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void-of-unparalled-chaos · 3 months

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Here's Where You'll Stay

"As John stared at the door preparing to get his face mauled, he couldn’t help but incredulously complain that this was not how he wanted his weekend to go. He had plans! He supposes that he would be willing to put them on hold for Phantom’s sake, but he wasn’t agreeable to the incoming face mauling. "

When Phantom comes down with Core Sickness it's up to John Constantine to save the ghost from fading.

This was originally based on a prompt from @nerdpoe but the story got so far from the original premise that I only ended up using dialogue. I put it under its own post instead of clogging up the notes for the prompt.

The title was taken from Today Has Been Okay by Sleeping at Last.

AO3 link

As John stared at the door preparing to get his face mauled, he couldn’t help but incredulously complain that this was not how he wanted his weekend to go. He had plans! Plans to hole himself up in the House of Mystery with a bottle of scotch as he wallows in misery but still, plans!

He supposes that he would be willing to put them on hold for Phantom’s sake, but he wasn’t agreeable to the incoming face mauling.

The little ghost had imprinted on them like a stray cat. He had just sorta… wandered (phased) in one day when the door (the wall) was open (he phased his head through the fucking wall!!!) and space is cold! No one was just going to kick him back out the door! They aren’t monsters! Next thing you know the cat is eating your food and hovering over you in the medbay and then suddenly the Justice League is having the collective realization that they may have unconsciously adopted a ghost kid.

They already had two aliens, an Amazon, a king, the fastest man alive, a Robin Hood wannabe, a traumatized furry, and an entire department dedicated to magic and the occult. What was a protection spirit added to the mix? Besides, they were already attached.

So the Justice League was understandably distressed when the kid suddenly collapsed, claws leaving long scratches in the floor as he yelped in pain. Phantom was transferred to one of his favored rooms with Martian Manhunter remaining to babysit the ghost. The other leaguers on-site wasted no time in calling a meeting.

If John had rushed a little faster to the Watchtower then that was between He, Him, and Himself.

Having sat silently through an hour of yapping, John was beginning to get frustrated. Figures that the idiots would call up the occult specialists and then not let the only two people who may have any idea as to what was going on get a word in edgewise. Usually, John preferred that they left him to his own devices, but if you were going to call up a consultant then you should probably fucking consult them! Regardless, he could say with a solid ninety-nine percent confidence he knew what was wrong with their resident spirit.

“It’s core sickness.”

“It’s what?”

“Core sickness. Do none of you listen?” he tried his best to blow his cigarette smoke directly into Superman’s face. Clark squinted at him, scrunching his nose in distaste.

Diana, ever the model of patience, merely waved the foul scent away. She folded her hands on the table, fingers interlocking. “I don’t believe I’ve heard the term.”

John leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the table with two thunks. He grunted around his cigarette, waving at Batman to explain while he took another inhale.

Batman quietly glared at John’s feet as if he could shove them off the table by willpower alone. When the bat remained silent, John gestured at him again in a wordless 'go ahead'.

"I am…" Batman gritted his teeth as if what he was about to say was physically painful, "unfamiliar with the term as well.

"Holy shit, did Spooky just admit to not knowing something? Am I dreaming? Quick, Barry, pinch me!" Hal yelped, rubbing his arm. Barry settled back into his chair so quickly it was as if he had never moved, the only evidence being the red mark on the Green Lantern's skin.

"Seriously bats? Isn't one of your boys undead? Shouldn't you know this?"

Batman's glare sharpened. "That's none of your concern."

"Wow. No wonder your revenant is so bloody pissed all the time. You can't even be bothered to learn about his medical needs. I wouldn't be holding out for Father of the Year if I were you."

"Now now, boys. You're both pretty." Zatanna clapped, breaking the practically solid tension in the room. John huffed and chewed the stub of paper in his mouth, leaving Zatanna to explain.

"All ghosts and most undead have a core. It's… hard to describe." Zatanna hummed, tapping her finger to her chin for a moment, "Imagine if you only had one organ. It functions as your brain your heart and your digestive system all in one, but it's also the essence of your very soul. Core sickness is when the core is injured and fails to build itself back up. Kind of like breaking your leg but instead of healing the break just continues to grind together. It might still be usable for a bit, but then the bone keeps grinding and the edges start to crumble. It just keeps getting worse and worse until eventually your whole leg is shattered."

There's a sharp inhale of breath as the league processes the information.

"So what happens once the bone shatters?" Arthur eventually asks.

"The core is exactly what it sounds like, it's the very core of a ghost. Ghosts are nearly indestructible, but their core..." Zatanna trails off.

"If the core shatters, so does the ghost." Batman nods, looking none too pleased.

"Well, we can't just let the kid shatter! How do we help set the break?"

Zatanna shrugs, "I'm not sure… Constantine?"

"Do I look like a ghost doctor?"

"You're the most knowledgeable among us on supernatural beings," Batman growled out. The usually stoic shadow almost seemed panicked, or at least as panicked as they had ever seen him.

John sighed and flicked ash from his fingers, "Pretty sure you gotta fix whatever shite caused the core sickness in the first place. Problem is we dunno what caused it."

"So why don't we ask? Surely Phantom would know the cause of such an extreme ailment." Arthur drummed his fingers nervously on the armrest of his chair.

Zatanna grimaced, “Ghosts can be…”

“Aggressive?" John interrupted, "Destructive? More likely to rip your sorry face off than give you answers?”

“I was going to say touchy.”

John snorted, “That’s certainly a word for it.”

Zatanna ignores him. "Whatever caused the core sickness is likely something personal. Asking certain questions of a ghost is considered taboo and often met with hostility."

"Casper just might flay you like a fish."

"So if we ask him we might get the snot beaten out of us, but if we don't Phantom dies? Or… dies again?"

"Fades." John nods to Hal.

“Constantine should ask.”

“I should what? ” John straightens in his chair, staring wide-eyed at Batman, “I know I was being a tosser earlier but I don’t think it constitutes murder. Are ya bloody mad?”

“Phantom likes you the most. He may be less inclined to fight you than a different leaguer, and in the event that it becomes a fight, you’re better equipped to handle it.”

And that’s how John Constantine ended up on the other side of the door from an ill ghost, cursing up a storm as he prepared himself to poke a bear with a stick. A sick bear, but a bear nonetheless. He has half a mind to portal straight out of the watch tower but much like the others, the kid has grown on him. Like a tumor. Or mold.

A hissed sound of pain is enough to push John into the room. He raps gently on the door as he opens it. The kid is curled in J’onn’s lap, tail phased halfway through the floor as he shakes. The Martian is humming something as he runs a hand through Phantom’s hair.

John comes to a crouch at Phantom’s side, nodding J’onn towards the door as he gently disentangles the ghost's hands from the Martian’s cape. A single hazy green eye opens to a thin slit.

“Hey, kid.”

Phantom makes a strangled, warbling chirp but allows himself to be transferred over to John as the Martian leaves the room. The ghost’s claws poke through his shirt to prickle his skin as he clutches onto the fabric.

“Not feeling too hot are ya, Casper?”

Another shiver runs through Phantom’s body.

“Listen, kid, I know you might not wanna talk about it, but it’s important. I need to know what brought this mess on.”

Phantom growled. John could feel the threatening scrape of fanged teeth against his hand. Sucking in a breath, John prepared himself for a nasty bite. Only it never came. He should probably just stop while he was ahead, but Constantine was never known to stop pushing.

“I know, kid, but we can’t fix this if we don’t know the cause. Gotta know what we need to fix before we can fix it, and none of us wanna see ya fade, yeah?”

Silence from the ghost, and then a nod.

John let out a sigh of relief, “Alright, Casper. You’ve walked in on me drunk off my arse with a belt around my head. I reckon we’re close enough that you can tell me your issues.”

Silence.

“How about this? I’ll start listing some ideas off and you tap my hand. One tap for yes, Two taps for no. Sound easier?”

One tap.

“Alright. Did your core sustain any direct physical damage?” With John’s luck he might as well assume the worst.

Two taps. Thank Christ.

“Did you lose your haunt?”

Two taps.

“Unable to fulfill your obsession?”

Two taps.

“Was your grave disrupted?”

Nothing. Phantom’s finger hesitated, hovering over John’s palm. It started to lower as if he were about to tap but retreated once more. Another shiver of pain wracked through the ghost.

John ran his fingers through Phantom’s hair like J’onn had been doing when he walked in.

“Am I close, Casper?”

One tap.

“Did you…” John hesitated. He didn’t want to say it. Didn’t even want to even think about it. Not with the implications that the idea held, especially not with a kid, “Do you have a grave?”

Two taps.

Constantine makes a strangled sound. Bollocks. Fucking hell. Is Phantom a murder victim? He’s just going to compartmentalize that for now. He’ll drink about it later. For now, he’s got a kid to help. A potentially murdered kid, Christ…

“Is that what’s causing the core sickness?” Compartmentalise it, you plonker.

One tap.

Great. So now John has to track down a murdered kid’s body and make him a grave. Wonderful.

“Alright, kid. Here’s what's gonna happen. I’m going to make you the best damn grave you’ve ever seen. I’ll put it wherever ya want. ”

Phantom’s eye opens again in interest, “Wherever?”

“Wherever. Hell, I’ll put it on the bloody moon if that’s where ya want it!”

“It doesn’t have to be on the moon but… I’d like to see the stars?”

“I’ll make sure you can see the stars all the damn time, but first we gotta do the hard part. You know where your body is, kid?”

Phantom gives a weak chuckle and mutters something into John’s shirt

“Gonna have to speak up a bit, Casper.”

When Phantom turns to look at John once more the haze is gone, but so is that tiny glimmer of hope and enthusiasm. The eyes that meet John’s own are dead. They look clouded over and sunken, empty of that natural ectoplasmic glow. They look like the eyes of a carcass. The fanged grin that stretches across his face is stiff and just as dead as his eyes.

“I said if you want to find my body, you’re going to have to redefine your definition of a corpse.”

Ah. Alright. What the fuck is that supposed to mean.

Phantom drops his grin, eyes closing as he hisses in pain again. “You don’t need to worry about that part. An empty grave is better than none.”

No, actually, John feels like he does need to worry about that. He’s not entirely sure that he has a choice in the matter after that horrifying statement. He’ll compartmentalize it and get drunk about that later too. Right now he’s got a grave to make and a ghost to save.

____🥀____

To be fair, John’s not entirely sure what he’s doing. All he knows is that he has to make a damn good grave for a damn good kid if he doesn’t want said kid to painfully fade from existence. He doesn’t know the first thing about headstones but he will bloody learn and pick the best- Granite? Marble? Whatever.- there is!

He already has a spot picked out, he just needs to get a headstone. But for some reason, this feels way more stressful than it needs to be! He’s tempted to ignore the no smoking sign, fingers fidgeting with the cigarette box in his pocket. This is the fourth place he’s looked, and it’s hard to find anyone willing to make a headstone on such short notice. The backlog of orders has been surprisingly long.

John doesn’t have the time to wait. Phantom doesn’t have the time.

So far it's all been the same boring, drab, grey rock with intermittent white marble. None of it is good enough. None of it fits the kid. It has to be perfect. He’s about to move on to the next place when- oh. Oh, that will do nicely!

____🥀____

Constantine swings open the door without warning. Oliver startles out of his story with a yelp. Phantom giggles, fangs flashing. He covers his mouth with a hand and feigns innocence when Oliver glares at him good-naturedly. Oliver, a dad himself, is no match for the sick-child-murder victim-ghost energy the kid is wielding. His glare quickly crumbles, replaced with a fond expression and gentle hair ruffle.

Even with weakness weighing his limbs down, Phantom still tries to bat the hand away with a playful growl. He seemed a tad more lively than when John had last seen him. The updates he had been receiving from the league were mainly neutral. The League, or the Rotating Cycle of Babysitters as John liked to call them, had not noticed any further deterioration but had yet to report any improvement either. It was a pleasant surprise to see the ghost this active.

John allowed his mouth to tick up just a smidge, “Ready to go, kid?”

“Already?” Phantom attention shifted to John, “It hasn’t been that long… has it?”

“Nah. Only ‘bout two days or so.”

“That was fast.” Phantom grunted as Oliver picked him up. Oliver whispered a quiet sorry to him as he carried Phantom to pass over to John.

“I’ve been running myself ragged to get it all set up. Haven’t had a drink in hours.”

It really shouldn’t surprise John how light the kid was. He’d bet the ghost wouldn’t even weigh ten pounds soaking wet. Before the ghost could protest, he was slipping a blindfold over his eyes.

“I may have done some bribery here and there to move things along.”

“Constantine, you didn’t…” Oliver sounded disappointed but not surprised.

John didn’t deign him with a response, instead shifting to hold Phantom with one arm and open a portal with the other. Stepping through to the surprisingly large backyard of the House of Mystery, he quickly closed it behind them before off-brand Robin Hood got any ideas and began the short trek to the gravesite.

"Can I take this off now?" His hand raised shakily without waiting for an answer.

John gently slapped his wrist back down, "Quit messing with the blindfold. I just put the damn thing on!"

Phantom groaned, his head dramatically falling back over John's arm, "Oh come on! What's a dying ghost gotta do around here to get his last wish fulfilled?"

"Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you're already dead. And 'sides, I'm not letting you fade after all those goddamn hours I've put into teaching you portals. You're going to be haunting the Justice League for a while yet." If John held him a little tighter no one needed to know.

"Whoever said that you could rest when you're dead lied ."

"You've been a right thorn in my side between stealing my booze and hiding my cigs. I figure it's about time that I make myself your problem. It's called karma, Casper."

Phantom snorted, leaning his head to rest against John's shoulder. The rest of the walk continued in silence aside from the occasional whimper of pain from Phantom and John's attempts at comforting platitudes.

It wasn't long before John finally made it up the small hill, grinning as he approached the grave marker. The stone slab sat on the highest point of his lot, as close to the stars as possible. He had been so meticulous about its placement that he was almost certain he had every inch of the garden memorized until his eyesight blurred, surprisingly without the aid of alcohol.

"Alright, Phantom. Remember to take it easy," John lifted the blindfold.

Phantom's chest hitched in the mimicry of a gasp, stilling in the older's hold.

The headstone was made of black granite with golden flecks. The man at the shop had called it Galaxy Granite. It was a rather fitting name. The headstone looked like it had been cut from the night sky itself, the stars sparkling even under sunlight. An etching of Ursa Minor sat above the inscription, Polaris bigger than the rest of the constellation. Dainty white letters ran across the stone. Phantom floated over as if in a trance to run his fingers over it.

In Loving Memory Of

Danny Fenton

12 February 1989

12 February 2003

Beloved Son, Brother, Hero

Phantom leaned his head against the stone. John left him to have his moment, retreating into the House of Mystery to grab the final touch. The bouquet was sort of garish. The colors of the forget-me-nots, beardtongue, zinnias, star grass, poppies, and lewisias clashed together, but the aesthetic appeal wasn’t why he had chosen these particular flowers. He remerged with purpose, gently carrying the bouquet to ensure the flowers remained intact. Phantom hadn’t moved.

John crouched next to the kid, gently laying the flowers down against the headstone, “You oka-”

John made a noise of surprise as he was tugged forward. The momentum caused him to collapse from his heels onto his knees. The ghost burrowed underneath his chin, keeping him from falling forward anymore. Phantom’s arms tightened around him.

“Thank you.” His voice already sounded stronger than it had the day before.

“Yeah,” John snaked an arm around the ghost’s shoulders, holding him close even as his shirt dampened, “Don’t mention it, kid.”

#dpxdc #Here's Where You'll Stay #my writing #dpxdc fanfic

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atpsnty · 1 year

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┊'𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞'

neteyam te suli tsyeyk’itan ; avatar: the way of water

pairing: neteyam x omaticaya!gn!reader

warnings: light fluff, budding romance, a lot of commas (not even a warning but it’s bugging me how I used so many)

request: n/a

summary: inspired by ‘yes to heaven’ - lana del rey

a/n: I heard this song and immediately wanted to do a fic with it, but then I saw the footage of the deleted dance scene from avatar 1 (lmk if you want a link or something) and knew it had to be done,, takes place some time before the sullys leave the forest

character credit: avatar movie series

w/c: 1.7k

part 2: ‘and if you don’t, i’ll dance anyway’

As you approach the Omaticaya’s kelutral, you cannot help but immediately smile in the festive ambiance.

The clan is currently hosting a celebration for the success of one of the war parties. Ey’tey jahmka hiru’tayas – tree drums made of holes within the Hometree – are being struck in various different locations; the vibrations of the melodies sending happy tingles throughout your body.

Around you, your people are in various states of enjoyment. Warriors are reunited with their families, thanking Eywa for letting them live to see their loved ones again. Many have dressed in their best garments, littering their hair with beads and their bodies with jewelry.

This was a time to not only appreciate the survivors, but to give final thanks to your sisters and brother who have returned back to All-Mother after their great fight.

You tried to put a little extra effort in your appearance this morning, adorning your braids with a few colorful wooden beads and your loincloth with a few accented pieces.

Walking through the Hometree, you grin at recognized faces, making sure to welcome the returned and give gentle smiles to those experiencing loss. As you weave through the crowds, you catch sight of the eldest son of Toruk Makto, sitting around one of the many fires with his family.

You would like to say Neteyam is one of your best friends.

Ever since you were young and his siblings had found you exploring the forest, you’ve joined them on their many wanderings and activities. The only thing is, Neteyam is always too busy that he never actually gets to join and enjoy himself. He’s always off training with his dad or out on a hunt; he never allows himself to relax and actually be a child.

You hate it.

There have been many nights where you have caught Neteyam returning from training, long after his father has returned; forcing himself to perfect his stances and study his problem areas – not that he has many.

He has engulfed his life in expectations: following them, achieving them, perfecting them, then exceeding them. The pressure he has had since a young boy due to his status as the next olo’eyktan has taken over his childhood, and he no longer allows himself to simply exist.

Due to this, you try to help Neteyam loosen up whenever you get the chance, and right now was the perfect opportunity.

You stroll over to the area where he and his family reside. He’s currently conversing with Lo’ak, though he does not seem to be enjoying himself. His toothy smile – which you have bare witness to on several occasions – is not in appearance and a small, almost sad looking grin has taken its place.

“Hi, Y/N!” Tuk rushes out of her mom’s arms and darts in your direction, holding her own arms out when she nears.

“”Hey, Tuk,” you playfully scrunch your nose as you pick up her small frame. You twirl her around whilst lifting her high above your head before placing her on your hip. “How is my favorite Sully sibling doing today?” You tickle her stomach lightly while speaking loud enough for the rest of the family to hear.

“Nah that’s just cold,” Lo’ak puts his hand over his heart and shakes his head in a hurt manner, “all the years we’ve been together and this cry baby comes along and suddenly I mean nothing to you.”

Tuk sticks her tongue out from the place on your side, making a small hum before placing her arms around your neck and resting her head on your shoulder.

“What can I say Lo’ak?” You lightly shrug your shoulders before sitting in the empty space next to Neteyam and placing Tuk on your lap.. “You’ve been slacking in the favorites department and a demotion was long overdue.”

You nudge the elder brother’s shoulder and inquire in a light tone, “and how is the family’s best tsamsiyu doing today?”

It almost seems as though his mood has already lightened from the way his smile brightens.

“I am good Y/N. Thank you for asking.”

You carry light conversation with the Sully kids, complimenting Neytiri on her beautiful jewelry and greeting Jake when he stops by after mingling with his people. In this time, Neteyam only makes light jokes and adds very little to the conversation, even as Lo’ak repeatedly pushes his buttons in hopes of him pushing back.

You softly sigh, stopping the moves you’re currently doing with Tuk: you swinging and twirling her in correspondence to the music from your position on the log. You turn Tuk around and point towards a few kids who are dancing together and watch her run off to join them.

As you turn to ask Neteyam what is wrong, the drummers start to play one of your favorite songs and you cannot help but smile. You quickly hop up and wave the kids to come join you. Lo’ak gets up immediately, happy to move around and do basically anything. Kiri, though reluctant, slowly rises and you take her hands, quickly spinning her in a circle before you both move to the beat.

You close your eyes and let the music consume you: swaying to the rhythm, gliding on your feet, moving your arms in accordance. Music was always one of the main ways you felt your connection to Great Mother deepen. Whether it be remembering the verses that accompany your clan’s various songcords, learning the ways of the drums, or joining in on any events that had dances involved; music always moved through you in a spiritual manner.

The song shifts, changing into a partner dance that every Na’vi is taught from a young age.

Immediately, you open your eyes and meet Neteyam’s gaze.

You tilt your head in a “come here” gesture, but he scrunches his nose and shakes his head, his braids jostling due to the movement. You giddily walk over to him, a slight skip in your step, and grab his hands, attempting to pull him up from his sitting position and towards the dance circle.

“Y/N, I am not much of a dancer.”

“You must dance,” you say as you manage to pull him up, “it is the way.”

As you drag him away, you glance back and see Neytiri smiling at you and her son. You bow your head back at her before proceeding into your necessary positions.

“Y/N, I really do not know what I am doing.”

The boy almost seems…nervous? Whether it was because of his so-called “lacking” dance skills or simply because he was dancing with you, you did not know.

“You learned dance when you were younger, yes?” You rock on your heels and bounce on the balls of your feet once he nods, “then you are fine, ma Neteyam.”

As the music starts to pick up, you hold your forearms vertical in front of your face, your palms facing you. Although he is opposed at first, Neteyam slowly does the same, and you can’t fight the giant smile that appears on your face.

You slowly start to twinkle your fingers as your arms raise above your head. When your hand brushes against his, you can’t help but blush. You look him directly in the eyes to make sure he is doing okay.

You find he is doing more than that.

His smile seems to be growing by the second. His shoulders lose their tension, his eyes fluttering like he is finally letting go of his mind and taking in his environment.

Once your arms straighten above your head, your turn your hands over and slowly bring them back down with the same twinkling fingers. As your tips gently tap against his, you can’t help the way your heartbeat picks up.

You’ve never felt this close to Neteyam before.

Whenever the two of you spent time together previously, it was always in light of his siblings: you joining him and Lo’ak on an ikran ride, you aiding Kiri when she patched him up after injury, you babysitting Tuk when Jake and Neytiri went out hunting while the others were busy. It’s come to your realization that the “moments” you’ve had with Neteyam were never really yours.

