to Kirishima about how much he looked up to him, Ren's full attention was on him too, his concentrated stare on the fan revealed understanding of what he was saying and had Ren nodding along as if to say 'I agree'. Truly, when two fanboys meet, their connection and love for their idol transcend age as well as level of comprehension. Ren normally wouldn't be able to keep up with such frantically put-together, long-winded speeches but his body language expresses his understanding.

This made you giggle. Your fanboy of a son will be the death of you from his cuteness.

"I really really admire you. I want to be as brave and strong of a hero as you one day!"

"Good luck on that journey, my man," Kirishima grins toothily as he pats the boy on the shoulder, he would have stood up if it were like all other interactions with his fans but Ren was in his lap and he didn't want to tussle him around. And, frankly, Kirishima liked having Ren seated in his lap, his grown attachment to him being nothing to laugh at, "I look forward to seeing you on the hero charts one day," he does this without asking the boy what his quirk is and just goes to show how he's grown into accepting that you don't need a flashy quirk to be a good hero. You want to say how proud you are of him but don't want to interrupt his interaction with his fan, who, If it's possible, grew additional admiration in his eyes as he thanks Kirishima profusely.

"Thank you so much Red Riot! I have to go now but I just wanted to say that you and your family look really happy and it's very cute!" at his final statement, the little boy runs off back to his friends as you and Kirishima are left dumbfounded with your mouths gaping open in shock. For several drawn out moments, the two of you stay like that until you finally process the situation in your heads and your cheeks begin to burn hotter than molten lava. It doesn't help that Ren starts clapping his hands happily as he smiles up at the two of you, pink remnants of cotton candy sugar littering the corners of his smiling mouth.

Despite being so incredibly embarrassed, you instinctively tuck your face into Kirishima's shoulder with a timid whimper to which he follows up with a laugh. What a wonderful thought. To be a part of your family, that sounds like the perfect life to Kirishima. He would do anything to see you every day, wake up to your sleeping face before he goes to gently awaken Ren. If he wants to, he can cook you breakfast but if you decide to cook instead, he won't complain. He'll only complain about how lucky he is to have you in his life and how beautiful you look in the act of taking care of him through your cooking. Maybe he'll wrap his arms around your waist from behind like in those cliche movies, it's cheesy but he knows it'll feel like bliss to embrace you so casually and lovingly. He'll go to work as you and Ren wave him goodbye from the doorway and when he comes back after an exhausting day, you and Ren will both be there to welcome him home with hugs and kisses, instantly reviving his tired frame. A simple life, a quiet life.

That sounds like paradise.

A second passes and you begin to feel his big, calloused hand lovingly stroking the back of your head, slightly pushing your face further into his shoulder. With some maneuvering, he has your face pressed into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, still petting down the back of your head as Ren crawls into your lap and cuddles into your stomach comfortingly. In no time at all, you were being cuddled by your two favorite boys.

"So this is what this feeling is," Kirishima whispers into your hair, which makes you look up at him curiously.

"What do you mean?"

By now, you were both staring deeply into each other's eyes, "This feeling whenever I'm around you," Kirishima clutches at the area above his heart, wrinkling his shirt in the process, "it's a want- no, it's a need to be with you and Ren," he leans down until your noses touch and the world disappears around you, "not as a friend but as someone more than that..." taking a strand of your hair he brings it to his lips and kisses it as his nose inhales your intoxicating scent, "I want to protect you and care for you and love you and see you every day, both of you. That is my wish," he looks you in the eyes again, "will you grant it for me?"

PREV. | NEXT.

BNHA MLIST | ENDEARMENT SERIES

#kirishima x reader #kirishima fluff #kirishima x single mum reader #kirishima headcanon #bnha x reader #bnha kirishima #bnha fluff #kiripima!

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

The Wedding Date

Summary: When he finds out that his ex, Andrea, is bringing a date to their mutual friends wedding, Benny seeks out a woman to pretend to be his own girlfriend to save face. That’s when he lands on Y/n, his buddy, Dean’s, best friend. She is happy to oblige the charming southerner, but the night just may churn up some unexpected emotions between her and Dean. 

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Benny x Reader (kind of)

Word Count: 3.2K+

Warnings: Language, angst

Square Filled: Fake Dating AU

Author’s Note: Written for @spngenrebingo . Thought I would try and do a new spin on this classic trope. I’m such a sucker for it too, so that helps. And I’ve always wanted to write Benny. So this is what you get. Special thanks to my boo thang @waywardbeanie​ for getting me excited to write this one. As always, thanks so much for taking the time to read and please let me know what you think, your feedback means everything to me. xoxo Alex.

“Dude, seriously?” Dean smacked at Y/n’s hand, knocking away a few of the fries she had stolen from his plate. She still managed to shove a few in her mouth that he was unable to get back from her. The young woman threw her head back as she laughed at the bitch face he tossed her way, the look reminding her so much of her best friend’s baby brother. “If you want fries, just fucking order them.” 

“I didn’t know I wanted them until I smelled them on your plate.” She giggled around the mouthful of potato. 

“Yeah, right you always say that.” Y/n shrugged at him, a cheeky smirk on her lips. He wasn’t wrong, but french fries always taste better when they are someone else’s. Stealing his fries was a favorite pastime of hers if only so she could see the annoyance that flashed across his face before he too would break out in a smile. 

“Quit being a little bitch about it and drink your beer,” she quipped, tipping her chin at the brown bottle in his hand. 

“You… drink your… beer,” Dean mumbled with a furrowed brow, only eliciting more giggles from his friend. 

The pair were nestled in a booth at the Roadhouse, the same place they’ve had dinner together every Wednesday night since they were teenagers. The Roadhouse wasn’t the nicest place in town, but neither cared much about that. All that matter was making sure they never lost touch with each other. They had made the pact to eat here when school and their lives began to try and pry them apart, demanding all their time and attention. But since graduating college two years ago, the pair had once again become nearly inseparable and by then, their dinners were just routine. 

“That was smooth, Winchester.” Dean opened his mouth to give her what she was sure was going to be a witty retort when his buddy, Benny, slid into the booth next to Dean. The Winchester bounced as he was forced to slide further against the wall, his annoyed grimace once again returning to his features. 

“Hey, nice to see you too.” Dean mocked his friend's lack of manners. 

“Hey, chief,” he chirped before turning his attention across the booth. “Hey, Cher.” 

“Hi, Benny.” Y/n smiled at him, using the distraction to pluck a few more fries from Dean's plate. 

“What are you doing here?” Dean questioned, unsure as to what the southern was doing interrupting their dinner. He knew better than anyone else that Dean and Y/n always had dinner together on Wednesdays nights. 

“I need your help. Andrea has a new boyfriend already and she’s bringing him to Everett’s wedding next weekend.” Benny explained, a frown on his lips. 

“Dude, that’s rough,”

“I need a date, someone to pretend to be my girlfriend for the night.” Benny spat out before Dean could finish his sentence. Dean raised his brow at Y/n, who chuckled again at her friends. 

“What makes you think I have a girl for you?” Dean tried this time, continuing to dig into his dinner in front of him. Benny turned his gaze onto Y/n across the table, who was taking a drink of her beer. The woman stuttered around her drink when she noticed both men looking at her. 

“Me?” She wiped the bit of bubbly liquid that had dripped down her chin in her surprise. 

Benny smiled, cocking his head at the adorable blush creeping up on her face. “Why not, Cher? You’re smart, witty, and more than beautiful. Any man would be lucky to have you on their arm.” The southern insisted. She was more surprised than she thought she would have been upon hearing his endearing words for her. Benny had always flirted with her to no end, but he also flirted with everyone woman. That was just the type of guy he was. She presumed that’s why he and Dean got along so well, their easy demeanor attracting them to each other. 

Benny and Y/n were too busy staring at each other to notice Dean’s subtle glance at his best friend. 

“Ah, Benny,”

“There will be free alcohol,” He was pressing her, before even hearing her answer to his offer.

“I would love to. And not just because of the free alcohol, though it is a plus.” Y/n finished the last of her beer. 

“So, what do you say, Dean?” This time Benny turned on his buddy next to him.

“Me? Why would I care?” Dean’s voice rose in pitch, his nose scrunching up in confusion. The rhythm of his heartbeat in his chest picked up as both of his friends looked at him. 

“She is your best friend, and I know how you treat her boyfriends.” 

“That’s just ‘cause all her boyfriends were assholes. Besides, you’re not actually dating.” He couldn’t understand why Benny had even asked him that question. Y/n was a grown woman, it was not up to him to let her do anything. 

“They weren’t all assholes,” Y/n tried to defend, but both men narrowed their eyes at her in unison, causing her to huff out a mumbled ‘fine’. 

“So you’re good with this?” Benny asked Dean one last time. He knew his buddy well, and he wanted to make sure he never stepped on his toes, even if Dean was too thick to see it quite yet. 

“Dude, of course. Besides, it’s not up to me.” 

Benny clapped his hands together. “Right! Then we are on for Saturday. I’ll pick you up at eight Cher.”

****

The weather was on the cusp of early autumn in Kansas. The days were spent in warm sunshine and the evenings were cuddled together in hoodies near a bonfire. The sun was low in the sky as Benny helped her out of his car at the venue, making Y/n happy she chose a dress with sleeves for the evening. 

“So, what is the plan? You want madly in love or do we just like each other right now?” There was a small smirk on her lips as Benny hooked his arm underneath her own. He patted her forearm. 

“Just be yourself, Cher.” He promised her, his voice low as they drew closer to their seats. “The yourself that is madly in love with me.” Y/n had to laugh out loud at his comment. Benny’s words reminded her that tonight would be easy, even if she had butterflies in her stomach. Y/n and Benny had always gotten along well. He made her laugh, especially when he and Dean would get each going. Their nights together were always a riot. Not to mention he was a true southern gentleman. So, all in all, he was right, the two of them would be easy together, and she could do this for her friend. 

The two of them found their way to a row of open seats, finding Dean saving them two open chairs. He stood as they approached, his eyes flashing wide for a fraction of a second before he regained his composure. “Wow, Y/n. You look beautiful.” 

“Careful, that’s my girl you are talking to.” Benny piped up next to her as they all took their seats. He had a playful smile on his lips, but that did nothing to stop the embers from igniting deep in Dean’s belly. The reaction caught him off guard. Dean had never felt this sense of protection over his best friend that was now coursing through his veins. The way Benny had draped his arm over her shoulder had him biting the inside of his cheek, but not his tongue.

“So what is your plan if Andrea comes up and questions all this. She knows who Y/n is, don’t you think she’ll be suspicious?” Dean was trying to fight his proud smirk, thinking he had broken down their whole plan. 

“Well, then I’ll just say I’ve been hiding my feelings for him for a long time and when they broke up I finally took my chance to snag him.” Y/n had shrugged as if it was no big deal, Benny nodding alongside her. Dimples formed in the corners of Dean’s mouth as he frowned. It was that easy for her, wasn’t it? 

“Sounds good to me.” For the first time, the southern drawl of one of his closest friends just seemed to grate on Dean’s last nerve, a fact that scared him. 

Dean had quickly been pushed aside as the trio made their way through the cocktail hour. The two ‘lovers’ had the madly in love routine down easy, making Dean feel like the third wheel. Which was ridiculous considering that his friends were not even dating each other. It was all for show. But the longer they laughed at each other, and the more she leaned against the southerner, the more agitated he seemed to become. He was already on his third whiskey by the time they were being served dinner at the reception. 

Y/n leaned towards Dean where he was seated next to her, “Are you okay? You’re knocking those back awfully quick there.” Her voice was low but the scoff that Dean answered with was not. The woman furrowed her brow at her best friend, unsure of why he was acting the way that he was. Before she could say anything, he was out of his seat and heading back over to the bar, leaving her with a pit in her stomach. 

The feel of Benny’s fingers against her shoulder had her snapping her attention from Dean and back to the table she was currently sitting at. She turned her head to him as he tipped his chin to where Andrea was heading their way. The young woman had to shake away her thoughts of her friend at the bar and focus on the reason she was here. 

From across the tent, Dean leaned against the bar, another drink in his hand. Dean rolled his tongue over his teeth as Benny pulled Y/n closer to his body and kissed her temple. He watched her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as his blood boiled beneath his skin. 

The smoke building inside him had no place in his heart. Dean had seen her with plenty of guys before, and he couldn’t understand what had changed. Why did he suddenly want to rip her from Benny’s grasp? What about his best friend in his buddy’s arms was making his skin crawl? After all, Dean knew the kind of guy that Benny was. He truly could give her all that she ever wanted. He also knew how much Y/n liked Benny. Dean tightened his grip on the glass in his right hand and he continued to try to understand this rage inside him when he should be happy for them. 

It was then that she locked eyes with him across the tent. The conversation between Andrea and Benny dissipating to white noise around her as she watched his jaw tick. Her brows knit together as she watched the anger roll off him in waves. It wasn’t like Dean to not talk to her when he was upset. In fact, she was one of the only people he talked about his feelings with, the other being his baby brother, Sam. But there he was, downing whiskeys like glasses of water and storming off when she tried to speak to him. 

“Uh, excuse me.” She mumbled to the two ex-lovers, though neither of them seemed to pay her any mind. The temperature was dropping along with the sun, and Y/n rubbed her upper arms for warmth as she made her way over to him. His eyes followed her movements across the tent, not stopping even as she made her way next to him, leaning against the bar near where his elbow was resting. 

Dean didn’t say a word, flicking his eyes towards the crowd now forming on the dance floor. His jade eyes followed the movement across the wood without actually watching what was happening. He just couldn’t look her in the eyes because he knew why she was here. The damned woman always read him like a book. 

She scoffed at the silent treatment he was giving her before ripping the whiskey from his hand and setting it down on the bar. Y/n took Dean by the wrist and dragged him away from the crowd and to the outside of the tent. The sun was nearly gone under the horizon and the stars were beginning to twinkle in its wake. 

“Come on, talk to me.” Her voice was clipped, yet still soft as she addressed him. Y/n rubbed her arm again as she folded into herself to stay warm. The action didn’t go unnoticed by her best friend, who shrugged off his suit jacket and threw it over her shoulders. 

“What’s going on Dean?” She tried again, pulling the jacket closed around her to bask in his warmth left behind inside it. Not to mention the fact that it smelled just like him and the fancy cologne that he only wore for these types of occasions. It was a scent that she was obsessed with. 

“I don’t know.” He answered her honestly. 

“You are clearly angry about something. Your jaw has been set like that since the ceremony.” Her gesture was noncommittal as she tried to stay in the warmth of his jacket. “Have I done something to piss you off?”

“No, god no, Y/n/n.” Dean let out a breath, his face dropping when he realized how he had been coming across to her all night. Y/n was only doing what her friend had asked of her, and he couldn’t be mad at that. Hell, he couldn’t be mad at Benny either considering he gave them his blessing. The only problem was, now he wishes he had never done so. “I just can’t-” his words broke as he tried to voice the feeling even he didn’t understand. 

“What can’t you do Dean?” Y/n’s frustration was growing along with her voice and she couldn’t stop her own anger from trickling up inside her chest. 

“I can’t watch you with Benny!” He erupted, responding in kind to her lashing. “Benny with his hands all over you and trying to stake his claim. It fucking pisses me off, okay?” 

Y/n flinched back from his outburst, her confusion only growing, along with the butterflies in her stomach. “It’s all a show! Besides, since when do you care about any guy I’ve been with?” 

“I’ve always cared, Y/n. But I don’t know, somewhere deep down I always knew that you would eventually find out they were all trash, but Benny…” Dean took a deep breath. “Benny is a great guy, and he makes you laugh...” Dean’s voice was low as he ran his fingers through the short spikes at the top of his head. 

“Then I don’t understand what the problem is?” And she truly didn’t. Dean was making no sense to her right now, but she knew whatever he was feeling was real as she watched the water welling up in the corner of his eyes. 

“The problem is he’s not me!” Dean blurted out, the words escaping his mouth surprising even him. There it was now, all out in the open and they both finally saw it for what it was. Dean wanted to be the man to hold her tight to his body, to kiss her temple, and to be on the receiving end of those soft smiles that show him just how content she feels. 

“Dean, I-” 

“Don’t, I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anything.” Blood was rushing to his face and neck as she just stood there staring at him, her mouth hanging open. His admission had caught her off guard there was no denying that. It was the fact that his words didn’t scare her that shocked her even more. Now, the butterflies were full-on losing their damned minds inside her belly and she could feel her heart racing against her ribcage. 

“Come off it! Don’t you do that to me! You can’t just admit something like that and not even let me tell you how I feel. Our relationship has never worked that way, and I’ll be damned if we start doing it now.” 

“Fine!” He spat.

“Fine!” Y/n parroted back to him, her words the straw that broke the camel’s back. Dean’s nostrils flared as he gripped her shoulders, pushing her back on her feet until he had her caged in between his body and the hedge from the garden. A small gasp left her body as her back made contact with the dense shrubbery. 

The woman squared her shoulders with a deep breath, refusing to back down to the man towering over her. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel.” 

“How do you feel, Y/n? ‘Cause, god, I’ve got to know if I should be crawling under a rock right now or kissing you.” He lifted his right hand from the bush behind him, cradling her jaw in his palm and running his thumb over her lower lip. His jade-colored eyes were hidden in the now dark skies, but she could still feel the intensity of them boring into her own. 

The line in their friendship had officially been crossed, and there was no going back. Both of them knew there were only two outcomes from this moment. It was up to Y/n to make the decision now, do they go left,/ or do they go right?. Dean had put it all into her hands and it had her stomach flipping inside of itself. Had you asked her this morning what she thought about Dean having feelings for her, she probably would have laughed in your face, but now the look on his face as he gazed at her lips had sparks of electricity coursing through her body, making it feel all too real. 

There was only one outcome she could live with now, so she did the only thing that made sense. Y/n’s hands poked out of the jacket around her, griping onto the material of Dean’s button-down shirt and pulling him down to her. Their lips met in the middle, both of their eyes fluttering closed upon contact. Dean’s lips were frozen against her own before his brain caught up to his body and he finally responded to her action. 

Her knuckles were white where she kept his body as close to her as their position would allow. The rumble of a growl could be felt in his chest as he got her to open up to him, sucking her tongue into his mouth. Y/n basked in the flavor of whiskey on his tongue and couldn’t fight the moan bubbled up inside her. 

Dean had to pull back then, the noise she made shooting straight to his dick. Dean moved his fingers through her hair, waiting for her to open her eyes. His soft dimples were the first thing she noticed amongst his smile when she finally came back to reality. 

“Hey,” He breathed. 

“Hey,” Dean pecked her lips once more, just needing to feel her again before she ran away. “Are you happy now?” 

Dean chuckled, dropping his forehead to hers. “I think happier than I ever could have imagined.” The pair of them chuckled together before Dean tipped her chin back up to him and kissed her again, refusing to let anything ruin the moment he had never thought he needed before today.

Forevers: @polina-93​​ @22sarah08​​ @callmekda​​ @hobby27​​ @dawnie1988​​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan​  @akshi8278​ @superfanficnatural​ @malfoysqueen14​ @deanwanddamons​ @waywardbeanie​ @emoryhemsworth​ @talesmaniac89​ @winchest09​ @katehuntington​ @flamencodiva​ @janicho88​ @anathewierdo​ @ellewritesfix05​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @jensengirl83​ @lyarr24​ @tranquility-or-chaos​

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #benny lafitte x reader #benny lafitte #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #spn fanfic #spn fic #spn #supernatural #alex writes #mine #the wedding date

[eavangeek]

Guns and Roses: Ch. 1 - John Doe

Pairing: Male Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast, Male Cadash/Cassandra Pentaghast

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Summary: After the Hero of Fereldan in the Dragon Age, The Champion of Kirkwall during the Blood Age, Thedas has been at peace for most of the Silverite Age. However trouble brews between the New Templar Force and the Enchanter Colleges. Agent of Truth, Seeker Pentaghast, has been sent to the Free Marches city of Ostwick to investigate why they have been unaffected by the rise in violence...

Tags: FtM Cadash, Trans Character, Mob Boss/Secret Agent, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Mutual Pining, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Secret Identity, Minor Character Death, Mild Gore

Total Word Count:  103,884

Chapter Word Count:  2,316

Author’s Note: Originally posted to Ao3 in early 2018, this was my first attempt at starting a long term fic.

Start || Next

Author’s Masterlist || Ao3 Fic Link || Ao3 Author Link

Twitter || Patreon

“...and that was the Rivaini Pirate Queens with their latest hit ‘Isabela’. Up next is Princes of Starkhaven and their new single ‘All for Honor, All for Her’, but now we go to local news. After the turmoil in our neighbours in Kirkwall, many are starting to wonder what will happen to the ol’ Templar Force. Now I know this might confuse our younger listeners, but the Templar Force is NOT our boys in blue in the Ostwick Guard. No, the Templar Force is in charge of all magical surveillance, which has been in motion since the Blood Age. During that time the Kirkwall Revolts, led by the then Champion of Kirkwall, eventually brought our Enchanter Colleges in order to replace the Circle of Magi. Now today when we think of the College we think of the sprawling campus, the study of magic and training of both mages and nobles alike. But back in the day the Circle of Magi was restricted to ONLY mages, and those poor souls weren’t able to go home during the holidays. No they lived and died in those terrible Circles. But that all changed didn’t it?

That’s right folks, nearly a hundred years ago Thedas was flipped on it’s head when the Old Templar Order and the Mage Circles fell in Kirkwall. Now the riots from Kirkwall Enchanter College and the Templar Force has led to infighting in the city. Once again Kirkwall has turned into a battleground, with students at the College, mages and nobles alike, state that the Templar Force has too much control over what is taught and the security on campus has cracked down, leading to some mage scholars having to fight their way off campus. Imagine! Now I’m just your friendly dwarf radio host, I’ve never been in those campus, no siree! But we have a special guest with us, the Valedictorian of her time in Ostwick College, our very own Alexandra Maria Dawn-”

“Please, Alex is just fine, Mr Cadash.”

“Arolf! Please, just Arlof if we’re being friends here. Now the rest of the Free Marches has been at arms at this situation, but Alex it’s been said that you were able to stop protests at Ostwick Enchanter College. How did that work?”

“Well I’m glad you asked, Arlof, you see the problem between…”

Cassandra turned down the radio in the patrol car. She had moved to Ostwick a little over a month ago, and found out that nearly everyone listens to this station, mainly for Arlof Cadash’s talk show. She didn’t get the appeal of it, but it was important to her job to stay informed about the city.

She knew about the Kirkwall Revolts, how history was repeating itself once again. Ostwick however seemed to be an exception to this, the College experiencing not only peace but prospering during the turmoil. All because of this Alex. Alex Trevelyan, who wasn’t a mage, and if local gossip was correct, had been disowned by the Trevelyan House. Yet now she was the most influential person in the city, having taken down two of the most influential men: the former Commissioner and Knight Commander. She pulled into the headquarters for the Ostwick guard. A Vashoth on duty nodded at her car as she parked it. Their jaw clenched, the posture straightening up at the sight of her Seeker badge, it flashing from her waist. Cassandra ignored it, knowing that look from far too much experience. She walked up the steps to the door and went through.

Cubicles filled with officers and detectives doing paperwork, questioning suspects. She passed the tank, noticed that it was an elf in a red medical mask again. This one had streaks of black and pink in their blonde hair. They weren’t talking but the officer didn’t noticed that the sugar in his coffee was not salt, until he took a sip. In the elevator, a dwarf officer rushed to get in with Cassandra. He had a short blonde beard, his green eyes kept looking up as if to pray. It was then he noticed Cassandra badge.

“... Is there a prayer I can say that will save my ass from the new Commissioner?”

“Sorry?”

“Your badge. Your one of those Sister Cops yeah? You know any prayer that will help break the news?”

“I’m a Seeker, not a Chantry Sister.”

“Oh. Shit.”

The rest of the ride was filled with an awkward silence all the way to the top floor. A human was sitting at the clerk office. The dwarf grunted at the greeting he gave and made a beeline for the Commissioner's door.

“Morning Seeker!”

“Good morning, Jim. How is the Commissioner?”

“Oh he’s fine! A bit tense tho, there’s a cold case that just recently got hot again.”

“Oh? Who’s in charge of the investigation?”

“You just saw him, Sergeant Cadash. One of the few officers who wasn’t sacked when Commissioner Rutherford took over.”

“He must be good at his job then.”

“Well, not necessarily. He used to just answer the emergency hotline, sending buses and patrols out. A good man the Sergeant, but…”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE’S NOT IN THE SYSTEM!”

Cassandra and Jim looked at the Commissioner door. Two figures, one clearly a dwarf, the other wearing either a parka or bear on its shoulders.

“He’s still wearing that ridiculous jacket, Jim?’

“Yes, Seeker Pentaghast. It was gift from his sister in Ferelden. You’d think that the Ostwick winters would be summer for him, but he’s made his office purposely colder than the rest of the building. To be honest, I think he just wants an excuse to wear it-” Cassandra stopped listening to the clerk when she opened the door.

The office was cold, even in her bullet-proof vest and sports coat. Sergeant Cadash was visibly shaking, but whether that was because of the cold of the room or the stare of his new boss, it was hard to tell.

“Commissioner Rutherford. Seeker Pentaghast reporting.” both men looked up at her, and the taller of them straightened up when being addressed. His parka was opened, showing a simple suit that was unbuttoned. The dwarf relaxed, putting his hands back down. It was a flash movement but Cassandra could’ve sworn that he had a tattoo on his left thumb. It was a different pattern than the Casteless marking on his cheek.

“Cassa- Seeker. If you don’t mind but I’m in the middle of Sergeant Cadash’s report.”

“The cold case, I presume.”

“Yeah,” the dwarf said. “Wait, how’d you know about that?”

“You wouldn’t happen to be related to Arolf Cadash, would you sergeant?”

“He’s a cousin, second or once-removed. Distant cousin really- wait a minute. That bastard didn’t fucking talk about the body on the radio did he?”

“Sergeant Cadash, did you tell a radio host about this case, when I gave specific orders to not tell anyone?”

“Commissioner, your John Doe is not in the computer systems, I had to try something. Arolf knows everyone and everything, the prick. Without any identifiable markings, I had to look for other avenues and-”

“If I may. I only asked because you and Arlof share the same last name. It is just a coincidence that you looked to… other avenues.”

“Me and my fucking mouth.” muttered the dwarf. “Commissioner, I’m not a detective! Give this case to someone else, otherwise you’d have it go cold again, not me.”

Cullen sighed and waved the sergeant free. The Sergeant stopped his rambling to look between the two humans, only to give a salute and run out of the office. With just the two of them things relaxed, but not by much. Cullen went back to his desk, not sitting down but looking at the file that the dwarf had left behind.

“How did he become a sergeant, if you don’t me asking?”

“Honestly? He was the only one in his department who wasn’t corrupt or under the former Commissioner thumb. Immediately went from Officer to Sergeant. He’s better at barking orders than solving cases, but he is- was the only one who remembered the previous murders.”

“Because everyone else involved has been let go?”

“Yes.” Cullen ran his fingers through his hair, the carefully set locks ruffled out, leaving one curl to rest on his forehead.

Cassandra remembers when Cullen was just a Captain of the Templar Force in Kirkwall. He had moment of faith and went against his orders from Knight Commander Meredith, which led to the street riots in Kirkwall two years ago. Cullen left the Templar Force, went into rehab for a year just outside the city limits. He had been a wreck then, the withdrawals from the lyrium supplements wracking his body. Once initial withdrawal had subsided, the two began to talk beyond the chaos. Cassandra was proud that Cullen had gone back to protecting people, even if it wasn’t as a Templar. When Ostwick needed a new Commissioner, it was a shock that Cullen’s name had been suggested by an anonymous vote of the Ostwick City Council. He lead the investigation of corruption in the ranks last year, and in the last month has tried to keep the city streets safer than they were before.

Looking at the man now, even in his fur-lined parka, he was leagues better than when he was in hospital garbs scratching at his face and arms from withdrawal. Cullen was looking at the files again, as if staring at them would give him the answers he desperately wanted. Cassandra stood next to him, looking at autopsy reports and crime scene shots.

“Your John Doe is a dwarf, but you don’t know if he has Noble ties? Usually the Casteless do facial markings to distinguish themselves-”

“Yes, except that John Doe had his head smashed in. The body is preserved, having been found in a fisherman's net just off the Wounded Coast. But the body is… too bloated to really identify anything.”

“No teeth means no dental work. No skin means no fingerprints or scars to help identify him. What about his clothing?”

“Besides it being covered in moss and torn to shreds? Standard work clothes, most of it made with cotton or lambswool. The only lead we have is that his left thumb was cut off before he died. The rest of the body, minus the smashed in face of course, is intact. Two other bodies were found during the previous Commissioner's time. Both were missing their left thumb, both were dwarf.” Cullen flipped the second folder that was on his desk. The victim's files were on display.

“Both victims have ties to the local Carta. A noble hunter who went by the stage name “Golden Beryl”. Poison was the killer, but she had been beaten post mortem. And a lyrium smuggler, male. Went by the name “Isana”, apparently because he was able to find surface veins of blue lyrium and not red.”

“I thought all of the red lyrium had been blocked underground, along with the remaining darkspawn?”

“You would think so, but like darkspawn, red lyrium finds a way. Meredith had found a red lyrium vein, remember?”

“I do. Continue.”

“Isana’s cause of death is unknown, his body was found by some Grey Warden scouts. Apparently deep stalkers had been eating at his corpse, so most of the evidence was, uh, tainted. The Grey Wardens did however note his Carta markings and that his left thumb wasn’t eaten but cut off. Again, the thumb was taken before death.”

“When did these two deaths occur?”

“According to the autopsy reports? About 15 years ago. The fact that a new body has shown up, same missing thumb, and if my theory is correct, the same ties to the Carta, we could be experiencing a turf war.”

“A turf war.” Cassandra raised her eyebrow, “who would the Carta compete against in Ostwick? The Red Jennies are anarchists, they don’t believe in anything organized. And the Coterie has had to repeal to Kirkwall because of recent infighting.”

“True, but who’s said it’s outside of the Carta? Ostwick has had one Carta House since the Dragon Age, but they didn’t start running things until the end of the Blood Age. Remember that movie, ‘The Godmother’.”

“Yes, I do. A shame it never got a sequel.”

