#i found hyacinths have a very spring-like smell

[ikemenomegas]

Boreas

Haku x Reader || 11:11

(for @omeganronpa) okay, would you believe me if I said I had a hell of a time coming up with an answer for this because Haku is an outdoors kid and I couldn't figure out how to get him around a clock (or even remember if the naruto world had clocks)🤦. While laying in bed, I finally realized I could just give up on making it super ninja show accurate. The premise is that it's a sort of Cinderalla AU, which seems appropriate since Haku is basically a disney princess. Still took a super long time though He uses a pseudonym for a good long while, but any reference to "Koharu" is really Haku. All characters are aged up and are adults in this au.

This is the Midnight Ball.

Only once every few years, visitors from everywhere come to the Land of Snow, and for three days and three nights the Kazahana Castle is filled with music while the night is filled with stars.

The official festivities at the castle only last three nights, but the capitol of the Land of Snow is bustling and the inns are bursting at the seams to accommodate the influx of visitors a week before.

There was plenty to see, from Land of Frost geisha to Land of Birds musicians, and dancers and entertainers and opportunists from everywhere else.

Besides all of that, you have been wandering the town, sampling the food carts and enjoying the very nice baths in the castle as part of the Land of Fire delegation. Apparently there were perks to being friends with the person who saved the current Snow Daimyo.

The first day of the ball arrives not with a true dawn, but with the dramatic dusk that had lasted since the previous evening finally fading into a moonless night.

People flood the public courtyard of the castle in their best clothes to celebrate the winter solstice, lifting glasses to the health of their daimyo, and to the ongoing peace brought by healthy alliances with neighboring nations.

You try to pick out as many different people that you can based on dress alone. It is undoubtedly exciting, dialects and patterns flowing around one another.

You spot the figure early on in your scan of the crowd because they are objectively one of the most beautiful people that you have ever seen in your life. They are also moving around like they're looking for someone and using the way the crowd parts around them to find this person.

You point it out to Sakura and Naruto, if only so they'll notice if you go missing tonight and send a search party, because you're curious.

This beautiful stranger moves like water in a pink kimono with sleeves that fall below their fingertips. It's elegant, and also easy to conceal hand signs or a blade.

From an upper tier, they're easy to follow. You can't imagine the same would be true of trying to follow them from the crowded main floor, and indeed if you look behind the figure, there are a few who try to follow, only to be blocked by bodies closing around the gap the stranger leaves in their wake.

But for all the circles the figure weaves, they cannot pretend to have no destination forever. You mark the beautiful stranger's target, a moth flutters from your shoulder back to your companions, and you begin to make your way down to the main floor.

See, here's the thing. Even when no one hears about it, there is always one murder at the Midnight Ball. There are too many important people, too many nighttime hours, and too many looking to make their name in the shinobi world for someone not to try.

To be frank, a beauty like this trying to intercept the Wave Country architect is either an escort or an assassin. Even with the silver chrysanthemum of the Narita clan on their collar, you're not really interested in having the death of the evening happen right under your nose just because you didn't check.

It is just as difficult to navigate from the ground as you had imagined, but you finally have the architect and his son in sight. They've moved to a courtyard where there is a lot more noise - music and the guests dancing - when someone crosses directly into your path.

You pull up short.

"Excuse me."

It's not shameful to admit that for a moment you are a little breathless.

"My apologies," you say automatically.

The stranger is blinking at you with a faintly friendly tilt to their pink lips, wide brown eyes not even looking at the architect.

You had intended to intercept them mid conversation and now-

"Were you looking for someone?"

"I thought I saw someone I knew, but it's difficult to find anyone in the crowd," you said, smiling.

They turned around, looking over their shoulder, flashing that silver flower in your face. "Oh. Who was it? Maybe I could help you look?"

You shook your head. "I'll send a messenger later. They're very good at finding people."

"Oh!" Those brown eyes widened. "Have you been to the ball before?"

Practice makes perfect and your face is set in perfect calm even while inside the immediate instinct not to give any information about yourself rises to the forefront.

"A few times," you said vaguely.

"This is my first time," they said, almost shy, ducking their head. "I am Narita Koharu."

Whether this was really Narita Koharu or not, he had introduced themselves using the masculine form with a sly tilt of the head that clearly suggested how aware he was of his own appearance.

It pulled an unwilling smile from you.

As a shinobi, you had to acknowledge the skill of a well executed disguise, especially one worn in plain sight. What better disguise, after all, than the bias of the strangers around you?

Narita Koharu's lips shaped the syllables of your name carefully, like he was holding a sliver of ice in his mouth, and he smiled like you had given him something equally delicate.

"Dance with me?"

You blinked in surprise.

"You said there are others who can find what you need."

Many more than he knew.

A new song had struck up and the natural simultaneous attraction and repulsion that seemed to emanate from this ethereal figure had opened up plenty of space around the two of you.

"I would be honored, Narita-san."

He covered his mouth with his sleeve, hiding a laugh. "If we are to be companions for the night, you should call me Koharu."

You held your hand out for his. His fingers were ice cold.

Time slipped away very quickly when there was no such thing as day or night.

You danced with this stranger until you were breathless and his cheeks were flushed and when you thought it was over, he pulled you laughing into the garden.

It was much colder than inside, although he did not seem to react much.

A clock tower cast a faint shadow as your companion led you aimlessly along pathways lined with healthy green shrubs and blooming flowers.

Despite the winter weather, the gardens were as healthy as if it were spring.

You wandered at "Koharu's" side until you arrived at a quiet seating area facing the clock tower. The tension that had worked its way out while dancing was starting to creep back up.

Was this were he would try to kill you? If he was someone with a target at the ball, why else would he-

"Thank you."

He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.

You had an irrational wish to do it for him.

"You're a beautiful dancer." You're beautiful. There were worse deaths than at the hand of a beautiful stranger, although few more ignominious.

"It's a lot more fun than I thought it would be." He looked at you through his lashes and shrugged the sleeve of his kimono. "My brother won't be very happy," he laughed, "but it was worth it."

The clock began to chime.

"Oh."

He stood, robes whipping up in a sudden wind.

"I have to go." He said your name softly. "It was nice to meet you."

Like a rabbit disappearing into a thicket, he was gone with a flash of his heel.

You stayed for a while longer, drinking in the vitality of the garden.

While you had danced with "Koharu" you had caught hints of hyacinth drifting from his clothes, but you still caught the scent, even with him gone.

Following it led you to a bed of the flowers, stretching purple and pink and blue in the starlight. On a whim, you reached down to pluck a few blossoms from the thickly clustered stalks. Their green spring sent immediately flooded the air, along with an idea.

Where were those couriers again? You turned back to the castle. You had some things that needed to be done.

Neither Sakura or Sasuke were impressed when you arrived back at the suite.

"You left us to do all the hard work," Sasuke drawled.

"Someone had to keep the target distracted," you replied, shrugging off your own party attire and getting dressed in something more comfortable.

Sakura kicked her slipper at your back and you danced out of the way, sticking your tongue out at her and side eyeing where it had left a crack in the plaster it had hit instead.

"What did you find out?"

"Well." Sasuke pulled a scroll from a hidden compartment in the dressing table. "Naruto is still in the city, but Narita Koharu is a real person."

On the scroll were a dozen names, all people suspected of being high on this year's target list. Near the middle, in fresh ink, was the Land of Waves Architect.

"This was easier," he said, putting a finger on the name. "They were one of the Leaf's escort clients this year. Kakashi was upset because they were attacked twice on the road, which shouldn't happen."

"We'll keep investigating," Sakura said, "but don't be surprised if he isn't who he says he is." She looked excited at the prospect, and you couldn't deny that a part of you felt the same. The cloak and dagger of the ball was half the fun.

Naruto's personable demeanor worked its usual wonders.

The real Koharu had indeed stayed behind in the Narita tea house and inn where he usually served. Whoever this was, was doing an excellent job at elevating the reputation of his borrowed identity.

Apparently, the architect was beinghounded by a sort of local syndicate that did not take kindly to his trying to break the Land of Waves from its years of isolation. The head of the syndicate was a notoriously untrustworthy businessman, and the architect and his family had quietly found a number of investors willing to help break his iron hold on the peninsula.

The fourteen or so hours it had taken for you and your friends to discover the motive for the attacks on the architect had also been plenty of time for you start daydreaming.

Not-Koharu's scent was so firmly fixed in your mind you found yourself shaking away the distraction even as Naruto lighted upon the windowsill and launched himself into the room.

He gave you a grave look.

"You sure know how to pick them."

You held up two fingers, giving him a tired grin. The ball was not even half over and the constant dark made it more difficult to wake up from naps taken in between all the snooping.

"Escort-" you put down one finger "-assassin."

"Well this one's no joke," Naruto said seriously. "They're passing Mist money around, and they're not alone."

"Did you get a name?"

"One of the toads heard 'Haku' -"

You didn't recognize the name.

"- but what's real bad is they're with Momochi Zabuza."

That name any shinobi who had properly memorized their bingo book should know. A mercenary without morals or limits, Zabuza's last confirmed sighting had been years ago and well away from Leaf territory.

A sense of unease came over you. "If Zabuza is working for the syndicate... He's kind of expensive."

Sasuke joined Naruto in the apparent attempt to convert the suite's largest window into it's door.

"I wouldn't bet on the syndicate paying either. They know a contract put out during the event is expensive because it's risky. There's no way they get out of here unmarked."

A wave of sudden grief washes through you. Not the horrible, and unfortunately well known, pain of losing someone you know, but the sadness in knowing that something rare and beautiful would be gone from this world.

"That expression never means anything good," Sasuke said, folding his arms and glaring right at you.

That is enough to get you off the couch you'd fell asleep on, glaring right back.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

The Midnight Ball never truly stops and the party is in its perpetual swing when you go back downstairs.

The energy is a bit less civilized and there are more people swirling about, following the path of wilder dances and drinking shimmering little cups of liquor.

It's been only a few hours, but what you've learned seems to charge the atmosphere.

"Hello."

The low voice is close and warm at your shoulder.

The shiver that goes up your spine entirely inappropriate.

If anything, Koharu Haku is more beautiful than before. Instead of the delicate pink of the prior evening, he is in a teal kimono splashed with bold strikes of gold and deep red outlines of flowers. They are hard to follow, but you know they are chrysanthemums.

It doesn't matter what they are because all you can smell is spring hyacinths.

"Hi."

He smiles faintly. Even his eyelids are lined with the same deep blue-green as his clothes.

"Will you dance with me?"

And just like the night before, you hold out your hand for his cold one.

Time flies by, less distinct that the blurred faces of the people around you as you spin with Haku. He weaves you vague answers to your questions, and you answer him the same.

It's unfair to lay all of your fantasies at his feet, but even knowing that he is lying to you, you can't help but want to know more about him, the real him.

You dance until Haku's skin is flushed and until your feet ache. If the night is to begin a pattern, he will pull you into the gardens and then bid you farewell, having successfully removed your attention from the rest of the party.

But it won't be a pattern, it will be a coincidence, because by tomorrow he will be dead.

When he leads you to the gardens, you keep a hold of his hand and even though he looks surprised, he lets you. He lets you pull him into the shadows of a gabled roof where you stop, chests heaving with dying laughter and exertion.

He's lying, about everything, but that's the job. Outside of the village, and even sometimes inside of it, deceit is a shinobi's first weapon. Of the whole team, Sai is the best at it, and then Sakura, who's gotten only better and better at saying what people want to hear. You don't fault Haku for being good at his job, or for looking the way he does. It's likely that it's brought him more suffering than happiness.

It makes you feel guilty, like you're just another person in the crowd who's fallen for his face and his attention, but you also feel like you know where the lie is. You can see little pieces of something that seems real, surely being used to reinforce the pieces that aren't, but they're gentle and fierce and brilliant. Just like all the similar endings before, he doesn't deserve a bad ending just because they took on a bad client.

"I'm glad you found me again, Haku."

Like a switch flipping, Haku's expression went completely blank. He tried to pull away, but you stepped closer.

"Don't do this."

He tugged his wrist from your grasp and you let go.

"There are very powerful people protecting the architect."

His eyes, if possible, went even colder and he began to walk away.

The scent of hyacinths went with him.

"Please." Your voice cracked.

He stopped.

"Only death comes of this. The man who is targeting the architect is using you and your partner, Zabuza, right? From what I've gathered, even if you succeed, he will find any excuse to break the contract."

The gold in Haku's kimono shimmered faintly in the starlight as a wind kicked up, shaking leaves from the surrounding bushes.

"-your name."

He spoke so quietly you hadn't heard what he had said.

"What?"

"Did you give me your name? Your real one."

"Yes, but-"

His shape seemed to blur into the shadows, he was gone so fast, before you could even blink.

You return to the suite after spending a few hours running around the castle. There is neither hide nor hair of Haku anywhere you can sense or see.

"What the hell did you do?" Sasuke asks, cross armed.

"I guess we'll find out."

The third night of the ball, the celebrations don't even attempt to stay within the walls of the castle. The whole town is a riot of color and sound, scents and lights splitting out of every building as longest night proper begins.

It's a bad deal as far as guard duty goes. Naruto and Kakashi have their eyes on the architect, and the rest of you are scattered throughout the party, tracing set routes as invisibly as possible, tense and waiting for something to happen. You're all in formal-wear purposefully designed to be easy to move in, with weapons tucked into sleeves and boots and belts.

By your calculations it's creeping up on midnight when a presence appears behind your shoulder.

Instinctually, you whip a blade from the holster on your forearm.

A firm block stops your arm halfway while a hand grabs your wrist, twisting the point of the blade to the floor instead of their face.

Haku stares you dead in the eyes, searching for something.

You don't know how long you stand there, eyes locked, arms locked. Vaguely, you register the pointed tip of a long steel needle crossed with your blade.

Haku lets go first, releasing your wrist with a wary look.

You step back, lifting your arms and dropping the short blade back into its sheath. You swear you see the faintest uptick at the corner of Haku's mouth when you do.

He slips the senbon back into his sleeve.

Distance gives you enough space to see the shimmering white and silver coat he wears tied loosely with a brown belt. Inside, it is as striking on him as all the others he has worn, but outside he will disappear in the always falling snow. His eyes are lined red.

"I have something to take care of," he says evenly. None of the previous evening's flirtation is in his tone. But he hesitates, before he carefully asks, "Will you wait for me?"

You can't speak, you can barely swallow, so you just nod.

He gives you one more all but unreadable look and then he leaves, walking until you lose him in the crowd. The pervading music plays on.

You listen for the chimes of the castle clock which has been the only mark of time since the endless nights of the ball began. It passes midnight and fireworks go off in the clear night sky.

It passes one o'clock and nothing happens and the celebrations finally begin to wind down, as though everyone finally has the permission to rest after three days and nights of revelry.

Eventually, Kakashi calls the group together, and although he and Sasuke will stand guard over the architect and his family tonight, the danger is judged to have passed as the sky ticks towards dawn for the first time in three days.

Even given permission to sleep, you find that you cannot. You stop by your rooms just long enough to get a thick cloak and the little project you have been working on in your downtime. It doesn't take long for you to realize that there is only one place where you want to wait, to see if Haku will come.

You head down to the garden to watch the dawn come after the ball.

Short winter days mean the sun rises late. You watch the tall clock tick onward while you turn a resin preserved hyacinth between your fingers.

The shadows stretch long behind you as the sun rises beyond the tower.

You don't see or scent him until he has made his footsteps known some distance behind you.

"I didn't expect you to wait up."

You wonder how long he's been waiting too.

"I couldn't sleep," you admit softly. "I wasn't sure what choice you made until a few hours ago, and then I just couldn't sleep."

The hands of the clock move relentlessly onward. The hour and the minute hand sit at an awkward angle from one another, the hour hand barely scraping past the eleven while the minute hand makes its way past the two.

Part of you isn't sure why you came down to the garden. All you had been hoping for was a chance meeting, but now the moment is here.

A deep, fortifying breath comes from behind you, and then Haku was crouching down in the grass right in front of you. He wore no makeup or fancy ornaments in his hair. Like you, he was still in his clothes from the night before, but they were not tied so tightly or carefully.

