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larvasmoon · 8 months

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Portrait of the pale elf (5)- He, who is the dagger

Chapter summary : Selene visits Astarion in his manor, finally starting his portrait, but things quickly go downhill as the night unfolds.

Word count : 6,5 k

Trigger Warnings : Blood. Biting (of course). Dry Humping. Inappropriate use of an armour. Mentions of death.

Author's note : This chapter has taken a little bit more time and effort to write than usual. I wanted it to be as perfect as possible because it's a turning point in the relationship between Selene and Astarion. I've written this installment while listening to Sky Ferreira's haunting and gothic song "Downhill Lullaby". I think it perfectly encapsulates the mood I've been trying to set in this chapter.

Thank you so much if you follow this story. It always touches me so deeply when I realize that what I've written has actually reached someone !

As always, here's my AO3 darling

The full moon, wrapped in a coat of misty clouds, shone bright over Selene’s head. It was close to midnight, and she shivered under the hood of her mantle. Her fingers tingled with the cold, numb around the heavy wooden box in which she carried a blank canvas and her folded easel. Slung across her chest was a bundle of brown linen, full with her paintbrushes, paint paddle and charcoal sticks.

She had never ventured in this part of the higher city, a section of Baldur’s Gate where the imposing manors could as well have been called castles. Wherever her eyes landed, the scenery was eerily beautiful, full of dark charms that she naively attributed to the witching hour.

One particular mansion caught her eyes and she stopped in her tracks, thinking to herself that it would make a fine painting decor.

Its high tower seemed to climb high into the celestial sky, the silver glow of the moon pooling on the black tiles of the roof like a soft caress. The rest of the facade was made of a surprisingly dark stone, adorned with the cruel faces of many gargoyles, lurking under the roof’s shadow, or stretching out their clawed hands from the balcony railings. Their toothy grins and penetrating eyes, permanently carved into the onyx like stone, made her so uneasy that she instinctively took a few steps back. Through the sumptuous oriel windows, she could see the flickering of a lit chandelier, illuminating the mouldings of a scarlet ceiling, bleeding red into the night.

She was about to set off once again when she noticed the small metal plate next to the manor’s gates. Selene had to squint her eyes to make out the name of the house, written in Thorass : “ The gothic serenade”.

“ It’s the last mansion of the avenue”, Astarion had said with a wry smile, “ you can’t miss it”.

She chuckled when she noticed that after this one manor, the street took a turn, and a fleet of stairs led back to the wide commercial avenues in which Carmine Red was.

A bit cliché for a vampire’s manor , she mused, I didn’t take Astarion for the predictable type, he’s usually so full of surprises.

The gate was already unlocked. When she softly gave it a push, it silently opened to reveal a small garden full of enchanted red roses, in full bloom even in the cold of winter. As she walked up the winding path, the cold branches of a tall weeping willow grazed her cheek, like a lover’s hand.

The door flew open before she had even reached its steps, and the bright lights inside the house illuminated Astarion’s elegant silhouette.

“There you are. I was expecting you, darling.”

He was wearing a simple white shirt and black breeches, gracefully leaning on the threshold of his humble abode.

It felt strange to hear his voice in the wide open air, outside of the loud spaces of taverns, or the hushed and intimate boutique that was Carmine Red. There, in the obscurity, it sounded electrifying. Its deeper tones made her senses more alert, as if some repressed part of her subconscious was in fact well aware of his true nature.

“I apologise, I’m running late, I got lost in the streets” she sheepishly answered, climbing up the few steps with slightly flushed cheeks.

The vampire helped her inside, taking the heavy box from her hands like it weighed no more than a bag of feathers.

“Oh no need to apologise, dear. I should be thanking you for coming at such a late hour. I hope you’re not too exhausted.”

The inside of his home was decorated in a similar fashion to Carmine Red : the walls and ceilings were painted in a deep burgundy red, the floor was covered in red persian rugs, black lacquered furniture was scattered about the room, and here and there she spotted a few vases filled with dry everlasting flowers.

However, the artist in her couldn’t help but notice that there wasn’t a single painting on the high walls of his place.

Not even a boring still-life painting or outfashioned scenery. Nothing.

And while his tailor shop had felt comforting and warm to her, the manor was a paler and colder reflection of it. As if Astarion was barely a passing shadow in those wide spaces. Not even staying long enough for his scent to linger in the air, the way it had last time she’d visited him.

“It’s no problem, I usually don’t sleep a lot anyway” she confessed, gasping when he leaned closer to unclasp her cloak around her neck and slide it off her shoulders.

“Can I offer you something to drink ? A little something to keep you awake through the night ?” he proposed, already treading away into a corner of the living room and rummaging through a cabinet, “I must warn you though, the tea I make is absolutely awful!”

“What would you suggest ?”

Her feet carried her towards a black chest of drawers. On top of it was a set of daggers, displayed on a luxurious ivory stand. The handles were mesmerising, covered in a multitude of expensive stones : rubies, amethysts, sapphires, emeralds and diamonds. They glittered and shimmered in the candlelights, and she wondered how such a magnificent thing could have been made to kill.

So much refinement and beauty, poured into a weapon destined to extinguish life... She couldn’t tell whether it’d be cruel or sweet, to be on the receiving end of its sharpness, and have the glint of gemstones be your last vision before death’s embrace.

“Wine. Red preferably. I have quite the collection.”

Her fingers moved on their own, and she carefully dragged them along the blunt edge of the beautifully curved blades. They were soft and cool to the touch, like their owner’s skin.

In a flash, he’d crossed the room, and was standing right beside her. His slender hands grabbed her own, and strayed her away from the daggers.

“Careful darling, don’t cut yourself”, he spoke through gritting teeth, with a faltering voice she struggled to recognize.

A crack in his sophisticated mask, she thought. She’d grown used to the low purr of his voice, to the dandyish inflection of it, and to the confidence with which he always spoke. This quiet trepidation felt so strange, so out of character, that she was a little bit taken aback.

What if this warning was destined to him, just as much as it was to her ? Did he not trust himself enough to resist the sight of her blood ? A chill ran down her spine at the thought of such implications.

For a few seconds, she pondered whether this was all in fact a very bad idea, being alone in a blood thirsty vampire’s manor, so far into the night that the streets of the higher city were empty. She thought about taking back her things, and her mind raced with all sorts of pitiful excuses she could invent to run back to her apartment, like the coward she’d spent most of her life being.

And yet, she remained silent and still, looking at the beauty of his milky and delicate hands around her stained and unkept painter’s fingers.

She could never be enough of a fool to turn down the unhoped-for opportunity to paint him, no matter how undeserving she felt of it.

Her, the insignificant painter with no name to herself, tainted with things that no amount of water could ever clean. And him, the beautiful beyond reason creature, with skin of alabaster and eyes of molten fire.

“Oh but I didn’t, see ?” she reassured Astarion, turning her hand in his grasp to show the tips of her blackened fingers, permanently sullied by the use of charcoal sticks, “I shouldn’t have touched them without asking though, I’m sorry.”

She tore her eyes away from their intertwined hands, and stared at him for the first time of the evening. His claret eyes were at least two shades darker than usual, even under the bright glow of the lit chandeliers. There was no light in the gaze that he kept eerily fixed on her fingers, and she wondered what kind of thoughts were going through this pretty and dangerous head of his.

She found that she didn’t mind if they were of the bloody kind, if it meant that she could capture his essence and trap it into paint.

“They’re breathtaking. Do they have a story ? I feel like they would, with such an intricate design” she gently inquired again, releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding when he moved away and cleared his throat.

The vampire slowly sauntered back towards the cabinet, filling two goblets with a wine so red it almost looked black when it poured out of the bottle.

“It’s a souvenir from my old glorious days” he sniffed, not without a hint of bitterness, “those blades have seen just as much blood as my hands have, but I’d rather not see them tainted with yours.”

As he talked, Selene found herself dreaming of that version of him she had never seen.

Astarion in armour, fighting an army of relentless enemies.

She imagined that back then, in combat as in the voluptuous atmosphere of a boudoir, each and every one of his movements must’ve been painfully sultry.

An apex predator, moving with the grace of a feline when closing in on an unwitting prey. He’d carve into their flesh with a fervour of a lover, rhythmically and precisely, until they’d come undone. The droplets of blood, spurting all around him, would be like the many rose petals thrown on a stage by the cheering crowd, after the final of his dance macabre.

The thought of him covered in blood did something to her lower belly that she chose to ignore.

No , it’d make a fine painting, nothing more.

When he handed her her glass, she admired his form one last time, and decided it was time for her to do what she’d initially come for.

“So, how would you like for me to paint you, Astarion ?” she abruptly asked, crouching down to unpack her blank canvas.

Astarion’s scarlet eyes settled on her once again, clear and taunting like a cat’s. “Well, in the nude, of course, darling.”

Selene’s hands stilled around the last latch of the box, her mind conjuring obscene and sensual images of him posing on a bed of red silk. He’d have the body of a marble statue, sculptural yet strong. She could almost see the outlines of his muscles under his thin white shirt.

The tip of her pointy ears burnt from how much she was blushing.

She’d done a few nude paintings back when she was still a student. They’d always been done with female models, because Damian foolishly didn’t see fit for a young girl to practise in any other way. As an adolescent, she’d seen countless beautiful women au naturel, tieflings, elves, humans with all shades of hair and skin. She’d spent countless hours painting the round lines of their breasts, the curves of their closed thighs, or the hollow of their barely concealed groins.

She’d drawn a naked man for the first time, much later. Her own lover, the first and only she’d ever had. He was named Lucius, a wood elf that hadn’t stayed in the city long enough to be with her more than a few weeks. Selene had made the best out of it though, now and then sketching his naked body in the crumpled sheets of the bed he’d just made love to her into.

None of this had ever made her blush, but the thought of a very naked Astarion had.

The vampire wheezed beside her, bending down from how much he was laughing.

“I’m teasing you, love. You should’ve seen your face, it was hilarious” he crackled, wiping tears of laughter from the corner of his eyes.

Selene sighed, running her hands through her long hair, and did her best to think about anything but his unclothed body. “No, I mean- is there any particular way you’d like for me to represent you ?”

“You’re the painter, I’ll leave it up to you”, he shrugged, eagerly drinking from his glass, “In whatever room of this house, and in whatever attire, I’m all yours.”

She looked over at the daggers once again, and thought that the only right way to paint him would be with them in hand.

“Do you still have any armour ?” she absent mindedly asked, already rummaging through her supplies, “I’d like to paint you in one of them, if that’s alright with you.”

“I’m sorry but did I offend you with my joke, darling ? Because you’re certainly going for the complete opposite” he huffed, almost offended.

He pointed at his body with wide and agitated movements. “None of this will be visible, and I’m curious to see what it looks like, mind you !”

“It doesn’t have to be anything bulky, or heavy… maybe just something made out of leather ?”

“And here I thought you’d want to paint me in see-through silk, arched or bent in suggestive positions” he mocked, looking at her as though she’d just said the most asinine thing he’d ever heard.

She contemplated explaining to him in great detail the symbolism of him dressed in armour, or the way she thought that, from time to time, he used his beauty as a weapon or a protection of sorts. But, it seemed a bit insensitive to tell this to someone who had felt like they needed to shield themselves from the world in the first place.

So she settled for the more obvious reasons.

“I have something in mind” she softly said, getting up to be at eye level with him once again, “Trust me, you’ll be able to see each and every detail of your appearance.”

Her dark eyes roamed his face and body, picking it apart as if she was already at work.

“Each of your eyelashes, and beauty marks. Each of your silver curls. And each of the elegantly concealed shapes of your body.”

He looked back at her with the same intensity, his burning eyes lowering to stare at her lips each time she uttered a new word.

“But I’m not only painting what I see. A teacher of mine once said that painting a portrait is capturing the essence of one’s soul. And I don’t need you to be naked, or posing in a provocative way for that.”

A strange and pained expression flickered across his face, disappearing as quick as it had appeared.

Selene walked back to the displayed daggers, talking with her back to him. “A dark and foreboding armour on a soft and ethereal body, sharp and dangerous daggers in dainty fingers. I think it is fitting when portraying a being of contradiction like yourself. ”

She heard him follow her, each of his lithe steps on the floorboard, until he was standing right behind her.

“ A being of contradiction ? How so ?” he breathed on her neck, and she shivered.

“ Someone who is beautiful, but equally lethal.”

There was a beat of silence in the room, as she continued to admire the magnificent hilts of the daggers.

“Follow me darling, there’s something I’d like to show you” he finally said, turning away to disappear at the corner of a long and dark corridor.

Much later into the night, Selene finally set her easel into place. It was such a strange feeling to prepare herself to paint at a time she would have usually been curled up in her bed, dreaming strange dreams.

The fear she had grown accustomed to, every time she was about to draw, was nowhere to be seen. She felt unusually calm and content, eager to start painting.

Earlier, Astarion had led her into a small room, filled with tokens of his heroic past : rapiers of every size, pretty vials of poison, heavy crossbows, and mannequins dressed in various combat apparels. She had immediately decided that it was the perfect atmosphere and decor for what she had in mind. There were no chandeliers in there, just one lit candelabra and the glow of the full moon. Its rays entered the room through the open window and illuminated the red armchair in which Astarion would later sit. The small space felt gloomy and intimate, like she’d pictured it should be.

As soon as she had entered the room, she’d spotted a sumptuous armour of leather plates. It was blacker than black, strapped and buckled in different places, adorned with many silver details that glowed in the obscurity.

Astarion had unwillingly accepted to wear it, after a little bit of convincing on Selene’s part. As per her request, he had also replaced the original leather cape of the armour with a scrap piece of red silk he’d kept from a dress he had finished a while ago. He’d carefully attached it to the silver chain that was slung across the mannequin’s chest, before silently slipping away to put the armour on.

When he entered the room once again, Selene was just finishing setting her canvas on the easel. All clad in black as he was, from head to toes, the sight of him nearly took her breath away. The atmosphere in the room shifted as he drew closer, as if darkness itself was shrinking away and retreating in front of night incarnate.

Each piece of leather seemed to have been stitched and riveted directly around his body, enveloping his limbs so perfectly it left close to nothing to the imagination. His hair looked even lighter, against all that black, seemingly made of rays of moonlight, or other godly materials. The long piece of scarlet silk, delicately draped over his shoulder, cascaded down the length of his back and legs, until it pooled at his feet like a puddle of blood.

Astarion took a few lithe steps towards the chair and sat in front of her, as she arranged her supplies on a little table he’d placed near her canvas. He looked glorious in every possible way, and Selene had trouble concentrating on her tasks.

The vampire kept his eyes trained on each of her movements, a strange intensity in his gaze that she didn’t know how to interpret.

Once she was done, her feet carried her to him, hesitantly looking at his posture.

“May I touch you ? I’d like to adjust everything before we start.”

His red eyes widened a little bit at her question, before he regained his composure and crossed his legs.

“Oh please do, darling” he purred, a dangerous smile playing on his lips, as if he were begging for something different, in a very different context.

Selene’s hands reached for the vampire, touching him in ways she never would’ve never dared to otherwise.

She brushed a silver curl away from his forehead, with a softness that almost would have looked tender to any onlooker. The tips of her fingers came to rest under his chin, gently tilting his head to the side. Delicately holding his forearms and angling them on the armrest, she then took his hands in her own and placed them on his lap. One of them was made to hold the dagger he’d brought from downstairs, the blade tentatively resting against his thigh.

Finally, Selene kneeled at his feet, fixing the silk until she was satisfied with the way it rested on the floor.

While she was busy arranging his cape, she felt his own fingers reaching out for her hair, softly pushing her heavy curly hair away from her neck and letting them fall down her back. They lingered for a few seconds on her nape, lusciously feeling her bones and the start of her spine.

“You should tie them up, so they’re out of the way” his silky voice said from above her, and she heard the rushed and loud beating of her own heart in her ears.

When she got up, red as a peony, he had a particularly vampish smile playing on his lips.

“Are you comfortable ? Do you feel like you could stay like this for a while ?”

“It shouldn’t be an issue, darling” he stared up at her through his lashes, a dangerous flame dancing in his eyes, “I am well versed in the art of maintaining a variety of positions , all night long if need be. ”

Astarion’s blatant flirting wasn’t lost on Selene, it had never been, but she did not really know how to respond to it. She usually settled for pathetic smiles and flushed cheeks, like an inexperienced maiden.

She had quickly gathered that part of being a good painter was spending a lot of time observing people, and dissecting them, so that part of their temperament would transpire on their features. And yet, on most occasions, talking to the vampire felt to her like fumbling in the dark, unsure of where to go or of what to say. No matter how hard she tried, Selene couldn’t tell where his mask of flamboyance began, and where it ended. She just knew it existed, and maybe it was already enough in itself.

Sometimes his pretty words sounded like the practised lines of a skillful actor on the stage of the city’s luxurious theatre, at others they rang true in ways she had not expected. Those rare moments were like ripples at the surface of water, and she longed to dive in the murky waters of his mind to see what kind of secrets rested at the bottom of it.

“We shall begin then” she uttered, more to herself than to Astarion, and she came back to stand behind her canvas.

Selene grabbed one of her brushes, inelegantly sticking it into the messy bun she’d curled her hair into. Faintly, she heard Astarion sigh, in what mistakenly sounded like impatience.

With a deft hand, she started tracing stark and dark lines. In the silence of the room echoed the familiar melody of the charcoal stick grazing the canvas, with each quick flick of her wrist. Every time she looked back at him, his ruby eyes hadn’t left her, unwavering.

When he talked once again, his voice sounded somehow mellower. “Come to think of it, I have never asked you your full name.”

Her movements halted, her hand suspended above the piercing eyes she’d just finished sketching.

“It’s just Selene” she answered, failing to completely conceal the emotion in her voice, “I’m an orphan”.

The tip of her finger lightly rubbed the canvas, blurring a shadow under his eyebrow. She was as delicate with the drawing as she was with him, as if it was Astarion himself that she was touching with the staining edge of her stick.

“Why did you never commission one of our city’s greater painters to draw your portrait ? Before I offered to draw your portrait I mean -” she asked in turn, clearly eager to talk about something else.

“I don’t particularly relish being in the company of artists, you are an exception” he snickered, and the way he tapped his foot while he talked, made her think of the way cats tap their tail when they are bothered by something.

His backhanded compliment still somehow found its way to her heart, and she smiled while focusing on the lines of his sophisticated curls.

Selene’s only gateway into the very private and elitist circle of baldurian artists had only been Damian, and she’d lived in his shadow for years. He had given her little to no opportunity to converse with the famous painters she sometimes saw at parties or gatherings. She’d guessed it was because he was too afraid that she’d talk too much and reveal things that should be kept secret.

If her master was anything like the rest of them, she could only agree with Astarion though.

“You’ll probably think that I am a terrible bore, but I don’t mingle that much with fellow painters, so I can’t really agree or disagree” she explained, ticking when she realised her rendition of his perfect jaw was, in fact, far from being perfect.

“Is it because of Fallheel ? Does he forbid you to talk to others like he forbid you to talk to me ? ” he harshly inquired, and the tone of his voice made her lift her eyes from her sketch once again.

Yes of course, she thought, but she found herself instinctively shaking her head when she answered. “I’m not sure what you’re implying.”

A low sarcastic chuckle. “Oh on the contrary, you know exactly what I’m implying, darling”, the vampire grew agitated on his chair, forgetting to stay still and playing with the blade of the dagger that was in his lap, “the man is pathetic, so unsure of himself, that he’s scared you’d run off or choose a new master if you socialised more.”

“Can you stay just like that ? Playing with the dagger” she excitedly asked, “ yes, yes, that’s even better than before !”

He rolled his eyes but obliged her nonetheless, the ghost of a smile on his delicious lips.

Hours went on like this, with a few words exchanged between them, and Selene feverishly drawing to finish her sketch before the sun was up in the city's sky.

And surely enough, it did rise, slowly at first, barely illuminating the stratosphere and filling it with indigo blue clouds.

It reminded her of a story they used to tell to children at the orphanage, the tragic tale of the sun and the moon. She remembered how Amalia, the elderly headmistress, told them about that ballad that she had written in her youth, when she was still a bard. She’d called it “the greatest and saddest love. It began with her tremulous voice whispering : “ the moon and the sun are lovers, but to love from afar is to love bitterly”. At the end of every night, the moon quickly would sadly retreat to the horizon, still there when the first rays shone at the other side of the world, as if to cast one last desperate look behind her. At the beginning of every day, the sun would hurry at the doors of the sky, to steal one look at the beauty of the lady of the night. For a few glorious seconds, the two planets would be face to face, like forbidden lovers destined to always distantly cross paths and condemned to long for things they could never have.

It reminded her of him , as she drew the last detailed bit of the decor behind his silhouette.

Outside, she could hear carriages passing through the avenue and the hooves of the horses stomping on the pavement. A few voices echoed in the streets, as baldurians either began a long day, or came home after an even longer night.

“The sun is almost up, darling, you should probably go home,” Astarion wearily said, hauling himself to his feet, “before someone sees you scandalously coming out of my house at the cracks of dawn.”

He elegantly stood up and strode to close the window. Gripping the thick curtains, he lingered there for a little more, eyes lost in the sky with the most hearwenching expression she’d ever seen him make. The blue light that highlighted the contour of his profile gave her a glimpse of what he’d look like in the sun, and something in her chest did a strange summersault.

“I’ve finished the sketching part” she softly declared, letting her charcoal stick fall into its metallic box, and wiping her hands, “ Do you wish to see it now, or when it’ll be painted ?”

This seemed to pick his interest and in one swift motion, he drew the curtains and engulfed them in the dark once again.

“I’ve never been one for suspense. Show me, love” he growled, eyes wide and sparkly in the dim lights.

Selene stepped aside, suddenly shy and doubtful. At times, when drawing him, she’d felt as though he was so painfully beautiful that any attempt at recreating his features would be fruitless at best, and ridiculous at worst.

Astarion’s eyes roamed the canvas, slowly, silently, his lips trembling as if he were trying to articulate words. He exhaled once, one shallow breath that fanned across her hair. She felt his body shake right beside her, the leather of his armour crackling with each of his imperceptible movements.

After a few agonising seconds, he smiled wide and bright, and Selene’s kness almost buckled from how relieved she was.

“Do you like it ?” she timidly asked, her dirty fingers fidgeting with the cloth she was still holding.

The vampire turned to stare at her, “If I like it ?” he chortled, drawing near and taking her face in his hands, “I adore it, you absurdly talented woman.”

Her flushed cheeks burnt against the cold of his palm, and when she looked into his scarlet eyes, she realised they were wet with tears.

“Everything about this is exquisite. I understand why Fallheel wants to keep you all to himself” he breathed, his lips almost brushing against her own when he talked.

“I’m gla-” Selene started, but suddenly she felt something roll under the sole of her shoe, sending her flying backward.

A piece of charcoal, most likely.

The world titled and turned, as she pathetically failed to find anything to cling to.

In an instant, one of Astarion’s powerful arms closed around her waist, pressing her flush against the hard plane of his chest. The cold clasps of his armour deliciously digging into the skin of her breasts, naked under her flowy shirt.

She had stupidly decided not to wear a bodice the night prior, as it would constrict and dig into her ribcage when she spent hours hunched over a painting.

They tumbled to the ground, a muffled groan coming out of her mouth when her back gently hit the carpeted floor.

Astarion had fallen on top of her, kneeling between her legs and holding himself up on one arm. His other hand firmly held her hip, his thumb resting on the naked skin of her lower belly, right above the laces of her breeches.

“Ah well, look how good your charcoal drawing is, darling,” he said with a low chuckle, “you’ve managed to bring me down to my knees.”

She giggled beneath the vampire, so filled with the joy of having done something for him, that she forgot to be embarrassed about the way their bodies were pressed together.

He gingerly caressed her cheek, the pad of his fingers following the lines of her dimples. “You should laugh more, it suits you, you know.”

She watched his gaze trail from her face to her neck, leaving goosebumps on her skin in its wake. His expression slowly morphed into another. The muscles of his jaw growing tight, his irises draining from all their light, and turning into a deep burgundy red, so dark it looked almost black.

An alarm rang somewhere in the back of her mind, like it had so many times since she’d entered his manor the night before. Like some old and primal instinct, plaguing her with the certainty that she was stalked by a deadly creature, flooding her mind with the gripping urge to flee before being stuck under the attack of its teeth and claws.

But once again, she turned a deaf ear to it, too enthralled by the way his pale eyelashes moved with each of his slow blinks, or the sensation of his fingers tracing her collarbones with feather light caresses.

The will to live might have been strong in most living things, but she was sure it was nothing that the softness of his touch could not silence. If Death had had the face of Astarion, odious crowds of wretched and suffering mortal souls would’ve crawled at his feet, ashen and emaciated by the pain of living. Their bony and crooked fingers gripping and tugging at him, as they sang their woes.

Take us, embrace us, for nothing in this life is more glorious than you, who is the end of all.

She talked before she was aware of the words forming on her tongue. “Are you hungry, Astarion ?”

He looked up at her, pupils blown, like two dark orbs in which heard the call of the void.

“Don’t tempt a beast, darling, for it might truly bare its teeth” he snarled, his fangs looking much sharper than usual under the shadow of his lip.

“Show me then“ she breathed, raising her hand to lay it flat on his plated chest, where his heart should’ve been beating, “The beast inside.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying”, he shook his head, pressing his eyes closed, as if he were battling something inside his mind, “It’s all ugly, and it’s ill favoured.”

“Nothing about you could ever be hideous, Astarion” she uttered, truly meaning each and every word, “Not to me.”

She’d always thought so, even when she’d gotten a glimpse of the more sinister parts of him.

Selene’s fingers reached for his forehead, intimately wiping off the sheen of sweat on his skin, and Astarion all but melted into her arms. Yielding to her gentleness.

He pressed his nose against the curve of her neck, breathing along her nape, brushing his soft lips against her skin, until his face was buried in the dark curls of her hair.

“You smell so …” he whispered in her ears, taking another lungful of her scent, “sumptuous.”

His hips fell between her open legs, fitting perfectly, as though he were some missing piece in the puzzle of her body she didn’t even know she’d lost.

His tongue licked a hot and wet stripe on her pulse, and something like a moan of pain wormed its way out of his chest. “I can almost taste your blood like this, as it rushes and pools under your flushed skin.”

She didn’t know it was possible, but her heart started to beat even faster, something taking flight in her chest and rising to higher spheres.

“Please” she pleaded, her words barely a breath, without really knowing what it was she was begging for exactly.

Astarion lifted his face away from her nape once again, resting his forehead on hers, and staring deep into her eyes. She could see the thin ring of his burning irises around all that darkness.

“Since the day I’ve seen you in that pitiful tavern, I’ve dreamt of it. I’ve had visions of you, and visions of me having you the way I please.”

His hand tightened around the hollow of her waist as he talked, bringing her impossibly closer, even though they were already tightly embracing each other.

“But it’s nothing tender, you see. I’m no longer capable of such things. They are full of blood and death, the kind of kisses I give” he breathed against her lips, almost taking her mouth then and there, and she drunkenly inhaled the air that came out of his lungs.

“I’ve always loved a kiss with teeth”, her hand stroked his silver hair, admiring the softness of his curl, “ So kiss me, Astarion.”

His eyes widened, irises ablaze with scorching flames, and he placed a river of small kisses from the corner of her mouth to her nape.

She laid there, staring at the red ceiling of the room. Desire and fear coiled in her belly, as she waited for a sting that she knew was coming.

And all at once, it was there.

