#and then she unsent everything

[katakaluptastrophy]

Periodically, I remember how absolutely fucked up the necromancers in TLT are meant to look. Like, necromancy does an absolute number on people physically.

Harrow is "rather small and feeble".

Necromantic Ianthe is "the starved shadow" of her non-necromantic twin.

Our first description of Palamedes is "a rangy, underfed young man" who is "gaunt".

Silas is "knife-faced...He had a necromancer build."

Ianthe parodies make-over scenes in House novels with "if the hero’s a necromancer it’ll be described like, ‘His frailty made his unearthly handsomeness all the more ephemeral'"

Jod acknowledges to Wake that even small children with aptitude would look odd to non-House eyes: "“I have access to any number of cute pictures of necromantic toddlers with their first bone. They don’t make for fat-cheeked roly-poly babies, but they’ve got a certain something."

In As Yet Unsent, Judith brags about her previous physical fitness: "I could run a kilometre in ten minutes, which was among the fastest for my adept group in the junior reserves." Which is about double the time you might expect for a physically fit woman her age.

In non-necromancer-friendly New Rho, Harrow's body is mistaken for a child's and has to be explained as a result of starvation and trauma to seem plausible: "Pyrrha explained without missing a beat that what with everything Nona had gone through she had been ill and still didn’t eat very much, which was why she was so knobbly and undergrown. The nice lady said that yes, many of the children had problems like that, but it was still hard to imagine Nona was anywhere over fourteen, wasn’t it?"

Tamsyn Muir's descriptions of the Canaan House gang on Tumblr back this up: "Judith is somewhat less completely scrawny than other necromancers on the cast, though she should be less built than Marta is", Palamedes is "seriously underfed" and "bony", Harrow is "scrawny".

And that's just what I can think of off the top of my head - I'm sure there's more.

Anyway, necromancers aren't slender in a conventionally attractive way, they're gaunt in a concerning way...and probably the only reason no one instantly clocked that Coronabeth wasn't a necromancer was because they all just thought it was par for the course that a Third House princess would have had a lot of plastic surgery flesh magic.

[lynnielovestlou]

au where abby and reader try to break up :( emphasis on try because they just can’t stay away from each other :( they keep talking and updating each other on things until its too much :( and they get back together :)

(i put my whole back into this pls be nice)

꩜ cw: no smut! abby x reader , reader works at a plant nursery , use of pet names

masterlist

the breakup was rough, to say the least. abby was your first everything. your first kiss, your first girlfriend, your first time, and your first everything. letting go of that was the most heartbreaking thing either of you had gone through.

for the first couple of days post-breakup you could hardly eat and sleep. your bed felt so cold and so empty without her next to you. you even made a lame attempt to line some pillows up to make it seem like she was there. and for a moment, it worked. but her warmth wasn't there for you to wrap yourself in. her heartbeat wasn't there to listen to. and her arms weren't there to hold you.

despite the fact that you were no longer together, you still talked. but less than you usually did. so many messages went unsent, so many calls you hesitated calling.

the first time either of you said something to one another was when you texted her about the job you had been wanting for months. she knew how much you wanted to work at the plant nursery down the street from your apartment, even before you split up. so when you got the email after your interview saying that you got the job, your immediate instinct was to tell abby.

"i got the job!" you had texted her.

"thats so amazing, sweet girl." she responded so quickly that it made you think she was anticipating you to text her, "i'm proud of you."

and just like nothing had happened, you were smiling down at your phone, just like you were before you started dating.

but that butterfly feeling in your stomach didn't last long. it fizzled out when you remembered you were no longer with her.

over the course of a few days you chatted about little things. your first day at your new job. abby's dog, alice, catching a squirrel in her backyard. little, minuscule check-ins. nothing too serious.

until a week later.

"want to get coffee?" she texted you one day, while you were busy watering plants in your denim overalls.

it caught you by surprise, to say the least, but you knew it wasn't a date. just two friends getting together for a cup of joe. not romantic. strictly platonic.

no matter how much you wanted to run back into her muscular arms and re-familiarize yourself with her touch, you couldn't. you shouldn't.

"sure." you text her shortly, without the need to ask which coffee shop or what time. while you were dating, you went every week to the same coffee shop at the same time on the same day and ordered the same drinks.

⋆┈┈｡ﾟthat weekend ｡┈┈⋆

the second you walked through the doors of the coffee shop your nostrils were filled with the scent you missed so much. freshly brewed coffee grounds and warm pastries. the faint sound of chattering from the patrons enjoying their own treats.

and there she was.

sitting at a two-top table, two drinks in front of her. she was already looking at you, as if drinking in your image. even though you were devastated and still a little heartbroken from the previous events of your relationship, you did a good job at finding distractions. which is probably why you don't look quite as miserable as she does.

"hey." she greets you as you sit down across from her, "i um.. i ordered the drink you usually got."

she remembered.

the mug was still warm, so she couldn't have been here long.

"thank you." you nod your head once, "you didn't have to do that."

"its no big deal." she shrugs, taking a sip of her coffee. black coffee, to be exact. you never understood how she liked the bitter taste of it, "how have you been?"

"good." you answer quickly. so quick that she has a hard time believing you. in reality, you were good. but you weren't great. you would never admit to her how you would accidentally cook too much food, because you were used to cooking for two people. you would never admit how many times you've accidentally set the table with two plates instead of one. how you would say 'i'm home!' when you walk through the door, even when nobody was there to listen, "i'm uh.. how about you? how are you?"

"im alright." she says.

but not good. you tell yourself in your head.

for a little while the two of you just chit-chat back and forth, talking about nonsense for half an hour before you notice abby fidgeting. she can't sit still, and you have a gut feeling you know exactly what's wrong.

"sweetheart, i cant keep doing this." she finally breaks, interrupting your rant about how you hate one of your coworkers.

"wait, huh? did i say something wrong?"

she shakes her head, glancing around the coffee shop like she's afraid to make eye contact with you, "we shouldn't have broken up."

oh.

your heart falls to the pit of your stomach, "what?"

"i need you more than i thought i did. i miss you."

you stare at her, eyes wide and lips slightly agape. you wanted to hear these words, but you never thought that you ever would, "are you.. are you serious?"

she nods her head, looking back at you.

"abby, i... i dont know."

"baby." she breathes deeply, desperate for your forgiveness, "dont make me beg."

you exhale, your cheeks burning crimson. you had waited so long for one of you to finally say something about the breakup. you waited so long for one of you to speak up about the need for the other.

without another moment of hesitation, you lean across the table, boldly smashing your lips into hers.

she tastes sweet, just as she always had. she was wearing coffee and the mint chapstick you left at her house and she never returned it, because she liked being able to have your taste with her.

she smiles against your lips, baring all her teeth. when you both pull away you can see her little dimples on her cheeks, the skin underneath her freckles a light shade of pink.

"so.." she says, folding her hands together in her bulky lap, "is that a yes?"

[cuttlekiss-mlp]

dash has grown her hair out considerably since the incident. she just hasn't had the time or the care to cut it properly (before things happened, she always did try to keep up with it).

MY LITTLE CATASTROPHE : RAINBOW

"Do you guys not see how hard she is working to fix this? Twilight is killing herself to find a cure, and you all have turned your backs on her! What kind of friends are you?"

Rainbow Dash, the Element of Loyalty, lives up to her title. Twilight may have made a horrible, maybe even unforgivable mistake -- but at least she was trying her best to fix it? Why couldn't they see that?

