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musedblues · 4 years ago

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Call It Fate Call It Karma

summary: In which your band gets signed to the same label as Queen, and Brian May takes a whole bunch of fun out of your new musical journey.

a/n: Here’s what to know… There’s an age gap! This takes place sometime in the 1980s and reader is in her twenty’s. There are also mentions of sex / sexual situations. (Not 18+ just be aware!) Here’s what’s been dubbed as The Bitchy Bri Fic! Title from this song!

w/c: 10k

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Everything changed as you’d started to lose hope. And you owed it all to Jim Beach.

It was the afternoon you and your bandmates managed to sneak past the receptionist desk at EMI and present the reel of tape you called you an EP to a bored producer called Watts; Jim Beach was already occupying his office. By then, you’d been to every other record label in the city and were prepared to be kicked out of this one all the same.

But then the producer agreed to listen to your tape. Watts sat with his feet on his desk and a glazed over look in his eye as two of your only three songs played. Jim spoke up from the back of the room when your third and final song started to crackle to life.

“Well, aren’t you going to give them a shot?” He asked, in a warm, gentle tone.

“What are you three called?” Watts asked.

“Loba.” Wilda piped up, picking her nails in place of her guitar.

“It means ‘she wolf’ in Spanish.” Joane pointed out, twisting strands of her pale fringe as she perched on the edge of the bench at your side.

“Can you lot throw together the couple hundred bucks it takes to record, by the end of next week?” The producer asked.

“Yes.” You spoke up, though you weren’t sure how you’d get the money, this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

“Beach! Manage these lady wolves, will you?” Watts dragged his feet back to the floor with a thud.

“Me? I-I well,”

“You’ve got Queen, and who else? No one.” Watts exasperated. “McCartney has half our staff on lockdown this month and Iron Maiden has already gotten our three best workers to quit. You liked this mediocre garage rock well enough to say something…” The producer gathered your tape and tossed it to the manager with kind eyes and a smile under his furrowed brow. “Now everyone leave my office.”

You’d barely processed the life changing news as Jim turned toward you and your band with a grin that just kept growing.

“What do ya say, girls? Wanna make a record?”

///

You worked overtime and Joane got a second odd job to come up with the money to make a real-life record. And in a matter of a couple of months, you had an all new stage show, a new shiny Fender bass, and your very own album.

Well, almost. The record was in the final processes of being pressed. Watts helped put it together with his feet propped on the soundboard he manned. Past his usual cigar, he mumbled suggestions and even some encouragement; as you Wilda and Joane perfected the songs from your EP and threw together a couple more. Joane was praised for tightening her drum kit and bringing back up sticks. Wilda’s method of retuning her prized guitar worked without a hitch. You sang all your worries away with your bass playing in time. It was as easy as ever to work together, and one thousand times more terrifying all the same.

Jim lingered by on days like those, and on nights you’d booked gigs at local pubs and places of the like. On tea breaks, and in storage closets turned green rooms, Jim helped you and the girls make plans for the future. He carried around a pad of paper to jot down every time one of you thought up a new goal or two.

You went on and on about the sounds you heard in your head, and how you dreamed of bringing them to life. Of the words you longed to share with the world, and your favourite old tunes that never failed to inspire and excite.

Wilda dreamed of parties and people and places, the things she’d say on guest appearances and press tours. She dreamed of stages much more grandiose than the rickety old ones you were so familiar with now.

“We’d quite like to be as big as that other band of yours, one day.” Joane quipped, to a smiley Jim Beach. She was always going on about Queen. Bet she never dreamed of being graced with the assistance of her favourite band’s very own manager.

“No worries there.” Jim chuckled. “You ladies are a well-oiled machine compared to those four old bats. You’ll see for yourself tomorrow at the party.” He seemed to raise a brow like an omen but you couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear.

///

Your first ever album had been slowly climbing the charts since it’s release at the start of the week. When your single aired for the first time, Joane parked her old beaten down truck outside of your flat and turned her car’s radio up all the way. You dismissed your neighbour’s pleas for peace and quiet by hopping in your drummers ride and speeding away to EMI, squealing along to your very own song the whole way there.

You met your guitarist outside of the company’s biggest office. Inside, the three of you hurried through a few pages of papers, and scribbled your signatures along odd dotted lines. Just like that, you were signed.

Even though Loba was gifted a bottle of champagne and a couple of snapshots to prove it, the label decided a proper party was in order to welcome you. Apparently, EMI liked to use every excuse they could to make use of their loft and it’s impressive bar top that wrapped around nearly every wall.

So no sooner than you’d shuffled into the head office, you were escorted out and up to the very top floor. The party, Jim said, was already in full swing.

And that’s when you met his other band. Though he never said so outright, you could tell Jim was most excited to introduce you to the only other group he’d had the pleasure of working with till now. Behind poorly placed streamers and the backs of people too busy carrying on conversations to notice you, there was Queen. All lazily huddled together against a spot at the long and winding bar.

When Jim made his presences known, you and the girls stopped in your tracks and traded a few nervous glances.

Freddie Mercury was all of a sudden shifting his weight before the lot of you, casting a sweeping gaze across each of your faces.

“Miami, are these the children you’ve adopted now that we’re all grown up?” Freddie asked, greeting the manager and turning his oxen eyes to your band. His champagne sloshed in the glass he held near his chest as he threw one arm around Jim’s shoulders.

“Awe, you talk about us?” You jabbed an elbow toward the manager though you couldn’t quite reach where he stood. As his grin only grew, the rest of the band shifted closer.

“Boys, meet the girls.” Jim smiled, introducing you each by name.

But you couldn’t be sure if Roger even heard the manager’s introduction. The blonde floated up to your guitarist like he’d been supernaturally dragged across the room to meet her. Wilda stood before him, trying desperately not to pick at her nails, and smiled. You wanted to laugh, but you wanted to hurl. It was just too much, the way Roger seemed to drool at the simple sight of her, like Pepe Le Pew.

“What are you lovely ladies called, again?” He asked in a voice just as rasped as you’d come to recognize over the radio. Wilda blanched and seemed to go shy all of a sudden, but you weren’t.

“Loba.” You shrugged speaking in the drummer’s direction.

“What?” John asked, stepping closer to the other side of you, standing taller than you expected him to be.

“It means she-wolf.” Joane piped up, reciting her favourite and well-practised line. It always saved her from going too quiet, that fact.

“Uh-huh.” Roger seemed to agree, shifting to stand at Wilda’s side instead of ogling her head on- holding her gaze all the same.

“Better than their almost name. Guess what it was, lads.” Jim raised a brow to Freddie. Oh no. With Joane likely having shut down at the mention of her old idea, and Wilda entirely preoccupied with whispering to Roger, everyone turned to glance at you- Left with no choice but to bury your embarrassment and answer.

“Doin’ Alright.” You admitted through a smile, because if you didn’t laugh, who would? It was your drummer, resident Queen fanatic’s idea, one you talked her out of shortly after joining.

“How bloody un-o-fucking-riginal,” Brain huffed and crossed his long arms over his chest.

You had barely officially met the guy. He loomed near the back of the gathering and stood in silence, till then. And you might have thought he’d only been joking if it wasn’t for the way his stoic expression remained unchanged when your eyes met his for the first ever time.

“Hate to break it to ya, but your name was already sort of taken, too.” You pointed out, giving a weak mocking curtsy at the vague mention of her majesty. Queen’s guitarist’s glare remained.

“Oh, I like this one. Good ear, Miami.” Freddie sauntered over and nudged you away from Brian’s burning gaze. Roger was pointing Wilda out to the balcony, where a rowdy group grew larger every time you glanced out beyond the open glass doors.

“Don’t mind him.” John cocked his head toward the sulking guitarist, and handed you a bubbly drink. “He’s in the middle of a divorce and a midlife crisis, it’s really quite the combination.”

“Poor thing.” You stuck your lip out on your turn in Brian’s direction, as Freddie yanked you toward the balcony, laughing all the while. The wild-haired guitarist watched you leave with an expression you couldn’t quite understand, though you wanted too.

But before the lot of you could spin your separate ways and dance until sunrise, one of the men from the head office stopped in front of everyone with a smile.

“Nice to see you’re all already so well acquainted.” He said, in a sickeningly posh tone. Roger draped an arm across Wilda’s slim shoulders as the rest of you hummed in agreeance.

“So how would you like to tour together, then?” The man grinned. Freddie flourished, making a grand gesture and saying something about how that was the best idea he’d ever heard in his life. Joane turned to you, not even attempting to hide her squeal of excitement. Jim shared a look with John, like a proud father.

“Good. Because that’s what the label wants.” The man nodded and turned to Jim with instructions to phone him to start planning. Freddie swept you away to kick off a night of fun, and when you turned to see if Brian cared at all, he was gone.

///

Your single topped the charts in the US. Jim came into your work, feigned an emergency and gathered the rest of your band to share the good news over a celebratory brunch. You might have won over the yanks, but Queen had stolen the hearts of billions long before you’d written your first tune. So it was naturally decided your band would open for the much more renowned group.

You turned your two weeks notice into your job, and blew your last paycheck on an all-new wardrobe. If you were going to prance around America with the likes of Queen, you had to look the part. Some platforms and a few dazzling dresses found their way into your suitcase a week before it was time to go.

By the time you met up with the other band at the airport, you knew Roger well enough to stick out your tongue as a greeting. He’d come around your flat once, trailing behind Wilda to crash a night out you’d been planning all week. And again to steal her away from your last band meeting. When you, Joane and Wilda sleepily trudged through the waiting gates, he stole your guitarist away for the third time, and you wondered what might become of them.

You were still dazzled by Freddie, charmed by his laugh and stunned when he insisted on sitting next to you on the plane ride over, to share gossip. All of his friends seemed just as taken with the ethereal singer, too. John sprung up from his catnap to go help Freddie find the best snacks the airport had to offer. And while Jim sat going over the schedule with Joane, Brian sat across from you with his arms crossed and his legs a mile apart.

“Are you excited?” You wondered because you really wanted to know if someone who’d done this a time or two was still thrilled by it. But mostly, you wanted to get the lanky guitarist to open up a little. If you were going to spend a whole month and a half near each other, wouldn’t it be nice to get to know the guy a little?

“I’m tired.” Brian nodded, his hazel eyes fluttering toward the windows.

“Lighten up Mr. May. You could have my job. Was just sent to phone Fred’s cats and we haven’t even left home.” A man as gangly as Brian shuffled to sit at your side, adjusting the sunglasses on his head that did little to hide his thinning hair.

“I’m Crystal, that’s Ratty.” The guy pointed across the lounge to another slim, long-haired fellow bent over an open acoustic guitar case.

“We’re everyone’s personal lackeys and will be glad to lend you ladies a hand all the same.”

You thanked the guy with a chuckle and felt charmed enough by his sudden kindness to admit your growing nerves. But then Freddie and John were back, and the plane was ready, and it was time to go on tour.

///

The first week flew by in a flash. You were jarred by the size of every new arena and crowd that filled the seats. You lost yourself entirely to the music that blared from the speakers at your band’s command; but never got used to hearing the songs you once plucked away at in your bedroom, fill stadiums.

Going from entertaining grotty pubs to seas full of people wasn’t something you ever expected to happen. The sound of their collective cheers directed to your band didn’t seem real. All you could do was play on, and sing with your friends until the time came to rush to another green room, catch your breath, and a glimpse of the headlining act.

You usually only saw Queen in passing- in revolving hotel doors or shuffling about the same backstage halls. If you weren’t on stage, your band was hauled off to radio stations for interviews while Queen partied on. And if your band had an afternoon to do as you pleased, Queen was off signing records and privately touring art museums.

But there were the rare occasions your paths crossed for longer than a minute or two. John would always make a point to ask after you, from time to time. He said you and the girls seemed to be handling the road like old champs.

“I’m too busy to be bothered with stage fright.” You laughed, when John asked how you looked so at home in front of the crowds that had started to sing along to the songs you played.

Where most of Queen felt like friends your parents warned against staying out past curfew with, John felt like your older brother; who waited up to sneak you back home with a kind word.

Freddie always invited you to the after parties and nights out, even when he knew Loba was meant to do a photoshoot one city away. And when you failed to show up, the singer would always say he’d missed you. And you believed him, because of the nights he’d sneak in your hotel room to share the last of the liquor that had knocked the rest of his bandmates cold. Freddie went out of his way to include you and the girls more often than not.

But Roger seemed to include himself in your groups circle any chance he could get. He trailed behind Wilda, sure, but he seemed genuinely fond of chatting away with you and Joane all the same. And when your guitarist and Queen’s drummer partook in their weekly game of playing hard to get, you were awarded tiny moments with just Roger.

Like the time everyone crashed before midnight, and the two of you stayed up by the quiet hotel poolside, with an acoustic. It wasn’t long before your goofing around turned into some kind of jam session, and you were writing a song together. Roger insisted you keep it to use, and left the cocktail napkin full of scribbled lyrics tucked between the strings of Wilda’s guitar that you’d been left in charge of.

Then, there was Brian.

He strolled ahead of you off of the riverboat where both of your groups had been invited to enjoy a day off, cruising around somewhere in America’s deep south. You couldn’t help but watch Brian’s figure move as it seemed to tower just over all the people at his side. It was time to head back to the hotel, or at least, time for your freshwater adventure to end. Everyone was glad for the easy-going ride, still tired from the night before.

Maybe that’s why he was so quiet all afternoon. Brian usually was, but there was something more to his silence today. And you didn’t know the guy well enough to figure, or dare ask why. The weather was nice, and Queen was received with reverence every place they went. Brian had no reason to sulk- none you could possibly understand.

A slew of people with cameras and questions flocked to the boat docks as the one and only Freddie led the way, pretending to introduce Crystal as some kind of rockstar in his own right. The roadie ate up the attention as Brian’s pace set your own. You couldn’t move until he did. And while he stalled, cameras flashed and a desperate middle-aged man held a skinny microphone toward the band.

“Brian, how are you finding America?” They asked in a mousy pitch.

“Oh, it’s lovely here, as always.” Brian politely grinned, curling his fists in his jacket pockets, from what you could see.

“How’s touring with another group? Queen usually don’t need the support of an opening act.”

“Right.” Brian seemed to agree in a curiously cynical tone.

“They’re called Loba, and we quite like having them around.” Roger was suddenly shaking your shoulders like an overzealous coach. You chuckled at his antics as Brian dared to glimpse at the commotion.

He turned his gaze over his shoulder to look at you for a moment. It might have been the most exciting part of your whole day, considering how Brian hardly ever looked your way till now. But why did it have to be like that? What did you ever do to the guy?

The best you’d ever gotten from Brian was an empty hum when asked if he cared if you sat in the only open seat at his side, during some dinner. And over that meal, he chattered away with the likes of his band, and even yours. And maybe it was because you became utterly paranoid by his silence to break it with all of the questions you had for the guy. But he never spoke to you. The seat at Brian side seemed a void in his peripheral. And you were growing a bit anxious by the thought of actually being invisible to Brian. So you started speaking up.

When Freddie asked you with help on matching one of his many jackets with a pair of trousers, you’d already made up your mind, but twisted around to ask what Brian thought. His brows upturned in a painfully confused expression as he hesitantly gave his answer to Freddie’s clothing debacle. You got your own answer too, that at least Brian heard a voice coming from the space you existed in.

When both tour buses stopped for gas one random midnight; Roger raced you into the convenience store and distracted you from buying anything in place of dancing to The Cars tune crackling from the overhead speakers. Your spontaneous party was broken up when Brian breezed by with his freshly purchased candy bar in hand.

“We are on a schedule you know?” He glared your way on his turn to leave.

“I’m sorry you weren’t invited to the dance party Bri.” You mused, stopping the guy in his tracks, who turned to look at you in the way he did. “We’ll let you sulk in the corner of our next one, since it would obviously kill you to actually join in the fun.”

But all that got you was a roll of Brian’s hazel eyes and a cackle from Roger. That was the norm. Brian either seemed to pretend you weren’t there, or traded you bone chilling glares like you’d wronged him in a past life. But you’d never known less of a person than you’d known of Brian May, and you were beginning to wonder if going about finding out more was worth it.

///

By the time your next soundcheck came, Queen had nothing better to do than bop about the stadium to wait their turn. You and the girls rushed through your usual set up but decided to change things around for your second to the last song. And while you started to unplug it was decided Joane would have to turn a certain drum fill into a solo while Wilda rushed off stage to retune her only electric guitar to properly close out the show.

Brian overheard, from the place he stood arguing over an amp with Ratty, who’d kindly agreed to stick close by your band during times like now. The roadie shuffled over to take your bass away, while Brian issued a complaint.

“You’re going to retune? Just use a bloody capo and don’t waste everyone’s time.” Brian shifted his weight, furrowing his brow your way. Though you weren’t the guitarist in question, you seemed to be the one and only person Brian felt most comfortable yapping at.

“There’s more than one way to do things, you know?” You pointed.

“Yeah,” Brian shrugged, agreeing with you in a breathtaking turn of events. But then again, not really… “The right way and the wrong way.”

“Christ no wonder you’re divorced.” You shook your head in the guy’s direction. His eyes might have been pretty if they weren’t burning into yours with such disdain. Then you both made a show of storming past each other. You were getting really sick of his attitude, and what it did to yours.

