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queenpiranhadon · 23 hours

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A/N: okay NOW two more chapters left lol because chapter seven is turning into a pain to write 😭 Luckily school's out for the summer so I have more time to write :) TY @cashmoneyyysstuff MY ICON ILY Here's the masterlist!

Warning(s): Cursing, reader is the daughter of Aizawa, Shinso and Eri are biological siblings, reader is 20 years old, reader befriends Kaminari and Sero, Reader uses "Cattus" as her alias, reader's nicknames are Cactus, Cattus and Cat, reader's down bad LMAO, war, reader gets hurt, blood, reader wears a bra, bad war descriptions lol what do you expect from me, reader is AFAB and female, bakugou finds out 😀👍, ANGST, reader goes home, family reunion, Aizawa gets sick from grief, PTSD, KATSUKI'S NOT SEXIST I PROMISE

Pairing(s): Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱɪx: Cattus

Time seemed to stop.

The red color of his eyes, such a warm color, turned so cold.

“Y-Yer a fuckin girl?!” he spat, aghast, disgust clouding his features, he turns away, refusing to look at you.

You couldn’t even more, nor speak.

How could you have been so careless?

Bakugou lets out an irritated snarl and looks back at you briefly.

“If the others find out, you’ll be killed.” he says, tone icy and filled with venom. Your heart drops.

“I-”

“Get changed and get out.” He cuts you off, not wanting to hear what you had to say. “Now I don’t owe you anything.”

He exits the tent swiftly, as if he couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as you.

***

You were given a horse, and nothing else, leaving without saying farewell to your friends. They would be informed that you had died, and that your body was being disposed of.

It gave you an icky feeling, faking your death- which was weird, considering you left your family in a similar manner.

As far as they knew, you might as well be dead.

Would they be happy to see you?

The same thought had plagued your mind for days now, yet you never imagined they would come to reality so soon. Your heart sinks with the realization that as of now, you basically let down everyone you knew.

A tear slips down your cheek, from your discharge, and from that loathing look in Bakugou’s eyes.

Stupid feelings.

You knew it would end badly when you found yourself falling for the captain, but just the acknowledgment wasn’t enough to prepare you for the pain brought on by your heart being ripped in half, only for those halves to be shattered beyond repair.

It was moronic of you to even be feeling these things, just as it was to crush on your superior like you were a schoolgirl and not a warrior.

But at least now, you didn’t have to pretend.

You weren’t going to lie, you were going to miss Genken, Denki, and Hanta.

But now, you were Y/N. And though you were yourself again, there was no doubt Cattus would still be a part of you.

He always was, you reckoned.

Cattus was the fiery side of you that defended his (?) friends when they needed protection. He was the side of you that took charge and cared for your family when they couldn’t take care of themselves. Cattus was a warrior.

And you were too.

Tightening your grip on the reins, you will your horse to go faster, riding into the night, returning home to your family for the first time in months.

***

You found yourself staring at the border of your village after 5 days of travel, the sun setting and your brain half asleep, running purely on adrenaline.

It was lightly snowing, signs of winter’s presence, though the cold didn’t nip at your skin as much as it used to before.

Pain didn’t feel the same anymore after what you’d been through.

Your wound still stung, but you refused to acknowledge the pain- telling yourself you deserved it after everything. Is this how your dad felt after the war? You didn’t know. Though your situations were vastly different, one spending more time fighting than the other, and one almost convicted of a war crime, you knew that the pain was all the same.

But right now, you didn’t feel pain.

Instead, anxiety clawed at your heart, dismounting your steed to let it graze freely among the nearby fields, where other horses resided nearby. He would be fine living there with his new friends.

You walk along the streets of the village you grew up in. You’d one been gone for 7 months now, and yet it felt so foreign to walk down the cobbled streets you walked across so long ago. When you find your home, a pang of sadness washes through you- it looked so empty and lifeless now. You missed you family dearly during the past few months, and yet you refused to acknowledge the feelings because they were a sign of weakness.

But here you were now, a truckload of emotions crashing into you as you walk up the steps to your porch, the same steps you sat on when you had the conversation that started all of this. The wood creaked under your feet, a sound so familiar and so wrong at the same time.

So much had changed over time- it was hard to feel like yourself again.

You gingerly placed your hand on the doorknob, feeling the bumps, ridges and crevices you memorized, your pounding heart was deafening as you sucked in a shaky breath and finally opened the door.

It was quiet. There wasn’t a buzz of the happiness and joy that you always felt in your home, instead it felt null and void.

The first thing you notice is the figure sleeping on the couch.

Hitoshi.

Your younger brother looked exhausted, the dark circles he usually sported were now so prominent that it was unhealthy. He was skinnier, and a little taller, your heart ached to know that he wasn’t eating well and that he had grown up and you weren’t there to see him.

Making your way over to him, you brush his hair out of his face softly, only for him to startle and jolt upright, freezing as his lavender eyes widened it realization that it was you.

He slowly brings a hand to cup your cheek before patting the rest of your body, as if to ensure you were genuinely there.

“Y/N...” he croaks, tears spilling from his eyes. “Is it really you...?”

You want to sob, he sounded so broken, so helpless, guilt threatening to consume your every being. Tears slip from your eyes as you nod, letting out a choked laugh as he encircles you in his arms, whispering “You’re home... you’re finally home...” more so to himself than to you, as if to ground him.

You and Hitoshi end up falling asleep on the floor that day, and you numbly allow him to redress your wounds and receive an ear load of yelling and scolding from your actions the next morning. He isn’t furious as you expected, however, he was extremely worried though.

“W-What happened while I was gone...” you murmur, refusing to look at him as you sit on the side of your bed.

“It’s...been a lot...” he sighs, telling you to get comfortable as he fills you in.

Hitoshi had slept in the living room every night, in hopes that you would come home. At first, he slept on the porch, but Eri insisted he sleep inside saying that he was only harming himself. It was true, as he had gotten a nasty cold the next morning, leaving the ticked off 9-year-old to take care of him.

Eri was upset with your departure, rarely going out after you left and taking up the chores you did to maintain the household, even though Hitoshi insisted he could do it. She slept in your bed every night after that and was currently sleeping as you and your brother were catching up.

Your father, however, was a different case. He fell apart after you left, never talked, never ate – Hitoshi was terrified and had asked Hizashi for help, the usually humorous blonde now deadly serious as he and your father had gotten into a terrible argument. The only thing your brother was able to hear was “I lost my wife; I can’t lose my daughter too.”

You sobbed uncontrollably as Hitoshi held you again, resenting yourself for the pain you caused your family, and resenting yourself for the hateful vermillion stare that you were sure would haunt you for the rest of your life.

Though scalding tears burned through your skin, it didn’t hurt to cry as much as it used to. They didn’t feel suffocating, instead they felt liberating as you finally unloaded months of negative bottled up emotions.

