#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.

[satin-in-love]

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[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

[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. 

[dsm--v]

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.

[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

[wolfofwhiterun]

TES Summer Fest 24 - Day 3: Hungry

@tes-summer-fest

Miraak of Apocrypha, renegade Dragon Priest and former Champion of Hermaeus Mora, pokes his soup with a spoon, and glowers at it.

"It's not going to sprout tentacles, I promise." The other man across the table states, near-startling him out of his gloomy revelry. "Many eyes though? Not out of the question with Helga's menu." The other man half-turns, reaching across his companion, a stone-faced woman with arms the size of tree trunks, to grab a pinch of salt.

The Dragon Priest huffs at this, and glances up from his culinary toilings to look properly at his captor once again. His large blonde complexion would place him as any run of the mill Nord, if not for the brush accent cutting through the scruffy beard, a dialect Miraak recognised from the Ash Elves that now occupied his former kingdom-island.

How this man had come to be his souls twin was frankly beyond even him, so unalike in nature and nobility he was. And yet. And yet.

His captor seemed to notice the staring, raising one eyebrow in humorous inquiry. “Soups gonna go cold if you keep that up all night.” Miraak blanches, staring back down at his meal in angry protest. He is still unused to such alien concepts as ‘eating ‘or ‘drinking water’, long had he been in those brine-choked corridors of ink in the fathoms of Mora’s domain. He ladles another spoonful, apprehensive of previously vocated eyeballs, and sips, warily. And sips again. He’s finished his first bowl and is ordering his second before he catches the smiles on his new friends' faces.

[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?

[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.

[bigoted-chicken]

Ha//zbin Ho//tel - Out For Love (A Zestmilla Story)

I don't have much else to say other than.... Zestmilla supremacy

Also this is featuring some HCs I have for Carmilla's backstory so that's some fun shit. I may actually write a normal fic elaborating on those little details.

Anyway I am very tired and my brain is soup so please enjoy

===

“Hh-! HiiHZzz’chuu!!”

“Señora Carmine?”

“What?”

Carmilla turned around sharply to face the tiny Imp servant that was standing in the doorway to her bedroom holding a silver tray with a single lacey handkerchief folded on top. In her momentary lapse of focus, the pearl necklace she’d been fumbling with for the last ten minutes slipped out of her large hands and she had to bite back a sharp foreign curse word.

“Señorita Clara and Señorita Odette requested that I bring this to you,” the servant said, holding out the tray to her.

She narrowed her eyes down at the Imp, reluctantly taking the handkerchief and folding it into the hidden breast pocket of her dress, refusing to let one of her underlings see her in such a vulnerable moment as blowing her nose.

“Thank you, Lester, that will be all,” she said in a croaky voice, clearing her throat as the servant scampered out of the room.

Carmilla bent down and picked the necklace off the ground, going back to trying to fasten together the two tiny chains with her giant fingers that seemed unnaturally shaky today. Her hands were normally as steady as you would expect from an expert markswoman like herself, but the rising pressure behind her eyes and the light goosebumps forming on her shoulders were spelling doom for the evening she had planned with Zestial.

Even though Zestial was as close to retired as an Overlord of Hell could be, the same couldn’t be said for Carmilla. Despite her best efforts to stay in touch with her oldest and closest friend, with her busy schedule loaded with overseeing turf wars, managing her many factories and warehouses, doing arms deals, and dodging the occasional assassination attempt, it felt like the only times lately that her and Zestial got to spend a peaceful moment together were in the brief hour or two after Overlord meetings when they enjoyed a cup of tea and shared news from their respective territories – until inevitably her attention would be called away because of some brand new fire she had to put out. She could have possibly gotten away with calling Overlord meetings more often and coming up with increasingly contrived reasons to hold them, but having to deal with the Vees’ tomfuckery every single meeting made the idea absolutely not worth it.

With that in mind, she was both surprised and incredibly grateful when Zestial approached her and asked if she would meet him for a nice quiet evening under the light of the full moon in the human world. Carmilla had initially wanted to refuse, not wanting to put him through that kind of trouble, but he assured her that she was worth the effort and no expense would be spared, and when she really considered it she decided that an opportunity like this would likely not present itself again. So now here she was, still fumbling with her necklace and about five seconds away from abandoning it all together out of frustration.

“Mamá? Do you need help?” She recognized the voice of her daughter Odette and turned to see her standing exactly where the Imp servant had been standing a few minutes ago.

Carmilla sighed. “You’re welcome to try if you must.”

Odette approached her mother silently and gently took the back clasps from her, easily fastening them together, meanwhile Carmilla felt a slowly building pressure in her sinuses that bloomed into an itch that had become all too familiar to her that day.

“Hah-! HAATZzz’chu!”

“Salud,” Odette said.

“Thank you, cariño…” Carmilla groaned, reaching for the handkerchief in her pocket and dabbing at her leaking nostrils, praying to whatever God had abandoned them that her makeup wouldn’t start running now of all times.

“Mom, are you sure that you’re okay…?” She hadn’t even noticed Clara also enter the room, standing a foot or two behind her sister. “I’m sure Zestial will understand if you’re not feeling well.”

“I agree with Clara, you look and sound… well, with all due respect, terrible,” Odette added.

Carmilla was about to deliver a sharp retort to her two well-meaning daughters, as least as sharp as it could be through the increasing brain fog, when a familiar meek voice spoke up.

“Señora Carmine…?” 

“What!?” Thoroughly irritated, Carmilla snapped at Lester who now stood in the doorway again with his hands folded behind his back.

The poor imp trembled like his boss was about to drive one of the angelic spears displayed on the wall into his neck. “U-Uhm… Lord Zestial has arrived…”

“...Oh.”

Totally ignorant to the happenings between Carmilla and her daughters, Hell’s oldest Overlord waited at the entrance to the Carmine mansion, hands folded to his sides, towering over any servant who dared cross his path. Though he could have walked in the door and perhaps would have faced no repercussions, it would have been most ungentlemanly to do such a thing -- even with as close as they were and as long as they’d known each other.

Assuming nobody had let things slip -- and they seldom let things slip, for no one dared to find out what would happen once they went against Zestial’s wishes -- then he had only to follow his previously-determined plan today. His goal today was simple: win Carmilla over, loosen her up a little, then find out for sure whether the way she felt about him was the same way he felt about her.

Almost a minute had passed and there was still no sign of Carmilla, when the weapons Overlord seemed to magically appear at the top of the staircase and began to descend it; though she tried to remain poised there was an undeniable energy of almost childlike excitement when she saw Zestial waiting in the foyer.

“Zestial, it’s wonderful to see you my friend,” she acknowledged once they were an appropriate distance apart. “You look quite dashing – I’m glad to see I did not in fact overdress.”

Her fellow Overlord returned her greeting with the lightest smile. “Few would wish to underdress for a night in thine presence,” he said with a chuckle. “Has thy day treated thou kindly so far?”

Carmilla smiled as they left the Carmine manor side-by-side. “Compared to every other day this week it has actually been, though I’d argue that isn’t a high bar to reach,” she let out a light cough, disguising it as a simple clearing of the throat in acknowledgement of her comment. “I am grateful to have been able to set aside this evening though.”

“Likewise,” Zestial replied. “I hope thou have prepared thineself for an evening to remember; before I begin, it must be asked for the sake of convenience and leisure: wouldst thou care to join me for a ride down the Styx?”

“If you’re offering, I would love to,” she gingerly hooked her left arm with his right, casting a brief glance at the inside of her home and catching sight of her daughter’s concerned faces before she closed the door. “I just hope that you haven’t gone and spent too much money on me tonight, Zestial,” she said with a slightly coy smile.