///

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no!” You cried, cradling your bass that had fallen from the stand to the concrete floor below. The neck was ever so slightly cracked and a tuning peg was bent and your heart was near stopping. When you looked up from the ground, you saw Ratty cursing out one of the stadiums impish young stagehands. The kid had blown an amp and sent it smoking, and your guitar flying off the stage in his rush to run from the trouble he’d stirred.

You clutched your one and only instrument to your chest and hurried away for help. Ratty was wrestling the broken amp, Crystal was nowhere to be seen, and John was off phoning home. You recalled the sights of the city from yesterday’s afternoon off. There was a guitar shop across from the Chinese place where you stopped for lunch.

So you raced past Joane and shouted that you’d be back in an hour. The exact amount of time you had until it was time to go on stage.

You ran down the city streets with your bass in your arms like a wounded child. The guitar shop appeared like a beacon.

Inside was blaring a song by Led Zeppelin you might have wanted to sing along too if your heart wasn’t in your throat. There was a mass of teenaged boys crowded the counter. You waited, held your breath and checked the clock as it ticked away at a frightening speed. By the time the boys buying strings and straps shuffled away, you threw your broken baby to the older man behind the counter. He assured you the fix would be a breeze and tried to sell you an overpriced Gibson while you waited. You stood drumming beats on the sales counter and tried not to scream when the clock showed you’d only had ten minutes left to waste. A couple more later, your bass was in your grasp. You threw an extra bit of cash to the guy and ran off in a flurry, praying to make it on time.

You’d never ran so fast, certainly. You didn’t even have time to apologize to a kid on a bike who had to swerve out of your way. You burst through the back doors of the stadium, much to the shock of the doorman. When he shouted at you to take it easy, you ceased running to walk as fast as you could toward the green room.

Brian was the first familiar face to greet you after the nerve-wracking scene.

“So nice of you to finally show up.” He let out a mocking cheer from the place he kicked back on a torn leather sofa. So relaxed in his gloom. Your heart used to ache at the thought of his troubles. At the sight of his far off gaze as his friends joked on around him. When Freddie would drunkenly whisper to you details of Brian’s trying year. But the guitarist’s sneers your way were getting old, and the ache in your heart for him was slowly growing cold.

Freddie spun to greet you, let out a sigh of relief like an anxious mother, reaching out to adjust your shirt collar skewed under the strap of your instrument.

“Well, my guitar had to get fixed one way or the other. And unlike you, your highness, we haven’t got a gaggle of roadies to call upon.” You swatted Freddie away and snapped toward Brian.

“No, but what’s ours is yours. Next time ask for help.” John spoke like a stern father, tossing you a bottle of water and pointing toward the clock on the wall. You had about a minute to run out on stage.

“Let her learn the hard way, Deacy. She seems to like it that way.” Brian rang. You dashed away before you had time to curse him.

“Brian, stop being such a bitch, I mean, my God.” Freddie whined as you stormed off, glad for once that someone else seemed fed up with the guitarist’s sharp tongue, too.

///

When the show was over, John insisted you hop along his band’s tour bus back to the hotel. The other two-thirds of your band were still enjoying the amenities of the afterparty, and you were in the middle of trading bass themed horror stories with Deacy. So he kept on talking as you walked to follow him, settling near the front of the ride as it travelled to your latest hotel.

As Queen shuffled to cross the bleak lot to get to the grandiose lodge, Brian was the last to leave. He shouldered past you with that same old sullen pout. His eyes caught yours for a moment before he took another step, but something about the usual interaction was the final straw for you.

“What the hell did I ever do to you?” You demanded to know, as Brian’s bandmates disappeared inside the hotel. Brian stalled reluctantly and turned to face you with pursed lips and the smallest shake of his head.

“Look,” He began, as you stood ready to get to the bottom of whatever this was. “I’ve really never meant to be so cross with you. And I’m sorry my temper’s been so easily getting the better of me. I am sorry.” Brian nodded. He looked exhausted, like this was the millionth time he’d had to give a similar speech, but he did so in such a genuine manner- that you could only stand and trade a perplexed gaze to the lanky guitarist.

“It’s… it’s best if we just keep to ourselves, yeah?” Brian concluded, turning away with one final nod. You didn’t get the chance to agree, or disagree, or understand what just happened before Brian was on his way, and you were on your own.

///

After the tour was said and done, a new year was just kicking off. And the label was pushing for another album right out the gate. You and the girls had two months to throw together a collection of new songs, and were struggling for most of the time to do just that.

The song Roger helped you write was the best one you had to offer, and Joane was nearly crippled under the stress of being creatively confined to a certain amount of time. You’d never had such a hard time working together before, and the pressure was building up between each of your bandmates in a way you were afraid of.

When Watts strolled in to take control of the soundboard you’d been fiddling with all morning, you couldn’t help but to warn him against changing any of your settings. You and the girls were finally making some kind of progress, albeit bickering along the way. Poor Jim could only sorrily sigh each time one of you turned and ask for his help. This bit of work was a little outside of the managers league.

And Watts only seemed to egg you on, pressing the few buttons you asked him not to.

“You want to control this soundboard so bad, have at it.” He stood in a huff, “I only strongly suggest you don’t fuck this up.” The producer hissed before slipping out of the door. He smiled a smile that made you queasy, and you nodded knowing full well you were on thin ice.

Jim left you and the girls to fight over tempos and key changes and came back from the studio’s kitchenette with an unexpected announcement.

“Brian is coming.” He said, matter of factly.

“What’d you call him for?” Joane groaned from the floor, where she laid fiddling with her kit.

“Because Queen is the best help I know. But Freddies in Barcelona, John’s with his family, Roger is MIA and Brian is right down the road. You lot have a day left, and I’m running out of helpful ideas. And quite frankly, you girls are in need of a lot of it.”

“Yeah, maybe, but now nothing will get done.” Joane countered. “Not with the way he and y/n square off like old alley cats.”

“He’ll be here in five. Come on lady wolves… Claws up, plugs in.” Jim pointed as he sat back down on the studio sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Wilda shot into a speech, begging you over and over to keep it cool. The sooner you started, the better. She was right, and you wanted nothing more than to get this record finished. So with a nod, you accepted your fate.

Brian strolled in the studio right on time. His eyes looked desperate for sleep, and his already wild mane seemed even more unkempt. His small smile Jim’s way made you want to reach past the wall Brian put up, and shake his shoulders, and tell him it was okay to be actually happy once in a while.

Maybe it was the time that had passed since the tour. Maybe Brian forgot that he’d cared so little for you, and that’s why his faint grin lingered when his eyes met yours, past the glass of the recording booth. You willed your own weak smile his way, weary of this new civility, but just as tempted to take it in stride.

“Hello, ladies. Let’s see what you’re working with so far, shall we?” Brian leaned in and spoke just to you, it seemed. Maybe it was because you were closest, front and centre before the guy in a little glass box.

You’d felt more vulnerable than ever, under his forest coloured gaze. There was no place to run off and hide. You were right in Brian’s line of sight, right under his thumb, as he pressed a button stopped your band from playing to suggest a few dozen changes.

You knew he was here to help. And Jim looked so hopeful, tapping his foot to the beat in the corner of the room. So even though your throat was going dry as Brian settled his eyes on your bass- you played on. When he stopped you again, your blood began to boil.

“Please tell me you plan on adding a keyboard? A harmonica, something else?” Brian grimaced.

“We only play on the record what we can play on stage as a three-piece.” Joane raised a drumstick to make a point.

“Yeah well, it’s sure sounding that way.” The older and wiser musicians voice crackled through the speaker.

“Fuck you, that sounded good!” You hissed into the mic, wielding your bass like a weapon. That might'a been the best take you’d done all day.

“Yeah, but it didn’t sound great. If I turned my car radio on to that I’d fall asleep at the wheel. Joane, try using your snare on the bridge, instead of the cymbals. Y/n… from the top.” Brian sighed, sitting back in his chair like an exhausted parent.

You sighed too, adjusting your headphones and tossing Wilda a glare, a sign that you couldn’t keep your cool much longer.

You tried harder. But Brian kept stopping you. And every time he did, you couldn’t be stopped from cursing him just a little. If he’d only give you just one chance to find your rhythm, you might’ve made a whole record by now. When you told him as much, he let you play on for almost half a song before he’d stopped you again. When he did, you nearly exploded. But Joane snapped first. She got up from her kit, chucked her headphones, and stormed away. You slung your bass away to follow after her, but Wilda was quicker and raced out of the back to chase Joane down.

That left you with time enough to break out of the glass box and give Brian a few choice words.

“Way to fucking go, drill sergeant.” You gestured toward the guy who was slow to rise from his place before the soundboard.

“It’s not my fault she decided to-”

“Yeah, it is. Thanks for showing up and doing fuck all.”

“I came here to help you, and I could do if you’d stop acting like a damn child.” He pointed a finger your way, and the fire in his gaze sent a chill down your spine for the first time ever. You weren’t afraid of him. You were only stunned by the way he spoke to you. The way he always had. Why did Brian bother showing up here tonight?

“We might be able to take some of your suggestions if you stopped stopping us! Why don’t you just stick to pissing your own band off? You do it so well.”

You’d heard him trade sharper words with Queen. Roger told you that Brian was just working through some things. John said he’d always been like this. You just couldn’t understand why you got the worst of it.

“Well, it’s clear you’ve got more than enough hell to give your own group. You might sound less like the second place winners of your primary school’s talent show if you learned to stop making so many executive decisions.”

“I have a suggestion for you.” You decided, “Why don’t you take all your bleeding suggestions and fu-”

“Yeah, alright, let’s all take a break.” Jim intervened as you let out an exhausted sigh that doubled as a frustrated cry. The manager waved Brian over and the two men started to share a word as you stormed out of the back from fresh air and a clearer mind.

“He’s right you know. We sound like a washed-up wedding band.” Wilda shouted your way as she stayed leaning back against the hood of her car with a cigarette in hand.

“Where is Joane?” You asked, already knowing the answer. Wilda glanced at the empty parking spot where your drummer’s new mustang was earlier today. Great. Just what you needed.

“Right. Let’s forget everything, and finish. We’ll just… get it done.”

And so that’s what you did. Brian was gone when you ventured back in, and his absence left a familiar little ache in your heart. You didn’t like shouting at each other like cross siblings. You’d wanted to be his friend more than anything, at the start of all of this. The stars that might have aligned for that chance were all askew by now.

Jim left you and Wilda to go fetch some takeaway. Then he sat around the small table in the studio and shared dinner and some words of wisdom with the two of you. You thanked your manager for being so kind, and forgiving of your antics thus far. He chuckled and said something about having witnessed and dealt with much worse. Jim stayed a while longer, while you and Wilda worked together, and it was you who had to encourage the guy to go home and get some rest.

He entrusted the key to the place to you and your bandmate and left you to finish up for the evening. And you did, eventually. You and the eager guitarist listened back to the tapes and added in riffs and fills, and even a few of Brian’s suggestions; until well past midnight. But right on time for the label.

You could sleep soundly knowing you’d finished when you were meant to. But your dreams were full of worry that the record still wasn’t good enough.

///

“You did what?” Joane shrieked in the hall of your flat.

“We had to finish, Joane. You never came back, what else were supposed to do?” You yelled back, worry saturating your tone. It was far too early to be having this fight.

“You were supposed to wait for me!” Joane shouted, looking to you with big sad eyes. You rushed to remind her that you were out of time, and she could have shown back up and helped you finish, but she didn’t. And in her typical fashion, the drummer spun on her heels and stormed away, fringe flying far behind her shoulders as she shouted something about never coming back.

The girl had been known to fly off the handle on occasion. There was the time she drove your van away from a sketchy Welsh pub you travelled miles to play in, because Wilda called the drummers shoes ugly. Or the time she nearly chucked her cymbals from your third story flat window. You prayed that this episode was like the others you’d endured as you shut your door and rushed to get ready. It was time to take your record to the head office.

No one was particularly happy to find your three-piece only consisted of two when you showed up with Wilda to present your latest creation. Jim flashed a couple of smiles as the tracks played on, but all you noticed were Wilda’s shrugs. The record was done. But under unexpectedly trying circumstances and lacking a lot of help from your drummer. It wasn’t what you’d envisioned. The label still decided it was good enough, and sent you to fill a couple of talk show slots before the week was up.

You went with your guitarist to a couple of press junkets, and watched as your dazzling friend gave away answers she’d been practising since before you’d played your first gig. The only thing that made her umber eyes glow brighter was the sight of Roger Taylor waiting up after a certain interview. He invited her back to wherever it was he’d run off to, and Wilda had the decency to look toward you with a furrowed brow.

With a sigh, you agreed to handle the rest of the press on your own. Because she deserved to have the fun she’d been wishing for with the capricious drummer.

Four talk shows, three guest appearances, and one very hectic game show later, it was time for your record release. Roger phoned to assure he’d bring Wilda back in the nick of time. But Joane wasn’t answering her phone. You’d hoped after a bit of space that your drummer would come back around. But she wasn’t any place you’d gone to look. You spent until the witching hour driving to the places you knew she might have been and came up short.

When the time came to get ready for the party, half of your time getting ready was spent trying to hide the dark circles under your eyes. Before you left home, you took a couple of shots and prayed tonight wouldn’t crash and burn around you.

///

The mansion belonged to the head of the company, a place he’d invite people to when celebrations were too grandiose to fit in EMI’s loft. You wondered if you were the last to arrive when you opened the massive carved doors to find the stunning home littered with faces most of whom you didn’t recognize. One you did finally emerged from the crowd.

“Thank God you made it, I feared I’d have to put on a show instead.” Freddie chuckled, greeting you with glee. You ruffled the boa around his neck, thanked him for showing up, and wondered where you could find the drinks.

“I’ll take you round back dear, but you’d better hurry. The old important men are tired of waiting.” You could have explained how you’d waited up in hopes that Jonae would phone. And how when the phone did ring, it was Wilda worrying that she’d missed the only flight back home. But you only gave Freddie a sorry smile and spun into the garden. There was a bar in the veranda, where a handsome man made a show of mixing you a drink, making little passes along the way.

The time you thought you were stalling by answering all of the dude’s dumb questions was very soon interrupted. All of a sudden a towering guitarist was casting a shadow over you, and swiftly excusing the man behind the minibar.

“It’s about bloody time you showed up.” Brian rang in a mockingly sweet timbre. And as your stomach fluttered with nerves, you knew time was up. But how could you release a record without the rest of your band?

When you started to argue as much, Brian clamped his fingers around your arm like a vice and yanked you away from the bar and the drink you didn’t even get to try.

“Saving the day again, are you?” You rang dryly, as he towed you away. Brian’s face was set in its usual frown, one you’d become so familiar with that his smile on magazine covers made you look twice. He said nothing as he marched you out of the yard and into the mansion. You figured he’d part ways from you once you passed through the doors, but his grip didn’t loosen on the way down the empty marble hallway.

“Let me go.” You struggled, huffing out the words as you fought his grip and won. Before you had time to storm away, Brian spun to face you.

“Would you grow the fuck up? There is a room full of people depending on you and you’re acting like a fucking child, like always.”

“I’m not a child.” You hissed, curled your fists and glared up at Brian as he loomed over you. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His feet and fiery eye’s pointed to back you into the corner. But you wouldn’t let him get to you. “I’m trying my best it’s just not fucking good enough.”

A bit of a waver passed through your tone, as you targeted the words through your teeth. You watched Brian bend at the knee to look right in your eye, and pretended not to hold your breath.

“No, you aren’t.” Brian pointed a finger right at you and spoke in a low, unnerving rumble. “I’ve seen you at your best and I can guarantee you’re far from it, tonight.” He snarled, glaring you up and down with those dangerous hazel eyes. They raked over the span of your figure before landing on yours once more. “You look a bloody mess.”

“Because I’ve been running around till two in the damn morning, trying to find Joane! And when I couldn’t, I had to finish everything all on my own again. Because Roger took Wilda away and bought her nice pretty shoes and put her in good graces with all the higher-ups, and unlike her, I have to earn that shit myself.” You yelled, the dam holding back your bottled up emotion had crumbled in the overflow. You could feel the threat of tears stinging the backs of your eyes as Brian stood gaping at you in your outburst.

“So now I’ve lost my voice from all the interviews and the lack of sleep and I probably won’t be able to sing on tour to promote this shite album with a single you’ll switch off when it comes on the radio, anyway!”

And before you’d even stopped shouting, it seemed, Brian had his hands on either side of your face, and his lips pressed to yours. Your back was pushed to the wall and it took great effort not to melt down it with the way you were consumed by an all new kind of fire; mixed among the usual. But above it all, you were too shocked to kiss him back. Then you parted from each other, and past his unbuttoned top you watched the rise and fall of Brian’s chest while he caught his breath and stared at you.

“What the bloody hell was that?” You asked in a stunned hush. Brian blinked and shook his curls.

“I’m, I- I don’t- I didn’t mean-”

“You think you can just kiss me and, I don’t know, that everything is just magically going to be okay?” You wondered in a fluster, knowing there was nothing that could be done about the blush burning your cheeks. After months of frowning every time the two of you passed each other he kisses you?

“No. No I- I’ve always wanted to kiss you and I just thought I knew better than to do it.” Brian held up a hand like he was swearing not to come closer. Talk about some seriously mixed messages.

“What?” You asked in an embarrassingly high squeak.

“I wanted to kiss you before I even knew your name. And it just seemed like the entirely wrong thing to do. So I shut you out, and my ire kept getting the better of me, and that’s not an excuse, just the truth,” Brian sighed, at what seemed like a sudden loss for words as his eyes searched yours.