“Well that’s because the sequel is Ostwick today. That story is based off Moma Cadash and her four sisters. They took over the Carta at the end of Blood Age, stating heritage to a former warrior caste turned golem. Shale, from the Fifth Blight. Still, times change and Moma apparently didn’t have a solid heir. It’s not a stretch that each of her sisters broke off and made different, smaller, houses.”

“But if that’s true, then both your Sergeant and that radio host are-”

“Connected to the Carta? I know. I may be the Commissioner, Cassandra, but I don’t have the men or the respect to start poking into those ties. Who knows, they might actually have no ties to the Carta, just the unlucky coincidence of sharing the same name with one the Bosses.”

“Give me the case.”

“What?” Cullen started to laugh, but then stopped when he saw the look on his friend’s face. “Oh, you’re serious?”

“I am. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Well it’s just, I thought you were busy, scoping out the Enchanter College and the Templar Force and-”

“Cullen, not everything has to revolve around mages and templars. It’s the people of this city that determine if there are riots or if there is silence. I need something- anything, to do. This case will get me out of your hair and allow me to continue my other investigation.”

Cassandra picked up both files, and headed out the door. Cullen cursed and followed her to the elevator.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To get answers. Starting at the morgue.”

#GNR #Volkswritten #trans character #Male Cadash #Kallak Cadash #cassandra pentaghast #OC x Cassandra Pentaghast

[mattatouile]

tension at a waffle house: 2AM

In the weeks to come, Jaime Lannister will think with frequent fondness of that Saturday night. When in the Waffle House at the corner of Riverrun Road and Maidenpool Boulevard, at two in the morning, his brother dropped a bomb on his life that changed everything. 

--

Jaime has never loved anything more than he loves this cheeseburger. This delicious, wonderful, juicy cheeseburger and fries. Gods, the fries. Crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, so salty they almost hurt his mouth. 

He’s savoring a nearly orgasmic mouthful of burger when a hand, an unwelcome but familiar hand, darts out and grabs a fry off his plate. Jaime glares at Brienne as he chews his burger menacingly in her direction. Her face is flushed, eyes glassy. She’s definitely more drunk than he is, but that’s no excuse for being a fry thief. 

“Get your own,” he says around his half-chewed food and uses his left arm to shelter the precious golden pile. 

“I already ate mine.” She tries to reach around him, so he angles his body to block her, but then her dishonorable hand reaches through the hole between his shoulder and forearm and snatches another fry from his plate. “Don’t be selfish.”

He shoves her with his shoulder against her own. She should know better than to touch a drunk Jaime’s food. Of course, in his state, he forgets that she’s actually as strong as him (she’s not stronger, no matter what she says, or how many arm wrestling matches she wins). Without preamble, they’re tussling with each other, their arms tangled up, Jaime fighting to protect his fries and Brienne battling just as hard for access. Somehow, they end up half-sprawled across the bench, Brienne on top of him. He licks her arm, simply because he knows she’ll recoil in horror and stop crushing him. 

As if they had rehearsed ahead of time, Brienne does squeal and jerk away. She wipes her arm off on his shirt while Jaime struggles to sit up with a riot of laughter directed at them from the other side of the table. He glares across the table at his brother Tyrion and Tyrion’s best friend, Bronn. Neither of them were in danger of losing the most important thing in the world. They shouldn’t be so free with thir mockery. 

Brienne grabs him by the elbow and hauls him back up. “I’m taking another fry in payment.” 

Before he can stop her, she’s already got it in her mouth. He glares even harder at her, but all she does is smile at him in response. 

“Pay up.” 

Jaime looks over the table to find Bronn holding out his hand to Tyrion, palm up. Tyrion grumbles but presses a -- shockingly large -- wad of cash into Bronn’s waiting hand. 

“What’s going on?” Jaime glances at Brienne long enough for her to shrug in mutual confusion. 

“You two finally fucked.” Bronn says it as if -- as if saying the sun is bright and the sea is water. 

But that doesn’t -- it doesn’t make sense. Because he’s him and Brienne is Brienne and so. 

“No, we didn’t,” he says, and looks at Brienne again, just to -- he doesn’t know, make sure he didn’t forget or miss something.

“Then explain this.” Bronn gestures lazily between the two of them. 

“We’re . . . friends?” Jaime says slowly, not really meaning it to be a question, but Bronn snorts. Snorts! Jaime turns to Brienne. “A little help here?”

“We’re not sleeping together,” Brienne says, flat in that way she has when she’s uncomfortable.

Jaime glares at Tyrion as if to say, ‘you see what he’s done to Brienne? Fix it!’ Tyrion, as always, totally misses the point and is patently unhelpful.

Bronn shrugs. “If you’re not fucking, then you must have fucked at least once.” 

Jaime kind of wants to punch Bronn in the face. Hard. More than once. 

“We’re best friends,” Jaime says, voice low and (hopefully) dangerous. 

Bronn looks at Tyrion with a raised eyebrow and Tyrion dutifully chimes in with, “You’ve spent the past seven years bickering and arguing, half the time it’s bad enough you go days without speaking -- and you live in the same apartment. You nearly pointedly do not touch each other unless it’s to punch an arm or shove the other in frustration. Now, tonight, you’re suddenly handsy, playful, wrestling and licking. As Bronn so eloquently put it, you fucked.” 

It’s like having a beer bottle shattered over his head (an experience he’s had multiple times). Jaime’s never really stopped to think about how his relationship with Brienne seems from the outside. They’re best friends. Sure, they drive each other crazy, but . . . they always have. Brienne is his best bro, his favorite buddy, the only person he would ever consider living with. Sure, he and Brienne aren’t exactly cuddly, but that’s only because it would be . . . weird. It would be weird. He also doesn’t cuddle with Addam and no one gives him grief for that. 

He’s just staring, trying desperately to form some sort of rebuttal that will be more convincing than the outright denials they’ve both offered already when Brienne pushes against him, moving him across the bench. 

“I need the bathroom,” she murmurs, not looking directly at anyone at the table. Jaime slides out and lets her out, watching after her as she walks stiff-shouldered to the hallway on the other end of the restaurant.

He sits back down and glares at them both. “You’re assholes.” They nearly look smug. “If either of you bring this up ever again, I’ll pull your intestines out through your mouths.”

“Well, that’s certainly convincing,” Tyrion deadpans.

“I’m not kidding,” Jaime says sharply. “Don’t fuck with Brienne. You upset her, and she doesn’t deserve yours and Bronn’s bullshit. She’s not like us.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she’s better than us; she certainly deserves better than this.”

“I take it back, you haven’t fucked her,” Tyrion says. “You’ve fallen in love with her.”

Tyrion may as well have punched him right in the solar plexus. “Fuck you, Tyrion.” He means it to come out jovially, but judging by the shift in Tyrion’s expression, he failed miserably. He’s nearly relieved at the sight of Brienne coming out of the bathroom, standing to meet her. She blinks, a question in the furrowing of her brows. “You ready to head out?”

She looks uncertain, glancing between Jaime, Tyrion and Bronn, clearly confused about the different tension from when she left. “Sure?”

“Good.” Jaime reaches across the bench and holds her jacket out to her, throwing too much money on the table while she shrugs it on. “I’ll talk to you later,” he tells Tyrion, offers Bronn nothing, and leads the way out of the Waffle House.

#jaime x brienne #one-shot i guess? #part one of something? #this has been sitting in my gdocs as the precursor to something #but i'm never going to write that something #so here #have a thing #it proves i'm alive and goddamn trying

[gremlin-writes-angst]

The Three Kingdoms

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

TW: Homophobia, internalized homophobia, implied transphobia(very brief), religious trauma

If I missed a trigger or if you spot a spelling mistake, please let me know. Feedback is encouraged.

Click here if you want to see more of my work and follow me for even more!

There was so much going on and yet it wasn't overwhelming, it was almost perfect. There were sounds of people happily chatting, wedding bells, and songs slightly louder played in the distance. The colorful glass from the church window shined on the people in the church. The church was packed for a royal wedding and at the altar, there was prince Kaminari but instead of a beautiful bride opposite him, there was a handsome knight from the enemy kingdom. The priest started the ceremony, the two grooms said their vows and kissed. It was anything less than magical. The priest began to announce the kingdoms’ new rulers.

"Lady's and Gent’s I introduce to you, your new Kings. King Denki Kaminari and King Eijiro Kiris--"

Before the priest finished his announcement the large church doors were opened and the...priest who was previously standing next to the kings, had teleported to the church’s entrance.

" I will not follow the rule of sinners like you" 

Suddenly all the happy wedding goers disappeared and reappeared behind the angry priest, joining him in ridiculing of the two kings

"We will not follow the devil"

"Our prince has been tainted by the devil"

The priest raises his hand and the crowd quiets down, Denki questions the priest

"What are you doing? You were just announcing us as the new kings and know you're over there protesting our marriage? YOU’RE THE MARRIAGE OFFICIANT?"

The priest ignored his King’s questions.

" Denki listen to me, the thing you married is the devil, he used his powers to make you believe you love him, but I know that you could never fall for another man. I can help you, just come to my side and I can exorcise that demon." 

The priest offers his hand out, then the rest of the people behind him do the same.

" Denki, they're lying, you know that they are trying to get in your head. I do love and you love me." 

Kirishima stood closer to Denki, also offering his hand to Denki. Denki looked between the two choices, he looks at the priest’s group, he sees his friends and family inside the crowd, telling him that the love of his life is the devil and he knows that they'll leave him if he stays with Kirishima. Could they be right? Did he love Kirishima, or was it just a trick? He meant every word of what he said in his vows, he spent days on his vows, he wanted to make sure Kirishima knew how much he loved him.  So they were wrong, he did love Kirishima, their love for each other was no trick. But if he chooses Kirishima he’ll lose all his friends, family, and his whole kingdom. Denki stressed over who to choose, the mob became louder and more aggressive while he thought but before he could make a choice, Denki woke up.

A dream? A nightmare? Why was I getting married, to a man, to a knight from the enemy kingdom? Why was I married to Eijiro Kirishima? It was a stupid dream, I would never marry a man, the kingdom was right, Eijiro Kirishima was the devil, the dream must be a warning to avoid the knight in the cellar. It can't be that hard, he’s just in the cellar that's in the basement dungeon, the key to said dungeon door was on the wall and the guard was always asleep. Ok, this was going to be hard, it's just too easy not to visit the Red Riot.

The day goes by quickly, but then night falls and I remember how easy it is to get to the cellar, how my dream is just a dream. How handsome the knight is. How sweet his voice is. How he waits up for me. How he stopped me from hitting my head. Before I knew it I was in front of the dungeon door with the keys in hand, but the thought of losing everything I know stopped me from going down. I silently returned the keys and went back to my room and slept, the dream repeated that night, and yet the pressure to choose felt even more stressful.

It was dusk again, I don’t remember the hours before now, but I was back at the door with the keys. I stand there for a while until eventually, I think

“It was just a dream.” 

So I unlock the door and descend down the stairs. Every step I take makes me more anxious, I repeat to myself that it was just a dream, my friends won’t leave me, I won’t be banished. I mean it doesn’t even make sense, I would never marry a guy, especially that brute in our dungeon, I barely even know him, and it's sinful.

“Then why are you going to see him?”

It’s a question in the back of my mind, and I don’t have an answer. It’s definitely not because he has a smooth husky voice or his muscular body, and it has nothing to do with his caring words that match his action. I am broken from my thoughts when said husky voice speaks

“If you keep walking you’ll end up hitting the wall”

I must have been so caught in thought because he was right, I walked right past him and was about to walk into the wall. I stay facing this wall, I wasn’t ready to face him, I mean I married him twice in my dreams, it is disgusting.

“Thanks, I guess”

“ No problem but are you going to turn around, I mean it’s kind of weird talking to the back of your head, especially when the front is so beautiful.”

I forget about the dream and why I was reluctant to turn around and l whip my body around and march towards his cell while accusing him of my dream.

“It’s your fault, you’re the reason, I’m not the evil one, it’s because you’re the devil. You sit there and you spew compliments at me, another man, from a rivaling kingdom, such words should be said to a woman!”

“ Sorry if I offended you, I was just telling the truth and if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop but I thought it was mutual” “What in the hell gave you that idea”

“uh the lustful gaze you keep giving me”

“Lus-lustful gaze, I do no such thing, and especially not to you”

“So then what was that look on your face when you heard my voice, why did you constantly look at my arms like they were turkey legs”

“ it -it - it was ugggg”

“Because that’s the same look the women give me…which is unfortunate for them because I’ve only ever looked at men with such a gaze.”

“ But that’s sinful, you are tainted, I should leave and never return.”

I walk to the stairwell with the full intent of doing what I just said.

“That won’t stop the feelings you are having”

I turn back around, full of frustration, I reach through the bars and pull the hunk closer to me.

“Then take your stupid spell off, I can-cant be . . . I can’t be like you, I just can’t, you understand right. Even as the devil you have to understand what this will do to me, I don’t deserve that, I don’t want god to hate me or my family or friends. I deserve to love who I want without feeling like the worst human in existence!”

I pause and quickly whip the tears off my face. I look up at the knight, his face is full of sorrow, he looks sad . . . for me. I let go and fall to my knees, replay what I said, I try to find justification for it, I think of the dream. I was happy, I was loved and I was loving someone else. What if I am like the knight? The knight leans down

“ I can’t say I understand the mental fight that’s happening in your brain because I came from a palace where this wasn’t something I need to worry about but listen.”

The knight’s hand slowly reaches for my chin, his hands are calloused like most knights, yet his hands are still comfortable and somehow soft. I let him lift my chin up so I’m looking into his eyes, there like rubies, or sapphires

“Or like the pits of hell”

I ignore the thought and continue to stare into the knight’s eyes as he tries to comfort me.

“ The person you love isn’t a choice, it’s fate, and if God hates you for what you can’t control, then he isn’t manly nor does he deserve such a title. Hate is a choice, love isn’t.”

I get lost in his eyes for a little bit, but when I realize it I turn away, a little more aggressively than I wanted to. I move away and take a seat on the bench that is meant for the guards, I don’t want to leave but I can’t find it in me to talk, even though I hate the silence. I sit there staring at the ground feeling awkward, the knight must have felt the same way about silence because he started talking.

“ um back at my kingdom, the Toyomitsu kingdom, there real accepting of such things, like I’m our queen was born a prince”

I’ve heard of a man loving a man or woman loving a woman but this wasn’t something I had heard of. With my eyes still planted to the ground, I asked.

“ What does that mean?”

I could hear shifting from the cell but I refused to lookup 

“Oh uh sorry, I forget that our kingdom is more progressive and more diverse. So basically our queen was born like us, she had our body parts, but she wasn’t.”

“I still don’t understand”

“Ugg this is hard, so she felt like her brain and body weren’t the same, like her brain said, ‘Your a girl’ but her body parts were male parts.”

“So she is a girl but had a body similar to ours”

“ Yeah exactly, but she’s better at explaining it because, well she lives through it.”

“ So she’s your queen, what about children, whos going to take over the throne”

“ Oh her and the king have a kid, he’s just adopted but he’s still their son and still the rightful prince, he's gonna be a great king. Oh, anyways I was gonna say that our kingdom is really accepting and if you need they’ll probably let you in if you ever wanted to leave here.”

In shock, I lift my head for the first time since I sat on this bench

“Even though I'm the prince of the rival kingdom?”

“ We don’t care that much about this rivalry. So yeah you would be fine”

“ If they don’t care why are you here?”

“ Well because our kingdom is so diverse and recently outside kingdoms have discovered that the queen is trans, which is the term for that situation, by the way, I think I forgot to mention that. Anyway, the King is worried about future attack’s so he sent out multiple knights to different kingdoms.”

“Oh so we’re not your only threat”

“Your not even a threat, your kingdom is crumbling”

“Oh wow thanks, I’ll remember that when I become king.”

“ You mean IF you become king”

“What is that suppose to mean ‘Red Riot’”

For the rest of the night, I joked and listened to Kirishima’s stories. I wish to see his home kingdom one day it sounds pretty cool. Before I knew it I was asleep and having another dream. It was different, there were no choices or stress. It was just Kirishima and me out on a hill having a picnic, eating food together, he fed me strawberries and the dream ended with a kiss, maybe falling for the knight wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Maybe my wedding dream was a warning about my kingdom and not Kirishima. I woke up and realized I was still in the dungeon, and that it was almost time for the guards check up on Kirishima, so I started to sneak back up to my room, I successfully avoided the guards on my way there, I acted as if nothing happened, I’m a pretty good actor if I do say so myself.

In the king’s throne room, a royal knight is kneeling before his king, he comes with important information.

“Lord Kaminari, I found the dungeon door unlocked and the keys on the guard bench this morning”

“ Well don’t leave them there”

“ I didn’t sir, I believe someone is sneaking into the dungeon at night.”

“ How would that be possible, we have Shinsou guarding the keys at night?”

“ I believe that he may have fallen asleep on duty.”

“ Well we can’t afford to get new guards or to switch any of the guard’s jobs, just move the keys to a new location along with Shinsou, Shinsou will continue to guard them. I want you to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

“Yes Sir”

“You are now dismissed Monoma.”

All characters belong to Horikoshi and his series Boku No Hero Academia

#mha #denki kaminari #bnha kaminari #eijiro kirishima #kirishima eijirou #kamikiri #kirikami #shinmono #shinsou hitoshi #hitoshi shinsou #monoma neito #the3kingdoms #fanfic #fatgum mha #taishiro toyomitsu

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Scheming (with Sandwiches) (5/3/2021)

Alastor talks to Valera @autokrates about her visit from Ruler Of Hell King Alastor @akillingspreeinwhite—and more importantly, what to do about him if he decides he wants to start conquering other Hells.

Alastor's plan: an alliance between as many potentially threatened dimensions as possible.

Alastor

Lunch time! Hello Valera guess who it is, it's Alastor. "I hope you don't mind, I thought it might be nice to have lunch together today! Sandwich?" The sandwich is an innocent gift of friendship with no ulterior motives! And also it's a bribe.

Valera

Lunch time! A great time, usually. A chance to gossip with coworkers AND eat. And look who's here, it's Alastor, with a very innocent sandwich! "Mind? Not at all, by all means my dear, it's a pleasure."

She does TRY to take a bite from the sandwich, but before she can even sink her teeth into it her whole face twists and she has to put it aside to flop her head down and groan. Don't mind her clutching her stomach, this is normal. "Eelizzy is *rioting* back home, oh my *gods*. Feels like I swallowed a radio full of hornets."

Alastor

"Oh, don't you hate that? When you're trying to pick up a station on the radio and there's so much interference all you hear is *buzzing*?" He's proud of himself for that joke. He shouldn't be. "Try this, see if it calms her down any." He sends over a song. <https://youtu.be/2t4iBbfwBLw>

Valera

She'd glare at him for that joke, but she's too busy making her poor floppy at-home body cooperate long enough to open a link. "Louisiana Lullaby? Well by name alone it promises results. She loved New Orleans."

A minute passes, and she slowly sits upright. The sandwich is cautiously picked up, and she nibbles at the crust as she raises both eyebrows at Alastor. She can guess what he really wants to know. "Incredible, even from a distance you're better at wrangling a kid than your more... *royal* alternate." That's an opening if she's ever given one, here you go Alastor.

Alastor

His smile widens. The exact topic he wanted to talk about! "I take it his visit was rather... stomach-turning?"

Valera

She glances around, making sure they're far enough away from any coworkers, then leans in with gossiping intent. "Putting it *mildly*. He's very tall, he's very self assured, and he's got the worst vibes I've ever felt roll off of a man. Like dunking my face in used cooking oil. And get this. The second he stepped into my house, Eelizzy started thrashing like a harpooned whale. She's never reacted so violently to *anything*."

Alastor

A slow nod. "That's never a good sign. I trust the judgment of the as yet unborn, they tend to be less prejudiced. And I take it you don't think it was a mere reaction to his power level?"

Valera

Her head cocks to the right, nose scrunching in thought. "He gave me one of Lucifer's flight feathers, so I assume she felt some of that power too. But I put the thing away and she still spent the entire visit either flailing or spitting static at him every time he got too close."

The hand not holding the sandwich brushes her barbels back, rubbing her forehead. "I suppose it's possible that his energy was simply so foreign she reacted strongly, but I live with *Leal*. She's been around for everything from eldritch magic to his full demonic form and barely even stirred. When she met Alexa? Happily buzzing at him barely a minute in. You saw how well she took to you, too. She's met dragons, gods, demons, sinners, and not a single one had her that pissed. Even Seapup was growling at him and Seapup loves *everyone*."

Alastor

"If she doesn't even react to *gods* like that, I'm going to assume it's the quality rather than the quantity." He sighs. "Well, *that's* telling, isn't it! I'm not sure *what* it's telling us yet—but I don't think I'm going to like the answer, do you?"

Valera

She snorts. "No. No I do *not*. He got to my planet unaided, Alastor. Got into my house without me giving any sort of direction. He knew the planet's name before I ever told him. And I want to chalk that up to just him reading my blog, but... I know he's followed me and Leal around without either of us being able to sense him."

Alastor

Alastor nods. "He mentioned that to me too, your 'being followed' adventure. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if the king's done it more than once. Or, considering how strong he has to be to have seized the throne, he might have additional methods of sussing out information. All of which are probably bad news."

Valera

This poor sandwich is never going to get eaten at this rate, there she goes putting it down again. "No kidding. He's been the pinnacle of manners and social grace for now, but.." A shrug, and she offers Alastor a wan smile. "I don't trust that to last. He's an outlier to the already unpredictable Alastor model."

Alastor

"No, I don't trust it either." His voice lowers—not his usual trick of changing his tone of voice to pretend he's being quieter, but an actual lowering of volume. "Here's the thing. I don't trust a single one of my alternates that's joined in the overlord rat race—much less has made king. A propensity toward boredom like mine should *never* be married to earnest political ambitions. When he gets bored, he's going to do what he's always done: conquer. And if there's no more room for him to move *upward,* he'll start moving *outward.* And wouldn't you know it, he's *just* found the multiverse."

Valera

"Exactly." She exhales almost too forcefully for it to be a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. What a headache this was turning out to be. "I *really* don't want to test my mettle against even a normal Alastor alt, the idea of *that* man being able to show up in my house on a whim and start trying to play at the All American Dream of Conquering the Alien Menace is... Not good." An absent minded rubbing of her stomach, self soothing and comforting an egg that was universes away. "I'm not ashamed to admit that I am, on some level, absolutely terrified."

Alastor

"You're not alone," Alastor admits. "Not to downplay your very realistic 'heroic human conquering the savage alien world' fears, but if human history has proven anything, it's that we tend to try conquering our neighbors first and only travel farther after we either succeed or decide it's more trouble than it's worth. And neighbors don't get much closer than a parallel copy of the same place."

Valera

"Oh dear." Grimacing, she lifts a hand like she's about to offer comfort, letting it hover for a moment before slowly putting it back down. No, don't do for the shoulder pat just yet. "I don't like that one bit, Alastor. But for what it's worth, if it came down to it, I'd try to help you."

Alastor

"That is *exactly* what I wanted to discuss." Alastor's eyes glow brighter. "Now, any version of me that's conquered Hell is going to be stronger than any version of me that hasn't, that's practically a given. He could beat any *one* of us hands down. I haven't seen *you* at full power, but frankly that's a boxing match I wouldn't want to bet money on for either side. But—*but*—if enough of us have agreed we'll fight him if he stepped out of line... The more of us agree to fight in defense of each other's dimensions, the better a chance we'll collectively stand. Leclerq and I have already agreed to offer each other mutual support. With three of us, we might have the start of a proper defense."

Valera

She folds her hands, listening as Alastor lays out his plan. Strength in numbers, it was an effective strategy. She could think of a few others who would gladly throw their hats in the ring in the name of keeping the line as well, Alastor or otherwise. "Alright. I'll add myself to that list, and pray we never need it."

Alastor

He laughs wryly. "And I'll be praying for backup in case we *do* need it. Apparently upstairs doesn't care about who's calling the shots in Hell, if they didn't intervene before my alternate could take the crown; but maybe they'll start to care if multiple Hells start uniting in one empire."

Valera

She snorts despite herself, shaking her head. "I hope so! Wouldn't that be something, heaven and hell uniting forces against one common enemy! I just hope we never have to see it."

Alastor

"So do I." He takes a deep breath. "So! Anything else of interest to report from his little visit? You mentioned *you* didn't like his... 'vibes'?"

Valera

"Oh! Yeah. Holy shit." A WELCOME subject change. "He's freaky. And I don't like that I know even one of his kinks. I want to know zero of them." She shrugs and picks her sandwich back up. At last, something she can eat while discussing. "As far as his visit though. He gave me one of Lucifer's flight feathers. Which I _immediately_ handed off to mon cerf."

Alastor

"He certainly has poor taste in kinks." He says this like his ace ass is some sort of elitist kink connoisseur. Like a wine snob judging a broke-ass college kid for drinking box wine. "But is that the *only* sense you meant he's freaky in, or...? Granted, handing an acquaintance a souvenir harvested from the body of one's vanquished nemesis is a hell of an opening statement all by itself, but."

Valera

"I wish." Look at that face scrunch. It won't keep her from taking a bite out of her sandwich, but still. "No, I mean his very presence was like trying to breathe oil. He's.." She frowns, brow furrowing as she tries to think of a less melodramatic way to put it. "He's nice, but in the way people are nice to a pet."

Alastor

A huff. "I got a little bit of that impression from talking to him. Granted, Radio Demons are a naturally condescending lot, but even at that..." He searches for the right words. "He strikes me as the kind of person incapable of seeing anyone as his equal. Even his own alternates."

Valera

She nods. "Yes, I think you're right. We're entertainment more than we are people. Perhaps _especially_ his alternates, come to think of it.." Judging by the way he'd treated his alts on dash..

Alastor

"Could be worse—could be outright loathing—but I'm wary around any alternate who can't even see *himself* as a kindred spirit. I'm hoping I can take advantage of it, though. I've got an open invitation to visit his dimension sometime to provide entertainment—a few Hamilton songs from me in exchange for a tour. I plan on scouting the place out then."

Valera

"Oh yeah! You do, don't you! You should try and see what happened to the other overlords in his Hell. Assuming he didn't kill them as soon as they manifested, I've wondered whats become of them."

Alastor

"So have I. I have to think overlords still exist—what does it matter to a king if the peasants claim ownership of a block or two?—but whether any of them are the same overlords *we* know..." He grimaces. "He said he took power in the fifties, didn't he? If we're assuming a worst case scenario where he executed all the overlords who currently existed, that includes Sir Pentious and Rosie. Maybe Rosie was minor enough to be spared, if anyone was spared at all; but someone else with ambitions for the throne..."

Valera

She scowls, shoving the rest of the sandwich in her mouth to keep from saying anything before she can think it over. He was right, and the thought was.. Deeply uncomfortable. A hard swallow, and she starts brushing the crumbs off her chest. "We're set to have lunch together tomorrow, *out* of my house." She doesn't sound especially *happy* about the arrangement, but oh well. "If I learn anything new, I'll let you know. Between the two of us, we should hopefully be able to get a feel for what situation we're dealing with. Odds are his Pentious was exterminated."

A blink, and she squints. "Actually, he said something to Theodore today. His Hell has had some *significant* technological advancements since he took the throne, he was very proud of that fact. All radio based, obviously, but he doesn't strike me as an inventor."

Alastor

"*Our* Hell's had significant technological advancements since the fifties, too," Alastor pointed out. "He could be collecting newly-dead inventors and pressing them to turn their expertise toward radio-based applications. Or, hell—it could simply be that having V#x out of the way means the technological developments in Hell naturally drifted a different way."

He gives Valera a tired, wan smile. "I'd *like* to imagine that Sir Pentious is happily toiling away as the royal inventor, but I don't want to get my hopes up. I don't think the majority would be happy with that."

Valera

"Mm, I'm being too optimistic. And he would hate it, so maybe it's for the better that he's probably been exterminated." She sighs. "I don't know if we manage to find trouble, Alastor, or trouble manages to find us. Either way, what a pain. Any other questions before we drag ourselves back to the dreadful chore of watching Hamilton get shot on stage over and over?"

Alastor

"Just one." He nods toward the stage. "Do you think it's been long enough since the last time I got in trouble that I can start singing 'he's never gon' be president now' when the bullet connects?"

Valera

Now that is a very serious question that must be considered.... Hrm... "Yes, but barely. I think the director would throw his clipboard at you, but not much beyond that. He's on his sixth coffee of the day, so the odds of dodging are in your favor."

Alastor

"Maybe he'll forgive me out of pity if I let it connect." He stands, picks up his own sandwich—yeah, he's had a sandwich this whole time—and devours it in five huge bites. "Shall we?"

Valera

For some reason, she's tempted to clap at that display. But no time for more banter, it's back to work. "We shall."

Alastor

Back to work. Time to watch Hamilton get shot again.

Valera

~~Boooooo give us a twist ending next time, add some leopards eating people's faces~~

Alastor

~~Hamilton is the leopard and he tries to eat Alastor's face for singing in the middle of his dramatic death~~

#autokrates #chat log #akillingspreeinwhite

[crackinglamb]

Comfort

From this prompt list.

Read it on AO3 here.

Rated T, ~1400 words.

---

“The next time you have to mourn,” La'vise said, “you don't have to do it alone.”

“I'll think on it. And thank you, Inquisitor.”

Solas walked away, back towards the keep and his sanctuary in the rotunda. She watched him go, hugging herself. Was there such a thing as secondhand bereavement? She ached to comfort him, knowing well what it was to lose someone you cared about. Even if that person was a spirit. His loss put into perspective many things about him.

He saw them as people. La'vise admittedly had little experience in such things. She wasn't a mage. And the Dalish were wary of anything that came from the Fade as a precaution against demons. But she'd seen it with her own eyes. The monster they'd released from bondage transformed into a small, vulnerable figure with eyes that glowed with veilfire. She had spoken with feeling, even if her words were few that La'vise knew. But he did.

And he'd had to dissipate her. From what La'vise understood, it was akin to killing her. She couldn't imagine the pain and horror of that act. Or that he preferred to be alone afterwards.

She turned on her heel and went back into the Great Hall, seeing the eyes of her guards on her where she stood, still hugging herself, an equally small, vulnerable figure with too much heaped on her shoulders. Inquisitor. No, she was just an elf. An elf with feelings she didn't know what to do with. She just knew she wouldn't want to be alone at a time like this. But she could wait until she was invited. Everyone dealt with grief in their own way.