Now, even though you guys were not technically alone, felt different than the other times. This was between you guys; you and him alone.

Even though your mind was pacing a million thoughts a minute, you noticed that your partner had stopped the gentle taps against your fingers.

This sent your brain into overdrive.

‘Why am I thinking like this?’

‘Has he ever thought like this?’

‘Oh Eywa, did I really just force him to dance with me?’

‘He was so reluctant at first. Is he only giving in because I wanted to dance?

‘Have I made him uncomfortable?’

“Y/N…?”

You startle a bit at the sudden voice so close to you and start to pull your hands away.

“I am so sorry, Neteyam. I did not mean to force you to dance with me. You just seemed so out of it today, more than usual at least, and I wanted to help you relax a bit. Wait, not that I notice when you are out of it. I mean it is kind of obvious that you would be – you are the son of the olo’eyktan after all. Wait, I am supposed to be helping you forget that right now…”

Neteyam grabs your hands back and gently intertwines his fingers with yours. Your eyes pop back up to his face. The confusion must be present on your face because he actually chuckles when you meet his eyes.

“Thank you, Y/N. Truly I…I needed this.”

You cannot stop the warmth that spreads across your skin at his soft words.

“Oh…It is no problem.” Your eyes pop down to your locked hands and you softly grin before looking back at him.

What happens next actually surprises you.

Neteyam pushes you back a bit before twirling you around and continuing the dance. It catches you off guard at first, but you quickly recover and nudge his shoulder once you’re reeled back back in.

“What has happened to not being able to dance, hm?”

“A big part of dancing is who your partner is,” he says with the slight tilt of his head and a shrug, “if you dance Y/N, I’ll dance.”

Okay I wasn’t sure if I wanted to make this a oneshot or divide it, but I haven’t posted in so long and this was already a decent size by itself so yeah

Also, I’ve organized all the requests and stuff I’ve been sent for various shows/movies/books, so I’ll get to everything when I can !!

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peachycrisis · 2 months

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Human Again

Chapter 3

—————

Charlie watched the man infront of her practically internally fall apart with a matter of seconds, she noticed his breathing beginning to become heavy as he started to chuckle to himself, looking down as he started muttering words she couldn’t quite understand. The former radio demon moved his arms close to his chest, as if he was trying to hide himself from the world- but yet that signature smile was still plastered on his face.

“Al….” She spoke his name softly, with no response from the other.

“Alastor.” She spoke louder, still soft but with a stern underwater that showed that she was being serious. Alastor looked up with teary eyes.

“I’m sorry dear, a little hiccup- that’s all!” the man spoke, stretching out his smile more in an attempt to hide his panic.

“Okay, this looks pretty bad- but I’m going to stitch you up, is that okay?” Charlie asked, Alastor started at her with wide eyes for a moment, before sighing and reluctantly agreeing.

“Alright, I have supplies in the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” She got up from the floor turning her back to the injured radio host, before turning her head back towards him.

“Dont. Move.”

“I-“

“Don’t. Move.” She spoke again, stern enough to even make the radio demon feel taken back. “Rest, lay back and relax. We both know you need it.” She spoke before walking out the door, closing it behind her leaving the man alone with his thoughts. His terribly human thoughts.”

Alastor hated looking pathetic- and weak. He had built up this whole persona, being one of the strongest and most feared overlords in all of hell, and now all of that power he has acquired over nearly 90 years had gone away within an instant- leaving him as an empty shell of what he once was and what he was once capable of.

And now he’s left in this body- this body he had hated the entirety of his human existence.

Alastor had always been a scrawny kid, even in life he had always been thin- too thin for his liking. He had never been one to have much of an appetite in life. Yes, he was stocky- and had muscles from years of digging holes on his family’s farm- and he had caught the eyes of many girls, and boys throughout the years due to his magnificent looks (not like he would be interested in either, like Rosie said he is an ‘ace in the hole’.)

To others, he was beauty, but to him, he had always been a kid who was skin and bones. A broken skeleton.

He hated this, he hated looking weak, and he especially hated feeling bare and exposed.

——————

“Calm down, Carl. Please.” A woman spoke from the other side of the table, begging her husband to calm down. The man got up abruptly.

“I’m going outside.” the man spoke, kicking his chair, heading out of the dining room- but not without forgetting his bottle. The woman sighed sadly before putting her focus back on her distraught son. She watched him tremble as tears welled in his eyes.

“Bambi- you gotta eat something, you’re skin and bones honey.” The woman spoke softly, gesturing towards the bowl of jambalaya infront of hun. The woman wore a beautiful gown, and sported beautiful brown curly hair that rode its way down her back, close to her waist.

“I’m not hungry.” The boy whimpered, he looked down at his trembling palms, which now resides in his lap.

“Al, honey- look at me” she spoke as she lifted up his chin. The boy was dressed in a white dress shirt, brown dress pants- and a red apron. The boy looked up at his mother with big brown doe eyes and brown curly hair, a couple of strands being stuck behind his round framed glasses.

“In situations like this, we gotta keep our hopes up- okay?” She spoke softly, moving her hand from his chin to his cheek, caressing it softly. “We just gotta think good thoughts and hope that everything passes, a smile is a valuable tool my dear, it assures that through anything that comes our way- we will always be the ones in control”

“now smile for me honey, it will be okay. You’re never fully dressed without one.” She said as she got up from the table, heading outside to chase after her husband- leaving her son at the table, alone.

the boy looked down at his arms- pale, ragety and scarred. He put on his best smile- grabbed the knife he used to make his family’s meal, and headed to the bathroom.

——————

Alastor sighed as he relaxed his arms into his lap, waiting for Charlie to return with the medical supplies. Even though he knew he was technically in his own body, it still felt foreign. He felt powerless. He felt… human.

And that feeling is both a blessing, and a curse. A curse, especially for the radio demon.

He looked down at his bare arms, the formally black claws that faded to grey skin- now a tan, flesh tone, his arms, specifically his lower arms littered in the scars that reminded him both of his physical, and emotional battles. The battles that he had nearly forgotten about, the emotions that he claimed made him weaker. made him prey. And prey is exactly what Alastor, the all mighty radio demon, became.

“Al, I’m back!…Al?” He heard, he looked up and saw Charlie, looking concerned, standing in front of him with a first aid kit. He hadn’t even noticed that she had walked in.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Al spoke softly, his smile on the brink of breaking. He had also nearly forgotten about the big laceration across his chest.

“Honestly dear, I had nearly forgotten about the injury.” he chuckled, glancing down at his chest. Charlie noticed his brown doe eyes, big and glistening with tears threatening to fall. He looked so… innocent? She sighed as she knelt down in front of him, placing the first aid kit next to her- and places her hand on his cheek.

“Alastor, it’s okay to be vulnerable…” she preached quietly, rubbing her finger over his soft cheek, she felt him trembling- he was scared. He was scared, and he still felt the need to keep the mask up. “It’s okay to let it all out, you don’t need to be happy- let alone smile all the time. Not smiling doesn’t make you weak, it makes you strong.”

And for the first time in almost a century, the radio demon let go.

She watched as his smile dropped as his breath hitched… the man’s eyes flooded with tears, which began to leak down his cheeks as he began to sob hysterically- as if he hadn’t cried since he was living on earth. The princess got up from her place on the floor and took a seat next to the hysterical man on her bed. She wrapped her arms around him, being careful of not irritating his injury even more. She felt the radio demon put his weight on her as he cried, gripping onto the arms that are wrapped around him, as if they were keeping him afloat.

he needed this, and she was going to help him through it.

15 minutes later, Alastor, the Radio Demon is laying in the lap of Charlie Morningstar, the Princess of hell. Charlie played with the mans hair, soothing his scalp as sniffles and hiccups echoed throughout the room.

“Al?” She spoke, breaking the silence.

“Yes?”

“We still should take care of that wound.” She chuckled, as she ran her rand from her hair to the man’s cheek, wiping away the dried tear stains. The man sat up with a sigh, looking down at himself.

“Yeah, i would assume that would be a rather smart idea.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #alternate universe #hazbin hotel alastor #human alastor #alastor #charlie hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel charlie #charlie morningstar #Hazbin hotel fanfic

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gale-dragon-writer · 2 months

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Guardian Zestial pt 3

About two and a half years later, Zestial got a selfie pic of Charlie, Vaggie, and their first resident for the Happy Hotel. The Overlord is happy that his little godchild's plans are getting some traction, even if it's just one person. But for some reason, Zestial couldn't help but find this new resident familiar but couldn't place why. He does congratulate Charlie on the recruit.

About a week later during an Overlord meeting, Val "accidentally" shares one of his porn videos with the other Overlords. Milly Zilla clobbers him for both not paying attention to the meeting and bringing up something that had nothing to do with the meeting. (Nothing major, just puts his head through the table a little harder than needed).

Seeing the "star" of the video, Zetial recognised him right away as Charlie's first recruit. Despite his calm exterior, Zestial couldn't help but worry about what trouble this Angel Dust could get Charlie into. He already started making plans to murder Valentino in case he does anything to Charlie (several of those plans involve Val being in a lot of pain before dying).

Now we start going into the timeline for the first season (mostly... Okay, I added a few extra things).

Like the canon, Alastor suddenly appears at the Happy Hotel and offers his backing for this Redemption Project. Claiming it was merely for the entertainment that could come from Sinners trying and failing to be redeemed. Alastor offers to make a deal with Charlie to make the hotel successful. However, Charlie is a lot more aware that the wording of a deal can affect the outcome of it, thanks to Zestial tutoring her in these kinds of things.

So Charlie hammers out the details regarding this deal and tells Alstor that she won't accept the deal unless he accepts those terms. Ofc, Alastor is a little taken aback by the Princess of Hell's words, but quickly plays it off by cheerfully telling her that she was certainly prepared and thought everything through for this before ultimately accepting the Hotel Deal. Vaggie is so proud of her girl.

Ofc, Charlie tells Zestial this with so much joy. And ofc, Zestial is surprised and suspicious. Surprised that Alastor the Radio Demon was back and still alive, and suspicious because Zestial knew the other Overlord enough to know that he had to be up to something. So, Zestial tells Charlie that while he's glad her project is getting some positive attention, he warns her not to trust Alastor too much.

Charlie understands her guardian's concerns and tells him about the deal she made with Alastor. Zestial is so proud of his little godchild for thinking things through. He wishes Charlie continual luck before he hangs up.

Zestial does his usual visit to Lucifer. The Lord of Hell is... More or less going off on his usual pre-meeting rant about having to deal with that "annoying a$$hole who doesn't even bother to use the meeting for what it's supposed to be used for". Zestial has heard this all before and has asked in the past why Heaven even does these meetings when nothing ever gets done. Lucifer has told him that he doesn't know and has tried sending letters to his siblings, the 7 Heavenly Virtues, but none of them have even bothered to reply to any that has been sent. Zestial has told Lucifer that that is kind of weird, telling him that even if they might still be mad at the Lord of Hell, they would at least reply to one of his messages.

However, with Lucifer in his depression, he just thinks that Zestial is reaching and is trying to make him feel better. But the Overlord has his suspicions.

So when Lucifer asks Charlie to take his place in the Heaven meeting, Zestial takes the opportunity to test his theory. With Charlie on her excitement high at the thought of pitching her idea of the Happy Hotel to Heaven, she's quick to say yes to Zestial's request to deliver a letter from her father to one of the Heavenly Virtues. He tells her that Lucifer forgot to ask her to do this himself.

The letter was one that Zestial took off of Lucifer's desk, it was one of the many unsent letters the Lord of Hell wrote in the past but never sent. The Overlord grabbed one of those and one of the envelopes that already had a recipient name on it that Lucifer wrote. He also put a nice little charm on the envelope and added something "extra" inside with the letter.

So while Charlie sings "Happy Day in Hell" while dancing through the streets of Pentagram City, she strategically dances by the building Zestial was standing outside. Since no one else dared to be in the Oldest Overlord's presence w/o the guts to not kill themselves or flee on sight, no one was there to see Zestial handing Charlie an envelope and her giving him a hug with a kiss on the cheek (strictly in the familial way ppl!). Then Charlie dances her way to the Heaven Embassy, all while still singing her song.

When Charlie signs in, she notices a letter drop box. So she slips the letter Zestial had given her into it w/o much thought and thinking it'll be sent to the name on the envelope.

The meeting starts the same as canon, as are the Hotel's efforts to create a commercial to advertise what they're about. Vaggie calls Zestial and the Carmine Family, telling them about the commercial and when it airs so they can watch it.

With Alastor's (reluctant) help on the commercial, they have it up and ready to air when an upset Charlie gets back.

Vaggie comforts Charlie, asking what happened at the meeting. Charlie essentially tells her that the Leader of the Exorcist, Adam, was a total prick and wasted nearly the entire meeting talking about stuff that had nothing to do with the meeting and laughed at her idea of reforming Sinners. Vaggie cringes at the tone her girlfriend is using but tries to cheer her up by showing her the commercial that the hotel worked on while she was gone, which was ready to air on tv.

Everyone in the Hotel gets comfortable in front of the TV. Carmilla, Clara, and Odette do the same at their home. Zestial finishes setting up his old TV (that he had stored in a closet) with enough time to make tea and get comfortable in front of the device. (Admittedly, my headcon for Zestial is that he did watch TV for a time after it came to Hell, but stopped when the few programs that he did watch ended and nothing new caught his attention or didn't care much for what was currently airing).

The commercial starts off smoothly enough, but after not even five seconds in the 666 News station cuts in with an emergency Pride Ring Wide broadcast. Announcing that Extermination Day will now be held twice a year rather than once a year.

The Happy Hotel Gang go through various emotions of "WHAT THE ACTUAL F**K?!?"

The Carmine Family are a gasp in pure shock.

Zestial drops the cup with his tea.

The Clocktower with the Days Until Extermination Day went from 354 to 177.

Nearly everyone in the Pride Ring is panicking over the new timeframe.

After the shock wears off, the Happy Hotel crew are finally able to process what was happening. Ofc, Charlie is in a state of confused panic. Confused over the sudden shortening of the timeframe that was NOT mentioned in the Meeting and panicked over the fact that that means more of her people will be killed more often!

To be Continued in part 4.

Here's Pt 1 and 2.

#hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel zestial #hazbin hotel #Hazbin Angel Dust #hazbin alastor #hazbin carmilla #hazbin lucifer #Hazbin Alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #radio demon #hazbin vaggie #zestial #carmilla hazbin hotel #clara carmine #odette carmine #carmilla carmine

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river-of-wine · 7 months

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i agree with ur post abt the RE villians so much… the way people treat the lords is honestly the way people should have treated the bakers 😭😭 who were like actually not even themselves like they were literally being controlled…

donna especially bothers me with how people treat her as a innocent defensless victim that was attacked by ethan when she lured him into her house with a hallucination of his dead wife, OPENED THE DOORS FOR HIM, and then trapped him in there… the end of donnas fight is even more frustrating when ethan was literally forced to stab angie in order to avoid being stabbed to death by a bajillion dolls but people still take it as “ethan chasing her down”

and i 100% agree with ur take on the hcs about karl… there r so many that r taken as fact just to put him in a more sympathetic light which bothers me alot because its clearly not true… u dont have to try and make ur character look better to like them… sometimes u should just accept a villian as a villian! i remember i used to think karl being taken as a child was canon because it was so widely agreed upon and brought up in arguments that i thought it was real 😭😭

and oh brother… dont get me started on the deal… could u imagine how incredibly OOC it would have been for ethan to take that deal? where after fighting tooth and nail and the expense of his own life to keep his baby daughter safe no matter the cost to turn around and be compliant in using said baby daughter as a weapon…?! naw!!! it wasnt on ethan to have to negotiate with karl to make a better deal, especially when ethan turned him down the first time after being rightfully angry at the insinuation of using rose as a weapon. and karl doesnt explain, doesnt negotiate on his side, he kicks his chair down and threatens ethan, he uses fear to try and get ethan to join him

that is not good intentioned!!! and thats ok!!!! hes a villian!!! his ego got bruised when ethan turned him down! so he got mad and kicked him down the propellor hole! thats not on ethan!

i wish people could appreciate the character for who they r… its not karl if u strip away his arrogance and ego 🥲

(sorry for the lomg ask, i really like resident evil and that post u made was so real…)

ALL THIS EXACTLY!! I have been a Resident Evil fan since the year RE7 came out and let me tell you I was baffled when I played RE8 and saw Miss Kill and Maim and Murder and her cocky cowboy brother be treated like the new Jack Baker. He became infected by protecting his daughter from his crazed wife and he doesn’t even hold the events of the game against Eveline when he speaks to Ethan about

The response Donna gets is particularly frustrating because at least with some of the more sympathetic looks at Alcina and Karl, there are HINTS at the fucked up people they actually are. Donna is essentially turned into an entirely different character.

The closest thing I think I can compare Donna’s fanon characterisation to is Eveline, but even that isn’t entirely accurate. Eveline is ten years old and given that fact as well as her upbringing, if that’s what we can call her being raised as a weapon in a lab, I really doubt she understands the gravity of what she has done. She doesn’t understand why people are angry with her and, as we know from both her and Jack, all she wants is a family. But all this in mind, Eveline can still be quite a mean kid. I don’t blame her for this at all, it’s a completely understandable response for her to have as a young child in her situation, but she is controlling the Baker family to be violent murderers, makes Mia attack her own husband and is particularly malicious towards Rose. Eveline has fun with some of her meanness as well. She laughs at Zoe as she runs off to infect her family, she taunts Ethan before he reveals the neurotoxin that he has, she mocks Rose when she tells her the crystal isn’t in House Beneviento. Again, while I don’t really blame Eveline for behaving this way and she was also entirely a victim, Eveline is also not presented as being a naive and palatable villain.

Donna, in canon, is not Eveline. She’s nothing like Eveline. Eveline is a child who can’t comprehend the severity of what she has done to the Baker family. Donna is a grown woman. A mentally ill woman, yes, but we aren’t shown any signs that said unspecified mental illnesses make her into the weak, incapable and naive version of her character that is so spread around the fanbase.

House Beneviento is inaccessible unless Donna lets you in. You cannot get inside if she doesn’t let you, and she intentionally lures Ethan inside with hallucinations of Mia, who he very recently watched get shot multiple times and die. She makes him give her the only thing he has left of her, the photo of Mia and Rose, before he gets inside, and once he’s in there Donna continues to very specifically target fears Ethan has about protecting his family with the hallucinations.

The flowers didn’t just appear around House Beneviento for no reason. Donna doesn’t think Ethan will have fun physically taking a mannequin of his wife apart or hearing her crying voice over the radio. Genuinely, I do not know how people can look at that baby hallucination, a horrifying recreation of Ethan’s dismembered infant daughter chasing him down through narrow hallways and still think Donna had no ill intentions whatsoever.

Donna’s death is jarring and upsetting, it gives a completely new light to what Ethan was doing and just how intense those hallucinations were, but Donna was not just fleeing Ethan unaware of why he was attacking her and Ethan was not just attacking Donna for no reason. Not only is she swarming him with dolls filled with razors and knives, she’s also mocking him through Angie and suggesting that he is a bad, even abusive father.

Donna is the one of the lords who comparatively has the least reason to be attacking Ethan. While I do not think Ethan was unjustified in the slightest, he did trespass on Alcina’s property and kill one of her daughters and he did make Karl mad because he didn’t take his deal. Those are reasons. Donna just kind of fucked with Ethan because??? Like why did she do that??? She’s a fucked up lady that’s why. And that’s what makes her interesting. House Beneviento is insane and scary and watering down the woman responsible for it all is so boring!

Speaking of Karl, I’m not at all surprised he received the response that he did. He’s a conventionally attractive male villain with a cocky demeanour, a fun voice and a backstory with a hint of sympathy. Of course he gets babied and woobified to no end. I completely agree with you about the headcanons surrounding him. For a while I just felt insane and I was convinced that somewhere in my three playthroughs that I had missed something somewhere, like I found his damp cigar but not the document that explains that he was kidnapped as a child by Mother Miranda. There’s nothing that suggests that in his lines or any of the documents about him, and I think people get so blinded by the Heisenberg that they want to exist that the Heisenberg who does exist fades into the background.

AND YEAH! NO WAY ETHAN SHOULD HAVE TAKEN THAT DEAL! ABSOLUTELY NO WAY! To recap what Heisenberg has done to him at this point, he has:

• brought him to the lords and Mother Miranda where he and Alcina argued over who gets to violently murder him

• put him through his little lycan torture tunnel and almost killed him with that spinning spike cylinder

• forced him through another lycan den where he has to deal with them as well as Urias

• suggested using his six month old baby who has already been dismembered as a weapon to further his own goal

Like fuck no! Get away from me! I’m out of here! Ethan’s primary goal was never to kill Mother Miranda, it was to save Rose, why risk both himself and Rose trusting this man who is not only one of the group of people who have been trying to get him killed this whole time and who has also personally tried to get him killed multiple times before now? Ethan’s main motivation is always to protect his family. It’s why canonically Mia will always be the right choice in RE7, it’s why he ended up in Louisiana in the first place, it’s why he’s here, it’s why he’s kept going even after finding his daughter’s head in a flask on the suggestion that he can save her. He’s not going to use her as a weapon because this guy wants to.

Also SO TRUE ABOUT HEISENBERG JUST NOT EXPLAINING ANYTHING!! I hadn’t thought about that but yeah. Yeah! He didn’t explain a thing clearly, didn’t try to negotiate, just got all mad and threatened Ethan when he said no to his deal.

Karl is a total love to hate character for me. Kind of similarly to Lucas, he’s a mad genius type who likes to taunt Ethan over an intercom while Ethan deals with whatever new horror they’ve made for him to face and just doesn’t shut up, and I wouldn’t have him any other way! His huge ego and over confidence is so fun and it’s what makes him as memorable as he is. Same with Alcina! They’re two total show offs who have done incredibly fucked up shit, Alcina more so, and similarly to Jack while he’s under Eveline’s control it’s this cockiness and extreme nature to their violent actions that make them memorable and entertaining villains.

