#kit💙🗡

[gingersnaptaff]

💙 d/g/a bc im obsessed with them

Oh my GOD, Kit, I'm *incoherent screaming* about them constantly so here u go.

Arthur/Gwyn/Dylan - drunken kiss / tipsy

Uisge-beatha scorched my throat, inflamed my blood, and left an oddly satisfying tingling fire in its wake, that loosened both my tongue and my limbs. I stretched out on the large bed, my hands trailing over the silks and furs, feeling as liquid as quicksilver. The fire burned low in the grate, daubing tiny flecks of sunset across the tapestry clad walls.

I hummed, my eyes flickering shut. The uisge-beatha unwound the tension that knotted up the rod of my spine and the beam of my shoulders, and I sunk into the bed, revelling in the coolness of the sheets and the lingering perfume of my lovers.

And, if I cracked one bleary eye open, I'd see them seated in front of the fire, conversing.

Arthur, his shaggy dark hair now flecked with grey, sat in the chair nearest the fire. He wasn't old by any means - only thirty-five to my thirty-three and Dylan's… well, Dylan's infinitesimal lifespan - but the stress of kingship had turned him prematurely grey. Uthyr had never greyed, not even when he'd gone half-mad in the face of Arthur's loss, and I wondered if Arthur found himself mystified as to why. Why had his father not been dogged by the curse of ageing?

And why did he so suffer with it?

His crow's feet crinkled up as he smiled at something Dylan said. Leaning across so as to better hear him, Arthur's cheeks grew flushed from both heat and alcohol, matching the faded red of his tunic. He'd unfastened the laces at the neck, exposing the sharp lines of his collarbones, the hollow of his throat, and the scattering of dark fuzz on his upper chest, as well as the gleaming gold torc he always wore, even when his counsellors beseeched him not to. A garrulous grin softened the harsh lines of his jaw and cheekbones, while the fire's soft glow suffused his skin, casting his eyes to a captivating bloodstone.

I huffed a sigh and held up my left hand to examine my engagement ring. Yes, the bloodstone did match his gaze. My wedding ring winked above it, scratched with age, and I buffed it with my nightgown a little, my mind hazy.

Arthur laughed. “And then I told him - I told him I'd be honoured to sing an englyn if only he sang first! He fled!”

“The audacity!” Dylan boisterously replied, his blue eyes limpid. His sandy curls gleamed gold, so like his younger twin’s, although they were rather mussed from constantly dragging his fingers through them, and he scratched the stubble that peppered his chin as he patiently waited for Arthur to finish his recollections. The scars on his arms that were once salmon-pink tributaries in his youth had faded to a pale silver-white, while his lithe build had filled out a little from battle.

I leaned on my side to watch them. Their voices grew in intensity and pitch. Their hands sliced through the air in order to illustrate their points more effectively. Dylan howled with laughter when Arthur succeeded in slopping half his ale - never uisge-beatha with him, even though Gwalchmai had gifted it to him after he'd defeated the Saxons at Badon - over both his tunic and trews.

I couldn't help but laugh at his despairing groan: “They hate me.”

“I don't think it's the gods that hate you, but yourself. You need to stop drinking, husband,” I japed.

He shot me a dirty look which did little to quell that laughter bubbling in my chest. My amusement only deepened when Dylan burst into raucous giggles.

“You tŵpsyn!” He crowed joyously. “And you call yourself a king?”

Arthur pouted. Even now, when I am clad in shackles and not silk, I still can recall the slight downturn of his full lips and the dulling of the sheen in his eyes. “King of drink!” he yelled in fierce agreement, pumping a fist in the air.

The change in his demeanour made me laugh. Here was this normally composed and austere leader reverting to the all-too-eager commander's lad of his summer years.

Had his duty - his destiny! - changed him? Mellowed his brass brashness into an iron self-restraint that only drink and ditties could discard? Or had it always been there, swaddled beneath crimson silk and a youth’s gadfly-like impetuosity?

I did not know.

The gods would not make me privy to those matters anymore than Arthur would. We never discussed our lives before I’d been fostered by Manawydan, Rhiannon, Cigfa, and Pryderi, nor how he'd been treated by Emrys.