***

She couldn't get it out of her mind.

Her ancestors called the land Dirthavaren – the Promise. One that had not been kept. It lit an old, racial anger that beat in La'vise's veins. For less than 300 years her people had called the Dales home. And then they were scattered, chaff on the wind. Never again would the Dalish submit. And never again would the elves of Halamshiral call their world theirs. What little history was passed from generation to generation had sparse details. She had learned more of the history of her people from books found in human libraries across the Emerald Graves and beyond than she had at her Keeper's knee. She took copious notes and sent them back to Deshanna faithfully, taking full advantage of the fact that Josephine kept her stocked with expensive paper and good ink. This hard won knowledge would not be lost again, if she could help it.

She sat back in her chair, alone in her chamber, and set down her fountain pen, making sure it did not clatter and spill ink across her page. It was not easy to think about the land humans called the Exalted Plains. It had hurt, seeing it with her own eyes. Seeing the devastation and ruin of the Promise. Solas had been with her, of course, and his eyes had been hard, the mask he wore to cover his thoughts brittle and cracking. Cole had whispered to him, too soft to carry. Their murmuring conversation had carried on the whole time they rode through the broken, tortured land of her forebears.

Cassandra had kept silent on the matter, for which La'vise was grateful. Although she caught the Seeker's eyes suspiciously wet as they made camp near what was obviously an elven ruin, now nothing more than a few stones outlining a foundation. La'vise had not slept well in that place. She didn't think anyone else had either.

Despair hung over that land, as sere as the grass. The stench of smoke and blood and death was an inescapable miasma. Not even the roaming herds of halla, nor the guardian wolves watching over them, could brighten her spirits there. Everywhere they went there were battles. The warring factions of the Orlesians bled over into the constant struggle against the risen undead. Solas said the Veil was desperately thin, that spirits pressed too heavily against it, piled on each other like so many bodies in a mass grave.  There had been many rifts.

She hated it. She hated the land stolen from her people and she hated the humans who had done it, still fighting over its carcass 700 years later like savages. They called her the Herald of Andraste, who was their Maker's Bride, who had made the Promise. And all she could think about when they were there was how to place her feet carefully so she did not trip over the bones of the People.

And now Solas had lost his friend there too. She covered her face with her hands and wept.

***

The rotunda was quiet when she entered it, many hours later. She carried a book with her that she'd found on one of their journeys, a journal written in a hand she could barely decipher. She was getting better at it, but she needed help from time to time, and she knew Solas could do that.

Her heart was heavy, she didn't really want to disturb him. But she needed this to send back to her Keeper. He turned to her as soon as he heard her enter. He was standing near a blank wall, the riot of colors from his murals absent in this spot. She wondered if he was contemplating the next one, or just needed the emptiness of that patch to reflect the emptiness of his sorrow.

“What do you need of me?” he asked, as polite and mild-mannered as always. There was no sign that he was still affected by the spirit's death, but she knew him well enough now to know that he was a master of hiding things.

“I have...I'm having trouble with some translations. I wondered if you could help me, if it's not too much trouble?”

“It is no trouble,” he assured her. He held out his hand for her book and she crossed to him. As he took it, she could feel his eyes on her. “Are you all right?”

Her eyes shot to his and she realized she hadn't washed her face or combed her hair. She felt gritty and wrung out like a rag. She must look it, too. She flushed with something almost like shame at letting him see her so broken, but his smile was soft. He brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away the tears that still lingered on her skin.

“You have been crying,” he said.

“I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“I failed you. The only thing you have asked of me, and I couldn't...I couldn't...”

Solas set the book down on a table and took her into his arms. This wasn't how she thought this would go. But she could not deny that the feel of him holding her, comforting her, was good. She relaxed into him, and in turn, she felt him relax into her.

“It is not your fault,” he whispered into her hair. “There was little you could do. And what you could, you did. That is more meaningful to me than anything. You have been a true friend to me, and I treasure it.”

She shuddered against him, and his arms came around her tighter. She didn't know how long they stood there like that, but finally her tears eased, the burden of their mutual sadness made lighter by each other. She tipped back her head to look at him and found a lopsided grin. “Is that all I am?”

He smiled back and wiped her cheeks again. “No, La'vise, that is not all you are. You are much more than a friend.”

The moment stretched, and she thought perhaps he might kiss her, but he didn't. Still, the warmth in his gaze poured over her and she felt better. She could see in his eyes that he did too. All at once she remembered why she had come to the rotunda in the first place and stepped out of his arms, feeling the cold loss immediately. “My book...”

Solas drew her back and wrapped her in his embrace again. There was something in his expression that she couldn't quite name. If she didn't know any better, she would call it greed, but that was simply ridiculous. “It can wait. Let me hold you.”

#Lamb writes #dragon age inquisition #solavellan #solas x lavellan #prompt fill #series tag Just Like Fire #post-All New Faded For Her #hurt/comfort

[ghive]

three chords ⋆  shawn mendes x reader

inspired by because i had you by shawn mendes

a/n: this is definitely not my first time writing for shawn, but it is my first time posting my work on this blog! initially, i wanted to write a few blurbs first, but this is my debut i guess! i planned this in may because i was planning on writing fics for every song on sm3, which obviously didn’t happen, but now it’s august and i’m finally done. yay for lily.

also i obviously don’t currently have a taglist but if you wanna be added you can send me an ask (or a request!) here

warnings: angst, swearing, anxiety attack

word count: 3.4k

playlist

the 1 ⋆ taylor swift

out of love ⋆ alessia cara

raindrops (an angel cried) ⋆ ariana grande

about you ⋆ fletcher

arms of a stranger ⋆ niall horan

under / over ⋆ gracie abrams

because i had you ⋆ shawn mendes

***

it’s late, but shawn’s not home. he’s been out all day at the studio; he’s been spending more time out writing and recording, so it’s not an unfamiliar situation. it’s empty, too; the air, your heart. you sit at the piano, the view of the toronto skyline almost invisible in your attempt to fill the growing void with song.

three chords, that’s all you’re playing. but you find a small comfort in the melody. it’s simple, unbothered by the tears welling in your eyes. it rings out in the room, like the buzz of the metal had as you dropped the promise ring into the dish that sat on shawn’s nightstand, just an hour earlier.

the door closes, keys jingle, footsteps sound throughout the condo. your fingers dance across the keys one more time, one last time. you’re soft, gentle, with your movements. three chords, two broken hearts, one more moment before it all breaks forever.

you turn around to look at him, hoping the darkness will conceal your glossy eyes. “hi,” you breathe out, pressure rising in your chest as you look over his shadowed face. those warm brown eyes, the scar on his cheek, the soft blush caused by the cool night air. he’s glowing, he always is, but his light is dimming. it hurts.

“it’s late, y/n. you didn’t have to wait for me,” he says, removing his jacket and hanging it up.

“i know, i wasn’t waiting. i mean, i was, but not for you,” you reply in a quiet voice, standing up from your seat at the piano. 

“what were you waiting for?”

you ignore his question. “dinner’s on the counter for you to heat up. i would’ve put it in the fridge when i made it but i wasn’t sure when you’d get home.”

“i’m sorry i’m so late, baby. i just got caught up at the studio, and we were writing and lost track of time-” he rambles, explaining his absence.

“it’s okay shawn, really. go eat. i’ll be awake if you need anything,” you urge, a sad smile painted across your face. he walks to the kitchen as you head toward your bedroom. you grab your last-minute items, your purse, passport. most of your belongings are already in the car - you’re not surprised if shawn’s noticed that the condo’s just a bit more empty - but you can’t be bothered if he has.

you walk into the kitchen, bag in hand. he sits at the table, playing with his food as he fiddles with his phone. you study him for a moment, for the last time. “i, uh, i should go,” you stutter out from your place in the doorway.

he looks up with wide eyes. “where?”

“away.” you close your eyes, a tear slipping out. you feel like your world is crashing down around you, leaving you alone and exhausted.

“y/n,” he stands up, approaching you slowly. you feel like glass, even though he isn’t touching you. fragile, but sharp in the softest way only heartbreak can cause.

“you were right. the other day, on the phone with connor. you’re better off without me. i’m sorry for holding you back.” you brush your fingers across his cheeks. holding him gently, you press a kiss to his lips.

you rest your forehead against him, eyes closed, breathing synced. you step back towards the front door. “i love you,” you say, looking him dead in the eye. he’s still, silent, the situation only settling in once it’s too late. the door opens and closes, you’re gone.

“i love you, too.”

the walk to the underground parking area seems to last forever as you try not to let the tears spill from your eyes. as soon as you sit down in your car, though, a sob cuts through the cool night air.

you cover your face with your hands, salty tears rushing down your cheek and into your shaking palms. you hide away in that position, not sure from whom - maybe yourself, for a few minutes, before sitting up to lean your head back against the seat.

“maybe he’ll finally be happy,” you whisper into the darkness.

he only wishes you were right.

***

that was five months ago, and shawn’s reality is just settling in. sure, you’ve rushed to move on, forget him, but you look happy. you are happy, and you’re sure shawn is too. it’s what he wanted, after all, how could he not be?

he’s not sure how he isn’t, either. but every time he hears your name, or sees your face on a mutual friend’s social media, it gets a little harder. those five months ago, that phone call with connor, the consequences, everything’s still so clear in his mind. it burns more than his tongue when he sips his coffee too soon or touches the flame as he lights candles around the condo. it burns more than anything, and as more time passes, he just wishes he had you to soothe the pain.

his album just came out, and while you haven’t listened to it, your friends have. you don’t mind the sound of his voice, or his name. you try not to dwell on him too much, and that’s easier said than done, but you broke up for him. so, you’re trying to move on for yourself. not to mention the fact that your boyfriend would riot if you even mentioned your ex’s name, and you’re not ready to fight with him, too.

macy’s playlist is on shuffle as the two of you drive through the southern ontario countryside. it’s a calm, safe space, hardly a care in the world as you laugh at your best friend from the passenger seat. that is, until a certain voice sounds from the speakers, his voice.

“what song is this?” you ask, the first few lyrics swirling in your brain.

“because i had you, it’s one of shawn’s new songs so if you want to skip it you can.” macy smiles apologetically, not wanting to upset you.

“no, no it’s okay.”

you just listen. to the lyrics, to the melody, there's something so familiar about it. the song, it’s so obvious, is about you, about that night five months ago. the time it’s taken for you to let go, to finally find a bit of peace.

it’s all fine, maybe you felt yourself tear up just a bit, until you hear those three chords. the three chords that had echoed in the void of your heart for weeks after you left. you weren’t upset with him for using the melody, it was so simple, he probably didn’t even remember it was yours. but the song, the story, your story, you just can’t help but wonder.

***

he remembers. he remembers all of it. the shakiness of your breath before you left, the melody you were playing to make it all go away. shawn knows he should’ve asked you if he could use it in his song, but he couldn’t face you. as much as he craves you, he just has to let go.

he hopes you don’t listen to the album, that you won’t notice that almost every song he’s written since that night and years before has been about you. that when you walked out that door, he’d both gained and lost the most beautiful muse. but if you do listen to it, you’ll know. you’ll know the story, and you’ll know he’s sorry.

you know, and it hurts so much more than you could’ve imagined. in the months since the breakup, his voice had never really bothered you, but when you could tell that you caused the pain he had written about, every single word hit you a little deeper. as soon as you walk into your empty apartment, you drop your bags and collapse on the sofa.

you feel cold, even as you snuggle deeper into the cushions and you feel yourself start to sweat. you swear you can hear someone moving around you, even though your roommate is out on a business trip all week. you’re dizzy, you’re sweating, your head’s pounding. your heart starts to race, your breathing quickens. “i can’t do this right now, i can’t fucking do this,” you choke out.

you rub your hands up and down your arms to ground yourself, shutting your eyes tightly. it’s not stopping you from working up into a panic, and it definitely doesn’t help when his words sound in your head. “you’re okay, baby. i’m here. it’s just me, it’s just shawn,” he’d say to comfort you. it did comfort you, or, it used to, but this time it just sent you farther away from your peace of mind.

“but i’m not okay, and you’re not here. it’s just me.”

***

you lie in bed awake, every little sound amplified in the darkness: the buzz from the air conditioning, the flapping of your curtains, the roar of the cars from the downtown street below. it’s like the sudden return of heartbreak broke the numbness you’ve been living in, bringing you back to the harsh reality of what you used to have.

you sit up in bed, then reach over drowsily to grab your phone. the screen lights up with a picture of you and some friends at the top of the empire state building a few years ago, you had been visiting shawn on tour and met up with them while you were there. you squint slightly as your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, 2:39 am reads the clock when you can see properly. you open your phone to the home screen before selecting the spotify app. you sigh, then type in his name. “this is probably a really bad idea.”

shawn mendes it reads, the cover of his self-titled album shining brightly into your bedroom. his face split into three, flowers growing in the empty spaces. it’s much prettier than his other two album covers, much more artistic. he’d never really had an eye for design, so you can’t imagine it had been his idea.

you press play, the first track starting to sound out loud before you pause it to grab your earbuds. once you’re settled, you start the song again, and start to hurt, again.

every song, you can tell when it was written. in my blood, you’ve heard that one before. shawn said it was one of the most vulnerable pieces he’s ever written.

nervous, it’s what he used to be like around you told through a story; not quite the same, but it’s yours. it’s the adrenaline of a young relationship, the excitement of someone new.

lost in japan, he’d written just for fun - you remember him coming home from the studio so tired but so excited, it was a new sound, and it was the start of a new era.

where were you in the morning?, it’s a situation you’re sure he’s encountered numerous times since the end of your relationship. you hadn’t heard even a bit of it before.

like to be you, it’s the exact dynamic you two always had when you were in a fight; it’s perfect. “julia michaels!” he had said that evening when he walked in the door. “i can’t wait for you to hear this song, honey.” if only you had known.

fallin’ all in you, has you in tears almost immediately: the first verse encompasses what you had, the second verse what could’ve been. you had plans, the two of you, to have a few kids, grow old together. “trapped up on a tightrope, now we’re here,” shawn sings.

“where did we get lost?” you think as the song finishes. you used to be so sure that you’d last, and he was too. you wish you knew when he fell out of love, when that promise of forever became empty.

particular taste, it’s new; you hadn’t heard it until now. the girl, whoever she is, you just wish that you could be her, even for only a moment. to have him completely mesmerized, to be that kid in love.

why, you’re not sure why it hurts you the way it does - it doesn’t even line up with your relationship, but the feeling it awakens is all too familiar. it’s like your heart had heard it in another world, waiting for the day it would run through your mind like it had your blood. the feeling confuses you, but as the song comes to a close, you close your eyes to cry a bit, too.

because i had you, there it is, that song. it’s so stupid how it breaks your heart - you thought you had gotten it all for yourself, now. yet, the song rips it to shreds, tearing away at the memories you’ve tried so desperately to let go of. he did this to himself, you think, but you wonder if you hadn’t gone, maybe neither of you would be so broken.

queen, it’s new, too. with every song you haven’t heard before, jealousy burns a little hotter. you’re glad this “queen” isn’t you, but you wish that the songs that were about you weren’t so sad.

youth, it’s cute. a nice refresher from the love songs, but nothing worth dwelling on. the message is powerful, but you’re too distracted by the love songs and heartbreak anthems to pay much attention.

mutual, you remember hearing it before. it was always fun for shawn to play with fiction, test his storytelling abilities, so when this song came around, he was more than excited to put it out. it’s a bit more basic lyrically, but the melodies and aesthetic appeal to your tired ears.

perfectly wrong, it seems innocent at first, but as the song goes on, the lyrics start to set in. it’s the story of what you and shawn were before you left - he’d probably written it around the time of the breakup. you just wish he had said it to your face.

when you’re ready, it’s probably the most sickeningly cute song you’ve ever heard. of course, it’s familiar, you’d heard him playing the melody, or something similar, just a couple of years ago. it’s clear that he’d written it early in your relationship or been inspired by that time, and it’s adorable, but it pains you to hear how hopeful you both were. you genuinely thought you would last, get married, grow old together, and it seems that shawn did, too.

you know your boyfriend won’t like that you’re listening to shawn’s music, he hates shawn more than you ever could. you can’t even say you hate him, after all, he’s the one who fell out of love. you hate that you had to leave, you hate that you’ll never look at a piano the same way again, you hate that you’ve become the muse of his heartbreak songs; but you could never hate shawn, not when you still love him more than anything.

you think maybe you’ll never get over him, they say you’ll always remember your first love. but for now you just hope that you’ll be okay, you’ll be okay like you thought he would be. it’s too late to go back for him, run back into the apartment and beg to fix your relationship. he was supposed to be your forever, but you know that dream’s long gone, you woke up to hellish flames and the screaming chaos of your mind and reality. shawn’s too far gone, and you need to stop reaching.

you’re happy with your current relationship, aesthetically, anyway. he’s there for you, and he’s supportive, and he’s lovely. his job is secure, you know that you can call and know that “soon” means a few hours, not weeks. it’s a storybook romance, he’s perfect for you, and you’re perfect for him. it should be working, and it might be if your heart wasn’t so broken, but you still feel the butterflies start to fade, and the sparks starting to cool down.

part of you, somewhere deep down, knows that you and shawn could’ve figured something out, that you should’ve; but he didn’t fight for you when you left, and you didn’t speak up when you had the chance. you were only 16 when you fell in love, just high school lovers who thought you could be more. you were young, and reckless, and hopeful. everyone warned you that it wouldn’t last, but you wouldn’t listen.

you would lie under the stars, shawn would tell you that you were meant to be forever, that those very stars had aligned perfectly for you to meet. one of those nights, you were 18, you sat in the back of his jeep. “hey babe?” shawn said, looking over at you fondly.

“what’s up?”

“i think we have one of the greatest loves of all time, truly. like nobody’s perfect, but we’re perfect for each other, y’know?”

“yeah, yeah i do know, and i agree.” you smiled, then kissed him softly. in the back of his jeep, under the stars, pretending like you’d go down in history. and for that moment in time, you thought that maybe you would. 

***

your sister still asks if shawn will come back, she’s only a kid, she wouldn’t know better. but you know that he won’t, he can’t. he can write songs that’ll never see the light of day and text messages he’ll never send, but he can’t come back to you.

he can’t come back to your family, to those nights spent all together, teaching him how to make your favourite foods, dancing in the kitchen to songs he’d never heard. he can’t come back to sitting at the large, round table to eat the meal that he could never get quite right, but always tasted perfect because he had put so much love and care into trying.

you want to forget so desperately, you can’t take seeing his honey eyes staring back at you when you’re trying to fall asleep, the ache you feel when you sit down at a piano. he haunts you, living in the depths of your mind and the sharpness of your breath. you want to tell him to go away, leave you in peace. but he lingers, as does his power over you.

shawn’s trying to move on, too. but in the eyes of every one-night stand, every failed date, you’re right there. you’re not his, and he knows it all too well. he has to let go, he has to, but he doesn’t. he knows he broke your relationship, that he was just upset and confused and it ruined his life. he wants to text you, at least tell you he’s sorry.

but right now he’s staring up at the ceiling of his apartment, another woman beside him, curled up in his sheets. she’s beautiful, dark eyes to match the warm brown of her skin. she glows in the morning sunlight, long eyelashes fluttering slightly with every slow breath.

she’s kind, and warm, and loving. she’s supportive when shawn needs her, and she can take care of herself without his constant attention. from afar, she’s everything shawn needs and has ever needed, but to shawn, she’ll never be just right for him, because she’s not you.

he looks down at his shirtless chest, gently pulling the covers off his side of the bed. he pulls on his boxers, a pair of basketball shorts next. he looks back at her, watching as she opens her eyes slightly, a small yawn leaving her plump lips. 

she reaches over to the other side of the bed, but when she feels the empty space, she fully opens her eyes. shawn’s standing in the doorway of the bedroom, now fully-clothed, but exhausted.

“you good?” she asks, bringing the sheets up with her to cover her bare chest as she sits up against the headboard.

“i’m so sorry,” shawn chokes out. “i just can’t love you the way you want me to. i want to but i can’t-“ he shuts his eyes tightly, “-i can’t.”

“it’s her, isn’t it?”

“yeah, yeah it is.”

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fic #fic!shawn #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn peter raul mendes #x reader #sprm #sm #sm x reader #because i had you #angst #shawn mendes breakup #three chords #august 2020 #badreplive #lily writes

[infinite-xerath]

Runeterra Retcons 6: Shyvana

I’ll be honest: before doing the research to write this script, even I had no idea how complicated the history of Shyvana’s character was. Counting her current lore state, Shyvana has had no less than five different bios over the course of her existence, putting her in the same league as Warwick in terms of retcons. While I personally think that her current lore state is relatively fine as-is, there are definitely some aspects of her story that could use a little polishing up.

As always, though, we need to first take a look at Shyvana’s history in League and see what the core of her character concept is. With that established, we can try and build a more solid foundation for Runeterra’s resident half-dragon. So, without further ado, let’s see how she was originally envisioned in her very first bio.

Alright, so, Shyvana is a straight up human-dragon hybrid, conceived through… Well, the traditional means. I do think it’s interesting to note that this is actually the first mention of Celestial Dragons we get in the lore. Apparently, the concept for Aurelion Sol goes back all the way to the early days, though I doubt Celestial Dragons were anything like what we know them as today. Hard to say, given that this was the only mention of that entire subspecies in the old lore.

But, enough beating around the bush. As a whole, I think this bio is fine, all things considered. It leaves a lot of unanswered questions, sure, but it’s a decent basis to build her character off of. Most importantly, this bio establishes Shyvana’s connection to Jarvan IV: something that has remained consistent through every iteration of her character. While Warwick’s ties to Soraka were constantly fluctuating and eventually severed in his recent bio, Shyvana’s relationship to the Demacian prince is something all her future incarnations would carry over. Speaking of, let’s check out her second bio and see how her first retcon was handled.

So, Shyvana’s no longer Celestial in nature, which is probably for the best given that her element was always aligned more with fire than space. What’s more, it’s now established that half-dragons like her are hated by both humans and dragon-kind. Also, apparently most, if not all dragons can shape-shift now. Frankly, there are still a few mysteries left by this bio, such as who killed Shyvana’s father and what even happened to her mother. Still, it’s not awful, though Riot apparently decided that they wanted to give her a more active role rather than just being saved by Prince Jarvan. Thus, do we receive her third bio.

Alright, so once again, no real mention of Shyvana’s mother, and her father’s identity is still kinda vague. By this point, another recurring theme of Shyvana’s story should be evident: tragedy. Riot seems quite insistent on giving her the whole dead parent trope for her backstory, yet that’s never REALLY brought up in her character besides a single voice line: “By the blood of my father, I will end them!” Once again, we know nothing beyond the fact that her father was a dragon and her mother was inhuman. It might also be worth noting that no mention of shape-shifting is present in this version of the story, so… Take that how you will.

Still, I like this story because it helps to better establish a bond between Shyvana and J4, having them fight together to bring down a mutual enemy. This, in turn, turns the initial concept of Jarvan merely saving her out of pity to a relationship born of mutual respect. This was Shyvana’s backstory when I started playing League, and so this is the version of the character that I grew most familiar with. Still, Riot would retcon her again after the 2015 reboot, leaving us with her fourth bio. Buckle in folks, because this one is the longest by a landslide and there’s a LOT to go over here.

Phew! OK, that was a LOT to take in. Frankly, you could make an entire analysis about this version of the lore alone, but let’s just go over some of the major talking points, shall we? For the first time, Shyvana is no longer the offspring of a human and a dragon, but rather the result of a human using magic on a dragon egg. The reason for this direction is most likely because dragons in Runeterra can no longer shapeshift, so they needed to find a new way to justify her existence.

Once again, we touch upon the Vastaya Problem, where we have an entire race of half-human creatures that Shyvana could have easily been slotted into. Would the existence of dragon vastaya really be that much of a stretch, Riot? Well, I already harped on about that quite a bit with Warwick, so let’s just move on, shall we?

The fourth version of Shyvana’s bio is the first time in which her mother actually takes a prominent role: that of an antagonist. Yvva is actually pretty compelling as a villain, antagonizing Shyvana all her life while her father tries to protect her. The one major issue I have with this is that, if Shyvana’s dad knew about Demacia and that its petricite could conceal his daughter, why did he not think to bring Shyvana there sooner? I suppose he needed to train her to control her power first, but could the petricite not have also helped with that? Oh well. That’s a bit of a nitpick in the grand scheme of things, I admit.

The other major change here is that now the dynamic between Jarvan and Shyvana has been changed once again. Now, SHE is the one saving HIM, a complete reverse of the original story. While I don’t exactly have a problem with this, I do think Jarvan agreeing to help her fight Yvva comes off as a bit abrupt, and the Demacian soldiers seemed a bit too ready to accept her into their home. I mean, yes, she saved their prince, but fear of magic is rooted DEEP into their society. This is the same nation that would rather let entire fields succumb to disease and rot than rely on mages to sustain the crops.

While there are some other small issues I could nitpick about, I honestly think that the way they handle Jarvan and Shyvana’s team-up is the biggest by far. For a little context: Jarvan’s whole backstory is one of repentance. He gets cocky and tries to retake some land from the control of Noxus without the sanction of the king, and his recklessness and inexperience wind up getting his men killed and himself gravely injured. This is what leads to him being found and saved by Shyvana.

Though Shyvana’s bio would be rewritten one more time, the way in which she and Jarvan meet and team up to take on Yvva remains more-or-less the same. Frankly, I’m not a big fan of this. I like the idea in concept, but the fact is that Yvva isn’t really Jarvan’s antagonist. She is a threat to Demacia and Jarvan does redeem himself by helping to bring her down at Wrenwall, but it feels more like he’s just jumping in to help Shyvana deal with HER problem out of gratitude.

That being said, this is an analysis about SHYVANA’S character, so let’s take a look at her fifth and final bio to determine her current lore state, shall we?

Alright, so I’ll be honest: I think this might be the worst version of her story so-far. To begin with, it’s not even really clear WHY Shyvana is the way she is. At least the previous version of the lore made it clear that a human mage tampering with the egg is the reason why Shyvana became a half-dragon, but in this story, the baby mutates just because of his proximity? Even then, that may not even be the cause. “Whether it was the act of removing it from the nest, or the last moon of autumn giving way to winter, something had changed.” So, yeah, it’s even really clear what caused Shyvana to take on human qualities.

Also, can we just acknowledge another bizarre line from this bio? “From an early age, she was able to shift her form into something monstrous, akin to the half-dragons of ancient myth.” So, hold on, there have been half-dragons before Shyvana? This is something that’s occurred in the past? Can we get some elaboration on this? No? We’re just going to ignore that. Alright then. Moving on.

This version of the bio tries to reintroduce the tragedy of Shyvana losing her father, but it’s honestly handled a lot less gracefully here, in my opinion. He’s just a random human mage that decided to raise her out of pity, and his death is kind of pathetic, honestly. In the previous lore, Shyvana’s dragon father gave his life defending her, whereas this nameless mage is just killed unceremoniously in Yvva’s rampage. Even his burial feels rushed and anticlimactic.

As for Jarvan’s introduction this time, well… My prior thoughts still stand. Shyvana’s lore has always been connected to his, but I truly believe their relationship was handled best in the third version of the lore, where they had a mutual enemy to bring down. Hell, he doesn’t really even do much in the showdown against Yvva other than have his soldiers fire arrows. It all feels like a hyper-condensed version of Shyvana’s fourth bio, which is understandable given how long it was, but a story like this kind of needs to be properly fleshed out if we’re meant to actually CARE about the individual story beats.

 So, with all that said and established, let’s get into the meat of this one, shall we? Without further ado, I present to you all: my reinterpretation of Shyvana’s backstory. Please, enjoy.

Among the many breeds of dragon that inhabit Runeterra, few command as much fear and respect as the rare elemental drakes. Though they command the primal magics of the world itself, elemental drakes are be reclusive creatures, typically lashing out only when their territory is disturbed. For this reason, the lands near Nockmirch remained untouched by mortal settlements for centuries, as all knew the name of the beast who ruled them: Yvva, the fire drake.

For years, Yvva inspired tales of terror and reverence alike, feasting on travelers and traders who dared to intrude upon her lands. Even her mate, Urgrin, feared Yvva’s power and fiery temper. Unbeknownst to Yvva, Urgrin was no ordinary dragon: in truth, he was a member of an ancient vastayan tribe with the power to take on draconic form. As his kind dwindled in number, what few of Urgrin’s people remained scattered to the winds, with Urgrin himself maintaining his draconic form constantly in the hopes of finding a strong partner.

At first, Urgrin believed himself fortunate to partner with an elemental drake, but as their clutch of eggs began to hatch, he felt himself growing increasingly worried. Only one of these younglings bore Yvva’s primal fire, meaning that the rest would likely be discarded or eaten. When the final egg hatched, Urgrin was shocked to find not a dragon youngling, but a girl with purple skin and horns. He’d not thought it possible, but this child was vastayan just as he was, and her birth would expose Urgrin’s secret to Yvva.

Fearing for both his life and girl’s, Urgrin fled the under the cover of night. Resuming his vastayan form for the first time in decades, Urgrin took shelter in the northern mountains, hoping that the cold of the Freljord would deter Yvva’s pursuit. There, he raised his daughter in secret, naming her Shyvana out of his lingering respect for her mother.

For a time, Shyvana and Urgrin lived in relative solitude. Urgrin taught Shyvana all about her vastayan heritage, but as she grew, it became apparent that Shyvana had inherited something from her mother as well: the primal elemental magic of a fire drake. Urgrin spent years teaching Shyvana how to harness her rage, hoping to keep his daughter from succumbing to the same fiery temperament as her mother. Though this training seemed effective at first, Shyvana’s power only grew with time. This power, in-turn, became a beacon, luring Yvva to the far north in pursuit of her stolen child and traitorous mate.

One day, as Shyvana was returning from a hunt, she was shocked to find her house ablaze. Two great dragons clashed in the skies above, one of whom she instantly recognized as her father. Shyvana tried to join the fight, only for Yvva to turn her wrath on the half-blood child. Urgrin shielded Shyvana from his mother’s fury, astonishing even Yvva with his strength. Even so, Urgrin was clearly losing the fight, and so he bid Shyvana to flee south to a land called Demacia, where petricite walls could dampen her magic and shield her from Yvva’s wrath. Begrudgingly, Shyvana did as told, trekking through the mountains as her father gave his life on her behalf.