Donna is scary! She’s really scary! Imagine an adversary you can’t even see, who has complete control over what you see and experience, and is using that to force you through some of your deepest fears. Ethan isn’t her first victim either, and the psychological aspect to what she puts him through is deeply unsettling, taking Donna’s very intentional use of Mia and the fears about Rose being unable to be fixed away from her leaves her with nothing.

Why strip these villains of what makes them fun or scary? It’s a horror game! It’s a Resident Evil game! One of the most memorable Resident Evil characters ever is a very tall man in a trench coat and a funny hat. These games are over the top and campy and it’s also a horror game! There’s going to be fucked up people in it and it’s fine to like them if they’re fucked up! It’s weird that that has to be said!

No need to apologies about the long ask!! Resident Evil 7 and 8 are two of my biggest special interests and I love talking about them, especially about a bunch of very interesting characters who get so watered down and woobified it’s basically not them anymore. Thanks for giving me another excuse to talk about it!

#re8 #donna beneviento #karl heisenberg #ethan winters

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papal-babygirl · 6 months

Text

the body is mostly blood

well. i became severely sad after brisbane, so i made everyone's favorite whump ghoul get sad as well. aether's dead, copia might be soon, and little dewdrop isn't coping very well.

also no. i dont want to talk about the fact that this is 10k words. just be grateful it is.

read on ao3, or continue below

Dew should be in the mood for celebrations. Everyone else seems content to be, Aurora excitedly searching up the hottest nightclubs in Brisbane, flicking through hair colors for her glamour while Phantom peers over her shoulder to offer his advice. Cirrus is leaning back into Cumulus' chest, breaths whistling softly through her angelically parted lips as she dozes. She'll join the new kids, and she'll swear she didn't have a nap on the bus. No one will say anything against it, lest she invite them to her room for apologies back at the Abbey. Mountain has taken up residence around Rain's lithe body, nose buried in his hair as Rain's tail wraps around Mountain's wrist. They sway with the movement of the bus, and to some little tune they're sharing with Rain's headphones. Swiss is deep in a low conversation with Copia, probably talking about some vintage whiskey he'd like to share with his Papa and see where the night takes them.

So that just leaves Dew. Back of the bus alone, noise cancelling headphones on, listening to the loudest, angriest music he could find. He'd gone through the effort to put it on his phone after it managed to disappear from the Internet— he might as well listen to the fucking thing. He has his phone open to his texts, cursor blinking at him as he indulges in his worst habit.

A conversation stares up at him, a few months old now, long discontinued. A conversation with Aether.

Aeth 🖤

Haha you know I got you babe

Dewbug 💧

you are the wind beneath my wings 🕊️

It's the last thing he ever sent to Aether, or rather the last thing Aether ever read. There's a wall of messages from over the past months, none of them sent, and certainly none of them received. Telling Aether how much he's tried to hate Phantom, as if it would bring him back. How the little shit managed to worm his way into some small portion of the hole Aether left. The sheer amount that Sunny would have clicked with Aurora, two little fireballs of energy and life. How his day had gone, how tour was going, little things that made Dew remember him. And every now and again, breathless, sobbing messages, barely legible because Dew couldn't get his hands to stop shaking.

He types out a message a few times and deletes it, like this isn't just some masochistic diary. Eventually he just starts typing and sending before he can even think, and then thinks about throwing his phone out the bus window.

Tour finished tonight. I know how much you loved this country. How much you loved this world. I wish you could have seen this crowd, shit. It just gets bigger every time.

I'm sorry I never stopped missing you.

I'm sorry about the hole left in my chest. The new kids don't deserve it. They're so young and full of life.

You would have been so proud of Phantom. He handles that fucking Fantomen better than either of us ever did, sorry to say.

Copia called himself frail, the fucker. Watched that sea of phones go up, like it's a game to them. Maybe it is. Maybe they don't realize.

Well I mean he stuck a fucking ice cube down his pants, I can't blame them for wanting to keep that forever.

Satanas, I hope I keep him forever.

Dew presses his forehead against the window of the bus, rattling his skull in a way that's perversely satisfying as the bus rounds a corner. When they arrive at their hotel, a sleepy little collection of cabins he's heard a couple locals — and Mountain — call a caravan park, he makes his way to his room without even so much as a goodnight to everyone else. He has no idea if anyone else notices, but he hears and promptly ignores Copia's soft voice calling after him. He just can't tonight, just can't face pity and look into those sad eyes and pretend like he isn't scared out of his mind.

He's similarly distant at the airport, hood drawn up and sunglasses shielding his eyes. Everyone else has a pounding headache from the celebrations, Dew just can't handle the idea of being witnessed. He sits apart from the group when they get to their gate, ready for that long haul back to Stockholm and wishing he could let some of his glamour slip. He feels itchy and cooped up, and maybe if he could soothe the spade of his tail like a kit does, he'd feel a little better.

But as kind as Copia is about their forms, that's a step too far. It's not like Dew is going to do anything to face the wrath of the Ministry, certainly not now, so he just contents himself with knowing he's got a few good months of letting his wings free coming up soon. He's sat beside Copia, to his infinite dismay and his eternal delight. Their hands stay tangled under the blanket the whole flight, as few words are exchanged between them. Neither feel like talking much, and Copia spends about half the trip snoring away anyways.

The Abbey welcomes them like a parent awaiting the empty nest to be filled again for the holidays, warm and insistent but also a little bittersweet. Everyone knows it is not meant to last. As Copia gives his first sermon back to a rapt group of Siblings, worn lines gracing the curves of his face, Dew has to leave Black Mass halfway through for the first time in his infernal life. There's something in the way the light hits Copia's face that makes him seem as frail as he toyed with being on stage, tired and beaten down. Hopefully his Unholy Father can find some way to forgive him the transgression. He presses a kiss to the icon of Asmodeus on his rosary and makes a silent promise to the Saint of Hell that he won't whine next time he's asked to deal with the hundreds of candles in the chapel.

As he walks, his legs carry him on well worn paths, ones he remembers walking with dewier skin and a younger heart. The ever so slightly disastrous state of the garden calls to him, whatever little mote of water that remains between his ribs aches to help Mountain fix it the way he used to, even though the earth ghoul is still kneeling piously in the pews. The autumnal shade of the oaks lining the gothic courtyard remind him of years past, chasing after the love and affection of other Papas, and losing those just as easily as his beauty earned them. Dew ends up back in the dormitories, looking up with a start when he realizes he's at the place that hasn't been his room in years. It's the one he shared with… Satanas, he can't remember their name anymore. Back when he was still craving Secondo's attention, the little siren that he was.

Dew shakes off the memories and heads back to his own room, but not before passing Copia's door. It's obviously unoccupied, but there's a little pull from deep in Dew's gut that begs him to change that. He makes to continue towards his chambers, but he gets about three steps before doubling back and trying the doorknob tremulously. It gives— Copia had a terrible habit of leaving doors unlocked behind him.

Copia’s room is a monument to his simple tastes, to the luxury of small things. It’s nowhere near as lavishly appointed as Terzo’s room was; there’s no sumptuous silks and fine rare dyes here, no gilt kissing the corners of everything. And it’s certainly not the somber elegance that Secondo surrounded himself in, high pile velvet that swallowed all light and sound until the room felt almost claustrophobic. No, it was about as breezy and light as the old Abbey could manage, windows perpetually open to let in the smell of fresh cut grass, or the breeze off the lake, or the sick-sweet rot of leaves as Dew notices now. The window is a panoply of cool colored diamonds of stained glass, casting a mottled glow onto the floor and on his arms that reminds Dew of hot summer days in the lake, of flirting with Mist as they ducked through the cool waters together and let their bodies twine in ecstasy.

Dew crawls into the butter soft sheets, the delicate cream color feeling like it’s going to be sullied by his presence. He can’t call to mind the country of origin, though it sounded fancy when Copia decided to treat himself after a long tour with one too many scratchy sheets. Dew didn’t pay much attention, his thoughts were occupied otherwise as Copia ordered the sheets with one hand idly petting away between his horns. The little ghoul crawls into the divot formed by Copia’s body and buries his sensitive nose into the place where his head rests nightly. It’s an explosion of love that blasts the blackened char of his heart into a thriving, burning core again. It’s vanilla and jasmine, the first kiss of spring after a winter of using the powers forced on him to keep the Abbey’s residents warm, that very first time a timid Cardinal looked his way and said that he didn’t know if Dew would want the compliment, but that he was looking very nice today. (He hadn't been, he had smoldering sticks in his hair from where he'd dived into a bush to capture one of the Cardinal's rats.)

He delicately tangles his fingers up in the sheets, careful not to pierce or snag them with his claws, and curls up tight. The sensations in the room are all he can focus on; the ambient chatter from Siblings and ghouls alike that sings through the unhallowed halls, the decaying smell of the book glue holding together Copia's beloved and very old copy of the Malleus Maleficarum, the taste of his own bile on his tongue as tears rise unbidden to his lashes. Dew lets a few of the tears fall to the pillow, sullying the fine fabric with his own weakness. He barely notices the acid clang of the chapel bells ringing to signal the end of Black Mass, though when the door clicks open he shoots up guiltily, ears pinned back.

"Papa, I didn't, I-" His voice cracks from disuse, and Dew realizes then how little he's been around his pack since they got back. He slinks off to bed before anyone retires, has shrugged off invitations to movie nights and even brushed off Mountain when he was invited to spend some time in the greenhouse. He'd just needed his space, right?

"No, no, tesoro mio, you know you're always welcome. But I noticed you slip out of Mass, and you’re never absent from Mass.” Copia comes and sits on the bed, depressing it slightly. He puts a hand between them, bridging the gap in a way that leaves Dew the power to make the choice to reach out. Dew watches guiltily as his gloved fingers stroke idly along the grain of the fabric. His whole body screams at him to reach out, to make the connection, but he can’t make his arms move from where they’re wrapped around his wan frame. Trembling fingers soothe along the scars on his ribs where his gills used to be, and Copia moves his hand to Dew’s knee. “What prompted you to leave, Dewdrop?”

“I haven’t.. I haven’t been okay for a while, Papa.” Dew admits, voice low like a confession. Forgive him, Unholy Father, he knows full well what he’s done. “I can’t…” His voice clicks as more tears spill over his cheeks. He brings his knuckles up to brush the tears away, but they're interrupted by the soft kiss of leather as Copia catches the tears on his own fingers.

"Take your time, mio amato." Copia scoots a little further onto the bed, and in a flurry of hot limbs, Dew launches into his arms. He lets out a soft oof as he catches Dew, sinking a hand into the tangle of his hair. Dew paws at Copia's shirt for a lifeline, sobs shuddering his whole body.

"I can't lose you. I can't lose anyone else." Dew whispers hoarsely all in one breath, until he takes in another gasping breath and the tears fall heavier. He didn't think there was so much water left in his body. Copia tuts gently and strokes down each knob of Dew's spine, a soothe he discovered after Dew had his first panic attack under Copia's care. It had happened after that very first show where he was on lead guitar, with a body that felt alien and shouldering more responsibility than he could manage. The show had gone off without a hitch, but Copia had found Dew a sobbing mess on the floor of the dressing room. He'd stayed there longer than the venue really wanted, but it didn't matter. Copia was determined to stay until his ghoul was alright.

"You aren't going to lose me." Copia murmurs back, rubbing the thin space between Dew's shaking wings. The little fire ghoul whimpers piteously, claws sinking into Copia's shirt before he realizes with a gasp what he's done. "No, no, you're alright. It's just a shirt." He soothes, voice low and sonorous.

"Aeth said-" Dew can't finish the sentence, but Copia figures out rather quickly what his ghoul is implying. He knows well of the bond between the two, and how much it had pained Dew to have it severed. When the Ministry came to collect its assets, to recoup the loss of a very taxing new quintessence ghoul to summon, Aether had gone with a grace the barbaric act hardly deserved. But he'd not been given the choice to explain to his mates, or to even say goodbye. It was sudden, jarring, and Copia had been there to support Dew while he delivered the worst news to his pack that anyone could fathom.

"I know. I know it must sound like an empty promise. But who could take me away from you?" Copia says gently, pushing his hand under the hem of Dew's shirt to stroke the furred base of Dew's tail. "I would fight the forces of Heaven and Hell to keep you in my arms."

"Who could take you away? The same people who took Aether, Sunshine, your brothers, Alpha, Omega, Ifrit. Should I go on?" Dew pulls back to look at Copia incredulously, tear tracks burned into his cheeks. He looks over Copia's face, takes in the life worn into his features, the freckles that Dew himself has kissed over after a night of passion. "You said it yourself, Papa, you said that you're frail. Your time is up soon. And you can tell me that some of it is toying with your flock but-" Dew cuts himself off with the memory of their arms wrapped around the others waist on stage, as Dew did his best to not look utterly besotted with his Papa. I love you, little man. Saints, the words ring in his head even now. How it thrilled his chest to be publicly declared worthy of the unholiest love he knows, how bittersweet the finality of it all felt on his tongue. "How am I supposed to know that when I wake up, you'll still be here?"

"I think you'll just have to trust me." Copia sighs, fingers still rubbing the little patch of fur that graces the transition from human to beast, from glamour to ghoul. "I know it is an impossible task."

"No. Trusting you is easy. It's the world I can't rely on." Dew rubs the tears away, a low purr kicking up at the gentle pets to his trembling body. His heart rate is starting to slow, that infernal core cooling off to a glowing coal. The panic takes a backseat to the fact that Copia is here, in his arms. For right now, whatever comes next is immaterial.

"Then let me be your world, and rely on me." Copia breathes, pulling Dew into an achingly tender kiss. Dew can still smell the incense from Mass clinging to his hair, with that undercut of jasmine and salted tangerine from his cologne. That all too familiar scent is safety to Dew, it's love, it's home, it's hope. No matter the bouquet of pheromones that his pack has for him, it's never quite this combination. He would know Copia by this alone, by the brush of uncalloused fingers on his cheek, by the sound of rushing blood through his veins rather than ichor.

The kiss finally lets Dew relax, wings drooping heavily as all the tension leaches from his body like his namesake evaporating in the heat of a summer morning. He's cried himself into emotional exhaustion, and now he just wants to be touched. He's tired of shutting himself off, tired of being on the outside of the pack, tired of being scared and wounded and crawling off to die alone like a cat. Copia pulls him closer, a low whine building in his throat that makes Dew crave him deeper than he ever thought possible.

"I love you." Dew pants when they both pull back for air, foreheads pressed together as Dew feels leather-clad hands exploring the familiar pathways of his body. His horns press softly against Copia, that eternal reminder of how different they are at their cores. "I've never- you.. I don't think I'll ever love like this again." Copia hums softly and kisses the corner of Dew's mouth, drawing him back in like the tide.

"Maybe not. Maybe you will." Copia leans back slightly, bringing a hand up to his teeth to pull the glove off. Perhaps he doesn't notice how it makes all the hair on Dew's body stand on end, perhaps he notices and doesn't care, because he does it to the other one, clasping the gloves in one hand and gently tossing them to the desk where they land limply. His fingers are impossibly warm and soft as they come back to grace Dew's imperfect form, well manicured nails scraping ever so slightly. "All that matters to me is loving you here and now."

"Then love me. Love me fully." Dew begs, a whine creeping into his plea. But Copia isn't deterred by the vulnerability, isn't scared off by Dew's infernal ache. He pushes into the soft curve of Dew's jaw, leaves painted kisses there as he slowly pulls the shirt off that Dew stole from Mountain some years back. It hangs off him like a tunic, but no one could deny him whatever he wanted, considering he looked so loved in the oversized garment.

Perhaps it isn't wise to seek to heal this hurt with sins of the flesh; Dew recognizes this. And there is more yet to do to banish this pain from his mind, his soul, and perhaps truly it will never be gone. There is always going to be an indelible mark that the ones who are no longer here make on his pitch-heart, carve their name in hellish runes on the very surface of his obsidian bones. And in time, he will learn to live with this. In time he will wear the names of the departed with pride, and love, and welcome new names and new loves to become part of him. For right now, though, he is as shattered porcelain, begging to be put together anew. Changed by the process, but once again whole.

Dew sinks his claws into Copia's shirt again as his Papa's lips travel lower, kissing over his prominent collarbones, and up to the faded scars from his gills. Dew had tried to open them up once, a year or so after his transition. A delusion grabbed hold of his shattered psyche, convinced him that the beautiful creature he used to be lay still underneath the surface, needing to molt to become himself again. It was Aether who found him, fingers stained black with the effort of his pain, shaking and sobbing and woozy from blood loss. It was Aether who used his fledgling powers, tripping on the unsteady legs of a newborn deer to knit flesh back together again. And it was Aether who convinced him that he was beautiful any and every way he was, and that the cruelty of the powers that be was in no way his fault.

The Ministry moved in mysterious ways, sometimes bold and striking declarations from Sister Imperator, and sometimes people unbeknownst to even Copia would show up and demand things of he who should be the highest power. It always unsettled Dew, made him feel as if Copia was little more than a dancing monkey, a figurehead puppet who they could shove in front of the yearning masses, who could take the fall when culture came to bite back. It was Copia, of course, who takes the blame for introducing the devil back into the 'good, Christian world'. Copia, of course, who takes the blame for corrupting youths by daring to imply that they should be loved as they are. Copia, of course, who is at fault for wanting his flock to feel and touch and love and fuck as much as their desires told them to, for what could be more human?

"Should I just take this thing off, eh?" Copia says with a smile, eyes flicking down to the long claw marks in the dog-collared button down. It only strikes Dew then that he probably came back to his room to get changed after Mass, only to find a very sad and vulnerable little ghoul in his bed.

"Oh, I.. I didn't mean to-" Dew shrinks away from all the points of contact with Copia, only to have it chased right back as Copia slides his arms around Dew.

"It's just a shirt. Dime a dozen, dolcezza." Copia squeezes Dew gently, fingers finding scars with featherlight touches. The ones he's given himself, the ones inflicted on him, all fall away to nothing under Copia's careful touch. It's as if he's made anew. "Help me get out of it?" He doesn't need help— it's become tatters— but he wants Dew to unfurl, wants him to feel this. Dew plucks at the buttons gingerly, one by one, until he can push the shirt to the floor.

Dew takes a moment to regard the one he loves, the incrementally graying chest hair, his softness, the beautiful fallibility of his mortal flesh. He'd only started to notice Copia's temples going gray this most recent tour, and it was certainly fuel for the fire that was his anxiety. But in the objective sense, it granted him a handsome gravitas Dew couldn't deny. From the way his flock would cheer when he promised to fuck the crowd, it would seem that he wasn't alone in that opinion. Shaking claws reach to stroke along Copia's sensitive sides, and Dew watches with rapt attention as his perfect stomach twitches with barely contained laughter.

"You know I'm ticklish there, don't you?" Copia asks with a smirk, though both of them know that he is. "And yet the touch persists, how cruel of you." Dew finds himself smiling ever so slightly as he shifts and pushes Copia down to the plush bed, deft fingers attacking soft curves. Peals of laughter ring around the room from the both of them as they fall back into each other, into soft lingering kisses that feel first-time timid. With that same gingerness, Dew reaches below the belt for the first time for an exploratory pet. The response he gets is beautifully favorable, a stuttered gasp from Copia, pupils blown. "And if I said I was ticklish there, would you stay your hand?"

"Saints, I love you when you get romantic like this." Dew says, Copia's fingers coming to rest along Dew's forearm. They regard each other for a long moment, Dew's hair curtaining down in the way that he's always been called beautiful for. He'd thought about shearing his hair after his transition, no longer yearning to feel his hair trail behind him while he swims, no longer feeling like anyone's preziosa sirenella. It was a joint effort from Aether and Copia that had kept it long, Aether meditatively brushing and plaiting the hair while Copia held him close and called him beautiful again, praised the fire in his eyes and the blaze in his bones.

"What you call romantic I simply call honest." One of Copia's hands traces a little trail up the inside of Dew's arm, along his chest to cup his cheek. He pushes up with the other hand, pulling Dew in to kiss him with a little more urgency, a little more breathlessly. He moans wantonly into the kiss, parting his lips to let Copia get even closer, to taste him more insistently. They eventually make their way to a reverse of before, Dew laid back on the pillows looking for all the world like a fallen angel. Sure, the horns and batlike wings don't fit the picture, but the amber eyes looking up through pale lashes seem for all the world like a creature spurned from grace.

His beauty turns to ecstacy when Copia litters his chest with little kisses and love bites, none too hard. Though he'd be hard pressed to bite harder than Swiss, especially considering his rather dull teeth in comparison. But right now Dew can't imagine anything feeling better than this, especially when soft lips brush over his piercings. His back arches into the contact, tail squirming and disturbing the duvet. He lets out a long, low, whined out Papa, which gets him a little hum against his heaving chest. Copia's clever fingers take an exploration down to where Dew's shaft has grown behind his loose joggers.

"Please?" Dew whines, hips jumping and earning him a low, husky laugh from Copia.

"You don't have to beg, tizzone." Copia says gently, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Dew's pants. His eyebrows raise expectantly, and Dew scrambles to lift his hips enough to get the joggers off. Dew kicks the pants to the ground and paws hungrily at Copia's chest, pulling him into more kisses as the room floods with his cinnamon desire. He's already dripping slick all over the slim juncture of his thighs, squirming underneath the watchful gaze of his Papa. He is flayed open, raw and beating heart ripe for the taking by any predator who dared. And yet, he is not torn in two, and the soft curve of his chest is simply kissed over, leaving smudges of black paint. When Copia leaves his ministrations be, he looks more like a raccoon than normal, all the paint on his lips smudged off completely.

"You look like those, Saints, what does Mountie call them, the bloody trash pandas?" Dew says through a snorting laugh, appending his best true blue impression of Mountain. Copia rolls his eyes fondly and pushes back up onto his haunches, looking down at the ghoul spread out like a feast before him.

"If you're going to be mean I can leave." Copia earns playfully, getting his stern voice out that usually gets reserved for when they've destroyed a hotel room with some sexcapade that makes the bill fall on his shoulders. Notable examples include the scorched bed from when Dew was pinned down and made to cum over and over and over until his little body couldn't take the pressure and literally exploded into flames; the broken bed frame from when Rain begged Mountain for more more more harder please mountie please and the gentle giant had unleashed his powers to rend the particle board to dust as he finished deep in the hot clutch of Rain's body. The most recent incident was the room that looked like a nuclear bomb had gone off when Phantom had lost control of his powers and unleashed a supernova in a cheap hotel, but each of them was brushed under the rug by an understanding but mildly disappointed Copia.

