Here Is The Jean Version I Was Talking About In The Post With The Mozart Version Here ^^ If You Put Them

Here is the Jean version I was talking about in the post with the Mozart version here ^^ If you put them side-by-side, you'll find some of the facial features are Exactly The Same, because I cheated by basically drawing one of them, then duplicated that face + bust and nudged stuff around to make it look like a different face :D

Shakespeare version for those who celebrate :)

Of Conflict and Compromise |

Characters: Leon Dompteur, Chevalier Michel

Genre: Angst, Comfort

Summary: Sometimes, the best way to solve a dispute is to have that dispute first. Leon and Chevalier, while excellent leaders, can't always see the other side unless it's shoved right in front of their faces.

Word Count: 2.1k

Prompt: Birds chirping.

A/N: Here's my entry for @aquagirl1978 and @violettduchess's Spring Showers, Spring Flowers CCC. Thank you both for setting this up! This was originally a story I'd abandoned months ago, but it's nice to revisit these two, even if they are hard-headed.

Content Warnings: References to death, implied Leon route spoilers.

It wasn’t the headache that woke him before dawn. Nor was it his sagging shoulders or the chill of early spring that crept through the tiniest gaps in the window frame. Tossing and turning in the massive multi-blanketed bed, Leon scarcely got any sleep between memories of the previous night and his own intrusive thoughts, and before he knew it, serenades of the morning’s first birds rid him of any hope to rest. Groggy and sore, he disentangled himself from the contorted covers, splashed his face in the wash basin, slipped into yesterday’s outfit, and left his bedroom.

Other than the outside chirps that accompanied him, Leon met no living soul on his descent. He drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword when he reached the base of the steps, wondering how best to kill time until the kingdom awoke. He considered heading to the training grounds for some drills, but as far as Leon was concerned, working out wasn’t as fulfilling when you didn’t have a second. He could pop into the kitchen for an early breakfast, but immediately shut the idea down. It was never worth filling yourself when an Yves menu was slated for lunch. 

Flocks of birds coupled their songs into duets and choruses almost in mockery of Leon’s solitude, and he stalked deeper into the castle to distance himself from them. As the squawks and cheeps faded behind him, he reluctantly resigned to leave early to town for his mission, when new sounds caught his attention. Scratchy-scrawly and flippy-wispy ones. Down the corridor to his right, in the direction of the foreign affairs faction headquarters.

Leon’s first thought was that Clavis was hacking away at some new contraption, undoubtedly for the purpose of some nefarious wakeup call. Concerned for the palace-goers, and marginally curious himself, he silently trekked toward the office, stopping just before the ornate white door. The sounds persisted, uniform and deliberate in their execution, and Leon pressed his ear to the wood in an attempt to decipher their purpose, only to flinch when the perpetrator sharply called from within.

“Enter, Black.”

Leon mentally kicked himself for not recognizing the uninterrupted pattern of quill on paper and pushed open the door. Chevalier did not welcome his brother as he entered, but sat head hung low over his desk, his only movements the lightning-fast scratching of his right hand and the occasional swapping of parchment with his left from two mountains of sheets flanking either side of him.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Leon awkwardly asked Chevalier’s scalp. Accepting the expected silent response, he took in the rare sight of Chevalier working at dawn, the morning rays spilling in from the high windows surrounding him doing little to bring life to his pallid features. The office itself was colorless, pristine, and smelled almost medicinal in its tidiness. Leon hated the smell and the memories it brought up and always avoided the room whenever he could. He crossed to one of the windows, and, after a bit of effort, wrenched it open, gulping in the fresh air like a stream.

“Shut it,” said Chevalier.

“It’s too stuffy in here. Plus, you could use some sun,” Leon said absently, staring out at the blueing sky. A robin soared toward him and perched itself on the windowsill. It chirped and hopped back and forth in the same spot, as though debating whether it should enter. Leon dug into his pants pocket and produced a handful of crushed crackers, which at this point was more crumb than cracker. Grimacing at the resurfacing memory, he spilled the lot in front of the bird and watched it eat.

