More totally normal bloodymary au bc my insomnia reared it's ugly fucking head and I Can't Sleep
âąRyland is 110% the kind of teacher that all the single (and sometimes not so single) parents flirt with and hit on. He is almost entirely oblivious to this. Simon is not so oblivious to this. He's not really jealous more so that he is incredibly annoyed with the parents for continuing to do this nonsense and endlessly endeared by Ryland's inability to notice when someone is actively trying to sleep with him
âąeven after he and Simon are married there are still times where Ryland won't catch on to when Simon is trying to get him to come to bed for reasons other than sleep
âąSimon is *so* fucking endeared by it
âąthere are the rare nights where Simon can sleep but Ryland can't bc his insomnia is acting up. Those nights are honestly some of Ryland's favorites, even if he's grumpy in the morning due to lack of sleep. Simon is a cuddler when he sleeps (I mean, they both are let's be real), and Ryland will play games on his phone until he gets sleepy while Simon holds him and it's just. Really nice
âąSimon does eventually meet up with his mother after she reaches out to him. Ryland goes with him for that first meeting, and Simon, despite all his nerves about this meeting and how unsure he is about seeing his mother at all, is absolutely delighted to introduce Ryland as his fiance
âą(I don't entirely have the backstory for Simon and his mom fleshed out yet, but I know part of the reason she gave him up does have something to do with the whole Living With A Cult thing. Like. She didn't *want* to give him up, and there is not a day that goes by where she doesn't regret it, but at the time she genuinely believed it was the best thing for him and the only way she could keep him safe and away from Eden and The Father)
âąI do think that, while Simon and his mother will never have a normal relationship, they do manage to reconcile
âąSimon might eventually forgive her, but I don't think that Ryland ever will
âąHe's supportive of Simon tho. Always
âąSimon and Ryland do get another cat at some point. Ryland finds a little orange and white kitten outside by one of the school dumpsters in the morning on his way into work. He keeps her in the classroom that day with him simply because he doesn't like. Have anywhere else to put this kitten he randomly found. His students name her Peaches And Cream. Peaches for short. They had a whole Google survey set up to vote on the names. Obviously Ryland can't get rid of her now
âąSimon was on a dive with this happened. When he comes home to see Peaches cuddling with Felicette on the couch he just kinda. Stares for a moment. He doesn't remember having two cats before he left, but you know what he's tired and incredibly sleep deprived and he just spent a month under the ocean he can deal with this tomorrow
âąSimon was also on a dive when the whole 'Colt Getting Framed For Murder' thing happened, and even though everything turned out alright in the end, Simon is still so mad with himself for not being there for Ryland when it all happened
âąboth Simon and Ryland get along with Jody like a house on fire btw. Colt genuinely fears for his life
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The fact that this story, written during covid, centers two characters coming out of terrifying isolation to connect with one another and work together to save each other's worlds from a plague, even though they can't breathe each other's air. Working together to combat global climate catastrophe. Reckoning with toxic masculinity by modeling another way to be. Showing world leaders coming together to solve a problem, teaching us to believe that that actually could be possible. Project Hail Mary truly is a sign of our times. I needed it more than I can express. Judging from the outpouring of love for the film that I see all around me, I think we all did, more than we know. Maybe it will be all right.
Okay, consider this, Charlie can't seem to read the intentions of people unless they're Super Obvious when we first meet her. Vaggi's exceptional paranoia and defensiveness compensates, seeing only bad when Charlie assumes good.
They're codependent as hell but also like, perfectly matched in this situation. The thing is, watching out for Charlie is a full time job, Vaggi has to sleep and not everyone is as easily flagged as good or evil or even neutral.
Charlie engaging throughout the last two seasons has raised her awareness somewhat, but I still think she is very naive. In short, she wouldn't look a gift hellhorse in the mouth,and she really REALLY should start to by now.
So imagine, if you will, that there are eyes on all the overlords and the hotel and the royal house right now. The Vees clearly want revenge but how when hell is now frustratingly pro princess (or at least anti getting atomised into the radiowaves by her guard deer who was already angry with them).
Velvette, queen of potives and powers, ponders a dozen different ideas. Something subtle, something they wouldn't notice until it was too late.
Valentino suggests sending love potion laced chocolates, and then he and his whores can go get some primo blackmail material of the mindlessly aroused hotelians giving in to their unrefined urges.
 Velvette had considered it, but she pointed out it would only take one not eating them or being immune (like the king) for it to fail... and it would be easy to pinpoint the Vees were behind the ploy. You know, given the billboards..