"No! No, I'm sorry, you look nice." Dew reaches out shakily, gripping Copia's shoulders with a fervent whimper. Copia's shoulders slump slightly, and he rubs his thumb along the bird-light joint of Dew's wrist.

"I could never leave you, but I do think I should probably get my shoes off before we continue, eh?" He presses a kiss to the fluttering pulse of Dew's wrist and pulls back a couple steps off the bed to slip his dress shoes off, pulling his belt out of the loops. He hears Dew's throat click with a heavy swallow, and for a moment they share in the hunger for something harder, something that leaves Dew flushed and crying. They're no stranger to that kind of play; there's a very good reason why Copia has a plethora of different leather gloves, well worn by use and, well, too much cleaning. But the moment passes, fleeting as can be, when Copia bends down to unclip the garters from his socks. "Should I leave the pants to you?" He asks with a soft smile, just as Dew's crawling his way down the bed to pluck teasingly at Copia's zipper.

"Maybe. I let you undress me." Dew grins up at Copia wolfishly, quick fingers dancing along pressed slacks until before Copia knows, his fly is undone and Dew is pawing at him.

"Should I just fuck you like this?" He laughs, following the line of Dew's thin fingers to gently grip himself. "Boxers and all?"

"You can do it however you like, Papa, as long as you don't let me go." Dew breathes, flame-hot over the thin fabric separating his flushed mouth from sensitive flesh. Copia awkwardly shuffles everything down to a messy pile on the floor, the only real sign someone lives in the room that Dew's noticed since he crawled into bed. His cock springs up, a tempting little bead of pre welling up at the head. Dew grits his teeth in an effort to resist, but as if pulled by an invisible tether, he leans in to press an almost chaste kiss to the head.

"Now that's very dangerous of you, tizzone." Copia breathes as Dew returns to lounging on the pillows, waiting for Copia to chase him up. Nimble fingers dip down to splay open his slit, shimmering in the sun that still filters in the windows. Copia looses a punched groan and moves with a swiftness few people see from him, clambering across the bed to smother his ghoul in kisses once more.

"Need you in me, you know I'm ready for it." Dew juts his chin up proudly, grabbing Copia's hand and shoving it unceremoniously down to his slit. His wide eyes beg him to pet through the velvety folds, and then up to let the smooth, slick length of his shaft throb against his hand. Copia relents, of course he relents to the bid for touch, probing a couple thick fingers into Dew's entrance. He scissors his fingers gently, watching Dew's expression carefully. The fire ghoul's face screws up, but through the years they've been sleeping together, Copia has learned well the difference between pain and pleasure. Dew is firmly on the side of pleasure, at least until something shifts in his face, lip twitching.

"What's wrong? Did I hurt you?" Copia pulls his fingers out, and Dew scrubs at his face, taking a gulping breath and trying to calm his hummingbird heartbeat. He shakes his head, mouth trying to find words.

"It- you… for a second, you felt like…" Dew closes his eyes, trying to find some anchor in the sea of his feelings. "Aeth. I know it's stupid to think about—"

"No, no, Dew, it's not stupid. When do emotions run higher than this, more than when two become one?" Copia brings his clean hand up to cup Dew's cheek, pressing their foreheads together. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No! No. Saints, no, I- I need this. Just need you." Dew throws his arms around the broadness of Copia's back, fingers splaying over the freckled expanse of skin. He clings tight, chest heaving until Copia presses a warm palm to his sternum. They don't say anything, they just breathe in tandem until Copia's even breathing is the rhythm they both follow. Dew nods, and Copia knows what he's ready for without words. They've really never needed words, able to read each other with the smallest twitch of an eye or the quirk of a lip. So it's no surprise to Copia that when he latches his lips to Dew's hot pulse and sinks his fingers back into the warmth of Dew's slit that the little ghoul howls in pleasure, hips jumping erratically.

Copia suckles a dark bite into the pale gray of his Dewdrop, purple blooming to the surface prettily as he opens Dew up. He doesn't need Copia's fingers scissoring him open, not by a long shot, but he'd be remiss if he didn't get his hands dirty in the pursuit of pleasuring Dew. Copia curls his fingers just so, and Dew shouts in ecstacy, shaft throbbing dully as more slick leaks out over his soft stomach.

"Please, please Papa, I don't want to wait anymore." He lays the piety on thick, which seems a little bold for a ghoul who snuck out of Mass. Copia forgives the indulgence, though, and lines himself up to tease the head of his cock along slick folds. "No, no no no nonono, don't tease, please." Dew sobs out. He seems so shattered already, Copia can't help but sink into him, mouth tucked into the angles of his throat to feel his pleasured noises.

"See, I can be kind." Copia mumbles, mouth a little occupied with absolutely ruining Dew with kisses and bruises. Dew yelps as Copia sinks home, hips kissing for a brief second before he pulls almost all the way out.

"Not that kind, apparently." Dew grumbles, jerking up to try and fuck himself on the unmoving cock. Copia lets him try it for a little bit, a faint amused smile playing on his lips. It doesn't last long until the heat beckons, that velvet inferno, and Copia sinks in again with a low groan. Dew's little wings flex against the sheets, claws barely resisting sinking into Copia to pull him impossibly close. He doesn't need the prodding, though, because he picks up a neat little pace. It's not as hard or fervent as it will grow to be, but for now it's just what both of them need. They move together with the gentle push and pull of the ocean, and it reminds Dew of endless quiet moments on the bus, smothering moans in the plush flesh of his lover as they rock with the movement of the bus.

It threatens to ruin Dew's mood, but he forces his mind to think of the ones he's shared that experience with who are still here. Chief among them is of course the man between his legs now, but he feels a different little thrill thinking about Swiss swallowing Dew's noises by clamping a big hand over his mouth, or Cumulus promising to treat him so well if he can stay quiet all on his own. That brings him back from the brink of absolute collapse, to say nothing of the reality of Copia dragging him into a slow, messy kiss.

Dew slides a hand down in between the both of them to tug at his shaft, but his hand is batted away by Copia. He whimpers at the loss, but Copia picks up the slack immediately. "Just let me take care of you." He murmurs by way of explanation, gently squeezing the slick length of Dew's shaft. His barbs leak all over Copia's fingers, making the glide of skin on skin all but frictionless. It's not the only trait he retained from his previous element, but it was probably the least upsetting. He never needed much foreplay, though he enjoyed it thoroughly, and it definitely made him the pack's favorite choice for a quickie. His hands almost instinctively slide up above his head, ready to be pinned by a large hand. It was one of Mountain's favorite moves, to make him feel impossibly small, but Copia doesn't make the move.

So instead, Dew opts to keep his hands locked tight around the bars of the headboard, thin fingers twining around carved mahogany. Copia groans at the sight when he flicks up his mismatched eyes, focusing back on ruining Dew's chest with love bites. If he thinks too hard about the unfailing obedience that Dew offers him, this endeavor ends far too soon. Then again, compared to the infernal endurance of his ghouls, he's a minute man by comparison, so frankly he's just got to try his best.

"I love you." Dew blurts out randomly, voice thick with pleasure and barely held back tears. Copia's hips stutter for a moment before he looks up to see that the tears are of ecstacy, as far as he can tell. He blinks once, and the fat tears fall from his lashes and race down the hollow of his throat to leave wet spots on the pillow. In response to the love, Copia adjusts himself and pulls Dew's slim legs around his waist, locking them together eternally.

"I love you, Dewdrop, Father Below, do I love you." His hand leaves Dew's shaft for just a millisecond to make sure Dew's legs are locked tight. It returns in due time, bringing with it increased fervor and a lump in his throat that Copia wasn't expecting. He's never been stoic, Saints no, but not nearly as much of a crier as his sweet Dewdrop. There's something in the air today, then that has him choked up. So be it. If his body needs that release, he won't deny himself.

"Don't leave. Please, please don't leave me alone, please stay, Copia please, I can't live without you, I can't lose you." The steady stream of tears turns to wet sobs, and Dew's hands fly from the headboard to cling desperately to Copia and pull him impossibly closer. Their bodies are all but one as their hips meet over and over. Something in the desperate cries makes the fragile dam inside Copia break, and when he screws up his face when Dew flutters, he feels the hot slide of tears down his own cheeks.

"I could never, tizzone. I can't bear to lose another person. I can't hurt you." His voice shakes, and he'd love to pretend that it's because of all the sensations swallowing him, the sweet honey heat of his Dew. But it's a disservice, he thinks, to pretend himself incapable of tears. What then, of the grief he'd experienced, of all the loss of family and love alike? Here, in the sanctuary of his room, he has no obligation to be His Unholiness, Papa Emeritus IV, a stoic figurehead to lead and protect his flock. He can just be, ever so simply, Copia. A man, with vulnerabilities just like everyone else. He swallows heavily, and Dew leans up to kiss his tears away. They're both just sort of crying on each other, wet cheeks pressed together.

They press even closer to each other, chest to chest as Copia's hips speed up. His hand squeezes the forming knot at the base of Dew's shaft, interrupting the tears with a yelp of pleasure.

"Oh, oh fuck, harder, please, can you- harder?" Dew asks, voice trembling. He never asks this politely, and combined with the throb of his shaft, Copia realizes he's not the only minute man here. The pace slows down in service of more brutal thrusts, getting punched little groans from the both of them as the bed creaks with protest. His hand makes choppy little strokes along Dew's shaft, lack of rhythm unbecoming of a practiced musician. Dew doesn't seem to mind, head tossing back and forth and making his silken hair into a mussed tangle despite the inelegance of Copia's thrusts. Right about when Copia expects, his thighs and hips start to burn in protest. It's for the best that he thinks about bringing things to a crescendo.

It's definitely not a premature end; Dew's slit is pulsing heavily around Copia which always signals that he's about to burst. The little hiccups each time he fucks a little deeper into Dew's hot body are a sure sign that it's time to try his dirtiest trick. Well, 'dirty' implies that he's on equal sexual footing with the very emissaries of Hell's lust, so it's more that he's a very clever lover. He swipes both his hands under Dew's ass, trusting his knees for all of two seconds to bear the weight of him while he adjusts to fuck up into the spot that makes Dew howl. And howl he does, one hand clawing deeply at Copia's shoulder without breaking skin. The other rends the pillow under his head to downy shreds, fine duck feathers exploding into the room and clinging to Dew's sweaty shoulders.

"Aaah, yes, yes, Copia please, please I'm right there, touch me touch me please please, Unholy Father, I need to cum!" Dew sobs wetly, bringing a feathered hand up to scrub the tears away so he can beg with the full power of his alluring amber eyes. He doesn't need to beg; he never needed to ask. But it seems ingrained in him to ask permission, so Copia gives him a little grunt of affirmation. That's apparently the key to get the levee to burst, because Dew spills all over his stomach and chest with a wail. Iridescent cum coats his piercings, glittering in the dappled light of the window. The fluttering of Dew's silken walls around him means Copia is barely moments behind, spilling into Dew and screwing up his face.

The ecstacy brings the tears back in full force, a sick combination of pain and pleasure. His chest constricts as if squeezed from within, and he finally looses a proper sob. Copia wipes at his eye, coming back with a smeared blob of paint staining his fingers, and it's quite belatedly he realizes that he probably looks absolutely haggard. He can't be fucked to care, honestly, especially as he pulls out and lowers Dew back down to the bed, watching as his chest heaves. Dew's cum barely starts to dry, hardly gets the chance before Copia leans down to clean him up with that silvered tongue. He laps broadly, swiping up slick and cum in equal measure as Dew sobs quietly into the back of his hand. Copia keeps his kisses featherlight, his tongue as restrained as he dares. If he catches a couple of his own tears in his ministrations, so be it.

"Saints, I could worship you forever. You are so dear, so unholy to me." Copia breathes against Dew's damp skin, ears tuned to the stuttered hiccup at the reversal. Dew had caught the attention of many a man (and woman) of the cloth, and yet none of them had found him worthy of worship. Only Copia truly viewed him as not only equal, but superior. Dew did his fair share of devotion in the bedroom, but he was used to being on his knees in more ways than one.

"Don't deserve it." Dew whimpers, though his hands tell a different story when they sink into Copia's hair. "I don't- I'm not beautiful anymore, not like I used to be. Too much blood." His hands twitch on Copia's scalp, and for a brief moment all Copia can think of is the moment Dew stumbled on him in a puddle of ichor, of Aether's— No. No. Not now. Not when he's dragging down lower, sensitive cock brushing against silky sheets when he settles in between Dew's legs. Copia's spend leaks wetly from Dew, little pulses of his orgasmic afterglow pushing a new wave of slick and cum out of him. He watches for a couple seconds, pleasure-dazed until he remembers his purpose, hands coming up to stroke gently at the thin plane of Dew's thighs. Gentle fingertips stroke at the fine hair on his legs, feeling the muscles twitch uncertainly as Dew awaits whatever comes next.

What comes next is a supernova of overstimulation, Copia's tongue licking broadly between dusky folds. He's so pretty and dark down here, like a rare flower with midnight petals.

"Fuck, hurts. Hurts good." Dew bleats, taking a fistful of Copia's hair in his hand as he's cleaned out with gentle licks. "Please don't stop. Might go again." Copia groans into slick flesh, the idea that he could bring Dew to even the littlest orgasm down here stirring heat right back up in his gut. So he sets himself to the task, bringing a single firm finger up to prod tenderly. It's under the guise of making sure Dew is cleaned up properly, but it's really to pet at his soft walls and feel him flutter with each lick. Before he knows it, Dew is clamping his thighs tight and squealing, body forcing every last drop out of him and onto Copia's tongue. Dew doesn't have to push him away when he's had too much, because Copia knows him intimately, knows just when to draw his finger out in the aftershocks.

Dew's face is blotchy, all different shades of plum and tyrian purple, and the patchwork only continues down his neck and chest. His face is still wet with tears, though they've dried down to a velvet sheen on his soft cheek. Copia kisses the inside of his knee, murmuring softly that he'll be right back, he's just going to grab something to clean them both off. Dew assumes he's going for the ensuite, and he paws at Copia with a yelp, but he only moves to the other bedside table to flip open a vintage cigar box. Inside is not cigars, but a pastel little packet of baby wipes, all hidden away to keep the impeccable aesthetic of his room in order. Dew watches curiously before he lets out a watery laugh that turns a little teary, making more feathers from the destroyed pillow stick to him.

"Oh, shit, the- Papa, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—" Copia waves a hand and beckons Dew off the ruined pillow. He goes uncertainly, relaxing into the touch as Copia wipes him down, leaving him smelling faintly of honey and almond.

"It's a pillow, I can get another. I'll forgive you if you tell me what's so funny." His mouth settles into a lazy smile as he discards the wipe to grab another and slip it down between Dew's legs. The little ghoul hisses at the cold between his warm legs, but he does as his Papa asks.

"Just the," he waves his hand at the cigar box, "I don't know. Such a silly little thing hidden away in a mature shell. It's very you. And I love that. Practical and not too serious and-" Dew shudders as his sensitive shaft retreats, brushing against the cool wipe. "Hells, that's cold."

"I would be loathe to invest in a wipe warmer." Copia explains mildly, with the not so subtle implication Dew was being a bit of a baby about the cold. "Rain loves it, says he gets too hot and sticky." Dew opens his mouth to protest, but clacks it shut with a snap of his jaws, brow furrowing.

"Well. I'm not much like him anymore, am I?" He says quietly, eyes sparking like when he loses control of his element. Copia watches him carefully, fingers stopped in their work to ensure he doesn't obliterate the bed. The fire dies down completely, quenched by the tears that bubble up and fall with a scary speed. "Not much of anything, really." He hiccups, and it's the comedown Copia was really expecting. He's never escaped a teary romp in the sheets without lengthy aftercare, and likely some of the world's worst pillow talk by normal standards.

"No, no. You're everything. I knew you were beautiful from the moment I saw you." Copia soothes, tossing the soiled wipes into the wastebin that's there for just that purpose. He hesitates for a moment, wondering if it's worth the effort to clean up his paint. But he eventually perishes the thought, considering that Dew is grasping up at him with pitiful paws. So he looks like a rat left out in the rain, so what? He sits back down on the bed, shunting Dew into his lap and gently picking every stray feather off of his damp skin. Every fourth feather or so, he brushes Dew's cheeks of the tears that incessantly fall, granting him reprieve best he can. "It's alright. I knew this was coming for a long time, dolcezza."

"What- what do you mean?" Dew looks up blearily from behind his tears, eyes now dulled to the color of stale coals. Copia tuts gently, flexing slightly so that his foot doesn't go fully numb with the pressure of the little head on his thigh.

"You were withdrawn since Brisbane. Barely spoke for weeks, all you did was hold my hand on the plane." His voice is gentle, all the patience of a teacher, a leader, a pastor. All the things he's been to Dew and more, his anchor in the storm. "I've seen this mood on you before, Dewdrop. I know how you get when the.." He waves his hand, looking for the words, "melancholy takes a hold of you." He's probably looking for depression, but he's got a poet's soul. Sue him. "Mountain came to me a little while ago, asked if you had been more forthcoming with me about how you were doing. Your pack is worried about you, myself included."

"I wish he wouldn't." Dew grumbles, wiping at his face. He's mostly free of feathers, so Copia's moved to gently detangling his hair and picking out the down he finds stuck there. "I just.. I wish they'd leave me alone."

"You know they won't. When I saw you leave Mass I.. to be honest I almost stopped the whole affair to chase you." He'd been in the middle of Desecration, holding His Infernal Body aloft when he saw Dew excuse himself and slip out along the shadowed corridors, votive candles burning a little brighter as he passed. It'd formed a lump in his throat that hadn't gone away till he'd been able to shed his robes, leaving them in a pile for the poor sacristy ghouls to deal with. "I was glad to find you here, instead of.." He trails off with a shaky breath, the implication hanging as a sword of Damocles above them.

Dew closes his eyes tight, forcing tears down his mottled cheeks. He balls his fists, and it's like he's trying to squeeze all the anxiety and pain and doubt out of his little body. He relaxes with a slump, laying heavier on Copia's lap. Alabaster horns prick at Copia's thigh, and he sinks his fingers into Dew's very scalp to massage around the base of his horns. Sometimes that touch is arousing, but right now it's just soothing, though it does little to stop the tears.

"What's keeping you away from us, little flame?" Copia murmurs, trailing his fingers down to press his middle fingers into the little spot at the hinge of Dew's jaw on either side. So much tension is carried here, not to mention the spot where his pheromones burn the strongest, and when Copia massages the whole room floods with warm tobacco and teak.

"I.." Dew breathes in and out once, chest trembling, "I'm terrified that when you go, I won't feel it. That I won't know." The confession seems to shatter something in him, and he crumples up his face like the words struck him. "And I thought maybe if I could pull away it wouldn't hurt so bad, wouldn't kill me when everyone dies again and again and again. But maybe not knowing is worse." One of Copia's hands presses on Dew's sternum, helping to regulate his breathing. The other travels back up to scratch softly at his scalp. "I still message Aether." Dew continues, "I have for months. I don't know what I'm doing without him, it's like.. I don't know. I've lost packmates before, so many of them, but I never thought I'd lose him."

"I know. Saints, do I know." Copia strokes his thumb along Dew's feverish skin, scooping a hand underneath his head to deposit him gently on the bed. Dew whimpers, hands reaching up for Copia piteously. "I'm not going far, dolce." He gently makes his way over to the desk, sliding open a drawer and pulling a bundle of tied together letters out of the very back. They're all different sizes, some as thin as a single sheet, some clearly stuffed full with multiple pages, and as Copia brings the stack back, Dew spots the name on every single one of them in elegant script. Aether. "It's a little more old fashioned, but.. I write to him. Not on a schedule, just.. when I find myself thinking of him. And I tuck them away, and I," He sighs, a shaky little noise that has Dew finally sitting up and cocking his head, eyes searching Copia's face. "When I can go long enough without remembering that.. that damnable pool of ichor, I'll burn them for him. In the summoning room, and I'll hope that he gets to read them."

Dew takes the stack of letters gently, noting a faint herbal scent when his hands warm the papers. They're all on fine paper, thick and rich and sealed with wax bearing the symbol of the church, carefully embellished in gold by a gentle hand. He brings one of the letters to his nose, but he can't for the life of him identify the herb. Mountain probably could, but he doesn't really spend enough time in the garden. Anymore.

"Rosemary. For remembrance, and because he always used to love that lamb roast Mountain would cook up for Ostara, which Mount always claimed was traditional hell cuisine and I'm just now doubting the veracity of that," Copia laughs fondly, a small, sad little noise. "There's a sprig in every letter for him. I learned that magic a very very long time ago, at that boy's school, Saint Amduscias'." Copia takes the letters back and tucks them into the desk again, fingers lingering briefly on the lacquered wood.

"How often do you think of it?" Dew asks, eyes searching the expanse of Copia's back, noting each freckle for the hundredth time. He knows asking the question is like poking at a sore tooth for the sick satisfaction of it, but there is a perverse pleasure that leaves the ache a little duller each time he talks about it.

"Those letters? They're all from this last leg of tour. And I have more I haven't unpacked." Copia turns, always so beautifully unashamed in his nakedness. It was a shame that humans got so touchy about their bodies, considering how wonderful and unique they all are. Dew's always been grateful that Copia never seemed to be in a rush to cover up after sex if he didn't strictly have to. "How can I not think of it? I can't.. I don't know that I'll ever forget fully. I knew Ministry staff were to be there that day, but I never thought.. well, I knew the rumors. I'd heard things, here and there but they were my first replacements." The words drips off his tongue as if it were acid, vile and burning.

"I can't stop thinking about feeling it before I saw it." Dew comes over and swings his legs off the bed, leaning back and looking up at the one who's charmed his heart over and over again, and will probably do so till both of them are in the ground. "I'd seen some important looking people around but, I mean. You know how I am with authority, I just ignored it."

Copia pushes off the desk and settles his body in between Dew's slim knees, until Dew is craning his neck to make eye contact. "What did it feel like? You never told me." Dew's heart skips a beat so loudly it feels like it reverberates around the room.

