#tel writes

[ladyteldra]

Any Way the River Flows

Alternatively: Help! I've Turned the Scum Villain into a Woman!

Shen Yuan survived the attempt on his life from the expired yogurt with divine intervention called his little sister. She was even kind enough not to make fun of his obsession with PIDW and introduce him to fandom while he recovered.

He does not survive the encounter with Truck-kun.

'System! System, what the fuck?!’ [User was assigned the most suitable host!]

In which Shen Yuan is trans and just as prone to overthinking as ever. There is truly no greater champion at 5D chess, especially against himself.

Preview:

Shen Yuan adjusts his mask as he steps off the bus, fitting it more firmly over his nose. It was a pleasant, if chilly, day and the warmth of his breath quickly steams up his glasses if he’s not careful. The sun was out after several days of cloud cover, leaving crisp blue skies he knew won’t last long, the weather report called for rain in the next few days. 

There was worse weather to have to go out in.

He was returning home from a visit to his doctor. Finally recovering from a severe bout of food poisoning that had laid him out months ago. Too many long nights followed by putting off shopping until the last minute, and then getting distracted by a notification in his email.

Anger wars with shame as he remembers that forsaken ending and the resulting situation. 

Deep breath in, out. 

His doctors have been stressing the need to avoid getting worked up over small things. His sister would never let him live it down if he had another health crisis over that damn novel. 

The only thing worse than how the novel ended was knowing his sister was the one to find him on the floor. Unconscious and apparently dying after ingesting expired yogurt of all things. If she hadn’t decided to check on him that day… if she had waited another week for their planned outing… He doesn’t like to think about what the scene would have been. 

Shen Yuan will always be thankful for her intervention, but would have thought that she was too busy calling emergency services and the family to make note of his computer screen. He apparently wasn’t that lucky.

After berating him for his poor habits - his lack of food in the apartment, missing family dinners, not calling - she brought up exactly what web page happened to be in full view. 

Proud Immortal Demon Way. Popular YY Stallion Novel. Incredibly long. Frequently updated. Absolute trash. The brand new final chapter that was only just released for the paid subscribers.

And the freshly posted comment by one Peerless Cucumber.

She was kind enough to lock his computer and turn off the monitor before the ambulance arrived.

Meimei had read the novel too. Well, at least part of it. 

She had bailed shortly after the resolution of the Abyss plot line. When it moved into less cohesive storyline and plot territory and more into excuse for papapa scene territory.

That’s not to say she dropped the novel and left it all behind, never to think of it again.

No. 

She was kind enough to introduce him to all the amazing sites where dissatisfied fans had taken on the task of exploring the story more thoroughly.

She introduced him to fanfiction. Condescendingly telling him he’d have nothing better to do during his time in the hospital bed. She was right. 

Shen Yuan had, of course, known of fanfiction before. You can’t exist on the internet without having at least heard of it and he’s been to multiple conventions. Fan content is a cornerstone for many of them. He’d spent a good amount of money on unofficial merch.

He just hadn’t seen the point of exploring it before the absolute bomb of a conclusion. These were offshoots of the original, how different could it be?

The answer is very. 

Despite familiar themes and characters, it was like a whole new world.

Every complaint he had as a reader, ones he felt were being shouted into the void, were obviously things that bothered others as well. Dropped plot points were explored in depth. Interesting wives that felt forgotten were given personality and purpose. Innumerable objects of ancient power were given history and context. 

So many delved into the possible political landscapes surrounding the world, how they evolved to where they were the protagonist tore through. Focused on the numerous background characters and villains and gave them motivations and lives that were less one dimensional. Gave those supporting them their own reasons in a world that didn’t just revolve around the protagonist.

Admittedly, his favorites were still ones focused on Lou Binghe. But they gave him more meaning than a revenge driven papapa machine. 

There’s nothing like distance to gain perspective. The entire experience has felt like a gold mine in comparison to the original trash.

The community has been extremely welcoming too.

An unfortunate number of people he interacted with recognize his handle, one he really should have considered changing between platforms in retrospect. It’s one thing when it’s mostly anonymous criticism of terrible stallion novels, quite another when people he’s starting to respect are using it. He should have left it behind in middle school where it belonged, but he’d gotten used to it and so had others. It was branding. And at least not as blatant as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’s own dick pun. 

The fan authors on the sites are always surprised at Peerless Cucumber’s lack of vitriol when commenting on works, pleasantly so in most cases. He’s been quick to point out that he’s not paying them for their content, so he can’t judge it as if he was and most of them far outstrip the original work in every way already. And those he actually hates? He can just not interact entirely.

He’s also joined a few forums and chat rooms dedicated to the more factual side. Ones focused on helping each other find the obscure pieces of information in the behemoth of original text or getting feedback on their interpretation of passages. Trying to find lost threads that tie together hundreds of chapters apart. 

He’s starting to make a different name for himself there. One not tied to biting critique and scathing reviews, but someone to rely on for quick and accurate information on the beasts from text. He’s being tagged more and more often in posts looking for quick answers on traits and names of obscure beasts that might appear in different locations in the novel. He’s even updated the wiki.

It’s fun. 

He feels like it’s been good for him. A new way to enjoy the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way without all the stress and rage that came with reading the original every time he realized another plot point was being ignored. 

He’s even regularly talking to several others on a regular basis. In a few months, he’ll even be willing to tentatively call them friends. 

Shen Yuan might have, might have, also begun compiling all his answers into a single document for easy access. He may have also started expanding on that information with links between other creatures and what they might be based on. Some blurbs of what could be first hand accounts in the style of journal entries. 

If you want it, write it yourself. Be the change you want to see in the world and all that. The reception of the few entries he’d shared had been positive. Enough to make him want to keep going

There might also be a slowly growing assortment of artistic interpretations of what those creatures would look like.

Meimei is the only one that’s seen the drawings and she’s given her seal of approval. He’s not drawn since his burnout from school. It was good to know he hadn’t lost all his hard won skill. His mother can never be allowed to know. She’d been giving him sad eyes to pick up drawing back up for years. If she knew that all it took was a shitty novel…

He very carefully doesn’t think about the also growing assortment of figure studies as he’s reread the beginning text.

Well, she’d probably just be happy it happened at all.

Shen Yuan stops before the next crosswalk, red. He rubs some circulation back into hands before pulling out his phone to check his emails. He can’t get too engrossed, everyone else is on the other side of the street for once, so he can’t use people moving around him as a prompt. But he can at least check to see if he’s been tagged in anything recently. It’s good to start formulating a response ahead of time if he can, or at least know how much is waiting for him.

If he’s lucky, there might even be some updates to look forward to when he gets home. He follows more than a few that use his contributions.

His email hasn’t even finished loading when the screech of tires causes him to look up in alarm. 

It’s a truck.

Swerving towards him. 

‘I’m not even on the crosswalk, yet.” 

Read more here.

[shalomniscient]

every day, once a year, yelan takes a day off.

this is written directly into her contract with the tianquan. there are no exceptions, no special arrangements. on this singular day, yelan does not belong to the qixing; on this singular day, her leash and collar are abandoned, and she has free reign to do as she pleases.

what does she do? well, prepare for your anniversary, of course.

she hops out of bed, cleans up, tugs her jacket on and then slips out the door with the clink of her jade bracelet. it’s a clear day, and yelan tilts her head to the sky briefly, letting the golden sunrays warm her face almost like an embrace. you were never really a morning person, but the sun on your skin always suited you. she’d have to drag you out of bed to see it, but it was always well worth your grumbling in the end when you finally cave and offer her a smile which she would then steal with a kiss.

“ugh, yelan—“ you giggled, your hands on her chest gently pushing her back. your bracelet was cool against her skin, and the matching one on her own wrist hummed. she nosed along your jaw, pressing more and more kisses until she reached your neck. playfulness turned into something a little more heated, and her blood sang at the sigh she pulled from your lips. emerald eyes flicked up to you, teasing, challenging, and you managed a wry huff before tangling your fingers in her hair and tugging her back to properly kiss her again. it stung, beautifully, but yelan grinned all the way."

she shakes herself out of the memory, and steps into the busy street. liyue’s morning scene has always been crowded, and she blends into the throng with practiced ease. she follows the flow of the crowd down the wharf until she reaches the shop she’s looking for—a florist, tucked snugly between two other stores on the higher levels of the shopping district.

the owner, a midde-aged woman, looks up from tending to her orchids to smile at her. her eyes crease with familiarity at the sight of yelan as the spy steps into her store, fingers brushing the petals of a few flowers. the woman rounds the counter, and rummages in the storage for a few moments.

“the usual, i take it?” she asks, and yelan nods, leaning against the counter and tapping her fingers over the grainy wood. the shop hasn’t changed much, if at all, since she last came here with you.

you leaned down by a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, lips curving upward into a smile as you breathed in the soft, floral scent. yelan looked curiously over your shoulder, a hand casually resting on your hip. she asked if it was your favorite flower—you nodded, your other hand rising to just as casually cup her face from over your shoulder. “they’re quite pretty, aren’t they?” you hummed, and yelan took a moment to ponder the question. in the end, she said they were nowhere near as pretty as you, and took the light smack you delivered to her shoulder with an easy laugh.

the florist clears her throat, coaxing her out of the memory. yelan recieves the bouquet—white chrysanthemums—with a smile, settling it in the crook of her arm. the woman’s expression is measured, but there’s a slight waver to her tone when she speaks. if yelan really had to name it, it sounds close to… pity.

“yelan—“ she begins, but she only flashes the woman a signature grin, before slipping out the door as quickly as she came. she has other things to get, after all, and the clock is always ticking.

(or maybe her clock stopped ticking a long time ago and all this is just extra. maybe it cracked when the rocks fell and the earth buried—)

she dissolves back into the crowd as she heads to her next destination: wanmin restaurant. she can smell the chili in the air as she makes her way down the street again, a sharpness only wanmin seems to be able to make. when she gets there, xiangling is boisterously calling out orders while her father toils away in the kitchen, with guoba tirelessly maintaining the roaring fire for his wok. when she sees her, xiangling’s grin only widens, and she waves her over enthusiastically.

