#that three times a day thing isn’t a joke so long as his gills are moisturized he can stay on land!

[b00rad]

Don’t forget to water your shrimp, at least 3 times a day!!

[ragingpancake]

I Will Try (To Fix You) - Part One

Here’s the thing: Rodney is an actual pain in the ass. They’d be hard pressed to find anyone in two galaxies who didn’t agree with that assessment but most of the time, John doesn’t mind. He puts up with all of Rodney’s neuroses with a kind of fond indulgence but there’s really only so much that one man can take, even if that man is John Sheppard, McKay whisperer. The trek to the Carnean settlement is long and it’s hot and John isn’t feeling charitable the fifty seventh time that Rodney complains about the heat. He snaps at the scientist in a way that he almost never does, even Teyla and Ronon visibly reacting to the sting of his words. Later, once they’re back home and John doesn’t feel like he’s going to sweat to death, he’ll ply Rodney with some chocolate and coffee as an apology, but now, he’s grateful for the silence. -- The Carneans aren’t quite what John expected. Most of the planets they trade with are primitive in technology, and the ones more advanced are usually comprised of a bunch of dicks. Teyla had warned that they were a peaceful people, but deeply, deeply religious in regards to their technology, believing them to be gifts from their Gods. She said it as a warning mostly to Rodney, who had horrible manners on even the best of occasions, but was known to abandon all pretense of any sort of civility when it came to shiny, new ancients toys that he could get his hands on. He promised to behave though, looking a little bitterly in John’s direction, clearly still smarting from the reprimand earlier, but John still won’t let himself feel bad about that when the armpits of his black t-shirt are completely drenched, leaving him to feel sticky and gross and still annoyed. To his credit, John can tell that Rodney really does try to behave. He questions the Carneans about their energy source almost delicately, even as his handheld is going crazy in his hand, alerting them all to almost ZPM level energy signals coming from just beneath them. His resolve to be, well, Rodney is slowly starting to break though and even though John warns him twice, voice growing more agitated as the Carneans grow increasingly uncomfortable with Rodney’s line of questioning. “Rodney,” Teyla interjects, forcing a smile to her face though her eyes never leave their leader, Arrens. “Perhaps it would be best if we—” “No, no! You don’t understand! This energy source is—” He yelps as Ronon scruffs him, grabbing him by the back of his tac vest to stop him from venturing to the giant pillars before them, the ones that lead down to their most sacred chamber. “Perhaps we should return to the village,” Arrens says and his voice is even, though clearly laced with barely concealed disdain for the scientist. John’s about to joke that he’ll have to get in line with all of the other people in Pegasus that Rodney has annoyed when Rodney wiggles free of Ronon and starts for the temple entrance. “McKay!” John snaps again and this time, it’s him who reaches out for Rodney, grabbing him none to gently by the shoulder, squeezing not so hard enough to actually hurt Rodney, but to get his attention. It has its desired effect and John leaves Teyla to offer their profuse apologies as he and Ronon set off for the Jumper, dragging Rodney between them.

--- “What part of sacred temple do you not understand?” John barks, whirling around on the scientist as soon as they’re far enough away from the Carneans. “For someone as smart as you, you have absolutely zero common sense!” “But the energy source--!” “I don’t give a crap about the energy source, Rodney! We need their grains, you know that, and instead, you’ve jeopardized this entire mission!” John’s sure why he’s so angry, but he’s hot, he’s tired, and once again, they’ll have to go back through the Gate empty handed all because Rodney couldn’t control himself for a total of two seconds. “Sheppard,” Ronon grumbles as Rodney seemingly wilts in front of them, not used to being on the receiving end of John’s Colonel Sheppard wrath and for a second, he feels a little bit like a dick. He takes a deep breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth and gestures to the Jumper. “Get in.” “Sheppard, I—.” “I said get in, McKay. We’ll have this discussion later.” --- They’ve only been back at the Jumper for about fifteen minutes when Teyla comes through the thick foliage and she doesn’t look nearly as put out as John expected. He knows that she’s been counting on those grains for the Athosian settlement too, but she seems in good spirits as they meet her at the ramp of the Jumper. “I have spoken to Arrens and explained Rodney’s… over excitement away as a bit of religious zeal. They were concerned at first that he might wish to desecrate their sacred temple, but they have been advised that he simply wished to learn more about their practices.” “That actually worked?” Ronon asks, eyebrow raised. “It is not uncommon for planets to simply trade knowledge, Ronon,” Teyla admonishes and she turns back to John. “They wish for us to join them for a meal so that we might continue talks of negotiation.” John glances at Ronon and then back to Teyla, gauging the situation before he finally turns his gaze to Rodney, leveling him with a glare. Rodney holds his hands up, handheld tucked away safely in his vest. “Best behavior, yes, I know. You’ll not hear a peep from me.” “I doubt that,” John snorts but he nods. “Alright then. And Rodney, if you so much as look like you’re going to mention that damn energy source, I’ll string you up myself. Clear?” “Crystal.” “Good. Let’s go.” --- The meal goes better than John expects, honestly. While Arrens still maintains a cool demeanor despite Teyla’s best diplomatic attempts to draw him into conversation, his son Atton speaks animatedly with both John and Ronon as Rodney finishes off his third bowl of stew. John has to cut him off from going back for a fourth as Arrens eyes seem transfixed on the scientist and Rodney’s already offended these people once today. John won’t allow him to do it a second time. “Lay off, McKay,” he mutters under his breath and Rodney whines like he always does when food’s involved. “But it’s good. When’s the last time we actually had a decent meal off-world? You think they do doggie-bags here? Maybe we can take it back home and the cooks can figure out how to—” Ronon elbows him in the side and Rodney doesn’t quite yelp but it’s a near thing and John figures the Carneans have probably had enough of Rodney for one day. Once again, John leaves Teyla to the niceties while Atton escorts the three men outside and it’s not long at all before Teyla joins them and they set off for the gate again. --- The walk back to the Jumper is much less miserable than it had been on the way to the settlement, for which John is eternally grateful. The sun is beginning to set, cooling the air and he finds himself much less agitated than he’s been for most of the day. Even the sound of Rodney gulping his water behind him isn’t enough to annoy him now, whereas earlier it very well might have sent John into a homicidal rage. “Did that stew leave a weird after taste with anyone?” He asks, and John rolls his eyes at that. “Nope, but we didn’t eat enough to feed an entire army.” Rodney huffs at that and tips his canteen up again,

frowning when he finds it empty. Teyla wordlessly passes her own to him, squeezing his shoulder gently, affectionately maybe, and John knows that while Rodney annoys the shit out of everyone they’ve ever met, he’s there’s and John isn’t the only one who is indulgently fond of Rodney. Even when he’s at his most annoying. --- Their return through the Gate is uneventful. Elizabeth is there to meet them when they arrive and John is feeling charitable enough now that he doesn’t even mention Rodney’s faux pas. He promises to have Teyla fill her in more on the trade agreement she’d been able to broker before he leads his team down to the locker room, Rodney strangely quiet the whole way. John’s about halfway through removing his gear when he glances over at Rodney, one eyebrow raised to find him sitting on the bench, still in his tac vest and thigh holster. “What’s wrong with you?” He asks, kicking Rodney’s boot gently with his foot to get his attention and Rodney startles, lifting his gaze to meet John’s. “What? Uh, nothing. Nothing, it’s just… my stomach feels a little…” He gestures vaguely and Ronon laughs behind them, clapping Rodney on the shoulder. “Must have been that third bowl. One of our commanders back on Sateda had a large appetite, but I think even you could out eat him, McKay.” “Gee, thanks,” Rodney frowns as John goes back to hanging up his vest, surreptitiously glancing over at the other to find that he does actually look a little green around the gills. “You wanna go see Beckett?” John offers after a moment. “No, no. Chewbacca’s probably right,” Rodney says as he unstraps his holster and stands, shrugging off his tac vest. “We all had the same thing, and you’re all fine.” John just shrugs. It’s not the first time Rodney’s eaten himself to a stomachache and he’s pretty sure it won’t be the last. “Alright,” he says, clapping Rodney on the shoulder, a little more gently than he’d been earlier in the day. “If anything changes though…” “Yeah, yeah. I know the drill.” “Alright. Debriefing in an hour. I’ll see you there.” “Yeah,” Rodney agrees. “See you.” John does not actually see Rodney later. At least not while he’s conscious. --- It happens really fast. Rodney doesn’t actually show up for the debriefing but that in and of itself is not really weird; he’s skipped more than one debriefing over the last few years, but there’s something gnawing uncomfortably in his gut anyway. They finish up and by the time they’re done, John thinks he’s probably just being a paranoid asshole, but he taps his comm, needing Rodney to confirm he’s good. “Sheppard to McKay, come in.” Silence. “Sheppard to McKay, Rodney, respond.” John glances over at Ronon and Teyla who have both been standing by, Teyla looking as worried as John feels and Ronon… well, Ronon looks pissed off, but John knows that that’s Ronon’s default when it comes to concern. “Sheppard to Zelenka, come in.” This time, his radio crackles immediately in his ear. “Zelenka here, go ahead Colonel.” “Hey Dr. Z, is Rodney down there?” John waits impatiently, but even before Radek answers, John already knows. “No Colonel, he is not here.” “I will check the infirmary,” Teyla says, squeezing John’s wrist. “Ronon, the mess. John, perhaps you should check his quarters. If Rodney was not feeling well, it’s likely he is in one of these three places.” “Yeah,” John nods. “Yeah, you’re right, okay. As soon as you find him, radio in.” They disperse quickly and John doesn’t mean to, but the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach twists and he realizes that at some point, he’d started to jog to the transporter to take him as close Rodney’s room as possible. “Sheppard to McKay,” he says again, a little breathless as he steps out of the transporter, “Rodney, I swear to God, you better be alright or I’ll kick your ass.” Even the threat of bodily violence doesn’t raise him and by the time John skids to a halt in front of Rodney’s door, he’s expecting the worst. He pounds on the door once, giving Rodney the

chance to open it, but when he hears nothing inside, he palms the door open to find Rodney face down on the floor, lying in a puddle of his own vomit. “No. No, no, no.” John closes the distance between them, calling for a medical team with barely concealed fear in his voice as he drops down to his knees, rolling Rodney over onto his side as he presses two fingers to the side of his neck. He can feel a pulse there but it’s rapid and thready. “Rodney, c’mon buddy. You gotta wake up, hey, hey, c’mon. Wake up, Rodney.” He’s babbling, he knows that, but he doesn’t know what else to do until he hears the sound of the medical team in the hallway, sprinting toward them, Teyla and Ronon both hot on their heels. “What happened?” Beckett barks as they spill into the room and John drops back on his ass, away from Rodney so that they can work. “I don’t… I don’t know, we just got back and he said he had a stomachache but he was fine and he--.” Ronon hefts John back to his feet, as Beckett assess the situation, calling down to the infirmary to warn them of their imminent arrival as Rodney’s lifted onto the gurney, his body sickeningly limp. “Did he ingest anything off world?” He calls over his shoulder, expecting them to follow, and they do, Ronon forcing John to keep moving. “Colonel!” Carson snaps when John doesn’t immediately answer as one of the nurses places the ambu bag over Rodney’s face. “We took part in a meal with the Carneans, but we were all served the same food,” Teyla answers for John when it becomes clear that he won’t, or rather, can’t. John can’t tear his eyes away from Rodney as his chest rises and falls only because of the bag forcing air into his lungs. “Blood pressure’s dropping!” Simpson announces as the doors to the infirmary open and the last thing they hear is Beckett cursing as the doors close in their faces. --- He should’ve forced him down to the infirmary. The moment Rodney gave any indication that something was off, John should’ve marched him down here himself, but Rodney had been a pain in the ass all day and-- John had figured he’d deserved a bit of a stomachache for as much trouble as he’d almost caused and if Rodney wasn’t okay, John would--. John had no fucking idea what he’d do. They’re sitting outside of the infirmary, John’s leg bouncing nervously, head cradled in his hands with Teyla and Ronon flanking him. Others had come when word began to spread, Elizabeth and Radek, even Lorne, posted near the door. It’s unsettlingly quiet, only the muffled sounds spilling through the doors to be heard. Their vigil seems to stretch on forever. Seconds into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into--. Honestly, John has no idea how long they’ve been here. Time has no meaning in this moment and while it feels like it’s been days, after what in reality was only thirty minutes, Beckett steps out, looking more grim than John thinks he’s ever seen him, including the time that John turned into a bug. “We don’t have much time,” he says, glancing to Elizabeth. “I need permission to move him down to the Stasis pods. His condition is rapidly deteriorating and without an antidote on hand--.” “Antidote?” Ronon interrupts, hand clenched into a fist at his side. “Are you saying McKay was poisoned?” “Aye,” Beckett answers shortly. “Elizabeth, his organs have already begun to shut down at an alarmingly rapid pace. If we delay this--.” “Go,” Elizabeth says at once and Carson is gone before there’s a chance to ask anything further. John doesn’t need to know anything else though. He stands, nodding at Ronon and Teyla to go gear up and without a single word, the two turn, reading his body language clearly enough. John will be right behind them, but first he needs to make sure Rodney gets to where he’s going. The doors open again, the medical team moving at a quick pace, but John keeps up with them easily, coming to a stop only once they reach the stasis chamber. Rodney is sickeningly gray now and if John didn’t know better, he’d think he was already gone. He reaches for the other’s

hand as Beckett and one of the nurses ready the pod and he squeezes Rodney’s fingers as he leans in close to his ear, willing Rodney to hear him. “I will fix this,” he vows, lips brushing the outer shell of Rodney’s ear. “I will burn that entire fucking planet down if I have to, but I promise you, I will fix it. Hang on, Rodney. Please.” “Colonel,” Beckett says, shouldering John bodily out of the way. “Get a move on, son. The stasis pod will keep his organs from shutting down any further, but I need that antidote if there’s any hope of bringin’ him back from this.” John does not need to be told again. --- Arrens is prepared for their return. There is a group of armed men waiting at the gate, Arrens standing unapologetically behind them. John wants to blow them all to pieces as soon as the Jumper clears the event horizon but Teyla reminds him as calmly as possible that doing so will make it impossible for them to find the antidote. Instead, he touches the Jumper down and they’re out, weapons raised. “You come to our village,” Arrens booms, “attempt to desecrate our templeand return to turn your weapons upon us?” “Give us the antidote and we will leave, never to return again!” Teyla responds, neither John nor Ronon moving to lower their weapons. “We did not intend to offend your Gods; Doctor McKay had no malicious intentions.” Arren is not moved, however, but there’s another, Atton, who steps forward, maybe to act as a liaison for his people, but it’s all John needs to move. It happens so quickly, that none of the Careans have an opportunity to fire as John grabs the boy, arm around his neck as Atton struggles, hands up in surrender. “Please, Colonel Sheppard--.” “Nothin’ personal, kid,” but John’s not leaving here without that antidote. “You have five seconds to give us what we’ve come for. Do not make me ask again.” “My… my bag,” Atton struggles, but John does not hear him as his grip tightens around his throat. “Release him at once!” Arrens bellows, and he steps forward, as if to charge them but Ronon aims his weapon, finger on the trigger and the man stops. “Arrens, please,” Teyla tries, “there need not be bloodshed between our two peoples! Gives us the antidote!” Atton hits John’s wrist, struggling against him, blunt nails digging into skin and he tries again. “B… a…” And then John spots it, the tiny vial that’s tumbled from the bag dropped by the boy when John grabbed him. “Ronon!” The Satedan surges forward, grabbing it at the same time John releases Atton, who falls to his knees, gasping for air. “If he dies,” John snarls, aiming his side arm at the leader of the Careans, almost begging the man to give him a reason,“there is no place in this galaxy that you will be able to hide.” “John,” Teyla pleads urgently, trying to usher him back towards the Jumper. “We must go. Rodney is in great need.” And it’s that reminder that snaps John out of it as he backs into the Jumper, Ronon already dialing. --- Even with the antidote, they have no way of knowing if Rodney’s going to make it. The damage to his insides was extensive; his kidneys had shut down completely and Carson warns that if he wakes up, there very well could be weeks, if not months of dialysis treatments. They still have no way of knowing if there was any damage to his nervous system, and they won’t know until he wakes up. Carson speaks in hypotheticals, using if instead of when and John finds that every time he does, he wants to scream. If he’d been less pissed at Rodney, if he’d paid a little bit more attention, he could’ve caught this. The increased thirst, back on the planet, that could’ve been their first sign that something was wrong and they could’ve-- He should’ve--. Whether Rodney wakes up or not, John knows that he’ll never forgive himself for this one.

---

In the end, Rodney does wake up. He does so quietly, without fanfare, alerting at first only John when Rodney squeezes his fingers gently where they’re linked through his own. He sits up from where his head had been pillowed on the bed at Rodney’s hip and for a moment, when he sees those blue eyes staring back at him, he can’t quite breathe. “John,” Rodney rasps, voice hoarse, a bit pained. “Where… what…?” “Hey buddy,” John greets, leaning back in his chair for a split second to signal to Marie before his gaze flickers back to Rodney’s ashen face. “You’re okay. You’re in the infirmary. You’ve been here for a couple of days.” A couple of days which felt uncomfortably like an eternity. Rodney’s eyes close again and for a second, John thinks maybe he’s slipped back into unconsciousness, which Beckett had previously warned could happen, but then Rodney’s blinking up at him. “The… the energy source,” he manages. “There was… ‘m sorry.” “Hey, hey,” John says and he scoots forward in his chair and John can hear Beckett approaching, knowing it won’t be long before John’s forced to give up his seat at Rodney’s side while he’s examined. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Rodney.” And least nothing that Rodney should be sorry for. John, on the other hand… “You’re gonna be okay though. You hear me? You’re gonna be fine, I promise.” Rodney nods and closes his eyes again, clearly exhausted from the short exchange. Beckett steps in and John starts to pull back, to let the other work, but Rodney grips his fingers again. “Stay,” he rasps and John glances at Beckett who gives a barely there nod. “Alright,” he says, settling back down into his chair. “I’m here, buddy. I’m not goin’ anywhere. I promise.”

[lostonehero]

Becoming less human

It was a week after the near end of the world by two men who had good intentions but no common sense. The teams Aqua and Magma merged and started on trying to help without the use of extreme measures. Both teams thankfully were pardoned and nobody died, but the orbs the orbs were absorbed into both leaders flesh, and as far as anyone knows nothing came of it except the two leaders getting together.

Maxie gave a frustrated sigh as he tried to put his shoe on again, for some reason it felt too small. He was 35 he was well past growing stuck at 5ft 5in for the rest of his life. He never complained though his height never defined him, and he could beat Archie in a fist fight no problem, growing up in a orphanage where everyone hated would make someone tough. Granted Archie would never admit to loosing, well it wasn't like anyone would belive Maxie either to the world he was a weak skinny nerd. He wore the long sleeves and stocking to cover up scars from past abuse he didn't want to show the world.

"Leader Maxie? I mean Maxie." Tabitha stutters out.

Maxie sighs "Archie isn't in here Tabitha." He heard a sigh of relief as his former admin walked in. "And I told you you didn't have to stay, you can get a better job and not be stuck with the crazy man who almost ended the world." He cursed under his breath again and tossed his shoes to the side.

"Le- Maxie I want to help with your new vision, and even if it involves Aqua what you have drawn out is pretty amazing sir...." he trails off as he watches Maxie. "Sir are you alright."

Maxie sighs. "I think I must of hurt my feet and they are swollen my shoes seem too tight." His feet look perfectly fine except for his nails that look like they are turning black.

"Oh I see do you want me to call for a doctor?"

"No Tabitha I'm fine I'll just steal Archie's shoes he left here." Maxie sighs seeing Tabitha scowl at the former Aqua leader. "I don't need you judging my love life Tabitha."

Tabitha huffs. "You can do better sir."

"Tabitha I appreciate the sentiment but I'm pretty hated right now."

"W-well you are still liked."

"I know you have feelings for Matt, and besides I'm 10 years older then you and Courtney so my answer would still be no."

Tabitha tries to hide his red face, Maxie knew him too well at this point. "R-Right sir uh today is your day off I came to remind you no work."

Maxie curses under his breath Tabitha knew him well as well. "Right very well then I think I'll visit Archie."

Tabitha sighs but didn't argue he knew Maxie wouldn't overwork himself around that pirate.

.......

"If you keep staring at your hands I will smack the back of your head Archie." Shelly huffed

Archie was in casual clothes and nit his wet suit today. He felt naked without it on, but fir some reason his gloves couldn't go all the way down, and it seemed as if the webbing on his fingers had gotten deeper and his nails longer. He kept thinking back to the blue orb absorbing into his skin filing his blood with ice and the legendary beast staring at him seemingly to say "you survived you'll be rewarded" he really didn't know why that was in his head. He even asked Maxie about it and he said the same thing when in regards to his encounter.

"Archibald you're boyfriend is here." Shelly sneered rolling her eyes.

Archie sighs and gives a look to Shelly and she just raises her hands and left. Archie knew Shelly hated Maxie, and he knew Shelly didn't approve but he made him happy.

"Archie? Are you alright." Maxie asks as he plops down into a chair wearing longs sleeves and pants.

Archie frowns he knew the real reason why Maxie covered up and hell it had been only a short time but he wish he could see more of him more often then the bedroom. He shook his head. "I don't know I couldn't put on my gloves today."

Maxie leans back. "Funny I couldn't put on my shoes today I had to wear yours, well the pair you forgot to get when Courtney chased you put of my bedroom."

Archie grimaced at the memory but looked confused. "Maxie I'm like three sizes bigger then you how have you not tripped?"

"They fit perfectly." Macie says calmly but his shaking hands gave him away. "Is this the reward." He whispered fear lacing his tone.

Archie has never seen Maxie truly scared, sure he had startled him but the man was ready to punch him in the face rather then run away. His nerves were starting to eat away at his confidence. "I-i don't know Max. Are we taking there place?"

Maxie shivers. "I never wanted that, I don't think I could stand to loose you now." He frowns. "Could I stay with you tonight...." he trails off.

Archie nods frowning, Maxie never asked he always just stayed and was so dominate in his ways. He decided he didn't like seeing Maxie scared. "Have you gone back to..." he didn't finish his sentence when Maxie looked him in the eye.

"Yes once, it was for closure to make sure they were gone...." he stopped seemingly recalling something. "I heard something though."

"What?"

"Uh I think you've been blessed by the gods your body will change to accept it.... I thought I was just hearing things." He looked down biting his lip.

Archie sighs and looks at Maxie. "I don't want to talk about this anymore..."

"Neither do I." Maxie gets up and offers Archie his hand. "Shall we get some ice cream and try to forget with bad movies."

Archie smiled softly nodding getting up. "Aye that sounds great."

.....3 months later.....

Maxie tried to wrestle Archie's shoes onto his feet but he had little to no luck, it's been months and he was comfortable wearing them this was like being a teenager in a growthspurt all over. "Fuck this!" he threw the shoes across the room and finally noticed his pants were short that doused his frustration with fear.

Archie rushed in right out of the shower his towel haphazardly around his waist. "Maxie are you alright."

Maxie in a quiet voice. "My pants are too short and slightly tight."

Archie furrows his brow and actually looks down and to his astonishment Maxie was right. "I know you've gained weight Maxie, but uh you gained height."

Maxie sighs. "I thought it was I eating more I gained weight, and I didn't mind that but.... but " he stops and takes a deep breath. "Archie we never did stop did we?"

"My legs aren't fusing if that's what your asking." Archie tried to joke but he was starting to get scared too.

Maxie sat down on the bed. "I need to get new clothes." He sighs laying down. "We probably should tell Steven."

Archie frowns and moves to lay down next to him. "Maybe we should start with our former admins, or current ones they really never stopped doing their jobs."

"I don't know which one would be worse." Maxie chuckles covering his face. "Tabithia and Courtney will be the worse mother hens."

"You think that's bad Matt once carried me to bed when I had the sniffles." Archie gives a small laugh.

"When did our lives get so messed up? Wait don't answer that I know why." Maxie huffs looking at Archie.

Archie couldn't hold it in and started to laugh.

Maxie threw a pillow at him.

..... 6 months later......

Archie frowns looking at the large blanket Matt bought for him and Maxie. "Is this really necessary? Maxie only grew 6inches."

"Bro you need to think long term, you're changing too." Matt puffs out his chest. "Even if you become another kyoger I want to make sure you're warm."

Archie sighs scratching his beard. "I don't think that's what I'm becoming Matt, but uh thanks." Matt was like his brother, he was just a tad over protective.

Matt shakes his head. "No matter what happens Archie I will be by your side no matter what."

Archie smiles softly. "Thanks Matt, but uh I think we are good on blankets, Maxie is like a furnace..."

"Does he have a fever, I know I was rude and mean when you started dating but he really loves you can I help?" Matt rattles off

Archie chuckles. "No Bro like how my body temperature lowered Maxie's went up."

"Ohhh ok so you guys cancel each other out just like them. Maybe they are dating too."

Archie covers his face with his hands trying to get that image put of his head as Matt rattles on about the many plans he has to help.

.....4 months later.....

"This is insulting at this point." Archie huffs laying on his stomach.

Maxie matching Archie's position. "I didn't want a tail either but here we are. It's not even fully formed yet and it's so sensitive." He sighs. "I honestly thought you would be upset because I'm taller then you now."

"Not gonna lie Max that kinds of turns me on." Archie chuckles hearing Maxie scoff.

"We aren't even entirely human anymore and you are thinking about bedroom activities." He tries and fails to look offended. "I can't say it hasn't crossed my mind Archie but I want to wait till we are done changing."

"Agreed, so how are your feet doing I know they were killing you." Archie hums trying to keep conversation to distract from the pain.

Maxie looks away. "Scales and bone spur on my heel...they feel a lot better but I'm worried I might hurt you while we sleep."

Archie has wide eyes. "Matching your claws."