When she heard the explosion from Twilight's home, she flew over as fast as she could. The door was locked, the curtains were closed, but it didn't stop her. She crashed through the window to find the house in shambles, and Twilight huddled over Spike's body, sobbing uncontrollably. She and her baby dragon were covered in this weird pink sparkly..goop. She couldn't imagine what had happened - maybe Twilight tried that spell she said she wanted to do but couldn't...she didn't see the Elements of Harmony anywhere - so perhaps that wasn't it. Dash tried to console Twilight, but her friend snapped at her, yelled at her to go away and leave her alone. It hurt her to leave, but Twilight needed time. She was so brokenhearted...

The news of Spike's condition travelled fast after his attack and rampage. So many ponies were mauled or wounded by him. Twilight tried to reason with him, but Spike wasn't listening to her. He wasn't listening to anyone.

Everything changed that day. No one knew what was going to happen, not even Twilight. They all blamed her. They were so angry, and even though it was justified, that was no reason to leave her in the dust. She didn't mean for any of this to happen. She just wanted Spike back. Wouldn't they have done the same thing? Dash continued to stay by Twi's side, bringing her food, checking up on her, making sure she's had some water. Sometimes, she finds Twilight passed out on the floor or at her desk. Dash has read some of the unsent letters to Celestia that she's written. Twilight blames herself, too. She knows her friends have abandoned her...

That is why Dash won't abandon her. How could she? Twilight needed her. She needed someone to check on her, someone to be her friend.

[simplyavatrice]

AVA: do you think its possible to fall in love with a client and have it work?

Ava stares at the unsent message, knowing that if she sends this to Chanel, it’s going to open up a can of worms she may never be able to close.

It’s terrifying, and she feels somewhere between lovestruck and stupid, because how could this happen? This is the kind of thing she makes fun of JC about.

Her whole plan has always been to make sure the line is clearly drawn in the sand. She’s had clients tell her they loved her. She’s had them offer her jobs and money and futures where she doesn’t have to work anymore just so she can be with them and only them.

It’s not new, it doesn’t make her special - that’s just a part of the job.

For Ava, it’s always been so easy to say no. To ease them away and let Suzanne handle it and then continue with her life as if nothing ever happened.

This though, she didn’t ask for this. She wasn't looking for this. Beatrice was supposed to be her big payday. Easy and uncomplicated, just a lonely rich girl who needed some arm candy and a little backup.

Halo gave that to her, she gave Beatrice everything that she had - but somewhere along the way the line in the sand got washed away by the tide and now Ava feels lost.

Because she’s never been in love before, but she’s starting to think this is what it feels like.

Beatrice is the first thing on her mind every morning, which isn’t surprising since they share a bed, but even if Ava wakes up at one in the morning to roll over, she sees Bea lying next to her and she misses her.

It’s so fucking stupid, she feels so fucking stupid because how could this possibly work?

Hey, remember when you paid me a shitload of money to pretend we were dating, do you think that would be a cute story to tell our kids?

Ava lights up her cigarette and takes the smoke deep into her lungs. “Stupid,” she sighs, because it is and she deletes the message to Chanel and decides to think about it more. She needs to think, she needs to understand what this is she’s feeling.

[skaiplana]

Read Harrow the Ninth. Went insaner. Read As Yet Unsent. Shitpost and thoughts:

- God's name is John. He makes dad jokes.

- I am glad this is a universe where God can be: a) killed b) fucked. We have empirical evidence

- on that note, let's do dios apate minor three but make it a foursome with me baby. Let me get that ancient pussy and/or dick

- rip Mercymorn that woman served cunt was a cunt and talked!! In an amazing! Way!! Do you think she would fix my scoliosis?

- rip Augustine he was a cunt too. Trying to send god to hell is iconic. Of course Ianthe would kill him.

- Mercy and Augustine... they hated each other. They worked together to kill god. They had a suicide pact. They wanted to be burried next to each other. They died only a few minutes apart.

- Ianthe that gay little pathetic snake.

- CAN SOMEONE EXPLAIN THE 'GALL ON GALL' JOKE I DONT GET IT

- GIDEON (2) IS BACK!!! NOW WITH MORE FUCKED UP PARENTAL ISSUES!!!

- is Gideon (2) biologically Mercy's or Wake's kid? I thought she was Wake's because everything Mercy made died but I've seen some people say otherwise

- so like. Wake is evil virgin Mary. Gideon (2) is space lesbian Jesus.

- Gideon (1) is OUT, Pyrra is IN! What that entails I do not know but she seems cooler than him

- how do you get in affair with a commander of your enemy. How do you not use a condom or like kill your sperm. Why were you afraid it's your kid Gideon (Pyrra?).

- when John asked if Harrow and Ianthe are using protection what did he mean. Is he implying that there is a possibility of pregnancy? Is he concerned about infections and stds? They could just cure those? Is he saying that there are like dental dams somewhere on mithraeum

- Harrow. What can I say? She did a diy lobotomy. She's haunted. Every woman wants her. She's in love with a dead body. She made a soup out of her own bone and tried to murder someone with it. I want to hug her

- yk I'm starting to think that the Emperor Undying is a wretched liar a dick and a colonizer. Just a hunch.

- now I don't believe anything he's ever said and I'm thinking that Harrow probably did open the tomb

- Camilla is alive and well!!! Sex Pal is almost alive an fairly well!! Can we get him out of the bones

- Coronabeth is realizing how fucked up the nine houses are! Deuteros is not!

- Abigail!!! Magnus!!! I'm glad I got to see more of them. Abigail is actually so cool I want them to adopt me

- the actual Dulcinea! She's so cool too

- the alive Protesilaus being a poet udhdhehhehe and Ortus having internal beef with him

- Ortus is an interesting person now! Also the way everyone likes his poetry except for Harrow is peak comedy

- they actually summoned Nonius. Then he killed ghost Wake. Then they made a dnd party and went to to fight the Resurrection Beast and they WON I guess. These series is a comedy

- I actually understood everything most of the time except for some obscure words (please explain gall on gall tho)

[eggpngg]

Can't stop thinking about as yet unsent and how it's a perfect short story for harrow the ninth specifically because of the way judith and harrow mirror each other. Both of them are sickly and in really fragile states and just having a miserable time; both have their powers limited in some way (judith by boe, harrow by her paused lyctorhood); both are grieving their dead cavaliers; both are desired by a tridentarius carnally. Both are placed in circumstances that challenge their faith and upbringing but the key difference between them is that judith's loyalty to the empire outweighs everything else, to the point where she won't pursue relationships with the people she likes because she completely internalized societal conditioning about her duty and whom she's supposed to love. Meanwhile harrow's loyalty to the tomb already places her in opposition to the empire's + jod's interests. But on top of that, her loyalty to gideon, her cavalier, is also greater than her loyalty to god, and it drives her to seek a solution that's crazy, unconventional, and makes her defective as a tool of the empire -- and it's something judith would never dare to do.

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Trill

Chapter Seventeen

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader

Other characters: Rufus (mentioned), Annie/Bobby, Kevin, Cas, Billie, Kelly Kline

Word Count: 1944

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, dream sequence in italics, minor character death, grief, Non-Jewish people trying to honor a Jewish friend's life, reader keeps putting out fires, unbeta'd

Series Masterlist

Dean leans over the edge of the hot tub, dripping wet. He is smirking and coaxing you to join him. It’s warm, the height of summer somehow and you tell him it’s too hot for it tonight, but you can’t stop looking at him, at every exposed inch of his torso.

