#out of respect for Harding's sensibilities and politeness to a coworker

[thesummerstorms]

*Arsinoë de Riva has been succinctly explaining that the Crows took her from the Circle/Templars with perhaps a bit more admiration/respect than is called for given that there was an exchange of coin involved for her life and then she was immediately bartered between houses in exchange for a gambling debt*

Davrin (disapproving): So the Crows whisk you away and... what. Immediately start teaching the kidnapped ten year old to stab people?

Arsinoë, unruffled: Twelve year old. I was a late starter. But, no, actually, my mother taught me to stab people first. Didn't have much practice, but the intent was there. Helped with the late start.

Davrin: Wait...

Arsinoë: Apostates, remember? And she'd been one a lot longer than me, obviously. She always told me growing up that a Templar would never hesitate to Smite you, but most of the time they weren't going to expect a mage to go for a knife.

Lucanis: Amateurs.

Arsinoë, with perhaps just a touch of side eye: And good thing, too. I'm just as glad they didn't have your expertise.

Davrin: And your mother told you this theory when you were...?

Arsinoë: Dunno. Templars took me at eight, and I'd definitely been practicing before then, but I don't really remember details by now. Ma was always a pragmatist though.

Harding, who has been silently sitting in the corner with a cup of tea listening to this conversation unspool (silently, to herself): What the fuck.

[inkdemonapologist]

(So sorry for repeated asks) You've explored Sammy and Susie's relationship before, and I can easily imagine the crushing feeling of knowing you destroyed a good friendship for the good of an awful romance (I've watched this happen, alas :/). In your portrayal, Henry, Jack, and Susie are the only two people we've seen him remotely polite or honest to, and she's the only one he seemed genuinely sweet towards and comfortable with. Is this accurate? How does this affect him later?

(omg no I LOVE ALL UR ASKS, NO APOLOGIES NECESSARY these are always a delight, I am just quite slow and shy to answer xD IVE NEVER BEEN IN A FANDOM where people asked questions about my self-indulgent headcanons so this is a wild experience honestly xD)

Anyway at this point we've gone fully into headcanon territory I think!! I WAS ORIGINALLY GONNA ADD thoughts on how things would carry over to Escape AU but this post is already..... long..... so for now here’s just some headcanon thoughts on Sammy’s relationship with his closest coworkers!!

Susie and Sammy were for sure mutually impressed with each other but I don’t think Sammy was more comfortable with her than the others; I feel the tricky bit is the idea that being genuinely sweet towards = "being the most comfortable," rather than "doing his very best to present the most heteronormative response one would expect from someone with with positive feelings for a girl." I think Sammy is in general not a sweet person -- not to say that he can't be sweet, but that his most authentic expression of positive feelings is probably not going to look traditionally, sweetly romantic. I don't think the way he acted towards Susie was fake, exactly -- he really did like her a lot! But it was put on, trying to sustain her romantic feelings when he didn't share them.

I imagine Sammy and Henry were friends! Henry is a bit of a sheep in the way he lets people boss him around and apologises for others, but he's a sensible sheep who is good at his craft and Sammy respected him well enough. I think the two of them were kindred spirits as creators -- both kind of incapable of phoning it in or doing a half-effort job and horrifically overworked as a result. Joey's poor management skills were probably a point of like, mUTUAL FRUSTRATED BONDING -- until Henry left, and a confused Sammy had to reconcile the fact that he didn't have the guts to leave by deciding that he's just tougher than Henry, that he can take the demands of the industry that Henry couldn't.

Jack complements Sammy well and I kind of see him as the happy ending Sammy could have had if he'd not been so caught up with Joey and the Ink. Jack is grounding and cheerful, but -- crucially -- not in a grating or loud way, and evens out the intense music director. They both love music, respect each other’s work and value each other’s input. I do think it's telling that despite Sammy's reputation, Jack doesn't mind complaining about his music when he's not feeling it; I like the idea that he's quite comfortable with Sammy, one of the few people who isn't afraid of him, and Sammy in turn trusts Jack as someone who understands him better than most. Unfortunately, Jack's also a bit of a sheep who will put up with a lot of shit (literally), so Sammy kind of takes him for granted; he doesn't really open up to Jack so much as allow Jack to be closer than he allows most people.

(In comparison to the other two, I don’t think Sammy would see Susie as a sheep, at least not before the machine -- she may be naive, but she has a fierceness to her and isn't helpless. I like the idea that Sammy was genuinely taken with her strange combination of optimism and ruthless determination, and that this is one reason he found her so striking... and part of why being pushed to help Joey destroy her dreams really crushed Sammy, too, in a lot of ways).

I also feel like the person who might be missing from this list is, weirdly... Joey. Sammy’s seen him as an idealistic idiot from the beginning, but his worldview actually overlaps Sammy's a great deal, and they both must've appreciated having someone they could be open with in that way; unlike Henry, Sammy wouldn't have been put off by Joey's idea that some people are clueless actors who need to be given direction by the man with the vision -- Sammy agrees with that, he calls those people "sheep," and he's more blunt about it than Joey. Joey's excited to find both talent and ruthlessness in Sammy and would immediately treat him as Special, a Favourite who’s a cut above the rest; for all his cynicism Sammy is desperate for validation and would fall hard for Joey’s praise. Add to that the fact that Joey desired him without Sammy ever having to admit his own feelings and their initial relationship must've been, well, a dream come true. It’d quickly become apparent that Joey can’t follow through on most of his promises, but unfortunately, once Sammy is in with anyone he has a tough time backing out; ironically, he fits into his own “sheep” category quite neatly.

[sosthemortalcoil]

KoFi Request: Poly Family Dinner Disaster (m!Gabriel)

This is a sort of follow-up with a key divergence to @grimaugur‘s previous request.

Angsty dinner party featuring the poly, Israfel, Charleston, Josie, Daniel (maybe Tom) (Lucifer added for bonus)

Same Gabriel as the previous KoFi (Grimsley Morne)

Grimsley fell for not only the poly, but Israfel as well

Israfel rejected him and they’ve avoided each other since

Synopsis: Daniel and Josie host a family dinner. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go to plan. Grimsley’s lovers find out about his unrequited crush and some hard truths follow.

Parts of it from the (3rd person limited) PoV of the nestmates

Total word count: 11,906. Sfw, angsty with a hopeful end. And a guest appearance by Grimsley’s partner, Alice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Don’t be late for dinner tonight,” Ramiel reminds you over the phone.

“I’ll try not to be.” It’s not like you exactly control your schedule. In fact, a nice murder doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world at the moment. Things have been better at home, but you can’t shake the fear prowling at the back of your mind, the whispers that you’ll screw up in some irreparable way. If you aren’t around your lovers, you figure, you can’t drive them away.

Unfortunately, there’s no call and you reluctantly shut down your computer after saving the documents you’ve been working on. Paperwork is at least a familiar monotony, one that helps you maintain a steady emotional level.

“Let’s walk out together,” Alice suggests, perching on your desk as you pull on your coat.

You sigh, but there’s little point in arguing.

“God, you could look less like walking out to the car with your partner is a death sentence,” Alice teases, flicking the ends of her hair out from under the collar of her leather jacket.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you grumble.

Alice stops.

“Is that what you think I am?” Her grey eyes bore into yours, her jaw clenched tight.

“You’ve made it more of a habit to check in on me.”

“Wow. You know what Grimsley? It’s called being a friend.” She spins away, flicking her middle finger over her shoulder at you. “You’ve been dealing with some shit, so yea, I’ve been trying to make sure I’m there for you a bit more. But if that offends your fragile sensibilities, I won’t bother.”

She seems more upset than normal, given the way the conversation started out. Someone told her, or maybe she finally noticed the healing marks on your arms.

“I fucked up.” You keep messing up. You never cease to find new ways to mess things up. Sure, Ramiel is the one who Fell, but you know who truly responsible. If you’d done better, if you’d been a better nestmate, then Ramiel wouldn’t have been so careless. And if Ramiel hadn’t Fallen, Michael wouldn’t have turned so cold.

“I think you take yourself too seriously,” Alice retorts, her pace slowing. Her words drag you from your downwards spiral. “And I hope you don’t use that mouth around Daniel. God knows I’m not rated pg-13 but give the kid a chance.”

“I didn’t want to drag you into it.” Work is a refuge. Your coworkers know bits and pieces, but they don’t know everything. They’re just enough in the dark to still respect you. You don’t deserve it, but you soak it up greedily.

 Alice scoffs. “Idiot. I’m not just your friend, I’m your partner. And I know you feel like your boyfriends are the most important relationships of your life, but don’t forget you have others who care about you, okay?”

She reaches over and ruffles your hair, her wry smile back in place.

Would she care about you if she knew everything you’ve done? While you’re tempted to answer with no, you get the feeling that out of everyone in the precinct, she might. Sometimes you see a haunted look in her eyes, and while you know that any questions would be deflected, you’ve stared in the mirror enough to recognize a tortured soul.  

“And if you can’t talk to me, talk to Charleston. Or somebody other than Tweedledee and Tweedledum. They make me look like an adult with functional relationships.” She snorts and shakes her head.

The night air is brisk as you step out into it, watching as Alice taps out a cigarette from a wrinkled pack.

“I thought you stopped smoking.”

“This is because you’ve been stressing me the fuck out,” she grumbles, lighting up and sucking in a breath. Immediately she pulls a face. “Fucking stale. Serves me right.” Stubbornly she takes another drag, blowing out a thin stream of smoke into the night air before continuing speaking. “So, you know, get your shit together. Your boneheads love you, and you love them. That’s fairytale, happily-ever-after shit.”

No, it’s not, you think blearily. If it was, then you would have all your heart desires.

If it was, then he wouldn’t have turned you down.

 “Israfel!” You remember running to him, collapsing in his arms, an absolute mess of tears. “Israfel, it’s not going to work.”

Ever calm, he strokes over your hair and back, holding you until your tears slow to sniffling sobs. He’s always been your rock, your shelter from the tumultuous personalities of your other nestmates. Where Michael was mercurial, and Ramiel absent, Israfel was steady and present.

“Start at the beginning,” he suggests.

“I—I just got them back,” you gasp. “But I’m going to lose them now. I’ve forced them into this relationship. They never wanted me. Not before, and not now. I’m just in the way, a nuisance. They pity me. They hate us, suffering because I’m selfish. And now Daniel is leaving too.”

The deluge of words continues, barely a pause between one word and the next. “You’re the only nestmate who’s never left me, Iz. If you knew everything, though—” You stop yourself. No. If Israfel were to reject you too, it would destroy the last shreds of yourself that you’re barely clinging to.  

Israfel sighs, pulling you so your forehead rests against his shoulder. “Michael and Ramiel fight. They fight like siblings, they fight like lovers, they fight like children. Neither one is the most mature of creatures,” he comments, wringing a choked half-sob, half-laugh from you. You settle down with a hiccupping sob as Israfel continues in his soothing, soft voice.

“That doesn’t mean they don’t love you fiercely. Michael has been in love with you for nearly as long as we’ve existed, and Ramiel is little better, though his realization took more time. As for how they are with each other, I think it’s a possibility neither considered. Without you, though, it wouldn’t work.”

“That’s the problem! I’m—”

“Not letting me finish,” Israfel interrupts smoothly. “As I was saying. They both love you. And they’re learning to be with each other in new ways. You will always be their focus, but that doesn’t mean that they are unhappy. Adjusting to change takes time.”

“It would be better if you were there.”

“Grimsley, I love you, but this is something the three of you have to work out for yourselves. I can’t play mediator in my nestmates’ love life.”