A sharp pain that tore a sob out of her. Her back arched off the floor, and Astarion’s hips buckled into her when he swallowed her blood for the first time. It tingled where his teeth were, each wave of pain turning into a pulsating sensation that had wetness pooling between her legs.

Her neck had always been a weak spot of hers, a part of her body where her nerves seemed to acutely pick up on each friction and stroke. She knew she would have come just from a few of his kisses and love bites but … this was different. The addictive blend of pain and pleasure that he was inflicting on her, had her toes curling and her vision blurring with ecstasy.

The vampire growled, deep and vicious, his pointy ear twitching against her cheek with each gulp of blood. His soft hair tickled her chin, like silk upon her skin, and it deliciously contrasted with the brutality of his teeth in her flesh.

Distantly, she heard his hand violently slam on the floor next to her head, nails scraping the surface and clawing at the wood, instead of tearing her skin apart. He pressed further into her, suddenly crushing her hips with lascivious thrusts that had her chasing a release she didn’t even know was already building deep in her core.

She gripped the straps on his shoulders, stars dancing in the corners of her vision.

“Ah-Astarion, I’m-” she whined, as he started licking and sucking at her wound with open-mouthed kisses.

His cold hand travelled up her torso, like water sipping through the fabric of her cotton shirt, until it reached her breasts. It stopped at first, trembling as if he were realising that she wasn’t wearing any corset under her button down, before he kneaded and pinched her hard nipples with a renewed vigour.

Each time his hips picked up speed, her clothed slit tantalizingly glided along the buckle of his belt, sending bolts of electricity at the base of her spine. Astarion was making love to her with and through his armour, each of his movements under the constricting leather of his attire sending her down a spiral of suffocating pleasure.

Thighs twitching uncontrollably, something recoiling in her belly with the promise of a shattering return, Selene let out a string of chocked moans.

He groaned once, his hips slowing at the same time as her body convulsed and exploded around him. His thighs flexed under her own, and the thought of his coming in his leather pants had her spasming for a little bit longer under him.

Astarion slowly unlatched from her neck, mouth and cheeks smeared with gore. His hands cupped her face, coaxing her eyes open with caresses and kisses on her flushed cheeks.

“Are you still with me, darling ?” he sweetly asked, a tinge of worry in his voice.

Selene didn’t know whether she’d come or died, or both. She uttered an intelligible answer, nodding through the afterglow of her orgasm. She felt weak and dazed, convinced that she’d float out of her body if Astarion wasn’t holding her onto the ground.

“You, my sweet, are the most divine thing I have tasted”, he murmured, lapping at a drop of blood that dripped across her neck when she’d turned her head, “you’ve given me so much tonight that I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I could say the same thing” she whispered, wiping a bit of the blood that was dripping from his lips.

He sighed before bringing her hands to his lips, languorously licking the red smears that she had collected on her thumb. His eyes looked like rubies once again, shimmering in the dark, maybe even brighter than before.

“Come on, let’s clean you up.”

The last thing she felt before the world went black, was the strong set of Astarion’s arms closing under back and legs, and lifting her off the ground. Her head fell on his shoulder, the sweet and vibrant scent of him lulling her to sleep.

In the swirling darkness of her closed eyes, she dreamt that she was splattering buckets of crimson paint on the walls of a blank and empty room. Hands and brushes drenched with it, singing and dancing in the red, she felt happy.

Free .

#astarion bg3 #astarion smut #astarion x female oc #astarion fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 smut #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #Spotify

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yostresswritinggirl · 4 years

Text

Request: hello!! i rlly like your works, and as someone poly myself i was really happy to see your venti x reader x zhongli one!! your writing is so interesting and immersive, too!! i'd really like to see a xiao x reader x venti, if possible! anything, hc, fic, i don't mind :D i especially cherish the idea of xiaoven being together beforehand and trying to figure out how to proceed together. -🌌 (just in case i decide to drop by ur asks again in the future, haha)

And then that poly fic turned into five requests ahahaha, I'm glad you found and enjoyed that, as my first poly fic uhu. I didn't expect to actually find these kinds of fics interesting, life is wack pfft. With the new trailer up too, this just made it more appropriate! I hope you like it!

Drifting Blooms

Poly Xiao and Venti falling in love with the Reader, and trying to establish a relationship with you. (masterlist)

Beforehand

The first person you met was Venti when you crossed paths during one of his escapades to Wangshu Inn. After visiting his lover, he then wanted to visit his old friend and passed you in the middle of the bridge.

You smelled of a thousand flowers mixed into a single perfume, and despite the many scents, it wasn't pungent or intrusive. It was... comforting, intoxicating. He stopped in his steps while you continued your path to the Inn.

Before that chance encounter, you were commissioned by Verr to gather multiple scented flowers for a mass floral change around the Inn. While your messenger bag carefully carried and concealed your baggage, the many times you'd sink into the floras had marked your clothing with its many scents.

Venti, intrigued and ecstatic about the discovery would fly back to the architecture to express his findings to Xiao, who was surprised to see him back so quickly. Upon hearing of your person, the yaksha would simply inform him that he's not exactly aware of who you are, but only knows you by scent as well.

He dubbed you the florist, because everytime you appear, the vases would be filled with healthy and blooming ones. Never had he actually put a face to your title.

So like little children, the both of them peered over the railings to watch you down below, conversing with Verr as you present the freshly picked flowers bundled in your arms. From this distance, the smell still winds up to find their nostrils, making them inhale as the calming effect takes place once more.

You looked disheveled yet still composed, a glaze lily you particularly liked tucked behind both your ears. And Xiao notices the huge claymore clinging to your back, a full head taller than yours.

Verr asks you to bring it to the balcony where it would be arranged as all the vases had been vacated there for drying, and when you looked up upon the mention of the higher floor, your eyes widen upon meeting two pairs of bright tantalizing orbs.

While the beholder of the amber ones pointedly avoided your gaze right after, the teal ones smiled through his eyes, waving at you enthusiastically. You returned the smile softly before you started making your way over where they are.

The stronger the scent comes, the more overwhelming it pierces through them both. It was distracting in the best way, minds cleared as they relished under the atmosphere the concoction of sweetness it produced. To the yaksha, he was a bit dizzy, tipsy even as his mind floats. And to Venti, it reminded him of home and the breeze the thousand winds carried with him when he was but a sprite.

When you placed down the flowers by the stone rock, you realized that they were standing idly by you in a respectable yet still close distance. They both realized how it clings to you, and you were forced to stay a little longer as Venti chatted you up to make you linger while the other male chose to hang back where he can overlook the Marsh.

They were both charming despite the other's cold exterior, carrying with them their own sense of elegance and beauty. Is it so wrong to like them despite their already existing relationship? You kept to yourself with a blush at the scandalous thought, congratulating them before bidding your farewell.

When you left, the comfort and warmth took off with you. They were both frenzied and are addicted to it, as if you had marked them so violently. No other flower, not even hundreds, can make their hearts both calm and flutter like you do.

Cultivation

Since then, Venti had been visiting frequently and lingering much longer than usual. Xiao would question it at first until he realized the way the Archon seemed very curious of your presence, drifting over to you or dividing his attention when you came into vicinity.

It wasn't hard to miss with the flowery scented aura you carry, your continuous commission with floras had the smell permanently stuck to your adventuring attire. That or you seem to be using a floral detergent for your laundry too.

Once, you've accidentally left an article of clothing by the balcony in your hurry, whether it be a scarf or handkerchief it was easy to miss. And the bard had noticed the discarded garment a bit too late. Is that why your scent lingered despite the fact that you had withdrawn for the night? Xiao keeps it with him to return the next time you came along.

That night, he realized the following night after you received your missing item, was a rare moment of peace with the voices for once quieted down without the help of Venti's songs.

Upon this discovery it would then be him doing the investigation, the curiousity, he'd be more approachable and less guarded. Somehow he had forgotten how normal mortals were affected by their energy but it would seem it isn't that harmful now than it used to before.

One day, they most likely ended up talking about you to each other in passing conversation, and when Venti teased about the idea of them being infatuated to you... they held a pregnant pause at the sudden realization, of the weird intoxication and the similar yearning.

At first they'd be ashamed of the thought that they came to fancy another person when they were already in an existing and steady relationship. But the thought seemed to just be more enticing knowing that the other feels the same way, why be shy over something that you both feel anyways? And besides, humans also partake in far intense concepts of romances.

But it doesn't really start there, it takes them a little more before they finally realized that another one (especially the likes of you) can easily fit in their daily lives. Now the question is, would you wish to be in between two immortals?

Would THEY be willing to invest in a mortal that would one day be engraved as nothing but a painful memory? That they can never revert back to?

Until they realized the capabilities of adeptal energy.

The Grand Plan

The duo does their best to fall into steps over your humane life, understanding you beyond your simple presence, as they continue to soak up the ecstacy. Like two moths drawn to the flame, the citizens around you can see the dynamic. Even before you three's relationship starts, the rumors had spread into established truth. One you were perfectly unaware of.

It was a painful game of tug of war. They would strive for progress before getting pulled back again, still unsure of their decisions and trying to figure it out as they go.

What made them finally pull you into their world of love? Well, cliché as it is, it was their own greed and jealousy upon the sight of other beings of the mortal realm seemingly gravitating to your form everytime. The essence of flowers had imprinted itself to many people that linger around you, pulling them in the same way the two of them had been.

Before the potential suitors could come within your personal space, Venti's arm wraps itself around your waist as he pulls you back into the balcony with surprising strength. And the entrance would be shut as Xiao kicks out the person trying to take your hand.

Next thing you know, you're squeezed in between two twink- cute guys that desperately clings to what they can get hold of you. Your presence may be overwhelming, but you're already so dizzy from the bouts of emotions racing through your mind at the predicament you find yourself in.

It's time to decide if you want in or not.

NSFW bonus: When on a three way, Venti is in front while Xiao is behind, both of them however occupy the same hole.

@kookieyachi @ellitx @struggljng @moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #xiao x Reader #venti x reader #venti x xiao #exile.goblet #exile.flower #sojourner specials #poly #gender neutral

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austarus · 3 years

Text

HR Wells x Reader - Reversal of Denouement

*A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to its rightful owner.

**Please don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. It means a lot to content creators of all kinds!

***I’d also like to thank @grimtamlain-writes for being my beta reader.

Word Count: 8251

MASTERLIST

A low groan left HR's lips. His body felt numb, his chest ached - tingled as his heart beats steadily. Is it beating? The darkness of his eyelids eased the stinging coming from his mind – it wasn’t so bright. The headache formed there. His body screamed at him as the novelist made the slightest of movement. His left shoulder in particular had protested in desperate agony. He couldn’t move it very much, the area succumbed to restraints of some sort. HR’s throat felt raw as his body throbbed, the blood coursing meticulously through his blood vessels. The sound of a soft voice greeted his ears, but his eyes refused to open.

"I... you, HR... even if... see it." The voice was so familiar, so gentle. So sweet. "Should... better." A drop of water hit his numbed hand, static still prominent there from the little movement his body had done. “I wish…” The dark-haired doppelganger could only understand fragments of what the speaker was saying. He felt a pressure on his hand, tender skin holding onto his before something tickled his forehead. Feather-light. What was it? Who was it? A few moments passed and he heard nothing, the novelist only assumed that the voice’s owner had left. He didn’t want to be alone right now though, not with the darkness.

It had become unbearable.

Since... Since when did…? How...? Oh. Right. Savitar... Am I dead? Is this where spirits wait for their turn to pass into their designated afterlife? Have I really...? Events from earlier resurfaced to his mind, his senses coming together. Right, had to protect Iris. For Barry – it was my fault Savitar had gotten to her. My big mouth. Even if Barry didn't really see me as a helpful friend. At least... At least I proved Savitar wrong, who ironically is a version of Barry. That's hella twisted. He huffed out a breath before venturing back into the calmness of sleep. Maybe a little more rest will help?

***

HR cracked an eye open: this time, harsh filtered light had greeted him. The novelist grunted in pain, adjusting himself slightly to assess where he was. What day was it? What was the time? How long have I been here? A yawn left his lips this time, his throat and mouth as dry as a desert.

“Well look who finally decided to wake up?” HR’s eyes met Cisco’s, who stood with a tablet in hand. “How’s sleeping beauty feeling?”

The Wells doppelganger cleared his throat. “Like I’ve gotten assaulted by an Amtrack bus, and not the good kinds.” HR’s baby blue eyes scanned the room, landing on the flower vase that was set on a table near him. Blue forget-me-knots and pink hydrangeas stood proudly in their vases, nurtured well. HR felt his heart swell, his eyes not daring to leave the delicate petals that accented the med bay in better tones. Cisco handed him a cup of water to which HR downed it immediately.

“Amtrack does trains.”

“Not on my Earth, Francisco.” The author couldn’t help but ask, his eyes lingering on the flowers once more. “Did Tracy bring those?”

Cisco pursed his lips, an odd look present on his face. He wanted to tell HR, but… “No. Um, she didn’t.” Tracy had been visiting, though it had become some sort of a nuisance to all her complaining at this point. She hadn’t even known HR for that long, anyway.

“Oh?” His shoulders dropped subtly in disappointment. “They’re beautiful, I was just wondering and…”

“Let’s just say, a special someone’s been… dropping by and bringing a new flower each day. That’s all you’re getting from me, Aurora.” Cisco reasoned with the Wells doppelganger. The mechanical genius knew, but it wasn’t his place to say. It killed him, but… “I wouldn’t move around too much, if I were you. You’ve got a fractured shoulder and that chest wound. I’ve been told to relay the message that you’re to be on strict bed rest until that shoulder further heals.” HR lowered his gaze to see the cross-body sling. He clenched his slinged hand and unclenched it to bring some feeling into the limb.

“What about my chest?”

“Miraculously, that’s been healing really well since day one.” Cisco kept the talk real, showing the injured doppelganger the schematics and pictures. “You got lucky that it missed your heart by a centimeter.” A stab wound like that should have… I wonder if she knows that I know.

HR blinked at the seriousness in his injury, the looming idea of death from his decision. “How long was I out?”

“A week and a half.”

“What?” HR’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I-”

“HR!” Tracy’s sudden voice pierced the room, stunning Cisco and triggering an ache in HR’s head. The grad scientists shuffled over to him, both forgetting that Cisco was in the room. “HR, my love, how are you? Are you feeling okay? Is there any pain?” He continued checking his friend’s vitals and adjusting dosages to the IV and morphine administered – as per your request. The room was growing ever louder with HR and Tracy. Tracy embraced him, minding his injuries as she continued to fuss over him. It made the Wells writer smile, yet… his heart didn’t swell as much as it used to.

Odd.

Cisco sent you a quick text while the two were preoccupied, but you were already at the Labs. You stopped just outside the entrance, the wall and dimly light hallway obscuring you from who remained in the med bay. They wouldn’t be able to see you from where you stood. A shaky breath left you as you clutched the Freesia flower in hand. Your heart shriveled in your chest as you backtracked. Hearing his voice is enough. After all, with Tracy around you couldn’t be near him – those dirty and hateful looks she’d send you. Best to keep my distance, I guess. You couldn’t help but sneak a peek at him though, the man who had unknowingly captured your heart and would never reciprocate your love. You pushed down the lump in your throat. Hastily, you sent Cisco a text to check on the flowers. Silently, you trailed away from the med bay and to the upper levels of STAR Labs. I wonder if he liked the flowers. Standing at such altitude with the wind blowing lightly had calmed you a bit. Looking down at the flower, you gripped it tightly before you began to pick off the petals one by one. The little moments you had with the goofy novelist surfaced to the forefront of your mind with each petal you held. Your little curious escapades. The little talks. The nights you’d visit him when Tracy wasn’t around.

“He loves me, he loves me not,” You murmured, a stray tear trickled down your cheek. The freesia symbolizes unconditional love and honor. “He loves me, he loves me not,” Your voice cracked as more tears fell. “He loves me, he loves me not…”

***

A frown presented itself on HR’s lips as he tilted his head to crack his neck. The crack relieved him tremendously. It didn’t make sense. The novelist mused to himself, setting aside the current chapter draft he was working on. The voice I heard was… different. It didn’t sound like Tracy’s. HR couldn’t get that voice out of his mind – the tenderness that was laced in the tone of that voice. Nothing like the slight shrill in Tracy’s. He eyed the flowers once more that day, their presence was prominent. If Tracy hadn’t brought those, then who had?

The team had helped situate HR in his room in order to vacate the med bay should another imminent event occur. He had overheard Cisco tell Wally that you were preoccupied with something in Star City – a bit of disappointment twinged inside him. HR had taken up doing bits of physical therapy for the rest of his body without moving his shoulder as much. His shoulder and arm remained in a crossbody sling. The flowers sat on his bedside counter; he tended to them as best as he could with the limited movement he had. Tracy protested that they don’t need to be around, but the novelist was vehement on keeping the plants. HR won’t deny the fact that he had gotten annoyed several times with her around when he needed thinking space for his writing. He couldn’t write with noise and nonsensical chatter, especially if it’s mainly coming from someone who doesn’t want to really listen to his input. She’d go on and on about her scientific research and such, but wouldn’t hear a word from HR regarding his writing. The longer the novelist was confined to his room for rest, the more he had time to think – to contemplate. Yes, he liked Tracy, but… it just seemed that she didn’t really see HR. She does all the talking; she doesn’t really ask about how I feel about things or ask me about my life, even things about Earth-19… It’s like she doesn’t see me for anything other than a pretty face. It’s not even my face that Tracy sees, just Randolph’s. Was I too quick to jump at the first person who showed interest in me? Had I rushed into ‘forever’ with her?

He tabled those thoughts for now. HR reached for his laptop; one hand opened it to start it up. While the device loaded, he grabbed his black-clear glasses and set them on his face. If anyone saw him as such, they wouldn’t be able to tell the physical difference between him and his handsome, yet grumpy doppelganger. Except for the eyebrow scar, but that was obscured by the glasses. HR did a couple of searches with a concentrated look. Surely, it was the person with that… angel-like voice.

“Hydrangeas,” HR whispered as his eyes skimmed over the text that had popped up. “The hydrangea represents gratitude, grace and beauty. It also radiates abundance because of the lavish number of flowers and the generous round shape. Its colors symbolize love, harmony and peace.” The Wells doppelganger scrolled further. “Pink hydrangeas symbolize heartfelt emotions.” Interesting. HR continued his research, glancing at the other flower type that resting in the vase. “Forget-me-nots symbolize true love and respect. When you give someone these tiny blooms, it represents a promise that you will always remember them and will keep them in your thoughts. They are also considered a symbol of fidelity and faithfulness.” A particular link caught his eye, he clicked on it. The novelist read to himself the text once more, “Based on Christian lore, the story about forget-me-nots is that God was walking in the Garden of Eden. He saw a blue flower and asked it its name. The flower was a shy flower and whispered that he had forgotten his name. God renamed the flower as forget-me-not saying that He will not forget the flower.”

HR swallowed thickly; contrary to popular belief around here, he wasn’t stupid. Sure, he wasn’t a science-based genius, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an expert on other aspects of life and had basic common sense. The author was emotionally intelligent and intact with the world around him. These flowers weren’t picked out on accident. But who would do that? Who doesn’t want me to forget about them? The dark-haired man shook his head slightly as he shut his laptop. A surge of sadness welled inside him at the notion of ‘being forgotten’. Who had he done that to? He’d get to the bottom of this mystery in due time. Right now, I need to jog my memory on what I was writing. A hand found a rough draft paper, his eyes scanned over the words he had typed out. His brows creased as the written notes he’d made on the paper as well. (Y/N) … I had… What had I been writing about again? The novelist read each line, each note he had made no drafts and scratch paper.

The hairs at the back of his neck stood up as realization hit him the more he had read on. The drafts, the notes, all of it – the little novel he had been writing regarding his adventures. But this particular part of his story – the ‘angel’ in his story. The one who stuck by him since coming here, the one who had given him a safe space… And the one he hadn’t seen since waking up. How could he forget? HR lowered the paper; his eyes became half-lidded as guilt shot through him. Before Barry had gone to the future and gotten hints of Tracy with her Speed Bazooka, HR had been working on his book. A book that he had pushed off to stick with Tracy and help in any way that he can to make the speed weapon possible. He had gotten distracted from doing the things he loves. A few conjectures arose in his mind as he slipped his glasses off, one arm end pressed to his lips. His heart hammered into his chest; you were among the last faces he had seen before passing out that night.

The irony. How could I forget that (Y/N) was the ‘angel’ in my story?

***

“Look at you, up and at ‘em.” Cisco strolled into the lounge with a cheeky grin. The mechanical genius didn’t take HR for granted anymore, not with the stunt he pulled. No, Cisco willingly checked up on him – not just for you, but for himself. HR had truly become one of his close friends in the end, especially with all the advice about Gypsy. “What are you cooking up this time?”

“Just an omelet with a side of bacon and toast, Francisco,” HR turned to the mechanical engineer who continued to tinker away at the schematics to get Barry out of the Speedforce. He offered Cisco some with a gesture only for the scientist to politely decline. “I haven’t seen (Y/N) anywhere. Um, is she also…?”

“Oh, you know how she’s like. Either up in the vents or chilling in her birds’ nest on the roof. And on that note, our resident hummingbird has become quite the firecracker.”

HR raised an eyebrow at his friend. “How so?”

“She punched Savitar square in the face then decked him multiple times over when Barry brought him in. Harry had to be the one to pull her away – well, more like carry her away kicking and screaming bloody murder at him. It sounded badass; wish I had been there to see it.”

The Wells doppelganger gritted his teeth at the mental image of Harry carrying you – touching you. The thought ruffled his feathers for some reason. HR expertly masked his irritation, turning the stove off and assembling the food on his plate. “Why?”

“Because he hurt you, HR.”

“…”

“He almost killed you.” And that was unforgivable, especially to her. “We almost lost you. She almost lost you.”

A rough sigh escaped HR as Cisco had sent him a knowing look before exiting the STAR Labs lounge. The Earth-19 man chewed on the inside of his cheek. Only a fool would misunderstand Cisco’s subtle intentions. HR knew what he had to do – he’d been reflecting on his time here, thinking about the people around him, about the relationships he’s formed. The novelist glanced outside – the sun shined, the birds chirped, and the trees rustled with the wind.

And the world continues to move on.

***

“When are you going to tell him?”

“…” You tensed at the abrupt voice. You snapped your head up, eyes darting to find Cisco approaching you with pocketed hands in his gray-black jacket. He wore a Bulbasaur shirt. The clouds surged by with the intensity of the breeze. Your hair blew over your shoulders slightly. Tilting your head, you turned back to watch the city. Days had passed and you refused to see HR, content on what Cisco had been telling you. He’d been recovering tremendously well, but… you didn’t really want to hear about what he and Tracy were up to. It wounded you. “Tell who, what?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about, Ms. I’m-going-to-put-my-feelings-in-a-box.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ohohohoho, no. I am tired of the love eyes, the lingering gazes, the pining. It ends.” Your best friend came to sit down next to you with that frustrated look on his face. “I know you have powers.” Your heart stopped in your chest at his accusation. “I know you used your powers to heal HR.” You bit down on your lip, not wanting to validate his statement. Cisco saw “I analyzed the wounds, looked at his healing at a microscopic level. I’m not Caitlin, but even I can pick up a few things. His cells were excelled to heal, but there were residues of your genetic markers at the wound point. You stitched his wounds together, cell-by-cell. My point is: why didn’t you say anything? Your powers are a-”

“-A curse.”

“What?”

“They’re a curse.” You threw a hard look at Cisco, making sure your hands wouldn’t touch him. “I can’t be playing God, Cisco. And… it’s unpredictable, volatile. I could either heal the life in my hands or take it away. I could rip someone ‘cell-by-cell’, Cisco. There’s no ‘in between’, not this time. He got lucky with my powers. He got lucky I didn’t make things 100% irreversible.”

“But why didn’t you say anything?” Cisco eyed the gloves you wore; it wasn’t the season for leather gloves.

“Because I didn’t want to give anyone false hope.”

“You don’t want to give yourself false hope, you mean.”

“…I can’t even heal a plant, Cisco. No matter how hard I tried, it wilted further. It’s a curse.”

“That’s not guaranteed every time, you know. It takes practice – discipline to get your powers to work with you instead of for you.” He nudged your shoulder with his, turning his gaze to the flock of birds drifting through the wind. “You know, he broke up with Tracy.”

“Ok?”

“Happened a week ago. She didn’t take it well and let me tell you. Tracy Brand was livid – the rage and yelling were off the charts. I think she has Harry beat. I knew it wasn’t going to last anyway, it was too superficial to begin with.”

“Uh huh.” You tried to sound uninterested, but deep down you were relieved. You heard a little ring in your ear. You wondered…

“She’s gone, won’t be coming here anymore.

“Ok.”

“So, go make your move.”

You turned abruptly to face him. “Cisco, have you thought that maybe HR doesn’t want to dive into a relationship right away? That… maybe he needs space to focus on himself?” All were things you had contemplated for yourself before.

“And what better way to do that than with a new roommate.”

“Excuse me?”

“Surprise, you’re getting a temporary roommate while we fully fix up things around the labs. I volunteered you since you have the space and the patience to deal with HR.” Your blood froze in your veins.

“Francisco Ramon, I am going to-”

“-Thank me, you’re going to thank me.” He had already breached away before you had the chance to strangle him. Heat rushed to your cheeks at the idea of HR living with you, even if it was a temporary living arrangement. You scolded your heart for beating loudly in your chest. One hand gripped tightly to your other. An audible sigh escaped you as your mind played with the idea.

Shit, what am I going to do?

***Day 1***

Cisco blew out an exhausted breath, setting down another box on top of a box in the guest room. You and the mechanical genius had been breaching back and forth with HR’s things as said novelist was crippled. His arm would take about another four weeks to heal. About 20 percent of shoulder fractures are displaced and may require some type of manipulation to restore normal anatomy. Occasionally the rotator cuff muscles are injured or torn at the same time as the fracture. Fortunately for HR, his rotator cuff muscles weren’t as damaged. This can further complicate the treatment. Therefore, in that time, HR would just be handling the lighter stuff, bless his heart. The novelist entered the room with his black backpack slung over his functioning shoulder – it was the last thing that he could carry.

“I think there’s one more box left,” HR pointed with his thumb towards his back direction, the breach closing behind him.

“I’ll go get it, not a problem. Why don’t you two get started on unpacking, huh?” HR shrugged with one shoulder and stepped away to set his bag down by the bed. Cisco threw a cheeky look your way when HR had his back turned, his eyebrows wiggling. ‘Have fun love birds,’ the scientist had mouthed at you. You flicked him off with a deadpanned look. Instantly you dropped it when the Wells doppelganger turned as Cisco snickered before he breached away. He gave you a confused look, but you waved it off.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For allowing me to stay obviously. And for all the help since I’m, well, a bit tangled up at the moment.”

He was referring to the cross-body sling that clung onto him like a spider. HR rubbed the back of his neck, and you didn’t miss the way his bicep flexed at the motion in that gray short-sleeve shirt. Calm the fuck down, it’s just a toned muscle. You’ve seen things like that before. The puppy-like smile HR sent you had your cheeks warming up. The gentle smile that made your heart melt all over again. You cleared your throat as you reached for a box. “It’s no big deal, HR.” Undoing the tape seal with scissors, you opened the box- and the first thing you see are a pair of handcuffs accompanied by a silky black blindfold.

“What’s in the box?”

A little noise left you as you shut the flaps of the box, trying to seal it again. The flaps remained downward in the box. “Nope, nothing. Just some clothes here. I’m going to get that one box from the living room.” You had backtracked right into the door, your nose throbbed in response at the collision. “Ow,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing the skin.