He pushes up on his forearms, thick shoulders somehow distracting you from his husky voice. He tells you it will be alright, it will feel better once you’re in the water.

With him.

You look over and Sam’s coming onto the patio, fully clothed in jeans and a flannel, hair flapping as he starts asking you about an interview. You look for your phone, but you look down to find you have no pockets, a swimsuit you wouldn’t put on on your best day is all that you’re wearing.

Dean chuckles and suddenly, you’re beside him, water warm and soothing as he drags you onto his lap. Your phone buzzes somewhere and you can’t find it on the ledge of the hot tub. Instead you feel Dean’s hands running over your hips, and he’s gone quiet, waiting for you to look at him again.

“You deserve to be kissed,” Dean’s voice reminds you and you look down and find he disappeared. A phantom kiss on the nape of your neck is what finally makes you look behind you and you’re standing in Elizabeth’s cafe, staring at the mural you’d been mesmerized by on New Year’s Eve.

Your phone buzzed again.

You stared at the screen, dumbfounded, then quickly got out of bed.

You made it to Bobby and Annie’s in less than an hour, which was practically a miracle even in the middle of the day. You didn’t even knock, instead you let yourself in through the back gate and stepped into the now somber kitchen.

Annie appeared suddenly. “So you heard?” she asked softly, pulling you into a hug.

“Yeah, I — How is he?” Bobby was the only thing on your mind the whole way there, not bothering to even post a condolences post from the band until you knew how he was handling the loss of his best friend and biggest pain in his ass.

“Oh, you know, fine— if you ask him. He hadn’t seen him in months, but the secret diagnosis and the shock has him more pissed than anything,” Annie filled you in as you sat down at the island and let her pour you a cup of coffee.

Bobby had known Rufus for over thirty years, having worked as his roadie for most of the eighties. A prolific piano player and notorious grump, Rufus had been one of the first actual celebrities you’d come to know through the band family. Now that he was gone, it felt like one of the elders was missing from your California tribe.

An end of an era.

“What’s he doing?”

“Sitting Shiva. Though I think that’s supposed to be after the funeral,” Annie added offhandedly.

“Have you heard anything about services?”

Annie shook her head. “I texted his daughter asking if she needed anything and she just said that they’d be in touch.”

You wanted to go give Bobby a hug, but you knew it was best to let him sit with the quiet for a while longer. Unfortunately, Dean didn’t get that unsent memo.

A loud banging rattled the front door and before you or Annie could rush to open it, Bobby was yanking it open and bellowing “what in the hell is this all about?!”

Dean gave him a pointed look. “Lunch,” was his only reply before stepping into the foyer, arms full of take out.

“What’d you get?” Annie asked, trying to ignore Bobby’s aghast expression as everyone returned to the kitchen.

“I stopped by that little Kosher deli Rufus always liked, and got one of, well, everything. I figure, whatever we don’t eat will keep,” Dean explained, unpacking submarine sandwiches and more sides than you tried to count.

Bobby tried to storm back to his study, but Annie wouldn’t let him. You all ended up just eating in contemplative silence and letting the food soothe some of the ache. You were so grateful for Dean’s thoughtfulness in that moment, you almost forgot about your racy dream and everything that led up to it.

It wasn’t the time or the place to get all hot and bothered anyhow.

After the food was done filling your bellies and Bobby’s and Annie’s monster-sized fridge, you pulled out what you had brought along to honor Rufus’ memory, an unopened bottle of Johnny Walker Blue.

You set the bottle down in the middle of the table with a thunk. Bobby whistled and Annie tried to get up for glasses but you waved her off, you knew where they kept them. Dean was reading the label when you returned with four cut crystal tumblers and a side of ice, you could never remember if Annie took it straight, she drank the hard stuff so infrequently.

He cracked the cap open and then your phone buzzed, but you ignored it. He poured doubles all around, but served Bobby first. 

“To that dick, may he play on in glory,” Bobby toasted.

“L’chaim,” Dean replied and you and Annie followed suit.

The stories started after Bobby’s second glass, with Dean filling in bits he’d heard from Rufus or had witnessed himself from after he’d earned the man’s rare respect.

One time Rufus actually asked Bobby to help him bury a body, but it turned out it was Rufus’ neighbor’s dog and the lady was too heartbroken to do it herself. Another time they had been mistaken for federal agents due to their matching suits, but that was just because they had to walk passed an active crime scene on the way to Bobby and Annie’s wedding ceremony.

It felt good to laugh, even while it still hurt.

You got up to get everyone some water and finally checked your phone. What greeted you was a huge reminder that it was still a work day. And you needed to get back to it.

“Oh, fuck me,” you groaned, scrolling through the rest of the comments.

“Where’s the fire?” Bobby asked, the managerial voice coming out strong.

You looked at Dean and he could tell it wasn’t great, but you weren’t sure if you needed to bring Cas up at a time like this.

“Everybody alright?” he asked, testing the waters.

“For now, until I kill them,” you muttered, thumbing your screen until you could get to your contact list. You felt everyone’s eyes on your back as you started to pace as the phone rang, but Annie was the only one with the sense to find out what had made you so upset.

“Those morons,” you heard her say as you got sent to Kevin’s voicemail.

You hung up and called a different number. After three rings, someone finally picked up.

“Castiel’s phone, how can I help you?”

“Kevin?”

“Trouble?! Why are you listed as Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Cuz that’s my name, dumbass,” you snipped. “Where are you? Is Cas there? Why didn’t you answer your own phone?”

“Relax! I just got out of the chair, Cas’ stencil is just getting set. I would have called you back in like five minutes.”

You exhaled. “Okay. Few things. Field trips with rival schools require prior permission, you get me?”

Kevin had the nerve to laugh. “It’s just Cas, it’s not like I’m dating Ruby or hanging out with those wannabe Ghostfacers.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, but the band does have a designated artist. Who you— very publicly— didn’t use. You don’t piss off somebody like Billie, Kevin, you just don’t.”

“How was I supposed to know?!”

You did not feel sorry for the kid. “Put Cas on the line— speaker if his arm is busy.”

You turned around and raised your eyebrows in question to Dean, mouthing, ‘you want to hear this?’

Dean swallowed and shook his head. And you kept the phone call one-sided for your audience.

“I’m here,” Cas’ deep voice greeted you over the line, low and private.

“Who's your publicist?” you asked, not bothering with formality or reprimanding a forty-year-old man who knows better.

“Kelly, she’s also our manager and—.”

“Jack’s mother. Oh, Cas.”

“Don’t pity me, it’s fine. She’s good at what she does.”

“Okay, well text her my number and we can try and ease the backlash, but you’re gonna have to grovel to Billie on your own.”

“Right,” Cas bit out like he forgot who had covered half of his body in color.

You let the awkwardness hang in the air, but sighed when your curiosity got the best of you, “what’re you getting anyway?”

Cas hummed. “A quote from ‘Good God, Y’all’ looping around his earring.”

It was one of Rufus’ most loved albums, but not the most popular.

“Where?”

“Inside my left upper arm— Kevin’s is just below the seam of his elbow.”

“Did he cry?”

Cas sounded like he shifted positions, or maybe he was distracted watching the artist’s hands. “No, but it wasn’t his first one.”

“Pity. Okay, well I will be in touch. Don’t forget to talk to Kelly for me.”

“I won’t.”

“Bye, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

You hung up and slumped in annoyance and minor relief.

“What’d they say?” Bobby asked, breaking the silence of the room around you.