You offered him the pin you had made in two hands and after a moment he tilted his head as if asking you to place it. You slid the pin through the top of the half-bun his hair was in, carefully arranging it so the cluster of pink and lilac blossoms curled around it.

Silently, the two of you watch the hands of the clock move onward.

"I'm Haku," he finally says.

"Hello, Haku."

You gave him your name.

Haku smiled, not as wide or as energetic as the first night of the ball, but sweeter.

The clock began to play its usual song at the quarter of the hour.

Somewhere, a few ambitious musicians perhaps already nostalgic for the spectacle of the Midnight Ball struck up a chord that barely carried along the breeze.

"May I have this dance?"

Your heart was fluttering, nothing like the first night of the ball.

Haku put his cold hand in yours.

[genevieveskingdom]

I had a dream...

...Last night about the Minister of Spring and Pixie Hollow 🧚🏻✨🪻🌱🌼🌷🌿

I was a part of a research group full of people who were doing something in vast terrain. Maybe we went to the nature only for a walk, who knows. What's important was the fact that we went to a forest. And after a while we reached crossroads in that forest. One road was quite normal, leading to a regular human world, but in the second part of the forest, fairies were flying, laughter was heard, gentle bells were echoing underneath the trees...

"Look!" I shouted at the group. "There are fairies!" But they ignored me, they didn't even turned their heads, they just followed blindfoldedly the normal path.

I left them be. And went straight to the pixie world. The more to the depth I walked, the more I understood - I was at the Spring Valley! The same place where Tinkerbell messed up the preparations for spring!

The first fairy I met and whom I saw in bright colours was Rosetta. She was collecting some berries and when she noticed me, she immediately smiled at me. Then I blurry saw Iridessa. I got a positive response from all of them, they immediately got some work for me and told me that I should found some elder fairy who fed plants with biscuits. Literally.

But I had other plans. I quickly got to the elder fairy (she looked like Fairy Mary but with ginger hair, little curvier and taller, dressed in vanilla-beige colour), she wasn't very nice, she was vulgar towards me, actually. 😂

But I didn't care. My aim was to find the Minister of Spring. I flew (yes, I somehow gained wings) to the Springtime Square in order to find him but there were soooo many fairies I could barely see.

I was lucky. He was there. I found him. He didn't wear his pompous ministerial robe but he was dressed up very modestly. Simple T-shirt made of dry brownish leafs, leather belt and simple beige bermudas. He had a sack - it almost looked like if he were collecting rubbish - but I somehow knew that there are some seeds in it which had to be delivered somewhere.

He took off. I didn't have the chance to say anything to him, but I had wings so I jumped in the air and followed him. He was as fast as Bugatti Chiron. 🤣 We were zigzagging around the trees. It was a race!

Finally - I left him behind and was ahead of him. I turned over and he smiled at me! It was a tiny and mild smile but of such a kindness. I noticed closely how skinny he actually was. His cheekbones were visible on his pale face.

I stopped him. And for some reason we went to the closest tree on the road and hid into its shadows. And then we hugged each other.

We were just standing there - the same heights - in a close hug, absorbing each others physical bodies. It was such a realistic situation, such a vivid dream, it felt as if I were really there. I didn't remember how long this scene actually took, but to me it felt like eternity. He fitted perfectly into my arms. We didn't share a word. Silence embroidering the feeling. I remember how I was leaning on the tree with my back, holding him in my arms. My head rested on his left shoulder (from his perspective) and I could literally smell his scent in the dream! He smelled sweetly, like flowers, but not necessarily like hyacinths, it was a sweeter scent, more like a rose or a cherry blossom. I felt his skin, he had very soft skin on his shoulders and neck. And I also felt his hair. They were sooo realistic, breeze was playing with some of his loosened strands. I didn't really touch his hair so I cannot say how it felt like.

Some fairies interrupted us. And then the scene was cut. And after a while I was flying and found myself on the Springtime Square. Again, there were so many fairies. Too many fairies. And not only fairies but also Barbie princesses! I saw Alexa from the Diamond Castle and Aramina from Three Musketeers, then some Genevieve's sisters from the 12 Dancing Princesses... And of course, Tink's pixie squad and the other seasonal ministers and Queen Clarion. Everyone was dressed up so formally, they wore beautiful gowns as if there were some special event going on. Where is Hyacinth, where is Hyacinth, was my only thought. I was flying towards them and I spotted Hyacinth in the first row, standing next to Queen Clarion.

I broke through the crowd whilst everyone was whispering about me and casting not so friendly gazes at me. What bad could I do that they behaved like this? I understood they were gossiping about me. But why?

I finally approached Hyacinth. He wore his lavish ministerial robe, sleeveless, in deep royal blue, dark purple and bright spring green colours shining on his leaf crown. And all of his gown was sparkling.

For some reason, I asked him for a dance and offered him my hand. He wasn't smiling. Actually, his mimics seemed emotionless, but he gave me his hand and our palms alligned.

I led him to the ballroom when Johann Strauss started playing. I couldn't remember which of his wondrous kaiserwaltzes it was, but I just knew it was his music! It felt like something between An der schönen blauen Donau and Frühlingsstimmen.

The most important thing was that I was swaying in the rhythm of Viennese waltz with Hyacinth. We danced perfectly to the rhythm and everyone was watching us. We were the only couple dancing so it was a solo. The other guests were blurred, the only thing I remembered was how I led Hyacinth on the dance floor and how I felt the soft skin of his shoulders again...

Then I woke up. 😂 But so happy. I felt like I really met him. I dare to say that it was one of the best dreams I have ever had. ✨🩷🩵🪻

[wowbright]

Fic: Transparent

Klaine Advent 2021: transparent

Words: ~3,750 words

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: Blaine knows he has to stop wanting to be the center of everyone’s attention.

I’m back with more vignettes from my Mormon!Klaine universe for Klaine Advent 2021! This vignette takes place early in their time together, probably before yesterday’s post Animal, but maybe after it.

My Mormon!Klaine Masterpost.

Notes: Heads up for internalized homophobia that runs so deep, it might not even look like internalized homophobia. Also, this went so long I only had time for cursory proofing. There will likely be capitalization errors and homophones (I dictated much of this). If you have any questions or typo corrections, feel free to use my ask box!

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Elder Hummel stood under the eaves in front of the apartment and smiled bemusedly at Blaine, who was doing jumping jacks in the downpour.

Forty-seven, forty-eight, Blaine counted to himself. It was a Tuesday morning, and the water was coming down heavy, bending over the stalks of crocuses or hyacinths or—OK, really, Blaine just needed to stop thinking he knew the names of any of the spring bulbs other than tulips and daffodils. He had never seen any of them before coming to Germany.

What Blaine knew for certain was that the flowers, which had recently sprung up around the base of a still-bare plum tree (Elder Hummel had told him it was a plum tree; Blaine would not have known by looking), were purple and pink and yellow and the ones that looked like a little clusters of grapes smelled absolutely wonderful — though not at all like grapes.

They probably did not smell like anything right now, just like Blaine didn't smell like much of anything, with so much water running down over him that the gel was almost completely gone from his hair and both sweat and deodorant had given up on clinging to his body.

Forty-one, forty-two... Wait. Hadn't he already gone through the forties? Ugh. He always lost count like this. Not that it was super important—Blaine was going to keep jumping jacks until the timer went off. Still, he wanted to know how many he could do in 5 minutes.

“Hey, Elder Hummel,” Blaine panted. “Can you help me count? I keep losing track.”

“No.” Elder Hummel had taken off his shoes, rolled out a yoga mat, and was now standing in a tree pose: one foot on the mat, the other leg bent with his foot propped against the side of his knee, and his hands pressed together in front of his chest. “I’m busy.”

“You’re just standing there.”

“I am not ‘just standing,’” Elder Hummel said, seamlessly shifting into a warrior pose. “I’m moving very, very slowly.” His nostrils flared slightly as he took a deep breath.

Blaine glanced at his watch, wiping the rain off its face so he could make out the hands. Four minutes left. Well, he could time himself for four minutes and extrapolate the count from that.

One, two, three …

Elder Hummel bent over to touch his toes, his legs forming two straight lines with no give in the knees at all. He was impressively flexible. Blaine wasn’t sure why he was surprised by that, given that Elder Hummel had been in show choir just like him and had mentioned taking ballet lessons when he was younger. But apparently Blaine was surprised, because he found himself unable to look away even though a more natural focal point for his eyes, given Blaine’s current position on the sidewalk, would have been the plum tree across the road.

Twenty-five, twenty-six …

Elder Hummel crawled his hands forward on the mat and raised his backside until his body formed an inverted V. Blaine had done yoga before, and knew holding that particular pose—downward dog, if he was remembering the name right—wasn’t easy. Not if you had good form, with your arms and torso in a straight line. It was hard not to sag a little with each exhalation. But Elder Hummel made it look so easy, his calf and forearm muscles barely trembling as he held the pose for what seemed like an eternity.

Twelve, thirteen … Jiminy Cricket. Blaine had lost count again. He glanced at his watch again. Only 30 seconds left. He had really lost count. In the time while he had been losing count, the rain had started to soak through his clothes and it was now beginning to trickle down his butt crack and form small puddles inside his shoes. Squish, squish, the water went between his toes each time his feet hit the sidewalk.

The alarm beeped.

Blaine let out a grateful sigh. He really loved the rain, but maybe doing jumping jacks in a downpour sounded more fun than it actually was. He jogged toward the eaves to stand next to his companion, the water squeezing like pudding between his toes. Why did it feel so gross?

“I’m done,” he announced as he reached Elder Hummel’s side. “You?”

“Do I look done?” asked Elder Hummel, who was still upside down with his butt in the air.

“You look like you could be almost done.”

“It was your idea to come out here in the rain.”

“Now it's my idea to go back inside.”

Elder Hummel pushed himself up from the ground. He somehow seemed even taller than usual. His back was straight and relaxed, his shoulders open, the way a singer’s always should be. “You look like a drowned rat, Elder Anderson,” he said.

The image that conjured up for Blaine was not pleasant. “Please don't tell me you've actually seen a drowned rat.”

Elder Hummel didn't answer. He just bent over to roll up his yoga mat. Blaine couldn't decide if he was being quiet because he didn't hear over the downpour, or he was just building suspense.

“Have you?” Blaine asked.

Elder Hummel stood. “Sorry, I wasn’t ignoring you. I was trying to figure out if you were asking me because you were scared of dead rats or because you felt bad for them.”

“I’d feel bad for them, of course. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, if you were scared of them, it would be my duty as your senior companion to tell you that the apartment was infested with them and that they spend each night licking the utensils and plotting our deaths.” Elder Hummel checked the yoga mat under his arm, his tone nonchalant. “And that once, when my previous companion Elder Flanagan when into the bathroom in the middle of the night, a rat the size of a Chihuahua launched itself out of the medicine cabinet and onto his face, and the battle only ended when one of them was drowned. But since your heart is with the rats, my duty is to tell you the truth, which is no, I’ve never seen a drowned one, and I hope I never do.”

“Then how do you know I look like one, and not like …” Blaine tried to think of a more flattering image. “Leonardo DiCaprio coming out of the swimming pool in Romeo + Juliet?”

Elder Hummel rolled his eyes. “Leonardo DiCaprio wasn’t wearing tennis shoes.”

It wasn't until they were back in the apartment and Blaine had, at Elder Hummel's insistence, placed his shoes in the kitchen sink and not on the floor, that the obvious occurred to Blaine. “Rats don't wear tennis shoes either.”

Elder Hummel looked slightly flabbergasted. “Go take a shower. I’ll set these up for drying.”

“You don't have to do that. I can figure it out.”

“I'm sure you can,” Elder Hummel said. “But I don't have to figure it out. I already know. I grew up in a state where our shoes got wet on a regular basis. Besides, we should get started on companion study soon. If I help out, we can start sooner.”

Blaine gave Elder Hummel a grateful pat on the shoulder before he could remember not to. It left a large wet handprint on Elder Hummel's shirt. “Oh, whoops.”

“No worries,” Elder Hummel said stiffly, possibly more to himself than to Blaine. “It's not like I'm going to wear yoga sweats all day.”

“You’d look good in them, though,” Elder Anderson said, already halfway to the bathroom to dispense with his wet clothes before they could drip anymore water on the kitchen floor.

When he saw himself in the mirror, he paused. He didn’t look like a wet rat. He looked … sort of hot. Maybe not the hair, which was starting to frizz like crazy. But he'd venture to say he looked even better in soaking wet clothes than a young Leonardo DiCaprio. Hadn’t Leonardo's clothes been black? Blaine’s T-shirt, which was pale purple when dry, was almost transparent from the soaking. Blaine could see his nipples peaking through them, and if he peered closely, he thought he could make out his areolas.

He wondered if gay guys were into guys in wet T-shirts, the way straight guys were into girls in wet T-shirts. He shook his head. He shouldn't be wondering that. It was none of his business what Elder Hummel found attractive or didn't. That line of thinking had always gotten him in trouble. Because thinking led to hypotheses, and hypotheses lead to experiments. Not godly, groundbreaking experiments like Mendel with the peas, but prideful experiments that only got people hurt.

Blaine, in addition to living with lots of cats, had the curiosity of one. And while it hadn't killed him yet, it had led to an uncomfortable visit to the bishop’s office a couple years earlier.

“I need to make a confession,” was how Blaine had started that particular visit.

The bishop did not look at all surprised.

Fortunately, Bishop Taylor was the kind of person Blaine could trust. When he’d been called to his position, he'd made an explicit promise to keep whatever Blaine told him between them, unless of course Blaine was in danger. And he’d kept his word—not like some bishops who felt obliged to go blabbing every embarrassing thought and peccadillo to Blaine’s dad “out of respect for the hierarchy.”

Bishop Taylor leaned back in his chair. “I'm listening.”

That's what Bishop Taylor always said, and it was what Blaine loved about him. He actually listened. Like, really. He asked questions and tried to understand before jumping in with advice and admonitions.

Still, that didn't make it easier for Blaine, who had so little practice being listened to, to know what to say.

“I was at a party,” Blaine began, knowing that he was skipping ahead already. The actual story had started months before that.

It was no secret to anyone in the school that Sebastian Smythe was gay. It certainly wasn't a secret to Blaine, who had been propositioned by Sebastian the first week of 11th grade English, when they had been assigned desks next to each other’s and Sebastian, before the bell rang, leaned over and whispered, “Is it true you Mormon boys don’t masturbate? I could give you a hand with your … frustration.”

And Blaine had stupidly, stupidly answered, “Don't believe every anti-Mormon lie you hear.”

“Oh—so you do jerk off? While thinking about what?”

And then the bell had rung and class started, and Blaine had to spend the entire period thinking about jerking off until, when the next bell rang, Sebastian “accidentally” bumped into Blaine and got way too close with his low, breathy voice and said, “You always have permission to think of me.”

And that was the worst, because of course the next time Blaine started to touch himself, that icky interaction popped into his mind and, as much as he tried to shove it out, it kept budging itself in at the most inopportune moments. Blaine managed to finish, anyway, but he felt weird about it afterwards, and it was almost a week before he gave in to the urge again.

Blaine asked his teacher to move him up closer to the front of the room because he was having a hard time hearing her. And that helped for a while. But then they both got into the school’s production of West Side Story and Sebastian wouldn’t let up. He made thinly veiled innuendos at every other rehearsal, and some of them were, well, actually pretty impressive in terms of wit and choice of words, and some of the were direct quotes from Shakespeare. But still, Blaine would have rather Sebastian not said anything at all.

And yet … as gross as it was, Blaine found himself liking the attention. He knew he shouldn't. Not because Sebastian was gay, but because he was gross.

But there was something powerful about being wanted. It wasn't unlike the feeling Blaine got when he was in front of an audience, holding its attention in the palm of his hand, making people feel emotions they hadn't planned.

So, sometimes, when he knew Sebastian was looking, he'd pose a little. If he was walking down the hall, he might wiggle his butt a little more. If he was leaning against a wall, he might thrust his hips forward just a smidge. If he was talking to a girl, he might touch her on the arm or carry her books or put his hand on hers for just a brief second.