“But you could!” Lifting your face, you look him in the eyes. “You should.” Self-preservation flies out the window. A shaky hand rests against Israfel’s smooth cheek. “I love you, Israfel. I always have. You’ve always been there for me.” You force yourself to breathe. “You should be with us now. We’re not complete without you.”

The only indication of shock is the widening of his eyes and the way his lips press together. The silence stretches on, and you feel your world crumbling down. When he speaks, it feels like the nails being pounded into your coffin.

“Grimsley, I’m flattered, but I don’t… you are all my siblings, and I love you like siblings. That’s it. But you are and will always be my priority, my little brother.”

Ice floods your veins. Of course he would reject you. It was a miracle that Michael and Ramiel would want you; how could you expect the most composed of your siblings to return your feelings? Now you’ve lost him. Lost him just like you’re losing your lovers. Calling you his little brother, emphasizing how he could never feel more, is a slap to the face.

“Grimsley,” Israfel starts, voice soft, but you don’t wait for him to finish.

You shove off him, barely able to breathe through the pain in your chest. “I’m sorry I’m such a burden. I’m sorry I’m unlovable,” you spit at him.

The corners of his eyes pinch, and he starts to stand. “That’s not—”

You don’t stick around to listen to his politely worded rejection, to hear the clarifications on why he finds you as nothing more than a sibling. You flee.

And find solace in old bad habits, giving in to your dark temptations.  

 You stir, breathing heavily. That part of your nightmare you haven’t faced yet. You don’t know that you can. Rejection is never something you’ve handled well, and to lose the one person you thought would always be your lifeline has left you adrift in the current, bobbing aimlessly around, subject to wherever the water takes you.

“Welcome back.”

Glancing to your side you see Alice, the cigarette down to the filter. She reaches over and stabs it into the ashtray, glancing at you with a raised brow. “Care to share where you went?”

“No. I want to forget about it.” Wrapping your arms around yourself, you lower your head and make a beeline for your car. Behind you, Alice sighs.

"Running doesn’t solve everything. Believe me, I’ve tried. Just remember you’ve got family here if you need us, 'kay?”

“I… will,” you say after a moment’s hesitation. Alice might not be the most refined or even the easiest to comprehend, but she’s loyal. It wouldn’t be fair to shut her out when she’s done nothing wrong. Screwing up is your area of expertise, not hers.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Alice responds with a grin. She pulls out her motorcycle keys and tosses them up, catching them without looking. “See ya, Grim.” With a finger-wave, she’s gone.

Once in your car you don’t bother with the heat. You want the cold, want to be numb to everything. Food of any kind sounds unappetizing, but if Ramiel is making a point to call you, that means it will be a family meal. With Daniel leaving for college, there aren’t too many of those left. For an immortal creature, it feels like time is slipping away from you, and as it does, leaving unmitigated destruction in its wake. You miss associating with other immortals sometimes; with mortals, everything happens in a blink of an eye and it never stops.

Soon you find yourself outside your apartment door, the seals ensuring you can hear nothing on the other side. Sometimes you wish they didn’t work so well. It can make coming home feel like walking into a trap. Gritting your teeth, you open the door to the clatter of dishes and chatter of conversation.

“Dad!” Daniel greets you with a hug and a grin, looking far too pleased about something. Suspicion crawls up your spine, and you slowly swing your gaze around the room.

It feels like someone jerked the rug out from under you when you see Charleston leaning against the counter, holding a glass of whisky, while next to him is the last person you want to see: Israfel.

“Surprise!”

That it certainly is, an ugly one, an ambush in your own home. The trap is sprung, and you have nowhere to go lest you draw attention to an issue that you’ve kept to yourself.

Daniel’s smile falters. “Dad? Rough day at work?”

“Everything’s fine,” you inform him, tasting ash in your mouth. “I wasn’t expecting guests for dinner.”  

Josie glides over, her movements having changed from the bouncing, irregular motions of awkward adolescence to that of a mature predator. It’s like she’s sensed your weakness and has come to exploit it. “We thought it’d be nice to have a family dinner before Daniel and I head off. My dad had to meet with some investors, but he’ll be along later.”

So, what is Charleston doing here? Josie has her own car; she hasn’t needed someone to drive her places in years. And while you’re close to Charleston, he’s not family. If everyone else from the precinct were here, that would be within normal expectations, but as it is his presence is an anomaly. You don’t like anomalies in your life. They herald change, which is almost always of the terrible kind, like Ramiel Falling, or Michael turning cold to you, or Israfel rejecting you.

“Food’s already ready; it’s in the oven keeping warm,” Josie prattles on, apparently ignorant of your current state of mind.  

“Great.” Hopefully that means that this torture will be over sooner rather than later. You unclip your holster and badge, placing both in the drawer by the entryway before taking off your shoes and coat. The walk to the table feels like miles, and you collapse into the chair at the head of the table more than you sit.

Your family bustles around you, the table becoming laden with food. The glass in front of you fills with wine and you drink without question, glad that at least in the shell you can feel some level of intoxication. Daniel refills it and you gesture for him to leave the bottle. Dinner is too long by far and it hasn’t yet begun.

Finally, everyone is seated at the table. It could be a normal family dinner. Josie and Daniel are laughing over something only the two of them understand, Michael and Ramiel are bickering good naturedly over whose food is better—not a contest, as Michael has yet to fully comprehend the human palette or spices—and Israfel is watching with mild amusement. Then there’s the outlier. Maybe if Tom were here now and not coming later Charleston wouldn’t feel so out of place, but as it is, his normally soothing presence grates on you. Intruder. Interloper. Words that you know aren’t true and yet you long to fling at him, to chase him from your home like a cuckoo bird snuck into the nest.

 It’s easier to focus on the irregularity of his presence than to acknowledge the angel at the other end of the table, sitting across from you. Maybe you’re redirecting your emotions. You want to be angry with Israfel, but opening that door involves going down a well of despair first, and you’re not certain you can rise from those dark waters.  

“Ramiel helped, but Daniel and I did most of the cooking,” Josie proclaims as she piles heaping portions onto her plate. You’ve learned that young werewolves have a far higher metabolism than mere human youth, Josie being no exception to the rule.  

“Perhaps we would be safer skipping dinner then,” Charleston says. He’s switched to wine for dinner, you note. It’s strange that he would sit at the far end of the table from you, but perhaps he simply chose the spot closest to Josie. Other than her and Daniel, you’re his closest acquaintance here.

“You know, one day I’ll be pack alpha and you’ll have to pretend to respect me,” Josie mumbles around a mouthful of food, menacing him with a fork. See? You were being ridiculous. He’s here as a friend and as Josie’s pseudo-uncle.

“Elders and people who helped change you out of diapers have special dispensation,” Charleston counters. He smacks her hand with his spoon. “And I know your parents taught you better than to speak with a mouthful of food.”

Josie swallows and bares her teeth. “All gone now,” she proclaims.

“I think sometimes you’re more wolf than girl,” Charleston mutters.

“I second that,” Daniel states.

“Hey!” Josie levels her fork at Daniel. “I didn’t hear you complaining before!” Laughter echoes off the wall, silverware clinks against plates, and glasses clink against the table.  

The banter seems normal. Everything seems as normal as it gets with you. Still, something feels off. Or maybe that’s just you. You’re off.

Warm fingers brush against your hand, soft whiskey eyes finding yours. Concern, curiosity, all bundled with love. You glance away. “Work,” you say quietly, an excuse that tends to let you get away with far more than you should. Ramiel squeezes your hand once, and then returns his attention to his plate.  

You take portions of the food as it’s passed around to you, barely cognizant of what lands on your plate before it’s shoveled into your mouth. The food might as well be burnt to a crisp for all you taste it but eating provides you with an excuse to remain silent and stare at your plate.

Part of you wants Israfel to speak, to chime in with his insights as part of the loud banter at the table. Part of you dreads what he might say when his mouth opens, what secrets might spill out. You’d trusted him with everything, including your heart, and he’d deemed it not good enough.

“Uh, okay, I have to be honest.” Josie clears her throat, tapping a fork against her empty wineglass. It seems she’d put one in front of her plate specifically for this event. “Daniel and I are headed out soon, and I’ll be the first to admit I’m worried about empty-nest syndrome.”

“What?” It’s the first word you consciously recall uttering this evening that’s not some sort of excuse. Empty nest? Who told her that you were rejected by the last of your nestmates, that what should have been all of you together, bound in love, had been broken? Did she mean that their nest would never feel like home again? That it would remain empty, devoid of the life it once held?

“It means when your children or dependents leave your care and you are left with a so-called empty nest that you feel the need to fill,” Daniel explains, setting you at ease, or a close facsimile of it, for the moment. “Sometimes parents do strange things in response.”

“Like adopt a bunch of cats. I don’t think we need a bunch of crazy cat angels. Especially since you already have one hellhound.” Josie glances around, as if she expected aforementioned hellhound to appear at her mention.

“Well, no need to fear that,” Ramiel jokes. “Three out of four of the nestmates are going to always be here. It was so close to being a complete collection!”

Your smile, already sharp and brittle, breaks. Ramiel can’t know. He wouldn’t be so cavalier if he did. Yet it seems an odd joke to make otherwise. But he’s not the same painfully oblivious callous angel before. There’s no way he would actively try to embarrass you at dinner like this. Unless he found out and was trying to hurt you, trying to get even for all the hurt you’d inflicted on him.

It would be justified, but you doubt that’s it. Ramiel isn’t like any other Fallen you’ve known. He takes it in stride, no anger, simply resignation. He reminds you of your father in some respects. Angels speak of the hatred harbored in the hearts of the Fallen. They say that those who have tasted Heaven’s grace and then lost it are embittered souls, quick to take their misery out on any creature unlucky enough to cross their paths, but you wonder if that’s more propaganda. In your experience, they harbor a kind of wistfulness, maybe a bittersweet yearning, but not anger. Disgust at times for some of the rules, but always tempered by a longing for what was lost, and at the end of the day, a bone-deep weariness.

Across the table Israfel makes eye-contact with you. The familiar scent of butterscotch wafts to you as you feel a nudge. He wants to talk, but you’re reluctant to open your Grace connection. He made it clear that he wants nothing to do with you. Why should indulge him now?

However, Israfel doesn’t seem to be backing down, the scent of his Grace growing stronger and stronger. Gritting your teeth, you open your connection before someone else catches the butterscotch scent as well. At least it gives you something to focus on other than overanalyzing what Ramiel’s words mean.

You didn’t tell them?

Well, Israfel seems to think that the joke, which would be in very poor taste if Ramiel were aware, must be a cruel coincidence. You are far past having a bone to pick with Fate; at this point, it’s more like an entire skeleton of woes to lay at her feet.

Tell them about my abject humiliation and getting my heart broken by the one sibling I thought I could trust more than any other? Yes, I love sharing my flaws, you snap, knuckles whitening around your fork before you viciously stab a green and bring it to your mouth, using your molars to grind it into a paste.

I never intended to hurt you. You didn’t give me a chance to explain.

Explain what? That I’m not good enough for you?

Grimsley, that’s not it at all. It’s—

If you say, ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ I may snap this fork in half.

Now you are behaving like a child. You can hear the disappointment in Israfel’s voice. It’s his fault for having expectations of you that greatly exceed the disappointing reality.

Well I am your ‘little’ brother, aren’t I? Forever a child to you. Is that why you couldn’t do me the courtesy of considering my feelings? Am I to be eternally relegated to a fledgling who must be protected rather than an archangel capable of taking care of myself?

Everyone needs someone to take care of them at times. Some more than others. Some meaning you.  

Glasses clink and you stare around the table, belatedly scrambling for your own—empty, again—to clink against Ramiel’s. You have no idea what the toast was for.