“Nothing too damning, but still enough to piss me off,” you replied. “I’ll talk to Cas’ people. Figure this out. I’m sure I have a million messages from Becky and Billie and probably even Crowley to sort through. Assholes couldn’t give me a day off.”

“You want me to talk to Kev?” Dean’s voice broke through your mini-rant.

“Only if you want to, I kind of gave him a piece of it already.”

Dean nodded and finished his glass.

“Damn idjits, even when they mean well.”

“Tell me about it,” you said over your shoulder, heading to Bobby’s study to get to work.

As it turned out, Kelly Kline was a stand up manager, both competent and protective. You figured out their niche and tried to work with it, though your fans were louder and more numerous, you didn’t want the frenzy of the matching tattoos to become a question of loyalty, for either Cas or Kevin.

You had Bobby read over your post memorializing Rufus and got that out into the world before you left to head back home. Dean offered to wait with you on the porch. You sat, once again, in silence, letting the sunset and breeze off the ocean ease some of the tension from the day. When your driver was two blocks away, he finally turned to face you.

“How’s he doing?”

You sighed and shrugged. “He seemed good. But from what I gather, he’s got a lot on his plate.”

Dean nodded. “Right, new band, new set list to master.”

“No, Dean, I think over everything else, the music is the easiest thing Cas has to deal with.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

Dean spotted the little hybrid approaching and he stood to give you a hug. “Thanks for coming, I mean, I know it was for Bobby, but it was nice to see you on a day like today.”

“You too.” And you meant it. You squeezed him one last time as the driver called out to you through the passenger window. “Thanks for lunch.”

“Be safe.”

“Take care.”

You felt Dean’s eyes on you as you were driven away, back to the house he had bought with Sam way back when, where you were always, glaringly alone.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

Chapter Eighteen: Mordent

[dve]

regale me with your judith thoughts!

gtn p. 372, 373 / as yet unsent, htn p. 531, 535, 538, 540

judith who entered the emperor's service when she was six years old + judith who is relying on the idea that marta avenged the fifth and fourth, a story she has to tell herself + judith who was told after watching marta die (and potentially having to grapple with the fact she might've been the one to kill her with all of the souls stuffed into one body siphoned back to a single cavalier -- an efficient and precise, skilled cavalier, but still only one woman! that she fixed nothing by horrid ninth house nun harrowhark + the last gideon ever saw of captain judith deuteros was her with her head held high and her face with no expression at all + judith who simultaneously clings to her identity as a member of the cohort and the empire while believing she's completely failed at everything she was born and raised to do, has made herself a liar + judith with the internalized necrocav homophobia of it all + i thank the emperor's mercy that i had a cavalier who taught me that so early + judith who has no interest in her own potential as leverage paralleled with where she ends up in nona + judith who must end her life as a mystery, not as an object lesson + judith who believes she's only presented herself as truly fallible in a way that others do not see, choose not to see, or do not understand + judith who has spent her whole life wanting for something to the point of desperation, from her cavalier to glory for the second house to her death and not getting it!!!! hello!!!!!!!!

i think she genuinely may be one of the most tragic characters in a series chock full of tragic characters, and i really hope that she gets something good in atn, because the books thus far have been, i think, cruel to her in ways that people don't talk about as much compared to how they talk about other characters. i love her desperately!!!!

[canolaaoil]

To all my best friends, only twelve leagues and one text message away

1. Dearly Departed, Brockhampton. // 2. The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion. // 3. unsent project. // 4. I am in Eskew. // 5. His dark materials. // 6. Where did you go? Hishaam Siddiqui. // 7. parts in motion, Vera Much. // 8. Your Name Engraved, Herein. 9. Hmu, spacegirl GEMMY.

Description follows

[ID: song lyrics reading, "What's the point of havin' a best friend if you / end up losin' him?" end ID]

[[ID: a photograph in the style of an early digital camera of two teenage girls cuddling under blankets on a couch watching something on a computer. end ID]

[ID: a poem reading, "Life changes fast. / Life changes in the instant. / You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends. end ID]

[ID: a fuzzy photograph in the style of an early digital camera of three people huddled around a fridge. All of the people have brown hair, glowing golden from the lighting and only one of their faces is turned toward the camera. end ID]

[ID: a text entry on a pink background reading, "To: Harry I / i've written 43 / poems about you. / come back and i / won't have to write anymore. / -asle" end ID]

[ID: a photograph in the style of an early digital camera of a couple in a photobooth with only their feet and legs visible behind the curtain. one is sitting on the other's lap. ]

[ID: text reading, "The problem is, my love, is that I can't sustain the fact of your death. / I can convince myself that it's true, force myself to picture your rotting, ruined face dumped in a mass grave somewhere out in the world... / ...and then my phone buzzes and I'm still expecting an unexpected message from you, telling me what corner of the globe you've holed up in, the foods you're eating, the card-players you're outwitting." end ID]

[ID: a photograph of two people in an aquarium, shot from behind. they stand in front of a large window showing a tank of water and seaweed. the two pose as if dancing grandiosely with no one else around. end ID]

[ID: a paragraph reading, "And it was comforting to think she and Will had another thing in common. She wondered if there would ever come an hour in her life when she didn't think of him- didn't speak to him in her head, didn't relive every moment they'd been together, didn't long for his voice and his hands and his love. She had never dreamed of what it would feel like to love someone so much; of all the things that astonished her in her adventures, that was what astonished her the most. She thought the tenderness it left in her heart was like a bruise that would never go away, but she would cherish it forever." end ID]

[ID: a photograph from behind of a group of people walking together down a city street. two of the people have their arms around each other shoulders. another two link arms. the image is slightly blurry. end ID]

[ID: a couplet reading, "One day I woke up and we no longer spoke the / same language. I haven't heard from you since." end ID]

[ID: a photograph of two people, focused on one in the foreground. A young woman looks lovingly towards something out of frame, her face resting on the meat of her hand. In the background a man looks away towards another subject. The lighting is dreamy and yellow. end ID]

[ID: lyrics reading, "Show me it all / Tell me what's wrong / You got your hard drive stolen / Your phone's been broken / Play me a song off of mine / Show me it all / Show me a rise / Show me a fall / Pay me no mind / Paint me in gold / I don't mean to pry, but give me a call" end ID]

[ID: a gif from the movie 'Your Name Engraved Herein' of Birdy and A-han riding a motorbike through the streets at night. Both smile widely as they breeze along, Birdy sitting behind A-han with his shirt off over his head, yelling happily. End ID]

[ID: lyrics reading, "They say everything has reason / Life fluctuates like seasons / And maybe someday soon we'll both find our reason / But bitch you're still the bro / Never letting go / Of the friendship bracelets we made when we were twelve // I'll be waiting by my phone / For you to hit me up / For you to hit me up / Hit me hit me up" end ID]

[ID: a photograph of a plaque on an outside wall reading, "LIFE HAPPENS BUT I STILL CARE FOR YOU. I HOPE YOU'RE DOING WELL." end ID]

[ossifer-bones]

Kiriona's Teeth, Naberius' Body, and Lyctoral Masking

He undid her scarf, and Nona looked away. Beneath the scarf a huge wound in the throat made the neck yawn wide open. When she peeked back, wishing she had her braids to screen everything, she saw that Palamedes had unbuttoned the shirt partway and there was another big wound in the chest—a big purple bloodless puncture wound, with white teeth peeking out coyly from within.