And he made sure a hair was never out of place when he was in Sebastian’s sight—unless, of course, the role called for it.

Things came to a head at the cast party. Blaine wasn’t supposed to go—his parents had protested that the play wasn’t even over until nine, and that was no time to start a party, especially when most of the theater kids weren't even members of the church. But then his dad had a call to go out of town that weekend, and his mom went with him because a higher-ranking general authority had said she should be there, too, to give a talk to the women.

So closing night came and Blaine could do whatever he wanted to do.

Of course he went to the cast party.

He didn’t drink. He wasn't that rebellious. He mostly danced and chugged a lot of Coke. He flirted a little with some of the girls—he loved holding hands. He was surprised, after the first half hour, that Sebastian hadn't come talk to him yet. After an hour, he wondered if Sebastian had drowned in the pool, but he went out there and didn't find his dead body. About 90 minutes in, he discovered that Sebastian had been smoking pot on the upper balcony with the rest of the Jets when said homosexual came into the living room red-eyed and smelling like a skunk wrapped in cinnamon bark, plopped down on the couch next to Blaine, and threw an arm over his shoulder. “I don't know why I'm so hard on you,” Sebastian had said, leaning his head against Blaine’s. “If you haven't figured it out, you haven't figured it out.”

“If I haven't figured what out?”

Sebastian started giggling—and that was new; Blaine had only ever heard him do manly chuckles before—and continued giggling for the next 5 minutes the way stoned people do, for absolutely no reason.

It was oddly endearing.

Until it landed on Sebastian, who wasn't having any of that. “Look,” Sebastian reasoned. “I’ve kissed four girls already and only one guy. If I have to cross the fence for this game, so do you.”

Around 11:30, somebody decided it was time for spin the bottle. Kissing wasn't against church teachings unless it was lascivious, and Blaine rather enjoyed it, so of course he joined in. The bottle spun and as often is not, it seems to land on him. The girls always smiled with relief when they got him, which felt good--he was a friendly, safe guy, and he was going to live up to that reputation. He kept his pecks quick and light to prevent evoking any inconvenient feelings.

And then it would be his turn. That was good too. He was open to kissing any of the girls in the room. They were all pretty in their own way. If he spun the bottle and it landed on a boy, he would just eenie meenie miney moe and smooch one of the girls next to whatever guy the bottle had picked.

Everyone in the circle—everyone except Blaine, that is—agreed Sebastian had a good point.

Blaine held his ground.

They voted on it. “All in favor of some man-man smooching, raise your hand!” shouted Tina. Blaine was pretty sure she'd been up on the balcony with the Jets.

Everyone voted against him, even the wide receiver who used to pass Sacrament with Blaine before he stopped coming to church at all.

Blaine pouted.

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t be such a Mormon.”

He thought he heard someone cough homophobe into their fist.

What was his point?

Blaine lunged across the circle and grabbed Sebastian by the collar. He landed so hard against Sebastian's face he heard their teeth clack. Sebastian started to push him away, but his open palms turned into fists that tugged at the front of Blaine’s shirt, reeling him closer—which shouldn't have been at all possible.

Everything was so close, so warm, like their faces and chests were melting together. Blaine could smell Sebastian's skin, the whiff of hairspray, the chalky remains of stage makeup. Sebastian tasted like ashtrays and dirt and rubbing alcohol and Sprite, which should have been gross and was gross but was also strangely intriguing. Blaine remembered suddenly how some perfumes have a tiny fraction of skunk musk added to them, even though musk was disgusting on its own, because it somehow made the perfumes smell better.

Sebastian licked into Blaine's mouth. That, too, was nasty--like how it might feel to have a slug rolling around on your tongue--but on some level Blaine didn't mind it. He had to not mind it so he could keep going long enough to prove his point. Which was—

Blaine fell back into his place in the circle. Someone let out a whoop. “And the Academy Award goes to Blaine Anderson!” someone else shouted at the same time.

“Good acting, Tony,” Sebastian said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Just like kissing Maria, huh?”

It had not been like kissing Maria. Kissing Maria was easy and non-aerobic. Right now, Blaine’s heart was ready to pound out of his chest.

Too much effort. Too much drama.

Also, Maria brushed her teeth before every performance. She tasted way better.

There wasn't enough time to explain all of this to Bishop Taylor. Bishops had a lot of demands on their attention, and they could give no one person all of it, even when they wanted to. Blaine’s mother had explained this to him enough times when his father had been one.

“We played spin the bottle,” Blaine said.

Bishop Taylor raised an eyebrow. “Not an activity recommended in For the Strength of Youth.”

“I know. And it gets worse.”

“Go ahead and get it out, Blaine. It will be easier that way.”

“I kissed a boy.”

Blaine heard no sharp intake of breath. He ventured a glance at Bishop Taylor’s face. It looked just as relaxed as when Blaine had walked in.

“As part of the game?”

Blaine nodded.

“Did you want to kiss this boy?”

“Not really. They took a vote and I lost.”

“Elections probably aren't the best way to make moral decisions, Blaine.”

Blaine didn't say anything. He scratched the back of his neck and kept looking down at his lap.

“You know I have to ask you this, Blaine. And I'm not asking you for my own interest. I'm asking so I know how to help you.”

“I know.” Blaine suddenly noticed his nails needed to be trimmed.

“Did anything more than kissing happen?”

“Was deep kissing involved?”

Blaine shook his head.

"Just on the mouth?"

Blaine nodded.

Blaine cringed.

That was enough for Bishop Taylor. "Who initiated it? You or he?”

“He did. He’s, um, gay.”

Silence. Blaine heard the ticking of a clock somewhere in the office. Funny. He’d never noticed there was a clock in this room before.

“Blaine, are you attracted to boys?”

Blaine felt like there was a giant fist in his chest, squeezing his lungs. “No, bishop. No. I don’t know … I don’t know why I did it. I like girls. I like dating girls. I like holding their hands and I like kissing them—I keep it clean, though, I really do. I don’t know what happened.”

“Were you drinking?”

Blaine shook his head exasperatedly. “No. I have no excuse.”

“Blaine.”

“Yeah?”

“Look at me.”

Blaine raised his head, but he didn't sit up straight.

“Playing spin the bottle was stupid, but you already know that. Letting people vote on whether or not you should kiss a boy was not how we encouraged decision making in our faith. But that said, it went farther than you intended, and that's not your fault. You clearly didn't want that physical interaction. So here's what we'll do. You’ll need to abstain from Sacrament next week to repent for your poor decision-making. And then we'll check in again. But I think that will take care of it. I don't see any sins of the flesh on your part here. Just normal, regrettable teenage surrender to peer pressure.”

The fist inside Blaine’s chest unclenched. Relief washed over him. Tears came to his eyes. “Thank you, bishop. Thank you so much.” He started sobbing.

“Don't worry,” Bishop Taylor said, coming around from his side of the desk. He patted Blaine’s shoulder. “You’ll learn from this. That what our mortal probation is for: learning from our mistakes so that when we meet Christ again, we can make a good accounting of our lives.”

Blaine got out of his chair and wrapped his arms around Bishop Taylor. He cried into the bishop’s shoulder. He hoped the dry cleaning for the suit jacket wouldn’t be too expensive—no, Bishop Taylor was practical. It must have been one of those washable ones.

“I feel so guilty, bishop. I didn’t stop it. What if I led him on? What if he thought I wanted it?”

“Blaine,” said Bishop Taylor, stepping back and holding Blaine him at arms' length by the shoulders. He looked straight into Blaine’s eyes—or would have, if Blaine hadn't kept glancing down at the floor. “There’s no way you could have led him on. It’s obvious by looking at you, you’re not the kind of guy that wants that kind of attention. If he thought you did, he was only misleading himself to justify his actions. Trust me.”

Blaine nodded, unconvinced.

“I have the gift of discernment, Blaine. I know your heart. You're a kind, loving young man who's had a little slip up. That's all. You're not seeking the attention of homosexuals. You're certainly not same-sex attracted. Be grateful for that. Repent, pray, and go on a date with a pretty girl this weekend.” The bishop patted Blaine’s shoulder. “No deep kissing, though, okay? That can wait until your engagement. Or college, at least.”

Blaine laughed. “Okay. I can do that.”

And he stopped trying to get Sebastian's attention. (It maybe helped that Sebastian ended up transferring to a fancy private school to up his chances of getting into an Ivy League.)

And Blaine had. He'd repented and followed the bishop's directions (and he hadn’t even had to explain missing sacrament to his parents, because he ended up getting mono and was too sick to go to church for a month--and that was its own kind of cleansing repentance).

He’d kept himself chaste, even when girls pushed for more.

But now, on his mission of all places, that old nagging curiosity was rearing its head. That desire to see himself as attractive, to see himself through another’s eyes as someone who was desirable. Someone who was wanted.

Blaine peeled off the T-shirt. He wrung it out in the sink, perhaps more forcefully that it needed. He watched himself in the mirror, studying the movements of his forearm muscles as he squeezed the shirt.

Blaine was a short, average-looking guy with good, but not remarkable, upper body strength. And that was OK. The only person who needed to see him as gorgeous and strong and irresistible was the woman he'd end up marrying.

And that obviously wouldn't be Elder Hummel.

[sarcastic-space-gal]

The Dancer with Golden Earrings (Part 3)

Summary: The three of you arrive at the Spring Festival in Brugge and there’s immediately someone who’s looking for a bard and a dancer service. So that’s it, you will part from each other and go separate ways. Right?

Pairing: Jaskier x Reader;

Word Count: 3k… ops;

Warning: Slow burn, Angst, brief mention of an assault;

A/N: I got carried away with this one, hope you’ll enjoy it! As always, feedback is really appreciated! Love you all, xoxo.

Part 1, Part 2

The strong scent of flowers welcomed you at the city’s gates along with the bustle of people striding across the streets. The last decorations were being put up as the stalls were timing with merchants displaying food, spices, dresses, expensive fabrics coming from all around the Continent, weapons, and jewelry as far as the eye could see. However the stalls were not the main protagonist: Brugge and its Spring Festival were known for their bright, delicate, sweet-smelling flowers spread out in every corner, on every window and wore by every girl for the occasion.

Entering through the gates you and Jaskier instantly felt excited, the hustle and bustle of a Festival was your bread and butter and you loved it.

“This scent is heavenly after days of nothing but horse shit and turnip soup” Jaskier cheerfully commented.

“I doubt I’ll found someone looking for a witcher in all this gaiety” Geralt kept his hand wrapped around the reins as he slowly followed behind you and the bard “and by the way, you love turnip soup”

“Just not for almost a week in a row”

“You would eat it for a month in a row if possible” you chuckled. In that moment you felt a light tugging on your dress. You turned and saw a little girl with a flower crown and a wicker basket filled with colorful petals glaring up at you.

“Hi” she said with a playful smile on her face.

Bending over, you placed your hands on your knees to make better eye contact with her “Hey little one”

“This fo’ you” she took a flower crown from her basket and stood on her tip toes to place it on you head. You melted.

“That’s beautiful, thank you so much! Did you make it?” She proudly nodded “I love it”

The little girl laughed and then walked pass you and approached Jaskier, who had watched the all scene in awe. She looked up at him and then took out a flower necklace ready to gave it to Jaskier. The bard bent as he instantly felt the flowery scent enveloping him.

“Oh thank you so much Little Lady” he bowed exaggeratedly making the girl giggled playfully.

The witcher saw the little girl slowly turning her head toward him. Oh no, he thought.

Oh yes, she thought.

In an instant she ran toward him, regardless his frightening appearance.

“This fo’ you” she said standing in front of Geralt, handing him his flower necklace made with hyacinths.

Geralt hesitated but after seeing the little girl pouting with those big puppy eyes he grumbled and bent over as she happily put on her creations on the witcher.

Jaskier and you shared a look, trying hard not to laugh at the scene in front of you, covering your mouths with your hands.

“Mary? Mary?! Where did you go?”

The man shouting was scanning the area, obviously searching for someone. He jogged as best as he could given his tonnage, as his red face made clear to everyone he was struggling to shout and run at the same time.

The little girl was fixing the necklace when she heard the shouts and ran toward them.

“Ah, here you are!” he exclaimed picking her up “I hope she didn’t bother you”

Now that the man was right in front of you, you noticed he was dressed with quite expensive clothing and had a huge ring on his pinky finger, undoubtedly someone important in the city.

“Just the opposite, she provided quite a memorable scene” Jaskier answered feeling Geralt’s dirty look behind him.

You chuckled at those two. “No absolutely not sir. She was so kind to gift us with these” you said pointing at your flowery accessories.

“Oh very good then” the man said poking playfully the little girl “but never go away like this again, dad was scared”

“Okaaaay”

The man laughed and then looked back at you two. Jaskier noticed how he scanned you both with a questioning look on his face.

“Oh Melitele, is this a miracle?” he suddenly exclaimed. His eyes wide in surprise as he placed his free hand on his forehead.

“Sir, are you ok?” Jaskier asked with a confused look.

“You are Jaskier, the famous bard, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes, indeed” he smiled and bowed a little.

“And if I’m not mistaken, you must be the dancer with golden earrings. Lady Y/n, right?”

“It’s me” you smiled “And, you are?”

“Oh I beg you pardon, Hoxegind Vonnodd, I’m the Festival coordinator. Yesterday night the bard who was hired for the Festival got in a brawl after drinking all the ale he had handy, that bast-” the man stopped, remembering he had his daughter near him “That bad bad guy”

Geralt took the opportunity to subtly remove his necklace and putting on Roach, who snorted and shook her head, making it fall.

“I was desperate” Hoxegind continued “but then destiny brought you here! The best dancer in the whole Continent and the most well-known bard in all four kingdoms!” You and Jaskier smiled while sharing a look with each other.

The man went on, offering free lodging and meals to you and you couldn’t believe your ears.

“Please, could you perform for our people tonight?”

“Sir Vonnodd, we would be honored” you placed your hand on Jaskier’s arm.

“So it’s a deal! Come with me, I’ll show you the inn were you’ll stay”

“Geralt come here! We found a place to stay!” Jaskier called turning toward the witcher.

The inn was the best in town. A soft bed, clean sheets: after days of walking and sleeping on the ground, just the idea of wrapping yourself in warm blankets excited you all. Hoxegind was showing you your rooms and where you could place your bags when he turned toward Geralt.

“Geralt of Rivia, am I right? The witcher.” he asked, an inscrutable expression on his face.

“Indeed” he was ready to receive the usual dirty look as always, instead Hoxegind proposed to follow him in the tavern in order to discuss a possible case of a Kikimora in the forests near the city.

When the two of them left, you and Jaskier took a look at your rooms one more time, in silence. Your room’s door was exactly in front of Jaskier’s one. Both of you turned and glanced at each other, slowly approaching one another. When you both met, in the center of the corridor you maintained eye contact before exploding in excitement.

“Jaskier, what I told you! I had a good feeling about this!” you squealed.

“Some well-deserved rest and free meals, I feel like we have been blessed!” he responded, as much excited as you were.

A sudden bitter sensation washed over you two.

Is this the moment where we part?

Do we go our separate ways?

You asked yourselves the same questions, but you were too scared to find out the answers.

“I… I think I’ll take a bath” you said, the keen tone of your voice was now completely gone.

Jaskier nodded, his expression gloomy “I’ll go to the tavern for a bit”

“Ok, see you later Jaskier”

“See you later Y/n” he answered as you closed your door.

The ale tasted awful but he didn’t care much, he just wanted to get those doubt and thoughts out of his head as soon as possible.

Taking another sip and regretting it afterwards for the tenth time, he placed his mug on the table, sighing.

“I thought they already had kicked a bard out of this place for drinking too much” commented Geralt, sitting next to the bard.

Jaskier scoffed “I hope they kick me in the face and knock me out”

The witcher stayed silent for a bit, occasionally sipping from his mug.

“Tell her” he eventually said with his baritone voice.

Jaskier’s head quickly turned toward the witcher “Tell her?”

“Y/n”

Trying to act like he didn’t know what he was talking about, he asked “Tell her what?”