We had no need to.

Neither of us wished to retread such pain-filled events.

But - I couldn't dwell on that! I'd retch otherwise! And, gods! That fire-drink was strong! To this day, I can still taste it. When I dream, it ravages my tongue. Oh, Gwalch’s gift possessed a vehement kick, like a disgruntled horse’s.

Dylan too seemed to feel its effects. Odd, considering, although I supposed he was doing it to fit in. As if he wouldn't. As if he even entertained the idea that either Arthur or I would be bothered by such nigglesome things!

He shared our bed. He needn't have been petrified of our reactions to his godliness. Was it not his son, our Llacheu, who was Arthur's Etifedd, and the bearer of his own godly aura?

Oh, Dylan… Cariad. Fy nghalon.

I miss him.

His eyes watered with tears, just as mine are now. Hacking out a particularly nasty cough, he frantically gestured to the samian jug that sat on the table next to them. The firelight bounced off it, glazing it to ruby, as Arthur quickly poured him a cup of water.

“Drink,” he ordered, pressing it into our beloved’s hands.

Dylan gulped it down just rapidly as Arthur had poured it. An eminently satisfied sigh followed and he smacked his lips together. “Tell me then,” he said, a hand propped beneath his chin, “about how you bested Melwas. I love that.”

“You do, do you?” Arthur’s voice was honeyed. He took a rather dainty sip of his ale and nodded sagaciously when Dylan hummed in assent. “Alright then.”

“Tylwyth Teg are never benevolent unless it suits them and he's no different. He was a scourge in Yrechwydd with everything that went on with Morfudd, and he's all the more so now. He had the gall to try and pluck Amr from my arms!”

Stiffening in his seat, Dylan's eyes widened.

I sat upright, almost tumbling off the bed. “He what?!” Uisge-beatha sloshed over the side of my cup, coating my hand in it. The sour inferno of it made me grimace.

Arthur nodded, his lips thin. I suspected from the look on his face that it had been his idea to take his newly-born bastard son into the woods in the first place. Indeg would not have counseled him so, not when she lay in bed recovering, her body pushed past its breaking point. Blood and roses had perfumed her chambers, a thick, nauseous cloud when I had attended to her alongside the midwife.

It had not been the easiest of births. How Amr had survived I did not know, but I thanked Modron he had.

“But you recovered him,” Dylan pointed out.

Arthur's face crumpled in self-loathing. “I vexed him,” he countered, his voice oddly devoid of emotion. “It isn't the same.”

“Still to do as you did was no small feat,” I said, staring directly at him.

A raw sob broke the silence. Hunched over, and with tears sparking in his eyes and down his cheeks, the fire highlighted his frailty. His hands shook as he wiped his eyes and gave a bitter laugh. “I tricked him with a babe made of leaves, Gwyn. He'll have grown wise to the ruse by now.”

“You don't know that for certain. It's Melwas. He's far more self-aggrandising than any man or… ysbridion I've yet to meet. He could even give Gwydion a run for his money.”

At that Arthur shook his head. Discomfort rolled off him in waves. Gone was the rashness of youth, that which had caused us all so much irritation and pain. Now he ruled over the domain of caution with startling alacrity, as if it were the borders of Cymru. It tempered his worst aspects and bolstered the air of reality that clung to him like the spicy fug of oud. “He’ll come back,” he murmured as he scratched his jaw. His coronation ring blazed on his finger, a bloody comet. “He always does.”

Dylan leaned over and squeezed his knee. “Cariad, you're being rather downhearted tonight. Do you need us to convince you otherwise?”

Arthur barked out a laugh. “No,” he took another gulp of his ale and then a deep, rattling breath. There was a moment of silence as he wiped his runny nose and then: “Cerridwen’s tits, I stink!”

Through my tears I saw Dylan bite his lip to keep from adding his laughs to mine. Mischief made the spindrift gold of his aura ripple with grey.

In that moment, he chose to tug Arthur towards him - forgetting that they were on separate seats - only for my husband to pitch forward and, with a startled yelp like that of a bitchhound’s, crash to the floor in a most inelegant heap.

