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never4night · 6 months ago

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Mine

Part l 🌹 ⚠

Bonten!Sanzu X male reader

warnings: drug use and dependency, toxic relationship/circumstances, mental health(will update, I didn’t edit it yet)

ft. hades characters

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Y/n sat quietly, near the head of the bed, staring blankly into the empty walls that seemed to loom in front of him. The room felt too quiet, almost stifling, despite the colorful neon lights that he’d come to learn to associate with Tokyo trickling into the room. The sound of the hustle of others still going about their lives down below despite the time, creeps up into the still apartment through the cracks of the hastily drawn curtains. The room glowed a faint neon red, outshining the slivers of light cascading from the moon that hung full, alone in the cloudy starless night. The shadows of the room felt just a tad bit darker, he would muse. His mind was empty, thoughts and desires disappearing just as quick as the ideas flickered by.

But his heart was restless.

Fast-paced and yearning for something he couldn’t quite place. Y/n felt alone as he sat awake on the king-size bed in the early dawn morning, aimlessly running his fingers over the seams of one of his favorite blankets rested partially over his torso, too hot to use it to fully cover himself but also too used to the comfort to completely forgo the object entirely. A quick strobe of light illuminated out of the corner of his eye catches Y/n’s attention, his phone resting on the nightstand closest to him on the right, one new notification.

Moderate rain will start in 7 mins. expected to last 42 mins. For more information click…

Y/n glanced at the shuttered windows, envisioning the neon color of the city diluted in a muted gray hidden behind the fabric. The sound of the cool autumn rain against his warm skin seemed like a good idea. The dreary weather never failed to remind him of his hometown, it was something he always revered as deeply calming, no matter where he found himself staying. He felt he was coherent enough to make the short drive home if that meant he could go and watch the rain, he reckoned to himself. Skin slid slowly against cool satin sheets as he pulled himself up, further out of the bed on the verge of getting up, having come to the quick decision.

A different shift of the bed immediately lulled his head left, towards the sound.

A sea of long pink waves lay spread across gray sheets, adorn brighter under the red light draped closely over the dark room. Pale, white skin wrapped in cool, dark sheets rested his boyfriend Sanzu, Haruchiyo. A ghost of a smile drifted onto Y/n’s blank face as he regarded his boyfriend’s sleeping form. He was glad to see the other man peacefully asleep, still for once in his life. While he did like being around his boyfriend, it took a lot out of the already low energy Y/n to have been forcefully dragged over to Sanzu’s apartment after a full day at the offices. From overseeing his own club and solidifying business ideas on better relations with the West with Koko, to then being coerced after work to entertain his boyfriend by joining in on whatever he considered fun at the moment. To spend a rare afternoon free together.

He’s pretty when he shuts up though. Y/n’s eyes linger fondly over the exposed skin for a moment before he shifts further onto his right, peering lazily over the hardwood floor for any signs of where his shirt and pants went. Discarded amongst other haphazardly dropped items left sometime earlier by the pair.

A pale hand appeared wordlessly, wrapped around Y/n’s darker skin, desolate brown eyes followed the connected arm latched onto his smaller left wrist. Roaming north as they came to clash against a sleepy mix of blue. One that Y/n could never seem to find anywhere else but was reminded of whenever he saw a different shade of blue eyes, pretty, he would acknowledge. A tired smile mirrored the weary eyes that Y/n found himself momentarily lost in, "Just stay here a bit little longer." Sanzu entreated, a deep rumble filled thick with sleep, a hopeful siren call for the other male to stay.

Y/n hummed softly in agreement as he reeled himself into the embrace of other, the grip on his wrist gliding around to connect his waist as he settled in closer to the taller man, lying chest to chest. Y/n promptly tucked himself into the comforting warmth of his boyfriend’s side. He had thought Sanzu was fully asleep, originally not wanting to wake the pink-haired male. Y/n almost buzzed at the romantic like feeling from the close contact. Wanting desperately to push Sanzu away, despite wanting to curl around his boyfriend, leaving Y/n stuck as his body practically pulsed wave after wave, as if a ship lost at sea.

Was he actually feeling this many conflicting emotions or was it just the Xanax, drinks and handful of other shit the two took earlier? Nearly a year into the same behavior and habits, and Y/n still couldn’t bring himself to be fully open and vulnerable like Sanzu had somehow managed. Or to come up with a better excuse to himself at this point. For now he allowed himself to just enjoy the moment.

Arms wrapped tighter around his frame pulling him closer, diminishing any air and wandering thoughts between the two. A content hum was reciprocated from Sanzu when all movement settled. His heart thrummed gently against Y/n’s chest, compelling his to match the slow steady beat, grounding the dissociated man. Soft kisses feathered down the column of Y/n’s neck, intelligible whispers murmured promises into the sepia brown skin. The spice of leftover whiskey on Sanzu’s breath, swirled with a hint of weed that still clung to their hair, cocooned the pair in a warm sheltered embrace. A tender hand wandered, caressing his lower back. The show of silent affection made Y/n almost want to preen, content under the light touch, cutting through his mindless fog.

Lazily hands trailed along a long-mapped routine down Y/n’s spine, fingers paused their tried and true course to rub circles on plush hips. “Y/n… stay here with me~.” Sanzu slurred, his words sounding like a pleading child asking for just a little more time. Despite sharp blue eyes pleading for something else entirely, as they took in Y/n’s near naked appearance, drinking in every last visible inch of skin. “You’re supposed to be mine for the night.” A right hand palmed up the valley of Y/n’s spine, long fingers curled around the base of his neck, drawing Y/n into a long slow kiss. Lips slotted together, trading hushed air, the two moved in tandem with no rush, enjoying the intimacy.

Y/n followed forward indulging in the kiss, seeking more much needed attention and touch in his inebriated mind. Giving into his touch-starved desires, he decided to take some initiative. Hiking a boxer clad thigh to rest over Sanzu’s hip, almost possessively, further tangling the two even closer. “ ‘m yours… and you’re all mine.” Y/n breathed out into the shorter series of docile kisses, fervent brown eyes gazed lidded, just slightly above him.

A sharp grin pulled the diamond-like scars on both sides of Sanzu’s lips. More alert than he had been mere moments before, blue eyes now containing a darker intent. “You’re all mine too, know that don’tcha, pretty little thing?” He said lowly, fingers curling taunt in the roots of dense multi-colored locks of curly hair at the nape of Y/n’s neck, pulling him all that closer into the kiss, growing more eager. The grip on his thigh tightened, squeezing and massaging the well placed fat. Sanzu’s tongue swiped Y/n’s bottom lip, meeting no resistance as he plunged forward, drawing a quiet but pleased breath from Y/n at the show of dominance.

Spurred on with each passing second, hands kneaded tighter, rougher against Y/n’s skin, pressing the two together tighter, needing the intimacy. Words emphasized between heavy breaths, tongue moving hungrily, taking possession of the kiss. “If it were up to me… I would keep you here… looking all pretty for me… Keep you where only I can see you since you're all mine… Mine to touch… Mine to taste… Mine to play with… My pretty boy.” The pure want in Sanzu’s voice was enough to have Y/n’s head spin. The deep quality of his voice alongside the dark possessive words stole Y/n’s breath, stuttering in his throat, panting as he tried to nod along to the others' selfish claim. He loved it when Sanzu was a dominating force, always taking whatever he wanted without any hesitation, whether at work or at home.

The hand left Y/n’s hair to join the other at his thighs, dragging him the rest of the way on top of Sanzu, making his straddle the taller. A low groan was pulled from Sanzu when Y/n brushed against his swelling cock. Fingers slipping under the waistband of Y/n’s boxers to grip, toy, and knead with the flesh there too. Shrunken pupils unbridled with the leftover ecstasy that Sanzu hadn’t fully slept off, their breathing turned scattered in mutual excitement.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x male reader #male reader #tokyo rev smut #sanzu haruchiyo

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thehardy-boys · 1 year ago

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The Platform (Tommy Shelby x Reader)

Hey! Its literally been like forever but I've had some time to myself and actually written something. This was not requested or anything but I just got inspired with all the new content recently. Anyways, pls enjoy. It's a series so there will be more parts to the story.

Warnings: Sadness, negative thoughts, flirting if you squint (In the future -- smut 😏)

Part 1

(y/n) hadn’t planned on ever coming back.

“I’ll put your tea here then mum. Alright?” (y/n) spoke fairly loudly so the elderly woman could hear. She was nearing eighty and she had lost most of her sight and hearing. She was a ghost nearing on a corpse. But there was no one else to look after her. As these kinds of responsibilities usually fall on the women, the daughters, they fell on (y/n) just the same.

“I’m heading to work. Mrs. Iona will check in on you from time to time, alright?” The bedroom door was almost closed when she heard the slight mumble coming from the shriveled woman.

“Not supposed to be here. Don’t want her here. Take her away.”

She paused only for a moment suddenly hit with a wave of the past. The tide so strong it almost pulled her into its murky depths. But with the door closed and the sight of her mother taken away (y/n) turned her back and softly made her way out of her mother’s house.

She waved to Mrs. Iona as she shut the front gate and walked back down the street towards the main road. Her shoes already collecting the terrible coal dust.

She hated it here. The heavy air that the sunlight could never quite penetrate which resulted in the town being in a constant gloom. It made her skin crawl. The unhappiness was crippling. The drunkards already stumbling around the street at eleven o’clock in the morning, the starving children running back and forth, the haggard mothers one step closer to the grave and the dark alleys that were haunted with glistening knives, illegal pistols, and razor-sharp caps.

Get me out of here. Get me out of here. (y/n) screamed internally but she only pushed open the heavy wooden door of the newspaper agency and kindly greeted Mrs. Kelley the receptionist before making her way to the back of the building and sitting down at her desk. Another day. More editing. That was her lot in life: never to be the one writing and creating but only a ghost in the machine, a minion behind the scenes.

By the end of every long day at the newspaper house the words would blur into one huge muddle. She’d pack up her small bag, wish a good night to her boss Mr. Beavers, and head home. Her eyes would be sore and her brain throbbing with a headache. But that was just Small Heath, barely living.

(y/n) felt that she had something missing. She knew she had it when she was younger because of all her memories. The vibrancy of the trees she climbed, the scent of baking in the kitchen, the damp fur of their pet dogs after a rain storm. Everything was so vivid back then and full. Her eyes open and wanting, now she was shuttered, fragile, and tired. Her knees often ached and her neck sore from hunching over papers all day. She was decaying, slowly.

“(y/n)!” Her head popped up from her desk at the sound of her name. Polly Gray was making her way towards her. She was as formidable as (y/n) remembered. She rose up to return Polly’s hug.

“Mrs. Gray, It’s so nice to see you!” Polly squeezed a bit tighter. The warmth of her body rubbing off onto (y/n). She welcomed it. It had been so long since she had received any kind of touch.

“When the hell did you get back?”

“About a year now.”

“A year!? A whole year and you didn’t bother to drop me a line?” Her outrage wore the mask of humor but (y/n) could tell there was genuine worry, genuine hurt lurking behind it.

(y/n) shook her head in apology, “I know. I know. I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting to come back here and then a lot happened and I’ve just been so busy Mrs. Gray. I’m really sorry.”

“No, I know (y/n). I heard what happened. Awful stuff. I had no idea you were here dealing with it all. You should have asked for help.”

(y/n) began to shake her head and ward off Polly’s offer when her boss’s door opened up behind her.

“Ah, Mrs. Gray and Mr. Shelby do come in.” He gestured warmly into his office.

Polly rubbed her arm before stepping inside.

A tall man had been standing behind Polly. (y/n) hadn’t noticed him in the frenzy of the greeting but she didn’t need an introduction. Nobody in Small Heath did. He was just as the ladies described him at the grocers she went to weekly: cold, inscrutable, foreboding, and dangerous.

(y/n) had lived in Small Heath only until she had turned thirteen and then her family had moved away. Her father had been close to Polly and consequently (y/n), over the years, had played with the young Shelby brothers. (y/n)’s older brother had gotten along well with Arthur and if she concentrated hard enough, she could remember playing hide and seek with Thomas and John Shelby. But it was all so long ago, and she realized she hadn’t seen any of them in over fifteen years. And yet she knew it was Thomas. She knew.

She wondered mildly if he remembered her, “(y/n) (l/n).” That was all he said with a quick nod he passed her by not glancing back and nor did she.

Polly left first and, on her way, reminded (y/n) to drop by. An hour or so later Thomas came out, as well. (y/n) was neck deep in the upcoming Sunday issue so she barely registered the figure standing next to her desk.

“Oh, Mr. Shelby! Did Mr. Beavers ask me to get you any forms?” She pushed away her paper hurriedly and stood up.

He shook his head slowly and continued to stare at her, hands deep in his pockets.

She tilted her head as a question, and he only shrugged slightly.

“I was trying to remember why you left, all those years ago.”

(y/n) sat back down. A flicker of fear coursed through her at the reminder of their family’s departure. A broken window, her father’s bruised face, and her mother’s hands constantly trembling.

“It wasn’t my decision; it was my parents.” She didn’t look up at him and instead pulled her papers back towards her. She didn’t want to sift through all those years. She could barely make it through the present.

He must have sensed the finality because he bid her good day and left but his stare stayed with her all day and even into the night. The frostiness of the blue. The condemnation they held for humanity.

Mr. Beavers explained the next morning that they were starting a partnership with Shelby Limited. They would be expanding their sports column to include more articles on the races. Mr. Beavers excitedly described the hope for a few informative articles on the intricacies of horse racing, training, and breeding. But it wasn’t just about horses Mr. Beavers went on, being attached to Shelby Limited allowed them an easy avenue for new stories and information. It was a ready-made news source.

“All this in exchange for what?” (y/n) asked.

“We give Mr. Shelby’s races publicity and well…occasionally we would publish or not publish certain articles for the company.”

(y/n) crossed her arms, “So they can censor us? What stops them from completely taking over the paper? What if next week they decide they don’t want the Theatre column? Evan and Nate would be out of the job.”

Mr. Beavers frantically shook his head, “It’s not like that, not like that at all. I know Mrs. Gray and I trust her. The company is not interested in that kind of control. I mean we’re only a small agency, (y/n).”

And thus, the partnership began and now not just (y/n) felt the steely stare of Mr. Shelby, but the entirety of the agency did.

