#evil business casual starlight

[toothpaste-for-the-skin]

Realizing I never posted this older doodle of Starlight I did

[uwua3]

hi, first of all your blog is so pretty damnnn! so are requests open? if they're open, can i request for jealous misumi headcanon?

thank you so much for being the first person to ever request! you’re the absolute best ♡ i really hope you like this~ have a happy, happy day!!!

summary: misumi knew he didn’t deserve you, but he wanted you more than anything

warnings: abandonment, depression, family trauma, insecurity, jealousy

author’s note: i wish to apologize for not seeing this sooner :( i hope you know i didn’t purposely ignore this because the moment i saw this, i became so happy! i am forever grateful for your request, thank you for everything! ♡

i purposely left the ending open! it’s up to you what decision you would have made with your relationship with misumi + i wanted to acknowledge misumi’s vulnerability because of his past; i felt as if growing up in a hostile, competitive environment leads to stunted emotions and not being able to understand one self. it’s a bit personal because i think most of us understand being afraid to take risks to go after what we want because we feel as if we don’t deserve it. i’m here to tell you, don’t let it build up, it’s better to disappoint someone for a moment than yourself for a lifetime! go for it! i believe in you!

word count: 1,489

music: want you more – harlequin gold

upon the rooftop.

🌻⚠️ ikaruga misumi

misumi didn’t realize how attached he became until it was too late

he’d casually come up to you with no clue why you turned so red when he held your hand, or when he refused to leave your side because he enjoyed your company

after all, he’s only recently discovered what having good friends is like!

but it’s hard to know the difference with misumi since he’s like this with everyone, always ready with his special triangle to make them smile—it honestly feels like you’re just like everyone else

you started thinking misumi’s affectionate & clingy behavior was a joke since he was so indifferent and unbothered by your attempts to drop hints that you’re interested

seriously... you once even told him you liked him straight to his face and he was lost in his daily town mapping to find the best triangles

did he respond? no. misumi just started rambling about the best hotspots of triangles that were around, much to your embarrassment

so you decided you shouldn’t waste your time on someone who didn’t even understand personal relationships and tried to move on, as much as it hurted to admit. how can you be romantically involved with someone who was incapable of having proper feelings? you knew you didn’t believe that... but it was for the best

yet, misumi was confused for the first time in a while. he was always sure: always knew the backroads to the next triangular treasure, always knew what time the members woke up and went to sleep, and always knew what mood they were in the moment he stepped into the room, but he couldn’t figure you out at all

he was slowly, but painfully, becoming aware of how you stopped returning his touches and didn’t even look at the gifts he brought back. but he didn’t know it wasn’t personal, but to you, it looked like misumi didn’t care you were with someone else all the time

when in reality, misumi trusted you 100% and thought you just had more friends, which was completely okay! misumi was very happy you had more people to talk to, pushing down the evil feelings of envy in a place only he knew. you were probably just busy being a social butterfly, right?

until one day, misumi saw you take off the “best friends” triangle necklace you two shared before heading out of the dorms to some person across the street

misumi was... what was this? he slouched down at the balcony, unmotivated to even go outside. he quickly jumped off to another adventure searching for triangles, but his coping mechanism was beginning to fail at giving him momentary distraction. what was this feeling? was he... jealous?

but, he couldn’t be! nothing belonged to misumi in this world. misumi grew up in a brutally blunt home that saw feelings as weakness. misumi had nothing to him because he didn’t deserve it... that was that

misumi came home to the mankai dorms with nothing that day, and you didn’t even notice

misumi thought he didn’t deserve you, and it was selfish of him to even think you’d pay attention to him when he couldn’t emote like everyone else (but it wasn’t really his fault, it’s just the way he was raised)

misumi became secluded from the others due to this realization. it was one internal struggle to another, the jealousy bringing past childhood trauma to the surface. misumi was afraid of exposing his past after maintaining an easygoing persona for so long

the mankai boys were on edge; they’ve never seen this side of misumi where it was like he was actually fully aware of his own actions. misumi would pop in every now and then to avoid suspicion, but his triangle trips became less frequent and his hyperfixiation even seemed exaggerated

none of them knew what to do, because you appeared exactly the same and misumi’s character had a full 180 flip like he was a stranger

but he didn’t act any different around you. misumi treated it like it was a street act; he was hurt, but you could never tell

but never fear, misumi’s jealousy was never angry; his fear was bearing any resemblance to his parents after his grandfather passed, so it’s not like he ever blamed you out of spite

in fact, misumi felt like it was all on him. he didn’t know what love was, or what a healthy romantic relationship looked like. so these feelings he had unintentionally held, came attacking his heart the moment he finally realized he liked you, a lot

it was a month after he saw you without your necklace. you were being loudly mocked downstairs in the dorms about your latest date, who you revealed was nothing special and the dating game was boring

the select group of matchmaker boys would groan about your recent endeavors, how they always ended up for nothing

misumi wanted to be the only one with the second date, he thought suddenly

misumi became scared as he laid in his own bed, alone because he couldn’t handle anything else. scared of ending up like his parents with an unhappy marriage and projecting his own insecurities onto you

but then he thought of his grandfather, who was very much in love with acting and woke up everyday to be involved in its craft until the day he died

that, was love. love was when misumi took you to his favorite triangle discoveries and when you actually cared about his strange coping mechanism. love was you wearing that necklace you two shared because he wanted to be the one closest to your heart. misumi loves you, it just took him a bit of jealousy and self–reflection to realize it

sitting up in his dark room and untangling himself from the messy sheets, misumi couldn’t hide behind his triangular daydreams anymore. he had to do something about you because you made him just as happy as his special protractor

he was ready for commitment. he was ready to reveal parts of himself that weren’t ideal, but honest enough so he could explain how he would need patience from you

so he felt everything. years of practice maintaing his calm composure and naive honesty cracked as it came down to this when he sprinted to find you. his door whacked open with a loud boom, alerting the rest of the members of his presence

misumi, with every care in the world at this point, grabbed your hands and pulled you from the boys, not saying a word despite your protests

he deserved this. after years of pretending, never having anything he ever wanted. he needed this. this spontanaeity, not planning out every move in his life. he didn’t need a plan, he needed you

up on the roof you both went even as you questioned him numerous times. but it was like he couldn’t hear you, your words carried away in the wind. you tried stopping him but he couldn’t just settle down, he needed to say it

“i want to take you to more than just triangle trips. i want to go wherever makes you happy, i want to make you happy.”

misumi rushed out, his mouth moving faster than his brain as he stared into your eyes with his fists clenched at his sides. he hadn’t changed his clothes in a few days, he looked like the state of his mind: a mess

it was so heartbreakingly truthful of him that misumi’s wavering posture was highlighted in the moon’s light, his shot of confidence suddenly dying when he glanced at your neck to see it without your triangle necklace

you had never seen him so erratic, so nervous, but so determined in anything. it looked like he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, even though that one word would crush him

the silence was defeaning. misumi exhaled after holding his breath out of nervousness. shoving his hand in his pocket, misumi pulled out another necklace, but this time, much more unique and special to him

the triangle necklace was the first present he ever received with love

“i want to make you happy, like this made me when my grandfather gave it to me. please, take it.”

misumi stood in front of you, tall on the roof’s peak as he shined amongst the night life. for once, he threw out his methodical thinking and was doing what his heart wanted at the moment

misumi was so jealous. jealous of every person you stared at with that look in your sparkling eyes. he only wanted you to smile at him, hold his hand, never leave his side. the list goes on. he knew he didn’t deserve it, but he wanted it so bad—he never needed something so much as he did in that moment

glowing in the starlight laying in the center of his shaking palm, was his heart

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die, Chapter 12

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 12)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: While the assassin makes another attempt on Roman's life, the necromancers find help from an unexpected source--and an all too brief reunion between Logan and Roman has some disturbing results.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: None really, not this time.

Told you this one would come faster. XD It's bigger than most, because the next one is gonna be a whopper--and also, the next installment will be the last! But fear not: I'm already planning a sequel.

...and tbh, I can't stop writing these adorable jerks so you'll get lots more stories outta me. :P

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1022, A.A.

“Pass the glue?”

Logan blinked, slowly looking up from his jacket to gradually focus on Roman's face. Watching him rise from something that had swallowed his whole attention was hopelessly adorable—a thing he could never tell Logan to his face, but could never hide the smile that crept across his face when he watched Logan surface like a pearl diver.

He saw the moment Logan's face shifted, the moment he finally returned to reality. Scanning the craft supplies scattered on the riverbank around them, he located the glue pot and passed it to Roman with a curious frown.

“What are you gluing?” he asked.

Roman held up the white mask he'd selected to go with his costume for the final night of the Festival that Logan had invited him to.

“Feathers! I want to be one of those things you showed me in the graveyard—the creatures etched on the one tombstone?”

“Angels.” Logan reminded him. “You know their wings go on their back, not their face.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “I know that, Starlight. I can't exactly get a pair of wings for my costume on such short notice, though, so I...Logan?”

Roman set his mask down, scooting closer to the other boy with a cold lick of concern in his belly. Logan was staring at him with an intensity that made him want to squirm, and his face had gone completely ashen.

“What's wrong?” Roman asked, reaching for his hand. “Logan, are you all right?”

Logan blinked, drawing a trembling breath before briskly shaking his head as if to clear it.

“I—yes, I am fine. I just...” He trailed off, and that look was on Roman again.

“Why did you call me Starlight?”

Roman couldn't stop himself from frowning, confused. Gesturing to the jacket in Logan's lap, he shrugged.

“The beads you're sewing onto it—it looks like the night sky. It's—it's just a nickname, like Specs. I won't use it anymore if it bothers you.”

“No,” Logan insisted, “it is perfectly acceptable, it's just...it surprised me, that's all. Starlight is actually the name I use for the Festival. As I told you, we forsake our identities at the celebration, so we all use different names. Mine is—is Starlight.”

Roman watched Logan blink, and would have accused Logan of lying except that Logan never lied. He took things too literally, he was just...not the kind of person who did it. Not with Roman, at least. So if he said he was fine...

So why did he look like his whole world had been shaken?

“...Muse.” Roman spoke before he could think about it.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Muse.” he repeated, feeling confident about the decision. “That'll be my name for the evening. Muse.”

Logan just stared at him for a long moment before huffing, shaking his head as he scooted across the grass until he was leaning against Roman's side, shoulder pressed to Roman's arm.

“You're not required to do it. You're not part of the tribe.” Logan pointed out.

“It's your tribe, though—and I don't want to be disrespectful.” Roman insisted, reaching for the bag of feathers Logan had brought for their costume work. “Besides, I...I like it. I understand it. It's all to make the dead feel less alone, isn't it? I want to help.”

Roman focused very hard on picking the feathers he wanted to glue to his mask...and tried not to pay attention to the way Logan's head tipped to rest against his shoulder and just stayed that way for a very long time.

**********

1033, A.A.

“So that's how you did it—this is a problem.”

Roman blinked, shaking his head. He hadn't lost consciousness, he was certain of it.

...well, relatively certain.

Glancing around, Roman realized he was in his father's bedchamber, held fast by a palace guard on either side. He tried to tug free, but they held him fast, staring straight ahead with glassy, unfocused eyes and blank expressions.

“Don't bother—I've been rotating soldiers through dungeon detail for years. Nearly all of them are mine now.”

Roman's chest seized with cold, cloying horror and disbelief. He could feel warmth in the hands that held him, see their chests rising and falling with breath...

He turned to the man standing before him—salt and pepper hair and overly tanned features, with piercing blue eyes Roman was starting to realize he should have known on sight.

Colonel Mori—if only he'd remembered before this moment...

“The same curse you used on my father, I take it?” he asked, proud of how level his voice came out, clear and firm.

