My Cat Does This Too, It His Fave Thing To Do

I need you to know i damn near punched the fan I have in front of me when I read that last paragraph

if i get too loud you can shut my mouth ch. 3

Masterlist Ch. 1, Ch. 2 The Poolverine Playlist Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Logan Howlett/Wolverine

Rating: Explicit

Tags: dry humping, rough/violent sex, violence (but they're into it), tenderness, dirty talk, choking, flirting, biting, enthusiastic consent, anal fingering, anal sex, creampie 😌

Word Count: 2.7K

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Getting fucked in a drying puddle of his own blood would not have been a first. It wouldn't have been a problem, either.

Wade's so eager to keep going that he just flings the sheets off regardless, pillows hitting the floor and almost knocking his lamp off the nightstand. Almost a shame to replace them; with any luck they'll end up just as messy as this first set did.

They don't say anything as Wade shuffles through his closet to fetch the spare set of bedclothes, trying not to let Logan see that it's shoved to the brim with clutter.

It all feels surreal. Like he's on the best kind of trip, everything all slow motion and floaty. Taking a ride on the Wolverine’s disco stick had always been a fantasy, sure. But now that it's about to happen, Wade has a feeling that the wet dreams won't compare.

He's fucking nervous, even with the taste of Logan's come still fresh on his tongue.

When the sheets are replaced, he slides back onto the mattress, satisfied when Logan settles himself on top with a quiet sound of want. His lips miss Wade's own the first time around, teeth nipping a little at his cheek before they're kissing again – slower this time.

It's surprising how differently Logan touches him now that they've gotten the first round out of the way. One of his hands cradles the back of Wade's head. Gentleness where it hadn't been apparent before, Logan's mouth working over his like it wants to take the time to know him. Own him.

He can also feel his lungs slowly getting crushed under the weight of Logan's metal skeleton. (Metal skeleton, what sick fuck does that to a guy? Then again, Wade has his own baggage he's not exactly willing to unpack.)

Three solid whacks to the back get Logan's attention, and as he lifts up, Wade heaves in a relieved breath.

“Scoot a bit,” he says after blinking the stars away. “I love a little breathplay as much as the next guy, but I can't be the fucked out little butt slut we both want me to be if I'm unconscious.”

“But you'd be quiet,” Logan quips back, even as he shifts his weight further so that Wade isn't taking any of it. He does, however, get the warmth, the smell of him, the consistent thump of his heartbeat.

A quick glance up reveals that Logan is grinning a little.

Wade gasps, feigning shock. Reveling in their little flirty game, even as his cock whines and begs for them to just get back to the good shit. Currently it's lodged against Logan's inner thigh, which is delicious in and of itself, but he's never been the most patient boy.

“My good sir!” He takes on a posh British accent. “Are you saying that you would desecrate me, without my complete and enthusiastic consent?”

Logan kisses him again, faster now, letting his mouth trail down to Wade's neck, and oh. He can't help but arch into that, his thoughts of sexy banter cast aside for a moment as the other man's hot breath touches his skin.

“I'm saying you're more talk than action, bub,” Logan says, his voice no louder than a whisper. Sexy and growly right in his ear now, and Wade shivers in answer, grinding his cock into Logan's leg. “I think you'd let me know if you weren't enjoying yourself. Right?”

“Right,” Wade practically moans as Logan's mouth opens, a wet sound he can feel and hear.

His tongue traces the shape of Wade's ear for just a moment before sharp canines dig into the cartilage – not sharp enough to break the skin but sharp enough to make him tilt his head back in an effort to get more.

“Fuck yeah, big guy, of course I would, I keep it safe sane and consensual – or at least consensual –”

“Ha.”

Wade's glad that he thought it was funny. He can't really think at all anymore aside from how good Logan's mouth feels as it travels back and forth on his neck.

“Fuck! S’good, really sensitive – keep going,” he hears himself slur out as Logan bites down hard.

Logan groans in answer, grinding his cock against Wade's, and it's maybe the most gratifying thing on the planet to know that this is turning him on just as much.

Something wet runs down the side of his neck, and Logan's tongue is quick to catch it, warm against his skin. Doubtless that there are endless wires crossed in Wade's brain right now, but the knowledge that Logan is biting him hard enough to break the skin and then licking at the blood that wells from the bite is pushing Wade to his fucking edge.

