#my two nostrils are clogged

[essiemclaren]

u good?

I KNEW IT you'd miss me 😩 im currently in bed, trying to get better because im sick 😞💔 this is how i look rn

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

casually thinking about miguel o’haras enhanced senses:

(18+ minors dni, fem!reader)

wc || 839

Miguel could smell it. He could smell the arousal radiating from you, the pure need and lust clogging his nostril like a persistent odour. The desperate dampening patch in the front of your underwear, the little pool of sweetness between your legs, it sent him into a wild frenzy. He could smell the need dripping from you, drunk on your desire, much like you on his. 

His hands are large and warm around your waist, firm yet gentle as he lays you flat on the mattress, holding and manoeuvring you in the way he pleases. His lips are surprisingly soft against the base of your throat, working uncharacteristically tame over the skin. Suckling and nibbling as his hand roams up your side, clasping around the bottom of your breast, kneading and squeezing into the plushy tissue.

"Amor," he husks lowly, whispering under your ear, circling small featherlight kisses. Practically inaudible. "Amor," He repeats himself, wanting to hear the skip in your heart's rhythm again. He loves the physical effect his words have on you, how you'd become warm, malleable putty in his hands.

His hand travels between the two of you, slowly but surely teasing you as he travels lower, palming over you. He props himself on his elbow beside you, hovering his weight as his hand reaches into his underwear, sliding down the front to stroke his agonisingly hard cock, rolling over his length as you tug down his boxers. Desperately clawing at the waistband to remove the fabric.

"So needy," he smirks, parting your underwear to the side, brushing over the bundle of nerves, thumbing your clit as he watches the anticipation in your eyes, watching the lust sparkle. He cups his hand under your chin, his eyes daring and needy. "Spit,"  

You do as he tells you, spitting into his hand as you hold his intense eye contact. He rolls your saliva over the head of his reddening cock, massaging your spit into his skin before sliding his tip through your folds, collecting your flavour around his shaft, using your arousal as lube.

He lowers back to you, peppering your throat in comforting kisses as he guides himself into you, slowly easing his tip in. Both of you immediately gasp at the initial pressure, he's so big, too big, and he knows it. "Such a good girl," he praises, tangling his fingers around your throat and into your hair, soothing you as he rolls his hips into you, gingerly grinding into you. "Taking me so well, like such a good girl. My good girl,"

Your hands are frantic as they trail up his muscular back, desperately squeezing into his swole skin as you mutter senselessly into his thick collarbone. "Aw," he says, somewhat patronisingly, as he bucks into you, slowly fucking you. "Amor..." he says once more, practically husking against the soft skin under your ear, peppering it with light kisses as he listens to the jump in your heart's tempo. He chuckles deeply, watching how you squirm at his soft words, the way you clamp and tighten around him. 

He loves the control, and he craves the authority. He likes having you where he wants you, wrapped around his finger as if you're hanging onto every little thing he says and does. How'd you become so blind with desire.

Your joint moans grow closer together, somewhat strangled and strained, as if you were both right at the edge. Miguel had to resist every inclination to pin you down and pound into you until he came, but you hadn't yet found your release, so he waited and waited, never once faltering in pace, giving you exactly what you needed. 

You clamp around him for a final time before coming around his cock, tightening and convulsing as you jerk against his chest. "That's a good girl," he praises, talking you through it as he holds himself off, clamping his bottom lip to stop his release. "Aw, you're doing so well," he whispers.

The moment you finish, his big hands are tight on your legs, pushing your thighs to your chest as he holds down the back of them. Pushing you into the mattress so he can ram in you, pounding you senselessly as he chases his release, almost animalistically. Within seconds he's pulsating and twitching, spilling ropes of come deep inside as he groans somewhat gutturally, fucking you in the way he needed.

His thrusts halt, sloppily fucking his come into you as he stares into your blissed eyes. He eventually drags himself from you, watching the strings of arousal connect, staring at his come drip from you. He meets your gaze with a boyish grin pulling at his lips. "Come with me, princesa," he smiles small, extending a hand.

With your hand in his larger one, he leads you into the bathroom, ushering you towards the shower as he collects two towels. "Sit," he sweetly instructs, sensing the jelly-like feeling in your legs. Putting on the water, guiding you over. "Let me clean you up."

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

[seresinhangmanjake]

What Comes at Night

Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Reader

Summary: Your heart broke the day your brother stabbed Feyd. You spent weeks believing he was dead. And even though it turned out that he survived and the two of you are now together again, nightmares of the day you thought you lost the man you love haunt you. Feeling him is the only thing that provides any comfort.

Notes: Feyd is soft…again. I just like it, idk. Same Feyd x reader from The Harkonnen’s Sweet Thing and The Harkonnen’s Claim. *Can be read alone. 

Warnings: some smut, so 18+

Words: 1000

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You can hear it—the splitting of his flesh from the knife penetrating his ribs. You can hear the drop of his blood that drips off of your brother’s blade onto the floor. You can hear his breaths getting thinner after he collapses. 

Foreign hands are everywhere; Fremen men holding you back from reaching him. Their fingernails are cutting into your skin, drawing lines of red down your arms and legs as you struggle to free yourself. 

Then suddenly, the floor dissolves beneath you and your legs sink into the sand of Arrakis’ dunes. The men disappear, your brother disappears, the emperor and his daughter disappear, and now it’s only you and him trapped in the dunes that begin to move up and down, ebbing and flowing like the stormy seas of Caladan. And like the sea, the waves are carrying him away, stealing him from you, and you can’t even attempt to save him because the sand has swallowed you to your waist. 

You can barely see him. Only hints of his black armor show. He's being pulled under, drowning in golden grains, and a couple of his fingers twitching is the last you see of him before he disappears completely. 

He cannot hear your hoarse voice calling for him. You can barely hear your hoarse voice calling for him. Sand is seeping into your ear canals. It brushes your lips and crusts the edges of your nostrils, sticking to the snot brought on by uncontrollable tears. You try to take in some oxygen, just a little, but then you wonder why because you’ve already lost him and you’re about to lose yourself. 

With a blink, the sun has set, and the underlayers of the dunes turn numbingly cold. You don't think of freeing yourself, you think that maybe surrendering is the only way you can be together. A kick flutters within your belly but you don’t care. You’re done. You’re weak and you’ve lost. You can’t save anyone, so you let go. 

Hands are on your face. You detect a voice, but the thick fogginess clogging your ears keeps it far away. “Wake up!”—Is that what it’s saying? Your shoulders are shaking, head bobbing back and forth from a loose neck. “Wake up!” Yes, that's it. It’s cutting through the fog, pulling you to the surface, but then you realize you aren't breathing quite right. You're still choking on gritty sand as tears stream down your cheeks. 

“I’m here. I’m here, ok?” the deep voice says. “My love, look at me,” it says, but you can’t, won’t. It’s a trick. A lie. If you open your eyes, it’ll break your heart because he’s not here. He’s with the dunes. 

The hands tip your head forward and a soft pressure meets your forehead. “I’m with you,” you hear. 

You fight the grip around your wrist. Fingers pry open your hand so that it is no longer clenched in a fist but flat and pressed against heated flesh. A thump pounds under your palm. Once, twice, and once more. 

“Feel me,” the voice demands. There’s another thump. Another. You gasp and your eyes open to find blue irises searing into yours. “I'm here,” Feyd says. 

A sob leaves your throat. “More,” you whimper.

“Ok,” he quickly nods. “Ok. More.”

He carefully pushes you onto your back and eases on top of you. One of your thighs is nudged wide, and then the other. His hand pumps under the thin sheet covering your bodies. He hardens. The tip peels apart your folds, and then you’re full. So full. 

You wrap your legs around his hips and secure your arms around his neck, squeezing every bit of him to keep him close. Then he kisses you because you need to taste him and he knows that. He knows that it’s the final piece to start bringing you back to yourself.

“Move,” you mutter into his lips. So he does. Dragging out and then thrusting back in, allowing you to feel each inch, each vein of the column. His hand slides down your body, from breast to waist to hip and he cups your bottom, holding you more firmly against him.

His motions continue at the perfect pace. A well-practiced pace. The exact pace you need. Little electric shots spark in your brain and the coil tightens in your belly. He moans as you bite into his shoulder and you love that sound because it throws you right over the edge. 

You taste blood as you come. And then he comes. And then lips are dotting around your face and jawline. 

He doesn’t pull out. There’s no pulling out—not in these moments—because pulling out means emptiness. Pulling out means a void of space where he’s missing and you’re left wanting, and you don’t do that here. Here, you don’t want for anything because he gives you everything. 

He lets the heavy breaths between you settle before he rolls onto his back, taking you with him so he can remain snuggly inside of you. Your head rests on his chest as he runs his fingers down your spine. 

“Same one?” he asks and you nod. “They’ll stop; I promise. Just give yourself time, my love.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know you are,” he tells you, and you believe him. You believe him because he had nightmares of his own during the weeks you were separated. Servants told you he would go on a rampage after waking and seeing that you weren't in his bed. Nothing was spared, from furniture to slaves, and you weren't surprised. Fear does many things to the heart and mind. It makes one feel powerless, and Feyd does not handle that feeling very well. So, in some ways, you suppose you're lucky. At least when you wake, he's beside you. He's here to calm you down. But his presence has yet to soothe your unconscious. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your hairline. “You know that.”

It's a statement not a question, but still, you answer, “I do.”

---

A/N: @midnight-serendipity thank you for requesting this <3

[cattlemons]

hi :)) a bit of a personal request but could i get wanderer comfort for a fem or g/n reader? (your choice) i have a...difficult relationship with my father. when he's sad/angry/upset he usually takes his frustration out on me by yelling at me and calling me names and other hurtful things. then when i cry he tells me that I'm pretending to be a victim, and blames me entirely for his feelings. i just had a sitution like this earlier tonight so its on my mind :) anyway, could i get wanderer comfort for a situation like this? or if this is too specific maybe where reader just doesn't get along with their father? thanks sm <33333

A Salve For Unhealed Wounds

TW: Toxic dad, name calling by a parental figure, emotional distress and familial conflict, crying in public, there's a swear word in there, 1,5k words

a.n. Nonnie, sorry for the wait :( I had an exam and couldn't be on here at all (also left you a short message at the bottom)

It happened again. 

The man you were supposed to trust with your life yelled at you again. Your heart aches at the implication that the weight of his love for you changes depending on the emotion reigning his mind and heart. Your mind crumbles when it recollects the words he spat out so easily when red paints his iris. 

It wouldn’t have hurt as much if he’s always this way. It hurts because you’ve seen the smile that escapes his guarded heart on rare occasions. You’ve also heard him say good things and do good deeds the way an honorable man would–when he’s not mad that is.

It’s unfair that he can’t always be that way with you.

You took off towards the Puspa Cafe, hoping the bustle of Sumeru evening would be the cooling salve you need to soothe your battered mood. 

Yeah, that’s a good idea.

Entering the establishment, scents of coffee and spice filled your nostrils as ease settled between the spaces of your bones. The balmy yellow and brown hues greeted your weary state as the inviting warmth of the cinders burning in the oven beckons you to rest. You made the right call to come here tonight.

Or, so you thought.

Despite being on good terms with the otherwise lonesome man, you did not want to see the infamous hat guy; not tonight. It’s less about his presence and more about yours. The dynamic between the two of you is akin to that of a flying serpent and a scorpion. You’d take frequent jabs at each other, flinging teasing remarks and poking fun at one another but somehow, in a very weird roundabout way, there’s always a sincere sort of care behind it all. 

Right now, however, you don’t think you have it in you to take what you know he can dish. You did get lucky and got a secluded seat, you just hope he does not notice you here. 

“What are you doing here, prickly bush,” he called out to you just as your train of thought chugged away to somewhere beyond the oak doors of the cafe.

Right, so much for peace of mind.

You turn towards him, the frown that began dissipating moments ago returning in full force. Grumbling before speaking, you let out, “Not today, please, I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh yeah, someone’s definitely a prickle bush right now.”

You were at a crossroads between telling him to leave and bursting into tired tears when he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Your eyebrows scrunched as he sat across you. You looked at him but his eyes were trained away from you, staring at some other patron sitting at the wooden bar just a bit away from the both of you. 

Since when was he a caring man?

Your thoughts and confusion settle into a prolonged silence. You half expected him to grumble out an insult along the lines of “Are your ears clogged” or “Need help finding a hearing aid” but he, surprisingly, sat still; eyes now hopping over to a woman by the door having a conversation with a balding man. 

Is he patient now? What kind of patron-saint bullshit is he pulling?

Not that you’re complaining, though. You much prefer this despite the weirdness of it all; or rather the newness. 

“I’m fine–”

“Don’t lie, if you can’t lie,” he interrupts as he points at your fingers curling in on each other. 

He sure is perceptive when you don’t want him to be.

Silent gathers the both of you in its arms once more as you think of a response to give to him. He’s being kind right now but you don’t feel like divulging everything to him. Your friendship is just beginning to stand on two feet. It’s taking baby steps at best. You don’t want to scare him away by dumping all your shit on him. By the abyssal name, he probably carries more baggage than you and you don’t see him throwing them around.

“You don’t have to tell me, don’t get all constipated just because I asked,” he said before continuing even softer, “You seemed down, just thought it’d be helpful to ask.”

Though you did not notice it at the time, your heart slowly began to lay down the walls you raised from the events that transpired earlier under the roof of your father’s house. 

Perhaps, he can help.

The wanderer was about to take his leave when you whispered with a certain weariness he found familiar, “My father isn’t always a nice man.”

He sat back down as quickly as he could. He probably sat on one of the ornate hanging detailings of his hat or on that long sleeve of his but he couldn’t be bothered by it. Though his eyes look past you, you know his focus is solely on what you have to say.

So, you told him. At first, you tried to be as close to the baseline as possible, choosing to speak of the basic details but soon you choked up and told him everything. Your thoughts, your fears, even your longing for a better version of the father you wanted to look up to, bubbled out of your tired heart. As the night sky grows darker outside, you find yourself slightly teary-eyed as your long story comes towards its end. 

Your eyes were still on your hands that laid on your lap, palms now sweaty from excessive nervous rubbing. You stole a glance at him and, just like you, he barely moved from his previous position. He’s still not looking at you, almost like he’s not listening at all but you know he is. 

It took a beat or two, almost like he was waiting to see if you had more to say before he opened his mouth to speak. 

“You’re kind, you know?”

What?

“I don’t get it. What do you mean ‘I’m kind’?”

“Just that. You’re kind, maybe even too kind.”

You fully looked up at him now to see that his eyes were already on you. 

“I listened to you tell me about the horrible things that man says to you and, yet, you still call him by a title he doesn’t deserve,” before you can question him, he answers, “A dad.”

You’re silent as he continues, “This cruel world decides to give him something so precious and he decides to lie and say all these shitty things. He’s not a good man but he’s dumb too if he’s got something so precious and decides that the best course of action is to call it untrue names. Does he not realize the power a name holds?”

Wet droplets stain your hands and lap as tears fall from your eyelids, lungs heavy, and muscles sagging. 

Taking a look at his surroundings he sighs before taking his hat off and placing it on you.

“I’m sure you don’t want anyone seeing you like this and speaking about it tomorrow, here.”

The tenderness of his voice and action winds your heart up as more choked sobs gurgle out of your throat.

Your neck tightens in protest as you try to speak but you fight the pain of your contracting muscles as you force out, “On a good day I… I know that he's lying… but sometimes I can’t help but think he’s right,” you sniffled and let a wave of uncontrollable sobs pass you by before continuing, “I mean there’s only so much… so much… I can deny before something false starts feeling real.”

Your admission broke the puppet's imaginary heart as he wills himself to hold back his instinct to swing insults and fists at your father. Instead, he chose to let what he supposes are comforting words drown your sorrow. It’s rigid and almost primal the way he tries to soothe your sadness but it's tender and warm in its own way, just as he is. 

“Are you… are you sure he’s wrong? How can you… you be so sure?”

The staccato of your unsure question is met with unwavering eyes as he nods. 

“I’m sure. I wouldn’t have said what I said otherwise.”

You hid your face with your hands as your back slumped forward. The wanderer could see the heaving of your shoulders and he could only comfort you by repeating his praise for you. Much like a devotee chanting his faith, he whispered kind words in hopes that by repeating it, you will believe this too. He hopes he’s done enough to override the names your father engraved into you with angered frowns, at least temporarily. The road to recovery winds away and is far from linear but he's ready to accompany you if you want him to.

As you continue to let out the emotions you thought dried up years ago, you hear him say, “Even if you forget again, just tell me and I’ll remind you that you’re nice, you’re smart and you’re so, so kind.”

Nice, smart, and kind huh? 

You don’t think you can believe it right now but slowly, you hope you will.  

To Nonnie, I'm sorry you have to go through this. I hope this little piece of fiction brings you some comfort, even if it might not fully capture what you're feeling. If there's anything more I can do to help or if you just need someone to talk to, please let me know.

