My Day's Enjoyability Factor Just Increased By 100000%.

My day's enjoyability factor just increased by 100000%.

All those moving fanarts of Alastor discovering asexuality are very sweet and cool, but let’s not kid ourselves you guys, let’s not kid ourselves.

A little bonus:

Cherrisnake lover here! Can we see what a first date might be like for them?

I am certain that by this ask, you did not mean "Modern AU where Emily pays for their whole date because she's sick of seeing them dance around each other for years and they go see Hamilton".

Alas, I cannot control myself.

Contains swearing, queerphobia (specifically transphobia), slander of religion, people using religion as an excuse to discriminate and possible implications of child abuse and anxiety.

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Pentious’s hands were shaking as he stood at Cherri’s apartment door, trying to work up the courage to knock. I’m still five minutes early, he told himself. I’ve got time. He clutched the bag with two priceless tickets to Hamilton inside, reminding himself that Cherri had agreed to this and he had planned it to perfection and really, what’s the worst that could happen? Hmm, I don’t know. I could be humiliated forever and cry myself to sleep for the next month.

Cherri doesn’t like cowards. She’s into bravery and all that. I’m only lowering my chances by hiding out here.

Pentious lightly banged his fist against Cherri’s door and waited for a few seconds that felt like eternity.

The door clicked open and Cherri stood in front of him, lightly smirking. Don’t blush don’t blush don’t- Goddamnit, he could feel the blood rush to his cheeks. After some awkward silence, Pentious uncovered in himself the otherworldly determination it took to whisper, “Hi.”

He cursed himself.

“I mean, um- hello!” he blurted. Stop stop stop code red you are actively making this worse-

“Hello to you too,” Cherri responded, a sarcastic but kind smile stretching across her face. She grabbed Pentious by the arm and dragged him into her apartment. He fumbled in his bag for the tickets and handed one to Cherri.

“H-here,” he stammered. “Please don’t think this is, like… too much for a first date… Emily gave me the tickets so…” Jesus Christ, Pentious what are you thinking don’t tell her that!!!

“Are you kidding me?? You know I love musicals, don’t apologize… But you will be sitting through my terrible Angelica impression on the way back so… just wanted to warn you.” Cherri smirked again.

Pentious smiled. “I am well known in my friend group for my horrid George Washington voice.”

Cherri nodded and turned her back to remove her coat from the hook it sat on. “Hm, well I must say I find horrid George Washington voices very sexy.” Before Pentious could respond to that, she held up a finger and hissed, “I said what I said.”

Cherri and Pentious walked to the subway station and after a twenty-minute wait due to some hold-up, collapsed into the comfortable train seats.

Pentious reached in his pocket for the cards he had prepared. The first read, in last night’s tired, drunk scrawling ASK HER FAVORITE COLOR.

He obeyed himself, turned to Cherri, and asked, “What’s your favorite color?” 

“Red, you know, like blood,” she said absentmindedly. “Why?”

“Oh, um no reason, just, you know, get to you know shit and all that, even though I mean, like, we've been friends for years, I should probably know your… OH FUCK! I mean, dammit! Um- Sorry for swearing… There are little children here… fuck it…”

“You’re capable of swearing?” Cherri asked incredulously. “You seem so… innocent… like one of those people who apologizes for saying, like, heck.”

“Um… it’s something that I accidentally do whenever I’m nervous- I try to work on it but often fail, and you’re referring to Emily, not me.”

“Don’t remind me…”

“Of the time she basically got on her knees and begged forgiveness for saying gosh?”

“Blame her upbringing,” Cherri scoffed. “And Sera. And the church.”

“Mostly the church,” Pentious agreed.

“A-hem,” a brunette woman coughed from across the train. She stood up and began to march over towards Cherri and Pentious. “I will not hear the good god-fearing community slandered in the vicinity of my young, impressionable children. And I will certainly not tolerate that propaganda pinned to your shirt, ma’am.” She pointed to the transgender flag and he/him pins on Pentious’s shirt, clearly taking a look at his visible hips.

Cherri stood up. “Hello, what are your name and pronouns?” she asked, a fake-sweet smile on her face.

“I have very strong words to say to you, but unlike you young miscreants, I won’t allow them to taint my mouth,” she said.

A second woman, this one in a leather jacket, left the herd of children the brunette had been ushering on the train and stepped next to her. “Sis, we both know your mouth is already tainted. And if you can’t stand these people insulting your ‘good community’ in front of your impressionable children, why don’t you go spend some time with those children, instead of just insulting their clothing like you have all night?”

The brunette turned to leave, but before she did so, she eyed Cherri, Pentious and her sister, and told them, “You should ask God for forgiveness.”

She turned on her heel and stalked off.

“I am so sorry,” the woman in leather said. “She was completely out of line.” “Please make sure she doesn’t rub off on those kids too much,” Cherri told her at the same time Pentious said, “Forget about us, just worry about those poor children.” The woman smiled. “You too are such a cute couple- don’t worry; I’m not making some stupid ‘people of opposite genders in public- ooh, they must be dating’ assumption. You’re just obviously compatible!”