Kiriona's chest wound appears as a purple and bloodless wound, with teeth. A lot of people think that teeth is just a poetic way of referring to her ribs being visible, but I propose an alternate explanation: the devils, and Hell.

As we see on the Ninth, when they inspect the corpse of one of the possessed:

The eyelids hung slack, and there were rows of dark purple pinpricks above and below them—like something fine and sharp had come through.

The possessed bear purple pinpricks through which the teeth emerge, purple and bloodless wounds.

Naberius' and Gideon's Bodies

Naberius' body in Gideon the Ninth:

Naberius Tern lay awkwardly sprawled on the ground. His expression was that of a man who had suffered the surprise of his life. There was something too white about his eyeballs, but otherwise he looked perfectly real, perfectly alive, perfectly coiffed.

Gideon's body in As Yet Unsent:

The corpse has still failed to rot. The princess says they are leaving it outside in significantly fluctuating temperatures, under observation, and it still fails to rot.

The corpse is still as it ever was. I asked Hect if the scavengers had got at it. She said that animals refused to touch it even when encouraged.

I wonder if they will stop the experiments now. The corpse of the Ninth House cavalier is as pristine as when Camilla Hect convinced them to take it on board.

Both fail to rot. Both bodies appear obviously dead on inspection, yet uncannily pristine. Perfectly coifed, pristine as when first taken on board, remarkably so.

Lyctoral Masking

Ianthe was a black hole to you, a null, an empty, overradiant space, unreadable; but close physical proximity could echolocate that darkness.

Black hole, overradiant, darkness. Dark, light, dark.

“Harrowhark,” he said, “You are a Lyctor. You generate too much light, or too much darkness, for me to look at you and make out any strong detail [...]

Too much light, or too much darkness.

Lyctoral masking means the body is, at once, too light and yet too dark for detail to be made out necromantically, at least from a distance. John says that even he cannot make out strong detail as a result of it. Where else does John say that his power falls short? Hell.

“It is the mouth to Hell [...] Anyone who has entered a stoma has never returned. It is a portal to the place I cannot touch—somewhere I don’t fully comprehend, where my power and my authority are utterly meaningless.”

When else do we see light and darkness associated with necromancy?

Soul Siphoning

The torchlights gave an asthmatic gurk and dimmed as though their batteries were being sucked dry, and when Gideon looked at her hands through bleary eyes they were deepening grey [...] The world grew heavy and black around the edges, and Gideon felt cold all the way to her marrow.

Then Gideon saw the colour begin draining from Colum the Eighth as though he were covered with cheap dye: leaching as shadow leached hue in the nighttime, more horrible and more obvious in the unforgiving light of the electric torches and underfloor lamps. As he faded, the pale Silas incandesced. He glowed with an irradiated shimmer, iridescent white, and the air began to taste of lightning.

“When Master Octakiseron siphons his cavalier, he sends the soul elsewhere and then exploits the space it leaves behind. The power that rushes in to fill that space will keep refilling, for as long as either of them can survive [...]”

“Brother Colum has fought harder and in colder climes,” said Silas calmly. “He has come back to me through stranger ghosts. He has never once let his body become corrupted, and he never shall.”

Soul siphoning, as we can see, relies on sending the soul somewhere else and exploiting the power that rushes to fill in the space it leaves. This place is almost explicitly said to be Hell. As Augustine says to Mercy, founder of the Eighth: “You never did take the stoma seriously, which is why your whole damned House sucks at it like a grotesque teat—”

And, as you can see from the above excerpts, siphoning dims the lights and brings a chill to the room. Where else do we see gloom descend and the temperature drop?

With an awful crack, his head turned one hundred and eighty degrees to look impassively at the room behind him. One of the lightbulbs screamed, exploded, died in a shower of sparks. The air was very cold. Gideon’s breath came as frosty white frills in the sudden darkness, and the remaining lights struggled to pierce the gloom. Colum licked his lips with a grey tongue.

Siphoning taps into the power of Hell. And, as Ianthe says, she suspects the Eighth's contribution to the Lyctoral megatheorem was getting the power flowing.

“And then for the last step you hook up the cables and get the power flowing. You’ll find that one a walk in the park, Eighth, I suspect it was your House’s contribution.”

Conclusions

Soul siphoning relies on displacing the cavalier's soul, to draw power from the resulting space.

The displacement of soul siphoning derives power from Hell, the realm beyond the Stoma, where the devils originate from.

After their deaths, that allow their respective necromancers to ascend to Lyctorhood, Naberius and Gideon's bodies appear to be preserved.

Devils grow teeth from purple, bloodless wounds. The wound on Gideon's body appears purple, bloodless, and has seemingly grown teeth.

Ianthe theorised that the Eighth's contribution to the megatheorem was getting the power flowing, granting them access to the lyctoral well of thanergy.

Lyctoral masking is said by John to be due to the Lyctor generating too much light or darkness, obscuring details from even him. Soul siphoning generates light and darkness. Soul siphoning derives power from the place beyond the Stoma, which John defines as being a place where his power is meaningless.

The Stoma are in the River, where dead souls go after death, and an essential component of imperfect lyctorhood is the death of the cavalier.

[heartss4val]

𝐞𝐝𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐡𝐜'𝐬

summary. headcanons of your relationship with edmund pevensie before dating. (fem reader)

— straight up fluff, nothing else. PART 1/2

— Caspian introducing you to him as a friend, and Edmund being absolutely awestruck by everything about you so much so that he forgets to even tell you his name. He is visibly blushing and stuttering, unable to meet your eyes.

— Him slowly becoming more comfortable with physical touch, but ONLY if it's coming from you. But once he gets comfortable, he's always trying to find an excuse to be closer to you.

— "Accidental" hand touches (which are totally on purpose) when both of you are reaching for the same book. Then getting flustered and immediately pulling away before reaching for the same book once more and brushing hands AGAIN.

— Reciting Shakespearean quotes to each other. You two can have a whole conversation with just quotes from Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, or even A Midsummer Night’s Dream. But the quotes just keep getting more and more suggestive until you're both just absentmindedly flirting with each other without even realizing it because it just seems so natural.

— Him teaching you how to play chess, which ends up being a mistake once you two have your first chess game. Because he just ends up staring at your concentrated face, thinking you're the most beautiful thing he's ever laid his eyes upon. So he just absolutely FUMBLES. Putting his king in danger, not taking your free bishops, trading off his queen, etc. But he's okay with it because it just means he'll get to see your face light up once you realize you're winning.

— Eye contact across a crowded room. His eyes just naturally gravitate towards the most alluring thing in the room.. which happens to be you. And exchanging smiles once you realize he's staring at you. The amount of hours he's spent admiring you from afar.. he can't keep count.

— If you happen to be shorter than him, every single insecurity about his height VANISHES. The height difference ends up being a great source of enjoyment for him. He's never really the tallest in the room, so he gets some sort of pride and confidence from the height difference, even if you're only an inch shorter than him. Either way, the teasing will be astronomical.

— Him finding a way to touch you one way or the other. Picking a petal out of your hair, comparing hand sizes, or sharing an umbrella. He'll make an excuse like, "My hands are so cold, feel them." but he doesn't pull his hand away.

— Hang out's that start to feel more and more like dates. Because what kind of "best friends" lie their head in the other's lap while reading, or cuddle in the library, or give each other "TOTALLY PLATONIC AND FRIENDLY" kisses on the nose and cheeks?

— His siblings noticing that he smiles a LOT more often around you. Like he's full on blushing and fidgeting.. a blind man could tell that he likes you. Peter always finds a way to tease him about it.

