Charlie: my dear, good girl (once each)
Vaggi: dear (once), my dear (once)
Mimzy: sweetheart (once)
Rosie: my dear (once)
Niffty: my dear Niffty (once via note attached to pot)
Velvette: dear (once)
Husk: my good man (once)
Vox: old pal, sweetheart, my friend, baby (once each)
Vox (flashback): pal, Vincent (once each)
Mostly, Alastor uses people’s names when he addresses them, and he does actually use names a little more often than other characters do. Despite popular belief (my own included!), he really doesn’t use endearments all that often, and he only uses “dear” for women. Because of that, it is interesting that he uses SO MANY endearments for Vox.
Are most of them a way for him to fire potshots at Vox? Yes. Rubbing their prior relationship in his face, using endearments to belittle him, and so on; but again, more interesting than why he uses them is that he does not do this with anyone else that we’ve seen, regardless of their relationship.
Obviously, I know what I’m going to do with this information, but I wanted to share it out so other people can do with it what they will. ;D
And as an aside! The other people who use baby are:
Angel (a lot, all the time, for anyone)
Husk (for Angel, though his preference is Legs)
Vaggi (for Charlie)
Valentino (uses it almost as much as Angel and for anyone)
Vox (uses it once for the sinner girl whose life they ruin, also uses babe for Val)
Adam (along with all his other misogynistically used ‘endearments’: babe, dangertits, sweetie)
So baby is used either in a catcalling or patronizing sense (including sexual overtones; Adam, Vox, Val), a romantic sense (Angel, Husk, Vaggi), or as a generic part of their speech pattern (Angel, Val). Again! Weird that Alastor uses it for Vox is all I’m saying.
listen I’m having a thing for old man frank right now, don’t hate me for that! This was a quick write so ignore errors
Warnings: fingering, oral (female receiving), AFAB, things are described as wet, this is just good ole smut, it’s a little nasty you know, the term old man is used once
“Frank, please-eee want to please letmeletmeletme” at this point your words were making no sense but it was hard to think when Frank was laying flat on his stomach and face buried in your cunt. His tongue moving just how you like it, your wetness soaking his face, your thighs, and the bed beneath you but you couldn’t care less. He gently sucked at your clit, moaning as you tugged at his hair, “oh god-” you felt your stomach tighten as two fingers slowly entered you.
Frank pulled off for just a moment, admiring the way your wet cunt pulled his fingers in even deeper. He let out a groan and barely rolled his hips down into the mattress, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment from the pressure. He watched your face as he hooked his fingers up, hitting that spot that made you see stars. Your eyes rolled back as you made small huffed sounds between moans. Frank glanced back down before spitting directly where his fingers met you, “look at me baby, want you to watch as I make you cum.” His voice sounded just as ruined as you, low and deep and your eyes immediately caught his, “there you go, good girl.” The words made you clench around him and your eyes fluttered shut as he started to pound his fingers into you, “mhmm no ma’am come on eyes on me.” You nodded your head as you tightened around his fingers so close to what you were both wanting.
“frank” your voice broken as his other hand laid on your stomach, your fingers lacing with his as you were filled with overwhelming need, “can i? please Frankie- oh fuck me- please.” Frank smirked at how wrecked you were and he was nowhere done with you.
“go ahead baby.” Frank spoke as he leaned down to place a chaste kiss on your clit, “want to see you.” Your lower back barely rose off the bed as your orgasm slowly rocked you. Franks fingers never faulting as he watched pleasure cover your whole body, “there we go.” His voice shaky as he tried to still his own hips from grinding down into the bed. His fingers slowed as you bit your lip, staring at him while your mouth hung slightly open, breathing hard as you tried to gain composure.
“One more, please one more.” You pushed your hips down to meet Franks slow thrust in and out of you and he dropped his head to your inner thigh with a low moan. He couldn’t help the slow roll of his hips and you gasped as you watched, “wait, i have an idea instead, come up here.” Frank cocked an eyebrow up, but listened as he slowly pulled his fingers out of you. His forehead gently rested against yours as you felt him bring his hard length to your wet folds. You nodded your head with a moan and Frank got the idea. He slowly rubbed his tip at your entrance, coating it with your wetness before nudging your clit with it. You gasped at the feeling and moved your hips to rub yourself against him, “come on frankie, you wanted to get off so go ahead, rub one out on me.” Your voice barely above a whisper as you watched Frank’s eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat as he started to slowly grind his hard cock against your wet folds.
“oh-mhmm fuck baby, so wet for me.” Frank was already falling apart, the way you coated him, and the sound of him sliding against you was almost too much.