“Something like that.” Mori replied, idly tossing a familiar ring into the air, catching it, and repeating the action with casual thoughtlessness. “It's always been a specialty of mine—generational curses. You only have to curse a single man, and an entire bloodline or brotherhood will fall...would, at least,

if not for you and that idiot progeny of mine.”

Roman wasn't aware that he'd lunged until he had one guard's arm around his throat to hold him back. He'd actually slipped free, and found it hard to breathe until he consciously stopped trying to wrestle free of his captors.

“Logan is not an idiot.” he snarled. “He's stronger than all of us—he's the best man I have ever known.”

And just like that, he was aware of all the memories that infernal talisman had been holding back—the stolen moments, the beauty of learning new things about Logan's people...the purity of that young love that had been stolen from him.

He thought of Logan now, that lean and handsome face hardened by ten years of imprisonment...and how it opened up to him the night before, how Logan tucked against him in his sleep and clung to every touch like it would be taken away from him, just as he had when they first met...

Mori's hands were suddenly on him, gripping his chin and yanking his hair until Roman was staring directly into his eyes.

“Logan Crofter is a good man—and that is his downfall.” Mori spat as his eyes began to glow with an unholy orange light. “Good men have too many rules and too many weaknesses.”

Roman tried to shake his head, but couldn't fend off the impossible grip of the necromancer before him, the light of his gaze causing a slow, dull throb through his skull.

“Decent men have rules to keep them decent. Evil men like you have rules so they can revel in breaking them.” Roman replied flatly. “Good men don't need rules. They simply choose and act.”

The pain in his head grew, forcing Roman to close his eyes—but the light was still there, behind his lids and in his brain, turning the dull throb into a burn.

“So I'm looking forward, Colonel, to watching you face a good man with no rules—and nothing to lose.”

Mori's laughter was grating in his ears as Roman slowly began to lose the ability to think coherently.

“He has one thing, Your Highness...he has you. And I'm going to make sure he comes to find you so I can get what I want: the soul of another Lazari.”

There was some shuffling, a voice—and Roman's blood ran cold as he hung helpless in the grip of a guard and lost his hold on reality.

“Remy Somnum! Bring me Lord Janus. It's high time I added his life to my collection.”

“Yes, Master.”

********** 1023, A.A.

“You're certain this is where it is?”

Roman nodded as he finally opened the padlock on the door of the long abandoned storeroom, deeep in the bowels of the palace dungeons. “The locator spell Remus gave me works. He knows more about magic than half the court mages, even if he can't use it.”

“Picking locks as well.” Logan observed with a raised eyebrow.

Glancing over his shoulder at Logan, Roman just grinned at his expression.

“Remus didn't teach me that.” he declared, pushing the door open and ushering Logan in ahead of him. “If I'm going to be king one day, I shan't rely on anyone else to rescue me—what if I have to break free of some prison or shackles?”

Logan stepped into the room ahead of him, but immediately stopped and turned to face him, looking at Roman with blue eyes that glittered with something Roman couldn't name, something that made it hard to breathe.

It happened so fast he almost couldn't process it—Logan's hands in his tunic, the sudden feel of warmth crowding his front...

The soft, firm, smacking press of a kiss to his mouth that made his heart, and the rest of the world, stop.

For long moments, they just stared at each other, Logan seemingly reeling as much as Logan was.

“I...I am—I'm—apologies.” Logan stammered, trying to busy himself with straightening his tie instead of holding onto Roman's tunic. “I did not mean...that is to say—I just—your intellectual moments, they just—you're so—and I--”

Roman snatched up Logan's hand, pressing his lips to the back of it. He could feel Logan trembling, and Roman felt his heart tremble in sync with it.

“Me, too, Starlight.”

For a second they just stood there, Logan's hand in his, and Roman's heart...

He had never, not once in his short fourteen years of life, ever felt so tranquil or so powerful, and definitely not both at the same time.

Roman forced himself to be the strong one, releasing Logan's hand so he could shut the door and finally take proper stock of the room.

There was barely any light through the bars on the small window in the door, but Logan moved forward with purpose, locating a torch and lighting it with some spell Roman didn't recognize—one that ignited a dazzling blue-white flame that was far clearer and brighter than the golden flicker of normal torchlight.

The layer of dust covering everything in the room was so thick Roman could feel the urge to cough bubbling in his throat just from breathing the air. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and could have made it easy to mistake the space for a library save for the fact that there were very few books on any of those shelves.

“It's like some kind of storeroom.” Logan observed. “That, or...perhaps a trophy room?”

“I told you,” Roman reminded him, “this palace is full of hidden nooks and crevices—places to hide, or to hide something you don't want anyone else to find. I hardly ever notice this door, but the locator spell sure did.”

“So...who does this belong to?” Logan wondered aloud, venturing over to one of the shelving units that had a few books scattered throughout. “And if these are trophies, what are they trophies of?”

Roman wondered the same thing, so intensely it took him a moment to realize Logan was no longer by his side. Shaking himself, Roman crossed the room carefully, painfully aware of the layer of dust his feet were disturbing as he came to stand beside Logan in front of the shelf. His eyes scanned over the objects and books displayed there until...

“Here!” he suddenly blurted, reaching up to pluck a book off the shelf. “This binding matches the Tomes in the palace library.”

Passing the small, leatherbound volume to Logan, he watched as Logan ran his fingers over the cover with a strangely thoughtful look, head cocked just slightly before he opened the volume.

“Is that it?” he asked hopefully. “The geneaology?”

Logan stared at the first page, shaking his head. “No...I mean, it is one of the Tomes, the one you likely said would have the magical bloodlines of the royal family, but—Roman, this was hidden for a reason. It's one of the Forbidden Tomes.”

“What?! Weren't those lost before the fall of the Animator?”

“Affirmative...this one, however, is quite new. Old still, mind you, but maybe two hundred years old at the most.” Logan looked up at Roman, eyes wide.

“I think this volume is a reconstruction.”

That rattled around in Roman's head, untethered and incomprehensible. “Who would be old enough to be able to rewrite one of the Forbidden Tomes? And how do you know how old this book is?”

Logan just stared at it...then flipped a couple of pages before going weirdly still.

“I can...it's an incorrect description, but I can hear it. The Tomes are written in mystical dialects, languages laden with power. My power.”

He lifted his head, meeting Roman's gaze head on with an intensity that stole Roman's breath.

“The mystical dialect this book was composed in is Mairome—the language of necromancy.”

Roman couldn't get his voice to work for a long moment as Logan turned back to the Tome and began reading, eyes flicking back and forth at a speed that was vaguely dizzying, trying to consume every nuance of the page, drinking it all in.

“What...what does it say?” he finally managed to ask aloud.

Logan didn't answer for a long moment. He shut the book gently, his gaze cast downwards.

“It says,” Logan finally answered, “that King Thomas Roman I is the name of the Animator.”

“...that can't be true. That...that means...”

“It means that the king did not slay the Animator—it means your ancestor assassinated the king. It means the Necromata have a legitimate claim to the throne.”

Roman ran his hands over his face, dizzy with the onslaught of information. “Who knew this that they had to take this book from the palace library and hide it here?”

“I think I know that, too.” Logan croaked, handing the book to Roman. “Start here—you should be able to read it.”

Roman accepted the book and peered at the page. Most of the text was a blurry mess of gently glowing lines and strange symbols, but some of the words were written in clear, plain English in various parts of the page.

When he was done, he passed the book back to Logan, reeling.

“Mori...I know that name.” Roman realized. “What are these?”

“They are the True Names of the monarchy.” Logan replied. “I know the name as well—it is the name of the man who tried to kill me when we first met.”

“...you never told me that.”

“I did not know his place among the palace guard—if he was someone close to you, I feared for your safety if he knew you were aware of his crimes.”

“Corporal Mori...he's a member of the dungeon guard.” Roman murmured. “My brother and I used to sneak into the dungeons to play at adventuring when we were little—he was a new private back then, and cruel to both of us. But...Logan?”

“Yes?”

“The name in there, below Thomas Roman I. Is that the Animator's son?”

Logan swallowed thickly. “It is.”

“But...but his True Name is Crofter...that's your last name.”

“Affirmative. At least...it was. Just as Mori's name was once Thomas Roman Sanders.”

Roman couldn't speak around the sudden tightness in his throat. Instead, Logan spoke for him.

“The Animator...he's not your ancestor, Roman—he's mine.”

Then the door of the storage room opened, slamming against the pile of detritus behind it.

Roman froze. Logan, however, snatched the book and rose.

“I'll lead him away—get back to your rooms at once, and look after Virgil.”

“Logan--”

He was cut off by another abrupt kiss, this one on the cheek.

“We'll get out of this, one way or another. I swear it on the Spider's Thread.”

Then Logan was gone, diving between the legs of the figure in the doorway to lead him away from Roman's location.

********** 1033, A.A.

“Paddock.”

Patton looked up from where he was crouched beside Logan's prone, writhing body. Logan's eyes had rolled back into his head and he was muttering incoherently while he twitched and twisted with an agony Patton could only guess at.

The voice that had spoken aloud belonged to a prison mage he recognized. The man was tall, dark, and tanned. He was handsome, mostly—he always wore dark glasses that hid his eyes, so it was difficult to be sure.

“What're you doing here, Somnum?” Remus asked sharply. He was awfully fast, next to Virgil one minute and the next standing beside Janus in front of Logan's prone form so Patton could only see Master Somnum through the space between their shoulders.

“Remy—the name's Remy, you fuckin' killjoys.” the mage sighed. “Will you just move already? Patton can vouch for me.”

“I can?” He asked uncertainly. Patton's nostrils flared on reflex, trying to scent the air—and immediately felt his magic rise, all animal instinct and threat.

The smell of death, old and ripe, was on the air. Not the smell of corpses or long settled dust, but death, fresh damp grave dirt and sticky in his lungs like worms crawling.

But...

Patton turned to Virgil, crouched beside him, and put a hand on his shoulder. Virgil just looked at him, then at Remus and Remy, and nodded before focusing on his brother again.

Patton stood and came to stand next to Remus. He could feel more than hear the subsonic hiss building in the back of Janus's throat nearby, and found his gaze to reassure him before he faced the prison mage.

“He knows my True Name.” Patton admitted. “Janus can confirm it...but how?”

Remy didn't answer right away. He just stared at Patton, making him feel squirmy stomach and trembly. Breathing felt...not hard, but strange, and he wasn't sure if he liked it--

Reaching up, Remy removed his dark glasses.

“'Cause mine's Graymalkin.” he replied softly.

“What does that mean?” Virgil snapped testily. “Quoting Macbeth at each other won't--”

Patton didn't hear the rest. As far as he knew, Black Dogs and Heralds couldn't fly, but he couldn't feel the floor under his feet anymore...

...oh. Oh, he couldn't feel any of his legs anymore. The world was spinning, too—kind of like playing Statue Maker as a boy, grabbing his friends' hands and spinning, spinning, spinning before he had to stop and strike a pose--

“Patton.”

Patton blinked, and suddenly drew a deep, shuddering breath into his lungs before he started coughing. He—oh, he hadn't been breathing. That wasn't remotely good, willikers!

As he tried to get his breathing normalized, Patton found he was on the floor, being cradled in Janus's arms. His forehead was tucked against the scaled side of his neck, a lovely contrast of cool scales over warm skin and so much softer than anyone would think scales could be. As Patton calmed, he drifted, and gently rubbed his forehead against those scales, sighing at the soothing texture of their satiny surface brushing his skin, the edges gently catching in ways that sent pleasant little buzzes of sensation  from his forehead to skitter over his scalp.

Finally, he lifted his head—and found Remy kneeling in front of them, staring at Patton.

His eyes were pure onyx, from sclera to pupil—solid black orbs in his head, barely glinting in the light of the room. They were the eyes of a hijacked body, a resurrection gone wrong. The owner of the body was gone, and another soul had taken its place.

A soul Patton was fairly certain he knew.