Maxie looks back raising his brow. "Seriously Archie? What about your neck?"

"Gills got matching ones on my waist as well, I don't need my wetsuit anymore." He smiles.

Maxie smiles "swimming with Bruce is in your future right." He grimaced as a soft crack is heard. "F-fun with your p-pokemon."

Archie held onto Maxie's hand. "Its ok you don't need to be tough around me I love you."

Maxie held on tightly to Archie's hand. "I love you too." It was the first time they exchanged those words.

....1 month later....

Archie was chasing down Maxie with a bucket of soapy water. "Maxie I swear to arceus that you need to stop you're shedding let me help."

"Fuck off Archie, and leave that fucking hell brush in the trash." Maxie growls a red glowed from his eyes.

"Maxie it's just a brush stop being a baby." Archie tries to tackle him but misses. "I swear I will call Courtney and Tabitha."

"You wouldn't dare." Maxie hisses.

"I would you human lizard just get in the medicated bath." Archie crosses his arms.

Maxie grumbles and walks back to the large bath with bubbles and a medical oder he hated. He got in crossing his arms. "Only because I don't want them to see me naked again."

Archie sighs and begins to scrub softly at Maxie's scales helping them shed. "Look I don't like this either but I refuse to be covered in your shed again. I don't care if we are still changing you will take a bath when you shed."

Maxie scowls. "You don't have to baby me Archie. You know why I don't like baths."

Archie pauses. "I know Max, but you'll feel better we both know that. I'm sorry but I don't want the shower spray to hurt you like last time when you first shed."

Maxie looks away and nods. "I know I know, could you.... maybe uh come in with me?"

Archie chuckles and plops into the bath with Maxie splashing him.

Maxie spits out the soapy water at Archie. "You know what I changed my mind get out."

Archie laughs harder. "Love you too Maxie."

......1 year later....

Maxie was sitting at his desk Archie was late to their meeting, Tabitha and Courtney were both waiting along with Shelly and Matt. It was an uncomfortable silence. Maxie tapped his claw against the wood not realizing he was creating a small hole. "He's the one who called the damn meeting why is he running late."

Tabitha sighs knowing Maxie's temper was high by the smell of burning coming from his tail that slapped the floor in annoyance. "Maxie he probably forgot something."

"We share a home Tabitha he seemed perfectly put together." Maxie glares at Matt who looked guilty.

Matt Maxie knew was awful at keeping secrets and a glare from Maxie was enough to set him off. "ARCHIE IS GOING TO PROPOSE." Matt yells breaking all tension. "I promised I wouldn't tell but I just can't. He is late because the ring is taking longer to make then he realized." He covers his face in shame.

Shelly curses. "Fucking hell Matt he told us in confidence."

"I know I know but Maxie looks so upset." Matt whimpers

Shelly groans and leans back.

Courtney was laughing softly a rare sound.

Tabitha gave a look to Matt saying you're on the couch tonight.

Maxie slams his hands on the table startling everyone. "That fucking bastard" he gets up quickly. "I already bought a fucking ring."

The four stared at Maxie connecting the dots and everyone realized that maybe that their collective bosses were both actually so deeply in love they had the same idea.

At that moment Archie walked in hearing Maxie yell. "You bought a ring?"

"Of course I did you dumb pirate I love you." Maxie huffs. "I was waiting for the full moon because you like the moon's reflection on the water."

Archie looks like he was about to cry. "Maxie I love you so much woukd you marry me?"

Maxie threw his own black box at Archie. "Make an educated guess you college graduate."

Archie burst out laughing and runs to tackle Maxie into a hug. "Damn right Maxie I will marry you."

"And I will marry you Archie." Maxie smiles

[hazelcephalopod]

The Eye of the World Ch 41-42

A reunion is had, remedies are found, and the Pattern reveals the plan. It’s quite good, we got to the plot. Maybe?

Disclaimer: this is my first read thru but I’ve watched all of the show this far and been spoiled on some book things. So… I’m going to lean into that. Enjoy figuring out what I know, and what I think I know, and what I just don’t. Also s/x I add commentary when I edit.

Spoilers for the first book and up to the most recent episode under the cut. Potential spoilers for latter books.

Ch 41

Either a River or a branch?

Rand POV. (I’d have guessed Nynaeve)

Paranoia really set in huh?

That cat thing again. I mean I guess it’s atmospheric. Yea ok, with the guys in white it’s background story I’ll take it and commend it

Idk if you should tell Gill about all that Rand

Loial!

Fair. Long day

Lol. Told Gill and is not believed. Because it is ridiculous

See Loial believes you Rand. You should take him with you. Why not? So he’s huge and very noticeable. You aren’t that far behind. Only by like three feet and being human

Mmm. Sure buddy

Hey at least Gill now believes him.

Mm bad choice of words but not his fault

Yes! Bringing Loial!

Well that’s a dampener on that. ‘At least he’s not physically violently -racist- species towards me’ and regrettably “he” is Mat. But we aren’t gonna hold that against him for the moment. *cough* cursed dagger *cough* (I later learn truly cursed dagger is, uh, a major major component to that)

Oh no. Effing Whitecloaks?

Lol. Like, respect for Gill but if he’s just let him finish.

Moiraine!

And everyone! Band is back together!

Yup. They’re time is high up on The a Bad Times list

Mmm yea about the eyes thing

Moiraine gonna magic the rats away?!

No. Rand the red and white thing is important. It’s not hard to explain either. Dude. Wow. You got issues

Oh no. Even Rand has given up hope for Thom

I think Mat’s gotten worse

Oh yup this is just some exorcism shit right here

Oh the dagger attracts all manner of Dark One lackeys. Oof

“It looks as if you’ve brought a new Trolloc war to Caemlyn, sheepherder.” -Lan

Not good then

Aside- Also now how I assume they got all those Trollocs around using the teleportation gates

Die. They will mostly die

Ok. Better. The team leaves. The evil leaves. Cool. Go.

A certain… wolfishness? -I’m sry couldn’t resist. Also that’s Lan-

Well that sounds real bad.

Ch 42

Raven header.

Rand POV

Mmm yes that’s fair. Sitting silently, hopping your friend isn’t consumed by his evil dagger

Who better to help with that than Loial?

Three years? Wow.

Really isn’t good

Wow. Everyone it just ready to go home. We are 2/3 thru book 1 of 14. Somehow I don’t think they’re going home

I mean yea evil curse sickbed. Absolutely correct

Mat- ‘well that was deeply embarrassing. Err, what exactly happened? Maybe we can all forget it?’

No joke, his memory started to fade after Whitebridge.

Oh no!

“You can’t hold a man to for what he does when he’s crazy, can you?” -Mat. Million dollar question right there

But his friends so they won’t. So that’s nice

Gotta admit this all feels very strongly ‘oh Frodo you’re feeling better! Yay!’ Which, that’s fine

Oh no. He’s still got that dagger… no good

Ah so she’s got the treatment. He needs the cure. At least that’s something

Elaida is red Ajah? Honestly I think it’s been said it I do not remember. There have been so many characters

Moiraine really just took adding Loial to the group in stride ‘yea sure at this point whatever. He seems fine’

That is just great. Like, the characters assumptions just being wrong but why would they know that? Like ‘sure someone else is chasing us now? Of course, why not? Nothing makes sense and everything sucks.’

“She wanted to throw me in prison… All I wanted to do was look at Logain, but she wouldn’t believe I was in the Palace gardens with Elayne and Gawyn just by chance.” -Rand explaining his meeting with Elaida. I think that stands on its own

Lmao

Also this phrasing- “She’s beautiful, like the queens in stories. So is Elayne. And Gawyn. . . you’d like Gawyn, Perrin.” -Rand on his ridiculous adventure of the day. (‘She’ is Queen Morgase)

— reminder I’m not taking the queer shipping goggles off they are for sure increasing my enjoyment thus far

Loial now is not the time. E&P, downcast and avoidant- ‘We enjoyed the traveling people much more than white cloaks…’ “The Travelling People live for their songs…” -Loial. I love him. Can not read the room, knows all.

Also. Loredump. Loial can sing to trees and they do stuff. Rare even among Ogier and unheard of in humans. Did teach the Tuatha’an some of those songs to help them find the sons they seem. Wasn’t the one.

Lol. Brief? Loial? No.

“‘…the Aiel war.’ [-Loial] Rand grinned. A little time back; twenty years…” -eotw. Once again this is lowkey a comedy.

Again this? “He said the Dark One intended to blind the Eye of the World, and slay the Great Serpent, kill time itself.” -Loial explaining the story a man who came to Stedding Shangtai (his home?) during the Aiel war once told the Elders.

The characters agree ‘ hey wait we know this one’

The other boys ‘Perrin! We decided never to mention that!’

I mean at this point he’s right tho

‘Soooo… we have been having strange dreams’ Moiraine ‘well you’re all fucked now. Shoulda told me sooner’

Really bad that

“Remember the stories of Forsaken binding men to them? … Those stories are true, and none of the Forsaken had a tenth of the strength of their master… not even Ishamael, the Betrayer of Hope himself.” -Moiraine on why they made a bad choice. I’m sure the other forsaken she mentioned aren’t important. (Heh)

Lol. No false dragons here

Yea. Astute. She did not answer on if she knew those names. G’job Rand.

Aside- Have I been spelling ta’veren wrong…? Hope not!

Loial ‘this is so neat! Huh? Your life is ruined? Well… mine isn’t! Happy to be here! Happy to help!’

“The news concerning the Eye of the World changes much.” -Moiraine

“The Pattern is forcing our path.” -Moiraine (again).

Nynaeve, no offense but it’s about as bad as it can be at this point without them being dead and firmly in th Dark One’s clutches. We are past the point of refraining from scaring them, or at least imo this isn’t going too.

No Tar Valon? *surprised pikachu* (but in the pretend shock way

Also. The Green Man? Like… just na’ even trying disguising that one at all.

Waygate!

Fal Dara (somewhere at the borderlands near the Blight) = Mafal Dadaranell

“If we enter the Ways, we will all die—or be swallowed by the Shadow.” -Loial.

And that statement is the end of the chapter!

[captainofthetidesbreath]

I personally think Warlock 11 is the better choice right now, the 3rd spell slot and Mystic Arcanum would do much more to increase Fjord's power and versatility than anything a ABI/feat could do. Especially considering their current circumstances. The only reason to go Paladin 4 now instead of later is Thirsting Blade, will Matt let him swap at Paladin 5.

re: Fjord’s level 14 options and my personal suggestions, I assume. Maybe just in general, but linking to my post about my thoughts on Warlock 11 / Paladin 4 regardless

While I agree that Warlock 11 is a strong option that would be fantastic to take at this juncture, and I know we’re talking personal opinions here, I so strongly vehemently disagree that Paladin 4 isn’t an equally strong option, is useful now “only” insofar as sorting out the eventual Thirsting Blade / Extra Attack problem, and doesn’t just as offer Fjord mechanical versatility or added benefit. Warlock 11 and Paladin 4 both offer Fjord these things. They just do so in very different ways. They’re equally strong paths to take.

Frankly, I think it’s underestimating the value and power of an ability score increase or a feat to cast both as not offering as much value to Travis as a player at this time and position Paladin 4 as a having no strong benefit beyond straightening out what will eventually be an Invocation problem.

After all, Warlock 11 cannot improve his AC, or as effectively improve his strength as a face, or make provoking opportunity attacks less risky, or increase his movement speed, or allow him to grant temporary hit points to the party, or more easily break enemy caster concentration. I find these all mechanically and strategically strong choices to make, both for the short-term campaign and in the longer run. Paladin 4 can absolutely grant him these things in this moment, and it is by far and away not a weaker option at this juncture.

The movement options, combat abilities, skill proficiencies Fjord could gain through a feat are all valuable ones, and a feat or an ability score increase improves his general versatility or push further into a niche in a certain and specific ways Warlock 11 never can, just as Warlock 11 can offer options in ways Paladin 4 never can. Travis has a fascinating decision on his hands BECAUSE this Warlock 11 / Paladin 4 split offers a wealth of options in both directions.

On top of that, taking Paladin 4 purely to work toward higher Paladin levels is a very strong rationale in itself. Having Paladin 5 (Extra Attack, 2nd level spells) and Paladin 6 (Aura of Protection) sooner is a strategically sound decision. For that alone, I think that gives Paladin 4 great weight.

Also, while one always considers the short-term in leveling decisions, I don’t think there’s anything “especially” about the weight of their current circumstances in Eiselcross and the Takers. I believed that the group could succeed against Lucien before level 14, and I remain staunch in that belief. Before anyone remarks “but Fjord needed three spell slots to get through that encounter with the Takers, so it proves the point”, I don’t personally believe one mistakenly missed spell slot in a recent definitively proves quite anything about how necessary or inherently better the third spell slot and Arcanum are as choices to Fjord’s build at this moment in time. Multiclass leveling is a very complicated beast, and one that absolutely requires one consider beyond the short-term benefits and consider the mid- and long-term math involved.

Additionally, the questions I have with the argument that Warlock 11 is clearly better in terms of increasing Fjord’s mechanical power and versatility are these:

What do we mean by “power” in this context? Combat effectiveness? General effectiveness? Is it derived from his versatility?

What do we mean by “versatility” in this context? Combat versatility? General versatility?

In what specific manner would Warlock 11 increase these things?

Does Fjord NEED to become MORE versatile, powerful, or effective—especially in a party this large and covering this many bases?

These are what I think is the central question to how I personally think of this mechanical moment, and it’s how I personally think of character builds and mechanical choices in general.

Generally, Fjord is already an incredibly versatile character in combat. He is, in my opinion, the single most mechanically well-rounded member of the party in combat. He is a nuisance at all ranges, can produce both high burst damage and steady poke damage, has incredible mobility, has a high health pool, and rarely finds himself in a situation where he cannot be of some use. When one remarks that Fjord would become more versatile, what does that mean in light of all that? And how does Warlock 11 specifically work toward his general versatility in a manner that Paladin 4 cannot?

As for Paladin 4, never underestimate how important an ability score increase can be. An increase of his Dexterity by even one point will increase his modifier to +1, which would improve his AC (historically terrible), his Dexterity save (currently +1 through Cloak of Protection), his Initiative bonus (currently 0), and his Stealth bonus (currently 0). It’s only by one point, but that one point makes a lot of difference very often, especially when these specific stats are extremely commonly brought up and Fjord’s Dexterity is truly awful. This alone truly makes Paladin 4 a strong option. I truly cannot stress how important Dexterity is as a stat, and Fjord’s poor Dexterity is one of his overall weaknesses. Yes, I absolutely think delaying Warlock 11 is worth it just for an increase in his Dexterity. That’s just how important I think Dexterity is.

I also disagree that a feat could not offer him versatility benefits or other options in a way that Warlock 11’s Mystic Arcanum, additional spell, or the third spell slot can. I included in my post about Fjord’s level 14 options my personal suggestions for feats. The idea that Warlock 11 would “much more” increase his versatility and effectiveness than a feat could is one I disagree with. It’s a matter of considering the value of what options are available to him.

A proficiency in Persuasion via Prodigy or Skill Expert (a Tasha’s feat) would be huge, given that Fjord makes so many Persuasion checks as the party’s face, and expertise in Intimidation or Deception would be a massive boon for the same reason. Taking Skilled would allow him to pick up proficiency in Persuasion and also bolster weaknesses in other skills he commonly rolls, such as Stealth, Insight, or even Acrobatics. Rounding off his skill bonuses is an underwhelming option on paper, but it’s in practice valuable. It’s a strong option that increases Fjord’s ability to do certain things effectively, especially in out of combat situations.

Inspiring Leader has been pitched repeatedly by myself and many others. It is a valuable pick for being a consistent and easy source of temporary hit points for multiple members of the party without anyone expending spell slots—19 points is a lot—and it serves Fjord’s narrative character as someone coming into his own and becoming comfortable with leadership.

Mage Slayer makes great use of Fjord being often in melee range. As we saw with Cree in 2.123 and historically throughout the campaign, breaking enemy concentration is an important tactical priority, and the feat’s language does not restrict the disadvantage on damage only caused my Fjord’s melee attacks. It also would be useful in a campaign filled to the gills with hostile casters.

I made a niche pitch for Martial Adept given that it works well with how Fjord uses a weapon as a primary form of attack, and Fjord having access to maneuvers from the Battle Master subclass would greatly increase his options in combat. I can spend all day weighing half the maneuvers list and what boons each offers Fjord, but just to talk about a handful: Maneuvering Strike allows a member of the party to move as a reaction on Fjord’s turn without provoking opportunity attacks from the creature Fjord strikes with the Star Razor, which would’ve been useful in any number of fights, including in the Takers fight in 2.123. Evasive Footwork, which bolsters his AC during one movement, would make provoking opportunity attacks less risky; opportunity attacks are historically very dangerous for Fjord. Riposte leans into Fjord as mechanically built to punish melee attackers for choosing him as a target.

Slasher, from Tasha’s, also works well with Fjord as a melee combatant and allows him to further control the spatial dynamics of the battlefield by allowing him once per turn to take 10 feet off the speed of a target he damages with slashing damage, i..e the Star Razor, until his next turn. Automatically imposing disadvantage on a creature’s attack rolls when he crits with the Star Razor is valuable, and he also can gain +1 to Dexterity, valuable for the prior outlined reasons.

I joke that Mobile is a joke pick, but Fjord having a movement speed of 40 and the ability to not provoke opportunity attacks from a creature he made an attack against is genuinely valuable and further increases Fjord’s intense mobility. Mobility is king, especially in a playstyle as positioning aware and movement efficient as Travis’ is. Again, opportunity attacks is a historical issue for Fjord.

This isn’t even all the feats I think could be valuable to Fjord at this time. This is just a handful of ones that I think illustrate very well how a feat can be valuable to Fjord’s mechanical build in this current moment. I could go all day. Fjord is a mechanical wonder to me personally because he is so intensely versatile that almost any feat Travis can opt to take is a massive boon to Fjord and the party. He is just so mechanically well built, and Travis’ mechanical choices so far have been, in my opinion, brilliant.

Again, I do agree that Warlock 11 offers very strong choices, and it is a valuable level to take as Fjord’s 14th. I think any choice Travis makes here automatically massively benefits Fjord’s mechanical build. It’s just the nature of where Fjord is and the carefully cultivated versatility Fjord has. My issue is the couching that Paladin 4 does not offer similarly valuable versatility and effectiveness. The things he can potentially gain from Paladin 4 all just as much increase Fjord’s ability to function, and these ways feel to me just as significant or valuable as a third spell slot, a Mystic Arcanum, and an 11th spell. And, I think it’s a disservice to the value of ability score increases and feats to cast them as not offering anything to Travis as a player in this moment.

They’re equally strong paths to take.

[angelaiswriting]

Of Matches and Dates | Bandit x fem!reader

[video by rodnae productions from pexels]

✏️ Pairing: Bandit x fem!reader

✏️ Summary: with Valentine’s Day around the corner, Dominic’s friends have managed to convince him to download a dating app. (Not requested, but inspired by the lovely @kind-wolf​ as always)

✏️ A/N: this is just a lil something for Valentine’s day. I’m still working on my fluff skills :’) Domi’s dating profile is at the bottom of the fic: it took me forever to make but I’m so proud :’) enjoy 💛

✏️ Warnings: none :’)

✏️ Word-count: 5,274

OF MATCHES AND DATES

 The club is packed — and Dominic is too tired to even care, for once. His back is burning, and there’s a nasty gash on his left thigh that a doctor has stitched up too tightly and that’s constantly making him ground his teeth every time the muscle tenses up.

He’s forgotten whose stupid idea it was to go out clubbing not even three hours after coming back from a mission on the other face of the Earth, but he does remember he’s there to be Eli’s wingman just in case his date dumps him last minute. It won’t happen, of course, but the kid still worries when it comes to a pretty lady he’s matched with on Matcher.

Matcher is the latest novelty at the base, or so that’s the impression he’s had ever since his jet landed not so long ago. Even Monika has signed up for an account — It’s great to pass time, Domi! You should download it, it’s free, or that’s what she said the second before tearing his phone from his hands to download it herself.

“Here, I brought you drink!” Alexsandr tears him from his musings — and the dull soreness still crawling underneath his skin — and unceremoniously slaps a shot of vodka on the small, high table he’s been leaning against. By the time the glass is halfway to his lips, Dominic has the time to notice half of its contents have sloshed out onto the metal surface of that dingy thing; he doesn’t care: he simply tilts his head back, lets the alcohol wash down his throat and prays it’ll numb everything to a low hum.

“Where is everyone else?” he asks, hissing when someone bumps into his back in passing. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt like every single muscle in his body felt so pulled and tight, but he’s already set up his mind to barge into Harry’s office the next morning and ask for — or demand — the longest leave he’s ever thought of asking.

Alex shrugs and quickly empties the shot he has in his right hand, for the one in his left is already empty. The bar is right behind them, though, so they both know they’ll be making back and forth more times than one would rather know. “Somewhere in there,” he replies, jutting his chin in the general direction of the mess of bodies behind Dominic’s back. “Adriano has a date, too, so he ditched us.”

“So did Elias, Monika and Seamus.” He turns around briefly, throws a look around to try and see if he can get a glimpse of the friends they’ve come here with, but miserably fails.

“Stupid dating apps, making men our age third-wheel like this.” Alexsandr groans something in Russian then, but it’s under his breath and Dominic would never be able to tell what that was with the noise in there — he also doesn’t speak Russian, he finds himself realizing a minute too late. “But I met the French at the bar, they rented out a VIP room for the night.”

“We should gatecrash it.”

Ten minutes later, eight of which spent downing one drink after the other in the vain attempt to outdrink each other, both men walk into the French’s VIP room behind Gustave Kateb, whose English has already started slurring into French when he doesn’t focus enough.

The French aren’t the only people there: Marius sends Dominic a pleading look as Lion fills his head with his usual bullshit, and a bunch of recruits who’ve somehow had the chance to hang around the more seasoned operators sit on the couch on the far left of the room and listen to what Y/N and Finka are enlightening them with. The two women turn around to greet them and although Dominic’s eyes trail down the plummeting neckline of Y/N’s shimmery top, he still has enough attention to spare to notice how the rookies hang from her lips as she keeps on talking.

Alexsandr’s exclamation of jubilee, however, tears him from the sight of the only one he’s had a crush on for a long time now and there’s nothing he can do to stop the other from dragging him towards the couch Montagne is sitting on with not one, not two, but three bottles of vodka on the low table in front of him.

“What do a Russian, a French and a German have in common?” Gilles asks, raising a shot glass and chuckling drunkenly as icy droplets of alcohol trail down the glass and onto the still-bruised skin between his right thumb and forefinger.

“Their hatred for this goddamn dating app?”

But Alex slaps him up the back of his head as he takes the shot their tipsy friend is handing him. “Alcohol!” he booms, making more than a couple of heads turn around before drinking his glass dry as though it didn’t contain but water.

They end up sitting together, Dominic to the right and Alexsandr to the left of Montagne, their knees pressing into each other’s as they joke and drink. They’re the only three in the room that have just come back from a mission abroad, and no one comes to bother them for a long time as they try to relax and let go. The topic of discussion, however, quickly shifts back to the fucking dating app.

Matcher seems to be all the rage, and it somehow manages to sneak its way into even the most unassuming conversations. Neither of them would by now be able to assert with utmost certainty if there truly is someone at the base that doesn’t use it — apart from the people that have spent the last two weeks on a mission, completely detached from the civilian world, that is.

“I’ve heard Blitz has already had something like fifteen dates so far, in less than three weeks at that!” Gilles’ English is softened and slurred out by his French, the same French that always comes back every time he goes beyond a certain threshold when it comes to drinking.

“Fifteen?!” Alexsandr almost cries out, comically counting on his fingers until he’s reached the right number, almost as though by doing that, he’ll be able to fully comprehend the extent of Elias’ adventures.

“He’s fucked with only seven of them, though,” adds Dominic, tipping down another shot before leaning back against his seat, spreading his arms on the backrest and letting his hands hang against the cool faux leather.

Yet again, Alex counts on his fingers — up to seven, and then up to fifteen, just to see how big the difference between the two is. “Christ,” is his only comment just before he takes a long sip straight from the bottle, long enough to finish the two fingers of liquid that remain in it.

“Monique made me download it,” and it takes them a minute to put two and two together and realize Gilles is talking about IQ in his frenchified English. “Snatched mon portable from my hands and gave it back with that fucking app on my home screen.”

Dominic scoffs, the French’s experience with his colleague hitting closer to home than he would have thought possible before today. “Did the same to me. If you had given her five minutes more, she would’ve created an account for you like she did mine.”

They’re curious, both the French and the Russian, and while Gilles is chill, Dominic knows Alexsandr is not going to let him live this down. So, their quick Show us! turns into some rearranging on their seats so that Dominic ends up finding himself trapped between his two friends, looming over him like some vultures.

“Since when do you like cooking dates?” asks Alex when the app opens on Dominic’s personal profile page.

“Monika chose everything, said ‘pussy’ isn’t respectable enough as an interest. Cooking dates apparently work better at getting women, or so she says.”

“You sure she didn’t want you to match up with her?”

“Don’t listen to Frenchie, show us who it makes you match with!” Alex’s hand is quick at shooting out, but Dominic is quicker, pulling his phone away so that his now pouting friend can’t get a hold of it.

“I’ll use it. I don’t want you messing up my app.”

“I thought you didn’t like the idea of having it.”

“And I don’t! I’m just bored!”

But he still touches the search icon, and the other two almost hold their breaths as they wait for the shitty reception inside the club to allow the page to fully load and replace the pulsating hearts of the logo to leave their place to profile pictures.

The first is a 37-year-old woman with curly ginger hair and eyes of two different colors — they’re both brown, but there’s some blue in the left one, as well.

“Pretty,” says Gilles just as Dominic reads what her profession is — florist. “Match with her.”