It started slowly but Thomas began to come by once or twice a week. It was usually on Tuesdays and Thursdays. (y/n) learned from Mr. Beavers that they were working on a contract. She would here the tell-tale sound of expensive shoes on the marble floor and know even without looking up who it was. Thomas Shelby walked with such authority in his three piece suits all the young ladies at the agency were already gossiping about him during their lunch breaks. But (y/n) kept her distance.

She had always been an outsider in Small Heath. The community never welcomed her family, something to do with their Jewish ties. And now, after returning, people were even more wary. (y/n) could tell there were whispers behind her back. She ignored the fake apologies about the missing invitation when she caught her colleagues out for a bite to eat all together. It didn’t bother her, not really.

“Mr. Shelby, Mr. Beavers will be right out. His previous meeting’s running a bit late. Please sit down if you’d like.” She gestured to the few arm chairs by the window. He only nodded and sat. He lit his cigarette and did what he always seemed to do around her, stare. And she ignored him in favor of the monumental stack of paperwork in front of her.

“How much do they pay you here?” He asked out of the blue. His deep voice easily cutting through her concentration.

She looked over, “Minimum wage.”

“For all that?” He raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

(y/n) shrugged.

“You edit, organize, design, and manage each issue and only get minimum wage?”

“I’m not in a position to be picky, Mr. Shelby.�� She bristled a bit.

He took another drag and let the smoke column upwards. He did look beautiful with the sunlight streaming in behind him. It caught the contours of his angular face and she thought yeah, I think I get it now.

He cleared his throat and sat back satisfied her attention was now on him, “Don’t you remember me?”

“Yes. I mean we were just kids.” She shrugged lightly.

“We met on the platform.” He took another inhale of his smoke, “After the war.”

(y/n) blinked.

“Yes, we did.” Her throat had gone dry.

He opened his mouth to continue but “(y/n)! I need the consumer reports.” It was Evelyn from the market section. Her plump red lips perking up at the sight of Thomas. (y/n) had the feeling Evelyn already knew he would be here; the reports weren’t needed until the end of the day.

“Yes. Here they are.” (y/n) sifted through her desk and handed over the packet.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Evelyn asked. She played with a few loose strands of her hair.

“Oh. Uh-Mr. Shelby this is Ms. Lowe. Ms. Lowe, Mr. Shelby from Shelby Limited.”

“Ever so pleased to meet you, sir.” She placed a sneaky hand on her hip and shifted her weight a tad to conform her body into an elegant pose.

And she was attractive (y/n) had to admit. She was young and full of vigor. Her hair always done to perfection and makeup never smudged. She looked like a movie star. She looked like a woman all men would fall head over heels for. (y/n) inwardly cringed. She could only imagine what she must look like next to this creature of beauty.

But when (y/n) looked over to see Thomas’ reaction, he seemingly hadn’t stopped looking at her. Only when their eyes met did Thomas glance over at Evelyn and give a slight nod.

“Mr. Shelby! Please come in, come in! I do apologize about the delay!” Mr. Beavers rushed out and hurriedly greeted the businessman.

After the door closed Evelyn let out a huff. She handed back the packet to (y/n).

“I don’t even need these. I just wanted him to get a look if you know what I mean.”

(y/n) gave a small smile hoping to be rid of the superficial woman but she had one last request.

“Put in a few good words for me, will you? He always comes by your desk. Just drop in a few hints?”

(y/n) sighed and re-organized a few papers, “I’ll try my best Evelyn, but I can’t promise anything.”

A few hours later, Evelyn really did come and collect the consumer reports but lucky for her the office door opened and the two men appeared.

“And wonderful (y/n) here will get the correct form for you to sign Mr. Shelby. Let’s organize a convenient day for her to drop the upcoming issue down at your office weekly.”

Evelyn who was too quick easily swooped in without any hesitation, “I can help, Mr. Beavers. You know that I have a much more open schedule than (y/n). I’d be happy to deliver the issue.” She smiled blindingly.

(y/n) just sat there watching the whole thing unfold. In fact, she was actually grateful Evelyn was sticking her nose into it because she didn’t want to see more of Thomas than she already had these past few weeks.

“That is true, Mr. Beavers. Evelyn has a bit more time on her hands these days.”

The boss was beginning to make the face of agreement before, “I’d like Ms. (l/n) to be the one making the deliveries.”

And there was no room for argument with Mr. Shelby.

“Of course, whatever works best for Mr. Shelby. Let’s say every Thursday?” Mr. Beavers heartily clasped the man’s hand and then beckoned Evelyn into his office for a round up on the recent reports. (y/n) didn’t miss the venomous look the other woman shot her.

(y/n) opened her desk drawer and took out the mentioned form that needed the signature.

“Just here, Mr. Shelby.” She held out a pen for him without bothering to look up. This turned out to be a bad idea because she jumped in surprise as he partially leaned over her to sign the paper. He smelled of oak and whisky. He carried the scent of the past.

She remembered seeing his eyes in the sea of green uniforms on the platform. And she knew. She just knew. After all those years. She had walked towards him. He stood there waiting for her. His beautiful blue eyes. That beautiful face.

“(y/n) (l/n).” He had said her name then with such certainty like it was law. Like it had some kind of divine meaning and not just a jumble of letters.

“Is that all?” He asked setting the pen down.

She cleared her throat, “Yes.”

She expected him to be on his way, but she looked up when she never heard the retreating footsteps. He still stood next to her one hand on the back of her chair. Looking down at her.

“Did you not expect me to remember you?”

She clenched her jaw, “Why would I expect you to remember me?”

He furrowed his brow and walked away.

Part 2

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starrydixon · 2 years ago

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Rainstorm

Era: Alexandria Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: None-Specified Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: language, minor angst but a happy ending!!

Summary: After a week full of turmoil, the last thing you needed was a torrential rainstorm passing through Alexandria to worsen your already somber mood. When an unexpected guest appears at your door, you're surprised at just how fast your mood changes for the better.

The wind howled outside, causing the shutters that decorated the outside of the townhouse to rattle and shake. Heavy rain poured down from the dark gray and angry clouds that covered the blue sky, blocking the sunlight from shining down and making Alexandria seem gloomy and wet. Basically, it was a classic rainy day.

You were curled up on the couch in front of a fire that roared in the fireplace in your living room. A blanket was wrapped around your body like a cocoon, fuzzy socks covered your feet, a new book was perched on your lap, and a cup of steaming tea sat beside you on a coaster. Usually, you loved rainy days, before and after the end of the world. Solely because it gave you an excuse to do nothing but relax with the things that gave you the most comfort.

This time, however, there was minimal comfort to be felt as the storm outside only brought you more unease and gloom than it usually did. No amount of fuzzy socks or steaming tea could shake the sorrow from your body.

It had been a rough week for you, emotionally and physically. After a distressing argument at the start of the week with Daryl, your best and closest friend since the very beginning of the world-ending apocalypse, you had been working yourself to near exhaustion in an attempt to distract yourself from feeling the pit that sat heavily in your stomach. Whenever you did allow yourself to feel it, it was always a different feeling haunting you: anxiety, anger, sadness, guilt, and everything else in between.

You knew the argument had been blown out of proportion; starting from something small and then escalating to hurtful words being thrown both ways. It had gotten so heated, that Daryl left Alexandria and hadn’t returned since. You had no idea where he went, maybe going on a hunting trip or visiting the Kingdom to confide with Carol. It worried you to no end, not knowing where he was, but you hoped he was okay; despite how hurt you still felt from his harsh words.

From the moment you first met Daryl, back at the camp stationed in a Georgia quarry, you had been infatuated with him. He was a very handsome man, his broad shoulders and strong build was never lost on you. However, it was his rugged charm, loyalty to the people that he held closest, and the subtle ways he consistently cared for the people around him that made you attracted to the archer. As much as it pained you to stay in the friendzone, you cherished the connection you had with Daryl and didn’t want to ruin it by making a move or confessing your feelings to him.

Knowing that you had fought with the man that you loved and cared so deeply for, and being on the receiving end of the venom that laced his voice, stung more than the tears that pricked and pooled in the waterline of your eyes as you watched him stalk away from you, burning anger in each stride of his legs and stomp of his feet.

You were snapped out of your thoughts of dejection when abrupt pounding on the front door of your home sounded. The harsh bangs had practically caused you to jump out of your skin, and the book that was once sitting in your lap had fallen to the floor, face down and undoubtedly creasing the pages. Your heart pounded against your ribcage as you rose to your feet; all the while staring anxiously at the source of the sudden intrusion. With the heavy downpour, you knew the only reason why someone would venture outside, away from the safety of their home, was to inform you that something was wrong.

You feared the worst; thinking a large horde of walkers were nearing the community, the walls of Alexandria had fallen apart due to the heavy winds, or that someone had gotten severely hurt. Dread filled your body as you slowly approached the front door. You were trying to prolong whatever nightmare you were about to find yourself in.

More impatient bangs sounded from the door, so forceful you swore you saw the slab of wood vibrate with each harsh pound of a fist.

When you opened the front door, just a crack, you were instantly met with bitter cold winds and wet rain that seeped through the sliver of space. As a way to brace yourself from the cold, you tightened your arm around your body more securely before pulling the door open. If your body hadn’t been so tense from bracing the harsh rainstorm that dusted by, you were sure you would have lost some form of balance from the sight you were met with.

Daryl was standing a few steps down the staircase that led to the front door of your townhouse; dark clothes drenched and sticking to his body like glue while his dark strands of hair stuck to his face and neck. Through the curtain of bangs that hung over his eyes, you could see him squinting through the harsh winds and pelting rain..

“I fucked up!” The archer shouted over the torrential downpour, his arms outstretched and raised by his sides as if to further emphasize his statement.

You thought he was drunk, high, or at least on something. It was the only way to explain this crazed behavior. Why would he willingly be outside your house, sober, and practically being assaulted by Mother Nature herself, just to talk to you? After the last time you two had spoken, you assumed that the archer wanted nothing to do with you anymore.

Before you could utter a single syllable, Daryl continued. “I really fucked up, and m’sorry! I shouldn’t of said those things to ya, or treated ya like that! I just-“

Loud thunder erupted in the angry sky as a flash of bright lighting struck the air. You both cringed at the disturbance, and Daryl was having a hard time getting out what he wanted-no-needed to say to you. With his confidence momentarily stunted, the archer brought a hand to his face and haphazardly swept away a few sopping strands of hair from his line of vision. His feet shuffled anxiously on the step he was teetering on.

“I ain’t good with words unless I’m bein’ a dick…but I just wanted to say that—I just-I just love ya, alright!? Been in love with ya for a real long time, and I know I don’t deserve ya, and—it just hurts sometimes and I act like an asshole because of it!” The weather was unrelenting, so Daryl was still having to strain his voice and shout over the heavy downpour.

You were sure your mouth was opened ajar, although you couldn’t feel it since your whole body was simultaneously numb and burning hot at the same time. With the amount of emotions flooding through you, it was hard to process the admission that Daryl had just professed to you. This resulted in you becoming struck with silence as you stared at the archer with wide eyes.

Taking your silence as a sign of rejection, Daryl began to descend down the steps with a shake of his head. Embarrassment and shame of his impulsive actions were quickly overcoming him, and he couldn’t stand to look in your eyes anymore. His retreat away from you seemed to snap you out of the stunned haze you were in.

“Daryl!” Without hesitation, you left the safety that your doorway held and leapt into the rainstorm.

Now at the bottom of the staircase, Daryl spun around when he heard your voice calling after him. The archer had just enough time to brace himself and catch you, just as you jumped into his arms. Instinctively, your arms snaked around his neck, and your lips found his in a haste kiss that ended just before it could start.

As you were beginning to pull away, with heat flushing your cheeks, Daryl’s large hand clasped over the back of your neck and pulled you back into a heated kiss. Daryl wasn’t sure when exactly the urge to kiss you became unavoidably prominent whenever he looked at you, but he knew it’s been for a while; maybe since the days spent on the Greene’s family farm.

As you kissed until you were both blue in the face with diaphragms aching, there was no rain drenching you, or thunder and lightning cracking through the sky. It was just you and him, letting out all the feelings you’ve both been harboring for the past few years in a searing kiss.

“I love you too.” You spoke softly, just barely above a whisper, once you had pulled away from him to allow fresh oxygen to fill your lungs.

With your eyes still shut, you could feel Daryl’s strong chest heave against yours as he caught his breath, and his forehead rest on yours with a gentle press. The tip of his nose brushed against yours, and you had a hard time trying not to laugh at the tingly sensation the touch brought.

“M’sorry.” Daryl murmured quietly, so quiet you almost missed it due to the rain assailing down on you. “I shouldn’t of-of acted like that, no matter how upset I was…I just-”

Before he could finish speaking, you quieted him by tightening your arms around his neck and bringing him down to your level so you could replace your lips on his for a short, but meaningful, kiss. “I know…I’m sorry too, for everything.”

The archer’s arms only tightened around your figure more securely as his head shook slightly, almost as if he couldn’t accept or believe in your forgiveness. Reluctantly, you pulled away from him again; this time with just enough space separating you both to be able to look at his face and in his eyes. Regret and blatant sadness filled his gray-blue eyes, and it caused your heartstrings to pull painfully. Removing a hand from off his neck, you cupped one side of his face and swept a few drenched strands of dark hair from off his cheek with your thumb.

“We’re both at fault here…but we can start, whatever this is, with a new slate, y’know?” As you spoke, a smile grew across your face, brightening your features in the process.

As Daryl let his eyes flicker over your face, admiring the light radiating off of you despite the storm around you, he could feel the rays of your smile warm his body and bring light back to his previously dulled eyes. He felt reassured by your words, convinced that you both could forgive and let this moment be the start of something new and special.

“Yeah…that sounds good.” With a nod of his head, and a smile of his own twitching at the corners of his mouth, Daryl held your face in his hands and pulled you in for another captivating kiss.

You couldn’t help but laugh against the archer’s lips, your arms now wrapped loosely around his neck as you leaned backwards with each laugh that escaped you. It was quite possible that you’d end up with a cold, due to being out in the pouring rain for so long, but that was the last thing on your mind as you continued to kiss the man you’ve been painfully smitten with for a long time.

From now on, whenever a rainstorm passed through, you knew those feelings of gloom and weariness would be replaced with warmth and elation. You’d think back to this exact moment; kissing Daryl for the first time in the pouring rain, wearing matching smiles that were so bright it threatened to clear the dark clouds in the sky and bring the sun out once again.