[cr4yolaas]

blue spring — spaces inbetween

prev: wonder | masterlist | next: caving in

the scene is familiar to him, although it's a bit more crowded. he's already drifted apart from his group to avoid whatever antics they might pull off tonight, and he's beyond glad he did so early, because he doesn't want to imagine traversing through the museum without the peace he's obtained now.

each room is lined with different works, all of which from artists he doesn't quite recognize. there's an installation with different fruits, and he wonders if she's into that kind of artwork. eventually, he reaches the end of the building, and is met with an arrangement of all the canvases he carried twenty four hours ago.

she meets him at the entrance rather than the end of the hall this time with her hands clasped at her back, a sign of her anxiety. "i'm glad you came tonight," she murmurs, and it's barely audible over the hundreds of voices floating around them.

"i'm glad, too."

without question, she guides him throughout her exhibit. her explanation of each piece flows out naturally, and he's caught by surprise every time she explains the meaning of every image, the gruesome scenes and strong lines finally making sense. when they arrive at his favorite piece, she's silent, as if reminiscing over the memories she'd imbued within the paint. he doesn't pry for any explanation. all he can tell her is that he always preferred it over her other works. that, no matter how often he was exposed to her skill and talent, he always thought back to her two-headed lambs. when she cracks a smile at his remark, a sense of accomplishment washes over him. he can't fight the upturn of his own lips in response.

the moment is gentle, and as the seconds pass by slowly, he can't tear his eyes away from her, nor can she look away from him. he wonders if he would be here if she wasn't tutoring him, and as soon as the thought crosses his mind, he dispels it.

the call of her name from the other side of the room pulls her out of her trance. his eyes follow hers, and together, they see a man kageyama is unfamiliar with approaching them with an unsteady amount of haste. seemingly, his presence shakes her, given by the tension that seeps into her muscles and her twitching hand.

"you haven't been answering my calls," is the first thing the man says. she doesn't respond. "i don't see why you try so hard to leave me out of your life. there's no need for that attitude."

"please leave," she quips back sternly, her voice just barely wavering. her stare is harsh — harsher than he's ever seen — but it doesn't do much to mask the fear riddled in her bones. the guy inches closer to the pair, and on instinct, kageyama's fist meets his jaw, the impact smooth and clean. her head whips around to face him, her mouth agape in shock. it's an odd scene — her stepfather, who she had desperately tried not to see, hunched over in the middle of her exhibit, and the boy she'd grown a little too attached to standing beside her with red knuckles. there's a pause in the air before kageyama is the one keeling over, and while she doesn't quite see what happened, she can tell by the drops of crimson falling onto the concrete beneath him that it isn't good. before the staff can rush in, she finds herself dragging him away into whatever hallway she can find first, her grip on his wrist tight and her footsteps heavy.

she doesn't know what to say. she isn't sure if she's supposed to be upset at him, or glad he stuck up for her, but all she can focus on is the blood spilling out of his nostrils. endless apologies fall from his mouth while she struggles to find something to clog up his nose, and in a panicked haze, she slots her lips against his in an attempt to diminish his qualms. it's violent, and messy, and far from what she's used to doing. small, warm droplets fall onto her cheek, and she can't really find it in herself to be disgusted at the sensation.

"i'm sorry," she whispers when she pulls away. "i just needed you to calm down."

he doesn't know what to say, and neither does she. the ache in his chest rises again, and the dizziness returns to his head. when the bleeding finally stops (before she can find anything to seal it), he finds himself going in for another one, this time with his blistered palms holding onto her face and with more intent.

for the final time, she tells herself it isn't right for her to be attached. but when he kisses her again, all the rules she had constructed for herself dissolve, and maybe, she decides, she can be attached to him.

taglist: @mfcherry @eggyrocks @scxrcherr @yuminako @girlkissersco @diorzs @causenessus @kyo-kyo1 @k0z3me @shironagi @lovingvi @bunninio @hisfuture @lilchubbyyy @gsyche @ghostreader0307

[swifty-fox]

[ needs ] sender asks receiver what they need

Would love something for Gale/John in Little Beasts—even a different prompt. Just something where they’re having to be emotionally vulnerable in some way.

John's leg jiggles rapidly, fingers tapping against the cheap plastic seat between his legs. The staccato beat is the loudest thing in the near-empty emergency room. It's only him and a harried looking young mother cradling her coughing child. She spares a glance at him, lips pursing unreadably and he offers her a faint smile that is not returned.

It's three A.M. and there's blood on his hands, under his fingernails. Coppery and sickening and mixed with the vomit on the knee of his jeans. He picks at it absently, too tired or perhaps too shell-shocked for disgust. Exhaustion sits heavy on his shoulders, and every glance from that woman has his skin crawling. It's irrational and unlikely but he imagines somehow she knows exactly why he's here, who he's brought and the six care rules he'd broken in the process of doing it.

No more late night wandering, if you can't sleep have a cup of goddamn tea Egan.

If tea doesn't help text Brady, yes even if Ev complains fucking text Brady

Don't text Curt

Don't let Curt text you

Don't go see Curt, no matter what he says or begs or promises, you can't save a man determined to drown

Stop trying to save the world.

Not the world, Johnny, just one man.

He stares so long and so hard in front of him the linoloum floor tiles begin warping and sliding against each other as if waves of the ocean. Florescent lights buzz above him, a mosquito whine in his ear and he tries not to picture Curts pale grey face, the way his teeth had unconsciously sunk into the meat of John's hand until it drew blood as he choked around his desperate begging fingers.

Don't be too far gone, please Cutty don't be too far gone.

Solid black shoes, shined to a modest polish step into John's field of view, a steaming cup of coffee pressed into his hands. (his bloody, bloody hands)

Father Cleven, who had been Gale to him now for longer than he hadn't been, folds himself gracefully into the chair beside him with his own cup of coffee. Takes a sip and hisses but doesn't complain beyond that.

"Drink, John," comes the pastor's quiet rumble.

He drinks. The coffee is made how he likes. Heavy on the creamer, light on the sugar but never wholly unsweetened.

"They said he's awake." Gale says, "But since I wasn't an emergency contact or family they couldn't tell me more."

John was Curt's emergency contact, or at least he used to be. He wasn't quite sure whether the man had kept him on the papers after not speaking for over two years.

He nods, takes another sip of his coffee and tastes none of it.

"John," Gale says and there's a slightly uncertain wobble to his voice. He's dressed in a white shirt and worn-soft jeans. Glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose and his hair was sticking up in odd places, flopping over his forehead and tangling around his ears like the ruffled feathers of a duck.

Hello?

Gale- fuck sorry I know it's late-

It's fine, John, are you alright?

Yes- no. Yes I'm alright but I need- fuck

Take a breath, what's going on

I need you to drive me somewhere. It's my friend, he's in trouble.

John sits his coffee on the floor and pushes his fingers into his browbone, exhaling slowly.

He's taken something.

A hand rubs along his back, an excusable away touch of a Paster comforting one of his flock only not twelve hours ago Gale had pressed John down into the mattress with that same hand on that same spot and made him muffle his cries into a pillow.

"What do you need John?"

He swallows. Swallows again. Swallows again and then gasps for a wet breath, tears clogging his nostrils and avoiding his dry eyes.

"Take me home," he pitches his voice lower, only for them, "take me home and let me hold you."

He feels Gale exhale just as shakily and braces himself for spitting bitter rejection.

"Okay."

[loveswrites]

omg poly cullens taking care of a sick reader- i just wanna be doted on frfr

Poly Cullen x Sick reader

I loved writing this it took me 3 hours with people bothering me. I hold you like it. Lemme know what else you would like to see!

Currently you were at the Cullens house for a sleepover. At least that’s what charlie thought, and that’s also what you thought it was as well. You thought you’d have an exciting chill weekend with your secret lovers. That was until you had woken up with a tingle in the back of your throat, your eyes watering, both of your nostrils clogged, and you just simply felt like you were dying. 

“Stop being dramatic.” Roseilane said, rolling her eyes.

“You don’t know how it is Rose, you’ve been dead for like a thousand years.” You said snapping but sneezing mid sentence. She frowned in response. 

“ I may be dead but at least I’m not spreading my germs everywhere.”

“I blame Emmett.” 

“ Wait, what why me?!” He said standing up from the desk he was sitting on.

“ Because you were the one who insisted that we go spend ‘Alone time’ together and go skinny dipping even though you know damn well I can’t swim! That water was cold as hell.” You answered, lifting your tongue as Carlise put a thermometer under your tongue.

When you had woken up immediately complaining you were in Edward's room sleeping with him, because the two of you hadn’t had any alone time together in a while and you could tell it was bothering him. Though he wouldn’t admit it he was grateful that you had chosen to sleep with him without him asking.

I’m not saying it was easy to do so, It was practically like prying a child's favorite toy away with Rose and Emmett. They did not give up without a fight.

“What do you mean you don’t wanna sleep with us?” Rose questioned. 

“ I just wanna sleep with Edward tonight, You’ve done nothing wrong Rose.” You replied in attempts to comfort the defensive vampire.

“But we wanted to watch the game with you, You said you would.” Emmet argued back.

“I know I know but I’m tired, I just wanna take a bath and lay down. Me and Edward haven’t had any time alone together so I thought that me and him could cuddle while I fall asleep. I promise you two did nothing wrong.” You said kissing Rosalie cheek then doing the same to emmett. The frown on their beautiful faces pained you but they weren’t the only one’s in this relationship. 

In Fact you had to think about the last time you spent alone time with Carlise and Esme. They always say that “Your presence in the house alone is enough time for us.” But you know that’s just them being the adults of everything and that is not the case. You knew that just like the rest of the Cullens they went through their own version of possessiveness, it was only right with the soul bond between you all. It’s just they had a better way of hiding it than the others.

Rosalie and Emmett would pout and huff like children. 

 Edward would hide himself in the woods or stuff himself in his room. Saying that he just needed ‘alone time’. When we all knew he needed the exact opposite.

Jasper would be more distant than normal, lost in his thoughts.

Esme would clean. Like there would never be a spot of dirt around this house when she was feeling alone.

And Carlisle would just bury himself with work. Always taking up extra hours making sure he is busy enough to not think too much about it.

All of your partners were just begging for attention but none of them would voice it out loud. 

So right before you went to sleep you stated to yourself in your head that you would make time for each Cullen the next day even if they each only got a hour alone with you, Something was better than nothing.

That was until you woke up feeling like shit.

Carlisle shook his head, taking the thermometer from under your tongue. “You have a fever.”

“I could tell that from down the hall she’s sweating like she’s a witch and we just set her on fire” Edward said with his emo attitude upset that his time with me got cut short because of Emmett’s shenanigans 

“Edward please.” Carlisle said tucking your hair behind your ear while pulling you closer to him to kiss your forehead. This made you smile. You had middle his forehead kisses. You felt like he always gave the best ones. You wouldn’t dare say that out loud ever though. You know Rose would kill you out of jealousy.

“I’m going to get you medicine okay? You’ll be okay.” Carlisle said, pulling away from you when Jasper walked into the room. You nod in response.

“Esme and Alice are making you some soup.” Jasper said with a sly smirk on his face know your next words.

“Soup? Ew You know I can’t stand soup! That shit is nasty. I'm not eating it.” You said, shaking your head and frowning in distaste. You heard soft laughs in response.

“It will make you feel better, I promise.” Jasper said in his southern accent that just honestly was a panty dropper you would always tell him.

“That doesn't help me at all, I’d rather eat sand.” You said rubbing your eyes as you felt a pounding headache come on.

As if sensing your discomfort, Carlisle was right by your side again with supplies in his hand. Rubbing your back with one hand he put his things down on the table you were sitting on.

“You need to rest, Whose room would you like to sleep in? I’ve already contacted Charlie and told him you fell with a cold so you shouldn’t worry about him. He’s fine.” he stated but you were now faced with the most difficult decision of the day.

Looking around the room Jasper was standing by the doorway watching you with calculating eyes still with the sly smirk of his which always made your heart pound. Him hearing it he chuckled, his actions made you look away in embarrassment.

Looking towards Emmett and Rose. Emmett was sitting on the table near the window and Roselie was sitting in between his legs and they both were looking at you with their signature puppy eyes. Moving your eyes to edward very quickly because you knew if you stared at them for too long you would give in.

Edward looked lost in his thoughts which would always make you put him because you felt that he felt like he was lonely. You would call him the lone wolf of the pack which he hated. But he couldn’t stay mad at you just like you couldn't pick just one of them right now. You need all of them right now. And that’s exactly what you would have.

Jumping down from where you were sitting with the help of Carlisle you didn’t respond verbally. You  just did your hand moment you would always do when you wanted all of the Cullens to follow you but didn’t feel like saying it out loud. And they always answered.

Walking to the kitchen where Esme and Alice were, like she could smell you in the air she turned around with a smile on her face.

“There you are my beautiful, Your soup is almost done. Would you like me to add anything to it?” She said so softly, like if she spoke too loudly you would melt aways in pain. Which was a high possibility the way you were feeling. 

“Nope, you didn’t even have to make me anything you know, I would’ve been fine without.”

“Oh no, you know I love a chance to use the kitchen for you.” She said making you smile because you knew it was true.

“Well if you must, can you come up to the room where you're done?” You asked which she nodded in response to. Satisfied with your answer you turned around walking up the stairs to Carlisle and Esme bedroom. 

All that could be heard behind you were soft footsteps of all of your lovers following you.

Once you made it to the room you sat on the bed finally speaking. 

“All of you, all of us, and all of me. Here in this bed now.” Leaving no room for argument, you got comfortable.

The first to get in the bed with you was Jasper surprising you. He claimed his spot behind you so that you were in his arms and laying on him. 

“The best spot in the house.” He whispered into your ear making you giggle at the ticklish feeling.

Soon following along, each Cullen claimed their spot next to you. Everyone getting one piece of their love. They were satifisty. Meaning so where you.

Once everyone was relaxed Esme came up to the room to feed you the soup she had made you. Though you tried to fight it, you were falling weaker and weaker each minute. This ‘cold’ was kicking your ass. Soon after she was done feeding you she also claimed her spot between you and Caslise. 

A few minutes into laying there you felt your eyes growing heavy. The feeling of hands all over you. The coolness of your lovers cooling you down. You felt content. But you had One question.

“Guys, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” Each of them said collectively.

“Would you love me if I was a worm?”

“Oh my god-”

“I’d probably step on you.”

“I’d keep you in a beautiful enclosure.”

“I’d give you a little cowboy hat-”

“That’s so stupid.”

And just like that. You were out like a light.

[serickswrites]

What Have You Done II

Part 1

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, betrayal, blood, injury, body modification, broken bones

"Please, you don't have to do this," Whumpee said as they tried to escape the chair Whumper had strapped them to. They couldn't believe Teammate Two had betrayed them. Couldn't believe Teammate Two had lied to them and brought them to Whumper.

Not that they blamed Teammate Two for doing it. Whumper had said they would stop hurting others the moment they got Whumpee. And while Whumpee couldn't believe Teammate Two would betray them, they did believe Teammate Two would try to do right by the world. Whumpee understood the logic. Even if they didn't agree with it.

"Would you stop? It's ruining my fun!" Whumper snarled. They had been taking their time checking the tools they had prepared to torture Whumpee with. They took their time raising each up, telling Whumpee exactly what they planned on doing.

"I'm sorry. Please, you don't have too--"

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Whumper shouted.

Whumpee clamped their mouth shut. They sat trembling as they watched Whumper's jerky movements. This was not good. They had over done it. Whumpee couldn't help the involuntary sniff they gave as they fought not to stop crying.

"Now you've done it," Whumper said, their voice dangerously low. They grabbed something from their table of implements. "I'm going to be sure you don't ruin my fun."

"Please, please, no!" Whumpee begged and pleaded as they watched Whumper raise a needle and thread. They knew exactly what Whumper planned on doing.

Whumper pinched Whumpee's jaw. "I won't let you kill my fun, Whumpee. I won't!" They stabbed the needle through Whumpee's lips.

Whumpee screamed and thrashed as blood flowed from their lips. They couldn't let Whumper sew their mouth shut. But as much as they tried to yank their head away from Whumper, Whumper held tight. "This would be so much neater if you stopped thrashing," Whumper scolded. "Faster, too."

But Whumpee couldn't will themself to be still. Couldn't will themself to stop moving. Their mouth hurt. And they couldn't help themself. Their ragged screams slowly cut off as more and more of their mouth was sewn together, until at last the only sound they could make was a muffled scream through their tightly sewn together lips.

"Much better," Whumper said as they leaned back to admire their handy work.

Tears streamed down Whumpee's face as they moaned in pain. This was awful. Terrible. And it was only going to get worse.

Without warning, Whumper punched Whumpee in the nose hard. The bone cracked beneath Whumper's hand and blood gushed from their nostrils. Whumpee struggled to breathe as their nose became fully clogged. They couldn't breathe through their nose and they couldn't open their mouth very well. What little air they could get wasn't enough. The room began to spin as Whumpee felt lightheaded.

"Actually, this is better," Whumper chuckled.

Tags: @starliight-whump @whumptea @elizaisnotokay @bookworm7543 @candleshopmenace

@basica11ywhumped @fictagsys @addictedtowhump @whump-me @pretty-little-whump @mefattortoise

@keeper-of-all-the-random-things @st0rmm @xo7-parad0x

[kaizokuniichan]

Fluffy little self-indulgent thing for myself where Law helps you re-twist your hair before bed. He’s a nag because he cares.

Note: reader is obviously Black but anyone is welcome to read 💜

If there was one thing you truly hated about Trafalgar Law, it was his incessant need to make you hold yourself accountable.