But Dom is good — and he tells them that, pushing their hands away from his phone to prevent them from doing things with his app. “Make your own account and stop bugging me about mine,” he replies as his fingers tap the bubble with the golden star icon — not a match, more like a ‘save for later’ and although he’s had plenty of one-night stands, ‘saving’ someone ‘for later’ makes him feel fifty different shades of dirty.

The second woman is South African, a bit too far away, but with his job, he could end up anywhere in the world. So, he saves Bea for later before Alex makes him change his search parameters so that the system would find people closer to his actual location.

There’s a barista he’s seen plenty of times at the pub he and Marius often go to. She’s pretty, on the tall side, with hair cut chin-level short and a tattoo that snakes its way up the side of her neck and that he now sees trails down deeper underneath the low-cut tank top she’s wearing in her profile picture. Matcher says her name is Andrea, so he can now put his curiosity to sleep and stop wondering how he should call her.

Alexsandr taps the two-heart button to match him up with her before he can stop him, and the three of them sit there for a long time — or so at least it seems, with the rest of the party blatantly ignoring them as operators come and go as they please — checking out women and deciding what to do with them. And really, it sounds so bad in Dom’s mind when he puts it into those words — they’re judging someone based on one picture and literally three other facts about them — but that’s still the truth of the thing. Some women end up in the starred ‘save for later’ section — which they’ve found out is much nicer than it seems and it’s just a way to still be able to chat without necessarily match yet —, some get skipped, and Andrea is still the only one in his matches — she still has to match back with him, and deep down Dominic can’t help but wonder how their next encounter at the pub is going to feel like.

It’s endless profiles later, when Montagne stands up to ‘go piss’ — or so he says, kicking finesse out of the window — that a familiar face pops up on the app.

Alex chuckles, almost choking on his hundredth vodka, taken by the surprise of such a sight. “Hey! But that’s —” He’s cut off when Dominic elbows him in his left side, where he knows Alex is bruised — there’s no need to yell Y/N’s name in a room full of people drinking, talking and — he notices when he quickly looks around to make sure no one is paying them any mind — making out in the love-seat in a corner.

Dominic should have expected it, really, Monika did tell him everyone and their mother has downloaded Matcher at the base, and that includes Y/N, but he’s still taken aback because he’s had a crush on her for the longest time now and while he has balls of steel and he’s known for it, he still has… problems approaching her when it doesn’t come to missions or training.

But by God, is she pretty! Both in-person and in that picture still floating on his screen. There’s a sunflower field behind her and she’s sporting trekking boots, camo shorts, and a white tank top on a dusty, Ukrainian road. He was there, when the picture was taken — seven months ago, during the last mission they had been deployed to together — with a bunch of other operators, of course. They had taken a couple of days off when things had been wrapped and some of them had stayed behind before finally coming back to Hereford.

And there she is, grinning at him from up close — technologically speaking, that is —, dog tags disappearing between her breasts under her tank top and her head tilted to the side, eyes almost squinting against the late-morning sun. There’s everything on her profile bubble — less than ten miles away, her age, her country of origin, and then that vague ‘police’ typed out next to the white icon of a briefcase, a description Monika’s put into his profile as well.

“So?” But Alex is distracted by Gilles coming back and sitting down once again next to Dominic, and he doesn’t continue.

“Found anyone interesting while I was gone?”

“Y/N,” is Alex’s unsolicited reply. “But this chicken won’t do shit about it.”

Dominic groans. “Why do you have to be so annoying? Jesus! There, matched her. You happy now?” he complains, tapping the match! bubble with the two hearts before he has much time to overthink. “It’ll make for a good laugh when she opens her app.”

They’re all bored anyway, and he’s known for — almost — always choosing the fun way of doing something. She will match him, send him a haha domi gotcha! great to see u on this app — all lowercase, often with that ‘u’ instead of ‘you’ — through the chat feature, and then they’ll be able to laugh it off during training. It could make for a nice sort of inside joke, he muses as he puts his phone away for the night and reaches for the bottle of vodka.

By the time his friends drag him back to the dance floor to try and loosen up their sore muscles, he’s received some matching requests and more than just ‘a few’ messages in his chat from so many different people that he feels his head is spinning.

It’s early morning already when he, Alex and Gilles wait for their Uber to come and pick them up, all of them with more drinks in their body than there is water. The other two have downloaded Matcher for shits and giggles and are now busy sorting through their recommended profiles.

They’ve all warmed up to it — they’ve all used other dating apps in the past, so one more is not a problem, even more when they’re easily bored and with fewer and fewer ideas on how to pass the time they spend between missions.

It’s only when Alexsandr complains that Why am I not getting hot operators too? with a comic pout on his face that Dominic’s phone goes off vibrating in the back pocket of his pants for the millionth time. He picks it out to finally delete the stupid app — too many notifications in too little time, and he’s too tired to be patient.

The notification message reads It’s a match! with an obnoxious sparkling heart emoji, though, and that suddenly turns his mood around and makes him curious. He hasn’t got a real, mutual match yet, just lots of stars that are probably enough to light up the night sky. So he unlocks his phone, opens the app, and after the rather-cheesy explosion of hearts going off on the screen, he finally sees who’s matched him back and the name both knocks the wind out of him and makes him laugh, all at the same time.

*

He brings it up to her the next day. It’s just after his training session, when he’s walking around the grounds of the Base to take his mind off of things and Y/N is leaving the armory facility. She waves at him, and he can’t but jog up to her to walk with her for a bit.

There’s some small talk, stuff about plans for this next stretch of time before a mission, catching up like friends or colleagues do, and then he drops it — Now that we’ve matched on that dating app, we should go on a date! He says it with a smile in his eyes and laughter in his voice, but it all fades into silence when he realizes that what he’s seeing on her face is confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

He frowns. Maybe she doesn’t remember it. “We matched on Matcher last night. I got your notification when I left the club.” It comes off as a question — what could have been an attempt at shooting his shot in a best-case scenario or something done out of fun in any other case, seems to be quickly turning around to bite him in the ass.

The look on her face is of utter mortification as she looks up at him, realization slowly and then quickly catching up on her like some avalanche. ‘Mortified’ is the last thing he would have thought to see on her face, and he’s taken aback, for once he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Maybe she doesn’t do older. Or she doesn’t do colleagues. Or maybe she sees him as a big brother — most of the recruits seem to somehow see him that way for the first months, despite him never doing anything to even remotely prompt that kind of behavior.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” she finally says, hiding her face behind her hands. “I was shit-faced last night. Lera and I were fucking around with my app since she says I always get the hot ones, I must’ve done it at that moment. I didn’t think I’d get people from the Base, I’m so sorry. Forget about that, please: I didn’t want to make things weird.”

He’s… bummed, there’s no other way to put it. It kind of stings his pride, in a way, but he sees where she’s coming from. He just… didn’t expect for her to not take it jokingly — after all, they are similar in that, and their sense of humor always makes them find the fun side in almost anything.

“Nah, don’t worry.”

But he’s still thinking about it three days later, and both Marius and Elias, and then Monika, Gilles and Alex as well, have tried to come up with a way to fix it — they don’t exactly know what needs fixing, it’s just a stupid dating app, but the look in Y/N’s eyes is still mortified every time Dominic crosses her path.

It’s only when he’s chilling with Lera and Elias on Wednesday night, discussing possible plans for Valentine’s day, coming up on Sunday, that the topic of Matcher and the apparently dramatic match with Y/N crawls its way into the conversation once more. It’s just the three of them in the lounge room, feet up on the coffee table or on the long part of the L-shaped couch, legs crossed at the ankles.

And for a moment it’s like going back to stupid high school crushes when Lera lets it slip that Y/N is simply too embarrassed to admit that she squealed and giggled like a teenager when she got Domi’s match request over the weekend. That that is the reason why she’s so mortified and she — Lera — is tired of trying to convince her that there’s nothing wrong in finding a colleague hot. Brunsmeier is a handsome man, I’d be surprised if the thought had never crossed your mind! — that’s how she recounts it, glancing at Dominic and shrugging her shoulders.

“She’s just afraid the truth might come out,” she says. “To which I’m not opposed, I’m tired of hearing her babble about it every time she starts doubting herself.”

At first, Dominic’s only reply is a pensive hum as he brings the almost-empty beer bottle to his lips for a sip. “I didn’t think she’d somehow take it personally. I would’ve expected her to joke about it, that’s why I was confused.”

They end up thinking of a plan — send her flowers and chocolates, with a note attached, and then show up at her and Lera’s shared dorm room to take her out on a Valentine’s date. His playful crush isn’t that much of a secret when it comes to his friends, after all: he does get drunk — eventually — and he does let his tongue loose — loose enough to hint at stuff he wouldn’t exactly boast while sober.

So, the next day, they put their plan into motion. A delivery man delivers Y/N the biggest bouquet of roses Dominic has managed to find on the website of a nearby flower shop at almost one in the morning, and it’s not only a surprise to her, but to all the operators and recruits that have stayed behind in the mess hall after breakfast as well.

They watch as she eyes the bouquet, lips parted, a frown of almost suspicion on her face — and from that table, Lera sends him a knowing smirk and a raise of an eyebrow that seems to tell him that she was not expecting such an obnoxious thing.

The exchange doesn’t miss Monika’s eye, and the operator is quick at putting two and two together. She slaps his bicep, and when he turns around to glare at her, almost intimidating her to shut her mouth, she smirks. “Look at you, who would’ve thought?” Her German is hushed, and it makes their fellow German colleagues chuckle, too. “Decided to make a move?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I told you that app wasn’t that bad!” she adds when Elias tells her how things have come to that.

The next day, Dominic makes sure Lera leaves his box of Swiss pralines on Y/N’s bed — and she promptly texts him back when her roommate and friend finds it after her monthly session in Harry’s office.

When Saturday comes around, Y/N’s confusion has taken the place of the mortified look in her eyes, and Lera has started trying to convince him to come forward before her friend would start thinking of some joke. Y/N’s not the type to get spooked out — a last-minute secret admirer just in time for Valentine’s day delivering gifts is the least dangerous thing she’s probably ever come across, but he knows it’s time to ask her out.

He finds her in the very lounge room Elias and Lera talked him into moving things forward. She’s sitting on the window bench, staring out at the park of the base and at the flour-like snowflakes coming down and twirling in the wind, before it turns into rain before nightfall.

“Hey,” she greets him before he has time to make a sound, seeing his reflection in the windowpane. “If you’re going to tease me for the ginormous bouquet I got the other day like everyone else did, please don’t.” She chuckles, though, and turns around when he sits at the other end of the bench.

“Nah, I won’t be childish this time.” There’s a grin on his face as he pulls his feet up and rests his arms on his bent knees, teasing her own leg with a foot for a moment just to make her laugh. “Have any clues on who the secret admirer is?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “I’m quite sure Lera knows who this is, but I haven’t been able to tear it out of her yet.”

It’s quiet for a while before Dominic starts saying Look, there’s something I— before he stops mid-sentence and looks up at her. She’s staring back at him almost expectantly, when someone dashes through the hall and distracts them for a moment.

“I’m sorry that match made you feel the way it did,” he says, “but I’m still glad I sent my request. And I know deep down you are too, you’re just afraid of things going the wrong way.” When she frowns, her lips parting, he scoots closed and lays a hand on her knee. “A little bird told me.”

“Yeah, a Russian one, maybe?” She covers her face with her hands, much like she did at the beginning of the week, before she sighs. “Lera likes to babble.”

“I don’t mind.” His hand gives her knee a gentle squeeze, and he waits for her to look at him again. “It finally gave me the excuse to ask you out on Valentine’s day. If you’re down for it, that is.”

*

On Sunday, he shows up at her door at half-past six, wearing fucking tux pants for once in his life. He’s cleaned up nice — trimmed his beard a bit, combed his hair back with some cream, stole a few drops of Alex’s perfume when he and Gilles made themselves at home in his room while he was getting ready. She’s begged him to skip the roses next time, and so he’s standing there with a bunch of wildflowers in one hand, wondering why the fuck there’s butterflies in his stomach.

She’s just as beautiful as ever when she opens the door, and Lera is nowhere to be found when she invites him in so that she can put his flowers in some water. Red dress, black coat, killer heels, painted lips — she almost takes his breath away.

“You’re stunning.” The honesty in his voice makes her stutter for a moment before he lets her give him a hug.

“You’re not any less,” she grins, pecking his cheek before following him outside and then to the garage level.

He makes her ride behind him on his bike, and the dinner at the overpriced fancy restaurant he’s managed to book last-minute passes in a flash. But even despite that, he doesn’t miss the way she warms up — and opens up — the more they chat: long gone is the mortification he knows she’s felt at the idea of possibly having made things awkward or of having given her crush on him away, and they actually find themselves getting to know each other better through tales from both missions and their civilian lives and childhood.

When they’re forced to leave the restaurant to leave their place to the second turn of patrons on such a busy February night, they walk around the center of the city arm in arm, both wrapped up tightly in their jackets and with their helmets in hand. They talk and talk, and the more they do, the more that faint shadow of embarrassment they felt throughout the week evaporates from their shoulders much like the condensation leaving their lips.

Neither of them is in the mood to return to Hereford just yet. It’s nice to be out and about, doing normal things, falling for what Dominic considers a well-thought-out marketing strategy — although he won’t lie by saying he’d rather be doing something else tonight, or spend time with someone else.

“I’m glad you matched me,” she suddenly confesses, the both of them hurrying up to cross the street before the traffic light turns red. “I would’ve never had the guts to. And I’m glad you did what you did and that we’re now here.”

He grins at her, pulling her closer into his side by wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Vodka is the best remedy against bullshitting instead of taking action,” he jokes, and she laughs.

He stares at her as she does, unable to keep in that chuckle.

“Yeah, I’m sure, Sanya always says the same bullshit,” she laughs, shaking her head before pointing at the bowling alley with her helmet, her other arm wrapped securely around his waist. “I don’t wanna go back yet. What do you think about some bowling?”

When they get back at the Base at around three in the morning, Dominic has a rip in the crotch of his pants and they’re both still giggling like kids at the memory of how comically loud the ripping sound seemed when he bent to throw his ball. They were joking around, in the bowling track further from the entrance, when it happened and she had to stand right behind him as he walked back to their booth, both of them laughing loudly, his cheeks burning red in an uncharacteristic moment of embarrassment.

“Bring me your pants when you wake up, I’ll fix them for you,” she chuckles, her hand still wrapped tightly in his.

“We should go bowling again,” he replies instead, looking down at her, now a bit shorter since she’s walking barefoot, her heels in his other hand. “With a proper attire this time, though.”

“Sure, why not?” Her excitement makes him smile, and even in the night lights always on throughout the Base during the night, he can see how her eyes seem to grin up at him. “I’d be ecstatic to watch you lose miserably a second time.”

“You only had luck!” But it’s not a real complaint — after all, he is shit at bowling, but he’s loved spending tonight with her and he’d be happy to replicate it more than just once. “And I let you win.”

“Of course.” Her chuckle is low now that they’re in the sleeping quarters.

And although they should go to bed and get ready for the day of training and simulations awaiting for them when they wake up, they still seem to linger, standing there, in front of the door of her dorm, still hand in hand, smiling at each other.

“Thank you for tonight,” she says eventually, taking a step closer to give him a quick good-night hug, and she grabs her heels when he hands them to her.

“Likewise. I really enjoyed it. We should do it again.” He puts the idea out there, but when she smiles sweetly at him all his doubts seem to sizzle and evaporate.

“We should,” she nods, her fingers playing with his. 

“Just ring me up when you’re free from your Matcher dates,” he grins, winking at her, hinting at the quite numerous dates she told him she had since downloading the app.

“Nah, I’m deleting it. I got the one match that matters most, so there’s no reason in keeping on looking.” She balances herself by putting both hands on his shoulders and pecks the corner of his mouth. “Good night, Domi.”

When he opens the door of his room, still grinning, the last thing he’s expecting to find is some of his friends waiting around for him just to know how his date has gone.

“So?” Monika asks, standing up from where she’s been sitting in his desk chair, eyes tired and hair tousled.

“We brought vodka,” Alex grins, raising an almost empty bottle while Gilles points at the empty glasses on the nightstand. “We’ve been waiting for this day for too long!”

“Sorry, man,” Marius says from his bed, both eyes closed and ankles crossed.

“We couldn’t stop them and shooting them dead wasn’t an option,” is what Elias aads, and Dominic knows it’s going to be a long night. But when he’s done talking, he knows he’s deleting that goddamn app, too.

[credits: psd (mine) | dominic | random guy #1 | random guy #2]

Feedback is always welcome if you want to drop old me a line 💛

[thatwirddemonhunter]

Bager in the Light, by Lucifer Buitrago part 1

Tage Hopp was not a particularly religious man, but that morning he thought "maybe there is a god, and I made him mad." He had a badger face! He didn't feel that strange, but he looked strange. He always had a beard and his face was almost always covered in dirt and grime, his long brown hair was still there although a little thicker, the fangs he gained didn't sit very well in his mouth and his hands had long nails or claws, what's the difference? In short, he felt hairier than normal; and hungry. "I should get some food before I fully become a badger," he said.

The weather outside was cold and dark, the sea was roaring loudly and dangerously. The day was like any other at the lighthouse and the tiny island it resided on.It was a small island situated off the coast of Wick, though the men that Tage worked with did not hail from the small fishing town.

The men that he worked with were very loud and annoying. He came to the island to get away from folks like them and instead is put with them, on a secluded hellscape. There were four: Erengisle Laxman,Oren Bloom,Xavier and Kohen Gill. The Gill brothers were the rowdiest in Tage's mind since he shared a room with them. Laxman was the second loudest, though a happy and joys kind of loud, and he was the most knowledgeable on account of his age; though he is more aware of other people then the other three, and always soft spoken when he talked to Tage. Bloom was a large and booming man, and his voice reflected that, always barking orders, speaking with his mouth full of food and yelling when something was not done his way, normally Laxman would intervin and calm him down. The only one Tage liked to be around was Olga, an old russin hound, no one knows where she came from, not even Laxman, but she is vital to running the lighthouse. Why you may ask, and I shall repeat this once more, no one knows. The only reason Tage really stays is if he goes home it will be worse. At least you can reason with a person that is not related to you, well for the most part.

As Tage was thinking this, Bloom came into the room, booming voice and everything. Lucky for him did not see Tage in his badger from due to the curtain dividing the room.

"Hopp, get up! Now!", it was a miracle the twins didn't wake up.

"And wake those two.I got a bone to pick with them" he said

"I'll get to it sir" Tage responded.

"AND-"

"I know what to do sir"

"Watch your mouth young man!"

BOOM, went to the boor as Bloom left the room, as he did every morning.

After sitting still for a little bit, he got up and checked if the other two were awake and not to his surprise they were fast asleep.The Gill brothers came from a large family like Tage, so they could sleep through anything. Sadly,Tage did not learn this trick;instead he had to learn to sleep anywhere quiet and secluded, like the top of the lighthouse. So instead of following Bloom’s orders, Tage left the twins alone and got ready for the day.

Now normally he gets dressed quickly, mostly due to the cold, but with the new fur that had grown overnight it felt like he did not need to dress but did either way. As soon as he finished clothing himself he left the room to do his morning chores. Hopefully with no one seeing him. Laxman was still asleep, and waking him was the first thing he needed to do.

Laxman was a deep sleeper and Tage knew he had to go in and physically move him.That made him have to think through his next move, as no one had seen him yet and he was not too sure that their reaction would be as calm as his.

The plan he concocted involved Olga and some very sneaky hiding since Bloom was already awake. As Tag went out, he took off his shoes to make his step much quieter.Once outside, he went looking for Olga, and it did not take him long. Tag had thought that she would growl and snarl at his new looks, but he had worried for nothing, she knew him immediately. Tag loved Olga’s company, he had promised that once he got a better job that he would take Olga with him but always got stopped by the old geezers, Laxman and Bloom.Mostly Laxman. Always Laxman, Bloom just stood there looking menacing.

As he got Olga through the house and toLaxmans door he got her level."Now listen Olga, I need you to do something for me" he said at the derpy borzoi."You're going into Laxman's room, and jump on him, got it" he got no response but knew by the look in her eyes she understood the plan.Tage let Olga in the room through a sliver of the door opening then closed and waited. Not for long though, as he heard a very loud but happy "OLGA?!".

After that, he went to check the chores list and in big booming letters after his name "WAKE XAVIER AND KOHEN" followed by a small polite "please". Now there's no point in avoiding it, Bloom was probably mad now and for the next couple of days too. Seeing this made Tage realize that Bloom might of unitentiely woke them and he had to go back either way to get his tools for the fog horn.Now this time there was no Olga to send in. He went back to his room to see if the Twins were awake and as he neared the door he heard them.

"Where do you think that little imp went, any who?" said Xavier, with his gruff voice.

"I don't know, but when I see him, he going to get an earful, he is!" Kohen said, clearly angry.

The Twins were from Leeds and never spoke proper English, Bloom didn’t either but that was because he spoke Yiddish and Laxman claims he hails from Bristol but his Scottish accent betrays him.The Twins were from Leeds and never spoke a proper English, Bloom didn't either but that was because he spoke Yiddish and Laxman claims he hails from Bristol but his Scottish accent betrayed him. Tage was the odd one out with his "proper London '' as Xavier called his accent; and because of it the brothers push him around, making him out to be a weak noble or something and Bloom belittles him with every word.

Hearing them made Tage want to throw them off the light, straight into the water, maybe the sirens will get them, after this morning anything is possible. But why was he thinking that he's got a job to do, just ignore them. Tage went in without thinking, got his coat and tools and left. He just marched out, ignoring everything and went to fix the horn.

After an hour or so he heard some barking and turned to see Olga with Erengisle Laxman, staring at him with a mix of shock, confusion and a little bit of fear. Olga was just happy to see him, and she came to him looking for treats as always. Seeing her come up to Tage made Laxman snap out of his shock.

“H-hey Tage, can we talk to you?” the terrified voice of Laxman followed. No one had seen him all morning in his new badger for, with the exception of Olga, but she made no fuss about his looks. Laxman was being cautious around him but Tage assumed it was because of the badger face. He sat next to Tage and started to speak again.

"So... it is Tage under there... still, right?" he asked

"Yeah. Just harrier." an awkward silence followed.

"This isn’t the first time appears with an..." he jesters to Tages head "an creater of sorts."

"I'm having a hard time believing that Eren."

"No really, where do you think Olga came from?"

"WHAT?" Tage yelled.

“No no no no no, I've realized that was a bad joke. Sit back down lad.” he said to Tage making the motion to sit back. Tage had a feeling that this was his way of coping with the fact his co-worker had the features of a badger. Olga just rested her head on Tages lap.

[actualbird]

nobody asked but here i analysed polygon’s “unraveled” and bon appetit test kitchen’s “gourmet makes” and i think they are similar and use three key story elements to their success | a 1.9k word long analysis by an unhinged creative writing fresh grad trying desperately to use their degree to connect two dots

If you asked me who my favorite internet celebrities are, I would not hesitate for a second to answer. Brian David Gilbert from Polygon and Claire Saffitz from Bon Appetit Test Kitchen. They’re awesome! They both host popular YouTube webshows about video games and cooking respectively, two things I am terrible at and don’t do very often. And yet I am enraptured by every episode of their shows. Why? How?

My thesis is this: Polygon’s “Unraveled” and Bon Appetit Test Kitchen’s “Gourmet Makes”, while wildly different shows on many levels, are extremely similar in how they use three key story elements very, very, well.

These three story elements are 1) Plot, 2) Character, and 3) FAWWIEOT (it’s an acronym, I’ll explain it later, I promise)

Let me start with the first and most basic story element these two shows wield amazingly: Plot.

Plot is, in simplest terms, what “happens” in a thing. This is what you’ll find on a movie’s Wikipedia page summary, the details of what went down, the events that took place, the things that occurred. There are many different types of plots because there are many different types of stories, but one of the most basic kinds of plots is very clearly illustrated by something called Freytag’s Pyramid.

Freytag’s Pyramid is a very simple plot that is moved forward by a non-negotiable in many, many stories: conflict. All is well, the line is straight, then a challenge arises and things start to escalate. At the climax, a decision or a group of decisions are made that leads to a de-escalation of the conflict, bringing things down until we are back at a flat line and the conflict has been resolved.

Every single episode of Gourmet Makes can be plotted onto Freytag’s Pyramid

Nearly every single episode of Unraveled can be plotted onto Freytag’s Pyramid too (with the exception of some, like a number of the categorization episodes, the Kojima name generator)

I know what you’re thinking. “So what if Gourmet Makes and Unraveled fit on some funky pyramid? What does that mean?” Well, dear reader, it reveals to us just one of three reasons why these shows are so enjoyable.

Freytag’s Pyramid is basic as shit, and yet it is one of the first plot structures taught to fictionists because people, up to this day, like it. Why? Because Freytag’s Pyramid fulfills two very important desires that we, as humans, love. 1) The desire for there to be a problem and 2) the desire for that problem to be resolved. It scratches our eternal itch to want to watch shit go down but doesn’t leave us up on a cliffhanger, it gives us our catharsis.

Gourmet Makes gives you the entertainment of watching Claire struggle with her task. Then Gourmet Makes shows you Claire slowly and surely rising above the challenge (notable in literally every episode of Gourmet Makes). Unraveled makes you watch BDG work himself up into a frenzy trying to do something stupid, but then Unraveled shows the payoff of...of watching BDG do something stupid, but this time towards some kind of resolution (very notable in the latest Unraveled “How to increase your stamina with terrible video game tactics”).

It is clear to me that Gourmet Makes and Unraveled both use plot in a way that gives viewers satisfaction. But what keeps them coming back for more?

Well that leads us to the second story element: Character.

People love Claire Saffitz and BDG.