“I only allow one interloper at a time,” said Chevalier. “And only if they clean up after themselves.”

Leon stuck his arms out and patted his hands free of the crumbs. Then he drew the window down, leaving a tiny sliver the bird could not fit into.

“How’s that?” he asked. In that moment, a strong gust blew outside and through the crack, blasting both the cracker crumbs and the documents on the desk in all directions. Paper and bread swirled around the room before gently floating down as the wind died, and in between the flurry Leon could make out the bird tapping its beak impatiently on the glass and Chevalier slowly rising from his seat. 

The two princes picked up the fallen documents, Leon careful to separate them into piles of “signed” and “unsigned”, without exchanging any words. It was only after Chevalier reseated himself and resumed his work that Leon felt the urge to break the tension.

“Compromises never do work between us, do they?”

“You can’t propose compromise in someone else’s office, you dolt,” said Chevalier.

“Oh yeah? And who’s the dolt who let me in in the first place?”

“Only because it was more distracting not knowing what you were doing behind a door.”

“Hey, my hands are metaphorically clean!” Leon slinked back to the window and brushed residue crumbs through the tiny opening. The bird gave a shrill screech and resumed eating. Chevalier winced, and it was then that Leon noticed the sizable dark circles sagging beneath his eyes.

“Birds kept you up then, huh?” said Leon.

“Must they be so boisterous in the morning?” said Chevalier.

“Come on, Chevalier, they’re birds! Morningsong is in their nature! Are you really going to punish a bird’s natural impulse to want to—”

“I know why they are singing,” interrupted Chevalier.

“I was going to say they’re welcoming in the spring season. Why do you think they’re singing?”

Chevalier grabbed another document and violently slammed it on the desk. 

“Whoa, you must be really tired if you’re this cranky just talking to me,” said Leon.

“And you must be really lonely if you’ve come to me to sing to,” said Chevalier.

Leon frowned and stared out the window. The bird ruffled its feathers in the slight breeze, and Leon wished he could trade places with it.

“I can leave whenever I want,” said Leon.

“And yet, you are glued to my window,” said Chevalier.

“It’s bad manners to leave the table before the guest finishes his meal. Of course, that’s something you never cared for.”

“Useless drivel of dullards. Like dancing and socializing and—”

“Sleeping on time?”

“Sleeping with negligence.”

Images flashed in Leon’s mind. Moles positioned at windows and balconies. Spies leaping between bedroom shadows. Assassins blending in with the night. 

“Clavis will throw a fit when he finds you’re not in your room,” said Leon.

“He will find another victim to sing to,” said Chevalier.

“We’re really stretching the definition of ‘sing’ today, aren’t we?”

“None of which the showoff will be too fond of.”

“His name is Yves.”

“Does that change the fact that he is vulnerable?”

“It changes whether you care about it.”

Chevalier straightened his back and stretched his arms. For a moment, Leon thought he might actually go to warn Yves, until Chevalier pulled out a book from a desk drawer and began to read like their conversation never happened.

“You know what will happen, but you won’t do anything to stop it?” asked Leon.

“I have identified the assailant and victim,” said Chevalier. “Whether you define this as caring or not has no weight on my decision to involve myself further.”

Leon’s fingers clenched on the windowsill like jaws. “You’re a coward, Chevalier. A shameless, plain, unapologetic coward for all the world to see.” The wood splintered beneath his thumbs, making the bird jump and resume its peevish chirping.

“I keep my closet free of skeletons,” Chevalier said calmly.

“Yes, because you’re so much better at digging graves.”

“I can bury them without hiding the shovel.” Chevalier snapped the book shut and stomped over to Leon. The bird silenced immediately and flew away. “Running away? That is the true definition of cowardice.”