Returning home from a perilously long day, your weary limbs beg for solace. As you kick off your clogs, and leave a trail of restrictive work clothing in your wake, you trudge past the allure of tasty leftovers sitting in your fridge to make a beeline for your bed.

You hadn’t realized he was home until the door to your en suite bathroom opens, revealing him with his chest bare and deliciously inked as he lazily brushes his teeth. Cracking open your tired eyes, you spare him a glance before turning your head over to escape the obnoxious glow of the vanity lights. Within moments your body would be weightless and your consciousness would no longer be tethered to this plane of existence if you could just be unbothered-

“It’s been 3 days since you last twisted your hair, it’s gonna get all matted.”

Annoyance shimmies down your back as his voice yanks you from your slumber.

“I’ll do it tomorrow. Just throw me my bonnet.”

You hear him sigh as he spits out his toothpaste, the sound of running water allowing you a few moments to clamor for those retreating tendrils of sleep before he can lecture you.

“You’re only making it harder for yourself. You spent almost two hours detangling your hair last week.”

“I don’t care, I’ll just chop it all off.”

“You say that every week.”

“Law. I’m not fucking getting up.”

He doesn’t move from his spot, intentionally cocking his head to the side to prevent it from blocking the light.

“Law.”

He says nothing but you hear his stubborn defiance anyway.

“Fucking asshole.” You huff curses under your breath as you roll over and pull yourself back up, dangling your legs over the edge of the bed. He’s still motionless as he stares, brow twitching in amusement when a particularly nasty word leaves your lips as you walk past him.

You pull your hair free from it’s puff, untying the thick elastic and letting your coils droop. Mostly they stay in place, the thick mass of hair maintaining its shape as a very cute mushroom cloud. As you gently pull it apart you continue your grumbling, fighting against the knots that have already started to form. You reach for your spritz bottle and begin drenching it in water, frustration bearing it’s teeth in your reflection. After fully saturating your strands you open the nearest jar of moisturizer and scoop out an unseemly large glob, slapping it into your hair and haphazardly working it through. Your bottle of oil is almost empty, and your nostrils flare as you squirt a generous portion into your palm to meld it with the moisturizer. The fruity scents of your products are not unwelcome, but you maintain your irritation simply to hold a childish grudge over Law’s nagging.

You go for the lazy route of parting your hair in four sections with your hands, twisting it in absurdly large chunks that fail to hold themselves together. The whole purpose is defeated when they fall apart but you’re too tired to care, reaching for your bonnet anyway. A hand grabs your wrist before you can claim it.

“Your parts look like shit, do it properly.”

You close your eyes, holding yourself back from hurling another gripe.

“Law please. I just wanna go to bed.”

The tiredness in your voice seems to quell his relentless badgering. He slides his hand up your arm to cup your shoulder, his other arm wrapping around your waist. Immediate relief washes over your body as you lean into him, and he rests his chin atop your head, burrowing his nose between your failed twists.

“Let me help you so you can get some sleep.”

“Fine,” you sigh. His arm around your waist curls tighter as he kisses your cheek.

His help is honestly welcomed as he parts your hair in much neater sections, taking great care to not yank any tangles. You re-apply your moisturizer and oil to the smaller parts, and work through the front while he works through the back. Your technique is much slower and clunkier than his, but you accomplish the desired result anyway. Flexing your fingers you admire your shared handiwork, smiling at the perfect little rows of twists around your head. You shake your head to make them playfully twirl like a crown, and you hear him chuckle as he reaches for your bonnet. When he slips it over your head he smiles at your reflection before bending down to kiss your other cheek. You spin around and wind your arms around his waist, nuzzling into his chest.

“You’re so annoying.”

“I know.”

“Thank you though.”

“You’re very welcome.”

(Divider by @/cafekitsune)

[chestcongestion]

Demon-to-Demon Ch.5/5: Ha//zbin Ho/tel

Warnings: Contagion, Mess, Plot thread might still be a bit too close to current events for comfort even if it has nothing to do with current events

Word Count: 9,917

This has been a wonderful journey, and it's super satisfying to have wrapped it all up so I can work on new things! This was an absolute joy to write, thank you guys so much for all of the incredible feedback. As always, the fic is under the cut, and I hope you enjoy! Feel free to leave prompts or rqs for certain characters in my askbox.

  “Eh’KzZssCHEW! Eh’ksScHEW! Eh’KSsSHiih!” Charlie’s erratic sneezing roused her ailing friends from their messy slumber. Tiny starbursts of magical fireworks appeared after each sneeze, crackling and popping around Charlie’s head.

“Fuck’s sake- snFF- you sneeze like there’s somethin’ inside you tryin’ to rip its way out,” Angel croaked, rubbing underneath his tired eyes as he tossed Charlie a box of tissues. 

“That’s what it fe-eel’s li-iike…EHH’KSHHHUE! H-HEH’KSssHhiew! Eh’KzZCHEW!,” Charlie replied, pinching a few tissues around her nose and letting loose a heavy, gurgling blow, sneaking a peek at her soiled tissue and wincing in disgust, “Is a’dybody else’s uhb…snff!... ‘stuff’...sorta yellow?” 

“Nope!” Niffty said proudly from her little nest of blankets. 

Angel pulled one of his soiled tissues out of the trash can next to the sofa, peeling it open to look inside, “Uhh… kinda? It’s really pale yellow,” he said, turning his head to cough into his elbow, his spasming chest rousing Husk from his comfortable position pressed against his torso underneath the blankets. 

Charlie flashed Angel with the contents of her tissue, wrinkling her nose with a damp, heavy sniffle, “I thig’k mbine is a little brighter…snRK!,” she said. 

Angel chewed nervously on a slender finger, “Shit, that is pretty yellow,” he replied, “I don’t think it means nothin’, though… it’s probably just cause you’re so clogged up.” 

“Probably… E-EHH’TsSHIEW! ‘Tshhiew! ‘TSssHIIEW!,” Charlie drowsily ran her sleeve under her streaming nostrils, wincing at the friction from the fabric of her pajamas stinging her raw skin, “Oww.” 

“It’s 9 in the morning, 666 News should be starting now!” Niffty announced, turning on the chunky cathode ray television and watching the screen with slight anticipation. 

The 666 News theme leaked from the television set’s speakers, and the transition graphic appeared, only to begin broadcasting a sleeping Katie Killjoy, curled up in bed and feverishly clutching one of her pillows as though it were a stuffed animal. The anchorwoman was snoring heavily, unappealing bags under her eyes and crumpled-up tissues scattered across her bed. 

“Miss… Miss Killjoy, we’re live,” the intern behind the camcorder whispered. 

Katie gave no reply, letting out a hacking cough into her pillow, but still fast asleep, even as the intern attempted to shake her awake. 

“Uhm… we will… we will be back with your update on day number 40 of the Red Spread… after these messages,” the intern said in a meek voice, still hiding behind the camcorder, “Shit… which button do I press to cut to commercial?!”  

The video feed for 666 News quickly fizzled out, cutting to a random commercial for VoxTech night vision goggles. 

“Awww, that was cute, Katie was sleepy,” Niffty giggled. 

“Her and me both,” Angel sighed, wiping his drippy nostrils with a tissue, “I can’t fuckin’ believe I’ve been… Hh… Hhn’Ktshh! Hah’KSshuhh! Ha-ktshhew!...’Ksshhiew!- been sick for almost two months.” 

“I can’t believe it either, this is incredibly suspicious,” Vaggie pointed out as she walked into the parlor with a small bowl of cold water, setting it down on a side table and wringing out the face towel that was resting in it, placing it on Alastor’s forehead and trying not to acknowledge the radio demon’s whimpering response to the cold fabric. 

“Mbaybe we could check to see- snff!- if this has ever happened before,” Charlie proposed, plucking two more tissues out of the box and blowing her nose. 

“I can’t… the library where the historical archive is held is closed to visitors because all of the staff are sick,” Vaggie said with a defeated sigh, “I don’t know where else I could get that kind of information.” 

Charlie gasped, flapping her hands until her excited cheering devolved into a hoarse cough, “Ow… sorry,” she said, clearing her throat, “Mby dad would probably be able to help- snff!- but he does’dt have his phone od hib.”

“Why doesn’t he have his phone?” Vaggie asked, walking over to Charlie’s armchair and gently massaging her girlfriend’s tender, puffy sinuses with gentle fingers.

Charlie blew her nose again in an attempt to regain access to her consonants, “He dropped it on the-ehh…EH’Kshhiew!- the Hellivator, and it got stepped on… I thig’k he’s stayi’g in the Lust ring right now,” she pondered, whipping out her phone and coughing into her elbow, her chest aching, “I cad call Asmodeus, he’s who Dad is visiting with.” 

Multiple rings down, in Hell’s Lust ring, Lucifer was kicking his feet at his makeshift-brother’s kitchen island in his massive penthouse, waiting for Asmodeus to finish drinking his morning coffee. 

“So… I can’t help but notice your little friend isn’t joining us for breakfast this morning,” Lucifer teased, taking a hefty bite of his powdered sugar covered pancake. 

“He’s sleeping in, he checked in with some of my incubi who work in Pride the other day… went straight to bed when he came home, I think he might be comin’ down with something,” Asmodeus replied, nervously circling the rim of his mug with a single finger. 

Footsteps coming into the kitchen made Asmodeus pause, peeking over the kitchen island to see the sleepy face of his cyborg life partner. 

“I wasn’t eavesdropping-” Fizzarolli said, pausing to cough, “-I promise.” 

“G’morning, Short Stuff,” Lucifer greeted with a wave, leaning over the kitchen island to see the imp from his bar stool. 

Fizzarolli shot Lucifer a nervous half-bow, half-wave, “Hi… Your Majesty?” he replied before grabbing a glass from the dish rack near the sink and filling it with tap water. 

“Please, Lucifer is fine, anyone Asmodeus considers family is family to me,” Lucifer said with a smile, taking another massive bite of his pancake, “There’s still a few flapjacks left if you want one.” 

“I’m okay,” Fizz insisted, guzzling down his glass of water before pouring himself another one. 

“Froggie, you good? I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you choose to drink water,” Asmodeus laughed. 

“My throat hurts,” Fizzarolli said, knocking back another glass of water, “I don’t want it to be something water can’t fix, so I’m just gonna chug until it goes away.” 

“Okay, denial doesn’t work if you acknowledge that you’re in denial, Fizzie,” Asmodeus teased, gently pulling a fourth glass of water out of the imp’s hands and hoisting Fizzarolli into his lap. 

“Those fucking incubus assholes got me sick,” Fizzarolli grumbled, folding his arms with a frown, only to melt into a relaxed smile upon Asmodeus’s warm fingertips massaging his swollen, tender lymph nodes, “Mmm… that feels good.” 

Asmodeus smiled, “Good, glad that helps… you do feel a little warm, though,” he said, cautiously bringing his other hand down and pressing his palm against Fizz’s forehead. 

“I should’ve known those pricks were carrying something, one of ‘em mentioned something going around in the Pride ring, but I didn’t pay close enough attentionn- Hnk’Tshhuh!” Fizzarolli muttered, using a napkin Asmodeus handed him as a makeshift tissue. 

Asmodeus nodded, suddenly remembering a thought he’d had earlier, and turning to Lucifer, “Speakin’ of Pride, I’m surprised your baby girl hasn’t called you since you’ve been here,” he said. 

“She probably has… I don’t have a phone ‘cause mine got crushed on the Hellivator,” Lucifer sighed, “I can’t just make myself a new one because it won’t have cell service… and I don’t remember the numbers of half my contacts list.” 

Asmodeus rolled his eyes, pulling out his phone after it vibrated in his pocket, checking to see who was calling so early, “Oh! Speak of the devil, she’s callin’ me right now!” he said, answering the video call and setting Fizzarolli back down on the floor so he could focus. 

The call finished connecting, and Asmodeus was met with the image of a sleepy-looking Charlie, whose face brightened when she realized that the call had been answered.

“Uncle Ozzie!” Charlie cheered drowsily, smiling at her phone’s front-facing camera and shooting the King of Lust an eager wave. 

“Chucky Ducky!!” Asmodeus greeted, “It’s been too long, baby girl, how’s it goin’?” 

“It’s fide…snfff!... I’b mbaki’g pretty decent progress od mby passio’d project…snRK!...sorry, ‘scuse mbe…eee..Ehh…Eh’kshuu! Eh’KsSshhew! Eh’KzZsschEW!,” Charlie rambled, dabbing at her chapped nose with a tissue after her explosive sneeze, “Sorry…” 

Asmodeus frowned, “Gesundheit,” he said, noticing Charlie’s flushed cheeks and sunken, tired eyes, “Everything okay? You look tired… and you sound like you’re gettin’ a cold.” 

Charlie blew her nose, tossing the damp tissue into the trash, “Yeah- snFF!- I’b a little stuffed up, but I’b fide- EH’DdtshhIEW! EH’Kshhue! Ihh-EH’KSzZshew!... ‘Scuse be,” she said, blowing her nose and wincing at the ache of congestion moving through her raw sinuses. 

“Only a little?” Asmodeus asked, unable to mask his concern. 

“Does it sou’d that bad?” Charlie asked in reply, wrinkling her nose with a dense, heavy sniffle that accomplished nothing, her sinuses fighting the shift in pressure with a squeak. 

“It sounds awful,” Asmodeus said, fidgeting with the fabric of his shirt as worry tied his stomach in knots. 

“I k’dow… I’b sorry, it probably sou’ds ridiculous- snff!- but blowi’g mby ndose does’dt do a’dythi’g… EHh’Tsshew! Eh’KSHHEWW! ‘ksSHEW!...snff-snff!... Oh! That feels a little better,” Charlie croaked, her violent sneeze seemingly popping the cork on her sinuses, allowing her to give her nose a productive gurgling blow, “Phew… that was ni-iice Eihh’KSHHUE! Eh’ksschuhh! Eh’ksschew! Heh’KSshew- ‘Kshhew!- K’SSHHEW!” 

 Asmodeus opened his mouth to speak, but quickly realized that Charlie’s attention had been consumed by her fit. Peering over his phone, Asmodeus shot his makeshift brother a concerned look. 

“I’m finished- snFF!- sorry… phew, that was a lot,” Charlie said with a wet sniffle, the skin around her nose an angry shade of pink, and her nostrils shiny- constantly threatening to leak. 

“You wanna talk to your dad? He’s right next to me, was just in the middle of sayin’ that he can’t get a new phone until he goes back to Pride cause he can’t conjure one with cell service,” Asmodeus scoffed, rolling his eyes at Lucifer from the other end of the counter. 

“Yes, please,” Charlie replied. 

Asmodeus passed Lucifer his phone, getting down from his bar stool and hoisting Fizzarolli in his arms, “While they talk, let’s get you, taken care of,” he whispered, kissing his lover’s neck and smiling at the hoarse giggle Fizz gave in response. 

“Charlie!” Lucifer cheered, staring at Asmodeus’s phone and shooting his daughter an eager wave. 

“Hi Dad- Hh’DddTSHHEW! EH’Kshhew! ‘Kshhew!- Sorry,” Charlie greeted, wiping her nose off with a tissue. 

“Bless you! I’m so sorry you’re sick, Sweetie- I-if you need me to, I can cut my tour short and come back home!” Lucifer said enthusiastically, carefully examining his daughter’s exhausted eyes and her streaming nostrils, “Looks like it’s really takin’ a lot out of you.” 

“I’mb fide- EH’Kshhhue! Eh’kshhew!- Plus, you can’t get back to Pentagramb City, they shut down the Hellivator to the Pride Ring,” Charlie explained. 

“Why?” Lucifer asked, nervously toying with a strand of his hair. 

“There’s this really bad infectio’d going around… snFff! Snff-snff!... it’s really contagious, so they wanted to keep it contained to Pride since it’s already infected  96% of the city,” Charlie replied, shivering and pulling her blanket tighter around her, “Sorry about the camera shaki’g… I’b cold.” 

Lucifer stared at Asmodeus’s phone in shock, “I’m sorry… what?!” he exclaimed. 

“I take it fro’b your reactio’d that this has’dt happened in Hell before,” 

“Nope! No it has not!” Lucifer exclaimed, “Sorry! Sorry, I’m not panicking, I’m not panicking, this is fine!” 

Charlie turned away from her phone to cough, a heavy, barking cough that sounded slightly painful, “It’s okay, Dad, relax,” she said, “Vaggie is planning on heading out to get to the bottom of it! We’ve got this- eh…Eh’ktsshiew!- ‘scuse mbe.” 

“Okay… i-if you’re sure, take care of yourself and don’t be afraid to call Asmodeus again if you wanna talk to me, alright?” Lucifer requested, staring at his daughter’s feverish face and shimmering eyes. 

“Okay Dad, I will,” Charlie replied, “I thig’k I’m gonna take a nap. Talk to you later, Dad.” 

Lucifer waved his daughter goodbye and hung up the phone right as Asmodeus re-entered the room, noticeably impless. 

“Fizz’s head hit the pillow and he practically passed out… so cute,” Asmodeus crooned before regaining focus, “So, what’s up with my niece? I feel bad, she sounded awful.” 