Don’t believe me? Look through the tags of literally any gifset of either of them. Here, I did it for you. Here’s some tags for Claire:

And here’s some tags for BDG:

It’s pretty obvious to see that these two are well loved, but why? It’s not just because they’re both good looking, it’s because Claire Saffitz and BDG, with how they are presented in their shows, are good characters.

Claire Saffitz in Gourmet Makes isn’t scripted. She brings her own human frustration, determined hard work, and joyous glee to the show and it makes watching the show all the more enjoyable. BDG in Unraveled, however, is scripted, but he brings to the table his chaotic performance and ‘off the shits’ lecturer energy that brings the viewers in. Regardless of their differences, Gourmet Makes and Unraveled are similar when it comes to character because of one thing: they actually have characters.

What am I talking about? Well, for a period of time on the internet, people in the cooking media sphere and the video game media sphere settled for video content that was divorced from who was presenting the information. Videos like the ones from Tasty where everything was filmed top down and you only saw two hands perfectly putting ingredients into a bowl. Videos like the myriad of video game walkthroughs or video essays that are presented only by a disembodied voice who also seems allergic to actually having fun. This is content that hinges on the fact that people like seeing cooking or video games and that the presenter will mostly just be a background thing.

Bon Appetit Test Kitchen and Polygon both did not want to succumb to this style of presenting information. They both made the decision to bring their presenters into their video content, highlighting their respective presenters’ personalities, quirks, and styles. This is evident in all of Bon Appetit Test Kitchen and Polygon’s video content, not just Gourmet Makes and Unraveled. Do I watch Bon Appetit's show It's Alive because I want to actually make foccacia? No, it's because I love how Brad Leone  mispronounces words and makes me laugh. Did I watch "Fixing Anthem’s boring mech’s with ballsy design" because I actually give a shit about video games? No it's because I love how Pat Gill jokes about fake testicles and also I think he's hot.

The fact that there are actually characters for us on screen to see, makes Gourmet Makes and Unraveled good shit. We’ve got a plot with clear conflict, but that means nothing if there are no personas for us to root for. Gourmet Makes and Unraveled gives us these personas. They give us Claire Saffitz whom we want so desperately to see smile and succeed. They give us Brian David Gilbert whom we want so desperately to see go a little bit crazy. They give us people to connect to, and that often bridges the gap to viewers who honestly don’t give a shit about cooking or video games. Viewers like me who just keep coming back to Gourmet Makes and Unraveled because of the fact that these are characters I care about, these are characters who I want to see smile after finally nailing the recipe or slowly take off their suit as they tell me shit about Zelda I don’t understand.

Gourmet Makes and Unraveled utilize plot in a way that makes these webshows satisfying, and they use character in a way that makes these webshows accessible and keeps people invested.

But they go further.

This brings us to our last story element, not exactly a common or rudimentary one, but an important one nonetheless: Fucking Around With What Is Expected Of Them.

(I know there’s probably a legitimate literary term for this, but sue me, quarantine has kept me stuck in my house since March, so I may have forgotten the exact words I learned in class. FAWWIEOT will have to suffice.)

The gist of FAWWIEOT is that stories have been around for fuckin ever, and because of that, there are clear patterns and tropes that stories follow. FAWWIEOT is the recognition of those patterns and tropes, using them, but finding a different outcome or flair to make themselves special, to make themselves stick out. Kinda like when you’ve got a fic on AO3 tagged with ‘friends to lovers’ but also tagged with like, I dunno, something completely random like ‘character is also a dragon’. Use the tropes, but do something different. Give the audience something they already know, then throw in something new to make them remember your content specifically.

Gourmet Makes and Unraveled FAWWIEOT (I’m using the acronym like a verb now, this is my post, I’m allowed to) very purposefully using an important technique: Flaws.

The standard trope of a cooking show is the chef easily talking to the camera as they perfectly put the ingredients together. All the food comes out perfect on the first try and everything is heavenly and wonderful. Classic cooking shows like Barefoot Contessa (hosted by Ina Garten) and Everyday Italian (hosted by Giada de Laurentiis) followed this pattern, and it made for good television.

But who fucking watches television these days? Everything is online now, and the internet is vicious. If you aren’t interesting, the internet will throw you out to the gutter. So how did Gourmet Makes set themselves apart?

By showing you that things aren’t perfect after all. Gourmet Makes shows you every trial that Claire tries, they show you her successes, but also her failures. They show you when she gets tired and hopeless, they show you when she bounces back and tries again. Gourmet Makes made a cooking show that was flawed, and people loved it.

And what about Unraveled? The design of Unraveled, from BDG’s suit and mug to his presenting style, key us in to the fact that we are watching some sort of lecture. Some kind of educational performance. Personally, this makes me think that Unraveled is FAWWIEOT-ing academia and basically any other media where an “expert” talks at you.

The standard pattern of experts talking to you are basically like TedTalks. You have somebody very well versed in the topic trying to explain to you something, showing you their hypothesis, their process, and their findings.

Unraveled FAWWIEOTs expertise by making BDG research the most crazy shit like OSHA regulations or the Geneva Convention, make the wildest hypotheses like ‘Monster Energy in the morning will be a good idea’ or ‘Sonic is blasphemous’, and then, ultimately, completely unravel himself. The expert in Unraveled isn’t an all knowing being who is always right, he is flawed (and loses his marbles, more often than not.) And we love it.

FAWWIEOT-ing is key because of how it gives us a pattern we know, and then does something new. Novelty is important on the internet, and Gourmet Makes and Unraveled have made a name for themselves on the unique way they Fucked Around With What Was Expected Of Them.

Gourmet Makes and Unraveled are two of my favorite webshows on the internet as of now, and there are many reasons why, many reasons I didn’t include in this post. What I wanted to do here is to highlight how these shows use story elements to be good content because at the core of these videos, even if they aren’t literary fiction, they are good stories. Good stories with a plot that satisfies us, with characters we can see and love, with new twists that keep us on the edge of our seats.

Good stories make for good content, and Bon Appetit Test Kitchen and Polygon have me as a subscriber for as long as they continue on this road.

Thanks for reading!

(Read my other Polygon-adjacent analysis essays at actualbird.tumblr.com/tagged/nobody-asked-but

If you have any suggestions or ideas for more Polygon-adjacent analysis essays I can write, send me an ask!)

[tsarisfanfiction]

WIP #47

(Send me a number 1-60 [or a fandom/character I guess] for the corresponding wip) because I’m bored and brain-fried and have too many wips that’ll otherwise never see the light of day.

For @misssquidtracy who asked for “Number 47 - Thunderbirds (specifically da Gords)”.   Luckily, this happens to be a Gordon PoV wip, so it’s all Gordon!

It’s also a Scott!whump, because it’s me and I’m terrible and I have way too many of these lying around, so watch out for that.  There’s also a lot of this.  Nearly 6k words, so enjoy :D

Gordon hated it when his squid sense started to tingle for no discernible reason.  On a rescue, his squid sense was invaluable, warning him just in time that a building was about to topple, or that an aftershock was on its way.  Lives had been saved by his mysterious power – hardly a power, more an instinct honed by too many years of military precision combined with a predisposition for pranks whilst living in a house with three older brothers.  Alan joked about him being bitten by a squid, like that old superhero story about the guy and the spider.

It was easier to laugh it off than get into a debate with the astronaut about the biting habits – or lack thereof – of aquatic creatures his younger brother knew nothing more than the required basics about.

However, joking aside, Gordon’s sixth sense was particularly active, and while usually it was a life-saving boon, this time it was just a nuisance.  He was at home, safe and comfortable in the clean water of the pool. He’d opted for lazy backstrokes, taking his time to reach from one end of the pool to the other before executing a neat flip to repeat the stroke back the way he’d come.  None of his brothers were on missions, either.  John was as ever up in Thunderbird Five, but from the far end of the pool he could see the holographic form of his brother just visible in the den.  Alan was, last checked, also in the den – the two space mad brothers had decided to watch a documentary on, surprise, surprise, space, during what downtime they had – while Virgil had decided to do some maintenance on Thunderbird Two with Brains.

Scott was away on boring business, a stuffy CEO meeting that he couldn’t palm off onto the board of directors that were supposed to be handling that sort of thing for him, or even attend via hologram.  They had insisted on a personal touch – literally – and as it was, apparently, a big deal, that meant Scott had to ditch the blues, send one last longing look at Thunderbird One, and let Kayo escort him in Tracy One to the meeting place.

The meeting had been due to start about an hour ago, if Gordon was getting his timezone calculations correct.  Why Tracy Industries still had its headquarters in America, far too many hours behind Tracy Island, when there was a perfectly respectable landmass or two closer to home, he couldn’t quite fathom, but when he’d raised the point Scott and John had both fixed him with tired, don’t be an idiot looks, with just a hint of be glad you don’t have to deal with this nonsense to stop him from pestering further.

Kayo herself was who-knew-where, sneaking around in her sneaky Kayo way.  He’d seen Tracy One return several hours ago, Kayo’s taxi service duties over until Scott called for her.  Apparently, head of IR security did not equal anything in terms of Tracy Industries security, a fact that he knew grated on her.  Still, she and Lady Penelope had run multiple background checks on all the men and women that made up Scott’s official security, and were as assured as they could be with Kayo not amongst their number that he was in good hands.

So if his squid sense could stop tingling randomly, that’d be great, thanks.

It didn’t, and annoyance turned to dread when the emergency signal went off, summoning them all to the lounge.  A tingling squid sense, and an emergency?  Gordon had a really bad feeling about that.

He made it to the den in record time, more damp than not with a beautiful trail of drips across the carpet that Grandma was going to murder him for later, and still in nothing but his swimming trunks.  Alan made a face of disgust as he threw himself down onto the sofa next to him to face John.  The documentary that the two astronauts had been watching was paused on what his old school lessons told him was a supernova eruption.  The imagery of an explosion did nothing to help his jittery squid sense.

Virgil was last to join them, grease streaking up one sleeve and smearing onto the sofa he chose to sit on – at least he wasn’t the only one that would be facing the wrath of Grandma later.

“What have you got, John?” his eldest currently-home brother asked, looking far too laid back for Gordon’s liking.  Not that there was anything wrong with it – Virgil still was far from relaxed, alert and ready for the briefing before launching himself down the slide of death – but Gordon found himself tense in comparison.

“A plane’s gone down in America,” John told them.  “I intercepted a mayday call from the pilot; the GDF have already responded but it’s a bad one and they don’t have enough resources to get everyone out.   Gear up; I’ll give you the details on the way.”

One of those, huh? Gordon flew towards the fish tank that housed his launch tube, slapping his palm against the hidden sensor and feeling the familiar downwards rush towards the hangars, splitting off from the route to Four and instead making a beeline for Two.  He met Alan on the platform, his youngest brother jittering excitedly as always, just in time for Virgil to retract it, bringing them up into the cockpit.

Co-pilot was his chair, and the only person annoying enough to turf him out of it on ‘superiority’ grounds was Scott.  Even Kayo knew better than to steal his chair, so Alan settled happily enough into the navigation chair behind Virgil, pulling up the screens ready for John to transmit the data straight though.

“You alright?” Virgil asked him as the hangar door rolled down, revealing rows of palm trees ready to bow in homage to the green beast.

“My squid sense is going haywire,” he admitted, no point in lying.  Not on a mission.  He expected John to scoff – his second eldest brother always slightly more dismissive of it than the rest of them.  After all, there was no scientific explanation.  All joking about fish and gills aside, Gordon was one hundred percent human.  John didn’t scoff, and that made his squid sense reach an uncomfortable level.  In fact, John didn’t say anything at all, his hologram not paying them any attention at all as he fiddled with something invisible up on Five.

“Well, it’s a plane crash,” Alan pointed out, his voice somewhat subdued.  Virgil made a noise of agreement as Two’s engines roared to life behind them, punching them into the air.  She was no rocket, but Thunderbird Two could still produce a decent amount of Gs. Gordon wished that was it, but the tingle had started before John briefed them.

“Guys,” John finally said, once Two was cruising at full speed towards America.  “I’ve got hold of the flight details for the plane.  It wasn’t easy; turns out it was a top-secret flight even the GDF didn’t know about.”

“That sounds ominous,” Virgil observed.

“It gets worse.” John’s face was grim.  Really grim.  Bearer of terrible news grim.  “It was a private flight chartered for a top secret business meeting between the biggest aerospace companies in the world.  Four CEOs were on board, including-” his voice broke in a very un-John-like manner, and Gordon’s stomach dropped.

“Don’t say it,” Alan begged. In front of him, Virgil’s knuckles were white on the yoke, Thunderbird Two’s engines whining as they went just that little bit faster.

“Including Scott,” John finished, visibly pulling himself back together.  “In total there were thirty people on board, including the pilots. The reports from the GDF so far say that the rear of the plane is trashed but the cause isn’t yet clear. Two bodies have been recovered so far – neither of them Scott – but they can’t get into the main body of the plane. Scans suggest that approximately half of them survived the initial crash.  I’m picking up fourteen life signs; two of them in the cockpit area so they’re most likely the pilots.”

“Scott’s communicator?” Virgil asked as sea gave way to land beneath them, the American coast looking unfairly beautiful.

“I’m not getting a response,” John admitted.  “I’ll keep trying.”

“Anything from the telemetry?”  Alan was tapping away at the screen by his chair, clearly manipulating the data John was sending him.  Gordon envied him the distraction.

“It’s offline,” John sighed, rubbing his face tiredly.  “Seems like it was damaged in the crash.  EOS is attempting to reconnect but no luck so far.”

“Do you have any good news for us, Johnny?” Gordon asked hopefully.

“Colonel Casey is one of the GDF officers at the scene,” John offered, notably not rising to the bait. Well, Gordon supposed that was better than random officers, or worse, the ones that weren’t overly fond of International Rescue and didn’t fully co-operate.  “Kayo’s just launched in Thunderbird Shadow for the airport they took off from.  Lady Penelope is also on the way; she and Parker are already making enquiries to find out what happened.”

“They think sabotage?” Virgil asked.

“The CEOs of the four most powerful aerospace industries in the world were on that plane,” John pointed out.  “It’s suspicious, at least.”

“Do you think it’s the Hood?”  Gordon sent Alan a withering look.  Not everything was the Hood’s fault, even if it felt like it.

“I don’t know, Alan,” John said.  “Kayo thinks it isn’t his style.  He’d have been looking to get money from them, not kill them.”

“He killed Dad.”

Gordon flinched.  He wasn’t the only one.

“No-one said Scott’s dead,” Virgil said, voice steady even though Gordon couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked so tense.

“He’ll be okay, right?” Alan asked.  “I mean, it’s Scott.  If anyone can walk away from a plane crash, it’d be Scott, right?”

“Let’s hope,” John replied.

The co-ordinates John had programmed into Thunderbird Two’s navigation system flashed up, warning that they were on final approach.  Slowed to subsonic, they came to a hover alongside a GDF flier and got their first glimpse of the downed plane.  It wasn’t pretty.

The final third of the plane no longer resembled the tail of anything remotely flight-worthy.  Twisted and warped metal was crumpled and torn ragged. Men and women in GDF uniforms were hovering around the area, large lasers deployed to slice their way in. Gordon knew instantly that no-one who had been in that part of the plane could possibly have survived.

At the other end of the plane, the nose was also crumpled but not as far back as the cockpit windows. It looked as though whatever had downed the plane had occurred at the back, with the damage to the nose only made by the impact of the crash.  More GDF were swarming the cockpit windows, cutting their way in with infinite more care than their counterparts were cleaving the rear.

The area of most interest to them was the middle third.  While not the complete write-off of the rear, massive dents and warps in the metal warned of a serious crash.  Any survivors would be in that area, but the condition of said survivors was unknown. All of the emergency exits were untouched; from a distance, Gordon couldn’t tell if they were wedged shut by warped metal, or if there was another reason that none of them had been opened.

“International Rescue!” Colonel Casey flagged them down, guiding them towards a space just large enough for Thunderbird Two to land.  “You boys are a sight for sore eyes,” she greeted.  “The fuselage is too thick for our lasers to get through without endangering the survivors inside.  We’ve got the pilots under control, but we haven’t been able to make contact with any of the passengers.”

“F.A.B.,” Virgil answered her.  “We’ll get them out.  John said fourteen life signs?”

“Affirmative,” she said. “We have visual on both pilots. The other twelve are randomly positioned within the front half of the plane.”

“We’ll get them out,” Virgil assured her, and ended the call.  “Gordon, Alan, get as much cutting gear and first aid supplies as you can carry.”

“You didn’t mention Scott,” Gordon observed, and he sighed.

“No point worrying her. You two know we have to treat him the same as the rest?”

Alan frowned.

“But couldn’t he help us?”

“If he’s fit to help, then that’s one thing,” Virgil told them.  “But I don’t like that none of the doors are open.  Don’t get your hopes up; this is a nasty crash.”

“Come on,” Gordon muttered, grabbing Alan’s arm and tugging him towards the module.  “Faster we get in there, the faster we’ll find him.”

“I know that much!” Alan grumbled, yanking his arm back.  “I can walk by myself, Gordon!”  He stalked off ahead.  Gordon let him, hearing Virgil catch up with him from behind.

“You don’t think Scott’s okay,” he said, quietly.  It wasn’t a question.

“If he was, he’d have got word out somehow by now,” Virgil replied.  “Even if his communicator’s broken, there are GDF swarming the place. He’d only need to catch their attention through a window.”  He made a beeline straight for his exosuit, pulling on the heavy gear with the ease of practice and charging out of the lowering module door.  Gordon collected their last hand-held cutter and shouldered a medical pack before following alongside Alan, who was kitted out the same.

Virgil’s shoulder laser was powerful and made short work of the fuselage that the GDF had been too reluctant to touch.  A wrench with the claw arm and a thick wodge of metal slammed down on the ground in front of him.  The opening wasn’t huge, too small for Virgil with his suit to fit through comfortably, but it was the largest they’d been willing to risk with the unknown structural integrity of the fuselage.  Gordon slipped through first, hand laser in hand for any further obstacles, and let out a shaky breath.

“Woah,” he muttered, pulling his helmet on.  The air was murky, dust kicked up and swarming around from the warped metal. None of the seats were upright; sheered metal struts protruded from where they should have been, in a circle around what was once a table.  That had broken in two, the far end buried under the start of the truly warped area. “Hello?  International Rescue!”

Silence.

Alongside personal effects and broken pieces of aircraft, the floor was strewn with bodies.  Some were obviously dead, impaled by shrapnel made from the very plane that should have been protecting them.  One in particular was grotesque, a metal strut that had once supported a chair stuck straight through his chest from where he’d been thrown on top of it.  Gordon recognised him as part of Scott’s security detail and had to fight to hold back the bile.

Scott.  Where was Scott?

Despite Virgil’s words, he wasted a moment looking around the scene, but there was no sign of his eldest brother.  Unable to justify hunting for him before checking for signs of life in those immediately visible, he crouched down by the nearest person not obviously dead and checked their pulse.  It was weak but there.

“Woah!”  Alan mimicked his own reaction upon entering.  “What a mess.”

“Alan, I’ve got a survivor here!”  Gordon called him over immediately.  “Mind your step.”  His youngest brother picked his way over to him.  “Find a way to get him out.  I’ll look for more.”

“Have you found Scott yet?” he asked, kneeling down and opening his med kit.  Gordon shook his head.

“No sign.  I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”  Alan nodded, and Gordon continued his search.  It was a grim one.  He’d suspected as such when no-one had responded to his call, but even when he found a warm body, they were unconscious.  Virgil joined him, exosuit stripped off and replaced with more medical kits and a small group of GDF personnel courtesy of Colonel Casey. Between them, it was a far more manageable task to carefully remove the survivors from the wreckage.  Those pronounced as dead were left for the moment as John’s countdown of life signs inside the remains of the plane slowly ticked down.

All in all, they’d so far found eighteen of the twenty eight passengers, including the dead pulled from the ruined tail section.  Ten to go, two of which were still alive according to Thunderbird Five’s scans. One of the ten was Scott.  Gordon felt cruel when he found another breathing body and mentally cursed her for not being Scott.  It wasn’t her fault; she was lucky to be alive herself, torso contorted in a way he knew meant a broken back.  He should be relieved to find any survivors at all, not cursing them for not being the one he wanted to be alive.

He flagged her up to one of the closest medics and moved on.  It was almost too dark to see at the back of the plane, up against the crushed wreckage.  His toe snapped on something soft and he tripped.  Landing in a crouch, he turned around to face the obstruction.  A dead body.  He didn’t even need to check the young man’s pulse; the poor guy had been caught in the mangled metal and torn in half.  His face was twisted in pain and terror, blue eyes wide and glassy with death.  It wasn’t Scott, but Gordon knew he’d be seeing those eyes in his nightmares nonetheless.

Turning back around, he moved to stand before realising he was by part of the fallen table.  Various limbs had been protruding from beneath the large slab at intervals during Gordon’s search, but here there was a gap. A seat, wedged beneath it, had left part of the table at an angle.  It was too dark to see into it, so Gordon palmed a glowstick and snapped it, illuminating the area in an eerie green.  Immediately the silhouette of a body greeted his eyes.  Mindful of additional shrapnel, he reached in carefully, fumbling until he found their wrist.

Thump… thump…

Slow, but there.  At the same time, a GDF woman called in another survivor.  One more than expected.

“Virgil!” he called. “I’ve got someone under the table with a pulse.  Going to need some heavy lifting to get them out!”

“F.A.B.” his brother replied.  He raised the glowstick above his head with the hand not measuring the pulse and waved it around.  “I see you.” A moment later, Virgil and a trio of GDF officers appeared.  “How much of this are we going to need to shift?” he asked.  Gordon shrugged.

“I can’t see.  Got a silhouette but not much more.  Give me your torch.”  He dropped the glowstick and kept his hand open for Virgil’s gear. It landed in his hand and he carefully manoeuvred it down before turning it on.

A once sharp grey suit was covered in dust, but that wasn’t what caught Gordon’s breath in his throat. It was the dark brown hair, and the broken but unmistakable International Rescue communicator on his forearm, less than an inch from Gordon’s fingers on the slow pulse, that made him gasp.

“Gord-?”

“It’s Scott.”  He cut Virgil’s query off.  Behind him, the GDF murmured in surprise.

Virgil didn’t ask anything more.  Gordon stayed where he was, watching the limp form of his eldest brother with a lump in his throat as they moved around him.  His fingers didn’t budge from the pulse, a fear gripping him that if he stopped measuring it, it would stop altogether.  Orders barked and a concert of groans resulted in a large part of the broken table slab being cut up and lifted, letting what pitiful light had reached so far back into the cabin illuminate Scott’s body.

It wasn’t good.  Blood matted his hair, a mark of something striking him in the crash.  One leg was twisted almost completely around, a dislocated hip at best, and more blood stained his arm.

Virgil took charge, nudging Gordon out of the way.  He went willingly only because out of everyone in the world, he only trusted Virgil or Grandma to handle his brother in such a broken state.  He tapped his communicator.

“John, Alan?”

Both answered immediately, eager for news.  Inwardly he was glad not to be the bearer of tragic news, not sure he could have managed it.

“Found him; he’s alive.”

“How is he?” Alan demanded over John’s sigh of relief.  Gordon winced.

“Alive,” he repeated. “Virgil’s got him.  It’s too dark back here to tell past that.”  That was a bare faced lie; even as he spoke he could see Virgil attaching the medical scanner to him, still glowing glow stick highlighting the frown on his face.  Neither brother called him out on it.

“I’ll update the others,” John said instead.  “Keep looking for survivors; you’re on one more than our scans showed.  There might be more.”

“F.A.B.”  He ended the call.  “Virgil?”

“All in hand,” his older brother said shortly.  “Keep looking.”

“Yessir.”

Seven dead bodies later, all thirty crew and passengers were accounted for.  He exited the craft, removing his now filthy helmet, only to almost collide with Colonel Casey.

“You knew Scott was on board the flight,” she said without greeting.  Her face was displeased, and he figured he was the first Tracy she’d managed to collar.

“Of course we did,” he confirmed.  “But that didn’t change how we operated.”

“I can see that,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  He glanced back at the corpse of the plane, where Virgil was still inside with Scott, carefully transferring him to a hoverstretcher, last Gordon had seen.

“Because it didn’t change anything,” he repeated.  “Excuse me, Colonel, but my job isn’t over yet.”

He didn’t wait to be dismissed, heading towards Thunderbird Two’s open module to prep it for Scott’s transport.  The GDF might be taking the other injured to hospitals, but there was only one craft their brother would be travelling in, and that was their own.  He wasn’t naïve; Scott’s injuries were bad, beyond anything Grandma and Virgil could handle at home.  John and Kayo were already working to locate a hospital both capable of treating him, and with enough security that he would be safe from ill-wishers during his recovery.

None of them were convinced this was a simple accident.  Not with so many high profile individuals on board.  The Hood aside, there were many people that stood to gain from the deaths of the four CEOs.  Lady Penelope was already digging into the employees from the other three companies who stood to benefit from the deaths.  Regretfully, the only CEO still with a pulse was Scott.  All four of them had been towards the back of the cabin, all bar Scott caught up in the twisted metal that was the final third of the plane.

Scott had been lucky, for all that he wasn’t out of the woods yet.  Gordon wasn’t a medical professional, but Virgil’s face told him that much.

“The medical carrier is ready to leave,” Colonel Casey told him.  He assumed she’d followed him to Thunderbird Two, although had at least refrained from entering uninvited.  “As soon as Scott is on board, they’ll be on their way.”

“They can leave now,” Gordon retorted.  “We’ll handle Scott.”

“I know you are concerned, but this crash is a GDF investigation,” she told him.  “All casualties fall under GDF jurisdiction.”

Gordon was shorter than her – the only one of his brothers bar the still-growing Alan with that distinction – but inside the module bay he could still look down at her.