“What is too much money when one has the sway of an overlord?” said Zestial, dodging the question almost outright. “Come, now; thou willst find it a grand day once our trip doth concludes. Dare I spoil the end to say: thou willst find the river to only be the beginning of what I have in store.”

“Well in that case, it’s best that we don’t delay,” Carmilla said, in her head wondering how she ever managed to find such a kind and gentlemanly soul in this festering hellhole.

“Agreed.” Without further hesitation, Zestial and his old friend began to walk arm-in-arm to their destination, enjoying the sights -- as otherwise bleak as they were. Zestial could swear that he had just witnessed someone jump off a building in the distance -- and somebody else was eating what looked to be their own mother. Yes, it was a normal day in Hell -- of that, there was no doubt.

Though far from atypical, the usual goings-on of Hell were not about to get in the way of Zestials’ plans. His servants were already aware of his desire to head into the human world once he and Carmilla reached the end of Styx -- and if anything were to get in his way…well, nobody was willing to let that happen. Perhaps the only person who could reverse his plans at this point was Carmilla herself.

The two overlords chatted casually about this and that for several blocks, willfully ignoring the screams of agony that followed their path, Zestial sharing news about some freshly fallen souls he’d managed to rope into a contract, Carmilla venting about the shenanigans her daughters had been up to recently in their apparent efforts to give their immortal mother a heart attack. They were near the entrance to Cannibal Town when Carmilla suddenly turned away, pulling her arm out of Zestial’s. At first he was worried he’d said something that offended her, but then he saw her withdraw the lace handkerchief.

“My apologies,” she said with a sniffle that sounded wetter than she wanted it to. “I’m not sure why but my sinuses have been acting up something fierce lately – my guess is the pollen count must be on the rise…”

“Dost thou need a moment?” her companion inquired. “Thy time may be limited, but I am willing to look away while thou handles thyself.”

“Thank you…” Although blowing her nose in front of Zestial wasn’t much less embarrassing than doing it in front of her servants, she could at least trust that he would never take advantage of her perceived weakness.

With that in mind, she cupped the lace handkerchief over her nose and let out a loud and frankly disgusting sounding blow that guaranteed there was no chance she was putting that thing back in her pocket. It was all for naught anyway, because her sinuses stayed clear for a grand total of two seconds before a sudden tickle lit her nostrils aflame and pushed out all thoughts that had nothing to do with stopping the impending sneeze in its tracks.

Standing just beside her, uncertain if she was finished, Zestial took a gander over his shoulder to see the bridge of Carmilla’s nose wrinkling as she hid the rest of her face from him. “Ist thou alright--?”

“I–...” Carmilla couldn’t hold back a sneeze to save her life, she knew that already, her daughters knew that, Zestial probably knew that too, but knowing that still didn’t stop her from trying. “Ih... Ihh’m – fhhiih – hh! HHEZZz’Chuu! Jesucristo… ‘Scuse m’be…”

Her outburst left Zestial initially uncertain how to follow up -- whether that be with silence or with a culturally-appropriate response. “Salud, dear,” he finally said after much deliberation. “Dost thou know for certain if thine ailment is the result of pollen, or mayhaps something else?” For the first time in what seemed to be decades, the Overlord felt the slightest twinge of anxiety right after saying that -- as if worried that he had just asked the wrong question.

“I’m fine, Zestial, I promise,” she dismissed him rather quickly, folding the handkerchief over so the gross part wasn’t visible but so that it still had at least one more good use in it. “I’m not sure what came over me there but I swear it’s nothing. We should go or we’re going to be late.”

The truth of the matter was that Carmilla would say she was fine whether she actually was or not.

While not totally convinced, Zestial nodded in agreement. “Thou makest a good point; let us continue.” With that, he held his arm out for Carmilla to interlock hers with before they went on their way to the Styx. They began to walk up a subtle incline -- one which Carmilla did not notice until Zestial had pointed it out -- for it was this incline which allowed the Styx to flow as naturally as it did from one base to another. He understood this to be a little counter-intuitive, given that they were going to be transported far above everything else once they made their way down, but such thoughts only sprung up in his mind as a result of planning this event for over two months.

The only thing he had not fully decided yet was where to ask. It made all too much sense to inquire on the status of their relationship while they were going down a river -- but a river in Hell? It seemed like too much of a gamble that something would go awry. Meanwhile, the thought of opening up to her in the human world had less potential for things going wrong, but there were few places there that he knew very well -- and there was always a high possibility that something may have changed since the last time he was in the human world.

By the time they were nearly to the peak where one of Zestial’s servants was waiting, Zestial thought he could hear a wavering breath coming from the Overlord at his side. “Carmilla?” he began, taking a look down. “Ist thy nose causing trouble again?”

“J-Just a tad,” she sniffled, hoping it was just a passing tickle.

The short walk up the shallow incline would have normally been no issue for her, but as they reached the peak the weapons Overlord found herself feeling winded, her normally impeccable balance wavered ever so slightly and she had to resist the desire to lean against Zestial: Not only because she didn’t want to risk knocking over her spindly friend with her denser body weight, but because if she did he would almost certainly have felt the unnatural heat beginning to creep on her skin.

Just as they reached the peak of the hill and their boat was in sight, Carmilla’s hitching breaths suddenly crescendoed. She spun away from Zestial yet again, managing to bring the crook of her elbow up to her face, but just as they both expected a thunderous expulsion, her shoulders relaxed and she sheepishly turned back around to face the confused servant and a clearly concerned Zestial.

To that, Zestial couldn’t help but chuckle: a sound which would have stopped the hearts of those who were not within his social circle. “Were I the air itself, I would know better than to irritate thee in such a bothersome way,” he quipped.

Carmilla couldn’t help but chuckle at his comment, an action which shifted the congestion settling in her chest and forced her to swallow down a bit of phlegm that her body desperately wanted to cough up. She could only hope that Zestial wouldn’t notice that she’d been clearing her throat every five minutes now, and it was starting to get to a point where the little ‘hem hem’s weren’t enough to satisfy the itch in the back of her throat.

Before she could think of uttering another word, the servant at the boat spoke up. “Mister Zestial, Senoria Carmilla,” he began, bowing to each of them. “Your ride is ready for the two of you whenever.”

“Very good. Thou mayst leave us.”

Without any further prompting from Zestial, the imp gave one last bow before leaving the scene, leaving the boat suspended by a rope which anchored it to the support in the ground by Zestial and Carmilla’s feet. Once assured they were all by themselves, Zestial gestured to the boat, a glowing green grin turning up the pitch-black features of his face. “After thee, milady.”

Carmilla smiled warmly at him, placing one hand in his to steady herself as she stepped into the boat. For a brief moment there was the worry that her pointed angelic steel-tipped shoes would break right through the wooden hull but those fears proved to be unfounded. However, as she lowered herself down onto the seat, there was a subtle but noticeable tremor in her legs that was unbecoming of her usual poise and grace. She wouldn’t admit it but she was glad to finally be able to sit down and take some of the pressure off of her aching body, however short lived it would be before they reached their destination.

Zestial spoke not another word as he began to lower himself into the boat, as well, his movement precise and deliberate as always. There was just enough space between the two of them to cozy up to each other without feeling too cramped for space -- like slipping a millimeter either way would capsize the boat.

Once assured that they were secure, Zestial undid the knot on the rope that held them in place -- and within seconds, they began to drift off. Zestial was quick to grab the oar that had been left by the riverside before they got too far away -- before the river widened from its initial creek-like start.