“Somethin’s going around in the Pride ring, apparently it’s gotten so bad that they shut down the Hellivator,” Lucifer said, trailing off at the end of his sentence as he and Asmodeus exchanged a look. 

 “My demons can travel ring-to-ring when the Hellivator is closed by going topside and coming back through a different portal with their crystals,” Asmodeus mumbled, chewing nervously on the inside of his cheek, “And Fizz got sick after meeting up with a bunch of incubi…who were in the Pride ring.” 

Lucifer’s eye twitched audibly. 

“The incubi he met with work distribution at my factory,” Asmodeus said, his tone becoming manic as he paced around his kitchen. 

Lucifer gripped the back of his head with both hands, clawing at his blonde hair, “It’s no big deal, Oz, it only infected 96% of Pentagram City!” he exclaimed, rocking in his seat. 

Asmodeus leaned against his kitchen counter, gripping his phone desperately in his left hand before straightening his posture, “I’m gonna go make some phone calls and I’m gonna try really hard not to panic,” he said, taking a deep breath before leaving the room. 

Lucifer sat alone at the kitchen counter, tracing doodles into the marble with his fingertips, “Let’s hope Maggie knows what she’s doing,” he muttered to himself, “-Vaggie… her name’s Vaggie.” 

Three rings up, back in Pentagram City, Vaggie was preparing to leave the hotel on her incredibly makeshift hero’s journey. 

“Okay, I am going out to try and get to the bottom of this whole thing, while I am gone, Niffty is in charge because she is the most lucid out of all of you, understood?” Vaggie asked the gathering of barely-awake patients as she paced back and forth through the parlor. 

“Got it- Ahh’KsShhiew!-” Angel replied, gently massaging his tender sinuses with his fingertips. 

“There’s a first time for everything,” Husk chuckled from his position nuzzled against Angel’s chest.  

“Okay Niffty, Alastor gets a dose of fever reducer every three hours, I set an alarm on your phone for you and it’s on the wall in case you forget. Everyone else only gets one dose a day at 8pm, got it?” Vaggie asked, brushing Niffty’s bangs away from her face.  

“Kay!” Niffty replied, swiping the back of her wrist against her face to fend off an itch. 

“Behave yourselves until I get back, hopefully I’ll be back with some answers and a way to treat this thing,” Vaggie said with a nervous sigh, “Wish me luck.” 

Angel shot Vaggie a drowsy thumbs up, Husk providing a thumbs up of his own from under the blankets. 

“Good luck Vaggie,” Charlie yawned, draped across the armchair with KeeKee in her lap. 

“Fingers crossed, my dear- snff!- because if your efforts turn fruitless we’re all royally fucked… Hnk’tshhew! ‘Kshh! Hh’kzZhht!” Alastor said deliriously from the loveseat, staring at Vaggie with rheumy eyes. 

Vaggie gave her girlfriend and friends a final farewell and set off towards the Weapons District of Pentagram city. Alastor- when he was still lucid- grumbled about Carmilla almost constantly, chastising her for her unsanitary habits and ‘careless workaholism’ until he was blue in the face, so obviously she was a significant piece of the puzzle. 

After a good half hour of walking through the empty streets, Vaggie arrived at the receiving entrance to the Carmine Weapons Facility, banging on the back door in a way that felt far too familiar. 

“Fuck… how do I open this thing?!” Vaggie asked herself through clenched teeth, jumping up and peering at the surveillance camera attached to the peep hole in the door, “Carmilla- cabron- I know you’re in there!” 

“SnfF! We have a front door y’know,” Clara announced from behind the receiving entrance door as she pulled it up to let Vaggie inside, “Mom’s in her bedroom- Iih’tshuu! Hih’tshhuuw!- ‘scuse me.” 

“Thanks, sorry… keep forgetting I don’t have to sneak in through the back anymore,” Vaggie said, chuckling as she rubbed the back of her neck. 

“It’s fine,” Clara replied, “Mom’s room is on the second floor, furthest door on the right.” 

Vaggie nodded, quietly sneaking up the steps and down the dark hallways until she reached a set of greyish-purple double doors, “Carmine?” she called, patiently waiting for a response. 

“H-hihh…HIH’KtsSHUHH! Hih’KSsSHUH!... Snff!...Come in,” 

Vaggie carefully opened both doors, slipping inside as they closed with a thud behind her, “Miss Carmine, I-” she began, only to trail off upon noticing the sight in front of her. 

Carmilla was wearing navy blue sweat pants and a bleach-stained T-shirt from an old Verosika Mayday concert, her hair was put aside in a slightly-messy fishtail braid, and she was sat up in bed, cross-legged on top of her blankets, playing video games. 

“I didn’t think you’d be into this sort of thing,” Vaggie said, bewildered, “Slaughterhouse V- Collector’s Edition…” 

Carmilla rolled her eyes, not taking her focus away from her game even as she muffled a ticklish cough behind clenched teeth, “I normally don’t have time to play,” she remarked, “I’ve beaten this one twice and I’m going for my third run on a new save- snff!” 

Vaggie winced at the raspy quality of Carmilla’s voice, but said nothing of it, “You seem… surprisingly lucid,” she said. 

“One of the perks of selling things to all of Hell is that you have connections to all of Hell,” Carmilla snickered, gesturing towards her nightstand with her head, still mashing buttons on her controller. 

Vaggie followed Carmilla’s gesture with her eyes, picking up a pink bottle full of blue liquid medicine, “Sloth Pharmaceuticals… you’re taking drugs from the sloth ring?” she asked. 

“Good shit,” Carmilla said, feeling her throat struggle as her voice cracked, wrenching her eyes shut briefly to clear her throat, “Might not be able to fix the rest of me, but keeping my temperature under control has been great.” 

“Nice… can we talk? I have some questions I wanted to ask you,” Vaggie requested, still enamored with the speed at which Carmilla was pressing buttons. 

Carmilla shot Vaggie a brief nod, pausing her game and setting her controller aside before reaching over to grab a handful of tissues, blowing her ‘nose’ until the tissues were damp, “H-hih’tshhuh! Hih’KTSCHUHH!...snFF!” 

“Do you remember anything from the day you got sick?” Vaggie asked. 

“I was-” Carmilla paused to cough, “-on a walk in the Doomsday District, and I went shopping for nail polish… that’s basically iihh- H-hihh’ktshhuh! Hih’ksshh!” 

“Did you come across anyone else who was acting suspicious? Or anyone else who looked or sounded different?” Vaggie asked, trying to piece things together. 

“Nope,” Carmilla replied, grabbing the reusable cup from her bedside table and taking eager gulps from it, only breaking away to cough hoarsely into her elbow before taking another sip. 

“Water?” Vaggie asked. 

“Yes, with mango and honey… and Beelzejuice,” Carmilla said, choking back another hoarse cough and taking a few heavy chugs from her cup. 

Suddenly, as though a gust of air blew through her bedroom, Carmilla shivered, rubbing her upper arms with her large hands and struggling to contain the trickle of mess down her face with a few wet sniffles. Desperate, Carmilla burrowed slightly under her covers, tucking her legs and feet under her blanket and fighting against her teeth to keep them from chattering. 

“Are you okay?” Vaggie asked, her fingertips twitching as she watched Carmilla give a shuddering exhale, noticing the skin on her cheeks was tinged a pinkish-red. 

“My medicine just w-wore off… snff!...I can’t take any more for four hours or it’ll damage my li-Iihh-HIH’KTSCHUHH! Hih’KssHHUH! Hnk’TShh! Hi-IH’KTSsXHHT! Hih’KTSHHUEW!- liver… snFFF!” Carmilla replied, plucking three tissues out of the box on her bed and loudly blowing her ‘nose’ with a resounding honk that sounded like her sinuses were vibrating, “Euch…” 

Vaggie walked closer to Carmilla’s bedside, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed, and reaching out to tuck a strand of Carmilla’s hair away from her fever-warmed face, “Are you sure there’s nothing that happened the day you got sick? I know it’s hard to remember,” she asked. 

Carmilla wracked her brain, briefly turning away from Vaggie to cover a hacking cough with her arm, one throat-scraping cough coming after another until her itchy, sensitive lungs were satisfied and her voice had been thoroughly wrecked. 

Upon regaining her composure, catching her breath, and taking a big sip from her water mixture, Carmilla turned back to address Vaggie, “I uhm-” she paused, clearing her throat with the harshest grunt she could manage, “-when I was out on my walk- snff!- there were pockets of that red mist- Hih’ktshh! Hnk’Txht!- hanging in the air. I stopped twice to smell them because the mist smelled like flowers… I think my throat started to feel sore after the second time.” 

Vaggie grinned, two pieces of the puzzle finally managing to click together in her head, “You have no idea how helpful that is, Miss Carmine,” she said with a bright smile, “I just need to find the source of the mist… and hopefully that’ll bring us one step closer to finding a treatment!” 

“Well- snRK!- ‘scuse mbe… if you’re going to try and find where it’s coming from on foot, it’ll take a long time, at this point the mist covers half of Pentagram City now, you’d need someone who could point and zoom on any random area in town to see if you can find the source,” Carmilla pointed out, her entire body being rattled by a violent shiver, causing her to slide a bit further under her blankets, pulling them up to her chest. 

“I don’t even know if there’s anyone in town who fits that description who’d be willing to help me,” Vaggie sighed, tugging at her lower eyelids in frustration, “This is going to take forever.” 

Vaggie’s grumbling was interrupted by Carmilla’s flat screen television swapping from her paused game to an emergency broadcast of 666 News, the blaring music making Vaggie jump out of her skin. 

“What the hell?! If this jump cut ruins my save file I’m going to-” Carmilla waved a hand in front of her face as her sinuses itched, “-to… to… Hih’Kschhuh! Hih’KTshuhhh! Hi-Ihh’KSHHUuw!... nevermind.” 

“Good Afternoon citizens of Pentagram City, I apologize for the lateness of this news bulletin, our esteemed anchorwoman Miss Killjoy is incapacitated at present, so I, CEO of VoxTech and head of the VoxTech Broadcast Network, will be delivering today’s news!” Vox greeted from the other side of the screen with a charming smile. 

Vaggie stared at Carmilla’s VoxTech television in awe, “I forgot about him… the Voyeurscopes capture footage all over town 24/7,” she muttered to herself, “I have to try and talk to him.”  

“Welcome to day number 40 of the Red Spread, while infection rates seem to have capped out at 96% of Pentagram City, we’ve received word from Imp City and neighboring territories in the Pride ring that infections have raged out of control practically overnight,” Vox explained, gesturing to a bar graph that was next to him on screen, “With the infection coverage added up, The Red Spread has infected approximately 79% of the Pride Ring.” 

Carmilla folded her arms, “I can’t believe he interrupted my game for this… Hi-ihh’KSshhuh!...Hnk’tchew!” she grumbled, scrubbing the back of her hand under her nostrils to wrestle with the ever-building itch in her sinuses.

“While research is still being conducted with an incredibly reduced team, treatment options that completely eradicate infection are still nonexistent,” Vox said, shifting from his usual broadcast grin into something more somber and collected, “In spite of this infection raging on, no severe complications or mortalities have been observed.” 

Vaggie continued watching, scrolling through her phone in between glances at the screen to try and get the location of the Vees’ studio tower on the Northwest side of the Pentagram. After a bit of searching, the studio tower wasn’t very far from the Carmine Weapons factory, she could make it there in about half an hour if she hurried. 

“We are also pleased to announce that due to this ongoing crisis, we have not released our typical programming block due to new material not being filmed with the majority of our staff out sick,” Vox began, clasping his hands together and returning to his charming smile, “so the VoxTech Broadcast Network will be operating free-of-charge for the remainder of this tumultuous time, and our premium network clients will be refunded for the past two months of service. Thank you for your continued patronage, Pentagram City!” 

With those words, the emergency news broadcast ended and Carmilla’s screen returned to her paused playthrough of Slaughterhouse V, which caused her to let out a sigh of relief that quickly devolved into a rough, wheezy cough, that only let up when Vaggie gave Carmilla an anxious pat on the back. 

“I’m going to try and speak with Vox, he might be exactly who I need to help me find the source of the Red Spread,” Vaggie said with a determined look on her face, “Do you need anything before I leave?” 

Carmilla fought back another febrile shiver, sniffling pitifully and burying herself further into her blankets, “Not really,” she yawned, her voice still painfully hoarse, “just turn out the lights on your way out- the switch on the wall- I’m too tired to play with this stupid fever… I think I’ll just take a nap.” 

“Sounds like a plan, rest well,” Vaggie said, brushing a strand of Carmilla’s hair out of her face after she got comfortable under the covers, turning to leave the room and flipping the switch on Carmilla’s bedroom wall to turn off the overhead lights, “Oh… by the way, I made that recipe you gave me, it was good. Thanks again for that.” 

Carmilla yawned, stretching out and clutching her pillow like a stuffed animal, “Don’t mention it… Hnk’Tchew! Hi-Ih’Ktshhew!” she replied drowsily, her eyelids drooping as she slowly fell into a peaceful sleep, her slight snoring audible from behind her bedroom door. 

Gathering herself and preparing for another lengthy walk, Vaggie wandered down the halls of the factory until she managed to find the front door, heading out and following the path laid out by her phone’s GPS system toward the Vees’ studio tower. 

On her walk, Vaggie was stunned by the empty streets, not a person in sight for blocks and blocks, and occasional sniffling, coughing, and sneezing could be heard- albeit muffled- from the windows of the various apartment buildings. 

Eventually, Vaggie reached the revolving front door to the Vees’ broadcast tower, better known as the VoxTech Enterprises headquarters. Crossing her fingers, Vaggie slipped through the revolving door and was surprised to find that the building was still teeming with noticeably-healthy workers and interns… and also a handful of noticeably-ill ones, including the runny-nosed cat demon who was running the front desk on the ground floor. 

“Welcombe to VoxTech E’dterprises- SnFF!- how cad I help you today?” the secretary asked, looking at Vaggie from her desk as she sifted through various papers. 

“I- I’d like to speak to Vox,” Vaggie said with a patient smile as the secretary loudly blew her nose before tossing her crumpled tissue in the trash can next to her desk. 

“You’re id luck, due to the Red Spread- Ih’pshew! I-ihh’pSshew!- his schedule is wide opend… I’ll let hib kdow you’re od your way up- SnRK!- uch, ‘scuse be,” the secretary said, dabbing at her sensitive nostrils with a tissue, her sniffling accomplishing virtually nothing outside of slightly shifting the congestion packed into her head. 

“Thank you… I’m sorry you have to work while you’re sick,” Vaggie said, attempting to offer sympathy, looking a bit confused when the secretary chuckled. 

“It’s fide… I was healthy whe’d I cabe id this mbordi’g… it’s hit mbe like a ton of bricks… Ih’pshew! Ih’pSzzshieww!... I cad’t wait to go home and take a ndice hot bath and crawl into bed,” the secretary replied, giving a wistful sigh before plucking two more tissues out of the box on her desk and pinching them over her sensitive nostrils, “i-iHh’TsSshiew! Ih’pshew! IH’PSshiew!” 

“Bless you,” Vaggie said nervously, watching the secretary pull out another handful of tissues, emptying her sinuses with a heavy gurgling blow, her eyes beginning to water.

“Thag’k you,” the secretary replied, pushing a button on the phone at her desk and waiting until the line clicked to speak, “Mbister Vox, there’s someone here to speak with you- Ih’kshhew!- mby apologies, Sir.” 

“Send them up, I’m on the 30th floor… bless you, by the way, feel free to head home if you can’t finish the rest of your shift,” Vox replied from the other end of the line before hanging up the phone. 

“30th floor, you can take the elevators that are down the hall to your left- SnFF!,” the secretary instructed, packing a few of her items into her purse and tugging a heavy sweater over her frame, shivering slightly, “I’b goi’g hobe.”  

“Thank you,” Vaggie replied, preparing herself to head towards the elevator, “Hope you feel better!” 

“Thag’k you,” the secretary said, wiping her nose and leaving the building through the revolving doors as Vaggie wandered down the path she was given until she approached a row of elevators, hopping on the first unoccupied one she could find and pressing a button to take her to the 30th floor. 

Upon arriving at the 30th floor of the broadcast tower, Vaggie looked around, peeking into a few random studio doors and finding no one, wondering if she’d gone to the wrong floor or lost track of him, when suddenly she ran face-first into a large, lanky figure wearing a blue suit. 

“Oh! There you are,” Vaggie said with a nervous chuckle, dusting herself off, “Hello, Vox.” 

“Ohhh… hello there, you’re the angel girl the princess is romantically involved with, aren’t you?” Vox said with a curt wave, “Any reason in particular you’re in my building snooping around?” 

“I- I know that you don’t really want to speak to me due to my connections with Alastor, but I’m looking for the source of the Red Spread to attempt to find a treatment and you’re the only one with access to every corner of the Pentagram thanks to your surveillance drones,” Vaggie explained, her words rambling as she silently crossed her fingers that her plea was convincing- she’d forgotten to take her spear with her before she left, so she unfortunately had no leverage. 

“Hmm… a noble cause, if ever there was one,” Vox snickered, “Right this way, I’ll have to take you to my secondary surveillance room, the primary one is for my eyes only.” 

“R-really? You’re just- really?!” Vaggie replied, a bit bewildered. 