“miss yelan! welcome, welcome,” the young chef says cheerily. “here for another batch of dried chillies?”

yelan chuckles, shaking her head. “no, not this time. i’m here for a few rice buns. with a sweet filling, preferably.”

“ooh,” xiangling coos, nodding. “are you planning to go on an expedition? rice buns are both portable and satiating.”

“you could say that,” yelan says vaguely. the little chef is right, in a way, since she’ll have to hike a little to get to your spot—but really, it’s because rice buns have always been a comfort food of sorts for you.

“how can you not like them?” you asked defensively as you trudged along with her behind the group. there was a slight smear of filling on the corner of your lip, and your expression scrunched up a little more as she wiped it off. her jade bracelet was cool against your heated cheeks. yelan only shook her head, teasingly remarking that spice was a much greater wake-up call than sweets. you huffed at that, taking another bite of your rice bun. “not all of us are masochists, lan’er,” you grumbled, and yelan laughed softly. her nimble fingers encircled your wrist, tugging you closer so she could take a quick bite of your bun. it was sweet, sweeter than she’d like, but maybe that was because you were there. and somehow, that made it good.

yelan pulls herself out of yet another memory when xiangling deposits the bag of warm rice buns into her hands. they’re freshly steamed, and the scent of warm buns fill her senses. she thanks the chef, and disappears much the same way she came before the young lady can get even so much as a word in. in the back of her mind, she can almost hear you chastise her for it.

(she always hears you in the back of her mind. if not, where else—)

there’s only one thing left on her list, and it’s incense. it’s late in the morning now, so the crowds have thinned out—and without her cover, yelan takes to back alleys and rooftops instead. she sighs, relieved almost, as she slips into the shimmering, reflective cover of hydro, darting like a minnow between buildings like rocks, barely a blur in the eyes of anyone nearby. the secrecy isn’t strictly necessary for what she’s doing now, but she’s been so used to being unseen that being in the open feels… unsafe.

it doesn’t take her that long to reach wangsheng funeral parlor. the young lady running the parlor isn’t in today—instead, it’s her ‘assistant’, the elegant man shrouded in such thick mystery that neither her nor ningguang has been able to pierce. he greets her with a solemn expression, no doubt because director hu has told him the reason for her visit. “incense?” he asks again anyway to confirm, his voice low and soft. yelan nods absently, her nose stinging slightly from the intense scent permeating the parlor.

she watches as the man disappears into the back of the parlor for a moment, before he reappears with a delicately wrapped packet of incense sticks. she slides a pouch of mora his way, which he takes wordlessly. she tucks the packet into her little pocket dimension, then turns on her heel to leave. just as she exits the door, he calls out to her.

“safe travels.”

she doesn’t deign him with a response.

her feet take her out and away from the city, down the familiar path to the bleeding wound in the earth—the chasm. the land goes from valleys to large, curling momuments of rock, carved by the force of a falling star. she feels that familiar tug in her chest, the voice that calls to her, that tells her to forsake the surface as her ancestor once did. she listened to it, once. and—

“go,” you whispered, pushing her away. half of you was buried under rock, and she could only see one of your eyes; the other was forced shut by the blood that trickled down your face. yelan nearly screamed herself hoarse, but you grabbed her face and kissed her. it tasted like salt, and her heart lurched at the wrongness. your kisses had always been sweet. you slipped your bracelet onto her wrist, then pushed her again, and then the earth heaved and groaned, and it was the last she ever saw of you—

she turns her head and rips herself out of the memory and the temptation; she has other, more important places to be today. she has other days to chase down her demons. she skirts the side of the chasm, slowly ascending to the top. she passes by the memorial to the millelith, and leaves a rice bun and a few sticks of incense as an offering. they too, deserve to be remembered after all.

(she wonders if anyone else comes out here to remember them. she wonders who will come when she’s gone for—)

it takes her a while, but eventually, she reaches the highest point in the chasm. the sun has traveled across the sky by this point, the afternoon heat mellowing out into a slightly cooler evening warmth. the sky is alive with shades of gold when she finally stops, drawing to a halt right before a smooth stone, standing upright from the earth like a silent vigil. she kneels before it, producing three sticks on incense and inserting them into the censer before the stone and lighting them. she sets a rice bun on the plate by the stone, and saves one for herself. the bouquet of white chrysanthemums, she lays on top of the stone.

yelan takes a bite of her rice bun, letting the sweetness settle on her tongue, as the floral scent mixes with the incense, filling her lungs and settling on her shoulders. she tilts her head to the sun, and the warmth feels almost like an embrace. and when she closes her eyes, the wind in her hair feels almost like a caress. when she opens them again, she lets them rest on the stone—the headstone, and she offers it a smile.

sitting on the edge of the cliff, your legs swinging, you smiled at her, nearly blindingly bright like the golden hour. your pinkies were twined together, your shoulders flush with hers. there was a bouquet of white chrysanthemums on your lap, and just a few crumbs on the corner of your lips. your voice carried in the wind when you spoke.

“happy anniversary, yelan.”

“happy anniversary, sweetheart,” she whispers. the wind carries her voice as well, and she hopes you hear it, wherever you are now. one day, she’ll join you, but for now she takes another bite of her rice bun and breathes in the scent of incense and chrysanthemums.

[varilien]

my friend: i'm manifesting you drawing telemachus in a shonen boy pose. just so you know.

[daffi-990]

Last Line Tag Game

@tizniz @hippolotamus @diazheartsbuckley @jesuisici33 @spotsandsocks

Buck has often wondered what kissing the love of his life would feel like. He’s pretty sure he’s finally found out.

No pressure tagging: @diazsdimples @beyourownanchor6 @bekkachaos @monsterrae1 @missmagooglie @devirnis @dangerpronebuddie @exhuastedpigeon @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @actuallyitsellie @kitteneddiediaz

[vosh-rakh]

madstone, chapter 5

“I suppose that is my name,” the former god said with a tilt of his head. “I considered changing it, but the priests advised I didn’t. Would confuse the people more than necessary, they said. I suppose they’re right.”

He put a delicate hand on Kassur’s shoulder, who suddenly felt very small and embarrassed for his outburst. “You say my name with a curious accent. Are you Velothi, by chance?”

Kassur nodded. He didn’t think his accent was that strong. Maybe Vivec was just good at picking up on it.

Without removing his hand, Vivec looked up at Ku-vastei. “What brings you to my city, Hortator?”

“Trouble with the Ahemmusa,” Ku-vastei said. She raised and jingled the Madstone in the air. “We’re helping this lad get it sorted.”

Vivec leaned his face in to examine the amulet. “Interesting design. Dwemeri, I take it.”

Ku-vastei took a closer look at the Madstone. “Is it?”

“May I?” Vivec asked, hand outstretched. Ku-vastei tentatively handed the Madstone to him. “Yes, but of very ancient make. Likely fashioned prior to a law that standardized their more utilitarian style. A law passed long before even our war with the Nords.” He smiles sadly, his eyes seeming to look beyond the amulet and into the distant past. “This really brings me back.”

Kassur managed to catch a glimpse of the amulet in the god’s hand, his first real look at it since they retrieved it. It had a round blue stone engraved with a radiant eye, cradled in an inverted crimson crescent that looked like horns. 

Vivec then casually flicked the Madstone with his finger; a loud, clear tone rang out from the stone. Kassur instinctively covered his ears, even though the sound wasn’t necessarily painful. 

“Before they became atheists,” Vivec began when the sound diminished, “the Dwemer feared the Daedra. They lacked their later, more complete understanding of metaphysical tonality, but still vaguely knew the importance of fundamental tones. They crafted devices such as this to ‘scare away’ the influence of the Daedra.”

“Seems the Ahemmusa somehow obtained one and used it to keep Sheogorath away for generations,” Ku-vastei filled in. 

“Interesting,” Vivec mumbled, scratching his chin. “I wonder how it came into their hands. No matter, I suppose.” He looked again at Kassur. “I suspect whatever issue your tribe faces, this device is instrumental to its salvation.”

“We think so, Lord Vivec,” offered Aryon when Kassur didn’t reply. 

“Oh, please,” said Vivec with a dainty wave of his golden hand. “I’m barely a ‘Lord’ anymore. Call me a saint still, if you want. But I’m more part of the common rabble these days.”

Kassur somehow doubted this. How could a god become a mortal so easily? This was, of course, assuming he was ever truly a god in the first place, something Kassur’s people readily questioned. Regardless, there seemed something insincere, or at least unbefitting, in his stated humility. 

Moving right along, Vivec said, “Well, I suppose I’ll be coming with you.”

Ku-vastei barely suppressed a hiss. “That won’t be necessary, Vivec.”

“Oh, please,” Vivec said again, clasping his hands and stretching his arms in front of him. “I’m bored out of my mind here. Endless bureaucracy. And there’s only so many ways you can say, ‘Get rid of that rock in the sky.’” 

He cast a glance upwards at Baar Dau, which Kassur only just now noticed. It was indeed a giant rock in the sky, crawling with miners like kwama, bits of excavated stone falling into the water by the Temple canton. 

“Won’t leaving the city put its stasis in jeopardy?” Ku-vastei asked. 

“No, I can handle it from afar well enough, especially seeing as it’s quite a bit lighter these days.”

Ku-vastei swished her tail and scratched her chin. Finally, she acquiesced. “Fine. You can come. But not like that.” She made a gesture with her metal hand, dividing her face into two halves.

“Of course,” Vivec replied. “I can be discrete.” In an instant the gold faded from his right side, leaving him fully grey, like any other Dunmer. “Completely inconspicuous.”

“Fine,” Ku-vastei grunted. “Just don’t make any kind of scene. This doesn’t have to be a big ordeal.”

“As you wish, Hortator,” Vivec answered. Kassur was amazed by how easily Ku-vastei commanded the (former) god, and how readily he submitted to her whims.

“Let’s be on our way then, shall we?” asked Aryon. “We’ve got the better part of the island to cross.”

Ku-vastei shrugged. “We’ll just teleport to Sadrith Mora, take the boat to Vos, then walk the rest of the way to Ald Daedroth. Not too complicated.”