The a la carte is letting his hands roam Logan's (gorgeous) back and ass to their heart's content, and it only seems to spur him on. Every deep press of their hips together becomes just as hungry as when they'd done it against the wall, building and building until Wade starts to recognize that undeniable pressure. He really could come like this, again – ad infinitum, really.

The bed protests underneath them, squeaking and groaning like it wants to collapse. Logan ignores it, dragging his teeth across Wade's sensitive collarbone and neck, the kisses becoming more quick and frantic as he clearly gets close to finishing again too.

“Fuck – Red, you feel – so good,” he manages. “Wanna – make a mess of you.”

Wade isn't sure what's turning him on more; feeling their dicks rubbing together in a mix of sweat and neediness, or the way Logan's breath now comes in shallow pants, his composure peeling away again.

(Is it bad to secretly hope he gets speared through again? Yeah. Probably, yeah.)

“Would feel better if you fucked me,” Wade answers, leaving any and all inhibitions behind. No point in being shy now, is there?

He doubles down when he hears Logan's breath catch, one hip hitching to press deeper into Wade's thigh.

“Logan, god, fuck me, please, get the fuck inside me –”

Logan pulls back to look at him, eyes intense and passionate. Searching his face but full of sexual desire. God, this is just like The Notebook.

“Where's your, uh –?”

“I don't want it.”

The look lingers for only a few seconds before Logan nods. Trusting him to be able to take it. Instead of protesting further about lube or lack thereof, he takes the time to strip out of the rest of his clothes, dropping the flannel and tshirt to the bedroom floor.

“Wow,” Wade says with quiet reverence, turning to look at the readers. “We finally got there. The abs are out, guys. Start jerking or get your vibrators ready. It's about to be a 9.5 on the Wet Pussy Scale.”

One hand slides up his bare ass. “Pretty sure that's not what we're working with here.”

“It can be wh–atever you want it to be, sweetheart.”

Wade jumps a little as two rough, thick fingers swirl around his hole, pressing in ever so slightly. Logan peers up at him from between his spread legs, gauging his reaction with the gentlest look of concentration and need on his face.

It stirs something in Wade that he can't quite name, or more accurately won't. All he knows is that the way Logan is looking at him feels more vulnerable than having fingers pressed into his ass, and at this very specific moment in time he knows which he'd prefer over the other. Now isn’t the time to be thinking about what this’ll mean – he only wants to know how it’ll feel. Later, they can talk it all out.

At least, he hopes.

It's delicate work, for a time. Nothing makes a sound except the way they move together, Wade’s breath hitching as Logan presses in deeper, experimenting with reactions to shallow thrusts.

“You’re quiet,” Logan comments. “Give me something to go off of, Mouth. What do you want? More? Less?”

Shit, he’s right. Very OOC of him.

“It’s been a minute since I’ve been the glove and not the hand is all.” Wade wriggles a little, getting flatter on the mattress, breath hitching as the movement presses Logan’s fingers deeper inside him. “Nine times out of ten, I’m pitching. But it – fuck! – feels great, peanut, you’re doing great –”

Those were the magic words Logan was looking for. With a pleased hum, he curls his fingers deep into Wade’s ass, a full push that has Wade curling his toes. The sting is just an afterthought as he focuses on the very deliberate way Logan pulls out, then pushes right back in again, setting a rhythm that he’s pressing himself up into without even fully realizing at first.

“Oh, fuck yes,” Wade pants. “More of that, just, if you – hah – go a little higher –”

Panting every bit as fast as Wade is, Logan adjusts in a heartbeat, nailing that spot, making Wade cry out in a way that can only be described as slutty. He feels teeth dig into his knee, warm breath and lips and kisses, eager on the skin they can reach. A glance down reveals those mussed cowlicks he’s wanted to run his fingers through for months now, Logan’s forehead, his eyes laser focused on the way Wade’s body is taking him. As if it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, the most important view.

Marvel H. Christ.

“If you don’t fuck me within the next five minutes, then please stab me through the head so I can forget how bad I need this for a second while my brain regenerates.”

A quiet scoff of a laugh. “If you’re ready, then I’m ready.”

“Buddy, a glory hole couldn’t be more ready than me right now.”

Logan rises over him like a wave, their naked bodies flush. Wade can feel the head of his cock right at his hole – he hooks a leg over Logan’s waist, and the clue is taken.