Frank’s eyes fell shut as a bead of pre-cum slowly dripped down to mix with your wetness. You tsked at him and brought your hands to his biceps, squeezing the muscle there, “Frankie, look at me.” A particular rough thrust against your clit made you whine as Frank opened his eyes, “mhmm look at me, want to watch you cum.” Frank moaned as his own words were used against him and he sped up his thrust. The feeling of his hard cock dragging against you, had you both panting and gasping.
Frank leaned forward, lips finding yours in a messy exchange. He pulled back some and started to pant, “baby, going to- fuuuuck- going to cum.” You smiled at how wrecked he sounded and brought your hand down to his cock, lining it up perfectly so his next thrust was into your soaking cunt. You both let out a loud moan and frank wasted no time, fucking into you deep and fast, “fu-fuck yes, thank you baby, so good to me- fuck can’t hold it.” Frank slammed into you one more time. He pushed into you as far as he could, grinding his hips to push further before he collapsed down on you.
“holy shit.” You mumbled against his shoulder, as you ran your nails down his back, “that was hot!” You felt Frank’s body move as he laughed, “what it was, we should do that again.” You felt Frank roll to the side but his arm came under you to pull you on top of him. He hummed in agreement as you laid on his chest, “want to see something even hotter?” You had a sly smile on your face as Frank opened one eye at you. You slowly lifted your body off of him, and you both watched as he dripped out of you onto his stomach.
Frank let out a rough moan as he pulled back down onto him, his fingers finding your jaw, forcing you to look up at him, “baby, if i was younger I would take you a few more times but christ you have to give me a moment.” You giggled as Frank felt blood slowly move back down to his cock, “what a waste though, wish i could fuck it back into you.”
This time it was you who moaned as you rolled your hips down onto his length, your eyes widened some as you felt him getting hard, “well feels like you’ll be able to do that, old man.”
Tags: introductions, emeritus family dynamic, nat and copia are married as FUCK, magdalena vincent is tired as hell, perpetua being a little freak
Summary: Magdalena Vincent doesn't believe in romantic love. Yet.
a/n: hahahaha ohohohoho hehehehehe we're so fucking back baby
~~~
Magdalena Vincent doesn’t believe in romantic love.
Well, that’s not entirely true. She certainly believes in the way the Cardinal–ah Papa–no wait Frater Imperator–looks at Natalie Sinclair. You’d be stupid not to watch the two of them together over the years through their highs and lows and not see that romantic love is real. It was the fact that Magda never saw it as attainable for anyone else, let alone herself. Her belief that she would ever personally discover romantic love died the same night her infatuation with Christ did. And how could it not after what she witnessed that left her fleeing her convent and into the sympathetic arms of Lucifer? No, romance was for others. She, the perpetual bridesmaid and never the bride. Which suited her just fine in all honesty, meaningless one-time hookups and her vibrator got her through the worst of it, thank you very much. But every once in a while, she looks at her sweet adopted sister and goofy adopted brother and she feels a twinge of sorrow in her belly.
Like right now.
“I don’t get how you’re not more excited about this, Copia,” Natalie says, bustling around his office filled with nervous energy. “He’s your brother. Your whole twin!”
Copia Emeritus is slouched in his desk chair, wrinkling the very nice Alexander McQueen suit he wears. He spins listlessly side to side while staring up at the coffered ceiling.
“He’s just some guy, amore,” he grumbles, pushing air out from his pursed lips with a lewd sound. “Can’t I make someone else do this?”
Natalie stops her pacing and stares at him.
“My love, you are the head of the Ministry now.”
A lazy grin stretches Copia’s mouth.
“Eh, exactly. I should be able to delegate something like this, no?”
Magdalena poorly hides her bark of laughter behind a cough.
“Copia Emeritus you are not going to delegate introducing your own fucking long-lost twin brother to this Ministry. And Magda - please don’t take this the wrong way - but why the fuck are you here?”
“Well, you see I joined the Ministry that rainy night you found me in the graveyard and–”
“You know good and goddamn well what I mean, smartass.”
Magda shrugs and gestures to Copia.
“Beats me, ask your husband.”
Natalie turns to Copia and tilts her head expectantly.
“I…am going to make dear Magda my brother’s new assistant.”
“You’re going to fucking WHAT?”
Now it’s Natalie’s turn to poorly hide her laughter. Copia frowns petulantly.
“Is that any way to speak to–”
“Papa–I mean Cardinal–ugh whatever the fuck your name is, I don’t want this! My place is in the kitchens!”