“Scott is International Rescue jurisdiction,” he corrected her.  “And as the CEO of the family business, also Tracy jurisdiction.  He’ll be treated at a location approved by us, not the GDF, and if the GDF have an issue with that, they can take that up with our head of security.”

“And your other employees?” she challenged.  Gordon pushed away the memory of a man impaled by a seat strut.

“None of them survived.” He turned his back on her, readying the finishing touches.

“I’m sorry for your losses,” she said, and he heard her walk away.  He’d barely known them, the six men and women wearing Tracy Industries logos, but Scott had.  John, too, and Kayo had hand-picked the four members of security.

Alan appeared beside him, putting away what remained of the medical supplies he’d taken out earlier and locking the hand-held laser back where it belonged.

“Is he going to be okay?” he asked, and Gordon shrugged, putting an arm around his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Do you think this was sabotage?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why would anyone do this?”

Gordon sighed.

“It might have just been an accident,” he reminded him, even if he doubted his own words.  Alan looked equally unconvinced.  “Come on, let’s get her ready to go.”

“F.A.B.,” Alan said quietly, and they headed out towards the loading platform, only to be brought up short at the sight of Virgil approaching them, hoverstretcher alongside. Immediately they got out of the way, letting their older brother brush past and secure the stretcher to the wall.

“Gordon, pilot,” he said. “John and Kayo found us a New Zealand hospital.  It’s a fair distance, but it’s secure.  Scott should hold on long enough to get there as long as you don’t dawdle.”

“F.A.B.”  Gordon wasn’t a fan of the implication that Scott might not, but had no choice but to trust Virgil as he jabbed the button to raise the platform.  Alan stayed behind – understandable, as he hadn’t seen yet seen their eldest brother – but Gordon didn’t say anything.  He could pilot Two solo.

There were many words that could be used to describe the speed they left the crash site and headed for the other side of the world at, but ‘dawdle’ was not one of them.  She was no rocket like One or Three, but Two was still one of the fastest planes in the world, and Gordon was determined to get as much speed out of her as he dared.  Virgil could take her faster, another Mach at least, but he wasn’t Virgil and didn’t trust himself to keep her flight smooth at top speed.  He just hoped it would be fast enough.

About halfway there, somewhere over the large expanse of water that Gordon would much rather be in than over, Virgil contacted him, a hologram flickering into life in his periphery.

“If I send Alan up, will you go faster?” he asked.  Gordon’s heart sank.

“Is he getting worse?” Please no, please not Scott.

“I’ve got him stable,” Virgil reassured him.  “But he’s still critical.  The sooner we get him to the hospital the happier I’ll be.”

“More speed coming up,” he confirmed, reaching for the throttle.  “Uh, yeah, send Alan up, would you?”  He could probably do with a co-pilot if he went any faster.

“Sure thing,” Virgil agreed. “He’s on his way.”

Sure enough, no sooner than his older brother ended the connection, the door opened and Alan stumbled through it, all but collapsing into the co-pilot’s chair.

“He hasn’t woken up,” the astronaut offered as he reached forwards to power up the co-pilot controls. As soon as the second set of lights lit up, Gordon accelerated the craft towards top speed.  “Virgil’s worried about the head injury.”

Gordon grit his teeth, remembering the red matted into the brown under the powerful beam of Virgil’s torch.

“Head injuries are tricky,” he agreed.  “But Virgil knows what he’s going, and John’s found a hospital that specialises in them.”

“I know,” Alan replied quietly.  “That’s what worries me.  They’re not telling us something.”

“The hazards of being the youngest,” Gordon groaned, unsurprised but as annoyed as Alan about it. Scott was their brother too, dammit. “So, what are they not telling us?”

“Have you seen the results of the scan?” Alan asked him.  Gordon shook his head.

“Nah, had to leave to look for other survivors once Virgil was dealing with him, and haven’t seen him since.”  Five seconds of hoverstretcher rushing past didn’t really count.  “What came up?”

“No idea,” Alan sulked. “Virgil’s been keeping it out of my sight all journey.  But I know John knows.”

Gordon growled and slammed the comm button.

“John, Virgil, I want the result of those scans,” he demanded.

“You’re piloting,” Virgil responded immediately.  “No reading while you’re controlling my ‘bird.”

“Then summarise for me,” he retorted.  “Starting with that head injury.”

“Just get us to the hospital,” Virgil ordered.

“Already doing that,” he ground out, hackles rising.  “Stop trying to keep us in the dark!  He’s our brother too!”  Thunderbird Two lurched under his grip before Alan hastily stabilised them.

“What are you doing up there?” Virgil demanded.  “Be careful!”

“Letting my imagination fill in the blanks,” he lied – he was, in fact, keeping his imagination carefully blank.

“Is it that bad?” Alan interrupted before Virgil could find a fresh retort.  “Is he dying?”

Silence filled the cabin, and Gordon’s temper flared.

“You said he was stable!” he yelled.  “Dammit, Virgil, don’t lie to me about that!”

“I said critical but stable,” Virgil corrected.  “He is stable, Gordo, but…”  He trailed off, and Gordon glanced over at Alan to see his own growing panic mirrored back at him in blue eyes.

“He’s comatose,” John said quietly.

“What?” Alan yelped. Gordon stiffened, hands threatening to crush the yoke in his hands before he forcibly relaxed them.

“You didn’t think I might like to know that?” he growled, flashes of hospitals and white coats and bodiless voices stirring in the back of his mind before he trampled them down ruthlessly.  Not now. Silence answered him.  Clearly both his conscious older brothers knew they were in the wrong, and that whatever nonsense they fed him about not wanting to distract him while he was piloting wouldn’t pacify him in the slightest.

Alan’s face had gone white, big blue eyes focused on him, and he knew his younger brother was remembering the last time he’d had a family member in a coma – him.  He forced a smile for his benefit, which had about as much of an effect as any pacifying words John or Virgil might have tried to use.

“Why?” Alan asked, voice shaking.  “Who would do that?”

“Kayo and Lady Penelope are looking into it,” John told them.  “Whatever happened, they’ll find out.  I’ve got EOS doing some digging of her own, too.”

“But… is Scott going to be okay?” Alan pleaded, looking back at Gordon, who was clearly the resident expert on comas.  He remembered the fight for consciousness, pleading voices turning to resigned ones as they talked about their day yet again.  He remembered wanting to respond so badly but being trapped by his own body.

The idea of Scott going through that filled him with dread – if he even did.  Comas were different for different people, he’d found out later, when he’d torn through everything he could get his hands on in a desperate attempt to understand what had happened to him.  He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, except maybe the Hood but then even only in his blackest moods.  Scott had done nothing to deserve that.

“He’s a fighter,” was all he could say.

The hospital staff were ready and waiting for them when they finally arrived, a two hour flight that had felt far longer.  No sooner had he touched down and opened the module than they were swarming, hurrying Scott inside with Virgil hot on their heels, presumably talking doctor-speak and filling in anything they hadn’t already been briefed about.

Gordon and Alan were left in Thunderbird Two’s cockpit, watching out of the windows as their elder brothers vanished into the maw of the hospital.

“Do we follow them?” Alan asked after a moment.  Gordon looked at the doors with no small amount of dread, and shook his head.

“They won’t be allowing visitors just yet,” he said.  “Virgil will have a fight to stay with him, and he’s our medic.  We’ll just get shoved in a waiting room with sympathetic looks and no news.”

At least, that was the stories he’d heard from his brothers, regarding his own accident. International Rescue might have more weight than merely the Tracy name had back then, but a patient was a patient.

“Come home,” John said, popping up from the dashboard and looking them both over.  He looked tired, too, and Gordon wondered how much worse it was for him, stuck up in space and fully reliant on holograms to see Scott. At least the rest of them had been able to see – and touch – him.  It didn’t take much for Gordon to recall the thump-thump of a faint pulse beneath his fingers as he clung to the sign that he hadn’t lost anyone else.

Not yet, a nasty voice whispered in the back of his mind.  He silenced it sharply.

“But-” Alan protested, clinging to the edges of his seat as though it was the hoverstretcher carrying Scott’s limp body.

“Come home and get cleaned up,” John said firmly, reminding Gordon that he’d spent several hours in a wrecked plane with dead bodies.  It was hidden slightly better on Alan’s uniform, but a glance at his own showed red drying into brown on his yellow baldric.  “By the time we get back there, they might have news for us.”

“We?” Gordon locked onto, and John crossed his arms.

“I’m not staying up here waiting for news to trickle in,” he snapped, and Gordon raised his hands in surrender.

“Never said you were, big bro,” he soothed.

“What about the investigation?” Alan asked, even as he started flicking switches and preparing the massive craft for lift off once more.

“I’ve got EOS on that,” John replied.  Following Alan’s lead, Gordon took control of the massive Thunderbird again, her VTOLs roaring as they peeled away from their landing spot back into the sky.  “I’ll let Virgil know where you are once he gets in contact.”

“F.A.B.,” Gordon acknowledged.

He pretended it didn’t hurt to turn their back on the hospital where Scott lay comatose, but even if it fooled his brothers (doubtful), he couldn’t fool himself.

...tbc..?

[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.

[thedistantdusk]

Hi, I’m the nonny! Thank you for such a kind response, it means a lot. I was thinking the year she’s back at school post DH and they’re rebuilding their relationship and dealing with the distance after being together all summer. Thank you again, I hope you’re doing well during this crazy time!

Nonny, I can only hope this provides you a bit of happiness right now and that I addressed the prompt! :D I’m so sorry you’re going through this and that everyone will find peace.  HUGE thanks to @floreatcastellumposts for reading this a billion times and Brit-picking and @el-eye-zee-aye for the same, but not the British parts! ;D Also on AO3. Not pure smut, but definitely M! __________ Harry wasn’t here last year. 

But he followed her everywhere, anyway. 

She spent most of a school year with his memory lingering in the shadows of every corridor. She could almost see his hands in his pockets, his expectant smile stretching as she approached and then faltering as she passed. She was haunted by his graveled moans from the corners of the quidditch pitch, his sharp gasps beneath the tree on the lawn, his low, reverberating pleas in empty cupboards they knew so well. And she didn’t realize it at the time, but that kept her going, really... his silent presence. The revenant of what they’d been before the world fell to shit. 

There are a few reasons why Ginny doesn’t think much about Phantom Harry during the summer after the war. First, she knows it’s a bit pathetic that she constructed it — constructed him — out of a relationship that lasted three weeks... although she’d fight anyone to the death who dared describe it as such, themselves.

Second, she’s away from school for months and thus lacks a real trigger. And third, she finds that Real Harry is infinitely more fun — especially when he’s in her arms and in her bed and doing all the things he’d once promised he’d do... even though he hadn’t said he’d do those things, either. They’d been quiet Harry things, the sorts of things he’d said with his eyes while he’d stared at her like he was drinking her in. The sorts of things he’d conveyed with a trail of his fingertips or a low groan. The sorts of things that were no less tangible for remaining silent. 

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. So after a summer of learning and discovering and rebuilding, there’s no small irony that Ginny and Hermione must return to Hogwarts to learn, discover, and rebuild. They stand on the platform on September the first with their respective boyfriends and share hurried, awkward farewell snogs and promise to send filthy letters — all while pretending the other girl isn’t doing the same. Together, they then make the doleful journey to the school that hasn’t been their proper home in ages, regardless of when they visited last. Together, they start a new-old life that’s both alien and familiar, both dull and soothing. 

Ginny and Hermione grow closer too. As the days turn to weeks, Ginny wonders if they’re more compatible as friends now because Hermione’s finally loosened up just as Ginny’s started to take non-quidditch topics a bit more seriously. Living under Death Eater rule was roughly comparable to living with Tom in her head, but it nonetheless taught Ginny a series of valuable lessons about holding onto anger versus letting things go. 

This too, perhaps, is why it takes until a Hogsmeade visit in October for Ginny to realize what’s missing — or more aptly, who’s missing. 

Harry and Ron greet them just at the entrance of the Hogsmeade gates. Just like when they’d departed at the start of term, they each share awkward, hurried snogs of greeting and pretend they aren’t desperate for activities they can’t do in front of their siblings. 

Ron and Hermione, however, seem to take this social norm as a suggestion rather than a rule. Ginny vaguely hears them shuffle off behind a shrub, and Harry takes the cue to lift her against him, duck-walk them across a path, and put her down in the shadow of the apothecary, all without breaking a kiss. He smells warm and fresh, like broom polish and soap and Harry, and she doesn’t mind at all when she feels extra definition in the arms that he uses to caress the small of her back. Ginny’s not sure how long they spend snogging, but when Harry pulls back with a choked moan, his glasses fogged, she’s equally sure she can’t see straight, either.

“I erm. I got you a present,” he manages, Adam’s apple bobbing. 

Ginny thinks they’ve both underestimated how badly she wants him, though, because she immediately makes a joke about sex.

“I noticed,” she says dryly, brushing against the hardness pressing into her waist.

Harry chuckles. “That’s... a remarkably low bar to be considered a gift, Ginny. Someone should really talk to your boyfriend about giving you better presents.” 

“Oh, so you’ve met my boyfriend!” she says brightly. “Brilliant, I was dreading the awkward introduction.”

Harry pulls back to clear his glasses with a quick Impervius. “Yeah,” he says fairly, examining the lenses in the light. “I mean, I wouldn’t call us friends, but I hear he’s quite talented.” 

He slides his glasses back on and takes her hand. She has no idea where he’s taking her, but she doesn’t question his deliberate strides down the street.

“Mm,” she agrees, skipping a bit to keep up. “There are two main talents I can think of.”

“Oh?” Harry takes a distracted look around, like he’s searching for someone.

“First, coming back to life,” she says, giving his hand a grateful squeeze. Harry swallows and shoots her a soft, affectionate look from over his shoulder. 

“And the second?” he deadpans, his green eyes darkened with lust. Even while turned on, he has the nerve to know she’s setting him up for a joke. Unbelievable!

As they come to a stop outside Three Broomsticks, Ginny decides to make it a good joke, indeed. So she arches a brow and plainly enunciates, “Of course, the second talent would have to be eating—“

“—HEY!” Ron’s voice booms as Harry chortles into his palm. 

Ginny looks up, unperturbed, even as Harry falls to pieces. Ron and Hermione are standing a few meters ahead, each red-faced, each with their clothing askew. Harry rolls his eyes, but she knows exactly what he’s thinking: Just imagine how they’d look if she’d finished that thought. And they’d heard it.

Ron’s demeanor changes when he sees them… and for a split-second, Ginny’s afraid she has finished the thought, and he has heard her. As she and Harry walk closer, Ron loses his confident swagger, his face paling, his shoulders slouched; if Ginny didn’t know better, she’d say that her brother was thinking (very broadly) about the concept of her and Harry. Together. Because Merlin knows she’s seen that expression on his face more times than she can count. 

But when the four of them are standing nearly toe-to-toe, Ron sets his jaw in grim determination and peers over at Harry. “Did you tell her?” he mutters, squinting in the dying sunlight. 

Blegh. 

Now Ginny’s the one feeling queasy. She knows it makes her a bloody hypocrite, but she can’t handle hearing her brother’s voice all deep and scratchy, like he’s been groaning and moaning and—

“Erm, we never got the chance?” Harry says weakly. The corners of his lips twitch. “We were... a bit busy.”

Ron makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat as Ginny turns to Harry with narrowed eyes. “Tell me what?” 

Harry shrugs. “Like I said, I got you a present.” 

Ginny swats him on the chest. “I told you, I don’t need a present!” But then she drops her voice, leaning in to trail her finger along the seam of Harry’s jacket. “What I could use, though,” she murmurs, meeting his eyes, “is a good—”

“We have rooms at Three Broomsticks!” Harry blurts, loud enough for everyone to hear. Ron explodes with a swear and mutters something about “terrible fucking ideas,” and it’s not until then that the pieces in Ginny’s head slide into place. 

Oh! She glances at the pub behind them, which suddenly seems far more warm and welcoming than she’d ever thought. 

That’s… oh! 

But wait, no, something doesn’t quite— 

Ginny rips her head away from to peer over at Ron and Hermione, her eyes narrowed — and ahh, fuck, this whole this has been a sham! They definitely knew! She can read it on their bloody faces, can’t she, as they do that thing where they shuffle in place?  For two people allegedly good at strategy, they’re shit at hiding when they’ve been caught bang to rights. 

At least Ron has the decency to look a bit green at the gills as he peers in the direction of the pub, like he’s just realized — or perhaps just accepted — that Harry and Ginny are about to do what he and Hermione are about to do. Hermione, though, couldn’t seem more flush-faced and content, like she’s wearing her smugness as a badge of honor. Bloody morons, the pair of them… 

Ginny turns back to Harry with a raised pointer finger, her mind filled with questions (How long did Hermione know? Was Ron really involved in this process… really? Should I get used to this during these weekends?) but before she can ask any of them, he cuts her off with a nod towards the pub. 

“So erm... shall we?” Harry asks, his voice unexpectedly timid. Then he gives her that familiar sheepish grin as he rubs his hand on the back of his neck. 

Ron makes another disgusted sound from behind them — which Hermione quickly soothes with a murmur. 

And although Ginny would love to maintain an air of self-righteous indignation, she decides to let her boyfriend try this grand-gesture-chivalry-thing, after all.

 ________

The second they’re in the room, Harry shoves her against the door.

“Does McGonagall know?” Ginny demands with her last bit of brainpower as Harry’s mouth nibbles on her jaw. “Because I can’t... mmm... I imagine her being ok with—”

Harry replies with a startled laugh, but it seems the reminder of McGonagall has cooled his ardor a bit. 

“Not unless you plan to tell her!” he says darkly, taking out his wand. “But fair point, this place could probably be more secure.” Then — with one jacket sleeve dangling from his shoulder, his shirt halfway unbuttoned, and a visible bulge pressing against his trousers — Harry proceeds to very stoically cast a series of charms around the room, his eyes flitting from corner to corner. 

Ginny would laugh if she didn’t match his desperation. 

“No, no, I’m not really worried about that!” She sinks down to the bed to toe off her trainers. “I was just wondering if you’d got permission for us to stay a bit longer, but you answered my question. Anyway.” She waves her hand dismissively and unbuttons her jeans. “Why are you so paranoid? Everyone and their mum knows we’re shagging, Harry. You can’t expect that to be a secret!”

He gives a humorless chuckle and casts the contraceptive charm. “Yeah, but knowing in theory is a bit different from seeing my pasty white arse on the front page of The Prophet.” He puts his wand on the bedside table and shrugs his shirt off the rest of the way. “Trust me when I say that I’ve seen some shit these past two months, Ginny — and I don’t mean dark shit. I mean like, middle aged women who somehow find me delectable!” 

He shudders and he tugs off his jeans; Ginny wonders if he’ll ever accept what a fucking hero he is, but she answers her own question almost immediately: Of course he won’t. He never will. This is the man who saved the bloody world a few months ago, but never even thought to ask for permission to actually shag her overnight. 

Ginny bites her lip as he finishes undressing. He’s heartwarming and ridiculous at the same time, isn’t he? Harry. This person who’s carelessly sexy and sloppy and perfect... this person whose idea of a grand gesture involves hatching a plan with her brother. 

Then he lies down beside her with a timid smile that doesn’t match the arousal jutting out in front of him, and as he softly brushes the hair away from her face, Ginny will be damned if her heart doesn’t swell to a million times its size. 

__________

He fucks her deeply, passionately... the type of shagging she knew she was in for when she first heard about his plan. It’s the type where he stares into her eyes and watches with breathless wonderment as he makes her come — twice. It’s the type where she feels his heartbeat with his pulse as he finally spills himself inside her with a strangled roar. It’s the type of shag that sets her nerve endings on fire and steals her breath and makes her feel a startling sense of connection... to the universe. To her body. To her soul. 

But most importantly, to him. 

To Harry. Her Harry... the one with the racing, reckless mind and loose grasp on authority and suddenly defined arm muscles that he uses to roll them over until she’s lying on his chest. 

He came — and hard. She knows he came so hard that he’s scarcely breathing, so hard that his world is surely an array of pinpricks exploding in the darkness... but he’d never, ever be blind enough to forget about her. And as she lays there, her cheek pressed against his heart (the one that’s miraculously, somehow, still beating), a realization that’s been glinting at the edges of her mind slams into her like a ton of bricks: He hasn’t haunted her this year at all. 

Ginny exhales on a shudder and bites her lip, but his warm weight keeps her from slipping. He anchors her to earth, this Real Harry... the one she’d ached for and pined for and craved, but not as a figment of a memory. 

Her heart hammers, her pulse races, as she makes sense of it all. As she tries to come to terms with it. As she considers how to explain to her boyfriend that he’d once been everywhere (when he wasn’t happy), and how he’s now nowhere (when he is). 

Harry gets there first. 

“What’s wrong?” he rumbles, his hand coming up to stroke her hair. 

A smile lifts her left cheek, still flush against his chest. What else can she do, really, but smile? “Nothing’s... exactly wrong.” 

“Nothing exactly,” Harry agrees, threading a tendril through his fingers. “But seriously, Ginny, I know you a bit better than that by now.” He trails off with a chuckle that makes her head bounce, and she grins even more broadly; she loves the proof of him, the evidence he’s here. 

“Erm, you do know we’ve shagged quite a lot, yeah? Enough times for me to know what’s normal with you — and what’s not.” He shifts his thumb to brush her jawline and clears his throat with an air of formal importance. “So. If you’ve got any complaints about my performance, I highly recommend you formally share those with the HR department before—“

“—Last year was fucking horrible,” she breathes, her eyes trained on the far wall. 

The silence that follows is more deafening than if she’d shouted. In any other circumstance, she’d feel guilty for throwing at him without context. Now, though, she can’t stop... especially not when she hears his reassuring murmur. Not when she feels his hands grip her closer, wrapping around her middle. 

And with that, it’s like he’s uncorked a stopper; every bizarre, mortifying thing she did to keep him alive suddenly spills over. “So I guess I... I guess I pretended I saw you everywhere at Hogwarts — even though I didn’t do it on purpose — because even for me, that would be a bit much,” she babbles, her thoughts only half-formed. “For some reason you were in all the places we used to snog, and also everywhere else, and I don’t know...” She trails off with a huff that ruffles the hair around her face. “It just... I didn’t realize until now that I haven’t done that this year and how fucking pathetic that was while you were gone, and—”

“Hey!” Harry interrupts, his arms gripping her waist more tightly. “Of all the things you are, love?” He kisses the top of her head. “Pathetic doesn’t make the list. Not even close.”

Ginny gives a delirious laugh and shifts until she’s propped on her elbow; she’s seized with the desire to see him, to prove (again) that he’s more than a memory. She’s not disappointed with what she finds. Harry’s put his glasses back on, but they’re lopsided and smudged and unmistakably human. His grin is lazy and warm, the type she couldn’t make up, not even if she tried. His eyes are roving over her chest, his jaw tense, as he attempts to take her seriously even though she’s naked. 

“Anyway,” she adds, extending her finger to trail down his chest. “I guess it just hit me all once, that you haven’t, you know, been there. Even though I’ve missed you terribly.”

Harry arches a brow. “How terribly?” His hands start to dance up her side. “Please don’t spare the details, Ginny. A poor, lonely bloke needs something to go on.” 

She rolls her eyes. “You know damn well how bloody terribly! How many pairs of knickers have I sent?”

Harry clucks his tongue. “Not enough, I’m afraid,” he laments, brushing the underside of her breast. Then he peers up at her, his face stretched into a grin. “After all, it’s hard to top the red ones.” 

Ginny snorts before she can help it. Even though she’s naked — even though they’ve just shagged — she can’t help but feel vaguely abashed. “I still can’t believe I did that,” she mutters, running a hand down her face. “And more than once! For fuck’s sake, if my mother ever found out...”

Harry just laughs, shaking his head, but then something catches his eye behind her.

“Shit,” he swears, his eyes going wide, “is that really the time? We were supposed to be downstairs to meet them five minutes ago.” 

He gives her a final, moaning kiss before he leaps to his feet and searches for his clothes. Ginny rolls her eyes again as she begrudgingly flings the blankets off. Even after all the time, he’s still more terrified of her brother than anything else...

“A lot of doors will open the moment you realize you’re Harry fucking Potter, you know,” she says archly, reaching for her bra. “You could even, you know, ask to properly spend the night with your girlfriend!” 

Harry laughs from the corner of the room. “I do feel pretty terrible about shagging you and running off. But what can I say? You’re in school, and I’m training. It’s just not a good time.” 

“Mmm.” She flips her hair out over her cloak and turns to examine herself in the mirror. She’s a bit pink in the cheeks, a bit bright in the eyes — but if you didn’t know, you wouldn’t necessarily know. At least that’s what she tells herself when she considers facing McGonagall later tonight.

“Will the next Hogsmeade visit be a good time, then?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. “Because a girl could get used to this, Harry.” 

He shoots her reflection a surprisingly tender look before throwing his cloak on, too. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, darling. Assuming there isn’t too much drama at work.” 

“Shouldn’t be,” Ginny says fairly, “so long as we keep those middle-aged witches at bay.” She smirks and turns around to eye the red patches on his neck. “I think I’ve thoroughly marked you, but you never know...” 

Harry laughs and uselessly tries to run a hand through his hair. Ginny muses, not for the first time, that his unruly hair serves a purpose in times like these; no one can tell if he’s been shagged or not. 

With that in mind, she turns to the door with a skip in her step — but she quickly discovers Harry’s not on the same page. He’s suddenly become a bit contemplative, a bit sullen. His brow draws in a grimace as he kicks the floor with his trainer.  

“Erm… but seriously, Ginny,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’m sorry you went through that last year.” He winces again, staring at his cuticles, before he turns to her with a shrug. “I’m glad I’m not there anymore, though. You seem… happier.” 

“Definitely happier,” she confirms, taking a step forward. “Definitely. With real you.” 