“You ok?”

“I’m fine,” your response was quick, but not rude. A deep chuckle made its way to your ears as you scrambled out the room, your heart hammering in your chest. Your thoughts scolded you for being so awkward and flustered around him. Be cool, just chill out… The man you’re hopelessly in love with is just living with you temporarily, it’s not like anything will amount from this. You picked up the last box in the living room, hoping that just clothes would be in here and not anymore kink toys. I mean… I have toys, too. AW SHIT, I HAVE TO HIDE THEM!

HR’s eyes never left you as you made your panicked exit. He let out a little breath before shuffling over to the box you had been attending to. Immediately, he face-palmed hard when he had opened it with one hand. His face felt impossibly hot at what you had seen. She must think I’m an idiot or something. His mind thought back to when you helped him shop for some new clothes then it had gotten ruined from a meta. His hand fell away from his face, the image of your kind grin imprinted in his mind. I am an idiot, though. A fool.

Once Cisco returned, you three continued unpacking HR’s things for the time he’d spend here. The labs were still in ‘piss-poor’ shape according to Cisco and that he’ll need to consult with Harry and Wally regarding repairs.

“HR, how are you showering?”

“Um, like a normal person?” A dumbfounded look crossed HR’s features as he set the plate of sandwiches down. The novelist had knitted his eyebrows at Cisco. He had taken up to experimenting in the kitchen when he wasn’t writing. The tea and coffee were still brewing in your kitchen.

“No, I mean with how your shoulder is injured,” Cisco snuck an evil look at you, you returned it with a glare, “must be hard handling it alone.” You knew exactly where this dumbass wanted to take this conversation, so you stayed silent as to not get caught in the crossfire.

HR thought to himself for a moment. “Just a bit, but I’ve gotten used to the mild discomforts and pain. I can mostly reach everything thanks to my long limbs. But I think the nice thing is that it’s an internal issue, not an external one. An external injury or wound would require me to really have help with showering that way the area doesn’t get infected or irritated with the contents of soaps.” A laugh fell from his lips, but his mind wondered what his friend was playing at while you were around.

“I’m just saying, if you ever need a hand well,” Cisco trailed off with a smirk, chomping on his third sandwich.

Oh, I see. Devious, but a futile effort. “I’ll make sure you’re the first one I ask for help,” HR teased with a smirk of his own for Cisco to drop his in disgust. A cough escaped you, which had HR’s eyes land on you. Your eyes met for a moment before you deviated your gaze. HR felt hypnotized for a moment. Hm… The engineer quickly recovered from HR’s snide remark.

“Alright kids, I’ll be going now. The labs require some diligent work that I, a capable and distinguished engineer, could only do.”

“Yet, we still have the occasional security issues,” You sipped your tea once the snarky comment was out. HR stifled a chuckle, but you heard it. The corners of your mouth lifted slightly at the notion.

“Hey, that’s not fair. They always come up with something new to invade our space by.” Cisco pointed a finger at you, mocking a hurtful expression on his face. It dropped into a sneaky smile. “Make good choices and always use protection, you two!” He breached away before you could throw your cup at him.

***Multiple Days Pass***

Through his time here, you noticed HR fueled to write what’s on his mind in the guest room. You could only assume that he continued his adventure story. Sometimes he would venture out for some coffee or take a walk to give his creativity a break. Keeping that in mind, you gave HR the space he needed as well as all noises to a minimum. You knew he liked the quiet atmosphere to pour his heart and soul into words as he did research for a scene. Pulling your jacket on, you compiled a list of groceries before you stepped out of your apartment. Locking the door, you headed out to the store picking up a few necessities as well as some snacks for HR. Like Harry, the novelist can easily lose himself in his task – which meant that he tended to forget about eating and such. You found a bag of Jitters coffee beans, adding it to your cart of items. Buying some snacks and fruit, you’d leave a note in the kitchen of the snacks when he emerged from his writing cave.

On the way back, you stopped by at Iris’ studio to check up on her. A few groceries for her as well were in hand. Cecile and you did your best to visit Iris. But you can’t deny that you blamed her to a certain extent. Had she spoken up once she had left Savitar’s place disguised as HR, HR wouldn’t have been hurt that night on Infantino Street. Surely, she could have contacted her father or Cisco or something. The transition could have been smoother. HR wouldn’t have been… The journalist was faring; she pushed through the pain and as Barry had told her ‘to keep living’. So, Iris did. She hadn’t been herself since Barry went into the Speedforce – she pushed too much, the smile wouldn’t reach her eyes sometimes. You sympathized; she lost the love of her life. But you almost had too.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, just… taking it one day at a time.” You nodded at her response, a small smile on your face. “How are things with you and HR? I heard of the temporary living conditions.”

“It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m in my bubble and he’s in his doing his writing.”

“Right. Nothing going on whatsoever?”

“Iris.”

Iris set her cup of hot chocolate down and raised both hands in mock defeat. “We all saw it. We all see it.”

“See what?”

“How smitten you are for him.”

“I’m not-”

“-Don’t say you’re not. If you weren’t you, Harry wouldn’t have to pry you off Savitar before you clawed his eyes out.”

“…” You just looked into your tea, the honey that settled at the bottom. Iris placed a sympathetic hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t look at her.

“The heart will want what it wants, (Y/N). Pushing your feelings into a box and denying it out loud won’t change things.”

“I know.”

And my heart wants him, over and over again. Even if he can’t see me.

***

HR tapped his pencil against the desk at a steady pace. His mind wouldn’t focus on the words in front of him, on the scene he wanted to set. Instead, it kept drifting further from it. Further towards you: your eyes, your smile, the kindness that you held; the serenity that your existence held as the world continued to turn and chaos had unfolded at each turn. HR didn’t see much of you while he was here, the novelist missed your company. You were here, but you weren’t really here. You were either in your room or at the balcony with a book or on the couch with your Switch. He didn’t want to bother you, but… sometimes HR just wanted to sit beside you and pull you close to talk. To hold you in his arms and ask you about your day, to understand what you were thinking. HR cracked his back in a stretch from where he sat on his bed, being mindful of his injured shoulder. It didn’t hurt as it had originally done a few weeks back. The Wells doppelganger noticed that you were careful to avoid touching him or him touching you. Not even a hug that you used to graciously give him. You were especially guarded with your hands. A rough sigh left him as he threw his pencil down. The frustration was setting in, he was getting nowhere. You consumed his thoughts. HR wondered if you were revolted by him but doesn’t verbalize his thoughts to you. He didn’t think you’d give him your truthful answer. Maybe she is revolted by me. She did find the cuffs and the blindfold… No, she knew about the cuff stage thing well before that.

The sound of the front door greeted his ears followed by the soft tune of music. A frown made its way onto his face. Might as well take a break. HR stretched once more when he fully stood up, a little noise of relief left his lips. He cracked his back once more before smelling himself. For safe measure, the novelist sprayed a bit of cologne on himself and turned off the candle he had on. He mentally noted to take a shower after dinner since his last was yesterday. He liked the feeling of being clean, to be honest. HR carded a hand through his hair. I need a haircut soon, too. Yeesh, I feel like I’m letting myself go. Once I’m all healed it’s back to proper cuts and the labs’ recreation room. He wanted to go back to lifting weights and doing yoga for body stability purposes – especially now because of his shoulder. HR rested a hand on his chest, the wound had healed completely, but a scar remained. Upon entering the kitchen, he saw the groceries on the table and heard you whisper along with the lyrics. The music was set to a low level that your whispers were audible enough. He watched you sway a bit with the tune.

So please don't break my heart

Don't tear me apart

I know how it starts

Trust me I've been broken before

Don't break me again

I am delicate

Please don't break my heart

Trust me I've been broken before

The guitar tune pulled at his heart, feeling the raw emotion behind the lyrics. He eyed you for a moment. HR cleared his throat to make his presence known, he knew you didn’t like to be snuck up on. However, a little gasp left you from where you were. “You went out shopping?”

You looked up from where you crouched to put away the cereal. “Uh yeah, we were running low on some stuff.” You shut the cabinet and went to the other items you had bought. The music continued to delicately play.

“Need any help?”

“Um, sure. Uh, just set these into the cabinet on the left.” Normal, be normal. He’s not going to eat you or anything. Distance is good. Distance keeps you safe. You didn’t meet his eyes, the eyes that’d pull you in and never let you out – your heart shook with him here and the song that played. You were hoping HR wouldn’t come out while you prepped dinner to have a sort of peace of mind. The next song played before you could stop it-

My last made me feel like I would never try again

But when I saw you, I felt something I never felt

Come closer, I'll give you all my love

If you treat me right, baby, I'll give you everything

“I like this song,” HR started as he was finishing up with putting his side of the groceries away. Another guitar-like song that brought out the soft feelings of love and rejection. HR mused to himself if fate had planned this out. If this was some sort of sign or a cruel joke… You had stopped yourself from clicking the button to skip the song at his comment. You don’t know what possessed you to let him indulge in another song that you’ve cried to late at night. “Hey, I can cook dinner tonight. I have something I’ve been wanting to try. I’m not that crippled so I can manage with a few cookware.” HR chuckled to himself, a goofy grin on his face. Your heart leapt in your chest; his grin caused a small smile to pull at your lips. “You can wash up first?”

You swallowed thickly, your eyes meeting his icy blues. You felt your cheeks warm up slightly as the nerves crawled up your spine. “Oh, ok. Cool, yeah. Can’t wait to see what you cook up.” You nodded, ducking your head away and shuffling out of the kitchen with that shy smile on your face. You missed the longing look he had sent you as you fastened your steps to head to your room.

God I love that smile. What goes on in that little head of yours? We used to be so close… before Tracy came into the picture. HR pulled out the spices and the chicken breast. He shook his head and proceeded to prep the food with his one useful hand. I need to consult Francisco.

***

“We need to talk,” HR’s voice broke the silence in the side lab of the Cortex. He had breached to the labs using the Breach Extrapolator after he had showered and such. His damp hair was pushed back in HR’s normal style.

“About what?” Cisco raised a concerned eyebrow at the writer, stopping what he had been doing.

“(Y/N).”

A nervous laugh left Cisco as he went back to attempting to make the necessary modifications to the Speed Bazooka. Tracy was reluctant to help the mechanical engineer after the breakup. “What about (Y/N)?” Cisco put down his screwdriver. “Did you do something weird to her?”

“What? No! I- we used to be closer. We always talked, we’d hang out after a long day here at the labs.”

“Uh huh.”

“And, maybe it’s just me, but things have changed.”

“How so?” Cisco was wondering what conclusion HR was leading himself to.

“Things changed when Tracy came into the picture.”

Cisco made a little ‘o’ with his mouth with a little nod before closing it. He pushed a rough sigh past his lips, he was getting really tired of this puppy love game. “Why do you think that?”

“Francisco, she flinches when I get close – almost when I touch her… Does she hate me?”

“I think you and I know the answer to that one. But I think the real question should be: Why do you care so much? Why does it bother you? Do you love her, HR?”

The novelist tensed a bit. “…” HR pursed his lips as Cisco walked around the table that the speed weapon was mounted on. Blueprints were scattered on one table while the glass board held variables and equations he could not decipher. “What?”

“I said what I said,” the mechanical genius smoothly responded. One look at HR and Cisco knew that he was baffled by his forward words. But they needed to be said. “Now run along and use that head of yours to think about what your heart wants. Barry isn’t going to get himself out of the Speedforce.”

***

Cisco’s words mulled through HR’s mind as he breached back to your apartment’s living room. Only the lamp light on the side table was on. HR’s eyes landed on you, who laid on the couch with the book you had been reading on the back ledge of the couch. The novelist took off his shoes and set down his bag. He had detoured to the bookstore, looking for the next installment of your current book. The Wells doppelganger had assumed you didn’t buy it yet as it was vacant from your bookshelf. The gentle giant stepped silently closer to you; the dim light cast over you like a glow. There were slight bags under your eyes. She hasn’t been sleeping well lately. Spotting a large and fluffy blanket near, HR grabs it and lays it on top of you. He remembered you mentioned to him prior that you easily get cold, especially at night. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, HR contemplated something before his body moved impulsively. The novelist placed a gentle kiss on your forehead; his lips lingered for a few more seconds. Pulling back, HR watched your chest rise and fall. He turned the light off and stumbled over to his room with his phone light guiding him. He knew what he was going to write. Cisco’s question pestered him enough though.

Do you love her, HR?

HR took one look out his door before shutting it, his heart squeezed tightly in his chest as he whispered, “Goodnight, my angel.” Only the shadows that lingered were a witness to the fondness laced in those simple words.

***

You woke up with a start, you hand instantly smacking right into your chest. Heavy breaths left you as your nerves were in overdrive. Cold sweat beaded your skin as you gasp for air. It was another night terror – the same one for a few weeks now; a new way in which you caused HR’s death. Swallowing thickly, you screw your eyes tightly shut and whisper the mantra that calmed you down. After a few minutes, you started to regain control of your breathing – the thoughts that ravaged your mind finally ceased like the tides subsiding after a tsunami. You blinked languidly, hating nights like these. They weren’t rare, but they weren’t an uncommon occurrence. Deciding that you needed to step out for some air, you did so with the intent of getting a glass of water from the kitchen. Your fingers found the lights for the dimmers in your room, setting it to its lowest setting for you to see yourself out.

Cracking the door open, you were instantly met with the scene of HR passed out on the couch again. He’s been doing that for around two weeks now, the couch his new base of operations. His mouth was slightly open as little snores escaped him. A lovestruck smile crossed your features at the sight. Papers were littered around him, on the ground, and on the tables. Must be the manuscript he’s working on for his final draft. I hope I can read it at some point. Coming back from the kitchen with the water in hand you couldn’t help but stop to admire the sight. You noticed the glasses still perched on his face. Moving as silent as a ninja, you inched closer to pull off the glasses from his face. They’ll break if he keeps them on while he sleeps. Then he won’t see for shit when reading things. You nibbled on your bottom lip as your eyes drifted to the papers. One peek won’t hurt anyone. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Seating yourself on the ground, you leaned your back against the foundation of the couch. You were opposite to where HR’s upper body was. If there were any telltale signs of him waking, you’d hightail out before he could fully wake up and process what you were doing. Picking up a small stack, you started sifting through them. Your mind became engrossed with the words – the beginnings of the story he had spun about his adventures as to how he came to Earth-1. Then… mentions of an angel eluded you. It couldn’t be Tracy, could it? I know they broke up, but… on the other hand, it doesn’t mean that he can’t say that she was his angel at the time. Like a character development thing leading to their break up?? Well fuck, I don’t even think he’d mention such a personal thing in his book. I know I wouldn’t… would I? I don’t know. A little smile danced at your lips while you read on about the synonymous things regarding Team Flash that you failed to notice HR rouse from sleep.

“Do you like it?” Lethargy intertwined his words. A stunned noise left you as you clutched the papers. You turned to see HR rubbing his eyes before gazing at you.

I could get lost in those eyes if I stared too long.

“Uh, yeah, its- it’s really good,” you stuttered, setting the papers down in your lap. Embarrassment of getting caught gripped you. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind you taking a peek. I don’t have anything to be ashamed of in it.” HR shifted his lithe body to sit next to you on the ground.

“Oh.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“It’s not that important, I’ll be ok.”

“If you say so,” HR’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I’m here if you want to talk.” You nodded at him, whispering a little thank you. HR ran a hand over his knee, he took a glimpse at you who stared at the papers. He noticed what chapter you hand been reading – the angel was making an appearance in the story. The hair at the back of his neck stood while you thumbed the words on the paper back in forth, just lost in your mind. Your hair was messy from sleep, the bags under your eyes were still there. It killed him how you wouldn’t confide in him anymore. But he didn’t push you. You would open up to him if you wanted to or not, even if he wanted you to do so as so his mind can be at ease with knowing what’s going on with you. Cisco’s question sprang up in his mind once more before he licked his lips, his eyes watching you. “I do.”

You gave HR a strange look. I do, what?

“Tracy wasn’t her.” Realization struck HR the more you whispered with him.

“Huh??”

“I heard this voice before I woke up.” The novelist fully turned to you with intense eyes, the enlightenment in them – the fire that burned brightly. “The tenderness in it could rival any tasteful delight in the multiverse.”

“A voice?”

“Mm, it made me think that only a heavenly deity would have such a voice.” You remained silent as he spoke. “I never got to hear that voice since my coma… until now?”

You tensed at what he was insinuating. “Now?”

“How could I forget?”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“How could I forget about you?” The baritone huskiness in his voice made you melt with the way he said those words. You swallowed, trying to calm the butterflies that raged in the pit of your stomach. “The flowers that were left – beautiful, delicate, yet meaningful. You left those after visiting me.”

“…”

She didn’t deny it. “But you never visited when I was awake because of Tracy.”

“She hates me.”

“And I was too blind to see that until I broke up with her, she threw quite a fit.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because you must have loved her so much that it would be hard to let go.” She was your angel, after all.

“She didn’t even know me. Truly know me.”

“… Did she hurt you?”

“Slightly, but the bruise is gone.” You and he were silent for a moment. Only the sound of a distant car horn was heard from the streets. “You didn’t deny it.”

“Deny what?”

“The flowers, the visit…” HR licked his lips as a rough breath left him. His nerves were climbing, but he needed to do this. “Cisco told me what you did to Savitar when you saw him. How angry you were that Harry had to pry you off him – I was so angry.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know then… but I know now.”

“And?”

“Tracy was never the one written in my story – she didn’t care. She didn’t see me for anything other than a pretty face obsessed with coffee. You did.” HR tucked your hair behind your ear, carefully gauging your reaction. He saw how you tried not to flinch away from him. “Do you hate me?” He asked as he retracted a hand from you, happy that he was at least getting through to you.

“Never could I feel such a way towards you.” You hesitated for a moment before testing the waters. You started to explain, “I- the night you were stabbed by Savitar I… I just broke. I pushed Tracy away, I had Barry rush you back to the labs. You were dying, unconscious on the gurney and… I got to work trying to resuscitate you. I had Cisco take care of Tracy while I worked, I needed space to think clearly, but I couldn’t. When- when the others were preoccupied with Iris’ appearance, I used these powers.” It was now or never. “I was desperate. Your life was hanging by a thread- I didn’t think it was going to work, but nothing else was working. You were bleeding so much. But I had to try. I…” Your glassy eyes locked back on his, your hands pulled close to your body. HR understood now why you never tried touching him. Why you are avoiding getting too close. “Cisco found out, he confronted me. But these powers, life isn’t guaranteed. They’re volatile, unprecedented – regardless of how I feel in the moment the balance can tip between giving a life and taking one.” There was a tightness in your chest as your voice cracked, “I’m cursed, I could hurt you.” I’m dangerous.

“I don’t think you will.”

“You don’t know that!”

“But I do,” HR reached a hand out to hold yours. Tension filled your heart as panic started to settle. “You wouldn’t let yourself hurt me. It would pain you too much.” HR squeezed your slightly shaky hand, his other hand still bound by the cross-sling. “My life is in your hands.”

“How can you trust me so much?”

“Because love cannot be built without a foundation of trust.” He placed a sweet kiss on the knuckles of your hand. “And understanding.” He took the other and kissed it, baby blue eyes shifted back to yours with such intense emotion. The adoration that filled the author to the brim for you. Just for you. Only you. The one who saw him for everything and anything that he is. His safe space – the one other thing he wanted to be for you as well. He wanted to eliminate any fears that resided in your heart, the pain and doubt that remained.

“Do you hate me?”

HR cupped your cheek tenderly as he leaned close, your heart wanted to stop as blood rushed to your cheeks and ears. Your half-lidded eyes shut slowly as his lips skimmed over your own. “Never in my life, angel,” the novelist whispered as he captured your lips in a tender and sentimental kiss.

Never in my life could I hate the one who my heart has yearned for.

#harrison wells x reader #harrison wells #hr wells x reader #hr wells #hr wells imagine #the flash cw #the flash #harrison wells imagines #earth 19 harrison wells #cw #cisco ramon #tracy brand #iris west #Iris West-Allen

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triptuckers · 3 years

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Two Homes (part 3/7) - Nikolai Lantsov

Request: nope Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader Summary: you’ve successfully escaped the ball room, but you run into someone you had been trying to avoid when you’re in the gardens Warnings: lil angst, mentions of gunshots and blood Word count: 2K A/N: hehe he is here !! finally lol enjoy reading! PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART TAG LIST (two homes and/or all grishaverse fics): @godsofwriting @im-constantly-fangirling @ayushmitadutta @mrs-brekker15 @dancingwith-sunflowers @thegirlwiththeimpala @parker-natasha @story-scribbler @romanoffstarkovs @daliareads @meiitanoia @itsnotquimey (if your name is in bold it means I couldn’t tag you) add yourself to my tag lists here

You can faintly hear the music in the ball room. But the closer you get to the gardens, the more you have to concentrate to be able to hear the music. You can’t help but to smile to yourself. You made it out of the ball room.

All you had to do was wait until the ball was over and you would be on your way back to Ketterdam. Your father would probably be furious at you. But it was about time he learned he couldn’t continue to control your life.

As you’re walking through the gardens, the many different flowers take your breath away. You didn’t have a ball room like the one you just left in Ketterdam. You also certainly didn’t have a garden like this.

You walk the paths, amazed by the plants around you. You had never seen something like this before. If King Nikolai would have invited you to this garden instead of a ball, you might have seriously considered accepting his invitation.

Time passes as you admire the extraordinary flowers surrounding you. The palace has long since vanished from your eyesight, and the sun is almost gone. You can see some stars in the sky already.

Even though you didn’t want to come here, even though you spent the entire journey getting here wishing for Ketterdam, you couldn’t deny you’d be upset if you had missed out on the beautiful gardens.

You wonder if the ball has already ended, and want to make your way back to the palace, when you see a silhouette in the distance. Did someone else escape the ball to go to the gardens? Or worse; did someone follow you when you leapt from the balcony?

Though you’re in the gardens near a palace and not in the streets of Ketterdam, you’re still on edge by a stranger’s presence. You stop walking and listen closely to their movements, ready to strike should they attack you.

You watch from a distance as they walk closer. Hands behind their back, slowly walking through the garden. You notice the way their shoulders slump a little. Tired of the dancing maybe? Or trying to deceive you?

When they walk closer, and the last bit of sunshine falls on their face, you see blonde hair and a pair of hazel eyes.

A look of surprise finds its way onto his face when he spots you.

‘Well, hello.’ he says, sounding genuinely surprised to see another person in the gardens. ‘I believe we haven’t met?’

You shake your head. ‘No, we haven’t.’ you say.

He looks up and down your dress, sending goosebumps along your bare arms. You couldn’t deny he was indeed as handsome as described in the stories.

‘I’d say you fled the ball.’ he says. ‘I’m Nikolai, I don’t think you were introduced before the ball started.’

You notice how he introduces himself as Nikolai, and not as the king.

‘I didn’t flee.’ you say. ‘And no, I wasn’t introduced.’

‘Oh, that wasn’t a question.’ says Nikolai. ‘Merely a statement. I’d remember a dress and a face like that.’

Your lips slightly part in surprise. ‘Do you flirt with every woman you meet tonight?’ you ask.

‘Do you flee from every ball you attend?’ he says without missing a beat, making you chuckle.

‘This is the first ball I’ve ever been to.’ you admit.

‘Apparently it’s not a very good one, given that you left before it even started.’ he says.

‘It’s not about wether or not it’s a good ball.’ you say. ‘I just didn’t want to be in Ravka.’

‘But you are here.’ he points out.

‘Because my father basically dragged me here.’ you say, crossing your arms.

‘Your father, is he a Kerch merchant? There was one who didn’t introduce his daughter because she wasn’t there. So, that would mean you’re Y/F/N /Y/L/N, right?’ says Nikolai.

‘You’re good.’ you say.

‘I’m good at a number of things.’ he says with a wink.

‘Clearly.’ you say.

Nikolai smiles and holds out his arm to you. ‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ he says.

You look at him extending his arm to you, smile on his lips and a twinkling in his eyes. You were dying to know why he had left the ball as well, and you actually didn’t mind the company. It made you curious and eager to find out if the stories you had heard about him are true.

So you nod with a smile, and lay a hand on his arm.

‘I’ll take you to my favorite spot in the gardens.’ he says, steering the two of you onto one of the paths.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ you say.

‘Of course.’ says Nikolai.

‘Why did you leave the ball?’ you say.

Nikolai looks at you and smiles. ‘Because even though I’m an excellent dancer, I also need breaks.’ he says. ‘I needed some fresh air.’

‘Are you really good at dancing or are you trying to impress me?’ you say.

‘Take your pick.’ he says.

For someone who didn’t want to be here and who had no intention of meeting the king, you found yourself starting to like him. He’s easy to talk to, and seems genuinely interested in you. And he’s not offended to find you in the gardens instead of the ball room.

‘Was it your idea to throw this ball to pick a bride?’ you say as you walk past a plant with particularly large orange flowers.

Nikolai sighs softly. ‘No.’ he says. ‘It was a decision made by Zoya and Genya, two of my triumvirate.’

‘Because they wanted you to marry?’ you say.

‘Because they wanted me to form an alliance and because I couldn’t establish one through politics, they thought I should try getting one through marriage.’ he says.

You look at him, trying to read his face. ‘But you don’t want that.’ you say.

Nikolai looks at you and raises an eyebrow. ‘I personally don’t want to marry someone I don’t know for the sake of an alliance. But it’s what’s best for Ravka. And I like to put Ravka’s needs first.’ he says.

‘Spoken like a true king.’ you say.

‘Well, I try to be a good one.’ he says as the two of you sit down on a bench.

‘From the stories I heard, you are.’ you say.

‘Really?’ says Nikolai. ‘Fancy telling me one of them?’

You laugh and shake your head. ‘I’m sure you’ve already heard them.’ you say.

‘What would it take for you to tell me one of those stories?’ says Nikolai.

You shrug. ‘A ticket to Ketterdam?’ you say.

He frowns. ‘You really want to go back that badly?’ he says.

‘No offence, but yes. I’ve been wanting to go back ever since the ship sailed away. Don’t take it personal, but I never had any intention of going to Os Alta in the first place.’ you say.

‘I understand.’ he says.

You look at him, confused. ‘You do?’

‘What, you think people haven’t made decisions for me my entire life?’ he says. ‘I know what it’s like not being able to make your own choices. I do appreciate you actually coming, though. You’re the first person I've talked to tonight who doesn’t throw themselves at me before I can even say hello.’

You laugh at his words. ‘Sorry for not throwing myself at you. Though I’m sure you’re used to it by now.’ you say.

Nikolai laughs as well. ‘Don’t apologise, it’s refreshing.’ he says.

The two of you are silent as you look at the plants that surround you. It’s rather peaceful, being away from the buzzing ball room and just sitting on a bench to have a conversation.

‘Why is this your favourite part or the gardens?’ you ask him after a while.

In response, Nikolai points to a bush of bright yellow flowers. ‘Those are my favourites.’ he says. ‘Native to Novyi Zem, but Grisha can make sure they can grow here as well. They bloom for very short periods of time, mostly it’s just one week during summer. That’s why the Zemeni call them Summer’s Week. They’ve always been my favourite flowers. I always visit this spot during each summer, to see them bloom.’ he explains.

‘They’re beautiful.’ you say. ‘Such a shame we don’t have gardens like this in Ketterdam. I would have loved to spend more time here.’