A/N: I’ve always wanted to write the ‘kissing in the rain’ trope, so as soon as this idea struck me, I ran with it! Is it a little cliche? Maybe. But is it cute? Yes. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!! <3

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction

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wanderinginksplot-writes · 6 months ago

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Gar Cyare Chapter Twelve

Finally back after an unexpected year-long hiatus!

Word Count: 4,400

Warnings: Implied threats, definite threats, mentions of genetic experimentation, suspicion, mentions of the Attack on Kamino, fear.

Previous | Next (SFW) | Masterlist | Next (NSFW)

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Ca'tra (Night Sky)

Your office looked roughly the same as it always had. Bland Kaminoan architecture dressed in shades of white, gray, and black held a collection of furniture that had been built with the clear emphasis of function over form. Your datapads were untouched, as were the slight hints of mess around the edges of your desk.

But everything seemed a little strange with the light… or, more accurately, the lack of it.

The shutters that covered all of the exterior-facing windows on Kamino were closed, both protecting you from any attempt to break through the transparisteel and keeping you from seeing anything that might be happening outside.

Though nighttime had fallen and the Kaminoan skies had been dark with clouds when the shields lowered, there was still plenty to see. The GAR had recalled all personnel in the sector to Kamino. There was too much chance that the Separatists could come back. This time, they could use the knowledge they had gathered during the last invasion - plus any new intel - to destroy the Fett genetic sample for good.

The arrival of new ships was nearly constant, and you had heard chatter from the cadets that at least two Venator-class Star Destroyers were guarding the areas just beyond Kamino’s atmosphere. Any ships that intended to land had been issued special clearance codes. If they failed to deliver them at the right time or on the right frequency, they would be shot down upon breaking atmosphere.

You hadn’t heard the anti-aircraft guns fire yet, so you were fairly confident that there had been no actual invasion.

Still, you itched to see beyond the barriers, though you knew your reasoning was senseless. You wouldn’t see Alpha coming back. General Ti had told you that he would be gone at least another twelve hours, but your mind kept insisting that you would be able to watch him land in relative safety.

If you were being honest with yourself, that was why you were still in your office instead of your bedroom. Sure, you could pretend that you were there in case General Ti or Commander Colt needed something from you, but in all reality, it was because you were filled with dread at the idea of returning to your empty quarters.

You already hated the idea that Alpha was out in the galaxy when there were potentially Separatists in the area, but to be reminded of it every time you looked around your bedroom? No, you were perfectly content in your office.

A knock on your door made you sit upright. “Yes?”

Your hammering heart gradually slowed as Commander Colt peered inside. “Why are you still awake?”

You shrugged. “Too nervous to sleep, I guess.”

A frown creased the space between the commander’s eyebrows as he stepped into your office. “You should get some rest while you can. If we are invaded, you need to be at full awareness.”

That wasn’t exactly comforting, but you nodded.

“Sorry,” Commander Colt said abruptly. “Probably didn’t help anything, huh?”

“Not exactly,” you admitted. The concern for your nerves was surprising, more something you would have expected from Alpha. Suddenly, you wondered if the commander had come to find you because Alpha had asked him to. “Have you heard from Alpha?”

He shook his head. “No, why? Have you?”

“No.” You sighed. “I thought that might be why you’re here.”

“Limit asked me to check on you,” he told you. That made more sense, but before you could say so, Commander Colt added, “I was already on my way.”

“Oh.” You toyed with a datapad on your desk to distract yourself from how slowly time was passing. “Why?”

“Alpha cares about you,” he explained slowly. “More than anyone else.”

You chuckled softly. “I know I’m his favorite nat-born.”

Commander Colt shook his head slightly. “You’re his favorite person. He cares about you more than anyone else. Between how much he likes you and how much you’ve done to take care of him - and all my brothers, actually - you’re vod’ika.”

Little sibling.

The term made your chest warm with pleasure. “Thank you, Colt.”

Colt cleared his throat. “Anyway, how are you handling all of this?”

You took a deep breath. “I’m fine, I suppose. I’m just so… sick of being on Kamino when it goes on lockdown.”

For a full beat after you had finished speaking, Colt stared at you. At last, he burst out laughing. “I thought you were going to be scared.”

“I might be eventually,” you said with a shrug. “But right now, I can only think about how I’ve been here every time the lab has been locked down. I understand it’s important, but it’s getting old.”

Colt nodded in commiseration and you gave him a considering look. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” he repeated, seeming stunned when you nodded. “What do you mean?”

You glanced at your desk, trying to buy some time to find the right phrasing. “The last time there was an invasion, you were hurt pretty badly. I don’t remember it, but Alpha was shaken up and that takes a lot. I gather that it was… close. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I’m fine,” Colt insisted. You weren’t sure about that, but if pretending was how he got through things, you weren’t going to begrudge him the coping mechanism. He turned as if to leave, but stopped before he stepped through your door. “Go to sleep soon, yeah? Limit’s working a long shift to get the medbays prepped, but he asked me to pass on a warning. If he comes by and you’re still here, he’ll tell Alpha.”

You laughed at that despite yourself. “He probably would.”

Colt chuckled too, patting the doorframe in a gesture that seemed to punctuate his departure. “Goodnight, vod’ika.”

“Goodnight, Colt.”

When you were alone once more, you started getting everything put away for the night… but paused when your datapad slipped from your fingers and clattered against the surface of the table. The screen flickered on in the collision and you frowned, pulling it closer.

Displaying on the screen were the records that you had been digging into before all of the investigation and shutdown chaos, records you hadn’t been able to finish accessing because you had run out of time. You had told Colt that you would go to bed and you didn’t intend to lie… but this was too intriguing to leave for the next day.

It was fine, you reasoned. You weren’t tired yet and there was finally time to do some digging.

Hidden behind a maze of misnamed file pathways and a selection of different passcodes, you found it: records of the clone trooper gene isolation process. The records were old, written when Ko Sai was the Chief Scientist of Kamino. She had been an integral part of creating the clone trooper genetic blueprint.

That had confused you at first. They were clones of Jango Fett - why would the genes need to be altered at all? But even skimming the notes had been enough to give you an answer: the clone troopers weren’t exact genetic copies at all. Ko Sai had made some changes to make the troopers more loyal, less independent, and less vicious.

There were a few outliers - especially in the early batches of troopers - and creating any living thing came with risks of aberrations in the genetics, but the experiments had been successful. That was according to Ko Sai’s notes, of course, but they were dry and scientific enough that you assumed the wasn’t much risk of them being exaggerated.

The changes to trooper personalities were in a group Ko Sai referred to as ‘behavioral traits’. The more chilling half was designated as ‘genetic traits’.

Genetic traits seemed to be the way the Kaminoans referred to the changes they made to keep themselves in business. Not only did they control things like troopers building muscle faster, but mercilessly capitalistic qualities like the troopers’ accelerated aging process.

You didn’t like the idea of the changes that had been made to the troopers genes. You were self-reflective enough to realize that part of your aversion was because you didn’t like the idea of gene manipulation in general. The accelerated aging was particular egregious to you since it was actively working to decrease the amount of time you could possibly spend with Alpha.

But the notes fascinated you - not because of their content, but because through them you could tell that Ko Sai was a deeply paranoid being.

The records were sealed with a virtual warning: if someone without the proper security codes attempted to slice into them, the files would self-destruct. And not just the files on the record you were viewing. No, the trap would wipe every known copy of the records from any device. The trigger had been built into the file transfer itself and could be detonated at any time.

Your interest was piqued. You had been given full access to everything you needed for your report and had the highest possible security clearance, but you still held your breath as you typed in your access code.

Thankfully, it worked and you spent a blissful hour reading through all of Ko Sai’s notes and records. A lot of it was gibberish to you and - you suspected - would be to anyone other than a highly-trained geneticist.

As the hour grew later and you started to worry that Limit really would come to kick you out, you tried to make a copy of the files onto your datapad, but were blocked. You weren’t sure what kind of scientist would keep her files from being copied, but she must have been very certain that she would be able to access that information in other places.

Before you shut down the datapad entirely, you found a microscopic file attached in the shell of an unrelated topic. It was a simple document that you might have overlooked… if it didn’t force you to enter your password once more. From what you gathered once you could view the vague document, Ko Sai had made copies of all of her information. She had stored them on a collection of personal datapads.

The description of where to find them was heavily coded, but you gamely copied it onto your own datapad. Then, feeling an echo of Ko Sai’s paranoia, you also jotted it down onto a nearby piece of flimsi. With other topics for the report running thin, maybe finding the original notes from Ko Sai’s experiments would be a good way to extend your assignment.

You spent a few moments staring at the code, jotting some preliminary guesses down beneath the characters. The most common letters were likely overrepresented among the words, unless Ko Sai had been using a rotational cipher. You wouldn’t put it past her, but even rotational ciphers weren’t impossible to figure out.

Cracking the code and extending your report-writing process were things that could wait. You tucked the datapad and flimsi into your bag and shut off the lights in your office. Too much longer and you were worried you really would run into Limit, but you were bringing the codes along for insurance in case it turned into a sleepless night.

Sometimes it was good to have an office so far from your quarters. It kept you involved in the day-to-day life on Kamino and took you through some highly populated areas on the trip. And with the hours you worked, you could use the exercise. But it was an unpleasant trip late at night, when all you wanted was to crawl into bed.

Perhaps you wouldn’t have minded walking through the main sections of Kamino if they weren’t full of cadets giving you suspicious looks.

It seemed like you had just convinced everyone that you hadn’t caused the first invasion of Kamino. No one had told the cadets many details about what had caused this lockdown, but they paid enough attention to know that you were close to the situation.

After a few hallways of those wary glances, you cut down a side path. The slightly longer trip was a price you gladly paid in exchange for avoiding all of the watchful eyes.

You found yourself in a section of the city that housed the learning terminals. They weren’t currently in use - all flash training had been suspended while Kamino was on lockdown and there was no reason for anyone but a cadet to be in the terminal rooms.

So why were you hearing adult voices coming from one?

You peeked in through the partially open door, taking in the scene in a millisecond: There were six troopers in the room. Two of them were working at one of the terminals while the other four were observing the display screen at the front of the room.

Surprisingly, you recognized the troopers. They had arrived on Kamino earlier that day. They weren’t the first to land on-planet after the lockdown had started, but they were one of the earlier groups.

The reason they had attracted your attention was because of the reaction of the cadets. Most arrivals on Kamino before and after the six troopers were met with warm welcomes (and often a little teasing) from the cadets. But these six were given a wary distance. They didn’t seem bothered by it - in fact, they had seemed to accept that wariness as their due.

Their attitude struck you as strange. The troopers were loyal, and that quality apparently went down to a genetic level. The idea of troopers who didn’t seem to feel that draw to be close with their brothers was unique, and you were very curious to know how that uniqueness had managed to survive long enough to leave Kamino at all.

Of course, that curiosity was secondary to their motivations with the learning terminals.

You recognized the file pathways displayed at the front of the room: these troopers were trying to slice into Ko Sai’s private records.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have been such a crisis if the Kaminoans hadn’t told General Ti that they intended to launch a full investigation of their information. They needed to find out what had been sliced, duplicated, or downloaded. And to get all of that done, they needed to shut down terminal access and cycle all codes and passwords. It was only with the General’s interference that you had managed to retain your own access.

You were willing to bet that these troopers, whoever they were, didn’t have the same privileges you held. In that case, there was a very real risk that they were about to trigger a complete wipe of Ko Sai’s library of records.

“Stop!” you cried, bursting through the doors before you could temper your reaction.

Unsurprisingly, you were met with four drawn blasters. The two troopers at the terminal continued to work, but the others stared at you.

“Who are you?” one demanded flatly.

Your hands had risen instinctively, hovering palm-out as you tried very hard to look nonthreatening. “I’m an administrator. I was sent here by the Senate to write a report about the clone troopers.”

“Proof?” another trooper asked.

“You can ask anyone about me,” you said quickly, lamenting that you didn’t wear your Senate ID badge on a regular basis. You hadn’t since your first week on Kamino. “I’ve been here for a while.”

They looked skeptical, but your attention was focused on the large display screen at the front of the room.

“Please, you have to stop,” you warned them, your desperation rising as you watched a password entry box appear. “Don’t put in your password! Ko Sai-”

The trooper at the terminal had finished entering his password and submitted it without paying any attention to you. A moment later, the screen flashed red and an ominous timer started counting down.

“Ko Sai put a self-destruct code into her records,” you finished lamely.

One of the trooper holstered his blaster and turned to look at the display screen, swearing in Mando’a. “Jaing, can you stop it?”

“Trying…” one of the troopers at the terminal replied.

You watched just as intently as the troopers did - the ones who weren’t aiming blasters at you, anyway. Only moments later, the trooper stopped typing, a slight slackening in his muscles serving as your only hint of the outcome. The trooper beside him swore colorfully.

“It’s all gone,” one of the troopers summarized, still watching you for any sign of a fight.

“Yes.” The one who had been working to circumvent Ko Sai’s trap stood - he had answered to the name ‘Jaing’ - neatly replacing the chair at the terminal. “What now?”

“Now,” the trooper who had put his blaster away said grimly, “we find out a little more about our new friend.”

“Always liked meeting new people,” the other trooper at the terminal said with a sharp grin, joining the others.

They were standing around you in a loose semi-circle. Three still held blasters aimed at you, so you stayed in your nonthreatening pose.

“Who are you?”

You took a breath, trying to keep from sounding scared. “I’m a Republic administrator, sent by the Senate-”

“You said that already,” a previously silent trooper told you, sounding unimpressed.

“That’s because it’s true.”

The one you privately thought of as the leader crossed his arms. “Never said it wasn’t. Doesn’t mean we should care.”

“Ordo,” one of the others warned quietly.

A chill went down your spine as you realized the rationale behind the warning: if these men didn’t care about your position as a representative of the Galactic Senate, there was something else motivating them.

“Are you involved in the infiltration of Kamino?”

One of the troopers laughed abruptly, the sound loud enough to make you flinch. “What are you talking about, civvie?”

“How else would you have arrived so early?” you asked, voice soft as you fell into musing the convoluted pathways of logic. “You weren’t the first ones here, but you weren’t far behind. No one should have been traveling through this sector outside of official missions and you weren’t on one of those. And now you’re here, looking at top-secret information about the genetic basis of the clone trooper program. I told you I’m a Senate representative and you’re still thinking about shooting me.”

“See, this is what happens when nat-borns try to think,” one of the men said, chuckling. It was a good act, but you could see the utter lack of emotion in his eyes. “You’re seeing patterns that don’t exist.”