After a long, hard trek, Shyvana finally reached the land her father spoke of: Demacia, a kingdom made of petricite. She quickly found herself an outcast, forced to hide from the magic-fearing humans that lived inside petricite walls. And yet, just as her father said, those same walls served to dim her power and hide Shyvana from her mother’s fury. Even still, Yvva would not relent so easily.

For years, Yvva scorched Demacian settlements near the border in search of her daughter, forcing the Shyvana to remain constantly on the move. Hunted by her mother and persecuted by the people around her, Shyvana found herself utterly alone in the world. Finally, after years of dogged pursuit, Shyvana had had enough. Embracing her inner fire, Shyvana took flight on blazing wings and ascended the mountains near Nockmirch, where she found Yvva waiting for her.

The two drakes clashed for hours, primal flame against primal flame. Their battle charred the nearby plains and melted stone, yet for all her ferocity, Shyvana was ultimately no match for her mother’s fury. Yvva sent her daughter plummeting into a nearby river, content to leave her half-breed daughter to drown. As Yvva fled, however, Shyvana dragged herself out of the water, reverting back to her humanoid form as she gasped for breath. Battered and beaten, Shyvana wandered blindly for days, knowing full-well that her mother would likely come for her again soon.

Eventually, Shyvana encountered a young man in charred armor at the base of the Argent Mountains, who himself looked to be barely clinging to life. She learned that this man, too, had sought to challenge Yvva and lost. His soldiers had sacrificed themselves on his behalf, leaving the young man stranded and alone. Sensing an unusual kinship with this stranger, Shyvana offered to bring him to the nearest Demacian settlement, and to her surprise, the stranger agreed. Even after revealing herself to be Yvva’s daughter, the stranger bore her no hostility.

The people of Cloudfield were not so inviting. At first, many were terrified of Shyvana, and yet their fear turned to elation when they realized who her companion was. This man, she learned, was none-other than the prince of Demacia himself: Jarvan IV. Seeking to end Yvva’s reign of terror on his kingdom’s borders, the prince had set out with a handful of elite soldiers, only to return to home in shame and defeat. For coming to his aid, the people of Cloudfield begrudgingly allowed Shyvana to remain amongst them to heal her wounds while the prince .

Though grateful for their hospitality, Shyvana knew her presence would only draw Yvva to her sooner or later. As she made to depart, Shyvana was approached by Jarvan once again, this time with a proposition: alone, they had failed to defeat the fire drake, but together they may stand a chance.

Jarvan and Shyvana traveled to the fortress of Wrenwall, where they began to develop a plan. Jarvan would organize his troops and set traps in place for Yvva, while Shyvana flew ahead to garner her mother’s attention. Though reluctant to place her faith in these mere humans, Shyvana understood that this would be her final chance to avenge her father. Sure enough, when Shyvana neared Nockmirch once more, Yvva’s furious cry shook the heavens themselves as she began her pursuit.

Once again, the fire drakes clashed, but this time Shyvana wasn’t planning to defeat her mother with raw force. Instead, she led Yvva closer and closer to the fortress of Wrenwall, where Jarvan and his soldiers were waiting. Believing her daughter’s retreat an act of cowardice, Yvva was taken totally off-guard by the volley of petricite bolts launched from the fortress’s ballista. As the bolts tore into her scales, Yvva felt her power weakening, and Shyvana was quick to capitalize on this. Once again, their battle was intense, yet Shyvana now had the upperhand as Jarvan himself led a new battalion into the fray.

Even weakened, Yvva fought hard until her last breath. She tore at her daughter’s scales and devoured Demacian soldiers, yet in the end, the fire drake was outnumbered and outmatched. Shyvana sank her teeth into her mother’s neck while Jarvan plunged a spear deep into her forehead. In that moment, the flames of Yvva finally flickered out, and the soldiers of Wrenwall cheered in triumph.

In the aftermath of the battle, Jarvan approached Shyvana once again, this time with another proposition: in exchange for her loyalty, he would offer her a place among Demacia’s elite. Awed and humbled by the prince’s might and valor, Shyvana knelt and swore her loyalty on the spot. Though many still harbor doubts about the half-dragon, she serves her prince with undying devotion and respect. Shyvana’s fire burns for Demacia and Demacia alone, and those who threaten her new home are to learn that even a half-dragon’s fury is not to be trifled with.

Alright, so, the biggest and most notable change from the get-go: I made Shyvana vastayan rather than human. I understand that this might seem a bit controversial to some, but it doesn’t really contradict or change anything. Shyvana is simply called the half-dragon; there’s never any mention of what her other half actually is.

Ideally, I would have liked to keep her half-human as well, but since Riot clearly wants to remove the concept of dragon-human intercourse to produce an offspring naturally, the only option that remains is the contrived method of “it happens because a human was near the egg.” Like, that’s the same sort of logic as Rengar becoming anthropomorphic because he was raised by a human hunter as a cub. It’s just silly, if we’re being honest, and the human “father” in Shyvana’s last two bios has been such a non-entity that they don’t really even bother to give him a name.

So yes, I’m making Shyana half-vastayan, not unlike Sett in a way. Again, I get why some might take issue with this, but I feel like that’s a much easier and simpler route to go with. Of course, the other big change would mean rewriting a bit of Jarvan’s story as well, though that’s kind of inevitable; the two are so closely intwined that changing one story kind of has to impact the other.

Now, I don’t think J4’s current bio is bad enough to warrant a full rewrite, but as I stated before: I think his story would work a lot better if he also had a personal reason to fight Yvva in the first place. I think that having him lose soldiers to her rather than some random Noxians fits more thematically and gives him more reason to team up with Shyvana. I also wanted to give him a bigger role to play in bring Yvva down, to further emphasize that she’s an opponent Jarvan and Shyvana could only defeat by working together.

Overall, Shyvana’s current lore state isn’t the worst I’ve seen, but it could definitely do with some improvements. I hope you all enjoyed my take on her character, as this was possibly the lengthiest retcon to write. As always, though, feel free to share your thoughts down below, and I’ll see you all next time!

#Outofpower #Runeterra Retcons #League of Legends #Shyvana

[vaguely-concerned]

Some T.F./Graves thoughts from their bios

I realize what a dumb move it is to base uuuuh basically anything on lol bios, since riot apparently change those like other people do underwear, but if I’m not here to build my castles on sand what am I here for honestly  

- I LOVE the description of their first meeting, it’s such a meet cute lol... these two assholes really did just take one look at each other and mutually went ‘so is anyone gonna enter into a life-defining homoerotic partnership with this lying cheating bastard??’ and then neither of them waited for an answer 

- Though at times Twisted Fate would blow all their shares and leave them with nothing to show for it, Graves knew that the thrill of some new escapade was always just around the corner…

I am genuinely a little emotional about how obvious it is that at the end of the day the money really is secondary to him - what really drives him is how much FUN they have together. (he seems in general quite driven by that sense of Adventure; if it were just about the cash he had steady work in bilgewater before he took the trip over to the mainland as a kid) it’s like the part of ‘the road to el dorado’ in the boat except more sincere... ‘you made my life an adventure bro’ :’) 

(also very funny that graves’ bio is where you learn that t.f. doesn’t always win or get away with his shit hahaha, in his own bio it’s played like ‘oh gotta let people win once in a while to throw off suspicion’ flasdhfjsad. it’s mentioned he gets caught a lot more without graves watching his back too, which also gets me in my feelings a bit) 

- one thing I find interesting is that t.f.’s parents aren’t referenced directly at any point (the only family members mentioned specifically are his aunt and grandfather, I’m pretty sure). I’m wondering if they were already out of the picture somehow and that’s part of the reason no one spoke up for him? I mean it’s fucked up either way, I don’t know what’s worse; that his people found it so easy to exile him because he didn’t have anyone to protect him, or that his parents were alive and JUST LEFT HIM THERE. like what the fuck. from how it’s written it’s pretty clear he was still considered a child at the time too, so, y’know. (Graves is described as ‘little more than a youth’ when he headed for the mainland while T.F. seems to have been a kid when he started being on his own, so I’ve headcanoned something like 16-17 and 13-14 for their respective ages of leaving home, with both of them around 19 when they met) I’m quite curious about what kind of internal family politics were at work for them to apparently all agree -- or perhaps be too intimidated to disagree -- to exile a child for life with no recourse and no resources. like yeah okay he messed up but that’s some next level assholery to pull on a kid honestly, no wonder he grows up to have a bunch of abandonment and emotional intimacy issues (and presumably some prime survivor’s guilt as well. oh buddy) 

- eternally entertained by how much meeting t.f. is worded like the ‘how they met their spouse’ section of a wikipedia article in graves’ bio

Across one table, he met a deplorable fellow named Malcolm Graves is also *mwha* so good 

- for fic purposes I would just like to give a moment of thanks for the paragraph in graves’ bio that mentions a bunch of shenanigans they got up to back in the day, very useful thank you

- from what I understand t.f.’s exile-causing transgression has been changed quite recently from fighting back to running away, which I am so happy about because it makes a lot more psychological sense to me and makes graves’ words in ‘burning tides’ hit so much better.  

- I like that their individual descriptions of graves being captured are so indicative of how they each think about it -- namely t.f. doesn’t want to think about it (repress! repress! repress! very relatable) but probably has the more accurate view of it: The exact details of that night remain shrouded in mystery, for neither of them likes to speak of it—but Graves was taken alive, while Tobias and their other accomplices ran free, while graves does think about it but sort of still has his trauma goggles on for it: During a heist that rapidly turned from complex to completely botched, Graves was taken by the local enforcers, while Twisted Fate merely turned tail and abandoned him. t.f.’s is obfuscating and refusing to engage in the emotional aspect of it, graves’ is much more emotive in the language used, like ‘abandoned’. the lol bios often teeter awkwardly between straight biographies and wanting to dip into prose/flavour text, I must say I usually find them very clunky and unsatisfying, but this juxtaposition works for me.

sort of weird the details that don’t make it in, though -- like the fact that they’re both aware that miss fortune was the one who screwed them over in the whole gangplank Situation? (I love that part in ‘destiny and fate’ where graves is gamely like ‘yeah of course I’ve got a grudge against her but that was pretty metal too so y’know *shrug*’ haha)   

- it’s interesting how much t.f.’s uh connection I guess to the cards is almost described as some kind of... compulsion/unstoppable drive in the middle of his bio and then fades into the background towards the end (because his priorities have changed to repairing his marriage now that it’s an option and by god I support him in that). I really do wonder how his card magic actually works -- it’s a cool mix of extremely unsubtle and undeniable sorcery (straight up throwing fireballs around) and subtle (’hunches’, being ‘guided’, just knowing things he sort of shouldn’t), which seems to be where it started

also it seems like he can do it with just about any playing card he comes across? would be sort of weird if it’s the cards that are special, considering he keeps throwing them away and also I don’t know a lot about gambling but I distinctly imagine that casinos don’t let you use your own decks haha. and t.f. seemingly can’t do magic just on his own, without them. so it’s a thing that happens very specifically in relationship, when all the elements come together, symbiotically sort of thing? could he do magic without the cards but it’s how he’s trained himself to think of it so he doesn’t realize it (well I honestly doubt that but just for the thought experiment)? is there some sort of spirit behind those cards looking out for him? is it lady luck keeping an eye out for her favorite boy lol? we know this stuff can physically change the cards like when they showed the crown in ‘destiny and fate’, and he seems able to ‘prime’ a card with magic beforehand if ‘double-double cross’ is anything to go by, but even then mf can’t actually use or release it. hmmmmm many questions  

- the more of my long fic I write the more I am questioning what the fuck these two DO with all the money they steal -- like they’ve clearly pulled off some HUGE heists, surely it can’t all go into like drinks and cigars and fancy waistcoats and tf’s seemingly unending supply of playing cards

do they have like. a bunch of small caches of gold hidden away all across two continents in case of emergency? are their buried treasures the stuff of runeterran urban legend and people go out hunting for them? Have they invested this stuff in actual banks? (actually no I refuse to accept that as a possibility lol if nothing else this would make it hard to figure out if they were robbing THEMSELVES sometimes, sounds like a lot of hassle)

- His people had always waved away concerns over primitive magic and “cartomancy”, but now Tobias began to seek out ever more dangerous means to bend the cards to his will. 

I’m having a little bit of a hard time parsing this -- does this mean his people didn’t believe the cards were magic at all and he’s the only person he knows who can do it, or do they know but just don’t think can be dangerous??? I chose one particular interpretation for my fic, but I honestly can’t figure out what it’s actually meant to mean haha

- T.F. getting a special satisfaction from robbing people who are Assholes is a good character detail (his colour story really goes out of its way to show that the merchant he’s playing against is a real shitbag, for example); there is some lopsided form of righteousness/sense of justice there, I think. and it also ties in with why I like that his exile was because he ran away rather than because he resorted to violence -- there’s this underlying sense that he particularly enjoys outsmarting people who’re dickish to outsiders in precarious situations (like his people) so thoroughly that they don’t even realize it before he’s long gone, without ever having to even lay a finger on them, because that’s a way to fight back while staying out of reach when you come from relative powerlessness. There’s a... lack of malice, I guess, to both of them that I find quite endearing, you can see in Burning Tides that even at his most mindlessly vengeful Graves doesn’t actually enjoy being actively cruel. ‘mutual sense of roguish honor’ is RIGHT they’re bad men but not Bad men you get me  

- All in all, Twisted Fate is glad to have his old friend back, even if it might take another job or two—or ten—to restore their once easy partnership.

This probably means nothing because as I said the lol bios seem an endlessly shifting kaleidoscope of canon, but I think it’s so sweet that both of their last sentences/’where are they now’ statements are about them wanting to repair their partnership (and do some Cool Big Stuff together in graves’ case, I do wonder if that’s foreshadowing for the ruined king game or what)

#tf x graves #twistedgraves #league of legends #listen overwatch trained me well in trying to tease something like lore out of the smallest little crumb of detail I cannot be stopped

[bread-elf]

DWC 2020 - Day 4

May not be suitable for all readers, viewer discretion is advised

Broken

Mist of Pandaria, pre Siege of Orgrimmar If you want to play, come and find me… Jiroki suddenly became acutely aware of the scents around her, of burning gunpowder and charred flesh. Ash filled her lungs and she coughed herself awake, tearing her heavy eyelids open to try and gauge what’s around her. Through moist eyes she blinked away the blurriness as best as she could, though after a few seconds she wished she didn’t. The sky had started off as a bright and sunny day, but now smoke filled the empty skies above her, black and grey colored streaks tainting the air. Her body felt heavy, and she struggled to push herself up. Plate armor wore her down as she propped herself onto her elbows, chest heavy as she can feel her usually tight and neat bun of hair falling apart. The blue tabard with the Lion’s sigil she wore diligently had been torn asunder and defiled with sweat, blood, and oil. Her helmet had been long lost in the fighting along the way, but that had not been a factor in the way the appendage of her ears felt like they were severely battered. Hissing in through her teeth she reaches up to try and tentatively touch one, but decided against it, she had more pressing matters on her mind. Come and find me.

A taunt lingered in her mind as she rolled herself over, and she first gasped and nearly choked on her own coughing fit when met with a startling sight. A robotic golem, much like the ones common to Westfall, lay right in front of her, its gaze affixed on her while its body had been torn asunder by a large lance jutting out of it. It lay dormant, broken, but it stirred many questions in her mind as she began to push herself up onto all fours. “Hel-Hello?! Anyone?!” On her knees she finally takes a look around. Many other golems lay in similar circumstances, but that only explained half of the scents she could currently smell. The rest came from mangled and scorched bodies, identified by their smaller size and the same blue tabards she wore. “No- no!” Scrambling to the nearest one to her, a vaguely familiar shape of a man, grabbing hold of his shoulder and rolling him onto his back. “Arathon! Arathon?!” A young human with auburn hair, now muddled with blood as a gaping wound dripped on the side of his head. He had recently just got engaged, but Jiroki had pressured him into coming on this mission since she was his second in command. She shook him a bit, hoping perhaps that it was not too late, that the pink mush leaking from the side of his head was just a dust in her eyes, but her efforts are in vain. Glancing around she takes better not of the other bodies around, and a particular name nearly makes her entire being cease to exist. “Gelt- GELT?!” Jiroki pushes herself to stand but nearly crumples as she cries out in pain that takes her by surprise, looking and seeing that a chunk of plate had been torn off her leg, and had torn her calf to shreds. A trail of blood had followed her as she had crawled over here, and it continued to follow her as she forced herself to stand and limb along the carnage, desperate for any living souls. The side of her face felt wet, but she ignored it as she began her search. The battle took place in the Hinterlands, a mission to chase down a notorious individual that had once been a part of the cavalry unit she had partnered up with. Jiroki, being a part of the infantry of Stormwind’s militia, had many long debates with her Marshal, commander of her unit who currently had gone to the campaign in Pandaria, a campaign she herself couldn’t go to in fears that the mysterious force known as the Sha would consume her for her anger. Something to be rightfully fearful of, given how she is. So with her infantry men that were left behind, they had kept themselves occupied and helped stabilize other fortifications in the King’s name, and found themselves getting to know a cavalry unit stationed in the Blasted Lands. Though both cavalry and infantrymen alike lay scattered in heaps of corpses around her with the wreckage of golems. “ANYONE?!” Nearly hopping on one leg she explores the field of carnage carefully, the battle having been a wide berth in the lands. “Call out! Whistle! Something!” Her voice cracks, no one is alive. Only her. The side of her face still felt wet, and in frustration she wipes the moisture away with a gauntlet, only to be surprised by the sight of her own blood splattered on her gauntlet. A vague memory creeps into her mind, moments before she blacked out, how she had survived. A small blade of cold steel, dragging delicately across her skin. Her ears twitch, picking up a sound, and she glances back over her shoulder towards a hacked sob. Shuffling in that direction she keeps her silver eyes as wide as she can as she glances around, and the moment she sees a hunched over figure shuddering she nearly sprints. “Swadley, is that you?!” Seeing the small human hunched over, the girl barely having reached adulthood recently. She sobbed hysterically, fiery red hair spilled out of her helmet, or was that blood? Jiroki nearly collapses as she tries to get to her, but by the strength of will manages to keep herself from falling onto her knees until she’s behind her. “Amber-” Cutting herself off as she realizes Amber is holding someone, and she drags herself around to see who it is. Jiroki’s stomach drops as she sees the body of Gelt’s daughter, Eilynne. Around Amber’s age as well, she dressed in mage battle robes as her curly blond hair framed her head that Amber carefully cradled, her gentle face looking peaceful as ever while her robes seeped of her entrails that had spilled out by whatever had caused her demise. So close to becoming disheveled, Jiroki looks up at Amber, so far the only other living soul she’s found, but it sparks a bit of hope. “Amber; have you seen Gelt?” Amongst all the bodies she had not seen this man, a man who had so carefully pried open her heart. “I can’t find him, everyone is-” Her words hang in the air, not having the will to finish, but also realizing that Amber wasn’t paying attention to her words. The young human continued to hyperventilate from the trauma, vibrant green eyes staring straight ahead of her and not even having glanced to Jiroki at all. The elf decides to follow her gaze, and her stomach riots. “Gelt!” A saw blade had seared through his torso and severed both arms, one laying nearby as the other is lost in the carnage. The saw blade in question currently resided in him as well, protruding from his legs as if it had been left there as a landmark. Jiroki couldn't believe the audacity of the display his corpse had become, unsure of if this was actually the first human she has ever loved. But his hazel eyes look the same as they stare unliving to the sky, the roots of his dark brown hair had begun greying out in age, that little scar he had since he was a child over his left eyebrow from a stumble he took. Jiroki hadn’t even felt herself as she moved closer, everything in her core squeezing tight as her jaw clenched. She could no longer ignore the riot in her stomach, turning herself away from his body as she started to heave whatever remnants were leftover from hours ago. Jiroki felt her chest begin to crumble, her form shaking as the heaved sobs force their way out of her gut, trying to pant for air but finding none as she’s short of breath. This time she could feel fluid sliding down both cheeks, now shedding tears that mingled with the blood and soot on her face. So close to breaking. “J-J-J-” Hearing the stutters of Amber, Jiroki turns her head, slowly and nearly without life. But she notices that Amber is clutching something else to her chest, which with a trembling hand tries to extend out. A green glow emitted around her fingers of whatever she held tightly. Suspicions begin to stir in Jiroki that make her come closer, extending her own hand to accept whatever it is that Amber wants to pass her. A fel green stone drops into her hand, immediately sending the hairs on the back of Jiroki’s neck standing. Turning it in her hand she could tell it wasn’t a health stone, though unintentionally she smears a bit of her blood onto the stone. Right away it begins to light up and Jiroki almost chucks it, but a swirling mist forms inside the rock catches her attention, causing her to stare into it as a figure forms. “Well, well, it seems you’ve woken up.~” A taunting voice speaks from the fel stone, and Jiroki sees a face that makes her blood boil. A human woman with strawberry blonde hair and lips red as blood, her face having a snarky sneer as the message continues on. “I left our mutual friend alive to give this to you. I certainly couldn’t kill her like the others, she was always the nicest to me, and the cutest.” Her voice takes on a sickenly sweet mock, and out of the corner of Jiroki’s eyes she can see Amber huddle forward. “I’m sure you’re going to look darling once my scars on you heal up. The game still stands.~ You know what to do.” A flashback runs through Jiroki’s mind, moments in combat before her world went dark. Fighting with a golem that she managed to sever its leg off with her glaive, but then something from behind nearly obliterates her leg. Collapsing onto the ground her glaive slips from her hand, and a crushing force lands top of her. A different golem had snuck up and pinned her down, but that wasn't nearly as alarming as the pair of slippered feet that casually walked around Jiroki’s head, a woman dressed in robes kneeling down beside her head. Jiroki’s helmet gets removed and tossed aside, and a soft hand roughly grabs Jiroki’s chin and tilts it upward. “Ellie-” Jiroki sneers, the strawberry blonde woman giggling as battle happens around them. “You could have avoided this you know.” Ellie’s other hand reaches forward to begin gliding her fingers along the elongated ear of the elf. “This wasn’t any of your business. But now it’s too late. I’ll need to set a firm reminder for your lover boy.” “You won’t get away with this!” Jiroki struggles to get up, trying to call forth her inner magics for a way of escape, but she feels the magic being siphoned out of her like breath being drawn for her lungs. The woman just cackles, wrapping her hands around Jiroki’s ears. No words are given as fel fire is conjured, and Jiroki screams in sheer agony as her ears are burned. As it goes on Jiroki’s vision starts to fade, trying to grasp onto consciousness as the pain rivals some of her most severe injuries. Eventually it stops, and her throbbing ears can barely hear the sound of a blade being drawn from a sheathe, the cold steel being dragged along her cheek in a crisscross. “Heheh, but I already am getting away with it. Once I kill off the rest of my enemies, that is.” Making her mark of an X on Jiroki’s cheek, letting the blood weep from the skin. “But, if you want to play, come and find me.” Jiroki’s brought back from her mind as fel stone fizzles out, losing its color and becoming a dull grey. Just now noticing how much her hand is trembling, her grip tightens on the rock, it begins to crack. Amber’s sobs bring her attention; at least one person is alive from all this, and she needs to be taken from here. “Amber…” Conscious of Gelt’s body near her she Jiroki does her best to ignore it for the time being, coming closer to the small human. “We have to go.” Amber’s sobbing gets worse at that, reluctant to leave Eilynne’s body. Jiroki manages to push herself to stand and come beside Amber, bending down and trying to coax Amber to let go. She starts to struggle, Amber crying hysterically, but Jiroki realizes that the human had many cuts and gashes in her armor as well. Wrapping her arms around her waist, Jiroki hoists up, and the body of Eilynne slips from Amber’s grasp as she starts to wail and struggle. Amber only stood about five feet in height, much more shorter than the elf that reached seven feet, yet Jiroki found her strength taxed while moving her. Hoisting the human up with unsteady legs she gets Amber hanging over her shoulder, stumbling a few steps backwards and risking a fall, but she manages. Amber kicks and wails and tries to squirm off, but she’s just a broken and weakened mess as Jiroki still has just an ounce of strength left to carry out this task, hanging on by sheer will and anger. “I’m going to kill her...” Jiroki talks to herself as she limps along the bloodied grounds, Amber’s hysterical cries ambience in the background. “I’m going to tear her heart out…” Trying to take Amber out away from all the carnage and into an open field for air, and from there she can at least gain their bearings. A caw from the air catches her attention, lifting her head up to look. High up above a gryphon looped in a circle, a dwarf on the back that surveyed the area. It must have been one of the Wildhammer’s sent to scout what had caused all the smoke and fires on the ground. Jiroki stops and waves her hand up that was holding Amber steady for leverage, trying to catch the dwarf’s attention. Once Amber was safe, games could be played. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ After all was said and done it became clear that revenge can’t fill a void in her chest. Jiroki sat in a chair outside of Gelt’s former house in Stormwind, dressed in comfortable robes and a glass of lemonade on a table in front of her. It remained untouched, Jiroki just staring out blanky in front of her towards the cobblestone streets. Devoid of emotions she just sat, but from the open door stepped out a Highborne. “Alright, I just finished folding up the sheets… It’s a nice day, isn’t it?” Long silver hair bound back while his own beard had been braided to keep from flourishing, Sasil had nearly been stuck to Jiroki’s side ever since her return, helping tend to her injuries and whatever business she had to settle. Him speaking caused her ears to twitch, and it sends a dull and painful reminder of the bandages wrapped around them. “Hm…” Jiroki had nothing to say, nothing she wanted. Sasil adjusted his rolled up sleeves, uncharastically in loose linen and simple trousers as he had set to help clean the fallen cavalry's house today for Jiroki. A quick glance made him notice Jiroki hadn’t touched her lemonade, and he tries a different approach. “There does happen to be a slight chill in the air…” He states. “Perhaps some tea would be more fitting? Do you want me to make some jasmine?” Coming up and gently brushing his hand over the back of her hair. “If you want.” Dismissive, not reacting to his touch at all. His silver brows knit together, but he goes ahead and steps inside to start brewing some tea, nothing else he could do but try. Jiroki remained still for a time longer, eyes lazily spotting a small butterfly landing on a potted plant with budding flowers. Eilynne had planted those, she had watered them diligently every day. Moving from her spot she glued herself to for hours she stands, leaving her drink unattended as she steps into the house. It had become barren, only large pieces of furniture and kitchenware remaining as most of the personal belongings and decor had been packed. Jiroki didn’t have the will to go through them, nor did Gelt and Eilynne Weissgron have any living relatives to contact, let alone a unit to report back to. Sasil tood in the kitchen, a kettle already over a stove top as he looked through different tea blends that were in the house, turning as he noticed Jiroki going towards the stairs. “Jiroki-?” “I’m going to lay down for a bit.” Bare feet gently pad up the wooden steps as she makes her way up, leaving Sasil down below. “Ah- ok! I’ll- I’ll be here…” Letting his words fall flat, brushing his hand over his head as he lets out a sigh. Jiroki could have walked with her eyes close to the bedroom where Gelt used to be in, one she had shared with on special nights. But it looked so different now, boxes filled with his belongings and some with decorations. For a split second the thought occurred to her that perhaps they were just moving, moving to Ironforge like he had hoped to one day. But the daydream was smothered out by the cold reality. Walking forward she makes her way to the bed. The blankets had not been packed yet, and his scent still lingered in the room, but she nearly tripped as one of the floorboards bent at an odd angle. Quickly stepping back she looks down to see it partially lifting up from the rest, and it was then that she realized she had nearly forgotten about his secret cubby. “Don’t tell Eilynne, but I keep her mother’s heirlooms in here. I don’t trust banks.” The middle aged men had beckoned to Jiroki once upon a time, having crow’s feet yet still had a youthful mischievous glint in his eyes. Jiroki knelt herself down and gingerly pulled back the floorboard, seeing the box hidden beneath. Reaching down she plucked it out and held it on her lap, deciding to go through it. Inside rest a savings bond written to Eilynne that she could cash in when of an older age, a small ring box that held both Gelt’s and his deceased wife’s wedding rings, and a jeweled locket that would have been passed on to Eilynne. Jiroki didn’t know what to do with the savings bond, but perhaps the other items could be buried with Gelt and his daughter. But there was a different small box that Jiroki didn’t remember seeing, pulling that out and setting the rest down. It looked like a ring box too, but she couldn’t recall him showing anymore then what she had thus so far seen. Opening it up, when she looked inside she nearly felt her body tear in on itself. A single ring, a shining silver with Darnassian rune work lining all around it, a studded diamond perched atop that shimmered like it was brand new. On the inside of the band was the tiniest of engravings, but stood out the most for her. G & J. The ring fell onto the floor with a gentle clatter as Jiroki gripped the sides of her head tightly, trembling and started to heave up sobs to the point she started gagging. Overcome with grief she tries to run away from it, so much so as to stand up and physically move away from the ring meant for her, but she nearly topples over a standing mirror. Turning in shock she sees herself in her reflection, ears wrapped up in bandages and another patch right over the mark that Ellie had left on her cheek, where a scar would form. The very same face that led so many to death, she takes the opportunity to exact her vengeance on her own self and punch at her reflection, causing the mirror to shatter with a loud crash. From downstairs Sasil immediately bolted up the flight of steps and to the room, just in time to see Jiroki hurl the rest of the standing mirror towards the wall. A hand shoots out and with his arcane capabilities the shards and furniture piece are pulled away from her, and he’s quick to dash in and catch her falling form. “You’re ok, you’re ok!” He gently chides as he pants, having exerted his talents much more quickly than he was prone to, but that meant nothing to him as he held Jiroki to his chest. She wailed into him, fists weakly striking at him before she just gives in to her grief, mourning loudly and clutching to the Highborne. Sasil soothes Jiroki’s hair as she laments, there in the room with so many memories packed away. Knelt by the broken pieces of the mirror, Jiroki lets herself break as well. (( @daily-writing-challenge​ )) (( Amber is my alt! Shout out to all the other player characters involved in this! This was set in the time somewhere between events of MoP and way before Warlords released, with guilds no longer active! I hope they’re all doing well. )) (( I also had been fighting vertigo all day, so halfway through this is when editing stopped, sorry for any inconsistencies! ))

#stories

[megatraven]

Forbidden to interact with a Titan. :o

GREAT!!!!! i wrote this almost 2k thing in response to this! it got out of hand! :D

AO3

__________

They pine.

Of course they pine.

They’ve loved her for so long that it hurts to think about.