‘I’d invite you to stay, but that would mean I'd have to propose and you made it very clear you want to go back to Ketterdam.’ says Nikolai.

He gets up and walks over to the bush with the yellow flowers. You watch as he carefully picks one and walks back to you. He smiles as he hands it to you.

‘You can have one.’ he says. ‘If it still looks good when you get to Ketterdam, you can dry it, keep it between the pages of a book or something.’ he says.

You smile as you take the flower from him. ‘Thank you.’ you say.

Nikolai looks back in the direction of the palace, though you can’t see it from here.

‘I should go back.’ he says. ‘They’re probably wondering where I am, and I’d rather not have Zoya organise a search party.’

‘She’d do that?’ you say.

‘You have no idea what she’s capable of.’ says Nikolai, offering you his arm once more. You accept it and rise to your feet.

As you start to walk back to the palace, Nikolai looks at you and smiles when he catches your eye.

‘This has been nice.’ he says.

‘The gardens?’ you say.

‘I can visit the gardens any time I like. No, talking with you. You allow me to be Nikolai. Everyone in that ball room only thinks of me as a king. They only think of themselves as future queens.’ he says.

‘But they are potential queens.’ you say. Nikolai looks at you and you remember his words. ‘Right.’ you say. ‘For Ravka.’

You see the palace appear in the distance, and by the looks of it the ball is still in full swing. You sigh softly, not looking forward to reuniting with your father and having him yell at you.

‘Well, here we are.’ says Nikolai, stopping in front of the palace. He motions to your left. ‘The doors are that way.’ he says. ‘And even though there are no gardens over there, we do have a lake which is also very nice.’ he says while motioning to your right.

You let go of his arm and frown. ‘You don’t want me to return to the ball?’ you say.

Nikolai merely shrugs. ‘Why would I? You don’t want to go there, and I’m not your king so technically, you don’t have to do anything I say.’ he says.

‘You really are an extraordinary king.’ you say, making him smile. ‘I see why your people love you so much.’

‘Hearing anyone say that means a lot to me.’ says Nikolai. He moves to stand in front of you. ‘Are you sure I can’t convince you to come and have one dance with me?’ he says.

You smile. ‘I think I’ll check out the lake.’ you say.

‘Alright then.’ says Nikolai, walking away toward the doors. ‘But watch out for the sea monster, though.’ he adds.

Your eyes widen. ‘You have a sea monster in your lake?’ you say.

But you never found out the answer. Before Nikolai can say anything, you hear a sound you know all tho well. How could you not recognise it after living in Ketterdam for years?

Gunshots. Two of them.

You watch as Nikolai falls to the floor, blood soaking his shoulder and stomach.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

#he is here !!!#nikolai lantsov #shadow and bone #grishaverse #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai lantsov fanfics #nikolai lantsov fic #nikolai lantsov fics #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfics #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone fics #two homes series

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thanekrios · 3 years

Text

A desert of his own

Summary: Shepard dreams of a dead planet. Irikah tells Kolyat a myth of creation. And Thane sees a desert.

Note: I wrote this many years ago. Posted it here when I was galifreyas, so the original post is lost. This is still up @ my much abandoned AO3.

Let us start with a planet that has been dead for centuries. Let us tell some fictions and some realities about it. It is up to you to believe which ones are true.

What about a woman who dreams of the deserts of Rakhana? Deserts carpeted with purple weeds that are inhabited by silvery lizards she has named the afa’el. In her dreams, the afa’el sing – no, that’s not what they do, the old melodies once sung by burning stars echo in them. Sometimes it sounds like they are humming and others, they appear to be reproducing three songs at once. She watches the ira, cactus-like succulents, glowing in announcement of the dawn of a new season as the cavernous voices of an ancient creature or a sinking sun make their way across the planet, from afa’el to afa’el and finally they reach her. She hears and understands their wordless mellow stories.

They tell her of the Endu, the biggest flower to ever exist in any world, which according to legend had bloomed in an unforgiving desert and was encountered by a group of nomads who sought it as a symbol of Arashu and built the biggest civilization around it.

She learns of how Rakhana came to be. How it was once a frozen egg, drifting away in the Sea of Stars, and how a maiden made of gold nourished it back to life.

The woman, whose name is Shepard, visits the great desert of Alasere religiously. She enjoys standing there, sinking her feet in a golden ocean, listening to the afa’el murmur words in Rakhani long forgotten.

She learns of fihanda, which roughly translates to the guilt a child feels when they recognize dishonesty in their parents or in an older authority figure. There is amuefto, the gift of finding beauty in a person and seeing it reflected in their faces, regardless of their looks. Taverena, an expression of gratitude only used when someone has made a true impact one’s life, making it out of the ordinary. And then, tah-sehe.

“I will miss you, Shepard. Tah-sehe,” had been the last thing she heard from Thane’s lips before he left the Normandy. For a while, she whispered tah-sehe to herself while embracing the mundane. It would fill the room in the form of a silly melody muttered while she watched the rain pour; or as a gurgling sound while she took a shower. It was imprinted on her mind. It isn’t until the afa’el sing morosely about the last chapter in their planet’s history, that she discovers tah-sehe is not a word to be said lightly.

She comes to understand why Thane, who turns the simplest of sentences into splendid verses, had felt it necessary to utter that word – because I will miss you was but a fragment of what he wished to convey. Tah-sehe meant more than to miss someone; it was a profound emotional state of infinite yearning, of not being able to experience life to the fullest, of having lost the most significant part of oneself. The concept originated during the great exodus of the 1980s, as the first generations of drell settled in Kahje carried the name of the tah’sehen, the ones who dwell in what’s lost.

It didn’t matter whether those were dreams weaved by longing. Tah’sehe migrated from her head to her heart.

During the days, as the Vancouver rain attempts to wash away her dreams, she convinces herself that if she can capture at least a fraction of the beauty of the deserts she wanders in and if she can translate it into a form, any form, the dormant planet of Rakhana will be awaken.

For a while, Shepard considers writing about every beast, plant and insect she has come across in her journeys but she has never been one to confuse her desires with her abilities. Writing, just like dancing, does not come naturally to her. And while she is a gifted saxophone player, she was never much of a composer. Yet, she tries.

Thane had caught her once practicing one of her unpolished pieces, one she referred to as “if calluses were a song, this would be it.” He had asked her to play it for him. She knew he’d listen, he’d truly listen, and not just that…he’d remember.

“Ugliness is abundant in this galaxy. Let’s not add up to it.” She said, putting down her sax.

“When you play, I hear a reminder of beauty and laughter and life. What you do is extraordinary, siha. To transform the dreadful slices of the universe, its eruptions and its vast darkness into a stream of ecstatic sounds, a blast of playful rhythms. You create things when there is but destruction around you. There is value in that. I hope you see it someday.”

Encouraged by his words, she composes a few songs that don’t come to even faintly remind her of the fierce and dry winds scattered across the planet. She can’t feel its vibrant colors in her slow and melancholic tunes, as they are permeated by the city she sees through her window and a sky that won’t stop weeping.

That is when she starts making terrariums resembling the deserts she visits. She thinks, if she is ever lucky enough to see Thane again, she’ll hand him a desert of his own. She can still hear him:

“I would much like to see a desert.”

* * *

After Kolyat leaves Huerta Memorial, so does Thane. He sees him walk away in a pristine white hallway and at the same time, a young Kolyat attempts to step on his father’s footprints. He can smell salt and iron and antiseptics and detergent, and hear machines beeping and waves crashing. Kolyat is saying something, he wants to be heard, but what might have been the most important words ever spoken are drowned by the roaring of the sea. He just stares at him and waits for his father to react and after a pause, disappointment is written all over his face. Thane asks him to hurry up and a young Kolyat walks reluctantly towards him, this time ignoring the trail of footprints left by his father.

He wishes his recollections were malleable, he often hears of humans enriching their past with fictions; or of conflicts among them springing from a poor recollection of events. But a drell’s memories are unforgiving –they can, on occasion, overlap with reality–but never be rewritten.

His mind takes him to that same evening, after Kolyat asked him to dance with him but he refused, as he was getting ready to go to work. He doesn’t see blighted hope but despondency in his child. Kolyat still wishes him a pleasant journey, as he always does, and runs to his room. He should have kissed his forehead. He should have made him feel like he was the brightest sun in the Zahel Sea cluster, the most vital spring of energy in his life.

As he is lacing up his shoes, he hears Irikah’s voice. Whenever she puts Kolyat to bed, her voice is soft and gentle. Like most nights, she is telling him a story. Irikah was always the better storyteller. Irikah was always the better everything.

“Now as everybody knows, the Land of Whistling Dunes was the child of a maiden made of gold, whose heart’s one desire was to drink from the Sea of Stars” says Irikah.

“The Milky Way” Kolyat mouths the words as his mother speaks them.

Irikah nods gently before continuing her story:

“The maiden, who shoned in silence in the skies, knew her womb was barren for a blazing flame lived inside of her. She watched the ages pass and her younger sisters descend to the Sea and drink from its starry tides; and one by one, they all bore and gave birth to the Sea’s children. And as eons passed, the children danced around their mothers; and the mothers swayed gently in the Sea.

The maiden, lonely and scorching, continued to long for the Sea’s kiss, until the day all eyes turned to the death of her older sister, whose cries of pain were carried by the waves, scattering them across the galaxy. And with her passing, her children came to perish too. It was then the maiden dove into the Sea of Stars and gulped its darkness greedily, for she desired children of her own.

The waves whipped her mercilessly as punishment for her insolence, tearing her flesh open. But the maiden didn’t yield; she drank until no more fire dripped from her mouth, she drank until the tides had dragged her sisters and nieces and she had swallowed them whole, she drank until the radiant sea was almost pitch-black.”

Irikah pauses. Something is happening.

Thane hears a gasp that doesn’t fit in their house, it doesn’t belong in the past. A horrified gasp. He recognizes the padding of shoe soles brushing against the floor and the sharp rhythmic piercing sounds of heels. There are many of them. Nurses, patients, visitors, doctors. They’re gathering near him. A man raises his voice, demanding everyone to be quiet. Another voice protests, only to be followed by Doctor Michel shushing the crowd and asking someone to turn down their hand terminal’s sound, so everyone can listen to the same thing.

Then, Irikah’s narration comes to him in long, heavy echoes.

He wants to be home as much as he wants to discover what is happening around his body. He can feel reality piercing its way through, the white pristine light of Huerta Memorial filtering through a crack in the wall he always meant to fix. Another voice slides in, distant and resonant, and he can’t make out what it says. He ignores it. He needs to hear the end of Irikah’s tale. That memory must remain unspoiled, uninterrupted. It’s the last story he ever hears her tell.

He hangs onto it; everything else must wait just a little longer.

“The Sea, heartbroken after witnessing the death of so many of his kin, felt conflicted as he desired retribution but didn’t wish to feel emptiness any further. He then presented the maiden with a choice: he would spare her life if she looked after an egg that had lost its guardian centuries ago; and if she was able to give life to a daughter who existed suspended in a shell of ice and yearned to see the light, her crimes would be forgiven. As the maiden accepted his offer, the pale egg rose up out of the sea. She held it tight, keeping it warm until the day it hatched and came to love it. And so, a winged silvery lizard was born. Her name was Rakhana.”

“Reports are coming in from the cities of London, Seoul and Vancouv—“

She is almost done. Let her finish.

“It’s said that Rakhana’s mother could not stand her daughter flying far away from her, for she was terrified that her only companion would abandon her. So Rakhana, who very much loved her mother and wished to make her proud, danced near her despite the sultriness she felt around her. Eventually, her entire body blushed with red desert flowers and her skin blistered and turned hot and dry. The lizard curled up and fell into a deep slumber as her skin turned to soil; and her breath became wind; and from her backbone a mountain range was born; and while she gave life to many, she failed to save them from the maiden’s fire. And so, Rakhana’s body continued dancing around her mother and her mother swayed gen...”

He sees a large group of people gathered a few feet away from where he is sitting. It takes him a moment to put together the pieces of the situation, of what it is being broadcasted through every terminal, of why Doctor Michel is shaking while she buries her face in her hands.

A myth of creation is replaced by news of destruction.

* * *

Thane always enjoyed looking at her fish. Once more, he sees them travel with glee from one side of the tank to the other. He used to feed them whenever she forgot, which was more often than she would care to admit. Half a lifetime ago.

He presses one of his fingertips against the fish tank’s glass and draws small invisible circles. A Thessian Sunfish follows his finger, even when he begins to trace unpredictable shapes. Shepard can’t see his face but she likes to think he’s grinning, greeting his old friends.

From all the stories and words that spun inside her head, tah-sehe is the only one she has felt pounding violently inside her. She wonders, even if she doesn’t know its true meaning, if perhaps there’s a word that encases an opposite feeling, the sensation of her chest being cluttered with emotions; and the impulse she is struggling to oppress, of talking about everything at once, the things she has seen and done and felt. And on the same time, she doesn’t want to talk at all, she wants to reach out and touch and caress and experience.

So, she asks.

“Is there a word in Rakhani for…this? Say…what you feel when you are reunited with someone? Like you with the fish right now.”

Thane turns around slowly; his hands are behind his back. The hint of a smile turns the corners of his mouth.

“I believe the closest word is sehifa. Even though I wouldn’t use it to describe my reunion with the fish. Is there a similar word in human language?”

“I don’t know if there’s a word for it in one of the human languages, but there isn’t one in English. At least the translator didn’t find an equivalent.”

“Ah. I see. Sehifa is a hard concept to condense into a single word. Perhaps it can be defined as the dusk of missing someone. Although it means more than that. It also refers to what you feel and what you do when you are reunited. The emotional closeness that is rekindled. Perhaps even physical intimacy. The warmth you feel in your chest. And what is exchanged. A memento or a present perhaps. Even the stories that your loved one wished to tell you for a long time, when they are finally said out loud and heard by the person who was meant to hear them. How each action or touch is meaningful.”

The dusk of missing someone. That’s it. That’s what it is.

Her cheeks feel warm and her heart full. She smiles the brightest of smiles and starts to laugh. It is a deep, explosive burst of laughter. The sort that seems to pour out like liquid gold to illuminate an entire room.

When Shepard runs out of laughter, she holds his gaze:

“I have something for you. A memento or a present or something of sorts.” She disappears for a couple of seconds and emerges from the bathroom holding something round made of crystal, around the same size as a fishbowl. “Remember what you told me? About creating? It’s funny. All this time I believed all I could ever make were bad songs. But in truth, there were worlds I could create. I can’t really share them with you, not with words at least, so I made a thing. It’s not really finished and it’s not as pretty as what it looked in my dreams but reality rarely pairs up with your expectations, right? I wanted to work on it for a while longer but, after what you just said, I just can’t wait anymore. Here.”

She shakes her head and hands it to him.

Thane holds it up.

It’s a terrarium.

She had created a harmonic ecosystem, filled with lively-colored succulents and cacti, each of them she handpicked herself to resemble the desert of Alasere. She knows that Rakhana will remain arid and dormant; and the worlds that live inside of her aren’t supposed to be more than just dreams. Yet, somehow, Thane is holding a slice of one of them between his hands. One of the things he wished he could see with his own eyes has come to him. In a way, a dream they dreamt of together became real.

He puts the terrarium down with care, next to her terminal, and he reaches over and cups her cheeks with both hands. He calls her by her first name, as he rarely does. He leans down and presses his forehead against hers. He smiles a very rare smile. He is somehow doing it with his entire face. His eyes are deep pools of bliss and warmth and tenderness.

“A desert” he says. She can even hear the smile in his voice.

She nods calmly. He knows Shepard is good at locking her nostalgia away behind more curtains than just her eyelids, but right then, her voice breaks.

“I really wanted you to see that desert, Thane.”

He utters a word in Rakhani used to convey a specific form of gratitude. And while taverena escapes from his lips, Shepard hears him say:

“Thank you for giving me the extraordinary.”

#thane krios #shrios #thane x shepard #kolyat krios #irikah krios #mass effect #i wrote this 4728473 years ago and i’d change some things now after playing mele but i’m going to leave it as it is #also while i had a lot of shrios feelings when i wrote this #i just wanted to make up a few words!#long post #galifreyas writes

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sevlgi · 4 years

Text

the florist

requested: no

group: dreamcatcher

pairing: jiu x fem!reader

genre: angst, questionable fluff

contents: hanahaki!au, florist!jiu

warnings: death

synopsis: When you find a beautiful death sentence clustered in your lungs, you can only visit the legendary florist. But is JiU herself as strong as she seems?

a/n: hiatus who? we don’t know her 🤡 i was actually gonna post this when it struck 12 on december 1st for me, but tumblr’s telling me it’s already december, so here we go!

word count: 3.3k

In all the years that the Hanahaki Disease had existed, there had never been a cure. And on the day that you coughed up the first blood-stained carnation, it became certain that you weren’t about to be the one to break the record.

You considered yourself to be decently cautious about the disease. After all, since you were a child, the only love lesson that you had ever been taught was to never, ever, be the first one in love. Your mother drilled that lesson, telling you that love was a poisonous thing to be avoided at all costs until you believed her.

And yet, you were stupid enough to allow her to wreck you, to allow yourself to become consumed by her.

It was unexpected, to say the least. Lee Siyeon had been a close friend for years, the two of you meeting during college, and she had been in love with someone else since then. You knew Bora well too, actually, and had always rooted for the two to get together.

Had it been anyone else, you would’ve still held the hope that your love could be returned, but Siyeon despised you with all the might of her soul ever since she had found out about the yellow petals floating in the toilet bowl at midnight. Had it been anyone else, you wouldn’t have faced the sheer mortification of begging Gahyeon for the address of the person who saved her.

“Y/N...” she had hesitated when you asked her. Siyeon’s younger sister was the only person that you knew of who had survived the disease without getting the dreaded surgery, but she was incredibly touchy about the subject. Indeed, you didn’t even know who she had fallen in love with so many years ago.

“Please, Gahyeon,” you begged, chasing to maintain eye contact with her. “I can’t die like this. You-- you won’t let me, will you? Not when it’s your sister.”

You didn’t want to guilt-trip her like you did, but it worked. Gahyeon texted you an address and a name, the ping noise of the notification sounding more like your saving grace than anything. “You can’t tell anyone else once you’re healed,” she warned. “She’ll know who you are as soon as you say my name.”

To outside eyes, the Love Blossom looked like a normal flower shop. The narrow storefront, sandwiched between a coffee shop and a bookstore, was painted a faint pink and chipped with green on some edges. There were flowers stuffed everywhere you could see-- exploding baskets on the windowsills, colorful wreaths hung everywhere, even a huge L and B made of blooms on the window.

Even when you pushed the door open, it gave no indication of being anything other than a flower shop. The scent of flowers was heavy, some rock song playing from the peppy pink speakers dangling from the ceilings. “Hello?” you called out, hands tightening on the strap of the bag slung over your shoulder. “H-”

Suddenly, you coughed out again and held your sleeve up to prevent any flower petals from fluttering out; the constant itch in your throat only served to make you more anxious to find the florist that Gahyeon had referred you to. “Is anyone there?”

“Hi!” You yelped and jumped back when an invisible door just next to you randomly opened, the shelf concealing it nearly colliding with your face. “Oh, I’m sorry! Were you looking for me?”

The girl who opened the door looked like the literal manifestation of sunshine; her smile took up half her face, the brown of her half-moon eyes seemingly lit from within. She balanced a flowerpot on her hip as she bowed to you in apology, long hair almost sweeping the floor. “Are- are you JiU?”

“Yep!” She moved to set the pot down, cocking her head slightly to take you in. “How can I help you today?”

“I... I’m a friend of Gahyeon,” you explained, watching as the smile on her face lessened slightly in understanding. You fished out the plastic bag from your purse, the almost-dry crimson inside overpowering the yellow petals. “Can you help me?”

The brunette accepted the bag, flashing you another bright smile as she opened the secret door again. “Well, let’s take a look. Follow me, please, and call me Minji.”

The narrow doorway led to what seemed to be her living quarters, or maybe an apothecary; the walls were almost completely covered by the forest-green painted shelves lining them, mismatched books and trinkets filling the spaces. Incredibly detailed drawings were tacked everywhere, a ladder folded behind the hidden door, presumably to access the blank walls up near the ceiling. A loft area was most likely where she slept, though she led you to a large and cluttered desk to examine the flowers you had given her.

“Yellow carnations. These symbol rejection and disdain, you know.”

You winced at the girl’s bluntness, though it wasn’t meant as a jab, still staring at the multitudes of drawings tacked everywhere. “Yeah, I know. Gahyeon told me.”

She smiled at the mention of the younger girl, setting the bag with your blood down to fiddle with a notebook. “I taught her well, then.”

“Taught her?” You watched her shift jars of petals around on the shelves, scribbling something down on a sheet of ironically pink and cutesy paper. “I thought you healed her.”

“Well, the Hanahaki disease doesn’t heal easily,” Minji responded, gesturing for you to follow her into a tiny kitchen area. “It took months, actually, and she spent almost every day in here. She might as well have become an apprentice, with how much I taught her.”

“Months?” Fear rose up in you at that, apparently not affecting the other girl as she hummed. You’d been in one of the later stages for a good couple of months now, though you couldn’t tell which one without visiting a doctor. “Minji, I don’t have months.”

She raised an eyebrow at you, tying the strings of her apron behind her. “Well, are you willing to get the surgery? Spend thousands of dollars and go through such a rigorous process, and then be left with a cold heart and unhealable scars?” At your silence, she chuckled, tying her hair up in a plait. “That’s what I thought.”

You sat on the stool at her kitchen table, watching Minji busy herself at what looked like a stovetop, albeit littered with glass bottles and half-hearted bouquets. “What makes you certain that this’ll work, then? How’d you even learn to help people like me?”

Minji bit down on her lower lip, the dark red color remarkably not transferring onto her pearly teeth. “Well. My mother died from the disease, so I was originally going to study it in school. But I had to help Gahyeon somehow. When she fell in love with someone who’d never love her back... I couldn’t just watch her die.”

Smiling slightly, you watched her scatter the same petals as you had coughed up into a pot, freshly plucked from stems that she threw onto the counter next to her. “What about you? What’s the story behind “rejection and disdain”?” she asked suddenly, smiling prettily. Something about her was a bit ethereal in the kitchen’s LED lighting, though maybe it was the fact that she was literally saving people that doctors couldn’t.

“Ah. I fell in love with Siyeon,” you answered, placing your hand into your chin as you watched her work. “She loves someone else, and I got between them. It’s not her fault.”

Frowning, Minji uncapped a jar that smelled strongly of rose, practically upending it in her pot. “Gahyeon’s sister? Does she know that you’re going to die because of her? I’ve met her before, and I didn’t think she’d be so cruel. ”

You nodded silently at that. The whole reason you were in such a predicament was that you loved Siyeon and she hated you; there was no way you were going to ask her to turn her entire heart on its head just to save you. It was unlikely that she’d want to do so at all, anyway. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” the brunette sighed sympathetically. “Love really hurts sometimes.”

“Yeah,” you smiled drily. “It’s just all too literal for me.”

“Hey, Minji!”

The girl turned from her flowers to wave excitedly at you, her smile painted bubblegum pink this time to match the faded apron she wore. She held trimmers in her hands, clumsy with the thick gloves she wore. “Y/N! Good to see you again, come in?”

“Yeah.” You smiled just seeing the interior of the shop, as decked-out as it had been in your first visit. Instead of the purple theme last week, Minji seemed to have gone with yellows, the peonies and roses tainting the cold air. The apartment, however, looked the same, almost comforting in its maximalism. “I’m done with the vials,” you mentioned, taking the freshly-washed glass bottles out of your bag along with a fresh bag of bloody flowers.

“Did they help?” Minji asked, accepting both with a quiet “thank you”. “Gahyeonie always told me that they taste terrible, but sugar cancels out all the good properties.”

“They aren’t that bad,” you lied, sitting down at the same spot in the kitchen and opening your bag. At her questioning look, you explained, “Oh, I thought I’d bring my laptop this time and keep you company. You said you were bored last time...”

Part of you wished she would turn you away, just so that you wouldn’t become attacked to someone who’d eventually leave you behind too. But she smiled, turning on her stove and hefting the same ceramic pot on as she did the last time. “That’s perfect, Y/N. When you’re done, you can come help package some bouquets for a break, okay?”

You nodded, sighing in content at the smell of flower petals boiling once again in the shop. “Okay. Thanks, Minji.”

“No need to thank me,” she replied, turning back to the ingredients that she fiddled with. “No need to thank me at all. How’s Siyeon?”

Shrugging, you swept some papers off the table to place your laptop down. “I don’t really know. She doesn’t talk to me. I only have contact with her through Gahyeon now, but it’s not really like I want to talk to the person killing me.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say “killing”,” Minji pouted, teasing you with a long flower stem. “It makes me think that you don’t believe you’ll live.”

“No, I trust you, I--” You stopped in your tracks when you realized that the other girl was joking, rolling your eyes before turning back to your computer. “Real funny, Minji.”

She giggled, placing a mug of coffee on the table beside you. “I like to think I am. You can call me Minji, by the way. Only customers call me Minji.”

Instead of responding, you sipped at your coffee, falling into a comfortable silence once the florist turned back to her stove. With the cool fall sunlight streaming in through the window and the heavenly aroma inside the kitchen, you suddenly thought that you could get used to a scene like this. More than that-- you liked it.

A good 4 weeks passed without incident. Your weekly visits were always filled with musical laughter and pretty grins whirling by in an instant. Minji only looked more beautiful each time, the pain in your chest somehow lessening each time you saw her wave to you with all the enthusiasm that Siyeon lacked. Part of you wondered whether the bitter concoctions that Minji had you drink were the thing at work at all, but you continued to take them, and you continued to improve.

Of course, everything good had to come to an end.

“Y/N,” Minji gasped as she kneeled next to you, hands hovering over your body as you hacked again, red dribbling from your lips to the floor. Your fingers curled weakly around your phone, tears escaping your eyes with how hard you squeezed them shut. “Gahyeon called me, what happened to you?”

With the clusters of carnations fluttering in your lungs with every breath you took, you weren’t able to respond. The other girl seemed to realize that, digging through her bag for something. Before she could take anything out, though, you wheezed for air again, throat swollen to the point of suffocation.

She acted quick, turning you onto your side to let full blossoms slip from between your lips. The yellow blooms were dauntingly bright against the dark wood, almost a serene picture if not for the violent crimson staining the petals. Tipping a vial of golden orange into your mouth, Minji ordered, “Swallow. Come on, you can do it.”

As soon as the poppy syrup was gone, your eyes fluttered shut and you slumped against your arm, breathing rattled but steady. Sighing, the brunette wiped a remaining petal from your lips, sliding her hands below your knees and your neck to pick you up. “You’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

When the sun began shining unbridled through the cracked curtains of your bedroom, you woke from the longest sleep since you started choking at night. Someone had taken the liberty of folding the clothes scattered across your chair, as well as placing your fully charged phone, a purple-colored glass of liquid, and a note by your side.

Y/N,

I have to go back to the shop, but Gahyeon or I’ll stop by later today to bring you some more medicine. Next time, call me first!

xx,

Kim Minji

There was a ridiculous smile on your lips just holding a pink piece of paper imprinted with the girl’s kiss in lipstick, as well as a remarkable lack of flowers in your lungs. Indeed, you couldn’t taste copper coating your tongue, or feel petals stuck to the back of your throat, and it felt even better than you had remembered.