“To Ramiel, Michael, and Grimsley! A weirdly happy relationship,” Josie says, making a second toast. Ah. The relationships at the table. This time you force a tiny smile back onto your lips, your expression having fallen into a glower at some point during your conversation with Israfel. Setting your glass down, you’re in the process of refilling it when Josie makes a third toast.

“And to the newest couple at the table, Charleston and Israfel!”

The wine misses the glass, splashing onto the tablecloth and you.

Ramiel jumps to his feet, immediately going for a washcloth as you have the presence of mind to set the bottle upright on the table. It wobbles but remains upright.

Then you stare at the far end of the table. Now you know why Charleston’s presence is so disconcerting. Now you know why Israfel’s presence isn’t merely painful. They were both guilty. They’d both been hiding this from you.

“Josie.” Charleston’s voice is low.

“I… guess you hadn’t told him yet.” Him? Was he the last to know? She hadn’t said them, like Michael and Ramiel knew. Josie’s shoulders pull in tight. “Sorry, Grim. I didn’t mean to spring this on you. I mean, kind of, but not really because I thought you knew?”

“So Israfel is dating your coworker. He’s always had some strange tastes,” Michael states dismissively.

He looks at you, as if to seek confirmation in Israfel’s strange tastes, and stops. His face goes white, then red. You must look awful. Michael is far from the most observant, though he seems to catch on to things at the most inconvenient times. Like now.

“No.”

He glances back at Israfel, and then to you.

“No!”

Again, the glance is exchanged, and then he leaps to his feet, his chair falling to the floor. Daniel’s eyes go wide, his mouth opens, and he rears back in his chair. Josie places a hand on his arm, her body tensing, trying to figure out what’s going on. You see a flicker of yellow in her eyes, the wolf trying to determine if her mate is in danger. A pang of envy hits you in the chest.

That kind of fierce loyalty, that kind of intense, pure love—you wish you had that. Free of the tangled web you and your lovers have. Israfel had represented that ideal to you, that unconditional, protective love. Except not the way you wanted, not the way you craved.

“For the love of all that is holy! Are Ramiel and I not enough for you? Are we so unsatisfactory that you need yet more lovers?”

Your fork hits the table, sending drops of spilled wine splattering across the table like fresh blood.

“Okay, how about we sit down—” Daniel raises his hands, chair landing back on all four feet as he tries to gain control of the situation. There’s panic in his eyes as he glances around at some of the most powerful creatures on this planet having a spat over dinner. Maybe you should be more worried, but at the moment you’re viewing everything as if through a thick layer of water, submerged in numbness.

“Daniel, I think we need to have a quick meeting,” Israfel says, smoothly cutting through the cacophony, sounding calm and logical as always.

“We?” Charleston chiming in makes sense now. You taste bile. He’s your friend. How could he do this to you? Dating your nestmate, behind your back? The temperature of the water cranks up, your blood boiling in your arteries. He knows how you feel about betrayal. It’s the one sin you can’t forgive, the one you can’t move past. And this is one of the ultimate ones.

Ramiel presses the washcloth into your hand and you take it reflexively. Water drips onto the stained tablecloth as you strangle the damp cloth, knuckles white as you grasp the last shred of normality, the last hope that this can all go back under the rug. It slips through your fingers like the water rolling down your hand.

“The nestmates,” Israfel clarifies, squeezing his—his boyfriend’s shoulder as he stands, perfect and elegant, not a hair out of place despite the tensions suddenly running high in the room.

“Let’s talk,” Michael snarls, turning to go into the other room. He stumbles, his foot catching on his chair and he curses, kicking the chair viciously.

Israfel bends over to right to the chair, shooting Michael a patented disappointed shake of his head before his serene gaze travels to you. “Come along, Grimsley. We all need to talk.”

You don’t want to talk. You’ve already said too much, enough to make your heart bleed. Now it seems Israfel wants to rip it from your chest and put it on display for all to see in its shriveled and scarred glory.

“Ramiel, you too,” Israfel instructs. Michael stalks ahead, anger radiating off him. Ramiel glances between you and Michael, lifting an eyebrow before trailing after Michael, going so far as to reach out and squeeze his shoulder. Michael shrugs it off.

 Israfel remains standing, gaze on you. The older sibling, the voice of reason. The rest of the nest simply goes along when he uses that voice, hanging their heads and shuffling off to wherever he points. Can he imagine you defying his wishes?

As much as you wish you could refuse him, it’s not a possibility. There’s no place to run, and Alice is right.

You can’t run forever.

Swallowing, feeling like your mouth is full of cotton, you get to your feet. Each step feels like you’re wading through liquid cement. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and your heartbeat thunders in your ears. Israfel is a bright light you want to shy away from, his cream ensemble that normally makes him look so soft and inviting now searing into your retinas, summoning you to your doom. You are the moth drawn to the blazing beacon, unable to change course despite knowing it spells your own demise.

It feels like eons before you pass him, all of you disappearing into your bedroom as the open floor plan of the penthouse leaves little privacy elsewhere. Weariness tugs at your limbs, and all you want to do is crawl into your oversized bed. Israfel stans between you and it, however, providing an insurmountable obstacle.

“What’s going on?” Ramiel looks confused. You glance down at your shirt where he’s staring at the wine that you’ve made no attempt to remove. The towel should feel cool in your hands, you think, but you feel the weight of it more than any difference in temperature. With stiff motions you rub at it, giving you an excuse not to look at anyone directly.

All it does is spread the red, like a growing bloodstain from your broken heart.

“We’re not enough for Grimsley! He wants Israfel too!” There are the words sealing your fate. The anger, the indignation, probably rightfully so, that you would dare to love another of your nestmates. You’re already greedy wanting two.

Ramiel blinks. Then he snorts, raising a hand to cover his mouth.

“Michael,” he starts slowly, “that was a joke.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Honestly, I think we need to work on your comprehension of humor more.” Maybe you were too worried earlier when you thought Ramiel had discovered your feelings about Israfel. He seems to be as oblivious as ever.

“No! You only thought it was a joke! Look at him!” Michael stabs an accusatory finger in your direction, livid.

Ramiel flicks his gaze to where you stand, holding the damp rag against your unsalvageable shirt. You can see the dawning recognition, watch his eyes go wide and then his eyebrows draw low.

“O-kay,” he draws out, frowning. “That’s… something we need to talk about, clearly, but Israfel is with Charleston and we’re with Grim, Michael. So how about you calm down and we all go back and try to finish dinner.”

“For once, Michael isn’t… completely out of line,” Israfel says softly.

Ramiel frowns, rocking back onto his heels, hands jammed into his pockets. “Are we trying to pick fights for some reason? It’s a moot point. You don’t feel that way about any non-mortal, and Grim is with us. Unrequited crush is what it is.” He certainly isn’t pleased about the prospect, but out of all of them, he seems the least bothered. If only you could count on him remaining so. Your other boyfriend isn’t content to leave well enough alone, however. Michael has always been the first to poke the proverbial bees’ nest.

“He’s been avoiding Israfel lately. What happened?” Trust Michael to pick up on your reluctance to spend any time with Israfel. He is always observant at the most inopportune times. “We wanted him here to help keep you company—” Alice is right, she wasn’t the babysitter; they wanted Israfel to be. “But you kept saying it was unnecessary and so against my better judgment, I let it go.”

You turn your face away. What do they want you to say? That in one of your darkest hours you’d turned to the one person who you thought would always be true? You’d never meant to tell Israfel, and you definitely didn’t want your lovers hearing about it. Love, in your experience, never turns out well. Sure, maybe now it seemed alright but that was after millennia of agony, living with the knowledge that one of the men you’d loved had chosen a strange fae to be with and Fell because of it, while another attempted to make you hate him in order to ‘protect’ you from him.

It had been better to keep your feelings for Israfel as an idyllic dream, an ideal of what could happen rather than impose the crushing weight of reality on it. Except your tongue had run away from you, exposing your secret desire to the brutally impartial rejection of your sibling, the light of his presence scorching your hopes to a crisp.

“Resentment builds over time. I think it’s better to say our pieces and get it over with now, get things back to normal,” Israfel coaxes, looking at you as if he could read your mind. You know he can’t. You’ve shut out all mental communication so none of them can read you. This time he won’t be able to put everything to rights with a few silvered words and calming touches.

Ramiel looks at you as well, ignoring everyone else for the moment. He raises a calloused hand to your cheek, making you turn to look directly into his eyes. Human. He’d always favored the whiskey-colored, human-looking eyes over any other appearance.

“So… you’re in love with Israfel too?” Evidently, he needs to hear it from your lips.

You press your lips together. Your grave has been dug but you’re not yet ready to lie in it.

“Grim.” His other hand comes up, now completely cradling your face. “Come on, love. Talk to us.”

Anger sparks in you, catches fire and flares up. They want to hear your side? They want to hear how betrayed and humiliated you are, how it wasn’t enough to break your heart but now he must trample all over it? How all of them, every single one of them, is acting like it is some little crush that will vanish with time, that your feelings are no big deal?

“Does it matter?” You brush Ramiel’s hands away, lip curling. “It was a mistake to say anything. I said it in a moment of weakness when you two were so busy fighting I felt like I had been abandoned.” It’s easier if the others are on the defensive, easier if you can attack rather than try to defend when you’re caught flat-footed and unarmed. Turning your pain back on them feels better than wallowing in it.

Ramiel shrinks back. “I thought you were over that. We talked about it—”

“And one conversation makes everything alright? I stopped for you two. That doesn’t mean it’s not a temptation, that I’m not still a mess of emotions. I never should have told Israfel, but yes. I love him.”

Now you turn to your tallest nestmate, feeling a hot tear course down your cheek. “He doesn’t want me, want any of us. I thought—I thought I could adapt to that. Rejection isn’t anything new.” You wet your lips, hand clenching around the damp towel so tight water hits the top of your sock. It’s amazing there’s any left as hard as you’ve been gripping it.

“And then you had to go and pick Charleston! Charleston, my coworker. Charleston, my friend. You have an entire world of mortals you could choose to have your little dalliance with, but it had to be someone I know, someone I trusted. It had to be somewhere where I could never get away from it. Rejecting me wasn’t enough? You had to show-off, make sure I could see you happy and ‘in love’ while knowing I would forever be nothing more than your brother?”

~.~.~.~

Israfel raises a hand to his forehead. “We discussed this, during dinner.”

“No, you left out the bit about Charleston! A lie by omission is still a lie!”

As they rehash who said what, Michael folds his arms across his chest and looks at Ramiel.

“Now who’s paranoid?” he asks. Ramiel answers him with a scathing glance. This is spiraling rapidly out of control. Grimsley is furious. The one positive is that he’s not turning his anger inwards. He’s not behaving in a purely self-destructive manner, though if he continues in his current fashion he probably will, regretting the bridges he’s setting fire to.

Looks like they’ll have to be the ones to douse them.

“Grim, take a breath. I don’t think—” Ramiel doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“I don’t want to hear what you think! I want to hear what he does. Go on, Israfel! Tell us! Why did it have to be him?” All Ramiel wants to do is wrap his arms around their lover and pull him into bed. He’s in such pain. He’d been keeping this to himself for weeks, bottling it up and agitating it whenever Israfel was brought up. Communication is something they all need to improve on, but Grimsley is by far the worst.

“It’s okay, Ramiel,” Israfel says, still calm, utterly unflappable. Ramiel winces. That attitude is going to cause the situation to escalate before it gets defused, he knows it. Israfel might be the most even-tempered out of them and generally the most empathetic, but lately he hasn’t known Grimsley as well as he thinks he does, and it shows.

That happens when someone forms a romantic relationship. You tend to grow distant from those outside of it while growing closer to those in it. At least, that seems to be how Grimsley operates.

“It’s pretty far from okay,” he comments dryly. “But it’s more complicated then you are giving credit for, Grim.”  