“That you don’t want to leave for the next city without her”

It was the bard turn to stay silent as he looked the other way. He knew Geralt was right, but he had so many doubts, what if you said no? It would break his heart.

“I quite enjoy her company while traveling. She’s quieter than you”

Jaskier chuckled bitterly.

“Think about it” Geralt placed a comforting hand on the bard’s shoulder, before standing up.

“Where are you going?”

Adjusting the swords behind his back, Geralt looked outside the window “There’s a job for a witcher apparently. Many citizens claim they saw a horrible creature lurking in the lakes near the forests: big fangs, bloody jaws, the usual. Enjoy the Festival Jaskier”

The witcher headed out of the tavern, leaving the bard serious and brooding. It was already time for lunch, but he wasn’t hungry, he kept sipping occasionally at the now almost empty mug in front of him, his expression lost in thought for hours. Never in his life he felt such an intense range of emotions, so many thoughts and incertitude.

The afternoon brought a warmer breeze from the window, Jaskier was sitting there for almost all day, the chair probably had the imprint of his backside on it.

His gloomy expression suddenly faded as realization took its place, he instantly stood up and ran up the stairs where your rooms were.

Checking the water temperature in the tub you sighed for the umpteenth time and let the towel fall on the floor before entering. The warm sensation enveloped your skin as you relaxed immediately, feeling the muscles around your body loosen.

Time went by as you glanced absentmindedly at a random crack in the wall, occasionally creating small waves with your hands on the water’s surface. Shouldn’t you be happy? You had found free lodging and meals, you had found an audience and you would receive a payment. However, you couldn’t feel as pleased as you should have. The worst part of it was that you knew why, but couldn’t do anything about it.

Sighing loudly you stood up and took the towel, wrapping yourself in it and sitting on the bed. You rubbed the towel up and down your body, got dressed and started fixing your hair in front of the mirror.

Deep down you hoped Jaskier would ask you to travel with him and don’t part from each other, but you knew it was just a mere dream, and even if you got along pretty well, Geralt included, they had their life.

However, the same feeling that guided you to think you’d have found a new opportunity in Brugge, made you think this wasn’t the end, that destiny still had something in store for you and your travel companions.

Thinking about the night and the performance, your eyes shined in realization as you sprinted toward the door, almost making the chair fall off. Opening the door, your heart skipped a beat when you found Jaskier’s hand curled in a fist, ready to knock on your door.

“Y/n” he said a little out of breath but smiling.

“Jaskier”

“I have something to ask you” you said at unison. You laughed nervously.

“You first” at unison again.

“I was just thinking maybe, you know…”

“You know I was in the tavern and I thought about some things…”

“...it’s just an idea, you can say no if…”

“...I mean it’s totally fine you disagree…”

“...but it would be a pleasure for me…”

After a good minute of you overlapping each other with confused sentences you finally said it.

“We should work together!” you both exclaimed at the same time.

After few seconds of complete surprise and excitement Jaskier smiled brightly.

“Well, that’s a good idea”

You laughed and playfully poked him in the chest.

The usual darkness that surrounded the city during the night was now completely gone as big fires and candles were lit all around the streets.

Fixing your hair for the last time you stepped outside and knocked at Jaskier’s door. You heard rapid footsteps approaching and eventually the door opened, your heart skipped a beat. Jaskier’s light blue doublet matched perfectly with his eyes, eyes that were fixed on your own, distracting you.

“Umm...Ready?” you stuttered.

The bard kept looking at you with his mouth slightly open, unable to say anything or move. It wasn’t the first time that he saw you wearing a dress before a performance but oh boy. You wore a dress he had never seen before, it was probably a spare one for occasions like these, your hair was nicely up to form a gorgeous updo while your usual golden earrings swung following every movement you made.

“Oh, umm yes, ready” he quickly grabbed his lute.

“I really like this color on you” Did I really said it? Oh Melitele, I did, you thought.

His lips curled into a genuine smile “Thank you Y/n”

Before he had the chance to open his mouth again, Hoxegind appeared in the corridor, panting because of the stairs he had climbed.

“Here you are!” he exhaled sharply “Everyone is waiting for you!”

Both of you shared a look and nodded.

“Let’s do this”

Hoxegind escorted you out the inn and through the city’s streets when you finally arrived. The town square, as every other corner as far as the eye could see, was filled with every kind of flowers, from the tiniest to the largest, wild and exotic, bright or pastel, as their scent spread all around you. Little girls and boys, their parents, old and young couples, adolescents, all gathered around a big fire as they waited for the performance to begin. The crowd was huge, the adrenaline started pumping in your veins.

“I will gladly introduce you, if you’ll let me” Sir Vonnodd asked with a bright smile, clasping his hands in front of him.

“Of course” you said.

“Two minutes and we will start. Good luck”

Bowing a little, Hoxegind left you two as he approached the center of the audience.

“So this is our debut together” Jaskier commented, excitement evident in his voice.

“We didn’t even have the time to try a little before the big premiere” you said glancing up at him.

“The music is perfect, the singer is perfect” you chuckled and rolled your eyes “the dancer is even better. We have nothing to worry about” he affirmed.

“Welcome everybody, ladies and gentlemen. We are honored tonight to introduce you two famous artists” Hoxegind voice resonated through the square as the voices lowered.

“Ok this is it” you checked your dress and your hair one last time and then turned toward Jaskier who was staring at you.

“Wait, something is missing” he placed the lute on the ground and turned on his back. He walked toward something but you couldn’t see it.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

When he turned again and approached you, he had a beautiful flower in his hand, its petals the same color as your dress. Barely managing to not blush, you saw him getting closer to you.

“Can I?” he asked. You simply nodded as he put the flower in your hair. When he finished he looked at you as he lowered his hands.

You didn’t had to chance to say anything because Hoxegind’s voice caught your ears.

“Y/n and Jaskier!”

The crowd exploded in excitement as they applauded cheerfully. Shaking away the emotion you just felt, you shared a look and nodded. Jaskier grabbed the lute from the ground as both of you arrived in the center of the square.

Bowing a little you parted so that you were few feet away from each other. Jaskier’s fingers started moving on the strings as you smiled at him, your arms slowly moved, following the rhythm.

“Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger

Come quell your daughter's hunger”

The performance had just started when the people blithely began clapping their hands and tamping their feet along to the beat. The audience went in raptures. Flutes and drums played along with Jaskier’s lute as you danced gracefully, elegantly, expressively.

At the beginning they were two ballads, then they became three, then the audience asked for an encore. Twice. At the end you were both exhausted, Jaskier’s fingers were sore as much as your feet, but the reaction of the crowd was worth every aching muscle in your body.

As soon as you finished, all the people gathered around you complimenting or thanking you for the performance, even Hoxegind joined as he took your hand in his and gave it a steady shake.

You were so caught responding to all the kind words, you didn’t notice you slowly lost Jaskier in the crowd as you were pushed away by the audience.

Suddenly you felt a hand wrapping around your own and pulling you out the mass of people, you couldn’t see who it was, guessing it was Jaskier. He wasn’t.

As soon as you were out, you knew something was wrong, the hand holding painfully around your wrist wasn’t Jaskier’s one. Your eyes darted up to meet two small, vicious eyes of a man looking at you with a sinister smirk that made you want to gag.

“Who are you? Let me go!”

“Why going away so early? We’ll have some fun”

With all your force, you tried to break free from his grasp as he pulled toward a dark street as panic quickly clouded your mind but you didn’t let it control you.

“I’ve seen you dancing sensually over there, why don’t you do it for me?”

“Let me go! Help! Help me!” you shouted, digging your nails in his hand, pulling in the opposite direction, but your actions were vain. You were pushed against a wall, your arms pushed back so that the man could look at you with ease, but he was wrong. Using it to your advantage, you kicked him hard in the shins, but before he could react, his head made contact with a fist. A mighty, furious fist.

“Jaskier!” you gasped.

The man fell to the ground but the bard didn’t stop his assault on him, before he could even try to recover after the punch, he already had seized him by the collar and lifted him up against the wall.

“You miserable bastard! Touch her again and I’ll make you regret you were born” he seethed in his face, his tone uncharacteristically low and dangerous.

The man’s nose started bleeding from the impact with Jaskier’s fist. Clouded by anger he struck another blow to his face, this time even more brutal than the first, if possible.

“Go away” Jaskier growled pushing him hard on the ground. The man quickly tried to stand up and ran away, wrapping his hands around his swollen and bloody face.

Unable to move, you watched the scene in front of you with your face journeying from panic to confusion: seeing Jaskier angry was something new for you but he was beyond angry, he was furious. His veins were still bulging when he hurriedly approached you.

“Y/n, are you ok?” he took your hand in his before inspecting them, trying to find a wound or even a small cut, providing a good motive to end that man’s life once and for all.

“No I’m ok, I think” yes you were ok, before noticing your hands were held tightly by Jaskier.

When your eyes met, the anger was completely gone and his eyes were the usual soft and caring but filled with concern.

“This is my fault, I shouldn't have left you, but the crowd-”

He froze in his place when you hugged him tightly, encircling his neck with your arms.

“Thank you” you whispered as you felt his strong arms wrapping around you. Never he had the chance to stand so close to you, relishing in your scent

In that moment you understood.

He knew.

You knew.

He was madly in love with you.

You were madly in love with him.

As the adrenaline wore off you both glanced at one another as you parted, blushing a little. Your faces just few inches away. He could feel your breath on his face.

“Here you were!”

Quickly stepping away from each other you saw Hoxegind smiling brightly “The audience is asking for you, one last time?”

You both sighed.

“My fingers will fell off” Jaskier commented in a low voice.

Chuckling you stuttered a little “O-of course Sir Vonnodd”

Happy with the response, Hoxegind turned on his heels and headed toward the square again.

“May I accompany you, milady?” he asked offering his arm with the most handsome smile you had ever seen.

“It would be a pleasure”

Part 4 

TAG LIST: @alyxkbrl​ @dancingwith-thesunflowers​

[vouxie-studio]

Do the LI's have a favorite flower, and if you had to choose a flower to symbolism them what would it be? I'm a sucker for flower language and stuff haha

I have to admit I don’t know much about flower language so I had to do a bit of research on this but I loved what I found! The symbolism flowers suit all the LIs so well!

Fleur loves the look of pink carnations and usually has a few vases of them around her house during the spring. A flower that symbolizes her would be a purple hyacinth

Sohl likes red and white anemones because he thinks they look kind of unsettling (like eyes) and that’s cool to him. A flower that symbolizes him would be the amaryllis

Atlas likes daisies and yellow sweet clovers because they grew in abundance around his childhood home and he and his sister often used them to make flower crowns. A protea would best symbolize him

Inna likes roses and lavender because fresh ones always smell amazing and she tends to have a very keen sense of smell. A flower that symbolizes her would be either be gladiolis or jonquils 

Milo generally likes all kinds of flowers but they don’t have a favourite since they like a lot of different aspects of plants and couldn’t choose. A flower that symbolizes them would be snapdragons

[ultraglittercat]

Drabble 79

Gardening

Rapunzel loved finding new hobbies. Recently, she had begun working in the palace gardens. It was a relaxing and beautiful environment, and she had learned that Faith the handmaiden really enjoyed gardening. While Rapunzel knew she could never be as close to Faith as she had been with Cassandra, it was a nice activity that helped strengthen the bond they were starting to form.

“Miss Rapunzel, the tulips are looking vibrant this year. Are you going to give them to your parents?” Faith asked shyly.

Rapunzel smiled. “Absolutely! They're one of the most beautiful flowers out there, and are sure to remind my parents of the love they share.” Rapunzel agreed.

“And what of these sunflowers?” Faith asked next.

“They're for Eugene, since he always calls me 'Sunshine.'” Rapunzel said brightly.

“I like that name. It's very pretty.” Faith told her.

“And these hyacinths will be great for Catalina. I think Kiera will like these peonies I got her.” Rapunzel detailed.

“Sounds good.” replied Faith.

“Next is yellow freesia for Lance. I didn't think pink flowers suited him.” said Rapunzel.

Faith giggled. “Probably not.” she decided.

“And Varian is getting the daffodils. They were his mother's favorite.” Rapunzel concluded.

“That's a lot of flowers to deliver in one day.” Faith realized.

“Yes, but I'll have Max take me to my friends' houses and it'll hardly take any time at all. Varian lives the farthest away, so he'll get his flowers last.” Rapunzel stated. “Do you want to come with me?”

Faith shook her head. “Max is a little intimidating, but he'll make sure you're safe on your journey.” she decided.

“I'm only going as far as Old Corona.” Rapunzel laughed.

“Still, there are dangers out there, Miss Rapunzel.” Faith insisted.

“I'll be safe.” Rapunzel promised. She knew Faith was making an effort to be less fearful, and she did have a point that danger could be found anywhere, even close to home.

Rapunzel gathered up bouquets of all the flowers and headed to the throne room to give her parents their gift first.

“Rapunzel! Have you been gardening?” Arianna asked. “I could smell those lovely flowers from a mile away!”

“I have. I brought tulips for you and Dad.” Rapunzel said.

“Thank you. You're so thoughtful.” Arianna kissed her cheek.

“What did I do to deserve such a wonderful daughter?” Frederick wondered as he gave Rapunzel a hug.

“I love you guys.” Rapunzel smiled and enjoyed the hug. Next she went to where the Captain of the Guards and his men (and horses) were lining up for inspection.

“Eugene! I have a present for you!” Rapunzel called.

“Just a sec. Stand down, men.” Eugene walked over to Rapunzel and she handed him the sunflowers.

“They're so bright and sunny, just like you! I love them, Sunshine.” Eugene said, kissing Rapunzel on the lips.

“I'm glad you like them. Eugene, is it alright if I borrow Max? I need to give flowers to Lance and the girls, and Varian.” she explained.

“Of course. Have a wonderful trip.” Eugene wished her well.

“I will!” Rapunzel replied, climbing onto Max. She rode a little ways and soon reached Lance's house where the girls and Lance were jumping rope.

“Hi guys. I hope I'm not interrupting anything...?” Rapunzel said.

“Oh, Rapunzel! You came to visit!” Catalina ran up and hugged her.

“And you brought presents!” Kiera squealed with delight.

“Yup. Hyacinth for Catalina, peony for you, and freesia for your Dad.” Rapunzel began passing out flowers.

“These are great! Thanks!” said the girls.

“Thank you, Rapunzel. I think it's only fair you get a gift too. So how about some of this fudge the girls and I couldn't finish? We gave up after four plates each.” Lance admitted.

“It was worth it.” Kiera maintained, wiping a bit of chocolate from her face.

“Thanks! I could use a snack.” Rapunzel ate some of the fudge, then she waved goodbye to Lance's family.

Finally, Rapunzel made it to Varian's lab.

“Varian, it's Rapunzel. I brought you a gift.” said Rapunzel.

“Really? I should be the one making you gifts. It is my job as Royal Engineer.” Varian stated.

“Oh, you do plenty already. Here, I got you some daffodils.” Rapunzel said.

“Thanks so much. You know, my Mom really loved these flowers...” he wiped away a tear.

“Eugene told me. Did you want to take them to her grave now?” Rapunzel offered. Varian nodded, and Rapunzel tied up Max so she could walk with Varian to the cemetery. She knew spring could be a wistful time of year for people who had lost loved ones, but she would always do her best to help cheer up her friends.

The End

Another request for J.B. Rapunzel is like the sweetest friend ever. :3

[twistednuns]

February 2021

Irises and purple, lavender and white hyacinths. For merely three bucks. What a gorgeous bouquet.

My own thai curry recipe. It's THAT delicious.

A pep talk from Manu. Realising I really need to take more chances. And get rid of that dude I've been hanging out with. I've been feeling so stuck lately. I'm toying with the idea of giving it all up. Quitting my job. Leaving the country. Just to see what happens. Because I'm pretty sure I'll love what happens next. / Whatever worlds you live in, there are other worlds out there. If you are uninspired living life a certain way, it’s your duty to change. Nothing, not a relationship or job or housing situation, is worth sacrificing your ravenous hunger for life for. X

I feel my obsession with artificial cherry flavour creeping back up on me. Cherry-flavoured diet coke is one of my guiltiest pleasures.