Your family was safe, thanks to you, and you were going to make sure it stayed that way.

***

Eri wakes up a few hours later, her red eyes lacked their usual luster until they noticed you, the nine-year-old ran up to you and hugged you tight, her tears bleeding into your clothes.

“Y/N...?!” she gasps in surprise, burying her face into your chest, inhaling deeply as if to memorize the way you smelled. Usually, it would have been weird, and uncomfortable considering you hadn’t showered in a week, but you allowed it, stroking her hair comfortingly, as a few more tears escape your eyes and roll down your face.

“M’not going anywhere Banana.” you whisper, and she snorts and punches your arm weakly.

“You know I hate that name.”

You stayed like that for a while, before letting each other, drinking in each other’s appearance.

“You look terrible.” she quips and you can’t help the laugh that erupts from your mouth.

Eri and Hitoshi look at you in surprise – the you that they knew was more reserved, but they had to admit, they liked to see you let go more. You looked happier, and your joy was always contagious.

Your siblings usher you into the washroom to finally shower, saying you smelled like shit (not really- if Hitoshi cursed in front of Eri you probably would’ve whipped out your sword) and you roll your eyes at their antics.

You look into the cracked mirror on the way and get a good look at yourself- the first time you had to liberty to do so before you left.

You truly didn’t look like Y/N anymore, you knew that much. But you didn’t feel like Cattus either. It was the strangest feeling, feeling like two people and neither at the same time. You sigh, dismissing it- knowing that maintaining another identity for so long would clearly have its side effects, but it was still uncomfortable to deal with.

You were Y/N. But better. And happier with yourself.

When you finally exit the shower, looking and feeling more like you, clean and in fresh clothes, a thought strikes you.

“Hey... Toshi...?” You murmur, approaching the purplenette. “Where’s Dad?”

Hitoshi looks away from you momentarily, before looking at you with sadness in his eyes. “He’s staying at Chiyo’s. Ever since you left, he hasn’t been eating well, and he’s been bedridden for a while. Hizashi says that he isn’t really stable for us to visit him.”

You don’t listen to the last part- slipping on some random pair of shoes and bolting out of the house before heading over to Chiyo’s home.

Your heart raced, in sync with your footsteps, one after the other.

Your mind was even faster however- thoughts of worry and anxiety so strong you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

Was your father okay?

Was he mad at you?

What if he doesn’t make it? It would be all your fault.

As soon as your mind comes across the thought, your legs move impossibly fast, racing all the way across town until you reach the apocarthy center, also where Chiyo lived, and where she treated those in unstable conditions.

You knock rapidly on the door, hearing a faint “I'm coming I'm coming...your generation is so energetic these days...”, the few seconds it takes Chiyo to open the door feel like a millennia each- as soon as the door opens, you see the small older lady look at you in surprise, but you pay no mind, slipping past her immediately and running down the hallway, turning the corner to find the room where Chiyo let her long term patients stay.

And yet, you can’t bring your shaky hand to twist the doorknob and open the door.

You feel terrible, knowing that any caring daughter should rush in immediately, but guilt wracks your mind, and your heart.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and look down to see Chiyo looking up at you which a solemn look on her face.

“He’ll want to see you, Y/N” she says softly, and you swallow thickly and nod.

Twisting the knob, you finally push open the door and see your father sitting on a bed by the window. Turning his head, he sighs, “Chiyo, I told you I don-” he stops talking once he sees you.

“Y/N.” he whispers, his voice shook and his eyes were wide.

He was frailer than he was the last time you saw him, his skin that you always complained made him look half dead was now sallow and sickly.

You walk over to him slowly and kneel in front of his bed, taking the man by surprise.

“I’m sorry.” you sob, letting all the guilt and sorrow you felt wash over you. “I know I shouldn’t have left but I couldn’t just let you die.”

You hear a small laugh and look up to see your father smiling while wiping incessant tears from his face.

“Come, my warrior.” he says warmly. “You have made me proud.”

***

It’s been a month since you returned home- news of the war spread through the village.

You’d hear about the famed War Dragon and how he valiantly led his troop into battle, without losing a single soldier. It relieved you to hear it, knowing that Denki and Hanta were alive and well – but you still missed them.

You reunited with Izuku and Ochako, both extremely worried but overjoyed to see you, nonetheless. Ejiro was still fighting for his country, and you missed him, worry bubbling in your stomach at the thought of getting hurt, but you trusted him. Ejiro was strong, and brave, no doubt a courageous soldier- he would come home.

It was almost like everything was back to normal, but it wasn’t.

You still jumped at everything, scraping a chair, someone’s limp brushing against yours, even a voice disrupting the silence, everything set you off.

Eri was significantly more mature now, no longer the bubbly and hyper girl you knew, now more reserved and calmer. She reminded you of yourself, the knowledge was painful, but you were glad to see she retained her voracious appetite and distaste for bananas.

Your father was recovering slowly, as you were now working overtime to stuff both him and Hitoshi with the food and nutrients, they needed to be healthy again. After you left, they deteriorated both physically and mentally, and so you decided to help them in any way you could.

You tried your best to forget about the battle in the Chira Woods after that, but something just didn’t add up.

How did the enemy know you were planning to ambush them?

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thewrothode-if · 6 hours

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Has this been abandoned?

Short answer: No!

Long answer: My relationship with this IF resembles that of a toxic ex-partner. I've been on and off with my baby girl (the IF) for the past few months. There have been moments where I ended up writing more than I planned to, and then the next day, I lose that motivation to keep going. So, I simply stop writing for a week until I find that passion again.

However, it's not abandoned! I just suck at keeping that consistency. I tried to stay off Tumblr because, honestly, it contributes to my lack of focus. When I use Tumblr, I become fixated on the idea of my IF, my characters, my story, rather than the actual act of writing.

But I feel so crappy for keeping you all in the dark. So, I apologize for that! I wanted to post this when I was actually finished with the first chapter, so you guys actually had something to look forward to. But MAN, this is taking so much longer than I thought. I really never imagined just how much 1,000 words is to write.

I have planned a few new things for the prologue as well. I plan on editing that after I finish the first chapter (or going back and forth between the two until both are finished, hehe). As of now, the first chapter sits at around 49k, the prologue at around 19k. In total, around 68k.

But trust me when I say this: it is not yet finished and I have so many other variations to add, so much flavor text to include.

Pray for me, ya'll.

Edit: I forgot to mention that I actually added a minor RO.

He is a male. I apologize to the ones who wanted more female RO's. Right now, I have a minor female RO that I have floating around in my head, and that I actually need to think about before adding her in.

Anyway, you will meet the minor RO in the first chapter, but never see him again (since you go to England, poo), at least, not until the second book. He will be A LOT more present there.