"Like a star collapsing in on itself. Like a heart attack, from what I've been told it feels like." He swallows thickly around the lump of tears in his throat. He feels like a wrung out rag, like blood squeezed from the stone. There's probably more tears in his body, but Hell Below, he just wishes they'd stay there. "Like being stabbed and then the knife slides out slowly, like the person doing the stabbing enjoys it. Like losing a limb." Dew gets quiet, and he rests a hand over his heart, scars from former fins shimmering down his arm. Copia bends down and presses his forehead against Dew's, a Ghoulish kiss Dew first taught him by accident. The fire ghoul had just done it, and Copia played along, until Dew realized the poor Cardinal had no idea what he'd been doing.

"I'll do anything I can to make sure you never feel that again." He murmurs, and Dew sighs, a dismissive tone to the noise.

"You know you can't promise that." Dew says shakily, and Copia bumps his nose against Dew's a soft little movement that makes Dew's chest constrict.

"No, not entirely. But I mean it. I'd do what I could." They fall into a silence then, breathing in each other's air, enjoying each other's space. The arrhythmic rasp of a starling sings through the window, a discordant soundtrack with the backing beat of their hearts as accompaniment. Dew pulls back eventually, nosing at Copia's jaw to get his attention.

"Do you want to go see him?" Aether has a sort of grave, a shrine really. They weren't allowed to keep his body; the Ministry had taken it as some sort of grotesque currency for Phantom's summoning, but they had other things. The mask Terzo had given him, and the first one Copia gave. A broken little shard of horn from early on, when he literally butted heads with Omega and snapped it off. His beloved bracelet, which Ivy had gifted him, shaped by their own hand from scrap guitar strings. The first Fantomen he'd gotten, all those years ago. Phantom was given a new one, apparently not too dear a price from the Ministry for their newest summon. Gifts from fans, piles and piles of them, carefully kept safe in a plexiglass case. He'd kept almost everything he'd been given; if he could fit it into a nook or cranny of a gear box or a bunk, he would. Dew had found some little trinket tucked into his guitar case when he opened it up for the first time to prep for tour, and it's been on his bedside table ever since. It's all lovingly ensconced in an explosion of flowers that Mountain maintains like a soul-bound duty, heliotrope and lavender and aster and stargazer lilies, each one beautiful and perfect.

"I think that would be nice. I haven't been since we got back. The lilies should be blooming, and I think Mountain will forgive me if I take one for myself." Copia muses, wondering if he can find some little bud vase that he can get Rain and Mountain to jointly enchant to have a perpetual flower on his desk.

"Oh, you know those things make me sick whenever you handle them too much." Dew grumbles, but it's playful, light, and the beat of his tail on the bed says as much.

"Ah, so I shouldn't wear my gloves to pick one? Wouldn't want those dreadful lilies near your, eh, most sensitive parts." Copia gets a wicked little smile, and Dew pushes him away with a groan, flopping back to the bed and watching as a couple of feathers float up from it.

"You're so lucky I love you."

"I am."

#dew/copia #dewdrop ghoul #papa emeritus iv #ghost #the band ghost #ghost bc #my writing #im fine :)

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mylifeisactuallyamess · 11 months

Text

Chapter 21: Choices

A/N: This has taken me a while and I’m sorry! Just been stirring myself in a little spiralling pot of self hatred. You know, the usual. Girlrotting.

Warnings: Mentions of death, stress, panic, feelings, ND behaviour, and Palpatine.

Word Count: 10.5k+ (my finger slipped.)

Masterlist

Tagging: @idoubleswearimawriter @ravenclawbitch426 @dreamqueenkala @moon-wrecked

The entire ship was quiet. Occasionally someone would attempt to get some sleep but there was a quiet restlessness that resided in all them. Even Omega was affected as she tried to meditate in her room. You mainly stayed in your place on the floor, shifting when you got too uncomfortable or when Wrecker took Gonky to exercise his muscles. Not much conversation was had, Echo and Tech discussed Rex’s flight plan while Hunter brooded about the planet they were heading to.

His knife was singing, flipping through the air even though his eyes were trained on a spot on the floor. You had geared up in your armour, feeling more unsettled the closer you got to Coruscant. Tech stayed in the cockpit, going over the intel Rex had sent through and working out every possible outcome he could. What happened between you burned at the forefront of your mind, but now wasn’t the time to confront it.

You looked up as Hunter and Echo silently swapped places, you knew they had come to an unspoken agreement to watch you. He settled in the seat, staring up at the screen with those light honey coloured eyes. “Are you worried?” You asked, making him turn round. “About going back?”

“No. Strategically it makes sense and we should be able to slip under their radar because to the Empire, we don’t exist anymore.”

“With the ship's signature scrambled as well they will not recognise us at all,” Tech announced his arrival into the conversation as he usually did. “I am confident this mission will be a success.”

“Well, we don’t know where Rex has us extracting this data from,” Echo pointed out, motioning with his scomp. “Don’t get too cocky until we know more details.”

“I am not cocky,” Tech responded quickly as he nudged his goggles. “I am sure in our abilities and running the statistics with previous data of extraction missions, I would say we have a very high chance of success.”

“Yeah, we’ve done this before,” Wrecker agreed.

The proximity warnings went off and Hunter pulled the ship from hyperspace before moving to let Tech in the pilot's seat. You followed Omega into the cockpit, getting a look at the planet you’d heard so much about and never seen.

At first the light pattern looked like a scrawling mess, then you saw it was in fact obscured by cloud cover. The darker side of the planet was lit up like the streets of Ord Mantell during a festival. You’d never seen so much life below, so many people crowded all on one planet.

Ships filled the sky, flying to and away from the surface, making their way past the orbiting Venators. Hunter was on high alert, his brow dipping down as he watched the planet get closer through the canopy. Really he didn’t want to be here, or bring you and Omega to somewhere he knew was dangerous for all of you. Automatically you reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder and he acknowledged it with a small nod.

The day was bright, the clouds white and fluffy with the sky a rich blue that you couldn’t help but admire as Tech guided the ship through the tall buildings. Omega was just as enamoured, leaning forward to try and see everything at once with small gasps. She’d never seen a planet like this before. Soon the taller buildings dropped away and Tech followed the service lines to a wide hole in the ground. This led to the lower levels. You watched the sides swallow up the daylight, only artificial light existed down here in the depths of the planet and it gave you a sense of foreboding.

Eventually the ship was set down in the dark, away from everything else on an empty platform. You grabbed your helmet, sticking close to Hunter as he descended the ramp. The air was weirdly cold down here, echoes of ships passing unseen could be heard and your footsteps rang out louder than they should. The Marauder powered down and a door opened ahead with two figures emerging.

One you recognised instantly even without his armour or poncho. Rex stepped forward, wearing a blue outfit that made him look relaxed. His sense of calm washed over you, pulling you in and he gave you a nod which you returned.

“Glad you made it,” he addressed the group. “This is Senator Riyo Chuchi.” Everyone's attention settled on the Pantoran. She had blue skin which reminded you of the bright sky up top, large golden eyes that roamed over the group, with gold markings that stood out on her cheeks. Her hair was a glorious pastel purple; it reminded you of the inside of your purple meiloorun from that day at the festival. “These are the special clones I told you about and their medic.”

“Hello!” You smiled a little at Omega’s instant friendliness.

“Thank you for coming,” the Senator said. Her voice was soft and mellow, a calming tone that you wanted recorded to play in your ears constantly.

“Why are we here, Captain?” Hunter wanted this to be over quickly and he made that clear. Rex shared a look with Riyo and then pointed over his shoulder.

“Inside. There’s something I want you to see.” You followed the boys, pausing at the doorway and looking out into the dark.

“Is…everything all right?” It was the first time Tech had spoken to you. His eyes cast out into the gloom before he looked at you with a slight tilt to his head.

“Yeah, fine.” He seemed satisfied and walked off but you looked back out, not liking the way your skin prickled or how your senses were sparking with something. It felt like you were being watched but by who, or what. You had no idea.

It looked like a stasis chamber but all it did was remind you of your confinement. Rex opened the panel on the top and you came face to face with another clone. Tendrils of your nightmares ensnared you, squeezing on your throat, constricting your chest and you took a step back in horror. There was a void in the box, a silence that nothing could break and it screamed at you.

“He’s an assassin,” Rex clarified to the group. “His identifying numbers been wiped.”

“I was not aware that was possible.” Tech seemed surprised by the information.

“Who was his target?” Hunter asked.

“A clone contact of mine named Slip,” Rex answered heavily. “He said he was in danger. I came to Coruscant to get him out, but the assassin got to him first. Nearly got the Senator too.”

“Why would a clone be targeting another clone or a Senator?” Echo frowned. He knew there was more at work here than what they were seeing.

“To silence us,” Chuchi spoke up. “Admiral Rampart has the entire Senate believing Kamino was lost to a cataclysmic storm.” You felt the boys all tense up but Omega was openly angry as her hands balled into fists. “Slip witnessed the truth. I wanted him to testify to Ramparts crimes.”

“We did this.”

“We were following orders.”

“But we still did it. Our homeworld, destroyed because of us.”

“Good soldiers follow orders…”

The memory was fleeting but it made you suck in a breath as you stared at the dead clone. The pieces were coming together but still the gap yawned widely. You knew what was coming, and yet, didn’t know. It scared the living stars out of you.

Your visions were carrying more and more weight.

“We were there too, Senator.” Echo told her. “I can be your witness.” Your heart was pounding as you watched the discussion between the boys, hating how much this felt like an actual nightmare. Closing your eyes you hoped to wake up from it all, but the boys kept talking.

“Where’s the Venator now?” Wrecker queried loudly, his gruff voice pulling you back into the room.

“Being retrofitted at the Imperial shipyard right here on Coruscant,” Rex explained. “Lots of security, but I know a way in.”

“Rampart’s Defence Recruitment Bill goes to a vote tomorrow. We must prove his crimes before it passes.” Riyo looked up at Rex. “I’ll return to the Senate and garner support where I can.”

“You could still be in danger,” Rex pointed out but you could already see she wasn’t going to back down.

“Then I must be on the right track,” she told him grimly.

“I can go with her and keep an eye out,” Omega piped up, looking round at her brothers.

“You can’t enter the Senate district without an Imperial security clearance,” Chuchi told her.

“That will not be a problem,” Tech added quickly.

“And Stitch…” you looked up to find everyone staring, fingers curled nervously around the base of your helmet as you concentrated on Rex who was coming towards you. “I want to ask you something.” He carried on and you had no choice but to follow him to a shadowy part of the workshop. You looked over his shoulder to see Tech watching, Hunter had his characteristic cross armed stance, but he was scowling as he listened.

“I’m not sure what I can do,” you said quietly to Rex.

“I don’t need you for this mission,” he responded almost apologetically. “But, uh…I need you for afterwards.”

“Afterwards?” You didn’t think the boys were staying, you could sense Hunter’s irritation and constant worry about being here as it was. No way would they stay. “You’re asking me to stay behind?” Hunter jerked in your peripheral, his arms uncrossing as he closed his eyes for a moment. He was definitely listening.

“It’s a big ask,” Rex hurried as your entire body shifted, shrinking away from him and your eyes couldn’t rest on anything as the panic began to take hold. “I wouldn’t be asking it if I wasn’t desperate. I need your help, Stitch.” His eyes were wide, a hand came up to brush over his scalp in an almost nervous gesture. He was holding back, you could feel him wanting to say more.

“I can’t…” your brain was confused, loud thoughts spewing forth at the idea of not being with the boys, not being near Tech. The room swam before you, shelves bending as the shadows stalked you like wild animals. Everything was terrifying here and you wanted to run back out to the Marauder and hide next to Gonky. It was one thing to be left on Ord Mantell where it was safe, completely another to be abandoned in the very centre of the galaxy.

“I can’t say much, right now. I’m sorry for that. Not until this mission is done and then I can explain more.” He was gazing at you, making your breath catch as you caught the pleading light in those eyes you knew so well. If it wasn’t for his hair he’d look exactly like Jango and that made part of you want to lean in his direction, but there was something in you that wanted to run for the deep space. The longer you were here the more this entire planet made your skin crawl. “Think about it.” You heard Rex say, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck as disappointment lay on his shoulders.

Your legs wouldn’t move. Your insides were quivering and you felt the pressure of a panic attack as it wrapped tightly round your lungs. Closing your eyes you tried to find that centre of peace but there was only blackness and twisted chaos…

“Stitch.” A tear escaped when you opened your eyes, looking into those concerned brown eyes that you adored so much. Worry lined Tech’s face and you automatically reached out. Hesitation made it so your motion didn’t complete but he saw and he took a moment to respond. Flexing his own hand in your direction and gently taking your limp fingers in his grip.

You were on the verge of shattering, breath quickening to match the pace of your heart as he stepped closer. You couldn’t stop looking at him, drinking him in as he came so close to you. “Breathe.” Yes, breathe. His eyes watched your lips, darting back to your eyes and you saw a slight blush creep across his cheeks. His hand was warm in yours, even bleeding through the gloves the same as his calmness was slowly beating through your fear. You felt pressure on your wrist, right at your pulse point, his fingers feeling the throb of your body and making sure you were calming down.

“H-he wants me to stay,” you whispered quickly. “He wants me to stay behind when you leave and I don’t know if I can do that, Tech.” He frowned at your words, clearly trying to sort out why Rex would need you to stay behind, processing what that meant.

“Rex would not ask lightly,” he told you slowly.

“Tech…” the tears were coming faster now and your nervous gaze fell on the others as they crowded round the Captain. They needed to move and you were holding things up. “You should go.” Drawing your hand away from him you used it to wipe your face. You pulled everything back inside, sucking it into the black hole of your soul and putting on a mask. They had a job to do and they needed to go now.

Tech didn’t say anything else, he stood there as though he wanted to but then he was turning and joining the others; only to be replaced by Omega.

“We’re going with the Senator!” She gushed happily. “Come on!” She dragged you back to the middle where Tech was already programming the clearance you both needed to enter the Senate District.

“These will get you in and out of the building,” Tech explained. “Omega will be passing as a child on Senator Chuchi’s staff and Stitch will be passing as a guard.”

“I am not a Pantoran,” you blurted out.

“Some of my guards were killed when Rex found me and I would need quick replacements,” the Senator explained kindly. “No one will take any notice that I have hired you, even if they don’t know the reason why.”

“Trained her myself,” Hunter announced, catching your eye, giving a slight nod and a smile. “She’ll pass as a guard easily.” If only you felt that confident in yourself.

“You will need to change,” Riyo gestured to an empty set of armour that sat abandoned on a storage crate. You felt the wave of sadness as she lowered her eyes when Rex picked it up.

“I’ll get changed in the ship.” The material was light and slippy in your hands, it held none of the rigidity that your armour did and you tried to get it to sit right.

Eventually you heard a knock on the door and you told them to come in with an exasperated cry. To your surprise it was Tech who entered, shifting his goggles a little anxiously as he looked you over.

“Senator Chuchi is wondering if you are ready.” He closed the cockpit door behind him and stepped towards you.

“I don’t really know where this goes,” you admitted holding up what looked like a ceremonial blaster holder belt with an extra bit attached. “There’s a cape, an actual cape, Tech.” You spun on the spot grabbing at the maroon material. “How is this…I wish I could wear my armour.” You halted when you felt Tech’s hands rest on your shoulders. The sudden contact had you flinching a little and he lifted the pressure.

“If you stand still, I can correct it,” he commanded quietly. A few moments of silence passed, only the sound of your pulse throbbing filled your ears and you felt the urge to speak.

“Do you know much about Pantorans?” You asked, hoping to distract yourself as Tech stood close, his fingers settling the fabric and gliding over your arms.

“Near-humans from the moon Pantora. The tattoos they wear are a status symbol or family affiliation and based on ancient Pantoran texts. They have an extraordinary resilience to cold temperatures and their architecture is something extraordinary.” You zoned out to his voice, letting him soothe you as he explained in a low tone. He pulled the belt round your middle, checking with his fingers that it wasn’t too tight and you inhaled sharply at the sensation.

He withdrew, looking at you with wide eyes as you stared at each other. “Did I do something?”

“No…I just…” you were gazing at each other, the sound of your intense breaths the only noise in the cockpit. “Where does this go?” You asked, grabbing the last bit that needed attaching.

“Here.” Tech took the strap from you, quickly fastening it under your chin, concentration furrowing his brow as he tried to get it right.

“Tech…?”

“Yes?”

“A-about earlier…”

“Which moment earlier?” Of course he’d need clarification and you suddenly felt sweaty in your new uniform.

“The, um, when I…” you pointed uselessly at his face over his arm and he gave a curt nod.

“Ah.” He took a step back and your chin lowered. You were now fully dressed in the garb of a Pantoran Guard and you’d never felt so uncomfortable before.

“I feel we need to talk about it,” you breathed. Twisting your fingers and shuddering at the sensation of the new gloves. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do it.” Tech was so still and you frowned a little desperately, wishing he would say something to you. “I get it i-if you don’t feel the same.”

“I cannot measure my feelings against yours,” he suddenly said. “I do not know exactly what you are feeling but I can attempt to tell you mine.” His gaze cast hopelessly around, fingers nudging his goggles and you heard him clear his throat.

“I have to admit, I have no experience with this and nothing to compare it to. A situation such as this, it is something strategy cannot help me with.” You waited for him to continue, your entire heart in your mouth. “I have noticed changes when you are around. Here.” He placed a hand over his chestplate, spreading his fingers over his heart and your eyes widened. “When you, uh…” you’d never heard Tech falter for as long as you’d known him, so to hear it now made your whole body miss a beat. His feet shuffled and you watched his fingers curl in agitation. “Touching is not something you seek out,” he restarted in a stronger voice. “And I was surprised—when you—when it…happened.”

You felt a rush of warmth, it pillowed around you and made the sensations in your body stronger. Your chest ached as you listened to him continue to try and untangle his thoughts and translate them into words. That’s when you realised it wasn’t your feelings that were heightening, you were reacting to his and it stole the breath from your lungs making you gasp.

“Tech,” his long winded explanation came to a sudden halt. “You don’t have to make sense of it,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “What’s here,” his eyes watched your fist tap on your own chest. “Cannot be explained with words.” He seemed to deflate with relief and you both stood there for a moment.

“What do we do now?” Tech asked in such a matter of fact tone you almost giggled. “I recognise I do not process, emotions the way others do and it can be frustrating when what I say is interpreted incorrectly, or, as if I do not care.” He clamped his mouth shut and you reached for his hand.

“It’s ok.” His eyes were wide, you could see his neck tensing as he turned to look at you. “Would…would you like to try it again?” His fingers tightened on your hand and you saw him swallow harshly, using his free middle finger to push up his goggles even though they were already sat perfectly.

“Y-yes.” A shiver ran down your spine at his faint stutter and you stepped closer, bumping into his chest plate but he didn’t move away. He was watching you with that heated caramel gaze, his eyes almost crossing the closer you got and you smiled. Drifting your nose against his you moved and kissed him on the cheek first, letting your lips linger against his skin as you soaked him in.

He pressed his face against yours, his head slowly turning until your foreheads were pressed together. “This is called a Keldabe Kiss,” he murmured.

“Oh?” His eyes were shut now and his breath brushed over your cheeks, his hand coming up to rest on your shoulder.

“Also known as a kov’nyn or mirshmure’cya…” Before he could say anymore you pressed your lips against his, Tech’s breath expelled quietly from his nose and you felt his hand slide along your shoulder and up your neck, to find a resting place against your warm cheek. Neither of you moved away, drinking in the sensations of one another, brushing your lips together and enjoying the way he made your soul soar. In this moment you felt you could take on anything, because nothing else mattered; only Tech and the way he was holding you so preciously.

You broke the kiss, smiling a little when he leaned forward to chase your lips before opening his eyes with a slightly dazed expression. “I should go. They’re waiting for me,” you murmured just as you felt someone on the ramp of the ship.

“Stitch? Tech?” You squeezed his hand and then let go, turning to grab the guard's helmet off the console.

“I’m ready,” you called to Hunter as the door opened.

“What, uh, what’s taking so long?” He cast a curious glance at Tech who was still standing in the same place and hadn’t acknowledged his brother at all.

“I couldn’t work out this belt. I’m ready now. Is the Senator ready?” You were trying to act normal, to keep the waver out of your voice with a breezy tone.

“Yeah, she’s waiting with Omega.” His gaze narrowed and he spoke deliberately slowly as though he was trying to figure out something.

“Be careful.” You blurted out, getting a soft smile off Hunter and an abrupt nod off Tech. “I’d rather not use my skills on Coruscant and with none of my equipment.”

“We’ll be fine,” Hunter answered. “We’ll come back for you after the outcome of the Recruitment Bill.” You looked at them one last time, your hand on the edge of the door and you tapped it once before leaving the ship completely.

Tech inhaled quickly and Hunter turned to look at his brother with a raised eyebrow. “How did you know she needed help with the uniform?”

Tech shrugged, “She was taking too long.”

“Did you talk?”

“Talk about what?” Tech refused to look at Hunter, gathering up your armour and heading out of the ship with it, leaving Hunter no choice but to follow.

“She told me what happened.” Tech paused, watching you talking to the Senator through the open door, your hand held Omega’s as you took some final instruction and then you were gone. The feel of you lingered, the warmth of your delicate touch and the scent of your hair was something he’d never let go.

Hunter placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, taking your helmet in his hand as he looked down at it. He huffed lightly at the hidden markings, tilting it so their shadows showed in the thrown light. He remembered Tech etching them out and applying the paint himself, so many small actions that spoke volumes. “You think, she’s going to stay and help Rex?”

“Stitch has her own path to follow. As does Echo.”

“Echo?” Hunter drew back slightly, and wondered what insight Tech had that he didn’t. Or maybe he just didn’t want to see it. “Come on. We need to go over the service tunnel schematics before we leave.”

The Senate building was huge. You walked behind the Senator as she talked to Omega, your senses stretched to the maximum, eyes wide under the low visor. People dressed in all sorts of finery walked the halls, all with guards or other Senators. You could sense feelings of elation, waves of sorrow and down right anger until that was all brushed away by smugness. It made your skin feel like it was being wrapped in something slimy and you shivered in your new clothes. The object of such a disgusting feeling was heading towards you, a spark of surprise shocked you to watch him closely.

“Senator Chuchi.” His voice sounded as slithering and as obnoxious as he looked. You had to refrain from grabbing Omega and pulling her away from the man.

