#divine righteousness

[fatebreaking]

Today in Sona is fucking soft and gay for Kayle:

Sona helping Kayle dye her wingies.

That’s all thanks.

[virtuous-dignity]

divine-righteousness reblogged your post and added: “Offers a hand.”

Bows as if in honor as she hides the small grin...

The stuffed octopus dips its head as well, waving its few unoccupied hands excitedly.  Behind it, the bluenette’s cheeks warm considerably.

[fatebreaking-a]

divine-righteousness replied to your post: maybe sona was named that way cuz when she was a...

golden child, blessed child, maybe her magic manifested as bb

not pictured, tiny sona bb grabbing your big ol’ finger and grinning up at you

[virtuous-dignity]

Kayle tips her head in greeting, it seems they meet again.

So they do, the argent wanderer and seafoam musician. Once more in the forests, she has treaded off the beaten path thinking perhaps she will see a miracle again.

That miracle has found her. Her eyes immediately flick to the other’s wings and stomach, gesturing with one hand and lifting her eyebrows and head slightly. She does not speak the language of Targon, but she can at least ask by implication - How are your wings and stomach.

[virtuous-dignity]

@divine-righteousness collapses, their legs giving out.

It is nary a whisper to the Lady Buvelle, though it prompts the perk of ears and the turn of a head. Perhaps it is idle curiosity or the call of something more that has her feet lead and her heart follow, chasing down the noise. It is a call, undeniable as she slips forth into the woods, only pausing to close her eyes and reorient.

Only so long as to catch the most pianissimo of noises, the softest of breaths, that which continues to call her. Forward, ever forward, into the woods deeper and deeper, until she finds it. Her. Feathery wings are spotted first, snow against the dark forest so vibrant it blinds her. Then, the woman, to whom the musician sweeps forward. A gasp signals her arrival - that is the only sound the Lady makes as she steps forth. She holds back the urge to reach out directly, instead kneeling before the other. 

“Do you need help?” It is a prepared scrap of paper that unfolds in her hands, one she oft finds herself using.

[virtuous-dignity]

In the center of the practice room below ground rest a present. If it could even be called that. The object lays unwrapped, though there is a bow wrapped carefully upon its neck. The gift itself is handmade. With its eight arms wrapped around an Etwahl of its own though its version is much smaller, the little octopus seems happy all the same. Only two of the eight arms seem to really be attached to the instrument there is also a note across them. The note only reads. "A friend to practice with."

She is surprised to see anything new in her practice room. The alarm bells go off in her head as she reaches for whatever sharp object is closest, closing her eyes to listen for even the faintest heartbeat. No one? No one. Who could possibly have gotten in here and gotten out?

Her answer lies in the object itself. A small friendly sea companion in the midst of its own melody. The handwriting gives it away, because no one in the whole world except for Kayle will write in the words of Old Targon. It is the only reasonable conclusion, especially given that Kayle is the only person who knows this room exists and can get in or out. It can only be her.

But what is this exactly? A… Oh, it’s a present. She dips her head to no one in particular out of guilt, pushing her suspicions aside and stepping closer to inspect her new friend. A… comrade? No, friend. A friend. A friend to… together?

She puzzles over the words for a minute or two, finally getting the meaning and nodding gratefully. A friend to practice with indeed. It was a thoughtful gift from someone who knew how isolating duty could become and she picks up the handmade carving, turning it around in her hands. What should I name you…

Tako-chan? Was that a little too on the nose? She definitely couldn’t ever tell anyone that, but she gratefully lifts her new friend and carries it in her arms back up the stairs. Her friend will most definitely come with her to practice and backstage at concerts. She will have to think of some way to repay Kayle later-

No, no she didn’t need to. Their friendship wasn’t like that. No debts, no repayment, just kindness because they wanted to. She stops her train of thought and nods to herself, even if she’s still going to return the favor. Not out of obligation, but only because Kayle is her friend. Kayle deserves a friend too.

For Sona, it was just that simple.

// A very merry Snowdown. @divine-righteousness .

[fatebreaking-a]

@ligatusalas​ / @divine-righteousness​ // Bakery AU drabble (aka Divine Wingshop Wingstop AU). 

Warning: Contains themes of trauma. Please use your best discretion on reading this. A drabble about how everyone breaks in different ways.

=====================================================

Breathe. Breathe... Ten, nine, eight...