“No,” you refused decisively. “There are too many strange coincidences here. My gut is saying something is off. Why are you here?”

“I have a better question,” Ordo countered. “How did you know about the data wipe code in those files?”

“How did you know about those files at all?” another asked.

“Good point, Mereel,” Ordo congratulated, turning pointedly to face you. “How did you know about Ko Sai’s private holorecords?”

“I’m writing a report about clone troopers,” you repeated firmly. “I was given access to pull from all sources in order to make my report as complete as possible.”

“Wait,” Jaing ordered, stepping forward. His gaze was intense as he asked, “Do you have a copy of Ko Sai’s data?”

“No.” The tension lowered slightly, but Jaing was still watching you. “She built in a feature that doesn’t allow for any of the files to be copied.”

“So,” one of the unnamed troopers asked. “Should we neutralize her here or somewhere easier to clean up?”

You struggled to stay impassive even as your stomach dropped.

“Udesii, A’den,” Mereel said, holding a hand out. “Killing a Senate representative may not be the best move here.”

“Why not?” A’den asked, grinning at you. “Planet’s already on lockdown. The long-necks’ll probably think their spy was the one who did it. I doubt if anyone has seen this one since things went dark.”

You straightened, giving him your coldest look. “Commander Colt would disagree with you. As would Captain Alpha-17.”

The group had grown quiet at Colt’s name, but noticeably relaxed when you mentioned Alpha.

“Nice try, civvie,” Ordo told you. “Seventeen is off-planet. Probably will be for a while, with the mess they walked into.”

“What did you do to him?” you demanded, taking a furious and unwise step forward. The blaster barrels weren’t quite touching you, but they weren’t much more than a deep breath away. “If you hurt him-”

“Fiery little thing, isn’t she?” one of the others asked, grinning at the others even as his grip on the blaster stayed firm.

“So much concern about clones,” A’den mocked. “Don’t you know we’re disposable?”

“Speaking of,” one of the others interrupted, “she knows who we are and what we were looking for. We need to take care of this before we leave the planet.”

Jaing lifted a brow at him. “Does that mean you’ve got an idea, Prudii?”

“The balconies off the lower platforms were always useful. Cuts down on the mess and the body falls right into the sea,” Prudii said with a shrug. One of the others snorted and Prudii frowned at him. “Problem, Komr’k?”

Komr’k shook his head, clearly fighting a smile. You waited with the others. Nothing seemed to be particularly amusing about the conversation, but perhaps it was just because it was your death that they were discussing. “Just thinking of all the applications of the term ‘aiwha-bait’.”

The reactions ranged from smirks to eye-rolls, but no one seemed to share your growing feeling of nausea. It probably wouldn’t hurt, so long as they executed you with a blaster bolt to the head, but you were getting a little dizzy as you thought about what would happen to your body after you died. And, of course, there were the people you would leave behind.

No.

It took some effort, but you pulled yourself out of the spiral you were drifting into. You had survived the Separatist attack on Kamino. You had faced down Ventress, working with some of the best soldiers in the galaxy to make it through the experience relatively unharmed. You could survive this, too. You would.

The training terminals weren’t close to the lower balconies, not by a long shot. You had visited the balconies many times with Alpha. You knew the area well. There would be plenty of places to attract attention or slip away. And if you couldn’t manage to do either, you would make it loud and violent, enough to attract attention.

“Let’s get moving,” Ordo ordered as A’den gestured toward the room’s entrance with his blaster. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

You lifted your chin as you stepped toward the door. Could he see the determination on your face? You almost hoped he could. You wouldn’t passively accept being executed. A hand grabbed your shoulder, tugging so roughly that you stumbled forward.

“Someone should have given you the same warning, Ordo,” Alpha said menacingly, sweeping you through the doorway and behind him. He was in full armor, blocking the doorway with his bulk.

“Alpha, no!” you urged him. “They have blasters.”

“So do I,” he said, voice steely. “Plus enough detonators to make the first invasion look like a training mishap.”

“We have some business with the civvie,” one of the troopers started. It was much more difficult to tell who was speaking when you couldn’t see any of them, but it didn’t matter. Alpha interrupted before anyone could say more than that.

“Ulyc sushir,” Alpha said menacingly. Even from behind him, his voice rumbled through your chest. “You men are going to stand down. Forget whatever little geroya you had going with her. You’re going to let us walk away. If you think you have anything else to say to her - unlikely - you will go through me. Understood?”

There was no answer. The next moment, Alpha repeated, “Understood?”

“Copy.”

That single word seemed to be as far as the troopers were willing to go. Alpha took a step back, carefully keeping himself between you and the others until you were out of sight.

“Who-?”

“Wait.”

You didn’t love being commanded like an animal, but considering that he had likely saved your life, you followed Alpha’s instruction.

He activated his comlink, keying in a code from memory.

The voice on the other end - male, older but not elderly - answered almost immediately. “Alph-”

“Call off your dogs,” Alpha demanded, durasteel in his tone.

“If you’re talking about my boys, they’re on assignment on Kamino.” The voice was genial, friendly, almost paternal. Still, there was a sly undertone that warned you there was something more happening. “I have no say in what they do there.”

“They almost killed a civilian.” Alpha glanced at you, as if worried that you would be startled by his blunt appraisal of the situation. You didn’t react - you had known where things had been headed. “I need to be sure they won’t try it a second time.”

“The only reason a civilian would be in danger is if they interfered,” the man said. “Dangerous thing in a warzone.”

“Keep them under control or I’ll send you the tags.”

The staticky silence on the comlink turned deafening, almost icy. “We’ve never had reason to argue, Seventeen. If you push this, I guarantee that will change. You don’t want a revenge-driven mando on your shebs.”

“And you don’t want me to take a closer look at who wiped Dengar’s records from the Kaminoan databases,” Alpha countered. “The civvie is off-limits, Skirata. Tell them before we have a misunderstanding.”

“You have to understand what they’re working for,” Skirata wheedled. “It’s important to them. To all of you. One civilian loss is a low price to pay.”

“Off. Limits.” Alpha bit out sharply.

The quiet stretched as both sides battled for supremacy. Eventually, Skirata sighed. “I’ll see what I can do. But you know how clever my boys can be when they have an obstacle to get around.”

“Warn them,” Alpha advised, “or you’ll all find out how clever I can be.”

“None of us are di’kutla enough to underestimate you, Alpha,” Skirata said, sounding a bit amused. “I only wish you’d find your way to working with us instead of against us.”

“Not as long as you’re trying to take out innocent civilians,” Alpha told him, severing the connection before Skirata could respond.

“Now you,” Alpha said, glancing back over his shoulder. It wasn’t an easy motion to accomplish while wearing full armor and a helmet, so you moved to walk beside him. Just as well - trailing behind him like a lost tooka wasn’t your favorite thing.

When you were next to him, Alpha removed his helmet and gave you a hard look. “How much do you understand about what just happened?”

“Not much,” you admitted. “I know those troopers were trying to access Ko Sai’s records, even when I warned them not to. Who are they?”

“They are known as the Null-class troopers,” Alpha told you slowly. “The first clones of Jango that the Kaminoans ever created.”

“I thought the Alpha-class troopers were the first.” You were working from the assumption that no part of the conversation was going to offend Alpha, but you studied his expression for any hint of displeasure or hurt.

“We were the first viable ones,” he explained. “The Nulls were too much like Jango. The Kaminii hadn’t figured out which genes to control for yet. The Null-class didn’t take orders, not to standard. Those six were slated for termination, but Kal Skirata saved them. He had just landed on-planet, a Mando mercenary hired by Jango to train the troopers.”

“Those six?” you echoed. “Were there other Nulls?”

“There were twelve.”

You swallowed against the bile that was trying to rise from your twisting stomach. “What happened to the other six?”

“Embryos weren’t viable,” Alpha said shortly. “They never made it past that point. The six you just met are the only Nulls that ever existed and the only ones who ever will.”

“I… can’t say I’m upset about that,” you admitted.

Alpha huffed a near-silent laugh. “Why did you try to stop them from accessing Ko Sai’s files?”

“She built a self-destruct trigger into them.” You were satisfied by the look of surprise on Alpha’s face. “Trying an incorrect password destroys all files on the system, and every remote copy that got saved. They didn’t realize their passwords had been locked down while the Kaminoans investigate their internal information.”

“And what was in the records?” he asked, guiding you around a corner with a hand against your back. You drank in the touch like it could sustain you.

“Genetic information,” you answered. “I was reading it before I left my office. It was all about the way the Kaminoans had altered the Fett gene to create the ideal clone trooper personality. Ko Sai’s words, of course.”

Alpha grunted at that, but didn’t give any other response.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” you asked after a few moments of silence.

Alpha glanced sidelong at you. “Not if they know what’s good for them. But that’s why we’re going to your quarters. Better security.”

You nodded. The two of you were close enough to your room that you didn’t feel the need to make any more conversation. As you entered the code to get into your room, you glanced back at Alpha. He was facing the hallway you had just come from, clearly keeping watch against anyone who might have followed you.

“I just need to brush my teeth, then the ‘fresher is all yours,” you said softly.

Alpha grunted again, stepping through the door behind you. He worked on the interior panel, setting up additional security measures. There was no such thing as a slice-proof door panel, but those measures would give you some extra time if someone started working to get inside.

You left him to it, brushing your teeth and changing into pajamas before you left the refresher. Alpha had already removed his armor and dimmed the lights, sitting in just his body glove as he waited for the refresher. His leg jiggled with tension.

As you stepped past each other, Alpha’s fingers rose to stroke down your forearm in a single gentle touch. Then he was inside the refresher and the shower water turned on as you listened.

You had every intention of being awake when Alpha came back out, but you must have drifted off. The next thing you knew, the bed dipped as Alpha got under the covers behind you. His arm snaked around your torso, pulling you tight against him. You smiled, snuggling a little closer, but frowned.

Alpha was trembling.

There was a fine tremor running through his entire body, only perceptible now that you were close enough to feel it. His breathing was slightly irregular, easy enough to note now that you were looking out for it.

Turning around in his arms wasn’t easy, especially when Alpha’s grip was so tight. But you managed, gently cupping his jaw when you were facing him. It was too dark to see, but the tightness of his jaw muscles under your palm was enough to know what he was feeling.

“Alpha?” you asked softly. “Are you okay?”

His breath left him in a shuddering exhale. “Almost lost you, neverd’ika.”

“Never,” you assured him. “I would have found a way to get free. I wouldn’t leave you like that.”

He laughed slightly. “You make it sound like a choice.”

“No choice at all,” you countered. “If my choices are between staying with you and letting someone take me away like that… I would have fought like hell.”

Alpha was quiet, but you could feel the way his lips parted and closed over and over until he decided what he wanted to say. “The fact that you don’t seem concerned is enough to make me worry. Fear isn’t good, but it can keep you alive.”

“You think I wasn’t scared?” you asked, letting your disbelief come through in your voice. “Alpha, I was terrified. Trem has been a great teacher, but I don’t think there’s much I could have done against six troopers. I think I’m in a bit of shock. When it all hits me, I’ll be a mess for a while.”

“I’ll take care of you if that happens.”

Alpha’s vow made you smile. “I’ll gladly take you up on that. As long as you let me take care of you now.”

He inched forward, searching blindly in the darkness until your lips met in a careful kiss. “I have a few ideas about what we could do.”

---

Author's Note - There will be a spicy mini chapter to follow this one. Nothing vital to the plot happens in it - you will not miss anything if you choose not to read it. It will be posted on my NSFW alt account. If you don't know where that is, send me a message and I'll give you the username as long as you have 18+ in your bio. If you're under 18 and find it of your own accord, you're claiming to be mature enough to read adult content.

For those who have not read the Republic Commando series, the Null ARCs and Kal Skirata are fascinating characters! You're seeing them at their most ruthless here, but they have a lot of depth. They're on Kamino to complete their own mission, which can make them come off as antagonists, but life is rarely that simple.

My loose plan is to post one chapter every month, but the spicy chapters don't count toward that number. So I'll see you in a week or two for some 'quality time' with Alpha, and next month to see what happens after this!

I'm so glad to be back! Thank you to everyone who waited so patiently or sent words of encouragement. <3 For anyone new to this story, that long of a hiatus is not typical for me. I don't anticipate it happening again.

#gar cyare #gar cyare fic #alpha 17 #star wars #star wars legends #star wars fanfiction #reader insert #reader insert fic #captain alpha 17 #alpha 17 fic #alpha 17 x reader #alpha 17 x you #commander colt #null arcs #kal skirata

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literary-motif · 4 months ago

Text

II. The Dead Travel Fast

In which you take a trip and admire architecture. ~5,200 words

Overview // I. The Symposium

The curtains in your brother's room were tightly drawn. He was still buried deep in the pillows when you opened the door to check on him. The rays of sunlight sneaking past the fabric illuminated his sleeping figure softly, and you smiled as you approached him to thread your fingers through his golden curls.

"Theodore?" you prompted quietly, waiting for any sign of movement.

You had told him of your meeting with Lord Claiborne yesterday in the carriage ride home, but you had a faint notion that he had not fully grasped the meaning of your words in his drunk state.

“Theo, come on,” you said, shaking him a little.

He rolled over, groaning in displeasure and muttering something incomprehensible. You brushed some strands of hair out of his face, and he blinked his eyes open slowly, closing them with a wince at the dim brightness of the room.

“I am leaving. A gentleman asked me to do his portrait yesterday. Expect me to be back in a few days, four at most. Alright?”

There was no reply.

You sighed, feeling a smidge of guilt for waking him in the first place. After the headache he had had and the sherry he drank yesterday, Theodore was sure to need rest and plenty of sleep to recover.

Picking up a loose paper from his dresser, you scrawled down the message with the pencil you always carried around for sketches and left it on the nightstand. Muttering a final goodbye, you closed the door to his room softly before descending the stairs.

There was a faint nagging in the back of your head that leaving your siblings alone again to go off into the country only a day after your return might not have been the best idea, but it was too late to go back on your word to Lord Claiborne now. Your excitement had gotten the better of you last night, and now you had to live with the consequences.

Elisabeth was looming in the doorway of the library, watching you silently. “Leaving already?” she asked, making you halt and look up. She raised an eyebrow but did not otherwise betray her thoughts. “Good thing you did not bother unpacking. Send me a croissant when you’re back in your République.”