I keep seeing those multicolour graffiti tags everywhere and I finally found out what kind of pen they use for this effect! I ordered one, I just had to, and it's fantastic. So beautiful and vibrant! I've already asked around how illegal it is to walk around the neighbourhood signing my tag on random surfaces...

Fresh pineapple.

The ocean. Talking about diving. Watching documentaries about marine life like My Octopus Teacher and Blue Planet. Drawing nautical objects, sea dragons and mollusks.

Learning more about apophenia.

It actually smells like spring in the forest and the days are already so much longer. I even saw a deer jumping over the path last night. I even got Frank to join my on my walk for the first time.

A little glimpse of summer. The south of France is my happy place I keep going back to. But there are more little reminders of the world out there, of travel and summer, that I thoroughly enjoy. Like watching Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat with Samin Nosrat. Not only do I really want to try making my own Tahdig now but I also kept smiling throughout the whole show because they filmed episodes in Italy, Japan and Mexico. Just imagine walking across a citrus market in the Yucatan right now. Or making Pesto Genovese with an Italian nonna in a Ligurian castle. Maybe even learning how to make your own miso in a remote corner of Japan. There is so much longing within me at the moment. What made my virtual culinary travels even better was Netflix's Street Food series. I especially enjoyed the episodes from Bolivia and Mexico.

I May Destroy You. Different, and very relevant.

This year's Valentine's Day happened to be pretty rad. So I've exchanged the boring nerd I had been dating with an exciting artist from Colombia. John is a painter, a poet, photographer and filmmaker who gave me a Spanish copy of an Oscar Wilde book with a poem he had written for me. My cold and cynical German heart is not used to wooing on this level but I love it. On Sunday we walked through the English Garden and Schwabing in the sunshine, took photos, looked at some art and antiquarian bookshop windows. We saw two cats inside the cat café, bought fancy macarons at Maelu and just kept talking. I even found a few interesting books about dream interpretation on my way home. John has a reference to Kleist's tragedy Penthesilea tattooed on his collarbone - Küsse/Bisse ("das reimt sich, und wer recht von Herzen liebt, kann schon das eine für das andre greifen"). He is a Scorpio with impeccable taste and sends me songs he plays for me on the guitar / Cocteau Twins tunes upon waking up. I really needed this.

Having my students create English comics with Pixton. I love how much their avatars actually look like them! I hope they had fun, too.

The smell of cherry-flavoured candy wafting through the air.

Semolina pudding with banana. The subtle heat does something to the bananas; the combination is simply delicious.

I watched the first season of Chef's Table and was really impressed by Francis Mallmann. I admire his courage and lifestyle. The constant change he craves. The way he speaks foreign languages and just bravely does his very own, unique thing. I want to live like that, too.

A crystal clear view of the Orion constellation.

Very fine snow powder against the sunlight. As if it was raining glitter.

Feeling cool and confident. A fleeting feeling but it makes such a big difference.

When we practice forgiveness, we let go of shame. Embedded in our shame is always a sense of being unworthy. It separates. Compassion and forgiveness reconnect us. / reading bell hooks' all about love.

Mustering up enough motivation to go through all my stuff in the basement and put a few items on eBay. I'd been putting this off for years now.

I'm amazed how good my phone camera is. I took some pictures in the pitch-black forest and you can make out the moonlight on the path and even see star constellations on the photo.

Spending quality time with a cuddly kitty boi.

Blue corn quesadillas prepared for me by a bloody gorgeous Mexican metalhead.

Writing that message I should have written weeks ago (letting Simon know that I wasn't particularly  interested in dating him anymore).

Trolli burgers. The best gummy candy out there. Arguably the most fun. I love being able to disassemble my food and eat it layer by layer.

John's story about that acid trip on a boat somewhere in the ocean off the Colombian coast. They lay under the bright moonlight and were suddenly surrounded by Gray whales communicating with each other through song.

The spicy smell of a fresh, moist loaf of rye bread. Eating it with soured butter and salt.

The first snowdrops of the year.

Another one about the moon: walking home late one evening there was a lunar corona in the fog. I loved how the light illuminated my arms in that cool, white light.

The morning after the worst weekend in months or maybe even years (with both a mental breakdown and a medical emergency because misery loves company, eh?) Waking up early, pain-free. With a little spark of excitement and motivation. Just lying around for an hour in the darkness. Meditating. Falling back asleep for a little while. Getting up eventually, brushing my teeth and hair, painting my nails.

Painting more. Just experimenting with colour, intuitively. Without putting pressure on myself. The other night I painted with oil pastels and chalky pastel crayons while watching Dawson's Creek (I successfully avoided this series for 20 years and now, in my thirties, I start watching it?).

Bananas with nut butter, dark chocolate and sea salt.

Meditating with the blanket covering my nose. Breathing in fresh laundry smell.

Riding home from school with Anastasia, talking about diving adventures.

Reading Jill Heinerth's book Into the Planet. Her career as an explorer and cave diver is breathtakingly exciting. I couldn't put that memoir down. And it made me even more antsy. I'm really unhappy and bored right now - I wanna go out and learn something new, explore, live a little more.

Going to work without make-up. In the last ten or even fifteen years I put on make-up every single day I went to school. I'm done. Lockdown made me come to terms with the look of my bare face.

Learning about Antarctica cruises. It only takes about 24hours to reach the area from Argentina! I'd really love to go but the cruises are crazy expensive.

My house plants sprouting new leaves.

The moment the pain suddenly stops and you can breathe again.

Tropical breakfast. Banana, kiwi, mango, pineapple. And plain yoghurt. Decidedly non-tropical.

[petrichorblue94]

Damn, my lungs are haunted by the smell of your cologne in my dreams.

***

I finally know what peace feels like because I finally know the essence of my love.

***

It’s so ironic, you’re nothing at all like I’d imagined and yet it feels as if my whole history has been gently nudging me towards to you.

***

The answer to my lifelong question - do I want fire or ice - so obvious in your jade green eyes. I want life.

I want life and I want you. It’s the simplest truth I know.

***

I finally know what it feels like, not to doubt. I feel like if anyone asked me, “you can get one chance in love in your whole life- only one”. I’d choose you blindly, without thinking and without ever regretting, surprising myself even, in my foresight.

***

My soul now knows the way to you. I’ve chosen you. It might have taken a while for me to notice you are a possibility but stars, I see no other choice now.

***

I feel giddy with excitement, to know that between fiery brown eyes and oceanic blue ones, I’d choose your fathomless green ones, staring at me with awe and love.

I never knew I had a choice. I never knew I could choose something that doesn’t rip me apart but puts me together, as I dream to be - whole.

***

I couldn’t have seen you for the life of me before I learned to love myself. I know now that you’re my fate, we’re meant to learn together in the sweetness and gentleness of our love, like we wanted.

***

All the pain so far, god, I’m ready to discard it like it doesn’t matter, like it never happened. What do I care of my lonely years and my heart-numbing disappointment when I have you to look forward to?

***

You’re as real as my God and I’ve found religion in the way my dreams start feeling real when you press me to yourself, when I bury my face in the crook of your neck.

***

I think I was just a very good liar to myself before. I didn’t want to get hurt so I kept giving myself false options, as if I’d ever truly want them.

I’d get angry at myself when I let them slip through my fingers because - damn it, why wasn’t I fighting?

But you’re my path, how could I ever fight for something I don’t want? Why would I ever fight to get sidetracked and lost?

***

I think it’s time to admit it, darling, my mind might seem cold and calculating because that’s what the fucking world appreciates, but I’m actually a warm, sweet spring breeze, dreaming of the justice in a cozy world and the epicness and aliveness of longing.

***

If all that separates me from you is reason - that God doesn’t exist, that my dreams of you aren't signs we'll soon meet on this plane, then I happily admit I'm a devout dreamer.

Why else would I smell hyacinth and spearmint in my dreams, when my bedroom smells like dust and curtains?

***

I've always wondered which Greek hero would I be and I finally know- I’d be Narcissus for I've fallen in love with the reflection of my heart.

I look at your eyes and I think - ah, there's my love for thunder and alchemy and everything that just means “there's something more out there”.

I look at your curls and I think - there's my love for fun and for bucking everyone's expectations.

I look at your lips and I think - so this is what it feels like, when my favourite poem told me to kiss someone as if he were Troy and I was born for war, this is the face of Troy.

My eyes rejoice to see your every feature because my heart translates every single one to something I love.

***

What's a soulmate but someone like us? Not as we fear we are but as we long to be.

For all we love is all we are, if we just accept the possibility that we are loveable.

***

I didn't think I could be lovely but then I fell in love with you, and your breath kept hitching whenever you looked at me, and suddenly I thought: damn, I must’ve been looking at myself wrong.

***

And if I felt the dark and dirty and hopeful magic in your green eyes, I figured there’d be the same sliver of sorcery in mine.

Dewy meadows in gentle forests, deer drinking from cold springs, cool hands taking mine between theirs and drawing with the tip of their fingers the letters of a language no one speaks anymore.

***

I'm no longer pulled heavenwards or drawn by some infernal forces, I'm finally on the ground, in the middle, where I was always meant to be.

***

I just want to lay my head at your lap, I want your fingers in my hair, and I need you to hum a melody that makes your otherworldliness show.

Why do we have to pretend like we’re a part of this world when we - all of us- are defining what’s the world gonna be?

So tell me, my love, haven’t we pretended enough we belong in the grey?

***

How awestrucking it is to consider, that in all those times the world kept breaking my heart, in all those times I felt I must be cruel, in all those times I slashed my yearning for softness, you existed.

Do you know how heartbreaking it is, to teach yourself to expect roughness, and to be met by someone who's soft to you, like a feather?

I kept asking the world for softness, and it gave me you. And that made me strong. And that made me humble.

***

All my defences against love, born out of trauma and cruel abandonment and bitter isolation, they all become so nonsensical in front of you.

***

I think of you and a chuckle bubbles in my chest because - of course it's you. Of course it was only ever gonna be you. But I couldn't even see you before. It's like I was looking at my heart through a keyhole and the door suddenly opened. Of course.

You weren't just the treasure on the other side, you were a whole undiscovered continent.

***

Darwin would have predicted you but since I didn't know myself, I couldn't have.

***

You're the story my soul heard before it was born.

I kept trying to remember it, since it was my favourite part of my own story, but only recently did I start remembering bits and pieces.

***

Everyone before you felt like a bad dream, a sad story someone told me when I was asleep.

You feel like a gentle nudge and soft voice and mellow breath and a promise for coffee in a moment.

***

I'm brave for you alone, for my heart doesn't waver. It's as sure as an arrow. How could I hesitate when I've already been shot?

***

-when a greysexual falls in love, awakens in lust and starts seeing colours

/

[fic-for-fic-sake]

Somewhere New

A/N: I’ve been in this self quarantine since Friday, Spain declared a state of emergency on Saturday, I am feeling depressed now. This is my solution. Also the garden is based off of the Keukenhof. 

Warnings: none 

Pairing: Loki x reader

They were calling it ‘social distancing’ but what it really felt like was absolute hell. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you had physical contact with another human being. Living on your own sounded great at first; nobody to leave dirty dishes in the sink or have loud annoying sex so you couldn’t sleep, and nobody to eat your food. When you moved into your new apartment in a new country in September, it was perfect. Only because you didn’t know what was to come. 

When you heard about the quarantine you were shocked to say the least. It seemed like everything was fine and then all of a sudden if you walked around outside without a specific destination in mind you were facing hefty fines. You called your parents and friends as much as you could but everyone you loved was an ocean away. You had never felt so isolated in your life. Soon, the apartment you cherished became your very own solitary confinement. You hated how your voice echoed through the hallway and how the only dishes in the kitchen sink were your own. 

You contemplated calling your boyfriend, Loki but it would be no use. He was away on a diplomatic mission in Asgard and you doubted he would have cell service where he was. You doubted he even knew the situation here on Earth. So instead, you threw on a new pair of sweats and took a nap, allowing yourself this one day to be depressed and give in to your emotions before you would do anything about it tomorrow. 

Your room was dark so you couldn’t say for certain what time it was but you felt a presence in the room with you and a calm hand resting on your shoulder, beseeching you to wake up. 

“Darling wake up, it’s me.” Loki whispered into the darkness of your bedroom. You turned around under the blankets to see the ethereal form of your beloved. He was still in his ceremonial regalia, black and green leathers and his gold armor glinting in the moonlight that slithered in through your curtains. You almost cried with how excited you were to see another person. You took him by surprise as you pulled him down onto your small bed with you, taking time to breath in his scent, winter pine. Perfect. 

“Not that I’m complaining but what has gotten into you pet?” Loki breathed into your hair, placing kisses there. 

“Haven’t you heard the news?” You question, voice muffled by his hair. 

“What news?” 

“Most of the world is in quarantine right now.” You responded, as he rolled off on top of you to lay beside you, propping himself up on his elbow. 

“What do you mean quarantine? What’s happened?” He pondered, his emerald eyes seeking out yours, looking every bit as worried as you had felt when you first heard the news. 

“There’s a new virus that’s been spreading for a few months now. A lot of people are getting sick and we don’t have a cure and we don’t have enough medical supplies to help everyone at once so the governments have advised their people to stay inside to give us a fighting chance.” You explained, as a tear rolled down your cheek, but Loki was quick to swipe it with the pad of his thumb. 

“And how are you feeling my darling?” He questioned softly, voice only above a whisper as you lay beside one another in the darkness of your room. At his innocent question you broke down crying and Loki quickly scooped you up into his arms, rocking you gently as he pressed soothing kisses into your hair. “Shhh my pet, let it out, tell me everything.” He cooed. 

“I just feel so helpless.” You choked out between sobs, “I I-haven’t been outside in f-four days.” 

“That’s unacceptable.” Loki replied, suddenly crawling out of your bed and rising to his full height. 

“Where are you going?” You asked weakly, rubbing tears from your eyes with the back of your hand. 

Loki leafed around through your closet before handing you a spring dress, “Put this on dove, I’m taking you somewhere.” 

You knew better than to ask further questions even though you were dying to know where he would take you. Surely nowhere on Earth because of the virus. Your heart bubbled with happiness as you threw the dress on over your body, fixed your hair, and threw on a pair of sandals before you signaled to Loki that you were ready. He extended his arm for you which you happily accepted as you circled your arms around his waist and his arm draped protectively over your shoulders. 

“You look exquisite my love.” He murmured as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. Before you knew it a brilliant beam of light sucked you up in a kaleidoscope of colors and you clung tighter to Loki, afraid of what would happen should you let go. You shut your eyes as the sensations became too much for your body to bear but then you felt your feet rest against solid ground once again and Loki gently whispered for you to open your eyes. 

You complied and were immediately at a loss for words. You found yourself in the middle of a beautiful flower garden. Beautiful tulips of varying color and size stretched as far as the eye could see. Bands of red, yellow, orange, and pink flowers extended for miles as far as you could tell. You walked among the flowers, feeling their soft petals under your fingertips and smelling their floral perfume as you bent down. A pot of stunning hyacinths caught your eye, the deep purple hue enchanted you. You walked further as Loki followed behind you with a bemused expression on his face. You almost sobbed at the smattering of tulips of various colors all clustered together in perfect disharmony and you turned to Loki with tears streaming down your face as you asked him a question. 

“Loki, how-how is this possible? I’ve only ever seen a garden like this once in my life before.” You whispered as he pulled you closer to his body in a hug. 

“Do you like it?” He asked, pressing a light kiss to your lips. 

“I love it, but how?” You repeated, curious to know how a garden you’ve only ever visited once was before your very eyes. 

“This is mother’s garden but it’s fitted with a type of magic. It changes depending on who’s standing in it, ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’.” He quoted and you were dumbstruck but one thing stuck in your mind. 

“Your mother’s garden, as in Frigga...meaning.” 

“I took you to Asgard my love. We can stay here as long as you like until your planet is okay again.” He said as he pulled your chin up with his forefinger and planted a tender kiss on your lips. 