— Lucy being his wingwoman because YES.

— Susan, Lucy, and Peter making bets on the two of you. Like who's going to confess first, who will initiate the first kiss, and even who will propose first. Mind you, these bets were all placed BEFORE the two of you started dating.

— Him not even realizing that he's gushing about you. Like you're all he ever talks about. Always managing to bring you into a conversation. Like, "oh, Y/N would love that." or "Y/N loves that story too. She has an impeccable taste in books, doesn't she?" He makes it wayyy to obvious..

— Unsent letters. UNSENT LETTERS. Hear me out. Him just pouring out his feelings for you, and everything he loves about you, and describing every minuscule detail about your appearance, and writing a list of your favorite things. And he laminates them and everything, writes your name on the top of the letter as if he's going to give it to you, but he never does. So his stack of letters about you, and only you, are always growing on a never-ending pile on his desk.

— Star-gazing to clear your minds, with one of his arms wrapped around your shoulder. Except his eyes aren't looking at the stars, they're trained on you, thinking about how beautiful you look in the pale moonlight.

∙ a/n woop woop! first post! hope u enjoyed it. not sure when the next update will arrive, but summer break is soon sooo?? ill probably write again once finals are over AUGH.

∙ okk, au revoir! val tuning out.

[thunderon]

i asked you a while ago whether the next tidbit of TLT content would be the nona paperback short story and you gave a very nice well-formed answer summarising what you expected... and you were right... and now i'm back again because i can't find the post and i'm also losing my mind trying to figure out when we'll get a taste of alecto. do we know when tamsyn finished writing nona relative to cover reveals and things? we were so spoiled with harrow + as yet unsent + like 6 preview chapters back to back we barely had to wait. and now it's been a year and a half. and she's still writing. are we going to see a thing before 2025?

im guessing it’s this ask?

when i read htn in 2020 i was assuming we’d get alecto in 2021 (haha) so honestly ive been waiting so long that im just chilling these days. for me, alecto is just gonna get here when it gets here and i take it as it comes. i don’t have any real information on any of this other than past experience, but since my last post turned out to be correct here’s some more of my guesses:

genuinely have no idea if we’ll see anything pre-2025. id imagine that tor will release ~something~ just to keep the hype going, but who knows. to answer your question, nona was originally part i of alecto and so im assuming muir had finished the vast majority of ntn by the time it was announced the trilogy was splitting into a series, and then the cover release happened in january with the book release following in september

i believe the alecto cover has been confirmed finished for a while now, so really it’s just whenever they decide to release that, but i think they’ll follow a similar timeline to the nona the ninth cover release approx 9 months prior (with snippets following). but with the huge gap who knows maybe they’ll throw us some extra stuff.

overall: id imagine the whole release schedule of everything all depends on how close muir is to a finished product, which is anyone’s guess

[fishfingersandscarves]

unsent - 1989

[Excerpt from an unsent letter found on Robert “Hob” Gadling’s shelf in the Library of the Dreaming]

Dear Stranger,

Funny.

You know, you’d think with all my years of writing letters and sending letters and burning letters I’d be better at writing them. Maybe I’m just too talkative for my own good. All these words get jumbled up in my head and stop just before they leak out of my pen; it’s easier to talk it out. Stream of consciousness and whatnot. I shall endeavor to do my best, but I’m no James Joyce.

Anyway, letters. I didn’t exchange letters with Eleanor, though I learnt them some twenty-odd years before we met. Ironic, nowadays, for a printer to be illiterate, but you know how it was in those days. I’m sure you’re well-read, you seem the type to love stories. Grand ones, probably. Myths and folksongs, and those crappy paperbacks that Summer lends me.

(We met in Lucerne. Cloud topped mountains, clear waters. Lots of cows and cats everywhere you look. There’s this lion relief that’s there, looks straight from those C.S. Lewis books. Anyway, we saw the lion, walked the bridge and ended up having a drink. She was on break and was working on her thesis on Gender Communication in Germany during the 1400’s and I was drinking my way through the rest of Europe. So it goes. She’s a good friend.)

Eleanor had wide handwriting. Probably wasted more coin on journals for her than I could afford, but it was worth it to watch her smile and worth it more to glimpse her doodling in the margins. I started copying her O’s, I think. A reminder.

Elspeth and I exchanged letters like currency. A last-ditch effort to resist the novel of the telephone on her part. She loved old things. (ha) But was so excited when we sat for a daguerreotype the very first time. As always, she was late to the trend, but I remember the moment afterwards, when everything had cured and the photographer had tilted the copper plate to catch the light and I could see us standing there, clear as a reflection in glass, all miniature and solemn. I kept it until I couldn’t anymore. Lost it on a sailing ship out from Bombay in 1912, I think. I remember it though. She had spidery print, like she was always pressed for time. She filled both sides and more every time she wrote me. Tried to learn shorthand to save time but she would get it all mixed in with her cursive instead. I swear it was like I was deciphering code at times! Her long spiking Y’s still follow my hand. It gets messy and I tend to smudge, as you no doubt can tell.

I don’t know if you know any of this already. You know everyone so… I suppose you probably know this all too.

Well.

Enough stalling I suppose.

I waited for you. Into the wee hours, until Martin, the bartender, clicked on the lights and told me to go home. Smoked a whole pack and then some out back afterwards, loitering by my car like some bloody dolt. I kept thinking, “Maybe this’ll be him.” Stupid, I know. I feel like a sucker. Some great idiot. Like this is all one cosmic joke. I know you’re not human, I’m no fool. You’re long-lived like me, that is certain. You were interested once. In my experience. In me. I wonder how long you can hold a grudge. Two hundred years? Three? I’ll wait for you. Of course I will. I shouldn’t have said what I did back then. I should’ve thought it through. But, here I am, talkative, stream of consciousness. All fancy words for someone who doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up. When not to push.

I should’ve just said it outright. That I’m lonely too. It gets hard and then it gets better. But it’s easier when we’re not alone. People need people. And who knows? Maybe you’re not people. But you’re my friend Maybe I’m not either, not anymore. And us not-people need to stick together. I would weather the loneliness with you if you’d have me.

I wish I could see you. I wish it wasn’t like this. Me, waiting and wanting. I want to see you. I want to know you. I want more of you, in every way.

I’ll be here, in 2089.

I promise.

I promise.

[Torn and crumbled, here, the letter ends]

now on AO3

[arithmonym]

hiiii yes please i would love recs for camilla grief fics

here you are, anon! i limited myself to eight fics, but i’m still going to put this post under a read more, haha.

Canon Compliant:

something dead that doesn’t know it’s dead by quadrille

Judith silently makes another internal note for her subdermal report: Camilla Hect is in denial to the point of delusion. Suspect I cannot get through to her. A useful asset but a broken one.

(A character study slash grief study focused on Camilla Hect, set during As Yet Unsent.)

as I surrender unto sleep by patiencespardon

Camilla attempts to wrangle her insomnia back under her control. Or, a meditation on grief, devotion, and things left unsaid.

Send Your Name Up: Postmortem associations in the Post-Resurrection Myriad, a multidisciplinary review by JeanLuciferGoHard

Camilla Hect picks up the pieces in the wake of Canaan House.

Twin Human Highway Flares by JeanLuciferGoHard

God is forever. A tape reel holds about eight hours. The world is ending in five days. You can lay in the dark in the bath for maybe sixty minutes before something else happens instead.