“I will be back in a few days,” you said, showing her the blank canvas under your arm. “I was commissioned to paint a portrait.” You reached the foot of the stairs, looking around the entrance hall and finding your bag exactly where you had left it the day prior.

The room was no longer shrouded in shadows as you had opened all the shutters, allowing the morning light to flood the house and reclaim some of its previous vivacity. You had left the wilted flowers in their vase — a much too poetic still life given the circumstances.

You looked up towards your sister, who was now leaning over the banister. “Did your delivery arrive yesterday?” you asked, trying to make conversation.

“Yes,” she said, not elaborating further.

You were about to comment on her newfound darker interest but thought better of it. Your relationship felt strained already, and you did not want to add to it by judging her for something you did not understand.

She disappeared from your view an instant later. “Goodbye,” she said flatly, letting the door to the library fall shut behind her.

You clenched your jaw in displeasure, making your way to the front door. As you opened it, you found a man leaning against a shiny black carriage.

He flicked his cigarette to the ground when he saw you, straightening and brushing some ash from his dark brown coat. His graying hair was partly concealed by the hat he wore, and the deep lines on his face made him look more severe than the kind glint in his eyes warranted.

“Good morning,” he said huskily, opening the door to the carriage for you.

It was an older model of a closed carriage, with side windows and glass in the doors. The black was decorated in parts with gold, the colors harmonizing well with the red cushions on the interior.

The driver offered a hand to take your luggage. “Lord Claiborne sent me to collect you. I’m Mr. Fint, at your service.”

You took his hand to shake instead. He stuttered, looking at you baffled.

“Good morning,” you greeted, “I am the artist hired to do his portrait. It is a pleasure.” Letting go of his hand, you heaved your bag onto the cushions yourself. You placed the canvas against the opposite door carefully before climbing.

As the carriage set into motion a moment later, you tried to get comfortable while picking up the novel you had begun the day prior. Edmond Dantès had just started talking with Abbé Faria.

You looked forward to reading more of Dumas’excellent penmanship. The effortlessness with which his sentences stretched across the pages enticed you, making the novel one of your favorites thus far despite having read less than half of the lengthy tale.

It was a thrill to read it in the original French. Not that you mistrusted the translators, but there was always a part of the text and the sentiment with which it had been written that got lost in translation.

You were delighted to be able to read the language, remembering Theodore’s complaints not too long ago about the available translation of Tolstoy’s War and Peace.

The French version, which you had read in Paris close upon your arrival there, had been the basis of the English translation by Clara Bell, sparking his disappointment at having the Russian text twice translated and thereby further away from the words and tone Tolstoy had originally intended.

Raising your head to gaze out of the window, you noted distantly that you had already left the city. With the rolling fields and the fresh green of the country outside, you remembered how much you had missed the peaceful quiet of nature.

The grass seemed to stretch into the horizon. The Ash and Oak trees flanked the road, their leaves rustling in the wind and reminding you of the splashing of a stream.

There was a time when you would chase your brother around the fields, making sure your little sister did not stain her light blue dress irrevocably as she stumbled over roots or threw herself on the ground just to be pouty.

The memory made you smile, a pang of melancholy hitting you as you looked at the sea of green. So much had changed since then. Thesesimpler, calmer times seemed a lifetime away.

Your parents had gone, disappearing without a trace as they thrust Theodore into the deep end, selfishly leaving him to pick up the pieces of their recklessness without a care. You were worried he would cave under the pressure.

He was determined and the most reliable person you knew because of his sense of responsibility. You knew he would rather die than fall short in his duties, but it was that which worried you so. He was fragile, pushing himself beyond his limits to meet the expectations your parents' constant badgering had made him believe he needed to achieve to prove his worth.

Elisabeth had turned nearly unrecognizable in the five years you had been gone. When you left, she had pleaded for you to stay, unwilling to see her family broken up and fighting for everything to remain the same. She had wanted you to stay close, begging you to take the London art school instead.

In the end, she made you promise to write her at least one letter each month. You remained true to your word, even when she stopped replying in the second year. Her cold greeting replayed in your mind, making you wonder if she had bothered to read them at all.

Closing Le Comte de Monte-Cristo, you raised your fist to knock twice on the roof. There was no point in trying to focuson the book in your lap when your thoughts were consumed by worries and uncertainties.

The carriage slowed, allowing you to open the door and call out. “Would you mind if I joined you in the front, Mr. Fint?”

He muttered his consent, and you were sitting on the perch a moment later, closing your eyes and imagining that the gentle rocking of the carriage were the waves of the ocean crashing against the hull of a boat. You missed traveling. There was something particularly inspiring about the ocean.

Every time you heard the waves rolling against the shore, feeling the gentle breeze from far across the ocean ruffling your hair, your chest filled with a deeply seated longing for infinity. It was the wish for that moment to encompass all of time itself, for the sun already low on the horizon to stay in limbo forever and never to die.

Birds chirped, tearing you out of your reverie. You opened your eyes again, blinking in the bright sunlight. The countryside might not be the coast you were dreaming of, but you felt reborn nonetheless, with the fresh air caressing your cheeks and the amazing world of nature all around.

Sighing in contentment, you relaxed into the hard seat. “I have missed this,” you said, looking to the side of the road to admire the stretch of little white flowers growing there. “Look, Mr. Fint, wood anemones. I haven’t seen them in years.”

He hummed in response, keeping a tight hold on the reins.

“They were the first flowers I painted,” you continued, gazing at the delicate white petals. “They are — I suppose they were, I am not quite sure anymore — my sister’s favorites. She would get terribly sad when we left the country. Elisabeth loved the ‘white stars,’ as she called them. When I gifted her a painting of them, she was overjoyed.”

You recalled the large smile on her face when you had given her the canvas. She had beamed, her eyes shining in awe and gratitude as you had immortalized the flower bud she loved to look at. It had taken you days to get it right, and Theodore had to distract her for hours not to spoil the surprise.

“I wonder if she still has it,” you muttered. “I fear we have not been on the best terms lately.”

Mr. Fint did not reply, and you cleared your throat awkwardly.

The silence between you stretched on, but just as you had resigned yourself to a quiet ride, he raised his hand, pointing to the right.

“Snowdrops,” he said sadly, hesitating before continuing. “I saw ‘em in Crimea.” His gaze flickered to you before returning to the delicate flower.

With a solemn expression, he shook his head as if to shake memories he would much rather forget. He bit his tongue, searching for words before opening his mouth, only to close it a moment later.

You waited patiently.

“I joined the army in November of the last year,” he said bitterly. “Kars, if you remember” — he looked at you closely —“well, I suppose it was before your time. We lost Kars in one of the last big battles of the Crimean War. It was my first. I got there in time to—” he paused, tearing his eyes away from the flower to stare straight ahead.

You saw him swallow thickly, and his hand shot up to wipe at his eyes.

“I had a friend. A good friend,” he said, “He had joined at the beginning of the bloody thing. I had traveled there to watch him die.”

You were taken aback by the heaviness of his story. It was unusual for someone to confide such a private tragedy to a stranger, but you supposed you had set the mood of the conversation by talking about your sister.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you said, snowdrops more tragic in your eyes now.

“It’s been years,” Mr. Fint said, waving a hand as if to dissipate the ghosts of the past he had summoned, “but they always remind me of him. It was not fair what happened, but war never is. I returned home to the country cheering for our victory, and all I could think about was the loss I suffered.”

He took out a battered pocket watch, presenting it to you. It was a beautiful silver piece that had seen better days. It had dents, and the engraving on its side was worn down, making it unrecognizable.

It would have been a miracle if it still managed to show the time, but Mr. Fint opened it, and sure enough, the hands of time were still ticking.

“The only thing I have of him now,” he said, checking the time and storing it securely in his left breast pocket with a pat on his chest. “You must excuse me. My honesty is like a curse. Once I start talking, I cannot stop until I reveal the depths of my soul.”

“Not to worry,” you said with a smile, scrambling for threads of conversation to reassure him and fight the oppressive silence you felt was settling back between you. “Lord Claiborne’s estate must be beautiful,” you said, hoping he was passionate enough about architecture to allow you to change the subject.

“It is,” he said. “I have been working for Lord Claiborne since taking my father’s post. It took me years to understand the enormous grounds.”

“You have known him all your life, then?”

Mr. Fint nodded. “My father served his father, and I served him after he inherited the estate from Lord Lawrance Claiborne. A very long line of nobility, all with ruby eyes and nearly white hair,” he said the last part almost dreamily.

“How interesting,” you said, curious to learn more about your host. “What was the older Lord Claiborne like?”

The driver frowned. “He was much like the current,” he said, falling silent again.

You glanced at him, contemplating whether you should try to rekindle the conversation. You had the feeling that you better not pry. Your eyes remained on the road, and you took a deep breath to shake the uneasiness suddenly coming over you.

The forest grew thicker, the branches of the trees looming over the road threateningly. They all looked rotten and dead, twisted at odd angles like snakes slithering across the sky. You did not recall ever taking this road. Then again, a lot had changed since you had been here last.

Lady Alderton’s warning, although you had tried to disregard it as either a stupid superstition or an unrecognized bias on her part, returned to your mind. Still, it would have been foolish to cancel the agreement and risk attracting gossip. Things had to run smoothly for a while until you could break the tragedy of your parent’s supposed deaths, and you could move on with your life.

Lord Claiborne seemed polite, if reserved. He was interesting, the air of mystery around him intriguing you immensely, and perhaps it was because of Lady Alderton’s warning that you were now all the more curious to catch a glimpse behind that cloak of secrecy.

The forest thinned, and you saw the setting sun through the trees. The red light was painting the scenery in a mesmerizing glow. You could not tear your eyes away from it. As the woodline ceased, you saw a sea of green fields tainted faintly orange in the light. You had an unobstructed view of the sunset, the red deeper than you had ever seen. It felt threatening, like an omen of disaster.

You shuddered as you could not shake the feeling that the glowing orb looked very much like an eye, silently watching.

You turned away from it, looking to the other side to behold the majestic Claiborne estate. Your eyes widened in amazement. Mr. Fint glanced at you but did not comment.

The building was massive, filling out the open space of the field splendidly. It looked like a cathedral from the 13th century, kept in excellent condition. If you had wondered if Lord Houghton had grossly overstated your hosts’ wealth, those doubts evaporated as your eyes roamed the faintly red stones, almost blood red in the setting sun.

The facade facing west was decorated with columns and pillars placed alongside it in even intervals, giving it structure. A large rose window was directly over the entrance, similar to the one you had seen in Notre-Dame de Paris. The stained glass reflected the sunlight, making it seem like a burning eye, looking back at the sun as if returning its glare in a staringcontest that had been going on for centuries. You were transfixed by the tracery dividing the windows on each side of the large entrance into smaller, elaborate sections.

Lord Claiborne’s mansion looked like something crafted with delicate care and a keen eye for detail. It spoke of utmost patience, the serenity evoked by its long-standing and excellent fit into its surroundings tinged with a darkness that youcould not place. The work for it to be completed must have taken decades.

Mr. Fint guided the carriage along the twisting road. You caught a glimpse of the southern front, which was just as detailed and meticulously constructed. The flying buttresses you saw gave the structure an added grandeur and elegance that kept your gaze prisoner.

You looked up in awe at the tall steeple, rising from the rest of the structure like a thorn in the sky. It towered over the land but did not seem out of place in the complex arrangement of architectural detail. The pointed arches of the lantern were the same in the smaller windows on the first floor.

As the carriage drew nearer, you could observe the piers more closely. A central column was at their sides, surrounded by multiple slender colonettes, creating a cluster column typical of High Gothic architecture. You longed to admire the rest of the castle, enticed by the beauty of the building.

The carriage stopped in front of the black double door, its arch pointed like all you had seen. As your feet touched the ground, standing before the gigantic structure, all your excitement vanished as an oppressing feeling came over you.

Only a single line of light was visible from where you had previously seen the shining rose window, reminding you of the enormity of the structure. Your own smallness was shown to you, and you realized that you were about to enter something much bigger than yourself.

It was intimidating to be reminded of your mortality while gazing at the stones that had been here for six centuries and would outlive you for six more. You shook the feeling, retrieving your luggage. For a moment, your gaze lingered on the beauty of the scenery to the west, the fields stretching seemingly into infinity with lines of trees adorning them to their sides.

You stood with your belongings, only managing to avert your gaze from the scenery with difficulty. Mr. Fint had remained quiet throughout your marvels, looking up at the facade with a sour gaze. He was waiting.

“Completed,” you said, catching his attention to give him a polite smile. “Completed is our ride.”

A dark glint appeared in his eyes, and you wondered if he had understood the reference and did not like its implications. Before you could thank him, he inclined his head, driving off and leaving you alone in front of the monstrosity.

Being previously too taken with the architecture, you had not noticed how deserted the place looked. The front was empty, not a soul in sight nor any indication of someone having been here in ages.

It was beautiful, yet bleakly so. Death seemed to cling to the walls.

You felt uneasiness creeping up on you again. Something was not quite right here, but you could not say distinctly what.

The door opened to reveal Lord Claiborne before you could think about it for too long. You recognized him immediately by his blond hair and ruby eyes that seemed to shine like the rose window in the fading sunlight.

“Welcome,” he greeted warmly, holding the door open wide and inviting you into his home. “Enter, please, and allow me.” He did not wait for a reply as he took your bag, leaving only the light canvas for you to carry.

You tried to protest, but the thought of doing so vanished as you beheld the interior. The heavy door fell shut behind you.

Your eyes were fixed on the rib vaults. The shapes they created on the high ceiling reminded you that architecture was its own form of art, overlooked much too often. Turning, you saw the interior gallery — the triforium — from which one could overlook the entrance hall. It merged with the clerestory, its high windows making the interior as bright as possible in typical High Gothic fashion.

“Your room is on the first floor,” Lord Claiborne said, waiting for you at the bottom of the stone stairs. They were black, much like the rest of the stone used to coat the walls inside.

“Apologies,” you said, silently cursing your fascination and hoping you had not been too rude, “you have a beautiful home.”

He nodded in thanks, leading you up a flight of stairs and down a corridor drenched in the red sunlight. “It used to be a cathedral, I believe,” he said, pushing open one of the first doors to his right and holding it open for you to step inside. “I have never bothered inquiring further as it was repurposed a century or so ago. It does not interest me much. I only know that now it is mine.”

You placed the canvas against the free wall near the door, taking a long look around the room as he set down your bag at the foot of the bed.