When you checked your phone, you realized that a certain contact was missing, A phone number that you had long since given up on contacting. There was a gap in your carefully curated picture gallery, Siyeon’s pictures with you taken off your wall, too. In their places were various pictures of Minji and Gahyeon, sometimes together and sometimes apart. In one of the selfies, you noted with a grin that someone had scribbled a Sharpie mustache over Minji’s face.

Since when had the florist replaced her in your life, and since when were you absolutely okay with that?

Minji smiled as soon as she noticed that the door to the Love Blossom was already open, the lights on inside the shop and some sweet smell wafting out. You hadn’t talked about the time she saved you in your apartment, but ever since then, the florist had noted that you were opening up more. You were happier, more willing to crack jokes and visit her on your own accord. “Y/N, is that you?”

“Morning, Minji!” you answered, spinning out of the apartment with a grin. The apron that Minji usually wore to make her syrups was tied around your waist, the faint pink of it white with flour. You held the door open for her and moved to take her jacket off for her, a gorgeous smile on your face as you did. “I let myself in early to make you some bread, I hope you don’t mind!”

“I never mind bread,” the brunette laughed, her heart already warm when she inhaled honeyed air. “Today isn’t a checkup day, though? You stopped by 3 days ago, did you run out of syrup or something?”

You pouted, in a remarkably good mood as you twirled around the kitchen. The counter was finally free of flowers and glass vials, replaced instead by a huge bag of flour and trays of golden-brown pastries. Minji didn’t remember having those supplies, but she wouldn’t put it past you to restock her kitchen just for fun while she visited her friends. “What, I can’t come and see my friends? I’m off work today, so I thought I could bake for you and learn about your bouquet orders.”

Sighing in false exasperation, Minji patted you on the head and tied her hair up to start working, flipping the sign on the door to read “OPEN”. “Of course you can come and see me whenever you want, it’s just rare that you come by like this.”

“I guess we’ll have to change that then,” you shrugged, plopping three pastries on a plate for the other girl. The kitchen looked like a completely different place without the usual bloody petals scattered all over the place, and to be honest, Minji loved the change. For once, she wasn’t in charge of saving your life-- she was just a florist, and she was just your friend.

There was no way she could keep the smile off her face, not when you sang exaggeratedly into a filling spoon, and not when you baked all the things she mentioned that she liked.

Something felt tight in her chest when she inhaled air perfumed by butter and roses, but Minji could only smile. For you.

The next time you baked for her was bittersweet. Once again, you were already in the apartment when Minji came back from her morning visit.

“I’m healed,” you sobbed as you catapulted into her arms, a slight poof of flour exploding when your chest met hers. Minji stood still in shock, hands resting softly on the small of your back as you cried, “Minji, I’m healed. You saved me.”

“For real?” she whispered, pulling back to cup your face in your hands. You nodded tearily, makeup-tinted tears mixing with flour as the other girl hugged you again, something clogging up her throat as she tried to breathe. “I... I’m so happy for you.”

You grinned despite your tears as you brought a cake out of the fridge, the pretty lavenders and blues of the frosting somehow reminding Minji of a goodbye. She turned out to be right. “They’re forget-me-nots,” you explained when you gestured to the pretty piped flowers on the cake. “Um, so you don’t forget me.”

“I could never forget you,” Minji blurted, feeling a sting at her own nose. “Come back sometime, okay, Y/N? You don’t forget me either, got it?”

“I won’t.” Despite all the sincerity in your gaze, your promise was hollow to the florist’s ears. You were already tugging on your jacket again, leaving her standing in the middle of an all-too-clean kitchen with a beautiful cake in her hands. “I’m sorry, Minji, I have to get back to work. But I’ll be back soon,” you smiled, watching her carefully for a reaction.

Minji nodded, knees almost trembling as she watched you turn back to wave one last time. “Okay.”

As soon as the glass door slammed again, she rushed to place the cake down, tucking her face into the crook of her elbow as she was hit with yet another uncontrollable fit of coughing. She crouched, free hand gripping tight on the legs of the table near her to steady herself as flower petals dotted with red fluttered softly onto the ground.

“Mallow,” she recognized as she scrambled to pick up the purple-veined blooms, vomiting out yet another. “Mallow...”

Scooting back so that her back could hit the kitchen cabinets, Minji watched the candles atop the cake burn out, blood dripping from her lips onto the pale fabric of her sweater. She didn’t care, though, as she stopped a shallow breath from escaping, finally remembering the meanings of the flowers in her shaking hands.

“Consumed by love.”

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the-crows-typist · 4 years

Text

Here’s the fourth installment of your Valentine’s event (Yes, I know it’s March but IRL stuff happens y’know? This time we have Kalim paired with the word ‘Flowers’ requested by @opalmaplehibiscus .Enjoy!

CW: Hanahaki AU (Non-lethal variant), Angst with a happy ending, potential OOC, Minor talks about death

Word count: 3656

Other works: Chocolates Feat. Jade, Cards Feat. Floyd, Kiss Feat. Vil

A Heart From Me to You

Kalim loved to look at flowers regardless of where he saw them. He loved the way the petals touched his skin and the many scents, whether sweet or strong, he breathed into his nose. Visiting the school’s botanical garden was one of his ‘hidden favorite things’ to do, he puts it as hidden as Jamil and he was glued to the hip since birth and while he never minded that Jamil was close by, there were moments he wished to be alone.

It was a very selfish want, he admitted to himself.

“Phew.” He breathed a relieved sigh, finally able to enter the garden without much of a problem. The sound of birds is what calmed him and the familiar scent of stored water was what brought him a sense of renewal. Taking one of the watering cans, Kalim began watering the flowering plants with not much thought going into it.

The flowers were beautiful, they truly were. They were very lucky to be this beautiful and to be held in such high regard for it. Yes, the flowers were indeed lucky contrary to his being; he never thought of himself the way he viewed the flowers and while he enjoyed some perks of his life thanks to his family’s achievements, it came with the same amount of misfortune and realities usually too dark for people his age to perceive.

Many people get hurt or even die for his sake, his siblings don’t get as much attention from their father as they liked because he, the eldest, is in the way and deep down he knew and felt the boiling resentment many had for him.

He doesn’t blame anyone for thinking that. It was a hard pill that Kalim was used to swallowing.

Perhaps had he been born a flower, life would have been easier for everyone including him.

He continued his watering until the can was empty and only then did he go back to the hose to refill it. The foliage on the way there was thick, he figured it hadn’t been cut for a while and made a note to himself to find some hedge clippers. He wasn’t allowed to hold knives, that’s true, but hedge clippers don’t count, right?

Lost In his internal debate, a quick set of feet ran and collided with his side harshly, Kalim and the unknown student losing their balance with a collective sound of surprise. “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” You held your hands to yourself, as if hurt when Kalim slowly inched forward. “A-are you hurt? I can take you to the clinic if you—!” He was suddenly pushed out of the way, your hands only touching him for a moment before running off.

Kalim watched in confusion, blinking when the door slammed shut. The smell of lavender hit his nose and his eyes loomed downwards to see that the area you had touched had been taken over by the flowering buds of lavender. “This wasn’t here before.” He whispered to himself and attempted to pull at the flowers carefully out of the fabric.

When he finished his resting time, Jamil was waiting outside the botanical garden looking very upset. “You ran off again.” He said in the most seething voice Kalim was used to hearing. “Look, I can explain.” And back to reality it was, playing as the happy-go-lucky person people knew him as. While he enjoyed the time to himself, he hated how short it lasted. But now, he has to keep face, he has to be what he was expected to be.

Jamil takes his hand but Kalim’s smile only wavers a little bit. Here we go. “No amount of explaining will change the fact that you were alone. You should be more careful, Kalim. What if—?”

There was a biting sensation on his skin, the two boys looking down and on Jamil’s skin sprouted small white blossoms and enticing black berries. They both reeled from each other, Jamil holding his hand and Kalim his wrist.

He suddenly remembers you, bumping into him during his internal discussion.

“Kalim…” Jamil’s eyes were wide in fear. “Your…”

The nightshade flowers withered under the sun, its poisonous berries drying and falling to their feet in clumps.

Wearing gloves in warm weather wasn’t the nicest feeling but it had to be done. After the confirmation that Kalim had indeed been cursed, Jamil had become vigilant and stricter with his role as protector. There wasn’t a time he was ever alone in one room. His selfishness has come to bite him back, Kalim thought to himself.

He looked to his hands with a huff. The curse didn’t seem harmful, just inconvenient…And the one who gave it, You, didn’t seem like it was intentional. The meeting between you two was brief, only lasting a few seconds and a few shed flowers.

“Kalim, let’s go,” Jamil said, tugging him along and walking by his side every step of the way.

Ah, how would he know anyway? He’s not good at anything like Jamil nor does he have the physical capabilities as he does. The only thing he’s probably good at is flying a magic carpet and the drums.

“Yeah.”

Kalim was quiet on their walk and until he sat down in the classroom, he kept silent. Class started without much trouble, he took notes but couldn’t listen much, his mind wandering back to you in the botanical garden.

Lab classes had a sort of freedom to it. Kalim was able to work around a bit more his gloves and Jamil would often be paired with someone else…Usually Azul. Kalim noticed that despite their different interest, Jamill and Azul had grown closer in the past months. And while he was happy for them both, there was a sting that never wanted to leave.

He and Kalim were born around the same time and since then never left each other’s side. He was there when Kalim needed him and he was his friend, probably his only friend. That was, at least, what he wanted to believe but even during their childhood, Kalim had already noticed that Jamil was with him because he was told to. Had Jamil been given the choice, he could have played with someone else other than him.

“Excuse me, would you like to start?” His partner asked and he blinked, nodding his head and smiling the way he always does. “Yeah! Let’s work hard.”

He stayed in the corner, eyes looking at particularly nothing. He and his partner finished up early and got a good enough score for it…Which is good, he’ll take a passing grade than a failed mark any day. He looked over to the side of the ceiling and his hands intertwined with each other. In the back, Jamil smiled at Azul’s demise after hot smoke bellowed from the cauldron and out to their face.

It had been a while since he saw Jamil looking that happy. There was stinging itchiness in his hands that went with the heaviness in his heart. The gloves grew tighter and less comfortable and Kalim wanted to take it off, but showing he had been cursed meant showing others he was vulnerable.

The itchiness and the cold warmth of fear felt were too great. He needed a change of environment, he needed alone time. He took one last look at a laughing Jamil then slinked off and out of the lab, almost running to a place he knows he’ll be safe.

The botanical garden was silent and unchanged, its flowers blooming in different colors and hues, the temperature a mix of tropical and temperate. He smiled upon seeing Leona rest against a tree and soon walked deeper and deeper into the gardens to a place where he could relax. Discarding his gloves, he let his hands touch the tree stumps, flowers of Helenium growing on the bark and providing color in an otherwise dimly lit landscape with the trees acting as a canopy.

Kalim sighs, letting his thought leave whichever way it can. The flowers bloomed under his palm and he reveled in its beauty, just by being born it was able to bring a sort of happiness to those who choose to look at it.

His shoulders droop slightly, his line sight dipping to a tree’s roots. His hands begin to scratch and he begins to scratch on the skin of his palms, begging his body and the curse to stop. He rubbed his palms together, the tattered stems and petals falling to the ground in a heap. “Please stop.” He begged to himself. “Please make it stop.”

He closed his eyes, brows furrowed and shaking. The flowers crept up his skin over his hands. “Please stop.” Hunching over, he brought his hands to his chest. “Please…”

“Please,”

“Calm down.”

Picking the flowers out of his skin was an odd experience and even more that someone else was doing it. Your hands were wrapped with bandages and eyes searching for even the tiniest blossoms on his skin. Kalim sniffed, rubbing his eyes with a now flower-free hand. “That’s it, just let it all flow out.” You said and pick the last flower from his hand.

“Festering emotions are what power the curse.” You explain. “You have to let it out or else the flowers will consume you.” He takes his gloves out of his hand and slips them back on and you sit up straight, an embarrassed smile formed on your lips. “I suppose I should its high time that I introduce myself—.”

“You’re the one who bumped into me.”

You nod your head. “Yes, and you’re Kalim Al-Asim, dorm leader of Scarabia.” With a voice gentle, Kalim felt at ease but what his eyes saw betrayed the feeling immediately. “Please forgive me, I didn’t know that it would pass onto you so suddenly.” You bowed, forehead touching the ground in your position.

You waited for a reaction, anything, but as time passed you never heard anything nor did you feel any anticipated touches. “It’s a little embarrassing seeing you like this, raise your head,” Kalim said and you did what you were told. He looked down at his hands, a few blossoms stayed on his skin.

“How long have you had it?” Kalim asked, placing a hand over yours and the touch making you twitch. “This curse.” He clarifies, your eyes holding the quivering vulnerability only presented to him alone.

“For a long while now.”

Kalim didn’t know how long he had spent in the gardens just talking to you, knowing what the curse had to offer. You always made sure none of your skin ever touched anything or peaked out of your uniform. While you were gentle and kind, Kalim saw fear in your actions.

“The curse only latches onto anyone with festering feelings…Perhaps,” Kalim looks at his hand while you pause as if what you were about to say would sound very mean-spirited. “Perhaps that’s why it latched onto you, too.”

It was near evening when he got out, his heart not as heavy but speedy knowing that he had to face a very upset Jamil for being selfish and unguarded. He walked down the steps, already seeing the familiar figure at the bottom; Jamil’s brows were furrowed and expression angry.

The two of them stared at each other and Jamil turned his back. “Let’s go home.”

You had told him prior that you lived inside the garden, in a special cottage that was hidden from view. It must be nice, he thought to himself. Jamil took Kalim by the wrist and pulled him close, walking to his stride.

“Is there a way to break this curse?” He asked and your smile deflated but only for a short while. “I wish I could tell you,” You say. “But I don’t know, either.”

From the evening setting of Night Raven, Kalim was welcomed to the familiar home of the Scarabia dorm. The two walked to the entrance quietly and soon Jamil let go of him, turning around. “Is there something I need to know about?”

“Festering emotions are what power the curse.” He remembered you explaining to him and suddenly his palms began to itch. He shook his head, giving him the happy-go-lucky smile he was used to seeing. “You were having fun so I thought it’d be best to leave you alone.”

“Just…” He could hear the frustration in his voice before the eventual sigh of exhaustion. “Just don’t run off by yourself. It would spell bad things if you’d gotten hurt.”

Jamil shook his head and went on his way, leaving Kalim alone. Now that they were in the safety of the dorms, he could rest…Both of them could. Kalim quickly takes off his gloves and pressed his palms together, breathing in deep and for the first time in a while let the tears fall from his eyes.

His breathing was slow and steady, his walking slightly shakey and laborious but his palms no longer itched and the flowers halted in their growth. When he entered his room, he plopped his face into his pillow and letting it soak up all that he had felt.

Flowers were beautiful and revered for just being alive. Flowers were born lucky and he wasn’t. He breathed in deep and moved away from the pillow to breathe, his thoughts went back to your face with a smile so delicate like thin glass.

“There are moments I wanted to be born as a flower.”

Evading Jamil and regrouping with you was a new normal for him, waiting for the right moment that Jamil is busy or focused on something or someone before bolting. The botanical garden was immediately a no-go after he had caught you there twice so the two of you decided to set course for a place no one normally goes to.

The fields blew, the tall sunflowers dancing in the wind and keeping both of you hidden from sight. You huffed a small laugh. “What kind of flower would you have wanted to be like?” Kalim touched the fibrous stem of the sunflower.

“Maybe a sunflower. People like them and they give really tasty seeds.” Bringing his knees together, Kalim’s expression shifted to one of deep thought. The sun cast a soft light over them, his eyes almost glowing like rubies under it.

The brief silence between you harbored no negativity but one of understanding. You and he had bonded with the small time together and Kalim knew very well that you wouldn’t run away from these kinds of conversations. You listened and you replied with what resonated with you.

He liked your honesty and he didn’t spare any effort to show his appreciation to you.

“What about you?” He asked, looking over to you as you thought about it.

“An osiria rose. They look really pretty and the petals are white with red tips.” Smiling to yourself, you look into your hands. “It’s a rare flower and takes a lot of breeding mixes to perfect. I really like it.” Kalim hummed and looked up to the sky as the wind crashed against them.

“Flowers are really lucky, huh?” He said, leaning back with his palms flat on the ground. “No matter how dangerous or how defensive a flower is, people still like it just because.” You never mentioned it to him but Kalim was good at hiding. His eyes, to his lips, and to the very voice he used with you; there was never a time you actually saw his grief that way he saw yours.

“The very first time Jamil was poisoned back when we were young I didn’t know what to do with myself.” His fingers shook and removed his glove and letting his bare skin grow flowers on the ground he touched, allowing flowers to grow where he touched. “He didn’t wake up until weeks later while I was escorted around by different people.” You blinked, leaning your head towards him.

“I’m sure his family was worried, his sister tried her best not to show it but I knew better.” Feeling your head on his shoulder, he reciprocated the action with a small laugh. “That was probably the time I realized how unlucky my origins were.”

“Kalim.”

“It’s a stretch, I know.” His smile morphed into a frown. “I don’t like asking for much knowing how much effort people have to make to get it done.” Your hand held his and soon, your fingers closed onto each other. “I’m fine. I just wanted to vent—.” He said but you only shook your head.

“It’s okay to cry, Kalim. I won’t say anything.” And he did, he continued looking forward yet the tears betrayed neutral expression. He sniffled when you continued to hold his hand.

“I met someone special back then. They made me very happy.” The both of you needed to move hiding places when Jamil caught wind of your meeting without him, the two of you opt to go to a field behind the school. A place not a lot of people go to, the flowers were not bountiful where you sat and the air was cooler.

While the bluebells were scattered in patches, coloring the meadow blue and green. “But I was young and stupid like most people, I thought they’d be with me for a long time.” You smiled at him, chuckling. “It’s silly but, I was really sad when they left.

“They meant a lot to you, didn’t they?” Kalim wondered.

“The meant the world to me.”

The both of you smile and your hand brought itself to your lip, a finger hooked under it. “It’s silly, really. It’s nothing like what you went through. I was so hung up on it that I ended up getting hit with the curse.” Kalim places a hand on your back as you laugh with a bitter taste in your mouth. “It’s silly, I know. It’s nothing compared to what you went through.”

“Still, losing someone important hurts a ton. Especially when you couldn’t get to say goodbye.”

Nodding your head, you lean against Kalim’s shoulder and he does the same by leaning against you. The bluebells flutter into the wind, your nose sniffling and eyes carrying a lingering sting. Kalim’s hand goes to your shoulder, rubbing it.

You hold your palms, scratching at it through the wrap. “Thank you for listening, Kalim.” You say, rubbing your eyes slightly. “I really appreciate it.”

Kalim stared into the distance, holding you close to him and not minding what little tears you chose to let out in front of him. “You did the same for me.”

The tendency to be clumsy often comes at the worst times, Kalim and your hands were wetted with some nice fruit juices he managed to snag when Jamil wasn’t looking. Both his gloves and your wraps lay soaked on the ground in front of you.

“I…” Kalim sighed and you shook your head. “Those things do get hard to wear after some time. It’s nice to feel the air again.” You rub your hands together, palms soft after being confined for so long. Kalim sits on the ground across from you. “I’m sorry, I’m sure we can find something to wrap your hands with.”

“Yup.”

The both of you looked at the items before you in silence, both of your hands to themselves and never touching at all. “Do you ever…Do you miss being able to touch things?” You ask him and he nods his head. “I do. I miss being able to feel brooms and the blankets I have. I try not to mind it much.”

You ball your palms together, interlacing fingers over each other. “I see.” Suddenly you bring out your hand to his, palm open for him to take. “But…” He hesitates but his hand comes out slowly. “It’s alright to ask for things.” You say. “Go on.”

He took a breath in, his hand inching towards yours. He thought about his first meeting and the many times he evaded Jamil just to be with you.

“I trust you.”

Did he really deserve to be able to ask for this? After all the things he’s caused?

“I do too.”

Your hands touched and mirrored each other; the itchiness he expected to feel was no longer present. The silence was tense and his shoulders and breathing were shaking yet your hold on him calm with a knowing and relieved smile on your lips. Your eyes met one another and Kalim smiled, lacing his fingers with yours and pulling you into him into a hug; his laugh tingling beside your ear.

Your hands feel the softness of the fabric and your nose breathed in the scent of his clothes. You closed your eyes, burying your face into his shoulder, bidding farewell to the old and welcoming the new as you imagined a new life ahead of you. A pot of olive flowers blooms not too far from your position as you two shared an embrace long-awaited.

Peace had been found between two kindred souls. Finally, after so long.

#works from the typewriter #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #kalim al asim x reader #kalim x reader #g/n reader #valentines event

53 notes · View notes

setoangel01-fanfiction · 3 years

Text

Gardening

Fandom: Final Fantasy 7

Pairing: Zack Fair x Aerith Gainsborough (zerith)

Rated: T

Story Summary: Zack brings Aerith a priceless gift, and during so, he's also unknowingly fulfilling many more of her tiny little wishes…she'll just have to think up some more. AKA, flowers get planted and a love flourishes…

...

A03

FanFiction.net

....

Today was going to be perfect.

The fresh scent of topsoil, the earth fragrant and fresh with new life begging to be nurtured under her experienced hands. The small seeds in paper packets and blooming bulbs in trays were nearly enough to bring tears of happiness to Aerith's rich green eyes.

Yet the euphoria she was feeling was nothing but a blip to the full force of the sun that was Zackary Fair.

It was amazing! Her SOLDIER came to visit her at her house rather than her church. Nothing new, but today was different! Instead of only being able to stay for an hour or two before being called off to save Midgar from certain doom, Zack was free to spend the entire day with her - the general's orders! Zack had to even show her Sephiroth's text to prove it and there it was in black and white.

...

"r u sure, seph?"

"For the third and last time, yes, Zackary. I am more than capable of handling things at ShrinRa for one day. Now, instead of continuing to inundate me with fruitless texts, go and have a pleasant day with your female companion."

"but seph! what if u need heelp?"

"That's an order, Fair!"

"...k thanks! see u 2maro! =-D"

"Affirmative. My office for briefing at 700 sharp."

"u got it!"

....

…Wow.

While wanting to reprimand Zack for using such terrible language and grammar to communicate with his superior officer, Aerith completely ignored it to focus on the amazing news! Spending the entire day with Zack was such an exceptionally rare treat she was fully determined to cherish; anting to savor every single, last solitary moment with her handsome blue-eyed boyfriend.

Yet among the gift of his own sunny presence (which would have been plenty enough for her), today, Zack came bearing physical gifts.

Unlike other girls, Aerith had never been someone to care for expensive trinkets to showcase affection such as jewellery, new clothes or purses even if Zack could easily afford it with his First Class paycheck. No, Aerith was far simpler; wanting nothing more than to spend time with him - and she always told him so. The most luxurious thing Zack had bought for her thus far was the bright pink ribbon she scarcely removed from her hair and some delightful floral perfume he mixed himself when they went out on their first date.

Yet instead of some fancy baubles or silk clothing peeking out at her from a large brown box he held out to her was something completely unexpected…

…Zack brought her flowers!

While she grew plenty of her own, Zack had brought her something she could have never found here - flowers cultivated outside of Midgar!

Zack had been deployed on so many missions all over Gaia lately, Junon, Costa Del Sol, and Kalm just to name a few. During these times, they would talk on the phone, text or he would simply send photos to her PHS from locations during his travels. In those small photos he sent, Aerith lit up seeing all the native fauna of the place where he happened to be staying and the flower pictures became a tradition between them. Whenever he'd leave on a mission, he left with a goodbye kiss and a promise to send her pictures of flowers that grew there, and for this past year, he had kept that promise.

But as Zack slowly tilted the box to present her with its contents, Aerith was nothing short of stunned.

Inside were multiple packets of seeds and bags of bulbs. All of the white and brown packaging had his adorably messy handwriting on each with the names of flowers he had sent her pictures of throughout the last year. Deciphering his writing, Aerith noticed the names of more common species from Kalm and Junon but among the packets, there were exotic species from Wutai and even from Banora. Oh! And there were sunflower seeds from Rocket Town!

But…wait, was that -

"...Gongaga?" Aerith asked, noticing the word and glancing up at her boyfriend questioningly.

"Heh. Yeah," Zack chuckled and Aerith noticed his right arm twitch as if he wanted to scratch the back of his head if his hands weren't occupied.

"...Wait, you went to visit your parents? You never told me that! How are they? When did you go see them?" the questions flew out of her mouth at an alarming rate.

Zack just smiled softly (he had such a wonderful smile), "I didn't."

At Aerith's befuddled expression, he clarified, "My mom actually sent them. I wrote her a letter about you - I told her my girlfriend loves to garden and grows flowers and well, the next thing I know, she's sending me back a letter with all these questions along with some seeds from the flowers she and my dad have been growing in the backyard since I was a kid." Zack chuckled nervously as if shy from the information and Aerith felt as if her heart was going to jump straight out of her chest.

Blinking, Aerith glanced back down to the box cradled in his hands, all the work of gathering seeds, drying them and labeling them must have taken forever and he never told her what he was doing!

How he listened so intently as she spoke during the time they spent together this past year, asked questions and was so genuinely interested about her hobby when most times, she thought he was simply indulging her. Yet he was learning so he could give this gift to her… Not to mention the bombshell of him writing a letter to his parents and mentioning her! Proudly calling her his girlfriend and even mentioning her hobbies!

A burning sensation grew in the back of her eyes and she felt a tear slip down her cheek.

"Uh…Aer, i-is everything alright?" Zack's voice broke thorough and she looked up at his adorably nervous face.

"...You really wrote a letter to your mom about m-me?"

"Well, yeah! And my dad too I guess. Uh…I-Is that okay? I thought it would be good to mention it since we've been together for over a year and she's been badgering me about telling her about you when I call, so I figured mentioning flowers would be a safe start-" Zack's voice faded as Aerith lifted her hands and gently cupped his sweet face between her palms. Not mindful of the tears that continually slipped down her cheeks, Aerith couldn't help but smile at Zack, a smile so wide, it made her cheeks ache.

…How did she get so lucky to have this beautiful angel literally drop into her life?

"It's more than okay. It's wonderful…You're wonderful…" she whispered, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones and tenderly caressing the scar on his jaw.

Aerith smiled tenderly as she felt his cheeks heat up under her palms. Zack's looked positively (and adorably) flustered at her comments; for once, she was the one to embarrass him and she relished it.

"Thanks… So are you," Zack replied, nuzzling his cheek against her palm. Such a sweet puppy…

Zack's face was so handsome and kind and eyes pretty and warm that Aerith simply couldn't resist pushing herself up on her tiptoes to kiss him. But before she even get close to closing the gap, her chest bumped right into the cardboard box and Zack yelped as he managed to catch it before it could fall or the seeds could get crushed between them as she regained her balance.

Zack laughed.

Aerith flushed a pink so deep it matched her ribbon.

Probably noticing how Aerith tensed in mortification of her actions, Zack's chuckling died out and he easily broke the tension by suggesting, "Hey, I'm all for kissing later, but how about we plant some of these first?" he nudged her hip softly with the box.

Aerith's face was still reddened but she flashed him a grateful smile. A deep breath later, the green eyed girl straightened her back and easily played along, "Planting new flowers sounds wonderful! But… you'll do exactly as I say this time? Because, Mr. Zackary Fair, if memory serves me right, I remember the last time you helped me try weeding the church…" she placed her hands on her hips and flashed him her best withering stare (it didn't work, he just bit his cheek to withhold laughter).

The longer she stared, Zack's grew sheepish at the memory of that fiasco, his cheeks a bright coral red against his tan skin, "Uh… well, in my defense, all those green stems look the same to me!"