“Of course, anything to help!” Vox replied with a camera-ready smile, only for his face to soften into something much more neutral and comfortable, “-if you want to know the truth, I’m just happy to be having a conversation with someone who isn’t constantly sneezing.” 

“Haha… it is kinda nice,” Vaggie said, following Vox into the elevator and getting out on the top floor of the tower- the location of the Vees’ personal penthouse, “I honestly don’t know why I’m not sick.” 

“I mean, the answer is pretty obvious, this infection only attaches to demon immune systems- resident of Hell or not, that golden blood in your veins isn’t what the germs are looking for,” Vox scoffed, dusting off the front of his suit with a splayed hand before hanging up his jacket on the wall.  

“That makes sense,” Vaggie said, staring at a recently-healed cut on her thumb that was noticeably a dull gold, bottling up a heavy sigh and deciding to redirect her focus to something else, “what about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“How come you aren’t sick?” 

Vox leaned down until his face was at-level with Vaggie’s before knocking loudly on his head’s glass screen and running his fingers along the array of buttons, wires, and switches on his metal neck, “I don’t have an immune system, or lungs, my soul is basically the only trace of my humanity that I have left.” 

“Oh… that makes sense, actually,” Vaggie said, quietly shuddering upon noticing the 10 foot figure hunched over a kitchen island, draped haphazardly across a bar stool. 

“H-ihh… Ih’psshoo! IhH’Pshhuue! Hiih-Ih’pssshiEW!,” 

Vox rolled his eyes, walking over to the other side of the kitchen island and pinching his lover’s face with icy claws, “What are we doing out of bed?” he asked, his tone warm in contrast with his exasperated and threatening eyes. 

“SnFF!- Mby throat hurts… a’d I can’t find mby replacement Voxxy,” Valentino whined, his consonants dulled heavily by congestion and his red eyes brimming with tears. 

Vox turned to face Vaggie, gesturing for her to wait a moment before turning back to Valentino, “I’ll have Kitty bring you some tea with honey, but you aren’t supposed to be out of bed,” he said, gently wiping the tears out of Valentino’s eyes with a tissue from his pocket. 

“Okay,” Valentino replied, “Help mbe find replacement Voxxy? I can’t see mbore thad two feet ahead of mbe-ee…IHH’TSHUU! Ih’pshew! I-ihh’PSHHEW!” 

Vox blinked, pulling up security camera footage from Valentino and Vox’s shared bedroom onto his screen and scanning the room for a giant stuffed shark he’d bought Valentino to keep him occupied while he was in bed, “Aha! There it is… it’s on the floor on my side of the bed, I’ll have Kitty hand it to you,” he said, gently rubbing the back of Valentino’s hand. 

“Thag’k you Voxxyyy-Yihh’tshhew! Ih’tshhuu! Ih’psshiEW!,” Valentino said, the sharp, squeaky sneezes scraping his sinuses on the way out, “Ohhh… all this sdeezi’g is givi’g mbe a headache.” 

“I know, it’s okay… what flavor of tea do you want?” Vox asked, massaging his lover’s sinuses with his cool fingertips. 

“Ginger- snrKK! SnfFFF!- Ughh,” Valentino replied, squeaking in frustration at the pain building up in his swollen sinuses, “I’b so tired of bei’g sick.” 

“I know, I know,” Vox replied, stroking the back of Valentino’s cheek, “Come on, get up and get back to bed, Kitty will be right in to take good care of you, one of the succubi on staff even went topside to get you some more of this.” 

Vox fished around in his pockets before pulling out a dark blue jar with a teal lid, unscrewing the top and gently wafting the menthol-scented fumes into Valentino’s face. 

“Vaporub!” Valentino exclaimed with relief, dunking two fingers into the jar and slathering the fragrant balm on his chest, his squeaky clogged sinuses suddenly loosening as mess trickled down his face, “Mmm… oh that feels good, thag’k you Voxxyyyi-ihh’pshuu! Ih’pshuue! IHH’PSchhew!” 

“Bless you, bless you, you sound like you’re breathing better already,” Vox said with a smile, patting Valentino on the back and sighing with relief when he disappeared down the halls on his way back to bed, “Phew…” 

“So, where’s your secondary surveillance room?” Vaggie asked. 

“A few doors down, I’ll show you- wait a second,” Vox said, whipping his head around at the significantly shorter figure trudging into the kitchen wearing boxer shorts and a bralette, “Why are you out of bed?!” 

“Don’t shout at me,” Velvette replied, punctuating her sentence with a desperate, wheezy cough as she fought back an aggressive shiver from the chill of the air conditioning, “I’m getting more cough syrup.” 

“You just took a double dose of cough syrup an hour ago,” Vox argued, folding his arms, “You can’t have any more.” 

“I’m a grown woman, I can have more if I want,” Velvette replied, sticking out her tongue and struggling to open the cap on the bottle- a bottle that was not child proof by any means. 

“No, you can’t,” Vox said, plucking the bottle of raspberry cough syrup out of Velvette’s grasp and putting it on a shelf out of her reach. 

“This is bullshit!” Velvette huffed, turning away from Vox to muffle a violent coughing fit into her elbow, “I can’t stop fucking coughing, I can’t sleep!” 

Vox leaned against the kitchen island and shot Velvette an all-knowing glance, “Maybe if you drank something- don’t open your mouth and lie to me, I know you haven’t, I have today’s entire footage reel to prove it- that might help,” he said. 

Velvette rolled her eyes, “I don’t want to, it hurts too much and it’s too cold, I can’t stand having anything to drink right now,” she huffed. 

“Okay, let me rephrase,” Vox said, snapping his fingers as Velvette’s metal drink tumbler- filled to the brim with hot Yorkshire Gold with honey and lemon- appeared in his hand, “you are going to drink this, and you are going to put on some long pajama pants and a shirt with sleeves, and get under the covers in your bed.” 

Velvette opened her mouth to object, but was instead met with another violent cough, “Fiine,” she replied, taking the cup from Vox and taking a cautious sip, her previously cranky gaze melting as the liquid gold cascaded down her raw, scratchy throat, “Mmmm…” 

“Mhm, feels better, doesn’t it?” Vox teased, paying Velvette no mind when she raised her middle finger in response, “Yeah yeah, fuck you too, go change and get back in bed.” 

“Fine,” Velvette replied in between desperate gulps of her tea, walking out of the kitchen and heading back into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. 

“Okay, I think we’re done with diversions, now we can go look at the surveillance footage,” Vox announced, clasping his hands together and gesturing for Vaggie to follow him as he wandered down the halls of the penthouse until he approached a set of double doors decorated with the VoxTech logo, “here we are.” 

Upon entering the room, Vaggie was bewildered by the massive wall of monitors that showed live footage from the voyeur scopes that hovered in the air all over Pentagram City- not to mention security cameras for basically every business and institution in town due to VoxTech’s virtual monopoly on camera sales. 

“So,” Vox began, cracking his knuckles and sitting in his office chair at the desk against the wall, “Where do you need to look?” 

“I spoke with one of the first people to get sick with the red spread, and she told me that she didn’t start feeling sick until after she went for a walk in the Doomsday district and breathed in that red mist,” Vaggie said, “If we can find the source of the red mist, I think that will be the source of the red spread!” 

“Makes sense,” Vox replied, pulling up every camera he had available in the Doomsday district and scanning each monitor with careful eyes, “Hmm… not that one, not that one either… there’s so much smog everywhere it’s hard to know where to look.” Vox wiggled a joystick on his desk, gently adjusting the position of a cluster of security cameras stationed on the rooftops of a few buildings. 

A harsh cough from the doorway made Vox straighten his posture and turn around, seeing a drowsy Velvette standing in the doorway- now wearing a pair of fleece pajama pants adorned with gummy bears and a long-sleeved pajama shirt. 

“You keep looking, I have to deal with this- Why are we out of bed now?” Vox asked, raising an eyebrow as his voice gained the typical tinny electronic quality that it took on when he felt particularly intense emotions. 

“I need some more m-medicine,” Velvette replied, vigorously rubbing her upper arms and fighting to keep her teeth from chattering, “I-ihh’tssshoo! Ih’tshhew! I-ihh’kxhsshew!” 

Vox rolled his eyes, briefly turning to make sure Vaggie was still attempting to check the screens for the source of the smog, before turning back to address his colleague, “We just had this conversation, you are not taking any more cough syrup… besides, your cough sounds much better, you should be able to get some sleep now,” he said. 

“I don’t need cough syrup… snFF!... I need the paracetamol, I’m freezing,” Velvette complained, the slight and refreshing breeze of the air conditioner making the fashion designer shiver as though she was wading in icy water, her forehead shiny with sweat. 

Vox shot another cautious glance back at Vaggie, before cupping Velvette’s face with his left hand and scanning her body with the infrared filter applied over his eyes until a temperature reading of 103.8 degrees flashed in the corner of his screen, “That is a little high, and the more comfortable you are, the sooner you can get to sleep,” Vox said, pulling a bottle out of his pocket and handing Velvette two tiny square pills, “There you go, that should make you feel better, now get back to bed.” 

“Thank you, V, have fun in your creepy stalker room- Ihh’tshhoo!” Velvette replied, waving Vox goodbye as she headed back to her bedroom. 

Vox approached the wall of monitors again with his hands clasped behind his back, rocking gently on his heels, “Any luck yet?” he asked.

Vaggie shook her head at Vox, continuing to scan the wall of screens with her eyes, squinting against the harsh blue light, until she saw something peculiar on one screen in the left-hand corner of the wall.

“There!” Vaggie shouted, leaning against Vox’s rolling chair and gently shaking it, pointing to the monitor she’d located a clue on, “Right there! Look at how the mist is moving in that shot, see?” 

Vox directed his attention to the monitor and noticed that the red mist was billowing out of the back corner of a building, almost like smoke from a chimney, “That must be where it’s coming from… it’s on Tsunami Boulevard behind the gun store,” he said. 

“Alright! Let’s go, if we hurry we can get there in twenty minutes,” Vaggie said, excitedly bouncing on her heels, only for Vox to grab her by the hand, the two of them vanishing into a crackle of electricity and teleporting to Tsunami Boulevard by way of the surveillance camera pointed at the gun store, “Woah… you can do that?” 

“I can at least, it’s fun most of the time, sometimes you get bored of it and decide to walk, but when urgency is key it’s very helpful,” Vox replied, dusting himself off and peering through the dense cloud of red mist into the alley behind the gun store, “I think there’s something back there.” 

Vaggie walked closer to Vox and leaned over, squinting and straining her vision to make out a dark form behind all of the mist, “There is… let’s keep going, slow and steady,” she instructed. 

Vox took slow, careful steps through the alley, barely making a sound as Vaggie attempted to make out more details of the figure they were approaching, eventually realizing that the something was in fact someone. 

“Someone’s back there-” Vaggie whispered, cupping her hands around her mouth to call out to the figure as they approached it, “Hello?!” 

No response outside of Vaggie’s own voice echoing throughout the alley, but the pair continued to inch their way forward, the figure seemingly unfazed by their presence. 

“It might be a decoy… or a mannequin,” Vox said in a hushed tone as he practically tip-toed forward, having trouble keeping such a slow pace with someone half his height. 

“Helloo?! I know you’re over there… we have some questions for you!” Vaggie called out, her voice still rippling off of the brick walls and echoing for at least another two blocks. 

Silence. 

“Okay, what the fuck?!” Vaggie asked no one in particular, shrugging in frustration as she quickened her pace, deciding she was fed up with the kid gloves technique, “Hey! I know you can hear me, jackass!” 

Vox snickered, sighing with relief as he began to walk with his regular stride while Vaggie stomped ahead, still shouting into the mist. 

“If you aren’t gonna run away, the least you could do is fucking acknowledge me, shithead!” Vaggie exclaimed, shaking her fist at the motionless figure whose silhouette was becoming clearer as the pair got closer, with Vaggie’s tirade being cut off by the sound of a window screen sliding open. 

“Will you shut the fuck up?! I’ve got a killer fucki’g headache and I’b tryi’g to sleep it off,” a cranky demon with particularly long and curly horns called out from his bedroom window. 

“Oh! S-sorry! I’m used to shouting over the city’s background noise,” Vaggie replied. 

“Look arou’d, girl, the ed’tire city is id bed… E-Eihh’kxxhhtt! E-eeihh’kzZzht!” 

“Bless you!” 

“Thag’k you,” the demon paused to let out a barking cough, “Look, I was godda threaten you or somethin’, but I’b tired… so please just keep it down?” 

“I will, I’m sorry,” Vaggie replied, shooting the demon a remorseful thumbs-up, “Feel better!” 

“I wish,” the demon grumbled, shutting his window and going back to bed, leaving Vaggie and Vox to their own devices once again. 

“Kudos to you for acknowledging him, I’d have just told him to fuck off,” Vox snickered, his air filtration system whirring slightly as it processed the dense red mist in the air. 

“People are at their most vulnerable when they don’t feel well… being an asshole to someone when they’re in that state just seems cruel,” Vaggie said in reply, marching forward and attempting to make out the details of the silhouette at the root of the billowing clouds of red mist. 

“Fair enough,” Vox said, readjusting his stride to allow Vaggie time to keep up with him. 

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of walking- but was only ten minutes- Vaggie and Vox managed to cut through the mist to find its source leaned up against the back wall of the gun store. 

Standing in the alley, unfazed, was a slim demon of average height with hands that appeared to be shaped like pangolin claws, a long scaly tail, and a long face that was covered by an intricate gas mask. The mouthpiece of the gas mask was where the red mist was coming from, leaking from the holes in the mask like a toxic fog machine. 

Vaggie swallowed a bit of embarrassment, as she realized why the demon had been ignoring her loud pleas for their attention- they were wearing a heavy pair of chunky over-ear headphones and bobbing their head as though listening to music. Waving her hand in front of the demon’s face, Vaggie watched them lower their headphones and finally give the pair their undivided attention. 

“What’s up? I’m not a dealer, fyi, I just like this alley, coke guy’s a block down, peyote’s three blocks down, and there’s a weed vending machine around the corner,” they said in a monotonous voice. 

“Not here for drugs, we’re here for you,” Vaggie said, “Who are you?” 

“My name used to be Cassandra Sinclair… but I go by ‘Noxxious’ these days,” 

“Okay ‘Noxxious’, you do know that the shit you’re pumping out is making everyone sick, right?” Vaggie asked, placing her hands on her hips as Vox hovered over the two of them from behind, intimidating Noxxious with a scornful look in his eyes. 

“Well yeah, that was kind of the point,” Noxxious replied, tilting their head to one side. 

“You did this on purpose?!” Vaggie asked, furrowing her eyebrows. 

“Mmhm, turned out better than I expected, no one’s dead, right?” Noxxious inquired, excitement and pride in their voice. 

“Almost the entire city has been sick for over a month!” Vaggie shouted, balling her fists and cursing herself for leaving her spear at the hotel. 

“Oh shit, it’s been that long? I got lost in time, man… it’s been so peaceful,” Noxxious said with a wistful sigh, stuffing their hands in their pockets. 

“If I may ask… why did you do this, exactly? It’s not like you stand to gain anything from it,” Vox asked. 

“Listen for a second,” Noxxious requested, the group listening to the heavy silence of the empty city streets for a few moments, “No cars, no shouting, no footsteps, no talking, no chewing, nothing. It’s wonderful.” 

“You did all of this so you could have some peace and quiet?!” Vaggie asked, “You have headphones!” 

“They weren’t enough, nothing was enough,” Noxxious said through clenched teeth, taking a deep breath, “Mind if I ramble about something personal?” 

Vaggie, in spite of her obvious rage and frustration, simply shrugged at Noxxious, motioning for them to go ahead, turning to Vox and staring at him incredulously. 

“I’ve only been here for six months… when I was alive I hated noise, I’d rather rip out my eardrums than listen to all of the noises overlapping all day, every day,” Noxxious began, straightening their posture, “I realized that people are pretty quiet when they’re sick… they keep to themselves. It made perfect sense.” 

Vaggie gestured at Vox, still puzzled, but decided not to interrupt.

“I went to school for microbiology, and I figured if I could get enough people sick, I could have peace and quiet,” Noxxious said with a determined- albeit hidden- smile, “Except I wasn’t very careful, and I got into a little bit of trouble when my first attempt went sideways.” 

Vaggie and Vox squinted their eyes when Noxxious held up a frayed, coffee-stained newspaper clipping that read ‘Bioterrorist Cassandra Sinclair due to receive death penalty’. 

“Is that your plan?! To kill everyone?!” Vaggie asked, scanning the area for something she could use as a weapon. 

“No! I already said that was an accident, I never wanted anyone to get hurt, I just wanted a break from the noise!” Noxxious explained, near tears, “Look, when I got here after my execution, I noticed this blue stuff coming out of my mask; when people around me breathed in the mist, they would start sneezing.” 

Vox’s face brightened, an impressed smile spreading across his screen, “So you can just infinitely leak mist filled with custom viruses?” he asked rhetorically, “That is impressive, you could have some real sway with that kind of power if you weren’t a walking biohazard.” 

“I don’t want ‘sway’, I don’t wanna hurt anyone, I just wanted quiet,” Noxxious explained, twisting the filtered discs on the end of their mask so that the holes were covered, stopping the red mist at the source, “I can produce an antidote, I promise.” 