Israfel draws a deep breath. He’d thought Grimsley would be more mature about this, but he should have known better. His nestmates are hardly bastions of mature and well-adjusted angels. Technically one of them is no longer an angel at all. They are good at their jobs, true, but when it comes to their personal lives, each and every one of them is an utter disaster. Combining them together had seemed to be balancing out some of the worst habits of each of them, until the incident.

He’d thought Grimsley more stable than that. It hadn’t happened, as far as he knew, since Ramiel’s Fall. And yet he’d been, once again, left to clean up the mess, holding a sobbing bundle of feathers, concerned about both Grimsley’s mental and physical wellbeing. Comfort he had been prepared to give, but he had lost his stride when Grimsley confessed. He wanted to chalk it up to a displacement of feelings for his mates, something that would go away if they let it lie. Even giving Grimsley space for a while hadn’t been so bad. In the course of their long lives, it had hardly been any time at all.

Which may have been part of the problem, in retrospect. The passage of time weighs differently on an angel’s soul. So, to Grimsley, despite living among humans, it must feel like no time has passed since their conversation.  

Israfel had been naive enough to think that Grim knew he would be here tonight in advance, that his presence was welcome. He’d thought that, while it might initially hurt to see him with Charleston, Grimsley would get past that, be happy Israfel had found someone.

Instead, Grimsley lost it.

“Does it matter who it is? Anyone who isn’t you would prompt this reaction, I fear. You have not been scorned, Grimsley. You have not been betrayed.” It’s tiring to be the rational one, always the calm one, but he has little choice in the matter. Maybe through repetition some iota of what he’s saying will finally reach his little brother.

Grimsley looks less like a human and more like a feral animal, nose scrunched up, lips curled back, teeth bared, eyes black, given over to his true nature. “No. Out of everyone you picked one of the humans closest to me. How is that not personal?”

Israfel takes a deep breath. Grim is hurt and lashing out, the rejection still strong in his mind. He’s not thinking rationally and taking it personal when that’s the furthest from the truth. He has to remain calm. Getting upset won’t yield any results here.

“It wasn’t about you, Grim,” he sooths, tone even, expression tranquil. “You of all people must understand that emotions are not always rational. Most of my free time is spent here, you know that. I didn’t come here expecting to find someone who caught my attention. It just happened.”

A bitter laugh fills the room. “Yes, you were always here,” Grimsley snarls. “And it gave me hope for the impossible. You always put me first. How could it not be love?”

Israfel’s eyes close, his face scrunching in pain. It’s easy to see something that was never there if you expect it to be. “It is love,” he says, after waiting a few minutes to let Grim know he’s listening. The other two are watching the exchange in silence, expecting, once again, that Israfel will clean up the mess. That’s him. Always running around, bent over scooping up whatever broken pieces are left in the wake of nestmates. The one time he attempts to seize upon some happiness for himself and now he’s considered the instigator of the pain.

“But not of a romantic kind.” Some of what he’s said has at least penetrated Grimsley’s thick skull if he can acknowledge that.

Taking a breath, he tries to continue the forward motion. “You are friends with Charleston; surely you can see what I see in him? And he understands how I am. He places his duty to his pack, to his chosen family above me as well. We are at peace with that.”

“Doesn’t sound like he means much to you.” The words are sharp, bitter, and Israfel can’t fault him. Grimsley has different values. To him, a lover is worth more than family or friends.

Israfel has different priorities, and he makes that clear. “You are always going to be the most important person to me, Grimsley.”

“And to think at one point you denied having favorites,” Michael mutters. Ramiel claps a hand on his shoulder in response, knuckles turning white with the force of his grip.

“As I was saying, Grimsley. Romance is—fun, I suppose, but like a sweet. Better in sparing amounts, so you do not spoil your meal. Or at least, that is my preference.”

“So, you think romantic relationship aren’t meant to last?” It’s a double-edged question. Frustration has Israfel waiting a few beats longer than normal before replying.  

“I am saying that our relationships as siblings will always be more important than any romantic entanglement to me. I am not like you, Grimsley. Romance is not the end all be all for me.”

The silence that follows that statement envelops the room, no one daring to breath as they wait for the blade to fall.

 ~.~.~.~

Michael shuffles closer to Grimsley, shrugging off Ramiel’s hand. This is going to be bad; he knows it. If Grimsley had fallen apart when he thought Michael and Ramiel were fighting with each other instead of having a minor disagreement, hearing Israfel so casually dismiss what he values most will set him off.

Sometimes, he thinks, it’s better not to have idols or people you look up to, because every creature is flawed. Even God makes mistakes, errors in judgment.

And the fallout of having your beliefs shattered, your heart wrenched and twisted, is never pretty. Look at what happened when Ramiel Fell, the self-destructive tendencies that the pair of them, without any help from Ramiel, had tried to keep in check. Israfel had been Grimsley’s rock, his shelter, while Michael had pulled away, trying to protect Grimsley in his own way.

“I agree… that there is a hierarchy of how people feel about their relationships.” It’s said too slowly, with too much deliberation before each word.

Here it comes. “Grimsley,” he pleads, trying to stop his lover from going too far. While Israfel has always forgiven them their antics, had been endlessly patient with them while they grew up and even afterwards when they each had their own unique peculiarities, Michael fears that they will find even he has his limits.

Michael is an expert in screwing up, in pushing away the people he cares about. Israfel isn’t trying to push anyone away, but he’s not sure that matters to Grimsley. He’s not sure Grimsley, in this moment, cares about preserving any sort of relationship with Israfel. Michael doesn’t want to see their nest shattered beyond repair. It’s survived everything else they’ve thrown at it, so surely, they can survive this too.

“No, no,” Grimsley says, waving him off. “Israfel is right. Familial relationships are important.” His words cut sharper than any that had ever been aimed at him, and for so long Michael had been trying to make Grimsley hate him. Apparently, he’d been taking the wrong approach.

“The family you’re born with will always rank below those you choose to love, though,” Grimsley says, a tremor in his voice. “And out of all forms of love, romantic love is the truest there is. It’s because you choose, Israfel. It is a conscious decision, rather than something you are expected to do.”

Taking a chance, Michael steps between them. He’s upset that Grimsley wants Israfel, yes, but he doesn’t know if Ramiel and he will be enough if he cuts out their most dependable sibling. He wishes he could say they would be, but the truth is that he and Ramiel are far too flawed to be what Grimsley needs all the time. They can’t be his entire world, not without setting it aflame.

So, he does what he’s best at. “How about we address the fact that you chose to confess to Israfel without telling us about your feelings?” he demands, bracing himself. Provoking Grimsley is a field he’s an expert in, and if his lover is focused on him, he’s not focused on Israfel. “It’s nice to know Ramiel and I aren’t enough for you. Heaven knows we’ve made mistakes but you…” Bile rises in his throat, but he can handle it. “You could have told us that you were in love with him. You could have told us!”

He doesn’t have to fake his hurt or indignation. “Instead you hid it. You hid it like a dirty little secret. If you thought romantic love was so pure and so important, why would you wait so long? Why would you decide to say anything now of all times? Yes, we screwed up, but we were happy without him! Maybe you love us more, but you don’t seem to be satisfied with romantic love,” he spits out, hands balling into fists at his side.

All he’d ever wanted was Grimsley to look at him with love, to be with him. Ramiel was, at first, a grudging concession, a sacrifice he was willing to make if it meant he got some of Grimsley. They were closer now, united in purpose, in agreement that they were both here for Grimsley first. The rest was, well, nice, but Grimsley was the lynch pin.

“You make it sound like an obligation to love us.” Michael’s voice is flat, defeated.

Grimsley looks too pale, but he’s standing at least. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

~.~.~.~

You’d expected Israfel to cut you to shreds, but having Michael, your lover, jump to his defense, makes you feel physically ill. “Why do you think I tried to keep it to myself? I have two of you, how could I ask for more? But I can’t control what the heart feels. I’m not like Israfel.” Your lip curls. “He can think that our relationship is more important than what he has with Charleston, but I will always put you and Ramiel first.”

Michael wilts, anger deserting him and leaving him hollow. He steps aside, head lowered.

Ramiel looks troubled. “You talked about choosing to love, earlier. Now you say you had no choice in loving him. You cannot have it both ways, Grim. Either you must acknowledge that, like you, Israfel had little choice in what his heart chose, or you acknowledge that you both actively chose to love someone knowing it would hurt others dear to you.”

Israfel tosses his long hair. “You would be the first to be forced to admit that love is not always rational nor is it expected, Grimsley. How many times did you believe it impossible to have what you have now? How many times did I hold you while you cried about how you couldn’t choose between them and that they would hate you for it?

“This is a foolish fight,” Israfel states, exasperation entering his voice as he waves one hand in a curt gesture. “I am not asking you to change how you feel! I am aware that you will put them first, and that is what it is. I am sorry this hurts you.”

You’re not done yet. He hasn’t begun to be sorry. How dare he try to turn this back on you. How dare he act like loving him was something you chose when you knew it would end like this! You tried not to, but that was like asking the sun not to rise.

“I pity Charleston.” You want him to hurt. You want him to feel something other than that infuriating calm, that passionless façade he always puts up. “I love you, Israfel, I do, but you are cold. You chose to reject my greatest love, all I had to offer. So, yes, I still love you, but I must love them more. Because they love me in return, and anything less would be an insult.”

Israfel narrows his eyes. “Are you satisfied?” he asks, lips pressed so tight together they are no more than a thin slash in an otherwise ethereally perfect face. “Have you lashed out enough with your tongue to listen? Or are you going to rant at me more about how much more important romantic love is? I never asked you to put me above Michael and Ramiel. Your truth is not a universal one, Grimsley. Quit acting like such a spoiled child.”

There’s the crack you were looking for. The glint of too many teeth as he talks, the way the temperature in the air around him seems to have lowered. A vicious smile splits your face. Israfel continues, oblivious of your victory.

“You are trying to enforce your world views on everyone and when they don’t fit, you throw a tantrum like a fledgling who hasn’t gotten their way.”

“You’re a coward,” you snarl. “You only ‘love’ mortals because you’re afraid. You’re afraid to love with your entire being. You’re afraid to love someone for the rest of your existence.”

“I love you, Grimsley. And Ramiel. And Michael. And if you see me as a coward because I choose you, my family, my little brother, above my lover, then so be it. I respect your decisions; you should respect mine. This may not be what you want, but it does not change—”

“It changes everything! You’re afraid that you’re going to be found lacking in some way so you make sure that any ‘relationship’ you have is nothing but temporary to you. You are a coward, afraid to love someone who won’t die. These romances are nothing more than flings, fleeting at best. Most people fear saying goodbye, but I think you look forward to it. I think it makes you feel superior and—”

“Grimsley!” Ramiel steps between you two, face pale. “Enough.”

“It’s clear to me that we’re not going to have any civil conversation.” You’ve never heard Israfel so cold. “Now I’ll take my leave, as you have guests including your friend Charleston.”

“I’m not done—”

Ramiel grasps your arm. “We should talk, the three of us,” he says in a low voice.

“We’re talking now!” you snarl, jerking your arm free. “As I was saying—”

“We’re not talking.” Ramiel is in your face and you rear back, fending him off with the now dry washcloth. “You are belligerently spouting hypocrisies at us without listening to anything we say.”

“Hypocrisies? I am telling you how the world works for me.”

“For. You.” Ramiel grasps your shoulders and gives you a gentle shake. “Do you hear yourself? This is not fair to expect all of us to react the same.”