“Zestial – I’ve been thinking,” Carmilla suddenly spoke up after only a couple minutes of drifting along the river’s current. “Not to imply that I’m not appreciative of getting to spend time with you like this, but it all just feels like… a lot… I mean, the boat ride, the trip to the human world… You know that I’m not the type of woman to ask for too much, especially from you…”

For once, Zestial initially found himself unsure how to immediately respond to her comment. “Ist…this fair trip truly ‘too much?’” he asked, partly to himself. “Mayhaps I misunderstood; I would not have done this for thee if I did not desire to, and such plans do not stretch my reach as an Overlord, thou must understand.”

“No, no, it isn’t too much…!” she frantically tried to reassure him as she reached out to touch his shoulder, worried she’d upset her friend without meaning to. “It’s just–... I suppose it’s more than I’ve gotten used to for a long time now… I haven’t had a man go out of his way like this for me since, well, Ernesto…”

Hearing Carmilla speak her late ex-husband’s name for the first time in years was enough to make Zestial’s heart skip a beat. With such mention, Zestial had better context to her current state of mind -- for she must have felt some kind of way about him if she were willing to speak Ernesto’s name now of all times.

The two of them were quiet for an almost uncomfortable amount of time before Zestial spoke up again. “All is well, Carmilla,” he replied with a smile as he went on to reiterate, “What we do today requires but a flick of a wrist for me to set into action. Many thinketh it difficult to make such plans for thy day, and I understand why thee would believest the same, but I do what I do for good reasons.”

The two Overlords sat there in silence for a moment, silence buzzing between them the way static fills the air right before a strike of lightning. There was only the sound of their breathing overlaced with the lapping of water as Zestial continued to hold the oar in his lap, letting the current take them down at a steady, gradual pace. 

“And… what is that reason…?” Carmilla finally asked.

After facing forward for the last minute, Zestial turned his gaze to Carmilla. “I was saving the moment for when we were among the human world,” he began, withdrawing a sigh as he looked away just as briefly as he’d turned his gaze toward Carmilla. “Mine days grow longer the more I delay the truth to thine ears, but thou art my closest companion and thou deservest to know: I--”

Carmilla interrupted him with a sudden sharp intake of air that made Zestial think for a moment she had hurt herself somehow.

“Hh-! HeiiHHZZZ’Chuu! Hah’ZZZChuu!” She snapped forward with two violently rough sneezes that came dangerously close to displacing the already fragile weight distribution in the boat and causing them to capsize. Immediately afterwards she tried taking in a deep breath, but there was an audible crack of congestion in her throat followed by her doubling over into the crook of her elbow to cough and hack her brains out.

The coughing lasted for almost ten solid seconds straight until she practically sounded like she was choking, and when she finally managed to spit the phlegm blocking her airways into her handkerchief, she slowly unfolded her body, taking in a slow labored inhale like she was testing the waters with her breathing. There was now an obvious pale yellow flush dusting her cheeks, but whether it was from embarrassment, fever, or the straining from the fit she just had, was unclear.

Unable to get a word out, Zestial stared back at Carmilla in awe, almost forgetting for a moment that they were still in a boat. “Thou dost not seem well…” he began. “Perhaps we shall end this journey for now.”

“N-No…! I promise I’m – I’m fine…” she punctuated her sentence with a quick cough directed over her shoulder, her upper body swaying as if cocking her head to the side was enough to make her dizzy.

“It is not allergies that ail thee,” Zestial commented, practically ignoring Carmilla’s pleas. “Tell me: is it something else?”

Knowing that at this point she’d already been caught red-handed, rather than outright admitting it, Carmilla swallowed a lump forming in her throat and said in a vulnerable voice: “Zestial – please… You’ve already gone to such effort for me, I don’t want to ruin it because I’m… weak…”

“I could not fathom to let thee grow weaker.” Without further argument, Zestial dug his oar into the wet ground beneath the boat and pivoted their ride toward the edge of the river. From there, he stepped out, gripping the canoe’s hull as he pulled it partially onto solid earth. He then gestured Carmilla over with his free hand. “If thou wouldst please..”

She hesitated, wanting to still try to plead her case, but another sharp cough that rattled the inside of her chest gave her answer before she could. Once she composed herself enough, she reluctantly began stepping out of the boat. Unfortunately, she had stood up just a tad too quickly, all the blood in her body suddenly felt like it had pooled in her feet. She’d just barely gotten one leg out of the boat when everything around her started spinning and tilting to the side, and the next thing she knew she felt a pair of thin yet strong arms wrap around her body just before she hit the ground.

Like her, Zestial was caught off-guard by her sudden trip, not wanting to think of what would have happened if he had deliberated a moment further. “There, now,” he began, his voice low as if he were holding a kitten. “I dread to think what may have happened, had thou fallenest into the river in thy state.” He began to straighten himself as he continued to hold Carmilla upright, bringing her up with him. “Can thou walk without struggle?”

“I… I think so…” she said, slowly separating herself from Zestial and trying to take a few steps in a straight line, but her legs wobbled and she very nearly fell over again before his hands around her waist steadied her; she hadn’t felt this uncoordinated since the last time she went a little too hard on the Beelzejuice.

“Perhaps if we walk as we were before?” Zestial suggested, holding his arm out as he cast a smile down upon her. “As we had just before entering the boat?”

“M-Maybe…” she wheezed, trying her best to stand up straight with Zestial’s support but feeling like a melting ice cube trying to balance on the center of a metal tray – complete with chills radiating through her as if her blood had frozen in her veins.

After having already stopped their trip, Zestial sought no problem in checking Carmilla’s temperature as he rested his palm against her forehead.

Just by the look on his face, the dizzy Carmilla could tell he wasn’t pleased. “Thou art burning hot…” he mumbled. “I believe I should take thee to thy home. Please excuse me for what I am about to do.”

Before Carmilla could think to ask, Zestial bent down and hooked his arm beneath her legs before hoisting her off the ground entirely, carried aloft in his two arms like a feather.

“Zestial,” Carmilla moaned, yet made no real attempt to protest, every bone in her body focused on resisting the desire to bury her face in his chest and fall asleep like a child. “This is… unbecoming…”

“We’ll be out of the public eye soon enough,” he whispered, his voice dropping as low as hers. “I know a shortcut to thy residence.”

===

Back at the Carmine manor, Clara and Odette sat across from each other on different chairs in the family room that was an offshoot of the foyer. They were patiently waiting for the moment their mother and her hopefully soon-to-be boyfriend would return from their outing and they could get all the details. Clara sat with her legs crossed carefully polishing her collection of angelic steel daggers, while Odette flipped through pages on her clipboard reading over the company’s stock reports from the past month.

“So,” Odette broke the silence, pushing her glasses up on her face. “Do you really think Zestial is actually going to confess tonight…?”

“Oh, 100%,” Clara replied without hesitation, not even looking up from a particularly stubborn speck of dirt stuck to the blade she was cleaning. “He’s not even being subtle this time; I don’t know how mom hasn’t picked up on it at this point.”

“Do you think she’ll reciprocate?”

“Why wouldn’t she? They’ve known each other since before we were even born, she has a chair and a teacup reserved for him at the Overlord meetings, and c’mon, do you think she’d get all dressed up like that for him if she just saw him as a friend?”

Odette playfully rolled her eyes before going back to looking at her clipboard. “I think you read too much into things.”

Clara looked up from her daggers and gave her sister a crooked smirk. “I think you just have no imagination, Odie.”

The two girls were interrupted by a sharp knocking at the door. They were not expecting anyone to come visiting at this hour — especially when Zestial’s plans seemed to imply that they would be gone for hours. Clara immediately sprung up from her chair and went to answer the door, willfully ignoring one of Carmilla’s biggest rules about how “If I’m not home, don’t answer the door for anyone”.