The reason he is a minor RO is because he will only have two endings, and for another reason I feel like might be a spoiler.

So get ready for that!!

#im sorry that its taking so long #it must be so annoying to wait #thewrothode #progress #personal #/#interactive-if #interactive if #interactive game #interactive novel #interactive fiction #dashingdon

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sid-the-sandwich · 16 hours

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Ok, so feeling a little underwhelmed by the new lesson teaser, and besides the Simeon FNAF jumpscare at the end, it was basically what we already knew, I thought it may have been like the first mini-lesson or something (not the whole chapter, just one book part)

I wanted to write what I think might happen in the next set of lessons, based on what we saw in the teaser but like... there's nothing much to expand upon. (Go girl give us nothing)

So what I am going to do, is I am going to write a plot for season 3 that I think would be the most outlandish thing ever and that would never happen, based on the little summary we got from the description of the video! so here it is (I'll put a TLDR at the end):

Season 3: False Hope

Returning to the Devildom is hard for MC after the events they just went through, all they want to do now is put their feet up, rest and hang out with their favs

Everything is the best its ever been, despite MC only disappearing for mere minutes in their time, it felt like an eternity and more had passed by them.

The characters' are all constantly happy, everything is bright, warm, exciting, and everyone is in high spirits; even Raphael and Mephistopheles, who once seemed to hate each other, getting along like long-lost best friends.

The characters dote on MC, anything they could have ever wanted is given to them:

MC wants to go out? Mammon and Asmo would happily spend all their money just for them.

MC wants food? Beel happily hands his food to MC.

everything is just... odd

But at first, its nothing notable, sure, the brothers are acting weird, but that's because they are practically family and MC did technically disappear for a while so it fits.

But then... things kept being too convenient, random good luck, people where being nice, very nice; everyone, even Solomon was smiling like nothing happened,

MC is seriously doubting the few months they spent in the past since no one has brought it up since that initial return

its something MC cant shake, everything feels too surface-level, too sweet... too fake,

but the most damning piece of evidence... Simeon was an Angel again. and when asked about it, Simeon avoids the question, suddenly being whisked away by Luke or Raphael very conveniently.

Solomon can now cook good...

MC deduces something is definitely wrong, this isn't the present they left,

MC starts noticing weird oddities, but not with our characters, but rather the landscape around them, whenever MC tries to venture too far out the Devidom, they are brought back to the main city as if the world is wrapping around this city.

MC tries telling the characters that something is wrong, but none listen to them, dismissing MC for having an 'overactive imagination'

it goes so far that the brothers lock us in our room once we are more adamant and threaten to find out the truth by ourself, the brothers saying we just 'need some alone time'.

The brothers periodically check in on MC, seeing if they have 'calmed down' and each time MC badgers on about the same point.

Eventually, MC manages to steal the keys of the bedroom from one of the boys and escapes the House of Lamentation in the middle of the night

MC tries to run, somewhere, anywhere they can think; The demons lord castle? Purgatory Hall? Damn, even Thirteen's cave!

But while running through the woods someone grabs MC rather strongly, covering MC's mouth, its... Solomon?

Solomon shushes MC, signaling MC to the sounds of rustling and voices of other characters looking for MC.

Despite how weird Solomon's been acting since they got back, this time Solomon felt warm, comforting and familiar.

MC crawls, following Solomon's instructions, only to be met by... ANOTHER SOLOMON?

The two Solomon's Brawl using Magic and honestly MC is just confused, because what is even happening?

MC recites a magic spell they know and threatens to shoot one of the Solomon's

Both Solomon's freeze and each say something to plead their case, one Solomon expresses Love for MC while the other says the same thing He said when he first met MC in Nightbringer. MC shoots the first,

Solomon explains how this world is an illusion created by Nightbringer to keep MC away from the present,

With the illusion broken, The world becomes grey and devoid of colour

Hastily, Solomon drags MC back to where the portal in the sky that brought them their, With all the 'fake characters' chasing them, Solomon repeats a very strong spell alongside MC so get transported back

Now they are actually back to the right timeline... or are they?

(Side Note: Originally, the character helping Mc was different, but Solomon made the most sense)

TLDR: MC goes back to the present but it is actually an illusion created by Nightbringer to prevent MC from returning

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me brothers #obey me mammon #mammon obey me #obey me lucifer #sidthesandwich #obey me leviathan #mammon om #obey me asmodeus #obey me simeon #obey me satan #obey me solomon #obey me belphie #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me luke

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iaus · 1 day

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okay I think it might skirt a bit past the 500 word limit but for the ask meme: the temple of the fallen sun scene from chapter 6 of epilogue fic, because it HAUNTS me and it's so excellently done. plz share and and all of your authorial thoughts/takes/secrets/truths!

CHAPTER 6 MY BELOVED.

I feel like I could probably talk for hours about this entire chapter because it's such a Huge Thing in my mind.

I wish I could say it was one of the driving scenes for writing this fic but it's just... not. It was almost an afterthought when I wrote it but now it's so. Central.

I almost even gave the chapter a name. Which is not something I wanted to do for this fic. But. Okay I digress. (I'm so long-winded all the time help.) Let's get into the The Scene.

(Oh my god I typed so much. I typed so much. I can't shut up. HUGE Wall of text under the read more.)

So, to preface I actually had some difficulty wrangling Jace and Porter to where they needed to be. There were some diversions I was going to do before this scene (including expanding on Jace's flashback to his... storied past).

But after some screaming and crying I realized that bridging the "sweet" scene of Jace and Porter hiking through the woods would be best bridged with "actual" Porter interacting with Jace. To add to the foreboding tone.

But this comes to this line:

To Ankarna, he thinks, the god he should worship. The god he won’t.

At this point, we know Jace is dreaming so it's time for his "meta" knowledge to come in. He knows he's about to die. He knows why (?) and he knows the goddess. (Also, this line is totally foreshadowing some upcoming choices and some choices already made.) I love this line. Jace has all this knowledge about his past and could so easily apply it to the present and he's kind of evasive about it when he's awake to this point. But here in the dream, where he has Porter again he can be so direct. He won't worship her. He is with the man who is about to kill him, but in this space he can be so truthful.

Then we cut into Jace speaking, saying these snarky little quips to Porter that we and Jace have context for:

“Romantic,” Jace says flatly. “Why are we here, Porter?”

And this little exchange

“Tragedies happened here,” Porter says, voice quiet, like an impending storm. “Took a lifelong bond and sundered it because their wife couldn’t handle the costs of conquest. Of war.” “Alarming; again, tell me why you decided here was a good idea to take me for… what did you call it? Oh, right. A date?”