“Grimsley is not currently capable of listening.” Israfel’s voice is nearly a hiss, the last remaining evidence that you had gotten to him at all. He sweeps past you, ever elegant and full of poise, pausing in the doorway for a parting comment. “To quote a famous human poet, ‘love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, / or bends with the remover to remove. / O no! It is an ever-fixed mark.’ I would question how fickle your feelings seem if the way you feel is entirely reliant upon being placed on a pedestal in return.”

“Shakespeare? Really? You forget that Sonnet 116 goes on to say, ‘Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, / But bears it out even to the edge of doom.’ I think we’ve established you’re incapable of that, so I wouldn’t be attempting to lecture me on love!” Israfel shakes his head and vanishes from sight, leaving you fuming in your own room.

“Grimsley.” The disappointment in Ramiel’s voice is crushing. He sits on the edge of the bed, holding his head between his hands.

“You never told us.” Michael’s accusation cuts into you. Back to this piece, apparently.

“How could I?” you demand, turning to face him. “I could barely tell the pair of you about each other! I thought I was going to lose you both—sometimes I still think that! It feels too precarious, like too much happiness for me. That’s why I never wanted to tell Israfel. I knew he wouldn’t feel the same. I’m not that fortunate.”

“And after you told him? You declined to inform us!”

“What good would that have done? I was rejected, end of the story.”

“Is it?” Ramiel lifts his head, seeking out your eyes. “It doesn’t feel like it, Grimsley. It feels like you’ve opened Pandora’s box and yet are lying about doing so, pretending everything is normal.” His chin drops back to his chest. To your surprise, Michael sits beside him on the bed, one hand resting on his shoulder.

“Are we enough for you, Grimsley? Can you be happy with Michael and me? I thought that—that this distance was because you’re working on believing us, working on navigating this new dynamic between us. But now… now it feels like more.”

The reply you want to give would be a lie. You want to tell him yes, want to get him back on your side, both of them, where they belong. But you’re tired of lying, even by omission.

“I don’t know,” you reply, honestly. The admission drains you, and you stumble to an overstuffed armchair, feeling unwelcome on the bed. “I—I want you to be. Heaven knows I want you to be.” You hold your face in your hands. “I don’t know if I can be… fully happy without him, but I can try.” Tears prick at your eyes, rolling silently down your cheeks. This is going to be the final straw; you can feel it.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I can’t lose you two to my own greed,” you babble, chest tight. You only got them back, were just starting to return to normal after your self-destructive spiral. If they walked away this time, that would be it. There would be nothing left of you to save. “I don’t want to love him. If I could cut out this part of me, burn it away like demonic taint I would. Israfel treats it like cancer; why should I do any different?” Lifting your head, you stare blearily at the huddled forms on the bed.

“I’m going to destroy this part of me.”

Ramiel makes a distressed noise and Michael pulls him closer, glaring not quite at you but in your general vicinity. It’s an important distinction, meaning he’s upset but you aren’t the sole focus of his irritation.

“I wish I could say that—that I’ll be the same, but this is… too close to the heart to be certain. But if I have to kill one part of me to save the rest, to save us, then there’s no choice. It’s just that I’ve loved him for as long as I have both of you. And even when I had no intentions of acting on it, there was still hope. Now it’s gone. Changing that love, doing away with it could change me. But living like this is too painful. I’m sorry. No matter what I do, I’m going to lose something or someone.”

Sinking to your knees, you crawl toward them. “Please, please don’t let it be either of you.”

~.~.~.~

Ramiel holds up his hand, forestalling whatever Grimsley might say next. “I don’t want to lose you either,” he whispers. “Either of you.” Michael snorts, but holds his tongue. “There are some things we need to discuss first though. For instance, not telling us. So soon after… after what happened, it feels like you’re shutting us out again. That’s not how a relationship works.”

“Believe me, I know all about not telling people things in an attempt to protect them,” Michael adds.

“You two are the most important people in my life. I want to make this work.”

“Um… dad?”

Ramiel blinks. He’d missed Daniel in the doorway, and he wonders with a lurch how long he’s been there. Before he can think he’s on his feet.

“Daniel—”

“Grandpa’s here. And Tom.” There’s a shadow over Daniel’s face, one that cuts Ramiel to the core. “Thought you should know.”

“Daniel, wait.” They need to clear the air. How much the kid has heard he doesn’t know but it can’t be good.

Daniel shakes his head, dark curls bouncing around his face. “You don’t—I get it. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!”

Grimsley looks nearly as panicked as he feels right now. “You are important to us.”  

“Just not as important to you as them.” Daniel holds up his hands, not meeting Grimsley’s gaze. “I can’t compete with thousands of years of knowing someone. I’m just some Satanspawn and, while you chose to love me, I’m not your lovers so if it comes down to it, I know where I stand.”

“No, you do not.” Grimsley seems horrified, but Ramiel knows him too well. That’s the look before they’re fed half-truths meant to assuage them. But in this case, the lie is better than the truth.

~.~.~.~

Daniel was never meant to hear what you said here. No one was, really. That was in the event of a worst case scenario. It wasn’t knowledge for Daniel to live with. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Daniel’s lips twist. “Please don’t,” he asks softly. “I get it. You never had much of a choice about me. I’m your assignment, and I’m so lucky that you treat me like family at all. And really, what is my life compared to an archangel’s? It’s not worth much, that’s for sure.”

“That’s not true!” You do love Daniel. It might not have been your choice to watch over him but as far as you’re concerned now, he is your son. The words that were meant to hurt Israfel weren’t meant to cut him down too.

“I’m just a mere Satanspawn. I don’t know why God assigned you to me, and neither do any of you. I’m not powerful; I might as well be a normal human being. I’m not important. You all are.” Ramiel shoots you a glare like Daniel’s lack of self-worth is your fault. Maybe it is. You were never trained to care for a child. You can barely take care of yourself most of the time.

 “We love you.” Well, you and Ramiel do. Michael tolerates, but it’s an improvement.

A small, sad smile crosses Daniel’s face, gone almost as fast as it appeared. “I know you do.” But not enough, says the silence after his statement.  

“Daniel, you don’t… we will protect you.” You can’t lie and say that what he heard was wrong, not without backing yourself into a corner, but you don’t want him going around thinking that he isn’t important to you. The scenario where you’d have to choose between your lovers and Daniel would break you, and you’d pick the one that meant you were less broken but it doesn’t mean that losing him wouldn’t still rip you apart.  

“And I will always put you first, Daniel.” Ramiel’s solemn voice stops the air flowing into your lungs. He can’t mean—there’s no way. You know he favors Daniel, greatly, but he wouldn’t put him above you… would he? It has to be a tactic to reassure your son. Right?

“You would put a Satanspawn first,” Michael says, echoing the questions rampaging in your head. He gets to his feet, stands next to you and finds your hand, your fingers twining together. At least one of your lovers stands beside you.

Ramiel rounds on the pair of you, and you’re hit by a wall of peaty woodsmoke. “I would put the child we raised first, yes!” Inside your scarred chest, your heart shrivels. It’s not an act for Daniel’s benefit.

“I would put the boy that we have protected, the reason that we are even together now first. We are archangels! We protect. Now we’re a family. And parents put their children first!”

Michael laughs. “That’s rich, coming from you. Of course, you certainly didn’t put any of us before your kids, so I shouldn’t be surprised. You aren’t an archangel, though. You threw that away.” Ice creeps through your veins. This is it. This is the breaking point.

Ramiel’s head falls forward, the hair that’s come loose from the tie falling around his face. “I did. And I don’t expect you to ever choose anyone over Grimsley. Or Grimsley to choose anyone over us. Hell, I’d expect him to pick you over me and I’m fine with that, Michael.” His head lifts. “But I cannot lose another child. I cannot lose our son.”

“And what about what I’m fine with?” Hysteria. You can recognize the traces of it in your voice, though you feel oddly calm. It’s not like there’s much left to unravel at this point.

Ramiel runs a hand through his hair, stamping a foot on the ground. “Heaven above Grimsley you know we love you but enough is enough!”

“Enough is enough of what?”

Lucifer’s voice has everyone going quiet. Daniel is staring at the floor, Michael is staring over Lucifer’s shoulder, and Ramiel is staring at you, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“No one?”

The silence stretches on. You have no desire to recount your humiliation again and no one else seems to know where to start.

“Dessert is in the oven.” Daniel seems diminished, his lean figure folded over, arms wrapped around himself. Guilt gnaws at your insides. If it came down to it, if your hand was forced, you’d have to pick the person you could live without.

You’ve spent eons living without Daniel.

You’ve never imagined life without Michael and Ramiel at least existing in it.

That Daniel knows that, that the words are out there and no matter what you say you can’t convince him to ignore them only serves to highlight how much of a screwup you are.

Lucifer puts a hand on Daniel’s shoulder and squeezes it, gaze full of affection. “Alright kiddo. Tom could probably use a drink too.” There’s a flash of white. “Signing a contract with a ‘demon’ didn’t sit all that well with him at the start. We’ll be out in a moment.”

Daniel nods, and scurries away.

Lucifer levels his gaze at the three of you.

“Someone had best start talking.”

Michael throws his free hand up in the air. “Grim confessed to Israfel. Israfel turned him down. Israfel is dating Charleston. Grim isn’t happy. Grim said he’d put Ramiel and I first. The demon—Daniel was hurt by that. Ramiel was picking a fight with us about it.”

“I wasn’t picking a fight!”

“Children, enough!” Lucifer has the gall to laugh at this.

“Is my heartbreak amusing to you?” You can’t believe your father is laughing at your pain.

“Never, my child.” To your dismay, Lucifer bestows a kiss on your forehead. “But you need to calm down.”

“Really, that’s what—”

“Michael.”

He shuts up.

“Grimsley, Ramiel and Michael adore you. And everyone has slightly different priorities.” Lucifer’s arms don’t seem like they’re going to let you go anytime so soon, so you sag into them.

“But—”

“Shh. Let me give my fatherly advice.” You’re not sure that any ‘advice’ Lucifer has to give is going to do you any good, but unless you want to fight your father, you don’t have much of a choice.

“You all love each other. Questionable as I think some of you are, that’s a fact. Can we all agree on that?”

There’s some mumbling and foot scuffing.

“Let’s try again: can we all agree on that?” This time the three of you say an affirmation in stereo.

“And we all have our disappointments to live with. So, you can’t have Israfel; if you care for him, then be happy that he is happy.”

“It’s not that simple,” you tell him.

“It is. Who he’s with doesn’t matter. You would be upset if he were with anyone after rejecting you, and in this case, you’ve taken it to be a personal insult when it’s not. At least this way you know that he’s picked a good man, don’t you?”

“Did you know?” This sage advice sounds too well planned to be on the spot.

“I had a few minutes in the car ride over. You see, werewolf hearing is very good. Your arguments are never quiet. Josie heard, texted her father, her father told me, and I had time to figure out what kind of chaos would be waiting for me when I arrived.”

There’s a heavy sigh. “Grimsley, I want you to be happy. But if you keep searching for reasons to be upset, reasons to take everything personally, then you will never be happy. You have two people you love, and they love you. Bask in that. Let Israfel do what he does.”

“I can’t pretend I don’t care for him.”

“Then don’t. But you don’t have to act on it.” Lucifer releases you, and claps Michael and Ramiel on the back, hard. “Now, I was promised a homecooked meal and I won’t have it ruined by feather-brained idiots who have yet to learn to communicate in an effective manner. And yes, that includes you, son.” He turns on his heel, and even though he doesn’t have a cape, there’s the distinct impression of one sweeping out behind him.

Ramiel sighs and comes up to cup your face. “Love you,” he murmurs, kissing you briefly. “Don’t ever doubt that. Or that I wouldn’t move Heaven and Earth or Hell or some other plane for you.” It mollifies some of the pain, but you don’t know how deep the damage he’s done lies. First Israfel rejects you, and now one of your lovers tells you that yes, he does love you, but you won’t come first.