Aerith's withering glare worked this time.

"Oh! O-Of course I'll follow your orders exactly! After all, you're the professional here! Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it!" he announced with determination and a blinding white smile.

"Yay! Just what I love to hear!" she bounced on her toes and clapped, completely breaking character before jumping right back in it with a stern voice, "Alright, First Class SOLDIER, Zack Fair, I order you to plant some flowers and perhaps do some weeding, but make sure to do it correctly this time! Do I make myself clear?"

"Ma'am, yes, Ma'am! Operation Midgar Full of Flowers, Wallet Full of Money shall commence immediately!" Zack stated loudly, finally maneuvered the box under one arm and gave her a full SOLDIER salute with rigid stance and stern expression.

Aerith just giggled into her palms before pushing at his shoulder as Zack yelped when the box nearly went flying out of his arms again.

.....

Scratch that earlier statement - today was definitely perfect.

A few hours later, the couple were knelt in a patch of soft dirt.

The rich brown loam permeating the air and making the normally rank Midgar air sweet and fragrant with the scent of flourishing life. Aerith was barefoot, boots discarded as she dug her toes into the cool grass and merely enjoyed the soft breeze as her fingers raked through the dirt under her palms. The brown soil staining her fingertips and getting under her nails and most likely staining the white and blue dress caught under her knees, but she couldn't care less.

Looking to her left was nothing short of perfection.

The flowers and grass, soil and the promise of new life with every seed planted didn't much matter compared to the man kneeling right next to her. Aerith smiled softy. Her emerald green eyes tracing over Zack's handsome face as he had his complete attention on the soil in front of him. While Zack was known to have the attention span of a puppy on a sugar rush most times, when he put his heart into something, Zack easily gave 110% of focus on that task like he was right now.

Ever so carefully, the SOLDIER listened to her instructions, following her along as she showed him how to plant the seeds he gave her. Till the soil, dig the holes to make sure they were deep enough and far enough apart not to interfere with the seedling next to them. Showed him how much water to give the freshly buried seeds, the perfect amount as to not dehydrate nor to drown. With each step and seed and bulb that he planted, his confidence grew until he was doing it on his own and Aerith couldn't be prouder of her first student!

Heart hammering as she took in Zack's concentrated expression, Aerith took his moment of distraction to complete what she tried earlier - this time with much more success.

Leaning forward on her knees, Aerith gingerly pressed her palms to his broad chest. The incredible firm large pecs under her wandering fingers inflated with Zack's surprised intake of breath as he looked at her in surprise at her forward action. Still retaining her nerve, Aerith grasped at his leather suspender straps, using them for balance as she eagerly pressed her lips against the corner of his plush smiling mouth.

The SOLDIER smiled warmly at her action. Hands wanting nothing to grab at her waist to pull her closer and kiss her properly but with the dirt covering his fingers, he resisted. Instead, he chased her retreating face, brushing his cheek on hers before letting his lips leave feathery strokes along her jaw before planting the softest kiss by her ear.

"What was that for? You trying to distract me?" he whispered and he bit his lip upon feeling her shiver as she nuzzled her face in his neck.

Aerith whole body felt electrified at Zack's question and his warm breath caressing her throat and loose tendrils of hair hanging by her ears. "No. Not really… What if I said I just wanted to?"

"...Oh really?" he asked, pulling back slightly and Aerith mourned the loss of his warmth for only a second as she caught his coy smile."Because if I didn't know better, I think you're just distracting me from gardening…"

"What if I am?" her mouth spoke before her brain even registered it. The words that left her mouth made her flush.

"Hmm... well, if that's the case, I'd say you win," he affirmed with the sexiest smirk she ever saw but before she could respond, Zack's mouth pressed against hers. His head tilting so he could slot his mouth perfectly against hers; the action had her toes curling against the grass as she bit back a rising moan. Aerith's hands grabbed at his raven hair, fingers eagerly cording through soft strands and desperately grasping at him to pull him closer.

Yet all too soon, Zack pulled his mouth away with a sinful pop as Aerith panted frantically, cheeks flushed and confused and a bit miffed that he dared to stop.

"So, since we're almost finished planting the dahlia's, how about we move over this hill and plant the sunflowers near the bridge?" Zack asked all too naturally before flashing her a devious wink.

Aerith was affronted for only a moment before she glared at him, "Nope. I'm in charge, remember?" with little hesitation, Aerith gently pushed aside the remaining seeds and bulbs and pushed Zack onto his back. The SOLDIER easily caving to her hands as she pressed at his shoulders til he rested among the soft grass, the bright green a beautiful contrast to his dark hair. "And I say that you're not allowed to get up until I say so, am I making myself clear, SOLDIER?

"Oh, yes..." he grunted lightly for show as she plopped down on his stomach guard. "Crystal clear, ma'am," he replied biting back a chuckle before she leaned over him and kissed him for all he was worth.

...After all, the seeds could always wait to be planted later…

#zerith #zack fair #aerith gainsbrough #ff7 #ff7r #ff7 remake #ffvii #ff7 fanfition #zerith fanfition

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

Photo

“How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die? It is love we must hold onto -- Never easy, but we try. Sometimes our happiness is captured; Somehow our time and place stand still... Love lives on inside our hearts and always will... Minutes turn to hours, days to years, then gone, But when all else has been forgotten, Still our song lives on...”

~“How Does a Moment Last Forever? (cover)” by Celine Dion

x~x~x~x

tw: character death, funerals, grief

x~x~x~x

The kelpie known as Ru Ollivander always knew their time on Earth would be fleeting -- at least, in comparison to the human witches and wizards they’d ended up living alongside. It was the main reason Ru had such a passion for photography, animation, and moving pictures. The thought of capturing a single moment and making it last beyond that moment...making it possible to relive that moment over and over again, as many times as one wanted...it was meaningful in a way Ru couldn’t quite put into words.

And so over the years, the eccentric, blunt kelpie -- never the best at expressing themselves in the way more upright, classy humans did -- captured as many memories as they could of the things they found most remarkable about the Wizarding World they’d entered. They sketched the rows upon rows of disgusting-looking ingredients in jars set up in the Potions classroom. They took pictures of the way the moon looked from the Astronomy Tower after a thunderstorm. They made animations of how Venomous Tentaculas and Mandrakes grew, compressing entire months into mere seconds. And, of course, over the years, Ru used their cinematograph, Aeroscope, and other cameras to film the humans who had become most important to them -- their best friend, Galen Stagg @cursebreakerfarrier; their fellow Ravenclaw and Galen’s eventual other half, Siobhan Llewelyn @kc-needs-coffee; and their “keeper”-turned-muse-and-life partner, Estrid Soelberg @thatravenpuffwitch.

One morning, however, in the 1930′s, Estrid returned to the cottage she shared with Ru from a trip to the market to find the entire place in disarray. A table had been overturned, Ru’s camera was knocked over on its side, and a drawer of photographs had been pulled out, its contents spread out all over the floor. Alarmed, Estrid rushed to find Ru -- when she did, she found them on the floor, in full kelpie form, looking very restless and distraught as they huffed and puffed through their nose and mouth. Estrid hurriedly rushed over and bent down, trying to help, but it soon became clear what the problem was.

Ru couldn’t change form. They couldn’t transform themselves out of their real appearance. ...They couldn’t turn into a human anymore.

The realization overwhelmed Ru. As much as they always knew the day would come, it wasn’t any less devastating. They’d never have hands again. They’d never have legs or feet again. They’d never speak properly again. They’d never be able to take any more pictures, or make any more movies, or make improvements to their cameras, or draw any more sketches or animations. They’d never be able to visit Galen’s classroom anymore for his lectures. They’d never be able to exchange any more friendly swears with Siobhan over a game of Wizard’s Chess. ...They’d never be able to comfort Estrid again...never be able to stroke her hair and hold her until she stopped crying...never be able to play her film reels of her grandfather, or plant flowers in the garden with her, or dance with her in the rain...they’d never be able to tell her how much they loved her.

The kelpie’s eyes fell toward the ground, darkening, as they flooded with tears. Those tears streaked down their long face in cold, deafening silence. Estrid, who’d almost never seen Ru cry in all their time together, found herself struggling not to break down completely herself as she threw her arms around Ru’s snout and hugged them, resting her face in their overgrown seaweed mane. The two sat together on the floor for what felt like hours, crying and cuddling as best they could, Ru pressing their soft nose into Estrid’s cheek and the crook of her neck and Estrid kissing their nose and the top of their head.

Estrid wrote to the Staggs to pass along the news. Galen pretty much dropped everything to be by his friend’s side -- the magizoologist had always had a particular talent for speaking to magical creatures, and it had never been more useful than in those final weeks of Ru’s life. It seemed that what upset Ru most out of everything was that they’d had a project they hadn’t been able to finish. It was an incomplete film reel they’d stored under their and Estrid’s bed for the last year, taking out and working on only whenever Estrid wasn’t home.

Galen had made as if to go get it, but Ru had snatched his sleeve in their teeth and pulled him back so he couldn’t leave their side.

“Not yet,” they were clearly saying. “It’s not time. Please, not yet.”

Reluctantly Galen respected his friend’s wishes.

Within a month of them being unable to change back into a human, Galen and Siobhan received the owl they’d been dreading. Ru had passed the previous night, Estrid by their side all the way up until the end.

As per Ru’s wishes, their funeral service was very small. They were laid to rest beside the small pond behind their and Estrid’s cottage -- Galen knew that kelpies’ bodies tended to decompose quickly, leaving only the seaweed of their manes behind at the bottom of the seafloor. There wasn’t a dry eye during the modest ceremony.

On Galen’s prompting, Estrid went to their room and fetched Ru’s unfinished project from under their bed. Inside the box holding the film reel were hundreds, maybe thousands of old photographs and drawings, many of which Galen, Estrid, and Siobhan had never seen. Some featured Hogwarts, from different angles; some were of the places they’d been to, or the creatures they handled, or the food they ate, or just cool and random things they only half-remembered. Most of all, though, the pictures were of them...and a small fraction, toward the very front, were of Ru themselves.

It was incredible, just looking through the pictures. Forty years of memories were compiled together, documenting not just the changes in those years, but the advancement in Ru’s talent as an artist. The newest pictures were so much clearer and more life-like -- the magical ones moved with such clarity -- the drawings were more refined -- the animations more complex. The pictures placed side-by-side were an animation unto themselves: a beautiful montage of time, like a blooming flower.

Siobhan was the one who knew Ru’s equipment well enough to work out how to set up the projector so they could play the incomplete film reel. The beginning featured Ru as the three remembered them -- very long, wavy black hair, bright blue angled eyes, and diamond earrings, dressed in a dark violet velvet suit and vest with no collared shirt underneath and a gold and emerald necklace around their neck. They were smirking right at the camera, but it seemed to be a bit strained.

“Hi, Estrid. Galen...Siobhan...reckon you’re both here too. You are the only one who could ever figure out how to work the projector, Sha.”

They cleared their throat, snorting through their nose before continuing.

“...I’ve...recorded this a few times already, trying to get it right, but...well, I’ll just be straight. This morning...I had trouble creating my daddles.”

They held up their right hand and flourished the fingers in explanation.

“I woke up with hooves and it took me about a minute to conjure up my fingers. I didn’t tell you, Estrid, since I knew it’d only make you worry, but...well, I know I’ll only be doing more of that, soon.”

They forced a stronger smirk.

“So I decided to make this for you. It’s a compilation of our lives...one that you can hopefully play, when you need to remember. When you need to get away from the present, and run back to the past for a bit. Watch it every time you feel the urge to drink -- and then push away that urge.”

The moving image of Ru was replaced with the pictures, movies, drawings, and animations the three had seen in the box, overlaying Ru’s voice as they continued.

“When I first started disguising myself as Rudolph Ollivander, all I cared about was living in the moment. But the thing I found so amazing about being human was this instinct you all have to try to make moments last long after they’re over. Considering how long you all live, and therefore how short my existence is in comparison, I loved the thought of making something last. Something I made last. I wanted to plant some seed that would grow into something that would keep growing long after me. But it didn’t take me long to realize that even if I took great photographs, or made beautiful films, or made the best magical camera in the world...it didn’t matter. Because I didn’t have a family who would tend to my garden, after I left it. I didn’t have a family who would keep the things I’d made, and pass them on, and share them with the world. ...I didn’t have a family who would pass on my legacy. After Hogwarts, it’d be a lot harder to hide what I was from the world...and once everyone knew the truth, I would undoubtedly be alone again. It was something I knew was inevitable, really, so it didn’t break me or anything...but me leaving something lasting behind was still a dream I knew would never come true. And I won’t lie, that hurt like shit.

“But then, somehow...somehow or another, I ran into you, Estrid. I was steamed as all get-out when we first met, mind you...but I don’t think I’ll ever be more grateful for anything than you stopping me from eating that first year that day. The bridle you put on me? I hated it. I had to stay in one form for almost eight whole years, and that was a real pain in the arse. But as I told you before, over time, I found I didn’t mind so much. Kelpies don’t stay in one form because changing forms helps us survive. It keeps us safe and keeps any other creatures from getting close enough to eat or trap us. And sure, I couldn’t change form...but I wasn’t exactly trapped. Hogwarts was a fun place to be. There was a lot to learn and do and get into, and there were all sorts of rules to buck and dozens of lick-spittles to give a good arse-kicking to. And better still...there were even some humans that were fun to be around.”

The pictures all started to reflect Galen -- at the piano, with a tree of bowtruckles, laughing at a joke -- Galen and Ru running down the lane away from the Shrieking Shack --

“There were ones who were gentle. Pacifistic and wussy, yeah, but also...well, kind. Good at expressing their feelings and making others feel stronger. Good at being brave without being loud or obnoxious. Good at being a friend, to someone who didn’t know anything about friendship.”

The pictures then started to add Siobhan, often alongside Galen, but also on her own, or even with Estrid and Ru.

“There were ones who were clever. Too proud for their own good and prone to overthinking things that are really quite simple...but brilliant, and witty, and a blast to be around. Someone who you can share your interests with and know they appreciate them.”

The pictures then shifted over to Estrid with braids in her hair -- Estrid sitting by the pond in their garden -- Estrid dancing --

“And...there were ones who could change you...more than you ever thought possible.”

The pictures abruptly cut off -- Ru’s face returned to the projector. They were still talking to the camera, but it was clear they hadn’t intended for their face to be seen, as they weren’t looking straight at the lens anymore.

“A ‘keeper,’ who became a friend, and then a muse...and then something more. An equal and a partner...someone who makes you unafraid of the future and how fleeting life is, who actually makes you think that your life makes a difference. Who teaches you more than any book, without even trying. Someone patient, and brave, and compassionate...who never tries to stuff the silence full of worthless words...whose beauty masks a greater one underneath, one that few people ever are fortunate enough to see...”

Ru’s eyes on screen had begun to flood with tears. They closed their eyes and breathed in and out through their nose to try to get a rein on their emotions.

“...Estrid...my whole life, I wanted to leave something behind that would outlive me. That thing isn’t just my pictures, or my films, or my drawings -- it’s you. You are my legacy. You and Galen and Siobhan...you are the wonderful thing I’ll leave behind. It breaks my heart that I’ll have to...and it breaks my heart more, knowing I can’t make sure you all remain as you are, in this moment. Healthy. Successful. Stupid and happy and full of life.”

They forced a smile even as their electric blue eyes overflowed with tears that streaked down their face.

“I don’t have a family to make sure you all last beyond me...but I do have you. So, for me...I need you to tend to my garden. I need you to maintain my legacy -- by maintaining yourself. I need you to live, and heal, and grow, and do everything I can’t do...”

Ru was unable to keep themselves from breaking down into sobs. They bowed their head, clutching onto their own hair as they vainly tried to keep their voice steady.

“Don’t throw your time away. Don’t throw your lives away. If you do, I’ll never bloody forgive you!”

For the next minute they took a few stabilizing breaths, sucking in air shakily through their nose and mouth.

“Damn it...” they hissed under their breath. “Now I have to cut this...”

They swallowed, wiping the tears from their eyes with both hands. The tears left tracks on their face even as they forced themselves to return their focus to the camera.

“...Make every moment count...and when you can, make that moment last forever.

“I realized, when I was looking through my old pictures, that I’ve never really taken many pictures of me. I guess in the moment, I really was a lot more focused on capturing everything I saw, rather than myself. So here are some pictures I took more recently that have me in them. Hopefully you can use them to imagine me behind every picture I took earlier, of all of you. Even though I probably wasn’t smiling or anything...I’m sure you know I was enjoying myself, right? ...I did enjoy myself a lot, with all of you...”

They forced another smile, even though the tears on their face still shone in the light from the next room.

“I remember you once said, Galen, that you could see the love in the pictures I take. I still don’t really know what the hell that’s supposed to mean...but I reckon you bringing up love made some sense. I did love taking those pictures, every one of them -- and more than that...I learned about love, through the people in those pictures. So thank you. Thank you for loving me...and for teaching me so much. And even when this film reel’s obsolete, and my pictures are ruined, and my drawings fade...don’t stop doing things that are worth remembering. Keep making more memories. I know I’ll never forget you -- all you have to do now is make sure the rest of the world won’t either.

“So live. Live, and learn, and love. Make today last forever.”

When Ru’s film reel finally ended and faded to black, Galen, Siobhan, and Estrid were all in tears. Galen was clinging to his wife, his face buried in her hair and his hands clutching at the back of her dress as he sobbed. Siobhan herself had her eyes shut tight as she held Galen in return, unable to contain her own grief. Estrid was holding herself, tears streaming from her hazel eyes still staring at the blank projector screen where Ru had been smiling moments earlier. She closed her eyes, her hands covering her face as she cried silently.

The grief in the room was overwhelming, and yet Ru’s final unfinished present tapped into something at the base of the grief -- the deep, bottomless love they all felt. For as blunt and stubborn as Ru could be, the depth of their feelings was undeniable. They didn’t want their loved ones to despair -- they wanted them to remember, yes, but not languish in the memories...to live with an eye on the past and feet walking toward the future. Ru knew the grief Estrid had gone through when she’d lost her grandfather, and had tried so hard to give her something to help her through her grief again even when they weren’t there to physically support her.

And so over the years, Siobhan, Galen, and Estrid maintained Ru’s legacy. The three lived their lives to the fullest and worked to make sure that no one forgot about all of the advancements Ru had made in the world of wizarding photography. Galen used Ru’s old film reels of magical creatures in his classes; Siobhan took even more pictures of her own; and Estrid fought to ensure Ru’s work was put up in wizarding museums and exhibitions all over Europe, as a testament to her partner’s talent and dedication.

A man has no control who lives, who dies, and who tells their story...but the ones who they love in life, and who inspire them in death, are the most precious legacy they can leave behind.

#hphl #hogwarts legacy #ru ollivander #estrid soelberg #siobhan llewelyn #galen stagg #my art #my writing #*throws herself off a cliff sobbing* EHHHHHH #I cried several times writing this good god ;~;#I am so sorry everybody #but this song gave me such ru feels and I just had to get them out #in my headcanon kelpies grow more and more seaweed-like hair on their bodies as they grow hence why ru's got so much now #most real life horses die between the ages of 25-30 so ru actually lived a pretty long time in comparison #but yeah estrid galen and siobhan would've been in their 40's when ru died #I tapped into a lot of feelings surrounding the people I've lost while writing this #so hopefully the grief comes through #'hopefully' guh #if it does I apologize in advance

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cheri-translates · 4 years

Text

[CN] Lucien’s A Love Not in Vain Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Contains detailed spoilers for a date yet to be released in EN! 🍒

Conversation between Lucien and Dr Sun before the date: here

NOTE: @redqueenschoice did the translation for this. All I did was proofread and format :> It’s on my blog because:

Candlelit Night Collection: Gavin // Kiro // Victor

Trivia regarding the name of the date:

This date is called 不负相思意, which is the final line of a poem called “Bu Suan Zi” by Li Zhiyi, a Song Dynasty poet

A loose translation of the stanza: When will the river run dry? / When will my sorrow come to an end? / I wish your heart may be like mine / My love for you will not be in vain.

Note: The italicised portions are a mix of both translations and summaries!

[ CHAPTER ONE ]

Within the university building, the clear sound of the dismissal bell rings.

Lucien: ...then, we shall end today’s lesson here.

I stand at the door of the classroom, watching as Lucien packs his teaching materials in an orderly manner at the lectern. I subconsciously smile at this sight, since it’s been a long time since I’ve seen this side of him.

MC: Lu-

Female student: Mr Lucien, please wait for a moment!

Just as I’m about to call his name, a female student suddenly runs up to the speaker’s podium. The female student looks like she’s gathering up her courage, then says something to Lucien. Her face is slightly red, and there is a hopeful expression on her face.

Lucien’s expression is as gentle and mild as ever. Without speaking, he simply listens quietly, occasionally nodding politely, the look in his eyes a little distant.

Without realising it, I stand on my tiptoes, trying to hear what they have to say. I catch sight of a pale pink perfume sachet clutched tightly in the student’s hand.

MC: I feel like I’ve seen that somewhere before...

I suddenly remember where I’ve seen it: while researching and preparing materials for the episode on the Matchmaker’s Temple.

MC: Could it be...

I look at Lucien and the female student, before slowly retracting the hand on the door handle. A subtle emotion blooms in my heart. Before it has time to grow, it dissipates the second Lucien turns his head to look at me.

He walks towards me, eyes brimming with affection.

Lucien: Why didn’t you come in? Have you been waiting long?

MC: ...no, no I haven’t. I just got here. Besides, you seem busy.

Lucien gives me a blank stare for a moment before smiling, reaching out to run his fingers through some strands of my hair. When I lower my head, I catch sight of the female student, who is no longer smiling while she stands on the speaker’s podium. The student leaves the room in a hurry.

Lucien follows my line of sight and appears to guess what's in my mind. A smile tugs at his lips before he reaches out to tap my forehead lightly.

Lucien: What wild thoughts are you having now?

MC: I wasn’t having any wild thoughts! I came here to ask for your help with something...

I frantically shake my head, grabbing Lucien’s arm and pulling him along without a second thought, as if that would help steer the conversation away. Lucien laughs lightly, smoothly steering me towards the exit.

[ On the university grounds ]

Lucien: Hmm, I think I’ve guessed it. You specially came all the way to the university... just for a work matter, am I right?

Lucien lets out a soft sigh as he speaks, but the gaze he gives me is filled with a familiar tenderness and doting.

MC: That’s not entirely true...

Lucien: Hmm? Then, what else is there?

MC: There’s somewhere I want to go with you. Although part of the reason is because of the episode we’re doing next week, but...

As I speak, my footsteps stop. I pinch my ears awkwardly before raising my head to meet his eyes.

MC: That place is very special. I only want to go there with you.

[ CHAPTER TWO ]

Lucien and I head to the old matchmaker’s temple in the countryside, which holds a lot of history.

In recent years, a legend regarding a mysterious love story that happened decades ago has been getting attention in the media.

Along the way to the temple, I see many young men and women dressed in traditional clothes. There is a festive atmosphere in the air.

MC: Lucien, look at them. They should be participating in the matchmaker’s temple activities.

Lucien: Mm. Seems like this place is very special indeed. Is that why you only wanted to come here with me?

MC: [blushing] I only said that they're dressed in a very formal manner!

Lucien laughs a little.

Lucien: From what I see, it seems we are a little whimsical. Why don’t we dress up as well?

MC: You... you’re teasing me again!

Lucien: What if I am being serious about it?

I feel embarrassed.

Lucien: What are you thinking about?

MC: Nothing! Let’s hurry up and go!

As we walk along a dirt path, I realise that this place looks familiar.

MC: Lucien, have we been here before?

I turn my head to look at Lucien, and see that his lips are pulled into a line, emotions swirling in his eyes.

Lucien: Mm.

??: Meow...

Lucien’s words are interrupted by a mewing sound. A fat cat slinks out of nowhere, rubbing its head against his leg. Its eyes are half-closed, its gaze drifting towards me.

Vaguely, I feel like I've seen this black and white cat before somewhere. When it looks at me, memories surface like a bolt of lightning, and I call out its name excitedly.

MC: Precious!?

After walking a little further along the mountain road, we finally reach Precious’ home. It’s a house of traditional make, with a courtyard just as refined and tranquil as in my memories. Dyed fabrics, threads of all colours, and interesting embroidery are placed in various corners, just as they were before.

It’s as if nothing has changed at all.

Old grandmother: It seems we really have fate with you! When Precious escaped from the house today, he brought the two of you back with him!

MC: It really is such a coincidence. This explains why the road earlier looked so familiar. The previous time I came, I didn’t realise you stayed at the foot of the mountain of the matchmaking temple.

Old grandmother: This temple suddenly became so lively, and the festival is also drawing near. Ah, are the two of you perhaps here to visit the matchmaking temple?

I nod at first, but when I think of the implications, I become flustered and start to shake my head.

MC: Actually, we...

Lucien: Yes. We are here to visit the matchmaking temple.

Lucien holds my hand tightly in his, before smiling politely at the old grandmother. The old grandmother smiles brightly, and I can feel my cheeks heat up. Feeling two pairs of eyes on me, I quickly change the topic.

MC: That’s right! Granny, did you know about the ‘legend’ of the matchmaking temple? It’s said that a few decades ago, a pair of lovers whose relationship was rejected by their families ran to the matchmaking temple. But after the man contracted leukaemia and died, the woman also vanished mysteriously... After that, the peach tree planted in the backyard blossomed and attracted many butterflies which surrounded it. That’s why the media has dubbed it the “Legend of the Butterfly Lovers”.

[Trivia from Red: “Legend of the Butterfly Lovers” - a pair of devoted lovers cannot be together when the woman, Zhu, has already been promised to another man by her family. The man, Liang, dies from grief and illness. On the day of Zhu’s marriage, she leaves the procession to pay her respects at Liang’s grave, and begs for the grave to open up. With a crack of thunder, it does, and Zhu throws herself into the grave to join Liang. Their spirits emerge as a pair of butterflies, flying away together, never to be separated ever again.]

Old grandmother: [laughs] Where did such a mystifying story come from! Most of it would have been made up by others. Those legends are all fake! Normal people have to part ways in the end, whether they choose to leave each other life, or are separated by death.

Hearing such grim words, I feel slightly depressed. Lucien opens his mouth to speak.

Lucien: I think this legend came about because people believe in something beautiful. “Out of a million people, only a pair of Butterfly Lovers will become butterflies.”

[Trivia from Red: Lucien is quoting a book called “被结婚” (”Getting Married”) by Yibei. The full paragraph is 大概一千万人之中，才有一双梁祝，可以化蝶。其他化为蛾、蟑螂、蚊蚋、苍蝇、金龟子... 就是化不成蝶, which translate to: “Out of a million people, only one pair of Butterfly Lovers will become butterflies. Others become moths, cockroaches, insects, flies and scarabs... just not butterflies.”]

Lucien: Love that transcends death is, of course, precious. But it is already difficult for people to be deeply in love up to the moment of death. Besides, these two feelings cannot be separated or differentiated.

Lucien pats my hand gently.

Lucien: So, there’s no need to be upset about it.

Lucien’s voice is soft and gentle, but it settles my heart and puts it at ease.

Old grandmother: Ah, it’s this old woman’s fault for speaking too much! The two of you are still young, and have a long time ahead. As for what we were talking about earlier, the matchmaker you’re about to visit is very efficient! If the two of you are genuine, you will definitely receive blessings!