“Thank you,” Vaggie sighed, relaxing her shoulders as she watched Noxxious fiddle with their mask, briefly opening the discs and shooting out a puff of blue mist before closing their mask again as the blue mist seemingly clung to the red, slowly spreading through the air.  

“There, that should be enough to get it to stretch across the Pride Ring, and then eventually it’ll disappear on its own,” Noxxious explained, “Once someone breathes it in, they’ll be cured.” 

“Good, things can finally get back to normal,” Vox scoffed, cracking his knuckles before pulling something out of his pocket after seeing Noxxious’s pitiful face, “As a reward for producing the antidote, here’s the final prototype for VoxTech’s ‘DJ Deafener’ headphones, with active noise canceling so good, you can’t hear a train coming.” 

“That’s a good tagline,” Vaggie said, chuckling. 

“It isn’t just a tagline, eight of our product testers were crushed gruesomely by trains,” Vox replied. 

Noxxious carefully placed the headphones on their head and their body immediately relaxed as they reclined against the back wall of the gun store once again, “These are incredible, I can’t hear anything!” they exclaimed, tears leaking from the plastic eyes of their mask, “Thank you!” 

Vox opened his mouth to respond, only to remember that Noxxious was effectively deaf, and opted to shoot the bioterrorist a thumbs up instead as a sudden boom of thunder could be heard overhead. 

“Well, I think I should go spread the good news, haha-” Vox chuckled to himself, “I’d offer to teleport you back to the tower with me, but it’s about the same distance to walk there from here as it would be to walk there from the tower.”  

“No worries, I’ve got it,” Vaggie replied, “Thanks for your help.” 

“Same to you,” Vox said, shooting Vaggie a playful salute before teleporting back to the broadcast tower in a crackle of blue electricity, just as a light drizzle began, raindrops falling on Vaggie’s head as she made her walk back to the hotel. 

Twenty minutes passed, and back at the hotel, the parlor full of drowsy sinners jumped when the peaceful nature documentary they were watching was interrupted by the blaring theme of an incoming 666 News bulletin. 

“That scared the piss outta me,” Angel panted, emptying his sinuses into a tissue with a damp blow, “Wonder what the hell happened this time...snff!” 

“Hello citizens of Pentagram City and the greater Pride Ring, I am happy to announce that a cure for the Red Spread has been found!” Vox’s voice rang out from the speakers of the CRT television, “It has been released into the air for ease of access, take a step outside or open a window and the formula should resolve your infection! Have a wonderful day, and stay healthy! This message was brought to you by VoxTech Enterprises!” 

“Vaggie did it- SnFF!- she figured it out! Yaay…” Charlie cheered weakly, wiping off the drippy underside of her nose, “Who’s gonna get up to open the window?” 

“I got it,” Angel croaked, clearing his throat as he slowly untangled himself from Husk and stood on his two wobbling legs, slowly walking towards the large stained glass doors on either side of the bar and struggling a bit before swinging one open, revealing the intense rain that had developed outside but also letting in a burst of antidote-heavy air into the room. 

Taking a shallow breath through his mouth, Angel blinked and felt his sinuses clearing up, his tender throat healing, and his fever breaking. Angel’s fur was suddenly damp with sweat as he stood proudly and energetically on his own two feet, spinning around to face the rest of the group and flashing a bright smile, “It works! Oh my god, I never thought I’d be this fuckin’ excited to be able to breathe through my coke holes again!” he cheered. 

Niffty took in a brief whiff of air and hurriedly got up from her nest of blankets upon returning to her full energy, “I feel so much better!” she cheered, suddenly wincing upon realizing that she was surrounded by germy blankets and used tissues, “Euch… this is awful, what a mess- gotta take a shower first, wash all the germs off me, then I can clean this up- be right back!” 

In less time than the rest of the group could blink, Niffty had vanished upstairs to shower. 

Husk poked his head out from under the blanket where he’d been resting while cradled against Angel’s torso, taking a sharp breath and purring contentedly as he felt the watery congestion in his sinuses dry up, and his ears unclogged with a satisfying Pop! “Mmmm, that’s more like it,” Husk muttered, slowly moving until he was back on his feet, ignoring the dampness of his sweaty fur. 

“I gotta rinse all this sweat off and condition my fur, you comin’ Pretty Kitty?” Angel asked, attempting to finger-comb some of the excess sweat out of his fuzzy white hair. 

“Right behind you,” Husk replied, following Angel as the two wandered upstairs together to take a hot shower in Angel’s bathroom.

 Charlie inhaled with a watery sniffle, sighing with relief as her symptoms faded away and the tired bags underneath her eyes vanished, “Phew… much better,” she yawned, rubbing her eyes, turning to look at Alastor, who was still deep into a fever-induced slumber, shivering under his blanket whale draped across the loveseat. 

Charlie walked over to the loveseat and lifted up Alastor’s head from the back, gently pinching his chapped nostrils shut to force him to take a crackling inhale through his mouth. Once Alastor had taken an inhale of panacea-heavy air, Charlie backed away, wanting to be sure that Lucid Alastor wouldn’t know she was touching him. 

Alastor slowly rose up from his reclined position, muffling a final wet cough behind clenched teeth and arching his back to stretch, finally in his right mind after nearly two months of fistfighting with his immune system, “Ahh, that was a satisfying nap,” he muttered to himself, only to notice his body was still slick with sweat, and his hair was about half an inch longer than it was when he last checked. 

Suddenly, Alastor was hit with the memory of what had happened before fever rendered his mind blank, and he struggled not to flush with embarrassment, “Whatever transpired while I was indisposed isn’t to be discussed. At all.” he said, threateningly brandishing his microphone. 

“Gotcha! We don’t have to talk about it, Alastor, don’t worry, I’m just glad you’re feeling better!” Charlie said with a jovial grin. 

“Splendid,” Alastor replied, tapping his microphone against the floor before vanishing into his own shadow. 

Right as Alastor disappeared, the double doors to the hotel’s entrance swung open, and a sopping wet Vaggie stepped inside. 

“You did it!” Charlie cheered, rushing over to embrace her girlfriend in a tight hug, “What was causing it? I have so many questions!” 

“A sinner who used to be a bioterrorist was leaking the virus into the air… honestly they were persuaded to stop pretty easily… snff!,” Vaggie explained, dragging the back of her wrist under her nose to scrub away an itch. 

“That’s good, I’m glad the antidote is a mist too, that way pockets of trapped air will sanitize the Hellivator when it starts operating again,” Charlie said, “It’s so nice this is all over, and it’s all thanks to you, Vaggie, I’m so proud of you!” 

“Tha-a-ahh… thanks, Baby,” Vaggie replied, smiling when Charlie planted a kiss on her cheek. 

“Heyy, now that I’m feeling better, I think you deserve a special reward for all your hard work,” Charlie whispered suggestively, kissing Vaggie’s neck and gently pressing her palm against her girlfriend’s thigh, “What do you think?” 

“I uhm… Snff- snff!... I… I-ihh,” Vaggie began, her breath hitching as a tickle built to a crescendo in her nose, “Hi-IIhh’Ddtssheww! Ih’Ddshhoo!” 

Charlie’s aroused smile flipped, concern shimmering in her eyes as she watched Vaggie sniffle against a slightly runny nose, cold rain water still trickling down her face from her soaked hairline. 

“I think I’m getting a cold,” Vaggie groaned, a pitiful look in her eyes as she plucked two tissues from a box on a nearby table and blew her nose with a sharp honk, “Hih’dDtshhew! Ih’DdshhEWw!” 

Charlie’s sensitive heart melted and she scooped Vaggie into her arms, not even pretending to care about the fact that Vaggie’s rain- soaked body was getting her pajamas wet, “Aww, Vaggie… you did such a good job looking after everything, now it’s my turn to look after you,” she said, kissing Vaggie’s forehead, “Let’s get you a hot bath and a change of clothes.” 

“Yaaay,” Vaggie cheered softly, wrapping her arms around Charlie’s neck and trying not to shiver as she was carried upstairs, “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Vaggie,” Charlie replied, gently massaging Vaggie’s back over her wet shirt as the couple disappeared up the staircase. 

[aalinaaaaaa]

Day 2 — Before the Blue Embers

As part of @rheas-chaos-motivation 's writing challenge!

Word count: 1,326

Synopsis: What Miriyia, Markus and all the ordinary denizens of the city of Waydeirie believe to be just an ordinary celebration of the princess' birthday, turns out to be anything but.

—

They say it is good luck to leave a gift on a birthday.

The windowsill is a prime position for it, a vessel of exchange between a resident and gift giver. From here, romances wilt and blossom, alliances forged over handmade trinkets.

On the night of a royal birthday, local legend says that the royal in question will exchange a gift on one of the windowsills, and potentially change that person’s life forever.

How does one know that a royal has gifted them? People have their assumptions.

Miriyia ventured out for strawberries. Her sister once said a handsome noble told her that they were Princess Estyia’s favourite fruit.

Validity of the claim aside, she thought it befitting to make strawberry tartlets.

The market sellers perched themselves around the Circle of Resilke, the part of Waydeirie that thrived the most. Flowers poured out from boxes and baskets, with vivid ivy overtaking the walls of the city hall, where people gathered to convene and also to dance their lives away.

The seven-spired castle behind it all never failed to catch Miriyia’s attention. It towered over the rest of the city, visible from almost any part.

She wondered what the royals did behind those walls.

“Do you mind holding this for me, love?” A young lad sprinted past her, shoving a glowing, pink thing into her hands. It sizzled and pulsated, getting softer by the second.

“What? No.” She threw it into the fountain, where it burst into pink smoke and magical sparks, turning the water a light pink.

She coughed as she walked away, her nostrils clogged with the scent of all things sweet.

Two other men dashed in the direction of the mystery lad, their path obscured by the pastel smoke bomb.

Miriyia approached one of the sellers, a lady with white flowers in her coiled hair. The green mid-sleeved dress she had blended well with the gentle brown hues of her skin, the one stand-out piece the blue phoenix pendant around her neck.

“Are you alright, dear?” The seller wrapped her branch-like digits around Miriyia’s. “I saw the human shove a smoke spell onto you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, my hands are okay, I think.” Miriyia opened her satchel, ensuring the jam jar was still there. “What was going on with him?”

“I don’t know.” The seller shrugged, opening her hands. “He seemed to be altercating with two others, mentioned something about a weapon.”

“A weapon? Of what sorts? What is he going to do with it?”

“I’m not the one for those kind of details. My trade is fruits and honey, that’s what I know. What can I get for you, miss Kaivje?”

“Can I get these, please?” She pointed to the pot of strawberries, handing the seller the jar of blackberry jam in return.

She unbound the lid for a moment, smiling upon inspection of it. “Ah, this is a fine jam. Did you make this?”

Miriyia nodded, a sudden chill going down her spine. The men seemed to have left…

“Well, is there anything else for you, dear?”

“I’m happy for the moment, bye now.”

Rather than take a browse at the other sellers like she usually did, Miriyia turned straight home, with thoughts of tartlets and pastel bombs on her mind.

—

The sun set in record time, casting the kitchen under the dim glow of sunset.

Miriyia beamed at her creations, a plate full of tartlets with one cast aside near the window.

“Are you ready, yet?” Her lover, Markus, strode in, leaning against the doorway in respondent attire.

She looked to her market dress, covered in white powder with a few red splatters.

Splendid for the evening ball, sure. “What do you think? I have my tartlets done.”

“I see that.” He bridged the gap between them, his hazel-green eye directed towards the plate. “May I?”

“Of course.”

He gave her a cheeky peck on the lips before taking a tartlet, his taste buds singing with each bite. “Miriyia, you are gifted. Are you sure these aren’t spelled?”

“Only to make you love me more.” She kissed him on the cheek before heading upstairs, assuring him she’d only be a few minutes.

More than a few minutes later, she descended the stairs, now fit for a fine evening of revelry.

—

Before she left, Miriyia placed the gift tartlet on the outside windowsill, not knowing what time the princess would show up, if at all.

As the pair walked towards the hall, she noted all the other windowsills adorned in gifts, from jams and breads to statuettes, glassware and jewellery. By night’s end at least one of these things would get exchanged.

For now, the pair joined their fellows in heading to the city hall, hoping only for an excellent ball.

Within the walls of Waydeirie Castle, the official celebration of Estyia Verlova’s birthday unfolded, the castle lit up with light and colour.

—

“I’m going to get a drink, do you want one?” Miriyia asked.

She strode over to the nearest drink maker, ordering a fine glass of lemon, lime, and white wine infused with ice fish blood. At the first taste, she thought the smell resembled ashes and rotten flesh.

Befitting for a fish-blood cocktail, she supposed. She sipped again.

Somewhere in the crowd, her beloved waited for her, dancing amongst the tangle of limbs in the meantime. Her mind pondered going back to him, ignoring the strange tang of ash and bleeding the night away.

No amount of loud music nor alcohol could drown out her instincts, shouting and screaming at her to turn around and go to the entrance.

Chances were of someone letting their fire magic get out of control. Perhaps a stupid prank, or just nothing but her alcohol-tinged senses getting the better of her.

She emerged at the entrance, her eyes drawn straight towards Waydeirie Castle.

Flames rose from the centre of it, burning a hole near the central spire.

A number of others watched in horror, their gazes transfixed on the fire unfolding before their eyes.

Glass shattered, with an enormous plume of blue flames snaking up around the central spire. The flames culminated in the form of a blue phoenix, spreading its fiery wings wide before splitting into blue embers.

“Fate save us.” She said, out of habit.

Some people started screaming, others shouting, and a few crying.

Miriyia found herself wont to do all three. The books, scribes and Recordkeepers warned of this.

No one, however, spoke of Fate’s impending appearance in her lifetime.

Blue, flickering sparks floated through the sky, interspersed with red embers and ash.

Miriyia took a spot beside another reveller, holding her while she cried. Tears formed in her own eyes, clouding her sight.

When her lover brought her into his sturdy arms, the tears streaked down her face.

He stumbled in place, keeping her in his hold. She noted the messiness of his steps, the shock written all over his face.

“Did you see the phoenix?”

“The what?”

Miriyia swallowed a lump in her throat. “Fate’s back. She sent her flames out of the castle.”

“That- That can’t be.” Her feet found purchase on solid ground, though with reluctance.

“Surely you just had too much, right?”

She shook her head. “Look at all these people. Do you think it’s all intoxication? Look at the smoke and ashes up there, look at the castle.”

His demeanour shifted, calming, his eyes wide in horror.

“Now look at me.” He looked down. “I would give my life and the tartlet for this to be a dream. We all would. This is what they talk about in the myths, the legends, the ceremonies. Our world is ever closer to unending ruin, and I just want to go home.”

She dropped into the crook of his shoulder. “Please, just take me home.”

So he did.

When Miriyia woke up the next morning, she found two things beside her.

Markus, and the princess’ tartlet.

—

Taglist (General + Flamebearer, ask/comment/message me if you'd like to be added or subtracted) : @mundanemoongirl @scarletteflamerald @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @ceph-the-ghost-writer @feathers-little-nest @outpost51 @mattresses-and-macaroni @limitlesswritingvoid @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @guessillcallitart @thelaughingstag @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @bigboicol-theflamingcol @original-writing

[myreia]

Divergence of the Heart

CHAPTER TWO: THE NATURE OF THE BEAST

Chapter Rating: Mature (full story rating is Explicit) Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Aymeric de Borel, Thancred Waters, Hilda Ware Pairings: Aureia/Aymeric, Aureia/Thancred, Thancred/Hilda Chapter Words: 4,788 Notes: Set during the Heavensward patches. Summary: Aureia Malathar may have made a name for herself in Ishgard, but her deeds come with a hefty personal toll. Despite her victories at the Grand Melee she has never felt more unsure of herself. Her relationship with Thancred—the person she thought knew her the best—is strained, yet she cannot abandon him. Aymeric is falling for her harder with each passing day, yet she cannot bring herself to accept it. All may be fair in love and war, but at least war is predictable. Love on the other hand… Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 Read on AO3 Avi’li Sostomi belongs to my dear friend @lilas!

When she reaches the Forgotten Knight, Aureia shoves the doors open and clatters down the stairs. Though the sound causes some heads to turn, the tavern quickly reverts to its drunken murmurings and clandestine conversations. She has always had an affection for Gibrillont’s establishment. The lighting is dark, the hearths warm, the food and drink good. She is rarely identified as the Warrior of Light here, blending in with crowds too drunk to recognize her. Here, everyone’s business is their own. Here, she is just another patron stepping in from the cold.

“Ah, Aureia!” Gibrillont nods in welcome, his hands occupied by cleaning out tankards with a worn rag. “I hear congratulations are in order—”

She rests her arms on the counter and leans into it. “No. Not in order. As far as I’m concerned, nothing of significance happened today.”

He pauses, regarding her with a knowing smile on his face. “Very well,” he says. “‘Tis but an ordinary day, with ordinary struggles.”

“And ordinary drinks,” she adds pointedly.

Gibrillont chuckles and stoops, resurfacing a moment later with a bottle. “Then perhaps this miraculous brew will serve you well, Mistress Malathar,” he says and slides it across the counter to her waiting hand.