You answered his proposition with a languid kiss of your own, slowly looping your arms around the back of his neck and playing with his ebony locks. 

“Thank you Loki.” You whispered against his lips, breaking apart for a moment. 

“Anything for you pet.” He replied, taking your hand in his and leading you towards the gilded palace of Asgard where you would be safe.

[wychive]

tagged by : @neo-shitty​ (toffee! ilysm hehe)

tagging: @noya-sannnn , @vitriosan , @hwanami , @luthenia and anyone else who wants to participate

slight warning : mentions of food

this is kind of long so it can help you relax if you want to do this!

[ one ] tell me the first song that made you stan your current fave group and why did your faves attract you so much?

wave // ateez

when jane showed me and fely (she already stanned ateez) the mv i was like :00 this song is really good and it goes with my type of music; pumped up and really fun. i decided that i wanted to stan them because of this introduction video that they did during pirate king where san broke the toy hammer trying to smack yunho’s ass SHHSSIJS,, i found them really funny and comforting! they made me so happy and that’s why they attracted me so much. + their amazing music ofc 

forever // exo

alright so i originally just casually listened to exo from wolf era up till 2017 when the kokobop teasers came out. they looked really pretty and so i watched them up till kkb was released. it’s what baekhyun’s voice in the forever teaser that captured me into stanning them. everything about the exo’s attracted me, their vocals, their dancing and ofc their visuals. bonus: their time on the ‘360 show(??)’! im not sure of the actual name for the programme but it was where yixing kept pronouncing jurassic park wrong pls that was so cute and funny how could you NOT stan them!

[ two ] answer the ten questions given by the previous person and write 10 of your own for the next person!

what’s your favorite season and why?

we only have two types of seasons here but if this includes western seasons, i would pick spring! flowers give me a sense of calmness whenever they start to bloom so being in a season where it’s just different coloured plants all around you? sign me up pls

are you a cat person or a dog person?

im a cat person! i currently have two cats as pets

what’s your current favorite song and why can’t you stop listening to it?

it would probably be fever by ateez! this is because it gives off freedom vibes and i’ve been stressed lately so the song is a little oasis for me

if you had the ability to do either of the following, would you rather change something in the past or see into the future?

i would choose to see into the future so that i could change what i do now, whether its related to me being lazy or me being selfish,, i would like to keep the past the way it is even if i had some scarring moments. it’s nice to look back on those and see how far you’ve come as a person.

what’s your favorite movie?

my favorite movie would either be spirited away or paper towns,, i actually don’t have a favorite movie because all of them have affected my life in different ways so yea :D

what did miss rona ruin for you this 2020?

probably the food fair this year,, my group of best friends were supposed to go there to celebrate jane and another friend’s birthday. the food fair happens yearly so it wasn’t anything big to anyone else, but to us it was something special. there are a lot more things but this was one of the major things she ruined :/

what’s your favorite album? (you can name one for each genre you like or you can just name one, it’s up to you.)

toffee why my top three would be day6’s sunrise, bts’ you never walk alone and lauv’s ~how i’m feeling~

if you could talk to your past self (person who lived your past life), what would you tell them?

“hey, dude, i hope you’re doing okay. stop being so selfish all the time alright? and stop comparing yourself to others, it wouldn’t do you any justice. make sure to spread A LOT of positivity even if no one acknowledges it. its okay to cry sometimes too. is my soulmate doing okay? i hope they are. i’ll make sure to find them in this timeline, and the next. whatever it takes. learn to love yourself.”

do you have a go-to person? who is it?

uh i dont have a go-to person,, i can’t vent or rant without feeling like burdening the other person or spreading negativity to them. instead i just kind of rant to myself on discord.

if you could tell your younger self something, what would you say?

“hey, kiddo. don’t fall in love too much nor fool around. it’ll affect you badly. appreciate the things your parents do for you, okay? don’t take anything for granted. ignore the people who call you names, they don’t matter here in the future. just be you.”

how do you spend your free time?

who or what is your biggest inspiration?

if you were a character in a horror movie, which stereotype do you closely resemble? and why?

your top 3 fanfiction tropes! (can be nsfw)

do you believe in soulmates and why?

painting or sketching and why?

what is on the top of your to-do list right now?

list down the top 3 things that make you happy.

who are you simping for right now?

what is your first core memory?

[ three ]  bold the statements that apply to you, italicize your aspirations.

AIR ༉⋆͙̈

i have small hands / i love the night sky / i watch animals and birds when i pass them by / i drink herbal tea / i wake to see the dawn / the smell of dust is comforting / i’m valued for being wise / i prefer books to music / i meditate / i find joy in learning new truths from the world around me

FIRE ༉⋆

i don’t have straight hair / i like to wear ripped jeans and overalls / i play an organized sport / i love dogs / i am not afraid of adventure / i love to talk to strangers / i always try new foods / i enjoy road trips / summer is my favorite season / my radio is always playing

WATER ༉⋆͙̈

i wear bracelets on my wrists / i love the bustle of the city / i have more than one set of piercings / i read poetry / i love the sound of a thunderstorm / i want to travel the world / i sleep past midday most days / i love simply lit dinners and fluorescent signs / i rewatch kids shows out of nostalgia / i see emotions in colors not words

EARTH ༉⋆͙̈

i wear glasses or contacts / i enjoy doing the laundry / i am a vegetarian or vegan / i have an excellent sense of time / my humor is very cheerful / i am a valued advisor to my friends / i believe in true love / i love this chill of mountain air / i’m always listening to music / i am highly trusted by the people in my life

AETHER ༉⋆͙̈

i go without makeup in my daily life / i make my own artwork / i keep on track of my tasks and time / i always know true north / i see beauty in everything / i can always smell flowers / i smile at everyone i pass by / i always fear history repeating itself / i have recovered from a mental disorder / i can love unconditionally

[ four ] the ultimate tag: answer whichever ones you want to because there are a lot.

personal 

name: [REDACTED], alachi nickname: teja, kai birthday: april 11 zodiac: aries nationality: malaysian languages: english, malay,  learning korean gender: female sexuality: biromantic height: 160 cm / 5"2’ or 5"3’

blog stuff

inspiration for muse: music, other people’s work meaning behind my url: fever (current fav song) + core (aesthetic??) blog established: around 2018 but i started becoming active in late 2019/early 2020 followers: 146  ( i love you all )

favorites

favorite animal/s: anything connected to the cat species  favorite book/s: the authentics (abdi nazemian), satellite (nick lake) favorite color/s: lighter shades/mid-tones of cool colours, a dash of yellow

random

average hours of sleep: 6 cats or dogs: cats coffee, tea or hot chocolate: tea current time: 11:34 pm dream trip: south korea, japan, europe dream job: song producer, lyric writer hobbies: listening to music, browsing the internet hogwarts house: ravenclaw last movie watched: harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban last song listened to:  no. of blankets you sleep with: 1 random fact(s): my favourite subjects are biology and english!

[ five ] 10 songs i can’t stop listening to:

eternally - txt

fever - ateez

blue - keshi

lights out - exo

00:00  - bts

strawberries and cigarettes - troye sivan

maze in the mirror - txt

i loved you - day6

 illusion - ateez

��stolen moments - the vamps

[theghostofabird]

Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude

BY ROSS GAY

Friends, will you bear with me today, for I have awakened from a dream in which a robin made with its shabby wings a kind of veil behind which it shimmied and stomped something from the south of Spain, its breast aflare, looking me dead in the eye from the branch that grew into my window, coochie-cooing my chin, the bird shuffling its little talons left, then right, while the leaves bristled against the plaster wall, two of them drifting onto my blanket while the bird opened and closed its wings like a matador giving up on murder, jutting its beak, turning a circle, and flashing, again, the ruddy bombast of its breast by which I knew upon waking it was telling me in no uncertain terms to bellow forth the tubas and sousaphones, the whole rusty brass band of gratitude not quite dormant in my belly— it said so in a human voice, “Bellow forth”— and who among us could ignore such odd and precise counsel? Hear ye! hear ye! I am here to holler that I have hauled tons—by which I don’t mean lots, I mean tons — of cowshit and stood ankle deep in swales of maggots swirling the spent beer grains the brewery man was good enough to dump off holding his nose, for they smell very bad, but make the compost writhe giddy and lick its lips, twirling dung with my pitchfork again and again with hundreds and hundreds of other people, we dreamt an orchard this way, furrowing our brows, and hauling our wheelbarrows, and sweating through our shirts, and two years later there was a party at which trees were sunk into the well-fed earth, one of which, a liberty apple, after being watered in was tamped by a baby barefoot with a bow hanging in her hair biting her lip in her joyous work and friends this is the realest place I know, it makes me squirm like a worm I am so grateful, you could ride your bike there or roller skate or catch the bus there is a fence and a gate twisted by hand, there is a fig tree taller than you in Indiana, it will make you gasp. It might make you want to stay alive even, thank you; and thank you for not taking my pal when the engine of his mind dragged him to swig fistfuls of Xanax and a bottle or two of booze, and thank you for taking my father a few years after his own father went down thank you mercy, mercy, thank you for not smoking meth with your mother oh thank you thank you for leaving and for coming back, and thank you for what inside my friends’ love bursts like a throng of roadside goldenrod gleaming into the world, likely hauling a shovel with her like one named Aralee ought, with hands big as a horse’s, and who, like one named Aralee ought, will laugh time to time til the juice runs from her nose; oh thank you for the way a small thing’s wail makes the milk or what once was milk in us gather into horses huckle-buckling across a field; and thank you, friends, when last spring the hyacinth bells rang and the crocuses flaunted their upturned skirts, and a quiet roved the beehive which when I entered were snugged two or three dead fist-sized clutches of bees between the frames, almost clinging to one another, this one’s tiny head pushed into another’s tiny wing, one’s forelegs resting on another’s face, the translucent paper of their wings fluttering beneath my breath and when a few dropped to the frames beneath: honey; and after falling down to cry, everything’s glacial shine. And thank you, too. And thanks for the corduroy couch I have put you on. Put your feet up. Here’s a light blanket, a pillow, dear one, for I can feel this is going to be long. I can’t stop my gratitude, which includes, dear reader, you, for staying here with me, for moving your lips just so as I speak. Here is a cup of tea. I have spooned honey into it. And thank you the tiny bee’s shadow perusing these words as I write them. And the way my love talks quietly when in the hive, so quietly, in fact, you cannot hear her but only notice barely her lips moving in conversation. Thank you what does not scare her in me, but makes her reach my way. Thank you the love she is which hurts sometimes. And the time she misremembered elephants in one of my poems which, oh, here they come, garlanded with morning glory and wisteria blooms, trombones all the way down to the river. Thank you the quiet in which the river bends around the elephant’s solemn trunk, polishing stones, floating on its gentle back the flock of geese flying overhead. And to the quick and gentle flocking of men to the old lady falling down on the corner of Fairmount and 18th, holding patiently with the softest parts of their hands her cane and purple hat, gathering for her the contents of her purse and touching her shoulder and elbow; thank you the cockeyed court on which in a half-court 3 vs. 3 we oldheads made of some runny-nosed kids a shambles, and the 61-year-old after flipping a reverse lay-up off a back door cut from my no-look pass to seal the game ripped off his shirt and threw punches at the gods and hollered at the kids to admire the pacemaker’s scar grinning across his chest; thank you the glad accordion’s wheeze in the chest; thank you the bagpipes. Thank you to the woman barefoot in a gaudy dress for stopping her car in the middle of the road and the tractor trailer behind her, and the van behind it, whisking a turtle off the road. Thank you god of gaudy. Thank you paisley panties. Thank you the organ up my dress. Thank you the sheer dress you wore kneeling in my dream at the creek’s edge and the light swimming through it. The koi kissing halos into the glassy air. The room in my mind with the blinds drawn where we nearly injure each other crawling into the shawl of the other’s body. Thank you for saying it plain: fuck each other dumb. And you, again, you, for the true kindness it has been for you to remain awake with me like this, nodding time to time and making that noise which I take to mean yes, or, I understand, or, please go on but not too long, or, why are you spitting so much, or, easy Tiger hands to yourself. I am excitable. I am sorry. I am grateful. I just want us to be friends now, forever. Take this bowl of blackberries from the garden. The sun has made them warm. I picked them just for you. I promise I will try to stay on my side of the couch. And thank you the baggie of dreadlocks I found in a drawer while washing and folding the clothes of our murdered friend; the photo in which his arm slung around the sign to “the trail of silences”; thank you the way before he died he held his hands open to us; for coming back in a waft of incense or in the shape of a boy in another city looking from between his mother’s legs, or disappearing into the stacks after brushing by; for moseying back in dreams where, seeing us lost and scared he put his hand on our shoulders and pointed us to the temple across town; and thank you to the man all night long hosing a mist on his early-bloomed peach tree so that the hard frost not waste the crop, the ice in his beard and the ghosts lifting from him when the warming sun told him sleep now; thank you the ancestor who loved you before she knew you by smuggling seeds into her braid for the long journey, who loved you before he knew you by putting a walnut tree in the ground, who loved you before she knew you by not slaughtering the land; thank you who did not bulldoze the ancient grove of dates and olives, who sailed his keys into the ocean and walked softly home; who did not fire, who did not plunge the head into the toilet, who said stop, don’t do that; who lifted some broken someone up; who volunteered the way a plant birthed of the reseeding plant is called a volunteer, like the plum tree that marched beside the raised bed in my garden, like the arugula that marched itself between the blueberries, nary a bayonet, nary an army, nary a nation, which usage of the word volunteer familiar to gardeners the wide world made my pal shout “Oh!” and dance and plunge his knuckles into the lush soil before gobbling two strawberries and digging a song from his guitar made of wood from a tree someone planted, thank you; thank you zinnia, and gooseberry, rudbeckia and pawpaw, Ashmead’s kernel, cockscomb and scarlet runner, feverfew and lemonbalm; thank you knitbone and sweetgrass and sunchoke and false indigo whose petals stammered apart by bumblebees good lord please give me a minute... and moonglow and catkin and crookneck and painted tongue and seedpod and johnny jump-up; thank you what in us rackets glad what gladrackets us; and thank you, too, this knuckleheaded heart, this pelican heart, this gap-toothed heart flinging open its gaudy maw to the sky, oh clumsy, oh bumblefucked, oh giddy, oh dumbstruck, oh rickshaw, oh goat twisting its head at me from my peach tree’s highest branch, balanced impossibly gobbling the last fruit, its tongue working like an engine, a lone sweet drop tumbling by some miracle into my mouth like the smell of someone I’ve loved; heart like an elephant screaming at the bones of its dead; heart like the lady on the bus dressed head to toe in gold, the sun shivering her shiny boots, singing Erykah Badu to herself leaning her head against the window; and thank you the way my father one time came back in a dream by plucking the two cables beneath my chin like a bass fiddle’s strings and played me until I woke singing, no kidding, singing, smiling, thank you, thank you, stumbling into the garden where the Juneberry’s flowers had burst open like the bells of French horns, the lily my mother and I planted oozed into the air, the bazillion ants labored in their earthen workshops below, the collard greens waved in the wind like the sails of ships, and the wasps swam in the mint bloom’s viscous swill; and you, again you, for hanging tight, dear friend. I know I can be long-winded sometimes. I want so badly to rub the sponge of gratitude over every last thing, including you, which, yes, awkward, the suds in your ear and armpit, the little sparkling gems slipping into your eye. Soon it will be over, which is precisely what the child in my dream said, holding my hand, pointing at the roiling sea and the sky hurtling our way like so many buffalo, who said it’s much worse than we think, and sooner; to whom I said no duh child in my dreams, what do you think this singing and shuddering is, what this screaming and reaching and dancing and crying is, other than loving what every second goes away? Goodbye, I mean to say. And thank you. Every day.

---Ross Gay, "Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude" from Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude. Copyright © 2015 by Ross Gay.  Reprinted by permission of University of Pittsburgh Press.

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Cristalle

anonymous said: Roger Taylor x reader where she gets jealous? Fluff and angst please!