There were two large windows with tracery, allowing ample light to stream into the room. A small desk was under one of them, with two sets of candles on it. The light of the second window streamed onto the soft double bed, its pillows puffed and calling to your exhausted mind to lay down and rest as if on a cloud.

There was a wardrobe on the other end of the room with a dresser next to it, although you doubted that you would be using either. The ceiling was a minuscule version of the one you had seen in the entrance hall, and you traced your hand over the pointed arch of the window, looking up toward it.

He glanced at you in amusement as you were taken again with the columns and vault. “Dinner will be ready in a little while,” he said, "I will fetch you." Closing the door behind him, Lord Claiborne left you to settle in and marvel at the architecture.

The first thing you unpacked was your sketchbook. Sitting down on the cold stone with your back resting against the foot of the bed, you looked up to sketch the beautiful pattern of the arches onto the page.

Gothic architecture struck a particular artistic cord with you. Simply its atmosphere inspired you to create art — perhaps through the evident edginess of the vaguely threatening air it had, or perhaps because it was so thought out and beautifully composed.

You closed your sketchbook only when you were satisfied with the near-perfect replica of the pattern you had imprinted on the page. Setting it aside with your pencil, you looked at the inviting bed. The trip had exhausted you, and there was a familiar soreness in your neck and upper back that you feared would turn painful come morning.

The cushions of carriages were not the most comfortable, and your body would be paying the price for your extended travels in the last few days. You contemplated lying down but decided to spare yourself the embarrassment of missing dinner when you inevitably fell asleep.

Instead, you strolled down the hallway, walking along the red carpet covering the black stone floor and gazing out of the large windows towards the fields outside. From the vantage point, you could better see the sea of flowers and plants surrounding the estate.

You smiled faintly, wondering how much effort it took the gardener to hold the grounds in this excellent condition. It appeared to be a superhuman task.

To your surprise, the walls were nearly empty. Only occasionally were there old gas lamps that stemmed from the beginning of the century, judging by their design. Lord Claiborne, true to his word, must not have been concerned with the new trend of electricity.

You descended the stairs, halting briefly to marvel again at the interior gallery and the stained glass window, which you could now say was a mixture of purple and blue.

A few artworks were lining the walls of the entrance hall. To your dismay, you recognized none.

They all depicted landscapes, peaceful and idyllic. Your eyes searched for a portrait in vain, finding no human shape even in the landscapes. There were no photographs on the walls either. Not a single person was depicted, which was odd for an estate and a noble family line such as his.

The emptiness of the place struck you again, and you wondered if he lived alone. It was peculiar that you had not caught a glimpse of a servant in the house. Halting again at the foot of the stairs, you tried to listen for any sound of people — chatter, laughs, whispers — but there was nothing. The castle was quiet, deadly so.

Even with the beauty of the architecture, the mansion could not chase away its haunting coldness. The most magnificent facade could not disguise the tomb for what it was.

Frowning and silently unnerved by your thoughts, you made your way quickly towards what you supposed to be the dining room by its warm candlelight streaming into the hallway, mindful not to disturb the silence of the dead.

You saw Lord Claiborne as he set down a plateful of food. He looked up, inviting you in with a grand gesture and motioning towards the seat opposite him. “Perfectly on time. Sit, please,” he said, hiding his smile as your eyes widened at the meal.

It was pot-au-feu, a French dish of the haute cuisine. You smiled in appreciation at the thoughtfulness, sitting down and eating some of the boiled potatoes on your plate as Lord Claiborne picked up his fork.

The spook you had given yourself felt foolish in the warm glow of the candlelight, and you wanted to laugh at yourself for being so unnerved. It must have been the eerie atmosphere of the Gothic architecture that had put you on edge. Perhaps you had gotten lost in its grandeur for too long.

“You have already found the dining room,” Lord Claiborne said. “The east wing is the one I frequent most, with the drawing room down the hall to the right and the study opposite this one with my chambers beside it.”

He watched you keenly, seemingly preferring it to eating a meal himself. You had seen him raise the fork to his lips only once to nibble on a piece of carrot halfheartedly.

“The library takes up most of the ground floor of the north wing. You may move around freely and use the rooms at your discretion.”

Nodding, you resolved to look around the library on your way back to your room. It had to be right beneath it, although you were perplexed as you had not seen a door to the right upon entering.

“It is a refreshing combination,” you praised, motioning to your half-eaten meal. “Compliments to your cook, truly. What a pleasure to be greeted with a French dish back at home.”

Lord Claiborne smiled, foregoing an answer. “Pardon the lack of garlic bread. I have read that it has become rather popular, but I despise the smell.”

“Not to worry,” you replied, not daring to correct him that garlic bread was not commonly served with this.

You finished your plate in comfortable silence while his remained nearly untouched.

“I have everything to start painting straight away if you would like. Perhaps tomorrow morning would be a good time to start, Lord Claiborne, if that aligns with your schedule.”

“Xanthus,” he said, rising from his seat to put the plates aside. He poured you a cup of tea. “You are my portraitist and my guest. Please, call me Xanthus.” He pushed the porcelain towards you. “I’m all yours for the rest of the week.”

“Very well, Xanthus,” you said, taking a sip of the tea and gazing at him over the rim of the porcelain. His words intrigued you, making you bold. “And I am all yours.”

He smiled sharply, flashing his white teeth at you before hiding his smile behind his cup. “I am delighted to hear that,” he said, taping the plate of pastries between you.

You nearly choked when you saw the Parisian macarons.

“Not the easiest to come across, I have been told,” he said, popping one into his mouth with a pleased hum, “but I have grown fond of them.”

You picked one up carefully, perplexed how on earth he got his hands on them in England. “Did you travel?” you asked, taking a bite and closing your eyes in bliss. The taste was divine. You took another. “To Paris, I mean.”

“I did not,” Xanthus said, twirling his tea and looking at it in thought.

It was a new blend imported from India he had been forced to try after the Chinese teas he had enjoyed for years started steadily disappearing from shelves, a sign of changing times. He had yet to grow used to the change in taste.

“I prefer to stay in England. The world is all the same, and I have seen it all. There is nothing of interest for me out there.”

You nodded slowly, furring your brows. If he stayed in England, how come you had never seen him before?

The Alderton’s circle of friends and acquaintances had remained nearly the same, so why had you never met him? You were sure someone with features as distinct as his — nearly white hair and ruby eyes — would not have slipped your mind, but you had never set eyes on him nor his father. It was unlikely for you never to have met, considering your parents' good standing and the noble line of his heritage.

What reason would he have for lying to you?

Perhaps it was part of the secret making him so dangerous to Lady Alderton’s eyes. Maybe she knew something you did not. The melancholy darkness clinging to him like a cloak enticed you, making you want to lift his secret even more.

Annotations // III. Mais, Vrai, J'ai Trop Pleuré

#the past is close behind #xanthus claiborne #xanthus x reader #zsakuva #sakuverse

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ivpapaemeritusiv · 4 months ago

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Chapter 1: Holy Mother

Summary: This story begins lighthearted as we meet Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil. They are discussing the future of the band and their ministry, deciding that Papa Emeritus V should be the offspring of Papa Emeritus IV. Of course, our little Cardi isn't ecstatic about the idea at first.

Word Count: 1,590

The Cardinal, now Papa Emeritus IV, was riding his small red tricycle around the ministry—the pope-cycle as he called it. He was getting dreadfully close to the mausoleum on the far side of the building when he crashed into a wall, sending him flying through air to the floor. The impact made a big splat. Laying on the floor he could hear the wheels on his trike still turning. When he looked up, he could see Sister peering down at him.

“Sister!” He quickly composed himself, standing up to straighten his gown. “I didn’t see you there.”

Sister wouldn’t call the Cardinal “Papa.” Afterall, he was her son and the man that was his true father is who she called Papa. She thought it would be perverse. Instead, she called him her little Cardi.

“Cardi!” she exclaimed, giving the man a hug. “Are you alright? You took quite a fall there.”

Embarrassed, the Cardinal mumbled, “Oh that? That was nothing… I was just uh, testing the walls for durability.” He wanted to move on from the subject, “What brings you here today?”

“I need to speak with you about an important matter.”

“An important matter, you say?” The Cardinal spoke English with an Italian accent, some of it broken with an oddly placed emphasis on certain words. He conversed in a very staccato manner—each word spoken sometimes being detached from the next.

“Yes, Cardi. It’s about your future.”

The man stared into her eyes almost spacing out—his mouth wide open as though he wanted to ask a question but couldn’t find the right one. “CARDI!” Sister yelled to snap him out of his stupor.

“Yeeeesss…?” he trailed off, “Yes! My future! Of course, we should talk about that. Uh… what about it?”

“Not here. Walk with me to my office and I can give you more details,” she paused to look at the man in a judging manner, “Or you can ride.”

Copia looked at his tricycle, still lying on the floor, wheels still spinning. He jolted, “That? Oh, I was just… you know? I was not riding this, no, I was testing it for the children.”

Sister Imperator was already walking to her office. The Cardinal had to sprint to catch up. He was quite awkward in social situations, especially for a frontman. On stage he was confident and could rock a crowd but at home he was just simply himself. At home he could trade his ornamented liturgical cape for a jogging suit, and nobody would judge him. He was very attractive. Just in his mid 50s—not the youngest Papa but not the oldest—he had a strong jawline, dark hair with some gray scattered throughout. He had a broad nose and was very sturdy in build—one might even say muscular. His features were very distinguishable including his eyes, one blue and one black, just like “his” Papa.

Sister was already seated at her desk when Copia made his way in. He stood for a while, looking around the room. There was an old picture of Sister and Nihil on an end table next to a couch in the corner. He shuttered to think of the two sleeping together, “Ugh,” he said aloud, shaking his shoulders.

“Cardi,” the woman broke his concentration, “have a seat.”

He slowly sat down in the chair directly across from the woman.

“I called you here because I want to speak with you about a delicate matter.

“Mhmm,” he responded.

“It’s about your place in the clergy.”

The man remained silent, only nodding his head clumsily up and down as though he had no clue where she was going with the conversation.

“We need to secure your bloodline,” she waited for the lightbulb to go of in her son’s head. He bit his upper lip and cocked his head to the side.

“We need to ensure that you remain Papa IV until your protégé can take your place.”

Still the man maintained a blank stare. Sister was trying her best to help him arrive at the conclusion all on his own. It was, after all, very invasive to tell somebody they needed to have a child. But she could see that she had to come out right with it, “CARDI! For God sakes we need you to have a son!”

Papa Emeritus IV tilted his head back until it was parallel to the ceiling. He let out a deep breath, "WOW!" His voice echoing through the room.

Sister could see that she had startled him with such a big request. His eyes widened, and he instinctively pushed his chair back, clearly caught off guard by her boldness. The air between them seemed to thicken with the weight of her words, “Now, Cardi, I know it’s a lot to ask but—”

"Aren't kids like... a big responsibility?" he interjected. His voice carried a mix of curiosity and concern, as if he was trying to grasp the full weight of what she had just proposed.

She swiftly took action, determined to shift his mindset and guide him towards a more grounded way of thinking. It was as if she had a secret power to help him see things from a fresh perspective, “Well, the mother will take care of the child.”

"WHOA!" He slapped his knees, his eyes widening as he processed her words. "A mother? A... a wife? A mother? Of my child?" His hands trembled slightly, and he could feel his heart racing, the enormity of the request overwhelming him.

Sister stood up and began to move her hands in an up and down motion, signaling him to calm down. She moved towards him, “Oh Cardi don’t think about it as having a family to be responsible for. Think of it as doing your duty. This woman will simply be your prime mover.” Sister had initially been hesitant to use the word with the Cardinal, fearing he would see it as disrespectful. However, she now realized that framing the responsibility as primarily on the woman, rather than her son, might ease his concerns. Immediately, Sister could see the irony in her statement. Lack of responsibility to herself and her child was exactly why she resented Papa Nihil.

Just as this thought popped into her head, the old man walked into the room, “I told you he would freak out,” the ghostly figure said.

“Who invited you here?” Cardi snapped, “You have something to do with this don’t you, old timer? I should hold a séance and send you back to hell where you belong."

Sister was trying to speak over him, “—Cardi, please just listen.”

“What a disappointment you are,” stated Nihil.

Everyone was talking over one another with Papa IV complaining, Nihil insulting him and Sister Imperator trying to keep the peace. She was growing irritated.

“QUIET!!” she screamed. When Sister spoke, everyone listened. "Now that I have your attention, Cardi, it is not up for debate. You must have a son to secure this bloodline. Your place as frontman and as Papa Emeritus the IV is not definite here until you have someone of your own blood to take your place when you are too old to go on,” She cupped his chin as a mother would do to her child and forced him to look at her, “My little C. I only want what is best for you. I’m trying to protect you.”

He clasped her hand, “Yes, Sister, I do know that." The man plopped back down into his seat and heaved a heavy sigh of frustration. He threw his hands up in the air and raised the question, “A prime mover? Where am I supposed to find such a woman?”

“You won’t find a woman you big, pompous ass—”

“—NIHIL!” Sister was growing weary of his ridicule towards their son, “That’s quite enough for today.”

Papa Nihil scoffed, the sound cutting through the air like a blade. His eyes narrowed into slits, brimming with disdain. The dismissive noise he made was sharp and biting, underscoring his clear disapproval. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his posture rigid and unyielding, as if to physically block out the absurdity of what he had just heard. His lips curled into a sneer, making it painfully evident that he was far from impressed.

"Don't you make that face at me," Sister gawked at the ghost. Her words instantly caused Nihil to relax his demeanor, fearing that he would anger Imperator if he kept up his attitude. “Now, Cardi, you may choose any woman you please. I’m sure you can meet somebody out on the road, yes?”

“You mean, like a fan?”

“It could be a fan,” Sister agreed, “It could be a lady helping the band set up at any of the venues you play at.”

“It could be your hand!” Papa Nihil laughed hysterically at his own joke until he was so weak that he needed oxygen to breathe.

Sister gave him a menacing look and rolled her eyes.

“How do you need to breathe still?” Copia asked annoyingly, “You are dead and still you bother us with these coughing fits of yours. I do not understand it.”

"Alright, my little C. Now, you know what you must do, yes?”

“Yes, I… I think so,” he nodded his head, gently placing a hand on her wrists.

“And you do know how babies are made, right?” Papa Nihil couldn’t help taking a jab at the man once more. He became hysterical at his own question, laughing himself into oblivion. Sister and the Cardinal looked at him as if they were looking at a toddler, amused that it had just found its own fingers even though the appendages had been right in front of it its whole life.