A ghost of a smile flits across Harry’s lips as he takes her hand. Ginny just leans into his warmth. Leans into him. Desperate to prove — again — how real he is. 

“I’m quite fucking in love with you, actually,” Harry murmurs, eyes still focused on their joined hands. “Even if I can only show it by shagging you in hotel rooms every few months.” 

He pulls back with a reluctant sigh, and when he peers at her again, his eyes are filled with so much love and devotion and compassion that she could cry.

If she were the sort who did that, of course. Which she’s not. 

Right. 

So Ginny pushes down the swell of emotion, the warring forces of pleasure and pain, the feeling of the past meeting the present… and opts to torture him, instead. She rises to her tiptoes, drapes her arms around his neck, and leans in to deliver the final blow.

“You only visit me when I touch myself,” she whispers, nibbling at the shell of his ear. 

And in retrospect, Ginny will accept that Harry’s answering groan was 100% worth the snide looks she got from Hermione the rest of the night. 

[popwasabi]

The monster of “Shin Gojira” is government incompetence

I know it doesn’t feel like it but we’re just three months away from March again.

It’s been almost a year now since the beginning of quarantine, when the world had to be shut down due to the escalating nature of COVID-19 and things have…largely only gotten worse.

In the US specifically.

On March 13th we had 2,204 cases of COVID in the United States and a total of 49 deaths.  Today we have 14 MILLION cases across the country and currently 274,000 plus deaths. To put that in perspective we have nearly as many cases of COVID in the US alone as there are people in the cities of Los Angeles, New York, San Francisco, and Chicago combined and we’re experiencing a 9/11’s worth of new deaths every day.

This is not even to mention the economic strain the pandemic has put the country under. Lockdowns and quarantines, without supplemental income to bolster those losses have led to closures, massive unemployment, people running deeply behind on their rent, and crushing debt for many if not buried in medical costs from being infected. Common people are trying their best to navigate a year unlike any other and are largely floundering with little to no help in sight.

And all this can be chalked up to one culprit in particular: our government’s incompetence.

(Remember all that fuss made about “breadlines” in the global south back during grade school?)

From the beginning when this virus first reared its ugly head in 2020, not enough was done to prepare the country for what would come next. Call it hubris or American Exceptionalism, but our government just was not taking it seriously as the President boasted cases would just “disappear” after late February and our leaders largely pretended it either was a) not a big deal or b) would never be a big deal.

Nearly nine months later senate Republicans still think another massive bailout for the nation’s richest coporations is the way to go, all while giving us $1,200 band aid for our troubles.

And make no mistake, the Dems have hardly been guiltless during this crisis themselves.

(“It’s a biiiiiig club, and you ain’t in it...” ~ George Carlin.)

As we see other countries largely find ways to navigate around COVID and create a safe environment where some normalcy can be maintained it becomes increasingly clear to anyone who isn’t a psychopath that the US has grossly mishandled this threat from the beginning. It’s a slow moving disaster that could’ve largely been avoided if our leaders gave a damn and it feels increasingly like we’re all just going to get the virus at some point because there’s virtually no structural safeguard in place to protect us.

This lamenting of the futility of our government’s response to crises is the central theme of one of my favorite monster movies of all-time; “Shin Gojira” (or “Godzilla Resurgence” for American audiences). Directed by “Neon Genesis Evangelion’s” own Hideaki Anno, “Shin Gojira” tells a similar story of a literal slow-moving disaster in the form of titular atomic fire lizard rising from the Pacific Ocean to decimate Japan once again and how the government poorly responds to it.

For most Americans, Godzilla is something of a joke as a movie character.

He’s Japan’s version of King Kong, a great fire-breathing reptile for thousands of random Japanese to scream “AAAAHHH! GODZILLA!!!” at while a man in a rubber suit knocks down model buildings for two hours. For several decades, he was even a bit of a superhero for children; the good monster who fought bad monsters like King Ghidorah, Gigan, and Hedorah.

The newer American remakes by Legendary Studios have not done much to change this perception. In these films, Godzilla is again depicted as a “titan” for the people doing battle with the bad titans set with people in mo-cap suits duking it out in front of greenscreens that create elaborate cities for the monsters to stampede through.

It is just not that deep to most people and who could blame them? Godzilla is cheap popcorn escapism for most audiences and most of his films see him as such.

(“Wait you mean to tell me this isn’t serious theater??”)

But Godzilla has a much darker origin, however. 1954’s original “Gojira” isn’t some cheap monster flick; it’s an allegory for the atomic bomb and the terror it brought upon the people of Japan. At the time of its release the Japanese hadn’t really reckoned with what happened in WWII, it was a source of deep shame and horror and it broke the spirits of many back then. After an atomic bomb test accidentally radiated the crew of a Japanese fishing boat in 1954, director Ishiro Honda became inspired to create the King of the Monsters after Japan’s own government largely mishandled the fallout. The film was a huge hit and Japanese audiences were moved by the dark allegorical nature of the story.

With “Shin Gojira” Anno brings Godzilla back to this grimmer tone. He was inspired by the events of 2014’s Fukushima nuclear plant disaster and how the Japanese government once again failed to act in a major crisis. Through his 2016 film, Anno aimed to depict the slow moving nature of a developing disaster quite literally with the character of Godzilla and how a crisis can only get worse and worse if left largely unchecked by those tasked to protect us.

(Hardly Hideaki Anno’s first forray into movies about crises, of course, but that’ll be for another write-up. Stay tuned...)

Godzilla begins in “Shin Gojira” as a small, destructive, but ultimately killable lifeform as he appears in the waters off Tokyo Bay. His beady, soulless eyes, tadpole like form, oozing putrid toxic blood everywhere through his malformed gills are pretty gross and Anno directly references Fukushima as the beast creates a tidal wave as he makes his way toward land in the opening sequence.

Meanwhile as Godzilla causes horrific damage to the city in this small (comparatively to earlier films) but powerful form, the Japanese Government tries to put an end to it. But as they try to address the escalating nature of the problem, bureaucracy gets in the way at every turn. Through the use of fast cuts and dark humor, Anno creates his own “Dr. Strangelove” set of scenes as Japanese politicians scramble from one board room to another to weigh options in cold math against the very real people who are fleeing for their lives as they debate with one another. Anno, doesn’t go out of his way to depict anyone as explicitly the villain here, but he does make it very apparent that when government officials refuse to accept the reality of a crisis people die. In a scene that is played partially for laughs, that feels all too relevant and frankly on the nose now, the Prime Minister addresses Japan on TV by assuring the people that there is “no way” Godzilla can make landfall and everyone will be safe. Moments later he is interrupted on live TV as Godzilla has in fact made landfall.

(Yea and he’s one ugly motherfucker in this movie too...)

Early in the film though, as Godzilla has done already immense damage in his adolescent form, Japan’s government has a chance to kill the monster once and for all by mobilizing the Japanese Self-Defense Force (JSDF) a move, that if you are not familiar with Japanese politics, is rife with concerning optics. The moment comes where Japan’s government can pull the trigger and kill the threat once and for all but in another, darkly humorous, turn of events decide not to as some nearby citizens who could be caught in the crossfire become a hazard for the JSDF. Godzilla goes back into the sea from there and Japan is left to pick up the pieces.

In the early months of the COVID lockdown, things appeared to slowdown. From about April to June, those states that took the virus seriously at the start saw some plateauing of the daily cases. While hardly a victory, things at least appeared to be going in the right direction. Then inexplicably in July a bunch of states declared premature victory and began reopening back up in certain areas such as gyms, salons, and some restaurants. I wouldn’t say we had the virus on the ropes but we were trending generally in the right direction (though nothing was really being done about loss of employment and cancelling rent and evictions, of course…). So, in a moment when the government could’ve kept trying, mostly at least, to do the right thing they failed to keep going and pull the trigger.

And just like in the movie, COVID (ie: Godzilla) came back stronger and even worse than before.

(Again, just the ugliest motherfucker...)

After the JSDF failed to kill Godzilla in the opening act, the big guy returns later on in the movie having evolved into his more indestructible final form. Where the JSDF’s weapons may have had an effect before they find their tanks, helicopters, and other military hardware have no effect on Godzilla now. It is too late to stop what is now inevitable. Godzilla walks literally through it all, causing waves of destruction with each step and Japan’s government watches in horror as they lament their failure to stop him when they had the chance.

This failure comes to its ultimate head in the final moment of this sequence when Godzilla revs up his dorsal fins and unleashes his horrifying atomic breath. It’s more powerful than anything he has done previously and absolutely wastes Tokyo in a brilliant display of raw destruction that is honestly one of the best most terrifying sequences in Kaiju filmmaking ever.

Godzilla is best used in cinema when he is a titan-sized walking metaphor for the destruction that happens when governments fail their people. Where the recent American Godzilla depicts him as a force of nature, like a walking hurricane, Ishiro Honda and Hideaki Anno see him more as a vengeful God coming to punish the wicked for their sins or, in the case of the government, their incompetence.

If COVID is a metaphor for anything this year, it is a microcosm for a wide range of problems that go unaddressed for too long by our leaders and only given notice when it’s far too late. Climate Change continues to get worse and worse each year as I am quite literally choking on ash as I type this due to yet another wildfire in the California area. The riots that erupted over the summer and continue to go on in response to the gross militaristic, overfunded, and racist structure of law enforcement in this country are the result of decades of not doing the right thing to curb the problem. The reason we are by far the worst equipped first world country to handle this crisis right now is quite literally due to years of gutting our social safety net, slashing our wages, and privatizing our health insurance.

Though there is a wide range of Japanese specific politics in the film, “Shin Gojira” is an unfortunately timeless film for people who have suffered from leaders who fail to act in moments like these. It shows what happens when our government drags its feet on transformative legislation and actual measures that can save lives. It criticizes our leaders for choosing to save themselves in the moment, with performative optics, over helping their own people. It argues that the results of bureaucratic red tape and bad politics will always end in disaster for its citizens. And most relevantly it states that governments have a duty to stop a crisis in its infancy before it’s too late.

“Shin Gojira” is a perfect monster film for the year of COVID and distressingly accurate to the way the US has mishandled this crisis from the beginning. Everyday, more and more people suffer and die because our leaders have failed to act in an unprecedented time, whether it’s the usual suspects who think any government social service is “cOmMuNiSm” or the feckless cowards who twiddle their thumbs and shrug each time a conservative tells them “no.”

We are far past the stage where this can be solved the easy way anymore and though there are still many proven ways to help the common people right now, it unfortunately feels like 2020’s Godzilla cannot be stopped…

Yea, things will totally get better in 2021, guys...

[what-if-i-imagine]

Curiosity Killed the Catfish

“Roy Harper has always believed in the merpeople, just like his father. The only problem is, he's never seen one. Lucky for him, this little mer happens to be too curious for his own good.”

My first fic for MerMay, hope you enjoy!

Roy had grown up with bits and pieces of stories about the ones who lived in the water. It started with his father, a forest ranger who Roy had few blurry memories of, all of which were lesions about the forest around them. One lesson of his that had always stuck out was his talk about creatures who lived in the lakes.

“They are shy creatures who only come out once every blue moon to satisfy their curiosity. They’re even more curious than cats, but are even smarter as they never get caught,” he remembered the man saying as he tucked him into bed. It was one of the few memories of his birth father that was perfectly intact.

Brave Bow cared for him after the fire for a long time until he got sick. He taught Roy of water people who had long run from the forest to the oceans, the lakes having grown too small and ruined by the humans for them. From his teaching Roy gained a strong stance on water pollution and a distaste for public beaches. According to Brave Bow, they were to live with respect and compassion to their companionship with the water people. The way the world was, the way humans had ruined the lakes and chased the water people to the oceans, it made Roy’s blood boil every time he thought of it.

Then there was Oliver Queen.

Roy had been adopted by Oliver after Brave Bow’s passing. The billionaire had explained to Roy that he wished to get his life together, to be a better person, and being a father might give him that opportunity. Oliver, just like his natural father and foster father before, had an odd fascination and love of the lake creatures and water people, who he referred to as mers. He claimed a mer saved his life not too long before he adopted Roy, and it was what put his life into perspective for him.

Roy never once doubted any of his three father figures. Even as he grew up and his peers told him mers were as real as Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, Roy held onto their teachings and stories. He held onto his beliefs in living in companionship with the water people, and kept an eye out any time he was around a body of water for the curious lake creatures, and every time Oliver took him to the Queen private beach, he would spend at least an hour of their day searching for the mer who had saved Oliver.

As he got older, Roy found himself wandering down to the beach alone more and more. Oliver was a busy man, and he had very important things to do, but that didn’t stop Roy from throwing himself a pity party every time his guardian was gone. Although his belief in mers never wavered, his energy to find them did, and he spent his lonely days at the private beach just watching the waves go by.

Roy laid down in the land and stared up at the clouded sky. It was one of those days that he knew even if he went to the public beach there would be few people there, most of them spending the glum summer day doing indoor activities. He enjoyed these days the most, when he knew even if Oliver came home early, he would never think to find Roy here. He could be alone and content in his own thoughts and not have to worry about Oliver, Dinah or Hal breathing down his neck after last year’s events.

He turned his head in time to see a family of robins land nearby. He recalled one of Brave Bow’s teaching of the birds’ migration, and wondered if they were going to stay in Washington for the summer with him or if they were just taking a rest on their way to Alaska.

One of the younger robins was limping about, and after watching for a few minutes, Roy spotted the problem.

Very slowly, he made his way towards the robins, being careful not to startle them. What seemed like the oldest robin was seemingly trying to help his brother, but the injured bird kept flinching away. When Roy got closer, the younger robins started to eye him suspiciously, but the oldest and injured robins were unfazed and almost welcoming to his presence.

Carefully he reached out a hand and allowed the injured robin to limp into his palm. Just as he suspected, a thorn was stuck in the bird’s wing.

“You need to be more careful, you know,” he whispered as he examined the wing for any severe injury. “We don’t want a pretty bird like you falling from the sky.”

The bird winced when he pulled the thorn out. It took a moment, but soon it started to move its wing just like new again, chirping happily.

Roy let the robin back down by its family, and smiled as he watched them all celebrate their brother being okay. The little birds ended up flying away soon after, and Roy went back to staring at the clouds as they passed by.

“Stupid rock!” a voice shouted, startling Roy out of his calm.

He got up quickly and started his slightly panicked search for the source of the voice. This was a private beach, after all, he should have been completely alone. He followed the grunts and hisses of annoyance until he reached the small cave he used to hide in when playing hide-n-seek with Oliver.

Roy took off his shoes and shirt and dived into the water, swimming around for the entrance to the cave. There inside, he found something just above the water’s surface that made his heart stop. Or more, someone.

The last time he had been in the cave was when him and Oliver decided to hide a small treasure chest as a joke. The chest hadn’t contained anything interesting, just a few broken arrow heads, chocolate gold coins, saltwater taffy and a necklace Roy had made from one of the broken arrow heads. They had made it to try and lure a mer to the cave, but never actually checked to see if it did. He had honestly completely forgotten the chest existed until that moment.

Now he stared at the shelf of rock where they had tucked it away and saw that the treasure chest had completed its purpose.

Right there on the rock just below the chest’s hiding place, a boy a few years younger than Roy sat trying to get his shimmering white tail out from under a heavy rock.

Roy was sure the boy was the most lovely thing he had ever seen. His tail reminded him of opal, white but still shimmering with a rainbow of colors as light caught on the scales. Gills the same color as his tale with opal patterns sat on his neck, and opal fins peaked out from his curly black hair.

“Are you just going to stand there and stare, or are you going to help me?” the mer snapped. Roy startled, his eyes meeting the mer’s, and struggled not to start staring again at how stunningly blue they were.

“Well?” the mer asked, irritation layering his voice, and something else Roy couldn't quite place. “You put that chest there, right? Which means it’s your fault I’m stuck here.”

“Is it really?” Roy asked with a small smirk, regaining his wits. He understood what that thing in the mer’s voice was. He was embarrassed, “I think it was your curiosity that got you stuck up there, so technically it’s your fault.”

The mer’s face went red and he looked away, going back to struggling with the rock, “If you aren’t going to help, then leave.”

“Telling me to leave my own property? That’s a ballsy move for someone who obviously needs my help.

The mer huffed but didn’t say anything more. Roy watched for a little longer as he tried to push at the rock then swam over and climbed up to sit beside the mer.

“I’m going to lift it off. When I do, dive off the rock to the water,” Roy instructed. The mer looked at him uncertanly then down to the water. When he looked back he just nodded.

Roy counted down and heaved the rock up. As soon as it was off his tail, the mer pushed up off the rock and dove down into the water. Roy dropped the rock and dove down after him, hitting the water just as the mer resurfaced.

“Thanks,” the mer mumbled.

“Don’t mention it. It’s not every day I get to save a mer’s life,” Roy grinned.

“That’s because we’re usually too busy saving your lives to need saving,” the mer rolled his eyes.

“Sorry to break it to you, but I’ve never been saved by a mer,” Roy said.

“I meant your father,” the mer said. “My dad has had to save him from drowning twice. It’s getting a little ridiculous.”

Roy froze then and just stared. This was the son of the mer who saved Oliver’s life?

“I guess I owe your dad an apology then. And a few thank yous.”

“He was just doing his job. He likes protecting humans,” the mer shrugged. Roy barely caught it, but his eyes flashed up to look at the treasure chest again.

“You aren’t going to try and get to the chest again, are you?” Roy asked.

The mer turned bright red again and snapped his eyes back to Roy, “Of course not!”

Roy raised an eyebrow and watched the mer sink a little. He definitely wasn’t going to try again, but Roy could tell he wanted to see.

With a smile, Roy swam over to the cave wall and started his climb up to the shelf. It wasn’t a very hard climb, it had been much more difficult when he was younger and smaller and didn't have as much upper body strength as he did now. He reached the chest in no time, then was climbing back down with it in one arm.

The mer curiously followed him to a flat rock in the cave that they could both sit on. He tilted his head, eyes shining with questions, and Roy had to suppress his own blush from the somersaults it made his heart do.

“There’s nothing really interesting in it,” Roy said as he opened the chest and handed it off to the mer. “Just a bunch of junk.”

“Junk?” the mer said in a voice that clearly said he didn’t believe him. His eyes sparkled and his lips grew into a wide smile that satisfied his earlier curiosity. “This isn’t junk, this is awesome!”

“You think so?” Roy asked with an amused smile as he rummaged through the chest.

“Of course I think so, just look at it!” the mer said. He pulled a handful of chocolates out of the chest and looked up to Roy. “These are edible, aren't they? I think I saw people on the beach eating them once.”

“You have to take off the foile first,” Roy said, taking one to demonstrate. When he had it unwrapped he popped it in his mouth and fought a grimace. It was salty and hard after so long of sitting in the cave, but when the mer ate it, he made it look like the greatest thing in the world.

“It’s chocolate,” Roy said, swallowing it down without any more chewing. He didn’t want to spit it out and ruin the mer’s fun.

“I’ve never had chocolate,” the mer said. “It’s delicious.”

“This is nothing compared to the fresh stuff,” Roy said. “I’ll have to bring you some someday.”

“And how do you think you’ll do that?” the mer asked with an unimpressed look. “You aren't even supposed to know I exist.”

“Well, no one can say anything if I accidentally left a bar of chocolate out on a rock after a long day of swimming,” Roy shrugged.

The mer smiled softly and looked down at the treasure chest, dark curls falling into his face. He sat the rest of the coins back in it and pulled out two pieces of taffy, wordlessly handing Riy one before eating his own.

“What are these?” the mer asked, pulling out a few of the arrow heads.

“They’re from me and my dad’s arrows,” Roy said. “We both love archery, so we come down here to shoot some arrows from time to time. A few of our arrows broke and those are their heads.”

“And this?” the mer pulled out the necklace.

“Well that’s yours,” Roy said with a smirk. He took it from the mer and placed it over his head to hang around his neck.

“What do you mean it’s mine?” the mer asked in wonder, staring down at the arrowhead that rested between his collar bones.

“I made it and now I’m giving it to you,” Roy nodded. “That way you never forget about the human who rescued you.”

“I don’t think I could forget something like that,” the mer said then looked up to him. “Thank you.”

“It’s been my pleasure,” Roy said.

The mer seemed to hear something outside of the cave that roy didn’t, his fin ears twitching slightly as he listened. Roy focused and managed to hear a voice he didn’t recognize calling for someone outside the cave.

“That’s my dad,” the mer whispered when he turned back to Roy. “I have to go, he wouldn’t be happy if he found me here.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Roy said in place of a goodbye. The mer nodded and pushed off the rock, disappearing into the water.

With an even wider smile than before, Roy placed the chest on another shelf in the wall, this one lower down so that the mer could reach it if he ever came back.

Roy swam out of the cave and back to shore, drying off a little before redressing. It was getting dark, and Oliver was going to be worried if he wasn’t home soon.

The moment he started to walk away from the water’s edge, a voice stopped him.

“Wait,” the mer called, swimming up as close as he could. Roy smiled and pulled his shoes off again to walk into the water and meet him halfway.

Without a word, the mer reached out and put a necklace on over Roy’s head. Before Roy could say anything, the mer leaned in and kissed his cheek, so softly the only way Roy knew it had happened was the tingle of the salt water where his lips had been.

“So you never forget about the mer you rescued,” the mer said. “My name is Jason, by the way.”

“I’m Roy,” he whispered back.

“Goodbye Roy,” the mer smiled, and just like that, was gone.

Roy looked down at the necklace. It was simple, with an opal hanging from it that caught the light in the reflection of the water.

When he told Oliver about his day and showed him the necklace, Oliver gave him a smile but didn’t say anything.

No matter how old he got, Roy would never stop believing in the curious mers. And he would never forget the feeling of salty lips pressed to his cheek.

[bigskydreaming]

Ok so everyone and their mama is being resurrected on Krakoa and so many people in marvel have gone through the revolving door that is death. So please tell me just one little thing. Where is Irene Adler? Is she still dead? If not, then why is she only just now being brought back? Why is one of the most iconic imo queer couples still suffering? #GiveMystiqueHerWife #LetMyWLWBeHappy #BringDestinyBack

She is still dead, but she hasn’t been forgotten - this is actually a long-running subplot Marvel laid down, though I’m with you in wanting them to Get To It already. My guess is we’ll start to see more building towards this particular plotline once X of Swords is done, though it won’t actually be the NEXT major storyline. Just a hunch, but my bet is the next focal storyline the X-books concentrate on after X of Swords wraps up is the conflict brewing with the Children of the Vault, after Darwin, Laura and Synch got taken prisoner by them in one of the earlier issues of the core X-Men title. 

Alternatively, the next major focus is going to be on what’s brewing under the surface with Vulcan (though its also possible these are going to be one and the same. Gabe’s stories have always been linked with Darwin’s more than anyone else, and given that he’s front and central to whatever’s front and central with whatever’s coming with the CotV, it wouldn’t surprise me if our next face to face with Gabe’s ‘dark side’ ties into that same story. Ugh, Gabe going all Emperor Vulcan again and teaming up with the Children of the Vault....now there’s a scary thought. But dammit, just let Gabe be good, I’m so tired of this ‘there’s something just innately dark and evil inside of him’ crap, bleh. BUT I DIGRESS).

But anyway, the thing with Destiny is actually an ongoing subplot. Back in Powers of X, it was explicitly ‘decided’ by Moira, Xavier and Magneto that they were actively going to try and keep any precogs from being resurrected on Krakoa, including - and ESPECIALLY Irene - because basically, they’re afraid of the precogs, and the fact that there’s no hiding from them Xavier’s big secret.....for all his big talk, he doesn’t actually know what the HELL he’s doing. The thing they’re hiding from everyone else is that they actually already TRIED the Great Krakoa experiment at least once before, or at least to some degree, though we do know they’ve done at least some things differently this time around. 

But that was the future shown in Powers of X, where Moira ended up living 1000 years into the future before dying and resetting the timeline....and coupled with the fact that the three of them believe that they’re now on the LAST of Moira’s predicted eleven lifetimes, this is their last chance to ‘get it right’ so to speak, and to find a way forward that allows the mutant race to survive and flourish past any of the endpoints Moira’s previous lives and foreknowledge have shown....

Basically, the fear seems to be that if everyone else on Krakoa knew this background for how they came up with all of this and the futures they’re trying to avoid, as well as the fact that quite simply, they do not know if the course they’ve charted this time is going to be any more capable of circumventing the doom they keep butting up against lifetime after lifetime....this would undermine all faith in them and what they’re doing, and fracture the tenuous alliances that so far have everyone from the X-Men to Apocalypse and Sinister and Selene all working side by side. 

They ‘built’ modern Krakoa according to blueprints gleaned from actual knowledge of the future.....but they’re afraid of competing blueprints getting in the way of the road they’ve taken everyone down and derailing their own plan of action. Especially if everyone else were to find out that for all their confidence, they can’t say with certainty the road this time around is going to actually lead where they’re trying to go....and that in fact, they actually have a track record of a good half a dozen previous attempts where they got it disastrously wrong.

So even though Xavier explicitly promised Raven that he would resurrect Irene in exchange for her cooperation and her place on the Quiet Council.....he, Magnus and Moira have been shown meeting in secret to say that they are actually deadset against that happening. But Raven is no fool of course, and she’s suspected from the start that Xavier’s just playing her, and he has no intention of ever resurrecting Irene. (I mean, she was married to the man once, after all, as blergh as that Bendis-bite was. I may think it made for a spectacularly shitty and pointless story, but just saying, few people know how much shit Xavier is full of better than Mystique does). 

So we’ve been treated to scenes of Raven brooding deep in her underground Krakoan lair over a glance of wine and an angsty look at Irene’s old mask, vowing “I’ll get you yet, Xavier, and your little dog too,” because idk, why pass up a good Wicked Witch of the West allusion when its right there. Mystique works hard for her Brand, let her enjoy it.

She definitely knows the game that’s afoot, and she has no intention of letting Xavier get away with it. So she’s very clearly scheming on how to circumvent him and get the Five to resurrect Irene without Xavier’s help....but that’s easier said than done. She either needs leverage to force his hand, while still probably not knowing for sure WHY he’s stalling or trying to avoid bringing back Irene, and thus having no way to judge exactly HOW deadset against it he is, and thus how great of leverage she’d actually need to pull that off...or else, she needs a telepath she can trust (or y’know, trust that she has them securely in her pocket) but who also is strong enough to take Xavier’s place in the resurrection/brain download process....as well as needing access to the Cerebro archives where the back-ups of everyone’s consciousnesses are stored. 

(Incidentally, part of how Xavier’s been stalling here is he’s claimed once or twice that he only has back-ups stored of mutant consciousnesses from the point when he started actually preserving them, and Irene died BEFORE he started doing this so he just doesn’t have her in Cerebro, but this is pretty blatantly a lie. He brought back Petra and Sway, after all, and they very definitively died LONG before David killed Irene on Muir Island back in the day).

But yeah, I’m as impatient as anyone to see Irene back in action in all her chaotic cryptic glory, and for Raven/Irene to finally fucking rise the way they deserve. And oh holy hell is Raven’s wrath going to be an absofuckinglutely beautiful thing once she finally has her proof that Xavier - her ex-husband, lol, oh X-Men soap opera tangles - has been lying and scheming to keep her wife dead all this time. Like she’s literally said the words “I will burn Krakoa to the ground,” and I mean, its Raven. When she talks about razing Rome to ashes, she’s not joking. The woman does not bluff. She lies, she deceives, she steals, but she never ever fucking bluffs. There’s a big storm coming here and this particular one’s name is Hurricane Raven, not Ororo Munroe. I want it, and I want it nooooooooooow, lol, but I can’t actually claim that this has been overlooked by Marvel rather than just allotted a time table that isn’t to my liking because - 

OH I DON’T KNOW ITS NOT LIKE WE HAVEN’T ALREADY BEEN WAITING FOR THE RETURN OF IRENE ADLER FOR 84 BAJILLION FUCKING YEARS ALREADY, LIKE LOGAN HAS LITERALLY GONE TO HELL AND BACK A DOZEN TIMES SINCE IRENE FIRST EXITED PURSUED BY BEAR AND JEAN’S ASCENDED AND DE-PHOENIXED SO MANY TIMES DEATH HAS BASICALLY HANDED HER A PUNCH CARD THAT’S REDEEMABLE FOR ONE FREE RESURRECTION AFTER ITS ALL FULL AND C’MOOOOOOON. 

I mean.

WILDSIDE is back. After dying in Neverland in Tieri’s Weapon X run, RICHARD FREAKING GILL was brought back to life before IRENE FUCKING ADLER, I would simply like to express my undying HOOOOOOWWWWW??? to that. 

BUT.

I.

DIGRESS.

Ahem. Sorry, I just have very strong opinions on the subject of Irene, lololol. And well, everything. I probably have strong opinions on kumquats and I can’t actually recall at the moment if I’ve ever even eaten one or if I’m just particularly fond of that word and the saying of it. Look, you get what I mean.

Anyway, yeah. We’re getting Irene back eventually. There’s absolutely no way we’re not at this point. Even my cynicism can’t pretend otherwise. They haven’t just left Chekhov’s gun locked and loaded sitting on the mantlepiece here, they commissioned an entire arsenal of Chekhov’s guns and renamed them Irene Adler’s guns in her honor and left them all gift-wrapped on the front porch. Its coming. Its just not. Here YET. (Cut to me being a five year old on a long car ride are we there yet are we there yet are we there yet how bout now - )

So yeah. That’s the scoop, the skinny, the shit(ake mushroom) on this particular subject.

Incidentally, on a related note, I am still of the opinion that pretty much all of Powers of X was one giant red herring, and the real direction all of this is building towards, with Moira, with the Five and the resurrection protocols.......ultimately, I think its all really been about IRENE’S machinations from the start, and Moira and Charles have actually been marching to the beat of HER drum ever since the very first time Irene and Moira encountered each other way back in Moira’s fourth lifetime.

Basically, I think it allllllllll really comes back to the fact that....

Irene Adler is a beautiful fucking liar who lies as only Raven Darkholme’s One True Love possibly can, and she played Moira like a fiddle from Day Fucking ONE.

Full theory on that can be found here:

https://bigskydreaming.tumblr.com/post/188290623176/so-house-of-x-2plot-hole-or-lie-when-destiny

[antecedentlypod]

EPISODE 5 TRANSCRIPT

[OPENING MUSIC]

[FISH LAUGHS EXCITEDLY]

FISH

I think that today, I will cause problems on purpose! 

Ummmm… Okay. [unintelligible muttering] Uh—here we go. [she clears her throat] I don’t… remember how he does his intro.

[Clearly and with intent] Siren’s Song.

FISH (STORY)

Your name is Harmony. A bit on the nose, maybe, you like it just fine. After all, you picked it out yourself, didn’t you? Yes, because before it had been Piper, and Jane before that, and Cicily before it was anything else at all. And now, you’re Harmony, and the lights are bright downtown and you are so very far from home. Do you miss the sea? Do you miss the biting air and the feel of the salt embedding itself beneath your skin until you can’t tell the difference between it and your veins? Of course, you do. But most of all, you miss a good and proper meal.

Your name is Harmony, and you are dancing until your feet ache. You can’t remember the name of the club, just that the music is loud and you know the girls on stage. They smile back at you and for a moment, under the strobe light that matches the pounding in your head, you can nearly see the gills or the flash of a feather. And faintly, beneath the base and the shouting, you can hear them sing along.

Their name is Adah. They’re dancing alongside you, against you, everywhere. They grin and ask something you can’t quite hear over the music but you nod anyway. You can tell they’re the sort of folk that’s there most nights and they’ve coated their face in wonderful, pink glitter. They’re swaying and jumping along to the music perfectly in sync with the way it’s entranced them. It’s then that you know exactly what they’d asked for when you reach into your back pocket and slip out a little tab. It’s got something or another printed on it you don’t remember. It’s whatever they want it to be. They laugh and stick out their tongue when they see it and you shake your head, and you lead them to the bathroom. They skip behind you and keep a hand on your waist the whole way down. They don’t seem to notice how boney it’s become. 

You come out of the bathroom Adah-less and pleased. Your hunger is quenched for the time being, although you do feel awfully sorry for whoever wanders in there next. You let the tab sit on your own tongue, and then you’re off again, waiting for someone to get just this side of too close. You rather like it at the clubs and cabarets—easy pray and all, but it isn’t long before the inky black floods the streets and you decide that that’s much more their playground than yours.

And so, his name is Markus. He plays the guitar, albeit rather poorly, and he sings with confidence rather than skill. You found a flyer for his show on a telephone pole in the city, and you talked to him at the small merch stand afterward. Markus… Markus wants to be a star.

So, your name is Harmony and suddenly, you’re an agent.

He shakes your hand with a broad grin and babbles about how excited he is to be working with you. You invite him over to talk business and he agrees to Wednesday afternoon after his shift at a nearby sandwich shop. He doesn’t notice when you lick your lips in excitement. Days come and go, but nothing really matters but the approaching promise of company. Wednesday comes slowly like a watched pot, but still; there’s a knock at your door. He stands beaming and clutching a tattered guitar case, shifting feet before the porch while he goes on and on about his day and such. You aren’t really listening, 

“Enough chit-chat,” you tell him, “let’s get to it then.” So you clear your throat, and then you’re singing the sweetest song he’s ever heard. “All you have to do is sign right here and I can make all your dreams come true, Mr. Cunningham. I can put a good word in with the right people, I can get your name out there. Really, it won’t be long before everyone knows your name. And that’s what you want, isn’t it? 

“Aw, poor Markus, no one’s ever known your name, have they? Even your father called you champ when he forgot. Last picked in gym, always having to partner up with the teacher, or making a group of three with best friends that glare at you what you do a bulk of the project. Not anymore. They’ll be in the front row at your concert. Screaming your name. I can make you a God.”

That’s more than enough to get him inside, that lovely glazed look in his eye all the way up the steps. You’re on him before the door is even fully shut. Teeth meet flesh and tear like scissors through wrapping paper, the hope in his blood making it taste that much sweeter. Your wings unfold and lift you high enough to descend upon his face, gnawing it down to bone and relishing the way his tongue slides whole down your throat. After some short time, The bones of Markus Cunningham lay licked clean and dry on the floor of this months’ home. 

You really ought to stop making such a mess.

Your name is Harmony and this month, you’re a defense attorney. You’ve never been very good at arguing, but persuasion happens to be your specialty. Lace that sweet sing-song into your words and any jury will fall at your feet. And you’re paid quite well too. You like to pick up the tough cases, the real irredeemable scumbags. “I’ll get you off scott-free,” you tell them, “You know how many cases I’ve lost? None. Lower than anything, yeah? I do my job right well sir, you trust that.”

So this month’s name is Blake McFarlin, she held a family at gunpoint for some debt the father owed, money they didn’t have, and she shot the little one dead. All evidence points to her, she cleans up about as well as you do. The best part is, she doesn’t seem to think she did anything wrong. And, in no time, you’ve got the jury convinced of the very same. The judge lets her go with a couple years parole and she’s clinging to your arm, crying, thanking you. You smile at her, and you say “Of course, doll. Now say I buy you a drink, huh? To celebrate?” She nods into your sleeve and you take separate cars to a bar a few blocks over. You’ve got the photos of that poor little kid in the testimonies of her weeping parents in your head the whole way over. You’ve only just barely dragged her into the back alley before you’re ripping her apart. It feels… right. It feels just to get her that close to freedom and take it all away.  You hope that little girl knows this monster got what was coming to her. Her vocal cords are stuck between your teeth like floss before she can scream for help, her arms and mangled hands are waving frantically around for purchase, finding nothing but your bared, sharp shoulders and kicking at your legs long off the ground. You lick your lips clean and let her fall to the ground almost lifeless. You snap her legs, toothpicks between your taloned feet, and you leave her there to bleed the rest of the way out. She doesn’t deserve to go out clean and quick. 

Your name is Harmony. You sit in your office chair throne at the tippy-top of a many-leveled building that towers over the people that walk beneath it. Beneath you. It’s been an endless food chain of prophet and the profited, and you fancy yourself the apex predator. There’s not a thing in this world your money can’t buy. And yet, it’s never quite enough. Tear down these apartments, pave this forest, drain them all dry of pennies and dimes, and the blood on their bones. Sing them sweet on fortune and fame and toss them when you’re done gorging yourself on all they have to offer. It’s not quite the sea but, times change. And sometimes, for the better.

You aren’t sure of the last time you met hunger, but satisfaction begins to bore you. And you find that you so desperately crave the hunt. And so you tear that castle of exploit and exploited down to rubble from top to bottom and you set off to the next city, the next country, the next chorus, the next meal. 

Your name is Harmony, but it isn’t is it? No, your name is something pitchy that leaves a burn on the tongue of those unfortunate enough to speak it. But don’t let that stop you, you’re getting awful… hungry.

The end.

[FISH BREATHES HEAVILY IN HORROR, A DOOR OPENS]

LORRIE

Hey, uhhh, whatcha doin’ there Fishy?

FISH

[obviously horrified] Um… I, I, uh, I was just… Y'know, um, fucking around? [nervous laugh] I was just um, I dunno poking a little fun at you? Y’know, like a little sibling does, but, um, what the fuck is up with this story? I-is this a joke? I mean, it was marked in your book. I wanted to see what it was all about so I just kin—I just kinda read it? This is the shit you’ve been reading? The one I sat in for was, like, totally fine! But this? 

LORRIE

[guiltily] Uh, yeah. Yep, I—I know. Some of them are… really off-putting— 

FISH

[duh, but make it scared] Yeah.

LORRIE

That’s… That’s one of the reasons I, uh, I kicked you out the other day. I read all the stories before I record them just to like, get them in my head and get ready for them, and I knew that second one was weird? I didn’t want… you to have to listen to me read it. I kinda go into a, uh, like a uh, uh, a trance? Sort of? When I read.

[FISH SCOFFS QUIETLY]

FISH

[appalled] You… you don’t think it’s a little weird? That your children's audiobook company or whatever is sending you shit like this? What—what do you even know about them beyond the name on your paycheck? This is—this is fucked up!

LORRIE

[dismissive] Mhh, I-I mean they’re weird but that’s what they sent me! They just send me the story numbers for this month, y’know, and then I record them, send them off, and I get paid. I don’t particularly care what happens after that.

FISH

[angrily] Yeah. You get paid. Lorrie? Bubba? This story is basically some twisted, gory version of the truth of late-stage capitalism? The world? I dunno—this isn’t a fucking kids story is what it is. 

LORRIE

None of them really are! What else did you expect? Like, hell, The Devil’s Sooty Brother, does that sound like a kid’s story to you?

FISH

I-I dunno! It’s not this! I-I just, I thought you were reading, fuckin, Goldilocks, or something! Not, like… gore...dielocks? I just—Listen, I—this is giving me really bad vibes, like intensely bad. Like, horrible, money-grubbing, child-traumatizing vibes. There’s gotta be other jobs out there.

LORRIE

[a bit fed up] There are other jobs out there! I like this one! I don’t have to leave the house, or like, talk with anyone, and I get to hang out with our dog all day. The story contents don’t exactly bother me much.

Why do they bother you so much?

FISH

I… I dunno. I don’t usually get scared easily it’s just—it’s not right, bubs. It’s not fucking right. Something weird is going on here and you’re just ignoring it! What if you’re getting tangled up with something… I dunno something really, really bad? I don’t know what I would do if you… [Lorrie sighs]. You really don’t see anything wrong with this?

LORRIE

[struggling] I mean—I, I guess I do? I don’t fucking know! [frustrated noise] I need to record, Fish. I need some fucking peace and quiet. 

[FISH SCOFFS]

FISH

[angry disbelief] Yeah, fine. Whatever.

[FISH LEAVES THE ROOM, THERE IS A LONG TENSE SILENCE. LORRIE SIGHS]

LORRIE

[in denial] It’s fine. It’s fine! This—this isn’t that big of a deal. I’ll—[sigh] I’ll talk it out with her later, it’s fine. We always work out our little fights, I guess. Siblings fight all the time! It’s normal. Even if… you’re not related by blood.  [deep, steadying breath]

Take one of Rapunzel. [muttering] I need to find the page. [Another sigh, pages turning as Lorrie looks through the book]. Take one of Rapunzel. Read by Lorrie Ada--

[SCENE CUT]

LORRIE (CONT)

Take three—

[SCENE CUT]

LORRIE (CONT)

Take seven of Rapunzel. Read by Lorrie Adams.

LORRIE (STORY)

Once upon a time, there was a husband and wife who, for some time, had been wishing in vain for a child. Finally, the dear Lord gave them a sign of hope that their wish would be fulfilled. Now, in the back of their house, the couple had a small window that overlooked a splendid garden filled with the most beautiful flowers and herbs. The garden, however, was surrounded by a high wall and nobody dared enter it because it belonged to a sorceress who was very powerful, and feared by all. One day when the wife was standing at the window and looking down into the garden, she noticed a bed of the finest Rapunzel lettuce; the lettuce looked so fresh and green that her mouth watered and she had a great craving to eat some. Day by day this crazing increased and since she knew she could not get any, she began to waste away and look pale and miserable. Her husband became alarmed and asked, “What’s wrong with you dear wife?”

“Ah,” she responded, “I shall certainly die if I don’t get any of that Rapunzel from that garden behind our house.” Her husband, who loved her, thought ‘before I let my wife die I’ll do anything I must to make sure she gets some Rapunzel.’

That day at dusk, he climbed over the wall and into the garden of the sorceress, hastily grabbed a handful of Rapunzel, and brought them to his wife. Immediately, she made them into a salad with great zest, but the Rapunzel tasted so good to her, so very good, that her desire for them was three times greater the next day. If she were to have any peace, her husband knew he had to climb into the garden once more. So at dusk, he scaled the wall again, and just as he landed on the other side he was given a tremendous scare, for he stood face to face with the sorceress.

“How dare you climb into my garden and steal my Rapunzel like a thief!” She said with an angry look. “You’ll pay for this!” 

“Oh,” he cried, “Please let mercy prevail over justice. I did this only because I was in a predicament, my wife noticed your Rapunzel from our window and she developed such a great craving for it that she would have died if I hadn’t brought her some to eat.”  Upon hearing that, the anger of the sorceress subsided, and she said to him; “If it is truly as you say, I shall permit you to take as many Rapunzel as you’d like, but only under one condition. When your wife gives birth I must have the child. You needn’t fear about the child’s wellbeing, for I will take care of it like a mother.” In his fear, the man agreed to everything, and when his wife had the baby his sorceress appeared at once. She gave the child the name Rapunzel and took her away.

Rapunzel grew to be the most beautiful child under the sun, but when she was twelve years old the sorceress locked her in a tower in a forest. It had neither door nor stairs, only a little window high above. Whenever the sorceress wanted to get in, she would stand below and call out, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair for me.” Rapunzel’s hair was long and radiant, as fine as spun gold. Every time she heard the voice of the sorceress, she unpinned her braids and wound them around a hook on the window. Then she let her hair drop twenty yards and the sorceress would climb up on it.  A few years later, a king’s son happened to be riding through the forest and passed by the tower. Suddenly, he heard a song so lovely that he stopped to listen. It was Rapunzel, who passed the time in her solitude by letting her sweet voice resound in the forest. The prince wanted to climb up to her, and he looked for a door but could not find one. So he rode home. However, the song had touched his heart so deeply that he rode out into the forest every day and listened. One time as he was standing behind a tree, he saw the sorceress approach and heard her call out;

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” Then Rapunzel let down her braids and the sorceress climbed up to her.

“If that is the ladder that one needs to get up there, then I am also going to try my luck,” the prince declared. The next day as it began to get dark, he went to the tower and called out “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” All at once, the hair dropped down and the prince climbed up. When he entered the tower, Rapunzel was at first terribly afraid for she had never laid eyes on a man before. However, the prince began to talk to her in a friendly way and told her that her song had touched his heart so deeply, that he had not been able to rest until he had seen her. Rapunzel then lost her fear and when he asked her whether she’d have him for her husband, she saw that he was young and handsome. She thought, ‘he’ll certainly love me better than old Mother Gothel’. So she said yes and placed her hand in his. 

“I want to go down with you very much,” she said, “but I don’t know how I can get down. Every time you come you must bring a skein of silk with you and I’ll weave it into a ladder. When it’s finished, then I’ll climb down and you can take me away on your horse.” They agreed that until then, he would come to her every evening, for the old woman came during the day. Meanwhile, the sorceress did not notice anything until one day, Rapunzel blurted out; “Mother Gothel, how is it that you’re much heavier than the prince? When I pull him up, he’s here in a second.”

“Ah, you godless child,” exclaimed the sorceress, “What’s this I hear? I thought I had made sure that you had no contact with the outside world, but you’ve deceived me.” In her fury, she seized Rapunzel’s beautiful hair and wrapped it around her left-hand several times, grabbed a pair of scissors with her right hand, and snip! Snap! The hair was cut off and the beautiful braids lay on the ground. Then, the cruel sorceress took Rapunzel to a desolate land where she had to live in the great misery and grief. On the same day she banished Rapunzel, the sorceress fastened the braids that she had cut off to the hook in the window, and that evening when the prince came and called out “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” she let the hair down. The prince climbed up, but instead of finding his dearest Rapunzel on top, he found the sorceress who gave him vicious and angry looks.

“Aha!” She exclaimed with contempt, “You want to fetch your darling wife, but the beautiful bird is no longer sitting in the nest and she won’t be singing anymore. The cat has got her, and it will also scratch out your eyes. Rapunzel is lost to you and you will never see her again!” The prince was beside himself with grief and in his despair, he jumped off the tower. He escaped with his life, but the thorns he fell into pierced his eyes and so he became blind. Now he strayed about in the forest, ate nothing but roots and berries, and did nothing but mourn and weep about the loss of his dearest wife. Thus he wandered for many years in misery, eventually, he made his way to the desolate land where Rapunzel was leading a wretched existence with the twins, a boy and a girl to whom she had given birth. And when he heard a voice that he thought sounded familiar, he went straight towards it and when he reached her, Rapunzel recognized him. She embraced him and wept, and as two of her tears dropped onto his eyes, they became clear and he could see again. Then, he escorted her back to his kingdom, where he was received with joy and they lived happily and contentedly for a long time thereafter.

LORRIE

This one… wasn’t so bad. I mean, like, it’s still got gory bits, unfortunately, but it’s not nearly as bad as the last one. The one that Fish read, I mean.

[slowly spiraling] I don’t like fighting with her. It makes both of us feel bad and then, then, th-then shit is weird between us for like, days and it sucks feeling like I can’t talk to her. Because she’s the most important person in my life. Thank god we don’t fight that often. [sigh] But this fight seemed… different. I don’t know what she’s thinking is so wrong with the stories! They’re just, they’re jus—They’re just stories! There’s not really any issues, right? I—It’s just a book! Doesn’t matter that it was on the other side of the office this morning when I came in to set up. Fish probably came in and like, browsed through it last night. Probably just wanted some light reading material.

[Sadly] I really should go talk to her. I’m gonna go talk to her.

End recording.

[CLOSING MUSIC]

[staycatcher]

Anguish 001- Anguish

“Out  of  genuine  free  will,  I,  Lee  Minho,  exercise  the  divine  right  to  reject  my  sacredly  designed  soulmate.”

Member: Lee  Minho / Lee  Know  x  Femme  Reader  (she / her)

Au: Frat Boi! Minho  +  Rejected  Soulmate  AU

Genre: Angst  (some  comedy?,,  this  series  is  gonna  be  angsty  because  of  the  whole  ‘rejected  soulmate’  thing)

Rated  T  for  a  whole  lotta  swearing,  a  frat  party,  crowds,  usage  of  alcohol  and  mentions  of  drugs,  intensity,  reader  is  a  bit  socially  anxious (please  lmk  if  any  other  warnings  are  needed!💞🥺)

Word Count:  4k  &  manually  double  spaced  between  words  &  paragraphs  for  ease  of  reading!!!!🥵🤠🥰

Note: this is dedicated to @trixareforlix, they’re the first-ever friend I made on here and they’re the one who sparked this frat au idea!! Ilysm always angel!!<33

Edited: 201015 (Original: 190813 )

Anguish series 1/?-  ~001~, 002

The  anticipated  day  where  you’d  become  magnetized,  the  world  around  you  becoming  a  blur,  your  heart  falling  into  perfect  sync  with  the  one  destined  for  you  truly… was  not  like  that  at  all,  actually!  No,  the  stars  were  cruel  to you,  perhaps  you  did  something  awful  in  your  past  life  to   deserve  this,  but  maybe  what  is  more  likely  is  that  your  soulmate’s  just  an  asshole.  After  all,  one’s  soulmate  was  the  complete  opposite  of  one’s  self.  Soulmates  were  the  yin  to  one’s  yang  and  vice  versa  and  all  that.  To  keep  one  balanced,  or  whatever. 

Now,  you  aren’t  the  angel  everyone  may  claim  you  to  be.  You  weren’t  angelic,  not  at  all.  Eating  ice  cream  for  breakfast  was  not  above  you.  Your  nail  polish  was  perpetually  chipped.  You  couldn’t  stand  to  keep  your  hair  in  the  same  style  for  too  long;  chopping  it  all  off  or  seeing  how  long  it  could  grow,  dying  it  as  bright  as  you  could,  and  everything  in  between.  You  adorned  yourself  with  two  or  three  more  piercings  than  your  parents  could  get  behind,  bless  them,  you’re  beginning  to  have  trouble  hiding  your  new  tattoo.  Habitually,  you  were  sensitive,  soft,  a  bit  emotional,  and  tended  to  be  a  bit  of  a  smartass.  You  weren’t  blessed  with  physical  grace,  ceaselessly  tripping  over  yourself,  spilling  and  knocking  over  anything  in  your  path,  and  dancing  out  of  beat  to  blasted  songs. 

More  often  than  not,  you  would  go  to  bed  later  than  planned.  Tonight  was  one  of  those  nights,  but  it  was  not  because  of  your  natural  preference.  You  were  not  too  figuratively  dragged  into  this  by  someone  who  held  the  title  of  your  best  friend,  someone  whom  you  were  currently  thinking  of  ways  of  revoking  that  title  from. 

  “C’mon,  dummy!  We’re  almost  there!”  Jamie  elbowed  you,  her  eyes  crinkled  in  laughter,  whacking  you  on  the  back  a  bit  too  hard. 

 “Jamie,  I  must’ve  forgotten,  but  why’re  you  even  dragging me  to  this  frat  party  again?  Why  not  just  go  to  your  sorority  instead?”  You  groaned,  your  two  left  feet  were  dragging  behind  you  on  the  aged  sidewalk,  your  fake  Doc  Martens  feeling  like  cinder  blocks. 

“‘Cause  Chris  invited  me  and  he’s  being  a  little  bitch  about  it  because  I  keep  canceling  on  ‘im!  He  keeps  saying  that  my  soulmate  might  be  there!”  She  reminded  you  for  the  umpteenth  time,  rolling  her  head  and  eyes  back  in  frustration,  sighing  before  continuing.  “And  now  it’s  like-  I  might  as  well  try  and  see!  I  mean,  come  on!~  I’m  starting  to  think  he’s  right!”  And  for  the  umpteenth  time  today,  you  question  why  she’s  falling  for  this.  She’s  sharper  than  this.  But  for  some  reason,  just  this  once,  she  found  a way  to  shoehorn  Chris’s  dumbassery  to  logic. 

 In  reality,  you  could  meet  your  soulmate  at  any  time  or  place,  so  to  say  that  one's  soulmate  might  be  there  is  like  saying  it  might  rain.  Sure,  it  might.  But  it  also  can  rain  in  any  season  so  you  can’t  be  wrong  with  saying  that  it  might.  It  doesn’t  always  rain  every  day,  all  the  time,  so  it  also  isn’t  that  likely.  Rain  depends  on  a  lot  more  factors.  But  right  now,  you’re  a  little  buzzed,  so  it  sounded  pretty  sound. 

 “So  he  knows  your  soulmate?” 

 “I’d  hope  so!  If  not,  I’d  rip  his  bleached  hay-hair  right  out  of  his  thick  skull!”  Now,  this  is  the  Jamie  you  knew  and  loved,  you  couldn't  help  the  endeared  smile  on  your  face.  “When  we  could’ve  been  eating  takeout  and  watching  a  musical-“

 “So  which  frat  are  we  going  to  again?”  You  had  to  interrupt  her  for  her  sake.  Takeout  and  a  movie  would  always  remain  superior  to  parties  in  your  mind  and  you  already  didn’t  want  to  be  accompanying  her  to  a  frat  house. 

 “Hmm…  It’s  like-  uh...  Signal  kite  zing-  wait  no-  hold  on-“

You  guys  must  be  tipsier  from  the  pregaming  than  you  thought.  “Sigma?  ‘Signal’  isn’t  greek,  I  think  you  mean  sigma!  And  ‘kite’  isn-”

 “Right,  whatever!  Anyways,  the  abbreviation  is  SKZ-“

 “Ohhh!  We’re  friends  with  some  of  them-  We’re  like  best  friends  with  Chris!!  Why  didn’t  you  say  it  was  Chris’s  frat  in  the  first  place?”  Your  laugh  projecting  out  of  you  unattractively  with  claps  and  swings  of  limbs  which  led  to  slapping  a  little  too  hard  at  Jamie's  shoulder.  This  clarification  did  make  you  feel  a  bit  better.  This  wasn’t  a  shitty  fraternity  you  didn’t  know,  this  was  a  shitty  fraternity  you  inevitably  tolerated  since  you  knew  and  even  approved  of  some  of  its  members! 

 SKZ  was  home  to  a  hodgepodge  of  eight  brothers  who  were  pretty  individual  as  far  as  frat  dudes  go.  Some  of  which  you  were  genuinely  fond  of,  like  Chris,  or  simply  acquainted  with,  like  Jisung,  whom  you  shared  a major  and  program  with.  Others,  you  couldn’t  even  remember  the  names  of  or  who  they  are  in  general.  It’s  also  the  smallest  frat  on  campus,  so  they  try  to  get  as  many  people  to  come  to  events  as  possible,  which  is  honestly  exhausting  as  a  concept  to  your  introverted  self.  Thus,  you’ve  never  actually  attended  one  of  theirs  until  now,  now  that  Jamie  is  dragging  you  along  with  her.

 “Ow!  I  don’t  know!~  I  thought  you  were  smart  enough  to  figure  it  out  when  I  mentioned  Chris!”  She  teased,  making  the  two  of  you  laugh  harder,  you  couldn’t  defend  yourself  on  that  one.  The  two  of  you  just  continued  your  idiotic  banter  the  rest  of  the  way  to  the  Sigma  Kappa  Zeta  house  aka  the  SKZ  frat.  

 The  walk  to  SKZ’s  lair  was  a  bit  much,  more  than  you  and  Jamie  bargained  for.  You  were  so  kindly  carrying  her  platforms  for  her  until  she’ll  put  them  back  on  again,  only  for  you  to  probably  end  up  kindly  carrying  them  again  later  tonight.  The  cool  breeze  of  the  September  night  helped  with  the  humidity  and  sweat,  and  the  sun  beautifully  set,  leaving  a  delicate  lilac  color  in  its  wake  which  was  becoming  darker  and  darker  the  further  you  walked.  The  hazy  streetlights  added  to  the  whimsy  atmosphere,  yet  to  be  ruined  with  the  sound  of  an  intolerable  amount  of  bass  and  the  overbearing  smell  of  beer  and  weed  when  the two  of  you  arrived  on  site.  

 “Okay,  I’m  pretty  sure  it’s  this  house!”  Jamie  halted  her  steps,  turning  towards  you,  her  hair  swaying  along  with  the  belled  sleeves  of  her  mesh  turtleneck  she  had  under  her  dress.  The  two  of  you  really  dolled  yourselves  up  for  the  night,  her  hair  was  perfect,  your  hair  was  perfect,  outside  was  perfect,  and  it  brought  you  sobering  back  to  the  not-so-perfect  earth.  The  idea  of  going  inside  a  suffocating,  putrid  house  majorly  crowded  with  drunk  and  hormonal  peers...  was  not  appealing  to  you  in  the  least.   

 “Yup,  and  now  it’s  time  to  turn  back  around!”  You  quipped,  ensnaring  her  arm  with  your  empty  one,  about  to  steer  the  two  of  you  in  a  three-point-turn.  This  was  your  final  chance  at  getting  out  of  your  predicament,  and  now  that  you’re  here  you  regret  playing  along.  Sadly,  Jamie  was  just  as  stubborn  as  you,  and  your  turn  around  was  met  with  a  roadblock. 

 “Oh  my  god,  Y/n,  you’re  joking!  We  walked  the  whole  ass  way  here!”  She  got  out  in  between  puffs  of  airy  frustration,  her  socked  heels  digging  into  the  ground  as  you  attempted,  gracelessly,  to  steer  the  two  of  you  around.    

 “Okay,  okay,  fine.  We  did  come  all  this  way  and  now  our  drinks’ve  worn  off.”  You  acknowledged  with  an  irritated  huff.  “Okay-  how  about  we  go  in  and  get  some  drinks,  and  then  we’ll  leave?!”  Your  pitch  going  up  with  each  word  of  your  attempt  to  negotiate  before  forcing  out  a  chuckle,  your  laugh  did  its  best  to  hide  the  fact  that  your  body  was  beginning  to  stick  with  sweat  and  anxiety. 

“No,  ‘and  then’  we’ll  find  Chris  to  hook  me  up!”  She  playfully  fought  back  but  it  was  hard  to  take  her  seriously,  or  yourself,  with  how  the  two  of  you  were  laughing,  hers  genuine,  yours  not  so  much.  

 “Jesus  Christ,  you  really  are  set  on  this  ‘finding  your  soulmate’  thing.”  You  breathed.  As  much  as  you  hated  social  gatherings,  you  loved  your  best  friend  much,  much  more,  therefore  you  were  willing  to  be  won  over  in  the  name  of  friendship.  Though,  she  would  owe  you  for  this!  Fortunately  for  her,  food  and  drink  is  fair  trade  in  you  and  your  wallet’s  eyes. 

 “I’m  lonely,  okay!  I’d  prefer  winning  the  lottery  but  this  is  the  next  best  thing!”  Jamie,  as  per  usual,  brought  the  two  you  back  right  to  laughter  instantly.  She  had  her  mind  made  up.  Plus,  with  you  giggling  it  made  it  all  the  easier  for  her  to  haul  the  both  of  you  right  up  the  steps  of  the  SKZ  Frat  House  stairs.   

Once  in,  Jamie  stuck  close  to  your  side,  literally,  but  not  that  she  had  the  natural  choice  or  much  of  an  alternative;  this  place  was  packed  to   the  gills!  Jumping  up  on  her  now  platform  clad  feet,  looking  for  anyone  she  recognized  or  any  signs  of  Chris,  while  you  led  the  two  of  you,  hopefully,  to  a  kitchen.  You  were  practically  kicking  yourself  each  step  of  the  way  as  you  shoved  your  way  through  the  crowd.  The  air  was  stuffy  and  possibly  even  toxic,  to  say  the  least.  The  scent  is  much  more  foul  than  last  you  remember,  pungent  with  alcohol,  sweat,  cigarettes,  weed,  hints  of  puke,  and  dashes  of  all  sorts  of  pheromones.  Despite  the  few  times  you’ve  smelled  this  scent,  it  never  failed  to  make  you  wish  you  didn’t  leave  your  safe,  sanitary  bed.   

 There’s  jabbing  elbows  and  flailing  parts  of  strangers  everywhere  that  had  to  be  watched  out  and  dodged  for,  sloshing  cups,  sometimes  drunken  flirtatious  hands  grabbing  at  you,  not  at  all  fazed  by  the  pretty  companion  you  had  your  elbow  linked  with.  The  sway  of  the  hoards  of  people  was  beginning  to  get  you  motion  sick,  but  you  were  determined  to  keep  wading  through,  trying  to  hike  through  this  high  tide,  but  you  couldn’t  help  but  feel  vulnerable.  You  were  cursed  with  a  soft,  approachable  face  that  just  begged  to  be  messed  with.  Even  in  times  like  these,  where  your  thoughts  are  nothing  short  of  bitchy,  the  message  would  never  get  across  with  a  resting  bitch  face.  Your  love  for  dark  attire  didn’t  matter.  Your  baby  face  and  aura  won  every  match.  Not  even  the  eyeliner  and  dark  lipstick  you  preferred  could  save  you.  All  you  could  do  is  hope  that  your  best  friend’s  intimidation  and  delightfully  loud  presence  was  enough  for  the  two  of  you  as  you  keep  planting  one  foot  after  the  other.  

“Fucking  hell!”  You  barely  gasped  out,  finally  freed  out  of  the  main  room,  and  now  into  the  hallway.  The  seasick  claustrophobia  no  longer  had  its  poisonous  grips  on  your  soft,  easy  to  bruise  skin,  though,  you  did  need  to  catch  your  breath.  

 “Finally!”  Jamie  sighed  loudly  and  melodically,  patting  you  on  the  back  and  easily  recovering.  Before  she  headed  straight  into  the kitchen  to  scope  out  the  place,  possibly  for  anyone  she  knew  and,  perhaps,  her   Special  Someone.  

 “So  did  ya  see  anyone  you  knew,  Jame?”  You  called  after  her  upon  entering  what  appeared  to  be  a  stereotypical  scene  of  the  kitchen  during  a  college  party.  Cliche  red  solo  cups  scattered  everywhere,  filled  at  varying  degrees.  A  beer  keg  or  two,  some  cheap  bottles  of  vodka  splayed  about,  remnants  of  ash  from  blunts,  a  couple  or  two  aggressively  making  out  against  the  wall,  and  four  or  five  random  stragglers  fidgeting  with  their  phone or  talking  overly  loudly  to  each  other.  You  know,  the  usual.  

“Ughh,  no”  She  answered  reluctantly.  “They  have  to  be  somewhere  else,  maybe,  like  upstairs  or  downstairs,  right?!”  

Before  you  could  reply,  behind  you,  you  heard  an  enthusiastic  “Jamie!!”  then  a  muffled,  “you  finally  made  it!!”  The  familiar  voice  had  you  jerking  your  head  to  see  if  your  ears  were  failing  you,  evidently,  they  weren’t.  Right  away  you  see  Chris  tackling  Jamie  in  a  hug  before  he  met  your  eyes  with  his  comically  wide  ones.  

“Aaaahhh!!  Y/n’s  here  too?!”

 “Yeah!  Don’t  we  look  cute?”  Jamie  fluffed  up  her  cropped,  newly  dyed  hair  you  helped  her  do,  yours  also  in  a  similar  state.   

“Yeah,  but  Y/n  looks  better.”  He  teased,  giggling  and  slapping  her  in  the  arm;  unsurprising,  as  it’s  their  usual  fashion.   

“Oh  my  god!  Why  did  I  come  here?!  Okay,  we’ll  leave  then,  Chris.”  Jamie  joked  right  back  at  him,  snatching  at  your  hand  like  it  was  a  prize  to  be  won  and  taking  you  away  with  her.  Unfortunately  for  you,  this  was  just  a  well-meaning  joke,  you  weren’t  going  to  be  set  free  from  a  party  anytime  soon.   

 “Nooo!  Don’t  go!!”  He  dramatized,  grabbing  onto  at  Jamie,  halting  her  from  leaving  with  you  in  tow.  Giggling  so  hard,  he  had  to  throw  his  head  back  to  project  it  all.  You  snorted  a  “thank  you”  a  bit  late,  too  busy  laughing.  He  just  gave  you  a  brotherly  slap  on  the  arm,  on  his  way  to  leave  before  Jamie  stopped  him.  

“Wait!  What  about  my  soulmate?  You  said  they'd  be  here,  remember!”  

“Oh?”  Chris’s  eyebrows  scrunched  in  confusion,  Jamie  nodded  with  stern  wide  eyes  which  seemed  to  spark  back  his  doubtful  memory,  “Ahhh…  downstairs…  maybe…  I  think-  hangin’  out!  There’s  a  game  about  to  start-  Oh,  yeah!  That’s  why  I’m  here-”  he  giggled  to  himself,  “to  get  this!”  He  then  snatched  a  full  bottle  of  vodka  from  a  sneaky  cabinet  you  didn’t  know  about  before  ushering  you  guys  along  to  follow  him.  Honestly,  Chris  didn’t  make  it  sound  too  promising  that  Jamie’s  soulmate  could  be  down  there,  but  it’s  the  best  lead  you  got.   

Shyly,  you  followed  behind  the  two  as  he  led  the  way  to  the  basement.  With  Chris  as  your  guide,  it  was  relatively  smooth  sailing,  the  crowd  parting  minimally  to  make  way  for  the  president  of  the  frat.  Before  you  know  it,  you’re  walking  down  some  nasty  ass  carpeted  stairs,  forcing  your  eyes  from  questionable  stains  to  look  for  a  rail  instead  to  hold  onto.  Strangely  enough,  walking  down  the  steps  was  comforting  somehow,  the  feeling  as  if  it  were  inviting  you  in.  Like  it  assigned  you  a  duty  instead  of  the  alienating  fish  out  of  water  experience  you  had  earlier  on  the  main  floor.   

 “I  picked  up  some  stragglers!”  Chris  cheered  as  he  turned  into  the  room.   

 “Yeah,  but  did  you  bring  the  alcohol?”  A  brazen  voice  you’ve  never  heard  before  shot  straight  through  you.  You  could  feel  it  run  through  you  with  tingles  down  your  spine  and  goosebumps  up  your  arms.   

“Hell  yeah  I  did,  ya  jackass!”  

 When  the  two  of  you  turned  the  corner,  the  world  slowed  down  and  your  muscles  instantly  seized  up,  halting  you  into  place  without  consent.  Your  insides  clench  tight,  wrapping  itself  into  a  knot.  Suddenly  you  were  sweating,  but  in  contrast,  your  vision  looked  as  though  you  were  looking  through  a  nice  refreshing  glass  of  pink  lemonade.  Normally  steady  hands  were  now  shaky,  your  ears  and  cheeks  beginning  to  glow  beet  red.  You  could  feel  yourself  beginning  to  sweat  at  the  nape  of  your  neck  and  underarms;  all  this  from  the  sudden  voice  of  the  stranger!  -What?  What’s  going  on?!-    

 Immediately,  your  gaze  pans  around  the  room  before  they  landed  on  the  source,  long-lashed  eyes  holding  a  dark  chocolate  glaze  and  shivering  you  to  the  bone.  Like  a  hooked  fish,  you  couldn’t  look  away.  The  initial  astonishment  of  just  the  sensations  couldn‘t  compare  to  exploring  the  face  in  front  of  you.  

 Chiseled  cheeks,  and  angular  brows.  Pouty  naturally  downturned  lips  were  discovered  underneath  an  impossibly  perfect,  pointy  nose.  Everything  about  him  was  like  the  artwork,  his  slightly  covered  forehead  was  somehow  artistic  as  if  even  the  space  between  the  brow  and  the  hairline  was  something  new  that  your  narrow  mind  could  never  possibly  understand.  His  hairline  soon  revealed  a  head  of  luscious  black  hair,  unrealistically  voluminous,  shiny  and  soft.  Honestly,  his  hair  was  screaming  at  you  to  test  out  if  it  could  be  possible,  that  someone  who  looked  like  this  was  real.  His  entire  face  and  head  on  his  shoulders  didn’t  make  conceivable  sense.  Maybe  it’s  just  you,  but  a  person  this  perfect  couldn’t  exist  and  you  have  yet  to  venture  south  to  see  how  perfect  the  rest  of  him  could  possibly  be.    

 “Y/n?  Are- are  you  okay?”  

 You  vaguely  felt  or  heard  your  best  friend  at  your  side,  but  it  wasn’t  decipherable.  Everything  but  this  guy  in  front  of  you  was  fuzzy,  blurry  to  you.  All  the  energy  in  your  being  focused  on  this  human  in  front  of  you.  His  silky,  messily  parted  locks,  begging  for  you  to  test  if  it  was  as  soft  as  it  looked.  His  sharp  features.  His  lips  a  natural  coral-y  color  that  began  to  shine  and  glimmer  with  saliva  as  his  glossy  tongue  began  to  trail  along  those  chapped  lips.  You  shot  your  eyes  back  to  his,  reeling  you  back  in  like  the  prey  you  began  to  feel.  Oh,  sweet,  sweet  baby  Jesus,  is  this  really  happening?!

 “I-“  both  of  you  started  at  the  same  time.  Embarrassingly  enough,  it  seems  as  though  the  blurry  figures  of  everyone  else  in  the  corner  of  your  eyes  caught  on  to  something  the  two  of  you  were  oblivious  to.  Everyone  started  jumping  and  screaming,  whooping  chaotically,  and  taking  over  your  vision.  The  slow  world  disappeared  in  a  blink,  launching  you  right  back  to  its  now  rapid,  woozy  speed.  With  everyone  pushing  and  shoving  around  you  in  excitement  it  was  not  at  all  helping  with  your  wibbly-wobbly  state.  

Suddenly,  you  felt  many  different  arms  coming  at  you,  wrapping  around  you,  constricting  you,  and  jumping  around  with  you  in  their  arms  in  excitement.  There was  a  deafening  amount  of  rambunctious  hooting  and  hollering  it  was  almost  as  if  the  team  they  were  rooting  for  won  the  SuperBowl.  

 “And  here  I  thought  Y/n  was  Jamie’s  soulmate!”  Chris  guffawed  and  they  all  joined  in,  all  besides  you  and  this  guy- WAIT-  did  Chris  say-  say  ‘soulmate’??  No,  he  couldn’t  have!  

 “Soulmate?”  Equally,  as  soon  as  you  internally  questioned  the  word  choice,  you  heard  his  earth-shattering  voice  speak  again,  despite  the  fact  he  merely  whispered,  softly  wondering  aloud.  He  spoke  aloud  what  you  were  thinking,  right  when  you  thought  it!   

 You  couldn’t  get  enough  of  his  voice,  especially  now  when  you  can’t  see  him  in  the  crowd.  His  voice  was  light,  honey-colored,  dreamy,  just  the  perfect  amount  of  deep,  it  made  you  want  to  taste  his  lips  to  see  if  he’s  as  sweet  as  he  sounded.  You,  yourself,  were  still  in  the  locked-in-place  state,  still  too  shell  shocked  to  even  make  a  step  forward,  your  poor  brain  overworking  itself  to  make  sense  of  any  of  this.   

 “Really?”  In  elated  shock  you  chirped,  slowly  giving  in  to  the  hugs  and  excited  jumping  with  wide  and  confused  eyes.  Is  this  for  real?  This  is  really  happening?!  

“Holy  fuck,  Y/n!”  Jamie  managed  to  get  you,  pulling  you  a  bit  too  crushingly  in  a  hug.  “I  can’t  believe  it!  You  found  your  soulmate  in  this  shitty  basement  and  not  me!”  She  playfully  teased,  there  was  no  ill  will  behind  it.   

 By  now  the  situation  was  beginning  to  sink  in  a  teeny  bit  and  you  were  shocked,  to  say  the  least.  Frankly,  you  were  starting  to  think  that  this  day  would  never  come.  You  had  a  soulmate  and  your  soulmate  looked  like  that!  You  were  over  the  moon,  even  if  you  felt  a  bit  guilty  that  you  found  your  soulmate  at  this  party  instead  of  Jamie.  It  was  the  plan  of this  whole  night,  after  all.  Now  that  it  was  you,  you  didn’t  know  how  to  react.  You  were  completely  and  utterly  unprepared.  

  “I’m  so  sorry,  Jamie.”  You  pulled  her  back  in  closer,  crushing  her  back  into  you,  eyes  watering,  lip  trembling.  “Oh  my  god,  I  think  I  might-  I  think  I  might  cry.”  You  hiccupped  into  her  chic  mesh  turtleneck  and  dress  combo.  This  is  too  much.  Too  too  much.   

 “Heyy!~  Don’t  feel  bad  for  me!  It’s  okay!”  Jamie  simply  chortled,  patting  your  head  deeper  into  her  chest,  her  usual  protocol  if  you  were  about  to  seriously  cry.  

Humiliatingly  enough,  you  heard  a  few  guys  begin  to  chant  “don’t  cry!”  in  the  background.  Your  small  moment  of  sincerity  and  calm  was  soon  interrupted  by  Chris.   

 “Well  isn’t  this  fun!  You  know  what  this  means!”~   

“Minho’s  soulmate’s  a  lil’  bitch?”  You  heard  Jisung,  the  kid  whom  you  shared  your  major  and  many  classes  with,  taunt.  His  words  forcing  you  forward,  ready  to  fight  the  kid.  He’s  a  child,  literally   a  child!  Why  do  I  associate  myself  with  him?!  I  swear  to  god-

 “Hey,  hey,  hey!  It  was  a  joke!”  He  squeaked  away  from  you.  He  was  too  speedy,  no  chance  for  you  and  your  heavy  ass  boots  stomping  after  him.  Safely,  he  skidded  behind  the  couch,  behind  whom  you’re  assuming  is  “Minho”,  which  had  your  boots  screeching  to  a  halt.  

Though  you  were  scrambling  after  Jisung,  your  eyes  naturally  met  Minho’s  as  you  halted.  Once  again,  your  body  is  preparing  to  either  fight  or  flight.  His  face  was  glowing  like  he  was  some  sort  of  ethereal  being,  wracked  up  in  deep,  attractive  concentration.  In  contrast,  your  face  was  beginning  to  burn  up  an  embarrassing  amount,  your  body  already  turning  into  inoperable  mush.  You  couldn’t  say  anything  if  you  tried.  Any  sentence  structure  your  brain  tried  to  form  didn’t  make  any  grammatical  or  logical  sense,  your  mind  racing  like  a  hamster  on  a  wheel.  Your  neural  pathways  were  glowing,  steaming  with  this  sudden  overstimulation,  leading  you  to  the  same  frazzling  answer  each  and  every  time: 

This  person  right  in  front  of  you?  Yeah,  that’s  your  soulmate. 

 A  hush  was  spread  throughout  the  previously  hype  basement,  all  eyes  immersed  in  the  two  of  you  speechlessly  enraptured  in  each  other.  The  longer  you  stood  there, the  more  you  could  take  him  in  and  get  used  to  him  and  the  idea  of  him.  You  were  warming  up  to  him,  he  became  more  and  more  real  with  each  millisecond.  You've  studied  his  eyes  so  passionately  now  that  could  see  his  dark  chocolatey  pupils  when  you  closed  your  eyes.  You  were  no  longer  overwhelmed  but  now  enchanted  by  his  features  and  general  presence.  His  cheekbones  are  no  longer  an  unfamiliar  art  piece.  His  aura  was  still  intimidating  as  before,  but  now  it  appeared   to  the  cheeky  kind  of  way  like  you  wanted  to  see  what  amount  of  scary  he  was  capable  of.  It  was  a  long,  jittery,  drawn-out  pause  before  anything  happened,  not  that  you  noticed.  

 “Out  of  genuine  free  will,”  You  just  smiled,  staring  at  his  naturally  downturned  lips.  Only  by  reading  his  lips  did  you  pay  attention  to  what  he  was  saying-  Wait,  what?

“I,  Lee-”  Hold on a second.  

“Minho-”  No.  

“Exercise  the  divine  right  to”  This  isn’t  happening  to  me.  This  isn’t- 

“Reject  my  sacredly  designed-” happening.  No.  No.  It  can’t  be.  It’s  not  p-   

“Soulmate.”  -ossible.  

The  electric,  exciting,  high  energy  pause  between  us  fell  and  wilted.  Died  just  like  that.  The  connected  red  strings  that  tied  Minho  and  yourself  were  chopped  off  on  his  own  accord,  bringing  icy  cold  into  the  room  in  its  wake.  A  harsh  blizzard  overwhelming  the  space.  Gasps  of  shocked  air  were  being  taken  in  from  everyone  in  this  basement,  everyone,  including  Lee  Minho.  

 You  got  a  gasp  of  bitter  cold  in  through  your  lungs  before  you  were  struck  like  lightning.  Lightning  of  feverish  torture  took  over  your  body,  struck  you  directly  in  the  heart  and  brain  before  it  flashed  through  your  veins  carrying  the  harsh  poison  of  rejection.  

   You  heard  a  pathetic  squawk  tear  its  way  out  of  your  chapped  lips,  the  anguish  forcing  you  down  to  your  knees  as  if  you  were  directly  stabbed  in  the  heart.  The  electric,  immediate  painful  reaction  faded,  bringing  boiling  throbs  through  all  your  cells,  not  leaving  one  out.  It  was  unlike  anything  you  could  describe,  no,  imagine.  It  was  as  if  the  blood  in  your  veins  was  replaced  with  boiling  water  and  your  heart  was  simultaneously  squeezed  and  electrocuted  in  the  grasps  of  electric  hands.  Maybe  it  was  the  hands  of  Satan  dragging  you  down  with  him.

Blurrily,  through  fresh,  hot  tears,  you  swear  you  could  see  Minho  physically  flinch  in  response,  immediately,  sprinting  out  of  the  room  as  if  he  was  escaping  from  a  house  on  fire. 

 That  was  the  last  you  saw  before  it  all  faded  to  black.