They were both young, once. She was human, completely, and she was their best friend.

But the gods- they didn’t really understand mortals, and they didn’t want to. They didn’t have the same morals, they didn’t care. 

It only took MC’s mother one too many times, butting heads with Zeus, for his anger to grow too big for him. He spat a curse down on her, and Aphrodite and Hades intervened- of course they did, they loved her.

But if the curse didn’t land on her, it had to go somewhere.

And they don’t discover it right away, weeks passing without anything weird or unusual cropping up. But it comes eventually.

MC is beaming when her mother gets home, but there’s only dread on her mother’s face when she takes in the scene: an aura of a bird, making a mess flying through their living room.

“I’m just like Alex!” she says, but that’s impossible.

She goes to Aphrodite and Hades, and brings MC with her, worried for her daughter. Humans don’t just gain natural auras.

The gods look at MC, then her mother, and finally each other, a great sadness in both their faces. Hades breaks the news to them, and MC doesn’t really understand what’s so wrong with being a half-titan, but her mother is devastated.

They go home.

And MC doesn’t see Alex for a long time- the only exception being when her mother passes. They’d pulled Aphrodite closer to her when she and Josh cried, down on the surface where she was buried.

After that, it was radio silence.

No phone calls. No texts. No emails. 

MC adjusts to her life as a non-human on top of her schoolwork. She makes friends with local monsters, and even a couple of titans that chill out in the city from time to time.

She grows up.

She grows up, and she doesn’t have much of a direction in life; HERA wouldn’t accept her application, with the titan blood in her veins, not even when she argues that it was Zeus that put it there in the first place.

She gets bitter, but more than that, she mourns her dream of walking in her mother’s footsteps.

Her monster friends trade tales of the gods, and she learns that they’re not so great, anyways. They’ve done so many terrible things, to good people. To her. 

She learns that if she wants to make a difference, then she needs to go above the gods’ heads and do it herself. If they won’t even speak to her, then she’ll carve her own path out, without their permission or help.

Somewhere along the way, Alex catches wind of her need to make the situations of monsters and titans better.

They laugh a little; of course that’s where she ends up. Of course that’s what she decides to do. It’s totally in line with everything they know about her.

And they know a lot!

They haven’t kept in contact with her, forbidden by the gods to do so, but... they still cared about her. They kept tabs, made sure she was alright, talked to Josh about how she was doing.

They did little things- sent anonymous flowers when they’d heard she had a rough day. Left a birthday gift at the door each year. Helped pay for the college courses she took when her father left and Josh couldn’t support her himself.

It wasn’t much, but it was all they could think to do without breaking the rules.

Really, it was only a matter of time before they ran into her again. They ran in similar circles now, both frequented the Boarback... both still cared about and thought of the other.

And when they do run into each other- it’s literally. They’re not paying attention and Alex walks right into her as they’re leaving the Boarback and they both fall to the ground at the impact. They don’t notice right away, just who it is, and an apology is on their lips before it dies when they look at her.

“...MC.”

They’re more than a little dumbfounded, but she’s in a similar state, just. Staring at them.

“Alex.”

She scrambles to her feet and offers them her hand, and they’re not even thinking when they reach out to take it.

But she is, and she pulls back before they can.

“Sorry. I should- I have to go.”

And she turns around and leaves them there, and it takes them another minute to realize they were the one about to leave the bar.

After that, they see each other more, here and there. In line at the same coffee shop. Visiting Medusa’s bookstore. Getting a drink at the Boarback. In the streets.

It hurts them both every time, but they’d rather have those little moments than nothing at all. Getting cut out of one another’s lives... nothing hurt worse than that.

They exchange little words. ‘Hey’s and ‘Hi’s and ‘How are you’s. They catch each other’s eye, too often, and look away just as quick.

In the bar, Alex will stay longer if she shows up, or for as long as she’s there. Her laugh helps them breathe easier, and the way her voice carries across the room warms their heart. Sometimes they just watch her from across the way, blushing when Eryn nudges them and winks.

And MC- she just likes to know they’re still there, doing okay. She wishes they could be friends again, maybe something more, but she’s content to be where they are.

Slowly, slowly they get closer. The distance between them in any given place starts to close. They have small talk that last longer than a quick greeting. They ask about each other’s lives, their jobs, their families.

They start to warm back up to each other, and sometimes they forget about the boundaries between them, slipping back into easy conversations and warm smiles.

Eventually they’re sitting next to each other at the bar, just barely keeping themselves from touching one another. They’re sharing stories and Alex is laughing harder than they’ve laughed in years, tears stinging the corners of their eyes. They can barely breath through it, and MC is laughing with them.

She doesn’t even think about it, when she reaches forward and wipes one of their tears away.

Both of them freeze, hold their breathes-

but nothing happens.

One minute passes, and then another, and everything is fine.

There’s a mutual sigh of relief and MC pulls back, flustered. She apologizes for doing it- it just felt so natural.

Alex hesitates to say anything, but looking at her just then, their heart beats painfully in their chest, and before they can stop themself, they reach out and take her hand in theirs.

She gives a little gasp and looks up at them, but when they only smile back, she squeezes their hand.

“I missed you,” she says, voice a little watery. There are tears in her eyes that threaten to fall, but Alex knows they must look and sound the same.

“I missed you, too.”

And as time passes, they grow closer and closer- they kiss, they dance, they sing together. MC stays at their apartment, and they stay at hers. They hug in greetings and goodbyes, and share kisses late into the nights.

There’s always the lingering fear of what will happen, when the gods find out. But they’ve both spent too long mourning the loss of their friendship, too long yearning for something.

It all comes to a head when the tensions between monsters and titans and gods are larger than ever, and a riot breaks out.

(MC knows it’s what her mother would do. She knows that it’s what her mother did do. Her monster friends told her everything; she knows what the gods did, and how their ignorance and inaction led to her mother’s death.

If she dies, if she lives... she’ll finally be walking in her mother’s footsteps.)

Monsters and titans both demand better conditions; some human agents even join them in the riot.

It’s enough to bring the gods down from on high, and it’s what brings Zeus and MC face-to-face at last. He meets her eyes immediately, and in them, in her face, sees the woman he killed, no matter how indirectly.

The child who endured his curse.

Zeus insults her, and all of the monsters and titans, but she doesn’t rise to his bait. She doesn’t care what he thinks of her humanity, or her titan blood. She won’t stand for the injustice any longer.

Zeus’ lightning starts to spark, and MC’s ring warms up in response. She didn’t wear it for a long time, the reminder that it belonged to her mother painful. But she grew into it. There was a connection to it that she didn’t understand, but its power merged with her own aura.

When Zeus’s aura materializes, she’s about to summon hers when a silver stag and doe interrupt them.

Alex rushes from the elevators, breathing heavily, thanking the stars that they made it to her in time. They surprise Zeus and their mother both by siding with MC. They reach for her hand and take it, and she knows they can win the day, now.

Zeus’ anger rises at their contact, at a demigod choosing a half-titan over their own blood. His aura shoots out, and Alex’s aura isn’t enough to stop it-

But hers is.

A great, golden peacock forms, its feathers molten and flaming. (Her titan aura had been a phoenix- the peacock came from the ring.)

Zeus’ aura breaks on it, but the strength left it the moment her aura appeared. He steps back, shocked, and the same expression is seen on the other gods present, as well as the other monsters and titans.

There are whispers, but MC can’t hear them over the pounding of her heart, the fury that Zeus would attack one of their own just for holding her hand.

Alex has always been a calming presence, though. They help ground her, and then she lets her aura fade, finally hearing the name on every tongue.

“Hera.”

Zeus looks like he wants to be angry- he probably is. But even he wouldn’t risk hurting Hera like this. His queen, in the vessel of a half-titan woman, cursed by his own hands.

It’s ironic.

That Hera, the queen of the gods, goddess of family... rests within the daughter of HERA’s founder, cursed with the blood of the gods’ enemy, lover to Aphrodite’s child.

She doesn’t know what will happen next, now, as everyone stares at her.

She squeezes Alex’s hand, tight.

They’re with her.

She has all of her friends fighting by her side.

And she’s suddenly sure of one thing: there’s never been a better opportunity to change the world.

#I ALMOST LOST THIS BC INSTEAD OF CLICKING POST I FUCKING WENT TO THE DASHBOARd........ GOOD THING I ALREADY POSTED ON AO3 #lovestruck #lovestruck voltage #alex cyprin #alex x mc #afk mc #astoria #my fic #afk to tag #death mention

[salt-sass-and-lyrium]

Am I the asshole?

Kinda long, TL;DR at the bottom

(Yes I know this isn’t Reddit, fucking fight me)

Anyway, so many many moons ago back when I was in college and still actively cosplaying and going to conventions and the like, I was “friends” with someone I’ll call Kay. I put “friends” in quotations because me and her were never what I would consider friends, or had any real meaningful relationship. I was just close friends with one of her close friends (who turned out to be a fucking nightmare but that’s a looonng story for another time) and we ran in the same circles. TBH, never cared for her, but I was always polite and sociable, cuz that’s just how I am.

Anyway, many many moons ago I used to follow Kay on Tumblr. Or more accurately, Kay followed me on Tumblr, but I never followed her back (had no desire to).  Kay frequently posted problematic things, reblogged my posts to add just garbage replies (DM me if you want deets) and overall just rubbed me the wrong way. But, we had friends in common so I kept the peace.

When Ferguson happened (note: I am from Ferguson) and I was regularly posting about it, she was reblogging my posts and adding all sorts of shit-tier racist comments. Notably, I don’t know if you guys recall this image (image ID: unarmed black man has his hands up as several police officers armed with riot gear and automatic weapons drawn advance on him)

but I’d reblogged it stressing how horrible it was and how scary it was to be a black person in Ferguson (she’s white and from a predominately white upper middle class area) in general, let alone when the riots were happening, and she reblogged it from me, trying to justify the officer’s actions. Apparently, it should be fine for half a dozen police officers to pull assault weapons on an unarmed man with his hands in the air... well I’m not gonna get into what she said because it makes me mad, but tl;dr “It’s fine because he’s black”. Which was honestly the last straw for me.

Later on, on Facebook (tbh I’d forgotten we were friends) she posted this post defending whales in captivity and supporting SeaWorld (if you want to know why I don’t support seaworld, DM me). I replied back basically saying it’s unethical to make animals perform like that and SeaWorld could better direct it’s income towards conservation rather than exploitation, and she decided in retaliation to go around and tell people that I was this huge racist who had been attacking and stalking her (note: she was like.... just shy of legit cyber stalking me and mutual friend, DM me for the story) and constantly posting racist things, harassing her, yada yada. (Luckily, everyone knew she was full of shit so it didn’t go anywhere). I of course completely cut Kay out.

A few years back, I ran into Kay at a convention. Kay tried talking to me several times, getting me to hang out with her and following me around and my group around, and at first I just ignored her or walked away, but then finally looked her directly in the eye and told her “NO.” She got the message left, and for the most part that’s the last I heard of her.

Until recently. Turns out, we have another mutual friend on Facebook (he’s more of a kinda close acquaintance tbh) in common. I comment on a lot of his stuff since we have a lot of the same interests, and I’ve noticed Kay always seems to be liking or replying to my comments, even when they’re not directed at or have anything to do with her. I’ve continued to ignore her.

Anyway, just a few minutes ago, I got a friend request from Kay, and a message I haven’t even opened, but started with “Hey, I know I was kinda a douche last we spoke..”

Nah Fam, you weren’t just a douche. You were an incredibly problematic racist and liar (who also justified sexualizing children but that’s a post for another time). When called out on it you then went around trying to slander me, which is why we haven’t spoken in at least 6-7 years.

But, on the flip side, it’s been 6-7 years. Maybe she’s grown as a person. Maybe she’s changed. But... tbh I honestly don’t know if I should try and find out

Am I the asshole for just... continuing to ignore her and cutting her off? Should I give her a chance?

TL;DR: I used to have this “friend” named Kay. Kay was all sorts of problematic and had a history of saying flat out racist and bigotted things (not to mention creepy ass behavior). As a result of this, I dropped her like hot fire and never spoke to her again. Years have passed, and now Kay apparently wants to become friends again. Am I the asshole for not at least hearing her out or giving her a chance?

#aita #am i the asshole #advice #personal #relationship advice #long post #tw #tw gun image #tw gun

[ravenwritesstuff]

Best Laid Plans (12/?)

Fandom: Frozen (modern AU, no magic) Pairings: Helsa, established Kristanna, Rapunzel/Eugene, lotsa frohana Rating: T for now, M later almost for sure A/N: I ain’t gonna be back to this fic for awhile, FYI. So savor this. Gotta write something Kristanna soon or the natives will riot

She tries to speak but no words come. Her body flashes hot and cold. Her heart hammers. Her feet are nailed to the floor as her head wars with her heart and she does not have time to reason this thing through to completion. All she can do is stare at his lips and that is all the permission he needs. 

He leans in. All the air goes from her lungs at his approach and he chases the sound. 

The pressure of his mouth is pure heat and friction. He makes her keep pace, demanding and unshakeable, molding her mouth to fit his own. His free hand loops to the small of her back, and pulls her tighter against him, the other stays on her cheek to steady her - steer her - but the whole event sets her off balance. Her hands grab at his sides to steady herself. He takes this as encouragement. She cannot blame him. Her traitorous body bows into his.

He buries his fingers into the thick of her hair and tips her head back so that her mouth opens under his. She thinks to protest at the gentle pressure of his tugging, at the way he commands her mouth to do his bidding, but the thought is swept away in the rushing warmth of sensation.

This must be what Rapunzel meant when she said there was a difference between kissing and being kissed. Elsa can feel the difference tingling up and down her spine as Hans grazes her bottom lip with his teeth. She can feel it in the pooling heat at the base of her stomach. She can feel the weight and size of the difference as if it were a tangible thing. 

He is everywhere. His heat pours into her from his fevered skin and it is like she is falling into the sun. 

By the time he eases his mouth off of hers, she can hardly breathe. Her body feels tight, overstimulated, like a clock wound too far. He gathers her tightly against his chest and holds her there. She trembles, or he trembles, or perhaps they tremble. Pressed together like this, with her ear resting heavy over his thundering heart, she cannot deduce the origin of the tremors but can only accept them as they race through her entire body. 

This is bad. 

“Don’t.” He pulls back enough to peer down at her face, finger crooked under her chin.

“What?” She does not recognize her own voice.

“Don’t start thinking about all the reasons I shouldn’t be kissing you.” 

She almost smiles at that, but she doesn’t have time. He takes her lips again, softer this time, but insistent nonetheless. Her mouth plies beneath his request, caught off guard, and he groans low in his throat at her response. The sound frightens her. Everything about this frightens her and she breaks away on a gasp. Her eyes land on his chest.

“I’m thirsty.” She says like it matters, like she came up here for any other reason than to see if he would follow. 

“Mmmm.” He hums softly, like he is agreeing, but he doesn’t move. He stays pressed against her like this is business as usual, but it isn’t. She does not just go around kissing clients - or anyone for that matter. 

He does not seem to understand that however as he leans in again to take up her mouth. Her hands brace against his chest, panic rising at how hard she must fight her every instinct to just melt into him. She cannot do that to him - to herself. 

“I need some water.” The words bubble up in a frantic breath just before his lips meet hers.

He freezes. Each muscle of his body tightens at her words. Whatever he had expected in this moment - clearly that was not it. She keeps her eyes on his chest, not trusting herself to meet his eyes just yet as he pulls back, hands lingering at her waist. He steps to the side and walks to  the mini-fridge she spotted earlier. It is only a few steps away but it gives her space enough to breathe. 

He returns and hands her a bottle of water, the fancy glass kind she stocks for clients in her own office but would never purchase for herself, and she does everything in her power to keep her hands from touching his because she is quickly learning that touching this man in any capacity is dangerous. She unscrews the metal cap and drinks. She hadn’t realized how dry her mouth, her throat, had become and she takes long, deep swallows to slake her need. It is the ocean water, she is sure, and not the inferno burning inside of her. She breaks off for a breath and finds him watching her with a calculating expression. She does her best to keep her calm.

“Thank you.” She says and he huffs half a grin as he crosses his arms. 

“It’s no problem.” His brow furrows and he cocks his head to the side to inspect her, always gauging something with those keen green eyes.

“Well, I think I’ll head below and see if the others are back yet.” Her tone is overly light, and she manages to get halfway to the stairs before he slips around in front of her, blocking the path. 

“Mister Westergaard, please.” 

“Hans. My name is Hans.” He steps closer and she clutches the glass bottle at her chest like a shield. 

“There is work to be done. They might be back. They might be wondering where we are,” Trying to change the subject, to avoid the inevitable outcome she sees barreling towards her like a freight train and wondering if she really wants it to stop.

“Let them wonder.” He hooks one hand around her waist and cups her jaw with the other. "There's still more we need to discuss.”

He stops any reply or protest by ducking down and clamping his mouth over hers with a speed previously unseen. Her entire body tightens under the onslaught. The water bottle slips from her hands and falls to a plush white rug with a thud that dully echoes her surprised gasp. He is merciless now - as if answering a challenge she had unwittingly laid down. Her insides quiver and pull at the relentless power of him - at her own weakness to turn him away. 

Her mind spins trying to find a way out of this, to find a way to want to stop kissing him, but fails. All she can feel is the heat of him, the faint rasp of stubble against her chin, the slick of his tongue dipping past the boundaries of her mouth. All she can hear is the syllables of his kisses, his serrated breath. All she can smell is the thick scent of sunscreen and the increasingly familiar combination of musk and man. All she can taste is the flavor of the insides of his cheeks, the tang of the ocean on demanding lips. If she opens her eyes she knows she will see him - only him - as an inescapable entity and the idea makes her dizzy. 

Her hands slip into the damp salt-laden silk of his hair, clinging to him for balance. He pulls her closer. The thin swim cover she wears, his shirt, does little to conceal the hard lines of his body and even less the truth of how well she fits against him. She does not know how she got here, does not know how to stop it, as she is swept along in the hot, rushing tide of desire. 

Someone clears their throat. 

It takes a moment to register that the sound comes from a third person, her mind scorched beyond reason, but they pull apart on a mutual breath. Hans’ face lingers above hers for a just a moment, eyes dark and starstruck as if he had anticipated several different ways this scenario could have gone but none of them quite like this - none of them quite this devastating. His expression is that one of complete humanity, no pretense, that always catches her off guard. The intensity of it, his honesty, his need, is enough to make her forget their company for just one more breath.

Then it is gone, whatever mask he had let drop in the moment is back in place as he pulls a smile from the corners of his mouth and turns towards the intruder. 

The turn of his body releases her and she stumbles back a few steps, trying to regain her bearings. She braces herself the plush back of a smooth leather couch, clutching it like a lifeline, the nearly imperceptible pitch and roll of the boat having nothing to do with her unsteady feet. As reality takes hold once more she meets the familiar brown eyes of her brother-in-law across the room where he stands on the stairs and her cheeks light aflame. 

“Anna was - uh -” It is Kristoff, his voice cautious - taking in and assessing the entire situation before jumping to any conclusions. A voice of practical reason when there was nothing practical or reasonable happening. “Anna was wondering if Elsa was okay.”

Even steps away and with his back to her Elsa can practically feel Hans’ grin at that. “We were just coming to meet you all. Are you okay, Elsa?”

He does not mean it to humiliate in the way he tosses the words over his shoulder towards her, in most cases with most girls it would not, but she is not most girls and it does. The words sting of defeat. What had meant to tease instead taunts. She had been so weak. Every inch of her body burns with embarrassment until she can hardly breathe. 

She stares at the water bottle on the floor. The lid hadn't been properly tightened and there is a water stain spreading on the carpet worth more money than she will ever see in her life - no matter how long it is - and she is going to be sick. 

Still she manages: “Yes.” 

What she does not manage is to make it convincing. 

Hans cheats towards her then, brow furrowed, and gives her a look that rocks her to her core. He looks at her like he sees her, like he caught the single frantic note in her voice that most would have missed, like he wants to check in - apologize - do something but cannot and she never expected that. She is coming to realize that she never expected most of what has come with Hans Westergaard, at least not the parts that really count. 

She looks back to Kristoff, back to safe territory, heart rebelling at the idea. In her periphery she sees Hans slowly turn away. 

The look in Kristoff’s eyes is similar and she wonders if she is actually unraveling. If she looked in a mirror right now would she see the thread of her calm, reasonable exterior being pulled from her body row after carefully crafted row?

“Well we’ll see you down there.” Kristoff is not exactly close but the way he steps to the side is a clear message. Hans hesitates just an instant, clearly weighing options, then with a nod crosses and heads up the steep staircase into the sunshine.

Elsa’s gaze goes to where her hand white knuckled at her sides. She is fairly certain it is the only part of her body that is not bright red with humiliation. She does not look at her brother-in-law, but she knows he is shuffling his weight between his feet - as awkward and uncertain as she is. 

“You - uh - you okay?” He asks, but there is so much more to that question than meets the ear. “I’ll tell Anna you’re seasick and we need to head back.”

It will be that easy. He will do just that. No one will know what he has seen. No one will be the wiser, and she loves Kristoff for that. For as much as he protects her sister, he protects her as well. 

Part of her very much wishes she could take up his offer. The need she has to run is strong enough to leave her head muddled, to lose track of exactly why they are there, of what they have all just seen at the reef.

"No," she bends down and retrieves her water with shaking hands. "I'm fine. I just - I need a minute."

There is a long pause and then, "You want me to drown him? Make it look like an accident?"

Elsa chokes out a laugh that almost tips into a sob and looks at her brother-in-law. He is smiling too, his dorky half smile that he saves only for those who know him best. He is a good man. She is glad Anna will have him in the end. 

She shakes her head. "No, nothing like that."

"If you say so," he rubs the back of his neck. "But Elsa, if he hurts you -"

She holds up her hands and shakes her head, knowing where this is going but Hans Westergaard is not that type of guy. 

"He didn’t. He won’t," she is not sure why she knows this so certainly but she does. If she is honest she knows that between the two she will be the one doing the hurting. He has no idea what he is asking of her, and that is by her design.

They are going to break each other in two if given the chance, but it will be by no fault of his. 

“What do you want me to do?” Kristoff asks and she appreciates that. Her sister (and Rapunzel even more so) just barge forward without concern which is not always a bad thing, but this situation has her frazzled enough as it is. 

“Don’t say anything to anyone. I will handle Mister Westergaard,”

He nods. She is not certain if he agrees with her but that is not the point. She knows she doesn’t need Kristoff to agree with her in order for him to respect her wishes, but just to smooth things over a bit in the wake of this awkward tidal wave:

“But if I ever need a mysterious disappearance, you will be my first call.” 

The dorky grin is back and she laughs down towards her feet. They are bare. She hadn’t grabbed her sandals. She just realizes that now. She had kissed Hans Westergaard more than once while barefoot and she is not sure why that makes it feel that much more intimate but it does. 

She just needs a few moments to collect her thoughts. Those few moments should have already been hers. If she had just had them then she may not be in this position right now, this place where she knows just how Hans Westergaard tastes and she is going to need another one of these bottles of water STAT. 

“I’ll be down in a second,” she says, mind racing. “Just tell Anna I’m making some notes or something. She’ll understand.”

She looks up and Kristoff nods. “Okay.”

He goes to the same staircase where Hans had disappeared a few minutes before and if it was anyone but Kristoff she would reiterate the need to discretion, but she trusts him. It isn’t that he is intentionally reticent, it is just that Kristoff knew how to be economical with his speech.

“Oh - and Elsa?” He stops at the top of the stairs. “Whatever you decide with - well, all of it - I’m in your corner.”

She smiles and she is thankful for her brother in law. She appreciates his steadiness, his ability to differentiate his choices from others while still wanting the best for them. It is a trait that neither she or her sister had mastered. 

“Thank you.” 

Kristoff nods and is gone.

It takes several breaths for her to understand her solitary state, that she does not have to wonder if Hans Westergaard is going to burst into her space and crowd her with his overwhelming presence again. Instead all she has to do is stand and breathe. 

She squeezes her eyes closed and tries to remember the resolve she felt when they had pulled into the parking lot. This has all been business then. She had been prepared to shoot him down at every turn but step by step, touch by touch, he had broken her down. How? 

How had she let that happen?

She considers each contact with academic precision but her own emotions cloud the results. The heat of her reaction burns away everything else and makes her question her own reason. She shakes her head. That is nonsense. She is drawn to him, yes, but that does not mean that she cannot control herself. She knows she needs to control himself because this is a professional relationship, because she is personally unavailable. 

He may not understand the personal aspect but surely he can latch onto the professional one. 

If they sign this contract then he will effectively be her boss. There will be ways she can terminate the contract, and she is tempted to phone their lawyer right now to update their sexual harassment clause even if she is not sure what that is. Despite Rapunzel’s claim she has kissed enough men to know she can pull away when she wants, but that hadn’t been the case with him. With him she could not pull away and not because of his own force but the strange electricity that dances, joining them the second they connect.

And that is the danger.

She cannot go down this road where she does not have control. 

She cannot even chance the idea that he may feel the same shocking heat and intensity that she endures with every brush of his fingers. 

She knows that she only has thirty eight days left with him in theory but if he can do this much damage in only four she hates to think what he can do in over a month.

Another deep breath and she unscrews her water bottle and chugs the rest. She is not sure what to do with the canister and then remembers the stunning brunette below. Surely someone like he will fix her mess on the carpet and pick up her discarded bottle. That is their job after all. She has had that job for years and it feels strange to assign it to another, but something breaks loose in her chest at the idea. Maybe someone else can be in control for once? 

It is dangerous. The very idea shakes her to the core. She has not been ready to cross that bridge, to fully admit that she is not going to be here much longer, but it is a reality she must face now. 

This is her final event.

If they sign this contract they will make their annual revenue goal in one month. Their company will be set during her departure in a way that will make reorganization less stressful. They will be able to hire and train and rearrange as needed. 

She lets out a single, caustic laugh. She has worked for almost a decade to bring them to this point. She has strategized and fought and battled this goal along with her illness. She has hired and fired and strived through each and every goal. She just never imagined someone like Hans Westergaard would be part of the process. 

It is poetic somehow that this final challenge will be met with an ultimate stressor, that all that she has so carefully suppressed would be awakened in his vibrance and joy. It makes sense that the universe would continue to laugh at her with how he looks at her with unsettling focus, touches her with unscrupulous casualness, and stirs something deep inside her just by proximity.

Life has never been fair to her. So why start now? 

She sets the glass bottle on an end table made of marble and stares at it.

Someone else will see it.

Someone else will clean it up.

Someone else will make sure it is taken care of.

Someone else.

She needs to start removing herself from the equation. She needs to remember that she is not long for this world. She needs to consider just what she wants to leave behind. She needs to forget how her lips still burn from his kiss.

She clenches every muscle in her body just to feel the pressure of it. She breathes into it and holds it until she cannot anymore. The tension melts from her and she is ready. She can move past whatever hold Hans Westergaard has supposed to claim over her. She will. She knows her motive, her purpose. She is ready.

With that Elsa heads downstairs to face whatever the rest of this day held for her.

She leaves the empty water bottle behind.

[ Previous ]

#Best Laid Plans #Helsa #Kristanna #Frohana #Eugene X Rapunzel #Raven writes frozen

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Thrill Me, Chill Me, Fulfill Me

Sir Pentious a.k.a. Telly (@usedhearts​) finishes shedding and goes to show Alastor, who’s been hanging out at his place the last week and a half fretting over him helping him out. Stuff that happens:

💕 MUTUAL CONFESSIONS 💕

Telly’s shed has given him some interesting new mutations! 🐟 

Alastor makes a deal with his own soul on the line! 🔥 

Things Which Are Unsafe For Work 🍆🍆

❤️❤️❤️ AND MORE! ❤️❤️❤️

Look I pulled out the emoji and everything, that’s how exciting this is.

(For y’all that want to keep up with the plot but don’t want to read lewds, I’ll mark where it begins and ends in the chat.)

Sir Pentious

The steam in the room was finally being released, dissipating the fog as the air began to circulate again. Telly felt refreshed, and much, much better, now that all that was over with. He smiled as he grabbed his phone, shooting a text to Alastor.

🎩 I'LL BE OUT MOMENTARILY! IT'S FINALLY ALL DONE!

And then he called the Eggs in to take care of the skin that lay across the floor.

Alastor

And Alastor was a mere room away from the bathroom-turned-sauna, flopped back on Sir Pentious’s bed, waiting—*just in case,* see. The other Sir Pentious had had a hard time with the last day of his shed, Alastor had wanted to be on hand in case this one was struggling too. To sing, to distract, to massage, to hold hands, to offer a few shadows to carefully slide off the shed... Whatever he was needed for.

But so far it hadn’t been necessary, so he’d mainly ended up singing to himself, rewriting a song that Valera had started on during the aforementioned prior shed: “*I’ll peel you, banana... I’ll peel you... I thought that you’d overripened, and I’d make a bread out of you; now my mouth and eyes are opened, banana... I’ll eat you, banana—*“

Alastor sits bolt upright. That’s his phone! He can feel the signal of the incoming text crackle against his hip. He pulls it out, reads the message, and rather than returning the text yells into the sauna, “I’m right where you left me! Need me to grab anything?” Probably not, but maybe Telly needed a fresh change of clothes or something. Alastor had gotten used to grabbing odds and ends for Telly this week.

Sir Pentious

He's moved on to the other area of the bathroom now-- what he liked to call the 'false lead' as there were no baths in here! Just the toilet and the sink and the mirror. Which he was now staring in, his arm held up as he looked at the three lines in his side. Those were new. Edged with black against the yellow, they stood out. He ran a finger over them and gave a soft gasp at the sensitivity. Like touching his fingers to his lips, these new....things were much more sensitive than the rest of him.

Telly lifted his other arm and sure enough, there was a matching pair on the other side-- and that's when it clicked. These were gills. He had _gills_ now. Well. That was something.

He finally broke out of his trance to respond to Alastor. "No! No need, I'll be right there." He slithered quickly toward the door and almost threw it open, beaming at Alastor.

"Ta-da?" He offered, suddenly feeling a bit self conscious, his smile turning a bit shy.

Alastor

He stuffed his phone away before a handful of eggs could toddle by and spot it, and then all but forgot the eggs when Telly himself emerged. “And here’s the top banana himself!” Alastor telling jokes that only he’s gonna get, he’s a riot.