Old grandmother: But... dressing like this won’t do. I have a change of clothes with me. If the both of you don’t mind, perhaps you could make use of them.

Old grandmother: Do the clothes fit?

Lucien: Mm, they fit very well. Thank you for the hard work you put into these.

Old grandmother: Just now, MC asked if she could learn how to do embroidery from me, but I told her there would be some difficulties. Instead, she asked if I could teach her how to tie a “True Lover’s Knot”. When I asked if she wanted to tie one for you, she turned red and refused to let me tell you!

[Trivia from Red: True Lover’s Knot (同心结 - “same heart knot”) symbolises love, friendship and affection]

The old grandmother gets flustered and covers her mouth with her hands.

Old grandmother: Oh no! I just told you all of it!

Lucien: Don’t worry, I won’t mention it to her.

At this moment, I step out of the house dressed in a bridal costume. Lucien’s eyes are fixated on me, unable to look away. The old grandmother comments on how beautiful I look, and I fidget nervously with the costume, blushing shyly.

Lucien: Mm. Very pretty.

I suck in a deep breath and begin walking towards the two of them. Even though I still feel shy, I continue walking to Lucien determinedly. He holds out his hand and thinks -

What’s before him right now is what his heart desires.

[ CHAPTER THREE ]

After bidding the old grandmother goodbye, the two of us continue our way up the mountain path towards the matchmaking temple. Along the way, there are many ormosia hosiei trees.

I admire the scenery, but can’t help getting distracted by the thought of wearing matching outfits with Lucien.

MC: Why did the old grandmother lend us a wedding set...

Lucien: Do you mind it?

MC: Not really. It’s just think everyone has misunderstood the reason why we’re here.

This is because people who walk past us on the path keep smiling warmly. Some even come up to us, offering their blessings and congratulations. The thought of being a newlywed couple with Lucien in the eyes of others makes me shy.

Lucien: I don’t find it a bother to be misunderstood like this. If you mind, however...

MC: I... I don’t mind! Let’s hurry. If we aren’t fast enough, there will be many people queuing up as well!

When we reach the temple, I start gathering all the things we need, such as incense and joss paper. Lucien asks me to wait for a moment, and walks over to the lady boss to speak with her quietly.

While waiting for him, I notice a palmistry booth set up not too far away ,and ask for a reading for my affinity and marriage. The practitioner studies my hand carefully. But the more he looks, the more his smile seems to face. I start to grow nervous.

MC: Is there a problem?

Practitioner: Little Miss, your ‘marriage affinity’ line is too faint and I can’t see it clearly.

[Note from Red: time to boost your affinity stats MC UPGRADE THE COMPANY]

MC: [panicking] How can that be? Look again a little more carefully, please...

Practitioner: This matchmaking temple ties the red thread on your ankle. Anyway, your marriage affinity is invisible and cannot be seen or felt. So, Little Miss, there’s no need to be worried.

He pours me a cup of tea to calm me down, and I ask what the tea is. He tells me that it’s a ‘linking affinity’ tea, and that I should give a cup to my newlywed husband when he comes over.

MC: He still isn’t... the tea is quite bitter...

[Note from Red: I SEE WHAT YOU’RE DOING THERE MC]

Lucien reappears with a pair of flat soled women’s shoes, bends down in front of me and begins to take off my current shoes. The shoes are traditional in appearance to match the outfit, but they don’t fit me well, and it would become a struggle to climb the mountain path. The back of my feet hurt.

Lucien: Even though this silly girl tried so hard to hide it from me, I still found out in the end.

Embarrassed, I try to pull my feet away to do it on my own, but Lucien insists and helps me put on the shoes with tender carefulness. When he finishes, I reach for the cup of tea on the table and hold it out to him.

MC: Lucien, are you thirsty?

Lucien: No, why do you ask?

MC: But the tea here is really delicious! Do you want to try some?

Lucien: Is that so? Then I wonder why a certain someone had a frown on her face and commented that the tea was bitter earlier.

I flush, holding out the tea cup awkwardly with a hand as I try to think of what to say. Lucien seems to enjoy looking at my face and watching my expressions.

Practitioner: The tea tastes bitter, but it has a sweet aftertaste!

I latch on to the excuse like, word for word, ‘a drowning man clinging to a tree branch’.

MC: That’s right, that’s right, that’s right! Now my mouth feels like I’ve just eaten a piece of candy!

Lucien laughs a little.

Lucien: When you put it like that, it’s hard not to be moved. Since that’s the case, I will definitely have to drink it well.

At first, Lucien reaches out for the tea cup on the table. But his hand suddenly pauses in mid-air, changes direction, and grasps my hand instead. While I panic, Lucien brings the teacup in my hand to his lips and takes a sip.

Lucien: Yes, very sweet.

[ CHAPTER FOUR ]

It takes an hour for us to leave the matchmaking temple. Holding a red perfumed sachet in my hand and two red strings, I pull Lucien along with me under the peach tree in the backyard.

I recall my experience in the matchmaking temple earlier, where we got a red perfumed sachet instead of a light pink one like how previous people did. The staff explained that single people get a pink sachet while lovers get a red one. They also wished us a happy relationship that will last a hundred years.

While I stare dazedly at the red sachet in my hand, Lucien thanks the staff.

Remembering the way he had smiled at the sight of the red sachet, I am a little embarrassed and my cheeks turn red. Following the other visitors, I tie the first red string we obtained from the temple onto one of the tree branches and am about to reach for the second one when Lucien stops me.

Lucien: Here I was, wondering why you were trying to take my red string away. So this is the reason...

MC: ...the staff told me that if I tie the strings together, the gods will see it more easily! Besides...

Before I can continue, I shut my mouth. When two people tie their strings together, it signifies 以树为媒，天地作证“ (i.e. take the trees as your matchmaker, heaven and earth will bear witness to your union).

Lucien: Besides...?

MC: It’s just a better guarantee that the gods will notice it!

Lucien: But you seem to be missing something.

Lucien places his red string into my palm.

Lucien: This red string of mine - would you be willing to help me keep it?

I panic at his words and Lucien laughs, pulling away.

Lucien: All right, I won’t tease you.

There’s a commotion from a group nearby, and I wonder if it’s the famous “affinity stone” they’re looking at.

The affinity stone is the other attraction of the mountain aside from the matchmaking temple, and it is said to bless people with good marriage affinity.

Lucien nudges me lightly towards the group.

Lucien: Let’s go over and see.

We queue up for a while and finally reach the affinity stone. After a moment, Lucien takes my hand.

Lucien: Aren’t you going forward to pray?

I think for a moment, then shake my head.

MC: Better not. Too many of my wishes have already come true today. The gods might think that I’m too greedy.

MC: Actually, before we came here, I visited the palm reader. He said my marriage affinity line is too faint to be seen, but he also said afterwards that the red string of fate tying people together is invisible too.

MC: But now, I feel like I understand. Fate has always been something mystical and cannot be changed - only treasured. Am I right?

After saying these words, I try to dispel my negative thoughts. But Lucien makes a thoughtful expression.

MC: Lucien, do you want to offer a prayer? Ah, what nonsense am I saying? You’re a scientist, so you probably don’t believe in any of this....

Lucien: It’s not because of the reason you’ve mentioned. It’s just that in my opinion, there’s no need to do such a thing.

The wind blows. At this moment, many butterflies suddenly flutter over to the peach tree we are standing under. I reach out to touch a butterfly, and Lucien imitates me. A butterfly lands where our fingertips touch.

MC: Lucien, look! So pretty.

Lucien: Who says affinity is invisible? Before me right now, isn’t affinity made visible?

He looks at me with calm certainty and sincerity in his eyes.

After visiting the affinity stone, I begin to tie a decorative chinese knot.

Lucien: What are you tying?

MC: I’m making something that can be worn on the wrist, although I don’t know if it’d turn out well.

Lucien: I'm looking forward to it. However, do you not have enough strings? Why have you taken mine as well?

MC: ...I wanted to make one for you too!

Lucien: But as far as I’m aware, a red string with a knot to be worn around the wrist has a special meaning.

MC: I-is... is that so?

Lucien: If lovers wear them, it symbolises “lifelong love”. But if a single person wears it, it means “peace and safety”. This time, which should I believe?

MC: Err...

Upon seeing my stunned face, Lucien simply laughs and reaches out to poke me gently on the nose.

Lucien: It’s alright. I just couldn’t resist teasing you. You don’t need to...

Before he can complete his sentence, I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek lightly.

Lucien’s eyes go wide, and his smile deepens. Heart racing, I say in a voice just loud enough for the both of us to hear:

MC: The first meaning!

[ CHAPTER FIVE ]

Since it’s getting late, Lucien and I head back down the mountain path. I take out the “Lover’s Knot” that I made earlier using the strings from the temple, and place it in Lucien’s hand.

MC: This one is done! Here, see if it fits.

The knot isn’t very fancy or elaborate, but it contains all my sincerity. The other half-completed knot is clutched tightly in my own hand.

Lucien: This knot...

Has he seen through me?

[Note from Red: no shit mc you’re as subtle as a wrecking ball in a china shop]

Smiling, Lucien slips the knot onto his left wrist very carefully.

Lucien: It fits very well. You did a good job. Compared to the peace knot you made the last time, you’ve improved a lot.

MC: That was my first time!

Lucien: Did you have a lot of practice?

MC: Instead of practicing, I discovered the secret to making a good knot! The secret is... when you make the knot, you have to think about the person who’s going to be wearing it! That way, your thoughts and feelings will be woven into the knot!

Lucien: Did someone tell you this secret?

MC: I really can’t hide anything from you! Actually, I asked the old grandmother to teach me a little earlier. She said that “two strings tied together are called a ‘knot’. The fate of two people tied together is also called a ‘knot’. The ‘Lover’s Knot’ is not just a decoration, but symbolises love and longing between two people.

Lucien: So, it holds much meaning. Thank you for telling me.

When our gazes meet, it’s as if the world has fallen silent, leaving nothing but the echo of our heartbeats. The scenery around me seems to lose all colour, except for Lucien and the red fruit of the ormosia hosiei trees.

[Trivia from Red: They are also called love seeds, symbolising love and fidelity. In countries such as China and Taiwan, men often give these red beans to their lovers as an expression of commitment. It’s also a cultural belief that if married couples put six red beans underneath each of their pillows, their love will remain throughout eternity.]

MC: “Love seeds embedded in ivory dice, my yearning for you engraved into my bones...”

Even though I say this softly, it reaches Lucien’s ears. His eyes are wavering, and he seems to have been caught off guard by my words. I realise what I just said aloud and hurry to clear up the misunderstanding.

MC: It’s just a quote I really liked when I was a student! I even wrote it down on a bookmark! I just said it aloud when I saw the scenery...

Lucien doesn’t say a word, and only smiles at me. After a few moments, he speaks.

Lucien: Do you have any inspiration for the next episode yet?

I nod at first, but shake my head afterwards.

MC: About the legend of the matchmaking temple, I’m not sure which is the best angle to approach it... There are people who love each other till they die, and there are also people who carry the love of another person as they walk alone. Doing either requires courage, but as you said, both cannot be differentiated...

Lucien: If you don’t know how to approach it, how about thinking about it from a different perspective, or finding new inspiration? Would you be willing to listen to my suggestion?

MC: Of course!

Lucien: As you were saying earlier, when two strings are tied together, they form a knot. When tied on the wrists, they hold two people together.

MC: What you’re saying is that love is what ties people together? That it’s something like the red string of fate?

Lucien: Even if two people aren’t together, their mutual longing for each other can be felt through the string of fate that connects them.

Lucien picks up one end of the knot tied around his wrist. With the other hand, he takes the end of the string in my hand.

Lucien: When tied together by fate, even if separated at the ends of the world, it will never break.

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc lucien #REDQUEENSCHOICE TRANSLATED THIS

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zensjagi · 4 years

Text

parting is such sweet sorrow

Written for @justagirlinafandomworld ‘s time travel challenge!!!

i’ve been rewatching doctor who lately so this is set late season 6, somewhere between episodes 13 and 14 in an AU where the reader (from our time) travelled with the doctor for a bit. for anyone who needs their memory jogged, the doctor thinks he’s about to die at lake silencio and only has a little while left before he has to go there.

Prompt: “Before I go, I just want you to know that I do love you. You were/are my everything.”

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: angstttt

≿━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━≾

He only had a few hours left, and there was only one thing he could even conceive of doing; one last loose thread to knot. And so, at 8 pm on a Tuesday, he turned up on her doorstep.

The windows were dark, but the porch light was still on. The Doctor swallowed the lump in his throat, raising a closed fist to the wooden door. He stood perfectly still, knuckles a hairsbreadth from the peeling, painted wood, but with every second that ticked by, he came no closer to knocking.

He could hear her crying.

Was it worth it, to ease her pain for a mere moment, only to magnify it the moment he left? Just so that he could see her, one last time? Was he really so selfish?

The Doctor took a shaky breath, eyes falling closed.

He knocked.

≿━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━≾

You didn’t bother turning on the lights, but you left the porch light on and the front door unlocked, just in case. Not that he’d need it; not that a dark porch or locked door ever stopped him. But a small part of you could only hope that it would be invitation enough for him to come back; that if you acted like he’d return, then somehow, he’d walk right through your front door, face alight with a cheeky grin as he fixed his bow tie and rambled on of otherworldly beauties. As if any marvel could hold so much as a candle to him; the mad man with a box, a heart of gold, and a sonic screwdriver.

But your porch remained empty, and you sank numbly into the couch. He was gone. He wasn’t coming back; he’d… left.

“It’s too dangerous, Y/N. If not now, then when? When is the right time to say goodbye? When I’m standing over your broken body?”

You could still feel his harsh gaze clinging to you, the hardness of his voice as it lodged sharply into your chest. The warmth of his last hug, the flicker of softness in his eyes, and then… the cold emptiness that he left behind.

Clutching a pillow to your chest, you rattled a loose breath that broke into a sob, that turned into another, and suddenly, the despair caught up with you. Your chest hurt with every wretched cry, and you couldn’t breathe through the sheer hurt of it. Of the loneliness. Of the loss.

He really was gone, wasn’t he? And you’d never even told him that…

There was a knock at the door.

“Hellooo? Anyone home?” The voice was tight, lacking its usual flair, but its owner was unmistakable.

With tears still drying on your cheeks and a spark of hope blooming in your chest, you hurtled upright, tripping over your own feet in your rush to the door. It swung open before you could reach the doorknob, and you stopped in your tracks.

He stood there like one of Michelangelo’s angels, a portrait of silhouetted, elegant solemnity, haloed by the warm yellow porchlight. The Doctor’s eyes met yours, the corners of them crinkling as his gaze softened in something almost reminiscent of pity.

“It’s—it’s you?” Your voice came as a gasp so quiet it was almost lost in the space between you, but he still heard it. He always heard you.

“It’s me,” he confirmed, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can I come in?” His hand was still resting tentatively on the doorknob, and there was a solemness in his eyes that you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before.

“You—you just left,” you said, avoiding his question. “Like, an hour ago. Why—why are you here?”

The Doctor paused, gaze flicking to the floor. “That was… a while ago, for me,” he admitted, voice soft and captured by the whisper of the evening air. “I came because… I have something I need to do. And… I needed to say goodbye.”

“A while? How long? What do you need to do? Doctor, what are you talking about?” Your heart pounded—his seriousness was making you nervous, the exhausted energy that radiated off him draining and perturbing.

“A while…” He chuckled. “Well, I guess my while is a fair bit different to yours, eh? You’re only human… you all shine so brightly, but only for a short while. I… I’m very old, Y/N.” He avoided your eyes, and something in his voice broke you.

“Doctor… come inside. Let’s talk, yeah?”

“Talk…” A tiny smile crossed his face. “Yes, let’s talk. I always did enjoy our talks. I’ve missed them.”

You smiled back, albeit uncertainly. “Yeah, me too. I’m gonna put some tea on… sit down, okay?” You waited for him to take a seat before heading to the kitchen, mind heavy with rumination. He seemed… vulnerable, in a way you’d never seen him before. Like his mind was worlds away, lost in a time both so long ago and so far in the future.

The kettle squealed, and you jumped.

Hands weighed with two steaming mugs, you walked back to the living room, half expecting him to be gone when you arrived. However, there he sat, still as a statue, just as you had left him.

“Here.” Your voice was gentle, but it still pulled his eyes up quicker than lightning. You handed him his tea, sat down next to him, and waited.

The two of you sat in silence for a long while; you finished your tea, while the Doctor’s full mug grew cold in his hands.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly.

You blinked, observing him questioningly.

“For the tea,” he clarified. “Very nice. You always did make good tea…”

“Doctor… you’re scaring me. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Scaring you? Oh. I didn’t... my head? Oh, sweet Y/N, that isn’t a place you want to visit.” He chuckled darkly.

Slowly, you rested your hand over his. Despite the lingering warmth of the mug, his fingers were cold. You squeezed his hand gently, and the Doctor stared at your skin on his, soft and warm, like a comforting memory that only rears its head in your darkest moments.

“Why are you here?” you asked again.

The Doctor closed his eyes. “To say goodbye.”

“Goodbye? To... me? Did something happen?”

The Doctor shook his head. “Not yet. But it will. But then, I suppose it already has. Not to you. Well, not yet. We all die one day, after all, don’t we?”

“Doctor. What are you talking about?”

“Nothing... nothing for you to worry about. It’s been, and it will be. Tell me... what year is it? What year did I leave you in?”

“It’s 2020,” you said.

The Doctor winced. “Oh. Sorry. Of all the years to leave you...”

“Hey, it’s interesting to be in a historical event in my own timeline for a change,” you replied, and he chuckled again; a genuine one, this time.

“Oh, Y/N. You always have been the optimist, haven’t you?”

“So have you.” You squeezed his hand, and he set his mug on the table with his free hand, squeezing your fingers back.

“Thank you,” he murmured. The Doctor’s eyes finally met yours, and his eyes were damp. “I didn’t want to leave you, you know. I... I never want to leave you. That’s exactly why I had to.”

“Doctor...”

He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing the palms of his hands over them before inhaling deeply and smiling. “Well, this has been nice, hasn’t it? I should head off; places to be, things to do, you know?”

The Timelord leapt to his feet, suddenly brimming with forced energy, and you followed his hasty path to the front door.

“Doctor, you can’t just—you can’t just leave like that, not again. Not without at least telling me what’s going on. It’s not fair.”

His smile wavered. “I... I know. But I’m selfish; I should never have come here in the first place, I just... I just needed to see you.”

“Why me?” you asked softly. “Why not... why not Amy? Or- or even Rose, or Martha, or Donna? Why come here?”

The Doctor closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I can’t...”

You touched his arm, and his eyes bore into yours.

“You’re different, Y/N. You always have been; you know that. Sweet, sweet Y/N, with the warmest human heart of all. You only have one heart, but you care far more for others than my two hearts ever could.”

“That’s not true,” you protested, and the Doctor smiled, placing a gentle finger over your lips.

“It is. I’m old, Y/N. I’m an old, selfish man. I’m not a hero. I’m not...” He swallowed, and shook his head for the umpteenth time.

“Doctor. Why did you come to see me?” you asked, one last time. “What’s made you so down and reflective?”

“Who doesn’t want to spend their last hours with the person they love?” the Doctor finally murmured, and your heart all but stopped.

“Last hours? What are you talking about? Wait—love?”

The Doctor smiled, resting his hand on your cheek. “Everything has it’s time, Y/N. Even me.” And suddenly, his arms were around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest.

He was warm, and smelled just as he always did; faintly of leather, of old books and untold stories. You buried your face into the shoulder of his tweed jacket, the fabric softer than it looked on your still-tearstained cheeks. A pair of lips settled against your hair, and moved to your forehead when the Doctor inevitably withdrew; he never was one for lengthy hugs.

His lips left your skin, but your chest was still flush against his, your eyes finding his own as your white knuckled fists grasped the back of his coat.

“I love you, you know,” you whispered. “And I know that you’re doing to be okay. You’re going to work this out; everything is going to be fine. You’re the Doctor. You always save the day.”

“Not always.” His voice was brittle, on the verge of breaking.

“Well, you always saved me. Every day; not just when we got ourselves into trouble. Every day after meeting you... I wanted to wake up in the morning. You showed me the whole universe; different planets, different times... but none of that would have mattered if it wasn’t you I was with. You showed me how to be myself, Doctor; how to find my spark again. You saved me.”

The Doctor smiled, his hand cupping your cheek. “Oh, Y/N... I didn’t save you. You did that all by yourself. I was just the taxi.”

You shook your head vehemently. “Doctor...”

“Y/N,” he whispered, his thumb rubbing gently over your cheekbone, the corner of your mouth, your lower lip... You could feel his warm breath on your nose, feel those piercing eyes as they sought yours, and slowly, tentatively, finally...

He kissed you.

Your mind froze, but as he moved to pull away you finally melted into him, grabbing his lapels and tugging him back as your mouth sealed over his. The Doctor’s hands were on your waist, your cheek, his lips soft and insistent as he held you tightly to his chest. You sighed into his caress, and even when he pulled away, he couldn’t help but place a few soft, lingering pecks to your swollen lips.

“I should leave,” he whispered, his eyes closed and forehead pressed against yours. “I’m sorry.”

“Doctor, please...”

“I’m sorry. But, before I go... I just want you to know that I do love you. You were my everything. The last star in a lonely man’s empty universe. Thank you, Y/N. Promise me you’ll take care.” His voice was barely audible, his breathing unsteady as he cupped your face in both hands.

You nodded, pushing on tip-toe to place one last kiss to his lips. “Promise. You too, okay? Please, Doctor. Please stay safe. Find a way.”

The Doctor smiled sadly, but didn’t reply. “Goodbye, my sweet Y/N,” he breathed eventually. “I know you’ll have the most beautiful life. Enjoy it.”

Before you could reply, he turned and left, leaving nothing but a swinging door behind him. You watched him walk around the corner without looking back, standing in the empty doorway with your hand over the light switch. In the distance, you heard the wheeze of the TARDIS engine slowly fade into a dying breeze.

The porch light flickered, and finally went dark.

≿━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━≾

thanku for reading !! pls reblog/comment if u got this far, it means a lot!! xx

#yvettestimetravelchallenge #doctor who #doctor who fanfic #eleventh doctor #dw #eleventh doctor x reader #dw fic #dw fanfic #my writing

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four-loose-screws · 3 years

Text

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 13, Section 1

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

If you are interested in donating to support my work, please check out my Ko-fi here. Thank you!

———————————

I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

———————————

Chapter 13: The Desert Palace

Jehanna was known as the Country of White Dunes. Just as that name implied, the capital city was chosen to be built upon a tiny patch of green land in the middle of a giant desert.

The rainy season was very short, and the air was dry almost the entire year round. Skeletons of animals that had collapsed from exhaustion dotted the desert. However, despite being suffocated by such harsh nature, Jehanna was also beautiful.

The country was ruled by Queen Ismaire. Her husband had passed long ago, and after overcoming countless hardships, she’d come to be a fine ruler for the country. The palace towered majestically over the white desert, and was a symbol of how the queen lived her life.

Eirika’s army traveled along the narrow main road built throughout the desert and towards the capital city. The palace looked so very far away.

What was going on inside that beautiful palace now? Just thinking about it lowered their spirits. Eirika was lost in thought as she swayed gently atop her horse, but noticed a small flower that had bloomed on the side of the road, and stopped.

When she jumped off her horse and went to pick the flower, she smelled a refreshing aroma.

Tana saw what she was doing, and peered over at her. “It’s so cute! Wow, flowers can even bloom in a dry climate like this!”

“This is a medicinal plant. I forgot its name, but… it’s supposed to be very effective at relieving the pain of wounds. It only grows in dry climates, so it is a valuable plant.”

“Wow… you really know a lot about it! I'm surprised that you know something like that!"

Eirika smiled and stared down at the beautiful flower in her hand.

The person who had taught her all about it was Lyon. He had his very own medicinal plant garden in a corner of Grado Castle’s garden, where he grew a wide variety of plants. He’d even worked very hard to recreate a desert environment and tried to raise plants that only grew in that climate.

Ephraim showed no interest in medicinal plants, and did not come near them, but Eirika often visited the garden with Lyon. Even Lyon, who’d been shy at first, opened up and answered all of Eirika’s various questions on the subject, telling her all the plants’ names, effects, and how to care for them.

“Those without money cannot buy expensive medicine, right? But there are plants everywhere that can become effective medicines. I’m studying medicinal plants, and want to teach the people about them, because it should make life much easier for those suffering from illnesses…”

Eirika was impressed by all the things Lyon passionately shared with her. She still had much to learn about the world at the time, and hadn’t thought yet about the lives of the people.

“You’re so admirable, Lyon! You think as hard as you can to find a way to make everyone happy, don’t you?”

“Oh, I’m not admirable at all… This is the only sort of thing I can do… I’m terrible at sword fighting. I lose even to you.”

When Lyon said that, he seemed embarrassed, so much so that when Eirika looked at him, she felt sorry for him. She couldn’t keep herself from frowning.

‘Why can’t he realize what his own amazing strengths are? It doesn’t matter if he’s bad at sword fighting, because he posesses kindness and intelligence that is unlike anyone else’s.’

This was the same Lyon that had led the Grado Army and conquered Jehanna. Eirika still couldn’t believe it.

Of course, a commanding officer didn’t need to be an exceptional soldier. It was also conceivable that Lyon was just being used as decoration, and someone else was really leading the army. However, Eirika was still not convinced.

“I’ve heard that Prince Lyon has a gentle personality, and loathes fighting.” Innes whispered, as if he could read Eirika’s wavering heart. He had come up beside her at some point, and was now walking alongside her horse.

“Seems like it was all an act. Perhaps he deceived you and Ephraim to get you two to let your guards down.”

“...That’s...” Eirika wanted to disagree, but she couldn’t find any strength to put into her voice.

Innes had never actually met Lyon, so he was suspicious of him. Eirika could assert that the many different ways he'd shown kindness could not have been false, but it would only be her insisting that her memories were the truth with no proof at all against the fact that they knew for certain that he had conquered Jehanna.

“I’ve heard that he can use dark magic. Do you know how skilled he is in it, Eirika?”

“...Yes. The bishop that taught him always praised him highly because of his intelligence and passion for studying. He seemed to read difficult books a lot.”

"Then he is very dangerous.” Innes furrowed his brow.

Though he may know dark magic, Lyon never studied it with bad intentions. Darkness was important for bringing peace to people’s hearts. Lyon’s passion for learning magic was always for the sake of others.

L’Arachel was listening to their conversation, and added, “We have no reason to fear the power of darkness, for we have received the gods’ blessing! We shall retake the palace in one fell swoop!”

“No, we do not know if the queen is safe yet. She’s been taken as a hostage, so we must tread carefully.” Innes said.

“You’re right…” All of the energy drained from within L’Arachel, and she sighed deeply.

ー

Eirika’s army set up camp outside the city and decided to finalize their strategy.

There were hardly any people in the capital, and it had become very quiet. At first, Jehanna Palace looked like a beautiful mirage, but from this closer distance, they could see that it was guarded by a sturdy wall. Now that it had fallen into the hands of the enemy, the strength of that wall had backfired.

“The only way to minimize the damage we cause as we attack the palace is to swiftly tear down the front gate. The armored knights should rush in with the cavalry, then the infantry should follow in right after them. Still, we must prepare to damage the palace if need be…” Seth’s expression was dark.

Innes asked, “Were we able to acquire any knowledge about the palace’s inner structure?”

“No. It is very complex, and we do not know the details of it.”

“That’s not good. We have no idea what kind of traps the enemy has laid out...”