Vox, in his time-out ipad case, also adds he knows Al and the bartender aren't into sweets, and it'd be useless unless you got those two out the way. They'd be first to bar the doors and keep the others contained until it wore off.
Val muttered about how it was a good plan...
Velvette thought about sending some perfumes or free room sprays to the hotel under one of their covert brands. Any product they made also had a false Generic brand called Hellâs Own that they used to sell off more defective or less than perfect items, brews and ideas. Most were in the price range of hellborns, and were easily slipped between the rings, so the market was booming. If only the exchange rate for mammon bucks wasnât so shit.
Still, the hotel was big, and that's likely going to be an issue. Although⊠the princess was a known hugger... you get some drops on her and she'd infect the whole hotel in a day, tops. What about a new laundry detergent?
In the end, she scraps it. Too many maybes.
What about diffusing it through one of their scented floral ranges?
Hallucination Hibiscus that had been carefully grown and cultivated in order to be sterile of their usual biochemicals, and able to uptake any introduced poisons, perfumes or medicants. They were a very versatile product for sprucing up a room, making Valâs orgies less sweaty, and for the odd assassination attempt.Â
Frustratingly for the witch, however, all attempts lead to dead plants galore. Something about the potive just seemed to damage the internal structure of the plant cells, and they wilted. It was too much of a, heh, dead giveaway.
Too high tech to consider resorting to a cork board and string, Velvette pulls up her planner app, checking through the already attempted ideas and adding notes on why they were discounted or failed. There were a few whackier ones on there, which sheâd added in less lucid moments⊠including a series of wil e coyote style traps that would douse them in potion, or even a Sindiana Jawns type trap that shot poison darts. Maybe use one of Voxâs pervcams? The hotelians barely noticed his surveillance anymore.
Bit cringe, but it was password locked and encrypted, no one but her would ever see her insanity.Â
Sheâd taken to pacing around the lounge, trying to think of new ways to get back at those self righteous fucks. Alive or dead there would always be weaklings seeking to cripple the actually strong and capable with their soppy, hand-holding, best friends rhetoric. She hadnât needed it then and she sure as Hell didnât need that nonsense now.
Vox, carefully moved to coffee table, watched her move. He still seemed pissy they werenât giving back his body⊠but the man was going to have a serious time out until heâd realised how badly heâd almost fucked them all over for that bloody deer.
Even Val could pick up the deer just wasnât that interested, and that was saying something! But Vox had his blind spotsâŠ
Still, the deer had been a bit fun to gossip with, and heâd shared some primo blackmail material for if she ever needed to humble Vox in future. Even Val had been less hostile to him towards the end, despite the whole⊠Vox ragebaiting thing that the red fucker had going on. At least the deer had LISTENED to them.
And she didnât have enough control on her temper to even touch on the racism Vox went on with. She was ready to fold his rizzless ass like a lawn chair for that little stunt⊠but Val had first dibs, after that âisland languageâ comment. Vox will be lucky if they let him have one of the AI Scarbie dollâs bodies in the next decade after that, let alone access to his tech to build a new form.
Val hands her a glass, and she sips it absently, aware suddenly how long sheâs been scheming as the liquid soothes her scratchy throat.
Val lounges nearby, and rolls the idea around. âHmmm, but which ones, babydoll? Everyone in that hotel has so many different things about them⊠fur and flesh, feathers and scales⊠thereâd be no way to give them one type. And theyâd get suspicious if we sent shower products specifically for them⊠wouldnât they?â
She wants to facepalm. âUgh, youâre right! Stupid idea. Okay⊠hmmm, we canât do something they can wear, most jewellery is through us in this ring but little miss moneypockets can probably get gold and pearls from envy with a bat of her eyelashes at daddy dearest. Clothing would be too suspicious as well. Nothing they can wear or useâŠâ
Val glances up from his phone as her stomach rumbles. âYou want me to order in? I think I shot the cook after lunch⊠cabrone thought you just dump chilli in for spice instead of using the spices in the recipe. Ridiculous! Weâll see how they like spending a month on setâŠâ
A lightbulb goes off in her head. It was so bleeding obvious!
âVal, you gorgeous bitch, youâre a genius!â
âI know⊠but why, exactly?â
Velvette is already whirling on Vox with a manic gleam in her eyes. âI need you to pull up all the browsing data from the phones at the hotel for the last⊠well, since the original opened, probably.â
A veritable flood of data explodes out, partially supported by her own abilities as it fills the air. She easily reads and discounts one off items, searches for weird fetish stuff, orders for stationary and the like, it wasnât relevant just now. And⊠there it was.
She laughs, half shocked this had been that easy and half delight at having revenge handed to her on a silver platter.