Wade gazes up at him as Logan works his way in, and though Logan’s concentration is on easing inside him, Wade can only stare dumbly at the other man’s face like nothing else exists. Like everything has narrowed down to a fine point until there’s only this sensation.

If Logan had felt big in his mouth, then he definitely feels big in Wade’s ass. The stretch is slow, deliberate, though it’s clear from the downright pornographic look on Logan’s face that he wants to push in and just fucking have him. What was it he’d said? Make a mess of him.

Even though he’s ninety-nine point-six-eight percent sure that his mouth is hanging open like a goddamned idiot, Wade can’t bring himself to move. Because Logan’s hips are touching the curve of his bare ass as he bottoms out, and he’s making the most gorgeous face Wade thinks he’s ever seen in his life. Shit, he’s half-sure he could come just from looking at the man.

“Gonna move now,” Logan tells him, reaching to brush his thumb over Wade’s cheek. So fucking sweet, in the midst of what they're about to do.

“You better.”

He had hoped the reply would come out confident, but they both know it sounds punched out and breathless.

Still watching him with that same mix of need and openness, Logan rolls his hips in one long, slow, agonizing motion. Then again, again, again, and by some miracle, he’s being fucked deep and gentle.

They both moan at the same time, the sound low in Logan’s throat as his eyes flutter shut.

“Wade,” he says, and something about hearing the single syllable of his name from the man’s mouth has Wade thrusting back, needing more, now.

“That is, unfortunately, my name,” comes Wade’s answer, trying and failing to find something wittier to say back. His mind is on fire with all the feel-good chemicals, body on autopilot, everything going into the rhythm he and Logan are setting together. “Bestowed upon me. By my mother. In the – f-fuck – yearofourlordnineteeneightysi–”

Then Logan’s hand travels smoothly back down to his throat, threatening to squeeze, and Wade’s cock jerks hard against his stomach.

Huffing out another quiet laugh – a thousand times hotter when he’s balls deep, fucking Wade with some freakish reserves of control – Logan smirks down at him.

“This how you want it?”

The grip tightens. Tighter, tighter, until Wade can’t draw in a breath. Logan keeps him there for a few floaty seconds, spots forming in his vision, before releasing him again.

“How I need it,” Wade gasps when he can. “Harder. Meaner, you know I can take it.”

“Oh, you want mean?” He raises an eyebrow at that, the cute little smirk widening into a wolfish grin. “I think I can manage that.”

Fuck yeah you can, Wade wants to quip back, but he never gets the words out. He's being maneuvered so that his knee dangles over Logan's shoulder, opened wider as Logan thrusts in harder. Deeper. Desperate nails dig into Wade's skin, and again part of him wonders if he's about to see this big kitty's claws.

With some sort of sound between a whine and a growl, Logan lays into him like he couldn't possibly hold himself back a second longer.

“Oh, fuck, Wade.”

Thank whatever deity is watching over them right now that he doesn't live with Blind Al anymore, because this would not have gone over well. The mattress is practically howling its complaints now, the frame threatening to buckle underneath them as Wade gets fucked hard enough to punch the air from his lungs with every thrust.

It doesn’t take long for it to finally throw in the towel. One of the bedframe’s spindly legs gives out with a screech, pitching them to the side. Neither of them stops to give a damn, though Dogpool barks once from the living room in what can only be described as mild concern.

Hand trembling, Wade reaches for his cock, unable to stand it anymore. He has to come, now. Logan notices immediately and slaps his hand away.

“Yeah, no. That’s my job.”

He replaces Wade’s fingers with his own, the grip tight. The stern rhythm makes Wade whine, boneless. Judging from the evidence he’d gathered not long before this, Logan’s right on the brink of coming again. Cocaine’s starting to look like powdered sugar compared to the way he looks when he’s right there, fighting not to be loud, wrenching his hips for all he’s worth, pupils blown out and, and –

“Oh, shit, oh for fuck’s fucking sake, peanut –!”

Wade is half-aware that he’s saying something. More aware that it’s complete nonsense. Very, very cognizant of the orgasm tearing its way up and out of his dick, coating Logan’s hand and beautiful skin. Logan moans with him, a soft sound that betrays his need all the same, and tilts his head back just as he presses deep into Wade one last time.