Your day actually started out very well. You’d surprised your boyfriend Roger by traveling to meet them on the last day of their European tour, which was quite a ways away. You didn’t mind, though, because you’d missed him, and the look on his face when you’d walked through the door was enough compensation for the mind-numbing travel.

You were actually backstage with Freddie, helping him decide what to wear, when it all went haywire. The opening band had finished and they were doing a quick soundcheck, but Freddie had changed his mind last minute and wanted your opinion.

As he finally made his decision and thanked you with a very dramatic kiss on the cheek, a stagehand knocked on the door and gave the two minute warning.

You and Freddie both headed out of the dressing room, Freddie going to get his mic as you spotted Roger sitting side stage, bouncing his legs and looking intensely focused as he played some rhythm on his legs with his drumsticks. However, he smiled and stood up, walking to meet you as you made a beeline for him, wanting to steal one last moment with him before they started.

“Got any quick luck for me?” he asked, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush to him while looking down at you. You grinned, shaking your head, and rested your hands on his chest.

“I used up all my luck getting you,” you joked, and he rolled his eyes at the cheesiness. Someone called out a one minute warning and he pouted a bit, then leaned down to kiss you quickly, but firmly. You were reluctant to pull away at first, dearly enjoying the kiss, but you knew he had to get on stage before everyone else, so you pulled away with a quick peck to his lower lip. He cupped your face with his hands, looking down at you lovingly, which prompted you to kiss both of his wrists.

And that’s when it all went wrong. As you kissed his left wrist, you smelled something unfamiliar. A woman’s perfume, and definitely not yours. It smelled far better than yours, and far more expensive. Your heart dropped, and you felt jealousy start seeping throughout your body.

The anger and sadness you felt must not have been apparent on your face, because Roger still smiled sweetly down at you before kissing your forehead. He jogged off to mount his drum riser, and you were left standing there, feeling like you’d been shot directly through the heart. The show started then, and you walked over to watch, almost in a trance. The words and sounds didn’t register in your head. All you could think of was some other woman wishing Roger luck, kissing him on the same lips, sharing the same man.

You crossed your arms, refusing to cry as your eyes panned out to the crowd. Slowly you scanned the front few rows, not sure what you were even looking for, but your mind found the scapegoat, and everything flashed red for a moment as you focused on her. She was in a tied-up blouse and a mini-skirt, bouncing excitedly and showing a lot of skin. She was beautiful, built well, confident, and everything else you thought you weren’t.

The smell of the perfume haunted you as you stared at her, the dewy, mossy smell with notes of citrus overloading your senses. It looked like she would wear something exactly like that, smelling like a cotton shirt drying in the sun, natural and light and beautiful.

You suddenly hated your perfume, and you picked up the collar of your shirt to smell it. It was a YSL Opium knock off, spicy and dark, with a woody smell to it. Roger had told you it made you smell like the Queen of the Underworld, and that sparked a 30 minute tiff over whether that was a compliment or not. Now, you knew you were right for sure – it wasn’t. Who would want the queen of the depraved and damned when they could have the Goddess of Spring?

No, it’s not your fault, you thought as you slowly followed the strange woman’s line of vision. She was looking directly at Roger, which just furthered your jealousy even more. Your knuckles turned white as you stared at him, the man you loved, the man who betrayed your trust.

Throughout the rest of the concert, all you did was look between Roger and that strange, beautiful woman up against the barricade. You were a rollercoaster of emotion, but you decided to bundle it up for later instead of causing a scene here. It was, after all, the last show for a while, and you at least wanted the rest of the band to remember it positively. On the other hand, you couldn’t speak for you or Roger.

All of the boys left stage and you gave them big hugs, one by one. You thanked God that Freddie actually decided to steal you away for a moment, his arm around your shoulder as he whisked you back towards the dressing room, babbling about how helpful you were and how much he enjoyed his outfit. When you got back there, he had a roadie pop a bottle of champagne, and you toasted to him quickly before downing your glass and excusing yourself to the bathroom. As Brian and Deacon slowly made their way to the dressing room, you saw Roger looking around side stage. Holding back for a moment, you decided to wait and see what he was looking for. That didn’t work, however, because when he saw you, his stupid, sweaty face lighted up, and you hated yourself for almost smiling at how quickly he made his way over to you. He’s a cheater and a liar, you reminded yourself.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, out-of-breath, holding his arms open wide as he got nearer. You crossed yours, however, which made his expression sour in an instant. “What’s wrong?” he asked innocently, acting like he was an angel, which made you even angrier. His hand reached up to scratch the other side of his neck quickly, his arm brushing against his shirt.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t know you were talking to me,” you nearly spit out, turning on your heels quickly and starting to stalk back towards the exit door, wanting to be anywhere but there currently. “I assumed you were talking to your other slut.” You could hear Roger groan slightly, but he jogged after you as you burst through the exit door, starting to walk towards the street in the direction of the nearest bus stop.

“What are you on about?” he half-asked, half-demanded, and you were stopped in your tracks as he grabbed your arm firmly, but not angrily. “What’s got this in your mind now?”

You threw his hand off of you, angrily turning to face him and pushing him away from you. “I’m not fucking stupid, Roger! I know the smell of my own perfume, and I know when I smell not-my-perfume on my fucking boyfriend!” You were angry at yourself for not being able to express yourself more effectively, but your rage made you primarily focus it on Roger.

“Oh, Christ,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes as he stepped towards you again and tried to usher you back inside by the small of your back. “Can we not do this out here? Let’s go back inside and I’ll explain-“

“Who do you think I am, Rog?” you interrupted, pulling away from his touch. “I’m not some fucking bimbo who will believe anything you say and let you talk your way out of a pretty obvious situation. That’s not my fucking perfume on you, is it?” You crossed your arms, pointedly looking at his wrist for a moment, then looking back up at him.

“It is!” he replied stubbornly, the drama queen in him already flaring up. His temper was stoked considerably by your accusations, and you could see how incredulously angry he was getting, which made you momentarily doubt yourself. “I fucking swear, Y/N, it’s not what you think! You’re digging your own grave here.”

You laughed bitterly, no longer doubting yourself as those words made tears sting at your eyes. “Look at you, talking about digging your own grave,” you muttered, the tears springing loose as you blinked. “How could you do this to me, Roger? I thought you loved me, and now you go and..” your trailed off, unable to say it. Tears rolled down your cheeks at this point, but you wouldn’t let them distract you. Not now, not at this moment.

Roger’s temper subsided a bit as he saw the tears, though, and he frowned before making a sad noise in the back of his throat and pulling you into a hug despite your protests. You wanted to push him away, beat on his chest for betraying you like this, but his show of empathy just made you stand there, silently crying into shoulder and hugging your own waist.

He somehow managed to usher you back inside to a quiet, empty room off of the hallway, and he disappeared for a moment, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

So many thoughts were running through your brain at the moment. You were madly in love with Roger, but this had stung a lot. However, he seemed genuinely baffled at what you were accusing him of, and his claim that it actually was your perfume had thrown you off a bit. Obviously, you knew it wasn’t your perfume. He knew it wasn’t your perfume. But then why would he even say it was? Why would he even attempt to make that argument, when you were both clearly aware it wasn’t true, as you’d had specific conversations about it before?

Roger stepping back in, holding a small shopping bag, which he proceeded to sit on the table. Opening it, he pulled out a box that read Cristalle,- Chanel and produced a fancy bottle of perfume. Grabbing the receipt, he sprayed the perfume on it and waved it around to dry it, then held it out to you with a somewhat defiant and proud look on his face.

You hesitantly took it, deciding to entertain whatever this was, and smelled it. The now-familiar scent of hyacinth and moss, along with a bit of lemon and rose, flooded your nostrils, and you tried to rationalize what had taken place just now.

But you didn’t have to even think of an explanation. Roger gave it to you. “I bought it for you, back when the band was in France. The lady at the boutique suggested it after I showed her the picture of you in my wallet. Said you looked very natural, but still high-class. I don’t know what any of it meant, I just wanted to get you something that you would like,” he admitted sheepishly, setting the bottle back on the table.

You felt incredibly guilty, and barely knew where to start in apologizing. “God, I’m so sorry, Roger, I…” you looked at the receipt, your eyes widening as you looked back at him. “Jesus Christ! You didn’t have to spend that much on me!”

That got him laughing, and it seemed like all was forgiven as he grabbed the receipt out of your hand, tossing it to the side and pulling you into a tight hug. He nuzzled your hair as you buried your face in his shoulder, apologizing over and over to him for being such a righteous bitch.

He cut you off after a few apologies with a kiss, a bit gentler than the one before the show. More loving, more tender, more emotional. He was the one to pull away from it, and he rested his forehead on yours as he began to speak to you quietly. “I swear, Y/N, I would never hurt you like that, ever. You’re my fucking world, sweetheart, and I don’t deserve someone as good as you, but you’re mental if you think I’d ever go and even think about giving something like this up.” He pressed his lips to your forehead, lingering for a moment before resting his chin on top of your head. Your heart was full, and you were slightly ashamed for ever assuming Roger would do you dirty.

“I hope you don’t hate me for this,” you murmured ashamedly, hugging his torso tighter and closing your eyes as you hid your face in his chest, scared of his answer.

He chuckled, swaying back and forth with you slightly. “No, I could never hate you, love.” He pulled back a bit from the hug to look down at you with his beautiful baby blues, then pouted his lips slightly. “Also, I think if I ever even got close to cheating on you, Fred’s so fond of you that he would kill me before you even got the chance to find out.”

You laughed and gently smacked his chest, teasingly admonishing him for even joking about it. He just laughed at your censures and pulled away, putting the perfume back in the bag and handing it to you. Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, he looked down at you and asked “Now, do you suppose I could finally get some champagne for being not-a-cheater?”

You scowled playfully for a moment, then giggled and shook your head. “I suppose you do deserve that much.”

[golden-redhead]

with flowers in your hair (tell me it's real)

I know that I posted a big part of this on Tumblr before and that it’s on AO3 but I just wanted to have the complete story here on Tumblr.

Read on AO3.

It was still dark outside when Shuichi’s eyes suddenly snapped open, abruptly pulling him out of the realm of dreams without any warning. He stared at the dark ceiling above his head, the memory of his dream slowly fading away.

He was just about to turn and try to fall asleep again when he caught the sight of Kaito who was grinning wildly over Kokichi’s sleeping form on the other side of the bed.

“Mm, Kaito?” Shuichi rubbed his eyes, words slightly slurred and voice still laced with a heavy layer of sleep. “Why are you awake so early?”

Kaito’s eyes looked soft in the dark room, the gentle glow of the moonlight being the only source of light. The long dark shadows danced on the walls and the eerily quiet atmosphere tempted to lull Shuichi back to sleep.

“He’s blooming in his sleep,” whispered Kaito excitedly, a wide grin stretching on his face.

Shuichi blinked, unsure if he’s heard that right. He was just about to open his mouth and ask him to repeat it when Kaito leaned in to plant a gentle kiss on Kokichi’s shoulder, one of his hands reaching out to brush aside a few stray petals that fell on their smaller boyfriend’s forehead.

Shuichi blinked again, slowly, the sight before him slowly registering in his still hazy-with-sleep brain.

Kokichi was laying on his side, lips parted slightly and quiet, barely audible snores escaping his mouth every now and then. Nothing unusual, considering that it was the middle of the night and the previous day proved to be quite exhausting. What was unusual, however, was the flower crown made of blue hyacinths and gardenias that was wrapped loosely around his head, petals intertwined together and resting gently against a mess of dark hair.   

“Oh.”

The last traces of sleepiness were gone as Shuichi watched with fascination as slowly more flowers started to cover his smaller boyfriend’s body, sprouting out of the sleeves of his pajamas and getting tangled in the dark strands of his hair. The sweet aroma filled the air, making the detective feel a little light-headed. The sight of it all was enthralling and Shuichi found himself breathless, unable to look away, mesmerized by the way the flowers were slowly wrapping around Kokichi’s lithe body, pulling him into a gentle embrace.

And it wasn’t only Kokichi who was blooming. The boy must have unconsciously felt his boyfriends’ presence in his sleep, because when Shuichi raised his eyes again he noticed a rose tucked behind Kaito’s ear, its vibrant red petals brushing against the astronaut’s cheek and clashing horribly with the color of his hair. Shuichi also became vaguely aware of something tickling his neck and when he looked down there was a small sunflower perched on his shoulder, its long stalk curling along the length of his arm.

He let out a quiet sound, something between a sigh and a laugh, affection swelling in his chest. It all felt like a dream and for a moment he humored the idea of pinching himself, just to make sure that it’s all real, just to make sure that it’s not just a figment of his imagination, courtesy of sleep deprivation and his never-ending fascination with Kokichi’s unusual abilities.

“The little shit is gonna drown us in flowers,” complained Kaito jokingly, his eyes bright in the darkness, affection clear in his gaze.

Shuichi hummed in response, his eyes following a long vine of morning glory wrapping along the length of Kokichi’s arm, curling along the curves of his body and reaching out in the direction of his boyfriends, brushing against their skin gently, almost shyly.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, resisting the desire to touch his smaller boyfriend, dot his face with dozens of small kisses before he presses his lips against Kokichi’s and takes his breath away. While it was a tempting idea, something about it felt wrong. There’ll be time for that later, when Kokichi wakes up, when the flowers’ grip around him loosens. Something about this moment felt special, like something that shouldn’t be interrupted.

The feeling of a vine prodding at his hand interrupted his thoughts as if the plant was prompting him to lift his wrist slightly. Hesitant but trusting, he raised his hand, pale gold eyes widening with curiosity as he watched the vine wrap around his index finger, clinging to his pale skin. He watched in silent awe as a single flower bloomed right before his eyes, a small bud spreading its petals slowly and gracefully.

Shuichi’s breath caught in his throat.

“Did he just propose to you in plant?” laughed Kaito from the other side of the bed and when Shuichi pried his eyes away from Kokichi’s sleeping form to look at his other boyfriend, he noticed more roses tangled into his hair, framing his face like a flowery halo.  

What Kaito failed to notice, however, was a twin vine that started to coil around his own index finger like a ring, the petals springing out of the bud and the flower’s sweet fragrance filling the room that’s already smelled like a greenhouse.

“I think he proposed to both of us,” whispered back Shuichi, not quite trusting his own voice and afraid that he’ll wake Kokichi up if he speaks too loudly. His chest was aching but it was a good kind of ache, a nice one. It felt like his chest would burst out with affection, like it simply couldn’t contain the intensity of his feelings.

He almost laughed out loud at the confused expression that flickered through Kaito’s face at his comment. It quickly turned into surprised recognition when he finally noticed the vine coiled around his finger. Shuichi watched with quiet amusement as a blush spread over Kaito’s cheeks and nose, visible even in the darkness of the room.

They stayed like that for a long time, watching as their boyfriend bloomed right before their eyes until the early hours of the morning. It was almost time for Shuichi to start waking up and getting ready for work when Kokichi finally started to stir, his nose scrunching in a way that made the detective’s heart twist in his chest.

It took him a while to wake up fully, cloudy with sleep, eyes blinking rapidly as he slowly slipped out of the land of dreams only to find himself face-to-face with twin wide smiles of his boyfriends staring at him with intent. He frowned slightly but before he could voice his confusion the reason of their smiles became apparent. A few months ago he would have been startled by such an awakening but by now it was almost part of the routine.

With a long-suffering groan he propped himself on his elbows, taking a moment to take a proper look at his boyfriends, himself and the room, the disgustingly sweet aroma of the flowers hitting his nose all at once. The sunflower snuggled against Shuichi’s neck contrasted horribly with the pale blue shade of his pajamas and the big goofy grin spread on Kaito’s lips along with the roses nestled in his messy hair made him look even more ridiculous than normally. The bed was a disaster, too, petals of all kinds of flowers littered all over their bedsheets, which matched the bedsheets that just happened to have a floral pattern on them.

“Ugh, not this again,” he complained loudly, slumping back on the pillows, multicolored petals rising up when the mattress dipped under his weight.

Kaito laughed openly at his disgruntled expression, which only made Kokichi’s expression darken some more, a protuberant pout tugging down at his lips.