- - -

And it wasn’t too complicated. The teleport to Sadrith Mora (which Kassur handled even better than the last three, getting quite used to it), the walk across town, and boat ride to Vos, were mostly uneventful. But it was far from boring, as you might imagine, being a trip with a powerful wizard, the leader of a nation, and a god. To Kassur it went by in a blur; either Aryon and Vivec were in heated debate about the Dwarves, which Ku-vastei moderated, or the three discussed political matters so far over Kassur’s head in their import that he simply tuned it out and focused on not getting seasick. Gals Arethi kept a baleful eye on Kassur, but apparently the esteemed company Kassur traveled with kept him safe from the shipmaster’s wrath.

When they arrived, Sedyni the Vos shipmaster was not there. The four travelers stepped off the boat and glanced around. The nearby tradehouse seemed unusually quiet. Gals shrugged and sailed off back to Sadrith Mora.

“Where is everyone?” Kassur asked. At this time of early evening, the village was usually buzzing with activity.

Vivec closed his eyes. “The chapel is empty.”

“How could you possibly know that?” asked Ku-vastei, planting a metal hand on her hip. Kassur wondered about that brass gauntlet she wore – it was incredibly ornate, and had an air of being impossibly ancient and powerful. But he had no idea how to ask politely.

“I can still feel it,” Vivec said, opening his eyes again. “Most people still revere me as a god, especially this far removed from the official temple in my city. So the Tribunal holy places are still attuned to me.” Kassur had no idea what he was talking about.

Aryon was oddly quiet. In the short time Kassur had known him, he’d never acted like this; he was the type of consequential mer to always have something to contribute to a conversation. It was barely perceptible, but Kassur could swear he saw a slight tremor in Aryon’s hands. But Kassur couldn’t tell if it was fear…or rage.

“Aryon?” asked Ku-vastei. “Are you alright?” She seemed to notice the same thing Kassur had.

“Check on the village,” Aryon said, his voice dry. “I go to the tower.” And so he did, flying off fast through the air, much faster than they had in Vivec. As Kassur watched him disappear into the sky, he saw a dark cloud in front of the setting sun. Or…was it a pillar of smoke?

“This bodes ill,” Vivec said, frowning. “Kassur, stay close. It’s quiet, but I suspect danger.”

Kassur felt a sudden pang of guilt. He realized he was more like a liability to these powerful beings, someone they had to keep close and protected because he was so weak and helpless. He could barely conjure a flame, and didn’t know how to use a weapon. In a fight, he was worthless. He began to wonder why they’d brought him along at all. A sneaking suspicion told him they thought he would be useful only as a bargaining chip, of sorts. A sort of intermediary to help them accomplish…whatever grim task they meant to do.

The thought escaped his lips just as he thought it. “Don’t kill them,” he blurted. “If it is the Ahemmusa. Please.”

“Kassur…” Ku-vastei began, turning to face him. “That might not be –”

“You have our word,” Vivec interrupted, placing a delicate hand on Kassur’s shoulder. “No excessive harm shall come to your people.”

Ku-vastei scoffed, snapping her head towards Vivec to glare at him, but after a moment sighed and shrugged. Kassur wasn't sure if he could trust the word of the false god – or if the Nerevarine had any interest in going along with him. 

They proceeded towards the town walls, which were actually the backs of the tightly-crowded huts of the village, no space left between their rounded stucco corners. There were no guards posted at the gate, the town’s single entrance, and beyond them was still silent. Down the single street they could see that many of the doors were half-to-wide open, but there were no obvious signs of a struggle.

“Vivec,” said Ku-vastei, “take Kassur to check the chapel. I’ll check on the houses.” Vivec nodded and gently directed Kassur towards the chapel as Ku-vastei began picking her way from hut to hut.

Vivec and Kassur passed under the chapel gate into the meager courtyard. The small alchemical garden the two priests maintained there was not overgrown or choked with weeds. “They haven’t been gone long,” Kassur observed out loud. 

Vivec noticed Kassur examining the garden and nodded. “Good,” he said, smiling at Kassur. “Let’s check inside.”

The door was closed, and unlocked. But the chapel never locked its doors, not even when the priests were both asleep. Vivec cautiously pushed through the threshold, Kassur following close behind. “Hello?” called out Vivec. “It’s alright. We’re here to help.” 

There was no answer. The chamber within was nearly pitch-dark, only faint light coming through the stained glass domed ceiling. Vivec cast a Light spell for them to see by as they entered.

It was a mess. The Tribunal tapestries on the walls were torn to shreds, and the murals defaced with what Kassur hoped was paint; candles and torches were snuffed out; the prayer-stools were upturned and thrown about; loose ripped-out pages of books were fluttering in the breeze visiting from outside; ash and bones from the circular Waiting Door on the floor were spread across the room haphazardly. Kassur held no great faith in these things, but it still pained him to see such desecration of a holy place. 

“Be on your guard,” said Vivec stiffly. “In this state I fear I could not trust my divinity to tell if we’re alone. There is little holiness left here.”

Kassur’s muscles tightened. He still didn’t understand how Vivec could know such things. But if he truly was anything close to what he claimed – an ancient mortal-made-god, a living deity – then it was difficult to doubt him.

They slowly circled the Waiting Door, more carefully inspecting the scene, but there was no more evidence of exactly what had happened. At least there’s no blood, Kassur thought. He remembered his teacher, Yakin Bael, and said, “There’s a bedroom downstairs. We should probably check there, too.”

Vivec nodded in agreement, and led the way down the steps, his orb of magical light guiding the way. The priests’ bedroom was not saved from the sacking: pots and urns of various alchemical and cooking ingredients were overturned and cracked open; broken glass from shattered bottles littered the rug underfoot (Kassur was for once glad for his shoes, and Vivec hovered an inch above the ground); the desk had its drawers yanked out, scattering torn papers and writing implements, and its stool and tall candlestick were toppled; the privacy screen was ripped open; and the beds were torn apart, sheets and blankets strewn and split.

Vivec stopped to inspect some of the loose pages of sermons and notes on the floor. Kassur went up the short ramp to the beds to look more closely. He knew the bed on the left was Yakin’s – they had a few lessons down here, when the upstairs chapel was too busy and loud. He picked up a pillow from the floor, gashed open and spitting up dried wickwheat stuffing, and gently laid it back on the head of the bed. He knelt down, and quickly realized that under the pillow was Yakin’s spectacles, broken and bent at the nose and lenses shattered. He gently took them in his hands, careful of the jagged edges of glass, and stared at them.

Just as he was getting used to his new life in Vos, now it seemed to be ripped from him again. Even the only real friend he had among the housemer, his teacher Yakin Bael, seemed to be in some unknown peril. And, useless as always, Kassur could do nothing but follow along with the real heroes, who actually had power to do anything about it.

“Here,” said Vivec, startling Kassur from his misery. A second orb of light appeared, floating near Kassur by the beds. 

“Thanks,” said Kassur. Vivec smiled and kept reading a document in his hand.

Kassur looked back down, and something immediately caught his eye. Just under the edge of the bed was a bright gleam, reflecting the magical light above. Kassur slowly reached for the shining object and pulled it out. 

It was a short sword, still in its sheath; its metallic hilt had been catching the light. He removed the sheath noiselessly and beheld the glistening steel blade, sharp as the day it was forged. “Vivec,” he called, “he had a sword. Yakin, that is. And he didn’t use it.”

Vivec dropped what he was reading and floated up the ramp to Kassur, looking down at him and the sword. “Hm,” he pondered, tucking his legs up under him as he floated and placing his hands on his crossed knees. “Doesn’t mean there wasn’t a struggle. Those spectacles are broken. No blood?”

Kassur looked around again. On a whim he grabbed the pillow he had adjusted earlier and turned it over; sure enough, a small bloodstain seeped through the cloth case.

“Punched in the face,” Kassur suggested. “Nose bled, maybe broken. No other signs of a struggle, that I can tell.”

“Fair analysis,” Vivec said. “I don’t think there’s any other clues here. Let’s go meet up with Ku-vastei.”

Ku-vastei had just come back from the end of the street to the chapel by the time Kassur and Vivec came out. She was alone.

“I see you didn’t find any survivors,” Vivec said, frowning. “Any dead?”

“No,” Ku-vastei said. “No sign of any struggle. Everyone is just gone. What of the chapel?”

“We found no one, but the chapel was desecrated. The homes were untouched?”

“That I could tell, yes. Some doors were left open, and the breeze disturbed some belongings, but that was it.”

“Hm,” Vivec said, stroking his solid grey chin. “Perhaps they’re sheltering at the tower?”

All three turned west towards Tel Vos. The pillar of smoke was rising higher, and blacker. Without a word they began at a quick pace towards it.

- - -

Aryon had put out most of the flames by the time they arrived, but the damage had been done. There was nothing left of the Telvanni fungal roots of the tower but ash, even Aryon’s personal pod at its peak. The tendrils which had so integrated themselves into the stonework of the Imperial fort no longer held it up, causing several portions to collapse into charred bricks.

Ku-vastei and Vivec readied their spears (Kassur hadn’t noticed the god had been carrying one until now) while Kassur cowered behind the two. But it made him feel like a coward, so he tried his best to straighten his back, puff out his chest bravely, and at least put his hand on the sheathed sword of Yakin Bael, even if he didn't have the nerve to actually draw it.

Aryon knelt in front of a smoldering pile of bodies. It was hard for Kassur to make out in the carnage, but it seemed like a mix of guards, tower servants, and Ahemmusa raiders. He might have recognized some of the latter, if they weren’t all so horrifically burned.

“Master Aryon?” asked Vivec. “Are you harmed?”

Aryon turned his head slowly. There was no evidence of weeping on his face, but he looked like a man completely exhausted. Kassur understood the feeling immediately. “No,” Aryon said. “They likely went north before I arrived.” He stood and wiped his hands on his robes. “To the old camp. What of Vos?”

He’s held together by a thread right now, thought Kassur. There was a haunted look in his eyes. He’d just lost everything. Kassur could relate – although he’d ran from his old life, instead of having it torn from him.