Sona slides her fingers over the knife in her pocket, letting a slow exhale settle some of the tension in her shoulders. She glances to the hallway mirror to check her appearance once, then slips out the door. The moon is still high in the sky, casting shadows longer than Sona has ever seen them. In this light, light and dark seemed to meld together.

It isn’t far to work, but it seems farther than ever before. Her fingers white-knuckle the knife she shoves deeper and deeper into her jacket, chin diving deeper and deeper into her scarf. Her head can not be kept any lower, she thinks, as the space between street lamps stretches on.

She takes a left two blocks before the bakery, walking into the unfamiliar alleys of someone else’s neighborhood. She doesn’t know these people, they don’t know her. A light flicks on a few houses away and Sona slows, then shifts to the other side of the street. Up a flight of steps, take the left, and finally to a single apartment door. Gingerly, she draws a lighter from her pocket and flicks it open, holding it by her stomach where it remains hidden to all but the peephole of the door in front of her.

Her other hand flips open a smart phone, thumbing through it. She was still getting used to all these communication features she had never bothered with. I can’t even use speed dial. Not that she would have before. A, B, C... K... M. Her thumb taps down, one last sigh leaving her as the line begins to ring.

“Sona?” She flicks the lighter up and down in response, a clack echoing across the line. Her ears pick up the smallest shuffle as the phone flashes - Video Call Requested. Another tap of her thumb, a warm little smile, the flick of her lighter as the face of her boss pops up. She is shrouded in shadows, though light pours in from the background, the hallway light still on. Sona adjusts the viewing angle to catch the lighter, then flips the camera around to center on the door for long enough, before flipping it back to her. A practiced, established routine.

“I’ll be right out.” The whisper of Morgana’s voice is so quiet, she can barely make heads or tails of it. But she always says the same thing and Sona always smiles and nods her head and doesn’t close the call - not until the door in front of her creaks open after two latches come undone. Even the lights in the living room are on, as they always are. Sona bites the inside of her cheek, then watches the door open halfway. Only once she’s slipped inside the quiet apartment do both lighter and phone click closed.

Her eyes adjust to the light quickly as she watches Morgana disappear back into her dark room. She’d get ready and Sona would cook up a decent breakfast, perhaps omelettes today. Before the minute hand slides to six, she has two plates prepared. Sona is drawing a smiling face with ketchup when Morgana sits down, looking no less tired. You didn’t sleep much again, did you? She pushes the meal forward.

“I’m not hungry today, Sona.” Sona frowns slightly, pushing the plate forward just a nudge. Morgana isn’t a child, she knows that, but... Sona cuts the meal in half with a fork, tapping one side.

“I said I’m not hungry,” comes the tired, aching echo of what was once Morgana’s voice. Sona pushes the plate forward again, turning her head up to meet Morgana’s eyes.  She can only offer a pleading expression.

“I said I’m not hungry!” Sona hears the clatter of a plate faintly, practically a whisper underneath the scream. Her face twists tight, jaw setting as she sighs and scoots her stool back from the table. It’s hard to breathe, her chest feels so tight, so cold.

“Wait. Wait, wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell, please don’t go.” Sona licks her lips, then shakes her head, smiling gently. Her hand slides forward, fingertips brushing against fingernails - the smallest, most tentative contact so as to not cause a flinch. Her other hand points to the dustpan and paper towels. She’s not leaving. She’s not going anywhere. A reassuring smile blooms on her lips as her fingers pull back, pushing her own plate toward Morgana. Just a bit of a mess to clean up. It was okay. It’s okay.

She pulls loose strands behind her ear a few times as she cleans up shattered ceramic and egg. The affair is settled soon enough and by the turn of the minute hand to nine, the pair is by the door. Sona peers through the peephole first, then offers her hand, only to be squeezed tightly. Morgana’s face is in her shoulder and Sona slowly slides a hand across her back, closing her eyes.

“How are you doing this? You were there too. How are you so strong?” Typical Morgana. Compassionate. Though the question is laced with an honest desire for strength Sona seems to be radiating, it is equally incredulous. Sona stands there, unbreakable, and smiles softly. As always, she doesn’t have the words.