Aureia eyes him—the honorific has not gone unnoticed—and hefts the bottle. Wine. Likely cheap, likely strong, and likely to give her a phenomenal hangover the next morning. “Thanks,” she grunts. The dark glass slips against her fingerless glove and she reacts quickly, tightening her grip before she drops it.

His eyes narrow. “I apologize if this is not my place,” he says carefully, picking up the rag and returning to cleaning tankards. “But I suspect this is not a celebratory drink.”

The nape of her neck prickles. Thoughts of Thancred race through her mind, jagged and raw. No matter how hard she tries to banish him, he lingers. Making a face, she yanks the cork out and downs a mouthful of wine. She coughs, the tart, heady scent clogging her nostrils, the fragrant flavour lingering on her tongue.

“There’s nothing to celebrate tonight, Gibrillont,” she says and slams a handful of gil on the counter. “I’m here to get drunk.”

Bottle in hand, Aureia forces her way through the crowd, searching for a table. The cacophony of a dozen conversations fills her ears. From the merchants to the off-duty Temple Knights to minor scions of lesser nobility, all are focused on one thing: the Grand Melee, the Alliance, and the Warrior of Light’s thrilling duel with General Raubahn.

Notably—at least to her—Sidurgu is absent from his usual post. He must have not wanted Rielle caught in the midst of all this revelry, not when there are so many Temple Knights around. The day they dispatched Ystride de Caulignot together is still raw in her mind. Though the church has changed, any number of her former allies or supporters could be among the knights’ numbers.

Aureia pauses in the centre, twisting left and right as she scans the room. “Seven hells,” she mutters, taking another swig. She is glad for their success, truly, she is. Aymeric was correct, this was the only way to incorporate Ishgard into the Alliance without upsetting the Holy See’s delicate internal politics. She hates to give it to him, but Thancred was right—Ishgardian pride has been the source too many of their difficulties. The whole nation is too arrogant for its own good.

And the last thing she needs now is a recount of her heroics on refrain.

Pushing her way through a cluster of loud-mouthed knights, she rounds the corner and flies down the stairs, disappearing into the lower level.

Aureia feels the change as she descends. Though Aymeric is doing his best to pave a way for a new future, dismantling a thousand years of tradition is not a feat accomplished overnight. The highborn and the lowborn still separate instinctively, and that divide could not be more palpable than in the Forgotten Knight. The hearths are dark, the rooms cramped, the floors and tables scratched. The air is mustier here, thick with the scents of the Brume. But the alcohol is strong, the patrons lively, and there is a sense of fierce, fearless freedom about this place that she has never found upstairs.

“Aw, c’mon, Avi, I had it that time!”

A familiar voice cuts through the din. Aureia pauses on the third step and scans the room, searching. Hilda sits slung in a chair, boots on the table, cards in her hand. A wrought iron lamp lies off to the side, its candle casting a warm glow over a collection of discarded plates and half-finished tankards. Her carbine rests against the wall behind her, its polished finishings glinting in the dim light.

A white-haired Miqo’te perches across from her, his tail curled casually around one of his stool’s legs. He holds his cards close to his face, eyes alight with an impish grin. “Looks like fortune says otherwise,” he says. “I win.”

Hilda harumphs and tosses her cards. “Cheater,” she snorts, grabbing her tankard. “You’re never this good.”

His ear twitches. “Or perhaps the sun has finally risen, understanding has dawned, and I am finally decent at Triple Triad,” he replies, rolling a card between his fingers. “Play enough and even the worst of us get better eventually.”

She eyes him over her tankard and takes a drink. “Or you cheated.”

“I did not.”

“Keep telling yourself that—”

The Miqo’te chortles and throws down his cards, forearms pressed against the table as he dissolves into a fit of laughter. Hilda coughs and lowers her tankard. Spotting Aureia from across the room, she balances it on her knee and raises a hand in greeting.

“I was just beginning to think I wouldn’t see you tonight,” she says casually, adjusting her feet as Aureia draws close. She gestures to her companion. “Avi’li, Aureia—Aureia, Avi’li. Don’t trust him, he cheats at Triple Triad.”

Avi’li’s mouth drops open. “I don’t cheat—” 

“Mhm. You’ll have to be more convincing than that.”

Avi’li flashes her a grin as she pulls up a chair. “Always good to meet a friend of Hilda’s,” he says, eyes flicking curiously from her to Hilda and back again. They narrow with that distinct inquisitiveness that comes over anyone who spots the two women together. “Pardon the intrusion, but you two aren’t—”

“No,” Aureia and Hilda say together.

It’s become a habit—if six separate incidents so far can be called a habit. From their similar colouring, heritage, and builds, it is easy for the indiscriminate eye to assume they are sisters. After all, how many ruby-eyed, black-haired women of mixed Hyur and Elezen parentage find their way to Ishgard? The truth of the matter is that their origins couldn’t be more different. But despite it, they are connected—if not by mutual experience, then by respect and solidarity. Hilda has been one of the few in Ishgard unafraid of her reputation and status. Her keen awareness and blunt honesty are a breath of fresh air in a nation who has alternatively seen her as a hero to be worshipped or a threat to be put down.

Aureia is forever grateful for it.

“I see you came prepared,” Hilda continues, eyeing the wine bottle as Aureia places her staff against the wall and throws herself into her chair. “You made a memorable display in the Grand Melee today. Tired of all the lordlings fawning over you, I reckon?”  

“Didn’t stay around for that,” Aureia replies, slouching down.

She regards her with an amused smile. “Abandoning Aymeric to field them for you? Now I feel sorry for the poor sod. I wonder how many propositions of marriage have landed on his desk in the past half-day.”

“None, if I have anything to say about it,” Aureia replies, raising the bottle to her lips. The wine is just as sour the second time as it was the first.

Hilda chuckles and shakes her head, her long, dark ponytail rippling down her back. “Don’t think you have a choice there, Aur,” she says grimly. “If you hadn’t won over the blue bloods yet, you’ve certainly done so today. More eyes are on you now than ever before.”  

She grimaces.

“If you wanted to avoid this mess entirely, you could have… I dunno… thrown the fight with that general bloke. But that would have led to quite an upset. Best not think on it now, eh?”

She grunts noncommittally into her bottle and takes another drink.

Hilda presses her lips together, eyes narrowed, and slowly unfurls. “Give us a moment here, huh, Avi?” she says, removing her feet from the table.

Avi’li glances at Aureia, his tail flicking quietly behind him. “Good to meet you, Aureia,” he says with a graceful bow. “See you around sometime, yeah?” Swiping his tankard from the table, he turns and threads his way through the crowd.

Hilda folds her arms across her chest. “Right,” she says as he disappears. “Now tell me what’s really going on. I ain’t seen you like this since Haurchefant passed.”

“Nothing,” Aureia replies, sipping on her bottle. “What’s wrong with wanting a drink?”

“Because you shouldn’t be drinking on your own after that display today!” Hilda grips her chair by the seat and drags it forward. The legs scrape horrifically as she shuffles it across the floor. “You should be celebrating. With your fellow Scions, the Ul’dahn delegation, or hells… why not Aymeric? You should have seen the look on his face when you disappeared. So, tell me—” She prods a finger into Aureia’s shoulder. “What in the seven hells are you doing down here with a bottle of Gibrillont’s worst wine, looking like the world just ended?”

Aureia lowers her bottle, chewing her lip as she stares absently at the flickering candle. “It’s nothing,” she says. “I’m tired. And someone who I thought was my friend may no longer…”

She trails off, the words catching painfully in her throat. Saying it now is as good as admitting it. She isn’t prepared for that—not yet. As furious as she is with Thancred, she sees too much of herself in him. He is struggling with something he refuses to voice, something she knows all too well. She should have seen it the moment he ran off after the cyclops on his own. It wasn’t that long ago that she was going through the same motions, taking off across Coerthas on her own, battling whatever monsters she could find alone and unprepared.

But Aureia had help when her luck ran out. Estinien tirelessly shadowed her as she stupidly threw herself into fight after fight, pulling her out when she encountered a foe she could not handle alone. Sid watched her back, his initial resentment and mistrust bleeding into hope and faith as they stood their ground against Rielle’s pursuers. Hells, she thought she foolishly thought she was alone when she came to Ishgard, but she was wrong. So impossibly wrong. Alphinaud and Tataru never gave up on her, even when she pushed them away. Even Ysayle—wonderful, relentless Ysayle who had risked so much and sacrificed all—came for her at the eleventh bell.

But Thancred has no one. He was fortunate today, scraping by with only a handful of minor wounds. If Y’shtola’s theory is correct and his aether is disrupted… How long will it be before he puts himself in a situation he cannot overcome?

Bastard, she thinks. Wherever you’re going, don’t you dare get yourself killed for this. I’ll never forgive you if you do. 

Hilda sighs irritably and plucks the bottle from her hand.

Aureia opens her mouth in protest. “Hey—”

Hilda sets it on the table and firmly pushes it out of the way. Twisting around, she grips her by the forearms and pulls her in. “Listen to me, Aur,” she says, staring her in the eye. “That friend of yours? Fuck them. If they’re making you feel this miserable, tell them to bugger off. You’re the bloody Warrior of Light, you don’t have many chances to catch a break. Good days are priceless where you’re concerned. Don’t let anyone ruin that for you.”

Aureia swallows hard. If only it were that easy… “I’m trying,” she says.

Hilda raises an eyebrow.

“I am,” she insists. “Give me my wine back.”

Hilda smirks. Swiping the bottle off the table, she digs her heels into the floor and pushes herself backwards, sending her chair scooting across the floor and out of reach. She leans back, one leg crossed casually over the other, and eyeing Aureia as she raises the bottle to her mouth and takes a long drink. Grimacing, she lowers the bottle and coughs into the back of her hand. “Yeah…” she says hoarsely, holding the bottle out. “That’s, uh… bad. Extremely bad. I’m gonna have to have a word with Gibrillont over how bad that is, aren’t I.”

Aureia snorts with laughter and retrieves the bottle, taking another swig. The tartness has begun to fade—or perhaps it’s turned her tongue numb. Looping a lock of hair behind her ear, she lounges in her chair and casts an eye around the tavern. The cacophony washes over her, the noise and commotion strangely soothing after the icy silence on the bridge.

Hilda retrieves her own drink. “If you want my advice, Aur—”

“Hmm… not particularly, no.”

She chuckles. “Too bad. I’m gonna give it to you anyway.”

Aureia makes a face.

Hilda shifts in her seat, her foot bouncing on her knee. “If I were you, I’d find someone to enjoy myself with,” she says. “Take the edge off, eh? Have a little fun. Don’t say it hasn’t occurred to you. Someone like you, with your standing and fame? You must have more than one suitor calling—”

Aureia flushes. “Not interested in that,” she says firmly.

“No?” She raises an eyebrow. “Not once? Not in all this time you’ve been in Ishgard? Surely someone here has caught your eye—”

“Not interested.”

“Not even that Auri fellow? The one upstairs with the girl following him around like a lost puppy?”

The description twists sharply on her gut. “Rielle isn’t a lost puppy. And Sid and I—”

“Oh ho?” Hilda raises an eyebrow, her smirk barely contained. “Never realized you were on first-name basis with those two. Is there something you ain’t telling me, or am I to figure it out for myself?”

Aureia rolls her eyes. “It’s not what you think.”

“No? He’s a handsome enough bloke, if you ask me—”

“Well, I’m not—”

“The only time I see that scowl wiped off his face is when you’re around.”

“Sidurgu and I are friends, that’s it. Besides, I said I wasn’t interested in all that and I meant it.”

Hilda shuts her mouth and raises her hands, silently indicating that the point has been made and understood.

Aureia sighs, rapping her fingers against the bottle. This is not an easy discussion to have—and certainly not now, certainly not here, certainly not with Hilda.

This isn’t about Sid. It’s not.  

She flushes at the thought and shoves it away, annoyed at her friend for making assumptions. There’s no point belabouring where she and Sid stand, they aren’t anything more than war comrades. Though there have been times when she has wondered differently. A casual touch here, a look there… She flushes remembering the scolding of the century he gave her after she threw herself in front of him and Rielle and took a temple knight’s blade to the gut. Bleeding out in the ass-end of Coerthas, turning bright snow to red sludge, while he cursed and swore and made her promise to never do anything so foolish again.

But even if it were different, would she even want to act on it? There’s a queasiness in her stomach whenever a subject like this is raised, a sense that something isn’t right with her. She envies how damn easy it is for others. It’s not about love—she knows what that feels like, and how intensely it can strike—but intimacy. It has always been a barricade, growing larger and more insurmountable with every passing year, not helped by her utter lack of interest in sex.

Sometimes she wonders if it’s too late for her. Even if her feelings on the matter have shifted in recent years, it’s easier to ignore it entirely than admit this humiliating truth.

“Point taken,” Hilda says finally. “I see why you like to drink now.”

Aureia grimaces, bristling at the tone. She shoves a hand into her seat and pushes herself upright. “I—”

A hand brushes her shoulder.

She reacts on instinct. Ripping free of its grasp, she throws herself out of her chair and falls into a defensive stance, hands raised, fingers curled. A messenger in silver and blue stares at her, mouth agape, fear in his eyes.

“Mistress Malathar?” he stammers. “I meant no offense—”

“Announce yourself properly next time,” she snaps, dropping her stance and folding her arms. “What do you want? Which House do you represent?”

“I… uh…” The messenger flushes and stares at his feet, still shaken. The Elezen must be relatively young. Though he is much taller than her, he is gangly and nervous. Oddly, he reminds her of Emmanellain. “May we speak upstairs? The message I bear is not for… well… certain ears.”

Aureia exchanges looks with Hilda. Despite recent advances, some things never change.

“Us lowborn, you mean?” Hilda offers, a dark look in her eye. “Are you that scared of the Brume, boy? You’re gonna have to work on that if you intend to remain a messenger for the Lord Commander.”

Aureia curses inwardly, taking in the messenger’s colours once again. Of course. Temple Knights… The messenger is from Aymeric. She’s had more to drink than she thought and she’s falling into foolishness.

“Seven hells,” Aureia mutters and ushers the boy forward. “Let’s talk upstairs.”

She guides him through the crowd to the foot of the stairs, then clambers up them two at a time. He follows, his armour clinking in her ears, and breathes an audible sigh of relief when they surface on the upper floor.

Leading him into a far corner, she takes up position with her back to the wall and crosses her arms. “Now, then,” she says brusquely. “What is this about?”

The messenger quickly salutes. “Mistress Malathar, I bear a message from Ser Aymeric.”

“Yes. I gathered that. What is it?”

“I… I don’t know. It is here.”

He proffers a letter, stamped and sealed with the insignia of House Borel.

Aureia takes it from his shaking hand, brow furrowed, and flips it over. Aymeric has written her many times, but always in an official capacity as Lord Commander of the Temple Knights. But now he’s using the insignia of his own house… This isn’t official. This is personal.

Her heart clenches. “Is that all?” she asks.

The messenger nods, bowing, and retreats. Aureia watches him go, rubbing the envelope’s luxurious parchment between her fingers, her mind racing. Though part of her wants nothing more than to race down the stairs and return to Hilda’s company and the comfort of her wine, curiosity has set her aflame.

Why the personal message? What does Aymeric want?

Chewing her lower lip, she tears the envelope open and unfolds the letter.

Aureia,    I am loathe to begin with “congratulations are in order” as I am certain you have heard that phrase far too much today. Nevertheless, it is true. This victory was more than a simple triumph in the heat of friendly combat. We have secured Ishgard’s position within the Alliance and safeguarded the course to her future. I cannot say how grateful I am for your involvement. Nor would I have wanted to be the one opposing you on the field of battle! Livia assures me that General Raubahn holds no grievance over the thrashing you gave him. I am told he was beaming with pride at his defeat and has requested a rematch the next time your travels bring you to Ul’dah.    I must apologize for conveying this within a letter. This conversation is ill-suited to the pen—one-sided even, as it leaves no opportunity for your immediate reply—but circumstances allowed us no time for proper conversation once the melee had concluded. Or perhaps I am merely accustomed to writing to you now, given how far your travels now take you from Ishgard.   You recall my somewhat mortifying request for a drink some nights ago? I would ask again. Perhaps more legitimately, this time, and with more grace and sincerity. I did not intend to put you on the spot with my words the last time, and yet I did. I do not begrudge the silence you gave me in return, I was, to put it quite frankly, a fool.    And so I ask again. Please, my dearest friend. Join me for an evening. It would be a delight to spend the night in your company.  

Aureia exhales slowly, staring blankly at the elegant script. A lump forms in her throat, her heart beating rapidly. Aymeric, as always, is far too kind to her. Too thoughtful, too genuine, too damn polite. She doesn’t know why he thinks so highly of her when she is prickly and disagreeable, no charm, no patience, all sharp edges. But their friendship has been tried and tested through more ordeals than she count this past year. He has been the one consistency through it all.

Once she thought it was Thancred who kept her grounded, but then the bloody banquet fractured the Scions and the man he was then is now gone forever. After her flight to Ishgard, Haurchefant was a shining beacon, as dear to her as the brother she never had—and now he is gone, cut down before her very eyes. Estinien was her source of strength in the dark days that followed, their rivalry softening to friendship over the course of their trials. He, too, is now gone, lost to Nidhogg’s rage.  

But Aymeric has remained a firm, resolute presence in her life.