In which Camilla has a time.

your bones picked clean and the clean bones gone by pipistrelle

Deuteros is keeping a record of her captivity; I may as well do the same. I have no way to record this, but you'll want the data, when you're back. So I'm remembering it.

(Some of Cam's thoughts during "As Yet Unsent")

the hands that beckon by friendamedes

Camilla Hect takes a bath, thinks about the Warden, and has an awkward conversation with Nona.

Alternate Universe:

a pain star has entered your house by valancytrinit

She and Sextus always made each dive look like the natural currents of a river. Of course they moved that way, it’s how they were meant to, it’s how everything was meant to.

Looking at her now, Pyrrha can see the pain as it sits in Camilla's collarbones, in her throat, in the hands she’s hiding in her pockets, clenched into fists. She knows that’s how it feels to be cut off from the mouth of the river.

a grave, deep and narrow by arithmonym

Only Lyctors were meant to leave the First House alive. Ianthe insists on bringing Coronabeth; Judith dies of her injuries. Camilla is stranded alone at Canaan House — alone, except for the persistent hallucinations of her necromancer.

[vidavalor]

Ineffable Divorce... but it's the OFMD S2 teaser

I was joking with a friend earlier that Crowley would go the opposite route of Ed and the result is this bit of un-beta'd, not-quite-fic crack here.

Aziraphale, in Heaven, has just drafted his 568th handwritten-on-cream-stationary-with-a-quill-pen unsent letter to his dearest Anthony and how much he misses him... everything about him. Being around him. Breathing the same air-- if they really needed to breathe, that is. He winces at his awkward phrasing and magics the letter into non-existence with a sigh. He thinks of him often-- constantly. Does Crowley ever think of him? Aziraphale glances around. No one looking, no one around. He pulls up the Earth Observation Device and whispers nervously:

Ah... hello. I need you to show me Crowley. In the present, please.

Filling the screen is not The Bentley or the bookshop or the pub and Aziraphale blinks, not sure what he expected. He sees a crowded hotel ballroom full of people--humans-- Aziraphale has never seen before... all of whom are having a *suspiciously* great time-- time of their lives, really-- at this wedding reception. The D.J. is currently blasting out some Earth, Wind & Fire and on the dance floor is... Crowley. Formal-wear version of his signature look-- tuxedo version of his vest and his glasses on, jacket off. Snake-patterned bow tie open at his neck-- along with his shirt, almost to his snake belt. Champagne flute dangling out of one hand. Getting down with half the bridal party and guests and... Mrs. Sandwich?!... in the center of the dance floor.

They are surrounded by a throng of humans spanning ages and genders-- ranging from a young groomsman that Aziraphale very much *does not* enjoy observing who seems perpetually stuck in a repeated motion of attempting to get closer to Crowley but not quite getting there... to an elderly woman Aziraphale observes is the groom's mother whose hand Crowley occasionally takes to turn her in a careful twirl... to three elementary-school age children trying to teach each other their made-up dance moves. The kids are the ones who manage to get the occasional slight, genuine smile out from around the perpetual smirk of the demon. Aziraphale can tell the difference between the real smiles and the false cheer covering up pain but still this is at least better than he might have thought and he's grateful to Marla (Mrs. Sandwich) for keeping Crowley company in this... whatever he is doing.

"Oh no!" laughs the maid of honor, audible over the very loud, thumping bebop. She is trying to show alarm with her voice but the crisis turns into amusement in her tone because of the certain... spell... that hangs in the air over this wedding.

"We're almost out of champagne!"

"Yeah, alright," Aziraphale observes Crowley mutter as he stretches his fingers out lazily around his champagne flute and flickers them in the direction of the bar before briefly catching Mrs. Sandwich's hand and dramatically spinning and dipping her, both laughing, before they separate again and continue dancing with one another and everyone else around them in turn. Aziraphale recalls this song as "Let's Groove" from when The Bentley used to play it and Crowley's moves somewhat inspired by those of American cinemagraphic actor John Travolta. (He is not completely clueless, he will have you know.)

"This really is completely mad" is what Nina is saying as Aziraphale manages to drag his eyes off of Crowley long enough to notice her and Maggie. They are not under the spell. The slight smile on Nina's face belays that it might be completely mad, but she is having a bit of fun.

"I know," Maggie grins, her eyes lighting up with a little mischief... and a lot of love as she dances with Nina. "Definitely better than my brother's wedding-- I'll say that."

Nina subtly dances them a little more to the right as Aziraphale frowns, observing her looking nervous as an older man with a dark look on his face approaches them.

"N'uh uh! Love is love, Grandpa," Crowley, still dancing, calls over the music from where he has also observed it. He kisses two of his free fingertips and bats them in the air towards his friends. The older man's angry stalking towards Maggie and Nina suddenly slows to a relaxed gait. Aziraphale watches his expression change from bigoted rage to benevolence.

"Not that we can't fight our own battles but he *can* be kinda useful," Nina whispers with a small smile to Maggie.

"A most pleasant evening, isn't it, Ladies?" the older man smiles as he moves past them to lure someone's elderly aunt who had stopped for more to drink back to the dance floor. To her, the old man says with saucy cheer:

"Come on, Marilyn, let's show these kids how you dance to this bebop!"

Aziraphale observes Crowley toss his head back with a laugh, having heard that supernaturally over the music. Aziraphale knows Crowley might have influenced the older man's choice of words just a smidge. The angel hears what Crowley mutters that no one else quite catches:

"Yeah, fuck you, Aziraphale..." Crowley's voice is less sure and his swallow is thick.

Aziraphale's heart aches. He doesn't see anything in front of him for a minute, lost in pain and the image of Crowley, drunk and dancing, losing himself surrounded by the humans they both love.

When he tunes back in, one of the bridesmaids has managed to get in front of Crowley for a dance and as she laughs, full of a joy that Aziraphale cannot tell is genuine or the product of Crowley or champagne-- or Crowley *and* champagne, Aziraphale thinks, envious-- she asks him over the music:

"How do we know you guys again?"

"You tell me!" shouts Crowley, twisting his fingers in a circle in front of him in a way that looks like a dance move but holds her attention to his eyes long enough for the brief temptation to work.

"Cousin Bildad!" she suddenly cries, as if seeing him for the first time and the dance has just begun, even if neither she nor Crowley have stopped.

Crowley says "sure!" brightly and then growls at the ceiling as she turns away from him. The bridesmaid throws her arms around Mrs. Sandwich, exclaiming her delight in seeing her presumed cousin 'Jemimah' again.

"Hi, hon! Yeah, you look so great! That's your color, girl, looking fantastic," gushes Mrs. Sandwich, ever game. When the bridesmaid isn't looking, she mouths at Crowley: "Jemimah?", as if to say, 'what do you think prompted that one?'

Aziraphale realizes this is not the first wedding that Crowley and Mrs. Sandwich have crashed since he has been gone.

"Long story." Crowley shrugs at Marla. "Might be getting a little loose, Mrs. S," he confesses, still sloppy-dancing.

"A little, hun?"

Aziraphale is relieved to see her toss her dry look also towards Nina and Maggie. Maggie looks concerned. Nina looks at her watch. They make their way over, Nina helping herself to a piece of cake to eat while she watches the other two try to wrangle Crowley into leaving.

"Designated human!" Crowley grins in greeting at Maggie, pointing the finger of his perpetually-full-somehow champagne flute at her.

"You are not driving The Bentley. Not happening."