“Hey! What are you guys doing back so–” Clara had initially cracked the door open by an inch then threw it open the rest of the way when she got a glimpse of Zestial’s cloak. “...Soon…”

Her face immediately paled upon seeing Zestial standing there cradling her mother’s body, for a split second she thought that she was dead before Carmilla sucked in a breath and muffled a series of coughs into her fist. Her first instinct was to assume they’d been attacked perhaps, but neither of them bore any visible wounds.

“W-What happened?” Clara asked, stepping aside to let Zestial in.

Their guest entered swiftly, his feet unseen beneath his robe. “Thy mother hast come down with a feverish plight,” he explained as he made his way to the nearest couch. “It wouldst be best if thee could find medicine for her, and mayhaps a thermometer for good measure.” 

“Shit – O-Okay…!” Clara ran off both to fetch the items he had requested and to relay the current situation to her sister.

As he approached the couch, he leaned in to Carmilla’s ear. “We are home now; shall I stay by thy side?”

“Mmm…” 

Carmilla made a soft indecipherable noise, apparently too tired to give a proper answer. Her one hand that gripped Zestial’s shoulder tightened its hold, like she wanted to stop him from slipping away from her so this feeling of their bodies being so close could last forever.

Though he hated to have to pull her away, Zestial eventually got down on his knees so that he could safely and comfortably roll her onto the couch -- after which he found a pillow for her to rest her head upon as she laid on her side. Her eyes were open just a crack, her nose had turned a light red, and her sweaty face still burned to the touch. In spite of her condition, she continued to hold a hand out, as if still believing Zestial’s shoulder to be nearby. Once he realized this, he took hold of her hand to, if nothing else, calm her nerves.

Clara and Odette soon came back into the room, Clara was holding a bottle of cold and flu medicine and a mercury thermometer with a washcloth slung over her shoulder, while Odette carried a small basin full of cold water. Watching the way that Zestial held their mother’s hand and gazed lovingly at her feverish face made Clara desperately wanna know if he’d at least gotten the chance to confess that he’d been hoping for, but obviously now was not the most appropriate time to ask.

Realizing that her sister had taken to just staring instead of actually helping, Odette set down the basin by the couch and then took the rest of the supplies from her.

“Here,” Odette said, handing the thermometer to Zestial since he was the one hovering right over Carmilla.

“I thank thee,” he said before slipping the thermometer between their mother’s lips. After a few seconds, he retracted the device and read the number on it out loud: “One hundred and three.”

“Crap,” Clara huffed, peering over Zestial’s shoulder. “We knew she wasn’t feeling well before she left but – we didn’t think it’d get this bad so quickly… Odie, you think we can get her upstairs to her room together?”

“Unlikely,” Odette said. “Mother easily has over 100lbs on the both of us combined, coupled with the fact she’s barely conscious right now, we’d be hard pressed getting her up the stairs alone.”

“Allow me, then,” said Zestial as he set the thermometer in Clara’s hand and slipped his arms beneath Carmilla’s body. With little effort, he hoisted her up once again. “Thou needn’t accompany me,” he went on, “I know where her room is.”

The girls looked at each other with slight apprehension before silently nodded in agreement.

“O-Okay, we’ll just bring this stuff up later,” Clara said. “But let us know if you need any help, okay?”

“I will do,” Zestial affirmed before making his way to the staircase. Though he could only assume Carmilla’s opinion on him going into her room when she was only half-consciously with him, he bit the bullet and stepped inside once he was at the door.

“I’m sorry,” she suddenly murmured, sniffling as he approached her bed. “I know I disgust you right now…”

Hearing her speak almost made him flinch. It took a second for him to understand what she was referring to, at which point he shook his head. “Pish posh, dear -- I have been disgusted by professionals; thou dost not disgust me in the slightest, even in thy current state.”

With the way she was now, however, it was clear that she was still far from comfortable -- and how could one be comfortable wearing the kind of things she did? Just looking at her in spite of her illness, it was clear to him that she had overdressed for this occasion -- and very deliberately so. Even the knots she usually tied her hair in seemed to cause discomfort for his fellow Overlord, as she would occasionally turn her head, only for her tied-up hair to smack a part of the bed frame.

Once he placed her down upon her mattress, Zestial moved to a spot on the bed adjacent to her and began to undo the many knots keeping her hair up in the unnatural form it had currently taken. Undoing the knots caused her hair to fall over her face and her backside in a way that let her white-and-black locks breathe for once today.

“There thou art,” he murmured, setting her hair ties on the night desk. Just after saying that, he suddenly wondered out loud: “Wouldst thou like me to fetch a drink of water for thee?”

Rather than answering verbally Carmilla shook her head no, reaching an arm out and at first he assumed she was reaching for his hand again, but then she shakily pointed at something behind him; he tried to follow where her finger was pointing and saw a small brass bell on her vanity dresser, at which point he remembered that there were in fact many servants working in the Carmine manor who could handle that task just so that he could remain by her side.

Zestial immediately understood what Carmilla was trying to say and proceeded to ring the bell for a servant -- upon which one of them appeared within seconds: a Hellhound of indeterminable gender that resembled a French Bulldog. When they appeared they initially seemed confused that Señora Carmine was not actually the one who summoned them.

“Lord Zestial,” they bowed politely, knowing they were to treat Zestial the same as they would treat any other member of the Carmine family. “How may I help you…?”

“I must stay with Carmilla in here,” Zestial explained. “She needeth water, for her throat hath become sore over the course of the day.”

The Hellhound nodded, immediately scampering off and returning exactly a minute later with a tray carrying a glass cup and a large glass pitcher filled to the brim with water.

“I shall take it from here,” said Zestial as he took the tray from the servant. “I will call upon thee if thy assistance is needed.”

They bowed again and left to go do whatever it was lowly servants did at this time of day. As the Hellhound made their exit, Zestial turned to Carmilla again to hand her the ice-cold glass. The ripples in the water made it clear just how badly her hands were trembling, but she at least managed to bring the glass to her lips and take a few desperate gulps, several drops spilling down her chin in the process.

For the first time since they made it to this room, Zestial smiled upon Carmilla. “I would be just as thirsty as thee in thy state,” he chuckled. “But art thou feeling any better?”

“Not... not really,” she panted out in between heavy breaths. “You don’t… have to stay if you don’t want to… I promise I’ll… I’ll be fine…” her sentence was punctuated by another series of deep chesty coughs followed by a gasping intake of air. “Hh-HAaHZZZ’CHuuu!”

“Salud, Carmilla,” Zestial responded -- upon which he noticed a box of tissues just out of her reach, which he grabbed and left on the bed for her. “And I assure thee: as ill as thou mayst be, I wish only to be here with thee in the little time we have together -- even if that results in a change of plans.”

Carmilla took a small handful of tissues and blew her nose into them, a mostly fruitless waste of energy but it did help her head feel slightly more clear. “You… -snf- You know that you don’t have to… but… I am glad that you’re here anyway… I’m so sorry I ruined your plans – our first chance to spend time together alone in months, and it ends with you needing to take care of me… I’m a horrible friend – I don’t know why you’ve put up with me all this time…”

On such days when he saw his best friend at her lowest, Zestial knew to walk the tightrope and offer consolation where he could without arguing back to her. He knew she wasn’t a horrible friend -- and he also knew, deep down, that Carmilla likely knew that, too. But of all the things that her self-resentment indicated to Zestial, it was the burning desire to know: why? Perhaps now was the best time to explain himself, as he was about to on the boat.

“I told thou earlier,” he began, “that there was a reason for what I do, in spite of perceived concerns of expense. What I do for thee is at my own discretion -- and at my own discretion, I wish only for thee to remember the times we share together.”

Having sat upon Carmilla’s bed for the past couple minutes, he began to scoot closer to the sickly Overlord as he continued -- at the same time his heart began to race and her breath began to catch in her throat, and not as a result of an incoming sneeze.

“The reason why I wish for thy remembrance of our times together is simple: Carmilla -- I see us being more than best friends.” Almost without even noticing, Zestial began to reach his hand out, the tips of his fingers approaching her face before he proceeded to caress her cheek. “I’ve realized my feelings for thee for many a year now, yet never quite found the time or place to admit it. But now that we are together, I must confess that I do imagine us together as more than friends. Perhaps…for a long time, even.”

“Zestial…” his name escaped her mouth as more of an exhale than a spoken word, her hand reached up to touch the one he’d cupped around her cheek. “I’m… not sure I know what to say… all this time, I never imagined that you could feel the same way I do…”

Even when she had given her heart away to another, wed another man and bore his children, she had always felt the gravitational pull that led her back into Zestial’s arms time and time again; perhaps that was why she’d always refused to believe that somewhere in his blackened heart the gentlemanly sinner could desire her the way she desired him. Now she was faced with the truth that had been in front of her face for centuries.

“Perhaps I never made it obvious,” Zestial acknowledged, “for I did not want thee to see me as lesser for having greater feelings for thee than I originally anticipated. Perhaps that is why I went through the trouble of trying to bring us to the human world, even if that is not what we did.” He paused, taking a moment to breathe as the last sentence by itself had almost robbed him of inspiration. “How long hast thou felt the way thee have?”

“It’s hard to say when exactly,” she said wistfully, her feverish eyes gazing beyond him as if looking into their shared past. “I always felt indebted to you in some manner ever since that fateful day when we met, when you saved me… but perhaps it’s only been within the last couple hundred years that whenever I looked at you… I pictured a future for us together that I was under the impression you’d never want… then I met Ernesto, the girls came along eventually, and yet I still could never stop myself from imagining that future…”

“I never wanted to come between thee and thy lover,” said Zestial. “As long as thou wert happy, so was I. But now I find myself at a crossroads, having wondered for so long if it would be right to confess mine truest feelings to thee.” Again he paused, a smirk on his face. “I have a feeling thy daughters already knoweth how I feel; it is not as if I have avoided them in all the time I have known them.”

Carmilla found herself truly at a loss for words now, wanting nothing more than to take him in her arms but feeling too weak to even sit up at the moment. For now she was simply content with feeling his cool hand on her warm face, gazing into his many eyes, wishing she had the strength to express every unspoken word she’d ever wished to say to him.

“Aha! I fucking knew it!” All of a sudden they heard Clara shout triumphantly from the other side of the bedroom door, at which point they both realized it had been cracked ajar this entire time.

“Clara!! Would you shut up??” Odette frantically whispered. “Oh Satan – they totally heard that–”

That couldn’t have happened at a more appropriate time. Realizing this, Zestial turned his gaze back to Carmilla. “Like I said: they already knoweth how I have felt about thee.”

Carmilla let out a wheezy laugh, amusement over the situation overriding any anger she would have otherwise had at her daughters’ lack of respect for privacy. They were both smart girls, of course they’d been able to tell when she hadn’t. 

Ignoring Clara and Odette as they sheepishly entered the room, she turned her attention back to Zestial. Barring the fact she was currently cooking from the inside out, she wished in this moment that they could stay gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes for the rest of their eternal lives. In the back of their minds was the question of what came next, where could they go from here? How would their status as Overlords affect their relationship? Would others try to take advantage of their weakness that came in the form of their attachment, or would it strengthen their resolve to always protect each other no matter what threats Hell or Heaven threw at them?

All these questions buzzing around her head could be answered later. For now, as her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, she couldn’t imagine a more perfect sight to fall asleep to, and a more perfect future to wake up to.

Before such a thing could happen, however, the four people within the room were greeted to the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching them from below, culminating in one of the imp servants arriving, breathless, looking as though they had just witnessed a murder.

“Clara?? Odette!?” the servant asked Carmilla’s daughters, who stood in his field of view from the rest of the bedroom. “Your mother has been reported missing along with Overlord Zestial! You need to--!” Just as he was about to go on, the imp was greeted to the sight of Zestial and Carmilla next to each other as Clara and Odette stepped out of the way; the very sight of Zestial here at all made the imp’s blood freeze.

“Missing, ye say?” Zestial inquired. “Wherever did thou get such an idea?”

“U-um…” the imp stammered, his tail twisting around one of his legs. “I-I heard the report from your servants, sir. They said they found your boat tipped over, and…” He trailed off.

Zestial’s eyes widened. “The boat,” he remembered, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Right, well--” Tensing up somewhat, he stood up from Carmilla’s bed before turning to face her with a smile. “It seems I have a record to set straight. I shall return to thee shortly, dear. Just you wait right there. As for thou--” He turned his gaze to the servant. “Tell the rest of the mansion’s servants that Carmilla fareth well in her bed; we had a mere miscommunication, that is all.”

“Y-yes sir!” The imp’s tail loosened around his leg as he gave a bow and made his way back down the stairs.

“Hhm-hm,” Zestial chuckled. “Men doth forget the simplest things when their women’s health takes a turn for the worse. Even I am not immune.” With that, the Overlord stepped out of the room before giving a bow of his own and leaving the residence.

Carmilla watched him go with feverish longing in her eyes, she could hardly remember when she last smiled so wide except for the first time she’d held each of her girls in her arms as tiny newborns.

Speaking of which, Clara came up to her bedside and pulled the blankets up to her chin. “Alright mom, you seriously need to get some sleep.”

“Hm… That’s supposed to be my line,” she remarked, the dreamy expression on her face suddenly twisted into one of irritation as she pawed around the bed for the tissue box, bringing a fresh handful up to her nose just in time. “Hh-hh… hHHATZZZChuuu!!”

[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!!!”.

[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!

[chestcongestion]

Demon-to-Demon Ch.3/5: Ha//zbin Ho/tel

Warnings: Contagion and mess (a lot more mess this time)

Word count: 3,763

Chapter 3 is finally finished! Two more to go (at least). I love the idea of Al/ast/or losing his inhibitions when he's feverish, I just think it'd be neat, so that's explored a bit in this chapter. This is kind of a chill interlude in between the "plot", I'm excited because next chapter I get to write Ro/sie... anyways, I hope you enjoy! ^^

“SnFf! Good Mbordi’g Pentagramb City- SnFF!- I’b Katie Killjoyy-Yiihh’Shewww! Ih’kshew!... bringi’g you your day seven update on what experts are calli’g ‘The Red Spread’... the mbysterious viral infectio’d has infected about 78% of the city, with no sign of stoppi’g… more on the spread when we return!” 

“Can’t believe they’re still mbakin’ Killjoy work while she’s sick- snff!” Angel remarked from his spot on the sofa, massaging his sinuses with his fingertips. 

“I can’t believe that more than three quarters of the Pentagram have got whatever the hell this is,” Husk added, scrubbing the underside of his nose with the back of his hand. 

“Do we hafta watch the news every morning?” Niffty groaned from her nest of blankets on the floor in front of the sofa, “They’re showing a five hour marathon of beheading footage in thirty minutes.” 

Husk rolled his eyes, “You kndow the rules- snff- we cast a vote every time we flip channels, you want the executioner network to win, you gotta make a solid argument,” he explained from his position draped across Angel’s lap, his eyes irritated and watery from the congestion packed into his head with noplace to go. 

“That’s no fair, Alastor’s vote shouldn’t count, he doesn’t even know what’s going on!” Niffty argued, folding her arms. 

“He does- HrR’SCHOOO!... Fuck!- He does, watch,” Husk argued back, snapping his fingers to get Alastor’s attention from his dazed position in his armchair, “Alastor…Earth to Alastor!” 

Alastor redirected a glassy eye in Husk’s direction, feverish blotches on both of his cheeks, “Hmm?” he asked, rubbing his nose with his handkerchief. 

“Next flip, what’re you voting for?” Husk asked, smiling as he watched Alastor thinking in real time, the metaphorical cogs in his head overheated and sticky. 

Alastor sniffled, staring at Husk for a moment, “Uhb… snfF!...He-eh’KSHIEW! Hhn’Kxxhht!... what were we talki’g about again?” he asked, blowing his nose. 

“We’re changin’ the channel, Smiles, whadda you wanna watch?” Angel asked, pulling a thermometer off of the arm of the sofa and sliding it under his tongue. 

Alastor blinked, “Ndature documentaries,” he giggled deliriously, scrubbing under his nostrils with a single finger in an attempt to snuff out a tickle in his sinuses that was threatening to morph into a sneezing fit, “The really gruesombe ondes- snrk!” 

“See? He’s-” Husk paused to cough, “-perfectly conscious, isn’t that right, Alastor?” he asked. 

“What’s right?” Alastor asked, blowing his nose again, “Ehhh’TShewww! Heh’KSHEW! Heh’tschiewww! Hh’Ktshhiew!” 

“Don’t worry about it,”  Husk laughed, his laugh quickly turning into a harsh, raspy cough, “Fuck, that hurts.” 

Angel reached over, rubbing Husk’s chest and attempting to quell the rumble of congestion in his lungs with a few pats, “Mmph,” he hummed in consolation, pulling the thermometer out when it began to beep. 

“Thanks,” Husk replied breathlessly, attempting to shoot a glance at the thermometer, “What’s the verdict?” 

Angel sighed, massaging his temples, “I’ve stih…h-hihh…Ih-A’KSHHHEW! ‘Kshhew! ‘KSCHUHHH!” he said, nearly folding in half from his sneezing fit, “Still got a fever… damn thi’g won’t budge… 102.” 

Husk sighed, “Damn shame… mby turn, hand it over,” he said, taking the thermometer and sliding it under his tongue, purring as he patiently waited for it to beep, “102.” 

“My turn! My turn!” Niffty exclaimed from her nest of blankets, getting a hold of the thermometer and holding it under her tongue, squinting at the reading on the small screen with her eye, “101.” 

“Space Cadet, wakey-wakey- snff!- your turn to check your temperature,” Angel croaked from his spot on the sofa, flicking a bottle cap at Alastor to snap him out of his febrile trance. 

“Hmm? Wha? Oh…” Alastor mumbled, wincing as he placed the ear thermometer into his left ear, shooting a quick glance at the viewing window after it beeped, “103 and- snff!...hH’KZzschiewww!- seven tenths.” 

Angel and Husk shot one another a knowing look, but shortly after, Angel hugged Husk tightly, shivering in his loose tank top and baggy pajama shorts. 

“I’mb so fucking cold… dammit…” Angel whispered, his teeth chattering as he nuzzled up close to Husk, “You’re such a good radiator, but I’mb still freezi’g…Snfff-snff!” 

“That’s cause you aren’t actually cold,” Husk replied, feeling the heat radiating from Angel’s body, “It’s just the fever.” 

“This is bullshit,” Angel complained, folding his arms before going back to cuddling Husk, flipping channels until a boring rerun of a reality TV show came on. 

“Hi guys,” Charlie greeted upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, Vaggie following close behind with KeeKee in her arms, “Feeling any better?” 

Angel blew his “nose” into a tissue, tossing the soggy paper into the trash can next to the sofa, “Nope,” he replied, massaging his sinuses with his fingertips, “Huhh…H-hah…Ah… AH’TSHHHIEWW! Ah’kShewww! HAH’KSCHIEWWW!” 

Husk and Niffty shook their heads in silence. 

Alastor rubbed his eyes with both fists, before blinking drowsily in Charlie’s direction and greeting her with an eager wave, giggling, “When I hold mby hand in front of you, you disappear,” he chuckled, turning to smother a barking cough into his sleeve. 

Charlie winced, shooting Husk a knowing look, “Fever?” 

“Fever,” Husk replied. 

“It’s kickin’ his ass, watch this,” Angel said, struggling to contain his hoarse laughter, “Alastor, shut your eyes.” 

Alastor complied. 

“What color are your pants?” Angel asked, watching Alastor tilt his head down to look at his maroon flannel pajama pants, but still holding his eyes shut.  

“Black?” Alastor replied, feeling around in his man-made darkness for his pajama pants, “Black.” 

“Oh my gosh,” Charlie chuckled, gently scratching behind Alastor’s ears, “Open your eyes, Alastor.” 

Alastor complied, swaying in his armchair until he saw KeeKee strolling past, scooping her into his arms and nuzzling his face against her soft fur, “So soft,” he whispered. 

“Honestly, I’d say to stop toying with Alastor while he’s delirious, but being able to fuck with one of the Pentagram’s cruelest overlords with no consequences is kinda sweet,” Vaggie said, trying not to laugh as she walked over to Alastor’s armchair and poked his nose. 

“Hh’Kzzhshttt! HH’KShheww! HH’KSHHHEW! Hnk’TSHHIEW!...Hh’KSzxhhtt!” Alastor held up a hand in front of his nose and mouth, nearly paralyzed by the sudden fit, his eyes beginning to water, “Snfff! Snff-SNFF! Uch…” 

Vaggie struggled to contain her amusement until Alastor loudly blew his nose into his handkerchief, the wetness of the sound making her wince from disgust, “That’s so gross…” she whispered. 

Alastor brushed off Vaggie’s comment with the flick of a stuffy ear, readjusting himself in his seat and pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders, “Well excuse mbe,” he scoffed, pinching the friction-reddened underside of his nose between two fingers in an attempt to stifle a second sneezing fit, “Hh’ktshh! Hhn’ktsh! Hh’kzhht! HHN’kshh!” 

“Bless you,” Charlie said, “Hopefully you guys will start feeling better soon, this thing can’t last that long.” 

“I hope so,” Husk sighed, “I mbiss breathin’ through mby ndose.” 

Husk’s garbled consonants made Charlie wince. 

“I wish there was something I could do to help,” Charlie sighed, leaning against the back of the sofa. 

“Oh! I know! I know! I can help!” Niffty cheered, turning to cough into her elbow after raising her voice strained her sore throat, “I used to do this all the time when I was alive! Be right back!” 

Before Charlie could open her mouth to object, Niffty had vanished into the kitchen and returned with four mugs and three medium-sized towels, each of the mugs releasing tendrils of steam into the air. 

“I’d get bags of tea that weren’t really good to drink but smelled really strong, and I’d make a cup, and put the towel over my head to breathe in the steam, it works great!” Niffty explained, returning to the comfort of her blanket nest with her own mug of hot tea, electing to sip from it instead. 

Husk shrugged, “I’ll try adythi’g ondce..snrkk!” he croaked, pulling the towel over his head and holding the mug of fragrant tea close to his face as he became surrounded by steam.��

Angel followed Husk’s lead, hoping to relieve the massive backup in his puffy sinuses. 

Alastor silently followed suit, rolling his eyes briefly when the towel snagged on his antlers, forcing him to neaten it out. 

A few minutes passed, and Charlie- who had left the room to feed Fat Nuggets and KeeKee- returned to her spot leaning against the back of the sofa, “So… how do you know if it works?” she asked. 

“You’ll see,” Niffty replied, swallowing the last sip of her tea and lying down on her side to relax in her pile of blankets, smothering a cough into her wrist and listening to Angel, Husk, and Alastor’s sniffles as they grew looser and looser. 