============================================

Sona raps her knuckles against the last of the doors in the bakery. It’s empty, as it should be. Morgana steps past her to begin on the coffee and pastries as Sona moves to fiddle with the counter. She thumbs through her phone again, stopping on K this time as she fires out a text. Her hand slides underneath the counter, tapping the small button she’d installed last week. Last week felt like last year these days. Forever ago, yet so recent.

‘It works. - K’ Her phone buzzes as a text comes back within thirty seconds. Good. Good... Sona stifles a yawn as she glances through one of the lower drawers, pushing metal back deeper. She’d checked the magazine and slide already, best to keep the mix of aluminum, plastic, and steel far from reach. Another thing she hoped never to need.

‘Thank you. - S.’ She punches the text in and turns around to see Morgana staring at her. Her shoulders jerk slightly before she raises an eyebrow, waiting to see what the proprietor has to say. It feels too much as though Morgana is trying to see through her before long and she tilts her head, watching right back. It was never... easy, when Morgana looked at her like that. Too much truth to her teasing that she could ‘see into someone’s heart’.

‘Do you need me to handle the front again today?’ Her rapidly typed response isn’t exactly a deflection. She had seen her boss staring into the distance only a few minutes earlier, seen her knuckles tighten on cabinets and countertops. When she thought Sona wasn’t looking. That wasn’t very often at all.

“No, dear. You haven’t been sleeping well. Do you need to...” Her sentence doesn’t finish before Sona shakes her head. This was where she wanted to be. Better. Comfortable. She couldn’t write it out, however, hearing Morgana’s voice when she had done so before - ‘How could that be possible...’ But she is here and she intends to stay.

================================================

She isn’t sure when it is she reached into her pocket, fingers on metal. Perhaps a few seconds before she saw Morgana’s kind expression begin to crumble, when her shoulders began to shake. Perhaps when she saw the spittle fly from the lips of an unkind whelp who couldn’t be bothered to find the humanity in that cold, dead heart of hers. Perhaps when she didn’t care that her thoughts had grown so cold.

Her own hands tremble, certainly, as do her knees. She can feel the blood rushing, the pounding in her skull, the way the room grows small. She can feel the metal too, cool to the touch. She isn’t sure when she reached into her pocket, but she is certain of the moment that she slams the blade down onto the countertop.

Morgana makes a sound she can’t quite parse at her side. Fear, surprise, concern, or something else. Like the air has left her, almost, as Sona’s hand pulls her back by the opposite shoulder. Her free hand, the one that isn’t gripping a knife so tightly it might shatter, grabs the collar of this offender. Ah, finally, silence. Now she is silent. Now that she sees Sona is not empty threats, now that she sees she cannot act this way without consequence. Sona pulls in slightly, then shoves back. The smile drops from her face as Miss Offender is caught by a cold-eyed woman, prevented from toppling over.

“Sister, is this woman bothering you?” Morgana smooths out her dress, regaining her composure as well as she can. Not well enough to answer, to make a choice, but she is at least standing tall. Pulling Sona back by one arm, despite the flinch of the taller amateur baker. In spite of, really.

“Sona, go to the coffee room. I’m missing my daily coffee.” Kayle’s voice rings clearly through the shop as her hand clenches on the back of a collar. Sona’s expression hardens as she stares back, hard.

“I. Wasn’t. Asking.” Kayle hisses, leaning in with just as hard a look. Kayle knows that look well, but it does not suit someone like Sona. It should not be on her face. “Go inside.” Sona yanks the knife from the counter, sliding it back into her pocket and scoffing. How good of Kayle to show up right on time.

“I should not be the one to remind you not to give in to your wrath,” Kayle grunts, one last barb in Sona’s side as she vanishes. The officer is quick to drag one overly loud miscreant outside, where Morgana cannot hear just what she says. That particular problem is handled, for now.

“We can fix that with a bit of varnish and...” Kayle’s sharp voice, clear as it always is, trails off as she points at the new hole in the counter. “I’m here for my coffee,” she lies.

“We?” Morgana steps to the counter, staring back at Kayle. They hadn’t been we in a long time. Even if things had been better lately, she had not been a ‘we’ with her twin in... 

“I would like a doughnut and chocolate croissant as well today, Sister. Morgana.” Kayle watches as her sister flinches at one simple word, then glances off to the side. 

“You have carved your name into my chair. Twice. What is one new mark on my precious wood furniture?” Morgana leans forward, her shoulders relaxing as she leans forward. One arm is flat against the counter, the other propped up by the elbow as she rests her chin in one palm. Her eyes watch Kayle with a mild bemusement, a small smile on her features.