God, he can feel it. Logan absolutely fills him with come, chest heaving and thighs trembling, like some symbol of eroticism and beauty made just for Wade to stare at. The soft little gasps and growls that follow in the aftershocks make Wade want to flip him over and fuck him senseless for hours. Days. The rest of his life.

But Logan slowly pulls out of him, blinking back to himself. Come leaks out of Wade’s hole as he does–kind of unavoidable with how stretched and loose he is–but Wade can’t bring himself to care. Another set of sheets to wash is worth what they’ve done, he thinks.

“Five…fucking…stars,” Wade says as they untangle from each other. (His face hurts. He soon realizes it’s because he’s beaming like a lesbian at a women’s soccer match.) “I mean, bravo, sweetheart, Jesus. I’m not gonna lie – I thought I had you pegged as a power bottom – but we love a man with range.”

Giving a vague sort of hum in response, Logan’s already on his feet, hand on the bedroom doorknob.

Even though Wade’s brain is fast and his mouth is faster, Logan slips away before he can get out another word, leaving him alone with a soft click of the closing door.

Remember to punch a natzi today

Reblog daily for health and prosperity

I'd like to throw this out rn. I'm sure many others have been as well, but it is so important to remember in times like this. Especially America.

Even looking at my own communities, i.e., the lgbt+, the ignorant people around us are trying to separate and tear us down from the inside. Remember where we came from. There is nothing they can do to truly tear apart such a loving community.

I love you all. Have a good night and a safe week <3

Fading Embers

The dust has settled...time has passed... They won, didn't they? Time moves on whether we choose it or not. And time was running out very quickly. But, just this once, perhaps that wasn't so bad.

Contains SPOILERS for the entirety/ending of Legends of Avantris: Curse of Strahdanya

CW: death, religious trauma, minor existentialism, hurt/comfort

The still warm air was only broken by the slow creaking of a rocking chair. Rattlesnake was calm for once. Even the old saloon and brothel were uncharacteristically less rowdy than usual, as if sensing that tonight was one meant for reflection rather than debauchery. Off the main road, just further past the old water pump and next to that metallic windmill, was the cozy home of a certain tiefling. Well...he couldn't call it just his home, as a few hopeful Barovians lived on the farmland with him as well.

The tiefling would creak back in his chair again, letting his boot aid in the motion, as he stared off his porch towards that quaint town of his. His hat was discarded beside him, exposing his silvered hair and deep wrinkles. The sun and years of work had been merciful to him, as the once intense rust-red color of his skin has long since darkened, like a piece of worn leather. His eyes didn't work as well as they used to... hazy vision didn't make for good aiming. Silas Morgan, or more commonly known as 'Shepherd' around these parts, hasn't been the sheriff for a few years now.

That title was passed on to Thomas, who has since grown into a fine older man with a family of youngin's to call his own. Shepherd never thought he'd live long enough to have a family of his own, much less grandchildren, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it. Of course, the good Doc was also still around. He looked just as Shepherd always knew him. Big clunky goggles, long wispy beard and mustache, and an apron always tied around his waist. It was ironic really. Doc was far older than Shepherd ever was, even now, and yet he still moved about as if he were in his prime, and Shepherd couldn't even button his shirts straight anymore.

Another creak, another rock back and forward, and Shepherd would let his eyes unfocus as his thoughts began to trail even further back. Life was good here. He was content, his family was protected, along with the town...so why did he..? A flickering light caught his eye, making him squint at first before tilting his head up. Still hanging above his porch steps, still watching, was Sarnax's old dragon-bone lantern. And it's flame was beginning to die out. Shepherd wouldn't waste time sitting and pondering any longer. With one final creak, both from his chair as well as his joints, the tiefling stood up and gently opened the latch on the side, snapping his fingers to let his hellish fire relight the kindling once more.

This was a process he's done many times, though not often. And yet, staring so close into the fire, Shepherd couldn't help but linger. What once was a symbol of his pain, of his loss, was now something similar but also so very different. Fire had destroyed him. His parents. 'Holy' fire had cursed him and his family and made him turn from any form of divinity. He once hated fire. But now, all he could see when staring into those flickering lights was sorrow. He had lost another to the flame, but not in any way he could've predicted.