“HrR’SCHHUHHH! Huh’KSHOOO! Hh’TSHHHOO! Huh’TSCHOO! Hnk’TCHOO! HUH’KSHHHUHH! Hnk’TSHHHEW!” Husk sneezed, each sneeze growing wetter and wetter as the congestion in his sinuses got looser.

“Heh’Kshhhew! Hnk’SHHHEW! Hnk’Tshhiew! HEH’KXHHT! Hnk’TSHH! Heh’TSHHIEW! Hnk’TshhhiEW! He-Eh’kshhhiewww!” Alastor followed suit, struggling to catch his breath between sneezes from underneath the towel.

“A-ahh…H-hah…HAH’TSHIEW! Hah’tshew! Hah’kshhiew! Ah’kshhieww! Hah’TshhhiEW! Ah…AH’KTSHHHIEW!” Angel sneezed.

“Ohhhh, that’s how,” Charlie said with an amused smile. 

  Husk peeled off his towel to reveal his flushed face, damp fur, and the continuous trail of watery mess trickling from his adorable feline nose, a trail that he attempted to stop with a few watery sniffles, to no avail. 

“Holy shit,” Husk muttered, his voice hoarse from the sneezing fit scraping his raw throat, as he dragged the back of his hand under his nostrils, “That felt great, I can breathe…but I can’t stop sne-eezing-Hnk’Tshoo! Hnk’Tschuhh!” 

“Bless you,” Charlie giggled, plucking two tissues out of the box on the arm of the sofa and handing them to Husk, who in turn used them to wipe off his hands and the underside of his nose before soaking the tissues with one gurgling blow, “Jeez, you were really stuffed up.” 

“Not anymore, shit,” Husk said with a relieved sigh, wrapping a finger in a few tissues and gently cleaning the inside of his fluffy ears, “Even cleaned out my ears.” 

“It can get in your ears?!” Charlie inquired, leaning over the sofa and staring at Husk’s ears intently as they twitched. 

“Mmhm, it’s why I’m damn lucky I don’t have any… a-ah…AH’KTSHEW! Ah’kshhew! Ah’kshhiew!...” Angel commented, pulling off his towel and finger-combing his moisture-dampened locks to fluff them back up, wincing at the spray coating the fur on his hands, “Euch… I need a shower after that.” 

Angel stood up, swaying a bit on his feet, “I’ll be right ba-ah…a-AH’KSHHIEW! ‘Kshhew! ‘KSHEW!...snff! I’ll be right back…” he said, cautiously wandering up the steps and disappearing down a hallway. 

Alastor’s watery sniffling and frustrated grunts made Husk and Charlie turn to face him, the towel still draped over his head. 

“Hh’KZXHHT! Hhnk’Tshhiew! Hhk’TSHHIEW! Heh’KSHEWW! Hhn’KzZsschiew!” Alastor’s sneezing continued, his desperate gasps in between fits riddled with the low rumble of congestion in his lungs. 

“Uhm… Alastor, you can take it off if the smell is too much,” Charlie proposed, watching The Radio Demon doubled over in his chair, completely at the mercy of his sinuses. 

“I ca-ahh.. Hh’KSCHIEW! Hhn’KSHHUH!... they’re st-uhh… s-stuck on my aahn- HEH’KSHHIEW! Heh’KSHewww!- antlers,” Alastor struggled, punctuating his sentence with a productive-sounding cough, his voice dripping with frustration and embarrassment at his current predicament. 

‘Brilliant, Alastor, just brilliant, you’re writhing like a simple-minded cat with its head stuck in a paper bag’

Charlie reached over, pulling the towel off of Alastor’s head, gently pulling away the segments of towel caught on his antlers, “There we go,” she said, smiling at her triumph. 

Alastor opened his mouth to utter his reluctant thanks, but quickly held a miraculously-clean handkerchief to his mouth instead, coughing as the crackling congestion in his chest inched its way up his throat. His fever-warm cheeks burned red-hot with embarrassment as he spat something into the red cloth before leaning back into his armchair to catch his breath. 

“That sounded…uhh…” Charlie began, wringing her hands and sheepishly looking away out of disgust. 

“Nasty,” Husk practically gagged. 

“I second that!” Vaggie called from the other room. 

“Cool! I wanna see, Alastor, lemme see!” Niffty pleaded, speed-crawling over to Alastor’s feet and sneaking a peek of the soiled handkerchief, “Woah…” 

“That’s quite enough,” Alastor scoffed, silencing another wet cough behind clenched teeth, “I’m fine… I’d prefer if we could pretend that didn’t happen.” 

Husk blinked, noticing the stiffness in Alastor’s smile and the embarrassment in his watery eyes, shooting his boss a knowing smirk, “I think somebody’s fever finally went down,” he chuckled, “Don’t worry, boss, you didn’t do anything too embarrassing.” 

“I can strangle you to death with one hand, and I will not hesitate to do so,” Alastor hissed, still struggling to fight back his cough, eventually relenting and holding his handkerchief back up to his mouth. 

“Think you’re a bit too busy stranglin’ yourself,” Husk teased, knowing that Alastor’s coughing fit would keep him from reacting violently to Husk’s sass. 

Alastor spat another load of sputum into his handkerchief and took a desperate inhale, a relieved grin flashing on his face when said inhale wasn’t accompanied by a crackle of more congestion, “I’m finished,” he panted, squeezing his soiled handkerchief in one hand as it vanished into the ether by way of its own shadow. 

Charlie leaned over and quietly popped the thermometer into Alastor’s ear, getting a quick reading, and pulling it away, “102, it did go down! Are you feeling any better?” she asked. 

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Alastor grumbled, running a clean handkerchief under his nose to wipe away the mess from his sneezing fit, “Especially since I’m in my right mind again.” 

“Damn shame,” Husk laughed from his spot on the sofa, ducking when Alastor threw his miraculously-empty mug at Husk’s head.

“This is humiliating,” Alastor grumbled, covering his eyes with both hands and rolling onto his side in his armchair, pulling his blanket tighter around his frame.

“Y’know, Alastor, maybe you’d be more comfortable if you had room to stretch your legs,” Charlie offered, “Since Cherri’s not here, you could take the loveseat on the opposite side and Niffty could take the armchair.” 

“I’m perfectly fine where I am, thank you,” Alastor replied, trying and failing to suppress a shiver. 

“Are you sure?” Charlie asked, shooting Alastor a compassionate smile, which finally got him to relent. 

“If you insist,” Alastor sighed, getting out of his chair and walking over to the loveseat on the opposite side of the sofa , lying down and completely wrapping his body in his blanket. 

“There you go, doesn’t that feel better?” Charlie asked, draping a second blanket over Alastor’s reclined form. 

“Only physically,” Alastor replied, his teeth chattering slightly as he struggled to conceal the pain in his eyes, “Thank you.” 

“No problem… are you okay?” Charlie asked as she watched Alastor continue to shiver in spite of the blankets. 

Alastor’s shivering calmed down, and his eyes noticeably glazed over again, looking glassy and distant as his gaze lost focus and his smile became more toothless and dopey. Charlie noticed the deep flush in Alastor’s cheeks, his heavy breathing, and the sweat trickling down his face from his hairline. 

“I’m fine… Hh’Kshew!...pardon me,” Alastor mumbled, readjusting himself under his blankets. The Radio Demon stared at Charlie for a moment, scanning her with his glossy eyes before shooting her a puzzling smile, “Your hair is so pretty… it’s like a tied up hay bale…” he giggled. 

“Oh… thank you?” Charlie replied, raising an eyebrow and cautiously reaching down to press the back of her hand against Alastor’s forehead.