“Dylan!” came his indignant squall. Ale now saturated the floor. The room reeked of it. “Y - You - You -” He broke off, wheezing with uncontrollable laughter, the fire limning him in bronze.

“Gwyn,” Dylan cackled loudly. “Arthur fell.”

I couldn't help it. I howled. Clutching my sides until they ached, I rocked back and forth on the bed, uncontainable bursts of hysterical laughter leaving my lips. “D - Did he? I didn't notice.”

Dylan’s grin became toothy as he leaned down to assist Arthur in standing - only for him to shakily yelp, “o - oh!” and slide off his seat and on top of my husband. Merry giggles drowned out the crackle of the fire, as well as the hooting of the owls outside, and it took all my effort not to join in.

One of us had to maintain decorum - what little remained.

“Gods,” I moaned, mock-indignantly, pinching the bridge of my nose, once I’d calmed. “You two… You smell like an entire bar just doused you.”

For a moment, they only glanced at each other, and I did not think they'd even heard my comment, until both men suddenly stirred from their astonished fugue and met my eye.

Utterly unbothered by all that had occurred - and quite content to remain sprawled atop Arthur - Dylan breezily commented, “Could be worse!”

“What could be worse than my dashing husband and my lovely wave god slumped across the floor like a duo of drunkards?”

“May I remind you, gwraig bach,” Arthur began as he pushed himself upright once Dylan had chambered off him, the positively awful indignity he'd suffered stirring him. “That I was not the one who drank so much braggod during Calan Mai that I tripped over my own feet and plummeted into the Afon Usk. I'd thought we'd have to trawl for you, you were so weighed down!”

“What a catch,” Dylan sniggered.

My mouth dropped open in the face of this rebuke. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I dared not look either of them in the eye.

“You're lucky I rescued you-”

“No,” Dylan’s voice was sharp. “I did! You were so blasted you couldn't even swim. You kept on stumbling over your boots! Bedwyr and Cai had to take you to your chambers cuz you kept sing-”

“Alright! Let's not contest things, annwyl. Besides, I would've saved you if I could, Gwyn.”

“If you hadn't been composing seventy-five new awdlau?” I shot back, feeling a little smug by the way his eyes bulged and his face slackened. “Cai told me you were. Why do you think I insisted on separate chambers? I'd only have ‘A lover, fire-hearted and blood-haired,’ in my head endlessly.”

“That was for you! Do you dare spurn my poetry?”

“I love it, Cariad. You know I do,” I soothed. “Does my lord need convincing?”

His expression was the same as Cafall’s after I had the temerity to deny him a treat. Big, brown eyes shone in the darkness and, I reflected, I did not know if Arthur was aping his hound or if his hound aped the master. Half the time I was convinced he loved that dog more than he did me.

“Ah, so you do then.”

He raised his chin in playful defiance. “Never.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Never?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Arthur…” I wheedled.

“Poor, poor Y Brenhines Mawr,” He consoled. “How can I redress the rest wrong done to you?”

Staring at him stonily, my eyes narrowed. “You can start by kissing me, Arthur ap Uthyr. Cruelty doesn't become you.”

“I didn't think we’d ever, ever affect our dear queen like this,” Arthur said with a monarch’s nonchalance, a cheeky glimmer in his eye.

“First time for everything,” I managed to heave out.

Dylan chuckled softly from the floor, watching as I took my final swig of uisge-beatha. Immediately this was a terrible decision for, once it hit the back of my throat, I gagged a little.

“Queen of Beauty, that's our Gwyn,” Arthur sarcastically said, laughing as Dylan slapped his shoulder before he stood up, crossed the room, and sat down on the bed.

“Are you alright?”

At once, I relaxed into him. His hands rubbed soothing circles on the small of my back as I heaved out noisy breaths. Scarcely able to speak, all I could do was nod frantically and hope that was enough.

“Silly,” he chided softly, his breath tepid on my cheek. “Gwalchmai’s instructions said sip, not glug.”

“Can we soothe you?”

“I - I thought I was supposed to be ascertaining whether you both needed tending!” I croaked.

Dylan chucked. “Kisses count as tending.”