“It’s different.” Another grunt as Kayle leans forward. Her hands settle on top of the glass display, fingers rapping repeatedly in a rhythmic wave of motion. Tap-tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap-tap. They both lean in a little closer, voices growing lower.

“Thank you, Sister.” Morgana’s voice floats forward as she places her fingers over one of Kayle’s restless hands. 

“Hmm.” A grunt. A sigh. A couple of idle thoughts shared between them as Sona slowly gets the coffee ready, hiding behind the door. Only when Kayle reaffirms their routine with a, “I’ll be back at six to walk you home,” Sona turns the corner. Kayle takes a sip, the bridge of her nose creasing ever so slightly.

“It’s cold, Sona.” Lukewarm, if Kayle is being honest. Morgana turns her head, giving Sona one of those quizzical looks - even if it is tempered with caution, trepidation. Morgana has never known Sona to- 

“Thanks,” Kayle cuts off Morgana’s inquiry, nodding and turning around. At least your employee isn’t too stupid.

========================================================

“Hey.” Sona dips her head toward Kayle at the greeting, adjusting her jacket as she glances towards the street. It was starting to get dark again. Before her thoughts can go much further, she feels a vice grip on her shoulder and instinctively wrenches away. Sona forces her breath to even out as she picks up the hat she’d dropped, tucking her hair underneath it again. Whatever Kayle wants to lecture her about, Sona isn’t interested in.

“I can walk with you.” Sona blinks, staring at Kayle’s seemingly indifferent expression. She snorts, laughing and rolling her eyes, tapping her wrist where a watch ought to be. Kayle’s eyes turn to the bakery, then to the clock on her phone. Sona waves to catch Kayle’s attention again, then dips her head slightly before patting her heart with one hand and smiling triumphantly.

“Do you expect me to believe that? Or Morgana? You were there too.” Sona’s expression falls to something of a resigned smile. She shrugs, stepping back and leading Kayle’s gaze by turning to look at Morgana. Kayle’s eyes follow back to her sister - she meets Morgana’s eyes and hefts the toolbox and varnish in her free hand. Morgana lifts her broom in turn, then resumes sweeping. It wasn’t surprising, Kayle always came just as Sona left.

Kayle’s eyes turn back to Sona. She somehow expects her to be a million miles away, but instead Sona is pushing a small box into her hands. ‘Morgana’s favorite. Eat it with her.’ Calloused fingers push against Kayle’s as Sona slides back, adjusting the brim of her hat as she turns. Pulling her shoulders in, Sona digs herself deeper and deeper into her jacket and shoves her chin deeper and deeper into her scarf. The brim of her hat hides her eyes well, she thinks, and it wasn’t so far to home. Wasn’t so far at all. Ten, nine, eight... 

Kayle grunts, watching for a few seconds before she walks into the bakery.

[virtuous-dignity]

💙!!!!!!!!

Lo, here comes the argent wanderer, white as a snowstorm, golden as the sun. In her grace walks the lady of blue and gold, flighty steps taking her forth in a cascade no less harmonious than her most elegant symphony. It is as a waterfall, her steps to approach, the languid flow of water as it dances to and fro, as she dances just close enough to touch.

And thus does she gaze upward to catch the eyes of her argent wanderer, and thus does she reach forth. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop but these hands are not engaged in idle work nor idolatry. It is not worship she offers to the angel, but reverence, catching but one hand of the warrior, with eyes that lift only to seek the brush and warmth of a golden gaze. She fears not this fire, she fears not this touch.

She fears not this argent wanderer. With baited breath do her hips swing back, fear only for how she will be received, not the intentions she brings forth. Down she leans and upwards she lifts until her lips brush the knuckles of a scarred hand. ‘til those clear blues break away from their upward gaze, disappearing beneath bangs as she lingers only so long as the breathless moment allows, ‘til once peachy cheeks grow too warm for her to linger any longer.

And thus does she break away from the argent wanderer, floating backwards and offering the sweetest of curtsies. For not a second does she tease or bully, for she is not of that kind, she offers just what she knows Kayle deserves. Unashamed and unabashed does she offer it, ever so freely. It is the affections of someone who trusts herself to love, simply and without fear.