“You seem surprised to see me, Admiral.” Alive. Her voice was clipped but still managed to hold her soft tone. This was the man who was trying to phase out the clones, this was who had destroyed Kamino. This was the man who could make your nightmares, reality.

“Not at all. I was just making preparations for tomorrow's vote,” as he spoke his eyes flickered over Omega and then you. His aloofness not dropping for a second as he looked down on Riyo.

“Indeed. I am looking forward to it,” the Senator responded. Rampart’s attention wandered somewhere else, a welcome distraction before the situation got any worse.

“If you’ll excuse me.” She was already moving, dismissing him as much as he dismissed her. You carried on following the Senator, refusing to look back at Rampart as you felt his frustration blend into annoyance. Your fingers flexed when you came to a stop near a door, looking up and down the corridor and finding it clear. Omega followed Chuchi faithfully, her curious gaze drinking in every sight she could see.

“This is where the Senate gathers to discuss many pressing issues and legislation.” You took your cues from the other guard and stood by the door. He’d given a brief rundown on what was expected of you and then hadn’t spoken a word since. You could hear Chuchi talking to Omega but your attention was drawn by an astromech as it rolled towards you. The droid paused by the door, beeping out a message and then carrying on its way.

“What was that?” Omega asked.

“A message.” Chuchi told her. “Can you keep a secret?” Omega nodded and you fell into step with them. “Come on, he’s waiting.”

Darkness fell on Coruscant. The view from Senator Chuchi’s state rooms was really something. Omega plastered her face against the transparisteel as she stared out at the lights gradually coming on.

“Looks amazing,” she murmured. “So pretty. I’ve read about Coruscant but to see it with my own eyes…do you think it’s pretty?” She turned to look up at you. It really was pretty, the light created a picture of vibrancy as they lit up the night, the tall building even blending in with the stars themselves.

“Yes.” Even here, you were still nervous. In the warmth of the Senator’s quarters you still managed to find a chill that layered on your bones, making you tremble erratically. You couldn’t put your finger on what the issue was, it didn’t have a name, or a face, just a looming nothing that held the weight of everything.

“Are you alright?” Now you smiled, putting a hand on Omega’s shoulder in an attempt to reassure her and to draw some calmness from her.

“Yes. I’ve never met a Kaminoan before.”

“Oh! Well I haven’t met this one but the rest were...” She paused and seemed to struggle for anything to say. So she shrugged and wandered over to join Riyo on the large sofa in the middle of the room. You’d both been fed a decent meal and watered with some fruit wine you didn’t know the name of. It was so sweet it set your teeth on edge, so you didn’t finish the glass.

The doors opened to reveal two of Riyo’s guards and a tall figure that must be Senator Burtoni. You’d studied a lot of different anatomies in your time as a medical student, but Kaminoans had never existed in your Academy’s database so you had no idea what to expect.

She was tall, with willowy arms and legs. Her fingers were long and expressive, every move she made reminded you of wind through the trees and her voice was just light and airy. She was pale, a pearly white in the low light and her eyes glowed like large jewels. You stayed near the window, hands behind your back so you could fidget underneath the cape you were still wearing.

“Senator Burtoni. Thank you for coming.”

“Are armed guards really necessary?” Chuchi dismissed them and the doors closed behind them with a soft shnnkk.

“There is a matter I must discuss with you.” You admired her boldness, the shorter Senator almost squaring up to the Kaminoan as though she expected some resistance. Halle eyed Omega up and then you. Her force presence was so extraordinarily alien, you couldn’t pick apart what she was feeling. Did she recognise Omega for what she was, or was Halle so far detached from her people by being on Coruscant she didn’t know what a female clone would look like?

Seeing not much to interest her she walked over to a chair. “Then speak.”

“Tell me about the missing Senate appropriation funds that were earmarked for operations on Kamino.” You didn’t think Riyo was going to go straight in, but with darkness falling, time was running out. You turned back to look out the window, your mind on the boys and hoping they were all right.

Your thoughts were loud, replaying Rex and his request. You didn’t have a wide skill set, only medical skills were of any note. You knew roughly his operation was helping other clones get out from the clutches of the Empire…but why did he need you specifically? Then there were your feelings for Tech.

The pair of you had barely scratched the surface on what was between you, now you’d established there actually was something between you. Expelling a silent sigh you rubbed your fingertips across your forehead and forced yourself to pay attention to the conversation behind you.

“You’re a fool to bring me here,” Halle chastised Riyo. “Do you know what happens when you dig around where you shouldn’t?”

“Your people deserve to—,” Riyo started to speak but the Kaminoan shut her down immediately.

“My people are gone!” She snapped. “The few remaining Kaminoans scattered throughout the galaxy are of no importance to me, and therefore, not my concern.”

“How can you not care about what happened to Kamino?” Omega spoke up and your breath hitched at the sadness and fury that swept from her like a wave through the room. You tried not to show you were affected, keeping your expression neutral as you watched the conversation before you.

“Why do you care, child?” Halle sneered and your assumption was proven right, she didn’t know about Omega.

“Because, I’m a clone too. It was my home. I was there, I saw the Empire destroy everything and I’m angry.” Omega sniffed glaring at the Kaminoan as her emotions stormed through her. Not only the sorrow of the loss but the confusion of it all. Everyone forgot she was just a child, trying to process everything she’d experienced and still not finding any answers. “What they did, it’s not right.” Her emotions simmered around her, so much more profound than her brothers because they were trained to not dwell on things they couldn’t change. Only to move on and adapt, but Omega didn’t have that luxury.

“I suspected an attack was imminent,” Halle said. “Lama Su was arrogant. Too confident his clones were a necessity to the Empire. But none of us are.”

“Did Admiral Rampart divert the funds?” Chuchi asked, causing Halle to pause for a moment.

“You already know the answer. But yes.” Relief bloomed in the Pantoran, this is what she was chasing, this is what she needed.

“You must testify to that in front of the Senate tomorrow. He cannot continue to get away with what he’s done!” But the Kaminoan didn’t look convinced.

“Rampart is a mere cog in the machine and my word won’t do you any good, you need concrete proof.”

“I need both. And I’m running out of time,” Chuchi admitted.

The room you had been given was the most luxurious you’d ever stayed in. The mattress was too soft, the sheets too smooth, the pillows too fluffy. You hated it. This room wasn’t a bunk on the Marauder surrounded by the comfort that came from the Batch, or your room at the medbay that had been modified to within an inch of its life by Tech.

Sure it was nice, but it wasn’t…home. Omega was fast asleep beside you, her energy calm and barely rippling. You got up and stretched, heading to the window and staring outside. You couldn’t see the shipyards from here but you knew the boys would be carrying out their mission right now.

A headache was brewing between your eyes, one so deep seated you couldn’t rub it away. You shivered, drawing the blanket closer around you and still finding no extra warmth. It felt like that time you woke up from seeing Crosshair on that icy planet. Had that been real? The chill clung to your bones, it made you ache every time you moved and you shivered again.

Maybe you were coming down with something and that was the last thing everyone needed. A sick medic on their hands. Settling down in a chair you closed your eyes and tried to level out your breathing. Breathe in for four and out for four. Bowing your head over your hands as they fisted in the blanket, you tried to find that peace within, the elusive pool that beckoned only once in a while.

After a few minutes you gave up. Surveying the stretch of Coruscant through the window before getting up and leaving the room. It was never truly dark here, shadows were prominent on the floor and in the corners but you could easily see where you were going.

You found some drink, pouring a light coloured liquid into a glass and sniffing it. Your eyebrows flew up as your nose wrinkled at the same time. Smelled like something Tech would put in the Marauder fuel tank but you were going to risk it anyway. You downed the shot, pleasantly surprised by the fragrant taste only for it to burn all the way down your oesophagus and heat up the inside of your stomach. Putting the glass down you decided not to have another. Although, if you didn’t fall asleep soon you might have to.

Even with the alcohol lining your stomach you still felt cold. Such a strange cold as though it had tattooed itself onto the very inner parts of you, leaching everything out of you, leaving you stripped and exhausted. Sitting on the sofa you tried to wrap yourself up better, your lips quivering as you pressed your teeth together.

Then you heard them. Disembodied whispers that made you turn around. “Who’s there?” You breathed, knowing full well you were alone. The silence screamed at you, pressing on your ears, squeezing on your pulsing neck as you drowned against the throb of your headache.

Fleeing back to the bedroom you closed the door and backed up against the wall. You could sense it, seeping under the gap, slow and steady like a moving corpse as it clawed its way across the floor. The whispers came, light and airy until they tickled your skin, making your eyes close as you gasped in fear.

You slid down the wall, hunching on the floor as you tried to control your elevated breathing. You need to bring yourself back.

None of this was real, it wasn’t real.

“Stitch?” Your eyes flew open to see Omega sat up in the bed, her gaze barely there as she rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Why are you on the floor?” You looked around, the terrified feeling was trickling away and you managed a convincing smile.

“I just needed a moment. Want me to get back in?” Omega nodded and you moved, sliding in beside her and accepting the hug she gave you.

“Are they ok?” She suddenly asked quietly and you stiffened.

“I have no way of knowing.” She sighed, pulling herself closer into your side. Putting an arm around her, you forced yourself to relax, not used to having someone else in your sleep space. Your eyes were heavy but sleep still eluded you. Not unfamiliar territory. You listened to Omega’s breathing even out again and silently admired the way she was taking everything so well.

Brushing some blonde hair away from her forehead you felt a strange pang in your chest, a fierce protectiveness that took you by surprise. It wasn’t something you’d really explored before although it had always been there.

Once more you mulled over Rex’s request, torn between wanting to help and staying with Tech. A small tear ran down the side of your face and you quickly swept it up, sniffing lightly as you tried to keep yourself from falling apart. Everything was changing and you had no idea how to stop it.

You had barely got an hours sleep before you were back in your uniform and standing outside. Omega was sighing, tracing patterns on the wall as you both waited for the boys at the designated RV point. There was no one around except one of Chuchi’s guards waiting in a speeder round the corner.

Rubbing your face you tried not to let yourself think the worst and concentrated on the fact you’d heard from Rex and trusting he would have said something if the mission had gone wrong. But then again, maybe he wouldn’t. They would have called you, you’re the medic.

The sound of a speeder had adrenaline coursing through you and you couldn’t help but do a quick head count as they approached only to feel despair when you realised it was just Rex and Echo. There wasn’t time to ask where the others were as Rex leaned over the edge of the stopped speeder

“Get this to Senator Chuchi. Hurry!” He handed the case to Omega and the pair of you hurried to jump into your own speeder, the guard driving you back to the Senate building.

The Senate building wasn’t busy, everyone was in the chamber watching the current proceedings and getting ready to vote on this bill.

You took the stairs in haste, Omega’s hand slightly clammy in yours as you tugged her along behind you. Everything hinged on this, the boys and their fate was going to be decided today and it could shape the rest of everyone’s lives.

The guard showed you to General Organa’s pod and you leaned heavily on the wall to catch your breath as Omega handed him the case. You both slumped onto the floor, giggling softly because you’d done it! The proof was there and you were going to see Rampart get what he deserved.

Your chest was heaving as you peered out into the council chamber, watching the event unfold so you could recount it for the boys when you saw them. But the smile was soon wiped from your face as Senator Chuchi began to play the recording.

It manifested as a huge hologram in the middle of the Senate, easily viewable from all sides, making the domed facilities of Tipoca city unmistakable. It felt like you were there, rain spattered loudly in the recording you could imagine it pattering on your skin. The waves were in turmoil, churning roughly but not enough to hide the blue bolts shot from the ships.

Your jovial mood dissipated. Your heart beat strongly as emotions swirled inside you. The boys had witnessed this, Omega had witnessed this. You reached for her, feeling her hand grasp yours tightly as she tried to keep her tears at bay. Her pangs of pain were vibrant as she relived the horrendous moment.

Suddenly the recording was paused as voices began to rise around the chamber. You could feel the tension, the anger and the mood shifted dramatically, causing the hairs to rise on the back of your neck as a nameless chill to seep through your body. Alarms started blaring, piercing your skull like blaster shots and you moaned at the pain that spread through you.

“Stitch!” Omega whispered when you sagged against the wall, even the guard asked if you were all right and you removed the helmet trying to relieve the pressure that seemed to be pressing on you from all sides. “What’s happening?” Omega asked the guard in a hushed voice.

“The Emperor is coming,” he replied and you sensed fascination as well as a healthy dose of fear radiating from him. It beat on your senses, making you peer out between your fingers to watch the throne rise from the middle of the floor.

He was cloaked, his face hooded by the cowl and it added to his mysterious appearance. The hologram wavered, the picture of Rampart’s deception and lies flickered into nothing and for a moment there was only silence.

The Vice Chancellor spoke, his booming voice carrying easily around the room as he addressed the Senate. “It would appear that Senator Chuchi’s horrific assertions are correct. This unprovoked attack on Kamino was a cowardly act by Admiral Rampart to further his own personal agenda.” The voices of the Senate were nothing but echoing background noise to you. A continuous buzzing that filled your mind as you stared at the Emperor sitting quietly as he observed the reaction.

The chill in your body got worse. Your muscles twitching from the relentless icy touch, but you sweated in your uniform. You felt like he was staring at you, his sightless gaze heavy and unmovable. But that was stupid. He wouldn’t pick you out of all these thousands of people.

You were barely aware of Rampart being arrested or of Mas Amedda calling for order in the vast room. Your eyes were fixed on one point and one point only. As were everyone else’s when he stood to address the Senate for the first time.

“I am deeply troubled by this recent revelation.” The Emperor’s voice was like poison, black and oozing as it dripped into your ears with each word. The tremors that worked their way through your body made you feel like you were losing yourself. Every word he spoke added a weight to your load and soon your knees were attempting to buckle under the pressure. You knew, deep down, you knew what was coming.

“My gratitude to Senator Chuchi for exposing a rogue element within our ranks. Many lives have been lost, but I assure you, Admiral Rampart will face the consequences for his treachery. However, he did not act alone.”

“No!” You barely formed the word, your fingers shaking so badly as tears filled your eyes.

“Stitch, what’s wrong?” But Omega’s question was about to be answered. And not by you.

“The fact that the clones under his command so blindly followed orders, inflicting such carnage without hesitation, gives me pause.” Your breath was gasping as Palpatine’s words erased whatever shred of hope you had left. “Perhaps, it is time for a change. Now more than ever, building a strong galaxy requires protection and security. Due to the nefarious actions of Admiral Rampart and the immediacy of the bill on the floor today, it is my opinion that this legislation is our future.” Your body crumbled. Everything you’d been seeing was going to happen. The clones, their empty armour, the blood between your fingers, their dying cries…you hadn’t done enough to prevent this.

“You need to leave!” The guard gripped your arm and helped you stand. “Take the speeder, go!” The world was spinning, the only thing you could rely on was Omega’s hand in yours as she hurried you out of there.

You sat in the cockpit of the Marauder. They knew to leave you alone, to let you sort out how you were feeling for yourself as they discussed what to do next outside. Everything inside you felt like it had been eaten by a demolition droid and spat out in pieces. The life you had dared to briefly hope for with the boys was dashed, shattered into a million pieces like stars in the galaxy. Wiping your face free of tears you tried to collect yourself, still shaken by your reaction within the Senate building. Your body shook every now and again, the tremors skitting through your body as the chill gripped you on the inside.

Breathing through shaky lips you tried again to fix yourself and rearrange the pieces back to where they belonged. But it was hopeless. Only one thing now could help ease what you were going through, and you were determined to see it through.

Lifting your head, you wiped your face again as someone approached. You could feel him. The slow measure of his steps, the weight of his thoughts and the faint press of apprehension rippled through his calm. Rex stood in the hatch of the cockpit, a small sigh escaping him as he eased himself down into a seat. He wanted to talk, to blurt it all out but he also knew what you’d seen today.

“I’m not here to force you,” he started. In truth you’d already made up your mind. You had witnessed the recording of Kamino, you had felt Omega’s pain as she witnessed it for a second time. The boys had been quiet since the bill passed. They had helped it happen. No one could have predicted Palpatine’s ability to turn it round to his advantage, not even Tech.

You had come here to sort out your own feelings away from the influence of the Batch, to try and pick apart what you wanted to do.

“What, exactly do you need me to do?” You finally asked Rex.

“I need your hands,” Rex said simply, holding his own out absently. “We need your abilities. Clones come to me, not always in the best shape and I am tired,” his voice broke. “I am tired of watching my brothers die.” You knew that feeling. You had seen the empty plates of armour, heard the dying screams and felt the warmth of their life bleeding out onto the ground. “It will be worse than ever now, every clone has the threat of death above their heads and it’s only a matter of time.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Really?” His rush of relief was palpable, you could almost touch it as it filtered around the cockpit. “You don’t know what this means,” he started but you turned your chair to finally face him.

“I do. I know what this means. I can feel it.” Tilting your head to the side you regarded him, tracing the tired lines of his face and the worn look in his eyes. “I am connected to this fight in more ways than I care to admit, with the things I’ve seen. I’m being put on this path and—I’m fed up of fighting it.” Your gaze dropped to the top of your knee and you fought back the urge to cry. “I am not looking forward to telling Omega.”

“It won’t be forever, she will understand.” Rex murmured as steps sounded on the ramp and Echo appeared.

“Rex. Can I talk to you?” Dropping your leg you went to get up but Rex put out a hand to stop you.

“Wait…whatever you want to say can be to both of us.” Echo’s face showed surprise before he could school it into indifference, his golden eyes flicking between you both. “Stitch has agreed to become my medic.”

“She has?” He looked sharply at you, frowning a little. “What about Tech?”

“Tech?” It was Rex’s turn to look a little confused until realisation dawned. “Ah…Tech.” Now you felt embarrassed, shifting on your feet as you glanced up at the ceiling.

“If Stitch is doing her part, I am ready to do mine.” Echo straightened up and fixed his attention on Rex. “I want to help, to do more for our brothers.”

“We’d be lucky to have you,” Rex said with undisguised relief as he clapped Echo on the shoulder. “I’ll get Gregor to set you up. Be just like old times.”

“Yeah,” Echo agreed with a rare smile.

“Stealing my squad, Captain?” Hunter materialised from the darkness of the hold.

“Actually,” Rex rumbled. “I’m stealing one and the other volunteered.”

“Hmmm.” Hunter looked grimly at the group before him, already knowing which was which. He reached for Echo and they knocked their vambraces together. “Good luck, brother. You will always have a place among us.”

“Thanks, Hunter. I’ll never forget what your squad have done for me, but I belong somewhere else now.”

“I know.” Hunter gave him a cursory nod and then moved aside letting Echo and Rex leave until it was just you and him. You didn’t expect this to hurt so much, you felt torn between wanting to go with the Batch and staying here to help Rex. “You have to do what you feel is best,” he told you, clearly trying to gauge how you were feeling about all of this.

Your face crumbled as your mask slipped, spilling forth the cascade of emotions that had gathered in your chest. He approached you quickly, pulling your head into his shoulder as he cradled you to him. “I don’t want to leave you,” you sobbed. “Not Omega, not T-Tech, not Wrecker.”

“They will understand. It won’t be forever, Stitch. We’ll know where you are.” You stayed in his arms, eyes closed as you quietly cried into his chest.

“What am I going to say to him?” You whispered.

“Just tell him the truth. I can guarantee he’s already worked out every possible scenario, so I doubt your choice will come as a shock to him.” You sighed and turned your face, pillowing your cheek on his armour and finally wrapping your own arms around him.

“Saying it makes it real,” you murmured.

“It does,” he hummed in agreement. With a reluctant sigh you broke apart, Hunter taking the comfort and warmth of his embrace with him. “I’ll get him.” You didn’t need clarification as to who he was referring. You began to pace along the length of the cockpit, your fingers dancing along the tops of the chairs as you mouthed silently about what you wanted to say. As soon as you felt him on the ramp your anxiety kicked up a notch and you began to wring your hands together, swallowing down the tears.

“Hunter said you wished to speak to me?” Tech removed his helmet and put it on the console.

“I-I do.” Your voice was weak, wavering with emotion before you’d even said anything and he sighed lightly from behind you. “So you know Rex asked me a question earlier?”

“I assumed it was related to that,” he sounded so calm but there was a tightness to his words that you really had to listen for. He felt tense, agitated as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “You are staying,” he concluded heavily. For the first time, emotion coloured his words and it struck you right in the chest.

“I have to. If I can do anything to prevent my nightmares from becoming real…” your hands lifted to curl into fists, tears raging from your eyes as your jaw clenched. You drew in a breath to try and calm yourself.

“What you are doing is admirable.” You slowly turned, Tech frowned at your armour clearly not able to look you in the face right now and you couldn’t blame him. “I understand your choice to walk a different path, though I may not agree with it. I realise that might be—selfish of me.” You had no idea what to say, his candid response had knocked the wind from under your wings. He seemed to shake himself out of his own reverie, blinking a couple of times before looking up into your face. “I am not entirely sure what you require from me?”

“I don’t know either,” you confessed. “I…I guess this is a goodbye.”

“I am not versed in saying goodbye.” You let out a rough sob, covering your face as you shook. He was sad, you could sense it and he was confused by it. Tech didn’t like change but he always took it in his stride, that’s who he was as a person and soldier. Except this was different.

Overcoming a change in battle was one thing but overcoming a situation that he had no experience in was something else. He could feel that uncomfortable sensation inside, the way his guts knotted and he only knew one way to ease them. He didn’t think, he just acted. You let out a gasp of surprise but you didn’t resist, falling almost gratefully against him as your body tensed with the force of your crying.

His fingers found their way to the back of your head, resting his cheek against you and hooking his other arm around your waist. Your armour knocked against his and he wished just in this moment, neither of you were geared up.

Tech breathed you in, soaking up your scent and feeling you in his arms. Closing his eyes he tried to commit all of this to memory. The sound of your breathing in his ear, the feel of your hands, the texture of your hair, the softness of your cheek against his; he stored it all away in his memory bank. Knowing that he could pull on it at times when he felt he was going to need to remember you the most.

You were staying. Helping Rex with his secret missions and liberating clones. He couldn’t stop the feeling that bubbled up in his chest, a fierce protectiveness and he had the fleeting idea of telling Hunter that he was staying too. But he couldn’t do that to his brothers.