“Well, you’ve gone and done it now.” You pointed out with the faintest laugh despite everything. Brian shook his head, asking, in a way, to understand what you were on about.

So you shook your head too, and latched onto his loose collar. You yanked Brian closer because you weren’t angry. You were actually feeling fine all of a sudden about everything. Only sure that you had to kiss him again good and proper. It was your first kiss with him, really, as your mouths moved together. Brian’s fingers were wrapped around your arm again, less claw-like than moments ago. And he didn’t seem too keen to break away from pushing you a little closer to the wall, a second time around.

But just as you lost yourself to the feeling of Brian’s frame moulded against your own, your name was hollered from somewhere down the hall. Music grew louder over the speakers that reached out to the sparsely decorated hall. Brian let you go, and you released your latch on his shirt to wipe your lips in a hurry.

But before you could scurry away, you watched Brian watch you prepare to bolt, and couldn’t help the small smile blooming across your face. He smiled, too.

You looked a mess. You were a mess. And you might’ve been one step away from fucking this whole thing up. But for the first time all year, you accepted it.

///

Your second record, somehow, was praised by the label and adored by the steadily growing following you’d gained. The old burnt out hippie man who ran your home town record store stood from his torn leather stool and applauded you, the day you came in to buy the Talking Heads new record.

“You’re really finding your sound, man.” The old hippie grinned. You told him to sit back down and thanked him despite your embarrassment. He asked you to autograph the cash box and gave you a discount on the album you bought.

After your single reached the top five in the charts, you talked Joane back around. It wasn’t easy. You had to promise you’d keep a cooler head, and she did too. She started stopping over every Sunday with a book of songs for you to think up a tune to, and turned the radio up every time one of your hits came on air. You laughed when she danced around your coffee table like it was the first time she was hearing your band name on the lips of a local dj.

Wilda cut all her hair off and wore the shoes Roger bought her everywhere. She talked about him after every breath, but you knew she hadn’t talked to him in months. Queen were busy planning a tour of Europe and trying to save the families that hadn’t already slipped through the cracks at the homes they bought but hardly visited.

You knew because you called Freddie to ask after Brian.

“Why are you asking about Brian?” You could hear the smile in Freddie’s voice, after he’d finished gabbing about the others.

“I want to know how all you boys are, naturally.” You panicked, realizing how lame your excuse was as you spoke it into the receiver. Freddie only hummed after a beat, and let another silence linger before speaking up again.

“I know you both secretly care for each other. Just give him time love, he’ll come around.” Freddie chirped before giving you a sweet farewell and hanging up.

Throughout your ever-changing year, Freddie had been more than kind to you. He’d become your friend. He gave away secrets like a kid at a slumber party. And when Brian came up in his conversation, Freddie always got serious. When the singer told you about the rough year Brian had been through, and the state of his well being, Freddie seemed to look at you with all of the seriousness in the world. Like he was desperate for you to understand. Did he know you were desperate to understand? Did he know Brian kissed you?

You could have phoned Brian. But you were too busy secretly hoping he’d ring you.

///

Your only notable call came from Jim, who gently nudged you to agree to being Queen’s opening act, once again.

“It’s what the fans want, according to the label. It’s what the label wants.” Jim explained, in the soft, kind, way that protected the guy from ever receiving a glare or harsh word from you, or Brian, you realized.

“We’ll do it, if the royal court isn’t up in arms.”

“Freddie said, and I quote, 'Beg her on my behalf and tell her I’ll fly home from Barcelona to do it myself if she even thinks of saying no.’”

So you called your band, packed a bag and showed up to the airport at five in the bloody morning with a smile on your face.

And then you were off. For the first week, a local band had been chosen from each new city, to open for Loba. By the time you, Wilda, and Joane took the stage, each audience of what seemed like billions were more electric than the last. You’d never had more fun, jumping around to the music you’d worked your ass off to create with the girls. You each ran off stage, changed in a flurry and ran back to the sidelines to watch Queen light up the black ink night. And like the last time, that was about the only time you’d see much of them- till one show got delayed when a wicked storm showed no signs of passing.

Roger took Wilda to dinner, and she followed his burning trail after about a minute of pretending she wasn’t at all interested. Joane made a speech about everyone catching up one sleep, before she crashed in your bed with her shoes still on. After unlacing her heavy boots and tossing them aside, you went to find your favourite band of boys gathering in the lobby with plans to go out.

“Now the party can really start.” Crystal grinned, reaching to wrap a strong arm around your neck as he pulled you to follow the gang to the limo in waiting. You broke loose of the roadies hold and shoved him into the back of the car before crouching in yourself.

A couple of girls you’d never met sat on either side of Freddie, and cast their doe eyes to John who scooted over to make room for you. And holding the bassist’s attention was Brian, who had yet to look your way all week. Ah, just like old times. You both had been busy. But you couldn’t stop from wondering if there was something more to it…

Had you upset Brian beyond your wildest dreams, when you kissed? Did he smile at you after it happened in the way people who were so angry did, that their furry appeared in a mask of calm?

Or… did you finally get him to shut up for good? Did he realize how unremarkable you were? That you weren’t even good enough to bicker with any longer? Pushing his buttons was one thing. But you always hated the times you and Brian paired harsh words with those deadly glares. Now that you were getting the silent treatment though, you’d take his arguing with you with a relieved smile.

Freddie pulled you along into a club adorned in sickening green uplighting. The purple-tinted insides held a crowded bar and a dance floor where patrons overflowed toward the restrooms. Some tune by The Velvet Underground was pulsing through the speakers as Freddie spun you around, dancing you both closer to the mass of people doing the same.

You noticed members of your group beginning to lose themselves in the crowd when you decided a drink was in order. The bar was packed, so much so that you nearly couldn’t turn to see who you’d wedged yourself against until you felt him tense up.

Brian kept his eyes on the wall decorated with drink options and dared not move as you shifted to notice him. His hip jabbed into your side, his white knuckles rested on the ledge of the bar brushed against your arm as he drew his hands together.

“Aren’t we going to talk about it?” You asked all of a sudden. If it were up to you, you would have cornered Brian like he’d cornered you, that night. But the tour had been so busy, and this was the closest you’d been since the night he pushed you against the wall… And you couldn’t take it anymore.

Still, Brian kept his eyes pointed front and said nothing.

“You kissed me first, ya know?” You spoke plainly, desperate for a response.

The barman shoved a tall drink toward Brian’s chest just then, at the same time Freddie reached past a few strangers to yank his guitarist toward the dance floor. As he was pulled away, Brian’s eyes swept over yours, and they were prettier than ever.

///

You’d nearly forgotten all your troubles that weekend, as everyone rushed to make up the cancelled show with two in a row, and one another city away with no time to sleep, not really.

After a montage of screaming crowds, ringing guitars, and squirming in and out of too-tight clothes, a three day break awaited the lot of you at long last. You trekked behind familiar faces down a lime green hotel hall, and dreamed of sleeping until you were good and ready to wake up.

Freddie waved as he twirled into his room, and Roger followed Wilda all the way down the hall. And while you watched your feet move toward your room number a few dozen doors away, you were stopped in your tracks.

You grinned when you recognized the feeling of the fingers around your arm, and the way Brian dragged you in his tow. You didn’t have far to go, just behind the door he was already closing in one swift move…

And in a flash, the door was shut and he was kissing you like how he did before, without a word, all of a sudden. Like he was trying to suck the life out of you. You kissed him right back, like you’d been dreaming of doing since you knew how nice it was.

And then you shoved him away. Because you wanted this, but not like last time.

“You’re not going to leave me in the quiet after tonight are you? I might at least be able to stand the radio silence if I knew what it was all about.” You searched Brian’s face in the dark. All the while, you kept ahold of his shirt sleeves and slowly found your way to his haphazardly made hotel bed.

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” You couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d treated you with all the interest of a passive-aggressive house cat since the day you met. Brian went quiet as you guided him to sit on the mattress, leary to close the space between you until he spoke up again. Though his long fingers fell feather-light against your hips, you only kept yours on his shoulders and held his gaze, silently hoping he’d speak up again.

“Of how desperately I’ve always wanted you.” He whispered while his fingers curled to grip you the slightest bit closer. “There were about one thousand reasons I was afraid of ever kissing you, and they all seemed even scarier after I did.”

Brian let his eyes rake up your figure before meeting your own. His lips were close enough to brush yours now. It made such sense, now. All those looks weren’t really glares. All those bitter words weren’t so malice. The tension that lied between you and Brian was all to do with how badly you’d wanted to be this close all along.

Maybe he was afraid to cross that line, because of all the love he’d so recently lost. Or maybe it was because of how young and dumb you really were. And maybe it was because of something you wouldn’t come to find out for a while, yet. You decided there wasn’t time to worry over why, tonight. That could come later.

“I hope you realise now, there’s nothing to fear.” You wrapped a hand around Brian’s neck and watched his eyes search yours in the dark. Then he nodded, softly bumping his head against yours. He pulled you closer between his legs and kissed you. You pushed him to lay down and started on your mission to show Brian just how fond of him you really were.

“I’m still pissed that we could have been doing this ages ago.” You breathed a laugh as Brian’s teeth grazed your neck.

“Never could handle not getting your way, could you?” He hummed against the skin you’d started to expose.

“I mean it.” You chuckled, tugging at a few of Brian’s highlighted curls. His head lulled until he was looking at you again. Brian stayed perfectly fitted against you while his eyes peered into yours. You recognized the uncertain look on his face, but it was different than before. Softer. Sadder, maybe.

“You really want this?” He asked in a soft timbre.

“Yes.” You nodded, tracing the length of his nose just because. A bit of quiet lingered after your assurance.

“But do you want me?” Brian asked in a hush. His sweet voice saturated in a worry you didn’t realize he had.

“Yeah,” You nodded again, searching his pretty hazel eyes as you placed both of your hands on the sides of his lovely face. “I want you Bri.”

The kiss you shared then was one that meant more than you knew a kiss could. There was something about Brian, a part of him you’d always longed to know. You felt closer than ever to that side of the guitarist now, when he deepened the kiss, and you felt him smile.

///

You woke up with a song in your head. A melody left over from a dream. But instead of rushing to find a pen and paper, you rolled over to covet the warmth of your unexpected company.

Brian draped an arm across your middle and hummed in delight when you nuzzled closer. You stayed like that, perfectly content in the tangled up sheets, watching the patterns of the sun through the window on their slow shift across the room.

“We’re going to have to leave this bed at some point you know?” You sat up a little after dozing off for the third time in a row. Brian stayed happily tucked close to your side. “And someone is more than likely going to figure this out.”

“That’s fine by me.” Brian shrugged, peering up to you from the pillows you leaned against.

“We’re supposed to hate each other.” You reminded through a sleepy chuckle. Brian only grinned and blinked, conjuring up a thought.

“I never hated you. I might always be sorry for picking such fights. I did always want the best for you, I just had a nasty way saying so.” Brian murmured thoughtfully.

He caught your eye once more and the corners of his mouth turned up when he looked to find you were already staring at him, trying to memorize the perfect outline of his profile against the bright sunlight. You inched lower to meet his gaze, and said,

“I think we might’ve finally figured out what’s best for both of us.”

And the way Brian looked at you then sent a chill down your spine that raced back up and shot through your heart in one go.

“S'Just, sometimes you’re a real bitch.” You joked to fight the way your heart was beginning to beat like a drum. Because you weren’t quite brave enough to fall all the way in love yet. But you decided just as quickly that Brian was probably worth falling for.

“I know. And sometimes you’re fucking unbearable.” He countered with a smirk.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You noted with a laugh. You had it real bad for this guy. And that kind of scared the shit out of you. How could this have happened so quickly? How had you failed to see it coming? What if it was over no sooner than it began?

“But…” The only thing that broke through your hesitancy was Brian’s long fingers slowly trailing across your jaw. "Do you want me?“ You echoed his statement from the night before, in a hush. You’d only just realized the depth in asking so.

"Yeah.” Brian said, wrapping a lean arm snug around your middle without a moment’s hesitation. “I want you.”

And he said so like he was trying to encapsulate all the things that made you whole and wonderful and unbearable all at once. And even then, you giggled before leaning in for a kiss.

You spent the rest of what was left of that morning doing all the things you’d done the night before. And when you decided to finally get dressed, you and Brian hopped into your clothes while squabbling over what and when to tell your friends.

You hoped you’d get to hear his maddening whinging on for the rest of forever. Because if it ever became too much, at least you’d finally discovered some pretty effective ways to shut each other up.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

#Brian May #brian may x reader #brian may fanfiction #brian may imagine

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bardofhype · 3 months ago

Text

hello limbus company fandom. fourth time's an omen so. been away from the community even longer now and there are so many more. help me god but i figured i should update this, since it's been getting quite a bit of attention recently and i think all you birthday fellas should get some extra treats this one is probably gonna be even longer than the last. buckle up and hold onto your butts

Yi Sang The Pequod First Mate: "Hm. The Lake's waters have been very calm upon this day. Perhaps it knew of you and what the day is for- and in a sign of respect, they have stilled. This is a rare calm, so let us appreciate this together." Dieci South Section 4: "I have studied the calendar in full, and it's come to my attention it is your birthday. If you will have me, I would like to ask if we may study together. I shall treat you to a meal of your choosing afterwards." W Corp. L3 Cleanup Agent: "A day off for both of us, then... ? I have no present of any monetary value to bestow upon you, sadly. However, if you would allow it... I may show you the priceless gift that is a truly peaceful slumber." The Ring Pointillist Student: "Perfect. You have arrived just in time- I behold to you a piece I have poured countless dots and thoughts and time to, in honor of you. Does it not speak to your soul? Does it not capture the myriad of infinities you hold at your fingertips? I implore you, keep it- it is a gift worthy of you." Lobotomy EGO::Solemn Lament: "It has been another year that you have not fallen into death's embrace. While my work here in this facility does not allow me the time to give a proper celebration, even if it were to be minor... I hope you will find peace in knowing that I shall remember you whenever you do pass on. And on that day, I know many butterflies will flutter in remembrance."

Faust Wuthering Heights Butler: "Ah, there you are. As per Chief Butler Outis' orders, a special afternoon tea set has been prepared in celebration of your birthday. Your favorite tea blend and preferred snacks are included, as well as ones we believe the Master will greatly enjoy." Lobotomy EGO::Regret: "We are steadily reaching our energy quota for the day. Should things continue with no hindrances, I will be glad to take you out for a meal. You needn't tell me what you'd prefer- Faust already knows." Blade Lineage Salsu: "Have you looked up at the night sky? The moon has waxed full tonight, and it shines brighter than it ever has. If one squints, they may see the stars scattered like cherry petals around it, too. This night is special- thank you for allowing me to show you its beauty. I hope this birthday has been pleasant." MultiCrack Office Rep: "Here- a set of prosthetic arms, considering it is your birthday. You may not see the need for them now, but whenever you're ready, I will be willing to help with installation and maintenance, so that you can utilize them as soon as possible."

Don Quixote Lobotomy EGO::Lantern: "Ah!! Look yonder- the Lantern has chosen to grace itself in this very hallway! Perhaps it senses a greatness in thee that has grown on this day, as I have sensed it as well! Come, Manager Esquire, the flower beckons thou to hold it!" Blade Lineage Salsu: "Manager Esquire! I hath been sent to fetch your presence, for the others of the Lineage wish thee a rather happy birthday! Let us make a toast, for one more year! ... A-ack, the wine is too bitter..." The Middle Little Sister: "The Big Brother hath requested your presence, Manager Esquire! Birthday celebrations are of great importance to the Middle, especially when great vengeances hath been carried out! As a member of the family, a night of jovial partying is oft required! Now- let us make haste!!" T Corp. Class 3 Collection Staff: "Good morrow to thee! I hath spent some of my time to bestow upon thee a most suitable breakfast-luncheon for today's occasion! I implore thou to take your time with it- food ought to be savored in its entirety for as long as possible!"

Ryoshu LCCB Assistant Manager: "Hey, you. Here to escape the boredom of morning lessons from that D.H.* too? ... Mm. Fine, I'm willing to give you one of my cigs. Better pay me back for it, though." (* drab hole) Liu South Section 4: "I heard you've grown a year older. Here- I made some edible art with my sparks. The burnt taste of the edges and core will bring out the underlying natural flavors, I'm sure you'll agree. Heh." District 20 Yurodivy: "Time's always moving forward, huh? H.B.D., in that case. I'll share some screws with you if you don't waste any of my time today." Edgar Family Chief Butler: "Here you are, Master. A clean room, perfectly made tea, and some scones. I did this all myself, as I would not trust the I.B.S.* with something so important. (*idiot Butler sadsacks) Lobotomy EGO::Red Eyes & Penitence: "You won't get much but a H.B.D. from me. S.H. and S.F. are too loud today- yes, I know, shut up- go ask that depressing guy with the coffin for something instead."

Meursault The Middle Little Brother: "The other Brothers will expect you to join them on their outing tonight. It is your birthday, after all, and a celebration *must* be had. There is no choice but to go- I will accompany you." Dead Rabbits Boss: "Time passes on... and you are one year older. Allow me to give you this, then. A small token of appreciation for paying your protection fee on time." Blade Lineage Mentor: "They say you gain more wisdom as you grow older, but they also say that wisdom comes from experience. Allow me to test the truth of both with a game of baduk- and let us see how the tides turn from here." Dieci South Section 4 Director: "With age comes a better understanding of information and knowledge, as well as a higher capacity to hold either in your mind. Eat well and rest well today, that is all I ask. You're even welcome to skip the late night study sessions, if you would like... but do not make it a repeat occurrence if you do."