“Oh, um, well-” Pentious blushed. Again. Fuck.

“It’s just our first date,” Cherri finished.

“I see,” the woman in leather said, nodding. She removed a small notebook and pen from her pocket, ripped out a page and scribbled something on it.

She handed it to them and smiled. “Here’s my number. Call me when you get engaged so I can show up at your wedding.” “Our what?” Cherri demanded. The woman just smiled and left.

After their stop was called, Cherri and Pentious looked at each other, simultaneously shrugged and just laughed.

Suddenly, Pentious gasped. “We’re going to be late, we need to fucking run!”

“Okay, then let’s run!” Cherri yelled, grabbing Pentious by the wrist again and basically dragging them out of the station.

Once they’d finally made it to the theater and dodged death a few times, Pentious was gasping and Cherri was barely breaking a sweat.

“How… are you… so fast?” he demanded between breaths.

“I did cross-country in high school. Come on, we can’t miss anything!!” she yelled.

Finally, they managed to make it to the theater and settled into their seats. Somewhere between “The Schuyler Sisters” and “Right Hand Man”, Cherri and Pentious’s hands found each other.

After the show, Cherri and Pentious bought pretty much their weight in Hamilton merch (Emily was sponsoring their whole date, anyway, what did it matter?) and called an Uber- they were not in the mood for another wonderful subway experience.

Waiting in the dark, they talked about a lot of things they just hadn’t had time to discuss before, smiled, laughed, and got a little emotional.

Their Uber arrived and dropped Cherri off at her house, then drove Pentious the rest of the way to his.

The next morning, Pentious’s phone lit up with one text from Cherri: So, what flavor cake should we have? Wouldn’t want to let the cool aunt down.

For today's episode of "Weird Hazbin Hotel Headcanons That Might Actually Be True", we have....

AFAB sinners in Hell still get periods because, come on guys, eternal torment.

MAKE IT HAPPEN MAKE IT HAPPEN MAKE IT HAPPEN PLEASE

Hey what if. And hear me out. What if when a soul contract breaks, the chain that holds them also breaks but like, it remains a physical thing. Like a real, tangible chain you can touch.

What if you could grab a link of that chain, turn it into a ring, and use it to propose as a symbolic way of giving yourself wholly to your partner, body and soul.

Okay so you know Husk and Angel—

Silver - Prolouge & Chapter One

The princess's bodyguard isn't what she seems...

*Second-chance queer romantasy*

Prologue

Amirah and Reye had trusted each other. That was just the way it was, and the way it had always been. There were no secrets between them.

Well, that’s what Reye had thought. Until that morning. Even fifty-nine years later, she could still perfectly remember every detail. The shining blonde hair of the woman who had announced it on the television. The salty smell of the air left over from the rain the night before, and the way Amirah’s hair had still been wet when she sat, hunched over her desk, after she’d arrived early at school for the first time her senior year- and the last time she’d ever walked through those doors.

The fear in Amirah’s eyes every time someone said her name.

The fear that Reye had never seen Amirah show before.

The fear that Reye had never known the girl was capable of.

The fear. Always that fear.

And to think that twelve hours before, they’d been hugging goodbye, Amirah promising, promising, she wouldn’t do it.

Reye never should have trusted her.

But Amirah had always been too adept at lying for anyone’s good, least of all her own.

Chapter One

Kamali took a breath and prepared for the first moment of the rest of her life. Or, more accurately, of her new one. She held a pale, trembling hand up to her reflection in the exquisite mirror. Black hair. Teal eyes. Pale skin. All so, so new to her.

Perhaps she should have chosen a different color for her hair. Auburn? Honestly, lime green would’ve been better than what was probably the exact color of the deepest pits of the ocean. How had she ever thought black hair would look at all natural on her? Hopefully none of these people would have any common sense. No one had natural hair that shade. The color was actually navy blue. As… a reminder. And she had no hair products in her bathroom, so she couldn’t claim she’d dyed it. Of course she’d had to opt for the constant memory of what she stood to gain- and to lose.

Whatever. There were more important things that day than the color of her hair. Like making sure her secret stayed secure- especially from Johanna. No one would guess there was anything off about her. Kamali could put on a show like nobody’s business. And there was nothing she was better at than lying. As long as she managed not to lose her mind from being around those stuffy nobles for over ten minutes, she was in the clear. Hopefully forever. No one would ever expect the bodyguard to Crown Princess Silver of Florynlla to be…

Kamali took a breath and removed her hand from the mirror, sticky from being pressed against the glass for so long.

She forced her quivering body to stand upright and told herself to take a damn breath and stop shaking or no one was going to take her seriously.

It wasn’t until a few seconds later that she realized someone had told her that before, sixty-three years ago.

But no. She wasn’t going to think about that today. Or any day. Even having that near-forgotten name cross her mind wasn’t safe, not in front of Johanna. Kamali reached for the dagger slipped in the back of her slick black leather pants. Pictured it penetrating Johanna’s flesh, then hers. The two people who had done all this to her, the reasons she bore the scars across her torso and legs and neck. Finally- finally- at her mercy. As she had been at theirs for too long.