“Shuiiichi, Momo-chan is making fun of poor little me,” he turned to the detective with glassy eyes and crocodile tears gathering at their corners, clinging to Shuichi’s arm tightly as he hoped to get his sympathy.

Kaito only chuckled in response and scratched the back of his neck.

“I just think they are pretty,” he informed Kokichi sincerely.

He reached out to help untangle a particularly stunning gardenia that was tucked behind Kokichi’s ear, long fingers brushing against dark strands of hair. He had that dumb, lovesick expression on his face that always made Kokichi’s heart do weird things in his chest.

How hideous.

“Only a dumbass like Momo-chan could think so!” Whined Kokichi plaintively, pushing the blankets away and attempting to stand up, pulling Shuichi up after him.

Once he stood up - shivering slightly at the loss of warmth and comfort of the bed - he shook off himself energetically like a dog, petals and flowers falling down and adorning the floor. Despite his best attempts many flowers remained in their place, tangled up with his messy hair. When he finally straightened himself, he looked Kaito in the eyes with a bright-eyed challenging stare of his own.

“One day they’ll suffocate me in my sleep, we’ll see how you’ll like them when that happens!” He huffed childishly and then reached for Shuichi’s hand, fingers wrapping around the detective’s wrist in a vice-strong grip and stomping out of the bedroom, very confused Shuichi in tow.

“Come on, Shumai, you have to help me get rid of the rest of these flowers, I can’t show up like that in DICE’s headquarters.”

Kaito stared dumbfounded after them, catching one last apologetic smile that Shuichi sent him over his shoulders as he was dragged out of the room, when suddenly a thought occurred to him.

“Wait!” Protested Kaito. “What about the flowers here?”

“Dunno, clean them yourself if you like them so much!” came Kokichi’s sing-songing response from the other side of their little apartment, a teasing giggle clear in his voice.

Kaito grumbled under his breath but obediently climbed out of bed and stretched. Then he reached for the broom hidden behind the door for occasions exactly like this one and got to work, determined to finish as fast as possible and join his boyfriends for breakfast, the familiar smell of Shuichi brewing coffee spread all over the apartment.

[thatbangtanbloom]

the language of flowers || pjm

Park JIMIN | the language of flowers 

fluff | jimin x you 

  - in which jimin learns that the most beautiful language of all is one without words. 

Park Jimin was a man who spoke many languages; he learned Korean in his childhood home, English at school, and Mandarin during his summer of travel abroad. He was undoubtedly proficient in each of those, but it was unspoken that the language he spoke best was flowers.

For all of his years of working in his parents’ flower shop, Jimin bloomed like his flowers. He, like his flowers, had his seasons.

In summer, he loathed the flowers because of how fleeting they were. They were merely the remnants of the spring that he longed to forget. Jimin, though, did not loathe the flowers the most in summer because of flowers themselves, but he loathed them because he lost his parents in the summer.

His summer was his childhood.

Growing up, Jimin wished that he had not known the language of flowers as well as he did. He loathed the small beauties in their entirety. Jimin remembered the enticing smell that always attacked his sense when he entered his father’s flower shop every day during his elementary school years. He remembers how his parents missed his first soccer game because of a wedding arrangement. He still remembers the first arrangement his father had given his mother when he had forgotten their anniversary and how easily she forgave him after forgetting such a momentous day. Jimin can still remember the flowers (they had been yellow carnations, indicative of cheating, as his father stated) his father’s boss gave his wife when he committed infidelity for the first time. She accepted them ardently.   He could not understand why so many people loved something as trivial as flowers. Moreover, how could anyone love them when they had not known them as well as he? This, of course, had been before he learned the functions of flowers; how they became the sighs after a long day, the last remembrance before someone preceded.

Despite it all, he was not fluent in the language of flowers.

For all of this twenty-three years of living, he always prepared bouquets for others. He learned to speak in flowers - he learned to know that the petals equated words and that a simple arrangement of twelve flowers could make all the difference acceptance and rejection.

In winter, he disliked the flowers. He dreaded the flowers that maintained subsistence throughout the summer, withered and lost their glow. They were scars of summer.  Only fragments of them remained as they were tainted with the flakes of snow. He did not want to know the meaning of such fragrant dismay.

He had learned the different purposes of flowers. He learned to recognize the somber looks and knew that purple hyacinths meant ‘please forgive me’ because that was often what husbands who cheated on their wives asked for (his uncle was a prime example of this).  He learned that pink carnations meant ‘I will never forget you’ because budding students flocked into his small flower shop (it had been previously owned by his parents)  to buy when it was Teacher Appreciation Week. Once, he even stumbled over the meaning of an orange tansy because of two warring CEOs - tansies meant ‘I declare war on you’. All these arrangements, he perfectly curated out of his compact shop, were words that he learned to speak through the petals and thorns of a flower.

When Jimin had his first love, he learned the archetypal symbolism of flowers. They were a mere assessment of love and the quantity of the flowers dicated that range of love. His childish abhorrence of the flowers bloomed into the cages of his ribs, and all at once, he knew the true language of flowers.

The leaves of autumn blanketed the sidewalks of his childhood neighborhood the day that he learned the impact of flowers. He tripped over his own legs several times, considering and reconsidering if he should even confess in the first place. Was it practical?

Jimin clutches the words in his hands as he nears her door. A part of him longs for to be absent, so that it would be easier to swallow his distaste for flowers, much like he had done for his parents and their profound love of flowers.

His wish does not succeed.

You are home.

His confession escapes his lips before he is able to stifle it, "I bloomed these over a year,” He can not bare to look away from the white gardenias. White gardenias were the physical embodiment of secret love. He sheepishly continues, “for you," is what he tells you, his first love,  on the day before his high school graduation. His cheeks are flushed like the pinks in the Rococo paintings. “Do you…. Do you know the language of flowers?” His hands quake; his nerves beginning to manifest when she does not respond as fast as he would like her too.

“I actually don’t,” your cheeks are just as flushed as his. Although, your reasons are different. You are not enthralled by the meaning of flowers but because you receive them. Jimin is unsure if he should have brought them. “... but I would like to learn what they mean?”

Jimin can deny the way his heart thuds against his rib cage. “O-oh…” He stammers.

You smile back at him and he feels his heart swell.

No one had offered to learn the language he both abhorred and adored.

In spring, he learned to love the flowers again.

At first, it felt rushed to fall in love with a feeling so dynamic, so fleeting, so terribly short, but Jimin found himself falling deeper and deeper when the spring time came and the flowers bloomed.

It was the third of March when Jimin musters the courage to give you red tulips; the meaning that his love is undying and he swears that he will marry you if you ever give him the chance. His cheeks are flushed a shade darker than the flowers as he waits at the nearby cafe you loved to meet at and he finds himself growing more and more anxious with every passing moment.

“Jimin!” You call out to him with a smile and you hastily take a seat in front of him. It is a common practice at this point, for you to watch the flowers eagerly to know what each flower will mean next.

Jimin looks up from his flowers before he bites down on his lip. He can barely think when you sit so close to him and he wonders can you hear how loud his heart beats for you as he waits. Would it be better to just do it now? To wait? Is he thinking too much? Jimin doesn’t know. “Y-yes?”

You laugh faintly, “You were dazing off… I almost thought I lost you.” You tease playfully as you scoot closer. “So why did you want to meet up so suddenly?”

And this is what Jimin is most nervous about, to have to ask you the question that he has always longed to answer; to give you the final flower of his love so that he can be yours forever just as he always wanted.

“I-i-” He stutters before he moves to get down on one knee with quivering lips. “I-I have something to ask of you.”

You nod quietly, not wanting to interrupt him.

“When we first met, I was young and foolish.” He laughs almost cynically as he begins. “We bonded over the smallest things, of what may have seemed insignificant to others, but every action we shared made me fall for you more and more. I began to love you in the spring; to see you blossom and grow and god, I knew that it would be tragic if I did not ask you right then and I wished so desperately-” He swallows hard and closes his eyes; almost as though he is tired. But the truth is, he can barely think with the love that swells in his chest. “You were the first to begin to fall for me in a way that only you knew how and I was blind at first…. Until I realized you falling to me was the same way of how I began to fall for you.” He muses with a tired smile. He clutches the flowers as though they are a part of him and the truth is, they are. “I wish to have you for the rest of my life, to have you live as my wife, to have children with, for me to be your husband and all the like…. Why is this so hard to say?” he chuckles nervously, feeling his nerves get the better of him.

You smile faintly and shake your head. “It’s perfectly fine, Jimin.”

“I-I just love you so much,” He stutters with a nervous laugh. “I just want to be yours… to be your laughter, your sighs, the one you turn to when life becomes hard, or when studies become too hard for you or work is piling up and you’re stressed. I want to be the one you hold on to and depend on when it feels like the world is against you.. I know I don’t have much but my love and these flowers,” He blushes harder at his own words - did he really just say that? He thinks to himself - but he is happy he can utter them to you. “If you will do me the honors, will you marry m-”

You cut him off before the onyx-haired boy can speak, “Yes!”

And it was then, that Jimin had learned of the most beautiful flower of all.

Jimin and his flowers dined on the days of wine and prosperity in the spring. He learned to love the very existence that he once detested the most. The flowers, with their thorns, fell away. The petals would not droop. Because while he, now, had mastered the language of flowers, he managed to find the most beautiful flower of all; you.

don’t be a silent reader! 

[aarligt]

Alphonse Frankenstein, Caroline Frankenstein, and Safie for the ask thing :)

How do you show affection for others?I would say my main love language is through written words & small acts of kindness.. like leaving notes for people or writing a letter/text, baking their favorite cake or trying to help out where i know they feel stressed, if that makes sense? But i am quite adaptable in those loving ways, i would say; im not naturally a very touchy person (or at least i have some internal trouble with it), but i have a few friends who are & who express love that way, and i become affectionate that way around the as well - trying to speak their language, you know ! (& with these people it has become very natural for me as well, actually)

Favorite types of flowers?I already answered this, but i can definitely find a few more flowers i love; Hyacinths ! nothing smells like spring & hope like this one. A friend of mine had one placed on her dinning table as we ate together yesterday, and it made me so bubbly 

Would you leave your friends/family completely behind for a wish of yours to be granted?I really dont think i would! Most of my wishes, anyways, seem to revolve around those loves in my life. I deeply depend on their love and existing.. i have much of my foundation and sanity in my dear but messy family & have found real soulmates in my friends, i couldn't leave that behind 

[storytimewithtibby]

Fingers skimming along silk that shimmered like starlight, the Great Lord of the Underworld sat upon his throne, his face a mask of indifference. But the grisly gleam of the dead that saturated the very walls with sickly luminescence exposed the hungry gleam that filled his eyes, uncovered the depth of longing that showed only in the way he stroked the fabric with short movements of his thumb.

He missed her,

his chest a chasm that echoed each sluggish thump of his heart, his clenched jaw a constant ache that throbbed throughout his head, caused his stomach to twist unpleasantly. Though he was still proficient in his duties, the closer the autumn season crept, the less patience he had for mortal's constant supplications, their averted gazes as they burnt their offerings in his name. Acknowledging those that came to his hall with a look that seemed as empty as a blind man's, a vague sort of curiosity flickering over his features before once again becoming still as stone.

What if she didn't come back?

Sightlessly, he lifted his head, chin tilting to face the stalactite decorated ceiling, peering through layers of earth and stone. The leaves would be drained of colour, not all, but the vibrant verdant foliage would be fading to the warm yellowed hue of candlelight before the others shed their own darker hues for shades of russet, making the canopy of tree limbs into a blaze of fire that seemed ready to consume the branches they shivered on.

Soon, very soon.

Hades had no sympathy for the mortals who were bemoaning the chilled air, the frost that occasionally crept along their windows, the poor who shook and chattered in their threadbare clothing. For six months he would have Spring, twenty-four weeks of warmth. Even as long as it sounded rebounding against the confines of his mind, it was never long enough, never enough time to steel himself for the bitter chill that flowed through his ichor filled veins when she left, took that subtle warmth with her above ground when their time was done.

Mere moments now.

Heavy tread carried him up the jagged stones that made the stairs leading to the gates that opened to the world above, singular smooth spots from many pilgrimages before. Hades could have passed through shadow, simply stepped off the dais where his throne was placed to where they were to meet. But he needed the time, needed a moment to try and curb the excitement and dread that warred in him. Grasping almost desperately at the surety that his Queen would be back in her rightful place, wracked with doubt that of course, she wouldn't. After untold centuries she couldn't just abandon him, had to have come to the realization what her coming home meant, that she tempered his apathy with her empathy.

She wasn't there.

Hands clenched into fists at his sides, he stared at the entrance through slitted eyes, protecting them from the unforgiving crimson rays of the setting sun. Over a millennium and she'd finally found some loophole, some miniscule crack to wiggle through and avoid one hundred and sixty-eight days hidden from the sun. Hoarded away from the warm air, greedily held prisoner with black silk and cool fingers, possessed by an unrelenting need to break her, own her, keep her. Stiller than the stone and shadow around him, Hades waited, chest barely rising and falling, dark eyes peering intently at the entrance. The vermilion rays were a cooler shade than they had been moments before, blessed dark finally descending, the sky awash with violets and cobalts as the moon slowly started to rise.

She wasn't coming.

Though he hadn't seemed to move, the shadows began to quiver, shifting subtly in tune with his rage and despair, cracks branching out along the rock as though a great weight were pushing against it. But there, the slightest hint of warmth in the now cool breeze that brushed delicately along his jaw, caressed his neck, kissed the backs of his hands. The scent wafting behind it, skittish as though afraid of being caught, sultry for all its hushed tone. It was the smell of warm soil, fruit just turning ripe on the trees, rain that misted down to gently dampen everything it touched. His body tensed, conflicted, to move forward, knowing what it meant. Or stay, stay and wait for her to finally come into view, allowing that perhaps his mind had started playing tricks in its reverent wish that she was only waiting for the velvet brush of night to arrive. But he couldn't lift either of his feet, which felt as though they were some mineral mimicry of a tree's roots, digging into the earth, holding him in place.

Hades? Don't move, don't break the spell, the wicked trick, if that's what it was.

While his gaze was accustomed to the dark, hers was not, leaving him free to watch every move the way a starving man watches those who can afford to eat lift their forks. Each step brought her closer, seeming to bring a soft glow of light with her as she did so, the thick brunette waves sliding along bared shoulders, rich hyacinth coloured eyes staring into the dark. It hurt to see her, an eternity without, his hand lifting towards her even as she recognized the lean shape that had stood still as death in the shadows. He bruised her, marred that immortal flesh as he clasped her tightly, feeling the kisses hot as summer rain against his throat as she clung just as fiercely.

Warmth, so much it almost burned.

The hatred, the looks of loathing and disgust, the bitter resentment that had been a constant bed companion between them had gone. Gone, long gone, the memory of her hands reaching for him tentatively as though she expected a rebuff after centuries of spewing venom and bile fresh, the new acts of reunion that were no longer filled with sullen looks and fits of temper, but tears of happiness and whispered affections. He didn't return her kisses, though he hungered for them, pulling away slowly as he cradled the sweet ache tightly to himself. The sudden jingle of laughter, bright and merry where most could not even remember such a thing, made the ache all the sweeter, the corner of his mouth twisting slightly in reciprocation. She would teach him to laugh again, hidden behind curtains as dark as midnight, thick as fox fur in winter. Gentle him among black satin sheets, and blankets of fur until he forgot what had haunted him for so long.

So serious, my love.

Smiling felt foreign, the muscles of his face refusing at first before finally forming the shape, a subtle shift easily missed, but he felt her happiness pierce the hollowness in him, filled that darkness with a spear of pure joy. Soft fingertips ghosting along his lips, the warmth of them against his skin passing like a brand, his eyes burning as they stared into hers. The words of affection catching in his throat, crashing against the backs of his teeth to break apart and fail him as his mouth refused to open. Unable to make even a tease of some scathing reply, to reciprocate the affectionate rebuke, the smile losing its shape as he lifted his hand to cup her cheek, watching as she nuzzled against the cold flesh and smiled up at him with understanding.

I missed you too, my Lord.