Leon’s eyes focused on the bird’s escape, desperate bitterness building in his chest. “What are you implying?”

“I know your secret, fourth prince,” whispered Chevalier. Like a flame, Leon’s anger snuffed out. A prickly stiffness replaced the tautness in his arms, and his blood curdled like ice. Through the glass he could see Chevalier’s frigid expression trained directly on him, trapping him. Like a bird in a cage.

Leon licked his dried lips and cleared his throat. “Which one?” he said jokingly.

Chevalier lifted his eyebrow but maintained his composure. “You couldn’t save him,” he said, pointing at the scattered cracker remains that lined the now-cracked windowsill. Leon shut his eyes and exhaled deeply through his nose. If he had the choice, he’d prefer that Chevalier found out about this secret.

“Were you at the tavern last night?” he asked.

“I had my eyes there for a while,” said Chevalier. “What did you do with the body?”

“Took him home. His family should decide what to do with him.” Leon turned around and leaned against the window, his eyes still closed. “It was his wife who told me. Said he’d fallen in with a bad gang recently and owed a lot of money. He spent all his time working and stopped coming home for lunch and dinner. When he wasn’t working, he was at the tavern with those goons running him dry, like he couldn’t leave. You know she’d find him dangling off a table in the morning with a mug in hand? If I could just — if I could just get something in his stomach…”

“It is ridiculous to blame yourself for his end,” interrupted Chevalier. 

“He needed someone. A friend to pull him out and help him and his family.”

“What he needed was someone to stop that gang. A prince to eliminate threats to and deliver justice.”

“If I went after the gang,” Leon said, opening his eyes and scowling, “who would go after him?”

“Your duty is to the greater good of the kingdom. You cannot hope to save everyone every time,” said Chevalier. “And this time, you failed everyone.”

“Just because you’ve given up doesn’t mean I have,” growled Leon. He pushed off from the window and marched towards the door.

“Where are you going?” asked Chevalier, his voice condescending. 

“First, I’m going to Yves’s room before Clavis does. You know, something a good brother would do.” He tossed a mocking glare over his shoulder. “Then I’m heading into town to check on the family. Something a good prince would do. I’d offer for you to join, but of course I can’t propose compromise in someone else’s office.”

Leon grabbed the gilded knob, fully prepared to rip the door off his hinges, when Chevalier let out an all-to-familiar sigh.

“Of course you can’t, you imbecile. No one but myself calls the shots in my office, and I have already decided my course of action.” Chevalier was at his desk again, digging through the pile of signed documents. He pulled out a thick sheaf and offered it. “As soon as Clavis is finished playing, we shall depart.”

Curiosity won Leon over again and he found himself returning to Chevalier’s side. The stack of papers was hefty, and the ink so pungent Leon deduced it could barely have been hours since it was written. He scanned the first page of what appeared to be a warrant for the arrest and prosecution of the gang. Flipping through the rest showed detailed records of their involvement in criminal activity across various locations in both Rhodolite and Benitoite, listing dozens of names of victims and their families. Leon ran his splintered fingers over the man and his family’s names at the bottom of the last page, careful not to smear the letters, and finally over Chevalier’s elegant signature just below.

“All these names,” began Leon, “what took you so long to act?”

“They never stay long once a client ‘ceases to be profitable,’” Chevalier explained grimly. “They take whatever remains on the person and disappear until their next crime. That is, except this time someone moved the body.”

The flame reignited in Leon’s core like an inferno. He grabbed the quill off the desk and hurriedly scribbled his name beside Chevalier’s. “I’ll kick Clavis out and meet you in town in twenty minutes,” he said, charging back to the door. “Breakfast is on me!”

“Don’t break my door, I have not forgotten about the window,” called Chevalier as Leon bolted out with a thumbs up. Chevalier straightened the sheets, picked up his book, and followed Leon out the door, albeit at a much more relaxed pace. Behind him, the robin had returned to the crooked windowsill with a friend, and the two happily sang and munched on the crumbs as the sky brightened over the new day.