“There was no one there,” Ku-vastei said. “No sign of a struggle, except that the chapel was ransacked.” She took a cautious step forward towards Aryon. “Are you sure you’re –��

The wind changed suddenly, and Kassur caught a big whiff of the corpse-smoke. He gagged loudly, covered his mouth with the collar of his robes, and fled towards a nearby wall. He planted his free hand against the stone as he tried to calm his retching before it grew into something worse. He could feel three pairs of eyes on his back, and he resented it. He let go of the wall and looked at his hand; it was completely covered in soot. The wall now had a relatively clean handprint on it where he’d stolen the blackness. “I’m fine,” he shouted, although the act nearly made him gag again. “I’m –”

There was a loud crack somewhere above him. He only had time to look up at the top half of a tower rushing towards him, but not enough to move out of the way. He closed his eyes.

Something hit him hard, but not at the angle he was expecting. The collapse was deafening, its roar of crumbling stone erasing all other sounds. When the sound had settled, Kassur opened his eyes. Ku-vastei had him in her arms; he could feel the cold metal of her right hand pressing into his spine through his robes. 

Vivec and Aryon appeared in the air above them, their feet glowing with pink light. “Are you two alright?” Aryon asked.

Kassur felt a soothing energy enter his body from the gauntlet, and he felt less sore from the tackle. “Yes,” Ku-vastei said as she stood up, lifting Kassur with her. “I’m fine, and he will be.”

Kassur caught a glimpse of Aryon’s face, wrinkled with worry, before it relaxed into relief. Then he put on a new mask, a mask of cold wrath. A cascade of facades to make Mephala proud.

“Good,” Aryon asked. “We need to go to the old camp and see if they’ve taken the citizens there.”

Aryon turned, and with a mystical wave of his hand, buoyed up the rubble in mauve smoke and flung it aside. “Come,” he said once the crashing din faded. “We have work to do.”

Suddenly, Kassur was terrified of Aryon – and for the safety of his own people.

[chestcongestion]

Losing Your Grippe- Ch.2: Ha//zbin Ho/tel

Chapter two, here we go. Had a lot of fun and I plan on pacing myself with these chapters so no single chapter is too huge, meaning this will probably end up being a bit longer than D-to-D was.

Word Count: 4,233

Content Warnings: Contagion

Husk ended up falling asleep in the middle of his liquor inventory, not even having the opportunity to leave the bar and head to bed, instead opting to curl up on the floor behind the bar counter- something he had never done sober until that night. 

While sprawled out on the floor, snoring occasionally, Husk’s sinuses grew irritated and swollen, a trickle of watery mucus running from his adorable feline nose and forcing him to breathe through his mouth, his tail unconsciously waving back and forth as he slept. 

Still unconscious, Husk took a sharp inhale and coughed, his sleeping face shifting to an irritated frown as the tickle in his throat moved downward into his lungs. Husk took a second, much shakier inhale, and coughed again, and again, and again. 

Husk slept until around sunrise, occasionally bursting into short coughing fits as his nose continued to run, his joints and muscles became plagued by a dull aching, and the skin under his fur grew hot. Husk’s deep slumber was only broken when a hard object hit him in the back of the head, forcing him to pry his eyes open and stare blearily at the figure above him. 

Unable to make out the shapes due to being half-asleep, Husk didn’t even notice that he was sprawled out on the floor at Alastor’s feet, who heard Husk’s coughing while he was in the kitchen preparing his morning coffee, and hoped that hitting Husk in the head with his microphone would shut him up. 

“Mmm? Who ‘s it?” Husk croaked, his already deep and heavy voice sounding gravely from his constant coughing throughout the night, “Mm… ‘m tryn’a sleep.” 

“Not feeling well?” Alastor asked teasingly as he poked Husk’s cheek with his microphone, refusing to touch Husk with his bare hands. 

“No… not really- SnRRKK!... KHFF-khff!- Mmm,” Husk complained drowsily, holding his chest to soothe the aching in his ribcage that he felt when he coughed. 

Alastor stuck out his tongue, thoroughly disgusted by his ward and opting to deal with the situation in a way that put him at the least risk possible. Thinking quickly, Alastor grabbed Husk’s tail and dragged him along the floor through the hotel lobby before tossing him into the linen closet and barricading the door shut with a piece of wood that he placed under the doorknob. 

Finally truly awake, Husk looked around him and panicked, realizing that he was trapped in a small windowless room full of towels, toiletries, and Niffty’s cleaning supplies. 

“Alastor you son of a bitch, I know you’re out there, open the door- kHFF-KHFF!- fuck!” Husk exclaimed, aggressively wiggling the doorknob and banging on the door as hard as he possibly could with his fists. 

“Hmmm… I’d rather not, it’s far safer for me if you’re nice and isolated instead of filling the air with your-” Alastor shuddered, suppressing the urge to gag, “Exhalations.” 

“Alastor I am not in the mood to play with you- Snrkk! SnRkK!- Euch! Lemme out!” Husk said, his tone demanding as he struggled to get his bearings. 

“I warned you that this would happen, you didn’t listen, and now you’re paying the price for it,” Alastor said, his tone matter-of-fact as he poked Husk with the pointy end of his microphone staff through the crack under the door. 

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?!- Khff! KHFFF!” Husk asked, indignant as he continued to jostle the doorknob, struggling to get a quality breath of air in the confined space of the linen closet, especially with his slightly stuffy nose. 

“I’m in no mood to be exposed to your pathogens, Husker, so for my sake I’ve elected to secure you somewhere so I can guarantee your mitts won’t be touching everything,” Alastor replied. 

“Y’know what you motherfucker? My ndose is runnin’ like a faucet down mby face- snrrk! SnRKk!- my throat hurts, and mby entire body is tired and hurtin’ worse than anythin’ I can remember, including you torturin’ me for kicks when you’re bored!” Husk said, his raspy voice adding to the seriousness of his bitter grumbling, “I am not putin’ up with your bullshit today- KHhHFF khff KHFF!- when I get outta here I’m gonna sneeze in your fuckin’ face! Lemme out!” 

Alastor rolled his eyes, “I don’t think so,” he said, casually inspecting his fingernails and leaning against the linen closet’s door. 

“KHFFF-Khfff!” Husk’s coughing was audibly coming from deep in his chest, in spite of it being unproductive and dry. Each hack sounded like it hurt worse than the last one, and Husk’s ragged gasp for air once he was done coughing only made them sound worse. “Alastor… I will break this door down, let mbe out!” Husk threatened, pacing in a tight circle as he attempted to muster up what little strength he had left. 

“Oh please, even at your best you’re no match for me, and now you’re weak as a kitten,” Alastor said, chuckling to himself, “This door isn’t budging and there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

Husk got as far away from the door as he could before throwing himself at it, causing the wood of the door to warp from the impact and the wooden plank under the doorknob to crack from the pressure. Alastor, who had been leaning against the door during his taunts, was knocked off of his feet, sliding across the hallway after the initial impact. 

“Hmph! Well that was a bit dramatic, but I suppose I underestimated you, the amount of power your size commands appears to make up for your lack of energy,” Alastor scoffed. 

Husk threw himself against the door again, collapsing against the shelves after his escape attempt still yielded no results, “Lemme out- khff khff-KHFF!,” he begged, staring at the linen closet door with bleary eyes as pain radiated through his body. 

“Alright, alright, I’ve had my fun,” Alastor sighed, “I’ll release you on one condition: you have to promise that you won’t leave the closet until I’m out of the room.” 

“I’m not promisin’ you shit!” Husk yelled, hurriedly jostling the doorknob again and attempting to force it open, only to be slapped with the reality of his predicament when his struggle- once again- proved to be fruitless. 

“Do we have a deal?” Alastor asked, smiling from the other side of the door as he heard Husk’s defeated whine. 

“Okay,” Husk replied, his voice noticeably weaker and more docile as he slumped against the shelves and tried to ignore the aching in his back, “I’ll wait, I promise… just lemme out…” 

Alastor hurriedly kicked away the plank of wood holding back the doorknob and swung the linen closet door open before rushing many paces away, holding his breath. When the linen closet opened, Husk took a few steps until he was out of the doorway, before succumbing to his exhaustion and quietly collapsing to the floor, resting his head on his arms. 

“Husker… the point of  ‘waiting to leave until I left the room’ did still carry the expectation that you leave,” Alastor complained, approaching Husk’s reclined form with cautious steps, poking him with his microphone and feeling a twinge of concern when the jabbing did not produce a reaction.

“Mmm… Khfff-KHFFF! Koff- KHFFF!,” Husk whimpered in between his violent cough, struggling to keep his eyes open. 

“This is ridiculous… Husker get up, you’re just being silly,” Alastor whispered, nudging Husk’s face with his microphone again, ruffling his eyebrows with indignation, “Husk!” 

“Can’t get up… m’ whole body hurts- Khhff- khfff!- just leave me here, I’ll get up eventually,” Husk mumbled, shivering slightly as his face flushed a pinkish red and his nose dribbled slightly, triggering a damp sniffle that only exacerbated the pain behind Husk’s eyes. 

Alastor scoffed, washing his hands of the matter and walking away, grumbling to himself about Husk’s refusal to humor him. 

Once Alastor left, Vaggie- freshly awake and heading downstairs to make herself some coffee and something halfway close to breakfast- entered the hallway, stopping in front of the linen closet upon seeing Husk’s body. 

“Husk?” 

“Mmm?” 

“What are you doing on the floor… halfway in the linen closet?” 

“Alastor… shoved me in… SnFf-SnFF!... ‘m over it, can’t get up,” 

“Did you hurt yourself?” Husk shook his head, his nose twitching desperately before he unleashed a wet and spraying, “HrRR’SCCHOO! HhrRR’SsCHUHH!” into the air. 

“Ohhhh,” Vaggie snickered, kneeling down and pressing a hand against Husk’s forehead, “You’ve got the flu.” 

Husk nodded weakly, coughing into his fist. 

“If I help you, d’you think you’ll be able to stand up so I can get you to bed?” Vaggie asked. 

Husk nodded, grimacing in pain when Vaggie grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet, steadying him by wrapping an arm around his waist, “Don’t think… I’ll be able to make it upstairs to get in bed,” he croaked, still shivering. 

“Hmm… I’ve got an idea,” Vaggie said, carefully walking Husk into the parlor and propping him up against the back of the sofa while she set to work, moving cushions and draping them with blankets and pillows until the large sofa in the parlor looked more like a comfortable pull-out bed with two levels, one on the actual sofa and another on the floor in front of it, “There we go.” 

Husk blinked slowly, focusing on remaining conscious and upright, when Vaggie gently tapped his cheek to make him focus, “Hm- hmm?” he hummed, his vision growing fuzzy. 

“Where do you keep your pajamas?” Vaggie asked, resting both hands on her hips. 

“Mm… HhRr’SSCHUUH… hNK’TSSHUHH!- snFF!- Mm.. in my nightstand drawer,” Husk mumbled, dragging the back of his wrist under his nose before wiggling it to stave off the persistent itch. 

“I’ll be right back, try not to fall over and die, please,” Vaggie sighed, hurrying upstairs while Husk swayed back and forth on his feet, steadying himself with the back of the sofa and shivering like an anxious chihuahua, his teeth chattering. 

While Husk waited for Vaggie to return, he was suddenly startled by Niffty and Angel, who walked into the parlor from upstairs- Niffty still in her nightgown and Angel dressed and ready for work. 

“There you are, was wonderin’ where you were when I didn’t see you head to bed last night,” Angel said, “Fell asleep at the bar?” 

Husk nodded, massaging his eyes with the heels of his palms in an attempt to combat his throbbing headache. 

“You hungover?” Angel asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Husk shook his head, wobbling a bit on his feet, “ ‘m sick,” he mumbled, twitching one of his ears and trying to stave off another irritating dry cough. 

“I knew it!” Niffty giggled, climbing up Husk’s back and clinging to his shoulder as she massaged his glands with her tiny fingers, “I knew your snoring sounded stuffy!” 

“Quit starin’ at mbe while I sleep- Khff! Khff!- I don’t trust you,” Husk said, narrowing his eyelids. 

“Awwww, that’s no fun, you’re so cute when you sleep, sometimes you paw at the air like a little kitten!” Niffty said jovially, poking Husk’s nose and massaging his cheeks, giggling when Husk weakly tried to swat at her.  

“Niffty, leave Husk alone, he’s contagious and he’s not in the mood to put up with your shit, get off of him,” Vaggie ordered, appearing at the bottom of the stairs with Husk’s pajamas folded over one arm and a drowsy Charlie clinging to her in the other. 

 Husk pulled on his striped pajama bottoms and removed his bow tie before fumbling with his hands in an attempt to fold his slacks and suspenders. 

Vaggie rolled her eyes, taking the pants from him and guiding him to the lower level of the makeshift sofa-bed, helping him sit down and get comfortable against the cushions and sheets, “Don’t worry about it, for fuck’s sake, you’re sick as a dog, I will fold your pants for you,” she instructed, setting Charlie down on the upper level of the sofa-bed and quickly folding Husk’s pants. 

“Husk I’mb so sorry I got you sick- Hh-KHFF KHHFFF!” Charlie apologized, taking a shaky gasp of air before tucking her face away into both hands, “khff- khff khff! KOFF-Khfff khfff!” 

“No hard feelings, kid- snff!- it was gonna happen eventually anyway,” Husk said in reply, his words melting together a bit as he tried to remain coherent while exhaustion tugged at him, “Feelin’ any better?” 

Charlie shook her head, “Everything hurts so mbuch- SnRKK!- Owwww,” she whined, massaging her temples, “I can’t- kHFF khff!- stop- KHhhff!- coughing, either.” 

Husk hummed as a solemn reply, his eyelids threatening to close before Vaggie smacked his left cheek until they snapped back open, making Husk groan, turning away from Vaggie’s hands only for her to grip his cheeks with three fingers and turn him back around to face her. 

“Poor baby,” Angel crooned, gently scratching behind Husk’s ears,  “I’ll bring ya’ somethin’ when I get home later, I gotta get to work.” 

Husk weakly waved Angel goodbye, a soft smile on his face in spite of Vaggie’s slender fingers still holding his jaw. 

“I gotta get back to cleaning! Husk’s germs are all over the bar and all over my stuff in the linen closet!” Niffty said, rushing out of the parlor to grab a bottle of disinfectant and a rag. 

Vaggie let go of Husk’s cheeks, feeling his forehead with the back of her hand while he was distracted, “And I have to check your temperature,” she said, “Open your mouth.” 

Husk obliged, letting Vaggie slide the thermometer under his tongue and waiting patiently, trying his hardest not to shiver until the thermometer beeped. 

“103.5,” Vaggie read, cleaning off the thermometer and setting it down on the table next to the sofa, “Either of you need anything to get more comfortable?” 

“Could I have another glass of apple juice, please?” Charlie asked weakly, her teeth chattering slightly from the onslaught of febrile chills that wracked her body. 

“Of course,” Vaggie replied, kissing Charlie’s forehead, “Think you could also manage a cookie? You need something in your stomach.” 

Charlie winced, thinking of swallowing the harshly textured cookie and feeling a phantom scraping sensation against her already-raw throat, before shaking her head. 

Vaggie smiled, but rolled her eyes, “Alright, I’ll think of something else,” she said, gently smoothing out a piece of Charlie’s hair before leaving the room and coming back with a glass of chilled apple juice and a plastic cup of butterscotch pudding, “will this work?” 

Charlie nodded eagerly, accepting the pudding cup and accompanying spoon and slowly eating small spoonfuls, “Thanks, Vaggiee-E-Eh’KSssSHEW! E-eih’kSschhew!” she said, quietly wiping her nose with a folded-over tissue from her pocket. 

“No problem,” Vaggie replied, turning to face Husk,  “Are you sure you don’t need anything?” 

Husk blinked slowly, huffing and brushing her off, “I’m fine,” he said with a firm tone, scrubbing at his nose with a finger, “Hh! HRrr’SHOO! HrRR’SsCHUHH!” 

“Husk, I promise no one’s trying to coddle you, I get it, you’re strong enough to handle this by yourself, good for you,” Vaggie explained, gently grabbing Husk’s shoulders, fighting the urge to shake him, “But work with me man, you are very sick and you’re only going to get sicker, pick one thing that would make you more comfortable that I can do before I go upstairs.” 

Husk’s previously skeptical expression softened, his narrowed eyelids relaxing as exhaustion washed over him. He shivered, rubbing his upper arms with his palms and shakily breathing through his chattering teeth. 

“HRrR’SCHHUHH! HrR’SsSHOO!- snFF!- maybe just a blanket?” Husk asked, his low voice sounding pitifully vulnerable as he vibrated with febrile chills, “I’m freezing….hH! H-huhh…HnK’TsSHOO!- KHFF khfff!” 

“Definitely, I’ll be right back,” Vaggie promised, wandering out of the parlor and coming back with a fleece throw blanket which she draped around Husk’s shoulders and inspected to ensure that it covered as much of his shivering form as possible. 

“Th-thank you- snFF!- feels mbuch better….SnFF!,” Husk replied, nestling into the comfort of his blanket with a sigh of relief, still shuddering slightly from his fever. 

“Good, I’m glad, I have to go upstairs and make some phone calls, but you guys rest up okay? Let me know if you need anything,” Vaggie said, planting a kiss on Charlie’s feverish cheek and scratching Husk behind his left ear before leaving the room. 

“Husk?” Charlie croaked from her position on the sofa bed. 

“Mhm?” Husk replied. 

“I’b so tired, but everythi’g hurts too mbuch for mbe to sleep,” 

“I know-” Husk paused to yawn, in spite of the act irritating his sore throat, “Mmhh… y’wanna watch TV?” 

“Mbaybe- SnFF! Snff! E-Eihh’KkTsShhiEW! Eihh’KSHHEW!- yeah,” Charlie said, grasping around for the remote to the slightly-larger cathode ray television that sat in the parlor after a bit of negotiating with Alastor about a larger screen being better for the eyes than squinting at the old one. 

Flicking through channels, Charlie eventually settled on a channel that regularly showcased footage from the nursery at the Pentagram City Zoo, and all of the adorable bumbling underworldly baby animals. 

“That’s weird… all the animals must be hidin’,” Husk commented as he shuffled slightly to get comfortable. 

“Aw, wait- ‘Due to a shortage of zookeepers, our regular broadcast is currently on hiatus’- this sucks!” Charlie complained, folding her arms as tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, “KHFFF- Khfff- KHFFF!- gasp- KOFFF! KHHhFF!” 

Husk glanced up at Charlie, watching her rub her chest as she panted to catch her breath, her cheeks flushed a deep red alongside the patch of sweaty and flushed skin brought on by her fever. 

“It’s alright, we’ll find somethin’ else to watch,” Husk said, gently bicycling his feet from underneath his blanket in an attempt to soothe his throbbing muscles. 

Charlie flicked through a few more channels, sighing in frustration when nothing interesting seemed to be on, until she accidentally spammed a random channel number after sneezing. 

“Heyy, I know that backdrop anywhere- HRr’SCHUHH!- it’s a poker table,” Husk said, his voice slightly disoriented by drowsiness, “They’re playin’ Omaha Hi/Lo, damn…Khff-khff!”

“What’s Omaha?” 

“Biggest city in Nebraska,” 

“Where’s Nebraska?” 

“Earth, Princess, it’s on Earth,” 

“O h hhh… is it the capital?” 

“No, Princess,” 

“Why is it that so many of the biggest Earth cities are never the capital?” 

“Eh, I think that’s just America, everywhere else the capital’s the biggest by a long shot,” 

“Oh! That’s good, thanks for explaining,” Charlie said with a relieved smile, shivering slightly as sweat trickled down her forehead, “I’m cold…” 

Husk frowned, shuffling in an attempt to stand up, pain and fatigue weighing down his arms and legs as he moved, “I’ll go getcha a blanket, Princess- Hh! HhnK’TSHOO! HrR’SCHUHHH!- snff snff!” 

Husk managed to slowly pull himself onto his feet, swaying a bit and wincing in pain, his breathing heavy and his vision growing fuzzy at the edges, only for something to hit him in the head right before he attempted to take a step forward. “Ow! What the fuck?!- KHFF khfff!” he yelled, rubbing his head and scowling upon seeing that he’d been hit with Alastor’s microphone. 

“Bad kitty, no leaving the area of containment,” Alastor scolded, gently rubbing behind Husk’s ears before playfully tugging on one, while handing Charlie the pink throw blanket from her and Vaggie’s bedroom, “There you are, my dear.” 

“Thanks Alastor- snFF!- we can still get up if we have to use the bathroom, right?” Charlie asked, draping the blanket over her legs and smoothing it out. 

Alastor bit back the urge to roll his eyes, “Of course you may, your doting divine partner simply wanted to make sure that neither of you were exhausting yourselves unnecessarily,” he said, straightening his lapel and shooting an unamused glance at the television screen. 

“Oh, okay,” Charlie said with a yawn, sniffling a bit before pinching her nostrils shut in an attempt to fend off the building itch, “Ehh…e-ehh… EeiiH’KSsHIEW! Eh’KsSHhEW! Eh’KsShiEW!” 

Alastor blinked, biting his tongue as he watched the spray of infectious mist glistening under the room’s lighting, biting down harder upon noticing the patch of damp speckles littering his suit jacket, “Gesundheit,” he said with a tight smile, gently petting Charlie’s head with his microphone. 

“SnFF!- Sorry Alastor,” Charlie said sheepishly, dabbing at her nostrils with the same folded-up tissue from her pocket. 

“Not to worry, I completely understand, it was an honest mistake,” Alastor said through clenched teeth before dropping a box of tissues next to Charlie and handing a separate box to Husk, “There we are, do either of you need anything else before I head out?” 

“Could I have a glass of water?” Charlie asked, turning away in an attempt to cover another violent, hacking cough that left her cheeks noticeably redder and her breathing heavier. 

Alastor gently waved his microphone in front of the end table next to Charlie, and a glass of ice cold water appeared on the table when he moved his microphone away again. 

“Thank you,” Charlie said, taking a few eager gulps before setting the glass back down, “Where are you off to? KHhHff- khff khff!” 

“I’m off to pick up my outfit for the summit from the tailor’s, then I’m going to visit Rosie to ensure that we matched colors effectively, and then I have a brief meeting with Ms. Carmilla to return a book of hers I borrowed,” Alastor said with a nonchalant huff, “Just a few errands, I’ll be back soon.” 

“C-could you tell Ms. Carmine that I won’t be able to make it? I wanted to call but I don’t have her phone number and every time I tried to call the factory I got disconnected,” Charlie requested with a pleading look in her tired eyes before turning away to cough. 

“Of course, I’ll be sure to let her know, rest assured you’ll still be invited to the next one, and I’m certain that your father will be more than happy to promote on your behalf at this summit when he attends,” Alastor said reassuringly, gently petting Charlie’s scalp with his microphone again. 

“Why do you keep rubbing my head with your microphone?” 

“While you’re in such a pitiful state, I feel inclined to provide you with some comfort, but you are also riddled with germs, so touching you with my hands is out of the question,” 

“Oh… well thank you- SnFF snff!- that mbakes sense… have fun with your errands, Alastor,” Charlie said with a weak smile, pulling her blanket further up so that it covered her waist, “KHhFF- Koff KOFF-gasp!- KHhHhfFF! KhHFF- khff khff!” 

Alastor winced, patting Charlie on the back with his microphone, “I’ll try, they’re quite boring errands, but I suppose anything can be ‘fun’ with enough effort,” he said, turning to face Husk, “Do you need anything before I go?” 

Husk yawned, glancing over at the bar longingly, “Mind grabbin’ my bottle of scotch from the bar?” he asked, gently wiggling his nose to fend off an itch, ultimately failing, “HRrR’SCHOO! HrRR’SCHHUHH!” 

Alastor shook his head, “Anything else?” he asked. 

Husk raised an eyebrow, “Hey, I paid for that bottle damnit- snFF!- I can drink straight from it if I want,” he argued, letting out a low growl in frustration at Alastor’s refusal. 

“Of course you can, however,” Alastor said, bending down and pressing the back of his hand to Husk’s searing forehead, “While you’re this feverish, dehydrating yourself with alcohol isn’t exactly ideal.” 

Husk grumbled, folding his arms indignantly, but ultimately relenting, “Fine- snFF!- can I have a glass of orange juice then, please?” he asked, swallowing and trying not to wince at the throbbing pain in his throat. 

Alastor smirked, snapping his fingers and placing his hands proudly on his hips when a glass appeared in Husk’s hands. 

“Alastor this is a cup and two oranges,” Husk said, unamused, “hHRr’SsCHUHH! HRr’SCHHUH!” 

“Alright, alright, I was only amusing myself,” Alastor snickered, waving his microphone over the glass and the oranges, pulling it away to reveal a chilled glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice sitting in Husk’s hands, “Voila.” 

Husk took a sip, licking his lips and setting the glass down on the coffee table in front of him, “Thank you,” he yawned before trying and failing to fight a violent febrile shiver, his cheeks flushing darker, “Fuck, ‘m so hot but I feel so cold.” 

“You’ll be alright, the chills will sort themselves out,” Alastor said, gently patting Husk on his achy shoulder with his microphone, “Well then, I’m off, try not to do anything ill-advised before your supervision returns from upstairs.” 

“We won’t,” Charlie promised with a weak and shaky thumbs up before settling back into her cushioned level of the sofa-bed, tugging her blanket further up on her body and watching the poker match on TV, “Husk, how do you play the Omaha version of poker?” 

“It ain’t that different from a traditional game of Texas Hold ‘Em, only difference is-” 

Alastor rolled his eyes at Husk and Charlie’s drowsy conversation, turning on his heels and leaving the hotel through the front door, still wincing a bit at the memory of infectious droplets spritzing the front of his jacket. Taking a deep breath, Alastor shook the unsavory memory off, and headed to the tailor’s to pick up his outfit. 

So much to do, so little time… and certainly no time for the flu. 

[t-s-n]

102733636k notes and i’ll stop tying people to railroad tracks while i twirl my mustache

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Yagrum Bagarn: *spits blood on the floor*

Yagrum Bagarn: You've become more powerful since the last time we crossed paths.

Divayth Fyr, as his dentist: Please stop. There is literally a sink next to you.

[sicklymadscientist]

hi, hope this isn't a bother, but do you have any Alastor head cannons related to snz or just sickness in general?

Not a bother in the slightest! I love getting asks! 😃

Al/astor Snz/Sick Headcanons

I had to have a good think on this one because so much of what we see of Alastor is a performance, and sometimes I think I have a good guess at what his motives are, and other times I wonder if he has me fooled. When it comes to sick headcanons, I think I can distill his behavior down to two driving factors: 1) His need to be in control, and 2) How it would benefit him to be perceived (which is really just an extension of his need to be in control). So with that in mind~

He absolutely loathes sneezing for the lapse of control and display of vulnerability, and he obstructs the view of his face as much as possible by covering with a handkerchief, which he conjures out of thin air at the moment he needs it.

Being the powerful overlord he is, he doesn’t get sick very often. So when he DOES, he is personally offended and extremely irritable about it. His smile takes on an almost constant snarl.

His sneezes are overlaid with the sounds of radio static. Sometimes when he sneezes, particularly if it’s a fit, there will also be a loud, high-pitched noise like microphone feedback that makes everyone wince and cover their ears.

How he presents himself will differ depending on who his audience is, and either way it’s a facade. If he’s at an overlord meeting, he will do everything in his power to hide his symptoms and avoid showing vulnerability or weakness. If he’s amidst his hotel fam, he will let his symptoms be seen and maybe even put on a little act of downplaying it, playing the part of the poor sickie trying to power through who doesn’t want anyone to fuss over him; what he gains by this is their sympathy, and them potentially viewing him as more vulnerable than he actually is, making them let their guard down and be more inclined overall to trust him, which keeps him in a position of power over them.

The one person he will slightly lower the facade around is Rosie. He’s a mama’s boy and she reminds him of his mama. He would admit to her that he’s not feeling his best and would allow her to take care of him, and get comfort from it.

He blesses others when they sneeze because it’s good manners, but it’s a “bless you” that seems to say “I see your weakness and I look forward to exploiting it,” or “Your suffering delights me.”

[thelandswemadeofpaper]

Option 5: all the above, in this order

I just love the idea of Cyno/Wanderer friendship

Cyno would want to know the OP Anemo user that keep saving his men's lives so often and probally end up with a weird friendship

the idea of Cyno befrieding wanderer by accident and he just just dropping Matra's most wanted criminals in his desk like a cat gifting dead prey

but Wanderer running off everytime Matra tries to recruit him

and then Cyno would pretty much try to kidnap him?

God, that story would be funny

Nahida's dog and Nahida's cat begin kinda friends

Bonus with a Protective Wanderer and a confused Collei, Dottore is good as dead

[snzysimper]

Pollen of Eden

yippee first Hazbin Hotel fic (excluding that really old one I wrote when I was like 14 😭)

I’m pretty happy with how this turned out. Decided to jump on the bandwagon of writing Ad//am fics. Enjoy.

1089 words

| I am allowed to write what I want and I would appreciate it if you keep whatever rude comments you have to yourself |

The Garden of Eden is the closest to the idea of perfection that is possible, in the mortal realm that is. Adam and his wife Lilith shared the beautiful paradise. Despite being “married”, the two didn’t always enjoy each other's company. However, at the same time, the only company they had was each other. Minus the archangel Saint Lucifer who often came down to chat with Lilith. Something about him left a bad taste in Adam’s mouth. Recently, Lilith had only wanted to be with Lucifer. Adam was a bit jealous to say the least. Who wouldn’t be? You and your partner have a beautiful home to live in together and all they want to do is talk to some goofy angel.

Today was another one of those days where the two had a disagreement and parted ways for a bit. It was always over the littlest things. This particular time it had been about Lilith never wanting to spend any time with him. Adam got fed up and walked a good distance away to be by himself. He found a nice spot in the shade under some trees by a pond. The area surrounding the pond and trees was littered with various flowers. Sitting down, he sighs. He closes his eyes for a bit and only opens them again when he realizes that a duck has made itself comfortable in his lap. “What do you want?” He glared at the duck. Lucifer often spent time rambling on about how much he liked ducks and even gave Lilith her own duckling, which she named Petal. Seeing this duck only reminded him of the two. “You and your little duck friends are always all over the place.” The duck looked back at him, cocking its head and quacking in response. Adam chuckles. “Am I really so desperate for someone to talk to that I’m conversing with a duck?” He gives it a pat on the head.

A gentle breeze blew through the trees and flower field. The duck fluffed his feathers to keep warm. Adam smiled seeing how peaceful and happy it seemed all comfy in his lap. A flower slowly drifted through the air and landed on the ducks back. Picking up the flower, Adam smelt it. He isn’t quite sure what type of flower it is, but it certainly smells nice. Maybe he’ll give it to Lilith as an apology for-

“-’dDSHh-EH!!” His newly found duck friend jerks its head up and looks at him. “Sorry buddy,” he smiles. “Didn’t mean to wake yo..” He paused for a brief moment, tilting his head back slightly. “hEDd’shoo!!” The duck quacks a few times. Whether it be sympathy or annoyance isn’t clear. Nonetheless, it remains on his lap. As the wind continues to blow, pollen from the surrounding trees and flowers drifts through the air. “HDd’tchoo! heEH’d-shEH!!” He rubs his nose, trying to relieve the itchy tickling sensation. He hadn’t been allergic to any of the flowers in the garden before. Maybe this was simply God's way of telling him to stop being jealous. Regardless, he was allergic to the ones currently around him. “ehH-!! hEH!! Heh-!! Ugh.” Yep. This was karma. At least that’s the only explanation he could come up with. His newly found duck friend shakes off some of the pollen that had collected on his feathers. Despite turning to face the other direction and holding his breath, the irritant still makes its way into his system. “hHED-shUH!! hIH heEH-!! Bringing his hand to his face, he holds his nose shut to try and keep from making too much of a disturbance despite being alone (minus the duck). “-ptschh! ‘ktchs!! -dschs!! -tschh!!”

Upon realizing that refusing to let them out was getting him nowhere, he gave up trying to keep quiet. “hED’ch-EHH!! HdD-tcsch!! Eh-t’choo!! I hihh!! ca-ah!!n’t st-stop sne-EH!! hHE’TSCH-UH!!” The force of the last sneeze leaves him with thick snot pouring out from his nose and running down his face. “Eugh”, he grimaces at the thought of what he could possibly look like if someone were to be watching him. A loud gurgling sound is made as he attempts to snort back what he can of the snot back into his nose. Wiping his nose on the back of his hand, he absent mindedly glances down at the grass. It is only then that he notices a red and white corn snake. In a panic, he quickly grabs the duck, stands up and kicks the snake. We don’t recommend doing this under normal circumstances. “Get lost!!” The snake goes flying back in the direction of which it came. Sighing, he checks the area around him for any other snakes before sitting back down.

“Lucifer? Is everything alright? I thought I heard someone shouting.” Lilith wanders through the forest for a bit before finding the red and white corn snake draped over a tree branch like someone's laundry left out to air dry. “Lucifer!”

“I think I may have sssscared him a bit. Oopssss.”

She rushes to take him out of the tree and sets him on the ground. Turning back into an archangel, Lucifer smiles. His hair is a bit messed up but other than that he seems fine. “He is a short way down there. He’s sitting with a duck on his lap.” Lilith smiles. “Thank you, Lucifer.” With a small puff of smoke, the archangel turns into a small dove. Adam is much less likely to be scared that way. Flying alongside Lilith, the two find Adam sitting under the tree. “Adam, dear?” Adam looks up at his wife, smiling. “Hey.” As she sits next to him, he holds out the flower. “I snf wanted to give this to you.” He tucks it into her hair. Lilith giggles. “Thank you Adam.” She kisses him on the cheek. “I thought you’d like it. I know purple is your fa-..heh..hEH-Choo!! eEH’ShOO!! Hed’DCHOO!” He turns away to keep from sneezing on her. Laughing, she wraps him in a hug. “Thank you Adam. I love it.” Adam blushes. “I’m snff glad you li-iIH!!-ke i-IIHT’sSH-Eh!!” Lilith kisses him again, this time on the mouth. “Bless you, love.” The dove lands on Liliths shoulder and she looks at him, nodding. He flies without their field of vision before returning to his angel form and going back to heaven.

God forbid Adam slip up and hurt Lilith. Lucifer now has something he can use against him. But that won’t be necessary. Angels are merciful after all. Right?

[ladyteldra]

Tender is the Storm

Alternative Title: The Scum Villain's Very Troublesome Hoard

The world is a dangerous place for a living hoard, but Shen Jiu is a dragon and will always protect what is his.

This might be easier if anyone had decided to inform him of that fact.

Xiao Qi was only a child himself when he came across a pretty rock halfway buried in the mud on the side of the road. 

It wasn’t a road anyone would go down without reason, rather one that led to where he was kept with the other children. He was the second youngest. Qi, number seven. He had a name before he was sold, but remembering it wasn’t worth the beatings, and none of the other kids had names that weren’t numbers. Keeping his wouldn’t be fair. So Xaio Qi was Xiao Qi or A-Qi or Qi-er or even Qi-ge to A-Ba who was the only one younger than he was.

(The adults rarely called them more than the name itself, usually stinking with just Qi and Ba and San and so on, but Er-jie and Yi-ge insisted that at least between them they should be called like family, like people. So he was Xiao Qi, even in his mind because it would make them sad if he was just Qi.)

It was nice being older than someone, it meant he could help them where they struggled. No one else was going to if he didn’t. And Little Eight was so small and delicate. He wasn’t sure how the adults expected her to do all the chores on her own, and begging on the street wasn’t something they allowed her to do. They said she was too delicate to be seen like that.

(Xiao Qi thought A-Ba would be very good at begging. She drew attention the few times she was allowed out with him, and people were kinder to her.)

It didn’t make sense to keep her at the warehouse and doing chores when anyone bigger than her would be a better choice. 

Xiao Qi had gotten lucky today though! Someone had taken pity on him today and given him double -twice!- the amount he usually made in three days! He could go back home early and help A-Ba without the adults knowing he left early and might even get praise for such a good haul. Praise was nice, it made him feel warm where usually there was only a cold numb feeling. Sometimes it even earned them extra food or the rare bit of meat. 

It was still early, and no one else would be on their way back yet, which is likely the only reason Xiao Qi was the one to see the pretty rock and not someone else. He’s even luckier than he thought! If he hadn’t gotten money earlier, he’d not be on the way back, and he’d never have seen the lovely green rock at all! Someone would have taken it and kept it or sold it!

It was stuck rather deep in the disgusting mud and filth off the side of the road, so maybe someone had been by but passed it up because they didn’t want to touch the mud. But it was so pretty, and maybe if he brought it back the adults would be extra happy and all of them would get a full serving of congee like that one time Er-jie brought in the pretty green hair piece! 

Xiao Qi didn’t want to step into the mud, it wasn’t his turn to bathe for another five days! And he knew from experience that being extra dirty wasn’t enough to change the schedule. It would just make him have to sleep away from the others or even outside. He was smart though, and found a stick before returning to the rock and using it to shift the rock closer. 

It was much bigger than he thought it would be. Heavier too!

It was really hard to move it close enough to grab from outside the mud, and when he did, he had to use both hands to lift it to the main part of the road, almost causing him to overbalance and fall in anyways. It was oddly circular, not at all flattened and misshapen like most rocks he sees. The bottom is a bit bigger than the top, tapering into an almost point. Like a much bigger version of the chicken eggs he’s seen the adults cook. And wouldn’t that be funny! For such a pretty rock to actually be a giant egg!

He uses his hands and some leaves to clean it off the best he can, which was surprisingly well. The mud seemed to slide right off the rock!

It felt odd under his hands. 

It was chilly out, the leaves beginning to change color which the older kids said meant it would be too cold to sleep alone soon, but the rock was warm as if it had been sitting in the summer sun or on the floor next to the cooking fire where the oldest and biggest usually claimed before the heat disappeared for the night. It was also a little bumpy, not as smooth as he first thought, textured - he thinks the word is. And it wasn’t just green! It was green and gold! The gold sparkled in the sun and was only where the smooth changed to bumpy. 

It was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Prettier than the clothes the nice Jiejies at the building with red lanterns wore or even the men and women in the fancy carriages that pretended they didn’t see him when they decided to walk on the streets and he didn’t think he’d ever hold things as pretty as those.

Xiao Qi picked up the rock and started back to the warehouse. He wanted to show A-Ba before it was taken away by either the older kids or the adults. 

He tried to hurry, he really did, but he kept stopping to readjust his grip and get a better look at the rock. Eventually, he noticed a crack. 

Oh no! Did he cause that when he was moving it with the stick? A stick shouldn’t be enough to break a rock! He’s pretty sure that wasn’t there before, but maybe it was just a new angle. Maybe that’s why the pretty rock was thrown in the mud like trash?

Xiao Qi ducks into one of the smaller alleys to get a closer look, maybe it’s not too bad. The adults say they can buff goods to make them look better, so if it’s just a small crack, maybe he can fix it!

Even as he thinks it, the crack gets bigger. Oh no!

In a panic, Xiao Qi puts it on the ground and holds the rock on both sides as if that will keep the pieces together. 

It does not, the single crack spiderwebs into many and begins to admit a bright gold glow. 

Xiao Qi has to shut his eyes tightly against the bright light, but even then it still shades his eyelids gold. He’s sure that rocks shouldn’t just randomly start to glow. 

When the gold disappears, he carefully cracks open an eye to look at the rock. Except there’s no rock anymore.

Where the green rock sat is now only shards.

In the center of the shards is a baby. 

“Oh,” he says in shock, “it must have been an egg after all.” 

[wishitweresummer]

Re-uniting in Las Vegas (Dream x GeorgeNotFound)

(A Drabble about George’s stubble…the gubble.)

Word count: 138

“Be quiet, idiot!”, George hissed and pressed farther into Dream’s neck. The giggles only bubbled louder out of Dream.

“That tihickles!”, he whined. “Your stubble!”.

“You like it?”. George smirked and nudged his chin in between Dream’s shoulder and neck, making him squeak.

“Yes! But stop!”.

“You just said you liked it!!”.

“It’s cute!! But don’t tickle me!!”.

George dove under the blankets in a flash and Dream squealed as he felt that stupid chin nudging against his collarbone. He grabbed him and in an instant, he had a giggling George pinned under him.

“Nononono!!”.

“You little brat. You think you’re funny huh?”, he asked with a smirk and dropped his face into George’s neck. The boy burst into squeaky laughter as Dream nuzzled expertly. “This is a real beard, you little idiot.”.

“Dreheheheheaaam!!!”.

[ashtronomyys]

Roast Chicken

The entire week had been pretty shit for Simon. A new group of recruits brought all kinds of new trouble, arrogance, and disobedience that higher-ups like him needed to wring out of the soldiers. Then about halfway through the week, Price informed him of some errors with the last round of paperwork. So, late-night tea time was spent huddled over his desk scrounging through stacks of documents till his eyes gave out on him.

And to top thing's off, the mini rec room shared between the squadron had a run-in with an ant infestation. Simon had planned to put a kettle on the stove when he rounded the corner and found Gaz spraying the bug killer along the floor.

"Oh hey! Sorry mate, looks like someone beat us to it this morning." Gaz stops to stomp on a few particularly stubborn ants hiding along the tile. "Woke up this morning to make a pot of coffee and the bastards were in the bloody coffee pot! I think I got most of them, but you might want to be careful, yeah? They were all over the counters earlier."

"Which counters?!" Simon's voice comes out harsher than intended, already fearing the worst. Sure enough, Gaz gestures along the far right counter. Simon nearly rips the handle off the cabinet while he's opening it. One look inside and the last bit of life in Simon's body leaves and shatters on the ground.

His Yorkshire tea. All the boxes he stockpiled. Now swarmed to the top with little black ants making the tea bags their new home.

So yeah, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that this week had been one of the hardest on his psyche in a long while. It was almost a blessing that the snarky little sergeant that was usually at his side was off on leave. He had the tendency to test his limits when it came to Simon. And one wrong joke with the lieutenant this week may wind up being the last one the sergeant makes.

"You sure those are the only reasons why you've been a right pain in the ass this week Simon?" Price had asked. The masked man shot daggers back at his captain.

"What else would I have to be mad about Price?" He handed the daunting stack of papers back to Price. The man chuckled behind his paper mug, hiding a smirk. "Nothing. Nothing... Well anyways, in unrelated news, Soap should be back in tomorrow! I'm sure he'd love to hear all the stories of your woes and misfortunes this week."

"Tch, I'm sure. He's not going to let me hear the end of it." He's going to have material for weeks when Gaz tells him about the yelling and crying he did when he was tossing out his tea.

"Oh lighten up Simon. You /know/, I'd hazard a guess that you actually missed the man more than you're letting yourself believe."

Simon lets out a cut-off laugh at that one. "I'd hazard a guess that you've lost it, old man!"

"Oh alright, I'm not even /that/ older than you!" Price shakes his head at him. "On that note, you're dismissed. Go and get some shut-eye," he stops to give him a once-over. "You need it."

Simon tosses another side-eye at the older man before he leaves. Once his door closes, Price groans to himself. "That boy could not come back soon enough..."

The next day, Simon wakes up with s scowl still on his face. The energy he sends off as he walks through the halls of the base sends chills down everyone's spines. It's as if he's singing the air around him with a black haze of /Do not come near me/.

That is, until the end of the day. As he nears the (now freshly cleaned out) rec room of the 141, a smell draws his attention. He can hear the sizzle of something cooking on the stovetop and the clatter of drawers being pulled. The savory smell drifts from the small kitchen and spills out into the hallway, tempting Simon to investigate further. Like a moth to the flame, he enters the room in a hunger-driven daze, coming to a stop at the entrance.

Oh, of course, that's who was drawing him in. It was honestly pretty comical how domestic the sight Simon walked onto was. Johnny had his back to him while he stirred a pan on the stovetop. A radio played some generic, slow tunes and he swayed his hips to the rhythm while he cooked. He must've just come back, seeing as he was still wearing his civies (a generic grey tee and figure-hugging pair of jeans) and his duffel bag was sitting on the couch.

Here, the sizzle of the skillet was even louder. The aroma of sauteed meat and spices was overpowering now, causing Simon's stomach to rumble. Johnny whipped his head around, his face lighting up when he saw who was by the entrance.

"Heyya Lt! Where've ye been?! I didn't see ya with the welcoming party at the gate." He turned to lower the heat on the stove, letting the food simmer. Turning back to Simon, he crossed his arms and gave the man an accusatory look, jutting the side of his mouth with his tongue as he spoke. "If ah' didn't know any better, ah'd say you didn't even miss me!"

"You wish Johnny," Simon huffed. "Been busy. Training ran late and a few of the soldiers needed a little... we'll say /positive reinforcement/" That positive reinforcement being several laps around the training field for a few too many pointed remarks about the mask.

"Aah, so that's yer excuse," Johnny jabs back. He bounds up to the lieutenant, not backing down despite the heated glare he gets from him. Instead, he comes up and fist bumps his shoulder, a lopsided smirk playing on his face.

"Bah, ah'm sure it's nothin' my ole Lt couldn't handle, aye?" He pats his back, his hand staying there as he transfixes Simon with a more serious stare. "Well anyways, it's good to see ye again, Si."

Simon doesn't know what it is about Johnny, but it's moments like this where the older man questions just how the hell he ended up in a situation like this. The hand on his back almost seems to soothe the embers that have been on fire ever since this week started. It's as if all the stress and tension he's held onto begins to slide off his shoulders the second Johnny blinds him with that wide, toothy smile.

God, he's so fucked.

A louder grumble from his stomach breaks the silence between the two. Johnny jumps excitedly, the thought of his food likely brought back to his mind.

"Oh! Are ya hungry?! Ah' almost forgot, I brought some leftover roast my ma and I made. C'mon, ye've got to try it!" He's already moving to fix a plate up for him before he can even respond.

Fuck it, he could give in to the seargant and pig out after the week he's been having.

With the dish finally in front of him, he has to admit, it looks pretty damn appetizing. Pieces of leftover chicken roast with traces of ground pepper, garlic, thyme, lemon, and other ingredients mixed in with carrots and other vegetables greet him. Johnny makes his own plate, leaving Simon to try it for himself.

He skewers a piece of the chicken, lifting the edge of his mask up and bringing it to his face. The first bite of the savory meat nearly elicits a groan from Simon. Maybe it's the stress he's been under, or maybe it's just that good. Either way, he finds himself getting lost in the dish.

Something about the chicken and the way it was prepared brings back memories of his own childhood. It wasn't often that they'd have the time or energy to indulge in very many different kinds of dishes. He still remembers one of the rare off chances that they did, barely tall enough to see over the counter but still helping his mom labor over the roast. Knocking into his brother Tommy who kept wanting to fight him over who got to do what. Simon watched one of the few fleeting moments of joy from his childhood as if he were watching an old recording. It was like he was living through the experience again, decades of trauma and heartache a distant sting. The taste of freshly roasted chicken on his tongue bringing back memories of the chill in the winter air, the soft glow of fire in the furnace, the soft vibration of his mother's laugh...

"...ye alright Simon?" the sergeant had gently asked. Simon jolted from where he sat, blinking away the wetness from his eyes. Since when the hell had he been crying?

The man cleared his throat, voice coming out more hoarse than he would've liked it to be when he spoke. "Y-yeah, yeah. Yeah, I'm uh..." His tone shifted back into the gravely vibrato he usually uses. His heartstrings felt rubbed raw from the vision. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

He stole a brief glance back toward Johnny. The man was sitting across from him at the table (and since when did he get there?). He stared back at him with wide eyes and a slice of chicken hung limply from his fork.

"Ehm... right, emm... no reason." He also cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, no doubt trying to shake off the uneasiness hanging in the air. "So um, h-how do ye like the food?"

The soft smile he gives Simon manages to settle some of his fried nerves. One of the nice things about the seargant is how swiftly he can handle the perturbances that seem to follow him. Either be a shoulder to cry on or give him the space he needs. Simon figures he ought to return the favor, at least try and lighten the mood a little. "Hmm, could've used less garlic."

Johnny actually gawks at him for that response. "Wha- /rude/!" Simon's happy to see the man break into a laugh, throwing his head back and shaking. "Ya fuckin' bawbag!" SImon doesn't hide the smirk that begins to spread across his face.

"Ach well, I was trying to follow my ma's recipe. She popped in to help towards the end but ehm, maybe ah've got a bit of learning to do still." He chuckles, but Simon notices the way his gaze drops back down. How his eyes bore into the chicken, self-doubt emanating off the man. Whether over the chicken or Simon, he can't tell.

"It's perfect Johnny," the lieutenant speaks just above a whisper. "It's my favorite actually, reminds me of home." There's another pause before he continues. "You should make it again sometime."

Their eyes meet again. Brown eyes, typically dark and gloomy and hiding layers of suffering shine brightly in the dying light. And bright blue eyes, who's edges usually give way to tumultuous, rocky waves soften into a rooted, tranquil state.

"Och, of course. Anytime Si." Johnny pushes out from the table. Grabbing dishes to stack in the sink, he pats Simon's shoulder as he passes by. Any lingering stress hanging in him melts away at the touch. "Glad to be back Lt."

He hums in acknowledgement. Simon relaxes into the seat and watches him deftly drown plates and pans into the sink water.

"Glad to have you back Johnny." He's rewarded with a beaming smile thrown back over his shoulder. And a nice view of Johnny swaying his hips to the music in pants that really fit him way too well.

/Fucking Christ/, he's so fucked.

....................

Once again got inspiration after one of Samuel Roukin's live signings. Someone asked what his favorite dish was and he proudly exclaimed "my mom's roast chicken!" So now it's Simon's favorite as well, sorry I don't make the rules.

[letmekeepyouentertained]

YALL GIVE ME A QUEST TO DO OTHERWISE ILL GO INSANE AND NOT IN THE GOOD WAY

Pls check tags

[agentx8d]

This is URGENT— PLEASE SHARE!

This is Hind Al-Ashi, a girl currently living with her family in Rafah, an area under bombardment and THREAT OF INVASION. We are running out of time. PLEASE help me spread this message— her and her family NEED to evacuate NOW. Thank you!