With a long sigh, blinking back the spots in his vision, Shepherd would close the hatch and turned to his chair to pick up his hat. Before heading inside though, he'd turn back to that old lantern. Ever burning. Always guiding those lost in the dark. It never left his sight, it never left this porch, but...just this once, Shepherd was feeling awfully sentimental. He was never one to linger much on the past, but that's just the damndest thing about retirement. It gave you too much time to think. So with a quiet word to Garyx, Shepherd carefully unhooked the lantern and turned inside, carrying the light close to him.

He'd make his way around all of the Doc's loose prototypes and tools, stepping over toys that Tommy's kids would leave behind whenever they visited, and ducked into a room at the back. It was only separated by a curtain from the main house, leaving him with just enough space for a bed and nightstand, but that was all he needed anyways. Shepherd delicately set the lantern down, though he knew he didn't need to be so careful with it. He's seen the storms it whethered through firsthand, and he's known of the power that used to dwell within. But that wasn't the case anymore. It was no longer filled with radiant fire or a sleeping wyrmling, but just fire. Shepherd once again pulled his eyes away from the light, pulling the curtain closed and slowly beginning the process of changing into his nightwear. Or at least, he'd attempt to. He made it as far as kicking off his boots and taking off his belt before his back protested against any further stretching or bending. All these years of hard labor and sheriff work sure did catch up to him...but fine. It felt like a shirt and jeans night anyway.

Practically dropping himself into bed, Shepherd let out a long sigh and rolled over onto his side, just to stare at the flame a little longer. God dammit...why couldn't he ever just move on? The question felt foolish as soon as he thought of it. The few times he wrote his old friends, or they'd reunite on some special occasion, they had all seen it written on his face. That lingering grief. It didn't matter how jovial they were, or what they were talking about, the old Expedition probably knew him better than himself at this point. But they knew. And they saw. He just couldn't forget. The others had such bigger lives to lead, more responsibilities and duties to tend to, but Shepherd didn't have that luxury. He didn't have the academics to teach in a university, or the political prowess to handle relations for old Barovia, or even the ability to wander from town to town defending the innocent. He just had his old little town, with its old little problems. And although he didn't mind that necessarily at first, it left him with a lot of time to sit alone and dwell on what happened. On what could've been.

Sarnax had done the impossible for a man like himself. He swore off all that holy hubbub. He made it a point not to ever get himself tangled up in worship or prayer or anything of the sort. Not after he saw the evil it was capable of. But Sarnax...that damn lizard. When they first crossed paths, he embodied everything Shepherd hated, everything he had feared. That mindless devotion, that willingness to burn and purge in the name of some uncaring god. Through every logical path, he should've always hated Sarnax. He should've slept with one eye open anytime that lizard was present. But fate was fickle, and the gods do so enjoy their games, because that lizard was the closest friend he's ever had. Whether it be through some divine force or sheer stupid luck, Sarnax was the only person he could always rely on. He couldn't tell you where it started, how it formed, or any of that mental jargon. To Shepherd, it just happened.

But that was just it, wasn't it? It shouldn't have happened. And yet, he couldn't regret a single moment. Sarnax was unlike any person he's met before. He was odd, blunt, had a strange way with children, and a lesser understanding of common customs. But...he was also loyal, protective, and a wise nurturer to those he sought out. He was so much more than Shepherd- than anyone- ever gave him credit for, and now people could only know of his greatness in death. Of his sacrifice. Sarnax of the Edelwood...the true hero of Barovia.

Shepherd would use the corner of his sleeve to press up against his eyes, preventing those tears from falling before they even had the chance. Even after all this time...all these years spent working and working... Shepherd never married. He was too old then to start a family the 'traditional' way, and back then, he had already been content with finding little Tommy. But...after all he endured, all he witnessed, he just couldn't bring himself to try and find someone like that ever again. Sarnax had done the impossible. The unthinkable. He made Shepherd a follower of Garyx for crying out loud, but...he had also made Shepherd so horribly attached. They never said it aloud. Never quite had the time to put a name on it. But everyone they met saw it. Shepherd and Sarnax. The monsters that monsters feared. They were the duo that no one could separate, chosen by dragons of silver and gold. And that was perhaps Shepherd's biggest regret. For letting the time slip by the way he did, for not saying what he felt and how much Sarnax had done for him when he could. If he could go back to that awful day, that fated day, he would just say he loves him. At least one more time.