All of us witnessing this moment have such horrible context for this. Including Jace! But we also know that the Jace of the past ignored these warning signs. Porter briefly mentions Cassandra's divorce as a warning: You are not doing that to me. I'm going to become this awful raging God, but you are not leaving me.

And Jace hand-waves it. I purposefully did not describe Jace's physical reaction to it, because it takes away some of his agency in a sense. We do not see if he rolls his eyes, if he shifts away from Porter, or if he moves closer. Jace, despite his knowledge, despite that this is his dream, does not get to say no to Porter wanting him to stay in this moment. That steel trap of devotion? It's already snapped shut. You are the tragic lover.

Then, we immediately set into the follow through. Jace does not get action, but Porter does. And what does he do after the acknowledgement that this romantic getaway is alarming?

He grabs Jace. He walks them to the altar: Both marriage altar and sacrificial altar. I have Porter move a lot in this chapter and Jace is mostly experiencing this standing still. Porter's moving the plot, he's got the tempo, Jace is just caught in the storm (in the story).

Then we get to some more Menacing Porter dialogue which. I will admit, I get a lot of how I write Porter from Hannibal Lecter himself from NBC Hannibal. He is deliberate, he is creepy. I actually do picture Porter as having high charisma, he just doesn't think of how he uses it so he just sounds like, well:

“Told you,” Porter says, he presses Jace onto the stone, hands grasping hard enough to bruise. He reaches one hand up, to grab Jace’s jaw. He pants into the touch, wriggles on the stone. “You can’t leave me again, sweetheart. Everything,” he drawls against Jace’s throat, “hinges on this. Plan like this has to have vows.”

This paragraph haunts me. I love it. It is everything I want Porter to be in this fic: Menacing, dangerous, but also... maybe a bit enticing? You can see this for the red flag it is, but if you've been lonely for so long and haven't been able to make connections... it's almost flattering? Here's this man that you perceive as someone who could have anyone (he makes sure you know that) but he chooses you? It's bad, it's scary, it's not something you should want but. BUT.

Also, I need to shout out this line:

Porter had kissed him that day as if he never quite believed Jace was giving him everything.

Because we don't get insight into Porter, but I think this line is damning for Porter. He is obsessed with Jace, he is sure that Jace is as obsessed with him; but there's that... doubt. I've established by now that Jace has left Porter multiple times. We never know why. But I think this line gives you a little taste, maybe, of what this horrible egomaniac feels underneath his toxic masculinity bravado. He has feelings for Jace and this murder he is going to commit comes back to this: He doesn't believe Jace. There is no trust in what he cannot control here.

But okay, back on track. We see Jace give into this and Jace also sees himself give into it:

As the memory washes over him, the heaviness of Porter’s tongue in his mouth, his palm on his arching spine, he remembers loving it. (He misses it.) After the cold loneliness that had gripped him for months as he researched and did everything Porter wouldn’t—to be greeted with such heat. With such longing. Jace loved it.

Jace even calls himself stupid for it. He gave himself to this dangerous man and he's like. I didn't stop it. (I enjoyed it.) He has this feeling that maybe he could have stopped the motion of things, but now that he's resurrected and watching it happen he has two distinct feelings on it: You are absolutely stupid for falling for this AND I miss him and everything horrible (and everything good) that came with it. He misses that unhealthiness, the danger. But he also just misses Porter (but we don't get to reconcile that right now).

And then we get to see into Jace's own view on things. For whatever reason, he likes this attention. He can see how unhealthy it is, but he likes that Porter (in his perception) is just as sick for this relationship as he is:

He had basked in the knowledge that he was the only one Porter was like this with. Others may have had him in their bed; known the devastating, delicious way Porter could make someone beg. But Jace was the one he kept coming back to. The one he growled at, grabbed, marked, and bruised—pursued. That was for Jace alone.

This whole thing is a culmination of a lonely, desperate man finding a toxic, possessive man that scratches all those deep down itches he has. We'll get more into Jace's own issues in further chapters (that flashback we saw was important), but this is just a little peek.

And now. We get to the scene that defines this whole fucked up tragic chapter:

“It’s always been leading here,” Porter growls against his mouth. The grin is back—that same curve of wild growing wider and crueler as he presses Jace fully back onto the altar: Spread out, gasping, chest exposed to the slowly sinking sun. Now, he knows the threat of Porter’s last harsh, needy kiss before he steps away, voice soft and heated, "'Til death do us part, sweetheart."

I have a very early draft of this chapter where there were no wedding vows. My first thought was to have Jace's death be so ordinary that it was insulting, but that ordinary death did not line up with as yet unpublished chapters. I was standing in another room doing something so mundane when this idea hit me. I like lunged at my phone to add in the vows. Originally, the only thing Porter was going to say was "It's always been leading here," which I felt was apt. It felt right. But I realized. Porter's obsession with Jace would not just end with that.

He would want to say something that left Jace as shattered as he was physically. So. He marries them in the worst way possible. He is now God and husband. They are bound in unholy, horrible matrimony.

In the past? Jace didn't think anything of it. Porter says creepy shit all the time, right? But. Now:

Now? Jace would lay upon the altar for Him willingly this time if given the chance. (Anything; anything to not be alone again.)

Porter has this perfect isolating control over Jace which is honestly horrifying. But all Jace can think about now is how he wants that back. A kind god has extended their hand to him, but no he wants the man who manipulated him. Who pulped his heart. The God who made him acolyte, saint, right hand, husband... Porter is the center of Jace's universe.

And now he's gone.

So, now, all he can do is remember that question: Do you want this life?

#.asks #.writing.#I DON'T THINK YOU EXPECTED A FUCKING. DISSERTATION.#but i can't help myself #sobbing #i need to finish this fic so i can talk about it in full #sorry for being a former english major that's why i'm incoherent

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chestcongestion · 1 day

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Losing Your Grippe- Ch.3: Ha//zbin Ho/tel

I couldn't think of an interlude this time, every chapter feels more fun than the last.

I got to write for some of my favorite characters again in this one- then again, it's so hard to actually pick a concrete favorite in this cast- and this is definitely going to be at least 6 or 7 chapters, which is exciting! Fic is under the cut as always, I hope you guys enjoy!

Word Count: 4,756

After leaving the hotel to go on about his day, Alastor got started with his errands, picking up his outfit for the overlord summit and heading out to Cannibal Town.

Alastor was quite proud of the outfit he’d arranged for the summit, especially since it was a bit more extravagant than what he’d usually select. He’d selected a dark red suit with a black jacket made of fabric that was decorated with vibrant red stars that covered the black space like glitter.

Rosie had seen the fabric while out shopping and excitedly proposed that they wear matching outfits to the summit. She had gotten a dress made out of the fabric, while Alastor elected to have his suit jacket and bow tie made from it instead.

Hopefully their ensembles matched the way Rosie had originally envisioned, if they did, the pair would look absolutely dashing at the summit.

Alastor stood outside of Rosie’s Emporium, having knocked patiently on the double doors twice.

‘Maybe she doesn’t like the way her dress looks’ Alastor pondered, ‘Noo, with what she paid for that fabric and how close we are to the summit, if she wasn’t satisfied with her dress, she’d have told me already.’

Before Alastor had a chance to continue his train of thought, one of the doors to the emporium swung open, and Alastor was greeted by Rosie’s housekeeper Isaac, who was wearing a blue surgical mask.

“It’s a pleasure seeing you again, Isaac, quite a pleasure, is Rosie home?” Alastor asked, tilting his head out of curiosity regarding Isaac’s choice of accessory, his left ear twitching.

Isaac nodded, gesturing for Alastor to come inside and shutting the door behind him, “She’s in the den, she might be sleeping but I heard the television when I walked by, so I assume she’s awake now,” he explained, dusting his hands off on the apron tied around his waist.

“Thank you,” Alastor replied, parting ways with the cannibal housekeeper and walking briskly towards the beautifully carved archway that led into Rosie’s den, stepping inside.

Rosie was reclined across her sofa, gently straddling a body-sized pillow underneath her large red and white fleece blanket. Her eyelids were red-rimmed and slightly puffy, with dark circles resting underneath them like exhaustion-induced bruises.

“Is someone there?” Rosie asked, her voice weak as she struggled to push herself into a seated position, straining her neck in an attempt to look around the room while still halfway lying down.

Alastor walked around to the other side of the sofa, shooting Rosie a curt wave before sitting on the ottoman storage trunk that stood between the sofa and the coffee table, “It’s only me, my dear, don’t worry,” he said, noticing the exhausted look on Rosie’s face and the splotchy flushed pattern covering her cheeks.

“Oh… Ih’tshiew! Ih’TsShew!- ‘m sorry- snff!- Hiya, Alastor… it’s nice to see you,” Rosie said, her voice slightly hoarse as she stared up at Alastor with her shimmering black eyes.

“It’s nice to see you too,” Alastor said, gently moving a piece of Rosie’s hair out of her face, “I came to see if our outfits for the summit came out the way you envisioned… but do you think you’ll still be attending in four days? You don’t look well.”

Rosie shook her head before letting out a guttural, throaty cough into the back of her wrist, taking a shaky inhale to catch her breath, “Ndo, I don’t feel well either… I called Carmilla to tell her I probably won’t be going… SnFF! I-Ih’TsShIEW! ‘TsSHIEW! ‘TsShhEW!” she said, plucking a tissue out of the box nearby and blowing her “nose” before tossing the soiled tissue into a quickly-overflowing trash can, moaning pitifully.

“Gesundheit!” Alastor exclaimed, bottling his anguish at the spray that he felt misting his lapel and sleeves, “Do you think there’s a chance that you’ll have recovered in time for the summit?”

Rosie shook her head, “I felt so lousy yesterday that Isaac took me to the hospital- KHHFF khfff!- sorry… the doctor I saw said I have the flu,” she said, mopping away at the beads of sweat gathering on her forehead with her sleeve, “I’ll be infectious for the next few days, and I’ll feel too lousy to go anywhere for at least another week.”

“Poor dear, that’s a shame, it’ll be miserable going to the event without you, you know.” Alastor sighed, smoothing out another piece of Rosie’s hair with his fingers.

“I know… SnFF snff!- I’m sorry to cancel on such short notice, I was looking forward to it this time,” Rosie said, frowning as she plucked two tissues out of their box and pressed them against her face, “I-IH’TtShEW! Ih’TsSHIEW! ‘TsSheww! ‘TSshhiew!”

“Gesundheit!” Alastor exclaimed, reluctantly reaching out to rub Rosie’s back as she sniffled and wiped at her irritated nostrils.

“Uu ughhh,” Rosie groaned, flopping onto her side and pulling her blankets up to her neck as she shivered, a stray tear leaving her right eye as she clenched her teeth, “Isaaac!”

In the time it took Alastor to blink, Isaac was in the den, standing behind the arm of the sofa closest to Rosie’s head, flashing an eerily obedient smile.

“Yes, Ms. Rosie?”

“Could you grab the heating pad from my closet, please?” Rosie asked, clutching her abdomen under her blankets and writhing slightly, “I’m in too much pain to deal with this hot water bottle.”

“Of course, I’ll be right back,” Isaac said, rushing upstairs and returning with the aforementioned heating pad, gently tucking it under Rosie’s blankets until it pressed against her pelvis and thighs, and plugging it into the power strip next to the sofa, “Perfect.”

The heating pad warmed up quickly, and the radiating waves of heat soothed the intense aching of Rosie’s joints and muscles, allowing her to let out a relaxed sigh that devolved into a hoarse cough.

“This feels great, thank you, Isaac- SnFF!” Rosie muttered drowsily, her eyelids drooping as she yawned.

“It’s my pleasure, Ms. Rosie,” Isaac replied, gently pressing a hand to Rosie’s forehead and pulling a mercury thermometer out of his pocket, slipping it under her tongue and checking the grandfather clock in the corner of the room until forty-five seconds passed, “103… still high, but stable.”

Rosie blinked, her face shifting from a pained grimace into a sleepy and relaxed smile, “Mm… mkay,” she yawned, “I’m gonna take a nap.”

“Excellent idea, I’ll have some tea ready when you wake up,” Isaac replied, dunking a folded cloth into the bowl of ice water sitting on the end table next to the arm of the sofa, wringing the water out and placing the cool damp cloth over Rosie’s eyes, smiling when she sighed with relief.

“I-Ih’TssSHIEW!- sNff!- G’night Isaac,” Rosie muttered, cuddling up to her pillow, “G’night… Alastor.”

Isaac chuckled, smoothing out Rosie’s blankets and turning the volume on the television down, “Goodnight, Ms. Rosie,” he said, leaving the room and getting back to tidying around the house.

Alastor pulled a calling card out of his suit jacket’s left pocket, setting it down on Rosie’s coffee table and petting her shoulder before leaving the den and wandering out of Rosie’s home through the back door.

Finally back in the open air, Alastor hurriedly dusted himself off, grimacing at the fact that he was once again crawling with germs.

“E uch, I wish it would rain, rinse the accursed virus right off of me,” Alastor muttered, squirting some of the hand sanitizer he’d received as a gift from Charlie into his hands and massaging it into the skin of his palms and fingers as he began his brisk walk to the Weapons District.

Arriving at the back door to the Carmine Weapons Factory, Alastor quietly slid the loading dock’s service door up with one hand, ducking underneath it and letting it back down behind him. Going through the factory’s staff and Carmilla’s household staff just to return a book was far too troublesome to be worth the effort.

Wandering through the halls of Carmilla’s home, Alastor held his breath, remaining silent as he approached a door at the end of the hallway, twisting the knob and slowly pushing the door open to avoid any creaking.

‘Maybe this is a bit creepier than if I’d just gone through her staff correctly, she isn’t exactly the wisest choice in terms of people to startle,’ Alastor thought to himself as he looked around the neat and tidy space, quickly realizing that he’d chosen the wrong door, “Wrong room,” he mumbled, turning around and shutting the door behind him.

Curiously twitching his ears, Alastor listened intently until he picked up on the sound of running water and Carmilla’s voice from the other side of the hallway, behind a larger door that was decorated with a black princess water lily.

“Koff- KHFF- khfff! KHhHFF- IiKxhht’SCHUHH!”

Alastor’s stomach dropped, he clutched Carmilla’s book in his hands and quietly snuck inside of her bedroom, slipping underneath the closed door by vanishing into a swirling pool of shadows, reappearing fully-formed on the other side of the door.

“KOFF! KHhHFF! kHFF-Khfff-KHFFF!”

Alastor winced, chewing on his tongue as he moved to set the book down on Carmilla’s nightstand, when suddenly the sound of running water stopped and footsteps could be heard instead.

‘Oh dear…’

Carmilla’s bathroom door swung open, and an exhausted Carmilla stumbled out in her bath towel and flip-flops, hacking violently into a closed fist, eventually having to brace herself against a wall while she coughed.

“KHHFF-KHFFF-(gasp!)- KhhFF-koff!-(gasp!)- KHHHFFF-KHFFF Khfff khfff!,” Carmilla struggled, finally scratching the itch in her lungs and getting a chance to catch her breath. Once she’d regained her composure, she looked up and saw Alastor standing in the corner of her bedroom, staring back at her sheepishly.

Carmilla squealed, grabbing one of her shoes from a rack on the floor and pointing the blade in the Radio Demon’s direction, “What are you doing in here?! Khff-KHfff!- oh for the love of- KHHhFFF-koff-khhff!- fuck- I-ihh’KTsScHHUHH! Ih’KtSschhuhh!”

Alastor held up both hands and averted his eyes as Carmilla hurriedly tugged on a sports bra, a pair of satin pajamas and her dressing gown, “Put down the pointe shoe, Carmilla, that cough is frightening enough, thank you,” he said, trying not to gag at every chesty, croupy cough.

Carmilla rolled her eyes, collapsing onto her bed and drying her hair with her towel, “Why are you in my house? Why are you in my bedroom?!” she hissed, folding her towel and spritzing her now-dry hair with a mixture of argan oil and coconut water before massaging it in with her hands.

“I came to return your book, I’m going to be honest when I heard your…fit, I was prepared to drop off the book and leave, but by the time I came to that conclusion you were already out of the shower,” Alastor explained.

“How lovely,” Carmilla sighed, shivering a bit as she folded her arms, “Hand me that blanket hanging over the back of that chair, please?”

Alastor obliged, watching Carmilla wrap the fleece blanket around her shoulders and tuck her legs under her duvet, “I also came to inform you that the princess won’t be able to attend the upcoming summit-”

“Let mbe guess- SnFF!- she has the flu?” Carmilla inquired, unamused as she grasped around on her nightstand before grabbing a box of tissues, wiping away at her friction-reddened nares as gently as possible to avoid irritating the sensitive skin, “Snff-snff!”

Alastor nodded solemnly, reaching a hand up to his face to adjust his monocle before panicking and clasping both hands behind his back upon remembering that he’d touched Carmilla’s blanket.

‘Don’t touch your face, do not touch your face,’ he thought to himself, fiddling with the pockets of his slacks to keep his fingers busy.

“Tell her not to worry about it, the summit is postponed, at this point there’ll be no one to attend- KHFFF khff!- Rosie has the flu, Vox called to tell me that Velvette has the flu, Zillia has the flu, Zestial has the flu-” Carmilla paused in her rant, her eyes twitching as she pinched at her nostrils, “F-fuck thi-ihh… I-Iih’KTsSCHUHH! IH’PtSsCHUHH! I-Ihh’KtSsshhuh! HIH’KtSschhEW! Uchh…Snff!- and so do I.”

“How unfortunate… Have you heard from Zestial?” Alastor inquired, raising an eyebrow, “I can’t imagine an illness this aggressive is something he’d handle well at his age.”

“No- SnFF!- his butler called me while I was in my office… I-Ihh’PtSsChuhh! Ih’PtSsXHuhh!- I could hear him in the background, though… he sounded about as healthy as I do right now,” Carmilla replied, pulling her blanket tighter around her frame.

Alastor sanitized his hands, feeling his stomach churn, “Goodness, it’s certainly going around,” he said through clenched teeth, “Do you need anything before I leave?”

Carmilla coughed, rubbing her chest, “Would you be willing to help me braid my hair? I can’t quite get my fingers- Snff snff!- to move the way they need to, and it’s too hot to have my hair in my face,” she requested, pitiful-looking eyes shimmering under the light of her ceiling lamp.

“Of course,” Alastor said, reaching out and gently pulling Carmilla’s locks into a loose french braid which he secured with a rubber band before draping the braid over her shoulder, “There we are, will that suffice?”

“That’s great,” Carmilla sighed, “I think I’m going to take a nap now… Khff! KHFF!- Thank you, Alastor… and thank you for returning my book.”

“My pleasure, Carmilla,” Alastor replied with a warm smile.

“I hope you don’t catch this- SnFF! SnRKK!... I-IHH’KtSshcHUHh!- it’s awful,” Carmilla said, her voice hoarse as she curled up in bed, cuddling up to one of her pillows as her eyelids drooped.

“I hope so too,” Alastor sighed, hurriedly waving goodbye and holding his breath as he rushed out of Carmilla’s bedroom door and out of the factory’s rear exit.

Finally alone, Carmilla snickered to herself, reaching for her television remote that was on her nightstand and turning on the flat screen that sat on the wall opposite her bed.

“This week’s episode of ‘I Didn’t Fuck Your Husband- YOU Fucked MY Husband!’ is brought to you by VoxTech! Trust us with your Entertainment!”

“Ohhh yes,” Carmilla cheered softly before blowing her ‘nose’ desperately with a handful of tissues, “it almost makes being sick worth it.”

Finally in the open, able to breathe the dubiously clean air and free of all of his obligations for the day, Alastor decided to head home, uncertain of how many flu-riddled people he might run into if he tried to stop at a bar for a drink or attempted to go shopping.

“Better the plague urchins you know than the urchins you don’t, I suppose,” Alastor sighed, walking briskly down the sidewalk when he saw a familiar figure stumbling out of a bar, red-faced and clumsily struggling to stay on his own two feet.

“You’re not kicking me out- Snf!- I’m kicking you out! I don’t have to take thisss… I’m the king!”

‘Oh. my. Goodness. This is almost too rich,’

Alastor grabbed Lucifer by one of his shirt sleeves, leaning down to meet the king of Hell’s eyes, “Your Majesty, it’s a pleasure, as always,” he said with the widest shit-eating grin imaginable, ruffling Lucifer’s messy hair.

“Wha? Ohh… it’sss you, I remember you- Snff!- you’re one of my… my daughter’s little friends!” Lucifer giggled, pinching Alastor’s cheek, “The obnoxious one with the yellow enamel that I hate!”

Alastor almost reflexively shut his mouth to hide his teeth, before remembering that he didn’t necessarily care what the penguin-sized monarch thought of his dental hygiene.

“W-what’re you doing here? Those assholes at the bar won’t make me a virgin Blue Gin Fizz… sNff! Told me virgin drinkss are for pussies,” Lucifer scoffed, tripping on a gap in the sidewalk panels and falling on his rear, struggling to stand up again afterwards.

“Mhm, virgin seems wise, considering you’re already drunk,” Alastor scoffed, flicking Lucifer in the center of his face.

“Wha?! No! I am… I’m… I am not drunk,” Lucifer replied, pouting indignantly, “I wanted… wanted a virgin drink ‘cause I was craving a Blue Fizz but I don’t feel well and I was scared that- Snrk!- having gin would make it worse.”

Alastor hung onto Lucifer’s words, raising an eyebrow, “Elaborate,” he instructed, noticing that Lucifer’s face was shiny with sweat to accompany the flush rouging his cheeks.

“M-my throat hurts, and I feel all queasy,” Lucifer rambled, clutching his stomach, “Like I just got off a roller coaster… an’ my back hurts… E-eh’tshhuhw! EH’Tshhhue! E-Eh’Pchhew!”

Alastor hummed to himself, kneeling down to Lucifer’s level and placing a curious palm against his forehead, “Is this why you’ve been secretive about your comings and goings at the hotel?” he asked, watching as Lucifer nearly dozed off when his burning skin met Alastor’s cool hand.

“No, I was… I was- Eehh’P-CHEW! Eh’Pchhew!- Uchh… Snrk!- I was looking for a suit to wear to the summit, haven’t cleaned out my closet in years so it took me a while,” Lucifer said, gently nuzzling his face against Alastor’s palm, “Your hand is so cold… ‘s nice.”

“Interesting,” Alastor scoffed, moving his hand away and reluctantly hoisting Lucifer into his arms, “Well, the summit has been postponed for the time being, so I think I’ll be taking you with me.”

“Wh-where?” Lucifer asked, coughing into a loose fist and groaning at the throbbing pain in his throat.

“Back to the hotel, obviously,” Alastor said, “You’re feverish and in no shape to look after yourself… and I doubt stumbling down the sidewalk in broad daylight would be beneficial for your ‘image’.”

Lucifer briefly considered putting up a fight, but instead opted to give in, resting his head against Alastor’s shoulder and trying not to fall asleep.

“E-Ehh’PsSshuue! Eh’PpSsCHEW!”

“Gesundheit,” Alastor said, shoving down his visceral disgust.

“Thank you… snff!” Lucifer replied, his entire body being overtaken by an aggressive chill as Alastor walked back to the hotel. The overwhelmed and feverish king shivered, chewing on his tongue to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Are you alright?” Alastor inquired, feeling a bit of pity swirling amidst the fear of germs and contempt, Lucifer was so small, and looked so… delicate in this state, it was strange to observe.

Lucifer shook his head, “I’m cold,” he complained, rubbing his upper arms in an attempt to warm himself, in spite of his face still being slick with sweat from his fever.

“Well, your body is so warm that it’s scorching the fabric on my coat,” Alastor said, before quietly taking off his coat and draping it over Lucifer, “Better?”

“A bit, yeah… ‘m still cold, but this feels nice,” Lucifer mumbled, glancing over at Alastor’s face before wiping away at the trickle of mucus threatening to drip down his face with a tissue from the travel packet tucked away in his back pocket.

After a brisk ten minute stroll, Alastor walked through the hotel’s front doors, Lucifer still curled up in his arms, silent outside of the occasional hoarse cough or spraying sneeze.

“I’m back, and I’ve brought back a pleasant surprise,” Alastor announced upon waving hello to Vaggie- who was wrestling with Niffty to keep her away from Husk.

“What is it?” Vaggie asked, glaring unamused at the bulky item gathered in Alastor’s arms and hidden by his coat. While speaking to Alastor, Vaggie held Niffty up in the air by the back of her dress, akin to the way mother cats correct their kittens by grabbing the scruff of their necks.

Alastor pulled his coat away, causing Lucifer to whine that his source of extra warmth was gone, “I found this stumbling through the streets downtown in a cold sweat after getting kicked out of a bar,” he said with a smug smile.

Vaggie let go of Niffty, reaching a hand out to feel Lucifer’s forehead and nearly squeaking in pain when she pulled her hand back and saw singed skin on her fingers, “I thought you were at your house looking for a suit,” she said to Lucifer, visibly puzzled.

“Looked for it for two days- Ehh’PSschew! Eh’PXxhtiew!- couldn’t find it,” Lucifer mumbled, blinking in an attempt to get his vision to focus, only able to make out the colors and vague shape of Vaggie’s form, but unable to see make a recognizable image out of her face, “You look different, Maggie.”

“Vaggie,”

“Oh, oh yeah- yeah… Eh’PXxh-Shhew! Eh’PsSHhuue!- euch… my head hurts,” Lucifer complained, rubbing at his eyes with his palms in an attempt to ease the pounding in his skull.

“Niffty, go grab some more blankets, pillows, and sheets so Lucifer can join the flu quarantine zone down here, please” Vaggie requested, watching as Niffty hurriedly sprinted away to the linen closet and came back with an armful of materials.

“Flu? No, nooo way- SnFF! Snff-snff!- I’m fiiine- Khff! KHFF!- I jus’ feel a little sore… and tired… and cold… and my- m-myy-YeEhh’PpSshew! Eh’PChiew!” Lucifer let loose a damp sniffle after his sneezing interrupted his rant, and he shivered, burying his hands under his arms in an attempt to fend off the spine-tingling chill.

Vaggie didn’t even look up from her position rearranging cushions on one of the loveseats in the parlor, creating another makeshift bed out of the loveseat to the left of the sofa and smoothing out the sheets. “High fever, runny or stuffy nose, cough, chills, muscle aches, fatigue… if that’s not the flu I don’t know what is,” she said.

Lucifer sighed, snapping his fingers and prompting a wave of light to envelop him, changing his sweat-dampened streetwear into a cozy pair of silk pajamas patterned with blue bubbles and tiny ducks, accompanied by a matching pair of aqua blue fuzzy socks. The garments were nice and warm, as though they were fresh out of the dryer.

“Awwww, how adorable,” Alastor teased, ruffling Lucifer’s blonde locks again.

“Shut up!” Lucifer huffed, folding his arms as he slowly let Vaggie guide him to his makeshift bed, tucking him under a soft grey duvet and propping him up using an extra pillow, the comforting environment making him stretch out with a subdued yawn, “Mmm… snFF!- thank you, Vaggie.”

“Of course, you deserve to feel comfortable while you’re sick,” Vaggie said, smoothing out the duvet and placing a damp cloth onto Lucifer’s forehead, suppressing the urge to gasp when the cool water hissed and steamed upon making contact with the devil’s pale skin, “I have to get some things done and figure out what I’m making for dinner tonight, but before I go, do you need anything?”

Lucifer sniffled, tugging the blankets further up to his chest, “Could I have a glass of apple juice?” he paused to cough, a dry, hacking cough that sounded like it scraped his throat on the way out, “Sorry…Khff-khff!- I’m thirsty.”

“Of course, I’ll be right back… you and Charlie both like apple juice, it’s sweet,” Vaggie said, chuckling to herself as she left the room and came back with a glass of ice-cold apple juice, setting it down on the end table next to the loveseat where Lucifer was reclining, “There we go.”

“Charlie… I miss her,” Lucifer said with a yawn as he took a few sips of his apple juice, “Wonder where she is…E-EHh’PSsCHEW!”

Alastor laughed, his eyes growing watery as he fought to regain his composure, clasping both hands over his mouth as his ceaseless giggling shook his shoulders.

“Wha? What’s so funny?!” Lucifer asked, “SnFF- Snff! Uch…”

“Lucifer, she’s over there,” Vaggie said, snickering alongside Alastor as she gestured to the makeshift two-level sofa bed next to the loveseat. Husk and Charlie were both sleeping in their respective spots on the bed, Charlie occasionally breaking her pattern of congested breathing to cough into her pillow.

“Charlie!” Lucifer cheered, grinning and struggling in an attempt to sit up straighter so he could reach his arms out, only for Vaggie to press a hand to his chest, shooting him a firm and unamused glare.

“Shhh,” Vaggie whispered, “You can talk to her later, but right now, they both need to rest without anyone trying to bother them- that includes you, Niffty, get down.”

“Hmph!” Niffty huffed, rolling her eyes as she dropped to the floor from her spot tip-toeing on the back of the couch, “It’s boring watching them when they aren’t moving.”

“They’re sick people, not zoo animals, Niffty, cut it out,” Vaggie scolded, grabbing the back of Niffty’s dress and pulling her away from the sofa, “If you’re bored, you can come help me make dinner.”

“Okay!” Niffty cheered, pleased enough with a distraction from her deep impulsive desire to yank on Husk’s ears or play with Charlie’s hair.

“I’ll be in the kitchen, feel free to call out if you need anything,” Vaggie said, leaving the room with Niffty gleefully skipping after her.

Lucifer took another sip of his apple juice and yawned, “I’m so tired… but I can’t get comfortable enough to fall asleep,” he grumbled, folding his arms, “Everything hurts.”

“I know, it must be so hard to get comfortable,” Alastor said teasingly, walking over to the loveseat and smoothing out Lucifer’s hair before massaging his scalp, causing Lucifer to lean back against his pillows, relaxing with a sigh as the repetitive motion eased his throbbing headache, “Poor thing, there we go… much better.”

“Mmm… KHFFF- khfff!- you’re making fun of me, but… mm m, that feels great,” Lucifer croaked out, still trembling a bit from febrile chills. His eyelids drooped as Alastor’s fingers massaged a bit deeper into his skin, gently kneading in little circles.

Lucifer’s breathing grew softer outside of the occasional cough, and eventually he rolled onto his side, clutching one of the pillows on his makeshift bed and dozing off into a light slumber, snoring in a manner not dissimilar to Husk’s sinuses doing their best impression of a broken chainsaw.

“There, nice and quiet… to an extent,” Alastor mumbled to himself, his ears twitching at the sound of Husk and Lucifer’s snoring. Finally free from the distraction of caretaking, Alastor shuddered, a chill radiating up his spine when he remembered that he was now completely covered in germs.

“Euch!” Alastor gagged, reaching into his pocket and squirting a bit of hand sanitizer into his mouth, swishing it around and swallowing it as though he was sampling wine, “forget a shower, I need to cover myself in lye and dry off with a flamethrower.”

Hurriedly walking out of the parlor and heading upstairs to clean himself off, Alastor paused, gripping the railing of the staircase and questioning what had interrupted his panicked train of thought.

“Hh-Hhnk’KZzhht-shhew!”

Alastor sniffled, scrubbing his nose with his handkerchief before fanning a hand in front of his face.

“Hihh…h-hihh! HNK’KXxht-shew! ‘Shhiew! ‘SHHIEW!”

Alastor blew his nose, feeling the urge to sneeze grow dormant as he folded up his handkerchief and tucked it back into his pocket.

Returning to his state of panic, Alastor continued on his path up the stairs, now managing two layers of panic at once.

He swallowed experimentally, then swallowed again. Was his throat sore or did he just need a drink of water? He gently pressed the back of his hand against his neck and cheeks, attempting to gauge whether or not his skin felt warm, only to panic again, hurriedly returning his arms to his sides.

‘Don’t touch your face, idiot, don’t touch your face. If you aren’t ill already- which you aren’t…definitely not- you don’t want to risk it by rubbing your germy hands on your face’ Alastor thought to himself, his fingers twitching with anticipation as he hurried into his room, shutting the door behind him and anxiously stripping so that he could take a hot shower and spray himself down with disinfectant.

Suddenly, halfway through undressing, Alastor’s breath began to hitch as he was folding his coat.

“Hehh…H-hihh! Hhh!-” Alastor’s eyes began to water, and he let out a watery sniffle before pulling his handkerchief out of his coat pocket and pressing it to his nose, “-Hh’KzZhtiew! Hnk’KZzshiew! Hnk’KzZhht-CHEW! ‘sSchiew! ‘SchHIEW!”

Alastor finished undressing, each article of clothing removed was accompanied by another wet sniffle and occasional sneeze. Finally nude, Alastor swallowed, wincing upon realizing that his throat felt scratchy.

“Oh… Fuck,” Alastor complained, tugging at a piece of his hair in frustration before shoving his anguish down and turning on his heels to go take his shower.

He was fine.

Everything was fine.

“HNK’KzZhht-CHEW!”

Sort of.

#ha/zb/in ho/tel #snz #snz fic #snz kink #illness kink #gingey.rtf

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