I say this all the time about Leon, but he needs to hang out with his bros more.

Tagging:@atelier-the-atelier @queengiuliettafirstlady @violettduchess @venulus @thewitchofbooks @leonscape @rhodolitesrose @venti-tangents @dear-sciaphilia @ikesenwritings @myonlyjknight @ladyofcrowsx

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i love how all the wips i post have only the right side of the hair complete... (drawn from reference)

Two more hours and almost 13 minutes left! I'll make sure to start on the winner as soon as possible! Thank you for voting!

Hello everyone! This is my first poll! I decided to make 2 posts with facts about Cyril and Lucian (separate posts for each character), so I wanted to ask:

Miss 100% of the shots you don't take - so how about Sariel for an afterglow fic, please?

A/N: well @pathogenic anyone who quotes Wayne Gretzky is ok in my book. I hope you enjoy your fic 💜

Sariel x f! Reader

Word Count: 560

The cold water you splash on your face is bracing and at the same time soothing to your sunrise-pink cheeks. Your heart is slowing from its furious pace, a wild bird having chased the clouds, before finally settling back into the nest of your chest. Your lungs measure out your breaths evenly, ironing out the erratic gasps that only a short while ago fell from your lips. You smooth back your disheveled hair as best you can and then with a sigh, a sound of satisfaction twined with exhaustion, you leave the tiled bathroom, closing the door behind you.

He’s waiting for you, a twilight smile on his beautiful lips. Sariel Noir is many things but right now, the only word that comes to mind is beautiful. The pale expanse of his skin, a sharp contrast to the deep indigo pillows he’s leaning against. His hair in wild disarray, evidence of the pleasure your fingers found curling into those soft, onyx strands.

The sight of him has you pause, physically unable to take another step as you lean back against the bathroom door, your hand pressed against the sudden, rapid wingbeat of your heart, that part of you that he owns fully, that he can influence with a whispered word, a touch, a flash of his violet eyes. He is exquisite like this, out of his staid clothing, unwrapped by your own eager hands. His glasses abandoned on the nightstand, barely visible in the dance of shadows conducted by fingers of moonlight that have slipped through the arched window.

Not a word is necessary. All he does is lift his arms and you are drawn to him, happily, joyously. You push off from the door like a ship from the harbor, sailing across the room, swan-diving onto his plush bed, into his waiting embrace. His laughter sparks light within your soul, the sound twinkling across your bare skin. He pulls you against him, making sure to draw the satin sheets across both your unclothed bodies, always taking care of you. Always aware of what you need.

“And? Have you recovered from my appetite for you?”

That voice, deep as midnight, beguiling as starshine. If you could wrap yourself in it, you would be warm forever.

You open your mouth to answer and instead of words, a yawn slips out, both surprising you and answering his question.

He laughs again, the melody of it light with a tenderness no one would believe the palace devil capable of and you smile as you move closer, bringing an arm around his midriff, laying your cheek against his chest. 

“Rest then, my love,” he murmurs. “I’ll be here.”

His hand begins to gently stroke your hair and each caress feels like it's sinking into your body. A satisfied heaviness fills you as your eyes slowly shut, your mind drifting into the peaceful eventide of dreams.

“I love you, Sariel.” Your whisper is almost a dream itself, serenity coloring your words lavender and gray. Did he even hear them?

His hand stills on the back of your head, his body bends as he leans down to place a loving kiss to your forehead. He’s heard you. And he loves you too. More than he can say.

So he doesn’t even try. He simply holds you against him, his love, his soul, and watches through an amethyst gaze soft with emotion as you fall asleep.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

just a reminder since it's been growing in the fandom spaces i frequent on here

all ai is trained with stolen work of artists and writers - including your fandom favorites.