“Yes, I know how a baby is made. I am a grown man for God sakes. I have had sex before.”

Sister shuddered at the thought of her son being intimate. Disturbing images flickered through her mind like a relentless storm, each one more unsettling than the last, "Ugh," her head seized.

Copia began to hype himself up, “I am a good-looking man,” he gave himself a bump on the chest. “I’m the frontman of a popular band!”

“Yes, you are dear!” Sister added to his ego.

The Cardinal was starting to feel much better about the arrangement now. Maybe having a woman wouldn’t be so bad. He was, after all, all on his own. He grew up in the ministry as a child, being looked after by Sister but unaware she was his own mother. He grew up without any real friends or family and then he was shoved into the spotlight by Sister so abruptly after joining the clergy. Perhaps, having a companion was just what he needed to make his life complete.

#cardinal copia #ghost #ghost bc #ghost x reader #papa emeritus #papa emeritus 4 #papa emeritus copia #papa emeritus fanart #papa emeritus fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #papa nihil #papa zero #papa emeritus x oc #copia x oc

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siriannatan · 1 year ago

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How to get fWhip to dress up - fWhipScott

I have no excuse. An idea along the lines of 'what if fWhip dresses up like stereotypical handsome vampire' came to my brain and this came out of it.

fWhip was fed up with everyone telling him to dress better ever since the stupid crown picked him as the new Lord Emperor. And it was only two months, meaning two dumb monthly meetings he hosted just so he doesn't look bad following Katherine in wearing the damn thing. Meaning Gem and Pearl invading his mansion and trying to force him I to the depths of his close he didn't visit since becoming the Count of Grimlands.

"If I dress up once will you two leave me alone?" He sighed the evening before the third meeting.

"Fine, but only so you can see that it actually makes a difference with how others talk to you," Gem sighed as Peal almost dragged her out. fWhip just sighed. He loved his dear twin a lot but she could be a bit much. Especially when it came to how rulers from outside WRA saw fWhip.

With another sigh and almost full glass of wine he went deeper into his walk in closet than he did in years. Luckily his staff made sure, against his wishes, that everything in there actually fit him and wasn't from when he was twelve. Meaning he had no trouble finding a sufficiently elegant shirt, pants and fitting vest. Coat seemed like a bit too much. He also dug out shoes more elegant than his usual heavy work boots.

Sitting through having his hair styled properly was instantly worth it as he walked into the meeting room. Putting on his most annoyed expression.

All the jaws hit the floor and Gem beamed with joy at seeing her brother in something that actually fit him properly and looked nice at the same time. And his hair was properly brushed and tied together. And there was a dark purple ribbon in his hair, nicely matching his vest that together with his rather open dark gray shirt showed just enough to remain decet. And he had his nails painted and...

But Gem's unbridled glee wasn't the best reaction.

The best was Scott freezing in panic as his face got more and more red. Quickly hiding it behind his fan and wafting himself faster as frost formed on his and Jimmy's glasses of water, and the windows behind them. Though that was barely visible wth the shutters closed tightly so fWhip doesn't burn in his own house.

"Don't get too used to this, it's damn uncomfortable," he grumbled while making his way to his seat. His shoes clicking on the floor being the only sound aside from Scott's fan.

Scott had no idea how he managed to get through the meeting. How any of them did quite honestly. Without it devolving into a discussion on where the hell was fWhip hiding this nice clothes and all this sex appeal he was radiating. He was maybe starting to understand all.the trashy vampire romance novels he read when he first realised he maybe liked fWhip a bit more than as just a strong ally.

And... Did his pants have to be so tight? Scott wondered, as Sausage' rattled on about some bandit's. The other members of WRA didn't seem as shocked by fWhip's appearance. But they knew him longer than Scott. He only jointed the alliance when Joey - and by extension Scott's traitorous older brother Xornoth - joined the Cod Alliance. Scott himself could not care less about some fish.

But he did care about the sexy vampire and his darkened, usually sky blue eyes. He had to be hungry. Likely having to sit through hi staff doing his hair and helping him get dressed properly. Fancy really looked good on him.

It looked so good on fWhip, Scott made up some stupid excuse to do with something his council was bothering him about to stay longer. It wasn't really an important or interesting to him matter but it worked. And he was now following a likely at least slightly hungry vampire to his private office where he usually dealt with matters do to with his allies.

"So, that tunnel you mentioned," fWhip started, leaning against his desk instead of sitting in his chair. It meant that there was no desk separating him from Scott.

Scott needed a second to remember what damn tunnel fWhip meant. "Ah. Yes. My council have been bothering me to ask if it'd be possible," he rambled, feeling more and more embarrassed. Avoiding looking directly at fWhip, especially since he decided to ditch his damn vest and indecent amount of his chest were on full view for Scott.

"Your council, you say. So you wanting to talk to me alone has nothing to do with how you were practically drooling over me that whole meeting?" fWhip hummed and suddenly, with far too much fluidity and grace was suddenly very much in Scott's personal space. Knee between the elf's legs. One hand gently guiding Scott to lok at him. Other helping him support himself but Scott was quite sure it was there just to cage him in. "So?" The vampire grinned, barely flashing his fangs.

"I... I tho... You look nice today..." Scott rambled, his gaze shifting to the crossbow mounted behind fWhip's desk. Anywhere that wasn't fWhip's face actually. "Not that you don't usually, you always do but especially today..." Scott mumbled and finally managed to make himself shut up.

"Nice you say?" fWhip hummed, his hand on Scott's chin gently moving to his shoulder but not for a second stopped touching him. "Push me away if it's too much," he said and started leaning in.

Scott was sure he was about to be bitten. And strangely since he's been sheltered his whole life, was excited by the thought. But that wasn't what fWhip had planned.

He instead kissed Scott. Effectively stealing his first kiss. But the elven prince didn't mind. It felt nice even if he wasn't sure how it was supposed to feel. It certainly didn't feel like he imagined based on his books. No one in the books grabbed other by the shirt and pulled them closer as Scott did with fWhip. There was no sudden explosion of heat or feeling in his stomach. Just light tingling where fangs nicked his lips, not enough to draw blood. And the fWhip's neither cold nor warm lips, and...

And fWhip pulled back far too soon. Pushing Scott into the chair as he tried chasing his lips purely on instinct. "Careful darling, unlike me you need to breathe," fWhip chuckled as Scott realised he did indeed forget about that need of his. As the elf caught his breath he studied the vampire's face. He was as calm and collected as always, and the way he picked his lips had Scott blushing.

"Can..." Scott started but stopped himself. How does one ask a vampire to bite them?

"If you want more kisses we'll have to move somewhere else, somewhere where you won't be at risk of neck cramps," fWhip chuckled and to Scott's dismay left his personal space. He did not do anything to fix his shirt though.

"Oh... That was kind of my first kiss... But it's not what I meant to ask... Would you be willing to bite me?" He rambled out on almost single breath. He had no idea what had fWhip looking as shocked as he did and had no idea which would be better for him.

"I almost forgot how sheltered you were your whole life," fWhip groaned, once more leaning against his desk. "Ar you sure you want me to bite you?" Luckily he took a small mercy on Scott and did not mention the first fact...

"Yes," Scott nodded. He was quite curious how it'd feel.

fWhip nodded and led Scott to what turned out to be his bedroom. Or simply a room he rested in since vampires apparently need some rest from time to time...

Waking up in some amount of pain here and there in his body next to fWhip's almost motionless self was almost worth the talking to he got from his council. Or how Sausage and Pearl looked at him at the next WRA meeting. So what if he had to cover his neck from time to time? At least Gem was too happy with her brother dressing up nicer more often to notice...

#my stuff #my stories #empires smp #empiresshipping #fanfiction #empires fwhip #empires scott #golden husbands #gold husbands

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valeriianz · 2 years ago

Text

Let Me Down Easy | Dreamling | 7k+ | Mature | Ongoing

Hob finds himself taking a sudden photography job without much detail and discovers, too late, the campaign's model to be Dream-- Morpheus, an old lover who broke Hob's heart.

Hob feels every hair on his body is standing on end as he touches Morpheus, his fingers a gentle caress over soft fabric. He doesn’t miss how Morpheus flinches with each contact, no matter how carefully Hob moves, how reserved his hands perform. But he does as he’s told, reshaping his posture, eyes downcast, as if meeting Hob’s gaze this close would burn him. The thought alone is almost enough to make Hob laugh. The idea of Hob hurting Morpheus in any degree leaves a bitter taste in Hob’s mouth– like he could ever live up to the damage Morpheus did to him, the traitorous black hole forming where his heart used to be.

Finished, for now, Hob hastily marches back to the camera, snapping the photos and forcing his mouth to work, guiding Morpheus in the most basic and mundane way. Switching into an autopilot Hob hadn’t even been aware he could dissociate into.

If this were any normal shoot, Hob would’ve been talking with his subject by now, easing into small talk, hobbies, family, anything. It always helped to loosen them up– both Hob and the model, erasing any awkward tension between them. But Hob– except for the most banal instruction on how he wants Morpheus to pose– is stone silent. He’s sure the surrounding staff, made up only of his manager for the day, the assistant, and the stylist (Morpheus’ agent momentarily disappearing) can feel the pressure in the room.

As a result, Hob hesitates every time before clicking the shutter release. It doesn’t matter how annoyingly dashing Morpheus looks in that tailored dark suit that probably costs more than Hob’s monthly rent. The Italian cut– sharpening the ends of Morpheus’ wide shoulders, matching his jawline, dropping down slim arms that attract the eye, following the line down to his hands, stuffed into the pockets of his immaculate slacks. The wide lapels contrasted against the tapered waist, almost cinching, give him a look of power, authority, and money. The only pop of color on the suit is the blue-gray tie, tucked into a collar that wraps flush Morpheus’ throat, hedging on too tight.

Hob loses himself in a daydream of slipping two fingers in between that stiff white collar and the pale flesh of Morpheus’ neck. He imagines how pinched they’d be, as he slips them around to the front, Hob’s knuckles digging against Morpheus’ protruding Adam’s apple, cutting off his trachea, listening to the hitch in his breath as the collar chokes him. Hob would wrap his other hand around the back of his neck, fingers pressing into the muscle there, stretched thin with stress as he pulls Morpheus forward, lips brushing, inhaling deeply, stealing his oxygen and rendering Morpheus shaking and wanting.

[read on Ao3]

EDIT: credit to @landwriter for the neat and pretty aesthetic format

#dreamling #EDIT: i feel like a dummy but i wanted to give credit to landwriter #for this aesthetic post format #i basically stole her aesthetic and forgot to credit her a;ldkdfjkldjf #whew it's finally here #my writing #fic: let me down easy

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evilasiangenius · 1 year ago

Text

Linen and Cream

It was raining again.

It was raining again, and he thought about calling Crowley.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and wondered what Crowley would sound like today.

Drowsy, voice deep and velvety with sleep, confused words slurring one into another. Or perhaps with that taint of dark menace as he played up his own demonic role. No, probably just grouchy, with the barest hint of that infernal bad temper hissing at the edges of each word. But then again, most likely Crowley would sound clipped and glum, like everything else was these days.

After all, there was so little to be cheerful about.

Opening his eyes again Aziraphale sighed and stared, hand squashed against his cheek as he leaned upon his desk. Before him was a tiny cup of bitter espresso and a mug of hot chocolate.

He shifted, hand hesitating, before he picked up the mug and brought it up to his nose.

Shaved chocolate, gently melted into hot milk and heavy cream, and the warmth of the mug in his hands and the sweet scent of chocolate reminded him nothing of Crowley. Crowley, who was cool to the touch and never smelled sweet at all...and the last time he had seen the demon there had been some cologne of Crowley’s that smelled like his old perfume – well, not the old perfume from those days when they wore great coats and top hats nor the old old perfume that Crowley wore when he showed off those lithe dainty calves in sleek silk stockings nor even that old old old old old perfume when they all wore chitons and himations and Crowley liked to pin his up with those stylish silver serpent fibulae set with amber eyes the color of dark honey. No, this new cologne was a lot like that very old perfume from those very early days when it was just one or two notes of scent, myrrh and roses lingering upon a flush of sunwarmed skin and the vast desert beyond Egypt spread out before them like a shimmering gold expanse, the distant horizon dissolving into a sky that filled the world with its intense clear blueness.

Aziraphale closed his hands around the warm mug, looking out at the rain that blurred the drab gray street, the window dotted with tiny gem-like droplets that meandered in trickling paths down the clear panes, some coming together and melding, others separating as they fell.

It would be nice to see people walking by, but these days no one was out. The bookshop was empty, shuttered indefinitely with no prospect of reopening. The street outside was empty day and night, but for the occasional delivery driver or a passing emergency vehicle.

The rain fell soft and gentle, and Aziraphale wondered if Crowley would be awake at all. It seemed like the perfect kind of day to be asleep, the perfect day to be cozy and tucked up in bed and perhaps these days the demon had the right idea and it was the perfect time to sleep and sleep and sleep, until such time that everything in the world changed for the better or not at all.

Setting aside the mug he picked up the receiver. But then he set it down again, straightening his collar and his bowtie. Aziraphale stared at the phone and then adjusted his sleeves one after the other before finally picking it up and dialing. It was so automatic, so instinctual that he no longer thought of the digits, merely the movement and shape as his finger arced across the rotary dial, long and short strokes, the mechanism whirring smooth.

Crowley picked up the phone before it even rang.

“Yes?” Crowley sounded brusque as usual, but there was a note of something else in his voice as he spoke, a faint pleased surprise.

“It’s me,” Aziraphale said helpfully, a tiny smile curving his lips. “Aziraphale.”

“I know. What is it?”

“Oh, you’re awake. I wasn’t sure you would be.” Aziraphale ran his fingers over the smooth arch of the mug’s handle, over the scalloped edges of the stylized ceramic wings, around the curved rim of the mug faintly damp with tiny beads of condensation.

“Yeah. I don’t sleep all the time. Just...most of the time. Not much else to do these days,” Crowley yawned. “So what’s up? Did you need something?”

A soft tapping, a gentle intimate sound, and Aziraphale smiled to himself. Crowley must be playing a game on his phone.

“What game are you playing?”

“I’m feeding my cats.”

“Neko Atsume?”

“Yeah. I’m surprised you remembered.” Tap tap tap, and the sound of the touch of Crowley’s elegant fingertip upon the screen and Aziraphale felt a delicious shiver of pleasure go through him, as if those fingers were upon his own skin.