Aziraphale has the feeling it has happened more than once already.

"Crowley--" she starts.

"Cousin Bildad," corrects Mrs. Sandwich, her eyes flicking to the human wedding party. ("*Bildad*?" squints Nina and she and Mrs. Sandwich exchange 'whatever, it's all weird' looks.) Crowley continues to dance in front of Maggie, trying to get her to join him and everyone else. The spell holds with the wedding guests, who all continue to have the time of their lives.

"It might be time to go before you run out of... your... demonic energy? Is that what we decided to call it?" Aziraphale understands that Maggie means that if Crowley gets drunk enough to pass out, the spell over the humans will break and the four of them will be in trouble for crashing the wedding.

Crowley shrugs while dancing. "Aw, five more minutessss, Mom..."

"Crowley," she gives him a look that feels familiar to Aziraphale and he cannot place why until he realizes that it looks similar to one of his own. She smiles a little, giving in, and dances a little with him, causing him to hiss a victory "yesssss" and for Nina to roll her eyes.

"*Fine*," Crowley spits. "Two more songsss," he hiss-slurs.

"You're a soft touch, ang--," Nina inform Maggie, affectionately.

"NINA!", cry Maggie and Mrs. Sandwich at the same time as Crowley points a finger at her.

"Careful, Coffee Woman," Crowley tries to make it sound like a threat but it comes out like a plea.

"One more song," Maggie tells Crowley softly, in her final negotiation, her look tender, if determined.

Crowley's glare can be felt through his sunglasses but he likes Maggie and Aziraphale knows him. He knows that Crowley--no matter how broken-hearted Aziraphale has made him and Aziraphale can barely breathe with pain over the knowledge of how much he has-- is no threat to humans.

A smirk slips across Crowley's face.

"Alright," he hums, still dancing. "You're in charge, Coussssin Margaret. One more."

Aziraphale watches as Crowley takes petty revenge for his fun ending by choosing the last song. He raises his arms up and points both of his index fingers at the sky.

The D.J.'s music flips mid-song, the sudden change unobserved as strange by the D.J. and the other spell-cast humans, as quickly as if someone has set the needle down on the start of a new record. Suddenly, the humans all cheer and laugh and begin the moves of the dance that goes along with the song that Aziraphale vaguely remembers caused quite an unnecessary stir with some particularly stuffy parents a few decades ago....

When I dance, the woman in the song declares. They call me 'Macarena'...

Nina's eyeroll is slow and as pained as her groan but Maggie's smile turns bemused, her gentleness something Aziraphale is happy Crowley has around him, even if the angel shares Nina's pain. This bebop is especially atrocious. Still, she puts in half-effort and lets Maggie drag her into putting down her cake and half-assing the steps while Maggie enthusiastically Macarenas with Mrs. S and Crowley.

Aziraphale will admit that he can see the allure of this particular dance and his blush is entirely about Heaven's defaulting central air conditioning and has nothing to do with Crowley's hips moving like that.

Aziraphale really has to get Michael on fixing the temperature in here. He blinks away his tears and flips off the device to go get right on that...

[liyuee-qixing]

“Noble Princess”

You're the tsaritsa daughter and the snezhnaya princess,after you finish your study on Sumeru academia she decided you're mature enough to be married with one of her Faithful Servant Harbinger.

Characters:La Signora, Tartaglia,Pantalone

Second part:

La Signora

Let's say she doesn't expect the tsaritsa to have such a beautiful daughter like you. You're such a beauty on her eyes.

The first time tsaritsa introduce you to the fatui harbinger she already head over heel

She'll call you "Sweetheart" "Darling" "Love" Etc.. it's worked. The nickname she gave you really flutter you

kisses!!

"Signora? What is this all?" You asked,pointing to the wrapped packages on the floor, there's many of them. It really flooded the room

"these are the most finest dress and accessories I thought look good on you,I noticed you had your eyes on them recently."she giggled as she placed a necklace on your neck,it was pure Light Blue.

"this ore is the most high quality ore on mondstant, people say this ore is blessed by Barbartos himself,they say if a couple wear this, their relationship will goes well." Signora explained as she caress your face,she's truly a lovely partner,isn't she

Tartaglia

Oh boy.. the day tsaritsa introduce him to you was a miracle,he was tripping,head over heel. He swore he saw a goddess

He'll go with you everywhere you go! Cinema? Amusement Park?Mall? He go with you! Every moment is desirable if you're there. He'll enjoy every minute of it

Quality time and physical touch,he love to caress your face when you're asleep on his lap,he loves to plant kiss on your hair when you're asleep,he love every moment with you.

Call you "Love" "Darling" "Princess"

He love quality time and physical touch but he know when to gave you space.

"Tartaglia,do you prefer to go to cinema or should we go to the carnival instead?"you asked to the ginger,Childe only chuckles as an answer

"anywhere is fine! As long as I'm with you,I'm happy with it,do you want me to treat you to dinner? Or movie? I'll pay for it"he say with delightful smile on his face,it bought a thin smile to your face. What a dreamy guy he is

Pantalone

He's not the type to fall in love but how do he avoid falling in love with you!?

This not supposed to happen,his goal was to be the richest person alive in teyvat and to serve tsaritsa with his full heart not to fall in love with the Noble princess!

But how could he help it when your touch is so soft and your voice is so calming!?!?!

You're so hard working,pretty,definition of beauty and all,his work was left behind,the only things in his mind was just you,your smile,your voice.. they rang in his memory

He doesn't flirt with you,but he sometimes call you "sweetheart".

The other harbinger probably has caught him blushing to the thought of you

"Pantalone? What happen? Your face is red." Pulcinella asked,looking a low-key worried, Pantalone face has a red tint blush .

"eh? Ah- you see-" it come to pulcinella awareness that Pantalone was blushing because of the Noble princess just walk in, Pantalone eyes start following her figure.

"oh I get it,you like the noble princess,am I correct?" Pulcinella words caught the other harbinger attention, Pantalone eyes widened at his words

"Mr Pulcinella! Ahem,don't burst it out loud please,it may seem unprofessional" some of the harbinger started to wheeze on his confession.

"kids these day.. just admit you like her,we all know you had your eyes locked on her,we all know you write so many love letter unsent to her" Pulcinella word made Pantalone face is now redder than before.how do Pulcinella even know his secret!?

"I swear my eyes just start following her on their own,no,no,no it not like I like her or anything!"Pantalone denied it,but he's sure his face tell everything.

"what that? The ninth kicking his feet, giggling and staring at the Noble princess? So unprofessional" the doctors gave him a snarky comment as he placed his hand on Pantalone shoulder

"did someone mentioned me? Or is there something I could help with?" Great,it just the time they're talking about you and you show up.

"look Pantalone it your little beloved sweetheart " la Signora teased, pointing directly at you,while you just peeked there in confusion

"oi! Shut up all of you!" Pantalone shouted as he burry his face in his arm

"little beloved sweetheart?" You asked in confusion but quickly catched up on what are they talking about. Oh.what.the.fuck. now your face is red

"your- your Highness we're sorry for the confusion and noises it truly nothing important"Pantalone once again tried to shrug it off the topic but it far too late now

"I'm sorry for my tone and rudeness but he has a things for you dear noble princess,he has a bunch of unsent love letter for you,would you kindly help his dream and fulfill his little crush on you"Dottore explained the whole situation to you,you sure as fuck your face is now redder than Before

"This is so embarrassing and unprofessional" you quickly closed the door. Leaving the harbinger wheezing inside