Hong Lu Hook Office Fixer: "A big contract got us a lot of pay for once. So, as a treat... ta-da!~ Some HamHamPangPang, from Hook Office to you. Enjoy~" Dieci South Section 4: "It's your birthday, right? I read a bunch of cookbooks in preparation for it, but only one of them was for a cake. It sounded really delicious, though, so I made it last night- the recipe required it. So... hm. I've forgotten where I put it~" District 20 Yurodivy: "Do you have the time for something? Perfect~ follow me... look at this. At one of my recent investigations, I found it just laying on the ground. It didn't seem important to the crime scene, so I took it with me as part of my payment. I figured it would look nice on you, so... happy birthday~"

Heathcliff MultiCrack Office Fixer: "Finally, a day off from work... oi, clock. You have some time to shoot the shite? Could use some company, and I could get you something in return, considerin' the day and all." The Pequod Harpooner: "You're a year older. Many years left to go. So have this. Is a good luck charm. The voyage ends soon. Luck needed." Öufi South Section 3: "As outlined in this contract, the other party will lend you the items stated in the clauses. ... And for not being a pain in the arse to deal with, here. Something for you. Happy birthday." Wild Hunt: "... With how much time is lost to me, I find it curious you can track it for yourself even in my presence, timepiece. How selfish, keeping such a thing to yourself... ... no. It doesn't matter- time is lost each second, and fretting over such useless things will do nothing for the coming storm."

Ishmael Edgar Family Butler: "The Master has deemed you worthy of a special room in the manor. This is his gift to you- and though it isn't quite necessary, I will be willing to do whatever you order for today. But just for today, mind you. I have lots of duties as a Butler. The Pequod Captain: "Men, hear me! Today, we celebrate this greenhorn's birthday- one of the finest of my ranks! I order you all now- celebrate this one who shall steer our voyage clear towards the Crimson Whale!"

Rodion T Corp. Class 2 Collection Staff: "Mm... why does it look like that... oh, hey, Dante! You hungry? Here, have some steak and wine, on me~" Liu South Section 4 Director: "Happy happy birthdaaaaay! Come on, Dante- let me treat you to a shopping spree your stomach's gonna thank you for!"

Sinclair Cinq South Section 4 Director: "I'm glad we both finally found some time to chat over a meal- and on your birthday, no less. If I could, I'd duel anyone in your stead for free on this day, but... I'm afraid I'll be much too busy by the time we head back." Dawn Office: "Ah, there you are. Our contracts for today were completed- and I've made a fresh cup of ssanghwa-cha for you. It's... the least I can do for you, on this special day of yours."

Outis Cinq South Section 4: "Good morning. I hear it is a day of great importance to you, yes? Very well. Allow me to patrol alongside you- should one wish to duel you, you need not worry in my presence." The Ring Pointillist Student: "I have painted something for you, as a side project to my main task. It shows the sheer quantity of 'dots' that can be seen in everyday life, converging into a portrait of you. I trust you find it magnificent." Lobotomy EGO::Magic Bullet: "You've become one year older. Being able to survive in this place for more than a year is no easy task- I do commend you for that, but that doesn't excuse you to slack off by any means." Wuthering Heights Chief Butler: "A banquet has been prepared for you, if you may come this way. The Mistress informed me it was your birthday- and if she bothered to learn such a detail, then you are someone of great importance here." W Corp. L3 Cleanup Captain: "My work has been completed ahead of schedule. Executive Manager, allow me to take this time to wish you a happy birthday, and... here. A boxed lunch from the station by W Corp.'s headquarters. You will thank me later."

Gregor Kurokumo Clan Captain: "Hey hey hey, look who's arrived! C'mere and join me~ already did a few shots myself, but there's plenty of bottles to go through tonight, y'hear? Here's to several more years, hahah~!" Twinhook Pirates First Mate: "Now, don't go too crazy with this, but... I got you a little something. All of our side deals finally bore a good bit of fruit, so I can splurge a little for a good client of mine. Don't waste it all now~" Edgar Family Heir: "The light of the sun will not touch this place, that much I am certain. And yet, even with the hope of peace gone like the breezes that ail me... it is nice to feel a touch of its warmth from you. I can do nothing to repay you- I simply give you a wish that the warmth is not ravaged by what is to come."

hi limbus company fandom

so i had a thought. and that thought was "what if the sinners and all their identities had voicelines for when it was your/the manager's birthday" and what was supposed to be a funny "what if" scenario rapidly expanded into me actually thinking about it. so. because it ended up so long, i'm putting all of this under the cut so that no one has to scroll for a mile to read it all in the tag. you're welcome btw /lh

Yi Sang Base LCB: "Another year prolonging your stay in this world… may the rest of it be to your ideal pleasantness, Dante."

Seven Section 6: "The director informed me it was your birthday today, and instructed me to hand you this parcel as a gift. … I cannot tell you why she has it memorized. I try not to bother the director with such queries."

Blade Lineage Salsu: "How old are you now, Dante? … You do not know. I see. Yet another mysterious facet of you to be intrigued by…"

Faust Base LCB: "This is for you, Dante. I hope you enjoy it. … Hm? What is it for? Yes, Faust expected you to ask such a thing. It is your birthday, Manager."

W Corp Cleanup Agent: "Due to the nature of my occupation, personal occasions and celebrations are not common around the work environment. However, I am not bothered with taking a small portion of time to wish you a happy birthday."

L. Corp Remnant: "Birthdays were rarely given much worth in my old place of work- if we were lucky, a few of us would simultaneously take our breaks in order to have a small celebration. Perhaps it may not be so different here… but I hope you have a proper celebration nonetheless."

The One Who Grips: "How fortunate you are, to have lived another full year in this world with your humanity intact! Such a wondrous thing indeed… though, must you still wear that mask, even on such a glorious occasion that's just for you… ?"

Don Quixote Base LCB: "Manager Esquire!! I doth heard today is your birthday! I have collected up the others, and we are planning a stupendous secret arrangement for thee! I hope thee shalt be prepared!!"

W Corp Cleanup Agent: "Doth my ears deceive me? Is it truly your birthday, Manager Esquire?!?! What ho!!! I shall pay for thy next ride on the Warp Train, friend- the greatest gift I could bestow anybody!"

Shi Section 5 Director: "Happy birthday, Manager Esquire!! I have acquired thee a cake and gift! … Ah, I seem to have surprised thee- was I too quiet, walking up to you? Aheh, 'tis a habit of mine!"

Ryoshu Base LCB: "Congratulations. You're now one year closer to the B.D." (boundary of death)

Kurokumo Wakashu: "That's one more year you've survived now. IFFY." (impressive feat for you)

Seven Section 6: "The director told me to give this to you. Use it wisely, or I'll CUT on you." (crudely utilize tranquilizers)

R.B. Chef de Cuisine: "Word travels fast through these streets- H.B.D. I made a special pie this morning, just in case you dropped by… enjoy."

Meursault Base LCB: "Congratulations on another year. … I was only expected to give you a statement like that for today, nothing more."

Liu Section 6: "I was asked to deliver this cake to you. The candles were lit by my flame, so please do not feel obligated to blow them out immediately."

W Corp Cleanup Agent: "I was told today is a special occasion for you. Here- it is a first-class ticket you can use on the next Warp Train you board."

N Corp Groẞhammer: "You may take a day of rest today. For The One Who Grips has deemed it so- and for today is one you must experience in all its purity."

Hong Lu Base LCB: "It's your birthday today? How exciting~! Tell me, Dante- are you going to choose the acres of land, the pony, or the-- Hm? My siblings and I were able to choose between several gifts on our birthdays, was that not possible where you're from?"

Kurokumo Wakashu: "It's a special day today, is it not, Lord Dante?~ Come with me… ah, haha, no need to be so scared. I'm simply going to treat you to the finest dining I know of. Come on then~"

Tingtang Gangleader: "Happy birthday, Manager Dante~ Why don't we hit the casino floor, hmm? I've heard birthdays can be days of immense luck for the fortunate."

Liu Section 5: "Ah, you're just in time- I just finished brewing some high-class tea. Would you like some? I'll even let you have an extra cup for your birthday~"

Heathcliff Base LCB: "Mm. Happy birthday, clockface. As a gift, I'll try not to make too many wounds for you to turn the clock back for today. You're welcome."

Shi Section 5: "If you're expecting much out of me today just 'cause it's your birthday, you can bugger off. I'm not doing anything bloody special for you. … 'Less you're in the mood for some right scran."

R Corp 4th Pack Rabbit: "Oh? It's your birthday today? Bloody brilliant- come with me. As a gift, this hare's gonna teach you how to graze some grass!"

N Corp Kleinhammer: "O-oh- happy day of birth to you. I'll… see if I have time to do something better than that between all the gatherings today…"

Ishmael Base LCB: "Happy birthday, Dante. I'll try to do work without much complaint today."

Shi Section 5: "Happy birthday, Manager. This is for you. … Huh. Did I really catch you by surprise that much?"

LCCB Assistant Manager: "Today's your birthday. An important occasion that's going to make it all the more terrible if one of us slips up… I can assure you that won't be a worry with my presence here."

R Corp 4th Pack Reindeer: "Ah… happy birthday- kgh. Can you make sure not to stir up too big a racket in celebration?"

Rodion Base LCB: "Happy birthday, Dante~ Surprise! I got you something. Open it up whenever you feel like- just make sure to tell me when you do."

LCCB Assistant Manager: "Today's your birthday, yeah? Figured- so I got you something good as a gift. … Hm? Where'd I get the money for it? Oh, don't you worry your silly head about that~"

N Corp Mittelhammer: "A glorious day for you, is it not? The One Who Grips tasked me with delivering you a present today- how lucky for you, fuhu. Treasure it as much as you can, her gifts are worth slaying thousands of heretics for!"

Kurokumo Henchwoman: "Surprise, Dante~ I got you a little something with my protection fee today. Put it to good use now, you hear? Or else my sword will be a bit rash in the next battle~"

Sinclair Base LCB: "Ah- I-I completely forgot it was your birthday today, Dante- I promise, I'll be sure to buy something for you at our next stop."

Zwei Section 6: "I have a package for you, Dante. For all the good you've done for the team… you deserve this gift. Happy birthday, and may I continue being your shield!"

Jefe de Los Mariachis: "I'm doing a special performance tonight- you'll be there for it, won't you, Dante? It's a routine I've been practicing just for you, after all…"

Blade Lineage Salsu: "I hope you have a nice birthday today. I'm afraid I won't be around much- I'm needed today."

Outis Base LCB: "Happy birthday to you, Executive Manager. If you'd like, I will gather the others and have them sing your praises for the rest of today."

Blade Linage Cutthroat: "I see it is a special day for you, Executive Manager. I shall leave you to it, then- I wish not to impede what you have in mind for it."

G Corp Head Manager: "For today, I will grant you a day of rest. Only today, though- try to get out of your duties on any day but this one, and you will regret it."

Seven Section 6 Director: "I'm very glad I was able to catch you- here's some money. Treat yourself to something good today. You've earned it."

Gregor Base LCB: "Oh, hey, happy birthday, Manager bud. You think Vergilius is gonna put a little less pressure on you today 'cause of it… ? Ha, wishful thinking, huh."

Liu Section 6: "Hey, Manager bud. Come find me when it gets dark, alright? It's your birthday and all… and fireworks are much more impressive against a black sky."

G Corp Manager Corporal: "Greetings, Manager Dante, and a very happy birthday to you! I have cleared your schedule for today and have prepared several squadrons to help celebrate this special day of yours!"

R.B. Sous-chef: "Glad you stopped by. I've made a few special pies for a certain someone's special day today- put a little extra love into them, haha. Enjoy."

#limbus company #yi sang lcb #don quixote lcb #meursault lcb #hong lu lcb #heathcliff lcb #ishmael lcb #rodion lcb #sinclair lcb #gregor lcb #faust lcb #outis lcb #ryoshu lcb #very sorry this took so long i've been going through the horrors of life

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elentary · 4 years ago

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Black as the devil, pure as an angel

Happy 31st Good Omens anniversary! (i’m late as usual)

A little story about Aziraphale and Crowley popped up in my head and I tried to write it down.

This is my first story and my first language is not English (so don’t expect a masterpiece out of this): any correction or comment will be appreciated!

(All material related to Good Omens is the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.)

Black as the devil, pure as an angel

London, Monday, 10th May 2021

"Hey, this is Antony Crowley, you know what to do, do it with style"

-biiiiiiip-

"Ah, hello, it's me… ...Aziraphale! Well, ehm, it's been a while since we spoke and I suppose you're still sleeping in this moment because you aren't answering the phone. I just hope you aren't sleeping on the ceiling or on the walls: I'm pretty confident to say that's not comfortable for your backbone and I know for sure you have a perfect soft bed in your room. Also, last time I saw you up there, I almost had a heart-attack and I'd like to avoid it, even if I'm sure I can't die of that since I'm not human, but… ...oh, I wandered off too much with this!

Ehm, I called to inform you that lately the situation here in London seems to have improved and, since some restrictions have been lifted, I thought we could maybe meet again when you'll wake up: my bookshop will be open just for you at every hour!

Oh, don't worry if you'll be a bit sleepy: I'll prepare my special qahwah (kahve/caffè) in a jiffy! Well, it's not so special, it's just an old recipe I learnt because… ...oh, not that, it's a secr…. ehm, it's not important at all!

I… I… hope to see you soon, my chuck-… my dear!"

Aziraphale hung up the phone and started fidgeting with his golden ring almost immediately: "I shouldn't have called him: it didn't go how I planned", he muttered to himself. Unsurprising, the phrase "it went down like a lead balloon" popped up immediately in his head.

He had been rehearsing the call for ten days, preparing himself for every possible scenario, but in the end he went completely off-script after a few words, letting his emotions spill too much in his tone.

But what worried him the most was the moment he let slip the words "old recipe" from his mouth: not for the recipe per se, but because of the little secret behind it.

"I'm quite sure - he said out loud using a hopeful tone to calm himself - I was able to stop in time, thanks goodness! I’m sure that he won't ask anything even if Crowley notices something, because he'll think there is just a boring story behind it".

While he was heading for the kitchenette to make a cup of tea (there is no problem that couldn't be fixed with a good cuppa), he halted midway and wondered: "Why did I call coffee in that ancient way?"

The reason for that ancient name was very old, pretty much as old as Aziraphale's secret: a little more than four hundred years old.

Venice, 1596

"...and just a cup of qahwah for me" said a guest all clad in black who was slouching on a chair in the most luxurious house of the city.

The young waiter who was taking the order, looked at him a bit perplexed for the last order.

"Right, that was Arabic" chuckled Crowley "bring me some kahve or whatever is called here".

"Oh, caffè, here it’s called caffè here, Siór!” [1] , said the young one, ”How much sugar would you like in your cup?” added hasty at the demon's expression.

“I'll have Sade kahve but with a bit of cardamom. Remember to grind finely the beans”.

The waiter was still lost but the other guest at the table helped him with a smile: "He doesn't want any sugar in his caffè, dear"

“I'll bring everything as soon as possible" said the young man and, after bowing a little, he headed for the counter.

Aziraphale was a bit surprised by what just happened: "It seems you are the meticulous one today: I have almost never seen you so specific with your food or drink order, unless alcohol was involved". He also added: "I just hope you didn't want to mess with the poor waiter".

No, angel, I didn't pull a prank. I have been drinking coffee for a while: but since my last mission in Malta [2] I have been loving it: Altan was the best at making it, but he went to Rome", Crowley said with a sigh.

"The funniest thing - he continued, smiling - is that I was lured to that because I thought it was an alcoholic drink since they called it qahwah, that also means wine. At first I was a bit disappointed but later I discovered it helps to stay awake during boring stuff: it did wonder with every task Hell gives me."

"I tasted some qahwah some times ago but it was too energetic for me… but maybe I should try it to deal with Gabr… ehm, with tedious tasks". Crowley politely didn't mention Aziraphale's little slip but smiled a bit inside.

When the order arrived the angel observed how his partner smelled and tasted happily the concoction humming approvingly:

"I didn't think you were a coffee connoisseur" Aziraphale joked.

"It's not so bad for someone with so little experience: you should try it sometimes. If you're done with your food, let's organize our Arrangement. For my report…"

They discussed their work for a couple of hours, drinking coffee. Aziraphale tasted it too (a lot sweeter than the demon) but in the end he still preferred his tea. The angel, however, decided he'd propose another place with coffee, since Crowley enjoyed that drink so much.

Milan, Four years later

"Why can't I have a cup of coffee?" Sulked a very crossed demon who was missing a couple of years of sleep due hellish work. "Lent was over 2 month ago, wasn't it?"

The owner of the shop was distraught: "The priest told us that is not proper now, Sir: the Infidels are using it and - he started whispering - it seems that's a Devil's plant".

"I'm pretty sure that the Devil wasn't involved in any botanical project, even before Falling, and he has never tried any coffee. Instead, if you are speaking about demons, I am the onl-"

"Why don't we order wine instead this time?" Interrupted quickly Aziraphale before Crowley could say something more compromising. The unhappy demon agreed begrudgingly so several bottles of red wine were shared among them.

"I'm sorry for your coffee, Crowley. It seems idiotic banning a plant just because somebody else has it".

"Well, they copied the idea from the Boss: God was the first to ban a plant, you and I should remember that easily" Crowley snickered.

Aziraphale started blushing and his cheeks soon were as red as that famous fruit: "ah, it… i-it wasn't just a normal fruit and that was part of God's plan… I suppose.". That phrase was just commented by the demon with a bemused expression.

"So, Crowley, what are you going to do with this? Are you going to tempt a lot of people to drink coffee?"

"Nah, I'm already too busy with Hell's job at the moment. It would be too troublesome to convince people and especially priests: those at top are the worst."

I'm sure I'll miss the ability of coffee to transform random thoughts into ingenious ideas: humans were experts at using that!" The demon slouched sadly on the chair.

Aziraphale would have missed the improved human genius too but, in his opinion, would have regretted more not seeing his demon's smile but he said nothing. He instead started thinking if there was something he could do and soon became lost in his thoughts.

"...anything there?"

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I told you I'll go back to Spain tomorrow for a temptation: do you need anything there?"

"Oh, nothing special, just the usual [3] we can share and those books, if you could be so courteous." Aziraphale happily answered, giving him a neat written list.

"Are you going to stay here long, angel?"

"Oh, no, I'm departing for Rome the day after tomorrow… … I know you don't like it because of the absurd amount of consecrated ground there, you don't need to make a face each time I mention it"

"And every pope makes the problem worse."

The angel assumed a grim expression: "I have to meet pope Clement VIII for the closing ceremony of the Jubilee"

"You don't seems pleased"

"The Archangels, especially Sandalphon, think highly of him, but I don't… appreciate him, especially after he burned at the stake messer Giordano Bruno and other poor humans."

Crowley liked discussing the stars and the universe with Giordano: he tried to warn the poor man but he was too stubborn to listen.

"May I reciprocate your favour from Spain? Maybe some wine?" Suggested the angel.

"Only if you're sure the bottles are not blessed - Crowley shuddered - I still remember last time I was wrong".

"Are you sure it will be enough?"

"I'm sure, angel. Let's party now and forget our troubles for now".

Unfortunately Aziraphale couldn't party happily because he couldn't forget what happened with the cup of coffee and he thought his favour was too small: he decided he should do something about it!

Luckily the following morning was more propitious and he found a way to repay Crowly for his favour: he'll find a way to lift the ban on coffee.

The only remaining problem was how to do that.

Rome, a week later

Aziraphale was reading the same line of the missive for the third time in a row at his desk: the angel was too distracted because hadn't found a solution for his "problem" yet.

"I bet I have the solution under my nose but I can't see it" mumbled the angel touching the pope's sigils on the papers.

"Of course, the pope! - he yelled happily - He is the highest authority for the priests: he could convince everybody that drinking coffee is not bad if he tastes it himself".

"I just need to learn how to make the best coffee ever". A name came back to his mind, the name Crowley gave him: Altan.

Immediately he used a little miracle to locate him that led him to a small cemetery outside the city and on the grave and there were few sweets with a little cup: unfortunately Altan died 10 years before. The angel bowed a little to pay respect.

A big Turkish man came next to him and inquired "Did you know my father?".

"I didn't but my... acquaintance considered him a genius and was very fond of his qahwa, ehm, kahve. He'll be sad when he'll know he died."

"I'm Osmanek. May I ask you what brings you here mister...?

"Oh, I'm Aziraphale. I came here to learn how to make the best coffee ever: I hope his art was inherited by you."

"Luckily it was not lost: I loved to help him make coffee. Before revealing my secrets I have a question for you: are you doing this for your… acquaintance?"

Aziraphale nodded: "I'd like to prepare him some coffee he loves, but at the same time I'd love to see everyone have a coffee whenever they fancy, like in your birthplace. To make that possible, however, I have to let somebody else drink your coffee to.. ..to tempt him saying it's not a bad thing: that person is the pope Clement".

The angel knew what he was asking for and couldn't hold the gaze of the man anymore.

"I understand -he continued sadly- if you don't want to help me since I have seen how much that man has been hurting your brothers and sisters…" The angel couldn't say anything else, overpowered by his memories and bowed his head to hide the tears in his eyes: he has seen too many inconceivable deaths in the name of faith

Osmanek observed Aziraphale for a little moment: he was sure there was no lie in his words. "No, - he smiled - I can't leave you after you poured your heart out: I'll help you and your friend to tempt the Pope."

"Oh, oh, thank you! - and the angel added hastily - But he's not my friend, we barely know each other!"

The man started smiling brighter than ever and guided him to his house.

Immediately after they arrived, Osmanek offered his guest a cup of his special kahve with few sweets. Aziraphale tried just a sip of coffee and he was immediately in love: "Now I know why Crowley likes it so much: it's so scrumptious even without those sweets!"

"I call this Altan kahve in honour of my father: I will teach you how to prepare it for your fr… aquietance but I ask you to not give any of this to the pope. For him, I'll give you another tasty recipe"

"Oh, I agree with you: the pope doesn't deserve that perfection!"

Osmanek patiently taught Aziraphale everything he should know: how to roast and grind the beans, how to use the small pot "cezve", the ratio perfect between coffee and water, how to boil and froth the concoction and which flavours could be used.

In the beginning everything felt so difficult for Aziraphale and he failed a lot. However the angel was very stubborn and, thanks Osmanek's tips and teaching, he was able to make an excellent cup of coffee in a couple of days.

"I hope this will be good enough" mumbled the angel.

"Trust me, it will be too good for the pope", he chuckled. "Now let's see how good you are with Altan's coffee. I'll give you a final tip: imagine you are preparing some coffee for your acquaintance and not me".

"Why…?"

"If I'm right, it will taste better"

Still perplexed and a bit nervous, Aziraphale went into the kitchen and, following the last advice, he prepared meticulously the dark drink, flavouring with cardamom and finally pouring it in two kahve fincanı, a dark one and a light one. The smell seemed quite promising.

Osmanek took the darkest cup and, after smelling the aroma, he tasted it. After a few seconds, he smiled "In my native Country there is a proverb that says the coffee should be black as hell, strong as death, and sweet as love but for your coffee this doesn't sound right". He put the empty fincanı on the table.

"I think - he continued - the Italian expression suit it better"

"I'm sorry but I don't know it" the angel was starting to worry he messed up something even if the man was smiling fondly.

"Il caffè deve essere caldo come l'inferno, nero come il diavolo, puro come un angelo e dolce come l'amore.". [4]

The angel took his courage and drank his coffee: in his opinion, it wasn't perfect as Osmanek's but it tasted like something Crowley would enjoy and that was the best feeling ever.

The angel couldn't stop smiling: "Oh, I am so grateful to you! But I don't know how I can repay you for this"

"Your happiness is enough: I'll bring you everything you need".

Aziraphale didn't agree with him so he performed some miracles and blessings.

Osmanek came back with some coffee beans, flavours and utensils. There were also three kahve fincanı: two were familiar (the dark and the light ones) but the other was new (and very flashy).

"Oh, that's for the pope: I have always hated that cup and I hope it'll break when that man wants coffee most"

"Oh, that cup will do that, I can assure you" the angel promised with a mischief smile.

Aziraphale finally bid farewell, still thanking Osmanek profusely.

Two months later was the time to put the plan in action: the pope was in the library at 2 a.m. and he was getting tired but he had a lot of work to do. Aziraphale approached him: "I may have the right solution for your Excellency: it's a healthy concoction that promotes wakefulness and wonderful ideas. It was discovered b-"

"I don't care, - interrupted the holy man - give me that drink and let's hope it works".

"God gives me strength" whispered under his breath the angel while preparing some coffee that suited the pope's taste.

When the cup of coffee was ready, it was given to Clement VIII: he grabbed it and started drinking absent-mindedly. The smell and the taste were so good that he woke almost immediately.

"Librarian, what is this?"

"As I was saying, this is coffee"

"Why has nobody given me this miraculous drink? The taste is divine and it works perfectly!"

"I suppose nobody wanted to offer your Excellency any drink consumed by Muslims. Some people also believe coffee is a Devil's plant. In my op-"

"I don't care: it's too good to be Satan's plant and we mustn't let the infidels have exclusive use of coffee."

Aziraphale was quite happy: it seemed his plan worked out nicely.

"Maybe we could bless the beans or use some holy wate-"

"NO" shouted the angel, emanating some angelic power unconsciously "Please, DON'T".

For the first time in his life, the pope was scared he felt like a little child in front of a giant warrior.

"Ehm, please - said more calmly Aziraphale - never suggest it again or let somebody do that. Just tell everyone coffee could be drank by anybody".

The pope could only nod affirmatively.

"Right!"

Now the angel was sure he was successful in his endeavour and soon could have a coffee with Crowley.

Aziraphale stayed in Rome for another three weeks, just in time to witness a fincanı to break neatly in two, pouring coffee on some important papal documents.

On his journey to London he stopped to Osmanek's house and updated him on what had happened in that time (especially the broken cup).

London, Monday, 10th May 2021, 30 minutes after Aziraphale's call.

In the end Aziraphale made some of his special coffee with his cezve: he was missing Crowley so much.

"What if i woke him up while he just wanted to sleep a bit more?"

"No, angel, - a familiar voice answered - I want to stay awake with you for a while"

"Crowley" cheered Aziraphale

"Coffee?"

"In a jiffy" and he poured the drink in two old contrasting kahve fincanı.

"So, what's the secret behind this old recipe?" Crowley asked with a mischievous smile.

----------------------Notes----------------------

[1] Siór = mister (venetian dialect)

[2] Malta = Crowley had been at the great siege of Malta in 1565 https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Siege_of_Malta

[3] Usual = local goodies (especially wine and alcohol)

[4] "Il caffè deve essere caldo come l'inferno, nero come il diavolo, puro come un angelo e dolce come l'amore" = "coffee must be hot as hell, black as the devil, pure as an angel and sweet as love"

To write this I took some info from wikipedia about the history of coffee: if you want to learn something more accurate than my story, look here and here.

#goodomens #aziraphale #crowley #coffee #good omens #i should have slept instead #happy 31st anniversary

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merryfortune · 3 years ago

Text

Peck

Written for 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt #41 Dove

Ship: Snowangelshipping | Asana/Chevelle

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! SEVENS

Word Count: 1,899

Rating: T

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Fluff, First Kiss, Humour, Puberty Blues, Misunderstandings, Mild Innuendo

Asana had been thinking about it for a while now but it was probably time for her and Chevelle to have their first kiss.

She had come to this conclusion after much thought. It just seemed like the next milestone they ought to achieve. After all, they have been on a handful of dates already in the short time they had decided to officially court as it were and they had also spent many moments holding hands.

Though, it was in the sweetness of holding hands that Asana did predict a possible issue. Chevelle liked to go very slowly, it appeared. Asana did not mind but she still distinctly recalled the very first time they had held hands as a romantic act rather than a platonic one. It most certainly caught Chevelle up in a flurry, it made Asana laugh - both now and then - but she wondered if it was an omen that was going to set the tone for the rest of the relationship milestones that she envisioned for them both.

Chevelle had lovely hands. They were magician’s hands, long slender fingers with a soft palm. Although, none but Asana knew this privilege given that he wore white gloves all the time but Asana had her tricks.

She had invited Chevelle up to their private garden on the roof for a high tea. It was their favourite locale for a casual date; the sort of date that didn’t count towards Asana’s personal tally of all the dates that they had ever been on. Teatime and high teas were their private time to bond, not necessarily to date. There was a distinction though even Asana, ever eloquent, did often fail to explain it but Chevelle understood and agreed with her on that note. Though in this instance, high tea could absolutely be a date since Asana had big plans and she enacted them well before they got to the roof.

She slipped out her hand to Chevelle’s right arm and interlocked it. Asana moved in closer and soon enough, she had Chevelle entangled in her own arms, making him a blubbering, blushing mess. But Asana didn’t stop there, although Chevelle’s reaction was already both sweet and satisfying. She slid her hands down Chevelle’s arm and put her fingers under the fabric of his gloves.

He looked fit to protest her, even Trapigeon, ever loyal on his shoulder was making a loud fuss, but Asana came well prepared for any duel and love was absolutely the be all and end all duel. She nuzzled in even closer as she held onto his hand: both of hers locked over his, fingers entwining, toying with the glove, threatening to turn it loose, and then Asana gave Chevelle the look. It was utterly angelic. She batted her big, blue eyes at him and suddenly, her little dove was singing a very different tune to the embarrassed and rebuked one that he was trying to muster.

“You are a sly one, princess.” Chevelle swallowed his initial reaction as Asana held his hand, playful and tugging at him, slowly wriggling off his glove until they had skin to skin contact. It was utterly scandalous. Salacious, even.

But just once was enough to get Chevelle hooked on the idea of escorting Asana around like a true gentleman. Sometimes with gloves on, sometimes not. Now, Chevelle was comfortable walking around anywhere holding hands with Asana. On the school grounds, even in the corridors, and whilst on their dates around the scenic and romantic spots of Goha City, too.

However, that had been a while ago now and whilst it was a very special memory that Asana cherished, she thought it was high time to make some more like that. She loved the feeling of Chevelle’s hands - they were delicate yet made her feel safe to hold onto - and thus, she had no doubt in her mind that she would love the sensation of Chevelle’s lips as well. She had found herself observing him as he drank tea or ate sandwiches at their private tea parties. He carried himself exactly like a bird, behaving as though he were brittle and because of that, his demeanour was of grace and poise. Asana had never been kissed before but she was certain that if it was Chevelle, it would be entirely gentle and she couldn’t imagine a more wonderful thing.

So, it was time to strategise once more and once more, her old faithful prevailed. She would be direct and forthright, no trickery or traps. So, she chose a date from the calendar and per her expectations, it was going to be a splendid afternoon for a tea party. Just herself and Chevelle, separated only by a multi-tiered display for their exquisite cakes, sandwiches, and other treats the Goha Sixth Elementary School cafeteria could provide. After all, it wasn’t just going to be her first kiss, it was going to be Chevelle’s as well, so Asana planned accordingly and she thought nothing would appeal to him more than familiarity and comfort, underneath a blue sky. She was swooning now just thinking about it.

When the day came, Asana could not have been more pleased with the weather and had pep to her step all day. It surprised even Chevelle who had no idea that Asana intended to spring the possibility of their first kiss on him but was excited nonetheless for another of their tea parties.

The wind was mild and the day itself was pleasantly balmy. There had been a soft rain the prior night and as such, the garden still glistened with a tender rain, making everything bloom brighter and more vivid. Their table by the garden centrepiece was set already with white linen table cloths and a display laden with macarons, meringues, and cucumber sandwiches without the crusts. It could not have been more perfect.

Asana sighed happily as even though she had been the one to organise all this, it was Chevelle who was leading her through the garden bed paths that burgeoned with verdant flowers to their private spot. Hands entwined, of course.

“My lady.” Chevelle told her as he pulled out a chair for Asana.

“My gentleman.” Asana returned the chivalry and sat down, Chevelle tucking her in. He then joined her by sitting at the chair across from her, the only other chair, of course.

Chevelle smiled as he made an all but impossible selection from the goods in front of him and it was such a feather soft smile, it made Asana’s heart skip a beat. She watched, more eager than she meant to, as he gracefully poured out a warm cup of earl grey tea then took a sip. It only affirmed to Asana that she most definitely wanted to have their first kiss right here, right now and thus, threw all caution to the wind whilst Chevelle savoured that first taste of tea.

“Pardon me, Chevelle,” Asana interrupted him and his eyes flicked up to her.

“Yes?” he replied.

“Have you ever thought about kissing me?” she asked, blurted out, really. She surprised even herself with just how uncouth she sounded.

Chevelle’s eyes widened, he went bright red, “I - I could never.” he sputtered. “That would be entirely indecent of me.”

“O-oh.” Asana murmured. She was uncertain as to how she ought to feel in the face of such a response.

“We are far too young to be deflowering ourselves like that.” Chevelle continued, rambling and embarrassed.

Asana blinked. It was just a kiss. Actually, it was just the mere proposition of a kiss. What was all this about being deflowered? Her eyebrow twitched as it just began to dawn on her but there may have been a misunderstanding between herself and Chevelle.

“A-And what would I say to Galient? To my parents? No, it is far too early for us to even think about introducing chicks into our relationship.” Chevelle asked and his poor face was just getting redder and redder.

“Chevelle!” Asana yelped. “Please, stop, I believe there is some confusion.”

“Confusion?” Chevelle echoed. “Whatever confusion could there be, you are clucky already and I am still barely out of the nest. I could never kiss you because the consequences could be dire, I’m not ready to be a father.”

Asana’s heart quaked and she wanted ever so badly to laugh at Chevelle but fortunately, she suppressed the impulse, “Chevelle, why are you under the impression that a kiss could, well, bear offspring?”

“My parents have given me the birds and bees talk, of course. A kiss is what leads to the insemination of the egg.” Chevelle explained, indignant and folding his arms to prove his indignation.

“I see.” Asana replied and she finally understood this situation. She nodded her head in deep though. “Chevelle,” she said, “I think you need someone else to give you the birds and the bees talk, because, er, when humans kiss… It does not turn out like that, not without a lot more… Machinations of the body, let’s say. However, I believe the kiss you were taught about was the cloacal kiss and I can assure you, I do not have one so no risk of chicks.”

Chevelle, who had finally returned to his usual pallor after huffing and puffing and rambling, turned bright red once more. He agonised in embarrassment and Asana finally permitted herself a polite giggle at Chevelle’s expense. He couldn’t blame her. That was quite a mishap to make and though he had his hands in his face, he took a breath and was able to give Asana a sane and proper answer to the question that had catalysed this incident.

“Asana, my princess,” he spoke very slowly, “I would be honoured to kiss you. Just once, though, just in case.”

“So a little peck then?” Asana clarified.

Chevelle slowly set down his hands and nodded, “That sounds perfect.” he replied.

So, even though they had just sat down, they already got up again for there was a far more enticing treat than those piled high on the displays. Asana was suave as she got up, Chevelle was far more nervous than her and his hands shook. It was cute, making Asana giggle a small giggle, a superfluous breath, really.

She stood close to Chevelle who appeared to want a bit more space. The compromise was awkward, not quite close enough but too far either and gave Chevelle the room to breathe that he apparently needed. His poor cheeks with their high cheekbones were slick with a nervous sweat and his pale skin was pink once more.

“Are you ready?” Asana politely asked.

“As I’ll ever be on such short notice.” Chevelle warbled back to her.

“Good.” Asana said and she was the one to swoop in.

The resulting kiss was anything but romantic, nothing at all that Asana had imagined but the fragrance of earl grey tea wafted through it so she couldn’t complain. Chevelle’s lips were soft but fleeting. The kiss lasted less than six or seven seconds, easily, but even after such brevity, Asana’s heart beat faster in her chest and she savoured the soft sensation. Her fingers brushing over her own mouth whilst she watched Chevelle retreat. He hid his face in the crook of his arm, clearly panicking that he had done something scandalous but it was just a kiss. Just a peck.

#100ships challenge #snowangelshipping #yugioh sevens #sevens #yugioh #asana mutsuba #mutsuba asana #kayama chevelle #chevelle kayama #asachevelle #writing tag #this fic's success hinges on ppl having the same humour as me oops

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nimblermortal · 4 years ago

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OH HEY @pilfered-words it occurs to me that I should send this to you.

It’s Good Omens fic, I never posted it because it was mostly written in spite.

Aziraphale showed up at Crowley’s door at an hour of the morning that should never exist, which was 7:00. He was crying, Crowley thought, like an astronaut or a Studio Ghibli character: water welling in his eyes and refusing to fall, making pools of grief. Crowley noticed this particularly because he was in shock. He had never seen Aziraphale cry before.

“Angel - ?” he began uncertainly.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale wailed. “I’ve Fallen!”

“Well - come in,” said Crowley, pushing his door wide. “Have some cocoa.”

It was American cocoa, specially imported because it was waxy and grown on farms blazing with the life of freshly-cut Amazonian rainforest. Crowley had agonized between that and the overpriced Fair Trade box at the local, which lied about every part of its process, before deciding that the fossil fuel used shipping the American stuff made it suitably demonic. After all, he had resolved in the checkout lane years ago, if he did ever have the angel over it had to be for proper temptation purposes.

He had neglected to obtain a kettle, and had to miracle one into existence while Aziraphale wept like Lot in Crowley’s only chair.

“There there,” Crowley announced from his makeshift kitchen, where the kettle was rapidly coming to a boil under the heat of intimidation.

“Where?” Aziraphale asked, looking up.

“It’s just what people say,” said Crowley haplessly.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “People. Six thousand years I served people, averted the Apocalypse for people, and for what? I’ve Fallen.”

“Did it hurt?” Crowley asked.

“What?”

“When you fell from heaven.”

“Oh. No, not really. Not that I noticed, anyway.”

“It hurt quite a lot, for me,” said Crowley. More his soul than his body, but since angels were mostly soul it amounted to the same thing. Or else they didn’t have souls at all, he forgot which one it was. “Well how did you know you Fell, then?”

“I just woke up this morning and it had happened,” said Aziraphale. “Oh dear, I woke up - was it the sloth that did it? I hadn’t slept since the Apocalypse and I dreamed - that was new - I dreamed about sin, and when I woke up - this had happened.”

He punctuated ‘this’ by manifesting his wings. Crowley, turning with two cups of unethically farmed cocoa, dropped both of them.

“Now see what I’ve made you do,” Aziraphale said, his eyes welling up again. His wings stretched out from the sole throne in Crowley’s flat to the very tips of the flat and they were a lustrous, glossy red. Red as a cardinal’s coat. Red as a star Crowley had crafted and hung in the sky, looking shyly back at Her for approval. Red as roadside mums for sale, or genetically modified strawberries that would rot the next day, as stop signs or stop lights or tea boxes, red as the blaze of sunset across a polluted sky. Gloriously, earthly red, they looked completely detached from the angel’s cream coat, except that they were part of him.

“You see?” said Aziraphale, slumping miserably, he never slumped - “Fallen.”

“Angel,” Crowley promised him, his boots slowly soaking up cocoa as he refused to move, “There is no demon in Hell with wings like that.”

“Really?” asked Aziraphale.

“None,” said Crowley.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” said Aziraphale, but he was starting to sound dubious.

“All demons have raven wings with ebony luster,” Crowley recited, though his had gone a bit matte in recent centuries, almost greying with, he had assumed, age. “You’re something different.”

“What, then?” asked Aziraphale.

“One way to find out,” said Crowley, and snapped his fingers, stomped one foot, and manifested his wings. The cocoa vanished beneath his maybe-a-boot, but it hardly mattered because his wings knocked the kettle over. Crowley yelped and drew them close, gently fanning the scalded region. He turned to look over his shoulder.

His wing was not even close to grey. It was blue, striped with white and black and - and cerulean. It was a nightmare. It was a travesty. It didn’t match the décor. Aziraphale matched the flat better than Crowley did.

“We should have done this outside,” he growled.

“What, in London?” Aziraphale asked. “Around the humans?”

“Tadfield, maybe. Angel! Do you think Adam can put them back?”

“Didn’t Adam swear off that kind of thing?” Aziraphale asked, his eyed wandering across Crowley’s wings. Crowley got the distinct sense that if Aziraphale’s wings had not been so large, his hands would be tracing Crowley’s wings as well, stroking to discover whether those bars were replicated on each feather or layered black on white on blue. “He said people were always messing each other about, and as long as they were being messed about they wouldn’t start thinking properly and and stop messing the world around. They’d never get a chance to see what they were meant to be, to see what a human being is.”

“He said if he started sorting things out then people would keep coming to him to get rid of all the rubbish and he didn’t want to tidy people’s bedrooms,” said Crowley. “I remember it distinctly.”

“Yes, but in the principle of the matter, he said humans ought to be left to human being.”

“Angel,” said Crowley, “If we’re not heavenly angels, and we’re not demonic demons, are we just - angels being?”

“Angel beings,” Aziraphale corrected, wrongly, and frowned. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe She means us to find out,” said Crowley, glancing hopefully upwards. There was no sound, from up, down, or otherwise.

“You said,” said Aziraphale suspiciously, “You said that you thought the next one was going to be all of Us against all of - Them.” His eyes flicked rapidly up and down, before meeting Crowley’s again. “Does that make us - Us?”

“I think we’re beings now,” said Crowley slowly, “and we get to decide what that means.”

“Crêpes,” suggested Aziraphale. “Oysters. Sushi. Those little things on the sticks.”

“Mozart,” said Crowley. “Borodin. All of the Bachs! We can mount a raiding party on Hell and Heaven both, no one deserves an eternity of harps and the Sound of Music, we can save them all -“

“Breakfast,” said the angel grimly. “I’m hungry.” He paused. Crowley’s stomach growled. “That’s never happened before.”

“We’ll watch the sun rise and eat ready-made dinner,” said Crowley enthusiastically. “And ice cream. Chocolate-vanilla-strawberry. I can’t think of anything more human than that.”

“The sun’s already risen,” said Aziraphale.

“The sunset, then,” said Crowley. “We’ll be ready for it.”

And they were.

#theory and chalk #it's okay #but it's mostly from reading fics where Crowley Rises #and going No! No! that is exactly the opposite of the point of Good Omens

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sweetteaanddragons · 5 years ago

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How to Make Friends and Influence Hobbits (Part 3)

It’s my birthday! To celebrate, I’m posting another segment from the story I published a few months ago, in which Feanor uses a tea cozy of doom and ends up in the Shire.

. . .

“So,” Belladonna said cheerfully as she finished pouring the tea. “Where do we start?”

Her collection of maps was spread over the kitchen table, with particular emphasis to those that showed the coast, as that was their best guess for where Feanor’s son was.

“I do not know,” Feanor confessed. He didn’t sound like he said those words often. “I’ve never even laid eyes on this coast.”

“I am not even truly convinced that he walks these shores,” Gandalf said doubtfully. “To speak truth, until you arrived and said otherwise, I assumed that he had long ago gone to Mandos’s Halls.”

“No,” Feanor said grimly. “He was spared that, at least.”

Gandalf’s eyebrows came together rather alarmingly in a manner that normally preceded a rebuke, which Belladonna rather doubted their other guest would take kindly. She intervened hastily. “Bungo? What do you think?”

“Oh, dear,” he said helplessly. “Well, I’m rather out of my depth here, you know, but this is rather a search party, as you said, and I can’t help thinking that when your young cousin went missing, we ended up finding her when her friend - Daisy, was it? - when her friend mentioned how much she’d wanted to climb that old tree down by the bridge, and sure enough, there she was at the very top. I don’t suppose there’s anyone else we could ask?”

“There are few indeed who look kindly on my house now. I doubt he has any he feels he may confide in on these shores,” Feanor said heavily.

“There may yet be one,” Gandalf said slowly. “I know Elrond searched for him for many years. He might, at the very least, have some information on where we need not bother to look.”

“Elrond?” Feanor looked startled.

“I suppose he was rather after your time. Idril’s grandson might be a more useful description - “

“I know perfectly well who he is, thank you,” Feanor interrupted. “Mandos liked to keep me updated on the damage brought about by my Oath. Fingon spoke better of the incident, but I was unsure how much of that was his rather singular optimism.”

Gandalf’s mouth twitched. “In this case, at least, I believe it was not misplaced. Elrond is also rather singular, in his case for his attachment to your eldest sons. I suspect he will be willing to help us, or at least to make the attempt.”

“It’s settled then,” Belladonna said brightly. “Elrond’s it is! Every quest ought to begin at Rivendell, I think, it’s such a nice destination, so that’s all right and proper. And you’ll finally get to meet him, Bungo!”

Bungo nodded firmly. “I’d best get started on the provisions, then. We won’t want to get hungry on our way.”

Gandalf shook his head fondly. “Hobbits.”

His eyes sharpened slightly when Feanor volunteered to help pack said provisions, though Belladonna couldn’t imagine why. Feanor had never been anything but a courteous houseguest, and she didn’t know why anyone wouldn’t want to help pack the provisions, anyway. It was the best way to get a say in what got packed.

It was a good thing Feanor volunteered too, or else she might have forgotten to return his tea cozy, and it was such a lovely thing that it would have been a terrible shame.

. . .

The Last Homely House was always open to any friendly visitors, but Elrond had to admit that he hadn’t been anticipating these.

He’d led them in to a private room near the center of the house where they were unlikely to be disturbed and where his guests could recover from their travels in comfort. It seemed the best thing to do, given that he could only guess what catastrophic events could have led to this unexpected party forming.

He hadn’t been precisely expecting Mithrandir, but given the Grey Pilgrim’s wandering ways, he never precisely expected him, which he meant he always expected him in a more general way. The two hobbits, while certainly not anticipated, were not outside the realm of possibility; he had met Mistress Belladonna before, and while she had expressed her intention to leave her adventuring ways behind when she last left Rivendell, she would not be the first to leave that intention behind. Master Bungo’s addition to her adventures was sensible when viewed in a certain light, and Elrond was delighted to meet him.

It was the inclusion of Feanor in the party that made Elrond wonder if Dagor Dagorath was upon them rather earlier than expected.

The light of the Trees blazed from the ancient elf’s eyes more strongly than Elrond had ever seen. Power and heat radiated off him, and while he had so far been nothing but courteous, there was a tension between him and Mithrandir that suggested his time amongst the dead had not softened him toward the Valar and their servants. If the Valar had released him anyway . . .

Elrond exercised patience with more difficulty than he’d had for years as he let his guests get settled into their chairs and partake of refreshments before finally turning to Gandalf and asking, “Is the end of days upon us then?”

Bungo choked on his cake and had to be vigorously pounded on his back by Belladonna. “End of days? I thought we were a search party!”

“Has my presence becomes such an ill omen as all that?” Feanor asked with dark humor sparking in his eyes.

Mithrandir sighed. “It has been suggested by some that you would be released to fight in the final battle.”

“Really? Well, I wish someone had told me about it. I could have been preparing . . . Regardless, I have not been released, so you need not fear that battle just yet.”

“I found him in the woods,” Belladonna piped up, with one last concerned look at Bungo. “And then I took him home, of course, because he was dreadfully lost, and luckily Bungo didn’t mind, so he stayed with us for a bit until Gandalf showed up and said he’d escaped from somewhere, though I still don’t quite understand all of that bit.”

Feanor had escaped from the Halls of Mandos. Of course he had.

“The Valar had nothing to do with it,” Mithrandir confirmed, his voice growing dry. “The exact sequence of events is as of yet unknown to me, but I do know that the Valar are for once as confounded as the rest of us.”

“I weep for them,” Feanor said with even greater dryness. “Though if they paid even a modicum of attention to what their prisoners were getting up to, they would know perfectly well what I was up to - and I wouldn’t have had to be getting up to it, as they would not have left my sons to go slowly mad in solitary confinement.”

Maedhros. He had not been well even when Elrond had last seen him. If things were truly so bad -

Mithrandir sighed. “The ways of the Valar are not always easily understood - “

Feanor’s eyes gained extra heat. Elrond began to grow concerned at just how far this would escalate.

Belladonna coughed a little pointedly. Elrond stepped gratefully into the momentary chagrined pause. “And how may I help?” He turned to Feanor. “If you need a place to stay as you become accustomed to the world as it is now, you are of course welcome here. Imladris is open to all.” It would cause some difficulty, no doubt, but Elrond had never turned someone who had no ill intent away before, and he didn’t mean to start now.

Feanor actually looked a little rueful.. “I would ask your forgiveness for earlier. I did not come here to start an argument but to ask a favor, though a different one than you have offered, and I fear I’ve made a terrible start to it.”

“A favor?” Several possibilities warred in his mind.

“I was given to understand that you once searched for the whereabouts for my son. If you can give me any information as to his whereabouts, I would be more grateful than I can express.”

Maglor. Centuries of panic at being asked on that topic froze his mind temporarily before sense returned. He had known this was a possibility, and while Mithrandir’s presence made him reluctant to speak of it, if even Feanor considered it safe to do so, surely it was. Still - “It has been many years since I searched these shores for him,” he said carefully. “Events eventually forced me to cease. Still, if there is any aid I can give, I shall do my best. Your interest in this is, of course, entirely understandable, but may I ask how your companions became involved in this search?”

“He was our guest,” Belladonna said cheerily. “Of course we had to help.”

“Only right,” Bungo agreed with a nod.

Mithrandir sighed. “And I came along to make sure this quest ended rather more peacefully than the last one.”

“Ah.” Elrond’s mind raced. There was only one thing to do, of course, but after so long, it went against all his instincts. And how would Mithrandir react . . . ?

Hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway outside the door, and Elrond tensed. It was either someone with more strange news, which he was not at all sure he could cope with today, or it was -

“Ada?”

The beautiful voice, high with incredulity, came from the arch of the door. The choice had been taken out of his hands.

Maglor stood in the entryway, eyes locked on the blazing figure in the middle of their party, mingled terror and hope upon his face.

“I thought - I was sure I felt your mind, but how - “ the bard said, his voice for once failing him.

Feanor just shook his head, his own eyes suspiciously full.

“Many long years since you searched for him on these shores,” Mithrandir said witheringly. “Events forced you too cease.”

Elrond gave in with grace. “Many centuries,” he said serenely. “These days I generally search for him in the gardens or the Hall of Fire. And the event of finding him did rather force me to cease or else act rather pointlessly.”

Mirthrandir’s expression suggested Elrond would be hearing about this at length later, but Elrond was far more concerned with the other scene progressing at the moment.

“I’m here,” Feanor said hoarsely as he rose from his chair. “I’m here, Makalaure. I came back for you.”

“But you can’t have,” Maglor breathed. “You can’t - you can’t be real - “ He looked appealingly to Elrond.

“He’s here,” Elrond assured him. “This is real.”

Maglor’s next breath came out as a sob. “I’m sorry,” he said pleadingly. “So sorry, Ada. I failed you.”

“No,” Feanor said firmly, stepping forward, but Maglor seemed not to hear. He was scrambling at the pouch at his waist that until now he’d always kept closed.

“I couldn’t fulfill your Oath, but I could - I managed this much at least, Ada - “

The light that spilled from the pouch was blinding.

“He kept it?” the wizard said in stunned amazement.

Belladonna craned her neck. “What’s it?”

“It’s pretty whatever it is,” Bungo said politely, and Elrond nearly choked.

He had known Maglor had kept it, safely insulated so that it would not burn. Its burn was not so keen now as it once was, though Maglor and Elrond’s views rather differed on what that meant.

Maglor reached in now barehanded and offered it to his father, ignoring whatever pain that remained. Elrond was unable to restrain a cry. The pain might have lessened, but he knew it still remained. He could see it in how the gem trembled in Maglor’s hand.

Feanor took it, and Elrond could have cursed him, but all that ill will was abruptly tossed away.

Rather literally. Feanor took the gem, but then flung it to the ground without even looking at it, instead embracing his son.

“You’re here,” he said. “I found you. That’s treasure enough.”

#feanor #belladonna took #gandalf #bungo baggins #elrond #silmarillion #fic #tolkien #tea cozy of doom

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kuvvydraws · 5 years ago

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Gabriel (Good Omens) x Reader

The Chicken That Finally Crossed The Fucking Road

Chapter 2

Having someone move in with you within a day was an adventure, and one you wouldn’t want to partake in ever again.

The easy part was the talk with your landlady, and the woman was happy that you were no longer living on your own with how dangerous London was for young people like you, gullible and vulnerable; her words, not yours. Her husband, on the other hand, found heavily immoral that your roommate was a man and that you both were single, and he made sure his opinion was listened by the whole neighbourhood.

One would say that dealing with the people responsible of your housing was the difficult part. It was a difficult part indeed, just not the only one.

Dealing with Gabriel was a Whole Thing on its own.

You know those old people that have a hard time coping with technology and new stuff and just complain when nothing goes their way? That was Gabriel. While eager to learn, he behaved like every object was invented yesterday and everyone in the world got together in a secret meeting to learn how to handle it just so hey could spite him. You were sure he believed all the blenders from all the kitchens in the world were out there to get him. At least he was polite about it.

Having him moving in was a poltergeist experience. He had no problem with the flat’s layout, and you, expecting some snide comment from his rich ass about your minuscule place of residence, felt much more at ease. The issue with his wardrobe was a bit more pressing. He had nothing but the clothing he was wearing the day you two had met, and that was more like a Trojan costume for a thematic party than anything else. It did match his old fashioned aura, and reinforced that feeling you had about him not belonging to any era in history, but that was about it.

“Oh, the wardrobe shall be no problem at all” he said pleasantly. The very next day, when you came from work, he had his closet filled with the most expensive, most comfortable outfits you had seen in your whole life. Bitch clearly had in his possession a money tree.

He wanted, he had told you just after settling in, the whole commoner experience. If you translate that into poor dialect, it meant that you had to accompany him to get every piece of the top notch technology available at the market. He was slightly familiar with cell phones and tablets, but computers turned out to be far trickier for him.

He said he desired to start from point zero and you had no idea, at first, about what that implied. After seeing him fumble with the keyboard of his shiny new smartphone, you concluded that the guy didn’t even know what YouTube was. You wished you’d had a camera at hand when you had showed him, because his expression was priceless.

A puppy with a new squeaky toy wouldn’t had been more excited.

He also had the tendency to call you ‘human’ or ��mortal’ instead of your name. You found this to be hilarious. He would add some dumb adjectives in front of it and seriously, it was like watching a pair of too sweet teens figuring out nicknames fused in one big, clueless businessman. His favourite so far was calling you ‘tiny’. Kind of unfair, yet very fair at the same time, since the top of your head barely brushed his shoulder.

Cohabitating with Gabriel was easy, unsurprisingly. The moment he had learnt how the vacuum and the mop worked, your stress about the house being indecent midweek flew out of the window. Gabriel found great pleasure in organizing things. You had agreed on a common budget for food too, instead of separating the shelves inside the fridge and he had classified all the groceries by alphabetical and nutritional order. Of course, to be functional, you two now had to cook together.

Gabriel had obvious issues with food. It was clear that he did not enjoy eating. The cooking process was another talk altogether though. It implied following established steps, times and measurements, and he had even bought a colourful apron for, what he said, was the proper attitude and mind set for cooking.

That sentence, coming from the mouth of a man that hadn’t known what a whisk was three minutes prior, made you cry in laughter. *

You were incredibly useful, Gabriel discovered. Not only willing to provide with all the bothersome necessities his body now had, but with living quarters and explanations about what happened around him.

It had been a long time since Gabriel had had to stay on Earth for more than a few hours, and the world had evolved in ways he couldn’t always comprehend. Things were faster, noisier or more silent, everywhere he went was crowded with people and the air smelled weird, congested his nose and, in some occasions, when he was too close to the back of a car of bus, it irritated his eyes.

He was still getting used to the body, to the sensations and nerves and strange inner reactions and noises it would make. Being so far from divinity had also taken a toll on him, and due the forced tiredness he had to lay down on a bed -his bed now- and sleep. He wasn’t sure he liked sleeping. He didn’t dislike it per se, but he was aware that his surrounding were not part the real world, and that time was a mockery. He would remember moments of his angelic existence, mostly, but also dreamed with new, made up, things. He wasn’t sure he was comfortable with that.

He didn’t sleep every night, and would spent his time reading or watching videos. You had books all over the flat, as if a library had exploded in the centre of the room. Some were in English, some were not. Those fascinated Gabriel. He could guess the general intentions when in a conversation with someone no matter the language, but reading was another matter. You also had no preference about topics, and the novels, encyclopaedias, dictionaries and collections of poems would mixt with the astronomy, art and engineering books right under the pot of that thick leaved plant you had growing near the windows. After thoroughly dusting the area, Gabriel found the mess didn’t bother him that much.

The nights he did sleep were not always good. He would wake up covered in cold sweat, a scream choked inside his throat and his body painfully taut or trembling uncontrollably. He tried to be silent. As an Archangel, he feared nothing, and no stupid machination the human world would make him stutter. The pictures of Hell affected him differently though. So he kept quiet. He took a shower every time, scrubbing hard, and by the time he was done and on his way to rest on the ugly couch at the living room, the light of the kitchen would already be lit.

You sat with him every time, at his left so you wouldn’t obstruct the view from the window, and handed him a mug with tea. He never looked at you, and you never spoke a word.

Gabriel tried to keep his body strong, now more than ever. His lack of celestial influence was no excuse to grow soft, and he had created an exercise routine. He woke up at sunrise everyday and went for a run, and then followed some exercises before showering. You usually emerged from your room at that time, clad in pyjamas, shoved you feet in some ugly and ragged trainers Gabriel refused to even look at, put on a jacket and went to the coffee shop on the opposite side of the street to fetch some coffee. You always brought the same tea for yourself, claiming you had a delicate stomach at such an early time, but Gabriel’s beverage changed everyday. He was starting to pick some favourites.

You went to work daily, too, and returned very late in the evening. Your shifts were scheduled oddly, and you spent the majority of the day out. Gabriel was social by nature, and, while his purpose on Earth was to learn, he had to do it from real experience, not only books. So he took his tablet -you had bought him a protector for it decorated with a pair of what humans thought were angel wings, and Gabriel didn’t now if to laugh or to cringe, although he thanked you nonetheless-, a notebook, some far too expensive pen and a book, and went outside to read or take annotations on particular behaviours.

He was always home by the time you arrived, exhausted, from work. *

You groaned, every step of the stair high as a mountain. You lived on the last floor, the fifth, in the building. You just climbed up to the first one. Life was a terrible thing. By the time you reached upstairs, you were panting like a congested fifteen-year old bulldog, and you bag-pack weighted a ton of bricks.

You crossed the doorway, kicked your shoes to one side -Gabriel would had your head for it-, the bag to the other, and face planted on the couch, the armrest digging sharply in your stomach. Gabriel, sitting straight as a broomstick on the other side of the cushions yet looking incredibly comfortable at the same time, gave you a sideways glance before returning to his book briefly to dogear it. On his lap rested his faithful notebook.

“I see you have returned. How was work today?”

He was like a therapist at his hour. He let you ramble while going to close the door. It’s not like he could understand you, your face buried in the fabric as it was, you socked feet on the air. This time, you just grunted. It’s been a lot like that recently.

“I’m in severe pain at this very moment” you whined, not daring to move a muscle “. And I’m hungry too.”

Your arms were heavy, and so were your legs, like you had attached weights to them and then went to win a marathon. Existing was a bit too much right now; for some reason, the restaurant you worked at had gotten surprisingly popular in a very short time, and the clients wouldn’t top coming. You were stressed every second of it, now not having time to even joke or chat with your co-workers between servings. Everyone but the manager was jumpy, and grumpy and the bad mood in the atmosphere increased with each passing day. The cooks at the back would bark at you waiters for being two seconds too late, and today you had slipped with something -you swore it had been that damned child from table seven throwing a spoon full of ice-cream at your feet- and landed heavily on your wrist. You hadn’t twisted it by pure luck, but it still ached, and an ugly, throbbing, purplish mark had found its home in the area.

You saw Gabriel’s white crocs pass in front of your face -the best fucking purchase you had convinced someone to make- and he handed you a kitchen towel with ice. He was a businessman in his own house too, dressed sharp and elegantly. A month after becoming roomies and you hadn’t seen him in pyjamas yet. You drew the line at some point though, and it was located at the exact time you had noticed he would wear formal shoes even inside. Getting him to discard his scarf and coat hadn’t been that hard.

Gabriel claimed the crocs were the ugliest thing he had the disgrace to glaze upon. You had agreed wholeheartedly. They were too white and the creator had decided to sprinkle holographic glitter on them too. They were positively horrid. And you had been dying to see Gabriel wear them.

Poor Gabriel, bless his soul, had obliged. He had forced you to buy what he considered the most atrocious thing in the store besides his new shoes. It was socks. Fluffy, sprinkled with pancakes and the face of the Grinch -of all things to put with pancakes- all over and you had fell in love. You only put them inside the house, and Gabriel cringed every time he would mistakenly look at your feet now. For someone with Gabriel’s sense of style, your mere existence was abhorrent. It was not that your fashion inclinations were all over the place, it was that you had sold them for a chewed corn chip at the flea market on a Sunday afternoon. He had seen you in pyjamas, in teared pants, in shirts with corny messages and in those puke inducing socks, among other atrocities.

Right now, bent over the sofa, you were wearing what Gabriel believed to be your best clothes. You had an oversized hoodie -you had thousands of those, Gabriel believed- from which neck protruded the white collar of a dress shirt, your previously pleaded pants, now wrinkled, still maintained the ironed fold somehow, but your socks showed now two holes, one each, at the front part. You would have to throw them out again. You destroyed a pair every two weeks and Gabriel was sure half of your income was sorely designated to acquire socks.

He cleared his throat and you sent him your deadliest glare. Gabriel stood there, unaffected, hands comfortably resting in the pockets of his pants. On the crook of his elbow hung his apron. “It’s dinner time” he said “. Go change, we have soup tonight. I’ve bought onions, and eggs and bread.”

You had told him about your mom’s recipe a week ago. Gabriel, a big hater of anything more solid that jelly, had discovered the metaphorical Garden of Wonders in soup. He loved soup. He locked eyes with you and made a show of putting his apron on. You grunted again and stood, heading tiredly to your room to change. You would shower after dinner.

Cooking was methodical -Gabriel wasn’t very fond of physical contact and you always kept enough distance as not to make him uncomfortable- and an actual approach at conversation. You did get some commentary on anecdotes that happened today while Gabriel chopped veggies with a surgeon’s accuracy. He always pointed that he wanted to listen, learn about what people did with their dull lives and whatnot.

Gabriel made sure to have time to listen to you. He never, ever, made you feel dumb for mispronouncing a word and would always give you helpful tips with grammar. You appreciated it immensely. You would be reading, wouldn’t understand a term and he gladly explained it to you, or spelled a word you didn’t catch right from TV and, in short, let you ramble and corrected your grammar whenever you had a question about anything.

You were so fucking grateful for having him.

You weren’t anxious or self-conscious about your language skills around him. You didn’t have to be on guard 24/7 because of judgement and you didn’t have to worry about him laughing at you behind your back. He was far too good for that. Had he not been a snarky, rich bitch, you would’ve thought him an angel of sorts.

Angel or not, you thought looking at him, he’s dumb as fuck.

The aforementioned angel had just taken a huge bite out of a red onion and now his eyes were, quote-unquote, ‘leaking’. His face was getting very red.

You ran to get him a glass of water. *

Gabriel thought he would feel lonely here on Earth, or bored. He had a lot of labours up in Heaven, very important duties. He was sure Michael was now taking care of them, but he felt kind of bad for relying so much on her. Upstairs decision or not, Michael had her own duties too. He hoped Sandalphon was helping her.

As an Archangel, he was basically the representative for the Higher Powers among the other, lesser angels. He was to assign protocols, check the security and make sure that everything in Heaven, from the upper spheres to the organization and distribution of newly arrived souls ran smoothly. He was very good at his job and took pride in its effectiveness.

He had had to find new people to be around daily now, during your absence. Coffee shops and little restaurants were his usual spots to find a loner human willing to share a conversation, no matter the age or gender or whatever -Gabriel wasn’t very sure what gender was, but many humans seemed to believe it was a huge thing or something, and after some well aged people screamed at him for indecency and tried to call him out for his sins, which he did not have, he had decided that it was better to leave some topics untouched.

He had not felt that necessity with you yet. You relied on him when you had doubts and random things to ask about anything and it made him feel so fucking appreciated it was unbelievable. From the simplest of questions regarding his day -you always made a point to ask him about his day, even if his routine was always the same- to you screaming his name so he would come ad watch a cool thing on a video or a show you thought he could be interested in.

Half of the time, Gabriel didn’t know what you were talking about, and you would pause the video and explain the general context to him, which would cause a new landside of questions and, maybe, three hours later, you would return to the original topic. That didn’t happen most of the time but it didn’t seem to bother either of you.

Existence on Earth wasn’t as shabby as he would have thought it to be.

It was kind of... tolerable.

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Chapter 1

#good omens #gabriel (good omens)#gabriel (good omens)/ reader #gabriel/reader #gabriel x reader #reader #the chicken that finally crossed the fucking road #chapter 2

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daimonic-clown · 7 years ago

Text

Secrets

The sounds of marching and wind ran through Suramar. Both rather rare things before the barrier was down. The Duskwatch had little reason to ever march about the city and proclaim their dominance over the commoners. Cathiir heard it more clearly because they started to march towards the noble's districts now. Everyone was under scrutiny.

The nobles of Suramar varied in respect among the poorer, and the poorest. A good deal of nobles were respected, even willing to share their wealth and ensure the success of all of Suramar. Others were reclusive, which was not always exclusive with selfishness. Nowadays, the two sections of nobles were those who were devoted to their new masters, and those who would be exiled or executed. It was practically random which of the latter would occur.

Cathiir had a lot to think about under the bridge today, but the most important thing was what he would say to Elodine. In his pocket, he ran fingers over the carved insignia of the dusk lily. He wanted it to be his good luck charm in his future endeavors -- it felt almost ritualistic every time he had done this. In times of stressful thought, before sleep, after waking up, and he resolved he would do it before a mission as well. As if he was transferring all his senseless luck into it to cash out on it at a later time.

This counted as one of those times he found he would need it.

Elodine soon approached, her steps quiet, though the heavy air she brought caused Cathiir to look up as she rubbed her elbow and looked away from him. She did not want to speak first, though Cathiir did not know what to say. His words caught in his throat, and he damned the luck he transferred into the insignia.

"You say it first, dammit," she finally muttered, arms crossing in a rebellious fashion.

Cathiir shifted his feet and stood up, at first unable to look towards Elodine, but he soon surrendered his strength and looked at her face.

"I'm sorry," he said, now thinking maybe it just required a bit of patience to go through with the whole 'luck ritual.'

"For?" Elodine asked, glancing at his face, but still not meeting his gaze.

Cathiir repeated, with more sincerity than before, "I'm sorry," there was a pause before he swallowed, and continued, "for letting the dire situation get to me. I had no intent to offend you, Elo, you know that."

She finally met his gaze, and softened a bit. "I know, but it does not mean that your tone and intent match up, you know."

Cathiir nodded, mouth open. He would not argue that; she was more perceptive of that sort of thing on him. Others paid attention to his expression and the content of his words, not as much his tone. He wondered, cluelessly, for a moment, why something so simple from him affected Elodine so greatly.

His thoughts all culminated to a passionate blurting of his next words, "We will find her, Elodine. No harm will come to her."

His thoughts were snuffed out by the pressure of her arms wrapping around him, and a hug being secured.

"For a nobleman's son, you're quite ridiculous sometimes." She laughed breathlessly.

"Not by blood -- and even if it was by blood, wouldn't that be a good excuse?"

Elodine laughed again, and hugged him tighter. "Oh, shut it." The hug loosened as she started to say, "You're coming, right?"

Cathiir had actually forgotten what she was referencing, though he knew he should have remembered, that he was told at some point. "Uh... to?"

"The party, Cath! Your father brought it up, he said. It's a little gathering, some important people, one of the few I will not be performing at."

Cathiir smirked an invisible expression, saying, "A shame, it's always good to see you dance."

Elodine pulled away, then stared at Cathiir, looking for an answer, clearly. "So you'll come then, yes?"

Cathiir sighed, wishing in this moment he could start rubbing the insignia. He figured for now, he would manage if he just nodded his head, hid his reluctance, and speak sweetly.

"Of course, Elodine. If you're there, I was not going to plan on missing it at all."

Rarely did the Starsunder estate have a tense atmosphere. Though lately, that all changed with the introduction of new supervision. Everyone was on edge, and everything was in question, including some of the most trusted nobles.

The bane of comfort was known as Elyran. She was an arcanist, and as of recent, she ranked above even Lord Starsunder himself. For her title, and designated role, was a traitor-hunter. She tested for the signs of betrayal among the people of Suramar, especially those in leadership positions, and judged whether they were defecting, or if they were trusted allies.

She noted multiple times in this meeting with Cadsrai that she believed, without a doubt, he was clean of any doubt. Though she was not so certain of her son, Cathiir.

"There is no way, Arcanist. My son has not done one misdeed towards the Grand Magistrix, or the Duskwatch." Cadsrai sat in his study, a table between the pair, and in front of them was a fireplace, roaring with a fire conjured, and able to be maintained without attention.

"That you know," she corrected dryly. She was not affected by Lord Starsunder's emotions. He wanted to protect his son, and it was clear he would not believe he was capable of such actions. "The problem with taking in children from the streets is you never know their intentions until it is too late."

"I know Cathiir, I have had him five centuries, and there has been no sign of a rebellious streak." A lie for sure, but a well-told, and well-placed one.

That was, if Elyran had no idea who she was dealing with. "He seldom showed up to training, he preferred magic. His swordplay is passable, but far beyond what it could have been if he paid attention instead of improvising." He sipped from a cup of leypetal tea, then laid the cup down onto a plate.

"He grew into his role, and Saber could have slain Cathiir out in the wilds, too, but she could not manage to."

"I am no fool, Lord Starsunder," she said firmly, looking over Cadsrai with a harsh gaze. "Saber is no rabid animal, she is a rebel. She isn't blindly killing people. I find it more suspicious Cathiir not only got away, but got away without injury. Even you suffered an injury trying to subdue her, no?"

Lord Starsunder winced, remembering his singed flesh that covered the right half of his upper body. He remained quiet, not offering words to his superior here. He did not want to raise suspicion himself. It was hard for him to deny that it was all so suspicious, it was why he had hoped he could distract Cathiir long enough to solidify his safety. How he could ensure his safety was not entirely certain to him.

"He is under my watch, Lord Starsunder, there is nothing that can stop me there." Elyran continued to stare at Lord Starsunder, and when he met that gaze, he remembered it as the description given to him at accounts of assassinations. She was cruel and unforgiving, though she never worked with blind vendettas. She always had irrefutable proof.

It was why she came here. She could not prove it yet, or else she would be presenting his son's head here and now.

"Understood," Cadsrai said, his muscles all tensed up.

"Where would he be, now?" Elyran said, studying Cadsrai's reaction.

Lord Starsunder rotated his jaw, thinking. He remembered the gathering -- a simple arcwine tasting, a social gathering. "Tonight there'll be a party, I told Cathiir it would be a good idea to go, because Elodine will be there."

Elyran smiled, though somehow she made that seem horrible, too.

"His lover?"

Cadsrai nodded slowly. He wanted very much to try and deny everything, to protect his son.

Though he could not shake the thought that it was all true.

That his son was actually a traitor.

Cathiir wandered the streets for a while. He was told there was at least two more hours before it was considered, well, 'proper' to be at the party considering his standings among the nobles. It was all formality and tradition, something he saw no reason to break. He walked about, waving to numerous acquaintances. Some asked if he would make it to the gathering, he nodded and told them he would be there on time.

It was a pleasant surprise to most, and they all gave their usual pompous, exaggerated reactions. Gasping, fanning themselves, blinking at him as if he was a whole different person. They spread little rumors as he told them, and Cathiir waved a dismissive wave, chuckled, and moved on.

He wanted to do one thing before he actually made his way to the gathering. It was an odd thought that crossed his mind. Though he was in the business of engaging his curiosity all he could before he risk his life. Innumerable ideas crossed his mind, though this was the most readily available.

He made his way through the noble's section of the city, passing all the inhabitated houses, until he made it to a couple of houses that were empty. Many of the nobles simply up and moved from their houses considering the vacancy of their beloved neighbor, considering it a bad omen. Cathiir stood outside of Lady Aslyssa's estate.

It was not entirely uninhabitated, of course. Elodine often found other places to sleep, as far as Cathiir was told. She never felt the same being there without her mother in the estate. He suspected that it was because it would be the equivalent of her accepting that her mother was not coming back.

It raised suspicion, sure. Though even if Elodine fully devoted her might to the Legion, she would still worry for her rebellious mother. Cathiir, however, was here for a different reason. A most strange reason.

Lady Aslyssa was renowed for one main thing: dancing. She was renowed throughout all of Suramar for her abilities of movement, and entertainment through such gestures. She did so with grace, enthusiasm, beauty, and could convey emotions that words even had difficulty expressing. She mastered her artform, and when she found the love of her life, a Lord by the name of Ilyris, she settled and decided to share all she knew with her people.

Her dreams expanded beyond Suramar, and to all of Azeroth, her hopes were to unite the world through something so simple, yet so revealing. Though the barrier made her dreams shortened for two reasons: her husband ended up trapped, possibly slain by demons on the other side of the barrier, and she was left with a broken heart, broken dreams, and feeling hopeless.

The last remnant of her love was simply a mask he had left behind, and she kept it near and dear to her. She used to tell Cathiir a bit of his magic was left in it: illusionary, of course. For that, too, was his focus.

Aslyssa would often tell Cathiir stories of him. Tales of glory, how he fought valiantly to defend Kalimdor. How he had a personality that always made her wonder who was the actual entertainer in the relationship. Lord Ilyris could not dance, nor sing, nor was he the most handsome among the elves. Though he was so very kind, so very profound, and so confident in his purpose. When the demons invaded and began their conquest, he resolved removing them from destroying the world, he vowed his strength and more.

Lord Ilyris was the symbol of freedom that kept Aslyssa proud. She told Cathiir that he reminded her of her husband, and over time, he learned what that meant.

He started to walk silently into the estate, even uttering his spell to ensure his invisibility -- a seemingly unnecessary action since there was no one nearby, but he figured he could not be safer in these times. He walked through the estate, knowing it as well as the Starsunder's estate, perhaps even a bit better. He walked upstairs, and into Aslyssa's room. There was knocked over tables, broken vases, and the ripped canvas of elaborate pictures. The house was dead silent. When Cathiir stepped into Aslyssa's room, it was in a similar untidy state.

The sheets of Aslyssa's bed were across the floor, one of her bed posts was ripped off. Her vanity was battered, and the mirror in front of it was shattered to pieces, with just a fragment remaining. Cathiir stepped in front of the mirror, and uttered a dismissal to his spell. He saw his reflection, only slightly distorted.

His hands fiddled with the drawers to her vanity, opening up the top one. It would not budge, however. Cathiir spoke another spell, and sensed the source to this.

... well, there was no drawer there. When he uttered the spell, he noticed it. It was an illusion. From what he saw, there was thousands of drawers, all going downwards into an abyss that started right in front of his feet. He even believed he could see into the rooms below through this gateway.

Cathiir closed his eyes, had taken in a deep breath, then yelled out a spell. A gust of wind blasted all around him, and just like that, the abyss was gone.

All that remained was two drawers. Both large, one above the other. Cathiir kept his hand where he was tricked, and he was quite literally a whole four inches off the actual handle. A clever trick. So clever that he was still not even sure he was outsmarting it.

He reached for the handle again, the top drawer, and this time, it opened. Within, it laid. A single mask, one that could cover the top part of one's face. Cathiir reached for it, but hesitated.

Had he any right to do this? He had to truly think. It was not his belonging, but... it would serve a valuable purpose. He knew it would, and he knew Aslyssa would see it, too.

He exhaled loudly, then looked towards Aslyssa's doorway. All was clear, no one was nearby. So he inhaled again, as if trying to bypass some trap that sensed life, and gently grabbed the mask.

Nothing happened, so he felt more confident. He removed the mask, then sat down in front of the chair. He looked over the mask, taking in the features once again.

It was a simple mask, made for parties, of course. It was light, though make of metal to make it durable. Expertly crafted for both purposes, it was made of leystone. So it glowed a faint glow, both of the metal it was made of, and the magic it was imbued with. It was more than just a mask; it was a mask to conceal identity. Anonimity at parties was a big deal at some parties among the shal'dorei. It encouraged that feeling of meeting someone new, even if you've known someone for thousands of years... perhaps it was a good reason many of the nobles were not going insane under the barrier for so many years.

When Aslyssa met Ilyris, he was wearing this mask. His face was covered up by that of a simple mana saber. Though for a trick, he showed how easily he could use the mask. He spoke a spell that made him look as though he was adorned in decorative armor, helmet and all, still completely concealed.

Cathiir closed his eyes. He felt over the front of the mask. He felt the decorative engravings. There was flowers along it, as well as engravings of the sun and moons of the sky. Something that became simply a myth after the barrier was raised. This mask was a piece of history as much as a memento.

And now, it would be a tool for liberation.

Cathiir raised the mask upwards, and placed it on his head. His eyes were still closed as he focused on the magic within the mask. A quiet roaring came from the mask, and he sensed the magic he had awakened: a mana saber was roaming above his head, clearly.

That was not good enough.

He continued to focus on the mask, and something even more surprising started to happen. He found it harder to focus on the magic itself, and instead, thoughts that were not his own started to drown out every thought in his head. He was forced into a trance. Memories channeled into him.

He saw that first meeting. Quite literally, saw it. It played itself in his head as memories often do. In fragments, though the precision of magic made it ever so slightly clearer.

It was Ilyris who approached Aslyssa. He bowed low, and offered her to dance, and Aslyssa was surprised. The thing about the masks was, well, even though it concealed identity, nobles often gave it away, or could take a guess who was under it.

Ilyris approaching her was strange for her, it caught her off-guard. He knew that, so he said, "Listen, I know I won't compare, but if you humor me, I'll let you make one joke about it later."

Aslyssa could not deny him, then.

From there, the memories continued. He knew Ilyris better than even stories could convey. He felt his feelings. The last party he attended with this mask was a day after the Well of Eternity was in complete anarchy. He stepped outside and looked to the sky, seeing the tainted look it gave off.

He was scared. Though still he clutched Aslyssa's hand and looked to her. Aslyssa looked back, a tear down her eye. She knew what it would lead to. In a way, she knew what could happen, what would happen. And it did.

It ended there. And so, Cathiir opened his eyes.

Encased around his form, was what seemed to be ghostly armor. If it was real, it would be more decorative, and not for use in taking hits. It looked to be form-fitting, for use with the purpose of agility over complete, hindering protection. The shoulders were that of beaked creature, almost as if it was on fire. Around his waist, feathers and straps hung downwards to bladed ends. His knuckles were protected with smooth plates that were pointed in two spots on the ends. Cathiir recognized them as both improvised weapons, and as a source for magic; there were symbols all about each part of the plate on his knuckles, all for illusionary magic.

His face was covered entirely. Even his eyes were not his own. They glowed a white color, and what parts of his lower face that were exposed not of his, but Lord Ilyris'.

Cathiir stood up. He observed this up and down once. Then twice. Then a third time. He could barely believe what he was seeing. The man himself. It was like he glanced into history and tapped into the visage of a man that was long dead. It was like all that luck he saved up culminated to this moment.

Into the perfect message to send to Suramar. That even lost heroes would raise up and fight the injustice. Into the perfect disguise. Many knew Aslyssa, and her husband. Everyone knew of her mask, and Cathiir was not exclusive in that, nor in the magic within it being tapped into, so he thought, at least.

Cathiir removed the mask and placed it in a pouch at his side. He recounted the thoughts he came across and found himself focusing on something strange. He just dived into something that happened so long ago.

He saw Aslyssa thousands of years in the past and saw her as she was falling in love. He saw himself posing as a Lord that perished. But he felt thinking and thinking...

He thought how he could apply what he came across to Elodine.

Cathiir was practically speed-walking his way to the party. He was later than expected, and once he arrived, everyone was even more surprised. They were expecting him to not show up, as per usual.

Though when he entered the main area where others gathered around tables, getting their glasses and finding circles to mingle within, Elodine eyed the entrance and saw Cathiir. He smiled and raised a glass.

Elodine was dressed in a beautiful dress. For certain, Cathiir assumed she had danced in it a few times. Though this dress worked just as well in this casual setting. He saw her curves, and there was skin shown around her abdomen, waist, and shoulders. It was a purple color, and it was all she wore -- no jewelry to match it, and light footwear. He knew even with a fancy dress on she could still climb a fence on a moments notice.

Beside her, speaking to her, was none other than Lord Manabloom, who too saw Cathiir. He raised his glass and opened his mouth to call out. Cathiir could barely hear him, nor did he bother to listen for him.

After all, it would not be long before the man would be spent by his hand.

Cathiir found a glass on a nearby table, it was full of a lavendar liquid that bubbled. It was both of alcohol, and of magic, so the bubbling could have been from either or. He walked to where Lord Manabloom and Elodine were, and once he was near them, they greeted him.

"Lord Starsunder! My, what a pleasure!" Lord Manabloom patted Cathiir's back, and he restrained complete disgust. Elodine sensed his restraint and looked away in a sensing of the awkward tension.

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Manabloom," Cathiir said, nodding his head at the loud lord.

Lord Manabloom was just a bit shorter than the average shal'dorei man. He was bald, entirely, though glowing tattoos adorned where he was bald and went down his head, and around his spine downwards -- not that one could see, but they could easily guess. He was often dressed in the finest clothes, drinking the best wine, and seeking the youngest, and most beautiful women. He was among the nobles that could care less about the state of the poor, for frankly, he was having too much damned fun.

His bloodshot eyes gave that away. A lack of sleep? Intoxicated on more than just arcwine? Cathiir noticed his words were slightly slurred.

"Lady Elodine here was worried you would not make it, aha! I told her she had nothin' to worry about, right-right?"

Elodine nodded, sipping from her glass. She was staring at Cathiir, wondering what was up with him. While, ironically, Cathiir was staring at Lord Manabloom, trying to figure his deal.

Cathiir was strung out on anything, but he was sweating a bit, as if he had been exerting himself. Elodine also noticed a hand near his pouch, almost protectively, but a subtle gesture. She could also see his jaw locking here and there, which she knew well enough to be a passive aggressive gesture on his behalf.

Cathiir often started fights that began with his jaw looking locked, and tense.

Elodine instinctively reached out and placed a hand on Cathiir's shoulder, and gently ran it down his arm. She saw him loosen up enough to say, "Of course, Lord Manabloom. I wouldn't miss this for the world. You are having fun?"

"Fun?" Manabloom snorted grossly. "This place is nice, but nothin' compared to what I could do -- phew. Sta-Starsunder, you oughta' come to my place, eh? It's in, uhh... in uhhh... couple days? Ah screw it! Just listen for the fireworks, shouting, and ladies moanin', you'll know where to go and when."

Cathiir nodded his head, but sighed heavily. "I could try, Lord Manabloom, but the rebels have made it quite hard for a man such as myself to enjoy life."

Manabloom straighted up a bit, even seeming to sober. "Yes they have, yes they have! Ahhhh -- damn bastards're gonna ruin it all, aren't they?" Manabloom started to suddenly wrap an arm around Elodine, of which, she clearly was not agreeing to. But what would she do?

"You'll protect us, won't you, Cathiir?"

Cathiir considered simply killing him right here. He was intoxicated and acting like a bastard, who would blame him? Well, the answer was, everyone would blame him. It may have been common knowledge now that Manabloom was seeking information on potential traitors, and so to mistreat him was to oust yourself as a traitor.

Instead, Cathiir down the remainder of his drink and reached for Elodine's wrist. Something came over Cathiir suddenly.

"Lord Manabloom, pardon me, I have to go. It's been nice, but..." He managed to free Elodine, to which she moved to Cathiir's side.

Cathiir closed in on Manabloom's face. He reeked of the fruity smell of alcoholic beverages, and a hint of ash from something burned and likely inhaled. His voice quieted to a dead whisper, and it sounded dire, and serious.

"She is mine. And you would do well to recognize that, my Lord."

Manabloom straightened up again, then shivered. He could offer no words.

Though Cathiir did not wait for any words.

He practically ran out of the party's area with Elodine in tow. She struggled to keep up while downing her drink and laying her glass on the table. She started to laugh quietly, and as they were away from the bustle (and occasional whisper of where Cathiir was exactly taking her), she called out playfully to him.

"Where are you taking me, Cath? What did you say to Lord Manabloom?"

Cathiir did not respond. Instead, he had taken her in an urgent hurry. It had taken ten total minutes for him to move with her in tow from the party, all the way to Starsunder estate.

Then, into his room.

Elodine's heart beat faster the moment she realized where he intended to take her. She was worried all night, and from what bits she heard between Manabloom and Cathiir, she grew more concerned her friend and-- was he a friend? Or were they more? Regardless, she feared where he stood in this conflict.

Though in this moment, her fear started to dissipate and turned into excitement. It was the same for Cathiir, even if at first it was panic to get her away from the man who sought to be the cause of her demise.

They had kissed plenty of times before, even for long periods. Though for hundreds of years... there was nothing offical between them.

Starsunder estate was empty. Cathiir brought Elodine to his room, and immediately once they were here, his lips were on hers. He tasted what little arcwine she actually consumed. The heat he felt was partially from what little he consumed, and the tension that he intended to break between him and her that had built up for so long.

Elodine kissed back, trying to weave past the confusion of this all. Inevitably, she closed her eyes and let it all happen. She only peeked once to look down and glance at Cathiir's pouch that he so protectively wandered to.

Her mind started to get hazier. Though Cathiir had taken the lead.

His tunic came off, and soon his bare chest was on display.

Before Elodine was lost in everything, she made a note within her head and committed it to memory. Cathiir had taken his pouch off and placed it on his desk.

After she thought that through, she began unbuttoning her dress, pursing her lips. She stared at Cathiir as she refocused her attention. Cathiir was none the wiser to her plans.

"It's about damn time," she said.

#cathiir #wra #wow #rp #nightborne #shaldorei

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