Not only does her little majesty have a running order with a local liquor establishment they held under contract (Chugginâ Chuckâs House of Bad Decisions & Booze); they also ordered, near religiously, each fortnight from a local hellborn âownedâ supermarket that Voxtek technically had a 51% share of.Â
Hmmm, it also seemed like the weirdos didnât have much sense of adventure⊠the moppets routinely ordered takeaway from like, five total places at least twice a week. Three or four, recently, actually.
Huh⊠thatâs⊠interesting. She feels like thereâs a correlation itching at the back of her brain, but right now it ainât important. Velvette files away the tidbit about the hotelâs grocery orders decreasing in quantity at the same time the fast food takeaway runs went up. Sometime about when the new place was built⊠what, did his majesty forget to magic up a kitchen?Â
She skims through the staples that the hotel orders, and notes items that could possibly work as a conveyance method. Vox immediately suggests using the meat, or more likely, the spices, as their trojan horse⊠best way to hide the taste.
Velvette tosses back that it definitely wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that the person who'd take the heat for any side effects would be his old friend the radio demon, hmmm?
The nubby legs on the case made Vox's tantrum utterly hilarious as he hopped in a circle, wobbling side to side, sparking and swearing up a storm.
He was so damn predictable. But... it also wasn't a half bad idea.Â
The hotel had several months of orders from the grocery store; hell, the princess had even left several glowing 5 star reviews for them. She wasn't likely to suspect foul play to start with...
Velvette orders Vox to settle down, and get the owner of Deep-In-the-Pitt Groceries on the line, as she scrolled through their current deal; looks like they had a few favours in their contract with them that could be called in at any time. Time to get⊠creative.
âVal? I think your plan could also come into play here⊠letâs give them an obvious red herring, get them all hot under the collar and looking the wrong way. And when they do get a taste of our vengeance⊠itâs going to be ice cold, and out of nowhere.â
âI am going to enjoy watching those do-gooders sufferâŠâ he affirms, exhaling hearts into the air that tickled at her skin.Â
Behind her, the cauldron pulsed with a menacing glow as the contents swirled, promising a symphony of disquieting agony to those it was inflicted upon. A lightning sharp grin split her features, and she canât help the laugh that escapes.
 Sometimes people just made it too damned easy to fuck with them.
Time to show what happens when you fuck with the Vees.
. . . . . . .Â
Vaggi was feeling tense.
In the same way someone undergoing the last stages of hypothermia were a little bit naked.
Sure, if you looked at the big picture⊠and put all the soul crushing emotional terror and trauma of the last few weeks behind you⊠things were going amazingly well! The hotel was bursting with a number of guests who had come along for all the right reasons this time. Everyone was still⊠aliveish, to the best of her knowledge, and nothing Baxter was doing in his lab seemed to be spear-enforced time-out worthy. So it was good, right? Great, even!
And yet, she still felt every step as she trudged up the staircase. Her wings were too sore to even consider the old feathered shortcutâŠ
Splitting duties with Charlie was a great idea in theory but⊠she was basically doing everything she was managing before, but now with a badge. So, it didnât really feel that equalâŠ
Of course, she wasnât alone, per say. Niffty was a force of nature in relation to cleaning, pest extermination and stabbing guests upon request. Then there was Husk, who was bullshitting his way through managing group therapies, primarily through the power of old man wisdoming and harranguing the guests into emotional breakdowns, break throughs, and on occasion⊠break outs in the middle of the night when truth was too hard.
But it was never quite enough.
Lucifer was⊠around. Physically present, to some degree. That machine had done a number on the seraphim, physically, emotionally and mentally⊠and she wasnât sure how to fix that. The Devil himself now twitches when lights flicker, if the tv crackles, or someone holds an electrical cord within fourteen feet of himself⊠and thatâs⊠kind of heartbreaking, actually.
Vaggi adores her girlfriend, all of heaven and hell knows that now⊠but sometimes Charlie just wasnât that observant⊠and it was becoming a major problem. After al, how do you gently point out to a hell certified psychologist that of everyone in the hotel, her dad just so happened to be the inhabitant who needed The Most Therapy Ever, when he was doing his best to pretend he was a-ok, and Charlie was buying that completely?
It was like a really fucked up version of the chicken and the egg, and she wasnât sure how to even start properly handling this mobius strip of a problem.Â
Ugh. Interpersonal conflicts weren't her forte. She had grown, but⊠this was still a raw space in her capabilities, for the ex-orcist. Niffty wasnât an option because sheâd make it so much weirder. Husk⊠was straight up too flat about Angelâs departure to even consider asking, even if this was one time they really needed his blunt no nonsense style of flinging truth at your face hard enough for it to stick no matter how it ached.
Which, logically, left⊠someone she didnât even want to consider seeking support from. But⊠well, he did come back⊠which kind of implied either an ongoing nefarious plot or like, some sort of care? He might help. Maybe. Well, plan B involved bringing a deer carcass and politely asking at spear point, soâŠ
He might be a bastard, but he has helped before. And, letâs face it, the schadenfraude of watching Charlie and Lucifer trapped into an emotionally vulnerable conversation at his hands would be like Sinsmas came early to the red bastard. Â
Vaggi recalled that Alastor had referred to them as anxious socially inept golden retrievers, once, and now the ex-orcist couldn't unsee it. Just a pair of all powerful puppies who couldnât work out how to play together, and resorted to variations of fetch to make the other happyâŠ
These morningstars were kind-hearted but chaotic disasters made flesh... but she was planning to marry into that mess, so she might as well try to sort that out first.
With the reluctance of a whore in church, and not the kind angel played in Confessions of a Sinner 2: Dirty Habits & Rail Maryâs that he brought to show and tell a few months back, Vaggi found herself rapping on the ominous red door.
After a good moment of silence she hit it a smidgeon harder, and was rewarded by the door creaking open. One of those weird poppet things grinned up at her, unnerving but polite as it bowed to admit her inside.
"Hey Al, where are you? I need your help..." she queried, squinting to get her bearings. The shadows writhed, playing a number on her diminished peripheral vision and depth perception. One day she would make Lute eat her own halo for what she did.
As always when seeking an audience with the Radio Demon, Vaggie was braced braced for him to suddenly loom out of the shadows or some other creepy bullshit, because he was a walking jumpscare of a sinner. Sheâd even taken to checking under the toilet seat before committing, these days, despite knowing heâd likely rather impale himself on angelic steel than bother anyone in the bathroom⊠his moral compass was hard to gauge but he was very specific about boundaries, and the bathroom always seemed one of them, thankfully.
What Vaggi didnât anticipate was the freaky poppet child thing tugging her over to a pair of armchairs by a dim fireplace, where it appeared the Radio Demon was fast asleep.
Huh. She didn't know he could do thatâŠ
Admittedly, it was a little creepy that he was still smiling, though. Then again, she muses, tiptoing closer, perhaps it wasnât a choice. Sheâd seen the strings when he went Big, and some sinners just ended up with weird form related quirks that had something to do with their indivualised punishments. You just had to live with them.
Her eye fell on the way his right hand was curled tightly against his chest, claws digging in enough to tear the fabric, fingers taut. In a flash, Vaggi remembered the way he'd flinched when she and the others had hugged him after his surprise return when the hotel had been rebuilt.
 At the time she assumed it was about so many people being in his space, but now...
Her wings itched as she drew closer. Well, not itched, more like⊠sensed something in a way that the human mind wasnât exactly primed to interpret as anything else. Point was, they itched or whatever it was, in a way that reminded her of training with Adam. His aura was almost as infuriating as the man himself and always entered the room a good few minutes before he did. Not unlike his ego.
And it was emanating from Alastor's chest?Â
What the fuck could that mean?
She anticipates her touch waking him; being grabbed or thrown, or the radios blowing out her eardrums... and yet, he remains asleep. Or whatever this is, as Vaggi moves his hand and tests the area gingerly. The overlord twitches, a frown forming between his brows, but otherwise remains silent.
This was honestly starting to freak her out. She almost wanted him to snap awake and try to bite her⊠the silence was⊠yeah, unnerving.
Vaggi felt bandages beneath the fabric, a thick wad wound over the torso. From what she could recall from Niffty's report of the Veeâs capture of Alastor, there was a big wound still healing under there that Vox had torn the stitches from. Niffty had offered to do things that seemed anatomically impossible, to Vox, but her gleaming smile implied that the maid new how and absolutely could make it happen.Â
But... oh.Â
Yeah. Now that Vaggi was putting a few things together in her brain, suddenly Alastor's pissy attitude and constant aroma of cigarette ash and alcohol began making a lot more sense. Especially if that was from Adam.
Well, if the idiot had just said something they could have done something about it before things snowballed into the calamity of the past few weeks!
But of course, this was hell soâŠÂ
Actually, Alastorâs lack of response was starting to really freak her out now; and Vaggi didn't even realise her other hand was checking for a pulse, until the thready beat was beneath her fingers.
Now that did stir a response, and radio dials snapped onto her, shadows looming for a split second before the overlord seemed to realise who was in his sphere and settled. It must have been the skin on skin contact.
There was a heavy little twist in Vaggis' gut that made her wonder what kind of treatment Alastor had received in Vee Tower. Had they ever really asked? How do you even start a conversation like that with a man this repressed? Maybe with a poppet? Show me on the voodoo doll where they touched you�
"Vagathina-Rose Morningstar the Fifth, to what do I owe the pleasure of this handsy home invasion?" He asks, jovially, as she steps away to give them both their personal space back.
"I came to get your help with something. And your little doll⊠childâŠservant thing let me in, by the way, even though you know I have a master key for emergencies. But ignore that part for now, more importantly, why did your dumb ass decide to hide a wound from a damn archangel?"
His ears flick back, and Vaggi realises he seems to be looking for a good lie to toss her way and hopefully distract her from this discovery.
"Before you start lying through your teeth, I'm not planning to use this against you or sell you out or whatever worst case scenario is going on in your weird paranoid deer head, alright? I came to get your help around Charlie and ... her dad." She throws her hands up to forestall any insults to the king. "I know you two hate one another or whatever the fuck that was about... but this is about charlie, and having the king less fucked up, because heâs our best bet against the exorcists if it comes to a fight."
Alastor is regarding her shrewdly. "You anticipate the angry one who worshipped the first fool will try something against orders, hmmm? I suspect you would enjoy tearing off her wings as well, wouldn't you?" He hums. "Well, I do enjoy a good spot of vengeance, so I suppose I could assist in some way, dear manager."
He lets the statement linger.
She rolls her eye at his theatrics. "But what's in it for you, you mean? I mean, less Charlie sobbing and hugging you at random... I know that bothers you more than you're willing to say. And you'd be one up on Lucifer, I mean, solving the whole dad daughter dynamic puts you over him."
He inclines his head, "When you put it that way..."
"And," Vaggi interjects quickly, "I may be able to do something about that injury... even just sort out the stitching. But Iâve seen them remove grace before⊠back when I was in Heaven.â
Vaggi shuddered. Adam had a habit of coming to training drunk and blasting people with abandon. Targets and moving exorcists got blurry when you were shitfaced, and sheâd seen enough of her sisters pull grace from the injured on more than one occasion. It seemed simple, in theory⊠a chant, a bit of focus, and a way to contain it.
A trill of radio warbling filled the air and both those ears perked up in her direction.
Got him.
"And how do you propose we create this magical moment of vulnerability and saccharine reunion for the royal daughter and the king?"
âI was thinking we could try just getting them in the same room for once, like⊠a whole staff dinner together. Like we did in the old hotel. If we can just get them to make eye contact and do some pointed conversation starters, they might realiseâŠâ she trails off, feeling foolish at the very idea. It had sounded like a plan when sheâd been on the way upstairs, and nowâŠ
"Why yes, provided we have the appropriate provisions⊠I would be open to cooking something to suit all tastes. As I assume you are requesting, of me, in this deal." Alastor responded, a little hint of sharp delight at the edge of the tone that warned the King might end up with something spicier than even he could handle.
âYes, yes thatâs exactly what I want. BUT, you canât try to murder Lucifer with spices like that time with the Jambalaya⊠I need him conscious and coherent in order to bridge the gap with Charlie, got it?âÂ
If someone with an ever present smile could pout⊠then Alastor was doing it right now. It was like looking at an optical illusion where one picture shifted to another if you shook your head. Utterly disorientating.
âOh fine⊠ruin all the fun in it for me then! Itâs not my fault I assumed someone who can swim in lava and actively breathes hellfire could handle a little kick in their foodâŠâÂ
âA kick?! He went PURPLE! I thought he was going to explode!â Vaggi choked out, remembering the moment vividly. âNo, something mild⊠please⊠and maybe something lighter on garlic? I know, I know⊠sacrilege⊠but, you donât have to sleep next to Charlie afterwards. I love her, but her garlic breath could kill me if I donât have the windows open.â Â
âAlright, alright, do calm down⊠now, when do you propose we do this little therapeutic ambush soiree?â The overlord queries. âI suspect it may be a tad late to make anything of note at this hour, and Iâd have to check the larder to ascertain what is available for cookingâŠâ
Vaggi sighed in relief, delighted to have gotten out of this without a handshake deal being eked out of her. âTomorrow, it should give you time to recover.â
The ears twitched uncertainly. âRecover from what?â
Vaggi didnât reply, merely lunged forwards, chanting under her breath as she pressed her hands to the clothed chest and shut her eye. Casting inwards to seek the glimmering trail of the foreign thing, the slippery eellike sliver of grace that was nestling within the sinnerâs body and holding his healing hostage. It flared like a golden ring being found in a pool of ink, calling to her and yet evading her metaphorical grasp.
Staving off the desire to swear at the little fucker, she used the chant to coo and coax it. The semisentient thing had had time to grow, to feast on the lifeforce of its victim, to become accustomed to the environment and drain the hostâs abilities to swell its own. There was a cunning there⊠and an arrogance. Fucking Adam.Â
Vaggi clenched her teeth.Â
She felt Alastor shuddering, and a blurt of static faded in and out, but otherwise the only sound was harsh breathing and her litany of chanting. In frustration, she clawed at the cloth and bandages, placing her hands upon the wound and feeling a pang of sympathy for the flinch he gave.
It was being disobedient⊠normally they would surge towards any of Adamâs âgirlsâ, knowing their light and wanting to join with their own as a familiar piece of heaven. This⊠seemed to be wilier, filled with residual fury, and snapping at her.Â
Vaggi was just about considering putting her hands in the wound to physically grab the little fuck when she felt her aura snag on it, pulling it to her with the oddest sensation. It was like your whole body was a straw and something was fighting to get awayâŠ
Finally, her eye snapped open as she felt the physicality of the thing on her palms, and her vicelike grip ensured it couldnât get free. Alastor made a choked sound as the thing was finally pulled free in a rush of watery blood, heat and a rather chunky yellow substance that was likely a nasty infection. Heâs lucky his insides hadnât been dissolved⊠this was a LOT of grace for a sinner body to take on. This much would have crippled an exorcist, if they couldnât reach a healer in time.
âFire⊠I need fire.â she croaks, finding herself exhausted from the effort, and turning to hurl the thing straight into the fireplace. Alastor raised a trembling hand and the coals flared into blinding green flames, searing the thing as it shrieked and writhed.
The pair knew, without words, that each felt revolted by the whole situation⊠but the relief was near palpable.Â
Catching his breath, Alastor tilted his ears at Vaggi. âExcellent work, Vargret-June MayflowerâŠâ he exhales, and slumps forwards. She lunges to catch him and push the overlord back in his seat, shuddering a little as the biological nightmare of his chest touches her arm.
She then notices how utterly destroyed the chair seems to have become in the impromptu healing session, the armrests annihilated at the effort to not force her away⊠Vaggiâs grateful, but also frustrated, as now she has to move this ridiculously tall and oddly heavy sinner to the other armchair.Â
And then the door bursts open, admitting the king in his full demonic glory; his red eyes darting in all directions as he sought the flare of heavenly grace that surely any angel in ten kilometres likely sensed. Vaggi, startled, automatically fluffed up in a winged threat display and moved to shield Alastor from view.
âWhere is he? I felt Adam hereâŠâ
âHeâs not, I promise⊠I just⊠had to help someone get Grace out of an injury, thatâs all. Sorry, if Iâd realised it would reach you, I would have warned you.â
The King sagged a little, sliding back into his quieter, more duck-loving self and looking simply exhausted. âOkay⊠I just thought⊠well, we sent one UP, so why wouldnât someone like him be able to⊠you know, come DOWN. And then I thought he was here, and near Charlie, and I just-... I panicked and-...â
She holds her hands up placatingly, settling her wings. âHey, hey itâs okay. No one at this hotel would let that piece of shit near her, I promise⊠but it was just residual grace, and we burned it. Did you want to check the fireplace to make sure we got it?â
Vaggi wasnât sure when sheâd slipped into her soft and gentle tone, the one she tended to use for the Morningstars, but he seemed to be responding to it.
âNo I-... itâs gone. I canât sense it anywhere here. Who was hurt?â The king blinks, and seems to realise which room heâs in. âThe bellhop?! When did he even get close enough to Adam to get hurt? Oh, donât tell me⊠bambi fell over that axe thing after the battle and got a boo-boo, huh? Too embarrassed to get me to kiss it better so he made you do it, right?â
Vaggi was tired of their ridiculous little spat or pissing match, or whatever this was.
âSir, with all due respect, could you shut up please?â she asked, still in her Too Kind voice. âAlastor was on the roof, projecting the shield to trap the exorcists in with us, and give us a chance to kill them off. Adam broke the shield and went after him⊠next thing we know he was aiming right at Charlie, and we couldnât find him. We thought-... but it was bad, and he didnât tell us⊠and then the whole Vees thing⊠and i found out about fifteen minutes ago that he was hurt and tried to fix it.â
Lucifer walked into the room, on shaky legs, and grimaced at the wound. âYeah, oof, gross. Thatâs⊠hmm. Well, the good news is that thereâs nothing but 100% deer and a general infection in there now⊠I should be able to flush that out, for a FavourâŠâ
âNo, you wonât.â Vaggi replied. âSir, you havenât recovered from whatever the fuck that machine did to you⊠can you please tell me if this is somethingI need to call a doctor for, or if I can just like, get some antibiotics from the first aid kit and slap a bandaid on it?â
âHmmm⊠antibiotics could work, itâll heal on its own, but youâd have to watch for fever. I havenât seen a sinner survive Grace before, outside of Lillith, and sheâs⊠you know, built different. But it doesnât taste life-endingâŠâ the King flickers his serpentine tongue in the air, sifting through the scents, and throwing a dark look at the fireplace. Vaggi can only imagine what singed, tainted grace tasted like after months of gorging on demon blood. âOr I can do this.â
Without warning, Lucifer put one hand on Alastorâs uninjured shoulder, and lightly pressed a finger against the wound. The overlord convulsed as a surge of viscous reddy-yellow liquid was expelled in a torrent⊠and when it slowed, some of the heat had died down. The edges of the wound starting to close using regular sinner healing.
Lucifer sagged and Vaggi was able to scoop him up into her arms before he passed out.
âAlright, letâs get you somewhere soft to nap, heal yourself first and stop being reckless.âÂ
She places him on the bed, setting the hat aside and wondering if heâd wake if she went for the boots. Saved from the dilemma by two little poppets that appeared to facilitate the activity.Â
Niffty nearly scared her flight feathers off by appearing behind her as silently as a cat. âHusk said to tell you that the man from the booze shop and the food place are hereâŠâ
Vaggi, whose mind was going a bit fuzzy from all this drama, yawned. âGreat! Can you sign off on the delivery for me, Niffty? Iâve got to stay here to keep an eye on everyone.â
âOh, okay! Here⊠this is the Rat Princess, I was saving it for Charlie, but since you helped sir with his injury, I want you to have it!â The little maid said, depositing a deceased mouse with a large red bow on it, directly into Vaggiâs horrified hands, before disappearing.Â
âMy life is so weirdâŠâ she groaned, grabbing a cushion and sitting down by Alastorâs chair. Close enough that each man was in her line of sight, or at least, in the peripheral. âAnd now, we wait.â
. . . . .Â
She woke to warmth and comfort that defied her last known location.Â
Vaggi rubbed at her eye and sat up, a red coat sliding off of her body as she realised she was now in the only functional armchair in the room, before a roaring fire, and her patient was nowhere in sight.
The King startled himself awake, sleepily manifesting a duck holding a shuriken in its wing, that hit the floor and bounced off into the darkness. âWhu-...?â he managed.
âYouâre okay, you were resting after helping Alastor with his wound. Did you want to go back to sleep?â She asks, noting that he looks better than before, and wondering how long they were out.
âNo⊠no, gotta get up and⊠something. Be productive?âÂ
âWhy?â she challenges, âThereâs nothing pressing now, and you should take this quiet time to heal yourself. If Al left us both here, then I donât think he minds us staying here and napping a little longer⊠this chairâs comfy so Iâm⊠going to take advantage of that.âÂ
Her brain had decided that this was more of a gentle interlude where she slipped back into sleep again. If Al was back on board, the hotel was going to be just fine⊠no more Mighty Manager handling everything one handed.
âOh⊠okayâŠâ the King yawns and presumably settled down again, if the silence was anything to go by.Â
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(the one where Dr. John Carter is a camboy instead of an RA, part 11)
parts 1-10 linked here
Andrewâs screen is dark, and Johnâs not sure whatâs going on, because there had been a flurry of blurry movement, then the screen had gone mostly dark as something thudded hard through his speakers. But before thatâ
So John had thought a lot about what Andrew might look like, because he had no idea. He could be anywhere from eighteen to eighty, any look, any vibe, and John would still feel the pull toward him, probably, based on the way theyâd gelled in that first stream.
But now he knows what Andrew looks like: soft-looking curly dark hair, hints of copper and silver in the sunlight. Bright, intense eyes, hazel-green, in a freckled face. A sweet-looking mouth, open in surprise. Massive shoulders, smooth and just as freckled.
A collarbone John wants to trace with his tongue. Curls he wants to bury his fingers in. A jawline he wants to nip at, to fit his hand around.
Yeah. He knows what Andrew looks like now, and itâs going to haunt him.
âAndrew?â he asks, tentative, because the streamâs still open, still live.
Thereâs a rustle in his audio, and then a creak, and then slowly, slowly, the picture shifts and tilts, scanning up a shirt-clad torso, and John realizes what must have happenedâAndrew must have closed the laptop.
âHey,â John says, because Andrewâs staring at him, jaw tense. Heâs wearing a collared shirt now, navy, buttoned up, neat and pressed. His cheeks are a little pink, and his hairâs a little less wild. Heâs fixed himself up, maybe for John. Gorgeous.
Andrewâs eyes go wide, and his cheeks go even pinker, and he stiffens in the chair, and. Oh, shit. John definitely said that last thought out loud.
âSorry, sorry, oh my god, I justâI didnât know you lookedââ He waves at all of Andrew, at his wide eyesâgreen-brown, wide, shocked. His thicket of curls drift in a halo around his head, silvering at the temples a little. John adores the hints of copper where the sunlight hits, cutting through the window. His eyes catch on the way Andrewâs ears stick out a little bit, and he wonders suddenly what he looked like younger, thinks about how adorable those ears must have been.
He looks like heâs more nervous than John is, like he was obviously not expecting to be on camera for this, and Johnâs belly heats at the thought of his bare shoulders, a little shiny with sweat, in that first glimpse.
âItâs okay,â John says, and he keeps his voice low, steady. âSorry, I didnât know weâd both be on camera either. If you want to turn yours off, you can, but, um. I like seeing you. Youâre really handsome, Andrew.â Itâs an understatement, but he gets the feeling anything more will send him flying again.
Andrew hasnât blinked, hasnât moved, and if it werenât for the slight shifts with each breath, John would think the stream had frozen or something.
Thereâs a long moment of silence, and John waits him out. Heâd once met a horse whoâd been rescued from a circus, who was recuperating from his injuries at Marigoldâs trainerâs stable, and he had had that same look in his eye that Andrew does: that panic barely contained, that fear, that desire for connection, barely held back. John thinks maybe if he approaches Andrew the same way, slowly, calmly, letting him set the pace, he might be able to get even closer.
(Although itâs a little different, because he didnât want to get quite as close to the horse.)
(Though he wouldnât mind riding Andrew, actually.)
(Anyway!)
Andrew watches him, and he watches back, and John can feel the smile spreading over his face. Finally, Andrew says, quiet and low, his voice as gorgeous as his face, âYouâre wearing my sweater.â
#
Heâs wearing the sweater. Heâs wearing the sweater he bought with Andrewâs money, and heâs still dressed for whatever it is he does when heâs not getting naked on camera, and Andrew can still see his own face in the corner but he ignores it, because John is wearing his sweater.
âIt makes me think of you,â John says. âThank you again.â He pauses, and ducks his head a little, and fuck, that smile might kill Andrew with how sweet it is, how uninhibited, how beautiful. âNot just for the money, but, you know, for that, too, obviously. But. I would have spent it all on bills, andâyeah. Sometimes itâs nice to just. Get something for myself.â
âYou deserve it,â Andrew says, and heâs leaning forward a little in his chair, eyes still intent on John, and Johnâhe likes it. âIt looks nice. Soft.â
John is charmed. Heâs charmed! âIt is,â he says. â Iâve been wearing it all day. People kept telling me it looked good, and I kept thinking about you.â Andrewâs mouth twitches, like he wants to smile but he wonât let himself, and John wants to push, wants to make him grin, butâslow, he reminds himself, the image of that skittish horse in his mind again, the way it had, after an hourâs careful approach, nuzzled its big head up against his chest and lipped a carrot from his palm. âI wanted to thank you before, on the stream, but. It felt weird.â
âAre you alright?â Andrew asks, and his brows draw together. He straightens in his seat. âYou looked. Uncomfortable.â He pauses. âBeautiful. But. Like you didnât want to be there.â
âIt was a lot,â John admits, and scrubs a hand through his hair. There are still snowflakes melting in it, damp and cold. âUm. I donât know if Iâll do that again.â
Andrew nods, and shifts a little in his chair, rocking forward, then back. âYou donât have to,â he says. âIf it makes you uncomfortable.â
âI mean. It did make me enough money to cover my rent the next two months,â John says, because itâs true. âSo. Itâs hard to say no, you know? But.â He takes a deep breath. âI might just. Do private streams. Once in a while, instead.â He reaches down, tugs the bottom of the sweater up, pulls it gently over his head. âIf you want that?â
âYou mean for me,â Andrew says, and Johnâs starting to get a read on his tones, on the way his voice stays flat but the emotion beneath it peeks through.
âYeah, Andrew,â John says, and he doesnât miss the way Andrewâs breath draws in, sudden and sharp, at the sound of his name. âIâd like that.â