Once again Shepherd had to take in a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut before looking to the lantern once more. Feeling its warmth, seeing its glow now, it just made him all the more colder. Even now, Shepherd could never claim this as his. Despite what time might've done to his body, his mind still knew what that holy flame looked like. It was so much brighter than this...it was always brighter. He was always brighter. Shepherd could only linger on his grief for so long, and he didn't want to dwell on it any longer. The more he did, the more it ached, and the colder the flame became. Rolling onto his back once more, the tiefling would squeeze his eyes shut, the flickering hues of orange and red dancing behind his eyelids as he sent off a quick prayer to Garyx. He still didn't know if he was doing this whole...'praying' thing right, but it was too ingrained in him at this point. It wasn't much, his prayers usually weren't, but they were still pleas all the same. 'Please...take care of Sarnax. Tell him everyone's still okay...and tell him I said howdy.'

With another aching sigh, the emotion still raw in his throat, Shepard kept his eyes closed and slowly settled into his bed. It wasn't easy at first. His thoughts were still too present, still trying to creep to the forefront, but maybe Garyx was still listening and lending him a hand. Or maybe he was just old. Because whether he chose to or not, his breathing would eventually even out, and his mind would still once more. Finally, after mere moments, Shepherd faded off into a dreamless sleep.

At least...that's what he hoped. His dreams were empty, yes, full of nothingness and blackness but..what was that color? It was faint, easily brushed aside at first. But then more color began to appear. First orange, then yellow. Followed shortly after by red and then gold. The colors danced across his eyes, once distant, now all he could see. They were the brightest he's ever known, intense and raging and...warm? So warm. So very very warm. Too warm. Too familiar. The hues became too much all too fast, and with a start, Shepard shot up with a deep gasp. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, still able to see the flashes of gold every time he blinked...but, as he caught his bearings, he realized that those colors were no mere illusion. They were...everywhere. All over his room, were the dancing hues he had seen in his sleep. Orange, yellow, red, gold, they flickered across his wall in a dance he knew well by now. But, then came a hand.

A hand?

Shepherd's brow furrowed at the added shadow to his wall, following it down and down until it reached his nightstand, to which his heart completely stopped. The lantern was still here, but it burned brighter than it ever had in his possession. The flames licked at the glass as if excited for something, as if gleefully dancing to be brought to its full glow once again. But that wasn't what had frozen Shepherd. Hunched over near his nightstand, black claws cradling the flame and red eyes peering into the lantern, was a lizardfolk. An all too familiar lizardfolk. A lizardfolk that shouldn't be here and yet Shepherd didn't find it in himself to care. He couldn't move. Couldn't even call out his name. If this was some kind of dream, it was a cruel one, because Shepherd couldn't even so much as lift a finger to reach out to him. But thankfully, he wouldn't have to. With the lantern rekindled, those eyes turned away from the fire towards Shepherd, and he could've sworn that everything else in the world had faded away.

Sarnax stared back at him for a moment, too long to be comfortable by normal standards, until finally, he smiled. "Shepherd." It was so matter of fact. It was a voice he hadn't heard in SO long and it still sounded just as he remembered. No...it sounded better. That one word seemed to be enough to break whatever hold was on Shepherd's body, because without a second to waste, he was kicking off his covers and throwing his arms around that worn old robe. Sarnax had jumped at first, but he too would return the embrace, holding his friend tight but the tiefling held him even tighter. He wouldn't question whatever this was. Whether this be a dream or vision or some kind of delusion he was having in his old age, he didn't care. He's seen enough miracles and magic to know not to question it, and right now all he cared about was holding his friend.

If this was a vision or a dream, it was a damn lucid one, because Shepard could truly feel those claws grazing against his back. Could practically smell the ash that had settled in Sarnax's robes and feel the scales along his head. Maybe he was getting old and senile, because this truly felt as if Sarnax was here, cradling him as he'd shake and weep and sputter. But again, Shepherd wasn't one to dwell too long on magic or anything. He just wanted to feel this, to feel HIM. Sarnax was never overly touchy in life, as it was a foreign concept to him, but he didn't even think twice about holding Shepherd as close as he did. He'd rest his snout over the tiefling's shoulder, allowing him his time to sob and release everything he's carried all these years.

