stolen from Clairza

[fahye]

Fuckit. I'm not getting any work done tonight.

Reply with an icon, and I'll write you a ficlet about it.

ETA: My brain has pretty much shut down, but I will keep writing these tomorrow; if you want to request one then do feel free to leave a comment :)

Comments

[fahye.livejournal.com]

This is so not what you wanted, I'm wagering. OH WELL.

~

Crowley
is the one who finally runs out of patience and ends it, which is only surprising to those who do not know them well. People talk (as they do) and then they adjust (as they do) and then there's a new something to talk about (as there always is, in Milliways) and so the light awkward tangling of Aziraphael's fingers through Raguel's, on a tabletop that is pointedly free of Atlantean or apple tea, does not seem strange. Not after a while.

Lucifer
realises that Aziraphael's eyes are turning green with such slow subtlety that Raguel, who sees him every day, does not notice. Crowley, whose eyes were once brown, does not look the angel in the face if he can help it and isn't around much anyway, and so he too misses the transition. It falls to the Morningstar, whose eyes were once the thoughtful untroubled grey of skies that promise snow - it falls to him to notice the hard edge of green in the angel's gaze, something much less glorious than emeralds and far more dead than leaves. But he is Lucifer, so he contents himself with a raised eyebrow and says nothing of the irony that he is contemplating.

Aziraphael
is surprised at himself, the first time he finds himself enjoying the vindictiveness. Whatever else he'll say about the Arrangement (which isn't much, these days, not to anyone), he can't help but read Crowley's moods like a book that has been only lightly warped by the damp. He sits with Raguel drinking something that Edmund invented that very evening and finds his voice increasing in volume when he talks about understanding, about constancy, about patience and always being there. Crowley's shoulders are furious and his wrists are upset. Aziraphael knows that he should feel mean for such pettiness, that he should feel guilty, and he is surprised that instead he feels dark, warm, pleased. It passes. (The surprise.)

Raguel
feels the wrongness in the bar before he is two steps through the door. Later he will tell Lucifer - because somewhere and somewhen and somehow they each became the only real confidante of the other, finding safety in hostility - that he only had one thought when Aziraphael turned around, when he became abruptly aware of the raw, poisonous apple green of Aziraphael's eyes. That all he could think, when the face that he loved smiled a smile that was wrong and he felt the fire tingling and swelling in his chest, was: thank God.

[sophistry]

...God, Fahye.

I don't even have the words. This makes me sick to my stomach in the most beautiful, painful way.

Just.

:((

[miscellanny.livejournal.com]

*crying so hard*

YOU SUCK. MORE.

[unravels.livejournal.com]

...



That's it, I'm burning all my team angelslash flags.

Fuck, am I glad there's brandy here. :'(