“Patton?” Janus's voice, a question.

Slowly, Patton nodded.

Remy sagged visibly in relief. “You remember...Paddy, I'm a Reaper. I can help Logan. Will you let me?”

Feeling more like himself, Patton nodded again. Without thinking, he twisted and tipped his head up to kiss Janus's cheek before he got shakily to his feet.

“Virgil, Remy's gonna help.” he announced, still watching Remy with a secret fear that this would be a dream and that he'd vanish.

“Fuck you. I don't--”

“He's my brother. Please, Virge.”

There was silence for several moments, but then Remy was moving off some indication from Virgil, and Patton twisted to watch Remy drop to his knees at Logan's side. He touched his forehead, taking his hand and watching him closely.

“Motherfucker knows the only real way to kill a Lazari, and he's using the king to do it.” Remy muttered. “Let's see...nerd's Claim is holding, that's good, but his mind won't hold up under the Baccanal...lemme see, gurl...”

Remy shut his eyes, bowing his head. As he did, Patton suddenly felt a gust of warm air touching the back of his neck, making him flinch and whip his head around.

“Easy, Sin-ammon Roll.”

Prince Remus was there, his hand a buzzing gnat in Patton's awareness as it sat on his shoulder. He was watching Patton with a look he couldn't read—his features were like Janus's, well schooled into calm lines, but his eyes were clouded with some very turbulent emotion.

“Is the prison mage really your brother?”

Patton opened his mouth to answer, but no sound was coming out. The words were all there, but they were sort of...clogging in his throat, too many coming too fast, all fighting to escape at the same time. Fortunately, Janus's arms were suddenly there again, wrapped around his waist, cradling Patton back against his chest, warm warm warm and comforting in their familiarity.

“Patton was four years old when his brother died.” Janus stepped in. “Remington Morell was not quite fourteen—essentially executed in the street. Patton told me when they were children...their mother loved the Scottish play. Quoted it all the time--'I come, Graymalkin' when Remy called for her, 'Paddock calls' when Patton would cry.”

“...but the kid died.”

“Yes, but...it's the black eyes. They indicate the presence of a Raptor.”

“Like the dinosaur?” Remus asked.

“Like a body thief—a soul that hijacks a coprse during a botched resurrection.” Janus sighed, rolling his eyes as Patton twisted his head to look up at him.

“Ohhhh, I mean—wow.”

“Lucky for me, children age in Shadow.” Remy's voice piped up. Refocusing on Logan, Patton realized his best friend wasn't writhing and muttering anymore, just...laying there, asleep. Seemingly, anyway.

“What'd you do?” he asked, gently removing himself from the circle of Janus's arms to move towards Remy as he stood.

“Guided Logan to the Loom of Memory.” he replied. “It'll protect him for a while, and let him communicate with Roman if I'm right about how those two are bound—Mori's got the king under the Baccanal.”

“Cursing him with madness?” Patton breathed, his stomach churning with horror as he covered his mouth with both hands. “That's forbidden, Remoo.”

“Yeah, well, the Animator ain't known for playing by the rules, gurl.” Remy replied with a shrug. “So burning away a man's mind, one layer at a time until he's a drooling vegetable? Totally on the table.”

Patton felt something loosen in his chest as he grinned up at the other man. “You really are Remy, aren't you?”

Remy opened his mouth, brow furrowed with confusion—then understanding filled his features and he grinned, laughing. “Ah, geez—Remoo. You started calling me that when you were two 'cause you couldn't say Remington.”

“It's the only thing I remember really well.” Patton admitted, rushing forward to fling his arms around Remy with a choked laugh that quickly melted to tears.

“Mom and Pop kept your Vigil every Festival—but I never stopped.” he giggled wetly. “Every day—I had an altar in my room...”

“I know.” Remy soothed, holding onto Patton tight and reaching up to tousle his curls in a manner that Patton didn't recognize, but still felt weirdly familiar. “I heard you. Why do you think I snuck back when I realized you were in trouble?”

Patton pressed his face into Remy's shoulder. The smell of the mage's trade clung to him, acid and alcohol and herbs, but under that was something that set of primal echoes in Patton's head of family home safe loved, loamy earth and fresh rain.

Remy held on tight, just for a few seconds, but when he pulled back Patton felt steadier than he had in a very long time.

“We need to get the Lazari outta here.” Remy instructed. “It's a long story, but I was sent here to drag Lord Scaly off for execution. Plans changed, now I'm takin' you all somewhere safe.”

“Where's that?” Virgil asked, flinching when Remus swooped in to gather Logan up into his arms before Virgil could.

“Long story, tell you when we get there. Everyone move.”

********** When Logan opened his eyes, he was home.

It was a very familiar part of his home, however—none other than his childhood bed, wrapped in a familiar pair of arms.

Lifting his head, he had to fight not to lose his composure when he saw Roman's face. His head was nestled into Logan's pillow, features slack with repose...

Then tense, a low noise of distress rumbling in his chest, vibrating against Logan and shooting straight to his marrow.

Reaching out, Logan dug his fingers in beneath Roman's ribs. Fortunately it worked: immediately, Roman woke up with a squeal that was wholly undignified, and melted immediately into giggling he promptly cut off.

“Roman, it's okay...shhhh, you are safe. It's Logan, I'm here.”

Roman stared at him with a blank, unfocused look that scared Logan—actual fear he could not deny any longer, cold and cloying and sticking to the inside of his chest. Those green eyes were glassy and unseeing...they did not know him.

Very deliberately, Logan reached for Roman's hand, meshing their fingers together. He held them up in Roman's eyeline.

“Hold on...do not let go.”

That struck a chord, bringing some focus back to Roman's eyes. After a moment that stretched into eternity, Logan felt Roman's fingers tighten around his. Roman stared at their joined hands, mouth working soundlessly...

“I...never have.” Roman finally replied. “I never will.”

Logan's throat closed up, his eyes burning.

“Swear it on the Spider's Thread?” He hated how small his voice sounded, how desperate.

Recognition finally sparked in Roman's eyes.

“...Starlight.”

Logan lost control then, flinging himself into Roman's arms. Roman let himself be bowled over onto his back, let Logan stretch out atop his body, press his face into the curve of Roman's neck, and just held on tight as Logan wept for the first time in ten years. Deep, heaving, wretched sobs that Roman soothed him through, a hand running over his back, Roman's deep and beautiful voice murmuring soothing nonsense directly into his ear.

Time passed. The slow, steady rhythm of Roman's fingers gradually smoothed the jagged edges until he could reach out and touch them without getting cut open again.

“Did you know?” Logan finally asked, lifting his head to meet Roman's gaze.

Roman stared back up at him, uncomprehending as his fingers drifted up to caress Logan's cheek. Logan found himself unable to resist leaning into the tender touch.

“Did I know what?”

“That day by the river—before the Festival. Did you know that you changed my True Name.”

“...not until we found the Tome. I...suspected something happened, but wasn't sure until we read about your grandfather.”

“What about later? When you came to me in my cell and gave me my new Name?”

“I...I'm not sure. I know I wasn't supposed to remember what you were to me, but...”

But he had. Reaching up to catch the hand Roman still had pressed to his cheek, Logan felt like he understood. Not really, but...but that was the point.

Roman never should have remembered enough to care about Logan, yet he'd come to find him, and helped him in his moment of need.

“I think,” Logan began hesitantly, “that it is as Grandpap often says. The stuff of Shadow—the things we are not allowed to know.”

Roman frowned pensively. His brow furrowed with it, and Logan let himself surrender to the temptation of bowing his head and kissing that line away.

“Miracles.” Roman murmured. “Shadow brought to the light.”

Logan made a sound of affirmation, nose brushing along Roman's hairline.

“Or an outsider brought to the Loom of Memory.”

Roman shifted under him, seeking out Logan's gaze with wide, curious green eyes.

“Is that where we are?” he asked, awestruck.

Logan nodded, running his fingers through Roman's hair.

“It is...and time moves differently here.” he explained, mouth hovering over Roman's.

Time Logan was going to take...because if Logan was Lazari, that meant he had power. If he was descended from the Animator, the First and most powerful, he had more power still. If he was bound, soul to soul, to the ruler of all the Kingdoms, Logan had power beyond magic.

He had all the power, maybe more, of his ancestor. Power enough to corrupt.

So he allowed it to corrupt him. He let himself be ruthlessly selfish.

He was not going to allow Roman to be taken from him again.

Never again.

********** He expected to feel a warm, strong pair of arms around him when he rose from a deep and restful slumber...but instead, his groggy mind was rattled by voices.

“So you've just been...what? Fooling him into thinking you were zombified? That's hot, don't get me wrong, but I don't see how he'd buy it.”

“Gurl, greedy men are dumber than a bag of hair—ain't that right, Emi?”

“Eh—yes, sweetheart. Basically, anyway. It takes a great deal of focus and power to control as many dead as Mori currently is.”

“That's why our people don't normally do it—raising a corpse is way different from resurrecting someone to life. Grandpap told Logan off for even suggesting the raising of more than two corpses at the same time. It's doable, but I think five is the limit before you risk madness under the weight of all those deaths.”

“So these are really zombies? Not people he resurrected? Gosh, that's just...scary.”

“Easy, baby brother—none of 'em are coming the fuck near you. That's why I got a heart-healer on my side...they don't tell people that they study necromancy on the side, y'know.”

“Remy, please. We don't...er...well, we don't study all of necromancy. Just necromatic theory—its relation to the mind. The function of the Cleansing, body theft, the psychological toll of magic...that's sort of how Remy and I met. I'm a bit of a bookworm...”

“Shhhh, he's waking up!”

Finally opening his eyes, he moved to sit up, reaching, fumbling until strong fingers caught his.

“It's okay, Loganberry—you're fine.”

“Logan—where is he?”

That was the moment he froze, his question coming out...strange. Deep, but not deep enough, well enunciated but too stiff.

“Logan?”

That was his voice...but it wasn't his voice saying Logan's name.

“...something's wrong.”

He looked around in confusion. Something was wrong with his eyes, the world fuzzy and haloed in blurs of color. He could recognize Remus only from the color of his tunic and the sound of his voice.

“Remus? What's happening?”

“Hold on—Virgil, his glasses.”

He didn't wear glasses, what the--

Then a pair was being set on his face, and the world suddenly came into painful focus. He was laying on a low couch in one of the palace offices. Remy and the heart-healer, Emile Picani, stood off to one side. Virgil and Remus knelt by his side now, with Janus and Patton wrapped around each other by the window.

Trembling, he lifted his hands in front of his face.

Pale. Slim. Long, lean fingers that had run through his hair so greedily, touched him so tenderly, blunt nails scoring skin in the depths of his mind...

“...Roman?”

Lowering Logan's hands—now his hands—Roman looked into his twin brother's eyes, into the face that he shared with him.

Or had at the start of the day.

“Please tell me that my brother did not just swap bodies with the fucking king?” Virgil squeaked, looking visibly ill as he swallowed thickly.

Roman, wearing Logan's skin, nodded slowly.

“I think he did,” Roman replied, “and in doing so...he just gave Mori exactly what he wanted.”

[dragonstoravens]

Babylon Vol. 1: Unflattering, Apologies

[ID: a blue patterned banner with text reading “BABYLON.” End ID.]

(Oh boy here comes some PLOT! Sorry not sorry in advance from me and @charlottedotexe-- this one’s a bit rough. No specific warnings, but this is where that “Trinity’s still lawful evil, remember?” bit comes in)

Taglist (ask to be added or removed!): @charlottedotexe @glitterandstarshine @rainbowcoloreddays @the-starlight-chills @erased-in-stone

General: @elywritesbydarkness @residentofthedisc @humour-and-hyperfocus @skyfirewrites @viawrites-andacts

14. Unflattering

    Azure really, truly, understood why some people were cruel. Sometimes a situation called for it. Sometimes it was necessary for a greater good. 