“Aaaand he’s gone again,” Husk announced, “That didn’t last long.” 

“He’s burning up… I didn’t expect his fever to go back up so fast,” Charlie said, overwhelmed with concern as she took Alastor’s temperature with the ear thermometer, “104… I’m going to go see if we have some medicine somewhere.” 

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t roll off the loveseat and hurt himself ‘till you get back,” Husk said, turning away briefly to blow his nose before focusing his attention on Alastor’s relaxed but loopy form. 

“Thank you,” Charlie replied, leaving the room and leaving Husk alone with his fever-plagued boss. Niffty was still in the parlor, but she had fallen asleep after cozying up in her nest of blankets, and snored quietly on the floor, meaning that Husk had no one but Alastor to talk to. 

“Husker,” Alastor said in an almost teasing voice, shooting Husk a drowsy grin and staring at him with his glassy, vacant eyes. 

“What is it?” Husk asked, twitching his sensitive nose in an attempt to stave off a sneeze, “HRR’SCHUHH!” 

“H..-Hihh… How can you tell when an octopus egg is h-hahh…hatching?” Alastor asked, punctuating his sentence with a damp sniffle, wiping his irritated nose off with his handkerchief.

“I dunno Alastor, how?” Husk sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“It starts Kraken…Hih’SHHHEW! Uch… Excuse mbe…snff!” Alastor said, laughing at his own horrible joke until his boisterous laughter turned into a hoarse cough. 

“We’re not doin’ this, I’m not listenin’ to your stupid jokes,” Husk scoffed. 

“Ohh, that’s no fair, I had so mbany I was ready to try out- Hih’KSHHEW! Hih’kshhiew!” Alastor complained, blowing his nose. 

“Try ‘em out on Niffty when she wakes up,” Husk scoffed, smiling upon seeing Angel enter the parlor, now wearing a pair of pink velour pajamas adorned with black hearts and flowers, “How was your shower?” 

“Great,” Angel sighed, collapsing onto the sofa and letting Husk settle back in his lap, “Steam really does the trick when you’re plugged up- snff… it’s incredible.” 

“Glad it helped,” Husk replied softly, running his fingers through Angel’s clean fur. 

“Husker,” 

Husk rolled his eyes, “What is it now?” 

“Mby throat hurts,” Alastor said, his watery eyes looking genuinely vulnerable… almost pitiful as he spoke. 

“Mine does too, suck it up, maybe if you stopped runnin’ your mouth it wouldn’t hurt so much,” Husk said coldly, hurriedly holding a hand to his mouth to cover a violent cough and sighing with relief when Angel’s smooth hands began to rub his chest. 

Alastor nodded, lying down in silence on the loveseat and sniffling occasionally, curling in on himself and clutching desperately at his blankets. His chapped, shiny nose and feverish cheeks looked aggressively dark compared to his hypersensitive, sweat-covered, and unnaturally pale skin, and the tears brimming in his glazed-over watery eyes overflowed, running down his cheeks. 

‘I can’t believe you, we look ridiculous, pull yourself together…’ 

Alastor shuddered, whimpering quietly as his limbs ached and a violent pain radiated behind his eyes, cursing the razor-sharpness of his teeth that made them impossible to gnash and grind when he was in pain. 

‘I can’t… I can’t control it… I’m so tired, and hot… and achy,’ 

Alastor’s frustrated thoughts only made the hot tears on his cheeks run faster as he attempted to hide them with a damp sniffle, to no avail. He simply shut his eyes and resigned himself to his fate. 

“Oh my god,” Angel whispered, staring in awe at The Radio Demon’s hushed crying from the other side of the coffee table. 

“He’s completely out of his mind, he’d jump out a window before he let anyone see him like this,” Husk muttered.

“I know this ain’t the point, but your raspy voice is kinda sexy,” Angel whispered back, snickering when Husk playfully punched him in the arm, “Okay, I earned that one.”  

“Alright, it took a bit of digging, but I found some medicine-” Charlie paused upon re-entering the parlor, staring at Alastor’s shaking form and listening to his whimpering sobs, “-I’m sorry… is he?” 

Angel and Husk nodded in silence. 

Charlie gently pulled on one of Alastor’s ears, her heart dropping into her stomach when the gesture made Alastor let out a pained whine, before gently sticking the ear thermometer into the sensitive canal, “105…shit, why is this hitting him so hard?” she asked. 

“I mean, all four of us feel like absolute shit… but Boss was always real skittish and secretive about germs…HUH’KshOO! Hh’KSHEWW!...fuck- SnFF!- might be kickin’ his ass cause he’s never been sick before, or at least not this sick,” Husk attempted to explain, dragging the back of his wrist under his nose before Angel handed him a tissue, “Thanks.” 

“That makes sense… but it’s almost scary seeing him like this… Alastor? Alastor, wake up,” Charlie said, gently shaking Alastor to get his attention before pulling him into an upright position, “I’ve got something that should make your fever go down, okay?” 

Alastor nodded, reaching out and cupping Charlie’s face in his left hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb as his ears twitched, “Charlie?” he asked, the vacant look in his red eyes making Charlie chew anxiously on her tongue, he looked awful. 

“Yes, it’s me… can you see me?” Charlie asked, waving a hand in front of Alastor’s glassy eyes, her stomach twisting in knots when Alastor’s pupils didn’t follow her movement. 

“Mhm,” Alastor nodded, turning away from Charlie to muffle a fit of barking coughs into his handkerchief, “I think so.” 

“Okay, here, I’m going to pour the medicine for you, and you can take it when you’re ready,” Charlie said, pouring a dose of green fever reducer into the plastic measuring cup and handing it to Alastor, who surprisingly knocked it back almost immediately, licking his lips and flashing Charlie another delirious smile. 

“It tastes like apples,” Alastor said, giggling as he flopped back into a reclined position, doubling over when his laughter quickly devolved into another coughing fit. 

“I’m glad it tastes good, hopefully this makes you feel better,” Charlie said, gently massaging the back of Alastor’s head with her fingertips and turning to face Angel and Husk, “You guys want some?” 

“I’m fine, I’ll let this shit take its course,” Husk replied, Angel nodding in agreement, “I’m goin’ to sleep.” 

“Me too, Niffty’s got the right idea,” Angel sighed, getting comfortable on the sofa and uncrossing his legs, dozing off with Husk sleepily purring on top of him. 

“Thank you, Charlie,” Alastor said, his voice a hoarse whisper, “I hope you don’t catch thi-ihh… Hih’kshew! Hih’kshiew!...this…snff-snff!” 

“Of course,” Charlie replied, “I think I’ll be okay… you should rest… hopefully the medicine brings your fever down.” 

Alastor yawned, lowering his eyelids and cozying up to his pillow, his congested snoring joining the noisy snores of Angel, Husk, and Niffty as Charlie brushed his hair away from his forehead. 

“They’ll be better soon, it’ll be okay,” Charlie said to herself, getting one last look at her sickly friends before leaving the room to go chat with Vaggie, turning off the lights and lowering the volume on the TV before she tip-toed out of the parlor, leaving the quartet of patients in comfortable quiet darkness. 

[theotherbuckley]

There’s something so meaningful in the fact that Eddie told Buck about the will whilst he was still with Ana. Whilst he still thought that was what he wanted. He could have not told Buck, thinking that if things progressed with Ana that maybe he would never need to tell Buck. But nope. He told him about the will because he knew that it didn’t matter who he was dating. It would never change the will. He’d never have a family with her in which Christopher would be left with her. Even before the panic attacks Eddie knew Ana was never going to be the family he wanted. Not like the one he already had with Buck.