“Of course I’d remember. It’s very cute. I like the one with the hat.”

“For the last time Aziraphale, Lady Meow Meow doesn’t have a hat. That’s a wig, not a hat.”

“Funny, I thought it was a hat-”

“It’s not a hat,” Crowley interjected.

“But it’s...it’s a head covering, all right? The one with the head covering. That one’s cute. Anyway, did you remember to plug in your phone?”

“No, why?”

“Because the battery runs out after a while.”

“It does?” To Aziraphale’s disappointment, the sound of Crowley’s tapping finger stopped. “What battery? Wait, when are you supposed to plug it in?”

“For the model of phone you have and the amount of use you put it through when you’re playing games, the humans say every day. I think they do it before they sleep. When did you last plug it in, Crowley?”

“I-I erm, never have?” Crowley sounded puzzled. “Am I supposed to?”

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale said, exasperated. “You’re supposed to plug it in.”

“I don’t see a place for a plug, the phone’s not that big. Is it supposed to be two or three pins...”

“First of all, they stopped using two pins in- Look, never mind that, there should be a little slot on the bottom of the device for a-”

“Ehh, doesn’t matter. Technology. So what did you want?”

Aziraphale took a steadying breath before speaking, prim and polite.

“I thought I’d see if you’d like to come over. I have made coffee. Espresso, just the way you like it.”

Crowley made a soft pleased sound, as if stretching out comfortably in bed. Aziraphale could hear Crowley’s breath sighing through the line, and the angel felt his eyes flutter close by their own accord, as if he were lying down with Crowley as well, drawing the demon into his arms, all sharp points and long lean limbs as his breath passed hot over the bare skin at the back of Crowley’s neck just below the tapered edge of dark close-cropped hair...

“...lockdown, remember?” Crowley continued, and Aziraphale suddenly remembered that he was supposed to be listening. “Supposed to abide by the rules and all.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, irritated by Crowley’s words and additionally annoyed at being shaken out of his cozy mood by said words. “We’re not bound by their rules.”

“Yes, I know. But still- wait, hey, I like these sheets. Linen. Always liked linen, me. And the down duvet is really nice. White and fluffy, very warm. It all smells quite nice right now, bit like that new cologne you’ve hardly worn since the world did but didn’t end. I’ve got silk sheets but-”

“Don’t change the subject, my dear. If you’re not coming to me, I’ll come to you.”

“But we’re supposed to be-”

“Crowley, I know they said to socially distance, but we're literally in the same household! You’re in the back room upstairs, taking up my entire bed!”

“So? You don’t use it. You hardly ever use it. We could have stayed at my place where there is more than one bed, but you didn’t want to be separated from your books. And you know I can’t stand spending all my time in the clutter downstairs.”

“Maybe not, but I’d like to spend some time with you on the bed.”

“Then why don’t you just come upstairs? You don’t need to call me to let me know. It’s your bed.”

“Then why don’t I come up then?”

“So you could fill half the bed with books while you read? Where am I supposed to be if that’s the case? Wriggling about between the sharp corners? I’m going back to sleep.”

“Crowley, you can’t just sleep whenever you don’t like the state of the world! If you did that you would hardly ever be conscious-”

“Sorry angel, I can't hear you, I'm asleep...”

“Crowley!”

(there is also a podfic)

#aziraphale #crowley #good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #good omens lockdown #good omens fanfiction #ao3 outage #ao3 outage reading #here have some reading :)

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i-can-even-burn-salad · 1 year ago

Text

Waterskin

Fancy Boots

Warnings: None

Just a little alternate pov of the end of this chapter, because why not.

Masterlist

I think the world is a better place with you in it.

Damien’s hand around the waterskin trembled as tears filled his eyes. The fear of the past hour fell away, replaced by a strange kind of numbness. Merridy’s voice was static in his ears, making it hard for him to focus on her words.

“Damien?”

When she bumped into his side, he looked up, finding her blue-gray eyes fixed on him.

“Do you believe him?” she asked. “Are we safe?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t have to think about it. Riordan wouldn’t betray them like that. He was good. Good enough to have mercy with a criminal. Good enough to give Damien a chance to prove himself. And somehow, Damien had passed his test. Not that it had felt like one, not all the time. Before Riordan had walked in on him changing, it had almost felt like they were—

“What’s wrong, then?”

Merridy’s question pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked at the door, not sure how to answer the question. Not sure if he even knew the answer. Watching the door fall shut behind Riordan didn’t carry the same finality as watching his brother leave so many years ago, but it was similar enough for a lump to form in his throat.

“He won’t come back, will he?” he whispered.

“I don’t think so. Good riddance.”

She was right. It was for the better… wasn’t it? They had begun to build a new life here, and the last thing they needed were noisy ex-mercenaries threatening to hand them over to the authorities.

But for a moment, he had been able to forget Riordan was here to test him. The wonder in Riordan’s eyes as he had looked around the workshop had been real, and the stories he had told had been funny. If not for the fear crashing down on him whenever Riordan left, Damien would have enjoyed his company.

“You want him to come back,” Merridy said, sounding incredulous. It wasn’t a question. Damien nodded anyway.

“He wanted to arrest you. He has no manners. He is nothing but trouble.” She sighed, holding out her hand. “Go get him.”

Did she really mean it? Damien stared at her until she rolled her eyes, nodding in the direction of the door. With a small, insecure grin, he kissed her forehead and pressed the waterskin into her hand. Summoning the illusion as he pulled open the door and stepped outside had become second nature to him. He didn’t even have to focus on making the fabric appear wet, or on letting little droplets run down his skin.

Peering through the pouring rain, he hoped he wasn’t too late. He had lost all sense of time, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes since Riordan had left. He couldn’t have gone far.

Following the path around the house, Damien began to run. Riordan had mentioned staying at the citadel, so Damien turned away from the ocean, taking the path uphill. He could only hope he was right, and the man hadn’t decided to sit out the weather in one of the taverns at the harbor instead.

The streets were abandoned, the shutters on the houses he passed closed. Fifty steps ahead, a dark figure trudged through the rain. Damien sped up, ignoring the water running down his neck and soaking his shirt, and the squelching sounds his shoes made on the slick cobblestone.

As he came closer, it became clear that it was really Riordan. The rain tinted his blonde hair dark, soggy curls clinging to his head. His shoulders were hunched, no doubt thanks to the weather. It made him look much smaller than he was, and almost sad.

“Hey!” Damien called out.

Riordan froze. Slowly, he turned around, giving Damien an uncertain look. Almost cautious. For a moment, their roles were reversed—as if Damien were the threat, and Riordan didn’t know how to handle it.

Perhaps it was a bad idea. But Damien thought of all the times Riordan could have hurt him and had decided not to, and of the waterskin that had saved his life, and he asked, “Do you like green beans?”

@aria-benedetto — but what about some thing I wrote a year ago? 👀

#Fancy Boots #Glass Shards #my writing #no beta we die like my will to live

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yellowcry · 1 year ago

Text

Deeper through

Chapter 6

"You're saying it belongs to Luisa?" Abuela's voice was firm just like always, as they all listened to what Mirabel's parents had found. She gave them a nervous look; things weren't going too well. On sight, she could tell that the fabric must be the same as Luisa's, at least as far as her own skills in embroidery could tell. Of course, Mirabel would guess better if it was a skirt; after all, she helped stitch it with the pattern of geometric shapes.

Mami nodded. "It's the best thing we've found so far." Her voice was tired, nearly exhausted. It seemed like she hadn't slept well for the last night. Not like Mirabel could blame her; she barely napped as well. Not when every creak of the old shutters sounded like an opening door. Julieta looked like she'd gotten a couple of new gray hairs in the last few days. Her padres returned earlier than Mirabel could wish, and later than she expected. And her big sister still wasn't here.

Isabela huffed, crossing her arms. Her face wrinkled as if she were just bit really sour lulo. "I'm legally an adult." She reminded, for the past few days, Isabela seemed to be really unpleased with the idea of being left out of the search. But it's not like this was strange—Luisa was a grownup too. And this didn't prevent her from getting lost as well. Mirabel just sighed, looking away.

While Abuela started to recall all the searching groups that were currently available, the adults gave each other an understanding look.

"Kids, can you go to your room?" Mom asked, staring at the youngest generation, who looked at what was going on with a different degree of interest. They were all worried for Luisa; even if some of them weren't especially close, they were still one family.

Deep inside, she knew that this entire situation was entirely her fault. If she wasn't so stupid if she didn't run away that evening, then no one would have to search for her. If she wasn't so selfish, Luisa would be sitting with them right now, safe and sound. But Mirabel just had to run away and act like a coward. And now, Luisa was paying the prize. It wasn't fair; Mirabel was the one who should've been sitting somewhere all alone, possibly hungry and weary. Not Luisa.

Luisa probably wouldn't want her to feel like that, but it was true. Mirabel just destroyed all their hopes for an easy reunion. Part of her wondered if this was how everyone felt back when Tío Bruno disappeared. Ten years ago, Mirabel was way too young to understand what happened with her socially awkward uncle, especially when she was frustrated by her ceremony so much.

She didn't listen to what her parents replied to Isabela; the guilt was way too much to fight it. Instead, she did as she was told to, pushing her chair. "I'll go outside.." She mumbled, pacing out of the room. Isabela seemed to be displeased with how easily Mirabel was obeying this time. But she really couldn't do anything to help. Not when her guts weighed more than all the heavy things Luisa ever carried in fourteen years together.

When she was out of the house, Mirabel leaned against the old brick wall and looked into the dark nebulose sky, which was ready to fall down with rain. The clouds looked as heavy as Mirabel's deep guilt at the bottom of her heart. Soon, a raindrop fell on her, rolling down her face. Then another and another.

"Just... Where are you, hermana?" Mirabel asked the raining clouds, they answered with a stronger drizzle. She lowered her head, looking at how drops were splashing against the gray asphalt, filling the cracks with water. Her lower lip trembled, whispering the silent question. She wasn't sure to whom exactly she was talking, probably to this cruel world.

Señora Torres, Luisa's ex-teacher in biology, would probably say that she had to stay calm and collected. All the guides she ever saw told her that getting worried was the worst thing in this situation. But when the danger happened in real life, Luisa found it impossible to do all the things she had ever learned. Maybe the fact that she thought that her gift could easily protect her made it even worse. With her previous strength, Luisa never had to worry about herself, only about others. Well, she surely didn't have any strength right now. She was never optimistic like Camilo or Mirabel, and everything was just too bad to find any hope. And she wasn't Isabela, who, with her seething passion for botany, could tell if any plant on her way was edible or poisonous. Luisa couldn't stop feeling hungry; even right after she ate, she still found herself in some condition between hunger and literal starvation. There was a chance that her gift had made her more resistant to this while she still had it because she never felt that bad and hungry. And her head didn't stop pounding even when it was silent.

***

Things weren't getting too much better. The big nut calmed down her hunger, but Luisa still thought about all the times when she skipped her meals with so much regret, now realizing what a wonderful part of life she ignored so often. And as much as she hated to admit it, she was getting weaker. It wasn't something unexpected; after all, the last days were spent endlessly running through the jungles, all alone. Luisa couldn't believe that it had started just recently; her mind felt like she had been locked here for years, without any sense of time or space.

Luisa held back her quiet growling. "Don't think about it." She reminded herself uneasily. Right now wasn't the time to worry about her newly founded weakness; as much as she missed her leet, losing her life was way worse... She took a deep breath, clenching her hands into fists and focusing on the rough hide and minor scratches. Well, at least she was Luisa, who was used to long and exhausting physical work without breaks. Her mom couldn't heal the pain from the deadbeat, so Luisa was somehow familiar with it, just not that severe.

The sun was down already, but all the nervous energy was bursting through Luisa's veins, making it impossible to actually rest. In the air, she could hear quiet steps of soft paws, hissing and growling, the crackling of branches of mighty trees, and a shrilly owl howl. The sounds were so loud that it was hard to determine from where they came. That's why Luisa hated being in the darkness; you could never tell what, who was hiding in the corner, or how close it was to pierce its canines into her throat. She instinctively squeezed her shoulders, trying to make herself small and insignificant, merge with the thick air so nothing would harm her.

*Splash*

Luisa heard a quiet Jaguar roar, and her heart sank in. No, she knew that those big cats usually never attack humans unless there's a threat. But they could. And just this single fact was enough for her to freak out.

Luisa took a deep breath and looked up. The first raindrop fell on her cheek and went downwards. It wasn't something new; after a few days, she was getting used to it.

Her ears tensed up, breathing stopped as the quiet, almost inaudible noise of splashed water broke through the normal wild ambience. Then another and another. Luisa gasped, her fists unclenched involuntarily as a small, weak gasp went out of her throat. And a second later, Luisa ran, breaking through the branches, ignoring the scary noises around her, focusing only on the sound of dripping water.

Soon she managed to see it—the quiet river flow in the starlight. Water was laving the shores and stones, never stopping. Luisa's breathing got heavy as all her fortitude was used not to let her knees buckle. She put her hand on her heart, staring in front of her without blinking, as if she were scared that if she closed her eyes for the slightest moment, the water would disappear, leaving her nowhere to be found again. Luisa took a few shaking steps, squeezing a leaf in her hand.

Luisa kneeled in front of the arroyo. The cataract kept soaking her hair as her hand froze above the slow flow. A moment later, she carefully put her limb underneath, then another. Cold liquid washed the sore and rough skin of her palms as the monsoon kept pouring down, creating round stains on the water.

Luisa stared at her reflection; even with such a little light, she could tell that she looked bad in the best case. Branches and leaves were stuck in her messy hair, skin was pale from exhaustion. But she couldn't expect herself to look any way normal. It was very unlikely that anyone would look good after days without any civilization.

Mosquitoes were buzzing nearby, but Luisa could only stare at the deep waves. Carefully, she washed her face. It wasn't for the feeling of water or to clean herself; after all, it was still showering right now, but to check that it was real for the last time. The river itself didn't mean that much; drinking water from here was probably an even worse idea than sipping from the rain. But people usually built cities on riverbeds, and it was at least a sore reference point in this endless world where everything looked the same. So maybe, just maybe, she would find the way out of here.

Luisa wiped her nose with the back of her hand and, for the first time in what seemed to be forever, allowed herself to hope.

#encanto #fanfic #ao3 author #luisa madrigal #mirabel madrigal

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