“That old adage,” I sighed wistfully as I remembered the night of our first kiss. Uisge-beatha had scalded my fingers then too, although not as much as Dylan’s kisses, while he’d briefly become a conduit for Pryderi’s love poetry.

That had served as his confession and now…

I surged forward, my blood singing.

Our lips met in a sloppy frantic kiss. He tasted of fire, of salt, of something so irrevocably his that I could never name it. His hands teasingly traced my curves, etching out the soft curve of my spine, my shoulder, the gentle sweep of my clavicle.

I whined, nipping at his bottom lip, busing myself with grabbing his messy curls and tugging him forward so I could better touch him.

With a laugh he consented, melting into me. The sea embraced my senses. I embraced him.

My core pulsed. Fire scorched my veins. His tongue swiped against my lower lip. Saliva coated my chin.

The scars on his arms, those once salmon-coloured tributaries, had faded into silver, a leaden reminder of that abuse Gofannon had inflicted upon him. Reverently, I kissed them all.

He moaned softly. One of his hands cupped my breast and I couldn't help but be jolted by its coolness. His thumb brushed over my nipple and a choked moan left my lips.

“Look at you,” he murmured laughingly as he drew away, his breath ghosting over my lips. “You're always so beautiful.”

I huffed. My lips tingled madly. “Is this the way you treat all those who try to tend -”

He nodded. A shit-eating grin lit up his face. “You love me, Gwynnie.”

I bumped my forehead against his. “To my eternal dismay.”

He giggled softly. I could feel the hardness of him brush against me as he pushed me back into the mattress before he gestured for Arthur to stand.

“I think, after everything, our king deserves a little sweetness today. Would you've wallowed here but yourself, your majesty, if we hadn't heard your weeping?”

Arthur blinked up at him. Slowly, resignedly, he nodded.

“Poor, poor, y ddraig goch.” Dylan crooned. “Come here. Come, join us.”

Once he'd managed to push himself upright, Arthur stood in one swift, graceful movement, and diverted himself from his sodden tunic.

Wrinkling his nose at the yeasty stench that now imbued the fabric, he tossed it away into one of the room's darkened corners. The fire highlighted the scars that criss-crossed his shoulders, the sword slashes clawed across his pectorals, as well as the fuzzy dark hair that speckled his chest.

The raft of bandages around his midsection were, thankfully, spotlessly white. Morgan Tud had most ably patched him up after his run-in with Melwas. Thank the gods he had not bled out on our bedroom floor before the physician had come. The maids would not have taken kindly to that.

And neither would Emr-

No. I dared not think about him. He did not deserve to blight that night. Not after all he'd inflicted upon us. Even now - and were I not bound hither by shackles and cell - I'd break every bone in his meddling skeleton’s hands if I had the misfortune to lay eyes upon it.

Let him haunt Ochren!

Ah, Carter, I am sorry. My… emotions. They better me.

Arthur’s voice jolted me out of my examinations of him. “Like what you see?”

Dylan’s hands tightened around my waist as he nuzzled my neck. My hands flew to my burning cheeks. “I was just checking your wounds hadn't suppurated.”

“You should come closer,” he purred, beckoning me with a finger. “So you can assess me properly.”

My mouth dried. All thoughts evaporated from my head. Musk and linnet oil scented the too warm air and I could do little more than splutter out a half-hearted protest.

Far more elegantly than I thought it would ever be possible for an inebriated fellow to be, he strode towards me, never breaking eye contact. Those dark pools glimmered with a feral intensity, a covetousness that stole my breath.

Every nerve ending tingled. I swallowed, barely managing to choke out, “Arthur…”

“Hmm?” He reached down, tugging me to him. “You're awfully red, Gwyn.”

A shocked gasp left my lips, “You brute!”

“When you're done with him,” Dylan’s baritone was rich in my ears. My heart quickened in my chest. “You can tend to me again.”

“Oh? Why?”

“The room is spinning, Gwynnie.”

Unable to keep the inordinately fond smile off my face, I tried to chastise him thusly: “Well, that's your fault for being so rash with your drink,” but all that dribbled out of my mouth was a selection of half-mumbled syllables my tongue could barely control.