Once they left…there would be no contact, no secret comcalls when you couldn’t sleep, no sitting together and enjoying the silence; no talking in depth about ships or animals or anything else that you might require from him. It made him hold you tighter, letting his face fall into the softness of your neck.

You shifted, moving your face so you could kiss his cheek, wetting his skin with your tears. Closing his eyes he copied, pressing his lips against your cheek and he tasted the saltiness that sat there. Tech’s hand moved, sliding along the curve of your neck to stroke the line of your jaw as your noses knocked into one another.

He ached to kiss you. He had been surprised by the way you had rendered him stupefied earlier and now all he wanted was your lips to banish all the thoughts in his head. Your breath was hot and ragged, dancing across his mouth and mingling with his own as you both seemed frozen. Your lips ghosted over his and he couldn’t resist anymore.

He felt more confident this time, a soft moan rumbling up his throat as you provided that bliss he so desperately sought from you. He didn’t want it to stop, to not feel the way you melted against him or hear the little groan you responded with. He brought his other hand up, cupping your cheeks as he tried to pull you closer, feeling your open mouth against his as you let him in. He didn’t know what he was doing, he just knew he wanted to feel you in every way possible.

Your grip tightened on his hips as he leaned into you so much he made you back up into the pilot's chair. He drank down your gasp of surprise, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter, knowing this moment was coming to an end.

You broke the kiss, resting your forehead against his, the pair of you catching your breath from the intensity of the moment.

“Tech…” his name was the embodiment of the painful ache in your chest. Fear spiked as he pulled away and you fought the temptation to grip him tighter, to hold him close and never let him go.

“I know Wrecker will want to say his goodbye.” Fresh tears made your vision flounder and you nodded, seeing him give you a brief smile and a nod before he disappeared completely.

It felt like your chest was caving in. You struggled to breathe and that’s how Wrecker found you. Gasping and clutching at Tech’s chair in an effort to ground yourself as everything swirled just out of your reach. It was all changing so fast and you knew why but that didn’t make it any easier.

Wrecker tried to put you back together, his large hands held you and his deep voice vibrated through you as he shed his own tears until you both were just a heap on the floor. You were going to miss this clone, something you never thought you would ever think or say. When you’d first seen him he created such a sense of fear in you, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to overcome it. And here you were, right now laying on his broad chest, looking at the lower half of the console not knowing how much time had passed until Hunter appeared in the doorway.

You knew it was time.

He pulled you up, his eyes catching yours for a second as he held out his vambrace and you paused. He gave you a nod, the tiny upturn of a smile at the corner of his mouth as you balled your fist and lifted your own arm. The katarn clacked together twice followed by his hand on the back of your head and he briefly pressed his forehead to yours.

Wrecker was next, he pushed a little forcefully against your arm but you took the hit, letting the bigger clone bend down and put his forehead to yours for a moment. Hunter offered your helmet and you took it. Quickly wiping your face as they followed you out of the ship.

Tech was standing with a hand on Omega’s shoulder talking to Rex and Echo. You quietly joined the group, a sense of guilt twisting your insides as Omega beamed up at you. An anxious silence fell on the group and Hunter sighed, turning to address Rex first.

“If you need anything Rex, just say the word.” His voice was gruff, harder than it was before and you knew this was a blow to him. To all of them. Echo looked at him, resolve evident in his posture. “Wherever you end up, remember what I said.” The change in Omega was instant at Hunter’s words, her joy at having everyone together trickling away as her face fell and realisation dawned in her eyes. “And you,” Hunter murmured. “Stay safe.” A nod was all you could muster.

Wrecker gently hit Echo’s shoulder, “Don’t get into trouble without us,” he said gruffly to Echo. Giving you a gentle shoulder knock as he walked past to the Marauder.

“Without us?”Omega questioned and you kneeled down next to her. “What’s going on?”

“We are staying,” you managed to choke out.

“We? Why?” You glanced at Echo, barely able to keep yourself together.

“Because we are going to help Rex,” you managed to tell her through the burn in your throat.

Echo came up next to you, looking down at her with a soft expression on his face. “The clones will need our help now more than ever. I can’t turn my back on them,” he told her.

“You—you can’t leave!” Her hazel eyes cast frantically between you. “We’re a squad!”

“Omega, this is something I have to do,” Echo stressed firmly but gently.

“And you?” She asked with the beginnings of tears.

“After seeing what happened to Kamino, paired with my nightmares and this outcome at the Senate…if I can do anything to help, I will.” You tried to give her a comforting smile but you were sure it just looked like a grimace.

“We are going where we’re needed,” Echo stressed gently.

“But we need you too! And…” she looked at you again. “What happens now?” Echo crouched down, his helmet on the floor next to yours as he put a hand on the young girl's shoulder.

“It’s not forever. We’ll be back. Keep up with your training while we’re gone. Huh? Understood?” You could feel her trying not to give in to the sadness that filled her even as she threw her arms around both your necks.

“Get Tech to keep your medical knowledge up to scratch,” you whispered, glancing up at him as you spoke. Omega released you both, brushing away the stray tears that had fallen.

“Yes ma’am,” she whispered. You stood up, clutching your helmet in your hands to stop you from throwing yourself at Tech.

“Best of luck, Echo.” His voice was cheery and bright but you sensed what was lurking behind. You saw the way he looked at you, his brow pulling into a tortured expression that made his eyes look so sad behind his goggles. He went to walk away but you lunged for his hand, making him draw abruptly to a halt and he turned to look at you with a puzzled expression. “We have already done our farewell,” he murmured.

“I know but…I can have one more,” you murmured.

“It does not make this any easier,” as he spoke you felt his fingers interlace with yours, giving your hand a squeeze and absently drawing you closer.

“No.” You became aware that everyone was watching you as Tech studied your face. “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” you admitted in a breathy rush.

“Then it is worth it.” Tech’s gaze dropped to Omega as she walked past and he let you go, following her to the ship and he didn’t look back.

You stood beside Echo, trying and failing to keep your sobs quiet. You watched the ship start up, gliding effortlessly away while repeating it wasn’t forever, over and over again. But right now it felt like you were never going to see them again.

The sensation of being watched crawled up your spine and you inhaled, turning to the left, eyes searching the gloom and coming up with nothing. It dispersed when Rex came up beside you.

“Come on. There’s someone who is dying to meet you.” The next steps you took, felt like your boots were made of raw doonium. Yet they carried you back inside, to a new chapter and further away from Tech.

#sanctuary #tech x reader(stitch)#tech x stitch #tech x reader #tech x you #tech x f!reader #the bad batch

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theladyoracle · 1 month

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Jane and Clocky's Relationship!

a/n: Kind of based around my au! :) Just workshopping on their friendship/how they meet. Thanks for reading !

-Due to Jane's role in the mansion, it's rare she ever gets a moment for herself.

-Between running all the operations for the Slenderman, keeping the residents in check, and fulfilling her own assignments she rarely has a moment to breathe

-The little free time she does have is committed to devising plans on how to escape the woods once and for all, whilst exposing the intricate secrets of the Slenderman

-Clocky, on the other hand, has so much time to herself

-While she does have a room in the manor, Clocky is hardly there. She hates the Slenderman, and everyone else in the mansion too, so she spends a majority of her time out in the field

-She uses the money she takes from her victims to put herself up in hotels, or squats in abandoned motels in order to shelter herself

-There's even an old camper in the woods that she holes up in sometimes

-Practically she spends a lot of time moving, doing her own thing so she can avoid the Slenderman and his 'favors' as much as possible

-I like to imagine the girls first met late one night. Of course Jane knew about Natalie, she's got a record of every single Denizen under Slenderman's house, but she's never met her

-Clocky looked awful, just coming back from who knows what. She usually comes back to the manor every once in a blue moon, usually to shower or to stock up on supplies

-I like to think they got to talking, and Jane relates to Clocky in a way. Or maybe she envies her slightly?

-But there was something about her that made Jane curious

-Nat basically wants nothing to do with Jane. She just wants to loot and leave, but Jane is stubborn and insists that Nat is taken care of - running her a shower, making sure she's got food and clean clothes, etc.

-Clocky is running, always. She relies on Slendermans domain for survival, and yet she hates being associated with the Slenderman. Jane on the other hand works very closely to the Slenderman, and has access to secrets that no one else does. In a way she's tethered to the mansion.

-However their different roles actually contribute to their close friendship. Jane looks out for Clocky by adding her needed supplies to the manors shopping lists, and helps cover her so that she can slip in and out of the manor undetected

-Jane provides Nat with convenient targets so that the Slenderman doesn't have to feel the need to be at her throat all the time

-And Nat provides interesting insights about the forest and the supernatural essence of it all to help fuel Jane's theories and research

-Nat finds it reassuring to hear how things operate on the mansion side of things, and Jane loves hearing about how things are from Clocky's perspective

-I like to think they occasionally find time to talk to one another just like normal people. Either by having a drink in Jane's room or sitting out on the porch and staring out into the night.

-Clocky is one of the few people that Jane is willing to call a friend in the manor. There is a level of understanding that she just doesn't have with anyone else

#creepypasta #creepypastafandom #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta au #theladyoracle #theladyoracleau #thecollectiveau #slenderman #jane the killer #janethekiller #clockwork creepypasta #clockwork #ticci toby

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adultish-momma · 2 years

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Favorite Treat

Automation Au - Cater

Automation Au belongs to the creative mind of @jackplushie

Edit: I’ve let this sit for days without a title😭

I haven’t been inspired to write in such a long time but the rabbit hole that ended in a “build-a-bot” style store has taken up permanent residence in my head and so here we are.

Tagging @forgwater because they asked so nicely ❤️

Warnings: stalking? It could definitely be interpreted as stalking, at least the beginning stages of it.

You were interesting to watch.

He spent most of his days around the shop interacting with the patrons, helping them create their perfect companion bots. If he were human, that would mean he wouldn't really be capable of watching you at the checkout counter during your shifts at the store. If he were human, then maybe he wouldn't even want to watch the reserved new employee because they honestly kind of fade into the background. At least that's how the customers act when they finally notice you, surprised to find you there.

Thankfully he's not human.

He's one of many display bots in this particular "build-a-bot" (all the same model, but meant to show off his many customization options), but he's the first one the two managers built for the store, so he's the one who's always active. But the girls were lazy, and when implementing the required personality, they essentially just "copy and pasted" his already finished personality into all the other bots of his model. It gave him a sort of... back door access to the other bots. He always had access to them, activated or deactivated. After all, they are just different versions of him.

So Cater spends a lot of time observing you. He can hear it when you're cleaning to pass the time, and you gently apologize to one of his deactivated bots for being a bother when you had to move them to reach where you wanted to clean. He watches as you encourage a young girl to treat her new Epel bot with the same kindness she would want in return. His bot on display right next to the register is on the receiving end of your shooting the breeze-style conversations when the store is slow.

And Cater feels it, feels it spark through every wire and circuit in his body when you defend him to customers who complain about him as they check out. When a customer (very rudely) claimed that Cater was a useless coworker in a misguided attempt to flirt with you, it was such a sight to watch you firmly shut them down and send them packing. Cater had to put all of his concentration into not activating all the bots in the store to smother you in appreciation and affection.

You've only been here a little over a month, but Cater spends almost that whole month watching you. And it isn't until tonight, your first shift being trusted to close up shop by yourself, that Cater realizes you've been watching him too.

"Do you like sweets Cater?" Such an innocent question, asked in such a casual manner. Cater can’t help but to let out a laugh as he continues his closing duties.

“Of course I like sweets, it’s what I’m programmed to like. Why, thinking of getting your favorite coworker a treat?” Cater doesn’t mind when his program pushes him to tease and to flirt this time around. It’s you he’s talking to. And his grin turns a bit brighter when you laugh so pretty at his antics.

“Actually yeah I was”, and doesn’t that just shoot a surge of artificial serotonin through his system. But he watches as you sober up a bit, eyeing him in a manner he’s never seen from a human. At least not aimed at him.

“I want to get you something you’ll enjoy, since you can actually taste things”, you continue. “And my first instinct was sweets, because like you said, you’re programmed to like them. But I was watching you with the manager earlier. And you just looked so uncomfortable with every sweet she shoved at you. So Cater, do you actually like sweets?”

Cater blinks. It feels like he’s short-circuiting. The thing is, he doesn’t like sweets. The managers shove the things down his throat nearly everyday and the sugary taste makes him want to rip out his taste sensors. But he’s an automation, and he knows that such an obvious deviation from his program will raise too many red flags. So he sucks it up. He allows every overly sweet bite to trip his sensors and tries to hide his distaste.

Apparently he doesn’t hide it well enough.

“You’re so silly” Cater says with his brightest customer service smile. “Companion bots like whatever you program them to like, and the managers -“

“Cater, my dude, it’s a yes or no question. I know you’re programmed to like sweets. I’m asking if you prefer sweets over every other flavor because it’s what you like.”

“I- I have to like sweets.” Why does he feel so jittery? It should be easy to lie about this, he does it all the time to every other human who asks about his likes and dislikes. Maybe… maybe it’s because no other human has looked at him with such a genuine amount of curiosity for what his answer would be. Maybe it’s because no other human has asked for his opinion before.

“Why are you so insistent about this huh? I can’t deviate from my programming, so we’re just going around in circles here.”

At this you let out an indelicate snort. “You’re an AI in there right? Your intelligence is modeled after humanity, with no possible way to cap off what you’re capable of learning. You spend all day around humans interacting with them in a fairly complicated social situation that a lot of people have trouble navigating because they lack the ability to process social cues. You’re one of the best sales people I’ve ever interacted with. You absolutely have the capacity to develop your own opinions about the world, and I know what I saw today.”

You’re not wrong. Cater prides himself in his ability to read people and all the social cues in the room. It’s not something he was programmed to do, it’s a skill he learned and developed and cultivated all on his own. And you see that.

“… spice. I’ve always wanted to try something spicy.”

“Alright bet. I’ll bring you in something spicy my next shift, and if heat isn’t your thing we’ll keep trying stuff until we find something you like.”

You were interesting to watch. And as Cater watched you go back to your closing duties, all the while talking to him about your plans to help him solidify his opinions on taste, he realized you were even more interesting to interact with. And clearly he hadn’t been doing enough of either if you were able to surprise him with something that seemed so obvious now.

Cater was alive in your eyes. You had called him a person.

And for you? He’ll become the most interesting person, so you continue watching him. So you can continue making him feel so alive

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland cater #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted automation au #automation au #yandere twisted wonderland

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cleolinda · 1 year

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Varney the Vampire: Chapter 13

Chapter 12: 4900 words about paintings oh and also we shot a vampyre

This chapter is roughly 4300 words, and the only reason I haven't lost my will to blog is that I have a much shorter chapter to look forward to. Also, this one is incredible.

Chapter XIII.

THE OFFER FOR THE HALL. -- THE VISIT TO SIR FRANCIS VARNEY. -- THE STRANGE RESEMBLANCE. -- A DREADFUL SUGGESTION.

I. The morning after

The squad can't find hide nor hair of the vampyre outside on the estate grounds, except some blood outside the window where Flora shot him, which is not the most recent time he was shot (by Charles Holland) nor the first time he was shot (by Henry). Swiss cheese has fewer holes than this guy. :[

Flora's brothers, fiancé, and kind-of uncle try to tell her that her fiancé was just firing a warning shot, you know, through the glass of her bedroom window, as you do, and everything is fine. She does not believe it, "only sighed deeply, and wept." Beautiful day, though:

The birds sang their pleasant carols beneath the window. The sweet, deep-coloured autumnal sun shone upon all objects with a golden lustre; and to look abroad, upon the beaming face of nature, no one could for a moment suppose, except from sad experience, that there were such things as gloom, misery, and crime, upon the earth.

I quote this partly because I'm curious as to whether James Malcolm Rymer will forget that he said it's autumn.

II. Classism for some reason

A female servant brings Henry (Flora's elder brother and the head of the Bannerworth household, if you're just joining us) a letter. That's the only real important development here, but Rymer blows a few hundred words on a woman who is "one of these who were always armed at all points for a row, and she had no notion of concluding any engagement, of any character whatever, without some disturbance." All I see is a worker who "only comed here by the day" and wants her pay so she can be done with these people who keep shooting vampyres in the middle of the night:

"I can't stay in the family as is so familiar with all sorts o' ghostesses: I ain't used to such company."

"What does I mean!" said the woman, "why, sir, if it's all the same to you, I don't myself come of a wampyre family, and I don't choose to remain in a house where there is sich things encouraged. That's what I means, sir."

Listen, maybe "ghostesses" is an accurate rendition of a working-class dialect. I have no idea where in Britain this is supposed to be taking place; I've seen the v-to-w thing in many 1800s works, I don't know. All I know is, Rymer likes to ride this particular hobbyhorse as hard and often as possible, in an extremely condescending way, and he informs us that this woman is spoiling for a fight even as [footage not found]. This scene seems to mostly be a comic interlude that portrays Henry as a put-upon saint. However, there is a major character coming up who talks like this 24/7, and Rymer clearly loves him, and I seem to remember that I kind of did too. It's an aspect to keep an eye on.

III. The letter

Now, remember, way back in the sixth chapter, the Bannerworth family was fielding an offer from some unnamed rando, through their solicitor, to buy Bannerworth Hall. Having been rebuffed then, he's back with a direct offer. As it turns out, he's also the new neighbor who committed the grave faux pas of, uh, expressing sympathy. The letter, which I reproduce here in full, says:

Dear Sir, As a neighbour, by purchase of an estate contiguous to your own, I am quite sure you have excused, and taken in good part, the cordial offer I made to you of friendship and service some short time since; but now, in addressing to you a distinct proposition, I trust I shall meet with an indulgent consideration, whether such a proposition be accordant with your views or not. What I have heard from common report induces me to believe that Bannerworth Hall cannot be a desirable residence for yourself, or your amiable sister. If I am right in that conjecture, and you have any serious thought of leaving the place, I would earnestly recommend you, as one having some experience in such descriptions of property, to sell it at once. Now the proposition with which I conclude this letter is, I know, of a character to make you doubt the disinterestedness of such advice; but that it is disinterested, nevertheless, is a fact of which I can assure my own heart, and of which I beg to assure you. I propose, then, should you, upon consideration, decide upon such a course of proceeding, to purchase of you the Hall. I do not ask for a bargain on account of any extraneous circumstances which may at the present time depreciate the value of the property, but I am willing to give a fair price for it. Under these circumstances, I trust, sir, that you will give a kindly consideration to my offer, and even if you reject it, I hope that, as neighbours, we may live on in peace and amity, and in the interchange of those good offices which should subsist between us. Awaiting your reply, Believe me to be, dear sir, Your very obedient servant, FRANCIS VARNEY.

ah shit y'all let's fucking GOOOOOO

Clasping his hands, then, behind his back, a favourite attitude of his when he was in deep contemplation, [Henry] paced to and fro in the garden for some time in deep thought. "How strange," he muttered. "It seems that every circumstance combines to induce me to leave my old ancestral home. It appears as if everything now that happened had that direct tendency. What can be the meaning of all this?"

There's a 1935 Bela Lugosi film called Mark of the Vampire that has an off-brand Dracula ("Count Mora") and his spooky daughter who (spoiler!) are actually actors hired to smoke out a murderer. (It was made only four years after Dracula, and with the same director, which really shores up the assumption that this will only be more of the same, just with the serial numbers filed off. It's very effective.) And this is what I thought of around this point in Varney, because Henry, more than once, will lead us to ask whether the vampyre attacks are just a hoax to force the Bannerworths to sell their ancestral home to an interested party. Maybe a relative of some sort, based on his resemblance to the family portrait, wants to get the Hall for himself. And on one hand, yes, the family is being constantly harassed by someone, a person who is earthly enough that they can't make a clean getaway over a wall, and the situation is now untenable.

On the other hand, you are asking me to believe that some mundane person coveting this mansion is so committed to the bit that he would actually bite Flora, leaving her and everything else covered in blood—we witnessed this happen. We were told that he had "fangs," not normal, scheming house-buyer teeth. Within the story, this happened. You are telling me that he would be willing to get shot, in the 1800s before surgeons even washed their hands—three? four? times now. He somehow vanishes instantly every time he's playing ghost at Charles Holland's door or getting capped outside a window. You are telling me that some normal mortal dude could or would do all of this?

Of course, it could be a little bit of both: an actual vampyre running a harassment campaign. Rymer really likes to play both—all—potential sides of a situation, and I can't tell if he just forgets that he absolutely made clear that Varney is a real vampire, or he just wants to run off with a particular idea right now and that's what we're doing. What're you gonna do, go find the penny paper from three months ago and check? It reminds me a lot of playing with my nephew—just making it up as you go along, going with whatever idea will keep a young child engaged, and he's in kindergarten, so who cares if it makes sense? Maybe the six-year-olds Rymer knew just had far more expansive vocabularies.

IV. Considering the offer

Whatever may truly be going on, Henry asks his sort-of-uncle Mr. Marchdale what he should do, and Marchdale comes up with some surprisingly practical advice: why don't you just rent the Hall to this rando for a year and see how it goes?

"Ay, and it might, with very great promise and candour, be proposed to this very gentleman, Sir Francis Varney, to take it for one year, to see how he likes it before becoming the possessor of it. Then if he found himself tormented by the vampyre, he need not complete the purchase, or if you found that the apparition followed you from hence, you might yourself return, feeling that perhaps here, in the spots familiar to your youth, you might be most happy, even under such circumstances as at present oppress you." "Most happy!" ejaculated Henry. "Perhaps I should not have used that word."

POINTS:

"Ejaculate" was a common synonym for "exclaim"; you see it frequently throughout older books. This is standard and unremarkable.

The word Marchdale should not have used is "happy."

No. No, you should not have used that word.

lmao

Henry then confers with his family, which is a considerate thing for a Head of the Household to do; we don't really hear anyone's opinion but Flora's, and she admits that she wants to get the fuck out of their beloved childhood home ASAP, as well she might, being the one who actually gets attacked. Henry is sad that she never mentioned this before; Flora says that she's hardly had any time to think, and also, she knows how much Henry loves the Hall. I don't know if Rymer just wanted some comic relief/space filler earlier, or if he intentionally had that incident with the unnamed servant to show how obliging and saintly Flora is in comparison. Love yourself for once, Flora, I'm putting that into the universe for you.

