The Chronicles of Shavey/(or Delley, which ever you prefer)
[Davy Humphrey X Percy Blysshe Shelley] A roastfic by Saku
It’s one midsummer night, and all these ratchet ass ho- I mean distinguished poets and chemists are drinking their hearts off after a hard day’s work, babbling at a couple science-like lectures or sketching out the bones of some future poems. Davy, the young chemist prodigy of a host, was not only being the courteous gentleman by providing an excuse for some free time for these men - he literally was calling it a deliberation of the fine men of the arts - but also unveiling his latest discovery of the effects of nitrous oxide, a.k.a laughing gas.
He’s always wanted to show someone the wonders of it all, to the warming numbness of your fingertips to the tingling sensation of your quivering, smiling lips. It felt like soaring gracefully past the clouds and hugging the stars, but he thought that would be quite painful and he would be dead most likely and decided against using that analogy in the presentation. He wanted to show it off to his fellow peers, but especially towards one. Percy Blysshe Shelley. Or Blyss as he imagined as a future pet name if he can successfully ask the poet out tonight. He’s been planning it out meticulously, like one of his experiments, but his assistant found it creepy and just started writing his resignation letter just in case.
He quietly peeked out the door, his cheeks slowly reddening and his eyes widening in admiration, taking in the lovely being that is his Blyss. His well-tailored suit, his gentle manners, his romantic poems that makes the heart flutter faster than butterflies. But he always wondered if it was the heart you can tell the telltale signs of love; it felt more like his stomach, having a burning fiery pit engulf his stomach. Enough flames to spark fireworks bursting out of my heart. That was a mystery he hasn’t explained yet, but he’s willing to see what happens.
Davy stepped out, slamming the door by accident, confident but his insides betraying that serious demeanor he carried. Parts of the invention in one hand and dragging his assistant in one, he took a silent deep breath and got ready for the presentation.
“I can do this. I can do this. I can do this!” he excitedly muttered under his breath.
He lectured on and persuaded the slightly drunk crowd about his nitrous oxide, dancing joyously with some absolute drunkards of scientists and giving demonstrations with the sober ones. He managed to hide the obvious signs of his tingling love, but he soon was getting drunk off the atmosphere. The assistant cleaned up (awkwardly) while the gracious, drunk-for-all-the-different-reasons host took care of those hungover. Silently in the background, a sobered Shelley watched the young man with lark eyes, eying his every move out of curiosity. After all, Davy wasn’t the only one harboring feelings at the bay side.
Shelley, pen in hand and mind a-racing, he continued writing a very vivid description of the man of his desires, annotating little poems about him in the margins. The poet dreamed of fantastical plights of romantic encounters between the two, all of them too overly dramatic even in soap opera standards. He yearned and yearned, wishing for his one true dream to come true: that the two fall in love, get hitched and have so many damn kids that most of them are running around the home wreaking havoc and destroying everyone’s mentality. But baby steps first.
Several hours later, the assistant finished his task and tucked in for the night, making sure his boss wasn’t causing anymore trouble getting high off the laughing gas. Most of the “esteemed” guests left, leaving behind a very unpleasant gift behind that will take years to scrub out. The poet and the chemist were left in the room, one mildly awake and the other laughing his British ass off with his nitrous oxide. Shelley woke up startled, cutting off some not-safe-for-work dreams.
“Eh?! What time is it Sir Humphrey?” Shelley asks.
“Hahahahhhahahahahahaahah!” Shelley, confused as all Hell like God, saw the love of his life keeling on the floor laughing.
“Expected.” he uttered. He dusts off his petticoat and starts to leave when Davy grasps his ankle and pulls Blyss down. The latter crashes onto the floorboards, utterly pissed at the rudeness of the events and wincing slightly in pain. He screams bloody murder at Davy before a warm sensation touches his lips. For a brief moment, the world seemed to stop at once.
Davy, still somehow high and drunk, thought he was smart and smooth by kissing Shelley to give him some laughing gas. Even if his hypothesis that this would work didn’t work, he still got a kiss out of it at the end, so it was pretty much a win-win. Then the two started cracking up, rolling on the unsanitary floors and yelling out gibberish. Then Playboy Davy gets out some Champagne and pops the cork off, having difficulty pouring it in two miscellaneous glasses due to laughing so hard. The two proclaim cheers and chug their champagne down. Then who knows what happens?
Davy, still being the try hard he is, tried to make fireworks after dragging the poet down to the labs. Both were almost done laughing, and Shelley held onto his chemist’s arm as tight as he could without hurting the guy. After several miscalculations and adjustments, he made some sparks and both were amused enough with that.
“Davy, is all of this some sort of drunk serendipity? Is this a dream? Because I seriously don’t want to wake up.” Shelley hiccuped every two seconds since he can’t really hold his liquor and drank a little too much.
“I can prove it to you it isn’t.” He kissed his poet once more, but this time more passionately. At this moment, Davy just fucked up the plan and went along with the flow.
They probably passed out at this point, but I’ll leave the rest up to you. So here’s so random ass shit I made up with my friend after watching bad PBS documentaries and I shipped these two so lol. They’re real people and you can take the time to look them up so yeah. Peace out bitches.
@singingtothesky13 Have fun editing and telling me to fix stuff.