All the while, Arthur’s hands roamed over my back, my curves, my thighs. Greedy kisses followed, dropped to the hollow of my throat, my neck, the curve of my bare shoulder. His hands tugged at the hem of my gown so that it rose up. A palm branded my thigh.

Suddenly, I was intimately aware of myself. Of my body’s cravings. Arousal tanged the air.

Arthur’s hand went higher, brushing the sensitive skin of my core. I squealed at the unexpected contact, bucking my hips.

“Oh-”

His eyes were half-lidded. I would’ve mistaken them for drowsiness if his lips were not currently scorching a path down my throat. A mewl tore from my throat as I unintentionally ground down into the sheets in a futile effort to assuage the multitude of sensations that gripped me, but all that succeeded in doing was smearing arousal over them.

When he drew away Arthur shot me a lazy smirk before he bared his neck to me. I nibbled there, gently sucking his sensitive skin until a throaty moan left his lips, and full-body shudder rippled through him before my lips skittered over his throat and back up to his cheek just as Dylan leaned over and kissed him.

Arthur yielded easily. He always did to Dylan. Clinging to him with all of his might, his body trembled in the throes of ecstasy. Dylan puppeted him in a dominant dance, his blue eyes gleaming with unspoken delight at having our king melt beneath him.

I marvelled at the change.

He had been content to watch and wait his turn, but now, just as he had done with me, he bore his neck up to his lord, gladly letting him stake his claim.

Soft, sharp, sighs bounced off the walls. A thrill shot through me at seeing Arthur so undone, his skin littered with bite marks, his lips puffy and bruised from kisses. A dopey sigh left his lips, one that made him seem prophecy-headed.

Finally, I kissed him, far more softly than the kiss Dylan had bestowed upon him.

When I drew away I thought he'd cry.

“Thank you,” he gasped. Tears beaded on his lash line. Then he deeply cradled my head in his hands and kissed me again, slow and soft, setting every nerve ending alight.

Not to be left out, Dylan, pressed teasing kisses to the back of my neck, until a soft groan left my lips and I shuddered beneath their hands.

All too willingly, I let them take me apart.

[the-origins-system]

— Alter List

The Origins System

Ender/Wil/Mickey [🪶]

Tommy [🌼]

Ranboo [🕶]

Wilbur [🗺]

Technoblade [🗡] dormant

Tubbo [🐝]

Phil [Phil/♟] dormant

Colson [colson/🎟]

Dream [🤍]

Tina [💗]

Hølløw [hølløw/🟦] dormant

Revive [Revive] dormant

Ghostbur [💙] dormant

Caiti [🧃] dormant

Corpse [corpse/🔪]

Ted [🥛]

Karl [💞]

Liberty [liberty/🗽] dormant

Larry [🤘🏻/🍃] dormant

Allium [☀️🌈] dormant

Unnamed/Deno [🦕] dormant

Schlatt [🥃]

Seán [🍀🍺] dormant

Ethan [📷🌷] dormant

George [🌀]

Inter [💾]

Aimsey [🧡🤍]

Nick/Kit [🩹] dormant

Charlie [🏳️‍🌈] dormant

Ven [𖤐] dormant

Kit/Sebastian [🎬] dormant

Wednesday [📹] dormant

Sam [✖️🤍]

Colby [✖️🖤]

Niki [🍰]

Jack [⚙️]

Eden [🕊] dormant

Punz/Luke [⌨️] dormant

Soot [📂]

Bill [🎮]

Alexander [💻] dormant

Buffy [🦢] dormant

Steve [🔦] dormant

Scar [🏜]

Josh [🥢]

Jasper [🪐]

Epione/Melatonin [❤️‍🩹]

Wyatt [📞]

Jacob [🌑]

Logan [🦜]

Schlatt’s (unnamed) Subsystem

Schlatt [🥃]

Quackity [🎰]]

President Schlatt [🐏]

Wilbur [🧨]

[gingersnaptaff]

bors for the music asks :)

Hi Kit!!!!!!! Bors, monsieur Bors!!!!!

Keep Me In The Open by Gang of Youths

Bors, Lionel, Lancelot's relationship to me.

Leave by The Tragically Hip

Inspoed by your retelling of but I think it's him reminiscing/telling stories in a way. Idk how to explain it.