    But this time in particular, she did not understand.

    “Jericho!” came the greeting, the same one everyone here seemed to use for Trinity. “Great thinking on that deal with the alien colony a couple of months ago. I heard the margins from that conflict were positively astronomical.”

    “Oh, yes. That.” Trinity turned away from Azure to face the man who’d addressed him, leaving his face in a shadowed profile from where Azzy sat. His voice took on that casual calm it always did when he talked business, but this time something about the tone sent a shiver down her spine. “It wasn’t exactly a difficult decision. I believe they would have paid anything considering the reports I’d received on the state of their military, and it was simple to speak to marketing about making use of that desperation.” One corner of his lip twitched up. It wasn’t a smile. “I assume your firm saw some profits from the situation as well, Darcy? I don’t deserve all the credit, of course, but the Jerichos appreciate your recognition. As always.” The man clasped his hand with a professional nod and smile, a look of respect on his face. Trinity still wore that not-quite-smile, cold and calculating and… pleased. It looked alien to Azure. She hated it.

    Trinity heard a sudden whirling click as Azure’s communicator ejected itself from her neck, slamming a wall between her mind and his. She looked away and scratched at the base of her neck, then shoved her hand in her pocket. Most likely, that was her putting it away. She’d taken it out completely. Her jaw was clenched, the strong line even more stubborn than usual, and she refused to meet his eyes as she reached forward and grabbed a glass of water from a nearby tray. Her shoulders sparked dangerously, and she brushed them off.

    “I’ll be right back dear.” It did not sound like he was very dear. Her smile was nearly threatening as she pulled from his side as though he’d leave a residue if she did it too slowly. “I’ve got something to do quickly.”

    Trinity’s eyebrows pulled together. “...Of course.” She took off, barely waiting for him to finish his response. That was strange. He knew she didn’t like business talk, but she liked being alone at these events even less. And she didn’t seem anxious or upset, so she likely wasn’t running off to hide like he sometimes did. Whatever it was she was mad about, he was sure she’d come back and tell him what was going on soon enough. And he did still have business to attend to.

    It only took a few minutes for a slight bit of concern to start creeping in. His experience with Azure so far was one of nearly fatal honesty and very little patience, although she was getting better at putting up with these long, boring events. Usually, because she was talking to him about it through the comm, which was still blocked off. If something was wrong all she had to do was mention it and he’d leave, but instead she was off on her own, without even giving him a legitimate reason why. It only took a few minutes more for concern to become something a little easier for him to deal with-- or at least more familiar. Annoyance. It was not a good feeling. He was making at least a cursory attempt to shut it down when he saw Azure approaching  from across the room. 

    Even before she arrived at his side once more, he could see that whatever the problem was, it had yet to be solved. The set of her jaw wasn’t any softer, and the comm still wasn’t in, and her tone was cool whenever she spoke, but at least whatever that tight, threatening undertone was had diminished. She leaned against his arm, body stiff and movements bordering on mechanical. Where she’d normally be hanging from his arm, a lounge-singer’s grace with that distinctly Azure slouch, she was instead standing almost primly beside him. It bordered on prudish. Someone else approached her, a woman hell bent on asking where she’d gotten her shoes from, and her friendly demeanor returned. 

    “Oh, they’re MiZara originals, only ones of their kind. I can take your card, he’s always willin’ to hear out a custom request.”

    The two chatted amiably for a moment, a card was exchanged, and Azure returned to her sour expression not moments after her conversation partner vanished into the crowd. “Sorry about disappearin’, I had a couple issues with my cybernetics to work out.” A bold faced lie, her cybernetics never had issues she needed to fix immediately like that. They were well crafted and carefully maintained, and they both knew it. The annoyance was back, despite his best efforts. 

    “I see. Do you need to leave? To… fix them further?” Without really meaning to, he matched her stiffness, the cool calm he so often used when speaking to strangers turned back on her in a way it hadn’t been since their first meeting. He would give her an opening, he decided. If she didn’t take it, then clearly she didn’t plan to give him an honest answer about any of this, and he would leave it alone. The idea made his skin crawl, an unpleasant boiling in his blood. God, he hoped she would take it-- though he wasn’t sure even that would satisfy his frustration now. He tapped a foot, watching her for a response.

    Azure looked around, looking for any more of his business partners trying to ask him questions or congratulating him on further profiteering of a disgusting caliber. “If you’re done for the evenin’, I think that’d be best. I’m not sure dancin’ is really in the cards for me this time around.” Her shoulders relaxed just a touch. Relief, maybe. 

    “I see. In that case, we’ll leave.” He turned on a heel, heading for the exit with the kind of stride that made people get out of his way without a single thought. With the icy silence between the two of them, the air seemed almost colder in their wake as they passed unimpeded through the ballroom and out into the night. Trinity had the car door open for her as almost an automatic response, but he didn’t wait for her to get in, walking around to the other side and opening his own door to enter the car at nearly the same time she did. As soon as both doors were closed, he fixed her with those horribly cold green eyes. In the calmest voice he could manage, he said, “Would you like to tell me what that was really about?”

    Her eyes widened, shock in their depths, and then that shock gave way to a churning anger. An arc of electricity jumped from her left shoulder to her right hand, and she looked about two seconds away from baring her teeth like a wolf about to strike. “Oh, I’m so sorry I didn’t light into you in a ballroom full of people. Please, remind me to clock you the way I’d like to the next time you think it’s a dandy idea to exploit the sufferin’ of an entire colony.” The snarl to her voice was foreign, unfamiliar. “Really, I’d be so pleased to cause that much embarrassment on the spot.”

    His eyebrows shot up. It was a valid reason to wait, but that wasn’t exactly first in his mind right now. Despite all the time he’d spent cultivating a perfect, untouchable exterior, it was all he could do to hold onto it now. Anger pushed itself into place over hurt as her words struck home, and over it all he struggled to keep calm. Perfect calm, the mirror-still surface of a pond, freezing into a bitter cold fractal shield. It had always protected him before.  “Azure, I have a job and I do it,” he snapped, the words unfeeling to the point of sounding nearly derisive. Worse-- uncaring. “I never expected you to like it, but I thought from our first meeting onwards that you understood it. If I misled you into thinking I’m some kind of saint, my fucking apologies. You know I’m climbing a ladder, and this kind of work is a rung.”

    “Oh don’t fuckin’ start in on that train of thought, I read about that fuckin’ deal on my little walk to clear my head and save you the embarrassment of becomin’ a barbecue.” She glared at him, scoffing. “That was a colony tryin’ to fight for its right to survive, and you would have done very well for yourself even at half that cost. I’ve seen the schematics for those warheads, asshole, I helped you price them.” Sparks continued to shoot off of her and she moved away as far away from him as she could. She was mad, but she didn’t want him to catch fire quite yet. “I’m disappointed in you. That deal wasn’t goin’ to do anythin’ extra for you on your way up your ladder. It was cruel, and unnecessary, and I know you know it because you’re not a fuckin’ idiot. You disgust me right now.” She looked upset now, sad in a way he hadn’t seen before. Her shoulders slumped, her jaw relaxed, and her brows knit together. “All those people need that funding for things beyond just a war. They need it for food and to recover from the hell they’re goin’ through. You’ve sentenced a nation to possibly decades of poverty just because you could.”

    Trinity drew in a sharp breath, and there was a moment of something too fiercely charged to be rightly called ‘silence,’ as the dangerously climbing hum of electricity buzzed louder and Trinity’s shoulders drew back with the minute slowness of an assassin silently cocking a gun. Any moment now, Azure’s control would slip and explode. Any moment now, Trinity’s enraged, haughty, emptiness would freeze him to the core and shatter. Any moment…

    But just as it seemed the space between them would tear in two if it stretched a second longer, Trinity’s mask slipped, abruptly, and fell away. His face beneath was blank-- a completely different blankness than the uncaring calm he’d worn almost all night. This was naked, raw, an exposed nerve. This looked more like he’d gone catatonic, or perhaps been smacked in the back of the head by a brick. In the moonlight, his face was deathly pale. 

    Of course he’d thought of that. He’d known it from the beginning. And he’d been taught to ignore it, to believe people he didn’t know were barely people at all. No-- he had taught himself to ignore it. He’d always said that no matter who he worked for or with, he would remain himself, Trinity, not just a Jericho or a pawn of Fate. But when it came down to it, he’d let that learned cruelty override his own sense of purpose. He thought, for the first time since he’d made that deal, of who he was climbing this ladder for. She would be disgusted, too. And she hadn’t even crossed his mind when the opportunity had been handed to him on a silver platter. Silence stretched once more, but this time there was a give to it. Into that silence, Azure spoke once more.

    “I don’t want to watch you lose your whole soul, Hotshot. Or at least what’s left of it, after these bloodsuckers have their fill and you finally reach whatever the top of that ladder is.” She looked out the window. Her hands were still sparking, the little lights landing in her lap and petering out. “Your line of work is tough, ethically speakin’, and you have ambition in spades, and those aren’t necessarily bad things on their own given the circumstances. But I know for a fact that the guy who made that deal is not the one I made good enough friends with to be his date at big fancy events regularly enough to know the difference between wine glasses now. That guy is actually worth the time. I’m not sayin’ you have to be perfect, no one is. But fuckin’ think next time, Trinity. It’s out of character for you not to.” The sparking finally died down. She could see the blank look on his face. It seemed like maybe she’d gotten through to him. Or maybe he wasn’t the person she thought he was. Only time would tell. “Nod if you’re not catatonic with shock.”

    Only Azure, Trinity thought numbly. Only she could rip him and his entire business model to pieces with just a few words-- that somehow still managed to pay him compliments he knew he didn’t deserve from her-- after spending half the night furious at him, and in the next breath somehow make a joke out of it all. The least he could do was respond to the joke. He did so, with a wooden nod of his head.

    There were parts of what he’d said that he still stood by. For one thing, he still wasn’t sure how she’d gotten the impression that this was out of character for him in any way. But she was at least correct in saying he hadn’t thought this through. If he had, maybe he would have realized that this could only hurt the very few things he truly cared about. But his heart, as it so often did, had slipped his mind. It occurred to him, as he sorted through the choices leading him here, that he had another very difficult conversation to plan after this one. There was someone else who deserved to know that he’d slipped, even if there was no way he was sharing the details. He sighed, shifting for the first time in what seemed like eons to run a hand through his hair.

    “I can’t truly apologize. It’s long past too late to make up for my choices.” His expression didn’t change, though somehow Azure got the feeling that ‘long past too late’ referred to something much further back than one business deal. 

    What it did refer to was a total mystery,  but Azure told herself she’d deal with that one later. Between the weird sense of self and the panic attacks, who knew what other bullshit he had going on. She had other, more present issues to deal with. Like getting that look off his face and teaching him a damn lesson about making up for mistakes.

    She smacked him in the chest, just hard enough to sting.

    “Dumbass, just fuckin’ do it right next time. You’re right, you already fucked up. You’re not exempt from self improvement just because you fucked up. Now say sorry.”

    He turned back to look at her and blinked a few times, surprised. “...Sorry?”

    “We’ll work on it. Good enough for now.” She looked almost fond under all that disappointment. “Maybe you ain’t a lost cause.”

    Somehow that fondness hurt worse than any amount of anger or disappointment that had led up to it. He was suddenly very aware that there was no way he could convince her to leave, or convince her to think of him any way other than however she damn well pleased. That was simply who Azure was. Which meant that someday, he was going to watch himself hurt her again, and that was just going to be something he had to accept. He took the realization in stride. There was no reason to dwell on it any longer than that, it was just the way things were. But he had at least decided that however that hurt was to come about, it wouldn’t be like this. He would do what he had to do to climb the ladder, but this kind of exploitative deal would not happen again.

    The car came to a stop at the drop point, and Trinity glanced back over at Azzy. “We’re here. You should let the ship know you’re back early.”