When the sobs had become nothing more than teary hiccups, and his grip was no longer bone-breaking, he would still remain where he was. He would only move when Shepherd did, and even though his friend had pulled back somewhat, his hands never left Sarnax. They would continue to clutch his robes as if the second he let go, this dream would fizzle away. "Shepherd..?" Sarnax spoke again, albeit with some gentle concern, and that nearly made him start sobbing all over again. But, steeling his nerve and swallowing hard, Shepherd would just shake his head in disbelief and let the babble fall from his tongue.

"S..Sarnax... Sarnax! I....wha...h-how in the.. Yer HERE. I-I-I don't understand. I saw you...w-we ALL did. You...and Ravenloft.. You were...." His voice trailed off, unable to finish it despite the dead literally standing here in front of him. Sarnax would just smile sadly, giving two awkward pats on his back, before continuing for him. "You saw the power of Garyx, not me.. I was merely the conduit." Shepherd huffed after attempting to dry his face with his sleeve(it was futile). "You know what I mean! You were GONE Sarnax!! You...I dunno how yer even standin' here, b-but I don't care! That don't matter none. Sarnax, buddy...gods.." Shepherd sniffled, and finally allowed himself to smile to his dear friend. "Gods, I missed you... Not a day went by where you didn't cross my mind.." Sarnax's faint smile remained, but there was now a hint of knowing to it, as if there was more he already knew to Shepherd's grief. "I know...the Fire Lord said as much."

"Wait..ya mean Garyx..? He...really told you..?"

"Of course, Shepherd. Although He never answered you, He heard your prayers all the same. You are one of His children afterall."

Shepherd would slowly shake his head in stunned disbelief. Obviously he knew of Garyx's presence, hell he even saw the dragon god himself once. But still...he could never get used to the concept of a present god. With an amused huff, Shepherd's smile grew. "That son of a bitch...he really did." At that, Sarnax's smile fell and was instead replaced with the scaly furrow of his brow. "Shepherd...that is quite disrespectful. Why would you say such a thing?" Hearing and seeing such familiar confusion, Shepherd couldn't help but let out a teary laugh, hugging Sarnax close once again before patting him heartily on the back. "It's..just an expression Sarnax. It's a fond one, promise.." Sarnax still seemed a bit confused, but he wouldn't question it any further.

Now that the initial air of relief and reunion had been cleared, the lizardfolk figured he now ought to continue with what he originally came here to do. Pulling away to look at Shepherd once more, his expression had fallen into its usual stoicism, that grim natural snarl tugging at Shepherd's heartstrings. "Shepherd...speaking of Garyx..I actually come as a..messenger of his. Or perhaps, a guide, of sorts." Shepherd, although questioning at first, wouldn't interrupt. He would let Sarnax continue, simply basking in the sound of his familiar slow drawl. "Garyx...I..have come to take you home." Now that was a bit much for even Shepherd to ignore, as his brow arched and he'd cock his head. "Come home..? Sarnax, yer standing IN my room, yer already-"

And then it hit him. Sarnax was dead. He has been for years now. And..Shepherd was getting older with each day. By instinct, he would turn around to look back at his bed, staring down at the stranger laying before him. It was an old tiefling, his skin reddened and leathered from years in the sun, but a quiet look of peace on his face nonetheless. Shepherd would then look down at himself, staring over his hands and clothes. They were...younger. Newer. Feeling his face, although he couldn't see himself just yet, he could tell. He wasn't as old and withered as he had been.

He wouldn't contemplate too long on his death. He knew it was a long time coming...well, honestly he was just grateful it was in his warm bed rather than being devoured by a giant worm or troll or some other monster from his work. The only sad thing about it was how the Doc might feel when he came to wake him up in the morning. Shepherd's thoughts would cease when he felt a scaled hand on his face, slowly turning his head back towards Sarnax's own. The lizardfolk at this point had picked up his lantern, or at least, the spectral equivalent of it. The real thing was still sitting on his nightstand, the light having burned out without him noticing. Sarnax would again offer a faint smile, that hint of sadness to it, but it was overshadowed by the potential afterlife they now had together.

"Come now, Shepherd...allow me to light your way one more time."

Shepherd would hesitate a moment, perhaps a subconscious doubt that this was all still a dream, but as he'd walk forward to join Sarnax's side, the more he began to accept it. Every step they took through this old house/workshop left the room aglow, with Sarnax's golden light pooling off of each corner and tool like the rising sun. Shepherd would stick a bit too close to him for comfort, but if Sarnax was uncomfortable by it, then he wouldn't have leaned in closer to him. As they'd make their way towards the front door, Shepherd couldn't help but let a question fall, one of many for sure.