Copia grins evilly.
“Now, Magdalena, that's some very outdated thinking on your part! Women these days hold all sorts of important positions - now take my wife here–”
“Careful,” Natalie growls. It’s one word and they both know that Copia is indulging a stupid joke but the speed with which he shuts up is comical.
“Eh, anyway. Magda you wouldn’t have to completely abandon your normal duties as a sibling, I would just like you to…see that our new Papa,” the word slips out like venom, “is well taken care of by someone I trust.”
Magdalena looks up at Natalie.
“You want her to be your spy, you mean,” the brunette says, crossing her arms. “Copia, you haven’t even met the man, why are you so convinced that he’s going to be a problem for you?”
“Because he took my fucking job, Natalia, that’s why.”
Silence falls in the room. Magda fidgets with the ends of her long, blonde hair that desperately needs a trimming. Natalie sighs, saddened but wanting to avoid an argument.
“As you wish, my love,” she murmurs, coming to his side and placing her palms on his cheeks before bending down and brushing her lips along his hairline. Suddenly, Magdalena feels as if she’s intruding and shifts in her seat.
“I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, Magda,” Copia says quietly but firmly.
“I’d be honored, Frater. I’ll keep my eye on him. Do we um…do we know what he’s called?”
“Perpetua,” Natalie says, her hands on her husband’s shoulders and her thumbs brushing against the expensive black fabric. “The fifth of Nihil Emeritus’ name.”
—
“Are you nervous, Magda? You look nervous.”
Magdalena fusses at the cuff of her smart black blouse, lent to her by Natalie. It’s been a long while since she’s been so formally dressed - back to her old life to be certain - and it’s making her antsy. Sathanas, she doesn’t want to do this. She wants to be wearing her faded, well-worn Levi’s with her apron wound around her waist as she twirls through her kitchen with the grace of Cyd Charisse to some dumbass pop song on the radio while she bakes a loaf of sourdough. Instead her pink, glossy lips pull into a taut grimace as she looks up slightly at Frater Imperator’s inquisitive gaze.
“Yes, I’m nervous. No, I don’t want to talk about it.”
Copia opens his mouth like he fully intends on making her talk about it when they both turn to watch his wife stride towards them with the three retired Papas in tow. Terzo gives Magda a cheeky little wink as he strolls up alongside them, which sets her at ease.
“Can you behave yourself, please, Terzo Emeritus?” Natalie asks, shuffling into place next to Copia in her beautiful dark red crepe tea dress. “You know where this man is coming from, I won’t have him going into cardiac arrest within the first few minutes of being here because, I don’t know, you decided to hump Magdalena’s leg.”
Magda and Secondo both guffaw.
“Jealous, amata sorellina?” Terzo grins, “Because I no longer pine for you, but for the blonde bombshell?”
“One, you pine for anything with a pulse so jot that down and two, I felt your eyes on my ass while we were walking here so don’t play games with me, amato fratello.”
Magdalena loves this, loves the banter this weird little family has and at the same time as it fills her with light and laughter, it also makes her burn with envy. Ah, well. Their Unholy Father would be proud of her, she supposes. She thinks back to what Natalie said about ‘where this man is coming from’ and she frowns.
“Nat,” she whispers, leaning forward to see her from Copia’s other side, “what–”
Magda doesn’t get a chance to ask what the hell she meant by that because the doors to the vestibule open and all six of them stand to attention. Several ghouls usher in a man, slight in frame just like his twin but oh. Oh. Magdalena sucks in a gasp so sharp she actually hiccups. The man tentatively stepping towards their group is beautiful. She’s always found Copia handsome - she’d be oblivious not to - but this creature is breathtaking. Soft, pale features and the all-too-familiar mismatched Emeritus eyes with a head full of dark curls smoothed away from his face. He blinks at her and his pillowy lips flit upwards into a besotted smile.
“Magda.”
She hears Copia and at the same time, she doesn’t. How could she when the shiny points of the canines on the man in front of her peek out at her.
“Magdalena!”
“Hmm?”
She finally manages to tear her grey gaze away from this man only to find that the eyes of everyone else in her party are trained on her like she’s sprouted a second head. And a third.
“I said,” Copia sniffs, gesturing to her, “Sister Magdalena Vincent, this is my…brother. Papa V Perpetua. Sister Magdalena is going to be working as your assistant.”
She almost sticks her hand out for him to take when he meets her halfway and takes it in between his larger ones, encased in black leather gloves so like his twin. He raises her hand towards his mouth and for one terrifying, wild moment she thinks he’s going to kiss it but instead he just inclines his head, allowing his breath to brush over her knuckles. It is a dazzlingly intimate gesture and it makes Magda’s calves tremble.
Magdalena Vincent doesn’t believe in romantic love.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Dream SMP
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Cara | CaptainPuffy/Hannah | Hannahxxrose, Past CaptainPuffy/Nihachu, Cara | CaptainPuffy & Darryl Noveschosch | BadBoyHalo
Characters: Cara | CaptainPuffy, Hannah | Hannahxxrose, Niki | Nihachu, Darryl Noveschosch | BadBoyHalo
Additional Tags: Red Banquet (Dream SMP), Stolen Glances, Anxiety, messy relationships, Cults, Misunderstandings, Unhappy Ending, Betrayal, Developing Relationship, Canon Dialogue, Its sort of canon compliant but I just embellished things a bit lol
Summary:
Captain Puffy has been preparing for the Red Banquet for a while. Will this be the start of a new era on the Dream SMP or will it end in flames? Tensions are high and Puffy isn’t sure if her anxiety is from some unspoken longing for Hannah or the harrowing events of the evening.
thank you to @bonheur-cafe @whatsintheboxmh @everlastingday @thisbuildinghasfeelings @alrightbuckaroo and @carlos-in-glasses!
first and foremost, i want to say thank you to everyone who gave me any support or encouragement during this year as I approach my one year anniversary of posting my first published fic. 💕
secondly, thank you to @bonheur-cafe @herefortarlos and @your-catfish-friend for being so lovely and beta reading for me this year :)
the daylight holds you close, but tonight you are mine (tarlos, E, 1K)
PWP, 1x10 coda (sorta)
as long as i'm with you (tarlos, E, 4.5k)
TK's birthday trip, football and shenanigans
in paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams (tarlos, T, 1.6k)
fluff, valentine's day, fiance era
love and libraries (nancy x marjan, GA, 1.2k)
domestic fluff, established nancy x marjan, library date
i miss you in the mornings when i see the sun (TK centric, M, 822 words)
grief, self-harm, destructive thoughts, angst
kiss it better baby (nancy x marjan, E, 2.1k)
3x07 coda, post-softball game, wlw smut
soulmates aren't just lovers (nancy and carlos, T, 6.1k)
college AU, queer awakening, friendship (part one of series)
like a bird set free (buck centric featuring tarlos, M, 1.1k)
coming out, tk and carlos being supportive gay friends
all of my wildest dreams just end up with you and me (tarlos, E, 2k)
domestic fluff, smut, napping (with accompanying art by the lovely @whatsintheboxmh)
bound by love, united forever (tarlos, GA, 200 words)
double drabble, anniversary, matching tattoos
stay close to those who feel like sunlight (nancy and carlos, T, 1.3k)
4x11 coda, hurt/comfort, friendship, angst, my take on the 24k bank account explanation (part two of soulmates aren't just lovers series)
be still, my foolish heart (nancy and carlos, GA, 625 words)
nancy and carlos's monthly friendship date, anxiety, comfort (part three of soulmates aren't just lovers series)
my other half was you (nancy x marjan, GA, 3.5k)
fluff, nancy/mateo breakup, first dates
all we wanted was a place to feel like home (buddie, M, 1k)
8x06 coda, love confessions, buck POV
i like when we talk, but i love it when we touch (nancy x marjan, E, 2k)
infidelity, 5x01 coda, porn with feelings
no pressure tags to @captain-gillian @pelorsdyke @reyesstrand @literateowl @pimento-playing-hopscotch @sugdenlovesdingle @paperstorm @eclectic-sassycoweyes @your-catfish-friend @welcometololaland @carlos-tk @laelipoo @nisbanisba @carlossreaders
Ngl i kinda wish penicillium chrysogenum looked like one of them phallic mushrooms so I could confidently say this dad joke my brain concocted/rustled up this morning:
Mushrooms put the penic in penicillin
But alas they are 1. not exactly a mushroom (...unless?) and 2. apparently look like this:
Here is part two of my story for the @inklings-challenge 2024!
Team: Lewis
Genre: Space Travel
Themes: Instruct the ignorant/Pray for living and dead
Word Count: 3,229 [PART 1] | 3,839 [PART 2]
PART 2
Zavion awoke with a start, his datapad on his chest. A yellow blinking light indicated its power cell was drained. How long had he been asleep? The lights in the reading room were at a dim glow. The room was silent apart from the ever present soft whirr of the server banks. He stretched aching muscles and staggered to his feet. Carefully, he secured the manuscript he had requested, returning it to stasis. With a yawn, he gathered his few belongings and took a step toward the curtained entrance of the alcove. A flurry of urgent whispers anchored him to the spot. Shuffling footsteps followed a hushed exchange too low for him to make out. He peered out between the curtains and saw two emissaries with hoods drawn up hurrying down the hall.
Zavion watched as they approached a transportlift across the wide passage and entered a complex code. Zavion waited a long moment after the two had entered the lift and departed. He should really go back to his quarters and go to bed. Morning and another day of filing plastisheets would be here all too soon. With a sigh, Zavion walked over to the lift. He knew a mystery such as this would keep him awake for whatever was left of the night.
Thanks to a long afternoon helping Emissary Ilana Karri repair several malfunctioning transportlifts, he knew the admin code to recall the last destination. His hand trembled slightly as he punched in the code and entered the lift. His stomach dropped as the module descended swiftly, plunging deep into the mountain. The doors slid open onto a dark stone corridor that curved slightly to the left, making any guess to where it led impossible. The light from the lift cast a weak glow, but there was no other source of illumination. Zavion hesitated. He dug through his pockets and found his small reading light. Switching it on, he took a deep breath and entered the corridor. The lift slid shut behind him and he was alone in the dark.
Zavion reached out and placed one hand on the wall next to the lift. Holding his light high with his other hand, he followed the curve of the passage, winding ever deeper into the depths below the library. Voices brought him to a halt and he extinguished his light, feeling his way along until he could see a small group clustered in a large, open gallery carved out of the rock.
The central figure was reciting something, words that sent a tremor through him even before he recognized them. The man was speaking in High Dakari, a language only found in the Empire’s oldest records and no longer spoken by any living race. Zavion had studied it, like every serious scholar, but he had never expected to hear it outside of classroom recitations.
Translating in his head, he recognized a few familiar phrases. It was the Canticle of Avrum spoken in high chant, but a longer, more complex version than any he had ever heard. The ancient prayer was attributed to the Blessed Prophet himself. Its chief importance was in it being the oldest record of the Order’s mandate to spread throughout the galaxy and seek new species.
Zavion shook his head. What was going on here? Why were these emissaries meeting in the middle of the night? He edged closer. The rock wall was cool on his skin as he pressed against it. The chanting trailed off and silence reined for a few moments. Zavion held his breath.
A robed figure stood and raised his hands. “Let us pray together,” he said. Zavion held in a gasp. He knew that voice. Narrowing his eyes, he strained to make out details. It had to be Steward Ebrim. The man’s build was right and the voice was unmistakable. The group knelt on the hard ground and began to speak in turn. They were calling out to the creator, asking for his help, praising his goodness.
Zavion put a hand to his mouth. This was more than just a few brother emissaries being a little too obsessed with tradition. This could actually be a resurgence of the ancient Cult of the Seekers. Indignation and disbelief warred within him. The group started singing, a haunting melody that echoed off the walls of the corridor. He turned and fled. The last thing he wanted was to be caught spying by a group of fanatics.
Safe back in his quarters, Zavion paced the room. The situation was unheard of. What was he supposed to do? Reporting the aberration would definitely get him the transfer he wanted. Zavion flushed, ashamed of the thought as soon as it formed. He took a deep breath and tried to reconcile what he had seen with what he knew of the emissaries he had met since coming to Karatu.
Whatever their religious inclinations, the people here were good. Perhaps a little boring and scholarly for his taste, but they were certainly not rebels fomenting an overthrow of the Empire. He did not want to cause a scandal and throw the entire library into turmoil. Who knew how many reputations would be destroyed or how much scholarly work discredited?
“As long as I don’t let on I know their secret everything will be fine,” Zavion said to himself, “No one knows I saw anything. I’ll forget it ever happened.” With this decision made, Zavion changed into his nightclothes, climbed into bed, and proceeded to think about nothing else.
#
Zavion almost jumped out of his skin the next morning when Davix clapped his hand on his shoulder as he picked at the sweet bread he had brought back to the table for morning meal.
“Where were you last night?” Davix asked.
“What?” Zavion almost choked on a crumb of sweet bread, his mouth suddenly dry. “I wasn’t anywhere. Why?”
“We were going to play a game of stones before nightfall, but you weren’t in your rooms.” He laughed. “You weren’t poking around parts of the library you shouldn’t, were you?”
Zavion shook his head, his heart racing as he feigned what he hoped looked like casual indifference. “Nothing so interesting. I fell asleep in the reading room. I’m afraid I was much more concerned with Ebrim catching me out after curfew and quite forgot about our game.”
Davix shrugged. “No matter. We can try again tonight.” He paused, as if he were going to ask something else, but only shook his head and departed. Zavion breathed a sigh of relief, but the feeling didn’t last long. His datapad beeped and Zavion looked to find a message from Steward Ebrim asking him to report to his study after morning meal.
Zavion disposed of the sweet bread, unable to eat another bite and drank down the last of his hot caf. He set the cup down with a trembling hand and forced himself to walk calmly to the steward’s study. Once there, Zavion knocked and waited for the man’s soft “enter” before opening the door.
Steward Ebrim sat at his desk, rifling through papers. He did not look up as Zavion entered, but continued to sort through the large stack of documents in front of him. Zavion stood straight, sweaty hands tightening into fists inside the sleeves of his robe.
“Sit,” Ebrim finally said, “I assume you have some questions.”
“About what?” Zavion stammered, folding himself into the chair opposite Ebrim.
“Don’t play me for the fool, my boy,” Ebrim said with a sharp look that seem to pin Zavion like a fly caught in a spider’s gaze, “I know you were there last night, in the catacombs.”
Zavion slumped. “How?”
“I take care to erase all record of our comings and goings on evenings like last night. An extra lift transport with your borrowed admin code was a bit obvious.”
“Oh.” Zavion sucked in a breath. He stared at Ebrim, who looked back calmly as if they were discussing an interesting point in a text they were translating. “Why?” he blurted out, “Why risk so much?”
Ebrim sighed. “A strong desire to know the truth and live accordingly.” He raised an eyebrow, his ears drooping as Zavion’s mouth fell open.
“What truth? There is no scientific proof that the creator exists. Even if it is the tradition of our Order to attribute our mandate to the Prophet Avrum, no one actually believes he communed with an all-powerful creator.”
“You’d be surprised,” Ebrim said, “The number of people who do believe is precisely why what you witnessed last night is so dangerous. I half expected the Matori to be on our doorstep this morning.”
Zavion blinked at his mention of the Empire’s elite shock troops. “The Matori?” He almost laughed, but the sound died in his throat at the sobering look in Ebrim’s eyes. “The situation might merit academic censure… a review of the participants work, perhaps…” he trailed off.
Ebrim shook his head. “To the Empire, the Seekers, beings throughout the galaxy who believe in the original mission of Avrum, are a real and present threat. They give no quarter when eradicating any who sympathize with our beliefs.”
Zavion took a shuddering breath. “Do you advocate overthrowing the Empress?”
“No.” Ebrim straightened. “We would like the truth to come out, of course, but mostly we want to be able to worship the Creator in peace.”
Zavion grasped his head in his hands. “What truth?” he almost shouted.
Ebrim tapped his fingers on the desk, his eyes narrowing. “I suppose it will do no harm to tell you at this point.” He leaned forward. “What we are taught about early galactic history is the barest outline of the events surrounding the foundation of the Empire. What most do not know is that we possess an abundance of records, both from that time period and the centuries following its early expansion.”
Zavion shook his head, the scholar within him offended that the texts he had spent so much time looking for might actually exist somewhere. “Why would the Empire suppress such knowledge?”
“Because it does not fit their narrative of how they gained supremacy. It is true that Avrum lived on Dakardr and his brother, Lexrun, was a leader of their people. However, Lexrun was only a prominent figure in what was a cooperative government of the planets orbiting the star, Alestria. It was Avrum who was held in high regard, even in the neighboring star systems. His writings were carefully preserved by his followers, the original emissaries. These men went out and spread the word of Avrum, which was a message of hope and a quest for something more.
As belief in the Creator spread, the Order became more established. They kept records on every species they encountered and soon had amassed more knowledge than any individual planet or system possessed. At first, they were consulted as intermediaries when disputes broke out between different groups. Systems came together, some more powerful than others. Dynasties rose and fell, but the Order remained. Then about six hundred years after the time of Avrum, the leaders of Dakardr decided that since their planet held all the knowledge, they should also hold all the power. Some among the emissaries agreed and allowed the government to use their knowledge of all the other species to conquer them.
As Dakardr’s power grew, the Order was relegated to a supporting role, and, as governments are wont to do, its ruling cooperative devolved into tyranny and the first true Emperor of Alestria was crowned.”
Zavion rubbed his forehead, trying to absorb this radically different version of what he held to be the history of his people. “Even if this is true, if the Empire’s rise to power wasn’t as clean and simple as most think, what does that have to do with your belief in the creator? How does it change the historical fact that Avrum was simply a wise man who brought people together and encouraged them to respect each species’ culture as adding to, instead of taking away from, their own?”
“Because the Empire hid more than its dubious beginnings,” Ebrim said, slapping his desk, “They suppressed the writings of Avrum himself, which give a completely different perspective on what our Order originally believed and what our very purpose is.”
“And what purpose is that? What are you seeking?”
Ebrim shook his head. “I’ve said enough. Much more and you won’t be able to claim ignorance.” He paused, his ears twitching. “What do you intend to do?”
Zavion blinked. “Do?”
“Are you going to report us to the Empire? I understand if you feel it your duty, but I hope I have gained enough respect in your eyes that you would inform me of your intentions.”
“I would never…” Zavion stammered, “I don’t agree with what you are doing, but I see no need to involve the Matori.”
“Very well.” Ebrim eyed him with interest. “I would ask you not to tell anyone about what we have discussed here or what you saw last night.”
Zavion stood and gave the steward a formal bow. “I give you my word,” he said, “but…” he paused, looking away, “May I ask more questions at a later date?”
“Of course,” Ebrim said, a hint of a smile in his eyes. “For now, you should get back to work. It wouldn’t do for today to seem any more unusual.”
Zavion nodded and left the study, his head in a whirl.
#
Zavion completed his daily routine, meticulously proofing plastisheets, packing them up for transport, and joining two other emissaries to help prepare the evening meal. He attended to each task with a laser focus that blocked out all other thoughts. He was beginning to think he might actually be able to proceed as if everything were normal when Davix showed up at his door for their game of stones.
Zavion pulled his only other chair over to his desk and Davix set up the pieces on the checkered board. They played a few moves in silence, Zavion losing two pieces to a careless mistake.
Davix eyed him as he collected the two white stones. “Head not in the game tonight?”
“I’m just tired,” Zavion replied.
Davix pushed an upright gray stone forward. “You were closeted with Steward Ebrim for quite a while this morning,” he said with a studied indifference.
The hairs on the back of Zavion’s arms stood on end. The statement seemed too pointed to be coincidental. He shrugged, moving an oval pearlescent stone to counter Davix’s move. “He found out I’ve been looking into a transfer.”
“You’ve been begging anyone who will listen,” Davix laughed. “Was he extolling the virtues of the library and the importance of the old ways?”
Zavion nodded, wondering what he meant by old ways. Did he suspect just how traditional Ebrim’s beliefs were? “It’s not that I don’t think it’s important,” Zavion said, trying to sound as annoyed as usual, “It’s just not for me.”
Davix nodded slowly, returning his attention to the game and Zavion’s shoulders relaxed. He was being paranoid. There was no double meaning behind his friend’s comment. He just needed a good night’s sleep and everything would go back to normal.
#
The next day was anything but normal. Zavion awoke to the entire library buzzing like an overturned skimmet’s nest. The great hall was deserted, plates of half-finished meals left abandoned, chairs pushed out or toppled over. Emissaries rushed to and fro down the passageways. Some gathered in tiny knots of heated conversation, others carried large satchels of belongings as if they were leaving on foot. Not a few glared at him when he tried to approach.
Panic rising in his chest, Zavion hurried to Steward Ebrim’s study. The door was ajar. He pushed it open to find Ebrim vaporizing a small pile of plastisheets.
“What is happening?” Zavion demanded from the doorway.
Ebrim’s eyes snapped up. “Oh. It’s you,” he said, waving Zavion forward, “I was about to come looking for you.”
“What?” Zavion’s knees wobbled as he made his way forward and grasped the back of the chair he had occupied the morning before.
“The Matori are coming,” Ebrim said, his voice crisp and matter of fact, “They will be here by nightfall.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Zavion stammered, his grip tightening until his knuckles whitened.
“I know,” Ebrim replied, “Which is why I wanted to speak to you. I need you to do something for me.”
Zavion nodded, his throat tightening on the millions of questions that flooded his mind. “Of course,” he choked out, “What do you need me to do?”
“Take this.” Ebrim removed the Star of Avrum from around his neck and held it out to Zavion. He accepted with trembling hands.
“I don’t understand.”
“Switch it with yours,” Ebrim said, turning back to his desk, “No one will notice. They are all identical to the naked eye.”
Zavion did as he was told. “What is special about this one?”
“It contains a data crystal with the writings of Avrum and the location of where we have hidden copies off all the ancient texts. That is what we have been doing here, preserving the knowledge before it is lost forever. If you find another Seeker pass it on, if not… Knowing the knowledge is out there will be enough.”
“Why are you trusting me with this?” Zavion swallowed. “And why can’t one of you take it out of here?”
Ebrim shook his head. “It is too late for that, my boy. The Matori will ferret out every last one of us. They will never suspect you, a fresh recruit who has been pestering every department imaginable for a transfer out of this ancient pile.” His eyes twinkled. “As for why I trust you…” Ebrim smiled, his ears perking up. “You have a good heart and you want to believe, I can feel it.”
Zavion held the pendant in both hands. “How do you know? That the Matori are coming,” he clarified.
“We intercepted a transmission late last night. It was the Ahiri.”
“Davix?” Zavion gasped. “It couldn’t be…” he faltered as he remembered his friend’s odd comments and the strange feeling he’d gotten the night before. His knees felt weak. “I don’t want to believe it,” he said, scrubbing at his eyes, “How could he betray you like that?”
“I told you. Most see the Seekers as subversives.” Ebrim shook his head. “Poor man, he probably felt he was doing his duty.” He sighed. “What’s done is done. Do not worry about him now. He is locked in his quarters where he can do no more harm.”
Zavion sank into the chair. “What are you going to do? Is there time for you to escape?”
“No. Some may try, but I am the Steward and the leader of our fellowship of Seekers. They will not rest until they find me.”
“What about me?” Zavion flushed, his cheeks hot. “Davix knows I have been spending a great deal of time under your tutelage.”
“Not enough,” Ebrim said, “There is so much I want to tell you, but there simply isn’t time. Remember this. We are seekers because we are looking for something.”
“What?” Zavion asked, leaning forward.
Ebrim shook his head. “There is too much to do. As for you, tell the Matori the truth about what you saw, even what I told you the next morning. Just keep what is in the star I gave you a secret. You will understand when you read it.” He put a firm hand on Zavion’s shoulder. “I pray that the Creator keep you safe.”
#
The next few hours played out much as Steward Ebrim had predicted. The Matori, fierce in their unadorned black armor descended upon the library, sealing exits and sequestering its inhabitants. No corner was left unchecked.
Zavion waited in his quarters, pacing up and down the small room. He had been questioned briefly, faring better than most, it seemed. Zavion shivered, unable to forget the screams that had echoed down the halls as he was escorted to his interview. He had done as Ebrim instructed, though shame had burned within him, fear had frozen it out. His rambling answers had satisfied the dour Matori, and he was sent back to his room like a naughty child. As he left, he had heard Davix’s name linked with his and the thought that the man had vouched for him made his stomach roil.
The next morning everyone was herded into the great hall. Zavion watched, a painful lump in his throat, as the Matori carted away racks of servers and cartons of stasis modules. His fellow emissaries were battered and bruised, some staring with vacant eyes, others openly weeping. Davix was nowhere to be seen.
A tall Matori with a red slash across his helmet strode into the room. “Bring forth the accused,” he bellowed.
Steward Ebrim and several other emissaries were marched in, their hands bound in flexicuffs. Zavion sucked in a breath. The prisoners all bore signs of a night spent enduring the Matori’s brutal interrogation methods. Bile rose as they were lined up against the wall.
This can’t be happening, Zavion thought. The tall Matori read something aloud about crimes against the Empire, but all Zavion heard was a high-pitched buzzing in his ears. The room seemed to spin and blur. The Matori raised their weapons. He couldn’t turn away.
Ebrim held his head high, his eyes still shining with cheerful confidence. He’s going to meet his creator, Zavion thought as weapons flashed and silence reigned.
#
Months passed before Zavion even dared to look at the data crystal. Finally given leave after his “ordeal,” he caught a ship home and trekked far out into the wooded wilderness beyond the tiny village he had hoped to never see again. Far from prying eyes, he spent several weeks translating the clue to the code to unlock the files. At last, with trembling hands, he accessed the writings of Avrum that Ebrim and the others had given their lives for.
In the stillness, I heard the Creator’s voice and he said, “Go and seek among the varied creatures of the cosmos. Make note of their stories and traditions, and in time you will find the blessed world, made holy by my hand. Its people I have anointed and have entrusted to them the truth that may know me and learn my ways. This sign I give to you, that you may know you have found my people. This blessed world is the single place in the vast universe where I, the Creator, entered into his own creation, spirit and matter, two natures, but one God.”
Zavion took a shuddering breath. He did not yet understand, but his heart was burning within his chest and he knew he wanted to believe. He wanted to know the Creator. He was a Seeker, like Ebrim. In a low whisper, he began to pray.