Ramiel flicks Michael in the forehead, catching the hand that comes up in retaliation. “You’ve got to work on the sulking,” he teases, kissing Michael’s hand. His whiskey eyes remain soft as he, too, leaves the room.

“I’m still pissed.” Michael’s voice is low.

“I didn’t want to.”

“I know. I didn’t say I was pissed at you, just… pissed. I’m a selfish person, Grimsley. You are all I’ve ever wanted, and sharing is not something I do well. But it’s working. Ramiel is an idiot but he makes you happy too and I can… tolerate… him. No.” He holds up a hand, as if sensing your preoccupation with the word tolerate. “I actually enjoy having him around with us but if you ever tell him that I will—do something you won’t like.”

Against your will a small smile forms. “Sure, Michael. I think you’ll take it.”

Michael pulls you to him for a hard, needy kiss, thawing the remaining ice in your veins. “Taking it is your job, Grim,” he whispers in a rough voice. You cling to him, the prospect of more touches to chase away the thoughts swirling in your head driving you mad—

“If I have to come back in here, I’m dragging you both out by your ears.” Josie stands in the doorway, nose wrinkled. “I can see why I got this job. But, you know, you can save the necking for twenty minutes when no one is here. It’s bad enough I have to smell the pheromones. Angel pheromones smell weird, by the way.”

Your smile crashes. You don’t want to go back out there.

“Oh, stop it. Do you know what Charleston has been through? You and Israfel aren’t going to happen. Quit being a grumpy baby about ‘losing’ something that was never going to be yours. God, why do I have to be the mature one here? You are really out here making Heaven look bad. Y’all just a bunch of half-grown man-children. Or angel-children.”

Michael leans into you. “Do you understand what she’s saying?”

“Some of it.” You shrug, grabbing his hand. “But she won’t stop until we go back out.”

It’s not an easy step back into the living room, past Josie, to where the others stand around the table. The hole in your chest that contains a frost-bitten, shriveled heart gives a painful lurch, but if you ignore the two at the end of the table, it’s not so bad.

Taking Ramiel’s hand, you sit between your lovers, across from Josie and Daniel and Lucifer. Israfel and Charleston stay on the end, and if you keep your head at the correct angle, you can pretend they don’t exist. Maybe it’s not the most mature option, but it’s as good as things are going to get with you.

Maybe time will allow you to talk to them. Maybe seeing Charleston at work will erase the lowkey animosity burning in your gut.

You don’t know.

Then there’s Daniel, who’s smiling but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Can you repair that relationship? Angels don’t have parents. Where Ramiel picked up his parental instincts you’re not certain, because it’s not a thing taught to angels. Maybe he was born with them, and it’s you who is wrong.

“Dad? You haven’t tried the dessert.” Concern etches the kid’s brow, and in an effort to alleviate it, you take a bit. Chocolate melts on your tongue.

“It’s good,” you mumble.

This time the smile does light up those troubled green eyes.

It’s not perfect. None of you at the table are. Some of you where your sins like a badge of honor, others live it because it’s how you are.

The widower, forever in mourning for his lost mate. The Fallen whose list of mistakes never end. The runaway werewolf who tries to forget his past. The young Satanspawn, living with a makeshift family of other outcasts. The girl determined to tack over in her mother’s footsteps, forgetting sometimes how to be a child. The archangel who pushed his love away to save him from a half-imagined threat. The archangel with the façade that hides his true feelings, burying them deep. The archangel who wears his scars on the outside because they’re all that keeps him together. And, of course, the first Fallen, the King of Hell.

It shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t feel like home, though at the moment it’s a home in the middle of a war, currently at a ceasefire. It’s not over, yet, your pride and your wounded heart refusing to surrender.

For the moment, however, you bask in the affection your lovers and your family shower on you, soaking it up like a plant seeing the first rays of sun in years. You can deal with the rest later.

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

The Gray City - Chapter One

-New York, 1934-

It was only October but the winter came early this year, in this gray city that New York had turned into. With her long, slim dress, the little pink hat and the elegant, brown Oxfords  (Y/n) looked like any other respectable woman as she hurried down the street towards the Subway Station on the 110th street, on the upper end of Central Park. A gush of icy wind blew under her brown coat, making her shiver violently and the approaching night did nothing for her comfort.

She tried to think back to her tiny room, wondering if she had closed the window. It would be terribly cold tomorrow if she had forgotten to do so. (Y/n) lived in a room in a small apartment in East Harlem, sharing the kitchen and the bathroom with an Italian family of six. One would argue that this was barely the right environment for a young woman like (Y/n), but it was cheap and sometimes the family even shared their meals with her. And since her job barely paid enough for her to survive, she was glad to have even the smallest bits of support.

Finally she reached the entry to the station, quickly climbing down the stairs to the platforms. She was not late, not yet, but if she missed her train, she would be and her boss would probably fire her. God knew she could not afford being fired.

She reached the platform just in time and slipped on the train easily. Luckily most seats were free at this time in the evening so (Y/n) chose one close to the window and sat down, carefully straightening out her coat and skirt before doing so.

The train picked up speed between the stations and fifteen minutes later the young woman got up again, leaving at the Time Square Station. A turn left, one right, another left and down the 42nd Street until she was standing in front of a glowing sign that announced ‘Night Paradise’. (Y/n) sighed quietly and turned into the small side street next to the entry of the reasonably good-looking hotel, knowing that the hotel business was only the disguise for the strip club that was located behind it.

(Y/n) reached a door that was well hidden in the wall, barely recognizable with the little light of the street lanterns. She knocked a few times and the door flung open, a young woman wearing a prune coat, opening the door.

“Oh, it’s you,” she noticed and stepped aside to let (Y/n) in.

“Good evening, Charlotte,” (Y/n) greeted politely and stepped past the young woman into the narrow corridor.

Both girls followed the sound of laughter and the glimmer of light until they reached a small door that led to a backroom with numerous shelves and wardrobes. The room was filled with about twenty young women, all barely clothed, only wearing panties and bras decorated with feathers, stockings, or skin tight dresses that left barely anything to the imagination.

(Y/n) sighed quietly. Sometimes she wished she would work somewhere more respectable than a strip club. She was only a dancer on stage, away from the groping hands and slimy lips of the men who came every night to be entertained by New York’s most beautiful women, but she still hated the preying eyes on her exposed skin. If anyone found out that she was working here, her reputation would be destroyed, not that she had one to begin with, but especially if the Dinapolis, the family she was living with, found out, they would kick her out of the room and she would have to stay on the street. So working here was better than not earning any money at all, but she could imagine things she would rather do.

Slowly (Y/n) pushed through the moving bodies and clouds of cheap perfume that was being applied, over to a section on one of the shelves that belonged to her. Neatly folded and untouched since yesterday night, her costume waited for her. She took of her coat, then her dress and her shoes. Lastly her socks and underwear followed until she was entirely naked. In the beginning she had felt horrified to undress herself in a room full of people, but there were not many other options. With skilled fingers (Y/n) pulled on the black stockings, the red sparkling panties and the matching bra. Carefully she pulled a golden colombiana mask out of the shelf, weighting the object in her hand. These masks, as beautiful as they were, were uncomfortable to wear. They were itchy around the eyes and pressed into sensible parts of the skin on her cheeks, so (Y/n) waited as long as possible until she put it on.

One of her colleagues, Carry, wandered over to her and involved (Y/n) in a conversation about the new band that would play for the first time tonight. Both Carry and (Y/n) were stage dancers, meaning they were only coming into contact with the men that were performing music. They had to make the band look good, dance around the musicians while moving erotically to the music. That’s how the last band had been fired. A few of the musicians had enjoyed the company of some of (Y/n)’s colleagues too much on stage, so they had to go. Carry helped (Y/n) fix her hair up to a nice updo, while telling her about the band members.

Carry had barely started talking about the lead singer of the new band, someone with stunning brown eyes, from what she had heard, when the bell sounded for the girls to move to their positions. (Y/n) quickly put on the hard colombiana mask and followed the other women who hurried through the door as fast as their heels allowed them, splitting up into two groups. The five stage dancers tippled through the thick, red curtain onto the stage while the rest of the girls spread over the room where the first men were already waiting for them.

When (Y/n) stepped onto the stage, she noticed that the band had already taken place. While she walked out, she tried familiarize herself with her new coworkers. All of them were dark haired, their hair combed back with too much hair gel. They were wearing white dress shirts, and black trousers, bowties and black vests with the letters PATD on their right chest. There was a drummer with a soft, roundish face, a bassist who looked slightly uncomfortable, the lead singer with a golden mask and a guitarist who looked a bit bored.

(Y/n)’s eyes rested on the guitarist for a moment. He was cute; round facial features, long lashes, tall. He looked up from the guitar and to her as she walked past him, taking in her position next to the lead singer, assuming they were doing the usual routine. (Y/n) could feel the guitarist’s eyes in her back and knew that even without saying or doing anything, she had caught his attention the same way he had caught hers.

One should believe that as a dancer she was used to lingering stares, and she was, but this one was different. (Y/n) turned slightly to take a second glance at him. He was still looking at her, but unlike the many men she saw every evening, his eyes did not roam her body. They were fixed on her face, but he quickly looked away when he saw that she was looking at him. That was a first. Usually people tried to hold eye contact with her.

The lights in the room dimmed and the band started playing. The music was different from what the last band had played, the rhythm harder to predict, but (Y/n) enjoyed the music as she started moving around the lead singer. His voice was like velvet, lulling the room into the words of love and broken heartedness. While dancing, she noticed that the singers mask had areas that were covered with music notes, thereby differing from the mask she and her colleagues wore. His lips were plump and pink and what she saw from his eyes, they were in fact a magnificent, deep brown, just like Carry had said. The man seemed surprisingly unimpressed with the five barely dressed women who were running their fingers over his shoulders, back and chest. (Y/n) had never been a big fan of touching strangers so she was glad to be able to stay a bit in the back, moving on her own, running her fingers over her own body seductively instead of someone else’s.

Dancing was almost like a trance. Repeating chords and rhythms, smooth transitions between songs, moving bodies and stuffy air mixed with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol that was no longer illegal. While moving around, (Y/n) tried to get a better look at the other band members, even though she had to stay close to the lead singer, who more than once started wandering around the stage, be it to pat the guitarist’s shoulder or to smash a few chords on the piano at the side.

The drummer barely looked up from his drum set, concentrating on the music most of the time. Sometimes he shot the bassist or the guitarist a glance and a smile, but his eyes never rested on one of the dancers. (Y/n) knew this behavior. She had seen it often with young men who did not know where to look, and men who knew they should not be enjoying the company of women in an illegal club in down town New York. So either the drummer had no experience what so ever with women, he was uncertain about playing in this club, or he was married.

The bassist was not paying any attention to the women around him either. He was focusing on his left hand, making sure he got all the chords right. He was gently swaying to the music they were playing, his eyes sometimes half closed. But there was something about him that made (Y/n) uncomfortable. It was the way he was holding himself in an almost arrogant stance, as if the world was beneath him.

And then there was the guitarist. He seemed pretty bored by everything around him. His eyes were either following his right hand strumming the strings of his beautiful guitar, fixed on the floor or scanning the bar and the crowd as if he expected to spot a familiar face amongst the customers. Sometimes his eyes flickered over to the girls dancing around his bandmate, but he always looked away as soon as he realized that someone had noticed his discreet glances.

(Y/n) was thankful for her ability to get lost in the music and the moving. It would have been some awfully long hours otherwise. But this way time flew by and before she really knew it, the music faded, the band stopped playing and the thin ring of a small, silver bell announced the twenty minutes break. (Y/n) and the other dancers formed the final pose, holding it for several seconds, before the light on the stage dimmed and the girls, together with the band, could leave the stage almost unseen.

