#beer paris | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

paingoes · 3 months ago

Text

Destroyer Bonus - Glow

something lighter after the last update

@pumpkin-spice-whump sent an ask game about “best memories” w paris and delta and it made me sad because yeah there arent many! but there are a few. heres one of the softer ones. ft. drunk!Delta

(Content: living weapon whumpee, dehumanization, touch starved, implied physical abuse, alcohol, power imbalances, war mention, passing drugs mention)

“What do you mean they surrendered?” Paris’s phone charms clicked together as he paced up and down the hall. “When? Just now?”

Delta listened at the other end of the hall, taking careful notice of the silent pauses that marked it as a phone argument, not a normal argument. The former always disappointed him. He liked hearing both sides so he could figure out who to root for.

“Well what the fuck did I come here for then?” Paris’s voice was more whiny than angry this time. “We already unpacked!”

Most of the ship’s cargo had been emptied to set up a new base camp, most of the soldiers already occupied with its assembly. The relative vacancy of the ship made all sound echo within it.

He heard Paris curse, the call ending abruptly, and the footsteps approaching. Delta peeked out of the alcove he’d been hiding out in.

“Not on?” He mouthed.

Paris jumped back in surprise, but recovered quickly. He rolled his eyes.

“No, we’re not on,” he said. “I didn’t call you, did I?”

Paris shooed him away, even though he’d been there first. He was barely looking at him, all his attention still absorbed in the broken screen.

“Go to your room.”

He went to his room.

That was fine. He was never unhappy about cancellations. Even before his little moral doubts had started nagging at him, the work was hard on his body, even harder on his brain. He didn’t mind going back to his room. It meant he wouldn’t have to do anything today — and he was always so grateful for any rest.

He stared at the book he’d been reading until the room had grown so dark he could not see the pages. When he finally came to, it was pitch black outside the windows. He didn’t know how much time had passed. There came a knocking from out in the hallway.

The only light that came through to him was a thin line of orange beneath the door. Shadows crossed over it. He heard giggling, faintly. He didn’t bother to turn the lamp on before he opened it.

Sierra stood in the doorway, one hand flying to her mouth coyly as if to conceal her smile. She was flanked by her other handmaidens. Without the standard coifs and corsets, they were almost unrecognizable. They were dressed all in white, though the fabric of the gowns was frayed and torn at the edges. Their hair was undone in loose, messy curls.

“Hi Delta,” Sierra waved, then covered her mouth again in faux shyness. “We’re having a party, cause like, there’s nothing else to do here. We were wondering if you wanted to come out?”

He blinked, his head still foggy as he was emerging from the fantasy novel. He stared back at her tiredly and did not even consider the offer.

“I’m not allowed to leave the ship,” he said.

Sierra shook her head, smiling wider.

“Already asked. His Majesty said it’s alright.”

She slipped on the title, or she was being mean. Delta wasn’t convinced either way.

“He wouldn’t say that.”

She held up a small slip of paper.

𝒮𝒾𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒹𝑜 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓈.

𝒫𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓈 ♡

He went to tell Simon he was leaving, just to cover all his bases, but found his office empty. It was a total ghost ship. The girls hadn’t been lying. It seemed like everyone onboard had gone out to the encampment.

There seemed no better use for it, if they weren’t going to be fighting, if they weren’t leaving until tomorrow.

He followed them down the ramp, dressed more casually than he usually did for any “party” occasion, but still done up in the way they had liked. He didn’t argue.

He began to regret the easiness with which he had followed them as they walked past the groups of soldiers. He did not actually want to be near any of them if they were getting loaded, or even if they weren’t. They were too rough, too entitled. They thought he had to answer to them — and though he didn’t, he did not have the boldness to correct them. Not that they would’ve listened anyway.

But Sierra did not stop at the main camp, though some of the girls did peel off to see all the commotion. She led Delta and the others out on the knoll.

There was a crop of trees surrounding a stone pit. He watched her struggle to start a fire there before finally offering to do it himself, igniting the wood with electricity until it caught flame. He blushed at the cheers he got for that. It was nothing.

They had only taken him out as a toy. He had no misconceptions about that. He sat down in the spot where they’d indicated, keeping his posture straight so as not to throw off their machinations.

They talked amongst themselves while they worked. He caught the edges of their conversations, found none of it especially relevant but entertaining enough. It was more entertaining the more drinks they slipped into his hand. The girls seemed to get the same rebellious thrill out of his drunkenness that he got out of being drunk. Martino would’ve killed him if he knew. He drank in spite of, or maybe because of this.

He liked the way the night air felt against his skin. He was grateful to have experienced it before they made the return trip. As large as the ship was, it could easily become claustrophobic after enough time spent in deep space. It made him crazy, sometimes.

He flinched at the abruptness of the contact, then gradually relaxed underneath it. He was so unused to gentle touch. As the maid’s hand moved through his hair and down along his neck, he had to stop himself from leaning into it. It was hard for him to recognize anything as want, but in this, he came close. The touch was fleeting. It never lasted long.

They braided flowers into his hair, stopping every few minutes to check their progress.

He hadn’t realized Sierra had left until she reappeared. In the dark, their silhouettes all looked the same. She came back over the promenade. Paris tread casually beside her.

Delta tensed a bit, fearing Sierra’s permit had not actually been all-inclusive, that he was not actually supposed to be outside. But Paris didn’t look very shocked to see him. He tousled his hair absently as he passed behind him, made no other acknowledgment.

As usual, he followed Paris’s voice before any other sound. He couldn’t keep himself from listening in on their conversation, even if he wanted to.

“-not like it’s real. You’d know if it was.”

“It isn’t, though. I’ve always known it’s not real, that doesn’t make it any-“

“My brother used to get those. They gave him Ativan for it.”

“I tried that already.”

Another flower was braided into Delta’s hair. All the stars were out. The music carried over from the main camp, not deafening the way it must have been at its source, but pleasantly muted by the distance.

Paris held the bottle in his periphery, shaking it gently, like a lure. Delta took it. The prince’s attention immediately left him, did not wait to see his reaction. An offer, then, not an order. Delta drank it anyway.

It was only when Paris sat down by the other side of the fire that Delta noticed the laurel wreath woven into his hair. He’d never seen it before, did not know where he had found it.

“Hi,” Delta said, already very drunk.

“Hey,” Paris shrugged, more sober than he normally was this time of night.

Sierra was laying down on the other side of them, playing on her phone. There was no way she had a signal out here. She was feeding a virtual cat with blue pellets, watching the status bar go up.

“Do you remember when the Emperor first got you?”

He said the Emperor, instead of my father. Delta tried to remember if he’d ever said the word dad. At most, he would call him the old man, but it was stark and without any playfulness. It was accurate. The Emperor had been old, even when the two of them were just children. Too old not to have a succession plan.

Before Delta could respond, one of the maids snapped her fingers by his face. He turned around.

“Stay like that,” she said before blinding him with the camera’s flash. He stayed like that, holding still as she took a few more. The only experience he’d had with cameras was in clinical settings. He held the same indifferent expression he’d been coached to wear, which to be fair, was not very different from how he normally looked.

“Delete those,” Paris said without much passion. It was against protocol, but it was clear he didn’t really care either way. He turned his attention back to Delta. “That trick with the dragon. Can you still do it?”

He couldn’t believe he even remembered that. Delta had found it insanely gaudy at the time, even more so as his tastes had developed. He realized, a bit sadly, that the purchase anniversary was coming up. He wondered if they’d send a card.

“No.” Delta shook his head. It’d been a party trick, never repeated. “I couldn’t do it in the dark, anyway.”

At that same instant, the fireworks went off in the distance. Paris flinched, moving both hands protectively to the back of his skull like he anticipated an attack from behind. When none came, and there was only red and purple across the sky, his expression changed from embarrassment to annoyance and then eventually relief. The fireworks weren’t from their camp. They’d come from across the river. Not his responsibility.

Nobody else seemed to see him flinch, so Delta pretended not to either. His attention drifted back to the fireworks alone.

They were impressive for what they were. Nothing compared to the sheer shock and awe of the campaigns that could have just as easily lit up the sky that night. He could have spent all night trying to stop the bleeding from his mouth, the numb static in his hands. He was glad they’d surrendered. He knew that this was how he was meant to be used, what the Emperor had intended. The threat of destruction was almost more powerful than the carnage itself. He wished it could play out this way more often, without anyone actually having to die.

The case clanked noisily to the ground. Sierra knelt over top of it with her hands on her hips, before giddily prying off the lid.

The interior was bright with all the different paints held inside of it. They were some algae derivative, bioluminescent, glow-in-the-dark.

Sierra licked the tip of her paint brush. Her other hand moved to take Paris’s. He offered it without resistance, about as used to being handled by her as Delta was. Well, not quite as much.

In thin lines, she traced shapes over the back of his hand and along his wrists. She scooted closer to him to drag the brush along his cheekbone.

Delta hadn’t realized until then just how much the two of them resembled each other. Pale skin, light gold hair. But she looked more alive than he did. Paris took the brush from her.

As he watched Paris paint the dahlia in careful strokes along her cheek, Delta was overcome with the sense that none of them belonged here.

It passed quickly, the way it always did. It had to.

He startled a bit as Paris caught him looking. He couldn’t exactly hide his staring in the dark, both his eyes shining like headlights. He hadn’t meant to stare.

Paris quirked one eyebrow at him. He uncurled his hand, waiting a second. When he was met with no resistance, he finished the gesture, curling the fingers back inward. Here.

Delta arranged himself carefully in front of him, offering his wrist. Paris took it, readjusting his arm to have a better angle at the canvas. Like before, he was almost overwhelmed by the touch, so unused to any softness that he thought he might’ve just lost sensation.

The paint was more cool than he’d been expecting, like river clay. Pale green. Paris made the first marks with his fingers. They were loose ferns and vines. Soon after he switched back to the brush. It moved in smooth, tickling arcs. The old lines were cleaned up. New ones were drawn on more precisely.

Sierra had marked Paris in the traditional style, mostly roses and spirals along his veins. He’d done hers in the same way. The marks Paris left on Delta’s skin were different. He did not understand why they looked so familiar. After a few drunken seconds, he recognized them. He’d seen them scrawled out along the columns of the Imperial churches. They were bind runes. Protective sigils.

He flinched as his chin was tilted back up.

“Not gonna hurt you,” Paris said.

He was embarrassed that his flinch reflex had gotten so overactive, though frankly it was Paris’s fault. He didn’t sound annoyed though, or even particularly surprised. He had to have known it just as well.

Delta closed his eyes. The brush tip was slick against his face and not altogether unpleasant. Oddly gentle.

After a few strokes, Paris clicked his tongue in disappointment, “You’re already glowing.”

It was true. The glow wouldn’t stand out on him the way it would on the others. If anything, the paint might’ve blotted out the light from his freckles. But the color would show. He still wanted it.

Paris painted a few more lines beneath his eyes. His eyebrows were knit in concentration; he was taking this more seriously than he needed to. Even without seeing them, Delta could feel just how tight and tidy the lines were. It was a collection of five point stars.

While they’d been working, the other maids had done themselves up just the same, their practiced hands moving much quicker. The patterns they had drawn along their arms seemed to come to life as they moved amongst the flickering shadows.

Delta settled back against the tree. He finished out the last of the bottle. His skin felt strange and newly exposed, like the brush had cut him open. It’d still felt nice at the time.

He was drifting off. Everything was fading out into a pleasant haze. All he could focus on were the golden embers and the way they drifted upwards into the black sky.

“You kept him up past his bedtime,” he heard Paris chiding. It sounded like it was coming from very far away. Sierra giggled a bit in response, not unkindly.

“Can I…?” His own voice faded out. He asked out of politeness, but he did not feel it was something he had much control over anymore.

“You’re good.”

Delta fell asleep right there on the grass, wrapped up in the strange glow of night.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @dietofwormsofficial @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter

#whump #whump scenario #whump prompt #whump writing #living weapon whumpee #dehumanization #touch starved #implied physical abuse #alcohol #power imbalances #war mention #passing drugs mention #touch starvation #destroyer #delta #paris #sierra #first three beers dont count if you’re autistic #delta is so starved for positive attention

44 notes · View notes