And he immediately regretted the comment, because “banana” did not come close to adequately describing the appearance of Sir Pentious immediately after a shed, scales all shiny and new, colors vivid and bright. He’d thought Telly had looked lovely a couple of weeks ago, with sparkling copper and iridescent green polish painting his scales; it didn’t come close to how he looked now, at his most naturally brilliant. Alastor could only stare a moment; before he managed to choke out, “... And, like a banana, you’re looking very a-peel-ing.” No, Alastor, bad, flirting did *not* make it better.

Sir Pentious

Telly momentarily got distracted by the Eggs as well, watching them toddle into the bathroom to collect the skin. But then his attention was drawn back by Alastor and just how....struck he was. Not speechless, of course, Telly hardly thought anything could strike the Radio Demon speechless, but struck all the same. A small bubble of pride inflated in his chest.

"Yessss, look at thisss!!" He slithered more fully into the room, stretching out his tail behind him. "I think I got a few extra inchesss now! Come here, Alassstor, come feel-- I'm ssso sssmooth now, too!" His excitement was in full force now and he gestured for him to come over.

And as he did, the Eggs reappeared with the skin hoisted over their heads. Look at that skin, that's a nice, nearly whole skin. And there they go, toting it out the door.

Alastor

Feel? *Feel?* He was being invited to *touch* immediately after a shed? He sure hadn’t gotten that honor when his *other* snake friend had shed, and for a moment his immediate wariness—*What’s the catch? Is this a trap? Will Telly be watching Alastor’s reaction?*—was enough to balance out his yearning to do *exactly* what Telly had asked for him to do.

Which let him get distracted by the eggs passing. He watched them go by, with *another* snakeskin he’d love to get his hands on but definitely was afraid to touch. If the eggs were just throwing it out, they’d probably have crumpled it up, wouldn’t they? “What in the world are they doing with that?” Look, a diversion!

Sir Pentious

He looked at the Eggs, tilting his head. "Probably going to dry it and then do....whatever it is they do with them! I don't know and I have never thought to ask. The Egg Bois, you know, they're..." He put his hand at the side of his mouth to stage whisper. "_Weird._"

Telly shrugged, and then reached out his hand again. "Anyway, come here!! Come here, Alastor, feel my ssscalessss!!"

Alastor

Dry it! Alastor’s grin widened with glee as he started playing a crackly song—“*Tan me hide when I’m dead, Fred, tan me hide when I’m dead; so we tanned his hide when he died, Clyde, and that’s it hanging in the shed.*”

Alastor remained convinced that he was, in fact, the funniest person in Hell.

And he was also stalling. He needed to talk to Telly about *them*—as in the *two of them*, and the wildly confusing signals that Telly was sending (THIS ONE already quite solidly ranked among them!), and he’d told himself he’d do it after Telly’s shed was over and he was feeling better, but how do you say “stop everything, I can’t feel you up until we talk about our relationship status to make sure that we’re in agreement on the exact implications of said groping”? You don’t say that. Nobody says that. Every love story Alastor had ever heard, seen, or read had both parties just blunder along until a *moment* presented itself when it had to be said, and those moments didn’t happen by interrupting different moments—

And while Alastor mused on the intricacies of confessing attraction as modeled by Hollywood, he’d run out of goofy music to play and been staring for a bit longer than he should have. “Are you sure? Isn’t it, you know, *tender* right after shedding?” Maybe that was tarantulas.

Sir Pentious

Telly laughed at the song, a hissing giggle, his tongue sticking out between his teeth. His head tilted as he waited for Alastor to speak, or move-- but he just stared. Was this weird? Had he made it weird? Oh, god, he'd made it weird, hadn't he? He was about to speak again when Alastor finally spoke.

"Oh! No, it'sss not. The scales are quite firm." He snickered, and then slithered over to his nightstand. He dug around in it, finding the bottle of scale lotion and slithered back, this time closer to Alastor. "If it helps, I could give you a job? I need to put on lotion to help make sure I stay nice and shiny as long as possible." He smirked and hummed.

Alastor

Alastor watched far more closely than he should have as Telly slithered across the floor—oh God, were those gashes on the side? Alastor had noticed that some of Telly’s deepest wounds hadn’t healed completely with the shed, but he hadn’t noticed the gashes on the side—no, wait, those didn’t look like gashes—were those *gills?* “Do you have *gills?*” Look, another diversion!

Because he was *not* ready to answer a request to lotion up Telly’s body.

Sir Pentious

"What?" He blinked and then grinned, nodding. "Oh! Yes! I _think_ they are, they certainly look it!" He lifted an arm to let Alastor get a better look. "I suppose my body decided I needed them? I don't know, but I'm certainly not going to look _this_ gift horse in the mouth!"

He laughed and lowered his arm. Telly took Alastor's hand and placed it on the back of his arm. "Feel my sssscalesss, already!"

Alastor

“All right, all right.” That was as much procrastinating as Alastor could manage. He was going to touch *extremely lightly*—and oh even with his gloves on he could tell, yes, Telly’s scales *were* smooth, and it was a fight not to touch *more.* No, that was crossing a line.

Sir Pentious

"Feel some of the bigger onessss," He said, guiding his hands again to his hip area. "The big ones feel like a smooth river stone to me. Makes me think of what a dragon woud've felt like, were they real."

He hissed a soft laugh and purred.

Alastor

“Right,” Alastor murmured, hardly registering the comparison—dragons, rivers, yes. He’d felt a jolt shoot up his chest at the feel of Telly’s hands on his hands and Telly’s scales sliding beneath his fingertips, and now all he could think about was the shape of his hips and how Alastor wanted to trace them, wanted to satisfy a half-century-old yearning to learn where the skeleton beneath the snakeskin shifted from human to serpent, wanted—

He pulled his hands back. “Yes, I see what you mean! An astute comparison.” He laughed uncomfortably.

Sir Pentious

Oh. That laugh, he could practically smell the discomfort radiating off of Alastor. Oh, he made it weird again, didn't he. He moved back a little and then spread himself out on the floor, popping open the lotion bottle to start getting some on his hands.

"Did you want to help me with this?" He asked, his voice a bit smaller.

Alastor

Oh, and now Telly was uncomfortable, Alastor made it weird.

They should stop and talk. Alastor had overthought every interaction to the point that he no longer had any idea where he stood with Telly, and if Telly knew where he stood with Alastor he was doing a damn good job of not admitting it, and there was the whole girlfriend deal, and neither of the prior Sir Pentiouses Alastor had known had ever asked him to *lotion their scales* but was that a personality difference between this Sir Pentious and the others or was it a difference in how much he *wanted* out of Alastor, and—

—and right now, Telly’s voice sounded like it ought to be coming out of an anthopomorphic cartoon flower wilting beneath a vicious blizzard, and Alastor couldn’t stand it. He had to fix that first. Not *because* the sight of Telly stretched out so tantalizing across the floor filled Alastor with an *itch* to touch, but *in spite of* it.

Alastor knelt next to Telly, forcing his usual energetic cheer back into his voice. “Of course! I promised I’d help you through this shed start to finish, didn’t I?”

Sir Pentious

The cheer brought his smile back a little, and he offered the bottle of lotion to him. "The sooner I put it on the longer my post-shed glow will last," He said, with a soft chuckle.

"You'll be able to see a sparkly serpent for longer." Another laugh and he started rubbing what he had on his hands onto his arms. Ooooh nice and cool, felt good after being in that sauna for a day.

Alastor

Well, preserving the sparkly serpent was selfless enough, wasn’t it? The fact that Alastor would enjoy the sight didn’t change the fact that Telly would benefit from it. He scooted to sit behind Telly, squeezed some lotion into a hand, rubbed his hands together as he told himself to Not Make This Weird, *Please,* and then started where he figured it would be hardest for Telly to reach by himself—between his shoulder blades.

Sir Pentious

He shivered at the touch, but smiled, and purred. Oh, that felt nice. He continued to rub in what he had onto his arms, and his eyes (on his face) closed a moment, just enjoying the feeling of Alastor's hands on his back. Telly made a soft noise of contentment, letting his head droop forward a bit as he moved his hoot out of Alastor's way.

Alastor

Sure. This was easy. Alastor could do this. And then after this they could discuss—they *really* should have discussed this before—but there had never been a moment when he could. Just do this without doing anything out of line.

His hands slid down Telly’s back, running over the ridge of each vertebra and rib. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen Telly totally naked, but *oh* was it a rush to just revel in him like this. Like painting on the polish had been, but far more so.

Sir Pentious

His eyes are closed and his breath is catching with every little traced of bone. He could feel his heart beating so much faster already and he wondered if Alastor could hear it-- it was so quiet, after all. Had he struck Alastor speechless, now? He didn't know, but his mind was on other things, like the feeling of his hands against his back. A purring rumble cascaded through his chest, a very pleased snake, yes, that was what he was.

Alastor

Alastor had stopped breathing entirely as he listened to each little change in Telly’s breath, ears twitching at every change. The rumble made his hands tingle from fingertips to wrist and ears tingle from tip to base and down the back of his scalp. Oh, if Alastor could get Telly to make that sound every day... His hands worked down to the small of Telly’s back, where they separated and started to creep around his waist, seeking out again the spot Telly had shown Alastor earlier, eager to grip him tight and pull him closer—

*No.* Alastor vanished, a shadow ghosting across the floor, to rematerialize sitting on the far side of Telly’s bed, faced away. “I—sorry.” His voice was far too weak for his tastes.

Sir Pentious

He was reveling in this, soaking in every touch like a sponge to water-- and then the touch was gone, and his eyes flashed open, blinking rapidly at the sudden absence. It made him feel cold.

His head turned to see Alastor all the way across the room and he frowned. Telly slithered over to him slowly, circling around to get in front of him. His head tilted and he moved with even more exaggerated slowness to take Alastor's hands.

"Sorry for what, Alastor?" He asked, holding his hands reverently.

Alastor

Ohhh they were having the conversation *now.* Okay. It wasn’t exactly Hollywood, but what ever was? He reflexively squeezed Telly’s hands, then had to let his grip go slack again.

Voice strained, eyes shut, head tilted back like he was hoping God might take pity just once on a poor damned sinner and telegraph some divine inspiration straight into his brain, he said, “You should know—that—doing this, it... means *quite* a bit more to me than I think you realize. Possibly *far* more than it does to you, but I, uh...” He let out a choked wheeze of a laugh. “I’m having a hard time figuring that out, actually.” Somebody smite him, please.

Sir Pentious

Oh. Oh! _Oh._ Things were starting to click in that brilliant, dumb brain of his, the wheels were definitely turning-- and stalling and catching fire and he was pretty sure smoke was going to start pouring out of his head.

Alastor liked him. Alastor _like liked_ him. More than friends, liked him. His heart began to swell as his brain rapidly repaired the wheels to think of what he should say here. What _should_ he say here? How did you tell someone you liked them, as more than a friend? God, he was awkward.

But Alastor didn't know that _he_ liked him! How was that possible? He thought he'd been....pretty blatant about it. But whatever, that didn't matter. What mattered was this....

"Alastor," He said, releasing one of his hands to cup his cheek, to make Alastor look at him. "I like you. More than would have been proper in my day and age or yours. I've, ah, I've liked you for some time now, but I wasn't sure if _you_ liked _me_ in that way and I--" His jaw snapped shut. Shut up, stupid, don't ramble.

"I have feelings for you, Alastor. Romantic feelings."

Alastor

And what do we find hidden at the bottom of Pandora’s box but small bright little hope! Alastor’s heart let out a single heavy booming *thud,* like a timpanist waiting for his cue had gotten startled and dropped his mallet. His eyes flew open and he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for half a century. Breathless, he whispered, “*Do* you?” That couldn’t be true. That couldn’t.

But by God if Alastor wasn’t good at playing his assigned role in absurd situations, then what *was* he good at? His throat and lips worked for a moment, but he couldn’t say the words back—so instead, he simply... lifted one of Telly’s hands. And kissed the knuckles—a knight swearing fealty to a king. And turned Telly’s hand over to kiss the palm. This couldn’t be real; this was going to end any second. He tried to press his whole face into Telly’s hand.

(Everything tasted like snakeskin lotion.)

Sir Pentious

He'd been about to do that! You beat him to the punch, Alastor. But he smiled, and decided, fuck it, he was going to do it anyway. Telly lifted Alastor's hand and repeated the motions. A kiss to the knuckles and then to the palm. He held it against his cheek after that, and leaned in, giving a little blelele against his cheek.

He felt so light, so relieved, like someone had attached balloons all over him and he was floating.

Alastor

Alastor took the tongue flicking at his cheek as an invitation to return a proper kiss; and so he did. As close to silent as Telly had probably ever heard a Radio Demon—all his white noise trapped in his lungs, no sound but the rare stray distant unintelligible whisper of Alastor’s invisible audience. The kiss was light and tentative, as if he still suspected he might have misinterpreted the words “I have romantic feelings for you.” (He did, in fact, suspect exactly that.)

Sir Pentious

His arm wrapped around Alastor's waist, drawing him closer as he returned the kiss. It was soft and slow, as tentative as Alastor started it, but he certainly was returning it. And then his tongue made another appearance, flicking against Alastor's teeth-- oh, really, right now? Don't worry about that Alastor, it had a mind of its own sometimes.

Alastor

And the kiss was *returned.* White fireworks went off just behind Alastor’s eyes and he laughed, as much from the sensation of a forked tongue flicking at his lips as from relief and from half-hysterical disbelief. He broke the kiss to embrace Telly, bury his face in the crook of Telly’s neck, and murmur, “*Really?*” His voice was a small, muffled thing in the dead silence.

Sir Pentious

Telly's other arm wrapped around him and pulled him up off the bed. No more sitting for you, Alastor! Fully embraced in the snake's arms is how it's going to be now. Telly squeezed him, nuzzling back, and giving a flick of his tongue against Alastor's neck. "_Yes, really._"

Alastor

And up he’s pulled! Enjoy the sound effect of... a startled elephant? A man sneezing into a trumpet? The one lone sound effect was almost out of place in the dead silence.

He tugged off his gloves with trembling hands and pressed his fingertips to Telly’s back again, chasing some half-developed whim to attempt to keep rubbing in the lotion but really just retracing the scales and bones he’d explored earlier, this time without a thin layer of deerskin dulling the sensation. And he kissed, slowly, almost experimentally, along Telly’s collar bone.

Sir Pentious

Oh, the gloveless hands, he's honored. And purring. And reveling in the kisses. This was really happening. It was really happening, Alastor was _kissing him_ and it was better than he'd dreamed it. His arms squeezed him again, and his tail began to coil around his legs. Sorry, Alastor, you belong to the snake now.

Alastor

“I’ve never liked the touch of someone else’s skin. I hate how other people feel—the hair and sweat and oils of human flesh, pores and nipples and bellybuttons...” His voice was almost silent, but it was also entirely human, all distortion gone. He whispered fervently, like this confession was something else that had been trapped in him half a century, waiting for that long exhale before it could come out. “But scales...” Another kiss. “I’ve always thought snakeskin is so smooth and cool and—*perfect.* And even more beautiful now when it’s all new.”

Sir Pentious

Telly's breath hitched at the kiss, and the words. Oh, he was glad that he couldn't blush. He did purr instead, though, and his claws kneaded at Alastor's sides. "You think I'm beautiful?" He asked, his voice soft. "I--" He paused and smiled, letting his tongue flick against his cheek again.

"I love your voice. Being able to hear it all this week, while I couldn't see anything...It was the best thing to hear. You helped keep me grounded, with every word and every song." He leaned in to press a kiss against his clothed neck. "And red is one of my favorite colors."

Alastor

And now Alastor’s breath hitched. *Grounded*? He’d done that? With the rarefied airs he put on, he’d helped keep Telly firmly tethered to the world around him?

When was the last time his voice had helped anybody feel *connected*?

This was real. All of this was really happening. Alastor felt a lump forming in his throat, and he fought through it the best way he knew how: by talking. “You’re beautiful beyond words. Always. When you’re fresh from a swim, scales still *glistening* with with beads of water—or painted up like a temporary work of art—or practically glowing with vivid new colors...” He started slowly kissing up Telly’s neck every few words. “Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘curves in all the right places’—“ Kiss. “—you’re nothing but curves.” He delivered the punchline with a hiss of his usual static and a polite chortle from his studio audience. He was still absolutely terrified—but if he could make jokes, he’d work through it. “Curves covered in gold and onyx and rubies...” Kiss. And then, awkwardly, haltingly, he said, “...I don’t think anyone’s ever said something nice about my color palette before.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it was what he could get out.

Sir Pentious

Every kiss brings another hitch of his breath, and his eyes slide shut as he listened to Alastor talk. His claws still kneaded against him, and his purring turned up a notch. His tail squeezed Alastor's legs and he laughed softly.

"I like it. Despite everything around us being red most of the time, you make it work for you. It makes you stand out and blend in at the same time. And anywhere that's not swathed in red already, you pop. When I could still barely see, the red and your voice where how I knew where you were." He laughed again. "And if I have curves all over, I suppose that I only _have_ right places to have curves, hm?"

His eyes opened and he looked at Alastor, smiling. "You're handsome, fun, exhilarating...I could go on and on."

Alastor

Hah, of course, this airship was probably the only place in Hell where a pure red getup *would* stand out. “Exhilarating?” He laughed half breathlessly. “You want to talk about exhilarating, talk about—talk about the man who’s conquering Hell! Good God! You don’t get more exhilarating than a laser the size of a Cadillac!” He pulled back suddenly—not far, just enough to make eye contact, to hold Telly’s face in his hands. “Tell me if I’m being too forward, but—I want to see it. Everything Poseidon said to Amphitrite—I meant every word. I want you to raise Hell and raze Heaven—I want you to dethrone the infernal and the celestial with nothing but the mechanical—I want hubris to win. And I want to be there with you. I want to be your personal broadcaster, your royal jester and royal executioner, your herald. I want to eat God’s flesh off of the same plate as you.”

Sir Pentious

Oh, he's nearly panting at that, eyes wide and locked on Alastor's. Every word seeped into his brain and down through his spine to his lungs and his gut. And something unknotted down there, and released, and the doubt that constantly niggled in the back of his brain fell quiet. And was replaced by Alastor's voice, Alastor's encouragement, Alastor's partnership-- Alastor's.....

He surged forward and kissed him, hard, once, twice. His tail coiled up further around him and his hands held Alastor's face. "I meant it all too. Everything I said then, in that moment. I want you with me, every step. I want you by my side. I want your laughing lips on mine as I tear down the Kings and Princes. I want to tear out God's heart and present it to you on a silver platter." And he kissed him again, breathless.

He chuckled softly after and stroked Alastor's cheek with his thumb. "Now, tell me if I'm being too forward, but for someone without ambition, you're being very ambitious with me." He slyly smirked and winked. And then another kiss.

Alastor

His heart fluttered and his eyes slid shut as all his conscious awareness rushed out of the rest of his body and to his mouth, and for a moment that was all that existed, two sets of lips and fangs and the promise of a universe caught in between them.

When Sir Pentious accused him of having actual ambitions, he only managed to get out “Well, I—“ before being pulled into another kiss. During a brief pause for breath, he hissed, “Didn’t I say Poseidon’s only an unfinished demigod without Amphitrite?”

And then he dove back in. He hummed into the kiss, a near-century-old love song caught in the back of his throat, ghostly voices singing as an invisible record skipped and repeated—“*When I’m calling you, will you answer too?—You’ll belong to me, I’ll belong to you—You’ll belong to me, I’ll belong to you—*”

Sir Pentious

There's nothing now but this. This kiss. What a rush it was, kissing him. Telly's hand slid back and his claws tangled into his hair, threading through and scratching at his scalp. Slowly, his body started to move, lowering them back and down, onto the floor, Alastor on top. He didn't want to stop this kiss for anything, never again wanted his lips separated from the Radio Demon's. His tongue flicked into Alastor's mouth, teasing and quick, before he pulled back at last, panting for breath.

"Kissing you....feels very....mm....very right," He said, as he tried his best to gulp down air. Telly held Alastor against him and purred.

Alastor

The tongue flick turned Alastor’s hum into a sound that was half static hiss, half longing groan. He tried to catch the Telly’s tongue between his lips when he drew back.

Alastor shut his eyes, pressing their foreheads together. When did Alastor end up laying on top of Telly? Did Alastor push him down? “It does.” Those claws running through his hair sent a wave of shivering tingles across his scalp, down his neck, halfway down his back. He held himself up with one arm, and with the other traced his hand down Telly’s side, careful around the new gills. “I’ve missed—“ *He missed having this with Sir Pentious, the scheming, the intimacy, the ability to hope for a future.* The words caught in his throat. None of what he missed was with *this* Sir Pentious. This Sir Pentious didn’t know anything about the first one—only that he’d succeeded in life and that Alastor believed in him.

Alastor’s heart sank. Telly needed to know so much more than that. “I need to—I have to say something.”

Sir Pentious

The hand down his side sends more sparks down his spine than it would've used too-- and when Alastor's hands pass over the gills, there's a deeper gasp, and then a low groan. Just how sensitive are those? He'd have to do some tests to figure out...

He refocuses on Alastor, blinking as his brain catches up with the words he's saying. "Oh? All right. Then please, say it."

Alastor

“I’m getting déjà vu.” He tried to take in a deep breath; it was shorter and sharper than he would have liked. “I... tried this before, with another version of you. Not our mutual acquaintance, long before that. It went wrong.” He let out a very small, but very terrified laugh, talking faster, trying to finish his confession before Telly could start drawing conclusions. “We didn’t get much past this when I ruined everything. I won’t again, I won’t, I promise. But...”

Sir Pentious

Things sort of click when Alastor says that and Telly gives a little gasp and a little 'Oh.' He's quiet a moment and he takes a few breaths, before sliding his hand back to hold Alastor's cheek. The gesture is tender, and his thumb strokes over his cheek.

"It wasss your Pentious, yes? The one you told me about, from your universssse? The one who ssssucceeded?" He nodded and gave a hum. "May...May I asssk how? How did you ruin it?"

There's no accusation in his voice, just curiosity, but his hand stays on his cheek, his tail still wrapped around his legs. Everything about Telly was gentle here, in this moment. He didn't want to ruin this either.

Alastor

He owed Sir Pentious this—*some* Sir Pentious somewhere. Someone had to hear his confession, hear him acknowledge his sins. “We got—this far. I spent the night. But I panicked before morning. I’ve never—I’d never wanted somebody before. I didn’t want to become the kind of person who—*wants.* So I... left.” He took a deep, shaky breath, pressing his face into Telly’s hand. “And I... You can be a stubborn, determined man, Sir Pentious. If I wanted to get away, I had to—I *thought* I make sure he wouldn’t want to try to bring me back.” Disembodied sound clips play around Alastor—the distant, dull sounds of multiple explosions; an out-of-context news broadcast: “And it's crashing!—It's burning and bursting into flames—and the frame is crashing to the ground—Oh, the humanity—“ and then a far more familiar voice, choked with rage and disbelief and hurt: “No. We fought ssside by side. You hhelped me—"

The clips are all cut off with a whine of feedback. He didn’t mean to share that last one. He didn’t mean to share *most* of those sounds, the reinterpreted broadcast should have been enough—but some self-destructive part of him had to go too far with it. Sir Pentious who had died in an airship crash so traumatic he couldn’t even put on mascara without remembering spending his last moments blinded—and Alastor who had taken Sir Pentious’s love and trust and in return brought down his airships. How could this one forgive him for his crimes against the other one? “I’m—sorry.” It wasn’t enough.

Sir Pentious

His face falls and his heart breaks-- for both of them. For Alastor's panic induced destruction, and for the other....the other him that was hurt by it. His touch is still gentle, though, thumb stroking Alastor's cheek. Telly's breath hitches a little, and one small tear escaped the corner of his eye-- a tear shed for what Alastor had done, for what Sir Pentious had lost. His hand slides back to the back of his neck again, and brings his head in to press their foreheads together. And then he swallows the lump congealing in his throat to speak.

"It's okay. I....I understand. That panic, that feeling of needing to push someone away. I understand it. I'm sorry it happened, to both of you. I'm sorry that you hurt him, and yourself." He takes another breath, and his arm winds around Alastor's waist, pressing him closer than before.

"I want this. I want us. But there is something I need from you before we go further with this. I need you to promise me, to _swear_ to me there won't be a repeat performance. I--" He feels the tears then, bubbling up in all his eyes. "I don't think I would be able to take the heartbreak, Alastor. If you were to betray me like that, after we begin this, after everything you've done for me, it would be too much. So, please, promise me you won't do that again. Not with me."

A little hiccup and he used a hand to wipe at his eyes. "I want to give you my heart, but I'm not going to hand it over if there's a chance you could turn around and crush it. I need you to swear to me, that we won't end up like that."

Alastor

And there, Telly’s starting to cry already—Alastor’s ruined it. Fifty-four years ago he ruined this before it ever had a chance. His smile starts to wilt, corners threatening to turn down. If Alastor had to break Sir Pentious’s heart again, this was the most responsible way to break it, wasn’t it?

But then Telly starts to speak. And Alastor can’t believe his ears.

Just like that? That’s all it took? Telly *understands?* No, that can’t be. There aren’t second chances in Hell. But— “I—I promise. I promise. I promise.” He slides an arm under Telly’s shoulders, clutching him tight, eyes squeezed shut and face pressed against Telly’s shoulder. Please, let Alastor have this! “I’ll shake on it if you want—my soul and every soul I own if I ever betray you!” There’s only the slightest tremble to his voice, professional that he is—but hot tears are trapped between his cheeks and Telly’s scales.

Sir Pentious

Alastor's crying. Alastor's _crying_ against him and that's all he can focus on for a moment, until he processes the worlds. Then there's a gasp from Telly at that-- all the souls and Alastor's own? Just hearing that fills him with a confidence in this, in them, but there's still that fear. He hates to actually ask for it......

"Will you? Shake on it? Make a deal and make it binding?" His hand is on the back of his head, petting at his hair, and he hiccuped a little, his own tears running free. "I don't-- I don't want to force you into sssomething like that, but....and I'm ssssorry I don't have more trussst in you, but I-- I'm-- My mind, my anxiety, it will alwayssss be whissspering if we don't, I think." He sits up slowly, prying their bodies apart just enough to get his hand between them, offering it in a shake.

"You swear to never betray me like you did the Sir Pentious of your own universe, to not destroy this relationship and my heart, or you forfeit your soul and all those you have to me?"

Alastor

“I *never* want you to worry about trusting me. If this takes that fear away—yes.” Because Alastor is risking nothing. He *knows* he’ll never do that again. He knows he *couldn’t*, even if he wanted to. If it gives Telly something and costs Alastor nothing—well, Alastor is a dealmaker, and that’s a good deal.

He listens carefully to Telly’s terms. They go beyond what Alastor said, with the sort of ambiguous wording that devils and dealmakers could use to run in circles around a victim. Alastor knows Telly doesn’t mean them that way; but he’s not leaving any open loopholes that might see him, for example, trapped in some nightmare marriage a thousand years from now because some judge ruled that Alastor couldn’t file for divorce without “destroying this relationship.” He might have been raised Catholic, but he happens to think divorce is a pretty good option to keep on the table.

He chooses his words carefully. “I... can’t swear that I’ll never end this relationship or never break your heart. As much as I want to vow that—maybe in a hundred years we’ll decide we’re incompatible, or maybe I’ll break your heart through some unforgivable, unpredictable accident—and I won’t risk my soul on things I can’t prevent.”

He pushes himself up again, cheeks still wet, and slides his hand into the scant inches between their chests. “But I swear I will never knowingly and deliberately or callously break your heart; and I swear that if I do ever leave, I’ll leave with kindness and honesty; and I swear I’ll never betray you like I did the Sir Pentious of my universe; or I forfeit my soul and all those I have to you.”

And if that’s good enough for Telly—not a promise to control the uncontrollable but at least a promise to control his own actions—then here’s Alastor’s hand, glowing green, ready to be taken.

Sir Pentious

He listened to Alastor's words, his tears drying on his cheeks. Yes, that made sense. He wouldn't want to be stuck in a relationship with no out if he were in Alastor's shoes, and things did change. But he nodded, face serious.

"I can accept those terms. I'll accept them happily. For you and for us." He smiled softly.

And then Telly took his hand and shook it. He didn't release it, instead using it to pull Alastor back in for a kiss. It's harder than before, but in a happy way, and the hand that's not still clasped in Alastor's tangled into his hair to hold him.

Alastor

He pressed into the kiss immediately, the tips of his fangs and tongue immediately teasing at Telly’s lips—*let me in, please*—as he felt the magic behind the contract shooting up his arm and pooling in his chest, pounding in his heart, hot and electric.

Of all the things he anticipated, he didn’t expect the bargain to make HIM feel safe. But it did. He could be sure he’d never lose his nerve and betray Telly. He *couldn’t* betray him. He felt lighter.

Sir Pentious

Telly's mouth opens to him, and his tongue flicks out to play against Alastor's. Then back it goes to let him smell, and then back out-- like it has a mind of its own. He lays back again, taking Alastor with him, and he finally releases Alastor's hand to instead grip at his jacket.

He pulls back after letting the kiss linger against his lips. "How-- Ah, how far do you--" God, he couldn't even get that question out and he nips at Alastor's lip instead. "I need to know....where I should....stop....with this...."

Alastor

It’s hard to leave that kiss behind, but he lifts himself just enough to let his brain sort itself out. How far—? It’s hard to think about; he still has tears dripping off his cheeks and onto Telly’s. He’s still reveling in this sense of *security.* But the fact that Telly asks makes his heart flutter. Give him a second to try to remember where the Venn diagram circle of what he wants ends and what other people tend to want starts. “Let—let me keep my underwear on. Everything outside that is...”

Good enough, he’s back in the kiss. He wants those fangs on his lip again.

Sir Pentious

He lets Alastor kiss him again, and does give him a few more nips, but then another thought presents itself and he's pulling away again to speak.

"I-- Ah, you should know that my-- my anatomy is-- it's the same as a snake's in, ah, below the belt regards. I have--" He looks away and his hand rubs the back of his neck and then over his face. God, this is embarrassing, but it's something he should say.

"I don't know how comfortable you are with other people's....anatomy. In that way. Please tell me if anything makes you....uncomfortable? I don't want that for you....I want whatever we do to be good for us both."

Alastor

“—two? Were you going to say two?” Because if he was, then Alastor really is gonna have a case of déjà vu—and he’s trying not to start laughing.