"So...what about the others? When it's..their time, I mean.. Will they...?" Sarnax hummed lowly, his hood shifting as he'd shake his head. "I...am afraid not, Shepherd.. They each have their own gods of worship, and when it is their time to die, they will return to that god. Victoria will have her Raven Queen. Kana will...well I'm not quite sure how that would work. And as for the Professor...I can only pray for the best for him."

At this point they had arrived on the porch, their close proximity allowing their tails to find each other and slowly intertwine. An old habit that never broke, it seems. Shepherd, either not noticing it or not mentioning it, would simply scoff and put on a grin. "Hey now, we've cheated death quite a few times already. I'm sure a few of them gods got some kinda custody on us. Maybe we can arrange a visit..~" Sarnax cocked his head, doubtful that was how things worked, but he couldn't resist the optimistic allure Shepherd had. His smile growing just a bit more, he'd shrug and continue to lead the tiefling off the porch, out onto the sand and dirt, and stopped a few steps away from the path. This was it. Time was getting short and they wouldn't be able to stand on this plane for much longer.

Before they prepared to depart forever, Sarnax would crane his head up towards the sky, dimming his lantern slightly just to take it all in. "You know, Shepherd....where I am from, the trees and the homes of the aarakocra blotted out every semblance of the sky.. And...in Barovia, it was always so overcast, that not a speck of the above could be seen. But...seeing this now? I am...glad that the first true night sky I see, is the one from your home." Shepherd too would look up into the night, though it was a sight he was long-since familiar with. These stars were nothing but directional points to him, lines on a map to help him find his way.

But seeing the reverence and awe on Sarnax's face gave him a new appreciation for the expansive darkness of his homeland. With a fond smile, Shepherd would let out a long sigh, his chest lighter than it's ever been in years. "Yeah...it sure is a good one. But I think there's somethin' just a little bit better.." Sarnax cocked his head towards his dear friend, that old quizzical sheen in his eyes. "Oh? And what could that be, Shepherd?"

Shepherd wouldn't say anything, instead he would just stare down at the lizard with a knowing look and a fond smile. Of course, Shepherd should've known better because after some time staring, Sarnax would look around in confusion and speak awkwardly. "I suppose I wasn't clear...what did you mean Shepherd? When you said you believed there was something better than the night sky of Yona?" Shepherd rolled his eyes and chuckled, throwing an arm around Sarnax's shoulders. "Sarnax...just let it pass.." Though still a bit confused, Sarnax would then perk up, the edges of his frill peeking out from beneath his hood to do the same. "Oh! Were we...'having a moment', as you mammals say?" Shepherd laughed yet again, squeezing Sarnax a little tighter. "Yeah, sure...but there'll be plenty more to come bud. Soon as you can get us home.."

Remembering his original purpose here, Sarnax nodded with a faint, crooked smile returning. Lifting up his lantern, the light and fire within would begin to blaze more and more. Swirling and colliding in a cascade of heat and color, the fire would soon erupt from Sarnax's hands and began to coalesce around the pair. In their final moments before fully passing on to return to the Fire Lord's domain, the pair would turn and hold each other in a tight embrace, allowing the blaze to surround and envelop them in its caress.

Shepherd and Sarnax. The monsters that monsters feared. They were the duo that no one could separate, chosen by dragons of silver and gold. And now they were reunited once again. Just as promised a lifetime ago, they would in fact meet and be together once more. Born of flame, and now returning to the flame, they would now enter eternity held within each other's arms.

yall ever used to reading slow burn fics, then you read a short fic that isn’t slow burn at all and it just kinda hits you in the face

I need someone to write a superbat fic inspired by the song surprise party by Hoodie Allen. It is a great need, and i can't write Bruce or Clark for the life of me.

it’s two a.m. i just wanna write and entire story .

My mother rickrolls me at least once a week

i think rickrolling is the only meme that gets objectively funnier with age. in 2009 you learned to anticipate it but in 2019 it happens just infreqently enough that i fall for it every single time

seeing this just makes my heart warm

🌻🌞Back on my yellow room mood 🌞🌻

No thoughts, only brucie in a new pretty bathrobe💗😌

but where did it come from? 🤔