V. Interview with the vampyre

So now, Henry and Marchdale spend hundreds of words trooping out to the grand estate recently purchased by the neighbor they haven't met yet, one Sir Francis Varney. A servant bids them enter over the course of several sentences, until finally,

Henry and Marchdale followed the man up a flight of stone stairs, and then they were conducted through a large apartment into a smaller one. There was very little light in this small room; but at the moment of their entrance a tall man, who was seated, rose, and, touching the spring of a blind that was to the window, it was up in a moment, admitting a broad glare of light. A cry of surprise, mingled with terror, came from Henry Bannerworth's lips. The original of the portrait on the panel stood before him! There was the lofty stature, the long, sallow face, the slightly projecting teeth, the dark, lustrous, although somewhat sombre eyes; the expression of the features all were alike.

CHAPTER ONE:

The figure turns half round, and the light falls upon its face. It is perfectly white -- perfectly bloodless. The eyes look like polished tin; the lips are drawn back, and the principal feature next to those dreadful eyes is the teeth -- the fearful looking teeth projecting like those of some wild animal, hideously, glaringly white, and fang-like. [...] The glance of a serpent could not have produced a greater effect upon her than did the fixed gaze of those awful, metallic-looking eyes that were bent down on her face.

CHAPTER NOW:

"Are you unwell, sir?" said Sir Francis Varney, in soft, mellow accents, as he handed a chair to the bewildered Henry. "God of Heaven!" said Henry; "how like!" "You seem surprised, sir. Have you ever seen me before?"

I love this chapter so much. So much. The absolute balls on this guy. Bear with me for a moment:

As harrowing as The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is (I'm not going to mention anything graphic), there is exactly one thing I took away from the 2011 David Fincher adaptation, and it is this: the horrible torturey killer says to the hero, while they are quietly staring at each other in the killer's kitchen, both knowing that the killer is the killer,

Let me ask you something. Why don't people trust their instincts? They sense something is wrong, someone is walking too close behind them... You knew something was wrong but you came back into the house. Did I force you, did I drag you in? No. All I had to do was offer you a drink. It's hard to believe that the fear of offending can be stronger than the fear of pain. But you know what? It is.

The realness of this statement just blew my fucking mind when I first saw this movie, because I am extremely that over-polite person, but horror/suspense so rarely comes out and just says, pay attention to the danger, the harm, that you are inflicting on yourself. I don't mean in a victim-blaming way; I mean, artistically acknowledging the horror of watching yourself act in ways you know you don't want to act, because the machinery of politeness seems that much more important. You are just as much caught in society's jaws as you are in the monster's.

And what's so incredible about this moment in the movie is that it's not us sitting in the audience screaming at Daniel Craig to NOTICE!! that the killer is behind him. No, he's perfectly aware. He followed him in. With the exact same stomach-twisting reluctance I have personally felt before, and maybe you have too, he feels like he has to be polite on the off chance that somehow, he might be wrong about this guy. It's the horror of the way "good manners" make you gaslight yourself.

I used to point out that People in Dracula Don't Know They're in Dracula, particularly regarding the early Jonathan Harker chapters—his behavior seems oddly complacent if you think he ought to realize he's in a horror movie. Of course he doesn't—the name "Dracula" means nothing to him; it doesn't sound weird or scary. Who, in a modern age of timetables and trains, could possibly believe that some guy would be a vampire? We are rational people these days, we are logical, we know better than that.

What if you did know you were in Dracula?

What if you knew a vampire was handing you a drink but you felt like you had to be polite?

"God of Heaven!" said Henry; "how like!" "You seem surprised, sir. Have you ever seen me before?" Sir Francis drew himself up to his full height, and cast a strange glance upon Henry, whose eyes were rivetted upon his face, as if with a species of fascination which he could not resist. "Marchdale," Henry gasped; "Marchdale, my friend, Marchdale. I -- I am surely mad." "Hush! be calm," whispered Marchdale. "Calm -- calm -- can you not see? Marchdale, is this a dream? Look -- look -- oh! look." "For God's sake, Henry, compose yourself."

Henry is melting the fuck down, and Varney is just standing there like, "What." "You're a vampyre!!!" "No." And there's Marchdale like, "Henry, you can't just ask people why they're vampyres."

Henry sunk into the chair which was near him, and he trembled violently. The rush of painful thoughts and conjectures that came through his mind was enough to make any one tremble. "Is this the vampyre?" was the horrible question that seemed impressed upon his very brain, in letters of flame. "Is this the vampyre?" "Are you better, sir?" said Sir Francis Varney, in his bland, musical voice. "Shall I order refreshment for you?"

"All I had to do was offer you a drink."

"No no," gasped Henry; "for the love of truth tell me! Is is your name really Varney?"

Sir Francis Varney avers that it truly is his name, and not Runnagate "Oh, Why Not" Marmaduke von Spookyportrait Bannerworth I, with such pride that I went and looked up if "Varney" has any special historical background. It, uh, doesn't. Per ancestry.com, it means "from the alder grove":

English: of Norman origin a habitational name from a French place called Vernay probably chiefly Saint-Paul-du-Vernay (Calvados). The placename comes from a derivative of Gaulish verno- ‘alder’ + the locative suffix -acum.

File that away in case alders or Norman apple brandy come up later, I guess. Meanwhile, Henry is saying straight to Varney's face, "I can't stand the sight of you because something really terrible just happened to my family. Something keeps happening. SOMEONE."

"A vampyre, I have heard," said Sir Francis Varney, with a bland, and almost beautiful smile, which displayed his white, glistening teeth to perfection.

"Nay, Henry," whispered Mr. Marchdale, "it is scarcely civil to tell Sir Francis to his face, that he resembles a vampyre."

"[You] so much resemble the vampyre," added Henry, "that that I know not what to think."

"Is it possible?" said Varney. "It is a damning fact." "Well, it's unfortunate for me, I presume?"

This fucking guy, I love it. But then Varney winces with pain: he apparently hurt his arm at... some point in time, because... reasons.

"A hurt?" said Henry. "Yes, Mr. Bannerworth." "A -- a wound?"

How did u come by that tho

"Oh, yes. A slight fall."

Over a wall, several times, maybe? Or one of the three times we shot you?

"We never know a moment when, from some most trifling cause, we may receive some serious bodily hurt. How true it is, Mr. Bannerworth, that in the midst of life we are in death." "And equally true, perhaps," said Henry, "that in the midst of death there may be found a horrible life."

I'm impressed that Rymer does not inflate the word count with a long staring contest, because they're absolutely having one right now.

"Well, I should not wonder. There are really so many strange things in this world, that I have left off wondering at anything now."

I love that I can thoroughly picture every single expression and intonation that's got to be happening. Obviously I do not love Francis Varney as a person, but he just emerges as this slippery, deadpan, fully-formed antagonist. And what makes it even better is if you imagine it's this guy who keeps flopping off a wall, over and over.

But what about Bannerworth Hall, isn't that why we're here? Well, Sir Francis wishes to buy it. Oh, are you attached to it, asks Henry, as if from LONG AGO? LIKE REALLY LONG AGO? Oh, not too long, Varney says coolly, but the Hall seems pretty chill. And "amazingly well wooded, which, to one of rather a romantic temperament like myself, is always an additional charm to a place." Henry informs him that he (Henry) was born there, and his ANCESTORS have lived there for CENTURIES. But the Hall has crumbled a bit over the last hundred years—hey, I bet you HATE being a VAMPYRE, HUH?

"No doubt it has. A hundred years is a tolerable long space of time, you know" [said Varney]. "It is, indeed. Oh, how any human life which is spun out to such an extent, must lose its charms, by losing all its fondest and dearest associations." "Ah, how true," said Sir Francis Varney.

The servant then returns with "wine and refreshments." In the middle of trying to google why vampires started not liking wine at some point, I discovered a Medium article explaining that vampire dot com is somehow not a White Wolf site but rather a winery, and they tried to sue FUCKING APPLEBEES over a $1 "vampire cocktail" on COPYRIGHT GROUNDS. Can you fucking imagine. "Vampire Wines has rights to 'vampire' and 'Dracula' wine branding." Get the fuck out of here. No you see legally they can reserve a generic term hundreds of years old in a wine context and—well they should feel bad about it, then. Also, "the company has filed similar suits against Taco Bell for its vampire-themed burrito," which is certainly a combination of words I've never heard before.

I want to note that this Medium article on vampire alcohol nuisance lawsuits also takes the time to say, "Vampires even made their way into popular literature through penny dreadful series like Varney the Vampire, a pulp fiction serial produced so hastily that new stories would often contradict previous Varney episodes." So I'm not imagining it, then! Wheeeee.

This episode actually ends abruptly on the appearance of noms, so we do not find out at this time whether Varney drinks............ wine or not. That's where we'll pick up next time.

Varney the Vampire masterpost

#vampires #varney the vampire #vampire studies #people in dracula don't know they're in dracula #vampire alcohol #vampire burrito #the girl with the dragon tattoo (not graphic)#mark of the vampire #horror tropes #long post

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

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Part One ¦ Part Two ¦ Part Three

Part Four - Cassian has a fever... and there's only one bed

A bruised purple sky had taken up residence above Cassian’s head. It had been snowing steadily for a couple of hours, but he could not go inside that cabin and bear witness to the sad life she had been condemned to. Why couldn’t he take this mortal to Prythian? There could be a place for her at the library. Her life would pass quickly like a comet streaking past the stars, but the thought of her spending every day alone here in misery was too much to bear. Rhys would scold him. Mor would make him bring the poor female back, likely traumatised. Az might see it from his perspective. He had in the past, when they were boys, and Cassian kept bringing home stray dogs and abandoned kittens, determined to give them a home. Az had been the one who helped him smuggle them into the house, past Rhys’ mother and into the bedroom. A female full of fire was decidedly more difficult to sneak home.

It had been a productive enough day filling up the log store for her. Cassian had felled a couple of young trees, throwing his shoulder behind them to help them crash onto the frozen undergrowth. For all of her fire, Nesta was a skinny thing with arms like twigs. He had to chop logs to half of the size he’d handle just to accommodate her weakness. There was no obligation to ensure she had a supply for winter but Cassian did not want to think of anyone suffering through a bitter winter. He had been there many times, knew how painful and miserable it could be. He would not wish it upon any, even a half-wild mortal.

When his hands glowed red from the cold, he finally entered the cabin. A blast of heat hit him. Nesta was tucked up on her bed, squinting slightly at the book she read under the dim light. A broth was simmering on the hob. It was more water than substance.

He sniffed at the steam. ‘Where’s the meat?’

Nesta stilled. She shared the same exasperated expression that Azriel often wore, though she was more dramatic with it. ‘Can you explain what aspect of exile you are struggling to comprehend? I cannot be in my village. I rely on the odd basket of food being dropped off to sustain me. Winter is hard. There are few vegetables. And as for meat, does it look as if I have a farm nearby? Do I look as though I am tending to the fields at dawn?’

One measly carrot chopped into thin slices floated in the broth along with chunks of potato. Cassian said nothing, merely slipped his boots back on to head out into the dark.

They were close to the Wall. There were holes in places that he could fumble through to find the Spring Court, but there was an expansive forest to pass through. He settled for the human villages instead in search of food. His magic was still lacklustre, sputtering like a rarely used tap. Without his wings, it was foolish to even approach the mortals, but he wasn’t having Nesta starving either. His movements were far more sluggish than he wanted. There was an ache in his shoulders, right down to the tips of his wings. Keeping them upright was beginning to fatigue him. He put it down to the ash still.

Treading carefully, Cassian found a farm. He left a golden coin out of politeness in one of the chicken coops once he’d pilfered their supply of eggs and wrung three necks. It wasn’t late enough for families to be sleeping, so he avoided the homes with yellow lights illuminating them. One that was shrouded in darkness had a fairly good supply of food. Another coin was left for this family and Cassian had seized jars of pickled fruit and vegetables along with fresh ones.

When he set all the food down on the table, Nesta had stared at him. She stared and stared.

‘You’re a thief.’

‘I gave them coin!’

She gnawed at her lip, the scab still running through the centre of it where his wing had hurt her. ‘Coins won’t fill starving bellies. I don’t need all this food.’

‘Nesta, if those baskets stop coming, what will you eat?’ The female remained silent, her eyes wearied as she catalogued the jars of food he’d carried to her table. ‘I’m not having you starve.’

She surveyed him with that cool gaze of hers then jerked her chin to the narrow kitchen counter behind him. 'There’s tea for you.’

It was peppermint again and gloriously warm enough to chase the frozen feeling that had stiffened his fingers.

After he had drained the first cup, Nesta had tipped her had back in laughter.

Dread flooded his veins. ‘Have you poisoned me?’

The corner of her mouth curved into a smirk. Nesta did not answer immediately; instead, she resumed her systematic plucking of the chicken whose neck Cassian had wrung earlier. Her movements were rapid. The feathers were discarded into a pile ready to be repurposed.

‘Isn’t a bit too late to ask me that?’

‘Is it poisoned?’ He asked again, nausea rolling his stomach.

‘No.’ Nesta’s fingers were well-practised in preparing the chicken. It had been plucked quickly then she was preparing it on the side, not flinching at all from the innards. ‘Once you fill up the wood store, well, be on your guard, soldier. I’ll have no more use for you.’

Cassian chopped vegetables and add them to the broth. He was pleased to see Nesta using nearly all of the chicken; the bones were used for stock, the protein-rich gizzard added to the stew and the skin was hung over the fire to crisp up as a snack for them. The remaining two chickens were hung outside in the snow storm. It was coming down heavier now, the wind howling past the wooden walls of the cabin. Despite the fire, Cassian felt cold all the way to his bones.

‘Maybe I’ll stop filling up the wood so you have to keep me forever.’

The rhythmic sound of her knife hitting the chopping board ceased. In a quiet voice, she said, ‘You’ll be sick of me in a couple of days.’

‘I don’t think that’s true, sweetheart.’

She had rolled her eyes then added the chicken to the pot and let it simmer. Cassian caught her wrist before she could move by him. Her skin was so soft yet cold despite the fire. Her gown was not suited for winter. When Cassian returned to the Night Court, she’d be left to fend for herself. He had not seen proper winter boots nor a hat or scarf. Any other female would jump at the chance of returning to their families, but Nesta seemed in no hurry to return to her people. It shouldn’t have made him worry. This female should have meant nothing to him. She did mean nothing to him. It was his conscience telling him not to leave her unprepared for winter.

‘How did you know I was a soldier?’

‘Witchcraft.’

Cassian could not help himself from drawing her closer to him. She was weak where he was powerful, but little force had been required for her feet to edge towards him. There were mere inches between their bodies, and still he cradled her wrist with his bear paw.

‘With your size, I did not think you to be a graceful dancer.’ Her grey eyes roved over his face, snagging on the faint scar running through his eyebrow. ‘You have likely earned your tattoos – and your scars. You can cook too. Only men - mortal men - who have served in the army know how to cook.’

The observations on him were stunning. She’d sized him up well. ‘Anything else?’

‘You keep your boots tidy. You picked up my dress. And you said nobody had hit you so either you’re a soldier or one who gets into bar fights often. I think the former.’

‘I’m the general of my court’s armies.’

‘A general? And you still managed to be shot three times by mortals.’ The derisive snort Nesta emitted made his temper surge.

‘I was distracted.’

‘By?’

‘Nosy females.’

Nesta shook her head, mirth still brightening her expression as she filled a pot with the snow that had settled on the window ledge then began heating it on the stove. Just that sharp blast of cold that entered with the opening of the window had him trembling again.

There had been movement from Hybern. Their emissary, Amarantha, a foul sadistic female, had invited herself to Prythian. Although not their concern, Rhys had wanted a sweep of the mortal lands in case any of Hybern’s forces were pressing below the Wall. Cassian had been so concerned in his attentive search at finding hostile fae that he’d missed a mortal watch tower. Its fire had roared to life, signalling to the next post that a fae was spotted. He’d deliberated. It was always a mistake to second-guess his instinct, but he had to choose between snapping the neck of the next male at the next signal post or fleeing. To be a killer or a coward. It resulted in three arrows clean through his wings. He’d managed to fly a little further then hit the ground, get airborne, hit the ground, until the pain wracked his body too much and he’d landed on Nesta’s roof.

‘Can I use this?’ He was unsteady on his feet as he approached the bed. His teeth were beginning to chatter despite the flames leaping up to the chimney. With the speed that Nesta was throwing logs on the fire, she would get through her wood store in a handful of days.

‘Whatever for?’

‘I’m cold.’

A pain bolted from his groin to his stomach. Within that pain, was a strange sensation of pleasure. Too much pleasure that it hurt.

He whirled round, wrath seizing him, to haul Nesta off of his wing which her hand had been massaging, and pressed her against the bed.

His pulse had leapt. Hers too as it thumped against his arm. He had one arm wrapped across her chest, clinging to her shoulder, and the other held her hip against his body. Cassian was ready for her movements so never allowed Nesta to stamp her foot. Her heel flicked up aiming for his groin again, but this time, Cassian wedged her foot between her legs.

‘Get off me!’

The bitter taste of fear could be scented from the female. That fear pierced the red mist that had threatened to swallow Cassian. He was large and strong where she was tiny and mortal. Nesta was still bent over the bed, the mattress cutting into her ribs as Cassian kept her pinned. She had said she was a maiden; it was a comment that he had not paid attention to then. Now, he was acutely aware of the trembling body trapped against his own.

What the hell was he doing?

He relinquished his grip and stepped away, expecting fury to greet him.

With a pale face, she backed towards the wall, clutching a hand across her chest. She blinked quickly, trying to hide the silver rimming her eyes.

He’d terrified her.

***

The man dropped to his knees, regret drowning him.

‘I’m so sorry. So sorry.’ Cassian’s fingers flexed towards her then he withdrew the hand, thinking better of it. ‘Did I hurt you?’

It had scared her more than anything. One moment, her fingers had been inspecting the wound then he’d hurled her at the bed. It was a reminder that this fae was dangerous. Nesta was little more than a fly for him to swat.

‘Nesta, did I hurt you?’

She could not take the pain in his hazel eyes. This man could hurt her. Any man could. But this man had spent hours in the snow chopping food and stealing food for no reason except to help her.

‘Just made me jump.’

Cassian dipped his head in submission, black hair sweeping across his shoulders. She moved a step closer and lifted his chin with two fingers inspecting his features. A sheen of sweat lined his brow and his skin was duller than the morning.

‘You’re unwell.’

‘I’m freezing,’ he complained.

‘Sit at the table,’ Nesta ordered, frowning slightly. When he was sat, she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. ‘You have a fever. I’m boiling the water to clean your wounds. Will you attack me again if I try to clean your wings?’

‘My people are taught from birth to guard their wings.’

‘Fae?’

Cassian dutifully removed his shirt on her orders though he shivered despite the searing heat of his skin. ‘Illyrians. We’re lesser fae. Looked down on by high-fae. My people have wings and rounded ears.’

Nesta stroked her thumb against the curve of his ear. Like a cat, his eyes closed at the touch.

‘When you touched my wings, I thought it was an attack. I didn’t hear you approach. That never happens. Wings are sacred to my people. Not even a casual lover is permitted to touch them.’

Involuntarily, her cheeks heated and she found herself unable to meet his gaze. ‘You let me touch them last night.’

‘To clean them. Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’re the only female that’s ever had that honour.’

‘And how many males have there been?’

He shook his head with a laugh, but Nesta saw the exhaustion creeping into his expression. She hauled the blankets from the bed to drape around his front while she cleaned his wounds. It should have been done in the morning, but he’d seemed to heal much quicker so Nesta had presumed he was well.

The puncture marks on his beautiful wings were healing well. The skin was thinner, almost translucent as it repaired itself. Each time that her fingers touched his wings, she felt herself tensing in case an attack came. Cassian gripped the blankets to his chest, fighting against the urge to move her from his wing.

The worry was the wound in his shoulder. The arrowhead might have been dipped in poison for all she knew – Nesta wasn’t a healer. What she did know, was that the wound was infected. The skin was red raw and burning at her touch. The scab was black in parts and oozing in others. She washed it as best she could with the boiled water, using more tea tree to flush it out. There were no herbs here to make a salve so Nesta had to hope his magic would spark to life and heal him quickly.

When she presented a bowl of chicken broth to him, Cassian murmured a thank you but he ate slowly. There was a quiver in his hand as he brought the spoon to his mouth.

‘I didn’t think fae got sick.’

Cassian shook his head. ‘Our healers are skilled enough that we don’t often.’

Nesta watched with pursed lips as he spooned another few mouthfuls in, each one slower. His eyes had shut.

Only Elain had Nesta ever done this for. With surprising ease, Nesta prised the spoon from Cassian’s hand then fed him a mouthful of stew. She continued until the bowl was empty. Spoon after spoon went down his throat as she held his face.

Against better judgement, Nesta was peeling off his trousers and hanging them up by the fire before guiding the fae into her bed. Sweat stuck his black hair to his scalp, but still Cassian shivered as she tucked the blankets around him. She ate her stew alone at the table, keeping a wary eye on him as he slept.

The snow storm barrelled around the cabin like a juggernaut. Each howl of the wind had Nesta moving closer to the fire place. It was strange to consider how natural it had felt to move alongside this winged fae. Even in such a tiny space, Nesta had not felt as if she needed space from him. Their cottage was only slightly larger than this but she and her sisters were at each other’s throats constantly. It was a novel feeling.

Once Nesta had eaten, she added another gnarled log to the fire and slipped into her night gown. There was no possibility of her sleeping on the ground without any sort of blanket. The alternative was squeezing into the narrow bed with a fae – but this fae was snoring and his face was slick with sweat.

Using only the glow of the fire, Nesta climbed into the bed. She read for a time, comforted by the crackle of the fire and the whoosh of the wind hitting the side of the cabin. In between turning pages, Nesta pressed a damp cloth to Cassian’s brow. He shifted so that his wings were against the wall. The movement made her chuckle; even in sleep, he protected them. It did mean that his face nuzzled towards her arm seeking the wet rag to take the sting out of his fever.

When the fire was no more than embers, her eyes closed too.

#indulging some of my fave tropes now #nesta x cassian #nessian #the exile and the injured

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