Kamali took one more deep breath, whirled on her heel, and left her enormous dressing room- who needed a dressing room, anyway? She’d been just fine without one for seventy-seven years!

Well. The lack of a dressing room wasn’t what had caused her to not be fine.

Everything Kamali was wearing seemed to be leather and black, which wasn’t ideal. It was the height of summer and no one deserved to be tormented with a snakeskin bra- a snakeskin bra? Really?- a shirt two sizes too large so she could hide weapons under it easily, but with the tightest tank top underneath to compensate for it so if she needed the weapons she could fight without the shirt weighing her down and shoes designed for a man eighteen inches taller than her (no one had time to get her footwear that actually fit her body). She had to honestly say her favorite piece of clothing had to be the secondhand polyester cape covering her neck and shoulders that dropped down to her thighs. She hadn’t been required to wear the cape, but without it, the scars peppering her neck would have been visible to any onlooker. Including Johanna.

They’re not going to recognize you, Kamali told herself as she gripped her left hand on the wooden spiral staircase directly outside her bedroom. They have no reason to suspect you if you don’t give them one.

Kamali tentatively placed one foot on the first step of the staircase.

She didn’t realize she’d managed to continue walking down it until she was already at the bottom. 

A pair of heavy wooden double doors loomed in front of her. A young woman with wavy hair the color of soil that was cropped roughly and unprofessionally at her cheekbones, light brown skin and eyes the shade of a clear sky in winter. A silver chain was draped around her throat.

She didn’t even have one dagger on her.

The unarmed woman stuck out her hand. “Princess Silver,” she said, smiling.

Kamali awkwardly shook hands with the future monarch. “Kamali. Your new bodyguard.” “Oh, thank the gods!” the princess gasped.

“What…” Kamali cocked her head.

“When Father announced I was to be assigned a guard, I thought it would be some insufferable old man! At least you’re someone who seems a bit interesting!” Was this girl capable of making an ounce of sense? Of course, she voluntarily dated Johanna Varyn, so perhaps she was simply insane.

It didn’t matter. One of them would be dead in a few weeks.

Kamali nodded, unsure of what to even say.

“The reception’s this way,” Princess Silver said, still with that smile plastered on her face. She pushed the oak doors open, and Kamali slinked into the room behind her.

And there were so many people.

Too many.

She didn’t even remember the last time she’d been in a crowded room like this.

No, she did.

It had been in that disgusting bar, and that damn song had been playing, and Kamali had danced with her, and dear gods, how many strangers had thought they were on a date? How many people had pulled either or both of them aside and informed them that it was improper for two women of their different classes to be so affectionate in public towards each other? And Kamali had laughed and told those people that they were wrong, that the two of them were just friends, and why in hell had she spent that whole night looking like she just wanted to cry, when a few days afterwards, it would be Kamali being tortured in a dungeon?

The floors of the reception were made of pristine white marble and perfectly polished chandeliers hung from the ceiling. All the money that went into this abomination could’ve gone to charity.

But people who had the money to donate never did.

Kamali wanted to close her eyes, wanted to block out all these people smiling and laughing and pretending the world they all lived in wasn’t broken. But the princess’s bodyguard couldn’t close her eyes, couldn’t turn her back on her charge for even two seconds.

Princess Silver dragged her around the ballroom for a good thirty minutes, introducing her to noble after noble, each one more terrible than the last.

“...Thank you for your time, Lord Jameson,” Silver finished, curtseying. “Eternal blessings upon you and your family.”

“You’re very welcome, my princess,” the six-foot lord finished. He turned to Kamali and grimaced. “She’s a Darkflame girl.” “Excellent observation,” Kamali said blandly.

Yes, this old man might be six feet tall.

But she was six-foot-one.

Princess Silver grabbed Kamali’s wrist and dragged her away from the lord. “And now it’s time for you to meet Queen Reye!” “What?” Kamali barked. “Of… of Hoperain?”

“Of course of Hoperain,” Silver said. “She doesn’t usually come to functions, of course, but because of the diplomacy mission-” “Diplomacy mission?” Kamali demanded.

“Didn’t you read the file? You were supposed to have gotten one. Tomorrow, we leave for a two-month visit to Hoperain. We’ll be residing in the queen’s palace,” the princess explained.

“...I mostly skimmed,” Kamali muttered. “It didn’t seem like the papers were going to be that important.” “Well, at least you’ll get a chance to become acquainted with her beforehand,” Silver said decisively. “Let’s go.”

Oh, we’re acquainted.

They crossed the dance floor, Princess Silver parting the crowd as she and her guard moved towards the queen.

Reye.

The person who, fifty-nine years ago, could’ve stood up.

Could’ve fought for her.

Could’ve saved Kamali.

And, if she’d done so, wouldn’t be dead in two months along with Johanna and her girlfriend.

Kamali’s best friend.

And almost more than that.

Her.

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