She remembers that day in his office, when he blurted out his initial invitation. She was so shocked, she couldn’t even garble a reply, staring at him with her eyes wide, like a deer facing a hunter. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks not long after and she excused herself, passing through his door with her back perfectly straight, praying that he did not see the colour on her cheeks.

It was only after that she realized he intended it as a friend. A friend. Somehow, that only made her response all the more humiliating…

At least she knows he was as mortified as she was. She can take solace in the fact that they can be fools in equal measure.

Aureia folds the letter and stuffs it in her pocket. She needs to return to her room, write a reply… Or perhaps it would be faster to go to him herself? Then again, there is wine on her breath and she is still sweat stained from the melee. Better to write him. He doesn’t need to see her like this.

She is halfway to her room in the inn when she remembers her staff is on the lower levels. Cursing inwardly, she wheels around and hurries through the tavern, weaving in and out of the crowd. Clattering down the stairs, she makes beeline for her table—

Her staff is there, but Hilda is gone.

Aureia pauses, frowning in confusion as she retrieves her staff and straps it to her back. The messy collection of plates and tankards remain. Even her bottle of wine is there, now emptied. In the centre of the table, the lamp’s candle flickers from a pool of wax, burning down to the stub. Its light glints off Hilda’s carbine, left unattended against the wall. She must be here, somewhere… It’s not like her to forget her weapon.

Grabbing the carbine, she withdraws from the table and casts an eye around the premises. The floor is emptier than before, many of the patrons having found their way outside one way or another. Aureia rounds the tables, searching, but Hilda is nowhere to be found. And she wasn’t upstairs, either… Either she exited to the Brume or she’s elsewhere in the tavern. The Forgotten Knight is filled with pockets of odd space—knotted hallways leading nowhere, oddly-shaped rooms tucked away in the corners or beneath the stairs. There are plenty of places she could have gone. Patrons find their way to them for one reason or another.

Slipping through a door, Aureia paces down a tight, dark hallway, cradling the heavy carbine against her chest. Her throat is dry, her head is aching—she forgot to drink water and now the side-effects of Gibrillont’s miraculous brew raising their ugly heads. She blinks, ignoring her body’s complaints, and pushes on. She can’t leave now. She needs to find Hilda.

“…so you admit it, then?”

“Admit what?”

Voices echo through an open door. Droll and heady, drunk on too much wine and spirits.

“…and here I thought it would take more than that for you to say you felt some affection for me.”

“Affection? Please. Far too strong a word.”

Auriea’s heart leaps into her throat. She freezes in the shadows of the hall, floorboards creaking underfoot. Hilda and Thancred stand together in the adjoining room, their profiles illuminated by the dusty moonlight filtering through the narrow window. His arms are locked around her, pulling her into him. She tilts her chin, a playful smile on her lips, red eyes dancing wickedly. 

“You wound me, my lady,” he says, his lips brushing her cheek.

She smirks. “Not a lady.”

“To me you are.”

“Oh, please. Is that what you tell all the women in your life or did you truly expect a line like that to work on me?”

He kisses her, fierce and desperate. She melts into it, her fingers scraping the sides of his face, his jaw, pulling him into her. His fingers brush her ear, tentatively cupping the point, and thread through her hair. He releases it from its tail and the dark waves fall free, flowing over her shoulders and shadowing her face like a curtain. She chuckles huskily and shoves him back against the wall. He grunts and seizes her, lifting her up. She wraps her legs around him and allows him to spin them around.

Hilda pulls back from his kiss, face flushed and eyes wild, and scrapes her fingers through his hair. “You sure about this?” she asks huskily, lips pressed against his ear. “Don’t mistake me for her. Because I’m not.”

He freezes, his arms going stiff. “I am here for you. Only you.”

“Good. Just wanted to be clear—”

He kisses her, pinning her to the wall, his mouth on hers, still kissing, always kissing. She presses against him, her hands wandering, reaching, urgent, desperate—

Aureia tears her eyes away, cheeks flushed with the heat of anger and humiliation. She stoops, setting the carbine against the doorframe, and stalks down the hall. She doesn’t care if the floor creaks, if they hear her footsteps, if they know she was there. Chances are they never noticed. Chances are they will never know.

Bitter tears pang in the corners of her eyes. Seven hells, why is she crying? Why does she care so much? They are her friends. She should be happy if they’ve managed to find some solace in each other, gods know they’ve needed it. It’s not like she could give it to them herself, what with the way she is. Even if she wanted to, it’s too much.

Too much.

She kicks the hallway door open and storms through the tavern, scattering the remaining patrons in front of her. Gibrillont catches her eye when she storms up the stairs and quickly retreats. He knows better than to interfere. He know he must leave her be.

Aureia is certain she will become a snivelling mess when she finds privacy. But when she reaches her room, the tears refuse to fall. The best she can do is lay on her bed, staring numbly into the silver of moonlight dancing across her floor, and let her symptoms take her. She will welcome the hangover tomorrow. No matter how bad it is, it is nothing compared to the pain and isolation she feels tonight.

Aymeric’s letter remains folded in her pocket, all but forgotten.

[pastel-omegas-blog]

How would the original plot work into the hybrid au? Or would it be it's own little thing much more seperate from the og work, with it's on plot? I'm asking cause I wanna know if MC and Marrav were still forced together, if MC still has that God in him, etc etc. The au is super interesting!!!

I'm honestly working out the au, since I'm continuously making little changes, but the hybrid au is completely different from the og timeline with just a few things staying the same. It's explained a bit more on the part two of this that I posted on my quotev.

The first major difference is that Marrav's family is no longer the imperial family, instead their a grand duchy.

I haven't posted anything on the imperial family of this world but the only thing I can say is that their siberian tigers.

Two. There is no god locked up inside the mc this time around, instead it's more focused on his split hybrid self, since he's a sheep hybrid born from a wolf family ( the sheep genes are recessive but he ended up inheriting them) the black lash and bullying he faces and how he struggles to keep his canivorous side in check.

Leon in this au is a bit different as well, unlike the original au where he's trying to take over the empire, in this one he's bored. From birth people have always adored him and he constantly the center of attention because of he's an omega and a cute rabbit hybrid so people never fault him for anything.

In this au he reaches out to mc to satisfy his saviour complex, but ends up obsessing over him to a dangerous degree.

He finds it absolutely fascinating that at any moment the mc can quite literally attack him and eat him up since he lacks control of his canine side and at the same time he likes that mc had become so dependent on him and he can mold the smaller man to be anything he wants.

This au will have much darker themes like slaughter/murder cannibalism, but this au focuses more on Leon and mc.

If you thought Leon was unhinged before, this version of him is just down right disturbing.

Observe.

" pretty amethyst eyes watched as the 'sheep' hybrid seated across from him stared at plate with dread.

" aren't you going to eat ? " The rabbit asked his voice having a chirpy tone it which made the e/c omega's stomach churn in disgust as he struggled to hold down his lunch but he found it difficult with the smell of copper clogging up his nostrils.

Served on the paper white ceramic plate was a slab of meat. Cleanly cut meat with blood still oozing out of it, a very clear indication it was fresh.... Very fresh.

The fear M/N thought he had pushed away came back to put him in a choke hold.

How had Leon managed to get such a horrid thing ? Where had he gotten his hands on fresh meat ?!!

M/N knew Leon was capable of things but he didn't think murder was one of them ! No he couldn't believe the blue haired omega could have the monsterous tendency to end another life, but the proof was staring right back at him.

Looking and smelling o so delicious-

The giggle that left the rabbit's lips snapped the smaller man from his chain of thoughts.

It sounded so beautiful. Like a choir of angels.

" oh my~ if I had known you would be drooling like this I would have brought you more " the larger omega cooed, his words making the other realize that he had I'm fact actually been drooling.

The horrified look that crossed the other's face at this realization made Leon giggle again.

" your always so adorable " he said, his voice having a sickly sweet tone to it.

" now start eating up my little lamb, don't let the hunt I did for you go to waste " the blue haired man chastised like a mother scolding her child.

" If you don't eat up I'll be mad " all the sweet and cheerful emotions left his voice at those words, stone cold eyes boring holes into the smaller omega and M/N felt his body freeze in bone chilling fear.

At that moment he knew there was no escaping unless he obeyed the omega's orders and he wanted to cry at the monster he would soon become "

Here. Hope this helps a bit

[queenpinoftheeast]

Jason couldn't believe what had happened. He went to pick up Nile from school because Dom wasn't feeling well. He had gotten out of his car when Connor cornered him. Connor accused him of a lot of things before he kissed Jason. His eyes widened as he pushed the other away, almost punching him. He remembered he was at the school, so he went in to get Nile and ignored Connor. Thankfully, he wasn't there when Jason and Nile came back out. The drive home was a blur as he got the two of them home. He sat Nile down for a snack before going to check on Dom. "Hey, how you doing?" He asked her gently.

Dom had caught a cold. She was in bed with too many blankets on her and she had tissue in one of her nostrils. She laid in the mountains of pillows with medicine surrounding her. She looked at Jason and pouted. “I’m dying.” She spoke being dramatic. “My nose is clogged my chest hurts and I burned my tongue with the soup I tried to make.” She pouted then looked at him. “What’s wrong?”

[reachartwork]

Chum 112: Homecoming

"Is it done?" I ask, my voice low as we make our way through the throng of bodies towards the punch bowl. "Did the post go up?"

Jordan's grin sharpens, their eyes glinting in the strobing lights. "Oh yeah. It's up. The server logged thirty comments in the first seventeen minutes. By the time anyone thinks to look our way, we'll be old news."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. We did it. The truth is out there, and there's no taking it back now.

Of course, that's when Mike fucking Giannopoulos comes bounding up to us, his tux straining around his football player bulk. "Yo, Westwood!" he crows, slapping Jordan on the back hard enough to make them stumble. "Looking sharp, dude! Didn't think you had it in you!" Then he turns to me, smiling. "What's up, Sam!"

I smile back thinly, trying not to grimace as the scent of his body spray clogs my nostrils. "Hey Mike," I say with about as much enthusiasm as if I was saying, "Hey, root canal".

He doesn't seem to notice, already turning back to Jordan to yammer on about some boring football bullshit - football bullshit that I'm sure Jordan couldn't care less about. I tune him out, my eyes scanning the room. The chaperones are all clustered by the doors, their heads bent together as they mutter into their walkie-talkies. Every entrance and exit is manned by at least two security guards, big beefy dudes who look like they bench press Chevy Tahoes in their spare time.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Congrats on your milestone! I just started following you ☺️ I would like to request an Edwin short story - maybe a picnic around the time Edwin had to visit Win to repair his damaged arm before the final showdown, or whatever inspires you.

Thank you @mistresslrigtar ! And tysm for both the follow and the prompt! <33 This is my first time writing these two so fingers crossed that I did ok!

————————

It is a treacherously beautiful day.

Ed sets down the basket in his hands and flops beside it. The sky spread out above him is robin’s egg blue. Soft grayish white clouds bob lazily upon it. The breeze is soft, gentle. It smells of spring rain and fresh grass.

Ed inhales the scent, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment.

Here beneath the warm sun, he can almost forget what is on its way.

Promised Day. A day of death.

The very thought makes his stomach turn. Even with all the skills and manpower in the world this could go horribly wrong. And they definitely do not have either of those.

Their team is small and the opposition is monstrous.

…literally, Ed thinks with a dry chuckle. Against beings like Pride and Wrath the chances of their failure are far, far higher than that of their success.

And the costs are so high. He opens his eyes just slightly, staring through the slits at the automail hand he holds up to the sky. If he and Al don’t manage this, they will lose everything.

Their friends, their family, their home, their chance at getting their bodies back and their very motivation to do so.

He – Ed swallows against the lump in his throat – he will lose her.

“Ed!”

As if she has heard his thoughts from afar, Winry’s voice carries across the lawn.

“You forgot the blanket!”

“What?” Ed shoves himself up onto his forearms, frowning. “Why do we – oof!”

The object in question comes careening off of the porch and comes down upon him. For a moment the world is narrowed to gray fabric and a nose-clogging musty scent. Then, he manages to tackle the hefty thing to the ground.

Winry has walked down the stairs by that point and is standing in front of him when he scowls up into the sun. He pointedly ignores how her hair glows in its golden rays.

“Did you have to chuck it at my head?!”

“You can’t have a proper picnic without something to sit on.”

She grabs the blanket out of his hands. With a hearty shake, she sends it floating down to the ground.

“Did you get the sandwiches?”

Grumbling under his breath, Ed reaches for the basket.

“Yeah, yeah I got them.”

Now that he thinks about it, maybe suggesting a picnic was not the best idea. He’d believed it would be a great way to get out of the dark, stuffy house and get to spend some time with his best friend soak up some sunshine before it all goes down. And it still is, probably. Or it would be if Winry wasn’t being so nagging.

She takes the food he hands her and sets it out on the blanket. Then, she pats the spot beside her.

“Why’re you sitting over there in the grass? Come sit with me!”

Sighing, he drags himself up off of the ground and shuffles the two inches it takes to reach the blanket. It’s sizable enough for two people to sit on it, but only if they are seated closely. And when Ed sits down, he finds his shoulder brushing up against Winry’s.

Instantly, his cheeks heat. He can feel her warmth through the sleeve of his shirt. The smell of her wafts to his nostrils — automail grease and the hearty bar soap Granny always buys.

It is a familiar scent that makes something twist painfully inside of him. A knot he didn’t fully register being there wound tighter, begging to be undone.

She smells like comfort and safety. She smells like home.

“Ed? Are you okay?”

Winry is looking at him, her face so close to his that if he wanted to he could lean forward just a bit and…Ed’s cheeks grow even hotter. He must be as red as his coat by now.

“What?” His voice cracks at the end, squeaking slightly. He shakes his head, clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. Definitely fine.”

Desperate to distract himself, he grabs his sandwich and takes a bite. It works about as effectively as reciting the periodic table.

“You’re thinking about the Promised Day, aren’t you?”

Ed pauses mid-chew, turning to Winry. She is gazing down at her own sandwich, long strands of golden blonde hair hiding her face. But the tension in her shoulders tells him all that he needs to know.

She is as scared as he is…and trying desperately not to be.

She is as scared as he is and yet, she believes in him nonetheless.

That knot within him clenches again, harder this time. Ed gnaws his lip.

“You’re leaving for Amestris tomorrow.” She raises her head, looks at him. A small, sad smile lifts her lips. “Right?”

Ed gazes down at his lap. His shoulders hunch slightly. It feels as though an immense weight sits upon them. Far more than even that of solely regaining he and Al’s bodies.

He sighs. “…yeah.”

It is quiet for a moment. Then, her hand finds his. She squeezes and he drags his eyes up to hers. Gold meets blue, fire and fear in both.

“You’re gonna win, Ed!” She says, voice tight with emotion and determination. “I don’t care what doubts are in that head of yours. I know you will! You’re gonna save the world and get you and Al’s bodies back!”

Ed swallows, hard. His throat is horribly tight. His stomach is a mess of butterflies.

But Winry’s hand is warm and steady in his, a comfort and a reassurance. The callouses upon it tell of the lives she has saved.

…his included.

Ed sets down his food and places his other hand over the top of their entwined ones. Tentatively, he rubs his thumb over her skin. He can’t feel her with this one — his automail is as unreceptive as Al’s armor. But his every sense is alive anyway.

They are so close now that it’s agonizing.

“I want…” He breathes in, breathes out. He is certain that his grip is horribly clammy. “Winry I…”

It is pure torture. The words won’t come. Ed shakes his head.

Why is he so bad at this?

He looks at Winry and she looks back. He feels paralyzed by her gaze.

“Yeah, Ed?” She cocks her head. “What is it that you want?”

You.

The thought pops into his head before he can stop it, taunting like Riza’s voice proclaiming his love. His entire face flushes red.

“Ed?” There is a question in those beautiful blue eyes now, one Ed can’t seem to answer.

But there is something he has to do regardless. Because he might not be alive to do it later.

He steels his resolve, leans forward, and kisses her.

Winry makes a little surprised noise. And Ed wonders if maybe she doesn’t want this after all, if maybe he’s overstepped and messed everything up and this will be one of the last memories Winry will have of him — Ed being an absolute idiot.

But then she is leaning into him and her hands are free from between his and they are on his face instead, cupping it as though he is something precious to her. Something more important than even the automail she adores.

He brings his hands up too, brushing her hair behind her ears, brushing his thumbs lightly on her cheeks.

They only pull back when they are both breathless. And then, they merely sit for a moment, foreheads pressed together, both blushing madly and grinning like they have already won the coming battle.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d do that,” Winry says, at last, matter of factly.

Ed sits back with a start. His eyebrows dip into a frown.

“You’ve been waiting for me to kiss you? For how long?!”

Winry shrugs. “Since your promise at the train station.”

Ed gawks. “You’ve known since that day?! And-and you didn’t — ”

She doesn’t let him finish.

When they separate the second time, it is with even more reluctance than before. Somehow this has made his leaving all the more terrifying, and certainly more painful.

And it seems Winry feels that too.

“Come back to me, Edward Elric,” she whispers, as they sit close beneath a smiling sky, food forgotten in the rush of this moment.

And though he has no way of guaranteeing it, Ed promises that he will.