“Rather than tear down the front gate, we should go around the side.”

Eirika and the others all looked up towards the source of the voice that had suddenly cut in from the side.

Those attending the meeting should have been only the army’s leaders. However, at some point, Joshua had entered the tent.

Innes huffed and ordered, “We’re in the middle of an important meeting right now. Please leave.”

“You want to know the inner structure of the palace, right? I’ll tell you.”

“What? Why would you know…?”

“Please wait, Innes!” Eirika stopped him.

Joshua had many years of experience as a mercenary. He might have had an opportunity to obtain a map of the palace at some point. It was unfortunate, but they didn’t have time to question him about it. If they did not hurry, then the queen would be in trouble.

“Please tell us everything you know, Joshua. Are there any other methods of getting inside the palace besides breaking down the front gate?”

“The layout of the palace is very complex. The front gate is not the only way inside. There is also a small passageway that merchants use to get in and out. It is likely that the enemy has not realized it is there.”

“...Can you lead us to it?”

“Yes.” Joshua nodded lightly.

Innes narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

But Eirika decided to trust him. She had been suspicious of his true motives once in the past, but up until now, he had always fought as another member of her army with all his strength. She did not want to question that sincerity any longer.

Joshua pulled out a piece of paper that had a quick sketch of the palace drawn on it. Though the drawing only consisted of simple lines, it was surprisingly detailed. It had everything they would need written on it, from the placement of the hallways and rooms, to where the stairs and even pillars were.

“The throne room is inside here. Prince Lyon is most likely leading the army from in there. And in the basement, there is an altar. If they are keeping the queen confined, then it is likely that they are using this room down there to do so.” Joshua pointed at the map and explained.

Seth and Innes stared at the map with very serious looks on their faces.

“We’ll designate a large enough force to rush the gate and feint an attack on it. They will be a diversion and draw in the enemy, and should attack and retreat repeatedly so that no one is injured. Using that gap in the enemy’s defenses, a small elite force will attack from the merchant’s entrance on the east side. The enemy's guard there will probably be light, so we should be able to attack and defeat them in one swoop. After we establish that area as a base, we will head for the throne room.”

“...Alright.” Innes seemed to agree with that strategy. He raised his head up with confidence and looked at Joshua. “I shall lead the diversion team. At the very least, we will make a scene, and keep them in one area. Eirika, I want you to lead the elite force. Joshua, you will of course guide Eirika down the merchant’s entrance.”

Eirika nodded and looked at Joshua.

He had the same thin smile on his face as always, but his expression looked a bit more stiff than usual.

It wasn’t just a strange feeling. Something about the way Joshua was acting was undoubtedly strange. A dark color shaded his eyes. He seemed to have noticed that Eirika was staring at him, as he quickly turned his head away, and rushed out of the tent.

#fire emblem #fe #fe8 #sacred stones #eirika #game boy advance #gba #japan #japanese #translation #novel #light novel #fe8 novelization translation

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captainkappa · 3 years

Text

Fanfic:: Falling

Besides, leaving means going back to an empty ship. Leaving means counting down the days until he saw Grogu again. Leaving means counting down until he could come with a good enough excuse to come back to Tatooine.

Din doesn’t want to leave. Not just yet.

AO3 Link

Do you remember this post I wrote about Din Cobb going to see Space Cherry Blossoms? Well I wrote a whole fic about it! It’s pure fluff and pining, I hope you enjoy!

And a huge thanks to @staranon95 for betaing!

-=-=-=-=-=-

“Do you want to go for a ride?”

Din hasn’t meant to offer it. He knows that opening that gate would open others, but in the shade of Din’s new ship the Mudhorn , Cobb leaning against his speeder to say good-bye, it slips out. During the job this time, Cobb had finally put into words Din had suspected, that he’d had never been off Tatooine, which isn’t that surprising when you consider the culture of Tatooine is scraping by for your next meal.

Cobb freezes for a moment. “You sure? You don’t have someplace to be?”

“No, I can spare a few.”

He’s not wrong. He’s not on contract from the guild, he probably has a couple of days before Bo-Katan contacts him again for the saber, his calendar is blissfully free. Besides, leaving means going back to an empty ship. Leaving means counting down the days until he saw Grogu again. Leaving means counting down until he could come with a good enough excuse to come back to Tatooine.

Din doesn’t want to leave. Not just yet.

The smile that Cobb has threatens to blind him. “Alright, lemme comm the town, tell them I’ll be back a little later.”

Cobb steps away and Din takes this as his chance to take a breath. He’s doing this, he’s just going to bring Cobb up to see a brand new planet then back to Tatooine before Mos Pelgo can miss him.

That’s it.

He lowers the ramp and packs up the supplies he got while on planet. It’s busy work that he can use to distract himself from thinking about how Cobb fought today, ruthless in the face of the slaver camp they came across, how the new durasteel armor hugs him in all the right places. Taking inventory should prevent his thoughts from drifting to how Cobb tilts his head back to laugh, the way he smiles when he gets an idea, and how he held out his hand to help Din up after the fight was over.

That is, until a thought pops into his head. Not only a thought, a planet, a planet he thinks he might want to show Cobb, someone who’s only used to the sand plains of Tatooine. He none so gently kicks the final crate into the hold before going to the cockpit. He plugs the coordinates in, just to see how the hyperspace lanes look.

He blinks at the screen showing them optimal for a quick trip. No traffic, no anomalies sending them off course. It’s the perfect storm for space travel.

He glances at Cobb, still talking with Jo or Issa-Or. He turns back and pulls out a busted datapad and checks one more thing about the planet in mind.

He was right; it’s peak season.

He leans back in his chair, allowing himself to be selfish and look at Cobb. Is this the Force? He’s had conversations with his son’s teachers since he got his frequency and he still doesn’t understand it entirely, but is this what the Force is? Pulling him to this conclusion that it’d be a crime to pass on the opportunity?

His thought process is interrupted by Cobb’s light steps up the ramp. His eyes wander the whole breadth of the ship, drinking it all in, before finally landing on him. His gaze is so bright, Din has to fight the urge to fidget.

“Alright, so what’s the plan, partner? Quick trip up and down?

“Actually, if you have time,” he starts, sounding more confident than he feels, “there’s a planet not too far away we could visit.”

Cobb tears his gaze away from the hull to look at him, eyes full of restrained emotion.

“Really?”

Din swallows, not knowing why his throat feels so dry. “Yeah. There’s a hyperspace lane freed up. Two hours there and back.”

“That easy?” And Cobb clamps his lips shut and Din can see where he’s coming from. The freedom of space is enticing. He’d be lying if there hadn’t been a day or two in his youth when he just wanted to forgo a bounty to just explore.

He nods, giving Cobb the time to consider.

“Two hours?” he parrots and Din nods again. Cobb considers this for only a moment before saying, “Ah, what the hell, once in a lifetime opportunity, right?”

“Alright.” Din hopes Cobb can’t tell how hard he’s smiling as he starts up the ship.

The ship rumbles beneath his feet, a familiar sensation. Cobb, on the other hand, jumps five feet out of his seat when the ship around them starts to move.

“Sorry,” Din says before Cobb can get a word in edgewise. Should’ve thought of that. “I’m gonna have us start climbing now, okay?”

Cobb manages a nod. Din pulls up on the controls and the ship is airborne. He lets the control tower know they’re leaving before pushing the ship to accelerate to break the atmosphere. He keeps turning his head to face Cobb, whose eyes are plastered to the viewport.

This time he warns Cobb what he’s doing, trying to remember how it felt the first time he entered hyperspace.

“It might… feel weird,” he explains as he plugs in the hyperspace coordinates.

Cobb snorts. “Very descriptive, partner, thank you kindly for the warning.”

Din huffs out a laugh before pulling the lever back, watching as the familiar blues of hyperspace fill the cockpit window. There’s a sudden gasp from his left and he turns to look at Cobb, to make sure he’s okay.

He hasn’t been expecting tears. Silent, quiet tears falling down Cobb’s cheeks. It makes Din’s throat close up with want. What he wants, he’s not sure. Want to bring Cobb with him? Cobb wouldn’t want that with his roots already set down in Tatooine; the politics of Mandalore wouldn’t appeal to him.

Or at least, that’s what Din tells himself, avoiding any consideration of the opposite because what if it wasn’t that Cobb wouldn’t leave Tatooine, but that he wouldn’t leave with Din .

Din has had too much heartbreak for one lifetime. He doesn’t think he could handle much more.

He tells Cobb he’s free to wander the ship, but Cobb just nods, eyes transfixed. Din settles in himself. He’ll leave the cockpit if Cobb asks, but he really hopes he doesn’t.

-=-

As predicted, the flight is short and soon they are out of hyperspace. From space, the planet is a motley of colors, but Din angles for the dot of pink that grows larger and larger as they enter the atmosphere. Cobb’s eyes never leave the viewport as the planet widens before their eyes, details coming into focus. First, its coastlines, then mountains that disappear with the curve of the planet, then the natural borders of biomes, then thick forests of multicolored trees, until they arrive at the patch Din had thought of.

They touch down on a flat patch of earth, no official landing strip for miles. Din flicks the last switch before turning to Cobb. His eyes haven’t left the window, hands in fists in his lap.

“Cobb?”

Cobb jumps, turning to his voice.

“Are you ready?”

Cobb blinks. “We can head on the planet? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” Din says, standing up. “There’s no major space port here, mostly uninhabited on this side. We’re not breaking any laws.”

The other man chuckles. “Not worked about law breakin’.”

“Then c’mon. There’s more to see.”

He nods and falls in step with Din, wide eyes never leaving the tops of the trees. Din allows himself a moment to look as well. The trees stand at least another person taller than both of them, branches full of fluffy bright pink blooms. Even with the branches looking as full as they are, there’s a thick carpet of pink under their feet, decompressing with every step.

Cobb finally breaks his silent awe. “Are they…always this color?”

Din shakes his head. “The flowers fall and grow back a different color for each season. Last time I was here they were blue.”

Cobb breaks away from their twinned steps to walk up closer to one of the trees. Din watches as he feels the bark between his fingers, reaches up to feel the silky textures of the petals and Din’s heart seizes with what could be; traveling together and visiting planets Cobb could never conceive of. Din wants to hand the galaxy to Cobb and ask where he wants to go, because if there is one person who deserves a little reverence and adventure, it’s Cobb, who cares so much for the people around him but so little for himself.

“Wait for me,” Din says, as he nearly loses sight of the man.

“We just landed on an alien planet, and you want me to wait?”

“Don’t want to lose track of you. I could easily mistake you for a tree.”

Cobb snorts, pushing on one of his pauldrons before breaking away, keeping a closer distance this time.

A breeze blows through and shakes the branches, loose petals are thrown into the air, twisting and twirling in the air, but Din only has eyes for Cobb. Cobb, with eyes wide, head tilted up to try and take it all in. Gentle pink petals catch in gray hair and that red scarf and Din can barely breathe for a second.

“It’s beautiful,” Cobb says, his gaze to the sky.

“Yeah,” Din says, eyes never leaving Cobb.

Cobb’s eyes sweep the valley before stopping on him.

He stifles a laugh. “I think you have some petals in your…”

Din looks down and sees the petals have caught in the junctures of his armor.

“Here, lemme help you.”

Din looks up and Cobb is suddenly much closer, fingers brushing in the spaces between armor, where the flight suit suddenly feels as thin as silk for all it keeps out the heat of Cobb’s fingers.

“There we go,” Cobb says with one last brush of his fingers.

“You too.” Pink dots Cobb’s salt and pepper hair. Before Cobb can move and before Din can properly think his actions through, he’s bringing gloved hands up to Cobb to gently brush the petals away. He’s thought of this before, but without the gloves on, hands lingering in the gray strands, wanting to know if they’re as soft as they lookl, or are there grains of sand lost between them?

Cobb’s eyes close for a moment and Din takes the second to drink him all in, at the freckle under his eye, the way his hair has shifted in the breeze. It’s only for a second before he’s looking into familiar hazel again.

And Din realizes just how close they’ve gotten.

“C’mon,” Din says, clearing his throat when his voice comes out rougher than he anticipates, “One thing I want to show you.”

Cobb’s face breaks into a familiar grin. “Something else? Mando, I’m startin’ to feel spoiled.”

You deserve it.

Din takes a step back, nodding, before gesturing to follow him. He leads them through the seemingly endless forest, guided by muscle memory of the last time a bounty brought him here and his HUD showing how the terrain changes.

It’s a short walk from where Din remembers it, the lake where he finally caught that bounty. The water is covered in petals so that it nearly blends in with the ground. Din pauses just before the ground turns to mud. He turns to explain the circumstances of finding the place, when he realizes Cobb is still walking forward.

“Wait!” Din throws out a hand to grab him by the elbow pulling him back. Cobb is immediately on alert, thinking there’s something dangerous. Instead of explaining, Din pulls a rock from the ground and throws it into the lake in front of them. The impact sends the petals on the surface rocking in the waves, revealing the dirty green water they had been covering.

Cobb blinks, staring at the ripples.

“Maker,” he whispers. “I ain’t never seen that much water, let alone covered like that.”

Din nods. Silence descends like the falling flowers as he lets Cobb explore the area, throw more stones into the lake, and watch how the petals shift on the lake.

Suddenly Din is reminded of something his buir taught him, back before the covert had relocated to Nevarro, when they were on a grassy planet with what felt like a million lakes.

He looks down at the shoreline and it doesn’t take long to find what he’s looking for.

“Cobb!” His head snaps up, rock slipping from his fingers to crash near his feet. Din bites back the smile on his face as he says, “Watch this.”

He crouches down, curls his finger around the flat rock in his hand, and lets it go. It skips twice on the water before disappearing. Cobb crows in delight at the first skip, eyes glued to its movements.

“What kind of Mando training lets you do that?”

“That’s not Mandalorian training,” Din says, helmet already tilted to find another rock. “Besides, that was shit. I can get nine skips on a good day.”

“Bantha shit,” Cobb says and Din looks up and sees a smile that looks like a challenge.

“Well, with the flowers in the way-”

“No, no, no backpedaling now,” he points a determined finger in Din’s direction. “You promised me nine skips, I want to see it.”

“Alright,” he says, stooping down to really start looking for the perfect rock. He pulls off his gloves in the process, sticking them in his belt.

He stands up with a couple of decently flat rocks. He weighs the first in his hand, before dipping low and letting it fly. It gets five skips before slipping underneath the surface. Cobb lets out a low whistle.

“Here,” he says, handing a stone to the other man. “Try it.”

Cobb hesitates only for a moment before taking the stone, fingers brushing. Din coaches him through the movements, shaping his fingers around the stone, showing him how to get the right angle by crouching down low.

Cobb’s eyes never leave his hands, but his first throw sinks like a rock. Din gets a good six skips.

“Try again,” Din says, already handing Cobb a new rock before he can let loose the expletive he knows is behind his tongue.

The sun is low in the sky, casting a warm red light over them by the time Cobb can skip the stone more than once and Din can get a stone to skim the water ten times before going under. The look Cobb gave him when he finally got a stone to skip once is one Din knows he’ll remember for a while.

The walk back is quiet, both men exhausted after a long day. Was it just this morning that he and Cobb flushed out a group of slavers? Can a day feel so long and yet so short?

What if he has more days like this?

He shakes his head as the ramp to the ship lowers. They’re friends, that’s all. He’s not about to mess up a good thing, one of the rare good things he’s managed to hold onto since giving up Grogu.

He’s about to step up when he feels a hand on his arm. He stops and turns to face Cobb, who looks so earnest in the light of the setting sun, it hurts.

“Din, thank you.”

“It’s no-”

“No, really. Thank you, for all of this. I never… I used to dream about leaving Tatooine as a younger man, but I-I could never think of anything like this.”

Din nods, because if he tries to clear his now dry throat, tries to string two words together, he’s going to regret it. He’s going to say something like “stay with me” or “can I go home with you” conversations that will end in disaster.

Or at least, that’s what Din tells himself as he watches Cobb walk into the ship. Din lets out a steady breath before following.

Take off goes smoother this time, Cobb being more prepared for the feelings and sounds. This time, Cobb breaks his gaze from space to ask about the ship, how it functions and its name.

Space travel has never felt so fast. It feels like the next minute he’s bringing the ship down onto the familiar yellow sands of Tatooine.

The ramp of the Mudhorn lowers, a small puff of sand kicks up. Neither man moves.

“Well, until next time, Marshal.”

“Of course, don’t be a stranger. And thank you, again.”

But still, neither one of them moves. Din’s about to ask if something’s wrong when Cobb steps close.

“Please don’t tell me I’m reading this wrong.”

Before Din can ask, Cobb reaches for his hand, bringing it up to his mouth so fast it looks more like he’s punching himself with Din’s fist rather than kissing his knuckles. Cobb pulls back just as quickly, back ramrod straight as he takes Din in.

“Don’t feel obligated-”

“I’m not-Maker, you are dense sometimes, aren’t ya?” Din’s about to contest that but Cobb keeps going. “I’ve damn near been in love with ya since you flew out of that dragon’s mouth! Your visits make my month and I… I wouldn’t be opposed if they weren’t always for business.”

“Cobb-”

He makes to pull back. “If I misread the situation, then my apologies, but-”

Din squeezes tight on his hand. “You didn’t.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I… I don’t show just everyone planets full of flowers.”

Cobb breaks into a grin. “Well next time you take me out on a date, let me know it’s a date so I can get dressed up.”

Next time . Din likes the sound of that.

“It’s a date.”

#dincobb #marshmando #din x cobb #cobb/din #cobbdin #kappa writes #my fanfic #this is so soft guys #like i dont normally write pining to this level but i went all in for this one #the mandalorian #star wars #sw

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vivilove-jonsa · 4 years

Note

Spooky prompt: We're going to have to stay here tonight 🎃

Thank you for the prompt, honey! This isn’t really spooky at all but it’s inspired by Katrina and Ichabod’s first meeting in Tim Burton’s Sleepy Hollow with a slight twist. I hope you like it :)

“We’re going to have to stay here tonight.”

The announcement had been greeted with no surprise. Even without tales of headless horsemen, witches or evil spirits in the forest, autumn in Northern New England carries its own hazards. The weather can turn unexpectedly.

The blizzard had kept anyone of sense from attempting the journey home and their host had gallantly offered refuge for his guests beyond the harvest feast.

“Stay as long as necessary,” Eddard Stark had told them.

Some had chosen not to stay. The Umbers had set off that first night regardless saying they did not fear a bit of snow or any ghost stories. Jon wonders how their coach and horses fared along the indifferent roads in such conditions and if they Umbers reached their hearth. Or are they now headless victims of a malicious spirit? More likely, they might be frozen corpses, their eyes unseeing and their spirits wandering through the woods railing at their own folly.

Most had stayed, like the Tarlys. Samwell is his age, a likeable though bookish boy who often winds up the butt of jests which hardly seems fair since Sam’s twice as smart as most any man here. Jon is glad to call him his good friend. He is also secretly protective of him when it comes to settings such as this where Sam might not be shown due respect by some. His brother Dickon is here as well. Though he’s a few years younger than Sam, he does not need Jon’s protection.

There are some who Jon wishes hadn’t stayed as well, particularly Harrold Hardyng. A puffed up jackanape who charms the ladies with his compliments and looks down his nose as Jon’s old waistcoat, the only one he possesses decent enough for the Starks’ house, while cruelly poking fun at Sam’s fondness for sweets when the ladies aren’t present.

Jon almost wishes he had attempted the journey back to his own modest homestead himself. He knows Tormund won’t let his livestock starve or freeze but he feels his responsibilities as a newer landowner keenly and thinks he should be there, too.

But Mister Stark looks upon his former ward quite fondly and Jon could not refuse his entry to remain. “It’s four miles to home for you which may as well be ten leagues in these conditions. Pray, stay a little longer, Jon.”

And why shouldn’t Jon wish to remain at Winterfell during a blizzard? He spent most of his boyhood here after all.

Because of Mister Stark’s daughter Sansa, that’s why.

From gawky and somewhat missish at thirteen, she has blossomed into a beauty, willowy, graceful and sweet at seventeen. Jon had liked her well enough as a girl but they’d had little occasion to converse one on one. But now? Oh, he’d enjoy sitting by her side at the hearth for hours upon end if he could.

She’d been standing by her father’s side to greet their guests upon arrival when they’d met again for the first time in years. She’d shook hands with him, giving him a friendly smile and saying how much she’d missed him here. Jon had been enchanted and his enchantment has only grown since then as one night of her company had stretched into several.

Therefore, Jon cannot bear watching Harrold Hardyng’s obvious attempts to court her right under the nose of their elders. What does Mister Stark think of Hardyng? More importantly, what does Sansa think? For her part, Sansa only smiles politely at his oafish gallantry like the gracious young lady she is but is there any attachment blooming?

Jon hopes not though he is likely a fool to hope. He’s quite proud of his homestead but knows it wouldn’t have been unlikely for him without Mister Stark’s help and it is not a scratch on a grand house like Winterfell. If he thought an offer of marriage between him and Sansa might be accepted though…oh, he is a fool to hope.

On the seventh night of his unexpectedly extended visit, the young people are growing restless. There is only so much gossip to share, only so many stories to tell. Days and nights kept indoors with mixed company relaxes some of the usual decorum and makes them bolder.

“A game! Let’s play a game!” Sansa declares after supper while Tom Sevenstrings and his friends pluck out a tune.

“The Pickety Witch!” someone suggests and several more agree.

Sansa laughs as her friend Jeyne Poole covers her eyes with a length of fine silk. What a sight she is in her pretty blue gown with her red hair shining brightly, curled and coiffed just so. Her rosy lips and that bit of black silk upon her porcelain skin, she presents an image that Jon knows will revisit him in the night. Honor will have him attempting to banish the thoughts it will spur. Carnal desire will encourage him in them.

They twirl her around three times, the children, young ladies and gentlemen chuckling and edging about the limited allotted space for the game as their elders watch from nearby smiling with nostalgia for their own youths perhaps.

“The Pickety Witch, the Pickety Witch, who’s got a kiss for the Pickety Witch?” Sansa asks with her hands stretched out before her, eager to snare a victim and guess who it is she’s caught.

All around the little area, she takes a step and then another, grasping at thin air. She’s hemmed in by her would-be captures but the space is enough to leave her uncertain of anyone’s exact whereabouts.

Beth Cassel screeches and scurries when Sansa nears her. Samwell squeaks and dodges her at one point, making his brother Dickon laugh heartily and barely elude capture himself. Little Rickon stomps on his brother Bran’s foot in his eagerness to escape his sister the Pickety Witch. She’s by far the prettiest Pickety Witch that ever was in Jon’s opinion.

Jon grins as she nears him and stands his ground. He hates to see her stuck in the middle indefinitely. And he’ll gladly let her capture him especially if it means she might choose to give her victim a kiss (even if it means he’ll be the blind man next.)

But a sound from the left draws her attention before she gets close enough to touch him and she turns.

Jon scowls, seeing that Harry has knocked the fireplace poker from its place. From his smug grin as Sansa moves towards him, Jon knows he did that on purpose.

His heart clenches, waiting for her to reach him. Like Jon, Harry isn’t moving.

She’s nearly to him, no more than a foot away. At any second, she’ll put her hands on his chest, his shoulders, touch his face and Jon will have to watch it all with a feigned smile as the sickening feeling in his stomach increases.

But when she’s right in front of Harry, Sansa does something unexpected. She darts to the right and nabs another victim.

Sam yelps. Yes, it’s a bit undignified but Sam does startle easily. Jon sees her lips twitching with suppressed laughter as his own are doing the same.

Sansa gently rubs his broad shoulders and then touches his round face. She wears an expression of puzzlement though, surely, she knows who she’s caught.

Or perhaps she doesn’t?

“Is it Loras?” she asks sweetly.

“N-no, Mm-Miss Sansa,” Sam stammers while Loras Tyrell across the room looks positively aghast at being mistaken for Samwell Tarly.

His voice will have given it away, Jon is sure.

Or maybe not.

“Ah, it must be Dickon then!”

Dickon Tarly may be younger but he is a head taller than his brother and far less rotund. Sansa doesn’t know the Tarlys all that well but she has spent the past week in their company and Jon has never heard her call them by anything but their correct names during that time.

Unkind laughter from some of the other lads breaks out. Some of the girls present titter cruelly, the girls who look at Dickon with moony eyes and give Sam dismissive looks. Jon glares at them all as does Dickon.

“No, I’m not Dickon, Miss Sansa,” Sam says, apologetically. Jon feels sorry for him.

“You must be a stranger to me then but clearly you are a noble gentleman, sir,” Sansa declares before kissing Samwell Tarly softly on the cheek. Sam’s eyes are wide as saucers as she removes her blindfold. “Oh ho, my mistake! He is no stranger at all but I was right to name him a noble gentleman,” she tells the others in a firm but merry tone.

The unkind laughter and cruel titters from a moment ago dry up in an instant. Jon can hear pleased laughter from the true friends present and everyone’s spirits are jolly again as Sansa helps blindfold and spin Sam for his turn.

Everyone’s spirits are jolly except for Jon’s, that is.

He’d never thought to be jealous of Sam in this manner but now, there is no denying that he is. Sansa kissed Sam on the cheek. Sansa has named Sam noble, which he is, and Jon has never felt less noble in his life. Sam carries an old, respectable family name and is the heir to more money than Jon will ever know. Sam would make her a finer match than most of these fools would ever acknowledge if they had any inclination for one another in that manner.

Feeling depressed and ridiculous, Jon decides to leave the circle of players and goes to fetch himself some cider. Once he has it, he retreats to the Starks’ deserted library.

He entirely misses Samwell catching Gilly, one of the serving girls, naming her correctly at once even with his blindfold in place and chastely pressing a kiss to her hand, making the girl blush with pleasure.

It is there where he broods alone in the library with his hard cider that he’s discovered. She has caught him after all. Tis only fitting. She has held him captive from the moment he arrived here.

“Why did you leave the game?”

“I was feeling…” Jealous. “Tired.”

“I hope you’re not unwell.”

“Not at all, Miss Sansa.”

“‘Miss Sansa,’ is it? That’s terribly formal. We’ve known each other since we were children, Jon.”

“Yes, you’re right. Sorry, Sansa. You knew you’d caught Sam, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Why’d you pretend otherwise?”

“I don’t like the way some of our guests treat him.”

“Nor I.”

“I know. I know he’s your friend and quite dear to you.”

“He is. He’s a very good man.”

“Yes, everyone should open their eyes and see it.”

It’s true. Why are his spirits are in such turmoil? He agrees with her but envy is twisting it, turning it into snake in his guts that would eat his heart if it could.

“I have a confession to make,” she says softly next.

“A confession?”

She bats her full eyelashes. It seems to make those impossibly blue eyes look even bluer. “I knew I was right in front of Harry. I could see just a bit beneath the blindfold. I recognized his boots. I reached for the person next to him because I didn’t wish to capture him.”

That snake in his guts is withering away as something else swells. “Oh? You do not care for him, do you?”

“No, I do not. I was actually hoping to capture someone else. I was looking for a certain set of feet but never got close enough to see them.”

“Not Sam’s?”

She shakes her head, her curls bouncing as her cheeks flood with color.

His heart may eat that snake. There is no room for jealousy here tonight. “Oh? Whose boots were you hoping to find, may I ask?”

She smiles as their eyes meet. “Who’s got a kiss for the Pickety Witch, Jon?”

He licks his lips and grins back at her before cupping her satiny cheek. “I do.”

#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #vivilove-jonsa fic

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