He pushes himself up again. “I’ve never wanted to get that close to anybody *else’s* anatomy before. But I want to see every last inch of you.” His smile turns self-conscious after that. “And... we’ll figure out what I’m inclined to do with it from there. Sound fair?”

❤️📻🐍❤️ The Naughty Bits START HERE! ❤️📻🐍❤️

Sir Pentious

Telly laughs, covering his face with a hand again. "Yes. Yes, I was. I take it you're familiar, then?"

He moves the hand and then nods, very seriously, before giggling again. "Yes. That sounds good. But do you know the first place I want you to explore?" His smile turned downright sultry as he took Alastor's hand and lead it back to the gills on the side of his chest.

"Why not start somewhere new for both of us?"

Alastor

Oh, Alastor could listen to that laugh forever. Every single one of Sir Pentious’s laughs, from the self-conscious giggle to the maniacal cackle. "It's come up once before! Under similar circumstances, in fact! Although we were never properly introduced—I'm still only familiar with the twins by reputation." He thinks he's hilarious.

Alastor blinks in surprise as Telly moves Alastor's hand to his gills. "Really? It doesn't feel like I'm trying to stick a finger up your nostril?" He experimentally runs one finger along the outer ridge of a gill.

Sir Pentious

"No--" The rest of his sentence is cut off by a moan and then a full body shiver-- and that's a lot of body for him! How sensitive those gills seem to be, and quite the erogenous zone.

"That-- Um, ah, the gentle touch feels....I can't quite describe it, but it's....very good. I think the closest is probably when you, when you touch something to your lips? But more..." He laughed again, breathless. "And well, you will get to see them tonight, especially if you keep touching me like that..."

Alastor

Oh, Alastor feels that moan in his very bones. He’s not used to that—most sexual noises are the auditory equivalent of someone chewing up their food and then carefully spitting it in his ear. But from Sir Pentious, it’s... well, it’s still pretty goofy-sounding, sure—but it’s a sound *Alastor* elicited on purpose. It’s the positive result of Alastor trying to make Telly feel good. And *that*... He thinks he likes that.

The shiver is like sitting atop a mechanical bull as it powers up, right before it starts bucking. Alastor pauses just a moment to absorb the new sensation, and then continues, tracing lightly along the gills with two fingers, then three. "That sounds like a fine plan to me! Especially if it gets another noise like that out of you."

Alastor focuses on Telly's face and chest as he continues, watching every change in his expression, every twitch of his muscles. And listens intently to every single sound out of him.

Sir Pentious

With each stroke, there's another shiver, another moan, and one of Telly's hands briefly scrambled for something to hold before landing on the tail of Alastor's jack. He scrunches up the material and takes a breath. His brain can hardly keep up with the sparks it sends through his body, he feels punchdrunk from the sensation, hardly registering Alastor's words.

"T-That is something. W-Who knew gills would be so sensitive?" He chuckled. "You're going to get so much out of me tonight, Alastor. Everything you want to pull free from me, I'll give willingly."

Alastor

“Here you are offering to sing opera for me”—a few seconds of Christine Daae’s wailing at the end of the “Phantom of the Opera” theme—“and me without my recording equipment!” Alastor sighs woefully, to laughs from the studio audience. "Who knew! Gills aren’t the place *I'd* choose for an erogenous zone. But then, I wouldn't have merged the entertainment center with the sewage system, either." More studio laughter and a flushing toilet sound effect. Can you tell this man has never done dirty talk in his life. Can you tell it has not occurred to him that he SHOULD be trying dirty talk right now. "It still feels like I'm threatening to stick a finger up your nose."

For a brief moment he wonders what it WOULD be like to try to dig up into Telly’s gills. It wouldn't be hard, he thinks, to reach his ribs. To taste Telly’s blood and lungs. To hold his heart in Alastor's hands...

That, he decides, is a fantasy he probably ought to keep to himself. But when he bends in for another kiss, there's a little more fang behind it.

Sir Pentious

Telly can't help but snort, and roll his eyes (all of them) at the commentary. It seems like Alastor's back in form-- not even emotional confessions and desperate make outs could keep a good radio host down. He kisses back, though, and Telly finally starts in on Alastor's clothes. Jacket unbuttoned, he starts tugging the shirt out from where it's tucked in and then reaching up to remove the bowtie.

"You know," He says when their kiss breaks again. "You really are incorrigible. You have me at your mercy, nude and writhing, and you're making toilet jokes." There's fondness in his voice though, and he laughs. He removes the covering on Alastor's neck and then immediately is attacking it with kisses.

Alastor

"I've got to keep you laughing somehow, don't I?" What kind of a radio host would he be if he couldn't switch stations at a moment's notice? Just don't ask what the other stations are broadcasting right now. There’s a fair amount of emotional turmoil still brewing beneath the surface.

As Telly moves in on Alastor’s neck, he says, "Careful, I've got—ah." The bandage on his shoulder just past the crook of his neck—an unhealed bite wound made by another Sir Pentious in anger. Never mind, it can wait, his undershirt covers the bandage. He awkwardly shrugs off his jacket and starts unbuttoning his shirt, exposing the ancient band t-shirt he's using as an undershirt and offering more of his neck to Telly.

Sir Pentious

Telly makes sure to leave his mark-- a little scrape of teeth and then some sucking has a lovely hickie appearing against Alastor's skin. He smirks as he pulls back, pleased at how it looks-- and then he notices the t-shirt.

He blinks. "What'ssss that?" He points at it. He is perplexed. The Radio Demon wears t-shirts under his suit?

Alastor

Tease. Barely grazing his skin and sucking a little at it without biting down? Telly probably hadn’t even broken the skin. Alastor bites his lip, don’t stop there—

—what was that? “Oh! My undershirt!” He sits up, straddling Telly’s hips (pause to consider how amazing and miraculous that is), and pulls the shirt straight out. “They started printing slogans and artwork on undershirts in the 50’s, I thought it was fun! Adds a bit of entertainment to the most boring part of one’s wardrobe.” (He still considers t-shirts a form of underwear.)

The t-shirt in question looks like it was painted by a fantasy novel cover artist and ostensibly displays the name of a metal band, although the name looks more like a tangle of barbed wire than like actual words—and it’s so old it’s falling apart at the seams. This particular piece of high fantasy heavy metal art features a murderous-looking cobra menacing some sort of tiger person. Alastor glances away, momentarily self-conscious. “The local version of you—he also plays pipe organ, obviously—he started playing organ on rock-and-roll bands’ albums in the eighties.” (He still considers heavy metal a form of rock-and-roll.) “One of the only traditionally trained pipe organists in Pentagram City who’s willing to play modern music, I’m given to understand. I can’t stand the sound of it, but... I... like to listen for his solos.”

Sir Pentious

He's careful as he touches the shirt, tracing a claw along the familiar looking cobra. Well, that's something. A smile touches his lips and he chuckles a bit.

"He plays for rock bands? Hm. Never thought of doing that. But I bet it's a fun time for him, being able to play for others. I'm glad you were able to hold on to something of him, even if it's just organ solos in rock music." Telly laughs again, getting his hands on either side of the hem of the t-shirt.

"Arms up, I'd rather not tear something that is important to you." But before that, Alastor gets another kiss, this one a touch sweeter than the others.

Alastor

Another point of difference between the Sir Pentious that Alastor once knew and this one. He files it away carefully. “I’d tell you how he got into it, but I haven’t the foggiest!” A slight grimace. “We... weren’t on speaking terms by that point.” *Even if it’s JUST organ solos.* Yeah, that just about sums it up. He wrenches himself off of that station and leans into the kiss, trying to let it distract him. “Pity, though—I was kind of hoping you could explain the appeal of that music to me! I just don’t get the sound at all.”

He tilts his head so his antlers don't catch the shirt as Telly lifts it and tries not to think about how exposed he is. And there's Alastor half naked. He has a bandage on his shoulder near his neck. Patches of thick red fur on his chest and trailing down the center of his stomach to his belt line do little to hide how bony he is. Almost as soon as he's uncovered, he automatically crosses his arms.

Sir Pentious

The crossed arms were pretty hard to miss. Alastor was clearly uncomfortable being without his clothes, which was fair enough. Not everyone could be as comfortable being nude as a giant snake, after all.

His eyes were drawn to the bandage however, and he very gingerly touched the edges of it, careful not to press. "What's this? Was this from when you healed me? I thought you would've healed it by now..." He arches his brow, and lets his hand trail down to rest on Alastor's arm. Then an idea strikes, something that might make them both more comfortable.

"Oh! Oh, a moment, I think I have something..." He gently took Alastor by his upper arms, easily and quickly, but still gently, moving him off and setting him on the floor. He slithered quickly to his dresser, throwing open a drawer and digging through his clothes. He returned, beaming and triumphant, holding a soft, very large, grey t-shirt.

"If you're not comfortable without something to cover you, then why not this? I just don't want anything to happen to that shirt that you like so much, and I have many shirts of different kinds." He offered it to Alastor, leaning down to kiss his cheek as he did.

Alastor

An ear twitches at the touch to the bandage. "Oh! No, that was here.” He taps his inner arm, see, the skin’s already smooth and only slightly discolored by what looks like long-faded bite marks. “Nothing to worry about—it's not bad, just pierced a bit deep. It's healing fine, so I elected not to waste any magic on it.”

He willingly moves aside and watches curiously as Telly rummages around. What's he looking for— "Oh! No no, I'm fine! I'm just getting used to the chill, that's all. You don't have—" He looks properly at the shirt. He sees the text on the shirt. He takes the shirt. He puts the shirt on.

He loves this shirt.

Sir Pentious

Yes, Telly thought he might. He smiles and settles back on the ground, taking Alastor's hand to pull him back to his lap.

"That's better, yes? And if I should bite through it, well, it'll give the shirt some character. That's what getting blood and bite holes in a shirt does, correct?" He laughed again, his Pentious™️ laugh. He did still slide his hands under the shirt, though, letting his claws dig into Alastor's sides a bit.

And then he leans in for another kiss, rougher this time, testing the waters as it were. He scrapes his fangs hard enough to draw blood at least, and the points of his claws sharply dig in further. He certainly wants to see if Alastor likes that...

Alastor

“Well, they certainly thought so in the nineties.” The shirt isn’t getting blood and bite holes without Alastor getting bloody bites, though—and the thought of it makes his dead heart pound harder, drumming in his ears.

When Telly’s fangs draw blood, it triggers a searing, white-hot, knife-sharp euphoria right behind his eyes, and he leans in hungrily, desperate for more, shaking hands scrabbling for the back of Telly’s neck and head, fangs digging into Telly’s lip.

Sir Pentious

He wasn't expecting quite that reaction, but it was hardly unwanted. His own hands wound around to Alastor's back to pull him closer, smashing them chest to chest. His claws dug in, scraping down Alastor's back, hard enough to leave bloody red lines behind.

Telly pulled from Alastor's lips to return to his neck, and the hickie he'd already left. His mouth opened and he bit, overcome by the urge-- forgetting for a moment, his venom. The thought struck him like lightning, though, and he pulled away cursing.

"Shit! Fuck, oh no, Alastor, hold on--" He rushed off again, this time to his bedside table, to grab a vial and syringe. "I have the anti-venom, let me give it to you, hold on, just a moment--!"

Alastor

He shudders as he’s clawed, the static background noise that surrounds him jittering between stations, grabbing snatches of disconnected voices and half-words. When Telly pulls away from him, he has just enough time to hiss “Please—” before fangs sink into his throat. His voice cuts off completely with a gasp, replace with distorted song clips—“*I've tasted blood and I want more—*” “*OH~ touch-a touch-a touch-a TOUCH me~—*”

He nearly swoons when Telly disappears to go get the anti-venom. For a moment he sits there, blinking, dazed smile on his face, before he registers what happened and gets to his feet to follow Telly. His knees are like jelly, is that from the venom or is it just him? “Give it to me straight, doc, how long until the venom does me in?” He sits on the bed, bats his eyelashes dramatically, and gives Telly a bloody smile. “Short enough that I’ll die happy?”

Sir Pentious

He's torn between laughing at that reaction and pure panic, but his hands don't shake as he gets the dose of anti-venom into the syringe. He takes Alastor's arm and locates a vein, plunging the needle in and then pressing the plunger. Once that's done, he sighs in relief, sinking down to the floor. He rubs his hands over his face, and his breath is shuddering, but after a few more moments, it settles. And then he laughs, a bit choked and a bit manic, but otherwise calm.

Telly lifted his head and then took Alastor's hands in his. "If you want me to bite more, then we're going to have to figure out what to do about my venom. You'll...ah, you'll become resistant eventually, but I certainly don't want to panic after every love bite. Maybe-- is there some magical way to counteract venom? Or make you immune? I am afraid that is not my area of expertise."

Alastor

So fast. Alastor automatically glances away when the shot goes in. Then he leans forward, pressing their foreheads together as Telly laughs, draping an arm over his shoulder—everything’s fine, no harm done. This certainly isn’t how he expected this visit to go; but then he didn’t expect... any of this. He expected to help Telly flake off some dead skin, congratulate him on a shed well done, and go home.

Alastor slides off the bed and seats himself on Telly’s coils. “Well, I most assuredly want you to bite more, so we’ll just have to figure that out! I’ve got a few tricks that can help draw it out, but they’re only partially effective. I could go to some of the higher demons to buy full immunity, but I don’t like making such large purchases from them unless I have to. Beyond that—if you tell me how you make your anti-venom, maybe I could brew up some potion that does the same thing? Or I could go to your local me, see whether he might be able to give me a blood transfusion to pass on whatever immunity he’s started building up?” If Telly panicked that much, Alastor wonders just how much suffering his alternate was in. (He needs to ask Telly about his relationship with the local Radio Demon some time, now that Telly knows a little bit about Alastor’s local Sir Pentious.) He winks, “Or maybe you just need to keep biting me until I get that natural resistance.”

Sir Pentious

He purrs when Alastor presses their foreheads together, and smiles at the gesture. God, he loves this, he loves touching and being touched, so very much, especially here and now and with him.

"I can give you my formula for the anit-venom, yes. I could also make some larger doses of it, perhaps just have more prepared. I could also come up with a device that could maybe automatically inject you, so we don't have to do the bottle and needle dance every time. Maybe an armband of some kind..." He made a face at the mention of the local variety. "I'm not sure if I've bitten him enough for him to gain one." He sniffed a bit haughtily, and then hummed, cupping Alastor's face to lean in to kiss him.

"Also, I could give you just some bottles of my venom, to try and figure out your own version of the anti-venom. Might even be fun, if you want to help milk it." He grins. "But that dose should counteract any more bites tonight-- but tell me if you feel nauseous, or if you get the chills."

Alastor

Alastor tightens his one-arm embrace when Telly kisses him again—he never thought he’d have a chance at this again, smooth scales under his bare skin. It feels so right.

“Oh, I get the chills just looking at you!” The song’s back—“*Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me—*” “What other symptoms should I watch out for? A racing heart? Lightheadedness? Sudden swoons? It might be too late for me!” He melodramatically presses a hand to his forehead—then laughs. God, it feels so good just to *say* that—without having to filter his words. “*Would* you let me have some of your venom?”

Sir Pentious

"Well, then, just tell me if you start to get nauseous." He laughs, and then slithers up onto the bed, taking Alastor with him. He lays among the pillows, letting his hand snake back under his shirt to start scraping against his skin again.

"Of course, as much as you wanted-- though I'm not sure if the classic 'drop in your drink' method of gaining a tolerance would work." He smiles, leaning in to let his tongue flick over the wound on Alastor's neck.

"Didn't know you liked Rocky Horror, darling. But I will _touch-a, touch-a, touch_ you all you want."

Alastor

He rolls onto his side so he can face Telly; and then, realizing that he’s still fully dressed from the waist down, lifts his feet one at a time so he can unlace his shoes and toss them aside. The flick over his wound stings lightly; it sends tingles up and down his neck.

“So you know it!” His face lights up. “It’s not one of my favorites—but it’s a place to go at midnight when all the other picture houses are either closed or showing porn!”

Sir Pentious

"Yes, I do! Sad to say I've never gone to a midnight showing, only ever watched it on my projector here. But I enjoy it, it's very odd." Telly lets out another laugh, watching Alastor toss his shoes. He presses his lips to the wound, smearing some of Alastor's blood there, before moving down to where his neck and shoulder meet. There, he opens his mouth once more and bites down-- if Alastor likes this so much, well, he's more than happy to give him more now that he's had the anti-venom.

Alastor

“Really!” He beams eagerly. “We ought to fix that sometime. *Oh*—with costumes! *We can wear costumes.*” He could already imagine a beautiful future ahead of them: attending every silly little costume event the Pride Ring has to offer, dramatically playing with each other in character... stumbling home together through dark streets in the wee hours of the morning.

Alastor gasps again at the fresh bite—then lets out a giddy laugh. “All my life I’ve heard ‘he treated me like a piece of meat’ being used as a complaint! Please, if you ever feel the urge to bite a whole chunk out of me, don’t hold back.” He wraps an arm around Telly’s waist, drawing him closer—and then starts exploring his body again, running his fingertips up and down his back and dragging his thumb along the outer edges of his new gills. Every time he moves his arm, he can feel it deep in the shoulder muscle that Telly bit.

Sir Pentious

When he pulls back, mouth bloody, he smiles. "Costumes! Yes, absolutely. We both seem to love them, it seems, what better way for us to have fun." He coos.

The touches to his gills made him gasp, and he licks his blood covered teeth. His claws dug in again, and he kneaded, similarly to a cat. He moves his head, and then uses a hand to shift the collar of the shirt, letting him get at another piece of unmarred flesh. And he's biting again. At the end of this, Alastor would probably be covered in blood, but so would he, and he didn't mind that one bit.

"If I feel the urge, I'll be sure to indulge. Right now, all I want is to mark you up all over."

Alastor

Mark him—he likes the sound of that. He likes the idea of having proof that this really happened—something he can look at in the mirror tomorrow and SEE. Incontrovertible evidence.

He nearly digs his claws in when Telly bites again—without his gloves on, his claws are short and black, but still more than sharp enough to break skin—but he freezes, barely restraining himself. No, not that, not now. Instead, he nuzzles Telly’s face and murmurs, “Wasn’t I lotioning you before we got distracted? I believe I still haven’t gotten to most of you.”

Sir Pentious

He blinks. God, the lotion seemed like an eternity ago, he hardly remembers it. He flops back against the pillows and then nods. "Yes, you were. We got caught up in the euphoria of kissing, and biting, I suppose."

He laughs and his tail shifts, searching on the floor. A few moments later, and the tail fully returns to the bed, the lotion coiled in the very tip. "There it is~ Why not get back to it, and then I'll reward you with more bites. And perhaps it will bring forth the twins, as you called them." He snickers.

Alastor

"More? I'm going to leave here looking like Swiss cheese!" It's not a complaint.

He sits up, squeezes a bit more into his hands, and looks over Telly greedily. Oh, where to start? Every last inch available for him to touch as he sees fit. "Let's see... I think I got your back already... So let's start with..." He leans forward, running his hands along Telly's shoulders and collar bones, feeling the bones and muscles underneath, trying to memorize the shapes of them with his fingertips.

Sir Pentious

"Yes, as many as you can stand." He laughs.

When Alastor picked his spot to start, Telly shifted to allow him to reach whatever he might want. His tail moved as well, flipping to expose the bright yellow underbelly. The bed only fit ten feet, and usually he was coiled on it, so spreading out like this really showed just how long her was.

Alastor

"Oh, you're going to regret saying that! I have an amazing tolerance for pain."

His gaze travels down the length of Telly's body, drinking in the two-tone scales and the many eyes—he'll get down there soon enough. He returns his attention to Telly's upper body, moving down to his chest, carefully tracing around the central eye. Oh yes, this was *much* better than nail polish. Better smelling, for one thing. "You know, I wasn't just flattering you earlier. You truly are the single most beautiful being I've ever seen."

Sir Pentious

"I'll have to test it, then." He laughs, and then he bit his lip. He chewed a moment, forgetting his fangs in the need to chew on something. Compliments had that affect-- either a chewed lip or a tear filled eye.

But he stops after a moment and mutters a soft 'Ow.' as his tongue flicked out to lick at the wounds.

"You say that, but, I--" He makes a soft noise and sighs. "I'm sorry I'm still unused to compliments...I always find them hard to accept. But thank you. I know you mean it, and that means a lot to me."

Alastor

"So sorry!" He leans forward to kiss the wound—and get a taste of it himself while he's there. "Does that mean I should keep the compliments to myself? Or should I make sure you get used to them?"

Sir Pentious

"No, please, keep complimenting. I'd rather get used to hearing them, so that when it comes time for the rest of Hell to join in the flattery, I won't be coy about it." He laughs and winks.

Telly smirks slyly as a thought comes to him, and he wipes some of his blood onto his thumb. Then he leans over to spread it on Alastor's lips.

"Mm, that shade's is quite flattering on you." He laughs again and then reclines once more, pleased with himself.

Alastor

He'd hoped Telly would say that.

Before he resumes exercising his God-given right to ramble endlessly without ever shutting up, he lets Telly paint his lips, presses them together like he's smoothing out a layer of lipstick, and runs the tip of his tongue along the inner edge of his lower lip to taste it. It's going to be difficult resisting the urge to lick it straight off. Maybe he ought to start wearing lipstick regularly.

"In that case, I'll have to tell you all about how utterly mesmerizing you are when I watch you swim! Or how bone-chilling your villainous laugh is, or how spectacularly well megalomania suits you! Or how much you awe me with those brilliant machines you put out—so casually! And so quickly! Why, if you worked in magic rather than machinery you'd already be a god, if only you could build your private menagerie out of molecules and cells rather than clockwork parts. I truly believe you have a mind to rival God's, and if I'm wrong I dare Him to smite me for it!" He pauses to wait. He is not smote. "I guess I must be right!"

Sir Pentious

Telly can't help the nervous and almost embarrassed giggles that erupt from him, but his smile is wide. To think, Alastor thought that highly of him when the one of his own universe could spend hours on espousing the opposite. But he wouldn't let thoughts of his local variety sour any of this. He didn't belong anywhere between them. No, this space was theirs and theirs alone.

A contented purr came next and he wiggles against the pillows. He takes one of Alastor's hands and kisses it, leaving a smear of blood there, though the wounds are already starting to stop bleeding.

"You're truly flattering me, Alastor. Soon my true ego will match my bravado." He laughs again. "But please don't let that stop you!" His laugh turned to a cackle.

Alastor

That cackle is enough to give him goosebumps. "I hope they will match! Egomania would *also* look good on you!" He bends down to lick the blood off his own hand (pff, tastes lotiony), then kisses Telly again—and resumes trailing his hands down Telly's body, caressing his chest, his abdomen, and sliding around to his gills again.

Sir Pentious

He returns the kiss and really is loathe to let Alastor go back to touching him if it meant Telly had to break the kiss. But he did, giving another contented purr-- and then a sharp groan when Alastor got near the gills again.

"If these things are that sensitive, I truly wonder how they'll fair when I'm in my suit," He huffs. "They are interesting, though. I want to try them out soon."

Alastor

Oh, those beautiful sounds. It was almost too easy. "That *would* be distracting. I wonder if there's some avant-garde fashion designer somewhere who makes suits with open sides?" He laughs. "Or maybe it's because they're new! Right after I died, my ears and tail were much more sensitive. Not THIS kind of 'sensitive,' but..."

He continues his caresses throughout his talking, slowly trailing lower down Telly's sides toward his hips, back toward that spot Telly showed him earlier that he could now feel with his own bare skin. Hmm. River stone. Yeah. Maybe he could sneak Telly into the mortal realm—take him somewhere *nice* to try out swimming...

Sir Pentious

His breathing is mostly under control, though he can't help the small, downright needy noises that come out with every touch. He just wants to lay here forever, being touched by Alastor.

"I remember my eyes being extremely sensitive before my first shed, but I think that was more just irritation than anything."

Another gasp and he could start feeling the twins as Alastor so named them, starting to peek their heads out from their hidden spot in Telly's sheath.

Alastor

He wonders if the sensitivity was some sort of aftereffect of the way Telly had died—but he wasn’t about to ask and ruin the mood. "I've always wondered how you stand all those eyes everywhere! I suppose you've got some sort of protective layer over them, don't you—but even so! It can't be comfortable slithering around on them all the—oh, hello." He rests his hands on Telly's hips. Guess what he's just noticed?

He goes still and silent for a moment as he studies the emerging equipment, not with a look of lust or hunger but a sort of excited curiosity—eager to see now that the sheath is opening how it usually keeps itself so well-hidden, eager to see the shape of what it contains.

Sir Pentious

God above, he really truly was happy that he couldn't blush, or he'd be even more embarrassed. With how intently Alastor is staring, he can't help but feel self conscious. But he keeps that to himself, biting his lip again.

But despite the burning embarrassment he's feeling, his dicks still emerge, slowly, as they were wont to do. Compared to the rest of him, they don't look the most impressive, but at a solid nine inches, they were on the large end for any human measurements. Not to mention, well, there were two.

They glistened with the slick self lubricant Telly's sheath produced, and he took a short breath once they fully emerged.

"What do you think?" He asks, and immediately the embarrassment is tenfold. Wow, Telly, that was lame, that was super lame. He pressed one hand to his face to hide himself a bit. This was just....a lot.

Alastor

"... Uh." For a moment, he's at a loss for words—not because he's particularly awed or flustered, but rather because he ISN'T, and he knows full well that under the circumstances he's EXPECTED to be. He thinks they’re kind of strange, in the way that one would expect a rarely-seen human part that’s been partially mutated by an animal part to be before one gets used to it; and he also thinks they’re kind of pretty in the same way that he thinks all of Sir Pentious is kind of pretty. But neither of those seem particularly remarkable.

What's a good partner supposed to say when they see someone else's dick(s) for the first time? That question isn't covered in sex ed. Or maybe it is, Alastor wouldn't know, his school didn't have sex ed.

He's read pulp novels and smutty comics, what do they usually say when the dick comes out? Something about the size, typically. "Well," he says, "you're bigger than me." A beat as he rummages around for something else to say. "Good job!"

Sir Pentious

The hand comes off the face, and he just....blinks at Alastor a moment. Then he laughs, loud, deep laughs. It takes time a few moments to calm enough to speak.

"Oh, Alastor, I'm sorry, that was--" He giggles a few more times. "I've never had someone tell me 'Good job!' for having above average sized penises.....Penii? What's the right plural?"

He snaps himself out of thinking about that little conundrum and reaches to take Alastor's hands.

"I must say, you're adorable. Don't worry about figuring out the  right words-- Penii are awkward to talk about." He leans in to kiss him and then smiles, more shy this time.

"Did you....want to touch them? You can, if you wish..."

Alastor

Alastor laughs too, near voicelessly and shoulders shaking. “I didn’t know what else to say! Bigger is generally considered better, isn’t it? It’s—you know—something most men are proud of? It seemed like something worth congratulating!” He laughs again, yes he knows it’s silly.

Adorable? He smiles self-consciously; he’s not sure about this whole *being adorable* business. “You’re one to talk, which one of us got distracted by grammar?” Kiss. “... I think it’s penes, actually.”

He glances back down at The Twins. “I suppose that’s the direction I was headed, isn’t it?” Yes, he does want to touch—but this is another one of those moments that has a bunch of pressure and expectations piled onto it, a weight granted by society at large’s obsession with things that have never mattered to Alastor. He’s not sure how he can touch without it being a disappointment to Telly.

Then better to get the disappointment over with and recover from there, isn’t it? If he puts it off that’s just going to further build up an inevitably underwhelming moment. “Do you have a preference? Or both at once?”

Sir Pentious

He still laughs a little at the grammar comment and shrugs. "What can I say, I'm a Semantics Snake."

He laughs at his own joke and then settles again, taking a deep breath. Well, here it was, the moment of truth, as it were.

"Oh, ah, whichever you wish. I have no preference, nor do you need to....do both at once. The feelings tend to blend anyway." He gave a slight shrug and settled back to....watch, he supposed?

Alastor

Surprised, he asks, “Blend, really? What, does touching both feel like only touching one? What happens if I try to rub circles on one and pat the other?” He wraps his hand around the nearest one like he definitely knows what he’s doing—sure he can handle a dick, he handles his own all the time—immediately lets go in surprise when it’s a lot wetter than he expected, and quickly grabs on again. “What is that—that’s not pre, is it?” It’s a lot, if so—but really, what does he know about how much other men have? He isn’t a doctor.

Sir Pentious

"Yes, them being so close together on my body makes the feelings sort of...combine? Like if you were to grab both, it would definitely feel more than just one, but--" He gets cut off when Alastor wraps his hand around and he gives a little gasp.

"O-oh, ah, um, no, it's not, it's....a sort of natural lubricant that my body produces. Otherwise it would be very uncomfortable when they...came out and whatnot." He laughed, a little breathlessly. "It certainly saves on buying the stuff in a bottle or what have you."

Alastor

“Oh! Makes sense!” He lets go to lick some of the lubricant off his hand to see what it tastes like, then grabs on again to explore the shape of it with his fingertips. “‘Twins’ wasn’t quite right, was it? More like a two-headed turtle, pulling its heads in and out of its shell.” He grins cheekily as he tugs at the edge of the sheath with his pinky.

Sir Pentious

The taste would be....actually quiet similar to Telly's blood, if a bit blander. He's about to say something else when Alastor grabs him again, and a groan comes out instead.

His breath hitches when he touched the sheath, and Telly starts breathing harder, just in general. "The-The sheath is also sensitive, it's full of nerve endings and the like, v-very sssensssitive."

He whines softly, arms shaking a little as he grabs the sheets. Boy is too sensitive for his own good it seems.

Alastor

“Is it!” Alastor leans across Telly’s tail, propping himself up with his elbow on the bed and his cheek in his hand, grinning sweetly and oh so innocently. “So, you’ll be able to feel it particularly well if I do... this?” He runs one finger around the sheath, tracing it from one side of the double dicks to the other.

Sir Pentious

Telly gasps and shudders, his claws tearing the sheets as he gripped them tighter. "Yes!"

The shout is more involuntary than answering his question, but there's another reaction far more exuberant than that-- Telly's tail, rushing to curl from its stretched out position, to coil around Alastor, around the waist, and then his legs. It gave a squeeze, but luckily, not one too hard.

Alastor

Alastor’s gaze darts to Telly’s face when he shouts, and stays there, watching him. Each little noise makes his ears twitch.