The artists walked backstage, led by two of the dancers, into a room that was different from the changing room of the girls. There were several sinks lined along the walls, chairs, benches and a few tables. (Y/n) strode over to Carry, who had started to talk to the drummer, a man called Spencer, as she introduced him to her. He smiled politely and offered his hand for (Y/n) to shake. He seemed to be a nice person, quiet, but interested. They had been talking for a few minutes, (Y/n) thankfully taking a sip from the water cup Charlotte had offered her in between, when the door flung open and a bulky man, the manager of the strip club, Johnson Hansen, walked in.

“I see you are already getting to know each other,” he boomed, smiling widely with showing too much teeth to be sincere. “Girls, let me introduce you to the new band. This is Brendon,” he pointed to the beautiful young man who was the lead singer, “that is Spencer,” he waved to Spencer next to (Y/n), who nodded, “Brent,” the bassist lifted his hand in greeting, “and Bryan.”

“It’s Ryan,” the guitarist corrected. He was the only one who stood alone in a corner, and looked less than pleased to have been introduced with the wrong name.

“Excuse me, Ryan,” Hansen corrected. “And these are our girls, Carry, (Y/n), Charlotte, Luis and Elizabeth.”

He pointed out each dancer and the girls bowed quickly, earning smiles from all the band members, all except for Ryan.

“Now, I really liked your performance so far, but in my opinion we need to spread you girls a little over the stage, don’t you think?” Hansen did not wait for an answer before continuing. “Luis, you dance with Brent from now on, you hear? And…” his eyes scanned the dancers’ faces carefully, “(Y/n), you dance with Ryan.”

(Y/n) nodded, a knot forming in her throat. As cute as the guitarist had seemed in the beginning, as cold was he now.

“Good luck with that,” Carry whispered into (Y/n)’s ear.

She nodded, lips drawn into a thin line, and quickly looked over to Ryan to see his reaction. Judging by his expressionless face, she almost believed he had not listened to what had been said, but the quick flicker of his eyes into her direction gave him away.

Hansen continued giving instructions to the dancers who should stay with Brendon and (Y/n) took the opportunity to try to talk with Ryan, who leant against the wall, staring at his feet.

“I’m (Y/n),” she introduced, reaching out her hand for him to shake.

He looked up, bored as he had been the whole night long. He stared at her hand for a moment before he glanced at her face, but he did not shake her hand.

“Okay,” he mumbled, looking away again.

Oh fantastic, he was absolutely not interested at all. (Y/n) already dreaded the time they had to work together.

“So… since I am supposed to dance with you, do you want to establish rules?”

She knew that for some people physical contact was weird, especially when it was only pretend. She had not that much experience in being a dancer, only the two years she had worked in this club, but establishing rules had always proven valuable so far.

“No touching,” Ryan requested, not looking at her.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” she answered.

Honestly, with the way he was behaving, she would have preferred not to touch him either, but it was expected from a dancer like her.

“Keep your hands above my waist then,” Ryan replied, his voice flat, his eyes still fixed on a spot across the room, “and don’t get in the way of my playing.”

“I can do that,” she agreed.

She knew that trying to continue any kind of conversation would only upset one of them, most likely her, when he would eventually become rude, so she turned around and walked back over to Carry, feeling Ryan’s stare in her back, but she refused to turn around.

The short break was over far too quickly and rather reluctantly (Y/n) followed everyone out of the room and back onto the dark stage, making sure her mask was properly covering her face. She watched as the musicians took their positions behind their microphones and the dancers walked over to the men they were supposed to dance with. She sighed deeply and made her way over to Ryan. He shot her look that (Y/n) did not know how to interpret before focusing back on his instrument. She shook her head, slightly disappointed, and took a pose next to the young man.

The band started to play quietly, and the lights came back on, signaling the dancers to start moving. At first, (Y/n) tried to stay away from Ryan, but soon she noticed how her colleagues were all over their partners. She took a look over at Hansen, who nodded encouragingly towards Ryan. She knew that if she did not start getting into physical contact with him now, she would later get shouted at by her boss. Quickly weighting the discomfort of touching Ryan and being shouted at, she reached out her hand and placed it on Ryan’s shoulder.

The material of his black vest was smooth and warm. She felt Ryan tensing up slightly at the sudden touch, but she pretended not to notice and dragged the tips of her fingers over the fabric, walking around him slowly. She accentuated each step with a sway of her hip, and was well aware of the eyes of the man in the room, resting on her moving figure. When (Y/n) had walked around to Ryan’s other side, she moved her hands down his arm until she reached his elbow. She could feel his muscles move through the thin, white material of his dress shirt and it made her wonder what it would feel like without the fabric under her finger. Yes, Ryan seemed to be an asshole, but a handsome asshole at that. Leisurely she dragged her fingers up his shoulder again, then down his side while leaning forward. She made sure to let her fingers slip off his body the moment she reached his waist, not wanting to upset the young man; it was a matter of morals to stick to the rules anyway. Instead she ran her fingers down her own legs, until she had reached her feet, well aware that this position gave uncompromised view to her curves. Slowly she bent her knees until she was crouching. She lifted her hands up and placed them at Ryan’s side, standing up and massaging little patterns into the shirt and vest, secretly relishing the feeling of Ryan breathing under her fingertips. Once she was stood up again, she ran her hands over his neck, walking back around to his other side.

The night continued dragging on for what felt like years. No matter how hard (Y/n) tried, she just did not fall back into the trance she usually enjoyed during performing. Too distracting was Ryan’s body, the little shivers she managed to draw out of him. More than once their eyes met, but now Ryan kept them fixed on her. The bright light of the spotlights made his dark eyes glow in whiskey brown. Something in his glance seemed almost scared, as if he had told her a secret he was afraid to be rejected for. But there was also some confidence that only grew the further the night progressed.

(Y/n) was exhausted and sweat drenched by the time the band stopped playing and the lights on the stage were turned off. Her heart was beating at a rapid pace and she could not remember the last time a performance had drained her energy as much as tonight.

The lights in the room and over the bar flickered back on, revealing the deserted scene of tonight’s entertainment. A few glasses had rolled off tables, feathers had been pulled out of the decorative elements the girls in the auditorium had worn, and two or three ties were lying on the floor.

The dancers and the musicians said good night, Ryan once again avoiding (Y/n)’s eyes. She shrugged it off, glad to have made it through the night. Chatting and laughing, but tired, the dancers strode back to the changing room. (Y/n) peeled herself out of the thin material of her costume, carefully spreading it out over the little space she had on the shelf so it could dry over the day. She placed her colombiana mask in the back on the shelf to make sure it could not fall to the floor, and put her regular clothes back on, while engaging in some conversation with the other dancers about the band. Everyone agreed that Brendon, the singer, was attractive, and Charlotte and Luis envied (Y/n) for dancing with Ryan; they too had picked up on his good looks.

“I tell you, he is quite rude indeed,” (Y/n) assured her friends, who disappointedly shook their heads.

When all the dancers were dressed and tightly wrapped into their warm coats, they left the changing room and walked through the narrow corridor to the door. (Y/n) was almost out in the back street, when she heard Hansen call her name. Confused she stopped and turned around. The bulky man approached her, big stains of sweat darkening the white shirt under his armpits. He looked nervous and uncomfortable when he started to talk.

“One of the customers the other night…” he hesitated to go on, and a bad feeling settled in (Y/n)’s stomach, “he… you drew his attention to you.”

Hansen looked at her with wide eyes, expecting her to understand what he wanted to tell her without having to say it out loud. But (Y/n) just furrowed her brows.

“He asked,” Hansen cleared his throat, obviously felling terrible for having to have this conversation with her, “he asked to spend a night with you.”

She felt her insides freeze. She was a dancer, she was not supposed to be the person the customers spent the night with. Not even the girls in the auditorium were expected to do that.

“Not immediately, he said, he is ready to give you time to consider… and a fair bit of money as well.”

(Y/n)’s stomach twisted. God, she really could need some extra money, but she was not desperate enough to sell her body yet.

“But… I’m a dancer,” (Y/n) stammered.

“I know, I know, sweets,” Hansen sight, “Only the offer is really good, you know, and he’s been very specific about you.”

(Y/n) could not believe this. The contract she had signed clearly stated that she only was a dancer, that no customer was allowed to touch her. Yet here her boss was, trying to convince her to sleep with one of them.

“I can say no, can’t I,” (Y/n) asked shyly, and Hansen smiled sympathetically.

“Of course, but you should consider it, it would be good for business, you know, for your reputation, too,” he explained carefully, “also the customer will be gone for a good two months, so you have loads of time to make the right decision.”

In other words, she could not say no.

“He is a very loyal customer of ours, sweets,” he continued, “I’d like to surprise him with a nice little Christmas gift, when he is back, you see?”

So the decision had been made without her, without asking her, and without her consent.

Hansen shot her an encouraging smile as (Y/n) felt like the whole world was slipping out of her hands. She had lost all control and was spiraling into darkness. She did not want to sleep with a stranger. And even if she did, she knew that if she did it once, it would be expected of her to do it again, and again, and again.

“See you tonight, sweets,” Hanson whispered, clearly ashamed of having her gotten in this situation.

He turned around and left the still frozen girl standing in the dim light of the small corridor. Somewhere a door opened and voices approached her. The band walked past her, exiting the building through the metal door. Ryan shot her a glance, but (Y/n) was too occupied by her thoughts, to notice the worry in his eyes. Only Spencer stopped and placed a hand gently on her shoulder, pulling her back into reality.

“Are you alright,” he asked concerned.

Tears threatened to spill over and (Y/n) quickly blinked them away.

“I’m fine,” she answered, but her voice broke, giving her lie away.

Spencer smiled softly and handed her a handkerchief he had pulled out of the pocket of the coat.

“If you need help, I am always there, we are, the band, I mean” he offered, trying to catch her eyes.

“Thank you,” (Y/n) whispered.

Spencer patted her shoulder encouragingly and followed his bandmates out into the fading night of the gray city, leaving (Y/n) behind with the head full of thoughts that were spinning and circling and fighting and screaming at each other.

Chapter Two

Original Picture Source: Picture on the top, picture at the bottom

[lifesobeautiful]

How to Keep Your Office Polite Even When Your Opinions are Radically Different

These are tough times. A pandemic is upon us; social issues are dividing us; and partisan politics is inescapable. Chances are that opinions on some of these problems may differ, extensively, within your workplace. Does that mean you can never have a casual lunch with colleagues in the break room again? Must we always avoid those who don’t share our perspectives to keep the peace?

Fortunately, the answer is no. If you’re willing to take the lead and model some patience, tolerance, and empathy, you could broker a successful and lasting truce among the people at your job. Here are a few suggestions to maintain a happier and more harmonious atmosphere when you’re on the clock.

Employ the “tell me more” technique

In Kelly Corrigan’s memoir, Tell Me More: Stories About the 12 Hardest Things I’m Learning to Say, she suggests those three words to not only encourage the people in your life to open up, but to also give yourself the opportunity to listen. If someone brings up an upcoming election or a controversial article she read at the lunch table, instead of automatically shutting it down to prevent conflict or biting our tongues to avoid disagreement, we could just say “tell me more”.

It may be hard at first, especially if the person who is speaking is negative or irritable, but those simple words can really soften people up. Everyone likes to be heard; everyone appreciates respect. Prompting others to “tell me more” doesn’t mean you have to listen to a three-hour soliloquy; it just means that you’re willing to hear them out and that you’re interested.