    “Of course.” She tapped a few words into a communicator. “Won’t be long, they hung around this time.” Her eyes met his, and she patted his shoulder. “Sorry for hittin’ ya. My “siblin’ to a sad sack” instincts kicked in before I could stop ‘em.” She thought for a moment before adding, “And next time I’m pissed, I’ll try to maybe keep it under wraps a little better before I run off to chill out. I just didn’t want to cause a scene, it wouldn’t be good for you.”

    He shook his head. The list of things he knew about Azure’s brother just kept getting more confusing. Vigilante, fashion designer, sharpshooter… and sad sack, apparently. “You don’t need to apologize. You did the best anyone could ask of you in that situation. It shouldn’t have been something you had to do at all.”

    “Yeah, but if I’m gonna go around demandin’ apologies, I may as well own up to anythin’ I might have done.” She brushed a couple of sparks off her skirt and opened the car door. “Have a good night, Hotshot.”

    “You too.” It was most certainly not enough, he’d said so little to her throughout this and had barely even apologized. Part of the reason for that was that apologizing to Azure again felt pointless and stale. He had no way to apologize to the buyers, that ship had sailed. So his apology would have to be held in his future actions. Far easier said than done.

    He turned back to his own ship, and set the coordinates for his home planet of Eden. At least he could do something about the other apology he’d roped himself into.

15. Apologies

    The sun had fully set and stars were clear in the sky by the time Trinity arrived home in Eden. He kicked his shoes off at the door, losing his coat and tie just as quickly, and headed up the stairs of his dark and silent house. The room at the end of the hall was mostly dark as well, but a tiny sliver of light peeked out from under the door. He sighed, put a hand to his temple, and knocked.

    The light went out immediately. Trinity rolled his eyes, fondly exasperated despite the situation. “I already saw the light. You can’t pretend you’re asleep. Can I come in?”

    There was a pause, and the rustling of blankets. The light clicked back on. 

“...Okay.” 

    Trinity opened the door and stepped inside. His thirteen year old sister sat up in bed with her arms crossed, a tablet on her lap clumsily hidden under the corner of her duvet. “I know I’m supposed to be asleep, but--”

    “It’s ok, Adriel.” He sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed. “I know it’s late, but can I talk to you about something?”

    Adriel’s defensive expression was immediately replaced with one of concern. “Are you okay?”

    Trinity bit his lip to hold back a grimace. Dammit, he hadn’t wanted to worry her. Though there was probably no way he could have approached this that wouldn’t have. “I’m fine,” he told her calmly. “But I need you to listen. Understand?”

    She nodded. He continued.

    “You know I try not to bring up business too much, it’s not your company and unless you want it, it never has to be. But you also know why I decided to take it over.” he paused as words seemed to fail him, and looked up at Adriel.

    Adriel saw her brother waiting, needing something from her to continue, and nodded solemnly. She might have been young when the power structure of the Jericho family had taken a dramatic shift into the hands of her older brother, but even at the age of eight she had known that he would never have taken over the Jericho business by choice. All that power and responsibility, forced upon him, no matter how much he pretended it was voluntary. Sometimes she couldn’t help but feel just a bit guilty. She knew how smart he was, he could be doing anything he wanted by now. Without the business pulling him down. Without her to provide for. But any time she so much as hinted at that line of thought, he shut it down. If Trin was anything he was stubborn, and he had told her more than once, point-blank, that he refused to let her blame herself for being young, for needing things. She wished he would follow his own advice.

    Trinity was still watching her, something tumultuous in his eyes she didn’t understand, but before she could try to offer some sort of consolation he began again. “I made a bad deal. I knew when I made it that I didn’t need it to advance, or to keep the two of us taken care of, but I chose not to think about any of that. Luckily, someone I know wouldn’t let me get away with it so easily.” He half-smiled, a small, self-deprecating expression that anyone looking in would have been shocked to see on the face of Trinity Jericho. “I said I’d do what I had to so you and I can be taken care of, but I didn’t have to do this. I’m sorry.”

    Adriel frowned. She knew he wouldn’t tell her any more than that, no matter how much she asked, but it was rare enough he brought up work at all. It must have been bad, or this mystery ‘someone he knew’ had really let him have it, for him to mention it to her in the first place. Let alone apologize. Sure, he apologized to her all the time, but that was for stupid things, like forgetting he’d said she could go out, or eating the last brownie. And any other time he’d gotten this weird guilty look on his face, he’d outright refused to talk to her about it or denied that anything was wrong at all. So why was he talking to her about it this time? 

    “What did that person say to you?” She couldn’t quite keep a bit of anger from mingling with the confusion in her voice, and Trinity held out his hands, pacifying.

    “Nothing that wasn’t true. Like I said, I made a bad choice. It just took a person who wasn’t looking at it from a business perspective to make me take notice.”

    “And you’re not going to do it again.”

    “To the very best of my ability, no.”

    Adriel shook her head, with a scoff. She would never understand why her brother worried so much. “Ok, then why are you apologizing to me? I wouldn’t have known, would I?”

    Trinity blinked at her. “And that makes it better somehow?” 

    He wanted to say that everything he did had a chance of reflecting on her. He wanted to say that he’d come close to completely forgetting about the only good reason he had for still running this company, let alone working with the people he did. He wanted to say that even if he’d already damned himself, he still wanted his little sister to think well of him, and that he didn’t want to have to lie to keep it that way. But saying any of that would only make her worry. Luckily, she didn’t give him the chance.

    “No. It would still be bad. But you’re my brother, and I’m not going to hate you because you did one thing without thinking about every possible tiny consequence first. And I wasn’t even upset about anything before you came in. Aren’t apologies supposed to be for people that you hurt?”

    Trinity rolled his eyes to the ceiling, letting out a frustrated huff of breath. Now she was getting somewhere. “Let’s assume for the moment that I can’t apologize to those directly involved. And just because your connection was indirect doesn’t mean I don’t owe you an apology. So, as I said, I’m sorry. I’m going to keep trying to do what’s best for you.”

    “I really don’t think you have to try that hard,” Adriel said mildly. “But I forgive you... if that means I can go to bed now?” She smiled, hoping he would smile back. She hated when Trinity was sad, almost as much as he seemed to hate it when she was. This conversation hadn’t made much sense from the start, but she at least hoped she’d said enough that he wouldn’t feel so guilty. She understood guilt.

    “Sure, Addy.” He didn’t smile, not quite, but he did lean over to kiss her lightly on the top of the head. “Goodnight.”

    That would have to be enough for now. She settled back onto her pillow, tucking away her tablet for real this time. “Goodnight.”

    As he left the room, Trinity pulled up a note on his eyescreen and drafted a quick message. He’d wait a day or so, then send it. Adriel was right in that she hadn’t been upset, but someone else had been. 

    “Azure,

    “I didn’t say this properly before. I apologize. I will do better.”

[sylaesschasewind]

A Little Piece

That laugh.

A shiver ran up her spine, twisting her shoulders with its violence. 

Memory,  dream, or hallucination? What a bitter game. 

It seemed to echo in her mind. It really wasn't so hollow here to allow an echo; in fact it was too loud all around. The clatter of dishes. Wooden toys being scraped across the floor. Crashed together gently. The hum of casual, meaningless conversation.  It sparked too much thought in her already strained mind. She knew it. Fleeting concern melted against the analytical side of thought. 

Puzzles were a crux of hers. 

So went the evening. She chased away the fog of memory with... What even was this? Some kind of brandy? Sylaess stared at the rim of the carved wooden cup, letting the flitting shallow thought pull her from the darkness.

Maybe. It burned all the same. She savoured it. Let her eyes half-close.

“Oh. Is it bad? Crap--let me get that.” His hand reached out for the cup before she knew what he was talking about. Caught her blinking in surprise. But she released her fingers around it, offering no resistance to its removal. “Huh. No, it wasn’t.”

Syl pulled her hand out of his reach, shaking her head slightly. The boy’s brow was knit again, big brown eyes flickering from each of hers in an attempt to read what she knew very well was a neutral face. Oh. Perhaps he was owed a small explanation? He fumbled with the cup a moment, pouring more brandy into it. Making his hands busy. Embarrassed? Perhaps.

“I was... lost in thought. My apologies.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

He looked chastised. Shit. She tugged her lips up in an attempt at a bemused smile. It worked enough to lessen his hurt. Loosen the tension in his shoulders just enough that he didn’t look afraid of being hit. Not that she had ever threatened such a thing, but she could understand that undeath carried a certain... reputation. 

He shrugged helplessly, grinning back at her. That smile just a bit too bright as he put the cup down before her, and poured a sliver of drink for himself. 

Dax. Sandy brown hair, bright hazel eyes glinting in the lamplight and a sharp nose. Well. It’d been broken before, judging by the lump on the bridge. Maybe it was never straight to begin with. But she suspected it had been.

Guilt. It attacked so carefully, like a shadow sweeping through. Sylaess cast her eyes away, down. 

Noted the way his mother, thought she was minding the young girl that was toddling about with wooden toys had an eye on her. Wary as a cat, but with a friendly smile that didn’t touch her eyes. His father whittled at a block of wood. Concentrated, but in a relaxed manner. One that suggested he, too, was not all that relaxed. But it was still better than the first time they had caught up. 

A deep sigh filtered through her nose.

Damn. Damn it. Why had she come back? This was a horrible mistake. The headache settled in on her like a crown. The slow, heavy thump of her own heartbeat reverberating distractingly. They were becoming too common. Nearly daily. Sometimes enough that she needed to take a step back, take a moment to collect herself.

That wouldn’t do on the battlefield. No. She shouldn’t think of dinner as a battlefield, either.

This was a dangerous distraction.

“Hey... If you don’t want to stay, I’m not holding you here. I know it's uncomfortable.”

She blinked again, putting away the baggage. 

“Its not..” A deep sigh. “Hm.” She shook her head, stuffing a hand into the loose hairs at the top of her head. Tugging absently. “I didn’t intend to be so maudlin. Forgive me.” Softly spoken.

Two apologies in one night.

Daxius gave her a warm chuckle. “I guess so. Don’t worry about it.”

“Hey, how’s Stormwind? Everyone settling in alright?”

His mother was cutting her concerned looks from the counter. Shooting them when she thought no one would catch her. Brow knit, lips thinned, eyes tight with worry. Smart woman, honestly. Sylaess could empathize. 

“I suppose. Lots of refugees still.”

It was the third time she’d tentatively taken the invitation to dinner with his family. Just as awkward as the first time. She’d stay just long enough not to be overtly rude. Just enough that he’d lose his worries and stop looking for her. 

“Pay the price.”

It froze her like a knife to the throat. The slithering whisper.

Sylaess grunted softly, finishing the drink. Rising from her seat nearly silently. A ripple of concern and then the acceptance of departure peripherally on the parents’ faces released a lot of that hidden tension around her. 

No, she needed to leave. She’d been here too long. Too many times. 

“You going already?” Daxius, mild disappointment dampening his bright eyes. He hoped to glean something from her. Experience? Fighting tips? Something. It was silly, naive, and utterly innocent. Did he actually look up to her? Oh, what a mistake that was. Far past time she should have left. Like a sword hanging above her head, the threat was real, and imagined all in one. Tricky.

A quick half-bow, and she slunk out the door like a shadow. No need for words. They’d only take more time. Felt the silent sighs of relief from his parents. The fleeting curiosity from his little sister. The honest and mildly smothered hope from Dax. She knew she hadn’t succeeded in pushing him off. Not like this. There was a certain art to it, but she’d missed the mark heavily tonight. Shut the door on it carefully. Felt like closing a book. Wished bitterly it was that easy.

Brandy still flavoured her mouth as she stepped smartly away. Not rushing, but not dawdling. Away. Putting distance between the tiny little hamlet and herself. The warmth of the windows fading.

The sense of danger doesn’t fade.

Sylaess grimaces in the starlight to no one but herself. Breathes out a soft sigh, collecting herself. Pulling that warrior calm on again and again. A worn out garment if ever there was one.

No. There isn’t an escape from this.

“I call upon its radiance to expunge the evils that have gripped this elf!”

The struggle is worse than the fight in the surf. No blades needed. Hands slipping, losing grip faster than they can catch anything. Hair. Clothes. Armor. Flesh. The leather of her gauntlets creaks under the pressure, but the salt water seems to laugh in a burble, causing enough pressure to peel her fingers off like a handful of sand. It’s impossible to catch, but that doesn’t dull her efforts to hold it. The very same reason she didn’t make it as a mage.

The Knight doesn’t budge. Much. Some subconscious part of her witnesses her hands shaking with the effort of just standing in the cascade of Light. Her heart thumps wildly, the threads of power are--

Can she see them? Is this just her imagination to make sense of the calamity? It seems so surreal. Disconnected, somehow.

It isn’t her body anymore.

Is it?

She can hear Argonas continuing his chant. The words sonorously pouring from him  just as burning as the conviction he holds in his heart. He fully believes. No--he knows the Light can save her. It's not a question. His devotion. His determination.

Sylaess wanted to scream. It wasn’t true! It couldn’t be true. The darkness at the edge of her eyes, seeping through the fiber of her being... The very ties to her unlife itself. All of it in shadow. All of it some form of...

Dark threads folded around her, unbothered by the absolute storm of Light. Reflexively, she clenched her hands as if holding them.

No; pieces fell away. Her face burned. Eyes felt blinded. But she could hear the calmness of that whispering voice in her shadows. The conviction of the Vindicator. The love he held.

Her damnation.

No; Argonas would be the best prize she could offer. More than enough in payment for the trivial gifts she asked for. She could see how it could end up. What path to take. What words to say. She wanted to laugh. Scream. Cry. 

Surrender.

It would be so easy to fall back into the darkness. Let the shadow defend this... corpse. Let loose the weapon. Let go.

“Enough--!”

The sound of her own voice jerked her back to the present roughly. Heart thumping a wild rhythm in her chest, she hissed out a slow breath between clenched teeth and hurried on. It irked her on some level how choked she had sounded. How small.

The cobbles were always damp near the ocean. The smell of rotting seaweed and damp wood all bombarded her. Sounds of the city. Usually so unobtrusive. Not so much right now.

She had made it to the bridge into Kul Tiras. Guards eyed her with a mix of curiosity and alarm.

Couldn’t blame them.

The Acherian stepped it out, long legs eating up the distance. To where, though? Where could she run to? 

She shook her head violently. It didn’t work to remove the feeling of the hooks in her skin. Paused on the bridge, looking out at the reflecting lamp lights on the waters. Rubbed her arms harshly. Maybe not warding off a chill, but the sensation brought some form of reality back to her. Comfort, if fleeting.

To say she missed Argonas deeply was a sad understatement. 

It hurt. Vividly. But it had been necessary. Had his child been born? Was he still recovering from her betrayal? A quietly reverent hope pled that he had forgotten her, but she knew it likely wasn’t so.

She couldn’t stomach the threat to him. The last piece of a life she barely remembered, stoically friendly despite the odds. Wouldn’t. Refused it.

[fair-fae]

Never-Ending Survey: Faye Covington

Rules: Repost, do not reblog, tag 10 blogs!   Tagged by: @kodie-ffxiv, @lukelxiv, @illia-ast, @lavender-hemlock, and @captainkurosolaire Thank you all for tagging!! Tagging: @an-honest-waltz, @resistance-ranger, @under-the-blood-moonlight, @duskspeakers, @hangedemperor, @littlestcreampuff, @wayward-soul-ffxiv, @darkamaya, @sakuyamori, @paleshadeofrose​

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Faye Covington

NICKNAME: "Princess” if you’re @its-the-val-pal

AGE: 30

BIRTHDAY: 14th Sun of the 1st Astral Moon

ETHNIC GROUP: Hyur Midlander/Garlean

NATIONALITY: Gridanian

LANGUAGE/S: Eorzean, some Ishgardian

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Heterosexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Heteromatic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Bonded

HOME TOWN / AREA: The East Shroud

CURRENT HOME: The Lavender Beds

PROFESSION: Teahouse owner, information broker & private investigator

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Platinum blonde/white, long, curly

EYES: Pale blue, hints of violet/red/pink

FACE: Soft, feminine, attractive

LIPS: Full, light pink, glossy

COMPLEXION: Pale, smooth, unblemished

BLEMISHES: None

SCARS: Scar along her left wrist where her skin meets the Magitek prosthetic

TATTOOS: None

HEIGHT: 5′8″

WEIGHT: 135 ponze

BUILD: Slender, soft, curvy, tall, hourglass shape

FEATURES: Plush lips, keen eyes, sly smile, good posture, Magitek left hand

ALLERGIES: None

USUAL HAIR STYLE: Long, well groomed, curly, neat, loose

USUAL FACE LOOK: Polished, subtle makeup, calm, friendly

USUAL CLOTHING: Long dress or skirt, gloves, boots, jewelry, lace, expensive fabrics, formal attire, stockings, little skin showing

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Failure, weakness, dismemberment

ASPIRATION/S: Fame, wealth, success, happiness, a family, Garlean extermination, and good ol’ world domination

POSITIVE TRAITS: Polite, intelligent, patient, friendly, confident, ambitious, calm, rational, educated, curious, cunning, quick-witted, charming, eloquent

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Power-hungry, nosy, self-righteous, uppity, proud, posh, cruel, vengeful, manipulative, deceptive, callous, distant, distrustful, spiteful

TEMPERAMENT: Choleric MBTI: ENTJ

SOUL TYPE/S: The King

ANIMALS: Fox, swan

VICE HABIT/S: Tea addiction duh

FAITH: None

GHOSTS?: Yes

AFTERLIFE?: Unsure

REINCARNATION?: No ALIENS?: Unsure

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: None

EDUCATION LEVEL: Well-educated

FAMILY.

FATHER : Deceased

MOTHERS : Deceased

SIBLINGS : No full-blooded siblings, adopted brother deceased, several half-brothers

EXTENDED FAMILY: None of note

NAME MEANING/S: “Faye” meaning “fairy”

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: None

FAVORITES.

BOOK: None; she enjoys reading, but has no particular favorite

DEITY: Nophica

HOLIDAY: Starlight

MONTH: First Astral Moon

SEASON: Winter

PLACE: Her teahouse

WEATHER: Clear, temperate

SOUND / S: Music, conversation, wind rustling through leaves, running water

SCENT / S: Tea, roses, vanilla

TASTE / S: Tea, wine, sweets, savory

FEEL / S: Silky, velvety, smooth, soft

ANIMAL / S: Checkers the dog. Only Checkers the dog.

NUMBER: 1

COLORS: White, pink, blue, lavender, red, gold

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Conjury/magic, teamaking, sewing, persuasion, management, spying, manipulation, business

BAD AT: Cooking, physical labor, physical combat

TURN ONS: Ambition, strength, cunning, intelligence, good looks, physical fitness, confidence, respect, affection, CUTE CATBOY EARS, badass scars, loyalty, endearing stupidity, dominance, education, good manners, chiseled abs glistening with blood sweat and dirt

TURN OFFS: Rudeness, disrespect, bad hygiene, helplessness, flakiness, insecurity, shyness, meekness, immaturity, laziness, lack of motivation, indecisiveness, promiscuity, dishonesty, smarminess, incompetence, whining, needy, clingy, smothering

HOBBIES: Socializing, hosting, tea-making, sewing, reading, learning new things, practicing magicks, fashion, shopping, writing, sketching, music

TROPES: A lot that surely fit her, but none in particular that I’m intentionally aiming for

QUOTES : “Manners!”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1: If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?       A1: Idk what it be called but it would be a gothic horror Victorian period film full of beautiful costumes and sets, vampires, and intrigue.

Q2: What would their soundtrack/score sound like?           A2: ANGRY VIOLINS Q3:  Why did you start writing this character?         A3: I’ve had some concept of this character since I was like... a kid, so I couldn’t really tell ya. She’s slowly evolved and had several iterations since then. This version I started writing just ‘cause I wanted to RP in this game and needed to pick one of my characters who could competently lead an FC since that was something I decided I wanted to do. Q4: What first attracted you to this character?         A4: Want be pretty lady. Want be cool and sassy and evil. Want wear fancy dresses. Want be vampire and take over the world. Q5: Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. A5: I don’t particularly dislike anything, I guess the closest I could say is we’re so different personality-wise that sometimes it can be challenging or draining to portray her as faithfully as I would like to write her Q6: What do you have in common with your muse?           A6: Ummm we’re both long-haired married white women in our 20′s - 30′s who were born in a kinda rural wooded place with no full-blooded siblings, some daddy issues, an overbearing mother, and a passion for catboys (or in her case just one, I guess) who don’t do casual sex, are into feminine things, enjoy pastels and tea (mostly just sweet iced tea for me though tbh), and are a lil sassy?? There’s not a ton of overlap tbh. Q7: How does your muse feel about you?         A7: She’s a fictional character soooo she doesn’t. Assuming I’m an all-powerful entity controlling every aspect of her life, she’d probably not be too fond! Q8: What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with?       A8: Any character played by someone who gives me good material to work with, provides interesting hooks, writes something engaging, plays off me/my character, offers an actual interest in my character, or in general makes RP fun and has chemistry in our RP. The type of character doesn’t really matter; the interactions can be fun whether they’re making friends, butting heads, or doing something wild as long as the person writing is feeling it and doing their part. Q9: What gives you inspiration to write your muse?     A9: Life, movies/TV, anime/manga, video games, books, music, other RPers. A bit of everything. Q10 : How long did this take you to complete?   A10 : About two hours of intense multi-tasking and distractions

[kanna-ophelia]

Love’s Pure Light

31 Days of Ineffables Day 7: Silent Night Dedicated to the lovely and talented @alltheprettygirlsintheworld

On AO3

On Wattpad Somewhere in New Zealand, 1990

The starry night was silent, or as silent as nights generally get, which is to say there were the sounds of wind, bugs, sleepy sheep noises, and, in this case, cursing and pleading.

"Turn around, just fucking turn around, you stupid bloody sheep, I--"

Glory streamed from the sky. Golden light pulsed, trumpets sounded, choral music swelled. An angel descended, white wings spread, arms held out, their face concealed by radiance too great to look at. "BE NOT AFRAID."

"Fuck fuck fuck--" The shepherd, if that was what it was, scrambled back in panic, utterly failing to be not afraid. "Look, don't get mad, can see you're busy, I'll be getting along now, popping back to Hell, no need for a fight."

The glorious angel tittered. Distinctly tittered, as the radiance faded and they took a more ordinary, if immaculate, human form.

"*Aziraphale." Crowley hesitated, torn between relief, fury, joy and amusement, and settled on the last one. He flung his head back and laughed and laughed. "Oh, you bastard. Come here." He lunged himself forward and his arms around the angel, and it was only when Aziraphale stopped giggling and stood suddenly stock still that Crowley realised he had never embraced him before. He stumbled back for the second time this evening, and they stared at each other. For lack of anything else not revealing to say, Crowley repeated "You bastard."

Eventually they found themselves sitting side and side on a log, staring at the sheep. "You really are a bastard," Crowley said. "I thought you were Gabriel, coming to announce the next messiah. Or Sandalphon announcing the first. Did you ever get a firm confirmation from Headquarters on that one?"

Aziraphale pursed his lips, wrinkled his brow and looked unhappy, which Crowley knew well enough to read as She doesn't talk to us about things anymore. He felt slight compunction over his urge to keep prodding, keep encouraging Aziraphale to question, keep--keep what? He didn't really want his angel to fall. Just to keep him company. That would be more evil than even a demon could contemplate.

He wanted to apologise and couldn't. Instead he rambled on. "Or Michael. You have no idea how terrifying that would be."

"Why Michael?" Aziraphale, looking curiously at him, sidelong under perfect long lashes. Crowley wished he wouldn't, and wished he would, and couldn't sort it out at all. "You always seem to have it in for her. She's a bit strict, but she's not so bad, really."

"You imagine sitting in a paddock full of sheep and your Dad shows up. Especially when she's a straight-laced wanker."

"Oh." Those pretty lashes blinked. "I don't know why that surprises me. You had to be Created somehow. Born from tears, eh?"

Crowley would do anything to stop Aziraphale looking at him in that tender, compassionate way. "So what are you doing here, angel? I thought you hated this neck of the woods." Aziraphale hummed under his breath and didn't answer. "On assignment?" Aziraphale stared at his plump fingers, twining and entwining, and still said nothing. Crowley was very good at seeing in the dark, and he was almost sure there was pink creeping up from Aziraphale's neck.

Is it me? Did you come see me? Oh, angel, it's been twenty-three years. Tell me you missed me. Tell me that was slow enough. Tell me you came looking. To New Zealand, of all places.

"What are you doing? You seemed to be yelling at some sheep."

"Oh, yeah. Well, it was a great idea." Crowley beamed. "This was practice. Do you know there's thirty-nine million sheep in this place? Imagine how much terror and chaos it will cause if one morning the humans wake up and every sheep is facing in the other direction."[1]

"Brilliant, my dear," Aziraphale said politely.

"Yeah. Only they're stubborn, sheep. And apparently have no terror of demons. Or at least of me." Crowley sighed, resisted with practiced skill the impulse to take Aziraphale's hand, and leaned back, staring at the sky.

"I'm sure you're very intimidating."

"Oh, shut up." Crowley felt ridiculously happy. Here, under the stars, the baaing and bleating of sleep, the warm presence of his angel by his side. He felt a surge of courage.

"Let's have a picnic tomorrow," he said casually. Aziraphale tensed by his side, and he rushed on. "The cheese here, it's amazing, you need to try it." Every time he had tasted some, he had thought of Aziraphale, what he would look and sound like taking the salty creaminess into his mouth. "And they have these coffees--flat whites. Ristrettos with the glossiest, most velvety textured milk. They think they invented them."

"Didn't they?"

"The Australians think they invented them." Crowley grinned to himself. "Simultaneously. But each thinks they are first and the other country tried to steal the credit. You have no idea the amount of bickering and bad feeling between the nations it causes."

"And who invented them, or do I really need to ask?" sighed Aziraphale.

"I always did like coffee." Crowley grinned. "And pointless hostility and resentment between otherwise friendly nations. Ask me about pavlova some time."

Aziraphale gave him a suspicious look. "No flavoured syrups in flat whites?"

"Who do you think I am? I'm not that evil."

"I think you are someone who has four sugars in your tea. Pure chaotic wickedness."

Crowley laughed, tried not to hug him. "Come on." He couldn't manage puppy-dog eyes, not with these yellow snake-like things, but he was good at pleading eyebrows. "A picnic. You promised."

Aziraphale's mouth and brow were worried, but his eyes were very soft and liquid. "All right. See you tomorrow night. Here, at the same time."

And he was gone, leaving enough time for Crowley to panic thoroughly and over-cater. Even if you could over-cater for Aziraphale.

* * *

Aziraphale oohed and aahed satisfactorily over the local cheeses Crowley produced. Buffalo mozzarella,, camembert, burrata, maasdam, washed-rind, ash-coated goat's cheese, ricotta, haloumi.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I bought them all," he said nonchalantly, pulling out some old gouda and blue cheese. Bread, crisp around the edges and fluffy white inside. Manuka-smoked cultured butter. Local honey. Crayfish salad. A pavlova, creamy with cheese and miraculously unsquashed, adorned with berries and kiwi fruit. Flat white coffees, miraculously still hot and velvety. And in pride of place--

Pan-fried pāua, nestled back in their shimmering blue shells.

Do you remember Rome, angel? The first time you approached me, rather than the other way around. The first time you asked me to spend time with you and seemed eager for me to agree. I was so sad, so sickened, on the point of giving up on the humans and going back to Hell--and then you. Luminous, kind, and taking such joy in those damned oysters, so much pleasure, so that I kept forgetting to eat and just kept watching you. My light, hope to a demon. Look at these, Aziraphale. Pretty oysters--well, pretty snails, I guess. Gleaming like you. Remember, remember.

He has no idea if oysters in Rome even meant anything to Aziraphale.

"Oh, it looks all delightful," cooed Aziraphale, spreading gooey camembert on a stick of bread, and Crowley tried not to smirk bashfully. He leaned back to watch the show.

It should be daylight. He should be watching his angel lit up by sunshine, playing in the pale curls, warm and golden on the soft curves of his cheeks and neck. But if moonlight and starlight was what he got, he would take it. Aziraphale unselfconsciously gathered up some camembert on his finger and licked it off, and Crowley shivered. Yes, he would take it.

He watched in fascination as Aziraphale tried everything, chewed and tasted and made small sounds of appreciation. He wondered if the angel had any idea how enrapturing he was in his unabashed enjoyment.

"Won't you eat too, dear?" Aziraphale asked softly. "You went to all this trouble."

Crowley cut a slice of aged cheese, popped it in his mouth, savoured the umami and salt as he chewed slowly and swallowed, but the real pleasure was in Aziraphale's increased joy, the gentle lifting of his thin expressive lips.

"Are you happy, Crowley?"

Crowley blinked. He had never, in his entire existence, been asked that except in angry, blaming tones. Now he was here with Aziraphale, looking at him kindly, looking as if his happiness was important. He wasn't sure how to handle it.

"Demons aren't supposed to be happy. Pleasure and enjoyment, yeah. Happiness, no." Aziraphale's face fell, the wrinkles in his forehead deeper, and Crowley reached out, clutched his hand. "Yeah." He passed a thumb across the back of Aziraphale's hand, and told the truth. "I'm happy."

"I'm so glad." Aziraphale was actually glowing in the dark. "Do try this honey, it's amazing." He dipped a spoon in the honey and held it out to Crowley. Honey. RIch and golden and sweet and--oh, it felt like Aziraphale was offering himself, and that was a ridiculous, insane, dangerous thought. Crowley parted his lips, and let the honey pass into his mouth, held it there, let it dissolve.

"It's beautiful." His voice was thick.

"Try the butter." Aziraphale's voice was strange too, his movements quick and jerky as he spread butter on bread. "Here." He broke off a piece, and held it to Crowley's lips.

Crowley had imagined, so many times, hand-feeding Aziraphale. Dreamily imagined it, as they shared meals together. Meltingly, when he saw something his angel would like. Desperately, frantically, ashamedly, alone and consumed with craving, carried away with the thought of doing something, anything, that would mean he was causing the angel pleasure, admitting to himself that he would rather make Aziraphale made a pleased sound with than any carnal pleaure with anyone else, admitting to himself that desire was fiery and demonic and, yes, carnal.

Crowley had never imagined Aziraphale hand-feeding him. He felt vulnerable and exposed, and saw the same expression in Aziraphale's face. Eating--eating was special to Aziraphale. A special pleasure. And he was sharing it... Aziraphale's hands were trembling, which was only fair, because Crowley was trembling from head to toe.

He took the bread into his mouth. The cultured and smoked butter was tangy, nutty. Sweet from the honey, creamy. And the salty, burned taste of the smoking, a whiff of Hell in all the heaven. Not ruining it. Making it better.

"I've missed you," breathed Aziraphale, and Crowley surged forward and kissed him.

Too much, too fast, he warned himself, but Aziraphale's shoulders were rounded and warm under his clasping hands and Aziraphale's lips, sweet and salty with cheese and honey, were returning the kiss, warm solid arms coming up around him as if helpless to do anything else. He was kissing the angel, and the angel wasn't kissing him away, he was returning the kiss so sweetly, so tenderly, so longingly. Crowley didn't dare deepen it, didn't dare risk losing this miracle, the lips against his, the arms around his back in the quiet night.

Just let me have this moment, he prayed, to--God? Satan? Aziraphale? I can live in this moment forever, whatever else happens. I love him so desperately.

Aziraphale pulled away eventually, and Crowley stared into his face, so pale in the moonlight, his eyes looking dark for once--night time or desire? He didn't know, could only hope. "Aziraphale," he whispered. "Please."

Aziraphale shook his head violently, the moment passing, fear coming back. He dropped his arms. "Not here. Anyone--anyone could see."

I want to kiss you here, Crowley thought rebelliously. Kiss you and kiss you and claim you, right under heaven, so they can see you belong to me, see you choose me, see you are mine.

And then what? his conscience asked. And why did he even have a bloody conscience? The pathetic angelic remnant was just a disadvantage to a demon. You want to take being an angel away from him?

"Come back to my hotel, then," he said, anyway. He was a demon. Selfish. "We can be alone--angel. Please." He was pleading without hope.

Aziraphale shook his head. It was inevitable, but it still hurt. "Don't make this harder. We are enemies--with an Arrangement."

Crowley wouldn't cry. Wouldn't manipulate Aziraphale that way. "Then let me buy you coffee tomorrow. You haven't drunk yours."

He thought Aziraphale would refuse. The angel was chewing his lip and looking down as if he was going to say no and flee.

"Yes. You worked so hard on flat whites. I owe it to you to taste them."

"Thank you."

Aziraphale's mouth twisted, as if Crowley wasn't the only one trying not to weep. "Don't thank me." He took a breath. "Anyway, I should thank you. This picnic, it was marvellous."

"Don't thank me," Crowley echoed, bitterly.

Aziraphale stood, fussily brushed crumbs off his neat trousers--and what was wrong with Crowley that watching those pampered hands brush Aziraphale's wonderfully thick thighs still sent fire lancing through him?--and looked down at him.

"Well. At least let me show my gratitude." Aziraphale flicked his fingers in the air, and there was a disturbed bleating.

All the sheep in the paddock were facing in the other direction.

"Angel." Despite all his mixed emotions, Crowley felt a grin creep over his face. "Just here?"

"All over New Zealand, I'm afraid." Aziraphale paused, then a glimmer of a smirk crept across his face. "And Australia."

"Angel," Crowley repeated, adoringly.

Aziraphale's smirk increased, then Crowley was alone in the silent night.

* * *

Something like thirty years later, when there had been many kisses, and many picnics, and much much more, when they could walk openly together hand in hand under the sky, and kiss there, Crowley stopped at a coffee stall and bought a flat white.

Aziraphale made a face. "They don't make them properly in England, you know that."

"Don't care. " Crowley looked at the slimy mess that was supposed to be milk microfoam, and sipped it dubiously. They had used a long shot of espresso, not ristretto, and burned it to boot. "It's a good memory."

"Yes, it is. The first time my husband kissed me."

"My glorious, terrifying angel."

Aziraphale pouted. "Oh, you make have quaked a bit, but you've never been afraid of me."

"No. No, somehow I never have been." Crowley snapped his fingers to dispose of the awful excuse for coffee, and went for Aziraphale's mouth, which was much sweeter instead. "But don't pretend to be Gabriel again."

Aziraphale shuddered. "Never." He smiled up at Crowley, whose heart turned over and over. "Shall we have another picnic today, my beloved?"

"Only if you promise to hand feed me," he said, and Aziraphale laughed happily, and, oh.

All was calm, and all was bright.

* * *

1 Inexplicable phenomena were not in themselves unusual on the Discworld. Rains of fish, for example, were so common in the little landlocked village of Pine Dressers that it had a flourishing smoking, canning and kipper-filleting industry. And in the mountain regions of Syrrit many sheep, left out in the fields all night, would be found in the morning to be facing the other way, without the apparent intervention of any human agency. --Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man.

Notes:

1) I've never actually been to New Zealand, but gosh, their cheese. Fun note: I'm lactose intolerant.

2) Pāua are incredibly beautiful mollusks (of your choice). Fun note: I hate seafood.

3) Seriously, thank you again for all this support for this series of fluffy first kisses.

4) See you tomorrow for "Choir"! @drawlight

[laughinglistener]

114 Thoughts I Had While Reading ACOT&R

I’m late to the book party. Again. And after getting inspired by the million random numbered lists on Buzzfeed, I thought I’d entertain all the ACOTAR fans out there with a list of my own. 

Spoilers ahead people!

1. Good lord. Six minutes in and I. AM. CAPTIVATED. And she’s just describing snow?? WHAT IS THIS MAGIC?? 2. Oh my god. Thirty minutes in. Times like these I appreciate being an only child. All that fur and meat would be MINE. 3. “You can’t chop wood for us, but you want to marry a woodcutter's son??” HA!! YEAH!!! 4. Jeez, she paints too. I already love Feyre. #BadAssFemales 5. Ugh, does Feyre ever dump these sisters? Please say yes. I can’t stand them. 6. OH SHIT STICKS. He just busted in there like the Kool-Aid man.

7. Stop shouting “MURDERERS” wolf boy and use your words. WHAT IS HAPPENING. 8. YES. SHE’S GETTING AWAY FROM THE EVIL SISTERS!! I should NOT be this excited about Feyre getting kidnapped. 9. She kills this guy’s friend and her punishment is living in his crazy opulent mansion?? All right, good to know. Taking notes for a friend...  10. Did… Did wolf boy just turn into Adam from Beauty and the Beast????

11. This Lucien fellow is a sassy ginger and I don’t hate it.  12. Your hair is clean?? Is that flirting????  13. She made a rope trap! This girl is my hero. 14. Hearing that the evil disembodied voice is named “The Bogge” just makes me think of The Bog of Eternal Stench in Labyrinth. “LOOK AT MEEEEE” *Farts*

15. Her father is there?!? Oh god…  16. Ohhhhhh no, it’s a trap. Ohhhhhhh god. Ohhhhhhhhh jeez…  17. I KNEW IT. 18. The image I’m getting in my head of Tamlin is a strange mixture of Wolverine and Beast from the Disney movie. I’m very confusingly into it. 19. Homegirl is just walking around, casually asking how to trap fairy demon creatures. LOVE IT. 20. What is even happening?! She just casually trapped a fairy thing and gave it an interview! THIS BOOK IS AMAZING. OMFG. 21. “Dead chickens, my sagging ass. All you needed to do was offer it a new robe, and it would have groveled at your feet.” OFFICIALLY love Alis 22. Is it just me, or is the whole Tamlin’s-a-high-lord thing not that shocking of a revelation???? 23. “Is this a poem about murdering me and then burning my body?” LOL. I would very much like to hear that poem. 24. Ahhhhh this poor fairy without wings!!! JUST RIP MY HEART OUT. 25. Are you kidding me?!? IF ADAM FROM BEAUTY AND THE BEAST ASKS YOU TO SWIM IN A POOL OF FREAKING STARLIGHT, YOU DO IT!!!!!

26. OF COURSE the sassy ginger is a son to the Autumn court. #Fitting 27. Ahhhh he’s kissing her palm!!!!!! *Holds breath* 28. OH MY GOD, HE LEGIT WROTE POEMS WITH THE WORDS. I’M DYINGGGG!!!!!!  29. Ohhhhhhh god. Oh no. She’s going to the bonfires. Ohhhhhhhhhh lord.... Not good. 30. Ohhhh shiiiiiiiit!!!! The most beautiful man she’s ever seen! That’s always a promising statement in YA books. 31. No idea who the hell this cocky bastard is, but... I LIKE HIM. 32. Wtf??? 

“It will fill him with his sole purpose: to find the Maiden. From their coupling, magic will be released and spread to the earth, where it will regenerate life for the year to come.” 

Ummmmm... I repeat: Wtf????? 33. Hot DAYUM!! High Lord, you are DOING things to me with this little hallway biting display!!

34. SHE’S WEARING A DRESS!!! Ahhhh I’m having such a girl moment! 35. *Sobs* Oh my god, he took her winter painting and it was SO CUTE. MY HEART. IT’S MELTINGGGGGG!!! 36. Feyre acting all outraged at the suggestion of a kiss payment like she hasn’t been wanting it FOR AGES. Gurl, if you don’t kiss him I will. 37. Oh my god, there have been hordes of people around the whole time and she couldn’t see them?!? Ewwwww creepy...... 38. Ahahahaha my gurl is WASTED and it’s amazing. Drunk Feyre is the best! Where can I get me some of that fairy wine?? 39. I CANNOT TAKE THE ADORABLENESS OF THIS DAMN DANCING AND SUNRISE SCENE. *Explodes*

40. This morning after at the breakfast table! SWOON. 41. Whoa, wtf?? We were all so happy two seconds ago. 42. Hmmmmm... I get the feeling this Rhys guy isn’t as douchebaggy as he seems. Partly because I’ve seen too much fanart of him on the internet for Rhys to be a complete asshole. 43. Ohhhhhh crap. 44. Feyre doesn’t know what?! EXPLAIN YOURSELVES. WHAT’S. GOING. ON. 45. Whoa whoa whooooooa!! I take it back, this guy’s an asshat! Back off man!!! He’s stroking HER BRAIN. OMG. 46. Jeeeez did this lunch take a tailspin. Zero to death threats in sixty seconds flat... That should be a coffee mug. 47. Aaaaaaaand Tamlin is tearing up the dining room. Now I’m thinking of Beauty and the Beast again. He’s going all forbidden-west-wing on them. “GET OUUUUTTTTTTT!!!” 48. Ahhhhhh AND THIS is the part where Belle goes home and then has to go back to save Beast from Gaston right?? *Starts singing* “But we’re not coming home ‘till he’s dead! GOOD AND DEAD. KILL THE BEAST!”

49. It is REALLY pissing me off that no one is telling her what’s going on. Even if Feyre is going back home, you can explain what’s going on to help ease the burden!! To better protect herself!!! URGH. 50. Hot DAYUM that love scene!! *Desperately tries to collect self* 51. Awwww he said he loves her! *sobs* 52. I love Lucien. If he turns out to be a bad guy, I’m gonna be pissed. 53. Ewww this is weird. Helloooooooo terrible sisters… 54. Oh my god, Tamlin’s just over here making it rain on Feyre’s entire family. Good lord. 55. She’s giving the money away! YAYY!! I LOVE HER!!! 56. Ohhhhh shit. Poor Nesta. That actually really freaking sucks. 57. Awwww crap, I like her now. I can’t hate Nesta after this. And Elain is a sweetie. DAMN. 58. Wow. I just went from hating to loving Nesta so fast, I have whiplash. 59. Ohhhh crap!! She killed Clare! Bad day. 60. HOW CAN I LOVE NESTA THIS MUCH AFTER HATING HER?!?! 61. YASSSSSS QUEEN!! Ride and go get yo man! YASSSS!!!

62. Holy crap, this Amarantha is one sneaky bitch. Just casually drugging up everyone’s wine to steal all their powers. I am very stressed about meeting her. Very stressed.  63. SHE CARVED OUT HIS EYE WITH HER FINGERNAIL?!?!?!?! Not my Lucien!! 64. What?!?! WHAT?! Andras was out there as a set up to cure the curse?!? WHAT?!?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW??? I. AM. DYING. OH. MY. FREAKING. GOD.  65. Words cannot describe my absolute love and obsession with Feyre. LIKE SERIOUSLY. 66. Ohhhhh I am very stressed. She’s gonna get busted sneaking around these tunnel caves for sure. 67. Annnnnnnnnnnd there it is. 68. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god… 69. A bargain?!?! No no no no no no no.... 70. THIS ENTIRE THING IS KILLING ME. I AM DEAD. RIP ME. 71. Well. This should be fun to watch. 72. Not gonna lie, the finger eyeball ring is preeeeetty freaking bad ass. Just sayin. *Immediately searches Etsy* 73. Rhysand lied? Lied about which girl he saw in Tamlin’s dining room?? Interesting… 74. NO! LEAVE MY LUCIEN ALONE!! UGGGGGGH. 75. Ummm love?? Is the answer of the riddle love? HELLO. 76. “I took the liberty of learning a few things about you.” Ummmmmm, what the actual hell does that mean??? 77. IT’S A WORM?!?!?!?!? 

78. Come on gurl. KICK ASS!!!! 79. YASSSSS!!! OMG I’M SO EXCITED RIGHT NOW. KILL THE WORM!! *Crazily starts chanting* 80. Rhysand... hmmm... He intrigues me… 81. YEAH!! YES!! SHE DID IT!! OMFG YESS!!!!! 82. Let me guess. Rhysand was the one that bet she would win?? 83. Hahahaha wtf?! 

“For two weeks every month, two weeks of my choosing, you’ll live with me at the Night Court. Starting after this messy three-trials business.” 

Messy three-trials business?!? LOL! Oh my god, I’m back to loving this guy. 84. Tattoo! NICE!! 85. Huh. So the lady of the Autumn court isn’t a complete bitch. Good to know. 86. Why do I love this guy?! Rhys is a turd ball, but I can’t seem to help myself. 87. He has bat wings?!? That’s AWESOME. 88. My belongings?!?! Awwww HELL naw!! I take it back again. SCREW THIS GUY. 89. He gets her drunk and makes her dance?!? WHAT. THE. HELL. NOT MY GURL FEYRE. HELL NO.

90. NOOOOOO!!! Not Lucien!! Oh god! I don’t want to see him impaled. *Bites nails nervously* 91. Ohhhh no!! Poor Feyre! THIS SUCKS!!! 92. SHUT UP LUCIEN!! SHE’LL HAPPILY CHOOSE A LEVER WHEN YOU STOP YELLING AT HER!!! 93. Ugh, that was horrid. 94. Omg Tamlin!! They’re about to get it on in the medieval version of a broom closet.  95. Rhys the cockblocker. 96. Tamlin, just chill the hell out. Rhys was covering for your dumb ass. 97. “One wrong move tomorrow, Feyre, and we’re all doomed.” Oh, great freaking pep talk Rhys!! What a motivator! No pressure or anything. 98. Oh my god, they’re giving her the Hunger Games finger salute!

99. Ugh, poor Feyre. 100. THIS SCENE IS AGONY!!! 101. Uh oh. Amarantha has something else up her sleeve. I am STRESSED Y’ALL. 102. WHAT?!? IT’S TAMLIN????? WHAT?!?!?!? 103. Well hell, I’m confused now. 104. He has a heart of stone?? That sounds... heavy. 105. “‘I love you,’ I said, and stabbed him.” BEST CHAPTER ENDING I’VE EVER READ. 106. Ohhhhh SHIT Amarantha’s pissed! This hissy fit is right out of Housewives of Prythian!! 107. Ahhhh Rhys!! 108. IT WAS LOVE! HA HA!!! I KNEW IT!!!!! I CALLED IT FROM THE START!! HUMAN IGNORANCE MY ASS!! What do I win?! Do I get my own fairy high lord for solving the riddle?? That’s how this works right??? 109. Wait, is Feyre dead?? Is she a ghost now? This out of body ghost thing is all very Hamlet. 110. Whoa, Tamlin stabbed her IN THE HEAD. Effective. 111. Yay! Happy endings!! “But they can never take OUR FREEEEDOMMMMMMM!!!!”

112. Awww Rhysand!! 113. Wait, what? What the hell was that?? Rhysand doesn’t STUMBLE. 114. Book one complete! BOOK TWO. ME NEED NOW. AHHHHHHH!!!! *Froths at the mouth*