The coil wrapped nearest Alastor’s waist serves to alert him to the fact that he has, in fact, developed a boner himself—which is, as far as he’s concerned, an unsurprising but unwanted physical inconvenience in the middle of what’s been an otherwise good time, not unlike sitting in an odd position too long and standing to find one’s foot has gone numb. When he shifts in Telly’s coils to sit up and lean forward, he absentmindedly adjusts Telly’s coil to keep the pressure off of the party crasher so Alastor can stay focused on Telly’s reactions. “Keep making those beautiful sounds, would you?” With one hand he traces around the bases of Telly’s dicks and runs along the sheath, and with the other he reaches up to play with his gills on one side—and the whole time he watches Telly so intently he might not even be blinking.

Sir Pentious

Telly is too consumed by the pleasure to notice Alastor's boner, fortunately for Alastor. He's also not used to being told to be loud. More often, he's asked to keep it down. He keeps himself from biting his lip again, so as not to stifle the noises. His panting is the first noise, and then, moans and groans pour out of him, with every touch and stroke. And then--

"Alassstor!" Halfway between a whine and shout, he writhes on the sheets.

Alastor

He nearly claws into Telly’s side at the sound of his own name—and again just barely restrains himself. “Yes!” He leans half over Telly, gaze darting like a spotlight between his face and his writhing body, eyes shining bright with hunger and adoration. “Oh, let me hear that again!” Like the Phantom compelling Christine to keep singing, if the Phantom sounded like an overexcited 1920s radio broadcaster.

Sir Pentious

His tongue sticks out and stays out, as he pants, and his eyes meet Alastor's, wide and red-pink.

"Alastor, please, more." He whines. Telly's able to release the sheet with one hand, and reach over to press a claw against one of the bites he left.

"I want more."

Alastor

Alastor shudders as wonderful pain lances his shoulder. “Anything you want, *ma reine*.” As long as Alastor knows that he’s the one giving Sir Pentious that pleasure—as long as it’s his name being panted—Alastor will do whatever it takes to give him more of it.

Both hands move to Telly’s dicks and sheath—he might not have any conventional sexual experience, but he certainly knows how to give hand jobs, he’s been giving himself those for well over a century—and his arms’ shadows peel up and slide up Telly’s waist to wrap around his sides.

Sir Pentious

The shadows are odd, but not any stranger than the fact that Telly was a snake and Alastor a deer. They do, however, feel odder than actual flesh and blood hands, and that pulls his attention for a brief moment. At least, until Alastor's attention focuses on his dicks. A whine catches in his throat and he shifts under him.

"Please, _mon roi_," He murmurs, eyes shifting from Alastor's hands to his face. He didn't think today would be ending with him in bed with Alastor, but well, he certainly wasn't going to complain. Especially not when his hands were doing so much for him.

Alastor

Alastor didn’t think *any* day was going to be ending with him in bed with Sir Pentious. Although, to be fair, he sometimes forgets that “in bed with” is an item in other people’s lists of priorities until someone else reminds him. It’s still remarkable.

“Tell me what else you want.” He’s going to keep stroking, keep caressing, keep repeating the things that get the loudest groaning and most dramatic squirming, and pushing them farther wherever he can.

Sir Pentious

It takes him a good few moments to get his brain together enough to remember things he liked, other than everything Alastor was already doing.

"Bite me. I-I like being bit, too. I want some to match what I left on you." He pants and arches against his hands, moaning softly. "Otherwise, just keep going. It feels so _good_, Alastor."

Alastor

To this point he’s been loathe to spill more than a drop or two of Telly’s blood—but at the explicit invitation, his smile stretches even wider. “We’re going to be quite a pair, aren’t we.” He chuckles, straddling Telly’s waist so he only has to let go with one hand to help him keep his balance. He kisses Telly’s neck and collar bone—and then sinks his teeth in. Oh, *delicious*. He wishes he could take a chunk of muscle with him, he’d commit a thousand murders to find out what Telly’s flesh actually tastes like. The blood will have to be enough.

Sir Pentious

"Yes, we will--" He gasps when Alastor's teeth sink in, and then his eyes squeeze shut and he shouts out Alastor's name again. Now that he was closer, Telly's hands move around to Alastor's back, under the shirt, and rake down again-- a sure sign of approval from the snake.

"If anyone asks you...if you got into a fight... you have to answer 'You should see the other guy.'" He wheezes out a laugh, breathless as he is.

Alastor

He shivers under the claws. He can’t remember the last time he got torn up like this, but whenever it was, it couldn’t have been half this good.

His laugh is muffled—his fangs are still buried in Telly’s shoulder almost up to the gums. He releases his bite, licks up the first blood to seep out, and plants a kiss on Telly’s lips. “And if anyone asks, who won the fight?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before switching over to Telly’s other shoulder and giving it a matching bite.

Sir Pentious

He returns the kiss, hungry for the taste of his own blood on Alastor's lips. The bit he's smeared there earlier was now covered up with a fresh coat, that was nice. He laughs, his head tilting to give Alastor more space for his next bite.

"Hm, I think--" He gets cut off yet again by a moan tearing itself through him. His hips buck a bit underneath Alastor, begging for more attention.

"I think we both win..."

Alastor

“Mm-hmm!” He moves his second hand back down to Telly’s dicks—which means he can’t prop himself up anymore, but he can live with that. He can get up on his knees to give himself enough space to access the dicks; it’s an awkward angle, but it works.

And it means he’s resting on his chest with his head right next to Telly’s, letting Alastor listen to every lovely laugh and moan.

Sir Pentious

And purr, which is the sound that comes next. Telly turned his head to kiss him again, moaning against his lips.

"I think I'm close, Alastor. Go all out, make me climax," He whispers, his claws dragging down his back again.

Alastor

He thought he WAS going all out. He’s new at this, “bite” and “jerk” are the only two tools in his toolkit. He panics for half a second—what does Telly want for the grand finale, a musical number? (he could handle that, actually)—before he realizes he can just pick up the pace, can’t he?

That, and return to kissing, deeply and eagerly.

Sir Pentious

Turning up the pace certainly works, quite well, in fact. As does the kissing. Their mouths are pressed together when Telly is finally pushed over the edge, and he gasps into his mouth, muttering Alastor's name. His entire body shudders, hard, and that is a lot of body to shudder. His hips jerk up, and both of his dicks spurt in time.

"Ah...Alastor...."

Alastor

He keeps on jerking through the length of Telly’s orgasm, reveling in the sound of his own name and the feel of Telly’s entire body moving beneath him. Success! Mission accomplished!

At last he lets go and murmurs back, “Telly.” A light kiss. “Sir Pentious.” Another kiss.

Sir Pentious

"Alastor," He mutters in return, a blissed out smile on his lips. And then. "Torry." A giggle and then a kiss. "Or maybe....Astor? Do you like that?"

❤️📻🐍❤️ The Naughty Bits END HERE! ❤️📻🐍❤️

Sir Pentious

"Alastor," He mutters in return, a blissed out smile on his lips. And then. "Torry." A giggle and then a kiss. "Or maybe....Astor? Do you like that?"

Alastor

He’s silent a moment, trying out the nicknames in his head, listening to the sound of them. “Astor,” he repeats. “Astor, huh. Makes me sound like a star, doesn’t it.”

Sir Pentious

"It does. And it's fitting because you are one." He takes Alastor's chin in his fingers and kisses him again. "I figured that since I have a nickname, you should too. Would certainly help to make things less complicated when referring to you, rather than one of the others."

Alastor

Huff. He returns the kiss, then says ruefully, "Not for a long time, I haven't been a star. But it's a fine sentiment! Maybe again soon, who knows? Maybe as Marquesident Laufeyefferson." He laughs. “If my being in the show doesn’t scare the audiences away from the theater.”

Sir Pentious

"Mm, mm, none of that talk. You are a star, you're my star, and I'll see you shinning again." He smiles and pokes Alastor's nose as he speaks. And then there's another kiss and his arms wrap tight around the Radio Demon. "And you'll have at least," He pauses, mentally tabulating. "Three people there to see you in it."

Alastor

“Why, throw in duplicates and the hotel crew—who I’m *going* to make come—and we might have a dozen! You can fill the rest of the audience with eggs!” HUFF! "So you'll make me a star and I'll make you king of Hell. That's the deal, right?"

For some reason, saying it out loud like that makes him feel strangely emotional. He returns the embrace just as tightly and presses his face into Telly's shoulder, blood and all.

Sir Pentious

"I'll have to get cloning then!" He snickers.

"That is indeed." He laughs softly, his hand going to the back of Alastor's head, to pet his hair. "You're mine, now. I'm yours. We're ours." He's not quite sure what he's actually saying right now, more just rambling in the afterglow.

Alastor

"I'm yours. You're mine. And this is real." That's the hardest part to believe. That the snakeskin under his hands is attached to an actual moving thinking person, not a piece of python-printed leather. That he didn't imagine all the words playing back in his head. That he was given a chance, in spite of everything. *You’ll belong to me, I’ll belong to you.*

Sir Pentious

Telly purrs in contentment, one hand resting on Alastor's back as the other pets over his hair. "Do you want to sleep here? Don't have an other engagements to attend to, _mon roi_?" His tone is light and playful as his fingers massage the base of one of Alastor's ears.

Alastor

"You couldn't pry me off with a crowbar." He pauses. "Except to use the bathroom. We should probably both wash off, shouldn't we?" And Alastor needs to take the opportunity to jerk off. The human body, he's found, is something like a battleship with very poor communication between the sailors: if the men belowdecks peep out their portholes and see other ships nearby firing their cannons, they hasten to ready their own ship's cannon even if the captain above has no interest in using it.

Sir Pentious

"Yes, I think we should. I do not like letting it, uh, dry on my scales." Telly shifted, coils loosening to free Alastor. He got up and moved towards a door on the far side of the room.

"I'm going to fill up the tub to wash, and you may join me or clean up in the sink if you'd rather that." He smiles. "But I absolutely would not mind if you joined me, were you so inclined."

Alastor

"You think that's bad, imagine letting it dry in your hair." He runs his fingers through the fur on his lower stomach.

On the one hand, getting to be with Telly in a tub. On the other hand, being in the tub, totally naked. "I'll take the sink! I need to look for bandages, anyway. And snoop through all your cabinets." Studio audience laughter. (No but he's definitely going to snoop.) "But I'll come bother you once I'm cleaned up."

Sir Pentious

"All right, then, I will be awaiting you in the true bathroom-- that is, the one with the bath in it." He let out a hissing laugh before slithering through the door, and then to the other at the far side. He started his bath, humming as he put his favorite mix of fragrances in.

Alastor

In the false bathroom, Alastor quickly disarms the uncooperative cannon, pulls off his shirt to wash it in the sink, scrubs off the mess that managed to get beneath the shirt hem... and then, in the process of cleaning off his wounds, stops and stares at himself in the mirror. That really happened, didn't it? How does he feel about that?

About a dozen different ways. None of which he has time to examine right now. Mute those stations and save them for when he's by himself—TRULY by himself, not a room away from somebody who's waiting on him. He digs out some first aid supplies, properly cleans and covers up his bites, and magically dries out his new shirt so he can pull it back on.

Then he pulls off his socks and garters so they won't get wet, tosses them at his other discarded clothes in Telly's room as he passes, and ducks into the true bathroom. “Tired of hanging out in here after a week of it?” Studio laughter. "Well? How do the gills work?"

Sir Pentious

Telly isn't even in the water when Alastor comes back-- but he is dripping and, for some reason, sneezing.

"I may have forgotten about them and put scented oil in the water and now it feels like I snorted it up my nose." Another sneeze.

"So I am rerunning the bath, this time without the oils, and hopefully that will clear things out." He smiles over at Alastor and gives him a once over.

"You clean up nice," He jokes.

Alastor

Alastor laughs loudly. "Oh, and to think I missed it! I chose the wrong bathroom!" He flings an arm around Telly's shoulders. "You poor thing. I guess chlorinate pools are out now, aren't they!" Pity, Telly did so love his fragrances—Alastor wonders whether any of his stock of plants, whether culinary or magical, could serve as an adequately fragranced substitute that wouldn’t irritate Telly’s gills.

Sir Pentious

"Most likely, until my body can adjust to having those sorts of things pass through the gills. I'll have to perform some tests."

He turns his head to kiss Alastor's cheek, before smiling as he slid back into the tub. He did love this in ground design-- so much more convenient for a snake.

Alastor

He sits on the floor next to Telly. "I don't know a lot of fish sinners, unfortunately, or else I'd recommend them to you to ask them questions. Learn from other people's mistakes and all that." After a moment of thought, he rolls up his pant legs so he can stick his hooves in the tub.

Sir Pentious

"Oh, I've missed those hooves," He coos, sliding over to where Alastor sat. "They're so cute, you should take off your shoes more." Under the water, his gills flared and then settled, repeating as he breathed the water.

Alastor

Cute, huh? He crosses his legs to lift one hoof up where it's easier for Telly to see them. The red fur that climbs almost to his knees is currently wet and slicked down and probably less cute than when it’s fully fluffy. “I haven’t had much reason to take them off! Just at the beach and in the bathroom. Although I suppose if I’m going to be spending—“ He realizes what he’s saying halfway through, stops himself, then sheepishly continues with his volume lowered, “... nights over here, from time to time...” It still seems too much to assume.

Sir Pentious

He pushed himself further out of the water to kiss Alastor, softly, and with love. "You're welcome to spend as much time here as you want-- You should know that I can't get enough of you." He winked-- and then his brain clicked and reminded him of something that was dreadfully important, especially under current circumstances.

"Oh! I need to tell you about Hel! Oh, I completely forgot to mention it before we started-- well..." He cleared his throat and chuckled. "She's fine with it, with this, with us. I spoke with her when I first was starting to develop feelings for you and we talked about it. Apparently, in her culture, it's actually quite normal and mundane to be polyamourous! But you don't-- you don't mind either, do you?" He suddenly looks QUITE nervous.

Alastor

OH GOD HEL. *OH GOD HEL.* OH GOD **HEL.** Alastor’s heartbeat sounds less like a timpani and more like a drum roll. He entirely forgot, in the excitement of the everything, that Telly is a taken man. What would his mother think of him. Alastor’s a home wrecker. Or—*worse*—Alastor is some rich British noble’s idea of a fun time before going home each night to his far more powerful and important wife—

OH no never mind, God, everything is fine. “Thank *goodness*.” Alastor’s muscles give out and he flops backwards onto the tile. Listen to the chirping of those invisible birds flying around his head. Now the back of his shirt’s wet. “I...”

...*Does* he mind it? He doesn’t know. He’s imagined what it would be like to be with Sir Pentious more times than he could begin to count, but he’s never considered the possibility that Sir Pentious might simultaneously be with someone else. Alastor’s rarely heard anything nice said about polygamous folks, but he’s noticed a high correlation between the kind of people who go out of their way to raise a big fuss about polygamy and the kind of people who raise a big fuss about queers and the mixing of the races, both of which Alastor happens to be heartily in favor of himself, and that makes him disinclined to put too much stock in such people’s criticisms of any *other* amorous arrangements. He’s known a few little trios or quartets that seemed perfectly happy, although he knows very little about their inner workings. But how does Alastor feel about being *part* of one?

He’s deferring that decision until later. “If she’s fine with it, I want to hear it out of her own mouth. No offense, I hold you in the *highest* esteem, but as a general policy I’m not going to take *any* man’s word for it if he says his lady is fine with him bedding random entertainers he happens to fancy.”

Sir Pentious

Telly watches as Alastor processes it and then as he flops back against the tile. He pulled himself up a little more, and a little bit out of the tub, to flop down beside him. "I will happily arrange that. She'll be glad to hear that we've both finally figured things out." He can't help a little snicker.

"I've been talking with her about my feelings for you this whole time almost, and she's been supportive of it. I just....didn't tell you sooner because I didn't know if you liked me in the same way. I think it's obvious now that we both were a bit blind, weren't we?" He slid closer, laying his head next to Alastor's. He took his arm in one hand and squeezed it, his other twining his fingers with Alastor's.

"I mean, how awkward would it have been for me to just blurt out 'my girlfriend is fine if we start dating!' and then it turned out you _weren't_ interested in me like that? I would've been mortified and it might've ruined the friendship we'd been building. I didn't want to do that. But well, now....now is a good time because now we both know, and that needs to be clear. And don't worry, I'm not expecting you to do anything romantic with her and I doubt she'd want to anyway. It'd just be that I'm dating both of you. I find it quite a novel thing, no one ever openly did such things when I was alive."

He hummed, taking a deep breath and letting it out. "I should finish washing up. You....do still want to stay the night, right?"

Alastor

Alastor laughs. “That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard! Granted, it would have worked on me, but...” He trailed off as he processed the rest of what Telly had said.

“Blind, worried about reading too much into things, either or. Sure, I noticed you were... affectionate, but so’s the Sir Pentious I’m friends with, and it’s entirely platonic out of him.” (Either that, or he’s a much better liar than Alastor thinks. Which he refuses to believe is possible.) “What do you mean, ‘this whole time’? How long, exactly?”

Sir Pentious

Oh. He pauses in getting up, and instead of sliding back into the water, sits there on the edge of the tub. He'd hoped Alastor hadn't caught that. "Ah...well, I've....I've had feelings for you since....since the extermination vacation. That's when Hel and I first talked about it-- I talked with her after our swim and talk. And I've just been feeling more and more since then."

He looked sheepish, looking at the far wall as he drew his hood over his shoulder to pet in a self soothing way. "I wanted to tell you sooner, but again, I didn't want to make things awkward...."

Alastor

*That long.* Alastor marvels at that, staring at the ceiling. They could have had this torrid encounter on a beautiful beach... “Wicked Game” on the wind and Chris Isaak’s ghost smiling in approval... a giant alien sea serpent watching...

“You know, I think I’m glad it took this long! I probably would have gone with it then, but I... don’t think I knew you well enough to do this then.” He honestly still isn’t sure he knows Telly well enough to do this *now.* “I’m used to this whole process taking more like... fifteen years.”

Sir Pentious

"I understand. It seems I tend to move a little fast-- Hel and I met at the speed dating and then that grew fast, too. But one thing I know is my own feelings. Most of the time." He shrugged, turning to look at Alastor.

"We can slow things down now, if you want but I can't say that I'm not happy that we're here now. I like....everything being out there, all these feelings I've been holding inside finally where you can see them. I'm glad we don't have to tiptoe around one another, wondering if the other feels the same." He took Alastor's hand and brought it up to kiss.

"There's a lot we still need to learn about each other, but we can do it now without constantly wondering about our feelings."

Alastor

He squeezes Telly’s hand. “And believe you me, that *is* a relief.” He shuts his eyes, sigh. “But I wouldn’t mind slowing down a little now that we’re here.”

Sir Pentious

"Slowing down," He said, nodding and smiling. He leaned in to kiss his cheek. "I'm more than fine with that." He released his hand to slide back into the tub, grabbing a washcloth.

"Just give me a couple minutes and I'll be ready for bed, darling. I think I'll forgo the nightshirt tonight."

Alastor

Alastor cranes his neck to meet the kiss without having to sit up. "Fine by me." What’s *he* going to wear? Same as usual, he figures—boxers and t-shirt.

He props himself up on his elbows to watch while Telly cleans himself—and the way water rolls down his scales, and the way his muscles move and flex... "You know, you're pretty good looking from this angle, too." A disembodied wolf whistle plays.

Sir Pentious

Telly snorts and looks over his shoulder, giving Alastor a half hearted glare. He finishes up and then slithers from the tub and over to the heated towel rack-- freshly replenished by the Eggs when they'd taken away his shed. He started drying himself and then smirked at Alastor.

"Why not make yourself useful and grab a towel, hm? Instead of just oogling me like I'm a steak still dripping blood."

Alastor

He laughs. "Fine, fine!" He pulls his legs out of the tub, stands, and magically dries off the back of his shirt and seat of his pants—and takes two steps on his now-wet hooves, and immediately slips and lands face first on the floor. He lays there for a second, stunned. His shirt is wet again. Then he rolls on his back, lifts a hand into the air, and says, "You know, maybe I should just..." A towel flies across the room and into Alastor's hand. He holds it out to Telly.

Sir Pentious

Telly can't help the laughter that escapes him and his hand flies to his mouth. He slithers over and offers his hand to help him up-- at least to a sitting position.

"Oh darling, I'm sorry, but that was hilariousssss." He giggles more before offering the lower end of his tail for Alastor to dry. "No wonder you don't like walking on those hooves on tile. Hardwood is probably just as bad. Maybe I should get some rugs."

Alastor

"This is why I went into radio instead of musical theater." He accepts the hand, chuckling at himself. “That’s the great thing about shoes: traction!” Studio laughter. “How well does slithering work on rugs?”

Oh, Alastor gets to dry it? He does so almost reverently. They got "distracted" partway into the lotioning, Alastor never got an opportunity to lavish attention on Telly's tail. Time to make up for that.

Sir Pentious

"If it's something like an oriental rug, I should be fine."

Telly hums as he dries, and if Alastor listens closely and knows the tune, he would recognize it as part of your world from the little mermaid.

Every eye that Alastor approaches with the towel doesn't blink, but they did follow his movements, pupils dilating a bit. They watch him intently, almost adoringly, if eyes embedded in Telly's body could look at anyone with adoration.

Alastor

He doesn't see why they shouldn't be able to look at him adoringly. He makes direct eye contact with one and winks to see whether it winks back.

It takes him a moment to recognize the song—Disney musicals usually fall into "I'll watch it once to say I did" territory—but when he does, he cracks up. "You ARE a mermaid now, aren't you! Merman? Not a little one, though!"

Sir Pentious

It unfortunately doesn't. Not having eyelids will do that to an eye. It does, however, dilate a little further.

Telly's humming stopped when Alastor spoke and it took him a moment to understand what he was saying. He laughs after and shrugs a little.

"I suppose so! The Little Mermaid is my favorite of the Disney fare."

Alastor

"Really! I would have pegged you for more of a..." A moment of thought, then he admits, "Actually, I wouldn't have pegged you as a Disney fan at all.” He supposes the mermaid movie makes as much sense as any. What with the taste for sea shanties. And sea monsters. And sea. “Why The Little Mermaid?"

Sir Pentious

Telly gives him an affection, if sort of suffering look and lifts his arm to gesture to the gills.

"Thought that would be obvious by now, darling. What's not to love about a movie revolving around the sea with musical numbers and quite stunning animation?"

Alastor

"Okay, fair! Hah! I just wondered if there was *more* to it than that! Besides, a movie about trying to escape the sea? Why, you're more of a reverse Little Mermaid."

Sir Pentious

"It's more than that, more than even it's connection to the sea, it's a story about love and sacrifice, and it is decidedly queer, both versions of it-- I also loved the written version when I was alive. It resonates with me on many levels than just the surface." His face lights up a moment, and he laughs.

"Like the sea! More under the surface!" He giggles more.

Alastor

He gives Telly a surprised look. "Really? Girl meets boy, girl falls for boy, girl elopes with boy? Where's the queer part?" He pauses. "Besides the fact that the octopus is clearly a drag queen."

Sir Pentious

Telly looked at Alastor, his head tilting. "Have you never read about Hans Christian Anderson or Howard Ashman who wrote the songs for the Disney film? They were both homosexual, Alastor. And both put their own feelings into the character of The Little Mermaid herself. Part of your World is even Ashman lamenting that he wishes to be part of a world that would accept him for who he was and who he loved."

He slithered closer and cupped his face. "_I don't know when, I don't know how, but I know something's starting right now. Watch and you'll see, some day I'll be part of your world._"

Alastor

Alastor probably originally had something intelligent to say, but then Telly took his face and started singing directly to him, and now Alastor is automatically playing the orchestral accompaniment and utterly transfixed.

Sir Pentious

Telly almost loses the song when the orchestra kicks in-- well seems he'd have to get used to music accompaniment when he sang instead of his usual acapella.

"See? When it is sung by a man, doesn't it feel different? It's a song for everyone who ever felt like they didn't belong in the world to which they were born."

Alastor

Alastor probably originally had something intelligent to say, but then Telly took his face and started singing directly to him, and now Alastor is automatically playing the orchestral accompaniment and utterly transfixed.

Sir Pentious

Telly almost loses the song when the orchestra kicks in-- well seems he'd have to get used to music accompaniment when he sang instead of his usual acapella.

"See? When it is sung by a man, doesn't it feel different? It's a song for everyone who ever felt like they didn't belong in the world to which they were born."

Alastor

"Uh." Garbled stations as Alastor clears his throat. "It certainly feels different when *you* sing it." At the moment he's a little too twitterpated to register deeper nuance than that.

Sir Pentious

He laughs and kisses him. "Well, I hope you get used to it, because it's often what my mind latches on to when I am distracted by other things."

Telly strokes Alastor's ear once before shifting his tail towards him. "Now, let's finish getting me dry, and then we can lay down."

Alastor

Kiss! His lips are going to be numb by the time he leaves. “I, for one, hope I never get used to it.”

Right, back to work—hah, work. He continues lovingly drying every inch of Telly’s tail.

Sir Pentious

It doesn't take long with the both of them, to get him dry-- certainly less time than when he's alone. And once they're done, Telly's leaning down to, ayup!, lift Alastor into his arms bridal style.

"Don't want you falling again, dear."

Alastor

He reaches up toward Telly, expecting he’s about to be given a hand to get to his feet. He does NOT expect to be lifted into the air. He flails in surprise, arm flung around Telly’s neck, heart hammering in panic, until he registers what’s happened and stares at Telly. Oh. *Oh.*

A disembodied song clicks on: “*Sha-la-la-la-la-la, music play, do what the music say, you gotta kiss the girl—*”

Sir Pentious

Telly laughs softly, and hums along with the song for a moment. Then he leans down and does as the song says, and kisses the ~~girl~~ deer demon. He lets his lips linger there and then pulls back, slithering towards the door. Through it and then through the next, and they're back in the bedroom. But Telly doesn't set Alastor down, nope, he carries him all the way to the bed and then lays him down with a large amount of gentleness.

"Ready to get out of those pants?" He asks.

Alastor

Telly could toss Alastor down like a sack of potatoes and he’d be happy. He’s not used to all this gentleness. He’s not sure how to register being treated tenderly.

“Oh, very ready!” He reaches to unbuckle his belt, pauses, then laces his hands behind his head. “You know what? I bet you’d enjoy doing the honors a lot more than I would.”

Sir Pentious

Telly's brows raised and his smile took a turn for the salacious. "Oh my, getting to remove the Radio Demon's pants? What an honor~"

His hands moved to Alastor's waist, sliding down slowly to grab at his waistband. Telly tugged them down, and off, tossing them aside. "There we go, the Radio Demon, pantless."

Alastor

He lifts his hips a little to give his tail room to slide out of the slit in the back of his pants, then flops back down. Behold, the Radio Demon’s underwear. He wears red-and-white vertical-striped boxers that are so old-fashioned they’re held up with tiny buttons instead of an elastic waistband.

He removes his monocle and tucks it away... somewhere? “Not half the honor of spending the night in the great Sir Pentious’s bed!”

Sir Pentious

Oh, he hadn't even noticed the monocle had stayed on until Alastor removed it. Interesting. He slithers up onto the bed, coiling around Alastor and then tugging him close to his chest. "The first of many, hopefully."

He laughs, and kisses him again, his hand rising to stroke at Alastor's ears. He sighs softly and then speaks once more. "I could....sing more, if you wish? I don't do it usually around other people, but I will for you. Again."

Alastor

He wraps his arms around Telly and shuts his eyes. “I cannot begin to tell you how much I want to hear you sing more.” He shivers pleasantly and his ears twitch contentedly under the stroking. He really gets to stay here, all night.

Which is as frightening as it is thrilling. He opens one eye a slit. “It won’t bother you if I’m fidgety or wander off during the night, will it? I’m restless at night. I promise I’ll come back, I just need to move around.”

The last time he tried this, he spent the entire night wide awake in bed, unable to distract himself, staring at the sleeping form next to him, going over what had just happened again and again and again until by dawn he felt like he had no choice but to run. He ISN’T going to repeat that mistake this time. Maybe taking a 3 a.m. walk rather than just lying there will help keep himself from panicking again.

Sir Pentious

"That will be find. I'm a light sleeper, so if you need me to move my coils, just wake me. I'll fall back to sleep soon after, too. Feel free to explore, though there's not much you haven't seen already. But you know where I keep the violins, so if you feel like doing something, feel free to play." He smiles and kisses his forehead. "Just make sure to come back to me."

Telly settled back down, holding Alastor against his chest. "All right, any requests? If not, I may just default to some more Disney. They write some earworms for those animated features!"

Alastor

“I will, never you fear.” Violin, would that steady his nerves? Couldn’t hurt. Might take it outside so he doesn’t wake Telly. “If I need to wander around, I’ll go check them out.”

He lets out a slow sigh, static rushing out of him in a gush. “Whatever you want to sing. I want to learn what you like.”

Sir Pentious

Telly nods and settles down on his back, making sure Alastor close as he thinks. He lets out a little ah-ha! as he starts to sing.

"_I know you/I walked with you once upon a dream/I know you/That gleam in your eye is so familiar a gleam/And I know it's true/That visions are seldom what they seem/But if I know you/I know what you'll do/You'll love me at once/The way you did once/Upon a Dream._"

Alastor

He has just enough time to register the lyrics and affectionately think oh, how fitting, and then he’s gone. Bam. Mr. I’m Just Too Restless There’s No Way I’m Going To Fall Asleep And This Entire Night Is Going To Be A Tense Anxious Trial is out like a light one song in.

Which means Telly gets to find out some very interesting trivia: when Alastor falls asleep, his constant passive radio broadcast shuts off. And when it shuts off, Alastor does what every other station in the 1930’s did at the end of the nightly sign-off: play the national anthem.

Which means one second Alastor’s drifting off peacefully, and the next second—without Alastor stirring at all—the air is filled with the song Lucifer picked as Hell’s anthem: a nearly-but-not-quite-dignified marching band cover of a polka song.

Sir Pentious

He's surprised by the anthem, certainly, but then a fond smile comes across his lips. He waits for it to end before he starts humming Once Upon a Dream again, settling down to get himself some shut eye too.

#usedhearts #chat log #((FINALLY)) #((we wrote this back in like. December???)) #((and have been trying to get the plot up to this point ever since. AT LAST WE’RE HERE))