When discussing differing opinions, find at least one thing to agree with

One of my pals at work is the polar opposite of me politically. The two of us have no problem discussing any topics, however, because we both know that nothing is all black or all white. We respect each other as intelligent, well informed people and often find ourselves saying things like, “well I’ll grant you that” or “that’s certainly true.” When practicing the “tell me more” technique, you can probably find at least one tiny thing your speaker says on which you could comment positively.

Is the topic climate change? Perhaps you could offer something as simple as, “Well the weather has been crazy this year.” Arguing about an election? Try offering, “It just seems like everyone running has something wrong with them.” Such statements, though not exactly worthy of a Nobel peace prize, are nonetheless bridges to those around us. Keep them generic, simple, and true and they’ll have remarkable results.

Model how to communicate and disagree professionally

People who work together usually mind their manners quite well when they are involved in their everyday tasks or teams. They are busy; there may be quotas; time is money. If you want to have friendly conversations with your coworkers at break or over lunch, you need to interact with consistent professionalism throughout the day. Show them how you can communicate a difference of opinion without judgment or rancor. Be aware of your tone. Assume the best about someone who might be making a mistake.

Instead of, “You’re doing that wrong,” try “We’ve found it usually works better like this.” Know that most people are just like you: doing their best and, sometimes, having a bad day or experiencing personal distractions that make their work a little less than optimal. When people know you are sensible and even-keeled they frequently offer you the same treatment. Such behavior is much more likely to extend to down time when it’s practiced all the time

Have a go-to phrase that changes the subject

Even when polarizing events aren’t in the news, conversations among coworkers can sometimes get heated. It may be a project that’s not going well or someone who is not pulling his weight. Whatever it is, however, people get ticked off about it. This is when investing in getting to know your colleagues pays off. In my work place we have numerous older employees who have grandchildren. Whenever words get raw in the break room, I just throw in something like, “So, Chris, how are those grandkids!” or “John, isn’t your daughter-in-law pregnant again?”

If you don’t know your coworkers very well, you could use another statement that is suitably neutral like, “Thank God the weekend’s coming up!” (even if it’s only Monday.) Or tap into everyone’s love of sports, “How ‘bout them Knicks?” The idea is to have some kind of bait ready; anything that will turn the conversation in a better direction. Others will almost always appreciate it and follow your lead.

Don’t be afraid to close down a conversation or excuse yourself assertively

This goes along with (4) above. I’ve used my safe phrases (yes, I have several) numerous times early in conversations just to avoid the possibility that things might go south. There are certain people among my colleagues who just can’t resist the opportunity to bust one another’s chops and I refuse to be in the middle of that. Sometimes, however, the best played safe phrases fail.

When that happens I have literally said to people, “Hey, guys, it’s time to get back to work.” Or “Let’s not do this.” Pair those remarks with getting up to leave and throw in something like, “Hey, Bill, can you help me with something in my office?” Those tactics always work for me. If you’re not confident enough to execute them, however, simply excuse yourself. Don’t run away, but make sure people know you’re leaving. A simple and straightforward “I’m going to go” is enough. No one is allowed to intimidate or frighten you.

Over my numerous careers I have always found that everyone appreciates good manners, even the most curmudgeonly. You don’t have to be fake or a doormat to get along with your colleagues. You do, however, need to be aware that you’re not the only one on the job. That means you need to offer some consideration for others and not just vent about everything or everyone who irritates you. Practicing some patience and being polite is guaranteed to improve your productivity and work experience, whether in the break room or the board room. You will almost certainly find it does the same thing for everyone else.

The post How to Keep Your Office Polite Even When Your Opinions are Radically Different appeared first on Dumb Little Man.

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[drink-n-watch]

Genre: Romance, adventure, supernatural

Length: Short (2 – 10 hours)

Developer: Date Nighto

  Maybe Raistlin will know what I’m talking about, but when I was a kid, I read a book in which a character said: 

“I’m small because I was meant to do small things. If you look at all the big things in the world closely, you’ll see that they’re really made up of small things all joined together.’ That big dragon down there comes to nothing but tiny drops of blood, maybe. It’s the small things that make the difference.”

I’m quite little myself so I’ve held that quote close to my heart, like a motto and a shield. The little things do matter, they make all the difference in the world. Hustle Cat is a game that gets all the little things right! 

it’s the quiet moments you end up rememering

I bought Hustle Cat almost as soon as it came out 2 years ago. I had been following Date Nighto’s crowdfunding efforts and was delighted when the project was finally completed.

The premise is fairly simple. You play as Avery Grey, a recent graduate trying to figure out how to get this life thingie started. To that end, you decided to go crash at your aunt’s house in the big city while she’s out of town and even manage to get yourself off the sofa long enough to look for a job. Go You! You are getting things Done! Well kinda. You pretty much gave up when you stumbled across a seriously adorable cat café that happens to be hiring! 

yup – me…

  Ok so it’s minimum wage and the owner is a little odd, but he’s really nice and you get to spend the day surrounded by cute cats and even cuter coworkers. What more could you want? If the answer is mystery, magic and adventure – you’re in luck!

As far as dating sims go, this is a fine little outline. Nothing that out of the ordinary but sweet enough. It’s recognizable to us otome fans and blends eastern and western sensibilities quite well. But the big picture isn’t where it’s at. The real magic of Hustle Cat is in the details.

for the longest time I thought those were huge earrings

First off, let’s talk main character. Avery is fantastic. A supremely relatable character, a little lazy, a little scattered, with a good heart, and, very rare for an otome, a great head. You will relate to Avery, I’m sure of it but you will also be proud to be Avery. Not once in the whole game was I screaming at the screen or wondering why Avery was acting that way. Not once was I faced with choice options that forced me to pick the lesser bad. Avery is a good person who I would honestly like as a friend. Simple taking the time to develop a bit the MC and make the act rational, was brilliant and heighten the play experience considerably. It may not seem that important…

I managed to write an entire paragraph on Avery without giving too much away but let’s delve a bit deeper. You actually get the chance to personalize a bit Avery’s appearance. This is still very rare in Visual Novels so the feature is a huge plus already, but the personalization is done in the smartest possible way. Although the cosmetic choices you have are very limited they cover all your bases. Essentially you can choose short cropped hair or a longer shaggier do, and you have the option between 3 skin tones. That’s it. However, limited those options may seem they actually allow for more diversity and representation than I have ever seen in such a game. What’s more, your chosen appearance is carried over to every single CG. Such a simple touch was incremental in allowing me to form a strong bond with Avery as associate with them on a deeper level. CGs didn’t take me out of the fiction since they were all in line with the world I had created in my mind. 

I love that t-shirt

And representation was also included in the narrative. You cannot change Avery’s name and personally I’m just fine with that. Not only am I horrible at naming things, I really love the name Avery Grey. You can however choose your preferred pronouns, as in: He/Him; She/Her and They/Them. As such, your chosen gender is reflected in all the dialogue and narrative. It really doesn’t limit your romance options or affect the routes in any substantial way but this small detail made Avery feel like a true representation of me. A little sloppy, a little confused but trying their best.

What I just spent way too many words trying to say is that Hustle Cat has a great MC. An MC I was proud and just happy to embody. But what’s a dating sim without some juicy dating options? Boy does Hustle Cat have you covered.

Once again, You get a pretty diverse range to choose from in both appearance and personality. They ae in fact all great characters. I’ll give you a taste but a summary doesn’t do them justice, just like your profile doesn’t do you justice I’m sure!

I want to make fun of your outfit…but I can’t!

Graves Serling

The mysterious and slightly chuuni owner of the Cat’s Paw. He seems a bit loopy but is very kind. His somewhat dorky affectations have the very pleasant side effect of making him very old school gentlemanly and polite with everyone. He remains fairly absent and mysterious in most routes, leaving you aching to know more.

people that can draw are seriously cool

Reese

He comes off as overconfident and slightly arrogant but soon reveals himself to be friendly and surprisingly dependable. Quick with a snarky retort and adorable when at a loss for words he somehow manages to be the most responsible and most immature character at the same time.

always best girl

Mason

Let’s face it, I can’t give you an objective idea of Mason because I think Mason is just ridicahawt. One of my all time favorite otome waifus. She’s the strong silent archetype. Rarely have I ever been so moved by seeing an imaginary character let down her guard. There might have been some tears…Some might have been mine…

wish I was there

Hayes

Shy, quiet, timid little cutey pie. Hayes is the little birdie you coax out of his shell. You know those birds with shells… Possibly the most divisive character, he seems to be meant as the cute one, but everyone’s pretty cute, so it’s hard to tell. If you have no patience for shy, scaredy cat (ha!), characters, he may be a bit difficult to take but I found him precious.

fantastic fashion sense

  Finley

Aww, my bestie Finley. Finley is the tongue in cheek, reference dropping, hashtag spouting, popular girl. She’s also hardworking and patient. In all honesty, if I met someone exactly like Finely in real life, I would immediately want to be their friend. I love it when the story actually makes me understand why a character is popular rather than just telling me they are. Her route was also absolutely ridiculous, making me laugh out loud regularly.

he cleans up decently

Landry

I guess you could say Landry is the most generic of the bunch (unless you do his route). The nice big brother type, always ready with a smile and a diplomatic solution. He’s the first person you meet and a bit of a mentor character. His route revealed a much more balanced and complex person, with a satisfying conflict to resolve.

The game is careful to be gentle with the characterizations. Even supremely eccentric Graves gets a fairly rational treatment. No big overblown personalities here that turn people into caricatures. Everyone is very real feeling. They have concerns and problems which may be mundane compared to the usual otome fair but are recognizable and real. They have strengths, not super powers. Flaws that are manageable but can add up. They are made up of dozens of little quirks, foibles, idiosyncrasies and characteristics that add up to actual fully formed personalities. It may not be extravagant but it’s certainly gratifying.

This said, as much as I appreciate all the characters, and there are some equally well-developed side characters and antagonists, what I was the most impressed by is the impressive balance in the routes.

oh it’s gonna scratch up my face isn’t it

No matter who you chose to pursue, you will end up with a relationship built on mutual respect and understanding. You are there to help each other not save or be saved. Every single one of these guys are better than you at something and worse at other things. There isn’t a hint of abuse or non-consent to be seen and the obvious age gap in the Graves route is addressed seriously and with careful consideration, rather than brushed under the rug.

I don’t want to go too much into the story as there are a few surprises and twists which are fun to discover for yourself. Suffice it to say the narrative is light and peppered with humor. As a fairly short Visual Novel (VNDB says 2 to 10 hours but I really don’t see how you can finish this in 2 – I think 5-15 is much more reasonable even if you’re skipping over most of it) you can easily complete all routes without feeling like you’ve been rereading the same thing for weeks on end.

every morning they have breakfas together – office goals!

One quick note, the universe here isn’t expansive. You are essentially confined to your aunt’s small apartment, a few alleyways and the Cat’s Paw café. You live in a small bubble with most of your traveling being done virtually through the internet (like most of us). However, the actual design of the Cat’s Paw is fantastic! If ever the graphic artists at Date Nighto get tired of their gig, they should go into interior design. Along with the breathtaking Time of Eve, this is one of my favorite virtual coffee shops ever!

  Hustle Cat isn’t grand. It’s a small adventure full of people just like you and me. It doesn’t take itself too seriously but it’s earnest and well-intentioned. It’s gentle and careful and pays attention to the little things. Because the little things matter.

If you’ve played it, let me know what you think. If you haven’t you can get it on Steam. I’m not getting paid for these guys, I just really liked it and I want these guys to make another game.

Hustle Cat – It’s the Little Things Genre: Romance, adventure, supernatural Length: Short (2 - 10 hours) Developer: Date Nighto Maybe Raistlin will know what I’m talking about, but when I was a kid, I read a book in which a character said: